#matsukawa issei x reader angst

[chimielie]

ghost in the machine

summary: Matsukawa x F!Reader. sometimes two people love each other very much. sometimes they do terrible things to each other.

word count: 1k

cw: cheating, extremely toxic relationship, no one here is likable, breakup, no happy ending

a/n: my bad i was going through something. sorry to the seijoh community. enjoy?

Issei meets you at the train station. It's dry now, but it was raining earlier—his hair is sticking to his face, curling even more than usual in the humidity. He doesn't "believe" in using umbrellas, whatever that means, or in standing beneath the rain shelter, apparently.

"Hey," you say, affecting nonchalance. The look on his face is familiar to you, signalling further storms ahead. You put your hands in his and press your mouth into a little frown. "What's wrong?

"Don't act cute," he says, glancing away, but he doesn't take his hands out of your hold. "This is—hard enough."

Issei does this thing, when he's mad at you, taking longer and longer pauses as he speaks. Leaves you hanging and still chooses all the wrong words.

"Issei, what happened?" You say. You look around, but there's no one else at the station: it's a dismal day, and his workplace is out of the way of pretty much all other human life. Fitting.

He rubs a thumb over yours, slow, pensive.

"I'm just gonna rip the band-aid off," he says, and you almost snort. There's been nothing quick about this process. "I think we should stop seeing each other."

"Another break?" You ask, trying to keep your voice light. "So you can fuck your new building receptionist?"

That's not light. Oops.

"How do you—whatever. No. That's not it. Don't be like that."

"It's what it was last time," you say, frustrated. "And Makki mentioned that he thought she was hot, which means you think she is."

"I don't, and that's not even the point," he sighs. "See, this is what I mean."

"You do," you insist. "But what is your point?"

"My point," he grits, thumb rubbing harder, strong fingers digging into your flesh so hard it almost hurts. "Is that we need to end this. Not a break. We need to break up."

"No," you say, blinking away tears. "I thought we were working on things. I thought we were better."

He pauses again. You let yourself fill up with big, stupid hope, leaning a little closer to him. All you want is one of his hugs, warm and solid and loving. Love me, you want to sob, you don't love me?

You don't, because you would be proving his point. You don't want to guilt him. You don't want to hurt him. You feel nauseous. The whole world is wrong, everything is going wrong.

He doesn’t give you what you need.

"I feel sick," he echoes your thoughts. "All the time. What we're doing to each other—I care about you, I want you to be happy. We—I don't make you happy."

"You do," you plead. "No one else makes me happy like you."

"But that's, like, five percent of the time," he says, jerking you a little closer. You know it's subconscious and it makes you emit a little noise, soft, one you don't want him to hear. "The rest of the time we, we fight, and we get petty, and we act like kids. It's not what it should be."

"I don't care what it should be," you flash. "I don't want whatever it should be. I want this. I think it's worth it. I want to fight for it."

"Well, I don't!" His eyes are burning. You think there's something shimmering in his waterline. "I'm tired. It's—you jerk me around like bait, on a string. I am tired of taking breaks, and getting back at each other, and—"

"I jerk you around?" You say. "Issei, you suggested the first break, you slept with—"

"I know what I did," his voice sounds defeated even as you can hear the underlying anger—deeper, the underlying hurt. "That's what I'm saying, we're damaged, I really don't care whose fault it is."

"Except you clearly think it's mine," you argue. It’s fucked up, that this is what fighting for your love means; how twisted has your knight-and-princess story become?

“Shut up! Just stop—just stop talking for a second.” You press your fingers tentatively to the right corner of his temple and rub small circles into the skin, knowing that’s where he gets headaches from grinding his jaw when you’re driving him crazy. He lets you for a moment, then shakes his head, bats you away. “You shouldn’t let me talk to you like that.”

“I won’t,” you say. “You won’t talk to me like that anymore.”

“That’s so fucked up,” he chokes out a laugh. His dark eyes crease so prettily when he does. “Don’t do that. With the next guy—”

“There’s no next guy!” You yelp, fingers flexing, not sure what to hold on to. If he’s letting go of his jealousy—the world tilts dizzily. He used to tell you, face in a lazy cat smile, body warm and heavy atop yours, that you’d find your next boyfriends on his mortuary table. “What, Issei, there’s not gonna be anyone else ever.”

His lips twist into a sardonic smile. He lets go of you, his hands shaking like he’s just been shocked, cartoon-style, electricity working its way through his body. You reach for him and he shoves his hands in his pockets, lets you stumble over your feet.

“I know you slept with Makki,” Issei says grimly. You stop in your tracks.

“Oh.”

“Oh,” he agreed. “Yeah.”

There’s not a lot to say to that. It doesn’t matter that it was during the worst breakup, a year ago, that it was because you’d seen him kissing one of your friends at a party. It doesn’t matter that it had been a mistake.

“I’m sorry,” you say, and the tears are rolling down your face again. Or it’s started raining. Both. “I’m so sorry. I know.”

There’s an awful screech when the train arrives—his train, going deeper into the country. Yours, back to the city, is due in eight minutes. You can’t stop anything from leaving this station.

“It’s okay. It’s like you said,” he puts his hands on his shoulders, presses a lingering kiss to your forehead, his lips wet with cold rainwater. When did it start pouring? “He thought she was hot, so so did I. I love you, so so did he.”

[satoruxx]

you fiddle with your nails as you walk home at tooru's side, the sounds of mattsun, makki, and iwa bickering further up ahead cutting through the empty streets. you’re uncharacteristically nervous, because god knows you’ve never done something like this before—but you steel yourself because it’s worth it for him.

your feelings for oikawa tooru are all consuming—strong and deep and intense. they’ve been brewing for well over two years now, nourished by the increased amount of time you’ve spent with him. they overwhelm you, washing over your being with an intensity you’ve never felt before, and they drive you to stick by his side for as long as you can—desperate and aching for the boy who puts the stars in your sky.

you know that timing is important because tooru is nothing if not driven—singularly focused on the sport that gives him the air he needs to breathe. so you wait until well after his match with karasuno, giving your all to support him and the rest of the team because volleyball has become important to you after spending so much time with them. you give it time, wait until after the team has taken the time to lament over their missed chance, and after all the third years are ready to move on to the next phase of their lives, before you finally decide to spill your guts to him.

tooru stares ahead as he’s walking, pensive and unsmiling, and you’re dying to know what’s going on in his head. his eyes are bright, a contrast to his expression, and there’s a resolute glint in his irises that has you feeling oddly shaken. when you reach his house, the rest of the group waves back at him before continuing on, and you realize this is your chance.

so, dangerously, you put your heart on the line.

you tell him everything you've ever thought about him—how you admire his drive and his passion, how you have looked up to him for years and years. how you have never felt so deeply for someone before knowing him. it comes out in a rushed ramble of words, all those nights of practicing in the mirror doing nothing for you in the actual moment. you stumble a few times, your face getting warmer with every word, and yet as each sentence falls forth you feel a weight lift from your shoulders—the flesh of your lungs clatter against your ribs, anxious and eager.

tooru inhales, gaze darting between your eyes and then flitting downwards. even in the dark of the night, you can see the pinkish hue crawling up his neck, can see the way he fidgets with his own fingers. he stares at you, lips parted as a wide array of emotions flit over his handsome features—they finally settle into a strange combination of apologetic and resigned.

and then he tells you no.

he tells you that volleyball will always take precedence, that he has already mapped out his future, which is too far away from you. he tells you about argentina and how his mind is made up. he tells you that he's flattered, that he's glad you're friends but that's all he can do right now.

“i'm sorry,” he says with a grimace. he studiously avoids looking at you, but you can't stop staring at him—your stomach sinks as he turns to head inside.

it takes you months to muster up the courage to tell him. it takes him two minutes to say no to you.

the rejection stings in a way that is unfamiliar, and you take a shaky breath as you walk down the street to catch up with the others.

the humiliation makes itself known in the form of a painful lump in your throat—unmoving and heavy. when you glance up you see that the third years have hung back, waiting for you. makki is wearing a knowing grin, but it falters when he sees your expression. mattsun, ever observant, seems to immediately understand, and he wordlessly slings an arm over your shoulder.

all you can do is awkwardly chuckle, knowing that it sounds weak and throaty as you shake your head. “i feel stupid,” you admit, voice wobbling as heat burns through your skin—unpleasant and unwelcome.

“you're not stupid,” makki mutters, hands shoved deep in his pockets as his lips slant regretfully. you stare at the ground, nodding slowly under the weight of mattsun's arm. your lungs ache, and you know that if you open your mouth, you will lose it entirely. so all you can manage to do is look up at iwa with glassy eyes and trembling lips and a rueful smile that probably makes you look as pathetic as you feel.

you don't notice the way his fists are clenched at his sides, nails digging indents into his palms. he grits his teeth, gaze flitting to oikawa's house in the background, but he doesn't say anything.

none of them speak as they walk you home, and you try your best to keep the sniffles to a minimum, too embarrassed to look at them.

you've never felt pain like this before, and it's hard to get over it because everything reminds you of tooru. it's like someone has taken a knife and carved into your ribcage, grasping your heart before taking it out crushing it between bloodied fingers. but even despite the gaping hole in your chest you know that there are expectations to be met, things to be done.

that's the strange thing about your silly unrequited love—it hurts and hurts and hurts some more until it stops one day before you can realize it. even though your chest is still bleeding you go on with life—you go to university, you get a job, you pay bills. you get up in the morning and brush your hair and drink water and tie your shoes until the wound closes itself up. you start smiling a little wider and laughing a little freer until oikawa tooru is nothing more than an old name.

and of course there are instances where you are reminded of him and what could've been, whether it's seeing milk bread in a supermarket or passing by children hitting a volleyball over a net out in the sun. you know very well that your friends are occasionally still in contact with their old captain, not that this bothers you. after all, mattsun, makki, and iwa were very careful not to bring him up around you, which you're grateful for. so even hearing the name in passing becomes easier.

it is difficult until it isn't anymore.

you've all but forgotten him now, after years and years and years—nothing more than a distant memory.

so imagine the sinking feeling of dread pooling in your stomach when you walk into the restaurant on makki's birthday and see oikawa tooru sitting at the bar, drink in hand. his eyes are alight as he laughs at whatever conversation he's joined, dark hair falling into his eyes messily.

one step forward, ten steps back.

for a second you can't help but stare, breath stolen from your lungs because it feels like the knife is back and twisting itself into your flesh all over again. there is a panic rising in your throat, suffocating and overwhelming and jarring.

tooru lifts his glass to his lips, hiding his grin as his gaze lazily travels over the expanse of the room.

another surge of panic. the familiar sting of humiliation.

he pauses as he's about to take a sip, brown eyes widening when they land on you, and you see the sharp inhale he takes. his stare doesn't waver, too consumed by shock to look away.

and yet that's all you can do—tear your eyes away because you're different now and it's long gone and you know there is no point in going down that rabbit hole again.

it was a lifetime ago—it's done now.

but you will never know how long tooru thought of you after that night back in high school. you will never know that he felt sick to his stomach when he saw the way your face fell at his rejection. you will never know that he bit his tongue so hard it bled as he watched you walk away from him. you will never know that he spent countless nights in argentina wondering what you were up to and how you were. you will never know that sacrificing you for his beloved sport was the hardest thing he's ever done.

so imagine the sinking feeling of dread tooru feels when he sees the way your eyes light up as you find your way over to iwa's side.

@teddybeartoji this is for you mickey ily hehehehehe

[cottonlemonade]

Dating You For A Bet [Part 3]

word count: 2145 || avg. reading time: 9 mins.

pairing: University AU!Matsukawa x chubby!Reader

genre: angst, comfort

warnings: like one time swearing

[part 1] [part 2]

As soon as the dorm room door closed behind you, your shoes were practically flung off your feet. With a deeply satisfied sigh you stretched and wiggled your toes, slowly feeling the numbness subside. You weren’t used to wearing heels but thought that a third date called for the occasion.

“How was it?”

Confused, you turned around as if your roommate could have possibly meant anyone else. She hardly ever spoke with you so this was absolutely a first.

She was sitting cross-legged on her bed, computer on her lap, and brushed her headphones from one ear.

“The… date?”, you asked cautiously, standing frozen in front of the wardrobe like a deer caught in headlights.

The other girl nodded.

“It was… nice?”

“Just nice?”

“He was sweet.”

“That was your second one this week, right? Are you gonna keep seeing him?”

“I’m sorry. I’m still trying to figure out why you’re talking to me.”

She shrugged.

“Because I’m curious.” When you still didn’t say anything, she explained, “I’ve heard all over campus what happened, and… it sucks what your ex did. And I saw how sad you were about it but I’m also really impressed with how you’re handling it now. I guess I just wanna say that at first, I thought it was a really dumb rumor because you were both so obsessed with each other. It didn’t make any sense.”

That brought you out of your stupor. You turned to put your jacket back in the closet and tossed the shoes carelessly into the void somewhere to other disregarded things.

“Yeah.”, you said after a small pause.

“Do you think you’ll get back together?”

Now it was on you to shrug.

“Why d’you ask?”

Your roommate turned the laptop so you could see. It was a live feed of the current varsity volleyball match. Issei was just being switched out and the camera stayed on him as the coach kept talking very fast and gesturing towards the court in an unmistakably urgent manner. Issei simply bowed his head and nodded to his shoes, kneading the pads of his fingers against the water bottle like he always had done when he was anxious. The clip was only about five seconds long but it was obvious that when he turned around to look at the stands behind him he was searching for someone.

Your roommate moved the laptop back so that the screen was facing her again.

“He has been off all game.”

“Well… too bad.”, you said and grabbed your towel and shower caddy.

With three days left until Christmas, the first snow fell. After your tear-filled kiss with Issei at the bench two weeks ago he had left you alone. No more notes, no more loitering around waiting to talk to you and you wondered if this was really how it would be from now on. You figured that finding out you were dating someone else had spooked him into hiding. However, just as you were sure you would never speak another word with him you heard a commotion outside your door. Calls and hollerings were echoing through the hallway from the girls on your floor and you and your roommate both looked up from your essays to then exchange a questioning head tilt with each other. The large pizza carton between you was pushed aside and, brushing your greasy hands off on your washed-out sweats, you got up to see what was going on. When you opened the door you saw four guys hunched over with their heads ducked between their shoulders looking as uncomfortable as can be. Issei, meanwhile, was pushing a fifth down the corridor toward your room. You recognized them now. It had taken a few seconds without their usual sneers.

Your ex had them stand in a row in front of you and then all but one knelt down. Issei gave the last one a tap with his foot on the back of the knee to make him match the others. Heads hung low and hands resting on their thighs, one after the other bowed in deepest apology with their foreheads almost touching the linoleum. The middle one, whom you remembered as the idiot who suggested the bet, began to speak as Issei stood behind them all, arms crossed, a smirk on his lips.

“Y/n-san,”, the middle one said, “we’re very sorry for… for the whole thing.”

Issei cleared his throat. All the girls from the surrounding doors giggled and kept their phones focused on them to film while you were gaping like a fish.

“- for making the bet about you. It was terrible and immature and you didn’t deserve to be treated like that. We ask for your forgiveness.” A general murmur of apologies went through the row of kneeling guys.

“Here.”, the middle one fished a crinkly envelope from his hoodie and held it up to you with both hands, “This is the money from the bet. Please accept it.”

“No, why would I want your money?”, you replied in disbelieving disgust.

“Okay.”, your roommate weighed in quietly and slipped past you, snatching the envelope, “I’ll be taking that.”

You frowned at her.

She raised her hands in defense. “Pride and integrity are great and all but we are still students at the end of the day. This will at least fund next month’s pizza parties. I’m just saying.” And she retreated behind you, adding, “Carry on.”

“Just leave me alone and don’t ever talk to or about me ever again. And the sooner you realize that you are nothing but pathetic worms that peaked in high school the sooner you can go to therapy which you obviously need.”

The boys seemed to wait for something, then Issei said, “You heard her. Fuck off.”

All five scrambled to their feet and pushed through the audience of sniggering girls to get away.

Incredulously, you looked at Issei who was very obviously very satisfied with himself.

“How did you even…?”

He chuckled and shrugged as the surrounding crowd slowly dispersed and went back into their rooms and about their days.

“You didn’t beat them up, did you?”

“Worse.”

He walked over to you and leaned casually against your doorframe.

“I called their moms.”

Your roommate snorted and went back to her essay.

There was a pause in which Issei realized that for the first time since the breakup, you didn’t regard him with the previous hurt or anger. His smirk faded into a small unsure smile and he switched between glancing at you and his hands, “You look pretty.”, he muttered, then pushed himself off the doorframe, “Have a good night.”

The clip of the five guys kneeling in front of your door (from varying angles) was all over the campus forum for days giving you finally a different sort of spotlight and leading your fellow students to turn their attention and energy to hackling the bet-makers rather than you. It was a welcome change of pace.

On Christmas morning then you were bundled up tightly in your coat and scarf and trudged through the freshly fallen snow on your way to the library where you would pretend to study while in all honesty, you would just be scrolling on your phone. All just to escape the omnipresent merriment. You had to walk past Issei’s dorm, something you had avoided doing for weeks and instead had taken the much longer route.

“Y/n!”, you heard a shout from overhead and when you looked up into the soft flurry of snow you spotted Issei waving from his window, “Wait there for a moment!”

Two flights of stairs later, Issei jogged through the lobby towards the glass front door to hold it open. “Could you come up for a second, please? - It’s nothing weird, I promise.”, he added when he saw your skeptically raised brow.

You followed him silently until you reached his door.

With a flourish, he opened his room and was met with a wall of smell from a whole bunch of different essential oils. He coughed and flitted into the room to open the window again, using a notepad to fan the air. The whole room was decorated with candles and garlands and even a small fake Christmas tree that obviously had needed a bit of persuasion to stand up straight on the bedside table.

“Sorry.”, he pressed out in between coughs, “I went around the whole building for candles but they all just had scented ones.” He kept feverishly fanning the icy cold air into the room, ignoring the thick snowflakes landing on and soaking through his pillow. A long dead plant in a pot on the windowsill caught the flame of a candle as he waved around the notepad and began to slowly burn to a crisp. “Oh!” He tossed the notepad onto the bed and grabbed the mostly empty can of an energy drink to pour over it.

“Anyways.”, Issei turned around as if nothing had happened and cleared his throat, “You once told me that you were kinda dreading Christmas because you couldn’t go see your family and I promised that I would spend Christmas with you and make it fun, so!” He jumped to his dresser and retrieved a red tin containing slightly burned, painstakingly decorated sugar cookies and handed them to you. Then he turned around and rummaged under his bed until he pulled out a Santa hat and reindeer antlers that he placed on top of the tin in your hands, “I also have your favorite Christmas movies -”, he waved toward his laptop, “you don’t have to watch them with me, of course, but they’re there if you like - and”, he picked up a note from his desk, “here is the list we made of all the Christmas activities that you wanted to do. We can go through them one by one.” You noticed how the paper shook slightly in his hand and how he swallowed a lump that seemingly had formed in his throat while awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “Mistletoe is kinda inappropriate now but I guess you can… slap me instead if we’re both under it. But the snow is good for a snowball fight and to build a snowman and make snow angels and-“

“Issei!”, you said firmly to stop his ramblings, “This is really nice of you but I’m not in the mood to play in the snow right now.”

“Right… uhm.”, his eyes darted back to the paper in his hand for another idea, “We can go to the coffee shop for that holiday drink I told you about.”, he suggested excitedly instead.

“I… already went and tried it last week with my roommate.”

“Oh…”

“Yeah.”

“Did you like it?”

“It was nice, yeah.”

“Good. Good.” After a short pause, he followed up with, “I’m glad.”

He then hesitated, opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again and put the list back on his desk.

You looked around the room - the leftover paper shreds next to the trash can from the cutout snowflakes, the wonky bow on top of the cookie tin, the over-laden Christmas tree. All the effort and genuine thought he had put into everything at the very least made you want to accept his peace offering.

“I wouldn’t mind having it again, though.”, you heard yourself mumble.

“Really? You sure?”

You shrugged.

“Alright, lemme grab my jacket.”

“You should put out the candles.”

“Right!”

“Alright, order placed.”, he announced when he sat down across from you, holding up the little buzzer that would let you know about your drinks.

“How have you been?”, he asked.

“Good. Better. I aced that exam I was so worried about.”

“Knew you had it in your pocket.”, Issei nodded and turned the buzzer nervously in his fingers.

“Let me just tell you that I know there is no excuse for what I did. But know that I am not done apologizing for it. You are everything to me and I am kicking myself every day for not realizing it the moment I saw you. You deserve nothing but the best and I’m glad you found someone who can make you happy.”

“Thank you.”, you allowed yourself to smile, “I appreciate that.”

“So… what’s he like?”, he asked, trying very hard to sound casual.

“Who?”

“Your new boyfriend. Do I know him?”

“Well uhm, he isn’t my boyfriend.”

“Oh?” His fingers turning the buzzer slowed ever so slightly.

“Yeah it just…”, you sighed and shrugged, “didn’t work out.”

You would under no circumstances ever tell him that it was because you had called him Issei while he kissed you. You would take that to the grave.

“Aw, that’s too bad.”

“You know this would be a whole lot more convincing if you weren’t grinning like an idiot.”, you smiled.

taglist: @samoankpoper21 @reikashe @jasminelee324

[part 4]

[uracutieraka]

Drama

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Arguments all day with your ’rents

Just to go out, gotta fight for this shit (Fight for this shit)

Gotta realize you’re a high school girl (High school girl)

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Older!college freshman! Matsukawa issei x F!reader

Tw! (Slight) age gap, mutual virginity loss, smut, mutual pining (??)

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Synopsis; you and mattsukawa have known eachother since you were babies, when he goes off for college and leaves you behind to finish your third year of high school you begin lashing out. What is he gonna do with you?

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Ever since Issei left for college, he’d received message after message of your mom telling him how you’d been lashing out and sneaking out to parties.

Disappearing into the darkness of the late nights, stumbling in to your window at 4 am, allowing yourself an hour and half of sleep before getting up and getting ready for school.

At first, it was fun and exhilarating. You had never disobeyed your parents, always a goody two shoes.

But now, your grades were slipping and you were breaking farther away from the perfect image everyone had painted you as.

Endless nights of your parents scolding you had passed, always ending with you rolling your eyes and slamming your bedroom door.

Then a few minutes later, without fail, your phone would vibrate, messages filling your inbox

‘Matti susu 💋’ it would read.

Do not disturb.

This continued for 4 months.

You hadn’t talked to the boy who you had taken baths with when you were babies in four whole months.

You were mad at him, for leaving you behind in this shitty place.

You hated everyone and all your friends, the only people you didn’t hate, were his friends so they were long gone.

That’s why you did this.

Getting dressed up in too-tight clothes and crawling out your window almost every night, hopping around party to party until the early morning hours.

It’s a Saturday morning - 4:45 a.m. to be exact - when you crawl back through your window.

Feet landing on the ground, you slowly shut the window, flinching when it squeaks slightly.

After shutting it you turn and sloppily shed your sweaty clothes.

Your room is dark, and your eyes heavy from a mix of tiredness and being under the influence of weed and alcohol.

You pull your tiny dress off and grab the giant t-shirt up off your floor where you had dropped it earlier in the night before you changed.

It was Matsukawa’s. You had stolen it right before he left for school, wanting it for “when you couldn’t sleep without him.” He had chuckled and rolled his eyes when he handed it to you.

“Whatever ya’ little perv.”

You scoffed, feigning disbelief.

“I am not a pervert!”

He raised a brow and put a hand on his hip sassily.

“You so are.”

That was one of the last conversations you had with him before he left.

You now plopped face down into your bed, taking in a deep breath and only turning your head to breath out.

Your eyes have now adjusted somewhat to the darkness.

Enough to make out the dark figure sitting on the chair by your vanity.

Grabbing your phone you fumble to press the flashlight button.

Thinking it was probably a pile of clothes and your eyes playing tricks on you.

It wasn’t.

The lamp next to the chair clicks on.

You turn your flashlight off and now are sitting on your knees on the bed facing the chair and light.

“What the fuck is your problem?” You sneer.

“Is that really how you’re gonna greet me after ignoring me for months?” The boy chuckles, standing up from the seat. With 2 long strides he is now at the side of your bed, hands in his pockets as he looks down at you.

He leans over you and squints his eyes.

“You’re cross faded right now.” He says, like its a gross fact.

You roll your eyes and cross your arms.

“So what?” Your tone is harsh and words are slightly slurred together. You hiccup and look at him, forcing a pouty look on your face.

Makeup smeared everywhere messily. Lips plump from whatever it was you had been getting into earlier that night.

Matsukawa was breathless.

You looked so beautiful with the soft light hitting your face, outlining your features.

The smeared mascara and eyeshadow made your eyes pop, and his t-shirt that fell halfway down your thighs hugged your body.

His eyes trailed over you, down your jaw and neck, to see the shoulder that was showing from the loose material of his old band tee.

“So what?,” he scoffed leaning back up to look down at you. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”

His words strike your heart.

You roll your eyes, throwing your self to lay facing your bedroom wall now, not wanting him to see the tears that are welling in your eyes.

“Whatever.” You say, though he picks up on the way your voice cracks slightly at the end.

He lets out a quick huff, crawling on the bed behind you.

He lays the same way you are but keeps space between you.

Theres a few minutes of complete silence before he speaks.

“Why have you been ignoring me?”

You lay there for a moment before clearing your throat and flipping over to face him.

You study his features, his hair has grown, now he has small curls that now fall over his forehead.

You reach out and twist one on your finger, something that you used to do until he chopped them all of his first year of high school.

He had kept them short until he left for college.

You sigh, letting the curl unravel itself from your grip.

Watching it bounce back into place you finally speak.

“Why’d you leave me here all alone su-su?”

Your voice is a meek whisper, no doubt from the partying.

A soft smile over takes his expression, followed by a slight chuckle.

“Im only 2 hours away.”

“Yeah but you’re not here!”

His face contorts to hold a small frown.

‘Mm’ it’s a disapproving grunt.

You look at him with sad, puppy dog eyes and he can’t help but feel horrible for going off to school.

“I know it’s not fair of me to be upset because I can just come to you whenever,” you blow a strand of hair out of your face and move so you’re now laying facing up and looking at the ceiling. “But It’s just so depressing without you here.”

Your head drops to look at him, awaiting his reaction. You can see him thinking hard about how to respond to your vulnerability. His brows are furrowed slightly as his lips are curled into a quizzical scowl.

A moment passes and he finally speaks up.

“Yeah but I can always come back here too, you just never reach out so I don’t.”

Heat crawls up your face, embarrassed at yourself.

The illicit substances are still flowing in your body, you can tell by the way you’re hot all over and the fact you can hear yourself slurring your own words when you speak.

“Jus’ missed you su-su.” You say wiggling around until you’re positioned in his arms, your face in his chest.

He wraps his arms around you, bending his wrists so his fingers can wrap themselves in your hair.

He moves to adjust to the new position, allowing his head to get comfortable, his chin rests itself on the top of your head.

He breathes in through his nose deeply before he talks again.

“I’ve missed you.”

You and Matsukawa had always been affectionate, to the point his friends would tease him about how normal friends weren’t that close.

He knew that. He didn’t need his annoying ass homeboys telling him too.

It was all innocent though! Holding hands, kisses on the cheek, hugging, or you hugging the large boy’s side as he had an arm draped over your shoulders, and even cuddling to go to sleep.

But, when he went off to school his horizons were… opened… in a sense.

Frat parties and girls throwing ass became a regular occurrence for him, but even with countless girls making advances at him and his friends trying to peer pressure him into joining hookup culture, he held loyal to the younger girl from back home.

Simply shutting them down with a simple “I already got a girl.”

Though you not speaking to him was driving him crazy, so crazy that he was loosing sleep over it. That’s why he decided to take the first train to you on Friday night.

He had arrived at 3 a.m., letting himself in with the spare key your parents gave him years ago.

He of course had told them he was coming into town late, but they didn’t care, just happy he was coming to see you.

The thing about Matsukawa though, was that he was sneaky. Since your parents loved him so much they would never assume he had ill-intent by coming to town on a Friday.

Which, they were right, he was in college so weekends tended to be easier to visit on, but this Friday was different.

This was the 2nd Friday of the month. Which was conveniently the Friday your parents went into the city for the night every month for date nights.

It had been this way for over 10 years.

He had other intentions for this visit though, none that could be considered innocent.

All those girls had him thinking of you, the images of you that had started filling up your private finsta had him nearly banging his head against the wall.

Tiny dresses that had your chest spilling out of them, tiny shorts that were basically just underwear and lowcut shirts all had his mind reeling.

‘Who are you showing off for?’

The question thumped the inside of his skull every night as he viewed your photos and highlights.

Thoughts of the girl he had known as long as he could remember turned from innocent jealousy to something evil.

He knew he was done for when your provocative images were the only thing that could get him off.

He felt dirty every-time he palmed himself to your feed.

He didn’t care though. You were going to be his and he was going to be sure of that.

You pushing your head harder into his chest broke him out of his train of thought.

“Y/n”

“Hmm?” A quiet questioning hum leaves your throat. Eyes closed as you breathe in his scent.

“You know we’re more than just friends right?”

You pull back enough so you can make eye contact with him.

You look over his face once before responding.

“I know.”

“So then what are we doing? Why have you been ignoring me?”

You resettle yourself into his chest, inhaling and mulling over the real reason why you were so upset at him.

“Because,” you close your eyes again and take a deep breath to calm down. “Because what if you found a girl there? In the city? I wouldn’t want to hold you back Issei. And it made me upset because I love you a lot.”

Your mind is still fuzzy so you’re slow to recognize the words tumbling past your lips.

You hear his breath catch in his throat before he begins choking.

He sits up and catches his breath, finally finishing his coughing fit.

You sit up now too, realizing what you just said.

“Im sorry! I- i didn’t- i do love you but I-“ youre cut off by warm lips on yours.

You kiss back, melting into him.

You deepen the kiss and reach up grabbing his shirt collar, guiding him with it.

You gently push against him with your hands and he lays back on your bed.

You simultaneously swing your leg over him, straddling the lanky older boy.

His hands find perch on your hips, circling his thumbs slowly on them.

You break the kiss and look down at him.

He smiles up at you widely and you smile back. Giggles escaping the both of you, it was the type of laughter that you only have when you’re doing something you’re not supposed to be doing with someone you’re close with.

You lean down, smile still on your faces as you kiss his cheek, peppering soft kissed down his jaw and on to his neck.

He tilts his head, allowing more space for the action.

He uses his hands to move your hips against him, a quiet moan leaving the back of his throat at the friction and sensation of kisses on his neck.

You giggled, letting him continue to rock you as he pleased.

You kiss back up his neck and jaw until you land back on his mouth.

You lock lips with him , resting your hands on his shoulders as you start moving at your own pace.

He gasps into your mouth at the unexpected change of pace.

After a moment he flips the two of you over.

Looking down at you, he studies your face.

You feel embarrassed at his lingering stare, what if he looks at you too long and notices all your flaws?

“Y/n,” his voice is raspy and low. You look back up at him and his gaze is intense. “Those pictures you’ve been posting…,” he lets an airy chuckle escape his mouth as he slightly drops his head and shakes it, like he’s trying to shake bad thoughts out of his head. “Who are you posting them for?” His eyes now locked on you.

The heat in your cheeks burns even harder than it had been. You contemplate telling him the truth or saying no one.

“You.” It’s a hushed whisper, you look so cute under him, giving him a bashful look.

You now see his face flush as he looks away from you.

After a few beats of silence he turns his head to face you again.

“Good.”

It’s not bold and he still has a hint of nervousness to his tone.

Leaning down he captures you by the lips yet again.

He’s more fervent than before, grinding into you, kissing sloppily down your neck.

You stop him by grabbing his face and making him look at you.

“Are we really gonna..,” you look away as your voice drops to a whisper. “Have sex?”

You have doe eyes as you look back to him, awaiting the older boys answer.

His face softens at the way you look at him.

“Do you… want to?” He whispers back to you.

He’s always been like this.

So sweet to you that it made his friends throw up at how different he acted when you were around.

Obviously you two would bicker and tease each other but it was never the way he was with literally anyone else.

He’s still looking at you, but now he rolls onto the side of you.

He brings his hands up and uses his index finger to trace your jawline.

You look over at him and finally give your answer.

“Yes,” his eyes light up a bit before you speak again. “But, you have to be 100% honest first.”

An eyebrow shoots up on his face.

“About what?”

“Haveyoubeenwithanyoneelsebehonestrightnow.”

You look away from him, nervous to hear his answer.

“Woah- no! I most definitely have not!”

He’s actually kind of hurt that you would think he would do that to you.

“Promise?” You stick your pinky out at him.

“I promise.” He laces his with yours, signifying he true to his word.

You sigh and flip yourself back on to his lap.

“Good.” You say, a playful grin tugging at your lips.

“Have you.”

“Hell no!”

He chuckles before lacing his hand through the hair on the nape of your neck, pulling you back to him.

Just before he kisses you he whispers, breath on your lips. “Good.”

This time the kissing is different.

Theres a confirmed goal between the two of you and it’s hard to slow down now.

The finish line is so close.

Issei’s hand untangles itself from your hair and makes it’s way down your body.

Finding itself back you your hip for a brief moment, until he slides two of his fingers along the hem of your underwear.

You flinch at the sudden movement, but allow him to continue.

Your stomach is swarming with butterflies and youre body is so hot you might melt.

“Ya’ know y/n….” He says now running his fingers back and forth on the hem slowly. You close your eyes and take a deep breath in a pathetic attempt to calm you nerves. “All those girls at school only made me miss you more than I thought was possible.”

He traces his finger lightly up you naval and over your ribs, splaying his hand out flat against your side, his thumb makes small circular movements on your skin.

You now open your eyes and study his expression.

His eyes are heavy and lidded, no doubt from arousal and the fact it’s now past 5 in the morning.

“Issei.”

He looks away from where his hand connects to your skin, eyeing the cute lace underwear you had on.

“Hm?”

You move his hand and back on his lap.

“Can we please keep going?”

He was so caught up in enjoying your presence he had almost briefly forgotten what you two were doing.

He flips back over you with a small smile.

He looks nervous. You had only seen him like this a few times in all the years you had known him. So it was unexpected from the usually confident man.

You reach up and cup his face, rubbing your thumb faintly over his bottom lip.

You pull him down towards you, restarting what had abruptly ended a few minutes ago.

Kissing back you and him fall back into the same pattern you had been in prior.

This time it’s for real. There’s nothing stopping the two of you.

He pushes the bottom of your shirt up, and you break away only to sit up and throw it off of you.

His eyes fall down to your chest. He had never seen real boobs in person before. At least not like this.

“Su-su?,” his gaze comes back to your face. You point to his shirt. “Your turn.” It’s meek, as if you were embarrassed to even hint you wanted him to discard his clothes too.

“Oh! Sorry!” He quickly takes his shirt off, then stands to drop his pants to the floor.

He quickly kicks them off his ankles and gets back on your bed.

Youre both sitting facing each other, both on your knees.

“Now what?” He throws a hand to rub the back of his neck, unsure what to do, or more what you wanted him to do.

“Now, you kiss me again and uhm,” your face grows a deep shade of red. You look down at his hands, resting on his knees. “You touch me.”

“Okay.” He says, letting a breath of air escape his mouth.

Leaning over you two reconnect. Lips matching eachothers paces.

At first hes slow and gentle but then he deepens the kiss, speeding up his movements.

Hes now over you (again, damn you guys really need to stop stopping.) hand running up and down the sode of your thigh gently.

You weren't unaware of just how large Matsukawa was.

You were in fact the opposite. His large size never failed to amaze you.

When you were younger, it was cool. He was so much taller than everyone!

You never thought anything weird of it until last year year.

You were with him, and a few of his volleyball teammates at his house.

They were 17 and had gotten the opportunity to have a house to themselves.

It took Matsukawa weeks of begging his parents to let him have his friends over.

It took you one minute and a promise of no funny business under your watch.

They agreed, trusting you more than him.

Though, promising a whole house for a weekend to multiple teenage boys is basically asking for something bad to go down.

Long story short, the other 3 boys had scrounged around their parents cabinets for any alcohol they could.

“9 beers, half a bottle of sake, and 2 whole bottles of wine, curtsey of Tooru.” Hiro speaks out to the small group.

‘Not bad’s followed the statement.

An hour later, you guys were all giggly and drunk, never having drank this much before.

“Ok, ok so youre telling me you two have neverrrrr,” Oikawa points a finger back and forth between you and Issei. You’re lazily leaned up against his side, as his arm rests around your shoulder. “Ya’know…did it?” A shit eating grin is plastered on his face.

Your face is burning hot from the topic of conversation.

Issei is looking away from you, but you can tell he’s also feeling the same way you are.

You nod ‘no’ to Oikawa’s question. Ignorantly hoping that would be the end of it.

“I mean think about it from y/n’s perspective.,” now Iwaizumi joins in. You turn towards him, thinking maybe he would be your savior. You were wrong. “Mattsun is like, ginormous compared to her, and i mean, not to be like gay, but he’s probably… well endowed.”

Your face is now sheet white from the statement. Grabbing your can you chug the last of your beer.

“Dude!” Issei now shouts out at his friend. Throwing the nearest pillow at the other boy.

“Sorry! It’s just a thought bro!”

“You’re so gay!”

“Am not!”

The two boys keep bickering as you now look back over at Issei.

It’s like a switch flips in your head. A sudden shift in your guys relationship was felt by both of you.

From that point forward you two could barely touch each other without shying your faces away from one another.

After a few months though it slowly became normal for you two again. This time though-when he would pull you close into him while walking home, or scoot closer to you on the bench at lunch, just so he could be near you- a new feeling settled in your stomach.

Something sweet but hungry.

That’s how you felt now.

There was something in the deepest, darkest parts of you that was starving. Something animalistic.

A hand sliding over the material of your underwear grounds you.

Your breath hitches in anticipation.

He looks at you, a glint of mischief and curiosity is in his eyes. You know this look. It’s the look he gets when he’s testing the waters with how long he can get away with do something before pissing you off.

This time though, its for a different reason.

How far can he go until you’re begging for him?

He had now come to realize he could go pretty far.

Your underwear are long gone, hands entangled in the boys curls.

He’s 2 fingers deep into you, mouth working the rest of you.

For a virgin he was surprisingly good at this.

You wondered for brief second if he had lied to you but that train of thought was quickly lost when he pulled back from you.

“Am I… doing it right? I’m not really sure what i’m doing.” His fingers are still moving in and out of you, his eyes are locked on your face, trying to read your expressions.

You grab his wrist hinting for him to stop, so you can properly answer him.

You pant for a few seconds before propping yourself up to look at him.

“Yes. Really good. More than good Issei.”

You get a good look at his face, his pupils are dilated, hair messy from your fingers, and the bottom half of his face is glistening from a mixture of his saliva and your arousal.

“Okay, good.” He says, a smile yet again takes over his face.

He goes to move his fingers again but you grip on his wrist again.

Biting your lip, your eyes now avoid his.

“Can we, uhm, y’know..”

His eyes widen. Anxiety now wracking through him again, but also a sort of excitement at the prospect offered to him.

“Yes!” It was more desperate than he had hoped, internally he cringed at it.

He repositioned over you. Pushing his underwear down and kicking them off.

You look down.

“Woah.” Your eyes are opened wide, mouth slightly agape.

He studies your face, now growing nervous at your staring.

“Is something wrong?” He asks.

You look back at him. “No! It’s just, like, really big…”

Issei swears he could’ve finished in that moment, but he didn’t. He was proud of himself.

“We don’t have to do anything.”

“Issei,” You have a pitiful look on your face. “Please?”

He doesn’t know what happened.

One second he’s reassuring you, the next he’s pushed all the way inside you.

Your whimpers and clawing at his back makes him damn near primal.

“Are you okay?”

“Y-yes! Please, do something Issei!” You whine out to him.

You feel full. Unable to do anything but think about Issei.

A guttural moan leaves his throat.

He slowly pulls back and you hiss at the burning.

“A-are you sure you want me to-,”

“Issei. Do it.” It’s stern but reassuring for him in a way.

He keeps going, eyes trained on where you two connect.

He quickly slams his hips back into yours.

A loud moan leaves you.

Its the best thing he’s ever heard, and now he’s determined to hear it more.

He quickly sets a pace, slow and steady.

Your hands are entangled in his hair again, slightly pulling whenever he thrusts back into you.

“Fuck! It’s so big!”

“D-dont, fuck, don’t stop!”

Your words thumped in his head. The encouragement only made him go faster and harder.

He cant stop staring at your face, watching how every movement has your eyes rimming up with tears.

You had been entranced, staring at where he filled you up. Now you look back up at him.

“You’re s-so pretty -aha- Issei!”

The once determined drive to fuck you was suddenly turned into something else.

Now he was determined to make love to you. Suddenly realizing how intimate this moment was.

Having you here like this for him, so pretty and vulnerable.

He’s filled with so much love for you it hurts.

“Fuck, i fucking love you.” He states, it’s broken up between thrusts and soft moans leaving the both of you.

“Love you too issei.” You pull him in for a sloppy kiss.

His movements are slow and languid.

He’s focused on making you feel good.

His thumb is stroking your cheek as he peppers small kisses and sweet nothings to you.

It’s not much longer until you feel a knot forming in your abdomen.

“I-i think m’gonna cum.” You say.

“Wha- okay, yeah, me too.” He’s breathing hard.

You can see the sweat beads on his face, resting where his brows are furrowed together in concentration.

He continues the pace, hoping to bring you both to your releases at the same time.

And he does.

“M’cumming su-su!”

“Shit- me too baby!”

He thrusts into you a few more times before letting out a loud groan.

You had cum slightly before, it tumbled into him doing so as well.

Collapsing on top of you, he turns and kisses all ovver the side of your face quicky.

“Mwah!mwah!mwah!” He says as he does so.

You laugh and ghost your fingernails over his shoulder blades.

“You’re so stupid issei.” It’s a followed by a soft giggle.

“Whatever. You’re the stupid one.”

“What?! How?!”

He looks at you raising a brow.

“Sneaking out? Partying? Failing your classes? All because I went off to school and you thought i’d meet another girl? That’s stupid.”

“Whatever…”

“You know I’m right.”

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

8 months later

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

“Are you excited to start university?” Hiro’s voice chirps at you from across the room.

“Yes! I’m happy i got into the same one as you and Su-su.” You beam at him.

“Yeah. Matsukawa won’t shut the hell up about it,” his eyes roll. “And just so you know. You will not be taking over our dorm.”

“Whatever Hiro.” Your eyes roll and your smile is now replaced with a scowl.

“Hey, hey, you two! Calm down. Y/n’s parents actually love her and so she has her own dorm like a damn brat.” Oikawa’s voice now interrupts you and Hiro making faces and flipping each other off.

“I am not a brat!” Your tone is whiney, like a toddler throwing a fit.

“Loud and wrong.” Iwa’s voice is harsh and cold, but you know he’s just poking some fun at you.

“Leave her alone! Just because our parents didn’t want to pay thousands extra for us to have our own rooms doesn’t make her a brat!” Your, now, boyfriend Mattsun says, approaching behind you.

“Issei don’t be sarcastic! I’ll have you guys know my parents only did it because i finished with perfect marks in school. So it’s my reward.” You cross your arms, huffing and looking away from the four boys who are all gathered in your room, helping you pack for college.

Hiro puts on a fake frilly posh accent, “my daddy says because i did a good job he’s going to buy me a Mercedes!”

“Shut up Hiro!” You holler.

The boys are all snickering at your annoyance.

“All right, all right, our bad.” Iwaizumi huffs out and uses his hands to motion for everyone to calm down.

“Now on to more pressing matters,” Oikawa speaks. “Care to explain why these are in your dresser drawer y/n?” He now reveals a box of condoms.

You feel your heart drop to your feet, then a sudden need to defend yourself comes over you.

“Why are you opening my underwear drawer?” You point at him.

His face drops.

All the boys are now giving him blank stares, waiting to see what he says.

“You told me to empty them out! I didnt know it was your underwear drawer. But when i opened it these were on top!”

You roll your eyes.

“Perv.” You scoff turning away to resume filling the box you had with your belongings.

“Whatever. Answer the question.” Oikawa says.

“It’s pretty self explanatory.”

“Yeah but these are magnums.”

“Ok? We already had this conversation last year at Issei’s.”

“Uhhh, nuh uh!,” oikawa wags his finger back and forth. “We had they hypothesis it wouldn’t work. Thats what we talked about.”

“Tooru..” Issei now interjects. It’s a warning to him to stop having this conversation.

Oikawa doesn’t listen.

“So?”

“So what?” You sneer.

“Does it?”

“Barely! There! Are you happy?” You are obviously exasperated at the fact you had to answer or deal with Oikawa never leaving you alone about it.

‘Ayeeee’s and a ‘my boy!’ Fill your room for a moment.

You walk over and snatch the box from Oikawas hands.

“Asshole.”

He sticks his tongue out at your reply.

Issei moves forwards and wraps his arm around your waist, his other reaching around to grab the box out of your hands.

“I’ll take that!” He says with a smile and kiss to your cheek.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” A faint blush dusts your face, and a small smile, despite your annoyed tone.

Issei can tell you’re not mad.

“You know you love me.” He says, a smirk on his face.

“Unfortunately.” You now deadpan out to him.

Masterlist

[rineros]

SHE WAS TOO GOOD TO ME

summary: he wants to heal

characters: miya atsumu, ex!reader

contains: 1.6k, self reflection post breakup

note: don’t judge ooc atsuwu i haven’t written hq fics in four years and he was the closest person to my ex bestie #fuckthatguy

sometimes, miya atsumu allows himself to wonder what could have happened if he wasn’t such an asshole.

he glances to his right. across the empty side of the bed where the scent of your shampoo was fading, his alarm clock reads 2:56 am. he groans loudly in frustration and drags his hands down his face, stretching out his tired features.

he stares at his ceiling that is illuminated by the glow in the dark stars you and he stuck up there once upon a time. a small smile strikes him when he remembers walking in on you hopping on the bed to get them up there.

he had watched you for a minute before you saw him. he’ll never forget that warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest when you laughed joyously the moment you saw him and jumped from the bed to his arms. he held on to you tightly as he spun you around, relishing in the feeling of being truly loved.

you had kissed him so gently as you smiled when he set you down that he thought of himself as an adorable little puppy.

you excitedly showed him the progress you had made over the past hour, which honestly wasn’t much, but he knew you had probably gotten distracted by your phone.

“i got an idea,” he said, putting his hands on your shoulders. “turn around.”

“you’re one dirty dog, you know that?” you giggled as you followed his movements.

you had yelped as you felt yourself being hoisted up into the air, but he gripped your waist as you held on to his hair for dear life. you steadied yourself and praised him for being such an innovative and creative problem-solver, making his cheeks flush.

from there, he walked to wherever in the room you wanted to place the stars, bed be damned, and by the time you two had finished, the sun had set. he set you down as he had done earlier and the two of you had lain patiently in bed, talking to pass the time as you waited for the darkness to settle.

when the stars started glowing, both of you had squealed childishly, but he thought that all those rare, once-in-a-lifetime comets could never compare to the sparkle in your eyes. cheesy, he knows.

he checks his clock again. it’s a quarter past three.

osamu’s going to be pissed if he calls him.

fuck it.

atsumu grabs his phone from the nightstand and dials the person who will always listen to him. he cringes when he hears osamu’s ringtone across the hallway.

it rings… and rings… and rings. voicemail.

an eerie silence settles in the apartment. you always hated that. the air is still, his pillow is much too flat, and there’s a disturbing feeling bubbling in his throat.

atsumu jumps and drops his phone on his face as his ringtone blares in his ears. he pinches the bridge of his nose, rubbing it to soothe the sharp pain as he accepts the call.

“the hell you want?” the raspy voice of his brother mutters. atsumu feels bad because he knows that osamu’s first class starts at 8:00, but he can’t deal with this anymore tonight.

“i just… i wanted to talk.” his foot starts to shake and bounce as the silence returns.

a second passes, then another.

“come over.”

with that, his restless body rises from bed and walks quickly and nimbly across the hall to osamu’s room with his blanket wrapped around him. he opens the door to a half-asleep osamu and climbs into his queen-sized bed, the perk he received since atsumu got the bigger room. he makes himself comfortable as he lays on his side to face osamu, bringing the blanket up to his chin, basking in the warmth that could never match your own.

“gimme a sec,” osamu says gruffly. his eyes are still closed as he lays on his back. atsumu watches as he takes a few more deep breaths, then slowly cracks his neck to wake himself up. “talk.”

atsumu moves to lay himself on his back after he sees his eyes open slightly. they both stare at osamu’s bare ceiling.

“i never told you this, but when she broke up with me,” he pauses. “she didn’t cry. she looked too exhausted.

“she told me even before we broke up that i stopped putting in as much effort and that she felt like she wasn’t even in a relationship anymore, just the ghost of it.

“she completely tore me to shreds without even raising her voice because that’s who she is. no matter how much you hurt her, she’ll never hurt you. she cares too much. she wasn’t even trying to rip into me, like, she was just explaining the type of person i am and how my actions affected her and everyone’s perception of me.

“she told me that every time i hurt her, it seemed like i didn’t take her seriously and i never took accountability for my actions; i was always trying to weasel my way out of trouble.

“but i just wanted to preserve everyone’s feelings, y’know? i wanted to keep the peace. i never meant to make her feel like that.”

atsumu stops talking for a second as he waits for osamu to say something. it’s all a blur, with bits and pieces flashing in his head, but he could never forget the blank look in your eyes as you pointed out his shortcomings as a person, not just as a boyfriend.

“we judge others based on their actions, but we judge ourselves by our intentions,” osamu says. his voice is still ragged with exhaustion and his eyes have closed yet again. “i heard mom say somethin’ like that to her friend once.

“i believe you when you say you think you didn’t do anything wrong, but that’s only from your perspective. you’re busy; i get that and so does she. there’s volleyball, classes, homework, clubs, work, your friends, and then you added her, but it seems like you had spread yourself too thin already—“

“and that’s exactly one of the points i told her,” atsumu interrupts. “i’m not gonna be able to give her 100% all the time because i already do so much.”

osamu side-eyes him. “will you shut up and let me finish?”

atsumu huffs but lets him continue anyway.

“what i’m trying to get at is that, yeah, you’re busy, but you’re not the only person that’s busy. this isn’t just your world that we’re living in, it’s everyone’s. to her, it must have seemed like all of the effort, time, and love she invested in you was losing its value every time you ignored her or prioritized something stupid when she needed you. it’s not difficult to detach yourself from something that treats you like you don’t matter if you know your worth.

“you also lie. a lot. and i know you think they’re harmless little white lies, but they’ve gotten too out of hand lately that you’ve probably become desensitized to them.

“she’s smart and she knows you. she knew whenever you lied and it destroyed any kind of trust or credibility that you had.

“and that bullshit about wanting to spare everyone’s feelings? you know you don’t care about all that. also, who cares? nobody made you play mediator besides yourself and it’s impossible to not hurt anyone. you’re already hurting people; you’ve done it before and you’re going to keep doing it because that’s what learning is about. making mistakes. and if you haven’t already realized that you’re hurting people more than you would if you’d just tell the damn truth, you’re screwed,” osamu finishes his monologue, leaving atsumu in his thoughts.

was it really that bad for you? was he?

when he was younger, his tongue was as sharp as a shard of glass and he was much more careless with his words. it didn’t matter to him if the true words, in his opinion, hurt those around him. his belief was that there was no improvement without criticism. as he grew up, however, he had to learn to filter himself because nobody would willingly choose to be around someone who solely focused on their flaws.

and somewhere between then and now, he had forgotten the importance of honesty, usually opting to twist and bend the truth to preserve his reputation. it started off with a fib of “too much hw, can’t hang tn :(“ to multiple complicated lies spanning months, in which he would tell others things to make himself seem better. the kinder person, the most reliable, the smartest. just better.

eventually, it became too difficult to manage all of these lies and his stories became mixed up. when he was questioned about it, he would lie even more and even harder.

even now, as osamu told atsumu what he thought of him and his situation with you, there wasn’t much good. though atsumu came to osamu for comfort tonight, he, like you, wasn’t trying to make him feel bad, but it seems that’s the way he is destined to feel about himself when his personality is brought into conversation.

osamu snores next to him and as atsumu snuggles up to his blanket further, he realizes that this is a path he no longer wants to walk down.

he’s going to be better.

[vilintciay]

“Baby, you have no idea what I want, no idea what I need. I don't want to be your friend, I don't want to start over again. I want to fuck you until you can't walk straight, until the only thing you can think about is my cock buried deep inside this tight little cunt.

I want to be the man who fucks you so hard and so good that you'll never even think about being friends with me again. I want to ruin you for all other men, want to make it so that the only thing you can think about is being my personal fuck toy. So shut the fuck up and take it.”

!TOXIC EX BF!; OIKAWA, KYOUTANI, ATSUMU, Futakuchi, Semi, TENDOU, Suna, Matsukawa, IWAIZUMI, TERUSHIMA, Daishou, Osamu.

[noorpersona]

Unrequited Love: Oikawa (Bonus)

The team was loud, as always.

Oikawa, now freshly showered and looking somewhat like himself again, was in the middle of being teased by Hanamaki and Matsukawa.

“So, Captain, let’s talk about your tragic love life,” Matsukawa said, slinging an arm around Oikawa’s shoulders.

Hanamaki took a dramatic sip of his drink. “Yeah, we all knew she was gonna break up with you before you did. What does that say about you, huh?”

“Shut up,” Oikawa groaned, smacking Matsukawa’s arm off him, though there was no real heat behind it. You could see his mood rising with every passing moment.

“Hey, at least you still have volleyball,” Matsukawa said, raising his glass like he was making a toast.

“Right, the one true love of your life,” Hanamaki added with a smirk.

Oikawa sighed dramatically. “You guys are the worst.”

You watched from the side, letting their banter wash over you. The ache from earlier was still there, a dull weight in your chest, but at least Oikawa wasn’t sulking anymore. That was the important thing.

A presence appeared beside you, and you didn’t even have to look to know it was Hajime.

“I’m impressed,” he admitted, crossing his arms as he watched Oikawa shove Hanamaki. “I tried to get him out of bed earlier, but he wouldn’t budge.”

You smirked, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “That’s because you don’t know how to sweet-talk him, Hajime.”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. If I tried sweet-talking Oikawa, I’d never hear the end of it.”

You snickered. “Yeah, he’d probably take that as an invitation to propose.”

Hajime shook his head, amused, before glancing at you, his expression shifting into something more knowing. “So,” he said casually, “are you going to make a move, or are we just going to keep going in circles?”

You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your hair. “Please, you should’ve seen what he told me earlier.”

Hajime raised an eyebrow.

You turned to him, pressing a hand to your chest mockingly, and sighed dramatically. “He looked me in the eye, Hajime. And do you know what he said?”

Hajime waited.

“You’re a good friend,” you deadpanned, voice dripping with bitterness.

Hajime winced. “Ouch.”

“Yeah.” You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “So, no, I’m not making a move. Not when he clearly doesn’t see me that way.”

Hajime was quiet for a moment before shrugging. “You never know. He’s an idiot. You might have to spell it out for him.”

You huffed, watching as Oikawa dramatically whined about something to the others. “Yeah, well… I think I’ve done enough for one night.” Then you hear a whine of your name. You look over to Oikawa's pleading face along with Matsun's and Makki's devious ones.

“You promised me they would give me a break!” Oikawa suddenly called out, his voice carrying over the chatter of the team. His eyes locked onto yours, pleading dramatically, though the glint of betrayal was exaggerated.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress a smirk. “C’mon, guys, give him some slack,” you called, raising your hands in surrender.

Hanamaki gasped in mock offense. “Oh, so now you’re defending him?”

“She’s going soft,” Matsukawa said, shaking his head.

“I am not going soft,” you shot back, narrowing your eyes.

Hajime, beside you, smirked before stepping forward. “Actually, now that I think about it… didn’t Oikawa almost cry in first-year when he lost his favorite knee pads?”

Oikawa whipped around. “Iwa-chan.”

“Oh, right!” Hanamaki’s eyes lit up. “The ones with the little stars on them?”

“You guys swore to take that to the grave!” Oikawa cried, scandalized.

“I don’t know, man,” Matsukawa said, leaning back with a grin. “Kind of sounds like a moment that deserves to be remembered.”

As the teasing escalated, Oikawa slumped in his seat, arms crossed, pouting like a child. “I hate all of you.”

You laughed at the whole exchange, and when you glanced back at Oikawa, expecting him to still be sulking, you caught something different—something small, almost imperceptible.

He was smiling.

It was barely there, just a slight tug at the corners of his lips, but it was real. And for a brief moment, as his gaze lifted, he met your eyes.

The world around you blurred, and warmth spread through your chest. You swore you felt your heart stutter, just for a second.

And then, as quickly as the moment had happened, you cursed yourself for it.

Get a grip, you scolded yourself, tearing your gaze away.

Oikawa was still laughing with the others, completely unaware of the effect he had on you.

You exhaled, shaking your head, willing the butterflies away.

Hajime, still standing beside you, didn’t say anything, but when you glanced at him, he was looking at you with a knowing expression.

“Not a word,” you muttered.

He smirked. “Didn’t say anything.”

You groaned, shoving his shoulder, but he only chuckled in response.

[mollyrolls]

stop the clock 𖦹 matsukawa i. x reader

day 8: the name drop

in collaboration with get ugly by @eggyrocks @warlocksoup

an: if you guys haven't seen my rampant screaming, eggy's new phenomenal fic get ugly is in the stc universe!!! you must go read it and give eggy love otherwise ill eat you

uquiz 𖦹 pinterest

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“You broke my heart, you know that?”

Issei calls out to the expanse of the store as he enters, foot barely past the threshold before he speaks.

“Uh, sorry?”

Suddenly, his blood runs cold. The voice coming from the desk is not the one he’s come to love, but a completely new one. He turns slowly, preparing himself for the embarrassment he will have to endure.

Sitting in her perch was a shorter guy, with a streak of blonde cutting right through his hair. He’s looking at Issei like he knows him, which is confusing because Issei’s sure this is the first time he’s seen him.

Upon seeing his face, the guy from the counter breaks into a huge grin.

“Oh my god, you must be Mattsun.”

Adjusting slightly to appear more relaxed, he gives a tentative smile.

“Uh, yeah. I am.”

The guy leans forward on his elbows, watching him like a TV show.

“How much money have you actually spent on cherries? It’s got to be like ¥4000 at this point.”

This peaks his interest significantly. He hasn’t told anyone but Makki and Suna about the cherries, because he had to explain the new business expense he’d been logging, so it must have been her.

This of course means-

“She talks about me?” He can hardly contain his glee at this news.

“Yeah. It’s not-”

Issei puts a hand up to stop the guy. He doesn’t care to hear what she’s been saying, for better or for worse. Since it’s likely worse, the knowledge that he consumes the tiniest bit of space in her brain is enough for him.

As he does so, the guy splits into a huge grin.

“You’re just like I imagined. Can I please watch you flirt? I need this for science.”

Before he can do anything, the guy behind the counter yells out to the store. 

Yells her name. Something in Issei’s head starts to spin. 

He wanted to know her name. So badly that he was chastised relentlessly by Makki for spending his whole shift on his phone with Suna. They had scoured every corner of her spotify account, looking for anything to identify her.

Tragically, she’d prepared for him. Her username was just a bunch of numbers, she had no profile name or picture, and all the playlists were simply numbered 1-16. 

So yes, knowing her name was like fireworks sparking in his head. But this was not how he wanted to learn it. He likes that she makes him work; he wanted it to be a prize that he’d earned.

At the sound of her name, she appears behind the little isles and looks over at where they are. Issei can’t help but notice she’s in his corner. Where the cherries are. 

As she makes eye contact with Issei, her facade cracks. Surprise, embarrassment, realization, embarrassment, collected, all in the span of a few seconds. She comes around to round out their circle, not really looking at Issei. 

He thinks it’s weird seeing her from this angle. She’s not different, maybe a little nervous, but not enough to really change her demeanor. Yet, without the safety of her counter she looks more vulnerable. 

“Is something wrong, Noya?” She asks the guy behind the counter, seemingly unprepared to handle Issei. 

Noya grins cheekily, and gestures to the space between them as if inviting the show to begin. She glowers at him but he seems unaffected. Issei’s impressed; if he was on the receiving end of that glare he’d need some new pants.

Noya beams wider before turning to him again. “Cmon, let’s see it! Lay on the charm man.” 

“You’re gross. And stealing from me by still being clocked in,” She bites back before Issei can even start. He just stands back and watches their exchange, like a spectator at the zoo. 

Something in him is jealous of Noya and the way he can get her to shed her skin. Regardless, he takes what he can get. Despite his nasty gut feeling, he’s seeing a side of her he’s never gotten access to. What she’s like with her friends, when she’s not putting on her facade. Who his mystery girl really is.

Noya eventually concedes after being threatened short of death and is pushed out of the store. Before he disappears into the dusk, he whispers something to her that makes her eyes roll all the way to the back of her head. 

She watches him turn the corner and disappear into the night, and Issei notices the steadying breaths she has to take.

Upon re-entering the store, she looks more collected. As she tucks her hands in her back pockets, she rocks a little on her feet. He looks down and notices the boots she’s sporting, and the tiniest little streak on the toe.

“So.”

His attention is brought back up when she addresses him, still swaying slightly.

“So?”

She shifts her shoulders back reflexively, like she’s ready for a fight. “You know my name now.”

He looks back at her, saying nothing. She doesn’t take the bait.

“What, you aren’t gonna berate me to death? Wax poetic about how beautiful it is and how it suits me and how when you heard it, angels sang?”

He tries to hide a smile. “Do you want me to?”

“No.”

“Then I won’t.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “What happened to you?”

He gives a tiny shrug.

“I don’t know what you mean. I’m still the same old Issei.”

Unconvinced, she glares at him a little longer. He takes it on the chin. When she presses, he stands firm.

Issei thinks she’s sorting things out in her head. He’d give her whatever she needs, even if it makes his knees a little weak, and right now that means a silent dressing down. His hands are sweaty.

“This is unnerving.” She admits after a few moments, then turns on her heel to walk back deeper into the store.

Issei waits a couple moments then follows.

“What is?”

“You.” She reaches her destination, and starts to restock his cherries.

“Haven’t I always annoyed you though?”

“Yeah. But this is different.”

She continues picking up the pots from the box, rotating them around and sliding them into their place. There’s about 20 little jars, only taking up a single shelf.

Issei lingers nearby, leaning on the doors of a fridge. His back radiates enough heat to make some condensation. “How do you mean?”

She stops for a second in contemplation; looking over her shoulder to peer at him again, turning thoughts over in her mind. She opens her mouth to say something, but closes it just as fast. 

In her hesitancy, Issei notices a touch of vulnerability in her eyes. It’s hidden deep behind her irises, but he knows her now. With a blink, it’s gone.

 Instead, she lets out a deep sigh, a bit of frustration and a drop of disappointment.

“I dunno. Never mind.”

“Hey, cmon.” Issei tries to probe her again, keep her talking, but she grows resolute in her decision. She quickly emits an energy that is impenetrable. He doesn’t have the tools yet to identify a crack.

He stands and waits for an opening, one that she doesn’t give. The condensation from the fridge starts to drip down his neck. 

He feels a buzz in his pocket, and sees a text. 

suna [9:57 pm]: ur gonna b late. get some salt while ur there, quit harassing women, and hurry up

He can’t help the small grunt of annoyance he lets out, resentment growing at everything around him. 

When he looks back up, she’s staring at him in a way he’s never seen. There’s not a lack of emotion, there’s too many to sort. He expects her to glance away, and she does.

The whirr of the fridges is louder than normal.

“I’ll uh… I’ll see you around,” Issei starts, feeling oddly small. He scuffs his shoe, hoping she’ll ask him to stay, or ask him a clarifying question, or anything other than this suffocating silence. When nothing comes, he pushes off the wall and starts down the aisle.

He really does try to leave, but sometimes he can’t help himself. He pauses, and she watches.

“For what it’s worth, I think it’s lame your friend ruined that bit. It was kinda fun having the mystery.”

She takes the peace treaty gratefully, but still doesn’t speak.

“If you want, we can agree to forget it? I’ll earn it fair and square?”

There’s a little chuckle, mostly to herself, before she replies.

“Are you even capable of forgetting that?”

He laughs, somewhat from relief that he had managed to salvage whatever he’d fucked up.

“Nah, probably not. I can try though.”

She dismisses that with a wave of her hand.

“Why bother. I’ll just… put bleach in Noya’s shampoo or something.”

He grins at her, easy and open. She doesn’t return it, but stands up a bit more casually. 

The unspoken words between them weigh heavy in the air, but it’s returned to a level that Issei can manage. They’re closer than he’d thought.

He realizes he’s been staring, trying and failing to place her perfume. Issei ducks his head quickly, before turning and walking out more intentionally.

Right before he reaches the door, he turns around one last time. To his surprise, he meets her eyes. 

“I- I hope the concert was good. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He can’t hear her from across the store, but sees her mouth ‘bye.’

By the time he gets to work, he’s distracted. Anytime a woman tries to flirt with him, all he can think of is the melody behind her eyes, and what was going through her head. 

Issei doesn’t make that many tips that night.

She’s hunched over her drawing table, various trashed doodles surrounding her. Her phone is plugged into the wall, just above 14%. It always dies faster when she’s on the phone.

“I don’t see what the big deal is?”

Seven’s voice is breathy over the speaker, she’s out in the cold. She fills in the background of her strip with haphazard crosses.

“So he’s a little dorky guy with a crush. Is he threatening?”

She lets out a half-there chuckle. “No. He likes batman band-aids.”

“So what’s the problem?”

Her pencil tip breaks from the pressure. 

“I-”

Instead of sharpening it, she fishes for another.

“I think he actually likes me. Like, not as a bit.”

Over the speaker, some rock radio comes over from Seven’s side. It’s loud enough that she can hear it. It makes her cringe.

“Is that so bad?”

The response takes so long that Seven has to ask if she’s there.

“Yeah. It is.”

She hangs up before she’s faced with the next probing question.

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taglist: closed.

@bakingcuriosity, @nobodybutnnoorr, @ciderscape, @lilchubbyyy, @soulfullystarry,

@interstellarz, @wakashudou , @myromanempiree, @notverymarley, @aozui,

@lllaw,, @cnnmairoll, @cosmiicdust, @reignsaway,

@wyrcan, @garfieldissocool, @soobin1437, @guitarstringed-scars, @adorerinn,

@thiisisntlovely, @miliondollagirl, @snail-squasher, @pocketful-ofdaisies, @cherrypieyourface,

@honeekyuu, @rivaiken,

@ineednanami, @akaashislovee, @kodzu-ken

@yoshit-he-dinosaur, @thyproblem, @cupidsblonde, @little-flower30, @asthmaticcchoeee

@lunasfics, @bakery-anon, @haikyuuluverrr, @chososcamgirl, @seroh

@introvertsince2003, @thechaosoflonging, @kameyyy, @riousluvs, @totallytatum

@animenaces-world, @layskettlecookedchips, @chaotic-neutral-ig, @jadeoru, @anniewings

[rintarousgirl]

dating matsukawa issei is like...

a/n: please enjoy the headcanons! off topic but i have like 60 followers rn and i just want to say thank you very much and please send in requests!! beware of the smut below the cut (all smut is post timeskip)

★ - before dating matsukawa, you'd been crushing on him. and you'd been crushing on him for a while. ever since your first year of high school you'd found yourself growing incredibly fond of the heavy-lidded boy in your mathematics class.

★ - three years later, halfway through your third year, you confess to him on Valentine's Day. he's amused by your confession, watching you stare at your feet as you hold out a small box of chocolates and pink letter with neat handwriting out to him.

★ - it's more surprising to you when he accepts, curious and teasing the shy girl who'd confessed to the closed off matsukawa issei.

★ - he's very comfortable with you right off the bat, and there's no special milestones for things. he sits with you at lunch, or well, he drags you over to his table and introduces you to his volleyball friends.

★ - he always has an arm around your shoulders or waist. he likes holding you close to his side, enjoying how small you felt next to how tall he was. you certainly weren't complaining.

★ - loves hugging you from behind, resting his chin on your head and his hands dangling off your shoulders. also a big ego boost for him about his height.

★ - loves lazy cuddling in his bed. holds you close as the two of you watch a movie at his house. you groan when he falls asleep, but he grumbles and says, "how can I help it when you're so soft?"

★ - holds your chin when you kiss, so you can't get embarrassed and pull away. of course, if you want to stop, he will, but he won't let you hide. not from him.

★ - carries your bags and books for you in the school hallway.

★ - you have a box in his closet with all your belongings for when you're over there. sweatshirts, underwear, etc...

★ - handholding is a must. he's a surprisingly affectionate guy for seemingly being so lazy.

★ - buys your favorite flavor of chapstick so he always tastes good for you when you kiss. it's small, but it's sweet and thoughtful.

★ - always is sharing clothes with you. sometimes he'll purposefully leave his sweatshirts at your house in hopes you'll show up to school the next day.

★ - always buys you your favorite chocolates before dates. he'll stop by the store and grab them, even if you guys are just going to a picnic in the park or something.

★ - loves swimming. he loves to drag you and the other third-years to go swimming with him. is constantly pushing you off the dock and then jumping in after to you and pretending he didn't.

★ - is always willing to give piggyback rides when your feet/legs hurt. volleyball has built up a lot of muscle for him, and lifting you is no harder than lifting his baby brother.

★ - petnames include "baby, sugar, and sweetheart." along with multiple silly nicknames based on your name.

★ - dating matsukawa issei feels like summer all over again, even in the deep frostbite of japan's winter season. he's warm and soft and cuddly. he feels like late mornings in bed, sheets tangled and the sun peering in through the windows. it feels like freshly washed linen and blooming gardens. matsukawa issei feels like a breath of fresh air.

★ - matsukawa pins your wrists above you as you fuck, watching you gasp and squirm and be completely unable to do something about it as he overstimulates you.

★ - matsukawa can't keep his mouth off you. he's kissing your lips, your breasts, sucking deep marks into your neck, biting at your hips.

★ - matsukawa pounds into you until the sheets beneath you both are soaked with your fluids and the only noise leaving you are soft little "ah-ah-ah"'s.

★ - matsukawa loves to brush your hair from you eyes and watch as they cloud over with lust and want.

★ - matsukawa can't help but smirk and grow a bit hard when he sees you in your bathing suit.

★ - he loves sweet dirty talk.

★ - "can't help but touch you when you look so pretty just for me, baby."

★ - doesn't let you hide your face. "c'mon baby, let me see your face when you cum."

★ - is obsessed with eating you out. he loves the way you taste, and feels intoxicated when he's between your thighs. matsukawa issei is totally pussy drunk off you.

★ - he absolutely adores teasing you in public, watching you blush and bite your lip as your thighs rub together. you try so hard to maintain conversation with oikawa, iwaizumi, and hanamaki but you can't help the way you stutter and squirm as his hand brushes your clit, fingers touching you through your soaked panties.

★ - he loves it when you whine and cry for him.

★ "please," you gasp, reaching for him. he pins your hands above your head with one hand of his own, and your hips buck lightly. "i need you, issei."

★ - "shh, don't cry baby," he'll coo as he kisses your wet cheeks, "i'll touch you baby, i promise."

★ - he begs for just the tip after a stressful day at work, and he keeps his promise to go no further but you can't help the way you twitch and squirm. he'll hide his face in your neck, his hand firmly planted on your hip as he tries so hard not to bottom-out in you.

★ - laughs as your hands fumble with his belt, shaking and desperate for his cock.

★ - covers his mouth and hopes his groans are relatively quiet when you sneak under his desk while on a video call with his clients at the funeral home. tries his hardest to stay focused as you lick along his length and pop his tip into your mouth.

★ - loves semi-public sex. he'll fuck you in a closet at a family gathering, tease you under the table, grind against you behind the kitchen counter while everyone else is in the kitchen.

★ - has very high stamina and can easily go a handful of rounds. your pleasure always comes before his anyway.

[warlocksoup]

festering: i. matsukawa

she looks for comfort and reprieve in the soft skin of strangers, and finds it in matsukawa issei

spinoff of rot

back to the masterlist

pairing: matsukawa x f!reader

status: coming february 2025

warnings: angst, alcohol use, violence/blood, crimes, poverty, smoking, flawed characters, anger issues, mental health issues, bad mothers, hookups, internalized slut-shaming, unhealthy coping mechanisms, cheating (kind of), smoking, set in 2006 bc rot is set in 2006, overused tropes, general oocness

taglist: open, complete this form to be added

chapter one: bodies

chapter two: consumption

chapter three: punishment

© warlocksoup: do not copy or repost

[adumbratrapedme]

dating you for a bet | pt.2 Matsukawa Ending

check out for pt1 here! | Oikawa's ending

It had been weeks since that night—weeks of empty hallways, stolen glances, and a deafening silence where laughter once existed. Oikawa had tried to reach out, sending texts that remained unread and leaving voicemails that went unanswered. He knew he had shattered something fragile and irreplaceable, but he wasn’t willing to let it end like this. Not without trying.

But after days of chasing, he gave up—just for a while. Maybe if he gave you space, if he stopped pressing, you’d come back to him on your own. It was the hardest thing he had ever done, but he forced himself to wait.

That’s when he started noticing Matsukawa acting strangely.

At first, he didn’t think much of it. But then there were the quick glances at his phone, the way he answered texts with uncharacteristic urgency, his rare nervous stutters. Matsukawa, of all people, blushing at something on his screen? Oikawa wasn’t stupid. He knew those signs too well.

And then there was practice—Matsukawa suddenly in a rush to leave, making excuses, slipping away earlier than usual... weird...

One afternoon, he decided to stop waiting. He was going to fix things. He was going to get you back.

That’s when he saw you—in the library, sitting across from Issei. And you were smiling. Genuinely. The kind of smile he had spent months trying to put on your face, the kind that once belonged to him.

His fists clenched. He was about to march over, to interrupt, to reclaim what was his. But before he could take a step, a firm hand grabbed his shoulder.

“Don’t,” Iwaizumi’s voice was quiet but firm.

Oikawa turned, his frustration bubbling. “Iwa-chan, let go. I need to—”

“You need to let her be happy,” Iwaizumi cut him off, his sharp eyes unwavering. “It’s mattsun's turn now.”

Oikawa swallowed, something heavy settling in his chest. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Iwaizumi sighed. “Matsun liked her even before you did. He noticed her way before you ever did, but he didn’t do anything because he thought she liked you. And now that you screwed up, he finally has a chance to make her happy. And from the looks of it… he is.”

Oikawa turned back toward the library, watching as you laughed at something Matsukawa said. The way his friend looked at you, like you were the most precious thing in the world—he had never seen Matsukawa look at anyone like that before, damn, he doesn't even think he ever looked at you like that when you were still together...

His stomach twisted, his heart sinking deeper into the abyss of his own regret. This was different from losing a game. This was losing something he could never get back.

For the first time in his life, Oikawa Tooru realized there were some things that no amount of effort could fix. And it destroyed him.

[chrysalind]

numeracy

pairing: hanamaki takahiro x reader x matsukawa issei wc: 2.7k tags: pre-relationship, fluff, light angst, angst w/ happy ending, polyam, jealousy, implied iwaoi

“Truth or dare?”

You grind the heel of your sandal into the already packed sand below your feet. The air in front of you, warmed by the bonfire, must be at least ten degrees hotter than the dark void of brisk summer night at your back.

Hanamaki knocks his knee against yours, as if to egg you on, and the heat in your cheeks only intensifies. You make a small note of correction: the difference in temperature must be closer to fifteen.

“Truth,” you reply, not even considering the alternative. A chorus of groans sound from the other students and you count eight pairs of eyes on you, sixteen in total. Most are half-lidded from drink, but Matsukawa’s, you note, as they lazily meet yours, are just always like that. The smirk he wears is foreboding.

“Have you ever—” he leans forward and you swallow. Others look on in bated breath.

“—been with more than one person at a time?”

You blink, confused by the openness of the question. “Like…sex?”

He shrugs and shadows move jauntily across his torso as he waves his hand. “Sex, relationships, whatever.”

He says it casually, like he’s asking you whether you prefer coffee or tea. Like the discussion of polyamory, is as simple and commonplace as saying you like both drinks, depending on your mood.

But maybe his demeanour is so startling to you because you’re so sorely lacking in experience. After all, it was just last year that you’d finally grown comfortable being that close with one person, much less two. Yes, two is a good number for you; even, divisible, and simple enough.

“No,” you shake your head, grateful for an easy answer. “I’ve never even… I’ve never even dated more than one person at once.” You punctuate your answer with a laugh—a short giggle that you force out of nervousness more than anything. Thankfully, others—and Hanamaki, to your right—react in kind.

The game moves on when you call upon Oikawa, who theatrically accepts the dare of taking a moonlit dip in the ocean. As he runs off toward the nearby shore, Iwaizumi, who makes a big show of groaning and standing up, stalks off into the dark after him, mumbling something about making sure he doesn’t drown himself.

Their departure pauses the game and drunken chatter breaks out among the group almost immediately.

“You cold?” Hanamaki asks, long lashes casting shadows atop his cheeks. In the light of the fire, you can see two of the three freckles that sit on his left cheekbone, forming the base of what you’d previously observed to be an almost perfect equilateral triangle.

“A little,” you admit, feeling the cider slosh in its can as you make a show of rubbing your bare upper arm.

He shrugs off his zip-up sweater and drapes it over your shoulders, blanketing you in its warmth. You revel in the feeling—in this display of kindness, of affection—that had only grown more frequent between the two of you in the past few weeks. He leans back, as if to appraise you in this state, and a soft maritime breeze ruffles his bangs. One, you think, is more than enough for you. Especially if the one happens to be Hanamaki.

Oikawa returns in the next minute, dripping wet and glorious, wearing a teeth-chattering grin that doesn’t relent until he’s parked squarely in front of the fire. He had evidently neglected to take off his clothes before running into the surf and was now wearing a soaked pair of board shorts and Iwaizumi’s hoodie.

The other boy isn’t far behind him, a long-suffering scowl on his features as he takes his previous place. No one mentions that his clothes are also noticeably damp in many places, but a few giggle.

“Now,” Oikawa says, sweeping his gaze across the circle of their peers. He pushes back a lock of sopping wet hair, the action far more charming than could be replicated by anyone else. He zeroes in on a girl near the periphery of their group; a doe-eyed track athlete who you’d never seen out of athleisure.

“Sumire,” he singsongs, drawing out all three syllables of her name, and she leans back, playfully rolling her eyes. From the way she sways, you can tell that she’s had a good amount to drink, not unlike everyone else.

“Dare,” she puts forward with a grin and a wave of oooh’s ripple throughout your small group.

Oikawa makes a thoughtful noise, the fire in front of him dialing the mischievous light in his eyes up to a ten. “I dare you to kiss either Haruka or…” He scans the group once more, never pausing until—

“…Makki.”

Your mouth goes dry as you watch the two men share a smirk. Beside Sumire, Haruka tosses her hair and laughs before jokingly dodging a kiss from the taller girl.

“I guess Haruka won’t kiss me,” Sumire sighs dramatically before standing up. She strides across the circle, the drink making her swaying look more alluring than clumsy. Jealousy roils in you stomach, bitter and acerbic and it takes all your willpower to keep your hands unclenched.

It takes her all of four steps to reach the two of you, her flip-flops stopping just short of the edge of your shared towel. She crouches down in front of Hanamaki, who holds her stare with his own amused gaze. In your peripheral vision, you can see the others watching eagerly, their cheeks high with colour. Even Iwaizumi can’t feign disinterest. Matsukawa’s eyes meet yours and he dips his chin, the evening shadows masking his expression.

“You okay with this?” you hear Hanamaki say, just a fraction louder than a whisper. You turn to him, hope ballooning in your chest, but he isn’t looking at you.

He isn’t looking at you at all.

So it’s a mystery why you remain rooted in place, his sweater around your shoulders, and a desperate, ugly feeling in your chest that only digs its claws in deeper as she leans in.

He tilts his head to receive her and you watch—you all watch—as the kiss unfolds. It’s quick at first, just a brief peck on her lips that causes a laugh to bubble from her lips. She closes the distance again and the kiss morphs in nature; deepening into something less chaste. You freeze as she stumbles forward, her high ponytail fanning over to brush his cheek as he guides her into a straddle.

Nervous laughter sounds across the group and someone even whistles.

The jealousy within you is untenable now, bolstered by the white-hot humiliation that floods your system. You know that you hadn’t imagined the growing closeness between you—the late night texts, the flirty jokes, the invitation to come to this bonfire. So why are you being made to feel so stupid? Why did you have to be here at all?

The thought finally jars something within you, undoing the petrification that had previously taken hold of your limbs. You count three breaths, one inhale and one exhale each, before you uncross your legs to stand. Mumbling something about needing to use the bathroom, you stumble beyond the warm reach of the fire and into the cool night beyond.

Without the heat of the day, the grits of sand that find their way under your feet are damp and uncomfortably cold. You don’t let it deter you, however, as you make a beeline towards the lapping sounds of the shore. Salty air fills your lungs and you sniffle, trying to ignore the burn of moisture in your eyes as you make your way further towards the surf. Thankfully, there are few other groups tonight, scattered so far across the beach that it doesn’t take long for the din of drunken voices to be drowned out by the ocean.

You only stop once you reach a lifeguard tower, steadying your weight against the paint-chipped railing as you try to ground yourself. Your phone lets you know it’s almost midnight and you have half a mind to hike back to the parking lot and call a ride. After all, there’s nothing for you here.

“Hey.”

You whip your head around to face the sudden intrusion.

“It’s just—jeez, that’s fucking bright.” Matsukawa shields his eyes as you turn your phone’s flashlight on him.

“Matsukawa,” you say, putting your phone away.

“You can just call me Issei.” His tall figure, now shrouded in darkness, comes to sit next to you on the steps of the tower.

“I mean, we’ve known each other for…a year now?”

“Seven months,” you correct softly, pulling Hanamaki’s sweater tighter across your arms. “But o-okay…Issei.”

The silence between you stretches and settles, feeling almost comfortable as you sit together and look out at the dark horizon.

“You know it probably didn’t mean anything,” he says, as you slide onto the step above him.

You brush a damp layer of sand from your lower calf and consider feigning ignorance. In the end, you’re unable to shake it off.

“It didn’t look like that,” you say bitterly. “It seemed like he was having a lot of fun, actually.”

“Oh come on,” he says, his curls ruffling softly in the breeze, “you know what Makki’s like. He’s just down for anything.”

You sigh. You know this to be true, you just thought that maybe, just maybe, that something would change because something between you had changed. At least you thought it did.

“Trust me,” Matsukawa says, shoulder brushing against your hip as he leans back. “He likes you.”

“Really?” you breathe, catching the dark shine of his eyes when he turns to look at you.

“Yeah, I mean,” the wooden step creaks as he places his weight on it, “isn’t it obvious?” His gaze flickers down to your Cupid’s bow.

You swallow, suddenly wondering if he can see the stray smudge of tinted gloss on your upper chin.

“Issei,” you begin, your own voice sounding far away. “Do you think he thinks that I’m…”

He tilts his head. “That you’re…?”

“Pretty,” you utter, just above a whisper. You clear your throat. “Do you think he thinks I’m pretty?”

Matsukawa softens. “Of course he does,” he murmurs, shifting to sit on the step beside you.

“I know I do.”

“Really?” you blurt out, cheeks warm.

“Yes.” He gives you a sidelong glance. “I think you’re beautiful.”

Your next action, fuelled by the lingering buzz of liquor, is far clumsier than you’d like. You lean towards him and clumsily crush your lips against his—or at least where you think his lips are—only to miss and bump against his jaw. Thankfully, he only readjusts and smiles into your next kiss, his hand settling on your waist as he moves in closer.

His fingers ghost across your cheek and you draw in a stuttering breath, your mind spinning as he cages you against the worn steps. He plants a knee between your legs, nudging apart your thighs and if you were any less drunk, you think you’d feel a little bit of shame for being so pliant. However, even the thought of it is extinguished when he dips into the crook of your neck and drags his tongue across the hollow of your throat.

“I-Issei.” you squirm, your chest fluttering as he slips his hand up the hem of your shirt. He moves back up to kiss you, open-mouthed and languid as you continue to moan into his mouth.

It’s only a few seconds later when a cough sounds somewhere to your right and you yelp, scrambling backward as Issei looks up.

“Hey man,” he says to Hanamaki, still caging you beneath him.

“Oh my god,” is the only thing you’re able to utter. Your eyes dart between the two men, your chest tightening as the shock causes your limbs to lock in place.

“What’s up?” Hanamaki asks, sounding entirely calm. Amused, even.

Matsukawa’s eyes land on your shocked expression and it takes three whole seconds for him to back off of you.

“You know,” he replies, winking at you before turning away, “just hanging out.”

“Can I—?” Hanamaki asks, motioning towards you and Matsukawa stands up.

“Yeah, for sure.”

You watch as Matsukawa jaunts off the last step of the tower, steps softened by the sand as he walks away. Swallowing, you stare down at the ground, your pulse thundering in your ears as Hanamaki approaches you.

“Hey,” he says softly, wood creaking with his weight as he takes a seat beside you. “Can we talk?”

An agonizing mix of embarrassment and anger causes your throat to stick.

“Sorry about before, I just…” He reclines, planting an elbow between you. “It was just a stupid dare.”

“Didn’t look that way to me,” you snark before cringing at your own hypocritical nature.

“I know,” he mumbles. “But I promise that I don’t like Sumire like that. And I know that it was fucked up for me to kiss her like that in front of you, especially when—”

You glance up at him.

“—especially when I know how you feel about me.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks and you snap your gaze away again. You hear the water recede across the shore.

“Do you like Mattsun?” he asks as you watch a small wave lap across the sand.

“What?” Because that wasn’t the question you were expecting.

“Mattsun,” he reiterates, a half-smile playing at his lips. “Do you like him?”

“I—” you knit your brow, brain scrambling to piece together an appropriate response. You try not to think of your neck, still sensitive from the light drag of his teeth across your pulse point. “N-not in the way that I… I mean, I don’t really know him as well as—”

“It’s okay,” Hanamaki continues, entirely unperturbed. “I know he likes you.”

“Oh.” You twist your fingers into the sleeve of his sweater.

“I like you too,” he adds and you blink. “I like you a lot.”

“I-is that so?” you reply, stunned. You’ve thought about this moment in a dozen different ways, cycling through different settings, details, and ways he could finally, finally say something, but never in a million years could you have predicted this.

“I think we should spend more time together,” he suggests with an easy smile. Not so far in the distance, you spot Matsukawa near the shore. “All three of us, I mean.”

He takes your hand in his, rubbing his thumb into the soft flesh of your palm.

“Would you like that?”

The gears turn slowly in your head, the situation still feeling hard to grasp as all the point are laid out in front of you.

You bite the inside of your cheek. “Can I think about it?”

“Of course,” he says breezily, before pulling you to your feet. “Take all the time you need.”

As if sensing the timing of the conclusion of your conversation, Matsukawa makes his way back toward you.

“We should really get back though.” Hanamaki says, as he leads you down the tower. “Before Iwaizumi thinks we all ran drunk into the sea and calls the coast guard.”

He keeps his hand in yours as you make your way back up the beach and Matsukawa falls in step beside you. You look up when his knuckles brush against the side of your arm and he gives you a knowing smirk.

Two is a good number for you, you think as you tentatively return his smile.

But three?

Three might be even better.

[bluemotifofsleep]

Shield My Heart

knight! iwaizumi x princess! reader

-it was his duty to love her, and even if it wasn’t, he’d do it anyway. iwaizumi’s devotion came as easy as breathing.

read part one first :)

part two: a locked cage, and a sinking ship.

~

it’s hard to be a princess, and not be grateful.

it’s hard, but you do it anyway.

it’s not like you aren’t grateful for your life, you know you are much more privileged than most. you have a warm bed with as many pillows and blankets your heart could disire. you have warm meals waiting for you every morning when the sun rises, and every evening when the sun sets. people wait on you hand and foot, people bow to you, people sugar their words and widen their smiles and praise you fraudulently, just to be on your good side.

you have a castle at your fingertips, you have a whole kingdom. you understand that you are privileged, and you’re grateful for it, really.

but sometimes, you wish you were born someone else.

and you know, if you asked any girl in the kingdom, they would switch places with you in a heartbeat. which is maybe why you always have this festering, gnawing guilt that never seems to go away. it itches at the inside of your brain like a sickness and infects your mind until all of your thoughts are tainted with it.

you know what people think being a princess is like. you’ve heard the whispers biting at your heels, the distain and jealousy that follows you around like a second skin. people cant help but resent you, when you appear to have everything they’ve ever wanted.

in reality, being a princess is not what it seems.

being a princess is having eyes on you at all times. expectations that grow so much bigger than you, sometimes you feel they will swallow you whole. it’s having the weight of a crown bear on your neck without ever putting it on. being a princess is devoting your life to appearances, to other people’s opinions. being a princess is being something that everyone thinks you are.

your duty, is being anyone but yourself.

and you know, that it’s selfish.

to have dreams outside of the castle is traitorous to your kingdom, it’s treasonous to imagine yourself as anything but a good, well behaved, charming princess. a good daughter to the King, a beacon of hope for the less-fortunate, a spokesperson of the people.

but sometimes selfishness claws its way into your mind and won’t let go. it finds its way into every thought until all you can think of is “what if”. what if you weren’t a princess? what would your life be like, what would your days be packed with instead of trying on pretty dresses that you really could care less about, learning proper table manners, and swallowing your own tongue until it feels like you might choke on it.

sometimes, you wonder if your unhappiness is coming from inside you like rot. sometimes you dread that it’s not your life that’s the problem, but it’s you.

maybe you’re a bad seed. maybe no matter where you were planted, you would shrivel and rot just the same.

if you had a different life, would you still be selfish, too?

you wish you could grow roots and stable yourself, reach them outside the castle walls and finally breath. finally be free of this glorious title, that you resent, and you never asked for.

~

iwaizumi hajime hasn’t been sleeping well.

it’s a fact that has been pointed out by many, not that it needed to be. of course, oikawa just can’t keep his damn mouth shut sometimes, so iwaizumi must suffer anyways.

“you know, a little beauty sleep never hurts! your eye bags are making me feel tired.”

“your hair looks especially spiky today. long night?”

whatever that means.

unlike his polished brunette counterpart, fluffing his well-kept hair every morning and whispering devotedly of smooth skin and the absence of frown lines, iwaizumi doesn’t care much for how he looks. he’s never really put much thought into his appearance, because it doesn’t matter. it’s not important to his job. and therefore, not important to him.

no, his “eye bags that are dark enough to scare unsuspecting women away” and “spiky hair that resembles a morningstar more than a hairstyle” are only a problem to oikawa, not iwaizumi.

it’s what’s been keeping him awake, that is the real problem. every time iwaizumi has managed to fall asleep lately, his dreams are all the same.

he’s on a ship. a large, old ship that creeks under the weight of the massive waves crashing against its ribs. at first glance, there appears to be no one around. no one in the crows nest, no one at the helm steering. he is lost at sea, a steel knight glimmering like a star amongst the entire solar system, with no one but himself to keep him afloat.

there’s a storm on the horizon. a crackling, monstrous thing with clouds that look like jaws ready to swallow him whole, and the boat is headed with utmost certainty straight into its mouth. he has a distinct urge to run, a bubble of panic in his chest subdued by a wave of insanity.

you can’t run from a sinking ship.

when it happens, it happens the same every time. the boat lurches, tips on the edge of oblivion slowly as if taunting him, making sure he has time to process what he can’t change. then, with a crash and the unforgiving grip of the icy cold water, he sinks.

iwaizumi has never swam before.

there is no method to his panic, he flails and kicks and tries to reach the surface he can’t see, but he fails.

he’s drowning.

except, there’s a beacon of light, a saving grace to his drowning. there’s a hand. a soft, delicate hand that he somehow feels he is familiar with, but he can’t place it. he reaches out and grabs the hand, and it is shockingly warm against the biting cold of the sea, and then he sees you.

it’s your hand that he holds to keep himself from sinking further. you are his beacon of light, on this rocking ship he sails on. you are his saviour, the only thing keeping him from sinking into his own mind and never coming out.

you are both sinking.

as much as he wills it, his hand won’t let go of yours. he drags the both of you, down, down, down, into somewhere he doesn’t know there is an end to. his hand feels like stone against yours, it feels as if he’s been holding you for weeks without letting go, the muscles tensed and unwilling to release.

you both sink, and he screams soundlessly with bubbles pouring out of his mouth, and you smile at him sadly.

if he could, he’d cut off his own hand to free you.

just as the dream starts getting darker, as his suffocating panic makes it seem like he’s actually drowning, waking himself up, he hears you.

you whisper his name to him and it mysteriously travels through the thick water to his ears, maybe straight into his heart.

“hajime,”

your face is the picture of elegance, even at a time like this, and it’s so like you it hurts him. even when you’re drowning, you are the perfect princess.

“you need to let me go.”

~

he wakes with a gasp, as he has for the fourth time this week.

his room is bathed in moonlight, showering his bed and himself in a deep blue that sickeningly reminds him of his dream. waves clawing at his skin, your soft, tender hand trapped in his, screaming and bubbles and your words in his head, you need to let me go, you need to let me go, you need to let me go-

he breathes in a deep breath, holds it for five seconds, and then slowly lets it out through his nose.

his clammy skin sticks to his sheets, and he’s panting from the amount of adrenaline one gets from drowning, his body trying to fight something that’s not real.

it’s not real. even when he reminds himself, he feels this enormous guilt destroying him from the inside out.

he couldn’t let you go.

even in his hypothetical dream world, where neither of you even exist, he still couldn’t let you go.

~

you’ve had a shitty day.

it was your least favourite schedule of the week. you started with table etiquette training in the dining room, going over things you’ve heard thousands of times before. so many times, you imagine a blade on the inside of your skull drawing the words into your skin. “this knife here and this spoon here”, “fold your napkin as so”, “don’t let your silverware scrape against the plate dear that’s awful-“

you’re currently trying not to let your head fall with three books balanced on you, an “etiquette officer” as you’d so fondly named them (only in the privacy of your own mind, of course) to your right telling you all the things you’re doing wrong.

because that’s what being a princess is all about; all the things you’re doing wrong.

the only thing getting you through this for the millionth time is that in today’s particular schedule, you have some free time to yourself at the end of your training. a rare occurrence that whenever it happens, you seize the opportunity with both hands and don’t let go.

you know exactly what you’re going to do with you’re free time.

“alright, that’s all for today, princess.” the title sounds mocking when pared with the indifferent and slightly peeved sounding voice of your instructor. somehow she always finds a way to make it seem like you’ve failed, and you wonder how she manages it so spectacularly.

you (with elegance and poise, of course) jump out of your seat and try your best to not look like you’re running for the exit of the dining room, but you probably fail at that, too.

there’s one thing that’s been keeping you going all day. a certain gruff, brunette, knight-shaped thing.

when you make it down through large glass doors and into the courtyard, you instantly spot him sparring with another knight, oikawa tooru, your eyes magnetized to the metal of his armour.

“princess!” it’s not your brunette knight that calls to you, but rather a lanky boy with soft pink hair.

hanamaki takahiro, with matsukawa issei bringing up the rear.

you can’t say you’re extremely familiar with most of the knights on the kings guard, the exception being iwaizumi of course and the few others who were assigned your personal guards. your lives were too different to cross paths enough for familiarity, your days filled with things so different from each other they probably aren’t even comparable at all.

of course, you always be sure to learn their names, treating them with the same respect you would any other resident of the castle. you wouldn’t let yourself be like those other snooty royals, thinking themselves above chatter with common folk who don’t know the difference between a salad fork and a regular one.

in fact, you might have more respect for them because they don’t, you envy them a bit for it.

“all done with princess duties for today?” it’s matsukawa’s lazy drawl that reaches you now, his large frame looming over you and blocking part of the sun from reaching you, and yet, you don’t feel intimidated.

you feel at ease with the knights most out of everyone in the castle. for some reason, you feel like they expect the least from you. and maybe it should offend you, but all it does is lift an imaginary weight from your shoulders. with them, you can almost pretend you aren’t who you are.

“yes, all done with princess duties. ive come to collect iwaizumi from his knight duties.”

“good, he looks like he’s on his last legs fighting off oikawa over there.” hanamaki says, and you suddenly feel worry spike your stomach.

“has something happened?” you can’t help the desperate tone of your voice, and try to peer around hanamakis shoulder to see if you can notice any injuries on your knight.

“nah, oikawa said something about him not sleeping well though. figured he can use a break before he runs himself into the ground.” and all at one you feel relieved, and guilty for not noticing he was having problems sooner.

the problem with iwaizumi is he’s just so damn stoic all the time. the true image of a perfect knight, an unshakable force. it’s hard to tell when he’s suffering, because he never shows it outwardly. he keeps a solid wall of sureness on for everyone else’s benefit and doesn’t let it crumble for his own.

sometimes you wish you could take a couple of bricks down though, and peek through.

suddenly, the object of your thoughts is walking up behind the two knights you’re speaking to, with oikawa at his side. instantly you see what hanamaki was talking about.

he’s panting heavily from his training, clearly physically spent, but there’s something else you notice. there’s a deep exhaustion in the set of his face, his eyebrows tented over his eyes that have dark circles underneath. he looks troubled. on anyone else it might look like worry, but the way he masks his face into almost neutrality, you can’t be sure.

“you two aren’t bothering her, are you?”

he’s now flanking your side, and you realize that he’s not really speaking to hanamaki or matsukawa, he’s speaking to you, a questioning and probing look on his face.

“you have so little faith in us, it hurts.” matsukawa fakes a pained expression, his voice sounding unbothered despite his words.

“we were just telling her to take your tired ass out of here before oikawa beats you and we all have to listen to him brag for the next three weeks.” oikawa squawks behind hanamaki at his words, and you hear something like “sore looser” and “i would never”.

the display of familiarity makes you smile. at least here, the infectious greed of the castle doesn’t reach. there is no need for fake smiles and even faker words between comrades fighting for the same purpose. there’s no hierarchy among the knights, just simple companionship that ties them together like brothers.

you envy them immensely.

“i beat him, so you don’t have to worry about it.” and you hear more grumbles from oikawa.

iwaizumi suddenly turns fully to you, blocking your view of the other knights with his stupidly broad shoulders.

“where to, princess?” and he smiles at you, but not the kind of smile you see frequently in the castle. instead of the glint of unnaturally white teeth and squinted, condescending eyes, his smile is something that brightens his whole face. it’s something easy, something genuine and happy and it makes you feel like you’ve just put on your favourite sweater, his infectious warmth spreading over you like melted honey.

iwaizumi has always had that affect on you. he’s just so secure in himself, so sure of his protection over you that you can’t help but be calmed by his presence. it’s a welcome security that you don’t get much of these days, something that eases over your worries like soothing water on a roaring flame. something that you indulge in greedily, even though you know you shouldn’t.

“do you even have to ask?”

~

you had few places on the castle grounds that you truly felt at peace in, places where you didn’t feel the lingering gaze of spectators on you peeling back your skin and poking around at your insides. most of the castle felt like a forest to you, with predators stalking through the trees where you couldn’t see them. people who expected greatness from you at all times, so you could never let your guard down.

located behind the castle, is a quaint stone building with stalls staggered along the side of it. a large, green paddock juts out from the stalls, where the horses are let out occasionally to graze; the stables. one place where you could truly feel at ease in.

the stable hands hardly raise a brow at your and iwaizumi’s presence. ever since you were a little girl and the king introduced you to your first pony, it was hard to keep you away from the place. any second of free time you were granted was most definitely spent around the horses, if not on horseback.

you can never tell if iwaizumi minds you dragging him here all the time. he always just says “lead the way” with that calming look on his face and follows you on the familiar trek like a shepherd protecting a lamb. giving you a leg up onto your horse and then mounting his own.

there’s a long trail that circles the back of the castle, mostly used to exercise the horses to keep them fit while they werent transporting goods or being used by the knights. the trail cuts through a small, lush forest that pushes back against the town boarder, where a large stone fence separates you from your people.

you never understood why there was a fence in the first place when you were younger. every time you’d asked your father you’d be left even more confused than before.

“because, child.” he’d have you sat on his knee, sitting atop a throne that would one day be yours. “if you never stop giving, people never stop taking.”

the words had puzzled you then. what was your duty, if not to give?

now, as your age gave you knowledge you didn’t necessarily want, you understand his words. you understand, but you’ll never agree.

~

the trail is quiet at this time of day, the sun shining through splits in the trees and decorating the path in glimmering strips.

normally you and iwaizumi don’t talk much during your trail rides, and you enjoy the reprieve of the constant conversation you have during your time at the castle. with your knight, you don’t have to sweeten your presence with words. you don’t have to make yourself tolerable by striking up hallow conversations and smiling fakely.

right now though, there’s a question burning a hole through your throat and threatening to jump out of your mouth. with anyone else, you’d keep it to yourself. you’d swallow your thoughts down into the pit of your stomach where they’d make a knot that you wouldn’t be able to untie. keeping up appearances is more important than silly questions.

with him though, it’s different. his presence tugs at your mind like no one else. pulls the thoughts from you before you even know you’ve had them. you want to spill yourself to him, make yourself easy to read and drop your facade like a mask at a masquerade party.

and so, you do.

“iwaizumi, do you ever wonder about what you would do if you weren’t a knight?” the question sounds silly coming out of your mouth, and the pessimist inside you half expects him to tell you to “stop thinking so much, princess”, but he doesn’t.

instead, he tilts his head back slightly, humming to let you know he’s thinking up and answer for you. you look up too, wanting to see what he’s looking at. wanting to see the world through his eyes, maybe even wanting to sink into his mind and let his thoughts carry you away.

all you see is the sky. a brilliant blue with clouds partially obscured by the tips of the trees lining the path. you wonder what he sees it as. does that cloud also look like a crown to him? does it also strike nausea into his stomach and make him want to gallop away on his horse?

definitely not. your shoulders sink back down from where they’d hiked up to your ears at the thought. your knight is strong, and level headed, you can’t ever see him running away from anything.

when you tear your eyes away from the sky and look to iwaizumi, you’re startled to find he’s already looking at you.

the look on his face is something that strikes you as unique to him only. something that makes you think of being a little girl again, sneaking off to the gardens and making your young knight find you among the greenery. it makes you think of the word goodnight whispered to you almost every evening, it makes you think of the smell of pine and a soft breeze and fresh linen, and it makes you think “what if” for the millionth time.

“no, princess.”

it’s a look of understanding, of looking at you and not through you, something that fills you with melancholy and hope and the bitter taste of freedom you can’t have, you will never have.

“i was meant to be your knight.”

~

[cottonlemonade]

Dating You For A Bet [Part 2]

word count: 1756 || avg. reading time: 8 mins.

pairing: University AU!Matsukawa x chubby!Reader

genre: angst

warnings: bullying

[part 1]

The following days were miserable. Between dodging Matsukawa lurking outside your dorm and having to see him in most of your seminars and lectures it was hard to pretend that you didn’t care, much to the delight of the fellow students who apparently had nothing better to do or collectively lost their WiFi and were starved for entertainment. They threw glances between the two of you as if following a tennis match, although you were stubbornly pretending to follow the lesson while Issei just listlessly stared at his closed book.

He had tried to talk to you after lectures, during lunch, or when he ran into you at the convenience store but to no avail. You remained strong, frequently reminding yourself that everything from your first kiss to the first time sleeping together was solely done to win a bet. A bet! To him, you were nothing more than some easily manipulated, naive girl from a country he probably didn’t even know how to spell. The three crumpled notes from that day were still at the bottom of your trash can, unread, and now buried under more paper scraps, gum wrappers, and empty juice boxes. Your roommate hadn’t noticed or questioned why you didn’t leave in the evenings anymore to go on dates. Chances were that she had read about the whole thing online.

You were tired of it all. The initial burst of energy you felt, fueled by nothing but spite, had finally ebbed away and at this point, Christmas was drawing nearer and nearer and you ran on fumes. Having tried to deep dive into homework and assignments had left you fatigued and vulnerable, so it came to no surprise that a month after the break up you couldn’t take it anymore. You had figured that the other students would eventually move on to the next shiny thing but not so. A small group of boys and girls stood in front of the library with coffee cups steaming in their hands. You braced yourself inwardly. You just wanted to quickly return a book and then you’d be on your way again. When you approached them they interrupted their conversation to very obviously look you up and down as if judging your post-break-up fashion choices.

“I just knew there had to be a reason for him dating her.”, one of them said, deliberately loud enough for you to hear.

“Oh my god, I know right? I can’t believe she fell for it. I mean, what would someone like him ever see in someone like her.”, another piped up.

“Honestly kudos to him, I dunno if I could have gotten it up with her in bed.” They laughed.

You stopped on your way up the stairs. Matsukawa stood in front of you just coming out of the building, a tattered, well-annotated book in hand and his bag half-hearted slung over his shoulder.

The group of friends gasped quietly and hushed each other, waiting.

“Y/n…”, Issei said softly, then snapped at the others, “Don’t you have somewhere to be?!”

They laughed again but hurried inside.

“Y/-“

He couldn’t even finish the word. You had already turned around and walked away. And he would have let you get the space you needed if he didn’t see you cry. Readjusting his bag he slowly made his way down the steps and followed you, a couple of meters behind.

Whenever you missed your family he had tried to bring a bit of home to you with a traditional dish he knew you loved - that he usually messed up - or by watching a Disney movie in your native language while snuggling up on his bed under a blanket. But what had helped you most of all when you were upset was always a simple hug. And he never let go first. He made sure that you knew he would hold you as long as you needed. When you first told him you loved him he was wracked with guilt. He had since come to realize how messed up the whole thing was and tried to get out of it. He lied when his friends asked him if he had completed the bet but his roommate had only patted him on the back and accused him of being modest. And he, Issei, had forced a smile and accepted the money feeling like the most disgusting person in the world. The money still sat untouched in his sock drawer. He didn’t want to use it. He felt ashamed of himself but whenever he spent time with you he was weirdly glad that he agreed to the bet. Otherwise, who knows if he would have walked up to you as he had. Privately, to make himself feel better, he thought, of course he would have.

He would have noticed eventually how amazing you were.

He would have eventually seen how much you two had in common, that in all actuality you were his dream girl.

He would have. Eventually. Wouldn’t he?

Probably not, he had to admit. Ever since puberty hit him like a truck he walked around with a newfound level of confidence. This must have been what it was like for Oikawa back then - girls doing a double take and smiling when they saw him, little admiring love notes tucked quickly into his workbook when he wasn’t looking. All the attention slowly rose to his head and he became arrogant, leading to agreeing to a bet he would have punched his friends for in high school.

Hands in his pockets and breath forming little clouds in front of him, Issei’s heart broke all over again when he caught a small sound from you like a sniffle or a sob. As if on reflex his hand slid into the front of his bag to check for tissues, then remembered you probably wouldn’t accept them.

You finally came to a halt at a bench near your dorm. You spun around and stared at him icily through red puffy eyes.

“Stop following me. You know this is creepy, right?”

“I prefer to see it as romantic.”

You scoffed. “It’s only romantic if feelings are reciprocated.”

He swallowed hard. “… I deserved that.” Then he reached into his bag and retrieved a water bottle, walked a little closer, and held it out.

“Here, drink something. I can see you squinting like you do when you’re about to get a massive headache, come on.”

You had a retort ready to launch but your head was starting to pound from the crying so with a scowl you took it and gulped down a few sips.

“None of this makes what you did okay.”, you said, unwavering.

He nodded. “I know. - Can I hold you anyway? Just til you stop crying.”

His question made new tears well in your eyes and he closed the gap between you. Before he hugged you, he hesitated in case you would kick and scream if he did. When you only continued to cry he wrapped his arms around you. At first, it was like hugging a mannequin. Then he felt you shiver and sob harder and he squeezed you tighter.

This, the warmth of him, smell of him, soothing murmurs in your ear, made it all too easy to forget for a moment why he wasn’t yours anymore.

You subconsciously grabbed onto his jacket and he started slowly swaying from side to side. He missed you so damn much. His eyes began to sting.

And on reflex like he always had, he pressed his lips against your temple, then against your cheek, then your lips. You stiffened for a moment, then returned the kiss. With his heart swelling in his chest, he cupped your cheeks to wipe away the tears, but you were already pushing him away.

“No! You can’t just… this is not okay. You hurt me! You … you broke my heart! I feel embarrassed! And pathetic. And betrayed! Don't you understand?!”

His vision blurred and he lowered his head to stare at your shoes again to hide that he started crying as well. He just nodded at first, then took a shallow breath to calm down a little.

“I know.”, he said, his voice thick and raspy. He cleared his throat, “What I did was horrible. And immature. And there is no way I can take it back. But I do love you.”

“Tch.”

“So much. I don’t want to be without you.”

“Would you give me another chance?”, you asked suddenly.

He looked up. “What?”

“If you were in my shoes. If I did to you what you did to me. Could you just get over that? Imagine if someone way out of your league started flirting with you because they thought it was funny. Because they wanted to see if they could make you fall in love. For fun.”

“That’s not… I’m so so sorry, Y/n.”

“Stop saying that!”

“I don’t know what else to do! Please, tell me, I’ll do anything!”

“There is nothing you can do! I told you it’s over!”

“I refuse to believe that! Let me show you how much I love you! I know that some part of you still loves me, too. And I know you’ll forgive me eventually because you’re a much better person than I am.”

“I think you severely underestimate just how petty I can be and how much I love holding grudges.”, you retorted and the smallest smile twitched on his lips.

There was a pause in which his expression turned gentler again and he used the sleeve of his jacket to mop up the tears gathering on his chin. “Tell me what I can do.”

“Actually show me that you’re sorry? - And find better friends.”

“Done.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”, he said firmly, “You’ll see.”

“Hm hm.”, you said doubtfully and held out the bottle to him, “Thanks for the water. I should get going.”

“Book club tonight, right?”, he asked. It was still set as a permanent reminder in his phone’s calendar so that he’d come to pick you up afterward to walk you to your dorm.

“Actually… I have a date.”

You waited for a moment before you dared to look at him again. His face had fallen and he seemed at a loss for words. When you brushed past him you half expected him to grab your hand again, to try to talk you out of it. But nothing. He stood exactly where you left him and so you went inside.

tags because I genuinely appreciate all your comments and reblogs: @samoankpoper21 @garouaddict @gojoscloset @multi-fandom-fanfic @crazyyanderefangirlfan

[part 3]

[tsumusangxl]

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

Summary ʚ Hinata and you have been friends since childhood, you guys went through thick and thin. You helped Hinata to achieve his dreams and supported him without a doubt.... But everything changed after he graduated and moved to Brazil, leading to the fall out of your friendship and to a heartbreak.

Iwaizumi and you met through Social Media, having one mutual friend,the one and only Oikawa Toruu. You never saw each other in person, since he studied in the States and you were still living in Japan, but you both grew close quickly. And maybe some different emotions came to the surface. Will you be able to move on? Or will you forgive Hinata? 

Pairing ʚ Hinata Shoyou x F!reader x Iwaizumi Hajime

Genre ʚ SMAU, Fluff, childhood friend!reader, Angst, childhood friends to lovers (hinata), love triangle, reader involved (voting,etc.), kinda second chance, slight age gap, comfort, strangers to friends to lovers (iwa), flashbacks,

Warnings ʚ Swearing, disregarding feelings, more specific content warning will be given at the start of each chapter

Status ʚ ongoing

Updates ʚ irregular

Love meter ʚ

Hinata ʚ 4%

Iwaizumi ʚ 0%

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

Masterlist ʚ

[5 Idiots and a brain] / [MBSY hotshots] / [Oikawa hateclub]

Chapter ʚ

zero - the struggle

one - the decision

two - the explanation

three - the regret

four - the surprise

five - the denial

six - the broken toy

seven - the meet up

eight - the promise

nine -

ten -

eleven -

twelfth -

...

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ・┈ ─ ・┈꒱꒱

taglist ʚ @jojo23allegra @mjustag1rl @dazqa @gigiiiiislife

[etherrreal]

“spare me the details”

Pairing: matsukawa x fem!reader Genre: angst with a happy ending (i promise lmao), friends to lovers Summary: matsukawa is a good friend, which is why when you ask for his help figuring out what to wear for your date, he agrees without thinking much of it. but the longer he spends watching you get ready, the more he realizes how much he doesn’t want you to go. WC: 10,446 Warnings: brief mentions of alcohol, lots of suggestive lines, and on top of it all they were roommates (oh my god they were roommates) A/N: this fic happened because i wanted to write literally one scene of mattsun zipping up reader’s dress and now, 10k+ words later, we’re here :) also shoutout to luna for coming up with the fic title! <3 -Dawn

When you text Matsukawa right after his shift with a series of panicked voice notes and a string of siren emojis to match, he expects nothing short of a bug armageddon. He comes home fully prepared to find you standing on the kitchen counter, broom in hand as you frantically shout for him to get rid of whatever creepy crawling thing has invaded your home, the way he has on three separate occasions since the two of you moved in together.

Instead, when he arrives at your shared apartment, he finds you standing in the middle of your bedroom, heaps of fabric scattered across your mattress and pouring out from your closet. Thankfully, there’s no bug in sight, but you still look far from pleased, scowling at the floral-printed dress you’re holding as if it’s personally offended you.

You perk up when you spot him standing in your doorway, sleeves rolled up around his elbows and tie still half-hanging off his neck. You greet him with a welcome smile and a relieved “oh thank god” before letting go of the dress you’re holding, latching your hand around his wrist and tugging him inside.

That’s about all the warning he gets before he finds himself shoved into the comfort of your desk chair, watching as you turn this way and that in front of your mirror, trying on dress after dress in preparation for your date tonight. Apparently, the cute IT guy you met at your job’s last happy hour asked you out, and you need Mattsun’s help deciding what to wear.

Normally, this is your friend Aina’s job. It used to be Mattsun’s too, once upon a time, but that was before everything that happened your senior year of college, before things changed between you in a way that, for a while, neither of you were sure you’d be able to come back from.

Thankfully, the two of you managed to fix things in the end, but that particular part of your friendship, the part that made you comfortable enough to talk freely about things like romance and dating, was never quite the same. It still isn’t, if he’s being honest, despite the fact that the two of you live together now, despite the fact that it’s been a year since everything happened.

It’s why he never lets his hookups stay the night, why you never say anything about the extra pair of heels you see on the shoe rack that are always gone by morning. It’s why you only ever mention your dates in passing, why he never asks for details.

He’s honestly shocked you’ve asked for his help at all, but with Aina busy visiting her family in Tokyo, Makki off with his new girlfriend, and the rest of your friends stuck at work, he figures he’s all you have left. And because he’s a good roommate and an even better friend, he agrees to help, even though the idea of you going on a date with someone else –cute IT background or not– kind of makes him want to throw up, for reasons he’s not quite ready to explore just yet.

So instead of lingering on the thought, Mattsun decides to focus on something a little easier for him to admit to himself, like the fact that you look really good tonight. Then again, you always look good to him, which he supposes is another problem entirely. He likes to think he’s gotten better at ignoring it over the years, only allowing his gaze to linger when he’s sure your attention is occupied elsewhere, but the way you look tonight has him wondering how much longer he’ll be able to keep it up.

Most of your hair has been pinned up and away from your face –he figures you’re waiting to let it down until right before you leave– and there’s something gold and shimmery on your eyelids and cheekbones that catches the light whenever you move, highlighting your features. Your lashes are long and dark, a deep shade of red staining your lips that the more indecent part of him is tempted to smudge.

And if all of that isn’t already bad enough, you’ve also spent the past ten minutes strutting back and forth in every pretty dress you own. You turn back to him after slipping into each one to ask which looks best, hair all mussed up and fabric clinging to your hips, and all he can think about is how much more useful he’d be in helping you out of them.

But the two of you are best friends, have been since you met during your first year of university, when you ended up sitting next to each other at a bonfire neither of you really wanted to attend and bonded over smores and cheap beer. And last time he checked, you aren’t supposed to have these kinds of thoughts about your best friend, no matter how pretty their eyes are or how tempting they look in a little satin dress. Which is why, for the sake of your friendship –and, he thinks, for the sake of his own sanity– he keeps them to himself.

He likes to think he’s doing a pretty good job of it, too, allowing himself only a quick once-over whenever you step out in a new dress before averting his gaze and giving his opinion, determined not to appear too interested or eager. It helps that he has his phone to distract him, along with a bag of pretzels you left open on your desk that he keeps stealing from every now and then.

It works for the first few minutes, at least, until you’re walking out of your closet wearing what feels like your twentieth option of the night, and all he has to say, after barely sparing a glance at you, is that he likes the color. Never one to be ignored for long, you snatch up the closest projectile –in this case, your stuffed koala– and launch it straight at him, determined to get his attention by any means necessary.

Unsurprisingly, the plushie hits him square in the chest –he and Makki always like to joke you’d make a terrifying wing spiker– and he looks up to find you standing in front of him again, pretty red lips pulled into a frustrated frown.

“Ouch,” he says, feigning hurt as he picks the stuffed koala up and sets it back on your desk, though you both know he hardly felt it. Years of athleticism and routine gym workouts have left him with an impressive wall of muscle, if the appreciative glances you send him whenever he leaves the shower shirtless are any indication. “What was that for?”

“You know exactly what that was for.” You shoot him a flat look, hands resting on either side of your hips. The dress you’re wearing now is made of a red velvety material, with long sleeves and a sloping neckline revealing a generous amount of cleavage that has him nearly choking on his pretzels. “You’re supposed to be helping me through a crisis here, not eating all my food.”

“Hey, you’re the one who decided to have a fashion emergency during my dinner time. Excuse me for not wanting to starve.” He scoops up another handful of pretzels as if to prove his point, tossing them into his mouth while you roll your eyes. “And besides, I have been helping you. Didn’t I tell you the green one you tried on was cute?”

“I’m a grown ass woman. I don’t have time for cute.” You give a little huff of indignation when you say it, which, in retrospect, just makes you look cuter, though Mattsun is wise enough not to bring that up now. “I have time for beautiful, maybe even time for pretty, but definitely not for cute, which means I need you to stop being charming and start project makeover-ing my ass.”

“Ah, so you think I’m charming?”

“I’m walking away now.”

“I’m kidding! Hey, come on, I was just messing with you. I’ll help now, for real.” He’s still grinning when he says it, but he locks his phone to show you that he’s serious, putting it down on your desk and wiping his hands free of any crumbs. “I promise.”

And for what it’s worth, he means it. He knows it’ll be quite the slippery slope, giving his honest opinion about how you look without also giving away the attraction he’s usually a lot better at pretending he doesn’t feel for you, all in the service of helping you get ready for the date he’s still kind of bummed you’re going on. But you’re his best friend, and you asked for his help. And while the thought of you and your IT guy still makes him queasy, he wants to help you, and that’s precisely what he resolves to do.

You’re wearing a different dress now, something soft and smooth made of purple satin that cinches at the waist and clings to your curves in a way that has his mouth feeling dry and his face feeling a little warmer than usual. He watches you fiddle with the straps, snapping them into place against your shoulders.

He imagines his hands replacing yours, fingertips grazing the slope of your collarbone and brushing over your shoulders, sliding down to your sides. He wonders what the satin would feel like against his palms, how the fabric would give beneath his fingertips, shifting as he pushes it up and over your hips–

“Well?” The sound of your voice snaps him out of his thoughts, and immediately he tears his gaze away from where it’s drifted rather unhelpfully down to your ass. He does it just in time, too, because all of the sudden you’re turning around to face him, an eyebrow raised expectantly. “What do you think of this one?”

“...I like it,” Mattsun says evenly, after taking a moment to compose himself, though the sudden dryness in his mouth makes the words come out a little strained. He only hopes you don’t notice it, hopes his voice sounds steadier than the rest of him feels. “It looks nice on you.”

Any other time, you might’ve smiled at the compliment, maybe even poked fun at him for going soft on you, but now you just groan in annoyance, planting your hands on your hips and fixing him with an unimpressed stare. “You’ve said that about the last three dresses, Issei.”

“I meant it,” he tells you, because he did. “You look really nice in all of them.”

“But I don’t want to look just nice.” You’re pouting now, brows furrowing as you smooth your hands over the skirt of your dress. “I want to look hot. Like having him drooling as soon as he sees me kind of hot.”

“Drooling, huh? That’s a pretty tall order.” He raises an eyebrow at you, ignoring the way his stomach starts to twist at the reminder of your impending date in favor of flashing you a teasing smirk. “You sure your IT nerd’s gonna be able to handle that?”

You start to smile, but it only lasts for a few moments before you’re remembering your current predicament and letting out a tired, frustrated sigh.

“I’m being serious, Issei. This is really important to me. It’s my first date in a while, and I want to make a good impression.” You tug at the straps of your dress and tilt your head at him, eyes soft and pleading. “Please help me?”

And though Matsukawa is still far from being a fan of you going off with someone else looking as lovely as you do –though he’s just starting to realize how much he wants to be the one you dress up for instead– in all the time he’s known you, he’s never really been able to deny you of anything, and he’s certainly not going to start now.

It doesn’t take him long to come up with his suggestion. He shifts in his seat, lifting a hand to rub at the back of his neck. “What about the one you wore for New Year’s?”

“The black one?” you ask, perking up with interest.

When he nods, you turn to the mountain of clothes on your bed and begin rummaging through the pounds of fabric, pulling out the exact dress he was thinking of with surprising ease. He tries not to look too eager as you do, even though the memory of you in it is a sight permanently seared into his brain.

“Here it is. I almost forgot I had this one.” You hold the dress up to your body and tilt your head, questioning gaze searching for his. “You don’t think it’s too boring?”

“Not even close,” Mattsun replies, completely sure of it. You looked absolutely stunning that night, all bright smiles and silver-framed eyes, and he was far from the only one who noticed it. Looking back, it was probably the closest he’s ever come to telling you the truth about how he feels.

“Don’t you remember on New Year’s, when you walked over to us and Iwaizumi got all flustered and started choking on his champagne, but wouldn’t tell you why?” It takes a moment for you to recall the memory, but when he sees you nod, he continues, “it was because he saw you in that dress.”

You’re quick to wave it off, laughing like you don’t really believe him. “Yeah, right.”

“It’s true,” he insists. “It might not be as intense as full-on drooling, but I’d say it’s pretty close, all things considered.”

“You know what? I’ll take it.” You drape the dress over one of your arms and turn towards your closet, though not before pausing to send him a grateful smile. “Thanks, Issei. I’m gonna go try it on!”

With that, you’re off, disappearing back into your closet to change. It isn’t long after you’ve left that he hears your voice again, the sounds of your frustrated swearing only partially muffled by the door.

He calls out to you, asking if everything is all right, and that’s when the door creaks back open, your head poking out into view. Some of your hair has fallen down and over your shoulders, and you’re using both hands to keep the front of the dress pressed firmly against your body, pretty lips pulled into a frown.

“The stupid zipper is stuck,” you grumble, features scrunched up in annoyance, and somehow it’s both the best and the worst thing you could’ve told him at the same time. “I can’t reach it. Can you help zip me up?”

It takes him a moment to respond, his brain all but short-circuiting at the thought of having you so close to him, at the idea of his skin brushing yours, but eventually he manages a nod, muttering out a “sure” that sounds a bit too strained for his liking and wiping his palms against his pants as he stands to join you.

You step out and walk until you’re facing the floor-length mirror, and he follows until he’s standing right behind you, just a few short inches of space between you that suddenly feel a lot smaller now that he’s caught your gaze in the glass.

He knows the smart thing –the right thing, for both of you and for the sake of your friendship– would be to look away. To pretend it means nothing, even as he feels his pulse pick up beneath his skin, even as his entire body warms at the proximity, but he doesn’t. He can’t, not when you’re finally here in front of him, all bright-eyed and gorgeous, and certainly not when he’s this close to you in the way he’s tired of pretending he doesn’t want to be.

And maybe he’s just imagining it, but right now you’re looking at him like you’re thinking the same thing, like you’re just waiting to see what he’ll do next.

He watches the way you watch him as he gathers and moves the parts of your hair that have come loose, sweeping them away to the front of your shoulder and ignoring the feel of them as they brush against his fingers. He looks away only to locate the zipper of your dress and immediately regrets it, the smooth skin of your back and shoulders on full display making the dryness in his throat from before return with a vengeance.

He takes his time, savoring the moment despite knowing how selfish it is of him, as he begins to zip the dress the rest of the way shut. It catches again somewhere in the middle, his knuckles grazing your skin as a result. You let out a little gasp when it happens, a tiny, breathless sound that makes his skin feel like it’s on fire, one he would’ve missed if he wasn’t standing as close to you as he is now.

Immediately, his gaze snaps up to meet yours in the mirror. You look as surprised as he feels, eyes wide and mouth slightly open, like you can’t believe the sound came from you. The moment is ephemeral, your gaze darting away from his after only a few seconds, but it feels like a lifetime. He knows it’s all he’ll be able to think about for days to come, long after you’ve left for the date he really wishes you weren’t going on anymore.

He zips the rest of the dress up without any further incident, though the tension between you is still there, despite both of your valiant attempts to ignore it. He knows the smart thing –the right thing– to do right now would be to move his hands, to let you go and step away so that you can finish getting ready. He has to, because the two of you are just friends, and he has no right to feel the way he does about any of this, especially after everything that’s happened between you.

But Matsukawa’s always been a little bit selfish when it comes to you, and tonight is no different, especially when he remembers that little gasp you gave earlier, the heated look in your eyes as your gaze met his. So instead of moving away, he lets his knuckles graze your skin again, lets his fingertips trace down the outline of the zipper until his hands are resting on your waist.

And instead of stopping him, instead of pushing him away, you sink into his touch, allowing yourself to lean back just enough that your back can rest against his front. You settle against him like you belong there, so close that he catches the scent of your perfume, the same heat he feels spreading across his skin burning into yours.

It’s easy to forgive himself after that, to bring his mouth to your ear as his eyes meet yours in the mirror.

“There.” He’s so close to you now that his lips graze your ear as he speaks. It makes you shiver, just noticeably enough that he considers forgetting all about preserving your friendship and kissing you senseless right then and there. Against all odds, he manages to resist the urge, settling for giving your hips a light squeeze instead. “All done.”

“...Thanks,” you murmur, sounding as dazed as he feels. “What…what do you think?”

He moves his gaze away from yours long enough to take in the sight of you all dressed up, unsurprised to discover you look just as, if not even more so, beautiful as you did on New Year’s. The black dress is long and form-fitting, with a square neckline and ruched fabric that cinches at your waist and eases over your hips nicely. There’s a slit on the left of it that exposes a bit of your thigh, two thin straps against your shoulders holding it all up. And with your hair swept over your shoulder and that bold look in your gold-framed eyes, you are both breathtaking and completely devastating, the longer he stares at you knowing he can’t have you.

I think you’re the most stunning thing I’ve ever seen, is what he wants to tell you. I think I want you to stay home because I hate the idea of you going out with anyone else who isn’t me. But mostly I think I’m a coward and an idiot for having you right here in front of me all this time and not doing anything about it.

But he can’t say any of that now, because it’s late and selfish and not at all what you deserve, so he doesn’t.

“You look amazing,” is what he says instead, and as he meets your gaze again in the mirror, he can only hope you see how much he means it. “Your IT nerd won’t be able to keep his eyes off you.”

And he knows he should just leave it at that, knows it isn’t fair to take it any further, but still he tells you anyway, consequences be damned, “...I know I wouldn’t.”

Another murmur of thanks leaves your lips, an uncharacteristic shakiness lingering in your voice that he wonders might mean something more.

You still haven’t looked away. He knows now he doesn’t want you to. And he wonders, not for the first time, if maybe the risk to your friendship is worth it, if he should stop all this waiting and longing and just do something about it–

The blaring of an alarm cuts him off before he can get any further, one he’s sure the more practical part of you set on your phone well in advance to ensure you wouldn’t be late for your date. It shatters the moment almost instantly, leaving you wide-eyed as you finally seem to notice how close the two of you are, how long you’ve been staring at each other.

You swear and move away from him, slipping out of his grasp as you scramble across the room in search of your phone. You find it resting face-down on your desk and silence it with a swipe of your thumb.

You don’t turn back to look at him right away, almost like you’re taking the extra time to steady yourself before you face him again. He’s tempted to laugh, mainly because he’s pretty much doing the exact same thing right now.

When you do finally turn back to him, you find him standing with his hands shoved into his pockets, an attempt at appearing casual, despite the sinking feeling in his chest.

“Guess you should probably finish getting ready, huh?” Mattsun’s chest tightens as the words leave his mouth, lips curving into a smile he can only hope reaches his eyes. “Wouldn’t want to keep your IT nerd waiting.”

“Yeah.” It takes you a moment, but soon you return the gesture with a hesitant smile of your own. “Thanks again for all your help, Issei. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

He manages to choke out a strained “anytime” that he’s sure sounds unfairly bitter. Thankfully, you don’t seem to notice it, excusing yourself to touch up your makeup before you go, and because he’s a masochist, Mattsun follows, hovering just outside of the doorway to keep you company.

And as he watches you apply the finishing touches to your look, letting down the rest of your hair and touching up your lipstick, that sinking feeling in his chest grows and grows until he can’t ignore it any longer. Until it makes him ask a question he very well knows he shouldn’t.

“So, how’d you meet this guy again?”

You don’t answer right away, the question giving you pause as you spare him an odd look from the corner of your eye. You know as well as he does that the two of you don’t talk about things like this, at least not anymore. You’ve both learned it’s easier for everyone if you just spare each other the details about the people you’re seeing, and though you never agreed to it outright, it’s a rule you’ve both followed faithfully ever since. He’s not sure your friendship would’ve survived without it.

You seem surprised he’s willing to break it now, and honestly, so is he. Still, you decide to answer him anyway, though the guarded look in your eye makes him think you’d prefer not to.

“I told you, I met him at a happy hour. One of my co-workers introduced us. We talked, danced for a bit, and then he asked me out.”

“Right.” He crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the doorframe, hoping he sounds casual and disinterested, even though he feels anything but. “And was this before or after your fourth margarita of the night?”

You start to laugh, until you realize he’s being serious. “Does it matter?”

“Of course it does. Three-drink you is fun and likes to dance. Four-drink you, however, has poor judgment skills. Remember Aina’s birthday, when you, non-existent upper body strength and all, tried to do a handstand and nearly gave yourself a concussion?”

“Key word being nearly.” You grin, a mischievous glint in your eye nearly identical to the one you’d had on the night in question, and when all Mattsun can think is how endearing it makes you look, he knows he’s in trouble. “Besides, you’re one to talk. The last time you got drunk, I had to stop you from jumping the gate at Aina’s place, and that was only two drinks in.”

“In my defense, I was being chased–”

“By what, her six pound toy poodle?”

“Whatever. That’s not my point.”

“And what, pray tell, is your point, Issei?”

“My point is, what if you don’t actually like your IT guy as much as you think? What if he’s actually a huge creep and four-drink you just didn’t notice it because you had your margarita blinders on?”

He keeps his tone light and easy, hoping he sounds more concerned than jealous, because while he definitely doesn’t love the idea of you going out with someone else, he doesn’t actually want to make you think he’s questioning your judgment. He just wants to get you to reconsider things a bit without actually revealing how much he wants you to stay, how much he wants you.

“He is not a creep,” you say easily, in a firm voice that leaves little room for argument, and Matsukawa does his best to ignore how your words make him feel like he’s being punched in the ribs, how that feeling only worsens when he realizes this guy might actually be good for you. “He’s a sweet, cute, thoughtful guy who wants to get to know me better. He even left me a note on my desk this morning saying how excited he is to see me tonight.”

“So he broke into your office instead of just texting you about it?” He shakes his head, clicking his tongue. “I don’t know. Sounds like a creep to me. I wouldn’t blame you if you texted him right now saying you have to cancel on him. In fact, I’d even let you use my phone.”

“He didn’t break into anything, you weirdo. He was trying to be romantic, and it worked.” You cap your lipstick and set it on the counter, using a tissue to blot away any excess as you quirk an eyebrow at him in the mirror. “Why are you being so weird about this, anyway?”

“What? I’m not being weird about anything,” he denies quickly, though it’s hardly believable. You cast another odd look in his direction as you toss the tissue away, but still, you don’t call him out on it. And while part of him is grateful for that, there’s another part of him that almost wishes you would. “All I’m doing is expressing my concern for my best friend before she goes out with a man who may or may not have a history of breaking and entering.”

“Yeah, well, lucky for him, I don’t plan on pressing any charges.” You give your reflection one last look and smile, satisfied with your work. That’s when you turn to face him, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze as you pass him in the doorway. “So stop worrying so much, okay? I’ll be fine, I promise. Now come lock the door for me. I’ve gotta leave now if I want to get there in time.”

You head back into the hallway, and Mattsun, not having much of a choice, follows, though he’s not exactly happy about it. In fact, he finds himself dreading every step, knowing each one takes you further away from where he wants you to be, further away from him.

You’re by the front door now, dressed in your long coat with your purse thrown over your shoulder. You’re still talking as you remove your heels from the shoe rack and slip your feet inside. You mention something about there still being leftover stir fry in the fridge and how he shouldn’t wait up for you, but he can hardly register it over the sheer longing seizing his chest, worsening with every step you take towards the door.

And Matsukawa knows, long before he even says anything, that what he’s about to do is quite possibly the most selfish thing he’ll ever do in his life. But then he thinks about everything that’s happened between you two up until this point –about the fact that he has a playlist with all your favorite songs on it, about all the times he’s tucked you in after you’ve fallen asleep on his shoulder, about the way seeing you smile feels like home– and he figures it’s worth it.

Because the only thing worse than telling you the truth about how he feels and being rejected, he decides, would be keeping it to himself and regretting it later, the same way he’s been regretting it every day this past year.

“Hey.”

He says it so quietly that at first, you don’t hear him. It’s only when he calls your name that you stop, pausing in what you’re doing long enough to flash him a curious look.

And he knows he probably shouldn’t, knows it isn’t fair, but he braces himself and says it anyway, in the softest and most sincere voice you’ve ever heard him use.

“Don’t go.”

You blink, eyes wide as your body stills in the entryway. “...What?”

“Don’t go out with him tonight,” he repeats, stronger this time, firm. “Just stay here.” With me, he wants to add, but doesn’t, at least not yet. But then he watches the look in your eyes change, the confusion giving way to understanding, to shock, and he realizes he doesn’t need to. “Please. Just stay.”

For a long moment, you don’t say anything at all. You just stare at him, stunned, silent, a million emotions passing over your face in the span of a few seconds. There’s definitely anger, along with complete and utter disbelief, like you can’t even begin to fathom the fact that he’s doing this right now. If he’s being honest with himself, neither can he.

All he knows is that watching you walk out that door and smiling like he’s okay with it would’ve been another lie, and he’s so tired of lying to you, to himself. He’s tired of pretending that all the stolen glances and lingering touches you’ve exchanged over the years mean nothing, tired of pretending that he wants you any less than he actually does. He can only hope that you feel the same.

You have to know exactly what he’s trying to tell you, why he wants so badly for you to stay. You’re too smart not to. Still, you refuse to acknowledge it, eyes narrowing and expression hardening as you cross your arms over your chest.

Your reply is terse, stubborn, a question that sounds more like a warning. “And why should I do that?”

“You know why.”

“No, actually, I don’t–”

“Yes,” he interrupts you, quietly, knowingly, because you do. You do know. It’s written all over your face. You just don’t want to admit it, the same way he didn’t want to admit it when you found yourselves in this exact same situation last year. “Yes, you do.”

“No.” Your voice is low and sharp as you speak, the harshest he’s ever heard it, even as your eyes begin to water, even as your lip trembles. “No, I don’t– you can’t– you can’t do this to me, Issei. It isn’t fair. You can’t, not after everything, not when you’re the one who–”

“I know.” And the worst part is that he does. He knows you don’t deserve this, knows that he has the shittiest timing ever, but he can’t help it. He can’t let you slip through his fingers again, not after learning what it’s like to be so close to you, not after seeing the way your eyes met his in the mirror, like you could feel it, too. Like you could want him, like you could still want him, despite all the ways he knows he’s disappointed you. “I know that, okay? I know it’s not fair–”

“Do you? Do you, really? Because if you did, you wouldn’t be doing this to me right now.”

There’s anguish in your voice, thick enough to coat every word you say, a hurt so deep that he hates himself for not noticing it sooner. Even now, you try to hold it back, determined to keep him from seeing it and finding out how strong it is, how long you’ve held onto it, though whether it’s for your own sake or his, he can’t really tell. All he knows is that watching it happen makes him hate himself even more for doing this to you. Guilt coils around him and nestles somewhere deep inside his bones, tightening like a hand around his throat.

“This shouldn’t even be a conversation. Not again. Not now.” You shake your head and blink back tears, the grip you have on your keys tight and unforgiving. “You’re the one who rejected me, remember?”

It’s enough to make Mattsun wince, even more so because it’s true. “It wasn’t like– I didn’t mean to–”

“But you did, Issei! You did. Last year, when I told you I had feelings for you, you let me. You let me pour my heart out, let me kiss you– hell, you even kissed me back, and then? Then you told me it was a mistake, that it couldn’t happen, that you didn’t see me that way and that we were just friends–”

“I know what I said!”

He doesn’t mean to shout –it’s actually the last thing he wants to do, especially when he’s the one who screwed things up in the first place– but that’s what comes out. It stuns you both into silence, though it’s nothing like the comfortable ones you usually share. This one is heavy and tense, weighed down by the gravity of all that’s happened between you, by all the things you’ve left unsaid.

He shuts his eyes, pausing to take a deep breath as he rakes a hand through his hair. When he opens them and starts to speak again, his voice is much softer, though the tension between you is still there, like a fever you can’t seem to shake, a chain that binds you to each other, for better or worse.

“I know what I said, okay? And I lied. I lied about everything. Back then, what I told you, it wasn’t because I didn’t have feelings for you, because I did. I do.”

The confession leaves you both floored, though for very different reasons. Him because of how easily it fell out of his mouth, how right it felt to say it, and you because you can’t believe it, because it’s the last thing you expected to hear.

“You what?” Your eyes are wide, lips parted as you gape at him. “But you told me– when did you– how could you even–”

“How could I not? You’re smart as hell, not to mention confident and unfairly funny. You’re impossibly stubborn, too, especially if it’s something you’re passionate about, and so much kinder than you give yourself credit for. And god, when I look at you? I can’t– I can’t stop looking at you.”

He takes a step forward, bridging the distance between you, and you’re so stunned that you let him. It makes him brave enough to reach out a hand to you, cupping your face in his palm. Your eyes widen at the contact, but you don’t push him away.

“You’re everything I’ve ever wanted,” he says, quieter now but still so sincere, as he brushes your cheek gently with his thumb. “So I need you to know, all of those things I said back then– they had nothing to do with my feelings for you.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me that?” Your voice cracks, a tear escaping your eye and rolling down your cheek, and it does something awful to his heart, knowing he’s the reason for it. “Why did you lie and say that you only saw me as a friend?”

And though the memory of what he’s done and of all the ways he’s hurt you still fills him with shame and regret, Mattsun knows that he owes it to you to tell the truth, so that’s exactly what he does.

“Because I was scared. We were friends for so long, and the way I felt about you –the way I still feel about you– I’ve never felt that way about anyone before. And all I could think about was if we decided to be something more, and things went wrong, then I’d lose you. And I didn’t– I couldn't risk that.”

The laugh that leaves your throat is bitter and humorless, even as another tear falls from your eye. He’s quick to wipe it away, though part of him knows even before he does it that it’s nowhere near enough to make up for everything he’s put you through. “So you decided to lie to me about it instead?”

He looks down, ashamed. “I’m sorry. I know it was shitty–”

“It wasn’t just shitty, Issei, it was fucking heartbreaking. You broke my fucking heart.”

You reach for his wrist and tug, removing his hand from your face and stepping away from him. The distance hurts you both more than you know, but you’re too upset to think about that right now, voice raw as you snap at him.

“When you let me kiss you –when you chose to kiss me back– you made me think that it was worth it, that you might actually feel the same way, only to take it back and tell me that you didn’t, that you wanted us to just stay friends.”

You’re practically shaking now, all that pain and heartache you’ve tried so hard to bury clawing their way back up to the surface, tumbling out of you before you can stop them.

“And hearing that fucking sucked, of course it did, but I accepted it because it’s what I thought you wanted, because our friendship meant more to me than my own feelings did. And now that I am finally making my peace with it, now that I’m actually trying to move on, you turn around and tell me that it was all a lie? That you actually have feelings for me?”

You shake your head, reeling and incredulous. Your eyes fill with tears while his heart aches to hold you, and it’s like you’re both reliving that night all over again.

Mattsun remembers it all too well, that night your senior year of college, when you, him, and the rest of your friends packed into Aina’s apartment for one of her notorious parties. The two of you stood together on the balcony, nursing lukewarm beers and lamenting your upcoming final exams. Neither of you were entirely sure what your plans were for after graduation, but what you did know was that you didn’t want to end the year with any regrets.

He thinks that’s what brought it out of you back then, what made you turn to him, nervous but brave, and say you had something you needed to tell him. He never would’ve guessed that you’d say you had feelings for him, or that you’d curl your fist into his shirt and press your lips to his only a few moments after.

And you’re right. He did kiss you back. He let you run your fingers through his hair and tug him closer, let his tongue dip into your mouth and his lips trail down your jaw and neck as he wrapped his arms around your waist. He would’ve kept kissing you, too, would’ve kept you breathless and whispered that he felt the same against your lips, the way he’d been feeling for so long, if it weren’t for the fear that planted itself into his head immediately after.

Because Matsukawa’s been in relationships before. They hadn’t all ended terribly, of course –he’s not that much of an asshole– but no matter what terms he and his previous partners had ended on, the truth of the matter was that they never spoke again.

And the thought of that happening with you –the thought of never speaking to you again, of losing you forever– terrified him, leaving him panicked and afraid enough to decide, right then and there, that no matter how much he wanted it –no matter how much he wanted you– this would be a road the two of you couldn’t go down.

So he pulled away. He lied, feeding you some bullshit line about not feeling the same and about the two of you being better off as friends, even though it broke his heart to do so, even though every fiber of his being ached to pull you back to him. Your lip trembled and your eyes watered, but you didn’t cry. You just nodded and accepted it, told him that you understood, that it was fine.

You didn’t see each other for the rest of the weekend. When you did finally meet up, it was for lunch at the campus cafe, a tradition between classes you’d established your freshman year. You agreed to stay friends, and then you never talked about it again.

Until tonight, of course, when he asked you to stay. Until right now.

It hits him, then, how selfish he’s been, how thoughtless. Before, Mattsun told himself that lying to you about his feelings was the best thing for both of you, the only way to ensure that your friendship would remain intact and to keep you from losing each other. Not once did he stop to consider whether or not that was something you actually wanted, and it’s only now that he’s realizing how deeply unfair that was of him.

Even now, he’s still being selfish with you, confessing his feelings an entire year later, as if that makes it better, as if he still has the right. And sure, you leaned into his touch earlier; sure, you let him run his fingers up your back and hold your waist, but that doesn’t mean you still want him that way. It doesn’t mean that you have to forgive him, either, not when he doesn’t deserve it.

Earlier, he thought being honest with you about his feelings was the right thing to do. Now he’s not so sure. All he knows is that he’s really, really sorry. That he hates himself for hurting you, and that if he ever really plans on doing right by you, then the first thing he needs to do is apologize.

So he does.

“I’m sorry,” he tells you, soft, sincere, and you know how much he means it. You see it in the way his shoulders slump, in the sad, regretful way he looks at you. “I’m sorry for lying to you and for making you believe I didn’t have feelings for you, even though I did. I’m sorry for hurting you. And I’m sorry for waiting to tell you all of this now, even though I should’ve said something sooner. I’m just– I’m really, really sorry. For everything.”

You don’t accept his apology, but you don’t tell him to go fuck himself, either, which is honestly more than he deserves. Instead, you take a tentative step towards him, folding your arms over your chest. Your eyes are still a little watery, but you’re not actively crying anymore, though a few tears linger on the curve of your cheeks. He wants to wipe them away again, but he thinks better of it and keeps his hands at his sides, unsure of how you’d react if he did.

“Why didn’t you?” you ask, and it’s not angry or sad anymore, just curious, confused. “Say something sooner, I mean.”

“Because it was too late. Because you were dating again, and it would’ve been wrong of me to get in the way of you being happy.” He shifts on his feet, guilty and apologetic, as he averts his gaze to the floor. “I figured you’d moved on. And even if you hadn’t, part of me was still scared of saying something and losing you anyway.”

“Then why risk it now?” You take another step, and his eyes jump back to your face, watching as you tilt your head at him, soft and seeking. “Why is tonight any different?”

“I didn’t think it would be,” he admits, because honestly, it shouldn’t have been. It wasn’t supposed to be, at least, until you gasped when his fingers brushed your skin, the sound embedding itself somewhere deep inside his brain. It did something to him, that sound, woke something up he had almost forgotten about.

“When you told me about your date, I thought I could pretend to be okay with it, that I could ignore it the way I’ve done before. And I was going to, I was trying to, but then…” He lets his voice trail off, lets his gaze lock onto yours the way it did before, warm and wanting. “Then I saw the way you looked at me in the mirror.”

Your eyes widen a fraction, lips parting. Your gaze jumps down to his hands, then back up to his face, and you swallow like you’re remembering it, too.

“I held you, and you let me. And I know it was only for a minute, but it just– I don’t know, it gave me hope, I guess? That it wasn’t too late. That what I was feeling wasn’t one-sided.” He shakes his head and lifts a hand to rub at the back of his neck, a small, sad smile curving its way onto his lips. “I know it sounds stupid–”

“It’s not.” You take his free hand into your own, and he watches, stunned, as you lift it towards you, letting his palm rest against the side of your face. He wonders if you notice his pulse pounding in his ears, how fast his heart is racing. “It’s not stupid.”

Slowly, tentatively, he wipes away what’s left of your tears, and to his surprise, you let him. You even go as far as leaning into his touch, cheek pressing gently into the curve of his hand. You open your mouth to speak again, a breathless little sigh of his name he doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of.

“Issei, I–”

The rest of your sentence is cut off by the sound of your phone ringing. It’s a proper ring this time, too, not an alarm like before. And Mattsun knows, even before you look at it, that it’s your date who’s calling, just like he knows, even before you turn to him with that apologetic look of yours, what you’re going to do next.

Because Mattsun knows you, which means he knows that you’re the kind of person who always keeps her word, who makes plans and sticks to them. And like it or not, you made plans to meet with your IT guy tonight, plans he knows you’re not going to cancel on, no matter how much he wants you to.

His only consolation is that you look really conflicted about it, eyes flickering down to your phone in your hand, then back up to his face. It’s still ringing, but you’ve made no move to answer it. He almost starts to doubt that you will. Almost.

You don’t bother to say who’s calling, because both of you already know. Instead, you take a deep breath, voice heavy with uncertainty as you stare down at your phone. “I…I told him I was on my way. I didn’t think–”

“That I’d be selfish enough to ambush you with all of my repressed feelings before you could make it through the door? Yeah, me neither.” He tries to laugh about it, but it’s forced, hollow. It sounds nothing like him. “And again, I’m really sorry for that. The point is, you don’t have to explain yourself to me. All of this is my fault, anyway, remember?”

You frown at him, looking very badly like you want to argue, but something in his expression must stop you, because you don’t. Still, there’s guilt in your eyes when you meet his gaze again, and though it should make him feel better, he thinks it just makes him feel worse. “I have to go.”

“I know.” He brushes his thumb against your cheek once more before letting his hand fall back to his side. The smile he gives you is pained, sad. It doesn’t meet his eyes. “Be safe, all right?”

He takes a step back, letting you go for the second time in the past year. It feels just as awful and heartbreaking as it did the first, but he refuses to feel sorry for himself. He’s already been selfish enough with you tonight by confessing to you when you were halfway out the door. The least he can do for you after all that is to give you the space to move on.

The steps you take towards the door now are hesitant, unsure, so different from the way you felt only moments ago. It hurts, watching you walking away from him, but this time, he knows better than to stop you.

“Issei?” The sound of your voice draws his attention back to you, as you turn from the now open door to look at him from over your shoulder. “We’ll talk when I get back, okay?”

He doesn’t trust himself enough to speak, so he settles for just nodding. Just like before, you spend longer than you need to just looking at each other, gazes locked, a million things left unsaid between you.

And just like before, you’re the first to turn away, the door shutting quietly behind you.

The sound of your key turning in the lock makes Mattsun jolt up from the couch. He’s been laying there sulking ever since you left, a bowl of popcorn resting on his chest and a lukewarm beer in his hand.

He scrambles to sit himself up into a slightly less pathetic position, discarding the bowl of popcorn onto the coffee table. He considers putting the beer there, too, but ultimately decides against it, knowing you’d chew him out for not using a coaster. He ends up putting it on the floor instead and forces himself to stare at the tv in front of him, an old movie playing on the screen that he’s hardly paid any attention to, too busy stressing out over how your date was going and what the future of your relationship will be after all of this.

A quick glance at his phone confirms that it’s been less than an hour since you left. Forty minutes, at most. He wonders if that’s a good thing or a bad one. Don’t successful dates usually last longer? Or are you back now to tell him that things went so well that you have no interest in talking to him ever again? He isn’t sure, and the uncertainty makes him want to throw up.

The door opens and shuts, and he hears the usual sounds of you settling back into your apartment, the jingle of your keys in the bowl, the click of your heels on the shoe rack. Your feet pad across the floor, and then you appear at the foot of the couch, wearing the dress he picked out.

You look lovely. You always do. You’re a little nervous, too, standing with your hands clasped behind your back, a hesitant look in your eyes as you greet him. “Hi.”

“Hey,” he replies, for lack of anything else to offer. He gives a little wave, too, though it hardly does anything to ease the tension between you.

You nod at the couch. “Do you mind if I—?”

“Yeah, sure— I mean, no, of course I don’t mind. Go for it.” He shifts to give you a little more space, and you settle into the spot next to him, bringing your legs up to your chest. It’s tense and awkward, the complete opposite of how things usually are when you’re with each other. He doesn’t look at you when he clears his throat and speaks again. “You’re home early.”

“I wasn’t supposed to be,” is your quick reply. It’s blunt and honest enough to make him smile, despite how weighted things are between you now. “Earlier today, I was planning on spending the whole night enjoying my date, until this guy I know ruined it all by confessing his feelings for me right before I left.”

“That guy sounds like an asshole,” he says, only half-joking, and when he turns back to you and sees the way you start to smile, he figures it’s worth it. He leans back against the couch, running a hand through his hair. “You must really hate him, huh?”

“That’s the thing.” You reach out and take one of his hands, sliding your fingers through his own. It’s something you’ve done a million times before, but it feels different now, warm and deliberate in a way that has his heart racing. “I don’t.”

It surprises the hell out of him, hearing you say that –because honestly, after everything he’s done, you should hate him– but it also fills him with relief, makes him let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Still, it isn’t long before guilt starts to wash over him again, an awful, ugly thing that makes him want to draw into himself, if only you weren’t still holding onto him.

Mattsun looks down at your linked hands. Your grip is firm and tender, your skin warm and welcome against his, and all he can think is that he doesn’t deserve it. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did. After everything I put you through, you should hate me.”

“But I don’t. It’s true, what you did was stupid and selfish. You never should’ve lied to me in the first place, but it’s not like you did it to hurt me on purpose. You actually thought you were doing what was best for me, in your own weird way. And yeah, it was dumb as hell, but it’s not enough to make me hate you.”

You hold his hand a little tighter, squeezing your fingers around his. He wonders if you know how much it means to him now, how terrified he was at the thought of losing you.

“I could never hate you, Issei,” you say, and the honest, earnest way you meet his gaze makes him believe you. “I just wish you would’ve told me the truth sooner.”

“I should’ve been honest with you from the beginning. I’m sorry that I wasn’t.” He reaches out to you with a free hand, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear. “But mostly I’m sorry for hurting you.”

“I know. I forgive you.” You give his hand another gentle squeeze, brushing your thumb along the back of his skin. “Which is why I never actually made it to the restaurant for my date.”

He blinks, eyes widening. The shock is almost enough to make him drop your hand, but he holds fast, even as his gaze turns incredulous. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah, really. I tried to forget about everything that happened before I left, but all I could think about was you. I was halfway to the restaurant when I realized I couldn’t go through with it. It wouldn’t have been fair to either of us, but mostly to him. So I called him and told him I couldn’t do it, and then I came back here.”

Mattsun tries very hard to hide his grin, but when you nudge at his thigh and flick his forehead with your free hand, an unamused expression on your face, he realizes he’s probably doing a shitty job at it.

“You could at least pretend to feel a little bad, you know,” you scold him, though there’s no real bite to it. “He’s a good guy.”

“Hey, I do feel bad.” The doubtful look you give him makes him reconsider his answer. “Sort of. Not really.”

You roll your eyes, muttering something about him being too smug for his own good, but you don’t stop him when he wraps his free arm around your shoulders, letting him pull you into his side.

“Honestly, I’m just happy you came back,” he says, soft and vulnerable, the way you always seem to make him. “I was really scared that you wouldn’t.”

You rest your head against his shoulder and shrug in a noncommittal fashion, though the way you nuzzle into him and squeeze his hand is nothing short of comforting. “Yeah, well, it was either that or find a new roommate, and honestly, in this economy, it just wasn’t worth the trouble.”

Now it’s Mattsun’s turn to roll his eyes, pretending to be annoyed, even as his lips curl into a smile. “Yeah, yeah, we get it, you’re hilarious.”

“Damn right I am. What was it you said again?” You lower your voice, teasing and playful, delivering an impression of him that’s not even slightly accurate but still makes you throw your head back and cackle like you’re the funniest person in the world. “Oh, baby, you’re so smart and confident and unfairly funny, I can’t stop looking at you–”

Mattsun’s entire face goes red, and he has no choice but to tackle you, the rest of your sentence fading into a gasp which is quickly followed up by a protest as he wrestles you on the couch. All of a sudden, you’re on your back, body pressed between him and the cushions as he hovers over you.

Then his hands are at your sides, tickling you into submission. You gasp and laugh as you try to roll your way out of his grasp and into freedom, and pretty soon he’s laughing, too, and all that tension and anxiety from before disappears, leaving behind the comfort and familiarity you’re used to, the one that feels like home.

Eventually, he takes pity on you, and your wrestling match turned tickle war ends, allowing you both to catch your breath. Still, he doesn’t let you go, easing himself up on his forearms to keep his weight off you, face hovering only inches above your own.

“I meant what I said before, you know. I really am sorry. For everything.”

“I know.” You brush your thumb along his jaw, eyes tracing the movement before flickering back up to meet his own. “So where does this leave us?”

“Wherever you want. I never should’ve lied to you, no matter what my reasons were. And I definitely shouldn’t have waited so long to tell you the truth. It was unfair of me to make that decision for the both of us in the first place. So whatever happens next, wherever we go from here, it’ll be up to you.”

He pauses for a moment, letting his words sink in. You seem satisfied by his response, if the way your eyes soften is any indication, and nod for him to continue.

“If you want me to walk away, then I will.” It’ll break his heart and hurt like hell, of course, but he’ll do it, if that’s what you want, because he meant what he said. What happens from here on out will be on your terms, not just his. “If you want to stay friends, then we will. And if you want us to try dating, I’ll be outside your room door at 7 tomorrow night to pick you up.”

You pause to consider it for a moment, tilting your head, and then the bright look in your eyes, the one he’s always loved, darkens just a bit, turning into something wanting, something deliberate. Something that looks like desire.

“And what if I want you to kiss me?” you ask, in that bold and daring way of yours, the one that drew him to you in the first place.

Mattsun’s eyes widen, heart nearly careening out of his chest at your words. Every bone in his body urges him to lean down, to close the distance between you and press his lips to yours in the way he’s been wanting to all night.

Still, he finds it in himself to pause, drawing back enough to meet your gaze and ask, “Are you sure?”

You end up closing the distance for him, teeth grazing his bottom lip and making him groan. “Very sure.”

He doesn’t hesitate anymore after that. He tilts his head and presses his lips to yours in a way that has you both sighing, mouth moving in tandem against your own. Your hands tangle in his hair while he uses one of his to grip at your thigh, fingers pressing into your skin as he lifts your leg and guides it to wrap around his waist.

You’re both breathless when you pull away, lips smudged with red, pupils blown wide. Matsukawa thinks you’ve never looked more beautiful. Your hands move from his hair to cup his face, thumbs brushing against his jaw.

“You gonna run away this time?” you ask.

“Never again,” he swears, turning his head just enough to press his lips to the inside of your palm. “I promise.”

And it’s a promise, you’re pleased to note, that he never fails to keep.

Written by: Dawn