KINKTOBER MASTERLIST Additional Tws Added When The Fic Is Posted !! Proceed With Caution, DARK CONTENT

One of my all time favourite stories!!!

LITTLE DARK AGE

haitani ran x fem!reader x haitani rindou

summary: eight years later, you finally return to tokyo and find yourself caught in the middle of a violent gang war between the two most ruthless criminal organizations of tokyo’s underworld, forced to choose between blood and love.

genre: bonten timeskip, angst, forbidden romance, childhood friends -> strangers -> lovers, 18+ MDNI

warnings: fem!reader, gang violence, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, explicit smut, polyamory, profanity, MCD, unedited, MTBA

previous chapter -> masterlist -> next chapter

CHAPTER ⅩⅡ. WHATEVER I'VE DONE, I DID IT FOR LOVE

TWELVE YEARS EARLIER. 

It had been a very long time since you’d felt like this. You felt as if your stomach was eating itself as you sat alone in the penthouse, fingers shaking as you stared at the phone resting on the table in front of you, waiting for a call from your uncle, or Miss Sara, or Mister Mado, or one of your uncle’s colleagues, or anyone who would tell you what was going on. 

One week. Seven full days. One hundred and sixty-eight hours. Too many minutes for you to try to calculate. 

It had been too long since the Kanto Incident--or so the news was calling the disastrous fight between the Tokyo Manji Gang and Tenjiku--considering you had yet to find anything out about what had happened that day. Your uncle was away on business and wasn’t picking up his phone, Miss Yua and Mister Ayato were taking some well deserved, and much needed, time off in Fiji and you didn’t want to bother either of them, you had tried to go to the police station to get information but nobody gave you answers, you had even tried going to Izanagi Headquarters to try to talk to some of your uncle’s colleagues but only one had spared you some time and even then, he had only given you a half-assed, ‘I’ll look into it,’ before rushing off to his next meeting. You couldn’t blame him--Izanagi was dealing with some heavy lawsuits from another tech company--it was shitty timing all around and it was making you sick to your stomach.

Three dead. Five arrested. 

You didn’t know who died. You didn’t know who was arrested. You couldn’t get answers no matter how hard you tried and it made you want to cry. You were fucking useless without your uncle’s support. 

Rindou and Ran hadn’t come home since the incident, neither had any of the rest of their friends--your friends. And you could only pray that they had been the ones arrested because you knew damn well that they would have come to you afterward if they had been able to. 

(Deep, deep down you knew that was impossible. Three dead, five arrested. There were six of them.)

The thought spinning around the back of your head froze the blood flowing through your body, fear clawed at your chest. Three dead, five arrested. Six of them. Anxiety built faster than you could push it away, your heartbeat raced erratically, your body shuddered as an unnatural chill ran up your spine. 

One of them is dead. 

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. 

No. That is not necessarily true. Maybe they just hadn’t had the chance to come talk to you yet.

It was a waiting game, and you were quite certain now that waiting games might be the worst possible games in existence. All you could do was wander around your penthouse trying to keep yourself distracted as you waited for news. You had only felt this helpless once before in your entire fucking life--the night of the accident when you were waiting for news about your family--and you hated it. Every passing second had your heart leaping to your throat, your knees weak, tears building in your eyes that you could only barely catch before they fell.

You were scared. You had lost your entire family in one blow once before and it had nearly destroyed you. You were terrified that it was about to happen again and you weren’t sure you’d be able to recover from it a second time.

You pressed your face into your palms, pulling your knees to your chest as you rocked yourself back and forth, trying to keep yourself calm. 

Everything would be okay, you tried to convince yourself. Everything would be okay. 

Ran and Rindou. Izana and Shion. Mochi and Mucho. They were fine--probably caught up in juvie again and without your uncle’s influence, it was just a little harder to figure out what was going on so you could try to get them out. That was all. 

That was all. 

Everything would be okay.

As soon as you got word of what detention center they were being held at, you would haul your ass to them and give them the scolding of a lifetime. All of them. Ran and Rindou. Izana and Shion. Mochi and Mucho. None of them would be able to get out of it.

Especially Izana. 

Fury stirred in you at the thought of your white-haired friend. You had warned him so many times--a countless amount of times--to not let his resentment get the best of him, to not let it make him lose sight of his goals. 

And he did. 

He fucking let it.

You wanted to scream and shake him, rattle his brain in his head and demand answers--what the fuck was so important to him that he let it risk his goals, your goals? Every time you tried to ask him what exactly the ‘detour’ was, he would withdraw like a damned turtle, give you the silent treatment and force you to drop it. 

You should have known that it would come to this. 

You supposed you blamed yourself as much as you did Izana. You should have pushed more. You should have asked more questions even if it did piss him off. Maybe things would have gone differently. 

You exhaled deeply, standing up to pace around the main room of the penthouse. The news station was playing in the background, muted and unintelligible to your ears. Your legs were unsteady but you forced yourself to keep moving. If you stopped, you would drown. 

You couldn’t let that happen, not yet. You needed answers. 

You needed to know they were okay. 

Your phone buzzed back at the kitchen counter. Your head snapped to the side, eyes wide.

At once, the fear began crawling back.

Your phone had not buzzed since before the Kanto Incident.

Your feet dragged against the ground as you made your way back to the kitchen--slower, less excited than you should have been at the prospect of possibly finally getting news. 

One of them is dead.

The thought rang around your head--screaming, whispering, you couldn’t push it away this time. 

One of them is dead.

They would have come to you if they had been able to. They would have come to tell you what happened. So five of them are jailed. One of them is dead.

Best case scenario.

Worst case scenario, three of them are jailed, three of them are dead.

Your stomach twisted and turned, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at whatever message had just come through. Three jailed, three dead. You couldn’t breathe, you forced yourself to walk away from the counter your phone was resting on, moving over to the sink to pour yourself a glass of water.

You downed the liquid immediately, nearly choking over it before slamming the glass back down. You braced your hands against the counter, leaning over it, breathing heavy as you tried to control yourself. 

Breathe in, breathe out. 

Everything would be okay. 

All you had to do was figure out where they were and get to them. 

You pushed yourself up, smoothing out your shirt and forcing your lips flat. 

First, you had to read the message. There was no reason to stress about anything else until you did.

Letting out one more heavy breath, you moved back over to the other counter, ignoring how your fingers trembled as you picked up your phone. Inhaling softly, you unlocked your phone, taking note of the unknown number who you figured must be Amon, one of your uncle’s colleagues who had promised to get back to you if he figured something out.

Your heart dropped once the message registered.

16:43 UNKNOWN: A Haitani Rindou was admitted to the Kawagoe Juvenile Prison infirmary in critical condition two days ago.

---

You had never moved so fast in your entire life. You were out the front door of the building in less than five minutes and you were grateful that your driver for the week had been in the area because he was already waiting for you underneath the awning outside of the building, car running and ready to go. 

You all but leapt into the passenger seat when you got to the car, telling him to drive as fast as he could. 

It was an hour’s drive to Kawagoe Juvenile Prison without traffic. And it was a Friday night, on the verge of rush hour. Every second you spent in that car you swore was taking time off from the end of your life. It was frustrating, anxiety-inducing. 

‘It would be faster running there,’ you tried to tell Mister Mado but he only clicked his tongue at you and told you that if you stepped out of the car in the middle of rush hour traffic, he would drag you right back into the car and drive you back to the penthouse. And you did not doubt his capability--Mister Mado was ex-special forces, like Mister Ayato. They had trained together, and Mister Ayato was the one that introduced Mister Mado to your uncle a few years back.

If you had tried to make a break for it, he would have caught up to you easily. And then you wouldn’t be able to see Rindou, or Ran, or any of the others at all. 

Assuming they were all there. 

Critical condition, the words rang through your head as Mister Mado pulled into the juvenile prison. Critical condition, two days ago.

Three dead, five arrested. Rindou, Ran, Izana. Shion, Mochi, Mucho. 

Six. 

Schrodinger’s cat. You would not know who was dead or alive until you entered that building, thus, until you enter it, the six of them, in a sense, are both dead and alive. 

Once you entered that building… at least one of them would be dead and nothing would ever be the same after.

Your nails dug into the cloth of your slacks, trying to calm yourself down as Mister Mado talked to the man at the front gate. You couldn’t pay attention to what he was saying, too focused on the large building ahead of you. 

Three dead, five arrested. 

Please be okay. 

You rested your head on the cool window, letting your eyes slide shut.

It was too hot for a February day. Muggy. Suffocating. Ugly. 

You hated the humidity nearly as much as you hated the rain. You could feel the heavy air weighing down on you through the rolled-down window Mister Mado was leaning out of to talk to the man at the front gate. You swore you felt like you were going to pass out.

It took an outrageous amount of time for the guard to let the two of you through the gates. Or well, you were being dramatic--it only took about five minutes, but those five minutes felt like five hours. Every moment you were separated from them was hellish, every moment of uncertainty, every time you questioned whether or not all of your worst fears might come true.

You just wanted to be with them again, your throat was tight at the admission--you wanted to be hanging out in their room annoying Ran with Rindou, you wanted to force Ran to sit down so you could brush his hair, you wanted to fight with Rindou over what movie you two were going to watch, you wanted to complain that the two of them were being too clingy when Rindou draped himself on top of you and Ran was forcing his head on your lap when he came back into the main room of the penthouse--having woken up to you shrieking at a jumpscare--dragging one of the soft blankets that Miss Yua had given him for his birthday behind him as he joined the two of you for the last half of the movie you were watching,

You felt your eyes well with tears, you forced them away.

Now was not the time. 

Finally, the car was moving again and your heart was stuttering in your chest as Mister Mado pulled up to the front of the detention center.

“The guards will guide you to the infirmary,” Mister Mado told you, “stay with them. I’ll meet you there.”

You nodded once, slipping out of the car and into the humidity. The heels of your boots clicked against the dark gray pavement as you approached the building, keeping your chin up and your gaze forward. 

One of the guards pressed his access card against the scanner, a loud ring and the front doors swung open. They waited for you to move inside. 

You hesitated. 

Schrodinger’s cat. As long as you did not enter the building, all six were both dead and alive. A state of unknown that might just be better than whatever reality you would face walking into that building. 

“An alarm will go off if you don’t go in,” one of the guards said, voice brusque. You bristled in annoyance, shooting him a sharp look before letting out a sigh of defeat, stepping into the building. 

Two guards were waiting for you in the long hallway, the doors shut behind you with an ominous bang. 

“Come, l/n-san,” one of them said, “We’ll take you to the infirmary.”

You nodded, following after them silently. You had half a mind to ask who all was arrested--their names were on the tip of your tongue. Haitani Ran. Kurokawa Izana. Madarame Shion. Muto Yasuhiro. Mochizuki Kanji. You swallowed their names, continuing down the long, dreary hall of the juvenile prison. 

You knew Rindou was alive at least, and the thought put you at ease, if only momentarily. 

Alive but his last known condition was critical.

You felt sick. 

Right, left, left, right. 

You bit down on your bottom lip. The prison was cool and damp compared to the humidity from outside but it was just as suffocating. A part of you wanted to run before you learned the truth. 

Three dead, five arrested. Six of them. 

You were scared. It was a sort of low, creeping fear that was eating at your mind and soul. One that was building and building and had been building since the news first came out about the casualties of the Kanto Incident. It was becoming too much for your body and mind to handle.

You were going to break.

“Here,” the guard said firmly, stopping in front of a grey door, “We’ll wait outside unless you call for us.”

You couldn’t break. Not yet. 

Hold yourself together. Now is not the time.

Chin up, back straight. Push all of your emotions to the back of your head. You can only fall apart in the privacy of your own home. Your uncle’s words rang on repeat through your head.

You took in a deep breath, you straightened your back, you raised your chin.

“Thank you,” you said. Your voice was steadier than you expected as you stepped forward, pushing open the door.

You entered the room, heart tight in your chest. It was a shitty little infirmary--not equipped to handle any serious wounds. You felt anxious as your gaze drifted around before it tunneled to a figure laying on one of the beds on the opposite side of the room.

“Rindou,” you breathed out, rushing forward toward him. And you nearly broke there and then—eyes blurry with tears when you noticed how badly his face was bruised up and the way his arm was in a sling. You stood at his bedside, half kneeling on the bed next to him. You brought your hands to his face, cupping his cheeks gently and your fingers trembled against his skin as he peeked up at you through swollen eyes, split lips pulling up into a small smile, “What happened?”

“Got the shit kicked out of me,” his voice was rough, scratchy, and he winced as if his throat hurt when he spoke, “Real bad.”

“No shit,” you laughed, but your voice cracked as the tears spilled over your cheeks. Your uncle would be disappointed if he found out. You couldn’t bring yourself to care. 

You shifted the thin sheets off of him, one hand leaving his face to trace gently down his chest and abdomen across all of the deep purple bruises marring his skin all the way down to beneath the waistband of his pants. 

You pulled away when his abdomen spasmed beneath your touch, sliding the sheets back over him as he shivered. You looked back up at him as he leaned his face into your touch, bringing your other hand up to brush a lock of blonde hair from his face.

“Who did this?” you asked quietly.

Rindou shook his head, “Doesn’t matter,” he murmured, “How’d you get in here anyway? They said they don’t allow visitors.”

You scoffed lightly but there was no heat behind it as you gazed down at Rindou, biting down on the inside of your cheek as you took in just how hurt he was, “Do you even know who I am?” you said light-heartedly, fingers ghosting along his cheekbone, “I can do whatever I want.”

“Ah yes, I forgot, Miss My-Uncle-Owns-Half-Of-Japan,” Rindou teased, but there was an odd tone in his voice, one that you couldn’t quite place and it had you on edge because you could always, usually pretty easily, tell what Rindou was feeling. “Why’d it take you so long anyway? Figure you’d be here as soon as news got out about what happened in Yokohama.”

Your small smile faltered at the reminder of your own lack of capability, your inability to get anything done without your uncle’s help. How the fuck were you supposed to start up your own business, much less make it successful, when you can’t even do basic shit on your own? When you can’t even find out if your friends are dead or alive without going to a dozen and a half people for help. 

Well, you supposed you wouldn’t be alone, you remembered. You and Izana had planned it all out over the few months you spent in the music room together. He would be at your side, and you were quite certain that you and Kurokawa Izana would be an unstoppable force once you got the momentum going. 

You didn’t have to answer his question. Instead, a new familiar voice spoke up, “What am I? Chopped liver?” a petulant voice asked and you all but leapt off of the bed, eyes wide and desperate as your gaze swiveled around the room, eyes falling upon Ran lounging back on a nearby bed, studying you carefully.

“Ran,” you gasped, leaping off Rindou’s bed and toward Ran. 

Ran spread open his arms for you and you buried yourself right into them. He huffed in amusement as he wrapped his arms snug around you and you couldn’t help the way your eyes fluttered shut, you couldn’t help the warm feeling that swam throughout you at the feeling of his arms holding you tight. 

“You’re okay,” your voice was choked as you pulled back, hands going right to cup his face just as you had to Rindou, eyes tracing over his skin, and then down his body. He wasn’t as fucked up as Rindou, but he was clearly bruised and battered.

“Okay is a relative term,” Ran murmured in response.

“Wh-what happened to you guys?” you demanded, going to look back at Rindou but your gaze caught on the other three in the room: Shion, Mochi and Mucho, all of whom had also been beaten albeit none as badly as Rindou. Your voice rose in anger, “How the hell did Izana let this happen? Wher-”

Three dead, five arrested.

The anger washed away, your hands trembled. You pushed yourself off of Ran’s bed, looking around one last time--maybe you had missed him.

Your voice was little over a hushed whisper as you finished your question, “Where is he? Where-where is Izana?”

Neither Rindou nor Ran would meet your eyes. Mucho’s lips were pressed together tight. Mochi stared ahead at the barred window of the infirmary blankly. Not even Shion opened his mouth to answer you.

“Where is Izana?” your voice was louder, more frantic, “Hey! One of you fucking answer me, where is he?” 

No response.

You looked between Rindou and Ran, desperately trying to get one of them to look at you, “Answer me,” you were begging, you never fucking begged. “Answer me, please, one of you answer me. Where is he? If this is some sick joke-”

“Izana’s dead.”

It was Shion that spoke. His voice was more serious than you had ever heard before. You turned your head to look at him over your shoulder, eyes wide. His face was cold, stony--any and all hints of the wide, wild smile you were used to was gone as he watched you.

He was lying.

“You’re lying,” you accused, shaking your head, “Izana can’t die, he’s Izana. Where is he? This isn’t funny, Shion.”

But even as you spoke the words you knew, you knew deep, deep down that what Shion was saying was true. He was an asshole, but not even he would go this far--not with his friends.

“He’s dead, y/n,” Ran said. Your eyes were wide, glassy as you looked back at Ran, searching his face for any hint of a lie. “He took three bullets to the chest during the fight.”

There was none.

“No,” you said, “No, no no no, what do you mean bullets? It was a fist fight, you guys do fist fights, why the fuck was there a gun? What do you mean bullets, Ran? Who brought the gun? Who shot him? Ran, tell me who the fuck shot him, I’ll have them ki-“

Your world was spinning and tunneling all at once, you weren’t even sure how you were still standing up straight. Your head felt light, you were dizzy. 

“What are you trying to name it after?”

“Huh? Name what?”

“You said you’re trying to break off from your uncle. You’re gonna need a new company name, what’re you trying to name it for?”

“…”

“… you don’t know, do you?”

“… I haven’t thought that far ahead yet.”

“… whatever, I’m done practicing today anyway. Come here, let’s think something up.”

“You can’t kill him,” Rindou shook his head, “You can’t-”

“I can do whatever the fuck I want,” your voice was shrill, loud. “Don’t you fucking forget that, Rindou. Tell me who had the fucking gun.”

“Well I can’t do Japanese mythology, ‘cause that’s what Uncle Ichirou’s is… um…”

“Roman?”

“Hmm okay, I don’t know much about Roman mythology.”

“I actually have an idea, hold on.”

“Kisaki Tetta.”

“Shion!” Ran roared, “shut the fuck up.”

Shion stared right at you, “His name was Kisaki Tetta. The one who killed Izana.”

“Guys, I had the best idea for the name of my company when I get it started.”

You wanted to throw up. You pressed your hand to your mouth, turning around to face the wall so none of the others could see you.

Control yourself. Do not break down here. Breathe in, breathe out.

“Who had the best idea?”

“I-okay well, I guess it was Izana’s idea. But we’re pretty much the same brain at this point so it’s technically my idea too.”

“Excuse me, we’re what?”

You could feel nausea build in your stomach. You shut your eyes and the world around you shifted. You were back in the car with your family, reaching out for your sister, yelling for her to get up, that you guys had to get out of the car before it exploded. You could smell the smoke and the blood and the gasoline, you could feel the heat burning your eyes, you could hear your mother gasping for air as she breathed her last.

You couldn’t breathe. Izana, he-

“Anyway, get this! Janus! After the Roman god. He’s the god of beginnings and endings, and transitions, doorways, gateways, do you get it?! A new era for technology, and a shift away from my uncle, a new era for all of us, really. Once we get it started, everything will be easy after that.”

You wouldn’t be able to do it without him. You knew it. You fucking knew it. How were you supposed to? How were you supposed to build something alone that you had promised to do with him? Something that he named, something that he helped you plan, something you were supposed to do together. Your new era. Together.

“Stay away from that family, death follows them.”

How many times had you denied it? Spat those accusations in the face and then cried in Rindou’s arms at home because they spoke of deals with the devil and curses of death that weren’t true and you couldn’t make any friends because of it.

Maybe they were right, a part of you whispered. Izana had been fine and then months after befriending you he gets shot at a fist fight, what the fuck are the chances of that? They had so many big fights over the years but the first major one since you befriended him ended in his death?

Who was next?

Shion? Mochi? Mucho?

Rindou or Ran?

Your chest heaved, you pushed away the nausea.

Not here. Not here. Not here.

Not in front of them. Control yourself.

The door to the infirmary creaked open. You stiffened.

“Huh? What’s this?” an unfamiliar voice. Male. Deep. Accented. “What’s a girl doing in here? Smuggling whores in, Haitani?”

His voice was low, teasing, but there was an underlying edge that had your hair standing on end. Ran shifted in the bed next to where you were standing but before he could open his mouth to say something you were looking over your shoulder back at the room. 

They were tense. Uncomfortable. All of them. At once, a deep-set hatred swept throughout you. Whoever this was, he was not a friend.

“Who the fuck are you?” your voice was also low, but it did not have the same teasing edge as his did. Next to you, Ran inhaled sharply, a look of warning thrown in your direction.

The new guy was large—obscenely large, really, larger than Mochi and Mucho and they were the tallest guys you ever met. There was a tattoo curling down his neck to his chest, top unbuttoned, and you couldn’t help but notice the scars that riddled his chest.

“He took three bullets to the chest during the fight.” 

Resentment flooded through you too fast to control it. Your gaze drew up to meet a strange golden one that made your skin crawl.

“Watch yourself, girl,” the amusement in his voice was also gone, your eyes narrowed. 

The resentment shifted into a steadily growing anger. 

“Take your own advice,” your words were milder than the ones sitting on the edge of your tongue, ready to burst. “I asked you a question.”

Your name left Ran’s lips, a warning. He was telling you not to fuck around with this guy. One glance at Ran and the rest of them told you all you needed to know—his eyes were wary, hesitant, he looked torn between standing in front of Rindou, who was immobile on his infirmary bed, and dragging you behind him. Mucho was on his feet, standing to the side between you and the new guy, ready to jump in, Shion and Mochi were still sitting on their own beds, significantly more tense than before.

This was the one that beat the shit out of them.

Your gaze drew sharply from them, onto the two guards who had walked you here, now standing stiff at the doorway due to the new arrival, ready to intervene.

“Leave,” you said. Their eyes snapped to you,

protest visible in them.

“L/n-san,” one hesitated, looking at you.

“Now,” you interrupted before he could continue and you watched as the two of them shared a look before stepping out of the room, letting the door slam shut behind them.

“Sending away your only means of protection wasn’t a smart move, girl,” his voice was low and derogatory, the amusement was back again. That deep-set hatred began to boil again as your gaze fell back on the scars on his chest—proof of his survival against something that had killed Izana. “These fuckers can’t protect you. They hadn’t even been able to protect themselves.”

Your hands shook with anger from where they were stuffed in your pockets. If Izana was here-

You wanted to cry. Izana was not here. He was dead, and you felt like it was your fault. Cursed. You were fucking cursed.

Now is not the time. Control yourself.

If Izana was here, he would put this asshole in his place without sparing a second. You could practically picture it and-

-and if Izana wasn’t here to do it, you had to. For Ran and Rindou, for Shion and Mucho and Mochi, for Izana, who you knew would be furious if he knew some ogre was beating and bullying them.

Izana was gone, you couldn’t shake the words from you. Dead. Three bullets to the chest during the fight. You were on your own now—well, you supposed you weren’t on your own. You had Ran and Rindou and Shion and Mucho and Mochi, but they were not Izana. 

Izana understood you in a way that they did not. And that’s not to say that Ran and Rindou didn’t understand you—they did. But it was different. You knew they struggled to see you as someone independent, as someone they didn’t need to protect all the time. You loved them. You did. But Izana had always recognized your potential whereas they did not.

“I think you underestimate yourself too much, and I think when push comes to shove, you’ll do what needs to be done.”

Maybe he was right, you considered as words twisted through your head—bullets ready to fire at the asshole standing in front of you. But things were different now that he was gone. Izana’s presence had been a reassurance. A reassurance that if you split from your uncle, you would still have someone there watching your back—someone who understood, someone who wouldn’t coddle you or try to hold you back.

But Izana was gone. He was dead. And now you were drifting alone, drowning in the open sea and the only buoy you could cling to was your uncle until you could learn to float yourself.

You could stand on your own—you knew you could. Izana had faith that you could, and you had faith in yourself. But not yet, you knew you weren’t ready yet, and you knew that things would only get more dangerous as time passed. More threats to you, to them—threats that you wouldn’t be able to eliminate on your own. Not yet.

Your family name was like a bulletproof shield that surrounded the pedestal the world held you on. You hated using it, it always left a sour taste in your mouth but…

“When push comes to shove, you’ll do what needs to be done.”

If it was to protect them, you would use it. You would use your family name, you would use your uncle, you would do anything.

This was only the first test.

Chin up, back straight. Push all of your emotions to the back of your head. You can only fall apart in the privacy of your own home. 

“You’re foreign, so I suppose I can’t blame you for not understanding how things are run in Tokyo,” you said. His gaze darkened, you raised your chin, straightened your back. Your uncle's words swam throughout your head yet again. You did not know all of what your uncle was involved with, but you knew enough to realize this brute had no right trying to threaten you. And perhaps you were about to speak out of your ass considering you were crying about not being able to get anything done, not even a half hour ago, but nobody needed to know that. 

“I run Tokyo. Or well, I suppose my uncle does right now. But I will sooner or later. My family has this city in our pocket. Someone like you should already know just the way this world works,” your gaze drifted down to the bullet scars decorating his chest, the tattoo that you were sure had some sort of gang significance, “and you should know to avoid the larger fish of the sea.”

He scoffed, loudly, and he took a step forward, you did not move. “You tryna say you’re a larger fish?” he sounded amused, you were not.

You smiled thinly, “The largest someone of your standing will ever have had the misfortune of stumbling upon,” you said coolly, gaze flickering down to the name etched on his uniform. “Brutality and aggression get you nowhere in this world. Money is what makes the world go round, Terano, and our wallets are all but endless. You don’t want to make an enemy of me.”

“Or what?” 

Your eyes trailed back down to the scars marring his chest before flashing back up to his eyes.

“I don’t think you need me to answer that question,” any amusement that might have been apparent on Terano’s face was gone in an instant.

He stepped forward and at once there was a cock of a gun. Ran, Shion and Rindou flinched, Mucho and Mochi tensed. Your eyes flickered behind Terano to where Mister Mado was holding a pistol up.

A bullet to the chest might not kill him but Mister Mado always aimed for the head, and he never missed.

Terano’s brows knit together, his lips pressed tight. He glared so hard that you swore you’d be a boiling puddle of flesh and blood and bone if he had the power. His eyes flashed with something dark, angry, a sort of blinding rage and bloodlust that sent a chill running down your spine.

He was not a man that liked to be backed into a corner.

The adrenaline was fading, you could feel the nerves reappearing. You had to leave before you broke.

“I’ll be back to visit next week,” you didn’t look back at Ran or Rindou as you started walking away. They called after you but you ignored them. You were running out of time; you only had a few moments before reality smacked you once again.

You stopped as you passed Terano, tilting your head up to look at him, shoulder brushing his arm. Pupils constricted, gold stared down at you furiously. All it would take was one movement, one snap of his arm up and he would have your neck in his grasp, snapping it in one swift motion.

“If you touch them again, you won’t leave this center alive,” you said before turning your gaze back forward brushing past him and out of the door, ignoring the calls of your name.

As soon as the doors shut behind you, you pulled your hands from your pockets, revealing just how shaky they had become during the confrontation. You took deep breaths, trying to keep yourself calm.

“I’ll have the cameras wiped and we’ll pay off the guards to keep an eye around here,” Mister Mado said, squeezing your shoulder gently. “You handled this well. Your uncle will be proud.”

Your chest sunk. His words rang bitter in your ears.

This was what you wanted, wasn’t it?

—-

PRESENT.

You were sure that this was all you had ever wanted in life. 

Thin rays of sun slipped past the blinds, beating against your eyelids, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Not with Ran’s arm wrapped snug around your waist, his face buried in the nape of your neck. Warm, soft puffs of air fanned against your skin, short purple and black hair tickled your shoulders. 

You could feel Rindou laying somewhere in front of you, one hand curled around your wrist, as if he was trying to stop you from trying to flee when you woke up. You had always been the one to wake up first of the three of you. Your chest tightened at the thought, his grip was tight, holding your hand close to him.

Rin…

You let out a shaky breath, letting your eyes peek open. The sun burned, but only for a second as your gaze focused on Rindou’s sleepy expression, inches from your face. His lashes brushed his cheek and his pink lips were parted as he took in slow, even breaths.

You swallowed thickly, eyes tearing up as you realized just how at peace you felt at that moment. You felt safe, genuinely and truly safe, for the first time in years, even if you did know deep down you were in more danger than ever. 

Rindou let out a quiet hum in his sleep, grip tightening on your hand, and you inhaled sofly, bringing your free hand up to his face, cupping his cheek gently, scared of waking him up. Your fingers brushed his cheekbone and your breath caught as his eyes fluttered open, purple eyes lost and confused for a moment before his eyes trained on you.

His face was unreadable, if only for a moment, and then his lips lifted into a small smile, “Creep,” he accused, but even as the word left his lips, his eyes slid back shut and he leaned his face into your touch.

“Shut up,” you murmured, no heat behind your words as you let out another uneven puff of air. “I just-”

You couldn’t bring yourself to say your thoughts out loud. I just wanted to make sure you were real, I wanted to make sure this wasn’t some sort of sick trick. 

But you didn’t have to say it out loud. Rindou’s grip on your hand tightened in response to your words, his way of saying that he had been fearing the same, and his grip on your hand was his way of keeping ahold of reality. Ran’s grip on your waist shifted, nuzzling in closer to you as he let out a low groan in his sleep. 

Rindou’s eye’s flickered behind you, a strange expression crossing over his face. Your brows furrowed, asking him a silent question, and Rindou only shrugged, eyes sliding shut again.

“He hasn’t slept well in a long time,” he murmured, “Not without sleeping pills, at least.”

“Oh,” you said quietly, guilt stirring in you once again. You wondered if you leaving had anything to do with that, or if it was just something that had come with years in his line of… work. 

You grimaced at the reminder. You knew what they were a part of—you had known since that morning at Izanagi Headquarters—but it was different hearing it directly from them. They didn’t spare you any details, and you weren’t sure if you were grateful for it or not.

Bonten. The rival gang that has been trying and failing to back Sugawara into a corner. They knew just as much about Sugawara’s group as his knew about Bonten up until recently. Both groups were slippery, good at keeping to the shadows, careful and calculating. 

But Bonten couldn’t keep up. And you supposed it was nobody’s fault but your own. Your return to Tokyo had been the turning point in the cold war between the two gangs. Your money, your technology, your relationship with the Haitanis.

You shut your eyes, guilt pooling in every pore in your body, weighing you down heavy. 

Bonten was on its last legs. Sanzu Haruchiyo and Kakucho were frantically trying to get their shipments out of their warehouses before the police raided them. Kokonoi Hajime’s businesses had all but burned to the ground. Akashi Takeomi was trying to get in talks with smaller gangs but nobody wanted to step into a raging fire for a gang that would’ve looked away had they been in the same position.

And Rindou and Ran were here. With you. A part of you wondered if there would be backlash for it, but you doubted that Bonten could spare the resources anyway. And you were certain they couldn’t afford to drive away two of its executives when it was already falling apart.

Your fingers trembled.

You should have stayed away, back in Europe, or the Americas, anywhere but here. All you did was bring death and misfortune with you wherever you went.

You were certain that the kids from all those years ago were right. You were cursed.

A palm pressed softly against your cheek and your eyes fluttered back open, meeting Rindou’s.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked quietly, and you let out a breath.

“Nothing,” you said quietly. His brows furrowed in annoyance, you sighed louder. “Really, nothing, I was thinking about Izana,” you lied, “or well, just that day at the detention center.” 

Rindou’s lips pressed together tight at the reminder of Izana before he shook his head, snorting, “South. I cannot believe you and him work together now. I swore he was going to kill you that day. Even when we were with him in Rokuhara Tandai after, I don’t think I ever saw him so angry before. You made it look so easy.”

You smiled, shaking your head, “I was terrified,” you admitted, “and I was pretty much talking out of my ass. I was literally crying on the way to the detention center because I couldn’t do anything without Uncle Ichirou’s help.”

Your eyes fluttered shut again as Rindou’s fingers danced along your cheek, “Couldn’t tell,” he murmured, “You were…”

His voice fell off and a strange, uncomfortable feeling swept over you as you waited for him to finish the sentence. 

You were what? 

“I was what?” you finally asked when Rindou never continued.

He blinked, as if he himself hadn’t realized he never finished his sentence, before a strange look crossed over his face, “I don’t know,” he said quietly, “Looking back on it, that was really the day it all changed, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you responded. You couldn’t meet his eyes, his hand drew back from your face and an unwelcome, longing feeling swept over you. “Yeah, it was.”

Rindou grimaced, and you could see all the thoughts running through his head. 

I should have realized, I should have done more, things would be different if I had noticed, I should have, I should have, I should have-

You squeezed his hand gently, “There wasn’t anything that could’ve been done,” you told him softly, but he shook his head, pulling his hand from yours and rising off the bed.

Your hand felt cold. Your lips parted to call after him. He wouldn’t look at you. 

“I’m gonna go see what Miss Yua is making for breakfast,” he said, not waiting for a response before he turned on his heel and left the room, letting the door shut loudly after him.

An excuse, of course, Miss Yua always made eggs in the morning. Mister Ayato was the one that did fancy breakfasts for the three of you and he was all but bedridden.

As soon as the door shut, the arm around your waist tightened. You let out a soft noise as you squirmed beneath Ran’s arm, turning your head to look at him, eyes meeting violet ones that peered at you from over your shoulder.

“How long have you been awake?” you asked, trying to shift away, but even wounded, Ran was still stronger than you.

“Long enough to hear you talk to Rindou. What were you really thinking about?” Ran questioned, voice low and sleepy, “I know you were lying.”

“Ran-“

“Don’t play games with me, I’m not in the mood,” Ran muttered, finally letting go of you so you could turn around to face him.

You could barely meet his gaze, eyes darting around to look everywhere but at him until his hand came up to hold your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

“Do you-“ you let out a shaky breath, closing your eyes. How fucking embarrassing. Were you really going to admit to this? “Do you remember what those kids used to say about me and my family? When we were younger?”

Ran’s brows furrowed as he nodded, unsure of where you were going with this, and you could feel the tears pool in your eyes behind your eyelids.

“Do you ever wonder if it’s true?” you finally asked and you hated how your voice shook, and you hated even more as Ran let go of you.

“What?” he asked, tone inlaid with such disbelief that it had your face heating up in embarrassment, “What are you talking about? Why would-?”

“My whole family died, Ran,” you interrupted him, “in a freak accident on the way to one of my

ballet recitals. And then as soon as I befriend your friends, two of them die too. I go to Europe and thousands of people are killed in the explosion. And now I come back to Tokyo, and everything goes to shit in a matter of two weeks. Everywhere I go, tragedy follows. And I’m scared, I’m scared every day that you and Rin will be next.”

You expected a multitude of reactions from Ran. You expected him to get angry, annoyed; you expected him to blow you off and call you dumb; you expected a roll of the eyes and a ‘quit it with the paranoia.’

You did not expect him to laugh.

Your eyes flew open, glaring at him. Amused purple eyes watched you fondly. Your glare lessened when you felt his hand rest on your bicep, thumb rubbing soft circles on your skin.

“Rindou and I have been around you for what? Seventeen years? We were together for nine before you went off to school? Don’t you think that if we were cursed, we would’ve been struck down by now?” Ran teased, “Is that really what’s got you so wound up?”

You looked away, he brought his hand up to cup the side of your neck and your eyes instinctively drew back to him. The amusement was gone and instead replaced by worry.

“Is that really what’s bothering you?” Ran’s voice was quiet, more serious. You grit your teeth to try to stop the tears.

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. You told yourself it over and over again but it wasn’t working this time.

“You don’t-you don’t understand,” you shook your head, which was a mistake considering the movement made the tears start to fall. “You don’t understand waking up every day and being terrified that you’re going to get the people you love killed-I-Ran, it’s so-“

Your vision was blurred but you could still catch the look on Ran’s face—the questioning and then the understanding and then the anger.

He spoke your name and you nearly flinched, “Was this the reason for the rush? When you left? You told us two days before, y/n, you didn’t even give us any time to process it before you were gone.”

He was trying to stay calm, you could hear it in his voice, but you could see the fury boiling behind his eyes. Your shoulders shook, you took in a wet breath. You opened your mouth to deny it. Deny, deny, deny but instead-

“I’m sorry,” your voice broke as a sob wracked your form, your hands flew to cover your face and you tried to move away. “I was scared.”

The excuses and apologies flew from your lips like bullets, but even as you cried and asked him to forgive you, you felt as if the last of the weight bearing down on you had been lifted.

Even if he hated you, at least you had nothing left to hide from them.

Ran let out a heavy, shaky breath, his hand wrapped tight around your bicep again, pulling you in close. You buried your face in his chest, melting into the warmth of his body, wrapping an arm around his waist as he held you.

“Rindou was right, you really are somehow the stupidest and smartest person we’ve ever met,” he muttered. “You are so fucking infuriating. So fucking infuriating.”

You ignored the insult, instead letting your eyes slide shut as Ran pressed his lips to the top of your head. And for a moment, the two of you just laid there--you bundled in his arms, trying to calm your breathing and dry your tears, and him clutching you tight, blunt nails digging a bit too hard into your skin but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

You weren’t sure how long the two of you laid there curled up into each other but you were sure that you would have stayed there forever if given the chance.

“Breakfast is ready.” 

You jumped at the sound of Rindou’s voice, pulling away from Ran to sit up and look at him. There was an odd expression on his face as he eyed the two of you but you only let out a breath as you pushed yourself off the bed, straightening out the button-up you had slipped into last night after the three of you were two bottles in.

Rindou’s, you recognized now that you weren’t drunk out of your mind--you could smell his cologne heavy on the collar of the button-up, a woodier scent than the one that Ran wore. 

“Eggs?” you questioned, raising your eyebrows. Rindou tore his gaze from where he was staring at the bed you had just been in with Ran.

“Yeah,” he said after a moment, “eggs.”

You rolled your eyes, nudging his shoulder, “Coulda told you that,” you said.

“Miss Yua always makes eggs,” Ran agreed as he stood up, a grimace crossing his face, his hand flying to his abdomen.

You and Rindou both took a step toward him but he waved you off, irritation flashing through his eyes, “I’m fine,” he snapped. You sighed, sharing a look with Rindou as Ran made his way toward you, breath shaky and knees wobbly. He was barely walking straight, the bruises marring his skin were dark and ugly against his pale skin, blending in with the tattoos on the left side of his body.

You shook your head, moving toward him, you took a spot on the right side of his body and Rindou moved to the left, helping steady him.

“I don’t fuckin’ need your help,” Ran, ever the difficult one, tried to push both of you away but you only tightened your grip on him.

“Relax, Ran,” you said quietly, “Let’s just get to the kitchen.” 

“I can walk myself,” Ran muttered, unamused, but he didn’t fight as he leaned into the two of you, letting you guys guide him to the kitchen.

Miss Yua was there waiting for the three of you, graying hair pulled up into a bun, lips flat as she scowled at the three of you. You could almost pretend that you guys were teenagers again, about to get a loud and unending scolding after the three of you had stolen Mister Ayato’s alcohol and blacked out, missing breakfast and lunch and stressing Mister Ayato out intensely when you didn’t meet him at the school like you were supposed to.

“Good morning, Miss Yua,” you murmured, Ran echoing your words. 

The woman raised her nose, sliding three plates of eggs and toast toward you guys. You picked up your fork immediately, going to shovel a forkful of food into your mouth. You paused when you caught all three of them staring at you.

“What?” you asked, disgruntled, “I’m hungry.”

Rindou snorted, looking down at his own food, and the irritated look on Ran’s face disappeared momentarily as he smiled down at the plate in front of him. 

“You, boy,” Miss Yua pointed a kitchen knife at Ran, Ran froze mid-bite of food, finishing chewing slowly and swallowing as he watched her, “Do not overexert yourself, I’m not going to do checkups on you every few hours. Your body is weak--” Ran flinched “--and it will become weaker if you push yourself. Take it easy.”

Ran let out a noise of agreement but from the look on his face you knew damn well he had no intention of taking it easy, and from the way Miss Yua rolled her eyes, she knew that too. Miss Yua let out a heavy sigh as she smoothed out her clothes, making her way back in the direction of where her room and Mister Ayato’s were located.

Before she left, she paused to look back at the three of you, there was a strange, longing look in her eyes as her gaze traced over the three of you, lips tugged up gently. Her lips parted as if to say something but instead she only shook her head, turning away, “It’s nice to see the three of you home together,” she murmured before making her way back down the hall.

With Miss Yua gone, a heavy silence overtook the kitchen. You chewed your food slowly, swallowing and placing your fork down.

“We should probably get out of here,” the words felt bitter. You wanted to stay, pretend that you had never left Tokyo and the three of you were lounging around the penthouse like old times.  

But you couldn’t. The longer you stayed here, the more danger you would put Miss Yua and Mister Ayato.

That wasn’t an option.

“Yeah,” Rindou said quietly, and you could see on his face that he probably felt just as reluctant as you did. “Let me go get changed,” his gaze darted over to you and Ran, “you two should get dressed too.”

You let out a breath, rising to your feet after finishing the last of your eggs, moving your plate to the sink, grabbing Ran and Rindou’s, placing them with yours. You swallowed thickly as you stood at the sink, hands braced against the counter as you shut your eyes.

Breathe in, breathe out. 

You had to get away from the penthouse--it’ll be the first place that Sugawara looks. But leaving the penthouse meant facing reality again and you didn’t know if you were ready for it. Facing reality meant facing danger, and facing danger meant that Ran and Rindou would be at risk again. 

You felt a palm press against your lower back, and you turned your head to the side, eyes falling upon Rindou, who watched you with furrowed brows and a concerned frown. You shook your head, giving him a small smile, “I’ll go get changed,” you said quietly, stepping away from the sink.

And you didn’t give him a chance to respond as you started your way back down the hall, a sinking feeling in your chest and a heavy weight returning to your shoulders.

---

The hardest part was saying goodbye to Miss Yua and Mister Ayato again.

You sighed as you leaned against the wall of the elevator, tilting your head back to look up at the mirrors lined in the ceiling. You could see Rindou and Ran standing against opposite walls, Ran typing furiously on his phone while Rindou stared ahead at him, fingers toying with his rings. He looked just as upset as you felt. 

“Where are we gonna go?” you asked after a few moments. Rindou’s head lolled to the side as he looked over at you, raising his eyebrows, “... well we aren’t going to go back to your apartment, right? You said the cops have been raiding all your warehouses?”

“What’s that gotta do with our apartment?” Ran muttered, lips twisting down as he started typing out another angry message. 

“... who do you guys think has the cops in their pocket?” you asked slowly, Rindou and Ran both looked up at you, Rindou’s face falling and Ran’s brows furrowing. “My uncle has had the TMPD in his pocket since we were kids, and if he does, Sugawara surely does too. Plus they have access to all the CCTV cameras in the city… that’s on me, I guess… sorry. Anyway, what I’m trying to get at is that we can't really stay in Tokyo right now. It’s not safe. They’ve got eyes and ears everywhere, literally.”

“The fuckin’ cameras,” Ran muttered to himself, shooting you a half-hearted glare before returning back to whatever argument he was having over text, “God, Sanzu won’t leave me the fuck alone.”

“What’s he want now?” Rindou rolled his eyes, turning his attention back toward Ran and you tuned them out as your phone buzzed in your pocket. 

You recognized Takuya’s number flashing on your screen and you swallowed thickly as you answered the phone, praying to whatever god that would listen that they managed to get out of Tokyo safely.

“Takuya, are you-”

“Get out of the fucking elevator now,” it was Mina’s voice on the other side of the phone. Your heartbeat faltered in your chest, your body moved on instinct, eyes darting up to catch the thirteen on the elevator as it descended down to the ground floor. You slammed your hand against the button for the twelfth floor.

“What’s going on?” you demanded, “Mina-”

“Sugawara’s fuckers are in the building, they’re waiting at the bottom of the elevator, coming up the north and south stairwells. Eight on north, nine on south. We’re way outside the city right now, I won’t be able to get to you. You’ve gotta get out of there.”

“Oh fuck,” you breathed out, looking down each hall, “Oh fuck, fuck, what floor are they on right now.”

“What the fuck is going on?” Rindou demanded, clicking off the safety of his gun as he readied it in front of him, eyes wild as he looked up and down the hallway, trying to figure it out on his own. 

“Sugawara’s men are here,” you said quietly as Mina and Takuya talked in the background, trying to pinpoint where exactly Sugawara’s men were. “In the building. Coming up now.” 

“They’re on the sixth floor, or close to it. I can’t tell exactly, there’s no cameras in the stairwells. They seem to have your location, they’re not even bothering to check the other floors, just coming right up,” Takuya’s voice sounded further away, you could hear him typing away at whatever computer he was on, “I’m trying to get into the building’s cameras now. They’re not ours, it’s taking a bit longer than it would if they were.”

“We need to move,” Ran said, grimacing as he pushed himself off of the wall. Sweat was beading at his forehead, his face looked paler than usual, his legs shook with every step. 

He was not okay.

“Ran,” you breathed out, trying to move forward to grab him but he batted your hands away.

“I’m fine,” his face was resentful, angry. He despised weakness. He hated being the one holding people back, “I’m fine. We need to move. Start moving.”

“You can’t walk,” Rindou spit right back, not having any of Ran’s shit, “You’re going to hold us back.”

“Then leave me,” Ran’s tone was absolutely vile, eyes on fire as he glared at Rindou.

“Fuck you,” Rindou snarled, shoving the gun in your hands before moving to wrap his arm around Ran’s waist, steadying him and helping him move along. His face softened as he looked back at you, “You know how to use that?”

“Yeah,” you swallowed thickly, holding the gun correctly in front of you, “I know how to use it.”

“Go to the left, down the north stairwell. They’re moving slower and there’s less of them. You’ll at least be able to get down a flight or two before they catch up. The building’s gym is on the tenth floor, it’ll probably be the easiest place to take cover and take them out. I’ll try to get the cameras out before you get to the floor,” Takuya said, you hesitated.

“Stop fucking standing there and move,” Mina boomed and you were moving forward immediately, sprinting to the north stairwell and shoving your phone into Ran’s hands as you reached the metal door.

“You’re on phone duty,” you said to Ran, who gave you a scowl so deep that you swore it would be permanently etched on his face. 

The door creaked open as you pushed it open, holding it for Ran and Rindou before closing it quietly behind the two of them. Your eyes darted around. There were no cameras in the stairwells, but you knew they must have seen the three of you enter it from the ones on the twelfth floor. You had to keep moving.

You let out an unsteady breath, holding the gun in front of you as you started down the steps, moving as quickly and quietly as possible. You glanced back at Rindou and Ran. Ran had shoved a fistful of his shirt into his mouth, muffling the grunts of pain that rose at all of the jostling, giving you a clear view of the nasty bruises lining his abdomen courtesy of your decision.

Guilt swelled again, you pushed it away.

Now was not the time. Hesitate and it’ll get all three of you killed.

Focus. 

You turned down the staircase, glancing down. You felt sick, anxiety was eating at your chest and stomach. You could hear the footsteps slamming against the metal stairs from floors below, the hushed voices. They were all armed, you were sure.

And you were the only one of the three of you armed. One versus eight, plus the additional nine on the opposite side of the building.

You felt sick. You couldn’t let them die here, not now. Not ever. You had to get them out, even if it meant giving yourself up.

They would never forgive you.

You don’t even know if they would actually let them go. They could lie.

It might be your only shot.

You felt dizzy, nauseous. You couldn’t push it away.

Floor Eleven.

One more floor, then sprint to the gym. You could make it. The three of you had done this a million times before, running from Miss Yua and then trying to camp out in the locker room, hiding behind the benches before she inevitably found you.

An intense sense of nostalgia swept through you as you looked back at them again. You could practically picture yourself hopping down three stairs at a time, shrieking and laughing and looking back over your shoulder as Rindou tried to keep up with you and Ran. The two of you had always been the fastest.

You were almost there. One more staircase. 

You turned down the last twist, and you swore your heart stopped beating when you came face to face with a man around your age, dark hair, darker eyes. Gun in hand.

No. They had sent someone ahead?

Recognition flashed through his eyes when he saw you, gaze ripping to the side, halfway up the other staircase to where Rindou was struggling with Ran.

Your eyes widened.

You hesitated.

He raised his own gun, but not at you, and your body acted before your mind could process what was happening, watching Ran use the last of his strength to force Rindou behind him, using his body as a shield. All of the lessons from Mina and Mister Mado before he passed away coming back to swim at the forefront of your head. 

Brace your feet. Steady your arms. Aim and pull the trigger.

Do not hesitate.

The bang that echoed throughout the staircase was terrible, loud, you wanted to cover your ears and curl up. In front of you, the man dropped dead to the ground, a hole through his forehead.

Your breath was erratic, your eyes were wild. “W-we need to keep going,” you told them. You could hear shouts from below, closer, the pounding of feet moving faster.

You raced down the steps, swinging open the door to the tenth floor, holding it for Rindou and Ran before taking off down the hall to where the glass doors of the gym were situated in the middle of the floor.

Your fingers trembled as you typed in the passcode—it was the same after all of these years and tears of gratefulness sprung to your eyes. A small mercy.

Your face was wet and sticky, you could feel a hot, thick liquid dripping down your cheek, something chunky in your hair. Your vision blurred and spun, shaky arms pushed open the doors.

Rindou and Ran slipped in and you shut the doors just as the doors to the stairwell slammed open on either side. Ran looked worse, you noted as you followed them into the locker room, locking the metal door behind the three of you. He was barely standing, shivering and sweating at the same time.

“Ran-“ you began, but he interrupted you.

“Are you okay?” Ran asked, your brows furrowed, unsure of why he was asking you that when he was the one in awful shape. “Was that the first time you killed someone?”

Your lips parted to answer, no noise left them. You swallowed, clearing your throat as you tried again, “Directly, yeah,” you said softly, looking away.

You felt two fingers press against your jaw, Rindou turned your face to him, bringing a warm, damp rag to your skin and wiping off the blood, removing whatever had been in your hair and hiding it in the rag before you could see it.

“You did good,” he murmured, “He would have-“

He would have killed us.

Well, you corrected, them. Your mind danced as you recalled the brief second before you shot him. He had seen you, recognized you, and then purposefully turned his body to pull the gun on Ran and Rindou.

They weren’t targeting you.

“They’re not targeting me,” you said quietly, refusing to look at either of them, “They-he looked at me and recognized me, but then he turned to try to kill you guys.”

“I figured they wouldn’t,” Ran said, grunting and shifting from where he was sitting on the ground, arms circling his abdomen, “Not when you’ve got all the money from Izanami. They’ll probably try to take you in and-“

“I should go,” you said, interrupting him. Rindou and Ran’s heads snapped toward you, confusion on the former’s and fury on the latter’s. “They won’t kill me, I can make a deal-“

“They won’t kill you yet,” Ran hissed, “That’s not to say they won’t once they’ve got their hands on Izanami.”

You shook your head. Your throat felt tight, your hands were shaky, you didn’t even know how you were talking coherently.

“We won’t make it out of here,” your eyes were tearing up.

Not now. Not now. Not now.

Ran opened his mouth to protest but you continued before he could, “There are what? Seventeen rounds in this? There’s seventeen of them just coming up here looking for us. There’s god knows how many downstairs waiting for. There’s only two exits for the building and I’m sure both of them are covered. I would rather-I would rather take the chance than certain death.”

“No,” Ran said instantly, “Absolutely not.”

“You can barely even walk,” you hissed, taking a step closer to him, “You can barely walk, Ran. H-“

“They’ll kill you as soon as they get what they want,” Ran’s expression was livid, “You fucking promised that you wouldn’t pull shit like this. We can hold out here-“

“Hold out for what?” you demanded, and to your horror, your voice cracked, “Hold out for what? Bonten isn’t coming. You said it yourself, they’re busy dealing with the raids. What are we holding out for? For them to finally break in here and kill you guys?”

Neither Ran nor Rindou responded, you let out another shaky breath, “Answer me,” you said, voice pleading as you looked between them, “Tell me there’s something else we can fall back on and I won’t. But I’m not going to stay here like a sitting duck so they can come in here and kill you guys.”

You could hear banging coming from the hall, a shattering of glass—you flinched violently. They were in the gym. It was only a matter of time.

“They’ll kill us anyway,” Rindou’s voice cracked, you had never heard him like this before. Tears sprung to your eyes and you forced them away. You had to stay strong, convince them that this was the best route. He grabbed you by the jaw, forcing you to look at him. “They’ll kill us anyway, all you’re doing is giving yourself up. If we can hold them off, you can get out of here.”

“That’s a big ‘if’ when you have one gun,” you snapped, “you’ll die if we do it that way. There’s no way.”

“We’ll die either way,” Ran shouted, trying to hide the grimace that swept over his face at the action. “We’ll die either way, I’d rather die knowing you might’ve got out of here instead of you having thrown yourself to death row for us.”

“I’ll hold Izanami hostage,” you looked away, staring at the door of the locker room that led to the gym, to where Sugawara’s men were gathered and searching for the three of you. You heard a shout and a bang against the locker room door.

They knew where you were.

“They’ll need me to sign over Izanami before they kill me, otherwise the company will go over to Takuya at my death,” you said quietly. “I’ll refuse to sign it over until I know you guys are safe.”

“No,” Ran said, “No, stop. They’ll just take us in and torture us until you give in. There’s no win-“

“The signing is public, for a company of Izanami’s size. Or even if the signing itself isn’t, I’ll be expected to make some sort of public announcement and speech detailing the future of Izanami under someone else’s leadership,” you interrupted, staring at the door blankly as the metal shook underneath the force of a kick. “They wouldn’t risk me speaking out in public.”

You smiled wryly, looking back at them, “Unfortunately for them, I’m a lot more popular with the general public than my uncle is. They know it would start an uproar.”

You supposed there was always the issue that they could just hold Rindou and Ran hostage to keep you quiet during the speech but… you were running out of options, and time. They would die here without a doubt if you didn’t do anything. At least they would have a chance if you played along.

You rose to your feet.

“No,” Ran’s voice was hoarse, panicked as he struggled to his feet. 

You did not look back at him.

“Don’t you dare walk out that door,” Ran spat out, “I won’t forgive you. Don’t you fucking dare. Rindou, stop her.”

You did not look back at him.

A hand reached out to grab your wrist, holding you in place. You turned your head to the side, looking at him from the corner of your eye. 

“Don’t do this,” he said quietly.

“Trust me,” you responded. “Please, Rin.”

Rindou stared at you for what seemed like an eternity, searching your eyes for some sort of answer. You waited, hoping and praying that he found it.

He let go of your wrist.

You let out a shaky breath.

“Thank you.”

Ran was shouting, furious, but you did your best to tune him out. Distantly noticing how Rindou was forcing him back down to the ground instead of chasing after you and Ran, too weak to fight back, could only spit vile insults and curses at his younger brother.

You stood in front of the door, swallowing thickly.

“I’ll come out,” you called loudly, the shouting on the other side of the door ceased. “I would prefer not to be shot.”

For a moment, there was no response, you could hear your heart beating in your chest. You could hear Ran begging you not to go—you had never heard him beg before. Your throat felt tight, your hands felt shaky.

“Come out,” one man called, “Any tricks and we’ll shoot down all three of you.”

You reached out for the lock on the door.

“Please,” Ran was gasping, his voice was cracking, your lips trembled, “Don’t fucking do it, don’t go out there. We just got you back, we just got you back.”

Chin up, back straight. Push all of your emotions to the back of your head. You can’t fall apart now. Don’t let them see you break, they’ll latch onto weakness.

You raised your chin. You straightened your back. You opened the door.

***

WC: 12.2k

REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK GREATLY APPRECIATED !!! 

— feedback on character development and story progression pls do not nitpick little mistakes

Responsibilities (4/?)

bestfriend!Nanami x Reader (SMAU)

Masterlist

Nanami takes an interest in your date

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

A/N: Hi everyone! We continue with our favorite best friends. With the weekend coming it also means I’ll have more free time to make more chapters, I don’t want this series to be too long so it will probably be less than 10 chapters as I want to do more SMAUS with the other guys. You're welcomed to send me an ask with any comments, questions, etc., you have on this. 😊

If you like the story please interact: reblogs, likes and comments go a long way. Feedback is always appreciated! Feel free to message me about it.

Taglist

@ermbehindyou @totallygyomeiswife @ash4ree @lov3vivian @namjooningera @sleepykittyenergy @silllly-jokesterr @shigarika @7haze @lizzie3d2y @jaybirdluvr73 @sweetdreams-inumimi @anuncalledbridge @troyesivanfrl @lavenderdaydream97

fracture

haitani ran x call girl!reader(+some bonten stuff)

summary: after someone tries to kill you to send a message to ran he takes personal responsibility for your safety. sure he's killed every house plant he's ever had, but this will be easier than that, right?

cw - drugs, smut, guns, murder, praise, degradation, dub!con, reader is a sex worker w a sick brother. ran likes you!!! likes you a lot!! too much probably, probably far too much.

next

Haitani Ran cuts through the smokey front lounge of the most expensive brothel in the city like the bow  of a ship through waves. Men on couches, with beautiful women sipping drinks, and giggling fill the air, the tinkling music just enough to obscure general conversation. 

Still, his general demeanor attracted a fair amount of attention, and of course, the fact that this brothel, like almost every establishment in this part of the city, belonged to him made his presence even more intimidating. Waitresses bow out of the way as he steps to the back, touching the Madam on her upper arm. 

“Where is she?” He asks, hands in his pockets. 

“Room 914.” She says, looking up at him, concerned. “She’s a good girl, highest earner here, always on time.” Ran nods. 

“I’m familiar.” His violet eyes darken. “She’s not in trouble. No one touches my girls and lives to talk shit about it.” The Madam nods, and points him down the hallway. He’s not sure what he’s expecting when he walks through the door to your room, the girl whose john had turned on her when it came time to pay, but it’s not this. He pushes open the door to what was tantamount to your office, the plush pink bed covered in soft pillows, a closet full of lingerie and costumes, and you, sniffing delicately and clutching a stuffed animal to your chest. You gasp at the sight of him, of course you do, he thinks, you know who he is. “F/n?” He tries, and you visibly tremble, the tears in your eyes spilling over. 

“I’m sorry,”  you whisper, “Please, please don’t fire me, I don’t have anywhere else to go.” He softens immediately. 

“You’re not fired.” He strides over to you and sits down on the bed. “I need to know everything you can tell me about the man who attacked you.” You take a breath, and he notes the black makeup running down your cheeks. He hands you a handkerchief, but you only succeed in smearing it around. “Stop.” He orders, and you freeze, you sweet little thing. He takes your chin with one hand, and carefully wipes the makeup away. 

“He was tall, um,” you sniff, “Dark hair, but unstyled, just a mop of it. He had a tattoo of a tiger on his neck.” Ran’s brow furrows. “He said something, something I didn’t understand, about Roppongi? That he knew you.” You wipe your face again, and he notices that you’re struggling to keep one of your eyes open, that it’s clearly bruising. The redness around your neck has begun to fade to purple. “That he was going to kill me, that I was um, a warning shot.” You let out another shaky breath. 

“What did you do?” He asks. 

“I st-stabbed him, with,” you open one of your palms and hand him the eyebrow styling scissors, soaked in blood. “With these, but he got away.” 

“Tough bitch, huh?” Ran says, meaning it as a compliment but what little light was in your eyes dulls further. “C’mere,” he says, attempting comfort, an old, cold muscle, “C’mere, baby, you’re not in trouble. Bonten takes care of their own.” You break down as he pulls you into his lap. “Baby,” he tries again, as you keep crying, wiping your face self consciously. “Baby did you think we were gonna turn you in?” You nod into him, and he gathers you into his chest more tightly. He rubs a soft circle in your shoulder, wishing he still had time to make a point to test out the new girls, like he did in the beginning, so you’d have met before these unfortunate circumstances. 

“Thank you.” You whisper. “I do well here, I promise,” He nods.

“You’ll need to take a break,” He says, giving you a little squeeze, “While we find him. Do you have somewhere to go?” Your head snaps up to him, and he sees it in your eyes before you say it. 

“Nowhere safe.” He exhales, still absentmindedly rubbing your back. 

“You can stay with me,” He offers, without thinking about it. “Of course you’ll keep 

working, then.”  It takes you a moment to understand. 

“Oh, I don’t mind, whatever you want.” You say quickly. “I can follow orders.” 

“Of course you can.” He pats your shoulder, grinning. “Get your things.” He stands, “I’ll wait outside.” You nod, and he steps into the hallway, beckoning the woman back over. “She’s going home with me till it’s sorted out. No need to call the police.” His hand flies to the gun he keeps on his hip. “We’ll handle it internally.” She nods. 

“Her regulars will be disappointed.” 

“Give ‘em a discount,” Ran says, bouncing his leg impatiently. “Princess,” He drawls sarcastically, “I don’t have all day.” You throw the last thing you have into your duffel, the one you use to take your costumes and lingerie home when they need to be laundered. 

“Yes, sir,” you say, with all the brightness you can muster, wearing a wool coat over your lingerie and strappy heels. “I’m ready to go.” He offers you his arm and you take it, feeling a little awkward, and self conscious of the way your face must look to passerby. 

“My car is out front,” He says, “I’m driving, unfortunately for you. Women hate the way I drive.” 

“I’m sure I won’t mind sir.” You say quietly, barely audible over the low jazz and the hum of conversation at the front of the house. It’s raining outside and Ran opens the passenger seat of his Bentley for you, before scooting around the car. He takes a parking ticket off the windshield and tosses it in the gutter before flopping in the front seat. The bruised side of your face aside, you really were quite pretty in the low light, as you tighten  your grip on the armrest rather than complaining about the way he runs red lights, and changes lanes sporadically. 

“S’not every day I get to sit with someone who I didn’t know was ready to kill for us.” He jokes, filling the silence with words. You nod. 

“I um, it was self preservation, I can’t take credit for that.” You shrug. “I don’t know much about um, Bonten?” He glances at you. “It’s just a job for me.” 

“I’m afraid you’ll have to learn a bit now.” He watches you shiver before making a left turn that pulls a screech from his tires. “So how does a girl like you end up in a place like this?” 

“How do you know it’s not for the same reasons most girls end up in places like this?” You quip and he sighs, but takes the bait, revealing how much he’d already noticed about you. 

“No track marks,” he says, “And you’re too clear headed to be into uppers, plus anyone with a real rap sheet would have bolted if she thought we’d turn her in, which you did.” 

“I like xanax.” You say, crossing your arms and he laughs. 

“Of course you do,” he reaches over the seat without looking and flicks your temple. ”Got too much goin’ on in there, huh?” You don’t bother trying to fight him. “Never mind, figured it out.”  

“I doubt that.” You say serenely, before tacking on a “Sir.” 

“Do you do that with everyone?” He asks, glancing over his shoulder before changing lanes. Your grip on the console gets tighter. “The honorifics?” 

“Oh, no.” You shrug. “All the girls learn what the executives like, so that you don’t have to tell us if you decide to come by.” He can’t keep the smile from his face, 

“Fuck, I love my life.” He slams on the brakes in front of a huge glass apartment building. “C’mon sweetheart, we’re home.” You reach for the door, and he shakes his head. “I’m a gentleman, please,” you can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic. The rain’s picked up, but he doesn’t jog, a few long strides closing the distance around the car and swinging your door open, offering you his arm again, like some kind of giant regency gentleman. He leads you back to the building, watching you shiver in the lobby, waiting until you’re in the elevator to speak again. 

“Don’t you want to know,” he says, examining his own reflection, “What I figured out about you?” You sigh deeply. 

“Yes sir.” 

“That’s no fun!” He pouts, as you rocket up to the penthouse. “Engage with me.” He watches you performatively straighten, a practiced smile spreading across your face. “Nevermind, no acting with me, only real shit. That’ll be rule number one for staying at my place.” You nod. The doors swing open and he gets to watch the genuine shock as you step into his huge penthouse suite. 

“Oh my god,” you look all around, from the wall of windows, to the balcony, you step out of your shoes and walk across the floor mesmerized. “I’ve never seen anything like this.” You feel his hand come to rest on your back. 

“Yeah sweetheart,” he says, “Can I get you a drink?” You nod. “And I’ve got a first aid kit for emergencies.” You raise your unbruised eyebrow. “What?” 

“I didn’t take you for the caring type.” You muse and his lips twitch downward. 

“I have little siblings.” He says, pouring two glasses of whiskey and sitting on the couch. “I’m actually used to it.” He smirks. “So tell daddy where it hurts?” He’s surprised when  you let out a shaky, honest breath. 

“I’m so,” you take a big gulp of the whiskey, “I’m so scared,” your voice trembles, your hands shake, “I know I’m safe with you, sir, but I’m really afraid.” He can see it now, your eye is bad, it’s going to be swollen shut in the morning. 

“C’mere,” he shrugs out of his jacket and opens his arms. You reluctantly move across the couch, still holding your drink, taking a big sip of it before leaning down against his chest. “Was that so hard?” You feel one of his long arms wrap around you. 

“I don’t,” you start, “I don’t have a lot of experience asking for what I need.” He chuckles, bringing the drink to his lips. 

“You don’t get to be the highest earner at a place like that by prioritizing your own needs.” He says, starting to rub a circle in your shoulder. “You get that by being observant, and versatile.” He rubs his eyes. “Did we poach you from another house? I’m trying to remember how you got hired.” 

“You did.” You yawn, ignoring the throbbing of your head, drinking more, “You offered me healthcare.” Ran breaks into a wide smile. 

  “Subsidized healthcare for whores,” he finishes his drink, “Not even that expensive and suddenly we have the cleanest and the best girls in the city.”  You nod. “Not gonna complain about me calling you a whore?” You laugh lightly, feeling the whiskey dull your pain, and warm your body. 

“It’s pretty famously acknowledged that men hate listening to women nag. So I never do it when I’m working.” Ran nods slowly, scooting you off him and standing. 

“We’ll see about that.”  He takes the first aid kit and opens it on the coffee table, you sit up obediently and face him. He takes you in, now that he can look at you in normal light, even bruised and red eyed from crying, you were absolutely stunning. There’s something primordial about your beauty, like it’s not defined from your features, but by something burning inside you. He swallows, ripping open an alcohol swab. “C’mere.” He says and opens his palm, you lean forward, until your chin is resting in his hand. “Fucker nearly bashed your head in.” You don’t respond to that, but he clocks your little gasp of pain when he starts dabbing at the cut by your eyebrow. 

“Really,” you mumble, “Didn’t expect you to do this.” It’s true, Ran could have had someone else, anyone else take care of you, he could have dropped you at a hotel, or one of the other brothels, but something, some instinct had him bring you here instead. 

“When I was a kid, my brother got into more fights than me.” He explains, “I mean, no one would agree with that, because once Rin was in, I was in, whatever it was. But I got pretty used to patching him up.” A tear leaks out of your left eye, “I’m almost done.” 

“Thank you, sir.” You whisper. 

“You’ll make it up to me.” He says brightly, before carefully putting a little gauzy band aid over the affected area. “So, we were discussing you.” 

“Were we?” You murmur, and then you remember. “Oh you said you’d figured me out.” He nods. 

“Daddy issues.” He says, and you raise your good eyebrow, then wince. “Let me make some assumptions, you tell me if I’m wrong.” 

“Okay.” You feel Ran’s hands move down your bruised clavicle, and push your jacket off your shoulders. 

“I’m checking for swelling,” he murmurs, light touches down your shoulders. “But, you had no strong authority figures as a child.” 

“Correct.” You answer. 

“Maybe your mom was around, in some capacity, but daddy was always working,” You shrug. 

“That’s one way to put it.” He raises his eyebrows and you sigh and continue. “My father worked in finance,” 

“Rich little princess, huh?” He says, opening a new alcohol swab to dab at a scrape just below your collarbone from when the attacker dragged you across the rug. 

“Apparently.” You say softly. “Till he went to prison, and my mom fell off the wagon.” Ran nods slowly. 

“He screw a bunch of well meaning middle class people over or something?” He asks, slipping the strap of your lingerie off your shoulder. 

“Something like that.” You inhale sharply as Ran experimentally presses the swab against the scrape, to see if you’ll squirm.  

“If I asked you for something,” he says, smoothing some gauze over the cut. “You’d give it to me.” 

“Yes sir,” you say, fighting the exhaustion, your head hurts, and your body aches, but you’re working, you remind yourself, it’s a job. 

“So if I asked you to tell me the truth about how you were feeling right now, you would?” Your hands fly to your temples, massaging them. 

“Everything hurts,” you mumble, “And now I’m exhausted, and a little drunk.” You glance over the shoulder. “Am I on the couch?” 

“Nope,” Ran says, glee back in his voice as he closes the first aid kit. “My bed.” he lifts you like a child, cradling you to his chest, “There we are.” You shiver, then snuggle into the warmth of his body as he carries you across the penthouse. He deposits you on the bed carelessly, and you wince, curling into the fetal position with an arm wrapped around your ribs. 

“Your ribs might be broken,” Ran muses. 

“Why,” you say through gritted teeth, “Did you throw me?” 

“Because if you’re not going to tell me what hurts I’m going to find out somehow, now get up you have to brush your teeth.” 

“Are you serious?” You lift your head and he chuckles dangerously, enjoying the real pain and anger in  your eyes. 

“You still work for me.'' He says. “I’m not going to hit you, if I can help it, but it’s in your best interest not to push-” he stops when you don’t seem to be listening, your face screwed up in pain, and the last soft part of his soul tugs at him. “Alright,” he sits on the bed and rubs your   forehead. “I’ll have a doctor here first thing this morning, alright,” you take a shaky breath and he sees a tear you're unable to blink away. 

“This,” you press your lips together,voice tiny and tight, “This really, really hurts.” He massages his jaw, he’s not sure what he wanted, what possessed him to bring you here, what’s causing this odd protective stirring in his chest. It’s true, this was probably the best choice for Bonten, given that this man would be looking for you and causing trouble if you were anywhere else, but normally that wouldn’t have bothered him enough to open up his personal space to you. 

“Why didn’t you tell me your ribs hurt?” He asks, but realizes as soon as he says it, “Oh, you want to get back to work, huh?” You nod, your eyes are screwed shut now. “Whaddya need money for, sweetheart?” He’s back to softly rubbing your forehead. 

“Got a brother.” You breathe out slowly, “Sick. He needs the money.” Ran blinks at you in the darkness, withdrawing his hand. You hear him open and close a drawer and then feel something cold press to your cheek. 

You open your eyes and he’s ice cold, all mirth and teasing gone from his face. You don’t move, just try to hold his gaze. 

“How long have you worked for me?” He says, and you look confused by the question but answer. 

“A-about eight months.” 

“And where did we poach you from?”  

“The silver dragon.” You answer, a slight tremor from your voice, “What did I-” 

“Just answer some questions for me.” He says, pressing the gun harder into your cheek. “Did you know the man you stabbed?” You look up at him, eyes wide, “I asked you a fucking question.” 

“N-no.” You breathe. 

“You think you can show up here, with some sob story about a sick brother and get whatever you want from me, think I’ll let my guard down?” He still sounds calm. 

“No, no please,” you plead, “I can prove it, if you look on my phone, I have pictures of us.” He nods. 

“Get up.” You choke out a sob as the stabbing pain in your chest bursts forth, but struggle to your feet. He doesn’t help you, or let you lean on him, but he doesn’t push your pace as you struggle to walk back to his couch, barefoot in a silk slip, “Sit.” He says and you do, he keeps the gun to your head while he pulls your phone out of your coat pocket. “Passcode?” 

“9965.” You whisper, and a shiver runs up your spine, causing pain to bloom in your chest. He clicks into your phone, it’s depressing, barely any texts, but if he opens your photos it’s true, most of the pictures are of a younger boy with whom you share several features. He looks sickly and thin, and in some of them he’s making faces in a hospital bed, posing with an actor dressed as spiderman. Ran’s heart rate calms a little, but he’s not convinced. He opens your internet history, scrolling through it. 

“There’s a lot of porn here,” He muses, and the pressure with which he’s pushing on your head with the gun lessens. 

“It’s not like most of my appointments are interested in my pleasure,” you keep your eyes closed, unwilling to witness your own end, “And I have to take care of myself.” He chuckles, but between the porn and occasional shopping link it’s clear you’ve been doing research on childhood illness for at least as long as he can scroll, which is 10 months. It’s a lot of detail and work to put into tricking him, especially when you couldn’t guarantee he’d even look at your phone. He pockets the device. 

“This is mine now.” He says, but the only thing you really understand is that he withdraws the gun from your head. You try not to cry in relief, but end up barely biting back the sob, the pain tears at your chest. “Let’s get you washed up,” his touches are soft again, practically carrying you to the bathroom, giving you an extra toothbrush. He puts the gun away in a nightstand. You climb into his bed, scooting under the blanket, it’s a light but warm duvet. You’re making an effort to control your breathing, and you haven’t spoken to him since he took your phone. “Did I scare you?” He says, unbuttoning his shirt, tossing it on a chair. 

“Yes, sir.” You whisper, and he notes that the honorifics are back. He takes his rings and earring off, depositing them in a little dish beside his bed. He steps out of his pants, and flicks the light off, the only light coming from the full moon and the city, silver white patterns from his window are painted across his bed. He hooks his thumbs in his briefs and steps out of them, laughing when  you avert your eyes from the way his cock hangs heavily between his legs while he grabs a clean pair. “Modest, for a whore.” You don’t respond, shrugging then wincing at what it does to your chest. “I could give you something for the pain?” He offers, and you narrow your eyes. “What?” 

“I’m trying to decide if I trust you not to slip me something because you think it’s funny.” He giggles. 

“I mean it would be funny, but I’m a gentleman, and if I wanna watch a hot girl trip and lose her shit I coulda grabbed almost anyone else from your place of work on your way out.” 

“You’re a gentleman?” You raise your eyebrows, “Did your mother teach you it’s polite to hold young women at gunpoint.” His eyes narrow. 

“I think you don’t want to see what it looks like when I get impolite.” He says, and there’s a dark edge to his tone. Your eyes are on his tattoos as he lies down next to you, “Now come here.” You obey, ignoring the ache in your chest as he pulls you next to him. He digs in his drawer and pulls out a pill bottle, “Open,” he says, and you part your lips, sticking your tongue out. He puts a tiny blue pill out and places it on your tongue. It starts to dissolve and you watch him take one too. “Coulda left you there.” he grumbles. “Coulda just let you go home.” 

“I know.” You say softly. “I was um, I was teasing you,” He glances down at you, you feel a warmth spreading over your body. “I’m glad,” you follow an impulse, “That you didn’t leave me there.” You take one of his huge hands with both of yours, and his heart flutters uncomfortably. 

“So really,” He turns to you. “Not only am I a gentleman but I’m your knight in shining armor.” You sigh deeply, feeling the painkiller work its way through your system. “Say it please.” 

“Say what?” You blink up at him dumbly and fuck, his stomach does a back flip. “Sir.” You remember, barely. 

“Say I’m,” his head is clouding over, “Say I’m  your knight in shining armor,” he needles and you squeeze his hand. 

“Y-you saved me.” You mumble. “The knight thing is too cheesy, I can’t do it.” 

“Then kiss me.” He demands, and you obey, struggling to prop yourself up. He leans down impatiently, pressing his lips to yours with a desperate hunger, not caring about the little whimper you make at the pain of this position. He only pulls away when  you’re breathless. “Heal up.” He says, leaning over and kissing your forehead in an oddly caring and soft way. 

“Mhm,” you agree, drifting off to a peaceful sleep, the medicine fogging your mind. Ran watches you for a while, amazed at how quickly you relax even with the drugs. They take longer to hit him, and he laces and unlaces your fingertips, plays with your hair, even presses gently on the bruises on your body, just enough to pull a sleepy whimper from your lips, determined to find your weaknesses before you find his. 

You wake before him, nestled against his chest, your head tucked under his chin. You don’t stir, don’t move a muscle, every part of your body aches, from your ribs, to your face, to your neck. Ran’s got a tight grip on you, and he’s snoring softly. His alarm goes off a few minutes later, though and he smacks it with one huge hand, groaning. He sits up and examines you blearily. Overnight your bruises have gotten worse, you’re still pretty, but half your face is fucked, the bruises extend down from your eye to the corner of your jaw, and your neck is dappled with darkness and burst blood vessels. You hum softly and he rubs his eyes. 

“I’m gonna shower,” he says, “Our doctor will be here in an hour, and then I’m going to work, and you’re gonna stay here.” You nod. “Don’t get into my shit.” he warns and you shrug. “You can order whatever you want for lunch,” he digs through his wallet and puts a black card on the nightstand. 

“Can I have my phone back?” 

“No.” He rolls his eyes. 

“How will I order, then?” You bury your face back into the pillows and he thinks about it. “I’ll leave you a burner phone.” He opens a drawer and tosses you a blank cell phone. You nearly don’t catch it and he chuckles at you. “Stay put for a sec.” He jogs out of the bedroom, still in only his lavender briefs. He comes back a second later with a few bags, he’s got frozen peas, some frozen ore-ida french fries, and a bag of frozen pineapple. “Ice that shit.” He orders, “Twenty minutes on, twenty minutes off,” he eyes you warily. “I’d tie you down but you’re gonna have to use the restroom, huh.” You nod, and he sighs deeply, taking his phone out and putting it to his ear, “Can I get two decent guys up to my penthouse in the next half hour, need them to watch a girl for a day. Tell them it’s a cushy assignment, a chance to ah,” he grins evilly, “Impress me.” You resist the urge to roll your eyes, but he still regards you warily while finishing the phone call. You press the peas to the side of your face and wince at the temperature. Ran puts the phone in the crook of his neck, 

“Hold on a second,” he says. “Hey, dummy,” he snaps at you, “Gently.” You nod, and he rolls his eyes, annoyed, “Yeah, I got a girl who’s never put ice on a bruise before to deal with,” he says to the person on the other end of the phone, ignoring you as he slips more pillows behind your back. “Yeah, I told her she was dumb already,” He pats your head with one huge hand, still talking to the other guy as he disappears into the bathroom to shower. You relax against the pillows, curling up into the fetal position with the bag of frozen peas on your face. Ran come back in half an hour later, and you’ve got the pineapple bag on your neck. 

“What a good girl,” he coos, condescension dripping from his words, “But you’re missing your ribs, are they swollen?” 

“I, I don’t know.” You respond more quietly than he expects. He narrows his violet eyes and comes to your side of the bed, pushing you gently onto your back and removing the pineapple bag. “Sir?” You crane your neck to see what he’s doing as he peels the blanket back and then lifts your dress. You gasp at the sight of your skin, you knew  you were injured, but the nebula of bruises and the slight swelling shocks you. Ran seems unphased, pressing lightly on the bruise, just enough to make you whimper. 

“They’re not broken.” He murmurs, almost to himself, then remembers you, “But don’t fucking move too much, alright?” He stands, “Jesus.” He digs through his drawer, taking the bottle of pills and leaving one on the nightstand, shoving the bottle into his pocket, “Can’t have ya doin’ anything stupid.”

“Yes, sir,” you chirp, just a slight degree of mocking to your voice. He furrows his eyebrows, but doesn’t admonish you. He leaves shortly after that, in some monstrosity of a pastel suit, and no tie, a thin silver chain visible around his neck. You take the pill, and nearly don’t notice when two men come in, talking loudly. 

“He said she’d be sleepin’ but we gotta make sure no one gets in here,” one of them says, “Oi,” You stir, opening your good eye. “Mr. Haitani said you should be icin’  your shit.” You sit up and turn to face them, hearing their collective intake of breath at your face. 

“Jesus, sweetheart,” They’re both tall, broad and tattooed, one blonde, one dark haired. “You alright?” 

“No,” you almost whine, “Where’s the doctor?” 

“Runnin’ late.” One of them takes the iced food away and brings something else from Ran’s freezer. You hold it to your face as a tear leaks from your eye. Neither of the men talk much, which is fine, with the pill you’re drifting in and out of consciousness. You wake a few hours later, and an extremely hurried doctor pronounces you injured, hairline fractures on your ribs, no orbital fractures, and gives you a few painkillers that you’ll have to take with water, and that he tells you not to mix with alcohol or drive on. You scroll through the burner phone, then look up at the men. 

“Um, he said I could get lunch?” They blink at you. “Do you want lunch?” You take the black card off the night table, “I was thinking um, burgers, or something?” 

“Yeah, sure.” One of them says, and you hand them the phone and let them put their order in through the app, then add your own and put in the card information. You lay back, with the ice numbing your bruises. 

“Can um,” you close your eyes, “One of you wake me when the food gets here?” 

“Sure, honey.” One of them quips, and about an hour later you’re vaguely aware of an argument in the living room about which one of them should go down to get the food, because they both were supposed to stay up in the penthouse, when you hear the doorbell ring. It strikes you as odd for a full second. You hadn’t given the delivery person anything but the building address, no indication of the floor they should come to. Instinct overrides your terror and you fumble for the gun you saw Ran put away the night before. You hear a quick shout, and the smashing of furniture, as you stumble out of bed and click the safety off, holding it out in front of you. 

“Stop,” you cry quickly, and the severity of your situation becomes clear. One of the men Ran left you with is bleeding on the floor, having been caught off guard, and the other is grappling with a much larger man, who has him pinned. It looks like two intruders have broken in, with the second stalking towards you, both with matching tiger tattoos. “D-don’t move.” You say, cursing your stutter. “I’ll, I’ll shoot you.” 

“Stupid fuckin’ bitch,” the man snarls, and you can see something wild in his honeyed eyes, while his companion chokes the life out of the last conscious bonten member. “Put it down.” 

“I will shoot you.” You plant your bare feet on the ground, unaware if you're dizzy or just swaying a bit from the drugs. What happens next you’re not entirely sure, even though you’d be asked to recount it many times. He lunges for you, and you squeeze the trigger a couple times, squealing at the noise it makes even with the silencer on the end of the weapon. The recoil makes pain explode in  your hand, but when you’re out of bullets, no one is standing anymore. You sink, shaking, to your knees.

The man who lunged for you and his companion are both bleeding out on Ran’s expensive looking oriental rug. 

“Oh my god,”  you whisper, “Oh my god.” Almost on autopilot, you fumble for your cell phone, and find only the burner. You hover over the 9 for 911, but stop yourself, instead dialing the only number that’s saved. 

“Haitani,” You hear. 

“M-m-mr. Haitani,” you choke out, and Ran’s frowns at your tone, standing and walking out of the room he was in. “They, they came here for me and-” 

“Are you hiding?” He interrupts, grabbing his coat and signaling to a few of his men to follow him. 

“N-no,” you stammer, “I might have,” you can’t hear your own voice, you’re faraway from your own body. “I might have done something.” He’s in the elevator at this point. “Y-you know the gun in your nightstand?” He laughs. “Please don’t.” You beg. 

“If you shot one of my men they get to shoot you,” He quips, “Thems the breaks.” 

“No,” you swallow, “M-mr. Haitani, I shot,” the joy melts from his face as his car pulls up in front of the offices. “I shot them, the um, the people breaking in.” His eyes shoot open and he barks out a laugh.

“Don’t touch anything.” He says. “Don’t even move or breathe too much until I get there, understood?” 

“Yes, sir.” You choke out, sinking to the floor again and sitting there. You’re not sure how long it takes for him to burst into the room with a few men, not sure how long you sit on the floor, dizzied and nauseated by the scent of iron. Ran strides into the room and surveys the damage, then looks at you, small and broken, on your knees holding the gun. He leans down, pressing his finger to one of the men’s neck before standing again with a little huff. 

“Well, that’s that then.” You burst into tears. “Aw princess, don’t cry,” he coos, and reaches for you, “Let’s get you cleaned up,” He turns to his men. “And you, clean this up. I wanna know how the fuck they got up here, and I want to know yesterday. Clear?” The men nod, “They alive?” he asks about the bonten men and one of them groans. “Hey bastard,” Ran snaps, “Whatever rank you were, this bitch is now your fucking boss,” you’re still crying softly, wondering if he means for you to take his extended hand. He looks back at you, annoyed, and then plucks you off your knees, lifting you to a standing position. He takes you to his bathroom and helps you strip, you’re still bruised, and high, and a little concussed. “Gonna keep crying even if I tell you to shut up?” You nod, giving him a little hiccuping sob.

“S-sorry.” You choke out and he nods, turning the water on and kicking his shoes off, stepping out of his pants. “What are you d-doing,” you say wiping your face. 

“We’re gonna burn anything that you were wearing,” he says, “Same for me, since I touched you, alright,  but you’ve got blood on you so let’s get into the shower.” He’s a little impatient, tugging you into the steam. You cover yourself at first, nonsensically but he doesn’t peel your hands away. Instead he reaches for a bottle of soap. It smells like sweet almond oil, and he cleans himself first, washing his hair, his face, his shoulders. He notices the way you keep your attention up at his face, nearly ignoring his cock. 

“I’m a shower not a grower,” he quips, and you sniff, still reeling. “Alright,” he takes a pump of the soap, “Okay, let’s just,” he starts on your shoulders, dexterous hands moving over your aching muscles, a bit of red running down the drain as the blood washes off of you. His hands dip lower quickly, and he pushes your hands away from your breasts. He groans softly at the feeling of them in his hands, running his thumbs over your nipples and squeezing them, delighting in the way you squirm, your breath evening. 

“W-what’s gonna happen to me?” You whisper, and he shrugs, moving his hands lower, barely stopping at your waist before he slips them behind to cup your ass. 

“I like a bitch who takes care of herself,” he squeezes at the soft flesh. “Because it means if I take that away, you don't have anything left but me.” A shiver runs up your spine. “I’m gonna keep you,” you feel his hand dip between your legs, “And you don’t get a say in the matter,” he crouches a little so that you can look him in the eyes. “Does that feel good?” 

“A little,” you get out, as he parts your folds with one long finger,  you can feel the cool of his rings as the warm water drips between you. 

“You’re afraid of me?” He asks, eyes serious for a moment. 

“Y-yes sir,” you press your lips together, “I sh-shouldn’t have taken your gun, I’m s-sor-” He cuts you off with a chuckle. 

“If you hadn’t taken it you’d have just bled all over my sheets while you died.” He shrugs. “And I wouldn’t have appreciated that. I’m glad you took it.” You swallow. “Are you glad,” he asks, and you gasp softly as he slips a finger inside you, “That you killed those men?” 

“N-no,” the tears burn in your eyes, “I didn’t mean to.” 

“That’s what I thought,” he leans down and presses his lips to your forehead, “You’re just a good girl, caught up in something bigger, huh?” You nod, feeling the way he presses up softly against that spongey spot inside you. “Such a sweet little thing,” he muses as you draw a shaky breath, he knows what he’s doing, knows how to pull soft music from your lips, “Adorable little mouse caught in a trap.” 

“Ah,” you close your eyes, sighing, and he moves you, pushing you up against the cool black marble of his shower. 

“Since you’re such a good girl,” he repeats, “And you don’t wanna hurt anyone, I’ll take care of you, alright, daddy’s gonna make those bodies disappear,” you sniff, he adds a second finger, pulling the softest moan from your lips. “And in return, you’re gonna do everything I say, how does that sound?” 

“It sounds,” you can’t think clearly, “It sounds, um,” you gasp, he scissors his fingers inside of you and you feel the pain dully in your ribs, “Sounds um, thank you,” you close your eyes leaning against the cool tile wall, lost in the drugs, in the feeling of his thumb rubbing soft circles around your clit. 

“Just say yes, daddy,” he taunts and you let out a soft whine. 

“Y-yes, daddy,” your back arches off the wall of the shower. 

“You’re too high to fake shit with me right now,” he feels your legs start to tremble and you nod, “But it’s not allowed, understand?” 

“Yes,” you feel the hot coil in your stomach tighten as he picks up the pace, “Yes, daddy.” 

“Such a good girl,” he exclaims, dripping in condescension, examining you clinically. You’re bruised, and out of it, your eye is swollen shut to the point that you’re avoiding the gentle fall of water on the purpled skin. “My good girl.” You nod, whimpering. “You’re mine,” he repeats, “Say it.” 

“I’m yours,” it comes out soft, and high pitched as he fingers you roughly. 

“Cum for me, then,” he says, leaning further down and kissing your neck as you cum on his hand, gushing around him and crying softly, so overwhelmed with emotion and sensation that your knees buckle. He catches you handily, helping you into a soft white towel and laying you down in his bed. “Open.” He says and you obey mindlessly, letting him place another pill on your tongue, a different one, that makes your world so fuzzy at the edges that consciousness slips from you quickly. He gets dressed and strides back into his living room. The bodies are rolled up in rugs, the blood is gone, and Ran’s gun is sitting on the table, wiped clean of fingerprints. 

“Did you need to fuck the girl first?” He hears, and Rindou walks out of his half bathroom, wiping his hands on a towel. “Was it absolutely necessary for you to fuck the girl.” Ran grins evilly. 

“Would you be proud of me to know that for once in my life I was an unselfish lover?” Rindou retches. 

“No,” He takes some black latex gloves from his pocket. “So what, you had to-” 

“She was too injured to stand  on her own in the shower,” Ran explains impatiently, striding to the kitchen and pouring himself a drink. “Why are you here, exactly?” 

“Can’t I be worried about you, my only brother?” He says, crouching next to one of the bodies, pulling out one of their wallets. “This is,” he frowns, looking at the ID. 

“What’s up?” Ran quips, joining him. 

“The address on here isn’t a real place.” Rindou murmurs. “Because it’s the apartment building next to the one we grew up in in Roppongi.” Ran’s brow furrows. “And they tore that down a few months ago, I think.” 

“Someone trying to send us a message?” Ran says, quirking an eyebrow. Rindou nods. “Well,” he draws himself up to his full height. “I’m gonna beef up security.” 

“What’ll you do with her?” A smile plays on Rindou’s lips and Ran scoffs. 

“She’s mine now.” He shrugs. “Shiny new toy for me.”

You don’t see Ran again until later, you wake alone in his bedroom, stomach growling. You stumble to the living room, half high, half awake, and Ran is waiting for you, sitting on the couch on his laptop. 

“You’re up,” he says, lifting his head, watching you look around blearily. “It’s all gone, baby, all clean in here.” You nod, hands trembling. “Come here.” He pats the couch and you wince sitting down next to him. “You still need your brother's hospital bills paid?” He asks and you nod, letting him pull your body into his chest. “Consider it taken care of. You’ve been promoted in our organization.” You look up at him and he takes a big black gun from a shoulder holster. “C’mon,” he takes your hand and arranges it on the handle correctly. “Like this.” You bury your face in his neck. 

“I don’t want to hurt people.” You mumble, and he feels your lips move against his clean shave. 

“You need to learn how to use this.” He says calmly, “Focus for me.” He watches you direct your attention fully to his large hands on the gun. “This is a safety,” he clicks it on and off, “When  you’re not using it, you leave this on.” You nod. “We’ll getcha some practice.” You take his arm, and he looks at you, surprised. You press your whole body up against his side, nuzzling into him. 

“Thank you for not just killing me.” You whisper. He shrugs.

“You’re useful.” 

“I want to um,” you blink up at him, eyes round. “I want to be useful to you.” He laughs. 

“You’re in absolutely no shape to suck me off.” He gives your knee a little squeeze. “I’ll give you the chance to make it up to me sweetheart,” he leans over and presses a kiss to your forehead. “After all, I own you now.” You swallow. It’s true, he has the bodies, the evidence, the power, not to mention he’s the one with a gun. 

next chapter

𝐈 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐀 𝐁𝐈𝐆 𝐁𝐎𝐘, 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐀 𝐁𝐈𝐆 𝐁𝐎𝐘 ♡— 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐊𝐘𝐔𝐔 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒

𖦹 ft. ushijima, bokuto, oikawa x f!reader, 18+ 𖦹 themes: size kink, dacryphilia, overstimulation, creampie 𖦹 synopsis: they are too big for you 🍆 bc I can't help myself from listening to big boy 🥹

♡ USHIJIMA

"I'll be gentle." He said as he aligned himself along your entrance. He had done all the necessary preparations to get you ready, but no sufficient amount of KY Jelly could prepare you for his huge cock.

He penetrated you nice and slow. Your eyes grew wide at the size while he elicited a pained expression. "God, you're so tight. Feels so good."

He moved slowly inch-by-inch that you could feel his length—your little hole was also stretching wide to his girth. Your hips moved uncontrollably wanting more stimulation. You're getting there. You're getting there and the itch building up in your pussy just wanted more and more. He's feeling the same too as you saw every bit of restraint on his face.

"T-Toshiii, it's okay. You can give it to me." You purred and you saw how his jaw clenched hard.

"Do you like it this way?" He asked and you were shocked when he slammed fully right in. You never knew he was that strong. He rammed in and out of you as you gripped on the sheets and writhed around.

"Ohhh....Toshi! Toshi!" You couldn't make out his face, because you could surely see stars right now. His huge cock felt like destroying your pussy. You were never sure if it would ever be the same anymore. Your legs! You couldn't even feel your legs, not even any part of your body except for Toshi's hot-blooded thrusting into your hole. It felt so good...too good. He could use you, ravage you and fill you up anytime he wants. Your head started spinning as the tremors came through.

"I— I'm coming! Coming!" You held tightly on his hands on your waist as you found your release.

You were still trembling around him when he held your waist so firmly it would definitely leave a mark. He pounded both himself and your body in full speed onto his cock. Your eyes almost rolled at the back of your head at his action and soon he stuffed your cunt full with his cum. He pulled out and damn you felt so empty without him. You knew you'd never ever be satisfied with any other cock anymore now that you got a taste of his.

♡ BOKUTO

He always complained (complimented) how tight you were that left him busting his nuts earlier than he should, so you had your ass up in the air now for his fucking. He gave your supple bottoms a good squeeze. Damn! He could easily enter you in this position. He couldn’t control himself any longer. You felt him rub his tip and you held tightly on the sheets, knowing how powerful his huge dick was. The moment the head got in, you took a deep breath in and soon, his full length was inside you. Your arms shook at how large his cock was. With that beefy body of his, you expected no less. 

“Oh, fuck Y/N! You’re so tight even on this angle.” He had his eyes shut tight. 

“Aughh…you’re just too big for me, Bo-kun.”

“Please don’t talk to me like that…“ He pulled out. “You know I won’t be able to hold back—” And slammed back in, your ass cheeks slapped hard against his pelvis. “Fuck, you’re so fucking sexy!” He pounded, thrusted, screwed you in a frenzy. It was so messy and wild that your arms felt like giving up on your weight and tears pooled at the corner of your eyes.

Quickly picking up on this, he grabbed hold of your elbows and gripped on them like they’re the throttle lever to your body. He maneuvered you as he slammed in and out of your tight cunt. Your titties bounced alongside your ass whenever he’d hit it deep. He was so rough and big, completely wrecking your pussy. You felt your juices uncontrollably dripping in between your legs. 

The heat started creeping in and you knew…. “Bo-kun…I’m gonna…I’m gonna…” Your body trembled as you cried into your release.

“Yes, Y/N! Give it- Give it to me!” He screwed you faster. One, two, pumps…He pushed in deep into you and filled you up with his cum. 

His heavy body fell onto yours and you both caught your breaths as he got you into an embrace and planted a sweet kiss on your sweaty forehead. 

♡ OIKAWA

What supposed to be a cuddlefuck always ended up in hardcore sex because of his unbelievable size. Now, here you were sandwiched in between the bed and his big muscular body, while he covered your neck with soppy wet kisses. His erect cock now hot on your stomach. 

“T-Tooru, I don’t think I can.” You said as he you felt him harden.

“Just between the thighs, baby. Just between the thighs.” He assured, flexing his hips forward and easing himself through your squeezed thighs. You gasped when his huge cock rubbed along right where your clit was. You bit your lip and arched your back—your hips matching his every thrusts. You wanted more, but could you really handle him? You rocked against his member which prompted him to move even faster and faster until—

It slipped! Your eyes popped and so was your mouth. He’s too big that you were shivering at the size. He almost tore you apart.  “You-You’re too big,” you gasped and something inside Tooru was awakened. You sure felt him got even bigger and harder inside you. You knew what was about to come. “T-Tooru, wai—“

He began pounding you. Your nails dug against the skin of his forearms as he thrusted intensely. “My cock can never be too big for you not when your pretty little pussy is sucking me so tight.” He leaned even closer to you and pressed your knees close to your face. “You love it right? You love it when I’m balls deep down to your womb.” He clenched his teeth. "You love it when I stretch you open like this!"

“I- I-“ He’s fucking you so hard that you couldn’t even speak. The wave of pleasure with a little pain was too good. You’re going crazy. You wanted nothing but to be stuffed by his big cock that he was breaking both your poor little hole and your mind. There, yes...Harder! Harder! You let out a cry as you felt the rush takeover.

You couldn't believe you were still whole. You caught your breath beneath him and he kissed you. “I…I’m done for,” you whispered.

“I don’t think we’re done yet, baby.”

© nekorei 2023 - All rights reserved. No work shall be reproduced, reposted, modified, translated in any form or by any means.

—tag list on reply section ♡

I love this so much <33

SUPER LIKED;

pairing: kageyama tobio x f!reader

genre: college!au, enemies to lovers!au, social media!au, series

warnings: swearing, suggestive language, possible alcohol use in the future

current status: on-going!

synopsis: l/n y/n has been lucky with two things; good grades, and good friends. she also has been unlucky with two things; keeping plants alive, and dating apps. after many and many failed attempts at getting a decent date from tinder, her friends took her phone and deleted the app. perhaps it was time for some self-discovery, that lasted for two weeks. the unthinkable happens when she accidently super likes the person who hated her the most in high school, kageyama tobio. maybe she should’ve listened to her friends and kept the app deleted…

meet the squads:

y/n’s fanboys 

kageyama’s simps

chapters:

1). rip to y/n

2). care to make a bet?

3). old war time lovers

4). she used my government name

5). be our manager?

taglist: [CLOSED]

---

꒷♡꒷ STUCK!

♰ featuring: nagi seishiro + shidou ryusei (separate) [blue lock]

♰ note: thank you all so much for supporting my last work as much as you did. it really means so much to me that people genuinely enjoy my writing and my content! now, as my second-ever work, i would appreciate it greatly if you would continue to support my work by reading, liking, and reblogging! also, I tried to make their sections as even as possible, but i'm a ryusei simp so uhhh enjoy!

sypnosis: in which you find yourself stuck in a rather precarious position and your boyfriend decides to "help" you. not without proper payment first, though. wc: 3.4k content/trigger warning(s): 18+. SMUT. fem/fem-bodied reader. stuckage. shidou is a warning on his own. accidental choki abuse (nagi). dry humping. degradation. unprotected sex. rough sex. creampie/breeding. spanking. name-calling/dirty talk (ryusei). ꒷꒦

NAGI SEISHIRO.

It was a normal weekend, unlike any other. It was just before noon, and you were cleaning your and Seishiro’s shared apartment while he was at the gym with Reo. You were diligently working to remove the accumulated dust from your wooden dresser with a disinfectant wipe that had a coconut scent when, all of a sudden, your hand bumped into something rather hard.

“Choki!!”

You shrieked, watching in horror as your boyfriend’s beloved potted cactus flew off of the dresser and knocked into the wall behind it. Everything moved in slow motion, and you could only gawk in horror as the pot spun once, twice, and then tumbled behind the dresser. You grimaced inwardly, awaiting the sound of shattering ceramics and the dull shuffling of displaced dirt, but it never came. Instead, the sound of the pot sliding down the wall and "gracefully" hitting the floor was heard instead.

With baited breath, you grabbed your phone, turning it to flashlight mode. You used it as a visual aid as you peered behind the dresser to assess the damage, sighing with relief when you saw Choki, Seishiro’s child, lying almost undisturbed between the wall and the backboard of the dresser.

Now here comes the difficult part, moving the dresser.

Kicking off your fuzzy house slippers to give yourself some traction, you grabbed the back end of one side and mustered all of your strength to shove the heavy thing out of the way—slowly, of course. Choki’s life was at stake here. However, you were only able to move the heavy thing out of the way just enough so that you could slip part of your body inside to reach for the plant. It was still a very tight fit.

Getting on your knees, you maneuvered between the tiny space you created, squeezing your arms, shoulders, and ribcage between them until the tension finally gave way at your waist. Breathing out in relief, your fingertips finally managed to grace the pot’s edge, pulling it into your grasp.

“Got . . . cha . . !”

You tried to shuffle backward, but you couldn’t. Attempting once more, you would come to realize that the dresser and the wall had some sort of death grip on your hips, rooting you in place. You were stuck. Trapped. And Nagi wouldn’t be home for another 30 minu—

“Y/N, what are you doing?”

You breathed, overjoyed at your boyfriend’s sudden voice. He always had the habit of moving in complete silence, despite his massive size. You hadn’t even heard him come home.

“Sei, oh, thank god! C-Can you pull me out? I think I’m stuck!”

You could barely make out the sound of his soft footsteps padding against the wooden floor as he made his way over to you. You could feel the heat radiating off of his body as he stood behind you, yet he made no effort to save you just yet.

“How did you even manage to do something like this?”

His confused tone held an unamused lilt, one that made your cheeks burn with embarrassment.

“I was cleaning the dresser, and I accidentally knocked Choki over. They’re fine! B-But I can’t get out . . .”

Still nothing.

Was he mad? Disappointed? Since you could not see him, you could not tell. You were aware, though, that his gaze was "burning" into you. You shifted, partially in discomfort, as you made a point to wiggle your hips so that he could focus on the task at hand. As a result, you could hear him drawing in a sharp breath through his teeth. Before you could ask him what he was doing, you felt him kneel behind you. His two strong hands came into contact with the exposed skin around your hips, where your shirt was rising. He did not pull, though. The opposite happened; you felt him pressing against you, his bulge delightfully nestling against your folds through your thin pajama shorts.

“Seishiro?!”

He effectively silenced your confused warble in exchange for a surprised squeal when his open palm placed a firm smack on one of your cheeks. All the while, he shamelessly ground himself against your core, stating, “That was for Choki." You swore that you could hear the pout in his voice when he spoke.

“Removing you would be a hassle. Besides, I’m tired.”

B-But what about me?!

You wanted to protest, however, you refrained. You felt his lithe fingers pinch the fabric just over your clit as he pulled it to the side, resting it against your ass and exposing your pretty folds to his prying eyes. You heard his hands rustling with his sweatpants and boxers before you felt him tapping the pretty pink-flushed tip of his cock, which you loved so much, against your sensitive bud causing you to keen and your toes to curl.

“Wish you could see how pretty you look right now.” He mumbled, teasingly pressing the head of his cock against your entrance a few times, but never pushing in fully.

“I-If you got me out, Sei, then maybe I could . .” Your voice was unsteady as your anticipation began to build in the form of your puffy folds beginning to leak for him, the lewd sounds of it squelching around his tip echoing in your quiet room.

He answered you with silence and actions rather than with words. In one swift motion, he pushed entirely into you, and without waiting for you to adjust, he began to thrust his hips into you at a steady pace. You clenched around him, nails scratching against the backboard of the dresser, the wall, the floor—anything to brace yourself from your boyfriend’s fervent pace. Once he got started, he wouldn’t stop until he spilled entirely inside of you, filling you to the brim with his cum.

“S-Sei, it’s too much!” You mewled, yet your body writhed with pleasure. You always said this, and yet, he knew you could take it. You've done it many times before. That’s why he reached further into the space you had created to bunch up the back of your his shirt and used it as leverage as though he were pulling your hair to pummel into you faster and deeper. Your ass rhythmically pounded on his pelvis, sending a lewd ringing through your own ears as it echoed off the bedroom walls. Something about this precarious situation you were in mixed with the feeling of Seishiro’s cock hitting those sweet spots inside of you, enthralled you more than usual. You were close and he could feel it.

“Gonna cum f’me, already?” He grunted as his other hands squeezed your hip, their blunt nails digging into your flesh. His moans were heavenly, a sound you longed to hear, as your walls fluttered around him. The hand that was on your hip pressed itself against the edge of the dresser, shoving it effortlessly to the side and thus freeing you from your confines. Although he appeared so unsuspecting, Seishiro’s strength, when he decided to use it, was frightening. Your lower half fell to the ground, your breasts and cheek smushing against the wooden floors as you felt his soft fingertips rubbing fast, furious circles around your clit.

“Oh my god, S-Sei, I-I’m gonna—”

“C’mon, make a mess for me, pretty.”

You did exactly that, creaming delightfully around his cock while mewing in ecstasy. Before long, you could feel Sei's hot seed bursting inside of you and filling up your pretty pussy to the brim, as well as his hips stuttering against you. Both of you were panting as he pulled out of you, your releases dribbling out of you and pooling beneath you onto the floor.

You finally managed to get off your sore knees and elbows as you turned to face your lover with trembling limbs. It was at this point that you noticed Seishiro's eyes, which were burning with something fierce and unknown, were boring into your own. His eyes resembled that hungry expression he would have when his ego started to rule him on the field.

“Let’s do it again, Y/N. On the bed this time.”

God, he was going to be the death of you someday.

SHIDOU RYUSEI.

You had a rather eventful day. Starting off leisurely in the morning, you and your boyfriend Ryusei enjoyed a pleasant brunch together before deciding to head out to the beach that day. You had to pick a spot with some privacy because Ryusei insisted he was only there to “freshen up his tan”, which required him to be in the nude, while you were there to enjoy his prescene, the sound of the waves lapping against the shore, and the sensation of sand between your toes. Only a short while ago, the two of you finally arrived home. Ryusei was currently taking his own shower, as you had already finished yours.

Relaxing on the couch in nothing more than an oversized shirt and your panties, you had decided to turn on some Netflix with the intention of finding either a good or a fun-bad horror flick to watch, when all of a sudden, the slippery lotion residue on your hands caused the remote to slip from your grasp and tumble onto the floor and skid beneath the coffee table. You groaned, head tossing back with exasperation, as this minor inconvenience was nearly enough to ruin your entire night and make you not even want to watch a movie anymore. Nonetheless, you sulked off the couch and sank to your knees, searching for the offending culprit beneath the coffee table. Somehow, it had managed to slide to the other side of the room, mocking you as it lay motionless between the walkway in the middle of the coffee table and the television. Any normal person would’ve simply gotten up and walked around the table to retrieve it, however, you were not like most people. I mean, look at your taste in men, for starters. Not to mention, you’re incredibly stubborn.

Instead, you crept beneath the table's glass top and between the second shelf, stretching your slender fingers as far as they could reach until they touched the black exterior of the remote. However, it was a little too far away for you to grasp, and your touch, combined with your wooden floors, only served to push it further away from you. You swore, glaring at the thing as though it had just offended your loved one, huffing in defeat as you decided to rise and walk to the remote.

But you couldn’t.

Your brow furrowed in perplexity as you placed one palm flat on the ground and the other on the surface beneath you, attempting but failing to push yourself back. You were wedged between the table's glass top and bottom shelves, flat on your chest. The more you wiggled, the further you seemed to wedge yourself in between the two surfaces that held you taut.

You stopped, dumbfounded. As much as you dreaded calling Ryusei for help because you knew he would taunt you endlessly instead of helping you . . . you did not have many other options.

“Ah, Ryu!!” Your voice carried through the hallways, hoping that he was out of the shower to hear you yell.

“. . . Yeah, babe?”

His voice made your heart lurch in your chest. You were already debating whether you should just say nevermind and try to wiggle out on your own, or put your pride aside and ask for his assistance. In the end, the latter would be victorious.

“Could . . . Could you come here for a second? . . . Please.” Your plea was quiet, your cheeks already burning with shame as you awaited your impending doom.

You raised your gaze towards the master bedroom, where he was currently. How cruel fate was to put you in a position where you would be forced to watch him approach. Each second felt like an eternity until you heard the soft padding of Shidou's feet leaving the carpeted bedroom to shuffle along the wooden floors, only to abruptly pause.

Sheepishly, you peeked up at him through your lashes to where he stood, chest bare, droplets of water dripping from his unstyled hair and body, a towel that he used for his hair wrapped around his shoulders, and a towel wrapped dangerously low around his waist. His face was expressionless, his fuchsia oculars taking in the scene before them in silence. Your shy, embarrassed gaze, the position of you between the coffee table, and the cursed remote only inches away from his own feet.

“—You’re stuck, aren’t you?”

How you wished you were facing the other way to avoid seeing the way that maniacal grin that nearly resembled the Joker's formed on his face and how his cat-like eyes narrowed at you in amusement at your misfortune.

“ . . Yes.”

He barked out a laugh at you, his head tossed back in sheer, unabashed mania, much to your chagrin. Even though you knew this would happen, your cheeks couldn’t help but burn with frustration and shame. “I know, very funny. Now, could you help me out here, please? My knees are getting sore.”

Despite your whines, his mockery would continue, his large hands grasping both ends of the towel that rested on his shoulders as he waltzed over to you leisurely. “Hmm, I dunno, babe~.” He continued walking until he crouched right before you, his legs spread wide enough for you to see that he was already semi-hard beneath the fabric. Of course, he would be aroused by your misfortune. Tearing your gaze away from his manhood, which was only inches away from your face, you peered up at him only to see him grinning mercilessly down at you with mischief twinkling in his eye. “I gotta admit, I like this view of you. How’d ya know doggy was my favorite position~?”

Probably because you’ve put me in it multiple times before, asshole. You wouldn’t say that, though. You didn’t want to prolong your torment any further.

“Ryuseii.” You whined, mustering your best pitiful glance in an attempt to draw even an ounce of sympathy from your demon of a lover. “Please?” You tried with a pout.

You couldn’t tell if your attempt worked, however, with the way Ryusei’s feral grin would reduce to a playful smirk, you figured that you have gotten through to him. He raised his hand, patting your head twice and making sure to tousle your hair while he was at it. “I’ll see what I can do, cutie.”

He made a move to rise to his feet but paused mid-squat, “No promises, though.”

You waited until he was out of your view to roll your eyes at him, hands bracing themselves against the floor as you awaited to be freed from this nightmare. Ryusei sank to his knees behind you, humming aloud as though he were trying to make a big play out of figuring out how to get you out—or how you got there to begin with. His slender digits grasped at your waist, tugging halfheartedly. You knew better than anyone that Ryusei was capable of hoisting you into the air and tossing you around as though you were nothing. That being said, it was beyond obvious to you that he was obviously making a poor attempt on purpose.

“Wow, I dunno, Y/N. You see pre-tty wedged in here . . Maybe this’ll help.”

You had no idea when he had the opportunity to do it, but he had dropped his towel somewhere along the way, and you could feel him rubbing his semi-hard on against your panty-clad ass and making your clothed folds the focal point of attack.

“Ryusei—!” In frustration and arousal, you laboriously dragged out the syllables of his name. As much as you wanted to be mad at him, you knew that something like this was coming.

“Mm, yeah, keep saying my name just like that, baby.” He sighed blissfully, shamelessly now humping himself onto you until he was full mast, his hardened shaft twitching excitedly between your pillowy ass cheeks while his blushed tip beaded with pre. “Hah, shit, that’s it. ‘Could cum right now, all over ya’. You want that, angel? Want me to paint this pretty ass—” He paused, raising his palm high into the air before bringing it down unforgivingly against your rear to accentuate his point. “Look at that. Ya want me to paint this pretty ass with my nut, hm?”

"Yes, please, Ryu . . ?" You said against your better judgment as your thighs pressed against one another and your teeth dug into your bottom lip.

He chuckled throatily, already pulling your panties down your plump thighs until they rested on the backs of your knees. He lined himself up with your already drooling cunt, not wasting any time to push into you with one single thrust. He bottomed out inside of you, drawing all of the breath from your lungs. His pelvis pressed flush against you, blunt nails biting into the flesh of your hips and ass as he greedily pulled you against him. It was almost as if he were trying to force himself further into you than he already could. You whimpered beneath your breath, clenching around his cock as you felt his balls pulsing against your sensitive clit. He had only just entered you, and already he was about to cum.

“Greedy fuckin’ pussy.” He snarled through clenched teeth, picking up his pace. “Grippin’ me so tight, suckin’ me in so good, ngh—s-so desperate to be stuffed with a cock.”

His thrusts were sloppy and uncoordinated, but he did everything he could to keep bullying his cock into you, drool dribbling over his parted lips. It should be illegal for you to feel this good. It wasn't fair. He wanted to ravish you—take his time turning your cunt into his personal little pocket pussy, his perfect fucktoy, already premolded to the shape of his dick. But damn, he was about to bust, and you were approaching your climax too.

His pace grew relentless, barely giving you time to breathe or even think as he forced your hips to fuck back onto him, drawing a helpless gasp or delighted moan from your pretty lips with each impassioned thrust. You squirmed in his hold, your breath coming out in hot tufts as your end grew near.

“R-Ryu, baby, hah, mphf!!” You could barely get the words out as he fucked you within an inch of your life. “I-I’m close! M-My clit, please! I c-can’t reach it; touch me, plea—”

“No.”

His response was curt—simple, snarled out in what could only be described as a ferocious growl. His movements grew sloppier, his hips faltering in their pace as his cock throbbed heartily inside of you, ready to burst. “You cum on my, ngh, fuckin’ cock or not at all. Ya hear me, y’little cock-lovin’ slut?”

You whined in protest, to which the forward brought his palm down heavily on your already reddening cheeks from just his grip on you alone. If he could’ve reached you, he would’ve had a vice grip on your hair by now. “Answer me, bitch.” He spat with false malice, “Y’gunna cream around my cock? Make this fat dick a mess, hm?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” Came your loud, unabashed chorus of unfiltered, unadulterated moans of sheer bliss.

Neither of you could hold back anymore. Ryusei spilled rope after rope of his hot, sticky seed into your abused cunt while your pretty folds creamed around his shaft in a way that could only be described as tantalizing. Silence, aside from both of your spent keens and blissed panting, filled the air around you. Once he was certain you were plugged full with his cum, Ryusei effortlessly snatched your body from between the coffee table, causing your exhausted body to collapse into his lap. As exhausted as he was, he made sure to cup your head so that it didn’t hit the ground too hard. He was always the sweetest when his post-nut clarity hit him. He took in your expression, noticing that your eyes were half-lidded and glassy with fat tears spilling from your waterline; your drool-covered lips were plump, red, and raw with the faintest of indentations along them from your pearly teeth; and your body convulsed and twitched ever so slightly from the sheer intensity of your orgasm. Not to mention the utterly fucked-out and euphoric look on your face.

. . . Ah, shit. He was hard again.

“Still with me, princess? . . Good. Come suck this cock clean and let me ruin that pretty face of yours even more~.♡”

ⓒ vampiie 2023 — all rights reserved. please do not repost my work outside of tumblr, modify, or translate my work in any form/means. please do not share my work to tiktok or any other site.

Patreon + Unsaid Vow Update

Hi guys!

Hope you are all doing well, I have a really good feeling for October and I hope you do too :)

I recently made a Patreon and it's under review, once it gets approved I can officially post my teirs.

Right now here is what I am thinking;

$10 USD for Beta reading + Early Access

$5 USD for Early Access

So beta reading entails access to my works in progress, and you get to help me! I often need ppl to bounce ideas off of, as well as just overall another set of eyes to catch grammatical errors and so on. Right now I'm leaning towards just giving these people commenting abilities on my WIP, as well as starting a little discord chat for brainstorming!

Early access is for when the chapter is completed and fully beta-read. Before I upload it on Tumblr, you will have access to the chapter a full two weeks before it's uploaded on here. Also, I'm thinking of adding some scenes just for the early-access people. Most likely smut, but I don't know that yet as I go where the story takes me lol.

Okay, onto what you've all been waiting for... The Unsaid Vow

I currently have 4.7k down for the first part, so this would be the perfect time to get some beta readers on the doc. And then yes, when it's fully finished, I'd like to provide early access.

Then maybe next month (since teirs are billed monthly), I will do the same for These Things Take Time or Quarter Quell or even Unsaid Vow again, depending on what my patrons want.

So if this is something you'd be interested in, please stay tuned~

Day 26 Bonus: Stuckage

pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x f!reader

word count: 2.2k

warnings: stuckage kink, reader gets stuck in a window & it has nothing to do with weight or size or whatever and everything to do with Kats being unable to help himself when you find yourself trapped, praise kink, mild degradation, light teasing, unprotected sex, creampie, exhibitionism sorta, daddy kink, nicknames used: princess, baby, & sweetheart, uhh if I missed any lemme know politely pls <3

notes: so..yeah. here’s another Kinktober post. even though it’s August lmao. maybe I’ll finish these by November ajdhdhs I’m sorry. these are all literally sitting in my drafts fully formatted, so I'm not changing them 😂

“Hey, babe?” You call in your sweetest voice to Katsuki, who is not-so-patiently waiting for you to retrieve the set of keys that you were so sure were right here in your bag.

“Yes, baby?” His tone borders on mocking as he stands there with his arms crossed, leaning against the car that he was hoping would’ve been open by now.

“What would you say if—hypothetically—the keys weren’t in my bag aaand I already locked the door on the way outta the house?”

“I would say that’d probably make you look like a pretty big asshole, considering that you swore they were in your bag. Hypothetically,” he adds with a shrug. 

“Yeah..s’pose it would, huh?” You frown and stick your bottom lip out in a pout to answer the heavy sigh that falls from your lover’s lips. 

“You’re not allowed to be in charge of the keys anymore,” he grumbles while strolling back over towards the door to lift up the plant where your spare key should be, but it isn’t there. 

“We, uh..took that in to make an extra copy to give to your parents,” you gently remind him, physically feeling the frustration radiating off of Katsuki. 

He closes his eyes and splays his hand over his face to pinch his temples, dragging his digits together as he rubs them over his eyes. 

“And both of those keys are still sitting on my fuckin’ desk where I left ‘em.” He heaves a sigh and looks at you, shrugging against as his hands settle on his hips. “Whaddya wanna do? Should we call a locksmith?”

“Is this all it takes to put you in full blown dad mode?” You giggle, unable to help yourself as you take in his stance and all too serious demeanor, not that your boyfriend was much of the carefree type anyway. He narrows his eyes, rolling them while his mouth moves in a mocking gesture. 

“It’s daddy to you, princess,” he teases, not-so-lightly swatting your behind and making you yelp as he strolls past you and starts walking around to the side of the house. 

“Hey, wait! Where ya goin’?” You call after him as you scurry along. 

“M’gonna check the back door. Maybe we left it open,” he explains with a shrug. It was doubtful, but worth a shot. 

“Fuck,” he curses, trying the obviously locked back door one more time like it might make a difference. It doesn’t. He tousles his hair and goes to head back to the front of the house. “Locksmith it is, I guess.”

“Wait!” You bounce a little on your feet and he turns around to hear your bright idea. “What about a window? I bet the one in the kitchen is still unlocked. I can climb through it.”

“That could work.” He nods and pivots to head further into the backyard, making his way over to the aforementioned window with you on his heels. 

He grabs the bottom and lifts up and, much to his relief, you were right about it being unlocked. He pushes the window up plenty high enough for you to crawl through and onto the counter that sits below it inside. 

“Alright, c’mere, baby.” He curls his fingers, gesturing for you to come closer before he bends his knee and taps the outside of his thigh. “Grab the sill and step on my leg. I’ll help boost you up.”

You nod and step in front of the window, placing both hands on the windowsill and putting your foot up on his knee to help propel yourself up and through the window. Everything’s going according to plan. Until you lose your footing on his leg trying to give yourself enough of a push to crawl through. That awful feeling of falling washes over you for half a second before his strong hands find your hips, keeping you from falling backwards onto your ass when your feet touch the ground again. 

“Motherfucker,” you sigh, closing your eyes as you take a moment and a breath to collect yourself. “Okay, let—ahh!” 

You’re cut off by the sound of the window closing. Again, thanks to his heroic reflexes and reaction time, you’re spared from injury as he catches the window before it hits you. You breathe a massive sigh of relief, practically wilting in the window, which now you can no longer simply slip back out of. 

“Babe, can you lift it back up, please?” 

“I’m trying,” he mutters. 

“What?”

“I said I’m trying,” he repeats, sounding frustrated, though you know it isn’t aimed at you. It’s aimed at the window that suddenly won’t budge an inch. “Damn thing’s fuckin’ jammed,” he gripes, heaving a sigh before his hands are on you, soothingly rubbing your back. “Are you okay, baby?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you reassure him. “I’m fine I just,” you sigh. “Don’t know what to do now. Who the hell do we call for this? I’m not letting the fire department find me this way,” you state as you shake your head and briefly imagine what an interesting interaction that might make for. 

“I’m not either,” he scoffs, his eyes being drawn to your backside, which he had to admit looked especially great with you in this position. 

“Try opening it again. Maybe you loosened it,” you suggest, turning your head to try and look over your shoulder at him, but the angle is rather awkward with how you’re trapped. 

He tilts his head thoughtfully. It couldn’t hurt to try, but it certainly felt pretty well stuck. He leans over you and places his hands beneath the window again, trying in vain to lift it while his crotch presses right up against your backside.

“Are you really getting hard right now?” You can’t help but giggle, wiggling your ass against the bulge that you can feel growing in his pants. 

“You’re bent over in front of me,” he mutters, grunting as he attempts again to shove the window upwards. “And looking pretty vulnerable, I might point out,” he adds with a smirk as he relents his attempts and instead runs his hands along your sides. “How the fuck am I not s’posed to be hard right now?”

His hands seize your hips, bringing you flush against him while he grinds his hips forward, You close your eyes and let out a quiet groan, feeling a pulse between your thighs.

“You wouldn’t take advantage of me in a position like this, would you?” You ask in a sultry tone, no doubt implying that you sincerely hoped that he just might. 

“I wouldn’t say that, princess. You know how much I like seizing opportunities and this one seems too good to pass up.”

“Katsuki,” you whine his name, knowing full well that it makes all the blood in his body redirect to his dick. 

“Fuck, baby,” he gruffs, already feeling his breathing shallow from the pure sense of need that you can still feel pressing into your backside. “You want it that bad, huh? Want me to take you just like this, where any of our nosy fuckin’ neighbors could peek over and see me drillin’ ya?”

“Yes, baby. Don’t just want it. I need it, daddy. Please,” you insist, writhing as much as you can in your compromised position. 

“Shit,” he huffs the curse as he bunches your dress up over your hips, only pulling his hips away from your to appreciate the view. 

He hooks a finger underneath the waistband of your panties and tugs, letting it snap back against your skin while his other palm takes a greedy handful of your ass. 

“Still can’t fuckin’ believe someone as hot as you puts up with me,” he snorts, delivering a swift smack to your cheek before he soothes the ache with his palm. 

“I could say the same,” you reply, shaking your ass and grinning when you hear him groan at the sight, but you’re growing impatient, so you poke at him a little. “Have you even got your dick out yet? I want you so bad, baby..”

“Patience, princess. M’gonna take care of ya. Lemme just look at’cha for a second, yeah?” Both of his hands grope your behind before he hooks his fingers into the crotch of your panties and pulls them aside. “Wanna appreciate all this before I ruin ya.”

His thumb parts your folds and you shiver, juices gushing onto his digit as he snickers. 

“That worked up already, huh? Guess ya really do need me.”

You don’t need to see him to know he’s wearing his signature smug grin. His thumb finds your clit and he begins drawing it in slow circles, making you clutch to the wall inside the house. 

“I do, I do. Please, daddy,” you whine, rocking your hips to chase the friction he offers you. 

It’s gone a second later, but you hear the jingle of his belt coming undone and clench in anticipation while he frees his leaking cock. 

“All this beggin’ sounds real good, baby. Gimme a little more and then you can have this,” he promises, letting you feel his rock hard erection as the head teases through your lips. 

“Please,” you blurt the plea out, instantly complying in order to get what you need. What you crave. “I’ll do anything, baby. Want you inside me. Need you to fuck me. Want you to ruin me, daddy. Take this pussy. S’all yours. Always all yours.”

“Such an overachiever. S’what I love about you, princess,” he chuckles, giving you no notice before he lines up and bottoms out in a single thrust, stuffing you full with his impressive length. 

“Fuck!” 

You claw at the drywall beneath your fingers, pressing your hands to the surface to hang on as he begins to thrust, showing little mercy to your drooling cunt. 

“Goddamn you feel good. You’re really into this, aren’tcha? Like being stuck and lettin’ me use your pussy like I wanna?”

“Y-yeah. Oh fuck, yeah, daddy. U-use me. Oh my God, don’t stop. Don’t fucking stop.”

You’re babbling now, too far gone already with the way his cock moves inside you, deliciously dragging along your walls as the tip finds that special, velvety spot inside you and starts knocking into it over and over and over again. 

“M’not gonna stop, sweetheart. Not ‘til you’re creamin’ on my cock. You ain’t gonna last long, are ya? Fuckin’ squeezing me so tight already. Shit.”

“Mm-mm. N-no. Feels too—haa—s’too good, baby.”

And he’s right, of course. That white hot heat burns in your belly, searing you from the inside out as it builds and spreads, spiraling out of control as he continues to snap his hips, offering you no mercy now as you rocket towards your orgasm. 

It hits you like a freight train, making you scream as you slump over the sill of the window, simply trying to hang onto the structure as your cries echo around the empty kitchen. You don’t even notice the way that the window seems heavier on your spine now. 

“Good girl,” he grunts, breathing labored from his efforts as he keeps it up, sprinting towards his own undoing. “So fuckin’ good. Pussy’s too fuckin’ good, baby.”

He doesn’t even falter when he finds his release. If anything, he moves faster, willfully pummeling your poor, abused cunt as he fills you to the brim until the mixture of your essences begin to seep out as your own name falls from his lips, ringing in your ears through the haze you find yourself floating through. He looks down, entranced by the vision of his cum being pulled from and pushed inside of your again and again.

“Fuck,” he pants, sweat dripping from his brow and landing on your exposed lower back. He watches the bead trail along your heated skin to mingle with the rest of the fluids joined between your bodies. 

A whimper is all that you can manage as he withdraws himself and leans over you, a decisively more gentle touch skimming along your sides before he begins rubbing your back and feathering kisses along your spine. 

“You okay, baby?” His tone is as soft as his touch as he restores your modesty, dipping down to return your panties to their rightful place before he reaches for the hem your dress and pulls it back down. 

“Mhm,’ you hum, blissfully content as you continue coming down from your soaring high. 

“Good.” He continues rubbing your back, working up to your shoulders when his hand nudges the window and he realizes that it’s finally budged. “Well, shit,” he chuckles, reaching over you to lift the window up, freeing you from your entrapment. 

“Hmm?” You feel the pressure lift off of your back and step back from the window, shaking your head as a smile graces your features. “Well, I guess that works out.”

“Think you still have the strength to crawl through?” He grins, a little smug and a lot handsome as he pulls you into his arms, holding you close as he rubs your arm. 

“Gimme a minute.” You laugh quietly, closing your eyes as you wind your arms around his and rest your head upon his broad chest, nuzzling into the fabric of his shirt to inhale his cologne. 

“Take all the time you need, princess. I’m good right here,” he murmurs into your hair as he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

likes, comments, & reblogs especially are greatly appreciated! thank you for reading <3

࣪ ⊹ 𝐍𝐎 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐀𝐓 𝐒𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐘 — tsukishima kei.

⁰¹ — 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈 : the best part of me…

part i summary : your winter trip was supposed to bring you a sense of relaxation and relief after the long fall semester. however, there's a bit of trepidation about seeing your long-time crush, daichi, for the first time after he introduced his new girlfriend. yet, you quickly find yourself wrapped in a much more complicated tryst than you had anticipated.

contains : fem reader (she / her pronouns), slight angst, mentions of unrequited feelings (reader → daichi), college au, friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, tension (romantic and unamed sexual), eventual smut (none in this part, mdni), mentions of anxiety, fake dating, misunderstandings, reader is shorter than tsukishima, teasing, pining tsukishima

a/n : this fic is definitely my baby and I hope you all enjoy it! i plan on having two parts, but it may turn into three if I cannot fit the smut in with the plot for next chapter! also, I pictured the until dawn lodge as the cabin in this fic, but I tried to make it as vague as possible for you all to imagine <3 reblogs / tags / comments are loved and appreciated! thank you so much to sweet risu for helping me whenever I got confused <3

word count : 14.6k

series masterlist | next →

There are many instances in life–different paths to take, different decisions to make–in which you do not come to understand their meaning until after they have passed. 

Looking back, you suppose this was the start of one of those instances. 

The sting of the cold is alleviated soon after you push open the large glass doors of the metropolitan museum–though the coolness of the door’s metal handle lingers on your skin. You can still feel the grooves pressed against your palm even as you walk through the main entrance, and you mindlessly run your thumb over the small indents to soothe them away. 

It’s strange–the echoing of your footsteps, the blatant sound of your footfalls; they bounce off the walls, ringing slightly in your ears as you make your way past the exhibits. With the evening sun dwindling behind you–the day’s last rays beaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows surrounding the front door–the shadows of the museum’s exhibits stretch across the hard, grey floor. Seeing a place usually teeming with gleeful families and exuberant, easily-excitable children devoid of people is almost eerie, but you find comfort in the vivid emptiness. 

The lights are dimmed as you traverse down the main hallway, and the excitement at what’s to come continues to swell inside your chest. You swiftly take a right until you spot the second door–somewhat propped open, allowing any outside viewers a peek inside the office. 

“Hey stranger,” you make your presence known, though the likelihood of surprising Tsukishima is slim to none. 

Leaning against the wooden doorframe, you cross your arms, waiting for your best friend to turn around and greet you with his usual charm of sarcasm and teasing. 

Tsukishima leans over his desk, shoving a book and miscellaneous supplies into his brown shoulder bag. The jacket he’d sported this morning–the same one he’d worn a week ago, before he spilled a splotch of coffee on the grey tweed–is already shrugged over his shoulders. It’s long, reaching down his back, framing his tall form in a way that compliments him. 

Not that you’d ever tell him that. 

“Sorry–we’re actually closed,” Tsuskishima is smug, throwing a lopsided smirk over his shoulder. His glasses fall down the bridge of his nose at the action, and he casually pushes them back into place with his pointer finger. “Didn’t you see the sign?

His attempts at teasing are lost on you; you scoff, rolling your eyes in such a manner that only comes from being friends with the tall man since your adolescent years. “There was no sign, actually,” you chide, hugging your arms to yourself. The cool chill is back–something that is not uncommon in such a large museum. Without the numerous people milling about, families having taken off an afternoon to explore and coo over the exhibits, the warmth that comes with so many bodies in a building is absent. 

Tsukishima furrows his brows as he finishes gathering his belongings. Turning to face you briefly, he grabs the gloves that hang on a small hook by the door, tugging the leather over his knuckles, pulling down until they cover his wrists. “Well, the sign is metaphorical; you can easily check our hours online. Besides–does anyone actually use ‘open’ and ‘closed’ signs anymore?” 

You shrug, lips downturned into a thoughtful look. You humor Tsukishima–your specialty. “I dunno. Small businesses, maybe. The restaurant down the street from Suga’s uses one,” you point out. 

Knowing his routine, you quickly snatch his thermos from his desk–the one he religiously uses for coffee and nothing else–and offer it to him with a supercilious grin. 

Tsukishima glares at you, though it holds no bite, before gratefully grasping the mug's handle. With a slight frown–a pout, by any other means–he opens the lid, taking a peek inside. He swirls the cup, and immediately, a woeful look crosses his features–empty. 

You hypothesize that the probable lack of coffee that usually lingers in the metal thermos will lead to a more easily irritable Tsukishima, and brace yourself accordingly.

“How do you even know that?” Tsukishima asks, astonishment evident in his tone. He doesn’t mask his surprise at the tiny bit of knowledge, though you do feel slighted by your best friend. 

“Are you really asking me that?” you retort, raising a brow in mock disbelief. Your tone is jokingly flat, as so to convey your feigned irritation. It’s notorious among your friend group that you hold an abundance of random, oftentimes useless, pieces of information. It’s a small thing, yes, but you blame it on your years of trivia night at the insistence of Yamaguchi–every Tuesday in the campus’s library and–if you’re lucky enough–you could even win a free parking voucher.

You’d won eight times throughout your tenured years at the university. 

“Okay, smartass.” With a huff, Tsukishima pulls the thick strap of the bag over his shoulder, motioning with one hand for you to relinquish your commandeering of the doorframe. Readily, you push off of it, moving to wait in the hallway as Tsukishima flicks off the light in his office with one hand, turning his back to you to close and lock the heavy door. 

“What–no ‘closed’ sign?” you bait him, though, with the lack of coffee in his cooled metal thermos, you take heed to continue with care and caution. 

“Careful there,” Tsukishima warns, ducking his head in to give you a scornful look. It has the opposite desired effect–you haven’t been intimidated by the tall man since you were years younger, and even then, it was always more of a kind of admiration. Instead, you merely grin. 

To be friends with Tsukishima Kei, you must have a certain amount of bite. 

“Alright, princess.” Your arms are still crossed, attempting to trap the body heat close to your chest. You’re becoming restless–more than ready to escape the large, echoing, empty museum, looking forward to the warmth his car will provide. “Let’s get you some coffee. Have to get you more amicable before we join the masses.”

“Princess?” he glares, adjusting his grip on the handle of his tumbler. You bite back the urge to laugh as Tsukishima seems to hold onto it like it's his lifeline–you don’t feel the need to risk your neck quite this early in the evening. 

“Well, yeah,” you reply thoughtfully. Your attention is temporarily stolen by a stray piece of thread hanging off the hem of your sweater sleeve, layered neatly underneath your coat; you pick at it, a pinch forming between your brows as the offending string snags. After losing interest in the string, you let it hang, instead deciding to eye the singular bag Tsukishima holds. “You’re taking forever to get all your stuff together–probably longer than I did. By the way, is that everything you’re bringing? You know we’re going to be gone for, like, two weeks.”

The winter trip is not uncommon; every year since your first in university, your group of friends have made an effort to get away after the fall semester had ended. This year, a large lodge cabin nestled in the mountains was calling your name, and you had only a few misgivings about attending this year. 

You did not know if you were quite ready to face him. 

“Hey–listen, you,” Tsukishima falls into step next to you, and his words are paired with wide eyes and a dismayed expression. “I’ve had it to about here today,” he raises his hand to mimic a high bar above his head, “and the last thing I need is your attitude.”

His words, while harsh, are offset by the warm, affectionate tone in his voice. He doesn’t mean the bruskness–and hardly ever does with you–and the familiar teasing banter that bounces effortlessly back and forth between you is gratifying. It has you grinning widely, knocking your shoulder against his body to pull a similar smile from him. 

“Right. Hence the…” you wave your hand around, gathering your thoughts,”...the bribery of more coffee.”

You trail off in a singsong, wiggling your eyebrows in what you hope is an obnoxiously humorous enticing manner. 

Tsukishima snorts, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. They never stay in place, and you make a brief note to remind the man to ask for more rounded temples the next time he finds himself needing a new pair of frames.

“Is that what that was? A bribery?” Tsukishima walks steadily beside you–just as he has for years, purposefully slowing his pace, shortening his strides in order to fall into step with you. The gesture, while likely unconscious after many years, is still appreciated. You doubt you would be able to keep up with him otherwise.

“Duh,” you simply state, framing your voice to emulate a sense of aloofness–as if the answer was obvious. “We have a long drive ahead of us–one that you’re soldiering, I hope you know–and I don’t feel like dealing with your grumpiness the whole way.”

“Really? My grumpiness? You’re one to talk,” Tsukishima easily bites back, tilting his head your way with a slight raise of his brow. “Also? I never agreed to drive. When did you come to that conclusion?”

You pretend as if you miss his question.

“Whatever. One of us will be grumpy by the time the drive is over,” you glance at Tsukishima with shock written across your features. “Also, you never answered my question.”

“And you never answered mine.”

Your glare is met with an annoyingly self-satisfied smirk; Tsukishima is smug, and his intonation only further has the frustration prickling at your chest. 

After a few seconds of silent stand-off, you finally break eye contact. “Please drive,” you mumble, tucking your chin a bit further under the thick scarf you wear. “I really don’t feel like it.” 

You’re grateful for the added warmth of your winter clothes as Tsukishima sweeps open the front doors of the museum. Immediately, the cold welcomes you, the brisk chill causing you to shiver slightly in your coat. The sounds of the city immediately greet your ears, and if you squint, you can almost see your and Tsukishima’s reflections on the blacked-out windows of the building on the opposite side of the busy street.

“Ah–there it is,” is Tsukishima’s cryptic response. 

He turns around to lock up the museum, pulling out an old key from the front pocket of his long coat. You remember the first time you’d seen it, one instance three weeks ago. Tsukishima had been tasked with closing and locking up, just as he is now, and you recall laughing at the sight of such an old-looking key for a new, modern museum. 

You pull your attention away from the tiny key as Tsukishima turns back to face you, tucking it safely away in the previous pocket. 

“What is where?” you ask, confusion lacing your words. Another cruel breeze brushes past you, and with your hands shoved in your front pockets, you curl your fingers towards your palms–aching to return warmth to the appendages. 

“Are you that determined to ignore it?” Tsukishima pauses as he begins walking down the sidewalk, making his way steadily to the car. He always parks at the sixth parking spot down from the front door–far enough away to allow museum patrons a spot, yet close enough to not warrant a long walk. You follow him quickly, itching to feel the warm blast of heat in his car. 

As you annoyingly tug at the handle of his car, you feel the twisting of unease settling at home in your chest. You hate the feeling–you had been attempting to ignore and push it aside as much as possible this past month. Yet, with a friend such as Tsukishima Kei, you find that hiding your emotions is more difficult than not.

“Ignore what?” is your poor response. You wince as the words leave your tongue, feeling heavy, stilted, and awkward even as they meet the cold air. Heavy, stilted, awkward, and undoubtedly not believable.

Tsukishima scowls over the hood of his car at your continued tugging and pulling on the handle. Finally unlocking it, the car makes a small beeping sound, and you let out a similar noise of relief when the handle gives, and you’re able to duck your head inside.

“You’re a bad liar,” your friend states, though not unkindly. 

He settles in the front seat, pushing his keys in the ignition and letting out a sigh of ease when the warm air from the heater immediately begins filling the small space. Sinking against the leather cushions, you refrain from taking off the scarf, still feeling the lingering chill that creeps through the thin pane of the window. 

Gathering a feigned smug composure, you smirk. “Only to you,” you tease, hoping that the fondness in your tone will distract Tsukishima from his original observation of your sour mood. 

But, your wishes are for naught; you've never been able to hide anything from the blonde, and as he carefully pulls out of the parking space–one hand on the steering wheel, one hand braced on the back of your headrest–he offers you a knowing glance.

Then, after a brief moment of silence, a sigh. It’s rough–as if Tsukishima is hesitant to bring up the thoughts so obviously plaguing his mind. “It’s about him, right?”

For a moment, you’re silent. Your stomach sinks at the reminder of him–at the reminder Daichi, of your feelings, of what never was. The chill outside is nothing when compared–a pit inside you widens as it gnaws on your gut, filling your lungs with thick ice at the unpleasant reminder of it all. You find yourself unable to focus on anything for a moment as your mind is filled with memories of him–friendly memories, yes, but the once rose-colored haze they were all colored in is now gone, along with the crush that you harbored on Daichi for years. The remainder of your unrequited feelings leaves a bitter taste on your tongue, one that you have yet to replace with something sweeter, and while you're confident any romantic feelings have gone, it is still challenging to move past.

“Yeah, it’s about him.” 

The car falls quiet, and you feel a sudden surge of gratefulness for the moment of silence Tsukishima grants you. 

The state of quiescence is not unwelcome, nor is it strained; Tsukishima lets the subject teeter off the edge–though you know to expect him to bring it up again soon–and the lapse in conversation allows you time to think. 

Daichi has been a friend for years; just as Tsukishima, just as Yamaguchi. Just as Kiyoko and Yachi and Hinata and a plethora of others. Unlike Tsukishima, Yamaguchi, and the rest of your friend group, your feelings for Daichi had always run a bit deeper. Perhaps it started when you were still in high school–bright-eyed, excited, and entirely head-over-heels for the captain of the volleyball team. Or, maybe it began when you entered college–on the night when Daichi, always acting as the sweet, dependent upperclassman, saw you studying in the library one evening and made an effort to join you until you'd finished.

While you do not know when your feelings began, you do remember when you discovered your feelings were entirely unrequited. It wasn’t until a few unfortunate weeks ago that a party Suga hosted resulted in your friend group being introduced to Daichi’s new girlfriend, Michimiya. 

A sweet, unassuming girl. She’s cute and acted especially shy that night. You recall how a permanent blush coated her cheeks, likely due to being under such adoring care from Daichi–an arm constantly slung over her shoulder. She had been kind to you, and it only made you feel worse when she offered you a friendly smile in greeting, accompanied by a genuine compliment of how much she adored your outfit.

You couldn’t bring yourself to dislike her. Despite the rolling of your stomach–a dark green monster perched on your shoulder–she was too sincere in her words and actions, caring and giving to a fault. By the end of the night, she had smoothly integrated into your group, and your throat felt as if it had a thick wad of cotton shoved deep inside. 

The crush started as it ended–abruptly, with little fanfare, and an exuberant amount of emotions you weren’t necessarily prepared for–or ready to face. 

You have not seen nor spoken to Daichi since that night, and you feel a strange sense of nervous suspense and trepidation at the prospect of seeing him in a short few hours. Likely, Michimiya would also be in attendance because who would go on a long post-college, trip without their new girlfriend?

You don’t know who you wish to avoid more. 

“What’s up?” Tsukishima breaks the comfortable silence. His fingers flick over the adjustments for the heater, raising it two degrees. Silently, you grin, and you know that Tsukishima picks up on your thankfulness simply by the almost indecipherable tilt of your head in his direction. You receive your own in turn: a small tug of his lips, a quirk of his mouth in a telling grin. 

“Oh, nothing really,” you tuck your hand between your thighs, crossing your legs in an effort to warm your fingers. You make your voice light–teasing and derisive. “Just doing my best to keep the impending dread at bay.”

His grin is immediately gone, twisting into a displeased expression. Then, a scowl. 

“Self-deprecating jokes don’t suit you.”

It’s a brutally honest statement, and while you’re used to hearing Tsukishima speak that way to others–his peers, other students, your rambunctious group of friends–it is rare he speaks that way to you. It has a strange feeling swirling in your chest, and all you can do is attempt to brush it off with another ill-timed joke. 

“Yeah, okay. Like you know what suits me.” To lighten his mood again, you make your tone pleasant–easy. A teasing manner to rope Tsukishima back into the playful give-and-take you so often take part in. 

However, his frown only deepens uncharacteristically, and he keeps his focus solely on the road, even while stopped at a bustling intersection. 

Tsukishima’s reaction is strange, and you decide to brush it off. 

You attribute it to the lack of coffee.

“Maybe I do,” he concedes, glancing in the rearview mirror before tapping his turn signal. As soon as the light turns green–the metal pole of the traffic light dancing precariously over the crosswalk as a gust of wind likely disrupts it–Tsukishima makes a left turn. 

You’re left in silence, mindlessly scratching over the material of your coat. Was Tsukishima implying that he knows what would suit you? Was he, therefore, insinuating that Daichi is not what would best suit you? It’s almost as if he had something else in mind–something troubling his mind? What exactly Tsukishima was referencing, you can’t fathom, yet his words bury themselves uncomfortably in your heart, and you feel an inexplicable urge to swiftly apologize for your likely crass words. 

It’s infrequent that the air between you and Tsukishima feels stilted and heavy; you can recount on one hand the number of serious fights you’ve been in–and, even less, the number of times you’ve felt awkward around him. The niggling at the back of your mind returns, and you bite back the urge to ask for clarification: what’s that supposed to mean? you want to ask, though, with the state of his mood, Tsukishima would be prone to take your words the wrong way. 

So, you let the moment taper out on its own. The drive continues languidly, and, with time, the air between you–as well as your fingers–no longer feels frozen. It’s not until three minutes later, according to the car’s lagging clock, that Tsukishima pipes up again, letting out a low sigh as you approach your apartment. 

You glance over at him in acknowledgment, knowing that words are unnecessary. 

“You can talk about it, if you want,” Tsukishima merely states. If you didn’t know him, hearing the care that bleeds through his words would be nearly impossible. “About him,” he clarifies.

Instantly, your heart lifts, and the strange pit in your stomach is relieved. Leaning your head back against the headrest, you keep your focus trained on your friend, not minding that he pointedly keeps his attention on the road, avoiding your soft gaze. 

“I know,” you say, no longer bothering to try masking the tarrying remnants of hurt.

It doesn’t feel like quite enough, but as your feelings currently stand–confused, with a mix of jittery anticipation and a lingering amount of heartache–it is all you can offer. 

Tsukishima parts his lips–as if a sentence is hanging off the tip of his tongue–before deciding against it. 

A spark of surprise comes to life inside you at his apparent hesitance. Tsukishima has never been one to hold his tongue. 

Interesting. 

Before you can speak on his odd behavior, he’s suddenly adjusting the gear shift, turning to face you with a look you can’t reasonably interpret. “We’ve arrived at your destination, Miss. Your total for this trip will be three-thousand three-hundred and sixteen yen. If you don’t mind, please don’t forget to leave a good review on the mobile app–”

Tsukishima is smirking, and you can only offer a huff of amused laughter in response as you sneer. Lightly, you punch his shoulder, noting how soft the fabric of his sweater feels under your fist. 

Before you can pull away–laughter still present in the air–Tsukishima captures your wrist, holding your hand in place. His fingers are long enough and palm large enough that he’s able to wrap the entirety of your wrist in his one hand; he’s warm, fingertips calloused as they grip onto you–tightly enough to make a point, yet loose enough that you could easily pull away if you wanted. 

Strangely, you find that you don’t.

“Ow.” Your friend is smirking; it’s a devilishly handsome look, you realize. Lips tugged up in a lopsided fashion, eyes glinting with a kind of mischievousness reserved only for you and Yamaguchi. He’s not actually hurt–a fact you’re both keenly aware of, as your tiny punch could hardly have bothered a fly–yet he’s still holding onto your wrist, and you suddenly cannot comprehend why your throat feels so dry. 

“You’re so full of it,” you attempt to tease, but your voice shakes a bit as the syllables get caught in your mouth. 

Tsukishima is simply looking at you with an unreadable expression; on the outside, he is teasing as usual. Thought, you know Tsukishima, and there’s a slight beat–barely half a second–when something else flashes across his features. In that second, his eyes narrow gently, his fingers moving to drag against your pulse point. Your breath catches in your chest at the sensation–the rough pad of his thumb barely brushes over the thin skin of your inner wrist, applying pressure to the sensitive area with no more than a blink.

The space feels hot–not suffocating, but overwhelming. It’s difficult to distinguish the abnormal barrage of emotions that suddenly crash in your stomach, pushing against your ribcage, and swelling in your heart before you can do anything to stop them. It’s humming, filling any possible crevice and corner of the car until it’s packed full–full of the anticipatory feeling, full of indiscernible emotion.

But, perhaps it’s not indiscernible. You think, if you focus hard enough, you might be able to determine what exactly it means.

The abrupt and unforeseen shift in energy throws you for a loop. You don’t know where to look, what to do, what to say. But you don’t have to make that decision; Tsukishima is holding your rapt attention, not saying anything, not doing anything, but staring at you with those inscrutable eyes. If you squint–you might be able to see what’s hidden there. 

The moment lasts only seconds–an inconsequential blip in time–yet it feels like it lasts for years.

Again, Tsukishima parts his lips–as if he wants to say something–before ultimately deciding against it.

The thick buzzing between you quickly dissipates when Tsukishima drops your wrist, looking down to pull his keys from the ignition. He clears his throat with a humorless chuckle as you come back to the moment, still wholly perplexed by what transpired mere seconds ago. 

The moment may have just ended, but with the tension hanging still thick in the air, it might as well have been a lifetime ago. 

“Want me to come inside? Help you grab your things?” he asks, running a few fingers through his hair. 

You miss how his hand shakes.

Taking another second to attempt to process what just occurred–shoving it to the back of your mind, determined not to focus too much on any underlying meaning–you let out a humorless laugh. 

What the fuck?

“Please, I’m offended,” you tell him, folding a hand over your heart. “You make it sound like I overpacked.”

Tsukishima doesn’t need to say anything. Just as with most in your friendship, he only has to shoot you a look–one of disbelief, as if to say really?

“Don’t you always?” Tsukishima pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. 

All you can do is scoff, opening your door in a swift movement before smoothly exiting the car. The coldness hits you, and even though you shouldn’t be, you’re shocked by the near-freezing draft that greets you. With a small, petulant glare, you press your lips together to fight off the shiver that instantly wracks through your body. 

“No coffee for you, then,” you say through gritted teeth, digging your fingers into your palms as you cross your arms over your chest. While your tone bled seriousness, you and Tsukishima know the threat is feigned–hidden behind a thinly-veiled laugh. But, after all his teasing, you think it’s the least Tsukishima deserves. “Besides, I have to overpack to compensate for your underpacking.”

You don’t have to turn around to know your friend heard you. You hear a disgruntled chuckle as if he calls out your bluff–knowing that you wouldn’t dare deprive him of coffee–but it is cursorily followed by a soft thud, then a tiny curse of ow. 

You grin, thoroughly pleased, and curiously ponder how many times Tsukishima has become overexcited and thus knocked his head against the roof of the car. Feeling a small spark of triumph alight in your chest, you allow the smugness to tug at your mouth in an undoubtedly obnoxious and self-satisfied grin. Leaning down, you press your hands to your knees until you’re peering at Tsukishima through the open door. He doesn’t bother softening his scowl at the sight of your arrogant smirk, tentatively rubbing a hand over the back of his head. 

“Forget the money,” Tsukishima glares, leaning over the middle console to meet your gaze. “I just want the coffee. I think that’s an appropriate payment for driving your ass the two-and-a-half hours.”

You gasp in faux surprise, comically clutching at your heart over your top. “My ass? Kei, you were the one demanding that I go? If I recall correctly–”

“You probably don’t.”

“Kei!” You scold him for interrupting you. 

“If I recall correctly–which I do, smart ass–you were the one pouting saying that you didn’t wanna go this year unless I came, too!” With a fond look, you think back to the evening in question, remembering how Tsukishima had lazily stretched across your couch, scowling incessantly until you’d agreed to request off work for the two weeks encompassing the vacation. 

Not even bothering to argue against your words, Tsukishima lolls his head to the side, thumping dramatically against the warm leather headrest. “Fuck you very much,” he grunts, twisting the knob of the heater up a few more degrees, making up for how the cold air filters in through your open door. 

The soothing blast of fresh hot air is almost enough to thaw your now-frozen fingers. In an effort to warm them, you bring your hands up to your mouth, cupping your palm atop your other and blowing a tepid breath onto your fingertips. 

It does little to hide the doting smile you sport. 

“C’mon, Tsukki,” you tease, reverting to the childhood nickname, aiming to get a bit more under his skin. “How’re you ever gonna get a girlfriend with that foul mouth? No wonder you’re still single.”

It’s unfortunate how your words appear to have the opposite intended effect. Tsukishima’s body relaxes in a cocky, arrogant way, eyes gleaming with playfulness in such a way that it has a hyper buzz prickling at your heart. 

“Girls tend to like my foul mouth, actually,” he taunts, and the arrogance seeps through his body, pouring into every word as he stares you down competitively. Tsukishima shifts, spreading his thighs, and you hate how your eyes flicker down to catch the slight movement. 

You hate how it makes you feel even more. 

However, before you can even respond–make an attempt to knock him down a peg–Tsukishima’s brows furrow, and he slumps in his seat once again. “And don’t call me that,” he grumbles, rolling his neck until you hear a small popping sound. 

You grin, and everything returns to normal. 

Without another word, you slam the door a tad harder than necessary, giggling a bit when you faintly hear Tsukishima protest from inside the car. 

You make your feet quick; with a bouncing step, you walk into the front doors of the apartment building, enjoying how the heat instantly warms you to your core. Despite the warmth, the cold from outside tends to linger in the doorframe, and after enough time of living inside the building, you know to hug your coat closer to ward off any further chill. 

The elevator ride to your floor seems to take forever; the excitement of joining the rest of your friends in the mountainside cabin–promptly rented for a week and a half–thrums through your veins. As you think more about it, mindlessly nodding your head along with the elevator's tinny sound as it passes the multiple floors, you can’t help how the anticipation mounts. It builds until you feel the urge to shake your hands free of the feeling, swelling incessantly with equal amounts of eagerness and nerves. The notion that, soon, you’ll be existing in the same vicinity as Daichi is almost nauseating, and you have to suck in a large breath to ease your frazzled nerves.

It hardly works. The thrumming continues. 

Three more breaths pass before the elevator door opens. You’re relieved at the excuse to move; you walk quickly, hastening into a subtle jog to help rid your body of the anxious energy that has taken up house there in the past minute or so. It helps, though barely, and by the time you reach your front door, you decide to push your worries to the side. This trip is as much for you as it is for everyone else. You refuse to let any negative emotions ruin what is supposed to be a fun getaway from the stressors of university and burgeoning adulthood. And, after the tiny chunk the luxurious rental cabin took from your modest checking account, you’re more determined to enjoy yourself. There was no way you could fathom staying at such a place on your own, yet, even after splitting the price evenly amongst your friend group, the cost for such an extended stay was enough to make you wince. 

After telling yourself that you deserve the well-needed break after such an arduous school semester, paired with Tsukishima’s convincing argument that there was no way he could go if you didn’t, you ultimately came to terms with the cons of the trip. 

After slotting and turning the key in your apartment’s door, you quickly gather your things. 

Two bags and a brewed, fresh thermos of coffee later–Tsukishima’s thermos, one of the two extras that he insists on keeping in your overflowing cabinets–you find yourself in the same position. Locking the door, you ruminate briefly on the time you’ll spend away from home, allowing an inkling of nostalgia to, inexplicably, settle in your heart for a beat too long. 

You don’t ponder too long on the feeling, similar to the nervousness you promptly decided to ignore. 

The elevator ride down always seems to go by much faster than it does going up. In seemingly no time at all, you’re lugging your things through the large front doors of the apartment building, offering a kind greeting and a wave to a familiar neighbor as you go. 

“What was that about overpacking?” Tsukishima is leaning against the side of the car as you meet him outside, suspciously eyeing the bags you hold. You huff irritably, gesturing to him the steaming coffee you have in one hand before shoving a bag into his awaiting arms. The short sound of dismay he lets out is not nearly enough for your liking, especially after seeing how his eyes lit up at the sight of more coffee, and you find yourself fighting the childish urge to stick your tongue out at him. 

“Asshole,” you pop the trunk–the familiarity of the gesture almost seeming like second nature. 

“Love you, too.” Tsukishima places your second bag by your other–next to his own. 

His hands twitch as he places them on top of the trunk, only moving to shut it after making sure your hands are out of the way. Again, his eyes fretfully dart to the thermos held between your palms, and all you can offer is a huff of laughter between cold puffs of air. 

“Come on–we’re already going to be late.”

“Yeah? And who’s fault would that be?” Tsukishima attempts to retort, not knowing that you have an answer already poised on your tongue. 

“Yours, actually,” you click your seatbelt into place, a content grin gracing your lips as you relax in the car. You kick your shoes off in an exaggerated gesture, pressing two fingers on the seat’s adjustable track to lean it back. “My class ended at two. You didn’t get to close the museum until four.”

Tsukishima scrunches his nose in distaste–whether at your words or you kicking off your shoes, you don’t know. “You’re full of spite today. Did you know that?” 

The gentle hum of the ignition is soothing, and the warmth fills the car again soon after. “Mm, it’s part of my charm,” you close your eyes and take a deep breath, happily folding your hands on your lap. “Oh, are we picking up Yamaguchi? He did know we would be late, right? Because of a certain someone,” you look pointedly at Tsukishima. 

The blonde lets out a humorless chuckle, clicking down on the turn signal as you set up the GPS. “Yamaguchi said that he would rather room with Noya and Tanaka’s hyperactive asses than ride with me. Something about my driving being crap. Plus, I still have to drop the key off at my boss’s place,” Tsukishima fingers the museum’s key between two fingers, wiggling it in front of your vision. 

After fiddling with the navigation system and entering the appropriate address, you sit back. The estimated time of arrival blinks back at you–a little over two hours and forty minutes.

“He’s got a point,” you muse, closing your eyes. “About your driving, I mean.”

You feel the soft pinch on your shoulder before you see it, whipping your head around to see Tsukishima grinning, proud. “If my driving is crap, what does that make yours?”

You click your tongue as you turn back around, facing the front. You hadn’t noticed it previously, but snow flurries settle on the windshield in a soft, white powder. You take a second before responding to admire the fresh snowfall, following the flakes’ tiny dances until they land on the windshield, destined to promptly melt if they do not get swiped away by the windshield wiper first.

“Always so mean to me,” you murmur, but your tone is lighthearted and gaze distracted. The longer you watch the snow fall–turning into a white blur as the speed limit increases–the adrenaline and excitement of the day seep from your body, replacing it with a potent kind of exhaustion. All too soon, your limbs feel heavy, and your eyelids begin to droop despite your meager effort to keep them open. 

You find that, in the still silence that follows, paired nicely with the comforting heat gathering in the car and the soft lull of the drive, you begin drifting off into a mindless, dreamless sleep.

You miss the last thing Tsukishima says before you slip off into unconsciousness. 

“You’re the worst driving partner ever.”

“You know, that doesn’t even make sense. We didn’t take turns driving, Kei.”

The look he shoots you is nothing short of hostile, yet it makes you laugh all the same. 

After a nearly three-hour drive–due to the weather and the side-trip of dropping off the museum’s key–you arrived at the cabin. At first glance, you think ‘cabin’ is too diminutive of a word; in its place is a large lodge, made up entirely of nice, dark wood and surrounded by hundred-year-old pine trees blanketed in soft snow. In the distance, the snowy peaks of mountains surround you, and you cannot help but stand in place, floored, for a few moments.

You stare in awe at the unmistakable extravagance of the place you’ll lay to rest for the coming days, one bag held slack in your hand as you take the time to appreciate the structure. There’s a large balcony that you admire for a few seconds, and you wonder how quickly you’d be able to explore it further. 

“You’ll catch flies if you keep that up.” Tsukishima stands next to you, his own bag and your second held tightly in his grip. 

Warmheartedly, you knock your shoulder against his, looking at him with a distinct unbridled excitement. “Not even your stinky attitude can bother me right now, Kei.”

Your words are true; while Kei cannot ruin the moment, the swirling, nearly all-consuming nervousness you feel most certainly can. You feel as if your insides are being eaten up, an uncomfortably warm fizzling sensation settling right at home in your gut, your chest. It’s all you can do to take a deep breath of winter air, exhaling the faint taste of pine, mint, and a trace of cinnamon.

“‘Stinky attitude’?” Tsukishima states, appalled.

You promptly ignore him. “I wonder if that was part of the downpayment,” you mutter humorlessly, curiously wondering how the owners managed to imbue a signature smell to the place. 

“What was that?” Tsukishima asks, leaving thin footprints in his wake as he turns to offer you a strange look. 

“Oh, nothing,” you sigh, heaving your bag over your shoulder to follow him. “Just living the dream.” You do not tell him how you feel agitated and almost sickeningly overwhelmed at the prospect of seeing Daichi–with a girlfriend–again; though, with the way Tsukishima looks back at you, his features softening almost unnoticeably, you don’t think you need to. 

Tsukishima slows, nearly stopping his pace altogether as he patiently waits for you to catch up. 

As you walk, there is a pleasant crunching sound–the fresh snow offering a soft give underfoot. The path from the car to the front porch is short, though, surrounded by nature and the gentle scents of wood and balsam, with the remainder of nerves unendingly tugging and pulling at your system, it feels much longer.

You let yourself savor it as if the walk lasted twenty minutes. 

The cold helps clear your mind and settle your concerns, and you wonder how much it would take to convince Tsukishima to join you on a walk later. 

You hadn’t even reached the front steps of the large wooden porch when a loud yell rings throughout the air, and a thrill of surprise rushes through you. The front door of the lodge is thrown open with haste, and only a familiar head of bright orange hair is able to quell the sudden bout of apprehension that had caused your heart to start pounding and your vision to become tunnel-like.

“Oof–hi there, Hinata,” you manage to get out. His arms hug you tight and warm, engulfing you in a soft embrace. Gradually, you relax, allowing your bag to drop onto the nicely lacquered porch wood as your fingers curl into the softness of his hoodie. You feel him grin, happy at being acknowledged and even happier to have his hyperactive embrace returned.  

“Yo!” Hinata exclaims when he pulls away, a perpetually exuberant grin tugging lopsidedly at his lips. “You guys took forever–though, you’re not the last ones to get here.”

Hinata’s words, while confusing, leave you reeling with more questions than answers. If you were not the last to arrive, who was trailing behind you? Was the object of your recent distress waiting beyond the front door, lounging on a loveseat with a girl you are not quite familiar with yet, beyond knowing she is too sweet to dislike? Or have they not yet arrived? 

Both options leave you feeling restless, and after managing to get out a pathetically halfhearted laugh, you cannot decide which one you would prefer. 

Hinata seemingly misses your uneasiness; he does not comment on it, and his long-winded greeting and explanation of how his drive up the mountain went are only interrupted by Kageyama and Yamaguchi joining you on the porch. The latter is dressed in only a thin cotton shirt, and you let out a slight sound of worry at the sight of his cheeks immediately pinkening upon walking into the cold. 

“Hey, everyone.” Tsukishima picks up your forgotten bag, and Yamaguchi is the next to pull you in for an easy hug. It is looser than Hinata’s, yet more comforting, and as you allow yourself to relax in his familiar embrace, you find that your mind is able to settle slightly. 

However, Yamaguchi soon shivers, and you think he may have only hugged you to receive a small bit of the remnants of warmth that linger on your coat. 

With a giggle at the knowledge, you pull back, noting with a fondness that the pink has quickly spread to his ears. 

“How was the drive?” Yamaguchi asks, shooting a pointed look in Tsukishima’s direction. The lighthearted banter between the two is something you’ve sorely missed, and you find yourself looking forward to seeing more of the friendly banter later. 

“Ha-ha. As if driving with these two was any better,” Tsukishima points to Hinata and a stoic Kageyama. 

Yamaguchi snickers, ducking his head as he shoves his hands in his pockets. “Hardly.”

“Hey!” Hinata pouts, enthusiastically bouncing and rocking on the balls of his feet. Under him, little imprints of the soles of his shoes are left as a reminder in the snow. 

“Hey,” Kageyama simply states, ignoring the impending argument and holding open the door in a silent urging. 

You look at him gratefully. 

“Kageyama, ever the charmer,” you state with a teasing hum. Tsukishima elbows you gently, and, whipping your head around, you childishly snatch one of your bags from his arm. 

Kageyama’s face breaks out into a rare mischievous smirk. “Only for you,” he keeps the door open, holding his fist out to Tsukishima in a short, characteristic greeting.  

“Guys, it’s kinda cold out here…” Yamaguchi is wracked with another shiver, and you feel a pang of concern for the man.

“C’mon, everyone. Yamaguchi’s teeth are practically chattering,” you sympathize, ushering everyone inside with a slight wave of your hands. 

If you were impressed with the exterior of the lodge cabin, the interior is enough to take your breath away. It is filled with a comforting warmth despite the large, open-air layout, dark wooden beams decorating the tall ceiling with similar thick columns gracing the broad stairs. A prominent, rustic light fixture emanates a warm glow not dissimilar to that of the brick fireplace radiating a kind of dry heat; even from the front door, you can feel the homey fire warming your fingertips, spreading throughout your chest in a thick, syrupy heat that causes your cheeks and nose to prickle as the last bits of cold leave your body. 

You take a step down to enter the main living space, eyes wide and mouth parted as you take in the grand magnificence of the place. The furniture compliments the natural charm of the cabin–understated yet unimaginably comfortable-looking, with nude colors and differing shades of tans, reds, and browns. One glance at the two plush blankets and numerous large pillows decorating the L-shaped couch, and you feel the urge to collapse onto it. The leather would feel heavenly under your fingertips, soft with a certain give to it the harder you pressed onto the cushion. 

“There you guys are!” Another excited voice. 

Having been entirely distracted by your surroundings–home, for all intents and purposes, for the coming days–you hardly noticed the familiar faces emerging from inside the rental. 

“Kiyoko!” Similar to earlier, you promptly drop your bag, rushing forward to pull your friend in for a tight embrace. 

“You guys sure did take a while,” a thrilled voice from next to you perks up–Yachi. Stretching out your right arm, you open the embrace, and the girl joins the hug, wrapping her small arms around you and Kiyoko to rock you both back and forth. 

“Sorry, bad traffic,” Tsukishima deadpans, and before you know it, the bag by your feet is quietly plucked up and placed by the foot of the stairs. 

You feel more than hear Yachi let out a huff of laughter, and the three of you only pull away to properly welcome each other. “Traffic?” she asks, not entirely believing him. You feel a huff of pride fill you; you taught her well.  

“Hello to you too, Tsukishima,” Kiyoko greets, her arms still thrown over your and Yachi’s necks. The joy of seeing each other again is palpable–it grows as you leave your arms interlocked around each other, refusing to let go and only tightening comfortably with each passing interaction. 

“She never greets me like that,” Tsukishima elbows Yamaguchi, taking on a teasing look as he blatantly points to you. 

In response, you merely roll your eyes, too preoccupied with catching up with your two friends after not having seen them lately. Due to the time commitment of final exams and the last stretch of the school year, you’ve hardly been able to meet up with your old roommates as much as you’d like, and the feeling nags at you. 

As you roll your eyes at Tsukishima, you miss the knowing look shared between Kiyoko and Yachi from behind your shoulder. 

After the excitement of finally reuniting dissipates some, your previous worries are brought abc to the forefront of your mind. “So, who’s all here?” You broach the topic of your concerns timidly, sparing a glance around the room to try and deduce the current occupants residing here. At first look, there is nothing terribly discerning, minus a coat–likely Yamaguchi’s, based on the size and color–draped across the back of the couch. The rest of the room is sparse of personal belongings, only holding the furniture that came with the place.

“So far, it’s just us,” Kiyoko waves around the room–Hinata, Yamaguchi, Kageyama, Yachi, herself, you, and Tsukishima–“everyone else isn’t here yet.”

“Namely Nishinoya, Tanaka, Daichi, and Michimiya–his girlfriend,” Hinata clarifies, though the added bit about Michimiya being Daichi’s girlfriend was unnecessary: by now, you all know who she is. 

Your body sags with relief; it is a minute action–one that is only caught by Tsukishima, his eyes having flitted to you as soon as Hinata began speaking. 

Not that you noticed, of course.

“Oh, and Suga and Asahi are upstairs. I think they were playing a game or something to decide who got the bigger bed,” Yamaguchi shrugs, though, by the way his shoulders shake slightly, there must have been something amusing regarding the two boys ‘game’. 

As your group of friends continues talking–catching up, laughing, and simply relaxing in each other’s company–you cannot determine whether the feeling that fills your chest is relief or disappointment. Did you feel eased at the notion that you don’t have to face Daichi just yet? Or are you disheartened at the knowledge that he is not yet here? 

While you are confident that you no longer have any remaining romantic feelings for the man, heartbreak is a strange thing that often lingers, and you can’t deny that some morsels of pain still remain even after your feelings have gone. It is as if an echo of something hollow pangs through your heart, leaving you with hands that feel empty and a shallow feeling causing a hole in your stomach. 

“D’you need help bringing your things upstairs?” You are pulled from your thoughts by Tsukishima, who has once again sidled himself against your side. It is not uncommon to find him lingering next to you when surrounded by your mutual friends, with Yamaguchi often next to him. 

“Mhm, yeah. If you don’t mind,” your previous thoughts have made you surprisingly docile and a bit vulnerable. You lean further against Tsukishima’s side, intrinsically seeking his familiar and comforting presence. 

Seemingly taking notice of your abrupt change in mood, Tsukishima nudges his head to the side, silently motioning for you to begin making your way up the stairs. 

“Oh, your guys’ rooms are on the second floor, near the corner with the big window. God, I’m still so jealous of you,” Yamaguchi says, motioning with his hands how to reach your bedrooms. 

In response, Tsukishima only smirks, telling him, “It’s not our fault you got the shortest stick. We all did the same thing.”

The grin on Tsukishima’s face only widens, and you are briefly grateful that, a few weeks prior, you managed to pull the longest stick out of the cup–therefore allotting you one of the three single, private rooms in the cabin. The second had gone to Tanaka, who had triumphantly rubbed it in Nishinoya’s face, with the third being drawn by Tsukishima. 

“Don’t think too much about it,” you comfort Yamaguchi, moving to rub a hand against his shoulder. In response, the man offers you a sheepish smile, nodding along with your words. 

Then, with a conspiratorial grin, you continue, “Besides, you know how Tsukki snores. You should feel lucky that you don’t have the room right next to his,” you leaned forward as you spoke–as if indulging Yamaguchi in a deep secret to which no one else had been privy. 

He lets out a breathless chuckle, more a huff of air than anything else, as he nods his head in a bashful kind of agreement. 

“If you don’t hurry up, I’m gonna take the bigger room,” Tsukishima taunts, already poised and waiting at the foot of the stairs. Your eyes flicker down to your bags–still held in his hands. 

“Please, I’ll let you have that,” you snort, a decidedly unattractive sound, before joining him. “You need it with all that extra…” you trail off, peering up at Tsukishima and vaguely motioning to the air above your head, “…height.”

Quickly picking up on your insinuation, Yamaguchi promptly joins in on the teasing with a grin. “Hey, Tsukki?” he calls from where he’s plopped himself on the couch, legs stretched out, and arms resting behind his head. You hear the mischievousness dancing in his voice and can barely hide the giggle behind your hand before Tsukishima’s icy glare is aimed at you. 

“Don’t start, you two,” Tsukishima sighs, already exasperated, but the ball is already rolling.

“Yeah, I was actually wondering how’s the weather up there?” you finish for Yamaguchi, hurriedly quickening your pace so as to escape from the majority of Tsukishima’s wrath. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know!”

You’re left with a light feeling in your chest from the interaction, and you don’t bother waiting for the taller man. Having grabbed your bags from his hands, you make your way down the wide hallway; it follows the same open-air feel as adopted downstairs, leaving the hallway as more of a balcony, of sorts. You can lean over the side of the wooden railing, knee slotting between the similar pieces of wood that hold the railing up, and clearly see almost the entirety of the downstairs level.

You smile–it’s nice, and you can still feel the heat from the fireplace from where you’re standing. 

Tsukishima is long gone–you think you heard him shut the door to the room on the right, closest to the window residing at the end of the hall. You take the fleeting moment of silence gratefully; as much as you adore your friends, the likelihood of privacy is essentially doused down the drain the moment you’re all together. 

You’ll take any moment of alone time gratefully–and with a grain of salt. 

After admiring the view from the second floor, you push off the railing. A painful pop in your elbow has you wincing, and you extend it a few times before picking up your bags again. 

Your room is simple, understated, with a decent-sized bed in the middle, centered evenly against the wall opposite the door. A large window is perched above it, and your eyes go wide in excitement.

Little frost lines creep up the panes, surrounding the soft flakes of snow like intricate lattices. To your right is a dresser and mirror, and a plush chair sits in the corner, a thick blanket fashionably draped over the armrest. 

You think simplicity fits the place nicely–the framework of the house, paired with the natural beauty of the mountain, is already breathtaking. Elegant furniture and grand pieces of luxury are not necessary when faced with everything the cabin already offers. 

You can’t seem to stop the soft sigh that falls past your lips as you set your things down on the dresser. That feeling is still nagging at you, tugging and pulling at your heart until a crease forms between your brows. It diminishes the room's warmth, and in a semi-successful effort to distract yourself from the unwelcome feeling, you begin unpacking, carefully tucking neatly folded clothes into the dresser’s drawers, hanging the few pieces that need the special treatment in the closet. 

A knock on your door is the only thing that knocks you out of your peaceful state, and you startle only briefly before welcoming the visitors in.

“Hey,” Kiyoko rubs her hands together, folded neatly in front of her chest. 

You grin as a familiar head of blonde hair peeks from behind her–Yachi. 

“Hey, guys. I’ve missed you,” you greet them, rubbing your hands on your pants. Seeing two of your closest friends after having not for so long is therapeutic. 

For two years, in the middle of your time at university, the three of you had shared an apartment, and you hold the memories fondly, tucked away softly in your heart to reminisce on occasionally. But now, Kiyoko and some of the older members in your friend group–such as Tsukishima, Tanaka, Daichi, and Sugawara–have graduated. 

Sometimes, you find yourself sucked into an innate sense of sentimentality–you miss those days, of how simple and easy everything appeared to be. Of course, they were not, but looking back on the fun times with your friends, you don’t remember the complicated things. You only remember the good. 

Immediately, Yachi folds, darting out from behind Kiyoko and engulfing you in one of her long, signature hugs. You drop the shirt you were refolding–it doesn’t matter if it retains a few wrinkles, anyways–and return her embrace, feeling a bubbly feeling fill your heart as she begins rocking you back and forth. 

“We missed you more!” Yachi declares, still refusing to let you go. 

Not that you would let her, anyways. 

Kiyoko lets out a fond giggle from the doorframe, still lingering on the precipice. Eyes widening, you wave her over, and Yachi hurriedly begins ushering for her to do the same. Making space, you resume the group hug, sighing happily as Yachi continues laughing with glee. 

However, like all moments, it must eventually end. A sound from the hallway disrupts you–someone clearing their throat, though you are instantly able to recognize the voice: Kei.

“Can’t you see we’re having a moment?” you gently chide, though your words are paired with an unmistakably kind smile. 

Yachi’s lips purse into a bit of a pout, clearly upset over having ‘girl time’ ruined–a term she eloquently coined during your first semester in university. But, at his presence, the two girls allow you to disentangle from the friendly embrace, occupying themselves as they sit on the bed.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tsukishima scratches the back of his neck, shifting almost hesitantly in the door before imperceptibly pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “I just, ah, wanted to tell you guys that everyone else just got here. We’re all downstairs–if you wanna join.”

Ah. You understand his previous hesitance. 

“By everyone else, you mean…?” you attempt to pull more information out of him, though the sudden rapid pounding of your heart hints that you already know to whom he’s referring. 

“Tanaka, Noya, Michimiya, and Daichi.”

You’d braced yourself for the punch in the gut you were sure his words would bring. Your fingers find the stray thread hanging on the sleeve of your sweater again, twisting it repetitively until little red lines are imprinted onto your skin. 

“Okay, yeah. We’ll be down there soon?” you pose it as a question, looking back at the two girls now perched on the side of your bed for confirmation. 

“Yep! Definitely not now, though. Get lost, Tsukki!” Yachi animatedly points out of your room, kicking her feet back and forth as she comically shoos Tsukishima away. 

With hands held in mock surrender, Tsukishima nods in agreement, though not before letting his lingering gaze settle on you. 

“Hey, come here,” he all but demands, but his voice is soft, and he is already walking towards you. Before you can protest, he holds your wrist, stretching it out towards him, and all your worries about Daichi are gone. It’s all you can do to watch, confusion etched on your features, inscribed on your pathetically rapid-beating heart, as he twists the cuff of your sweater, deft fingers pinching at the hanging thread to remove it.

“There,” is all he states, fixing your sleeve before letting your arm gently fall to your side. You hardly have enough time to say anything before he’s fixing you with an unrecognizable look, and then he’s pulling out of the small bubble to wave ‘bye’ to Yachi and Kiyoko. 

You’re still for a second after he’s left, still reeling with what had transpired. You can’t place the strange, tense feeling burrowing in your chest–you only know it is not the same kind of nervousness you feel at seeing Daichi again.    

As if sensing your thoughts, you hear Kiyoko–or maybe Yachi–stirring behind you. Snapping yourself out of it, you turn on your heel, gracing them with a wide, hardly believable smile. 

“Speaking of…” Kiyoko begins, shoving her hands underneath her thighs. Ever cautious and cognizant of others’ feelings, Kiyoko approaches the topic tepidly, clearly skirting around the thing at the forefront of your mind. 

You let out a defeated sigh, no longer bothering to keep up the poor appearance of normalcy. Yachi tilts her head to the side, concern clearly written across her face. “How’s the Daichi front?” she asks, and while it is not with the same amount of worry Kiyoko held, Yachi’s words are still imbued with a friendly care you have come to associate her with. 

Looking at them–waiting expectantly, but still ensuring to be careful of your feelings, wanting to understand how you’re doing–is enough to have you letting out a humorless laugh. “You guys know me too well,” you decide on, pressing your hands into the back pocket of your jeans. 

You join them on the bed, and they quickly shift to make room for you in the middle. You allow them to coddle you–wrapping their arms around you, wide eyes full of understanding as they listen to you talk. You tell them how, at first, it was rough; how the feelings ate away at you, and how you’re still not sure how you’ll feel seeing him again. 

They listen, offering small interjections where needed, a comforting hand held on either side of your back as you ramble. 

You don’t stop talking until the nagging feeling is replaced by relief–the sort of relief that only comes from telling someone something that has been bothering you for a while. It feels as if a weight is lifted from your chest by the time you finish, and you don’t resist the deep breath trapped in your throat; it seems like, along with it, the superficial hurt dissipates, and only the deeper feelings remain. 

You don’t think you’re ready to face the deeper feelings yet. 

“Feel better?” Kiyoko asks after you’ve finished, dipping forward to look at you. You’re leaning forward, hands pressed to the edge of the bed for something tangible to grip on. 

“Yeah, surprisingly,” you state, and you’re relieved to hear that even your voice sounds lighter. They nod, understanding with few words–you’re not surprised that talking to them is what helped; you’re more so surprised that speaking of something that profoundly bothered you helped you feel that much better–better than you’d anticipated. 

“Good!” Yachi chimes in, and you grin at the similar relief that is present in her tone. 

“Yeah. Kei tried getting me to talk about it more with him, but it’s just not the same as talking you guys, you know? Anyways, I felt kinda bad about it all.”

“Ah–” Kiyoko hums pensively, pressing a finger to her chin as if in thought, “–the other elephant in the room.”

It takes you a moment to piece together what she’s referring to. Different ideas run through your head, and you sift through them abruptly until you’re confident you’ve combed through even the cobwebs of your mind. 

Looking to Yachi, you shake your head. “Okay, I’m…clearly lost.”

A scheming giggle falls past her lips when she nudges you, knocking you gently into Kiyoko, who nudges you in a similar manner. 

“Tsukki!” is Yachi’s exuberant, overexcited response. She looks at you as she wiggles her brows–as if she expects you to clearly understand whatever hidden meaning is lingering under the surface. 

Looking back and forth between the two slowly, you make it evident that you believe they have possibly gone mad. “What about him?” you ask, giving in after they offer no hints as to their meaning. 

“Well, something, clearly,” Kiyoko gently pushes for more, and your lips quirk at the unfamiliar, yet not unwelcome, sight of devilishness tugging at her mouth. 

“Yeah, he’s a pain in my ass. Possibly my soulmate, and still perpetually insufferable–in case you were wondering,” you grin widely as you refer to Tsukishima, allowing the sarcasm to seep between your words. 

Before they can respond–you see the excitement build in their eyes, practically becoming palpable as they simultaneously begin tugging at your shirt–a loud, all-consuming voice from downstairs is booming up the stairs. 

“Yo! Anybody home?” Tanaka hollers, and you can hear the loud smack even from your spot in your room. 

“Don’t you two have any manners?” comes another familiar voice–Sugawara.

Leaning into Kiyoko and Yachi, you all get up in a fit of giggles, looking forward to the red welt that would likely be proudly standing on the back of Tanaka’s head. The previous topic of conversation is briskly forgotten, left on the now-creased blanket decorating your bed. 

The sudden burst of noise and activity is strange in comparison to the innate quiet that loiters upstairs. Still, you bask in the familiar, comforting chaos that often accompanies your old high school friends. The nervousness that had previously reared its ugly head, making your palms sweat and your heart pound in jittery beats, has thankfully diminished after speaking to your friends, and you find that the notion of seeing Daichi for the first time in weeks does not cause the same jolt of stress that it used to. 

Their words remain as a comforting blanket as you meet them. Your greetings are brief–a small wave, followed by an acquainted side hug and few words. You turn to offer Michimiya a similar welcome and are shocked when the bright, previously shy girl from the beginning of the month hugs you with enthusiasm. 

“Oh wow,” you laugh shakily before kindly returning her embrace, “it’s a day for hugs, apparently.”

“Sorry,” Michimiya is sheepish, a blush dusting her cheeks. “I’ve just been really excited to be here and see you all again.” 

You wave your hand placatingly, already grinning as you see Nishinoya, Suga, and Asahi waving you over in your peripheral vision. “Don’t worry about it–it was a joke,” you explain, hoping to ease her worries. 

Tsukishima promptly sidles next to you, throwing a long arm over your shoulder. You glare and shove lightly at him, but ultimately end up grinning as you settle against him. 

“Yeah, don’t mind her,” he states, and you sense the inklings of a teasing joke hidden under his words. “She has a penchant for not being funny.”

You readily wriggle out from under his arm, not bothering to soften your glare. “Oh, he makes jokes. Cute,” you lean up to ruffle his hair–messing up the previously neat look he was going for. 

Just as earlier, Tsukishima manages to grasp your wrist before you can do any real damage, though, triumphantly, you note how he grumbles and goes to fix his crooked glasses. 

While you’re distracted, Michimiya watches on with a fond look, covering a shy laugh behind her hand as she makes a few connections in her head.

“There you are!” Sugawara cries behind you, and before you know it, his arms make their way around your waist in a tight embrace. 

“Hey, Suga,” you laugh, patting his hand in a friendly, affectionate gesture before he releases you. You turn to face him. “How was the drive?”

The loudness of the room makes it difficult to hear, even more so when Suga moves to collapse onto the couch in an exhausted heap. “Oh, you know,” he lolls his head to the side, grinning in that same charismatic manner that had a slew of girls crushing on him in college, “long. How was yours?”

“She was knocked out most of the drive, don’t ask her,” Tsukishima butts in–a habit he seems to excel in, especially regarding you. “The drive was fine, though. More snow than I expected.”

“You know,” you point between you and Suga, feigning a look of annoyance that has the older man snickering, “this was a conversation between Suga and me? And I don’t recall inviting you into it?”

Your argument only causes Tsukishima to chuckle blithely, purposefully knocking into your shoulder as he moves to sit next to Suga. “Nah, you love me. Actually, you don’t know what you’d do without me.” He’s teasing again, stretching his legs out and reaching his arms above his head. 

You notice how his shirt rides up ever so slightly, exposing a bit of skin and a faint adonis belt.

Heat prickles at your cheeks, filling and swelling until the strange urge to swallow thickly builds in your throat. It’s the same feeling you felt in the car, and you still have yet to place it. 

Turning your gaze away, you pretend not to notice. 

“Whatever. Even if you’re right–” you point, raising a brow as if you’re about to regale Suga and Tsukishima with a heartstopping tale, “–we all know it’s me you can’t live without.”

“In your dreams,” Tsukishima sneers, sinking back against the couch and pulling a large blanket over his lap. 

All the while, Sugawara simply looks on, his gaze flitting back and forth between you both with gleaming interest at every passing interaction. 

“Hey, what’s the situation with food?” Nishinoya bounds into the room, a baseball hat mussing down his spikey hair. He sees you and waves, the characteristic bright grin taking over his features. “Hey Tsukki, hey everyone!”

Another chorus of disjointed ‘hey’s’ follows suit, and you’re all launched into figuring out dinner. 

“Oh, didn’t you know?” Hinata’s eyes crinkle at the edges, spelling nothing but trouble. Side-eyeing Tsukishma, you see a similar look of caution cross his face: better move out of the way and prepare for the crossfire. “We gotta scavenge our own food. You know–being in the woods and all.”

“Hinata, you’re not as clever as you’d like to think,” Tsukishima chuckles, rubbing at his nose. Yamaguchi joins in on the banter, and the room becomes loud once again with the raucous clamor of numerous voices, all attempting to speak over one another. 

“We actually took care of the food for a few days,” Asahi speaks up, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. A blush paints his cheeks when Tanaka and Nishinoya immediately bombard him, showering him with praise and hanging off of him, words of thanks spilling from their mouths. 

“There was a store a ways back. We managed to get a bit, but someone will have to make another trip down in a few days,” Sugawara adds, not bothering to get up from the couch as he knows Tanaka and Nishinoya are well preoccupied with Asahi. 

“Thanks, man,” Daichi claps Suga on the back, and while you’d gotten used to his and Michimiya’s quiet presence in the room, his sudden appearance so close to you has left you feeling disjointed. 

“Well, that’s enough of that,” you proclaim quietly, and Sugawara is the only one to acknowledge your words–with a kind smile and a nod. Returning the look, you smoothly make your way through the room, avoiding the others as best you can in search of the kitchen. While everyone else is distracted by catching up, you think it must be as good a time as any to try and start on a late dinner.

You’d underestimated the size of the cabin. You realize this as you walk, stepping down a small staircase–consisting of a modest five steps–to enter a large second sitting room adjacent to the living room. It has a large piano settled off to the side, and you briefly wonder if any of your friends would be able to play it. 

Trailing your hand against a wooden column bracing the small staircase, you take a moment to appreciate the space and the brief quiet, though, with the open living space, you can still hear the chatter of your friends a few steps up. It’s comforting, wrapping you in the warm embrace of friendship and familiarity–something genuine that only comes from years of knowing someone. 

There’s hardly any dust, and during your short journey in search of the kitchen, you come to the conclusion that the owners must have someone come and clean often. 

It only takes you a bit longer to find the kitchen. Like the rest of the home, it is surrounded by dark wood, complemented by a floor only a shade lighter, beams decorating the ceiling, and columns bracing the doorway. It’s large and beautiful, boasting appliances that you could only dream of cooking with at home. 

Glancing over to the counter, you spy bags of groceries–likely put there by Asahi and Suga, and you make haste to search through them, putting the groceries away in cabinets and the refrigerator as needed. 

“Oh–hey there.”

You make sure not to freeze, though you noticeably tense, and it feels as if your heart freezes in your chest. 

Biting back a wince at your obvious reaction, you take a calming breath, closing your eyes to steady yourself for a beat. While you were prepared to see Daichi again–along with his new girlfriend–you were decidedly not ready to be alone with him in any sort of capacity. You had steeled your nerves earlier, pushing down and relieving any lingering worries that came with seeing him again, but this is not what you had in mind; you did not imagine that you would be alone with him, or that you would subsequently have to deal with the emotions that came along with it. This feeling is not welcome, yet it makes itself at home in your heart.

Not wanting to appear strange, you plaster a grin on your face before setting down the bag of white rice, turning around to face the man of the hour. 

“Daichi,” you simply greet, internally hoping that your voice takes on some semblance of normalcy.  

He merely hums in acknowledgment, clapping his hands together in such a ‘Daichi’ way that, if this had occurred a few months prior, you would have made fun of him. “What’ve we got in here? Anything look good so far?”

His words should not catch you by surprise, yet you find yourself frozen for a few seconds, anyways. With your hands braced on the kitchen counter, you falter, words becoming lost on you as the time drags on. 

“Ah, well–” you take the excuse to turn around, fishing through more grocery bags. “I haven’t looked that hard yet, but I’m sure I can find something.”

“Yeah, you were always good at that,” his voice is so fundamentally friendly that it hurts. The hollow pang returns with full force, battering shallowly against your heart, bringing with it useless questions of 'what if?’ 

When you don’t respond, Daichi’s voice takes on an air of concern–a sound you’ve, frankly, gotten sick of hearing lately. “Hey–you okay? You were pretty deep in thought when I came in here.”

An unamused laugh falls from your mouth, though Daichi is none the wiser to pick up on it. 

“Oh, nothing really,” you turn to face him, a wry grin tugging at your lips, “just wondering if these beams and columns are actually here for foundational support.”

Your words earn you a chuckle. It is a deep, warm sound, and you try not to notice how his eyes crinkle at the edges. 

Another hollow pang. 

“Yeah, I doubt it.” His hands reach across the counter, attempting to aid you in putting away the groceries. 

It’s all too much, too fast. Quickly, you pull away, and when Daichi offers you another look of concern, you simply wave him off. “I’m fine–just a bit warm. I’ll see you later?”

You don’t wait for his response. 

Winding your way through the lodge, you attempt to remember how to get to the third floor’s balcony you spied while driving up. Through the snow and trees, it looked like a wonderful place to escape, and your feet seem to take you up there instinctively. 

Your friends don’t hardly notice you as you make your way up the stairs–other than waving and asking if you found anything suitable for dinner. You say something quickly to placate them before continuing, passing by the open door of your room in your efforts to find the balcony. Your thoughts are swirling almost as frantically as the snow outside, and no matter what you do, your heart refuses to slow down. 

When you reach the balcony, you are not disappointed. 

The white snow coats everything in an almost sparkling, shining blanket. If snow was not inherently freezing, you would be half tempted to lie down in the soft tufts that pile in the corners of the balcony–shoveled neatly in the corners by the railing–convinced that it would be warm. 

The instance with Daichi has left you feeling stilted; thrown off course, you do not know how to react. After speaking with Tsukishima briefly, and then later with Yachi and Kiyoko, you'd felt an intimation of relief. You wonder how fickle that relief must have been to have been shattered by a mere interaction–a brief moment alone, a few words exchanged. 

It causes a surge of embarrassment to flush through your system and, soon after, the stinging beginnings of tears. 

Your eyes burn as they pool on your lower lashes, collecting in thick drops but still refusing to fall. A swell of indignation fills your chest at your tears’ refusal to slip–it’s as if even they do not know how to react, a mirror of your own hurricane of emotions. 

With an angry sound–something akin to a broken, half-hidden sob–you wipe at your eyes. You’re incensed by your tears, filled with ire and frustration at the confusion regarding your own feelings. You’d thought that, after some time away from Daichi, after speaking with your friends, you’d finally be able to sort through and organize your whirlwind of emotions. 

Because time heals all wounds, right?

“It’s kinda cold out here, you know. Like, literally below freezing. Your snot might freeze to your face.”

Only one person can speak so bluntly, full of unbidden crass, yet still cause you to let out a pathetic snort of laughter. 

“Kei,” you acknowledge him simply, the remainder of your tears clotting in your voice.

He joins you by the railing, arms folded to relax against the wood. He leans his tall body over the balcony’s fence, and the slight flare of panic that rushes through you is quickly snuffed out when he speaks.

“Nice view, huh?” 

He didn’t have to ask the question; the view leaves you awestruck. In the distance, you can spot the snowy mountain peaks surrounding you, even through the tall pine and balsam trees that wrap around the lodge cabin. Though snow rests gently on the swinging leaves and bristles of pine, dusting white across brown pinecones, you can still see bits of green peeking out, the smell of mint and pine and cinnamon lingering in the cold air.

A puff of cool, misty air leaves your mouth as you exhale. “You think?” you chuckle humorlessly, catching Tsukishima’s frustration. 

A desperate look flashes in his eyes as he turns to you, his expression turning only slightly pleading. “Please–talk to me. I don’t know how to help you if you don’t let me.” 

His sincerity catches you off guard. Of course, you are no stranger to Tsukishima Kei’s kindness; it always manifests in small, incremental actions: waiting for you by his car, refusing to enter until after you have, slowing his pace to allow you to catch up–never willing to leave you behind.

Fixing the sleeve of your sweater when a stray thread is hanging off. Insisting that you speak to him when you really need it. 

Being able to always tell when you do.

But, similar to the awkwardness you recall feeling during the drive, it is rare that his sincerity becomes so plainly obvious. 

When it does, you know you have been remiss in keeping your closest friend in the loop. 

Guilt joins with the barrage of emotions already pounding in your chest. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, tucking your hands underneath the sleeves of your sweater. You feel almost timid at expressing your feelings to Tsukishima in a way that you were not with Yachi and Kiyoko, and you cannot discern why. 

He waits patiently, still leaning against the railing.

“It’s just…” you search for the right words but quickly give up: there are no concrete, simple words to possibly describe what you’re feeling, “…hard.”

A beat of silence passes as you allow Tsukishima to understand your meaning, for Tsukishima to offer you the quiet you need. The air stills, and with a short sigh, your friend relaxes. 

“Come here,” he simply states, not bothering to explain himself. You feel an innate sense of déjà vu as he turns to you, but unlike earlier, he tucks you into his arms. 

Tsukishima is warm–having a tendency to run hot–and you gratefully sink into the familiar, calming embrace. However, it is different from the rest of your friends’ hugs; perhaps it is different in the way you can feel how his heart beats against your body, how you’re distinctly aware of his fingers lingering on the small of your back–acutely in tune to where his body ends, and yours begins. 

“It’s okay, you know,” he begins cryptically. Sensing this, he continues, “to be confused, I mean. And to be upset. No one ever said that this was going to be easy.”

Your hands tighten into a fist against his back, smoothing over any wrinkles that are there before likely forming more. You ache to feel the familiarity of his touch closer. “I know, but I still hoped it would be.”

You feel him grin by your ear, and it manifests into a short huff of a chuckle. “I know. But you knew it was going to be hard–seeing him.”

For the millionth time that day, there is something about Tsukishima that you cannot interpret. This time, it is in his words, in his tone. By the way his voice seems to linger on the word 'him,’ the intonation deepening into a sound you do not often hear from Tsukishima, you know he means something that he does not say.

Strangely, your heart beats rapidly against your ribcage, and you curiously wonder if Tsukishima can feel it the way you feel his. His arms around you–while stained with years of familiarity–feel implicitly different, tightening slightly with an enduring touch that has you itching for something more. 

The strange, complex emotions well in your throat, stopping up the words that remain halted on your tongue. Pulling away slightly, you look up, peering at him with wide eyes, hoping a bit of comic relief will ease the blatant tension surrounding you. 

“Kei, be honest,” you begin, curling your hands into the fabric of his coat. 

“When have I ever lied to you,” he points out, and it is not a question. His eyes dart and flit all over your face, yet, before you can pinpoint what he is looking at, he has already moved on to a different feature. 

Tsukishima’s words, imbued with honesty and a hint of teasing, cause a grin to break across your face. Playfully, you swat at his chest, and he joins you with laughter of his own, still holding you in the hug. 

“Is there really snot on my face?” you finally finish, already feeling infinitely better than before he’d joined you. 

At that, he snorts, throwing his head back as he rolls his eyes. “Duh. Like, all over,” Tsukishima states, flicking your head in an affectionate gesture. 

“Ow,” you glare, bringing a hand up to rub at the tingling sensation on your forehead. 

The look that crosses his face is kind–filled with a sort of fondness you are used to, but also hiding something you are not. 

The comedic moment ends, and something else replaces it.

Once again, you are filled with that similar tension as earlier today, when he’d held your wrist in his hand–when he’d pulled the string from your sweater. Tsukishima’s small traces have lingered long after his touch has gone–you swear you can still feel them even now, remaining as imprints on your skin. Your skin remembers his touch, and, unlike usual, you wish you had more of it. 

The sudden frazzled rapping of your heart in your chest leaves you faltering; you can’t find the words yet–they’re still stuck in your throat, but for a different reason than before. The air feels charged, thrumming as if there is a current buzzing around you, filling and stretching until you feel similarly stretched thin, consumed by everything Kei. 

Frankly, you’re confused, and the unreadable expression on his face only further pushes that confusion. 

“Kei?” you prompt, hands still clutching at his back. 

Your eyes flit down to where he bites his lip–a teasing, yet slightly pained, look present in his gaze. A brief feeling of conflict fills you at the sight, and, just like all the other emotions thickening in your chest, you cannot discern what it means. 

“I, uh…” he starts off, voice tapering off. You can see him searching for the words, digging into his mind, and tasting the form of many different phrases on his tongue. 

It takes him a moment. Tsukishima internally battles with himself, tossing and turning whatever is troubling him, churning it around in his head until he’s appropriately nurtured the thought. 

Just as he goes to open his mouth, his grip on your body loosening minutely before his fingers tighten again around your waist, a loud crash interrupts you. 

Startled, you fall away from Tsukishima’s touch, darting your gaze to the balcony’s doors to spy a boggled, surprised Nishinoya and Tanaka. The duo has their mouths hanging open–uncharacteristically quiet in such a way that has concern bubbling in your throat–but then the moment passes, and a look of triumphant understanding crosses their faces. 

“I fucking knew it!”

“God, you two really left us all on edge!” 

Their excitement is palpable, and it would be contagious if you weren’t so confused. Looking between the duo with furrowed brows, you hold your arms out–as if waiting for someone to fill you in on whatever joke you’re clearly not part of. 

“What?” you ask, looking between the two. They merely grin conspiratorially, knowingly, and it has a sense of foreboding blaring red in your mind. “What are you two on about?”

Looking to Tsukishima, you notice how a flare of panic comes to life in his eyes, raising his hands in an effort to settle the two hyperactive, scheming men. “Hey, guys–”

“We fucking knew you two were together!”

“How long have you been dating! Geez, you could’ve let us in on it a while ago!”

Dating.

Together.

The words blur together in your mind, and it takes you a second to piece together the overwhelming connotation. It’s a strange puzzle–one you had never bothered to piece together. The edges are blurred–the idea of you and Tsukishima dating had only ever crossed your mind a few times: when you first became friends and any subsequent instance in which someone had mistaken you as such. The thought was something you merely brushed off, correcting people from time-to-time, until the accusations eventually stopped. 

After forming your crush on Daichi, you’d never given it much extra thought. But apparently, you were in the minority, because everyone else had. 

“Can you two please calm down–” 

“Calm down? After this bombshell? Get a grip!” Tanaka begins to scramble, running out from the doorframe and likely back to the remainder of your friends. A feeling of nausea fills you as he leaves your sight, and it’s something you can’t fight down.

“Hey! Wait up!” Nishinoya laughs, chasing after his best friend with equally frantic movements. 

You startle, protests rising and getting caught in your throat as they run off. Down the hall, you hear Nishinoya shout, “Suga! You owe me four thousand yen!” 

“Guys, stop!”

They don’t listen to Tsukishima.

There is a hustle and bustle from downstairs that you can hear even from the balcony, and with a shared, nervous look with Tsukishima, you race inside, leaning over the hallway’s railing to catch the tail end of Tanaka and Nishinoya’s explanation. 

That you and Tsukishima are dating. That your friends had been right. 

With wide eyes, you slowly, cautiously look at Tsukishima. He meets your gaze with similar shock, trepidation clear in his gaze, eyes wide as he takes in the shouts and hollers of your friends downstairs. 

Shit. 

There are many different instances in life–with different paths to take, each leading to different outcomes. 

With your friends whooping and exclaiming things like, “I freaking knew it!” and “They really were pretty obvious about it,” paired with the wide-eyed look Tsukishima shoots you, you do not yet know where this path will take you. 

dropping this tonight at 10:45pm GMT !!! interact to be tagged <3