⠀ — when the gloomy weather leaves your heart just as full as the clouds.
⚠︎ thousandwinters!chifuyu, lotsa fluff, gn reader no referring pronouns, from this request.
chifuyu’s fingers idly drew shapes on your shoulder, his eyes lazily focussed on the screen that played some old dvd he had found stuffed away on one of his shelves. your legs were intertwined, thighs warm from the laptop set on top of them, along with the body heat radiating from the little black cat who sat just to its side.
chifuyu felt your arm wrap tighter around his waist as you pulled yourself closer to him, nuzzling into his side with a small hum as you disregarded the movie you had asked to watch.
his lips, ever slightly chapped, curved into a sweet smile while his cheeks glowed pink, thankfully hidden in the dim lighting of his bedroom.
though the darkness grew when you decided to shut the laptop all together, carefully putting it off to the side as to not disturb the sleeping kitty so close to it. chifuyu nearly pouted.
“oi, i was watchin’ that.”
his comment went straight over your head as you smoothly found yourself crawling on top of him and claiming the middle of his chest as a pillow, your legs on either side of his hips. the blonde’s arms were quick to cage you in a hug as his palms rubbed slowly at your back. the glimpse of your shirt reminded him that you're wearing one of the several he had made for his new “gang,” only for his friends to shoot down and spit on–literally–the design the moment it was revealed. (with good reason, it was terrible.)
“let’s nap.” you mumbled, tired voice vibrating against his collarbones. chifuyu chuckled and scratched gently at your scalp.
“weather’s really got you this lazy?” he teased while taking a glance outside at the thick drops of rain pelting against the glass of his balcony door. it was quite peaceful, though. no bothersome thunder or unwanted lighting to disturb the quiet. just rain.
your head lifted up so you could look at him, and you took the opportunity to give him the gentlest kiss.
“not lazy, you’re just comfy.”
your head fell back down to his chest, quickly finding its way to the crook of his neck where it didn’t hesitate to bury itself. chifuyu was glad you couldn’t see him smiling like an idiot.
he debated whether or not to allow himself to doze off underneath you, weighing his options of “it’ll be a really good nap,” and “what if my mom walks in while we’re asleep?” because truthfully, if his mother saw just how tightly her son held onto you in his sleep, he knew he’d never hear the end of it.
ultimately, when peke-j decided to move up the bed and cuddle into his side, it would only be so long before the security would have him snoring away. chifuyu’s eyes began to flutter shut.
“alright,” he yawned. “let’s nap.”
“wait.”
his eyes opened as quickly as they’d closed, just to find you looking right into them while also making a pair of fish lips.
“another kiss first.”
matsuno shook his head with a small snort.
“and you tell me i’m the sap?”
yet he leaned forward and did just as you had asked. not long after, two gentle snores and a quiet purr were the only sounds to fill the room.
˚༉ words | 1.3k
˚༉ warnings | valhalla spoilers (?)
˚༉ notes | baji my beloved
「baji keisuke」 could always find the softest moments just by looking in your eyes. he thinks, when he is alone with you, that maybe, maybe even after kazutora went away, even after he had to face mikey apologetically, maybe this life was okay. it was worth living, as long as you were beside him.
maybe you’d think the same.
it was amazingly easy to be around you. always so simple to just be in your presence, doing things that kids do - playing video games, studying for classes. late, late nights filled with the sound of your laughter and shh’s wrapped around the idea that your parents would scold you for being so loud, and then scold you again for sneaking baji into the house after they’d expressed their distaste for him.
you never seemed to care for their opinion, arguing in favor of him anytime they’d turn their nose to him or give him a nasty glare, and the idea that you cared so much about him that you’d fight your parents tooth and nail until they stopped pestering you about it made his chest want to burst. all of this, just for him? it was hard to accept on his own.
“careful, baji-!” you all but scream in his ear as he swerves between cars down the road, grinning at how you tighten your arms around him and he knows he should slow down but you’re not really worried about that. your short giggles fill the air behind him as your forehead presses into his back.
eventually, you step off of the bike after him, legs shaky with adrenaline and baji has to steady you (as he always does when you ride with him) while you get your bearings and shoot him the biggest smile.
“so scary riding with you.” you mutter, but he knows there’s no real fear behind it. you enjoy the thrill, don’t you? especially with him.
he finds himself flicking your forehead in response, earning a pout from you, “you could’ve just met me here if it’s so scary.”
the way he teases you is light-hearted, with no real aggression following his words, and instead of arguing, you stick your tongue out at him and turn towards your destination: a playground. the dark sky tells you already that no sane child would be wandering on the equipment, giving free reign to every bit of plastic you desire. you find yourself climbing to the top of the tower, calling for baji to follow you with a giggle and baji would be damned if he’d never come to your beck and call, especially when his name leaves your lips so sweetly.
when he makes his way up to the top with you, you’re laying on your back facing the sky. baji settles beside you, exhaling as the cool floor seeps its way through his clothes and leaves goosebumps in its wake.
“it’s always so peaceful at night.” you hum, turning your head to look at baji. he turns his face you in return, scanning over your features in the dark and fuck if you’re not the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. . . and then you smile at him and he knows in that moment he’s a sucker that’s in too deep.
he realizes your mouth is moving far quicker than he can process, lost in his own world when you laugh and sit up abruptly.
“you’re not even listening to me!”
“was so,” he argues, lying through his teeth and watching you while making no move to sit up as well.
“what’d i say then?” your legs cross under you, now fully facing him with intent to maim him if he gives the wrong answer. he takes a second to reply, squinting at you as if you’ve asked the most ridiculous quest from him.
“i don’t have to answer you.” he settles on finally, arms coming to rest behind his head to make himself comfortable on the very uncomfortable playground tower. you scoff, jabbing a finger into his side.
“lame.”
he twitches at the contact, opening one eye to glare at you, “don’t do that.”
you live for the challenge, quickly jabbing him a second time at the perfectly prompted opportunity.
“or what?”
he closes his eye back and shrugs, “you’ll see.”
he can sense the energy radiating off of you, eating the opposition out of the palm of his hand and feels you pull back to jab him again. he catches your wrist instead, one eye opening to stare.
“you don’t listen, huh?”
you don’t reply, going to make another move with your other hand, but he’s far quicker than you, grabbing it effortlessly and you huff at the idea of being caught so easily by him while he finally sits up to get a better grip. you glare upon this realization, testing to see just how much of a hold he has by pulling your arms towards you. he doesn’t budge, snickering at the failed attempt.
“i warned you-” he starts to say, triumphant in this affair and ready to call himself the victor -
but you’re moving instead, setting yourself in his lap with both knees at his side and letting the hands he was still holding find place between the two of you.
“warned me?” you continue for him, prompting him to actually look at you and he for once understands how hakkai can get so fucking shellshocked talking to women because fuck. he opens his mouth to reply, to say anything that doesn’t leave him looking like a fish gasping for air but no words leave his lips and the way you’re looking at him is not helping.
your eyes scan over his face, head tilting slightly while you wait for a reply.
“i . . .” he’s barely able to get out a sound, almost choking when one of your hands cups his face. when did you let go of his hand? how did he not feel it-
“you’re so pretty, baji.” your other hand meets his other cheek, and baji thinks surely he’s died and gone to heaven. in absolute, pure bliss at the smallest feeling of your touch. your breath hits his lips and he swallows hard at just how close you are to him.
“what are you doing to me?” he whispers, words leaving his mouth faster than he can stop them.
you glance down to his lips, thumbs rubbing his cheek bones and he thinks he could melt into your touch. you lean forward, and baji finds himself closing his eyes and leaning in too, ready to savor the taste of you -
you press a kiss to his forehead instead, and baji’s fingers flex in his lap at the idea that maybe he’s been reading into this too much. with you sitting comfortable in his lap and his ass aching with no support from the floor, he thinks this is truly all to make him suffer. maybe for driving so recklessly, maybe for flicking you in the forehead, maybe for ruining whatever relationship you had with your parents.
his hands find purchase on your waist, relishing in the small baji that falls off of your lips before he’s pressing his own to yours. it’s clumsy, the way he kisses you, lips barely missing your own and hitting your top lip, but he’s quick to correct himself.
when he finally leans away, you chase him, hands attempting to keep him in place for more. your eyes open with a pout, desperate to continue.
“wasn’t done,” you mumble breathlessly, looking back down to his lips. he grins, licking his teeth.
“like me that much, huh?”
“just the way you kiss,” you dismiss, giving a quick peck to his nose before he has time to argue about what you say, “you’re okay, i guess.”
☰
the floor of the playground is cold against your back.
at the top, where you sat in baji's lap and shared your first kiss. your first real moment showing him how you felt about him. at the top, where baji pulled you impossibly closer, until all you could breath was him, all you could taste was him.
⠀ —when hakkai busting his bike leaves him stranded and vulnerable, both at the hands of public transportation and a girl who can't take a hint.
⠀ or
⠀ — two virgins who lack any social skills are forced to share the same bus route.
⚠︎ fem!reader, no referring pronouns used, hakkai and you are so terribly fucking awkward, lot's of sillies.
MONDAY MAY 2ND, 2006.
what was it about public transportation that was so god damn confusing? i mean, sure, the concept is simple, find the bus you wanna get on and you know, get on it.
until you take into consideration all the factors in between which, for everyone's sake, i won't bore you with. save for two.
not only had you deemed public transportation your sworn nemesis, but now you were battling it in a city you’d never stepped foot in.
actually, there was someone in a similar situation to you, also (temporarily) struck by the punishment hammer that was being forced to bus everywhere while his motorcycle was in the shop. the day you met hakkai shiba was the first day you had to take the bus to your new part-time job across town. you approached him while he leaned lazily against a sign, displaying a small cartoon bus with a number inside it.
“um— excuse me?” hakkai felt his bones go stiff at the feminine voice that called to him.
“sorry to bother you, i was just wondering, uh, is this the bus that go….”
he didn’t get to hear where you were trying to go as his brain did its absolute best to tune you out. meanwhile, you waited patiently for a response.
…a response that the tall boy in front of you was really taking his time preparing. all while he kept perfectly still and facing forward.
“…um—excuse me…?”
had he not heard you?
“…hello?”
was he just ignoring you? sure you understood not wanting to talk to someone, but a simple nod of his head would suffice, no?
“sorry— i just really need to know if this is the right stop to get on.”
hakkai didn’t move.
“um, i start at a new job in less than an hour? i can't really afford to get lost right now.” you chuckled uncomfortably, hoping to ease the tension.
nothing. it was as if you weren’t even there.
“…anything?”
nope.
“blink once for yes??”
your hands drop to your sides, all you received was more nothing. his eyes didn’t even twitch.
“i’m—i’m just gonna try the stop down the road.”
hakkai couldn’t bring himself to watch from his peripherals as you walked away from one of the most awkward situations of your teenage life.
away, and to the wrong bus stop.
TUESDAY MAY 3RD, 2006.
the next time hakkai saw you was actually the very next day, after your first encounter with him. around the same time, as well.
turns out, you and he would be sharing a bus route until the youngest shiba’s bike was fixed and ready for riding again.
lucky you!
you nearly threw yourself into the traffic beside you when the same guy from yesterday was back at the stop. the stop you learned the hard way was actually the right one.
you trudged up beside him, leaving an awkward distance between you while he was sitting on the bench, and you opted for standing to the side of it.
“…sooo, turns out this was actually my stop, haha.”
you desperately tried to talk to him again, hoping to prove to yourself that he wasn’t really ignoring you as bad as you’d hoped the day before.
he didn’t answer.
“i um— got on the wrong bus yesterday. ended up all the way in roppongi? i think that’s what it was called, anyway.”
answer. say literally anything oh my god i’m begging you.
“pretty cool area, i'd never been before. silver lining, right?”
you turn to look at him, he’s pale as a ghost.
“youuu uh, ever been? to roppongi?”
….no response ever came. you clear your throat.
“awesome, cool, cool.”
this was gonna be a long week.
WEDNESDAY MAY 4TH, 2006.
back at the bus stop you stood, almost shoulder to shoulder with the same boy who you tried almost everything to pry a word out of the last two days.
tuesday night it dawned on you, what if he just…couldn’t hear you? maybe he had some kind of hearing impairment! it would be pretty shitty to assume he was just blatantly ignoring you if that was the case, so, wednesday afternoon you tried again.
“um, hey.”
you looked beside you to the stone face that was becoming unfortunately familiar. he didn’t answer.
so, like any sane person would do, you poked his arm.
hakkai audibly gulped, but continued to keep his eyes on the scenery in front of him.
“…hello? anyone home?”
you poked him again. hakkai started to sweat rather profusely. it was a good thing he couldn’t see the way your brow furrowed at the physical cues that he indeed did know you were there.
“okay, what gives? are you just like– really not talkative or something?”
you’re a fool for waiting patiently for some kind of acknowledgement. hakkai was frozen in place.
“...seriously? nothing? not even telling me to shut up or– or leave you alone or something??”
you stomped your way in front of him, and finally reached a hand up to wave it in front of his face.
“just one word! one word and i'll never speak to you again. swear it.”
hakkai, to everyone’s surprise, didn’t move, his eyes dead set straight. the waving and begging went on until your bus came to a screeching stop behind you.
maybe tomorrow.
THURSDAY MAY 5TH, 2006.
hakkai truly was beginning to mourn having an unlimited form of private transportation. not only did he hate the crowded seats of the bus, or quickly grow tired of the schedules ruining his chance to stay with his friends or gang members late that week, but hakkai had also convinced himself you were one more day away from just deciding to punch him square in the gut.
you absolutely were, by the way.
it’s not that he didn’t feel bad, but c'mon! anyone who knew him knew that yuzuha was the only girl he could talk to, it wasn’t anything against you personally.
it also didn't help that, you too, were completely socially inept. i mean, who keeps trying to make conversation with someone after finding out they’ve been actively ignoring them? anyone else would have just, y'know, moved along.
you being pretty, like, really pretty wasn’t helping his case much either, but he couldn’t bring himself to think about that for longer than a millisecond before he turned red.
thursday, you didn’t show up for the bus. hakkai waited, watching the side of the sidewalk you would normally arrive from, but you never showed.
which, in theory, should have been elating for him. it was a day where he could take a much needed breather, where he could comfortably arrive home without clammy hands or sweat beading down his neck.
it was…a little disappointing. not that hakkai necessarily enjoyed making a fool of himself (or shutting off all his senses to avoid that from happening,) but he couldn’t deny that your antics were… funny? to him? you were kind of an idiot, but in an endearing kind of way.
hakkai hoped to see you at the stop tomorrow.
FRIDAY MAY 6TH, 2006.
friday marked the end of the week, alongside the end of hakkai’s journey as someone who regularly relied on the public transport system. tomorrow morning, he would pick up his bike, and bring her back home where she belonged. balance would be restored.
you, however, were dreading leaving your home.
the day prior, you had the luxury of getting a ride to work from a friend, putting an ease to your mind and it’s swarm of thoughts regarding the very tall, very well sculpted, very pretty, very well kept–
the guy at the bus stop who wouldn’t pay any mind to your existence even if it meant his damn life was on the line.
he was an idiot, you were sure of it. not only was he stupid, he was rude! you ended up nearly stranded in another district because he couldn’t even spare you a nod of his head!
who cared that he was pretty? who cared that he had some of the best bone structure you’d ever seen in person, or that he was already standing at 183 cm at an age you assumed couldn’t be far from your own? he sucked!
…okay you cared. you had a thing for him. it was utterly humiliating. all you had done was run around poking (literally) and prodding at him for the last week, all because you didn’t know how to properly say “hey, i wanna talk to you!” or “hey, why are you ignoring me?”
that, and the curiosity of what could be causing him to pay such little attention to you was genuinely driving you up the wall. you digress. today, you would make it right.
you finally arrived, i shouldn't have to mention where by now, and were relieved to see the familiar blue buzz-cut. relieved alongside cursing god for making it so you actually had to speak to him again. you slowly took your spot to his left.
“...hey, um–”
you played with the strap of your bag.
“sorry if i’ve been on your nerves or anything this week, realised i was bein’ kinda overbearing.” you chuckled and looked up at him, not surprised at the lack of feedback.
“i just moved here? and everything has been going pretty south for me, but i didn't mean to take it out on you or anything.”
hakkai’s jaw was clenched, but staying true to himself, he didn’t answer.
“anyway, sorry again. hope the rest of your day goes alright.”
hakkai clenched his fists together, sucked in the deepest breath he thought he'd ever taken, and before the bus rounded the street corner, he spoke.
“..sh..ba…h..kai…” it was shaky, and it was spoken through his tightly clenched teeth, but he managed.
“...p–pardon?” you did your best to keep your eyes from widening and having your shock spread across your face, but it was a feeble attempt. hakkai turned his head in the opposite direction, away from you.
“..shiba…hakkai..” he mumbled again, but the second time was thankfully more clear.
it quickly became your turn to stare straight ahead of you, unable to form some kind of answer in your head. you had been so damn talkative before, too.
the bus came to a rusty stop in front of the two of you. only then, were you able to mutter your name in response to him. one painful week later, you finally had an introduction.
maybe hakkai would keep taking the bus home even after picking up his bike. only sometimes, though. baby steps.
tags/cw. MDNI, established relationship, pwp, smut, AFAB reader, oral (fem receiving), fingering, sub-ish!shinichiro, dub-con voyeurism, p in v, reader wears a dress but thats about it really!
a/n. based on a dress i really wanted but did not buy, im still mourning it ngl :,) ya'll should've seen it, it was so silky and beautiful and lovely and and- anyway this is the second or third smut ive ever written so pls be kind TT
m.list ˖ tags ˖ byi/dni
“You look so pretty with it,” he breathed out, letting his forehead rest against yours in a desperate attempt to keep himself upwards. The buttery texture of the silk against his fingers made him gulp. The way the fabric fell down your body, touching your skin in ways he craved to do as well lit a fire inside of him he seemed to be unable to put out.
You sighed in satisfaction, toes curling in excitement as his calloused hands trailed up your legs, bunching the fabric of your dress until he reached your hips.
His hands were warm, they made you shiver as his thumbs played with the lace on the hem of your underwear. He would pretend to dip his fingers, waiting for you to sigh in relief before pulling away, subjecting you to the same gruelling teasing he was often the victim of.
“Keep it on for me, please.” He begged, words fueled by the unquenchable thirst prompted just by experiencing you.
You bit your lip to hide the whine bubbling in your throat, fervently nodding as his hands ghosted over your panties, teasing your clit by applying gentle pressure with one of his knuckles. “Just be careful with it.”
He hummed in response, whispering a needy thank you before he gave you a quick peck, followed by another and another, pulling giggles from the two of you.
Time seemed to slow down as you watched him kneel before you, eyes blown with lust and hunger, looking up at you like you were his last meal.
Once again, you fervently nodded as he wordlessly asked for permission to pull your panties down, nudging your waist with his nose while, once again, playing with the hem.
He hooked his fingers over the lace, pulling on it and letting go, making you flinch in satisfaction and conjuring another whine from you. Every sound that fell from your lips only served to further his desire, dick hardening inside his pants as he desperately held back the urge to rut against your body.
Giving a kiss to your clit over the fabric followed by a tentative lick, he basked in the grip you had on his hair. Soft yet commanding, even in the position you were in you guided him wherever you wanted, and he followed with no complaints.
He gave your clothed core one last kiss, gently sucking at the covered nub before peeling the soaked fabric from your skin, with a gentle grip on your calf as he helped you get it completely off.
“Fuck, you're dripping.” He sighed in contentment, licking his lips as one of his fingers toyed with your entrance, collecting your wetness before sucking on his digit, groaning in delight. “You taste so good.”
Slowly, he gave your pussy another tentative lick, taking his time to savour your arousal and letting it pool on his tongue. Moving upwards, one of his hands kept your hips still, glued against the wall as he sucked on your clit. His other hand made their way back to your entrance, two digits curling upwards the moment they had sunk inside your walls. He let your moans wash over him, basking on the indirect price before speaking
“You're so good to me,” his breath tickled your sensitive skin, making your hips stutter in his hold. “Can feel you squeezing my fingers”
The closer you pulled him in, the more enjoyment he got out of eating you out, Eagerly lapping at your juices. Feeling the way you desperately rutted against his face, tongue permanently enveloped by the taste of you, with his nose buried against your skin along with his fingers deep inside your cunt; it only made him up his rhythm.
“Shin I–“ your voice cracked, unable to hold back the moan that ripped from your throat. The man kneeling in front of you hummed in acknowledgement, patting the side of your thigh so you could rest his leg over his shoulder. He needed you impossibly closer. “Shin, if you don’t stop, I'm gonna– Aah! Fuck, Shin, you're gonna make me cum.”
“Cum then.” He mumbled, the sound muffled as he continued with his ministrations, effortlessly licking and sucking, hitting all the right spots as if he had them memorised. “‘Need you to cum on my face.”
Your pussy clenched around his fingers at his words and the grip you had on his hair simultaneously tightened. With the leg he had placed/thrown over his shoulder, you pulled him closer, making him groan.
“I’m–“ you whimpered, interrupting yourself as your mouth went dry, your thighs quivering. Your shoulders sagged against the wall, head lolling to the side as your breath tried to even itself out. His own breathless pants added to the blissful sensation, puffs of air warm against your sensitive clit.
A lazy smile stretched on your face while you brushed your hand through his messy locks, taking in the sight of his cheek pressing against your inner thigh, skin flushed and overly warm, making a few strands of his hair stick to his forehead. He hummed in satisfaction as he willingly melted at your warmth, like he had been the one tipped over the edged
“That was good right?” He asked, voice buttery and laced with buzzing ease. He looked up at you through lidded doe eyes, the corners of his lips curling upwards into a soft smile. His pretty black orbs glistened along with his puffy lips under the dimmed lights in your bedroom. the more you kept looking at them the more you wanted to get a taste of you directly from his tongue.
You raked your fingers through his hair once again, basking in the way he melted against your touch, before you gently pulled on the strands, motioning him upwards.
Now standing, he rested his forehead against yours and you let the puffs of air leaving his lips caress your skin. His chest rose and fell in tandem with your own heartbeat, and for a moment you swore you could feel his desperation cursing down through your bloodstream.
The neediness he embodied was otherworldly, letting his body speak not through words but through its motions. And it was there, mere inches from a kiss, that you finally let out a previously contained whimper, mumbling ‘so good, you're so good’ with as much need of your own, before the two of you were crashing against each other in a synchronised yet desperate rhythm.
Hands everywhere, scrunching fabric and pulling it off while simultaneously trying to get a hold of every inch of skin available to the touch. The two of you could barely contain the muffled giggles at each other's clumsiness. But You couldn’t help it, just existing so close to Shinichiro felt like another brand of honey-like sweetness you couldn't describe.
He was quick to peel your underwear off your body, helping you step out of the garment before he worked on the zipper of his jeans; the strain of his pants had become too much for him, causing an uncomfortable yet pleasurable friction against his clothed member that almost forced a moan out of him once he pulled them off.
Pearlescent beads of precum dribbled down the reddened tip. He was drooling all for you, and it took all of your willpower not to get down on your knees and clean him up with your tongue. The two of you had other plans for the night, which you were quickly reminded of as he pressed his dick against your bare pussy, letting the tip press against your nub before dragging it downwards to your entrance, over and over again until the two of you were covered in a mess of both of your juices.
“Stop teasing,” you pressured through a shaky breath. By now, your head had settled in the crook of his neck, giving you the perfect view of your bodies sliding against each other. The sight in front of you forced you to swallow down a whimper, shutting your eyes close as the head nudged the hood of your clit.
“I– I can’t–” He panted, cheeks turning darker as he stumbled with the moan brewing inside his throat. “It feels so– so good like this I can’t stop.”
“C’mon Shin,” it was your turn to whine. It was unusual for your boyfriend to lose himself in his own pleasure, preferring to put yours over his any day. But whenever it happened, it was almost like his mind emptied itself until the only prevailing thought was to cum. “You always look so pretty inside of me, don’t you wanna see?”
He nodded desperately, biting down on his bottom lip with enough force to break the supple skin. If it weren’t for you putting pressure against it, you think he would’ve. And to your satisfaction, he let your finger enter his mouth without resistance, pulling you as close as possible before lining up against your entrance.
At that exact moment he swore he could cum solely from the pressure of his tip being wrapped around your sticky warmth, one of his hands pressing against the wall to keep himself upright. Everything around him felt too good to be real, and for less than a couple of seconds his brain seemed to have deluded itself into believing he was actually dreaming. Almost angelical, you looked so beautiful, so pretty taking his cock inch by inch until he had fully sheathed himself inside.
You wrapped your leg around his waist at the intrusion, the silky material of the dress scrunching against your waist and adding to the heightened sensation. His whole existence was permeated with a thick layer of want. You could feel it in his touch, his breath, his whimpers. You could feel it sizzling as you left wet kisses behind his ear and down his neck. You could feel it whenever his hips stutter inside of you, fighting against his own will to maintain a constant rhythm.
Nudging his cheek with your nose, you grabbed his face with your hand to keep him steady for a couple of seconds, leaving a couple of pecks on his lips and giggling along with him whenever he tried to sloppily kiss you back.
“More,” you mumbled, “‘want more.”
And like the good boyfriend he was, he followed through.
Almost like drunk in you, he quickened his pace like his only goal was to make you feel good. Two of his slender fingers made their way towards your clit, ghosting over where you needed them the most and waiting for you to whine before he started rubbing soft circles over it.
The squelching noises of both your bodies were borderline pornographic; louder and louder with which thrust and groan and whimper. And like you had mentioned, and in spite of the word sounding out of place within the confinements of your shared obscenity, the view of him inside of you was beyond pretty.
Or at least, that’s what Wakasa thought while he fisted his own cock, peering from behind the thin strip that had been left ajar; by mistake or not, he didn’t care, it was all for him to observe.
"a little bird told me," this conversation is off to an awful start already, "that he has a crush on you."
"japan has around a population of sixty-one million males, i do not fucking know who this he is, kokonoi."
you're greeted with his tongue peeking out, and a hand drawing another card. "if you lose this game of poker i'll tell you."
"i could not care less," plus, you also have a pretty good set of cards. "plus, what kind of bet is that?"
kokonoi hums, "the type you're meant to lose."
".. were we not playing black jack?"
you both turn to the scarred blonde on the other side of the table.
"no, inupi," his voice is gentle, something tells you koko is used to this exact scenario.
needless to say, you lost.
"shiba hakkai." the name slips as you're shuffling the deck again.
"who?"
"the boss's youngest brother."
"i repeat my question, who?"
koko looks down at his phone, the latest on the market. "whenever we go visit their house he can't ever get his eyes off you."
"maybe i need to rephrase the question: why do i care?"
kokonoi shrugs, then slips a comment about how you'll die alone otherwise. that earns him a slap to the back of his head.
and yet you find yourself at the shiba residence that same night, ringing on the doorbell. the boss was having a meeting somewhere across town, and last you heard from inupi (seasoned stalker), their younger sister was not home either.
so it's to no one's surprise when it is shiba hakkai to open the door.
you find yourself repeating kokonoi's words. it's what you do best. "a little bird told me you have a crush on me."
hakkai looks ahead, acting as if you're not even there.
a match made in the deepest circle of hell, for you're a loser with no social awareness either. "it's in my best interest i act on this, we will be having a date tomorrow."
hakkai says not a single word.
"i'll come pick you up, it's what good suitors do, i've been told."
hakkai is sweating.
"be ready at eight," you scour your memory for things you've heard your friends say. anything to help you bag this man. "and wear something.. hot." you sound very unsure of your own words.
(needless to say, you should really stop repeating everything kokonoi says).
the vibration and quiet chime of the cell phone to your left pulled you abruptly from the warm embrace of sleep that had just begun to seep into your bones. the crack in the window allowed the night air to overtake the room, leaving a chill across your skin. falling asleep on top of your duvet left one bare and alone to fight against the fall temperature. the sun having taken rest from your corner of the world didn’t exactly aid in providing any warmth either.
sleepily reaching and feeling around for the small device that had disrupted you, your eyes squinted against the harsh light suddenly blasting your pupils, vision blurring and spotting as they took the extra couple seconds to adjust.
with a huff out your nose and to the count of 3 in your head, out of bed you rolled. you rubbed at your eyes, a feeble attempt at getting them to refocus in the dark as you walked to the window to pull back the curtains. lo and behold, ran haitani was parked just outside, lazily leaning over his bike's handlebars. he gave the engine a rev when you made eye contact. loser.
making little haste, letting ran get just that much more chilly while he waited as a punishment for waking you up, you grabbed your coat and made your way out your front door. your hands fumbled with the keys a little in the darkness when locking the door.
ran watched as you trotted over to him, sitting up while that signature smirk of his came into your view.
“were you sleepin?”
an odd way of saying hello, haitani.
“how could you tell?”
ran kicked a leg over his seat to turn and face you, opening a perfect spot for you to stand just between his thighs. muscle memory did what it does best and brought his hands to their rightful spot on each of your hips. his thumbs teased the hem of your shirt, dipping underneath to rub your skin with uncharacteristic delicacy. his grin melted into one of fondness when your hands also found their place holding his biceps.
“cow lick.” he tilted his head up to gesture at the bump of hair on the side of your head you’d been laying down on.
your right hand quickly abandoned its post to smack his shoulder and smooth out said hair— hair he hadn’t given you time to brush. it was his doing. deliberately. absolutely.
ran’s chest shook with a low chuckle, moving to help fix the area of frizz.
“what are you doin’ here?” you asked once satisfied with your hair. ran’s hand fell back down to your waist, drawing your body closer to his inch by inch.
“so i need a reason to come ‘n see you now? can’t just stop by to see yer pretty face?”
“no. a reason for waking me up might be nice, though.”
his braids swayed as he shook his head. through wispy eyelashes and heavy eyelids ran studied you, losing himself in the alleviating quiet that came alongside silent admiration. apparently, he was lost in it long enough to warrant you cocking your head to the left and pinching his cheek to gain his attention.
“quit staring at me like a weirdo.”
ran’s chest rumbled again, the chuckle slipping past his lips.
“can’t help it, try and quit bein’ so nice to stare at.”
before you could conjure up a response to continue any sort of banter, the hands on your hips pulled you forwards, and a pair of lips caught your own. ran grinned when he felt your hands slide up his arms to hold his jaw, welcoming your cold palms against his skin, and his front teeth nearly knocked against your own.
he held you there for as long as he could, against him, balancing on his bike, fog from hot breaths between kisses puffing into the air for as long as he could. it was only brought to an end because you remembered that, despite the late hour, you were in the middle of the street.
ran chased your lips once you’d pulled away, a thumb on the corner of his mouth gently pushing him back.
“you know, you still haven’t told me what you’re doing here.” he gave a melodramatic huff, rolling his eyes. ran haitani, ever the drama queen.
“i told you, i just wanted ta see ya. don’t need a reason other than that, pretty.”
ran threw a leg back over his bike, pushing the keys into the ignition and letting the engine come to life with a roar.
“‘m hungry, get on. we can hit the convenience store up the road.”
you squinted at him.
“i’ll buy you anything you want.”
you squinted more.
“and i’ll carry the bag.”
okay now come on, who would say no to that?
you quickly hopped onto the bike behind him, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist and wasting no time nuzzling into his scarf. for someone so lanky, he was surprisingly huggable.
“you know me so well, haitani.”
ran patted your thigh with the hand not holding his clutch, the wheels beginning to roll underneath you as you took off.
do u think if i chopped rindou into little pieces and put him through a meat grinder it would kill him or would he just become a really mediocre hamburger
❝ SYNOPSIS : with enough heat, even the most resilient materials will eventually reach their melting point.
❝ CONTENT : can be read as kmg or bonten sanzu, reverse comfort, fluff (?), sad sanzu
❝ NOTE : this is self indulgent i just want 2 hold him
haruchiyo “sanzu” akaashi did not cry.
haruchiyo “sanzu” akaashi was vicious, he was cold, a merciless man who came with an unmistakable red warning label.
yet this haruchiyo “sanzu” akaashi, deep beneath his long crafted exterior of titanium had his last fragile shard of humanity guarded like his own personal crown jewel.
yet no matter how durable, when heated up enough, even the thickest and most resilient metals had their melting points, and in a world where a metaphorical matchstick was held without rest to those unbreakable walls he’d spent so long building up, they too would reach theirs.
haruchiyo must have been a saint in his past life to be as terrible of man as he was and still somehow have someone to cool him down when he began to disintegrate.
when sanzu had turned up at your home, clock pushing 3am and the city long turned silent, your chilled hands against his skin was the unparalleled remedy to his bubbling, boiling blood.
sanzu laid in your arms; his only source of comfort when he was teetering on the edge of being smelted down completely, leaving a puddle of tears on the skin of your shoulder, breath hitching everytime he inhaled to keep a quiet sob down his throat. you didn’t know what exactly was wrong, nor if there was anything specific at all causing him anguish. it wasn’t the right time to ask.
without words you brought him into your bedroom, helped him out of his jacket and did your best to smooth out the mess that his hair had become, laid down beside him while he clung to you like you were the last lifeline he had. in retrospect, you probably were.
haruchiyo needed you as much as you did him. though his methods of showing it were far from traditional, you were his relief; his IV drip of fentanyl rushing through his bloodstream, the oxygen mask held to his nose that finally allowed him to breathe while his entire life mimicked a terrible hospital visit.
you played with and stroked the hair around his face, pushing it back and out of his eyes, you tenderly ran your thumbs over his damp cheeks, making sure to avoid the dry, scarred skin at the corners of his mouth (he didn’t like that part of his face touched— not that you would go poking at it anyway.)
he was warm against you, but not dangerously so. your touch was always the exact amount of refreshment he needed. in contrast, the way you kissed the top of his head and knew exactly what he needed without him needing to say it had him wanting to melt all over again. it made you wonder how someone could go from so crazed, to so delicate.
after what felt like hours— what probably was hours, sanzu finally spoke, his voice just loud enough for you to hear the hoarseness of it. you could feel his breath against the skin of your collarbone, but his words didn’t quite find your ears.
“hm? what’d you say?”
your volume matched his initial one. sanzu felt his heart cramp at how gentle you were with him, someone who was usually so brash. he spoke again, just barely louder than the first time, but this time the words found you easily.
what is sanzu to do when his waging rampage is met with a boot to the face? answer's simple: wag his tail.
⠀⠀⚠︎⠀⠀bordering on dark! graphic descriptions of blood, violence, suggestive themes, like one sex scene if u squint, y'know how it goes. ooc sanzu because idfk either. like 4.8k words.
“i’m not your superior, haruchiyo,” tensions rise with a simple roll of the tongue. the waters have been tested, they seem to be riddled with piranhas. “yet, i can’t say im loving this death stare of yours.”
if you’re not careful, he might just eat you alive. sanzu is not above murder, if your forerunner is anything to go by. his stare is cold, calculating, mapping out your body of weak points.
“manjiro tasked me with you, but i’m not a babysitter.” that got half his attention, the mention of mikey piquing his interest. “my job is to make sure you’re useful to him.”
like food thrown to a starving animal, his full focus now preys on you.
sanzu has beautiful eyes, you notice. they widen at your words in utter disbelief. perhaps he’s a sleeper agent, ‘sano manjiro’ being the only whisper necessary to kick him into overdrive.
sanzu is an exquisite asset, isn’t he?
ever the shrewd character, you’re quick to notice his change of nature isn’t desperate. sanzu haruchiyo is not some helpless schoolgirl chasing after manjiro. there’s layers, a bond that transcends time itself.
he is loyal, just not valuable enough; and that breeds desperation.
“useful—” sanzu clears his throat, “useful how?”
he can’t remember the next minute very well.
the first two seconds he wastes time blinking, the fourth is spent in a panic—you’re no longer within his field of vision. mark the fifteenth second, you reappear. one moment you were staring him down, sitting on piled up boxes, the next you’re beside him.
at the twentieth, his instincts go into overdrive. there’s no escaping the inevitable now.
sanzu is agile. sufficiently lithe to brace for impact before you slam him into the wall. his ears ring, and there’s warm liquid seeping out of his ear. he’s agile enough to survive a hit from you, perhaps that’s better than most.
the alleway starts to spin, and the remainder of the minute is spent trying to stay afloat. it’s useless though, soon enough his legs give out and he kisses the ground hello.
there’s a sizeable dent in the concrete where you absolutely smashed him into. it reeks of danger—thrill.
“am i gonna have to teach you manners, too?” you click your tongue. “you live up to the fame, aren’t you the cutest rabid mutt?”
sanzu feels your fingers on his chin. he can’t fight back against the grip, not when he can’t tell if there’s really two of you or if that’s the work of a concussion. “rule number one, haruchiyo. you only speak when it’s something worth wasting breath on.”
he’s going limp. “is that clear?”
in all the two minutes he’s known you for, sanzu’s learned better than to go against your word. or words, he’s starting to hear double.
“yes.”
you make a mental note of his impeccable survival instinct. “good.”
RULE NO. 2: do as you’re told.
“you’ve already ditched the mask once, i don’t know why you backtracked on it.”
sanzu remains motionless. your voice may as well have been a specter the way it goes ignored. and yet, his actions (or lack thereof) are not countered with another pummel on the drywall.
your line of work dictates a healthy dose of studying enigmas. speech, actions—none speak louder than the subconscious fidgets that compose body language. sanzu’s straightened back, clasped hands behind, and distant, firm gaze communicate enough.
he’s awaiting approval to voice his thoughts.
and that earns him another mouthful of dirt.
“i’m not your superior, haruchiyo. did i really need to repeat myself?” he looks helpless on the ground, breathing a string of curses into existence at the strain of his muscles.
his hands curl into the ground below, nearly pulling out the grass within his grip in frustration.“no, there was no need.”
sanzu does try to get up, overworking the already-sore body left from your strenuous training. (why you were expecting him in his kitchen first thing in the morning, only to drag him out to do fucking burpees, he’ll never know).
however, once again, his efforts are fruitless. muscles fail to respond, and sanzu is left to lay on the ground. pathetic. the sudden pressure on the back of his head doesn’t allow for much struggle either. it’s heavy, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that’s your boot on him.
there’s not much left for sanzu than to succumb to your weight. it’s not pleasant, not in the slightest. nothing about impotence is.
“i’m going to make you into the best right-hand man. you’ll follow some rules, but you’re free to act however you wish. i’m not-”
“my superior.”
that seems to please you.
sanzu breathes a sigh of relief when your footing no longer uses him as floor. he dares peek at the sky, but your figure blocks the sun from blinding his eyes. so why does he squint, still? your sole presence burns just as fiery.
“this is the second rule. if you plan to become useful,” suddenly he’s listening closely, attentive. “then you best honor commands, right now they’ll come from me, soon they’ll be your precious king’s own.”
sanzu bites back a scoff, draws blood from his cheek to cut any rash thoughts short. he could do this all by himself. obedience runs deep within his veins, preaches every demand as a devoted knight would to a throne; no different than a sunflower in pursuit of sustenance light years away.
he doesn’t need you.
“i understand.” so why does he follow you, no second questions asked?
a smile blesses him from the depths of hell, though your eyes don’t squint in the slightest. scary. you raise a finger to your cheek, tapping the skin twice.
sanzu proceeds to discard the black face mask without a single word of protest. it makes your lips stretch farther up.
the same boot crushing his head mere minutes ago nudges his body, sanzu now lies on his back. there’s no escape from your words, stare ever so omnipotent. “the difference between mucho and i is simple.”
is it? you’re both equally sliceable, nothing more than cartilage and bone. maybe next time you make an appearance he’ll cut you into pieces.
regardless, you’re slippery (maybe the polarity lies in that, sanzu muses). you stood proud one second, the next make of his abdomen a seat, cold hands cupping his face like he’s fine china and you, an avid collector.
“i love my hounds as they come,” you get closer, dangerously so. “snarly, scarred—they’re all the same to me.”
turquoise eyes are left to watch his destiny play before him. snap his neck, take a bite out his neck and tear the skin apart, anything could go with you.
“let’s change the second rule, haruchiyo.”
sanzu‘s breathing rags, your hands increase the pressure, and you might go for the alternative of crushing his head like a can. effortlessly.
“rule number two, you do as you’re told, but my word comes above everyone else's.”
your fingers travel north past his cheekbones, resting just below his eyes. he’s alert. you wonder what kind of canine would quiver the same way he does right now.
“is that understood?”
woof. “yes.”
RULE NO. 17: if you’re not useful, you’re out.
“don’t you get fuckin’ tired?” sanzu all but groans, drop of sweat joining the hundreds more pooling down his shirt. “surely sittin’ around while i do all the damn work wears you out.”
his words are poison, the katana in his hands is deadly, and yet, you giggle. “nah, keep doing your thing.”
there’s a fleeting thought to ditch this fight and have your head instead. although admittedly, he’d rather learn some spanish before fleeing to nicaragua with your body in five different plastic bags.
another nameless thug lunges, and it makes for another squirming body on the ground. “when you said we’d be taking care of business i thought you meant toman business.”
you know, mikey business?
sanzu bites his tongue after the sentence rolls out his mouth. as much as you’d grown accustomed to his character, he’d be sure to join the rest of motionless, bleeding goons if he disrespects you.
“toman’s dead, lost cause.”
that makes him stop the slashing. “fuck’s that mean?”
you’re satisfied with the fight for the evening, glock in hand shooting the last of targets. one bullet per head, not a single wasted. “we’re here on business to make sure there’s a place for you in the close future. bills are also due this week, two birds, one stone, yeah?”
“elaborate, “ sanzu actually growls.
“haruchiyo.”
the calling of his name makes sanzu’s shoulders roll back, back straightening out. it’s reflex now, really.
“tokyo manji is child’s play, you can’t possibly think i’m training you for them, right?”
“no, of course not,” what are you hiding? what do you really know?
your boot steps on too many limbs to reach his position, fresh blood joins the old on your sole. “correct! you’re so smart!”
sanzu misses his face mask. with it, you would be oblivious to his sneer when your hand comes up to ruffle his hair. it’s demeaning, probably intentional on your end. makes him seriously reconsider whether you’d look best with a sword through your chest.
“if you complete your training well-enough you could rule tokyo.” your eyes bore holes into his own. “wouldn’t you say all of kantou is more appealing?”
“sure?”
you turn away from him. sanzu can finally stop holding his breath.
“you don’t sound too convinced, haruchiyo.” only a fool would fall for your fake distress and pouty face. you’ve lost your stoic facade—deep down you’re but a childish merc with enough brute force to rival an elephant.
two fingers are raised over your shoulder, follow.
“i’m only interested in-”
“manjiro, i know.” you’d heard this story a thousand times. mikey, mikey, mikey. “and what’s gonna happen when he starts going for bigger fish? delinquency is a slippery slope into the world of crime—a rich one, too.”
sanzu can hardly picture mikey, in all his glory, waving a gun around. “you don’t know anything about him.”
you stop in your tracks.
he stops too, a good meter from you.
“this isn’t about tokyo manji, it’s about sano manjiro.”
“they’re one in the same,” sanzu bites back. you’re not his superior, he can do as he wishes.
“haruchiyo,” your gaze is cold. “sit.”
he kneels, swallows his pride for the hundredth time.
the abandoned warehouse breathes death and rot. there’s barely moonlight dropping from the ceiling to light his path of carnage. whatever job this was had nothing to do with mikey. it makes sanzu boil over with rage. you’re wasting his time.
“what good are you to toman if there’s no mikey?” you step closer, sanzu leans forward to meet your hands. they’re cold, caressing the diamonds carved by the latter. “how are you going to serve if you’re useless?”
he avoids your stare. “i am useful.”
one of your hands moves from his cheek to stroke his hair, gently freeing the locks from his ponytail. “you are, look around.”
sanzu can distinguish around four men crawling for their life, the rest a mess of broken bones and mangled slashes. “if mikey needs to take a life, you’ll be more than prepared to strike.”
he thinks back on mucho. the thrill that kill brought him made it hard to function the rest of the day. now it’s second nature; sanzu bites and rips apart with no hesitation, takes life as if it was never there to begin with.
“listen, haruchiyo,” your hands are clean from all ichor, and he hates how good they feel on his scalp. “think of it like a mechanism.”
eyelashes flutter prior to closing, isolating his sense of sight to fully indulge in the rest. the smell of blood, sound of your analogy, a gentle caress on his face making him wish he didn’t enjoy it as much. sanzu wishes you were dead.
“a machine with bolts, springs and wheels, synced together, with purpose.”
he pictures a shrine, lost in the midst of a sea of faceless pawns. fifth farthest from commander, or founder. he pictures kids playing; a toy plane; the first command he’s ever received—he knows things are meant to be.
“those who can't be a cog in our wheels are just scraps.”
as with any commandment you dictate, sanzu engraves the saying in his mind. carves each letter, memorizes every syllable, savors all implications.
“are you scrap, haruchiyo?”
“never.”
“good,” you coo, leaning down to graze his forehead with a kiss. the devil’s touch. “good.”
RULE NO. 99: know your place.
sanzu has come to the conclusion you’re a fucking parasite.
autumn witnessed development from cowering at our very presence, winter tied a ribbon to the unlikely friendship, and spring arrived with you at his doorstep every other day.
you’ve become the first thing he sees in the mornings (somehow you’re always dressed by the time his eyes flutter open, janking his blankets to drag him to train: “let’s go for a walk, haruchiyo!”)
every single evening would be devoid of any personal space. whether it’s his couch being invaded, to his kitchen becoming an absolute mess with whatever recipe you’re trying to put together. no, it’s not the thought that counts, even if the heart-shaped burnt cookies were for him anyway.
the nights were probably the worst.
sanzu had long-forgotten his closet being only halfway full, nor does he know when you had practically moved your entire wardrobe into his. there’s not enough space for the two of you, and he absolutely despises how everything smells like you now.
“haruchiyo, bathtub’s ready.”
you’ve somehow achieved the impossible by making bubble baths the worst thing he can come to think of. hates the thought of getting dragged to it, absolutely detests how he tosses and turns in bed whenever he doesn't have one with you.
there's a nice scented candle on the counter serving as the lone light source within his bathroom. an obscene amount of foam clings to your hand as you test the temperature. save for the swoosh of the water, it seems sanzu might be granted the miracle of having a relaxing moment of silence in his bubble bath.
you stand, "turn around, 'm taking these off."
never fucking mind.
begrudgingly, sanzu complies. he starts to discard of his own clothes, too. his hands barely make it to the hem of his shirt before a piece of fabric lands perfectly on his head. god, you're gonna make him pop a vein.
"i'd love for you to not throw your underwear at me," sanzu has half the mind not to throw them back at you, opting for hooking a finger in the undergarment and throwing it as far away as possible.
"my bad," you're not in the least sorry. the water is too perfect to dwell on past mistakes. "c'mon, chop chop."
soon his body enters the water too, bubbles parting way as his skin kisses the still water. sanzu leans back on your body, not minding in the slightest the feel of your naked skin against his own; your body warmth rivaling the water's own.
(okay, maybe he minds a little)
"isn't this nice?"
"no," sanzu doesn't miss a beat. "have i ever told you how much i hate you?"
a good amount of shampoo is combed through his scalp by your fingers, gently massaging the area. "a couple times, yes."
let's make it thrice then: "well, i really fuckin' hate you."
what's most thrilling about sanzu haruchiyo is the double-edged blade his persona holds. failure comes with crystal clear dangers of getting diced alive, success offers a never ending supply of amusement.
you push his head further into the water to rinse the shampoo off. there's no struggle from sanzu, you could very well drown him right now and there'd probably be no fight coming from him.
"you're seriously useless, i don't need you tellin' me what to do to appease mikey."
"close your eyes for me."
he follows your demand without missing a beat, basking in the water you pour on his face to rid the last bits of foam. "i want you dead."
early are the mornings your movement would be restricted by a pair of arms, late are the nights you'd walk home from a hit only to see his room's lights go off as soon as you enter the building.
"you gonna leave me to shrivel like i’m raisins? get on with it."
you reach for the soap, "aren't you needy, haruchiyo?"
sanzu groans, this would seem like the perfect moment for a meteor to strike his building. rather than feeding into your delusion he keeps quiet. it’s better than talking to the wall you are. teasing, threading the rope that is his patience for you.
hands travel across his skin, tending to it with soap that’s gonna leave sanzu reeking of your strawberry soap. “you’re funny, haruchiyo.”
it’s a shame there’s no sharp objects within his reach. “can’t wait for the day you slip and die.”
his half-empty threat procures a giggle from you. “see!”
“or the long fuckin’ awaited night you get stabbed and dumped in an alleyway.”
your laughter reverberates and bounces off the walls, and yet sanzu can’t tell if it’s sincere or genuine.
banter ends at that, and soon he is clean. though there’s no change in position to allow for sanzu to even attempt to wash you, too. strange as it is, the peace and quiet are both rare enough, perhaps the universe has been kind enough to grant him this one moment of silence.
“but really, you are funny — i get the impression you’re all bite no bark,” enough instances of carnage and gargling on metal could easily refute this observation. you don’t care. “you whine, cry, complain, and yet you never ask for anything.”
just this morning he asked you to do the dishes (which you never did: “can’t make me”). perhaps dementia was knocking on your door a good thirty years too early. however, it’s implied you're not referring to such superficial instances.
“haruchiyo,” your body draws him impossibly closer, “what is it you wish most for?”
he tilts his head back, leaning on your shoulder. the new position allows for a better view of your face. momentarily, perchance a slip of character, his eyes wander. glance at your lips, the bubbles hugging your body from his view, squint to see what the water hides. “hell if i know.”
a hum is enough reassurance that you won’t contest his blatant lie. “okay.”
a splish, splash, and overflowing water hitting the tile, sanzu is now the one kneading at your hair, soap lathering and cleaning. intimacy at its finest. delectable sweetness as you lean back, and take a nibble of his jugular. it earns you a pinch on your hip.
“say, you in the mood for a new addition to the rulebook?”
“not in the slightest.”
his honesty is met with a splash of water to his face, “too bad, take note.”
sanzu rolls his eyes, cost of opportunity heavy with regret since, of course, he forgot to carry a toaster into the bathroom to finally take you out.
“know your part wherever you are—learn when to be the hanged, and when to be executioner.”
it’s random. it’s ironic. “if we’re playin’ like that, then your authority’s worth jack shit to me.”
“is that so?”
once again, the question is left unanswered. hung and forgotten.
“i think your act and place should always be by my side” you muse. it’s custom you add a rule to the list and immediately reform it.
a phantom feeling tugs at his throat, like a collar being yanked. hands that operate under your every order move to rest on your thighs. underwater, there’s no hierarchy; nudity knows no ruler from subject. “and if i say no?”
“you won’t.”
a horrifying realization dawns on sanzu haruchiyo that night. as his fingers inch dangerously higher, and higher, as the water turns cold, carelessly splashing outside the bathtub. as his teeth sink everywhere and two become one, sanzu haruchiyo comes to a gut wrenching conclusion.
‘you won’t.’
it’s true. maybe words can’t ever describe what he wishes for, but it’s easy to cross out what he doesn’t want.
sanzu knows he doesn’t want to stop. doesn’t wish for your hand to ever release his bicep from that deathly grip, or for you to stop making those noises, nor does he want anything but your warmth once it’s all said and done.
sanzu knows he doesn’t wish for you to ever leave, and maybe that’s enough.
RULE NO. 275: forget everything i've taught you.
"..what?" sanzu is beyond confused.
"yeah, you're good to go, no need to follow anything i've said anymore."
the room was empty. manjiro had long since left, the eldest haitani had grown bored of your mongrel staring him down with every flirt he shot your way, and the rest of kantou manji had simply shown themselves out for their own various reasons that no one truly cares for.
the gears are still turning on his head, cerebrum working overtime to decipher the new mandate, or lack thereof? schrodinger's rulebook, perhaps?
“you look good in white, you know.” as if you hadn’t just nuked everything he’s ever known, you lean forward to adjust his collar. your favorite pretty boy, dearest psychopath. “let me tie your hair for you.”
“what the fuck do you mean?”
he hates the feigned confusion you present him with. hates the tilt of your head so much he actually unsheathes his katana, blade steady and barely a few inches from your neck. it further irritates him your obvious lack of response, not even a flinch.
any other day you’d play the clueless game, but there’s really no one paying you the hour anymore. “it was fun while it lasted, wasn’t it?”
“why are you acting like you’re,” sanzu bares his teeth, disgusted at just the thought of the word, “like you’re ditching?”
interesting phrasing. not ‘leaving,’ that would imply abandonment, a cry of weakness. ‘ditching’ pins blame from the moment it is vocalized, like whatever you’re doing, actions sanzu is still trying to decode, is irrevocably your fault.
steel kisses your neck, close enough to feel the cold, and the lack of wavering. you’re proud of haruchiyo, really. “gonna miss me?”
“you don’t leave a gang.” there’s the helpless child in disguise.
“manjiro took you in as vice,” you don’t bother with swatting the katana away, instead moving close enough to feel his hitched breath on your lips. arms thrown over his shoulders, fingers combing and threading to jail his locks into a ponytail. “i’d say my work is done.”
triads of protest die in his throat. shackles finally dissipate into thin air, long were the solstices he prayed for this day to come. yet sanzu feels himself floating away at the lack of grounding. he’s gonna be sick.
for once the silence is suffocating. overwhelming. unwelcome. the katana slowly scurries back into hiding, desperately like an animal rolling over to flaunt it’s belly; a last ditch effort of submission.
“aren’t you excited?”
he can finally kill you. he can finally roll over in bed and not find you there. he can finally return to being alone, and the strongest, and-
sanzu doesn’t do as he’s told.
“you finally have what you want.”
sanzu isn’t useful.
“you’ve been acknowledged.”
sanzu doesn’t know his place.
“you’re finally free.”
sanzu shoves you with enough force to stumble back onto the wide table in the meeting room, it’s surprising how it doesn’t shatter. there’s not enough time in a second to allow a reaction, not when he overpowers you for the second time, back slamming against the wood, sanzu’s body nestling between your legs. you can let him have this.
sanzu is stiff. he’s not used to being the one to leap first when it comes down to your dynamics. it feels unnatural to cage you like this, for your legs to wrap and pull him closer, like you’re mocking him. “you’re not my superior.”
one of your hands trail up his arm. “that’s correct.”
“then you’re my enemy.”
you tug him down, lips finding themselves naturally drawn right under his jaw. there’s no verbal answer to his introspection.
“then i’ve beat you — i’m stronger than you.”
sanzu most certainly did not miss the floating sensation your attacks give him. by all means, physically, he should be stronger. so, physically too, it’s odd when your hand pushes his weight effortlessly, and your leg locks on to successfully beat his ass and pin him down. it sucks feeling a concussion in the brewing.
he’s always looked prettier under you. “now that you’re on your own, haruchiyo, prepare to make mistakes.” his hands instinctively fly to your waist, “learn from them.”
sanzu groans, he himself doesn’t know if it’s the pain speaking or the built up frustration, “‘s that a new rule?”
the juxtaposition of slamming sanzu on the table and the gentle hands that come to tilt his head is a little funny. his skin smells of strawberries as you ghost your lips across it. “they’re parting words.”
it’s by no means a new position he’s found himself in. and yet he feels stumped. helplessly watching as the fire crackles its last sparks, as the last train starts to close its doors. even your body starts to feel like a distant whisper.
"haruchiyo, i want you to remember me." you're positive even the idea is far-fetched. the way his muscles tense and eyes narrow at your every call is automatic now. "memorize how my fingers feel on your jaw."
sanzu nearly purrs at the contact, and it's pathetic. he could never forget the grip, your hand looks best when it's on his face.
"memorize my voice, you must."
it goes without saying he already has. plenty were the nights he woke up in cold sweat, hallucinating you in every shadow and crevice; many more he’s coped by turning in bed and found the warmest embrace in your arms.
he can't live without you.
"haruchiyo, what else can i do for you to remember me, forever and always?"
'what is it you wish most for?'
he remembers the seventeenth rule, remembers the day you promised him a reward far beyond being an asset to mikey. sanzu had reflected on it far too long. what could he possibly ask from you?
power is all he ever wants. being of importance, too. both are things he could never have from you.
you have it all. you best him in every way possible.
maybe, in just one thing, he can overthrow you. "a kiss."
sanzu has come to the conclusion there's no healthy middle when it comes to you. his mind splits between wanting your head on a stick and fighting urges to leap and bite at your lip until blood is drawn.
perhaps an impulse to prove himself useful so you stay. a test of courage, his mouth wherever you need it most, whatever it is that will make you forever forget the thought of leaving him to fend for himself like a mutt.
"a kiss?" you've never looked more inviting than now, leaning back to stare him down, slowly blinking, a stray lock of hair falling out of place.
you’re making him feel real stupid. a small fraction cringing at his request, as if he had been reading the mood wrong and just completely ruined the moment (as if you straddling and leaving a mark or two on his neck could mean anything else).
eyes never once stray from his stare. sanzu really is funny.
you lean back down, unamused with the shit-eating grin that’s stretching across his face. first comes the corner of his lips, a fleeting brush of your lips, a ghost to acknowledge his diamonds. sanzu’s fingers dig onto your hips as, painfully slowly, you align with his lips.
sanzu haruchiyo, akaashi haruchiyo, your pride and joy. only way to commemorate would be by taking a bite out of him, how could you not?
your teeth sink mercilessly on his bottom lip. sanzu fights a choked cry, it hurts, and you don’t pull away until he’s left bleeding, panting, and so very dissatisfied. unfulfilled. bested again.
“find me again,” as a treat, you kiss the half of his lips, stealing the red drops for yourself.
“money,” you kiss his cheek. “power,” he seeks your lips again, struggling for his wish. “influence,” you pull back.
sanzu grumbles a protest or two, flailing in a last ditch effort to claim what was his. your hand on his neck kills any hope of that.
a finger swipes his bottom lip, teasing the lack of prize right in his face. “become someone with all three under his sleeve and you’ll find me again.”
the frustration is building back up. murderous desires. the need to fight you for control.
𑣲 A GUY THAT I’D KIND OF BE INTO. featuring rindou haitani.
• SYNOPSIS : rindou, your friend since childhood, is listening to you vent your frustrations over some guy you’ve been silently crushing on and realizes holy shit—you’re talking about him.
• CONTENT : unreq love, mild angst, gn reader (“they” used like twice,) a bit dialogue heavy, might be a little ooc i've never written rindou before ...soz...
• NOTE : rindou baby im so sorry i did this to u. ib a bmc song because i have no hoes or something
rindou haitani had been your friend since you were both children.
you weren’t best friends by any means, but you’d gone to school together since your middle years, and those days upon days of having classes together or being seated next to one another had led to an inevitable friendship between the two of you. not that you were complaining, you liked having him around more than you thought you would.
it was only natural that once befriending rindou, you were introduced to his brother, ran, who was a year older than you. thus, the trio that was the haitani’s and their plus one was created.
rindou had always been the one you gravitated towards the most, maybe because you were the same age as him. he was the one you would find somewhere in the halls when you wanted to whine over homework or teachers when you were younger, which eventually blossomed into complaints over exams and college prep during lunch behind your highschool. you clicked with him easier, enjoyed his company when he was around and it was something he reciprocated.
of course you enjoyed being around ran as well, and the times where you three would be together as a group (which to be fair, was more often than not) were some of your favourite, you were never quite as close with him. it was likely due to his brother always stealing you away when he got the chance, and being the older one he saw the signs before they were even visible.
open scene to the aforementioned younger brother laying horizontally on your bed, mindlessly scrolling through his phone while you sat parallel at your desk, textbook and laptop long abandoned for playing with your pencil and leaning your head over the back of your chair.
get-togethers outside of school were a fairly fresh development in your friendship with rindou, only having started about halfway through your second year of highschool. rindou would still sometimes get a tad bit…awkward when he stepped into your home, and it never failed to make you chuckle.
“okay, spit it out already. fuck’s wrong?”
rindou’s voice cut through the silence draped over your room like a weighted blanket. he'd been watching you chew at your lips and listening to you tap that damn mechanical pencil against every surface within range, it got on his nerves.
truth be told, he was more nosey to know what you were visibly hung up on than anything.
“eh?”
you halted your fiddling, attention refocusing on rindou who had rolled onto his stomach, palm holding up the weight of his head from his chin while his elbow crushed one of your poor stuffed animals.
“y’look like someone just killed your puppy. and you’re doin’ that thing where you fidget with shit when you think.”
when had he gotten so observant of your nervous habits? you pouted.
“i don’t look like that.”
“you do.”
“do not.”
rindou stared at you, you stared at rindou.
it wasn’t that you didn’t want to talk to him about it. you told him quite a lot already, at least considering your friendship had always been primarily in school. what had you hesitating, thinking over your words and proceedings more carefully, was that he was directly involved with the very thing that had you so…squirmy.
rindou was quick to pick up on your reluctance. as much as he wanted to know what was going on in that head of yours, it's not as if he was gonna pry into it to see what was running on the hamster wheel he was sure you had in there.
“...uh, you don’t have t'a—”
“you’re gonna think it’s stupid.”
an unforgiving snort was all you got in response.
“you bein’ a dumbass isn’t exactly breaking news.”
“ill kill you, haitani.”
the tense eye contact— well, tense on your part— continued.
god, you hated how he was persuasive without even trying.
“okay, just listen, ya?”
his eyes followed as you stood from your desk chair and made your way over to the bed beside him. you flopped down tiredly, back against the mattress while your eyes traced the various posters on the ceiling, the shape of the windowsill towards your feet, generally anywhere that wasn’t in rindou’s direction.
“i’m listening.”
he watched you open and close your mouth like a fish out of water, waiting patiently (though it was a thin and fragile patience) for you to find the words to begin.
“so, imagine there this person,”
he nodded.
“and you’ve known them since you were kids,”
he nodded again.
“and you’ve never been like– crazy close with him, but you’ve always seen them as a friend regardless.”
rindou nodded again.
…him?
…oh.
he saw where you were going.
you hadn’t even realised you’d allowed the pronoun to slip, tossing all anonymity out the window and revealing that the troubles you were about to vent were actually over a guy.
but rindou did, and he couldn’t stop his tongue from running itself over his front teeth, licking them as he tasted an all too familiar flavour of bitterness on his taste buds.
rindou’s feelings towards you were complicated in their own way.
he was aware he had emotions regarding you that were, well, less than platonic. he was aware that it had started when you met in your second year of middle school, when he was seated beside you in history and you’d teased him for his coloured hair and offered to share your pack of chips with him in the same sentence. it wasn’t a jaw dropping first impression, not something outright unique or exceptional, but it stood out to rindou. you stood out to rindou.
he didn’t have plans to really… do anything about any of it though, it was always something he preferred to keep buried deep in the home you’d made yourself in his gut. he wasn’t even sure if he had the set of emotional skills to—
“you still following?”
rindou blinked. fuck, he wasn’t listening
“yeah, keep goin’.”
he’d just have to fill in the blanks.
“it’s like– i don’t even know when i started seeing him like that.”
you’d given up on the vagueness regarding the neutral pronoun you used prior.
“maybe it’s just ‘cus we’ve both gotten older?”
who were your other friends again? perhaps he could use the process of elimination to single out who you were talking about.
“any time we eat lunch together, or i pass him in the halls it…picks at my brain. dunno when it even started.”
rindou thought, shuffling through the filing cabinet of his memory to try and remember who your other friends were. but upon thinking about it, he hadn’t seen you eat lunch with anyone else outside of him and ran since you’d formed your little trio.
“we have gotten closer over the last couple months. maybe it’s something t’do with that.”
…and then he thought more.
who had you known since you were a kid, that you’d started growing closer with recently, who you also frequently ate lunch with and—
“it’s like he went from this guy that i’d never usually be into…”
oh shit—
“to this guy that i'd—like—kind of be into?”
were you talking about him?
he cursed the way he felt the smallest sliver of hope start to rise in his chest. it was coincidental, you had other friends, other people you’ve known for the amount of time you have him, he’d be grasping at the smallest of straws to think anything differently.
your eyes met his when you looked up expectantly for an answer.
“that is pretty fuckin’ stupid.”
typical rindou.
you smacked his bicep with the back of your palm, rindou snorted again.
it wouldn’t hurt to test the waters just a little bit, right? to see if his sneaking suspicion was correct?
“so, who’s this guy anyway?”
“pfft, like i’d ever tell you.”
it was rindou’s turn to smack you, he was rewarded with the sound of your laugh falling on his ears.
“so yer’ gonna talk my ear off and then not even tell me who the fucker is? you’re lame.”
“you wanted to know what was wrong!”
mission failed.
the room fell into a silence, not quite awkward, yet not quite comfortable, just calm. rindou didn’t know how to push the subject any further without either giving himself away entirely or coming off as some nosey freak, so he begrudgingly decided he was better off to try and drop it entirely.
“do you think it’d be worth it to tell him?”
you were the one breaking the quiet this time around. rindou sighed and dropped his head, his face meeting the crinkles of fabric in your duvet.
“fuck if i know.”
“cmon, help me out here.”
“it'd help if i knew who the hell you’re talkin’ about.”
“you seriously haven’t figured it out?”
those words made rindou's witty response catch in his tonsils. the more you went on, the more the little voice in his head said: ‘thats me, they’re talking about me, they have to be,’ the more you went on the greater the need to know if you were really talking about him inflated and grew.
“…why don’t you just tell ‘em if it’s such a pain in your ass?”
you hummed.
“i don’t wanna jeopardise our friendship, i guess. i like having him around too much.”
rindou lifted his head in time to catch a glimpse of the warm smile dawning on your lips.
“that's why i'm asking you. do you think the risk is worth it?”
yes, rindou thought. for fucks sake, take the risk, he wanted to scream it as loud as he could.
“sounds like it.” he began slowly, swallowing a breath. “think i know who you’re talkin’ about now too.”
“it's about time.”
his chin returned to his palm.
“wanna hear you say it, though.”
you groaned, mimicking his position by rolling into your stomach as well, the two of you laying shoulder to shoulder. rindou could feel the knot in his stomach tighten.
“you’re an ass.” the cow plush you’d hidden your face into absorbed your words. you supposed it was harmless to tell him at the point you’d gotten to. the proverbial cat was proudly sunning itself in the windowsill, there was zero chance he didn’t know who you were talking about. he was pulling your leg the same way he always did. teasing you.
“fine.”
rindou couldn’t control the way his palms began to sweat, directly contrasting his feeling of…cockiness? certainty? whatever the better term was, he could feel it deep in his chest, threatening to push past his ribs.
“i'm talking about…”
he waited, listened to you huff, listened to you swallow to try and shove down your doubts, watched your fingers play with the tag of your stuffed animal, he knew the word that would come next;
‘you.’
“ran.”
exactly as he—
…what?
…you—
…you had a thing for ran?
if you had looked up at all, decided to remove your face from the cow print protecting you from what you assumed was some kind of shit eating grin, you would have seen the way rindou’s face drained of all colour.
rindou couldn’t speak, he couldn’t do anything.
he felt like such a fucking idiot.
of course it’s ran, he thought.
why wouldn’t it be ran?
it's always ran.
your room began to feel like it was shrinking around him, like it was suffocating him just being there. he became so hyper aware of your shoulder pressed against his, the smell of you overtaking his senses in a way he never thought he would hate as much as he did.
where you expected teasing, and rindou’s jokes, you were met with…nothing. a heavy stillness that could be felt in your bones. was he… upset? you didn’t know, your eyes were still harboured safely in your plush. now that you think about it, it was a gift he had gotten you.
you hadn’t wanted to tell him originally because you assumed it would piss him off, for the sake of possibly screwing things up between the three of you, or maybe because he wouldn’t want to be a third wheel or— or something. what you didn’t expect from rindou was the absence of a response entirely.
finally there's some sort of feedback from rindou, a reminder of life that he’s still there beside you, but it’s the opposite of anything you could have hoped for. the weight to your right moves around, until it's removed from your bed wholly, and it finally prompts you to raise your head.
“rin?”
he doesn’t answer you, but you can hear him mutter ‘fuck this’ under his breath as he picks his bag up from your floor, fishing for his keys in his uniform pocket.
“rin, hang on a sec—“
he’s already in the hallway before you can stop him, the only option was to get up and follow him out, and that you did. you’re practically tripping down the stairs to catch up to him, too bad he was already out your front door, mounting his bike and letting the engine roar to life once you’d finally done it.
“rindou!!” you attempt to shout over the purr of his exhaust from your front door.
he's already gone, speeding away down your street and right out of your fingertips. it isn’t until he’s too far out of sight to see, to reach, to touch, you put the pieces together and understand his reaction, why he was so eager to leave.
you fucked up.
rindou doesn’t know whether he’s fuming or he’s hurt, whether he’s disappointed in you or himself, whether he’s even able to blame anyone for this, just to give him a reason to fault anyone but himself.
the sound of cars passing him, or rather him passing them filled his hearing, the city lights of roppongi reflected off of his glasses and into his pupils, he could still smell you on his jacket; you were burned into it, left some sort of mark on it from all the times you’d held onto him while he drove you home. it made him so fucking nauseous.
he can feel his phone vibrating against his thigh, he knows it’s you. he truly considered just tossing his phone over the railing of the highway to get you away from him, out of his head.
it was always fucking ran.
rindou haitani could never hate his brother, despite his occasional admitance to disliking him. they were brothers, that's just how brothers were.
despite the bumps in the road, or people who didn’t see their relationship for what it was, they were brothers, they always would be.
in spite of that sentiment, rindou couldn’t bring himself to look his older brother in the eye upon arriving home that night.
when he finally entered the safety of his bedroom, rindou freed his phone from the pocket of his uniform pants he’d yet to change.
his screen was flooded with notifications, the contact name ‘+one’ written on over half of them.
he skimmed through the messages, the quiet clicking sounds from his keyboard filling the room, the messages all consisted of some sort of ‘im sorry’ or ‘i didn't know—‘ he skipped those ones, ‘pls just answer’ there was an abundance of missed calls alongside them. he turned off his phone completely.
was the chip on his shoulder deep enough to be considered a gash yet?
tags/cw: fluff, very suggestive, pinning, alcohol consumption, reader and shin are 'just' friends, mention of vomiting (both reader and shin); please let me know if i missed anything,
a/n: wrote this blurb when i was drunk lmfao, but i had so much fun writing it LMFAO. thank you @guav for motivating me to finish editing this instead of studying for midterms :) and yeah ik i said id take a lil break but im gonna post this and then hopefully take a break sobs
m.list ˖ tags ˖ byi/dni
you smell like cigarettes and wine, and your lips are sore as they mold against his. A dopey smile interrupted what should be an ‘amicable’ kiss between two friends that happened to be very, very close.
He feels nice against you, his lips are chapped yet soft, and he’s gentle as he desperately grabs at your hip and your cheek and your chest, though he shies away from that last location, mumbling an unintelligible sorry between spit and lips and tongue.
It’s disgusting, the both of you are so disgusting. You’re swapping spit in the middle of what seems to be everything; you take a sip of your drink, melted ice weakening the alcohol, to then share the watered-down liquid between your lips. A few droplets escape your kiss and slide down both your chins, caressing your necks until they stain your clothes.
The coldness of the wall feels refreshing against your lower back, the temperature contrasting with that of Shinichiro’s palms. So warm, he’s irradiating waves of heat all throughout; with every touch, you can feel him blush.
If only you could do this while sober, while both of you were fully present and capable enough to remember what each other tastes like. You’re sure the memory will be stored somewhere in your subconscious, but you want it to plague your brain. Every second of every day, his skin should be seared against yours, every time you breathe you should remember what he feels like; the aftertaste of Shinichiro should always be at the forefront of your mind.
But then, before you can press your knee further up his groin, hear him moan and whimper, mark him up so that even when you wake up with an immeasurable regret pounding against your skull you can enjoy the view of your best friend’s skin littered with splotches of purple and fantasise that he’s finally yours, he pulls away, thumb slowly caressing your cheek. His eyes are glassy, glimmering not only because of the extravagant lights but because he’s Shinichiro, and you are sure Shinichiro Sano can only glow from the inside out.
“You’re so…” he whispers, though the volume fluctuates and to be honest, not even Shin can discern whether it’s because the alcohol only amplifies his inability to properly whisper or because you make his heart go doki doki with just one look. It makes it harder for him to control his existence.
You wait for him, even if you kind of want to shut him up with a kiss. You wait for him because even if he will sound incoherent, speech slurred just like yours, you’re sure he’s this close to profusing his undying love and even if you don’t remember this is in the morning, at least you’d internalise how special you’re to him.
“You’re so vodka,” he giggles, nudging his nose against yours, letting his eyes close in bliss. It makes you giggle along. “You taste like raspberry.”
And even if it wasn’t a crystal clear confession, you’re sure he meant everything with just that. From his touch, his eyes, his lips and tongue, you know he’s head over heels for you; fallen so hard he can’t get up, though maybe that’s the alcohol because now Wakasa and Benkei are helping him up, dragging him to the bathroom so he doesn’t throw up all over the floor.
And maybe you should go too, something tells you that the knot in your stomach, moving steadily up your throat, isn’t only the butterflies or bees or whatever it is that Shinichiro Sano makes you feel.
⚠︎ this is so self-indulgent and a vent in disguise; sad & heavy themes, demotivation, self-deprecating jokes; r/meirl, this is just comfort and sap. heavily unedited lol.
rindou swears god picks favorites.
an endless barrage of rain accompanied him through the entire ride to your place, a treacherous journey mostly completed out of sheer spite at the shitty weather. and maybe the slightest of concerns.
now, at your very own home, the eye of night greets him from her spot in the cloudless sky. not a hint of storm, but constellations and even fucking jupiter.
"you made it," you skid out your door in pajamas not meant for the outside. among your disaster of a get-up he can spot a shirt he grew out of years ago. faded, worn out.
rindou revs the engine. maybe he would pick favorites too.
that is, until you lock the door and fling your keys, never to be seen again under the scrutiny of dusk.
any previous infatuation is overridden by complete confusion, "the hell?"
"take me somewhere far."
"what does that even-" rindou stops himself mid sentence. "do i look like a taxi?"
your eyes are lost, clouded with the weight of nothingness. "you act like one—came as soon as i texted you."
driving around the precinct with no set destination is but a common occurrence between you two. a duo of youthful spirits taking the streets by sheer negligence of anyone else in the world.
just yourself and rindou haitani.
the smudged makeup bleeding across your face and eyes says little about high-spirits and more about despondency, though.
"fuck's wrong with you?" somehow it spoke more concern than insult through tone.
"you don't ask questions, you drive."
"you're not even on the bike, smartass."
one blink, the dark streets no longer captivates you enough to keep staring. a second blink and you're now facing rindou, soaked to the bone and missing his frames.
drowned out complaints barely reaching your ears say a thing or two about vexation. his shivering shoulders tell a tale of annoyance. rindou's downturned eyes are a dead giveaway of violet concern.
"seriously, do i need to call someone to come screw your head open?" he's about done with his words going through one ear and leaving right the other.
in a third blink his face meets your palms in a gentle cup. a home made of freezing fingertip walls, weak flooring of grip, a shaking born from unstable foundation.
"you're one of the prettiest things i own," one of your hands slide down his face to the pocket where rindou keeps his glasses dry against less than favorable weather. "i think i like you."
his breathing came to a momentary halt. with skipped heartbeats it's a surprise rindou's facade remains untouched. just get on the bike"
never does his stare stray from your face, never do you meet his eyes. careful not to stain the glass or poke his sides, you slide the frames into place.
"so you admit to being something i own?"
he allows the engine to wake again, making the vehicle slide forward in the slightest and nearly making you kiss the concrete hello. "keep fuckin' playing, just you see."
the motor roars for a great number of infractions. reckless driving, endless exits ignored as the highway extends before you.
it's one of the few times you're sat in front, caged by his arms.
("i can't trust you not to fly away if you ride back right now")
you don't care though, the wind parts at your fingers and that's all that matters. care not for the obvious obstruction you cause the driver, an arm extends to grip at nothing past the bike.
(it took an nth number of complaints before you acknowledged his concerns: "who cares if you can't see shit when i do this? don't you trust me?"
back then rindou accelerated after your accusations, breaching the speed limit by an obscene amount. "not in the slightest.")
the breeze is fierce. if you tried less, could you fly away too? you hum, rindou just does his job of driving in silence.
maybe this is what they meant by being infinite. nothing has ever felt so timeless.
mundane, unique.
a juxtaposition of solitude in the presence of each other.
"kill the engine."
rindou nearly swerves you both to your deaths.
"i'm not gonna ask."
ruler of roppongi, terrified at the prospect of delving into the turmoil that's become of your thoughts.
"then i won't answer, sounds fair."
another set of five minutes is thrown away in pure silence, the rest of the precinct sane enough not to drive at such hours of night.
eternity unshattered.
until it wasn't. "there's gotta be somethin' wrong for you to drag me out like this without talking my ear off."
silence.
rindou tries again, "you're not even wearing shoes."
the pavement is so unkind to your soles. you've decided to ignore the pricking of stray rocks.
"being in silence s'fine with me, just tell me you're actually okay."
chatter, irritation. "i wanna go for another drive."
not bothering to meet his eyes, you take pained steps to ride the bike again. ready to take off wherever else— earthly desires no longer influential in your decision making. merely an urge to be everywhere and nowhere.
rindou blocks your path, bracing you from falling at the sudden collision with his body. "you can't be fucking serious right now."
"i am, let's go."
"i'm not taking you anywhere else," there's an invisible flag which warns of a high tide. a possibility of confrontation and risk of shark infested riptides.
rindou haitani faces them all with just a slight ounce of uneasiness. "not until you tell me what this is all about."
silence, the knot of anguish is bound to slip if you were to open your mouth again.
rindou's fingers come to grip your chin. you didn't know they were capable of such gentleness. "c'mon pretty, let me in your head."
a sniffle warns of the high hazard waters bound to wash over.
opening your arms to embrace his figure would take too much energy you simply don't have. it's stiff just leaning against his chest, but it'll have to do.
"how… how do you manage?"
there's a pause from the man, an unspoken request for elaboration.
"every single day i swear you're seconds away from taking the world by storm with a lift of your finger, fuck, you make it look easy."
a knot claws past your trachea, pushing to be reborn as wails from your heart. "i can barely get out of bed each day, or even muster enough willpower to keep this—this shit cluster of a routine."
you're sure to be victim to early hair loss by the vicious grip your fingers trap your hair in; a single inconvenience away from ripping it all out. "i can't keep up—i'm so tired, rin."
hesitant, careful arms wrap around your back slowly. his gaze lost somewhere far from your figure—pleading for the night's own missionaries, ursa minor, cepheus; any and all, to just give you a breather for once.
"i know, i know."
anyone else getting tears all over his clothes would easily be found in a suitcase within the next few business days. not another single soul has such privilege to stain rindou's jacket and live to tell the tale.
rindou squeezes your shaking shoulders. he can forgive it this one time.
"why would i ever want to have the world if i already have you?" a rhetoric whisper breaks the silence. "that just sounds redundant. "
you can't help but cry harder.
"c'mon," rindou acts quick as your legs grow weak, wrapping them around his waist seconds before they gave out.
were you not concerned for not drowning in sorrow you'd complain about the gesture. a buried fear of inconveniencing rindou having to wait in queue for the fifty-six other problems also awaiting their turn.
("rindou quit it!" you'd squeal, fighting against his arms as they lift you from the ground. "'m too heavy, stop it!"
rindou would always scoff at your stupid claims, as he'd so kindly put it.
"i can bench press three of you—maybe you should come witness that.")
it's good you don't get to voice any complaints. rindou wouldn't know how to put into words the burden you carry weighs more than any physical manifestation of life.
his neck feels like the home you've sought this whole time. even with puffy eyes and a congested nose, it feels right.
blonde and blue strands of hair cling to your wet cheeks. everything might just be okay.
("can we go home now?"
"you threw your keys away, stupid."
"fuck," you whine with elongated vocals, fist pounding on his chest, "why'd you let me do that?")
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