⚘ Summery: As you sit in the study with your husband, you find yourself staring at him more than usual. Tonight, he seems more radiant than ever. Has he finally begun to put effort into his appearance? Or is it to simply tempt you? Either way, you will savour what you are given to the fullest.
⚘ Tags: Suggestive, making out, kissing, explicit wording, implied sex afterwards, established relationship, fem!Reader, this is inspired by his BP icon, switch!Dan Heng, switch!Reader, mostly soft and vanilla
⚘ Word count: 1k
⚘ A/N: NOT MY GREATEST WORK, I DON'T EVEN LIKE THIS. MATTER OF FACT I HATE THIS FIC 😡 I CANT WRITE SUGGESTIVE THINGS EITHER DAWG
With silvered moonlight filtering through the half-drawn curtains, the room is steeped in a quiet, luminous glow. Books and scrolls lie scattered across the table, their aged surfaces drinking in the pale radiance. The only sound that dares disturb the stillness is the soft hum beneath your breath, accompanied by the occasional whisper of parchment shifting under your touch.
It is well past midnight—an hour where even the most diligent have long surrendered to sleep. Fortunately, neither you nor your husband belong to the cathedral of most. While the world rests, Dan Heng remains seated across from you, absorbed in the scrolls passed down through generations of the previous Imbibitor Lunae.
His gaze is unwavering, tracing each line of ink with meticulous care. The brush in his hand moves only when necessary, deliberate and precise, as though each stroke carries the weight of something far older than either of you. You find yourself watching him—quietly, almost absentmindedly—as he turns from one scroll to the next.
His dark hair catches the moonlight in soft strands, the subtle teal undertones rendering him almost otherworldly in the dim glow. He has tied it up tonight, a rare choice that leaves the line of his neck more exposed than usual. The glasses resting upon his nose sit perfectly, framing his features in a way that feels unfair—like the world has conspired to make him even more beautiful than you remembered.
And the longer you look, the more details begin to surface—the ones you have memorized countless times over. The quiet sharpness of his eyes, softened now by focus. The faint tension in his brow. The calm, composed way he carries himself, even in something as simple as reading. Each time, the same thought returns, persistent and disbelieving—how did you ever manage to place a ring upon this man’s hand?
Lost in your thoughts, you fail to notice how your gaze lingers—unwavering, unhidden. And Dan Heng, ever perceptive, has already taken note of it. Of the way your eyes rest on him, softened with something warm, something quietly consuming.
It is enough to draw a faint flush across his cheeks.
Even after years of marriage, it has done little to dull the effect you have on him. If anything, it only seems to deepen it. How could it not, when you look at him like that—like he is something to be cherished, something worth memorizing?
He clears his throat, the soft sound cutting through your thoughts.
You blink, returning to yourself—only to catch the telltale signs you know all too well. The tips of his ears have turned a delicate shade of red, twitching ever so slightly. In a futile attempt to compose himself, he lifts a scroll closer to his face, as though it might shield him from your gaze—and the feelings that come with it.
“…You’re staring,” he murmurs at last. There’s a subtle hesitation in his voice, like he’s carefully stepping around something unspoken. “Is there something on my face…?”
The question halts you for a moment.
That tone—quiet, uncertain, laced with something deeper—and the way his breath seems just a touch heavier than before.
Oh.
You know exactly where this is going.
Without a warning do you move closer, placing yourself onto his lap and earning a soft whimper from him. His breathing has already shifted into a heavier pace, a crystal-clear expression of his hazy mind. You can feel the way his movements have grown wobbly as well, perhaps your seat has truly fogged up his already troubled mind.
Instinctively, you place your hand against the dragon's chest and he— without a word— obliges to your silent demand, allowing his back to hit the ground beneath.
Settling your hand by his head, you pin him in one place, gazing down on your beloved— who is admittedly in a trance. It is a play you've partaken in a hundred times, that familiar gaze on you is nothing less than tender and borderline needy.
“Why, can't I admire my husband now? You're all dolled up tonight.” you tease softly, leaning in to press a kiss on the tip of his horn— to which, the Vidyadhara responds with another muffled whimper, one he does not try to hide as he does so usually.
Dan Heng's hands snake around your waist to grip the fabric of your clothes, anchoring him against your softest touches. You are a witch, he thinks— bathing him in touches so gentle, he could have never imagined they existed until you. You can make a mess of him, yet he'll never push your hands away because he knows, it is not in your nature to be overbearing.
“I...” Dan Heng breathes out in another futile attempt to regain his composure. “I should be the one admiring you—” A groan bubbles up from his chest as he interrupts in own sentence, the warmth of your lips on the spot beneath his pointed ear is enough to render him speechless.
You can't help but smile victoriously— to see the guard of the Express be a whimpering mess, you swear the Aeons above have blessed you. But as you pull away to straddle his hips, sharp nails dig into the skin on your nape, wordlessly pulling you into him, only pressing his lips against yours.
Taken aback, you freeze momentarily, letting him peck your lips demandingly. With each moment of your silence, he only grows more demanding, one scaled hand pressing against your nape while the other palms at your hip. Overcoming your initial shock, you angle your head and catch the rhythm of his lips. His hand only presses your further against him, as though a single kiss can steal his words to you.
The moment you pull away to regain your bearings, another whimper leaves him— a verbal sign of his disappointment at the absence of your warm lips. A soft chuckle echoes within the closed chambers as you watch him gasp with half-lidded eyes, mumbling inaudibly to himself.
The man beneath you is gone, by a few light touches only. To think that having the Imbibitor Lunae so pliant within your grasp by mere body heat, it sounds ridiculous. But how can you resist the temptation before you? You ought to savor what you are given.
With little thoughts to your clouding mind, you pluck the jade hairpin off his hair, allowing the dark hair to spill in its glory. “I should be apologising, no?” you ask as you place the hairpin on the ground beside him. “Sorry, love, got carried away. You just look so beautiful like this.”
The sincerity in your words does not miss him, it only serves to spreads the warmth within his ocean-fed heart. You truly believe he's radiant, don't you? Oh, how he wants to reciprocate those sweet words— he would, hadn't he been rendered speechless by a mere kiss.
Instead, his grip on you tightens and he pulls you right back into another kiss. This time, his forked tongue sweeps against your bottom lip, demanding access— and you allow him to slide into your mouth without protest. Your tongues intertwine in a slow, familiar dance. With each whimper and moan falling off his heavy chest, you find your mind more clouded than ever and lost in the way he's palming every part of you that he can reach.
The need for air does not avoid you long. Hesitantly, you pull away with nothing but a string of saliva connecting your tongues. Huffs of warm breath leaves you as you steady yourself but the man beneath you is far from being in that state. The light of moon above illuminates the Vidyadhara's teal-bathed horns— if one were to witness this sight unprompted, they'd be bound to think he was woven by Idrilla THEMSELF.
You can see how needy he's grown by the way he's twitching beneath your grinding hips. Each roll only heightens the sensitivity and endurance of it all. The words have swallowed past his tongue, unable to tell you how much he loves this— your touch, your voice, the way you wrecked with only a few familiar tricks. If he could, he'd dress up like this forever, just to have you on him.
You press another soft kiss on his cheek, hoping to calm his gasping form down. However, control does not favour you entirely tonight. The dragon's urge to please his beloved wife overshadows the want to be made love to.
In the blink of an eye, you feel your back hit against the cold, hardened floor, ripping a soft gasp from you. Above you hovers your beloved husband, who is gazing down with those delirious eyes and long hair spilling on your wrinkled clothes. Dan Heng is a strategic man, and currently, his mind is occupied with ways to have you squirm and gasp his name beneath him. For all know, he will achieve it.
As his lips press against your collarbone, you know you're in for a long night.
How the hell do yall write smutfics, this isn't even one and I was staring my screen like this mid way thru it:
Someone has possessed your body, and your soul is nowhere to be found.
Dan Heng swears he'll find you again. No matter what it takes.
dan heng ♡ gn!reader
warnings: pre-established relationship, lore inaccuracies (i pulled this out of my ass), body possession, body swapping, identity vagueness
notes: Dude i love this trope
"Tell me," Dan Heng mutters, his tone low, the tip of his spear pointed towards your throat, jade kissing your skin when you swallow thickly. "Where did [Name] go?"
"What're you talking about?" you reply, hands held up to the sides of your head, a nervous smile encroaching onto your lips. Your back meets the metal of the Parlor Car's walls, your smile parting ever-so slightly to gasp for air, breaths haggard, as Dan Heng presses you further, his expression unfeeling.
"Don't lie to me," he states, the calmness eerie. "You are not [Name]."
"How's that even possible?" you reason, managing to tilt your head slightly, eyes crinkling as your smile widens.
For a moment, Dan Heng's resolve stutters. It's true that your face is the same; from the curl of your lips, to the bridge of your nose, to the scars and moles which line your skin—your well-loved face, those well-loved features.
But it's not. Dan Heng looks at you again and Cloud-Piercer steadies, unwavering, the blunt end pressing fully against the bob of your throat as your mouth hangs slightly agape, eyes craning down as if to gauge just how sharp the weapon really is.
How audacious, is all Dan Heng thinks, brows furrowing. To claim their identity when you cannot even judge the spear which I've told them so much about.
The curl of your lips, though the same in shape, does not resume its natural form when you smile. The crinkle of your eyes, though perfect in imitation, does not contain the natural mirth that enraptures your features.
To think anyone would even dare to mimic a fraction of the sublime—Cloud-Piercer digs closer into your skin, the possessor's eyes widening, lips shrinking to reveal the most fervent of frowns, its shape not suiting your features—how utterly foolish.
"Answer me," Dan Heng states again. "Where did they go?"
"Hah!" you then exclaim, the sound not fitting your voice, its melody infuriating despite its timber belonging to your chords. "You'd have better luck giving up. This body is mine, you mutt!"
Fury, though wildly impulsive, is something that Dan Heng submits to whenever he feels its phantom looming over his shoulder, its mouth widening, capturing him within the hinge of its jaws. Fury allows him to act, without the burden of thoughts, without the second-guessings of whether regret will follow.
Fury is his. There's someone in your body, claiming it as their own, and Dan Heng feels the mouth of fury swallow, he feels the esophagus, he feels the stomach acid as he fizzles in the bile.
He feels the grit of his own teeth as his jaw tightens, his brows furrowing to the point of wrinkling his nose, his figure hunched forward as he presses Cloud-Piercer's blunt end so violently into your throat that you start gasping for air, unable to breathe.
(And, despite it all, he's careful not to draw blood. He's careful to avoid the wounds which haven't healed fully, he's careful to avoid your lower neck, as you've mentioned how sensitive you are there. This is your body. This is, and will always be, your body.)
The doors to the Parlor Car slam open, and Dan Heng feels his figure part from yours, his dominant hand held back by the arms of another, the frantic cacophony of voices as you're subdued by Stelle and Himeko, March watching from afar, Welt behind him.
They say that eyes are the windows to the soul.
Dan Heng looks at you, and he does not recognize the entity which stares back at him. A possessor; a fraud; a thief. Something stole your body—but more than that, because Dan Heng couldn't care less about what sort of appearance you take, where your moles form, where your scars lie.
The crinkle of a joyful eye is unmistakable, the cadence of words are unique to each person, the syntax, the choices, the mannerisms of an identity. Dan Heng knows you to be a creature without regrets, to smile wildly, unabashed, teeth and all. He knows you to tilt your head when you speak, to use crude language that is common, not outdated, lousy terms such as "mutt."
Dan Heng knows you. And even when someone wears your eyes, and even when someone smiles with your lips, and even when someone speaks with your voice, he knows.
Something stole your body.
And where are you?
You're pretty.
Dan Heng has thought that ever since you stepped foot on the Express. He thought that the sofas seemed to reinvent themselves under your gaze, he thought that space must've shrunk away when your eyes sweeped over it, through the window, perceiving each freckled star. It felt as if this universe shifted in accordance to your examination, as if its worth amounted to how much time was spent beheld within the center of your pupils, sublime.
And when you smiled, Dan Heng thought you to be even prettier.
You smiled in such a way that felt as though you lived anew, as though joy alone was enough to rid this guilty world of its sins. Despite being the Express's newest member at the time, you quickly settled in, joining each game night with a striking resolve, creating inside jokes with the Stelle and March, laughing at things that made no sense.
And you were there for Belobog, for the Luofu, for Penacony, for Amphoreus. Throughout it all, you remained as you were: euphoric, unabashed, free. Sublime.
You're pretty.
From behind the makeshift prison which Himeko had crafted from bars made of steel, Dan Heng stares. Your hand tightens around the material, unable to reach fully through the crevice, expression sullied by a violent frown. Bottom lip jutted out, a sound leaves your lips, not too far removed from a growl.
You were pretty.
Dan Heng stares at you, whose countenance is devoid of any bliss, whose laughter remains humorless, whose gaze never once trickles towards the window, to look at the space which you oh-so adored.
But not like this.
"You possessed this body," Welt states. "And where was your original form?"
"As if I need to tell you anything," you spit.
"If you value your life, then I suggest you do," Dan Heng snaps, readying Cloud-Piercer once more. Himeko raises her hand, arm separating his figure from yours, an extra layer added to the prison cell which you wallow in, unmoved.
Then, you laugh.
How disgusting, is all Dan Heng thinks.
This is your body. This is, and will always be, your body.
"How hilarious!" you exclaim, laughing still, the sound disturbing, lacking humor and humanity and anything that serves to anchor you to this world, to liken you to the sublime, to make even space shy away. "To think you're threatening me! If you kill me, where will the original soul land?!"
Dan Heng's eyes grow wide, and he lurches forward, Cloud-Piercer stabbing past a crevice in the prison, slamming through the other side, your figure barely missing the impact.
"The original soul," he seethes, "where is it?"
You laugh again.
When you looked at the universe, it reinvented itself depending on the worth you had assigned it, how long each star existed within your gaze, how wide your smile became after perceiving each constellation, each striking comet.
He remains at the window of the Parlor Car for a long while, hands folded behind his back, eyes tracing over each freckled star, its shape lining the face of space. He wonders which one made you the happiest, which one was so beautiful it could make even the personification of radiance a witness.
When he's not in the Parlor Car, lost in his stupor, he's at the Data Bank, sifting frantically through the archives, desperate to determine what exactly is possessing your body.
Depending on what it is, maybe he can finally satiate the bloodlust which tugs at his hands.
A knock on his door. Dan Heng doesn't look up; he sifts through another array of pages before saying, "Come in."
It's Welt. Upon entering, he closes the door behind him, and Dan Heng tears his gaze from the archives to spare a glance at the man, his expression taking the shape of vague relief.
"Dan Heng," Welt says, hand coming to push his glasses further up his nose. "I believe [Name]'s possessor is a form of miasma which stems from the Luofu. It only makes sense, considering they had gone there the day before their possession began."
"But the only question now is," Welt continues, "what exactly is the type of miasma, and where has [Name]'s soul gone now?"
Dan Heng slams the archives shut, his hand tightening around the edge of the desk, brows furrowed so vehemently.
"Luofu possession either forces the host's soul back within their body, or ousts them into a new, soulless body."
"So, [Name] could still be in there?"
"Unlikely. Usually, if that were the case, the original host could manage to occupy the body at the same time as the possessor. In this case, however, it seems as though as the possessor has full autonomy over [Name]'s body."
This is your body.
This is, and will always be, your body.
"So, they've possessed a soulless body. The dead, then?" Welt remarks, quick as ever.
Dan Heng nods.
"I'm leaving," he states, grabbing his spear, damn near sprinting towards the helm, desperate to return to the source, the ship which he once belonged to, yet now exists merely as a past that serves to push him forward.
The future; it must have you.
Dan Heng likes you.
But maybe like is too light of a word, unable to bear the weight of which only a creature so hopelessly devoted could hold. Dan Heng adores you.
He adores you in such a way that has familiarized him with all of your habits; the tap of your fingers against glass, the way you save your favorite bites for last, the raise of your hand whenever you laugh.
Dan Heng adores you in such a way that renders him unable to part his gaze from your smile in pictures, the way you seem to have a signature pose, the way you are so wholly and completely radiant. It's sublime. You're sublime.
("Want this photo, Dan Heng?" March asked, handing him a polaroid, its frame depicting only one subject. You.
(He grimaced slightly. Was he so obvious?
(Before he could say anything, March waved her hand dismissively, knowing that he'd decline the offer yet want it anyway. "Just have it!" she said, mischievous. "And I better get credits when you get together!")
Dan Heng adores you in such a way that he himself doesn't quite know when or how or why it began, or exists; it just does, and that fact alone is enough.
He boards the Luofu. The moon hangs in the freckled sky, and Dan Heng revisits the sight once more, wondering how it looks through your eyes, wondering if, in this way, your gazes will meet again, lost in space's vast face.
Then, he looks forward.
Dan Heng adores you in such a way that feels as though he knows you better than himself. He knows your favorite foods, your favorite drinks, your favorite spots. He knows you love bustling environments, but also, that you like people watching from comfortable spots, content with the silence, wind kissing your skin.
There's a hill. On top, is a bench, shaded from the moonlight by the leaves of a blossoming tree. In its tender embrace is a figure, slumped, head tilted towards the sky.
Just a silhouette is enough.
Dan Heng races towards the pinnacle, the sublime, the wonder.
"[Name]!" he calls, even before reaching the top, even before his eyes can behold the sight of his beheld, even before your habits find him, your manners familiar. The silhouette is enough. The crane of your gaze towards the sky, the universe shifting in accordance to your perception, its worth assigned based on the mirth that enraptures your features, irrevocable, is enough.
You turn towards him, finger tapping on the wooden plank of the bench, head tilting to the side, mouth hanging slightly agape.
"Dan Heng?" you reply, disbelieving. "Dan Heng, how are you—"
Cloud-Piercer dissipates, his hands free, arms outstretched, engulfing you within its grasp as he feels your figure press against his, your body devoid of any warmth, its previous owner gone. But it doesn't matter to Dan Heng, what form you take, where your moles are, where your scars form. All that matters is this soul is yours. His soul is yours.
He breathes, most desperately, most fervently, most ardently. Dan Heng presses you closer to him, as if afraid you'll leave him, as if your soul could disappear again—but what difference would that make? Dan Heng will find you, new face and all, and he will love you again.
"[Name]," he says again, barely above a whisper. "[Name], I was so worried..."
Your name is proof of identity. And, when his lips cradle the syllables, and when its sweet sound echoes throughout the air, Dan Heng cannot help but say it again. He says your name just to say it, to solidify this identity, to put more of you in the world, to exist, the sublime, the irrevocable, the unabashed!
Briefly, his figure parts from yours, his hands on your shoulders still, gaze tracing over your new, yet well-loved, face. He examines you for any injuries, unable to contain the frantic race of his heart, now reunited with his beloved.
"[Name], someone stole—"
"I know," you reply, smiling still, eyes crinkling, joy finding you despite the circumstance. "I'll get it back, you know. That shit's not free!"
Dan Heng, for the first time since your possession, finds it in himself to spare the most subtle of smiles.
In the end, the solution was much simpler than anticipated.
Upon re-entering the Express, you found yourself in front of, well, yourself. And you stared at the image of your figure confined within a prison cell, the sight sending a shiver down your spine. Is this foreshadowing?
"For miasma cases such as this, it says that just a touch is enough to swap souls, so long as the one with the foreign body desires it. In this case, [Name], it's you," Welt explains, beckoning you towards the cage.
You snort. "Damn."
Despite your possessor's vehement attempt at swatting you away, and curling back into the cage which they had once so desperately tried to escape, you manage to graze your finger against theirs, the world spinning immediately after. Hazy, you feel yourself falling back, and a pair of arms manage to catch you before the pain of the ground hits—but then, you wake up, now behind bars.
The arms, which once served to stop you from falling, now drop your possessor's form to the ground.
And, soon after, a spear pierces the body's chest.
Nobody says anything. Except for you, however, with an uninspiring, "Ooh... That looked like it hurt."
Dan Heng, paying no mind to Cloud-Piercer's spot in the body's newfound cavity, is quick to slam the prison open, his hand outstretched, callused and all, as he helps you up, his expression unreadable save for the slight melt of his irises, the relief which sweeps over his lips.
Click! A camera goes off. You wince at the light, and Dan Heng sighs.
"March," he mutters. The girl in question makes no effort to say anything.
"March," Stelle calls, before throwing up finger guns, "give me that photo!"
"Stelle..." Dan Heng mutters, in a tone quite similar to the one he just used to utter March's name. But then, your laugh resounds throughout the Express, the sound satiating the emptiness which pervaded so thickly in your absence, and Dan Heng can't help but turn towards you, pupils finding their place, beheld reunited with the beholder.
synopsis: what comes after the secret you’ve been keeping all your life — that you’re in love with your best friend, manjiro — is revealed in the most unexpected way?
part one
pairings: racer!sano manjiro x fem!reader
content warnings: mature themes, 18+, ns/fw, M.D.N.I.
Dread fills your bones, making your whole body go still on the edge of your bed while the last message sent by Manjiro keeps replaying in your head.
"Let's talk, y/n."
In an instant, it’s like your world crumbles beneath you, stripping away everything that protects you and leaving only your naked, embarrassed self. You didn't expect a situation like this to come — and yet, it arrives when you are at your most defenseless. Nothing could be worse than this.
You feel shameful. Pathetic, even. The tears keep flowing down your face because there’s no way to undo it now — not when the evidence is spitting right in your face: that he answered the call while you were touching yourself, he heard you screaming his name, he listened to you falling apart with him on your mind, and then he texted you, asking to talk. And goddamn, what does any of this mean if not that you have feelings for him?
You thought you could keep your secret locked in a vault for years, only for it to be revealed in the most careless way possible. Now, you can’t do anything but cry, your mind overflowing with the fear that you’ve stained the only connection you have with him — your friendship. The one thing that will now surely meet its end, all because of your selfish desires and the feelings he never asked for.
Weeping eventually leads you to falling asleep. The endless thinking drowns you so deeply that you don't even notice the time passing. You simply fall asleep out of pure exhaustion, and only wake up when your phone alarm goes off.
Just when you thought it was all a dream, you open your phone to turn it off, only to be met with the reality you’ve been living in.
Manjiro's text is still there. As real as everything that happened last night.
You press your palms into your face as a fresh wave of worry sinks in. What now? you think. What are you even supposed to do now that everything is out in the open?
You stare at Manjiro’s last message. He hasn’t followed up, and that somehow makes it worse. The silence feels heavy, loaded with everything you’re afraid of: a disappointed man sitting on the other end, betrayed and disgusted, just waiting for you to finally say it out loud so he can be done with you.
The moment you roll out of bed, you decide you won't face him. Not yet. You tell yourself you need to distance yourself first, that you need time to sort everything out before you can face him.
But deep down, you know that's not it.
The truth is, you're just a coward. And the only thing you can bring yourself to do right now is avoid him completely, at all costs.
So that's what you'll do.
Using every bit of strength you can muster, you prepare yourself for work. Your mind hasn't drifted from thoughts of Manjiro even for a second, but you do everything you can to drag yourself out the door anyway. At least at the office, the pending tasks and deliverables can pull your focus away from him even just for a little while.
But you're wrong about even that.
The moment you step inside, your closest colleagues, the ones who know about your connection to the famous racer, immediately corner you to ask about his performance on the track. Manjiro's wins have been all over social media since last night, so of course they knew, and of course they had to bring it up. You nod along, give them short polite answers, and get to work.
By the time the day ends, it's clear that trying to distract yourself was never going to work. For most of the day, you've been sneaking glances at your phone, waiting for a message from him that never comes. You don't know whether to feel relieved that you haven't heard anything from his side, or more worried because of it. Either way, the dread never leaves your body and you come home that night more exhausted than ever.
This carries on for two days straight — the distance you've put between you and the silence on his end. It starts affecting your performance at work badly enough that you find yourself considering filing for a leave just to sort your head out. But every time you come home to your apartment and are met with nothing but quiet, your thoughts grow louder than anything else — you'd rather exhaust yourself fixing mistakes at work than spiral alone through endless overthinking.
However, this whole avoidance has to end eventually. Whether you are prepared or not, you must face the consequences of your actions, and Manjiro makes sure of that on the third morning when a notification from him finally pops up.
Your heart starts to pound as you unlock your screen with trembling fingers.
Fr: Jiro
y/n…
Are you busy?
That isn't what you were expecting. You were bracing yourself for something devastating, something that would confirm every worst fear you’ve spent two days constructing in your head, not this. However, the innocent message does nothing to ease your mind, and before you can even process it, your phone begins to ring.
He's calling.
The panic hits so fast that instead of answering or declining, you turn your phone off entirely. You squeeze your eyes shut, pressing your palms against your face.
What are you doing? you think. What are you doing, what are you doing, what are you doing…
And the coward wins again. Instead of facing him after he finally reaches out, you decide to keep your phone off.
You tell yourself it’s just for a few hours, enough time to breathe and figure out what to say. But those few hours become the whole morning, and the morning bleeds into the afternoon. Before you know it, you’re back home, the sun is gone, and your phone is still a dark weight in your hand.
You stare at it for a long moment. Then, you turn it back on. Your heart tightens as the screen instantly floods with notifications.
Fr: Jiro
10:47 AM: I was busy with training, I didn't get to message you.
11:06 AM: Still no reply? Stop ignoring me, please.
11:10 AM: Emma’s birthday on friday. It would be just the usual circle, nothing big. Come, okay?
Before you can even think, your fingers hover over the keyboard and start typing.
To: Jiro
I’m not sure…
The moment you hit send, regret sinks in. It’s too late. Manjiro’s response comes immediately, the notification dinging before you can even look away.
Fr: Jiro
Why? It’s emma’s birthday.
Are you avoiding me…
The familiar nervousness tugs at your heart so sharply you almost drop the phone. His last message sits there like a quiet accusation. Your chest tightens as you spiral: Why is he asking the obvious when you both know what happened that night? Is this a test? Is he waiting to see if you’ll finally be honest, or if you’ll run again?
You stare at the screen for a long time. Then, you lock it.
You can’t reply. Not when your mind can only offer two things: excuses you’re too tired to sell, or a confession that will surely end everything. So, you say nothing. You set the phone face down and stare at the ceiling instead, trying to force your heartbeat to slow down.
It doesn’t.
Minutes pass. Maybe more. Then, your phone dings again. You pick it up slowly.
Fr: Jiro
I didn't hear anything, y/n.
The air leaves your lungs. You read it again. Twice, thrice. You search those four words over and over, looking for a hidden meaning.
He didn't hear anything…
Whether he meant he didn't hear your response to his message or he didn't hear anything on the phone that night, you aren't sure.
You aren't sure of anything anymore.
In the crushing quiet of the night, the only response you can muster is a silent sob.
"I didn't hear anything, y/n."
The words echo in your head, a lifeline and a threat all at once. You have to face him now, whether you are ready or not. You have to find out if he truly heard you. You have to see if you are capable of telling the truth, or if you’re just going to fall apart.
Friday arrives before you're ready for it.
You stand in front of the mirror, face adorned with makeup — your best attempt at hiding the exhaustion that five days of sleepless nights have carved into you. Five days since that night, and not once have you had a real moment to think anything through.
You’re still caught in a haze of embarrassment and dread, but the world doesn’t care if you’re ready to face him. Time moves forward, and if you want any hope of returning to a sense of peace, you have to move with it. Even if "peace" means confessing your biggest secret — that you are hopelessly in love with your best friend — and watching it ruin everything you’ve ever known.
You take one last look at yourself in the mirror, grab your bag, and go.
You step into the hotel where Emma's birthday is being held. Somewhere inside that private dining room, Manjiro is already there.
Waiting.
You smooth down your dress, take a deep breath, and walk in.
As expected, the birthday party is an intimate affair. For a moment, seeing the familiar faces of your mutual friends settles the frantic beat in your chest...
But the relief is short-lived.
Your heart begins to thump again the second you spot members of the race team. You know Manjiro's right there. He couldn't be far, and if you just let your gaze wander a little further, you’d find him.
You keep your gaze carefully ahead, focused on nothing, avoiding the edges of the room where you know he might be standing. But before you can blend into the background, someone catches your arm and pulls you into a sudden hug.
"I thought you weren't going to come, y/n! You’ve been radio silent lately!"
It’s Emma. She’s her usual bubbly self, pulling you into a hug so tight it almost forces the air out of your lungs. Your heart slowly eases as you return the embrace, clinging to her just as tightly.
"As if I’d miss your birthday, silly. If I did, you’d never let me hear the end of it" you chuckle. But even as the words leave your mouth, you’re reminded of how close you actually came to staying home, of how you almost disappointed her just because you couldn't face her brother.
You let the thought slip away and focus on Emma, who pulls back from the hug first, beaming at you.
"You know me." She giggles. "Though I really wouldn’t have minded if you were busy. We could always celebrate another day — it's not like there's a law against it."
You squint at her, searching for the lie in her statement, and she laughs at your skeptical expression. "Come on, I’m telling the truth!"
You sigh, a gentle smile tugging at your lips. "Just be thankful I'm here."
You reach out and hand her the gift you've been holding. "Happy birthday, Emms."
Emma beams, clutching the gift to her chest. "Thank you, y/n! And thank you for actually coming. I was lying when I said it would be okay if you stayed home."
The two of you burst into shared laughter, and for a fleeting second, the weight pressing down on your chest vanishes. You bask in the giggles, feeling almost normal again.
Then the laughter slowly fades, and Emma's eyes drift across the room.
"Honestly, I could accept it if you didn’t show up. But you know who wouldn't?" Her gaze lands on someone specific. Even without turning around, the frantic skip of your heart tells you exactly who she’s looking at. "Mikey would have definitely thrown a tantrum. Have you talked to him yet?" she asks, her delight suddenly tinted with a quiet worry.
You don't respond, letting her continue.
"Draken told me he's been kind of off lately. We figured it's the new training — the sponsors have been watching closely with the championship coming up. I think the pressure's getting to him more than he lets on."
The bitterness settles on your tongue before you can stop it. He's out there pushing himself through rigorous training, carrying the weight of an entire season on his shoulders, and here you are, about to add to it. About to walk up to him and drop something that has nothing to do with racing and everything to do with ruining what you have.
Right then, without so much as glancing in the direction of his sister's gaze, you make up your mind.
Not tonight.
"Talk to him, okay?" Emma says, her voice gentle. "He's your best friend. He'd tell you if something was wrong."
You smile at her, small and tired.
He would. But the problem he doesn't know about yet...that's you.
Tonight, like every night before it, you choose to keep your distance.
You immediately try to lose yourself in the room, weaving into casual conversations and forcing yourself to look busy. But despite your best efforts, a restless energy claws at you. A prickling sensation on the back of your neck that tells you you’re being watched.
You aren’t wrong.
A sudden, accidental sweep of the room brings you face-to-face with the source of your unease.
Manjiro is standing beside Takemichi, his gaze fixed directly on you. You catch the slight widening of his eyes when your stares collide. He looks just as caught off guard as you are.
You look away first as the tension rises slowly up your throat, settling there and making itself impossible to ignore.
"You alright?" The voice cuts through the noise as a hand grasps your elbow. It’s Kazutora.
You look at him and quickly clear your throat, trying to find your voice.
"Y-yeah. Of course."
He nods, and the conversation folds back around the two of you like nothing happened. Because to everyone else in the room, nothing did. You are the only one coming apart on the inside, thread by thread, behind a perfectly composed face.
Needing to steady yourself, you excuse yourself to find a drink, desperate to wash down the lump in your throat.
You walk over to the small bar counter and grab a glass of champagne. You down the first one instantly, the sharp bite of the alcohol doing its best to steady your nerves. You reach for a second, but just as you bring the flute to your lips, your eyes traitorous as always, drift across the room on their own. And land on Manjiro.
He’s moving now, weaving his way through the crowd, his eyes locked onto yours. You realize with a jolt of panic that he’s walking straight toward you. Your grip tightens around the glass.
In a frantic attempt to look natural, you set the flute down and pivot, walking away from the bar to lose yourself among your friends again. You let the group crowd you, using them as a human shield.
It’s a game of cat and mouse that lasts the entire night. The moment you find yourself isolated for even a second, Manjiro is there, instantly trying to close the distance between you. His stare never wavers. no matter where you move, you can feel the weight of his gaze.
And you can tell he's growing frustrated. The crease between his brows deepens every time he watches you slip away again, every time you choose a crowded corner over facing him.
The guilt eats at you too. It carves into you steadily the same way it has been for days. But what can you do?
What can you really do?
It's not as if you wanted any of this. But the idiocy had to happen, and now here you are — trapped in this constant, exhausting battle with yourself. If only you could have said it on your own terms. A confession born from courage and not from the embarrassment of being caught, not from something as humiliating as what happened that night.
But could you have, really? Would you have confessed if the circumstances were different? Would you have done it at all?
You doubt it. Because you are a fucking coward.
And you would have kept it buried forever if not for that one mistake over a phone call.
So, for the hundredth time tonight, you bury yourself in the crowd so Manjiro can't get to you.
Then Emma's birthday cake is brought out and everyone gathers to sing. You try to steady yourself, dropping your messy thoughts for her sake. It's the least you can do after spending the better half of the night dodging her brother.
You finally lower your guard, giving Emma the attention she deserves and sing along with the rest.
You don't notice the body that slips in beside you.
Emma blows out her candles just as the last note of the song fades. The room erupts. Clapping, cheering, greetings overlapping from every direction. And in the middle of all that noise, while your guard is still down and your attention is still forward, a hand closes around your wrist.
You're being pulled before you can register it.
Everything blurs. The steps are fast, the crowd falling away behind you, and it's only when the cool air of the balcony hits your face that you understand who has been pulling you all along.
Manjiro releases your wrist and turns to face you.
There is no crowd to hide in. No conversation to slip back into. No way out.
You can’t fucking escape this one.
On the balcony, the crowd you used to hide in is suddenly out of grasp. Even though you’re isolated now, you still don't dare look up. You can’t bring yourself to meet the eyes that have been burning holes through you all night and are now fixed intently on your bowed head.
You swallow and wait for the first blow to land. It doesn't take long.
He lets out a heavy sigh, the sound of someone who has finally run out of patience.
"y/n"
You don't respond but your eyes move. Not toward him. Just anywhere that isn't him.
You’re painfully aware of the relentless beat of your heart. It feels powerful enough to rip through your chest if it keeps up this frantic pace. But you stay still, waiting for him to say the words that will end everything once and for all. Soon, you’ll be left with nothing but your ruined self and a friendship stained beyond repair.
You hear him shuffle, his slow footsteps approaching where you stand. He stops abruptly, just a few feet away, and lets out another sigh.
"Why are you avoiding me?" His voice is leveled, not nearly as cold as you deserve for what you’ve done.
You know that staying silent won't help you escape this. You have to respond, even if your brain refuses to give you the right words.
"I…" you exhale slowly, the sound shaky in the cold night air. "I don’t know what to say. I really don’t."
That's all you have. The only words you could pull from the wreckage of your thoughts.
You still haven't looked up at him but you can feel something radiating off of him in the silence. Something restless. Frustrated, maybe. Or dreading this just as much as you are.
"You don’t have to force yourself to say anything. I understand" he pauses, like he's choosing his next words carefully. "Just… would you stop avoiding me, y/n?"
That’s the cue. You finally find the strength to look up and meet his eyes.
There they are — his midnight irises that have haunted your imaginations, now staring at you, stripped of their usual light and replaced by a hollow, drained expression that almost makes you crumble on the spot.
"What do you mean… I don’t have to say anything?" your voice trembles. You search his face, desperately trying to find the meaning behind his words. Because there’s something underneath them, there has to be. But he doesn't flinch. He just stands there, his gaze fixed on you.
"What do you mean, Manjiro?"
For someone who spent the entire night chasing you, he chooses this exact moment to go silent. He looks away, his jaw tightening as he stares out at the dark horizon instead of at you. The sudden wall he’s built up agitates you, the uncertainty sparking a frantic need for an answer.
Because what is he trying to say? You don't have to say anything? After all of that and this?
"Manjiro, please" you call out again, your voice rising and shaking. He inhales sharply, the sound suggesting that whatever he’s about to say pains him just as much as it does you.
"I didn’t hear anything, y/n."
His words land like a match dropped into gasoline.
"That’s bullshit!" your voice comes out sharper than you intended. "I was wailing like a mess in there — chanting your name over and over and you were on the other end of that call for a full two minutes. Two fucking minutes, Manjiro! And now you're standing here telling me you didn't hear anything?!"
"What was I supposed to fucking do then?" he snaps in return. The unreadable mask he wore minutes ago is gone, replaced by a raw frustration that matches his voice. "You’ve distanced yourself from me for days. You wouldn’t even talk to me. The only thing I could think to do was tell you I didn’t hear shit, just so you’d stop running away—"
"But you did." It comes out barely above a whisper. The fight drains out of you as quickly as it came.
"You heard everything."
You don't wait for him to fill it. You push forward, even as you shake trying to pick up the broken pieces of yourself in front of him.
"And I was so—" you bite your lip as your vision blurs, tears threatening to spill at any second. "I was so embarrassed."
"y/n—"
"I—" You shake your head, cutting yourself off before he can reach you with your name.
Across from you, Manjiro goes still. His expression torn open, caught between something you don't have the clarity to name right now. He looks like he wants to reach for you. His foot shifts forward as if to close the gap but he stops himself abruptly, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.
"I didn't mean for any of it to… I mean, I never—" you bite your lip hard, almost drawing blood to ground yourself and stop your flowing tears.
He says your name again. Softer this time, like he's afraid the wrong pressure will destroy you completely. And that's exactly what undoes you.
Because you feel it rising the moment his voice gentles — that familiar pull of retreat. The same cowardice that has kept you silent for years rises in your chest, already building the excuses, already forming the words: It’s fine, forget it, pretend I said nothing.
Maybe you can salvage this without saying another word and just apologize for the mess you’ve caused. Maybe you could choose to believe his lie. Maybe you could convince yourself that you don’t need to confess. You could take the exit he’s giving you and continue living your life, even if the secret would eat you alive day by day.
Maybe that's enough. Maybe it has to be.
But before the retreat can fully form on your tongue Manjiro speaks.
"We can…" He pauses, his gaze dropping to the floor between you.
"If you want, we can forget this. All of it. I can pretend… if that's what you need."
The most generous thing he has ever offered you and somehow, the most devastating. He is giving you exactly what the coward in you always wanted: an exit. A way back to "before." A way to keep him safely as just your best friend.
But you’re so tired.
You’re exhausted from keeping everything hidden away. You're tired of loving him only in your mind — the only place where you could do so without restrictions, without the feeling of crossing a line, without staining or ruining anything.
You can't have that anymore.
"But I can't."
It feels as if a vault has finally been forced open, the words you’ve tried to bury acting as the key. The feelings you thought would never see the light of day are finally laid bare before him.
"I can’t do the 'pretend' anymore."
"Not when I’ve spent years feeling this way."
Every word feels like blood being spat from your mouth. It makes you shake, but it would be more painful to keep it in than to let it out. You continue, even as your voice breaks. Even as your heart does, too.
"Not when I’ve already crossed every line — willingly, Manjiro. All of it, willingly. Just so I could at least feel like you could finally see where I am."
Tears continue to spill, blurring your sight until he’s barely more than a shape in front of you. You pull a split second of bravery to look directly into his eyes as you spill your heart out. Cowardice be damned. Let him see you break. He already heard you at your highest and it shattered you even more after. What difference does it make if he witnesses you at your lowest, standing here as the same shattered self?
"Turn around and see me, Manjiro...I was here. I still am...I'm in love with you."
And you finally break.
You cover your face, the sound of your own wailing sending a violent shiver down your spine. It's terrifying to hear yourself cry this loudly. To feel the raw, unfiltered sound of your heart breaking in the open air. Your legs feel hollow, and you’re certain that at any moment your knees will give out and you'll stumble.
But before you can fall, you feel a sudden, firm tug at your wrist.
And then you're moving.
No words. No warning. Manjiro pulls you back through the balcony doors and into the hall and you don't have the strength to resist. You don't have anything left. You just follow, face still hidden behind your hand trying to hold whatever remains of yourself together.
You’re being led through the crowd, still sobbing openly, and you feel the suffocating weight of every eye in the room following your every move. You’re powerless to shield your messy, broken self from the sudden spotlight. Manjiro’s eager, relentless pace doesn’t break until he reaches the table where Emma and his inner circle are sitting.
Emma's face shifts the moment she sees you. The smile she was wearing dissolving first into confusion, then into something closer to alarm when her eyes find yours.
"Mikey, what happen—"
But Manjiro is already moving. He steps in front of you, catches Emma by the shoulders before she can reach you, and holds her steady.
"Mikey, is y/n alright? What's going on—" Emma’s voice is rising toward panic, but Manjiro reaches out and squeezes her shoulder firmly, grounding her.
"I’ll make it up to you. We have to go now" he says.
He presses a swift, apologetic kiss to his sister’s temple before pulling you away again. He offers no explanation to the confused crowd — not to Emma, who tries to follow, nor to the rest of the guests. Only Draken catches his eye, sending a silent, knowing look Manjiro’s way. The raven-haired man simply nods in return, an unspoken understanding passing between them.
Everything follows in a dizzying blur. Cold city air. The sharp ding of an elevator. Until the world finally stops spinning.
Before you can even process the shift in atmosphere, the heavy doors click shut, and you’re being led inside his penthouse.
Maybe it's resignation settling into your bones that keeps you from responding properly to any of this. It all feels like a fever dream. The avoidance. The confession. Him pulling you through a crowded room without a single word of explanation, and you following without resistance. You don't fully return to the reality until you feel Manjiro's grip tighten around your hand.
The gravity of the situation hits you like a physical blow to the chest.
You confessed. You actually did it.
You told your best friend of years that you are in love with him. For all the time you spent locking that truth away in the deepest part of your soul, convinced it would stay a secret you’d take to the grave, it only took one moment of weakness to bring you here. Standing in his room, the door locked behind you.
Across from you, Manjiro's face gives nothing away. Not anger. Not relief. Not even surprise. Just focus as he reaches up to shed his jacket, then moves to step out of his pants, like this is any other night. Like you didn't just crack yourself open in front of him twenty minutes ago.
Your mind begins to spiral, even as your body makes no effort to move. You stand paralyzed in the dark with him, your head filling with questions that make your skin crawl. Why did he bring me here? Why is he undressing? Why isn’t he saying he doesn't love me?
Why won’t you just push me away?
Before your head can split open from the weight of it, the words slip free on their own.
"Manjiro…" It comes out so soft. The way you utter his name isn't a call for attention. It’s a plea for him to end the silence before it destroys you.
Manjiro catches it. His head snaps toward you, and that focused expression dissolves replaced by something uncharacteristically soft. Almost meek. He waits for you to continue.
"Why are we here? What are you doing?"
He avoids your gaze, turning to sit at the edge of the large bed. Stripped down to only his shirt and boxers, the barrier between you finally feels thin.
In the dim light of the room, he looks reachable. He would almost feel safe if you weren't so paralyzed by the confusion of his actions.
"Why did you bring me here—"
"I just need you to rest, y/n"
"And you think I can? After everything that happened — everything I’ve said? Manjiro, we need to address this."
"We can, yeah? We can" he says, his voice low. "But let’s just rest first. You need it. We both need it, y/n."
He stands to approach you and you instinctively step back. A flash of pure hurt crosses his face when you retreat, but he continue reaching for your elbow. Maybe it's the exhaustion. Maybe it's the deep, aching want to just be held, to stop carrying all of this alone for one moment. Either way, you don't step back a second time. You let him pull you toward the bed.
He pulls you down, laying gently beside you. The proximity silences the frantic noise in your head, replaced only by the steady rhythm of his breathing. He wraps his arms around you like a vice, clinging to your body as he buries your face against the heat of his chest.
"Jiro." His name comes out muffled against his shirt, and you're almost grateful for the fabric between you.
Your voice has started to shake again. "I can't think anymore. I can't think about anything."
"Then don’t think. Just rest" he murmurs. You push slightly against him to look up, only to find him staring directly back at you.
"I'm not going to fall asleep and pretend none of this happened. We can't just—" The words die in your throat as fresh tears spill over.
A flicker of what looks like agonizing pain crosses Manjiro’s eyes. Seeing him look at you like this, a devastating thought takes hold: He’s doing this to compensate.
He’s holding you now because he knows he has to let you go later. This is the last kindness he can offer because he won't return your feelings, and what’s been said can never be unsaid.
So, you don't speak anymore. You just cry.
He pulls you closer, tucking your head under his chin to muffle your sobs. His hand moves in slow, soft caresses across your back, your waist, and your arms. He doesn't say another word and he just lets you weep.
He stays there as a silent anchor, listening to every broken sob and jagged breath as the night bleeds away. The weight of your grief and the heat of his body slowly drain the last of your strength, making your limbs feel like lead.
Just as the darkness of sleep begins to pull you under, you feel the ghost of lips against your forehead — a pressure so soft it feels like a dream.
"Just so you know" a raspy whisper brushes against your skin. "I’m not going anywhere. Not anymore."
The morning after is a montage of moments you can't quite grasp. You wake up in his bed, and the flashbacks of the night come crashing down with a force that almost sends you into a fresh panic, only for the air to settle the moment Manjiro re-enters the room.
The next thing you know, he is driving you home because you insisted on going. The drive is filled with nothing but silence, but every time Manjiro brakes, he quietly reaches for your hand. He doesn't look at you when he does it. He just finds your fingers with his, squeezing briefly before the light turns green.
But what seals everything into one big knot of confusion is the way Manjiro kisses your forehead as he leaves you at your door. It’s a kiss that lingers, so long and so heavy, that you can still feel the ghost of his warmth on your skin even after he pulls away.
And then he leaves without a word. There is no rejection, but there is no acknowledgment of the confession you made at the party, either. He just disappears back to his car, leaving you standing there with the weight of everything unsaid pressing against your chest.
You're not stupid enough to miss the shift in him. You know something changed. But the only thing stopping you from leaning into those more hopeful thoughts is the massive question mark still hanging over your head. Two terrifying possibilities and you're caught right in the middle of both.
Did Manjiro do all of this out of guilt — his way of softening the blow before he cuts you off? Or does he feel something too?
That doubt turns the full-blown panic of last night into a tight, suffocating knot of overthinking.
What does any of this mean?
And somehow that question leads you here, to your current predicament — lying in bed, checking your phone every few minutes, waiting for a message that may never come.
Would he text you? Or was that kiss on the forehead the end of it?
You wait and wait until the exhaustion of your own thoughts pulls you under without warning. You fall asleep without meaning to, and when you open your eyes again, the sun is already setting outside your window.
You rub your eyes and reach for your phone to check the time...and find three unopened notifications from him.
Fr. Jiro:
What are you doing?
Just took a break from training. You busy?
Can I come over to yours after my training?
Your heart suddenly remembers its existence. It starts to beat again, but it dances to a different rhythm this time. It’s no longer following the frantic steps of panic, instead, it moves to a slow, hopeful sway of excitement.
You:
sure
And as if he's been waiting on the other end this whole time, the reply comes immediately.
Fr. Jiro
I have something to tell you..
Also, I miss you.
Though your heart is still racing, the heavy weight of that massive question mark finally dissolves. It is replaced by a soft, blooming heat for the man you hope will finally answer your yearning and longing.
You barely have time to prepare yourself when you hear the revving of a motorcycle outside your house. It’s a sound you’ve heard a thousand times, but tonight, it makes your stomach flip in a way that’s entirely new. You don’t have to look outside to know that it’s him.
It doesn’t take long before you hear the steady knock on your door. You exhale, readying yourself for another night of facing Manjiro. You hope, god you hope, that all the silent pining, the wishful thinking, and the secrets whispered into the quiet are finally going to be answered, once and for all.
You pull the door open. There he is — the man who haunts every crevice of your mind, the one you secretly call "mine" every chance the quiet nights give you. Your best friend stands there, looking at you with a soft, knowing smile that feels both familiar and brand new.
"Hey," he says, his voice low and steady.
"Hey," you respond, the word catching slightly in your throat as you look at him.
"Can I come in?"
For years, Manjiro has drifted into your space without a second thought, inhabiting every corner of your life as if he belonged there by birthright. But this sudden hesitation, this soft request for permission, is the cue that the old rules no longer apply.
It is the beginning of something entirely new. And as the weight of the day’s anxiety begins to lift, you find yourself feeling lighter, though your heart still hammers a frantic rhythm against your ribs.
You don't answer and simply pull the door wide open. He pauses for a second and stares at you, then he finally steps inside.
He stands in the middle of your living room, eyes still lingering on you. You, on the other hand, avoid his gaze as you make a beeline toward the kitchen.
"Uh... have you had your dinner yet? I can coo—" You hear his soft footsteps following you as he calls your name.
"y/n."
You shut your eyes tightly, your back still facing him. You want to slap yourself for acting this way again, you really do. But you can't help the awkwardness that clings to you like a second skin.
There's no running anymore, though. Right? Please.
"Hmm?"
"Let's talk."
He utters the same words that ripped your heart apart the night he called you — but this time, you don't feel that same dread settling in your chest. What you feel instead is nothing but anticipation. Maybe it's the way he let those words slip out with a quiet, almost imploring tone, as if to say that this is not like that night. He wants to talk, but in a way that won't make you feel like you need to put yourself out of his reach again.
So with a gathered courage, you turn around and face him. You exhale.
"Okay. Let's talk."
Manjiro's expression remains calm as he begins.
"I heard it." His eyes search your face, catching for any small expression that might slip through.
You remain steady, even as you force down the tension rising in your chest from his words. You already knew it — but he had to lie because you yourself weren't ready to accept it. Hence the days of avoiding him. Yet hearing the truth come directly from his own mouth is an entirely different wave to weather.
"I heard it, y/n. All of it" Manjiro shifts his weight, his eyes never leaving yours. He looks as though he is physically weighing the next words to say.
But you beat him to it. Before he can find the right way to piece his thoughts together, you find your own voice. You don't let the silence stretch any longer. You throw the question at him, the one that has been burning in the back of your mind since the night of the party.
"Then why didn’t you say anything further than that? I know you had to lie because I couldn’t face you, and the truth. But why—"
The rest of the question dies in your throat, the air suddenly too thin to carry the words. Manjiro nods, his gaze softening as if he finally understands the tangled mess of your thoughts without you having to finish the sentence.
He takes a step closer, closing the gap as if the distance itself is a barrier to being understood. It is so different from the night of the party. That night, he was afraid to cross an invisible line, and you were in a blind panic at his proximity while you poured your heart out. But tonight, that fear is gone — replaced by a magnetic pull, a shared itch to be closer. And so you stay rooted to the spot, letting him enter your space.
"I couldn’t say anything more than that because I didn’t know what to tell you anymore that would not make you run away again," he confesses as his stares level yours. "I only brought up excuses to forget, if that’s what you wanted, because I don’t want you to run away anymore. That’s all it was."
His eyes search yours, looking for any sign of the flight instinct that usually takes hold of you. But for the first time, you aren't looking for the exit. You’re looking at him.
"But why… why don't you want me to avoid you?" The words come out sounding more like a flicker of hope than a real question.
"Why do you need me to stay close, when everything I’ve done shows that I no longer see you as… a friend?" You shakily inhale, feeling the lump rise in your throat. And as the silent seconds follow, the tears in your eyes start to well. "Why Manjiro?"
That is his cue. He cuts the little distance left between you, fully invading your space. He reaches out, his thumb catching the first stray tear as he caresses your cheek before finally letting his forehead fall against yours.
"Why do you think, baby?"
Hearing that endearment directly from his lips is the final blow to the charade you have both been maintaining. It is a single word that dissolves years of careful distance, revealing the raw truth of what you truly feel for each other.
"I’ve been a fucking idiot for a long time, y/n" He pulls away to stare down at you, as if he is memorizing every inch of your face, as if it were the first time he has been given a chance to look at you this closely.
In his abyss-colored irises, you are the only one reflected, from before until now.
"If only I focused on what you were feeling rather than focusing on mine… I should have known earlier. I should have told you sooner. I should have loved you more sooner."
Your heart finally beats in a way that doesn’t tell you to run away; instead, it pulsates with elation, a damn neon sign that tells you: finally.
The kitchen, with its humming fridge and dim light, feels like the safest place in the world. Manjiro’s hands are steady on your face, his thumbs wiping away the salt of your tears, and for the first time in your life, you don't feel like you have to find an exit. You are exactly where you belong. In his arms.
"I’m sorry it took me this long."
You immediately shake your head in disagreement, reaching up to cup the handsome face that you love so much. He closes his eyes, basking in the warmth of your hands, and then he says,
"But I’m here now."
And then he kisses you.
A sharp gasp leaves your throat as his lips press firmly against yours. For a heartbeat, you stay frozen, the shock of the contact vibrating through your chest. But as he begins to slowly move his lips, the tension in your shoulders finally dissipates.
You close your eyes. Your hands slide from his cheeks to wrap around his neck and pull him closer. You arch your back slightly, closing every inch of the gap between you and begin to move your lips in sync with his.
Manjiro’s hands tighten on your waist, his grip firm and grounding as he pulls you flush against him. You let out a shaky breath into the kiss, finally surrendering to the heat of him.
When he pulls back, he opens his eyes to gaze at your face, feeling his heart rate quicken at the sight of your dazed expression. He bites his lower lip before leaning in once more to press a few soft pecks to your lips. Then whispers against your mouth.
"Let me stay with you tonight"
It doesn't sound like a request despite the rasp in his voice, but more like a certainty. Like something already decided. And you know —you've always known, that there isn't a version of yourself that would ever turn him away.
The way your fingers are already curled tightly into his shirt is answer enough. But he waits patiently and gives you the space to say it.
So you look up at him. You hold his gaze. And you breathe.
"Please."
Manjiro doesn't waste another second. His arms sweep under you, lifting you off the floor in one fluid motion, and he moves toward your room with a certainty that makes your breath catch. The same room that once witnessed everything you ever did with him only in your mind.
And as he lays you down and hovers above you, you realize, this is the same room, the same mattress, and the same sheets that once held only your longing and your guilt and your secret.
But this time, your fatal fantasies are finally and irrevocably about to be real.
You feel it snap. You watch it fade in real time — the invisible line that once connected you to a world you built in your head, the one where you could have him all to yourself.
You would still believe this was a lie, another trick of your mind, if not for the way Manjiro is currently stealing the very breath from your lungs. If he had given you even a few more seconds before leaning down to snatch the air from your lips, you might have basked in the sweet reality of it. You might have finally processed that this isn't just another vision playing against the back of your eyelids.
But Manjiro doesn't give you time to think. His actions echo his words: he has waited long enough.
You both have.
And so, he effectively destroys the final thread of your imagination by kissing you roughly, his tongue sliding deep to explore the heat of your mouth. He devours the sound of your gasp, his tongue tangling with yours in a messy, desperate rhythm.
There is no such thing as reverie anymore. Not when your fingers thread through his hair to tug him closer, eliminating the space between you until you can feel the heavy press of him against your skin. You open your legs wider, finally accommodating the body you once prayed would ride you instead of his motorcycles. You lock your ankles behind him, tethering him to you, making sure he cannot pull away even if he wanted to.
Settling perfectly between your legs, Manjiro doesn’t waste a second. He grinds his groin hard against you, the sudden pressure punching a sharp whine from your lips. It is a fleeting relief from the restriction of his pants, but a delicious ache to your already pulsating heat.
Driven by a sudden spike of impatience, you grind back against him. Manjiro lets out a low, guttural groan and instantly breaks the kiss. He lifts his head just enough to stare directly into your eyes, his gaze dark and blown wide with raw hunger.
He bites his already red and swollen lower lip, his gaze roaming over your face and your body, taking in how completely undone you look beneath him. His left hand moves from your hair to your face, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek. You can’t help but let out a shaky sigh at the contact.
"Do you think everything you did in this room... everything you thought about... I can't make it happen?" His voice is raspy, quiet but tinted with confidence. It’s a challenge.
A shiver immediately runs down your spine as his gaze grows even darker. It is a telltale sign that he isn't going to hold back and whatever you imagined before, he is going to make the experience more and better.
Your hand shifts to caress his face, and he turns his head slightly to press a kiss into your palm. "Say it, y/n. I want to hear it from you."
"Make it happen, Jiro," you whisper, the words coming out breathless and desperate.
"Please, baby... do me."
He dives back into you, his mouth clashing against yours as if your air is the only thing keeping him alive. His left hand roams downward, sliding from your cheek to the curve of your neck before dropping to the swell of your chest. He catches you in a firm, desperate squeeze.
A sharp moan escapes your lips as Manjiro continues kneading your clothed breast, his palm heavy and insistent. His kisses shift from your lips to your cheek, trailing down the line of your jaw until he buries his face in the crook of your neck. He focuses his mouth there, his teeth grazing your skin as he marks you.
The temperature rises as Manjiro continues his ministrations, and you are helplessly responsive. You arch your back to meet his lower body, trying to grind against him again, but Manjiro pins you down with the full weight of his frame.
"J-Jiro..." you whine, the sound trapped between your teeth.
You feel Manjiro smile against your skin. He lifts his head to look at your face, stealing one more kiss before trailing his mouth down your chest. Even through the fabric of your clothes, the heat radiating between you is suffocating.
Manjiro’s hand slides beneath your shirt, his fingers roaming with practiced intent until he finds the lock of your bra. He unclasps it with a sharp click. Moving with a sudden surge of energy, he lifts himself up to pull both your shirt and bra over your head. Once you’re undressed, he goes silent, his gaze burning as he stares at your naked body.
The one who had haunted his dreams as well.
You have no time to be embarrassed, not when you feel the painful throbbing between your thighs. You are pulsating with a desire that only Manjiro can ease, and your body aches for him to finally focus his attention lower. But he isn't in a hurry; he is in a trance of his own, as if it would be a sin not to give every part of you the appreciation it deserves.
He starts with your breasts, massaging the weight of them as if he has done it a thousand times before. You arch your body further, offering yourself to him, and he crouches down to meet you. Manjiro sucks your left nipple, and you let out a sharp whimper at the sudden, wet heat of his tongue circling the tip. Your hands immediately fly to his hair, fingers tangling in the strands to pull him even closer, pinning him to your chest. His right hand finds your other breast, molding and squeezing the flesh at a pace that matches the rhythmic pull of his mouth.
"Jiro—ah!"
He gives your nipple an experimental tug with his teeth, sending a jolt of electricity straight to your core before he shifts his attention to the right, giving it the same ruthless treatment. You keep squirming beneath him, but Manjiro doesn’t allow an inch of space between his mouth and your chest; he buries his face deeper, sucking and biting and licking at you as if he can’t get enough of the taste.
Manjiro finally lifts his head to look at you. You are breathless and damp with sweat from the ministrations he just performed. He licks his lower lip, taking in your completely fucked-out expression.
"Baby, you’re not getting exhausted on me, right? At least, not yet."
He smirks when you can’t find your voice to answer him. You can only whine as your hands reach for your own chest, massaging your skin right in front of him in a desperate attempt to ease the ache.
"Please, Jiro... please..."
Something raw and predatory settles in Manjiro’s eyes. The second your hands paw at his shirt, he’s already stripping it off, ripping the fabric over his head and throwing it to the floor. He doesn’t wait for you to ask about his pants, he rids himself of them in one fluid motion while his gaze never leaving yours. You follow suit, kicking off your shorts too.
Manjiro settles between your thighs again, leaning down for one brief, bruising kiss before he starts his descent. His hands stay busy, roaming and squeezing your curves as he moves. You brace yourself, your breath hitching as you watch him trail kisses down the valley of your breasts, over the sensitive skin of your stomach, and finally to the place where you need him most.
You’re still wearing your underwear, but Manjiro can already smell the sweet scent of your arousal. He doesn't waste another second. He presses his mouth directly against the fabric, sucking the sensitive nub of your clit through your panties. The initial contact sends a shock through you — your head falls back, eyes rolling as a ragged gasp escapes you.
"You have no idea what I would have given just to have you like this."
His words make your head spin, but he doesn't give you a moment to recover. Manjiro hooks his fingers into the edge of your underwear, pulling the lace aside to dive in. His tongue finally meets your wet, gushing pussy, tasting you for the very first time.
You swear you see lights flashing behind your eyelids as you throw your head back. You start babbling, the sounds of pleasure incoherent as you feel his tongue continuously swiping between your puffy lips. The sensation makes your toes curl and you close your legs unconsciously, but Manjiro doesn’t let you. He holds your thighs firmly, his grip bruising as he slots his head further between them. He forces you open, giving you no chance to hide from him as he continues his relentless assault.
The pleasure he’s giving you is becoming overwhelming, but he is nowhere near finished, not when he can feel you getting wetter and slicker against his tongue by the second. His eyes lift from your pussy to look at you and watches you squirm as you moan his name. He can’t help the surge of pride. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you. He knows he’s making you feel incredible, and he’s savoring every frantic move you make.
"Jiro—baby! Ah… nghh… please"
Manjiro pulls away just enough to slide a finger inside you. He bites his lower lip the moment he enters, his expression tightening when he feels your walls instantly clench around him. It gives you another sensation to scream about and if you thought you were the only one electrified by the pleasure, you were wrong. Manjiro is already humping against the mattress, a low groan vibrating in his throat as he finger fucks you while sucking your clit.
"Fuck… I could stay down here for hours," he rasps. He gives you a hard, demanding suck followed by a slow lick, all while his finger relentlessly pumps in and out of you. "Tastes like a fucking dream, if you ask me."
The pleasure is so overwhelming that you don’t know whether to hold on tight until you cum or push Manjiro’s head away because it’s simply too much. But you know yourself, that if you push him away now, you’ll definitely cry. You make a conscious decision to reach for Manjiro’s head, your fingers tangling in his hair to bury him deeper against you. You start to grind small, desperate circles against his mouth, forcing the stimulation even further.
Manjiro lets out a guttural sound against your skin. He continues to swipe his tongue against you until you scream the moment his finger hits that one particular spot. You start to shake, your entire body vibrating with the force of it.
"Ah—Jiro, yes... right there... r-right there—"
Manjiro doesn’t waver. He lets his finger hit that spot again and again, coaxing scream after scream from your throat until the shaking turns into a violent tremor. He knows you’re about to break. Your breath comes in shallow, ragged pants; your vision blurs and your toes curl so tight they feel like they might snap. Then, with one final, deep curl of his finger and an insistent swirl of his tongue, you scream.
Manjiro drinks you in through the spasming, holding you open until your body finally goes limp against the mattress. Once you’ve settled, he begins his slow ascent, kissing his way back up your body until he reaches your face. He peppers your face with soft, loving kisses, his hands now gentle as they stroke your hair.
Your eyes slowly flutter open to see him. Half of his face is drenched, and his jet-black tresses are messy, but his eyes have lost their predatory edge, replaced by a familiar, heavy softness.
"You tired now, baby?"
You push yourself up and kiss him, tasting yourself on his mouth. He kisses you back with the same intensity, only stopping when he feels your hand creep between his thighs. He raises an eyebrow at you as you start palming him through his boxers.
"Not yet. Not when you still have this to give me" you say, your voice raspy from all the screaming. You wouldn't mind letting out a few more cries if it meant Manjiro giving you this one last piece — the last thing he has to give to be fully and completely yours.
Manjiro removes his boxers immediately, his cock springing free from the confinement. He gives himself a slow stroke, staring down at you as you discard your panties and start playing with your pussy.
If Manjiro doesn’t have enough strength, the sight of you, so raw and so goddamn beautiful, might make his knees buckle. If you ever thought Manjiro’s best look was the one he wore after a race, you were wrong. He is the prettiest when he’s above you like this: strong, handsome, and unruly.
And if the world suddenly reverses and forces you to return to the moments where you had to hide and keep everything in, you’re willing to go through all of it again, as long as you’re promised to end exactly where you are now: underneath him, with only his eyes on you.
Bracing his weight on his forearms, he leans down to press his forehead against yours, and you instantly wrap your arms around his neck. He reaches down, his hands steady as he finds the place where you meet. With slow, unwavering pressure, he guides his length into you. You let out a sharp gasp as you feel the slow, heavy breach of the entrance, but neither of you looks away. Manjiro doesn’t rush, despite the heavenly sensation starting to cloud his mind. He wants to feel the pulsing, delicious clench of your walls as he ensures you feel every agonizingly slow inch while he slides deep inside.
You know that when he finally pours everything he has into you, he is in this for the long haul. No more fantasizing. No more imagining. No more looking from afar.
He is yours, from the beginning until however long you want him.
Manjiro kisses your forehead, your nose, and your lips. Against your mouth, he whispers the words that were once allowed only in your mind:
"I love you."
Then, he finally sinks himself fully inside you.
The roar of cheers erupts all over the circuit as the blurring streaks of motorcycles blast through the final lap. As much as you want to close your eyes and pray, the deafening noise is impossible to ignore, and this is not the time to miss the chance to see who reaches the checkered flag first.
The only thing you can do is clasp your hands tightly, your eyes glued to the large display screens that show the play-by-play. It shows that it isn't just one person pulling ahead; there are several frontrunners driving at the same punishing pace. Your heart thumps and nervousness rises when you catch a glimpse of the familiar red and black bike banking to increase its speed, trying to outdrive the motorcycles beside it. It’s the championship race, and everyone knows a win here is a step toward becoming undefeated — a chance to conquer the world.
But you’re not mostly worried about whether Manjiro wins this race, it’s the fact that he’s using critical techniques and pushing his bike to its absolute limit. The risk of an accident is what makes your stomach lodge in your throat.
You can’t help but pry your eyes away from the LED for a second, unable to handle the anxiety that eats at you. But that one second of missing the run is what makes the blonde girl beside you holler. Emma screams at the top of her lungs and starts jumping, pointing at the large screen.
"Mikey! Mikey!"
Your eyes immediately return to the screen to see Manjiro pushing ahead at a terrifying speed — a predatory surge that leaves the other motorcycles behind to eat his smoke. You and Emma face each other and scream in unison, your voices blending with the frantic spectators. Your nervousness instantly fades, replaced by pride as the commentators rain praise down on the crowd’s favorite.
"And look at the inside line! The red and black is screaming through turn four! Sano Manjiro isn't just riding, he’s hunting! He’s pulling away from the pack like they’re standing still — nobody can match that pace, and there it is! There it is!"
The crowd becomes a singular, deafening wave of sound when he crosses the line.
First.
The world seems to blur for a second, the roar of the engines replaced by the sound of your own jagged breathing as the reality sinks in.
"Undefeated! Untouchable! The king of the race track has reclaimed his throne! Sano Manjiro! What a performance!"
You and Emma exchange a tight embrace, both of you shedding tears from the overwhelming excitement. When you pull apart, you pause to watch the screen as Manjiro hops off his motorcycle. The crowd doesn’t falter, erupting further when the camera zooms in on his face. Your heart remains relentless as you watch Manjiro remove his helmet, a knowing smile playing on his lips. He turns the helmet in his hands, pressing a lingering kiss directly to the elegant, bold letters painted on the side before holding it high toward the sky. The camera follows the movement, focusing on the gear to reveal the painted letters Manjiro just kissed.
You cover your mouth in shock, eyes brimming with tears.
It’s your name.
In his helmet, like a victory charm to kiss and raise after a win, and for thousands of people to see.
You don’t have to turn to Emma to see her smiling wildly. You don’t have to hear the questions rising from the crowd, wondering who he dedicated this win to. You don’t even have to watch the screen to see Manjiro being lifted up, his hand still holding the helmet with your name on it high above the world.
You only need to listen to your heart as it screams one thing:
synopsis: you’re in love with your best friend, manjiro, but it’s a secret you’re willing to keep buried in the furthest corners of your mind. however, when the lines between fantasy and reality start to blur, you realize some secrets are too loud to keep hidden.
part two
pairings: racer!sano manjiro x fem!reader
content warnings: mature themes, adult language, 18+, M.D.N.I.
You think that if you clasp your hands tightly enough and squeeze your eyes shut, the frantic cheers booming across the circuit will finally fall into silence. The only thing you want to hear in this moment is your own silent prayer, a desperate plea for the racer you are rooting for to cross the finish line first.
It is impossible, however, when the crowd is already going wild. Not to mention the very woman beside you is practically vibrating, shouting at the top of her lungs. Emma Sano, caught in the middle of her own hollering, turns toward you and catches sight of your silly little act.
"Come on, stop that! It's already the final lap--closing your eyes won't make him go faster. Just watch!"
Emma gives your shoulder a frantic shake before she goes back to screaming. Exhaling, you finally open your eyes, only to see a blurring streak of motorcycles tearing across the track. Your chest thumps with a heavy nervousness, the speed is so dizzying that you can't even tell who is in the lead.
You turn to Emma, who is now bouncing on her toes. "I can’t keep track, Emm! I’m too nervous… who’s out front?"
The blonde quickly faces you, her smile wider than ever, as she points toward the ahead of the track.
"It's Mikey!!"
You pause for a second, a slow smile creeps onto your face, mirroring hers as you grab her hands and both of you scream in unison. The nervousness you felt fades in seconds the moment your eyes lock onto the glint of a familiar red-and-black helmet, now pulling ahead of the rest.
"See?! Mikey will win this--he's a cocky bastard who hates losing!"
Emma's voice is barely audible over the deafening mix of chanting and the screech of motorcycles, but the confident gleam in her eyes says enough.
"No prayers needed--it's Mikey. He’s got this."
It becomes a glaring fact when the already wild spectators on the trackside erupt even further. You immediately whip back to the track just in time to witness Sano Manjiro of Top of Manji blur past everyone like a streak of light to reach the checkered flag first.
The stands fall into absolute chaos. Even Emma, who was joyfully cheering only a second ago, is now messy-crying while chanting her brother’s name. You give yourself a few seconds to process it--your best friend just won another race. You can hardly believe your eyes, caught between shock and pride. It’s only when the play-by-play commentator announces the winner that reality finally sinks in. You pull Emma into a fierce embrace, tears prickling your own eyes.
"Crossing the finish line first--it’s Sano Manjiro! Like there was ever any doubt, folks! The man is untouchable!"
After you and Emma exchange hugs, she yanks your arm and drags you through the still-cheering spectators. You have easy access courtesy of the pit pass dangling from her neck, and soon you arrive at the front rail at the edge of the trackside. Pressing closer to the pit barrier, you can finally see the racer and his team up close.
From here, the scene sharpens.
Standing there proud, Manjiro removes his helmet. His hair and skin are damp with sweat, glistening under the bright sun. He rests his right hand on his hip, his chest heaving from the adrenaline, but the thrill of the win is written all over his face as his eyes drift to his team. His smile widens when Draken--his lead mechanic and other best friend dashes toward him first and hoists him up.
"Look at you, you asshole!" Draken barks with a grin.
Manjiro’s laugh grows louder as the rest of the team rushes in to crowd him. From your spot at the barrier, every detail is now visible: the glint in his eyes, the subtle smirk tugging at his lips, and that almost imperceptible bite of his lower lip that makes your chest tighten.
You’re caught in the moment until Emma starts shouting again, snapping you back to reality.
Even though he couldn't have known who called him amidst the deafening cheers, Manjiro snaps his head around, searching for the source of the shout. He taps Draken’s shoulder, and his mechanic sets him down immediately.
When his eyes finally land on the familiar figures of his sister and you, his face changes. He points toward the barrier where you’re standing, prompting Draken to turn and look at you and his wife. The taller gives a knowing nod, and Manjiro doesn't waste another second.
He rushes toward you. The closer he gets, the faster your heart hammers against your ribs. Seeing him like this: clad in his racer suit, glistening with sweat, and wearing a triumphant smile while locking his dark irises onto yours, is almost more than you can handle.
You have to clear your throat, a desperate attempt to fix yourself, as your best friend finally stops right in front of you at the edge of the barrier.
The adrenaline hasn't fully drained from his eyes as he grins up at you, crossing his arms and tilting his chin with a cocky edge. "Well? What did I tell you?"
You can't help but roll your eyes. You know exactly what he's getting at -- fishing for you to admit he was right about some arrogant promise he made before the race.
"You didn't tell me shit" you retort.
His eyes widen for a second before he pouts. "I did so! If you forgot, that’s on you. But I won, so…"
You both hold each other's gaze for a heartbeat, the silence between you stretching just a second too long before you both break into a laugh.
"Yeah, you won. Congrats, Jiro!" you say, bending down to reach him. To make it easier for you, he leans in closer, close enough for you to reach over the barrier and ruffle his damp hair. And Manjiro, the cockiness finally fading, just smiles at you with his eyes.
That's when you retract your hand, subtly avoiding his gaze as the heat of the moment starts to feel like too much. Thankfully, Emma steps in to grab her brother's attention.
"You have an after-party later. Ken already told you, right?" she reminds him. "We’re just going to go get ready and then we'll head there. You better be there--it’s your party, after all."
"Yeah, yeah. I'm going back to the guys first," the raven-haired racer says, gesturing toward his team still waiting for him. But before he turns away, his eyes linger on you for a few seconds longer than necessary. One last smile, and then he turns his back.
You expected the celebration to be packed, but you didn’t expect the night to be this star-studded. Since you and Emma arrived earlier to get settled, you’ve had time to watch the room fill with famous names--you could swear a top model and a renowned designer just strutted through the area--and it’s only now that it truly sinks in just how big of a deal your friend is.
The atmosphere shifts the second Manjiro finally arrives at the hotel. Following the mandatory congratulatory surprise at the entrance, the crowd immediately swarms him. From your spot across the room, you watch as waves of people from every direction flock to his side, forcing him to stay at the center of the chaos. You stay back, allowing him to bask in the appreciation for his exceptional performance on the track.
You find yourself standing alone as even Emma and her husband are pulled into separate circles of conversation. You use the moment to find a chair where you can sit, the sheer scale of this much attention is enough to make your head spin.
The attention on the raven-haired racer doesn’t lift even after thirty minutes. The crowd continues to pour in, forcing the Sanos, especially Manjiro, to work double-time to greet and entertain every guest. You, on the other hand, have already eaten, greeted a few close friends, and chatted with some mutual acquaintances. Now, you find yourself sitting at a round table with a champagne flute in hand, idly talking with Takemichi, Kazutora, and Chifuyu.
You hear the scrape of the empty chair to your right being pulled back and look up to see Emma. A tired expression is clearly growing on her face, but what makes your eyebrows furrow is the champagne flute she’s holding.
You eye the glass as she sets it on the table before looking back at her.
"You’re not trying to get drunk, are you?" you whisper to your friend. "Did Draken even give you the green light for that?"
"My throat is getting dry from all this entertaining. I might as well moisturize it for a bit. Besides, Draken approved" Emma says, raising her glass with a cheeky smile.
You shrug, letting it go. "Just make sure you don't actually get tipsy. I can only handle one messy, drunk Sano at a time."
As soon as the words leave your mouth, you subtly sweep your eyes across the crowd to find the specific Sano you haven’t been able to spend a single second with tonight.
Emma giggles, setting her glass back down. "Well, if you’re going to have to handle a messy Sano today, it’s not me." She gives you a light tap and gestures with her chin toward her brother.
Manjiro is still surrounded, a smile still etched on his face and his enthusiasm apparently locked in as he engages with the circle around him. But you know better than that. You know every fiber of Manjiro Sano’s being, and simply staring at him tells you everything you need to know. The way his eyes are slightly mellow and unfocused as he speaks is the giveaway.
He’s already had a few tonight.
"He’s been accepting shot after shot since we arrived. If he gets his hands on five more, he’s going to be absolutely trashed" Emma mutters. Her focus shifts to her husband, who just sat down beside her, while your gaze remains anchored to where Manjiro is standing.
You consider for a moment whether you should intervene, but this night is about him. You don't want to be nosy and stop him-- you're not his girlfriend, not the one who gets to nag. Just a good friend on the sidelines looking out for him quietly. And that's exactly the position you need to maintain tonight, especially with so many eyes around.
The last thing you need is to be caught berating a famous racer and end up on tomorrow's headlines. The public outrage alone would eat you alive, his fangirls especially would make sure of it. Or worse, you'd come across as an overprotective woman with no place to act that way, giving everyone exactly the ammunition they need to speculate. That yeah, maybe you like Manjiro a little too much to be just a friend.
And you do.
So it would be worse.
To reveal your biggest secret on the very night you should be burying it deeper, the truth of what you really feel for your closest friend....yeah, there is nothing more disastrous than that.
So you choose to stay out of it. Let him be free, because it's his night. You'll take care of him after, like you always do. Because as you said, you can only handle one messy Sano a day.
And it would always be him.
Just as you are about to pull your gaze away to focus on the friends at your table, Manjiro catches your eye. You watch as he murmurs something to the people he’s talking to, giving them a slight, polite bow before stepping away. He doesn't break eye contact for a second, and it suddenly becomes clear that the only reason he left that conversation was to come to you.
As he approaches, his state becomes more obvious. Though he still looks sharp, his slow smile and heavy-lidded, mellow eyes are more prominent now, a clear indication that he’s tipsy. You don't know if it's because of his leisurely pace, but the world seems to slow down as you watch him weave through the crowd toward where you’re sitting.
You don't know either if it's already the champagne coursing through your veins but hell, the closer he gets, the harder your chest starts to pound.
He dips his head slightly as he walks, maybe watching where he's headed, maybe watching his own footsteps. You don't know. But the moment he lifts his gaze back to yours, you realize one thing...
Sano Manjiro looks like a daydream.
You thought seeing him post-race was enough to make your heart ache, but seeing him now in his dark leather jacket, softened by the alcohol, walking past the eyes that blatantly follow his every move just to get to you… it's enough to stretch your heart beyond its limit. It rattles in your chest so hard it almost hurts.
Upon reaching you, Manjiro immediately pulls out the empty chair to your left and sits down. You start to turn toward him to ask if he’s still okay when his head suddenly falls onto your shoulder, while his other hand grips the back of your chair. You stop breathing for a second.
You gently reach for his shoulder, trying to ease him upright but Manjiro refuses to budge. If anything, he only shifts to press his face further into your shoulder. You feel the eyes of everyone at the table settle on the two of you. It would be fine if it were just the usual circle-- they're used to Manjiro's clingy, childish tendencies when he's had too much. But there were other people here too, people who could easily color his actions with a different kind of meaning.
You try once more to gently straighten him up, leaning closer to his ear to whisper "Jiro, there are still a lot of people here. Sit up properly, we don’t want any issues coming out after tonight."
He doesn't move. But you feel the vibration of his voice against your skin when he whispers back.
"What issues?"
"That you couldn’t handle your liquor. We don’t want headlines saying a certain famous racer was a messy drunk at his own victory party" you joke, though you aren't sure if you can even laugh--not when Manjiro’s hand, the one on the back of your chair, slowly slides down to your waist, pulling you slightly closer.
"I'm not drunk"
Oh, how you wish he were, because you don’t want to be like the onlookers--you don't want to read into his actions. But how can you not? Not when the man himself unconsciously begins drawing slow circles against your skin.
"Mikey--"
He stops immediately and lifts his head, a gentle smile already plastered on his pretty face. "Everything is getting a bit blurry."
You only stare at him, your heart hammering in your chest. Manjiro stands and straightens his clothes casually, but before he can go anywhere, Draken calls out to him.
"Stop with the alcohol, Mikey. We know you're weak as shit. Sober up a little, we still have visitors arriving soon."
Manjiro only pouts and huffs in annoyance at Draken, who responds by rolling his eyes and drilling even more advice into his thick skull. The racer announces that he’s heading out for some air to clear his head, but he’s stopped again--this time by his sister.
"Mikey, take y/n with you. She can look out for you since you’re already wasted--"
"I said I’m not drunk!"
"Yeah, yeah. At least let y/n accompany you so she can keep an eye on you. Go, now."
You find yourself unable to refuse as Emma nudges you to stand up. With Manjiro already on the move, you follow close behind, though you can’t shake the heavy feeling in your chest. Is it hesitation? But why? You shrug it off immediately as you exit the function hall and step onto the balcony, feeling the cold air bite harshly against your skin.
Manjiro stops at the balcony and turns to face you, one of his eyebrows arching slightly as his gaze sweeps over you. You, meanwhile, are doing everything in your power to steady your racing heart and push the memory of what happened at the table out of your mind as you slowly approach him.
Like you always do, you act as casual as possible. "I should’ve brought a jacket with me, it’s cold out here" you say, palms rubbing your arms to try and coax some heat back into your skin.
The moment you reach his side, Manjiro doesn't say a word--he simply begins to pull off his leather jacket.
"Here." You expect Manjiro to just hand it to you, but instead, he steps in front of you and drapes the jacket over your shoulders himself. He leans in close, tucking it properly around you to seal out the cold. Now that you’re outside and the air is fresh, his scent hits you even harder. The familiar, sweet mint of his perfume mixed with the slight edge of alcohol becomes prominent as he lingers in your space.
You feel the warmth of his breath against your hair when he speaks again.
"There. I don't need it anyway, the alcohol's keeping me warm enough."
"Sure you're not drunk?"
"Surely not. It's just alcohol and its after effects."
"Uh huh. And being drunk isn't an after effect too?"
He chuckles and turns away to face the dark night.
For a few seconds, neither of you speaks. The only sounds that resonate around you are the cold air bustling through the nearby trees and the distant honks of cars from the busy street.
Manjiro leans both arms on the balcony railing, his head tilting slightly upward as his eyes trace nothing in particular above. The city lights below flicker against his features, softening the sharp edges of his jaw. The wind lifts his jet-black hair slightly, and you find yourself staring again--just like you always do when he isn’t looking.
Then he speaks, his voice lower now, the earlier enthusiasm from the party stripped away by the cold and the quiet.
"Why were you looking at me like that earlier?"
You blink. "Like what?"
"Like you were about to scold me" he answers, but there is no teasing in his tone this time. Just quiet curiosity. "Or like… you were worried."
When he turns his head to look at you, it is your turn to gaze forward. Whether you are avoiding those dark irises or you simply haven't had enough time to collect yourself to face him head-on, you have no idea. You only know that the right thing to do is to not look at him right now.
"You taking shot after shot when you have shit tolerance for alcohol... it just made me worry, ’s all."
You hear a low chuckle from him. "You always worry, y/n."
"Someone has to, Jiro."
You don't know who moves first, or if neither of you moves at all and it is simply the cold pushing you both closer, but you suddenly become aware of the warmth of his arm pressing against yours along the railing.
You should have shifted away.
You don't.
Then his hand--the same one that had traced idle circles on your waist at the table moves without announcement. He reaches over to adjust the jacket on your shoulders. You could tell yourself he’s just worried the oversized leather might slip off, but the closeness speaks otherwise.
He is so close you can feel his breath fanning against your face.
"You're always taking care of me."
Your throat tightens.
Always.
You have always been there. After losses. After wins. After breakdowns. After reckless decisions. You are the constant in his life. And maybe that is exactly the problem.
"What would I do without you, y/n?"
There is no hint of his usual playfulness in his voice. It is so serious that the coward inside you decides not to look at him. It’s the same cowardice that tells you never to confess your feelings to your best friend.
No matter how difficult it is to hide, and no matter how tempting it is to let it all out, you choose the safety of your precious friendship. Your coward self knows she couldn't handle the weight of rejection, so you decide right then that you will not face his midnight-colored eyes tonight.
"Well, I don’t know what you’d do without me. Maybe we should try me being gone for a while?" You try to joke, despite the nervousness that is about to swallow your voice whole.
"No way" he says immediately, his voice dropping an octave as he pulls you against his side. His arm wraps around you tightly, anchoring you to him. "You’d be bored out of your mind without me to look after. Who else is going to keep your life this interesting?"
"I think I’d manage just fine, Jiro. I might actually get a break for once" you retort, trying to keep the playfulness alive even as your pulse quickens at his proximity.
"Liar" he whisper, his chin coming to rest on top of your head. The teasing disappears as quickly as it came, replaced by a weight in his words that makes your breath hitch. "You wouldn’t go anywhere. I won't let you."
"And why’s that?"
"Because you’re important to me. You know that, right?"
You close your eyes, letting the darkness of your eyelids hide the way your heart is breaking.
"I know."
Because I’m your best friend.
You stay like that for a moment longer than you should, his warmth bleeding through the jacket and his hand absentmindedly rubbing your shoulder as if it is muscle memory.
It probably is, for him.
For you, you are memorizing it.
Because this, this is the closest you are ever going to get. And you know it. So you stand still. You breathe him in. You let his weight anchor you even as it slowly, quietly, ruins you.
When Draken’s voice finally calls from inside, Manjiro pulls back with a small groan, his hand leaving your shoulder as if it were nothing.
"Duty calls" he mutters, already turning away. He pauses once, glancing back at you with that slow half smile.
"Don’t lose my jacket."
And then he is gone, back into the noise and the crowd and the constellation of people orbiting him, leaving you alone on the balcony with his leather jacket wrapped around your shoulders and the ghost of his touch.
You stand there for a long moment.
Then you exhale.
Long, and slow, and shaking.
You are in so much trouble.
Long before the party reaches its peak, you decide to head home. Though your friends insist it’s too early to leave--offering you rides later just so you’ll stay a little longer, you stand by your decision. You give a reason valid enough that even Manjiro doesn't insist on driving you back himself.
"You sure? I can drive you--you just have to wait a little bit" a small frown tugging at his lips.
"Don’t worry, I drove here. I’ll be fine."
"You’re not drunk, right?"
That forces you to finally meet his eyes, your eyebrow arching in a challenge. "I’m not like you, Manjiro. I can hold my alcohol just fine, and I can drive, thank you very much."
That earns a genuine laugh from him. He reaches up, his fingers lingering as he brushes a stray lock of hair behind your ear.
"Message me when you get home."
That last interaction with him was the final nail in the coffin. The moment you step into the sanctuary of your bedroom and the lock clicks into place, the strength drains from your body. Your knees finally give way, a soft wobble sending you leaning back against the cold wood of the door as if it’s the only thing keeping you upright.
All the carefully built walls and practiced casualness you maintained around Manjiro are stripped away in the dark. Here, in the quiet, you are finally allowed to free yourself from restraint and yearn for a man as off-limits as your best friend.
It is the only place where you can love him freely, in the only way you know how. No inhibitions. No cowardice. Just the heavy, rhythmic thud of your heart and the lingering scent of mint and leather that follows you like a ghost.
You thought hitting the bed would be the signal to finally breathe easy, believing you’d found the comfort your body craves. But it isn’t like that. As you lie on your soft mattress, the interactions between you and Manjiro replay like a fever dream, and you realize the only "comfort" your body knows is exhaustion.
All those feelings you suppressed during those moments are crumpled into a tight ball inside you, and the second your hand slowly reaches between your thighs, it feels like they are finally about to explode.
Your fingers start slow, massaging through your clothed pussy with mindless friction. You just want to feel the tension begin to ebb, until it lifts you high enough to reach the thoughts you usually keep buried in the furthest corners of your mind. Thoughts centering around your one and only love--your dearest, your best friend, Sano Manjiro.
As the lid of that forbidden chest creaks open, the first things to flood your mind are his "meaningless" touches. You remembered earlier--the way he draped himself over your shoulder, how his arms coiled around you as if he’d never let go, as if you belonged to him. You imagined those same hands holding you steady as you tried not to crumble, those same strong hands pinning you down as you shook, cumming so hard and so fast.
Your fingers work faster, and when you feel the dampness of your lace, you finally hook the fabric aside. You feel the heat of your own skin directly against your fingertips as well as the cold air from the AC that blows against it, while your mind spirals into even more forbidden thoughts.
When your middle and ring fingers slide through the folds of your swollen clit, you can’t help the moan that escapes your lips. It is breathless, almost raspy, and you wonder if Manjiro would love to hear that sound as much as you love his laughter.
You repeat the motion, forcing your back to arch as you spread your legs wider. Your mind flashes back to earlier again--how the racer's thumbs had traced idle circles on your waist. Would his fingers do the same here? Long, steady fingers drawing circles against your cunt, or maybe even spelling out his name on it, since he is the sole reason you are pulsating like this.
The mental image of his fingers grazing your womanhood is the final trigger. You don't wait any longer. With enough slickness to accommodate the two-digit intruder, you push them inside, and there is no point of return.
The slip of your fingers guarantees you fall into a maze only you know. You heave out a choked sigh--what a fucking way to die, really. But this is only the start of seeking what you want in this never-ending labyrinth of pleasure, as you also start to recall all the things you never did with Manjiro.
The beginning of fatal fantasies.
The slow rhythm of your fingers against those spongy walls gives you permission to dive shamelessly deeper into your reverie. The edges of your bedroom blur until the walls dissolve entirely, replaced by the flickering light of a film only you are allowed to see--a white projector screen blooming in the dark of your eyelids. Reality bleeds out and the movie begins.
Manjiro hovered over you. His jet-black tresses were a mess, a casualty of your hands roaming and tugging through them as your lips battled his minutes before you both fell back onto the bed. You were trapped beneath him, caged by the strength of his powerful arms. Shifting your gaze from his unruly hair, you looked into his eyes. Those abyss-colored depths mirrored the same intensity reflecting in your own--a volatile mix of lust, longing, and perhaps, love.
Unable to endure the weight of his stare, you dropped your eyes to his lips. They were perfectly shaped and swollen from the way you had been sucking on them just moments ago. Those were the same lips that could start a war inside you if he ever chose; you had always believed his eyes were his most powerful feature, but it was his lips that truly had the power to wreck you--or make you.
The same lips you were staring at slowly quirked into a smirk.
"Are you okay?"
The way he asked made it feel like he was testing you, probing to see if you could truly handle what was coming next. You didn’t answer, instead, you simply reached up to cup his face. Despite his cocky tone from moments ago, he closed his eyes and leaned into the warmth of your palm against his skin, his guard dropping the second you touched him.
"Jiro…"
You start to feel the blazing of your sheets as your digits pump faster in and out of your sticky, swollen cunt. It’s throbbing, painfully so, and you understand that your own fingers aren’t enough to provide the fullness you need or chase the pleasure as fast as it’s rising. But this is enough, because your imagination can compensate for the lack of Manjiro’s length inside you.
Rolling your eyes back, you dive into your mind once again.
This time, your love was sucking your exposed chest. Your nipples were rigid and red from the way he kept switching between them, his mouth relentless. His hand, calloused from years of gripping motorcycle handlebars, massaged your other breast while he was busy devouring the other.
In your physical world, you do the same thing. Your other hand creeps up to your chest, fondling yourself with the same intensity Manjiro uses in your mind. Now that both hands are occupied, your mind has to work even harder to keep up.
Manjiro lifted his head from where he was buried in your chest, his eyes dilated from the ministrations he just performed. He bit his lower lip when he saw how breathless and sweaty you had become under him.
"You’re not getting exhausted on me just yet, right, baby?"
You’re getting delirious as your back arches off the mattress. You can feel the skyrocketing temperature of your body as your own touch overwhelms your senses. You don't even notice your surroundings anymore. You aren't even sure if the ringing of your cellphone, tossed onto the bed the moment you arrived, is just another part of your imagination.
The only physical reality is the fleeting vibration against your skin--the phone screen flaring to life beneath your elbow before the buzzing abruptly stops. You don’t even notice the silence that follows as you shift your weight to anchor yourself.
But you couldn't care less anymore. Not when you’re thrusting your fingers in as deep as they can go, over and over, until you are finally reaching for what you need. You bite your lip hard, trying to keep yourself from whining too much, but it’s impossible. Not when you feel it--the blinding lights you can almost taste at the tip of your fingers.
"Ah.. ah...ah M-manjiro--ah, fuck, please...hmph"
And the friction below matches the rhythm in your mind...
You chased the same reckless high as Manjiro rode you like his beloved motorcycle, leaning into every curve of your body. He was kneeling between your thighs, your legs circled tightly around his slim waist. His abs flexed as he plowed into you continuously, coaxing moan after moan from your lips.
"Ji-jiro, ah... please... I-I want--"
"What do you want, y/n?" he rasped, his own breath hitching as he maintained that relentless pace. "Tell me… I’ll give it to you… just say it. Tell me it's me."
"Please... baby, please."
He lowered himself without faltering in his thrusts, just to bury his face in the crook of your neck. You latched your arms around his sweaty frame, hands roaming over his broad shoulders. One particular thrust drove you to claw at his skin, making him groan.
"Fuck! ...fuck! ...I’m about to finish, baby" he groaned, lifting his head from your neck to hold your face. He turned you toward him, as gently as your mind could possibly create, and when you did, he crashed his lips against yours.
Against his lips, you felt it--the pressure that was about to burst. As you embraced him tightly to anchor yourself from the blinding rapture that was finally within reach, you swore you heard it. Him whispering in your ear...
"I love you."
And you are suddenly dragged back to the reality of your own room as your climax rushes through you. It’s shattering, almost stifling, but euphoric in a sense--a feeling that makes you chase it again and again, even if it guarantees total exhaustion afterward.
Your chest heaves with every jagged, shallow breath, your lungs struggling to keep up with the frantic pace of your heart. Your body is still trembling, muscles twitching with the lingering electricity of the release, while the cold air of the AC hits your sweat-slicked skin with a biting chill. You lay there completely undone, staring at the ceiling as the phantom weight of Manjiro vanishes from the mattress.
But the euphoria is fleeting. The moment you pull your fingers from between your thighs, the tears finally begin to overflow, streaming down your face in the silence of the room.
The pleasure you felt moments ago is washed away immediately by the guilt creeping into your chest. That feeling is always there, lingering in the shadows, but every time you touch yourself while your best friend occupies your mind, it makes itself known with a vengeance.
The guilt that lingers for loving Sano Manjiro.
The only man you want in this life, yet the one who is strictly forbidden. You can’t stop yourself, especially when he is the one providing the very things that demand deep thinking and sleepless nights. Those meaningless words and touches from him become the raw materials for your meaningful feelings. You just love him so much it hurts.
After the moans come the sobs, bouncing off the four walls of your room. You never feel dirty doing this, but you feel hopeless every single time. Because every moment of blinding pleasure comes with a price: a never-ending longing for him.
You don't feel dirty touching yourself to the idea of him. It's only in your mind, so it couldn't truly be deemed a sin… because you didn't even touch his skin, right?
But you still feel guilty for asking for something that might never be given to you--for him to love you back.
When you finally come to your senses, you sit up, briefly glancing at your body, now half-naked, and the room cluttered with your discarded things. The purse you threw aside, the pillows scattered across the floor, and Manjiro’s jacket--about to slide off the bed. You grab it and bring it to your face, burying your nose in the fabric. You inhale his familiar scent and hug it tightly to your chest, closing your eyes as fresh tears gather along your lashes.
You will choose him… and only him, again and again.
After crying until you can breathe properly, you decide to go to the bathroom to clean yourself up. You take your time, not noticing that it’s already dawn by the time you're done. Now that you’ve stepped out, the exhaustion finally catches up to your body. You don't even bother getting dressed; you just want to collapse back into bed when your eyes land on your phone.
Suddenly, you remember what Manjiro said--that you should message him once you got home. Knowing him, if you didn’t, he would start to worry and call you repeatedly to make sure you actually made it. But you didn't hear your phone ring… or did it just slip your mind?
Regardless, you pick up your phone and turn it on. Missed notifications and unread messages greet you, all sent an hour ago. Your heart starts to pound as you open the log, not knowing what to think or feel when you finally read them.
Fr. Jiro
Did you arrive home, y/n? Message me when you do.
Missed call.
Fr. Jiro
Message me, okay?
(Sent an hour ago.)
An hour has passed.
Call from Jiro — answered. Duration: 2:04.
Your heart stops. A cold dread sinks into your stomach as you stare at the screen, the pixels nearly burning into your retinas. But the words don't change: you answered the call.
The air leaves your lungs in a sharp gasp. Your knees give out, forcing you to sink onto the edge of the bed as you realize the truth. He didn't just call--he listened. He heard the gasps, the frantic rhythm of your breath, and his own name falling from your lips in a way a "best friend" should never say it.
And how fucked up it is to realize that the moment you finally let yourself love him in your mind, he was on the other line--real and bearing witness to your undoing.
it’s a given that sano manjiro is a clingy, possessive man. but the way he stakes his claim doesn’t always need to be a tight grip on your hand or bold touches after his every race.
it’s the subtle things. like the matching rings, or his thin gold necklace with your initials as the pendant, or the silk hair tie that’s always wrapped around his wrist, visible whenever his hands grip the motorcycle handlebars.
sometimes it’s the color-coordinated outfits when you go out together, or the sticker on his phone case of something you once said you loved. the matching watches. the matching sneakers.
and if someone gets close enough to him, looks just a little too long at his hand, they might notice the tiny tattoo on his finger — your name.
it’s the little things. almost unnoticeable. but if anyone paid attention, they’d understand how manjiro, even without touching you or letting his gaze linger on you, has already made it clear.
Prompt: how possessive would the tokyo revengers boys actually be?
Summary: this is a topic I'm passionate about, you could say....because I think most of the tokyo revengers boys are probably a bitttttt crazy (thinking about writing oneshots about this if y'all are interested)
CW: drabble. gn reader. established relationship. possessive boys...to a semi unhealthy extent. brief mentions of violence.
Hanma ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
Hanma likes to have you all to himself. He doesn't like when you go anywhere without him. You want to go to the bar? He's going with you. You need to go to the store? He wants to go with you. It's not that you can't go out on your own, but Hanma prefers to be with you, to make sure you're safe, to make sure no one's going to touch you but him. Because you're his and he needs to make sure everywhere you go everyone knows it.
Kakucho ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
Kakucho is likely one of the most normal of the bunch. For the most part, Kakucho trusts you to go out, to be yourself, to meet new people. He doesn't get jealous often...but there's something about the other Tenjiku members talking to you that really rubs him the wrong way. He can't stand it, actually. It's an insecurity and he knows this, but it doesn't make him hate it any less. Kakucho avoids letting you and them in the same room as much as possible. They shouldn't get to be near you, to talk to you. You're his, not theirs.
Kazutora ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
Kazutora is a big baby behind closed doors. He doesn't like to share you with others, especially when those others push boundaries. You're his, after all. No one else needs to be thinking about you, looking at you, touching you. When someone does, Kazutora keeps his frustrations to himself until you both get home, and when you get back he's instantly whiny until you give him the attention he deserves.
Koko ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
Koko is a problem. Koko doesn't like you leaving his side and if you absolutely have to, he needs to know where you are every second. He's needy and possessive beyond all reason. He knows you aren't going anywhere, that you don't want anyone else, but he can't help it. When Koko knows what he wants he finds a way to keep it, and all he wants is your attention, so he isn't going to let anyone else have it.
Mikey ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
Mikey does not share well. The thought of anyone else looking at you, approaching you, touching you... absolutely not. Mikey wouldn't be pushy if it did happen. He wouldn't pull you away or make a scene, but suddenly he'd become very touchy. He'd be glued to your side the rest of the night. His arms would be wrapped around you as often as they could be, because he would need everyone to know that you were his and no one else could have you.
Ran ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
Ran is not as bad as you'd think. When you need him, he is always going to be there. He isn't going to let anyone mess with you or make you uncomfortable, and if they do he won't hesitate to mess them up. He has fought for you and will do it time and time again if you need, but Ran isn't very possessive. He has you, and he knows this and he's comfortable in it. Despite all things, he doesn't get jealous. Sharing is caring as they say...and you may say Ran wouldn't even mind sharing you ~
Rindou ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
Rindou has major issues with envy. He always has. If he wants something he has to have it and if he sees someone else get it before him or, god forbid if he sees someone try to take what's already his that he's worked so hard for, he becomes an entirely different person. When Rindou's with you he is patient, kind, and understanding, but the moment someone he does not know tries to talk to you, to flirt with you, to touch you he becomes angry, aggressive, and assertive. It's almost scary to watch how quickly that switch can flip, but you know Rindou is always going to be there for you, that no one is ever going to hurt you because Rindou couldn't stop himself from standing up for you if he tried.
Taiju ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
Taiju is psychotic. You go out on your own. You live your own life. Taiju doesn't lock you up and keep you away from everyone. But if he ever gets a hint that someone is bothering you or making a pass at you, if he sees someone staring at you, he's going to make them wish they had never been born. Taiju is violent, he's aggressive, he's mean. He says that he does it for you, that he's just keeping you safe. But you know deep down that Taiju just fears that you'll leave him, that you'll find someone else.
Prompt: he leaves you alone for just a moment only to come back and find someone hitting on you.
Summary: You're out having drinks with a friend when all the sudden you get unwanted company and have to call Taiju for help.
Alternate Versions: Ran. Rindou. Mikey. Hanma.
CW: she/her reader. mild cursing. mild descriptions of violence. mild descriptions of drinking. pet names (baby, angel). established relationship.
It was supposed to be a good night out. Finally, you and your friends had managed to find a night you were all free. It was the first time in months, and you were beyond excited. Tonight was for you and your girls....and it did start that way.
The beginning of the night was a blast. But part way into the night you noticed him. There was a man - at first, he sat at the end of the bar, watching you but never saying a word. Then, you and your friends made your way to the dance floor and within minutes he was there too, watching. He never said a word but, wherever you and your group went, he seemed to be close by.
When you and your friends decided to move to a new bar down the road, you thought you had lost him. After all, who was crazy enough to stalk someone from one bar to another? But just as your night was coming to an end and you and your friends had said their goodbyes, he was there.
You were alone when you noticed him. Of course, he had decided to wait until you were alone, and you didn't want to figure out why. Your heart was pounding. Your hands were shaking. You tried to convince yourself that it was a coincidence, but every corner you rounded he followed you around. He was following you....and you we're all alone.
Taiju.
You weren't sure why you hadn't thought about it before, but the moment you did your phone was in your hands and you were dialing his number.
Pick up, Taiju. Please pick up.
"Angel? What's wrong?"
He picked up the line almost immediately. You knew he was busy, that his life was hectic and you respected that. But that also meant that when you called him, he knew it was for a good reason. He knew you needed help. You could hear the concern in his voice immediately.
"Taiju, there's- there's this guy."
"What guy? Where are you?"
You glanced behind you. Of course, he was still there. Some part of you hoped he would give up when he heard you were on the phone with someone. But to him it didn't seem to matter.
As if on que you heard him shout at you for the first time all night, "Hey, beautiful. Hey! Where 'ya going?"
"He's been following me. Taiju, I-I don't know what to do ."
"Don't do anything, Baby. Ignore him and keep walking. I'm on the way to get you, okay?"
In the background you could hear him moving - you heard him grab his keys, you heard the car door open and the car start. He stayed on the phone with you the entire time, but it wasn't long before you could see his car speeding down the road and screeching to a halt in front of you.
Taiju stepped out, and you could see the look of panic in his eyes as he reached out to grab you. He pulled you in close to make sure you were safe, but the moment he knew you were his attention was away from you and on him.
"Hey, man. Are you the one that's been following my girl?"
You looked behind you. The man was still there but he didn't look as confident now. His eyes were wide. He looked ready to run. He was finally feeling the fear you had all night.
"Man, I-I didn't kno-"
Taiju guided you to the car, "Stay here, Angel. I just need to have a quick word with this guy."
You did as he asked, because you knew what was coming next. All you heard before he closed the door behind you was, "You've got some fuckin' nerve following her around like that "
You closed your eyes to the rest, knowing that Taiju was going to take care of you, that he was going to make sure you were safe, and that this guy wouldn't bother you again. You could hear his voice though. He was sharp, angry. He voice was enough to make you anxious. You couldn't imagine what the man on the receiving end of it was feeling, but whatever it was you knew he deserved it. So you closed your eyes to what Taiju was doing and when Taiju returned to the car with blood on his knuckles you chose ignore it.
Taiju reached out to you, grabbing ahold of your face, "Are you sure you're alright, baby? He didn't hurt you did he?"
You shook your head, "N-No, Taiju. He never touched me, I swear. He-He just scared me."
"I know, Angel. I know. But you did a good job calling me. You did the right thing." Taiju leaned in, placing a kiss to your cheek, "Don't scare me like that again. Next time, call me from the bar, baby. I'll pick you up there, okay?"
You were quick to nod and that was all the confirmation Taiju needed. He turned his key and the car started. Taiju pulled away, heading towards home. He took your hand in his and placed a kiss on your knuckles. You ignored the blood on his, knowing that it was because of it that you were safe tonight and that you'd be safe every night from here on out.
Prompt: he leaves you alone for just a moment only to come back and find someone hitting on you.
Summary: It's your birthday and Hanma wants to take you out to have a good time...then someone has to go and ruin it by flirting with you.
Alternate Versions: Ran. Rindou. Mikey. Taiju.
CW: she/her reader. mild violence, mild descriptions of alcohol/drinking/getting drunk. pet names (baby). established relationship.
It's your birthday, and Hanma wanted to celebrate. He wanted to drown you in adoration and love and absolutely nothing could keep him away from you....except for Kisaki.
You had known it was a bad idea pulling up to the very bar that Tenjiku called home when they wanted a break from the violence to get drunk out of their minds, but Hanma insisted.
"They treat us well there, baby. We can get you lots of free drinks."
And he was right, of course. The staff knew all of Tenjiku well, including Hanma. And they knew better than to deny Hanma a good time, and of course that extended to you as well. But you knew what going to the bar meant....it meant all of Tenjiku would be there, which means Hanma would very quickly be distracted.
He was kind enough to walk you to the bar, and to buy both of you a drink and a shot. When he actually managed to stick around long enough to take the shot with you, you thought you may have been in the clear. But then you heard Kisaki shout at Hanma in the distance, and you knew the moment that Hanma kissed you on the forehead and whispered "I'll be right back" into your ear that you'd be alone for a bit.
At first, it was fine. You didn't mind being alone. The bar was beautiful and the staff were kind and, Hanma was right, they were more than willing to give you free drinks. Everything was fine, until he showed up.
At first, you thought it was Hanma who put a hand on your shoulder. After all, this was Tenjiku's bar and you were Hanma's girl. No one was stupid enough to walk into Tenjiku's bar and touch something that didn't belong to them....except it wasn't Hanma's hand on your shoulder. It was a stranger - a stranger who was stupid enough to touch what didn't belong to him.
"Now who would be stupid enough to leave a beautiful thing like you all alone at the bar?" The stranger said, his hand slowly trailing down from your shoulder to your back.
You stood from your chair, quick to step away from his trailing hands. Where was Hanma? You needed to find hum. Quickly your eyes began to travel across the bar, but the crowd was large and you couldn't find him over them.
The stranger stepped closer. He reached out, putting his hand on your shoulder again, "Hey, what're you so scared of? I won't hurt 'ya." The man smiled, "Sit down. Let me get you a drink."
You were scared, that was a fact. But it wasn't the stranger you were scared of. No, you were scared for him.
"That's alright. Thank you though."
"Awh come on, sweetheart." The stranger looped around you. Both of his hands were on your shoulders now, slowly pushing you back into your seat at the bar, "I'll get you whatever you'd like. Don't worry about it."
The bartender made her way over, and you hoped and you prayed she would say something, anything to get him to go away before Hanma came back. But she didn't. She simply asked what he'd like to drink.
"Whisky, neat. Thanks." The stranger turned to you, "Tell her what you want."
"Really, I'm alright." You said, hoping he'd understand this time as you slowly turned to leave. But he didn't. Instead he grabbed your shoulder, and this time his grip was tighter.
You felt a chill make its way down your spine. He wasn't going to take no for an answer, and now you were becoming afraid of what his intention was with you.
"Just order." He said, "It's alr-"
Instantly, his grip loosened on you and his hand dropped. Hanma was back. His hand wrapped tight around the stranger's wrist.
"For your sake, I hope you're deaf, because I could have sworn I heard the lady say that she was uninterested." Hanma's grip tightened and the stranger groaned, "Twice."
Hanma let go, but before the man could say anything in his defense, Hanma kicked the leg of the chair out from under the stranger and watched him tumble to the ground. Eyes were turning now. People were watching.
Hanma crouched down to the floor and grabbed the man by the collar, "Ya see, I don't mind if someone wants to buy my girl a drink. It is her birthday, after all. She deserves it. What I do mind, is when my girl says 'no' and creeps like you have the nerve to touch her."
Hanma tightened his grip and, for a moment, you worried he would take this as an opportunity for a fight. But instead, Hanma let go of the man's collar and leaned it close.
"You're lucky it's my girls birthday, or we could be far from done here. But she'd want me to let you go and, today, she gets everything she wants."
Hanma stood up and walked over to you. He wrapped an arm around your waist and placed another on your face.
"You alright, baby?"
You leaned into Hanma's touch. You were happy he showed up to save you and even happier that he stopped just before taking it too far.
Behind him you could see the stranger standing up and slowly adjusting his now wrinkled shirt. For a brief moment he made eye contact with you, but he was quick to walk away. He was embarrassed, you could tell, and it served him right.
"I'm okay now."
Hanma smiled, "Good." He leaned in close, pressing a kiss to your cheek, "I think I owe you an apology. It seems like it was a bad idea to come here. You were right, baby. How about we get out of here and celebrate somewhere else?"
Before you could even answer, Hanma grabbed you by the hand dragging you through the crowd and out the front door, with a big smile painted across his face.
You had a feeling Hanma wasn't going to let you out of his sight again, and you were going to enjoy every second of it.
Prompt: he leaves you alone for just a moment only to come back and find someone hitting on you.
Summary: Mikey takes you on a ride on his bike. He thinks he's safe to leave you alone while he goes inside a gas station to grab a snack...he very quickly learns he is wrong.
Alternate Versions: Ran. Rindou. Hanma. Taiju.
CW: she/her reader. mild violence. pet names (baby). established relationship.
It's such a beautiful day out. It's warm, and there's nothing more Mikey likes to do on a day like this than take you out on his bike.
Your rides usually aren't long. Maybe twenty minutes of cruising around town at the most, but you could tell something was weighing on Mikey today. The two of you had been out for 45 minutes, only stopping after Mikey got hungry.
"Let's stop at this gas station up here. They've got taiyaki."
Mikey pulled the bike over and parked it in front of the station. He left you with a kiss on the cheek after asking what he could grab you from inside, and without another word he was gone. It was unlike him to go inside without you, but Mikey had a lot on his mind, you could tell. So you let him go. After all, it wasn't like he would be gone long enough for anything to happen....at least, you had thought that was the case.
Mikey was gone for no less than a minute before he approached you, and immediately you could tell he was going to be trouble.
"Hey, baby. Nice bike!"
"Oh, uhh- thanks."
You hoped if you quickly responded he would be on his way, but your response wasn't enough for him. He kept getting closer.
"I've never seen a beautiful girl like you on a bike like this. Maybe you should let me take it for a ride."
You were silent, but the man took that silence as an invitation to lean in closer, to put his hand on Mikey's bike, to put his hand on you.
"I'll buy 'ya dinner if you let me. What do 'ya say?"
Your heart began to pound. Why was he so close? Why was his hand touching your face? Why couldn't he just leave you alone?
"Hey," Mikey's voice was sharp. It cut through the nerves rising around you and gave you peace, "That's mine. Why are you touching?"
The man, so suddenly, was quick to step away from you and take his hands off the bike. He smiled, "Hey man. Sorry. I didn't realize the bike was yours."
Mikey stepped in close, wrapping an arm around your back and leaning his head on your shoulder, "I wasn't talking about the bike. You were touching my girl."
Mikey placed a kiss on your cheek and handed you the snacks he had picked up inside, "I don't like to share. Why were you touching my girl?"
"L-Like I said, man. I didn't realize the bike was yours, or the girl. I didn't mean any harm."
The man tried to step away, but with every step he took Mikey took another step closer, "Well you did cause harm. You scared her. So I want you to apologize."
"A-Apologize?"
You almost felt bad for the man when Mikey lunged forward, grabbing his jacket and dragging him forward.
"Yes, I want you to apologize to my girl for scaring her."
The man was scared. The words spilled out of his mouth so fast you could hardly understand the apology, but you didn't dare complain. You knew Mikey would make things worse if you did.
Mikey let him go when he saw you were satisfied. He smiled, so bright you'd hardly know he had been upset seconds before, "Thank you! Now, go."
Without hesitation Mikey turned his attention to you, entirely ignoring that the man had ever existed.
"I got you a snack, baby. Should we head home?"
Before you could say a word, Mikey slid in front of you onto the bike and turned the key. He reached out and took your hand, guiding you behind him.
"Hold on tight!" He said with a smile, then Mikey whipped out of the parking lot leaving the man in the dust as if he had not been the bane of Mikey's existence just minutes before.
If nothing else you knew that Mikey's jealousy would keep you safe, because there wouldn't be a single man who could have your attention without Mikey stepping in to intervene. After all, no one was allowed to touch Mikey's girl or his bike.
Prompt: he leaves you alone for just a moment only to come back and find someone hitting on you.
Summary: Rindou leaves you at the bar while he's finishing up a meeting with Bonten...then someone has to go and ruin it by flirting with you.
Alternate Versions: Ran. Hanma. Mikey. Taiju.
CW: she/her reader. mild descriptions of light violence. pet names (baby). established relationship.
He always does this to you, and it's starting to make you mad.
At first, you were understanding. After all, being part of Tenjiku - kanagawa's largest delinquent group - didn't come at a small price. Rindou's life was dangerous, it was unpredictable, and it was busy. So it stood to reason that, on occasion, he was going to have to leave you to your own devices while he took care of business...but he didn't have to do it like this.
He always promised he would take you out, that the two of you would drink and dance, and then go home and have your own fun. But Rindou got distracted every single time.
Tenjiku had a bar that they called their home. When there wasn't work to be done, that's where they were spending their free time. It was Rindou's home too, and that's why he always insisted on taking you there when it was time to go out and drink. It was where he was comfortable, where the people he trusted the most hung out. But that was just the problem - they were always there.
The moment Izana or Hanma or Kisaki or Rin saw Rindou sitting at the bar it was game over. Your night was ruined and he was getting pulled back into work. And it happened again tonight, like it had every other weekend.
"Something came up, baby. They need me for just a moment, alright? I'll be back soon."
It was unlikely he'd be back soon, but you nodded nonetheless and let him go. You thought it would be fine; just another night of drinking alone until Rindou was ready to take you home so he could get back to work. But, this time, you weren't alone for long.
"A pretty thing like you shouldn't be drinking alone. Mind if I sit down?"
He was tall, handsome, and confident. But you knew everyone in Tenjiku and you didn't know this guy.
"Oh, actually I'm waiting on-"
The man took a seat anyway. He asked to be polite, but he didn't want to hear your answer.
"This is my first time in here, but if pretty girls like you like to hang out here I may just become a regular."
You figured as much. Anyone who had been here before understood that this was Tenjiku's bar. Non-members were welcome to come and to hangout, but they had better know who the members were and who their girls were and, if they wanted to stick around long, they had better mind their business. This guy hadn't got the memo yet.
"That's nice of you, but-"
"Let me get you something to drink, sweetheart."
He wasn't going to let you get a word in. You knew this guy's type - he liked you because you were pretty, but he didn't want to get to know you, and he didn't want you to speak.
He waved the bartender over and ordered you both a shot. You looked around the room for any sign of Rindou, but, as expected, he was nowhere to be seen. He was busy, even when you needed him most.
The bartender returned, two shot glasses in hand. She placed one down in front of you and one in front of him. He thanked her, and then turned to you.
He smiled as he extended out his hand and placed it on your knee, "You know, if you'd like, I can show you a real good time tonight."
Your heart began to pound. You expected him to at least buy you a couple drinks before he made any sort of move, but he moved quicker than you had expected.
"Like I was trying to say earlier, I'm actually waiting on someone. So I don't think that's such a good id-"
He scooted his chair chooser and his hand slowly made its way from your knee to your thigh, "Sweetheart, I don't see anyone around. He may not be coming, but I can take good care of ya in his place. What do you say?"
You could feel tears welling up in your eyes. He may not be coming. You hoped and you prayed that he was wrong, but it didn't seem like he was. Rindou was busy. He wasn't coming back for you.
You placed your hand on his, trying to push it away. You wanted him gone. You wanted him to stop touching you. But he doubled down, wrapping his hand around your wrist instead.
"Come onnn, sweetheart. Let's get out of here. What do you say?"
You stood, pulling yourself so hard away from him that you stumbled back. You shut your eyes, preparing to make impact with the floor, but instead you ran into something solid.
"I-I'm sorry." You said, turning around to apologize to whoever you had run into, but when you saw who it was your heart skipped a beat.
"Hi, baby." Rin whispered as he placed his arms on your shoulders, helping you regain your balance, "Sorry I left you for so long. Who's your new friend?"
You looked back at the stranger at the bar, only to see his eyes had gone wide. He was silent.
"Funny, you were so talkative to my girl before, and now you don't want to say anything."
"I-I didn't realize this was your girl."
"Funny, because I could have sworn I heard her tell you that I was on my way back. If you had listened to her and left after she said that I wouldn't have a problem, but you didn't. Instead you scared her."
"I didn't mean to-"
Rindou let go of you and took two steps closer to the stranger. Rindou leaned in and the man flinched.
"You're new here, so I'm gonna give you a break. I'm not gonna hurt you, but you better apologize to her." The man stood perfectly still. You could tell he was scared, but Rindou didn't care. He didn't want to wait. Rindou walked behind him, grabbing ahold of his hair and dragging him toward you, "Apologize to her. Now."
"I-I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
"See that wasn't so hard, was it?" Rindou smiled and he let him go, "Now get out of here."
Before Rindou could say another work the man stood and ran for the door. Rindou was at your side the next second, pulling you in close.
"He didn't hurt you did he, baby?"
You shook your head and Rindou combed his hands through your hair. He kissed your forehead and wiped the tears from your eyes.
"I'm done working for the day. Let's go home, alright? Well spend the whole night together, just you and me."
You nodded, too stunned to speak. You had been scared, but Rindou could see that. That night you realized he saw everything. He was always going to be there for you, even when it seemed he was gone.
Prompt: he leaves you alone for just a moment only to come back and find someone hitting on you.
Summary: Ran leaves you for just a minute to finish up a meeting and comes back to find the new guy flirting with you.
Alternate Versions: Hanma. Rindou. Mikey. Taiju.
CW: she/her reader, mild cursing. pet names (sweetheart, baby). established relationship (you're his wife ♡).
As scary as it should be, you loved going to work with Ran. Of course, you were not there when he was "working" - you didn't witness any violence or anger, a hand was not raised in your sight, not a weapon in sight. No, you went to the office with Ran - to the business Tenjiku ran as a front for their gang, and you had always felt comfortable there. In a way, it felt like home getting to see the peaceful side of what they do.
Ran had his own office, and sometimes you would stop by in the middle of the day and bring him lunch. Today, you thought it might be a good idea to do so. After all, Ran had been out the door so quickly that morning he hadn't got to eat at all. He'd likely appreciate lunch. However, when you stopped by, making your way up the elevator to the tenth floor, and walking down the hall to Ran's office, he was nowhere to be seen. The office door was closed and the lights were off. Ran wasn't here.
It wasn't really that unlike him. After all, this wasn't really Ran's job. This was a front. You knew that. So it was likely Ran was out doing something else, and that was okay.... disappointing, but okay.
You decided you'd just head back home and make sure he had something special for dinner, until he stopped you on your way back to the elevator.
"Hello, gorgeous. Are you new around here?"
You had never seen this man before. He was tall and thin, wearing a suit and a tie, a lanyard hung around his neck with the company name on it. He wasn't part of Tenjiku. He worked for the company.
"Oh, I was just heading ou-"
You tried to turn back to the elevator, but before you could move the man had his arm around you, and he was dragging you back to the office.
"Oh come onnn. You can't have lunch alone. Let me give you a tour around, gorgeous, and we can eat lunch together. What'd you say?"
His grip on your arm was tight. You tried to pull away but you couldn't. He kept dragging you forward, past Ran's office and further down the hall. Where was he taking you? What did he want to show you? You walked further into the building where all the employee cubicles sat, and finally he let you go.
"This is where all the interns work. I haven't seen you around here before." He leaned in closed, his hand caressing your face, "Where did they put a beautiful thing like you at that I haven't seen yet, huh?"
"Hey!" You heard a door slam behind you and you turned. It was Ran. He had been in the building the entire time. You hadn't even thought to check the conference rooms, but that's where he was, in a meeting with Tenjiku.
The intern stood up straight. Instantly you could tell he was nervous. His entire demeanor changed. His hands were away from you and at his sides in seconds.
"Y-Yes, Mr. Haitani?"
Ran came closer, "What the fuck do you think you're doing dragging my wife around? Who gave you permission to do that?"
You could practically see the sweat dripping down the man's brow, "Y-Your wife, sir?"
"Yeah, she's my wife, dumbass. And if you want to keep your internship here I suggest you don't fuckin' touch her again, understood?"
The man couldn't even look at Ran. His gaze was turned towards the floor, his voice was nothing more than a whisper. He was nervous, embarrassed, "Yes, Mr. Haitani."
"Good." Ran turned away from the intern and wrapped an arm around you dragging you away from the intern and back towards his office.
"Are you alright, baby? Did he hurt you?" Ran stood close, his hand caressing your cheek.
You shook your head, "No, he didn't hurt me, Ran. I'm alright. He just- He just kept dragging me around and his grip was tight I couldn't- I couldn't walk away."
Ran wrapped his arms around you and pressed a kiss to your forehead, "I'm sorry, sweetheart. But he won't do that again." Suddenly, Ran's eyes dropped to your hands and he smiled, "Sweetheart, did you bring me lunch?"
You nodded and extended your hands, "You didn't eat this morning so I thought I'd bring you something to eat, but you weren't in your office."
Ran took a key out from his pocket and unlocked the office door. He pushed the door open and flipped the lights on, "Why don't you go inside while I finish my meeting and I can eat with you when I'm done. How does that sound, baby?"
You nodded and Ran wrapped his arm around you, guiding you into the office and walking you to the couch.
"Stay here for me, sweetheart. I'll be back soon."
He left you with another kiss on the cheek before he closed the door behind him. You could hear the lock turn. You were safe here. No one was going to bother you again. Ran made sure of that. He always made sure of that, and he always would.
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