❝ Dreams are true while they last, and do we not live in dreams ?❞ — Alford Lord Tennyson.
⇢ ˗ˏˋ moon! 24, she/her - currently watching: The Boys
DAILY CLICKS FOR PALESTINE AO3 RULES MASTERLIST COMMISSIONS KO-FI
⇢ +18! I write mostly smut, but you will find other genres in my masterlist :) I also write mainly for jujutsu kaisen and tr! hopefully this will change in the future.
⇢ ˗ˏˋ recents: echoes of time, chaos on campus: satoru loses it, chaos on campus: suguru, the birthday boy.
came on here to say that ive finished watching the boys and let me tell you this: antony starr deserves all the awards for his performance as homelander. hes way too good.
Hey there! Not to be mean but seriously where is @slttygeto ??? Is she lost?? She hasn't posted anything in like uhh 2 months. Im sorry if you feel offensive by this but since you're the most closest person to her,I needed to ask you. Please reply!!
Hi, idk how this is supposed to be mean unless you think she owes you a chapter or smth, if you’re just concerned then i think it’s sweet.
and to answer you she’s well and alive, just busy, she’ll comeback soon .
people disliking second lead! taiju who is obviously better and more of a green flag in the story, and actively wanting to have hanma ‘pretended to be dead so i dont have to be in a relationship with you’ shuji is so funny to me 😭
synopsis: for most of suguru’s life, the foul bitterness of cursed spirits was something no one else could truly understand. but now, his greatest fear isn't being alone with it — but someone else sharing it.
tags: 2k words, slight angst, fluff, suguru is a teacher in jujutsu high, your husband and a father. brief mention of what happened in 2007, fem!reader, you're briefly described to have long hair, you have twins, the depressing reality of being a jujutsu sorcerer.
The living room was lit only by a small lamp tucked into the corner, its glow stretching long shadows across the walls. The couch dipped beneath Suguru’s weight as he sank deeper into it, the cushions swallowing him whole. His throat felt tight — bitter, as if the taste lingered there again. His shoulders were drawn up, stiff with tension, one knee bouncing restlessly against the coffee table.
His eyes drifted to the clock above the television. 2:03 a.m. and sleep refused to come.
He had tried everything — chamomile tea steeped too long, melatonin tablets dissolving uselessly on his tongue, a late-night walk beneath the quiet hum of streetlights. Nothing slowed his thoughts, nothing quieted the noise in his head.
A soft creak brings him back to the present. Suguru’s head turns slowly toward the staircase, shadows dancing as you descend in your sleep dress, hair loose, eyes heavy with sleep.
“Suguru,” your voice is soft as you call out his name, worry laced in your tone. He already knows what your face looks like before even looking at you — furrowed eyebrows, a frown etched so deep on your features that he wants to wipe it away. Suguru sighs as he throws his head back, running his fingers through his hair. “Baby, what’s wrong?”
But Suguru doesn’t respond. Not at first, not for a good minute. You walk down the stairs, round the couch before sitting across from your husband — you squeeze your thighs together, pulling at the hem of your sleep dress as you place a hand on Suguru’s moving knee. He stops momentarily, raising his head to glance at you, then his gaze moves forward again.
“Hey, talk to me.”
“She’s got my technique.” There’s a rasp to his voice when he finally speaks up, but it’s still measured. Controlled. Like he’s fighting whatever’s holding him down.
She was one of your twins — the softer one, the more sensitive of the two. But both of his girls were his entire world, his light in the dark.
Becoming a father had never been part of the plan. Hell, after what happened in 2007, he never thought he’d marry at all. But time passed. Satoru found him again — reached into the dark and pulled him out. Neither of them would ever say it out loud, but Suguru knows he owes his life to him. And Satoru made one thing painfully clear: no one was coming to save him. If Suguru wanted to live, to return — he had to choose it for himself. So he did.
When Suguru walked back into Jujutsu High, he felt the weight of it immediately — the countless eyes tracking his every step. The higher-ups, the students who only knew the rumors. The ones who remembered what happened. Each stare carried something different. Hatred. Resentment. Curiosity. None of it was unfamiliar to him.
Then you came along — bright-eyed, hopeful. You graduated a few years after he left, and you chose to return after witnessing the relentless cruelty of the world. You were taught what most people would never see: where cursed energy comes from, how it is born from human emotion. Fear, grief, hatred and regret — all of it pooled together until it took shape. Left to decay, those emotions become cursed-spirits. Where tragedy is heavy, where crowded stations are thick with anxiety, cursed spirits gather there. Your first mission with Suguru was at an abandoned hospital, Yaga had paired up the two of you for reasons he chose not to disclose to the raven-haired male. But as Suguru watched you exorcise the cursed-spirits, the understanding in your voice as you faced what would be the byproduct of someone’s despair, he realized just how relentless you were.
Even after particularly brutal missions, when the air still tasted bitter with residual cursed energy and your uniform was stiff with dried blood, you found yourself offering explanations — for the victims, for the broken systems that created them.
You wanted to save people. You insisted on seeing the good in them, even when it was buried deep beneath layers of resentment and despair. Where others would have turned away, angry and bitter, you stayed. When the missions were brutal, when the cursed energy lingered in the air like smoke, when the weight of the world pressed down too heavily for anyone to bear alone.
And whenever things became too much — too suffocating for Suguru to breathe — you were there. First as a co-worker, dependable and present when needed. Then as a friend, someone he could sometimes lean on without fear. Then, eventually, as a lover, the one who could reach the parts of him he had thought no one would ever find. And now, as the mother of his twin daughters, Shizue and Miru, you are the light that anchors him.
—
When Miru fell, Shizue was always there to pick her up. The contrast between the two girls was subtle but striking, and both you and Suguru couldn’t help but laugh at it. When Miru cried, Shizue would hand her a pacifier, a doll — anything to chase the tears away. And when it was Shizue who was upset, Miru would wrap her tiny arms around her sister, crying along with her, completely oblivious to the reason behind the outburst. They were two peas in a pod, born with built-in best friends in each other.
Suguru remembered the first time his daughters learned to ride their bikes as if it were yesterday.
“Look at me!” Shizue had picked it up quickly — a few scrapes on her knees and elbows, teary eyes, flushed cheeks, but she would get up every time, running to her father and asking for help again.
“Papa, band-aid!” she insisted, pointing at her tiny wounds. Suguru chuckled as he carefully tended to her.
“Of course,” he said, smiling.
By the seventh attempt, Shizue was riding around the neighborhood like a pro.
Miru, on the other hand — not so much. Suguru was aware of his daughter’s crybaby tendencies — the instant her knee scraped the pavement, tears poured down like a waterfall, and she would leap straight into his arms.
“I don’t wanna!” she wailed. Suguru softened at the sight, cradling her gently.
“But baby, look at your sister — she’s doing so well!”
But Miru shook her head stubbornly, clinging to her father. She wouldn’t learn to ride properly until a year later. She was more fragile, more sensitive — so much so that her own sister remarked on it in the car on the way to visit relatives. Miru had dozed off, her tears dried after Suguru had refused to adopt a second cat she spotted on the road. Shizue glanced at her, then blurted out:
“She cries a lot.”
Suguru snorted, but he couldn’t disagree. You turned to Shizue with a playful smile.
“Doesn’t she?” you said softly, caressing Miru’s knee before cupping Shizue’s face.
“I don’t like it when she cries,” Shizue admitted.
Suguru raised an eyebrow. “It annoys you?”
Shizue shrugged, eyes on her sister. “No… is it normal?”
“To cry a lot?” you clarified.
Shizue nodded. You smiled warmly. “Some of us are more sensitive than others. And that’s okay.”
“Sensitive…” Shizue repeated the word thoughtfully, filing it away. Her sister was sensitive. “Okay,” she said, finally satisfied.
—
No matter how tightly he closed his eyes or how firmly he covered his ears, Suguru couldn’t erase the image of his daughter’s face the first time she swallowed a curse. The way she sobbed afterward, the broken, desperate look she turned toward him with — it was seared into his memory. He had always feared the day he would discover which of his daughters had inherited his cursed technique, yet a quiet, hopeful part of him had prayed it would be Shizue.
He truly believed that the signs were there: Shizue was always the first to notice cursed spirits in a room, the one who asked him endlessly what it felt like to absorb them, curious and fearless in ways her sister wasn’t.
Shizue had inherited your cursed technique, while Miru carried his.
The realization should not have hit him so hard — watching smaller, weaker cursed spirits gravitate toward her, he could have pretended to be fine. At first, he did, even joking that she would surpass him one day. But he had never been able to prepare for the moment he would have to watch her swallow a curse, the raw fear and pain etched across her face, and the helpless ache that engulfed him in that instant.
The taste of a cursed spirit — something he had once believed no one else could ever know — now belonged to her too. Like swallowing a cloth used to wipe up vomit, Suguru couldn’t help but feel guilty. He had passed on this burden to his daughter.
—
The clock kept ticking in the living room, each second hammering against Suguru’s chest like a drum he couldn’t escape.
“I did that to her.” He breaks the suffocating silence, guilt brimming in his brown eyes. “Fuck, you should’ve seen her face.”
“Suguru,” you said softly, pushing yourself to sit beside him and resting a hand on his back. “Don’t say that.”
He shook his head, leaning forward, burying his face in his hands. “I can’t, I—” He raises his head, wiping his face. “She hated it.”
Not once do you interrupt. You stay silent as he pours out the horror of swallowing cursed spirits, describing the way the taste overwhelms the senses, foul, clinging to every nerve. You don’t tell him that you know what it feels like — it would be cruel, almost mocking, to claim understanding when both of you know the truth. He hates that his daughter has to go through the same thing.
You were there when Miru swallowed yet another cursed spirit. Standing near an abandoned building, you watched as tears prickled at the corner of her eyes, her lips trembling as she parts them a couple of times.
“It tastes like a used up rug.” She muttered under her breath, you don’t miss the way Suguru’s body stiffened. You walk away, and Suguru’s eyebrows draw together, confused. He slowly approaches Miru to comfort her.
“Can’t even drink water, it makes it worse.”
Suguru’s heart sinks to his stomach. It had been the same for him, water does make the taste worse. It intensifies the bitter aftertaste, and makes you all too aware of what you had just swallowed. Suguru sighs as he pulls his daughter towards him, her head resting on his chest — a huge part of him was grateful that his daughter had remained affectionate through her teenage years.
“What’s in Mama’s hand?” Miru asked, lifting her head from Suguru’s chest.
Suguru followed her gaze, brow furrowed, watching as you held something out to your daughter.
“Here,” you said gently, offering the small object. “This should help.”
Chocolate milk. Miru’s favorite drink since she could hold a cup on her own.
The pout that had tugged at her lips moments ago vanished instantly. Her hands shot out to grab the bottle, twisting the cap open with practiced ease. The shift in her mood was immediate — her eyes sparkled as she glanced between the two of you, bright and alive once more.
“I don’t taste it anymore!” she exclaimed, holding the bottle out proudly before turning her full attention to you. Without hesitation, she threw her arms around your waist, pressing her face against your chest.
“Thank you!” she murmured, muffled but sincere.
“You’re welcome, baby,” you whispered, your hand resting on her back, gentle and reassuring.
Suguru didn’t move. His eyes stayed on you the entire time, watching as you kissed and caressed Miru’s head. You tell your daughter to head to the car since she was done, before turning to face your husband. The small, intimate moment between you and your daughter — his wife and the mother of the children, and the one person who knew how he felt. Something in Suguru’s chest tightened, a mixture of awe and the faintest twinge of longing which didn’t make sense — how could he long for something that was already his?
Suguru doesn’t have the answer, but he doesn’t think it’s so necessary to find one right now. You approach him carefully, reaching to wrap your warm hand around his. It brings him back to his senses and he blinks. The smile on your face is immediate once you feel the coil in his shoulders melting away.
“Are you okay?”
“Mmm,” Suguru’s chest aches, and he hopes that pure adoration is pouring from his eyes as he holds your gaze. Despite years of marriage, you find yourself looking away as he pulls you against him. You brace yourself with a hand on his chest.
“I don’t know what it feels like to swallow cursed spirits,” you finally speak up, patting his chest. “But I’ll do anything to make it even a little less horrible.”
A thick lump forms in Suguru’s throat, and he finds himself inhaling deeply as he looks down at you. He feels you soften beneath his touch as he presses his lips to your forehead — protective, loving. His heart threatens to leap out of his chest, something warm and overwhelming swelling inside him.
He had told you, once — in bits and pieces at first — about how horrible it was to consume cursed spirits. About the taste that clawed at his tongue and refused to fade, about the way it lingered in the back of his throat no matter how much he rinsed his mouth, how it felt less like swallowing something and more like forcing down something that had rotted. He had expected pity, disgust perhaps — but you never pretended to understand.
You never claimed you knew what it felt like, never offered hollow reassurances. From the very day you met him, you simply stayed. You handed him water when the bitterness wouldn’t leave, and when he had told you that water makes it worse, you would search for anything that would help wash down the taste. You pressed something sweet into his palm without comment, rubbed his back when the nausea set in. And now you were doing the same for his daughter.
Suguru swallows hard, his hand lingering at the back of your head as if grounding himself. He had always believed the burden of that taste was his alone to bear. But somehow, you had found a way to lighten it — without ever claiming it as your own.
I don’t know about you, but I love when the main character is scared shitless. I love it when they’re emotional, when they can’t hold back their tears, when they care so much about their loved ones that it tears them apart. a main character who is so aware of their emotions, not afraid to show that they’re scared, terrified even. it makes me like them even more. you’re pushing through your fear and that is incredibly admirable.
Uhh...from where do you check the word count? Im a writer and yeah...im stupid mb
it’s okay! it depends on where you write. I personally use google documents, so if you click on tools on the upper bar you’ll get “word count” and you just click on it. or you can simply do ctrl+shift+C. but if you use Word, the word count is at the bottom.
hiii is your request box open? i have a request for haikyuu specifically but i see you havent written anything for that fandom so im not sure if you'd be open to do it..but if you are i have a request for kenma! have a great dayy
Hi, yes! I'd love to write for haikyuu (and kenma since he's a character that I've never written for) so let me know what your request is, and I'll tell you if I can write it :)!!
Summary: Amidst the chaos of his work life, Hanma finds refuge and solace within your presence. Two souls bound by an imperceptible and delicate tie, strained by the passage of time that kept you apart. However, when Taiju enters your life -- steady where Hanma is wild, you're forced to confront the reality: rekindle the chaotic flame you had once lit up with Hanma, or accept the peace that Taiju offers within his strength and confidence. Can this thin thread endure the weight of Hanma’s inner struggles and the pull of fate? And will you accept offering your heart to such an unpredictable man?
Total word count: 127k
Pairing: hanma x fem! reader, second-lead! taiju x fem! reader.
Content warning: canon related, not canon compliant, evil toman! hanma, fem! reader, hanma centred!, restaurant owner! taiju, reader is described to be shorter and of a smaller build than hanma's, cursing, gvn use, mvrder, description of graphic scenes, blood, gang violence, smut, oral (receiving and giving), fingering, unprotected sex, hanma has a vasectomy, size kink, dirty talk, angst.
author’s playlist ✏️ | steph’s playlist 🤍
— FIRST QUARTER
“We do not suffer from the shock of our trauma, but we make out of it what suits our purposes.” — Alfred Adler.
word count: 57,1k
01: trust fall. 02: right here.
03: initiation. 04: lonely star.
05: twenty eight. 06: temptation's tangle.
07: off the table. 08: lost in the fire.
09: nothing but strangers in a bed.
10: twlight zone.
— SECOND QUARTER
“Nothing fixes a thing so intensely in the memory, as the wish to forget it.” — Michel de Montaigne.
11: jupiter returns. 12: when stars misalign.
13: retrograde begins. 14: saturn loses its rings.
15: the void has eyes. 16: venus faces the sun
17: saturn among the stars. 18: like a flickering star
19: planets in rebellion 20: stardust on our skin
21: drops of jupiter
— THIRD QUARTER
"Forgiveness doesn't change the past, but it does enlarge the future." — Paul Boeser.
⋆˚✿˖° coming soon.
— BONUS EPISODES
⋆˚࿔ 01: the one where you push your luck.
note: this is, once again, heavily self indulgent. I still tried to make it as vague as possible, but some of the interactions or conversations that happen are ones that I envisioned for my selfship with him. there will be a few characters present in the story to make it fun and because it makes no sense for the story to happen just between the two of them, hopefully you’ll enjoy it. but if this isn't your cup of tea, kindly move along and have a great day.
༉‧₊˚. LISTEN TO THE PLAYLIST WHILE READING! + browse the menu
༉‧₊˚. episode 20: stardust on our skin.
preview:". . . “We’re meeting up today.” you speak, your voice sharp, edged with controlled anger. “Not even a hello?” - Your jaw tightens, but you keep your voice steady. “Same time as last time. And don’t be late, or I will leave.”
cw: heavy nsfw warning, oral (f receiving), shower s*x, dirty talk, themes of stalking. word count: 10,2k.
༉‧₊˚. note: thank you to my bestfriend @aurelianamu for being an absolute angel and proofreading/correcting everything. couldn't have done it without her!!
༉‧₊˚. comments + reblogs are appreciated!
༉‧₊˚. Hanma & Taiju by @aurelianamu
“Oh my god, what happened to you?!”
Your heart roared in your ears, pounding like it wanted to escape your chest. Mitsuya stumbled into your bedroom, clutching his side, the soft scrape of his jacket against the carpet echoing in the stillness. The only light came from the soft glow of the streetlamp outside your window, slanting across the floor in thin, golden-orange lines. Dust floated lazily in the beams, and you could smell the faint metallic tang of blood mingled with the worn leather of his jacket.
He chuckled, a low, strained sound that didn’t quite reach his eyes, trying to brush off your panic. “It’s nothing, my love. I just—” He inhaled sharply, a soft hiss escaping his lips, and pressed a hand to his side.
“I wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas.”
In his hands, he held a diary, small and carefully made for you. Your name glittered across the cover in delicate script, and tiny jewels caught the dim light like scattered stars. Your eyes widened, your hands trembling slightly as they reached for it.
“I know your brothers probably got you something fancier,” he said softly, voice rough, “but I hope this one sticks with you for a long time.”
Tears welled up, glossing your vision as you took in the cuts and bruises marking his face. Your fingers trembled as you cupped his jaw. He flinched at your touch, letting out a soft hiss, but you leaned closer anyway, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to his lips. The warmth of him made your chest tighten, a knot of worry and tenderness coiling together.
“You’re… you’re too good to me,” you whispered, voice breaking slightly. “But… please tell me.” Your hand caresses his face, careful not to hurt him.
Mitsuya exhaled slowly, a long, low sound, and settled onto your bed with a soft groan, the mattress creaking under his weight. You moved quickly, scanning your room for the first-aid kit, your fingers brushing the edges of the shelf, the faint antiseptic smell mingling with the lingering scent of pine from your small Christmas tree, its lights casting tiny, dancing reflections across the walls.
“Do you remember Hakkai?” he murmured, voice quiet, almost distant.
“Yeah?” You turned toward him, confusion knitting your brows. “He did this?!”
“No, no,” Mitsuya said, chuckling softly, though the sound was roughened by pain. “Taiju, his older brother did”
Your stomach twisted, and you knelt beside him, careful not to get carpet burn. “So what happened to him?” you asked gently, trying to keep your voice steady.
“Oh… Mikey took care of him,” Mitsuya said, a proud, faint smile tugging at his lips. “He lost it a little bit, but I could see that he regretted his actions.”
“Taka—”
“I know, I know,” Mitsuya interrupted softly, tilting his head toward you. His hand rose, brushing against your jaw in a careful, almost protective motion. “But he had it rough growing up.”
“You think that justifies doing this to you?” you asked, frowning, voice tight.
Mitsuya shook his head, serious now. “Nothing justifies it, but I know he regrets what he did. Especially to his family.” He winces when you gently dab his cuts with an alcohol swab.
But when the scowl on your face refuses to soften, a quiet chuckle slips past his lips as he cups your jaw once more.
“Don’t scowl like that bunny, wouldn’t want you to get wrinkles at a young age.” he teased, voice softening as he watched your expression.
“I don’t care,” you muttered under your breath, leaning back on your heels before looking up. “You’re too nice sometimes.”
Mitsuya shrugged, calm despite everything. His bruised face softened with patience as he said, “You don’t think he can redeem himself?”
“Not really,” you huff, unimpressed.
“Mmm,” his hand caresses your cheek, voice tender. “What happened to that big heart of yours, huh?”
“Does it matter?” you whispered, eyes dropping.
He studied you for a second, his lavender eyes tracing your face — the worry in your eyes, the slight scrunch to your nose, the pout of your lips. Mitsuya inhales deeply before gently grabbing your hands, forcing you to put the first aid kit aside. Your head snaps up at him, confused.
“Wha— Takashi!” You nearly squealed when you felt him pull you up on his lap, your hand covering your mouth when you saw him wince with each movement. “I’ll hurt you!”
“Nonsense,” he hissed, adjusting you on top of him so that your knees were pressed against his thighs. You stare at him, warmth spreading across your face when you feel his hands grip your hips.
“I came here to celebrate Christmas with my girlfriend, not to argue with her.”
You frowned slightly, raising your hand to cradle his face carefully. Your thumb caresses his cheek, eyes flickering across his face before landing on his lips. The room settled into quiet after that, the soft hum of the heater and the distant glimmer of streetlights outside the window filling the space. Your touch featherlight, he watches you with that steady warmth that always makes your chest ache. “Let me kiss you,” he murmured as his hand rested on the back of your head. You leaned closer to him, until his lips brushed against yours — the room felt small and safe. Suspended in time.
Then it comes as a jolt — a wash of green across his face, the hum changes and the warmth disappears. A horn blares somewhere close, forcing you to blink.
“Huh?”
Your skin feels the leather first — then the cool air, and a low controlled growl of an engine. Somehow, you find yourself in the passenger seat of a black Porsche Panamera, its interior sleek and shadowed. Roppongi’s neon sign bleeds across the windshield in streaks of pink and blue. Beside you, Rindou taps his fingers against the steering wheel as the traffic light changes to green. You realize that he’s addressing you.
“I said, why do you suddenly wanna go?” he repeats, eyebrows faintly furrowed. His lavender eyes flick toward you, sharp and assessing. You blink again, grounding yourself.
“I left some things there,” you reply, looking down at your lap, pretending to busy yourself with your phone. “Thought I’d grab them.”
“Like what?” he presses.
You sigh, turning toward him. “I didn’t know this was an interrogation room.”
“Do you want to walk there?” Rindou deadpans — you immediately go quiet. A triumphant smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth as he adds. “That’s what I thought.”
The car moves smoothly through Roppongi, gliding past towering glass buildings and newly built luxury complexes, their polished facades reflecting light across the hood of the Porsche. And then it comes into view — your old apartment building
“I left some photographs there,” you mutter under your breath. “I want to put them up in my apartment.”
“Mmm,” Rindou hums, finally letting it go. He doesn’t look at you again, but you can tell he’s thinking.
The dream lingers faintly at the edge of your mind — warmth, soft light, Mitsuya’s voice. You inhale deeply as you reach for the pendant around your neck, holding tightly onto it. As Rindou turns onto a quieter street, the architecture shifts. The buildings here are older — heavier concrete, darker stone, black metal balconies instead of seamless glass. Still expensive and guarded, just not new anymore.
Rindou’s car hums smoothly as it pulls into the circular driveway of the Haitanis’ building — a high-rise of dark stone and tinted glass, understated but unmistakably expensive. A suited doorman bows slightly when he recognizes the car, both you and Rindou nod back.
He parks in the private underground level, kills the engine, and the silence inside the vehicle feels heavier than it should. He doesn’t get out immediately, instead, he looks at you intently.
“You still haven’t told me why this couldn’t wait,” he says casually — too casually.
You unbuckle your seatbelt, still refusing to meet his eyes. “I did.”
“Photographs,” he repeats, watching your face. “You dragged me across Roppongi for photographs.”
You reach for the door handle before looking over your shoulder. “And you answered. I told you, I remembered that I kept them in my room and I just don’t feel comfortable letting them stay there.”
His lavender eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn’t move.
“You’ve been weird,” he says quietly, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel. You force a chuckle.
“Right, and we’ve only met up, like what — once?”
“And whose fault is that?” He retorts and you exhale deeply before stepping out of the car, Rindou following you suit.
You walk ahead, the soft sole of your shoes thumping against the concrete, eyes flicking to every shadow, every corner. Rindou falls in step behind you, quiet. He notices the way your head tilts slightly at each noise, the subtle tightening of your shoulders, the way your hand brushes the edge of your coat. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t comment — just follows, how your gaze flickers to the walls every now and then. You reach the far end of the lot and spot the elevator doors, pressing the button, you step closer, and Rindou watches you. His expression is unreadable, no words pass between you.
The elevator hums as the doors slide open, and together you step inside. The ride up is silent.
When the doors open, the familiar private corridor greets you — soft lighting, plush carpeting, discreet security cameras in the corners. You remember the mornings where Ran would hold you back in the hallway, straightening your school uniform, scolding you for messing up your hair which he spent twenty-minutes fixing up. The image is vivid in your mind — the scowl on his face that softens into a proud look once you step onto the elevator, and Rindou’s hand waving at you from behind the wall.
Yet you also remember the last time you walked down these corridors — with your suitcase in hand, and none of your brothers aware that this would be the last time you would ever reach out to them. Your heart tightens at the memory.
You hear Rindou unlock the door, and you snap back to reality. The scent of expensive incense and polished wood hits your nostrils, and you realize that it is just as you remember.
The entrance is wide, with a smooth stone floor that glimmers under soft lighting. A built-in closet with sleek chrome handles lines the left wall, its doors perfectly flush with the wood paneling. To the right, a small changing room and a marble-finished bathroom. The hallway stretches ahead, long and deliberate. On the right is the second toilet, then Rindou’s room — door closed, perfectly neat. On the left, Ran’s room — equally immaculate.
As you round the corner, the large mirror takes up the space, its frame a dark wood that gleams under the ceiling lights. Past the mirror is the wine area, bottles arranged like trophies in temperature-controlled racks, followed by the kitchen — marble counters, chrome faucets, high-end appliances. Everything looks new, expensive, and controlled.
The living room opens into a vast space with low designer couches arranged around a black lacquered coffee table, a single chaise angled toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. A DJ station sits in the corner, sleek and modern, and a massive flat-screen TV dominates the opposite wall. Beyond the glass, the balcony stretches long, lined with planters, ending at a discreet fire escape.
But as you move past the kitchen toward your room, your stomach drops. The door is ajar, and cold air drifts in from the open window. Quickly, you turn to Rindou who was still standing near the bathroom, his hands buried in his pockets.
“I’ll grab my things and then we can leave.”
“Why is the door open?” His tone leaves no room for arguing back. You try to downplay the anxiety that grips you, the way his glare made you feel small — like you were a kid all over again.
“I don’t know, Rin. Maybe someone left it open.” You look away before he can notice the sweat gathered on your upper lip, how tense your shoulders were. Your eyes close when you hear his approaching footsteps.
“Ran locked it last time he came,” and the more he approaches you, the harder it is to breathe. You decide to be a bit dramatic.
“I don’t know— I want to grab some clothes, okay?” You stand in front of the door, blocking the view. If Hanma left the door open, you can only imagine the mess that was inside.
“Move.” Rindou’s voice is low but firm. Before you can respond, he moves alongside you, his hand brushing lightly against your shoulder. You stiffen at the touch, and Rindou’s eyes flicker to your face. “What the hell are you hiding?”
“Rin—” you start, but he shakes his head, stepping closer.
He doesn’t shove, one strong hand presses gently to your upper back, just enough to shift your weight slightly to the side. You stumble forward a moment, letting him pass.
Inside, your room is violated — drawers pulled open, clothes tossed, books and papers scattered. Rindou stands there, staring at the mess in front of him. When he turns to look at you, he follows your gaze to the bed — where your diary lies open, a page torn out and a folded note clutters to the floor.
— you can’t avoid me forever.
Rindou’s expression darkens instantly as he takes it in, eyes flickering to your face. “You knew.”
Your breath hitches as he grabs the folded note, almost crumbling it in his hand. “You brought me here because you knew something had happened.”
“I didn’t know,” you murmur. “I just… had a feeling.”
He narrows his eyes, scanning the room — the balcony then the fire escape. “A feeling? What are you, a fucking witch?”
“I don’t know, Rin! You’re making things really difficult right now!”
“I’m making things difficult?” He shoves the paper in your face, and you force your gaze away. “You bring me here knowing damn well that someone broke into your room, and you don’t wanna tell me who did it, but I’m making things difficult?!”
“I wanted someone else to know!” You finally snap, feeling your face heat up. “There, I said it. I wanted you to come here with me because I can’t tell anyone else about it!”
Rindou stands there, his expression softening for a second before he looks at the mess before you.
“You know this person.”
“You can say so.” you reply weakly.
“Do I know them?” His eyebrows are drawn together in confusion. You nod and sigh as you walk around the mess, grabbing the stuff on the floor. And the more Rindou stares at the mess, at the note in his hand and then towards the fire escape, the easier it is for him to piece things together. His lips part for a moment before he looks at you.
“It’s Hanma?”
Watching you stiffen at the mention of his name was everything Rindou needed to know. He continues.
“How the fuck did you start talking to him again?”
“He found me.” You turn to Rindou, sensing the accusing tone. “It was a coincidence.”
“Yeah, I can tell.” He sighs before rubbing his temples with his fingers. “Okay, so you dated him—”
You sigh, wiping your face with your hand. “I didn’t date him—”
Rindou’s eyebrows raise before he crosses his arms over his chest. You can feel him almost slip into big brother mode, and you have to remind him to tone it down.
“Newsflash, I’m an adult woman?” Whatever worry you had evaporates as you stand in front of him, your hands on your hips.
“I thought you had a boyfriend—” Rindou realizes that he slipped and quickly shuts his mouth. Your eyes narrow for a moment, then you tilt your head as you point at him.
“...how do you know that?”
The room falls into a silence so thick it feels like it’s pressing against your ears — the kind where even a breath sounds intrusive, and a single pin hitting the floor would echo like a gunshot.
“You stare at your phone a lot.” He points at the device in your bag. “You did that with your first boyfriend.”
But you’re still not buying his explanation, crossing your arms over your chest. Rindou shifts his weight, gaze flicking toward the window, then back to you. A shrug rolls off his shoulders.
“It’s not exactly classified information,” he mutters.
“It’s my life, Rindou.” you say, stepping closer. “How do you know?”
It’s silent for a moment before Rindou exhales deeply. He waves a dismissive hand as he walks towards the window, closing it before checking the broken lock. “Whatever, we sent you all those gifts and not once did you think how do they know what I like?”
When you’re quiet for too long, Rindou turns to you with wide eyes. “You’re that stupid?”
“Hey! I did not check what you guys got me!” You snap your fingers at him, walking around your bed towards him. “And don’t change the topic—how do you know?”
“We hired someone.”
“You mean Ran hired someone.” You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest.
Rindou sighs. “You still don’t want to talk to him?”
You shrug your shoulders, unsure. You avoid eye contact, even choose to look away entirely at the mention of reconnecting with your oldest brother.
Rindou watches you in silence for a long beat — the way your jaw sets, how your eyes flatten, the little downturn to your mouth when you’re trying not to react. It’s both heartwarming and sad how you don’t seem to be aware of it — how you carry yourself with the same composure, the deadpan stare, the cutting glare and even the faint pout tugging at your lips when you’re displeased with something. You look exactly like Ran, behave just like him, that it makes Rindou exhale slowly. He tilts his head to the side before giving it a small shake.
“You two are too similar.”
You hum in response, still eyeing the mess. Rindou senses your silence, the way you’re secretly worried about what all of this meant — whatever dynamic you had with Hanma must’ve been intense for him to take things this far. He slowly approaches you, his tone softer.
“I can help you.” He starts, pointing at the mess around you. “Move this stuff to a safer place.”
But you refuse to let it affect you to the point of changing the way things are supposed to be. You shake your head, glancing at Rindou. “No, it’s okay.”
Rindou’s warmth feels overwhelming — familiar. You miss being around him, bickering with him. As he stands close to you, you can feel his arms twitching by his sides and you slowly uncross your arms.
“You sure?”
You nod. “Yeah, I appreciate it.”
Neither of you moved at first, both of you staring down as if the carpeted floor became interesting. The silence stretches until Rindou finally gives in and steps forward, pulling you into him without a word. Your head settles against his shoulder, his hand firm on your upper back. You don’t resist — instead, your arms slowly slide around his waist, holding on just as tightly. No words are exchanged — but the way you cling to each other says enough. You had missed each other more than either of you cared to admit.
—
Chifuyu remembers the heavy air of the office, the controlled vibe of it — it didn’t necessarily stick out to him, but something felt different that day. He was sitting across from Kisaki, a large desk separating the two, the latter speaking in his usual academic tone.
The soft rustle of paper fills the air as he speaks, his gaze fixed in front of him. “I read your report from the last mission, and I have to say—” His eyes flicker up to find Chifuyu’s. “I’m impressed.”
All Chifuyu gave in return was a nod and a polite bow. Even if he hated to admit it, he needed to show respect to his boss.
“Next time, you should—”
The door slammed open before Kisaki could finish his sentence. Hanma stumbled into the office, catching himself on the doorframe with a crooked grin. His eyes found Kisaki first, before landing on Chifuyu, his head tilted and amusement twinkling in his golden eyes.
Chifuyu rolled his eyes at that, turning to stare at Kisaki.
“We’re in the middle of something.” Kisaki said calmly, trying to suppress the irritation from being interrupted.
The dark-haired male remembered feeling it — the shift in the weight beside him as Hanma dropped to the chair, without an invitation and sprawling like he was here for entertainment. He reached for his pocket, extending a leg with a grunt before pulling out his phone and flashing the screen to Kisaki.
“Ya called me.” He leaned back, putting his phone on his thigh. “I don’t have time. Make it quick.”
Instead, his request was met with silence from Kisaki. The latter pushed his chair back, bracing his hands on the surface of the desk as he stood on his feet. He eyed Hanma for a moment, glancing towards Chifuyu as if he was weighing his options — then he spoke up.
“The conversation was supposed to be private.” Kisaki adjusted his glasses with a precise push at the bridge of his nose.
Chifuyu remembered the way Hanma’s brows had lifted at that — almost mocking the insinuation.
“Private? Ain’t shit private when it’s work and ya know that.”
“I’m giving you an out,” Kisaki had replied, glancing at his watch as though this were a scheduled inconvenience. “The meeting with Chifuyu should be done soon.”
Hanma had spread his legs wider, impatiently dragging a hand down his face.“Just spit it out, fucking hell.”
Kisaki slowly sat back down, fingers interlaced on the desk. “I want you to take a break.”
That was the moment Chifuyu remembered most clearly — the subtle shift. Hanma straightened up slightly as the grin faltered for just a fraction.
“A break? Fuck does that mean?”
“It means I’m asking you to hop off my fucking dick.” Kisaki had opened his drawer and slid out a sheet of paper, presenting it like a formal notice. “A month with no missions, no assignments. Fuck off.”
Hanma had stared at the paper, then back at him. The room had felt smaller somehow.
“Ya gotta be fucking kidding me, right? The fuck did I even do?”
“Bursting into meetings unannounced, arriving late, killing unnecessarily.” Kisaki’s tone hadn’t changed, but Chifuyu had felt the restraint in it — like he was holding back from exploding. “I’m suspending your activities for a month. Go home.”
The silence after that had been sharp, Hanma’s breathing became ragged, uncontrolled. He chuckled as he wiped his face with a hand, his lips stretched into a crazed smile.
“Yer gonna fucking regret it.”
“Sure,” Kisaki had replied, dismissing him with a lazy wave. “See you in a month.”
And then Hanma left the office, slamming the door behind him. At the time, Chifuyu hadn’t thought much of it — just another power play, with Kisaki tightening the leash. But the next time he saw Hanma, it wasn’t at headquarters — it was near your apartment building.
And remembering the look in his eyes from that office — that split second when the grin slipped — Chifuyu couldn’t shake the feeling that the “break” had never really been about discipline at all. He exhales slowly, leaning back into the driver’s seat, the engine idling beneath him as the mission site looms just beyond the windshield. When his phone vibrates in his hand, Kisaki’s name flashing across the screen, he doesn’t hesitate to send a message back, letting him know that he was about to go in. He shuts the engine off, pushes the door open, and steps out into the still air. The abandoned building stands ahead of him, its broken windows dark and hollow. The unease that radiates off of it settles into his bones, and yet it felt familiar all at the same time.
But right now, all he could think about was you — how you were holding up, whether Hanma was hovering around you again, and why he suddenly couldn’t seem to stay away. He sighs and walks towards his mission site.
—
Roppongi in late afternoons always felt different from nighttime itself. The glass towers still caught the sun, but the streets were quieter now. Salarymen heading home, café chairs scraping against pavement and the hum of the city faded into something peaceful.
The park sat just beyond the main road, a stretch of grass and carefully trimmed trees. But past a cluster of low shrubs and beneath a maple tree whose leaves whispered in the wind, that’s where you dragged him. The soil was darker there, the skyline still peeked through the branches above.
You looked like a child on Christmas standing next to him.
“All done!” You exclaimed once you finished writing the date on the polaroid picture, turning to Hanma with a huge smile. “This way we’ll remember the date.”
He leaned back on his palms in the grass, cigarette resting between his fingers, watching you like you were on something.
“Can’t believe ya expect to wait ten years for this shit.”
You ignored him, of course. You always did when you were excited. The polaroid slid into the box, tucked neatly over ticket stubs, a cheap ring, folded notes written at three in the morning. You were humming again — that same song you’d looped all week, the one he pretended to hate but now knew by heart. Your eyes sparkled when you snapped the lid shut.
“Here!” You held the box out toward him triumphantly, eyes sparkling as you pushed it further in his hands. “Take it, Shuji!”
He blinked. “So you weren’t even listenin’ to me.” He pulled the cigarette from his mouth, smoke curling lazily into the warm air.
“Now, you go dig a hole.” You turned around, stepping away from the soil while staring at the shoes Ran had recently purchased for you. “I’ll wait here.” You lean against a tree, a smile dancing on your lips.
Hanma raised an eyebrow. “I go dig?”
The look you sent him — sharp and entitled, such a spoiled brat — he thought, made him snort.
“Did I stutter?”
He huffed, low and amused, pushing himself up. “Nah, doll. Ya sure didn’t.”
He slowly lowered himself to his knees, rolling his shoulders once as he crouched near the base of a ginkgo tree. He flicks his cigarette, pressing his fingers into the soil and it gives very easily.
“I feel like a fucking dog.” He muttered under his breath, fingers digging into the soil as you stood against the tree with your arms crossed over your chest. The warmth that engulfed you, the way your heart stuttered as he turned to you to show you his work. You smiled at him, pretending to hover near the area where he dug with a contemplative hum.
“You’re not being careful enough.”
Hanma scoffs, glaring up at you. “It’s a fucking tin box, not a kitten.”
You huff at his response, turning on your heels. “You’ll regret that in ten years.”
“Will ya even remember it?” Hanma wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, resting on his heels. “Ten years is a long time.”
“Of course I will.” You mumble, and Hanma looked up at you to find you pouting.
“I’ll try to remember it, doll.”
Hanma’s lips curved into a smile — small, hesitant, almost as though it wasn’t meant to be seen. His golden eyes land on you — open, unguarded. Like he wasn’t calculating the moment. And when you finally smile back, he quickly looks away.
“Yeah, you better.”
Hanma presses his palm flat over the freshly turned soil again, packing it down with pressure. The golden ginkgo leaves tremble overhead, sunlight flickering across your face as you beam at him like this is something sacred. The leaves rustle louder, the sound stretches, thinning into something hollow. The warmth of the sun cools against his skin and the scent of soil fades, replaced by something sterile. He presses his palm down again, but the ground isn’t soft anymore, it’s flat.
The golden color drains from the world first as the tree blurs at the edges. Your face flickers, your smile still frozen in place as if the moment refuses to move forward. Then you’re gone. Hanma inhales sharply, then his eyes snap open to darkness.
His ceiling stares back at him, unfamiliar in its stillness. The air is cold — settling into the sheets that haven’t been disturbed in days. The space around him feels untouched. He doesn’t move at first. There’s no warmth beside him, no soft breathing. Just the low hum of a refrigerator somewhere down the hall and the faint buzz of streetlights bleeding through the curtains. He rarely sleeps here.
The bed feels too large, the sheets too crisp and the room carries none of the lived-in heat of another body — no presence, no warmth. Nothing, just an emptiness that makes Hanma sit up in his bed with a sigh. He drags a hand over his face slowly, staring at the rest of the room as the last trace of golden leaves dissolves from his mind.
The dream lingers heavier than it should.
—
When Taiju suggests taking you out for lunch, you rack your brain over the many options — Sarabeth’s, The Great Burger, Bubby’s — all of which were near the Shinjuku area. Your phone vibrates in your hand as you run down the stairs to the lobby, holding onto your bag. You are excited to see him, get to spend some time with him.
Yesterday was a busy day for the restaurant, which meant he couldn’t pick you up from work or make it to dinner. True to who he is, Taiju had an Uber take you home and arranged for food from his restaurant to be delivered to you at your apartment. And, though words aren’t exactly his forte, he attached a note with the food that read:
— Sorry about tonight. I’ll make it up for you.
A shiver of excitement ran through you at the note.
“I can see you,” you huff over the phone, reminding yourself to be careful since you were wearing heels. You spot Taiju’s car parked outside your work building, sleek and shiny in the sunlight, the passenger seat window rolled down so he can look at you.
A small smile tugs at your lips, your hand reaching for the door handle, then you pull it open. You quickly shove your phone in your bag, sliding into the seat before pressing a kiss to his cheek. When you finally sit down, you stare at him with a huge smile.
“Hi.”
Taiju chuckles, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek as well.“Someone’s excited.”
You hum, buckling your seatbelt. “Mmm, I am.”
“You got an hour?” He asks, checking the watch on his wrist.
“Yup.”
Taiju nods, and the engine hums and then roars beneath him. “Perfect.”
He ends up choosing a brunch place with tables spilling out onto the pavement, metal chairs set beneath wide umbrellas that barely shield the afternoon sun. Conversations overlap in waves, coffee cups clink against saucers, waiters walk between tables with plates balanced on their arms. It’s lively and open and reminds you of him.
You try to brush it off at first — try to sink into the warmth of the afternoon sun. Winter has been merciless this year, and you tell yourself you deserve to enjoy something gentle for once. But the openness unsettles you, it reminds you of that conversation, of the way he sat down across from you — not beside you. Facing you like it was a game, like you were something to study. You remember how quiet you’d gone and the loud scrape of his chair against the concrete, slow and deliberate. The lazy tilt of his head, that smirk just slow enough to make your stomach tighten. It wasn’t affection. The way your pulse thudded in your ears, how thin the air felt, how surreal it felt to see him in front of you —
“Hey,”
You blink, dragged back by the sound of Taiju’s voice. The present rushes in clumsily, he's speaking to the waiter, ordering for both of you — something you usually like — but you haven’t processed a single word. Your fingers tighten around the edge of the table without you realizing it, and nod at him when he repeats your order to the waiter.
Taiju’s attention shifts fully to you when the waiter leaves. “You good?”
“Yeah,” you answer too quickly. “Very long morning,” you squint as you look at the sky, shielding your eyes with your hand. “But it’s sunny today, hasn’t been like this in a while.”
Taiju’s gaze moves over your face, studying you, your posture and the way your shoulders are slightly hunched as if bracing for something. You force a small smile, reaching for your water as if the movement alone can distract you from what’s brewing inside. You curl your hand around the cool glass, letting the cold bite gently at your skin.
But Taiju isn’t convinced. He leans back slightly in his chair, broad shoulders casting a shadow across the table. One hand rests against the edge of it, fingers tapping once — slow. He still doesn’t say anything, but you feel his gaze on you. Your eyes find his, and you force a chuckle as you tilt your head.
“What?”
Taiju shakes his head at first, then caves with a sharp inhale, leaning forward to brace his elbows on the table. “Ya know ya can talk to me, right?”
You purse your lips, nodding at him but you glance away, and the movement makes Taiju tilt his head to find your gaze.
“Mhm, I know.”
“Then why aren’t you?” His hand slides across the table until it finds yours. He laces his fingers through yours and gently tugs, drawing you closer until you have no choice but to meet his eyes.
“Talk to me.”
“You don’t have to worry.” You reassure him, your thumb brushing lightly over the back of his hand. But in that moment, the gesture is meant to distract you more than it is to soothe him. You glance away, pretending to watch a couple across the street laugh over their drinks. “I’m just tired. Nothing serious.”
He doesn’t respond immediately. That silence is worse than if he had pulled away, it stretches between you. A muscle in his jaw tightens as he exhales slowly, gaze steady on you.
“We can’t have a proper relationship if you’re gonna keep things surface level.”
The words land heavier than you expect. Around you, laughter erupts from another table — a fork clatters against a plate, someone calls out for the check. Life goes on, bright and ordinary for anyone else — but at your table, the sunlight doesn’t feel bright anymore. Just exposing.
But you push through it — through the discomfort coiled tight in your stomach, through the ghost of the past threatening to unravel everything you’ve tried so hard to bury.
“I’m fine.”
Taiju has no choice but to let the conversation drop. When your food arrives, he releases your hand, but even as you begin to eat, his amber eyes keep drifting back to your face. It’s the distance in your expression — the way you seem just slightly out of reach. He can’t shake the feeling that you’re somewhere he can’t follow — that no matter how tightly he holds on, you’re already pulling away.
—
The day was finally over. You felt a twinge of disappointment that Taiju wouldn’t be able to make it home tonight, given how busy the restaurant had been, but you were grateful he’d sent an Uber to get you there. You’d asked him to drop you off at the grocery store and texted him to let him know.
“Have a good day!”
Stepping out, you thanked the driver before turning to take in the sliding doors of the store. The elderly couple who ran it were already behind the counter — the older woman waving at you even before you stepped inside. You smiled and waved back, then pushed the doors open and walked in.
You grab a cart at the entrance, the metal handle cool beneath your palms, before pushing it down the aisles. The polished floor reflects the afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows, and the scent of fresh bread and simmering soup from the small deli counter drifts toward you, mixing with the faint tang of ripe produce. It’s comforting — a little pocket of normalcy in a week that’s been anything but.
As you approach the register, something catches your eye. A basket sits on the counter, brimming with snacks — your favorite ones. Not the usual, run-of-the-mill chips or candy, but the brands you always lingered over, the ones you’d grab if you splurged just a little. Your brow lifts.
“Oh…” you murmur, stepping closer with a smile. “This is really nice!”
The elderly couple behind the counter smile gently. The woman shakes her head with a quiet chuckle. “It’s yours, dear!”
Your eyebrows draw together in confusion. “Mine?”
The older woman nods. “Yes. A tall gentleman left it for you about an hour ago. Bought everything himself.”
Your chest lifts slightly, and for a second — you feel a flicker of something that coils your chest. You already know the answer to the question, yet you still ask; “Did he have blue hair?”
Her husband chuckles softly but shakes his head. “No, not blue… it was dark with streaks of yellow. He didn’t really say much, just handed us the basket, paid and left.”
The warmth you felt only moments ago fades into something tighter and sharper. You clutch the basket a little too tightly, your knuckles whitening around the woven handle. The smell of the snacks — the faint chocolate, the spiced crackers, the familiar fruit gummies — suddenly, you don’t know how to feel. This was different from anything he had done — and although you acknowledged that it was still weird, you didn’t know what to do with the basket.
“Thank you.”
You step out of the grocery store, the bag of groceries swinging lightly at your side, and make your way back toward your apartment. The late evening sun warms your face, but your steps are still hurried, heartbeat thudding in your ears. Once inside the building, the familiar hum of the elevator doesn’t calm you; you press the button, and the small space feels almost claustrophobic as you ride up. When the doors slide open, relief washes over you — nothing has been left at your doorstep.
You unlock your apartment door and step inside, the click of the lock echoing a little too loudly in the quiet. You double-check, locking it twice, before setting the bags of groceries and the basket of snacks on the kitchen counter. That’s when you notice it — a small piece of paper peeking out from between the snacks. You frown, picking it up and unfolding it.
— haven’t seen you buy snacks in a while, doll.
Your first instinct is to roll your eyes. You crumble the note and toss it in the trash, brushing it off as harmless — but your gaze drifts back to the basket, and you pause for a moment, staring at the familiar brands. A scoff leaves your lips, and you shove the thought aside, heading toward the bathroom to wash your hands.
Cold water splashes over your palms, a sharp contrast against the warmth of the room, and for a brief second, you catch your reflection in the mirror. Your eyes flicker away immediately, landing on Taiju’s extra belongings lined neatly on the shelves behind you. You sigh, stepping out of the bathroom and heading toward your room to grab clothes for a shower.
The lunch date with Taiju hadn’t been that good, you recognize that your mind was elsewhere the entire time and it was starting to frustrate you. The man had been nothing but understanding and loving, so the fact that you couldn’t be mentally present during your date felt quite unfair to him. You stand in front of your closet for a while, mind raking over the many ways you could apologize to your boyfriend. You bend down to grab your bag, tossing your clothes inside before stepping out to the living room.
—
A jingle of keys echoes through the quiet apartment before the door is pushed open. The tall man steps inside with a tired sigh, toeing off his shoes by the entryway cabinet while balancing his phone between his ear and shoulder.
“Leave the binder on my desk. Lock the door before you leave.” Taiju’s voice is worn thin with exhaustion. He presses two fingers to his forehead when the manager keeps talking. “Whatever it is, just leave it on my desk.”
He hangs up, exhales slowly, then shrugs off his coat and hangs it neatly in the closet. With heavy steps, he moves deeper into the apartment, tossing his phone onto the kitchen counter. A low groan slips past his lips as he opens the fridge and grabs a bottle of cold water. But when he shuts the fridge door, something makes him pause. There’s a pot sitting on the stove, it clearly wasn’t there this morning.
His eyes narrow slightly as he steps closer. He lifts the lid, and a wave of warmth rolls out — thick with garlic and butter, rich enough to make his shoulders loosen despite himself.
Inside, pasta rests beneath a pale cream sauce, steam rising in soft spirals. Flecks of black pepper and parsley break up the white, and slices of grilled chicken sit between the folds, golden at the edges. It smells indulgent, careful — made for him.
His gaze flicks to the watch on his left wrist: 12:30 a.m.
He lowers the lid gently and makes his way toward the hallway. A single light glows from the bathroom, dim and warm, drawing him in. Then he catches the scent — soap, lavender, and the faint trace of jasmine and white tea from the candle Yuzuha bought him months ago. His fingertips rest against the wooden door before he pushes it open — the sight inside tightens something in his chest.
Fresh towels hang neatly on the rack. The bathtub is filled with warm water and thick bubbles, steam curling lazily toward the ceiling. You’re kneeling beside it, adjusting something near the faucet. When you look up, the heat has made strands of your hair cling to your forehead, but you beam at him.
“I didn’t hear you come in,” you say, rising to your feet and walking over. “Welcome home.”
You approach him, opening your arms to engulf him in your embrace. Taiju’s eyes lower to find yours, a hum escaping his lips.
“Did you get an Uber?” The question hangs in the air momentarily as he lets you wrap your arms around his waist, resting your chin on his chest. You nod in response.
“Mmm. I didn’t want to walk at night.”
One of his hands slides to the back of your head, fingers threading lightly into your hair, while the other cups your cheek. “Good.”
But his gaze drifts to the bathtub — the candle, the bubbles, the careful arrangement. It’s thoughtful and intimate. His eyes lower back to yours, and you find yourself tilting your head, smiling at him.
“What? You’re not the only one who knows how to spoil someone.”
Taiju hums softly and pulls you closer until there’s barely space left between you.
“What’s the occasion?”
You don’t answer right away. Your eyes drift to his chest, his shirt is partially open, tattoos peeking through the gap. Your fingers find the buttons instinctively, undoing them one by one, slow and deliberate, your gaze fixed on the exposed skin beneath.
“There has to be an occasion?” you murmur, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss against his chest. You feel Taiju shudder at the touch, and it urges you to continue until the last button slips free. You push the fabric off his shoulders, and it falls soundlessly onto the warm tiles. He lets you, watching you with intent eyes — yet, he is still not convinced.
His hands slide down to your hips, firm and grounding, pulling you flush against him. You steady yourself against his shoulders, a soft sigh leaving you.
“You went out of your way to take me on a date this morning,” you say quietly, your hands come up to cradle his face, thumbs brushing over his cheeks. “And I kind of ruined it.”
He stays silent, his grip tightening almost imperceptibly as you continue.
“I’m really sorry.”
For a moment, the only sound in the bathroom is the faint crackle of the candlewick and the soft shift of water in the tub. Taiju’s thumb drags slowly along your hip, then one of his hands goes to your face where he cradles your jaw between his thumb and his index finger. He tilts your face up so you have no choice but to look at him, and when your eyes find his face — his expression is soft, searching. You nearly melt against him.
“I already said, ya don’t gotta apologize to me.” His other hand leaves your hip, sliding up your back instead — broad palm warm against your spine, fingers spreading as if to anchor you there. “But stop shutting me out.”
He leans down, pressing a slow kiss to the corner of your mouth. Your skin feels warm beneath his lips, and you sigh softly at the touch. Your hands guide his face closer until your lips hover just beneath his. Then you close the distance, gently pressing your mouth to his as your body leans into his.
The kiss is soft and intimate at first, neither of you rushing to deepen it. Your hands remain steady against his face, thumbs brushing slowly over his skin. You feel his hand slide lower along your back, settling possessively at your waist, while the other trails upward, his fingers resting lightly at the side of your neck — not tight, just warm and grounding.
You pull back after a moment, breath mingling with his. Through your lashes, you look up at him, your gaze drifting between his eyes and his lips, lingering there as if you’re already tempted to close the distance again.
“I hope you haven’t eaten yet. I had to stop by the grocery store to pick up some things for dinner.” Your voice barely rises above a whisper, afraid that speaking any louder might shatter the moment. Your eyes flicker down to the tattoos on his chest again, and you wet your lips slightly. Taiju seems to notice, letting out an amused hum.
“Nah, I’m hungry.”
“Me too,” you murmur, tapping your fingers lightly on his chest as you look up at him. “But… the water will go cold.”
Taiju hums in response. “Right, but we can heat up food.”
“Yeah,” you reply softly. “After the bath?”
“After the bath.” He echoes, his gaze flickering toward the shower cubicle. “We should rinse off first.”
Instead of answering him, you take a small step back, creating space between the two of you. Your fingers reach for your blouse, undoing the buttons one by one. Taiju’s gaze flickers between your eyes and the slow reveal of your skin, struggle written in the taut line of his jaw. When the last button comes free, you shrug the blouse off your shoulders, exposing a dark red lace bra. Your hands glide down your stomach, tracing the curve of your hips until they rest on the zipper of your pencil skirt. You tug it down deliberately, letting the movement linger just long enough for him to fight against his restraint. A teasing smile curls your lips as the skirt falls to the floor. You peel off your pantyhose next, leaving yourself standing before him in your matching dark red lingerie, goosebumps rising along your skin.
Taiju closes the distance without hesitation, his strong chest pressing against yours in a way that makes your heart skip a beat. You feel small under his intense gaze, even more so as he remains in his pants. One of his hands rests against your back, over the lace of your bra, while the other slides just below the waistband, fingers teasing along your skin.
“Is this the one I picked out last time?”
His voice is rough with need, pupils blown wide with lust as they lock onto yours — your skin prickles, a rush of heat flooding your cheeks. You nod, eyes dropping to your own body. No matter how many times he had seen you naked, Taiju always had a way of making your stomach flip. Butterflies erupt inside you as your hands slide up to rest on his shoulders, grounding yourself against him.
“You like it?” You bat your eyelashes, wetting your lips again. It seems the gesture is enough to unravel his self-restraint, as his jaw tightens and his hand fumbles with the clasp of your bra.
“Fucking tease.”
You gasp when you feel a smack on your ass cheek, jolting forward. Your hands tighten around his shoulders, lips parting in shock. A whine escapes you when you feel his hand connect to your ass again.
“Taiju,” it’s a breathless sound, one that urges Taiju to yank your bra off of your skin. As your boobs spill out, the taller man doesn’t waste a single breath as he lowers himself to his knees to capture a nipple with his lips. You gasp at the touch, your fingers sliding down to bury themselves in his hair as he continues to flick the sensitive bud with his tongue, alternating between both boobs. His hand then slides from your back, down to your ass — switching between groping both cheeks and spanking them, his ministrations turning you into putty in his hands.
Taiju releases your nipple with a ‘pop’ — he raises to his feet, towering over you with so much ease. His hands grope your ass, pulling you flush against his hard on. You could feel your panties getting damp, warmth flooding your cheeks as you swallow thickly.
“Get in the shower.” His voice is low, commanding — a loud smack echoes through the bathroom, your gasp following. A pout forms on your lips and it makes Taiju chuckle as he leans down to kiss you again. Then you pull the glass door open and step inside.
The faucet feels cold against your hand as you reach for it then twist it, hot water cascades down in steady streams from the wide, square showerhead mounted above your head. You shiver at the initial contact, goosebumps forming all over your skin — and when you hear Taiju join you in the shower, your body feels hotter than before. Before you can even process his presence behind you, or the fact that his pants had come off, Taiju grabs your shoulders and turns you around before capturing your lips in a searing kiss.
The tiles are cold against your back as Taiju pins you to the wall, your fingers tangled in his wet hair while he devours your mouth like he can’t get enough. You slide one hand down to cup him, and he groans against your lips, hips jerking forward at the touch. When you finally break apart, you’re both drenched and breathless from the kiss. Your pulse stutters as he slowly lowers himself to his knees in front of you, golden eyes dark and intent. He slides his fingers under the waistband of your panties, pulling them down until the cold air hits your glistening lips, then he tosses the panties to the side.
“Fuck,” he mutters, pressing a firm kiss just above your pussy before lifting his gaze to meet yours. “God, thank you.”
Your heart lurches, your head falling back as his tongue drags in a slow stripe over your clit, pulling a sharp breath from your lungs. A strong hand holds the back of your thigh, lifting it to rest on his shoulder and gives him more access to you — the position has you feeling exposed to his lustful eyes, your body stuttering as he continues to lick and suck on your clit.
“Feels good,” you whisper to him, fingers trembling as you hold back from pulling at his hair. The praise pulls a hum from the back of his throat, and the vibrations go straight to your core. Your eyes widen, body jolting when you feel his lips wrap tightly around your clit — then, he pushes two fingers into you and curls them upwards.
“Oh fuck!” The combination of him sucking on your clit and fingers curling up to find the sensitive spot in you has you seeing stars — something in your stomach coils and tightens, it threatens to have tears spilling out of your eyes with how determined Taiju was to make you cum.
Wet sounds fill the shower, your slick sliding down Taiju’s fingers all whilst he continued to finger-fuck your soul out of your body — it becomes all too much when he tries to add a third finger, stretching you beyond your limit. With a broken cry and a pathetic attempt to moan his name, you cum all over Taiju’s fingers, your body nearly giving out as he continued to finger-fuck you.
You take several moments to catch your breath, your hands resting on Taiju’s shoulders as he raises to his feet. He chuckles at the blissed-out look on your face, pressing a kiss to your warm cheek.
“Wow.” You whisper out, head resting on the wall behind you. Taiju hums in response, bringing his fingers to his lips — then he sucks. The action makes you flush, covering your face with the back of your hand as you swat at his chest. “You’re killing me.”
“ ‘s that so?” He leans down, teeth grazing your collarbone — for a moment, you worry that whatever love bite he might leave would show. But it is winter, and you can easily hide in turtlenecks until the hickey fades away. So you let him sink his teeth into your skin, a gasp leaving your lips as you wrap your arms around his neck. Then your lips part when you feel him align himself with your wet folds.
“Fuck, you’re so wet.” Taiju groans against your skin, peppering kisses there as he continues to brush the tip of his cock against your folds, sliding up to your clit. You raise your leg to wrap it around his waist, and Taiju takes it as a sign to pin your leg there as he slowly pushes himself into your warm and wet walls.
Your jaw goes slack at the intrusion, eyes barely able to stay open as you brace yourself on his shoulders. The stretch is almost painful given the sheer size of him, but you tell yourself to breathe and relax and soon enough, you could feel almost every vein on his cock. You start to rock your hips forward, whining to the taller man to move.
“Please, do something—” You gasp when he pulls out, only to slam fully into you. You throw your head back, tears prickling in your eyes. He was nuzzled against your sensitive spot, his pelvis brushing oh-so-nicely against your hard clit — it all feels too much. It feels overwhelming.
Inhaling sharply, a moan is ripped from the back of your throat with each slam of his hips against yours, his cock hitting that sensitive spot every time without fail. The combination of your moans spilling out, Taiju’s groaning and the wet sounds coming from your pussy is nearly pornographic. Your fingernails dig into his shoulders, and you lean forward, desperately searching for his lips.
The kiss is wet and messy, Taiju’s pace picks up when he feels your pussy clenching around him. He reaches his free hand down to rub at your clit, eyes twinkling at the fucked-out look on your face.
“That feels good, huh?” There’s a slight tremor in his voice, and Taiju’s jaw is taught when he feels you squeeze him harder. “Fuck, you’re so tight—”
“Yeah!” You cry out, pressing your forehead against his. Your eyes squeeze shut at the pleasure, his fingers rubbing circles around your clit has you nearly seeing stars. “Oh my—fuck!”
Within seconds, the coil in your stomachs snaps and your orgasm washes over you in harsh waves. Your body stutters and trembles against Taiju’s, and the man can barely hold himself back as he buries himself to the hilt before spilling into you.
You take a moment to catch your breath, and Taiju slowly lets you lower your foot onto the floor before scooping you in his arms. The feel of his skin against yours grounds you, his arms wrapped tightly around you making you feel safe and secure, and when you press your ear to his chest, the quick rhythm of his heartbeat makes your eyes flutter closed for a moment.
“Ya can’t fall asleep here,” the playful tone of his voice makes you chuckle, and you shake your head.
“Even if I tried, that would be impossible.” You murmur. You feel him reach behind you for something, and a moment later the soft press of a loofah grazes your back.
“Let me clean ya up, then we can think of using that bathtub. Okay?” He studies your face, eyes searching for an answer, but instead of speaking you lean in to press a soft kiss to his shoulder before giving him a quiet nod.
—
The night ended up being longer than you had intended — you were able to put the bathtub to good use, it allowed Taiju to relax a little. But soon enough, you were taking things to his bedroom where round two, three and eventually four happened. You were a mess of tangled limbs by the morning, with Taiju’s lips pressing gently against your forehead until you dozed off. However, by the time 11AM rolled around, his phone started vibrating and you knew what that meant.
You lay in his bed as Taiju leans down, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before grabbing his phone.
“Don’t give me that look.” He warns, tone laced with amusement.
“What look?” You ask, voice thick with sleep. “I’m just staring at you.”
“Mmm, I’ll have breakfast delivered here.” He pats your hair, before heading to the door. “Just call if ya need anything, okay?”
“Alright,”
And with that, you went back to sleep for the next hour and a half, the quiet stretching lazily around you in the warmth of Taiju’s apartment — until a sudden barrage of loud knocks rattled the door. You flinched awake with a groan, brows knitting together in irritation, ready to tell the delivery guy some manners on knocking on someone’s door. You sit up on the bed, the knocks getting louder — you slip on Taiju’s shirt, it hangs loosely over your shoulders but it’s enough to cover you.
When the knocking finally stops, your movements halt in the middle of the hallway. Something felt off. Still, you push yourself to walk forward, toes brushing the floor as you approach the front door. Your hand hovers over the doorknob, you slowly twist before pulling it open.
“Yes?”
And that’s when you see it — a familiar shape on the doorstep. Lying at Taiju’s doorstep, folded neatly with a note tucked inside. Your heart skips a beat, confusion and dread twisting together. You were expecting the delivery he had mentioned, breakfast as he said. But not this.
You bend down, carpeted steps muffled, and pick it up. The material, the pattern — your chest tightens as recognition hits. The sweater you had hidden away in your Roppongi room, the one gift from Mitsuya you’d thought was safe, now sitting here, just for you. You unfold the note:
— how does it still smell like you after so long?
A shiver runs through you, your fingers tightening around the fabric. You glance around instinctively, half-expecting him to be waiting somewhere nearby, but the hallway is empty, silent. Pressing the sweater to your chest, you retreat back into Taiju’s apartment, your footsteps loud in your own ears.
Your mind races. Snacks, small notes — then this. This was somehow beyond anything you'd imagined. He had found the one thing you'd hidden for so long, and decided to use it against you. Inside, your hands are trembling as you fish your phone out of your bag, the device hot against your skin. Your thumb hovers over a contact. A moment of hesitation, then you press call.
The phone rings once, twice — it hasn’t done so in months. You nearly jump when a soft click answers on the other end.
“We’re meeting up today.” you speak, your voice sharp, edged with controlled anger.
“Not even a hello?”
Your jaw tightens, but you keep your voice steady. “Same time as last time. And don’t be late, or I will leave.”
Click, then the line goes dead. You’re left staring at the sweater in your hands, a mix of anger, disbelief, and a strange, uneasy flutter coiling in your chest as the room around you feels smaller, heavier, impossibly still.
Bro I can't be the only one that thinks hanma catches colds easily and has a weak immune system 😭😭 like in the Christmas showdown he was freezing while wearing a coat, meanwhile the others were unbothered while wearing lighter clothes.
Ngl I've always assumed they were all cold and Hanma was just being loud about it but I like this explanation too! Him being a bit weak towards the cold despite being a pretty strong guy.
not to be annoying ☝🏻 but it could also be because he barely had any warm clothes as a teenager (notice how kisaki’s coat still has a bit of a thick material around the collar area?) so he carried that weak immune system with him into his adult years and let’s just say when he gets sick, he looks like hes about to die
