Holding hands with Homare is something of elegance. He will take your hand in just about any situation because he likes to know you’re there. As well as each time he reaches to hold your hand he brings it up to gently kiss before continuing with what he was doing. Many times he will take hold of your hand as he is working on his poetry. He says it helps inspire him, because his muse is so close.
“My dearest Dove, just the presence of you fills me with so much inspiration. Let me take your hand so I can feel even more. For you are my muse, you light my world up like no other.”
Sakyo
Sakyo isn’t big on hand holding at first but when he does take your hand in his you know he loves you. There’s a certain level Sakyo likes to keep other people at but when around you Sakyo is a mess. Holding your hand makes him blush though you probably won’t see it. He doesn’t do anything special but there are times when you might be in a crowd and he will take you hand just to make sure you are safe
“Take my hand, I wouldn’t want you getting lost, alright. Don’t worry I won’t let go”
Misumi
Misumi loves handholding but before he holds your hand he likes to make a triangle with you. He will take your hand to make a triangle and then hold it. After all, to him you're the most special triangle he can find. Though as cute as Misumi and his gestures are, hand holding with him will lead you on so many adventures and somehow you find yourself on the roof of Mankai company.
“Look Y/N those stars are making a triangle, let’s make one too, that way we can have more triangles”
Chikage
Chikage isn’t keen on handholding at first, it takes him a very long time and even after he doesn’t do it often but sometimes he will link pinkies with you. It’s his way of reminding him you're there and that you do care about him. He also wants you to know that he cares about you of course if you ask him he will deny everything.
“Did I take your pinkie, you must be imagining things. Maybe you have a fever let’s take you home”
Tasuku
Tasuku doesn’t really handhold, not that he doesn’t know how or doesn’t like it, he just doesn’t really do it but when you want to hold his hand he takes it. When he holds it he might squeeze your hand lightly just so you know he loves you. He might seem a bit cold but he’s a softie and that’s his way of telling you that you're special.
“Thanks for coming to the soccer game with me, do you want to maybe go get something to eat.”
Tsuzuru
Tsuzuru is a mess, hold his hand and he will become more of a mess. He’s going to worry and wonder if he’s doing it right. As well as be completely red anytime you take his hand. He loves holding you hand but what it does for his heart isn’t good but don’t worry he will still take you hand
“No don’t worry Y/N I’m alright, me no, this is how I normally act.” (He says as he pours coffee into a bowl after letting go of your hand)
Kazunari
Hand holding with Kazunari is an adventure. He takes every chance he can get to take pictures to post on the blam. He also holds your hand as often as he can. He says it’s just because “your tots adorbs” but really it’s because he’s a bit afraid of losing you and it helps him know you're still there.
“Come on babes, let’s take another picture, everyone’s going to be so jelly.”
Itaru
Itaru doesn’t mind hand holding but he doesn’t want it to interrupt his gaming. So hand holding is only when you guys are out and about, maybe when walking but as soon as he pulls out his phone you have to let go, but there are sometimes where he will link his arm in yours. He does love you rest assured but he also needs to rank.
“Dam, lost my battle, well at least I got you here. Want to go grab a snack”
Juza
Juza is a bit standoff-ish when hand holding. He’s worried he might hurt you, that maybe his grip will be too tight. It will take him a bit to take your hand. Though when he does he doesn’t want to let go. He loves the feeling of another person's warmth. It makes him feel so loved, and safe that someone trusts him enough to hold his hand.
“I saw a new bakery opening, maybe you want to go?”
Banri
Banri will take your hand just to make you blush, he will kiss the top of it, pull you closer and kiss you while holding your hand. He loves seeing you blush so that he can tease you. Deep down though he’s happy someone wants to hold his hands. As much as he teases seeing you happy makes him feel all warm but of course he’s going to tease you more because he feels this way.
“Looks like someone is a bit embarrassed, come on my sugar kiss. Don’t get too flustered I’m only holding your hand”
Guy
Guys a bit unsure on the concept of hand holding. When he does it’s more like he’s doing it to just lead you but soon he understands it can also be a romantic gesture. He’s a bit formal in his ways but he knows holding hands makes you happy so he does his best. Even researching the art of hand holding.
“After doing extensive research, I think I have found the most romantic way to hold your hand”
You and Omi have been dating for a while, and came to you tired as hell one day but he kept on denying it.
He definitely deserved a rest, and coming to you was like a recharge for him.
Knowing this you had surprised him with his favorite dinner.
Sure some of the ends of your dish were burnt, you accidentally scorched your hand a bit in the process, and there was too much salt and pepper here and there, but nonetheless, it took effort to make.
When he arrived he was in shock. At first at a loss of words realizing you put so much effort to him coming to your house that it definitely made his entire day.
“Y/N...?”
“Hi, Omi! So... dinner’s a little burnt, and there were some issues with the stove so I had to fix it up, a bit, the tables aren’t made and-“
He did not care how imperfect you made it sound, what mattered was that you were here with him and he quickly pulled you into a loving and tired embrace where he rested himself over your shoulder.
“...Omi?”
“...”
“I know the dish might not be to your standards but-“
“I love you...”
He sounded so drained yet genuine when uttering those words, he was just glad to have been in your presence.
Still keeping you in his arms he looks at you and gives you the softest, feather-light kiss on the forehead with his hand on your cheek.
“You’ve gotta be the sweetest person I’ve ever met.”
He knew his way to sweet talking, but you never thought it could get you this flustered.
He peppered kisses around your face, each kiss causing you to turn a shade redder than before.
However just moments away from kissing your lips, he takes a small pause to just admire you.
“Are you sure I can...?” He doesn’t finish his sentence before you break out in laughter.
“Don’t you think you’ve done enough damage?” You smile at him, tip-toeing against his tall figure to reach for a nice kiss on the lips.
It was a nice, sweet kiss to share after the both of you were tired and worn out from a long day, all of a sudden bouncing with energy.
Of course, Omi worried sick about your hand once that happened and would not leave your side that night.
Sakyo
Angry.
He had been trying to ask you out for actual decades, but something had always seemed to get in his way, it was almost comical at this point.
Every time the two of your had time together, some chaos was always going on in the Mankai Dorms ranging from Banri’s and Juza’s never ending rivalry to Misumi literally evading the cops for stealing what he said was a “special triangle”.
He did enjoy spending time with you, but it was just never enough with the craziness that continued to go on.
No matter how hard he tried or what excuse he tried to come up with, nothing seemed to work to find the time to ask you.
Then again, he was honestly very emotionally dense. Didn’t know if when you were sad was the right time to pop the question, or when you were in the clouds and he was worried about pulling you down.
It was only when he had a chance to have a drink with Azuma that he was able to sort out his thoughts.
He went on rants about you, though trying to stay civilized under the influence, Azuma stayed and listened and wrote down advice for him to not forget later.
Of course, waking up in the morning, he had the worst headache and couldn’t make sense of Azuma’s writing.
He did the next best thing and freshened up in the bathroom to get rid of his headache, and went to get some fresh air only to find you sitting by the porch.
“Oh! Sakyo, you’re up early. Shouldn’t you get some rest? Azuma told me what happened when the two of you got home.”
He immediately looked around, mentally slapping himself to sober up as he peered at every window and inch of the dorms.
Not a single soul was awake. He couldn’t hear Itaru’s Game Over sound, Muku’s sniffling over shojo manga, Tsuzuru’s aggressive typing, none of it was heard.
He felt as if he was still dreaming, but frozen as he realized that he had no excuse when it came to telling you now.
He was fully aware, and at sunrise he held both of your hands and flashed a smile.
“For the longest time, you have no idea, for how long I’ve been trying to get to you.”
This man has been frustrated for what feels like centuries and has just been aching to tell you his feelings.
However when it came to the word, nothing would come out.
You began to listen intently but there were so many gaps full of silence it was difficult to see what he was going to portray, but boy did he look stressed and worried.
You tried to inch closer to him and took note of how he was acting. He had never been this much of a wreck in front of you, but now that he had the chance to try and express himself, you could only come to one conclusion.
“Hey, Sakyo?”
“And then so I- yeah?”
You continued to inch closer and put your hand on his shoulder.
“You’re free to yell at me if this goes wrong, or if I’m wrong, but there’s been something on my mind I need to get sorted out.”
“Y/N what are you-“
Right then as the sun had finally come up, you gave him a kiss on the lips.
Sakyo had pulled you in closer, his hand on the small of your back and begged in his mind for this moment to never end.
The endless pining and pain was now over for him, and for you as well.
However the moment the two of you heard a tiny gasp from the window coming from a certain triangle-lover, you knew that that was not the end for Sakyo’s bitterness at his ridiculous, ridiculous timing.
LEMME KISS THIS MAN ON THE CHEEK BECAUSE GOT CAKE ON IT 🥺🌟
𝐧𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐬!
Sakyo was far from being a messy eater, but sometimes there were exceptions.
The cake Omi had baked was nice and all, but the icing just like to get everywhere, and unfortunately, left Sakyo’s hand more than a little messy.
He had wiped his fingers with a tissue before he began to dig into his cake, murmuring his compliments to the baker as it wasn’t too sweet for his own tastebuds.
Of course, there were sweeter confectionaries made by Omi for the sweet tooths of the company and both you and Sakyo ignored them so that Juza, Muku, Hisoka, and Azuma could have more.
It happened when you was pushing his glasses up with the back of his hand, and a bit of the frosting that he forgot to wipe off ended up on his cheek.
Both you and Azuma noticed it and you two even shared a knowing glance when Sakyo went back to eating his cake without noticing what he had just done.
“Go for it.” Azuma mouthed at you with a cheeky smile to which you smiled devilishly.
You sidled up to the man like you always did, scooting close to him on the sofa as he spared you a glance. He nodded to acknowledge your presence but continued to eat and didn’t turn his head until you called his name.
“Hey, Sakyo.” You said, a hint of urgency behind your voice.
He was about to answer with a tired ‘what’, but was totally caught off guard when he turned his head, your mouth meeting his cheek in a playful kiss as the frosting that was on his skin tapped your lips.
“Uh-” He said, flinching at the warm touch as you pulled away with a pleased smile, his pupils shaking as he watched you swipe the frosting from your lips with a flick of your tongue, Azuma giggling behind his hand in the background.
“You should work on your manners, Sakyo.” You scolded him, the corners of your mouth trembling as you tried to keep a straight face. Sakyo’s face was so flushed that you felt like you were going to burst if you held back your laugh any longer.
You leaned over again to place a more meaningful kiss to his cheek, getting rid of the rest of the frosting that you missed.
“Wipe your face, okay?” You laughed.
Sakyo had to hide his face behind his hands while the other members of the company began to ‘ooh’ at you two.
notes: the fourth or fifth part in my ‘sakyo gets the love he’s always deserved’ one shot series. and i think i hear wedding bells :)
rating: still teen and will probably stay teen. god knows he needs the soft.
pairing: sakyo furuichi / reader
word count: 1,153
Two wedding ceremonies, think of the cost.
Sakyo doesn’t, notably refuses to as he puts his knuckles to your bedroom door. He watched a flurry of happy bridesmaids leave without their charge and he worried for a minute as to why. Until he realized he was wasting his chance and he darted across the hall.
He hopes for your answer, hopes that he won’t hear your sleep-addled voice. If he’s actively waking you up, he’ll never forgive himself.
“It’s unlocked,” you say. It’s tough to place the timbre of your voice. It could be so elated that you need to muffle it. Or so pained that you try to sound overjoyed as compensation. His stomach worries on both options.
You don’t even ask who it is. Sakyo turns the knob and opens the door.
The secular ceremony will happen first. It’s the one that will put you in a dress at the end of an aisle and dare him not to cry.
It’s already put you in a dress, he realizes.
You’re not asleep, you’re sitting at a vanity and looking out the window at the autumn sunshine. But then, he sees your eyes move. They lock on the mirror and the groom reflected in it.
He smiles, mesmerized and embarrassed about it at the sight of you with your hair done up. With soft curls framing your face and a white gown fanned out behind you.
“I’m sorry,” he starts, “I just had to see you.”
“Honesty looks strange on you, baby,” you reply. You smirk at him in the mirror before turning around. You recline, looking perfect.
He’s immeasurably glad he didn’t wait until the ceremony to see you like this. Tears would’ve only been the half of it. Even now, he fights the urge to kneel in reverence. Instead, he starts across the room. You’re beaming at him, looking at his suit with a spring of chrysanthemum in his lapel.
“You look perfect,” you say. And he stops, maybe a foot from you.
“If you’d given me a second to catch my breath,” he replies, “I would’ve said the same thing about you.”
“Lucky for us, it isn’t a competition,” you tease. You stand up, closing the rift between you and taking up his hands.
“Some believe it’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding,” he starts. Your thumbs rub circles over his knuckles, suddenly he doesn’t care about what anyone thinks.
“That seems silly,” you reply. “With all we’ve been through, I think it would take something stronger than bad luck to rip us apart.”
“You’re probably right,” he sighs. You squeeze his hands, pulling him a little closer and placing them on your waist.
“I’m always right,” you say, “can I kiss you?”
“Please,” he mutters. You lean in.
It’s a good kiss, yours always are. They’re soft at the start, devolving eventually into tongue and a little bit of teeth. You leave none of him unexplored, asking with a soft bite to his lower lip if you could be let in. He allows it, of course he does.
You hold him against you by the lapel, careful not to crush the stiff fabric. He remembers the meetings with the wedding planner, how you insisted on two separate photoshoots for each ceremony. You want to remember how he looks today for the rest of your life.
Sakyo chooses to believe it’s for the same reason he wants pictures of you. But he can’t understand your fixation otherwise.
He feels hopelessly plain next to you. Like he’s somehow managed to trick an upstart young woman into taking care of him. He’s grateful, truly, he holds your waist to keep you from pulling away too soon. But it still feels like daylight robbery sometimes.
“What’s the matter, baby?” you ask, being careful not to smear your lipstick up his cheek when you whisper in his ear.
“It’s nothing,” he replies.
“You’re nervous,” you say. It’s two syllables that shouldn’t sound so heavy on his ears.
His stomach hasn’t stopped squirming since he woke up. Last night’s sleep was a painful mockery. He’s tired, his shoulders hurt the way they always do when he’s too tense. And you knew that from the moment he entered the room.
“It isn’t because of you--” he starts, hoping to remedy the disappointment he knows he’ll see in your eyes. Sakyo’s amazed when all he finds is vague amusement.
You look at him, still as giddy and breathless as when he first entered.
“It is,” you reply, “you’re nervous because of me.”
“I know I’m not making a mistake,” he sighs, “it isn’t about that.”
“Sakyo, I know what it’s about,” you say, and he doesn’t understand how your smile stays unbroken. You move your arms around his neck, the weight entirely a comfort. “You’re nervous that I’m nervous.”
You’re succinct, at least. More-so than he can be. The tightness in his chest doesn’t disappear, but it lessens upon being named.
“I’m not nervous at all,” you say, “not about you. Maybe I’m worried things won’t go right, but--”
You cut yourself off, staring at him with so much love. To think about anything else on a day like today would, you figure, be pointless. All that matters is this.
Before he can struggle to reply, you kiss him again. This one’s longer, a little softer around the edges. You’re trying to comfort him and it’s working.
“I know I picked the best,” you smile, “there’s no one better.”
He would try to say the same, but it would be pointless. You already know your worth, especially in comparison to him. Being chosen by you is the luckiest thing that’s ever happened to him.
But as if you’re able to sense some deep-rooted self hatred, you lean in and kiss his cheek.
“And you chose me, you know,” you say, “you decided I was good enough.”
“Believe me,” he starts, “you’d be good enough whether or not I thought so.”
“As would you,” you reply. “No unhappy thoughts, not today. I only want you to smile.”
He exhales, his shoulders relaxing as you kiss his cheek more times than he can count. Then, his forehead. His jaw. What little of his neck is exposed above the collar.
With this third ceremony taking place, he wonders briefly if you even need the other two. Sakyo could stand before anyone in this moment and swear that he’ll love you until his dying breath. You kiss him over and over again, pledging your heart to him with the same fealty.
It would disappoint your friends to call things off now. Not to mention his mother. And voicing his desire to skip straight to the honeymoon would no doubt just make you playfully annoyed.
But he knows that the union that counts is happening right now. No witnesses to this love but the one it’s meant for.
notes: just some more short n fluffy times with mr sakyo because that’s my mo on this website now i guess??
rating: teen, this shit is just?? tryin to be cute
pairing: sakyo furuichi / reader
word count: 1,032
“D’you have a husband?” he slurs, abandoning his second empty bottle of wine on the coffee table.
“Nuh-uh,” you reply, just as dazed and relaxed with your neck supported by the sofa’s armrest.
Sakyo’s head rests on your stomach, the gesture more out of desperation than any kind of entanglement. The two of you have discovered exactly how much will get him drunk tonight, and he was getting a bit dizzy.
“A boyfriend, then?” he goes on. You lift an eyebrow and crane your neck down to look at him. He seems dead serious, making you smile.
“Mhm,” you hum, putting your hands on his shoulders and applying gentle pressure. He shouldn’t get up when he’s like this, not even to fall into the bed that’s a few feet away.
“Hmph, figures,” he huffs, pressing his cheek against your belly. If you didn’t know better, you would say he was almost put-out. “And I’ll bet he’s tall. Handsome.”
“He looks like an actor,” you say, not certain if this is some kind of game he’s playing. Has he really forgotten?
“Yeah, well, the dramas this season are shitty,” he pouts, turning his head slowly again so that he’s looking up. His glasses are askew and his eyes seem tired. It’s a miracle he’s still awake.
You remind yourself that the two of you needed this, despite the turn the night’s taken for drunken antics. The theatre dorms can get a little stifling with so many boys on top of each other. A night at a love hotel with a guarantee that no one will bother you except for Sakyo has proven to be heaven.
“He doesn’t do television acting,” you inform him. He furrows his brow.
“No? Is he in movies?” he asks. You shake your head.
“He does theatre,” you reply. Sakyo exhales hard, like that information both annoys and endears him to this mysterious boyfriend.
“Oh,” is all he says.
“Like you,” you remind him, hoping to lead him to a specific realization. But he doesn’t quite understand.
“Do I? Is that my job?” he sounds less confused with that question, more philosophical. You know he wants to be an actor full-time, more than anything else. Certainly more than his other career choices.
“You moonlight as a yakuza, that’s all,” you say, your voice goes serious and gentle. Sakyo sighs and his cheek rests again on your stomach.
“That’s not— is that right?” he sounds hopeful, like he wants more than anything for his past to have been an ugly dream you could wake him from. Would that you could.
“You’re drunk, baby,” you whisper, so much love in your voice that it makes his cheeks go warm.
“Don’t,” he tries snapping the way he usually does. It comes out as a plea. “Your boyfriend wouldn’t like you calling me that,”
“He’s an idiot,” you smirk.
“Who?” Sakyo asks.
“My boyfriend,” you reply. He makes a sound like a laugh in the back of his throat.
“Yeah? I could beat him up, teach him respect,” he says. Now you’re the one laughing, moving your hands over his shoulders and making him feel warm all over.
“And here I’d hoped acting would make you go soft,” you say.
“Hey, by your own admission I at least moonlight as a criminal,” he reminds you. “Beating up bad boyfriends might be all I’m good for.”
“No, on both counts,” you mumble, feeling his back muscles through his black button-up. His jacket was tossed over by the door when you arrived, along with your purse and both your phones.
“Eh? What does that mean?” he grumbles.
“Man, you’re really drunk,” you laugh again, but the sound holds less charm. He does his best to force himself up, but his balance is off. Sakyo wobbles and then lies back down again.
“Shut up and tell me,” his authoritative tone is overshadowed slightly by his inability to lift his head for very long.
“You’re good for way more than violence, baby,” you reach out, putting your hand in his hair. It’s soft, you fold your fingers towards the back of his neck, brushing away from his forehead.
“That feels good,” he sighs, having decided that even if your mysterious boyfriend wouldn’t like the pet name you picked--- he does.
“Yeah? Maybe I know you better than you think,” you say, still hoping you can steer him towards some sort of gentle revelation. Again, it’s a near-miss.
“What else am I wrong about?” he says, though there’s an unexpected humour in his voice. “You’re just dyin’ to tell me, I can see it on your face.”
“You’re not allowed to hurt him,” you say, “my boyfriend, I mean. He’s been hurt enough.”
“Why not, he’s fuckin’ dumb,” Sakyo allows himself to seem disappointed. “You said so yourself.”
“Yeah, but he’s mine,” you ration, and that sweet tone that makes him melt by proxy returns. His shoulders slump, he finds it hard to meet your eye.
“I wish—” he starts. Fear makes him cut himself off.
“What, baby?” you ask, moving your hand from the back of his neck to his cheek. Without really thinking about it, your thumb presses gently over the moles under his eye.
“It doesn’t matter,” he sighs. But Sakyo still turns his head toward the warmth of your palm. He chases love, and not only because he’s forgotten that he already has yours.
“Yes, it does,” you reply. He inhales, looking like he’s trying to pin down a more intricate thought into simpler words.
“I wish I was yours,” he says like it’s a weight off his chest. To his great surprise, you give a warm smile.
“You’re not?” you ask, your finger traces soft circles on his cheek. Sakyo closes his eyes, trying to commit this to his hazy memory.
“No, you said you had a boyfriend,” he tries to remind you. Maybe you’re just drunker than he lets on, he thinks. And you’ve already forgotten. He opens his eyes a crack, waiting for the look of realization on your face. It never comes.
“Yeah,” you’re still smiling, smiling at him. He’s never felt so warm. “But I don’t have a husband.”
Yearning - How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?
○ taichi is too scared to leave his dorm room, banri and juza are acting like best friends, omi becomes a living sweat machine every time sakyo enters a room. practice feels more like purgatory and if one wrong move is made, it’s straight to hell with whoever ticked sakyo off
○ if you ask sakyo himself, he’ll say he’s fine - getting upset at you leaving? ridiculous!
○ he’s a gigantic fucking liar. every minute he spends thinking about when you’re gonna come back. he doesn’t voice it verbally but it’s pretty obvious if you consider how he’s been acting
○ the second you come back, he’ll deny that he missed you at all, but the grateful looks from the rest of the autumn troupe say otherwise
notes: surprise surprise, i’m still on my weeb shit. basically i can’t write anything but angst for these boys so it was an honest attempt at just?? a fluffy lil confession.
rating: teen, we’re dialling back the sin so my mom doesn’t have to live in shame
pairing: sakyo furuichi / reader
word count: 1,179
You are the only woman he has ever seen.
Sakyo likes to think he would know you implicitly, that he could feel his way through life and that his hands on your body would find home. It’s foolish, poetic nonsense but nevertheless it has taken root in him.
He’s so in love, and when he finally gives himself permission to say so the l-word that has been so evasive since he was born finds its owner. It was made for you, the heavy single-syllable of it fits perfectly in the curve of your smile on hearing it.
Of course he doesn’t expect it in return, but you’ve said you love him too so quickly that he hasn’t the time to revel in it. His first time confessing results in his first reciprocation, a monumental event that slips so easily through his fingers--- mostly for the shock.
“Please, I---” he struggles. You’re in the car with him, parked before the unfolding view of the valley. It’s early, he woke you because he had something important to say.
You followed him to the passenger’s seat of his car, confused only that he had not told you explicitly why he was so cross. But his expression of annoyance and distaste didn’t look right. It sat strangely on his face, mingled with discomfort and a tremendous responsibility.
“What do you need?” you ask, leaning towards the driver’s seat without any coy restraint. Sakyo couldn’t recoil if he wanted to. He’s died for this every day for years. Decades. He can’t bring himself to draw back from the only thing he’s ever wanted to know.
“I need you to say it again for me, I didn’t expect to hear it,” he admits. And your bright expression dims just slightly. He feels an overwhelming urge to apologize, and he’s glad it catches in his throat.
“I love you,” you reply. And you can’t bring yourself to retreat, either. Not when he looks exactly like someone half-starved for love and unable to bring themselves to realize they deserve it.
You shift in the passenger’s seat, inching forward with a carelessness of body that he’s grown accustomed to. You’re too lovely for your own good, indulging him of all people with kisses and touches reserved for spotless hearts.
But even still, you put your palm to his cheek and draw Sakyo’s forehead against your own.
“I,” you pause to give him a delicate kiss, pressed to his cupid’s bow. “Love,” another kiss, “you.”
And who is he to argue with such a convincing argument?
It’s slow enough to be savoured that time, as well. He melts against your lips and the three words ring in the hollow of his skull. He feels empty and full at the very same time, overcome and yet so stable with the knowledge that you care.
While it matters to him whether you understand your own foolishness for doing so, he’ll allow himself this moment of unburdened happiness. He leans in, taking his own half-desperate kisses from your giving mouth.
“Really?” he can’t stop himself from asking, like someone too tired to go on much longer should this be a trick. It’s shameful, he knows, to ask you to prove what you’re so readily able to give him. You’re the patroness of healing. You keep redemption in your skirt pocket, passing it from your hand to his just in time.
“Yes, really,” you say without anger or resentment that he’s made you do so. You only kiss him again, long and deep and good. “Give me these---”
When you pull back from that which makes him pleasantly dizzy, Sakyo doesn’t shrink away from your request. He holds still, staring wide-eyed at the beauty of you while you take off his glasses. His vision goes fuzzy, your face blurring around the edges. Fine details fade but the weight of how pretty you are is not lost on him.
“What are you---” he starts, but it’s performative. Sakyo is not unfamiliar with the way you show affection. You carefully fold his glasses up and set them on the dashboard.
You kiss the bridge of his nose first, and then the oval marks left behind by the nose-piece. Next, his moles and the high points of his cheekbones, then slightly lower. He is kissed wherever he has skin, in whatever fashion you please.
He closes his eyes and holds his breath when you put your lips very gently to the hollows of his eyelids. But he can’t help the soft, breathless sigh that leaves him.
“I love you,” you say again. “I love you too.”
“I---” he stops, a smile curving on the edge of his mouth. You’ve beaten him to his only natural response, it makes him want to laugh. “You’re the only person I know who would make a mockery out of such a sincere request.”
“No, no, no,” you tut, drawing closer to him. The valley between the seats is now more than ever an irksome barrier. “I’m not mocking anything, darling. I just didn’t think---”
“Tell me,” he says when you stall finishing your sentence. Though you’ve been almost too free with your affection for him to deserve, Sakyo is ready at a moment's notice to reciprocate. For you, he would debase himself. For you, he would subject himself actions he would otherwise find embarrassing. He wants to hold you all of a sudden.
“I didn’t think you’d ever say it to me in the first place. So now I suppose I’m just trying to make up for lost time,” you admit. He lets out a slow breath.
“I kept you waiting,” he says, “you have my apologies, and---”
Another kiss, deep and sweet silences him. Your hand goes to the back of his head, holding him gently in place. Your fingers card through his hair, Sakyo’s shoulders dip. It’s a long time before you pull away, not until the thought in his head has gone just as fuzzy as what he sees when he opens his eyes.
“It doesn’t matter right now,” you tell him, “my insecurities and yours, it doesn’t matter. We---” you sigh. “We’re okay, yes?”
“Yes,” Sakyo replies. Maybe he only does because the half-blurry smile on your face is so disarmingly beautiful. He’d say anything to keep it alive.
He’s never been okay before, not in the way that matters. So much of his life has been spent for the benefit of someone else, alone on purpose to keep people safe. He thinks of his mother, and of how she found love again when the time was right. How she’s fine now, and how she only wants him to be the same.
With a sinking feeling in his stomach, he realizes she might get what she wants. He’s held by you, a little awkwardly given the distance between the seats. You could be right and he could not be lying. The two of you could be fine together forever with enough time.
And fine for the moment is more than he ever thought he could be.
notes: a3! has still got my life by the heart so have some heavy-handed smut for my favourite yakuza boss bc he deserves all the love.
rating: explicit, this shit is p*rny as hell
pairing: sakyo furuichi / reader
word count: 2,717
And nothing in the world could steal the hook of his invincible smile. It’s quite a sight, watching Sakyo’s pride bloom as pretty as springtime-- even as October rolls through the city and brings its chill.
He did well on stage. He moved like a little boy who’d been waiting twenty years to get his chance. Better late than never.
He was so handsome, still is handsome with the sharp brim of his fedora casting a shadow over his eyes. And his pressed overcoat hangs from his shoulders but never falls. It’s too perfect to be casual, he’s too perfect.
But all Sakyo allows himself is that smile. Then, he tucks himself up in his room. He’s gone before you even have time to open your mouth, to speak every word you’ve ever tried to hide from him.
Congratulations. You made it. You belong here. You’re loved.
The door closes with a quiet creak. It’s not enough to keep you out, though you doubt he was purposefully trying to. Instead you suppose he might be trying to keep himself in. To process in small sections the euphoria that is so clearly undeserved.
Bullshit. Nonsense. You try the handle and it swivels under your palm. You push your way inside.
“Sakoda, if I have to explain again the importance of knocking--” his voice sounds like a stone sinking. And there is no smile when he turns.
His hat is still on his head, yes, but his coat has already been cast aside. Sakyo’s suit jacket is unbuttoned, his hand tugging on the tie knotted at his throat. He’s already set aside that brief moment of pride, trying to worm his way out of the uncomfortable feeling.
When he’s back in his day clothes, he convinces himself, reality won’t seem so harsh.
But he’s stopped in his tracks when he sees who’s standing at the other end of the room. You close the door quickly behind you to preserve a bit of his modesty. Rowdy teenage boys don’t need more ammunition than they already have.
“I didn’t knock for a reason,” you tell him. “I was hoping--”
“I’m getting ready for the wrap party,” he replies. He’s brusque, off-puttingly so. You’ve heard Sakyo angry before, but this is another beast entirely. There is a quiet plea in his voice when he continues, “So, do you mind?”
“I do,” you say. You step forward.
He knows how to tell you to leave, his tongue even fits around the syllables. But he can’t bring himself to say it, to drive another wedge between him and you.
“I wanted to tell you how amazing you were,” you say, “in private.”
“Thank you,” he nods. And the tops of his shoes must be suddenly very interesting to him. He finds it hard to meet your sincere gaze.
And to confront the look in your eye that says you want to do more than just tell him something.
You take another step and he’s filled with almighty fear. That’s love, he knows it too well. Nothing in the world makes one want to stay put, or to run as fast as one can. One extra step is all it takes to make his poor heart race.
He lifts his head, meets your stare and quiet grin. You’re happy for him, for his pride that he’s suffocated prematurely.
“You were smiling after the curtain call,” you tell him like it wasn’t his mouth it curled on. You have a way of holding yourself, a looseness that he can’t inhabit. No one’s been anything other than afraid of him for so long. But you walk to him like a lover.
Like he’s a husband you’ve come home to.
His office chair holds his coat. It’s poised right behind him, almost like it’s waiting. Your eyes flit to it and the plan you hadn’t planned starts to solidify in your mind. You draw yourself close to him, chest to chest in a way he’s partially familiar with. You and him have been friendly. But he thought that it was only ever for the sake of stress relief.
The two of you are the opposite of anxious, or at least you should be. Him, on the other hand-- it’s a different story.
“Come,” you tell him, “be proud, you did so well.”
“I--” he clears his throat, glancing over your shoulder at the closed but unlocked door.
He can’t help but flinch when you raise your hand. You, who holds so much power over him, is the only person Sakyo can think of who he’d allow to bring the pain. But you rest your palm on his cheek, your thumb brushing gently over the mole under his eye.
You’ve done that before and it’s only ever elicited surface level annoyance. A reminder that while you indulge certain desires with him, he will never be truly yours. This time it’s different, it feels different and he gives up a soft sigh. There’s a slight tremor in his shoulders.
“Smile, darling,” you say, your voice is soft and he knows the tone well. You’re trying to be enticing and goodness, it’s working. “Smile for me, you look beautiful when you do.”
His face stays stony, but your expression hardly shifts at all. Ah well, you didn’t expect a miracle.
Your hand moves from his cheek to his jaw, tracing that sharp line until goosebumps bloom on his skin. His neck is explored next, the neat column artfully lined and a little bit tense under your hand.
“Relax, Sakyo,” you say, “I won’t hurt you.”
And the admission is so honest, so truthful that he can’t help but believe it. He loosens up, almost taken by surprise. You acknowledge that he has cause to worry, to believe himself in danger when his vulnerable parts are laid bare. You don’t shame him for that.
Your fingers touch the collar of his shirt, pulling the fabric aside very gently. Under it, you find the red lip print you left before the start of the show. You made him weak in the knees when you claimed it was for good luck. Evidently, it worked.
He wants another for a job well done. Sakyo’s glad to have the chair behind him, just in case.
“You look sexy in this,” you mutter, your voice sounds heavy and sweet this close. You take the knot of his tie in your hand, it’s loosened enough to be no danger when you pull it taught. Sakyo grunts and leans with the tug. “Of course, you’d look sexier out of it.”
“But--” he starts, amazed that he can force out words with your lips now so close to his. It’s everything in him to swallow a soft whimper.
“I know, cast party. I suppose you won’t have time to change,” you say. You sound genuinely disappointed, which throws him for a loop. You’ve already made up your mind about what you plan to do to him, it seems.
And though Sakyo knows very well that he could stop such talk with a word, he does not.
“I won’t?” he asks, delighted by the light in your eyes and yet deeply embarrassed by the desperation that clings to the inside of his throat. What could you be thinking about?
“No. Sit down,” you are so effortlessly beautiful, pressed up against him without any shame.
You lift your hand and take his sharp fedora. Pulling back, you set the hat on your head. Sakyo stares, a little in a daze that this could be happening for his own benefit. His couplings with you often feel like he is merely the lucky recipient of your general attention.
He never dared to think that your lust could be specific.
“But first, kiss me,” you sigh, you lean in close enough to tempt. “Claim your reward.”
Sakyo blinks, embarrassed to note that the offer of a kiss is what makes his cheeks flush. But with only a small amount of hesitation, he meets you halfway and presses his thin lips to yours. His fingers, delicate and long, tilt your chin very slightly upward.
“You wanted me to sit?” he asks for clarification when he breaks the kiss. It was a good kiss, he thinks, and he’ll be missing your soft mouth for some time. The haze in his eyes tells you he really does need confirmation again. He’s been rattled, how sweet.
“That’s right, be good for me and have a seat. If you won’t allow yourself to be, then let me show you how proud I am,” your hands at his shoulders help to guide him.
He does as you say, sitting heavily in his office chair. It’s nice, he thinks, to be the man at your side. You’re so very much like he remembers, but so much smarter now. So much more real and alive. You make jokes to ease his tension, you coax him into self-softness. And it feels so good.
But you don’t do as he expects. Far from it. Where you would usually straddle him, take him internally until his begging led you to have mercy on him-- this time, you sink to your knees.
Sakyo swallows hard. He knows how this will end.
You kiss him through his trousers, no time to wait or be shy. His legs were already spread, almost in anticipation of your prompt arrival. He’s been hard since you first put your hand to his cheek and he is not proud, but his cock gives a heady throb when you press your nose against his crotch.
“Aren’t we excited?” you tease him just to see if you can bring back some of that joy. It works a little, he exhales hard and white-knuckles the armrests.
“I thought we were short on time,” he comments and you lift an eyebrow. He can’t see you from under the brim of his hat, the uncertainty is unnerving. But when he presses his luck with clipped statements, it makes you press back.
“You’re lucky I already decided to reward you,” the authority in your voice is unexpected, but it does the trick. Sakyo huffs at the sudden, downward rush that grips between his legs. He grunts a little louder when you put your palm there, as if you could tell exactly where you were needed.
“Please,” his voice sounds breathy and soft, a warm sigh that has him slouching in the chair. His legs close just a bit around your hand.
“Please what?” you ask, “You were so good at remembering your lines on stage. What do we say?”
“Please, ma’am,” he grunts again, shifting his hips forward very slightly. “I-- I’ve earned it.”
“Yes, you have,” you smile, “very good.”
He’s too tired to argue, pushed to his limits by the demands of rehearsal and waning euphoria of being on stage. But Sakyo can’t help but think that this kind of appreciation outclasses any he received from tonight’s audience.
His eyes close as you undo his belt, tugging his shirt from his trousers and pressing your fingers against the soft skin of his stomach. You kiss him there, slow and reverent. He gives a shaky sigh.
His fly is undone, you appear to be growing impatient. If he had the mind or energy to, he would tease you about it until you made him behave. He likes that best of all.
But you seem resigned to praising him. Sakyo presses his feet down on the floor, thrusting minutely against your exploring hands and mouth.
Sakyo keeps his own hands to himself, if only so you can have your fun with no interference. He barely knows what he likes, you have more of an understanding of his body than he surely does. He feels your tongue against his pelvic bone and stifles another embarrassing sound.
You don’t give him trouble for that, at least. When you’re alone with him, properly alone and away from the theatre you revel in every noise that he makes. But here, with friends so close at hand-- he’s under no obligation to please you.
Despite the time crunch, you take a moment to appreciate his cock when you gingerly take it from his trouser. He’s never considered it to be anything special, truth be told he’s never considered it at all, but you never fail to look a bit impressed. And a bit hungry.
That thought makes him jump and throb in your small hand. And when you put your tongue to the blunt head, Sakyo can’t quiet his sharp inhale.
You put your hand on his thigh, pushing and holding his leg open and giving you enough room to move. The bed of your tongue presses flat to veins and hot skin. He feels coiled like a spring, wound tight. Your mouth is so warm, so soft and he barely has time to anticipate how it will feel.
You’re on him, bobbing your head to a punishing rhythm. You’ll take no prisoners this evening, you aim to ease that feeling of intense compression in his lower abdomen. Sakyo is grateful, so grateful that the only thing he can say is your name. It’s mangled with satisfaction and desperation, but you still find it sweet.
His eyes are sky-wide. They are two violet stones when you close your mouth around him and give a gentle hum. You press him to the back of your throat, breathing carefully and doing only what you’re comfortable with.
That had to be explained to him the last time, that you would do nothing to him that you didn’t want. He stays quiet now, not wanting to distract. Instead, he wants to trust you.
Sakyo’s quiet, he always is. But this is a pensieve sort of quiet, even as he drifts from thought to painful thought. He wants this forever, not this act in specific but all of them. Everything, as long as he’s yours.
It’s a beautiful thing to have the lion’s share of your attention. He feels giddy in a quick-lived rush of emotion, bucking his hips in an unprecedented attempt to chase that feeling.
You sputter, but look unoffended. Even as he tries to apologize, you brush off his hands.
“I’m fine,” you say, replacing your mouth with your loose fist for the time it takes to reassure him. “That means it feels good, yes?”
“Yes,” he sighs, “it does.”
“Okay, then it’s fine,” and you begin again with a new vigour.
It doesn’t feel fine, it feels selfish. And Sakyo isn’t certain when his selfishness was something that became unforgivable.
He doesn’t last long after that. Holding your gaze, even with his fedora obscuring your eyes while you take care of him is a big ask. To his credit, he tries very hard to get your attention. To inform you in advance.
But you just smile, you stay where you are. You heard him, of course, you heard his stumbling attempts to tell you he was going to come. Trying to do so without embarrassment was an exercise in his own misery and he slumps back in his chair with a grunt of your name when he finishes.
His hand leaves the armrest for the first time since starting, he touches your shoulder and squeezes affectionately. Sakyo feels that sudden surge of euphoria again as he finishes, and you keep him in your mouth. Like last time, you swallow and his stomach drops.
“Thank you,” he gasps before he has time to stop himself. You make a show out of licking your lips, rising from your knees enough to grab him by his tie.
He’s kissed again, with more force and tenderness than he expects. Your lips taste like salt and his cheeks flush the colour of bricks.
“Any time,” you reply, “let’s get you presentable again. We have a wrap party to attend.”
It takes a while for his legs to feel steady again. It isn’t until his shirt is tucked in and his overcoat again hangs off his shoulders that he feels confident enough to go anywhere with you.
You’re fine. You pop right up and take his hand. It’s a beautiful thing to be the man at your side, not just the one in your bed. Even if it’s just this once.
