ft. Mikey, Rindou, Chifuyu, Sanzu, Kakucho, Draken
SANO MANJIRO — Having you hunt his beloved sleep is exhausting. He couldn’t even sleep a wink without you appearing in his dreams. It would’ve been fine if it were simple dreams of you guys hanging out — but his wet sheets, boxers and flaming up in his sleep — you are hunting him.
Emma’s best friend is staying for the night — you are staying for a sleepover. That’s what mikey heard.
Well, you sleeping over at their house wasn’t the problem at all. It’s you — following Emma, walking around in your sleeping gown as if it’s your house.
“Ngh.. gahhh”
“Shh… My family might hear you..” Mikey whispered, hushing you, fixing the way he sits on the bed before giving you a peck on your breast, his hips buckling up — deeper, to feel your heat.
He lifts your night gown just slightly above your waist, his hands holding your waist to keep them up. His dull, black orbs landed below, looking at how his manhood was swallowed by you completely.
His compact yet powerful arms slightly raised you up, just enough before the tip of his shaft detached from you. Lazily, he lets you fall down, releasing a groan. You felt a tap from your behind, Mikey signaling you to move for your pleasures.
You locked eyes with him, a hand placing on his puffy cheeks, “I’ve always wanted to do this with you.”
“Shit.” He cursed out, burying his face on your chest. Dick throbbing as he releases warm, thick liquid inside you. It was as good as a dream.
“Mikey, wake up! It’s time to eat!”
Woke up heading straight to the bathroom w his sheets in his hands. It’ll go on for days, even when you’re not around.
Emma will be worried and ask him to get his bladder checked thinking it’s just him peeing on his bed
His dreams always includes you doing the first move, telling him how much you love him — his cock and how you wanted him for a long time cuz deep inside that’s how he wants you to act in front of him :P
HAITANI RINDOU and his brother are greatly into fashion. They often attend fashion shows in VIP rooms with a drink in hand — watching to recruit their possibly new designers or models.
And a fashion show with beautiful females are a dream come true for a teenage boy — especially w the swimsuit runaways
“Have dinner with me.” The young boy asked — more like commanded, looking at your taller figure. You’ll say yes, he knows it. You can’t decline, they run the whole roppongi after all.
Him tracing those beautifully curved spine after a good drink of an expensive wine in a bar, your face buried on his pillows, releasing muffles whilst he ram his cock in your cunt.
Groping your huge circle cheeks below, spreading them wide; spitting on your ass hole as watch it slowly falls on your slit — his thrust keeping its speed. slow but deep.
“You like that, yeah?” He’ll ask.
“I want this ass only for my eyes. Okay, pretty?”
With enough slap in your ass, you’ll definitely understand him. He’ll keep you for his sole pleasure alone, a model of his own.
“Sure. Maybe in a few more years. Who knows, I might even let you hit.”
You ended up declining him and leaving him in his thoughts — he didn’t even chase for you, he was left there in a daze. He’s a spoiled child who hasn’t received a no after all. Will not tell Ran about you nor his perverted thoughts. Will forever be embarrassed he got declined.
Honestly thought it was easy to get a girl. His brother made it look so easy.
Will come and find you years later to do every fantasies he has thought of you. Back shot, missionary, cowgirl, sixty-nine — whatever it is, you’ll be doing it in a day.
CHIFUYU MATSUNO who finally got a nerd girlfriend — going out on their first date, finally seeing his nerdy girlfriend fix and tidy up herself just for him got his blood running.
You weren’t wearing anything revealing at all — It was just all on him. Maybe he got a little too excited on your first date?
“hah”
The blonde threw his head back, toes curling, as he releases heavy breaths. His hands aggressively oscillating between the tip and the end of his shaft.
*Ting*
The boy halted, his freehand took the phone from the nightstand whilst keeping the other hand holding his manhood; his thumb playing with the pinkish tip of his cock, flushing red from the forceful abuse.
Jgh, booboobear !! I can’t wait to see you again.
Sent a photo.
Oh, heaven, you look so damn perfect. He caught his lower lip beneath his upper teeth, closing his lids, “Oh, fuck.” He cursed out, looking at your photo as he cries your name in between breaths.
Who knew chifuyu was this perverted?
Would be so awkward facing you again. He’ll avoiding you and your gazed for 3 days bcs of his conscience !!Will ask you for more of your update photos next time just so he could jack off of you >>
SANZU HARUCHIYO go low for his devotion for Mikey.
He’d go stealing your panties when he heard from Baji that Mikey also likes you — also, meaning he also thinks you’re so cool even if you don’t how to fight; but kept on denying it knowing you’re Mikey’s possession already. His boss is his priority after all.
Going that low to steal your panties for the boss but ended keeping them and using it for his own instead. Surely, he can get another for Mikey, right?
*Snfffttttt*
Sanzu took a deep breath, head throwing back, hitting the interior of his room’s door with your undergarments in between his palm and nose, inhaling your feminine smell.
You smell so fucking great — it’s as if he’s getting high. It makes him so damn excited; blood rushing through his body.
His eyes fell to the clothed budge on his lower body — cock throbbing, hurting from too much hardness. Holding the panties with his teeth, his hands took off his lower clothing, releasing his massive erection.
A groan in pleasure came out on the young adult’s mouth from the sudden contact of his hardened shaft to his abdomen. A hand reached for the underwear once more — eyes rolling back after sniffling the pleasant smell. His free hand made its way to his throbbing erection, gently stroking the hard rock cock.
“Ahhhhh, fuckkk..”
You’re so fucking addictive — more addictive than a damn drug.
Would definitely snoop in your room to steal more undergarments when the fragrance from the old one he’s using is gone. ( and will forget that he even started this addiction for Mikey )
He’d always be hard in your presence — when you’re passing by — smelling your perfume — he’d have perverted thoughts of you every time he sees you.
KAKUCHO HITTO having you as his childhood friend in the orphanage with izana, a person whom he used to sleeps together in the same bed.
One day, you caught a cold; and the thin blanket from the orphanage isn’t helping. Izana suggested that Kakucho should warm you up — the black haired latter also agreed knowing his intentions are pure. They were. Or they used to.
“Kakucho?” You called out to Kakucho who’s hugging you from behind. He was quiet — awfully at that.
“Are you asleep?” Again, you called out, about to look behind to face the young man; but, were abruptly halted when his muscular arms pulled you closer.
“I…Isn’t it a bit too hot?” He finally spoke.
“No, It’s fine. Thank you so much, Kakucho. I’ll take a bathroom break, okay? Stay here for me.”
You pushed yourself out of the mattress, sitting up and looking sideways to take a glimpse of Kakucho whose eyes are closed, flushed red, sweating too much.
“Oh no, did you catch my cold?” You asked, leaning towards Kakucho and placing the back of your hand on his forehead. “Thank God you’re not that hot.” You said, leaving the young man on the bed.
Yes, thank God. Thank God you finally left.
Kakucho took a weary breath, pulling the blanket above his shoulders and placing a pillow between his arms.
Calm yourself.
He thought to himself, but the thought of you — placed in between his arms; so small, something that he could manhandle so easily — and your sweet fragrance that still lingers on the pillow he’s hugging is getting his blood pumping.
Brain fogged, Kakucho slowly placed pressure between him and the pillow — his hardened cock, aching to receive some friction. He’s so dirty minded, the guilt will surely eat him later.
“Kakucho?”
You’d ask him why he’s so covered up while burning up from the heat, taking a bath from his own sweat. He’d make up excuses, saying he’s just warming himself up for you; literally, a loyal dog in heat.
RYUUGUJI KEN with his infinite patience and understanding would admit he had teenage boners from you but with pure, clean, genuine intentions. Instead of thinking something perverted — naughty, he’d have thoughts of you having his children, taking care of them, carrying them from your belly to your slender arms.
Draken fixed his oversized white t-shirt, pulling it from the hem to make it lower; hiding his erected length. He watches you as you stood in front of him, lending a hand to the children who tripped on the sidewalk on your way home.
You’ve always been good with kids; one of the things ryuuguji ken likes about you. He imagine you being such a good mother — starting a family with you.
Him showing you his massaging skill, giving you relief every time your back hurts from carrying his child. He’s sure, you’ll look so damn pretty with his child in your belly.
He’s willing to serve you wholeheartedly. You only need to stay by his side, take his sperms — I mean, children; and he’d give you his whole world. But you should dirty talk him some times, and
Maybe he’d also like the process of making it.
@makies all rights reserved. Please refrain from reproducing, translating, adapting, or redistributing this work without prior permission
TOKYO REVENGERS LIST — Read more of the author’s work
Can I please get something with someone talking about going after Kanto Mikey’s oblivious but sweet girlfriend. Dark impulse activated. 🔪
“say that again.”
kanto manjiro sano (mikey) x fem!reader
warnings: dark impulse mikey, possessiveness, threats
you don’t hear it.
but mikey does.
the moment it slips past the guy’s lips—careless, playful, stupid—something in him stills.
he was just a shadow in the back of the room a second ago. quiet. unreadable.
but now?
now he’s listening.
"—you seen that girl mikey’s always with? real cute. wonder if she’s as sweet in bed as she looks on his arm."
someone chuckles.
someone else whistles.
"bet she wouldn’t mind a guy who actually knows how to smile. mikey always looks half-dead. think she’d let me—"
crack.
the guy doesn't finish the sentence.
because mikey’s chair scrapes back slow. deliberate.
and the next sound is the sharp, ugly thud of knuckles slamming bone.
you weren’t even in the room.
but he heard it.
you—his soft little girl who still thinks the world is kind.
who wears his hoodie like it’s armor.
who doesn’t know half the shit he’s done just to keep that smile on your face safe.
you would’ve smiled at the guy if he approached you.
probably would’ve been nice. too nice. that’s just who you are.
but mikey knows what guys like that mean.
and now?
so does he.
the guy’s on the floor. blood in his mouth. gasping.
“what the hell, man?! it was just a joke!”
mikey’s voice is low. flat. too calm.
but his eyes? his eyes are pitch black.
“say it again.”
his foot comes down, hard, right beside the guy’s head.
“go on,” he whispers. “you were brave enough a second ago. finish the joke.”
silence.
everyone in the room holds their breath.
mikey crouches down—slow, almost casual. and when he speaks, it’s still soft.
“you think you can look at her like that? think you can talk about her like she’s something you can take?”
he tilts his head. the corner of his lip twitches—not a smile.
“you think you can walk out of here with your tongue still in your mouth?”
he laughs then. quietly.
“nah.”
a pause. a hum.
“you don’t get to want her. you don’t get to see her. you don’t even get to say her name.”
and then he leans in real close, whispers—
“you ever breathe in her direction again, i’ll bury you before sunset.”
his fist tightens.
but before he can throw another punch, his phone buzzes.
it’s a text.
you: what time r u coming over? i miss u
he reads it.
his expression softens instantly. like someone flipped a switch.
he pockets the phone. stands. straightens his hoodie.
then he turns his back on the room—on the guy still bleeding on the floor—and walks off like none of it ever happened.
later that night, you greet him with sleepy eyes and open arms. you don’t ask why he smells like cigarette smoke and dust. you just press a kiss to his cheek and murmur, “missed you.”
and he pulls you into his chest. breathes you in.
like you’re his only tether to the earth.
because you are.
and you’ll never know what it took to keep it that way.
can i request tokyo revengers mikey or mitsuya (whoever you prefer!) being protective of reader… literally any scenario like that is always so good
MINE TO PROTECT : s. manjiro
— when someone crosses a line with you, mikey reminds them why no one in toman dares to.
the parking lot behind musashi shrine was dimly lit by flickering streetlights. mikey had ordered a toman meeting late as always, and practically whined for you to go with him since he always likes to be close to you.
however, you eventually got bored and only stepped away from the toman meeting for a minute—just to get some air—when one of the newer members, some cocky third-year who didn’t know better, cornered you.
he smirked, leaning in way too close. “what’s a cute thing like you doing hanging around mikey all the time? you his pet or something?”
“no. because he’s my boyfriend, dumbass.”
as soon as those words left your lips, you slapped him across the face harsher than you meant. or no, you fully meant to do that.
but it’s obvious he did not like that very much.
“what the hell—?” clutching his cheek, the male looked back to face you again, a sadistic gleam lighting up his eyes. “oh, you’re going to regret ever doin’ th—”
just as he was about to grab your arm, a chilling voice cut through the night.
“say that again.”
manjiro stepped out of the shadows like he belonged to them. his usual lazy, sleepy expression was gone. in its place was something ice-cold, almost dead—the mikey that even provoked fear in the strongest delinquents.
the guy’s entire demeanor changed instantly, displaying an apologetic look as he laughed nervously. “c’mon, mikey, i was just joking—”
mikey didn’t raise his voice. he didn’t need to. in a second, he grabbed the bastard by the collar and slammed him against the concrete with terrifying strength. his dark eyes were empty, devoid of any warmth.
“you touched what’s mine,” mikey said lowly. “you disrespected them. in front of me.” his grip tightened, dragging the guy’s weight around.
“i don’t care if you’re new. i don’t care if you’re strong. no one touches them. no one looks at them the wrong way, not even think about it.” mikey’s voice dropped even lower.
“or i’ll make sure you never think again.”
you stepped forward, gently placing a hand on your boyfriend’s arm. “mikey…it’s okay. he got what he deserves already.”
“don’t be killing the guy now, mikey.” draken walked up behind him with a sigh, but didn’t pull the shorter male away. a few others were gathered nearby too. all of them knew that tone. and knew what happened when mikey got protective.
he didn’t let go of the guy immediately. but after a long, suffocating silence, he finally released his grip, leaving the other one crumpled to the ground, gasping.
the blonde turned to you, and just like that—the intimidating aura vanished. his expression softened completely as he reached out to cup your face with both hands, thumbs brushing your cheeks with a tenderness that left the others shocked at how different their leader looked right now.
“no one touches you,” he murmured into your hair, quiet enough that only you could hear. “not while i’m here. you’re mine to protect.”
“you alright?” he asked softly. “did he hurt you?” “no,” you shook your head. “more like i hurt him instead.” mikey studied your face for another second, then tugged you against his chest, wrapping his arms around you protectively.
he pressed a light kiss to the top of your head, then glanced back at the trembling guy with dead eyes.
“consider this your only warning.”
mikey took your hand and walked away without another word, the leader of tokyo manji’s gang making it very clear to everyone watching; you were untouchable.
Synopsis: It always happens the same way. You’re just minding your business — at work, at the bar, on the street — when some stranger decides they have a right to your attention. They lean in too close, their words sticky with unwanted confidence, their hands brushing where they don’t belong. You tell them no, you step away, but they don’t listen.
And then he’s there.
Your boyfriend.
Mikey (Sano Manjiro):
It was one of those lazy afternoons, the kind where Mikey insisted the two of you needed a snack break. His eyes had lit up when he spotted a convenience store, and of course, you ended up being dragged inside by the hand.
You were standing at the counter with your things—snacks, drinks, and of course, a pack of dorayaki for him—when the cashier gave you a grin that lingered a little too long.
“Damn… you’ve got a really pretty smile. Bet you make a lot of people’s day with it.”
You blinked, caught off guard. You opened your mouth to answer politely, but before a single word left you, you felt the warmth of someone pressing up against your back.
Mikey leaned against you, chin settling comfortably on your shoulder as if it were the most natural thing in the world. His arms slipped around your waist, holding you a little too tightly for it to be casual.
You glanced at him from the corner of your eye. His face looked calm, but you knew him well enough to see the little shift in his eyes—the softness was gone, replaced with a faint sharpness that made your stomach flutter.
“Oi.” His voice was lazy, but there was no mistaking the edge in it. “They’re mine. Don’t look at them like that.”
The cashier froze, clearing their throat and quickly focusing back on ringing up the snacks.
Mikey didn’t let go of you until you both walked out of the store, bag in hand. His expression was neutral, maybe even a little blank, but you noticed the way his fingers were curled tight around yours as you walked.
You tugged on his hand lightly. “Mikey… you didn’t have to get so jealous. It was just a comment.”
He puffed his cheeks, looking away with an exaggerated pout, like a child who’d been told no candy. “Tch. I didn’t like it. You’re my girlfriend. Why should anyone else be smiling at you like that?”
There it was—his real feelings, wrapped up in his childish stubbornness. It made you laugh softly, though you reached over and brushed your thumb against his cheek to ease him out of his sulking.
“Hey,” you murmured, leaning in to kiss the corner of his lips, soft and quick, “you don’t have to worry. I only want you.”
Mikey blinked at you, stunned for a beat. Then, almost without thinking, he tugged on your hand, pulling you a little closer until your chest bumped lightly against his. His pout wavered.
“…That wasn’t enough,” he muttered under his breath. Before you could ask what he meant, he leaned forward and caught your lips in a proper kiss—warm, slow, lingering just long enough to make your heart skip.
When he pulled back, his grin was wide and boyish, his forehead resting against yours. “Heh. Much better. Now I believe you.”
You shook your head, laughing under your breath, but your cheeks were warm as he dug into the bag and pulled out the dorayaki. He tore it open, took a bite, then held the rest out to you with a grin.
“…I’ll even share with you. Just this once.”
And that was Mikey—jealous one moment, laughing the next, stealing kisses in between bites of dorayaki, but never letting go of your hand the entire way home.
The shop was quiet that afternoon. You were standing at the counter while Chifuyu disappeared down an aisle to grab food for Peke J. Left alone for a moment, you idly scrolled through your phone, waiting.
That’s when someone walked in—a tall guy, about your age, who glanced at you and immediately gave a smile that lingered a little too long.
“Wow… didn’t expect to run into someone as good-looking as you here. You come here often?”
You blinked, a little caught off guard, and gave a polite, noncommittal nod. “Sometimes.”
The guy leaned an elbow on the counter, clearly not deterred.
“Guess I’ll have to start coming here more often then. You’d make the trip worth it.”
You shifted your weight uncomfortably, about to respond when the sound of footsteps caught your ear. Chifuyu came back around the corner, balancing two bags of food in his arms. He froze mid-step, watching for just a moment as the stranger leaned toward you with that grin.
“So… do you have a boyfriend? Or maybe someone like me could take you out sometime?”
You opened your mouth, but before you could answer, Chifuyu was there. He set the bags down a little harder than necessary, the thud making the stranger straighten. Sliding an arm around your waist, Chifuyu pulled you gently but firmly against his side.
His voice was calm, but there was a little tremble under it, the kind that came with barely controlled nerves.
“Yeah, they do. Me. I’m their boyfriend.”
The stranger blinked, smirk faltering for a second. He gave a dismissive shrug. “Relax, man. I was just talking.”
Chifuyu’s grip around you tightened ever so slightly. His green eyes narrowed, but he forced a small, polite smile.
“Talking’s fine. Flirting with someone else’s partner isn’t. So maybe you should stop.”
Something in his tone made the other guy glance away awkwardly. With a mumbled excuse, the stranger walked off toward the shelves, leaving the two of you at the counter.
Chifuyu exhaled a little too quickly, like he’d been holding his breath the entire time. His hand was still firmly on your waist, and you turned to look at him.
“Chifuyu…” You smiled softly. “You didn’t have to get so serious.”
His cheeks went pink instantly. He rubbed the back of his neck, keeping his eyes on you but clearly flustered. “I know, I know. But I hate it when people talk to you like that. It… makes me feel like I might not be good enough for you.”
Your heart softened at how vulnerable he sounded. You reached up, brushing your hand along his jaw, making him finally look at you.
“You’re more than enough. I wouldn’t trade you for anyone.”
His eyes widened at the words, lips parting slightly as though he couldn’t quite believe you said it so easily. Then, slowly, his boyish smile spread across his face, his blush deepening.
“…You’re gonna kill me one of these days,” he muttered, leaning down so his forehead touched yours for a second. Then, with a laugh, he pressed a quick kiss to your temple.
For the rest of the visit, his hand stayed firmly wrapped around yours, his thumb brushing your knuckles absentmindedly—as if to remind himself you were real, and you were his.
It was a sunny afternoon, the perfect day to take Luna and Mana out to the playground. Mitsuya had been insisting they needed fresh air, and you happily tagged along, holding the picnic bag while he held both his sisters’ tiny hands.
The girls ran off to the swings as soon as they spotted them, laughing loudly. You and Mitsuya followed, sitting on a nearby bench where you could watch. Mitsuya leaned back, his shoulders relaxed as he smiled at the sight of them.
“Thanks for coming with us,” he murmured, his hand brushing against yours on the bench before he linked your fingers together. “They always love when you’re around.”
You gave him a soft smile, squeezing his hand. “I love being around them.”
It was peaceful—until a voice interrupted.
“Hey there. Haven’t seen you around here before.”
You looked up to see a man standing nearby, hands in his pockets, flashing you a confident grin.
“Uh… hi,” you said politely, shifting a little.
The man took a step closer, ignoring Mitsuya completely.
“You know, you’ve got a really nice smile. Bet you make a lot of people fall for you with it.”
Mitsuya straightened slightly, his calm eyes narrowing just a fraction. He didn’t say anything yet, letting you handle it, but his hand around yours tightened almost protectively.
You gave a small, awkward laugh. “That’s kind of you to say.”
The man leaned in a bit more.
“Kind, but true. I was wondering… maybe after this, you’d like to grab a coffee with me? You don’t look like you’ve got company.”
That was when Mitsuya finally stood, his shadow falling over you both. His voice was calm, polite, but carried no room for argument.
“Actually, they do. With me.”
The man blinked, looking him over. “Oh… I didn’t realize.”
Mitsuya’s arm slid around your shoulders, pulling you gently against his side. His expression stayed soft, but there was a firmness in his gaze that made the man quickly backpedal.
“Sorry about that.”
Without another word, he left, heading toward another part of the park.
Mitsuya exhaled quietly, sitting back down with you still tucked close against him. His hand moved to brush over yours again, thumb stroking gently.
“Sorry if that made you uncomfortable,” he said, his voice low. “I don’t like when people talk to you like that. I know you’d never say yes, but still… I can’t help wanting to make sure you’re safe.”
You turned your head to look at him, warmth filling your chest. His lavender eyes softened when he saw your smile.
“You don’t have to apologize,” you murmured. “I like how you protect me.”
He chuckled quietly, leaning closer until his forehead pressed lightly against yours. “You’ll make me blush if you say things like that.”
From the swings, Luna’s voice carried across the playground. “Brother! Come push us!”
He laughed, pulling away reluctantly but brushing a kiss across your temple before standing. “Duty calls. But just so you know…” He gave you a smile that was equal parts warm and teasing. “…you’re mine. And I’ll always make sure people remember that.”
With that, he jogged over to his sisters, leaving you on the bench with your heart fluttering.
The streets were unusually quiet that night as you walked home. Too quiet. You could hear your own footsteps echoing against the pavement, and behind them… another pair.
You tried to tell yourself it was nothing, that maybe it was just someone else going the same way. But every time you turned, the same man was there—close enough that you could hear his footsteps speed up when you did.
Finally, you ducked into a side street, fumbling with your phone. Your hands trembled as you scrolled to his contact and pressed call.
The line clicked almost instantly.
“Angel? What’s wrong?” His voice was sharp, not lazy like usual.
You swallowed hard, lowering your voice as you hurried your steps. “Haru… I think someone’s following me. He keeps… he keeps trying to talk to me. He won’t leave me alone.”
As if on cue, you heard the man behind you again.
“C’mon, sweetheart, don’t walk so fast. I just wanna talk. You look too pretty to be walking all by yourself.”
Your chest tightened, panic clawing at your throat. “He—he’s doing it again,” you whispered.
There was silence for a beat on the other end of the line. Then Sanzu’s voice dropped, low and steady.
“Listen to me. Keep walking, don’t run. I know exactly where you are—I’ll be there in three minutes. Can you hold on for me, baby?”
You nodded even though he couldn’t see. “Y-Yeah. Please hurry.”
The man behind you whistled, still trailing.
“Don’t be shy, doll. I can keep you company tonight. I’ll treat you real good.”
You flinched, gripping the phone tighter. “Haru—”
“I’m almost there,” he cut in, his voice firm. “I’m not hanging up, okay? Keep talking to me. I’ve got you.”
You tried to focus on his voice, letting it ground you as your footsteps echoed on the sidewalk. Then, out of nowhere, a black car screeched to a stop at the curb in front of you. The door flew open, and there he was—pink hair messy, eyes blazing as he stepped out.
The man behind you froze, startled, but Sanzu didn’t even glance at him. He walked straight to you, pulling you into his arms. His hand cupped the back of your head, and his voice softened for you alone.
“It’s okay. I’ve got you now. You did so good, calling me.”
Then his gaze lifted over your shoulder, and the warmth in his tone disappeared. His grin stretched sharp, dangerous.
“You’ve got some fuckin’ nerve, huh? Following my girl around like that.”
The man stammered, hands raised, but Sanzu’s laugh was quiet and cold, the kind that made your skin prickle. He didn’t move closer though—he didn’t want to scare you more. Instead, he kissed your temple and guided you toward the car.
“Get in, angel. Don’t look back.”
You did as he said, sliding into the passenger seat. Even through the closed door, you could still hear his voice—muffled, sharp, and terrifying as he gave the man one final warning that made your stomach twist.
When he finally slipped back into the driver’s seat, his grin softened, his hand immediately reaching to hold yours.
“You okay? Did he touch you?” His eyes searched yours frantically, as if he’d fall apart if the answer was yes.
You shook your head, tears pricking your eyes as you squeezed his hand. “No… you got here just in time.”
Relief washed over his face, and he leaned over to kiss your forehead.
“Good. Don’t ever scare me like that again,” he whispered, voice trembling just slightly now that the adrenaline was fading. “Next time, just call me sooner. I’ll always come for you.”
And as the car pulled away, his hand stayed wrapped tightly around yours, his thumb stroking gently against your skin—a silent promise that as long as he was around, no one would ever hurt you.
The club was louder than usual, the bass thudding through your chest as you moved through the crowd. You were only there because Ran had brought you along—he was handling some business for Bonten and didn’t want to leave you alone for the night.
He’d stepped away for a moment, telling you to wait near the bar where he could see you. That’s when it happened.
A man, tall and already tipsy, leaned against the counter beside you. His eyes swept over you in a way that made your skin crawl.
“Well, well… what’s someone like you doing here all alone?”
You shifted slightly, giving him a polite but firm look. “I’m not alone.”
The man smirked, undeterred.
“Could’ve fooled me. You’re too gorgeous to be sitting by yourself.”
Before you could answer, he reached out and brushed his fingers lightly against your arm, trailing them down toward your hand. You flinched back instantly, your stomach knotting.
And then—you felt it. That familiar arm wrapping casually but firmly around your shoulders, pulling you against a broad chest.
Ran.
He was smiling, but you knew better than anyone that smile was dangerous. He pressed a kiss to your temple, his voice smooth as silk when he spoke.
“Funny, I don’t remember giving permission for anyone to touch what’s mine.”
The man froze, eyes darting between you and Ran. “I-I didn’t know she was—”
Ran tilted his head, his braids brushing against his cheek as he leaned in closer, still smiling.
“Didn’t know? You didn’t ask either. That’s the problem.”
His tone was soft, but there was an edge underneath that made the man pale. He didn’t move, though, until Ran’s hand slid from your shoulder to your waist, tugging you flush against him. His lilac eyes never left the stranger’s.
“Now. You’re gonna apologize to my girl… and then you’re gonna walk away. Understand?”
The man muttered a quick apology, stumbling off into the crowd without another word. Only once he was gone did Ran’s expression soften. He turned to you, brushing a strand of hair from your face.
“You okay, doll?”
You nodded, though your chest was still tight. Ran frowned slightly at the look in your eyes, his thumb stroking against your cheek gently.
“Sorry I wasn’t quicker,” he murmured. “Shouldn’t have let you out of my arms for even a second in a place like this.”
Your lips curved faintly. “You can’t exactly guard me 24/7, Ran.”
He chuckled low, pressing his forehead against yours. “Wanna bet?”
Then he kissed you, soft but lingering, his jealousy melting into something sweeter. When he pulled back, that playful smile returned, but this time it was just for you.
“Guess I’ll have to keep you even closer tonight, huh? Can’t have every drunk idiot trying their luck with my girl.”
And true to his word, Ran didn’t let you out of his embrace for the rest of the night—his arm draped around your waist, his hand clasping yours, his presence a constant reminder that you were his and his alone.
The night had been going smoothly. You were seated at a quiet corner table in one of Bonten’s clubs, waiting while Rindou finished a quick meeting. The music pulsed through the walls, the dim lights casting everything in soft red and violet.
You were scrolling through your phone when someone slid into the empty seat across from you. A stranger, drink in hand, flashing you a grin that made your skin prickle.
“Didn’t think I’d find someone this gorgeous sitting alone.”
You blinked, caught off guard. “I’m actually—”
The man leaned forward, cutting you off, his hand brushing lightly across yours where it rested on the table.
“No need to explain. I like a little mystery. What do you say we ditch this place? I’ll show you a better time.”
You pulled your hand back quickly, your chest tightening. “I’m not interested.”
But he didn’t budge. His smirk only grew, and his knee brushed against yours under the table.
That was when the air shifted.
A shadow fell over the table, and before you even looked up, you felt the familiar tension in the air—the kind only Rindou carried. He stood beside you, his mismatched eyes locked on the stranger, his jaw tight.
The man glanced up, about to speak, but Rindou cut him off in a voice like ice.
“Move.”
The stranger blinked. “Hey, I was just—”
Rindou’s hand slammed down on the table, making the glasses rattle. His voice stayed low, but the edge was razor sharp.
“I said, move. Don’t touch what’s mine again.”
Something in his tone made the man’s confidence crumble instantly. He muttered an apology and scurried away without another word, disappearing into the crowd.
Silence lingered for a moment, heavy with the tension that still clung to Rindou. His shoulders were stiff, his breathing just a little too sharp. But when he turned to you, the storm in his eyes softened.
“Did he hurt you?” His voice was quieter now, almost hesitant.
You shook your head, reaching for his hand. “No. He just scared me a little.”
Rindou exhaled slowly, sitting down beside you and pulling you into his arms. His hold was firm, grounding, as if he needed the reassurance just as much as you did.
“I hate when people look at you like that,” he admitted, his words muffled against your hair. “It makes me… feel like I’m gonna lose you.”
You tilted your head back to meet his gaze, brushing your fingers along his jaw. “You’re not going to lose me, Rindou. Ever.”
His eyes searched yours, vulnerable in a way he rarely let anyone see. Then, with a quiet sigh, he leaned down and kissed you—gentle, lingering, full of all the emotions he couldn’t put into words.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.
“I’m keeping you close tonight. No arguments.”
And true to his word, for the rest of the night, his arm never left around you—his touch protective, steady, and full of silent promises.
Your shift at the bookstore had been quiet until he showed up.
A customer, a man maybe a few years older than you, stood by the counter with a book in hand—not to buy it, but to lecture you.
“See, you probably don’t get it,” he said with a chuckle, leaning against the counter like he owned it. “This author’s actually overrated. People only read him because the language is simple. You’d really benefit from reading someone deeper, someone you can learn from. Lucky for you, I know plenty.”
You gave a polite smile, trying not to sigh. “I’ve read him, actually. And I liked his work.”
He grinned smugly, clearly not listening.
“Oh, that’s cute. But you’re only seeing the surface. Let me explain—”
And on he went, gesturing dramatically, drowning you in half-baked “analysis” as though you hadn’t already formed your own opinion. Worse, he kept leaning in closer, lowering his voice like he was letting you in on some big secret.
That’s when the door chime rang.
You looked up, relief flooding you the second you saw him—Izana, stepping inside with that calm, confident air that always drew attention without him trying. He had his hands in his pockets, his eyes immediately finding you.
At first, he smiled faintly, about to greet you—until he noticed the man leaning far too close over your counter. His smile froze. His expression shifted, sharp and unreadable, as he walked toward you.
The man barely noticed until Izana was standing right behind him.
“You know,” Izana’s voice was smooth, quiet, but cutting, “you’re taking up space she doesn’t want to give you.”
The man turned, scoffing. “And who are you? I was just having a conversation.”
Izana tilted his head, that faint smile returning—but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“No. You weren’t. You were talking at her. There’s a difference.”
The man’s face flushed, defensive. “She was listening—”
Izana cut him off, stepping just a fraction closer, his presence overwhelming despite his calm tone.
“She listens because she’s polite. Not because she wants you. If you were half as smart as you pretend to be, you’d notice her eyes.”
The man faltered, glancing toward you. You hadn’t realized how tense your expression had gotten until Izana pointed it out.
Izana’s smile widened slightly, satisfied. Then he turned fully toward you, softening in an instant as he reached out to brush his fingers lightly against yours over the counter.
“My girl’s never been shy about telling me what she likes,” he said gently, his gaze locking with yours. “And she’s made it very clear—it’s me. Not some stranger who thinks quoting books makes him interesting.”
The man’s jaw tightened, but he knew better than to argue. Muttering something under his breath, he grabbed his jacket and left.
Silence settled, and Izana finally let out a quiet breath, turning his full attention back to you. His thumb stroked the back of your hand as his voice softened, only for you now.
“You okay, love?”
You nodded, though you exhaled shakily. “Yeah… I just didn’t know how to get rid of him.”
Izana tilted his head, studying you with that soft intensity only he had. Then he leaned in, lowering his voice so only you could hear.
“Next time, don’t waste your energy. You don’t owe men like that a smile, or your patience. You only owe me this—”
Before you could ask, his hand slid to cup your jaw, and he kissed you.
It wasn’t hurried—it was slow, deliberate, his lips molding against yours in a way that left no doubt. The kind of kiss that made your heart stutter and reminded you exactly where you belonged.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his voice soft but laced with a possessive edge.
“You don’t need their approval. You’re mine. And I’ll never let anyone forget it.”
Your lips curved, warmth spreading through your chest as you whispered, “Good. Because I don’t want anyone but you.”
For the first time since he walked in, Izana’s smile turned warm, genuine—one reserved only for you. He pressed another lingering kiss to your lips, softer this time, before pulling away with a satisfied glint in his lavender eyes.
You were waiting near the bar, nursing a drink, when you felt a presence come up far too close.
A stranger leaned in, his arm brushing against yours on the counter.
“Pretty girl like you shouldn’t be drinking alone,” he murmured, eyes dragging down your figure.
You shifted away politely. “I’m fine, thanks.”
But he didn’t take the hint. Instead, his hand grazed your lower back, lingering just a little too long. You stiffened, stepping sideways. He followed.
“C’mon, don’t be shy. I can treat you better than whoever you’re waiting for.”
Your pulse spiked, unease prickling at your skin. You tried to angle yourself away again, but he stepped in front of you this time, effectively boxing you against the counter. The stranger was relentless. Every time you shifted away, he stepped closer, brushing your arm, letting his fingers graze your waist like he had a right to touch you. Your patience snapped the moment his hand slid too close to your hip—you flinched back hard, bumping into a solid chest.
Strong hands steadied you, and a familiar chuckle curled against your ear.
“Aw, doll, you didn’t tell me we were playing tag. And here I thought you only ran into me like that when you wanted something.”
Your breath caught—Hanma.
The stranger turned, annoyed at first, but froze when he met Hanma’s mismatched gaze and that sharp, stretched grin.
Hanma tilted his head, eyes flicking lazily from you to the man.
“Lemme guess… you thought if you cornered her long enough, she’d magically forget how to say ‘no,’ huh?”
The man bristled. “I was just talking to her—”
Hanma snorted, laughter spilling loud and mocking, making a few heads turn.
“Talking? Buddy, if that’s what you call it, I’d hate to hear what you sound like when you’re begging.”
The man flushed, his mouth opening to argue, but Hanma leaned forward just slightly, still grinning but with an edge that cut like glass.
“See, here’s the thing. She doesn’t need you explaining yourself. She doesn’t need your hands on her. And she sure as hell doesn’t need you pretending she wanted it. Y’know what she needs?”
He tightened his hold on your hip, pulling you back against him as he smiled down at you instead. His voice dropped, smoother, softer, but still loud enough for the man to hear.
“She needs me. And lucky for both of us—I’m right here.”
The stranger’s jaw clenched, but Hanma just waved him off lazily, almost bored.
“Go on, scram. Before I really start having fun.”
And just like that, the man vanished into the crowd, mumbling an apology on his way out.
Hanma turned you gently to face him, his grin softening as he searched your eyes.
“He didn’t scare you too bad, did he, doll?”
You shook your head, though your hands were still tight around his jacket. “I just… didn’t like how he kept touching me.”
Hanma’s smile thinned, and for a heartbeat, his eyes darkened. He tilted your chin up, leaning in until his lips brushed against yours.
“Then let me remind you what real touch feels like.”
His kiss crashed down—deep, claiming, searing away every trace of the stranger’s hands until there was only him. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, mismatched eyes glinting with mischief again.
“Mm. Much better. Now everybody here knows—you’re mine.”
And the rest of the night, his arm stayed draped over you like a brand, daring anyone else to even think about testing him.
you were minding your own business. headphones pulled over your ears to drown out the voices 'nd chatter of classmates.
that is until the volume picks up, somehow louder than your music.
what now?
another fight break out?
you pull one side of your headphones slightly off one ear to eavesdrop.
"didja hear what happened?" you hear someone, yamamoto you think, shouting as he stomps into the room.
"no," another guy replies.
"apparently..." yamamoto starts, glancing around the room, voice lowering, "the invincible mikey got his ass handed to 'im."
a hush falls over the room. then barks of laughter and denials, because in everyone's opinion, that simply isn't possible.
i mean, he's called invincible mikey for a reason after all.
"where'd ya hear that crap?"
"from a reliable source." comes the answer, hesitant, like he can smell blood in the water.
more laughter, more forced. less playful.
you shake your head, unnoticed, in your seat at the front of the class. it's ridiculous the way they glaze this guy.
"did this... source of yours have any proof?" another guy asks, "or just spouting bullshit?"
by this time you're done listening, you fix your headphones and stare out the window. letting your mind slip back into daydreams.
you head to the rooftop, it's usually deserted during free period, perfect for you.
pushing open the rusting metal door, stepping out onto the fenced in, definitely off-limits and restricted space, excited to be free of people.
your smile falls so fast when you spot someone up here. sitting in your seat no less.
well, it's not actually yours. it's the only bench up here. that's besides the point, right now you're determined to fight this guy over stealing your quiet, people free place.
no one ever comes up here
except apparently today.
you inhale, ready to unleash a mountain of sharp words at the... invader.
then he turns, like he sensed a disturbance in the force, dark eyes finding yours.
every insult dies on your tongue, instead you dumbly blurt out, "you're bleeding."
his lips twitch, almost into a smile, "i tripped."
"and fell on your face?" you question, doubtful.
there's tiny cuts along his jaw with a matching busted lip, plus undeniably the bruising of what will become the world's ugliest black eye.
"and fell onto someone's fist. repeatedly." he corrects. the way he says it, so carefree, uncaring. this is an average tuesday for him.
you can't imagine being so nonchalant about that.
your feet move before your mind does.
nudging him with your leg until he gets the jist, scooching over to give you room to sit. in your bag is a small first-aid kit, you pull it out, stealing a glance at the boy beside you.
he eyes you with a bored, skeptical expression.
sighing you pop a band-aid on his jaw, catching the way his eyes widen then soften.
"are you always this reckless?" you can't help but mutter as you calculate every injury, tallying up how many bandages it would take to fix him up.
he hums, tapping his foot against the floor, "always."
something about that look, that particular glint in his eyes that gives you pause. dots connecting. slower than you wanted to admit.
"what's your name?" aiming for casual, but it comes out probing.
he tilts his head, giving the impression of a puppy dog — a golden retriever with it's droopy ears, "it's mikey."
yeah... you should've realized sooner. only someone like him, with a reputation that proceeds him would behave in such a manner. a feared gang leader. people usually avoid meeting him face-to-face, less chance to wind up on his bad side and incur his wrath.
"and yours is?"
you give him your name, keeping your eyes downcast onto his hands as you wrap his knuckles. pretty. even with all the residual scars evident from previous fights. strong and a bit rough, but stupidly decent looking hands for a delinquent.
"aren't ya gonna kiss it better?" mikey teases, leaning in and puckering his lips.
"hell no." you snap. pushing at his shoulder. squashing down the tiny flip your heart does.
he deflates, pouting at your quick dismissal.
"but i'm in paaaain." he whines.
stubbornly you ignore his complaints. but he's as persistent as you are stubborn. mikey gets louder, to the point of wailing and dropping his weight against you. his head is on your shoulder, breath heavy in your ear.
it makes your face heat in frustration. a bubbling of emotions you don't wish to name.
you cave.
"for crying out loud." you mutter.
exhaling sharply, you grab his collar, barely resisting shaking him like the pest he is. planting a kiss directly onto his swollen lips.
the kiss is tainted with the taste of metal.
yet neither of you is pulling away. letting the golden sun rays warm you inside and out. melting and sliding your lips along his. none of it is sure, just silent exploration.
your first-aid kit clatters to the ground, shattering the moment. breaking the kiss.
mikey looks positively stunned, fingers pressed to his mouth, memorizing the feel of yours.
when you finally look up he's beaming, smiling so wide that he split the scab and is now bleeding again.
you wipe at the blood, pressing a cotton ball to the spot.
"oh, i meant my hands by the way." he murmurs.
you feel like an idiot for misreading the situation. you had thought that's what he was getting at. mikey puts his hand up in defense when you swat at his arm, "not that i'm complaining about the kiss."
"you're such a dickhead."
"oi, c'mon don't run away now!" he calls out as you speed walk towards the door.
you flip him off, playing up the dramatics. you're not actually mad. just flustered.
"you know you can't hide from me." mikey says, both a threat and a promise.
when mikey wants something he gets it. period.
"counting on it." you laugh, waving as the door swings shut behind you. heart beating too fast. giddy grin plastered onto your face as you descend the steps.
mikey waits exactly two minutes before chasing after you.
꒰ author's note ꒱ — quick fluff of my favorite delinquent. ignore any errors 'nd bad spelling, i wrote this in like an hour. not proofread ♡
⊹ mikey who shows up outside your house completely unannounced with a helmet in one hand and a sleepy smile on his face. he never has a plan beyond “wanted to see you,” but the nights always turn into aimless rides, convenience store snacks, and watching the sunrise from somewhere only the two of you know.
⊹ mikey who absolutely melts when you play with his hair. he’ll pretend not to care at first, but within minutes his eyes are drifting shut and he’s leaning harder into your touch. if you stop, he doesn’t ask you to continue - he simply nudges your hand with the top of his head until your fingers disappear into his hair again.
⊹ mikey who loves sharing food with you, except “sharing” means taking a bite from your plate before you’ve even touched it. when you complain, he’ll split the last piece of his own snack in half and carefully hand you the bigger portion without saying a word.
⊹ mikey who gets sleepy around you more than anyone else. the second the room gets quiet, he’s finding somewhere to rest against you, eyes half-lidded and completely at peace. if you wake him because you have to leave, he’ll blink at you in confusion and mumble, “can’t you stay five more minutes?”
⊹ mikey who isn’t always great at putting his feelings into words, so he says them through tiny actions instead. he notices when you’re cold before you do and drapes his jacket over your shoulders, saves the last bite of dessert because he knows you’ll like it, and quietly walks on the side closest to traffic every single time.
⊹ mikey who looks at you with complete, uncomplicated trust. after a rough day, he’ll flop onto your couch and stare at the ceiling until you sit beside him, then inch closer until your shoulders touch. he never asks to be comforted outright, but the way he settles against you says more than enough.
⊹ mikey who kisses you like he’s still a little surprised he gets to. most of them are quick pecks before hopping on his bike or after walking you home, but every so often he’ll cup your face with both hands, smile against your lips, and stay there for just a second longer because he doesn’t feel any rush to pull away.
⊹ mikey who remembers tiny things you mentioned months ago without realizing they mattered. you once pointed at a claw machine plushie and called it cute, and weeks later he casually drops it into your lap after somehow winning it on his first try. when you ask why he got it, he just blinks. “because you liked it.”
⊹ mikey who can fall asleep almost anywhere, but insists he sleeps best with you nearby. if you’re watching a movie together, there’s a good chance you’ll look over halfway through and find him dozing off with his head on your shoulder and one hand loosely holding onto your sleeve so you can’t wander off without waking him.
⊹ mikey who gets quietly jealous rather than dramatic. if someone else is making you laugh a little too much, he doesn’t interrupt or start an argument - he simply wanders over, slips into the space beside you, and casually hooks his arm around yours as though that’s where it’s always been. he won’t even look at the other person. he’s only paying attention to whether you lean into him.
⊹ mikey who has an uncanny sense for when you’re nearby in a crowd. toman could be celebrating after a meeting with dozens of people talking over one another, but the moment he hears your voice, his head turns immediately. within seconds he’s weaving through everyone until he’s standing next to you.
⊹ mikey who instinctively reaches for the back of your shirt whenever you’re walking through crowded places. it isn’t because he thinks you’ll get lost - it just reassures him that you’re there. sometimes he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it until you glance back at him and smile.
⊹ mikey who becomes surprisingly protective when you’re exhausted. if you’re pushing yourself too hard, he’ll gently take whatever you’re carrying out of your hands and tell you to take a break in the same matter-of-fact tone he uses to order food. there’s no teasing in moments like that - just quiet certainty that he’s going to help whether you protest or not.
⊹ mikey who isn’t possessive in words but in habits. your drink somehow ends up in his hand after one sip, he steals bites from your plate without asking, and he automatically saves you a seat wherever he goes. the people around him stop questioning it after a while because if there’s an empty spot next to mikey, everyone already knows who it’s for.
⊹ mikey who kisses you with so much love that makes your chest ache. he’ll pause right before you leave, brush his forehead against yours, and press one soft kiss to your lips before stepping back. then, after a second of thinking, he’ll lean in for another because one never quite feels like enough.
⊹ mikey who acts fearless in front of everyone else but relaxes completely when he’s with you. on nights when the responsibilities of leading toman weigh heavier than he lets on, he rests his head against your shoulder and closes his eyes. he doesn’t ask you to fix anything. he just stays there, comforted by the simple fact that you’re still beside him.
synopsis: what comes after the secret you’ve been keeping all your life — that you’re in love with your best friend, manjiro — is revealed in the most unexpected way?
part one
pairings: racer!sano manjiro x fem!reader
content warnings: mature themes, 18+, ns/fw, M.D.N.I.
Dread fills your bones, making your whole body go still on the edge of your bed while the last message sent by Manjiro keeps replaying in your head.
"Let's talk, y/n."
In an instant, it’s like your world crumbles beneath you, stripping away everything that protects you and leaving only your naked, embarrassed self. You didn't expect a situation like this to come — and yet, it arrives when you are at your most defenseless. Nothing could be worse than this.
You feel shameful. Pathetic, even. The tears keep flowing down your face because there’s no way to undo it now — not when the evidence is spitting right in your face: that he answered the call while you were touching yourself, he heard you screaming his name, he listened to you falling apart with him on your mind, and then he texted you, asking to talk. And goddamn, what does any of this mean if not that you have feelings for him?
You thought you could keep your secret locked in a vault for years, only for it to be revealed in the most careless way possible. Now, you can’t do anything but cry, your mind overflowing with the fear that you’ve stained the only connection you have with him — your friendship. The one thing that will now surely meet its end, all because of your selfish desires and the feelings he never asked for.
Weeping eventually leads you to falling asleep. The endless thinking drowns you so deeply that you don't even notice the time passing. You simply fall asleep out of pure exhaustion, and only wake up when your phone alarm goes off.
Just when you thought it was all a dream, you open your phone to turn it off, only to be met with the reality you’ve been living in.
Manjiro's text is still there. As real as everything that happened last night.
You press your palms into your face as a fresh wave of worry sinks in. What now? you think. What are you even supposed to do now that everything is out in the open?
You stare at Manjiro’s last message. He hasn’t followed up, and that somehow makes it worse. The silence feels heavy, loaded with everything you’re afraid of: a disappointed man sitting on the other end, betrayed and disgusted, just waiting for you to finally say it out loud so he can be done with you.
The moment you roll out of bed, you decide you won't face him. Not yet. You tell yourself you need to distance yourself first, that you need time to sort everything out before you can face him.
But deep down, you know that's not it.
The truth is, you're just a coward. And the only thing you can bring yourself to do right now is avoid him completely, at all costs.
So that's what you'll do.
Using every bit of strength you can muster, you prepare yourself for work. Your mind hasn't drifted from thoughts of Manjiro even for a second, but you do everything you can to drag yourself out the door anyway. At least at the office, the pending tasks and deliverables can pull your focus away from him even just for a little while.
But you're wrong about even that.
The moment you step inside, your closest colleagues, the ones who know about your connection to the famous racer, immediately corner you to ask about his performance on the track. Manjiro's wins have been all over social media since last night, so of course they knew, and of course they had to bring it up. You nod along, give them short polite answers, and get to work.
By the time the day ends, it's clear that trying to distract yourself was never going to work. For most of the day, you've been sneaking glances at your phone, waiting for a message from him that never comes. You don't know whether to feel relieved that you haven't heard anything from his side, or more worried because of it. Either way, the dread never leaves your body and you come home that night more exhausted than ever.
This carries on for two days straight — the distance you've put between you and the silence on his end. It starts affecting your performance at work badly enough that you find yourself considering filing for a leave just to sort your head out. But every time you come home to your apartment and are met with nothing but quiet, your thoughts grow louder than anything else — you'd rather exhaust yourself fixing mistakes at work than spiral alone through endless overthinking.
However, this whole avoidance has to end eventually. Whether you are prepared or not, you must face the consequences of your actions, and Manjiro makes sure of that on the third morning when a notification from him finally pops up.
Your heart starts to pound as you unlock your screen with trembling fingers.
Fr: Jiro
y/n…
Are you busy?
That isn't what you were expecting. You were bracing yourself for something devastating, something that would confirm every worst fear you’ve spent two days constructing in your head, not this. However, the innocent message does nothing to ease your mind, and before you can even process it, your phone begins to ring.
He's calling.
The panic hits so fast that instead of answering or declining, you turn your phone off entirely. You squeeze your eyes shut, pressing your palms against your face.
What are you doing? you think. What are you doing, what are you doing, what are you doing…
And the coward wins again. Instead of facing him after he finally reaches out, you decide to keep your phone off.
You tell yourself it’s just for a few hours, enough time to breathe and figure out what to say. But those few hours become the whole morning, and the morning bleeds into the afternoon. Before you know it, you’re back home, the sun is gone, and your phone is still a dark weight in your hand.
You stare at it for a long moment. Then, you turn it back on. Your heart tightens as the screen instantly floods with notifications.
Fr: Jiro
10:47 AM: I was busy with training, I didn't get to message you.
11:06 AM: Still no reply? Stop ignoring me, please.
11:10 AM: Emma’s birthday on friday. It would be just the usual circle, nothing big. Come, okay?
Before you can even think, your fingers hover over the keyboard and start typing.
To: Jiro
I’m not sure…
The moment you hit send, regret sinks in. It’s too late. Manjiro’s response comes immediately, the notification dinging before you can even look away.
Fr: Jiro
Why? It’s emma’s birthday.
Are you avoiding me…
The familiar nervousness tugs at your heart so sharply you almost drop the phone. His last message sits there like a quiet accusation. Your chest tightens as you spiral: Why is he asking the obvious when you both know what happened that night? Is this a test? Is he waiting to see if you’ll finally be honest, or if you’ll run again?
You stare at the screen for a long time. Then, you lock it.
You can’t reply. Not when your mind can only offer two things: excuses you’re too tired to sell, or a confession that will surely end everything. So, you say nothing. You set the phone face down and stare at the ceiling instead, trying to force your heartbeat to slow down.
It doesn’t.
Minutes pass. Maybe more. Then, your phone dings again. You pick it up slowly.
Fr: Jiro
I didn't hear anything, y/n.
The air leaves your lungs. You read it again. Twice, thrice. You search those four words over and over, looking for a hidden meaning.
He didn't hear anything…
Whether he meant he didn't hear your response to his message or he didn't hear anything on the phone that night, you aren't sure.
You aren't sure of anything anymore.
In the crushing quiet of the night, the only response you can muster is a silent sob.
"I didn't hear anything, y/n."
The words echo in your head, a lifeline and a threat all at once. You have to face him now, whether you are ready or not. You have to find out if he truly heard you. You have to see if you are capable of telling the truth, or if you’re just going to fall apart.
Friday arrives before you're ready for it.
You stand in front of the mirror, face adorned with makeup — your best attempt at hiding the exhaustion that five days of sleepless nights have carved into you. Five days since that night, and not once have you had a real moment to think anything through.
You’re still caught in a haze of embarrassment and dread, but the world doesn’t care if you’re ready to face him. Time moves forward, and if you want any hope of returning to a sense of peace, you have to move with it. Even if "peace" means confessing your biggest secret — that you are hopelessly in love with your best friend — and watching it ruin everything you’ve ever known.
You take one last look at yourself in the mirror, grab your bag, and go.
You step into the hotel where Emma's birthday is being held. Somewhere inside that private dining room, Manjiro is already there.
Waiting.
You smooth down your dress, take a deep breath, and walk in.
As expected, the birthday party is an intimate affair. For a moment, seeing the familiar faces of your mutual friends settles the frantic beat in your chest...
But the relief is short-lived.
Your heart begins to thump again the second you spot members of the race team. You know Manjiro's right there. He couldn't be far, and if you just let your gaze wander a little further, you’d find him.
You keep your gaze carefully ahead, focused on nothing, avoiding the edges of the room where you know he might be standing. But before you can blend into the background, someone catches your arm and pulls you into a sudden hug.
"I thought you weren't going to come, y/n! You’ve been radio silent lately!"
It’s Emma. She’s her usual bubbly self, pulling you into a hug so tight it almost forces the air out of your lungs. Your heart slowly eases as you return the embrace, clinging to her just as tightly.
"As if I’d miss your birthday, silly. If I did, you’d never let me hear the end of it" you chuckle. But even as the words leave your mouth, you’re reminded of how close you actually came to staying home, of how you almost disappointed her just because you couldn't face her brother.
You let the thought slip away and focus on Emma, who pulls back from the hug first, beaming at you.
"You know me." She giggles. "Though I really wouldn’t have minded if you were busy. We could always celebrate another day — it's not like there's a law against it."
You squint at her, searching for the lie in her statement, and she laughs at your skeptical expression. "Come on, I’m telling the truth!"
You sigh, a gentle smile tugging at your lips. "Just be thankful I'm here."
You reach out and hand her the gift you've been holding. "Happy birthday, Emms."
Emma beams, clutching the gift to her chest. "Thank you, y/n! And thank you for actually coming. I was lying when I said it would be okay if you stayed home."
The two of you burst into shared laughter, and for a fleeting second, the weight pressing down on your chest vanishes. You bask in the giggles, feeling almost normal again.
Then the laughter slowly fades, and Emma's eyes drift across the room.
"Honestly, I could accept it if you didn’t show up. But you know who wouldn't?" Her gaze lands on someone specific. Even without turning around, the frantic skip of your heart tells you exactly who she’s looking at. "Mikey would have definitely thrown a tantrum. Have you talked to him yet?" she asks, her delight suddenly tinted with a quiet worry.
You don't respond, letting her continue.
"Draken told me he's been kind of off lately. We figured it's the new training — the sponsors have been watching closely with the championship coming up. I think the pressure's getting to him more than he lets on."
The bitterness settles on your tongue before you can stop it. He's out there pushing himself through rigorous training, carrying the weight of an entire season on his shoulders, and here you are, about to add to it. About to walk up to him and drop something that has nothing to do with racing and everything to do with ruining what you have.
Right then, without so much as glancing in the direction of his sister's gaze, you make up your mind.
Not tonight.
"Talk to him, okay?" Emma says, her voice gentle. "He's your best friend. He'd tell you if something was wrong."
You smile at her, small and tired.
He would. But the problem he doesn't know about yet...that's you.
Tonight, like every night before it, you choose to keep your distance.
You immediately try to lose yourself in the room, weaving into casual conversations and forcing yourself to look busy. But despite your best efforts, a restless energy claws at you. A prickling sensation on the back of your neck that tells you you’re being watched.
You aren’t wrong.
A sudden, accidental sweep of the room brings you face-to-face with the source of your unease.
Manjiro is standing beside Takemichi, his gaze fixed directly on you. You catch the slight widening of his eyes when your stares collide. He looks just as caught off guard as you are.
You look away first as the tension rises slowly up your throat, settling there and making itself impossible to ignore.
"You alright?" The voice cuts through the noise as a hand grasps your elbow. It’s Kazutora.
You look at him and quickly clear your throat, trying to find your voice.
"Y-yeah. Of course."
He nods, and the conversation folds back around the two of you like nothing happened. Because to everyone else in the room, nothing did. You are the only one coming apart on the inside, thread by thread, behind a perfectly composed face.
Needing to steady yourself, you excuse yourself to find a drink, desperate to wash down the lump in your throat.
You walk over to the small bar counter and grab a glass of champagne. You down the first one instantly, the sharp bite of the alcohol doing its best to steady your nerves. You reach for a second, but just as you bring the flute to your lips, your eyes traitorous as always, drift across the room on their own. And land on Manjiro.
He’s moving now, weaving his way through the crowd, his eyes locked onto yours. You realize with a jolt of panic that he’s walking straight toward you. Your grip tightens around the glass.
In a frantic attempt to look natural, you set the flute down and pivot, walking away from the bar to lose yourself among your friends again. You let the group crowd you, using them as a human shield.
It’s a game of cat and mouse that lasts the entire night. The moment you find yourself isolated for even a second, Manjiro is there, instantly trying to close the distance between you. His stare never wavers. no matter where you move, you can feel the weight of his gaze.
And you can tell he's growing frustrated. The crease between his brows deepens every time he watches you slip away again, every time you choose a crowded corner over facing him.
The guilt eats at you too. It carves into you steadily the same way it has been for days. But what can you do?
What can you really do?
It's not as if you wanted any of this. But the idiocy had to happen, and now here you are — trapped in this constant, exhausting battle with yourself. If only you could have said it on your own terms. A confession born from courage and not from the embarrassment of being caught, not from something as humiliating as what happened that night.
But could you have, really? Would you have confessed if the circumstances were different? Would you have done it at all?
You doubt it. Because you are a fucking coward.
And you would have kept it buried forever if not for that one mistake over a phone call.
So, for the hundredth time tonight, you bury yourself in the crowd so Manjiro can't get to you.
Then Emma's birthday cake is brought out and everyone gathers to sing. You try to steady yourself, dropping your messy thoughts for her sake. It's the least you can do after spending the better half of the night dodging her brother.
You finally lower your guard, giving Emma the attention she deserves and sing along with the rest.
You don't notice the body that slips in beside you.
Emma blows out her candles just as the last note of the song fades. The room erupts. Clapping, cheering, greetings overlapping from every direction. And in the middle of all that noise, while your guard is still down and your attention is still forward, a hand closes around your wrist.
You're being pulled before you can register it.
Everything blurs. The steps are fast, the crowd falling away behind you, and it's only when the cool air of the balcony hits your face that you understand who has been pulling you all along.
Manjiro releases your wrist and turns to face you.
There is no crowd to hide in. No conversation to slip back into. No way out.
You can’t fucking escape this one.
On the balcony, the crowd you used to hide in is suddenly out of grasp. Even though you’re isolated now, you still don't dare look up. You can’t bring yourself to meet the eyes that have been burning holes through you all night and are now fixed intently on your bowed head.
You swallow and wait for the first blow to land. It doesn't take long.
He lets out a heavy sigh, the sound of someone who has finally run out of patience.
"y/n"
You don't respond but your eyes move. Not toward him. Just anywhere that isn't him.
You’re painfully aware of the relentless beat of your heart. It feels powerful enough to rip through your chest if it keeps up this frantic pace. But you stay still, waiting for him to say the words that will end everything once and for all. Soon, you’ll be left with nothing but your ruined self and a friendship stained beyond repair.
You hear him shuffle, his slow footsteps approaching where you stand. He stops abruptly, just a few feet away, and lets out another sigh.
"Why are you avoiding me?" His voice is leveled, not nearly as cold as you deserve for what you’ve done.
You know that staying silent won't help you escape this. You have to respond, even if your brain refuses to give you the right words.
"I…" you exhale slowly, the sound shaky in the cold night air. "I don’t know what to say. I really don’t."
That's all you have. The only words you could pull from the wreckage of your thoughts.
You still haven't looked up at him but you can feel something radiating off of him in the silence. Something restless. Frustrated, maybe. Or dreading this just as much as you are.
"You don’t have to force yourself to say anything. I understand" he pauses, like he's choosing his next words carefully. "Just… would you stop avoiding me, y/n?"
That’s the cue. You finally find the strength to look up and meet his eyes.
There they are — his midnight irises that have haunted your imaginations, now staring at you, stripped of their usual light and replaced by a hollow, drained expression that almost makes you crumble on the spot.
"What do you mean… I don’t have to say anything?" your voice trembles. You search his face, desperately trying to find the meaning behind his words. Because there’s something underneath them, there has to be. But he doesn't flinch. He just stands there, his gaze fixed on you.
"What do you mean, Manjiro?"
For someone who spent the entire night chasing you, he chooses this exact moment to go silent. He looks away, his jaw tightening as he stares out at the dark horizon instead of at you. The sudden wall he’s built up agitates you, the uncertainty sparking a frantic need for an answer.
Because what is he trying to say? You don't have to say anything? After all of that and this?
"Manjiro, please" you call out again, your voice rising and shaking. He inhales sharply, the sound suggesting that whatever he’s about to say pains him just as much as it does you.
"I didn’t hear anything, y/n."
His words land like a match dropped into gasoline.
"That’s bullshit!" your voice comes out sharper than you intended. "I was wailing like a mess in there — chanting your name over and over and you were on the other end of that call for a full two minutes. Two fucking minutes, Manjiro! And now you're standing here telling me you didn't hear anything?!"
"What was I supposed to fucking do then?" he snaps in return. The unreadable mask he wore minutes ago is gone, replaced by a raw frustration that matches his voice. "You’ve distanced yourself from me for days. You wouldn’t even talk to me. The only thing I could think to do was tell you I didn’t hear shit, just so you’d stop running away—"
"But you did." It comes out barely above a whisper. The fight drains out of you as quickly as it came.
"You heard everything."
You don't wait for him to fill it. You push forward, even as you shake trying to pick up the broken pieces of yourself in front of him.
"And I was so—" you bite your lip as your vision blurs, tears threatening to spill at any second. "I was so embarrassed."
"y/n—"
"I—" You shake your head, cutting yourself off before he can reach you with your name.
Across from you, Manjiro goes still. His expression torn open, caught between something you don't have the clarity to name right now. He looks like he wants to reach for you. His foot shifts forward as if to close the gap but he stops himself abruptly, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.
"I didn't mean for any of it to… I mean, I never—" you bite your lip hard, almost drawing blood to ground yourself and stop your flowing tears.
He says your name again. Softer this time, like he's afraid the wrong pressure will destroy you completely. And that's exactly what undoes you.
Because you feel it rising the moment his voice gentles — that familiar pull of retreat. The same cowardice that has kept you silent for years rises in your chest, already building the excuses, already forming the words: It’s fine, forget it, pretend I said nothing.
Maybe you can salvage this without saying another word and just apologize for the mess you’ve caused. Maybe you could choose to believe his lie. Maybe you could convince yourself that you don’t need to confess. You could take the exit he’s giving you and continue living your life, even if the secret would eat you alive day by day.
Maybe that's enough. Maybe it has to be.
But before the retreat can fully form on your tongue Manjiro speaks.
"We can…" He pauses, his gaze dropping to the floor between you.
"If you want, we can forget this. All of it. I can pretend… if that's what you need."
The most generous thing he has ever offered you and somehow, the most devastating. He is giving you exactly what the coward in you always wanted: an exit. A way back to "before." A way to keep him safely as just your best friend.
But you’re so tired.
You’re exhausted from keeping everything hidden away. You're tired of loving him only in your mind — the only place where you could do so without restrictions, without the feeling of crossing a line, without staining or ruining anything.
You can't have that anymore.
"But I can't."
It feels as if a vault has finally been forced open, the words you’ve tried to bury acting as the key. The feelings you thought would never see the light of day are finally laid bare before him.
"I can’t do the 'pretend' anymore."
"Not when I’ve spent years feeling this way."
Every word feels like blood being spat from your mouth. It makes you shake, but it would be more painful to keep it in than to let it out. You continue, even as your voice breaks. Even as your heart does, too.
"Not when I’ve already crossed every line — willingly, Manjiro. All of it, willingly. Just so I could at least feel like you could finally see where I am."
Tears continue to spill, blurring your sight until he’s barely more than a shape in front of you. You pull a split second of bravery to look directly into his eyes as you spill your heart out. Cowardice be damned. Let him see you break. He already heard you at your highest and it shattered you even more after. What difference does it make if he witnesses you at your lowest, standing here as the same shattered self?
"Turn around and see me, Manjiro...I was here. I still am...I'm in love with you."
And you finally break.
You cover your face, the sound of your own wailing sending a violent shiver down your spine. It's terrifying to hear yourself cry this loudly. To feel the raw, unfiltered sound of your heart breaking in the open air. Your legs feel hollow, and you’re certain that at any moment your knees will give out and you'll stumble.
But before you can fall, you feel a sudden, firm tug at your wrist.
And then you're moving.
No words. No warning. Manjiro pulls you back through the balcony doors and into the hall and you don't have the strength to resist. You don't have anything left. You just follow, face still hidden behind your hand trying to hold whatever remains of yourself together.
You’re being led through the crowd, still sobbing openly, and you feel the suffocating weight of every eye in the room following your every move. You’re powerless to shield your messy, broken self from the sudden spotlight. Manjiro’s eager, relentless pace doesn’t break until he reaches the table where Emma and his inner circle are sitting.
Emma's face shifts the moment she sees you. The smile she was wearing dissolving first into confusion, then into something closer to alarm when her eyes find yours.
"Mikey, what happen—"
But Manjiro is already moving. He steps in front of you, catches Emma by the shoulders before she can reach you, and holds her steady.
"Mikey, is y/n alright? What's going on—" Emma’s voice is rising toward panic, but Manjiro reaches out and squeezes her shoulder firmly, grounding her.
"I’ll make it up to you. We have to go now" he says.
He presses a swift, apologetic kiss to his sister’s temple before pulling you away again. He offers no explanation to the confused crowd — not to Emma, who tries to follow, nor to the rest of the guests. Only Draken catches his eye, sending a silent, knowing look Manjiro’s way. The raven-haired man simply nods in return, an unspoken understanding passing between them.
Everything follows in a dizzying blur. Cold city air. The sharp ding of an elevator. Until the world finally stops spinning.
Before you can even process the shift in atmosphere, the heavy doors click shut, and you’re being led inside his penthouse.
Maybe it's resignation settling into your bones that keeps you from responding properly to any of this. It all feels like a fever dream. The avoidance. The confession. Him pulling you through a crowded room without a single word of explanation, and you following without resistance. You don't fully return to the reality until you feel Manjiro's grip tighten around your hand.
The gravity of the situation hits you like a physical blow to the chest.
You confessed. You actually did it.
You told your best friend of years that you are in love with him. For all the time you spent locking that truth away in the deepest part of your soul, convinced it would stay a secret you’d take to the grave, it only took one moment of weakness to bring you here. Standing in his room, the door locked behind you.
Across from you, Manjiro's face gives nothing away. Not anger. Not relief. Not even surprise. Just focus as he reaches up to shed his jacket, then moves to step out of his pants, like this is any other night. Like you didn't just crack yourself open in front of him twenty minutes ago.
Your mind begins to spiral, even as your body makes no effort to move. You stand paralyzed in the dark with him, your head filling with questions that make your skin crawl. Why did he bring me here? Why is he undressing? Why isn’t he saying he doesn't love me?
Why won’t you just push me away?
Before your head can split open from the weight of it, the words slip free on their own.
"Manjiro…" It comes out so soft. The way you utter his name isn't a call for attention. It’s a plea for him to end the silence before it destroys you.
Manjiro catches it. His head snaps toward you, and that focused expression dissolves replaced by something uncharacteristically soft. Almost meek. He waits for you to continue.
"Why are we here? What are you doing?"
He avoids your gaze, turning to sit at the edge of the large bed. Stripped down to only his shirt and boxers, the barrier between you finally feels thin.
In the dim light of the room, he looks reachable. He would almost feel safe if you weren't so paralyzed by the confusion of his actions.
"Why did you bring me here—"
"I just need you to rest, y/n"
"And you think I can? After everything that happened — everything I’ve said? Manjiro, we need to address this."
"We can, yeah? We can" he says, his voice low. "But let’s just rest first. You need it. We both need it, y/n."
He stands to approach you and you instinctively step back. A flash of pure hurt crosses his face when you retreat, but he continue reaching for your elbow. Maybe it's the exhaustion. Maybe it's the deep, aching want to just be held, to stop carrying all of this alone for one moment. Either way, you don't step back a second time. You let him pull you toward the bed.
He pulls you down, laying gently beside you. The proximity silences the frantic noise in your head, replaced only by the steady rhythm of his breathing. He wraps his arms around you like a vice, clinging to your body as he buries your face against the heat of his chest.
"Jiro." His name comes out muffled against his shirt, and you're almost grateful for the fabric between you.
Your voice has started to shake again. "I can't think anymore. I can't think about anything."
"Then don’t think. Just rest" he murmurs. You push slightly against him to look up, only to find him staring directly back at you.
"I'm not going to fall asleep and pretend none of this happened. We can't just—" The words die in your throat as fresh tears spill over.
A flicker of what looks like agonizing pain crosses Manjiro’s eyes. Seeing him look at you like this, a devastating thought takes hold: He’s doing this to compensate.
He’s holding you now because he knows he has to let you go later. This is the last kindness he can offer because he won't return your feelings, and what’s been said can never be unsaid.
So, you don't speak anymore. You just cry.
He pulls you closer, tucking your head under his chin to muffle your sobs. His hand moves in slow, soft caresses across your back, your waist, and your arms. He doesn't say another word and he just lets you weep.
He stays there as a silent anchor, listening to every broken sob and jagged breath as the night bleeds away. The weight of your grief and the heat of his body slowly drain the last of your strength, making your limbs feel like lead.
Just as the darkness of sleep begins to pull you under, you feel the ghost of lips against your forehead — a pressure so soft it feels like a dream.
"Just so you know" a raspy whisper brushes against your skin. "I’m not going anywhere. Not anymore."
The morning after is a montage of moments you can't quite grasp. You wake up in his bed, and the flashbacks of the night come crashing down with a force that almost sends you into a fresh panic, only for the air to settle the moment Manjiro re-enters the room.
The next thing you know, he is driving you home because you insisted on going. The drive is filled with nothing but silence, but every time Manjiro brakes, he quietly reaches for your hand. He doesn't look at you when he does it. He just finds your fingers with his, squeezing briefly before the light turns green.
But what seals everything into one big knot of confusion is the way Manjiro kisses your forehead as he leaves you at your door. It’s a kiss that lingers, so long and so heavy, that you can still feel the ghost of his warmth on your skin even after he pulls away.
And then he leaves without a word. There is no rejection, but there is no acknowledgment of the confession you made at the party, either. He just disappears back to his car, leaving you standing there with the weight of everything unsaid pressing against your chest.
You're not stupid enough to miss the shift in him. You know something changed. But the only thing stopping you from leaning into those more hopeful thoughts is the massive question mark still hanging over your head. Two terrifying possibilities and you're caught right in the middle of both.
Did Manjiro do all of this out of guilt — his way of softening the blow before he cuts you off? Or does he feel something too?
That doubt turns the full-blown panic of last night into a tight, suffocating knot of overthinking.
What does any of this mean?
And somehow that question leads you here, to your current predicament — lying in bed, checking your phone every few minutes, waiting for a message that may never come.
Would he text you? Or was that kiss on the forehead the end of it?
You wait and wait until the exhaustion of your own thoughts pulls you under without warning. You fall asleep without meaning to, and when you open your eyes again, the sun is already setting outside your window.
You rub your eyes and reach for your phone to check the time...and find three unopened notifications from him.
Fr. Jiro:
What are you doing?
Just took a break from training. You busy?
Can I come over to yours after my training?
Your heart suddenly remembers its existence. It starts to beat again, but it dances to a different rhythm this time. It’s no longer following the frantic steps of panic, instead, it moves to a slow, hopeful sway of excitement.
You:
sure
And as if he's been waiting on the other end this whole time, the reply comes immediately.
Fr. Jiro
I have something to tell you..
Also, I miss you.
Though your heart is still racing, the heavy weight of that massive question mark finally dissolves. It is replaced by a soft, blooming heat for the man you hope will finally answer your yearning and longing.
You barely have time to prepare yourself when you hear the revving of a motorcycle outside your house. It’s a sound you’ve heard a thousand times, but tonight, it makes your stomach flip in a way that’s entirely new. You don’t have to look outside to know that it’s him.
It doesn’t take long before you hear the steady knock on your door. You exhale, readying yourself for another night of facing Manjiro. You hope, god you hope, that all the silent pining, the wishful thinking, and the secrets whispered into the quiet are finally going to be answered, once and for all.
You pull the door open. There he is — the man who haunts every crevice of your mind, the one you secretly call "mine" every chance the quiet nights give you. Your best friend stands there, looking at you with a soft, knowing smile that feels both familiar and brand new.
"Hey," he says, his voice low and steady.
"Hey," you respond, the word catching slightly in your throat as you look at him.
"Can I come in?"
For years, Manjiro has drifted into your space without a second thought, inhabiting every corner of your life as if he belonged there by birthright. But this sudden hesitation, this soft request for permission, is the cue that the old rules no longer apply.
It is the beginning of something entirely new. And as the weight of the day’s anxiety begins to lift, you find yourself feeling lighter, though your heart still hammers a frantic rhythm against your ribs.
You don't answer and simply pull the door wide open. He pauses for a second and stares at you, then he finally steps inside.
He stands in the middle of your living room, eyes still lingering on you. You, on the other hand, avoid his gaze as you make a beeline toward the kitchen.
"Uh... have you had your dinner yet? I can coo—" You hear his soft footsteps following you as he calls your name.
"y/n."
You shut your eyes tightly, your back still facing him. You want to slap yourself for acting this way again, you really do. But you can't help the awkwardness that clings to you like a second skin.
There's no running anymore, though. Right? Please.
"Hmm?"
"Let's talk."
He utters the same words that ripped your heart apart the night he called you — but this time, you don't feel that same dread settling in your chest. What you feel instead is nothing but anticipation. Maybe it's the way he let those words slip out with a quiet, almost imploring tone, as if to say that this is not like that night. He wants to talk, but in a way that won't make you feel like you need to put yourself out of his reach again.
So with a gathered courage, you turn around and face him. You exhale.
"Okay. Let's talk."
Manjiro's expression remains calm as he begins.
"I heard it." His eyes search your face, catching for any small expression that might slip through.
You remain steady, even as you force down the tension rising in your chest from his words. You already knew it — but he had to lie because you yourself weren't ready to accept it. Hence the days of avoiding him. Yet hearing the truth come directly from his own mouth is an entirely different wave to weather.
"I heard it, y/n. All of it" Manjiro shifts his weight, his eyes never leaving yours. He looks as though he is physically weighing the next words to say.
But you beat him to it. Before he can find the right way to piece his thoughts together, you find your own voice. You don't let the silence stretch any longer. You throw the question at him, the one that has been burning in the back of your mind since the night of the party.
"Then why didn’t you say anything further than that? I know you had to lie because I couldn’t face you, and the truth. But why—"
The rest of the question dies in your throat, the air suddenly too thin to carry the words. Manjiro nods, his gaze softening as if he finally understands the tangled mess of your thoughts without you having to finish the sentence.
He takes a step closer, closing the gap as if the distance itself is a barrier to being understood. It is so different from the night of the party. That night, he was afraid to cross an invisible line, and you were in a blind panic at his proximity while you poured your heart out. But tonight, that fear is gone — replaced by a magnetic pull, a shared itch to be closer. And so you stay rooted to the spot, letting him enter your space.
"I couldn’t say anything more than that because I didn’t know what to tell you anymore that would not make you run away again," he confesses as his stares level yours. "I only brought up excuses to forget, if that’s what you wanted, because I don’t want you to run away anymore. That’s all it was."
His eyes search yours, looking for any sign of the flight instinct that usually takes hold of you. But for the first time, you aren't looking for the exit. You’re looking at him.
"But why… why don't you want me to avoid you?" The words come out sounding more like a flicker of hope than a real question.
"Why do you need me to stay close, when everything I’ve done shows that I no longer see you as… a friend?" You shakily inhale, feeling the lump rise in your throat. And as the silent seconds follow, the tears in your eyes start to well. "Why Manjiro?"
That is his cue. He cuts the little distance left between you, fully invading your space. He reaches out, his thumb catching the first stray tear as he caresses your cheek before finally letting his forehead fall against yours.
"Why do you think, baby?"
Hearing that endearment directly from his lips is the final blow to the charade you have both been maintaining. It is a single word that dissolves years of careful distance, revealing the raw truth of what you truly feel for each other.
"I’ve been a fucking idiot for a long time, y/n" He pulls away to stare down at you, as if he is memorizing every inch of your face, as if it were the first time he has been given a chance to look at you this closely.
In his abyss-colored irises, you are the only one reflected, from before until now.
"If only I focused on what you were feeling rather than focusing on mine… I should have known earlier. I should have told you sooner. I should have loved you more sooner."
Your heart finally beats in a way that doesn’t tell you to run away; instead, it pulsates with elation, a damn neon sign that tells you: finally.
The kitchen, with its humming fridge and dim light, feels like the safest place in the world. Manjiro’s hands are steady on your face, his thumbs wiping away the salt of your tears, and for the first time in your life, you don't feel like you have to find an exit. You are exactly where you belong. In his arms.
"I’m sorry it took me this long."
You immediately shake your head in disagreement, reaching up to cup the handsome face that you love so much. He closes his eyes, basking in the warmth of your hands, and then he says,
"But I’m here now."
And then he kisses you.
A sharp gasp leaves your throat as his lips press firmly against yours. For a heartbeat, you stay frozen, the shock of the contact vibrating through your chest. But as he begins to slowly move his lips, the tension in your shoulders finally dissipates.
You close your eyes. Your hands slide from his cheeks to wrap around his neck and pull him closer. You arch your back slightly, closing every inch of the gap between you and begin to move your lips in sync with his.
Manjiro’s hands tighten on your waist, his grip firm and grounding as he pulls you flush against him. You let out a shaky breath into the kiss, finally surrendering to the heat of him.
When he pulls back, he opens his eyes to gaze at your face, feeling his heart rate quicken at the sight of your dazed expression. He bites his lower lip before leaning in once more to press a few soft pecks to your lips. Then whispers against your mouth.
"Let me stay with you tonight"
It doesn't sound like a request despite the rasp in his voice, but more like a certainty. Like something already decided. And you know —you've always known, that there isn't a version of yourself that would ever turn him away.
The way your fingers are already curled tightly into his shirt is answer enough. But he waits patiently and gives you the space to say it.
So you look up at him. You hold his gaze. And you breathe.
"Please."
Manjiro doesn't waste another second. His arms sweep under you, lifting you off the floor in one fluid motion, and he moves toward your room with a certainty that makes your breath catch. The same room that once witnessed everything you ever did with him only in your mind.
And as he lays you down and hovers above you, you realize, this is the same room, the same mattress, and the same sheets that once held only your longing and your guilt and your secret.
But this time, your fatal fantasies are finally and irrevocably about to be real.
You feel it snap. You watch it fade in real time — the invisible line that once connected you to a world you built in your head, the one where you could have him all to yourself.
You would still believe this was a lie, another trick of your mind, if not for the way Manjiro is currently stealing the very breath from your lungs. If he had given you even a few more seconds before leaning down to snatch the air from your lips, you might have basked in the sweet reality of it. You might have finally processed that this isn't just another vision playing against the back of your eyelids.
But Manjiro doesn't give you time to think. His actions echo his words: he has waited long enough.
You both have.
And so, he effectively destroys the final thread of your imagination by kissing you roughly, his tongue sliding deep to explore the heat of your mouth. He devours the sound of your gasp, his tongue tangling with yours in a messy, desperate rhythm.
There is no such thing as reverie anymore. Not when your fingers thread through his hair to tug him closer, eliminating the space between you until you can feel the heavy press of him against your skin. You open your legs wider, finally accommodating the body you once prayed would ride you instead of his motorcycles. You lock your ankles behind him, tethering him to you, making sure he cannot pull away even if he wanted to.
Settling perfectly between your legs, Manjiro doesn’t waste a second. He grinds his groin hard against you, the sudden pressure punching a sharp whine from your lips. It is a fleeting relief from the restriction of his pants, but a delicious ache to your already pulsating heat.
Driven by a sudden spike of impatience, you grind back against him. Manjiro lets out a low, guttural groan and instantly breaks the kiss. He lifts his head just enough to stare directly into your eyes, his gaze dark and blown wide with raw hunger.
He bites his already red and swollen lower lip, his gaze roaming over your face and your body, taking in how completely undone you look beneath him. His left hand moves from your hair to your face, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek. You can’t help but let out a shaky sigh at the contact.
"Do you think everything you did in this room... everything you thought about... I can't make it happen?" His voice is raspy, quiet but tinted with confidence. It’s a challenge.
A shiver immediately runs down your spine as his gaze grows even darker. It is a telltale sign that he isn't going to hold back and whatever you imagined before, he is going to make the experience more and better.
Your hand shifts to caress his face, and he turns his head slightly to press a kiss into your palm. "Say it, y/n. I want to hear it from you."
"Make it happen, Jiro," you whisper, the words coming out breathless and desperate.
"Please, baby... do me."
He dives back into you, his mouth clashing against yours as if your air is the only thing keeping him alive. His left hand roams downward, sliding from your cheek to the curve of your neck before dropping to the swell of your chest. He catches you in a firm, desperate squeeze.
A sharp moan escapes your lips as Manjiro continues kneading your clothed breast, his palm heavy and insistent. His kisses shift from your lips to your cheek, trailing down the line of your jaw until he buries his face in the crook of your neck. He focuses his mouth there, his teeth grazing your skin as he marks you.
The temperature rises as Manjiro continues his ministrations, and you are helplessly responsive. You arch your back to meet his lower body, trying to grind against him again, but Manjiro pins you down with the full weight of his frame.
"J-Jiro..." you whine, the sound trapped between your teeth.
You feel Manjiro smile against your skin. He lifts his head to look at your face, stealing one more kiss before trailing his mouth down your chest. Even through the fabric of your clothes, the heat radiating between you is suffocating.
Manjiro’s hand slides beneath your shirt, his fingers roaming with practiced intent until he finds the lock of your bra. He unclasps it with a sharp click. Moving with a sudden surge of energy, he lifts himself up to pull both your shirt and bra over your head. Once you’re undressed, he goes silent, his gaze burning as he stares at your naked body.
The one who had haunted his dreams as well.
You have no time to be embarrassed, not when you feel the painful throbbing between your thighs. You are pulsating with a desire that only Manjiro can ease, and your body aches for him to finally focus his attention lower. But he isn't in a hurry; he is in a trance of his own, as if it would be a sin not to give every part of you the appreciation it deserves.
He starts with your breasts, massaging the weight of them as if he has done it a thousand times before. You arch your body further, offering yourself to him, and he crouches down to meet you. Manjiro sucks your left nipple, and you let out a sharp whimper at the sudden, wet heat of his tongue circling the tip. Your hands immediately fly to his hair, fingers tangling in the strands to pull him even closer, pinning him to your chest. His right hand finds your other breast, molding and squeezing the flesh at a pace that matches the rhythmic pull of his mouth.
"Jiro—ah!"
He gives your nipple an experimental tug with his teeth, sending a jolt of electricity straight to your core before he shifts his attention to the right, giving it the same ruthless treatment. You keep squirming beneath him, but Manjiro doesn’t allow an inch of space between his mouth and your chest; he buries his face deeper, sucking and biting and licking at you as if he can’t get enough of the taste.
Manjiro finally lifts his head to look at you. You are breathless and damp with sweat from the ministrations he just performed. He licks his lower lip, taking in your completely fucked-out expression.
"Baby, you’re not getting exhausted on me, right? At least, not yet."
He smirks when you can’t find your voice to answer him. You can only whine as your hands reach for your own chest, massaging your skin right in front of him in a desperate attempt to ease the ache.
"Please, Jiro... please..."
Something raw and predatory settles in Manjiro’s eyes. The second your hands paw at his shirt, he’s already stripping it off, ripping the fabric over his head and throwing it to the floor. He doesn’t wait for you to ask about his pants, he rids himself of them in one fluid motion while his gaze never leaving yours. You follow suit, kicking off your shorts too.
Manjiro settles between your thighs again, leaning down for one brief, bruising kiss before he starts his descent. His hands stay busy, roaming and squeezing your curves as he moves. You brace yourself, your breath hitching as you watch him trail kisses down the valley of your breasts, over the sensitive skin of your stomach, and finally to the place where you need him most.
You’re still wearing your underwear, but Manjiro can already smell the sweet scent of your arousal. He doesn't waste another second. He presses his mouth directly against the fabric, sucking the sensitive nub of your clit through your panties. The initial contact sends a shock through you — your head falls back, eyes rolling as a ragged gasp escapes you.
"You have no idea what I would have given just to have you like this."
His words make your head spin, but he doesn't give you a moment to recover. Manjiro hooks his fingers into the edge of your underwear, pulling the lace aside to dive in. His tongue finally meets your wet, gushing pussy, tasting you for the very first time.
You swear you see lights flashing behind your eyelids as you throw your head back. You start babbling, the sounds of pleasure incoherent as you feel his tongue continuously swiping between your puffy lips. The sensation makes your toes curl and you close your legs unconsciously, but Manjiro doesn’t let you. He holds your thighs firmly, his grip bruising as he slots his head further between them. He forces you open, giving you no chance to hide from him as he continues his relentless assault.
The pleasure he’s giving you is becoming overwhelming, but he is nowhere near finished, not when he can feel you getting wetter and slicker against his tongue by the second. His eyes lift from your pussy to look at you and watches you squirm as you moan his name. He can’t help the surge of pride. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you. He knows he’s making you feel incredible, and he’s savoring every frantic move you make.
"Jiro—baby! Ah… nghh… please"
Manjiro pulls away just enough to slide a finger inside you. He bites his lower lip the moment he enters, his expression tightening when he feels your walls instantly clench around him. It gives you another sensation to scream about and if you thought you were the only one electrified by the pleasure, you were wrong. Manjiro is already humping against the mattress, a low groan vibrating in his throat as he finger fucks you while sucking your clit.
"Fuck… I could stay down here for hours," he rasps. He gives you a hard, demanding suck followed by a slow lick, all while his finger relentlessly pumps in and out of you. "Tastes like a fucking dream, if you ask me."
The pleasure is so overwhelming that you don’t know whether to hold on tight until you cum or push Manjiro’s head away because it’s simply too much. But you know yourself, that if you push him away now, you’ll definitely cry. You make a conscious decision to reach for Manjiro’s head, your fingers tangling in his hair to bury him deeper against you. You start to grind small, desperate circles against his mouth, forcing the stimulation even further.
Manjiro lets out a guttural sound against your skin. He continues to swipe his tongue against you until you scream the moment his finger hits that one particular spot. You start to shake, your entire body vibrating with the force of it.
"Ah—Jiro, yes... right there... r-right there—"
Manjiro doesn’t waver. He lets his finger hit that spot again and again, coaxing scream after scream from your throat until the shaking turns into a violent tremor. He knows you’re about to break. Your breath comes in shallow, ragged pants; your vision blurs and your toes curl so tight they feel like they might snap. Then, with one final, deep curl of his finger and an insistent swirl of his tongue, you scream.
Manjiro drinks you in through the spasming, holding you open until your body finally goes limp against the mattress. Once you’ve settled, he begins his slow ascent, kissing his way back up your body until he reaches your face. He peppers your face with soft, loving kisses, his hands now gentle as they stroke your hair.
Your eyes slowly flutter open to see him. Half of his face is drenched, and his jet-black tresses are messy, but his eyes have lost their predatory edge, replaced by a familiar, heavy softness.
"You tired now, baby?"
You push yourself up and kiss him, tasting yourself on his mouth. He kisses you back with the same intensity, only stopping when he feels your hand creep between his thighs. He raises an eyebrow at you as you start palming him through his boxers.
"Not yet. Not when you still have this to give me" you say, your voice raspy from all the screaming. You wouldn't mind letting out a few more cries if it meant Manjiro giving you this one last piece — the last thing he has to give to be fully and completely yours.
Manjiro removes his boxers immediately, his cock springing free from the confinement. He gives himself a slow stroke, staring down at you as you discard your panties and start playing with your pussy.
If Manjiro doesn’t have enough strength, the sight of you, so raw and so goddamn beautiful, might make his knees buckle. If you ever thought Manjiro’s best look was the one he wore after a race, you were wrong. He is the prettiest when he’s above you like this: strong, handsome, and unruly.
And if the world suddenly reverses and forces you to return to the moments where you had to hide and keep everything in, you’re willing to go through all of it again, as long as you’re promised to end exactly where you are now: underneath him, with only his eyes on you.
Bracing his weight on his forearms, he leans down to press his forehead against yours, and you instantly wrap your arms around his neck. He reaches down, his hands steady as he finds the place where you meet. With slow, unwavering pressure, he guides his length into you. You let out a sharp gasp as you feel the slow, heavy breach of the entrance, but neither of you looks away. Manjiro doesn’t rush, despite the heavenly sensation starting to cloud his mind. He wants to feel the pulsing, delicious clench of your walls as he ensures you feel every agonizingly slow inch while he slides deep inside.
You know that when he finally pours everything he has into you, he is in this for the long haul. No more fantasizing. No more imagining. No more looking from afar.
He is yours, from the beginning until however long you want him.
Manjiro kisses your forehead, your nose, and your lips. Against your mouth, he whispers the words that were once allowed only in your mind:
"I love you."
Then, he finally sinks himself fully inside you.
The roar of cheers erupts all over the circuit as the blurring streaks of motorcycles blast through the final lap. As much as you want to close your eyes and pray, the deafening noise is impossible to ignore, and this is not the time to miss the chance to see who reaches the checkered flag first.
The only thing you can do is clasp your hands tightly, your eyes glued to the large display screens that show the play-by-play. It shows that it isn't just one person pulling ahead; there are several frontrunners driving at the same punishing pace. Your heart thumps and nervousness rises when you catch a glimpse of the familiar red and black bike banking to increase its speed, trying to outdrive the motorcycles beside it. It’s the championship race, and everyone knows a win here is a step toward becoming undefeated — a chance to conquer the world.
But you’re not mostly worried about whether Manjiro wins this race, it’s the fact that he’s using critical techniques and pushing his bike to its absolute limit. The risk of an accident is what makes your stomach lodge in your throat.
You can’t help but pry your eyes away from the LED for a second, unable to handle the anxiety that eats at you. But that one second of missing the run is what makes the blonde girl beside you holler. Emma screams at the top of her lungs and starts jumping, pointing at the large screen.
"Mikey! Mikey!"
Your eyes immediately return to the screen to see Manjiro pushing ahead at a terrifying speed — a predatory surge that leaves the other motorcycles behind to eat his smoke. You and Emma face each other and scream in unison, your voices blending with the frantic spectators. Your nervousness instantly fades, replaced by pride as the commentators rain praise down on the crowd’s favorite.
"And look at the inside line! The red and black is screaming through turn four! Sano Manjiro isn't just riding, he’s hunting! He’s pulling away from the pack like they’re standing still — nobody can match that pace, and there it is! There it is!"
The crowd becomes a singular, deafening wave of sound when he crosses the line.
First.
The world seems to blur for a second, the roar of the engines replaced by the sound of your own jagged breathing as the reality sinks in.
"Undefeated! Untouchable! The king of the race track has reclaimed his throne! Sano Manjiro! What a performance!"
You and Emma exchange a tight embrace, both of you shedding tears from the overwhelming excitement. When you pull apart, you pause to watch the screen as Manjiro hops off his motorcycle. The crowd doesn’t falter, erupting further when the camera zooms in on his face. Your heart remains relentless as you watch Manjiro remove his helmet, a knowing smile playing on his lips. He turns the helmet in his hands, pressing a lingering kiss directly to the elegant, bold letters painted on the side before holding it high toward the sky. The camera follows the movement, focusing on the gear to reveal the painted letters Manjiro just kissed.
You cover your mouth in shock, eyes brimming with tears.
It’s your name.
In his helmet, like a victory charm to kiss and raise after a win, and for thousands of people to see.
You don’t have to turn to Emma to see her smiling wildly. You don’t have to hear the questions rising from the crowd, wondering who he dedicated this win to. You don’t even have to watch the screen to see Manjiro being lifted up, his hand still holding the helmet with your name on it high above the world.
You only need to listen to your heart as it screams one thing:
