synopsis ✰ with an itching craving at the back of your mind, you hit up your dealer after months of no contact. The problem? The only dealer you know is your Ex-boyfriend, Hanma.
genre ✰ 18+, weed, smut, MDNI
word count ✰ 9k
content warnings ✰ female reader, aged up characters, hanma is a horny bastard, & your ex bf, drugs (weed), smoking, shotgunning, high/intoxicated s3x (unprotected ptv, fem f*ngering, hanma is a lil mean (soft & mean pet names), mating press, pull out method, light choking.)
authors note ✰ i haven't posted writing in ages pls forgive me TT. but this has been my wip for several weeks now and ive recently had the time to sit down & properly edit it lol. im happy with how it turned out! ty @/utahimeow and @/shinachiro for beta you guys saved me <3 enjoy!! don't forget to let me know if you liked it :) 💕
You [10:23PM]
> Hanma?
It feels like you’re swimming in a pool of shame as you grip your phone tighter. In all honesty, you would have never thought it would come down to this. You look up, staring blankly at the laptop screen in front of you, sore eyes glazing over in dizziness at the jumbled words and documents.
The night had been long, draining you of every last drop of energy until your eyes burned and muscles ached. Your back is stiff and your shoulders sore after the countless hours spent sitting on your dining table writing your midterm paper. And what does fatigue do to a person? It makes them do very, very stupid things.
With your back slouched and head lazily thrown back, you called it a night. But there was an itch at the back of your mind—one you could not decipher at first. It felt like a deep seeded craving for something that you hadn’t tasted in months.
Through the sleepy haze, it finally hits you. You know just the thing you might need.Your fingers move quicker than your mind can process, and even though you knew there was something very wrong about clicking on your ex-boyfriends contact, you didn’t do anything to stop yourself.
Maybe it was a mistake, a lapse in judgment, but the pang that you felt in your chest as soon as you clicked on the shared chat and saw your old messages between him couldn’t have been ignored. Still, it wasn’t enough to change your already made up mind.
This was a bad idea. But there was nothing else you could’ve done. It’s not like you know any other dealer that you’d be comfortable with. At least you know that your Ex can be trusted— even if begrudgingly so. He wasn’t the best option, but he was the only option. And at this point you were beyond desperate for relief.
So that’s what brought you here. Your phone dings with a notification from Hanma, and your heart skips a beat with excitement that you’re all too familiar with—butterflies bubble in your belly.
It feels so wrong, but so right at the same time.
DO NOT ANSWER‼️ [10:27PM]
> oh?
> look who decided to reach out
His response makes you grit your teeth — acting like nothing happened between you two and being overly casual. But then again, who would Hanma be if not casual and irritating? He won’t let you live this down, ever. Dangling it over your head like a student bullying his classmate, Hanma will never let go of this. Texting him first? It's like handing him the victory trophy without him accomplishing anything.
You [10:30PM]
> i don’t wanna hear it
> it’s been a long night for me
You tuck your head in your hands, groaning like it physically pains you. If there’s one thing you’re sure about Hanma, it’s that he’s the ultimate definition of insufferable.
You remind yourself that there is no other safer option you could go with, and so you swallow down the bitterness of the shame in your throat. Instantly, as if sensing your pitiful attempt at getting rid of your own humiliation, your phone buzzes with another text.
DO NOT ANSWER‼️ [10:32PM]
> aw baby’s tired :(
You could almost hear the teasing tone of his honeyed voice through the screen.
DO NOT ANSWER‼️ [10:32PM]
> what does baby need
The pet name boils frustration inside of you. And before you could think twice, your fingers move swiftly over the keyboard on your screen.
You [10:32PM]
> don’t call me that.
DO NOT ANSWER‼️ [10:33PM]
> what are you gonna do about it
You [10:33PM]
> shut up
DO NOT ANSWER‼️ [10:33PM]
> answer the q
His response comes quick, like he had been waiting for your text back. Suppressing the unexpected giddiness inside you, you bite the inside of your cheek. Remembering how impatient he used to be whenever he waited for a response, you decide to wait a few seconds before answering.
You [10:34PM]
> if you have anything on u right now,,,
> n ur nearby
> could you drop some off?
As if the room has dropped several degrees in temperature, you shiver in your seat, tugging the sleeves of your sweater down and hugging yourself. There was really only one thing you wanted from him, the reason you even texted him in the first place, and you hope this would go by quickly so the both of you can move on with your lives and pretend it never happened.
-
On the other side of the screen, Hanma giggles.
He sits in his parked car, hunched over the steering wheel and holding his phone in one hand.
There’s a lot of unpredictable shit that can happen anytime in Hanma’s life. Being a delinquent, and also actively avoiding the police, he expects anything at this point. Hell, he could even get jumped by a group of teenagers—stupid enough to test him—and that still wouldn’t phase him.
But what he didn’t expect is to receive a text from you tonight.
It threw him completely off guard. Even with half the people in his phone muted, he still left your chat notifications on after the initial split. The itching feeling that you may need him at some point stayed at the back of his mind. He’d never admit that though.
It wasn’t a harsh breakup. There was no arguing, yelling, or anything of that sort. Yes, it hurt like a bitch, he won’t deny. Hanma wanted you in his life more than anything, but deep down he understood when you told him you couldn’t handle it anymore. He could never say it, but he left a piece of himself at your apartment that night.
He sat there and listened to you as you talked through your tears, telling him how you loved him like you’ve never loved anyone, but there is only so much a person could handle. He remembers the late nights where you would stay up, worrying whether he’d be safe or not; knowing there could be a possibility that he’s out there either laying dead or getting shot kept you up at night. The anxiety wouldn't let you sleep, or eat, or function properly — and you were willing to suffer through it regardless, because you loved him.
But apparently to you – enough was enough. And you called it quits right after he shows up at your doorstep all beaten and bruised at three in the morning. Like a tight rope that had already been on its last strands, you snapped. You sat him down and told him it was over.
He doesn't remember much after that—still had been shocked at the way you reacted so quickly. But in a fit of burning anger and confusion, he ended up beating the first group of boys he found until their heads were battered on the sidewalk.
In other words, he did not take it well. But you don’t need to know any of that.
Hanma looks down at his cracked phone screen, huffing under his breath.
DO NOT ANSWER‼️ [10:35PM]
> i thought you said you were gonna quit
–after we broke up, he wanted to add, but the words don’t ever make it across the screen to you.
You [10:35PM]
> it’s none of ur business
He furrows his brows dumbly.
DO NOT ANSWER‼️ [10:35PM]
> yes it is
You [10:35PM]
> ur not my dad
DO NOT ANSWER‼️ [10:35PM]
> u sure ;)
A hint of a smile on his lips, Hanma remembers how easy it was to play around and get you all hot and bothered. If there was one thing he loved the most—it was to purposely push your buttons; seeing the way you react to him has always been amusing.
You [10:35PM]
> i’m gonna kill you
> just tell me if u can drop by or not.
DO NOT ANSWER‼️ [10:36PM]
> well that’s new
> you never smoke alone
You [10:36PM]
> and? i wanna now
The back and forth between you two makes excitement bubble inside him. This is one of the many things he liked most about you—you’d never shy down from bantering. You’re still as stubborn as always; he laughs to himself.
DO NOT ANSWER‼️ [10:36PM]
> a bit busy right now
> but i’ll make time for you, princess
Hanma looks up from his phone to peer outside his window at the empty parking lot. Yeah, so busy.
He scoffs lightly at how you two immediately go back to texting like you used to. As if nothing had happened. He can’t say he’s mad about it though.
You [10:36PM]
> k
> and don’t call me that
DO NOT ANSWER‼️ [10:36PM]
> sure, sure whatever you want ♡
An unexpected occurrence on this dull night.
Well, not so dull anymore. There’s a sick sense of adrenaline pumping through his veins as he makes his way to an apartment that he knows like the back of his hand.
What do you do when your ex-girlfriend texts?
You answer.
-
If you keep circling your living room like this, you think you might pass out. As if it was instant, your heart rate shot up too quickly at his last message. A cold sweat beads at your temples, and the tight cotton shirt you wear starts to cling uncomfortably to your sticky skin.
Oh, God. What’ve you done?
The weight of your actions finally dawn on you, and you stand, dumbfounded, with a hand clasped over your mouth in the middle of your living room.
There are people who would do things like this while intoxicated, or during an emergency — but, here you are, completely sober and fine, except that it only took a simple craving in the midst of night for you to text him. If you could. You’d punch yourself for being so stupid; and for breaking your ‘no contact after the breakup’ rule.
This was a bad idea. This is terrible. And there's no way you could take it back now.
What is done is done, you figure, slumping back into the cushions of your worn out couch. There's not much to do now, as he might as well be on his way here. Even if you promised yourself that you’d never let him back into your apartment ever again, you still caved in, and the anxiety nauseates you to no extent.
If he weren't a cocky bastard, you think it would make the situation a tiny bit better. But who is Hanma Shuji if not exactly that? That being said, his cockiness will be unavoidable once you finally face him.You know him too well, he'd never let you get over this—get over how you reached out first.
Being on the receiving end of his smugness always has you gritting your teeth and biting back your words. He always knows precisely what to say to get a person going, rubbing it in their face, pushing buttons he knows are off-limits, and brushing over sore bruises like it's nothing to him. Once, back when the two of you were still together, sitting right here on this exact couch, you turned to him, and told him jokingly that he’d be nothing without his egotism and pride. That statement still stands till this day.
You’re snapped out of your trance by the buzzing of your phone with another text. Shivers are sent down your spine and your stomach flips on itself, you don't even need to check the text to know exactly what he’s sent you.
DO NOT ANSWER!! [10:51PM]
> open your door
Straight to the point, like he’s always been.
Your legs feel shaky and weak as you walk to your door, pausing for a moment to really accept the fact that you did this to yourself. Sighing deeply, you wonder why you ever put yourself in situations like this.
The door is swung open, and immediately, your heart flips in your chest, beating erratically within the boundaries of your ribcage.
Hanma wears a bored look on his face, a slight smirk plastered on his lips.
“You don’t look very tired to me.” his eyes scan you up and down, analyzing every bit and taking you all in.
You grit your teeth, “seriously? No hi? Hello?”
He waves you off, smiling as he rests his forearm on your door, “I think we’re past all that.”
“No, we’re not, actually.” your grip on the door tightens.
“Yeah, yeah, okay. So you gonna let me in already or what?” His hair falls in straight strands at each side of his face, and it looks like he’s grown it out a little bit since you’ve last seen each other. You resist the urge to run your fingers through them – and internally, you cringe at the fact that he still dyes the two front strands blonde.
“Um, no…”
He furrows his brows, “why not?”
You stare him dead in the eyes. “Are you serious?”
“Of course, I am, c’mon just lemme in,” he moves as if he wants to push your door open, but you stop him before he could take another step.
“No! Hanma, get out of the way.” You almost get to slam the door back in place before it’s suddenly being ripped away in the other direction.
“Nah, c’mon. Who the the fuck is Hanma, baby?” He drawls, face nearing yours with his signature smile, “you know what I like you to call me.”
You furrow your brows, staring him down while rooted in your place. You won’t let him get his way.
“We’re not together anymore.” You simply say. “I think it’s best if we stay formal.”
In the corner of your eye, you think you see the harsh grip he has on the top of the door frame tighten. Large hands tensing around the worn-out wood and veins bulging out.
He pretends to think, tilting his face up and pouting his lip, “Fine, fine. But—”
“No buts!”
“Nuh-uh. My weed, my rules.” he smirks, and you wish you could slap that dumb smile right off his face. Still, your heartstrings tug at the familiar look in his eyes, and you start to feel a sense of comfort bubble inside you.
You throw your head back and groan. As much as it feels nice to talk to him again like this; you still really need the high right now, your patience is wearing thin.
“What do you want?”
“No need to look so bummed out,” he brightens, slouching over you and resting his elbow on the doorframe, “I’ll give you the weed, pre-rolled too, only ‘cause I care about ya’.”
“Huh, sure, okay,” You raise your eyebrows sarcastically.
His smile drops. “I’m not kidding.”
Your face flushes, and you bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from reacting. “J-just, hurry up.”
“Under one condition…” he continues, dangling the little clear baggie in front of your face as he would to a dog with treats, teasing you. There’s a few beats of silence as you wait for him to finish. The two of you don’t break eye contact, and you’re left eagerly waiting while staring into the golden flecks of his eyes.
“…I get to smoke the first one with you.”
Your jaw drops at his audacity.
“Absolutely not.” You cross your arms.
There is no way you will let him easily walk into your life after what he did to you. He’s trying to ease himself back in, slowly sweet mouth you until you give in to his teasing and welcome him with open arms.
Not after all the shit he put you through last time. There’s a reason why you two broke up, and you will not humiliate your past self like this by letting him get his way.
He stares down at you, hard. Golden eyes glinting in the fluorescent lights of the corridor. His jaw tenses though he tries to hide it with a nonchalant hum, “That’s too bad then..”
As soon as he tucks the baggie back into his pocket, you can feel your body reacting quicker than your mind can stop it, and you jump in half-surprise and grab his wrist before he can fully retreat.
“Wait! No no no no,” you wave your arms around in the air, not expecting him to be so serious about
“Oh?”
“That’s not fair, y’know,” you pout instinctively, and his eyes follow the movement, “why can't I just pay you, and you be on your way?”
He smirks, eyes half lidded, “Now why would I do that?”
“‘cause that’s how a deal works.”
He laughs lightly, tilting his head and mocking you, you’re telling him this as if he doesn’t deal with drugs everyday, “yeah? ‘n what would you know about deals, huh, baby?”
“First of all,” you click your tongue, raising an accusing finger at him, “don’t call me that,”
“Sure, princess–”
“Hanma!”
“Go on.” He waves you off, if anything, he finds this whole encounter amusing—can't help but smile at your naivety.
“Second,” your pointer finger presses against his sturdy chest, even when you add pressure, he still stands as still as a statue–and his eyes never leave yours, “I know enough about deals, thanks to you.”
“Ah,” he raises his eyebrows, “really now?
“Yeah,” you nod your head, feeling confident in your answer and what you’re about to say next, “so, I think you should just let me pay you, and then leave.”
The silence from earlier is back. You think the inside of your cheek is sore because of how much you’ve been toying it out of anxiety. It is exactly moments like these — ones where he leaves your words hanging in the air, as if to give you time to rethink and start doubting yourself — that have you fidgeting with your fingers and lightheaded.
He breathes, almost sighing as his eyes make their way back to your face.
“I’ve never met someone as stubborn as you.”
“Well, clearly you don’t know yourself well enough.” you clap back.
He moves away from the door, letting go and taking a few steps back as if he’s getting ready to leave, “‘guess you don’t want it bad enough then.”
“No, c’mon–”
“Listen,” he cuts you off, and you look up only to see nothing but sincerity in his eyes, almost as if there’s a hint of nostalgia mixed with pain behind them; you almost melt, “It’d be fun, no? For old times sake.”
“Plus, it's kinda cold out here, baby. You gonna let me in already?”
You sigh, defeated, and your heart churns in your chest. You’ll only feel worse about this situation tomorrow, and the scars that have finally started healing over will start to bleed once again. Yet, you still can't find it in yourself to completely deny both of you the company.
One time wouldn't hurt.
Just one time.
“Fine.” you finally say, and his signature grin is back on his face. “We’re smoking one, only one, and then you’re out.”
“Sure, sure.” he waves you off, but it doesn't convince you. The door is pushed open and you move to the side to let him in, silently glaring daggers at the back of his head when he places his shoes the same place he always does.
He moves like he owns the damn place, and you can’t help but scowl at how the familiarity takes over. All signs of a breakup disappear when he flops his lanky body on your couch, legs spread wide open and inviting. Sometimes you forget how big Hanma really is.
Naturally, you sit next to him, making sure to leave a good amount of space between the two of you—it's not like you should be getting comfortable anyway.
No words are exchanged as he pulls the joint from the clear plastic bag, and oh, you could almost salviate at the sight of it. Now that it's in front of you, the craving for the high felt a hundred times more intense. Hanma notices the dumb look on your face, the same one that’s been engraved in his mind, one that makes your eyes grow big and needy with your mouth slightly agape. Reminders of hot and dirty nights flash in his mind; and his dick twitches involuntarily in his pants.
“Eager, are we?” he smirks.
“Shut up,” you furrow your brows, crossing your arms over your chest, a smile creeping on your face, “it's just been too long.”
He hums like he understands, pulling a lighter out from his pocket, the movement ingrained in his subconscious. Hanma thinks he could light one up in his sleep, letting the muscle memory take over for him.
The flame hovers over the end of the joint, lighting it, and Hanma is quick to bring it straight to his lips–not bothering to ask if you wanted to take the first hit. Smoke fills the air around him as he breathes in, letting it fill the emptiness in his lungs, but never the emptiness that sits in his heart.
Wordlessly, you stick your hand to him, nudging the side of his thigh as if to signal him to pass it to you. Relief floods you wave after wave, the intoxication feels delicious. The first few hits are the best, you think, mind and body fresh before it's numbed in seconds. You slump back in your seat, eyes glazing over with a haze, and pass it back to him.
The silence is comfortable, and you feel your body loosen up and get lighter. As if your mind has been stuffed with cotton, your surroundings are hazy. The smoke makes your lungs feel heavy and full, and your body lazes back into the couch.
Suddenly you're thrown back in time to the summer days where the two of you would just sit here, enjoying eachothers company while smoking one joint after the other. The nostalgia makes your head ache, you can’t even lie and say you don’t miss it.
Lazily, you turn your head to the side to look at Hanma, who rests the joint between his veiny fingers. He doesn't notice your eyes at first, probably too caught up with the effects of his high. Taking advantage of it, you shamelessly trace the outlines of his side profile—his sharp nose, his lashes that brush against his cheek when he blinks, tousled hair brushing over his lazy eyes. You swallow the heaviness in your mouth, and squeeze your thighs together.
Your eyes follow his every move—the way he brings the joint to his parted lips, the way his throat and chest move with every inhale, the way his golden eyes are half lidded and lazy. You move before you can think, and inch your body closer to his, softly grabbing his wrist where it rests on his thigh, bringing it to your own lips and taking a drag.
Hanma bites his tongue to keep himself from saying anything, but he can’t help himself as he lets his curious eyes drink up the way your dewy lips wrap around the joint. Your eyes snap up from where they had trailed down, and meet his own. With your faces mere inches apart, he holds direct contact with you as you slowly blow the smoke out. It's not meant to be so suggestive, so enticing, but Hanma’s thoughts run wild at the act.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” He says, voice low with a ghost of a smile on his lips.
You shy away from his burning gaze, “l-like that! Don’t do that, Shu’.”
The nickname comes out freely, instinctively, and you don’t hide the shock on your face.
“Shu’, huh?”
“Stop it,” you giggle, swatting his face away. Heat crawls up your neck, all the way to your ears, and you fidget with the inside of your cheek.
His hand sneaks up the nape of your neck, and you freeze, large palm holding you in place so you have no choice but to look at him straight. He kneads the warm skin, skilled fingers massaging the ache formed over time.
You swallow your nervousness down, and try to ignore the stickiness in your panties. The heat is overwhelming—he is overwhelming, always has been. And there's nothing you can do to escape him. The haziness from the high makes it seem like he’s taking up all the space around you, like he’s demanding your attention. You can’t even lie and say you’re mad about it.
So you let him do as he pleases, only for a little while, you promise yourself. It's nothing. This is nothing. Really. He’s going to leave soon, anyway.
He takes another hit of the joint, and you follow the movement. Next thing you know, he’s pulling you towards him, you let the familiarity take over and your lips part willingly, expecting him to meet you halfway. His other hand grips you by the chin—and you feel caged, feel controlled like putty in his hands—tilting your face up so his parted lips can meet yours.
This isn't even the first time you’ve shotgunned with him–but it definitely feels like it. Your body relaxes in his hold, all hesitation leaves your body as you eagerly receive the smoke from his mouth to yours.
Hanma eats your reaction up like a starved man. It has been way too long—too long since he’s seen you. Maybe it was the weed talking, but missing you was an understatement. The anger that he’s harbored, not for you, was always thrumming through his veins ever since the breakup. He felt as if there’s always been something missing ever since you left. Like a gaping void in his chest that cannot be filled.
Your absence could never be filled; replaced. And your shadows lingered like intruders in his home for weeks upon weeks.
But now that you're back in his hold, back right into his grasp. He won’t let you go. Not again.
Your hand travels up his sturdy body—starting from his torso, sneaking it under his shirt to feel up the ridges of his abs, up his muscled chest and straight into his hair. All doubt is thrown out the window as you lazily dip your tongue into his mouth, and he receives it eagerly—reciprocating with as much need as you. The hold he has on your chin tightens slightly, guiding you even deeper into his mouth and demanding control.
You’ll let yourself enjoy it. Just this time. It won’t happen again.
Hanma lets you do as you please, he lets your hands wander all over the body you know way too well. He’s a map all for you to read. But a map that’ll get you nowhere because every destination ends with him. Internally, he giggles to himself, because he knows that once your head is up in the clouds, there’s no barrier or filter to you. You act with no hesitation or second thought. Your body does all the talking—and he can read it easily like it's an open book.
You pull away with a pop, and gasp for air.
In your intoxicated state, you look at him dumbly as you scan the features of his face. You don't bother with being subtle, all the thoughts in your brain are clouded and glazed over.
Your eyes travel to where his soft, swollen lips are, and you swallow down the urge to kiss him for a second time. The hand that was resting at the back of his head and tangled with his hair moves so your thumb brushes lightly over the mixed saliva on his lips.
And the entire time, your eyes never leave his face. Shuji sees all of it, he watches intently. His patience is wearing thin; to be fair, he thinks he never has had any at all to begin with. But he knows too well that he can’t ignore the way his achy cock strains against the confines of his jeans.
You sigh, pouting subconsciously as you slump right into his chest, making a home for yourself in his arms.
“You're– you're too nice to me, Shuji.” you stumble over your words.
“Oh, really?”
You hum, “you spoil me sometimes.”
“How come?” his own tongue feels heavy in his mouth, and his mind reacts slower to your words. He pets the back of your head encouragingly, urging you to keep talking.
“Dunno,” you sigh into his neck, the heat is enticing, sending shivers down his entire body—the sound of your dreamy voice mixed in with the high makes everything ten times more intense.. “Jus’ too nice t’me, sometimes,”
“Sometimes…” he tastes the words in his mouth, repeating yours.
Again, you respond with a hum that could just be mistaken for a sigh. With your cheek smushed against his chest, you can't really see any of his reactions. You’re left to recognize him by tone only.
Your hands still fidget and trail over his torso, shamelessly rubbing all over him, with your body pressed tight against him. There’s no room to move, to itch, to think at this point, he willingly lets your crowd his space as if the two of you aren’t even exes. As if the both of you didn’t break up not even a few months ago. Here, you sit, finding comfort in eachothers arms like you used to—and no one has enough balls to say something about it.
If it could, the familiarity would eat Hanma alive. This all seems too much for him. He doesn't know what he’d do if you cut him out of your life for a second time, but he knows he won’t take it well. There’s no point in being here when you’re going to wake up tomorrow as strangers and pretend this night never even happened.
He doesn't know why he doesn't just up and leave. He could, if he really wanted to. But the warmth of your body keeps him rooted in his place. He doesn't dare move, or leave even because your presence is too intoxicating, especially after all this time apart; he can't get enough of you.
You have him in a tight loop around your finger, he hates to admit. It feels like an out of body experience with the way you’re reaching and finding solace in his arms. It feels so wrong, but he doesn't dare move.
He’s not even trying to be subtle at this point, his hand moves from where it was stroking the back of your head, down to your waist and almost over the curve of your ass. It feels so hot under his touch as he caresses over your clothes, feeling you up all over, drinking in the way you squirm deliciously on his side.
Your hands clutch onto the front of his shirt, and he can hear the way your breaths come out in impatient, labored pants. He knows you too well, he knows how your body is feeling right now, he recognizes the way you start to get needy and clingy. And so he’s not surprised when you don't protest against him when he slips his hand under the waistband of your pants.
He smirks at the way you accommodate your body so it's laying impossibly closer to his side—because this gives him exactly the green light that he needs to keep going. He doesn't need your words to understand exactly what you want, your actions will say more than enough. With one arm looped around your waist and now to your front, the crown of your head is in line with his chin, making it easier for him to just peek right over you. Giving him full access, a perfect view.
The searing heat in your core at the first contact has Hanma swearing under his breath. He touches you over the thin fabric of your panties, the wetness seeps into the cloth in a little spot, and he circles his middle finger a few times around the outside of it, savoring the way the stickiness clings to his fingers.
A long, satisfied sigh leaves your lips right away. Eagerly, you buck your hips up slightly to get even more from him, to feel more of his fingers and Hanma complies. He adds pressure straight to your clit, because how could he say no to you? He couldn’t — at least not right now. Plus, he doesn't want to deny himself the sight of you falling apart on his fingers either.
“S-shuji…” You hum his name under your breath. You try to turn your head to see his face, to bury your own into his neck, but the angle is awkward, and the frustration builds inside you. Your shoulder aches as you try your best to find a comfortable position. But after a few minutes and no solution, you decide you’ve had enough, and move.
The sound of your sweet voice and shuffling breaks him out of his trance. His hand is yanked out of your pants abruptly, and when it takes you a second to respond he thinks he’s stepped over a line, but there’s not enough time for him to think before you’re parting his legs to make way for your body in between them.
To his surprise, you plop yourself right down on his lap. The sudden burst of confidence is exactly what he would have expected from you, but he didn't think it would come this quickly. This, he thinks to himself, is what a high does to you. His dick gets even harder at the thought.
Hanma tosses the joint onto a nearby plate, his attention all on you now.
“You wan’ it like this, pretty girl?” The haziness coats his words like thick honey, he tucks his chin into the crook of your neck, and shamelessly lets his eyes ogle down at your chest.
“Mhm, it's more comfy.” your hands slide up each of his muscled thighs, squeezing at them and letting your nails dig into the hard flesh.
He kisses up the side of your neck, and the baby hairs stand, shivering at the heat of his breath, “‘you want me to keep goin’?”
You slump down against his built chest, and tilt your head to the side. You look up at him through your lashes, batting them and half lidded.
“I want a kiss first.” you smile.
“Anything you want.” and his lips are instantly on yours, sucking and biting at the soft skin almost like he owns them. He groans loudly into your mouth, unabashedly, kissing you with even more fervor, dipping his tongue and circling it with your own. It's so messy, so sticky, so nasty, but he absolutely loves it. He doesn’t want it if it's not exactly that. And you’re perfect, you understand him oh, so well, because you reciprocate with the same need as him. No one does it like you – no one ever will. It only feels good for him if you’re the one. He’s tired of anyone else that tries to get with him. He only wants it if it's from you.
Quick fingers find their way back into your pants, his other hand grips your thigh and hikes it over his own, leaving you all open and spread just for him. He parts from your wet mouth only so he could suck and mark your neck once more.
“‘You feel that, baby?” he groans into your neck, fingers finally touching you with no barrier. He spreads the warm slick all over the outside of your pussy, letting it coat his fingers along with your clit. “Soaked. And I’ve barely touched you.”
He laughs, and it's almost evil with the way he teases your hole, touching around it, circling his fingers everywhere.
“Don’t tease.” you keen, a little furrow in your brow as you tilt your head up at him. You’re just so cute and whiney, he wants to kiss that pout right off your lips.
“Why not?” he grins, “you get even more needy when you’re high. ‘Used to be my own personal slut, all for me. ‘just wanna bring her back.”
You grit your teeth, digging your nails into his forearm to get some sort of control back, but to no avail because the unruly tides that make up the chemistry between the two of you change without warning and before you can notice he's ripped it from you so easily.
“I’m not y-your girlfriend anymore,” you moan, “‘you can’t jus’ say that.”
“Oh, yeah?” he eggs on, “what’re you gonna do about it?”
There’s no room for you to do anything about it. There’s no room for you to move, to adjust — your thigh can’t even twitch without his large hand pinning it in place. You’re stuck, embraced by his big frame and long arms, and despite his teasing, deep down you know you wouldn’t dare to create any more distance between the two of you than there already is. Especially when his skilled fingers rub deliciously against your clit, rolling it around and pinching right where he knows you like it most. It makes you so angry, so, so annoyed that he can get you melting in front of him like butter in minutes that it makes you want to scream.
“Shut up,” you tuck your chin into your chest, “you’re so annoying.”
A single finger finally dips inside you, long and thick, but he refuses to move it, or give you the relief you’ve been aching for. So mean – you think, how could he have the audacity to just waltz into your apartment, call you all these sweet names, and tease you like he didn’t just break your heart a few months ago?
He giggles, “I know.”
“I h-hate you.” you whine through gritted teeth.
“No, you don’t.”
“I do–!”
“Keep telling yourself that, doll. But the way this pussy is squeezin’ me right now tells me otherwise.”
A second finger bullies its way into your pussy, just as thick and long as the first. He marvels at the way it slides in with no effort. Hanma thinks he’s sick because his mouth waters at the sound of your wet cunt, he could almost taste the sweetness in his mouth. Impatient, he starts slowly, moving them back and forth in languid movements.
“You hear that?” he lips brush against your ear, “that doesn’t sound like a pussy that hates me.”
The heat is unbearable – you think. The high makes everything a hundred more times as intense, the pressure just keeps building more, and more in your core, the stretch of his fingers feels so heavenly that you almost tell him you missed them – and there’s nothing you can do but just bask in the way his fingers fuck you so good.
You bury your face into his neck once more, refusing to give him the satisfaction he desperately looks for. You hate him, you hate him, oh, you hate him so much.
His fingers slow to a deep stroke, rubbing in places you could never have reached with your own fingers. He makes sure that his palm rubs over your swollen bud everytime, almost cupping over your pussy like he owns it. The burn in your thighs is unmistakable, and they twitch in his hold every time his fingers brush against your sweet spot.
“Shuji! shuji, shuji–” you chant, bucking your hips against the palm of his hand – as needy as you look right now, you still ache to get more, for him to grant you the pleasure you’ve been chasing all night.
“Yeah? Right here?”
It sounds so dirty, the room is filled with the sounds of your sweet moans and the wet shlick of his fingers plunging inside you. But maybe if you cared more, then you would be a little quieter, a little more considerate of your neighbors. Hanma makes you feel nothing but pleasure, especially in this moment, when he’s fucking you full of his fingers, how could you sit still and be quiet?
“Yes! Oh– please, please, please!”
Your feet kick helplessly, because you don’t know how else to handle the waves of pleasure one after the other. Internally, you thank the weed — your heads been stuffed with cotton ever since that first hit and all of your senses are heightened tenfold. It makes everything seem more than it really is.
“Ahh, there it is, baby, there you go.” Hanma feels your orgasm wash over you like a tidal wave, walls of your wet cunt pulsing and squeezing around him. You cry and struggle against him for a solid minute while he just watches, swallowing up every whine that comes out of your sweet lips. “That wasn’t so hard was it?”
All this time, his fingers never stop fucking back into you, prolonging the bliss. You have nothing to say back to him, nothing to shut his cocky mouth, it feels like you can’t think of anything as all the thoughts fly out of your head — leaving you thinking of nothing but Shuji, Shuji, Shuji.
The orgasm boils down to a slow bubble, leaving you with a dumb smile on your face as you look up at him, completely slumping your body against him.
Hanma reads your face like an open book, knowing exactly how you feel right now. He kisses you hard, moving so he can hold you by the throat in place, forcing your lips apart so he could slip his hot tongue into your mouth. He demands control, dominating you and turning the kiss greedy, filthy.
He’s waited long enough. Pulling away with a pop, he pushes his thumb into your mouth, just lightly, and almost instantly sees you close your dewy lips around it.
You stare up at him with watery eyes, tongue lapping and shamelessly sucking at his thumb.
Golden eyes meet yours, and for a second he just admires. Setting his jaw, he scans the blemishes and traces the features of your face. He takes it all in, killing the craving that's been harbored inside him for so long. Just one look at you and he feels the frustration inside him dissipate.
“You gonna fuck me already, or jus’ keep staring?”
This – Hanma reminds himself – is why he adored you. Even if it was hard for you to openly communicate your needs, he knew that eventually the need to be heard would force the words out of you, oftentimes cascading down your lips in a flurry of acute emotion that he couldn't help but relish in. When the two of you were still dating, he surprisingly never got bored. One of the very few people that could actually excite him, is you. Without a doubt, you made him feel things he didn’t even know were possible for him to feel.
No words are shared as you let him manhandle you into any position he likes, whimpering from the stimulation as you realize it leaves you laying under him as he towers over you. Both of you make quick work stripping away at your clothes, but you don’t bother with your top, only peeling away your pants in one fluid motion.
“We’re not using a condom.”
“I didn’t even say anything!” you giggle.
He pinches your side, “‘never liked ‘em anyway.”
“I know.” you watch as he pulls his shirt off, revealing all the built muscle and bulging abs, if he were to leave you here like this, you think you could spend all night just mapping out every ridge and dent on his body. You can't help but reach for him right away, warm hands tracing from his sternum to his torso.
The little hairs that start right under his belly button travel all the way down, like a teasing trail, under the waistband of his pants. The tips of your fingers brush against them instinctively, and you remember how he always used to shiver when you’d toy with the fuzziness.
“You still do that, huh?” he smirks, eyes half-lidded and red looking down at you.
You scratch at the sensitive skin, and it sends little tingles up his spine at the sensation, even as your nails caress and graze his back and shoulders, he lets you do as you please. The familiarity could eat him whole, it tugs painfully at his heart strings.
“‘Guess some things never change, Shu.”
He pulls away only so he could undo his belt and pull down the waistband of his pants; he doesn't bother with shrugging them completely off, just enough that would be comfortable. You’re left staring in anticipation — the outline of his thick cock and a little wet spot in the fabric leaves you needy and squeezing your thighs together.
His cock springs out only seconds later, standing long and thick in front of you. A flushed pretty pink tip that’s just as leaky as you remember — you watch, with wide, eager eyes as he strokes it with the same hand that was inside of you minutes ago. The sight makes your mouth water, opening up slightly as if you're ready to take him straight down your throat. The weight of your tongue in your mouth leaves you speechless at the sight of his cock right in front of your face, mind too busy fantasizing about the taste of him to form coherent thoughts.
“Dumb whore doesn’t know what to think anymore,” he laughs, staring straight down at the way you look at his dick like it's a prized possession, “‘not a thought behind those eyes. Don’t worry, baby, you don’t need to think of anything, I'll do it all for you.”
He leans back down and cages you in between his arms — faces close enough that you’re nearly sharing the same breath; close enough that you could see the hunger and need in his eyes. Your thighs drop open to make way for him in between, and you loop your arms around his neck.
“Haven’t been inside this pussy in too long,” he groans, tugging at your panties. “Bet it feels even better than before.”
He tosses them over his shoulder; and instantly, his eyes drop to your exposed cunt, eyeing it like a starved man that hasn’t been fed in weeks. He can’t help but bring two fingers to your clit, toying with the bud and spreading your slick all around before licking his fingers, and then giving you a little taste, “sweet. Just like you’ve always been.”
Heat crawls up your neck up to your face, and you shy away from his gaze. Everything he says only adds to the already burning need inside you. Even after all these months, he still makes you just as hot and flustered as he used to; nothing changed, and though you know you should be apprehensive about it, you can’t help but bask in the satisfaction.
“‘You gonna be a sweet girl for me and open up?” one of his hands hikes your leg up to his shoulder. He plants a small kiss at your ankle, before resting it there, leaving you all vulnerable and spread wide for him.
“Hurry up…” you keen, gripping the cushions under you. Now that his cock stands proud in front of you, all you could think about is how much you want him inside, how much you’ve been craving him all this time. He clouds your senses, along with the weed, everything is too hot; he makes you feel too hot.
The swollen tip of his cockhead taps and flicks at your pussy, teasing the hole and then swiping it back and forth to your clit, he pulls away only so he could see the way the slick clings to the tip— all this time, his eyes are glued to you.
Finally, he pushes in, and Hanma thinks he could die happy right now, he shamelessly groans out loud at the feeling of your hot walls around him, his hand twitches and grips harder at your thigh because it just feels too fucking good.
“Fuuuck, yeah,” he slides in deeper, watching the way your cunt stretches and swallows him whole, “that's it. That's the pussy I know.”
It pulls a moan out of you, both from pain and pleasure, “W-wait–! Shuji!”
“Shh, don’t worry, baby,” he grunts, using one hand to hold your hip in place so he can sheathe himself completely inside you. “Fucking hell. So fuckin’ tight.”
His cock rests deep for a few moments, letting you adjust to the uncomfortable obstruction. Your cunt spasms and squeezes uncontrollably around his cock, and Hanma swears he’s never felt euphoria like this before. He finds a home inside you, one that reminds him of the days where he would fuck you day and night and still never get tired of the way your pussy feels.
“‘Missed this,” he groans, leaning down so he could push your thigh that was resting on his shoulder into the mattress, “such a perfect cunt.”
You whine and cry beneath him, too overwhelmed by all the sensations around you. Your arms move pathetically around until they find purchase with your nails digging into the muscles of his back. The pain makes his cock throb inside you, he relishes the mixture of both pain and pleasure, it makes him even hungrier.
Unable to wait any longer, he pulls out almost halfway before brutally thrusting back in; the pace he sets is unforgivable, and all you could do is sit there and watch as he fucks you deep and slow into the cushions.
It reminds you exactly how it feels to truly be fucked. He grips you harshly by the hips, yanking you back into him over and over, letting his cock pierce so deep inside you that you feel like you’re choking on it. He knocks every breath out of you, leaving you light headed and hazy. And giggles at the way your ankles dangle between your ears and his.
“Fuck, fuck, keep doin’ that, baby,”
Your nails scratch and dig into his back, marking it red and burning into his skin. It has him thrusting even harder into you — call him a masochist, because he absolutely relishes in the pain inflicted.
Your squeals and whimpers are music to his ears. It pushes him to fuck you even deeper into the couch, giggling at the way your thighs twitch and toes curl everytime his cockhead hits that one spot inside you. He knows exactly what to do, where to, and how to. He doesn’t even need you to say it, need to tell him what you want — all his baby has to do is sit here, and take it.
“Hah, ah, shu- Shuji! Please!” your hands tug and pull at his hair – and he knows – the harder you tug, the better you feel. Hanma’s thighs ache but he’d rather do anything than stop fucking into your sweet cunt, he’s drunk on the way your walls accept him like they’ve been waiting for his arrival all this time.
“Oh, baby, what? You g’nna cum? Yeah?”
“Yes! Oh, please!”
He laughs, literally laughs! Grinning at the way your eyes well up with tears and face screws up in pleasure. Hanma hikes your other thigh higher, now pinning both of them in place on the couch. This gives him even better access to your pussy, and an even better view.
His hips slam down into yours, stinging and burning the back of your thighs red and pink. The tears fall uncontrollably, he hears you babble and whine under him, but he’s too busy working his way up to his orgasm to actually listen to anything you have to say.
“C’mon, pretty girl. Cum for me,” he pants, leaning down to swallow your moans into his mouth as you shake and twitch with the force of your orgasm. Your gummy walls pulse and squeeze around him, and he feels the wetness pool inside you and starts leaking out.
Hanma’s dick twitches inside you, tip tingling at the added stimulation. He starts thinking of just how wet and drippy you’d get if he busted his load right inside you — filled you up all to the brim and flooded you full.
“Shit, shit, yeah,” he groans, eyes shut and forehead resting on yours before you feel him pull out abruptly and cum all over your belly, leaving little spurts of warm, white milkiness that land as far as your neck. His hand works his dick until there’s nothing left to give, until the overstimulation burns inside him. Only then does he stop stroking his cock, letting it soften over your belly.
You drop your hands from around him and slump your body into the couch, the energy all drained out of you that you can’t even form any proper words. The fatigue catches up to you, closing your eyes and catching your breath. Your legs feel like jelly, and the obvious ache can’t be ignored.
Hanma shuffles away, tucking himself back into his pants and pulling his shirt back on. The sweat beads at his temples and you cringe when he uses his shirt to wipe it away. You’re not even shocked, his typical behavior is nothing new to you anyway.
He picks up your soiled panties off the floor, spinning it around his index finger with a dumb smirk on his face, “so, what? You gonna kick me out?”
The fabric is swiped against your skin, and he bunches it up to wipe away the cum on your belly.
You think about it, biting the inside of your cheek and fidgeting with your fingers, “... were you planning on leaving?”
“Fuck no.” he scoffs. “Woulda’ stayed even if you said no.”
“You’re so annoying.” you smile.
“Yeah,” he grins back, “I know ♡.”
-
thank you for reading!!! thoughts, comments, rbs, feedback is greatly appreciated, id love to know what you guys think <3 comms open.
↳ synopsis. your childhood best friend, rindou, who you haven’t seen in a while invites you to a beach house vacation for a few days with tenjiku. you would have never thought that the feelings you’ve harbored for his brother long ago would find their way back into your life.
✫ genre. 18+, summer fic, romance, minors dni.
✫ word count. 19k.
✫ content warnings. repost bc tags were being dumb :( all characters are 20+ ish years old / most of tenjiku make an appearance / AFAB fem reader / best friends brother trope but rindou is ok with it / romance / fluff / mutual pining / uhh bad language / there is one (1) drunken kiss w a side character (consensual) / use of alcohol and other substances, nothing crazy tho / smut (unprotected ptv, oral, fem pet names) / hopeful ending / + fic gets better as u read i promise sksnsj
✫ authors note. summer fic in winter? yes. my first long fic woo! this was done for an art exchange thank you tina and char for beta & for listening to me ramble about the plot constantly, also i have no clue abt where the good beaches r in japan so bear w me lol. enjoy!!!! 💕
read on a03 (pinned) / reblogs for boost are much appreciated!
The cafe you sit in is bustling with customers. Teenagers, businessmen and baristas all fill each corner of the room. You watch, curious to see how each person lives among the crowd – and you’re reminded at that very second how each and every person on this planet lives a completely diverse and unique life. They call it sonder – the realization that every passerby has a life as vivid and complex as your own.
The world is small, they say. A bit too small, you think.
“Hello? You with me?”
You're suddenly snapped back into reality when you hear Rindou’s voice through the speaker of your phone. You haven't even realized that you've zoned out until you check the time and see that several minutes have passed. Clearing your throat, you say, “yeah, I'm here. Listening,”
There's a pause on the other end of the line. He's not convinced. After a few moments he sighs. “y’know, it wouldn't hurt if you came down to Hamamatsu for a while,”
Your brows furrow and you almost scoff. “Hamamatsu? What would I even do there?” You've never been to Hamamatsu, and you don't plan on going anytime soon. Not to mention that you have no business being there at all.
“Some of the boys are staying there for a few days. Ran and I, too,” he says, but you're still confused as to how this has anything to do with you.
Before anything else is said, you cut him off, “Yes, Rin, I'd love to hear more about your spontaneous gang adventures,” you laugh softly, “I love it when you remind me that I do nothing in my free time.”
It's not entirely true—but when you do end up having free time you don't usually think of beach trips or train rides to different cities. Binging your favorite show, going out for a night, finally budging in your never ending piles of to-be-read books? That's more of something you'd spend your time doing.
Rindou, on the other hand, never fails to let you know about all his sporadic adventures. They range from nightclub hopping in Roppongi, to spending weeks on yachts doing god knows what. You could probably make a list of all the stupid shit he’s done since middle school up until now.
He laughs, a deep sound resonating from his throat. “I’m saying you should come with. It'll be fun.”
The condensation gathers up in droplets on the glass of your drink, your fingers tracing the wet surface as you think about Rindou’s suggestion. You think that seeing him after so long wouldn't be such a bad idea - and also considering that your summer break is coming up soon.
Still, the feeling of intruding swivels in your mind. A haunting feeling that you’d be an outlier in a group of data.
“I don’t know … Rin,” you say unsteadily. “What does it have to do with me? Seems more like a boys only trip.”
“You’ve met half of them already,” he reminds you, “plus, I wouldn’t invite you if it was gonna be weird.”
His words don’t reassure you much, but it sounds very tempting to you. Truly, the only con you could think of is how you’ll be spending days at a time in a house full of men (boys - actually, you correct yourself. From the shit you’ve heard and seen, you consider them just little boys messing around, regardless of age.)
“You know how long it’s been since we’ve seen each other? Since New Years,” he pushes, trying to convince you further. “It’s been months, and we haven’t properly sat down and had a good time ever since.”
You bite the inside of your mouth. He’s technically right - you haven’t seen him in a very long time. Back when you were younger - seeing Rindou and Ran was almost a daily occurrence, you’d tag along with whatever rendezvous they’d be up to that day. And if you didn’t end up seeing them, you’d think something went terribly wrong because there was no knock on your front door every evening.
Now that you think of it - you kind of miss it. There’s a pang in your chest at the thought.
You sigh, “‘You sure Izana wouldn’t care? I mean, anyone - actually. I-I just don’t wanna be annoying!” You wave your hand around in emphasis as if he was sitting right in front of you.
Rindou audibly groans, and it’s funny how you could almost picture the way he slides his hand down his face in frustration. “I wouldn't have offered in the first place if he wasn’t okay with it, God. You’re really annoying sometimes, you know that?”
You giggle at his reaction.
— ꕤ —
In the next few days, you find yourself thinking more about the trip and what Rindou had told you. And a week later, you finally get to swallow down the hesitation when you call him and let him know that you’d be happy to join if they’ll have you.
In the back of your mind, there were thoughts that lingered - telling you that it’d be impractical for you to join them - ones that made you feel as if you’d be intruding or in the way if you decided to attend.
And every time with no fail - Rindou reassures you ( - more like calls you dumb for even questioning him), he tells you that he’s already ensured with them that it’d be okay for you to join.
So here you are - sitting on your messy bedroom floor with clothes and other miscellaneous items scattered around you. There’s a small suitcase sitting in front of you half-filled as you ponder for the fifth time whether you should be bringing a pink swimsuit or a blue one.
Don’t pack too much - he'd said. It’s only a 4 day trip.
You almost find it funny as you look at the ten pairs of underwear and the three books stuffed into your bag - it’s clear that you’d be overpacking as usual. The urge to stuff your entire closet into your suitcase … astronomical. If there’s one thing about you, it’s that you’re almost always prepared for anything and everything to happen.
The light spills into your small - but very much loved - bedroom through your thin curtains, the music in the background entertaining as you, once again, stop yourself from emptying out your entire closet.
You think packing for the trip is just as exhausting as the travel part - trying to sort through essentials versus preparing for a possible apocalypse. Who knows? Maybe you’ll need that third pack of your favorite chips.
The music is paused as your phone starts to ring - and if it wasn't for that you wouldn’t even have noticed how much you’ve been running around your room, throwing things around and putting things away.
“Hello?” You ask, a little breathless as you balance the phone between your shoulder and ear.
“Hey,” Rindou says, “You done packing?” Immediately cutting to the chase.
You yelp when you trip over a stray bra on the floor, catching yourself before you fall. “Y-yeah! Wait - no, nope, I’m not!”
The phone is silent for a few more seconds, and you think he hung up on you before you hear him once more. “Are… you good?”
You hum, “yep, do you need anything? I’m almost done,” you say as you study a random bottle of body oil for the expiration date.
“We’re leaving by noon tomorrow.”
Now, that catches you off guard, and your face snaps up suddenly. “Noon?! Rin, I thought you said four!”
“Yeah, well, change of plans. We go tomorrow and leave Sunday.” He brings it up so casually, voice straightforward.
After thinking about it, the only issue with leaving tomorrow is that you’d planned to go shopping for a few things earlier that morning. Now, having just learned you’d be leaving at noon instead, you won’t have enough time to finalize anything or even do a last sweep of your apartment for cleaning.
“Why didn’t you let me know any sooner? You had a week!”
“You’re acting like you’re leaving for good. Relax,” there’s rustling on his side of the phone, “don’t bring too many things.”
You stare at the ever growing pile of clothes in your unzipped suitcase.
“…sure.”
“Be ready by ten, I’ll pick you up ‘n we’ll go together.”
There's one thought that crosses your mind at that moment. “What about Ran?”
Rindou is quick to reply. “What about him?”
“.. I mean isn't he going to leave with us?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.
Ran is a bit of a sore spot for you. Not because you harbor any negative emotions towards him - no, it's quite the opposite. You've always had a fondness for the older brother. While Rin was your friend first, meeting Ran for the first time was like being hit with a tidal wave. The boy was so different - yet so similar - to his brother that you could almost write a book with all the little differences you've compiled of them over the years.
In other words, Ran was the type to sweep you off your feet, only for Rindou to bring you back down to earth. You took note of this - the way you'd find your face heating up like a little high school girl every time he’d offhandedly tried to flirt with you. And it was obvious, Ran was known for his charismatic and outgoing nature, there was no other way you would ever imagine him other than being a cocky, overly prideful bastard.
A part of you liked him for it.
“No, he's not.” Oh. You want to ask why not before he beats you to it. “He’ll meet us there, though.”
The conversation quickly ends after that. Rindou has always been straightforward - in some odd way, you're grateful. Growing up by their side - well, mostly Rindou, - has helped you understand them almost like the back of your hand. You were undoubtedly closer to the younger brother - meeting him first, spending more time with him, Rindou truly was the best friend you needed. His place in your life has never changed, and it never will
The following few hours are mostly a blur - you start sorting through the piles of clothes and miscellaneous items scattered in your room. After the phone call and being told you only had roughly by the end of the night to wrap up - you’d been hit with a surge of adrenaline to quickly go through the rest of your things.
It's 1AM when your head finally hits the pillow. Hours of built up exhaustion lulling you straight to sleep after the long day. Everything that you’d be needing in the morning is out and ready, and the tote bag you’re bringing has all the quick and easy-access necessities tucked away in a little pouch—you double- no, triple check the bag for your polaroid. You refuse to forget to capture something you'd want to store and ingrain into your memory forever.
It's hard to fall asleep that night - because your body can't seem to fully relax and calm down. The surges of serotonin in your body come in pulsing waves, feeding your receptors and raising your heart rate. The last time you’d been this excited to go somewhere was when you were in 5th grade getting ready for a field trip. You find yourself smiling at the thought.
— ꕤ —
The next morning you run on auto-pilot. You'd jumped out of bed after missing several of your alarms, and downed your coffee like it'd be the last time you’d ever get to taste it. You thank the gods that you managed to get everything ready the night before - as if you knew this was going to happen.
The doorbell rings just as you’re in the middle of doing a last sweep of your apartment. Rindou greets your disheveled look - puffy eyes, sweatpants low on your hips, hair in ten different directions. He grunts a g’morning to you as he makes his way inside - and you notice he’s just as tired as you, if not even more so.
“Y’want some coffee?” you ask, making your way to the kitchen as you watch him flop himself onto your small, beaten up couch.
“Ah, no. Thanks, though,” he yawns, rubbing his eyes. “We should be heading out soon. If y’wanna get there in time.”
You laugh quietly, “you look like you’re about to fall back asleep,”
“Yeah? Well I've been awake for two hours now,” he grunts, through a gravelly voice.
There isn't much said between you two after that - the atmosphere settles into a comfortable silence that you've been so used to for years now. He’s never been a man of many words - and probably never will be. You recall the late nights spent in his tiny apartment shared with Ran - the way you two would stock up on snacks and piles of blankets while you binge watched whatever show you were obsessed with at the time - barely any words shared between you for hours. He's quiet but comfortable, content.
You tell him you could always leave at a later time if he’s too tired - and he side eyes you with a you've got to be kidding look, saying something about potentially missing the barbecue later that afternoon and how a group of guys leave nothing behind when hungry.
The next few hours are spent in the car with the windows down and whatever playlist he has on. You breathe in the cool wind that hits your face, and take in the early morning sun. At this very moment, you realize that you find peace in the littlest things. You decide to soak in the moment, relishing in the way the cold air is sucked into your lungs, the way the warmth of the sun sits on your skin, the way the music sounds perfect in your ears. It reminds you so much of when you used to be just a teenager.
You look back on it - and you see a different girl. But you turn your head and look at Rindou as he drives, jaw relaxed and shoulders slumped - different girl, same people.
— ꕤ —
You don't remember falling asleep - but you’re awoken with a soft shake of your shoulder.
“Hey, you awake? We’re here.” you hear Rindou, and it takes you a few moments to fully comprehend your surroundings before answering. Rubbing the blurriness away from your eyes, you stretch your sore back from the hours you've been sitting in the same place.
You hum, following his gaze to the windshield, looking straight forward and registering that you’ve arrived. As if a bucket of ice-cold water has been poured all over you - you shake the drowsiness away and follow with Rindou.
The house is big, two storeys and you could see a glimpse of the back patio and yard. As you finally step out of the car, you take in what you can of the neighborhood. It's large - filled with many familiar looking beach houses meant for family vacations and all of those sorts. With enough space between each house and the sea that lies behind it, there are different variations of custom-designed patios.
There's no way Tenjiku had actually taken the time and designed every inch of the house. You haven't met Izana many times, only briefly, but you know how impatient he could be. So, you conclude that it's definitely bought. Fully furnished and ready. You wont ask how, or even bring it up - even if you probably do know the answer.
The air is thick with the smell of salt and dense humidity. The inside of your cotton tank top sticks uncomfortably to your skin, the same way that the soft hairs at the back of your neck are sticking to each other.
You thank Rindou as he helps you unload your suitcase from the back of the car, and follow his lead up the driveway filled with other vehicles - from the rest of Tenjiku members, probably. The world around you is blue and green. The grass, the trees swaying in the wind, and the sound of the waves of the sea take over your senses. It's strange, but good. You feel nostalgic - in some way. A feeling lingers in the back of your mind of a place like this. Deep in your memories - you remember the trips you would take as a child with your family. But, nothing is exactly like this.
“They’re so fuckin’ loud,” Rindou laughs, dragging the bags up the steps to the front door - which is already cracked open for some reason, “who’s playing that shitty music,”
You smile, hearing the bass of the loudspeakers reverberate outside the house. It's not only the audio - as you get closer, you hear the loud banter of a group of guys. There’s yelling, laughing and you think you hear someone curse out the other's mom.
There’s a dry lump made of nervousness in your throat, but you try your best to swallow it down and shake the feeling of anxiety swimming in your blood. Finally, the door is fully swung open.
To say you were not ready to see what was going on in front of you was an understatement.
“Oi—! Shitheads! Get the fuck down from there!”
“Not until he gives my fuckin’ phone back!”
“You didn't tell me you had a girlfriend - let me see—!”
Kokonoi, (or, Koko, was it?) is on the hard wooden floor of the open-spaced living room — tackling Shion for his phone. The other scrambles away in a fit of laughter while holding the device in the air, he thrashes, trying his best to dodge Koko’s hits.
You turn your head to see the wide kitchen. Ingredients piled over each other - filling almost the entirety of the kitchen space with snacks, drinks, food, and … seven jars of peanut butter?
Rindou groans in front of you - rubbing a hand down his face. He starts scolding them like a parent trying to discipline their wild children. You’re stunned. Lips parted and stuck frozen in place as you watch the group of boys fight over a damn phone.
Rindou says this is a normal occurrence. Oh… okay.
No one seems to notice your presence at the door, so you take this time to set the bags in your hands down, taking your shoes off before you enter.
It's humid and hot. The large windows that make up almost the entire first floor walls are wide open - letting the fresh, but humid, breeze freely into the house. It's lively - the sun bursts in rays, the music in the background is spirited, and now that you've finally accepted the situation … they're not fighting anymore.
You notice only a few of the guys are here, Kokonoi, Shion, Mochi - who’s napping on the couch despite everything going on, and Rindou. But where’s …
“You’re here, took you long enough,”
You turn your head to see a smiling Izana entering through the glass doors, and when you peer past him - Kakucho idles on the back patio.
His energy is loud, and hard to ignore, he slides past everyone else and makes his way straight to you.
“I’m glad you could make it,” he greets you, “sorry you had to see all that. Shion likes to start shit for fun.” he waves them off.
“Get used to it.” Rindou yells from inside.
You’re quick to assure him. “Oh! No, don't worry about it. I was just a bit startled at first,”
He leads you further inside, you greet Koko - this counts as the second time you’ve seen him in person, and then to Shion; who’s still laying on the wooden floor by the couches, rubbing his jaw after what seemed like a hard punch from the former.
Izana gives you a mini tour while you start casual conversations with the rest of the boys. There’s still a lingering thought at the back of your mind, like something is missing, it itches at the back of your brain and-
“Hey,” You freeze. “do you guys want tequila or vodka for tonight-“
Ah. There he is.
You turn to find Ran standing at the doorway of the walk-in kitchen cabinet - he holds a bottle of vodka and tequila in each hand. You’re completely thrown off at the sight of him - he’s shirtless. His muscles, big tattoos littering his entire half of his body, and height is all out for show.
“Uh, Hey,” he swallows, and looks a bit taken aback by your presence, almost like he wasn’t expecting to see you, “didn’t know you guys were already here.”
Fuck. He looks good, you think. It’s been too long since you’ve last seen him. His hair is longer, strands of blond and black are freely let loose past his shoulders - looking too soft.
How long has it been since you’ve seen him specifically? Half a year? Maybe even longer. Regardless, you feel tingly on the inside. A cold rush is sent down your spine, and your heart rate shoots up at the sight of him.
You greet him back quietly, barely looking him in the eye. And you think you see him freeze up, mouth opening and closing in confusion. Suddenly, the room goes quiet from the tension between you and Ran. Not that anyone would say anything - but the awkwardness speaks for itself.
Izana shares a knowing look with a fed up Rindou. He silently watches the encounter between you and Ran, choosing not to say anything in case he adds to the awkwardness.
“Give me that,” Rin snatches the bottles from his hands, tearing up the tension in the room. He skips the introductions with him, “go do something useful.”
The air is cleared when Izana loudly claps his hands - “Okay… how about I continue showing you around?”
You take note of his effort to smooth out the situation, and he isn't stupid - he knows somethings up without the need of letting him know. So does Rindou, but no one has enough balls to bring the topic of you and Ran up.
Or - whatever is going on between you, anyway.
There really isn't anything - you think. But, through the years, you've harbored a sense of fondness and affection towards the older Haitani. Even if you were closer with Rin - Ran was always the one that somehow made you feel a different way to the way his brother does.
Completely different.
— ꕤ —
Throughout the day, you spend your time moving your things into your room. Thankfully, you're not sharing with anyone; at least you’d be able to get a sense of privacy. You laugh when Ran starts complaining about how he doesn't want to share a room with his brother - and how he already sees enough of him on the daily.
Just like almost all the rooms in the house, yours has a wall of glass doors. It gives you a view you know you would never get tired of seeing even if you lived here. The sea is in perfect view - and even when you lie on the bed, you could still see the big waves splashing against grey rocks.
It brings a sense of comfort, and the sound of the sea is heard clear enough if you open the doors - possibly the best white noise to fall asleep to.
And so the day goes on - by the time it's 4pm you’ve already managed to unpack all your belongings and change into a two-piece swimsuit. Rin tells you they might be going swimming after the barbeque. A loose, white cover-up is tied around your waist, but leaves your top piece for show. It worries you that it may be too revealing, but It's too hot. You like the way the breeze feels on your hot skin, anyway. And you love the way it looks on you. Especially with how the fabric frames your curves just right and brings out your beauty. You smile at your reflection in the mirror, doing a quick twirl before you head out.
— ꕤ —
Just as expected, most of the boys are on the back patio. You slide the glass doors to see Kakucho and Izana lighting the grill; Rindou sits with Mochi on the tanning beds, meanwhile Koko, Shion, and Ran are setting the table with silverware and drinks.
No one seems to notice your presence until you greet them over the sound of the music; all of them simultaneously turn their heads to look at you. You were expecting some reaction out of them; nothing too dramatic, but … instead, you’re met with nothing.
They all silently stare back at you with a somewhat shocked expression, except for Rindou and Koko.
Their gaze weighs heavy — especially when they've yet to say anything back. Anxiety pools in your belly and you subconsciously cross your arms over your chest.
You clear your throat. “Is …there something wrong?”
You're not sure why wearing a two-piece suit is so surprising to them. Surely, they've had their fair share of women in their lives; but when they finally reply back it's quick and brief, and then comes the stifling silence after it. You still feel their not-so subtle gazes on your body, though. The attention somehow makes you feel giddy on the inside, especially when you make your way to where Ran is; offering to help him with setting the food.
Internally; he short circuits. His mind went completely blank as soon as he saw you; not that he’d ever admit it. If it weren't for his brother nudging him on the back earlier, he probably would still be shamelessly ogling.
He doesn't know why he feels like this. Why his blood suddenly flowing south at the sight of you in a bikini. You’re his childhood friend, dammit! He shouldn't let himself be so struck by you. It's just a top. You’re just a girl; just his friend.
Or, that's what he tries to tell himself.
You spend your time helping around; and you realize that Izana loves to make fun of the guys when they're not paying attention; he tells you stories about their spontaneous fights and trips as a group. It varies from shoplifting from brand stores, to stealing bikes; and how they’ve run from the police way too many times to count.
And you soak them up everytime. He sees the way you toss your head back and laugh; the way you frown when you say, ‘-but that’s a 300k Yen bag!’ after he tells you it was a piece of cake to snatch.
His favorite, though, is your reaction when he tells you Ran almost cried like a baby when getting half his body tattooed.
“No way,” you gasp, snapping your palm over your mouth to stifle your laugh, “he was holding his hand the whole time?!”
“Yeah, ‘n you’d think he’d be a lot tougher for someone like him, but nope.”
You lean on the side table next to the grill, watching Izana as he flips the sizzling meat and cooks; the smell makes you salivate. Pushing your lips together, you say in a quieter voice, “well, to be honest, i’d cry too if i was getting my ass tatted,”
He laughs at that, calling you valid and that if Ran found out he told you he’d be taking his baton out on him.
“I get Ran not telling me, but Rin? I would have at least-”
“I heard my name?”
You yelp when you turn to see Ran standing right behind you. His arms crossed and face questioning. One of your hands grips the edge of the table from behind you, steading yourself; the other one is laid flat on your chest to calm the erratic beating of your heart.
Izana laughs under his breath, turning away as if to show he has nothing to do with this conversation. You glare at him from the side of your eye.
Swallowing, “It’s nothing. Izana,” you make emphasis on his name while turning your face towards him.
“-was just telling me about how you held Rin’s hand the entire time you got your body tattooed.” your eyes subconsciously trail down this form in front of you, seeing the way the dark, black ink moves with his muscles.
Ran freezes, eyebrows shooting slightly at your words. He crosses his arms over his chest, then throws a glare at Izana.
“He knows he’s not interesting enough to talk about,” he snaps, directing his words at the man in front of him, “that's why he chooses to talk about me instead.” he smirks.
You yelp, waving your hands in the air, “N-no! It wasn't like that! We were talking about everyo-”
“Oh, shut up. You’re just mad she would rather talk to me than to you.” Like adding gasoline to an already burning fire, Izana snaps back at Ran. There's a small cheeky smile on his face, like he knows exactly the words to get him riled up. You’d be more worried if there wasn't a hint of lightheartedness, or if they weren't already long-time friends.
“What do you think she was doing standing here all this time?” he adds, “clearly, she finds me more interesting.”
Ran’s jaw tightens. And you think you could almost see the frustration bubble behind his eyes.
“She's spent less than a day with you.”
“Exactly,” Izana laughs, but from the looks of it, he seems to be spewing random shit just to piss Ran off. You can't blame him — it's very easy to tick him off. “What? You don't think I have game, Ran?”
“Fuck off,” he replies, but there’s no ill intent behind his words, “stop tryna make something outta nothing.”
Your mouth drops open, and you're left to watch as the two of them bicker back and forth. Unsure of what they’re even bickering about anymore, you have no idea which side you're on - hell, you don't even know what they're trying to prove here.
“Really? Ran,” Izana pushes, “then why do you look like you wanna strangle me right now?”
His eyes scan over your form, and he notices the way you look startled. Something burns in his chest at the thought of you choosing to spend more time with Izana rather than him.
Without thinking about the consequences, he softly pulls you by the arm close to his side, and you follow, confused, but without protest.
“Anyway, we,” he emphasizes while wrapping his arm around your shoulder, the warmth of his body from the skin to skin contact makes you shiver, “—are heading inside to make the salad.”
We are?
You catch a sliver of a smile from Izana, and don't give him a chance to reply before Ran is whisking you away indoors. His arm is still wrapped around you even when you slide through the doors. Even with the air-conditioning inside, you still feel your body heat up at his unpredictability.
The laugh finally slips out as soon as you remove yourself from his hold, “what was that all about?”
He grunts, running a palm down his face in frustration, “he pisses me off sometimes.”
“I don’t think it's that,” you smile, peering through the fridge to fetch the ingredients just so you don’t have to face him, “I just think you get pissed off by anyone, over anything.”
“What? I don’t.” he replies almost instantly, eyes widening.
You raise your brows. “You do.”
He trails behind you, watching as you take matters into your own hands when making the salad. He finds himself leaning against one of the counters with his arms crossed. “You know I don't.”
“Hm, you really do!”
There’s no reply after that, the atmosphere gets quiet, save for the music and chatter on the back patio. You swallow, still feeling funny on the inside. You feel his burning gaze on your bare back — you know he’s there, watching, but he’s not saying anything which makes quick adrenaline fill you body and-
Suddenly, you turn around to find him right behind you. Almost running straight into his chest, you completely freeze up at the proximity.
As if all the air has been sucked out of your lungs, the shock renders you speechless; with your mouth opening and closing. You don't dare look up at him; stuck in place.
He traps you between him and the counter behind you, your back digging into the marble edge. Both of his long, well-built arms cage you with one on either side of your body. He leans down so that your faces are parallel and tilts his head at you.
“You,” he says, a playful hint in his tone, but steady, “haven’t changed one bit, huh?”
You wince. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” you look at him, and at his violet eyes that seem to get even prettier each time you stare at them.
He clicks his tongue. “‘Spent my childhood with you, and I can tell you for a fact -” he leans even closer to you, “that you still do the same dumb shit to piss me off.”
“Doesn’t everyone, though?” you smile, “I mean, c’mon, Ran. You’re so easy to annoy!”
Maneuvering out of his grasp, you duck under his caging figure to get out before he has a chance to say anything else; feeling too close all of a sudden.
“No, the fuck I’m not! Why don’t you go annoy Izana,” he retorts.
“See?!”
“I'm done talking about this.” he places both of his hands on the counter in surrender.
You laugh out loud, unable to hold it back any longer. He watches as you tilt your head back, and smile, all teeth and cheeks. In some odd way, it makes him crack a smile too. Your energy is contagious, he finds himself drawn to you more and more throughout this trip. He would never admit this out loud to anyone — but he missed having you around. When he looks back, he only recalls good memories associated with you.
“Anyway,” he starts, popping a cherry into his mouth. “What’ve you been up to back home?”
You busy yourself with prepping the salad; mostly because you can’t find anything else for you to be doing. With your back facing him, you reply.
“What? Like university, and stuff?” you say, but then continue on, “honestly, nothing. I’m actually kinda glad the semester is over, because my brain is literally fried after my last final exams.”
He huffs out a laugh. “Loser.”
You turn around and throw a glare his way. “At least I'm going to university. Getting a degree. ‘You ever thought about at least getting a highschool diploma, Ran?”
“Fuck no,” he scoffs, “‘s’not like I would need it.”
“Do you plan on being a delinquent your whole life?”
He hums, raising his eyebrows. “It's the only thing that keeps me on my toes. High School was boring as shit,”
“Yeah, I know. But I have goals; dreams. I wanna do shit in life,” you tell him, filling a bowl with all the cut vegetables.
“Dreams,” he repeats, feeling the way the words sound on his tongue. He lets it hang in the air for a moment, before asking. “Like what?”
You sigh, thinking of all the things you’d like to accomplish eventually in life. When you think of the future, you see yourself landing a good-enough job; you reckon you’ll keep living in Japan, near your family; but on your own. You’ll be finished with your studies, maybe even building a foundation for your future; savings? Earning experience? A partner? Maybe you’ll still be friends with Rindou, and Ran.
You want him — no, them; in your future.
“Oh, y’know. Married with a few kids and some dogs. Still living in Tokyo.” you lie.
That does not sound like something you would forward to. It sounds like a default life — robotic even. It seems cramped, and unfulfilling. You wouldn't judge anyone who chooses something along those lines in their future … rather, it's not for you. You see a future for yourself; and you want excitement, happiness — surrounded by people you care for.
“Bullshit, thats boring as fuck.” he says, voice raising almost defensively.
“Oh, really?” you raise your eyebrows at him. “Then what’s your ideal future?”
“Anything but that. I don't think you even want that yourself,”
You hum. “How would you know?”
He doesn't respond right away, and your question is left unanswered for a few seconds. The room sits in silence, but you don't make any effort to change that. You want to know.
“I know you.”
You can’t seem to find anything else to say after that, not knowing how much of it is true. You haven’t been away from him enough for your entire life goals to change, or for him to suddenly not recognize the person he sees in you anymore.
There's familiarity. There’s comfort in each other. Because you know him, and he knows you.
The both of you move comfortably around in the kitchen; and you’re not even mad about him just watching you and speaking from a distance. You've missed this — the friendship.
He chews on his cherries while you cut up each of the vegetables; your back still facing him.
Abruptly; in the midst of the silence, he asks, “so, you got a boyfriend back in Tokyo?”
You freeze. Whatever you expected him to say next, it was definitely not that. The knife lays limp in your hand and you swallow down the rush of adrenaline. Something bubbles inside you, a good feeling. You find yourself biting the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling.
You want to fuck with him.
Turning your head to look back, “Maybe. Why? You jealous?” you tease, the corners of your mouth turning up.
He stops in the middle of chewing, albeit taken aback by your response, “Of course not. ‘M just asking,”
You go back to your previous task, and you hum loud enough for him to hear; a sarcastic tone that indicates that you probably don’t believe him. You just need to see a little bit more — you tell yourself — just more of a reaction, because why would he care if you did have a boyfriend?
He senses your suspicion. “Don’t give me that shit!” he smiles, raising an accusing finger at you, “It was just a question,”
“And what if I said yes?”
He clicks his tongue playfully, and answers like it was the easiest question he’d ever been asked, “I obviously wouldn’t believe you.”
You gasp, turning around to look back at him, “Why not?!”
His grin gets bigger at the sight of your offense, “I mean, who the hell would wanna date you?”
Ran thinks he’s a pretty smart guy. One of the smartest in his group. He makes (somewhat) good decisions, takes care of himself and others. Sometimes, when people compare him to his brother; they say that he’s the more rational one of the two. But this time?
He knows he fucked up. Big.
His answer hangs in the air, and the stifling silence that came after it suffocates the both of you. But there’s no time to think, at least.
“Fuck, okay, You know I didnt—!”
“RAN HAITANI!” you yell from the other side of the counter. You don’t actually intend to hurt him, nor are your feelings actually hurt — but running around with him in this dumb little kitchen reminds you so much of your teen years and how you would bicker and fight all day long like little children. The memory fills you with such adrenaline that you didn't think twice when you started chasing him around in circles, knife in hand and the dirtiest curse words spewing out of your mouth.
And so here he is; pathetically cornered between two cabinets with his hands lifted in surrender.
“Apologize.” you demand, panting and aiming the blade at him, “Now.”
He laughs, brushing his hair away from his eyes before cocking his head up at you, “But… I didn't do anything wrong!”
Your mouth drops open in shock, “Apologize!”
“Okay, okay, listen—” he tries, slowly rising from his position, “how about, we just put the knife away, and you tell me why you’re so offende—”
You glare at him, “Am I going insane? Or is the word ‘sorry’ not in your vocab?”
He stands before you, lips pressed together to obviously keep himself from bursting out in laughter. He clicks his tongue, “you were never this sensitive,”
“I’m going to stab you.”
“Or aggressive.”
“I'll put the knife down only if you say sorry,” you offer; but in all honesty, you don’t really care if he says sorry or not, it doesn't bother you. This is just way too fun.
He steps forward, slowly moving so his hand is now softly wrapped around the wrist that holds the knife, “Alright, I’m sorry. There, better now?”
You hum, pointing your nose at him, “Fine,” you let him take the blade and toss it into the sink nearby, “but! For your info, I get plenty; and a matter of fact — lots of people would wanna date me,”
“Of course.”
“I'm serious!” you cross your arms.
“And I believe you!”
He's being too nice all of a sudden. You don't believe him; standing in place, squinting your eyes at him.
“Don't look at me like that,” he says, a small smile on his face, “come here.” he opens his arms.
“Don't call me annoying, you're the annoying one,” you reach for him, body curling into his; he tucks your head under his chin.
“Yeah, yeah,”
You rest your chin on his collar bone, tilting your face up at him, “watch your back, Haitani.”
He feigns shock, “ooh, scary,”
You're so close, the tips of your nose almost brush each other if you would lean in just a bit more. The specs of gold in his violet eyes glitter in the light. But, surprisingly, you don’t feel any butterflies this time.
You don't feel the little school girl romance, nor the giddy feeling in your chest when a crush walks into the room. Instead, you feel comfortable. Like he was always meant to be wrapped in your arms like this; like this was always how it was meant to be.
“You better be sleeping with one eye open.” you threaten, a smile gracing your lips.
“Does that mean you'll be visiting me in my room tonight?” he smirks.
“Shut the fuck up!”
— ꕤ —
In the evening of that day, after the time spent eating and conversing, and long after the sun had gone down, you find yourselves sitting in the middle of the living room floor; in the middle of a competitive game of Monopoly.
Anyone, and absolutely anyone, that has ever played Monopoly, knows for a fact that this game would either strengthen or destroy friendships. You laugh internally at the thought, watching as each player rolls and takes their turn.
It could go on and on for hours; and damn, was this game testing you. Suddenly you have no trust in anyone, and all your faith in humanity has vanished. It's not like you were a pro player — you weren't terrible either — but sitting here made you realize that you are just a complete amateur when compared to them.
Especially Izana. to you, he was the ultimate Monopoly mastermind. The way he knows exactly what to say and do to get what he wants amazes you; whether it’d be a property or trading, or even just convincing them they had to pay more for landing on his property. You smile at the way each person groans before giving in to his tactics, letting him control them like putty in his hands.
Before the game started, Izana sat everyone down around the small coffee table, laying out some ground rules and then announcing that the first person out had to do some sort of a dare.
After some back and forth of bickering — the group settled on a ‘punishment’; nothing too extreme, but will surely shake you up.
The night is young, laughter and conversations fill the room; it was perfect, fun. You take a swig out of your beer bottle that's placed next to the many others on the table, wiping the back of your mouth shamelessly. In all honesty, there was no need to put up a facade in front of any of them. It was almost as if you've been friends for years with how they include you in the banter and the games. You smile to yourself; watching as Kakucho moves his piece according to the number on the dice.
“Oh, Kaku, pay up!” Izana slams his hands down on the table, rattling everything on top of it.
There's a line of curses as Kakucho groans into his hands. But everyone laughs, a result of both the alcohol and the adrenaline of the game.
“I’d rather do anything then spend another fuckin’ stack of my money, bro,”
“Anything?” Ran wiggles his eyebrows at him from beside you.
“You know what?” Izana hums, “how about … to compensate — if you dont wanna pay — you take two shots of vodka?”
Mochi whistles, “he’s already out of it as it is,”
“Fuck it,” Kakucho gets up from the group, making his way to the cabinets to grab the bottle of clear liquid, “I’m sick ‘n tired of watching your stack of money grow — s-so fuck you ‘Zana!”
He laughs, loud and with a big grin on his face — so unforgiving. You watch as Kaku tips his head back and swallows down the two glasses, placing a hand on his throat right after as if it'll make the aftertaste any better.
He barely makes it back to the table, wobbly and dazed — having to grab on to Izana so he could sit down.
“I won’t let you off that easily next time,” he says, still smiling at his friend's state.
“Better than seeing you shit on all of us with all that money,” he grunts.
Rindou pats him on the back, “thanks for taking one for the team.”
Now, when it comes to you — you’re not doing too bad. With a good amount of properties and some cash on you, you’re pretty confident; crossing your fingers that you wouldn’t have to be the one to go through the losers’ punishment.
Ran sits next to you, wearing a sweater, and a pair of sweatpants that hang loosely on his frame. His side profile is on full display if you turn your head; with a pointed, pink dusted nose, sharp jaw and calm eyes — this is the best he’s ever looked to you.
Maybe it's the alcohol talking, or maybe these are just buried down emotions rising to the surface. You fight the urge to stroke his cheek with the back of your fingers, feeling the smooth skin under them.
You’re snapped out of your daze when you hear Rindou telling you it’s finally your turn to roll the dice. Ignoring the eyes on you, and the simmering nervousness in your belly; you roll them on the board.
Eight steps forward. You grab your piece — the hat, which was argued over with Rin because he apparently picked it first but then ended up giving it to you after he felt bad — and move it accordingly.
You see it. You really do. But you don't want to bring it to anyone’s attention in hopes that they would brush over it.
So, you stay silent, avoiding their eyes, biting the inside of your cheek, because — fuck, you’re fucked if they notice right now. You’ll be out. So you keep your eyes down, away from his, away from anyone that stares too long.
With your hands tucked under the table into fists, you feel them start sweating. On the inside — you hope that someone takes the dice and starts the next round, or calls for a break, or literally anything at this point.
But, you feel his burning gaze on you. Eyes, violet and bright, they haven't left you since you placed your piece right on his most expensive property.
Fuck. Why does this happen to you?
In a sing-song-like voice, he calls your name. Halting any tempt to move into the next round.
You clear your throat, “y-yes?”
“Aren't you forgetting something?” he tilts his head from across the table, a small smile on his face.
You squeak, “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Izana,”
Please, Fuck — this can't be happening right now.
“You sure?” he asks, in a low voice. Oh, he knows. “I’m pretty sure I own Marylebone Station,”
You hum, acting stupid, “oh, really?”
He laughs, “that’s your piece, is it not?”
You give in, unable to keep up with the dumb face anymore, groaning out loud as your forehead thumps on the table in defeat.
“Go on,” you motioned to the board, “just do it.”
He snickers at your reaction, the others not making it any better by telling you how he has no mercy when he wants to win.
And you've been trying so hard to be subtle, hiding your stack of money just to remain mysterious to the amount you actually have. But somehow, he managed to figure you all out. Always a step ahead, guess that's what makes him a mastermind in the game.
He reaches his open palm out to you over the table. “I think you know where this is going,”
“Yeah, don’t rub it in my face!” you slap the remaining stack of cash you have into his waiting hand; which now leaves you at nothing — bankrupt. Zero.
The sound of boos, yelling, and laughter fill the room once they realize you’re the first one to lose. Some were even surprised that they hadn’t caught on to how little money you had left. What makes it even worse for you — like kicking dirt into your eyes when you're already down — is that all the remaining properties that you own, are now being owned by Izana. Which puts him straight on top, with the most money, property, and houses.
They jokingly berate you over aiding Izana on the path to an easy win. But you laugh along with them, and flip off the Monopoly board as if it could do anything about your poor money management skills.
“You can’t run away now,” Kokonoi smirks, “you know what the first one out has to do.”
You hide your face in your hands, both in frustration and defeat. But, now that you think of it, after the adrenaline high you got from the game, you can't seem to be mad over your loss; and you won't let yourself chicken out of the dare now. The least you could do is be a team player and go through with it.
“Do I really have to?” you pout, hoping they'll fall for it.
“Sorry,” he waves his hand in the air, “you can’t pull that shit on me.”
You throw your head back and groan. Thinking of why the universe had to put you in this situation out of all people.
“But it’s freezing out there! c’mon…” you wrap your arms around yourself as if you could almost feel the cold all over you.
“‘Your fault for agreeing in the first place,” Koko says simply, and the others agree along with him.
“Okay- okay! Fine.” They were right — you did agree to this before you started the game, but you would have never thought that you’d be the first one out. All your faith in your Monopoly skills are thrown out the window after tonight. And you make a promise to yourself from now on to never accept anymore ‘punishments’ for losing.
You stand at your seat from the small coffee table, telling yourself to just get it done and over with — hoping that you won’t end up with a terrible cold the next day; it takes a moment to sink in; finally realizing the depth of what you are about to do.
You slide the glass door open, and immediately get hit by a wave of cold air. No matter what season it is, beaches are always freezing at night. The thin, white cotton t-shirt does nothing to shield you from the unforgiving winds. You shiver, rubbing your hands up and down your goosebumped arms.
“Offered to come with,” Ran’s voice echoes behind you. You hear him close the door after stepping out.
Turning your head, you ask, “Aren’t they all supposed to be here?”
“No,” he clicks his tongue, “well, at least not right now,”
You huff. The least they could do was join you outside; but you don’t mind Ran’s company, even if you don't know why he’s even here before everyone else.
“I don’ wanna do it.” you whine.
He laughs. “This coulda’ been any of us,” he follows you down the steps of the back deck and straight into the dry sand near the sea, “too bad you just really suck at Monopoly.”
“I don’t suck! I just didn’t think he’d catch on to me so quickly.”
Standing, the cool breeze of summer air kissing your skin, hair loose and thin clothes is peaceful. Yet, you can’t help but feel the way your heart fills up with a bittersweet feeling. You think that you will never truly be able to experience something exactly like this again in your life — and you start to appreciate it a little more, despite freezing your ass off.
Then it dawns on you out of all the things they could’ve chosen, they asked you to swim in the deep, cold waters of the ocean. All while knowing it’ll be freezing. Fuck the premeditated longing and nostalgia, you hate them—not really.
Trying to predict the moves of Tenjiku’s leader was your mistake. One that’ll never be repeated again after that embarrassing loss. You smile to yourself, thinking of how you thought you were so slick, only to find out he’d been watching and monitoring the entire time.
Frankly, Izana scares you. He gives off menacing vibes; controlling and ordinal. His eyes alone could speak louder than any of his words can. Yes, you did talk to him throughout the day and have friendly conversation, but you also noticed that he is the most cut out to be a leader out of all of them. As you got to know each one of the members, you began to realize how different they are compared to each other; personalities and all. One thing you could link, though, was how they all had a shared understanding of Izana. Regardless of their abilities or their stance in the gang, and how different they could be from one another, they fit together like puzzle pieces, perfectly made to work with each other.
“Are you just gonna stare out into the water like a weirdo?”
You didn't even realize you'd been zoning out until you felt Ran’s warm palm at the small of your back. You snap your gaze up at him.
“Do you think they’ll figure me out if I just wet my hair?”
“Are you dumb?” he laughs, “Of course they will.”
You tilt your head back and groan loudly, taking a moment to fully take in the view of the dark sky; it's so clear here. Back in Tokyo, stars and any other celestial objects were almost never seen because of all the pollution. But here, your eyes can barely even keep up with all the twinkling lights in the sky. You breathe in, salty and slightly humid air filling your lungs — almost as if you could taste it in your mouth.
“I hate you, Izana!” you yell at the top of your lungs at the sea in front of you.
Ran raises his eyebrows, watching from beside you, but doesnt say anything. He lets you pout and yell all you want until you’ve had your fill; fighting the urge to make fun of you every second he can.
But an even better idea pops into his head.
He starts by taking his sweater and sweatpants off, all items of clothing removed until he’s clad in only his designer boxers. The cold bites at his skin, but he ignores it.
And you still don’t notice, too caught up in complaining over a dare that you agreed on. He’s tuned you out by now, not trying to even comprehend the pouting mess you’ve become — stomping your feet and squeezing your fists like a child.
He doesnt think when he yanks you by the upper arm, ignoring your yelp of surprise and throwing you over his shoulder quickly. All of the time spent in the gym pays off because your weight feels as if it's nothing in his arms.
“Ran! No—Please!” you push and fight against him, already knowing what he’s about to do next, “Not yet! Not yet—!”
He laughs like a maniac, dodging your hits at him. All common sense flies out the window when he jumps straight into the chilling water — taking you along with him.
“I think that'll shut you up—!”
“Im gonna fucking KILL you—!!” you yell, trying your best to evade the waves and water splashing everywhere. He can get wet, you could care less. But, you will not let your wash day go to waste.
Too worried about getting fully wet, you don’t notice that he’s thigh-deep into the water.
There’s a second of realization, and then not even a moment after that, he dumps your entire body straight into the water below.
You come out a heaving mess. Hair flying everywhere, shirt and shorts completely soaked along with everything else you had on. You look at Ran, who’s hunched over with an arm around his belly, laughing his ass off. There are tears in his eyes; literal tears — and you’re over here looking like an angry, soaking wet kitten.
You don't know if you should laugh, cry, or be angry. There are tons of emotions swirling around in your brain, you can't even keep up with them. It's all too much. Everything is happening too quickly. Somehow, in the midst of it all, you don't even feel cold anymore. The anger running through your veins is enough to keep you hot like a burning fireplace.
“I– I can't believe you,” you want to cry, but it turns into an angry sob.
“Fuck, look at you,” he says between breathes, wiping the tears away from his eyes, hes the only thing that you can hear other than the rough splashing of the waves around you, and the howling wind.
You’re too overwhelmed with a wave of emotions, “I’m n-never trusting you again, fucking hell,” you wring your clothes of the water as if itll dry you faster, but you know that its way too late to do anything about it now.
Ran doesn’t even look sorry, you’d never get an apology out of him because you know he doesn't regret it one bit.
Next thing he knows, he’s being dragged right back into the water by none other than you. He doesn't even have the time to process what's happening before he feels you pull him by the back of his neck into the deep end.
You both rise choking and coughing out water, “K-karma’s a fucking bitch! That's what you get!”
The cold wind bites at your skin, and your face feels as if it’s about to turn to ice — but a part of you can’t seem to be that angry at him. You look at him, and his messy, wet hair, his tattooed body peaking above the dark water — and you think to yourself, this is the most fun you’ve had in a long while.
“We’re even now.”
“I’m still mad at you!” you sniff, gritting your chattering teeth. You wrap your arms around yourself to try to preserve the heat of your body. “It’s freezing here.”
The hair on your arms and back of your neck stands - and the cold does nothing to calm the erratic beat of your heart pounding heavily against your chest.
“Come here.” He breathes into the cool air.
You snap your head up at him. “What?”
He doesn't reply - instead, he leans over to gather you in his long arms, pulling you flush against his sturdy body. One of his hands pets the back of your head where it finds its place on his chest, and your arms instinctively circle around his toned waist.
“We can,” he swallows. Why does he feel weak at the feeling of your body pressed so tight against him? “Stay warm like this.”
Partly stunned by his actions, you freeze for a moment, unknowing of what to do. But when you hear the dull thump, thump, thump of his heartbeat, your body loosens up and you slump against his chest. You rely entirely on him to hold you up in the freezing water. He makes you feel … safe, comforted in the darkness. The only light source is from the bright moon hung up in the sky, reflective rays bouncing off of the water in little sparks.
Your fingers trace the skin on his back aimlessly, gently feeling the way his muscles flex and contract under your touch. It's quiet for a few moments - you try to ignore the way his heart is pounding. But shamelessly, you bask in the moment, closing your eyes to fully embrace the heat of his body.
He breathes as his chest rises and falls in sync with yours, and you feel him place his cheek against the top of your head, resting.
You let yourself free. It's perfect.
In the few moments of silence, your mind wanders. Thinking of how you've always longed to be embraced in such a way. With almost every inch of your skin meeting his, and with the weight of his rested head on yours. You long for it badly. To be needed and desired just as much as you need and desire. But what happens when you only chase after it from one person? You toss your heart into his nimble hands and tell him to take care of it. Will he?
(you wish so badly for someone to hold it delicately, softly.)
He clears his throat after you've both calmed down. “You good?”
Sighing, you tilt your head so that your chin rests on his collarbone and you're facing him.
“M’okay,” you whisper, scared that if you're too loud, you’d burst the small, delicate bubble you two share.
His eyes gleam down at you, and the light from the moon reflects off his features. You scan his face for the simplest details, counting the freckles littering his nose, the way his bottom lashes brush against his fair cheek, his soft, pink lips slightly parted.
And his eyes. Like a cat that's been caught in the dark - they glow. Violet rays peering down right back at you. You could get lost in the way the purple swims in his iris, the way the specks of yellow gloss over like bits of gold in a pool.
He’s so close, so close and so elegant to look at. He's pretty.
“What?”
You gasp under your breath, realizing that you've said that last part out loud. Heat crawls up the back of your neck and tingles the tips of your ears. You splutter in response, words jumbling up together incoherently.
“Huh- wait, no, I-” you bite the inside of your mouth to keep you from saying anything further.
What the hell.
Despite your embarrassment, you can't get yourself to take back your words when you know they're true.
You look away, unable to meet his eyes. “I mean it,” one of your hands plays absent-mindedly with his long hair, threading it through your fingers, “you’re pretty.”
He doesn't say anything, but instead leans into your touch. You don't know how you've managed to muster up the courage to say something as intimate as that, but you dont regret it. You could tell face softens at your words, at how he manages to nuzzle his cheek into your palm.
The past you would have never imagined you'd be in this situation. You wouldn't want to call it something cheesy like fate, but in some way, it just feels right.
He laughs softly, “you’re really weird sometimes, y’know that?”
Your mouth drops open in shock, “Ran Haitani! I just called you pretty and this is all you have to say?” you rip your hand away from his face, and almost get to smack him on his arm before his freakishly sharp reflexes catch you before you can.
“You're so annoying.” you grumble under your breath, suppressing a pout and turning your face away so he cant see just how flustered he makes you. He holds your wrist in the air with a tight grip, and leans his face dangerously close to yours.
“Say it again.” His lips brush against your cheek.
“And boost your already-big ego?” you huff, “never.”
He raises his eyebrows in feign shock, and shakes his head. “Me? Big ego? Nah, wrong bitch.”
There’s a second of stifling silence before the two of you burst into laughter, all teeth and full cheeks as you throw your head back. Where did all the apprehension you felt at first go? Your body feels light and free in his arms as you both laugh and play in the middle of the dark sea. There’s something so relaxing in Ran that nobody else could make you feel the same.
In this moment, you realize, there are no boundaries between you and him. There are no awkward first stages, no choking tension, and no small talk. There are only years of friendship and bonding, holding and tying the both of you together. The type where if you manage to fall back - he’ll be there to pull you right back onto the track. There is no wrong when it comes to Ran. Everything is easy; free, and effortlessly fun.
It fills you with such an intense feeling of fondness for him — and if you didn't know any better, you would kiss him straight on the lips, let the feeling of your mouths molding together tell him all the words that dare come out.
You stare at him. Him, and his ridiculously long hair, him and his violet eyes, him and his unbelievably big ego.
And you smile, big and beaming - because there can’t be anything else for you to feel in this moment other than happy.
“Move! God, you're insufferable,” you shove him playfully, avoiding his eyes - and become hyper-aware of the fact that he’s barely dressed. You turn away and face your back to him so you could gather your composure.
“Aw, come on, we were just getting started,” he whines, like a literal child. You think you could almost feel his sharp eyes on your back, and how he shamelessly stole quick glances at your almost-naked body earlier.
“It's getting way too cold,” you lie. There's a bubbling heat in your belly - and you fear that you might do something incredibly stupid if you stay here with him any longer. “We should head inside.”
As soon as you turn back towards him, someone yelling from afar cuts the conversation short.
“Ayo!” you see Rindou out on the shore, waving his hands to get your attention, “the fuck are you guys doing?”
“Nothing! We’re getting out,” you say to avoid having to explain why you were so close to his brother.
You start swimming to the shore, with Ran right behind you. Your ears and the tips of your nose feel like ice, and you’d be lucky if you don't end up with a terrible cold tomorrow.
When you make it out, it only takes the three of you seconds until you’re back inside, you hear Ran making fun of the way you look with your soaking wet clothes, but you don’t even have the energy at this point to clap back at him.
Later that night, when you’re resting your sore body in the warm heat of the bath, you think of the way he looked at you, the way he touched you, wrapped his arms around you.
It was almost as if you were the only thing he wanted at that moment.
— ꕤ —
The mornings were always the worst. Everyone's groggy, hungover, completely wrecked; Kakucho looks like he could throw up at any given moment. The pounding in your head is hard to ignore, you could feel your eyes pulsating behind your lids.
And the cherry on top? The house is an absolute mess. There are empty and half drunk bottles all over the place, blankets and pillows spread across each corner of the room, the Monopoly board sat on the coffee table as you left it. Rindou groans as soon as he comes down the steps, and the two of you share a look of understanding – like, yeah, we did in fact leave the house like this last night. Both of you take matters into your own hands, since everyone else is either asleep or puking their guts out (... kakucho), starting with the kitchen and moving your way to the living room.
Afternoon comes by, most of the guys are awake by now. Most of the day is spent recovering from the hectic night, and the group announces that they want to go fishing next to a nearby river. While they are grabbing their gear and ice boxes, you and Ran decide to skip out, choosing to do some shopping in the outlet in town.
“Ran?” you speak through the doorway of his room, peaking in to check if he’s ready to leave.
“Almost done,” he replies, facing the mirror while brushing his stupidly long hair.
“Don’t you wanna braid it?”
“Hm, yeah I will, would you wait for me, though?”
You sigh through a small smile, entering the room and standing behind him. Threading your fingers through his hair, you aimlessly play around with the dual-colored locks.
“I can braid it for you, if you want,” you tell him, peering up with genuine eyes.
“You wanna?”
You hum, “it'll be quicker if I do it, sit down.”
He places a pillow down on the floor, and you sit on the edge of the bed behind him, moving around so there’s space to plop his 6ft ass down. You brush through his hair, which is, surprisingly, incredibly soft. “How do you get your hair this smooth?” you marvel at the way it parts effortlessly between your fingers.
“dunno, to be honest. Genes?”
You snort, “No way, have you seen Rin’s hair? It's way more rough than yours,”
“The only time I get any treatment done is when I get it touched up at the salon,” he says, pulling a strand to examine it, “It’s been a while, though.”
“Looks like it.”
He whips his head back to look at you, shocked, “the fuck’s that supposed to mean?!”
“It means what I said!”
He pulls away, “I swear if you have some dumb shit to say—”
“You look like the type of guy who uses 3-in-1 shampoo.”
His mouth drops open, and the both of you freeze, except that you’re trying your hardest not to burst out in laughter.
“I do not spend thousands on my hair for you to sit here and tell me that.” He retorts, trying to get his point across.
“Ran, take a joke!” you half-yell, looking down at where he sits. You hold his hair in one of your hands, and the brush in the other.
“Oh? So you think I'm a joke?” he smiles.
You’re speechless, it's almost as if you're talking to a damn wall. The immaturity really comes out when Ran’s hair is brought up, and he's not even a sensitive guy. Not unless his looks are involved. And he shouldn't even worry about that part because you think he looks good—too good—no matter the occasion.
You urge him to turn around, not before telling him he’s acting like a toddler.
As you part his hair, you unconsciously bring your fingers up to massage the top of his scalp, something that you’d do to yourself as a part of your routine. Like expected, his hair seamlessly moves with ease with your fingers. The room is suddenly filled with a comfortable silence while you braid each section; ignoring the way he hisses when you accidentally pull too rough.
“Ran, remember when I would braid your hair just like this when we were younger?”
He hums. “‘Course I do.”
“And you'd always get mad whenever I tugged too hard,” you smile.
“Yeah, you used to have really rough hands, by the way.”
You gasp, “did not!”
“Don't even try ‘n argue with me,”
Grumbling under your breath, you tug purposely at one of the braids in response, but what you don’t expect is the way he groans right after.
You freeze, completely caught off guard. What the fuck.
It's harmless. It was nothing. Just a reflex response to pain.
So why do you suddenly feel heat crawl up from your spine straight to your ears? Like a tingle running up your body, a warm heat coating your skin. You try to shake the feeling off, quickly finishing up with the other braid and ignoring the way you fumble with your fingers and the burning in your face.
— ꕤ —
The sun shines brightly in the sky, blaring down on the small town and food stands in your view. You dab away at the thin sheen of sweat on your face, thankful for the cool wind that sweeps through your hair.
The town is bustling. Food stands, souvenir shops, and restaurants surround the entire vicinity. Adults, young children run around in delight with smiles and ice cream smeared on their cheeks. Ran trails beside you, a palm resting at the small of your back. He always has to be near you in some way; it's comforting, you think.
Taking your polaroid camera out of your tote bag, you slip the case off — seeing that there’s only a few more pieces of film inside. Looking ahead, at the beautiful chaos of colors, stands, decorations; you think it's perfect to snap a picture of. Something to add to your polaroid wall collection.
You stop in place, angling the camera, focusing the lenz, and snap.
The picture comes out a few seconds later, and you give it a few good shakes to see if it would form any quicker. And you’re not surprised to see — once it loads — that it looks just as good, if not even better, than the real thing. The colors pop, the texture and surfaces are shown in a grainy aesthetic; you know once you look back on this sometime in the future, you could also hear the music and chatter among you.
You tuck it into the pocket inside your bag.
The day moves by with you dragging Ran (who willingly follows) to almost every food stand, and shop. You stop by a place that has an entire three walls, from top to bottom, filled with magnets and keychains. He watches you from the side, seeing the way you squeal and gasp over each magnet you pick off the corkboard, and he smiles.
He loves seeing you happy, and if running along with you from store to store will ensure he sees his favorite sight, then he’d be more than willing to follow you around everywhere like a puppy; he would never mind spending more time with you.
While the other boys are away fishing, they send you a small list of groceries to get while you’re out. Mostly food, some bug spray, and at the end of the list was firewood. Assuming it would be for the bonfire they were planning that same night.
After completing your own agenda, and even convincing Ran to try the famous ice cream in town, you make your way to a nearby supermarket, gathering all the items needed. Of course, almost instinctively, Ran follows with you pulling him ahead by his hand. He only really notices it now, that you'd been warming his hand in yours for most of the day. There’s a warm feeling in his chest at the thought.
The supermarket you go to is small; run by an elderly couple and their son. He pushes the cart while you two go through each isle and grab the things you need. He notes the way you latch onto him sometimes, hooking your elbow with his as you walk around. He has no idea if you know that you’ve been doing it — but he chooses not to say anything, lest you’re suddenly hyper aware of the fact and then get embarrassed.
He likes it like this. It feels so in-place. Even if this is just a random grocery in a random town, he knows it's not the place; rather, the person he’s with. And he would go anywhere with you if you asked him to.
He listens to you as you ramble and talk about anything and everything. Telling him about the things he’s missed out on since he last saw you. You spill all the tea about your friend group drama and how some professor got caught sleeping with another last month. Your voice fills the silence, and the words excitedly come out of your mouth. He laughs along with you, pinching your cheek whenever you make fun of him, and reaches over whenever you ask him to help. He has missed this, missed you. It reminds him so much of the late-night runs to the rundown supermarkets when you and Rin would tag along, spending the night, snacking and binging entire shows; only to pass out once the sun comes up.
By the time early evening comes by, the sun is starting to set and you’ve both been home long enough to clean up and pack all the groceries. The rest of the boys are finally home before the last bit of sunlight disappears, and Ran has already put the firewood on the back deck outside. They walk through the front door with a ruckus, messy and sweaty and holding two ice boxes filled with fish that they’ve caught that day.
The house is filled with chatter and life, in comparison to how it was when you and Ran were home. They are a handful; you’ve already concluded. Loud, spontaneous and fun to be around — a typical group of boys, but they are different to you. In the short time you’ve gotten to know them, they have become somewhat your friends. There is never a dull moment with the Tenjiku boys.
The rest of the day goes by in a blur; with your body tired and muscles aching from all the walking you’ve done earlier. After helping them set up for dinner, you take a nap, leaving the large glass doors of your room open so you could calmly fall asleep to the sound of the waves outside.
You’re only woken up by Rindou when it's time to eat, groggy and tummy empty, you thank the boys for preparing most of it. Not surprised by Izana’s cooking skills, the fish is delicious; he tells you if it weren't for the clear instructions he found online, and help from Kakucho, he would have burnt the house down.
The moon is up and high when the group lights the bonfire outside. The wood you and Ran brought home is set up piece by piece on the sand near the shore, with chairs sitting a safe distance from the burning, fueled fire. Of course, things are never linear with the boys, and the thought of doing something dangerous and potentially life threatening excites them.
This only explains why Rindou is yelling at Shion to drop the gasoline bottle down. Instead, the latter runs around in circles, continuously pouring more and more into the fire while laughing maniacally. You’re left to stand in shock, a laugh bubbling behind your lips as you watch the chaos around you.
After a while, everyone is out and sitting near the bonfire. There some are drinking, or smoking while conversing. The night is cold, especially by the beach, the wind blows through your hair, and you’re wrapped up in a bundle with a blanket, curled up on your seat while holding your bottle in your hand. Ran sits next to you, his own bottle resting by his lips; half lidded eyes are scanning over the group as a result of the intoxication, he has a lazy smirk on his face, but you don’t really have enough energy to try and comprehend what he’s saying. Now that you really notice it, most of you are either tipsy or high.
The night is hazy, but comfortable. You don’t think twice when you agree to a game of truth or dare, just considering it a way to have fun and pass time. It starts small, with stupid dares or dumb little questions. It gets a laugh out of the group, they make fun of it, and then eventually move on. But, they do end up getting more serious, you just play along, also finding excitement in the chaos. You don't question them when they do dangerous things. This is what is considered fun to them. Danger. Again, you don’t think twice whenever you do a dare, or when you answer when asked a very personal question. Because fuck it, why would it matter anyway? You’re all having fun, all being exposed and personal; it's fine, you’ll be sober enough to remember most, but not all, of this tomorrow anyway.
The drink is heavy in your hand, and your eyes are blurring with every blink. Intoxication makes everyone do stupid things, you know that much; and you note that you are much braver intoxicated than not.
This is why when you’re dared by someone to kiss Kakucho, you don’t give it a second thought. All common sense is thrown out the window when he cups your cheek and his lips meet yours.
It was quick, really. Barely felt it. And when he pulls away you both laugh at each other, simultaneously having a what the fuck happened moment. They’re yelling; some are hollering. The pounding behind your eyes persists, and you run off an adrenaline high, sobering up.
And in everyone’s mind it was nothing; insignificant. At least compared to the other things they were asked to do like sticking their hand in the fire for instance. You remind yourself that people do stupid things like this, especially intoxicated, especially when playing truth or dare. You can’t seem to harbor any feeling of resentment towards any of the boys, because it was harmless in the end, and it passed just as quick as it began.
But it wasn’t insignificant to him.
Ran watches, rooted in his seat, lips parted in shock. You wouldn’t do it, right? There's no way.
But you did. And he watched. Unable to speak nor move. If he really pays attention to it, he thinks he could hear the heavy thump of his pulse — and the sinking of his stomach.
The bottle in his hand suddenly feels too heavy, and his throat is closing up on itself. It's too loud.
He shouldn't be angry, or upset — he thinks. Regardless of his feelings towards you, you aren’t in a relationship, and you are free to do anything you please.
But, fuck, he would be lying if he said it didn’t hurt him to see you kissing his friend, dare or not.
He swallows, turning to Rindou who sits next to him. He looks just as surprised, and in the midst of all the laughter and conversation, they both silently share a look of understanding, his brother knowing him inside and out, as if he could read his thoughts right through him.
Without uttering anything else, Ran dumps the rest of his drink into the sand, deciding he’s had enough and leaves for the night. He’s seen enough. He’s not angry — far from it, but he’s disappointed.
He tells himself over and over, that you are, and always will be, a world away from him. Unattainable; no matter what he tries or how hard he does. Everytime he pulls you by the rope that ties the two of you — you manage to loosen it up every single time. Maybe he should just get the message, that you two will never be what he thought you could be in his head, that the thought of there being a you and him will always be foreign, uncharted territory.
— ꕤ —
The next morning you wake up with the worst headache imaginable. You toss and roll around in bed, covering your face with your pillow to block out the sunshine that spills through the curtains in the room.
With no clue where you left your phone last night, you have no idea what time it is — you know it's around noon with how brightly lit the area is. Regardless, you manage to drag yourself out of the sheets, ignoring the way your body screams for more time in bed, but this headache, and your dry throat won’t fix themselves.
The house is completely empty when you finally make your way downstairs. It's unusual; you’d been so used to the chaos that waking up to a quiet space is unnerving. The kitchen is empty, save for a few plates sitting in the sink but the rest of the house looks untouched. Your head pounds when you think too hard about everyone's absence.
Without giving it much thought, you start to brew a cup of coffee for yourself — since it seems that you are the only one here. The fresh cup smells delicious, and you sit down on the stools placed next to the island; scrolling on your phone that's been left on the counter from last night.
A few minutes later, you’re greeted by a soft sound of a door closing upstairs. You snap your head up when the footsteps are creaking down the wooden stairs; only to see a half-asleep Ran yawning.
“Oh, morning,” you greet.
He grunts when he sees you, but he says nothing more than that. His eyes quickly avert away from yours and he stretches as he walks inside the kitchen. The silence is predictable; he's never been a person of too many words in the morning.
“There’s some coffee left if you want.” you say, sipping your own cup.
Again, he doesn’t really reply. You brush it off.
The next few minutes are spent in silence. He rummages through the cabinets and the fridge for something to make while you finish up your drink. Now, you start thinking something is weird when this much time has passed and he’s still not said a single word to you.
You hop off your stool to stand next to him by the stove, “so, you have any clue where everyone is?”
He cracks two eggs in a small bowl and starts mixing them together. “Nope.”
You stand quietly, leaning your hip against the counter, unsure of what else to say since he doesn't bother to continue the conversation. He hasn’t looked at you once except for when he first came down.
You swallow. This is uncomfortable, and what makes it worse is that silence has never been uncomfortable with Ran.
Rinsing a strawberry that you fetched from a nearby fruit bowl, you try again. “‘You have any plans today then?”
When you peer up at his side profile, you think you see his jaw tense, his teeth gritting together. You furrow your brows slightly, now you are curious.
“No, I don’t.”
You bite the inside of your mouth; another dry response.
But you persist, “‘ya wanna go swim later? Or, I dunno, down to the market?”
He turns his back to you, leaning to open one of the cabinets and pull out a pan for the eggs. He still hasn’t looked at you once; eyes stuck to his task. What the hell is wrong with him?
“Ah, actually, I’ve got something today.” he replies finally, mixing the contents in the frying pan.
You raise your eyebrows, “Oh, like what?”
He sighs deeply. Dropping the spatula in his hand and lowering the heat on the stove. Crossing his arms, he looks down at the ground while playing with his bottom lip.
After a few seconds of silence, you start to worry. You know you’re pushing him to at least get some sort of response but now, the change of attitude fills you with a great sense of anxiety. Your first instinct is to immediately try to smooth things over.
“Hey,” you step closer to him, reaching your palm out, “you feeling okay?”
You place the back of your hand on his forehead to check for a potential fever, only for him to step away from your touch.
“Ran,” you say, stern. If he won't speak willingly, you will make him say it. “What's wrong?”
He clicks his tongue. “There’s nothing.”
“Seriously? Then why are you ignoring me?”
“I’m not ignoring you.”
You squeeze your fists together in frustration. “You won't even look at me!”
“What is up with you today?” he says, finally turning to you with hard eyes, “I said there was nothing wrong.”
You step back, crossing your arms and staring him down. If he wants to act like a child, he can. But eventually he’ll need to speak up because this isn't the Ran you know.
“It doesn’t seem like nothing,” you mumble. “You’re being weird.”
He knows he’s being an asshole; but he can’t help the way he feels whenever he looks at you. Everytime he remembers the events of last night, there’s a dull thud of pain in his chest, and a lump in his throat forms.
This is why he can’t look at you. Because if he does, then he knows he’ll say something he will regret, and then freak you out and push you away and– He can’t stand the thought of losing you. So if he has to sit here in silence and painfully watch you kiss his friend in order to keep you close, he would do it with no hesitation because he values you so much more than you could ever imagine.
“Ran, please,” he hears your voice, a lot softer this time, “did I do something? Just tell me,”
He swallows, staring hard at the wooden floor beneath him. Finally, he lets out a long sigh, and turns off the stove.
He can’t keep hurting himself over and over because he can never have you. The least he could ask is that you let him down gently. It physically pains him, nauseates him, when he thinks that there is a big possibility you would never be the same with him ever again after this.
But he can’t keep doing this to himself.
“Do you…remember anything from what happened last night?”
Oh.
“Oh, no,” you cover your face with your palm, while staring at him with wild eyes, “what did I do last night?”
“Just answer the question.”
You play with the hem of your cotton shirt, wracking your brain for anything stupid that could’ve happened last night. Anything that could’ve been crossing boundaries, anything disrespectful.
But nothing comes to mind.
“No, I don’t.”
He slowly nods, almost like it was the answer he expected.
“Ran, just get to the point, please,” you plead, the anxiety is making you fidget, and his silence only worsens it.
“Nothing at all?”
You shake your head, “just bits ‘n pieces, but nothing crazy,”
He looks back at you, staring straight into your eyes this time, “Did you know that you kissed Kakucho last night?” he says, finally.
His words take time to process inside your brain. “What?”
“Yeah.”
“You don’t fuckin remember how you encouraged him? Reached for him?” he snaps, looking more upset than angry.
“I– what?”
“Yeah.”
Your heart sinks. “Ran I’m– I don't even remem–”
“Yeah, of course you don't.”
You furrow your brows; if he’s not angry, then you certainly are getting there. “What the fuck does that have to do with anything? Why are you angry with me?”
He shakes his head, leaning over the counter and places his hands to lean on it. But he refuses to reply to any of your questions. The silence is making you angry, and this was your last straw.
The dots connect. Everything snaps into place. And you think you know exactly what he’s trying to say. But you need to hear him say it no more speculating from your part. You grit your teeth. “If you have some shit to say, Ran, then fucking say it.” you demand. “Or else I'm walking out the door.”
Your words hang in the air for a few moments. The silence is loud.
Finally, he turns to you, and gets close enough that his body is a step away from yours.
“Do you really not get it?” he says quietly, eyebrows raising in what looks like shock.
You stare up at him dumbly.
“Do you need me to spell it out for you?” exasperated, two warm palms cup both sides of your face; giving you no other option than to look only at him. “Are you really this dense?”
You unconsciously pout, and that snaps his eyes from yours to your lips, back and forth.
“Just say it,” you whisper, eyes looking straight into his violet ones, “please, I need to hear you say it.”
But instead of doing so he kisses you, desperately, because he knows that he will never be able to explain the way he feels towards you with words – so he lets the feeling of his lips on yours do it for him.
It throws you off guard, but once you feel his soft lips molding against yours, you accept him eagerly. Your hands come up to grip him by the top of his shirt, deepening the kiss.
You break away from him panting, eyes darting between his eyes and lips.
“I like you, you dumbass,” he says, finally. “I always have.”
If the kiss wasn’t enough to steal your breath away, then his confession is; it leaves you breathless and stunned, staring back at him with wide eyes.
“Like, like me?” you ask, just making sure you heard him correctly.
He blinks back at you. “You are so dumb, it amazes me.”
“Ran!” you bring your arm up to smack his side before he pulls you in again, harder this time; roughly placing his lips on yours. You hum into the kiss, a sense of satisfaction prickling at your skin. It feels so right, you think, like this was exactly where you are meant to be right now.
Even so, you don’t think you’ve really completely processed what he said, because after all this time, after all these years, you would’ve never thought that the confession you’d been dreaming of could be triggered by frustration and longing.
His hands move to hold you firmly by the waist, pulling you flush against his body and your arms slide up to connect behind his neck. You savor the way he feels against you, like a puzzle piece that fits perfectly next to the other, your bodies connect almost like they were always meant to.
But Ran is impatient, he’s always been, and he can’t help but make the kiss messier. The two of you only part for mere seconds to breathe before he kisses you again, and again, and again, Like he can’t get enough of you.
He groans when he feels you pull on his hair, and his grip around you tightens. Not subtly, his hands wander all over your body, slowly testing the waters by slipping them under your shirt, indulging in the softness of your skin under his fingertips.
You pull away abruptly, like his touch resembled searing coal, “are– are you sure you wanna do this?”
He freezes, “you… don’t want to?”
“No, no–! It's not that,” you shake your head, and you swallow down your anxiety, “I, I don't wanna freak you out by going too fast, I know you were pretty upset and–”
You’re silenced by another kiss, but this time, his hand sits perfectly on top of the column of your throat, and he squeezes down lightly to see how you’d react.
And, fuck, does he get a reaction from you. Your dewy lips part willingly, waiting for his hot tongue to meet yours; waiting for him to suck and bite like he owns you. You let him explore your mouth with ease, all while his large hand pins you in place by the throat.
If you could melt into a puddle on the floor right now, you would. Butterflies erupt in your belly, and your eyes half lidded in satisfaction at the subtle lack of oxygen – lastly, you feel wet slick clinging to the inside of your panties, rubbing uncomfortably on your skin.
You sigh happily as he pulls away, and guides you to the edge of an empty countertop nearby.
“If you don’t feel comfortable,” he says between desperate kisses up your neck, “just tell me ‘n I’ll stop.”
He pulls you up by the back of your thighs and places you on top of the counter; the contrast between the coldness of the counter against your warm skin makes you hiss. Your legs part instantly to make space for him to stand in between, and he chuckles at the evident desperation.
“Please,” you whisper, locking your legs behind him and pushing his hips closer to yours. His hot breath tickles your neck, and you’d squirm away if not for his other hand holding the side of your face in place. “Don’t stop.”
He kisses the skin behind your ear, stopping when he feels you tense up underneath him, and sucking at the skin, hard, pulling a whimper from you. You don’t pull away; the pain makes warm heat fill your belly, it makes you ache with want.
You pull him back up to kiss him; because you don’t know how else to output the flurry of emotions inside of you right now. Your hands find place at his shoulders, while his own slide down your bare thighs, massaging and gripping at the flesh.
At one point, you’re overcome by a surge of confidence, guiding his hips so that they align straight with yours, and you gasp when you feel his cock, fully hard, under his sweats. Again, your hips press harder onto his, grinding down on his dick.
“Fuck,” he groans, mimicking your actions by pushing his own roughly up against yours. The grip he has on your hips hurts, but the pleasure you feel when he rubs against you in a certain way makes it too good to care. You moan softly at the stimulation, and he eagerly swallows your cries.
None of you dare break the kiss, not even when he begins to slip the band of both your shorts and underwear down, both at the same time.
“No, no, not here,” you pull away, stopping him by pressing your palm against his chest. No matter how desperate you actually were, you were not going to have your first time with Ran on a kitchen counter, although the barely there pout on his lips almost made you cave in.
He furrows his brows, tilting his head slightly in confusion, “why not?”
“I don’t want them walking in on us.” You purse your lips. By the way he starts fidgeting with the hem of your bottoms you can tell he’s getting impatient, matching your own level of desperation.
“they won’t be here for at least a few more hours.”
“Ran! We’re not doing it in the kitchen!” You huff, remembering the amount of times all of you had collectively made a mess on top the counters while cooking or drinking or placing random shit on them; it makes you internally cringe. Not only is it unsanitary, but you’d feel much more comfortable if it was in the privacy of your room.
“God, you’re annoying.” He says half jokingly, helping you down the counter.
You giggle, “Yeah, but you like me for it.”
“You're lucky I do.”
“What do you mean I’m lucky?!”
The both of you bicker all the way up until you reach your room, and you smile at the thought of how before all of this – before the feelings, the tension – you were just friends. This was built on a foundation of friendship and familiarity before anything else.
The tops and bottoms of your outfit are off as soon as your bedroom’s door loudly shuts closed. He takes the time to savor the way your naked body looks in front of him. You sit patiently in your undergarments by the edge of the bed, looking up at him as he takes off his shirt and sweats.
This view – the way you look up at him with half lidded eyes, lips parted and glossy – sends shivers down his spine. Years of fucking his fist at the thought you sitting all pretty in front of him just like this, in this exact position with him looming over you, and his hips almost parallel to your face. He can’t help but indulge in the thought of all the things he wants to do with you.
Instead, he brushes the back of his palm against your soft cheek, cupping your face so he could lean down and give you a sweet kiss. He knows this isn’t about him, and so he kneels down in front of you, keeping sharp eye contact at all times.
You let him strip away your panties, shivering as his fingertips graze your skin, and he pulls you roughly so your hips are right at the edge.
“look at you, baby, fuck.” He licks his lips at the sight of your legs spread open for him, pussy on full display, “How could you hide this from me?”
He isn't looking for an answer, too busy drinking in the dewy mess of your cunt. Two of his fingers come up to trace the outside of your hole, gathering the slick and bringing it to rub against your clit.
You hum in satisfaction at the shocks of pleasure that are sent up your body. Unconsciously, one of your hands makes its way under your bra to pinch one of your nipples, and you flinch at the mixture of pain and pleasure.
He presses a small kiss to your clit, and then another, this time softly sucking. He holds your thigh in place while his other starts to slowly bully two of its fingers inside your hole. The double stimulation makes you mewl his name, and he laps straight at your clit, not too hard, but just enough to have you impatiently bucking your hips into his mouth. His tongue moves quickly to rub against you, hardening as he reaches your clit, and then softens when he makes his way back down.
He’s eating like a starving man, a buffet in front of him after decades of famine; groaning at the way you shiver and cry when he stimulates a certain spot. Fuck, he could die happy right now.
Your insides are soaking, filled with slick as he pumps his fingers in and out. The sounds coming from you are obscene, filling the room along with your soft moans. He relishes in them, giving him exactly what he needs to continue pleasuring you. He needs to hear more, needs to see the way you break apart for him.
Your fingers thread through his hair, tugging hard and pulling him impossibly deeper into your cunt while his fingers rubbed sticky circles against your nub and simultaneously fucked you with his tongue. From the way you clench down on him, the tight grip you have on his hair, and your hips grinding against his mouth, he knows you’re close – dancing right at the edge of the cliff of your orgasm.
But what he doesn’t expect is how you push his face away.
He looks up at you, suddenly worried he’s crossed a line. Your thighs tremble, and you bite back a whine at the loss of his mouth against you.
“I don’ wanna cum yet,” you say, panting.
Oh.
If Ran were to touch himself right now, he thinks he could cum in mere seconds. His cock is hard and heavy in his boxers, aching to be freed.
“Fuck, that’s hot,” he whispers, almost to himself. He’s frozen in place, he doesn't even know what to do with himself, unable to figure out a way to handle all the emotions that held his body captive.
You look like a goddess, with the way you stare up at him with hazy eyes, your body shining with a thin sheen of sweat, and your bra barely hanging on.
“I wanna cum while you fuck me.”
At first, he he told himself to take it slow, and to take his time, but now, he doesn’t know what he’ll do if he doesnt fuck you; he can’t be patient any longer.
Climbing into bed, he towers over you. And you move up to make space for him.
“Condom?” he asks. And you shake your head no.
His boxers quickly peeled off, quick fingers freeing his cock from the confines. The cocky bastard he is, he can’t but watch the way you ogle at it, the hint of a smirk ghosting his lips at your reaction.
You dip your fingers into your cunt, gathering up enough slick, and then bringing that same hand right to his cock. He watches eagerly; how you slowly wrap around him. Your slick covers his pulsating dick, and he groans at the way your small hand starts stroking him at a comfortable pace.
“Jus’ like that.” he leans over you, placing his arms right beside your head, forcing you to lay on your back. Even like this, you don’t stop stroking him, paying extra attention to the way he groans when you twist your hand right at the tip. He bucks into your fist, fucking himself impatiently – and you watch, wide eyed. “Fuck, you look so pretty stroking me, baby.”
Your cunt clenches at the sight of him using you, but you can’t wait any longer, “Ran,” you touch his jaw, lightly pulling his face up where his eyes were glued to your ministrations, “‘need you inside, please.”
He aligns himself with your dripping cunt, looking up at you one last time to check on you, just to see if you are as needy as him.
“So warm,” he grunts, the tip of his dick barely inside your hole. He squeezes his eyes shut at the sensation, pushing himself even deeper, “and so fuckin’ tight, baby.”
You whimper at the intrusion, and fidget around with your arms because you're so overwhelmed that you have no clue where to place them – opting to just wrap them around his large frame, tracing the flexing muscles of his back. It’s been a while since you’ve had sex; even with this much foreplay, it feels like his cock is splitting you open, and he’s not even fully inside.
The tingly sensation persists even when he slowly starts thrusting, and you gasp at the sudden motion. The way his cock slides between your wet walls has you throwing your head back, moaning shamelessly as he starts an unapologetic pace.
Ran is impatient, you remind yourself – you're not too surprised when he starts pounding into you, openly groaning filthy words that go straight to your cunt. The bed creaks with every slam of his hips against yours, and your nails dig into his back.
The way he leans down to circle his arms under your back, the way he pulls you flush against him, it has fireworks going off in your head, and butterflies erupting in your belly. There is no place you’d rather be right now than here with him. It feels like second nature, and now that both your feelings are out in the open, doing this with him feels unpredictably better than you could’ve ever imagined.
He moves so that your legs are up higher around his waist, crossed behind his back. His arms pull you in by your shoulders, using it as leverage to slam you back down into him. It makes you cry out, and he drinks them up each time. He craves to hear you come undone around him.
The skin-on-skin contact makes your nipples harden against his chest, and he brushes against them continuously with every thrust.
“Ran,” you cup his face with both your hands, wordlessly asking him for a kiss. Soft like butter, his lips meet yours, and he takes his as a chance to slip his tongue into your mouth, greedily licking. He expectedly takes the lead, and moves you around just how he likes; while making sure you’re also enjoying this.
Eyes blows wide and lust filled, you drink up the way he looks while he’s fucking you. Tattoos, big dark ink covering his entire half is mesmerizing; sitting perfectly on his skin. He’s the only thing running through your mind right now, all you could think of is Ran.
“I’m– yes! there, oh, please please don’t stop,” you beg, even if he doesn’t ask you to. The words uncontrollably spill out of your mouth, there’s no more holding back.
“Yeah? Here? Tell me more, talk to me,” He slams his hips in a specific spot and it has you scrambling to ground yourself, internally, you’re grateful for the way he holds you so close like this, mewling even louder than before. “you like that? yeah? I know you fuckin’ do.”
The greediness comes out, and Ran feels the way you clench down on him each time the hair of his happy tail rubs deliciously against your clit. You chase to get more, feel more of him, and fuck, when you do it brings tears to your eyes. They stream down your face, and there’s nothing else you’re able to do than wail in pleasure.
He gazes up at you, and it looks like the most perfect thing he’s ever seen. Your lips are glossy and parted, panting through your moans, and the way you reach for him makes him think, aw, poor baby, doesn’t know what to do with herself.
He knows you're close, and he just goes a little deeper, grinds down a little harder, fills your ears with even dirtier words; your warm, slicked walls of your cunt spasm around him, and then a few moments later, he feels your warm, sticky cum drench your insides.
You come down from your high with a haze, throat hoarse, feeling like your minds been stuffed with cotton, and your arms slump to the sides as you stare up at Ran.
“I’m not done with you yet, baby,” he grips your hips, rising up and tossing you over on your stomach.
“Ran–!”
“Shh, you’ve had your fun. Now it’s my turn.” His hands slide up your shiny back, while his thighs part your own to make way for his dick. “so fuckin’ hot like this. y’know that? How could you make me wait this long?”
“You took too long to say anything!” you turn your head to look back at him, a ghost of a smile on your lips.
“Oh, really?” he raises an eyebrow, “Well sorry, but I don’t decide to drunkenly kiss guys when I already like somebody.” He roughly pulls you back by the hips closer to his cock, and you use your elbows to steady yourself.
You pout. “You know I’m sorry.”
“You better be.” He pinches your side playfully.
He takes no more time after that, impatiently slicking his cock through your soaked folds; it parts easily for him, and he sees your swollen clit flinch at his touch.
“Ohh,” He coos, “baby’s sensitive.” He runs his tip up and down, gathering the built up slick, and finally, sliding into your cunt.
Both of you moan simultaneously, and it’s only a few thrusts in before he’s back to hungrily pounding into you. This time, he chases his own orgasm.
The grip he has on your hips is harder than before, and his thrusts have you gasping for air with each one; you can’t help but meet him in the middle every time, craving even more of him.
You can tell he’s needing it, bad. And so you don’t stop yourself when you start speaking every filthy thing you can into existence, helping him out.
“Ran-! oh, fuck right there-!”
“You wan’ it like this, pretty girl?” He replies through gritted teeth, eyes locked to the way your ass meets him with every thrust.
“Yes! Yes, want you to cum in me!” you gasp.
He loudly groans, hunching over so his chest is in full contact with yours; he brings his hand to your throat once again, squeezing and using it as leverage to pull you back.
It feel indescribably good — especially at the lack of oxygen, at the skin to skin contact, he way he licks up a line from your shoulder to the back of your neck — it’s all too fucking good.
He cums seconds after that, with a deep groan and a bite on your shoulder; slipping out of your pussy only so he can slump his heavy body right on top of you, pinning you uncomfortably into the mattress.
After you both sit in silence, catching your breaths, and you’ve rolled him off of you, he finally speaks.
“promise you won’t kiss anymore guys.” he pants.
You giggle, turning your head to look at his painfully beautiful side profile, “Pinky promise. You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted.”
He closes his eyes and swallows with relief, “Good, good.”
You climb your way into his chest, happily nuzzling on top of him, and he strokes the back of your head lovingly. All is good, he thinks. He doesn’t need to hold his breath anymore. You’ve pulled him out of the water.
-
asks/comments/reblogs with tags are v appreciated!! i would loooovee to hear any feedback or thoughts <33 pls dont ask for a second part !!!!
✧°₊•ᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ່࡚ࠢ࠘⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊ࠢ࠘𐡏 * OPERATION: BOOM. under toman’s command, you’re ordered to go on a stealth mission to gather intel on a mysterious missile that’s been discovered in an enemy base, and a certain black cat accompanies you while you’re there.
✯ cws. call of duty!au. super self indulgent action/adventure fic. inspired by the combat gear game art. if you can handle the anime/manga, you can handle this. porn with plot. blood & violence, minor injury, self defense, kill or get killed. use of guns/knives graphic depictions of fighting bc reader is a bad bitch girlboss etc. explicit m/f smut, unprotected ptv, praise, tension, baji has a slick tongue. the sexy woman in the banner above is @/llimpidity_
✯ word count. 9,7k (putting on my clown shoes)
✯ an. this fic has been rotting my brain for 2 months and !!! it’s finally here. i’ve spent days, weeks doing lots of research and worked super hard on this and so any sort of feedback in the form of asks/comments/reblogs are much appreciated!! this was basically me challenging my self as a writer. ty my beloved char 4 beta. enjoy <3
-> link 2 the combat gear game art (twt)
before you read, here’s a little glossary i put together for this fic.
Call signs: Nicknames for each of the characters, they also refer to each other with call signs during a mission/task.
Reader: Ice.
Baji: Black Cat or B.C; Canon nickname in the game.
Chifuyu (On standby): Snow; Canon nickname in the game
Kazutora (Sniper): Tiger
Draken (Helicopter): Dragon
Mikey (Commander, Overseer): Boss, Chief
Team Alpha A, main team (Toman): Reader, Baji, Kazu, Draken
Team Beta (Standby): Chifuyu, unmentioned npc’s (lol)
now . . . to the actual fic :)
In pulsing waves, the adrenaline rushes through your body, filling your blood streams and setting alight nerve endings. It sends shivers up your spine, the type of excitement mixed with fear that makes your heart rate shoot up and turns your focus laser-sharp.
It's nearing midnight, dark clouds looming over the Toman hideout as you stand by a dirty window, peering outside at the dark shadows of the night.
Heavy boots hit the cold concrete of the warehouse, along with the shuffling movements of heavy tactical gear shifting together. No one speaks a single word, not until the Boss is here, all waiting patiently for Mikey to arrive.
As one of the main members of Team Alpha A, under Tomans main command, you’ve been called here with the other four members, only an hour before you are all set out to complete the task. One that's been planned and thought through for months and months. One that you’ve all lost sleep over for countless nights. It's finally here.
Tonight, there simply is no room for errors. No room to fuck up, well, unless you want it to be your last night. A single miscalculation, or something not timed correctly, could cost you your life, or even the rest of the team's lives.
You thump your foot against the cracks in the worn-out concrete, wiping your sweaty palms against your black cargo pants, pacing around near the window, waiting until Mikey arrives. Until then, you repeat the plan over and over again on a loop like a cassette tape in your head. Reviewing each step thoroughly. Imagining every possible outcome that the night could end up in.
To your right, sitting on a stack of left-behind blocks of wood is Black Cat, or, B.C for short – Baji Keisuke. His hair is left untied and loose, thick strands frame the sides of his face. You think the name fits him perfectly. Especially like this, dressed in all black tactical military gear that frames his body just right, in the dark light of the abandoned warehouse, he looks exactly like his name; Black Cat. Stealthy, smooth, serene.
The rest of the members of Alpha A are here too, pacing around, preparing gear, or filling ammo. After what feels like years of dead silence, you finally hear – who you assume is – the Boss pull up in a black Cadillac. Rocks cracking under the weight of the vehicle over it. Everyone snaps their head up as soon as they hear the commotion outside, all eyes pinned to the door, where the bright headlights of the car peek through the cracks under the old door.
The heavy metal door is pushed open, in walks Sanzu. Pausing at the doorway, his emerald eyes glimmer under the dark lights, scanning the room once before turning his head back, silently nodding. Then, Mikey arrives. Dressed in an all black suit, hair untied, with a glock hiding in the inside of his jacket.
He nods in greeting at everyone in the room, then quietly leans against the back of a worn out leather seat.
It's silent for a few moments, before he crosses his arms and tilts his chin up.
“Let's make this a quick briefing,” he says, voice neutral. “I’m sure most of you already know what your individual tasks are for tonight.”
Mikey scans the room from left to right, dark eyes examining each of your group's members. He studies you closely.
“Let me say this first and foremost. It could be the last night for any of you,” you feel a chill go down your spine, “... so, that means that it's important to work together. This is a reminder that you can’t accomplish this alone.”
As soon as he says the last part, you feel his eyes land on you. As if he’s directing the words straight at you.
You tilt your face to the side at him, a little smile growing on your lips, “don’t give me that look, Mikey.”
He shrugs, ignoring your comment, and continues. “You will all need each other. Stick to your tasks, communicate, and go into it with all you have. It is not easy, but I trust in you. I trust in Toman. Don’t let me down.”
“We won’t,” Chifuyu, the leader of the backup team, BETA, lightens up, hopping down from the step ladder he was sitting on and walking towards the center of the group, “All we need is you, Mikey. As our leader, and our friend, we trust you, too.”
“Good.” he smiles, “now that's been said, let’s begin.” he gestures for all of you to sit on the surrounding chairs around him. The final meeting officially began, this will be the last time you’ll see him until the mission is over – the last time you'll be able to speak freely like this. It's not like you can go back now anyway, it's too late, everythings been prepared and ready. The plan all mapped out and memorized. Carved into your brain permanently. As much as you think you've prepared yourself mentally, physically, shit, even emotionally – you still feel the fear laced in your blood. An inescapable feeling.
Mikey leans forward and places his elbows on his knees, letting his blond hair fall loose to his sides. Taking a moment to inspect the map on the old coffee table in front of him, he traces the worn paper with his fingertips, internally revising the plan in his mind.
“Tora,” he calls, and the man steps closer to Mikey as he speaks, eyes still pinned to the map, “you’re here. Roof of Building C12. Pick your place, make it wise, you know best. You know where you need to be in order to guard the main entrance and balconies. You’re Ice’s eyes from the outside.”
As the Boss says your call sign – Ice – Tora sends a smirk your way, and you wish you could punch that cocky look right off his face. Mikey repeats orders, everyone is in a hyper focused state. Either due to adrenaline or anxiety, who knows. You chew the inside of your cheek, a bad habit you’ve come to do whenever you find yourself once more in these situations.
At this point, you’ve grown used to it. Grown to embrace it, even. For what is a man without his fear? How could you call yourself a human if you don’t allow yourself to bask in the rush of adrenaline your body gives you under moments like these? A part of your skill is that you work best under pressure; if you were to strip yourself of that skin you would be left with nothing – no fear, no happiness, no pain, and no skill. You used to worry that you’re too emotional for this line of work, but after the years of experience, and seeing things that have burnt their place in your mind forever – you’ve managed to build a tough shell. An exterior made of nothing but… frigid, hard, ice.
But Ice can always be chipped.
“Baji,” He calls, snapping you out of your reverie, “You’re going in with her, straight to the camera room. You’re Ice’s eyes from the inside.”
The heat of Baji’s body standing next to radiates in waves, he’s close enough that you don’t even need to move any closer to sense his sharp scent.
The group forms a circle around Mikey, eager ears listening to his commands and orders. Way past negotiation, this is finalizing. This is setting things in stone, no more turning back. And when Mikey speaks, there is no room for disobedience— no room for disagreement. And the great leader he’s always been, Mikey speaks with his chest. There’s always been success when you serve under the Boss. And you know the only reason you’ve come out alive out of every mission so far is because of his judgment.
“Ice,” your gaze snaps from the ground up to meet his, cold and unwavering, “you’re key; in with Baji, but what we need is the Intel.”
He moves his fingers across the map, pointing to the third floor, “top floor. Take out whoever's in there, grab the docs, and leave. You know how it goes.” he says, and you nod, already having memorized the plan and played it over in your mind over a hundred times. “You flee through the halls on the left wing.”
Mikey stands, dusting his pants, Sanzu follows right behind him as he makes his exit, “Right, then,”
“Goodluck.”
…
[OSAKA, JPN]
[OPERATION: BOOM]
[GATHER INTEL. MISSILE C]
[T. ALPHA, T. BETA STANDBY.]
[233.454.768]
As you look over the document in your hands, you can’t help but let a cocky smile creep on your face at the fact that you’ll be a part of the main team tonight. You tell Baji and Tora so.
Baji laughs, “‘Shoulda named yourself Snake. Sneaky little bitch, huh? Taking all the glory ‘n leavin’ us with the scraps.”
You grin, cocky and amused, “says a lot about me, huh? I’m irreplaceable.”
Kazutora kicks the tip of your boot with his, smiling, “only got so far ‘cause of Mikey,”
“Did not!” you gasp, springing up from your slouched position and leaning towards him, “I did not go through hell and back just for you to say Mikey got me here. I got myself here. This was all me.”
He doesn't say anything after that, but he can tell by the look on your face – behind all the shitty jokes and smiles – that you’re not lying; and you’re not joking either. How did you manage to climb your way up the ranks so quickly? He doesn't know. But all he knows is that you deserve the praise you get, despite the envy that fills his mouth like bitter bile, he can admit that much. He’s even taken a little liking to you. Just a little.
“Anyway,” Baji sighs, throwing his arm around the back of the couch and over you, “we’ve been through harder shit. Let's finish this quickly.”
You hum, lost in thought as your eyes trail down at where your boots scrape the metal lining of the floor of the van. Dressed a little thinner than usual tonight, you forgo the thick layers of gear and opted for a long sleeved, black turtleneck, dark military pants to match it, with heavy duty boots, and a single guard right over your chest – strapped to each of your thighs in rows are your throwing knives. Something simple, quiet. It feels naked – not having your signature SMG hanging off of you. But the Boss says that the most important thing tonight is to be stealthy; it is, afterall a stealth mission, and it's not like all those layers make it any quieter or easier to get around.
You did bring a silent pistol along. Just in case shit goes south and you need a quick way of defense. Instructions tell you not to use it unless it's truly needed, but honestly, it’s not like you've ever been one to abide by the rules. As long as the task is done and successful, no one can say anything to you about how to do your work. The last thing you’d do is let people dictate your life and choices – especially when it comes down to your skill.
“Would you stop that?”
“Huh?” You snap your head up, meeting Baji’s eyes and furrowed brows. “Stop what?”
Unexpectedly, he places one large hand on your thigh, stilling the bouncing movement. “Seeing you stressed stresses me out.”
You raise your eyebrows at him, “Seriously…”
“How the fuck do you manage to make it about yourself,” Kazutora laughs.
“Shut up,” he barks back, rolling his eyes at him, “I swear if you pull some dumb shit in the mic like you did last time, my next bullets’ gonna have your name on it,”
The other man roars with laughter, throwing his head back, “you have to admit, Baji, that was fucking hilarious–”
“Could've gotten me killed, dipshit!” you pipe up, also feeling a smile creeping up on your face, “giving wrong directions is so messed up, ‘n you thought it was FUNNY?”
“Okay, okay, God,” he waves his hand in dismissal, “I already got an earful from Mikey. You’re not dead, so that's what's important, I guess.”
“‘I guess’” you mock.
A few seconds pass by in silence, and then he unceremoniously adds, under his breath, “... still was funny.”
You straighten up, “‘Tora, if you don’t shut the fu–”
“Cut it out,” Baji groans, looking at the time on his watch and recalling how long it takes to get to the enemy base, “get your shit together, we’re almost here.”
You throw one last dirty look his way – ignoring how he stifles a laugh – and then pull your mask over your head and face, tying your hair back. You double– no, triple check the ammunition in your magazine, counting each of your knives strapped to your thighs, double-knotting the shoelaces on your boots. You make sure everything is where it needs to be.
The other two men do the same, Baji throws his AR-15 up and over his shoulder, strapping it to his side securely. You think it matches well with the rest of his outfit, all black, head to toe, even his dark hair that falls loose by his sides matches. And you try not to let your eyes linger on how his pants cling tight to his legs, outlining thick muscles and bulges, seeing the way they flex under the confinement. He slips his gloves on, along with his face mask over his mouth and nose.
“Testing Radio, one, two, three,” you tap on the earpiece on your right, looking up at Kazuto– Tiger, to see if it's been connected and can hear your audio. He nods at you, confirming and so does B.C.
“Snow, do you copy?”
“Loud and clear,” Chifuyu says through the mic.
“We’re two minutes away. Is your crew ready on standby?”
He hums on the other side, sitting in his own van with three other members of team BETA, “Affirmative. Dragon, come in,”
“Here,” Draken replies, many kilometers away, securing his headset and buckling himself in the helicopter, “Chopper set.”
Kazutora gives you a nod of approval. Everything is all set and ready to go. Your body itches to just jump out already, get out of this small van and sneak your way inside. It all happens the same way every time, you feel yourself getting antsy, just needing to get up and start moving. Another look at your digital watch and there’s thirty seconds left, feeling your heart jump in your throat, doing your best to just calm yourself and clear your mind.
“Hey,” Baji nudges your shoulder, and you turn to look up at him, he has this look on his face, almost like he’s worried, you could mistake it as him even caring, “come back alive, eh?”
You smile, nudge your thigh against his in response, “since when do you care if I live?”
He sets his jaw, eyes anywhere but you, “I care about you as a member of my team. Nothing more.”
“Oh, really?” you tease, bumping his shoulder. You find his reaction amusing.
He huffs, “Just don’t fuckin’ die.”
“I won’t.” you say, moving your body towards the doors of the van, preparing yourself and unexpectedly feeling a surge of confidence flood you, “I always come back.”
The van suddenly stops. The rustling outside quiets. There’s a few seconds of unbearable silence that follows, no one makes a single move.
You make one last fleeting eye contact with Baji before the doors are thrown wide open.
“Operation: Boom, commence.”
At the sound of the Boss’s green light, the three of you bolt out of the van and head straight into the dark woods; knowing that on the other side, is the enemy’s base.
Despite the harsh, cold winds whipping against your skin, you find it hard to care about much right now. Mind too occupied to think about anything other than the mission ahead of you. As you speed through the woods, slashing vines and leaves in your way, Baji is two meters ahead, blazing the trail. It's dark, and the sudden humidity makes it uncomfortable. If it weren’t for the flashlight strapped to his chest, you wouldn’t be able to see shit around you.
Kazutora parts ways with the two of you not long after, he sends a signal by hand and by intercom, taking a sharp right and heading directly to the surrounding buildings. Internally, you’re amazed at how well he can get around, especially while handing a sniper half his size, he leaps over bushes and cuts through branches like it's nothing to him.
“Target is fifty meters away, Boss,” you pant, speaking to the mic, alerting Mikey and the rest of the team of your whereabouts, you come to realize just how important it is to communicate during this time. You start to see sparks of light peek between the tall trees above you, rays of illumination coming from the bold, big headlights of the base sneak through the cracks of the leaves – this is how you know you’re close.
A few seconds later, you hear another voice speak through the mic, “Come in, Tiger, what's your 20?”
“Building C12 in sight, Boss,” Kazutora says.
Mikey leans over his desk in his study, eyes glued to the many monitors that occupy his desk, “Do you have eyes?”
“Yes, Sir,”
“Stance?”
“Ten meters, Out.”
Mikey’s skin crawls with anticipation, the adrenaline rushes in his veins just as much as the rest of you. He breathes deep, filling his lungs with air that seems too heavy, and swallows down the lump in his throat. You need him more than anything right now. Despite not actively taking part in the mission, he still leads from behind-the-scenes. As if he’s there with you. His guidance as a leader is worth more than gold.
Your smart watch lights up with a signal from Kazutora, informing the team that he’s safely reached his target. The trees start to lessen around you, small bushes and plants surround you. It only takes a few more moments until you see the metal-wired fence, guarding the enemy’s base.
…
Baji squats down right in front of you, and you do the same. “Bolt cutter.” He orders, and you scramble for a second to unstrap it from your belt, all while trying to stay as silent and discreet as possible.
He makes quick work of the metal fence; if there’s no way over it, then there’s a way under it. He cuts through the wires and bushes near the ground, and you take this time to scout the area, looking around you and checking the surroundings despite the darkness of the night. You check to see if you’ve been followed, or if the camera’s have gotten sight of the two of you; but there are none. Weight slips off your shoulders at the realization.
“Boss, come in,” you speak into the mic, voice low.
“Go ahead,” Mikey responds almost instantly.
“We’ve reached the fence on the south side, and the back doors of the base are in sight. Cutting through it right now,”
“Roger. Keep me updated.”
Just in time, Baji finishes cutting through the metal, he slides under, body carefully maneuvering under it, disguised by the tall grass while you keep watch. You follow him soon after, and he helps you up into a crouched position, still ducking low next to the fence.
“One, two, three…” He counts, eying the guards near the base, seeing how much of a problem they could be if the two of you were to get caught. “Follow me.”
Keeping crouched, the two of you move as silently as possible, hiding behind trucks and ducking under bushes. A part of you enjoys stealth missions more than anything, especially in the night. Blending in is key, and this is what you do best – so, moving past the guards that litter the area is a piece of cake. After years of hard training and experience, this has become second nature to you.
You slip into your stealth skin like it's nothing, so quiet that you can hear your own heart pound against your chest, so quiet that if you were to pay attention, you’d be able to eavesdrop on the guards’ conversations effortlessly.
A few taps on your smart watch, and you send an alert to Mikey, informing him that you’ve successfully infiltrated the base, and are now making your way inside. With your back to one of the random barrels on site, it's hard to see what happens behind you, relying mostly on your hearing to confirm the guards' places, even if you do look, the darkness makes it infinitely harder.
You tilt your chin up, closing your eyes briefly and taking a deep breath through parted lips; silent, filling your lungs with air to comfort, as if it would somehow instantly calm your shaking hands. You don't get a chance to fully admire the view of the stars above you, because Baji takes hold of your wrist and signals by hand that you should get moving.
With the back entrance finally in sight, only a few meters ahead, you throw one last glance over your shoulder –past the equipment thrown in piles, trucks, and barrels – just to make sure the security men have their backs turned, and then bolt.
As quickly as possible, while staying crouched, you move out into the open and straight to the doors, trying your best to make sure the crunching of the plants below your boots are quiet - almost nonexistent; stopping only to make sure Baji is right with you.
You reach the back doors, flattening your back against the walls, taking in your surroundings once more to make sure you’re unseen.
‘Going in.’ you signal silently with your hands, turning your head to your partner; who looks back at you. He nods, grips his silent AR tighter, and sends back.
‘Be safe.’
Tilting your head only slightly, you smile.
…
It's exactly as expected. The base is cold, boring walls and fluorescent lights fill the dull halls. You have a knife in each hand, clandestinely moving through room after room, picking at locks and sending updates. There’s a sinking feeling in your gut, telling you to be worried that you haven’t encountered any guards inside the base yet. But then again, the halls you’re currently in have no cameras, and you’ve yet to get to the main floor.
“B.C come in.” you speak into your mic, voice low.
“Yeah, here, tell me,” he grunts, and then you hear a crash on the other side. Maybe a chair against a table? Some yelling? You can’t really tell. The commotion is so loud and piercing that you physically recoil.
Ducking behind a cabinet, you hide your face in your chest, “did you get to the camera room yet?”
There’s a few moments of stifling silence, and you get no response back for almost a full minute. It makes your heart pound and blood rush, thinking the worst because this is unlike him. The inside skin of your cheek is peeled raw, tasting the iron in your blood out of pure adrenaline and anxiety. You can’t move until you get the OK from Baji.
And as you wait here, in hiding, a fire burns in your chest, fueled by worry; if he doesn’t respond soon, you’ll go after him. Even if it's not a part of the plan, the fact that he hasn’t sent in a status update in two minutes is enough to send you into a concerned state. You’ve never been the most patient person, after all.
“Boss, where is he?”
Mikey chimes in on the other side, voice stable, “he’s dealing with the two guys in the camera room. Fuckers are putting up a fight.”
You huff, “how long does he need? I can’t just keep standing here like this,”
“Almost done. You can’t move to the main floor ‘till we have access to the cameras. Stay put.” he orders.
A consistent but familiar beeping noise snaps you out of your thoughts. Looking down at your watch, you feel the relief flood you when you receive the OK signal to move forward from Baji. Even if you don't know his current status, at least you know he’s alive.
Bursting through heavy metal doors, and silently climbing your way up to the third floor, you unhook the C4’s attached to your belt, three in total. On the halfway mark between the ground floor and the first, you detach the explosive from your body, make sure it's connected to its’ trigger, and then drop it to the ground.
Only a few minutes prior, Baji had done the same. Opposite side of the building, on the other set of stairs, he’d unhooked the C4’s from his body and placed them on each floor as he made his way up. Now, as you sprint up the stairs in a quiet bolt, you don’t even stop for a second when you drop the explosives to the ground near the stairs, letting them fall to your side as you keep moving. The movement is familiar, almost out of habit; done too many times to count. It becomes second nature with the way you don’t even need to look at your hands as they work the explosive off your body/
“Ice, you there?”
“Yes, fucking finally. What took you so long?” You say between deep breaths.
Baji scoffs in the mic. “Long story. Anyway, I have access to the surveillance, I'll be leading you from here.”
You hum, stopping by the door that opens up to the third and final floor, “you gonna get me near death’s door like Tiger did?”
He laughs on the other side, typing on the computer, “Maybe.”
“Ya wanna get rid of me that bad?” you tease, resting one hand on the doorknob and waiting for his command to move forward.
“So what if I do?”
You smile, “it’d be a pity, really. Losing someone as valuable as me on the force.”
He senses the sarcasm dripping from your tone, always the playful one with not much regard for your life as long as you get the adrenaline rush you crave all the damn time. He shakes his head, “you’re too cocky for your own good.”
“I’m irreplaceable.”
“You’re not.”
“I am.”
“Are not.”
“...I am.”
He sighs, “get the fuck out of the stairwell, the halls on the left wing are cleared.”
You giggle under your breath, finding it amusing that you could get him annoyed so quickly. You like to pick and poke at him till he snaps at you, like to tease and mock till he’s red in the face – but only because you know that he never takes it seriously. You think he’s the only one on the force that you could have a genuine connection with, a friendship, even; everyone else is too serious.
Exactly as he said, the halls you move through are empty, it's too quiet, too spacious, too many doors, too suspicious for a place like this. You readjust the grip on your knives, feeling your hands clam up, expecting anyone to pop up in your face as you turn corner after corner.
But after silently following directions from Baji as he speaks through the earpiece, you find no one. It is so uncharacteristically suspicious, the fact that these halls occupy nothing but you. It sends shivers down your spine, making your stomach jump in your belly – just itching to get some sort of action. But alas, nothing comes.
‘Last door, on the left, careful when you turn the corner,’ he speaks into the mic, eyes darting between different monitors in the camera room in front of him. If it weren’t for Baji leading you from room to room, you’d think the operation would have taken a dark turn. You hate to admit it, but he makes things easier, simpler, for you. ‘There’s a motherfucker sleeping on duty. If there’s no need to take him out, don’t trouble yourself.’
Not 200 meters away, Kazutora lays flat on the concrete ground of the roof of a building, peering into the scope attached to his sniper. He skims the area below him, having the perfect view of the enemy base, even leading the two of you through the courtyard mere minutes ago. So far, there’s nothing that needs to be taken care of, and he tells Mikey so. The two of you keep contact through signals on your watch, since you can’t speak into your mic lest you want to get caught.
‘Target ten meters away, Ice,’ Baji says, and you take hurried, but silent, footsteps to the door of the command room, making sure you pass by the sleeping guard with no effort at all. The guy doesn't move an inch when you slide past him, and it takes all your power to not burst out in laughter at how fucking stupid he looks passed out, when he’s supposed to be guarding the most important room in the base.
The lockpick stuffed into your pocket is pulled out in a hurry, and you make quick work of the doorknob, all while taking one last scope of your surroundings over your shoulder, trying your best to make sure you haven’t been followed this entire time.
Like a vault door being opened to reveal thousands of kilos of gold, the heavy metal door opens with a creak, you can’t help but let a small smile adorn your face. Victory tastes good in the mouth, afterall.
‘I’m in,’ you send through your watch.
“Atta girl,” Mikey says under his breath, all the way back in the Toman base, he watches the footage being shown by the cameras after Baji had sent access to him, eyes glued to the screen. “She’s almost got it.”
The next few minutes are spent in a hurried frenzy, searching through file cabinets and desk drawers, behind paintings and even under carpets. The only issue you’ve encountered through the whole mission is this: not being able to find the code to the right drawer of the file cabinet. You’d think that you’d be able to pick the lock on it, but no. Motherfucker has a code and everything. It taunts you when you look at it, and you suppress the urge to kick and beat it till the damn lock breaks.
“You’re telling me, after all of this, you don’t know what the fucking code is, B.C?”
Baji huffs on the other side, frustration laced in his tone, “Listen, the fact that we even got that much information about this place is surprising enough. Take it up with the Boss later. FIgure something out, I don’t fuckin’ know, kick it, break it, shoot it, do something ‘cause we’re running out of time here.”
“I’m gonna beat the shit out of you when we get back, I swear,”
“Ice,” he warns, “we don’t have time. I don’t know how much longer I can flip through these screens,”
Fire burns in your chest at the fact that he thinks you might be incompetent, might not be able to find the code to the lock. Slamming one of the drawers too hard, you grit your teeth.
“Do your fucking job, and I’ll do mine. I don’t wanna hear shit.”
At that second, you realize, you’ve done something very, very stupid.
The door of the room bursts open, and lighting-fast, you snap your gaze up to the man with disheveled hair and a panicked look on his face.
“You-! How’d you get in, bitch?!” he stutters, and it’s almost comical. Like, this is the man you put on watch duty? Fucking pathetic.
Jumping up from your crouched position by the desk, you pull out two of your knives and aim one of them straight at his eyes. “Move a fucking inch, and you’re a dead man.”
Slipping into combat mode is easy, like a second skin, like a habit. You don't think twice when you prepare yourself to fight, anyone who gets in the way, will die by your hand.
He steps forward despite your threat, a disgusting scar that splits his face in half and a smirk on his face, “Sly bitch, huh? ‘Think you’re tough shit?”
“I know I am.” you respond, smiling back.
He pulls a walkie-talkie from his vest, bringing it up to his mouth to send a signal to the other men on site, letting them know a little snake made its way through their bushes.
He doesn't get a chance, though. The device is shattered to pieces, his hand now hangs empty in the air. One second it was in his palm, the next, on the floor with a knife piercing through its middle. Bits and pieces scattered on the carpeted floor.
The man doesn’t even have a moment to process what just happened, his mouth gapes, opens and closes in shock. Maybe at the fact that he doesn’t have a single scratch on him, despite you destroying the device in his hand, aim so on-point that it leaves him speechless.
“How–!” distress written all over his face, he recoils. The look a person gives before they know they’re in deep shit, they know they’ve fucked up.
He reaches for his pistol, quick movements, aiming it up at you from across the room.
“Put the knife down or I'll shoot.”
You laugh, head tossed back, “shoot? You won’t. You’re shaking like a little leaf.”
“Don’t test me.”
The gun in his hand shakes, little movements that would go unnoticed by the average person. Obviously, this guy seems new. If only you could feel at least a little bad about it, feel just a tiny bit of remorse when you leap over the desk in the blink of an eye and stab both of his thighs in tandem.
But, you don’t. Not even when you hear his pained screams bounce off the walls, even when you feel his hot-blood splatter back onto your face, you feel nothing. He drops to the floor, clutching over his legs in an effort to stop the bleeding.
If anything, you’d been a bit merciful with it. A part of you wanted to go for the achilles tendon, but some sort of whisper at the back of your brain told you to spare him, let him off easy before wicked karma could get back at you someday.
Taking this as an opportunity, you jump down to join him on the floor, instinct and muscle memory taking over. You kick him to his belly, drop your knees straight to his lower back and take harsh hold of his arms. He struggles against you for a solid minute, giving you a hard time with the binds when you pin his wrists together behind his back, and tie them tight with a zip tie – rendering him useless from the waist up.
“Ugh, you know, you really make a bitch’s life harder.” you sigh, a faux, little annoyed furrow in your brow as you look down at the poor guy. “It didn’t have to be like this.”
He whimpers in pain, thrashing his body in an attempt to get the binds off of him, but his efforts fail especially when you tie his elbows behind him too, leaving him indescribably uncomfortable.
“Let’s make it easy for both of us, okay?” you flip him over, straddling his waist and pulling your own silent pistol out. “Here’s how it's gonna play out!”
He flails under you, “Y-you’re crazy! Insane–!”
“Shh, shh, don’t waste your breath, this is life or death for you!” you laugh maniacally, finally feeling the excitement of both the element of danger and adrenaline wash over you, “aren’t you a little afraid to die?”
You see the fear in his eyes, in the tears that bead at his waterline. This, you think, is probably your favorite part of your job. The part where you bring a man down to his knees, to nothing. The part where you see all the bravado disappear in a millisecond. Reducing him to a soggy, pathetic, pitiful excuse of a man. This is not a man in front of you right now. Internally, you hope the Team is listening to this.
You will show him exactly what you do to men that think they’re better, braver; you will show him the power you hold between your clenched fists.
Pulling the magazine out, you double-check the number of bullets, and then aim it right back at his face, between his stupid eyes. “Tell me the code to that red cabinet over there.”
An order, a demand, one that leaves no room for negotiation unless he wants to die tonight.
He shakes his head, tears threatening to fall, “C-can’t, I, I–”
The tip of your gun is pushed right to his forehead, knocking his head back, and your eyes pin straight down to his.
“Tell me what it is.”
“No, no, please! I– I can’t!”
“You have three seconds to tell me what it is before I put a bullet in your fucking brain.”
He’s full-on crying now, tears streaming down to his temples and pooling in his ears.
“Three.” you count.
“..two.”
Raising an eyebrow, you give him one last look, a chance. His eyes meet yours, panicked and fearful. He snaps.
“8436! 8436!” he cries out, “P-please, let me go!”
“Blegh,” you rip one of his gloves off his hands, balling it up in a little circle and stuffing it into the man’s open mouth. “Can’t get myself caught, ya know. You’re too loud. Thanks, though, you’re such a darling!”
The poor man looks so defeated, so pathetic, mostly too tired to completely comprehend your words. He doesn’t have time to even think before you whip him across the face with your gun, knocking him out in one swift move. He’s hurt, sure, probably knocked a few teeth out from his mouth too; but hey, at least he’s not dead, right?
“Was that really necessary?” you hear Mikey’s weary voice through the earpiece.
One of your hands makes quick work of the lock, twisting it to get the numbers right, and the other holds down on the mic to send back. “It was, Boss. It’s either kill or get killed here.”
He sighs, “you really are dramatic.”
“I mean ..,” you think about it for a moment, a little smile on your face, “I like the look of a man when he’s on his knees, under me. What can I say?”
You can almost picture the way he runs a hand down his face, and, honestly, after hearing the whole encounter happen just a mere minute ago, he feels a little embarrassed too. “Just do what needs to be done and come back alive.”
Sifting through the files as soon as the drawer pops open, you quickly find the one you need, labeled ‘MISSILE C’. The effect is instant, a smile beams on your face at the sight of the manila folder that holds everything you’ve been looking for the last few months.
You tuck it under your arm, “Boss, I’ve got it. Retreating now.”
The way back is always easier. Knowing the route you need to take back, as expected, the halls are suspiciously empty. It makes your gut twist, because things have never been this easy, never gone this smooth before. If the enemy team knew any better, they’d fill this place with guards, and you tell Kazutora so.
“Yeah, but I’m assuming they put all their men outside. ‘Place is suddenly swarming with guys.” You hear him say through the earpiece.
Speaking as you move hurriedly, this time, not as quiet as before, “… I’ll be able to make it out without being noticed, right?”
He hums, considering as he looks down at the site through the scope of his sniper, the place suddenly littered with men in tactical gear. “Not sure, actually,”
You freeze, back pressed to the wall suddenly as you hear mumbled discussion on the opposite side of the wall.
“Ice, you there?”
“Yeah,” you whisper, “fuck, there’s two guys here.”
The men sound like they’re arguing, but in low voices. You can’t really make out what they’re saying over the sound of your panting breath. A part inside of you hopes that you don’t run into them on the way out, you think you’ve had enough combat for one night.
Your eyes dart between the door of the stairwell, and the one that the voices come from. Waiting a few seconds before you make your escape, folder in hand, crouching close to the ground as you push it open and sprint your way down.
‘Making my way down.’ you send through your watch, dashing down the sets of stairs and to the way of your exit.
‘Waiting for you.’ You receive, this time, from Baji. One thing you’ve noticed is that in every mission you’ve been assigned together, he always waits for you. He could leave, if he wanted to, having already done his part and led you – but he doesn’t. You always seem to find him waiting for you so you could leave together. You think it's embarrassing, the way it makes your tummy feel weird, the way that some of his actions have you turning your face away lest he sees the heat warming your face. It's so silly, it makes you feel like a schoolgirl with a crush, but it’s not like the two of you would ever confront each other about your feelings.
Things have been more, well, physical, between you. Not that you mind.
Bursting through the doors of the ground floor, your eyes immediately meet Baji’s, and a flood of relief washes over you that at least he’s alive, despite the cuts and bruises blooming on his exposed skin.
“‘They give you a rough time?” you tease, joining him by the back door.
He smirks, a little tired. His eyes scan your body, up to down, looking for something, searching. “They've got nothing on me.”
You nudge him by the shoulder, “you look like you’re ‘bouta pass out.”
His signature toothy grin adorns his face, flashing his sharp canines as he laughs at you, “Oh, really? I definitely didn't have as much fun as you did here.”
You kick his boot playfully, “I bet you heard all of it.”
“I did. Lil’ impressed actually.”
This time, you look away from him as soon as you hear his words. Biting the inside of your cheek as you feel giddy on the inside. You don’t get a chance to respond though, as Kazutora cuts through your conversation.
“Y'all done flirting with each other? You have two minutes to get out before this place is swarming with men.”
You hold down on your mic, pushing the exit door open just slightly to see exactly what's happening outside. “‘You gonna lead us out?”
“Yeah. I'll cover for you.”
That’s all you need to hear before you're pushing the back door open and making your way out with Baji following diligently in your step. Kazutora’s right, you don’t know how or what happened, but the place is filled with men outside, you duck behind a bush, waiting for more orders to come your way.
It feels a little safer having Tora guard your backs, a little more comfort, but even as you crawl under trucks, and duck between tall grass, your heart races at the fact that this could be the moment you get caught, and the unspeakable happens.
“Your eight o’clock, two guys. They have their back to you, but not sure how long it's gonna be like that.” He says, eyeing them through the scope.
“Copy.”
Baji takes hold of your hand, and if you had more time to be shocked about it, you would be, but right now, as he pulls you straight back to the metal-wired fence that the two of you originally entered from, your mind is too occupied thinking of making it out unseen and alive.
You throw your life into his hands. Trusting him with no second thought. If Baji is with you, it always means you’ll make it out alive. And this time, just like all the other times, he holds your hand and leads you to victory.
…
The smell of antiseptic chemicals and spray dulls your senses and numbs your nose. The clinic is empty, too late in the night to have medics in right now, but you think you’ve handled the situation well enough on your own. Years of dealing with serious injuries taught you how to easily handle situations like these.
That is, you patching up Baji as he lays half-naked on the hospital bed.
Two bullets grazed him. One deep into his right side, not penetrating but close enough that it led to some concerning blood loss. And the other, by his shoulder, just a cut that needed a few stitches.
It’s quiet. Neither of you have said many words since you’ve gotten back to the Toman base, straight to the clinic to get treated after Mikey’s visit to congratulate you.
The exhaustion is evident on both of your faces, all the energy you had initially at the beginning of the night has seeped out of you. Leaving you with a pounding headache and aching muscles.
You rise to your full height, peering over him as he lays there, an arm thrown over his eyes, and inspect the patch work on his body. Unknowingly, the tips of your fingers dance around the bruises of his abdomen, tracing and rubbing over them. It’s too intimate, but none of you have anything to say about it.
“You did well tonight.” Baji says, voice gravely.
It makes you smile, but your eyes don’t meet his just yet, they stay trailed onto the muscles and ridges of his abdomen, entranced by his build.
“Really?”
He responds too quickly, easily. “Yeah. Don’t think anyone could’ve done it any better.”
His words make you burn on the inside, heat searing in your belly. “You weren’t too bad yourself.” You whisper.
The next few moments are spent in comfortable silence, just enjoying each other's presence as you admire the body that could be mistaken for a Greek sculpture in front of you.
“Y’know, Kei, the best part of tonight was when we were on the way back to Base in the Heli with Tora and Draken. When we both pushed the trigger of the C4’s at the same time,” you say, voice soft.
He huffs out a tired laugh, eyes looking back at you, “Why’s that?”
You pause. “Dunno… I just.. like doing things with you. And I also like seeing things explode but that’s not the point!”
He laughs, sitting up, suddenly intrigued by your sudden burst of vulnerability. One of his hands makes its way to your cheek, soft as it cups the swell of it with his thumb stroking back and forth.
“You never change, huh?”
You take a seat next to him on the bed, tucking your chin into your chest to hide your smile. “Not ever.
“I feel safe with you, Keisuke.”
When seconds pass and he doesn’t respond, your eyes snap up to his face, to get any sort of reaction from him, but what he does next speaks volumes.
“Come here.” He whispers, “I’ve missed you.”
If you’re shocked, then you don’t show it on your face because it remains neutral. But internally, you’re hyper aware of the fact that the two of you are very much alone right now, private and secluded from all prying eyes. You’re hesitant – a little weary at his request. But one look at his handsome face makes all common sense fly out the window, giving in to your and his desires.
It’s too hot, too much, and you hope he doesn’t hear the sound of your heart beating erratically in your chest, hope he doesn’t sense the quickening of your breath, or the way your fingers twitch with neediness when they rest over his chest.
Once settled in his lap, you tuck your face under his chin, it feels like home, nuzzling into his neck, and whisper back. “I missed you too. It’s been too long.”
You don’t know how this whole thing started, or when you started to feel more than just physical attraction to the soldier, but now, as you sit here cuddled up in his lap with his arms around you, it’s perfect, you feel content. There’s no place you’d rather be in this moment.
His hand makes its way to the back of your neck, gently cupping it, just resting there, fingers massaging the sore muscle, stroking over the soft skin as if to comfort. You lean into his touch, closing your eyes and fully relaxing in his hold, all while you try your best to ignore the heat pooling in your lower belly.
Tilting your face up to his, your eyes trace over the scars and blemishes of his face. Even when exhausted, and blood splattered over his face, he still looks just as handsome. Wordlessly, you sit there, admiring each other for a few moments before his lips meet yours in a soft, tender kiss at first. Letting him slot his lips over yours just how he likes it, letting him suck and lick at the soft flesh until it’s red and inflamed.
Wordlessly, you understand exactly what he wants, and you know you want it just in equal measure.
The impatience is there, laced in the desperate move of his lips against yours, laced in the way his hands wander all over your body, like he’s trying to memorize the dips and curves, aching to get more, know more. It’s laced in the way you do exactly the same, looping your arms around his neck and deepening the kiss. You barely separate from each other, too eager now that you’re alone, craving oxygen but starving for his kisses.
A fire blazes between you, fueling the desire and neediness. And your hands shamelessly touch up all over his naked upper half, sliding over the ridges and bumps of his abs and muscles, letting your nails lightly scratch over his bare skin.
“Kei,” you say, between hurried kisses, “More. Please, more.”
He grabs handfuls of your ass, yanking your hips so you’re aligned straight over the hard tent formed in his pants, right where his cock aches throbs at the contact underneath the confines.
“Just like that, baby, fuck,” he groans when you grind over his dick, moving back and forth against his hips and rubbing just the way you know he likes. You plant your hands on his shoulders, adjusting yourself so you could move easily, rotating your hips over and over and feeling the way he gets impossibly harder under you.
“Yeah?” You look up at him, reading his face, seeing how the sweat starts to slowly bead at his temples and his brow pinches. “You like it?”
“Fuck, yeah,”
The angle is perfect like this, especially when you let your wet clit glide over the fabric separating the two of you, it sends tingles up your spine, sparks going off behind your eyes – it has you gasping and whining on top of him.
But… it’s not enough.
And as if he’s read your mind, Baji starts to unbutton your pants, pulling the zipper down in one fluid motion. He can tell by the little furrow in your brow that you need more, that your pussy is probably drenched and aches right now.
And he’s right. He groans at the way his hand slips so easily inside your panties. Even if the angle is awkward, he adjusts to find a way to let his fingers glide over your slit, gathering up all the slick and bringing it to your neglected clit.
“Been waiting too long for me, huh?” He leaves bite marks behind your ear. “You want me to finger this pussy exactly how you like it?”
Your response is instantaneous, nails digging into his shoulder and nodding your head at him. So fucking wet, he thinks, as his fingers slide over your clit, rolling and pinching the bud. He swallows up your eager cries with his mouth, and just to be a little mean, pinches it with two fingers, grinning at the way you squeal and twitch.
“S-so mean..” You sniff.
He laughs, placing a sweet kiss on your temple. “But you like it this way. I know you do.”
If you had any energy to protest, you would. But the way he plays with you is wondrous, heavenly – long, thick fingers plunging in and out of you at a quick place. Breaking you open as you drench his hand, fingers to wrist, in your slick.
Baji is captivated by the sight of your flushed face, pouty lips, you’re so damn needy that you don’t know what to do with yourself anymore. His hands move quicker than he could think, unbuckling his belt, impatiently pulling his pants down to his ankles and freeing his leaky cock. Having done this so many times before with him, you share the same impatience, the same excitement as him and you kick off your pants, tossing them to the ground next to your panties, not bothering with your top.
Unthinkingly, you take his cock in your hand, starting at the base and stroking up, eyes glued to the way his tip twitches and leaks with pre.
“Eager?” he smirks, looking back down at where you spit on your hand, bringing it back down to stroke him to full length.
“Shut up,” you bite back, unable to take his teasing any longer.
The first two inches have you feeling fuzzy on the inside , stretching you out so perfectly you’d think it was made for you and only you to sink on. Grasping at the little hairs at the base of his neck, you sink halfway down, ignoring the way your muscles burn at the position.
“There you go, baby, that’s it.” He groans in your ear, and it makes you tighten your thighs around his waist, encouraging you to take more of him.
You start a regular pace, slowly deepening the penetration and letting his cock break you open thrust by thrust, inch by inch. And, fuck, you would be lying if you said you didn’t miss the way his cock feels inside you, didn’t miss the way it nudges that spot deep inside you, a place only he could reach.
He wraps both his arms around you, pulling you flush against his chest. Faces so close, noses almost touching that you have no choice but to look back at his vermilion eyes and the way they burn with desire.
“Oh, K-keisuke—!”
He groans, forehead to yours as he watches the way his cock dips in and out of you, seeing the way your pussy stretches out to fit him.
“Baby, you’re dripping all over me,” he huffs, tightening his hold on you, “Look at you. Fuck.”
Tears spring to your eyes, filling your waterline and threatening to fall, it all feels too fucking good, he feels indescribably good. There’s a ring of white forming at the base of his length, your slick and his combined, so slippery that his dick goes in with hardly any friction at this point, making it so that the sounds of skin slapping against each other and breathy groans are the only thing that could be heard in the room.
Just like earlier, his hands find their way back to your bare ass, gripping the underside of it, and slamming you back down over and over on his cock. The noises you let out are fever-pitch, squealing at the way it pierces so deep inside you it makes your eyes roll back and mouth drop open. It makes your fingertips twitch, nipples hardening at the stimulation.
“So fucking deep, taking it so well,” he huffs, sucking at the skin of your neck, marking it up and down like an empty canvas for him to paint on. “Perfect girl, so fucking good to me.”
“Y-yeah?” you ask, tilting your face, watery eyes meeting his own.
“Yeah, Baby. Making me feel so good.”
The mix of praise, and stimulation when his cock repeatedly nudges your g-spot continuously is enough to send you straight into a mind-numbing orgasm. Tight walls pulsating around him and squeezing tight as it washes over you in agonizing waves.
“Shit, shit,” He groans, biting down on your shoulder, “If y’keep squeezing me like this, I’ll cum.”
If the way your soft walls hug and squeeze him wasn’t enough for him to cum, then your sweet whines that fill his ears are definitely enough. He’s too soft for you, begrudgingly so, you make him too soft of a man.
“C-cum for me, Kei,” you pant, “fill me up. Fuck it deep inside me, please,”
He grits his teeth. “Yeah? You want me to fill this pussy up?”
“Yes! Please, please please—! Fuck me like you mean it.”
By you, he is undone. Baji cums with a deep grunt, digging his nails tight into your behind that’ll sure leave red dents and welts when morning comes, but right now, all you could think about is the way his hot cum floods your cunt. His dick battering your insides repeatedly until it’s pushing his seed deep inside your womb.
You slump against him, the day catching up to you. And he drops back down to the bed, on his back, pulling you along with him. Neither of you have the energy to move, to do anything about the mess of slick and sweat, so he lets you cockwarm his softening dick. You don’t move even when the slick starts to drip out of you, leaking down your thighs.
His fingers dance over your sweaty lower back, giving himself a chance to catch his breath.
“You good?”
You hum, a little content smile on your face. “Yeah. So good,”
“So many rewards today, can’t even keep track anymore.”
You snap your head up, “Shouldn’t I be the one celebrating, I did most of the work today anyway—!”
He pinches your side, flashing you his signature grin, “Cocky little brat. You always take all the credit.”
---
thank you for reading <3 reblog the things u like! p.s my comms r open :) kisses!
stopppp i just saw ur leaving :( i am so sad i would check ur blog every time i got on… i wish u the best… thank u for being u… do u have any other socials?
hi hi!!! this is so sweet of you, thank you. I do have a separate blog where i’m active just for keeping up w fandom and mutuals - i’m not writing anything. send me a dm if you’d like it 🤍
thank you for giving me a safe space to talk and post my work on. i appreciate every single person that has interacted, liked, or read my work this past year. it means the world to me. but tumblr doesn’t feel the same as it used to. i don’t feel like i’m really /home/ here, and the last thing i wanted was to feel alienated on my own blog — i do feel the same as some writers on here, the interactions have been quite underwhelming and discouraging. and so, i’ll be leaving. this blog will be archived for now, and then eventually deactivated. thank you, love you 🫶
✣ Warning: 18+, minors DNI; unhealthy relationships & dark content
✣ Chapter CW: violence, discussions of torture, drugs, hanma fantasizes about anal play and ptv sex
✣ Story CWs: patient/doctor relationships; smut (oral, ptv, pta, etc.), degradation, stalking, torture (not of y/n), murder, discussions of trauma and abuse, drug use, and more
✣ Synopsis: Forced into therapy, Hanma expects to waste his time and yours, but you’re not about to let the chance of a high-profile and higher paying patient slip through your grasp. The fact that you’re both attracted to each other doesn’t hurt either.
✣ Word Count: 6k+
Hanma regrets not doing one last line to see him through tonight’s meetings. His jaw aches like the soreness of a two-day old punch, and he keeps his hands plunged into his suit pockets to cover their trembling. A little hair of the dog to ease the worst of the symptoms is just what the doctor ordered, but the nagging voice of reason in his head – an unholy blend of your voice and Kisaki’s – tells him to sober up and stay sharp.
Days of the job running him ragged have taken their toll. An hour of sleep here or there between assignments, a fitful doze in the backseat between locations, and the fortifying effects of cocaine are all that sustain him.
It will soon be well worth it. The usual irritability that comes with a cocaine hangover is nothing compared to the thrill of imagining all the delicious possibilities that await him when he confronts the Immortal Mikey.
Is it a matter of weeks or only days until their showdown? He wants Mikey to fight with the ferocity of a blood feud, but what if Mikey refuses to fight him to the death? To bring out the darkness in Mikey, Hanma can always taunt the memory of his dead siblings, maybe lay the blame for their deaths at his feet. Hanma has spent years training with fighters specializing in Muay Thai and Taekwondo in the hopes of someday facing one of Mikey’s bestial kicks. Just imagining the difference in power behind Mikey’s strikes and his usual opponents’ makes Hanma salivate. To prolong the fight, he’ll need to move strategically. Relying on his height advantage would be a mistake as Mikey can leap to nearly Hanma’s full height, so Hanma will need to hunker down to protect his core. He should get as close as possible, limit the force Mikey can draw behind each kick, deliver short, devastating punches to the organs, maybe get a grip on one of his legs to throw him off balance. Like predicting an opponent’s moves in a game of chess, Hanma wonders how Mikey will counter if Hanma pins him flat in the dirt. He’ll probably never get the chance to find out. A single direct kick from Mikey will rattle his brains. It will take superhuman powers of concentration to not lose consciousness then, to fight until the bitter end, until sweet, sweet nothing…
Rapturous, as he imagines Mikey’s potential countermoves, Hanma smiles with all his teeth at nothing.
Around him, Toman’s top brass gather around a coffee table in Kisaki’s suite on the penultimate floor of the Ritz-Carlton, waiting for tomorrow’s negotiations to begin. The atmosphere is tense. Writers would describe said tension as thick; a description Hanma finds appropriate. He likens the energy in the room to sucking in a great lungful of car exhaust and then holding it there, letting the smoke stir up the lungs and burn the eyes as you fight back the urge to choke, cough, sputter.
On the floor above, where the HKJ executives strategize and, on the floors below, where their entourages gather to get a few hours of shut eye before tomorrow’s activities begin, Hanma imagines the mood is equally warped.
Kisaki’s suite brims with the stale smell of smoke as the room’s occupants light up cigarette after cigarette before the last even has a chance to burn out. The cherries flare bright and then fade like dying stars amid the flick of titanium lighters. It is ritual, comforting, unifying. There are billions of yen at stake tomorrow. It’s the kind of money lesser men kill for, and they have done far worse than kill for a fraction of this prize.
Each man’s nerves manifest differently. From where he stands guarding the door, Hakkai switches compulsively between his cigarette and a toothpick before giving up and shoving both into his mouth on either side like a pair of mismatched fangs. Mucho fingers the knives at his side while glaring into the eyes of anyone who glances his way as if daring them to make a wrong move, reserving the worst of his ire for Smiley, newly back into the fold after his long exile – Hanma can’t guess what Kisaki was thinking allowing that – and grinning, unperturbed from his seat by the window. Kokonoi looks highly medicated where he sits on the loveseat, fidgeting with his rings and only settling when Inui places a centering hand on his shoulder.
As for Kisaki, well that is the strangest thing. Apart from a manic gleam reflecting off his glasses, Kisaki sits like an iron pillar, steady and supportive.
It is out of character. He should be pacing, glaring through his phone, like he can see beyond the screen into the heart of the device, barking at them all for breathing too loudly. The details of this deal have been meticulously ironed out over the course of months. There will be ceremonies, demonstrative displays of respect, staged misunderstandings, and finally resolution. It’s not unlike taking your school exams when you’ve already studied with the answer key. All that is needed is to show up and not tip your hand. Still, Kisaki should be nervous.
Someone knocks on the door, and for one brief moment, they all forget how to breathe.
The only men with access to the penultimate floor of the hotel tonight are already gathered here. Whoever dares knock on their door has made a fatal mistake. Yet to Hanma’s surprise, when Hakkai sees the visitor through the peephole, he nods knowingly to Kisaki, who returns the gesture, and then Hakkai opens the door.
Neither man reacts when the opening door reveals Haitani Ran, dressed in pinstripes and looking like a fucking pencil case. Hanma leaps to his feet, already fidgety hands reaching for his gun, but Kisaki nods the man inside, and Haitani closes the door behind himself. It clicks shut decisively.
“Glad to see you’ve made it, Haitani,” Kisaki greets him.
As usual, the sight of the man who has plagued his mind these last several months triggers a restless agitation in Hanma. The feeling has become a familiar one, a mix of the desire for a vicious fight that rises up whenever he sights an enemy with even halfway decent martial arts skills mixed with the enraging certainty that Haitani would see him die of something mundane like hypertension behind bars. There is no room for reactionary thinking tonight, not when his epic battle with Mikey is on the line, so Hanma swallows his impulse to attack, limits himself to a frown when Haitani waltzes right inside to stand opposite Kisaki and to Hanma’s left.
Hanma looks to Kisaki for instruction on how to react. He knows Kisaki better than anyone else living or dead. So, he knows that the grin that spreads across Kisaki’s weather-worn face signals nothing less than complete victory. Kisaki always avoids the spotlight when plotting something, sticking to the shadows, sacrificing a stooge or two, playing the double agent. If he chooses to center himself now, it signals something huge.
Kisaki begins, “Now that Haitani’s finally here, I will tell you a story. Certainly, you’ll have heard it before, the Kachi-kachi Yama, but listen carefully, and I think you’ll find much that’s applicable to what’s happened here this last year. Once there was a troublesome tanuki, who plagued a farmer’s fields. Perhaps the farmer could have lived alongside it in peace, but the tanuki was spiteful and cunning, and the farmer knew someday the tanuki would destroy the bountiful fields that he’d dedicated his life to cultivating. So, the farmer captured the tanuki, tying it to a tree and continuing about his business. He figured he could return later and kill the tanuki for his supper. That was my first mistake, I’ll admit. I am that farmer, confident that the tanuki would remain in my trap until I saw fit to gut it. Because instead of making his peace with the gods or thanking the farmer for this stay of execution, the tanuki grew rabid and vengeful. He called out to the farmer’s wife, begging to be freed. I forget that our greatest threat is not always the malice of our enemies but the stupidity of those unworthy men we call allies. The wife, a simpleton, released the tanuki, who, in thanks for her idiocy, promptly killed her. Then, he shapeshifted into her likeness and cooked the farmer a dinner of soup made from his wife’s flesh. The unsuspecting farmer shared his table with the enemy, none the wiser. Until, of course, the tanuki revealed itself and its treachery. It might have escaped justice if not for a rabbit who offered his help to the farmer, and hunted the tanuki down, and well, you know the rest. The rabbit is Haitani-san. I am the farmer. But who is the treacherous, shape-shifting tanuki?”
Theatrically, Kisaki pitches his voice down and makes heavy eye contact with each man in the room. Hanma’s brain races as he decides which man to bury beneath the weight of his suspicions, which man is marked to die. Because, though inscrutable in classic Kisaki-style, the story tells him there is a traitor in their midst, likely in this very room, and Hanma must be ready. His trigger finger itches.
“Quite the mystery…Our best clue came with the hack of Kokonoi’s computer. After all, only executives are allowed entry to that floor of the building, and despite Muto’s best efforts to compel one of the guards to snitch – and let me assure you, those efforts were remarkable in their brutality – each guard swore he didn’t let anyone else in. So, where was our clever tanuki? Hiding in plain sight?”
Kisaki nearly whispers those last words, so they all have to lean closer to hear. A rapt audience, everything Kisaki ever desired.
“The timing with the HKJ deal was suspicious, too. Someone was taking advantage of our vulnerability around the deal. I suspected Haitani, there’s no denying it, but three nights ago, he called and gifted me some critical information. Perhaps, like the simpleton wife in the story, none of our guards betrayed us. Maybe they followed orders to the letter and only let executives in.”
Everything happens very fast then.
There is rapid movement in his peripheral vision, coming from the right where Kisaki sits with the wall of windows to his back, and in the split second it takes for Hanma to draw his gun, Haitani throws a projectile past his head. Hanma knew not to trust that fucker.
A silenced gunshot shatters any remaining illusion of civility. The bullet goes wide, missing Kisaki, its intended target, by a hair’s breadth and exploding a vase.
Standing with a gun clenched in his fist, Smiley takes aim a second time.
Mucho vaults the couch, meaty fists reaching Smiley before he’s even fully cleared the obstacle. The contact throws them both off balance, and the gun falls harmlessly to the floor, where Koko is quick to pocket it. They land on the ground with a boom that rocks the furniture.
One moment Mucho is on top, and then, they roll, Smiley taking the dominant position, and then repeat. Every gun in the room trains on the wrestling duo, but there is no clean shot around Mucho’s bulk. The knives at Mucho’s waist could end the fight, but no one wants to paint the hotel with DNA, so Mucho relies on his fists, like they did in the old days, two captains of Toman, two once friends.
When Smiley’s face briefly comes into view, Hanma sees there are shreds of glass embedded there, and the meaning behind the mysterious projectile clicks into place. In the split second before Smiley could fire his gun, Haitani thew a crystal ashtray at Smiley’s head. His quick thinking saved Kisaki’s life.
As Mucho and Smiley grapple on the floor, strained grunts interrupted only occasionally by a howl of pain, they bite, aim for the groin, the eyes, anything to gain the advantage. With Mucho clocking in at easily twice Smiley’s weight, you’d think the fight would be over in a flash, but Smiley fights back with the fury of a decade fueling him. Gone are the old days when Smiley would trade blows with a carefree grin on his face, eyes screwed closed like he couldn’t be bothered to take his opponent seriously. This is life and death for him, and he knows it.
Hanma’s bloodlust sings out for him to join the fray, to test himself against the once fearsome Smiley, but there is no room between those flailing bodies, and despite Smiley’s best efforts, the fight does, inevitably, come to an end.
Delivering a winding knee to Smiley’s gut, Mucho leverages himself onto his knees, where he can wrap his arm, like an iron bar, around the other man’s throat. Both men turn bright red, one fighting to keep the chokehold and the other to break it. Staring down the barrel of his gun, Hanma watches as the power drains from Smiley’s eyes measure by measure, legs kicking helplessly before he goes limps. Inupi darts forward once he does, zip ties at the ready to restrain him. In a matter of minutes, it is over.
Typically, Hanma is the fastest to react when a threat looms but this time he was out maneuvered by Haitani and Mucho both, the way they both lunged for Smiley without a moment to take stock, like they knew who and what to suspect.
Hanma seethes.
“I think we found our tanuki,” Kisaki chuckles, signaling the second half of the night’s show, the part where he boasts in the face of his enemies. He doesn’t even turn his neck to look at Smiley, trussed up and submissive on his knees, instead addressing the group of them, “Of course, after the security breach, we fired or reassigned all of Kokonoi’s guards, which put several of them on the market. It’s only natural that several sought out Haitani’s security firm. Generously, Haitani questioned each before agreeing to hire them, asking whether they had allowed Smiley into the office, and one of them confirmed.”
“How’d he figure to ask? And while we’re at it, didn’t Smiley just get back into town when we discovered the hack? The malware was in place for months. And you had him exiled in Singapore,” Inupi asks, the first to reholster his gun and settle in for Kisaki’s victory lap.
“Ah yes, that’s why I never suspected him. I mean, Hanma had the flight logs for all international travel in and out of Tokyo-Narita. How could he have missed something so obvious?”
“He didn’t fly in or out in the last year. I checked,” Hanma snaps.
“Yes, but you’re forgetting a tanuki can shapeshift,” Haitani chimes in helpfully.
In retrospect, it’s fortunate Hanma didn’t take that last bump of cocaine because if he were high right now, he would probably throttle Haitani without any care for discretion, and then, it would be goodbye Mikey and any chance at a glorious death at their absentee leader’s hands. Instead, Hanma tries to remember all the bullshit you’ve drilled into him about mindfulness. As the hostile thoughts drift by his mind, he tries to “catch and release” them into the ether. Yes, he wants to see Haitani’s dye job ruined by congealed brown blood chunking in his hairline. He can acknowledge this desire, and then redirect his thoughts. Following your instructions, he empties his mind, pictures that pretty little plug glinting from between the cheeks of your spread ass, pictures slipping his tongue past the ring of your asshole, imagines cresting a wave twice his height and then plowing your ass on the sand afterwards.
He is surprised to discover it helps.
He doesn’t lunge for Haitani. He breathes.
“Yes, our shapeshifting tanuki,” Kisaki continues in the meantime, nodding approvingly at Haitani. “You see, Haitani learned we were looking into the flight logs and decided to do his own digging. What he found painted a clear picture. According to the logs on January third, Kawata Souya flew out of Tokyo to Singapore. He stayed for only three days before flying to Copenhagen, where he stayed for less than twelve hours before flying back to Tokyo. There, he remained forty-eight hours before flying back to Singapore. This time, he stayed less than eight hours before flying back to Tokyo. Now, what does all this spontaneous travel tell you?”
Kokonoi groans, “Fuck, they swapped places. Angry flew to Singapore, then gave his passport to Smiley. From there, he went to Copenhagen to put some distance between the flight paths so it would be less obvious. The newer guards who didn’t know Smiley was exiled probably waved him right into my office, and then he flew back to Singapore to trade places with Angry once again.”
“My mistake as the farmer was to let the rodent live long enough to become a problem,” Kisaki admits generously.
Throughout all of this, Smiley hangs limp in Mucho’s meaty arms. One wraps around Smiley’s neck, restricting his breathing, and the other pins his ziptied arms to his sides. There is disgust in Smiley’s eyes as they discuss him, but they spark to an incandescent rage when they mention his brother. They are not the eyes of a defeated man.
“So what happens now?” Smiley croaks, voice a scratch from what is surely a bruised voice box.
Kisaki bothers to turn and acknowledge Smiley for the first time. “You must know we kill you now.”
“What you’re gonna blow my brains out in the penthouse of the Ritz? Gonna drag my body through the elevator down four dozen floors? And then out through the front door for the whole world to see? Not even you have the clout to pull that off. And I’m not gonna make it easy for you to drag me out of here to my execution. I’ll fight you every step, scream and shout so loud the police will be down on your heads. Not just your heads either. The HKJ’s too. How do you think that’ll go over?” Smiley sneers, that can’t-be-bothered grin that always masked his emotions returning in a blast from the past that for one moment throws Hanma back a decade to what he always considers the best years of his life.
Smiley timed this well, Hanma admits. Given enough space, he might chop Smiley’s body into a dozen pieces and cart them out one-by-one, but disposing of a body that way is too messy. For the first time, Kisaki’s aura of well-earned triumph dims as Smiley backs them into a corner.
A tanuki is too flattering a comparison. Smiley better resembles a scheming, smiling rat.
“If I may interrupt, Kisaki-san. I have a solution,” Ran pipes up, solicitous, falsely humble.
“I’m all ears.”
“I hope you can forgive me, but I took it upon myself to prepare for the worst-case scenario before today. Right now, my brother is waiting in one of our safehouses with a few of our most trusted men and Kawata Souya. He picked him up earlier this evening.”
Hanma has seen men confront their worst fears too many times to count. Many buckle, going semi-comatose under the weight of it. Others bargain, plead, pray to gods that never cared at all. His favorites fight with everything they have, like they might bend the heavens to their will. Smiley, of course, lands in the latter category.
He howls and jabs both of his elbows into Mucho’s gut, straining forward like he might reach his brother. To keep him in place, Mucho picks him clean off the floor with an arm around his neck, cutting oxygen off until he realizes the futility of it all. It takes minutes for Smiley to accept the situation, and even then, his eyes roll like a feral animal biding its time before escaping its cage.
Kisaki beams. “Excellent thinking, Haitani.”
“I know what a man would do for his younger brother,” Haitani demurs. Watching him play the sycophant turns Hanma’s stomach, but Kisaki eats the performance up with relish.
“Well, either way, it was good thinking,” Kisaki says approvingly, and then to Smiley, “Returning to your earlier question, what happens now is you walk out of here of your own volition, and you don’t so much as signal with your fucking eyes that you’re in trouble or your baby brother dies. Slowly.”
“You’re going to kill him either way,” Smiley whispers.
Head hung low, all Hanma can see of Smiley is the mess of saffron curls. The tiniest sliver of pale white scalp peaks through. Had he remained quiet and reintegrated into Toman, or parted ways entirely, Smiley’s life would likely have still ended on the wrong side of a smoking gun. Kisaki had proven methodical in eliminating all the original leaders of Toman, but somehow the Kawata brothers had survived this long. Maybe if Smiley grinned and bore the death and imprisonment of all his friends, the same way he could smile through so much, he and his brother would have made it to thirty. Who knows?
“Your brother will survive the night and walk away from this. You have my word,” Haitani says. It is a pardon he has no authority to grant yet the quiet sincerity in his tone compels them all to keep their silence. Even Kisaki does not object.
The odds of either brother surviving the night are abysmal. And yet, the shadow of Haitani’s fraternal mercy is Smiley’s best and only hope, so he nods his acquiescence.
Hakkai, Mucho, and Inui all escort Smiley to the elevators. They take no chances at his escape. He will be tortured for information, broken until he relinquishes his accomplices and all the intel he stole from Toman, and then, finally, buried under wet concrete.
The last man standing from Toman’s old order is condemned to death. It is the end of an era.
--
Thirty-six hours later, the deal is done.
A breeze cools the nape of his neck where a day’s worth of sweat has collected as Hanma steps through the revolving doors and into the world for the first time in what feels like an age.
Negotiations wrapped hours ago after endless rounds of bowing that left his lower back aching and some last-minute concessions – new negotiations around when in the supply chain possession of the drugs and, therefore liability, would pass hands, a few negotiated favors leveraging the HKJ’s contacts in the CCP– so that both sides could walk away satisfied. Long after the HKJ returned to their separate floor, Kisaki kept the leaders of Toman behind to indulge in many long-winded speeches that celebrated his own genius as well as some generously poured champagne. The festive mood infected even Hanma, and he frankly didn’t give a shit about the deal one way or another beyond his promised reward of Mikey.
Still, as much as Hanma can appreciate a delicious power play or a barbed bit of double-speak, both of which were amply supplied during the negotiations, he is ultimately a man of the physical world, meant to touch, taste, fuck. He needed to get the hell out of there.
Smiling to himself at how scandalized you look whenever he mentions mixing drugs with his medications, Hanma does a celebratory bump right there in the street. The welcome headrush brings new reserves of energy, and Hanma thinks to himself that he should swing by your apartment later to keep the good times going.
He won’t admit as much out loud, but, in truth, your mindfulness techniques were a lifesaver during negotiations. The HKJ thugs there as security were delectable. A hearty temptation, all corded muscle, cauliflower ear, and thrice-broken noses. The self-sabotaging impulse to pick a fight to test their skill would beckon, but with one eye turned mindfully inward, Hanma could recognize the impulse for what it was and turn instead to one of two delicious fantasies to distract him.
In the first, he is pinned down by the weight of Mikey’s slight body, accepting punch after brutal punch to the face, the copper tang of blood hot on his tongue. In the second, your fingers curl in the sheets of your bed – the very bed you’ve guarded from him out of some bourgeois loyalty to your boyfriend – as you throw it back on his dick, doing all the work, so he can watch the jiggle of your ass each time you slam yourself balls deep. Whichever fantasy he chose, the effect was always the same: hard cock, deep breaths, and the stress of boredom dripping harmlessly from his distracted brain.
You deserve a special reward as thanks…
As he waits on the otherwise empty street for one of Toman’s lackeys to swing his Bentley around from where it’s been parked in a garage downtown, Hanma hears footsteps, the tap of Italian loafers behind him and knows it’s Haitani before he even turns.
“Tonight went well. Some congratulations are in order,” Haitani says.
Hanma grunts, briefly wonders if he can antagonize Haitani into squaring up, and then, discards the idea. No matter how much he pokes and prods, Haitani won’t play with him. A shame as Haitani would make a solid opponent excepting his character. The fundamental difference between the two men has always been that where Hanma craves the violence, Haitani wields it as a tool in the pursuit of what he really longs for, the trappings of their lifestyle: the money, the prestige, the power. Haitani will never consent to a fight without running through a league of calculations, and even then, he’s more likely to backstab Hanma at the last second.
“I was impressed by your team’s due diligence. I don’t think you could have brokered a better deal,” Haitani says.
“Yeah yeah, Kokonoi’s a genius or whatever,” Hanma agrees tonelessly.
“Kisaki-san as well.”
More of the same. Once negotiations wrapped, Haitani clung to Kisaki’s side, playing the supplicant and making sure his glass never emptied. Watching the two men bowed together, Kisaki eating up Haitani’s deference, irritated Hanma. One might expect that cleared of all wrongdoing against Toman, Hanma might forgive and forget, but truthfully, he never cared one way or another about Haitani’s treachery.
He just doesn’t like the slick fuck.
Never did.
An acrid aftertaste from the cocaine drizzles down the back of his throat, coating his words and mind in a kind of chemical haze. There is no sign of his Bentley. Whichever grunt was tasked with picking it up is in for an earful for keeping him waiting.
“I’m grateful that I learned of the HKJ deal when I did. I’ve been looking for the opportunity to do Toman a service for years. There have been favors here or there, of course, but something substantial like this is rare. Kisaki-san is so grateful for my help. In fact, Hanma, why don’t you ask me just how grateful Kisaki-san is for my help?”
The open insinuation in his voice is enough to pique Hanma’s interest, turning around to face the other man before he can think better of it. Haitani isn’t gloating any more than he does on an average day, walking around like a god among men, but Hanma knows this is yet another victory speech. He spits a gob of saliva right at his feet.
“With you-know-who out, there’s a new opening at the top, and Kisaki-san’s asked me to fill it,” Haitani purrs.
Hanma clenches his teeth.
The Haitanis’ security business will be an asset for Toman, bringing in new resources and intel on a high-status client list. Both brothers will fit into the more polished, clinical Toman that Kisaki has nurtured, one where money wins out over brotherhood. It is a natural choice, and no one will deny that Haitani earned this.
A ghost of a smile taunts Hanma, like Haitani is just waiting for him to explode, and for the first time, Hanma is sure that the enmity between them is mutual. Maybe Haitani considers Toman neither enemy nor prey, but there is malice there towards Hanma. Haitani must know and enjoy how seeing him every day, forced to play nice, will sting for Hanma like a fresh cut each time. It is with the sadistic glee of a mad scientist, playing out his twisted experiments and documenting his subjects’ reactions, that Haitani watches him now.
In this, however, the two men can be dreadfully similar. Hanma won’t grant him the satisfaction of a reaction, schools his already blank expression and waits for the next move.
“It’s a day for gratitude all around, really, which is why I wanted to thank you. I never would have known about the HKJ deal without your help. So, thank you, Hanma.”
“What are you on about?” Hanma grits out.
“Well, really, I owe it all to your girl – you know, that tight-ass doctor you’ve been hanging around – but if you hadn’t told her in the first place, she never could have clued me in. And then, where would I be? Watching from the sidelines? So, I figure I owe you a thank you as well.”
A zip of adrenaline lights up Hanma’s synapses, the effect stronger than a bump of cocaine. It feels like his very pores have been blown wide open. He smells the musk of Haitani’s cologne. The wind alights on his skin like a lash. Sensitive to the world, he notices everything. He is wide the fuck awake.
You told Haitani about the HKJ deal.
He knows this in the way you recognize a path once taken while drunk. Returning in the bright, sobering light of day, the road appears unfamiliar at first, but then as you retread those previously taken steps, your feet know to avoid the potholes and loose tiles, which turns to take and those to avoid, like unlocking a hidden piece of knowledge or a muscle memory. Hanma recognizes your betrayal for what it is immediately, perhaps always knew deep down.
Why stop at the HKJ deal? You probably told Haitani everything Hanma ever shared with you. What did he leak during cozy pillow talk, enjoying how the details of his job could impress or frighten you in equal measure?
Come to think of it…how did Haitani know he was investigating the flights out of Tokyo-Narita in the first place? Maybe three or four weeks ago, you mentioned that you’d never traveled abroad. The conversation tilted, as it so often did with the two of you, and he ended up telling you that he was monitoring international flights, making you one of only five people in the world who knew about it: that shit for brains who worked for the airport, Tanigawa, Kisaki, Hakkai, Hanma, and…you. And now that he really thinks about it, didn’t you ask quite a few questions about Haitani, pushed where you would normally let the conversation flow naturally, like you needed the answers?
Months of banter, games, and, Hanma will admit it, intimacy between you shatters as Hanma recategorizes everything you are to him, dragging you from the special position he created just for you in his brain – something of a coveted and cosseted pet and trusted advisor in turns – into the one he reserves for all of Toman’s adversaries. It is not a classification you will enjoy, not when you’ve made a fool of him and all the violence that inevitably entails.
Much louder, brimming below these thoughts, Hanma’s mind cascades through a montage of impressions, too chaotic to capture in words or phrases, something pre-language and true. These insubstantial impressions roar, pounce, spear, inflame, attack. They sabotage his every attempt to think through his next actions, to plan or reason. All is made impossible against the backdrop of his disordered inner mindscape.
Adding Haitani’s voice to the mix only makes the noise worse.
“I was surprised you’d see a shrink. Oh! But don’t worry, I’ll keep that between the two of us. I’m sure you have your reasons, and it would do you no favors if all the men found out. And, she is cute enough. I’ll admit, I started to see the appeal around the third time I met her. I won’t pretend she’s my type, but I saw a glimmer of something then. A little fear maybe behind the dead eyes? I could see you liking that sort of thing, though as your therapist, she probably shouldn’t indulge your sexual sadism,” Ran muses. “Regardless, you’ve kept her around so long though, it makes me want to find out her appeal for myself, and after putting up with you for so long, the woman certainly deserves to be shown a good time…”
A hand decked in rings on your thigh, dimpling the flesh. Wet lips mouthing along the curve of your jaw until they reach the special spot to the left of your chin, the one that makes you shake. Eyes brimming with tears while you take a cock too big for your unstretched hole.
Fleeting impressions. Imaginings. He is not the man in any of them.
Haitani is really starting to piss him off.
“You gonna sing like this if the cops ever bust you?” Hanma snaps. “Oh, Officer, let me tell you every detail of my master plan, let me give you a list of names. Or, you just scared as shit of me?”
“Can’t I want to do a favor to my new brother?”
“You’re acting like you want me to break those shiny new veneers of yours. But I don’t know what you actually want.”
As if to show those shiny new teeth off, Haitani smiles. There are no visible stars under the haze of smog, but Roppongi is well-lit even in the depths of the night, and Hanma can make out each gleaming one of them.
“See, I wouldn’t normally share my plans, but I don’t think it matters one way or another with you. You’ll just sit there with a thumb up your ass. So, cards on the table? You can expect a lot more of this. You’re the right-hand off the boss. I want your job. And, I’m gonna get it.”
In the space of a blink, Hanma unholsters his AMT Hardballer and jabs the muzzle into Haitani’s firm stomach. The other man grunts but doesn’t react further. Smart. Because Hanma is tempted to end it all here. His position as Kisaki’s righthand is cemented from a decade of partnership, not the kind of role you resign. Once you climb to the top of the mountain that is Toman, the only way down is a long fall, ending in a broken neck. If Haitani is gunning for his job, he’ll do whatever it takes to see Hanma shot through the back of the head execution style or worse, rotting away in a prison cell.
He won’t go out that way.
He won’t.
He’ll blow a hole clean through Haitani’s stomach first. Gut anyone who ever even thought about helping the bastard.
He’ll kill them all.
“We’re caught on CCTV footage, Hanma. Might want to put that away unless you want a gun charge,” Haitani warns lowly.
They’re directly outside the lobby of Midtown Tower in the center of fucking Roppongi, of course there are cameras capturing them from all angles. No one will check the footage unless he leaves a corpse to clean up.
His trigger finger twitches anyway. It would be so easy to end this all here, fuck the consequences. But then, Hanma remembers Mikey and the brilliant swan song that awaits him when he dies in a blaze of glory. If he murders Haitani here and now, Kisaki will renege on their deal, and Hanma will surely go to prison for at least twenty years. Whereas in the end, it doesn’t matter what Haitani does either way. Hanma will be dead at Mikey’s hands in only a few weeks. Once he’s in the ground, Haitani can have his fucking job.
Hanma starts to laugh, little giggles that escalate into full-blown peals of laughter that shake the gun buried in Haitani’s gut.
“You know what? Do whatever you want, motherfucker! I’m gonna burn either way! Gotta hot date with the devil coming up, ya know? Tell you what, if I somehow survive, beat the devil and live to see another day, that’ll just mean I’m immortal. So, in that case, you’re welcome to try me. Just be sure to make it interesting.”
Haitani looks more alarmed now than when Hanma first drew on him as if reconsidering for the first time that Hanma may be unstable in a way suits like Haitani can never quite figure. It only makes Hanma laugh harder.
Still laughing, Hanma reholsters his gun, thinking his one regret when he dies soon might be that he never got the chance to make Haitani eat a curb.
Knowing that Haitani must have paid off his driver to not show, Hanma turns to walk home on foot. He takes off, right down the middle of the street at a stroll, whistling a happy tune as he goes, knowing Haitani will watch his every step with that same half-frightened look that asks if he has horribly overestimated Hanma’s grip on sanity and whether that will pose a problem down the line. A stranger walking past Hanma then would see nothing but a happy-go-lucky guy, making the most of the what the city has to offer on a late night.
Inside, the tempest of impressions continues, whipping up to a frothing storm of violence and fury. He is going to die at Mikey’s hand, but before that happens, he has some business to take care of.
He walks in the direction of your neighborhood.
A/N: 100 bonus points to whoever can figure out the major clue from chapter 7 that in retrospect hints at Smiley and Angry maybe having switched places.
also, writing this, i kept humming that 'oh no' tiktok sound and 'let the bodies hit the floor.' they seem appropriate...
