keshikashi

[keshikashi]

The Moment I knew you.

Akaashi Keiji

Warnings: None

A/n: Hey hey hey! Yori here. I finished this draft of Akaashi and I have more to finish. I hope you guys enjoy this one!!

It was raining that day.

The soft kind—fine mist, pale grey sky, the smell of wet earth curling into your lungs. You were both stuck in the small corner of a quiet bookshop café, a single umbrella between you and Akaashi, steam rising from two cups of matcha.

“I like the sound of rain,” you’d said, staring out the foggy window.

Akaashi looked at you over the rim of his cup. “Because it’s quiet?”

You nodded. “But not empty. Like… it still says something.”

He smiled. That soft, barely-there smile that rarely made it to his lips but always did something irreversible to your heart when it did.

“That’s how I feel about you,” he said, and it stunned you more than the thunder ever could.

You turned to him slowly, blinking. “What?”

He took a breath, then shrugged lightly, like he hadn’t just stripped a layer off his soul.

“You don’t try to fill space with noise. You just… exist in it. Like rain. Like silence that feels full.”

You didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t usually like this—so honest, so unguarded. But something in the hush of the shop, the dim light, the way his fingers absentmindedly tapped his cup like punctuation… it made it feel safe to ask:

“Is that a compliment?”

Akaashi tilted his head thoughtfully. “It’s the only way I know how to say I think I’m falling for you.”

And just like that, time blurred. The soft hiss of rain, the smell of damp books, the steam curling between you.

You didn’t need grand gestures. Not with him.

You reached across the table, your fingers brushing his.

And that was it. That was the moment.

Not a kiss. Not a confession.

Just the quiet understanding that something had begun—and that he had already carved a space in your heart without even trying.

Later that night, he walked you home.

Neither of you spoke much.

But under the single umbrella, shoulders bumping and hands grazing, you looked up at the sky and thought:

So this is love.

It’s quiet. But not empty.

You didn’t go home that night

The rain never let up, and Akaashi had offered—softly, almost like a suggestion to the wind—“You could stay. If you wanted.”

You had. Not because of the storm, but because something had shifted. The gravity between you and him had quietly changed direction, and neither of you had the heart to resist it.

Now, hours later, you sat together on the floor of his apartment, two bowls of instant ramen between you, legs brushing, knees bent, and everything around you still and slow.

He slurped a mouthful of noodles, then wiped his mouth politely with a napkin, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “You’re staring again.”

You smiled. “I know. I’m still… kind of surprised you said what you did.”

He set his bowl down carefully. “You don’t believe me?”

“I believe you,” you said immediately. “I just never thought someone like you would say something like that first.”

Akaashi tilted his head. “Someone like me?”

“You’re always so calm. In control. Like you’re thinking five moves ahead.” You looked down at your lap. “I guess I thought you’d keep me at arm’s length forever.”

There was a long pause.

Then, gently, his fingers reached over to tuck your hair behind your ear, resting there for a moment.

“I do think ahead,” he said quietly. “But the more I thought about you… the more I realized I didn’t want to plan my future without you in it.”

Your heart stumbled in your chest.

“I don’t show it well,” he continued, voice low and even. “But I feel it. All of it. And if you’re staying… if you want to stay… I’ll try to show it better.”

You leaned into his hand, eyes softening. “You don’t have to try so hard.”

“I do,” he replied, brows pulling together slightly. “Because I think I’m falling deeper than I’ve ever allowed myself. And that scares me.”

You nodded, sliding your hand into his. “Me too.”

Silence followed again—but this time, it wasn't filled with hesitation. It was full of understanding. Trust. And the slow rhythm of two people learning to love each other fully, fear and all.

That night, you lay beside him in his bed, your head on his chest, his hand tracing small circles along your back. He read for a while, and you listened to the steady thump of his heart beneath your ear.

Before sleep took you, you murmured, “Hey, Keiji?”

“Mm?”

“You don’t have to say it all the time, you know.”

He looked down at you.

“I know,” he said, brushing his lips against your temple.

“But I will.”

[keshikashi]

"Statics."

Seba Natsuki X Reader

Warnings: Kidnapping, violence, armed Natsuki

Credits for divider: Crimson Carmine.

A/n: Jin and Sirsen are like names for the people. Hope you guys understand. Enjoy!!

Natsuki's POV

It was supposed to be a routine check-in.

You always texted him around the same time—something simple. “Made it home.” “Don’t forget to eat.” Once, it was just an emoji of a shrimp and a knife. He didn’t ask what it meant. He just replied with a fish and moved on.

But tonight, nothing came.

And Seba Natsuki noticed.

He was lounging on his couch in the safehouse, half-listening to the hum of a surveillance drone hovering outside the window, watching a rerun of some low-budget cooking show. His invisibility suit hung off the back of a chair, still damp from a rain-soaked mission.

He checked his phone once. Blank screen.

Twice. Still blank.

He chewed the inside of his cheek, eyes narrowing slightly.

He told himself not to care. People forget. People sleep early. People get tired.

But then, casually—too casually—he opened his encrypted terminal. Just a hunch, he told himself.

Her GPS tag was supposed to ping every hour. Something he slipped into the lining of her coat weeks ago, under the pretense of "style modification."

One look at the screen, and the hunch dropped like lead in his stomach.

Last ping: 2 hours ago.

Location: halfway between her work and home.

Too far from either. Too exposed.

The cursor blinked in mocking rhythm.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, sitting up.

He tossed his phone on the bed and grabbed his jacket. The invisibility suit shimmered as he pulled it on, zipping it up with practiced speed. The tension in his jaw betrayed the otherwise lazy calm of his movements.

Sliding his gun into the holster, he paused for a second, staring at the blank dot on the map. He tapped the screen once more.

Still nothing.

“Could’ve at least made it hard for me,” he said softly, almost to himself. “Come on, angel. You’re not allowed to disappear like that.”

As he stepped outside, rain started falling—light but steady.

And he didn’t even blink as it hit his shoulders and made the suit shimmer visible in the low streetlights.

“Jin,” he drawled, voice low.

“I’m making a detour. Someone snatched a civilian.”

Dead silence on the other end.

“You better have a reason, Natsuki.”

“She’s mine.”

Click.

And just like that, he vanished into the rain, the ghost of a man with no patience for wrong moves.

Whoever took you?

They just became a job.

And Natsuki never left jobs unfinished.

Reader's Pov

You woke up in the back of a van.

Your wrists were zip-tied, your head was pounding, and the stale air reeked of gasoline and regret.

Fantastic.

The last thing you remembered was walking home after work—quiet street, usual route—until someone grabbed you from behind, and everything went black.

Now, unfamiliar voices buzzed in the front seat like static.

“Boss says we bring ‘em in breathing. Not too damaged.”

“Doesn’t matter. They’re just bait.”

Your stomach dropped.

This wasn’t a random snatch-and-grab.

This was targeted.

Only… why you?

As the van came to a sudden halt, panic clawed at your throat. The doors swung open, and two men grabbed your arms, dragging you into a decrepit warehouse, fluorescent lights flickering above like dying stars.

And then—

A shimmer in the air.

Something rippled against the concrete, like heat waves. You blinked. Once. Twice.

Then he appeared.

Seba Natsuki.

Wearing that ridiculous shiny navy jacket and matching pants that somehow looked designer even while invisible. His hair was windswept like he’d just rolled out of bed—because knowing him, he had.

And yet, despite the lazy gait, despite the barely-interested expression on his face… the men holding you froze.

"Yo," Natsuki said lazily, hands in his pockets. "I was wondering why my tracker showed a detour. And here I find out you idiots grabbed the wrong person."

You stared at him, eyes wide. "Wrong person?"

One of the goons snarled. “This isn’t any of your business, pretty boy.”

Natsuki blinked at him. Slowly. "Mm. That’s funny. See, it is my business when someone messes up a job I’m technically part of."

He vanished.

Literally.

Gone in a blink—his suit rippling as he triggered its cloaking mechanism. The men scrambled, cursing, drawing weapons. Your heart pounded.

A few sharp grunts echoed. A thud.

The man to your left dropped like a sack of bricks.

The second one didn't even get a scream out before Natsuki reappeared behind him—dry and untouched, one hand casually wiping blood from his cheek.

"Also," he said, sighing as if this were all just mildly annoying, "you were supposed to take a guy named Sirsen. Black hair, smug face. Real punchable. Not her."

He walked over and cut your ties with a box cutter he must’ve grabbed off one of the guys.

“You alright?” he asked, voice calm, flat, almost disinterested—but his eyes skimmed you carefully, sharp.

You nodded mutely.

“Good. Let’s go. Rain’s starting soon.” He tilted his head, the faintest smirk curling his lips. “Can’t have my suit turning visible mid-escape. That’d be embarrassing.”

Later, under the buzzing light of a vending machine where he bought you a warm can of coffee, you finally found your voice.

“…Why’d you come for me? If I wasn’t the target?”

He cracked his own can open with one hand, leaning back against the wall.

"'Cause I knew you’d panic," he said bluntly. "And I don’t like people panicking on my watch. Feels messy. I like clean endings."

You eyed him, heart still racing. “So this was just about keeping things neat?”

He sipped his drink, then looked at you sideways, voice a little quieter.

“…That, and I guess I’ve gotten used to you being around.”

It wasn’t a confession. Not exactly.

But for a man like Seba Natsuki, it was everything.

[keshikashi]

Faint In Red.

Kaji Ren X gn!Reader

• fluff + a bit of angst

Warnings: Kaji swearing, Reader with iron deficiency, a bit of violence, reader getting harassed.

A/n: Yori here! Thank you all I have reached a mile of getting 100 likes!

Credits for divider: Cursed Carmine.

The sun was relentless that afternoon, pounding down on your back as you stumbled out of the convenience store, the plastic bag in your hand feeling heavier than it should. Your head throbbed dully, vision wavering at the edges like heat rising off asphalt.

You hadn’t eaten enough today.

Again.

Your iron levels had always been low, but lately, things were worse. The constant fatigue, the lightheadedness — the way your hands trembled even now as you clutched the edge of a bench for support — were all signs you were ignoring, again.

The worst time to feel faint, of course, was when you were alone.

And when you realized you were being followed.

“Hey, sweetheart,” a voice slithered from behind you. “Need some help with your bags?”

You turned slowly, heart lurching. Two men — unfamiliar, greasy smiles — one of them already stepping a little too close.

“I’m fine,” you said, voice tight.

“Doesn’t look like it.” The second man grinned. “You’re lookin’ real pale. C’mon, we’ll walk you home.”

They flanked you. Your knees felt weak, both from fear and your blood pressure bottoming out. You tried to back away, but your body didn't listen—

—and then a shadow cut through the heat like a blade.

“Back the fuck off,” said a voice, low and full of venom.

Kaji Ren.

He didn’t wait for them to turn. He surged forward, grabbing the nearest guy by the collar and slamming him hard against the alley wall. The second tried to throw a punch, but Kaji dodged it with practiced precision, catching the man’s wrist mid-air and twisting until a crunch echoed through the narrow street.

“You okay?” he asked you over his shoulder — eyes cold, but his voice gentler now.

You wanted to answer, but your vision blurred. The world tilted sideways.

Kaji was there before you hit the ground.

“Hey—hey,” he knelt, arms around you, grounding you against his chest. “Shit. You’re burning up. You didn’t eat again, did you?”

Your lips parted to deny it, but no words came out.

“I told you to be careful,” he muttered, brushing your hair back. There was no anger in his tone, only the sharp edge of worry, like he was mad at himself more than anything. “You can’t keep doing this. You scared the hell out of me.”

You forced a breath. “Didn’t… mean to…”

“I know,” he whispered, holding you close. One arm wrapped under your legs as he lifted you effortlessly off the ground. “I got you now. Let’s get you home.”

The men behind him were groaning, crawling away.

He didn’t even look back.

Back at his apartment, after forcing you to drink some juice and lie down, Kaji sat on the edge of the bed, his expression unreadable. He rested his forehead against your shoulder, breath uneven.

“You can’t just collapse like that,” he murmured, voice rough. “I don’t care if you’re used to being tired. You don’t have to do it alone. You have me.”

You reached for his hand, weakly curling your fingers through his.

“…I’m scared too sometimes,” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper.

His hand squeezed yours.

“I’ll be scared for both of us,” he said. “Just… stay here. Let me protect you. Even from yourself.”

[keshikashi]

«Father's day Special ♡»

Oikawa Toorū & Iwaizumi Hajime

Warnings: Ooc Iwaizumi (?) Girldad Oikawa

A/n: happy father's day everynyan! I made this just for Oikawa and Iwa and omg Oikawa is canonically has a CHILD! So happy father's day to Oikawa!

The house smelled like strawberries, syrup, and impending chaos.

Oikawa blinked sleepily, dragging his feet into the kitchen. His hair was a mess — one curl sticking stubbornly up — and he was wearing a shirt that definitely belonged to Iwaizumi. In his hand was a glitter-covered card, sticky with what he prayed was just jelly.

“To Papa Oikawa and Daddy Hajime,” he read aloud, voice groggy, “You’re the coolest. Love, your favorite girl.” He held it up triumphantly. “She wrote ‘favorite.’ In sparkly ink. Clearly directed at me.”

From the stovetop, Iwaizumi snorted, flipping a pancake with military precision. “She handed it to me first. And she said, and I quote, ‘This is for the strong one.’”

“That could mean emotionally strong,” Oikawa argued, clutching the card like a lifeline. “Which would still be me.”

“She drew me holding her up like Simba. You, meanwhile, have sparkles in your hair and hearts around your head.”

Oikawa paused. “Okay, that part does sound like me.”

Before either of them could win the petty round, a tiny whirlwind in a pink onesie sprinted into the kitchen, pigtails bouncing.

“Pancakes!!” she yelled with all the reverence of a knight charging into battle.

Both men immediately bent to her level, their earlier banter forgotten. Oikawa swooped her up dramatically, spinning her once — earning squeals of laughter — before setting her into her booster seat at the table. Iwaizumi followed with a mini plate stacked with pancakes, cut into neat pieces, blueberries arranged in the shape of a heart.

“Is it yummy?” Iwaizumi asked, brushing a crumb from her cheek.

She nodded enthusiastically, mouth too full to answer properly, and reached for Oikawa’s hand, gripping his pinky with hers.

They sat like that for a moment — the three of them — sunlight streaming in, soft music playing from the speaker in the corner, everything warm and golden.

Oikawa leaned back, sipping the coffee Iwaizumi had made for him. “You know,” he said softly, “a few years ago, I thought Father’s Day was just some overly commercial nonsense.”

“And now?” Iwaizumi asked, half-smiling.

“Now,” Oikawa murmured, watching their daughter press two pancake halves together like a sandwich, “I think it’s my new favorite holiday.”

Iwaizumi chuckled, then reached across the table and lightly tapped his fingers against Oikawa’s. A silent acknowledgment. A thank you. A we made it.

“Happy Father’s Day,” he said.

Oikawa’s grin was soft, not showy — one of the rare, real ones. “Right back at you.”

Their daughter held up her juice box like a toast, cheeks puffed out with syrupy food.

“To my dads!” she announced proudly.

Oikawa raised his mug. Iwaizumi clinked his water glass against it.

And for once, neither of them needed to win — because they already had everything.

[keshikashi]

❝Bake love with me!❞ ♡

Timeskip!Kenma X Baker!Reader

Warnings: Kenma being a softie. (None)

✯ A/n: Timeskip Kenma is so EEKK!! I had this idea for a while now...I hope you guys love it! I also had to use Y/N because yes.

Kenma was doing a baking stream with you in it so he could show you off to his fans on how beautiful and perfect you were to him. While Kenma was helping you out with cooking cookies and some 'special' food you can make.

“Guys, this is the person who makes those insane pastries I always talk about,” Kenma said into his mic, gesturing casually to you as you rolled out the dough. “Yes, those strawberry shortcake ones. They’re real. And no, you can’t have any.”

He smirked at the camera, golden eyes flicking to chat as it blew up with playful outrage.

You laughed softly, adjusting your apron and nudging him with your elbow. “You can’t tease your fans like that. You know they’ll riot.”

“They’ll live,” he muttered under his breath, standing behind you now, peeking over your shoulder. “Besides… I don’t want to share.”

Your hands stilled for a second, heart skipping, and you gave him a look over your shoulder. “You talking about the cake or me?”

Kenma didn’t look fazed, but his ears flushed pink just barely beneath his headset. “Both.”

The chat collectively lost its mind again.

You tried to hide your smile, focusing on cutting out shapes from the dough. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“I know,” he said simply, reaching for a cookie cutter and handing it to you without looking.

There was something so soft about Kenma when he was around you. He still kept his low, even tone, still barely looked into the camera, but his presence seemed brighter. He let you do most of the talking as you explained your recipe to the viewers, occasionally throwing in a dry joke or sarcastic comment that had both you and the stream giggling.

Halfway through, you wiped a bit of flour from your cheek with the back of your hand. Kenma noticed.

“Wait—don’t move.”

Before you could ask, he leaned in, gently swiping the rest of the flour from your cheek with his thumb. His touch was light, but his eyes held that intense, focused look he usually reserved for boss battles and clutch plays.

“You had something…” he murmured, fingers lingering a second longer than needed.

You blinked up at him. “Thanks.”

Kenma looked away, pretending to busy himself with the baking tray. “Chat’s going to clip that, huh?”

“They already are,” you replied, glancing at the scrolling comments. “Kenma being soft is my Roman Empire”, “HIS HANDS. THE WAY HE LOOKS AT THEM.”, “BAKERY POWER COUPLE REAL???”

Kenma sighed quietly, but you saw the corner of his mouth twitch. “Let them.”

You chuckled, brushing your fingers against his as you passed him a spatula. “They’re not wrong, you know.”

“About which part?” he asked, eyes meeting yours.

You smiled. “Us being a power couple.”

Kenma didn’t reply immediately—just let the silence hang between you two for a moment before murmuring, “We’ve always been a team.”

The oven dinged, and you turned toward it, cheeks warm—not just from the heat. As the scent of fresh cookies filled the air, you knew one thing for certain:

This was your favorite kind of stream—baking, laughing, and being loved quietly by the boy who only ever gave you his full attention when it mattered most.

The cookies were cooling on the rack, golden brown and picture-perfect. You stood next to Kenma, brushing your hands off on your apron as he checked the stream overlay.

Chat was still going wild, messages pouring in faster than either of you could read.

Chat:

“THEY LOOK SO GOOD AHHHHH”

“Kenma you’re literally glowing bro”

“Y/N IS SO LUCKY!”

“We demand a taste test.”

“Power couple supremacy!!!”

Kenma leaned closer to the mic. “They want a taste test. You okay with that?”

You laughed and picked up a cookie, carefully breaking it in half so the gooey chocolate center oozed just slightly. “Okay, but if I eat it and pass out from how good it is, someone better clip it for my baking portfolio.”

Chat: “SHE’S SO REAL FOR THAT.”

“KENMA FEED HER A COOKIE PLS.”

Kenma raised an eyebrow at that last comment and glanced sideways at you. “They want me to feed you.”

You stared at him for a second, lips twitching. “You gonna do it?”

He shrugged, holding out half a cookie toward you with a calmness that didn’t match the slight blush rising to his cheeks. “Open.”

You blinked, flustered but playing along, and took a bite, lips brushing his fingers just slightly. His hand lingered a second too long, and the chat exploded.

Chat:

“I SCREAMED.”

“KENMA IS SO CASUAL ABOUT IT IM DYING.”

“WHEN’S THE WEDDING????”

You chewed dramatically, making a thoughtful face. “Hmm. Could use more love.”

Kenma gave you a deadpan look. “I fed it to you.”

You grinned. “Guess it’s perfect, then.”

Chat: “STOP YOU GUYS ARE TOO CUTE.”

“I CAN’T BREATHE.”

“Clip that. Clip everything.”

As Kenma leaned back, sipping from his cup of tea, you moved closer to read the screen, pointing out a few usernames. “Oh, I recognize you! You always send sweet messages during Kenma’s late-night streams,” you said, smiling.

Kenma glanced over. “Yeah, they’re cool. They’ve been around a while.”

You added, “You guys are seriously the best fanbase. You’re all so chill... and chaotic, but in a good way.”

Chat:

“BAKER Y/N REMEMBERS US 😭”

“we feel so seen rn omg.”

“KENMA NEVER BRING ANYONE ELSE. ONLY Y/N.”

Kenma chuckled under his breath, shifting the camera a bit. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

You nudged him again with your elbow, playful. “You better not.”

“Don’t worry. You’re kind of my endgame character.”

The chat paused for half a second before absolutely combusting.

Chat:

“HELLO?????????”

“I’M CRYING. ON THE FLOOR.”

“He said endgame character like this is a romance route and he chose YOU???”

Kenma tried to hide behind his hair and cup, muttering something about how you were all too loud, but you knew the way his lips quirked up meant he was loving every second of it.

As you packed up some cookies to save for later, you glanced toward the screen and waved.

“Thanks for hanging out with us today,” you said warmly. “Next time we’ll do cupcakes, and maybe Kenma will try piping icing.”

Kenma groaned. “I already know I’ll suck at it.”

You smiled at him. “You said that about whisking last time, and now you whisk like a pro.”

Chat: “Domestic. Fluff. Real.”

“STREAM TITLE IDEA: KENMA WHISKS HIS HEART AWAY.”

Kenma sighed dramatically. “Why are they like this.”

But he didn’t stop smiling.

[keshikashi]

❝I didn't ask you to wait.❞

Sakura Haruka X reader

A/n: hey hey hey!! Yori here glad you guys enjoyed the Suo fanfic!! Here's another one but a Sakura version. Enjoy!!

The sky was blushed in gold as the last bell of the day rang out. Students poured out of the school like a current, buzzing with chatter and weekend plans.

You stood alone by the front gates, arms crossed, eyes scanning the flow for one person.

You didn’t have to wait long.

Sakura Haruka emerged, hands shoved in his pockets, sharp eyes narrowed under that familiar white fringe. His uniform was scuffed again he’d been in a fight, clearly but his expression didn’t betray any emotion. Not yet.

When he saw you, his steps slowed. Just for a second.

Then he walked right past.

You followed.

“I waited for you.”

He tensed.

“…Why?”

You shrugged. “Felt like it.”

He stopped walking. Turned slightly. “Tch. You’re dumb.”

You grinned. “You always say that when you’re flustered.”

His ears turned a little pink. “I’m not flustered. Don’t flatter yourself.”

“But you are.”

“I’m not—!” He cut himself off with a groan, running a hand through his hair, clearly annoyed that you could read him so easily.

“You’re hurt again,” you said, more seriously this time, nodding toward the bruising on his knuckles. “What was it this time?”

“Some creeps near the station,” he muttered. “Harassing a first-year. Thought they were tough.”

“And you thought fighting them alone was smart?”

“I thought beating their teeth in was fair.”

You sighed. “You always take on too much by yourself.”

He didn’t respond right away. He hated this part when someone worried about him. It was easier when people feared him, avoided him. Easier to pretend he didn’t care.

But you… you never looked at him like that.

“…They don’t deserve to walk around like that,” he muttered. “Picking on weak people. If someone doesn’t do something, they’ll keep doing it. So I did something.”

You looked at him for a long second. “You always act like you don’t care, but you care more than anyone.”

“Shut up.”

He wouldn’t meet your eyes.

“Let me walk you home,” you offered, gently.

He looked at you then sharp, defensive. “What? You think I need protecting?”

You laughed. “No. I think maybe I do.”

He blinked.

“…You’re a pain.”

“But I’m your pain.”

Sakura groaned under his breath, turning away so you couldn’t see how red his face was. “You’re so damn annoying.”

Yet, a moment later, you felt his fingers brush yours. Hesitant. Testing.

You took his hand.

He didn’t pull away.

“…I didn’t ask you to wait for me,” he muttered.

“I know.”

“But… don’t stop.”

You smiled softly.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

[keshikashi]

“I Don’t Let Anyone Hurt What’s Mine” Suo Hayato x Reader Genre: Action / Hurt-Comfort / Protective Romance Warnings: Violence (mildly graphic), strong language, emotional intensity Setting: An alley near the school, evening

You didn’t mean to walk home alone.

But things had run late—group project, train delays, your phone on 3%—and by the time you stepped off the last bus stop, the streets were mostly empty. Except for them.

The same three guys who’d been hanging around near the school gates all week. Leering. Calling out things that made your stomach twist. You’d tried ignoring it before.

But tonight, they followed you.

“Hey sweetheart,” one of them called. “Didn’t your boyfriend tell you not to dress like that?”

Another laughed. “Or maybe they like the attention, huh?”

You didn’t respond. You just walked faster. Heart pounding.

They didn’t stop.

You turned the corner into a narrow alley, hoping to cut through and lose them—but one of them grabbed your arm.

“Where you going so fast?” he sneered.

You tried to yank free. “Let go of me!”

And that’s when a voice, calm and cold, cut through the night.

“Take your hands off them.”

The grip on your arm loosened instantly—but not from mercy. It was fear.

Because Suo Hayato was standing at the alley’s entrance, expression blank, but his eyes… his eyes were burning.

“Shit,” one of them muttered. “It’s that Bofurin guy.”

“Run,” another said.

They didn’t get the chance.

Hayato moved like a shadow with weight—silent, fast, and full of intent. One of them swung at him out of panic. Hayato ducked, grabbed the guy’s wrist, and slammed him into the wall. A sharp crack echoed—the sound of dignity breaking.

Another tried to tackle him. Hayato side-stepped, landed a brutal punch to the gut, then kneed him in the face as he fell forward.

“You think you’re strong,” Hayato muttered, his voice low and venomous, “because you prey on people who can’t fight back?”

He grabbed the last one by the collar. “Try someone your own size.”

The guy whimpered. “Please—man, we were just joking—”

Hayato slammed him to the ground with terrifying control.

It was over in seconds.

And then his attention turned to you.

“(Y/N),” he said, and for the first time tonight, his voice softened. “Are you okay?”

You nodded shakily. He reached out, gently brushing your cheek. His hands were scraped, bloodied—but they trembled slightly, just from touching you. The anger was gone, replaced by something raw and fragile.

“I should’ve been there sooner,” he whispered.

“You were,” you said, voice breaking. “You came.”

He stared at you for a beat, and then—before you could say anything else—he pulled you into his arms. Tightly. Fiercely.

You buried your face in his chest, holding onto him like an anchor. His scent, his warmth, his steady heartbeat—it was everything you needed.

“I don’t let anyone hurt what’s mine,” he murmured.

You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes. “And am I yours?”

He didn’t hesitate.

“You always have been.”

Then he kissed you—slow, aching, like it was the only way he could say all the things he never had the words for.

And in that alley, surrounded by broken threats and fading adrenaline, you knew one thing for sure:

No one would ever dare touch you again.

Not while Suo Hayato was breathing.

---

END

Bonus Scene

With Sakura Haruka and Nirei Akihiko.

The four of you sat in a loose circle on the rooftop, the city skyline glowing in the distance. Empty drink bottles clinked beside you as you opened a warm convenience store bun, passing one to Hayato, who accepted it with a quiet nod of thanks. “I can’t believe we just let you go solo again,” Nirei muttered, tearing open a bag of chips and tossing one in his mouth. “I blinked and Suo had already decked three guys.” “You blink too slow,” Sakura said curtly, arms crossed as he leaned against the metal fence. His eyes, however, kept flicking toward you—watching, assessing. You met his gaze, offering a soft smile. Predictably, he scoffed and looked away, ears slightly pink. “You good, though?” he asked, voice rough. “Not that I care or anything—it’d just be annoying if you cried or passed out or something.” You grinned. “Thanks for the concern, Sakura.” “I’m not—! Tch. Whatever.” Hayato bit into his bun slowly. “They’re fine. I was there.” Sakura shot him a look. “Don’t get cocky. You’re always pulling that ‘cool and calm’ thing—what happens if you get blindsided, huh?” “Then you’ll be there,” Hayato replied simply.

Sakura flinched, visibly uncomfortable with the implied trust. “Don’t just assume stuff like that...!” “He’s right though,” Nirei added with a lazy grin. “You act all cold and edgy, but if any of us actually got hurt, you’d lose your shit. Especially if it was [Name].” “I WOULD NOT.” Sakura stood up, flustered, eyes wide with defensive fury. “Why the hell would I—?!” You stood up, brushing crumbs off your lap. “Sakura. Sit. Down.” He stared at you. You didn’t flinch. After a long pause… he slowly sat, grumbling under his breath. “So bossy…” But he didn’t look away when you glanced at him this time.

There was something unspoken there—his walls were still up, but he’d let you into the hallway just beyond them. Hayato leaned back, arms behind his head. “We should do this more often.” Nirei raised a brow. “The snacking or the fighting?” “Both,” Hayato said. Sakura muttered, “You guys are the worst.” But when the laughter started, he didn’t leave.

[keshikashi]

3rd Year After game.

TsukiYama Angst

3rd Year Tsukishima Kei and Yamaguchi Tadashi.

The stadium lights buzzed overhead as Yamaguchi leaned against the chain-link fence, watching from a distance. He wasn’t a pro player — never had been. He’d carved his own path as a trainer, a mentor, staying close to volleyball but always a few steps behind the players under the bright lights.

Tsukishima Kei stood on the court, tall and composed, wiping sweat from his neck with a towel, teammates patting his shoulder after a hard-fought win. The crowd roared, cameras flashed, and Kei barely reacted — the same cool, sharp mask he always wore.

Yamaguchi’s chest ached.

They hadn’t spoken in over a year. Not really. A few texts, polite congratulations, awkward updates. The distance between them had stretched thin, like a fraying thread ready to snap.

Yamaguchi remembered the promise they’d made — “We’ll keep walking together, no matter what.”

But the world had other plans. Kei had been scouted, flown across the country, living the dream Yamaguchi used to share. Somewhere along the line, their paths stopped crossing. Kei stopped calling late at night. Stopped asking for advice. Stopped needing him.

Or maybe, Yamaguchi thought bitterly, he was the one who stopped reaching out first.

He almost turned to leave when Kei’s voice cut through the air.

“Tadashi.”

Yamaguchi froze. Slowly, he turned, heart pounding. Kei stood just inside the gate, hair damp, eyes sharp but tired. For a second, neither of them spoke.

“… You were here.”

Yamaguchi forced a smile. “Yeah. Couldn’t miss it, right?”

Kei let out a short, humorless laugh. “You always show up. Even when I don’t deserve it.”

Yamaguchi’s throat tightened. “Why didn’t you tell me you were hurting back then, Kei? Why did you push me away?”

Kei’s jaw clenched, glasses reflecting the lights. “Because if I asked you to stay… I was afraid you’d realize you were better off without me.”

Yamaguchi took a shaky breath, feeling old wounds split open. “I was never better off without you.”

For a moment, Kei’s mask cracked — just a flicker of regret, of something raw and vulnerable. But then he straightened, the pro athlete, the star, the wall Yamaguchi could never quite climb anymore.

“… I’m glad you came,” Kei said softly. “But you should go.”

Yamaguchi swallowed hard, chest burning, and gave a small nod. “Yeah. I know.”

As he walked away, the roar of the stadium behind him, Yamaguchi wondered if they’d ever find their way back to each other — or if they’d just keep walking, side by side, but always out of reach.

[keshikashi]

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﹒⌗﹒Masterlist(⁠☆⁠▽⁠☆⁠) ⸝⸝

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[keshikashi]

⋮ ⌗ ┆Before you follow Yori...

⌗ I like to write for: bed sharing, naturally confident readers, college AU, comforting insecure characters, etc,

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WHAT TO EXPECT

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[keshikashi]

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⋮ ⌗ ┆couple of ground rules before you interact with my blog:

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[keshikashi]

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愛 | Yori's Basic Information...

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I'm not really good at making friends (⁠ ⁠╹⁠▽⁠╹⁠ ⁠) so if I ask to be mutuals or first chat you it's because I admire and want to become friends. Behind this phone after first chatting is Yori trying to distract herself by doing anything to keep her busy <⁠(⁠￣⁠︶⁠￣⁠)⁠>

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