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ariiadnes · 24 days ago

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╭ ⿻ ･ MAYBE I COULD HOLD YOU IN THE DARK

I HAVE TAKEN GOD'S LONELIEST CREATION & PUT YOU INSIDE IT.

ଓ.° ・ ran haitani. tokyo revengers. reader has no specific pronouns or features. nsfw. MDNI. quote cr : ocean vuong. title cr : halsey - bells in santa fe. revised / rewritten / reposted.

one. the heart is not made of gentle beings when it has succumbed to bloodshed and brutality, hands bathed in sin & sanguine. he loves it, ran haitani : the warm body that lies next to you at 4:44am, and how desperately he seeks it out in redemption of catharsis from a life absolved.

in his blood there is corruption and underhanded means in vestige ; abandonment / stolen youth / survivalism is all he knows, all he is born from, and that’s all he needs.

he doesn’t need you, doesn’t care about you, and that’s okay. it’s alright. it makes this easier, you tell yourself, entranced in empty mantras of a siren’s song. it’s okay.

it’s okay because it doesn’t mean anything if you don’t care about him, either. you are going to convince yourself you hate him, ignore the way lavender eyes swallow you whole during wretched nights spent together, and act like you do not feel your heart pound against your chest in warning of what you will endure in the near future.

you are going to convince yourself you hate ran haitani. one day you will believe it.

two. “this is--”

“-- the last time?” ran’s voice is heavy with amusement and taunting tones as his lips brush against the shell of your ear and trail down your neck, adorning your skin with crimson hues that serve as a warning to others.

and what does it even matter, you think, instinctively tilting your head back with a sigh as he sinks his teeth into your flesh, tongue tracing marks in their wake. it doesn’t matter. you aren’t his and he isn’t yours, so what does it really matter, anyway?

it doesn’t in the end, you suppose, so it’s not worth overthinking. none of it ever is.

“i’ve heard that before.” ran hums with feign thoughtfulness, laughing when you half-heartedly hit his shoulder. “care to remind me where?”

“shut up, haitani. it’s annoying.”

another laugh, soft.

“...and i thought i was the pushy one.”

a red mark blooms on your chest, then another. it signals nothing of devotion nor worship, blossoms in the midst of mockery, but you’ll drown in the sensations nonetheless because that’s all you know you can do when you’re underneath him. he makes his way down your body, hands trailing down your waist as he leaves kisses made of wanting and an unfamiliar hiraeth. you hate how he’s looking at you, gaze focused, waiting, watching as you give into him entirely, just as you have done all these past months.

you despise how he looks at you, how he touches you like you could be something more. this is a stupid game you both play, but you try over and over again, all the while knowing that neither of you will get the happy ending you silently wish for.

“focus on me, pretty thing.” his lips ghost over the inside of your thighs, amusement palpable in his voice when you tremble under his touch. you look at him, frustration pooling in your eyes, but he doesn’t think too much about it & what it means, doesn’t indulge in the thought that you could love someone you shouldn’t and that’s why you’re on the verge of breaking.

ran doesn’t think about it. he tries not to.

your breath catches in your throat at the feeling of his tongue against you, hand slapped over your face as you try to swallow your pride, repress all the noises he coaxes from that pretty little mouth. but ran likes to hear you, likes to know that he makes you feel good, so he wraps one hand around your thigh to keep you in place, uses the other to grab your wrist and lower your arm before lacing your fingers together. you lose yourself all too quickly when he does this, and you hate that he knows everything about you, about your body, and how suddenly it is that the self deprecation sinks into your existence and makes itself too known.

you try to remember to breathe, erratic pants filling the air as you throw your head against the pillow, trying to find purchase in something-- so you squeeze ran’s hand tighter when he brings you to that high. your body shudders, back arching off the bed as you instinctively press into his mouth, and you almost think you hear him chuckle against it.

your chest heaves, intoxication brewing in your veins, and a sudden exhaustion seeps into the marrows of your bones before you think to pull your hand away, but he doesn’t let go. ran sits up, gaze almost distant, hazy, before a lazy smile rests on the curves of his lips, and suddenly he’s too close, a calloused thumb tracing your jawline.

he kisses you, frighteningly gentle, and you think maybe such brevity in false affections is what truly will break you.

YOU ARE GOING TO CONVINCE YOURSELF YOU HATE RAN HAITANI. ONE DAY YOU WILL BELIEVE THIS.

three. you are made of filth and lies. you are lying to yourself and you understand that, so it’s only deserving that you choose to embed yourself with hatred. it’s mindless, numbing, and it’s nonsense, but it’s how you cope, so you accept it.

you tell him it’s the last time. you said it again tonight, and here you are, pulling the sheets closer to your bare body to protect yourself from the frigid air. ran shifts next to you, arm draped over your side. you still, but already he is taken away from the brink of sleep, so he watches you, presses kisses against your shoulder.

you don’t think you can face him. your heart races in a way it should not ; you know what it means, but you don’t want to put a name to the feeling, so you tuck it into the remnants of dignity, detach it from the strings of the love that tries to survive in you.

“i need to go.”

ran stops moving at the barely heard words. your pulse is a strange sensation against his mouth. he doesn’t think he registers what you’ve said initially, and he wonders if you are shaking again.

he wants to know what face you’re making, but he won’t look. not for your sake, but for his. he pulls away, maintains a passive facade.

“okay.”

“...okay.” you whisper, so you get dressed and you never turn back.

you want to hate ran haitani, you do. so you leave.

four. you do not see him for months after that. it should have gotten easier. it should have started the healing, rid of the hurt, this bitter distance, but it hasn’t.

ran texts you often. you know him to be the type to let people weave in and out of his life, apathy in his eyes when bonds are broken and never maintained. so why does he keep trying? your phone buzzes non-stop, but you pay no mind to it. in defeat, you turn it off, hate the way your reflection looks so miserable in the black screen.

this is not the answer. you already know what is, but fear is far stronger than a dispirited will, so you’ll stay like this, stagnant, and convince yourself that it’ll get better.

it’ll get better. it’ll get better. it’ll--

it is 1:54 in the morning. someone is knocking on your door.

you imagine it will get so much worse before it gets better. you open the door. ran haitani is in front of you.

dulled lavender, a newfound vacancy that barely slips through the cracks. you stare at each other, listless. there are tears that trail down your face.

you miss him. you hate him.

you hate ran haitani, so you let him in.

five. “you didn’t say you were gonna go forever. go missing and ignore me like that -- think you can pull shit like that on me?”

your jaw clenches. everything is a mess; your mind riddled with anger and mourning and yearning. it’s all so stupid. you stare right at him and neither of you dare to move. he can’t understand you, doesn’t know what’s been going on in that head of yours.

it’s not like you to do this. he knows that much. he would be lying if he said he wasn’t concerned about you. he doesn’t know when it started, doesn’t even know why his footsteps led him here or why he even knocked on the door.

none of it makes sense and maybe it should stay that way, but he’s here now, and he expects answers.

“why are you here? i’m not yours, haitani.”

“ran.” he corrects you much quicker than he’d like, the strain in his voice too apparent. he looks away for only a brief moment, finds his composure, tries to retain that indifferent attitude. but even then, something more breaks free and he doesn’t like it. “if you don’t want me here, tell me to stop right now. i’ll go. if that’s what you want, speak up and tell me.”

there’s a subtle furrow of your brows; your lips part, but nothing falls from them. the hurt is more than you expect, harshness ringing loud and clear in his words. you understand his anger. you know you’ve been an idiot about this, running away from feelings you know aren’t reciprocated in even the slightest sense. you swallow hard, force yourself to remain in place when he leans forward, watching your features intently.

“tell me what you want.”

the words are gentle now. you don’t know if that hurts more, but you know your eyes sting and that you're a fool for crying. crying about emotions that have left you conflicted for god knows how long, crying because you miss ran and you think you love him when you were never supposed to be anything more than a warm body.

his lips ache. he wants you. he'll hand you his heart on a silver platter, stupid as it may be, if that’s what you want. because he recognizes this is love and he knows this isn’t him. he’s a man who only knows selfishness and horridness, but he loves you despite it all, and he wonders if you could feel the same, if you could ever be something else, something other than just someone he’s fucking.

he steps closer. you don’t step back.

“i want to hate you, ran.” the tears flow freely now, the loneliness that has been lurking in the shadows now present in full force. it hurts, this ache that has settled into your life. it turns sharp, jagged, and haunts you until you can’t bear it anymore.

“i want to hate you so much. why won’t you let me do this?”

what a fucking coward you are.

you break in front of ran haitani.

six. ran doesn’t remember much after that night, everything blurred and in slow motion.

he doesn’t let you push him away, but he doesn’t push back, either, not after you told him that. he doesn’t fight for people, not like this. but you’re different ; you’re worth it all, even if it doesn’t make sense, even if it’s shitty, even if it fucking hurts and it’s excruciating.

he doesn’t know what to do.

“it’s like watching a game of cat and mouse,” rindou speaks up, holding his glasses up to the light and frowning at the inescapable specks of dust that gather on it, “either one of you going to cut the bullshit soon?”

it annoys ran. he inhales deeply, looks up at the sun. blinding, too bright, yet always so resilient.

“yeah.”

rindou almost snorts.

“better hurry.”

ran haitani knows he is in love with you.

seven. “let me in.”

you glance at the clock, shake off the exhaustion that clings to your figure. it’s 1:54am again, a bittersweet smile of defeat appearing when you realize you will go through this all over again. nothing will change. he will leave and you will miss him.

you’re not going to get a happy ending with him, are you? ( and it’s your fault, too. because you could try. you could just try, bare your heart to him and break it in the process. but you would know that you tried, then. sometimes that’s all that matters. )

“who’s being pushy now?”

you don’t fight it when he enters your apartment. ran doesn’t sit down, doesn’t really do anything-- just waits. he stands in front of you, searching for something identifiable.

“you want me to say it? i’ll say it.” inside the apathy is desperation, longing. he’ll give it up, this sickening pride. he’ll give it up if it’s for you. “i’ll say it even if you think you hate me, even if--”

you watch, eyes wondrous as he goes on a tangent. you have never seen ran like this, disheveled and upset, save for the few exceptions when his brother gets injured. you don’t think hard before the words automatically spill out. you'll take the leap, risk it all. maybe it'll hurt, maybe it won't. but you let go in that moment, find your courage and wear your heart on your sleeve.

“-- i love you, ran.”

he can’t understand the way you look at him : eyes wide, afraid, yet hopeful all the same. the way you put aside your fear and admit that you’ve been in love with him all this time, the way you decide it’s time to stop running.

“i...” your mouth runs dry. how silly that this part is the hardest one to say. “i don’t hate you. i tried to-- i did, because i was afraid of--” a pause, then silence. hesitation.

“you’re exhausting. did you know that?” he stares at you, and suddenly he’s back, that same old visage he always wears present. but there's a relief beneath it all, and how suddenly difficult it is to keep himself at bay. “making me chase you like that.”

your brows furrow in slight confusion and bafflement ; you're nearly about to protest before he pulls you into a tight hug, face buried in your neck, tension dissipating at the feeling of your body against his.

it’s quiet. it’s two in the morning now, and you are both tired but you are both in love.

“...i love you.”

you laugh at the feeling of his lips against your skin. it is familiar. you missed it dearly.

“i know, haitani.”

“ran.”

#tokyo revengers x reader #haitani ran x reader #ran haitani x reader #ran x reader #i could not tell you why i like ran . it's the apathetic look he always has . and the fanart. the fanart .............truly carries #ෆ fic #ෆ tr #ෆ banner cr @ v6que

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