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chaosandcandies · 4 months ago

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CHAPTER Ⅹ: Communication is Overrated

trope: fem!9th skz member warnings: angst, drama, insecure oc, cyber bullying, slow burn pairings: hyunjinxfem!oc prev|next

THE PRACTICE ROOM was suffocating.

It wasn’t just the exhaustion—the ache in her muscles, the burn in her lungs. It wasn’t even the heat, though sweat clung to her skin, dampening the fabric of her shirt.

It was the tension.

The sharp, invisible thread stretched between her and the boys, so tight it might snap at any moment.

They had been like this for days.

Iseul could feel it in the way they barely spoke to her, how their usual teasing was replaced by stiff nods and quiet exchanges she was never part of.

She caught it in the way Minho corrected her form, voice clipped, offering no further comment. The way Seungmin avoided her gaze, usually so quick to throw sarcastic jabs her way, now eerily quiet. Even Chan—who had always made an effort to check in—seemed distant, his attention elsewhere, buried in his own thoughts.

And Hyunjin…

Hyunjin, who had started treating her like something more than a stranger, now refused to even look at her.

It was like she had done something wrong. Like she had shattered something between them and didn’t even realize it.

The music cut out.

Iseul dragged in a breath, hands on her knees. Across the room, Jeongin collapsed onto the floor with a groan. Felix sat down beside him, stretching out his legs with a sigh. Chan mumbled something about fixing the timing in the chorus, wiping sweat from his forehead as he took a sip from his water bottle.

Iseul reached for her own bag, hands shaking with exhaustion. Her phone buzzed as soon as she picked it up.

She shouldn’t have looked.

She really, really shouldn’t have.

But it was becoming a habit now—checking the internet, scrolling through articles, watching as people dissected her presence in Stray Kids like she was nothing more than a puzzle piece shoved where it didn’t belong.

Her stomach twisted as she read the words on the screen.

Iseul’s past as a boxer—?? Old footage resurfaces of Stray Kids’ newest member Should JYPE idols really be fighting like this?

Her fingers trembled as she scrolled further, until—

A video.

She clicked on it before she could stop herself.

There she was—smaller, younger, fists wrapped tight, moving with precision, with power. Blow after blow landed clean, her opponent staggering under the force of her strikes. The bell rang, and she stepped back, shoulders rising and falling with deep, steady breaths.

She felt exposed—like something that belonged to her, something personal, had been ripped away and put on display for everyone to pick apart.

The videos played on loop in her mind, the echoes of her past crashing over her like waves. The sharp crack of gloves against a punching bag. The sting of knuckles bruising, splitting open. The sound of her coach’s voice, drilling into her—Again. Again. Again.

No one was supposed to see this.

It was hers.

Not Stray Kids’. Not the company’s. Not the fans’.

Hers.

And yet, here it was, stripped bare for everyone to analyze. For everyone to turn into yet another narrative that wasn’t hers to control.

Iseul could feel herself unraveling, piece by piece, like threads being yanked loose from an already fragile seam.

A shadow shifted beside her.

“What’s wrong?”

Iseul barely heard Changbin’s voice.

Her mouth was dry. She forced the words out.

“The videos. My boxing matches—they’re everywhere.”

She expected shock. Maybe disbelief.

But what she got was silence.

No surprise. No confusion. Just a heavy, awkward pause.

Her heart slammed against her ribs as she glanced up.

Seungmin didn’t look at her. Han scratched the back of his head, shifting uncomfortably. Hyunjin pressed his lips together, gaze glued to the floor.

Her fingers curled around her phone.

“…You knew.”

It wasn’t a question.

The guilt in the air wrapped around her like a vice. It was in the way Jeongin swallowed hard, the way Felix opened his mouth as if to say something but hesitated. The way Minho exhaled through his nose and rubbed at his temple, as if bracing himself.

They knew.

They had all known.

Iseul’s breath hitched as she realised - the company.

Iseul’s breath hitched as realization struck—the company.

The company must have sneakily released it.

A calculated move. A PR stunt.

Her stomach twisted as the pieces clicked into place. JYPE must have been monitoring the backlash, the endless debates about her legitimacy as Stray Kids’ ninth member, the constant questioning of her skills. They saw an opportunity. And they took it.

Her past—something she had buried, something she had walked away from—was now public knowledge. Not by her choice.

And the boys knew about this already.

She was the only one left in the dark.

Her hands clenched into fists.

"You had no right…"

The words slipped out before she could stop them, sharp and trembling, thick with something she couldn’t name—betrayal, disbelief, hurt. It stuck to the walls of her throat, burning, clawing to get out.

No one spoke.

No one rushed to tell her she was wrong.

Iseul let out a sharp, bitter breath. "You had no right to let them do this without telling me." Her fingers curled around her phone, so tight that her knuckles turned white. "You knew—and none of you thought I deserved to know?"

Across from her, Chan exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “It wasn’t—”

“Don’t.” Her voice wavered, but her glare didn’t. “Don’t tell me it wasn’t like that because it was. You knew, and you let me find out like this.”

Hyunjin’s head snapped up, eyes flashing. “You think we let this happen?” His voice was rough, sharp-edged with frustration. "You think we wanted this?"

Iseul let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Oh, so that makes it okay? That makes it fine that you all knew and decided not to tell me?”

Seungmin sighed, his arms crossing over his chest. “I don’t see how it’s a big deal.”

The words landed like a punch to the gut.

Iseul froze, blinking at him as if she hadn’t heard him right. “What?”

Seungmin met her stare with the same cool detachment he always carried, but this time, it felt different. It felt distant. “It’s not like they released something bad,” he said, as if it were obvious. “If anything, it makes you look cool.”

Cool.

Iseul felt something inside her crack.

She had thought—no, she had believed—that out of all of them, Seungmin understood her. They had grown close, slipping into an easy, unspoken rhythm, their teasing morphing into a quiet kind of companionship. When she wasn’t with Jeongin, she was with him. She had considered him a friend—her closest, even.

And yet, here he was. Saying this.

Her lips parted, but no words came out.

It shouldn’t have hurt this much, but it did.

Seungmin didn’t even realize it. Didn’t realize how much it had taken for her to even exist in this space, how fragile this trust was, how much she had let them in.

Her grip tightened around her phone, nails pressing into her palm. “That’s not the point, Seungmin,” she said, quieter now, but sharp enough to cut. “It wasn’t their story to tell. It wasn’t yours.”

A flicker of something passed through his expression—regret? Guilt?—but before he could speak, Han stepped in.

“No one decided anything,” Han muttered, arms crossed tight over his chest. “What were we supposed to do, Iseul? Go against the company?”

“Yes!" The word shot out of her before she could stop it, her voice cracking under the weight of it. "If it was any of you, you would've known. You would've talked about it together, figured it out—together. But me? I just had to find out with everyone else, right?”

“That’s not fair,” Felix muttered, his voice tense.

Iseul scoffed. “Oh, I’m the unfair one now?"

Jeongin took a hesitant step forward, his fingers twitching at his sides. "Noona—"

His voice was softer than the others, hesitant, but Iseul barely heard it over the roaring in her ears.

Minho exhaled sharply, gaze flicking between her and the others. “Iseul, listen—”

But she didn’t want to. She couldn’t.

Because she already knew how this ended. She knew how this played out.

Of course they would take the boys’ side. Of course they would defend them. That’s how it always was. She was the outsider here—the one who didn’t belong, the one who was always a step behind.

And she was so tired of pretending otherwise.

She let out a hollow breath, lips curling into something bitter. “Right. I forgot.” Her voice was quieter now, steadier, but no less cutting. “Of course you’d take their side.”

Jeongin’s eyes widened, his mouth opening—maybe to protest, maybe to explain—but Iseul didn’t let him.

“It’s fine,” she said, almost to herself. “It was stupid to think things would be different.”

“Iseul,” Changbin interjected, his expression tightening. “That’s not—”

She shook her head, the fight draining out of her all at once. “Forget it.” Her grip on her phone loosened. “It doesn’t matter.”

She had been here before—standing in a room full of people who would never really be on her side, feeling like a puzzle piece forced into the wrong set, edges scraped raw just to fit.

She should have known better.

She should have never let herself believe she belonged.

Minho exhaled, his voice quiet but firm. “Let’s just practice again.”

As if it was that simple. As if all of this could be swept under the rug, buried under hours of rehearsals and unspoken words.

Iseul forced herself to smile. It was a terrible thing—cold, lifeless, empty.

“Right. Practice.”

Like nothing had happened. Like everything wasn’t crashing around her.

The door behind her felt so tempting. On autopilot, her body turned, her legs carrying her out before she could even think.

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, fast and frantic, drowning out everything else. Shallow breaths came too quickly, her chest tightening with every step.

Somewhere behind her, someone called her name.

“Iseul—wait!”

She didn’t.

She couldn’t.

The walls of the practice room blurred, her vision tunneling, narrowing to nothing but the cold, sterile hallway ahead.

She heard movement behind her—Jeongin, Chan, maybe all of them at once. The shuffle of sneakers against the floor, the faint hitch of breath, the quiet desperation woven into their movements. A hand—she didn’t know whose—brushed against her wrist.

She jerked away before they could grasp her.

It was too much.

She needed out.

“Noona, just—”

She pushed through the door.

And suddenly, it was silent.

The voices, the weight of their presence—it all cut off in an instant.

Her breath came fast, too fast, chest rising and falling in uneven stutters. The air felt thin, her lungs straining to catch up.

She didn’t know where she was going.

Didn’t care.

She just needed to move.

Her feet carried her forward, sneakers scuffing against the polished floor, her pulse hammering so loud it drowned out everything else.

She was already at the stairs before she realized it. Her fingers curled around the cold railing, grip tight enough to turn her knuckles white.

A part of her expected the door behind her to burst open, for one of them to follow, to call her name again.

But nothing came.

She swallowed, throat tight, then took the stairs two at a time.

Out.

She needed to get out.

The cold hit her like a slap.

Iseul barely registered it at first, the way the evening air wrapped around her skin, sinking through the thin, sweat-dampened fabric of her T-shirt. Her body was still warm from practice, from the lingering heat of anger and betrayal curling in her veins. But with each step she took, the cold sank deeper, chilling her to the bone.

She didn’t know where she was going.

Didn’t care.

The streets were still alive despite the late hour, glowing under the wash of neon lights and headlights, buzzing with movement—cars weaving through traffic, people laughing in clusters outside restaurants, a street performer plucking at the strings of an old guitar. It was the kind of scene that had always felt familiar, comforting in its normalcy.

But tonight, it felt distant.

Her arms wrapped around herself, though it did little against the cold, and her grip on her phone tightened as she walked. The screen was dark, the reflection of the city flickering against it.

She could call her mom.

She could call her dad.

She could go home.

But the thought only made her chest tighten.

Home wasn’t an option. Not yet. Not when her mind was still racing, tripping over itself in an endless loop of they knew, they didn’t tell me, they didn’t think it was a big deal.

She had never expected Seungmin to say that.

Not him.

Of all of them, he was the one she had let her guard down around the most. He was the one she had trusted—not just as a member of the group, but as a friend. Her friend. He was the one who had sat beside her during long practice nights, the one who had leaned into her shoulder and muttered complaints about Chan’s endless rehearsals, the one who had shared snacks with her when she thought she might collapse from exhaustion.

She had thought—no, she had believed—that he understood her.

And yet, when it mattered…

It’s not a big deal.

Iseul inhaled sharply, pressing her lips together. She tilted her head back, staring at the sky, at the distant glow of buildings stacked against the horizon.

She had spent so long trying to belong. Trying to prove that she wasn’t an outsider, that she deserved to be here.

But maybe she had just been fooling herself.

The thought settled in her chest, heavy and suffocating.

She barely noticed where her feet had taken her until she glanced up and saw the familiar neon sign, flickering weakly in the cold night air.

She hadn’t been here in years. Not since—

Iseul swallowed, her throat tightening.

She hadn’t meant to come here. She hadn’t even realized her steps had carried her this far.

The sign above the door was faded, peeling at the edges, but it was the same. The entrance looked just as it had all those years ago.

Her heart twisted.

She should turn around. She should.

But before she could move, the door creaked open.

A flood of light spilled onto the pavement, stretching toward her feet.

A shadow stood in the doorway.

She knew that silhouette.

“…Well, I’ll be damned.”

The voice was rough, a little older, a little sharper than she remembered.

Her stomach twisted.

“Iseul?”

She had thought she was too cold to feel anything anymore.

But hearing his voice again—

It sent ice straight through her veins.

Iseul’s breath hitched.

Her body locked in place, every muscle tensing as if preparing for a blow.

The voice—gravelly, edged with something unreadable—dragged her years back in time.

Back to hours spent drenched in sweat, fists wrapped in tape, the sting of bruises hidden beneath long sleeves.

Back to his words, sharp and unyielding, pushing her beyond her limits.

No pain, no progress.

If you break, you weren’t strong enough to begin with.

Her fingers curled into her palms.

A part of her wanted to turn and run. Another part—the part that had carried her here in the first place—kept her rooted to the spot.

The man in the doorway stepped forward, the light from the gym catching on his features.

Older. Lines carved deeper into his face. But the eyes—dark, assessing—were the same.

“Didn’t think I’d ever see you back here,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “What’s it been? Four years?”

Iseul swallowed, her throat dry.

“Something like that.”

His gaze flickered over her, taking her in—the damp shirt clinging to her skin, the tension in her stance. He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head.

“You look like hell.”

A laugh almost broke past her lips, but it came out more like a breath.

“Thanks,” she muttered.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The city hummed softly in the background—the distant roar of traffic, the occasional burst of laughter from a nearby alley. But here, in this quiet pocket of the night, there was only the two of them.

And the past that stretched between them like a chasm.

He studied her, expression unreadable. Then, with a tilt of his head, he stepped back.

“Well?” he said, nodding toward the open door. “You coming in or not?”

Iseul hesitated.

Every instinct screamed at her to say no.

To turn around. To walk away. To put this place behind her for good.

But she didn’t.

She stepped forward.

The scent hit her first—sweat, rubber, and faint traces of disinfectant. The air was thick with it, warm despite the cold night just outside. The gym hadn’t changed much.

The walls were still scuffed, the mats worn down from years of impact. Heavy bags hung in neat rows, swaying slightly from an unseen draft. The distant rhythm of a speed bag being worked on echoed through the space.

Her fingers twitched at her sides.

It was muscle memory—the pull, the craving.

To wrap her hands. To steady her stance. To throw a punch and feel the world quiet around her.

The door clicked shut behind her.

Her old coach—Choi—watched her, arms crossed. He hadn’t spoken since she stepped inside, hadn’t asked why she was here. He didn’t need to.

“You’re still standing like a dancer.” His voice was matter-of-fact.

Iseul barely held back a flinch.

She used to stand differently. Feet firm, body braced—not poised like now, not fluid, not light. Boxing had grounded her. Dance had unmoored her.

“I don’t—” Her voice cracked, and she swallowed. “I don’t fight anymore.”

Choi hummed, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. “That so?”

She didn’t answer.

Her shoulders tensed, the weight of the day pressing against her skin, thick and suffocating. The argument, Seungmin’s words, the guilt that had been suffocating her for weeks—it all coiled tight inside her, tangled like knots she couldn’t undo.

“Hit the bag.”

The order was simple. Familiar.

Iseul blinked. “What?”

Choi jerked his chin toward the heavy bag closest to them. “You came here for a reason. So hit the bag.”

She hesitated.

Her arms ached from hours of dance practice. Her muscles burned from exhaustion. Her body was begging for rest.

But she didn’t want to rest.

Rest meant thinking. Thinking meant remembering.

So she stepped forward.

Her fingers grazed the bag, the leather cool under her touch.

She clenched her fist.

No pain, no progress.

Her breath wavered.

Then she swung.

The sharp impact sent tremors up her arms, grounding her, centering her. Her breath came faster, but she welcomed the burn, the way her muscles protested.

This was familiar.

This was something she could control.

She struck the bag harder, channeling the helplessness, the frustration, the overwhelming weight pressing down on her chest.

They didn’t tell me.

Her fist connected with the bag.

They didn’t think I needed to know.

Another hit.

Seungmin said it wasn’t a big deal.

A sharp exhale, her feet shifting, her form tightening as she threw another punch.

But the words wouldn’t leave her head.

He was my friend.

Her breath hitched.

Her fists wavered.

And suddenly, she wasn’t in the gym anymore.

She was fifteen, her coach’s voice echoing in her ears, drilling commands into her bones.

"Again."

She had been exhausted, barely standing, her hands trembling from the sheer effort of keeping her guard up.

"Again."

She had wanted to stop. But stopping wasn’t an option.

"Do you think anyone’s going to take it easy on you?"

"Do you think they care if you’re tired?"

"Weakness gets you nowhere, Iseul."

The gym blurred, past and present overlapping, her body stiffening as phantom pain crawled up her spine.

"You either fight, or you lose."

A shaky breath left her lips, and suddenly, she wasn’t punching anymore—she was just standing there, chest rising and falling, hands clenched so tight they shook.

Her throat ached.

Choi was watching her.

“Iseul.” His voice was steady, anchoring.

She blinked, her breath still too quick, too uneven.

And then she was pulling from the punching bag, her arms wrapping around herself as she tried to get air back into her lungs.

She felt raw.

Exposed.

Choi didn’t move closer, didn’t push, just let her stand there, shaking in the dim light of the gym.

Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. The kind that had weight, the kind that didn’t need to be filled.

Iseul’s pulse was erratic, her breath sharp and uneven. Her muscles trembled—not just from exertion, but from something deeper, something buried so far down she hadn’t even realized it was still there.

Choi let out a long, slow breath. “You never learned how to stop, did you?”

Her head snapped up.

His gaze was steady, unreadable as he leaned back against the wall. “You’re still swinging like you’ve got something to prove.”

Iseul opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

Because he was right.

She had spent her whole life fighting—against expectations, against doubt, against herself. And now, when she had finally stepped into the dream she had worked so hard for, it still didn’t feel like enough.

She didn’t know what enough even looked like.

Her arms curled tighter around herself.

Choi exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “You’re burnt out.”

She flinched.

Two words. That was all it took.

Burnt out.

Like a match flickering on its last ember, like an engine running on fumes. Like something running out of time.

She had been pushing and pushing, afraid that if she ever slowed down, she would be left behind.

But she wasn’t just slowing down.

She was unraveling.

Her throat felt tight, her vision blurring at the edges.

Choi watched her carefully. “You were never the type to quit,” he said, quieter now. “But that doesn’t mean you’re supposed to break yourself just to prove a point.”

Her fingers dug into her sides.

She didn’t know if she was going to cry or scream or collapse right there on the mat.

Maybe all three.

Her voice came out hoarse. “I don’t know how to stop.”

The weight of her own words settled in her chest, pressing down, threatening to crack something open.

She didn’t know how to stop.

Didn’t know how to let herself rest.

Didn’t know how to exist without the constant, gnawing need to be better, to be more.

Her throat ached.

Choi didn’t say anything right away. He just watched her, his expression unreadable, the way it always had been. But there was something else there now—something quieter, something almost understanding.

“You don’t have to know how,” he finally said. “You just have to let yourself.”

Iseul let out a shaky breath, barely keeping herself upright.

Let herself?

She didn’t even know what that meant.

For so long, stopping had felt like failure. Resting had felt like weakness.

If she stopped, if she let herself breathe—what if she never got back up?

What if she was never enough again?

She swallowed hard, the lump in her throat refusing to budge.

“I should go,” she mumbled, barely recognizing her own voice.

Choi didn’t stop her.

Didn’t try to talk her out of it.

He just nodded, like he understood. Like he had always understood, even when she had been too stubborn to see it.

“Door’s open if you ever want to come back,” he said simply.

She didn’t answer.

She just turned, stepping back out into the cold.

Iseul didn’t remember the walk to her mom’s apartment.

Didn’t remember navigating the winding streets, didn’t register the cold biting at her skin, the way her fingers had gone numb at some point.

She only realized where she was when she looked up and saw the familiar door. The chipped paint, the tiny wind chime hanging just slightly off-center—the one her mom had bought on a whim years ago and never bothered to fix.

Her breath came out in uneven bursts, her body still thrumming from the gym, from everything.

She hadn’t planned on coming here.

She had just walked.

And yet—

Her fingers curled into fists, hesitating.

But before she could talk herself out of it, her body moved on instinct, knuckles rapping against the wood.

Silence.

Then—soft footsteps.

A pause.

Then the door cracked open, warm light spilling out, her mother’s face appearing in the gap.

Her eyes widened. “Iseul?”

Iseul swallowed.

And suddenly, everything—the fight, the words, the weight in her chest—became too much.

Her breath shuddered.

And then she did something she hadn’t done since she was a kid.

She stepped forward, unsteady, and buried herself in her mother’s arms.

Her mother’s arms wrapped around her immediately, pulling her in like she had been expecting this all along.

The warmth, the steady rise and fall of her breathing—it was too much.

Iseul’s fingers clutched the fabric of her mother’s sweater, knuckles white, her body shaking from something deeper than the cold.

She didn't break down.

She just stood there, stiff in her mother’s embrace, her breaths coming out slow and deliberate—like if she controls them, she can control everything else.

Her mother pulls back, hands firm on Iseul’s arms, scanning her with a knowing look.

“You’re freezing,” she states, her voice even. “And you reek of sweat.”

Iseul barely reacts, her gaze drifting past her mother’s shoulder, toward the familiar warmth of home. She hadn’t even realized she was so cold.

Her mom exhales sharply, shaking her head. “Go shower.”

Iseul blinks. “What?”

“Shower, Iseul. Now.” Her tone brooks no argument.

She expects more—expects questions, concern, something—but her mother just turns, already making her way toward the kitchen. Iseul hesitates.

Her mother knows. Of course she knows.

The internet is a vulture, picking apart every detail, twisting narratives. The videos, the comments, the things she tried not to read but saw anyway.

Her mother must have seen them, too.

But she doesn’t say a word.

She doesn’t ask why Iseul showed up unannounced, doesn’t prod for explanations.

Instead, she reaches for a pot, setting it on the stove with practiced ease.

Iseul swallows.

The warmth in her chest is unexpected.

Her mother is already pulling out the ramen packets. The good ones. The ones so spicy they make her eyes water.

Iseul should say something—thank you, maybe—but the words don’t come.

So she turns, dragging herself toward the bathroom, leaving the scent of boiling water and her mother’s quiet understanding behind her.

Steam curls around her as she steps under the water, the heat shocking against her frozen skin.

She closes her eyes.

The night presses against the edges of her thoughts—Seungmin’s voice, the weight in Chan’s eyes, the exhaustion creeping into her bones. The gym. The past. The comments.

It all clings to her like grime she can’t quite scrub away.

She washes her hair, methodical, fingers working through tangles. The water runs over her shoulders, down her back, pooling at her feet before swirling away.

It doesn’t take the heaviness with it.

By the time she steps out, towel wrapped around her, the scent of spices and broth fills the air, wrapping around her like a blanket.

She pads into the kitchen, hair still damp, and finds her mother setting two bowls on the table. No words, no questions—just the steady clatter of chopsticks, the quiet hum of the heater, the weight of shared silence.

Iseul sits.

The first bite burns, but the pain is familiar. Grounding.

The warmth of the ramen spreads through her, slow and steady, easing the cold that had settled deep in her bones.

Her mother doesn’t speak. Doesn’t press. Just eats, steady and unhurried, the quiet between them filled only by the clink of chopsticks against ceramic.

It’s comforting.

Safe.

Iseul focuses on her food, letting the heat chase away the chill in her fingertips, letting the weight on her chest loosen—just a little.

Her mother refills her glass of water. Pushes the egg toward her bowl without a word.

Iseul exhales, a slow, uneven breath.

She doesn’t say thank you.

She doesn’t have to.

Instead she focuses on her ramen, the spice burning her tongue.

Her mother takes a sip of tea, eyes steady on her. “Are you staying the night?”

Iseul hesitates. She should say no. She should go back.

But the thought of returning to the dorm, to the boys, to the tension still crackling in the air—

“…Yeah,” she mutters. “Just for tonight.”

Her mother nods like she already expected the answer. “I’ll get your old blankets.”

And just like that, the conversation ends. No questions. No pressure. Just quiet understanding.

Iseul swallows past the lump in her throat and takes another bite.

Her mother doesn’t say anything else, just stands up and moves toward the hallway, leaving Iseul alone with the sound of her own breathing and the distant hum of the city outside.

The ramen is spicy enough to make her eyes sting, but she keeps eating, lets the burn sit on her tongue, lets it distract her from the weight in her chest.

For the first time that night, the ache in her chest eased a bit.

TAGLIST: @leewritesstuff, @athens-09xx, @allenajade-ite, @idjdndjzbsdm, @idjdndjzbsdm, @hyuneskkam, @geni-627, @valkirymin, @miminbin, @tillaboo, @dreamerwasfound, @youthsquaredd, @skzstannie

STORY HINT: One late night, after practice, Seungmin caught Iseul staring at her knuckles, lost in thought. Without looking up from his phone, he casually said, “If you ever need to punch something, just go for my arm. I’m built different.”

Iseul had snorted, shaking her head. “I’d break you in half.”

Seungmin finally glanced at her then, unimpressed. “Please, you’re like, five percent muscle and ninety-five percent yogurt. I’d survive.”

She didn’t argue. But later that night, when the weight of the world felt too heavy, she remembered his words—and for some reason, they made her chest ache a little less.

yep. ~candy

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georgeweasleyslostearhq · 5 months ago

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LUPERCALIA

Pairings: Emperor Geta x Fem!reader Summary: You participate in Lupercalia with your husband. Warnings: 18+ smut. MDNI mention of whipping, nudity. p in v

This is my first fic for my Valentine event!

Valentine Masterlist

Ⅰ Ⅱ Ⅲ Ⅳ Ⅴ Ⅵ Ⅶ Ⅷ Ⅸ Ⅹ Ⅺ Ⅻ XIII

The torches burned low in the grand halls of the Palatine Palace, their golden glow flickering against the marble columns. Beyond the palace walls, Lupercalia roared through the streets of Rome. Laughter and drunken chants echoed through the Forum, accompanied by the steady pounding of bare feet against stone. The scent of sacrificial blood, burnt offerings, and spiced wine carried on the cold February air.

From the terrace overlooking the city, Emperor Geta stood, his expression unreadable as he observed the chaos below. Half-naked Lupercalia, still streaked with goat’s blood, ran wild, striking young women with thin strips of hide in a ritual meant to bless them with fertility and ease childbirth. The women laughed and shrieked, but they did not run. They stood willingly, arms outstretched, eager for the blessing.

At his side, you watched as well. Your dark eyes, lined with kohl, flickered between the crowd and your husband’s silent disapproval.

"You call it ridiculous," you mused, "but Rome calls it tradition."

Geta exhaled sharply, swirling his Falernian wine in a silver goblet. "Rome also believed that Romulus and Remus suckled at the teat of a she-wolf. Superstition, all of it."

"And yet," you murmured, your gaze turning back to the spectacle below, "you do not forbid it."

He scoffed. "Because Rome would riot if I did."

A cool breeze drifted through the open-air terrace, rustling the golden embroidery on your stola. You turned toward him, your voice softer now. "Would you deny me the same luck?"

His fingers tensed around the goblet. He knew what you meant. A child. An heir.

For all his wealth, for all the power of his name, it was the one thing he had not yet secured. His father, Septimius Severus, had raised two sons to rule Rome, and now Geta ruled alone, His brother's condition so bad he is unable to rule. Which leaves Geta alone, with no child of his own to follow him. He knew how Rome whispered about it. How they whispered about you.

His gaze lingered on you in the torchlight- the high cheekbones, the regal bearing, the way you carried yourself with the grace of a woman who had spent your entire life in the shadow of emperors. He had chosen you not just for your lineage but for your mind, your sharp wit, the way you stood beside him in a world where women were expected to stand behind.

After a moment, he set his goblet down and gestured to a waiting servant. A strip of goat hide, still fresh from the sacrifice, was placed into his open palm.

You knew the custom. You knew what was required.

Wordlessly, you stepped away from the warmth of your cloak, undoing the golden pins that held the fabric in place, letting it slip from your shoulders and pool at your feet. The air was cold against your skin, but you did not flinch. You wore only the fine linen undertunic beneath, light and thin enough that every movement of your body was visible beneath the fabric.

The Lupercalia rite demanded that women be struck bare-skinned, unobstructed by heavy garments. In the streets, Roman women stood unclothed, laughing and reaching for the lashes as if inviting the gods’ favour. Here, in the privacy of the palace, you stood before Geta, the man who ruled an empire, the man who had never needed to prove his power over you.

Geta hesitated. The emperor of Rome, the son of gods, bound by a tradition older than the Republic itself. Then, with a quiet breath, he brought the leather down in a sharp, decisive strike against your thigh.

The first lash was firm but controlled, the sting blooming across your skin in a heat that spread through your limbs. You inhaled sharply, your fingers curling at your sides, but you did not retreat. You had asked for this. You had asked him to honour the gods, to honour you.

The second strike came swiftly after, higher this time, catching the curve of your hip. The fabric of your undertunic did little to dull the sensation; if anything, it heightened it, pressing against the warmth rising beneath your skin. Geta’s eyes darkened as he watched you, the flickering torchlight reflecting the way your breath quickened.

Again, the lash fell. Then again. A steady rhythm, measured, deliberate. It was not punishment- it was ritual. It was devotion. It was an offering, not just to the gods, but to each other.

By the time the final stroke landed, a soft gasp left your lips, and the silence that followed was thick with something unspoken. Geta dropped the leather to the floor between you, his breathing uneven. Slowly, carefully, he reached for you, his fingers brushing against the reddened skin where the lashes had landed.

His voice was quiet. "Does it hurt?"

You lifted your chin, meeting his gaze. "Would it matter if it did?"

A muscle in his jaw flexed. He hated that you were right.

He cupped your hip, his thumb tracing the mark he had left there. "The gods have heard you now."

"And you?" you whispered. "Do you hear me?"

Geta said nothing at first. Then, in a rare moment of vulnerability, he pressed his forehead to yours, his grip tightening as if anchoring himself to you. "I hear you."

"Then listen closely," you murmured, tilting your head to brush your lips against his cheek, feeling the rough stubble that indicates the day's celebrations have begun without him. "I want more than Lupercalia blessings from the gods. I want our blessings, Geta. Our child, our heir."

His hands tensed, gripping your waist harder, as if he could physically hold onto your words, make them tangible. "I know," he breathed, his voice strained. "Believe me, I know."

"But can you give it to me?" You asked, your fingers trailing up his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath the linen of his tunic. "Can you give us the future we both desire?"

Geta pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours in the dim light.

You and your dear Emperor have tried, you have tried so so many times to become with child, but after so many failed attempts, you pray that this would work out for you both.

It would be a shame to fail to give your husband a child. It hurt you.

"I am trying," he said, his voice low and sincere. "Every night, every dawn… I pray, I offer sacrifices, I seek omens and portents. But the gods remain silent. They withhold their favour, leaving me with nothing but frustration and despair."

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "Sometimes I wonder if it's because of me. If I'm not worthy of their blessing. That perhaps I'm cursed, doomed to rule without an heir, without legacy."

Geta's confession hung in the air, heavy with doubt and desperation. He has always been a man of action, of conquests and triumphs, but in this moment, he seemed fragile, vulnerable. Like a king stripped of his armor, exposed and uncertain.

"Shh," you whispered, placing a finger against his lips.

His lips parted slightly at your touch, and for a fleeting instant, you glimpse the lost boy behind the emperor, the son yearning for his mother's love, the husband desperate for his wife's comfort.

"I don't believe that," you said softly, your hand sliding down to cradle his jaw. "The gods adore you, Geta. They've blessed you with power, strength, and a heart capable of great love. If they're withholding something, it's not because of you, but because it's meant for another time."

You leaned in, pressing your forehead to his, sharing your conviction, your faith in him. "Shall we try again?" you said, leaving a hot trail of kisses down his jewelled neck

A shuddering sigh escaped him as your lips caress his skin, each kiss igniting sparks under his flesh. His grip on your hips tightening, pulling you flush against him, the hard planes of his body a stark contrast to your softer curves.

"Yes," he rasped, his voice thick with need. "Let us try again. Together."

With that, he captured your mouth in a searing kiss, his tongue delving deep to claim you, to merge your essence with his own. It's a kiss born of passion, of desperation, of a fierce determination to conceive, to create life amidst the chaos of the imperial court.

As he kissed you, his hands roamed your body, mapping every inch of you, committing your shape to memory.

Your bodies entwined like living vines, twisting and turning until you're pressed against the stone wall, his weight pinning you in place. The heat between you is almost palpable, a living thing that pulses and throbs with every beat of your hearts.

Geta's hands slid beneath your tunic, his calloused palms grazing the sensitive skin of your stomach as he explores the contours of your body. His touch was reverent, almost worshipful, as if he's rediscovering you anew with each passing moment.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured against your lips, his breath hot and urgent. "So perfect. I want to worship every inch of you, to show you how much you mean to me."

And then, with a growl of primal need, he tears away your clothing, baring you to his hungry gaze.

As you stand before him, naked and trembling with anticipation, Geta's eyes drink in the sight of you, his gaze a physical touch that sends shivers down your spine. He reaches out, tracing the curve of your breast with a single finger, watching intently as your nipple hardens under his touch.

"You're exquisite," he whispered, his voice a low purr of admiration. "A goddess among mortals."

With that, he lowered his head, capturing your pert nipple between his lips. He suckles gently at first, then with increasing fervour, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud as his hands roam over your body, kneading your flesh, teasing your other nipple into a similar state of arousal.

As he worshipped your breasts, his free hand ventures lower, dipping between your thighs to find the slick heat of your arousal.

Geta groaned into your breast, the vibrations sending jolts of pleasure through you as he feels the evidence of your desire coating his fingers. He strokes you slowly, deliberately, savouring the feel of your wetness as he continues to lavish attention on your nipples.

"You're so ready for me," he murmured, his voice muffled against your skin. "So eager to take my seed, to bear my children."

With that, he released your breast and steps back, his dark eyes blazing with hunger as he strips off his own garments. His body is a work of art, all chiselled muscle and taut skin, adorned with the symbols of his power- the golden Toric around his neck, the intricate tattoos that cover his arms and torso.

As Geta stepped toward you, his massive erection jutting proudly from his groin, you couldn't help but marvel at the sheer size of him. He towered over you, a dominating presence that fills the room with an aura of raw masculinity.

But despite his intimidating stature, there's a tenderness in his gaze as he looks at you, a vulnerability that speaks to the depth of his feelings for you. In this moment, he's not the ruthless emperor, but a man stripped bare, laying his heart open for you to see.

Without a word, he lifted you into his arms, carrying you towards the ornate bed that dominates one corner of the chamber. The silk sheets were already rumpled, a testament to previous encounters that have left the bed looking invitingly dishevelled.

As Geta layed you down on the plush bed, the cool silk a soothing contrast to the feverish heat of your skin, you can't help but admire the way he moves with deliberate purpose. Every step, every gesture, exudes confidence and control, the hallmarks of a man who is used to getting what he wants.

He followed you onto the bed, his large frame crowding yours as he settles between your legs. The weight of him is comforting, reassuring, as if he's shielding you from the world outside these four walls.

"Geta…" you breathe, reaching up to stroke his face, your fingertips tracing the strong lines of his jaw. "Make love to me. Fill me with your seed and let the gods decide our fate."

Your words seem to ignite something within him, a spark of primal desire that consumes them both.

With a guttural growl, Geta claims your mouth in a bruising kiss, his tongue plunging deep to stake his claim. His hands roam your body, gripping and kneading, as if trying to brand you with his touch.

Breaking the kiss, he trailed his lips down your neck, nipping and sucking at the tender skin, leaving a trail of red marks in his wake. His teeth graze your collarbone before moving lower to the swell of your breasts.

He took a nipple into his mouth once more, suckling hard as his fingers pinch and roll the other, sending jolts of pleasure-pain through you. All the while, his hips grind against yours, the thick length of his cock rubbing maddeningly against your slick folds.

"Please," you whimpered, arching into him, desperate for more.

Geta released your breast with a wet pop, his chest heaving with exertion and desire. His eyes, dark with lust, lock onto yours as he positions himself at your entrance.

"I'll give you everything," he vowed, his voice rough with need. "Everything you crave, everything you need."

With that, he thrusted forward, sheathing himself inside you in one powerful stroke. You cry out at the sudden intrusion, your body stretching to accommodate his girth. But the pain is short-lived, replaced by a wave of pleasure as he begins to move, his hips snapping against yours in a relentless rhythm.

Geta set a punishing pace, driving into you again and again, each thrust hitting that sweet spot deep within you. The bed creaks and shakes beneath you, the sound of slapping flesh filling the room as he takes you with primal abandon.

As Geta pounded into you, the force of his thrusts causing the bed to rock violently, you cling to him desperately, your nails digging into his back as you're driven higher and higher on the crest of ecstasy.

The sensation of being filled so completely, of having your deepest depths claimed and conquered, is overwhelming. Each stroke seems to reach further inside you, stroking the very core of your being, until you feel like you might shatter apart at any moment.

"More!" you screamed, your voice lost in the cacophony of grunts and moans that fill the room. "Give me more!"

Geta responded with a feral snarl, his movements becoming even more brutal, more frenzied. He leans down to capture your lips in a savage kiss, swallowing your cries as he drives you mercilessly towards the brink of climax.

Geta's kiss turned possessive, claiming your mouth as surely as his body claims yours. His tongue delves deep, tangling with yours in a dance of dominance and desire. The taste of you is intoxicating, fueling his own rising frenzy.

His hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he pistons into you with unrelenting intensity. The bed frame creaks ominously, threatening to give way under the force of their coupling.

Suddenly, Geta breaks the kiss, his head thrown back in a roar of triumph as he feels your inner muscles clenching around him.

"Yes!" he bellowed, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "Take it! Take my cum!"

With a final, brutal thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing as he spills his essence deep within you.

As Geta's hot seed floods your womb, you feel yourself convulsing around him, your own orgasm crashing over you in waves of intense pleasure. Your body trembles and writhes beneath him, overwhelmed by the force of your release.

For long moments, you remain locked together, your hearts pounding in tandem as the aftershocks ripple through you. Geta's forehead rests against yours, his breathing ragged as he tries to calm his racing pulse.

Eventually, he pulled out of you, his spent cock slipping free with a wet sound. A trickle of his cum escapes your stretched opening, dripping down your thigh. You lie there, panting and sated, feeling the warmth of his seed inside you.

Geta gathered you close, cradling you against his chest as he stroked your hair. "The Gods have to hear that,"

Ⅰ Ⅱ Ⅲ Ⅳ Ⅴ Ⅵ Ⅶ Ⅷ Ⅸ Ⅹ Ⅺ Ⅻ XIII

A few days later, you find yourself in the presence of a doctor, carefully examining you.

You finally bared a child, an Heir. All thanks to Lupercalia

Ⅰ Ⅱ Ⅲ Ⅳ Ⅴ Ⅵ Ⅶ Ⅷ Ⅸ Ⅹ Ⅺ Ⅻ XIII

#emperor geta x fem!#emperor geta smut #emperor geta #imagines #fluff #x fem!reader #joseph quinn #oneshot #gladiator ii #ami's valentine event #light smut

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silkval · 2 years ago

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♠】 find out what goes on behind the scenes with the darling of your choice!

send an ask with the name of your darling and the question numbers you would like answered, and you will get your request!☆

Ⅰ 》 what act of affection do they perform the most? (FULL) Ⅱ 》 what is the strangest place they've had sex with you? (FULL) Ⅲ 》 do they wear lingerie or anything special for you? (FULL) Ⅳ 》 what is the one kink they have they will never admit they have? (FULL) Ⅴ 》 how high is their drive? (OPEN) Ⅵ 》 what is one thing that never fails to rile them up? (FULL) Ⅶ 》 do they prefer giving or receiving oral? (OPEN) Ⅷ 》 What is aftercare with them like? (FULL) Ⅸ 》 what is their favourite body part of yours? (FULL) Ⅹ 》 were they a virgin before they met you? (OPEN) Ⅺ 》 what is their favorite position? (FULL) Ⅻ 》 what pet names do they enjoy hearing? (FULL)

!! i will write a limit of 5 characters per question as to not cause overuse of a single prompt !!

- if i get an ask with a question that is already marked above as "full", i will leave it out and just write the other questions, sorry :)!!

includes any genshin character and the male honkai characters- character can be chosen with any genitalia, and with any amount of questions♡

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barbatosconsort · 1 year ago

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A Heart's Enchantment: The Beginning.

Village Girl x The Knight AU (Chapter 1)

Village Girl: Hana/Y/N - A normal, kind-hearted villager, she'll quickly apologize if she'd done something wrong.

The Knight: Venti - A strong, brave knight who's working under the orders of Iron Vale.

Mother - Hana's mother

Reo - Hana's childhood friend

ⅹ Don't repost, copy, or get heavily inspired without permission. ⅹ

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Hana was a simple and kind-hearted villager living in a small village. Her days were filled with tasks such as tending to the crops, delivering people's orders, taking care of the animals, and helping her family with their daily chores. Despite her busy schedule, she always found time to explore the nearby forest. The forest was her solace, a place where she could escape from the mundane tasks of everyday life.

"Hana! Come over here dear!" The woman from the counter called for her daughter.

"Yes, mother?" Hana replied with a concerned look. The mother stared in awe expression, "Aw, dear. Look at you. You're all grown up now!" The mother was hesitant by her daughter's grown appearance.

"You're over at the age of 25! Why not find someone to get married with, hm?" The mother smiled gently while grabbing the loaf of bread to put in the basket. "Mom..." The daughter frowned; she didn't have any friends in the village she was living in. But was hoping to find her first true love.

A true man to treat her right.

However, a few male villagers have been trying to propose to her but rejects all of them. She knew damn well that they were only interested in how beautiful she is. Can there ever be a man who isn't into her looks?

The bell *clung* when someone opened the door beside them, it was his friend, Reo, and his father. They walked forward towards the counter, and the father ordered a loaf of bread normally. Hana proceeded to walk out the door when she suddenly got interrupted by someone.

"Hey~ Hana! How are you doing?" He shouted, making Hana stuttered from his voice. She rolls her eyes. "I'm doing fine, anything else before I'll leave?" She responded coldly, "Ah, you're still cold as ever." He chuckled, trying to make a conversation as she left the store.

She took her time to walk down the village to deliver the package that her mother bought for her to deliver to. It was just an inch away, so it could only take a few minutes down the block to reach the customer's house.

After walking for some time, she saw a cat in the middle of the street, it was tempting for her to pat it and take it with her even though she needed to deliver the customer's package as soon as possible. Nothing couldn't stop her as she walked towards it, kneeling to reach its head to pat, the cat purred from the embrace and rubbed its head on her clothes.

As Hana was patting the cat, a sudden commotion interrupted her peaceful moment. Out of nowhere, a horse came running towards her, ready to attack. Hana froze in fear as the villagers looked at her with concern. But just as the horse was about to charge, a brave knight appeared from behind and held the horseback.

Hana was shaken and scared but relieved that she was safe. The knight apologized for the commotion and asked if she was okay. But before he could say anything else, Hana quickly ran away, leaving the knight feeling guilty for causing her distress.

When she arrived, the customer asked what took her so long to deliver their order. She apologized and made up an excuse that it was too crowded back in the alley.

She gave the package from her hands while apologizing politely. "It won't happen again, I'm so sorry!" The customer forgave her and paid for the order.

She walked past her home hurriedly and told her mom that the package had been delivered safely but didn't tell her what she'd encountered earlier.

One day, it was her free time, and her mother let go of her to wander off around the village. But what she'd thought was to wander in the forest where she had been secretly spending most of her time. While she was walking in the forest, there were birds, butterflies, and even doves flying around the bushes as they came towards her, welcoming her to their place. After seconds of walking, it was a view of a beautiful sky, a grass field filled with different gorgeous flowers, a small lake to the side, and a few animals wandering around.

She sniffed the ambrosial scent of nature and sighed feeling tranquility. She spends her time with the animals, roaming around the flower field and reading the books that she'd brought with her.

Suddenly, a horse appeared, scaring the other animals with its noise while the knight who was riding behind tried to shush it. Hana was surprised to see a knight in the forest, and she cautiously approached him but was furious as she scolded them.

"What do you think you're doing here?!" Before she was about to continue another sentence, she was surprised by the knight and the horse's appearance. It was them yesterday whom she'd stumbled upon with. The knight apologized for the sudden interruption and landed on the ground, "My apologies m'lady." and grabbed its leash, aware of his horse to cause more trouble any further. Removing his helmet made of steel, he fixed his black-bluish hair and stared at the woman looking at her.

She was interrupted by the knight's beauty but later on, snapped out and came back to reality. "Y-you..." Hana frowned, glancing at the horse and the knight multiple times.

"Oh, you're the! -" The neutral slap made the knight stutter and landed on his cheek. She instantly regrets her actions and apologizes, asking if he's okay. The knight convinced her that was alright and deserved it because of yesterday's incident. The Lady inches herself closer to take a look if he was okay with it. When the knight opened their eyes, he was hesitant by the Lady's presence who was slightly closer to him, he was flustered but kept it and began to admire how she was worried about the slap minutes ago.

The knight smiled, "I'm Venti, what can I call you m'lady?" He grabbed her hand, slowly pecking a kiss while glancing at her eyes. The Lady blushed and quickly distanced herself from the knight, "H-hana.." unable to speak normally. "I'm Hana."

The horse let out a silly neighed, teasing both of them. "Mhm," The knight chuckled leaving the Lady confused about what conversation they were talking about. Hana turned her back, slightly embarrassed as she walked towards her place and sat down. The knight led the horse near a lake to drink water.

The knight then glanced at the busy woman reading one of her books, he let go of the horse and quietly walked behind her back, peaking at what she was reading about. As he began to read each paragraph, it was a love story, the journey of two long-lost soulmates who started to spend their time together to fulfill their promises. He gave an awe expression figuring it out that she's fond of romance and so is he.

He broke the silence, "What an interesting book you're reading." His tone was calm and gentle, but it made Hana stutter about how near his voice was. She looked at where Venti's voice was and quickly distanced herself again, covering half of her reddened face. "What- do you think you're doing?!" Hana frowned. The knight apologized again, "I was reading the book you're holding; it seems that you're fond of romance as well."

Hana slowly held her book down as she stared at him with a slightly surprised expression. "You do?" She tilted her head to wait for his answer, the knight gently smiled at her and positioned himself in a comfortable state. "Why yes, romance is my thing after all."

They soon later made a conversation and talked about their interests.

"So... You're a knight?" She observes his clothes, as he does look like one. "A knight who's working under Iron Vale?" The knight nodded, smiling gently at every word she said. "Tell me about your experience of being a knight!" Venti's face lit up mixed with happiness and surprise. "Why sure~"

As they started talking, Hana found herself drawn to Venti's courage and chivalry. She was fascinated by his tales of adventure and heroism.

"You killed a dragon?! And you own one?!?" Hana couldn't believe her ears, she was filled with happiness, but despite what happened earlier, she was way far different than how she was. The knight felt the strike of an arrow hit his chest, as he continuously admires the Lady's reactions. "If you want, I can take you where my dragon lives. I'll show you how strong Dvalin is~" He winked at her.

"Sure thing! I'll wait for you tomorrow!" Hana smiled at him gently. The knight was adoring how cute she was in every millisecond. Venti couldn't help but admire Hana's smile, and they locked eyes, making their hearts skip a beat. They felt a connection, and it was as if their souls had synced. However, their moment was interrupted by Venti's horse neighing, indicating that it was time to go. Reluctantly, Venti bid farewell to Hana, promising to see her again soon.

As he rode away, he couldn't help but think about her and how he couldn't wait to see her again.

As Hana was left alone in the field, she stared at them as they slowly vanished through the forest, leaving a smile on her face, hopefully excited to meet each other again tomorrow.

After spending hours in the forest, Hana returned home feeling happy and content after meeting her first true love. The mother behind the counter noticed her daughter's unusual behavior and asked about who she had met earlier, but Hana was so happy to answer and ran towards her room. The mother could only sigh and continue with her chores, while Hana couldn't wait to see her knight again the next day.

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#venti x reader #genshin venti #alternate universe #oc x canon #short story #love story #fluff #y/n x character #y/n x canon

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vaainglorious · 2 years ago

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#VAAINGLORIOUS is an independent, selective and private role-play blog for SATORU GOJO of Jujutsu Kaisen. This blog is OC/AU friendly. Duplicates welcomed to follow. Trigger Warnings for violence, descriptions pertaining to death and blood, and Unsafe for Work content. Minors and personal accounts do not interact. Not spoiler free. Written by Rubii (They/21+)

NAVI.

CAARD → X

BLOGS -> Multi-muse, Megumi, Sukuna

Ⅰ. This blog will be on low activity for a while until I get myself together, but even then, activity will remain sporadic but there. I have other obligations in life I'll attend to that are way more important to me than a fun hobby. However, you're free to send asks and bug Gojo as much as you want to.

Ⅱ. I have pretty bad eyesight, and even though I wear glasses I can't see very well. Please make sure that your icons are no smaller than 80x80 and not heavy with decorations. I understand having pretty aesthetics and such, but if it hinders my ability to perceive what's going on in your icon, it'll give me a headache.

Ⅲ. Do not interact with me if you ship any of the students with Gojo. I don't entertain Stu.dentxTea.cher relationships. On that topic, if you're a general asshole who can't respect people as a whole, just don't interact. And again, if you are a minor do not follow me, this blog is not for you. Personal blogs are welcomed to reblog images/gifs from me, but do not like/reblog any roleplay threads, asks, or just anything roleplay related. Regarding these rules, I'm just going to block you and curate my space for me.

Ⅳ. Communication is important. This includes wanting to plot, RP, ship, talk, anything. I know the first 3 rules are kinda harsh and such, but I like to think I'm a chill person.

Ⅴ. I will only interact with people who are mutuals. Anons are fine, but I don't really enjoy role-playing through that method. Don't like any starter call posts, or shipping call posts unless we're mutuals.

Ⅵ. I don't know if people still do passwords, but I don't send those in. I do my best to remember everyone's rules but at the end of the day, I'm human and forgetful. As such, if you need to soft block, feel free to otherwise approach me to be wary of something I've done that makes you uncomfortable and I'll try to correct myself.

Ⅶ. No god-modding in fights please. Talk to me first if you have an idea, or if your muse is planning on doing something to gravely wound mine.

Ⅷ. Don't force ships on me as well. I'm fine letting things slowly burn, or if we both ship something then talk to me about it. I understand that you and your muse would be excited to have Gojo as a partner/family member, but unless its pre-established and discussed, I'm just not going to be as on-board with the excitement. I will stress that communication is important and the key to fun RPs and such.

Ⅸ. Remember the basics such as: Muse and Mun aren't synonymous. Gojo's beliefs and morals may not always line up with the things that I believe in or consider right. However, as a writer, it's my belief that we are able to open our minds and explore different ways of thinking. Don't be an asshole; don't be rude. Don't take Gojo saying something blunt as me disliking your muse and all that stuff.

Ⅹ. Have Fun!

#𝐍𝐨𝐧-𝐒𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐫 › OOC #pinned info

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liedream · 4 years ago

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“If I have to eat cabbage one more time today, I’m going to just dip my head in the river.” It would seem his intense dislike of the vegetable had hit once again. Damn it all.

#Ⅹ. 〔OPEN〕#Ⅹ. 〔ADACHI: IC〕

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freedmfighter · 4 years ago

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❛ ❛ well, everyone knows that’s Big Dick Bee. ❜ ❜

#open .#thesleuthyone #; pls if u havent seen the video ............. its beautiful #ⅹ. › TIMELINE. —— ( AU ; MODERN . )

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perfidess · 6 years ago

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[ @ahawkwardguy ]

“ AH’M SORRY! ” she lets herself have fun for one second and some poor guy manages to get caught in the crossfire by wandering into the path of her snowball. without missing a beat she hurries over, reaching to help dust off the dregs of snow sugaring his shoulders--- only for instinct like a ribbon of electricity running through her arm to reel it back quickly.

better safe than sorry, like always.

“ ... are you alright? ”

#ahawkwardguy #[ LOG: WINTER FES 19. ]#( i hope this works!!#i left it open just in case sjdgh but if you'd like me to change anything lmk!! )#[ Ⅹ ] AHAWKWARDGUY : 001.

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astra11 · 6 years ago

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UNWAVERING EYES WATCHED the other from across the room with a BRIGHT GLIMMER of curiosity. Being in ISOLATION for so long had made what most would see as MUNDANE so irresistibly interesting to her. She was cat-like in her observations, quiet but with an un-breakable stare, almost forgetting to blink at times. Whatever it was it had her interest piqued. After a couple of moments, she finally found it in her to ask the other:

“ What are you doing ? ”

#ⅹ ◤ OPEN ◢#Ⅰ ᵂᵉˡᶜᵒᵐᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵗʳᵃᶰᵍᵉʳ ◤ IC ◢#Ⅶ ᴴᵘᵐᵐᶤᶰᵍ ʰᵃᵘᶰᵗᵉᵈ ˢᵒᵐᵉʷʰᵉʳᵉ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ ◤ VERSE iii ◢#Feel free to reply if you'd like-#I mean it is an open starter so reply with whatever you'd like -!

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chaosandcandies · 3 months ago

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UNPLUGGED

CHAPTER Ⅹ Tension So Thick You Could Cut It With A Lightstick

trope: fem!9th skz member warnings: angst, drama, insecure oc, cyber bullying, slow burn pairings: hyunjinxfem!oc prev|next

Hyunjin sat at the edge of the practice room, his back pressed against the cool mirror wall. The polished floor beneath him was scattered with water bottles, sweat towels, and exhaustion. The rest of the boys were around him, but it didn’t feel like it. They were all somewhere else—mentally orbiting the same knot of guilt he couldn’t shake.

The fight replayed on loop in his mind. The way Iseul’s voice had cracked. The way no one had followed her when she walked out. The way he hadn’t.

He leaned his head back against the mirror and exhaled sharply through his nose. Practice felt useless. The choreography was muscle memory now, but the energy was off. Like they were moving through fog. Like a vital piece was missing—and they all knew it.

She had every right to leave. But still, the image of her retreating figure burned into his mind.

The door creaked open.

Hyunjin’s heart stuttered.

For a split second, he thought—

But it was just Felix and Seungmin, walking in behind Han. No Iseul. The disappointment hit harder than he wanted to admit.

Seungmin looked around the room, his gaze landing on the empty spot Iseul always took near the back corner. His face didn’t shift much, but the subtle downturn of his mouth said enough.

Han was fidgeting with the zipper of his hoodie, pacing. He looked like he had something to say but couldn’t find the words. None of them could. It was like if someone acknowledged her absence, the weight of it would become unbearable.

Chan entered last.

He looked like hell.

His hoodie was wrinkled, his hair still wet from a shower that had clearly been too quick, and his eyes—his eyes were red-rimmed with fatigue. Not the kind that sleep could fix. The kind that guilt fed.

"Where’s Iseul?" he asked, voice tight.

No one answered.

“She still isn’t back,” Changbin muttered eventually, voice low.

Chan let out a breath through his nose, hands on his hips. “Do you realize what we’ve done?” His voice cracked on the last word. Not with anger—with disappointment.

Hyunjin’s throat clenched.

“I didn’t mean to hurt her,” he said, quietly, like maybe if he said it enough times, it’d undo everything.

“No one did,” Chan replied. “But in the end, she isn’t here yet now, is she?”

The room fell silent. Not the comfortable kind. The kind that suffocated.

A beat passed. Then two.

Minho shifted, his arms crossed, eyes trained on the floor like it might shift the blame away if he stared long enough. Even he wasn’t throwing out sarcastic jabs to break the tension.

“We should start,” Felix said softly, the first to move. “Even if she’s not here yet.”

They nodded. What else could they do?

Music filled the space. But it didn’t settle in their bodies the way it usually did. They moved through the choreography like ghosts, chasing rhythm without conviction. No one dared speak unless it was to count out loud or breathe directions.

Until—

The door opened again.

This time, no one turned around immediately. They didn’t want to look, didn’t want to hope. Not again.

But they heard the sound of a bag being dropped, the soft scuff of sneakers on the polished floor.

Hyunjin turned.

She was there.

Iseul stood just inside the doorway, her posture stiff, her expression unreadable. Her presence shifted the room instantly—like something had been sucked out of the air and replaced with cold.

“Sorry I’m late,” she muttered, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

Chan’s head whipped around, and the sharpness in his expression was immediate. Relief tangled with frustration, bursting out as something jagged.

“Where the fuck have you been?” His voice wasn’t raised, but it cut through the air like a slap.

Iseul flinched. She didn’t cower, didn’t bite back. Just… flinched. Like she’d expected it.

“I needed space,” she said, voice tight. “I went to clear my head.”

Chan’s jaw clenched. “You can’t just disappear on us, not after what happened last night. You could’ve at least texted.”

Iseul stared at a spot on the floor, jaw tense. Her hands were curled into the sleeves of her hoodie, fingers twitching like she wanted to say something but had already talked herself out of it.

“My phone died,” she said finally. Not quite a lie, not quite the truth.

“Do you have any idea how worried we were?” Chan pushed, his voice straining with the effort it took to keep it even. “I had to call your mom because we had no idea where you’d gone.”

“I’m here now.” Her tone wasn’t defensive. Just tired. Flat. Like she’d rehearsed that response on the way over. Like that was all she was willing to offer.

The silence that followed her words was thick, heavy with things unsaid.

Hyunjin didn’t realize he’d taken a step toward her until his heel scraped faintly against the floor. She glanced up at the sound, eyes locking with his for a split second before darting away again.

He swallowed. “We just… we didn’t know if you were okay.”

“I’m fine.” She adjusted her bag strap, like she was trying to give herself something to do, something to anchor her to the moment.

Minho watched her closely. “You don’t have to act like nothing happened.”

“I’m not.” Her voice cracked faintly on the second word, but she cleared her throat and blinked it away. “And stop dilly-dallying. Let’s start practice.”

Felix took a small step forward, his voice tentative. “You can talk to us, y’know.”

Iseul’s expression didn’t shift. “I know.”

But she didn’t.

Not really.

She walked past them, slow but steady, like threading her way through a minefield. No one reached out to stop her. No one dared. She made her way to the back corner—her corner—and set her bag down without a word. She tugged her hoodie sleeves down over her hands and started to stretch like it was just another day.

Like she hadn’t been gone all night. Like nothing had broken.

Hyunjin sat back down, pulse drumming in his ears. He could feel the words forming behind his teeth, too many of them, too sharp and too late. But he didn’t say a single one.

He watched her instead—watched her tie her hair up, roll out her shoulders, flex her fingers.

Then his eyes caught on something—her hands. Her knuckles, raw and reddened, one of them slightly swollen.

He opened his mouth.

Then closed it.

Everyone else noticed too. But no one said a thing.

Not because they didn’t care—because if they brought it up, they’d have to confront all of it. The shouting. The silence. The damage.

Minho cleared his throat. “Let’s just… pick it up from the bridge.”

The room was thick with tension, but the boys tried to carry on with the practice. Felix, noticing the heavy atmosphere, cracked a joke about missing the usual coffee run, trying to make everyone laugh, but it fell flat. Minho’s attempt to lighten things up by throwing a playful jab at Seungmin about his footwork only elicited a weak smile from him, not quite reaching his eyes.

Iseul stood off to the side, arms crossed, still carrying that distant air. She hadn’t said much since her brief apology, her gaze fixed on the floor. She wasn’t angry anymore, but the coldness between them was a reminder that the distance between them hadn't vanished.

Changbin stepped up next to her, clapping his hands together, trying to create some kind of normalcy. “You ready to get back in, Iseul?” His voice was casual, but there was a flicker of guilt underneath the surface.

Iseul gave him a nod, but it was stiff, mechanical. She didn’t look at any of them directly, her movements smooth but detached. She wasn’t ready to open up—not yet.

Chan, who had been pacing near the center of the room, finally stopped and turned toward the group. His exhaustion was evident in the way he carried himself, his shoulders hunched in a rare moment of vulnerability. “Alright, let’s just focus, okay? We’ve got a lot of work to do, and we need to finish this practice strong.”

The practice continued, but the tension lingered in every movement, in every pause. Hyunjin couldn’t shake the image of Iseul’s bruised knuckles, the marks from her own silent battle. It was hard to concentrate, and even harder to ignore how much he wanted to make things right.

He wanted to ask. He wanted to say sorry. He wanted to make it right.

But it wasn’t the right time.

As the practice wound down and they began to pack up, there was an unspoken shift in the room. The tension had not fully dissipated, but for the first time in hours, Iseul moved closer, walking with them toward the van. Her silence didn’t feel like rejection anymore; it was just... neutral. She was still there, still walking with them, not turning away.

Chan glanced at her as she fell in step beside him, his eyes softening as he realized that, for all the space between them, she wasn’t leaving. She was still part of the team, even if everything hadn’t been fixed yet.

Han, who had been quiet for most of the practice, shot Iseul a look. “You’re coming back to the dorm, right?” His tone was casual, but there was an edge of surprise in his voice, like he hadn’t expected her to show up, let alone stick around.

Iseul didn’t respond immediately. She just kept walking, her pace matching theirs, her head held high. Then, with a hint of sharpness that caught them all off guard, she spoke.

“Why? You think I should sleep on the streets?” Her voice was calm but challenging, an undercurrent of something unspoken hanging in the air.

Han made a small noise like he’d been physically struck.

“Of course she’s coming back,” Chan cut in, too fast, too desperate. “It’s her home too.”

Iseul didn’t say anything else. She just kept walking, her presence enough of a reminder that they couldn’t undo the damage done, but they could still move forward—slowly, cautiously, but they could still try.

As they reached the van, the boys filed in quietly, each of them carrying their own thoughts, their own guilt, but there was a quiet sense of hope, too. She hadn’t left them. She hadn’t turned away. She was still here. And maybe that was all they needed to start healing.

The van ride home was silent. Not the comfortable, end-of-a-long-day kind. The kind that made your skin itch, your brain replay every word you didn’t say.

Iseul sat near the window, her cheek resting against the glass. The city lights blurred past her, reflected faintly in her tired eyes. No one sat beside her. Not because they didn’t want to—but because they didn’t know if she wanted them to.

Hyunjin sat directly behind her, elbows on his knees, headphones in but no music playing. He watched the back of her head the entire ride. He didn’t mean to. He just… couldn’t not.

When they finally reached the dorm, the boys filed out slowly, like they were trying not to wake something fragile. Iseul was the last to step out. Her steps were steady, but she looked like she was holding her breath.

Inside, the dorm was dim and too quiet. Felix and Jeongin disappeared toward the kitchen, mumbling something about snacks. Han hovered awkwardly in the hallway, then ducked into the bathroom. Chan stayed near the entrance, arms crossed, watching Iseul like she might disappear again if he blinked.

She slipped off her shoes, set her bag down, and headed toward the shared space she’d only barely started to call home.

Hyunjin lingered.

She reached for the freezer, fingers brushing the handle, probably going for her usual yogurt stash.

And then he saw it again—her hand.

Red. Swollen. Angry-looking.

His chest tightened.

He moved without thinking.

“Iseul,” he said softly.

She stilled. Didn’t look at him. “What?”

He hesitated, then nodded toward her hand. “Does it hurt?”

Silence.

Then: “No.” A beat. “Yes.” Another beat. “It doesn’t matter.”

He stepped closer. Careful, like approaching a wounded animal.

“It matters.”

This time, she looked at him. Not with anger—but with something quieter. Worn-down. Empty. Like she didn’t have the strength to argue.

He didn’t say anything else. Just turned, opened the fridge, grabbed a pack of frozen dumplings. Wrapped it in a dish towel. Walked over and held it out to her, wordlessly.

She stared at it. At him.

Then, slowly, she took it and pressed it to her hand.

“Thanks,” she said, so softly he almost missed it.

He nodded once, not trusting himself to say anything else.

They stood there like that—quiet, unsure—until Chan’s voice broke the moment.

“We’re ordering dinner. Iseul, anything you want?”

Her eyes flicked toward the living room. She shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”

Chan exhaled. “Still getting you something.”

And that was it. No one pushed her to talk. No one acted like things were normal. But they didn’t avoid her anymore, either.

Later, after the others were sprawled around the living room—Felix half-asleep, Jeongin giggling over a dumb meme, Minho picking on Seungmin—Iseul stayed in the kitchen, still icing her hand.

Hyunjin passed by again. Their eyes met.

He didn’t speak. But he did something unexpected.

He sat across from her at the table.

And for the first time since she’d walked out, they simply… sat. In silence. Not angry. Not avoiding. Just there.

And maybe that was enough. For now.

TAGLIST: @leewritesstuff, @athens-09xx, @allenajade-ite, @idjdndjzbsdm, @idjdndjzbsdm, @hyuneskkam, @geni-627, @valkirymin, @miminbin, @tillaboo, @dreamerwasfound, @youthsquaredd, @skzstannie, @nchhuhi, @rtyuy1346

STORY HINT: Chan didn’t sleep that night, even though Iseul returned. It wasn’t because of work—he’d closed his laptop hours ago, headphones abandoned on the desk. But her voice echoed louder than any beat he could've made. The way it cracked when she said, “I’m fine,” played on loop in his head. And the worst part was knowing she said it to protect them. To protect him. That kind of hurt doesn’t let you rest.

WASSUP PEEPS! AAHAHAHAHHAHA I'm like super duper sorry for posting after such a long time but life has been super busy - classes started again and it took time to settle into a routine but ur fav girl is back AND IMAGINE MY SURPRISE WHEN I OPENED TUMBLR TO SEE 165 FOLLOWERS TwT Ily all, yall deserve the world. Tysm for giving sm love to this fic - i nvr imagined it in my wildest dreams Stay safe, ilysm <3 ~candy

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dottores · 3 years ago

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LITTLE DARK AGE

haitani ran x fem!reader x haitani rindou

summary: eight years later, you finally return to tokyo and find yourself caught in the middle of a violent gang war between the two most ruthless criminal organizations of tokyo’s underworld, forced to choose between blood and love.

genre: bonten timeskip, angst, forbidden romance, childhood friends -> strangers -> lovers, 18+ MDNI

warnings: fem!reader, gang violence, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, explicit smut, polyamory, profanity, MCD, unedited, MTBA

previous chapter -> masterlist -> next chapter

CHAPTER Ⅹ. OH, HOME, LET ME COME HOME...

TWELVE YEARS EARLIER.

Rindou felt anxious. Rindou felt anxious and he hated it--he did not ordinarily feel anxious, it was an uncommon and unwelcome feeling, and no matter how hard he tried, he could not push it away. His throat was tight and his eyes flickered back and forth between the elevator that led into the penthouse and Ran, who was sitting next to Rindou, stiff and unamused as he glared at the elevator.

There was something wrong with you. Okay, that sounded bad, he acknowledged. There wasn’t something wrong, wrong with you, but you were acting different and Rindou didn’t like it, Ran even less so even though he was trying to hide how much it was bothering him.

You asked them to stop picking you up from school two weeks ago. And they had tried to convince you otherwise but you had gotten angry at them--genuinely angry at them for the first time since they met you five years earlier. Rindou had never heard you yell before until you were shouting at them for being overbearing and smothering and ‘never giving you a fucking break.’

It had hurt. It had really fucking hurt. Ran had lost his temper right back at you, and the whole situation had only spiraled from there. Miss Yua offered to talk to you on their behalf, mentioning that it was probably just a phase, ‘girls get quite difficult in high school,’ she claimed, but evidently she had not gotten through to you.

You had not spoken to them since the argument.

And Rindou tried, he really, really did. He pushed away the hurtful words you had spat at them to try to make amends--even though he really had no reason to be apologizing. You ignored him. You ignored him every single time, brushing him off and walking to your room without a word, locking the door behind you.

Rindou was tired. You were acting like Ran did whenever Ran got all in his head about something and Rindou hated it when Ran did it and he hated it even more when you did it. He wasn’t sure what had even caused the change and it made him sick to his stomach.

Maybe you didn’t want them around at all anymore, the thought that had been eating at him for the past week rang loudly in his head. No, he tried to convince himself, that couldn’t be true because you would never think something like that.

But he couldn’t help but remember the genuine anger in your eyes when you yelled at the two of them that day, how you refused to even look at them for nearly two weeks now.

He bit down on his bottom lip, trying to stop it from trembling, and he let his gaze flick back up the elevator, anxiety growing as the numbers began rising higher and higher, closer and closer to the floor of the penthouse.

“Ran,” Rindou began, worry seeping into his tone.

Ran clicked his tongue as the elevator stopped on the floor, “Relax, I’ll handle it,” he said, but that only made his nerves grow worse because that was exactly what Rindou was fucking worried about.

The doors to the elevator slid open, Ran rose to his feet, Rindou briefly shut his eyes, throwing up a short prayer to whatever god would listen to him as you stepped into the penthouse, a frown on your lips and brows furrowed.

You were already irritated about something. This would not go over well.

Rindou wanted to cry.

Ran called your name.

You ignored him.

Ran called your name again, sharper this time. Rindou could see the way Ran’s fists tightened at his sides, and he could see the way his nostrils flared as he inhaled sharply, trying to contain his temper.

“I’m talking to you,” Ran said sharply, “Look at me.”

You ignored him.

“Hey!” Ran said loudly. You jumped at how he raised his voice, the only sign of acknowledgment of the two of them that they had received from you in nearly two weeks. “Stop acting like a fuckin’ child.”

“Why won’t you just leave me alone?” you spat out so viciously that Rindou physically drew back at your words. His lips parted to speak, to say something, but he didn’t even know what to say, and any word he thought up died on his tongue before he could force it out.

They were losing you.

No, he told himself immediately, trying to convince himself of the matter. There was no way. Something else had to be going on.

“Leave you alone?” Ran hissed, “We’ve left you alone for two weeks, what the fuck is going on? Why won’t you talk to us?”

“‘Cause it’s none of your business,” you shouted, shoving at Ran’s chest when he got too close to you. Ran didn’t budge, of course, it would take a lot more than a shove from you to push him off-balance. You went to push him again, brows furrowed, tears pooling in your eyes, and Rindou’s chest felt like it was caving in, “Leave me alone, leave me alone! Why won’t you just leave me the fuck alone?”

His lips parted in shock as he stared at you, as he watched your lips tremble and your hands shake from where they were slamming against Ran’s chest over and over again.

Okay, he thought to himself, this is more than just them pissing you off somehow. Something else is definitely going on.

Ran seemed to realize it too from how his anger seemed to wash away and his lips turned down. And Rindou truly did feel ill because he had never seen you this distressed before and it really didn’t sit well with him.

Ran murmured your name quietly, grabbing your wrists, stopping you from hitting him again and Rindou’s breath caught in his throat, one of his hands reached out toward you, eyes narrowing in on your arms, or more specifically, the discolored purple bruises lining up your arms--fingerprints embedded deep into your skin.

“What happened?” Rindou asked, his voice was low, steadier than he expected and you looked thrown off, following his gaze down to your arms. He watched the panic shoot across your face. You looked at your shoulders, as if you were looking for something… oh. The jacket you started wearing nonstop a few weeks ago.

Have you been…

“Nothing,” you snapped, “It’s none of your business.”

“None of our-” Rindou hissed, eyes ablaze but he cut himself out, desperately trying to calm himself down--the sight of the bruises marring your skin awakening a sort of primal rage that he didn’t know he had in him. “Don’t try to brush this off, tell us what happened.”

“You and Ran come home with bruises all the time,” you said loudly, your voice was shrill, your eyes were wild. You were panicking and Rindou was getting angrier because he didn’t know what you were hiding from them, and he didn’t know why you were hiding it from them.

“We come home with bruises so you don’t fucking have to!” Ran shouted, stepping closer to you, but you only stepped back, breath quick as your eyes darted around like a cornered animal. “Tell us what the fuck’s going on.”

He should have expected it but Rindou did not react fast enough when you darted between them, taking off down the hall. Rindou moved to chase after you but Ran grabbed his arm, stopping him.

“Ran, what-” he began angrily but Rindou faltered when he caught the distressed look on Ran’s face. “Ran-”

“Don’t chase after her, you’ll only push her further away,” he said quietly. “She’s not gonna say anything now. We’re gonna have to figure this out ourselves.”

---

“The fuck is your guys’ deal?” Shion complained, wiping the blood off of his cheek as he looked over his shoulder at Rindou and Ran. Rindou rolled his eyes, lips turned down as he looked away, “You guys aren’t usually this boring.”

“Fuck off, Shion,” Ran said sharply, exhaling a puff of smoke as he shot a withering glare at the younger boy, “Not in the mood today.”

Honestly, they hadn’t been in the mood for a while now. Rindou and Ran both have had severely shortened tempers ever since you started with your bullshit a few weeks ago, and he was sure that they had noticed it from the way they started holding Rindou and Ran at arm’s length

“You haven’t been in the mood for two weeks now,” Shion countered, voicing Rindou’s thoughts, turning around and leaning back on his heels, “What crawled up your ass, huh?”

“I said fuck off,” Ran said and Rindou did not like the tone that edged at his brother’s voice--it was dark, threatening, and from Shion’s narrowed eyes, he caught the implications of it too. Ran, Rindou wanted to plead, let’s not do this right now.

Rindou had no issue fighting if it came down to it--he had thrown hands with Shion before and would do it again--but right now… His eyes darted to Mochi and Mucho lingering by Shion, gaze shifting between them, and then to Izana, who was lounging on a nearby box watching the scene with interest.

“Somethin’ up with your girl?” Mucho, ever the calm one of the group of them, asked curiously, blue eyes flicking between him and Ran, waiting for a response.

Ran bristled but Rindou spoke up before Ran could snap something at Mucho, which would undoubtedly go over poorly. Shrugging, he said, “She won’t tell us shit. Asked us to stop pickin’ her up from school ‘n we figured she’s talkin’ to some guy and doesn’t was us to scare him off. Now she’s comin’ home with fuckin bruises all over her arms.”

And Rindou genuinely would have preferred that you were talking to some rich boy that spent his weekends on yachts over this--no matter how much the thought of you getting close with another guy made his stomach turn and his head hurt. Because at least then you weren’t getting hurt for whatever reason, and at least then they weren’t worried sick over what was going on.

“Bruises?” Mucho’s brow furrowed and Rindou noticed that Ran’s rising temper seemed to dim a bit at the genuine concern in Mucho’s voice. “What you mean bruises?”

Rindou motioned helplessly to his arm, “Fingerprints ‘n stuff, up ‘n down her arms, we tried to ask her but she started yelling, getting defensive, then she ran off,” he said.

“You couldn’t chase her down? Let the girl juke you out like that?” Mochi snorted, mocking them and Rindou scowled.

“It’s not that simple,” Rindou snapped, talking down on him as if he wouldn’t have made that very mistake had Ran not stopped him, “You would know if you ever spoke to a girl before. They get all riled up and angry and then they get silent. We wouldn’t’ve gotten anything outta her.”

Mochi scowled at the dig, opening his mouth to retort, but Mucho was speaking again, “And she’s coming home from school with it?” Mucho asked.

“Yeah, think so. Doubt she’d be getting jumped on the way home from school, we own those streets. No one would dare, not to her,” Rindou muttered.

Shion stretched, fastening his brass knuckles back onto his fist, “Let’s go check it out then, we already fucked up these guys anyway. They’re no fun anymore. I’d like to get my hands on one of those prissy little trust fund babies. Bet they’ll squeal just like their pig parents,” Shion jeered, snickering to himself before looking back at Izana, “What’dya say?”

Rindou followed Shion’s gaze to where Izana was still sitting on the box, watching them all curiously.

Izana’s eyes focused on Ran, seemingly uninterested with the topic, “She goes to that prep school by the National Art Center?” Izana asked, and Rindou and Ran shared a look, unsure of how he knew that because they were pretty sure they had never mentioned it.

“Yeah,” Ran agreed.

Izana’s eyes lit up oddly, a sort of interest swimming in them that had Rindou on edge because he had never seen Izana look so… excited for something before.

“Let’s go then.”

—-

“This is completely unnecessary,” you repeated for what seemed like the millionth time as your eyes darted around the side alley right next to your school, trying to figure out what the fuck you were supposed to do. “Please just get out of my way.”

It was your own fault, really, for prioritizing time over safety. You had thought cutting through the side streets to get home faster would be better than taking the long route and risking them catching up to you but you hadn’t even considered the fact that they’d have set up around the side streets to corner you there.

It was your own fault, and you were sure you were going to pay for it.

“Shut the fuck up,” a sharp voice snapped back immediately and you felt ill, breath shaky and trembling fingers shoved in your pocket to try to hide your growing anxiety.

It wasn’t your fault, you tried to convince yourself, it was your fucking uncle’s.

And it was--anger brewed in you as you remembered how quickly your already shitty social life had fallen apart after your uncle had started his relentless pursuit of Izanagi’s expansion a few weeks back, tearing down some of the other major businesses run by the parents of the kids in your school just so Izanagi could get a few steps ahead. It had been ruthless, and it had annihilated the wealth of even some of the objectively powerful, old money families of Tokyo, including some of whom had kids that went to your school.

And there was no way for them to get back at your uncle. Their parents were stuck trying to manage the fallout of what he had done and the kids were suffering the repercussions--the attention of the tabloids and all of the mocking articles, the shame of having lost the majority of their wealth, paparazzi and reporters had been outside the school for days now--and the only way to ‘get back’ at your uncle, in the eyes of the other kids, was through you.

Two weeks of nonstop harassment and you had no one but your uncle to blame. He had to have known what targeting the parents of kids that went to your school would do to you but he had gone through with it anyway.

Selfish. So fucking selfish, you felt tears prick your eyes as you took another step back and Sato stepped forward, closer to you. His parents had been the most affected by your uncle and he, in turn, has been the most aggressive with you.

And it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t like you told your uncle to do this, and it wasn’t like you supported it. You barely even fucking spoke to him. And now you were the one getting punished?

“Sato, this isn’t going to do anything,” you pleaded, giving it one more shot, “I’m not-I didn’t-Just let me get home-”

“Fuck you,” Sato spat, “Fuck you and fuck your douchebag uncle too.”

You grimaced, swallowing thickly as you tried to figure out what you should do. Maybe you should have told Ran and Rindou what was going on, you thought weakly as your eyes darted around the group of kids whose families had been ruined by your uncle. But you dismissed the thought immediately.

If you had told them what was going on, even before this started getting physical…

They would fucking kill them. You knew that. Ran and Rindou were protective over you, Ran had already killed someone for threatening you before. Knowing you were getting harassed at a place that was supposed to be safe--the one place they couldn’t make safe for you… They would lose their minds and they’d be sent to juvie again, except this time they would have a target on their backs because even though these kids’ parents lost the majority of their wealth and power, they still had powerful friends and those powerful friends had a lot of influence and they could spell trouble for Ran and Rindou, both in juvie and out of juvie.

And it wasn’t fair for you to rely on them for everything--and yeah, you knew they didn’t care, if anything they preferred it but… you didn’t like it. All your life you had been relying on other people for help--your parents, your uncle, Miss Yua and Mister Ayato, and now them--you wanted to handle one thing on your own and you wanted to cry because you knew you failed.

You always fucking fail unless someone else steps in.

Your eyes blurred, you pressed your lips together tight to try to hide the way they wobbled.

“Sato,” your voice came out weaker than you would have hoped, pleading, and you were embarrassed because the older boy immediately mocked you, taking another step closer. You matched him with a step back, and in your panic, you didn’t notice how Sato had paused in his movements toward you, and you didn’t notice the way some of the other kids started going wide-eyed.

You stiffened when you felt someone’s chest pressed against your back, fear taking over just for a moment until their right arm wrapped around your waist and you caught sight of the tattoos decorating it.

Rindou.

You were relieved.

For a second.

Then realization dawned on you and the fear returned for another reason.

Rindou.

You looked up at him, eyes wide, but his eyes were narrowed and trained ahead, jaw clenched tight.

“Rin,” you said quietly, and he finally looked down at you, lavender eyes sharp and searching yours just for a moment before he shook his head and shifted you behind him, taking a step forward.

Your heart sank, “Rin!” you called louder, but he ignored you as he took a step forward, body tense. You tried to take a step after him to grab his arm but a hand curled around your shoulder before you could. You froze, gaze darting to the side and your mouth went dry when your eyes met vacant purple ones, bright in contrast to tanned skin.

“Who are…”

Your voice trailed off when you noticed that Rindou had not come alone. Ran, the boy who grabbed you, and three other vaguely familiar boys had all entered the side street you had gotten cornered in with him. Your brows furrowed as you tried to remember where you had seen them before until your mind was drawn back to the day at the car shop when you had found Rindou and Ran hanging with that group of boys.

The white-haired boy watched you curiously, “Kurokawa Izana, you must be y/n.”

You didn’t get the chance to respond as Ran was moving forward in an instant, face twisted in a sort of fury that you’d never seen on him before. “Ran!” you called after him, voice pleading but Izana’s grip on your shoulder tightened, holding you in place as Ran swung forward hard with his baton before Sato could react.

You flinched at the sickening crack that rang through the air as Ran’s baton connected with his jaw and your breath caught when Sato crumpled immediately.

No, nononono, “Ran, stop!” you cried out but Ran ignored you, reeling his arm back before driving the baton right against the back of his head, “Ran!”

“Fuckin’ piece of shit,” one of the other older boys from your high school spat, moving forward quickly, leaning down to swipe a scrapped pipe on the side street, aiming right for Ran, who was still preoccupied with Sato, who was trying to push himself off the ground.

“Stop it” you shouted, eyes wide, “Ran, look out!”

Rindou was on the other boy in a second, grabbing the pipe mid-swing with one hand and driving his fist into his face with the other.

Your heart felt like it was in your throat as the rest of them moved forward once Rindou got involved too.

“Ahh, this gonna be fun,” a boy with a tattoo on the side of his head crooned, “Wonder if blue blood tastes any different from ours.”

Madarame Shion--you recognized that one from Rindou, other than Ran, he was the one that Rindou was closest to in that little group, he was also the one that Rindou bitched about the most. The grin on his face was half-feral as he played with the brass knuckles adorning his left hand.

Fuck, you thought, eyes wild as you tried to figure out what to do. If it escalated, it wouldn’t be good for them. They’d run home and tell their parents, their parents would get the cops on the case and-

“Guys, stop,” you called louder but you knew it was futile, Ran was too far gone and Rindou wouldn’t listen while Ran was in danger and there was no way their friends would listen to you. You knew enough from Ran and Rindou that all they cared about was violence and bloodshed.

“They’re not gonna stop,” Kurokawa Izana confirmed your fears, “Let them do their thing.”

“If they kill them, they’ll-” your voice was panicked, your breath was quick.

“They won’t,” a new voice said firmly and your eyes caught sight of a tall boy with blonde hair and an even taller, broader boy with black hair. “We’ll stop ‘em before it gets that far.”

They didn’t wait for you to respond, only following after the three brasher members of their group--the Haitanis and Madarame Shion. Your jaw was slack as you watched the blonde haul one of the boys on Shion off like a garbage bag, flinging him hard into the brick wall on the side street. There was another disgusting crack as his head hit the wall and he fell limp to the ground.

What the…

Izana did not join them and your hands shook as you watched the fight continue to escalate. Ran was still beating the shit out of Sato while Rindou took care of anyone that tried to approach the two of them.

Your lips parted to call out to them again, they were outnumbered but…

But you knew the boys from your high school didn’t stand a chance. You physically flinched as you watched blood splatter against the ground when Shion’s brass knuckles drove into one of the boy’s faces and he dropped limp against the concrete.

You glanced up at Izana and you swallowed thickly at the thin smile that tugged at his lips and the cold look in his eyes as he watched Ran and Sato.

“Stop him,” you said, and you thanked god that your voice was firm and steady. Izana’s eyes flickered down to you, surprise visible in them for a split second before the cold, calculating look returned. He was evaluating you, for something, you just didn’t know what.

Finally, he let out a quiet hum of agreement, “Ran,” he called, voice sharp and demanding. Instantly, Rindou and the three others drew off who they were fighting.

Ran did not.

Izana’s lips twisted down, an unpleasant expression on his face as he let go of your arm to move to Ran.

Rindou was in front of you, taking his place in an instant. His hands curled around your forearms, lavender eyes meeting yours—he was angry, you could tell, but his lips twitched down in concern as he looked over you.

“Why-“ his voice was loud, heated. He took in a shaky breath, forcing himself to calm down. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Can’t we talk about this later?” you said, “I don’t-“

Your voice faltered as you caught sight of Shion licking at the blood on his brass knuckles, a bored sigh escaping his lips as he stretched, “No different.”

“I don’t want to do this here,” your voice was quieter, so only he could overhear, “And I don’t wanna say it more than once.”

Rindou’s lips parted to respond but he was interrupted.

“Oi, you,” Shion called and your gaze drifted to the side, frowning when you noticed he was staring directly at you. “I wanna see the fancy place where Rindou ‘n Ran are always staying at.”

“Absolutely fucking not,” Rindou said, turning his attention to Shion.

“I’m not asking you, shuddup,” Shion said, keeping his attention on you. “C’mon, we just came all the way out here to beat the shit outta your pathetic bullies. Least you can do is offer us some food.”

“I didn’t ask for your help,” you said pointedly, but frowned when Shion only raised his eyebrows. Your shoulders slumped, and you glanced at Rindou, catching the warning glare he directed at you. At least you’d be able to delay the inevitable argument for a little while longer, “Fine,” you said.

Rindou scoffed in frustration, Shion looked absolutely delighted, tossing an arm around your shoulders and tugging you toward him, “Knew you were better then them fuckin’ lame asses,” he grinned.

Rindou called your name sharply, you looked at him from the corner of your eye, “You’re not getting out of this conversation,” he said.

“Yeah,” you said quietly, “I know.”

—-

PRESENT.

“Can’t you drive any faster?” you demanded, voice panicked, breath quick as you looked up at the front of the van. Mina glared back at you through the rearview mirror and you glared right back, although you were pretty sure that the glare came off as rather pathetic considering your vision was blurry with tears.

“If I drive any faster, we’re gonna fuckin’ get pulled over, and I’d like to see you try to talk your way out of that one. How you gonna explain to them why we’ve gotta Bonten executive in the back of our van? Not to mention it’s fuckin’ pouring.”

His words didn’t even register as Ran let out another low groan, shifting in your lap. Your attention was drawn back to him, heart in your throat as you brought your hand to his face, cupping his cheek. He instinctually leaned into your touch and a whimper built in your throat as his long lashes fluttered back open, unfocused lavender eyes searching your face.

His bloody lips parted, as if to say something, but before he could try to push out whatever words were on his tongue, his head lolled back again, passing back out. A cry of frustration bubbled at your lips as you cradled Ran’s head to your chest, arms tightening around him.

He’d been like this since you broke him out of there, fading in and out of consciousness, skin getting paler and breath getting shallower.

“Mina, drive fucking faster,” you shouted, voice cracking as your words split into a sob, “Fuck, fuck, drive faster!”

“Y/n, I can’t fuckin’ drive any faster,” Mina boomed, “Getting pulled over by the cops is as good a death warrant for him.”

The cops…? But-

“The fuck you mean?” you asked, “The cops? Wha-How would they even know-”

“Bonten got outed,” Takuya said quietly from the passenger seat, “All of its executives, some time between right after the explosion and now. I saw it on one of the headlines before we got him out of there.”

The world stilled around you, breath catching as you stared down at Ran, slowly processing Takuya’s words. “What?” you breathed out, “Outed? But how?”

“Don’t know,” Takuya admitted, “It’s not looking too good though. Yamagishi still keeps tabs on what goes on regarding this stuff. He says Bonten’s being forced underground. Half of their warehouses have been raided by the PSIA and TMPD.”

Fuck, you wanted to scream, fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuck why were you just receiving bad news after bad news? Why couldn’t you get a break?

Why couldn’t you get a fucking break?

You were having trouble breathing. Control yourself, you pleaded with yourself desperately, Ran’s labored breaths and the sound of the rain beating against the top of the van was causing you to spiral, breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out.

But it was hard. God, it was so fucking hard with Ran slowly dying in your arms and Rindou out there alone, hunted by the cops and feds and… reckless, Rindou was always so fucking reckless when it came to Ran and-

You couldn’t even finish the thought. You felt sick and exhausted and guilty, so fucking guilty. Every time you looked down at Ran you swore that your chest was tearing apart, that the anchor on your ankle dragged you down even deeper into the murky depths of the sea. This was all your fault.

All your fucking fault.

Your regrets were endless. You’d been recounting every single moment you went wrong in your life since you woke up from the explosion--every little lie, every time you distanced yourself from them, every time you snapped. You regretted leaving. You regretted losing contact with them. You regretted coming back to Tokyo and you regretted not staying with them the night you had met them at the club. You regretted driving them away at the auction. You regretted everything.

Everything.

No. Not everything. You did not regret stopping to help them that night all those years ago. You didn’t regret meeting them, you never would. You were sure of that.

Weren’t you?

Tears of frustration built in your eyes as Ran’s body shuddered in your arms, his breath was ragged and his body was limp and shaky, his weight heavy on your lap. You buried your face into his hair, rocking him back and forth as you tried to muffle the sob that fell from your lips against the top of his head.

I’m sorry, you wanted to scream, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.

“We’re almost there,” Takuya said quietly--his words didn’t register but the streets around you did. You felt ill as you caught sight of the old playground that you and Rindou used to visit all the time, the streets that the two of you had chased Ran down when he had dumped a bucket of water on you and Rindou’s head while the two of you were plotting a prank on him, the alley that you had met them in.

You felt sick and dizzy.

You could see the building the penthouse was located in the distance, vision blurry, breath coming out as near wheezes as you tried to calm yourself down. And you were grateful for Takuya and Mina because neither of them acknowledged your ongoing breakdown, you knew if they did, it would only get worse.

“You should let one of us go in with you,” Mina’s voice was as tense as his hands were around the steering wheel, “You won’t be able to get him in on your own.”

“No,” you forced out, “No, you have to get Takuya to a safehouse, they’ll be coming after us as soon as they realize what’s happened. Staying in Tokyo right now is too risky, this is too risky but I have nowhere else and no one else that can help him. I’ll get in contact with you after. I promise.”

“Y/n,” Mina began but you shook your head.

“No, Mina,” you snapped, “I said no. Get yourself and Takuya out of here. If one of us doesn’t…” your voice broke and you squeezed your eyes shut. Calm down. Breathe in, breathe out. “If one of us doesn’t make it out of here, we lose. I’m not losing anyone, not again. You guys are-you’re my family.”

“You shouldn’t be alone,” Mina insisted, “If any of Sugawara’s guys catch up to you, how the fuck are you going to defend both of you and get out of there at the same time?”

“I won’t be alone,” you said firmly, “I-”

“You don’t know if he’ll show up,” Takuya said quietly, “Bonten’s gonna need all hands on deck, they’re-”

“He’ll come,” you said firmly and Takuya quieted down immediately. “I know he will.”

He had to.

You shut your eyes again as Mina began to pull up to the building, letting out another shaky breath as you pressed your lips to the top of Ran’s head, “I’ve got you,” you whispered for the millionth time that night even though you knew he couldn’t hear you, “You’re gonna be okay.”

Pulling back, you tapped his cheeks several times, watching as his eyes fluttered open, dazed and confused, “Ran, you gotta work with me for the next few minutes, okay?”

He wasn’t registering what you were saying. You could see it from how his eyes didn’t acknowledge your words, from how his brows just barely furrowed. Your throat tightened, “Ran,” you repeated, “We gotta get inside, okay, we’re gonna stand you up.”

After a few moments, he nodded, and you let out a relieved exhale, shifting on the seat to help him to his feet, kicking open the back doors of the van, helping him down off the back as best as you could, grimacing when you steadied him as he swayed on his feet, gasping in pain.

Takuya climbed over the console into the back of the van, crouching at the edge. He called your name and you turned back to look at him. Concern was etched on his face and guilt ate at you when you noticed the heavy bags beneath his eyes--realizing that he probably hasn’t slept in almost a week now.

“Be careful,” he murmured, “please.”

“I will,” you promised, “I’ll see you guys soon.”

Takuya let out a short breath as he nodded, shutting the van doors. You wrapped an arm around Ran’s waist, letting him lean his weight onto you as you helped him to the main entrance of the building.

You winced as the rain beat against your skin, angled under the overhang, pricking your skin, “I’ve got you,” you repeated again, vision blurring with tears and because of the rain as Ran let out a low groan, nearly crumpling under the pain, “I’ve got you.”

“L/n-san! Where have you-oh god,” a familiar voice called. Mister Botan’s name was on the tip of your tongue, and it hurt having to bite it back. The new doorman’s face was ashen as he caught sight of Ran’s state.

“Call up to Miss Yua and tell her we need her assistance,” you said sharply, grateful that your shakiness didn’t show in your tone. The doorman only stared at the two of you and anger hit you so hard and so suddenly that you couldn’t even control it, “Now!” you roared and that started him out of his shocked state as he nodded, bowing hastily.

“Of course, l/n-san, I’ll call up immediately.”

And your heart hurt, you barely were able to stop the sob that was rising to your lips as your mind drew you back to the first night you met them. Rushing ahead to the elevator as Ran carried Rindou, Ran’s aggression and defensiveness, everything had been simpler then, even if at the time it felt like the world was ending.

“I’ve got you,” you told Ran again, and you weren’t sure if you were trying to reassure him or yourself as you pressed your face into the side of his shoulder as you waited for the elevator, “I’ve got you.”

The elevator dinged and you helped him in, pressing the button to the top floor, and it took all you had in you from losing control as Ran leaned onto you, face pressed against the top of your head, breath weak and unsteady, one arm draped around you. The arm you had around his waist tightened, and you grabbed his hand with the other, holding it in yours, trying to breathe in and out slowly to keep yourself calm.

“I’ve got you, I promise,” you said again, desperately trying to blink away the tears, “I promise.”

“I know,” his voice was hoarse, barely audible and this time you couldn’t hold back the sob and Ran’s hand tightened around yours, if only barely--just enough to show he was still with you.

“I’m sorry,” the words spilled from your lips before you could stop them, “Ran, I’m so sorry.”

And you weren’t even sure what you were apologizing for at the moment--maybe everything, you realized dully.

You swore it felt like eternity until the elevator binged again, signaling that you had reached the top floor--you were at the penthouse. You couldn’t tear your eyes from Ran’s lidded, barely conscious expression as you half-dragged him forward.

“Miss Yua!” you called, voice shrill and panicked, “Miss Yua!”

“Relax, child,” Miss Yua said sharply, her face was tight as her eyes landed on Ran, gaze worried, “Bring him to my office and then go get changed out of that mess. Understood?”

You opened your lips to protest--there was no way in hell you were leaving Ran’s side yet--but Miss Yua’s gaze narrowed and you swallowed thickly nodding as you helped Ran to the backroom.

Miss Yua grabbed your arm, eyes softening, “He’ll be okay,” she said firmly, “I’ll make sure of it.”

---

Sixty-five. Eighty. Ninety-five. One fifteen. One thirty.

The speedometer kept ticking up. Rindou’s grip was tight on the handlebars of his bike as he tore down the empty streets of Tokyo. How he hadn’t gotten pulled over yet was a mystery that baffled him--or well, maybe it didn’t. He supposed the cops were too busy raiding all of Bonten’s warehouses to care for someone speeding down the streets.

One forty. One fifty-five. One seventy.

The rain started falling faster and Rindou knew he should slow down, that it was dangerous for him to keep up at this speed in this type of weather but instead, he leaned forward on the bike, speeding up. His breath was shaky and his arms were tense as he turned down another street, closer and closer to the building he had considered home for years, and as he drew closer, the anxiety he had felt upon receiving your message only amplified.

“If it’s a fuckin’ trap, we’re not getting you outta there, you or your brother. We can’t spare the resources right now. Be fuckin’ smart, Rindou.”

His chest tightened, his lips pressed together tight as Sanzu’s words rang through his ears. And he knew that he was right--he was being dumb, rushing head first into what could be his death because of a shady message from you that he didn’t even know was legit or not.

02:34 Penthouse. Ran.

No explanation, no telling him if Ran was okay or not, no anything. Just those two words and when he had tried to respond, the message hadn’t gone through. That was all you had sent.

Or, well, he assumed it was from you.

It was from an unknown number that he assumed was you.

That he had no reason to think was you.

He could be driving to his fucking death. It could so easily be a trap set up by their enemies--it was more likely a trap set up by their enemies than it was you fucking coming through for them. You had given them zero reason to believe in you, zero reason to trust you so then why the fuck was he-

He cut his own thoughts off, pushing away the doubt and steeling himself as the building of the penthouse came into sight, he slowed down the motorcycle, stopping at the front entrance hastily, not even bothering to turn off the motorcycle as he ripped off his helmet and sprinted inside of the building, hand curled around the grip of his gun, safety off, finger ready on the trigger.

He went right for the elevator, grateful that it didn’t take as long as it usually did to get to the bottom floor. He tossed Miss Sara a silent apology when he heard her call out after him in surprise, pressing the doors closed and the button for the top floor.

It was slow. Just as it always had been. And Rindou wanted to punch the fucking wall as doubt began to creep in again. Bonten was falling apart. All of their warehouses had been fucking searched and raided, their faces were all over the news. Sanzu and Kakucho were scrambling trying to protect what little resources they had left and Rindou was here, risking himself for something he had no reason to trust.

He let out a heavy breath, leaning forward as his eyes darted back up to where the floors were binging upward. His clothes were drenched, his hair wet and hanging in his face. His body burned with stress and nerves. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push it away.

What if it’s a trap?

His grip tightened around the gun, finger locked on the trigger.

He knew the answer to that question.

A sick feeling stirred in his stomach, his throat felt tight, his eyes felt wet.

Please don’t be a fucking trap.

He readied the gun in front of him as the elevator doors slid open to an empty room. The lights were on and the television was running in the background on the news station. Rindou grimaced as Sanzu’s face flashed on the screen, as live footage from one of their warehouses played in the background.

Fuck.

“Rin.”

Rindou’s gaze snapped to the side, eyes wild as he shifted on his feet, gun raised in the direction of where your voice had come from--at the entrance of the hall where your bedroom was located, and where theirs used to be. You didn’t flinch, even as his arms trembled and his finger twitched on the trigger.

A part of him told himself to pull it. Bile rose to his throat as soon as the thought crossed his mind.

“Where’s Ran?” he forced out, and he hated how his voice cracked, how he choked over his own words. He pointed the gun at you more insistently, “Where the fuck is he, y/n?”

“Miss Yua is patching him up,” you said, and he hated how steady your voice was compared to his, even with a gun aimed at your head. “You know how she gets when we interrupt her, I-”

“I don’t care,” Rindou hissed, stepping closer, he pressed the barrel of the gun to your forehead. You didn’t flinch. Your eyes met his. “Turn the fuck around and bring me to him or I’ll blow your fuckin’ head off. For all I know this is a fuckin’ trap, just like the fuckin’ auction.”

“Rindou, look at me,” your voice was tight, “Does it look like I am dressed to fucking set you up for a trap right now?”

Rindou’s eyes dropped at your words, lips tightening when he realized you were dressed in a simple cotton tank-top and loose shorts. Pajamas, you would always wear something like that to sleep. And for a moment, just a moment, he could picture you standing in front of him as you argued for a horror movie over one of his ‘dumb action movies.’ Except instead of a gun pressed to your forehead, it was his hand as he forcibly shoved you back down onto the couch before you could change the channel.

What the fuck was he doing?

He felt sick.

“Boy, put that gun down before I shove it up your ass,” a familiar, rough voice demanded and Rindou’s eyes widened, gaze flicking up to where Mister Ayato was standing at the other end of the hall, eyes cold, lips twisted down.

Rindou’s hand dropped limp to his side.

You turned your head to the side, “You shouldn’t be out of bed,” you told Mister Ayato, “You’re still ill. Go lay back down.”

Mister Ayato looked disgruntled, shooting a suspicious look between you and Rindou, and Rindou felt guilt eat at him as Mister Ayato’s eyes narrowed back in on the gun at his side. Rindou’s fingers were shaky as he holstered the gun back at his side, turning the safety back on.

Satisfied, Mister Ayato turned back into his room, but not before tossing Rindou one last dark look.

Your name left his lips, little more than a whisper, and he hated how weak he sounded.

“It’s okay,” you said, and he was grateful for the fact that he didn’t need to verbally apologize for you to understand what he was trying to say. “I get it.”

Rindou’s lips tightened and he looked away, “Is he okay?” he finally asked after a few moments.

“Miss Yua said he would be fine,” you responded and Rindou’s tense shoulders slumped, relief hitting him like a truck because��

“She never says anything she doesn’t mean,” he murmured, and a soft, amused puff of air escaped your lips.

“No,” you agreed, “She doesn’t.”

There was another pause where neither of you spoke. Rindou grit his teeth as he braced himself to speak again, “I want to know the truth,” he said, and next to him, you tense. “The whole truth. From the beginning. You’re not fucking running away this time.”

You didn’t respond, Rindou looked back over at you, catching the way your lips were just barely wobbling, the sheen on your eyes.

“Promise me,” he insisted. “I want you to-”

“I promise,” you said. Your voice cracked, and Rindou’s eyes darted down, noticing how your fingers were trembling like a leaf in the wind. He let out a long breath, anxiety pooling in his stomach as he wondered what could possibly have you this fucking spooked to tell them. Without thinking, he reached out, taking one of your hands into his, fingers curling around your shaky ones. You tensed for a moment and Rindou’s jaw clenched, waiting for you to pull away, but instead your grip on his hand tightened, and a warm feeling passed over him that he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. “I promise, can we just… I don’t want to say it twice, Rin.”

His eyes met yours again, a pleading expression on your face that he had never quite seen you wear before, and he relented, shutting his eyes briefly as he looked away.

“Fine,” he said quietly. “We’ll wait for Ran.”

—-

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