#THE DOMESTICITY WHEN YN HEALED RIN'S WOUND MADE ME SCREAM AND CRY IN 47 LANGUAGES

[orchid3a]

11:16AM | HAITANI RINDOU

Summary: Rindou knows he loves you, he just has a hard time saying it. In his case, actions speak louder than words. Likes and reblogs appreciated! Link to my masterlist here!

cw: afab!reader, mild descriptions of violence and injury, mild suggestive content, mild sexual content, lots of kissing, marking, use of pet names (pretty thing,princess) Rin and reader being down bad.

Rindou thinks he knows the exact moment he fell for you. It’s not special, nothing explosive and there are no fireworks bursting with colour in his chest like he’s been made to believe. It’s nothing like he thought it would feel in fact. It felt a little like falling, like weightlessness creeping into his bones, jelly-like. Inevitable.

You’re talking animatedly and his head is inclining in your direction as he listens, one hand propping up his chin and the other resting on his knee. Clenching and unclenching, tightly wound with sparks whenever it accidentally brushes your leg under the table. 

You lean forward to tuck the hair kissing his cheeks behind his ear and Rindou freezes. You move on and rock on your chair, as if you haven’t made his heart punch against the flesh of his chest.

He glances both ways instinctively looking for Ran, and his stupid smirk that seems to creep over his shoulder whenever something even vaguely embarrassing happens. But there is no Ran, there is no rumbling chuckle just around the corner, no teasing. Just you and him. He watches your eyes flick to him every few seconds, then drift to the distance as you mull over your thoughts and Rindou can only swallow against the lump now growing in his throat, a pathetic and even futile attempt to calm the blood pulsing in his veins.

‘Rin? You alright?’ Your eyebrows furrow and your hand instinctively moves again to tuck the stray strand of silky hair behind his ear and Rindou thinks you must be denser than he is if you can’t sense the hairs on his arms standing on end or his cheeks flush under the weight of your stare.

‘Hm? Yeah, fine.’ Futile once again. He coughs into his hand, hoping it doesn’t betray the slight waver in his voice. ‘What were you saying?’ He realizes at that moment, how painful it is to be around you, the dissonance between wanting to touch you and then not, the confusion of those feelings, a mass churning in his head. 

Of course he looks down periodically, and his hair slips from behind his ear and your hand moves on instinct to tuck it back, your fingers lingering near his neck and Rindou feels sick with how much he wants to feel them on his skin and kiss the inside of your wrist. 

Perhaps in hindsight, the exact moment he falls for you is somewhere before all this. Perhaps it’s the moment he first stumbles through your door, wincing and clutching his side as his hand catches the doorframe, his shirt torn open to reveal a red and angry pulsing gash licking at his skin, his toned abs flexing under the strain of pulling himself onto your sofa. Your hands are tender, soft, hesitant even as you bunch the cotton in your fingers, squeezing the excess water out as you dab at the split in his lip. 

You tut under your breath, an eyebrow raised, as you are prone to do he knows, when you are pretending to be exacerbated and admonish him for being so careless. He wonders how your eyes can be so kind and gentle when your voice is so stern and he’s bleeding out on your sofa, wonders at how you haven’t cried or screamed or shook when the blood seeps between the gap in your fingers. 

Your smile is reassuring and you kiss at the apple of his cheeks as his eyes flutter with fatigue, whispering your assurances as he bites down hard on his lip, suppressing the pain he pretends not to feel, as you know he is prone to do.

‘You’re an idiot,’ you say and press the gauze to the skin that reveals pinkened torn flesh and he groans, throwing his head back as his fists tighten on the corner of your hoodie. His hoodie in actuality. Despite this, your thumb traces a line down the fine hairs on his stomach, the black whorls that sneak below the waistband of his trousers and his breath hitches as your eyes flick to meet his. You think of slipping your hand beneath, your thighs splayed out on his as you whisper against his mouth, rocking slightly against his hips till his breath is hot on your skin and you’re all but swallowing his moans. 

But you don’t. Instead, you chastise him and stand, taking the bloodied wads of cotton to the bins and leaving him to sleep with an old blanket that smells of you. It’s fear that’s eating you up, a cavity gnawing tightly on your stomach. Fear, shame, anxiety, a word that curls in your head as you toss and turn at night in your own bed, separated by a single wall from him. 

Rindou holds your blanket to his mouth, his nose and he wonders at all the lost possibilities he’s carelessly thrown away as the dawn gives way to a morning of buttery sunlight, and you both think of each other as you sleep. 

Perhaps in retrospect, the moment he falls for you  isn’t that either. Perhaps it’s the day his call first goes to voicemail and he finds he’s pouting as he listens to the automated message. And the barrage of calls only grows, his anxiety seemingly heavier with it till he’s all but racing to your apartment with his gun firmly in his hand. He can’t keep the urgency from his voice when he tells Ran as he thunders from the building, his words clipped, the sweat on the back of neck making a steady trail between his shoulder blades.

‘Rin, it’s probably nothing,’ Ran says as his Brother pushes past him, slamming the car door and driving off as the exhaust fumes curl in the air.

‘Y/N always answers my calls,’ he tells himself, a pathetic attempt to quell the thunderous beat of his heart against his ribs. 

But when he arrives, slamming the door open with your name on his lips, music drifting from the open kitchen door, his anxiety is quelled like water to a fire. Because there you are, your back to him, a sundress flaring around your waist, golden sunlight falling over the lip of the window. And humming, a low sound undulating the soft chords thrumming through the speakers.

‘Y/N?’ A whisper, all he can manage as the gun finds its way back into the waistband of his pants. 

You turn swiftly on your heel,dropping the spatula that’s halfway to your mouth and Rindou catches the faint dusting of white icing sugar smeared on your cheeks. He takes a step. Two. Three. His arms instinctively come around you, and he smells strawberries on your skin, your hair, on the smidge of cake mixture on your lip that you dart your tongue out to lick up.

‘Rin?’ you say, the spatula clattering to the floor, your arms coming to rest against the flat of his back, your breath hot and sweet on his neck.

‘Why didn’t you answer my calls?’ His voice is muffled by your hair, the crease of your neck, his breath from where it’s been caught in his throat.

You furrow your brows against his shoulder, your hand coming up to rub loose circles against the base of his spine. ‘Oh, I didn’t know, I wanted to make something to surprise you.’ The other hand gestures towards the array of spoons and bowls littering the countertop.

Ran asks him later that day, whether he likes you as more than a friend and Rindou only shrinks into his seat, scowling and pouting as he turns the question over in his head, a muted ‘Yes’ sitting on the flat of his tongue. Ran knows obviously, it’s as clear as night and day what his brother feels, the way his eyes follow you as you move, the faint smattering of pink half hidden beneath the shadow of his hair, the smile he thinks is reserved enough not to be noticed. 

‘He likes you Y/N.’ Ran says as throws his keys onto the coffee table, flicking on the lights as he fishes around in his sparse fridge for leftovers, tutting under his breath at the bareness of its shelves.It’s a regular pastime this is. You call Ran to talk about Rindou, to gush like a schoolgirl kicking her legs in the air, and Ran listens, as he always does, to the floaty voice on the other end, interspersed by sniffles.

‘He does not.’ You curl around your pillow, missing the warmth of him, your phone pressed between your ear and the pillow under your head. ‘He’s just being nice.’

A sniffle drips down the line as you press the duvet corner to your eyes. 

‘Trust me he does, Rindou doesn’t do “just being nice”.’ There is a beep as the microwave is switched on, thinly veiled behind the slosh of liquid and the shuffle of fabric as Ran pulls his jacket off. ‘All he ever talks about is you. I should be mad you’re taking so much of my baby brother’s attention from me.’ This last part said with mirth and the trace of a fond smile.

It’s a pleasant daydream to turn this way and that in your mind as you  drift to sleep, even if you don’t quite believe it. 

In your dreams, those private chambers locked and bolted, things are perfect. You find that belonging to him is easier than you thought it would be. He is soft underneath those harsh edges, you can trace your thumb over the outline of him.  Honest and quiet and safe and you could spend hours lost in that infinitesimal space between day and night, that thin splice of half-reality where everything is as you want it to be. 

Little do you know of course, that on the other side of the city, beneath a moon that’s milky white, proud and big in the sky, Rindou turns over a dream of his own. One in which he slots his lips against yours, swallows the breath that’s hitched in your throat as his hands come up to rest against your hips. Perhaps, if his dream self is feeling brave, he’ll pull you against him and you’ll feel the force of his want through his slacks and his lips will dip to sink against the curve of your shoulder. He thinks your eyes are beautiful as it is but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to watch them flutter shut as you came undone beneath him.

Maybe the day he realizes he has fallen for you, irrevocably, hopelessly even, is the day he watches Sanzu tuck a strand of hair behind your ear as he bends to titter against it, a lame joke that trails off into a chuckle, one arm supporting his weight against the wall and the other languidly tracing a curve along your cheek. 

‘You’re such a pretty thing aren’t you? Lovely thing like you could get eaten right up in a place like this.’ His lips are tantalisingly close, and he smells vaguely of woodsmoke, gunpowder and metal. 

You smile placatingly, shivering slightly under Haruchiyo’s intense gaze, and Rindou turns, the familiar lick of embarrassment, shame, green and turbulent jealousy running down his back. 

Ran raises an eyebrow at the way Rindou bunches his hands into taut fists. ‘You need to tell her,’ he says. ‘If you don’t, someone else will.’ A subtle incline of his head in Haruchiyo’s direction. It’s his job, he knows, to tell Rindou the things he perhaps doesn’t want to hear but needs to nonetheless. 

Maybe that’s what spurs him on in retrospect. The thought that one day he might be too late, that one day he’ll wake up to see you looking at someone the way you look at him and he might lose you indefinitely.

So here he sits again, his head resting against the edge of the sofa, his hands curling into fists around your hoodie as you kneel between his thighs to press a clean gauze to the slice in his abdomen, hissing through his teeth, lips clamped together to staunch the sharp tang of pain lancing through his body. This is it, he thinks, as he watches your brows knit together, your cheeks puff with concentration, the barely perceptible shake of your head as you click your tongue.

‘Y/N…’ And it’s so quiet, a feather-touch against skin, the brush of hair tickling an ear. 

‘Hm?’ You inspect the wound, turn your head this way and that, oblivious even now to Rindou’s heated stare, his lidded gaze dropping along your cheek, your neck, the collarbones you tease through the neckline of your hoodie.

‘Look at me.’ His voice curls along your skin, flames licking at the nape of your neck as your eyes flit to meet his.

There’s a beat.

Two. 

Three.

And then he is kissing you, fervently, feverishly, his lips warm, salty with the tang of blood from the gash along the bottom, and his tongue is gentle and tentative in your mouth, his hands cupping your face as he pulls you onto his lap. It’s fast, clumsy even, awkward, all teeth and heat and need and promise. You break for air for the smallest fraction of a second, the thin string of saliva breaking as it falls down your chin, before his lips slot against yours, perfectly, synchronically, his nose brushing yours as his hands drop to your hips to glide you against his thigh. 

‘Rin,’ you say against his mouth, his throat pulsing in time with your heaving breaths and he pulls you against him so he can swallow the sigh that drips past parted lips when you feel his slacks tighten underneath you.

‘Y/N.’ He says your name like a prayer, like he worships you. Reverently, timid, testing it out in his mouth, his tongue relishing the taste of it. 'Princess.' And it feels right, it feels good.

He realizes as he kisses you, tastes you, that this is perhaps the moment he falls for you. Hopelessly, irrevocably even. You taste of warmth and tenderness, and nights spent near the heat, springtime. And he tastes of promise and hunger and thirst and you think if you hadn’t kissed him now, you’d have gone sick with the want. It’s dizzying, the pulsing in your veins that has your blood roaring in your ears, the shift of his lilac eyes as he slides the hoodie from you, dropping it in a pool of fabric, and your hands shake as you fumble to undo the belt buckle on his slacks, to drag the shirt from his shoulders and run your tongue along his chest. He groans, his lips sucking a firm and harsh mark between the curve of your neck and your shoulder and you wonder if you have ever heard a sweeter sound, you guarantee that you have not.

Because you are in love. Hopelessly, irrevocably even.

a/n: heyyy! I'm back with a full length fic! This was one of my favourites to write,it felt so self indulgent lol. It's actually a present for my Rin (happy one year loml) but I hope you all like it anyway. I'd love your feedback as usual. I have in fact opened a ko-fi which is here, and I'd appreciate any donation or anything if you liked this <3 but still, thanks for supporting me all this time too.

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