L♡VEDAZE

“Sorry I came by so late.” You’re rocking back and forth on your heels when Draken finally rounds the corner to greet you. “I didn’t know your shop closed this early.”

“It usually doesn't.” But with the rain making so much sleet outside he’d sent everyone home before they had a chance of crashing and adding to his workload— something he didn’t feel the need to explain to the person leaving puddles in the lobby. “Is there something I can help you with?”

Draken doesn't normally need to ask. It's pretty easy to tell which customers are planning on making an actual purchase and who was just trying to scratch the bad boy itch Bonten’s news coverage had awoken in the masses.

You, however, weren’t either.

“I just need to see about getting a bike fixed for my brother.” Simple enough request but there wasn’t much space for another bike in the garage. “I bought it for him here last Christmas. I think someone named Inui helped me out.”

He’s about to suggest a different shop to you—one that’s close by and reputable enough—when you smile. It’s not a persuasion tactic, it’s not even directed at him, just somewhere slightly behind.

If Inui sold it, Inui could take responsibility for the repairs. “He’s gonna be back in the morning if you want to wait.” Only, it's obvious you don’t want to wait, Draken can tell by the way you’re chewing your lip.

“Is there any way I could leave the bike here until morning then?” You take a few steps back and motion outside. “I don’t really think I have the energy to push it back home.”

No wonder you were soaked. “Yeah, let me get it to the back.”

It’s a one person job, especially when the one person is as big as he is, but you’re determined to make sure it gets inside safely; hands tight on the handlebars, even when you’re finally out of the rain.

He doesn’t say anything to break your trance, just taps a couple times on your frozen hand and asks if you live nearby. He regrets the way he knows it sounds but the rain’s coming down even harder and the temperature’s only dropping with the sun. When you finally snap back to reality you’re anything but offended; just smile that same almost-at-him smile and nod.

“I'm a few blocks away. Besides I’m already drenched, a couple more minutes in the rain won’t kill me.” And it won’t, probably, but that isn't the point. You don’t give him a chance to feel bad about it, already halfway to the door when you turn around. “Hey, take good care of it for me? I wanna get it back to my brother soon. He’s kinda lost without it.”

Draken nods, already taking in the damage before you even ask. There’s something building on the tip of his tongue; a question maybe, a hesitant proposition he isn’t sure he wants to make, but the doorbell chimes in place of your forgotten goodbye; its echo reminds him he’s alone.

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The second time you visit isn’t any earlier than the first but your bike free hands carry an umbrella to keep you safe from the rain. Inui’s quick to greet you, says he never forgets a face, but Draken’s sure his description had something to do with his remembering.

When it’s finally time for Inui to go home you’re still waiting in the lobby, legs crossed on one of the chairs as you flip through a magazine full of engine parts. He tries not to smile at the way you scrunch your nose, as if a furrowed brow is gonna help you process the information.

“This is like a whole different language.” You don’t look at him when you speak but you know he’s there, leaned against the front counter as you browse. “Is a 399 cc engine fast?”

He shrugs, nonchalant because he knows it is, just not in comparison to the bikes they had in Toman; the bikes most of them still have now. “It’s not as fast as mine.” He admits and it’s kind of cute the way your eyes shoot open. “Now come on, let me translate this language for you so I can give you a rundown on the bike.”

You don’t like the rundown; the exterior is mostly untouched which seems like a miracle once you look inside. There’s a lot of damage that’s going to take intricate rebuilding in order to make it functional again. “We’ve got most of the parts in the shop already but there are a few I’ll have to put in an order for. So there could be a couple weeks of just waiting.”

And there were a few here and there, not that it kept you from visiting. Even when you knew there wouldn’t be any progress you still showed up around the same time each week; sometimes with books, sometimes with dinner, always with that somewhere-else-smile.

Draken never could send you home, he may have tried once or twice—tried to figure out a good enough excuse to put distance between the two of you— but he never had one. None that would’ve made sense to anyone watching, especially not to you.

No, not you with the late night snacks and overwhelming consideration; a rare source of warmth and determination. Draken was desperate to get away from whatever trance you’d pulled him into, a siren song of nostalgia that reignited something he didn’t know he’d lost.

Until one night when he’s doubled over laughing at a grease stain across your face, from the grease covered rag you’d used to wipe soba from your hands. And it hurts to laugh this much, and it hurts to laugh at all but he can’t stop; not when you’re staring at him with those wide eyes and not when you start laughing too, and when you smile? When you finally smile that right-at him-grin— he’s fucked.

Not that he admits it.

And you’re too invested in spinning stories like candyfloss, of a childhood that seems too sweet not to be artificial. Draken can’t put his finger on it, can’t place the tangy flavor hidden beneath the sucrose but it’s there; addictive in its mystery.

When you speak of your brother you smile, not the ‘far away kind’ or the ‘in front of him’ kind but one that hits your eyes. One that illuminates from the inside and shines light onto your words like a performer center stage.

Those stories taste like honey; raw and unfiltered like a jar still full of the comb. They remind him of Mikey, of Emma, and he tries to swallow the frog in his throat that was born from your tales of tadpoles and lily pads; of ruined shoes and running away and your brother never leaving your side.

Draken’s thankful; for your memories, for the way they make it easier to remember his—for the way they dust off the things he’s locked away and make them seem new again. When he mentions Emma you grin, ask him to tell you more as you cuddle into the cushions of the oil stained sofa where he usually sits alone.

And he does. For the first time in a long time he does. And not just Emma but Mikey, Mitsuya, and the gang; all of Toman wrapped up for you with a pretty bow. Then he realizes the irony in his uncanny valley version of the truth, pinpoints the source of the sour under your sweet.

It wasn’t something bitter that ruined the taste, it was the sugar that salvaged it; the pretty way you’d chosen to remember the things that may have been ugly. You had picked up every broken piece and put them back together with gold. The Kintsugi of a childhood.

When the last part for your brother's bike arrives he hides it; tells himself there’s a few more things he needs to tweak and then tells you the same lie. When you shrug and say okay he whispers an apology under his breath, promises your brother he’ll have it back soon in the same one.

Draken’s not sure when soon is. He knows it can’t be far off, knows he can’t stretch this out much longer without you getting suspicious. Inui’s already been asking too many questions and when he asks Draken’s permission to borrow you for drinks the sound he makes is unintelligible. Eventually he nods—more confused than concerned— as he watches the two of you wave goodbye.

He brings you back three parts liquor and one part hands as you clutch to Draken’s arm for support. Inui shrugs when he’s accosted, too buzzed to take responsibility for his actions. “She wanted to come back here, you know.” His heels clack across the concrete, punctuating the end of his admission. “Go ahead, tell him how much you like it.”

It’s hard to speak through the hiccups so you nod towards the ground. When you do try to take a step you buckle. Draken’s hands fumble to find a safe place to hold while you nuzzle into his side.

You feel warm despite the snow you walked through and he knows it’s the tequila burning through your blood. Knows it’s the tequila that has you wrapping your arms around his waist, eyes closed as you hiccup into his shirt.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed.” He mumbles and you nod as if you understand. When he asks if you can walk you nod again, then once more when he asks if you’re lying. “Guess we’re both liars, huh.” He doesn’t ask anymore questions as he sweeps you off your feet, up the stairs to the second floor loft.

This is where he sleeps most days; when it’s too late to make it back to the red light district, when you’re here way past close. It’s the first time you’ve been in it, though, and he’d probably feel more self-conscious if you weren’t already asleep.

You stir when he finally lays you down, wiggle around on the futon before cracking an eye to survey your blurry surroundings. Draken sits beside you when you grab for his hand; you fall asleep with a thank you on your lips.

He’s not there when you wake up but he leaves coffee by the bed; cream and sugar like you like it even though he’ll swear it came that way. When you sneak past him to go home he pretends not to notice that it’s safe in your hand; pretends not to care that you throw a wink at him for everyone to see, or that the hoops and hollers behind him heat his face.

When Inui finds the oil filter that’s missing from your brother's bike stuffed behind some old invoices he threatens to blow the whistle; like any animal backed into a corner Draken threatens to kick his ass. Inui concedes with an aggressive eyeroll and a pending threat turned promise.

“It’s not like you can’t see her when this is over.”

But Draken’s not convinced he can; or that he wants to, or that you want to, and this purgatory you’ve built in the garage feels safe in a way he hasn’t been able to feel on his own lately. He hates how fragile all of it seems, how fragile everything seems since Emma; just one strong gust of wind away from devastation—always one snowflake away from being buried alive.

And February always brings the heaviest snow, this year more than most. When the twenty-second finally rolls around, Draken's up before the sun. It’s the only day he ever fully closes the shop and he wonders for a moment, through the hum of his bike engine, if he mentioned it to you at all. He would feel bad if you made the trip in this weather just to find all the doors locked; he feels worse that he’s worrying about you today at all.

The headstones stand stark in contrast to the night's avalanche of snow. It would have been hard to navigate for anyone who didn’t know their way but Draken had permanent footprints etched on the pathway to Emma.

He spent most holidays here, days he thought they would’ve spent together; days he didn’t appreciate as much as he should have when he had the chance.

He tries not to beat himself up over it. Tries to remind himself that fifteen is young, that he wasn’t equipped for the kind of relationship she deserved but they’re echoes of other people’s comforts. The truth is he knows how often he could’ve done better, knows how many things he didn’t say because of pride; as if loving someone made him weak.

The irony isn’t lost on him that they spend more time together now than they did in their youth; a better partner to her in death than he ever was in life. He tells himself he owes it to her—that it’s the least he can do—but Draken knows, deep down, that there’s selfish intent; a last ditch effort at easing the guilt, leaving guiltier knowing she’s still the one comforting him.

Normally when he visits he fills her in on the day to day, it used to always be the same—shops doing fine, Hina’s alive and well, Takemichi still cries every chance he gets— but now? Now his day to day is you. It’s a bad time to realize just how much of him you’ve consumed, kneeling down at the foot of her grave, but he won’t lie, not to her.

A white stuffed bear finds kinship with the others, a peace offering for whatever he’s about to say. “The shop’s doing decent this winter. Better than decent, actually, we’ve made double the profits. Might even get my own place soon. Think it’s time to move outta the brothel.”

He’d been thinking about it for a while, finally graduating to a respectable adult, but there’d never been any real reason to make the change. These days he felt motivated, something so unfamiliar that it took til now to realize why. He smiles, “If you’re up there watching, I uh, I know you’ve seen her.” Your presence is a hard one to miss and Draken hasn’t been doing a good job of hiding it.

The breeze feels harsh against his cheeks, threatens to freeze the tears collecting at the inner corners of his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Emma.” He can’t decide what he’s apologizing for so he apologizes for it all. “You deserved better than what I gave you. You deserved to hear how much I loved you. And I did, Em—I still do—love you. I’ll always love you.”

He runs his fingers across the engraving of her name, wonders for a second what it would have looked like with half of his.

There’s a future for them somewhere, in a timeline that isn’t twisted and unfair. He used to take solace in that belief, using this life as penance for mistakes no one could alter but the winter winds are harsh and full of change. Draken, for the first time in twelve years, wants something.

He wants you.

“You deserved a full life—a happy one. But I need to know it’s okay to live mine again, Em. I need to know you’ll be okay.”

There’s a sound a few rows over, something small he couldn’t have heard had the wind not died down—something he wouldn’t have eavesdropped on any other time—but it’s familiar.

It’s you.

Planted cross-legged on a blanket, thermos in hand, as you tell a story to someone below the ground. Draken can’t see the name, can’t see anything but the light behind your eyes, but the sound of your voice carries on the breeze. “You would really like him. He rides a Kawasaki like yours and he’s fixing it for you, so you really can’t complain.”

Draken sinks, the snow beneath him nothing compared to the frost in his veins. You’d been so adamant about the bike, so desperate to get it running again—he feels sick knowing why; feels his bones freeze, thaw, and freeze over again at his lack of discernment. When your voice breaks a part of him goes with it. It’s the farthest thing from what he wants but it’s everything he needed to hear.

He thanks Emma with a smile.

─────────

You seem surprised when he calls to tell you the repairs are done; hesitant when he asks you to come by and pick it up. When he tells you to come after hours you seem a little more composed but no less anxious and Draken can’t help but feel the same.

He leaves the garage door open for you while he works on other things—bikes he’s been neglecting in favor of yours, of you—but your sudden presence still takes him by surprise; still overwhelms him to see your face.

There’s no big reveal, no ta-dah moment for the months of labor, just a pristine Kawasaki posted up near the door. Your hands are already on it when he makes it over to you, shaky as they ghost over where the cracks used to be.

“It’s like nothing ever happened.” But something did, something that mangled the inside of that bike, and the inside of you with it.

Whatever hesitation Draken may have been holding on to is cleansed away by a splattering of tears. When you turn he’s there to turn into, stone chest a shelter from the earthquakes born of your sobs. It feels cathartic, he thinks, to watch someone else grieve and he’s thankful to you for the lesson; thankful, more-so, to be the one holding you on the floor of the empty garage.

There’s no awkwardness when the tears finally stop, no moment of shame when you realize that you’re cradled in his lap—just silence, your trembling breaths falling into rhythm with the rise and fall of his chest. You eventually pull away with a rush of whispered apologies; for the trouble, for the breakdown, for the tear stains above his heart.

Draken stops you with the shake of his head, gets you back on your feet and grins. “Should we test it out for him?”

There’s a split second where he thinks you may cry again, the violent inhale you swallow dampening the corners of your eyes. You hold it in for a moment, chest puffed and eyes closed, as you let the burn of stretching lungs distract you. With eyes still shut, you nod.

It’s the first time you’ve ever been on a motorcycle. “My brother always said it was too dangerous.”

Your use of past tense doesn’t go unnoticed. “I’ll have to apologize to him later then.” Draken let’s you slide on the back and situate before revving the engine. Once for your brother, once more when you snake your arms around him and squeeze.

Snow bites at the exposed parts of his skin, stinging like the pinpricks of a fresh tattoo and he wonders if this night will stay with him forever. He expects you to be scared, expects you to cling on and beg to slow down; so when he feels your grip loosen, feels your hands on his shoulders and your lips at his ear—he learns to expect the unexpected.

“Faster.”

Fast enough to escape Tokyo and its bustling city streets, neon blurring into stained glass refractions as you ride.

“Faster.”

Fast enough to outrun the past—outrun Emma, Mikey. Outrun the anger of twelve years spent grieving something stolen, outrun the betrayal of a best friend lost.

“FASTER.”

Your voice breaks clean above the growl of the engine, arms outstretched by your sides. It’s the moon that leads the way when the last bits of Shibuya disappear. And just like the tides, Draken follows it to the shore.

It’s hard to tell whether it’s the dropping temperature of the Bayside that makes him numb or just the circumstances that brought him here; that brought you both here. When he meets you at the water's edge you look anything but cold, hair whipping as you stare into the sea.

“In my psychology class they taught us how people become geniuses.” You start to explain and even though Draken’s unsure of the conversations direction, you’ve definitely got his attention.

“They said that repetition of information makes your brain grow branches and that the more they grow, the closer you are to being a genius about something.”

You don’t look at him when you talk, your eyes narrowing in on the violent waves. “My teacher said that our relationships with people are the same. The more time we spend with someone the longer their branches get.”

You pause to take a breath of saltwater air. “I think about them as trees sometimes. A little forest of all the people we’ve ever cared about growing roots inside our heads.”

Draken’s not expecting it when you snake your hand into his, isn’t sure how to respond to that kind of comfort—isn’t even sure if you mean for it to be comforting—but he starts by giving it a squeeze; encouraging you to continue.

“It just means that they’re never really gone, ya know?” When you finally look up there’s a change in the atmosphere, a chill that runs down his spine that beats out the winter cold. It isn’t that you’re looking at him any differently, or maybe you are, but it’s the way he’s looking at you—the way he sees you—for what feels like the first time. “They’re hardwired into us now, we couldn’t get rid of them if we tried.”

He’s always known that people leave fingerprints behind, that no person ever comes into your life and leaves it the same, but knowing that there’s some science behind it? Knowing that Emma and Mikey can never be uprooted from his mind? It’s calming; like the sound of the ocean licking at his feet, or the moonlight reflecting iridescent off your skin.

You’re calming, and you’re grieving, and you’re comforting him all the same.

Draken tugs at your hand, pulls you back to the bike without releasing it. “Come on, there’s somewhere I wanna go.”

You aren’t expecting somewhere to be the cemetery but Draken’s insistent on the location as he helps you down. He takes your hand again—surprised by how quickly he’s grown accustomed to the feeling—and leads you in the general direction of what he’s searching for. “What are we doing here?”

It’s fair to ask but he pulls you forward without an answer. Two rows down from Emma is where his destination lies, somewhere in this row of headstones, is your brother.

Draken smiles, softly nudging you when he sees your hesitation. “Can you show me which one is his?” You point, wordlessly, and watch as Draken lowers into a bow.

“My name’s Ryuguji Ken. I’m a friend of your sisters.” He kneels into a squat and studies the name etched into stone. It’s the first time he’s ever told you his full name, the first time he’s ever seen your last. “I’m the one who fixed up your bike. Put a couple upgrades in there that I didn’t tell her about, made it a little faster for you.”

There’s an inhale behind him, soft but afraid to interrupt. “She says you don’t like her riding them so I should apologize for bringing her here on it. The thing is, I plan on teaching her to drive, so I’ll probably have to visit to say sorry a few more times.”

The snow crunches under your knees when you kneel next to him, nose rubbed red from the sleeve of your sweater. “I’ve seen him drive though, so I’ll be learning from a master.” You nudge him with a wink.

“I just wanted you to know that I’ll keep her safe for you.” A promise he refuses to break.

It’s well past midnight when the bike rolls into the garage; well below ten degrees. With the adrenaline of the night wearing off the toll of hours in frostbitten air is beginning to show.

You rub your hands together to generate warmth, blow into them with a prayer of fire on your tongue but you’re no dragon, and Draken knows where to find heat.

He leads you up the stairs, to the loft that you slept in the night Inui abandoned you on his doorstep, eyes half open and stomach full of booze; the night where you first grabbed his hand. Tonight there’s no liquor, no tequila to keep you warm, but your eyes are still half open—exhausted from the crying alone.

It’s already warmer upstairs than it had been in the empty concrete garage but Draken kicks on the heating unit anyways, watches as you tinker with things across the room; a sweater, a chain, you have no shame in putting your hands where they don’t belong. “Do you always touch people’s things when you go to their house?”

“It’s okay, I think the guy who lives here likes me a little bit. He probably won’t get mad.” And you’re right, but the fact that you’ve said it out loud feels like a punch to the gut.

Draken clears his throat and opens some drawers, plunders through them until he finds a shirt and some clean sweats to hand you. “There’s towels in the bathroom. Go defrost.”

You take the clothes and do as you’re told. Draken tries to not to focus on the absence of a click when you shut the door, a telltale sign you’ve left it unlocked. Instead he starts to clean—picking things up just to put them down again; there’s no room in this loft for basic organization, forget about feng shui.

He’s changed and on the couch when the door swings open the second time, steam billowing out as if you’ve started a fire. This time it’s your throat that clears, a pile of fabric landing in his lap. “The sweats were a full grown man size too big but um, thanks for trying.”

“Really? These were from middle school.” It’s a humble brag. Draken tosses them to the side and looks over, jaw clenching as words die on his tongue.

He means to tell you that the sheets are clean, that you should get some rest, and that he’ll take you home in the morning.

He means to say that if you sleep in he can’t stay because the shop opens early but that you’re welcome to stay until he’s done.

He means to say thank you for today and that he’s sorry about your brother.

But he can’t. Not when you’re settling down next to him, t-shirt clinging to the dampest parts of you. Not when you’ve scooted closer, feet propped up on the coffee table, knees knocking into his.

Your eyes are on the TV, too small to decipher the pictures on the screen, but you’re focusing hard on the static—Draken’s focusing hard on you; focusing harder on trying not to focus on you.

He reaches over to turn down the heat.

It’s the humidity from the steam that has him sweating, not the way you’re playing with the hemline of your shirt—of his shirt. Not the way you’re pulling it higher and higher, flashing more and more of your inner thigh.

“I’m pretty sure I used all the hot water.” Your eyes flicker from the screen and back again, focused.

Draken just nods, squinting his eyes at whatever talk show follows the late night news. “It’s fine. I’m warm enough.” Hot, even.

A few more minutes pass, minutes that feel like hours, that feel like days and he wonders if you’ll both just waste away on the couch in his loft. He sinks deeper into the cushions, let’s them swallow him like quicksand as his head falls back to rest.

When his eyes close he feels the weight beside him shift, softly at first and then gone all at once. It’s the bed you’ve gone and climbed into, he can see a lump moving under the covers, duvet pulled up to your chin.

There’s no relief in his sigh, just a hot breath with heavy regrets; miscommunications and missed opportunities—mistakes he promised he wouldn’t make twice rearing their head to spit in his face.

Draken grew up taller and stronger than every boy he went to school with. He started a gang with his best friends in middle school and got a tattoo in grade five. Yet here he was, on the sofa of his own loft, hiding from the half-dressed girl in his bed.

“If it’s too cold on the couch we can swap.” Your whispers in the silence sound like screams and his attention snaps to you.

He doesn’t agree to the offer, just stands to his feet and crosses the room. When you start to shuffle he motions for you to slide. “You’re on my side of the bed.”

Not a lie considering the whole bed is his side. Draken had grown up taller and stronger than every boy he went to school with and that had its downfalls when sharing a futon—or upsides, depending on who was beside you.

Tonight, though, it’s you—tucked under the covers with your eyes feigning closed. Draken laughs, low and to himself, at the distance between your bodies; all your boldness from the couch soaked up into the sheets. “There’s not much room.” He turns his head towards you, watches as you peek open an eye and nod.

“I can go sleep on the couch—”

“—or you could just move closer.” Maybe your boldness hadn’t been siphoned into the mattress, maybe Draken had taken it for himself.

The first shuffle is miniscule, so small he doesn’t notice you’ve even moved. When he quirks his brow you try again, stopping just in time for your legs to collide. His breath hitches at the first touch of skin; ankles brushing with innocent intent that feels anything but.

There’s a storm brewing in his chest, the rumble of his thundering heart disturbing butterflies long laid to rest. The frenzied flap of their wings drowns out all other sounds, exploding through his stomach on their migration to his throat.

When you prop yourself up on an elbow, he does the same, silent as he watches you calculate the next move. He isn’t sure what’s stopping you—your nerves or his—but you’re chewing your lip again; a habit he’s noticed you fall to when there’s something on your mind.

He pulls it gently from between bared teeth and relishes in the quickened pace of your breath. You press them softly to the tip of his thumb in return, languidly kiss down the expanse of his palm. There’s no rush in your exploration, each press of your lips a gentle pulse of electricity beneath his skin.

Whatever innocence you held on to has retreated to the darkest parts of your eyes, no lingering signs of ambivalence when you stare him in the face and whisper. “Can I kiss you?”

Draken wants to say yes, wants to tell you that you didn’t need to ask, but the monarchs breaking free of cocoons in his throat threaten to escape with a single word. When he nods you move in closer, just close enough to study the contours of his face; lithe fingers tracing their way to parted lips.

He meets you halfway, slotting his mouth to the shape of yours, nervous hands tangling with still damp strands of your hair. This isn’t his first kiss, nor the first time he’s bit softly at pillowed lips, parting them to let himself inside. No this is nothing new, yet he trembles all the same, a stranger on your tongue.

There’s something heavy in the space between you, hot and tangible when you break away to chase your stolen breaths. Draken knows a line’s been walked over, something neither of you can uncross and he worries, for only a second, if you’ll regret that choice in the morning.

You must sense his hesitation, see the gears turning behind his eyes, because your hands are on him again; demure but steadfast in their need to consume. Draken takes them, guides them from the hem of his shirt and back to his chest with ease. You don’t stop him, don’t question the interruption, just watch as he sits up further to get a better look at you.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” He knows, thinks he knows, where the night is headed but he’s hungry to hear the words.

And you laugh, soft and airy; a cocktail of perplexity and relief as you shift onto your knees. “There are a lot of things I’d like to do with you, Ryuguji Ken.”

The way you drop his name, so casual—your fingertips falling to toy with the waistband of his sweats—has his head losing blood at a rapid pace. “Yeah? Like what?” There’s a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, infectious as it transfers to yours.

“Like take you out for drinks, and let you teach me how to drive, and—” Each ‘and’ brings you closer, your shifting knees finding a home on either side of his hips.

He swallows, “—and?”

“And I want to feel alive.” You lower down onto him, still yourself to feel the throb of his cock. “Don’t you wanna feel alive with me?”

Draken’s arm is around your waist in a flash, your positions flipped as he looms over you. “I want to feel everything with you.”

His lips find their way back to yours, greedy in pursuit of the adrenaline spiking through his veins. One tug at his shirt has him shedding the layer, quick to toss it aside. You waste no time in charting the landmarks of his skin, hands eager to map out the ghosts of his scars.

Someday he’ll tell you the stories, the not so saccharine versions filled with blood instead of honey. Tales of street fights and turf wars, of lineages and losses. He’ll tell you not to get jealous over his kiss with death, that he’s tasted you now, and there’s no going back.

The neckline of your shirt stretches to grant access to his mouth, molten tongue carving scriptures into your skin. When the restriction becomes too much you pull it upwards, farther and farther until it’s over your head.

Draken manages to look into your eyes before focusing on the exposed parts of you; surprised when there’s no fear—simply impatience. You kiss his lips in reassurance, run your thumbs across his cheeks when he smiles.

The swipe of his tongue across your chest elicits a new string of sounds, a cacophony of whimpers turning to whines as he pops a nipple between his teeth. A sharp inhale has your back arching, hips grinding up on the downfall.

He hisses when he releases you, the friction of your clothed cunt against his cock addictive enough to chase. He grinds into you a second time, then a third—anything to relieve the ache but there’s too much fabric; too many layers soaking up parts of you better left to his mouth.

You’re pulling at his waistband, clumsily trying to loosen the ties. He can see frustration in the folds of your forehead, the way you bite the tip of your tongue. “Who ties sweats? You know they aren’t actually helping you keep up your pants, right?”

“Stop worrying about my sweats.” There's a smirk curling the corner of his lip when he sits back to look at you—propped up and pouting as you roll your eyes. “It’s not about me right now.”

He bats your hands away from his waist in favor of holding your own, deft fingers hooking beneath the thin straps of your panties. A quick nod of your head is all he needs to strip you of them, the sudden breeze on your slick cunt making you whine.

Just like that his mouth is on you; a tender kiss that starts at your lips grows sloppy on its journey to a pair below. When he reaches his destination it’s with the hunger of a man starved, his patience no longer allowing for the pleasantries of introductions.

You moan, louder than he’s expecting, and it rattles something loose inside the cage of his chest; he lifts you higher, buries himself deeper—anything to hear that sound again. And you’re quick to oblige, fingers twisting in the bed sheets as you lose yourself to the obscenity.

When he presses a finger inside you he grants you a moment of reprieve, gummy walls threatening his eviction. He crooks his index experimentally and watches as you bite at the palm of your hand. A few more pumps allows room for another, the lewdness of the squelching turning his cock to stone.

“M’gonna cum.” A breathless warning—barely coherent from behind the wall of your hand—but the trembling of your body reads loud and clear.

Draken presses a kiss to your clit, his fingers pumping in time with the flicks of his tongue. He feels deranged, bordering on desperate, as he watches you come undone; the arch of your back pulling him further into the ocean between your thighs.

Moans turn quiet when the tremors pass, soft mewls between pants as you attempt to catch your breath. When he leans forward, you meet him halfway, licking yourself from his lips.

“Can you untie them now?”

Your thumb swipes across his tip to play with the pre leaking through the fabric; rubbing it between your fingers, dragging it down your tongue. He stands up, stretching the crumbs of his patience to loosen the knot and slide them to his feet.

For the first time tonight you seem shy, eyes darting, unsure of where to land—but Draken’s far past playing coy now that his cock is finally free.

The look on your face says it’s a formidable challenge and it dawns on him that two fingers may not have been enough. Any other time he would make sure, but the blood in his brain has long since dropped to the base of his balls and Draken can’t imagine burying anything inside you but the cock in his hand.

“I’m ready.” You answer before he can ask, all the reassurance he needs to slip between your legs.

“Just tell me if it hurts.” He makes you promise, cock tapping softly until you agree. He needs your word, needs to know that you’ll stop him if things get too bad, because the feel of his tip slipping through your glossy folds is already making him delirious.

When you nod he pushes forward, hand splayed behind your back as you cling to him. You gasp, eyes shooting wide when he pulls out only to sink back in deeper. When he thrusts again it evokes a wail, something guttural from your spirit that moves his hips for him.

His body feels like kindling, dried out and brittle, consumed by your flames only to be reborn from the ashes. He is alive, every pump of his hips—his heart— reminds him. And you, you are the source of his resurrection; necromancy of the soul.

Your hands find homes on the curl of his biceps, fingernails digging into the skin; a blood offering for the magic of your cunt. You whisper spells, summon him deeper, evocations falling from your sickly sweet tongue.

Faster, harder—Draken’s eager to give you both, his hand gripping at the headboard for support.

“Ken, please.” There’s something reverent about the way you whisper his name, a worshipful prayer as you lock your legs around him. He pistons into you with force—a merciful God in pursuit of euphoria. His lips find their way back to you in a kiss born of teeth and desperation, the feeling of your walls massaging his cock bringing him closer to the edge.

When you cum for the second time he sees a glimpse of Heaven; the way your eyelids flutter, swollen lips parted in the throes of a harmonic moan. You dig your nails in deeper—the pain of the cuts mixed with the pleasure of your cunt pulling him off with you.

Neither of you move to untangle as the high peaks and crashes. When Draken tries, you wince, already paying for the over exertion of your body. You drop your ankles and release him but he stays reluctant; to hurt you, to leave you, to disconnect and run the risk of never feeling this again—you again.

“It’s okay.” Your whispers soothe the panic in his eyes, the ghost of your fingertips bringing him back. “Let’s get cleaned up?”

He nods and slides out with a hiss, the winter air an unwelcome sensation. “Come here.” It’s not a request but he’s patient as you stretch and scoot to the edge of the bed. You squeal when he lifts you but press a kiss to his cheek in thanks when you’re placed on the bathroom counter to rest.

Draken was never good at saying I love you, not to Emma, not to Mikey, not to the women who raised him. He thinks sometimes—on the days when he decides to psychoanalyze himself—that it probably has something to do with never hearing it all that much.

Instead he learned to show it; from the first girl who ever saw past the tattoos and bloody knuckles, from her brother who showed him how to be a friend, from the women who taught him that no one truly deserves to be alone.

No, I love you wasn’t easy—but he knew how to kiss your bruises; wet a cloth from the cabinet and drag it soft between your thighs. He could be kind; massage the aches and pains away, and when his fingers roam—find themselves tracing circles around your clit—you don’t stop him.

Because Draken can be gentle; despite his size and reputation, he is benevolent. And when you drop your head into the crook of his neck, hips rutting into the palm of his hand, he shows you how generous he can be.

─────────

When the shrill sound of an alarm clock reminds Draken of the work day, he does something he’s never done before—he calls out. And when you wake a few hours later—pearlescent skin bathing in the sunrise—he knows what the decision was worth.

You almost seem surprised to see him, eyes still cloudy with sleep; you bat your lashes, as if he’s a mirage that threatens abandonment when you wake. “You’re still here?”

Draken can hear the lit at the end of your statement, knows it’s more a question of ‘why’ than a genuine observation but you shake your head before he can respond. “Never mind, I’ll take it.”

You crawl closer, throw your leg over his and nestle into him like the missing piece of a puzzle. It feels nice the way you have your cheek pressed to his chest, fingers swirling absentminded circles as your eyes drift back closed.

//

the dm shocked you, because how could it not after going so long only knowing about atsumu through the news and social media? his girlfriend was the entire reason two of you stopped talking when you did, but it wasn't even her doing. atsumu chose to break off contact all on his own, some bullshit about trust and her being really good for him.

and they were still together, you saw their anniversary post less than a week ago. and yet there he was.

and yet there he was texting back and forth with you for the better half of an hour before making the short drive over to your place.

and yet here he is, one hand ghosting over your lower back, other hand bracing the under side of your thigh, hot breath on your collar bones despite the fact that he had a girlfriend and despite the fact that you shattered his heart into a million pieces

//

“what, did you miss me that much?” you tease, placing your hands overtop of his, pulling them lazily along until they're resting on your ass, fingertips tucked politely under the hem of your underwear. there's hesitance in his movements even with your guiding help.

"you don't have to be gentle with me, y'know." you tilt your head to the side, pushing backwards until you can feel resistance, until you can feel his fingers spread apart, taking as much of you into his hands as he can and digging his dull fingernails into your flesh. "i know you've probably gone soft a bit, huh? with your girlfriend and all"

his entire body tenses, some sort of backlash bubbling up in the uncomfortable feeling he's soaking in right now, and you know that backlash is probably in the form of a shitty comment at your expense.

so you don't let it leave his throat, closing the gap and slipping your tongue into his mouth, sliding it against his before he can make an excuse or put you down. and you did it to catch him off guard, but he tastes so good, so familiar even though so much time has passed that you can't help but moan into the kiss.

and fuck is his hair softer than you remember. his hands are bigger than you remember and his stomach is more rigid than you remember and he's stronger than you remember, and you pull away from the kiss now because you're out of breath and it's probably been enough time for him to swallow whatever shitty thing he was going to say and he's so much fucking prettier than you remember.

when did he get this pretty?

the softness of your eyes is mirrored in his, a reflection of rediscovery, relearning things that you don't remember forgetting. and there's this feeling that's burning in your core, a mixture of emotions, one of them you can't put your finger on, but you know you want to ignore it.

"can you please take your shirt off, i haven't fucked anyone as ripped as you in a while and i kinda miss it." fingers running along the hem, you tug upwards gently.

"is that the only reason i'm here?" he jeers, but leans forward anyways.

"you know why you're here." before you've thrown his shirt into a crumpled pile on the floor, he's already wrapped both of his arms around your waist, picking you up only momentarily before sitting you down on the edge of the couch.

"i do," he says, and if you weren't you, if you hadn't known atsumu for as long as you have, you wouldn't have been able to recognize him after that drastic change in tone with that sultry look in his eyes as he drops to the floor, nudging your legs apart and smirking up at you. "i know exactly why i'm here which is why it's kinda weird that you've had such a bitter, snarky mouth all night."

if that damned smirk and stupid tone didn't warm you right up, this would've done just fine on it's own. instead, it just added to the involuntary reactions you were feeling all over your body, cheeks burning, fingers restless against your own skin, peering down at atsumu as he toyed with your panties. "why don't ya ask nicely if i'll eat ya, princess?"

he kisses the insides of your thighs and you wonder if he remembered how sensitive they are or if it's just a coincidence.

but it doesn't matter how badly you want it, how many nights you've spent lying awake thinking about his stupid fucking tongue, wishing that there was some sort of toy that could replicate how disgustingly good it felt, because the question enters your mind and you want so badly to knock that smirk off his face.

"do you call her princess too or is that reserved just for me?"

and it does, knock the smirk off his face that is, but only for a moment. he tsks, shaking his head as he pushes himself up from the ground. regret is already seeping in as you squeeze your thighs together. your pussy is already soaked and you were about to get everything you've been missing for the past 3 years.

now, instead, atsumu is towering over you palming himself through his shorts and talking down to you in a way that makes you even wetter, "we gotta do something about that ungrateful little mouth of yers, don't we?"

"if you're not going to eat me out, won't you at least answer my question?" you ask, digging yourself deeper into this disobedient hole you're finding yourself in.

he reaches out so quickly that you almost flinch, but you trust him too much for that. he laces his fingers into your hair forming a tight fist at the base of your head, directing your eyes to him as he steps forward between your legs, spreading them apart with his knees. "the answer would probably just go to your head."

absolutely nothing could stop the smile that spread across your face, corners upturning and spanning as far as possible as you greedily think of this pet name saved just for you.

"what else did you reserve only for me, tsumu?" you ask, scooching forwards, legs spreading wider, pressing against the outsides of his calves. you're far too excited about the effects you've had on him and his relationship. as the sentence leaves your mouth, as the nickname falls so easily off of your tongue, you see his strong exterior falter for a fraction of a second. "she doesn't get to call you tsumu?"

the fist in your hair gets tighter, so tight that you can feel his hand shaking and there's a darkness in his eyes that wasn't there before, a darkness that tells you he's been timid up until this point, a darkness that you probably shouldn't provoke, but it's been a long time since you've had this much fun.

"been awhile since you've had a brat to tame, hasn't it?" you whisper, blinking away the tears that have collected in the corners of your eyes.

"i think yer past the point of brat at this point," he huffs, no longer waiting for your next move. he uses one hand to push down his shorts, keeping a tight grasp on your head, not letting you move an inch and then guides your head towards his cock. "put yer mouth to good use or i swear to god you won't be able to talk for four days."

it sounds like an option, but it's not. he doesn't give you the chance to misbehave again. he drags the head of his cock on your bottom lip, precome smearing against it before he presses the tip into your mouth.

you're staring up at him because you've missed this so much, the concentration on his face, this control that he has over you, this underlying distain for the way you act out. he's not even looking you in the eyes, staring past you at the way his cock disappears between your lips.

"fuck, take it," he grunts, thrusting in and out of your mouth slowly, spit drooling out of the sides of your mouth as they start getting faster, head prodding at the back of your throat.

your mouth feels so full, head bobbing with his wreckless thrusts until he pulls you completely onto his cock, your lips wrapped around the base, the length of his fat cock perfectly surrounded by your tight throat, and then he holds you there. seconds tick by and your eyes flutter closed and the only sensation you can take in is the light throbbing of his cock.

"isn't this so much better? actually being useful for once," he sneers, but you can barely hear him as you focus on just staying conscious. his fingers skim over your neck, wrapping around the bulge he's created, balls twitching against your chin. you bring your hands up to his thighs, fingers digging into the muscle as you reach your limit, head fogging and throat burning.

he pulls you off of his cock and you only catch a glimpse of how satisfied he looks as you gasp for air, swallowing just to feel your throat void of something. "god yer lucky i wanna be inside of ya so fucking bad now or i would cum down that pretty throat of yers so fast."

you're still regaining your composure as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, dragging them down your thighs, cock throbbing as he watches the string of wetness break that was connecting your pussy and your panties. he presses harsh, rushed kisses into the side of your jaw, trailing down to your neck.

you want to say something, anything to put him back in his place, to make him flustered again, but you just can't think, still drunk on the feeling of choking on his big fucking cock.

the only thing that comes out is, "please, fuck me."

he laughs, honest to god, throws his head back and laughs as he lines himself up with you, rubbing the tip between your pretty slick lips and pressing his hips forward just enough to feel your hole start to stretch for his head. "not so bratty, now, are ya?"

you shake your head because it doesn't matter anymore how much you missed acting out just so he would put you in your place, you were there. you were exactly where he wanted you and fuck, did you want him.

"ask nicely," he taunts, a shit eating grin plastered on his face as he pushes his luck as far as he can take it.

you roll your hips, just wanting to feel him. "please, daddy."

"f-fuck," he stammers, grin completely gone, precome leaking from the slit of his twitching cock, harsh resolve crumbling over a single word. "fuck, again." he presses his hips forward, sliding inside of you inch by inch.

"she doesn't call you daddy, either?" you ask, narrowing your eyes, poise and bite filling you almost as quickly as it left you, "you saved a lot of things just for me, didn't you?"

he doesn't reply, silent as he places a hand on your shoulder, and thrusts completely inside of you, hips pressed against the insides of your thighs as the breath is knocked completely out of your lungs. he's trying to prove that he has control over you still, digging into you so brutally that you know you'll think of him later. and it feels so fucking good and you feel so fucking full and it would be so easy to just shut your mouth and take it, but it wouldn’t be near as fun.

“fuck, there’s no way that you’re this rough with her, but there’s also no way that you get this hard for her.”

each time he fucks into you, the sound and the sting of his hips smacking against the insides of your thighs gets harsher. you know that he’s doing it to shut you up, to make you forget about whatever it is that’s in your mind, and focus on how good it feels or how much it hurts, but it’s really just proving your point.

his hands are roaming, moving from place to place, trying to find a permanent spot to root, one that gives him the most control. in the process, he’s leaving marks all over you, red spots, crescent-shaped indents, freshly forming bruises, and you can’t get enough of it.

you can feel the stretch, closing your eyes to savor the feeling, quiet for a moment, the sound of your dripping pussy clenching around him filling the room. you don’t want to admit it, how quickly he’s gotten you so close, but you’re sure he can feel it in the way that you’re gripping onto him even tighter.

you snake your hand down between your legs, rubbing sloppy circles into your clit as he continually pounds into you. you’re so fucking close, can feel that familiar heat rising to your core, your body growing more sensitive.

“makes sense you wanted to come fuck me,” you mumble, “bet you haven’t gotten off really good in a long time, right, daddy?”

he’s unapologetic in the way he lets it affect him this time, grip getting tighter, cock slamming into you, not because he wants to teach you a lesson, but because he can’t help it.

“not without my tight cunt and dirty mouth, huh, daddy?” it’s somehow fucking with him even more as your voice gets scratchier, needier, softer from how close you are. “rub my messy pussy, daddy, gonna cum.”

your arms are weak as you hang them around atsumu’s neck, holding onto him desperately because you know you’re going to need it while you cum. his calloused fingers replace yours, rougher, thicker, harder, faster rubbing over your swollen clit. “cum all over daddy’s cock, princess.”

god, you’re just as fucked as he is hearing that name bounce off the walls and right back to you, that name that’s just for you. you wrap your legs around his lower back, pulling him into you because you need to feel every fucking inch, wanna coat his entire cock with your cum, have to, cumming from how deep he is inside of you, and then from the thought of her unknowingly tasting you on it.

“good girl, fuck, yer tight.”

you stare up at him with half-lidded post-orgasm eyes and an innocently dopey smile on your face, “tighter than her?” you look so fucking cute, sensitive walls hugging his length, so fucking happy and blissed out that the answer slips right out.

“yes, fuck, missed yer cunt so much.”

you move to sit up, push your hand into his shoulder and motion to the couch. when he moves, you move with him, not wanting to feel empty for a second longer than you have to.

seated completely on his cock, he’s even deeper inside of you and you want to feel this full forever. you don’t even want to move, resting your forehead against his. “tell me something, tsumu, and be honest.” he doesn’t offer any sort of reply, verbal or otherwise.

“do you think of me sometimes when you fuck her?” you start moving, sitting up straight as you pull yourself off his cock almost completely before slamming back down. “do you wish she was me? do you almost say my name when she cums because she almost gets as tight as i am?”

“you don’t need to answer, tsumu, can see it all over your face,” you continue, hand placed firmly on his chest for leverage as you fucked yourself harder on his cock.

“yer a fucking bitch. ya haven’t changed at all,” he breathes, and it hurts way less then it probably should, the tone of his voice and the shock on his face, but you can feel him inside of you, you can feel his chest rising and falling rapidly beneath your palm. he’s throbbing with every shitty question, twitching at every mention of how much better you are than her, grunting under his breath whenever you point out one of his slip ups. he fucking loves it and you know him too well not to notice it.

“no, i have, it’s just not exactly what you wanted when you texted me. you wanted a tight brat to bruise and choke, didn’t you?” you ask, tilting your jaw upwards, exposing your neck. “fucking do it then, but don’t whine about the fact that this little brat is better than your girlfriend.”

his hands are still planted loosely on your hips, guiding your motions, helping you set a pace. he’s not reaching for what you’re so graciously offering him.

“don’t fucking kid yourself. you can’t get off to a nice girl who gives you exactly what you want, can you, tsumu?” you glare down at him, no longer on display, leaning towards him so you can talk through gritted teeth. “i’m a fucking bitch because it’s exactly what you want, none of that ‘really good for you’ bullshit.”

he lifts his hips, thrusting up to meet you as you slide down his cock. it’s brutal, the slapping of your tender skin against his toned thighs, and it feels so good, hurts so good that you don’t even remember what you were saying. and he doesn’t slow down. he keeps getting faster, keeps going deeper, and you’re starting to think that he’s realizing how much he likes it, the shitty way that you talk to him, that he actually missed it.

“fuck you.”

“am i wrong, baby? that’s why you’re with me right now and not her.” it leaves your mouth without much thought. you can’t think much about anything with the way he’s fucking you.

“i didn’t come here to talk about my girlfriend all night,” he bites.

“right, but-” you’re stopped in the middle of your sentence, two hands wrapping around your throat, long fingers pressing into your windpipe. you gently rest your hand on his wrist, smiling as best you can as you push your neck further into his hold and the look on his face is one that you want to capture forever. it proves your point even further, this notion of atsumu and his nice sex life and his girlfriend that’s really good for him, because when’s the last time that atsumu has been with someone who just wanted to be treated like shit?

when’s the last time that atsumu’s been treated like shit?

you roll your eyes back in your head, chin towards the ceiling, lack of oxygen only heightening every inch of your skin that’s in contact with him before bringing your line of sight back down to his peering eyes.

your voice is choked, hoarse, sparse as the words struggle to leave, only strong enough for him to hear if he’s really paying attention. “fuck, atsumu, you’re so fucking big, so fucking perfect, you’re a fucking god, fuck me so good, thank you so much, i wish i never broke up with you.”

he doesn’t say a word, swallows whatever noise or comeback was coming up his throat, and blinks at you. fucked out expression, gasping for the return of the air you just spent, but it’s all worth it. his fists are closing, squeezing to stop you or to test you, you’re not completely sure, but the second that your lungs have filled up just enough to mutter three more words, you do.

“is that better?”

you wait, assured and confident that whatever he does next will be some dramatic act to prove something to you and to himself, to make you regret your outlash, to make you actually believe the sarcastic statement you just spewed.

atsumu always did surprise you.

“it is,” he grunts, hands placed back onto to your waist, but they’re delicate now, tender almost as he runs the pads of his fingertips over your hipbones. “tell me how much you missed me, doll.”

there were so many ways you could fuck with him, so many things you could say to keep up this shitty charade, you know there are, you know they exist, but you can’t think of a single one. you open your mouth, nothing coming out save for tiny, quivering breaths and noises that were beyond your control.

“tell me.” harsher than before, but with an underlying care that made your heart flutter.

“sometimes, i do miss you,” you admit, and that’s exactly what it is, an admittance, something that’s circled in your brain but has never left your mouth, not even to the empty walls of your room. an absurd part of you hope he picks up on the lack of past tense.

he’s known you for too long, listened to you too well, gotten too deep despite the fight you put up to not hear how genuine this senseless little sentence is coming out of your mouth. “really late at night, lonely in my bed, wondering why i let you go.”

and, fuck, it’s so stupid, not what you bargained for at all, but you want to feel closer to him, need to feel him completely against you because his skin is warm in a way that you’ve haven’t been able to replicate and maybe this is just a long-winded ploy to make you regret this attitude you’ve adopted for the night, but it’s working and you don’t care.

you’d like to think that he could see on every feature, in every movement and action, this incessant need of yours for him to hold you, to be closer than he is right now even as he’s buried inside of you, because he does. he runs his hands up your back, crossing them over one another and bracing you with his arms, mouth against your ear, “tell me more, pretty.”

and you listen. not because he’s fucking you into submission or because he has this caustic influence on you, but because you want to and because he deserves to know these thoughts of remorse and guilt that have been weighing heavy since the minute you left.

“think about you a lot,” you mutter into his chest, “was really shitty to you, couldn’t stop thinking about the version of our break up that you told everyone, see you on my feed and think about if that were me celebrating an anniversary with you at some gross fancy dinner.”

your muscles have relaxed, movements ceased, leaning fully into atsumu as he thrusted up into you leisurely, focusing instead on the snap of his hips and closeness between the two of you. “wanted to reach out to apologize or to fuck you or just to hear your voice, but i didn’t.”

it’s heavy and not necessarily the dirty talk that you thought would be coming out of your mouth tonight, but it’s also not stopping and he’s not telling you to stop. “missed your voice and your face and your hands and your warmth and how good you are to me. and i really fucking needed this, tsumu, fuck i needed you so bad.”

you hope, so badly, that he’s understanding everything you’re saying, that he’s perceiving it all as the truth, that he’ll see that you actually have changed, finally ready to tell him all of the things he wanted to hear back then, all the things he tried to get out of you before you broke his heart. but have you really changed? are you saying these things so that he’ll know the truth or so he won’t be able to stop thinking about you while he’s with her?

your chest feels tight, heart racing, air leaving your lungs as shaky as your limbs, in desperate need of some sort of redirection. you’re silent for a few moments, letting the room fill with his shallow breaths and striking skin, composing yourself and fixating on atsumu’s steady pace.

curling your fingers against his stomach, you move in time with him once again, lifting yourself as he pulls away and slamming down as he thrusts upwards. you don’t know if you’ve really changed or the real motivation behind inviting atsumu over tonight, but you know exactly what you’ve been craving, not just in these last few hours, but for years.

you brush your cheek against his, leaning forward to whisper directly into his ear so that the feeling of your breath and the soft cadence of your voice never leave his memory.

“does she let you cum inside, tsumu?”

his response is visceral, instinctive, hips stuttering, failing to smoothly meet the backs of your thighs as his head collides with your shoulder, too heavy with swarming thoughts and poor self control to make any audible noise that’s not an almost animalistic grunt.

kiss after soft kiss is pressed into his jawline, down his chest, fingers interlocked behind his neck, pulling yourself closer and closer until you can feel his destructive heartbeat combatting your own.

“does she let you pump her full of cum, daddy?”

he can’t form a verbal response, groaning into your shoulder as he fucks into you with abandon, no longer as a power trip or a control tactic, just using you to get off. you wanted him to use you to get off. he’s so fucking wrecked beneath you, eyes screwed tight as he moves on compulsion alone, but you knew how pretty he sounded when he was about to cum, whiny and grateful and you refused to let this moment slip away.

“i know how much you loved filling me with your load, tsumu, feeling my pussy get all creamy, milking your fat cock into my greedy little hole. you went crazy for it, would always pump your thick seed into me until it spilled out all over your cock, made me feel so full, so pretty,” you ramble into his skin.

“baby, do you still get to feel that? does she let you unload so deep, tsumu?” your questions are coming out more haphazardly than anything else you’ve said and you know the answer, but you’re craving the sound. “or did you save that all for me too?”

“saved it for ya,” he mumbles, throat hoarse, cock pulsing against your walls, needy, sloppy kisses placed wherever he can reach.

“yeah? tell me, baby, saved it all for me, couldn’t cum in a pussy that wasn't made just for you? needed me, right, baby?”

“needed you, fuck, only you, need only you,” he moans and it’s so perfectly desperate and everything you need it to be.

“gonna cum, baby, gonna cum for you, will you cum for me? will you cum inside me, tsumu, please?” you know he can tell how close you are, can feel how tightly you’re squeezing him, how dripping wet you are, can hear your incessant, thoughtless ramblings.

“i’m gonna fill you, pretty, wanna feel you cum on my cock while i fill you, okay?”

you nod against his chest, core tight, waiting, waiting, his hips driving upwards faster, slamming you down harder until his movements stutter, a guttural groan falling upon your ears before feeling his cock pulse inside of you, rope after rope of thick cum painting your insides, and, fuck, you missed this.

you let go, collapsing against atsumu entirely as you cum around his cock, pussy clenching as he lazily thrusts into you, driving you through your orgasm and fucking his cum deeper inside of you, coating his entire length.

when his movements stop, when his hips stop moving and the grunting is replaced with shallow breaths that turn into normal breaths, neither of you move. your chests are rising and falling in time and you’re starting to feel gross the longer you sit in it, but you don’t want to move. you can’t move. the things that you’ve said might feel too real if you move from this position. and that doesn’t make any sense, but you don’t want to chance it. you feel gross, but also better than you have in a while and then he rubs a small circle into your lower back just gently enough for you to notice, just softly enough to send shivers up your spine, and you know that you can’t be in this position another second.

//

being in the same bathroom as atsumu, legs spread, sitting in your bathtub, cleaning up the mess he’s made while he uses crumpled up pieces of toilet paper to clean up the mess you’ve (mostly he’s) made is weirdly domestic in the most comforting way. it’s not awkward, but you some part of you wishes it was because the seconds keep ticking on and the regret isn’t seeping in, not just about tonight, but about anything you’ve said.

it’s mostly silent save for atmospheric noises that couldn’t be helped and you wish that you were wishing someone would say something.

but you clean without a word and so does he and when you stand up, he offers you a hand to step over the lip of the tub and he passes you a dry towel from where you keep them under the sink. he uses your toothbrush without even asking and then preps it for you to use and you thank him when he hands it to you.

you walk back with him to your room and he’s one step ahead of you because he could find your bedroom blindfolded and you get changed in front of him and it’s not one of those moments where you get embarrassed and then feel dumb about getting embarrassed, you just feel at home.

“i meant it, by the way, i miss you sometimes,” you shake your head, “no, that’s a lie, i miss you a lot.” you’re starting to feel antsy now, missing the comfortable silence because now you’re talking about uncomfortable feelings while they’re not mindlessly spilling out of you.

your fingers are tingling, heart furiously beating in your ears as you continue, “and nights like tonight make me miss you more than i thought was possible, more than they probably should for how long i’ve been without you, but i think you bring out a really shitty side of me.”

“i think i don’t have to,” he says, rushing to get it out of his throat before he’s too scared to say it, “i think i remind you of how you used to be, but that’s not how you are now.” you don’t know what to say, so you don’t say anything. “i think we could try again and i could show you that it’s not true.”

“you don’t...,” you start, voice diminishing into silence, because what do you say to that?

“because you’re right, why else am i here with you tonight and not her?” he asks, closing the gap between the two of you, not touching you, just getting closer.

“tsumu…,” you start again, voice diminishing into silence again, because what do you say to that?

“i don’t let her call me that because i couldn’t bare the sound of it not coming from you.”

you take a step back, head spinning from a single sentence despite only solidifying a conclusion you had already come to all on your own. “i think maybe you should go home to your girlfriend before she notices you’re missing.”

“let me stay the night,” he blurts, hand spanning out to grasp your shoulder, your arm, wherever his reach would land.

it comes out of your mouth like a warning, imploring him to tread careful, “tsumu.”

but he just keeps pressing forward, faster, harder, recklessly, heedless and senseless, “please, yn, please, if this is the last time i ever get to talk to you, to see you standing in front of me where i can do this,” his hand floats up, fingers caressing your cheek, curling against your jaw and you melt into how inviting and warm his touch is, “then just let me savor it.”

the thought of this being your last night together hits you, hard, like you’ve been run over by a train, and you didn’t expect it to feel this bad. you’re convinced it feels worse than when you left him the first time. you don’t want it to be the last time.

“last time, huh?” you ask. with how close he is and the hold he has on you, you know that he can feel the instability in your voice and see the hesitance in your features.

“i mean,” he pulls you into him, arms wrapping tightly around you so that you can feel the vibrations of his laugh, “how well did that work last time?”

“if i see you again, i’ll want to see you again, and again, and again,” you admit, soaking in the discomfort of vulnerability before asking, “is that okay?”

“I fucking hate you.” you spat, taking a sip of your drink, wincing at the strength.

“I know.” suna smirked, handing you his beer and taking your drink for himself.

The both of you stood close together, watching people fein happiness at the sight of each other. What was the point in attending these events if not to show off how much better you’re doing to people who no longer matter to you, if they ever did that is. Suna nudged you lightly, motioning towards a group of people coming toward the two of you.

“Hey! I didn’t think you’d be here!”

“Yeah! Me neither!” you giggle, shooting a glare towards Suna who’s already grinning at you.

Suna knows you hate small talk, but something about seeing you perk up at the memories you’ve seemingly forgotten made him feel warm inside. Although you never wanted to admit it, you missed the people who made your teen years a little less terrible. Suna wrapped his arms around your waist, settling his chin onto your head, as the two of you listened to your friends reminisce about your antics.

“I’m telling you, this girl was in detention every single day!”

“Don’t act like you weren’t there with me!” you huffed, feeling Suna’s chest rumble with laughter. No one had ever taken much interest in your life, except for Suna. It was safe to say you had no idea how to react to his attentiveness when it came to you. You looked up at him, watching how he was soaking in the memories of you, that he didn’t get to witness. He smiles widely at the thought of you picking at your chicken sandwiches, only for you to eat the bread and call it lunch.

You notice the crinkle in his eyes, as he catches you in photos on the projector screen. You cover your face, a blush creeping onto your cheeks, as everyone awes at their younger selves. Suna grabs hold of your hands and pulls them down from your face, placing a kiss on your cheek.

“You know if I went to your school, I would’ve been afraid of you.”

“Says the one who looks bored out of his mind all the time.” you tease him, your gaze still fixed on the dimly lit screen.

“Guess we’re soulmates then.” he hums into your ear, tightening his grip around your waist.

The night went by smoothly, well as smooth as it can get when you’re surrounded by people who most definitely hated each other. Suna leads you to the bar, ordering a round of shots for the two of you.

“If we’re going to be here, we might as well take advantage of the open bar.” he grins, pouring salt onto your hand and handing you the tiny glass.

“I’m sure that’s the only reason so many people showed up.” you respond, licking the salt and downing the burning liquid. Suna brings a lime wedge to your lips, you suck on it lightly as he watches you intently. He brings it to his own mouth, draining the remainder of the juice before neatly folding it in a napkin.

“So what’s the story with those two over there?” he motions to the couple arguing a few feet from you.

“Them? They always do that, one minute they’re in love and the next they’re having a Twitter war.” you say, signaling the bartender for another round.

“Does that mean we’ll get to read some drama tonight?” Suna perks up, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. You giggle, clinking your glasses together and savoring the tequila running through you quicker than you expected.

“Already feeling it, pretty?”

“Pft. No, I’m just feelin’ fuzzy.”

Suna turns you to face him, his eyes starting to glaze over from the drinks. Everything around you feels hazy, but his touch is amplified as he taps on your lips to open. He wedges the lime into your mouth, gaze fixed on the way you swallow the tart juice and pucker your lips. Placing the fruit in his glass, he attaches his lips to yours, groaning at the mix of your sweetness and the sour taste of citrus. The lingering taste of tequila was replaced with his own, your body getting drunk off of him more so than the alcohol. He places his hand onto the small of your back, pressing you into him and eliminating any space between you two. A firm poke to your thigh was enough for you to have you moan softly into his mouth. He pulls away, a string of saliva connecting you two before snapping back onto his lips. He licks them, relishing in the haze of love and need he feels for you.

“Bathroom. Now.” he demands, throwing a wad of cash onto the bar and pulling you with him. A smile plastered on your lips as you follow close behind him, stumbling on your platforms.

The two of you stumble into the men’s bathroom, small giggles falling from your lips as Suna trips over his own foot before locking the door. You lift yourself up onto the counter, feeling the cold tile on your thighs and leaning against the mirror. Suna nudges your legs apart with his thigh, slipping in between them and running his hands up your short dress, peppering kisses along your neck.

“God, I love you.” he mumbles, pulling you closer to him and smashing his lips against yours. Your hands find their way to his hair, pulling at it slightly as he deepens the kiss and moans into your mouth. His grip on your ass tightens, before he makes his way between your legs. He lifts your dress and shoves your panties to the side, staring at the mess he’s caused.

“Always so wet for me, bunny.” he whispers into your core, placing a light kiss onto your clit. You whimper at the minimal contact and he grins, flattening his tongue and licking a stripe between your folds, savoring the taste he could never get enough of. “Fuck..” he moans, the cold metal of his ring clad fingers pumping into you slowly. The sinful moans of his name leave your mouth with no shame, the sound of him devouring you and your screams were sure to be heard from the hallway.

“Rin…” you moan out, your thighs tightening over his head as he continues to suck on your clit.

“You need me, baby?” he asks, looking up at you through his thick lashes. His honey eyes dripped with lust, as he moved his slick covered fingers to rub your clit. The small, tight circles cause your thighs to shake. “Answer me, pretty.”

“R-Rin… need you.” you stutter, feeling the familiar warmth in your stomach building up. You were so close, his fingers entering you once again and curling into your sweet spot. He grins at you, his face wet from your cunt, as he leans to press a kiss to your swollen lips. “Rin! I’m-”

“I know, baby. I got you.” he coos, going in and out of you faster. Just as you were about to reach your high, his fingers slip out of you. A mischievous grin plastered on his face, as he sucks on his fingers. You groan, covering your face and pressing your thighs together. “Ah… Ah…” He pushes your thighs apart with his body, unbuckling his belt and pulling himself out. “Thought you needed me?” He pouts, pumping himself slowly.

“I- Rin. Please, I was so close-” you whine, eyes pressed to his thick cock near your entrance.

“Spit on it.” you obey him, pursuing your lips to let the liquid fall onto his dick. He pumps himself, moaning and grabbing your face with his other hand. “Now tell me, pretty. What do you need?”

“Y-you.” you whisper, looking up at him with wide eyes as you unbutton his shirt. He places a sloppy kiss on your lips, breathing heavily when your cold hands replace his as you jerk him off. “Bend over for me.” His dark eyes watched you scramble off the counter, slipping your panties off and leaning over the sink. Your pretty face in the mirror looking back at him with pleading eyes as he rubs his cock against your cunt. He moans, pushing into you slowly, throwing his head back when he bottoms out. He stills, basking in the warmth of your plush walls.

“Fuck, Rin, move.” you huff, trying to relieve yourself.

“Am I not allowed to enjoy the moment?” he responds, gripping onto your hips tightly.

“Yeah, but- Fuck!” you moan at his sharp thrusts, a smile tugging at his lips as he pulls you back and forth on his dick. “Sorry, bunny. Couldn’t wait.” Your eyes roll into the back of your head, the steady pace of his thrusts driving you close to your peak once again. You reach your hand down to your clit, but Suna slaps your hand away. You look up at him in the mirror, his loving eyes boring into you, as he rubs at your clit in fast circles.

“Fuck, you’re taking me so well, baby.” he praises, his head falling back, letting his moans get louder the closer he gets. “Gonna cum in you, fill you up, and make you a pretty mama.”

“Fuck- Suna, don’t- WHAT THE FUCK?” you scream, feeling the fullness of his dick leave your dripping cunt.

“Who the fuck is Suna?” he giggles to himself, his dick grinding in between your folds at an agonizingly slow pace.

“Rin, c’mon- shit!” you bite your lip, your walls clenching around him as he kneads your ass.

“Good girl.” he coos, one hand on your hip and the other pulling your dress down to let your breast fall out. He moans, gripping at the soft flesh. “You gonna let me cum in you, baby?”

“Yes, fuck… don’t stop.” you hum, your brain starting to fog up as you near your release.

“S-shit, ‘M gonna.” he hisses, feeling your walls clench as you ride out your orgasm. Your fucked out expression and loud screams of his name was enough to have him spilling into you. He moans out your name, leaning over you and pressing a kiss to your shoulder, before pulling out and watching him spill out of you.

“You’re lucky I’m on the pill.” you pant, looking up at the mirror to him snapping a photo of the two of you. “Rin!”

“What? It’s a good memory!” he defends, taking several photos from different angles before lifting you up and setting you down on the counter. He shoves himself back into his pants, tucking his shirt and buckling belt before averting his attention to you. Your arms wrap around his neck as he kisses you softly, mumbling sweet words into your lips. He breaks away to dampen a towel, wiping you down as you scroll through the many pictures he took. A loud knock breaks the atmosphere, followed by annoyed screams.

“Have some fucking decency, some people need to use the bathroom!”

You both look at each other, laughing loudly before putting yourselves together. Suna adjusts his shirt, leaving the top buttons open and ruffling his hair. You slip into your underwear, smoothing out your dress and reapplying your lipstick. He gives your ass a light slap before opening the door and exiting, his eyes flicker between the couple outside. Suna’s lips twitch, realizing who the man leaning against the wall is. A smug expression spreads across his face, as he reaches his hand out for you.

“Sorry your sex life’s so boring.” he grins. You grasp his hand, walking out and nodding to the couple, recognizing the familiar set of eyes that you once adored.

“Sorry about that, bathroom's all yours.”

You squeeze Suna’s hand twice, a signal the two of you made up for when you’re feeling anxious. He quickly wraps his arm around your waist, pressing you into his side and placing a soft kiss onto your head. He hums quietly, leading the two of you out of the banquet hall and out to the garden. You stop at a bench, overlooking the city. The soft chirps of crickets and Suna’s intoxicating scent grounds you, a sense of relief washing over you.

“Fuck high school reunions, can’t believe you wanted to come here.” he jokes, pulling you onto his lap and holding you.

“Oh, shut up. You loved every minute of it.” you nuzzled into his chest.

“Particularly the bathroom part.” he hummed. “You okay?”

You sighed happily into his chest, nodding in response.

“So, tell me, what did the side bang do for you?”

“Shut the fuck up, Rintaro.” you hiss, getting up from his grasp, only for him to pull you back and attack your neck with kisses. Your laugh fills his ears, followed by your small fists punching his arm lightly in an attempt to get him to stop tickling you. A blush creeps onto his cheeks, the overwhelming feeling of love feels his body. He pauses his attack, your love laced insults about how irritating he could be was music to his ears. You’d never admit it to Suna, but you were glad he dragged you here. Seeing how his usual deadpan expression changed every time you were talked about made your heart swell. Maybe these things weren’t that bad, as long as he was by your side.

The texture of your skin under his fingertips felt like smooth butter, gleaming and glistening with the extra coating moisturizing it. The tip of his nail dragged its way down your shoulder blade, earning a jolt of your sensitive body. Only then did you realize that he was making his way lower, dipping his curious fingers under the seams of your top, around your waist, thumbs running tight shapes around the knots.

“You always do this,” a breathy sigh left your trembling lips, Chifuyu’s hazy eyes getting lost in the sight of your shaking form. Absentmindedly, he surged his way towards your front, groping your guts in the process. Little whimpers coming from his precious girl had his blood pumping, bottom lip sucked between his teeth and concentration evident on his face.

It was easy to get past the slight barrier of your bra, the heavy breathing behind you making your eyes flutter closed. The outline of his bulge could be felt along your ass, stiff and practically seeking attention in its cage. It was an inside joke within Toman that Chifuyu got off to all sorts of tits, whether they were big or small or plump or had a little sag to them. He didn’t care, they were all something to grab and play with, you just didn’t expect him to confirm the rumors so head on.

“Don’t put the blame on me,” he whispered against the shell of your ear, offering it a few pecks, multitasking while his fingers rolled your sensitive nipples between the pads. “You love it. I always do it and you always fucking love it.”

You hated when he was right and he hated being wrong, so he was right every single time. You did love this, so much that you were pushing your own shirts down, so much that you backed your ass up against his hard on. Every nerve in your body loved it because Chifuyu could spend his dying moments taking care of you, working hard to make you feel good, working even harder to see the way your tongue poked out once you were finally creaming for him.

Even if he was right, you wouldn’t let him know that. “As if.”

A deep chuckle knocked the wind out of you, his middle finger spreading your slick around over your cotton panties before pushing the cloth to the side. It was game over as soon as he made contact, eyebrows raised and small smirk on his face once he made contact with the sloppy mess that your pussy sabotaged you with.

“Mice?” you tilt your head and smirk.

“Something other than that!” she laughs and splashes you lightly before handing you your glass filled with the strawberry flavored liquor.

“Vulnerability, I guess.” you answer, sinking back into the bath after placing your empty cup on the side of the tub.

“Really? What about it scares you?”

“How easy it is for people to take advantage of it and toss you to the side after seeing it.”

“Yeah, I get that, but we’ll never know people’s true intentions… so why deny your right to feel everything and express it regardless of the outcome?”

“It’s uncomfortable though, showing people every part of yourself and not knowing where it’ll lead to.”

“Sometimes you have to be uncomfortable in order to move forward and grow.” she shrugs, leaning her elbow on the tub and propping her head on her palm.

“I’d rather be comfortable, it’s a lot safer that way.”

“You sure about that?”

“For right now, yeah.” she nods at your response, as you sigh in content after she accepted your stubbornness. Her lips perk up into a smug smile and she shoots you a teasing glare.

“So, Rintaro, is he your idea of comfort?”

You roll your eyes, sinking deeper into the tub, your knees covering your face as they pop out from the warm water. She continues to stare at you with a teasing smile, waiting eagerly for your response.

“Did you really have to bring him up?”

“Hey, I’m just trying to figure out what comfortable means to you.”

You send her a blank stare, not believing her statement for a moment. Rei met Suna around the same time you did, the both of them hit it off and quickly became best friends. He’d always try to set her up with his teammates or the girls he rejected back in highschool, but she was much more interested in bullying him at the corner store with you, Ava, and Atsumu.

“Fine, he keeps asking about you.” she admits, rolling her eyes with a slight giggle leaving her mouth.

“I knew it.”

She moves closer to you in the tub, taking your hands in hers and pulling you up from the bubbles that collected around you. You place your head on your knees, as she mimics your position.

“C’mon, bubs. What’s going on?”

“He’s not.” you mumble, she swirls the water beneath her with her hands, waiting for you to continue.

“He’s not comfortable. He’s the complete opposite of what I’m used to and it scares me.”

“What are you used to that makes you feel comfortable?”

“Uncertainty, callousness…mended with absolute certainty of security.”

Rei lets out a loud sigh, pouring both herself and you another drink. It’s not that I want these traits in a relationship, it’s just easier to accept when I’ve gone through them already. You thought to yourself, as she placed your glass on your side.

“Maybe you do need therapy.”

You scoff, splashing her and crossing your arms. She laughs and shakes her head at your pouty face before smiling at you.

“You need to let go of the idea that you deserve hostility instead of love.”

You cup your hands in front of you, picking up the bubbles and blowing them towards her in an effort to ignore what she’s saying even if you knew she was right.

“You’re not alone though.” she smiles, picking her glass up. “I’m still working on it too. So, let’s both try to accept love and vulnerability as strengths and not weaknesses, okay?” She boops your nose with her soapy hand before bringing the other one with her glass towards you. You grab your own glass and raise them together, toasting to the new goal she set for both of you.

Present ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Two glasses clink in front of you, bringing you out of your trance. The sound of people conversing amongst themselves becomes louder, as Suna and Atsumu down a shot of Fireball. Ava nudges you lightly with her elbow with a concerned look on her face. You smile, reassuring her you’re okay before your gaze meets Suna’s. He leans close to your ear, his warm breath laced with the strong scent of whiskey sends shivers down your spine.

“Can we talk?”

“Sure.” You mumble.

“Meet me at the back door, yeah?” He shoots you a smile before dashing to the refreshments bar. You let Ava know you’re going for some fresh air, walking slowly to the exit. Your stomach fills with the familiar sense of butterflies, the kind you get when you’re about to drop from the highest point of the rollercoaster. A scary, yet thrilling feeling that you could live without.

Suna comes back with his pockets full, you send him an inquisitive look and he winks in response. He opens the door, waiting for you to step into the chilly air before shutting it and walking in front of you. You both walk up the little hill outside the studio until he finds a spot. He sits down, looking back at you and patting the spot next to him.

“C’mon! Since when are you shy?”

“Shy? No, I just like my personal space.” you scoff, taking your seat next to him. He rolls his eyes, as he hands you a small glass bottle shaped like an apple.

“Got this for you.”

You grab the delicate bottle, running your fingers along the etching of it and smiling to yourself. He blushes slightly at how pleased you look, just like you did when he’d hand you that same brand of apple juice before he went off to practice.

“So, you just carry apple juice with you?”

“Yeah, got a problem with that?”

You deadpan him, unamused at his attempt at a joke. He scoffs, opening his own drink.

“Got it from the bar, stupid.” he takes a sip of his seltzer water and sighs in delight, noticing your lingering gaze. You stifle a laugh before turning away from him.

“What’s so funny?” he questions, staring at you. You shrug, opening your juice and taking a sip of it.

“Just interesting watching someone enjoy TV static.”

“At least I don’t have the tastebuds of a fucking toddler.” he retorts, smirking at your offended expression.

You take another sip of your juice, placing it next to you before flipping him off. He laughs, grabbing your hand that was once telling him to fuck off. You stare at his hand laying on top of yours, the warmth of his calloused hands reminded you how much you missed his touch. He quickly releases your hand after staring at them for a second too long, your hand falling down to your lap slowly. He rubs the back of his head, as the two of you refuse to make eye contact.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

You bring your knees up to your chest, looking out at the city lights as Suna propped himself on his arms to peer up at the stars.

“I’ve always enjoyed this.”

“Hm?” you hum, looking over to him.

“Sitting her in silence, it’s oddly comfortable.”

“Yeah, I guess there’s not many people that find comfort in silence.”

Suna shakes his head, a smile plastered on his face. When was the last time you saw him smile this much? He certainly didn’t smile this much before you parted ways, not even when you two went to school together. The little crinkles next to his honey colored eyes made your heart swell, his usual deadpan look was so full of light that it made your heart flutter in the most uncomfortable way.

“I was talking about being in silence with you, dumbass” he interrupts your thoughts, looking over to you and locking eyes. You cough, looking out towards the city once again.

“It’s cold, huh? I don’t remember it getting this cold here.” you stutter, rubbing your hands on your legs to warm them up. He smirks at your nervousness and shrugs off his jacket, placing it over your shoulders.

“I wasn’t implying I wanted your jacket.”

“I know, feel free to take it off.”

You roll your eyes, adjusting his jacket on yourself. The spicy sweet scent of his cologne lingered on the fabric, making you miss all those times he’d leave his clothes at your place ‘in case you missed him’ he’d say.

“Aren’t you cold?”

“Honestly, my nerves are enough to keep me warm right now.” he admits, staring off at the skyline. You smile at his honesty, whenever you were around Suna you knew you’d always get a straight answer. And although that made you feel at ease, it also scared you.

“Hey, why didn’t you try-”

“I’ve missed you.” he cuts you off, his gaze still fixed on the city. You cuddle further into his jacket, inhaling the comforting scent. “And being here with you right now feels like nothings changed.” Well shit.

“I know… it’s annoying.” you mutter. He turns to you, frustration evident on your face as you huff and stretch out your legs. “Nothing ever changes here and it’s irritating.”

“Why is that?” he smirks, enjoying your little fit of anger that he couldn’t get enough of.

“Everything in this world is subject to change. Nothing ever stays the same for long, and if it does it’s just waiting to be destroyed.” he stares at you intently, as you continue to rant and stare out at the city, as if preaching to a group of people. “Everyone loves nostalgia, but never stops to think about how change is inevitable. Being comfortable without changes sets you up for failure. A sense of false hope that’ll kill you in the end.” you take a deep breath, realizing you went off on a tangent and look over to Suna, who’s gazing lovingly at you.

“What’s with the dumb smile on your face?”

“I just like hearing you talk, it feels like old times.”

“Did you even listen to a word I said?” you scoff, rising from the ground and walking a few feet in front of you to pace around. “Jeez, it’s like talking to a wall. Nothing’s the same about us, so stop acting-” you pause at the realization of what you were about to say. You avert your gaze to the city, feeling the chill in the air while the heat burns through your cheeks. Suna lets out a small laugh and walks over to where you are, standing dangerously close to you.

“You’re so stupid sometimes, ya know?” he jokes, nudging you softly. “I know nothing’s the same between us. It never will be, but I’d like to try to start something new.” he sighs, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “You can blame it on nostalgia or comfort, sure. But what is it about being comfortable that scares you?” you freeze at his question, realizing how much you’ve changed since that conversation with Rei. Suna peers down at you, giggling before pulling the hood of his jacket over your head.

“Let’s head back in before Rei thinks something’s up.” he tells you, walking away from you slowly. You follow, walking in front of him before stopping right at the door and handing him his jacket. He sends you a confused look, as he takes it back.

“For the record, I never said I was scared of it. It’s just annoying.”

He gazes down at you and nods, putting his jacket on. A small smile tugs at your lips as he fumbles around his pockets, pulling out a lollipop. He raises a brow at you and you turn around to open the door. He pushes it closed with his arm, caging you between him and the heavy door. You turn to face him, his warm breath fanning over your face, the faint scent of cinnamon still lingering. He brings his arm back, unwrapping the candy and pocketing the trash.

“What flavor?”

“See for yourself.” you tease.

He smirks, bringing it to his mouth slowly. You watch him, not sure why you haven’t moved an inch. He was no longer caging you, but his captivating movements that were so foreign to you kept you from walking away. He brings his hand to cup your cheek softly, his thumb running over your lip and parting them slowly. You obey him, the heat in your stomach building, telling you not to get too close... again. The hard candy slips past your lips, the sweet taste of cherry tackles your taste buds as he pops it out of your mouth, gazing at you with an inquisitive look.

“Cherry.” you tell him, turning away and opening the door.

“Thanks, pretty.” he hums, popping the lollipop into his mouth as he watches you leave his side.

The low humming of the car and soft music coming from the radio sends you into a trance as you look out at the familiar streets of your hometown. Your head pressed against the seat feels heavy with the thought of being back in the place you ran away from. Your gaze trails to the two in the front seat, the streetlights hitting them enough for you to make out their features you’ve seemed to forget. Ava hums to the song on the radio lightly, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. Atsumu’s eyes are fixed on the road before he turns toward Ava and rubs her back slightly. She shoots him a small smile before returning her gaze to the road. The aching feeling in your heart swells, making your stomach churn.

“It’s weird.” You say, breaking the peaceful silence that once graced the car.

“Hm?” Ava hums, looking at you through the rearview mirror.

“Nothing ever seems to change here.” You state, staring back out at the window with a blank expression, catching a glimpse of the houses you’d pass on the way to school.

Ava shakes her head, although you tried to mask your emotions, she could tell that you were irritated. Atsumu laughs looking out of the passenger seat window, noticing the park he used to practice volleyball at.

“It really hasn’t been that long since we’ve been here, Y/N.”

“I know, but you’d think things would at least feel different.” You throw your head back in frustration, letting out a loud sigh. Ava laughs, turning her blinker on before she begins to turn into yet another familiar street.

“I don’t know, I like that things are the same here. It feels like home, ya know? Knowing that there will always be a place that feels familiar is kinda comforting.”

Your gaze settles onto Ava with a mischievous grin. You scoot into the middle seat, leaning in between your two friends. Atsumu looks over at you and giggles, looking up at Ava to stare at her with you. Ava takes her eyes off the road for a second to see you two, she rolls her eyes.

“What?” She deadpans.

“That was the cheesiest shit I’ve ever heard you say.” Your laugh fills the car, making Atsumu join in and eliciting a small huff from Ava.

“Shut up! Is it so bad I actually like my hometown?”

“Yes.” Both you and Atsumu state at the same time, further irritating Ava as she swerves slightly making the both of you slide in your seats.

“Crazy how I can just drop you two off on the side of the road and leave.”

“Not like we don’t know the way around here.” Atsumu says, poking at Ava’s cheek.

“Looks like you’re walking to the studio then.” Ava stops the car in the middle of the road, Atsumu looks at her with a puzzled look. She leans over to open his car door, you stare at the two in amusement waiting to see what happens.

“Babe, it’s another 10 miles!” Atsumu exclaims, shutting the door.

“Atsumu, just shut up or walk before these cars come.” You state, looking behind you and see the car lights coming from a small distance.

“Why do I have to shut up when this one started it?”

“Huh?! What did I do?”

Ava rolls her eyes, picking at her nail polish as the two of you bicker over nothing. She puts the car in drive and slams on the breaks causing the two of you to fall over.

“What the hell, Ava?” You ask from the middle of the driver and passenger seat. “I could’ve died?” Ava stifles a laugh before putting the car in park. She looks at Atsumu pouting in his seat, rubbing his forehead and refusing to make eye contact with her. Ava lets out a loud laugh, wiping at the corner of her eyes. You giggle to yourself as you lift yourself up, moving towards the right side of the car to take your seat. You notice Ava placing a kiss on Atsumu’s forehead and the fond touches the two share. A small smile appears on your face seeing them interact, their love radiating off of them like the sun on a hot day. It felt so nice to be around them, but the heat in your heart was beginning to sting. Was it jealousy? No. Anger? No. Longing… Maybe.

“Geez, ya nearly gave me a concussion!”

“Serves you right.”

Ava puts the car in drive, cruising along the dimly lighted streets. Atsumu continues to mutter to himself about how his head hurts.

“I felt my brain rattle.”

“Crazy because there’s nothing in there.”

They continue talking as you look out the window, blocking out their conversation with your own thoughts. Why did I come back here? Surely, I could’ve made up some excuse and made it up to them another time. I don’t think I’m ready to see-

“Anyways, Y/N, do ya really hate it here that much?” Atsumu breaks your train of thought.

“S’not that I hate it.” You mutter, head resting on your hand. “It’s just a weird feeling coming back to a place that doesn’t change. Like everything’s frozen in time… it freaks me out.” Scarlett peaks at you through the rearview mirror, once again, observing your facial expression. Always the mysterious one, aren’t ya? She thought.

“If you ask me, I think it’s nice having a place that doesn’t change. Somewhere you know you can be comfortable and find some sort of peace.” You stare at her for a second, before returning your gaze to the window.

“I guess you’re right.”

“Wow, you’re actually agreeing with me for once?”

“I mean I’m not opposed to the idea of it, I just don’t like getting too comfortable…”

“Fair enough.” Ava sighs, glancing over at Atsumu who nods knowingly at her as he puts his window down. Your window begins to roll down causing you to look at Ava in confusion. “Fresh air will do ya good.”

You rest your arms on the car window, slightly leaning your head onto them as you peek out of the window. The cool autumn breeze tickles your face, as you soak in the darkness of the night. It was a new moon, the only light coming from the sky was the twinkling stars and planets. You look up to the sky and catch a glimpse of a shooting star. It’s been a while since I’ve seen one of those. You thought. I wonder if he still does this.

“Nice being able to see the stars, ain’t it?” Atsumu says, half way out of the car window.

“Yeah…” You smile, a giggle leaving your mouth as he sways in the wind dramatically. “One break from Ava and you’ll fly out!”

“Oi, don’t give her any ideas!”

Ava laughs, turning into the corner store you all used to visit everyday. Atsumu sits back into his seat, handing Ava a wad of cash from his wallet.

“Any requests?”

“Starbursts, make sure ya get the one with all the reds!”

“Alright, Y/N?”

“Oh! And one of those fancy lookin’ waters! Ya know, with the cool designs and shit?” Atsumu interrupts. Ava sends him a teasing glare and he smirks. She turns towards you, your attention fixed on the store that seemed to remain the same. The beige building had the same lettering and advertisements as it did when you were in high school. The railings had a fresh coat of paint on them, but still looked scuffed from all the times you and your friends would sit on them. It was just how you left it. How annoying.

“Oi, Y/N! Getcha’ head out of the clouds, Ava’s askin’ ya something”

“Sorry, what’s up?”

“You want anything?”

“I’m okay, thanks.”

“Twizzlers? Got it.”

Ava exits the car and runs into the shop. Atsumu lifts off his seat slightly, digging into his pockets and pulling out a pack of Seven Stars cigarettes. He plucks one out and lights it, puffing the smoke out of the window. The scent envelops her, giving her a sense of both warmth and pain from the memories it holds.

“Thought you quit.”

“I did. This is for nostalgic reasons.” He smiles, inhaling the smoke and releasing it out of the window in a swift movement.

“Right, you and Rin…” You trail off mid sentence. Atsumu looks up at you through the rearview mirror, just as Ava did, and takes another drag.

“Mhm, this was our go to place for a while.” His eyes flicker from you to the inside of the store. He relaxes back into his seat, looking over at Ava with the biggest grin on his face. She’s looking intensely at two bottles of water and making small talk with the cashier. You smile to yourself, pulling your knees to your chest as you remember the times you all used to meet up here and spend hours talking about nothing.

“When was the last time you two spoke?”

“I can’t remember.”

Atsumu nods, knowing the answer. He flicks the bud of the cigarette out of the window, turning slightly to see you staring at the ground. He flicks your forehead softly, earning a yelp from you. He laughs.

“He’s still here, ya know?”

You look up from the ground, but stay silent for a few moments before he speaks up again.

“He never wanted to leave.”

“Sounds like him.” You let go of your legs, opening the car door and stepping out. You stretch a bit before shutting the door behind you. “You think he’ll be at the show?”

“I don’t think he’d miss getting the chance to see you again.”

You let out an annoyed sigh, walking up to the door and exchanging a couple words with Ava before she exits. The cashier greets you just how he did when you were sixteen and the layout of the store is the same as it was 4 years ago. Nothing’s changed here… so why do I feel so out of place?

“What did you do?” Ava sighs, rummaging through the bag of snacks she just bought.

“Huh? I didn’t do anything!” Atsumu exclaims, hands held up in surrender as if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t have.

“Sure, you didn’t. I’m assuming you mentioned Rintarou.”

“Hm? Rintarou? I don’t even know who that is.”

Ava scoffs, throwing the bag of Starbursts at him. He turns to her in shock, dramatically falling into his seat and gripping at the spot the candy hit him. She giggles, taking a bite out of a twizzler and lifting her leg onto her seat.

“What is she getting anyways?” Atsumu mutters, obnoxiously chewing on his candy.

“Lollipops.” Ava shrugs.

_____________________________________________

The smell of cinnamon and the bright lights of the studio overwhelm your senses in the most pleasant way possible. People you’ve never seen before walk past you, admiring the works of art your best friend, Rei, has displayed. Quiet chatter is heard over the music playing from a record player in the corner, occasionally Atsumu’s loud voice is heard saying “Yeah! Rei’s my best friend, she did all of this, ya know? I was her inspiration for most.” You giggle to yourself, hearing a small “Ow” when Ava elbows him in the rib. You observe the people around you, keeping an eye out for a certain brown haired boy. He’s not here. Your thought is interrupted by Rei’s sweet voice and a small shot glass held in front of your face.

“You look like you need this.” Rei giggles. You laugh lightly, grabbing the glass and clinking it with Rei’s before downing it with her.

“Strawberry?”

“Just like old times.” She smiles. You give her an annoyed look, causing her to roll her eyes and sling her arm over your shoulders. “Shut up, you know it’s our tradition.”

They part for a second then hook their arms together as they walk around the studio, Rei pointing out her favorite pieces and explaining them to you as you admire how ecstatic she is. The two of you stop at the last few pieces of her exhibit, the wall filled with pictures she’s taken over the years.

“I’m so proud of you.” You state, leaning your head onto her shoulder.

“Being vulnerable counts for something, doesn’t it?” She smiles, patting your head lightly.

Rei looks over at the entrance of the studio and waves to a couple people. You lift your head up and let go of her arm, as she smiles at you.

“I’ll be back!” She exclaims, running over and greeting them as she takes them on a tour of her art studio.

You debate whether to roam around the studio or stick to this exhibit, when something catches your eye. You stand closer to the photos, noticing how they date back to 2015. A couple photos in the timeline up to the present catch your eye. Ava, Atsumu, Rei, You, and Suna were in nearly every single one of them. You feel tears prick your eyes at how simple those times were, annoyed at the feeling of nostalgia seeping into your mind.

“Well this fucking sucks.” You whisper to yourself.

“I know, I look terrible in that picture.” A familiar voice states. A tall, lanky man stands beside you. His messy brown hair framing his face perfectly, as he gazes at the photos. You glance at him slightly, realizing who it is and avert your gaze back to the photos. “Seriously, who let me wear that?” He asks, looking over towards you and stifling a laugh at your reaction.

You turn your face to the other side, hoping he hasn’t recognized you. How could he? It’s been what? 3 years? I’ve changed my hair since then, there’s no possible way he’ll know it’s me. Suna lets out a laugh, making your heart ache. You turn to where he was standing and he wasn’t there. You furrow your brows and sigh with relief, but a hint of disappointment. You return your attention to the photos, only to be met with Suna’s chest. You hold your breath and remain still, as he bends down to meet your gaze. His golden eyes peering at you with a mischievous grin on his face, one that you remember all too well.

the room is silent, save for the sound of sniffles and hiccups that wrack your body as you stand in front of ran with your head bowed and hands curled into fists. the only light in the room is provided by the moonlight streaming through your shared bedroom window. you despise the way it bathes the bare skin of your torso in a pale silver sheen, accentuating every single imperfection and insecurity . you hate that it’s all on display for your boyfriend, who’s lean and fit and damn-near flawless in your eyes. most of all, you hate that you can’t see his eyes.

ran had caught you scrutinizing yourself in the mirror and mumbling bitterly about how unfair it is that you have to look like this instead of like the girls on the street you admire from afar. now, he looms silently before you, willowy figure appearing to be nothing more than a lingering wisp of a shadow in the darkness of the room. the moonlight slices across his angled jaw and graceful neck, veiling his expression in a shroud of mystery. his hands are wrapped firmly around your wrists. there’s a tinge of gentleness in his iron grip, a silent prayer for you to quit avoiding the glaring issue weighing on your mind.

you feel pathetic. you want to stop crying because you know that it’s a silly thing to shed tears over, but you just can’t. you inhale sharply when ran moves toward you. the floorboards creak and whine beneath his weight, their foreboding groans betraying the familiar woodsy scent of his cologne and the tender, unhurried touch of his lips to your forehead. your hands begin to tremble, but he doesn’t let go of you.

“what are you crying for, pretty girl?” his warm breath ghosts over your skin. “what’s wrong?”

you huff out a dry laugh. “do you really think i’m pretty?” it’s impossible to bite back the disdainful remark in time, and you freeze as soon as it leaves your lips. you expect ran to pull away and check your attitude, or to push you off and leave you to wallow in your own self-pity. it would make sense. after all, none of this is his fault; and yet, you’re taking your own frustrations out on him. it isn’t fair to him.

but, all he does is hum in approval and smooth a hand over the back of your head. “i do,” his answer is easy and nonchalant. “and, i hope you’re not about to disagree and tell me that you don’t think you are.” his hands relinquish your wrists and move to cradle the sides of your face, his thumbs skimming soothingly over your temples.

“but, ran--”

your feeble protest is drowned out by the firm press of ran’s lips against your own. his pinkies slide gently under your chin, tilting your head up and angling it to enable him better access to your lips. the kiss is feverish and threatens to scorch your lips with the passion communicated through the skillful dance of ran’s tongue and the smooth undulation of his lips. through it, he spills his adoration for you, pouring it down your throat like ambrosia-laced wine until you’re weak in the knees and have to cling to his arms to steady yourself. your mind is alight with the buzz of a lovesick stupor, leaving the flow of your tears to cease and you to lean into him, accepting his warmth in the cool air of the room.

when he finally pulls away, you whine in dissatisfaction and pucker your lips in a request for another one. but, you forget that your boyfriend is a little shit. instead of indulging you, with a lopsided grin of mischief gracing his features, he swipes his thumb across your lips, smearing the translucent gloss of saliva that remained after the kiss onto your cheek.

“hey!” you gripe, rubbing at it with the heel of your hand. ran chuckles at your annoyed frown.

“there’s nothing wrong with the way you look, darling.” he assures you in a low tone. “not a single thing.” his hands travel to your waist, giving a light squeeze that elicits a small yelp of surprise from you. his hands are warm, so warm. they’re calloused and wrought with scars from past brawls, but they’re still warm--familiar. “i could go into more… detail… if you want.” he murmurs with a suggestive raise of his eyebrows.

“absolutely not,” you wrinkle your nose playfully.

“are you sure? you might want to rethink that.” ran tightens his grip on your waist and leans down, peppering an array of chaste kisses over your cheeks. you squeal under the assault and try to twist away, but all that changes is the appearance of a smile on his lips as he continues. he finally plants a loud, obnoxiously sloppy kiss against your forehead and withdraws with a grin. “so, you want to rethink it?”

“hm, i don’t know.” you feign a thoughtful hum. “i might need a couple more kisses before i decide.”

“oh, so that’s how it is?” ran snickers. he barely spares you a second to prepare before he’s all over you once again, raining down ticklish kisses across your face while you laugh, your insecurities long forgotten. he pulls away to breathe, and that’s when he steps even closer. he presses you flush against his chest in a nonchalant yet somehow oddly intimate embrace, resting his chin atop your head. “stop thinking so lowly of yourself. it doesn’t suit you.” his tone turns solemn, more serious. “work on that, okay?”

“okay.” you nod into his chest.

“swear?”

“i promise.”

rindou doesn’t understand what the fuck is going on.

he’d barely set foot in the apartment when suddenly you’d materialized in front of him, almost catching an elbow to the nose due to the lack of warning. clasped in your hands is a small bouquet of white tulips, their petals as pure and untainted as the hopeful innocence that twinkled in your eyes as you presented your gift to him. a pretty, effulgent string the same shade of purple as his irises is wound around the stems, winking invitingly at him beneath the sunlight streaming through the window.

now, all rindou does is stand there like a dumbass, eyes flickering quizzically from your face to the bouquet. he’s never really been one for sentimentality, nor has he ever been on the receiving end of a present from anyone other than his brother. he isn’t a fool, though. he knows that flowers are part of a stereotypical romantic relationship, but… if anything, shouldn’t you be the one receiving them? not that he’s ever given it much thought, though.

“what’s that for?” he asks, tugging off his gloves.

“i picked them for you.” you fidget beneath the weight of his gaze. you want to say that you expected this. you really do. you know that rindou isn’t the most attentive nor affectionate boyfriend on the planet, and you’ve become accustomed to the way he peers down at everyone with an air of condescending boredom. plus, you two haven’t even been together for very long, so there are still some loose ends and boundaries that need to be discussed. even so, you held fast to the fleeting sliver of hope that he would at least be slightly pleased with your present. you know it isn’t anything big like the silver anklet he’d purchased for your birthday, but it's still something to you.

you want to look at him, but at the same time, you’re too daunted by the prospect of him rejecting your present. rindou has always spared you the patronizing, scornful air with which he regards others, but with the heavy, obscure silence that now stretches between you two, you consider the possibility of the clemency and immunity from his cold-hearted disposition that you’d mindlessly enjoyed for the duration of your relationship finally expiring. to you, that’s a scary thought, especially considering that it could be a deal-breaker despite your affections for him. 

you take a step back and press the bouquet to your chest. “i can take them back if you don’t want them.” you offer. “you don’t have to take them.” rindou shifts his weight onto one foot with a thoughtful hum, the floorboards creaking under his black, steel-toed boots that you’re positive you saw him scrubbing blood off last night. you start to turn your back, “i’ll just--”

“hey,” rindou’s hand lands on your shoulder, firm enough to keep you from scurrying away. “i never said i wouldn’t take them. give ‘em here.”

your eyes widen at his words. he doesn’t dislike them? when all you do is stand there, dumbfounded and blinking up at your boyfriend, he sighs and wraps his hand around the stems to pry them from your stiff grasp. after a moment of hesitation, he lifts the flowers to his nose and inhales. evidently pleased with their fragrance, his eyebrows quirk upward and he nods to himself.

“so, why the flowers?” rindou’s eyes flit to yours, blinking slowly as he waits for your explanation.

“i don’t know. i just saw them while i was taking a walk and i thought they smelled nice. so,” you shrug, “i wanted you to have them.”

once again, rindou fixates you with his standard blank, calculating stare. but this time, you can see traces of amusement lingering in both the lavender depths of his eyes and the small smile that tilts his lips. your head snaps up in surprise when he abruptly steps closer. tentatively, almost as if he’s testing the waters of his own comfort zone, his free hand curls around your shoulder. the slow, borderline awkward press of his lips to your forehead sends an electric zing arching through your chest. rindou is not someone who can switch his vulnerability on and off at will. his pompous demeanor and cavalier tendencies to not take his opponents seriously have inadvertently constructed a thick layer of stone around his heart, and since those traits compose about seventy percent of his character, your chances of catching rindou unguarded are exceptionally slim.

the kiss lasts but for a fleeting moment, yet it communicates sincere gratitude. you smile softly. “you’re welcome, rin.” your fingers draw the material of his jacket into your fists, but whether it’s to tug him closer or confirm that he can’t move away, you don’t know. rindou’s lips part from your forehead, a small sigh feathering over the top of your head. the flowers rustle next to your ear, and you shift your head just enough to notice the hand gripping your gift to him gradually lowering to his side, the division in his attention clearly dwindling.

with a teasing grin, you pull back and glance up, your chin bumping into his chest. “can i have another kiss?”