Dark!Park who never asked you to be his. He just automatically claims you.

Dark!Park who is obsessed. He will track your phone. He has to know your schedule. Any appointments, your working hours. Which tend to be the same as him anyway since you work in the ER department. Your days off.

Dark!Park who needs to know who you’re with at all times, if you’re not with him or at work.

Dark!Park who needs to know immediately if someone makes you feel uncomfortable whether that’s a patient, a colleague or anyone.

Dark!Park who immediately is pissed if he sees someone flirting with you. He will place a hand on your waist, pulling you against him. And glaring at the person flirting with you.

Dark!Park who takes you home and is rough as hell with you. Marking you. And reminding you that you belong to him. “You are fucking mine. Remember that!”

Dark!Park who possessively touches you. A hand on your lower back as you’re stood next to each other. A finger under your chin forcing you to look at him when he’s talking to you. A hand around your throat when you’re alone.

Dark!Park who will punish you if you disobey him.

Dark!Park who starts controlling different aspects of your life. From who you can see, to what you wear. You can’t wear anything too revealing out in case men get the wrong idea. He’s only trying to protect you. You can wear extremely revealing clothes when it’s just the two of you at his or your apartment.

Dark!Park who is happy when your friends stop making plans with you. It means other than work, he gets to keep you all to his self.

Dark!Park who will always take what is his, even if you try to put up a fight.

Dark!Park who can be aggressive in the bedroom. Knife play with a sterile scalpel, cutting your underwear, and lightly tracing your skin as he’s buried deep inside of you. Breath play until you nearly black out. Bites and bruises are left all over your body.

Dark!Park who will threaten anyone who touches you. “Touch her again and I’ll break your fucking hands.”

Dark!Park who cuffs you to the bed when he really wants to punish you. There’s no way for you to escape.

the sharp clicks of a mouse, the rapid and aggressive tap of keys, and the smug, mocking bite in rindou’s voice dragged you out of sleep.

you blinked against the dim, neon-tinted light of his room, stretching out into the warm space where he’d been lying beside you not too long ago. the sheets still heavy with the scent of cigarettes and his expensive cologne.

with a sleepy groan, you fell into that slow, lazy stretch, arms pulling up, back arching, and toes pointing beneath the tangled sheets. your hand aimlessly reached over for him, looking for that familiar warmth, only to catch nothing but cold, empty air.

figures. typical rin behavior.

you spotted the crumpled scrap of black lace on the floor, right where he’d tossed it earlier in his damn hurry to get you undressed. you reached down, slipping it back on, the familiar fabric cool against your skin. the matching bra was nowhere in sight, but that wasn’t unusual.

it never stayed on for long when you were with rindou, anyway.

when you sat up, a quick glance at the clock told you it was past midnight. the neon glow from his monitor painted the side of his face, casting sharp shadows over his tattoos. he was slouched in his gaming chair. the overpriced, ridiculous one he swore was “worth every yen” with his headset on, leaned forward with that typical arrogant posture. his hair was still a mess from earlier, but his eyes were locked on the screen like you didn’t even exist.

“rin,” you murmured, voice still rough from sleep as you padded across the room, stopping beside his gaming chair.

no answer. just more clicking and a muttered, “fuck! we gotta win the next round, you fuckers!”

you tried again, a little louder. “rinnie.”

from his headset came familiar voices, ran's sharp laugh and sanzu's low taunting rumble.

“yo, rindou,” sanzu drawled, “your girl’s up.”

you froze, instinctively folding your arms across your bare chest even though you’d already slipped your underwear back on, the matching bra still missing somewhere in the room. your gaze darted to the small webcam perched above the monitor.

“they can see me?” you asked, narrowing your eyes as you instinctively took a small step to the side, moving just out of the camera’s immediate scope.

“relax,” rindou muttered, his fingers still flying across the keys without missing a beat. “they don’t care, baby. don't trip.”

then sanzu's chuckle rolled through the headset, dripping with malice and amusement. “it’s not like this is new. we’ve even heard you before, doll.”

your head snapped toward the screen, face burning. “WHAT?”

rindou didn’t even blink, completely unbothered by the fact that his gang knew his business. “homies know i fuck my baby well,” he said, lips curling into a smug, arrogant grin as his hand reached out and gave your ass a quick, sharp slap before going right back to the mouse.

sanzu laughed again, low, slow, and entirely too amused. “i wouldn’t mind if she came a little closer to the lens though. let us see what you're hiding, rindou.”

that earned a smirk from you as you perched yourself on the armrest of his gaming chair, facing rindou. your back was toward the camera, giving them a clear view of your curves and the hint of black lace you were wearing.

“at least someone’s paying attention,” you murmured, letting your eyes flick briefly to the camera lens, at sanzu, before looking back at rindou.

sanzu’s laugh came through the headset, raspy and mocking. “damn, rindou… how the fuck are you so focused on the game right now? i’m more distracted than you, bro. let me get a look.”

a chuckle followed from ran, smooth, lazy, and entirely too amused by his little brother. “no kidding. ignore the match, rin-rin.”

rindou didn’t even crack a smile. his jaw tightened, his sharp eyes narrowing through his glasses. “know your place, idiots,” he said flatly, his tone dripping with hot delinquent pride.

he set the controller down, one hand gripping your hip with bruising force as he guided you off the armrest. the comms went quiet for half a second before breaking into low, appreciative whistles as you rose to your feet, only to step between his legs and settle onto the chair, straddling his lap.

“holy shit-” sanzu muttered, the sound of him scoffing echoing over the mic.

“damn, that’s a show,” ran added, completely loving the chaos.

rindou’s attention was entirely on you now, the game forgotten. both of his hands slid up and down your bare sides with deliberate, heavy strokes, his palms warm against your skin. you steadied yourself with your hands on his shoulders, one drifting up to cup his face, your thumb brushing his cheekbone in lazy circles. you leaned in to pepper a few loud, playful kisses across his sharp jawline before his head dipped lower, lips pressing a rough kiss to one breast, then the other, acting like he had all the time in the world for you and absolutely zero for the rest of the gang.

“this is making me hard, bro,” sanzu’s voice suddenly drawled through the headset, entirely shameless.

you blinked, pulled back to reality, the heat in your cheeks spiking when it hit you.

the boys could actually see you.

and they’d seen a lot.

worse, this wasn’t the first time rindou had let them catch a glimpse. typical arrogant haitani behavior, always showing off what's his. gods, rindou. why would you- ugh.

you turned your head toward the monitor at sanzu’s voice, and the movement shifted your torso, offering them a perfect view of the swell of your chest.

rindou’s hand came up immediately, covering your chest in a suffocatingly possessive grip, fingers curling tightly into your skin to pull you back toward him, forcing you to face him instead of the camera.

“fuck,” he muttered, his hot-headed nature flaring as he reached over with his free hand to violently flick the camera off.

rindou angled his chair back toward the desk, pulling you along with him so you stayed perched snugly on his lap. both of his hands went right back to the mouse and keyboard, his posture straight like having his girl straddling him during a match was completely regular business.

you leaned in, pressing slow, deliberate kisses to his jaw, trailing down to the curve of his neck where his collarbone met his throat.

“rin…” you murmured against his skin. “baby… the game can wait, please”

“push mid, now,” he ordered into the mic, his voice clipped, smooth, and completely ignoring your teasing.

ran’s laugh cracked through the comms. “bro, they’re done for. this idiot just walked right into your trap.”

“yooo- rindou, you wiped the whole squad again?!” sanzu barked a laugh. “guess the haitani brothers really can multitask.”

you kissed his neck again, right over his warm skin, whispering, “just look at me for a second…” your hands slid to his chest, fingers curling lightly into his skin, feeling the subtle flex of muscle beneath your touch.

his eyes stayed glued to the screen. “two more. clean it up,” he murmured, tracking the minimap. his thighs shifted beneath you, the movement making you rock ever so slightly against him, but his hands never left the setup.

ran and sanzu's voices overlapped, taunting the other team. “easy win! we took the top spot again.”

rindou glanced at the scoreboard, his expression completely deadpan. “pathetic.” then, without missing a beat, he went right back to finishing the match, still refusing to give you the satisfaction of a real reaction.

but since he wouldn’t give you his attention, you decided to take matters into your own hands.

you slid your hands up to his bare chest, feeling the heat radiating off him. your palms moved deliberately, tracing every contour before inching downward. your fingers curled around the waistband of his boxers, and with teasing patience, you slid your hand down, stroking the length pressed hard against the fabric.

rindou stiffened, a sharp, ragged breath escaping him. “hey, not now,” he said, his voice a little shaky as his hand reached down to weakly push your wrist away, “i’m still playing, baby.”

you smiled softly, watching his carefully built control completely unravel. his jaw clenched so hard the muscles jumped, but the dark flush rising on his neck gave him away. his usually sharp, competitive glare flickered into something dark, heavy, and vulnerable.

“focus, rinnie. aren't you locked in, mmm?” you whispered, your fingers ghosting over him. “or are you about to take your first real loss tonight?”

he tried to retort with a snarky, “jesus, babe-” but the words caught in his throat, replaced by a breathy, “oh, fuck…” that slipped out despite his best effort to stay cool in front of the guys.

you retracted your hand slowly and leaned in, your fingertips brushing his lower lip before gently tugging it down. “spit,” you commanded softly.

rindou hesitated for a fraction of a heartbeat, his dangerous gang executive aura melting away as he obediently let a small amount of saliva gather in his mouth before releasing it into your palm.

your hand dipped back inside his boxers, wrapping around his heat fully now. you started to stroke with purpose, your movements slow and rhythmic.

from across the game, ran smirked, definitely noticing the change in his brother's gameplay. “oi, rindou! you’re lagging! what's taking so long?”

“shut up!” rindou shot back, though his voice cracked just a bit too much to sound convincing. “i’m not lagging, moron.”

sanzu snickered, throwing playful, unhinged jabs. “hell, anyone’d lose focus with a girl like that putting in work. let him cook, ran.”

rindou gritted his teeth, his knuckles turning white on the mouse, but he couldn’t hide the dark flush creeping across his face. “focus on the game, you idiots.”

you pressed your hand a little harder, slicking the length of him, eliciting a low, almost inaudible groan from deep in his throat. he swallowed hard, attempting to maintain his composure, but it was clear he was completely losing it.

ran shook his head with a grin. “sure, sure. you keep telling yourself you're fine, rin-rin.”

rindou glanced up at you, his eyes narrowing, dark with a promise of absolute trouble. “consider yourself wrecked after this. good luck walking out of this room tomorrow.”

you smirked, your fingers never stopping their slow, agonizing pace. “oh, i think you’re enjoying this way more than you’re letting on, rinnie.”

rindou’s lips twitched in a reluctant smile as he tried to focus back on the screen, but the tension in his body betrayed him.every muscle taut, every breath shallow and uneven.

suddenly, rindou’s eyes snapped away from the screen entirely, the word bursting out before he could stop it. “fuck!” he violently yanked off his gaming headphones, slamming them onto the desk. the sudden silence in the room was deafening.

without a word, he stood up, his gaze locked on you with a fierce, starved hunger. your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, arms winding around his neck as he pulled you closer against his chest.

he grabbed you with a rough, delinquent urgency and practically slammed you down onto his gaming table, your ass nearly crashing into the keyboard and his crumpled gang uniform jacket scattered near the gear. your back pressed hard against the edge of his glowing computer tower, the heat between you instantly electric.

his hands slid down your sides, dipping under the waistband of your panties. with a swift, careless pull, he ripped them down your thighs as his cock instantly found its place against you, hard, demanding, and slick.

he grasped your thighs firmly, bruising your skin as he pulled them forward just enough for you to take him whole. his breath hitched, his voice low, guttural, and dripping with raw desire. “you wanted this so bad, huh? can't fucking wait? now fucking take it.”

the sound of your breath hitched as rindou thrust into you, hard and fast, driving you against the edge of the gaming table. his hands gripped your hips with a fierce, territorial possessiveness, his hips snapping relentlessly.

“fuck, you feel so good baby,” he growled, his voice rough and completely unrefined as he buried himself deeper. your nails dug into his bare shoulders, matching his violent intensity with desperate moans spilling from your lips.

rindou’s breath came in ragged pants, his hair's a mess as his lips parted against your skin, whispering,​ “you wanted my attention so bad, didn't you? now don't you dare close your eyes while i fucking ruin you.”

hus movements quickened, his hips slamming mercilessly, the desk rattling beneath the weight of his aggression. your moans mixed with his low, heavy groans, the tension spiraling completely out of control.

suddenly, a muffled voice cut through the haze from the discarded headset on the desk. “rindou?”

sanzu chimed in, “yo, man, why’d you gotta leave the match like that? we’re down by two. don't tell me you bit it.”

“bro, let’s just finish it without him. he's busy,” ran responded, laughing.

the boys’ laughter and chatter faded into the background as rindou’s grip tightened. he growled against your neck, biting the skin. “ignore them. you’re mine right now.”

your moans grew louder, matching his aggressive thrusts, the two of you lost in a wild, urgent rhythm while the rest of the team continued the match without him.

“i don’t like you ignoring me like that,” you gasped breathlessly, your hands sliding up to find his face, fingers gently caressing his cheeks.

without warning, rindou captured your lips in a possessive and silencing kiss, so intense it drove you back until your spine hit the cold, hard edge of the computer tower. the sharp contrast of the cold metal only made the fire between you burn hotter.

rindou’s hips stuttered for a fraction of a second, then snapped deeper, driving you closer to the absolute edge. your breath hitched and your hands gripped his shoulders tight, nails digging into his skin as pleasure burned through you.

“oh shit… keep going, baby,” you moaned, your voice trembling with pure need. “t-that’s so good, rin.”

he smirked against your neck, hearing every desperate, broken sound you made. his hands slid up to your face, his fingers spreading wide to cup your cheeks firmly, his thumbs pressing into your skin, squishing your face in a rough, dominant hold that was so uniquely him.

“you were looking so pretty for sanzu earlier, right?” he growled low, eyes dark with a dangerous promise. “let’s see if he can save you when i completely break you right here.”

the words sent a violent shiver through you as your body tensed, your release crashing over you in waves. rindou didn’t slow down, didn’t give you a second to breathe. his cock kept thrusting relentlessly, riding out your climax like he was feeding off your every desperate moan.

your hands scrambled for support, palms flattening against the gaming table. one slipped, your fingers accidentally pressing down hard on the mechanical keyboard, a string of random key clicks echoing loudly in the background. the monitor flickered with chaotic inputs, but rindou didn’t even glance at it, too locked in on making you come.

“pretty sure the boys just figured out exactly why i left the game,” he hissed, his grip on your cheeks tightening as if to permanently mark you. “bet they can hear every damn thing right now.”

little did you know, when your hand slammed against the keyboard, it had done more than mash random keys. one of the macro shortcuts had switched rindou’s camera right back on.

the stream lit up with a perfectly clear view of your back arched toward the monitor, arms bracing yourself against the table, rindou’s lean, toned figure moving behind you with sharp, relentless, and unforgiving thrusts.

you were too far gone to notice until a sudden, loud voice from the headset speakers cut through the haze.

“holy shit, rindou…” sanzu’s voice rasped through the speakers, a slow, completely thrilled laugh slipping out. “you fucking greedy bastard. keeping that all to yourself, huh?”

rindou let out a groan, his fingers digging into your hips so hard his knuckles turned white as he rode out the final moments of his control.

誠士郎 ⸻ seishirō × overstim

is this a hot take bc he’s so lazy? sure, he loves quickies and morning head, but I just feel like once he’s into a session, it’ll be multiple rounds of overstim until you can hardly speak or think. just cute cries and mumbles of how much he’s stretching you open and how good it all feels. you’re his girl, after all, and he’ll hyperfixate on you the same way he will with soccer and video games. he just has so much more stamina than you. :c

“s-sei..” you swallow thickly, whining, “can’t, s’too much.”

nagi tilts his head, and he’s so adorable. he slows his thrusts and his thumb finds your clit again. you shiver, trying to close your thighs around his waist. “yeah, angel? you don’t wanna cum f’me again?”

“no, I do, it’s just—”

he scoffs. “eh? then stop complaining and use our safe word if you’re serious. it’s only been two hours.” he slides all the way back inside and you moan, arching up into his perfectly toned chest. “that’s it .. feels so good…” he sighs. you have a long night ahead .. and your pretty boy has so much more to give.

冴 ⸻ sae × mindbreak

sae is the perfect balance of worshiping you physically, but degrading you mentally. you’ve both established boundaries and of course he’ll never break them, but you’re with a man like sae because you like a mean fuck … :3

he’s soft and sweet some nights, usually if he misses you because he’s been away, but those are not the nights that he’s fucking you stupid. sae is also insanely possessive, which only adds to the mindbreaking. he will eventually soften up once he’s older, but in his twenties, you have to be okay with actively being objectified by him.

“you’re fucking mine, and you better not even think about fucking anyone else, ever … I fucking own you and your cunt.”

you nod stupidly, hardly able to keep your eyes open. he kisses you hard before squeezing your face between one of his big hands. he doesn’t even have to say anything, you just know to part your pretty lips and present your tongue for him. he spits into your mouth, purposely missing and getting half of it on your face. “good fucking girl.”

オリヴァ ⸻ oliver × manhandling

oliver’s specialties are manhandling, trying new positions, and being much bigger than you. it didn’t take him long to realize that his pretty little girlfriend has a size kink just like himself — how you’re always talking about and drooling over how he’s so big, so tall, so strong. how your sparkly eyes get so wide when he comes home from the gym, his muscles glistening and lined with prominent veins, and he’s hardly able to get in the shower with the way you’re clinging onto him like a bitch in heat.

he’s always manhandling you into positions that you’ve never even heard of, most of which show off his impressive strength. it’s a talent, honestly. sometimes it makes you want to check his browsing history to see what the fuck he’s been looking at when he’s got your face in the pillows with his foot on the back of your neck, pounding into you like his life depends on making you cum as hard as possible.

but oliver is sweet, and only as rough as you want him to be — hard, deep strokes while he rubs your clit carefully and skillfully, mean spanks followed by a soft touch to soothe the pain, pulling your hair and gently running his fingers through it afterwards.

“y’doing so good for me, angel. your perfect little cunt was made to take this big fat cock, yeah? just like that, mama.”

ミヒャエル ⸻ michael × choking

this might be a bit too obvious, but yes, this man loves breathplay, especially on himself. for him, giving that kind of control to a partner is just so fucking sexy, and he loves the connection and intimacy of mixing pain with pleasure. he’s also definitely into biting, scratching, and spanking if you’re okay with it. micha is very possessive …

michael has you bent over in bed, a massive, tattooed hand locked around your smooth, delicate throat, his deep voice low in your ear ; “mein leibling, god, you’re so pretty f’me … feels better like this, no? with my hand around your neck? you always cum so much harder … shhhh, that’s it .. just let me.”

he groans, thrusting so deep that you can feel his fat tip nudge your poor, sensitive cervix, at the same time that his full, heavy balls tense up and brush against your tiny little clit as he tries to stave off his own orgasm. you gasp and choke, a deep whine hardly escaping through his grip on your throat.

“shhhh, angel baby, it’s okay, you’re safe,” he whispers softly, and you believe him wholeheartedly, just giving in and letting him have absolute control over your body.

先輩 ⸻ written by senpai with love

notes. idek how long this has been sitting in my drafts sorry :< but I’m really excited for bllk s3 !!

[ @slutsenpai ⨯ my masterlist ] — likes, reblogs & comments much appreciated! ◟♡ do not copy, repost, modify, or translate my writing anywhere for any reason

​it wasn’t just the sock though. it was the way he’d walk into the apartment after a ten-hour day of jumping and sweating, look at you sitting on the couch, and collapse onto your lap like a felled redwood tree. he merges into your very soul. and now, he’s currently trying to achieve some sort of biological symbiosis where your skin ended and his began.

​“yer heart’s beating real fast,” he mumbled, his face pressed so firmly into the crook of your neck that his voice sounded like it was coming from underwater. “is it ‘cause i’m home? did ya miss me that much? i bet ya did. i bet ya were cryin’ at the door like a lonely puppy.”

​the irony was thicker than his kansai accent. atsumu was the one who had sent forty-seven line stickers of a weeping bear while he was in the locker room. he was the one currently on top of the moon with the sheer intensity of being within grabbing range.

​“‘tsum, you’re literally crushing my internal organs,” you teased, though your fingers were already tangled in those bleached-blonde locks, scratching at the scalp where the sweat had dried.

​he let out a sound that was half-purr, half-whimper, a pathetic little noise that had no business coming from a man who could serve a volleyball at speeds that caused sonic booms. he shifted, crawling upward until he was straddling your lap, his massive frame dwarfing the cushions. his hands—those famous, expensive setter hands—didn’t go for your waist. no, he went straight for the hem of your shirt, slipping his palms underneath to feel the heat of your lower back. his skin was always scorching, like he was perpetually running a fever of 110 percent devotion.

​“can’t help it,” he whispered, nipping at your jawline with a desperation that was frankly embarrassing for his brand deals. “i spent all day dealin’ with bokuto’s screamin’ and shō’s energy. ‘m depleted. ‘m a battery at one percent, darlin’. need ta recharge.”

​he started trailing kisses up your neck, each one sounding like a suction cup. he was so needy. he wanted to consume your entire essence. he was simpy in the way a victorian poet was simpy—just absolute, unadulterated brain-rot for the person he loved.

​“did ya notice the missing sock?” he asked, pulling back just enough to look at you with those hooded, dark eyes.

​“the one you stole from the laundry basket? atsumu, that’s theft. i’m calling the police.”

​“call ‘em,” he challenged, a lopsided, arrogant grin breaking through his sad puppy facade. “tell ‘em yer boyfriend is a criminal for lovin’ ya. tell ‘em he’s got a fetish for cotton blends that touch yer ankles. see if they care.”

​he leaned in, his nose brushing yours. atsumu was a tactile glutton. even when he wasn’t kissing you, he had to be touching you. a toe on your foot, a finger hooked in your belt loop, his chin resting on your shoulder. he was a human ivy plant, and you were the sturdy brick wall he was intent on overtaking.

​“i’m takin’ ya to the game tomorrow,” he murmured, his hands wandering lower, his thumbs hooking into the waistband of your pajamas. “i want everyone to see ya. i want ‘em to know why i’m playin’ so good. ‘cause i gotta get home to this. to you.”

​the devotion in his voice was enough to make your teeth ache. it was sweet, sticky, and utterly relentless. he pulled you closer, if that was even physically possible, and buried his face in your chest.

​“yer so soft. why’re ya so soft? it’s unfair. i’m all muscle and angles and yer just... perfect.”

∞ྀི

​the msby black jackals locker room smelled like deep heat, expensive cologne, and the lingering scent of victory. the game had ended twenty minutes ago, and while the rest of the team was busy shouting about post-game yakiniku, atsumu was a man on a mission.

​he had spotted you in the stands—obviously, he’d spent half the warm-ups staring at your section until barnes told him to focus—and the moment the final whistle blew, his clingy meter had redlined.

​you barely had time to step into the hallway before a large, sweaty hand shot out, grabbed your wrist, and hauled you into the darkened secondary locker room. the door slammed shut with a heavy thud!, and suddenly, you were pinned against a row of cold metal lockers.

​but the lockers weren’t cold for long. atsumu was a radiator.

​“missed ya,” he growled, and he didn’t wait for a reply.

​his mouth crashed onto yours with the force of a man who had been wandering a desert for forty days. it wasn’t a gentle ‘hello’ kiss. it was a ‘i haven’t seen you in three hours and i’m losing my mind’ kiss. his tongue pushed past your lips with an impatient flick, demanding entry, demanding everything.

​he tasted like gatorade and pure hunger. his hands were everywhere—one tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your head back to give him better access, the other wandering down, gripping your thigh and hitching it up around his waist.

​“‘tsumu—” you gasped into his mouth, the sound immediately swallowed by another deep, wet slide of his tongue.

​“shut up,” he breathed, his voice a low, vibrating rumble against your lips. “just let me... god, i’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout this since the second set. you in my jersey. lookin’ all cute. makin’ me want to jump the rails, carry ya off, and bend you over on the shower room.”

​he broke the kiss only to attack your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin right below your ear. he wasn’t being careful, not at all. he left a mark—a dark, blossoming hickey that screamed property of miya atsumu—and he did it with a smug little hum of satisfaction.

​his hand slid under your top, lifting it with his palm hot and calloused as it cupped your chest, his thumb raking over it through the lace of your bra. you let out a sharp, jagged breath as he starts squeezing, licking, and sucking through the lace, your fingers digging into the damp fabric of his jersey. the contrast was insane—the high-octane professional athlete out on the court, and this desperate, trembling mess of a man in the dark.

his touch heavy and possessive, he wanted to feel every curve, every inch of skin he’d been deprived of during the match. his kisses moved back to your mouth, sloppier now, more frantic. you could hear the wet, rhythmic sounds of the both of you making out echoing off the lockers—the slide of tongues, the hitch of your breath, the low, needy groans he kept making in the back of his throat.

​he pulled your bottom lip between his teeth and tugged, hard, before soothing the sting with a slow, agonizing lick. he was acting like he wanted to climb inside your ribcage.

​“ya taste so good,” he muttered, his forehead resting against yours as you both panted for air. his eyes were blown out, dark and glazed with a terrifying amount of affection. “i’m gonna go home and i’m gonna keep ya awake all night. i’m gonna kiss every single inch of ya until ya forget yer own name. ya hear me?”

​you couldn’t even form a sentence. your brain was mush. atsumu took your silence as a challenge, leaning back in to suck on your pulse point, his hands firmly kneading your hips as if he were trying to mold you into a shape that fit him better.

​“miya! we’re leaving! don’t tell me you’re still lookin’ for that sock!” sakusa’s muffled, disgusted voice drifted from the hallway.

​atsumu stiffened, letting out a frustrated hiss. he didn’t pull away, though. instead, he pressed the tent of his shorts against you one last time, a heavy, grounding pressure that made your heart do backflips.

​“i’m never lettin’ ya go,” he whispered, a promise that sounded a lot like a threat to your personal space.

​he pulled back just an inch, his eyes scanning your face with a look so tender it was almost painful. he reached out, thumbing a stray drop of saliva from the corner of your mouth then putting it in his, his expression shifting from feral predator back to hopelessly devoted boyfriend in a heartbeat.

​“go wait by the bus, darlin’. i’ll be out in two minutes. and if i see any guy lookin’ at that mark i just gave ya, i’m hittin’ ‘em with a jump serve.”

​he gave you one last, quick peck on the nose—a jarringly wholesome contrast to the debauchery of the last five minutes—and watched you walk out with the gaze of a man who had just won the lottery and was terrified someone would steal the ticket.

​atsumu was a lot of things: a champion, a twin brother, a fatty, a public figure. but mostly, he was just a guy who would happily live in your pocket if the laws of physics allowed it. and as you walked toward the bus, feeling the tingle on your lips and the weight of his mark on your neck, you knew there wasn’t a single place in the world he’d rather be than stuck to you like cosmic glue.

​he was already texting you before you reached the exit.

slave: “should we try the sturdiness of every furniture again? we’re buying new furnitures with your favorite color if we stain them too much.”

n: awooga, this was kept in my drafts for my eyes only. but i reached a milestone, so there goes my selfish desires.

ps. suggestive fics are in between smut and fluff, no one can torch me for this.

masterlist - the art of haikyū!!

© showhay — don’t copy, repost, or translate without my permission. do not use/feed my works to AI.

To be fair, Ran was the one who pursued you first. Around Roppongi, he and his younger brother, Rindo, are known as the most stylish delinquents you could ever encounter. ​You still remember the afternoon he showed up outside the school gates, leaning against a polished motorcycle. He had these ridiculous, heavy earrings that caught the sun every time he tilted his head, looking completely out of place against the drab brick of the building.

Amidst a sea of a hundred identical school uniforms, Ran stood out entirely. When he walked straight through the crowd and stopped in front of you, you actually looked behind yourself to make sure, as the bewildered stares of your peers prickled against your back. 

You have been making questionable decisions ever since.

It's not as though dating him is miserable.

Ran remembers your favorite snacks. He waits outside after class when it rains. He complains whenever you refuse to let him carry your bag, then carries it anyway. But he is far from an ideal, textbook boyfriend. He is still a reckless teenager with a life full of secrets. He completely forgot your three-month anniversary, showing up three days late without a single clue until you brought it up. Sometimes he just vanishes entirely for days at a time, leaving your texts on read. When he finally resurfaces, he acts like no time has passed at all, casually returning with a random little trinket that he completely refuses to explain,

Dangerous people, you've learned, don't have to be cruel to be dangerous.

There are rumors, too—darker ones that don't quite fit the glossy magazine image of him. You know he spent time in juvenile detention when he was younger. Though you don't know the reason why—you just assume he got into a bad street fight. Rebellious teenagers do things like that all the time, right?

_

During attempts at sneaking out, your hands shake so badly that you nearly drop your phone while trying to text him. You ease your bedroom window open and discover, to your horror, that Ran has somehow already climbed halfway up the tree beside your house.

"Are you insane?" you whisper.

"A little," he winks, entirely unbothered by the height.

The latch on your window has been loose for years. Your father keeps saying he'll fix it whenever he has time. Apparently, Ran has noticed, he pushes it open the rest of the way and motions for you to climb through.

"There is no way that this is safe," you hiss.

Ran lets out a low chuckle. "Look on the bright side. It’ll be funny if you fall."

"You are the worst boyfriend imaginable," you glare at him, swinging one leg over the windowsill anyway.

The moment you look down, the dark ground suddenly looks miles further away than it did from the safety of your room. The cold night air bites at your bare ankles. You hesitate, your fingers locking onto the window frame in a sudden wave of panic.

Ran tilts his head, a knowing smile tugging at his lips as he looks up at you. "Don't tell me you're backing out now? You trust me, don't you?"

"...Yeah."

The answer leaves your mouth before your brain can even voice a protest.

You let go. For one terrifying second, as the wind rushes past your ears, you are certain you've made the worst decision of your life.

Then a pair of arms catches you around the waist before your feet ever reach the ground. Ran steadies you, waits until you're balanced.

"Told you," he flashes a wicked grin and taps his fingers against your hip. 

Your heart is pounding hard enough to qualify as a medical emergency.

He parked his motorcycle a few blocks away, fully aware of how loud the engine is and determined not to wake your parents. He takes your hand, pulling you along the quiet sidewalk.

​When you reach the bike, you notice he already has your helmet resting on the seat. He bought it weeks ago after deciding that borrowing one from Rindo was "gross." You meet Rindo from time to time when they hang out, and even the younger brother is nice to you, occasionally tossing a playful, teasing comment your way.

You scoop the helmet up, then notice he isn't moving to grab his own.

"Aren't you wearing one?" you ask, crossing your arms and planting your feet.

Ran just chuckles, tossing his long braids over his shoulder as he swings a leg over the motorcycle. "Don't have one."

"You absolutely have one."

"I absolutely left it somewhere," he says, flashing an innocent smile that convinces exactly nobody.

"So I'm not getting on until you wear one."

He sighs dramatically, slouching over the handlebars. "You've become really bossy lately. You know it messes up my hair—"

"Ran."

You don't budge, holding his gaze until he groans. Reaching into the side compartment, he pulls out the hidden second helmet and straps it on over his braids.

"So you did bring one," you say.

"I was hoping you'd forget."

"You've known me for six months."

Ran clicks his visor down, his eyes curving into a crinkle. "I keep hoping." 

Once you climb on behind him, the quiet night shatters. Ran guns the engine and races through the empty streets, the city opens around the two of you in streaks of red brake lights and glowing convenience stores, late-night restaurants spilling laughter onto the sidewalks, apartment windows shining like stars stacked on top of one another. He purposely drives a little too fast, taking the sharp turns that force you to squeeze your arms tightly around his waist, burying your face into his back. 

​"Ran! Slow down!" you yell over the wind. 

"I am!" Ran laughs, the vibration of his chest rumbling right against your hands as he speeds up just a fraction more to tease you.

"You absolutely are not!"

​The wild ride ends when he pulls up to a massive arcade in a bustling, sleepless district of Tokyo. Inside, the atmosphere is loud and entirely washed in brilliant, flashing neon lights.

​Ran is an incredibly attentive date. Before you can even suggest a game, he buys a ridiculous, heavy cup full of tokens and hands it over to you. He says if you both don't use them all then you’ll lose trying.

You spend the next hour doing exactly that.

You lose spectacularly at basketball.

You somehow finish last against a group of twelve-year-olds in a racing simulator.

​Later, you challenge him to a racing game, sitting side-by-side in the plastic arcade seats. You end up losing terribly, your virtual car crashing into a wall on the final lap. Ran throws his head back and laughs, completely delighted by your frustration, before dropping another token into your slot to let you try again when you glares at him.

Then he wanders over to a claw machine.

"Pick one," he says, tilting his head toward the colorful prizes inside.

You glance at the tangled heap of plushies. "Don't bother. They're rigged."

"So?" Ran scoffs softly, already dropping a token into the slot. On his very first try, the claw grabs a ridiculously oversized lavender rabbit and drop it into the chute. 

"There you go." He retrieves it and places it into your arms like a trophy. "That was almost too easy." 

"You cheated," you say. 

"I didn't, some of us just have actual talent," he says, nudging your shoulder as the arcade lights dance across his grin. 

You hug the rabbit a little tighter and decide not to answer. ​Of course, you aren’t entirely stupid. You know this little arrangement carries a certain degree of risk. Your family would harbor a collective stroke if they ever saw him, and your noisier relatives would spend the next three major holidays dissecting the disaster of you associating with someone so clearly tied to gang affiliations. 

Even your cousins, who think getting a tattoo behind your ear counts as rebellion, would suddenly discover the value of family tradition.

Gang members don't settle down.

Gang members don't have futures.

Gang members bring trouble to your doorstep.

Perhaps that's why you've never told them.

You will keep him around until graduation. Let him serve as the thrilling backdrop to your final year of youth, and then you'll thank Ran for the memories, wish him well, and quietly disappear into a future with internships and office jobs and respectable people. After all, a notorious delinquent doesn’t exactly belong on your resume forever.

Around midnight, the heavy crowd inside the arcade finally starts thinning out. You and Ran step back out into the cool night air and head toward the parking lot. You yawn as you follow Ran toward the rows of metal bicycles, the lavender rabbit tucked beneath one arm. Your throat feels completely parched from the heat of the machines and talking over the loud music.

"I'm freezing," you mention, shifting the plush prize in your arms, "and I'm getting so thirsty."

He glances sideways at you. "Want a drink?"

"If they have melon soda."

"They better," he says, already scanning the aisle for the vending machines. 

The vending machines inside the arcade greet the two of you with rows of empty shelves. Everything worthwhile has already been bought by students and couples lingering long after curfew.

​"Wait by the bike," Ran says, slipping his hands into his jacket pockets. "There's another set of machines just around the corner. I'll be right back."

​You nod and keep walking toward his motorcycle. He doesn't seem worried. Why would he be? 

You're standing under bright lights in a public parking lot attached to a busy entertainment district. Security cameras and people are wandering in and out, nothing bad happens in places like this.

At least, that's what you tell yourself.

You lean against a railing and absentmindedly squeeze the stuffed rabbit's oversized ears.

The lot empties little by little, leaving vast stretches of dark asphalt between the flickering streetlamps. That's when you notice a group of three or four guys has been loitering near the edge of the lot. They wear mismatched streetwear and look thoroughly disheveled. 

​Sensing an easy target, they move in. 

​"Hey there," the guy in the front says, a nasty grin spreading across his face. "You're out pretty late."

"I'm waiting for someone," you say, offering a polite smile that doesn't reach your eyes.

"Yeah?"

The tallest one glances around the parking lot.

"Looks like you're alone."

Hearing that, you take a cautious step backward, your stomach does a sharp, ugly flip.

Almost instantly, the shadows shift. Another guy steps sideways, his laughter cutting through the quiet air. They quickly fan out, blocking your path to the motorcycle and cutting off your route back to the bright entrance of the arcade.

"Come on, we're just talking," another say. "That's a pretty nice bike you're leaning on. Your boyfriend leave you behind?"

Your fingers tighten around the plush rabbit. You tell yourself to stay calm, they're probably just trying to scare you.

A force suddenly hits one of them from behind.

​There is a loud—hollow crack of metal meeting a skull. The guy doesn't even have time to scream; his eyes roll back, and his body collapses instantly onto the asphalt, completely unconscious and limp.

​The remaining three guys gasp, spinning around in panic. Standing in the dim light of the streetlamp is Ran.

His eyes are half-lidded, yet his expression completely blank as he looks at the group. In his right hand, he holds a silver telescoping baton that glints under the neon light.

His gaze drifts from the unconscious boy to the others, then to you. "You okay?"

Your voice refuses to cooperate, but you nod anyway.

Only then does he look back at the remaining boys. Recognition spreads across the leader, his face goes entirely pale. 

​"M-Haitani..." the leader stammers, his confidence evaporating into pure terror. "We didn't know—"

​"They’re with me," Ran interrupts, tossing the drink bottle lightly in the air and catching it. 

​The guys start backing up, raising their hands in frantic apology, desperately trying to defuse the situation. ​But it is already too late. 

​Before the leader can even turn to run, Ran moves with terrifying speed. The heavy metal baton strikes the man's collarbone with a horrific, splintering sound. The man drops to the asphalt, screaming, but Ran doesn't stop. He swings again, the metal cracking against ribs and jaws. 

The other two try to run, but Ran already catches one by the collar, dragging him backward and slamming his head repeatedly into the brick wall of the arcade until the man slides down, leaving a smeared trail on the masonry. The final thug falls to his knees, sobbing and covering his face, but Ran simply stands over him, methodically bringing the baton down again, and again, and again.

​You stand frozen by the motorcycle, while Ran keeps striking long after the man stops moving, long after the whimpering dies down. The brutal reality of the violence knocks the breath straight out of you. 

As the groans of the barely conscious men echo across the empty parking lot, you stare at blood and teeth spray across the concrete, utterly terrified of the person you've been dating.

The sound of metal striking bone finally stops.

​Ran stands over the bodies, breathing easily as if he had just finished a light workout. With a practiced flick of his wrist, he collapses the bloody baton back into its compact size and slips it away. When he turns around to look at you, his eyes instantly soften, the terrifying vacancy disappearing as he spots the plush prize lying in the dirt.

​He steps toward you, lifting a plastic convenience store bag. "Hey. I got your drink, and—"

​You take a violent step backward, your entire body shaking. Your breath hitches, your chest heaving as you stare at his fingers—fingers that are dusted with a light spray of someone else's blood.

​Ran freezes. His hand hovers in the empty air between you as he registers the horror in your expression. For a split second, a flash of something unreadable cuts through his usual calm, but he forces his face back into a reassuring expression. He takes a slow step back, giving you space.

​"Woah, easy. Look at me," he says, his voice incredibly soft, dropping down to that low, soothing tone he uses when he's teasing you. "It's just me. It's Ran. I'm not going to hurt you. I would never, ever hurt you. You know that, right?"

You can barely nod. Your jaw is locked tight, your knees shaking so violently you feel like you might collapse into the dirt alongside the discarded plush prize. Ran notices the terror locking up your joints. He doesn't push it. Instead, he carefully picks up the fallen stuffed animal, dusts it off with a clean corner of his jacket, and gently sets it on the seat of the bike.

​It takes a long time for your breathing to slow down. You let him guide you back onto the motorcycle, though you hold onto his jacket with stiff, trembling fingers this time, keeping your eyes strictly averted from the dark stains on the pavement.

The ride away from the arcade is a total blur. He drives slowly this time—painfully so—and neither of you says a word. You don't even realize you're trembling until you notice the vibration in your own hands.

Ran notices first. At the next red light, he reaches back as though to squeeze your arm.

You flinch.

His hand stops dead in midair. Then, he withdraws it without a sound, his fingers slipping back onto the handlebars just as the traffic light changes to green. 

Eventually, the motorcycle pulls into a tiny neighborhood park squeezed between apartment buildings. Ran leads you to a wooden bench, silently handing you the cold bottle of your favorite drink along with a small plastic cup of ice cream. It's ridiculous. He's treating you like a kid who just fell off a bicycle, completely ignoring the fact that he just fractured three men's skulls a block away. 

​You don't drink it. You just stare at the melting ice cream, the plastic spoon heavy in your hand, entirely unable to swallow a single bite. Neither of you talks for a long time, until Ran suddenly reaches toward you again. This time, slowly. Giving you every opportunity to pull away.

When you don't, he wraps both arms around you and draws you against his chest, burying his face into the crook of your neck, holding you as if you might vanish if he lets go.

​"Ran?" you whisper against his shoulder, your voice small.

​"I'm sorry..." he murmurs, his grip tightening.

​You blink against the dark fabric of his jacket, confused by the sudden vulnerability.

​"I'm sorry for leaving you all alone. For letting those idiots get close to you..." His voice cracks slightly, filled with a terrifyingly genuine guilt. "I'm sorry."

​He holds you tighter, his chest rising and falling against yours. "Next time, call my name out loud. I promise I'll come to you right away."

Looking at him now, the monster from the parking lot feels like a distant, bad dream. You want to believe this version of him. You want to believe that the danger is something he can just switch off when he’s with you.

Slowly, you reach your hands up, cradling the back of Ran's head, letting your fingers slide through his neat braids as you lean heavily against him.

​"I'm sorry, too," you whisper.

​Ran pulls back just an inch, looking down at you with a curious expression. "For what?"

​You consider the question.

For dragging him into your life. For making him worry. For being afraid of him. For wishing you had never seen what happened in that parking lot. For knowing that nothing feels quite the same anymore—

Instead, you mumble, "I don't know."

​Ran blinks, the gravity of the moment instantly evaporating. His lips twitch into an annoyed pout. He even makes a ridiculous, exasperated face, entirely ruining the tragic romance of the mood.

"...Seriously?"

"It sounded better in my head," you shrug.

Ran scoffs, rolling his eyes as he lets go of you just enough to lean back against the bench. "Here I am, pouring my heart out, and you're making jokes? You are completely heartless."

​"You're the one who made it weird," you tease back weakly.

​Ran huffs, but the easy, lazy smile quickly slides back onto his face. He reaches over, playfully flicking your forehead. "Yeah, yeah. Eat your ice cream before it turns into soup, brat."

​For the next ten minutes, the terrifying edge of the night completely melts away. You tease him about his dramatic apology, and he shoots back with his usual mocking banter. It works, too. Ran is so effortlessly charming when he wants to be that you actually find yourself laughing until the knot in your stomach completely unties itself. To anyone passing by, they’d just see a couple of normal, stupid teenagers flirting in the middle of the night.

It’s an incredibly nice illusion; you almost convince yourself that you can just ride this out. But then you look at his eyes. Even while he's laughing at you, the violet is completely cold. You know that if those guys walked into this park right now, Ran would do it all over again without blinking. 

You really need to break up with him. 

_

You pace back and forth across your bedroom floor, staring down at your phone until the screen blurs. Your heart thumps against your ribs. You have been fighting with yourself for the past hour, rewriting the same text message a dozen times before you finally find the courage to hit send.

The message is painfully short. 

Are you busy?

You stare at the screen afterward, immediately regretting it.

Maybe this is a terrible idea, asking him to hang out one last time before ending things is unnecessarily cruel, instead of just ripping the bandage straight off.

Your thumb hovers over the message, wondering if deleting it would somehow erase the fact that you sent it.

Your phone vibrates.

No. Want to go somewhere?

You blink, the reply came so quickly that it feels automated.

You type back before you can overthink it.

Sure.

You figure you have at least an hour to prepare yourself while you wait for a reply mentally. But less than ten minutes later, the distinct rumble of a motorcycle engine vibrates right outside your house.

You scramble down the stairs, and when you open the front door, Ran is already idling at the curb. He's in his gang uniform, leaning back against the seat with one hand on the handlebar.

"Ran? Wow, you got here fast." You jog over to him, nervously adjusting the strap of your bag. "I didn't mean to drag you out so abruptly. You weren't busy, right?"

Ran shifts his head, giving you a lazy smile through the open visor of his helmet. "For you? Never. I have all the time in the world."

Right on cue, his phone starts buzzing furiously inside his jacket.

Ran sighs, a faint flicker of annoyance crossing his face before he pulls the device out. Instead of putting it to his ear, he hits the speaker button. Instantly, Rindo’s voice completely explodes through the line, so loud and angry it cuts right through the rumble of the motorcycle engine.

"Ran, you absolute idiot! Where the hell did you go?!" Rindo yells, sounding completely out of breath and incredibly stressed.

"I'm outside," Ran says, calmly moving the phone an inch farther from his ear.

"I know you're outside! We're in the middle of a meeting, you can't just leave!"

You open your mouth to tell Ran he needs to go back to Roppongi, but Ran doesn't look remotely guilty.

He stares straight ahead at the road, presses the power button on the side of the phone, and holds it down until the screen goes completely black. He slides the dead phone back into his pocket, turns his head back to look at you, and gives you a reassuring nod.

"...Anyway, what do you want to do today?" he says.

"...That's it?" You stare at him. "You just hung up on your brother."

"He'll get over it," Ran waves a hand dismissively.

He swings one leg over the motorcycle and offers you the spare helmet. "So? Where are we going?"

"I haven't decided." You take the helmet, forcing an awkward laugh as you climb onto the back of the bike. 

"Good, we've got all day."

As you wrap your arms around his waist, you squeeze your eyes shut. You need to make this afternoon completely perfect. If you can just keep him in a great mood, keep things fun, and let him down easy, everything will go smoothly. It has to.

You do not notice the way Ran glances back over his shoulder, studying your expression for a heartbeat longer than usual.

He doesn't say anything.

You pull him toward the high-end streetwear district, a bustling maze of sleek glass storefronts and trendy boutiques. Since your ultimate goal is to soften him up before the final blow, you throw yourself into the role of the attentive girlfriend.

Ran is entirely in his element—he loves fashion, and it shows. You spend the next hour steering him from one window display to another, nodding eagerly as he critiques the latest seasonal drops and points out pieces he thinks would look good on you.

"You'd look cute in that knit," he muses, leaning his shoulder against a pristine glass pane, his violet eyes tracking your reflection. "Maybe we should go inside and buy it."

"No, no, just looking today!" you say quickly, forcing a bright, airy laugh that feels a little too loud in your own ears.

You are working hard to keep this mood flawless. Normally, you’d roll your eyes at his arrogance, but today you find yourself smiling until your cheeks literally ache, hold his hand whenever he offers it, and make sure to laugh at every single one of his comments, even the ones that aren't funny. 

But underneath the performance, your nerves are completely frayed. Your stomach is knotted in a tight, agonizing ball, and your skin feels hyper-sensitive. Every time your fingers brush against his, they are trembling slightly. Whenever he looks away, your smile instantly drops, your eyes darting nervously to your phone to check the time.

Finally, you decide you can't stretch the afternoon out any longer. The designated hour has arrived.

You stop on the sidewalk, smoothing down your clothes and looking up at him with the most casual expression you can muster.

"Hey, I'm kind of hungry," you suggest, gesturing down the street. "There's a really cute, crowded bakery just around the block. Let's get a coffee."

"A bakery?" Ran repeats, his eyes narrowing just a fraction in an unreadable expression before his easygoing grin slips back into place. He reaches out, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear with a touch so gentle it makes your heart stop. "Sounds perfect. Lead the way."

​The air smells warmly of sweet vanilla and fresh pastry, a sharp contrast to the cold knot of dread tying itself in your stomach. The space is completely packed with chattering couples, students studying, and families buying bread. You picked this spot on purpose. It is public, and it is crowded—a built-in safety net. There is a zero percent chance Ran would ever try to do anything reckless with fifty witnesses staring directly at him.

You rehearse the speech in your head over and over until the words lose all meaning. I'm grateful for everything, let's end things while both still happy.

You discard every version. They all sound fake.

​Ran sits across from you in the booth, casually swirling an iced coffee with his straw. He reaches across the table and steals half your pastry.

"That was mine."

Somehow, despite everything, you still glare at him.

"I know," he shrugs, popping the piece into his mouth without a shred of regret.

You almost laugh. But then you remember exactly why you are sitting here, and the laughter dies completely before it can even reach your mouth.

"Graduation is next week," you started, your voice slightly tight as you tried to ease into the conversation. "Have you actually thought about what comes next? You’ll eventually have to get a real job, you know. Settle down after high school. You can't just run around the streets forever and blowing off your brother's gang meetings."

Ran didn't look annoyed by the suggestion. Instead, he looked genuinely, deeply amused by the entire concept.

"A real job?" he murmured, wiping the sugar from his fingers and tilting his head. "And miss out on all the thrill? Please. The straight and narrow is far too boring for me."

Hearing those words, the final thread of your hope snapped. It was the ultimate confirmation that it wasn't a rebellious trend he was going to outgrow or leave behind for university. 

The knot in your stomach tightened until it physically hurt. You couldn't stretch this out for another minute. 

"I think..."

Taking a deep breath, your fingers tightly gripping the edge of your seat, you finally say the words. 

"I think we should break up."

The noise of the bakery continues around you.

​Ran doesn’t look angry at that. Instead, that smile just stretches across his lips, completely calm. He sets his coffee down with a soft click against the wood.

​"A breakup?" Ran repeats. He glances around the loud bakery, taking in the close proximity of the families at the next table, before fixing his eyes back on you. "Well, it’s a bit too noisy to talk about something that serious here, don't you think? Let’s go somewhere a little more private. There’s a quiet alley right around the corner. It's just a small walk."

​Panic floods your chest like ice water. Your breath hitches. You chose this place precisely to avoid being alone with him.

"Ran, no, let's just—we can talk right here," you say, your voice cracking slightly as you try to force a casual laugh. "It's fine, we don't need to go anywhere—"

"You’ve been acting weird the entire day, you know?" Ran cuts you off softly.

​As you look at him, you catch a look in his eyes that you have never seen before. The playful warmth he always reserves for you is utterly gone. His violet eyes are completely flat, dead, and freezing cold—the exact same dead expression he had right before he shattered a man's jaw with his baton.

"Did you really think I didn't notice that?" he asks, his chuckle quiet and entirely devoid of warmth. "Get up, we're taking that walk."

He slides his chair back, the wooden legs scraping loudly against the floor. He stands up, his tall frame instantly blocking out the warm bakery lights, casting a long shadow over your table.

Before you can even protest, he tosses a few bills onto the table to cover the drinks and waits for you. ​Your legs feel like lead as you stand up and follow him out the door.

​The walk down the sidewalk is excruciating. Ran steps at a leisurely pace, his hands tucked casually into his jacket pockets, looking for all the world like a boyfriend enjoying an afternoon stroll. 

​"Ran, wait," you stammer, scrambling to keep up with his long strides, your voice rising in a panicked rush. "I-I was just kidding, okay? It was a joke. I just wanted to see your reaction! You know how I am. I didn't mean it, I swear. Let's just go back inside and get some cake, alright? Ran?"

​You keep rambling, throwing out every excuse you can think of. Ran doesn't interrupt you. He just keeps walking, occasionally humming in mock understanding, letting you dig yourself deeper and deeper into your own terror.

​Finally, he turns a sharp corner, guiding you out of the afternoon sun and into the dim, narrow shadows of a brick alleyway. 

​Ran stops walking and you nearly walk into him. For several seconds, neither of you moves.

Then he turns around, looking down at you. "Tell me something... why did you think my brother and I went to juvenile detention?"

The question catches you off guard, you nod uncertainly.

"I... I heard you got into a bad street fight. With a rival gang."

​Ran lets out a chuckle that sends a violent shiver straight down your spine. He looks upward for a moment, studying the slice of gray sky between the buildings.

Then he speaks again.

"I killed someone."

The sentence lands so softly that your brain refuses to process it.

You stare at him, waiting for the punchline, for the grin and him to say he got you. But none comes.

"When we were younger," he continues, closing the distance between you, "there was a fight between gangs, my brother and I caught the leader of the rival faction."

He reaches out, his thumb gently, almost tenderly, tracing the line of your jaw.

"It got out of hand. And I beat him so badly that his damn skull fractured under my hands."

​The alleyway goes completely silent. 

Your breath hitches as you instinctively try to twist your face out of his hand, your palms coming up to push at his chest.

"I didn't want you to find out like this," he sighs quietly. His voice is so calm that it almost tricks you into forgetting what he just admitted.

Your thoughts become tangled. You don't know whether to apologize, to cry, or to run. To pretend none of this happened.

Instead, you whisper, "I think I should go home." 

Ran’s gentle demeanor drops in a second. His grip on your jaw instantly tightens, squeezing your jawline hard enough to bruise, completely locking your head in place. 

With his other hand, he reaches into his pocket. There is a sharp clack, and the silver telescoping baton extends. He slowly presses the cold, heavy metal cylinder directly against your collarbone, right over the racing pulse at the base of your neck. 

"Let’s make one thing perfectly clear, then," Ran murmurs, his violet eyes wide and unblinking. "I love this pretty face of yours too much. It would be a terrible shame to see it bruised up... or worse. Do you understand me?"

He leans in closer, the suffocating scent of his cologne filling your nose as his gaze locks onto your trembling lips. The cold tip of the metal baton presses deeper into your collarbone.

​"Oh, you have no idea how much I adore you," he continues, his voice dropping into a soft, reverent whisper that makes your skin crawl. "I think about you constantly. I look at you and I just want to keep you safe in my pockets forever. I swear, I would destroy anything—or anyone—that tries to take you away from me. Even you."

​He pulls back just enough to look into your panicked, tear-stained face, his thumb softly wiping away a stray tear. "So, let's try this again. You love me, right? And we're going to stay together for a very, very long time."

Your eyes sting. You don't know whether you're about to cry or simply stop breathing.

Finally, barely above a whisper, you answer. 

"...I love you." 

Slowly, the crushing pressure on your jaw eases. You hadn't even realized how tightly your own fingers had closed around his until now. Ran collapses the baton with a smooth flick of his wrist and tucks it away. 

Before you can pull away, he cups your face once more. He leans down and presses his lips to yours in a deep kiss.

When he pulls back, his fingers return to being uncannily gentle, smoothing over the red marks his grip just left on your skin, entirely uncaring of the pain he caused. He even reaches down to fix the collar of your shirt, patting it flat.

"There you go," he says, his voice returning to that lazy, cheerful purr. "You shouldn't make up silly jokes like that anymore. It makes me think I'm not taking good enough care of you." 

He steps back, clearing your path out of the shadows, and extends his hand to you. "Now, let's go finish our date."

Your entire body is trembling. Your jaw throbs, and the phantom sensation of cold metal still lingers against your throat. 

Swallowing down the bitter taste of tears, you slowly raise your shaking hand and place it in his.

Ran’s fingers immediately close around yours, locking your hand in a tight grip. He pulls you along as he casually strolls back out into the daylight.

In an instant, you are back on the bustling main street. The sun is shining warmly, the cheerful bell of the bakery is ringing in the distance, and normal high school students are laughing on the sidewalks.

Ran looks down at you, swinging your joined hands playfully between you as you walk. "So, what do you want to do next?"

You force your lips to curve upward. You swallow the terror in your throat and force a small, compliant smile, nodding along to his words. 

That night, you find yourself sitting cross-legged on the soft carpet of your bedroom. You’ve just closed the window, letting the cool night air drift away. Suddenly, your phone vibrates on the wooden nightstand, breaking the stillness and pulling your attention to the screen.

A single message from Ran appears.: