#mitsuya

You showed up at the sewing club one afternoon wearing a lilac cardigan, the kind of soft purple shade that looked like it could melt into spring air. Mitsuya looked up from his work, halfway through hemming Smiley's jacket, and forgot what he was doing for an embarrassing second.

“Hey, 'kashi,” you greeted with that smile that always made his chest feel too small. Not to mention the nickname only you got to use. “Could you help me fix this? The button fell off.”

He nodded, took the cardigan, and set to work with quiet focus. You leaned on the table beside him, watching his hands move–steady, precise, looking angelic as ever. He had to admit it was a little pressuring, especially when someone good-looking was watching—definitely different from those times the principal came by for the yearly observation.

When he finished, he handed it back shyly, without looking at you as he packed up. “There. Good as new.”

You slipped it on again, smoothing the fabric. “You’re a lifesaver. I owe you one.”

He smiled, whispering a soft, ‘you’re welcome. But when you left, the faint scent of lavender lingered.

That night, he sat at his desk under the warm lamplight, flipping through his collection of fabric. Blues, greens, reds–all of them dull and lifeless. Then he found it: a scrap of pastel lilac he’d bought months ago and never thought of using.

It was soft to the touch. Comforting. Familiar. You.

The next day, when Draken asked in passing what color he wanted for a keychain (probably another one of Mikey and Takemichi’s stunts), this time Mitsuya didn’t even hesitate.

He smiled as if remembering a fond memory.

“Lilac.” he answered, as if it had always been his favorite.

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When your mind eventually caught up with your body, you turned to the other side of the bed hoping to be met with the comforting presence of your still sleeping companion. You grimaced.

Empty.

Tears slowly welled up in your eyes. Biting your lip to push back the whimper you so desperately wanted to let out, you hit the pillow where his head laid instead, then a couple more times for good measure. To think that this visit would’ve been any different, that for once you would mean more to him than just someone to fool around with whenever he felt like it.

But, before you could wallow in self pity any further, there’s a knock on the bedroom door. You jumped, tugging the covers up to salvage what little decency you had in your vulnerable state. With your heart thumping wildly in your ribs, your breath hitched…Did he stay after all?

A second knock. This one a little more persistent.

With a stuttered intake of breath, you answered, “C-Come in.”

There’s a brief pause, as if the person on the other side hesitated in case they heard you wrong. You called out again, this time more confidently, your fists bunching up the sheets in anticipation at the sound of the doorknob turning; hope bloomed where dread had been planted. A watery smile grew on your face, however, the person who ended up peeking around the door wasn’t at all who you were expecting.

“Wha—Takemichi?!”

Your screech made the blonde startle, jerking back into whoever was standing behind him causing them both to yelp in pain before he was promptly shoved further into the room. Stumbling over his footing, Takemichi fell flat on the floor with a large thud. You winced, reflexively pulling the covers closer to your chin. Shortly after, the culprit revealed himself, a disgruntled Chifuyu holding his nose in pain as he glared down at the offender.

“Jeez, dude, s’your head made outta freaking stone?”

Takemichi grunted from below, “You were the one breathing down my damn neck!”

Like a deer in headlights, you watched the two of them bicker back and forth for a good second until the realization of your very nakedness beneath the covers caught up with you. With fire shrouding beneath your skin, you squeaked, “U-Uh excuse me!”

The two blondes froze, as if they just remembered what they were supposed to be doing. When their eyes darted in your direction, faces lit up like Christmas, Chifuyu and Takemichi swiftly turned on their heels with stiffened bodies while profusely apologizing as they faced away to give you privacy. Nervously, you searched around for a shirt or something, seeing clothes already waiting for you on your nightstand. You knew based on how haphazardly folded they were, Mikey left them there.

Your chest didn’t feel as tight anymore.

Without hesitation you snatched the shirt and sweats and quickly threw them on. Now somewhat decent, you gave the devastated pair the okay. “You can look now…”

Even from behind, you could tell how flustered they were, their ears red and demeanor meek as they hesitantly turned back around. Chifuyu scratched his cheek and Takemichi rubbed the back of his neck, both avoiding eye contact. The former was the first to break the awkward silence, “Sorry ‘bout that, [_____].”

He elbowed the latter. “Guht!… right. Sorry [_____].”

You nodded, offering a small smile. “It’s fine…you did knock. I just…wasn’t expecting to see you two.”

“Oh, right. Mikey called us. We arrived a few minutes ago, actually.”

“Yeah, he told us to check on you to see if you were awake—”

“He’s still here?” You perked up, hopes raised high to the ceiling. The duo finally looked at you again to show their confusion. Were you not aware of that?

Clearly from your elated expression, that seemed to be the case. Both nodded firmly, and they could’ve sworn the room grew brighter from your smile alone. However, it soon dissipated when an unanswered question still hung in the air.

With a confused blink, you asked, “Wait but…why’d he call you?”

They avoided eye contact again. Takemichi answered.

“You uh.. you’re needed in the living room.”

—

Though you struggled to get out of the bed and walk, you were grateful neither of them commented on it as they escorted you out of the bedroom. From down the hall, you could faintly make out a few other voices coming from the living room, nerves beginning to raddle as you fiddled with the hem of your shirt—More people?

Nothing could’ve prepared you for the sight you’re greeted with. Your eyes locked on the individual tied to a chair in the middle of the room, first. His head hung low, as if he were on the verge of unconsciousness, but there was no mistaking it. “A-Aki..”

Your presence was acknowledged instantly, every pair of eyes now on you. You felt rooted to the floor, utterly gobsmacked as you scanned the small area with alarms sounding off in your head—Draken, Mitsuya, even Baji came out of the kitchen carrying a bowl of ice before halting in his tracks upon noticing you. He greeted you with a wordless, fanged grin before the one man you’ve been wondering about since you woke up trailed out from behind him.

His low, tired gaze slowly sparked to life when it landed on you, lips spreading into a warm grin as he opened his arms and said, “Mornin’, angel. Sleep well?”

You widely blinked.

“Mikey…what’re you.. what is—what,” you stammered, having difficulty choosing what question to ask first as you vaguely gestured.

Your boyfriend sluggishly lifted his head, revealing his taped mouth and swollen face. Your jaw dropped, hand flying up to catch it; man’s was fucked up. And to add insult to injury, the former blonde practically floated over to you to happily engulf you in his strong embrace, as if the scene in front of you wasn’t there. You hesitated returning his affection, perturbed as you watched Baji set the bowl of ice on the coffee table and submerged his fists in it to numb his knuckles.

You gasped before gently pushing Mikey back to shout at the ravenette, “Don’t!”

Baji paused, looking over his shoulder at you. With mild annoyance, he said, “But t’s my turn.”

“Fuck your turn,” you looked back at Mikey, practically staring into his soul. “Explain yourself. Right now.”

He frowned. “No good mornin’ kiss?”

“Mikey.” You pressed, making him pout. When he didn’t say anything in response, you huffed before quickly pecking his lips, face boiling at the fact that there was an audience; you could feel Aki’s glare trying to burn you both. Mikey, on the other hand, beamed with satisfaction. “Now, will you please-”

“One more.”

“Wha—No.”

He pouted again. “One more, and then I’ll explain-”

“Right now, Manjiro!”

Your volume was unexpected, the room startling to a halt. Before Mikey had a chance to speak, you cut him off by lightly shoving him while spewing questions at him, “What the hell is Aki doing tied up in my living room like a fucking hostage? And why are you giving our friends turns?—Turns for what? Is this what you’ve seriously been doing while I was asleep? Trying to make some stupid point? Sneaking around with you wasn’t enough?”

“[_____]-”

“Why did you make me wake up thinking you left again without saying goodbye, you asshole?!”

That last part resulted in you beating your fists against his chest, and Mikey took every hit without protest.

Draken went to speak, since obviously their leader was taking his sweet time providing explanation, but swallowed his words when the shorter delinquent merely wrapped you in his arms again, placing a kiss on your forehead to smooth out the stress lines. He lingered there for a moment before resting his chin upon your head, hands soothingly rubbing your back as you shakily returned the hug, tightly clutching onto his shirt.

Gazes respectfully averted from the vulnerable display, aside from Aki as he continued to watch the two of you, overcome with despair when it all sunk in; you were never his. He had always been second place when it came to Manjiro Sano.

“Don’t be upset, angel. ‘m not going anywhere.”

You sniffled. “Then why-”

Mikey replied, coldly. “Seems your little plaything’s been busy. He paid off a couple of third-rate gangs to try and ‘stomp me out for good’.”

You stiffened, pulling back to search his eyes for any hint of a joke, but the abyss merely stared back. With a slight shake in your head, you attempted to deny the information, not wanting to believe Aki would do such a thing. But, after getting confirmation from the others, there was no room for any doubt.

“Only took us minutes to find out,” Mitsuya said. “Some of their members were cocky enough to go around running their mouths in hopes of recruiting other guys.”

“We tracked down every single one of the bastards involved. Took a few days, but a success nonetheless.” Draken added.

“And guess whose sorry ass was at the root of it all.” Baji sneered, kicking the side of the chair and sending Aki toppling over. He landed with a large thud, moans of pain following shortly after, muffled under the tape on his mouth.

You winced slightly at the sound, but weren’t able to dwell on it for long when Mikey redirected your focus back on him with a gentle nudge under your chin. His expression spoke a thousand words, ranging from solemn to devotion.

Reaching down to hold your hands, he explained.

“That’s why I left town the night after your party. Didn’t want you getting caught up in anything until we got this shit sorted out.”

With a blink, your eyes briefly shifted over to the groaning figure on your living room floor. “A bit late for that.”

Draken shook his head. “Told him we could’ve gone somewhere else to do this. Dumbass just wanted to wave his dick around.”

Mikey flushed, glaring at his second in command. “Did not!”

“Did, too.”

“Shut up, Ken-chin...” he huffed, pouting. “I just knew he wouldn’t suspect anything if [_____] asked him to come over.”

Your brows furrowed. But, your questions are answered when Mikey pulled said device from his pocket, handing it back to you.

“Might’ve borrowed this while you were sleeping.”

Taking the phone in one hand, you could only stare down at your reflection in the screen as it felt like a heavy weight in your hand. Your eyes trailed over to Aki, meeting his pained gaze as he breathed heavily through his nose. A large part of you felt horrible. With him receiving a beating on top of discovering your unfaithfulness, there was no ignoring the lump in your throat as you struggled to swallow. "I...I didn't want things to get this bad..."

Mikey squeezed your other hand, "It's not your fault, angel. Aki just forgot his place, that's all." He shot down an indifferent look at his pathetic form, Aki's blood running cold as he attempted to make himself appear smaller to avoid it. The former blonde directed a softer look at you, rubbing your arm as he assured you. "But the boys'll take care of it, so don't worry your pretty head."

Draken nodded at Takemichi and Chifuyu, the two of them making quick work to sit the guest of the hour upright, each grabbing at the chair's legs to lift Aki up and carry him out of the living room. He slowly began to panic, eyes wildly looking around the room and then landing on you as he pleaded with them, yells muffled by the tape around his mouth. "Mmmh! Mmfh! Mmfhh!"

You gaped, nervously taking a small step forward, "W-Where are you taking him?"

"Relax. Pah's lending us his truck, we're gonna load the fucker up and drop him at the hospital. I wanted to let him stargaze by a dumpster somewhere, but I was outvoted." Baji grumbled.

You allowed yourself to find relief in his statement, although it only sparked another concern. One that Mitsuya picked up on as he waved a hand. "We'll have Michi and Fuyu keeping tabs on him, make sure he behaves."

Mikey scoffed. "Even if he's stupid enough to run to the cops, we've got a few of his buddies ready to pin a bunch of shit on him, if necessary."

Without realizing just how much adrenaline you were running on, you could feel your legs buckle under you. Mikey was quick to steady you, bringing you over to the couch to sit you down, gently. He gestured for someone grab something to drink from the kitchen, Draken being the closest doing just that while Baji and Mitsuya trailed Takemichi and Chifuyu out the door to help with the truck.

Sitting there, lost in your thoughts, eventually the cold sensation of the glass of water pressed to your cheek snapped you free. Absentmindedly taking it from Draken, you muttered a soft thanks before chugging it down. Mikey sat beside you, rubbing your back as he let you take it all in. The second in command was dismissed shortly after to give the two of you some alone time, him placing a hand on your shoulder before taking his leave and closing the front door with a slam.

You jumped, blinking for a moment. Mikey took the empty cup from your shaky hands, taking them into his own as he held them. “What’s on your mind, angel?”

Closing your eyes, you deeply inhaled. Everything. Everything, everywhere, all at once, that’s what. However, you merely exhaled a small chuckle in disbelief, shaking your head as you eventually lifted your gaze to meet his attentive one. Squeezing his hands back, you softly, tiredly, responded. “Can you come back to bed now?”

Mikey looked at you, caught off guard. Then, he offered you a small grin of which soon turned into a yawn of his own. “Of course, angel.”

“So. This a thing now, or..?”

Inui’s eyes darted between you and DRAKEN, all cuddled up on your side of the booth. He was sipping his drink nonchalantly with you wrapped around his bicep, playing with his free hand while scrolling through social media. Both of you exchanged looks, him swallowing and your thumb stopping mid-scroll, then back at the confused blonde.

“Yeah.”

“Pretty much.” You chirped.

Inui heavily sighed. “Great. Means ‘m officially a third wheel. I’ll think twice before agreeing to hang out from now on. I’ve been traumatized enough when you were just on friendly terms. And I use that label lightly.”

Draken rolled his eyes. “Tsk. We were not that bad.”

“Need I remind you of the time I came into the shop earlier than normal, and you had them spread across the—Ngh!”

“Whoops. My foot slipped.” You coyly hummed, going back to scrolling. Inui’s brow twitched, reaching down to sooth his poor shin.

Draken snorted, face subtly flushed having remembered that day, vividly. It was one of the times you and your boy toy got into an argument; give you one guess about who. He cleared his throat, fist up to his lips to hide the growing smirk as Inui shot him a small glare, mouth opening to say more…until he’s loudly interrupted.

“You should’ve seen ‘em. I had that loser running for the hills!”

All three of you paused, exchanging looks of bewilderment. Peering over the booth you could see a group of guys entering the cafe, their leader instantly being recognized by both you and Draken; Takeru. You blinked in surprise, the two mechanics watching with mild interest as the boastful nuisance picked a nearby table, completely oblivious to the attention they've drawn. His friends appeared annoyed, groans leaving their lips as they slumped in their seats.

"Yeah, man, so you've said...for the hundredth time already." One had said, the other shaking his head.

"I still don't buy it. I mean, you, of all people, scaring off the Draken? No shot in hell."

Inui's eyes widened to the size of plates, you nearly choked on air whilst the forementioned man merely raised his eyebrow at the slander. Him? Running from that wet napkin? Damn straight no shot in hell. Takeru, on the other hand, was very adamant on the events being true.

He gave a smug laugh, sounding like a cartoon villain as he crossed his arms in triumph. "Well, you better believe it! I told him off for getting too friendly with [_____] and left him picking himself off the floor afterwards. It was light work."

His friends didn't look convinced in the slightest. "Mhm." "Sure, dude."

"I'm serious!"

Draken set his drink down, wry smirk growing on his face. He then cracked his neck and his knuckles as he readied himself for a much-deserved confrontation. Inui sighed, following suit as he rolled his shoulders back before standing. You sat up on your knees, whining at him as you tugged on his sleeve. "Don't kill him, Ken, I still need to get some of my things from his place..."

"I'll buy you new shit, doll." He said, gun-metal eyes hardening as he looked over at the other table. "'fraid I can't make any promises this time."

With Takeru facing the opposite direction, there was no way for him to notice the impending doom behind him. His friends, however, resemble deer in headlights at the sight of the six-foot-one and five-foot-ten approaching. Instantly recognizing the infamous dragon tattoo, they knew their friend's fate was about to be sealed. One gulped and the other merely closed his eyes in prayer.

Takeru tilted his head at them, brows furrowed. He opened his mouth to speak, only for a large hand to latch onto his shoulder and squeeze, rendering him speechless as pain racked through his body like red alerts across a screen. Draken leered over him like a blanket of death, wearing a sharp grin as he spoke venomously.

"Oi. Mr. Light Work. Why don’t you tell me and Inui here all about how you had me ‘running for the hills’ and ‘picking myself off the floor’. I seem to recall a different scenario, but hey, you can help jog my memory outside, yeah?"

When Makoto first opened his eyes after what felt like an eternal slumber, it took him a moment to gather his surroundinngs. The bright, cold lights on the ceiling. The crisp smell of lemon-scented disinfectant and latex. The rhythmic beating of his heart monitor.

Hospital. He was in the hospital.

With a few confused blinks and a groan, he wracked his brain to try and remember what happened that landed him in there. How long had it been? A day? A week? He wasn’t sure. But, he wouldn’t have to ponder long when his privacy curtain is pulled back to reveal his mother and a nurse. She gasped, flocking to his bedside with tears instantly flowing out of her face, kisses being showered on his bruises that instantly made him hiss in pain.

“Ngh-! M-Mom,” he rasped, struggling to lean away. The nurse, though nervously, advised against any sudden movements due to his weakened state.

“Ma’am, it may not be wise to overwhelm the patient so soon, he’s-”

She fixed the nurse with a hard glare, tears still streaming down her face, looking rather unhinged. “My husband doesn’t donate thousands of dollars to this hospital for you to give unsolicited advice. Do your job and get him something to eat.”

Bristled, the nurse bit her tongue before saying something she’d regret. With a small bow she excused herself, leaving just the two of them. Immediately, his mother went back to wailing about his injuries, asking him a million questions, whilst cursing about his ‘no-good significant other for getting him into trouble’—

“Wait, wait, wait. What did you say?”

“Hm? Oh, that [_____]. I told you they were no good, just based on their lack of decorum and who they associate with, it was bound to have you end up in the hospital, or worse. Thank God they agreed to leave you for good after this because I don’t know what I would’ve done if-”

“What did they say happened?” Makoto asked, exasperated.

His mother blinked, then burst into tears once more. “Oh, no! My poor baby has amnesia! Nurse! Nurse!”

“Mother!” He exclaimed, latching onto her sleeve before she could cause more of a scene. “Tell me what [_____] told you!”

“Honey, they said you got into fight trying to protect them from a mugging.”

Makoto froze. Then, with the speed of a man on fire, tossed the thin, scratchy blankets off to the side and jumped out of bed. Nearly giving his mother a heart attack, her nagging fell upon deaf ears as he made a beeline for his things gathered in a chair sitting in the corner, immediately searching for his phone. Upon finding the device, his sourtude only worsened when he saw there were no missed calls, no texts, no nothing from you.

He began blowing up your phone, but to no avail. Went straight to voicemail every time. Minutes passed, and Makoto grew increasingly more irritated to where one could see steam emitting from his ears. His mother continued pestering him, and soon the nurse came back with a tray of food, shocked to see him out of bed and joining the pestering, of which turned into the both of them arguing once more. But he paid them no mind, too busy delving into white hot hatred, ready to sign a deal with the devil himself if it meant you and that BAJI paid for humiliating him.

Just as he was about to dial again, there's a knock at the door.

The nurse and his mother pause their back and forth, looking over at the doorway to see a boy with dual-toned hair and a dangly earring. He gave a small grin, but his eyes practically pierced through Makoto. He didn't recognize the visitor, but judging based on his tatted neck and unsettling aura, he knew it couldn't mean anything good.

"Excuse me," his mother soon broke the silence. "I believe you have the wrong room."

"Oh, no, I have the right room. My name's Kazutora. I'm a friend of [_____]'s."

Makoto's eyes widened. He thrusted an accusatory finger at him, "N-No, I know you! Y-You're that felon, you work at that pet store with that psycho who attacked me, Keisuke Baji!"

Kazutora tilted his head. "Hm? Baji didn't attack you. You were knocked out cold by a thief. [_____] called him to help bring you all the way here-"

"There wasn't any mugging! I was assaulted by that thug in [______]'s apartment!"

"What?!" His mother screeched. Kazutora merely shook his head.

"Mm, no, I think you're mistaken. Baji was at the shop when [_____] called him. They're both at the police station right now giving their statement. They sent me here to check in on you." Kazutora lied effortlessly through his teeth, stare unwavering as he gaslit everyone in the room. "Clearly you hit your head pretty hard, man. Maybe you should lie back down. You aren't thinking straight."

Makoto floundered, gesturing wildly. "HE'S FUCKING LYING!"

His mother and the nurse didn't make the situation any better, cornering him and ushering him back to bed. Even though he struggled, there was no stopping the strength of an overworked, underpaid nurse as she slammed him down onto the bed, wrestling with him for a moment until she secured him with his mother's help, tucking him in tightly within the blankets. His mother fawned over him, combing through his hair, being careful of the bandages. Tears welled up in her eyes again, thinking that her son had gone hysterical. "My poor baby..."

"No, mother, you don't understand! You need to call our attorneys right now, c-call the police! That b-bastard's trying to make me sound crazy!"

"Maybe some morphine will help calm him down." Kazutora casually commented to the nurse. She grunted in agreement, worn out from dealing with the both of them as she left to prepare a heavy dosage.

He continued to shout in protest, all the way up until the nurse stuck him with the morphine. He tried to fight against it, but it was no use. And the last thing he could comprehend before the world faded to black was the hazy outline of Kazutora, approaching his bed as he leaned down to whisper a parting threat.

"Don’t try anything stupid. We know where you live."

—

Baji's phone vibrated, causing him to groan as he turned to squint at the offending device. With you fucked out, laid out, and passed out in his arms, he wanted nothing more to ignore whatever asshole was texting him. But, upon further inspection, it was his favorite asshole sending him an update on his little problem.

from : tora 9:09pm     “ 👍. ”

He grinned, sharply. After locking his phone and setting it back on the nightstand, he tugged you closer to his side, exhaling deeply in satisfaction. He'll be sure to visit the 'brave hero' tomorrow. May even bring Patches.

He wished he had a camera to capture the look on your boyfriend’s face right now.

When Haji came over to apologize for his behavior yesterday, flowers in his hand and everything, MITSUYA was the last thing he expected to see. Said lavender-haired delinquent looked him up and down, disinterest coloring his expression as he leaned against the doorframe, shirtless, mind you. It didn't take Haji long to notice the assortment of hickies painted across his pale torso, all the way down to his pelvis visible in his low-hanging joggers.

Haji could feel bile rise in the back of his throat. Anger soon bubbled right after.

But, before he could even think to spew out threats, Mitsuya reeled his arm back and with the strength of God himself landed one crack right between Haji's eyes, sending him and the flowers flying backward, right off the stoop. He landed with a sickening thud to the pavement, flowers spreading haphazardly as some fluttered in the air until they eventually landed on the ground. Mitsuya shook out his knuckles, turned on his heel to grab the couple of boxes sitting near the doorway, filled with some of Haji’s stuff. He tossed them out the door to land right by his unconscious body, dusting off his hands before heading back inside, slamming the door right behind him.

Like he said. He only needed one.

"Huh? Why not? Be direct on me, everything I do feels like a no to you," you want to confront him but Draken is too stubborn to admit. "I shouldn't have come damn it, just go out with me instead!" oh Draken regretted admitting that because you slapped him on his cheek "dummy, as if i didn't know that!" Let's just say after the intense hour fight, the two of you finally went on a date instead.

MITSUYA always help you in choosing your clothes, it was the routine. Whenever where you go, Mitsuya has always been supportive that people start to speculate but he didn't say anything. It was confusing, he doesn't say exactly a yes or a no. It was as if he waits for your answer, for your call. It was his trait after all to not say anything because he cares for you. Things are just normal, but maybe that was the the thing. It was too normal, Mitsuya didn't say anything to change until you finally had enough. Mitsuya called you to assist him and it was the perfect time to finally ask him, your heart kept pounding but it was a never say never situation. You took a deep breathe and finally asked the words, "um mitsuya?" "hm?" he asked distractingly while doing cutting on fabrics, "are we dating?" you asked bluntly and it was a surprise to you that Mitsuya nod. He looked at you on serious eyes and he laughed, "what? you weren't aware the whole time?" Ever since that happen, now you rethink but Mitsuya has been obvious from the moment he hangs around you.

୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧

The zipper on Mitsuya's zip-up hoodie stuck halfway. Again. He tugged at it, knuckles brushing the jagged stitching where he'd repaired the lining last week. Outside, a car horn burbled impatiently. He didn't look up from the stubborn metal teeth.

Y/N leaned against the hallway mirror, adjusting the thin strap of her dress. The black fabric clung like ink spilled over her skin, shimmering faintly under the apartment's harsh overhead light. Her heels clicked sharply against the laminate floor as she snatched her keys from the hook. "I'm heading out."

Mitsuya finally wrenched the zipper free, the sound harsh in the quiet room. He kept his gaze fixed on his hoodie, fingers smoothing the repaired seam. "Avoid the alleyways near Club Vortex," he said, his voice low and unnervingly calm. "And be back by one. Not a minute later." It wasn't a request.

Y/N froze, keys biting into her palm. The sheer audacity of it, delivered with that icy control, ignited something fierce. "Back by one?" she echoed, turning slowly. The shimmering black dress felt suddenly constricting. "Are you my keeper now? It's Saturday night, Takashi. And why the fuck not?" Her laugh was sharp, brittle. "Going out with my friends isn't a crime."

Mitsuya finally looked up, his lavender eyes meeting hers. The calm was a facade; she saw the flicker beneath, the tension tightening his jaw. "Because those alleys are hunting grounds after midnight," he stated flatly, stepping closer. The repaired hoodie seemed incongruously soft against the hardening line of his shoulders. "And because I said so." The possessive edge, usually buried deep, scraped raw against her defiance.

"Why?" Y/N pressed, stepping forward until the cheap floral scent of her perfume clashed with his familiar detergent. "Why tonight? You never acted like this before." Her voice dropped, low and dangerous. "Is this about my dress? About me wanting to dance?" A bitter laugh escaped her. "Or is it just that you can't stand the thought of me having fun without you hovering?"

The car horn blared again, sharp and insistent. Mitsuya flinched, his calm facade cracking like cheap porcelain. "Hovering?" he hissed, the word sharp and sudden. His hand shot out, grabbing her wrist – not bruising, but firm enough to halt her retreat. "I'm not fucking hovering! It's dangerous out there!" The volume was startling, raw and stripped of its usual gentle control. His lavender eyes burned with a frustration she rarely saw, a flicker of genuine fear beneath the anger. "People vanish down those alleys, Y/N. You think I enjoy this? You think I like feeling like this?"

Her eyes started watering instantly, hot and prickling, blurring the harsh lines of his face. It wasn't sadness, not yet; it was pure, incandescent fury mixed with the sting of betrayal. "Feeling like what, Takashi?" Her voice trembled, thick with unshed tears. "Like you own me? Like you get to dictate my life?" She tried to wrench her wrist free, but his grip tightened fractionally, a silent plea wrapped in restraint. "You never cared before! You trusted me before tonight! What changed?" The accusation hung heavy, fueled by the unfairness of his sudden possessiveness and the frantic honking outside that felt like a timer counting down

The thrift-store lamp flickered, casting jagged shadows across Mitsuya's face as the honking finally ceased. His grip loosened, fingers trembling against her wrist. "Look," he rasped, voice stripped bare, "I do trust you." The apology was rough, unpolished. "I'm sorry for yelling." He swallowed hard, the cords in his neck standing out. "But you don't understand it like I do." His lavender eyes held hers, raw and vulnerable. "This isn't about the dress, or dancing. Look, this is just a big misundersta—"

୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧

The words died as Y/N ripped her hand free. The sting of his apology vanished under the flood of fresh fury. Misunderstanding? His sudden rules felt like a cage snapping shut. Without a word, she spun on her heel, the click of her heels sharp gunshots on the cheap laminate. Her fingers found the cold brass knob, twisted it savagely. The apartment door flew open, revealing the impatient glare of her friend's headlights cutting through the humid night air. Then, with a violence that shook the cheap frame, she slammed it shut behind her. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the sudden stillness, leaving Mitsuya utterly alone.

He flinched at the impact, shoulders slumping. Silence swallowed the apartment whole, thick and suffocating. He stared at the closed door, his own reflection distorted in the cheap hallway mirror – a pale ghost looking haunted. The repaired seam of his hoodie felt rough under his fingertips, a pathetic symbol of his clumsy attempts to fix things. Asshole. The word echoed in his head, sharp and undeniable. He hadn't meant to yell, hadn't meant to grab her. He’d just… panicked. The image of those dim, twisting alleys near Vortex, the whispers he’d heard earlier that day about missing persons reports thickening in that district… it had coiled in his gut like cold snakes. He ran a hand through his light lilac hair, tugging hard. He’d handled it all wrong. Completely wrong.

The hours crawled by. The apartment felt cavernous, every tick of the cheap wall clock echoing like a hammer blow. He paced, restless energy coiling tight in his muscles. He tried sketching, but the lines were jagged and angry, nothing like the clean designs he usually produced. He tried watching TV, but the flickering images couldn't hold his focus. The silence was worse than the argument – a heavy, judgmental weight pressing down. Where was she? He checked his phone obsessively, the screen glaringly blank. No texts. No calls. Just the suffocating quiet and the relentless tick-tick-tick of the clock mocking him. His jaw clenched. One AM came and went like a ghost slipping through the room. Then two. The fear he’d tried to bury earlier clawed its way back up his throat, cold and sharp.

୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧

Meanwhile, in the grimy fluorescent glare of Club Vortex's women's restroom, Y/N braced one hand against the sticky tile wall, the other holding back her friend Akemi's lank, sweat-damp hair. The sharp, acrid tang of cheap vodka and stomach acid burned her nostrils, mixing sickeningly with the cloying floral air freshener pumped in vain through the vents. Akemi retched again, a wet, guttural sound that echoed off the porcelain. Y/N swayed slightly, her own head swimming with the cheap tequila shots and the pounding bass bleeding through the door. The glitter on her dress caught the harsh light, looking garish now, not glamorous. Her earlier defiance felt hollow, replaced by a queasy exhaustion and a persistent ache behind her eyes. She’d ignored Mitsuya’s warnings, ignored his anger, and now she was here, ankle throbbing in her impractical heels, holding back someone else’s vomit at three AM.

"God, Y/N, I think… I think I'm dying," Akemi whimpered, her voice thick and slurred. She slumped against Y/N, her weight suddenly heavy. The restroom door banged open, letting in a wave of deafening techno and the sharp scent of cigarette smoke clinging to two stumbling, laughing girls. Y/N flinched. The noise was suddenly too much – an assault on her senses, a physical pressure against her skull. The initial thrill of rebellion had curdled hours ago, leaving only the sour dregs. She scanned Akemi's pale, sweaty face. Where were the others? Lost in the pulsating crowd hours back. Panic, cold and sharp, pricked through the alcohol haze. Mitsuya’s words about Vortex’s alleys slithered back into her mind, unwelcome and chillingly plausible. "C'mon," Y/N urged, voice tight with effort, hauling Akemi upright. "We need air. Now." The sticky floor seemed to cling to her heels as she half-dragged, half-carried her friend towards the exit.

Outside, the humid Tokyo night hit like a damp slap. The relative silence after the club's roar was disorienting. Y/N leaned Akemi against the grimy brick wall near the club's entrance, the harsh neon sign casting sickly green shadows on their faces. Akemi immediately slid down, groaning. Y/N fumbled for her phone, her fingers clumsy. The screen flashed 3:07 AM. Her thumb hovered over Mitsuya’s contact photo – a candid shot of him smiling softly at his sewing machine, lavender hair falling over his eyes. Her chest tightened. Shame warred with stubborn pride. She couldn't call him. Not after the slammed door, not after ignoring his curfew by hours. She pocketed the phone, the decision feeling hollow. A group of rowdy guys spilled out of the club, their loud voices echoing down the dimly lit street. One leered, eyes lingering on Y/N’s glittering dress. She instinctively stepped closer to Akemi, folding her arms tight across herself, suddenly hyper-aware of how exposed she felt.

Before the guys could approach them, Y/N hurried back into the club’s stifling heat, dragging a semi-conscious Akemi with her. She shouldered through the sweaty throng near the bar, the relentless bass vibrating in her teeth. The earlier defiance was gone, replaced by a gnawing dread. She scanned the pulsing mass of bodies, searching desperately for another familiar face. Where were Kenji? Or Rina? Lost hours ago. Akemi whimpered, her weight becoming deadlier. The garish lights seemed to strobe faster, making Y/N dizzy. She spotted a slightly less crowded corner near the emergency exit sign and steered them towards it, Akemi’s heels scraping the sticky floor. Leaning her friend against the wall, Y/N pressed her palms to her own temples, trying to push back the throbbing headache and the intrusive memory of Mitsuya’s voice, low and urgent: 'Those alleys are hunting grounds.' The air felt thick enough to choke on.

୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧

Then, cutting through the haze of cheap cologne and spilled beer, she saw her – Rina! Emerging from a shadowed archway near the DJ booth, her sequined top catching the laser lights like scattered stars. Relief flooded Y/N so violently her knees almost buckled. "Rina!" she yelled, her voice hoarse and swallowed by the music. She waved frantically, the movement jarring. "Rina! Over here!!" She gestured wildly towards Akemi, slumped and pale against the grimy wall. Rina’s head snapped around, her expression shifting from tipsy amusement to sharp concern as she recognized them. She began pushing her way through the crowd, her brow furrowed, mouthing, 'What happened?' as she got closer. The sight of a friend who wasn’t vomiting or lost felt like a lifeline thrown into turbulent water.

Y/N gripped Rina’s arm the moment she was within reach, pulling her close to shout over the noise. "It’s Akemi! She drank so fucking much!" The words tumbled out, frantic, laced with exhaustion and rising panic. "I told her to calm it down, she just wouldn’t! Kept slamming those vodka shots like water!" She gestured helplessly at Akemi’s limp form, a cold sweat breaking out on her own forehead despite the stifling heat. "She’s been sick, she can barely stand! I can’t manage her alone, and Kenji vanished hours ago!" The admission felt like failure, sharp and bitter on her tongue. Rina’s eyes widened, her gaze darting between Akemi’s ashen face and the chaotic dance floor. The reality of the situation crashed over her too; the night’s carefree abandon was gone.

Suddenly, a violent buzzing erupted from Y/N’s tiny sequined purse, muffled but insistent, the vibration jarring against her hip. It felt like an angry hornet trapped against her skin. She froze, fingers trembling as she fumbled for the clasp. The cheap rhinestones scratched her palm. Inside, the phone screen glared up at her, illuminating the crumpled tissues and loose change in stark, accusing light. TAKA♡. The name pulsed with each ring, relentless. Her breath hitched. She couldn’t answer. Not now. Not with Akemi slumped over, Rina looking frantic, and the shame of ignoring him for hours choking her. She slammed the purse shut, silencing it, the abrupt quiet somehow louder than the club’s roar. The phantom vibration lingered on her skin like a brand.

"Fuck," Y/N hissed, the word ripped from her throat, raw and edged with panic. She shoved the purse back onto her shoulder with unnecessary force. Her gaze snapped back to Rina, whose eyes were wide with sudden understanding. "I have to take this," Y/N blurted, the lie tasting like ash. Her voice was too loud, too sharp. "Wait here with her! Just… stay right here!" She didn’t wait for an answer, already pushing past Rina, stumbling slightly on her treacherous heels. The crowd seemed to thicken instantly, bodies pressing in, the pounding bass a physical barrier. She needed air. She needed to not hear his voice right now. She needed to pretend, for just one more second, that she hadn’t made everything worse.

୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧

Y/N shoved through the sweaty mass near the emergency exit, ignoring the grunted complaints, the sharp scent of spilled beer and desperation filling her nose. The heavy fire door groaned open under her frantic push, spilling her out into the alley’s sudden, shocking silence. The club’s thumping bass became a muffled heartbeat against the grimy brick wall. Cooler air, thick with the smell of damp concrete and rotting garbage, washed over her sweat-slicked skin. She leaned back against the cold bricks, her chest heaving, the sequins of her dress scraping harshly. The phone buzzed again in her purse, a persistent, accusing tremor against her ribs. Her fingers fumbled with the clasp, trembling violently. She couldn’t run anymore.

Her vision swam as she finally yanked the phone free. TAKA♡ pulsed on the screen. H-hello…? The word stuck in her throat, thick and useless. She felt the cheap tequila and sickly-sweet mixer churn violently in her stomach. Bile burned the back of her throat. Her knees wobbled. The alley seemed to tilt, the graffiti on the opposite wall blurring into garish streaks under the single, flickering security light. The overwhelming urge to vomit crashed over her, hot and unstoppable. She clamped a hand over her mouth, eyes watering, the cold brick the only thing holding her upright as the world spun. She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. Only the sour taste of regret and alcohol threatened to erupt.

A harsh, ragged breath crackled through the phone’s tiny speaker, so close it sounded like he was right there in the damp alleyway with her. "Fuck’s sake, Y/N." Mitsuya’s voice wasn't icy like before; it was raw, stripped bare, vibrating with a jagged tension she'd never heard. It scraped against her ears, utterly alien coming from him – the man whose whispers usually felt like velvet against her skin. "Where are you?" It wasn’t a question; it was a demand ripped from somewhere deep and desperate, edged with a terrifying urgency that cut through the lingering haze of her drunkenness. The sheer unfamiliarity of that tone, so devoid of his usual gentle cadence, sent a jolt of ice water down her spine. Her breath hitched, trapped somewhere between a sob and a gasp.

She opened her mouth to speak, but the alley tilted violently again. The sour tang of cheap tequila surged up her throat, acrid and burning. She gagged, her free hand flying back to her mouth, muffling the wet, involuntary sound. Her knuckles scraped against the cold, rough brick. The glitter on her dress caught the flickering security light, mocking her. Pathetic, the sequins seemed to whisper. He’d been right. About the time, about the danger, about the fucking dress. Shame, thick and suffocating, washed over her, hotter than the nausea. She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the vertigo, the overwhelming urge to purge her stupidity onto the filthy concrete. The phone felt heavy, impossibly heavy, in her trembling hand.

"Y/n." His voice cut through the buzzing in her ears. Not louder, but sharper. A blade honed on hours of silence and fear. It wasn’t the cold command from the apartment, nor the raw shout. This was different. Focused. Terrifyingly calm beneath the strain. "I'm talking to you." The emphasis wasn't angry; it was grounding. An anchor thrown into her swirling chaos.

She choked back another gag, the taste of bile and regret coating her tongue. "Taka, I—" Her voice cracked, thin and ragged. The alley seemed to press in, the flickering light casting long, menacing shadows down the narrow passage. She could see the dark mouth of a side alley he’d warned her about, barely ten meters away. "I fucked up," she whispered, the words raw. "Akemi… she’s wasted. Really bad. I couldn’t… I didn’t know…" Her knuckles whitened against the brick, the sequins of her dress biting into her palm. Shame burned hotter than the alcohol.

"Fuckin' hell…" Mitsuya's voice was a low growl, stripped of its usual velvet. The sound of keys jangling violently cut through the line, sharp and urgent. "Stay where you are, okay? Don't move an inch. Not towards the street, not deeper into that alley. You hear me?" His breath hitched, a ragged sound that mirrored her own. "Just stay put. I'll be there in five, I'm on my way to get you." The line went dead before she could protest, leaving only the oppressive silence and the distant thump of the club’s bass vibrating through the soles of her ruined heels.

୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧

Y/N slumped against the grimy brick wall, the phone slipping from her trembling fingers to clatter onto the damp concrete. The alley spun in nauseating circles, the flickering security light painting lurid streaks across her vision. A bitter laugh escaped her, choked and humorless. 'Stay put'. As if she could move anywhere. Her ankles screamed from hours in the stupidly high heels, each sequin on her dress now felt like a tiny, mocking shard of glass. With a grunt of effort, she bent, fumbling with the delicate ankle straps. The cheap rhinestones bit into her skin as she ripped the first shoe off, then the other. The relief was instant, cold concrete shocking against her bare feet.

The distant, frantic pulse of the club's bass seemed to amplify in the sudden vulnerability. She pressed her palms flat against the cold brick behind her, grounding herself. Five minutes. He said five minutes. But time stretched like taffy in the suffocating silence. Every rustle in the overflowing dumpster made her flinch. Every distant shout echoed with sinister possibility. She strained her ears, listening past the thumping music for the distinctive growl she knew so well. Nothing.

The flickering light buzzed like a trapped fly. Her gaze darted towards the dark mouth of the side alley Mitsuya had warned her about – a gaping maw just yards away. A shiver crawled up her spine, unrelated to the chill. 'Hunting grounds'. His words weren't just possessive; they felt horrifyingly real now, in the thick, garbage-scented dark.

Headlights suddenly slashed across the alley entrance, blindingly bright after the gloom. The roar wasn't the familiar purr; it was a harsh, guttural snarl – a motorcycle pushed way too hard. The engine cut abruptly, the silence that followed thick with tension. Boots hit the pavement, hard and fast. Y/N squinted against the glare, heart hammering against her ribs. She could only make out a tall silhouette striding towards her, backlit by the headlight, radiating a palpable, dangerous energy that was utterly unfamiliar. It wasn't just anger; it was something colder, sharper. Panic seized her throat. Was it him? Or had she called the wrong kind of attention?

He moved into the flickering pool of the security light, and the breath left her lungs. Mitsuya. But his face was stripped of its usual softness, jaw clenched like granite, eyes dark and unreadable as obsidian. He didn't speak. Didn't yell. He just stopped inches from her, his gaze sweeping over her bare feet, the discarded heels, the smudged mascara, the way she trembled against the wall. The scent of night air and exhaust fumes clung to his zipped-up hoodie, mixing with the alley's rot. His silence was more terrifying than any shout.

He simply reached out, his calloused fingers surprisingly gentle as they brushed a stray strand of damp hair from her cheek, the touch sending an unexpected shiver through her despite the fury radiating off him.

୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧

His hand didn’t retreat. It hovered there, a silent command, palm upturned. Not an invitation, but a demand. 'Take it'. His lilac hair was disheveled, strands falling across his forehead, stark against the unnatural pallor of his skin under the harsh light. She saw the faint tremor in his outstretched hand, the only betrayal of the storm beneath the surface calm. The alley seemed to hold its breath, the distant bass a mocking counterpoint to the thick tension coiling between them. Her own hand, cold and slick with sweat, twitched at her side. Pride screamed to refuse, to push past him. But shame, deeper and more corrosive, pinned her in place. His expression remained impassive, but his eyes – those usually warm, expressive eyes – were flat, dangerous pools reflecting the flickering bulb overhead. The message was clear.

With a shaky inhale, Y/N lifted her hand. Her fingers brushed his calloused palm, a spark of static jumping where skin met skin. He didn’t clasp hers; he simply waited, letting her close the distance, letting her choose to surrender. Her fingers slid against his, curling tentatively around the solid warmth. The contact was grounding, terrifying. She bent, the sequins of her dress scraping audibly against the brick, and snatched up her discarded heels with her other hand, the sharp stilettos dangling like weapons of poor judgment. He didn’t pull her. He simply turned, his grip firm but not crushing, leading her towards the sleek, black machine parked at the alley’s mouth, its engine ticking as it cooled.

He didn’t speak. Not a word. The silence stretched, thick with the unspoken argument and the lingering stench of garbage. He released her hand only to swing a leg over the bike, settling onto the leather seat. He didn’t look at her. Instead, he reached back, his movements economical, and pulled a spare helmet from the small storage compartment beneath the seat. He held it out, still not meeting her eyes. The matte black shell felt cold and heavy as she took it, fumbling with the strap. The roar of the engine starting was a physical vibration through her bones, startlingly loud in the confined space. She climbed on behind him, her bare knees pressing against the worn denim of his jeans, the heat radiating from his back a stark contrast to the alley’s chill. She slid her arms around his waist, the worn cotton of his hoodie soft under her trembling fingers. He didn’t acknowledge the touch. He just kicked the stand up and eased the bike forward, gliding away from the sickly green glow of Vortex’s sign. The city lights streamed by in a blur, the wind whipping tears she hadn’t realized were falling across her cheeks.

Desperation clawed at her. The rigid line of his back, the unnatural stillness where his warmth usually hummed with affection – it was terrifying. The guilt and the tequila churned inside her, a toxic mix. Without thinking, she tightened her hold, pressing her face hard against the space between his shoulder blades, right into the nape of his neck where his lilac hair was cropped short. She inhaled deeply, seeking the familiar anchor. And it was there, cutting through the night air and exhaust fumes: the sweet, comforting warmth of vanilla, layered with the clean, sharp bite of his aftershave – an expensive sandalwood blend she’d always loved. It was the scent of home, of safety, of 'him' beneath the fury. A choked sob escaped her, muffled by the fabric and the rushing wind, as she clung harder, burying herself in that familiar, grounding aroma. His scent was a lifeline thrown into the turbulent sea of her regret.

୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧

He didn’t soften. He didn’t reach back. But his posture shifted, almost imperceptibly. The rigid tension in his spine eased a fraction, the white-knuckled grip on the handlebars relaxing minutely as they leaned into a curve. The silence stretched, heavy and charged, but the frantic energy that had propelled him to the alley seemed to bleed away, replaced by a weary intensity that vibrated through the frame of the bike and into her bones. He guided the machine with smooth, deliberate control, weaving through the sparse late-night traffic, the city lights painting fleeting stripes of orange and white across his profile – jaw still clenched, eyes fixed on the road ahead. The roar of the engine filled the void where words should be, a constant, vibrating hum that underscored the storm brewing just beneath the surface of his silence.

The familiar streets blurred past, landmarks she knew by heart – the neon sign of the 24-hour ramen joint, the shadowed entrance to the park, the turn onto their quiet residential block. When the bike finally glided to a smooth stop outside their building, the engine cut with a finality that echoed in the sudden stillness. He planted his feet firmly, the kickstand snapping down with a sharp, metallic click that made her flinch. For a long moment, he didn’t move, head bowed slightly, the helmet hiding his expression. The streetlight cast long, distorted shadows on the pavement. Then, without a word, he swung his leg off the bike, his movements economical, precise. He turned to face her, his expression unreadable in the dim light, the angles of his face sharpened by exhaustion and something darker. His hand came up, not to help, but to grasp her elbow, his grip firm and unyielding as he guided her off the seat, his touch impersonal, like handling fragile cargo.

He didn’t release her elbow as he turned towards the building’s entrance, his strides long and purposeful, forcing her bare feet to scramble on the cold concrete to keep up. The foyer light buzzed overhead, harsh and revealing as he punched the elevator button. Inside the mirrored box, the silence thickened, pressing in. She caught their reflection – her smudged makeup, tangled hair, the cheap, glittering dress now looking garish and pathetic under the fluorescent glare; him, rigid beside her, jaw muscle twitching, eyes fixed straight ahead, avoiding her gaze. The air crackled with unsaid accusations, the faint scent of alley rot still clinging to her mixing with the clean, expensive notes of his aftershave. He finally looked at her then, a quick, cutting glance that swept from her bare toes to her tear-streaked face, his expression hardening before he snapped his gaze back to the ascending numbers. The ding of arrival sounded like a gunshot.

୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧

He steered her down their hallway, his grip unrelenting, keys jangling as he unlocked the door. Inside, he kicked it shut with a thud that echoed in the dark apartment, the only light spilling from the kitchen down the hall. He finally let go, but it wasn’t freedom; it was abandonment. He stalked towards the sink, his back a wall of tension, shoulders hunched. She heard the sharp clink of glass as he poured water, the gulp as he drank deeply. She stood frozen just inside the door, the discarded heels still dangling from her fingers, her bare feet cold on the hardwood. The scent of home – coffee grounds, fresh laundry, him – hit her, sharpening the sting of her own choices. She watched his silhouette, the rigid line of his spine, the way his knuckles whitened around the glass. The silence was a living thing, suffocating.

She just stood there waiting for something to happen – for him to shout, to demand an explanation, to unleash the fury she knew was coiled inside him like a spring. Her breath hitched in the stillness, the only sound the distant hum of the refrigerator and the frantic thud of her own pulse in her ears. She traced the pattern of the wood grain beneath her toes, the sequins on her dress catching the dim light like scattered, accusing stars. The cheap tequila still churned in her gut, a sour counterpoint to the vanilla and sandalwood scent that lingered in the air, a scent that now felt like a reproach. Her knuckles, scraped raw against the alley brick, throbbed dully. She shifted her weight, the movement loud in the quiet, waiting for the inevitable explosion.

Instead, Mitsuya slowly turned. The harsh kitchen light carved deep hollows beneath his eyes, stripping away the anger she’d braced for, leaving only exhaustion and something far more devastating laid bare. His gaze, usually so warm and expressive, settled on her – not on the smeared makeup, the ruined dress, or the bare feet, but directly on her face. It was a look stripped of its usual shields, raw and vulnerable, the carefully constructed calm finally cracking. His jaw worked silently for a second, a muscle jumping in his cheek. The silence stretched, thick with the unspoken hours of dread, the frantic drive, the image of her alone and vulnerable in that alley. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, just held her there in that devastatingly open stare.

A sound escaped him, low and fractured – not a word, but a breath that caught, shuddering in his chest. It was the sound of fear finally releasing its grip. He took a single, slow step towards her, his movements devoid of the earlier furious purpose. His hand lifted, hesitant, hovering near her cheekbone where a stray tear had tracked through the mascara. His touch, when it finally landed, was feather-light, tracing the damp path with a tenderness that felt like a physical ache. "Please," he whispered, the word raw, scraped thin over hours of silence. His voice cracked, the sound small and broken in the quiet apartment. "Don’t ever do that again…"

That broken whisper shattered the last of her defiance. A sob tore from her throat, raw and ragged, as she launched herself forward, burying her face against the solid warmth of his chest. Her fingers clutched desperately at the worn fabric of his hoodie, trembling violently. "Taka…" Her voice was thick, muffled against him, the tears coming in hot, messy streams that soaked into his shirt. "I'm so sorry… I don't know why I didn't listen…" The admission poured out between gasps, each word laced with the sour tang of tequila and the crushing weight of her stupidity. She felt small, foolish, clinging to him like a lost child, terrified of the dark she'd willingly walked into. His familiar scent – vanilla and sandalwood – enveloped her, a painful reminder of the safety she'd recklessly abandoned.

୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧

He didn't pull away. His arms came around her slowly, tentatively at first, then tightening with a fierce possessiveness that stole her breath. One hand cradled the back of her head, fingers tangling gently in her hair, pressing her closer as if trying to absorb her back into himself. The other arm locked around her waist, holding her upright when her legs threatened to buckle. "Shhh," he murmured, his voice rough but infinitely softer than the alley's sharp demands, vibrating against her temple. "I know… I know." He didn't say he forgave her, not yet. But the simple act of holding her, the solid anchor of his body against hers, spoke volumes more than words could. His heartbeat thudded steadily against her ear, a grounding counterpoint to her frantic pulse.

After a long moment where the only sounds were her shuddering breaths and the distant city hum, he shifted. His hands slid down to her shoulders, easing her back just enough to look into her swollen, tear-streaked eyes. His thumbs brushed away fresh tears with a tenderness that felt like absolution. "C'mere," he whispered, his voice thick but calm. He carefully pried the stilettos from her death-grip, setting them aside on the entryway floor with a soft clack. Then, his touch firm but gentle at her elbow, he guided her down the dim hallway towards the bathroom. "Let's get you cleaned up, love." The endearment, usually so warm, was laced with a quiet exhaustion that made her chest ache.

He flicked on the bathroom light, the sudden brightness making her flinch. Without a word, he dampened a washcloth under the warm tap. The steam rose, carrying the faint scent of lavender soap as he turned to her. His movements were deliberate, unhurried as he began wiping the smudged mascara from beneath her eyes. His knuckles grazed her cheekbone, calloused but achingly soft. "Close your eyes," he murmured. She obeyed, leaning into his touch as the washcloth traced her jawline, the warmth dissolving the alley’s chill still clinging to her skin. He worked silently, meticulously removing every trace of glitter and panic, his focus entirely on her.

When he finished, he tossed the soiled cloth aside and cupped her face. His thumb brushed the corner of her lip, lingering. "Look at me." Her eyes fluttered open, meeting his. The raw vulnerability she saw there—the lingering terror beneath the exhaustion—made her breath catch. He didn’t speak. Instead, he slowly unzipped the side of her sequined dress, the rasp loud in the quiet. The fabric pooled at her feet, leaving her trembling in just her underwear under the harsh light. His gaze swept over her, not with judgment, but with a fierce, protective intensity that felt like a physical caress.

He stepped past her, turning the faucet in their small, sunken hot tub. Steam began to curl upwards, filling the room with the mineral scent of heated water. The low hum of the jets kicked in. Then he was behind her, his chest a warm barrier against her back, his breath stirring her hair. His voice was barely a whisper against her ear, rough yet unbearably gentle. "Turn around, baby." His calloused fingers traced the clasp of her push-up bra, unhooking it with practiced ease. The straps slid down her arms. Next, his thumb hooked into the side of her thong, easing it down her hips until it joined the dress on the tiles.

She stood naked in the humid air, goosebumps rising on her skin despite the steam. Mitsuya’s gaze didn’t linger—it swept over her with clinical efficiency, assessing the scrapes on her knees, the faint bruises on her arms from jostling in the club. He guided her towards the tub, his palm warm and steady against the small of her back. "Step in," he murmured, his tone leaving no room for protest. The water enveloped her feet, then her calves—blissfully hot, almost scalding. She sank down with a shaky sigh, the heat seeping into her bones, loosening the knots of panic coiled in her muscles. The jets pulsed against her lower back, soothing the ache from hours in those damned heels.

Her eyes lifted. He still stood at the edge, silhouetted against the light, his expression unreadable. The steam curled around his tense shoulders. The silence stretched, thick and charged, until her voice broke it—small, fractured. "Please," she whispered, fingers curling over the wet tile rim. "Can you come in with me?" She didn’t dare breathe, watching the flicker in his dark eyes: hesitation, then something softer, yielding.

୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧

He moved without a word. His hoodie hit the floor with a soft thud, followed by his jeans. His movements were deliberate, economical. Only the thin silver chain remained, gleaming against his collarbone as he slid into the water behind her, the sudden displacement making waves lap against her flushed skin. The heat intensified as he settled, his long legs bracketing hers beneath the churning surface. His bare chest pressed against her slick back, radiating warmth through the steam. His calloused hands slid slowly up her arms, from elbows to shoulders, a possessive anchor.

"Takashi," she slurred, head lolling back against his shoulder, her wet hair clinging to his damp skin. The tequila haze and the tub's heat loosened her tongue. "I'm so sorry…" Her voice cracked, thick with tears and exhaustion. "It was a fucking nightmare already when I stepped into that club…" A shudder ran through her as his thumbs pressed firm circles into her tense shoulders. "Akemi… she just… collapsed… and those men… near the alley you… you told me about…" Her words tumbled out, fragmented and raw. "All I can think about… how I disobeyed you… how stupid… so fucking stupid…" Tears mingled with the condensation on her cheeks. "Don't deserve you… never deserved…"

His arms tightened around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest. He didn't interrupt, letting the torrent spill—her slurred apologies for ignoring his warnings, the raw terror in the alley, the crushing weight of realizing how right he'd been. She babbled about the menacing shadows near the dark passage he'd specifically forbidden, the paralyzing fear when her phone lit up with his name, the overwhelming relief when his headlights cut through the gloom. "Your face… so cold…" she hiccupped, twisting slightly to bury her face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar vanilla-sandalwood that finally felt like safety again. "Hate it… hate when you look at me like that…"

He pressed a kiss to her wet temple, his lips lingering. "Shhh," he murmured, his voice a low rumble against her skin, the steam rising around them like a cocoon. One hand slid from her waist, smoothing up her spine with deliberate slowness, his touch both grounding and claiming. "Told you that street eats girls like you alive." His thumb traced the ridge of her shoulder blade, a silent reminder of the danger she’d courted. "Saw it in your eyes when you slammed that door. Knew you wouldn't listen." He shifted, the water sloshing gently, his other hand slipping lower, palm splayed possessively over her bare stomach.

"I just…" Her voice was thick, the tequila haze making the words clumsy. She turned in the water, facing him, her legs tangling with his beneath the surface. The jets pulsed against her lower back, but all she felt was the intensity of his lavender eyes. Her fingers traced the silver chain at his throat, then slid up to cup the sharp line of his jaw. "Wanna be your good girl again, Taka…" she managed to slur, the admission raw and desperate. Her thumb brushed the faint tension still tightening his lips. "Only yours."

He caught her wandering hand, his grip firm but not harsh, pressing her palm flat against his damp chest. His heartbeat thudded steadily beneath her touch. "Shh… relax, baby," he murmured, his voice a low vibration that cut through the steam. His free hand slid down her thigh underwater, fingers tracing the curve beneath the churning surface. His calloused thumb brushed the tender skin of her inner thigh, just above her knee. "Let me make you feel good, yeah?" His gaze held hers, dark and unwavering, the fury replaced by a possessive tenderness that stole her breath. "Forget the alley. Forget the club. Just feel me."

୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧

Her breath hitched as his hand drifted higher, skimming the sensitive dip where her thigh met her hip. His fingers feathered across her lower belly, a whisper of contact that sent sparks through her water-heavy limbs. Then, deliberately, his palm cupped her mound, the heat of his touch searing even through the tub's warmth. She whimpered. His hand slid to her cunt, caressing the skin around her folds with agonizing lightness, tracing the outer swell without dipping deeper. His thumb pressed a slow, firm circle just above her clit, the pressure deliberate and maddening. "That's it," he breathed against her temple, his lips grazing her wet skin. "Just focus on my touch." The jets pulsed against her back, the rhythmic throb mirroring the building tension low in her belly.

He shifted, pulling her tighter against his chest. His fingers finally slipped lower, parting her slick folds with a knowing touch. A low moan escaped her as his middle finger found her entrance, circling the swollen, sensitive rim before pushing inside with one smooth, shallow thrust. She arched, water sloshing over the edge, her head falling back against his shoulder. His other hand remained splayed possessively on her stomach, pinning her in place. He added a second finger, stretching her gently as he began a slow, deep rhythm – in and out, curling slightly on each inward stroke to brush that perfect, hidden spot deep inside her that made her gasp. His thumb found her clit, rubbing tight, focused circles against the swollen nub, the dual assault relentless and consuming.

"Taka… fuck me… please…" she gasped, writhing against his hand, her hips lifting desperately off the tub floor, chasing the friction. The words were ragged, needy, slurred by exhaustion and tequila and the overwhelming need to feel him inside her, to erase the cold distance with heat. "Need you… now…"

He silenced her with a low, guttural "Shhh," his breath hot against her temple, his fingers never faltering in their deep, deliberate rhythm inside her cunt. His thumb pressed harder against her clit, a firm counterpoint to the curling invasion. "No," he murmured, the word absolute, vibrating against her skin. "Not like this. Not rushed." His other hand slid firmly from her stomach to her hip, pinning her back against his chest, holding her still for the relentless work of his fingers. Water sloshed over the rim as she strained, but his grip was unyielding. "Feel this. Only this." His voice was thick, possessive, the command brooking no argument. He pressed his lips to the damp curve of her shoulder, a silent punctuation to his decree. "My fingers. My touch. That's what you get tonight."

It was a calculated denial, a withholding that felt like its own sharp reprimand. His thrusts intensified, curling deeper, his thumb circling her clit with punishing precision, driving her higher towards the edge she so desperately craved to tumble over with him buried deep inside her. Yet he held her there, suspended on the agonizing crest, his silence and the rigid control in his body radiating a quiet fury – not at her vulnerability now, but at the reckless abandon that had put her in danger. He could make her scream, make her shatter, but he wouldn't grant her the fusion she begged for, the intimacy that felt like forgiveness. He was reminding her, wordlessly, fiercely, of his rules, his warnings, the terrifying consequences of ignoring them. His restraint was the punishment, a denial born of a fear so profound it manifested as iron control.

"Fuck, Taka, I'm close…!" The plea tore from her, raw and breathless, her hips lifting desperately off the tub floor, her inner muscles clenching around his relentless fingers, poised to unravel. Her entire body arched, trembling on the precipice, seeking the release only he could give. The water sloshed violently against the tiles. Then, cruelly, deliberately, he pulled his fingers away with a slick, abrupt withdrawal. The sudden absence was a physical shock, a vacuum where blissful tension had been. She cried out, a sound of pure, startled frustration and loss, her body collapsing back against him, trembling uncontrollably. "No! Taka, please!" Her voice cracked, tears of thwarted need mingling with the condensation on her cheeks. She felt hollowed out, abandoned mid-flight.

"Shh," he breathed against the shell of her ear, his voice a low, gravelly command that vibrated through her. His wet hands shifted, leaving her throbbing core untouched. Calloused palms slid slowly, possessively up her slick torso, tracing the dip of her waist, the flare of her ribs, until they cupped the full weight of her breasts. His thumbs found her stiff, pebbled nipples immediately, circling them with agonizing slowness, the rough pads of his fingers dragging exquisitely over the sensitive peaks. She shuddered violently, a choked sob escaping her as the sharp, sweet stimulation radiated outwards, reigniting the desperate ache low in her belly. "Focus," he murmured, his breath hot on her neck.

୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧

He shifted abruptly, the water sloshing wildly. His solid warmth vanished from behind her. Panic flared, sharp and bright. "T-Taka?" Her voice trembled, cracking as she twisted, searching the steam-filled space. "Where you goin'?" The sudden solitude in the churning water felt like abandonment, amplifying the raw edge of her unspent need. Her skin prickled where the humid air hit it, missing his heat.

His silhouette reappeared through the steam, darker against the humid light. "Stay still," he commanded, his voice rough velvet. Mitsuya gripped her hips, hauling her forward until her lower back pressed flush against the tub's tiled edge. Water sloshed over the rim as he knelt between her spread thighs, his intense lavender eyes locking onto hers with predatory focus. "Look at me." Her shaky inhale caught as his hands slid under her ass, lifting her hips clear of the churning water. The sudden exposure to the cooler air made her gasp—just as his mouth descended.

"Oh god!" she cried out, her hands scrabbling for purchase on the slick tile edges as he sucked her throbbing clit into the searing heat of his mouth. His tongue flattened, laving broad, relentless strokes over the swollen bundle of nerves while his thumbs dug into her inner thighs, holding her wide open. The dual sensation—blistering suction and the scrape of his stubble against tender skin—drew a ragged sob from her throat. Her back arched violently off the tile, every muscle straining as he devoured her with single-minded intensity, his low groan vibrating through her core. He wasn’t gentle; this was reclamation, his mouth working her with a furious precision that left her trembling on the knife’s edge within seconds.

Tears blurred her vision, hot tracks mingling with the steam. This wasn’t the languid worship she knew—the patient, teasing build where he’d map every secret with his tongue until she begged. This felt like punishment. His lips sealed around her clit, sucking hard enough to make her cry out, while two fingers plunged back inside her cunt, crooking ruthlessly against that spot deep within. The brutal rhythm tore a gasp from her, the pleasure laced with a sharp, unfamiliar bite of pain. Her legs shook uncontrollably, pinned wide by his unyielding grip. She wanted the tender lover back, the one who made her unravel like honey—not this fierce, terrifying stranger claiming her with teeth and tongue and unforgiving fingers.

A desperate moan tore from her throat, high and keening. She felt it gathering—a terrifying, unstoppable pressure low in her belly, swelling like a wave about to crash. It felt too good, too intense, like she was gonna cum any moment, but it was tangled with a raw, panicked ache. Mitsuya groaned against her, the vibration sending shivers through her core, his own pleasure evident in the rough sound. Instinctively, her hands flew to his head, fingers twisting into his damp, dark hair, pulling hard to brace herself against the onslaught. "T-Taka, stop," she choked out, trying to lift his head, her body trembling on the edge of release and something else—something that felt terrifyingly like she was gonna pee. Her thighs clenched instinctively against his shoulders, a futile attempt to close herself off.

He didn't stop. His grip on her thighs tightened, forcing them wider apart. His tongue flicked relentlessly at her clit, his fingers plunging deeper, curling ruthlessly inside her. She whimpered, her muscles straining, trying desperately to hold it back, to contain the overwhelming rush building inside her. Her knuckles turned white where she gripped his hair. "Please! I can't!!" she gasped, her voice breaking, tears streaming down her cheeks, mixing with sweat and steam. The pressure was unbearable, a dam about to burst. She squeezed her eyes shut, biting her lip hard enough to taste blood, fighting the inevitable with everything she had left.

But her body betrayed her. With a choked cry, her hips jerked violently against his face. A hot, gushing flood released—a sudden torrent that splashed across his chin, his cheeks, his closed eyelids. The sensation was overwhelming, a blinding rush of release that left her trembling and gasping, her cunt pulsing around his still-moving fingers. The shock of it—the sheer loss of control—left her frozen, mortified, unable to move or breathe.

The scream she let out wasn't human—a raw, primal sound ripped from her very core as the floodgates burst. It echoed off the wet tiles, sharp and jagged, a sound of pure, unadulterated shock and shame. Her body convulsed violently, back slamming against the tub's edge as her hips bucked in uncontrollable spasms, the gushing torrent splattering across Mitsuya's face, his neck, his collarbone where the silver chain lay. Her fingers were still tangled in his hair, frozen there as wave after wave of release—both pleasure and utter humiliation—wracked her trembling frame. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think, only feel the scalding heat of her own loss of control soaking his skin.

Mitsuya released her hips abruptly, letting her slump back into the churning water with a splash that echoed in the sudden silence. He sat back on his heels, water dripping from his chin and lashes as he stared at her—not with disgust, but with wide-eyed, stunned fascination. His breath hitched, lips parted in raw astonishment, as if he’d just witnessed something sacred and terrifyingly primal. Steam curled around his bare shoulders, clinging to the trails of her release glistening on his skin like liquid moonlight. "Fuck," he breathed, the word a hoarse, reverent whisper that seemed to hang in the humid air.

A choked, breathless laugh escaped Mitsuya as he wiped his face with the back of his hand, his gaze still locked on Y/N’s trembling form half-submerged in the churning water. "Shit, baby," he rasped, the stunned reverence in his voice giving way to a low, disbelieving chuckle. "Think we’re gonna get a noise complaint." His thumb brushed a stray droplet from his jawline, the silver chain glinting as steam curled around his shoulders.

୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧

Later, in the quiet stillness of their bedroom, Mitsuya guided Y/N’s arms into the sleeves of her ivory silk robe. His fingers, warm and steady against her damp skin, lingered at her waist as he cinched the belt. The soft fabric whispered against her bare legs—a stark contrast to the earlier chaos. She shivered, not from cold, but from the rawness still humming beneath her skin. He stood close, the scent of vanilla-sandalwood cutting through the lingering steam, his gray sweatpants riding low on his hips. His touch was deliberate, almost reverent, as he smoothed the robe over her shoulders, his knuckles grazing the curve of her neck.

He nudged her gently toward the bed, the sheets already turned down. She sank onto the edge, the mattress yielding beneath her. Mitsuya knelt, his damp hair brushing her knees as he lifted her feet one by one, drying them with a towel pulled from the nightstand. His thumbs pressed into her arches, easing the ache of high heels and adrenaline. His head bowed over the task, the dark fringe of his lashes hiding his eyes. When he finished, he rose, his silhouette blocking the lamplight as he moved to the switch by the door. His hand hovered there, his profile sharp in the dimness.

“Are you sure I can crash with you?” you ask Mitsuya again for the third time. You help him make up his bed for the two of you in his bedroom. The party he threw for his roommate, Hakkai, has ended, and all guests have left, with you as the only exception.

“Yes, yes, you can,” he tells you. “You’ve been drinking, so I don’t want you driving home.”

“Yes, yes, Mr. Mitsuya,” you joke.

“I’m serious; it can be dangerous, you know,” Mitsuya explains.

“You’re right,” you agree. “But I didn’t have that much to drink, you know.” Mitsuya crosses his arms over his chest.

“Oh, really?” he asks. “You’ve been acting all giggly and flirty. That’s not really normal for you.” You give him a pout.

“Yeah, but still…” You trail off. Mitsuya reaches over to you and pats your head.

“I just want you to be safe, and having you stay the night is the best way to keep you that way,” Mitsuya explains. You feel yourself get warm with his touch. Your crush on him effectively shows from your reactions, but Mitsuya doesn’t seem to notice them. “So, stay the night. I know it’s not the best, but I promise you can leave first thing tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Mitsuya,” you say, and he gives you a warm smile.

“Of course, Y/N. You’re always welcome,” he says. He gestures for you to climb into bed as he turns off the light. You pull back his soft comforter and blanket. You settle yourself underneath them. He soon joins you, and you both lie on your backs facing away from one another. Your mind wanders about Mitsuya. The man you’ve been friends with for quite some time, but that’s what you guys have always been. Nothing more. You’ve had a crush on him for a long time, too, but you’ve kept it to yourself. The more you think about it, the more you realize this is the closest proximity you’ve had with him. You guys are usually always at arm’s length. Your mind begins to get hazy from the alcohol you consumed, so you start to drift off.

∘━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ☾•☽ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━∘

You drift into a dream where you’re lying in your own bed with Mitsuya on top of you.

“M-Mitsuya?” you question.

“Pretty girl, you always look so good when you’re flustered,” Mitsuya says. He leans down and kisses you, making his teeth bite your lower lip as he kisses you. You moan into his mouth as his hands play with your inner thighs. You instinctively try moving your hips so Mitsuya’s hands reach your cunt. He chuckles when he catches on to what you’re doing. He raises his head to speak to you. “Just ask, pretty girl.”

“Please touch me, Mitsuya,” you plead. His lavender eyes soften when he hears your beg.

“Anything for you,” he says. Mitsuya lowers himself to your thighs. He nips and licks at your bare thighs, making eye contact with you. He removes the panties that you’re wearing, tossing them somewhere off. He leans down and kisses your clit, making your breath hitch.

“P-Please don’t tease me, Mitsuya,” you stutter. Mitsuya looks up at you.

“You’re right, darling. I shouldn’t tease you,” he says. Mitsuya begins to lick your clit, still looking at you. Your eyebrows knit together, and you throw your head back. The sound of him sucking your clit envelops your ears, and you can’t help the moans that slip out of you. You feel his fingers begin to rub at your entrance, begging to be let in.

“F-Fuck, Mi-Mitsuya,” you moan. He smiles and adds two fingers to your pussy. Your thighs shake as Mitsuya sucks and fingers you. God, even though you’re dreaming, he’s still amazing. You’re not sure you want to wake up.

As if on cue, Mitsuya’s actions cease. As well as his figure on top of you, forcing you to awaken.

∘━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ☾•☽ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━∘

Damn, you thought. You just had to wake up when things were getting–

You realize you’re on your back, and you turn to Mitsuya, who’s wide awake and looking at you. His expression is one of blush and shock.

“Were you dreaming about me?” he asks rhetorically. Of course, he already knows the answer, but he asks anyway. You feel your face heat up and your heart pound.

“I…uh…did you hear all that?” you ask.

“Yeah, pretty much,” he tells you. You grab the blankets and cover your face because of your embarrassment.

“Oh great,” you say sarcastically. There’s a bit of silence before Mitsuya reaches for your hand and holds it from its protective place on the blankets.

“Don’t be embarrassed, Y/N,” Mitsuya says. “I have those feelings for you, too.” You remove the blankets to look at Mitsuya.

“You do?” you ask, hopeful. He nods.

“Yeah, I really do,” he tells you. “You’re so beautiful, smart, and funny.”

Your eyes soften from his words. He raises your hand to his lips and gives it a sweet kiss.

“Not to mention you’re incredibly sexy,” Mitsuya says. You feel yourself begin to heat up again, but it’s not the same as before. “I wasn’t sure if you’re feelings returned mine, so I’ve been restraining myself.”

“You have?” you ask.

“Yeah, I really have,” he affirms. “I think about you all the time.”

“What kind of thoughts do you have?” you ask almost cheekily. Mitsuya chuckles at your question.

“Well, I think about the kind of dates we’d go on and how I’d introduce you to my sisters,” Mitsuya explains.

“Uh-huh,” you say and wait for him to continue.

“And, well, I’ve thought about how I would fuck you as well,” Mitsuya says.

“What did you have in mind for that?” you ask.

“Why don’t I walk you through it?” he asks.

“I would love that,” you reply.

“First, I would have you in my bed, which you are, so I can check that,” he says. “And the next thing I’d do is kiss you.” He leans towards you, and you close your eyes, feeling his lips touch yours. It’s a sweet kiss that definitely represents the first kiss you’ll have with him. He moves his body to hover above you without breaking the kiss between you. He places his hands on your waist, and you clutch at his shoulders. His tongue begins to trace your bottom lip. You open your mouth, and you taste the alcohol that he’d consumed earlier on your tongue. You moan into his mouth as his hands cup your body.

He raises his head to speak to you.

“Can I take off your shirt?” he asks. You nod eagerly, and he takes the bottom of your shirt in his hands and pulls it over your head, revealing your bra. “God, you’re so beautiful.” Mitsuya begins to kiss and suck your neck while your hands tangle themselves in his lilac hair. His teeth graze your skin as he trails kisses down to your collarbone.

“Mm, Mitsuya,” you moan.

“Call me Takashi, baby,” he tells you while still nestled in your neck.

“T-Takashi,” you correct. He chuckles.

“That’s my good girl,” he says. He moves his hands to your covered breasts and begins to fondle them. “Can I take it off?” His politeness is so handsome, but you kind of just want him to get to it.

“Yes,” you tell him. “And Takashi? You don’t have to keep asking. I want you to do whatever you want.” Mitsuya gives you a smirk as he unclasps your bra and tosses it aside. Next, he gently kneads your breasts while kissing the top of your chest. Then, he moves his hand to lick your sensitive nipple with his hot tongue. You moan under him as he uses his fingers to roll your other nipple. He switches between your breasts with his fingers and tongue until he’s thoroughly satisfied.

Mitsuya then goes to your pants, pulls them off you, and strips off his own shirt. His lean and muscular body flusters you as this is the first time you’ve seen him shirtless. He notices how flustered you are and chuckles.

“Aw, still flustered, pretty?” he asks. “That’s so cute.” Mitsuya’s attention then goes to your pussy where he sees how wet he’s made you already. “You’re already so wet for me, darling.”

Mitsuya uses his fingers to rub your wet, covered pussy. Naturally, you shift from your position when you feel his fingers touch you. Next, Mitsuya removes his pants and boxers, tossing them off with your discarded clothing. He takes his time removing your panties so that he can see you squirm from his teasing.

After removing your panties and tossing them away, he uses his fingers to collect some of your wetness and spreads it on his cock. Then, he lines himself and pushes his cock in. The head of his cock splits you open. You moan while Mitsuya groans from the feeling of his cock slowly entering you.

“Shit,” he breathes. “You feel amazing.”

“Ah, Takashi,” you moan. He finally bottoms out, and you reach for him, and he’s more than willing to kiss you while he fucks you. His hips begin to move, and he swallows your moans with his kisses and grabs your hand with his. The sound of his cock moving inside you reaches your ears, making you wetter by the second. Mitsuya groans in your kiss from how much he fills you up. Your hands grip each other tightly as Mitsuya’s thrusts begin to get harder and faster. Mitsuya’s kisses move from your lips down to your neck, and your head is thrown back. You feel your abdomen tighten as Mitsuya hits a specific spot within you, making you moan out more for him. You sense yourself tightening around Mitsuya’s cock as it thrusts in and out of you.

“Fuck, baby, you’re tightening around me,” Mitsuya says breathily. He doesn’t stop his thrusts against your spot, and you continue to feel your orgasm build.

“T-Takashi,” you moan. “G-Gonna cum.”

“Shit, cum for me, pretty girl,” he tells you. He thrusts into you again, and you release your cum all around Mitsuya’s cock, making a ring of your cream around him. He moans into your ear from your cum coating his dick. Mitsuya’s thrusts begin to speed up as he chases his own orgasm. Your pussy throbs from his thrusts as you grip his hand as tight as you can. His groans become louder as his cock begins to twitch within you. Mitsuya lets go of your hand and sits up as his eyes close. He quickly pulls his cock out of you and strokes his cock, cumming all along your stomach and outside of your pussy. You both breathe heavily together as his sticky, hot cum drips down your body.

“Takashi,” you say and reach out for his hand once again, which he gladly takes. He gives you a soft smile.

“You did so amazingly, baby,” he praises you. “Hold on, lemme clean you up, okay?” You nod, and he slips out of bed, going into the bathroom for a washcloth to clean you with. He returns and starts to clean off his cum from your body. He’s gentle, not wanting to stir your sensitive body.

When he’s done cleaning you, he puts the towel away and climbs back into bed with you. He grabs you into a cuddle with your chests pressing into each other slightly.

“Are you free tomorrow by chance?” Mitsuya asks. You giggle at his somewhat formal tone.

“Indeed, I am,” you reply. He rubs your waist as he continues.

“How about we go on a proper date?” Mitsuya asks. You lean in and kiss his cheek.

“I’d love to, Takashi,” you answer.