#sano x reader

⤿ AKIRA

akira kisses you sloppy.

akiras kisses are hard and needy, his mouth always crashing into yours hungrily like he hasn’t seen you in a year. His hands always eagerly groping your butt, while he slips his tongue deep in your mouth.

akira kisses you every chance he gets, usually acquainted with a slap on your ass as he leaves or his fingers in your pants if your whimpers got him too worked up. His favorite play to kiss you is your collarbone as he’s behind you during a particularly long make out session. Licking and sucking at it until it turns red and angry.

during sex, Akira kisses the top of your spine. His hands pulling your hips closer. fucking you deeply as he moans into your back. He pulls your back to his chest, meeting his mouth as you both finish together.

⤿ STRADE

strade kisses you violent.

strade kisses you hungrily, his kisses are so wet and messy. usually biting your lip and making soft droplets of blood land on your chin. strade savors his kisses, making them last minutes at a time, his hands tightening around your waist to keep you from writhing away from him.

strade doesn’t kiss you much, still much more then you would hope. his kisses are usually in the morning, or when you’ve been particularly good and he wants to show you how much he loves you. He likes making you scream into his mouth, biting and pinching you while moving impossibly closer in a way than anything but romantic.

during sex, strade kisses you much more sensually. When he’s not hurting, stabbing, or cutting you. He’s surprising gentle with his kisses. His favorite play is between your thighs, biting at the soft before loving kissing at your clit to make up for it. He’ll hold you tight — thrusting into you slowly after a painful day. his mouth meets yours, his warm lips swallow your own, gentle and soft not before biting your lip until blood drew; wallowing in the way you squeak.

⤿ RIRE

rire kisses you elegantly.

rire kisses you like he’s trying to convince you of something. The devil can be incredibly romantic when he’s around you. His eyes are open when he goes in to kiss you. Pushing your thighs open to get closer to your body. His eyes are enchanting you to keep staring while he works your mouth open.

rire kisses you every morning, every evening and after every meal. Like clock work. Even when you’ve been bad and he has to hurt you. When your ass stings and your mind is tired after the constant torture, and the last person you want to see is him. He still lays a soft kiss on the side of your lips, your body trying hard to resist but your mind gives in as you lean into his chest.

during sex, rire lets you get a good look at his eyes before leaning down and kissing you. He slows his thrusts down and fucks you nice and deep while he sucks on your tongue. He makes you moan out for him, fingers circling nice and deep on your clit as he groans into your mouth. You’re surprised his pointed teeth don’t cut yours as you moan against him. he pulls away, and you catch your breath. — calling you the cutest plaything he’ll ever get.

He pays his faults no mind though as he walks the beach with the love of his life. 

The feeling of sand beneath his feet reminds him that he doesn't need to be anywhere other than here. Sounds of water crashing fills his mind as his eyes drift to you. The currents are stronger today than normal. He could hear them from a mile away, each push and pull of the sea dragging him in closer. The salt tasted sweet on his lips, reminding him of warm summers and long nights spent out too late, when he was much too young. That isn’t the case anymore, although you’d be hard pressed to believe it. Mikey acts the exact same now at 27 as he did at 15. Perhaps he was too mature for his age back then, or he was too immature now, he could never tell. Neither could you. 

“Mikey, come on!” You reach out to him. 

Mikey hadn’t realized he had stopped walking until you began urging him to continue. The love of his life. He finds himself staring at you for far too long. He does that frequently. You never comment on it, instead choosing to be patient for him. You always know what he needs. His eyes glance from the tips of your fingers all the way to your hair blowing in the wind. A once unfamiliar feeling crawls up his throat and makes a home in his chest. It's been familiar for at least a year now. Love, it’s love. 

Mikey was no stranger to love. Mikey was love. It was in every action he did. The way he spoke to his family, the way he treated his friends, the way he paid a little extra to the grandma at that one bakery, just because she makes the dorayaki that good. Mikey knows what love is. 

At least, he thought he did anyway. 

The love he feels for you is like no other, nothing comes close. It didn’t start off that way. No, it was a gradual increase, inching slowly and slowly until it was all consuming. One night he realized you were all he thought about. What to do to make you feel safe, what to do to make you happy, what to do to make you smile. The feeling scared him a bit at first, although he would never tell you, but now it’s home to him. The love he feels for you wraps him in a warm blanket every night. He knows you feel the same way too. 

Mikey reaches out and grabs your hand, allowing you to drag him closer, closer until your body heat warms him up far more than the sun did. Your feet mesh with the wet sand beneath you as you hold onto Mikey’s arm, letting the sounds of the beach fill the space between you. 

Your dress sways along as you walk, as does Mikey’s loose shirt. He doesn’t need to be anywhere today, a rare occurance. Mikey wants to make the most out of the day with you. 

“Thank you for coming with me.” His voice is a bit quiet, but appreciative nonetheless. 

“You don’t have to thank me!” Your shoulder bumps against his, and he lets his body accept the motion, his feet sliding back a bit before he steadies himself. 

He wants to tell you that he’s not just thanking you for today in particular, although that was part of it too. Mikey was thanking you for coming with him, period. After all this time, every day you woke up and chose to be with him. You’d follow him to the end of the earth, and he took it to heart. 

He doesn’t respond. You don’t pay too much mind to Mikey’s silence, as you know he gets caught in his head more often than not. You know that you have to wait for him, much like you would with a stray dog, hand outreached until he’s ready to open up. He’d give you little glimpses here and there, so you knew it was best to wait. 

“We should do this more often.” You say, stopping to look up at him. 

He looks much more relaxed now than he did at 15, shoulders less heavy and his heart somehow more full. 

“You like hanging out with me?” He teases. He bites the insides of his cheeks at the way your nails scratch down his arm, not too hard but enough to tease back.

I love you. Walk with me until we can't walk anymore. I love you. Stay next to me until the world and everything around us ceases to exist. I love you. 

“A little bit, yeah.” You grin up at him, pressing your chest against his. 

The space around him is something some people only dream of seeing. Water crashing on sand with the sun dancing over head, but all he can see is you. Mikey rests a hand against your cheek, holding you as he leans down to place his lips on yours. Sweeter than dorayaki, hotter than the sand beneath his feet. 

He isn’t sure how well he demonstrates it, but he knows he’ll try his best for the rest of his life. 

“I love you.”

Tag List: @mikisspeak, @dinolvrrr, @sakui1, @reiluvr, @gothiccwhore666, @bunviixo, @slutshamethesquirrels

and as the years pass, you become more acquainted with those same people he’s always around - namely one baji keisuke, who made it very apparent from the start he wanted to be your friend because ‘only cool guys have a weak best friend’ and apparently no one else in toman was weak. 

days turn to weeks turn to years with you in their shadow, but you’ve never seemed to mind. 

you enjoy your view from the sidelines. 

“you can’t tell anyone.” you warn baji with a finger pointed in his direction, eyes narrowed as if that could somehow make your threat more lethal. 

he holds his hands up in mock-defense, taking a step away with his shoulders slouched, “you have my word.” 

you look away from him, arms crossing over your chest as you answer. 

“sorry?” he tilts his head, leaning forward, “didn’t quite catch that.” 

you feel yourself flush, hiding your face to mumble the reply, “mikey.” 

there’s a beat of silence for all of five seconds before he starts laughing. 

“you have a crush on mikey? of all people?” 

you shove him away from you when he leans against you for support, yet still manage to press your hand against his mouth because he’s so fucking loud, “quiet down,” you hiss out, “they’re supposed to be ‘round the corner, will you shut up?!” 

“just think it’s funny how you ‘nd your brother have a thing for each of the sano siblings-”

“quiet!” 

draken and mikey stumble upon you with a fist full of baji’s hair, the other hand pressed firmly against his mouth while he has his own shoving at your face to keep you away. 

and that’s just how most days go - when they aren’t terrorizing the city, they’re bothering you for one reason or another. 

until it isn’t. 

until kazutora gets released from juvie and baji leaves you in the dust and then dies after. . . it’s a lot to take in, especially for someone so young - so close to someone who suddenly drops it on you that they want nothing to do with you, and then you hear during the aftermath from your brother that he was begging for you to forgive him, for you to take care of mikey, too, because someone has to. 

until draken finds you curled in on yourself sobbing because even to the end, baji put other people above himself and it’s so fucking unfair that that’s how he meets his demise. 

you stay in your room for a week without moving. it takes draken practically dragging you out of the space to get you into the world again, mikey at his side with a frown. 

and maybe it’s from the mutual trauma of losing someone so close to you (despite it being a thousand times worse for mikey, since he was actively there at the scene), but you and mikey grow closer after baji’s death. 

you make sure one another eats, that you’ve done your assignments on time, that you’re getting enough sleep, that you’re taking care of yourselves. 

it stays like that for a while, you tucked behind mikey and draken like a secret, something no one else can touch or bother with emma at your side. 

and then she dies, too. 

her death was the breaking point for them, you think. 

unexpected and quick and cruel that mikey had to watch her pass, the tensions eating away at them and bursting at the seams from the announcement of her death. when draken came back home with busted knuckles and tear-stained cheeks, it broke you because your big brother was supposed to be the strong one. a piece of you chipped away when he crumbled in your embrace, sobs wrecking through his body while you held him close. 

the funeral isn’t any better, tensions still high, and draken steps away at the end when you move to talk to mikey. 

you promise to check in on him when you can, pull him into a hug while offering your condolences, and when you separate he doesn’t look at you as he says his thanks. 

when you make your way to draken, you will yourself to glance back at mikey and . . . he looks so small, standing beside his grandpa. unfocused on the people that come up, shake his hand with frowns, then leave. as if feeling your stare on him, he looks up to meet your gaze, and with such a small glance, you can see how heavily everything’s weighed down on him. how cruel the world has been to him, and how it remains unrelenting of punches. 

he looks away before you do, and draken pulling you close to him by the shoulder to keep you from walking into someone draws your attention away from mikey. 

weeks turn to months, passing without a hitch, and you do your best to check in on mikey when you can. some days you visit and his grandpa answers the door, turning you away because mikey’s out and he doesn’t know where he is - most days your texts and calls go unanswered. 

ken later informs you toman’s disbanded and he isn’t sure what to do with himself. despite your best efforts, getting in contact with mikey becomes harder and harder, until it becomes an impossible feat altogether. 

years pass with no contact - with everyone lives moving forward, with your brother owning his own bike shop and inupi coming to work with him, and you getting an insane job offer for your dream position. it’s crazy amazing for someone your age to see an opportunity like this, and you’re elated beyond belief by the proposition, except . . . it’s on the other side of japan. 

you’d have to leave everything you’ve ever known for the chance of a lifetime, and it’s your brother who encourages you to take it. 

“who knows if something like this could happen again,” he says with a smile, ruffling your hair in a way that big brothers do, “you’ll always have a home here to come to if things don’t pan out.” 

you see everyone you can in the weeks before you leave, even manage to pin down mitsuya for coffee before he leaves for another exciting runway event in italy (you tease how you wish you’d be going there instead - he offers an invite once you’re settled in your new apartment). 

the only person you couldn’t pinpoint a location for was . . . mikey. 

despite your many calls to the old number you have stored in your phone, searching for him at his old childhood home, even asking draken and the other friends from his old gang - no one knew. you amaze yourself with your own detective skills, though, by some miracle able to find an address - you applaud yourself as you step to the door, double checking the apartment number matches what you have written down before you knock. 

there’s a moment where you stand dumbly waiting for someone to open the door, and you think for a second maybe you have the wrong apartment, or maybe he’s not home, or -

there’s a click of the lock sounding, the door creaking open just enough for you to see the darkness inside. 

you brighten when mikey peeks his head around the door, leaning against the frame and just . . . staring, expression unreadable. 

“hi . . .” you breath out, “’ve been lookin’ for you.” 

“that spells trouble.” he says without missing a beat, looking down both ends of the hall before he pushes the door open further. an invitation to enter, one you take gratefully. 

“for who?” you can’t help but tease, eyes adjusting to the darkness of the room as you spin to face him closing the door, “me? or you?” 

“depends on how this goes.” he shrugs, leaning against the door with his arms crossed over his chest. 

you don't take his words as the threat they are, smile still as bright as when he first pulled open the door, “how have you been? it’s been a while.” 

“‘ve been better,” he looks away from you, “definitely been worse.” 

“wellll, “ you spin on your heel to get a look at his apartment, reaching for the wall where the lightswitch sits and flipping them on, “what have you been up to? s’nice apartment, even better with the lights on.” you chastise lightly, making yourself at home somewhere you surely could never consider it to be. 

when you turn back to face him, he’s already behind you, hand on your wrist, still touching the switch. 

“what do you want, (y/n)?” he asks. your gaze softens on him, now able to take in the light bags under his eyes, the way his frame is smaller than you remember. 

“to talk,” you answer gingerly, reaching forward to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, “to see you and know you’re not dead in a ditch in roppongi.”

“you can clearly see i’m not, s’there more?, ” the words leave his lips bitterly, contrasting how his eyes flutter closed, how he leans into your touch. 

“‘m moving pretty far,” you add after a moment of silence, “otherside of japan. just wanted to see you’re okay before i leave.” your thumb rubs gentle circles into his cheek, head tilting when his eyes snap open at the admission. 

“what for?” he pries, and the way he asks reminds you of when you were kids; when he’d beg and beg and beg to play with the toy you were already playing with if only for the fact that you were playing with it, how he’d whine and pout until you relented because you couldn’t stand the idea of him being upset with you. 

“a job,” you’re completely transparent as you answer, “‘the opportunity of a lifetime’. it felt . . . i dunno, wrong? to not share the good news with you-mph?” 

you're silenced by him suddenly pulling you to him, lips pressed to your own with his hands cupping your cheeks, and truth be told it’s everything fourteen-year-old you dreamed of and more. everything you ever wanted in life kissing you in his apartment before you go miles and miles away to start a completely different dream and it hurts. 

but you don’t have it in you to push him away, not when he presses you against the wall to deepen the kiss, or when he pulls your clothes off of you with a desperation that leaves you whining and begging, or when he guides you to his bedroom and continues his affection that holds the passion and emotion that’d been buried under fifteen years of dirt. he brings out each skeleton from the closet with every thrust until the both of you are spent, laying naked in each other’s embrace until you fall asleep. 

it’s surprising, almost, to wake up the next morning alone in a bed that isn’t yours. 

there’s no sign of mikey when you look around the apartment, the only tell of him even staying in the form of a stack of cash with a note in his familiar handwriting left on the kitchen counter. 

hope this helps you get started in the new city. - mikey 

a number sits in a smaller font under the note, in even smaller writing it says for emergencies, use this number. 

it feels weird, taking the money with no way to show your appreciation, so you rip a small corner from the paper and write your thanks out, the promise of visiting him soon when you’re back in town added with a heart at the end of your note. 

two days later, and you’re driving to a new city with your entire life packed in suitcases and boxes - a moving truck scheduled to deliver your belongings a day after you get to your apartment. 

almost two months pass, and you find you’re settling well; everyone at the company adores you, and the building your apartment’s in sits across from a nice ramen shop that you like to go to every tuesday night after you get paid. 

you come down with a stomach bug, one you can’t seem to shake, and after a week of calling out and forcing yourself to work despite being exhausted and crabby and ill, you go to the doctor. 

imagine your surprise when he tells you you’re fucking pregnant. 

two months, in fact, proven with the sonogram he sets you up with, and you’re calling your brother in hysterics in your car when the appointment is over. 

“pregnant?” he repeats over the phone, after taking the first five minutes of the call just trying to calm you down, “by who?” 

you’re chewing your lip raw as you answer, “mikey . . .” 

there’s a beat of silence, before you’re whispering out, “‘m scared, ken. i-i’m miles from home and-and i just started this job and i don’t even know if i can take care of a baby on my own-” 

“you’re gonna keep it?” he asks, tone genuine. 

“i . . . yeah, i think so - i-i mean, i want to . . . is that stupid? is that a stupid want for me to have?” your lip wobbles waiting for his answer. 

“no, but . . . s’lot of work, (y/n). if it’s something you do want, you know i’ll support you in any way i can, you just gotta tell me how to help.” 

“i wan’a come home.” you settle, and the way the words leave your lips remind you of a child, begging a parent for something so small when this is anything but. 

“we can do that,” draken promises, “i’ll get a flight and help you pack or get inupi to ride with me. we’ll figure it all out, don’t stress.” 

you sniffle, wiping at your face hastily, “kay . . . okay. thank you ken.” 

“f’course,” you can hear the smile in his voice over the phone, “s’what big brother’s are for.” 

and the next few weeks are filled with moving your life back home, with the help of draken and inupi. the people at your job are nothing but happy at the news for you, despite being sad to see you go - they wish you the best in life, though, and even offer another position to apply if you ever decide to come back to the area. it’s sweet, really. 

you move into draken’s house and have a healthy baby boy that looks so much like mikey, you think it might kill you. you name him shin. 

he makes you promise to not try to seek out mikey one night, after you’d rocked shin to sleep and put him down in his crib. 

“no one knows what he’s been up to,” he argues quietly when your brows furrow at the demand, “and frankly, the few ties i still have with gangs make me worried from what little things they tell me.” 

“but those could just be rumors,” you frown, “he deserves to know he has a kid.” 

“it’s dangerous, (y/n).” draken settles with the finality of a parent telling their kid they can’t have another cookie, “‘m serious. don’t try to contact him.” 

despite the weight the conversation holds, you can’t help but stick your tongue out at him childishly. something he returns, only to narrowly dodge the stuffed animal you throw his way in opposition. 

and though the warnings loom in the air, you can’t help but try to let mikey know - calling the number he left countless times, trying to use your rusty detective skills that aided you in finding him almost a year ago, just trying to make him aware that you had his son. 

you don’t seek child support, or demand otherworldly things that a parent could only dream of (a rocking chair that massages your back and automatically rocks? you drool at the thought), you just feel it’s something he deserves to know. something he should be given a choice to be a part of. 

except he’s known since you moved back. 

it was a difficult task, keeping tabs on you when you were so far away, but he knew from the day you settled into draken’s home by word of mouth from koko. it must’ve been a punishment for koko, to check in on all of their friend’s from their pasts, to make sure their lives are going how they want them to and make sure everyone is happy. 

mikey couldn’t stomach the photos koko would offer, waving them away and requesting the verbal update instead, and when your son is born, he’s only informed that there’s no father on the birth certificate. your attempts to contact him died in vein, the number he gave you belonging to an old throw away phone he got rid of a week after he left it with you. he didn’t think you’d ever need it. 

three years pass, and koko would be damned to say the kid doesn't look like a photocopy of mikey. wild blond hair, all bright eyed and sweet. 

you work at a diner now, usually leave shin with draken and inupi for your nightshift and ken takes him home when he’s done at the garage. 

it’s cute, the way they interact with him - they let him get in the way of their work, careful so he doesn’t get hurt, but allow his curiosity and grubby hands grab hold of tools and bolts and pieces they need. 

you're not overly fond of letting shin have his way with whatever he can pinch between his fingers, since usually whatever he does find ends up in his mouth like a chew toy, but ken and inupi tease you for being too overprotective. 

you still live with ken, despite insisting the need to get out of his hair, but he promises it’s okay to take your time since he adores his nephew and doesn’t mind helping, and inupi’s became a good friend by proxy. 

it’s rare for you and your brother to argue, especially in front of shin, and truly you’re not sure what sparked the conversation in the first place - all you know is you’re upset. 

“inupi, tell my brother it’s unfair for mikey to not know he has a kid.” 

“inui, tell my sibling if mikey wanted to be involved, he would be. simple as that.” 

“we don’t even know if he knows,” you groan out, leaving inupi to hold up his hands defensively. 

“i have no argument in this.” is all he offers. 

“but you have some insight, “ you counter, kneeling down when shin tugs on your pants, “you know the story-” 

“i’m just sayin’ you’ve tried for three years-” draken starts.

“four.” 

“-four years, “ he continues, “and you’ve gotten nothing. i don’t see a need for you to continue if you’ve come up empty handed for so long.” 

“because, ken-” 

shin’s lip wobbles for a second before he bursts into tears, gripping the front of your shirt until you’re shushing him and pulling you towards him in a hug, “shhh, baby, it’s okay. what’s wrong?” 

he continues to cry despite you rocking him, and it takes draken pulling him out of your arms while tickling his sides to make him stop. 

“prob’ly didn’t like the arguing.” inupi comments, dodging a wrench you throw his way with a glare. 

“we’ll talk about this later,” you sigh out, standing on your toes to squeeze shin’s cheeks, “i love, love, love you.” you emphasize each ‘love’ with a kiss to his chubby cheeks, happy to hear his crying replaced with giggles and incoherent toddler babble. 

your shift at work isn’t anything special - you have some regulars that come in at the odd hours of night, and by the end of your shift, you’re the last to leave; finishing out some paperwork the managers can’t be bothered to do despite getting paid far less than them to do it. 

you fish your keys from your bag, unlock your car, ready to begin the short drive home but . . . your car won’t start. 

of course it doesn’t. it’s an older model, one you were supposed to take to the scrap yard for a slightly newer model last month but couldn’t because shin unexpectedly got sick and you had to fork out some cash to make sure he got better. 

you sigh, pop the hood of the vehicle as if maybe some of your brother’s knowledge of mechanics could somehow transfer to you, and call the aforementioned male. 

it rings. . . and rings . . and rings. no answer. 

you try again. 

nothing. 

you kick at the front bumper in frustration, running a hand over your face in search of another contact. surely inupi is awake at two in the morning, right? 

the call rings out, and you’re really worried it’s going straight to voicemail for a second, but he picks up on seemingly the last buzz, “hello?” he sounds groggy, like you did just wake him up. you don’t have time to dwell on the thought when a group of guys appear from the sidewalk, spotting and attempting to talk to you in one breath. 

“car won’t start?” one asks, nudging his friend as they make their way closer to you, “we can help.” 

you turn away from them, “hey inui, can you come get me from work? ken didn’t answer and my car won’t start.” 

“hey.” the guys are much closer now, one stepping around to the front of the car while the other two stand off to your right, vying for your attention. 

“yeah f’course. there other people around you?” there’s some shuffling from inupi’s end, like he’s getting out of bed. 

“yeah. um, how long till you can be here?” 

“ten? minutes maybe.” you swallow at the answer. 

“great, i’ll see you in five.” 

you pull the phone from your ear slightly, turning back to face the two guys to your right, “i don’t need any help, i have a friend on the way-” 

there’s only a moment between you dismissing their assistance before the guy who was at the front of your car is shoving at your shoulder and pinning you to the side of your car, one hand pressed firmly to your mouth while the other squeezes your wrist until your phone falls from your hand and kicks it away. 

you shove a hand at his face, trying to reach into your bag for your taser or pocket knife or a really sharp pencil when the guy moves his hand from your mouth to your throat, squeezing hard enough you’re sure it’ll bruise, while tearing your bag from your shoulder and throwing it to sit with your phone. 

the smell of alcohol comes off of him in waves when he grins, leaning down to get a good look at you, “we can ‘elp ya,” he offers, “but not for free.” 

your nails bite into the skin of his wrist, the need to breath overtaking every other sense desperately while you continue to kick and claw at him.

his grip only relents at the sound of a motorcycle idling in the parking lot, but the pressure of his hand still keeps you in place by the throat, head turning to address who could see fit to interrupt this ‘exchange’. the man on the bike adjusts the mask on his face, tucks his long platinum hair to the side, seeming to ignore the eyes on him. 

“diner’s closed,” one of the other guys says, stepping towards the stranger, “and we’re kinda busy here ourselves-” 

he doesn’t get the chance to really say what they’re doing when the guy steps off the bike and just swings. 

his fist meets the guy's cheek with a harsh thwack while mumbling, “shouldn’t touch shit that doesn’t belong to you.” 

the guy holding you up releases his grip completely, leaving you to drop to the ground when your legs buckle under your weight, frozen and left only watching as the two remaining men are taken down easily by your potential savior. 

when the three stay unmoving on the ground, he crouches in front of you, adjusting the mask on his face once again while taking in your shaken form. 

“you okay?” you don’t trust your voice, so you only nod, “is someone on the way to get you? or d’ya need a ride?” 

you nod again, “i-inui’s coming.” you manage to whisper out, unable to catch the way his eyes widen slightly as he stands to his full height. 

he begins to walk away, back to his motorcycle that’s still running, but his steps hesitate when you call out, “is that you, koko?” 

he doesn’t turn to face you, doesn’t address if you’re correct in your assumption, “don’t worry ‘bout all this,” he says instead, “i’ll take care of it.” 

and then he’s climbing onto his bike, pulling out of the parking lot less than a minute before inupi’s pulling into it. 

you’re still on the ground when he rushes towards you to see if you’re okay, stepping over the unconscious bodies with little regard. you recount what happened, which inupi dismisses since he remained on the phone until he pulled into the parking lot. 

“do . . . was it really koko?” he asks, helping you up from the cement and gathering the items that spilled from your bag, offering your now cracked phone to you with a frown. 

“i’m not sure . . . i never really knew him like you did, “ you reach into your car to grab the important belongings and shove them in your bag, “it didn’t look like him but . . . it sounded like him. was his eyes, i think.” 

inupi looks away at this, “so what do you wanna do? ‘bout these guys?” 

you swallow, keeping your stare away from the three on the floor, “he said he'd take care of it and i don’t . . . i just wanna go home.”

“okay,” inui’s hand finds it place at the small of your back, guiding you gently to his bike and helping you on, “i’ll take you home.” 

when inupi walks you through the foyer, draken’s in front of you the second the door falls shut. 

you can see his worry in the crease of his brow, from the way he grabs your shoulders to give you a once-over and frowning at the way your neck seems to be irritated beyond belief, “are you okay? i-i had to put shin back to bed because he woke up ‘nd i didn’t have my phone on me but when tried calling back but you didn’t answer.” 

“‘m okay . . .” you assure, peeling yourself away from him, “gonna go shower . . um, inui can tell you what happened.” 

your voice is so small as you speak, ken can only nod and watch you disappear into the hall before he turns to inui, who delves into the story based on what he heard over the phone and what you told him when he arrived.

you scrub your skin raw in the shower, until it almost stings from how harsh you rub. you slip out of the bathroom quietly after, sneak your way into shin’s nursery and sit by his bed for just a second to decompress, rubbing the boys back softly while he sleeps. 

the peace is disrupted by ken peeking his head around the door, “c’mon, we gotta talk ‘bout it.” 

you almost pout, childlike, “do we have to?”

the look he gives you offers no leeway to argue, so you sigh and press a kiss to shin’s hair before standing, deciding now isn’t the time to start an argument. 

inupi’s gone when you come out to the living room, tucking your legs under yourself as you sit on the couch with ken beside you. 

you feel like a child they way you explain what happened, unable to look at him as you speak. ken visibly stiffens at the mention of the potential koko coming to your aid, interrupting you mid story to remind you, “you know it doesn’t matter that he helped you, right. you’re not gonna go out lookin’ for him or mikey or whoever else.” 

you frown at his words, opening your mouth to argue but he shakes his head before you can, “no, (y/n), ‘m serious. it’s too dangerous.”

you look down, defeated, but nod your head, “okay . . . fine.”

and really, you had full intention to abide by the warning. but . . . your boss called you the next day, said something about the diner being closed for the next few days because of something you couldn’t be bothered to remember and that you’d still be paid for the lost hours. 

the details don’t matter, really. you drop shin off with draken as usual, avoid mentioning the fact that you have the day off, and leave with the intent to use the next free hours just . . . looking. for koko or mikey or anyone who might know anything about either of them. 

it’s stupid, you think, to search and pry so openly, bouncing from bars and clubs asking anyone who’ll listen, but within three hours, you’ve gathered the following; 

mikey runs some big name gang. baton? batten? something. 

he has some executives that help run his gang, some of which own a few of the clubs in the shiftier parts of the city – haitani’s? you think they’re called?

the haitani’s are close to koko, who’s close to mikey, and really that’s the only thing you need. 

so you continue going from club to club, under the impression that apparently the haitani’s frequent their own clubs just about every night. you hear about a nicer club towards the edge of the city, one they favor to the other’s since the liquor is stronger and the girls are prettier – but these are all things you’ve heard from other people, so who knows how true it really is.

when you make it to the club, you wonder if your sundress is something considered to be ‘underdressed’. surely the juice stain on the front isn’t working in your favor as the bouncer gives you a once-over. 

“yer lookin’ for who, now?” he asks, one brow raised with his arms crossed over his chest. 

if you had any sense in you, you’d probably be scared of the way he eyes you down, but growing up around idiots who don’t know when to stop messing around has really ruined your fight or flight response. 

“the haitani brothers..” you reply, mocking the way he crosses his arms over his chest, “i heard they sometimes come by here, i thought maybe-” 

“you thought, huh?” his eyes rake over your form, and your arms shift protectively around yourself instead of mocking him, “well i think you should get outta here ‘fore you get hurt.” 

“i just need to know if they’re here-” 

he turns away from you with a hand pressed to the earpiece sitting in his ear, looking into the building before he turns to face you again with a squinted glare, “you sure they’re the right one? yeah. yeah. right. i’ll send ‘em up.” 

he gestures towards the inside of the building, nodding his head, “straight ahead, up the stairs.”

with those instructions, you head towards the back of the club and find a set of stairs, separated by a velvet rope with another bouncer standing in front of it. as if expecting your arrival, he unhooks the rope from its place and steps aside, gesturing for you to follow the stairs up. 

at the top of the stairs sits a closed door and when you push it open, peeking around it to get a look inside, you see a nice couch with two guys perched on them - one with a girl who you can assume is from the club sitting in his lap, while the other sips from the drink in his hand, eyeing you the second you’re past the threshold. 

the one with the girl in his lap openly squeezes her ass, grinning at you when you look away quickly. he leans forward, whispering something in her ear, and she stands with a pout, practically glaring at you as she leaves. 

the door clicks shut behind her, and you’re left in awkward silence with the thrum of music playing under your feet. 

after a moment, the one with a drink in hand tilts his head at you, “what’s a pretty thing like you doin’, askin’ for us by name?” 

“‘m lookin’ for koko . . .” you voice is smaller than you remember, making you almost cringe in on yourself at the way they eat it up. 

“why’re ya lookin’ for our koko?” 

“w-we’re friends.” you stutter out, “i just. . . need to talk to him.” 

“where’d all that confidence go?” the one who had the girl in his lap tsks as he stands, “we heard you over his comms, you were practically demanding to talk to us - now you’re a stuttering lil’ mess. what happened between now and then?” 

he stops in front of you, head tilted as he looms over you, “maybe you should get to know us first. ‘m ran, that’s rindou. thought we knew ‘bout all the nice things koko keeps hidden away.” 

though he isn’t speaking to you for the last part, his eyes don’t leave you while they rake over your face, over your body. he reaches to cup your cheek, almost pouting at the way you flinch away from the contact with a frown. 

“i’m just lookin’ for koko.” you settle with, leaning away from him. 

ran actually does pout at this, bottom lip jutted out. “you’re tellin’ me we can’t have some fun before he gets here?” 

“that’s exactly what they’re sayin’, actually.” someone says from behind you, and you jump when you’re being pulled away from ran by your upper arm. a glance behind you reveals the man you’ve been waiting for - koko, with his hair pulled neatly to the side and a scowl on his face. 

ran grins at the sight of him, clapping his hands as if he wasn’t just making you uncomfortable. rindou just clicks his tongue. 

“s’a shame you got here so quick. thought we’d have some time to get to know ‘em.” 

“as if you’d try.” koko accuses, fingers digging into your skin, “you know he’d be pissed if you did anything.” 

“who said anything ‘bout trying anything. just wanna know who’s got our dear boss so worked up all the time.” 

instead of giving him the satisfaction of a reply, koko fully faces you with his eyes narrowing to further slits, “you must be crazy to come here, even crazier to ask around for us in the first place.” 

“i need to see mikey,” you frown, “was the only way i could think of since it was you that showed up the other day, right?”

you can see the way he clenches his jaw, muscles tight, “doesn’t matter. do you know how dangerous it was for you to ask around for us? mikey isn’t someone you can just see anyways-” 

“why can’t they?” rindou, seemingly the only sensible guy in the room, questions, “they wanna talk to ‘im, he’d only be one call away.” 

“you know why.” koko snaps, heavy weight of his glare moving from you to the male, “we can’t just-” 

ran’s phone rings from his pocket, effectively silencing koko mid sentence, and when he pulls it out, he waves it in front of koko with a sharp-toothed grin, “speak of the devil.” 

you open your mouth to ask, maybe even demand the phone from ran as he answers, but a sharp squeeze to your arm from koko leaves you quiet - a silent warning heard loud and clear. 

don’t say a word. 

ran’s eyes rake over your form as he answers, licking his lips like you could be his next meal, “yeah? he just got here. no, i would never! i’m offended you think i would,” whatever mikey’s saying has him grinning like a schoolgirl, gaze moving from you to koko, “if ya wanted to talk to him, why didn’t you call him. yeah, whatever, whatever, fine.” 

he offers the phone to koko, who grimaces at the device. 

“wants to talk to you.” ran elaborates, as if the implication wasn’t clear enough. 

koko snatches the phone from him with a glare, letting go of your arm to turn away from the two of you, “hello?” 

you can barely make out the sound of someone on the other line, lip pulled between your teeth when you see how koko’s face pinches in distaste for whatever mikey could be saying. 

“are you sure that’s a good idea. no, that's not what i'm saying at all - okay, fine. yeah, i’ll take ‘em there. sure. bye.” 

he hangs up with a scowl, tossing ran back his phone as he turns to reface you, “come on, we’re gonna go somewhere.” 

“to mikey?” you ask, hope leaking off your tongue. 

he doesn’t reply, opening the door and gesturing for you to exit the room when you don’t immediately begin moving. 

you offer a small wave goodbye to ran and rindou, despite the fact that there was no pleasure in meeting them in the first place, and you miss the glare koko sends them once you’re walking down the steps. koko leads you out of the club, guiding you by the upper arm through the sea of people until you’re stepping into the cool night air outside. 

though you’re no longer in the middle of the thrum of people, koko’s grasp on your arm doesn’t leave until he’s stopping in front of a sleek black car. a cadillac, maybe? mercedes? you’ve never been good with vehicles. 

he opens the door for you, though, and you have enough sense to mumble a small thanks as you climb in. 

when he enters through the driver’s door, he pauses for a minute, letting the silence wash over the two of you while gripping the steering wheel. 

“it really is stupid of you to come around here, ” he says finally, still looking straight ahead while you move to carefully pull your seatbelt on, “i shouldn’t even take you to him, you know. i should just take you home.” 

“you don’t have room to talk about stupid decisions,” you snap in time with the click of the buckle, “inupi and i have mourned the loss of people we care about who are still alive and well, that’s not fair.” 

you see the way his jaw clenches, knuckles turning white from how hard he holds the steering wheel. 

“we made sacrifices for you-” 

“i made sacrifices too,” you frown, thinking about the lost opportunities to raise your son, “and i just want five minutes of talking to mikey. is that too much to ask?” 

“you have other people to look out for instead, “ koko clicks his tongue, grip relenting as he looks over to you, “just remember that you asked for this.” 

the weight of his words settle heavy in the air as he puts the car in reverse and pulls out of the parking lot. 

the car ride is silent aside from the soft music that plays from the radio, turned to low volume. koko doesn’t move to break the silence, and you don’t have it in you to disrupt the tension that builds, anxiety creeping under your skin until it pops into goosebumps on the surface when he pulls in front of a large apartment building. 

“you’re gonna go to the top floor,” koko explains, not looking over at you, “he should already be there.” 

“should?” you parrot, nerves catching up with you. 

“if not already then soon.” he clicks the button to unlock the doors for you, and your breath stutters at the sound, fingers dancing around the door handle. 

“okay . . . thank you, koko. it’s . . . it is good to see you again. inupi would be happy to know you’re okay.” 

you don’t stay long enough to hear the way he inhales sharply, don’t see the way he tenses from the words. koko doesn’t wait for you to enter the building before he drives off, and you don’t look back as you push open the doors. 

the lobby is cold, you note dully, and it must be the reason your hairs stand on end when you find your way to the elevators. you wrap your arms around yourself after stepping inside of them, pressing the button to the top floor and willing your heart to not beat out of your chest. 

you realize just how much money mikey must have when the doors open to a penthouse - the entire floor being taken up as the apartment. you slowly step inside, sliding off your shoes by elevator and peek around inside the open area, spotting a living room, kitchen, and dining room all in the space. there’s a hall that cuts off towards the right of the room and you wonder if that’s where the bedroom(s?) and bathroom are. 

it feels wrong, almost, being here alone. though the room is definitely well furnished (the couch itself looks like it costs more than your broken down car), it feels . . . devoid of life. like maybe it’s only a place for rest - not a home. there’s no comfort of connection anywhere in the building, no vulnerability in personal property. you make your way further into the living room, eyeing the art hanging on the wall as if it could mean something to you. 

“i really thought he’d take you home.” you jump at the sound of a voice, whirling around to face whoever could be speaking. 

your mouth dries at the sight. 

mikey, but surely not your mikey, with his hair cropped short and paler than anything you remember, with bags under his eyes and frame thinner than what could be considered healthy, steps into view from the hall, hands in the pockets of his jeans. 

words die on your lips when he stops beside you, leaning back as if really taking in the painting you were eyeballing, head tilting, “heard you wanted to talk to me. must’ve been important if you went through all that trouble just to find me.” 

you don’t know what possesses you to take the first swing, to hit at his shoulder and his chest with tears welling in your eyes, but you do. 

and by some miracle, he lets you. it probably helps your hits are weak, with no intention to really harm - only needing an outlet for the emotions you’d been harboring for four fucking years. 

“why didn’t you call me,” you whisper when you’re finished with your barrage of hits, letting him guide you to the couch and sit you down on it, placing himself on the other end, “i-i wrote to you, i texted, i called, i looked for four years, mikey, and i got nothing in return. do you even know what for?” 

when you look at him, his gaze is set straight ahead to the wall across from the two of you, to the flatscreen tv that’s been off since you’d arrived - and who knows how long before that. 

“i’ve been busy.” he offers instead of answering, stare unwavering despite the way you frown and sigh out your disappointments. 

"too busy to respond? to even acknowledge my existence? what kind of fucking answer is that!?" you’re heated all over again by his lack of concession, at the way his eyes don’t leave the screen of the tv until you’re standing up from the couch with your arms out beside you, then tucking them into yourself and turning away from him, “koko was right, he should’ve just taken me home-” 

“why’d you come?” he asks instead, gaze finally moving from the tv to you. 

the question makes you pause, dig your nails into your arms as if that could somehow ground you. 

“i . . . we have a son.” you say finally, not turning to face him as the words leave your lips. 

you’re met with a beat of silence before he says, “i know.” 

i know. i know. i know, i know i know i know. 

he knew. 

he knew. 

“you know?” you repeat, turning to face him, suddenly quieter than before. 

“that you had a son,” he clarifies, face unreadable as he continues, “wasn’t sure if he was mine.” 

“how?” you press, legs buckling under your weight and leaving you to fall back down to the couch. 

“we . . . i’ve had koko do check-ins on everyone, every now and then,” he looks away at the admittance, “to make sure their lives are going well. did you know mitsuya’s a designer now? hakkai’s even modeled a few of his designs, and chifuyu and kazutora own a pet shop together, too” he’s deflecting, you can tell from the way he keeps his stare even and away from your own. 

“i do know,” you snap, “because they visit when they can. they want to see their nephew when they’re able to come by.” 

the way you bite your words out should sting, should hurt in a way he can’t place, but they don’t. he’s done this to himself, he knows, he’s just reaping what he’s sown. 

“why’d you leave?” you whisper out, “w-why’d you just disappear? why didn’t you respond to me? why did it take me getting hurt for you guys to make yourself known?”

he opens his mouth to reply, to say anything, but he doesn’t have an answer that will satisfy you. he knows that, and that is enough reason for him to keep his mouth shut. 

“have you seen him?” you’re still whispering, appalled he couldn’t assume your son was his - as if you didn’t pick the name shin for him. mikey shakes his head and it has you pulling out your phone with shaking hands, shoving it in his face until the lock screen photo of you, your son, and draken glare brightly back at him. 

his gaze moves from you to your phone, eyes scanning over the photo before they flit over to your face. 

“i didn’t know he was ours.” he defends, looking away, and you push the phone further into his face so he can’t escape it. 

“i’m telling you now that he is. “ you’re leaning into his space now, emphasize the need to look at the photo with another shake, and when he looks at you, really looks at you, his eyes trail from your own to your lips, to the bruises that marr your neck from the night prior. 

he tips your chin up to get a better look at them, setting you with a look when you offer some resistance, “did those guys do this to you?” you nod, “they won’t touch you again. no one will.” 

you frown at the implication, pushing his hand away with the hand not holding your phone, and he grabs that hand by the wrist when he spots the bruises decorating the skin there, taking it in with a still expression. 

“i can take care of you guys,” he settles, “make sure you never need or want anything. you won’t have to work at that shitty diner anymore. our kid would have anything he could ever desire.” 

his hand comes up to cup your cheek, wipes the stray tear that falls from your eyes, and against your better judgment, you lean into his touch. 

“i’m not asking that of you,” you explain, closing your eyes and willing any other tears that want to fall away, “you don’t even know his name.” you remind him, opening your eyes and standing when your phone starts to ring. you wipe at your face hastily, looking at the caller id, and only get a glance of the name ken before mikey’s pulling you down into his lap. 

you make a noise of disagreement, phone falling from your grasp to the couch beside the two of you from the sudden movement. 

“tell me his name.” he says, one hand still holding your wrist while the other keeps you in place by the hip. 

he practically demands it, eyes boring into your own as they search for the answer. 

“shin,” you reply after a moment, pulling your lip between your teeth, “i named him shin.” 

the hand at your hip grips it tighter, fingers digging into the flesh until it almost hurts. 

“after?” 

“shinichiro, yeah.” you don't know if it’s really necessary to clarify, but you don’t have a second to think about it when he suddenly surges forward, capturing your lips with his own. 

you falter for only a second before you’re returning the kiss with fervor, the hand not being held by mikey gripping the front of his shirt to pull him closer. 

“i will take care of you guys,” he promises when he pulls away from your lips to press his own to your chin, trailing down to your jaw and settling at the junction of your throat, peppering kisses at the free expanse of skin until it’s decorated pretty with hickies. 

his fingers dance under the hem of your dress, pulling you flush against him until your senses are full of nothing but, “can give ‘nother, you guys’ll have everything you could ever want.” he continues, the hand moving under your dress skimming across the tops of your thighs and pressing against your stomach. 

you whine, quiet and high in the back of your throat that leaves him grinding against you, hand moving from your stomach to your bare hip to guide you. he’s saying so many things, whispering so many assurances in your ear, and for a second, it’s too much. 

too overstimulating and happening too fast, but the way he holds you is so familiar, so comforting and warm and god you’ve missed him so fucking much. your phone buzzes to your right from the couch, and you pull away for a second to see it light up, see your brother’s contact pop up in that short amount of time before he’s forcing your attention back to him with a pinch to your hip, fingers pressing into your cheeks to turn your head back towards him. 

“eyes on me,” he demands, “keep your eyes on me.”