Furever With Kaji!

Wound Dressings (Yandere Idol!Xiao/Reader)

a/n: happy lantern rite, everyone!!! here's xiao, hope anyone that wants to pull for him gets him <3 (CW: yandere, implied ptsd, mild violence, scaramouche is fricking foul as hell.)

unreliable synopsis: As the producer of 5wirl's beloved rapper, you found yourself stuck between Xiao and the nefarious fashion stylist/designer- Scaramouche-'s wars.

Alice's note: Producer Starlight, we need to talk. Right now. The CEO is waiting.

Yandere Idol Match-Up Masterlist

------

“Xiao, your face, it's burnt–”

“Don’t.” Xiao huffed. “Don’t come any closer. I’m fine.”

Anyone can tell 5wirl's rapper has a hard time getting close to people and you find that rather tragic. It’s a shame that Xiao chose to be distant when you find his rap music enthralling like no other, and you can tell he pours his soul into each lyric he writes. He sings desperately as though it's his last strip of breath left with voice cracks so raw and heartbreaking. While Venti sounds theatrical and clear, his will always be raspy and hauntingly unique. Every project he’s involved with sheds light on his authenticity, and you yearned for an opportunity to have him talk to you just as honestly.

However, you paid more heed to his need for emotional distance, not wanting to be nosy in this instance. You concentrated on advancing his career without meddling in his personal affairs, staying strictly business. It was not your place to know more and be some uneducated therapist.

At least, you had faith that you could maintain that belief until you noticed his sloppy bandaged cheek. Xiao stumbled forward, his hair untidy. You clenched your jaw. You grasped for his arm, feeling somewhat enraged. Instead of reacting, he simply awaited your inevitable worry.

“Who did this to you, Xiao?” You whispered angrily.

“A firework accident,” Xiao grunted. “My cousin can vouch for me. Yesterday’s lantern rite. Do not worry about me.”

“Is that so…”

You can’t muster the courage to question ADDICKTZ's Mister Zhongli, and that’s precisely why you know Xiao’s hiding a secret. Lying between his molars was not something he could do without a hitch.

Especially not to someone as observant as you.

“Does this have something to do with the stylist?”

While you technically shouldn’t risk your neck for a theory…

… It's better to route the problem immediately.

Xiao shamelessly ignored your question. In any case, you already knew the answer. This was just for confirmation’s sake. He would have stayed as stoic as always had you two been in a space that was any less secluded than the backrooms. No fan was aware of how much Xiao detested 5wirl's main stylist because none of his musings were made public.

Scaramouche, “The Wanderer.”

He’s a big name with a larger-than-life ego. Giving credit where it is due, Scaramouche is a fantastic model, but a patient stylist? He was not. He has an incurable habit of pushing everyone’s buttons that it's almost impressive. You've seen the way he yanked and pulled 5wirl like ragdolls, the only exception was Kazuha and Venti, but the latter to a lesser extent.

To no one’s surprise, Xiao does not like him.

Just a week ago, you've watched him perform “Fallen Leaves” uncomfortably on a Mondstadt Television (MTV) award show. An untrained eye is unlikely to notice how little footwork he displayed considering his constricted jeans. After the song ended, Xiao irritably loosened his belt and rolled his eyes. He didn't bow like the rest of 5wirl, instead, he left immediately without a word— that was something the fans certainly did not miss. To the common stan, it was "hot", to the wiser folks, it was a sign that something was amiss.

—

“He did it on purpose. The Wanderer wanted to prove a point,” these were the only words Xiao told you with bated breaths as he wrenched the buttons off his suffocating attire, popping and dropping them to the ground. He has little consideration for who might enter his room— not when he couldn’t breathe— not when he trusts that you’ll guard the door.

Once his chest was out and he could inhale with ease, a small smile was sighted adorning his face. He favored you with a victorious grin. 

“And he failed.”

You’ve known that whenever he’s down, he tends to focus more on his skills. Thus you mistakenly thought this was just a matter of work. You didn’t realize at the time that he was fighting for something else.

It was a gorgeous smile. A rare eye candy enticing enough to make you wish he considered you a companion. But the frown that followed as you heard Scaramouche screeching outside erased whatever joy you felt as you stumbled to lock the door.

You scowled.

“Did he really fail when he still has you wrapped around his fingers?”

Xiao didn't answer. Instead, he pried your hand off and unlocked the door.

“As long as it’s not you, it doesn’t matter how far he takes his tantrums.”

—

You believe otherwise.

That incident stirred a cold war between Xiao and 5wirl’s lead stylist. Scaramouche used to just pepper vulgar phrases but now it appears in every other sentence. None of the fans knew thanks to the AKASHA Device Policy System of disabling screenshots on employee devices. What happens in Teyvat Productions, stays in Teyvat Productions. Scaramouche would have been fired from the company with a hollow public apology from the CEO if they had known even a glimpse of the snark he spews at every 5wirl employee. 

”Did he do this?”

You cupped his cheek. Xiao didn't wince from the pain. It's all due to his extended Military Service training, you're sure of it. Thankfully, it doesn't look too bad. Curable, most definitely, but it doesn't change the fact someone attempted to hurt your employer.

“It’s… This is my burden to carry. It has nothing to do with you—”

“But I’m here for you, Xiao. You know I have a strong sixth sense, and something is wrong. You can tell me anything.”

Xiao leaned onto your palm, putting a hand above yours. He felt his chest tighten, but his face did not mark his anguish.

He may not show it visibly, but your touch broke him. On the souls of all his friends and the lives of his family, he can swear with every fiber of his being that this is as honest as he could be.

“He doesn't understand that I lost everything.” He did not look at you, but his sudden grip begged you to stay.

“–that I felt EVERYTHING.”

You stiffened, your spine shook at how concise but oddly oppressive those words were. His words were nothing to write home about, but the way his husky voice and slight growl loomed after a moment of silence was unforgettable.

Instinctively, you knew what this was about.

Bosacius.

You didn't want to pry so you knew little about him other than he accidentally died when he and Xiao were reservists. There is a mandatory Liyue and Inazuman law that stipulates that men must serve their country for about a year or two, no idol is exempted from that. According to speculations and a few hints in the lyrics Xiao composed, the idol likely watched his friend cover up a faulty grenade to save everyone in the vicinity. You did attempt to console him once, but Xiao is adamant that such comments would be an insult to Bosacius' Heroics. He “accepted” his death long before you became his producer. His soul is likely in a better place.

See where this is headed? It's not rocket science. Put “Scaramouche” and “fireworks” together and you’d get something foul. That damn multi-talented designer did something and now Xiao’s uncharacteristically more emotive.

Scaramouche likely used fireworks to reignite Xiao’s trauma.

Perhaps this line of thinking is uncouth, but this would serve as a great opening to finally get to know the person you work for on a deeper level. But for Scaramouche to unearth those memories for the sake of arguing… What a petty man.

“He wanted to “share” something that’s mine to protect,” Xiao muttered. "He insisted that giving them up to him will be a way to absolve my sins. But… I…”

He grunted.

“I don’t want to share them.” Xiao sneered. "Having them around is the last joy I have."

You feel as though the thing or person they’re fighting over is someone related to 5wirl, but you were too tired to listen to your muted intuition.

“Who is “them”?” You asked. “Would you be willing to tell me?”

He shook his head.

“I… can’t.”

“I see, that’s okay. It takes time to open up— Xiao?”

Xiao remained silent. He quickly seized the water bottle you were holding and chugged it down. As Xiao drank, you both moved in the direction of the fans while giving him your famous mask to cover the burn. His followers don't need to be aware of this.

But damn it. You’re tired of this back-and-forth pettiness.

You’ll have to step in.

——

However, your colleagues do not favor that idea. 

“Are you certain you wanna approach him?” Venti’s producer frowned. “Knowing Scaramouche’s past… instability, I’m not sure if that’s the brightest idea you’ve come up with.”

It usually takes a long time for you to naturally get close to others but after careful observation, you've deduced that none of your fellow producers were unsavory people. In truth, they were simple to read, particularly Venti and Heizou's producers. As a result, you already knew this was going to happen; you just want to let them know out of respect.

“We never know unless we try,” Heizou’s producer spoke up, somewhat optimistic but with a twinge of demur. “You’re too depressed. Who knows? Maybe you can persuade him to stop. You’re Scara’s favorite, after all.”

Favorite is a bit of a stretch, but that man does tolerate your presence.

Kazuha’s producer chortled, “that kind of hypothetical is next to impossible.”

Heizou’s producer hummed the bridge to 5wirl’s song “Sweet Dream.” You knew your coworker didn't want to prove them right, but the lyrics to that song referred to failed plans– and that's enough information for you to infer that even they think deep down that the idea was stupid.

You closed your eyes. It truly wasn't your best plan— it's straight up walking to the lion’s den, but you have to try….

“… (Y/n)? Hello?”

You blinked. Ah, you've zoned out again.

“It's better than nothing,” you said. “I can't just let everyone here be constantly berated by that narcissist.”

“Even his assistant can be a pain in the neck too, you know?” Venti’s producer chimed in. “Ya better hope you're not dealing with both of them once you get there. You might start a house fire or something.”

There's no point in this conversation. Sighing, you reached for your bag, ready to leave.

“Hmm? Now, where are you going, my ge qin'ai de?”

Baizhu— 5wirl’s creative director— stood, leaning by the door frame. Based on his lax demeanor, you assumed he had just recently taken his medicine. The rest of the producers laughed awkwardly, not knowing whether they should let him in on your plans or not. He usually accepts all forms of communion, no matter how chaotic or personal it is. But this instance urged everyone that omitting some truths was the best option.

“(Y/n)’s on their way to buy some fabric,” Venti’s producer lied. “Scaramouche had been such a pain in the neck lately so, eh, we decided to be more proactive to avoid his stupid wrath.”

“Ahhh, I see! How lovely.” Baizhu laughed, but just as you were about to walk past him, he weakly grasped your arm.

"Far be it from me to pry into my producers’ personal affairs, but once you get there,” he bent down and whispered to your ear.

“Tell that charlatan and his assistant that this will be the last time they hurt one of my kids, understood?”

As you looked up at the creative director's snake eyes, a chill went up your spine. He didn't express it as a threat; rather, he said it as a certain truth. It seemed as though Director Baizhu was determined that this was Scaramouche's final transgression. You made a mental note of that.

Director Baizhu must’ve known something that you didn't.

“Yes, Director.”

“Wonderful,” Baizhu smiled, but his gaze looked distant.

“Be sure to buy wound dressings along the way.”

——

“No way. Nu-uh.”

“Please, I seriously need to talk to him—”

“Do you wanna get stabbed? Just trust me, bro, he doesn’t want to see anyone right now. He’s too busy dressing up that haunted doll of his.” Scaramouche’s assistant trembled burlesquely, putting more pressure on the door that separates you two. “Like, he’s so unhinged right now that– high-key? Working at KFC ain't sounding so bad.”

His assistant sighed, rolling their eyes. They appeared different compared to when you last saw them. Their hair’s significantly shorter and their fingers are red from sewing– and if your eyes weren't fooling you, they're a bit burnt…?

You squinted.

“Those marks… He overworked you last night, right? Forced you to use lighters to cut threads over scissors, didn’t he?”

They glared. Struck a nerve there.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Maybe I am just reaching for straws here–” you admitted rather plainly. “But that doesn't change the fact that you don't like your boss, and I don't like him enough that I drove all the way to confront him. What say you to letting me give him a piece of my mind?”

That seemed to work. At least, for a second.

“No… No, I seriously can't.” His assistant shook their head, with more conviction this time. “I don't want a repeat of last time.”

“(Y/n), you’re here as well.”

You both turned to look behind you.

A man wearing a mask and sunglasses— clearly Xiao— stood just a breath away from touching your shoulder. You jolted.

How didn’t you notice that he was right behind you?

“Oh, he’s here too…” the assistant said. They didn’t sound particularly hostile when addressing Xiao. “Sir, you can’t just enter if it isn't urgent.”

“But it is urgent,” You lied. “Just let us in or at least have me go inside alone—”

Xiao gently squeezed your shoulder. The mulish look in his visage beckoned you that he didn't like that idea. You didn’t have time to question what he’s doing here. His opaque stubbornness made you completely forget that he was holding you longer than he usually does.

Time and time again, he’ll remind you that he didn’t want you near Scaramouche.

“Oh my God— bitch. How many times do I have to fucking— HE'S NOT ENTERTAINING GUESTS.” The assistant growled. “Please, just listen to me. I'm honestly saving you both the trouble of talking to that edgelord.”

“Please, this seriously wouldn't take long–”

“Are you deaf or just stupid? What part of not entertaining guests did you not understand?”

Speak of the devil.

The pretentious prick arrived– him and his damn ostentatiously designed hat. He shared your gaze immediately and you swore his face lit up. It was as if he was waiting for you for quite some time now, but you’re not confident in that hunch.

“Ah, it's you.”

You cleared your throat. “Good evening, sir Wanderer–”

He smirked.

“Long time no see, starlight,” Scaramouche said. “Your dog here sure kept dragging us apart from each other.”

Xiao raised an eyebrow. It was the first time he had heard someone call you by that nickname, and while it doesn’t show in his features, he was rather unnerved at how you casually let him call you by such an endearing nickname.

This only matters because Scaramouche rarely addresses anyone beneath him with respect, much less affection.

Xiao glared at him.

Scaramouche continued, “here to give me an answer?”

“No.” You didn't waste a second. “The answer is no. I don't want to be your model.”

Xiao’s eyes widened. He immediately shielded you, but Scara merely tilted his head to maintain his gaze.

“Model?” Xiao spat coldly. “So that’s the card you're playing, Kunikuzushi.”

Scaramouche’s grin widened, “move your head away, insect.”

He doesn’t deserve to see you.

Without much thought, you bit your lip. You weren’t expecting much of a reaction if you told Xiao that Scaramouche wanted to hire you before. He tried scouting you months before he started harassing Xiao. Telling him about it slipped past your mind.

Scaramouche frowned, his eyes gauging his assistant’s reaction, “still, what a shame… With your face, you would've been a fine addition to my runway, Mx. (Y/n).”

“… Huh, so you do know my name.”

“Course I do. Xiao follows anyone who says (Y/n) around like a damn shit-for-brains dog. I’m not stupid enough to miss his owner’s name.”

Xiao made a sound you couldn't quite describe. It bordered on both a whimper and a threat.

You scrunched at the title, “that’s not true.”

“Then that only speaks volumes to how good of a stalker he is,” He clapped. "Bravo, I'm impressed. For once."

Scaramouche scoffed yet there was a genuine smile on his face. Swiftly, he approached you and had his assistant not held Xiao back, the famous designer wouldn’t have had the opportunity to grab your hand and gently kiss it out of nowhere.

You felt absolutely nothing from this gesture. Instead, you unconsciously fixed your eyes on Xiao.

And he’s most certainly pissed.

“You deserve to be working for me instead, puppet,” he muttered. “Honestly, I can’t see why you’re working for him— he's barely aesthetically pleasing. A lower-rate beauty. Do you even give a damn about your skin-care routine, worm? You look like shit. Go back to the fucking military. Muscles are required there, but looks? Not expected.”

Out of the blue, the designer gently cupped your face– your faces now an inch apart as he fixes stray strands of your hair. Strangely enough, you can't feel his breath. His face may be close, but his attention did not belong to you. You can tell from a mile away you’re being used.

As to what you’re being used for? You can’t tell.

Suddenly, Scaramouche’s assistant cleared their throat.

“Hey starlight, can you come outside with me for a sec?” They said.

The assistant held up their phone. You heard Xiao shakily exhale as you pulled away from the stylist.

“Director Baizhu’s calling.”

—-

“Director? Is something the matter?”

“Ah yes, did you buy the wound dressings?”

You did your best to hide your scoff.

Seriously, right now?

“Yes, right now.”

Oh. You didn’t mean to say that out loud.

Scaramouche’s assistant— whom you were borrowing a phone from— laughed softly, bemused. They led you to The Wanderer’s garden for some “privacy”, and yet their ears seemed cleaner than most. You didn’t mind them listening to some "tea." It’s better than being alone in unfamiliar territory.

“Trust me, dear. You’ll need it later.” Baizhu’s laughter echoed.

…

“What do you mean by that, sir?”

“Answer me first, did you buy some?”

“No.”

“Poor choice. You’ll never know when there’s an emergency that calls for it.”

Your eyebrows furrowed.

Something is off.

Baizhu sighed, “nevermind. So, how was your shopping trip? What fabric have you brought, send me the hex code.”

“Sir.”

“Yes, qin'ai de?”

“You called because you wanted to distract me, didn’t you?”

…

You were hoping that you wouldn’t hear his laughter from the other line.

“Oh, Xiao. I’ve tried.”

Slowly, you hung up and lowered the phone down to your thigh.

No… It can’t be.

You started sprinting back to where you came from.

“H-Hey, wait! You still have my phone!—”

You need to go.

NOW.

You already knew what was happening, but at that moment you slipped out a prayer to any Archon that might listen.

Please… Please don’t be right…

—-

… But then again, when has your sixth sense ever failed you?

Xiao’s stony expression crumbled and his more livid countenance shone through. You were too far to cinch his right arm from throwing a punch in the designer’s direction–

But he managed to surprise you by using his left fist instead.

“You will sooner die than lay a hand on them— not even their fucking hair.”

“Y-You—!!!”

Scaramouche was already littered with bruises when you got there, his hanfu torn and his hate discarded and stomped on with abandon.

You trembled at the sight, knees nearly buckling down.

You were too late.

They both appeared unaware of your ghostly presence behind. In a single fast motion, you witnessed your beloved idol punch Scaramouche in the ribs. You winced as a crack reverberated throughout the room before Scaramouche inhaled sharply. The thing that most alarmed you, though, was the sound of Xiao's curt yet stern chuckle, which was a dead giveaway that he wasn't going to stop until the designer was rendered immobilized. Scaramouche made an effort to stand up from the ground using his fist as support, but Xiao quickly grabbed him by the collar like a mother cat would a difficult child.

“Weak,” Xiao spoke. “Why did you even dare to provoke me when you can barely defend yourself? You’re not worthy of calling (Y/n) by any other name.”

“Y-You fucking jealous dumbass. Your career is over once I’m through with you!” Scaramouche coughed up, blood spitting out from his mouth and onto Xiao’s clenched hand. “You fucking worm— I could just release the CCTV recordings and—”

“You won’t be able to retrieve any recordings,” Xiao said in an as-a-matter-of-fact tone.

He dropped Scaramouche and knelt to his level.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to beg Xiao to stop.

But you can’t recognize him, and the words died in your throat.

“You won’t find a single clip.”

Scaramouche’s face softened into a look of dismissive defeat. However, his stony yet smug expression resurfaced.

“Ah, so Tighnari’s in on this too,” Scaramouche laughed, slowly devolving into a mildly hysterical fit. “Of course, of course! You already have Baizhu’s go signal so it’s not surprising you got that genius’ approval too. Only natural that a weak person like you have so many accomplices to back up your obsession—”

“And you?”

“H-hah. And what?”

Xiao dragged him closer.

“Where are YOUR friends, Kunikuzushi?”

…

Xiao breathed in, closing his eyes.

“I am not like you. I am not an easy target simply because I often act alone.”

In a stroke of luck, Scaramouche turned his gaze away— and saw you at the door instead.

Positively mortified.

“D-Don’t—” Scaramouche coughed. “—talk big… H-Ha… Look behind you, insect.”

Once he did, Xiao stiffened.

No, no, no— why are you here?

… Why did you get back inside?

That wasn’t part of the plan— didn’t Baizhu call you?

“(Y-Y/n), I…”

You weren’t supposed to see this.

He took a step forward, you instinctively took two steps back. You cursed yourself internally for letting your fear get the best of you when you knew that despite Scaramouche’s broken nose and bloody lips, it was Xiao who needed your help the most.

His heart dropped.

“Producer, this is…”

His throat dried up.

Why is it so draining for him to open himself up to you?

“D-Did you see that, starlight?” Scaramouche droned. Even when he's losing blood, his silver tongue quips a retort.

“Did you see the monster you were working for?”

“Xiao” pivoted his heels, frowning even now as the mutilated man lost consciousness below him. You could barely recognize Scaramouche from all that blood. “Xiao” took a step closer to you. You couldn't move. Your feet were rooted to your spot.

Fortunately, he moved on auto-pilot, grabbing you by the arm and carefully swerving past Scaramouche’s assistant to head outside.

He didn’t give you a chance to ponder over Scaramouche’s words.

For a moment, neither of you said a thing as you stood at the front gate. It felt like an eternity before you mustered the courage to speak up.

“… You’re bleeding.”

Why aren't you comforting his hand? Please hold his hand gently. Please hold him.  

Another voice screamed inside his head, one that sounded similar to Scaramouche.

Can't you see that expression on their face? That's fear. That's betrayal. The person you love thinks you're a monster, Xiao.

“... I bought some wound dressings. They’re inside my car.”

—

“Be sure to buy wound dressings along the way.”

—

Instead of feeling relief, you shivered at how convenient it was for him to keep some in his vehicle. Director Baizhu’s mind echoed in your head almost like an apparition.

In other words: this was premeditated.

And you don’t know what to make of that information.

“(Y/n).”

“Y-Yes?”

You zoned out that you didn’t realize you were already in front of “Xiao”’s car, still holding the assistant’s phone.

He squeezed your hand lightly.

“Don’t leave me.”

His voice cracked.

“Please.”

After a moment of brief silence, you gave him a hesitant frown.

… Your intuition tells you that no matter what you answer, the outcome won’t change.

You squeezed his hand back. If you didn’t, Archons know he would’ve fallen apart. 

“I’m staying.”

In a sense, you think you finally understood Xiao better. It’s just as he said yesterday: he lost everything and he felt everything. This overprotective and downright possessive nature must’ve stemmed from what had happened when he was a reservist. He can’t bear to lose another person. While it may sound nice to know he does think of you as someone important, you wish you realized this about him sooner.

Xiao has a crush on you.

He smiled.

It was a gorgeous smile. A rare eye candy enticing enough to make you glad he considered you a companion.

… But why do you feel terrified?

“Thank you. Allow me to protect you from him— from anyone from now on. Just call out my name.”

You could only fake a laugh in response.

‘Xiao, what an awful liar you are. Lying between your molars was still not something you could do without a hitch.

So do not speak as if you haven't been doing that since the very beginning.’

ANSYTEA: Thank you for joining the 1k idol event, starlight anon!!!!

know, know better

suo hayato; 3,591 words; fluff, fem!reader, no "y/n", banter, so much flirting, mentions of bodily harm (its wind breaker lol), first!kisses, semi-whipped!suo, suo will break the world for the one he loves likes, suo is a jackass gentleman exhibit 329048293

summary: the only difference between a garden and a graveyard is what you decide to put in the ground

a/n: yes, i know i've used that metaphor before in another fic for another fandom. no, i do not care. yes, i will continue to reuse this metaphor bc i love it.

001.

He sees you for the first time on the roof, and for a second, he wonders if he’s hallucinating because — well, no one else wears dresses at Fuurin other than Tsubaki-chan and he’s certain he just saw them downstairs, arm slung through Umemiya’s, squealing about a new line of glittery eyeshadows that just launched over the weekend.

“Ah — excuse me!”

“I know, I know — but I couldn’t just let the poor cherry tomatoes suffer like this! Go tell Ume-nii that he’s been neglecting — oh!”

By the time you look up, Suo is already bending over your shoulder to peer politely down into the garden trough, his single eye wide and bright and curious.

“Uwah… you seem really good at this!”

You lick your lips, tasting salt, feeling an unfamiliar heat creep up the back of your neck.

“Uhm… yeah — well —” your clear your throat and turn back towards the cherry tomato plants, reaching out with a gloved hand to flick one of the budding green tomatoes, “these lil guys need a lot of sunlight and Ume-nii let them in a patch of shade, so I couldn’t just leave them there, yknow?”

You smile as you get to your feet, Suo backing up politely, his hands tucked behind his back, his eye following the graceful lilt of your movements, the lithe, slenderness of your arms and legs. He can’t help the way his gaze catches on the hem of your skirt, the way it brushes the creamy skin of your leg just above your knees.

He forces himself to look away.

“You… must be one of the new first-years, right? I heard Kotoha-chan talking about you guys!”

Your voice is clear as a bell-chime, and almost as sweet, but its your eyes he can’t stop himself from coming back to. Irises purled with gold, limned by dark lashes that cast shadows against the round of your cheeks. He feels something inside him stutter as he tries to focus back on the way you’re reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, how the other errant strands frame your face so perfectly that he has to fight down the urge to reach out and tug the slip of hair back down.

“… your name?”

“Hm?” Suo smiles before he realizes you’re waiting for him to say something, “Ah — apologies — how rude of me. Suo Hayato, it’s a pleasure.”

He dips his head in greeting as you extend a hand.

“Pleasure, huh?” you giggle as he takes your hand in his and shakes. Your skin is warm and soft, and Suo finds — for the first time in a long while — that he doesn’t really want to let go.

002.

He sees you the second time at Cafe Pothos, laughing behind the counter with Kotoha. He pauses in the doorway and lets the sound wash over him, even as you both look over at the sound of the doorbell.

“Oh! It’s you!” your smile sets his world spinning off on it’s axis and it’s all he can do to keep it from showing. Beside him, Sakura frowns.

“You know each other?”

Suo grins, stepping over the threshold to slip into one of the bar chairs.

“Yep! We met on the school roof the other day!”

“School roof — wait, I thought there weren’t any girls in Fuurin — unless —” Sakura cuts off as he whips back towards you, his eyes wide as he looks you over once, twice — before Kotoha rolls her eyes and snaps her fingers in front of his face.

“Oi! Quit ogling my friend — and no, there aren’t any girls in Fuurin, but we do have a delivery service for the VIP clients.” Kotoha winks as Sakura’s cheeks go pink. Suo props his chin on the heel of his hand and offers you a bright smile; your mirrored smile back makes his chest squeeze.

“So… how’re the cherry tomatoes doing?” you ask, reaching out to set a traditional tea service in front of Suo, your fingers light as they pluck a tiny porcelain cup from a shelf to place it on a small, bamboo tray.

“They’re getting really ripe! I’ve been checking on them like you asked…” Suo’s voice trails off as you go about the work of putting loose leaf tea in a tea bowl and warming it before pouring out the first wash of liquid.

“How… did you know I’d like this kind of tea?”

You grin, shrugging, “I just… had a feeling.”

“It’s her superpower,” Kotoha leans over with a sly smile, “she can usually guess a person’s favorite kind of food and drink within… about five minutes of getting to know them!”

“Oh stop it — it’s nothing like that! I just… had a hunch is all.” You glance up to catch Suo staring, his gaze so intense you almost fumble the teapot in your hands. It clinks against the empty cup, but before the cup has a chance to tumble off the table, Suo reaches out with a deft hand to catch it, placing it smoothly back onto the tea tray.

There’s a faint stutter in the fluidity of your movements as you blink at the cup now sitting innocently, perfectly centered, on the tray. And then you’re reaching out to fill the cup with a steaming, golden liquid, fragrant enough to fill half the room. Even Sakura leans over with a curious sniff.

“Whoa. Smells good,” he says, “smells like…”

Suo smiles, reaching down to trace a finger along the razor-thin rim of the tiny glass, “Smells like flowers.”

003.

You are young in all the ways that teenage girls can be young, and old in the all the ways that people have to be in Makochi. Your ribs hurt, your lip’s split, and there’s an ache settling over your right eye that tells you there’s probably an incredible bruise blooming into existence there.

“Ouch… damnit… I’ve really… done it this time…” you groan as you try to push yourself up off the dark alley wall. You wiggle each of your fingers in turn and say a silent prayer when you find that they all respond. Good, you think, so nothing’s broken. **

Not yet, at least.

Footsteps to your right. Light, but hurried. You squeeze your eyes shut and brace for the worst but instead — there’s only warmth, and a soft palm cupping the curve of your face.

“Hey… it’s okay — you’re alright.”

“S-Suo…kun?”

“That’s right — it’s me —” a soft, exasperated sigh, “we were looking for you afternoon —” arms wrapping around you, lifting you up. You hear the soft rustle of bags and groan as you try to reach out but a firm hand stops you.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got it.”

He doesn’t sound angry. If anything, he sounds just as measured as he usually is. But pressed up against his chest like this, you can feel the wild, racehorse hoofbeats of his heart, feel the shakiness in his every breath. His fingers are tight as he cradles you to him, carrying you from the alleyway.

“I wanted… yokan…” your voice is hoarse, and a bit ragged. Suo casts his eyes up toward the sunset sky and counts down from ten.

When he’s certain his voice won’t shake, he says —

“Eh? But the Minami tea store always sells really good yokan — why’d you… ah… you wanted to get the famous mizu yokan from across the tracks, didn’t you?” Suo sighs, gently adjusting his hold around your body, pressing you ever closer to his chest. Your breathing is shallow but even; like this, he can almost hear the faint fluttering of your heart deep inside your chest, see the soft quiver of your lashes as you shift in his arms.

“Silly girl,” he whispers, leaning down to press his lips into the seam of your hair, “next time, just tell me and I’ll go with you.”

He can sense your consciousness fading, and though the logical part of him knows that you’re in no immediate danger, he still hastens his steps, his stomach twisting inside him like a wrung-out towel, dry and aching.

“But…” he leans in; your voice is barely a whisper. He almost jumps as you reach up to trace a finger along his eyepatch, “Then it wouldn’t have been… a surprise.”

004.

“Happy Birthday!”

“Wow! Thank you!” Suo blinks for a second before his expression breaks into a bright smile. He’d had an inkling, after the “yokan-incident”, that this might’ve been the reason. But still, it twists something deep inside his gut to know that you’d gotten so hurt because of — well — something to do with him.

Even unsolicited. Even then. He detests the thought of it.

Nearly the entire first year class is there, and a good few students from the second and third years, crammed into Cafe Pothos. There’s a full traditional tea service set out on the tables, pieced together into the center of the room, and an array of tea snacks enough to make even the most ascetic eaters take pause.

“Suo-kun! C’mon, you shouldn’t keep everyone waiting, right?” Kotoha waves him towards the center table, where a multicolored display of mochis are placed in a barely legible “Happy Birthday”, each with a matching colored candle shoved into the middle.

“Sakura-kun did the mochis!” Nirei offers, pointing, seconds before Sakura smacks him upside the head.

“You don’t have’ta single it out!”

Suo takes his time, moving from person to person, chatting and laughing and thanking them in turn. There’s a softness pulsing inside him, something warm and growing, purring, curling up with a creamy, spine-deep contentment. Until he gets to you, busy wowing a group of first-year boys with your kung-fu tea skills, pouring the steaming water from higher and higher, never spilling a single drop.

“— the water can’t be too hot, or else the tea will get burnt — and that’s why sometimes —”

“Sometimes, when you make tea at home, it tastes awful and bitter, right?” Suo sits down, smiling even as he purposefully encroaches on the personal space of the freshman closest to you. To his credit, the freshman boy laughs, inching back as Suo props his chin on his palm and turns to look at them.

“A-ah… that’s really uh — cool! Wow — those shortcakes over there look really good — guys, let’s go grab some before they’re all gone!”

They scurry off, dipping their heads in your direction before ducking away.

“Mm… you’re lucky its your birthday,” you say, placing a warmed cup of tea in front of him, reaching over to slide over a glistening piece of mizu-yokan.

“Hm?” Suo takes a sip of the tea, savoring it’s depth of flavor, before taking a bite of the tea-snack.

“Otherwise, I wouldn’t be so nice to someone who’s driving off all my best customers,” you say, flashing him a knowing, indulgent smile. Suo doesn’t miss a beat.

“Your best customers?” he makes a show of pivoting towards where the clueless freshmen boys had run off to, now crowded around Sakura, laughing all too loudly, “if I didn’t know better… I’d say you need to raise your standards.”

You cock your head, hands pausing over a fresh pour of tea.

“But you do, don’t you?” you ask, resuming your movements. A second later, you place a fresh cup of tea in front of him.

“Don’t I… what?” he asks, playing at innocence.

“You should,” you parry, propping open the lid of the tiny teapot with two fingers, bending down to take a deep breath of the fragrant leaves.

The lid snaps back onto the pot with a solid click.

Suo blows at the surface of his teacup, pausing at the sound. He looks up to meet your knife-sharp gaze.

“Know — better.”

A shiver kisses up the length of his spine, and he nearly drops the fresh cup of tea. He clears his throat and takes a long sip. The heat drips down his throat, unfurling in his stomach, setting his whole body ablaze with the kind of fire that refuses to go out.

“Mm… this tea is delicious! Where’s it from?”

You shake your head, the motion just on the other side of innocent. But as you said — he knows better now.

“Somewhere… over the rainbow, I suppose.”

In a flicker, faster than a flash, he reaches out, fingers skimming along a thin line marring the perfect skin of your left cheek.

“This wasn’t there two days ago,” he says, almost casually, before his voice drops in register and his eyes go dark beneath his curtain of too-long lashes, “where’s it from?”

You make you shake off his hand but he’s too quick, catching your chin between two fingers.

“Don’t know. Must’ve been an accident.”

Suo tugs you towards him, his grip now bordering on too tight, “Ah… pretty girls like you shouldn’t make a habit of lying so much.”

You lick your lips, breath caught in your chest as you tug your face from his grasp, flicking a strand of hair over your shoulder.

“And pretty boys like you should really know better than to ask questions they don’t want to know the answers to.”

“And if I don’t?” Suo’s voice is sweet and soft and low. He sets down his empty teacup; you reach out to refill it.

“Don’t what?” you ask, feigning ignorance.

He catches your wrist, pulling up your sleeve before you can protest to reveal a series of dark bruises scattered up the length of your arm. The air around him seems to condense and cool as he stares for a second before his expression fixes itself back into one of detached sweetness.

“Know — better,” he answers, simply, letting his hand fall as you snatch your arm back, massaging the place where his fingers had been.

You narrow your eyes, but before you can say anything else, a group of boys all stumble over, singing loudly as they pull Suo back towards the center of the room, where yet another cake has materialized out of god knows where. He laughs, clapping along, blowing out the candles on instruction.

But for the rest of the night, you can’t help feeling the weight of his eyes on you, though you never again catch him staring.

005.

“They’re doing well, aren’t they?”

You jump, jerking upright even as Suo approaches you on the rooftop garden, hands laced behind his back, his earrings fluttering in the light breeze.

“Y-yeah. They really are.” You turn back to your cherry tomato plants, a few of them ripe to bursting. You reach out to pluck one off a vine, turning to offer it to the boy crouching down next to you.

He takes it from you, examining it for a second before popping into his mouth.

“Mm… sweet!”

You laugh, reaching out to tug another one off the vine. You bite into the soft flesh, feeling the explosion of flavor on your tongue.

“So much better than the ones from the supermarket, right?”

Suo sighs, nodding, but his expression sobers a second later.

“You shouldn’t have done that — just for my birthday.”

You pause, hands halfway towards another tomato. Suo reaches out to pluck it for you. As he presses it into your hand, you sigh, shaking your head.

“I didn’t do it just for you.”

“Oh?”

You roll the bright red fruit between your thumb and forefingers, holding it up to the light.

“Do you know what the difference is between a garden and a graveyard?” you ask, dropping your hand back down, your eyes trained on the plump little tomato now sitting in the palm of your hand.

“Tell me,” Suo says, watching you intently.

You turn to glance at him, a sad little smile on your lips.

“What you choose to put in the ground,” you say, before reaching out to press the cherry tomato to his lips. Suo blinks at you for a second before slowly opening his mouth to let the tomato slip through. He bites down, doesn’t reach up to wipe at the thin streak of juice slicking down his chin. He watches as your eyes flicker down, feels the pad of your thumb swipe across his skin.

He’s tugging you forward before he can stop himself; you taste the bright burst of sweet and sour on your tongue seconds before he pulls back, eyes wide. You lick your lips, expression half-shocked, half-satisfied. He opens his mouth to apologize —

“S-sorry, I should’ve asked — mmphf!”

You reach up and pull him towards you by the collar of his school uniform. It’s all he can do to catch himself against the rough ground of the rooftop garden, bits of gravel biting into his palm.

The kiss is sweet, is savory, is tentative — and then, suddenly, it bursts into something more — like a bite of over-ripe fruit, with juice sluicing down it’s seams — he surges forward, catching you around the waist. He savors in the friction of your lips against his, the teeth-aching sweetness of your warm breath as you gasp open for him, and only him. And by the gods, he tries to be a good man — a respectful man, but the tiny noise you make as he curls his fingers into the bend of your waist threatens to render all his flighty codes and morals to ash.

It is a noble pursuit, he decides later on, this of all things — to kiss you until there is no other way for you to be kissed. To kiss you just like this, until your mouth is ruined for all other tastes but the one of his tongue. He’s never thought himself a greedy man, but like this — with your body pressed to his on this rooftop garden, he thinks he might’ve learned a few more things about the depths and widths of why greed is considered such a cardinal sin.

When he finally lets you go, he’s satisfied to see there’s a dazed, unfocused haze to your eyes as you blink up at him, fingers fisted into the front of his school uniform.

“You still haven’t told me —” he leans down to press his forehead to yours, reveling in the way you gasp, the hitch in your voice as you lick your lips and he fights back a thick groan.

“Told you what?”

“Why you’d go out of the city bounds to get all those things for my birthday.”

You sigh, pursing your kiss-swollen lips.

“Because… those stores, like the earth, they… they might just need one good seed — one nice interaction —” your lashes flutter and Suo has to physically bat down the urge to lean down and kiss you again. Perhaps, he thinks, this is how dragons are made of fairy tale princes — perhaps, all the dragons ever needed was just one more kiss from their fairy tale princess.

“So… you thought to take it upon yourself to be that one nice interaction? To turn all those graveyards… into gardens?”

You crinkle your nose, glancing up at him from beneath your lashes as he pulls back to stare down at you.

“It’s a stupid thing to do, I know.”

Suo nods, “It is. But… only because you thought you could do it by yourself.”

He shifts, tugging you up into his lap as he readjusts himself to lean back against one of the taller planter boxes, his arms now comfortably looped around your middle.

“Well, if I’d told anyone… they would’ve tried to stop me.”

Suo tuts, reaching up to flick your nose with a gentle finger, “Oh ye of little faith,” he admonishes, grinning as you swat at his hand. He catches you by the wrist, pulling it in to press his lips to your palm, sighing as he nuzzles into your warmth.

“Do you really think we would’ve written off your feelings that easily? That I wouldn’t have at least tried to listen?”

You make to look away, embarrassed at your own oversight, but he tugs your chin back, forcing you to face him properly again.

“C’mon now… smart girl like you… should know better than that, shouldn’t you?”

You narrow your eyes, a feline glint alighting behind your eyes as you reach up to lace your fingers through his, leaning in with a challenge clear in your voice.

“And… if I don’t?”

Suo meets your gaze, a wide smile splitting his face as he tugs you closer, shifting your legs to settle on either side of his hips, his fingers now digging into the plush of your thighs, inching up to tease at the hemline of your skirt.

“Then I suppose… someone’ll just have to teach you better, won’t they?”

"And I swore I wouldn't curl up in the palm of your hand... But you let your eyes linger on me, and I suddenly can't make a fist."

🌿 kaji ren

Synopsis

You were never too discreet with your fondness for him, and he was never too good at letting people in. And for awhile, it didn’t matter. You settled in the space of friendship, content with your place in his life. But why was he not satisfied?

character: kaji ren x gn!reader word count: 1,897 tags: reader insert, raw confessions, slightly aged up, friends to lovers (if you squint), emotionally constipated kaji ren so i make him face himself

warnings: none

At the instant you tore him a piece of your heart—right away, he knew. It would never be the same for him.

It was then back in sophomore year, when the streets of Makochi haphazardly brought an unsuspecting you, suddenly caught in the crossfire, and Kaji Ren had to throw a punch or two with the tingling from his knuckles exploding into his system. It was when you pushed your soaked suede boots into a warm Café Pothos, hair sticking to your flushed face from having braved the downpour just to meet him, that a dreadful feeling crept behind the cages of his rib, prickling ever so quietly at his chest. It was when you started taking a bit more space in his routine, during patrol when the sun dipped on the horizon, and you would check up on him, that his clammy palms felt too apparent from the uncertainty of your presence.

It was when he could sense your gaze dawdle a little bit on the frames of his thoughts, when your words would thin out into an ellipsis in the discourse, that he suspected a secret dancing on your tongue—one that would ruin him if you did so much as whisper it. With his hands behind him, fingers crossed, he hoped for you not to say it. Don’t. He would not know what to do with himself.

But it was one evening, in June, with the town half-asleep and the hums of the night harmonising with Ren’s quickening heartbeat that you let out the string of words he wished you would never make known. Somewhere between your ‘I like you’ and ‘I don’t think I ever tried to hide it’ hung the silence of his chest—and in it a dropping sensation, like his heart plunged to his gut.

It was painfully obvious, but perhaps the unspoken was a thread Ren held onto dear life for, afraid of the screaming pit right below him if the cord thinned out from the truth. He hoped desperately for you not to say it, for you not to snap his only source of sanity. He knew right away, that if you looked him in the eye and told him he meant something to you, it was trouble he could not solve with his fists.

He could not think straight, and yet, he went with what he thought was best to save himself… from what exactly? He had no sliver of an idea. All he knew was in that moment, you existed, to his doom, and if he did not right his feet now, he could end up with a gash he would only want you to mend. A thought so terrifying to Kaji Ren, he could sense his throat dry up.

“I’m sorry,” was the only thing he managed to utter. Timid, hoarse—as if he himself strained to say it. A part of him thought he needed to hear it more than you did.

You gave him a smile so surely infallible. “I’m okay, Ren. I only wanted it out for the sake of letting you know,” reassuring him none of it would change the way you have been to each other.

But you could not have been more wrong. To Kaji Ren, it changed everything forever.

It started with a slow dance. Between the fear of being known and the ache of wanting to be, tearing the floor open, his footsteps found their way to a new safe distance from you—within reach, but never quite touching... afraid that if you met his skin, he’d melt away to your mercy. He was never the same proximity as yesterday though, and every day, he inched just a little closer. He was well aware of the shortening gap despite his ‘I’m sorry’ from that night in June, but between the fear of being known and the ache of wanting to be, his body trembled at the warmth yours left in its wake.

He started to reach for your hand in every moment you went for the door, but his would freeze and hang suspended in the air, twitching at the realisation that he had given that fortune up when he said he was sorry. His eyes started to drift faintly to the pads of your fingers, staring too much as if willing it to trace his scars carefully. He started to wonder what it would be like to let you touch him in more ways than one, past skin and bones—and he started to ache in his chest, from a want so clever and bold, he wanted to take his apology back.

You acted the same as you had always, just as you said. And it messed with his head when he appeared to be the only one affected.

It was after one of Furin’s clashes with another bandit territory that he was limp on your couch, lips busted with a gaping cut and bruises on the left of his face. He wore a glare of profound irritation, you surmised his altercation with the other group put him in too much of a bad mood. But if the deep furrowing of his brows and the crease on his forehead said anything about his mood, in truth, it was frustration from the intimacy of your warm body adjacent to his cold skin. From the mindful brush of your knuckles on his cheek in patching him up, to the awful confusion of having no idea how to deal with his feelings. Too close, he could feel his pulse drumming from his ears.

You cocked a brow, lightly placing a finger or two on his forehead, softly ironing out the wrinkles from the face he was making under the bangs.

“Relax,” you said with a quiet laugh, in a probably too casual tone for Ren’s own good that he simply abandoned his better judgment.

“How are you so unaffected?”

You paused, fingers falling dead on his temple as he looked up at you from his seat. His dark grey eyes pierced their gaze into yours, never minding the mingling breaths from the closeness, and they seemed to be harbouring a raging storm straining to tame itself. Something you cannot understand.

The question came out of nowhere, and he downed into your stare so firmly, as if bracing for the answer. You blinked. “You’re here now, aren’t you? You could’ve gotten out worse, but you—”

“That’s not what I—” A sigh fell off his half bleeding lips, head dropping back into the headrest as the lump on his throat bobbed up and down from swallowed contention. His stare was glued to the ceiling, and you stepped back, fingers leaving a burn on his forehead, feeling some tension you were not made aware of as you wait for him to add on his thought.

There was a brief silence before he continued, “You were never too discreet with how you looked at me. It was obvious—from the start. I always knew.”

Stillness misted around the room once more, smoking into the cracks of the walls and the space between you and him. Save for the shuffling from his tearing away off the cushion, you could hear a pin drop. Ren bent over to his legs, elbows resting on the tip of his knees as he rubbed on his eyelids with weary circles.

“But I had hoped you wouldn’t say it,” he mumbled in a hushed tone, you almost didn’t catch it. You could not muster up any response, and he seemed as though he had more to tell you, so you let him ruminate in his mind, catching wandering thoughts that swayed capriciously. A quiet sigh left his mouth again. “I desperately hoped you wouldn’t say it out loud... else, I’d have to face it, too.”

“You finally knew what I meant to you...” He trailed off, the last note on his musing drifting into the air, breathless at the height of his emotions. “But I was still stuck on wondering why I was always so out of breath around you.”

Feelings hitched at his throat, and he pushed them down with a gulp. His fingers drummed a slow beat on jeans-cladded thigh, and he seemed to be debating what he would say next. You allowed him time, watching the way his own brows furrowed and uncrossed themselves as he was pondering.

“I was never good at feelings. I was scared.”

It was no secret. Kaji Ren was a man of few words, the everyday lollipop in his mouth stuck for the purpose of barring himself from saying too much past what he would be willing to admit. But the high walls he perched and built through his own calloused hands need not be said—it was a towering piece of evidence: he wasn’t one to let people in.

And it was fine. You respected his space.

“I feared that if I opened myself to it—to you just a little more than I usually do, I’d be giving you the power to hurt me.”

You could feel your own breath shortening, lungs tightening, hardly catching up to the racing of your heartbeat.

“And I swore I wouldn’t curl up in the palm of your hand...” The unexpected softness in his voice did not go by unnoticed. His tone small, only just under the breath, struggling to come alive at his utterance, as if he had sledgehammered his brick walls down to let you see him inside as weak as a whisper. “But you let your eyes linger on me, and I suddenly can’t make a fist.”

You opened your mouth to say something—something to give a pause to the rawness spilling all over the place. Something to slow this all down when you could narrowly suck an air in. But he had more to say, and you could sense the unplanned urgency in his speech.

“I can’t fight back. I think I’ll unravel. I think that I don’t mind being seen, being touched, if it’s you—” A tightening in his throat nearly choked his words down, and he corked up the stumbling by the skin of his teeth. “I think I’m okay if I surrender myself to you—and that scares me.”

The hindmost sentence came out in a hiss, as if it scalded his tongue to admit.

“But I’m more terrified of letting that chance pass up, never knowing how it feels to be held by you, when it’s staring me at the face.”

A pause.

A short silence, allowing his feelings to sink into your own, colliding right in the pits of your chest where your heart rests undeterred. You did not know what to do with yourself.

“So, if I’m not too late... I would really...” He spoke with a sigh, running his hand through his hair, the sweating of his hands too familiar. “I’d really love to hang out with you. I’d love to figure this out with you.”

It was after waging a battle with clutches borne out of personal grievances that Kaji Ren waged a war with his own feelings. Through his rare moment of laying his armour down, cutting himself open for you, not once had he shot his gaze at your direction.

But this time, he finally looked you in the eye.

“I wouldn’t mind resting in the palm of your hand, if you promise I’ll be safe in it.”

WIND BREAKER | when you wear someone else’s jacket

Synopsis ✰ how they react when they notice you wearing a piece of clothing that isn’t theirs

Characters ✰ Hakura Sakura, Hajime Umemiya, Hayato Suo, Akihiko Nirei, Jo Togame, Choji Tomiyama

Contains ✰ sfw! slight possessive behavior, tiny amount of jealousy, little bit of territorial behavior, minor pda, content of the boys being tested in a way?

Hakura Sakura ᡣ𐭩

Sakura knew something was off but couldn’t exactly pin point what it was. you went in for a hug since you haven’t seen your boyfriend all day. it was while he was in your embrace he inhaled a scent, a masculine smell that wasn’t yours or his, his eyebrows immediately furrowed. once you pulled away he examined your body, you looked fine, no visible marks, your outfit was normal… except for that over sized sweatshirt that was draped over your body.

“where’d you get that from?” he asked completely cutting off your babbling. you frowned over his abrupt interruption to your story. he didn’t even look sorry that he ruined your story just blankly staring at you until you opened your mouth to answer.

“a friend from class gave it to me, i was cold.” you answered confused why he was making it a thing. Sakura wasn’t the type to get jealous, it hadn’t even crossed your mind that something like this would ever bother him.

“what friend? boy or girl?” huh, what type of question was that? why would he ask that? there’s no way he could be bothered by something so small, right?

“uhm… a boy? does that matter?” you asked with your eyebrows slightly raised. you had never seen Sakura act so… weird? not over something like this.

“no, just curious.” he finally muttered out after what felt like a lifetime pause. the two of you continued your walk back home in silence. the entire time Sakura couldn’t fight off that frown setting on his perfect face. his eyes were stuck in a trance on you, more like that sweater on your body. you felt your entire body heating up by his intense stare.

you let out a sigh, getting the hint he was clearly upset over the sweater. you stopped in your tracks and pulled the sweater off your body. your boyfriends face immediately perked up after seeing you take it off. he was secretly grateful you did that because he was very unsure how to go about the conversation. before you even knew it, he was already taking off his jacket and putting it on you. you blushed at his action, it wasn’t something you were expecting him to do.

“just come to me whenever you’re cold from now on. i’ll warm you up.” he softly says with the warmest blush spreading across his face.

Hajime Umemiya ᡣ𐭩

Umemiya is rather calm in most situations so something like this doesn’t necessarily trigger him into doing anything drastic. he didn’t think much of it, until you kept wearing it for the rest of the day— then he started thinking ‘it seriously can’t be that cold, take it off already.’ he didn’t want to ask you whose jacket it was since he didn’t want to come off as jealous… even if he is. one thing he did know for sure was that everyone knew you two were dating. he couldn’t help himself anymore before he started taking off his jacket and removing the one you were wearing. he did it so quickly you almost didn’t even get the chance to register what he did. before you knew it his jacket was wrapped around you. you opened your mouth to ask—

“i just thought you’d look better with mine on.” he cut you off before smiling. his words caused you to blush.

“thank you.” you mumbled still registering what had just happened. he took your hand and interlocked it with his own and continued your walk home.

“who’s jacket is it? i’ll make sure to return it for you.” he smoothly says trying to pry the information of who gave it to you in a subtle way. at least, his version of subtle.

“oh- hm i actually don’t even remember. i almost forgot i was wearing it.” you’re confused now since you actually can’t remember who gave it to you. you stopped in your tracks, deep in thought trying to remember. “ah! i remember now, don’t worry about giving it to her. I can do that myself.” you exclaimed happily as you finally remembered the nice girl who lent it to you. she said it was her older brothers but she was always stealing his jackets and hoodies.

“oh good, i’m glad to hear that.” he smiled as you reached out to grab the jacket from his hands. he was relieved to hear that the jacket was from an innocent classmate of yours.

Hayato Suo ᡣ𐭩

as if anyone could even beat Suo into giving you a jacket before he does. Suo had already noticed the way your body was slightly trembling underneath the vent of the air conditioner. however, he also noticed another boy in the corner of his eye looking at you as well. he saw as the boy already begun taking off his jacket and making his way up to you. Suo suddenly felt this urge of territorial dominance creeping up as he wanted to show that you were his. before the boy could reach you Suo wrapped his arm around your chair and pulled your seat/desk closer to his.

“my poor baby, you’re cold. let me warm you up.” he offered with a smile before pulling you into his arms. your body instantly warmed up due to his own warmth. you happily accepted his offer as you buried yourself against his chest meanwhile he hugged you and rubbed your back with his warm hands.

Suo turned to look at the boy who already walked away after noticing you had a boyfriend to keep you warm. he let out a small sigh before keeping you huddled up on his side for the rest of class.

Akihiko Nirei ᡣ𐭩

he didn’t even realize the jacket you were wearing wasn’t yours. it looked so perfect and well fitted on you he actually thought nothing of it. the two of you were spending the whole day together and he said nothing about it. until you took it off and he noticed the name on the tag wasn’t yours.

“this isn’t your jacket?” he finally asked looking closer at it.

“oh no. it’s my friends, she let me borrow it after i forgot to bring mine.” you admitted slightly embarrassed you forgot to bring a jacket.

“i thought it was yours this whole time…” he paused, he was unsure of what to feel. should he be jealous? is it not a big deal? should he offer his instead? he decided to listen to his gut feeling. “are you still cold?”

“a little i guess, her jackets pretty thin so i can still feel the air through it.”

“here, take mine instead.”

“thank you.”

“of course! ask me for my jacket next time you’re cold, i have no problem giving it to you.” he smiled before taking your friends jacket and carrying it for you. Nirei didn’t actually care about you wearing someone else’s jacket as long as you weren’t cold, however, he still would prefer seeing you in his jacket before anyone else’s.

Jo Togame ᡣ𐭩

“take that thing off.” Togame wasted no time expressing his feelings about you wearing another man’s clothes. in all honesty, it irked him way more than he liked to admit. his mind was racing with thoughts of who would be stupid enough to give you their jacket, knowing that you’re his girlfriend.

“huh?? why? i’m cold.” you pouted not wanting to remove the soft material off of your body.

“it’s ugly, you don’t need it. take it off.” his voice was way more stern this time. a small part of you wanted to stand your ground and say no. however, a much larger and smarter part of you knew it was better not to. you took off the jacket with a frown before he snatched it away from your hands.

“wear this instead, my girlfriend shouldn’t go around wearing other men’s clothing.” he scolded while handing over his Shishitoren jacket to you. you wanted to argue but you couldn’t help blushing at his possessive behavior. it shouldn’t have such a strong affect on you but it does.

“who gave it to you anyways? give me a name.” he ordered while scoping out the jacket. it looked strangely familiar but he couldn’t exactly remember where he’s seen it before.

“it’s Choji’s jacket. he offered it to me and said I can keep it until I find you.” you answered with a bright smile. Choji’s gesture meant no harm since he was just trying to look out for his best friend’s girlfriend. he knew Togame wouldn’t have an issue if he knew it was his jacket. yes, you were well-aware of the fact that Togame was only mad because he thought it was someone else’s jacket.

“oh.” the realization settling in as his whole demeanor changed into something more relaxed.

“yes, oh.” you giggled. you could’ve told him sooner that it was Choji’s but where’s the fun in that?

“you called Choji’s jacket ugly.”

“shut up, you should’ve said something sooner.”

Choji Tomiyama ᡣ𐭩

Choji’s mood went from 100 to 0 real quick. his very bright and wide smile getting wiped off his face as his eyes landed on the jacket you were wearing. you tilted your head in confusion to his sudden mood shift. he was usually ecstatic to see you, you couldn’t help but sadden at the lack of emotion he was expressing towards you. were you two in the middle of a fight? had you argued with him and forgot? you didn’t know why he reacted like that. Choji walked up towards you and swiftly took off the jacket from your body. it happened so fast you couldn’t process what even happened. the emotion of confusion stayed in your body as he walked past you with the jacket thrown over his shoulder.

Choji made it his business as leader of Shishitoren to know everything and everyone. as soon as he saw that jacket on you he knew exactly who it belonged to. once you snapped back into reality you chased Choji down slightly worried about what he was planning to do. you found him with the guy who offered you the jacket by the Ori. you watched from a distance as Choji roughly chucked the jacket to the sitting boy’s face. the boy immediately stood up ready to defend himself.

“keep your filthy jacket to yourself and off my girlfriend from here on out.” Choji spat completely unamused by the whole situation. before the boy could even defend himself, Choji’s dark glare silenced him causing him to sit back down before muttering out a small “i understand.” he truly meant no harm by giving you his jacket but in hindsight he really should’ve known better than to do something so stupid. especially when considering you’re his leader’s girlfriend. Choji left it at that, it was his way of showing mercy and restraint.

“oh, you’re here.” he smiled once noticing you at the end of the street. before you could even respond he clashed himself against your lips roughly deepening the kiss as he practically shoved his tongue down your throat. you felt your face getting red, Choji typically wasn’t so affectionate in public, you knew he was doing this to prove a point. your grip tightened around his shirt before you pulled yourself off, small pants escaping from your lips.

“Cho-Choji you can’t just do that.” you argued extremely flustered.

“sorry! i forget you can get so shy, my pretty girl.” he smiled before softly giving you one more kiss. he had no doubt that the boy who gave you his jacket and his friends had all watched your little display of affection. he didn’t mind them watching, he wanted to remind everyone who exactly you belonged to. Choji wrapped an arm around your waist before pulling you closer as the two of you walked off.

Wind Breaker Vol.4 BD/DVD Bonus Comic (ENG-Translation)

candy girl l r. kaji x f!reader

gen+ summary: kaji's been watching you, the girl at the sweets shop. warnings: just some fluff. kaji being kaji. word count: 1172 note: this is for @kingkatsuki who was asking for more kaji fics and i am so desperate to write. i hope this is okay. sorry if this is a little ooc. i might do a smuttier part two if there's any interest. please excuse any typos or errors, i did my best to edit this myself!

“You should go talk to her,” Hiragi says into his ear, causing Kaji to nearly jump out of his skin.

Frowning, he shrugs off his mentor’s close proximity and turns his gaze away from you. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re a horrible liar, man,” Hiragi rolls his eyes. “She’s a pretty girl– real pretty. I know some of the first years have been eyeing her up lately.” 

Kaji feels his muscle coil as his skin heats up. It’s not like he has any kind of hold over you, he’s barely even said hello. No, he’s only watched you from afar for the last few months since you’ve moved into town and started working at the sweets shop he frequents. The moment he saw you behind the counter, helping an elderly man with his purchase, he spun on his heels and walked right back out. There was no way he could talk to you, not if you smiled just as sweetly to him as you did the old man.

It took weeks for him to learn your work schedule so that he could go in to buy his stash from the store’s owner and not you. You, whose laughter set his skin on fire, whose body filled his dreams at night, whose name sat on his tongue dying to be said. 

“You’ve talked to girls before, Kaji,” Hiragi adds, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Don’t know why you’re so worked up about her.”

Kaji huffs, pulling out a sucker from his pocket and shoves it into his mouth to avoid admitting anything to the one man he can’t lie to. 

But Hiragi’s too smart for his own good and makes a sound in the back of throat like he’s amused. “You like her.”

“I don’t even know her,” Kaji spits back.

“You like her, like her.”

“Shut up!” He shoves Hiragi away and is met with laughter from the older boy. “I can’t talk to her.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” Kaji snaps, “she’s… her.”

He knows he sounds stupid, it doesn’t make sense to anyone, but Hiragi knows him best. “Listen,” his mentor sighs. “I’m gonna do you a favor and you better not blow it, alright?” He pats Kaji on the shoulder and crosses the street before the younger blond knows what’s happening. He watches as Hiragi enters the candy store where you’re working behind the counter. 

Your smile gives Kaji knots in his stomach, even when it’s directed at someone else. He can only imagine what it would do if it was directed at him. 

There’s not a moment where your grin doesn’t leave your face as you chat with Hiragi and Kaji longs for it to be him. Why can’t he be in there making you laugh like that? He can stare down gang members and hooligans but he can’t bring himself to face your beautiful smile? He was so weak.

Hiragi points towards the large windows of the shop, over in Kaji’s direction, and you turn your angelic face his way, and after months, your smile is sent his way. He’s sure his body has stopped functioning completely, especially when you lifted your hand to wave. When he forgets how to move his limbs, he can see Hiragi talking again, and watches your face light up with amusement, nodding.

You pull out your phone and hand it over to Hiragi who starts to type in something before he returns it. The two of you share a few more words before Hiragi’s back out of the store and crossing the street. “You owe me,” he tells Kaji with a flick to his forehead. “And you’re welcome.” 

Kaji’s phone pings a second later from an unknown number.

You: Hello, Kaji! Your friend gave me your number, I hope you don’t mind.

Swallowing thickly, he looks up from his phone to see you looking back at him waving at him again. 

Kaji: Hi. I don’t mind. Sorry about Hiragi, he doesn’t know when to mind his own business.

You: Haha, it’s okay. I’m actually grateful for him. I’ve seen you around for months but I’ve been too afraid to say hello.

There’s no way. You’ve wanted to talk to him, the goddess that you are? Why were you afraid of him? You, the embodiment of perfection. 

Kaji:  Really?

You: Yeah. I’m way better at texting than I am talking. I thought about bringing you some Chupa Chups that Senpai says you like, but I was afraid I’d fall flat on my face or something, haha. 

Kaji:  You know what candy I like?

You:  Um yeah. I mean, I asked. I’ve been squirreling away the peach ones for you since they’re in such low supply. Don’t tell anyone, though. :P 

He tears his eyes away from his screen to see you grinning at your phone and his heart squeezes. Steeling himself, he quickly crosses the street and pulls open the door with a trembling hand. When you look up to greet him, your smile is a little brighter than the one you gave Hiragi and his breath stutters in his chest. “Welcome,” you chirp. “How can I help you?”

Mentally directing himself, step by step, he moves to the counter in front of you and swallows thickly. “I’ll have a bag of Chupa Chups,” he answers hoarsely. 

“Coming right up!” You stumble away from the counter, giggling to yourself at your foolishness, and he feels himself melt at the sound. “Any particular flavor, sir?”

“Peach,” he replies automatically.

“Good choice!” You send a wink his way which has him biting the stick of his loli to stop himself from whimpering. He watches as you duck to the lower shelves, moving some boxes around to pull out a blackened out container. From it, you pour an unhealthy amount of peach suckers into a bag, and hide the container once more. When you return, you wrap the bag up in a pretty pink bow. “Can I get you anything else, sir?”

“A date?” Kaji asks hopefully, “Tonight, maybe?”

You bite your bottom lip and giggle once again, his heart flutters again. “My shift ends at six.”

“I’ll meet you here,” he offers. “We can go get something to eat.”

You nod, offering him another earth-shattering smile. “Yes, please. I’d like that.”

The door opens to a group of rowdy middle schoolers and the spell between you two is broken. “I’ll see you later,” he mutters, shuffling out of the way from the group as they bum rush the counter to pick out their sweets. He’s out of the door just as the first kid calls out your name.

He’s practically hovering when Hiragi finds him again. “So,” the older man drawls. 

“Shut up,” Kaji grumbles, tossing his empty sucker stick at his mentor before opening one of the peach ones you had just given him. “But, uh… thanks.”

“Yeah, man, no problem,” Hiragi laughs, ruffling his hair. “Just treat her right and we’ll call it even.”

Kaji wouldn’t dream of doing anything less.

Yandere! Feitan Portor General Profile

Yandere! Feitan Portor x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, violence, murder, mentions of torture, mentions of Feitan carving his initial into you, mentions of masturbation, stalking, jealousy, threats, Feitan tortures a man in front of you, I stand by the (semi) soft creepy yandere Feitan agenda and I will not be swayed otherwise, this got super long I'm so sorry, I'm also delirious as I'm writing it so hopefully it makes coherent sense/is consistent, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy! 

DARLING PROFILE:

Empathetic

In general, Feitan finds his attention drawn by a darling who is almost the complete opposite of himself.

He wants someone sweet and caring, all soft and squishy and warm. He’s never found this particularly attractive before meeting his darling, but there’s something oddly endearing about the way they’re always trying to help those around them, fruitlessly asking them to vent about their feelings, to use them as a supportive shoulder. 

It makes him scoff, rolling his eyes and wondering at how impossibly naive his darling can be, but even he can’t deny how nice it is to have someone by his side, a human presence that’s steady and calm and understanding. It makes him feel good, a warm sensation bottling up in his chest and threatening to explode out, and although he’ll never really come clean with how he feels for you (at least, he never will verbally), a darling who can kind of read his rather emotionless face would be a very, very big attraction for him. 

He just wants a darling who can understand him, even if his rational brain loathes the idea. An empathetic darling is sure to draw his attention, if only because he’ll be mildly revolted and intrigued by how they can be so selfless and so foolish. 

Submissive 

Feitan doesn’t want a feisty darling. 

He doesn’t enjoy having to tame his lovers, and although he’s never really had a lover, he gravitates towards someone who is more naturally submissive and willing to follow direction. 

He already feels powerless enough in the situation, frustrated that he doesn’t really have any say in how he feels. It scares him, quite honestly, if only because he doesn’t like how easily and quickly he’s jumping to conclusions where his darling is concerned, more than willing to jump through any hoop necessary in order to get what he wants, in order to make sure his darling is safe and isolated from every other man on Earth. 

He likes knowing that his darling will do what he tells them to; it builds a layer of trust that makes Feitan go feral, and for every ounce of trust his darling gives him, he’ll try to return it as full heartedly as he can. He likes that he’s fully in control of his darling, and particularly if they were to be submissive in more… intimate aspects of the relationship, he’d be absolutely smitten.

He just wants his darling to revere him and believe his word as the word of God, and the moment that happens? 

He’s only falling deeper into obsession, his desperation for them growing with every beat of his heart, getting harder and harder to swallow until he gives up, jumping head first into every swirling, dark, lecherous desire he harbors. 

Soft

Of course, Feitan’s darling doesn’t have to have a softer body, but he can’t deny that there’s something enticing about a darling who is physically quite soft. Whether that’s rounder features, a plumper figure, or even a soft, demure voice, it all entrances Feitan. 

His darling is something of a dream to him, because he’s never really believed that someone that stereotypically weak could ever really survive in this world. He likes how his darling feels, the touches he sneaks late at night when they’re sleeping sending sparks up his spine and serving as fuel for when he’s unbearably horny, his hand around his cock not nearly enough. 

He’s prone to fantasizing about his darling, slipping into daydreams of his they’d feel in his lap, how they’d look with their ass up and face pressed into the mattress, how they’d feel so good wrapped around him. He just thinks it’s oddly endearing, and a darling who fits these characteristics would help initially draw his eye - he just thinks they’re pretty, a polar opposite to him, even going so far as to playing into some of his more protective traits. 

Of course, he’d rather die than admit any of it, but he’s interally a bit soft for his darling - they’re just alluring in an almost primal way he can’t describe, but he can’t fight it. He can’t fight anything when it comes to his darling, as it turns out, and soon Feitan will decide that he doesn’t care. 

After all, once his darling steps into his life and stays there, nothing at all matters - how can it, when he’s decided that they’re his, his woman to keep and admire and touch and fuck? 

(It will take him a very, very long time to get comfortable with either of the last two options, but the desire and sentiment is still there, if the frequent raging erections he gets as a result of his darling is any indicator.)

Talkative 

This trait is one of the things Feitan loves and hates most about his darling. 

He enjoys listening to them talk; he himself isn’t particularly fond of conversation, nor is he particularly talkative towards his darling in general. And so, a partner who is capable of filling the silence between them sometimes is something that makes Feitan grateful, if only because hearing the sound of their voice makes his breath hitch. 

And when they talk to him, all their attention aimed solely at him? 

Well, how can Feitan not be flattered, not feel a bit prideful that they’re spending their time directing all their focus and thoughts around whatever small question he prompted them with? He just likes listening to his darling go on and on, even if the topic doesn’t interest him much. However, the downside of this trait is that it creates a rather ugly combination with his tendency to grow jealous. 

If his darling is talkative with everyone, it’s sure to extend towards the men they meet, who just stare at them like they’re a slab of meat waiting to be devoured, all of them eager to get their hands on them and destroy what Feitan has claimed as his own. It’s infuriating, if only because it means that they’re interacting with others, putting themselves into a position where they could develop feelings for another man or be put into harm’s way or overhead something they shouldn’t have or any number of things. 

It becomes a massive liability, and one that Feitan is so, so very aware of. It irritates him, and as much as he loves when his darling is chatting with him, he’s not so approving when they're with others.

And so, it’s really in his darling’s best interest to reign in the conversations with anyone else - unless they want to see their blood splattered all over the walls, hear their cries, feel Feitan’s red soaked fingers grasp onto their arms and force them to see the results of their chattiness. It’s in their best interest, and they’ll learn that soon enough. Hopefully. 

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Distant 

There’s a part of Feitan that genuinely hates you for making him feel the way he does. The constant pounding of his heart when you’re merely mentioned, the throb in his chest when he’s gone too long without seeing you, the nervous twitch of his fingers when he thinks about what you’re doing, what other man you’re thinking about… 

He hates how paranoid you’ve made him, how so much of his time and energy goes into you. It’s your fault that he’s always distracted, that he’s not able to fully focus on his work anymore because he’s only able to think of you you you. It’s frustrating, and honestly it initially wards Feitan off from getting any closer to you - he doesn’t like the way he feels around you (that’s not true, but he needs it to be), so he’ll stay away and ignore you. Maybe that’ll get you to stop smiling at him so kindly, to quit asking him how his day was, to stop looking so pretty while you hum and make yourself dinner. 

As time passes, slowly this hatred diminishes (or at least dulls), instead replaced with a desperate, pathetic need to be around you; he just can’t keep himself away from you, no matter how hard he tries. It’s demoralizing, embarrassing beyond belief that someone like you could get his emotions so twisted, but it’s reality. 

He tries to fight it at first, believing himself to be above such stupid human emotion – he doesn’t need you, he’s a criminal and has never needed love or anything of the sort. And yet, each and every time he tells himself to not trail behind you as you walk to the grocery store, his resolve holds out for roughly five minutes. By then, there’s unwelcome thoughts drifting through his mind about what you’re doing, whether you’re talking to anyone, if you’ve managed to trip like you always do and scrape your knee. 

(There’s even a small, very small part of him that wonders whether you’re buying foods that are nutritious for you, or whether you’re doing your usual junk food spree. A thought pops up in the back of his head: him beside you in the store, scoffing as you place chips into the cart. He’d replace them with fruit, mumbling something about you being so stupid, only to see you smile at him and thank him, telling him how grateful you are to have him watching over you. His cheeks feel hot at that, and he buries his face deeper into his jacket, grumbling under his breath.) 

He’ll try to stop himself from circling back to you, but each and every time he finds some excuse of why he should be watching you, of how you aren’t really capable of taking care of yourself without his watchful gaze. It’s patronizing, more than anything, but eventually he’ll stop trying to fight it, submitting entirely and allowing himself the concealed pleasure of watching your horribly mundane life. 

He’ll need to be around you, constantly, but he’s still not willing to let his emotional guard down. No, you’ve done enough damage just simply existing - you absolutely cannot know how deeply he feels for you, how wrapped around your pinky finger you have him. Not only would it eliminate any semblance of leverage he holds against you (in order to stay above you, that is), it also showcases just how far the extent of his feelings for you run. 

And frankly, the thought terrifies Feitan – he’s never felt so strongly for anyone before, not even in the context of hatred or pleasure at their suffering. He’s in over his head, wading through waters he's always scoffed at and dismissed, and suddenly he’s finding himself nearly drowning, head always buried just under the surface. 

So he steels himself, grabbing onto any shred of control and power he can against you – he grabs on and clutches on, strong fingers frantically staying attached so that he doesn’t get blown away and truly drown. And even in the beginning of your captivity, Feitan won’t change the way he’s so detached. He’s purposefully putting distance between the two of you so that he can remain in control of the situation, in control of you, and – most importantly, and most concerningly – in control of himself. 

Because frankly, Feitan doesn’t trust himself around you. He doesn’t trust the way his body just does things, how any rational thought leaves his brain the moment your eyes meet, how fingers are already lifting up a bit to reach out touch you, to brush away stray pieces of your hair when you’re within a few feet of him. 

The biggest way he maintains this control is by not giving you a whole lot of attention, aside from one stark, grave exception: his dark eyes are constantly watching you. He’s always just sort of staring, his expression blank as he observes you, motionless and still. It’s unnerving, terrifying you initially and only slightly calming down as time passes, but Feitan doesn’t care much. 

He doesn’t necessarily want to interact with you, but just watching you allows him to be in your space, to be beside you, to smell you and listen to your breathing. You’re kept in one large room most of the time, and he’ll often sit in the chair in the corner and just stare. He’s not talking much, not trying to touch you or hurt you, but you almost wish he would sometimes. 

He just doesn’t understand what about you it is that attracts him so deeply, that’s morphed him into this lovesick fool, and while he initially tries to understand, eventually Feitan gives up, because does it really matter? 

Does it really matter how he became obsessed with you when you’re locked up in his spare bedroom, duct tape covering your mouth and an expressionless, frozen Feitan watching you with his heart practically bursting out of his chest? Does it really matter if he pinpoints exactly when he developed his love for you when you’re looking at him with those pretty tears in your eyes, whispering out a thanks as he sets the tray of food down in front of you? 

It really doesn’t, now that his feelings for you are formed and solidified, now that they can’t be changed or reversed. So while he’ll never be the most accessible and sympathetic to your feelings, rest assured that Feitan really does love you in some fucked up way - he’s just unorthodox, incapable of properly expressing himself to you. 

But actions speak louder than words, right? He’s always thought so.

Obsessive 

Because Feitan is relatively quiet and secretive when it comes to his feelings towards you, it’s difficult for you to really pick up on this aspect of him. You’re unlikely to ever truly understand just how much he feels for you, the sheer depth of emotions you cause him. 

He won’t ever tell you what’s going on behind that expressionless facade of his. He doesn’t tell you how oddly adorable you are when you’re sleeping in the early mornings, curled up in the corner of your room with your eyes shut and lips slightly parted, looking so soft and sweet and weak.

 He’ll never make you aware of how his breath hitches ever so slightly when you make eye contact with him, even if it’s shaky and you look away too quickly, his spine tingling because fuck, your attention feels good. 

You’ll never know why his foot is tapping lightly when you’re eating in front of him, the way those annoying nerves eat away at his stomach while he subconsciously wonders if you think he looks attractive today. (He’d trimmed his hair a bit, feeling it was too long and interfering with his work - do you like it? Did you notice? He’d hesitated a bit with the scissors earlier, brows slightly furrowing, dark eyes glancing at your sleeping form.) 

He’s very cryptic, and this tendency to keep you out of the loop of his personal thoughts and feelings can cast a shadow on his more obsessive tendencies. That is, before he’s stolen you away from the world, Feitan did an extensive amount of research into you. He does nothing on a whim - he’s a calculating man, and once he’d finally come to terms with the fact that his feelings for you weren’t going to disappear, he was scouring every resource possible to garner your information. 

He’s got access to all kinds of personal knowledge about you - your search history, for example. It’s a bit unexpected, if Feitan’s being honest - you’re much darker than he’d expected, the things you read about making him quirk a brow, his interest in you only deepening because hmm, seems the little sheep may be a bit of a wolf inside. 

He’s getting Shalnark to hack into the camera of your phone and computer, the stream of footage easy to access as he cleans his tools, blood washing away as you smile and laugh at some comedy you’re watching. 

It’s stupid and at first he pretends to find your laugh annoying. But then he sees the way your cheeks get all full and round as you smile, your eyes crinkling up, even the way you wheeze slightly when it’s really funny. 

(Briefly, he wonders whether you’d find his dry sense of humor entertaining.)

He’s got photographs of you from his time spent trailing you, and though they’re a bit blurry and not as focused as he’d like, they’re still something nice to pin to his wall, keeping his favorites beside his bed. He’s never had trouble sleeping, but something about looking at you as he drifts into slumber makes him rest more soundly, wake up more refreshed. 

Once you’ve been trapped with him for long enough, however, Feitan’s front of careful indifference to you will slowly begin cracking. You’ll never see fully through him, but you’ll catch the way the corners of his lips twitch up ever so slightly when you snuggle into the blanket he gives you one day, noticing how you’ve been shivering incessantly at night. 

(He won’t tell you the blanket was freshly stolen, that he’d made sure to take one with the softest, thickest material he could find, and even in your favorite color. It’s just a coincidence, so don’t read into it.) 

You’ll realize he’s slowly inched closer to you the longer you watch the television program Feitan turned on earlier, your spot on the couch feeling smaller and smaller as Feitan’s hip eventually brushes yours, neither of you acknowledging what’s happening. 

(You’ll never know how badly he wants to reach out and touch you, to freely run his hand up and down your thigh, so trace your collarbones, to feel just how soft your body is.)

It all makes him feel weak, pathetic, disgusting, but Feitan can’t help it. There’s something magnetic about you, and he can’t pull himself away. His pride won’t allow him to fully succumb to the thoughts and desires about you that are constantly swirling through his mind, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there, that they aren’t bothering him constantly. He’s secretive, and maybe it’s for the best that you don’t know how many nights he’s spent with his fingers wrapped around his cock, his pale cheeks rosy as he imagines the way you’d like tied up with hickeys he made spanning the insides of your thighs. 

Perhaps it’s best that you don’t know how often he’s (begrudgingly) held the extra pillow on his bed close to his chest, dark eyes staring up at the ceiling as he tightens his arms around it.

(No, he wasn’t imagining it was you – he’s a touch starved man, and everyone has urges, right? It’s just coincidence that the pillow casing is one he stole from you, that he never washes it because it smells like you, that he nearly loses his mind when he almost gets a drop of blood from a victim on it.) 

It makes it much easier to scare you into what he wants when you don’t know - you’re much more complainant this way, malleable, willing, and Feitan likes it that way. Sure, having you fall in love would be ideal, getting your obedience through a genuine desire to please him, but at least this way he can keep a piece of his pride intact. 

This way, you’ll never realize the power you have over him - how he’d be willing to wipe out entire towns for you if you so much as mention it. You’ll never understand just how he needs to have you - to have you for what, you don’t know, but you can sense the odd sort of desperation coming off of him. 

You can feel it in the way his fingers grip you just a bit too tight, the way his eyes linger on you just a tad too long, the way the smallest, most embarrassing little whimper falls from his lips when your hand touches his. 

He’s good at hiding it, but everyone makes mistakes - just don’t pry too hard, because Feitan still needs to be the one in control, and you’ll quickly find yourself learning much, much more about the short man than you’ve ever wanted to know. Namely, that the only thing worse than him staring at you is him ignoring you.

Protective  

Although, it will take you a very long time to see this side of him. Initially, Feitan’s feelings towards you are that of mild interest, mild disgust, and mild indifference. 

Mild interest because he had, of course, noticed that you were pretty, what with your soft lips and doe eyes, your figure and the lilt of your voice. Indifference, because Fietan was sure there were a thousand other people just like you on Earth. And disgust, because you were so visibly weak and unable to fend for yourself, like an animal waiting to be slaughtered.

 And yet, the more time he spends around you (maybe a long job has him centered in the same city for a few weeks, and you work at the little store he gets his meals from, or some other service job that brings you in contact regularly), the more complex these feelings become. His interest becomes peaked because you’re not just pretty, but also entertaining to talk to, handling his dry jabs well and even daring to throw back some jokes of your own. (He never laughed, of course, but a wry smile sat underneath his jacket.) 

He’s still a bit indifferent, but not when you’re helping other customers or smiling down at your phone. (Were you texting someone? Your fingers were moving, implying typing – what were they saying that was making you giggle like that? What could he say that would make you giggle? Why does he care?) 

But the starkest, quickest change of heart that Fietan experiences in how he feels about your strength and abilities. Of course, you are weak. Even if you can use nen, even if you know the basics of self defense – Feitan is sure that he could kill you in the blink of an eye, cleanly, easily. (He’s sure because he’s thought of doing it before – never seriously, just a fleeting thought, something that only briefly passed through his mind when he was still resistant to his attraction towards you – it was promptly expelled after that familiar sinking, uncomfortable feeling started up in his gut, but still.) 

You’re embarrassingly weak, really, and as much as he tries to make himself ignore it or to simply stop caring about it, he can’t get it out of his head. He can’t seem to stop imagining you getting hurt, doing something stupid or careless and tarnishing that pretty skin of yours. 

He can’t seem to stop imagining the way you’d take a corner too fast and slip on your own feet, tumbling to the ground and ending up with a sprained ankle or a scrape across your knee. 

He’ll be sharpening a blade, blood stains caked onto the metal, and suddenly a flash of what your blood would look like staining the material makes him freeze for a moment, black eyes just a tad bit wider, the muscles in his arms and legs taut because there’s something sickening about the thought, something malicious and just carnally wrong. 

He can’t help but imagine how you’d fare against someone like his coworkers, whose strength is difficult to handle even for an experienced nen user. How would someone like you fare against someone like Uvogin? Someone like Shizuku? Hell, even someone like Kortopi? 

(Upon first meeting Hisoka, a very sudden and very intrusive image of the clown slicing a card clean through your throat flashed through his mind, and he’d nearly reached forward and ripped out the taller man’s heart at the thought, a purely instinctual response that left him more shell-shocked than he’d care to admit.) 

He knows you wouldn’t stand a chance, and while he doesn’t want it to bother him, it does. It does, as much as he tries to forget the mental images or assure himself that you deserve getting injured for being so weak and helpless. But he can’t just sit still and let it pass by, if it were to ever happen - and so, Feitan’s protective tendencies begin manifesting. 

They’re small, for the most part; making sure to keep his torture tools as far away from you as possible, just so that there’s no chance of you accidentally tripping or running into one or being stupid and getting any ideas. 

He’s making sure that you’re under his watch as often as possible, becoming your second shadow and stalking you every free moment he can spare, just in case someone unsavory crosses your path. 

He’s making sure that all your locks are working every night, compulsively checking them even though he knows they’re still good. 

He keeps his protective tendencies under wraps, making sure that they’re subtle and just ambiguous enough that you won’t pick up on his intentions. Because while there’s something appealing about you knowing that he wants you to be safe, he would rather you not find out just how extensively he watches you, just how much he cares about your wellbeing, deciding that it’s yet another potential opportunity for you to manipulate him. 

And of course, he’s embarrassed - he briefly considers requesting help watching you from a Troupe member or two, only for when he’s aware for long periods of times on individual jobs, but eventually he chickens out, too scared to have to explain why he wants Pakunoda to keep an eye on you.

 He’s not embarrassed of you, per se, but rather the extent to which you affect him. And even once he’s stolen you away (an action which has roots in his paranoia for your safety), those protective tendencies are still firmly in place. He’s not a good cook, but he still tries to provide you with somewhat healthy foods, even if they’re undercooked and limp, bland and just overall unappealing. 

He’s by no means an interior designer, but he’s getting you a somewhat soft, thick blanket, making sure the one pillow you have isn’t covered in stains or lumpy. It’s all subtle, nearly unnoticeable things that you’d have to be very perceptive to catch onto - but to Feitan it’s all important, because while he may still resent you for turning him into a lovesick fool, he’ll be damned if he lets you starve or be uncomfortable.

It’s stupid and he knows it, grumbling to himself the entire time he’s doing something to prevent hurting you, but it’ll always get done - and if you were to ever notice it, to thank him? Feitan would deny your allegations, telling you to shut up and eat your food, all the while the tips of his ears turn pink and his heart flutters because you noticed. 

You noticed the way he takes extra precautions for you, the way he thinks of you and your wellbeing, even having the gall to thank him for it… 

Don’t bring it up again or he’ll grow angry, but the pride sitting in his chest at your words is enough for him. It’s enough for him to know you see him, that you’re paying attention to him, that you appreciate all he does for you - it’s enough for now, at least. 

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

Feitan is, unfortunately, a bit prone to jealousy – as someone who is aware that he isn’t the best option out there for you, the acknowledgement that there is a multitude of other men that deserve you more and could likely land you never fails to get past him. 

He’s so, so aware of the fact that you likely don’t like him, that stalking you and planning to kidnap you likely doesn’t earn him any favors. He knows he’s fairly quiet, and while it’s mostly a fear of mildly embarrassing himself that bars him from actually interacting with you, it only pushes Feitan to worry that you only see him as a strange, unfamiliar man. 

It’s likely that you think of him as nothing more than an acquaintance, a man who doesn’t seem to want anything to do with you. And so, the minute that another person tries to flirt with you, to look at you and think of you and speak with you, the insecurities over how you perceive him are blooming in his chest, growing and blossoming into full blown panic, because what if you fall for another man? 

Of course, Feitan has absolutely no problem eliminating the threat, even enjoying taking the life of such a worthless man, but he can’t help the way fear grips his heart, cold and stabbing and brutal, because while he may be icy and difficult to approach, a stone face that leaves little emotion o be seen, Feitan wants you so fucking badly, to the point that it genuinely hurts. 

And while he isn’t all that soft towards the beginning of his obsession (and really, even once you’ve been ‘living’ with him for a while as well), he does honestly want for you to return the feelings, to love him and care for him, to want to be with him and enjoy your new life by his side. Ideally, he wants you to fall for him, to see him and smile, to have your soft skin pressed against his rougher, more callused skin, your hands cupped in a firm embrace, a soft hug, a kiss against the lips and short, whispered words of trust and acceptance. 

Of course, it’s makes him feel so damn pathetic each time he gets caught in a daydream where you’re smiling and laughing with him, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and telling him he’s handsome, but try as he may, he just can’t allow another man to steal the opportunity to make you theirs. 

He wants to be the only one in your life, the only man you see and think of and talk to, and quite honestly Feitan will succeed – his profession is death after all, and he’s a master at stalking his prey, locating their weaknesses, seamlessly killing and annihilating his target before they even have a chance to fight back. 

And so, once his jealousy is triggered, the poor man’s fate has already been decided. Feitan’s never been particularly merciful, and where you’re concerned, this trait only grows - it feels good to kill whoever dared to speak with you, like some sort of cathartic release of all the emotions he’s been bottling up, all the anger and desperation and self-loathing and yearning trapped in his chest. 

It feels good, euphoric in a way he can’t describe, and so he’s quick to jump on any man posing a potential threat to your status as single and ripe for Feitan to claim. He’s a trained killer, after all, and who is he to waste away a perfectly good target? 

When the man in the black dress shirt approaches you in the grocery store, Feitan’s eyes narrow. The shorter man had been trailing you all day, watching you go about your weekly errands, and the tri-annual trip to the grocery store had been your last stop. You’d managed to evade any male attention today, a fact that had Feitan simultaneously sighing in relief and growling in anger. 

And yet, here you are, dressed in a rather provocative set of leggings that have Feitan’s eyes absolutely glued to your supple ass, matched with a slouchy, oversized sweatshirt. You’re cute, he begrudgingly admits, and it seems the stranger agrees. 

Feitan’s standing in the next aisle over, staring through the holes in the shelving to see the way you tap your chin and scan the aisles of bread, searching for the perfect loaf. You don’t seem to have noticed the man slowly walking up to you, his eyes visibly scanning up and down your body. Feitan scowls, black brows drawing tightly together as he debates what to do. 

On the one hand, there’s not much he can do - you’re in a public grocery store, and he doesn’t particularly want you to notice his presence. And yet, he can’t just let this man approach you, speak to you, look at you, now can he? He grits his teeth, steeling himself to just watch for now, and jump in if the time is right, if he feels the man goes too far. The man clears his throat, making you jump and look over at him, the suave smile he sends you making your own smile falter a bit. 

Which bread’s best? He’s asking you, and you answer quickly, naming your favorite brand and which style you like best - Feitan’s scowl only deepens when he realizes you’re telling him the truth. 

The man nods along, before his smirk turns smarmy, one eyebrow cocked up as he asks which rolls are best then? I’m thinking they’re yours. 

You blanch at that, disgust written across your face as you awkwardly laugh and inch away, but Feitan sees none of that - how can he, when he’s already moving, already grabbing the man by the neck and sprinting down the aisle and around the corner, all too fast for you to see with the naked eye? 

You’re confused, unsure of how the man just suddenly disappeared, but his comment left you shellshocked and lost at what to do, so you quickly grab a random loaf and anxiously push your cart away, trying to put distance between you and wherever the man had ended up. 

Meanwhile, Feitan’s got the man held against the back wall of the grocery store, fingers wrapped around his neck and a cold, menacing look in his eye. 

Bastard, he grits out, tightening his grip and feeling the way the man panics and scratches at his fingers, trying to rip them away. 

Disgusting, she is mine, didn’t your mother teach don’t touch what’s not yours? Feitan’s shocked he hasn’t just slaughtered the man yet, but there’s something in his heart telling him to prolong this out, to let the man suffer, to make this as slow and torturous as possible. He wants the man to bleed, to scream and sob and beg for his mercy, for being stupid enough to even try to seduce you. 

Feitan’s angry enough that his breathing is uneven, his muscles occasionally flexing without his permission, the rage simmering in his veins nearly potent. He can’t stop replaying the sight of your disgusted and uncomfortable look, the fact that this scum caused you to feel such an emotion making his skin feel hot, his fingers eager to steal the man’s life. 

He smiles as the man wheezes, the lack of oxygen making his face slowly take on a purple hue. What’s wrong? Can’t breath? 

He squeezes once, harshly, roughly, and the man splutters, spit dribbling down his chin and getting onto Feitan’s wrist. He scoffs. Filthy, disgusting. Die. 

And then the man is being stabbed with his sword, not once, not twice, but again and again and again, until holes and wounds decorate the planes of his chest, blood flowing down in rivers onto the dirty concrete floor. 

The man is dead within a matter of seconds, but it’s not enough for Feitan. He’s quick to throw the body to the ground, kicking and stomping and mutilating the body until its unrecognizable. He’s still breathing hard, his fingers shaking, and he finishes it off with a spit at what was once the man’s face, a scowl thrown his way. 

Pathetic, he says, dark eyes closing for a few moments as he looks to sense your familiar presence, already on your walk back towards your apartment. Feitan gives one last, firm kick, before taking off, the urge to have his eyes on you once more making him rush even quicker than normal. He’ll spend the rest of the evening watching you, like always, but this time he’ll pay more attention to your face. 

You’ve never looked at him the way you looked at that man, all scared and revolted. 

You’ve never tried to get away from Feitan, never ran or panicked or anything of the sort. Pride swells in his chest at the knowledge that you like the dark haired man more than that mangled corpse; you’d choose Fietan over him, he’s sure. 

And as you slip under your covers, a soft look on your face as you drift to sleep, Feitan can’t help but slide open the window, slipping into the bedroom and coming up to stand beside your unconscious form. 

Would you choose him over other men? 

If given the choice, would you want him? 

He’d always choose you, his heart always coming back to you no matter what he does or how he hates it - and one day, he’s hopeful you’ll feel the same. One day, you’ll be just as stupidly, pathetically, frantically in love as he is. 

He sighs, the corner of his mouth twitching up. Someday, you’ll be all his. 

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

It takes Feitan a long time to resort to kidnapping you. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, but rather that it’s never been a priority for him. He’s reclusive, and because it takes him so long to sort out his feelings for you, stealing you away was certainly not at the forefront of his mind. 

It takes him so long to even admit to himself that he cares for you, and that process alone takes anywhere from a month to three months, and only then does the stalking begin. Only then is he allowing the feelings for really grow, to fester and brew in his chest until he’s insatiable, desperate to see you and be in your presence. It takes him so long to warm up to you that he just simply doesn’t have the time or forethought to consider taking you for himself - that is, until his protective tendencies begin coming into play. Once he starts actively caring about your safety and wellbeing, little thoughts begin springing up in the back of his mind. He’s chastising you mentally for staying up late, the hands on the clock moving past hours he’s comfortable with. 

He doesn’t like when you lay in your bed scrolling through that damn phone of yours, the bright light bad for your eyes and making you delay sleeping for as long as possible. It makes him angry (if not hypocritical, seeing as he himself only gets roughly four hours of sleep per night), and before he can even stop himself he’s thinking of how he’d make you fall asleep if he was with you, prying that phone out of your hands and telling you to sleep now. 

He doesn’t like when you walk home alone at night, as if you’re practically asking to be mugged or assaulted or killed, which is why he has to follow you, begrudgingly hiding in the shadows and trailing you as you meander back to your apartment. 

You’re stupid, is what you are, and as time passes, Feitan becomes more and more shocked at how lightly you take your own life - how can one single person be so careless? How can you be willing to eat food so close to the expiration date, or look both ways at the sidewalk just once? You’re helpless, truly, and it pisses Feitan off. 

It makes him mad, if only because he’s trying so much harder than you are to keep you safe, and isn’t it unfair to him? Isn’t it awfully inconsiderate of you to make him spend so much time looking after you, doing everything for you because you’re so damn incapable? It’s a negative view and Feitan doesn’t really blame you, only convincing himself he does in order to make him feel better. It’s an excuse to help him feel like he isn’t as attached as he really is, a way to help alleviate some of the embarrassment he has regarding his feelings for you. 

It’s pathetic, he thinks, but then something happens - something bad, something Fietan had hoped never would. Somehow, an enemy of the Troupe had discovered you. Maybe he was too preoccupied by keeping his eyes on you that he missed the stranger’s presence, unknowingly leading them directly to you. 

Sweet, weak, defenseless you. 

Time is frozen for Feitan as he returns from Troupe work, slinking to your apartment and letting himself in the front door, knowing that although it’s horribly late, you’re surely freshly asleep - except, the door is already ajar, and Feitan feels his blood run cold. There’s someone here. It doesn’t matter if they’re a friend or enemy to you - why the fuck is there another person in your home at such an ungodly hour? 

The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, and for a moment Feitan feels pure, absolute panic - you’re incapable of warding someone off, especially if you’re asleep, and although he feel sense your presence, there’s a distinct aura coming from your bedroom that isn’t yours. He’s quick to rush in, dark eyes narrowing when he sees the figure over your bed, a man hunched over and about to touch you - 

His sword is slicing through the man’s neck before he can even blink, head dropping to the ground with a dull thud and blood pooling where it lands. His chest is rising and falling rapidly, brows pinched together and his grip on the sword hilt tight. 

His gaze flicks to where you’re still sleeping peacefully, utterly unaware of the man standing beside your bed and the lifeless corpse bleeding out onto your floor. He’s got no choice, really - there’s something ugly stirring in his chest, something big and bad and painful, and he’s reaching out and scooping you into his arms all too quickly. 

The man surely was after Feitan - he’d looked at him with recognition, and Feitan can only swallow and tighten his grip on you ever so tightly, hopping out your window and taking off into the night, the makeshift home he’d been residing in lately eventually coming upon the horizon. 

The whole event spurs Feitan to believe that relocation is really the best option - his enemies are aware of you now, and who’s to say more won’t come knocking? How does he know you won’t be targeted again, those with vendettas against the Troupe knowing that someone weak and such an Achilles Heel like you would be the perfect revenge? 

He doesn’t, and so although he’s grimacing and slightly worried to have you under the same roof, he sets you down on the hard mattress, giving you a few glances before closing the door, sighing to himself and hoping you wake up soon. 

Feitan, once you’ve been stolen away, is mostly just an enigma to you. 

He’s so painfully unexpressive, so difficult to interact with that you’ll be left to wonder just why he stole you away, why he even bothered to take you when he seems so utterly disinterested in you. He doesn’t talk to you - outside of a few clipped, short commands, he’ll hardly ever let you hear his voice. 

Particularly in the beginning of your captivity, he would listen to your crying and begging to be released silently, his eyes slightly narrowed before a small, curt stop filled the room. 

He’s never given you any sort of an explanation for why you woke up in his home one day, even when you ask him over and over again. He’ll only look at you, dark eyes fixed on your face, before telling you to go to sleep, you need sleep and promptly shutting and locking the bedroom door. He’s entirely unwilling to really interact with you in any meaningful way - except, it’s not because he hates you, or because he’s simply biding his time to kill you. 

You may think that, fear swimming through your veins every time you see him, but it couldn’t be further from the truth - he’s not interacting with you much because there’s a part of Feitan that’s honestly afraid to. It makes him feel stupid and pitiful, but every time he tries to ask you a question or tell you something, the words just sort of die in his throat, his tongue frozen in his mouth even as he tries to move, tries to interact and get you to just look at him, dammit. 

Honestly, he’s embarrassed to speak to you - he’s been watching you for so long, acting as your shadow and seeing you so natural and perfect and raw, and he’s grown used to having a front row seat without having to do anything. He’s not used to you being able to see him or hear him or even know he’s there at all. It’s scary to have you be aware of him, placing him in an uncomfortable position where he can no longer simply watch you or long for you from afar - no, now, as much as he hates to admit it, he cares about your opinion. 

He cares about how you view him, how you perceive him, what you think about him. He wants you to think he’s funny when he tells cutting jokes, and generous when he gives you bowls of semi-cold soup. He wants you to find him attractive, catching your eyes settling on his body or your fingers running through his ebony locks. 

He wants your opinion to be favorable, but despite how strong this desire is, the fear that you’ll find him weird outweighs it. He knows it’s stupid, but he’s terrified that you’ll think he’s strange, a freak, some sort of monster if he talks with you. He’s scared he’ll say something wrong, something to scare you or offend you, and while he may be a mass murderer and an atrocious man, there’s something about the way your eyes would get all glassy and teary, face contorting into disgust as you physically recoil from him that makes his gut wrench, a small frown tugging at the corner of his lips. 

He’s too awkward and nervous to speak with you - and so, he resorts instead to the staring, to the watching, to the observing. It’s what he knows best, after all, considering that was how most of his time was spent before kidnapping you. This is better; he has control in this situation, and he won’t accidentally slip and say something that bears too much truth, that lets you in on too much of what’s going on in his head. 

There’s less room for error if he relegates himself to minimal verbal and physical interaction, and while he aches to reach out and touch you, to feel the softness of your cheeks or the texture of your hair, he’s restraining himself. Just the mere thought of your skin against his gets him shivering, but it’s quite easy to overwhelm him; he’s not used to being the recipient of your attention, and while it feels good to have you looking at him and attempting to start conversations, it can get to be too much for him very quickly. 

It’s easy enough to answer trivial questions; things like what the food is that he placed in front of you (doesn’t matter, it’s good is all he’ll answer with) or inquiries into why he wears that same massive coat all the time (warm and my favorite color). 

Those are easy enough, not breaching too close to anything personal or anything that you could use against him. But the more complex questions, or - once the Stockholm Syndrome eventually kicks in and you’re so lonely you’ll happily converse with your kidnapper - compliments? 

As soon as the words slip from your lips, a simple your eyes are pretty or a I hope you sleep well makes him stiffen up a bit, lips parting ever so slightly under that cowl of his, before he’s quickly darting out the door and slamming it shut behind him. He has to take a few moments to collect himself, his ears and cheeks feeling hot because god, you were looking right at him, and you’d even said his name. 

(He spends the rest of the night in the basement, compulsively cleaning and recleaning his torture tools over and over, trying to distract himself from replaying your compliments over and over in his head, ingraining the sound of your voice and the tingling warmth he felt into his brain. Everything is sparkling clean by the time he’s done, a few hours having passed, and yet he’s spent the whole time thinking of you, letting you plague his thoughts like you always do.) 

He just can’t handle having all of your attention on him like that, and although he gets better at it and more used to it as time goes on, he’ll still be very skittish. He’s like a feral cat; he’ll stalk and watch, staring at you with beady eyes from the corner of the room while you try and act natural, only to scamper away when you try to reach out and pet. 

You’ll be starved for human contact as his captee, but aside from the lack of any sort of touch, you’ll find that being stuck with him is actually not too bad - he feeds you a decent diet, and lets you live in the spare bedroom of his home. He’d even cleaned everything up before you arrived, a preemptive measure he underwent one night when he couldn’t sleep, both his dreams and thoughts revolving around you. 

(There’s still bits of dust and a spider or two in the corner of the ceiling, but everything smells not terribly musty, and you don’t notice any mysterious stains on the sheets, so it could be worse, right?) 

He leaves you to your own devices more often than not, just on the condition that he can be present, whether you’re reading a book or sleeping or doodling with some art supplies he stole for you a while back. He’s not too demanding, but eventually the Stockholm Syndrome will get to you - you will eventually start wishing he’d do more than just look, even when he comes home with blood speckling his jacket.

You’ll grow to wish he would sit just a bit closer to you, so that you could feel his body warmth or a brush of his skin against your own. You’ll hate yourself for endearing your captor, but you don’t have much of a choice - Feitan, while terrifying and absolutely capable of killing you in more ways than you can count, is strangely sweet in his own way, even if it takes you a while to notice it. 

He’s not buying you flowers or declaring his undying love to you, but he is leaving small, insignificant gifts on your nightstand, maybe a small pastry that you love, or even a small, pretty little jewel he managed to snatch away from the goods Chrollo said were communal among the Troupe from the latest heist. He won’t ever say anything about them, and if you bring it up to him he’ll either ignore you or deny their existence, but he likes leaving them there as a token, as some way of quelling the intense desire to please you that wells in his chest.

It’s the only route he can allow himself to take, because that way he doesn’t have to confront you, only looking at your sleeping face. You always look so peaceful and pretty this way, all the lines of stress and worry smoothing away - you look how you used to, before he stole you away, back when his infatuation first started. 

And as he gently, carefully, hesitantly sits down beside your sleeping form on the mattress, he can’t help but gulp harshly and slowly, ever so slowly, reach out and rest his palm on your leg, the sheets separating your skin. He’ll keep his hand there for a while, dark eyes appraising your form under the covers, before exhaling shakily and standing back up, making sure the jade he’d brought back for you was securely on the bedside table, right in your view when you wake up. He’s not a bad captor by any means; he just has trouble expressing himself, walls built up too highly and too thickly to ever really knock them down. 

And you’ll get close - as close as you can, at least, as time passes. Feitan will eventually warm up to you, but he’ll never be particularly loving, particularly obvious with his feelings for you - he’ll always be a lovesick fool, but he’ll be damned if he lets another soul know that. 

PUNISHMENTS:

As a general rule, Feitan doesn’t particularly like hurting you. Of course, his career rides on his ability to harm, torture, mutilate and extract information out of even the worst criminals and agents, and for the most part he enjoys it. 

There’s something about the way he can elicit screams and tears out of others that gets him giddy, the smile stretching across the part of his face covered by his jacket as wide as can be. And yet, for all the enjoyment he derives out of hurting others, seeing you harmed, bruised, crying and begging isn’t nearly as fun as Feitan had expected. 

He’s not really sure why, but for some reason seeing you looking at him with so much fear dancing in your pretty eyes makes his gut wrench, an uncomfortable feeling sitting at the base of his throat while he mutters something demanding you to stop looking at him like that. It makes him feel weak, frankly, that you have this effect on him, but he can’t help it – early on into your captivity with him, he tried to settle your disobedience by physically harming you, but he got as far as leaving a rather large carved ‘F’ right over your heart before your crying got to him. 

He couldn’t lift his hand as you sobbed below him that day, your wrists bound by leather cording stained with his previous victims’ blood. Your eyes were puffy and glassy, snot dripping from your nose and pathetic little cries and begs for him to stop tumbling past your quivering lips. 

Frankly, Feitan was embarrassed for you. But more than anything, he was pissed – his hands were trembling, the switch knife grasped between his fingers frozen, his dark eyes wide as they stared down at you, guilt flashing through them the longer you sniffled and shook, the sight of you in pain with your pretty red blood dribbling down your collarbone simply too much. 

That day, he cleaned your wound, packed up his torture gear and locked you into your designated bedroom, all without a single word, mostly because his tongue didn’t seem to be working. But the shaky gasps stumbling from his lips as he stared at his own two hands later that night were enough to make him realize he hates to see you in pain, particularly when he’s the cause.

It’s confusing, irritating, scary, even, that you have this effect on him, but try as he might, any thought of physically harming you from that point on makes his stomach twist, bile rising up his throat and nausea hitting him square in the chest. 

But trouble, of course, arises; he refuses to physically harm you in most cases, but he still will only tolerate absolute obedience from you. You can’t simply walk all over him, he won’t let you – you need to listen to his instructions, follow his rules, eat the food he gives you, smile at him all pretty and warm, and let him sneak into your room and hold you when you’re fast asleep in the middle of the night, just as he starts craving. 

Feitan needs you to be obedient and submissive to him, and so how can he mold you into the perfect, obedient partner without laying harm to you?

The solution, as it turns out, lies in making you absolutely believe that he will hurt you, despite it not being true. 

You don’t need to know that the thought of making you wince or scrunch up your face in pain makes him physically hurl; no, you’re much better off thinking that he’s simply playing nice, waiting for the right moment to strike and leave you broken and bleeding. He’ll allow you to believe that he’s constantly ready to punish you, because then you’ll have some incentive to follow his words and rules, and to do what he believes you should do. 

And why wouldn’t you believe it? 

You know what Feitan does – he makes no effort to hide the torture tools scattered across his basement, and while you’ve only been down there once (the initial carving of the F), your imagination can conjure up plenty of scenarios of what goes on in that damp, dark basement. 

The fact that he has hurt you leads to you staying mostly in line – you’re more than aware of what he’s capable of, and although it slightly pains Feitan that you think of him as a monster, it’s for the best. It’s better for everyone when you’re well behaved – when you simply follow his orders and do what he wants you to, no matter how strange it makes you feel. 

You probably aren’t particularly fond of eating in front of him, but he’ll be sitting at the other end of the table as you carefully, hesitantly, twist the strands of pasta around your fork, your gaze flickering from the slightly undercooked noodles to your captor and back again. 

You probably don’t really like sleeping while he sits in the corner of the room, that stupid jacket pulled up over his mouth, making the only part of him visible to your drowsy self those damn eyes – and his hands, of course, with just the slightest touch of dried blood under his nails. You’re probably not particularly a fan of any aspect of being his captive – and Feitan carefully controls this. 

However, on the off chance that you do act up, that liquid courage flows through your veins and you cross him, you’ll quickly grow to regret it. Feitan still won’t hurt you – not physically, at least. 

But others? 

Well, it’s not hard to get Chrollo to give him someone who needs to give up some information, to set up the basement and make sure you get a front row seat as he makes the knots tight around the man’s wrist. It hurts him, really, to see the way your face contorts into horror as you watch him break bone after bone in the man’s body, but Feitan can’t stop looking at you. He needs you to be watching – you have to see what he’s capable of, even if he doesn’t really want you to know. 

You have to know that he’s serious when he tells you that you can’t leave, that there’s nowhere in the world you can run to where he won’t find you. He rips the man’s nails off, a finger at a time, just to make sure you understand that his touch can hurt – but maybe, some part of him hopes, you’ll realize that when he touches you, his touch is only ever gentle. Or at least as gentle as he can be. 

It’s all to make sure you understand that he’s utterly, absolutely in charge – his word is law, and while he craves for you to love him, he’s willing to compromise with just your respect and undivided attention. 

It’s not ideal, but as he watches the way tears stream down your cheeks and your body heaves and shudders with your sobs, he can’t help but slice the knife into the man’s thigh deeper, send the punch to his jaw harder. 

He has to keep you in line – this complicated, doomed relationship he’s forced you into is the only thing that makes him feel that strange, fluttering feeling in his chest, and he’ll be damned if he lets it go. He’ll be damned if he lets you go – even if you think of him as a monstrous, sadistic freak. 

Maybe he is, maybe he isn’t; it doesn’t matter, because you’re never getting away.

OVERALL DANGER:

8/10

The danger that lies with being Feitan’s darling is much more mental than physical. By all means, he’s not the ideal captor – he’s a criminal and mass murderer, torturing people for a living and liking it. And yet, there’s something about you that tones down the more deranged, violent aspects of his personality - he’s by no means soft, but he’s rounder at the edges, less rough and bitter and cold. 

He hates himself for falling in love with you, for having allowed you to worm your way into his heart and settle there, plaguing his every thought and dream with your face, your voice and laugh and smile and god, your body - 

He blames you, initially, but as time goes on and his feelings only grow stronger, harder to suppress, he finds that it doesn’t matter. You’ve already staked your claim on his heart, and there’s simply nothing he can do to stop what’s inevitable. 

Kidnapping is imminent with him, but it really does take him a long while to actually go through with it; you’ll have a long period of freedom from his clutches where you’re living your own life, with him only controlling it from the shadows rather than blatantly, like when he’s stolen you away. He’s not particularly needy, only demanding that you stay in his line of sight, but there’s something more terrifying about the way he’s always watching you like a hawk watches its prey than simple touching would be. 

You’re thankful he hasn’t forced himself on you or even forced any kind of affection, but it doesn’t make up for the fact that you miss human touch, that you almost wish he would reach out and hold your hand, press a kiss to your lips, slip the ratty old t-shirt he’d given you over your chest.

You’ll find yourself growing stir crazy under Feitan’s rule, growing desperate but still too scared to confront him, because his intentions with you will remain ambiguous at best - he hasn’t killed you yet, so you must be important to him somehow. You’re not sure, but the longer you spend with him, the less you’ll care until eventually you’re actively dreaming of the day when he finally, finally touches you with those cold fingers and lets you out of that bedroom you’re locked up in. 

Feitan loves you, in his own sick, twisted way, and the sooner you realize that the better - maybe you never will, but Feitan will always, always be there waiting, his gaze never faltering once from your figure. 

You’re just too mesmerizing, after all - and Feitan’s never been particularly good at denying himself what’s his. 

𝐖𝐑𝐀𝐏 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐒 ( wind breaker character )

a/n: hiiragi sends my tingling into overdrive whenever i see him

consists of : fluff, gender neutral reader, reader is called princess in endo— how the windbre boys carry you

𝐇𝐈𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐈 𝐓𝐎𝐌𝐀, though sharp and all tough on the outside, hiiragi will and will always be a softie inside. won't allow a single thing to harm you, his precious s/o. so hiiragi will carry you in his arms, in a princess carry, that way he can always keep you safe no matter what. his arms caging you in safely, your head nuzzling under the crook of his neck and smelling the familiar scent that keeps your heart beating in a lovely manner that it always sing when you're with your boyfriend. “y/n?” he takes note of your silence, perhaps you were feeling stomach ache? “it's nothing.” you provided, there's nothing more sweet than you being in his arms, after all.

𝐊𝐀𝐉𝐈 𝐑𝐄𝐍, there's a lot of things that kaji finds troublesome—but one of you isn't amongst them, maybe sometimes, he'd proclaimed at your face which is always rewarded by an adorable look of upset that he's quick to quell. he's used to his headphones around his ears, silencing the world, but you offering him the same thing he sought for feels wrong—the silence he so despise. he shifted your position on his back, wishing to hear you ramble once again next to his ear. he has a prominent frown on his face, he doesn't like your silence. “sorry..” he whispered, fixing his hold under your knee, “won't do it again.” so please, talk his ear off like how you used to.

𝐊𝐎𝐓𝐀 𝐒𝐀𝐊𝐎, “tch.” sako clicked his tongue, a blush has settled on his cheeks when you had insisted for him to carry you. as ridiculous as that sounds, even if sako looks like he wants to refuse, he is simply a soft lil blushy boy in front of you. “fine.” he's not used to this, still not, this affection that you offer to him so simply always gets his brain mushed up. shishitoren named him someone who could care less but before you is someone who cares a lot that he's willing to do any requests you want. sako scoops you in his arms, trying to sport a nonchalant look despite your thighs on either of his side and your arms looped around his neck. clinging onto him in a koala position.

𝐘𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐎 𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐎, you always get into fights because of him, his reputation and attitude just sets a lot and you being his s/o makes you an easy target to many. endo never stops though, he likes to see you all riled up, that way he can scoop you up in his arms, your stomach always ending on his shoulder as you dangle and try to make him drop you back down to the ground, fists curled and hitting the low of his back. he is carrying you like nothing but a sack of potatoes. “ah ah ah, stop squirmin' if you don't wanna get hurt.” endo would chuckle, lifting a hand to spank your behind. “stay seated, princess.”

*ೃ༄ DOWN FOR THE COUNT!

ft. Sakura Haruka, Suo Hayato, Umemiya Hajime, Hiragi Toma, and Kaji Ren

… moments in which they realized they’re utterly whipped for you (2.6k wc)

Cw) gn!reader, uhh umemiya’s bit is corny but he’s lowkey a corny guy, tbh i got stumped with suo’s part sorry if that’s evident, profanity in kaji’s part, spar my head i haven’t written in a minute

SAKURA

“It’s getting late… I think I should get going before it’s dark.”

You had spent the day off with a few of the Furin first years, which included Nirei, Suo, and your boyfriend, Sakura. You didn’t realize how much fun you were having until you checked the time, almost reading past your curfew. 

Sakura frowned, and Suo was quick to notice. He shamelessly pushed him closer towards you with his signature smile, making Nirei tilt his head a bit.

“Now now, no need to get so sorrow. You’ll see each other again soon!” 

You quirked a brow at the one-eyed boy’s antics, wondering what he was up to this time. From the corner of your eye, you could see Sakura’s face growing redder and redder, something you’ve grown used to overtime. 

“Yeah, I’m seeing him tomorrow or the day after,” you informed, a skeptical tone lacing your voice. “What are you getting at this time, Suo?” 

He merely stood still and smiled as uttered the sentence that was bound to break Sakura.

“Don’t lovers bid each other farewell with a goodbye kiss?” 

Ah, so that’s what that was.

Steam emitted from Sakura’s ears. On the other hand, you seemed unphased. He had a point, wasn’t that an unspoken rule? It wasn’t like you and Sakura hadn't kissed before, but whenever you did, it was always in private. 

However, Suo seemed eager to know whether or not Sakura had the balls to kiss you in public, more eager than you for whatever reason. 

“I mean, I don’t have a problem with it,” you replied shyly. “Do you, Sakura?”

It took all he had to form a coherent sentence. “No—! But why do you guys have to be here?!” he yelled. 

“Well we wanna say bye too. Right, Nirei?” 

The blonde nodded his head hastily. He always saw you as a friend too, and not just an extension of Sakura. Although, he felt bad for Sakura’s flustered state right now. 

“Well then, I’ll see you guys later,” you waved at the two before turning to your boyfriend. “And you…”

If his cheeks could get any redder, they would. As you slowly leaned in for a kiss, he could see Suo’s sly smirk from the corner of his eye, as well as Nirei’s baffled face. Your face was getting closer and closer, eyes closed and lips parted, and all he could do was…

“Woah! There you go, Sakura,” Suo cheered. 

His body acted faster than his mind, and before he knew it he was cupping your face gently as his lips moved against yours. There was no telling what came over him— he just went for it. 

You pulled away, both breathless and flabbergasted. “I… I didn’t think you’d be so into it,” you stammered. 

He looked away in embarrassment. “You wanted a kiss, right? So that’s what I gave…”

Everyone, including you, looked at him with cheeky grins. 

“…you,” he finished, brows furrowing at the realization he’s the center of attention. “What’s everyone’s problem?!” 

“Oh nothing,” Suo smiled. “It just seems you’re head over heels, that’s all.”

He didn’t reply, only watching as you waved everyone goodbye and headed home. After all, there was no point in denying something that was true.

HIRAGI

“Here, take this.”

”But it’s the last one?”

”I can always buy more, y’know?” Hiragi insisted, still holding the last of his stomach medicine out to you. “Besides, all you're gonna do is complain about how much it hurts till you get home.”

You hesitantly took the small box from your boyfriend’s hand, looking back up at him with a concerned glance. “You sure?”

”I’m positive,” he assured.

Reluctantly, you took the last dissolvable pill, throwing the now empty box into a nearby recycling bin. It worked as fast as Hiragi said it would. In an instant, your stomach stopped twisting and turning, and you no longer felt like you were being torn apart from the inside. 

Hiragi watched from beside you, noticing your pained expression shifting into one of relief. He couldn’t help but let a small smile creep upon his lips. He knew better than anyone how bothersome stomach pains could be, so when you expressed how much yours ached, he felt the need to give up the last of his medicine— something he probably wouldn’t do so easily for anyone else.

“Thanks, Toma,” you said gratefully, hands tucked away in your pockets anxiously. It was until then you realized you’ve been forgetting something.

“Oh shit,” you muttered. “I forgot about these…”

You pulled out another pack of Hiragi’s stomach medicine. It was still wrapped, telling him you recently bought it. “I meant to give this to you earlier, but I was in so much pain that it slipped my mind.”

He examined the small box you held out to him, eyes wider than usual and mouth agape. 

“You really didn’t have to, y’know?”

You scratched the back of your head. “Well, you told me yesterday you were running low. So when I saw it in stock, I figured I’d get it for you just in case. And, well, it’s a good thing I did, huh?”

He felt something flutter in his stomach, something he’s still not used to feeling around you. He gently took the medicine from your hands and unwrapped it immediately. 

“Already!?” you yelped, watching as your boyfriend gulped down two of the dissolvable pills. 

He chuckled sheepishly. Despite the aid to his stomach, the feeling wouldn’t go away. He knew now that they were butterflies, and no amount of stomach relief could kill them. At least, not while you’re around.

“What am I going to do with you…” he sighed. 

Who knew that the tough, hardheaded Hiragi could be taken down by a couple of butterflies?

UMEMIYA

You could still recall the surprise you felt when you entered Umemiya’s room for the first time. It wasn’t its neatness— no. You figured Umemiya kept his room clean out of respect for his caretakers in the orphanage. It also wasn’t the wall full of photos that held memories of him, his friends, and even you.

No, none of that was a surprise to you.

It was the overflowing bookshelf against the widest wall that caught you off guard.

”I knew you were fond of a good book here and there,” you started as your widened eyes scanned the various titles that peeped out the shelf. “But this… this looks like it came straight from a library, Hajime.” you said in awe.

He gave you the go ahead to check it out, even pointing to the ladder tucked away in the corner of the room in case you wanted to reach the very top shelf— which even he couldn’t reach without an extra step. You gave him a small thanks as he flopped down onto his bed, turning his head to admire your moving frame.

”Oh?” you muttered, catching sight of a familiar spine. “Woah, you even have my favorite book,” you spoke, a hint of excitement lacing your tone.

”Hm?” he hummed, sitting up to catch a better glimpse of the book you held.

”This one! It’s my favorite, have you read it yet?” you inquired, wanting to ask if he’s read every book on that shelf for that matter. You were too fixated on rereading the synopsis on the back cover to notice your boyfriend was now standing beside you.

His eyes scanned the synopsis, not finding it familiar. “I think this is one of the one’s I’ve been meaning to read…” he said quietly, both speaking to you and himself.

You turned to face him, smiling at the focussed look plastered across his face. God, if only he knew how pretty he looked in the warm lighting of his room, you thought.

”Why don’t we read it?”

”But there’s only one copy…?”

”I meant together.”

Your words replayed in his head. You wanted to read the book with him… together… at the same time. ‘How would that go?’ he thought. He assumed you’d either be next to him, you’d hold one half of the book open while he held the other. He’d turn the page once you were both finished reading it, and maybe you’d lean your head on his shoulder and…

His face turned beet red as his mind conjured up all sorts of scenarios. No matter how he imagined it, it was always so… innocently intimate. You always looked adorable in his peripheral vision, and your presence alone warmed him more than the thick comforter you both sat under.

He didn’t realize he was staring until you waved your hand in front of his face.

”Earth to Hajime? Helloooo~?”

He stumbled back a bit in surprise, before eventually coming back to his senses. “Sorry! Sorry! I was just…”

”Staring at me for a minute straight?”

“Yes! No! Kinda?” he stumbled over his words, something you thought was a little unusual for him. “It’s just…”

You quirked a brow, both curious and nervous for what he has to say. It couldn’t be bad— considering how red in the face he was right now. Of course, that didn’t stop your stomach from doing backflips.

”I love you,” he blurted.

“I love you too,” you tilted your head, was that it? It was sweet, but it wasn’t like he never said it; what made him so nervous to say it this time?

“No, I don’t just love you…” his voice trailed off, and he took both your hands in his. The book you were previously holding hit the ground with a quiet ‘thud,’ and your lips parted in surprise.

”I’m in love with you, Y/n.” he confessed. “I would do anything you asked me to— anything. And if you wanna read this book together, then that’s what we’ll do.”

It was safe to say reading together became a regular thing for you two after that.

SUO

“You always sleep like that.”

Suo peered up at you with a quirked brow. “Hm? Like what?” 

“Like that,” you gestured to his figure. He laid on his back, arms resting over his stomach and hands placed atop each other as if he were ready to be placed in a casket. “Are you sure you’re not a vampire?”

“Oh? Are you questioning my humanity now?” he teased, sitting up from the mattress to better engage in conversation.

You rolled your eyes, ignoring his comment and thinking back to your original train of thought. 

Suo’s never cuddled with you.

The first time you shared a bed with the boy, you thought he was just stiff, not wanting to push any boundaries you may have had. Instead of questioning it, you opted to snuggle into his side for the night. Though you were a little disappointed to find him in the same state he fell asleep in when the sun rose, you never mentioned it.

That was until it happened again, and again, and again… 

“Do you hate cuddling?” 

His tired eye widened a bit in surprise, “What?”

“You sleep the same way every night… and you never cuddle. Are those two things related at all?”

Your words would’ve sounded harsh if it weren’t for your soft tone. You weren’t mad at him, only curious. What reason did he have for not wrapping an arm around you when you were lying right next to him? Don’t most couples do that when they sleep in the same bed, no matter how they sleep?

“I sleep like this out of habit. I’m sorry, love.” he spoke, voice soft and apologetic. “If you wanna cuddle tonight, I can try.”

“Please?” 

He hummed, patting the spot next to him for you to scoot over, which you gladly did. You both laid back down, arms loosely wrapping around each other as you buried your face into his chest. 

His scent was stronger this close up, something that soothed you greatly. You could tell he wasn’t used to this, and a small part of you felt bad for making ditch something he was adjusted to. 

“Sorry for—“

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” he reassured. “I should be the one saying sorry. I didn’t realize how selfish I was being.”

You pulled away from his chest to look up at him, “Selfish?” you laughed. “You weren’t selfish, you were just used to something else.”

“Mmm, I suppose,” he whispered, gently pushing your head back on his chest. “But I could definitely get used to this.”

You thought he planted your head back on his chest for the comforting feeling, which was true to a degree. But his main motive for keeping you from seeing his face was so you couldn’t see the blush that crept up to his cheeks. 

Yeah, he wouldn’t mind getting used to anything else as long as it were with you. 

KAJI

Kaji was never fond of having his possessions tampered with. 

For example, his precious headphones. They were a gift from Hiragi to keep him tamed when needed. Since the day he’s received them, he’s been incredibly selective with who can lay a finger on them. 

In all fairness, he had a right to do so. For one, they were a gift. Second, he actually needs them. To those who don’t know him, he may come off as possessive. But in reality, he’s just being protective.

His clothes on the other hand… yeah, those were a different story.

Having so little clothes, he’s careful to keep them all organized throughout the week. So when he notices one of his hoodies is missing…

“Where the hell did it go?” he grumbled under his breath, scouring through his wardrobe in search of his missing hoodie.

It was nowhere to be found. Not on the hangers, not on the shelves, not misplaced under a pair of pants, nowhere. His brows furrowed tightly in annoyance, he could’ve sworn it was there yesterday…

“Kaji? You okay over there?” your voice called from his bedroom doorway. 

Ah, he thought. In the midst of his dilemma, he forgot that you were supposed to be coming over today. He took a deep breath and closed his closet, turning around to face you. 

“One of my hoodies went missing, have you seen it any…” he went quiet, eyeing you up and down. 

So that’s where it went.

“You mean this one?” you said, gesturing to the soft hoodie that clung to your torso.

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“My bad…” 

If he was being honest, he thought he’d be pissed if he found out you were the one who took it. That’s how he’d react if it were anyone else, right? But as he stared at his hoodie that you were wearing, he couldn’t feel an ounce of anger in him.

His cheeks turned red before he could notice, and he was too awestruck to utter another word. Seriously, shouldn’t he be mad? He thought he should be, but he couldn’t. 

You noticed his dumbfounded face from across the room, unsure of what he was trying to express. “Sorry, Kaji. Did you want it back?” 

“No—! You can…” his voice trailed off, finding his own thoughts to be unbelievable.

“Keep it,” he finished. 

“Really?” you beamed.

“Yes really… Now hurry up and pick another before I change my mind.”

You rushed over to him gleefully, embracing him in a tight hug. “You’re the best!”

He hugged back, burying his reddened face into the crook of your neck. You let him go to search through his closet, looking for an extra hoodie to take for keeping. As he watched you sort through each one, only one thought crossed his mind.

‘Who let this happen to me…?’ 

© enassbraid 2024. i do not permit plagiarism, translations, or reposts of my work on any platform.

sakura. nirei. kiryu. togame. ume. pt. 1

You ask him innocently. Of course, being the good partner that he is, he leans in to inspect. But then you meet him in the middle in for a quick peck on the lips. How would he react?

𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒: FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF, semi-suggestive stuff so proceed with caution, GN!Reader! (as always if I do miss something, please don't hesitate to let me know!), THE DARKSIDE OF THE SUN THAT IS NIREI AKIHIKO PLEASE BE WARNED, Togame is a lovesick fuck (and we love that), language (it's me), UME IS ADORABLE AJSDKJASKD SOMEONE HOLD ME THE FUCK BACK!!!!!

𝐒𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐑𝐀.

"wh--!!! H-hey! You can't just do that!"

✦ your boyfriend whisper screams at you, face already red as a tomato (it never fails to amaze you how quickly he blushes so deeply), hand gripping yours softly but firmly in place just in case you might do something else. You can't help but giggle at how much he's freaking out. It's adorable.

✦ Absolutely, absolutely, at loss for words. If anything, he's just sputtering. Bicolored eyes staring at you with furrowed brows and you can just TELL he's planning about doing something in retaliation. He is. Just you wait.

✦ Gotta pray you both are in public because once he gets you alone? UH OH. He's pouncing on you, pinning you down onto the nearest surface to press a lingering kiss on your lips, tongue darting out to trace the seam of it. OOOOoOOoo You're gonna get it now.

"..you're gonna pay for that."

𝐍𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐈.

"!!!!! b-b-bunny!!"

✦ much like Sakura, your man is an absolute sputtering mess. But you can tell he's trying his damn best to keep it together. If this were any other time, he could have been prepared for this, y'know?! Please warn him next time oh my god he might end up collapsing from sheer shock.

✦ You pat his back soothingly, leaning in to press more kisses on his reddened cheeks to whisper apologies and soft giggles into his skin. You can feel him smiling. Thank goodness! He lets out a cute little satisfied sigh and you smile against his cheek, pressing even more kisses into it. little did you know....

✦ Oh but before you feel like he's gotten over it, he's gathered enough nerves to let his fingers search for yours, threading his between them, another slightly trembling hand cups your cheek and you can feel his breath fanning against your lips. Swallowing dryly, he lets out a shaky breath. His tongue darts out to wet his lips before he leans in closer, heavy lidded eyes staring you down as he blurts out,

"...can I check again just in case? Please?"

𝐊𝐈𝐑𝐘𝐔.

"you're so bad."

✦ you can hear him purring almost, skilled fingers now wrapped around your waist, caressing and kneading your flesh. Before he tries anything else, he looks into your eyes, looking for assurance that he's doing the right thing, reading into it correctly. YOUR MAN KNOWS BOUNDARIES AND YOUR LIMITS HE WON'T DO ANYTHING UNTOWARD AND UNSAVORY TOWARDS YOU UNLESS YOU ASK HIM TO OH MY FUCKING GOOASDIHASD--

✦ you kind of feel like he saw through your silly little prank though by how he let out an affectionate little huff when you asked him. Of course he knows you don't have any dirt on your face. He couldn't keep his eyes off you even if he tried to. He'd wipe the dirt away before you even felt something, really. (Plus you may or may not have forgotten he pulled this prank on you before...)

✦ But once you give him the go ahead with you leaning into his touch, he takes that as a sign. He presses a gentle kiss to your cheek before taking your hand in his to press butterfly kisses onto your knuckles. Oh the jealousy the onlookers must feel right now.

"It's getting kinda late out, no? Wanna head home, love?"

𝐓𝐎𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄.

"oho? Wanna try doing that again f'me, dolly?"

✦ OF COURSE HE ASKS YOU TO DO IT AGAIN. You don't, of course. But that doesn't mean that'd wipe the smirk off of your man's lips. If anything, he's gone bolder. You've awoken the beast, baby. He's glancing at your lips then back into your eyes with those damn emerald greens of his OIUUUhhuUHGhh!!!!!!!!! He doesn't care who's looking or where you both are right now. He's way too in love with you to even give two shits about who's looking lmao what're they gonna do????? STOP HIM FROM LOVING ON HIS BABY???? FUCK OUTTA HERE.

✦ he lets out a hum, leaning into you more to tease you a little more. How dare you pull away to match his teasing just as he's inching closer to you? How dare you deny your man the pleasure of kissing you?!!!! A large hand reaches behind you, relaxing at the small of your back to secure you closer to him. You swear you hear your heart beating out of your chest. No matter how long you've been together, he never fails to fluster you. (Of course his heart is beating just as loudly, just as fast.)

✦ You (and everybody else that dare look at you both right now, to be honest) can tell how much he's absolutely, UNABASHEDLY in love with you by how he's looking at you right now (or any time for that matter). Always keeping him on his toes with your spontaneity, he decides to respond in kind. Tracing his thumb across your lower lip, he can't help but speak just loud enough for you to hear,

"Do I got any dirt on my face?"

𝐔𝐌𝐄.

"..! Honey...! Haha! C'mon. Behave yourself. lemme check."

✦ IS COMPLETELY UNAWARE THAT WAS YOUR ENTIRE SCHTICK. YOU REALLY DIDN'T HAVE ANYTHING ON YOUR FACE BUT GOD DAMN IT WITH THE WAY HE'S LOOKING AT YOU IT MAKES YOU WISH YOU HAD MORE THAN JUST SMUDGE OF DIRT ON IT RIGHT NOW PLEASEPLAEPASLEPELA---(is dragged off the stage, microphone dropped on the floor, trail of tears snail behind me as I'm being dragged out)

✦ genuinely wants to help. Is kind of worried you're just sat there staring up at him with his hands cupping your cheeks to hold you still, giving your pretty features a once twice thrice over to see if you got any dirt on you. Eventually you have to confess that it was a prank :(((( he only chuckles, peppering kisses on your face until the both of you are giggling messes. His strong arms are around your waist now, holding you securely against him. The giggles die down as you look into each other's eyes. You could just melt right then and there. He'd follow suit of course.

✦ With an affectionate sigh, he traces his fingers along your cheeks, your jaw, your neck. Featherlike and gentle. He leans in to kiss you--God he never fails to make every kiss feel like the first time. Your heart is beating out of your chest as he pulls away with a smile. Chasing your lips for another chaste kiss, he chuckles,

"if you wanted a kissy kiss, you could have told me, y'know?"

a/n: NIREI DEBUT NIREI DEBBBUUUUUUTTTT!!!!!!!! I know for a fact Nirei's got a secret little ⟡𝓼𝓹𝓲𝓬𝔂⟡ side to him. I just know it. That damn notebook knows too much. He's gotta have something juicy--learned something juicy from it too. Also the fact that he's working so closely with Suo...... I...... I just know...... That they--he.. uh...... ////// (pulls the microphone cord off forcefully and walks off stage, slamming the door behind me you can hear my muffled screams through the hardwood.)