#hals tr ff

[softshuji]

3:56PM | HAITANI RINDOU 

Rindou swears he left them right there by you, right on the sofa, tucked snug next to one of the multitudes of pillows you keep strewn about, peeking out from the side. You had watched him do it, that was the funny thing, watched him take his glasses off and tuck them against the crevice in the sofa before padding to the kitchen in his pyjamas, a hoodie thrown haphazardly on top. 

You had smirked, deliberated for a fraction of a second as you listened to him open the fridge, the faint sound of water sloshing around in a glass, your own outline in the reflection of his glasses. It would be cruel but funny at the same time and it’s not as if you’d keep up the pretence for very long. Just a joke, no?  One look from Ran lounging opposite you, the beginnings of a devious smile curling at his lips, his eyes alight with mischief, was all it took to make your mind up. You grab the glasses and sneak them into your pocket, turning your eyes back to the book on your lap when you hear the deep timbre of your Boyfriend’s voice get closer.

‘Yeah and then I was- wait where are my glasses?’ He furrows his brow, blinks owlishly, pouting slightly and jutting out his bottom lip when he digs a hand into the gap between the armrest and the sofa. ‘I swear I left them right here.’

‘You sure Rin?’ The act comes awfully naturally to you and you add a little extra drama by matching his furrowed brow, closing your book and standing up, patting the sofa down as he sets his drink on the table. It’s almost comic, the way you bend to sweep a hand over the fabric, burrowing it into the creases.

‘Yes I’m sure,’ he says and scratches his head, tufts of purple and lilac wound tight in his fingers. ‘I don’t understand.’ 

‘Maybe you left them in the kitchen my love.’ 

He shakes his head and bites down on his bottom lip, a habit he picked up off you. It’s cute really, and you know how blessed you are to see this side of him. Happier, funnier, looser even, as if the impenetrable wall that he took such pains to keep up had cracked enough to let you in. 

His eyes widen suddenly and he whips around to where Ran has his legs thrown across the secondary sofa, something dark whirling around in the glass perched in his hands.

‘Up.’ Rindou points an accusatory finger at his Brother and stalks over, his figure still that much shorter and you suppress a giggle as Ran all but fails to hide the knowing smirk thrown in your direction. Rindou is still pouting by this point and you have the sudden visceral urge to kiss his lips, smooth the faint worry lines creasing his forehead. He is adorable, that’s the only word for it, as he puts his hands on his hips and looks up at his much taller Brother.

‘What, you don’t trust your own Brother? That’s cold Rin,’ Ran says, sliding the glass onto the coffee table. He holds his arms out as he stands and raises an eyebrow at you over Rindou’s ruffled head, feigning innocence when Rindou glares at him from beneath pinched brows.

‘I trust you with my life,’ Rindou mutters, his hands grazing his Brother’s pockets for anything that might be even vaguely the correct shape. ‘Just not with my glasses.’

He tuts under his breath when he finds nothing but Ran’s wallet, keys, gum and a silver cigarette tin inlaid with his initials, a present from you from years far into the past. You note absent-mindedly, that at no point has he suspected you and the thought has a thrum of warmth simmering in your chest.

‘Where could they have gone?’ And the look he gives you is withering as he squints, his gaze directed towards the sofa in case he’d happened to miss it. His eyesight truly is terrible and you’d feel bad if it wasn’t for the fact that he just looks so cute as he scratches his head, bites his lips and turns on his heels to look at the coffee table littered with cups and books and ashtrays, discarded takeaway the three of you have just finished. 

The tenderness of the moment however, is not lost on you as Rindou runs a hand over his own pockets, patting his chest, his pyjama bottoms, ruffling his soft hair in case he’d left them perched on his head. 

Briefly, a flash of some memory flits to the front of your mind and you soften, tendrils of love leaking into your heart. You remember the days when Rindou was cold and unfeeling, when your acts of kindness had seemingly gone unnoticed, and the concept of having a joke with him was practically unheard of. The days when he was distant as a star you could barely graze with tentative fingers. You hide the smile behind a hand remembering it, comparing it to the easy lifestyle you now have, one in which the love between the three of you blooms as naturally as day and night. It helps that Ran isn’t put out by the concept of third-wheeling, and in fact has bounds of love for you, as he does for his Brother, that he is always there to watch over the two of you, a hand on your backs propelling you forward in that easy way of his.

With a final glance at the coffee table over his shoulder, Rindou pads to the kitchen again, tripping over his feet and cursing, muted whispers of “where the fuck have they gone?” left in his wake. It’s only when you hear the clatter of a cup and the flick of a kettle do you and Ran dare to exchange glances again, both of you fighting the laugh bubbling in your throats.

‘Well played Y/N.’ Ran says in that lilting tone of his and makes to pick up his glass again, stretching languidly on the sofa, his back arched as he sighs, throwing an arm over his tired eyes. 

‘Thank you Ran.’ A smile pulls at the corner of your mouth and your hand shuffles inside your own pocket, pulling out Rindou’s glasses and carefully, silently, placing them in the nook between the armrest and the seat, fluffing up the cushions and picking up your book again in time for Rindou to slink back into the room, his forehead now permanently creased with a tiny crescent moon of stress lines. 

You make a show of accidentally nudging the pillow and Rindou’s eyes (which are straining enough as it is) flick to the gap where his poor glasses are wedged. ‘How the fuck-?

‘I guess you just didn’t look well enough,’ Ran says, watching, his low baritone voice laced with mirth and the sluggishness of sleep. His throat bobs as he removes his arm momentarily to wink at you conspiratorially. 

‘I thought I did…’ Rindou frowns but says nothing more of it when he perches the glasses on the bridge of his nose, the world now sharp and focused. He smiles at you, a warm and genuine smile, marvelling at the sharpness of your features in the gleaming light, your outline now punctuated by soft yellow and the coppery burnt orange of the setting sun just beyond the window.

The fading sunlight, the slash of iridescent pink on the horizon, bled through with purple and red makes his irises seem catlike from here and the colour bleeds through the soft and fine strands of his hair that frame his face, wisps escaping his tied up mullet to kiss the metal frames.

‘You’re beautiful,’ you say almost on instinct and the action catches him so off guard that the only sound he makes is both wordless and strangled, tight and stuck in his throat as he mutters something about you embarrassing him in front of Ran. If Ran heard at all, he makes no indication of it, and instead softly snores, curled in on himself, one hand tucked under the pillow.

That was the first time and since then, misplacing , or rather moving Rindou’s glasses has become a sneaky but favourite pastime of yours and Ran’s. Often at Bonten’s HQ, with you slipping them into your handbag as you passed, or tucking them under the seat, your legs crossed under the chair to keep up the pretence and poor Rindou squinting at practically anyone who dared make eye contact with him.

You’re pretty sure he terrifies the secretary at least twice a day every time they pop a head around to deliver a message, always greeted by the gruff and gravelly voice of your Boyfriend that perfectly matches the glare he shoots their way.

He’ll pat down his pockets, ruffle his feathery hair, look left and right, sucking in his bottom lip till its pulled behind his teeth and every time, you repress the urge to peck his lips, to taste the strawberry lip balm you know he meticulously applies before leaving. 

You truly wouldn’t do it if he wasn’t so cute.

‘Rindou, is there something wrong?’ Mikey asks, the sheaf of paperwork momentarily lowered as he peers up from beneath dark lashes and Sanzu snickers under his breath, attempting to hide his glee behind a hand swirling around a glass of something heady and honeyed.

Rindou jolts in his seat, too focused on trying to see and to make out something other than the vague shape of his boss with his white undercut and black turtleneck, that he doesn’t realize he’s being spoken to till Ran nudges him subtly with his elbow.

‘Hm, sorry, what did you say Boss?’ Rindou shakes his head and Takeomi smirks wordlessly into his glass, his lips curling around an unlit cigarette. Even Kakucho is smothering a giggle when he sees Rindou squint and lean forward in his seat. 

‘Where are your glasses, Rindou?’ Mikey cocks a head to the side, and while it’s rare that he allows himself a flicker of anything other than indifference, this is one of those times in which the beginnings of a smile twitch at his lips.

Yes, Mikey is also in on the joke.

‘I….’ Rindou fumbles, and absent-mindedly his hand strays to his pocket again, only to touch the bare silk of the inside. ‘I lost them.’ How utterly humiliating, he thinks, the heat of embarrassment creeping up his cheeks, licking at his ears.

‘Why have you not gotten contact lenses? This is a regular occurrence is it not?’ Mikey is genuine this time and if it weren’t for the running joke he is very obviously in on, he would have ordered it ages ago. ‘Is it the money? You know that-’

‘No!’ Rindou stands immediately, his hands braced on either of his chair, and so quick to dispel the misconception that Ran has to bite down on his lip and pretend to scratch his neck to crush the smile that threatens to break his innocent facade.

Oh now this is embarrassing. How does he tell them how lame he feels for the fact that he enjoys you sliding his glasses onto the bridge of his nose every morning? That he craves those intimate seconds in which he can have an excuse to stare back at you, to flick your forehead, tuck your hair behind your ear as you trail your hands down his chest, his stomach thrumming with tenderness and warmth. That if he wears contact lenses, there will no longer be an opportunity for you to fix the tie he leaves deliberately askew and then adjust the glasses on the bridge of his nose, kissing his lips fervently before waving him goodbye, that he snatches those precious moments as a dying man would snatch a mirage in the desert.

But what’s even more humiliating, is the way he’ll drop his jacket on the sofa, muttering a soft and subdued I’m home, listening for the quick footfall that tells him you’re coming down the stairs. He’ll wait for you to run a hand through his hair, pull him by the collars and take off his glasses as his hands slide down to your hips, gently squeezing the flesh as he pulls you into him. And he’ll blow his hair from his eyes, now adjusting to your gleaming outline flaring against the sun’s evening light and his heart will thud against his ribs and he’ll thank every star and a God he’s not sure he believes in for every decision which led him here.

And of course, he’s Haitani Rindou. Ever observant, every sense honed, a living weapon in himself and that means he’d be dumb not to notice you sliding your hand across the table, his glasses gripped tightly between your fingers. Into your bag, into your pocket, conveniently misplaced almost every few days, but turning up all the same, and always with a comical but adorable gasp, your mouth falling open and your eyes dancing with a flicker of light.

‘Y/N do you know where my glasses are?’ He’ll ask, as if he didn’t see you tuck them behind the TV set five minutes before that. And he’ll watch you deny it with an adamant shake of your head, your nose buried in the book resting in your lap and Rindou will quash the smirk and gleeful smile at seeing you deny it all, knowing that you’d just feign innocence for teasing him.

He lets you have it every time, your five minutes of laughter that you and Ran often share for his sake because he knows in his heart, it’s all out of love. Every meticulous thing, every kiss to his nose that has his cheeks turning pink after you adjust the gold rimmed glasses, every giggle and smile and ounce of warmth that slips through your fingers like stardust when your hand touches his hot skin or tucks the errant strands of hair behind his ears. You are the sun, and he is the moon, redeemed by the constancy of your love.

And if being subject to a bit of embarrassment was the price to pay for you, to see your smile as radiant as the sun, to see you throw your head back and laugh, then he was happy to pay it. It was a no brainer for someone as deeply entrenched as he was. 

So yes, he knows, he’s always known. 

He’s Haitani Rindou after all. Your Haitani Rindou at that.

a/n: This is a birthday present for my lovely love @tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang (happy birthday sweetheart<3) I had so much fun writing this, but then again I always do writing for Rindou, I hope everyone else also likes it, thank you so much for all the wonderful feedback so far on everything I write. As always, likes and reblogs are so appreciated<3

taglist: @mxnjiros @stroberrylite @islascafe @prettyiolanthe @brownsugarmoonie @wotakuhime @snakegentleman @ranyechka @severellamahottub @haitaniapologist @lonnie19 @nafarsiti @invisible-cardigan-33 @seagoddesslove @manjirosgrl @crown5 @the-travelling-witch @bladesandguns @reiners-milkbiddies @girl-by-the-lake @1900-aria @rottingreveries @qiumiisoup @bontenacious (let me know if you would like to be added!!)

[big-bat-bitch]

BBB’s Tag Guide

I use a lot of acronyms or specific tags in my posts. They are for my convenience when searching through my blog so that I can more quickly find specific information, specifically character interactions - NOTE: these are not ship tags. 

The tags should follow the this format: #character1.character2. The order of the characters is usually by age (oldest to youngest), but sometimes by the prevalence of the character within the post, or by their general popularity. If a character is interacting with a group as a whole, the tag format will be #character.groupabbreviation. 

Below is a list of abbreviations that I use for specific characters/groups. Their corresponding hero names and alter-egos are what they will most commonly be found in my tags. This is not a comprehensive list of all characters that are mentioned on this blog, for specific characters, search them by their full name.

B - Batman (Bruce Wayne)

NW - Nightwing (Dick Grayson)

RH - Red Hood (Jason Todd)

RR - Red Robin (Tim Drake)

R - Robin (Damian Wayne)

Sp - Spoiler (Stephanie Brown)

BB - Black Bat (Cassandra Cain)

Si - Signal (Duke Thomas)

BWi - Batwing (Luke Fox)

BWo - Batwoman (Kate Kane)

BG - Batgirl

this may refer to Stephanie, Cass, or Babs - if you are looking for specific batgirl content, check out my characterfirstname!batgirl tag

O - Oracle (Barbara Gordon)

SM - Superman (Clark Kent)

SB - Superboy

this may refer to Connor or Jon - if you are looking for specific superbly content, search them by their names (Connor Kent/Kon El and Jon Kent)

WW - Wonder Woman (Diana Prince)

GL - Green Lantern (Hal Jordan)

AM - Aquaman (Arthur Curry)

F - Flash (Barry Allen)

GA - Green Arrow (Oliver Queen)

MM - Martian Manhunter (John Jones)

CM/S - Captain Marvel/Shazam (Billy Batson)

JL - Justice League

BF - Batfam

TT - Teen Titans

FF - Flashfam

HQ - Harley Quinn

JG - Jim Gordon

As - Arsenal (Roy Harper)

SG - Supergirl (Kara Zor-El)

PI - Poison Ivy (Pamela Isely)

LL - Lois Lane

CW - Catwoman (Selina Kyle)

TAG - Talia al Ghul

RAG - Ra’s al Ghul

HG - Hawkgirl (Shiera Hall)

Tr - Troia (Donna Troy)

KF - Kid Flash (Wally West)

AA - Agent A (Alfred Pennyworth)

WG - Wonder Girl (Cassandra Sandsmark)

Im - Impulse (Bart Allen)

SF - Starfire (Koriand’r)

JC - John Constantine

At - Arowette (Cissie King Jones)

For characters that have had multiple hero names:

the format of their posts as them as a specific character follows this format: #characterfirstname!title. For example, if you are looking for posts specifically of Dick Grayson as Robin instead of Nightwing you would use the tag #dick!robin.

For character description posts:

the description of the character comes before their full name. Example - #bi!tim drake, #emo!bruce Wayne

Some other fun, random tags I use often for specific types of content: 

harassing bruce wayne is a valid pastime - people making bruce’s life hard on purpose

dc means disregard canon - DC slander posts

batdad - all posts of batman being a dad

the batman 2022 - specifically content pertaining to The Batman 2022 by Mark Reeves

battinson - specifically content pertaining to batman as portrayed by Robert Pattinson

batbros - male bat siblings interacting

batman rogues or batman villains - posts containing batman baddies

young justice 1998

core four - group interactions of Tim, Bart, Connor, and Cassie

redesign - fan art of character redesigns

analysis - breakdowns of characters' personalities, story arcs, and motivations

WLW - lesbian :)

DC pride - all things LGBT+ and DC

Timber - tim drake x bernard down

Timkon - tim drake x connor kent

Dickory - dick grayson x koriand’r

Dickbabs - dick grayson x barbara gordon

Batcat - bruce wayne x selina Kyle

Superbat - bruce wayne x clark kent

Superwonderbat - bruce Wayne x clark kent x diana prince

Trinity - superwonderbat but platonic

Stephcass - stephanie brown x cassandra cain

Fake Twitter

batblob - batman when he is shaped

under the cape - bruce keeps his children under his batman cape

Comic recs or Comic guide

jason todd is a little shit

jason todd is a bad influence

18+ only and nsfm - mature content not suitable for younger audiences (not safe for minors)

Superbros - interactions between Kon and Jon

[clnssr]

Dulu pertama suka girlband ya suka banget sama f(x). Girl band pertama yg bener-bener suka semua membernya. Tau f(x) karena nonton we got marriednya nickhun sm victoria. Awal sih suka banget sama victoria tapi lama-lama jadi suka sama suli pake banget deh ini sukanya. Apalagi dia dulu deket banget sama minho shinee. Ngeship mereka banget pokonya walaupun kenyataannya mereka cuman deket sebagai sunbae hobbae doang. Apalagi pas tahun 2012 ada drama mereka berdua dan mereka jadi pemeran utama huhu hepi banget asli. Saking sukanya sama mereka berdua sampe cari ff nya juga literally setiap hari cari ff mereka berdua😭

Tapi...setelah sulli memutuskan keluar dari f(x), mulai muncul-muncul berita kl sulli jadi bad girl. Dari mulai cara pacaran sama choiza yg terlalu vulgar dan ditambah yg beda umur jauh bgt, ibaratnya doi kyk pacaran sm om nya:( trs updatean instagramnya yg gak senonoh, kadang terlalu seksi sampe akhirnya banyak bgt netizen korea yg ngebully dia karena perilaku dia yg bener-bener bad girl.

Dan..tahun 2019 ini ditutup dengan film yg dia peranin bareng kim so hyun dgn adanya sex scene. Huf jujur sedih kenapa ini dua org yg aku suka harus main film kyk gini😭

Sebenernya pas denger berita dia bunuh diri gak begitu kaget, karena jujur dari awal dia keluar fx pun udah keliatan dia kyk org yg udah depresi dengan segala updatean dia yg kontroversial, mungkin dengan bullyan netizen menambah depresi makin berat akhirnya sampe harus bunuh diri.

Nah karena skg ini kan jd trending masalah bullying mempengaruhi mental seseorang. Emang bener. Kadang gak semua orang kuat dibully walaupun hanya dengan kata-kata di media sosial. Tapi sebenernya semua balik lagi ke diri sendiri kl menurutku, kita gakan dibully kl kelakuan kita masih sesuai dengan norma. Ya itu mirip sama kejadian yg dialami sulli. Dia gakan mungkin dibully abis-abisan sama netizen korea kl emg berperilaku sesuai norma dan gak banyak mengundang kontroversial dengan segala kelakuannya. Tapi gak berarti aku membenarkan perilaku bullying, cuman bisa diambil pelajaran bahwa semua yg kita lakuin itu memang akan berbanding lurus dengan apa yg bakal kita dapet. Apalagi sebagai public figure pasti apapun yg dilakuin bakal jadi sorotan, dan khususnya bagi pelaku bullying harus cepet sadar karena hal tersebut bisa mempengaruhi mental seseorang sampai akhirnya bunuh diri. Serem jugasih.

Ya intinya jika tidak bisa berkata baik lebih baik diam dan apabila kita akan melakukan sesuatu hal lebih baik berpikir berulang kali agar tidak menyesel akhirnya. Semoga banyak pelajaran yg bisa diambil dari kejadian sulli ini. Makasih choi jinri pernah jadi bias aku selama masa-masa alay😭

[bottlesofrum]

Hiiiiiiiiiiiii

Its 2022!!!!!

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA i always wondered if I survived or not last year

Hampir aja ngga sih but yeeeah barely made it

Aku udah ngejauhin balkon dan cuma ke balkon kalo ada perlu ajaaaaa because the pressure are reAAL wkwkwkw

Tadi malam liat kembang api di mana-mana, aku excited bangetttttt wkwkw bagus bagusss dan kek kerennnn banget O_____O

But there's a dead silent after that

Wkwkwkw euphorianya cuma beberapa menit aja tapi kerasa bangetttt

I go to sleep at 3 ig, soalnya berisik juga beberapa kali dan bunyi nya deket banget hahahaha biasalah

Dari November kemaren aku punya project buat diri aku sendiri

Aku bakal catat apa aja hal yang aku suka, buku apa yang aku baca, bacaan apa yang aku baca di twitter (AU) bakal aku review lagi di notes, aku bahkan punya rencana buat nulis jugaa tapi belum rampung, masing ancang-ancang aja

Lalu, aku mau berubah balik ke aku yang beneran dulu, bukan rumi yang berusaha pleasing everyone by agreed in every their statement, bukan rumi yang mau mau aja di ajak drama lagiii ffs aku capek banget, apalagi ingat beberapa tahun belakangan aku merasa kosong dan capek banget ngikutin drama dan maksain diri ikut euphoria orang lain. Aku mau jadi aku

Btw buku ku belum sampe2 t_________t

Abeeeeeeel

dan aku punya twitter private looooooooooooo

Sound cringe

But it helps me a lottttttttt

Since I have a lot of in my mind tapi aku gak bisa sampaikan

Karena udah cukup deh aku oversharing sama manusiaaa wkwkw bukan aku gak bersyukur udah di dengerin, tapi menurut aku udah lah emangnya itu harus di ceritain sama orang lain? Dan aku merasa ini tu paling cuma habisin waktu mereka ajaaa dengerin aku ngoceh berjam jam wkwkwkw

Tapi aku suka ngobrol :( tapi ngga enak juga kalo terus-terusan sharing hal kadang tu ga penting2 banget atau gak lucu2 banget awkskwkw aku jadi cerita yang lawak2 aja si soal pengalaman

Dan aku merasa ini yang paaling berat

Aku merasa keterbukaan aku selama ini tu beban buat akuu. Aku gak bebas, aku gak suka cerita yang kaya aku yang temen-temen kuliah selama ini tauu.. aku berubah buat berbagi gini karena aku belajar dari awal biar orang paham sama yang kita maksud adalah dengan terbuka, komunikasiin.. tapi aku malah salah paham deh kayaknya.. aku selama ini jadi cerita hal-hal yang menurut aku ga harus aku ceritain kek penting ga penting gitu, sampe aku liat muka mereka ga peduli tiap aku cerita atau bosan atau ngerjain hal lain, atau ngelih ke orang lain kalo aku tu terlalu sering oversharing dan ga penting *wkwk aku denger sendiri pas dia nelfon trs ga sengaja baca chat lwt notif di hp nya, tapi gapapa kok beneran* see? Ngga semua harus kamu ceritain, orang juga gak tertarikkk dan ga merasa itu penting, people have their own life and problemmm jadi menurut aku egois kalo aku ngambil waktu mereka buat dengerin apa yang aku omongin cuma karena mereka temen ku

Tapi aku harap aku gak bikin mereka kaya gitu. maksud aku, aku beneran mau kok dengerin mereka ngobrol atau ngeluh atau sharing apa-apa pun, if they need someone to listen, I'm here kokkkkkkkk aku harap kesulitan aku itu gak mutual bagi siapapun orang yang berinteraksi sama aku

Terus, balik lagiiii whehwhw

Solusinya,aku nulis

Aku nulis kaya gini, aku punya private twt akun buat daily tracker dan bakal sums up semuanya ketika disini :D

It helpssssss me a loooooot

Lainnya,

Soal masalah kerjaan, hehehehe aku disuruh pindah ke kota yang gaada temen nya *maksudnya kaya temen deket kaya disini

Pusing sih, tapi selagi cari solusinya aku bakal usahain gak burn out ataupun nyakitin orang lainnnn

Ayoooooooo

HEHEHEHE

ntar aku update lagi disini ok

[ayahnieda]

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[softshuji]

08:57AM | HAITANI RINDOU

Rindou feels lame. Lame and silly and quite sick with himself in fact. He feels lame when he deliberately leaves his tie slightly askew just so you can pull him back at the front door to fix it, clicking your tongue affectionately and muttering about how forgetful he is under your breath. And he’ll smile warmly, hoping that blush that seems to betray him at every opportunity is somehow hidden by the soft strands of lilac hair framing his face, hoping that since you’re looking down, you can’t see the way his throat bobs up and down in tandem with his racing heartbeat, and hoping that you’ll trail your hands down his chest when you’re done and smile brightly at him. 

Rindou feels lame when he wakes early, horribly and catastrophically early, just to watch the dappled sunlight pour through the window, leak through the blinds and fall in shafts on your sleeping form. When he hears the songbirds just outside and leans over to wrap an arm around your torso, burying his nose in your hair, curling around you, slotting against your body like he belongs there. Your hair will fall back around the shell of your ear and Rindou will press a feather light kiss to the nape of your neck, light enough to keep you asleep, your eyelids fluttering.

Rindou feels lame, extremely lame in fact, when he scours the baking aisle at the supermarket, a list in one rough and calloused hand, a basket in the other, surveying the shelves for the right icing he knows you like, dropping the lemons into the basket with a thunk. He bakes the cake, fails four times, and the fifth attempt is only barely passable and yet the time spent doesn’t feel wasted. Why would it? Your birthday is a special occasion and yes he could just as easily order something extravagant, have something made that costs more than a week's wages had it been anyone but him but he doesn’t. The morning spent cleaning up after his own messy endeavour is worth it when he sees the smile on your face that evening, your eyes crinkling at the corners.

‘Did you make this Rin?’ you say, using your spoon to scoop up the clotted cream and icing pooling on your plate. 

‘That obvious huh?’ Rindou waits expectantly, the candles flickering, casting shadows on the wall, your silhouettes painted on the wallpaper as you sit around the small breakfast bar in your kitchen. Rindou wishes he could give you something better than this makeshift candlelit dinner at night, when both of you are exhausted and your limbs are heavy with fatigue, eyelids drooping, but fighting to stay open just to clutch onto those extra moments of staying awake for each other. 

‘No actually. I love it, Rin.’ You beam up at him and even though it's late, even though his body and mind feel like two pools of sludge, his heartbeat  still thumps loud against his ribcage. Funny how you can make him feel like this after five years of marriage. He skips out on telling you how many times he attempted it. He does have some pride after all.

It’s perhaps a small moment, but the significance of it is not lost on either of you. He knows it bothers you that he works so much, that he's hardly here to give you the attention you deserve, that some nights are spent alone, shifting a hand across the cold side of the bed, the place where he should be, where the linen is uncrinkled. He knows you don't complain about it, about the long hours, the unpredictable and dangerous lifestyle but that it worries you all the same. He sees it when he drops his jacket on the sofa after a hard day, and you frown as you run a tentative finger over the cut of his cheekbones and his lips which are parted and pink and slightly dry with dehydration. You click your tongue and shrug him out of his clothes and pretend not to see the smudges of red on the white shirts. You’ll trail your hand over the bare expanse of his chest, his stomach, even further, and Rindou’s head will fall against your shoulder at the brush of your cold hands on his hot skin.

Rindou feels especially lame when he catches himself daydreaming during a meeting, staring at you as you fuss in the foyer just outside, bouncing your baby on your leg as you chat animatedly with the receptionist, your cute sundress flaring at the waist and Rindou thinks about trailing his hands along your arms, your thighs, dipping them against the curve at the small of your back, pulling you close to him and marveling at how you and him just seem to fit like puzzle pieces. Mikey suddenly sounds very far away, his voice a warbled drone thrumming underwater and Ran kicks Rindou under the table when he sees his Brother becoming just that little bit distant. A craning of his neck around his chair tells him exactly why and he follows Rindou’s line of vision till he sees you laughing with your head thrown back, exposing the smooth column of your throat to the light.

‘Oi!’ Ran hisses under his breath and kicks Rindou under the table.

‘What do you want?’ Rindou’s stare snaps in two as he turns to glare as his Brother.

‘Pay attention!’ 

‘I am! What’s your problem?!’

‘No you’re not,’ Ran says through gritted teeth, stamping on Rindou’s foot. Not enough to hurt of course, just enough to get the point across. ‘I can see you staring at Y/N!’ 

‘Leave me alone!’ Rindou says sourly, ashamed at having been caught not only by Ran but by Mikey when he looks up to see his boss raising an eyebrow at him over his sheaf of papers.

'Something wrong?' Mikey asks and Sanzu only snickers at Rindou's flushed cheeks. 

'No Boss,' Rindou says and pulls his chair closer to the table, choosing to ignore Takeomi's smirk in the process. 'Continue.' 

Rindou feels very lame, embarrassingly lame, as he slots his lips against yours, dropping his head to the dip in your chin to press a feather light kiss on the indentation in the middle. You’re dancing in your cramped apartment kitchen at 2AM and even though you can still hear the raucous laughter of party-goers outside, the clank and thud of your neighbour ‘s bed hitting the wall as he moving in his sleep, the only thing you have the energy to focus on is Rindou's heartbeat under your cheek. His hands are on your hips, skimming the skin between your pajama bottoms and the oversized shirt you stole from him and he closes his eyes briefly when he feels your hot breath kiss the curve of his collarbones. Both of you are clad in loose pajama’s, hair messy, eyes droopy with fatigue and yet neither of you feel the need to move or  sleep and disturb this blanket of peace. 

 You lean up, press your lips to the column of his throat, his tattoo bobbing up and then down. The air is permeated by loud silence, and you sway, not all together in time to Chopin's nocturne op.9 no.2, playing from the speaker. His hair tickles your nose every time he bends to press his lips to the crown of your head and it's so tender and soft, so full of love and unspoken understanding, the air heavy with the weight of the years between you, and yet you feel just right, closer to peace than you ever have. 

‘I love you,’ you whisper against his chest, your eyes brimming with tears, and you hope your baby sleeping in the next room doesn’t wake with the gentle melodic timbre of song drifting through the wall. ‘I love you so much.’

If your heart could physically burst, it would.

He smiles, a warm genuine smile and the dimples set in his cheeks are two crescent moons as he holds you just that little bit tighter. His mouth finds yours again, and the soft and hesitant brush of his lips, the small and playful bite as he pulls gently, tells you all you need to know in response. You love him, he loves you, that’s all there is to it, nothing more to be said. That you are together despite the obstacles (and there have been many), is a testament to the same love, the same unwavering devotion and If there was ever a couple who withstood every test of time, it would be you. Perfectly fitted puzzle pieces, the sun and moon borrowing light from each other.

So yes Rindou feels a little lame. But the lamest thing is, is that he doesn’t quite feel lame at all.

A/N: Please read this while you listen to chopin's nocturne op.9 no.2 that is my only request. I had so much fun writing this, but then again I always do when writing for Rindou. I hope you all like it, it's a little shorter than what I usually write. Would anyone be interested in me opening a ko-fi? would anyone actually commission me? I'm considering the idea. Let me know, and as always likes and reblogs appreciated. Happy 5 months again my moonlight.

taglist: @sano-obsessed @stroberrylite @islascafe @prettyiolanthe @brownsugarmoonie @wotakuhime @snakegentleman @ranyechka @severellamahottub @haitaniapologist @lonnie19 @nafarsiti @invisible-cardigan-33 @seagoddesslove @manjirosgrl @crown5 @the-travelling-witch @bladesandguns @reiners-milkbiddies @girl-by-the-lake @1900-aria @rottingreveries (let me know if you'd like to be added)

[softshuji]

2:27 AM | HAITANI RAN

Ran’s knuckles are white on the steering wheel, his breath is mist in the cold expanse of his car. He inhales once, squeezes the steering wheel so hard he’s almost convinced he could break it. He switches on the heating,flicks open the packet of cigarettes and puts one between his lips, watching the smoke curl and puff. He’d have thought that spending the better part of an hour beating a man till his brains could be seen would have done something to ease the tight coil of tension and stiffness in his stomach but apparently not. 

His fingers still feel fatigued, still feel as if there are sparks just below the skin of his scarred hands. 

He hadn’t left under the best of circumstances, hadn’t even looked back as he slammed the door on you. You had watched, tears in your eyes as he drove off, his brow pinched, mouth turned down, lip caught between his teeth as he held back all the things he could have said.

He’s still thinking about it now. Still thinking about the look on your face when he shrugged on his jacket and walked out, the keys on the hook shaking as he slammed the front door. You had watched the white paint, watched the door handle stay unmoving, and waited with bated breath, for him to return, say sorry, to take it back. And minutes had passed, the drone of the engine had disappeared and still you waited, would have continued to wait had it not been for the ring of your mobile.

Ran sighs, picks up his phone, half expecting to see a barrage of missed calls from you, and then deflates when he sees nothing but the lockscreen clear of any notifications.He doesn’t know that on your side, you’re doing the same thing, sniffling and checking your phone periodically for any sign that he might have reached out to you.

Ran’s finger hovers over your name. He dials, listens for the ring, his heart hammering in his chest. More nerve wracking than killing a man, he thinks.

You see his name flash on the screen, and you let it ring twice before picking it up, perhaps out of spite, perhaps because you don’t want to make it seem like you were waiting for him, watching the clock tick away. A punishment in itself for the both of you of sorts. 

You wipe your nose on a sodden tissue left on your nightstand, rolling over on your shared bed that smells so horribly like him.  Your heartbeat quickens when you press the phone to your ear.

‘Princess?’ he says, and the air whooshes out of you. There is no playful lilt, no teasing, no sarcasm in it. It is worried and hushed and hoarse, and you can tell by the roughness of it that he’s smoked a few cigarettes before making the call.

Your lip wobbles, and you don’t entirely trust your voice not to betray you right now, so you clear your throat. But even still, that lump right there persists and when you exhale, it comes out shaky.

‘Ran…’ You don’t mean for it to sound so desperate, for your breathy whisper to feed down the line. And perhaps it’s because your heart has been aching since he slammed that door, and you saw the vein in his forehead pulse with anger, but a half-hearted sob pulls its way out of you and drips down the line.

A spike of anxiety shoots its way through him, and he can tell you’ve been crying to yourself over the last few hours. The guilt worms its way into his stomach like a parasite. 

‘Princess …’ he says again, his tongue heavy, sticking to the roof of his mouth. ‘I’m sorry.’ 

The tears are free-flowing and fast and you hiccup into the receiver. It’s been hours, you know that. You know that the jagged edges of your pain have softened into smoother tendrils of heartbreak. You also know that you forgave him the minute you saw his name pop up on your screen. Still, you want to make him work for that forgiveness, you want him to know, to at least feel a fraction of the sharp pain he caused you.

‘Ran I-’ You’re not sure what to say to him to get this feeling across, this strange sensation of both yearning and anger. And you are angry with him, for walking out on you, for not explaining, for the way he reacted to such a simple request. 

Can you take some time off so we can spend a weekend together?

Yet you know that even still, you’ve forgiven him so quickly, and perhaps that’s a testament to what you feel for him. You are irrevocably in love and you know that life is so short and fleeting and that that love is the most sacred gift you could ever share with each other.

‘I know baby,’ he says, and though you can’t see it, he’s hoping that him pressing his forehead into the steering wheel and mentally cursing himself is going to somehow assuage the guilt. ‘I’m stupid, I’m an idiot-’

‘Very stupid-’ you interject, just to drive home the point.

‘Very stupid, correct.’ He runs a hand through his hair, preparing himself for saying whatever he needs to, if it means he’s going to win you back. ‘I am the most insufferable person on the whole Earth-’

‘That’s an understatement-’ 

He tuts at your minor interruption and you snort, sniffling, your skin cracking from the tears dried on your face.

‘I’m a stupid boyfriend, an idiotic man who doesn’t deserve to have such a beautiful and smart girl in my life-’ 

He’s on a roll now, gripping the phone tight and fiddling with a cigarette lighter you bought for him, his initials carved into the gold casing. 

‘Ran-’ You sit up in your bed, brows furrowed.

‘-But I know that I love you,’ he says, an almost imperceptible whisper that you swear no one else would have heard over the drone of the car’s heating, or the shuffle of sheets as you moved. But you know him, know his words, know his voice anywhere. Your heart knows his instinctively, and you’re so in rhythm with each other that in a sea of voices, you could pick him out. You would know him beyond death, beyond anything. 

You’ve heard him say it before, many times before in fact. But it’s still true as ever. That he has your heart in a vice grip and that he, through the simple act of existing, of saying the three words, can make you come undone where you sit. You feel yourself soften, the edges of your pain withering away like leaves in autumn. You try to fight the watery smile that’s threatening your lips and even though your chin wobbles still, you think it’s okay.He’s okay, you’re okay.

‘Princess?’ He hasn’t heard you reply and it worries him just a bit. 

You take a shaky breath and all that tension dissipates through your skin. Your fight seems so trivial compared to this, compared to the vast expanse of love between you, the years and years of building what you both cherish so much. ‘I love you too Ran.’ 

And with that, he sighs, lifting his head from the steering wheel, gripping the phone a little looser and his shoulder sag as he leans against the plush leather seat. It is so simply said, so simply done, that the argument from the afternoon almost seems non-existent compared to this. 

‘I’m on my way home,’ he says and he means it. ‘I’ll see you soon Pretty baby.’ 

‘Can’t wait,’ you reply and he can almost feel your smile through the phone. There is no tension, no echo of worry or hurt feeding through the line this time. Only love, persisting as it always does.

a/n: this has been sitting in my docs since like forever, figured it was time to post it. Believe it or not Ran was one of the first characters I ever started writing for, it's been a while since I wrote for him, thank you to everyone who has supported my work thus far and continues to do so, it really means a lot to me y'know, I know I'm really inconsistent with posting, but you guys continue to stay with me, thank you all. and thanks to my ran for being a whole lot of fun and a huge inspo for me <3

taglist: @clovcly @oikawascutie @alias-sano @mxnjiros @islascafe @prettyiolanthe @wotakuhime @snakegentleman @kimduckja @severellamahottub @haitaniapologist @lonnie19 @nafarsiti @invisible-cardigan-33 @crown5 @the-travelling-witch @bladesandguns @reiners-milkbiddies @michiphoria @rottingreveries @qiiuusoup @hoetani @sinfulseashell @welcome-to-the-internet-it-sucks @obitohno @anxious-cherry-pie @oikawascutie (let me know if you'd like to be added!)

[softshuji]

12:39AM | HAITANI RINDOU

Rindou has been waiting on the sofa for you for the past hour. Yes it’s late, yes he tends to worry, yes he refuses to call you and nag while you’re with your friends. Instead, in the space of the last four hours, he’s flicked on the TV set, flicked through the channels half-heartedly, picked up his phone every two minutes only to throw it back against the cushions and sigh, leaning back on the plush throws, his hair falling to the side in wisps as he stares at the bulb hanging from the ceiling and then at the clock as the hands tick closer to 12am.

He’s torn between wanting to hear the lilt of your voice, to hear you grumble about the cold or the deafening clamour of bodies jumping in time to the crash of music, and wanting to leave you to enjoy this precious and hard earned time with your friends, time he knows you’ve fought tooth and nail to have. 

At every opportunity to call and every time his finger has hovered over your contact, his mind is pervaded by the lingering memory of your tired eyes sagging with sleeplessness, hunched over your overheating laptop and he locks his phone again, throwing it and himself against the cushions. Ran had called once during the time you’ve been gone and Rindou had only partially listened, keeping his ear trained on the door for the jangling of keys, your tinkling laugh, the click of your heels on the concrete pavement. 

“Yeah and then I had to do all the shit he left behind.’ Rindou heard shuffling down the receiver as Ran slid into his car and slammed the door.

Rindou only hummed, and fished around in the cabinet drawer for the painkillers you were sure to need, throwing a water bottle into the fridge in the meantime.

“Are you even listening?” Ran said and Rindou had grimaced when he heard the exacerbation in his Brother’s voice, the tiredness and irritation.

“I am!” 

Rindou sees your silhouette first, the dark and shadowy shape of your body fumbling with keys through the frosted glass of the front door and his chest does a flip almost immediately. He watches you stumble in on shaky legs, turning back to wave off your friends with a grin as your handbag slips down your arm. He can already feel the jolting thrum of energy bouncing off you. That’s how you are. Boundless. 

You turn towards the hallway and brace a hand against the wall for support as you try and fail to unbuckle your heels. There is a smile on your lips that Rindou doesn’t have to see to know is there. It's in the way you spring into the house, the looseness of your shoulders that tells him you’ve had a good night. 

Rindou allows himself a soft and hesitant smile, watching you frown and pout at the fastening and the way it sticks and refuses to budge. It is the small moments like this, when you assume he can’t see you, where he gets to witness you as you are, and they almost make the danger of this relationship worth it. Smiling, soft around the edges, the frail and fragile tendrils of your happiness leaking from your unguarded laughs and giggles. His heart swells in his chest. You grope around for the light switch and Rindou takes that as his cue to swoop in.

‘Let me Princess.’ His shoulders brush the walls as he bends to lift you and scoop you into his arms. In truth, the bedroom is ten paces away, and you could very easily stumble your way there but he won’t allow it. Instead, he’ll hold you and let the corner of the table in the hallway brush the back of his legs so you don’t stumble, tucking you against him so the glare of the TV doesn’t hurt your eyes. Rindou knows he's being excessive, meticulous, routined even, that he overthinks every decision he makes when it comes to you. But it’s the routine with which he shows he loves you. The extra care he takes when he slides his arms under your knees and presses you ever so gently against his chest, the ends of his hair brushing your cheek as you sag against his warmth. 

It’s not as if it’s unusual. Rindou is meticulous about you in all aspects. It’s in the way he walks on the side of the cars when you’re out together, the way he covers the corners of the table as you brush by, the way the coffee is always hot and ready when you wake. 

It’s meticulous and it’s extreme and it’s him. And if being extreme with his efforts shows you the vastness of his love for you, then you were happy to receive it. 

‘Rin!’ Your voice, usually vibrant and buzzing with energy, is quiet, a breathy whisper in the otherwise silent apartment. The only other sound is the drone of the TV in the adjacent room, left running on some channel that Rindou has hardly paid attention to. The glow of the TV set illuminates the dark hallway and bathes the two of you in soft blue light as Rin tentatively pads towards your bedroom.

‘Did you have a good time?’ He says and nudges the bedroom door open with his hip. Your hair is soft against his neck, lips brushing the skin of his collarbones every so often and Rin feels his heart thud painfully in his chest, his blood ringing in his ears. He shudders when your hot breath kisses the dip in the middle of his throat, his tattoo bobbing up and down as he swallows.

‘Mmh,’ you hum and sigh contentedly, your eyes fluttering with the weight of fatigue settling on you. Your limbs are sluggish by now, arms dropping from where they’d clutched tightly to his shirt, the fabric bunched up in your fists. The thin cotton of your skirt did nothing to protect you from the early spring chill and you shiver against him, slotting yourself against the crook of his neck. He’s warm, and you find yourself rubbing your bare arms against his abdomen just to share in it.

‘Let’s get you to sleep then yeah?’ Rindou’s voice is husky, rough, and you can tell from the scratchiness of it, that he’s had a few cigarettes in the time you’ve been gone, that it’s laced with the sluggishness of sleep that he’s fought off for your sake, washing his face and rubbing his tired eyes as he waited up for you. You catch a faint whiff of nicotine and menthol, minty toothpaste and shower gel when he tucks you against his chest.

You look up at him through your daze, the world a little too sharp and fast, the burnt copper glow of the streetlights just beyond your bedroom window leaking into the room, and yet, you feel safe. He feels safe. Nothing is strange, nothing is dangerous. There is only you and him and the drunken stupor that makes your heart swell when you look up at him, the lilac flash of his eyes, narrowed into slits and the crease of his brow as he concentrates on holding you tight. 

‘Hey Rin?’ You say as he stands you up, holding you by your shoulders in front of your bed. He tugs gently on the hem of your shirt, and his eyes are imploring, seeking, asking for permission. You nod your assent, holding your arms up as he pulls your shirt above your head. He’s gentle about it of course, and his touch on the bare skin of your arms is so feather light that the hair on the nape of your neck stands on end.

‘Hm? Something wrong?’ He folds your shirt and places it carefully on the chair, fishing around in your wardrobe for a clean pajama shirt before slipping your arms and your head through the holes. 

‘No…’ You say and your eyes flick to the cheap plastic chandelier in the middle of your ceiling. The cobwebs are numerous, and the cracks stretch from the centre down to the corners, snaking across the alabaster white of the ceiling. Your house, filled to the brim with memories. It's not fancy, not luxurious like you'd expect it to be considering who he is, but it's yours. It's the first house you ever bought together. 

Rindou pulls your hair out from the back of the shirt and ties it haphazardly with the hair tie he keeps around his wrist. He’s prepared, of course he is. He knows you, knows your heart. The weight of the years between you has always sat heavy on his shoulders. Every kiss is thick with memory. Maybe that’s all it was, the weight of time and memory, the masses of grief and happiness you had both shared together, that taught him everything he knew about you. 

‘Something else then Princess?’ He tugs on the zipper of your skirt and it falls to the floor in a pool of silk. The draught from the open door makes you shiver. Or maybe it’s that here you are, in your vulnerability, and he his, and the moonlight is the only witness to it. 

‘I love you…’ you say and your eyes, fighting to stay open, are genuine and honest, and brimming with unshed tears. He almost doesn’t catch the breathy whisper, the softness of it rolling off your tongue. He stops,hands halting as he bends to pick up your skirt.

His cheeks are aflame almost immediately and god he hopes the darkness hides him enough for you to mistake the pink tint for something else. 

He wants to say it, wants to tell you he loves you too, wants to tell you you’re the most genuine thing that’s ever happened to him. But the words are thick in his throat, sitting on the tip of a tongue that feels too heavy for his mouth. 

He doesn’t return it and you’re not mad nor angry. This is how he is, how he’s always been. These things are hard for him. So you smile, and the corners of your lips turn up and Rindou feels his heart settle in his chest at the unspoken understanding. 

He brushes his lips against yours briefly, soft and supple and pliant and the jolt of electricity thrumming under his skin runs along his veins. His heartbeat is so loud you must be able to hear it in the otherwise quiet room, he thinks.

‘I love you so much, you know that?’ Your lip wobbles and Rindou’s heart beats its wings inside him. ‘You’re my moon and stars.’

You don’t mean for it to sound so breathy, for your lip to tremble and your eyes to brim with tears despite the smile on your face. Maybe it’s the drink talking, the world tipping sideways, or maybe it’s just the feeling of his warmth so close to you but the lump in your throat settles like a stone when you swallow thickly.

‘You’re…’ Your tongue is slack in your mouth and Rindou’s face burns with the intensity of your gaze. From here, the orange gleam of the streetlight splicing through the parted curtain illuminates a patch of skin, the light coming in shafts across his lips, his nose, the dip in his chin.

‘You’re the moon in my sky, and whenever I’m lost, I just follow your light to lead me home.’ The soft tendrils of your love, the immeasurable tenderness leaks into your voice and Rindou’s chest squeezes itself painfully. You want to blame it on the alcohol, on the bitter coldness of the night that has your limbs sluggish and slow, but you know in your heart that isn’t true, that it’s desire forcing these words out. 

‘You’ll take me there one day right? To the stars?’ You cup his face as a shaft of white moonlight spills across the carpet. From here, the moon is pure white, looks close enough to reach out and touch. Perhaps you could, one day, the two of you, just reach out and brush your fingers against the limits of the sky, go where no one else had.

Rindou isn’t quite sure what to say, but he looks at you, at the love in your eyes, the way your gaze softens when it falls on him, and he knows instinctively that he’d do it. He’d carry you there on his back if he could.

‘Sure Princess,’ he says, and he isn’t lying. This isn’t him humouring you, placating you. This is him showing he gets it, that he’d do anything you asked no matter how outlandish or absurd. 

‘I’ll even get you the biggest star as a gift yeah? How’s that?’ He adds as an afterthought, relishing in the way your face glows with the thought.

‘You will?’

‘Of course.’ He means it. Wholeheartedly. 

You giggle and clap excitedly and Rindou’s heart is so dangerously close to falling out of his chest. 

Loving you had not come naturally to him. Loving did not come naturally to him at all. There was Ran, and then there was everyone else, and everyone else was dangerous. Perhaps it was a testament to you, the both of you that is, that despite the obstacles, he had found you, and you had found him, and try as he might to deny that he loved you, he had known the opposite was true. That in the many years you’d shared, you’d had ample opportunity to walk away from someone like him and you didn’t, and perhaps if you had, he wouldn’t want this so much.

But he does. He wants life, all the mundanity of it, the picnics and the walks in the parks, the soft morning sex, the movie nights and cafe trips. He wants them so much it makes him sick to think about.

While he might have been the moon and stars to you, you were the sun to him. And all the light that you claimed led you home, was only what he borrowed from you , the thing he was redeemed by on the days he felt the sickening churn of self loathing and inferiority in his stomach. 

I  love you, I love you, I love you- he wants to say like a fervent prayer at an altar, a wish clinging to the back of his throat. But he can’t and the words are boulders in his chest. Rindou, who swore he’d never get attached, never allow himself the fantasy of love or whatever it entailed, who told himself he was content when it was just him and Ran as it always had been.

He sits you on the corner of the bed and bends to remove your heels, your eyelids fluttering. He places your heels carefully underneath the bed and then, with one hand on the small of your back, sets you underneath the covers, pulling them up till they rest just underneath your chin, your hair now splayed across the pillow in wisps of silk. The sheets are cold and you rub your legs together for warmth. 

He tucks a few loose strands behind your ear and bends to press a kiss to your forehead. It's rare to see such vulnerability from him, to see him looking so loose, so open, so tender and with hands that are so gentle against your cheek, tracing the arc of your jaw. 

He kisses your cheeks, the corners of your mouth and then finally, your lips. They’re soft, hesitant even, as he brushes them against yours, and even in your partial slumber, the pulsing in your eyes getting more noticeable by the second, you can taste the nicotine and mint on him. Your chest fizzles with warmth. 

He sees you smile abashedly and pull the covers up further to cover your exposed neck, believing it to be the result of just a good night out and not the feeling of his lips on yours, or the soft tickle of his hair against your collarbones.

For all of his smarts, he still doesn’t quite see, you think, the waves of love you’re willing to give to him. Could you do this forever? Could you trail after him forever, amid all the guts and blood, the death and danger and guns? Would it matter so much if you had him? 

Rindou stands and reaches over towards the bedside table, flicking off the lamp, smoothing the bedcovers down again in that meticulous way of his. He moves towards the door, casting a final glance at you huddled under the sheets. 

He pauses at the door, his hand on the doorknob, the light from the TV in the room opposite streaming across the carpet, and the moonlight pouring in through the open curtain and Rindou smiles tentatively. 

He closes the door with a soft click, avoiding the floorboards he knows creak, bracing himself against the wall to lessen the noise, his heart lifting when he hears the soft sighs from your sleeping form.

Goodnight, he thinks, the sun in my sky.

a/n: hii everyone I am so sorry for not posting in so long! I have been working on things, and I had fun writing this, I hope you all have fun reading it too. Writing for Rindou feels so natural I'm not quite sure why, and I'm not entirely sure where this idea came from but thank you all for all the lovely and wonderful feedback so far, I adore you all. Likes and reblogs are well appreciated as always, thank you all again. And happy anniversary my angel, I hope you enjoy my gift.

Taglist: @mxnjiros @islascafe @prettyiolanthe @brownsugarmoonie @wotakuhime @snakegentleman @kimduckja @severellamahottub @haitaniapologist @lonnie19 @nafarsiti @invisible-cardigan-33 @crown5 @the-travelling-witch @bladesandguns @reiners-milkbiddies @girl-by-the-lake @1900-aria @rottingreveries @qiiuusoup @bontenacious @hoetani @sinfulseashell (pls send me an ask/dm/comment if you'd like to be added!)

[softshuji]

1:10AM | HAITANI RINDOU

Rindou waits on the edge of the bed for you while you admire yourself in the mirror for what must be the tenth time in the last two minutes. He’s leaning on his palms, his head resting against the base of his neck and his long legs thrown out in front of him, while you adjust the hem of your sundress again, turning on your heel to peer at the way the fabric flares at your waist. The dress is perfect (courtesy of Rindou again obviously, because according to him, a best friend is allowed to buy gifts for you which probably cost more than your entire week's wages) and the flats that go with it perfectly accentuate your legs. 

Rindou has known you for so long that you don’t mind the way he watches you as you adjust the neckline, and you smile at him in the reflection of the mirror. A genuine smile, a warm smile. One that speaks of the countless years of history between you two. 

He’s wearing a t-shirt, and the luminescent purple mullet has been pulled back into a ponytail. His tattoo at the base of his neck is on full display and bobs just a little whenever he swallows. 

‘Why are you taking so long?’ He groans and falls back onto the bed, watching you with his head turned to the side. His gaze is never lecherous, never perverse. It is always full of warmth, love and respect, as if you hung every star in the sky. Always soft, always gentle. There is an assortment of headbands, earrings, hair clips and dainty necklaces on the dresser, and you pick up one of these as you catch his eye in the mirror again.

‘Do you have somewhere to be Haitani? You quip and bend to pull on your flats. 

The sun is high in the sky and the heat of it pours in through the open window, the netting fluttering in the breeze. Every time it does, you see Rindou’s hair lift from his forehead, the fine strands falling to the side where his cheek is pressed to the bedspread. The room is awash with yellow and white and the clouds are stark and fluffy against the blue of the sky. It’s still early summer yet and the air isn’t pervaded by that sweltering late summer stickiness where the air feels close and stifling, begging for summer rain.

‘Yes actually, somewhere that isn’t here.’ He shoots back. His eyes follow you as you pull on a thin pink cardigan. 

‘You say that, as if this wasn’t your idea in the first place!’ 

‘Only because you begged me!’

‘You don’t have to come if you don’t want to, you know,’ you say , raising an eyebrow at him as you bend to flick his forehead, now exposed by the wind wafting in through the window.

‘Shut up, of course I’m going.’ He moves to stand, rolling off the bed. ‘Besides, I am your bodyguard.’

‘That’s a weird way to say best friend.’ 

‘Best friend? I don’t even know you.’

‘You just said you were my bodyguard,’ you say, smirking when you see the faint tint of embarrassment creep up his cheeks. 

‘Yeah whatever, let’s just go,’ he grumbles and snatches his keys off the dresser and you smile knowingly to yourself at the prospect of winning yet another battle. 

Maybe this was too much effort for a simple trip to the park in early May. Or maybe the truth was that Rindou was the sort of person you felt like making an effort for because he did the same for you in ways you couldn’t repay. 

Those awful nights when you were alone, separated by miles and drowning in solitude, when he was only a phone call away and then not. When he would pick up the phone, his gravelly, rough voice would be sluggish with sleep, and you’d hear him curse as he accidentally dropped the receiver onto his own foot. Or those nights when you’d call crying, and your words would be punctuated by hics and sobs and Rindou would be there with whatever he could think to get from the convenience store on his way over. Who’d stay with you all night if you needed him to, curled against you, sharing your warmth, his breath on your neck, rubbing circles onto your skin wordlessly. A best friend that felt closer to you than you thought humanly possible, who felt like he fit against you so well that your shapes were moulded together. 

Whatever souls are made of, yours and his are the same. 

The field just beyond the play area of the park is so much quieter that it's almost deserted, exactly how you expected it to be. The grass and thin wiry reeds are so tall they brush your legs. Rindou helps you off the back of his bike, holding out his hand as you swing a leg over, pulling down the hem of your sundress to cover your exposed legs, hiding the flush of your cheeks behind the gently fluttering strands of your hair. You’d held on tight to him, your cheek pressed against his back, feeling the muscles slide and tense when you squeezed a little too tight, your hands against the smooth planes of his abdomen, his hair tickling your nose. 

‘This it?’ He asks and holds up a hand to shield his eyes from the sun. 

You nod your assent. 

The late afternoon rays bathe the field in golden light, the sun a slash of orange and pink on the horizon. The breeze has picked up by now and the reeds brush the skin on your calves. 

‘Okay, quick climb on then,’ he says and bends at the waist, gesturing for you to climb onto his back. 

‘Um…what?’ You blush instinctively and hope that the pinkish tint on your cheeks can be mistaken for the heat sitting on your skin. 

‘Isn’t that what you wanted? This is a one time offer, Princess.’ He smiles over his shoulder, and the light coming through the strands of his hair make them seem almost lilac. 

For a second you’re unsure. Yes he’s your best friend, yes he’s the apple of your eye, yes you’re convinced he put the stars in the sky. So why does this feel so strange? Why does your heart speed up at the thought of being so close you can feel the warmth of his skin? Why is he the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen, and why does it make you feel sick with longing?

You tentatively put your arms around his neck from behind, resting your chin on the curve of his shoulder as he holds your legs in place around his hips. The skin of his fingertips is rough against your bare legs and you suppress a shiver as you tense around him. 

‘Relax y/n, s’not as if I’m going to drop you.’ He turns his head to the side, his hair tickling your ear and his lips are so close, so tantalisingly close that all you’d have to do is lean forward to brush them against your own. They’re soft you imagine and your countless daydreams about kissing him give you enough fuel to think what it would be like to just bridge the distance.

He glances at your lips, the bottom one pulled by your teeth, slightly red and puckered. His throat bobs up, down, and the tattoo at the base of his neck moves with the action. You can’t hear it, but his heartbeat is so fast, the blood is rushing to his head and all he needs to do is close the distance…

And then the moment passes, and he looks away, squinting at the sun and its bright light on the horizon, hoping that his hair hides the way his high cheekbones fade to pink. 

‘Ready?’ He asks and hoists you higher on his hips so your body is flush against his back, your chest pressed against him. 

‘Y-yeah,’ you reply, shakily. You can smell his aftershave, his shower gel, even the shampoo he uses in his hair and you want to touch him so much that it makes you dizzy. You want to run your hands through his hair, put them on his bare chest, kiss the eyelashes that fall onto his cheek, kiss the corner of his mouth and work your way down and it’s so embarrassing, you think, to have these feelings for the man whose bond with you runs deeper than any romance, who would fight death for you.

He doesn’t give you any warning before he bolts down the hill, clutching onto your legs and laughing, his head thrown back as you grasp onto the front of his shirt, giggling into the crook of his neck, your legs tense around his hips.

 He trips at some point, and the two of you roll down the hill, holding onto each other as the world slips and tumbles around you, laughing against each other's skin, your hair flying in the wind, grass on your clothes and your face pressed to his chest.

When you slow to a stop, he can tell you’re smiling against his shirt. There is a few seconds of silence after the laughter dies down, and he hopes that you can’t sense or feel the way his heart is beating erratically in his chest.

Rays of light burst through the clouds over his shoulder and yet you feel no need to get up, and if you could stay here, nestled in his warmth, his arm around you and his breath fanning your hair, you would. 

There is no surer thing in the universe than him. 

‘Come on Princess, up you get,’ he says, holding a hand out as he makes to rise. There’s grass clinging to his clothes, and he brushes it off absent-mindedly as you walk hand in hand back to the bike. He brushes your knuckles every so often and your stomach thrums every time he achingly traces his thumb over each individual knuckle. 

The bike dips when you both sit. You, with your arms around his middle, squeezing tight, your cheek pressed to the muscle of his back, and him, leaning forward and chuckling as he revs the bike. You can feel every shift of muscle, even the tense of his thighs, the slip and slide of his shoulders under his shirt, the deep rumble of his laugh when he goes just a little too fast and you hide your face in him. 

By the time you’re home, the need for sleep has crept up on you. Rindou can tell by the way your head nods and you seem to sink into the thin cardigan that does nothing to protect you from the evening chill. You clutch onto his arm, your brow furrowed and your speech slurred and the effort it takes for you to drag one leg in front of the other is immense. 

He takes the initiative, and lifts you, hoisting you up into his arms, your legs resting on his forearm and nudges the door closed as you step inside. From there, he slips off his shoes and takes you to the bedroom, slipping into the bed next to you, as he is prone to doing, pulling the covers up till they’re just resting on the curve of your bare shoulder.

You inch closer, till your arms are flat on his chest, your cheek now firmly nestled in the hollow crevice in the middle. You can hear his heartbeat, can feel the warmth of his skin and his breath on the crown of your head, even more so when he pulls you closer with one hand on the small of your back. 

‘Rin?’ You look up at him through your lashes, your eyes now droopy and sluggish with sleep. You’re so close to him, so close that you can see the minor scratches and cuts from places the razor has slipped in the morning, the small crease of his brows that’s partially hidden by the fringe of his mullet.

‘Yeah?’ His tattoo bobs up and down as he swallows, his tongue thick and heavy in his mouth.

‘I had a good time,’ you say and perhaps it’s the sleep pressing firmly down on you, the blanket of warmth that comes from behind at home, in the arms of your best friend in the whole world, but you want to kiss him, and you suck in a breath as you glance at his lips, soft and supple and pliant, the lightest pink. 

His jaw clenches and something inside him stirs, and it really isn’t his fault, he thinks. You’re so pretty, so kind and sweet, and fun and loving and you make him feel like he is the only man in the world, the only man worth looking at, and it would be so easy to just bridge that distance and close that gap. 

You feel something against the inner part of your thigh, and without looking down, you know what it is. 

‘Don’t…’ he says in a breathy whisper. ‘I want to… but we shouldn’t.’ And the rejection (or what feels like rejection) comes to you so quick that it’s like a metal wall slamming down on you. You hardly have time to register the way his lips tremble before Shame pools in your gut. You swallow the lump forming in your throat, hoping your hair hides the red on your cheeks, hides the tears gathering in your eyes. 

He wants to, he really does. But is losing a lifetime of friendship worth it when he knows he can’t be the man you deserve, the one who comes home every day without cuts and bruises? The man who comes home every day full stop. 

You slide off him, your lips pinched, the tears on your lash line, the hem of your now crumpled sundress gathered in your shaking hands. 

‘Y/n…’ he says, his voice now laced with panic, his hair now spiky from the one end where he had creased it against the pillow. ‘Y/n wait, please just listen-’

The first sob rips its way out of your throat as you race from the room and Rindou panics, knocking over your lamp on the bedside table as he rushes after you to no avail. By the time he’s righted it, you’ve left the house, wiping your tears with your wrist, your choked sobs so loud, so painful that it makes you dizzy. 

You don’t look back, don’t spare a glance over your shoulder even as you hear your name called from the door in a frenzied shout.

Rindou leaves for his shared apartment with Ran just as night falls, after having spent the better part of the evening looking for you, calling your name in the street, dialing your phone, even as the streetlights flickered to life, and he saw his shadow splayed out underneath him in the artificial orange glow. 

It’s only when you’re sure he’s gone, when Ran has all but confirmed that Rindou had come back, slamming doors and hissing at him, that you venture back home. The tears are dried on your face and there’s a tightness in your skin that can only have come from crying so long and hard, and every movement feels like a small crack in marble. 

You shift in the bed that smells so horribly like him and scroll through the pictures in your gallery, ignoring the barrage of messages, the explosion of missed calls and panicked voicemails. There is you and him on your birthday. There was you and him on Christmas when he had tripped in the snow and you had laughed and snapped a picture and sent it to Ran so the two of you could share the love and the laughter of the person who meant more to both of you than anything ever could. You smile even now, and the action brings a fresh new wave of pain, now dull and throbbing. 

But sleep comes to you still, and though it is fretful and lonely and plagued by dreams, by the time you wake, the jagged edges of pain have softened into smooth tendrils of heartbreak. The ache in your chest persists however, and it takes a significant amount of makeup to cover the shadows under your eyes as you leave to get the groceries you desperately need.

 Despite it all, your fingers hover over his contact many times throughout the morning. It would be easy to call. You’ve no doubt he’d pick up. Just to hear his voice, hear him mumble on the other end of the line and your sniffles would feed down the receiver and his heart would clench with both guilt and anxiety till he was pouring his apologies out to you. Would it make you feel better? Maybe not,but you’d get to hear the rough rasp of his morning voice, and you’d just know he was there, as he always is.

What exactly were you angry at? That he didn’t feel the same? Or that he did and that it wasn’t enough? That you weren’t allowed to have what other people took for granted all the time? That the one person whose love you craved like water in the desert, was the one thing you couldn’t have?

You sniffle again, and pick up a bunch of bananas when you feel a tap on your shoulder.

You spin, and the bananas fall from your hand into the basket with a thud when you see Rindou’s towering figure standing in front of you. 

There are dark rings under his eyes and his hair stands in tufts, slightly to the side from where it pressed against the pillow as he slept fitfully, his head swimming with thoughts of you.

Perhaps, it's spite, perhaps it’s because you’re angry and upset and your heart is hanging on by a thread, but you turn away from him and continue inspecting the bananas, even as your lip wobbles and you have to bite on it to keep yourself in check. The supermarket is quiet at this time, and the only sound is the whir of the refrigerators and the clicking as items are scanned at the till point.

‘Y/n will you talk to me?’ he says and the desperation leaks out of his voice as it trembles. He moves to take your basket instinctively but you turn, hanging your head so that he can’t see the fresh wave of hot tears forming.

‘What's there to say Rindou?’ You drop the bananas into your basket and move along down the aisle, your hand skimming over products you have no interest in, just for something to focus on that isn’t him. You clear your throat, hoping your voice doesn’t betray you when you’re not quite sure how to feel and this strange sensation of both yearning and anger is foreign in you, so much so that it takes every ounce of willpower not to let another choked sob escape your throat when all you want is to weep.

‘I’m sorry Princess.’ And there is no playful lilt, no smile, no teasing or cockiness in it. It’s hoarse and worried and hushed and from the scratchy roughness of it, you can tell he’s smoked a few cigarettes before he got here. 

Though they did nothing to ease his nerves and he still clenches his fists, his hands tight with pressure and tension, as if there are sparks just below the surface. 

‘I’m sorry, I was stupid. So stupid.’ He furrows his brows and his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth, slack and unyielding. And even though you’re hurt, and the pain is still spiky and fresh and worming its way through your stomach, you know in your heart that you’ve already forgiven him, that you’d done so almost immediately and that you’d do it regardless of the outcome of this conversation. But still, you want him to feel it, just a fraction of the pain. 

‘Very stupid-’ you say, just to drive it home.

 It's a testament to your love for him that even though you’re angry, even though the pain is still a throbbing thing uncomfortably nestled in your chest, you can’t bring yourself to snap at him. Because you are irrevocably and hopelessly in love and you know life is too short not to make it known, not to love him the way he deserves.

‘Yes I’m very stupid thanks Y/n-’ he retorts without thinking, berating himself. But his heart lifts just a slight when he sees you snort and hold your sleeve to your nose to hide both the tears and the giggles. You can’t help it. You laugh, and your skin cracks with the action, a remnant or parting gift from the tears dried on there, and it feels so wonderful that he is so him, that he is just so unapologetically him. 

‘That’s an understatement-’ 

You can’t help but snort again at the way he cocks his head to the side, tutting at your interruption when he’s very obviously on a roll.

‘I’m an idiot, and I don’t deserve you at all, and I was scared and I don’t want to disappoint you-’ he rambles and fiddles with a cigarette lighter he’s fished out of his pocket. Why is it so hard for him to look at you now? 

‘Rindou-’ And it’s your turn to furrow your brows.

‘-but I love you,’ he says in an almost imperceptible whisper that you swear no one could hear over the drone of the electricity, the buzz of fridges and scuff of feet on linoleum, but you. You’d know his voice anywhere. You’d pick it out from billions.  You know him like the lines on your hand and perhaps that is what it means to have a soulmate. To know them better than you thought possible to know a human.

‘Does this mean…?’

‘Yes. Yes it does.’ He nods fervently, eager to right what he’s done wrong. ‘I love you, and I want to try.’

The pain withers, the edges of it curling back like leaves in autumn and you feel yourself softening in a way that brings fresh tears to your eyes. It’s not as if you haven’t heard it before from him. You have. Just not in this way. You try to fight the watery smile and even though your lips tremble, you think you might be okay, he might be okay, and yesterday suddenly seems so trivial compared to this.

‘Princess?’ His eyes are wide with worry.

You take a shaky breath and the tension seeps out of your skin. It’s nothing, you realize. It’s all nothing compared to the vast expanse of love between you, compared to the years that are so full and bursting with memories. Would you really both be okay with losing that just because you were scared of taking a leap of faith? 

‘I love you too Rindou,’ you say and it feels like the easiest thing in the universe, so effortlessly rolling off your tongue, so easily said that everything else, every risk and possible fear seems so inconsequential. 

He blushes and looks at the linoleum floor and then at you, sighing, his shoulders suddenly sagging as the tension and stiffness seeps out of his bones.

‘Here.’ You thrust the shopping basket at him to hold and he puts a hand to his chest in fake outrage. ‘Hold this, since you’re my boyfriend now and all.’ You flash him a cheeky smile and Rindou’s heart does a dangerous thing as he takes it from you. There is no echo of worry this time, no wavering smile that threatens tears. Only love and endless admiration, persisting between you, as it always does.

a/n:... so. This is based off a dream I had that happened exactly like this. I love Rindou so much can you tell? my specialist most pretty star in the sky. I hope you all enjoy this anyways, I'm trying to be more consistent and give more thought to maybe opening a patreon or ko-fi. As always, likes and reblogs much appreciated! for u my sweet rin.

taglist: @sano-obsessed @stroberrylite @virtue-and-beneviolence @islascafe @prettyiolanthe @brownsugarmoonie @wotakuhime @snakegentleman @bajifuyutorabb @severellamahottub @haitaniapologist @lonnie19 @nafarsiti @invisible-cardigan-33 @seagoddesslove @manjirosgrl @crown5 @the-travelling-witch @bladesandguns @reiners-milkbiddies @girl-by-the-lake @1900-aria @haitani-wrld

[softshuji]

4:11 - Hanma Shuji

He drives home in silence, cigarette between his lips, hand on the wheel, and sighs. Its late, really late, and he doesn’t expect you to be awake at this ungodly hour nor does he expect you to wait up for him either. You work hard, and it’s important to him that you live a semi-decent life, one that doesn’t revolve around him and the dangerous work he does. 

Still, he turns the key in the lock of your shared apartment and curses under his breath when he drops it and almost stumbles inside. He’s tired, so tired, and the sleep is pulling him, making his movements sluggish. 

He sees the light of the laptop reflect your face, and for a moment all he can do is stand there and watch you adjust your glasses and take a sip of coffee as you pore over the textbook. You’re adorable like that, he thinks and again, feels a pang of love for you. Something crumbles in him and he heaves a big sigh that makes the very marrow of his bones ache.

“Shuji?” you turn to his figure in the door, and take in the sight. How long has he been standing there? “you ok?”

“Yeah,” he says, even though he’s not. He’s really not, and if he starts talking about it, he might never stop. “I didn’t think you’d be awake. What are you doing up so late my pretty baby?” He forces the bounce back into his voice again. 

‘This assignment is unfortunately not going to write itself,” you grumble and chew on the end of the pen. Shuji bends to kiss your hair, and that’s when you see it.

Your boyfriend being covered in blood is not an unfamiliar sight. Covered in blood, with cuts and bruises and scratches is something you’ve grown accustomed to. But today its different. Today he seems... weary. Tired. You look up at him, and his eyes are drawn, and there are harsh lines underneath them. 

“Shuji? Babe?” you run a finger along his cheek and almost instinctively he leans into your touch. His suit, usually pristine and sharp, is crumpled and torn. Now you know the job he does and you know its dangerous. But there is an unspoken trust between you. 

“What happened?” you ask, gently, and lead him to the sofa where you proceed to put his head in your lap and run your fingers through his hair. He sighs, again, and closes his eyes, feeling the soft pads of your fingers on his scalp. You are so gentle with him and he hates himself for it. Hanma Shuji is not used to gentleness but when he looks at you, he sees how you treat it as second nature, and how you make him crave being loved and wanted so much he almost feels like it eats him alive. And just like that he starts talking about the days job.

‘It was supposed to be quick,” he says as you massage his hair, running your fingers over the smooth lines of his face. “I had my gun, but I didn’t realize he had family in the house. A son, and he saw me do it.”

A lump forms in your throat.

“The son was screaming, and I panicked. He was supposed to be alone, that’s what I was told.” He opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling, and the light from your laptop reflects in his golden eyes. “But I just ran and all the way out the building all I could hear was the crying.” 

Hanma has never cried over a job before, and he has always known it is not for him to question anything. He has his orders, and thats it. He enjoys it in fact, for the most part. It thrills him, to fight, to hurt. So why doesn’t it feel that way today? Why is his voice devoid of emotion? 

“Shuji...” you whisper, and press a kiss to his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, and then finally, a soft press to his lips. He closes his eyes and leans into you, glad that not only has he got it off his chest, but that he doesn’t have to justify what he does, that you just understand.  

“Do you hate me?” he asks suddenly, catching your hands in his. “Do you think I’m the worst person? If you hated me I’d understand, I’m a killer, I’m worthless and I’m only good for hurting peo-” 

you press your lips to his again, cutting him off. You’re looking at him with such softness he can hardly handle it. He can hardly breathe. 

“Shuji. If I hated you I wouldn’t be here. And you’re good at a great many things. You’re always helping me, making time for me, looking after me, cheering me up.”

“But-”

“And...” you hold up a finger. “Maybe we are all terrible people. All I know is that we can be terrible people together. Just me and you.” 

You are so good, he thinks, and his eyes soften looking up at you. It feels unfair, that he should have this beautiful person with him, he who doesn’t deserve it. 

‘I didn’t take you for such a romantic,” he says, lightening the mood, and you see that signature grin on his face again.

“Shut up,” you grumble and he laughs, and the sound is beautiful and sweet. 

And so he falls sleep with your hands in his hair, listening to your breath, and the sound of cars as they pass by.

(likes and reblogs appreciated!! I didn’t proofread this at all, I’m just throwing shit out there)

[softshuji]

3:06AM | HAITANI RAN

In truth, Ran doesn't really know why he's here, outside a shitty convenience store, in the ungodly hours of the night, his suit still sharp and crease-less, but cold against his skin, feeling... he's not sure what.

He lights a cigarette, takes a long puff and blows a ring of smoke into the night air, watching it mist along with his breath. Yes he could go home, to a cold penthouse, a cold bed, and toss and turn till the sun climbed over the horizon again. But he doesn't. He stays here, sitting on a broken brick wall, outside a convenience store that looks like it's seen better days. The sign is falling, the illuminated logo is half in shadow. After the meeting, it just felt like he needed air. Suddenly the room was too close, the air too stifling and hot, the voices and cacophony of noise just too much for his head. He thought of going for a drink, but found that simply inhaling the sharp air till it burned his lungs worked better to clear his head.

That's when he sees the figure hunched over, walking in his direction. His first thought is one of alarm, and he, almost on instinct, presses the pad of his thumb against the gun tucked in his waistband, watching and waiting till they get closer.

'Hey, do you know the time?' You amble over to him, arms laden with books, your tired eyes not even bothering to hide the light in them. The books almost topple, and you grin sheepishly as you hoist them higher in your arms.

'Uh,' he starts, and clears his throat, releasing the pressure on the gun. '3:06. Aren't you out a bit late?'

You wave him off and move to sit next to him on the broken brick wall. He scoots over to make room for you, and the pile of books of course.

'Probably, but I had an exam to cram for, so I'd been stuck in the library all day. Why? What about you? These parts aren't really safe for anyone.'

He almost laughs. Little did you know he owned "these parts" and absolutely no one would ever get the jump on Haitani Ran.

'I guess you could say I had something similar,' he says instead and watches the furrow of your brow as you take in his appearance. The sharp suit, the watches, the tattoo on the base of his neck. If you recognize it at all, you give no indication of feeling anything other can curiosity.

'So what is it you do?' you ask, with no trace of a care, with no knowledge that he kills people for a living.

Ran opens his mouth, closes it again, turning over his answer in his mind. Should he tell you the truth? Should he lie? Would it matter in the end?

'I Kill people,' he says, and watches your eyes for the knee-jerk reaction he's come to accept and expect. The horror, the scramble backwards, the judgement. But it never comes.

'Oh...' you say and purse your lips. 'So why are you here then? Surely you're someone who is always surrounded by people. Didn't think someone like you would feel lonely.'

'Who said that I was?' He raises an eyebrow. Its not that you're wrong, and in fact he hates that you're not wrong.

'Come on, its easy to see. Like calls to like after all.' There is something sad in the way you say it, something unsaid in the way your eyes turn down. 'I expect the life you live is kind of a lonely one anyway.'

'What makes you say that?'

'I don't know.' You fiddle with the tassle of your scarf as he takes another drag of his cigarette. 'Life can't be happy all the time, even for someone like you who no doubt has everything he could ever want.'

How strange, he thinks, to be understood so easily by a complete stranger.

'I mean, you have cars, money, girls, clubs, and yet you're here alone. Someone who didn't feel alone wouldn't be.'

He wants to snap, he wants to say you don't know anything about him, you don't know he could kill you right now but he doesn't, and the reality of it is jarring.

'What makes you think I've got everything I want?' What good is it without anyone to share it with? When everyone only sees the death you deal and nothing else?

You cock your head to the side and shrug.

'It's ok to not be satisfied, to feel alone y'know. And If you haven't gotten what you want, then I hope you find what you're looking for Mr Haitani.' You stand, dust off your clothes and turn in the direction of your dorm.

Ah, so you did know who he was all along. Smart move, pretending you didn't.

'Ran, just Ran.' He says, not knowing why he feels so comfortable with you, or why he doesn't want this chance meeting to end.

You smile. 'Ran then. I hope you find what.. or who, you're looking for.' And with that, You walk in the direction of home, smiling to yourself, waving over your shoulder at his figure getting smaller with every step, not seeing the way he smiles for the first time this night, or the way he suddenly feels just that bit lighter.

(bruhhh i was so nervous for this I've never written for Ran before and shit made me nervous af I hope i did him a bit of justice. Likes and reblogs appreciated as usual!!)

taglist @stroberrylite @virtue-and-beneviolence @devinsdaydreams @prettyiolanthe (let me know if you'd like to be added or have a request)

[softshuji]

9:27 PM | HAITANI RAN

It’s the first time you’ve let him come to your house and to say you’re nervous would be an understatement. There are holes in the carpet, stains on the walls that refuse to come out no matter how much you scrub, a single filament bulb hanging from the center of the living room and all of it, only serves to remind you of how disastrously poor you are, how meager your furnishings must be compared to what he’s used to. You almost want to cower in shame when he passes over the threshold of your front door, met first by the edge of a carpet chewed through by rats.

If he notices, (which he does of course, this is Haitani Ran you’re talking about), he doesn’t say anything about it and only leans on the wall to remove his shoes, placing them neatly to the side, nudging the door closed with his hip.You want to stop him, want to turn him around and away from the dingy interior of an apartment that’s seen better days.

Even the smell puts you off. Methane, leaky pipes, damp, the scent of rot setting in somewhere, cooking that clings to the walls due to the poor ventilation.

Again, Ran says nothing.

The hallway to your living room is narrow, and the two of you side by side manage to brush the walls with your shoulders and all of it, only reminds you, only screams at you, as if to say he should not be here, he is too good for this. The shame is eating you up inside a bit at a time.

To make matters worse, you’ve hardly had time to clean in the last few days, and the time you have had has been spent sleeping, crippled under the weight of your stress. A weight that only increased tenfold when he offered to come home with you.

“What if we just go back to yours?’ He had asked, already flipping the car key around in his fingers.

‘I really don’t think you want to do that.” And the nerves had slithered into your stomach. ‘My house is not exactly… luxurious.’’

“Ah ,you’re overthinking it Princess.” He had thrown an arm around your shoulders. “I’m sure it’s fine.” And who were you to deny him that when he smiled at you the way he did, as if you were the morning and evening star?

You look up at him, trying to gauge a reaction and read his face. But it’s blank, the only trace of an expression is the faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

‘Ran, I’m really sorry-” You start, because it only feels natural to apologise, to cover some of your embarrassment, especially when you consider the more luxurious life he must be used to.

“For what?”

For the fact that my house is ugly.

For the fact that I feel embarrassing for making you look at it

For the fact that it’s not good enough for you and neither am I.

“The mess- I haven’t had time to clean- my house is not really good enough-” and you’re aware that you’re rambling, as if any of those possible explanations can assuage the guilt steadily building in your chest, and the damning thoughts in your head that tell you you’ve made a grave mistake. You’re almost prepared, or rather you’ve trained yourself to prepare for the reaction you’re always disheartened to see. An upturned nose, the wrinkled brow, the diverted eyes that would rather look anywhere but the yellow rings on the coffee table. A coffee table that shakes on its unsteady legs, piled high with papers and books and cups of tea and coffee. Shame. A parasite isn’t it?

‘What’s wrong with it? Your house looks fine to me.’ He says, nonchalant, so offhandedly that it takes you a second to register that none of the usual telltale signs of judgement are there on his face. Instead, he’s picking up the coffee cups and placing them in the sink, moving the miscellaneous items around to make room.

He nearly drops a cup when he hears you sniffle and sob into your sleeve and whips his head around.

“Princess?” There is worry in his voice as he pulls you to him, his brow now furrowed with concern. “What’s wrong? Did I do something?”

You almost laugh as you bury your face in his chest. It’s all so silly really, the way these thoughts have such a hold on you.

‘Thought you’d hate my house and find it ugly,’ you say, fists gripping his shirt. Are you ashamed of being poor? Yes you are, people have made you feel like it was a problem all throughout your life.

‘What? Why?’ He pulls you from him and looks into your eyes, taking your hands in his. ‘I could never find anything of yours ugly Princess.’

And it’s the way he speaks with such softness, his mouth pursed and brow creased, that has your heart practically folding in half.

‘But I’m poor…’ You whisper, too ashamed to look at him, opting instead, to kick at the carpet barefoot.

‘So?’ He shrugs and brushes an errant tear from your cheek. ‘Is that meant to bother me? Ya think I care if you’re poor or rich?’

He clicks his tongue and tucks your hair behind your ear. ‘Don’t care about any of that. My Princess is special to me no matter how much money she has.’

Only then do you lift your head to look at him, at the genuineness in his eyes, the softness of a smile reserved just for you. And the tight coil of tension in your stomach begins to unwind.

Haitani Ran isn’t perfect.

Sometimes he’s reckless. Sometimes he beats men black and blue without batting an eyelid because he knows he can, because he has the means to. Sometimes he loses control and comes home bloodied.

But sometimes, he just knows, just says the right thing at the right time. And it makes your heart sing every time he does it. Every time he’s attentive or sweet. Every time he reminds you of how irrevocably yours he is.

a/n : god I am so sorry for being so inconsistent with posting any work, but anyways I hope you like this, its partially self-referential, as always pls feel free to leave comments and feedback and likes and reblogs are appreciated!

taglist: @reiners-milkbiddies @sano-obsessed @stroberrylite @virtue-and-beneviolence @devinsdaydreams @prettyiolanthe @sugusshi @brownsugarmoonie @wotakuhime @snakegentleman @bajifuyutorabb @severellamahottub @haitaniapologist (let me know if you'd like to be added !)

[softshuji]

Midnight insecurity/ 5:04 am

Pairing: Baji x reader

warnings: none!

genre: fluff, angst idk?

Baji Keisuke is tired. Not physically no, but in some other way he can't really explain. It's more of a bone-deep ache, a stiffness in his muscles that no amount of exercise, or punching the bag can get rid of. And it's infuriating.

Maybe he's just sleepy, but the thought of laying down and not being able to sleep, tossing and turning on sheets that feel both too hot and too cold gives him unholy amounts of rage. In truth, he's not really sure why he's so on edge today. Maybe it's the exam tomorrow, maybe it's because he hasn't seen you in over a week and he's craving the softness of your hands in his hair, the touch of your fingers on his face, light as a feather, or maybe, just maybe, its because for once he looks down at the scars on his knuckles, the fresh scabs that are only just healing, and doesn't feel the tremor of excitement like he usually does.

Desensitization? Is that the word? That feeling he gets sometimes, where hitting and punching no longer feels... exciting. And in fact, it just makes him numb and cold and hollow. And yeah he won't lie, he relied on that, on the sweet beautiful thrum of adrenaline when he fought. It made up for the lack of other things going on in his life. The fact that he wasn't "smart" or capable of anything else.

After an hour of tossing and turning, he picks up the phone and scrolls till he sees your name, hesitates for a second before hitting dial. The first ring goes unanswered but then he hears the click of the call being picked up.

"Kei?" Your voice is still sluggish with sleep and he mentally curses himself for waking you.

"Shit, sorry baby. I didn't mean to wake you,' he mumbles, half considering putting the phone straight back down, his voice now laced with guilt.

"No, it's ok, I wasn't asleep,' you lie and turn to switch on the bedside lamp beside you. "But it is late. I thought you'd be asleep by now. Is something up?"

Baji doesn't respond immediately but rather sighs, furrowing his brow, wondering how he's going to broach the topic that's been on his mind for days.

"Kei? What is it?" You probe, concerned. It isn't like your boyfriend to be so quiet, and least of all to call in the middle of the night. That's usually you, calling to go out for bubble tea, to hear his voice, to tell him about what you just thought of. Anything. He is, as you always think, the better half of you.

"It's dumb..." he says and you can hear the note of dejection in his voice. Your heart falls.

"Kei, whatever it is, it's not dumb if it's bothering you like this. You don't have to tell me, but I might be able to help. Two heads are better than one right?"

He looks down at his lap, at the cat nestling against his stomach, eyes reflecting the moonlight streaming through the open window. "I'm not sure anymore y/n. I'm not sure who I am."

"What? What do you mean Kei? You're scaring me a bit."

"I'm sorry. It's just... I don't feel like fighting as much anymore. Ever since the other day, it's just not the same." And his voice is so small and quiet you have to strain to hear it.

You stay silent, waiting for him to continue, waiting for him to finish what he's obviously spent a long time thinking about.

"It doesn't even feel exciting anymore y'know? It's like..." he pauses, looking up at the ceiling, searching for the right words. Baji Keisuke has never been good with them. "It's like, I'm there, but it doesn't make me happy anymore. It feels like nothing. And shit scares me because that's all I've ever known or been good at. I ain't smart, I ain't good at nothing else, and you probably won't like me if I stop doing it-"

"Ok let me stop you there Pointdexter," you interrupt, shocked and hurt and worried that he both thinks so little of himself, and assumes you think so little of him.

"First of all," you say pointedly. "Fighting is not all you're good at. You're smart, kind, loving, funny, the most genuine person that I know." And damn it, he's heard you confess before, a million times, but he still can't help the heat blooming in his cheeks now. Crazy how you still have that effect on him huh?

"But-"

"No buts Baji Keisuke," you say, a playful lilt to your voice. "You are the world's best boyfriend, and that shit has nothing to do with the fact that you can fight." Then your voice softens. "Did you think I only love you because you could fight? I love you when you're sleeping, and your hair looks pretty in the light, and when we're studying together and you get that look when you understand something and you're happy. And I love you all the other moments too." To be honest, your own face is aflame at your own words, and maybe its easier to say now, having been together this long. Or maybe its because both of you love each other more than either of you thought humanly possible.

"Even if I'm dumb as hell?" he asks tentatively, swiping a hand on the nape of his neck, as if that'll get rid of the heat creeping along there.

"I will never think you're dumb Kei, because you're not, no matter whether you think it or not." Some part of you shatters and splinters apart, at the thought that he doesn't see himself the way you see him. "I love you Baji Keisuke. I always will."

He takes a shaky breath, his heart so full of love for you that it feels like its too big for his chest.

"I love you too my pretty," and its almost a whisper but for the way his chest feels so airy, as if all the tension has seeped out of his bones. "And thanks, y'know, for waking up and talkin' to me."

"I told you I wasn't asle-"

"Yeah, yeah sure baby whatever you say," he chuckles. "You should get some sleep alright? Goodnight y/n."

"Goodnight Kei." And he hears you blow a kiss through the phone before the soft click as the call ends.

Yeah, maybe it was ok. Maybe everything was ok. Maybe he could just be, and that would be ok too.

He shuffled into bed, his eyes closing immediately, as the dreams as soft as feathers, as soft as your kisses, settled on him for the night.

(reblogs appreciated my loves, let me know if you got a request!)

[softshuji]

2:52PM | HAITANI RAN

Ran listens. He listens to the patter of rain on the windowpane, the trickle of it as it drips down the pipes, and watches it slide and disappear into the small puddles forming just beyond his window. He listens to the wind, not quite howling, but singing, whistling even, through the draught under the balcony door. He has always been a good listener, always with one ear attentive to the danger around him, always ready for the sound of a knife being drawn, the bullet flying out of a gun, the sound of bills being stacked on mahogany tables.

Today is a little different.

You’re listening to classical music and the low hum of it in the background against the rain, makes him feel a little sleepy. His head drops involuntarily, against yours, his nose brushing against your hair, his lips soft hovering tenderly, just shy of kissing the crown of your head. You’re curled up against his side, legs tucked against your chest and his, up on the ottoman footrest. There’s a blanket pulled up to your neck, and his hand is soft and warm against the bare skin of your arm.

He feels his phone buzz underneath him, buried by layers of cotton and pillows thrown haphazardly on the sofa. He doesn’t move to answer it, doesn’t even acknowledge that it’s ringing, tries to block it out even.

‘You gonna get that Ran?’ You turn your head to look at him, lifting his lips from where they’re peppering soft kisses on your hair in the process.

He looks at you, curled into his side, pressed tightly against him, so much so that he can feel the warmth of your body seeping into him through his clothes. He looks at the discarded coffee cups on the table, the mess that neither of you feel inclined to clean up today and the remnants of the pancakes you had for breakfast, syrup still sticky on the plates and it makes his decision for him.

‘Nah, I’m not,’ he says and pulls the blanket up from where it’s fallen off his legs.

Ran has never been one to slow down, to sit back, to just be, and so this moment, which almost knocks the breath from him by force, is one he’s never experienced before. It’s not…unpleasant, he thinks, as he puts an arm around your shoulders and pulls you just a few centimetres closer.

His hair is unbraided today and so when he leans down, strands of it tickle your ear, your neck, the top of your shoulder, and you suppress the urge to giggle. But he sees the beginnings of a smile, the curve of your lips, and the way you scrunch your nose trying to hide it and his heart does something dangerous.

‘Won’t your Boss be mad?’ You snake an arm around his middle, your breath hot on his chest. You don’t fail to notice the slight shiver that runs through him and the way his arms tighten around you.

‘Probably,’ he says, shrugging and flashing you a cheeky smile. And though the smile is full of mirth, full of wonderment and excitement and playfulness, you know him well enough to see the things that the bravado hides. Like the fact that he’ll be gone for the night on a job in which he’ll return bloodied and tired from, a job he probably won’t tell you about even if you pester him because Haitani Ran is not someone who shares his worries often. It’s only after coaxing, when it’s late and you’re laying together in bed, that he might loosen enough to let the hard truths and rotten fears that he keeps hidden under lock and key slip past his tongue.

And even that is rare.

It’s funny actually. No one told him that love wasn’t all poison and hurt and manipulation and the urge to destroy things. It wasn’t lying and backstabbing and all the vile things he’d heard and seen. It wasn’t as painful as he assumed it would be when he met you.Or maybe it was and you gave a new colour and breath of life into almost everything he’d assumed about the world.

And if that was the case, then he was happy to watch you breathe life and love into everything, happy to watch you touch the grey world and let it explode into colour, in bright hues of pink and red and orange.

And even though it was raining, and he knew what awaited him when he left tonight, looking back over his shoulder at you with your smiling face, insisting he take snacks in case he got hungry, perhaps it wouldn’t be all that bad. Perhaps, even something like the rain could be beautiful.

a/n: Listening to classical music and thinking abt him is my fav thing to do ^_^ so this was entirely self indulgent. apologies for the fact that it takes me so long to make short pieces of work. this has been in the drafts for like 2 weeks. reblogs r appreciated ofc!

taglist: @reiners-milkbiddies @sano-obsessed @stroberrylite @virtue-and-beneviolence @devinsdaydreams @prettyiolanthe @sugusshi @brownsugarmoonie @wotakuhime @snakegentleman @bajifuyutorabb (pls let me know if you'd like to be added to the list or have a req!)

[softshuji]

12.04 AM | HANMA SHUJI

It’s cold. The sort of cold that bites at the skin, makes the fingers numb and the nose red. The sort of cold that makes the breath fog up in the night air. Coupled with Hanma Shuji’s rings of smoke, it’s hard to tell what’s his breath frosting in the night air, and what isn’t.

The city, even at this time of night, is still thrumming with life. From here, high up on some apartment block roof that he’s dragged you to, the lines of traffic just look like bright red flashing lights all stuck together and moving at a snail’s pace. There is of course the vague sound of horns blaring and angry drivers yelling at the unmoving traffic, but it’s almost unhearable above the loud grunge music Shuji has playing on the speaker behind you. If anything, you’re lucky that these few apartments are vacant, with windows smashed in and cats making homes for themselves inside.

He juts out his chin a little, flashing you a cheeky grin and gesturing to the cigarette between his lips, to which you roll your eyes.

‘I can’t believe you’re using me to indulge your habit’ you say pointedly, but with the faint trace of a smile. You take out the lighter, inscribed with his initials in gold lettering and lean forward to light his cigarette, flicking it off and pocketing it when he turns back to look at the lively city.

‘Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy it Doll,’ he replies and you roll your eyes for the second time in under a minute.

‘You should quit,’ you say, scooting closer to him on the ledge. Both of your legs are dangling off the edge and there’s nothing but a metal bar that runs from one side of the broken roof to the other to separate you from a 300 ft drop to the floor below. ‘You’ll get black lungs you know.’

He shrugs. ‘Live fast, die young right?’ He turns behind him and cranks up the volume on the stereo, closing his eyes to the music, tapping his foot in time with the beat.

On any other day, such a comment mightn’t have bothered you, and you’d be willing to laugh it off and agree. But today? Today there is something sad in the way he says it, something unspoken in the way he exhales and his shoulders deflate. And maybe it's the proximity of him and the fact that your thigh is brushing his ever so slightly, or maybe it’s because you’re feeling strangely sentimental sitting next to him in your matching biker jackets, that you can’t bear to hear him say something like that.

‘You really believe that Shuji?’ You ask, voice small, just about audible over the crash and thrum of the music. ‘You really want to die young?’

He looks at you, brows furrowing, blowing a ring of smoke out into the frigid air. ‘You getting soft on me tonight Doll?’

You punch his arm lightly and tut under your breath. ‘Just answer the question silly.’ In truth, you’re not sure what you’re expecting to hear. Hanma Shuji, has and will always be a phenomenon you can’t understand, an enigma or puzzle that you can’t solve. It’s in his nature to be unpredictable and chaotic and sporadic. It’s why he called you out here in the middle of the night, just to listen to grunge music and watch the world go by.

‘What do I get for answerin’ it?’ He quirks an eyebrow.

‘A promise from me not to push you straight off this building,’ you reply, deadpan, and Shuji only giggles at your expression that clearly shows both how done you are with antics, and how much you enjoy laughing at them at the same time.

He clears his throat and takes a drag of his cigarette. ‘It’s not somethin’ I ever thought about really. All I know is, I wanna spend the time I have doing shit I enjoy. If that means I die young then so what?’

And you know, it’s as honest or genuine answer that you’re gonna get. Hanma Shuji isn’t one for sentimentality and he prefers not to think about the things he can’t control. What would be the point of wasting time on that?

‘Come on,’ you say, swinging your legs in time with the song. ‘Surely, there must be something you dream of doing one day. Going away, having a dream. Something like that?’

Surely you want more for yourself Shuji, you think. Surely you want more than just this rough and dangerous life where you could die at any given moment, where every altercation is the difference between life or death.

‘Full of questions today aren’t you?’

You nudge him in the side. ‘Go on humour me.’

He taps his cigarette against the bricks of the broken roof and hums under his breath. ‘This is gonna sound stupid but I used to want to be an artist. You know, paint and stuff.’ Thank God it’s dark, he thinks, and you can’t see the sheepish half smile, the pink tint on his cheeks, or the wistfulness in his gaze.

‘That doesn’t sound stupid,’ you whisper, and your heart is beating wildly in your chest, so full and soft and warm, that it feels as if it’ll burst out of you. Of course you don’t tell him about yours. That every dream you’ve conjured has him in it, that every possible future is one in which he’s very much in the picture.

‘You better not tell anyone about it,’ he says. ‘Don’t want them to think ‘m soft.’ Even though he’s smiling, there is still a seriousness to his words.

‘Your secret is safe with me.’

Of course it is. He is, after all, your Shuji, the artist of your dreams, even if he doesn’t know it.

taglist : @reiners-milkbiddies @sano-obsessed @stroberrylite@virtue-and-beneviolence@devinsdaydreams @prettyiolanthe @sugusshi @themotherofmoons

(reply or send me an ask to be added!)

[softshuji]

Morning coffee - Haitani Rindou

Haitani Rindou is a complicated man. A man who keeps his cards close to his chest, who hardly lets on what he thinks, who is both unreadable and unknowable. Unless you're his brother, the man is a mystery. He shares nothing with ordinary people, even his own employees, the people he sees day-in, day-out.

That's where you came in. It wasn't a flashy job that you had at the office, a high rise building that kissed the sky, soaring into the clouds. The view, as expected, was breath-taking, and you never got used to it, no matter how often you delivered coffee to the Haitani office at the top. The sun peeking over the horizon, the mist that was still fresh in the air, the way the pink and orange hues of a morning sunrise bled into the sky. Beautiful didn't even begin to describe it.

Then there was the other thing. The other thing being Rindou himself, and his cold steely gaze that looked out the floor to ceiling windows, at the whole city spread out before him, whenever you delivered the coffee to him every morning.

And of course, Rindou hasn't failed to notice you. He turns his head to look at you every morning, then snaps his gaze back to the sunrise whenever he sees your wide brimming smile, trying to hide the way that a matching smile tugs at his lips as he watches you fuss over the napkins and the croissants he asks specifically for, from the corner of his eye. Every day is the same. On some days, you tentatively ask him if he needs anything else, to which he always replies that he's fine, and then thanks you as you leave, always with a smile. That is it.

And, as per usual, this behaviour is not lost on his brother.

'Damn, you've got it bad,' he says and smirks over his cup.

'Shut up,' Rindou fires back and watches your retreating figure as you balance a tray and chat animatedly with your co-workers.

'If you like her, just go for it. What's the worst that can happen?'

'Oh I don't know Ran, maybe she could, you know, get killed for being too close to us.' Rindou says and rolls his eyes as if he's been asked the stupidest question in existence. But Ran just clicks his tongue.

Rindou, much to his own chagrin, feels hungry when he thinks of you. Not in any perverse way, or at least, not all the time. This is a different sort of hunger, one which feels more like longing. He wants to see you smile at him, wants to make you smile, wants to brush his hands against yours and see you pull away and blush, and he almost grosses himself out with how soft he feels for you.

The next day, was just a little different. He'd been forced to have a meeting early in the morning, before the sun had risen properly. Just him and some small-time business owner meeting in the young hours of the morning before the rest of the world woke. That was his job after all, to secure the shady things no one else wanted to think about. Well, his and Ran's of course.

When you arrived, tray laden with the obligatory coffee cups (three this time of course) and napkins, the meeting itself was still in progress. Rindou grit his teeth, turning curse after curse over in his head when the man leered at you as you bent to place the tray on the table.

'And anyway,' the man turns back to Rindou, using a napkin to wipe the perspiration on his forehead. 'I think the extra land is the least of what I deserve after having to deal with you fucking Haitani's.'

And Rindou barely has time to register the insult, before he sees your hands clench into fists.

'If Mr Haitani has done you the honour of inviting you here the least you could do is show him some fucking respect!' You fire, your eyes boring holes into his shaven scalp.

Even Rindou is shocked. The silence is so loud, so deafening, you could hear a pin drop. For those few seconds, there is nothing but the rushing of water in the pipes, the hum of the air-con and the cracking of leather as the man turns in his seat.

He looks at you, and you're too angry to notice, the horrible way his eyes roam over you in your work uniform before turning back to Rindou, who already has his gun firm in his hand under the table, feigning indifference, quietly seething with rage under his cold exterior.

'You let all your whores speak to your guests like tha-?

The man's words are choked off as Rindou vaults over the table, knocking the man straight out of his chair and pinning him to the ground, one arm firmly on his throat, pushing till he hears the gurgle of him choking on starved breath. With the other hand, he presses the gun against his temple. All of it so quick, so precise, without a flutter of emotion across his face.

'Say it again,' Rindou says, his eyes steely. He tightens his grip on the mans throat when he doesn't respond. The man flaps, pulls at Rindou's sleeves, his chest straining for air.

'Now I'm going to tell you what's going to happen. You're going to get up, you're going to beg forgiveness on your fucking knees from my employee, and then you're gonna leave. If you so much as look at her wrong, I'll throw you from this building and watch your body go splat on the floor. Do you hear me?'

The man nods, spit flying from his lips. Rindou loosens his grip and the man, on shaky legs, kneels before you, not even daring to look at you as you look on in shock.

'Mr Haitani it's fine-'

He ignores you and pushes the man with his foot forward so his head is nearly touching the floor. 'You will learn to respect my fucking employees.'

'I'm sorry,' the man blubbers, tears mixing with his snot and saliva. 'I'm sorry, please forgive me.'

When Rindou sees you nod tentatively he grabs the man from the scruff of the neck, creasing his collar and shirt in the process. He all but throws him towards the door, kicking him again when the man stumbles on his shaky legs.

'Get out, before I change my mind, and you lose your life as well as the deal.' Rindou twirls the gun in his hand and smirks, just a slight when the man throws the door open and runs, clutching his chest, down the corridor and towards the stairs.

Rindou turns to you, and exhales, mentally preparing himself for a flinch, for you backing away from him. But you don't, you just stare at him and smooth out your work clothes, biting your lip before taking a deep breath.

'Will... there be anything else sir?' You ask, albeit hesitantly.

'N-no. No, thank you y/n.' He allows a smile, a small one, and tucks the gun into his waistband.

You nod and move towards the door, eager to leave and catch your breath, focus and calm down.

'Oh and y/n?' His voice pulls your attention back, your head turning towards him. His jacket has a crease in the forearm and you fight the urge to smooth it out.

'Yes Mr Haitani?'

'Rindou. Just call me Rindou,' he says sheepishly, hoping the pink tint on his cheeks will be mistaken for something other than embarrassment. 'Thank you...for... that.'

You smile, giving him that signature grin that he loves but will never say he loves. 'No problem Rindou. And thank you, for what you did too.'

He smiles properly this time, and the sight nearly takes your breath away.

He nods, and watches you leave, lifting his hand to return the wave you give over your shoulder.

Yeah he might have to do some explaining for losing the deal, but for you? Yeah, it was worth it.

(Yes again the first time I'm writing for Rindou too. Yes I was nervous I had no idea whether this was good or not all I know is Rindou sexc. let me know how it was! Likes and reblogs appreciated as usual!!)

Taglist: @reiners-milkbiddies @sano-obsessed @stroberrylite @virtue-and-beneviolence @devinsdaydreams @prettyiolanthe (let me know if you'd like to be added)