Latest Posts by maboiisuga - Page 8

darlin' darlin'

mikey x reader, ran x reader

summary - mikey decides it's time to remind ran who's in charge.

cws - sex worker reader, rans gf reader, mikey cucks ran, degradation, praise, i made mikey's cock huge what do you want from me. i don't think this is hurt comfort but there could be a littol angst in that rans not thrilled mikey's fucking his girlfriend and mikey's mean about it. daddy kink, reader sings.

MINORS DNI

Mikey didn’t want to come. He didn’t want to be at another club, he didn’t want to get high, or drunk, he was still hungover from the day before, a dull throbbing at the back of his head as he leans against the bar. He rubs his eyes.

“You can dip soon,” Sanzu offers. “This’ll be a great front for us, all the tips and stuff, s’great way to clean off our money. I give him a lotta shit but Haitani was right.” Mikey massages his temples. 

“What’s that they say about a broken clock?” He orders a whiskey. “That Haitani has to be right sometimes or someone woulda put a bullet through his head by now.” Sanzu snickers. The drink comes seconds later, chilled, with one large ice cube, exactly the brand he likes. The bar is crowded, but not packed, dark wood and red velvet. The brass accents sparkle in the low light, and men in expensive suits lounge in secluded benches. The stage is empty for now, but the floor of it shines, sparkling with expectation. “How does this work again?” Mikey takes another long sip. 

“The girls come out and perform,” Sanzu explains, “They collect tips, but the men have to bid on them blindly if they want to take them home for the night. They write how much they’d spend on a night with her, but they have to guess how much they’d go for, the bids aren’t displayed, and it costs 10,000 yen to bid. Highest bidder pony’s up and takes the girl for the night. All cash.” 

“Huh,” Mikey realizes he’s finished his drink quickly, the whiskey warm in his ribs. “You’re right, this’ll be perfect.” 

“I’m sure Ran had a great time testing them out,” Sanzu smiles wickedly, “He always does.” 

“Actually,” A voice pipes up from behind them, and Haitani Ran strides across the plush carpet over to the bar, “I liked one of ‘em so much I kept her. It finally happened, I’ve been tied down.” 

“Doubt it.” Sanzu’s grin widens. 

“I’m wounded,” Ran touches his heart, “You don’t think I could be happy with just one girl?.” Mikey clears his throat and Ran gives him a little bow. “Whaddya think?” He asks, gesturing to the packed gentlemans club and reluctantly Mikey nods. 

“It’s nice.” He sighs, and leans against the bar. “Looking forward to seeing the girls.” Ran nods. 

“Not to brag but I’ve outdone myself this time.” He orders a drink and it’s in his hands seconds later. 

“So, what?” Sanzu said, “Are we going to meet this girl?” 

“Yeah,” Ran sips his scotch, “She’ll perform, but uh, don’t think anyone’s gonna outbid me.” 

“You’re willing to bet on that?” Sanzu raises his eyebrows. 

“Literally, yes. No one here would cross me.” Ran says, his lavender eyes darkening. “Plus,” he grins, “Think this one might actually tie me down. For real.” 

“I’ve heard that before.” Rindou joins the group, shaking his head at his brother. 

“You’ll know when you see her!” Ran protests, “Bet even Mikey will admit she’s fine as fuck.” Mikey is getting a refill on his whiskey, and shrugs. 

“I’m,” he pauses, “Particular.” 

“As someone who’s spent a fair amount of time acquiring paid company for you,” Ran says, a weak smile on his face, “I know.” He stretches a little, enjoying that he’s a good few inches taller than even the next largest Bonten executive. 

“I like,” Mikey starts to explain, then stops, frowning, “I like nice girls.” He finishes. 

“She’s real nice,” Ran smirks, and Mikey doesn't get a chance to respond, because the lights darken, and the light chatter of the men in the booths subsides a little. The first woman walks onto the stage, in a green satin dress that skims her curves, with eyes that glitter, the pianist begins playing a soft, jazzy song and she opens her mouth, starting to sing. Her voice is low and sensual, and she keeps her eyes mostly closed, punctuating certain phrases by lifting her gaze to the audience, gifting them with her attention. Waitresses in tiny outfits take bids from men in bespoke suits, the smoke from their cigars wafts towards the ceiling. 

“I can’t believe you managed to combine the two things that rich assholes like most,” Rindou grumbles, “Pussy and gambling.” Sanzu nods. Ran leans back on the bar, 

“Even Kokonoi had to admit this was a good idea.” He says, as the first girl finishes her song, and is led off the stage by a waiter, who leads her to the booth with the man who had bid the most money. A pretty waitress with curly blonde hair taps Ran’s shoulder, hands him a note. “She just went for 500,000 yen. Cash.” 

“Don’t forget the other thing rich assholes like,” Rindou offers, “Showing off.” The man who won the first girl makes a show of putting his coat on and leading her upstairs and out of the bar, to the rooms upstairs. A few more women perform, and they’re all talented and beautiful in exactly the way Ran likes, kind smiles, intelligent eyes, something deeper happening behind the surface, the kind of beauty that makes men want to pry their souls open, and unravel their secrets. The kind of beauty that launches ships, that starts wars.

He had a talent, begrudgingly acknowledged among Bonten, for running these kinds of establishments, the same way Kokonoi could sniff out a deal, or Mikey’s natural predisposition to landing on his feet in a fight, he’d balance the right amount of discretion and flash, of propriety and fun. Of course, usually the most beautiful women ended up in his bed, and tonight would be no different, Mikey assumes. He glances at the exit, a few more women, each more talented and beautiful than the next, had taken the stage, and he was getting bored with the exercise. He stares out at the crowd of men, who would occasionally heckle each other and push each other to spend more, and downs his drink, eyes dulling. Is this the legacy Ran was comfortable leaving? He wonders, Ran who talked often and loudly, of his desire to father children, but seemed incapable of even sticking to a regular prostitute. Did he care what he was remembered for? Mikey is so busy studying his subordinate that he almost doesn’t see you walk on stage. 

The first thing Mikey sees is your thigh, a long leg peeking out from a slit that cuts nearly up to your hip, you can’t be wearing panties, is his first thought, you must not be, and his mouth drops open as the rest of you saunters on stage. The dress is low cut, a glistening red velvet, dipping between your perfect breasts, a thin gold chain is around your neck. Your hair is impeccably styled, sweeping around your face, the soft wash of makeup you’ve applied perfectly accentuates your natural, breathtaking beauty. A hush falls over the crowd, and you part your lips. 

“Love,” you start, perfectly on pitch, tone like a whispered bell tone, “I said, real love, is like feeling no fear, in the face of danger.” The music picks up underneath you, and when you open your eyes the energy in the room crackles, deep and dark, shimmering with energy, it’s like you’re staring right through the men in front of you. Mikey closes his mouth, but not before the others notice. None of them speak though, equally transfixed by your song, a modern siren in strappy heels and winged eyeliner. “A touch, from your real love,” you sing, the corner of your mouth twitching into a smile, “Is like heaven takin’ the place of somethin’ evil,” you sway gently, one hand delicately wrapped around the microphone stand. “And I want it,” You catch Mikey’s eyes, he could swear it, “So, much.” Mikey is distracted by Ran waving a waiter over and passing her a note. He realizes, floats back down to earth after his initial infatuation, and is immediately deeply annoyed at the idea of anyone else's hands on your body, anyone else parting your thighs. 

“Told ya she was fine.” Ran mutters, shaking his head at Mikey, who comes to terms with several things very quickly, one, that you weren’t his, two, that you were Ran’s of all people, and three, that unless he acted very quickly, you weren’t going home with him tonight. 

“Darlin, darlin, darlin,” you sing, closing your eyes, clinging to the microphone stand, “I fall to pieces, when I’m with you, I fall to pieces,” your hips are almost hypnotic, the softness of your voice is addicting, “My cherries, and wine, rosemary, and thyme,” and he feels almost paralyzed, stuck watching you, unable to call a waitress over, to tell Ran to hand you over. The song ends and a waiter helps you down from the stage in your heels, leading you to the back of the room, and a chorus of boos from the men as Ran slips his arm around your waist. 

“I pay for it just like you fellas,” He says with a grin, “Simmer down.” They do, after a few good natured jabs. Mikey’s stomach turns as you blink up at Ran, who leans down and presses a kiss to your lips. 

“Angel,” He says, gesturing to the other men. “These are my colleagues and my brother, Mikey, Sanzu, and Rindou.” You extend a manicured hand, your nails are the same deep red as your dress. They each take it, and greet you. “Dinner?” He says to the other men, “Or join me in the back once  you’ve,” he gestures to the stage, “Found some entertainment?” 

“I’ll come now.” Mikey says, unsmiling, sliding off his barstool. 

“There’s nothing you think could tempt you,” Ran teases, grip on your waist tightening, daring Mikey to rip you away, “Nothing at all?” The truth was unspoken between them, Mikey knew what he wanted, and Ran knew it too, knew that the pleasure he was dreaming of was locked between your legs, knew that his only hope of ecstasy was just out of reach. Mikey shrugs. 

“I’m,” he doesn’t look at you, “Particular.” Ran’s lips curl into a smile. 

“That you are, boss.” He leads you and Mikey out of the main room into a private dining area, slightly more well lit, a bit more golden, but in sharper relief you only look more beautiful, Mikey notes, settling on the other side of you at the table. Ran settles a hand on your thigh and orders for you, without asking what you’d want. Mikey follows, quickly and the scantily clad waitress disappears. 

“I find it hard to believe you’re so particular that no one here is your type,” You say to him, when the food starts to arrive, steaming baskets of dumplings opened on the table. “Not even Lara?” 

“Which one was Lara?” He asks, reaching for a dumpling. 

“She was first, in green.” You offer, and he shrugs. 

“I guess,” he says, “I work very hard, and I’m careful about dedicating my time to people who are untested.” You nod sagely. 

“That I can understand.” Sanzu and Rindou stumble in with girls on their arms. 

“Hope you paid,” Ran says, eyes narrowing, “We can’t be ripping ourselves off.” His hand moves up your thigh under the table, Mikey’s stomach turns, but you keep your face neutral, bringing a spoonful of soup to your lips. You lean into Ran’s arm, and Mikey swears he can see a slight blush creep onto the Bonten executive’s cheeks. 

“Excuse me,” you murmur, standing and walking to the bathroom. Mikey takes another big sip of his drink, the alcohol hits him hard, and he can’t tear his eyes from your disappearing figure.

“Listen,” Ran says, cutting in on his thoughts as you round the corner to the restrooms. “She’s a good girl,” Mikey looks at his executive, not catching what he means. “You can have her, for the night.” 

“For the night?” Mikey repeats. 

“I’m seeing her,” Ran says, checking his reflection in a knife. “I can’t say I’ll like it, but if you want her, go ahead. On me.” He glances at the shorter man. “Regrettably, I’m a touch attached.” 

“I can see that.” Mikey says, taking another sip of his drink. “I’ll take her.” Ran nods, and Mikey detects traces of vulnerability in him that he’s never seen before. “And you can watch.” Ran blinks at him. “You heard me.” Mikey deadpans. “You’ll be watching.” 

“I-” 

“This is not a negotiation.” Mikey’s eyes harden, “You don’t tell me that I can have something that belongs to Bonten, I own this place, I own you, and I definitely own her.” He scowls. An unreadable emotion crosses Ran’s face. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Glad we remembered our place.” Mikey stands, intercepting you as you return from the bathroom. “We’re going upstairs.” He says and you give him the gentlest, most polite smile, and a tiny little bow. He slips an arm around your waist, leading you up the stairs. They’re dark wood, and carpeted with a lush red rug, softening the sound of Ran’s footsteps behind you. “Do you have a room?” He asks, and you nod. 

“Yes, sir.” You chirp, your tone still soft and muted, but loud enough to cut through the sounds of the conversation in the restaurant below. You feel his grip on your waist tighten as you reach the top, steadying you in  your heels. You don’t look back at Ran, your heart racing. “This way.” You take them both down to the end of the hallway, and open a heavy, dark wood door. Your room has warm, rich, red walls, and dark furniture. There’s a huge bed, covered with pillows, and sitting next to a light pink armchair is a small wicker basket of what looks like toys. You hold the door for both men, Ran has to duck his head to fit under the door frame. You let it close behind you, standing in  your dress. Mikey walks immediately to the basket, digging through it. 

“Take your shoes off.” He orders, and you’re struck by how soft his voice is. It’s not light, or kind, but naturally soft, almost muffled. You sneak a glance at Ran, who's got his hands shoved in the pockets of his suit. You bend over, undoing the buckle on the top of your strappy heel and then stepping out of it, letting out a soft sigh of relief. You fold even more to get the other one, taking both and setting them next to the bed. Mikey hasn’t turned around, but you realize without your shoes that he’s actually taller than you. Ran is gigantic without your heels, well over six feet tall, and he doesn’t offer you any comfort, doesn’t dare touch you. His face is completely unreadable as Mikey takes the basket and sets it on the floor, striding across the room and handing something to you. They’re a pair of red leather handcuffs, the silver chain glinting in low light. “Put those on him.” Mikey says, and you reach for Ran’s hand, but the blonde clears his throat. “Behind his back.” 

“One sec.” Ran says, and his voice sounds normal, but there’s just a touch of forced brightness to his tone. He slips out of his huge suit jacket, setting it on top of your dresser. He must catch something in your expression, because he gives you a little smile, “Be gentle with me sweetheart,” he teases, and that brings a little smile to your face as you walk softly behind him. Mikey watches the small interaction, jealousy broiling in his stomach. Why Ran, he wondered, why Ran, of all people who you could seem deserving of affection. Vain, lazy, snarky, what the hell did Haitani Ran have that he didn’t? He clears his throat and for the first time, fear flashes on your face. 

“I’m having trouble with the clasp.” You look at him, doe eyed, begging for help and his cock twitches in his pants. 

“Here.” Mikey strides over, closing the cuffs and taking Ran by the arm, sitting him in the silk pink armchair, in full view of the bed. Ran shifts uncomfortably, it’s been a long time since he’d attempted to exist in any way while restrained. Mikey turns his attention to you, reaching out and gently pushing some hair out of your face. “Are you nervous,” he asks, hands coming to rest on your waist, you nod, and you feel his lips on your forehead, your eyes flutter shut. “I’m not gonna let him be upset with you,” he murmurs. “He, like you, belongs to me.” You look up at him sharply, and a little smile flits across his face. “That’s right.” He breathes, “That’s right, you belong to me.” His hand slips down the satin of your dress, and dips between the slit, moving between your thighs, finding you as bare as he’d expected. “Good girl,” he praises, immediately able to feel how wet you are, gathering some arousal on his fingers before dipping two of them inside you, feeling the warmth of your little gasp on his skin. “Shhhh,” he breathes, looking at Ran, who remains impassive, sitting in the chair. “Shhh, baby.” you feel his lips on your cheek as he starts pumping them in and out of you. He nudges your clit out of its hood with his thumb, lips trailing burning kisses down your cheek, to your jaw, to the crook of your neck. “I wanna see you cum for me,” he whispers, “I want to feel it on my fingers, understand?” 

“Mhm,” you whimper, already finding it difficult to keep your thighs from shaking, the pleasure he’s providing is so steady, not building, bringing you to a cliff and leaving you there. 

“You know why I’m prepping you so good,” he says, arm around your waist tightening as your moans rise in pitch, as the sound of him fucking you with his fingers becomes wet and lewd, “Know why, baby?” You shake your head dumbly. 

“No, I,” you shudder, he cuts you off mid sentence by flicking his thumb over your bud, “I, I don’t,” 

“Can’t even speak,” Mikey says, softly reveling in the little victory, “That stupid already, all the words gone from that pretty little head?” You nod, moaning softly, holding his gaze. “That’s it, look at daddy,” he coaches, “Want you to look me in the eyes while you cum for me, understand?” He picks up the pace, forcing any remnants of a response you could have to that back down in your throat. “I’m prepping you,”  he explains, with the patience of a saint as your noises start to sound less like pleas and more like whimpers, “Because you’ve never taken a cock like mine.” Ran shifts uncomfortably in his chair, just as Mikey kisses you, drinking up your soft little sounds. “Gonna cum?” He murmurs right into your lips, “Go ahead, cum for me, I wanna feel it.” 

“Oh,” you manage, the second your lips are free, your orgasm ripping through your body, overwhelming pleasure running through your veins, toes curling as you cling to Mikey for dear life, wrapping your arms around his neck. He holds you up, grunting softly as he lays you down on the bed. He’s drunk on you, drunk on the warmth of your skin, on your sweet, musical sounds, on the way your dress splays out underneath you. He’s nearly forgotten about his subordinate when he hears the chair creek again. He glances at the taller man, half climbed on top of you, one leg between your thighs, hands above your shoulders, when his lips curl into a cruel smile. Ran’s unmistakably hard, a huge tent in his suit pants as he squirms in the chair. A laugh falls from Mikey’s lips before he can stop it, and then he decides he doesn’t care, tapping you lightly on the arm and directing your attention to your boyfriend. 

“He must like you,” Mikey muses, “To still be getting off when he’s not even touching you,” Ran looks away. “Kind of,” Mikey traces a pattern on your bare thigh, “He’s kind of pathetic looking, like this.” You blink up at Mikey, then look over at Ran. Your teeth sink into your lower lip as you consider, and both men watch, you let out a soft little sigh. 

“Can I touch him?” You ask, and Mikey considers. 

“No.” He says after a long moment. “If he’s good, maybe I’ll let him eat my cum out of your pussy, hm?” He doesn’t give you time to react, pushing you back down on the mattress with one hand on your clavicle, climbing back on top of you quickly. He yanks his shirt off, throwing it on the floor and not missing the way your eyes rake down his chisled form, he might not be taller than Ran, but fuck he knew he was stronger. He pins your wrists to the bed and kisses you, losing himself in your softness, the way your body curves up to meet his, and fuck, yes, he knows he’s got you when you grind against his clothed thigh. 

“Fuck,” you both hear, and you freeze but Mikey ignores Ran, ignores him muttering under his breath, groaning, “Fuck, I,” you look over at him, and his face is red, he’s writhing against the restraints, desperately attempting to get some friction, some sensation from his cock that’s trapped in his pants. 

“You wanna look at him so badly,” Mikey cautions, ‘I’ll make you stare at him the whole time.” Your eyes widen and you focus back on him. “He’s not here,” Mikey breathes, and you shudder, feeling the warmth of his lips on your neck. “He’s not here, and you don’t belong to him.” He pushes your thighs apart with his legs, reaching up and fumbling with his fly. “You belong,” he sucks in a sharp breath, pressing the head of his cock to your pulsing clit, pulling away so that he could watch you reach to it, this, this was his favorite part. “You belong to me.” He roughly sheaths himself inside you and you keen, it hurts, he’s easily the longest, the thickest cock you’ve ever taken, tears spring to your eyes and he kisses them away, “Shhh, shh,” he says, oozing smugness, “So pretty, such a pretty girl,” he rolls his hips against yours experimentally, still half buried in you. 

“Please,” You beg, “Please, can  you, would you go slow?” He reaches down, cupping your face, 

“Paying attention to me now, huh?” He says, and you nod emphatically. 

“Sorry,”  you choke out, feeling him push a little further inside you, “Yes, yes daddy, I’m,” your eyes roll back in your head, he feels the way you clench around him. “Paying, I’m paying attention.” 

“Good girl,” he says, pushing the last few inches inside you, rubbing at your clit before withdrawing a little and fucking you deep and slow. You feel so full you struggle for breath, hands fisting the soft pink sheets, you feel him wiping away your tears as he picks up the pace just a little. “How does it feel? You feel full?” You nod, whimpering. 

“Feels, feels so good.” you choke out, “But it’s, it’s so much.” 

“I know,” he nods at you, mocking, glancing at Ran, “I know it’s so much, so much for our pretty girl to take huh?” Ran makes some kind of strangled noise in the chair. “Should have gagged you,” Mikey continues, still in the same sweet, soft voice he was speaking to you with, but there’s a darker undercurrent to his tone. “Always running your fuckin’,” he throws his head back with pleasure, “Runnin’ your fuckin’ mouth,” he looks down at you, “You, baby,” he fucks you harder, pulling sharp mewls from your lips, “You’re more than just a pretty face huh, got a fuckin’, fuckin’ incredible pussy,” you moan in response and he chuckles, running a hand through his hair. “Whaddya say when daddy gives you a compliment huh?” 

“Th-” you manage and you feel his cock nudge your g-spot for the third time in a row and know he’s found the right angle, the one that makes your toes curl, that arches your back up off the mattress, “Thank you daddy,” you get out the words on the edge of a hushed moan, “I, I’m gonna, if you keep fucking me there I”m gonna-” 

“Greedy,” he taunts, “You wanna cum twice before I do?” He’s losing some of his composure now, you’re sure of it, the feeling of your soft, warm walls clenching around him, but he manages to look at Ran and smirk, “You shoulda taught her better manners.” You don’t dare check on Ran, not again, but the idea of his eyes on your skin, on the way Mikey’s rocking the bedframe with the force of his thrusts makes the coil in your stomach tighten. 

“Jesus christ,” you hear and you catch Ran snap the toy handcuffs like they’re plastic, not bothering to remove them from his wrists before unbuttoning his pants and pulling his cock out with a desperate urgency, “Please,” he begs, in a tone you’ve never heard before, that he’s never used with you, and that’s when you realize that he’s talking to Mikey, “Please don’t stop, fuck,” Ran shudders as he rubs the tip of his cock before fucking, “God, she’s so hot I-” 

“If you cum before I do, Haitani I swear to god,” Mikey snarls, and the tone is so sharp in contrast to how he’s been speaking that you jump, “Oh,” he turns back to you, “Daddy can be mean, yeah, so be good, be good for me.” You nod, and he hooks his arms around your shoulders, plowing you into the mattress, your vision nearly whites out when you feel him bite down hard on the shell of your ear and then growl. “I’m gonna cum inside this pussy, yeah,  you want that,” you whimper in response, “I’m gonna cum inside you,” he groans, “And I want you to cum with me, you ready,” 

“Please,” you cry out, “Please, Daddy, need to-” 

“Shut up,” he grunts, before groaning loudly, just as your orgasm breaks over you like a wave, you feel him cumming inside, feel how hot it is, feel it squirt out around his length, making your thighs sticking, your palms ache with desire, the pleasure rolls through you wave after wave, and you’re not sure how long you endure the sightless free fall, but when you blink back into your body Mikey is lying next to you. You open your eyes just in time to see Ran cum all over his hands, swearing violently. “Shh, shh,” Mikey pushes your face back to his. “Don’t look at him baby, don’t look at him.” You obey, blinking dumbly. You hear Ran stand, imagine he’s grabbing a towel from your bathroom. Mikey tucks you into his chest, rubbing the back of your head. “Are you in pain?” He asks softly, finding that the usual urge to make a hasty exit isn’t bubbling to the surface. You nod. “I thought you might be.” He presses his lips to the top of your head. You hear a loud smack and with a giggle, realize that Ran’s hit his head on the top of the door frame. 

“Jesus fucking christ.” He snaps, wiping his hands. “Are you finished with her, or,” he blurts, glancing towards the door. 

“I’ll let you know when we’re done,” Mikey says, and feels you stiffen against him, but ignores it. “Sit back down.”

if you liked this please consider reblogging <3 or hopping in my ask box or leaving a comment.

play stupid games;

summary - bakugou gets drunk and bets his girlfriend, but is there a more sinister manipulation occurring? part one.

cw - cucking, rough sex, manipulative yandere izuku, no one is well behaved, blindfolds, degradation, praise, *hurt* comfort, sub drop, angst but there is comfort, light bondage, they're all a little toxic but also are well intentioned, cum eating, voyeurism, threesome healer reader.

MINORS DNI

“Katsuki,” your voice is a whisper with a hint of pain, “You bet me?” Your boyfriend shifts uncomfortably. “You, you bet me?” 

“He did,” Shindou takes a sip of his whiskey, “But sweetheart, I’d never touch you without your permission.” You shiver, the AC at the cocktail party is blasting at your back. 

“Fuck off,” Bakugou yanks you into his body, “I’m gonna beat you in the popularity poll, and whatever I said when I was drunk isn’t gonna mean shit.” Shindou watches your teeth close over your lower lip. 

“Did you really bet me, Katsuki?” you mumble, so quietly that Shindou barely catches it. 

“Do you not fucking believe in me?” Bakugou snaps at you. You stand up and excuse yourself, and he rolls his eyes before realizing you’re serious and standing, “Wait, baby, come back I-” 

“Fuck off.” You snap, and Shindou watches Bakugou weigh chasing after you, and decide to let you go. The dark haired pro hero pats Inasa on the shoulder, shaking his head before standing. He breaks from the group at the gala table and follows you down the dark hallway, finding you where you’re leaning against the wall with your eyes closed. Shindou clears his through and offers you his drink. You down it so fast it dribbles on your chin a little, you wipe it away with shaking hands. 

“He cares about you,” Shindou starts, and you roll your eyes, “He does, alright,” he brushes some hair from your face. 

“He bet me,” you simmer, “Shindou, he just, we’ve been dating for months and he just said, yeah, cool, Shindou fuck my girlfriend if I lose a popularity contest.” 

“Are you upset because you know he’s going to lose?” He asks, smirk on his lips. You look away, scoffing.

“You’re an assole.” You shake your head. 

“Newsflash, most pro heroes are. You’re a healer, you could have worked at a hospital instead of an agency.” He touches your arm softly while you chew the inside of your cheek. “Legitimately,” he moves so that he can make eye contact with you again, “I would never touch you without your permission. You know that.” You nod. 

“I know.”  You cross your arms over your chest, something else is clearly bothering you. “Shindou I, I think I’m a good healer-” 

“Maybe the best in the country.” He counters and you shake your head. “I don’t wanna see you do that shit,” he shakes his head. “Really. You might be one of the best healers in the world, you’re absolutely wasted at their agency.” 

“You don’t have to say that.” You cross your arms. “And I mean, I had a lot of offers, but I wanted to be with my friends, the people I went to school with.”  

“I know I don’t have to say that, and yet here I am, saying it.”  He touches your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I mean,” he smirks, “I’m not gonna make it easy on either of ya, if I win.” He leans in to speak in your ear, lips brushing your cheek, feeling you shiver. “And when I take you,” you look away from him, “I’m gonna make him fucking watch.” 

“He’s not going to lose.” You protest, gently pushing him away from you. He obliges, the hard muscle you can feel under his shirt another reminder that you spent your life at the mercy of powerful people. “I believe in him.” 

“You can’t be serious,” Shindou laughs, stepping further away from you. “You’re defending him right now?” 

“I,” you swallow, and Shindou reads the genuine pain and indecision on your face. “I had a crush on him for a really long time.” You say softly, and he nods. 

“Listen,” He shrugs, giving you a soft smile. “I can’t pretend I don’t understand what it’s like to have a fantasy of a person, only for the reality to be not what you were expecting.” 

“He’s really a very good partner,” you protest, “He is, he cares for me, he’s just, I dunno,” you chew your lip for a second before finishing, “Clumsy with my feelings.” 

“He’s immature.” Shindou shrugs. “He’s a good hero, probably a good guy. But the guy’s 22, in the most high pressure situation he’s ever been in, not a good sign by the way, that he’s dealing with that pressure by going out more with his friends, but I’ll let that stand.” You look away. “You’re a smart girl, you already know all the things you need to know.” He reaches for you, tucking some of your hair behind your ear. “If you need some time to accept them, I get it.” He lets his hand fall and leaves you, standing alone in the hallway. You collect yourself, as best your able, hands trembling. You adjust your dress, take a deep breath, and make your way back into the ballroom, sitting down next to Bakugou.

“You know I only did it because it’s never gonna happen.” He says in a low growl, leaning over to speak in your ear immediately. “I love you, and I, I was just fucking around.” 

“You don’t get to fuck around like that and keep me.” You say, barely audible over the hum of conversation around you. He stiffens, he can hear his heart pounding in his ears. “I’m not breaking up with you, but if you lose, I’m gonna sleep with him.” You don’t look at him, but imagine the way his eyes would narrow at those words. 

“You can’t- “Oh, please,” you hiss, turning to him, “Tell me what I can and can’t do, I fucking love it when you do that.” His jaw sets. 

“I’m sorry.” He mutters. “I’m sorry, I was drunk, and just,” he runs his fingers through his hair, “I just, you’re everythin’ to me, okay, I wanted to prove to him I was serious so I bet something that mattered.” You hear his voice catch on the last word, and his hand comes to rest on your knee, you catch a familiar burning determination in his eyes. “I’ll be better. I’ll make it up to you.” 

“Yes,” you sigh, the little seeds of doubt starting to germinate in your chest. “Yes you will.” You look up, and Bakugou’s arm around your waist turns to iron as someone taps on a microphone and calls the annual hero gala to attention. Bakugou’s hand trembles as he reaches for his drink. The statistics are fairly predictable, with new agencies much lower on the list, but they’re doing alright so far. That’s when you do some quick math, Bakugou isn’t going to lose the popularity contest, but you were intimately familiar with the data on saves at the agency, despite only being the healer. They were down a hero, Mina was recovering from knee surgery for a few months. They were going to lose the ranking to Shindou’s agency in number of saves. Bakugou realizes a second later, swearing under his breath.

“I told you not to do it.” Kirishima mutters, inspecting his reflection in a silver plated fork. “I told you not to run your fucking mouth, didn’t I?” Bakugou scowls, studying the pattern on the rug. 

“Oh shit,” Denki flashes a boyish grin and touches Bakugou on the arm.. “Listen if you’re letting other guys have a piece of it can I -”

“It?” You whirl on him, “Are you fucking serious right now?” Denki shrinks, flashing his palms. 

“Bakubroooo protect me.” 

“Drop dead.” Your boyfriend snarls. Shindou clears his throat loudly from a few tables over, crossing his arms over his broad chest, smirking. 

_____ 

Bakugou walks you to the door of your apartment. 

“We okay?” he asks, knowing the answer. You laugh bitterly. 

“I’m just tired of you treating me like property.” You say, leaning against the door. “I mean, even if  you were drunk, I’m not yours to give out. We were friends for a long time before we started dating, maybe we-” 

“No,” he breathes, taking both your hands desperately, “No please, come on, I, fuck.” He screws his face up. “I’ll quit drinkin’, no more parties, no hero shit, I’ve been lettin’ dunce face and shitty hair drag me out because they need to blow off steam and I hate clubs and shit so I get wasted, and it’s not a fuckin’ excuse but goddamnit, please, please don’t end this, I’ll,” He looks so desperate that your heart melts. 

“Okay,” you glance down the hallway, unlocking your door. “Okay, um, come in, I won’t,” your heart aches in your chest. “You know I don’t want to leave you Bakugou.” You fidget. 

“But.” He says, hands trembling in his pockets. 

“But you hurt me. Again. So be better.” You reach out and touch his arm, he dives for you, wrapping his arms around your body, burying his face. 

“I will.” He vows hoarsely. “I will.” He rubs your back. 

“Come to bed, kats,” you say and he nods, so grateful you’re willing to hear him out that he nearly doesn’t see the message from shindou, his phone lighting up while you’re in the bathroom, and he’s lying in your bed. 

Shindou: I want you to be there. 

Shindou: to watch. 

Bakugou: I’m gonna blow your fucking brains out

Shindou: temper temper 

Shindou: bet she doesn’t like your mean streak 

Shindou: sweet little healer Shindou: does she like being overstimmed? I’m gonna find out but I thought I’d ask first. 

Bakugou: as if you could make her cum. 

Shindou: I have some unfortunate news for you. 

Shindou: just because you’ve been struggling with it doesn’t mean it’s hard. 

“Kats,” you call, and he barely hears you, “I’m getting in the shower, alright?” 

“All good,” he gunts, “I’m gonna crash, I’ll be here when you’re done.” He inhales deeply through his nose. It was going to be a long week. 

On Wednesday, Denki pokes his head into Bakugou’s office, looking a little nervous, not meeting his eyes directly. 

“Hey I uh, Shindou just put a meeting on our calendars?” Bakugou scowls, and flies to his email calendar. “Is it uh, is it what I think it is?” 

“Jesus fucking christ.” Bakugou rakes his fingers through his hair. “Who else is on it?” 

“Uhh, it’s me, Sero, and Kirishima. He cc’ed Deku but-” 

“What the fuck?” Bakugou stands, slamming his palms against the desk. “He cc’ed Izuku?” 

“Listen, maybe I’m off base but maybe this is a good reason not to bet your girlfriends pussy on your agency stats.” Denki shrugs, an evil smirk on his face. 

“Get out of my fucking sight.” Bakugou snarls and Denki squeaks, letting the door close behind him. He groans and collapses in his office chair, hands sparking when he gets a little chime on his computer, and a popup. Midoriya Izuku has accepted the invitation. 

“Are you going to look at me?” You say softly, as the elevator takes you up to Shindou’s apartment. “After I mean, are you going to be able to look at me?” Bakugou mashes his palms into his eyesockets instead of answering.

“I love you.” He says after a long silence. “Nothin’ Shindou or Deku can say or do is gonna change that.” He scowls. “Plus I deserve this. For bettin’ ya in the first place.” 

“You do.” You say petulantly. “Plus I’m sure we’ll have a safeword.” He nods. 

“They fuckin’ better.” The elevator doors open and he presses a kiss to the top of your head before stepping into the hallway, and leading you gently down the hallway to Shindou’s apartment. He knocks once and the door swings open. 

“Hey,” Shindou leans down and kisses your cheek before beckoning you inside. It’s a large apartment, dark wood and well stocked bookshelves. The couch is a luxurious leather, and there’s a purposefully unfinished exposed brick wall in the kitchen. “It’s pretty nice, right?” He stretches, you can see his chest muscles rippling through his thin gray t-shirt. “Don’t worry, ah,” his eyes flick to Bakugou, “A few years in the field and I’m sure you’ll be able to afford something like this.” Bakugou mutters something under his breath and the smirk on Shindou’s face widens. 

“Hi,” you hear, and  you round the corner into the living room and see that Deku’s already here, somehow already taller and broader than he was at your Yuuei graduation. “It’s so nice to see you!” He says, standing and taking both of your hands, giving them a squeeze. “You too Kacchan.” 

“Yeah.” Bakugou grumbles, giving a nod to Sero and Kirishima, who are sitting on the couch, Sero’s on his phone and Kirishima looks deeply uncomfortable. “You know you don’t have to stay, shitty hair.” 

“He wants to see y/n’s tits as much as I do,” Sero says, elbowing the redhead without looking up from Twitter, “But he’s pretending to be ashamed about it.” You swallow and Kirishima goes as red as his hair. 

“Are we just waiting for Chargebolt,” Shindou says, eyeing the nervousness easily readable in your expression. “Oh,” he coos, “Come here.” He reaches for you and Bakugou reluctantly lets the dark haired man pull you into his arms. He rubs your back, and you feel your anxiety dissipate just a little.. “Don’t worry, we’re gonna take good care of you, sweetheart.” 

“Yeah, don’t worry, Kacchan.” Midoriya can’t keep the hint of the smirk from his smile. “We’re gonna take perfect care of your girlfriend.” 

“Just have a fuckin’ safeword.” Bakugou snaps, crossing his arms over his chest, flopping in a chair. Deku nods.  

“You okay with the colors?” Midoriya asks, touching your shoulder, pulling you from Shindou a little. “Red for stop, yellow for less, green for fine?” You nod. 

“Gonna need you to say it for us, sweetheart.” Shindou says, and you swallow, finding your voice, but only barely. 

“I understand.” There’s a hard knock at the door and Deku lets you go, disappearing down the hallway and returning with an out of breath Denki Kaminari..

“Oh thank god,” he pants, doubling over. “I ran here after patrol.” Bakugou crosses his arms over his chest, looking anywhere but at you. 

“Nice to see you,” Deku chirps, as Denki settles on the couch. 

“Have you ever been with two men at once?” Shindou asks you, pulling your focus from your audience. You shake your head. 

“I’ve actually, um,” you bite your lip. “I’ve only been with one other person besides Katsuki. Like, ever.” 

“Awwww,” Shindou coos, “God, that’s adorable.” He straightens up, stretching a little. “Your job is easy, all you have to do is listen to us, alright, if you’re a good girl, we’ll reward you.” 

“I don’t really brat.” The words tumble from your lips before you can stop them and Deku laughs, glancing at his former classmates. 

“I have high standards, we’ll see about that.” He glances at Bakugou. “I can’t imagine Kacchan is very strict with you.” 

“Can we shut up about me?” Bakugou rasps, bouncing his knee up and down. “Get it over with.” Deku laughs, and starts slipping your jacket off your shoulders. 

“I dunno about you,” he turns to Shindou, “But I think I’m gonna take my time.” Shindou shrugs, a smirk on his lips. 

“Fine by me.” You let Deku take your jacket fully and immediately regret the little sundress you wore for ease of removal, because you already feel bare and you’ve barely gotten undressed. “I don’t want you to think about your audience at all, at least at first.” Shindou says, taking something off of his coffee table. “So I’m gonna blindfold you, is that alright?” You nod. 

“You should get used to confirming things out loud for us.” Deku interjects, “You can just say, yes Daddy,” your head snaps to Bakugou, whose fists are white knuckled. You look back to the two pro heroes.

“Ah, um,” you shiver, Shindou’s apartment is cool. “Yes, um, yes daddy.” 

“Good girl,” Deku coos, taking a moment internally to admire his own restraint, that he managed not to rip your dress off the moment that word left your lips. He rubs your upper arms affectionately instead. “We’ll warm you right up alright?” Shindou finishes tying the blindfold over your eyes and as your world is engulfed in darkness some of your inhibitions dissipate. Deku slips the first strap of your dress off of your shoulder, then the other one. You feel it crumple to the floor. 

“You’re beautiful,”  you feel Shindou’s breath on  your ear, as he draws your back into his chest. “Such a beautiful girl.” You feel his hand on your bra clasp, then feel it fall away, you have a brief moment to wonder how long it took him to learn to do that so efficiently before you feel his hands on your chest. Shindou palms your breasts, your nipples already pebbled in the cool of the air. Your mouth drops open a little when he rubs them, pinching them gently, then harder, you suck in a breath through your teeth. Izuku gently tugs your panties down your legs and you feel his fingers on your folds, parting them softly. He stares up at you, giving your clit the tiniest kitten lick. You mewl softly, and Shindou buries his face in your neck, you feel his rough tongue on your soft skin, sucking gently then biting down, in a way you know is going to leave marks, but it’s getting hard to focus, with Izuku’s teasing touches and Shindou’s hands wandering your chest. 

“Oh,” you feel your face start to warm, as Deku slips a finger inside you, “Mm,” your moan is sharp, hummed through your lips, as your legs start to tremble. 

“Right there?” Deku asks, “Oh,” he adds a second finger, “I can tell, that’s it, right there.” You whimper again, and they all watch you struggle to stay still, hands reaching for Izuku, then flitting back to your sides when you think better of it. “You can touch me,” he teases gently. “C’mon, if you want me so bad, pull my hair, show them all how desperate you are.” You whimper again. 

“Just don’t try that shit with me.” Shindou says, before sinking his teeth into your neck hard enough to make you yelp. “You’re gonna stay nice and still while I take my turn on ya, arentcha baby,” 

“Y-yes daddy,” you breathe, and Izuku starts to kiss and suck at your clit, and your legs buckle. Shindou holds you up, wrapping an arm around your waist, locking you against his body. Your back arches involuntarily, and you gasp, holding onto Izuku’s hair for dear life as your legs nearly give out from underneath you.. 

“Holy shit,” you hear, and it’s Sero, leaning forward in his seat. 

“Oh my god,” Denki manages. Kirishima leans back, face still burning, arms still crossed, to sneak a glance at Bakugou, who is studying the carpet in front of him. You let out another whine and Deku picks up the pace, 

“Oh, oh my god,” you breathe, “Oh my god, fuck, fuck,” You squirm but Deku’s hands around your thighs might as well be iron, holding you in place.

“Are you gonna cum?” Shindou asks you, and you nod quickly, desperately. “Beg. You don’t cum without permission.” He pinches your nipples hard enough to make you gasp sharply. “You belong to us tonight.” 

“Please,” you pant, twisting in his arms so that your head is tucked right under his chin, “Please please, please, daddy, please can I cum?” A shudder rips down your body as you teeter on the edge of your high. Deku’s hands sink further into your thighs, and he barely manages to resist turning around, to see the look on Bakugou’s face as his girlfriend cums on his tongue.

“Whaddya think?” Shindou looks over at Bakugou, who looks positively volcanic, “Should she get to cum?” 

“Fuck. off.” Bakugou says lowly, and Shindou grins like a jack o’ lantern. 

“That’s a no.” Shindou lifts you off the ground by the waist, pulling you away from Deku’s touch. You tremble and struggle a bit, processing the lack of sensation, the feeling of your orgasm being ripped away from you. The pro hero pins your arms behind your back before setting you on the ground again, catching you just before you reach between your legs for some relief.

“I didn’t say-” Bakugou stands angrily. 

“This is as much a test of your ability to obey as it is hers,” Shindou interrups, maddeningly calm. “If you’re not cooperative with us, she’ll pay the price. So be a good boy,” You hear Kirishima chuckle nervously at that,  “And sit back down.” Bakugou swallows, feeling Denki, Sero, and Kirishima’s eyes on his as he slowly sinks back into the chair. “There you go. Next time, just say yes, and we won’t have to do this. Or you could, you know, not bet your girlfriend.” You twitch in his arms, making a soft sad sound and he leans down and kisses your forehead. Jealousy twists in Deku’s stomach, and he makes quick meaningful eye contact with Shindou, who releases you, pushing you towards the other pro hero as you stumble on shaking legs. 

“Sweetheart,” Deku coos, catching you and rubbing your back, “Sweetheart it’s not your fault,” you sniff, “You’re being a very good girl for us.” He touches your shoulder. “Very good.” 

“I wanna be good.” You say softly, and every man in the room takes a sharp breath. “I wanna be good, for you.” 

“You are, baby,” Deku says emphatically. “I promise.” He gives you a squeeze and moves you in front of him, before collapsing in an empty armchair and pulling you into his lap, still blindfolded, poorly balanced on his knees. “Now I know you’re not used to taking a fat cock,” he says, still speaking sweetly, the way a teacher would to a student, “But you’re gonna take mine, and I don’t wanna hear-” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Bakugou snarls, unable to contain himself, “You don’t know shit about what she can take.” There’s a split second of silence. 

“Is that right?” Shindou drawls. “Hand behind your back.” You obey quickly. “I think you should see what your boyfriend’s gotten you into.” He says, slipping the blindfold from your eyes and pulling the knot out easily. Deku takes the opportunity to take his shirt off, tossing it on the ground before hooking his thumbs in his black sweatpants and pushing them to the ground underneath you. Shindou ties your wrists carefully together, letting you lean against his chest for balance while the other pro hero undresses. You blink in the light of his living room, and then look down, letting out an involuntary nervous squeak, just as Shindou secures the knot. He’s thick, and it’s long, even with prep you know the stretch will be painful. 

 “Relax,” Midoriya says, “You ready?.” You nod, and he uses his feet to scoot the chair over to an angle where you can’t see any of the men behind you, but they can see his face, watch his eyes lose focus as he pressed the head of his cock to your entrance. “That’s it, just like that..” He breathes. “Good girl.” You sigh softly, your eyes fluttering shut as he pushes farther inside you, “Let me in,” he says softly, and for a moment he can pretend that you’re alone, that you belonged to him, just like you were always supposed to. He’s pulled back to the present when you whimper. “Let daddy in,” he repeats and Shindou suppresses a chuckle, watching you sink down on Deku’s cock. 

“Oh, oh my god,” You choke out, and Midoriya makes eye contact with Bakugou he starts to fuck you, “Oh my god,” you moan this time, the pain bright in your voice. “S’so big, I’m-” Shindou reaches out and touches your shoulder, a warning. 

“It’s so big, daddy.” Deku corrects, voice honeyed and breathless, a smirk on his boyish face. 

“Daddy,” you whine, “Please,” you suck in a breath, “It’s-please can I have a second,” He nods, and rubs comforting circles in your hip, slowing his movements. 

“I’ve got you,” he says, sitting up a little and wrapping an arm around your waist. “Do you trust me sweetheart?” 

“Yes, daddy.” You whisper, and he leans farther forward, wrapping you in his arms and kissing your neck as he starts to fuck you slowly, pulling soft little musical moans from your lips. 

“I’m the number one hero,” he says and Bakugou’s nails nearly break the skin on his own palm at the genuine emotion on Midoriya’s face. “I’ll take good care of you, baby, and I would, you know, if you came to my agency, I’d take care of you.” He doesn’t give you a chance to respond, even if your brain had been working, sinking his teeth into your neck, letting you gasp in pain as you take the last inch of him and cry out softly. Deku moves his hands lower, holding you down on his length while you squirm. “What’s your color baby, you okay?” 

“Green,” you say, voice half protest, half pleasure. 

“I’m gonna move,” he warns and you relax against him, eyes shut. “I’ll hold your hand, okay?” You nod, and he laces his fingers with yours, giving your hand a quick squeeze before bucking his hips up into yours. 

“OH!” You spasm in his arms, not expecting him to move so quickly, it almost feels like you’re being split open, you feel him press a reassuring kiss on your cheek. 

“So,” he groans, “Shit, Yo, she’s so tight, can barely move.” Shindou rolls his eyes at the younger man, coming to stand behind him and reaching around your body, his fingers lightly vibrating by the time they touch your clit. 

“Shh,” Shindou breathes, kissing your cheek, letting you lean back against his chest while Deku fucks you, “Takin’ it so well, sweetheart, you’re doing such a good job.” At the praise, you relax a degree, and Deku can move a little, behind your back, Shindou takes your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. 

“F-fuck,” you choke out, “Fuck, Deku, I-” 

“Yeah?” He cuts you off, every soft roll of his hips against yours is bringing another wave of pleasure to your mind, and you’re still sensitive from your ruined orgasm earlier, still close. 

You choke out a sob, shoulders shaking, as the sensation of being filled and toyed with overwhelms your consciousness. 

“Good girl,” Deku coos, eyeing Shindou’s closeness and wanting to take back control of the situation, “Good girl, taking this, okay, if you’re good we’ll let you cum, is that what you want, to cum for us?” 

“Yes,” you say, your voice hitched and desperate. You roll your hips against Shindou’s face, but it seems like he’s used to it, expertly avoiding your most sensitive spots, keeping the pleasure just on the edge for you. 

“I kinda,” he says, “Wanna ruin it again.” 

“You’re so mean,” Deku laughs. “She’s dating Kacchan already, hasn’t she suffered enough?” Shinou laps at your cunt, pulling another soft cry from  your lips. 

“Please,” you beg, “Just, just fuck me a little harder, and I can, I can cum, I promise I-” You feel Deku pick up the pace and tighten his grip around your waist. 

“Keep begging.” He orders swiftly and you do, broken pleas falling from your lips. 

“I mean,” Denki breathes, elbowing Sero, “Are we all gonna pretend this hot as shit?” He palms his lengh. “Sorry bro, but jesus fucking christ.”  

“She’s so fucking hot like this,” Kirishima whispers, leaning forward.

“I wanna see her cry more.” Sero grins.

“Shut. The fuck. Up.” Bakugou growls, turning to his friends. 

“I mean,” Denki says, smirking, barely audible over your pleading, “This is why you don’t get drunk and bet your girlfriend.” He shrugs. “Right, I mean, I know I’m right. Oi,” he says to Deku and Shindou, “What do I have to do to have a turn?” 

“Join a different agency!” Deku says brightly, momentarily distracted. “I invited Iida and Shouto and they were so sorry they had conflicts. I made it work.” 

“Please,” you beg, feeling Deku’s cock hit that spongey spot inside you easily with every thrust, “Please can I cum, I’m gonna,” you squirm, trying to get away from Shindou’s magically vibrating tongue, “Please, I’m gonna lose it.” 

“Can she?” Deku looks to Bakugou. “Gonna let your girlfriend cum on my cock?” 

“Please Kats,” you whimper, “Please Katsuki, please, please, I’ll be good, need it-” 

“You need it?” Shindou says, dripping in condescension. 

“Yes,” you choke out a sob, “Yes I need it, daddy please.” 

“She can.” Bakugou says, eyes all over your body, on every mark they leave, every bruise, every rough touch, and a smirk slides across his face, “Cum for me, bitch.” You twitch in their arms, your orgasm ripping through you like a knife, it’s like you’ve been thrown off a cliff, the free fall is ecstatic and terrifying. Deku fucks you even harder, Shindou pulls away to watch Deku’s cock disappearing into your soaking cunt. 

“Fuck, baby,” Deku groans, throwing his head back, “Fuck you’re gonna make me, fuck, I’m gonna cum, inside,” his voice gets deeper, darker,  “Wanna breed this fuckin’ pussy,” he tightens his grip on your hips and Bakugou scowls. “Gonna cum inside, you wanna have my fuckin’ kids, you wanna have the next number one hero, right baby?” 

“Ohmygod,” you cry out loudly, not at all coherent. “Fuck, fuck fuck,” your voice carries as you keep cumming, the orgasm is a few minutes long, Deku fucks you through it and Shindou carefully keeps you right on the edge of overstimulation. 

“You belong to him, huh?” Shindou asks, while you’re still breathing heavily, choking out little sobs, Deku lifts you off his cock and sets you on all fours on the coffee table, so that Bakugou can watch the number one hero’s cum dribble out of your pussy, thick and white. “Lick that shit up.” Bakugou looks at Shindou like he’s insane. “I’ll punish her, if you don’t.” Shindou threatens. “And she’ll take it, but it won’t be pleasant. I promise.”  Bakugou swallows, looking at the way you’re already trembling. 

“Fine.” He says gruffly, and Denki inhales sharply. “Shut the fuck up.” He says again, sinking to his knees on the carpet, all the men in the room watch you soften at his comforting touch, the way  you shiver with happiness when he rubs a circle in your thigh. “Baby,” he coos, “Baby, color?” 

“Green.” You mumble, and he pauses, mouth inches from your cunt. 

“You sure?” His touches are feather light. 

“I am.” You say. “Thank you for asking, though.” 

“There’s nothin’ I wouldn’t do for ya.” He says, leaning forward and licking a stripe up your core, pulling more moans from your lips as he laps roughly at your overstimulated, swollen hole, wiping his mouth off with his hand when he’s done. Deku ghosts light patterns on your back with his fingertips and Shindou rubs the top of your head before slipping the blindfold off of your eye. 

“Hi, baby,” he coos, and you blink, getting used to the light. “I wantcha to look at your boyfriend, can you do that for me?” You nod and he lifts you, turning you around so that you’re face to face with Bakugou, still on his knees by the coffee table. 

“I love you.” The words tumble from his lips before he can stop them, just as Shindou lines himself up behind you, frowning, missing the surprised expression on your face. 

“Do you love her?” Shindou asks, the head of his cock pausing at your entrance. “Or is she convenient?” He pushes himself inside you and Bakugou watches your mouth drop open Shindou starts to fuck you. 

“I love her.” Bakugou says, staring up at the other man. “I do.” 

“Because,” Shindou throws his head back, groaning before responding, “Fuck, what a good little cocksleeve,” he slaps your ass hard, and tears spring to your eyes in front to Bakugou. “Because we both know she’s hurting,” he rolls his hips against you and you shudder with pleasure, “Her career, by staying at your agency.” 

“Fuck you.” Bakugou says. 

“I,” you choke out, “It doesn’t,” you whimper when Shindou reaches two fingers around your body and you feel your knees buckle as they start to vibrate against your bud. 

“It’s selfish,” Deku says, pulling himself out of his post orgasm haze to jump in, “To keep her there, when she has better offers.”

“What kinda self worth do you have,” Shindou says to you, touching you softly as his words rip right through your skin, “To stay with a guy who would loan you out like this, huh?” You take a shaky breath in. 

“Why,” you gasp again, trying to form sentences, as Shindou plows into you, setting a brutal pace, “Oh, oh my god,” you feel his cock filling you completely, feel the boy's eyes on your body. 

“You can touch her.” Shindou says to the men on the couch and it’s a moment before any of them reach for you. Denki’s first. He cups your breast and lets out a low whistle. 

“She’s so pretty,” Kirishima breathes, “So good,” he coos, reaching out, cupping the side of your face, stroking your teary cheek with his thumb, “So good.” Bakugou swallows, reaching within himself, wondering why he can’t offer you the same kind of validation, wondering why you’re doing this for him, why you work with him, when Deku is the number one, when Shindou does better on popularity numbers, when Kirishima was more kind, when Denki wasn’t afraid to touch you in public. You open your eyes, and see the tears in Bakugou’s, 

“I need a break.” You say quickly and all the men let you go as you leap at Bakugou, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Hey,” you say softly, “Hey baby, where did you go on me, huh?” He swallows. 

“I just,” he peels you off of him so hard that you stumble back, Deku catches you. “I just dont uh,” He stands. “I know I don’t deserve you.” His voice is barely a whisper. 

“You made a mistake.” You say, standing to meet him, cupping his face in one of your hands but he grabs your wrist and peels you off of him. 

“I,” he pauses. “I gotta go.” 

“Katsuki,” you say, your voice hitching in your throat, “Seriously I-” 

“I bet you?” He says, shaking his head, backing away. “And you didn’t dump me?” Your teeth close on your bottom lip and there’s an awkward silence. 

“I love you.” You say, and behind you Shindou pulls his sweats back up to his hips. “I love you, okay, and I-” He shakes his head, cutting you off, bile rising in his throat. 

“They’re right.” He says sharply. “You shoulda taken a good offer, and told me to go to hell.” Your eyes widen and he grabs his coat off of the back of a chair. “I’ll drop your stuff off. Don’t call me.” He nearly runs out of the room before you can summon the breath to respond. There’s an awkward pause. Kirishima stands. 

“We’ll take care of it,” he gives you a soft pat on the head and Sero and Denki nod, following the redhead out of the room. The door closes with a soft click and you turn around to Shindou and Deku. 

“Um,” you swallow. 

“Don’t do anything,” Deku says quickly, snatching a blanket off of the back of Shindou’s couch, wrapping your body in it and gathering you in his arms. Shindou collapses on the couch and Deku joins him, sitting you like that, in between them. 

“What um,” you blink a couple times, “What’s happening?” 

“Kacchan freaked out,” Deku says softly, Shindou reaches over and rubs circles in your thigh. “He’s right, though, by the way, that you sacrificed your career to work at his agency.” Your lips twitch. 

“I didn’t think I was anything special.” You mutter. 

“Oh,” Shindou says, combing his fingers through your hair, sending shivers down your spine, “You really are, sweetheart, and I could pull the stats to prove it.” You curl up in a ball on the couch. 

“Am I an idiot?” You ask, your voice is tight and small. The two men exchange a worried glance over your head.

“No,” Deku says, “No okay,” he rubs a comforting circle in your shoulder. “Listen, get dressed, and we’ll take care of you tonight.” 

“You um,” you wipe your face, turning to Shindou, “You didn’t cum, I”m-” 

“I literally don’t care,” he says, rolling his eyes, “Not to be rude but I’m a pro hero, if I wanna get laid, I get laid.” He puts a hand on your thigh through the blanket. “Stay here, okay?” He looks to Deku. “Grab her a glass of water and just take a sweatshirt from my closet.” A few minutes later you’re sipping a glass of cool water and wearing soft clothes. 

“I was pretty surprised when I heard you agreed to this,” Deku says softly, “I mean, I know you had a crush on Kacchan when you were in general studies, but uh, I was surprised he asked you to work at his agency before you started dating.” Your jaw tightens and Shindou slips an arm around your shoulders. 

“I,” you whisper, “He just, he seems so sure all the time, he’d tell me something, and I’d just believe it.” You shake your head. “Fuck, I, he just dumped me. I-in front of all of you.” The corners of your mouth force themselves downward. 

“This is sort of what I wanted to say in the hallway to you,” Shindou says, “That I know you like him, but he doesn’t,” he pauses, picking the right words, “Sorry, it’s not a problem with his personal valuation of you. It’s a problem with his professional evaluation of you.” You nod a couple times. 

“Thanks for um, taking such good care of me.” You say, standing abruptly, reaching for panties where they’re crumpled on the floor. “I should go though, I’m sure you don’t want to deal with this.” The two men stand in nearly perfect synchronization. 

“Please.” Deku says, taking a step towards you. “Hear us out.” You start looking for your panties, “Look at me.” He reaches out and cups your face, speaking with a bit more authority, and you freeze. “You’re such a good girl,” he says, and you melt into the softness of his touch, head spinning, “That’s it,” he says, seeing you relax, and he pulls you into his chest. “What if you stayed with me,” he murmurs, “And we talked about it in the morning.” 

“With you?” You glance at Shindou, who comes and stands behind you, locking his arms around Deku, trapping you between them. 

“Do you honestly have any friends who won’t take Bakugou’s side?” Deku says and your lips droop downward. 

“I don’t.” You say, knowing Mina wouldn’t, knowing Sero and Denki and Kirishima had already chased Bakugou when he’d left, rather than checking on you. The two men smell like pine and cedar, and they feel so, stable. 

“Don’t waste your time worrying about that,” Deku murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “If you wanna cry, you can cry to us, that’s fine..” You nod slowly.

“Bakugou,” your lower lip trembles, “He just left me here.” 

“He did.” Shindou says, resting his chin on the top of your head. “But we’re here.” You nod slowly. 

“O-okay, I’ll um, I’ll go with you, Deku, I,” You lose track of the sentence, still reeling. Shindou kisses the top of your head and Deku gives your waist a little squeeze. 

“We’ll take such good care of you, baby.” He says. “You can trust us.” You nod again, wiping your tears as you let them gather you on the couch. “I’ll get a blanket, we can put on a movie and order food.” He picks his phone up off of the coffee table and goes to Shindou’s bedroom. He stops, and takes a deep breath, catching Shindou’s smug expression. He just shrugs, and takes his phone out, knowing that his co workers are anxiously waiting for an update.

Deku: it wasn’t that hard. 

Iida: he didn’t? Did he?

Shouto: of course he couldn’t handle it, bakugou’s more ego than he is human being. 

Deku: kinda hate myself for suggesting this but you wanna dip early at work and come make her feel better? She’s pretty upset, and I’m worried Shindou’s gonna take our money and the healer.

Iida: it’s heroic of us, to save her from working for anyone else, but I can sense you have doubts, Midoriya. 

Shouto: she needs a caretaker. We can do that for her, keep her safe. I’m happy to ask the interns to cover for us.

Shouto: how much did we need to bribe shindou to get him to pick this fight with Bakugou? 

Deku: 10K and he can borrow her a few times a year but it’ll be worth it. We need her. 

Shouto: We do, and she needs us. She just doesn’t know it yet. 

Iida: agree. 

Deku sighs, sliding his phone back into his sweatpants pocket and returning to the couch where he tucks the blanket around you. Shindou releases you and gently pushes you towards the other pro hero. To Deku’s delight you take his hand with both of yours, leaning into him. 

“Kacchan’s an idiot.” He says softly, as Shindou gets up and walks to the restroom, tossing Midoriya a sly smile over his shoulder. You shrug. 

“I love him.” You look up at Midoriya and his heart breaks. He's never seen you this vulnerable, not in the field, not during exams, not even when someone was gravely injured. Your eyes are watery and unfocused, and your lower lip is trembling.

“It’s not your fault.” He says, hating the little string inside of him pulling him down the path of least resistance, causing his mouth to form the words he knows will make you stay. “I know how hard you’ve been trying, and he’s just not ready yet. He’s too immature.” You sniff, and remember confiding your crush to one person, and one person only, listing your reservations to a very patient Kendo Itsuka. You had no way of knowing, none at all, that Deku was standing outside the classroom listening, and that these years later he’d use your own fears against you. 

“I have been trying hard.” You warble, folding into him. He rubs your back. “I’ve been trying so hard.” Midoriya nods. 

“He never yells at you, does he?” You hear a sharp undercurrent in his voice, and feel the pro hero relax as you shake your head. 

“But even watching it, I feel like, I dunno.” You mumble, hiding. He leans over and kisses your head. 

“It’s not that late.” He offers, and if you peek through the curtains of the huge window in the apartment you can see the last vestiges of golden light shining through. The sun has not quite set. “Shouto and Tenya are going to a bar if you wanted to come out and meet them, maybe Uraraka might come by.” You swallow. 

“I haven’t seen them in a while.” You stretch. “But I should, I should um,” You blink back tears, “Did he dump me or fire me?” Midoriya winces. 

“Both, I think.” 

“Fuck.” You rub your eyes. “I wanna actually, I want to go to my office and pick up my stuff but,” you lift your head, eyes wide, “You won’t make me do that by myself, will you?” 

“Of course not,” he says, oozing sincerity, “Of course we will, how about we rip the band aid off, I can have them pick us up here?” You nod, burying your face in his chest, heart aching. 

______

You say your goodbyes to Shindou, who gives you a warm hug and a soft kiss on the forehead, and waves your concerns away when you mention promising to return his clothes. Midoriya pockets his phone when you step out into the hallway. 

“They’re gonna meet us downstairs in a car.” he says, and your eyes widen. 

“Oh oh, that’s not necessary, I don’t need anything fancy.” You shrug. “I could call an uber or-” 

“We have drivers.” Midoriya cuts you off. “So it’s no trouble really. No trouble at all.” He offers you a hand, and you take it, letting him lead you to the elevator and through the lobby, feeling him rub circles in  your palm with his thumb. The car that pulls up is sleek and black, and Deku opens the door for you before helping you climb up into the backseat. 

“Hello,” Iida greets you stiffly, and you squirm with embarrassment as you reach for a seatbelt. “I hear you had a rather difficult evening.” You glance fearfully  back at Midoriya, who flashes his palms. 

“I spared them the details.” 

“I’m just an idiot.” You mumble, burning with embarrassment, flopping in the seat next to Shouto, who pats your knee awkwardly. 

“Well,” he considers, “You’ve made a series of decisions based on how they felt, rather than thinking about them, and perhaps that’s an experience to be learned from.” You burst into tears as Midoriya closes the car door and gives Shouto a stern look. “I, but,” he says quickly, wrapping an arm around your waist, scooting you closer to him, “You don’t have to do it by yourself anymore.” He blurts. “If you want, we’ll, we can be helpful.” 

“I think what Shouto means,” Midoriya says, as you feel the engine of the car hum to life, “Is that it might be worth it to lean on your friends for a bit.” 

“All my friends are gonna take Bakugou’s side,” you snip bitterly, wiping your face on your sleeve as Iida hands you a handkerchief.

“I don’t take his side.” Shouto says sharply. “And I’m your friend.” You perk up the slightest degree at that, so he keeps going, “I’d never,” he shakes his head, huffing, “I’d never bet you. If you were mine I’m not sure I’d let you out of my sight.” That makes you laugh, you wipe some of your tears and you lean against him. 

“Bakugou’s impulsive,” Iida says gently, adjusting his glasses, “You deserve stability, both in your workplace, of course, and romantically.” He stretches his shoulder a little and through your tears and little sobs notice the pain in his face. 

“Did you,”  you reach for him, distracted, “Did you hyperextend your elbow?” he cocks his head at you, confused. “You might have, sorry,” you mutter, wiping your face and scooting across the black leather seat towards him. “Let me just,” you take his hand quickly and energy shoots from your fingertips up his arm, pooling at his elbow. He lets out a little sigh of relief. 

“I, didn’t even realize I’d injured myself.” He squints at you. “You know, if you need to find a new job quickly, perhaps you could work for us?” You blink up at him, and all three men watch and wait as your teeth sink into your lower lip. 

“I suppose,” you look down at your hands. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.” There’s a brief silence, where each man considers their own integrity, their ambition, and the mark this little lie would have on their immortal souls. 

“We could hire you,” Deku says finally, somehow managing to make it sound nonchalant, unpracticed. “On a trial basis, of course.” You look up at him eyes wide. 

“Please,” you lean forward, “I’ll, I’ll owe you forever, I, Midoriya I have rent to pay and student loan debt so I need a job.” 

“That’s what friends are for,” he says, keeping his smile light. “We’ll  help you carry your things from his office, but um, there’s the matter of where you’re going to sleep tonight?” You wince, and rub your eyes. 

“I was going to get a hotel.”

“That’s not necessary.” Shouto cuts in. “I have a guest room.” 

“We all have guest rooms.” Midoriya says, and it might be your imagination but his eyes darken just a little. “You’d be quite safe with any of us, I don’t know if it’s a good idea for someone with a powerful healing quirk to stay alone in a hotel.” 

“Of course.” Iida agrees and your phone buzzes in your pocket. You glance at it then put it. 

“It’s Kirishima.” You press your lips together. “I don’t want to talk to him though.” You let it ring, letting it vibrate in your palm. Iida clears his throat and holds his hand out. You give him the phone and a tiny warmth sparks in his chest. 

“Good girl.” He says stiffly. “I’ll give this back to you tomorrow.” 

“They’re all going to hate me for breaking his heart,” new hot tears squeeze from your eyes and Shouto pulls you into his chest, warm hand on your waist, much to Iida’s and Deku’s displeasure you curl into him. 

“Shhhh,” he breathes, rubbing your back. “No they won’t, and if they do, they’re idiots.” You manage an almost laugh and he lights up at the minor success. You refuse to lift your face from his chest, until the car pulls up to the empty hero office building, it’s so late now that the only people present are the cleaning staff. Your office is small, but there are a few personal items and a fair amount of books to be boxed up. The three pro heroes make quick work of it, with Deku snatching the framed photo of you and Bakugou at graduation and placing it face down in the cardboard box. Shouto floats to you, resting a hand on the small of your back. 

“I didn’t mean to imply,” he says quietly, “In the car, I didn’t mean to imply that you were wrong to trust your heart. I wasn’t suggesting alternative action.” You look up at him, suddenly feeling quite tired. “I was suggesting an alternative method of collecting data.” You nod slowly. 

“So you weren’t chastising me for listening to my heart.” You reach up and take one of your last books off the office shelf. 

“I was chastising you for ignoring your head.” He pats your back, taking the book from you and closing the box. “Is that the last of it?” He turns to the other two men, who nod. “You’re staying with me?” He says so smoothly the others barely notice it. “I assume that it might be awkward, after tonight to stay with Midoriya, and Iida’s all the way across town.” 

“Thanks, Todoroki.” You say softly, before either of them can jump in. He nods, the smallest smile on his lips. 

“Don’t mention it.” 

“I’m gonna run to the bathroom,” you excuse yourself and the three men stand in awkward silence until the door closes behind you. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Deku hisses. 

“Inviting a beautiful woman to sleep in my guest room?” Shouto raises his eyebrows. “I’m not sure what you mean.” 

“I mean I’ve already,” Deku blushes a little but plows forward, “I’ve already fucked her, so I sort of assumed that was me calling dibs I-” 

“Absolutely not.” Iida interrupts. “Bakugou has also slept with her, and none of us respected that claim.” His words hang awkwardly in the room for a moment. “We can’t fight over our healer,” he says seriously, “It makes the most sense for both of you to get out of my way.” 

“Out of your way?” Shouto says, eyebrows raised. “I don’t think I’ll be doing that.” 

“You’re not emotionally intelligent enough to handle her,” Iida says, with a little shrug, “And you’re too emotional and committed to being the number one hero to spend enough time with her. I’m the obvious choice.” 

“No?” Deku sputters. “No you’re not-” The door opens and you step back inside, looking a little puffier than you had when you’d left. 

“Todoroki, can we go?” You say, eyelids drooping. “I really just want to be alone.” He nods, extending an arm for you to take like a regency era gentleman, and sweeping you out of the room. He calls a separate car in the elevator with just a few taps of his smartphone, swiping away his group chat messages from his angry hero partners. 

Deku: seriously? I just assumed I had dibs. 

Iida: never assume dibs. 

Shouto: I thought dibs were “an antiquated form of dividing wealth” 

Iida: I come from a long line of people who called dibs, we just never did it so colloquially. 

Deku: we can’t let this be a problem. 

Shouto: agreed, the two of you can fuck off. 

Iida: I don’t think so. 

Deku: I also don’t think that’s the solution. 

Shouto: she’s had quite a day so I’m going to focus on her :) goodnight. 

He pockets his phone, and feels a twinge of guilt at your red rimmed eyes, but it dissipates when you sigh and lean against him as you wait for the car. Neither of you speaks for most of the drive, the silence is surprisingly comfortable. He leads you through the building,and the elevator rockets you up to his penthouse, where he takes you by the hand and sits you on his dark leather couch, taking the throw blanket from the corner and tucking it around you. 

“Sorry,” he says softly, “I have maybe an invasive question.” You blink up at him. “Have you ever, ah, I mean I don’t want to make assumptions about the nature of the activity earlier, but you’ve really folded in on yourself.” You nod, tucking your legs into your chest. “Have you, were you,” he stops himself, bringing some courage to the surface. “Was it particularly rough, generally, I-” 

“Yes.” You blurt, and he frowns, darting to his kitchen and coming back with a cool glass of water that he sets on the coffee table in front of you, before sitting on the couch next to you. “And,” you mumble, “I feel so dumb.” 

“May I touch you?” He asks, and you nod, sniffling. He sits down next to you and pulls your legs into his lap, tucking your head into his chest. “Is it incredibly rude of me to assume you subbed?” You laugh bitterly. 

“No.” You close your eyes. 

“Sub drops are uncomfortable but fairly common.” He presses his lips to the top of your head. “I’m sure you were very good,” he gives you a gentle squeeze, “Sure you were a good girl for them.” You sniff again, feeling your heart rate calm a bit. “Do you want to talk about what happened?” You shake your head, relaxing into him. 

“I just wanna talk to K-katsuki.” You get out. “But he said not to call him, so I, I can’t do that.” Shouto flips his memory to the early days of therapy back when he was maybe, sixteen, finding an old rhythm. 

“What would you want to say to him, if he were here?” 

“That I don’t care,” your voice rises a bit, “Where I work, but I,” you squirm uncomfortably. It floats to Todoroki’s mind a second before it comes out of your mouth. “Did you like me, or did you need a healer at your agency?” Shouto squeezes you again. “And is that why you bet me?” Your voice gets small again, “B-because you already saw me like an object?” 

“If I were Bakugou,” Shouto says, and then clears his throat, “I’d uh, I’d probably say something like I care for you, very much, but I’m not in a place emotionally to value you like you deserve to be valued.” You laugh lightly. 

“He’d have sworn.” 

“He would have.” Shouto agreed. “You know we get fined when we do that on broadcasts, so I’ve trained myself out of it for the most part.” 

“You were the only one who cursed as much as him in school.” You snuggle against him, closing your eyes. 

“You can sleep, but have a sip of water for me.” He says, reaching for the glass and bringing it to your lips, waiting until you’ve drunk at least half of it to set it back down, holding you tightly against his body. Your eyes flutter shut, but he can’t bring himself to stop talking to you. “Do you remember when we met?” he asks, and you think about it, so much of that day now was Katsuki, when he’d yelled at you and you’d surprised everyone, including yourself when  you’d yelled back. The way Kirishima and Mina had spirited you off to their lunch table, how you’d spent the next four years living, and breathing, and studying with them. “You ah, you helped me with my wrists.” He offers and you nod, remembering. 

“You were locking them when you were fighting,” you yawn, “Repetitive stress injury.” He nods, and you take his hand, running your fingers over the callouses. The cracked skin softens and heals in real time. 

“You don’t  have to do that.” He says quietly and you shrug. 

“Consider that one on the house.” You yawn again and close your eyes, consciousness slipping from you like a wave back into the ocean. Shouto takes a minute before taking his phone out, scrolling through the group chat messages. 

Shouto: I might not feel good about this. 

Iida: so return her to me. 

Shouto: no no I mean breaking bakugou and y/n up on purpose. 

Deku: it’s what’s best for her!

Shouto: she’s quite upset. 

Iida: so don’t sleep with her?

Shouto: I really want to though. Fuck I really want to. 

Shouto: also I think she sub dropped deku way to fucking go 

Deku: ooop I was concerned about that but she did also go through a breakup like,,, mid scene so I wasn’t sure how to proceed

Shouto: She’s sleeping in my lap. 

Deku: okay so you’re welcome??? 

Deku: fucking her only made this worse she’s so sweet 

Shouto traces your outline, and you let out the softest sound, snuggling into him. He doesn’t dare move, not when his stomach growls or when the light changes in the apartment. Eventually, when the clock blinks 12AM, he touches your shoulder softly, but doesn’t wake you all the way, just enough so that you’re semi conscious as he carries you down the hall to his guest room, laying you on the clean sheets and tucking the duvet around your body. He pauses for a moment, watching your chest rise and fall easily, the creases gone from your forehead. He wracks his brain, stepping outside the room, how long had he even been aware of you? From the first moment, he decides, from that first day, when you’d touched his arm and the pain had melted away you’d been, something to him. A friend, maybe, at first, and then, someone who was kind to him. Someone who didn’t treat him like a celebrity, or a pariah, or an object. 

That’s what’s on his mind as he pads softly down the hallway, and looks out over the city. It would be cruel of him, he surmises, not to take care of you, when you spend so much time caring for everyone else. 

_____ One Month Earlier: All Might Hero Agency

“Ugh,” Deku groans, rubbing his eyes and setting his phone on the table. “I can’t watch this.” 

“What’s happening?” Iida says, looking up from his takeout container. The three of them were working a late night at the agency. 

“I think y/n moved in with Bakugou.” Deku turns his phone around and shows the other two pro heroes. Iida sighs, and Todoroki frowns. “I just, okay.” He leans forward conspiratorially. “I’ve known him my whole life, right, and he’s better, a lot better than he was. But better, better isn’t that good, still.” 

“I remember how he spoke to you our freshman year.” Iida says. “And then he had the audacity to fail the licensing exam anyway.” Todoroki clears his throat. “And you did as well, I remember.” 

“Which one of us went rogue with intent to kill,” Shouto muses, “I can’t remember.” 

“The point,” Deku says, “Is that she took his job offer, she’s moving in with him, she works for him, I mean, she’s our friend, it’s a conflict of interest, maybe we should say something.” 

“Her friends should say something,” Iida couches, “Maybe Mina, or Kirishima, they both occasionally had level heads.” 

“I’m sure he’s made her all kinds of promises,” Deku shakes his head, “I just feel like she doesn’t realize her own potential, or what she’s getting herself into working for him.” 

“I heard,” Iida says, pausing to take a sip of his water, “I heard that she took his offer without reading it, Sero told Tokoyami who told me.” 

“Without looking at it?” Shouto wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Does she know, I mean, she got other offers.” There’s a brief silence. “I know that once she started liking Bakugou she was essentially blind to anyone else,” he covers a laugh with a little cough, “Remember when Inasa met her, he,” the laugh escapes this time. “He kissed her hand and she just said, ‘Thank you’, and went to go check on us.” 

“I do remember him being quite surprised at her indifference.” Iida smiles. “But yes, I always thought maybe it would pass but she seemed so blind to his flaws, I just assumed one of them would talk her out of it.” He frowns. “I hope, I hope he speaks to her more kindly than he did in class, at least when they’re alone.” 

“Kacchan’s not a bad person,” Deku jumps in, “I don’t think he’d hurt her on purpose, but I mean, it feels, it feels wrong that we know he’s taking advantage of her liking him to get her to work at his agency.”

“Do we know that?” Todoroki asks. “Maybe he gave her a good offer.” 

“He must have.” Iida couches. “I wonder,” he trails off, “Maybe we should check in. As friends, of course, I,” a slight blush creeps up on his cheeks, “She’s quite, ah, capable. I just think we should remind her that should this for some reason fall through, that she’s not an island, you know?” 

“Yeah,” Deku nods quickly. “We could stop by, um for lunch or something, maybe bring them a housewarming gift.” He fidgets. “I, I could text Kacchan, and see what days work but, um, he might tell me to fuck off.” 

“You’re the number one pro hero,” Iida rolls his eyes. “Just show up. She’ll be happy to see you.” 

“I’ll come.” Todoroki jumps in. “If you don’t mind, I, it’s been a while since I’ve seen her, and I know I spent less time with her than you but we still were ah,” he thinks about the amount of vulnerability it took for him to be comfortable with even your gentle touch, how he’d started to miss it after graduation, how he’d found himself looking forward to seeing you after a hard fight, and remembering you wouldn’t be there. 

“Ah,” Deku pauses, “I think um, we were close, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to see her on my own.” He laughs, “I mean, no one spent more time with her than I did.” 

“It’s true.” Iida confirms, “Especially her first year, I had half a thought that they got us a healer specifically to keep your growth with One for All from stagnating due to your reckless nature.” Deku’s face colors. “No offense, obviously.” Iida says, looking distracted. “I did always wonder if you were ever jealous, since she was so focused on Bakugou despite how much time you spent together.” 

“She um, she talked about him a lot, yeah.” Deku says, suddenly very interested in his takeout. “But it’s not like I didn’t get it, like I said I grew up with him. He’s a big personality.” The words hang in the silence. 

“You, get it then?” Iida says, “What she sees in him, I mean, because I can’t for the life of me understand it. She’s so sweet, and gentle, and he’s loud and abrasive.” There’s a silence. Deku swallows a big bite of dinner.

“You’ll tell us then,” Todoroki says, “If you pop by their apartment, you’ll tell us how she is?” 

“Sure.” Deku says, and Todoroki is struck for the first time in a long time with the reminder of how difficult it was to tell when Midoriya Izuku was lying. 

___ 

Midoriya stands at your doorway, having rung the bell at a time he’s sure is too late for you to be at the office, but when he knows Bakugou is out on patrol. He only has to wait a moment before the door swings open and he’s rewarded with your presence, soft and sweet as you had been when you were in school. 

“Oh!” Your eyes widen with surprise, adorable. “Deku, I’m so sorry, actually Bakugou’s not here,” you step aside to let him in without a second thought, of course you do. He’d only been the number one hero for a few months, it had actually taken longer than expected, but of course you trust him, everyone did.. He’s surprised, the place you’re sharing is modest, the view is nice but it’s a one bedroom with a small kitchen. 

“I’m actually here to see you.” He says, and watches your reaction carefully. You don’t betray anything, giving him a confused smile. 

“Are you injured?” You cock your head at him. “I can’t imagine anyone could land a punch on you.” He laughs. 

“No, I mean, we spent a lot of time together in school and it just occurred to me that I haven’t seen you since graduation.” He flattens his palms on your countertop. “I wanted to catch up, if it’s a good time.” 

“Well,” you take the teapot off the stove and fill it with water, when your back is to him his eyes flick to your ass, the curve of your hips in your jeans. “I can’t believe the number one hero made time for little old me.” You set it on the stove, turning the burner on. 

“Please,” he says, “You know that without your help in school I wouldn’t be number one, hell, doubt I’d be top 50.” You shake your head, leaning against the counter next to the stove as he takes a seat at your island. 

“You were always determined, there were just times that determination took a real toll on your corporeal form.” You shrug. “I put you back together and you’d hop right back out there, it’s an honor to be a footnote in your story.” You catch his eyes, they’re slightly narrowed, there’s something about the way Midoriya looks at you that makes you feel like you’re a molecule under a microscope. 

“You really think of yourself like that?” He says softly, and he watches your eyes flick to your bedroom door, to the sweatshirt discarded on a chair that’s far too large to be yours. “You think of yourself like a footnote in someone else's story?” A sad little smile flashes across your face. 

“Sorry, Deku, I won’t unload on you.” You turn away from him again, taking two mugs down from the cabinet and set them on the counter, carefully selecting a tea bag for each of them. 

“Do you call Kacchan by his hero name,” He teases gently, “I’m Midoriya, c’mon, still the same idiot who broke every bone in his body at least once when he was in college.” That gets a laugh out of you. 

“No, I don’t call Katsuki Dynamight when we're alone.” You set the tea in front of him, and Midoriya is grateful for the distraction, shocked at the way you casually drop his best friends first name. 

“Katsuki,” He repeats, unable to stop himself, and his stomach twists as you fidget nervously. 

“It’s new.” You admit. “But I like it, honestly it suits him.” 

“Huh.” Midoriya blows on his tea. “You can, by the way, unload on me, I’m pretty strong or y’know,” he flashes you a sheepish grin, “That’s what they’re saying on the news these days.” You look at him, but he sees through your polite smile, you look exhausted. “What’s up, really?” He tries. You look back at the sweatshirt on the couch. 

“He’s working hard.” You say, nearly whispering, like he can hear you. “But he’s frustrated, and I want to help and I don’t know how to get him to let me in.” You shrug. “You know this has been his dream his whole life, Midoriya, and I know he had a lot of growing up to do. Still does maybe.” You chew your lip. “I just wish he knew how much I believe in him.” 

“Yeah?” Midoriya manages, bile rising in his throat. 

“Yeah.” You sigh deeply. “Like, I know he can be a good hero, and I get that the red tape and performative shit is hard for him, but he’s so kind, deep down.” You light up, as if you’d just remembered something. “Promise not to tell him I told you about this?” He nods, and watches you flit to the refrigerator and take something out. “He’s been making me lunch every day. No matter when he gets back from patrol, when I get up there’s a bento for me.” You squirm, like the happiness inside you is fighting to get out. “He loses his temper, sometimes, but I do really believe he cares about me.” 

“Does he lose his temper with you?” Midoriya asks, keeping his voice perfectly modulated, tinged with just the edge of concern. 

“Not usually.” You press your lips together. “I know he’s frustrated.” You repeat, and shrug again. “I believe in him.” 

“And what about you?” Midoriya presses, gently, strategically. You laugh at that, genuinely. 

“What about me?” You repeat again, but continue, afraid of sounding like a parrot. “I mean, I can’t hold up a building, I can’t win a battle, pretty sure you could pin me in less than a second.” His muscles twitch at the invitation but he stays seated, sipping his tea. “I’m always going to be there when powerful people need me.” You couch. “But I’m not deluded enough to think that makes me powerful.” 

“You’re not.” He sets the mug back on the table. “But you are important. I suppose there’s a difference, isn’t there?” You nod. “I can leap through walls, and fly, and fight, and win, but at the end of the day I need you,” he catches himself, “Or someone like you to keep me in condition to do it.” You nod slowly. 

“You’re very kind to me.” You say eventually. “You always were, Midoriya.” His mouth goes dry. “I often felt alone, when we were in school. But you always took the time to talk to me, while I healed you. I appreciate that.” 

“I consider you a friend.” He smiles at you. “Not just a healer.” He watches you process that information, watches your lips twitch downward. “What, what’s up?” He pushes, just a little harder now. 

“I don’t think,” you muse, thinking out loud. “I don’t think Bakugou thought of me as a friend, until,” he watches you remember something that clearly embarasses you, “Until um,” you laugh, “Actually the story is funny, if you promise not to be weird about it I’ll tell you.” Midoriya forces a laugh, and smiles, holding out a pinky finger. 

“Promise.” 

“He um,” you lean forward conspiratorially, “I don’t think he saw me as more than the person who put him back together after a fight until he saw someone else flirt with me and decided he didn’t like it.” Midoriya rubs his chin. 

“Oooh wait, what happened?” He keeps the excitement in his voice normal, modulated.

“It was at one of the interschool events,” you giggle, and he’s transported back in time, 

He can see the way you used to hide behind your hair when you were nervous, the way you’d look after staying up all night studying, your smiling face in the stands at sports festivals. “Do you remember Shindou Yo?” Midoriya blinks, of course, of course he remembered Grand, his face was plastered all over the center of the city right now in some cologne ad. 

“I do, yeah.” He leans forward, listening. 

“While you were all competing, he sort of pulled me aside and he was asking me all these questions about my quirk, and healing, and what you were all like, and at first I thought he was sniffing around for information about his competition but then he um, he just rested a hand on the small of my back while we were talking and I realized I was being hit on.” You pause for dramatic effect. “Didn’t even take five seconds, Katsuki was there immediately, as angry as I’d ever seen him, dragging me back to the group.” You laugh. “And essentially he hasn’t taken his hands off of me since.” 

“Really?” Midoriya shrugs. “And that doesn’t make you feel like, I dunno,” he pauses, searching for the right words, the ones that will sow the doubt he’s looking to nurture. 

“It made me feel wanted.” You sip your tea. “And I’d be the first to admit he has some rough edges, and a fucking awful temper.” You shiver despite the warmth of the room and that’s it, that’s the thread Midoriya wants to pull. 

“What do you mean?” He asks, knowing already. 

“Oh,” you wrap an arm around your ribcage. “It’s hard for him to direct his anger at a source right, something goes poorly and if you’re standing too close you’ll get caught in the explosion, for lack of a better metaphor. He always apologizes though,” your smile gets a little wistful. “We’re working on it.” 

“Uh huh.” Midoriya says. “Good for you.” 

_____ Present 

Shouto can’t sleep. It’s not natural for him, and he fumbles in his drawer for the little orange pill bottle he’d regularly relied on during school, taking one out and letting it dissolve on his tongue. He feels his heartbeat slow, remembering what his therapist said about panic, and about analysis when  you were panicked. That when his body was in fight or flight mode, analysis was pointless. He breathes out slow, and wonders if you’re doing the same, if you’re dreaming of Bakugou, if you’re dreaming of the apartment you’d shared, of Shindou’s hands on  your body, of Deku’s. He sits upright in bed, sweating, tossing his thin cotton pajama shirt on the ground before flopping backwards. Even in his medically induced sleep, his dreams keep him from true rest, he wanders through disaster zones, stumbles through fires, makes his way across ruined cities, all following the sound of your voice.

pls if you enjoyed this hop in my ask box or leave a comment/please reblog

LITTLE DARK AGE

haitani ran x fem!reader x haitani rindou

summary: eight years later, you finally return to tokyo and find yourself caught in the middle of a violent gang war between the two most ruthless criminal organizations of tokyo’s underworld, forced to choose between blood and love.

genre: bonten timeskip, angst, forbidden romance, childhood friends -> strangers -> lovers, 18+ MDNI

warnings: fem!reader, gang violence, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, explicit smut, polyamory, profanity, MCD, unedited, MTBA

update schedule: every other wednesday

status: incomplete

CHAPTER Ⅰ. I’M GOING BACK TO 505 

CHAPTER Ⅱ. HOUSE OF MEMORIES

CHAPTER Ⅲ. ONE IS PRETTY BUT THE OTHER LIES

CHAPTER Ⅳ. CAUSE YOU WERE CRUEL AND I’M A FOOL

CHAPTER Ⅴ. YOU’RE GONNA GO FAR, KID

CHAPTER Ⅵ. KNOW THAT IF YOU HIDE, IT DOESN’T GO AWAY

CHAPTER Ⅶ. AND YOU’LL NEVER BE PURE AGAIN

CHAPTER Ⅷ. CAUSE I KNOW YOU GET DEJA VU

TBA…

general taglist: @touyasghosty @novaresque@sano-obsessed @sugusshi @haitanihime @adeptiixiao @kageyama-i-want-tobiors @zuuki @daiserenade @hanmascult @4leafcloverwithawhitecraneforyou @kazufuyusluv @imkumichan @aces-high @marism @thevillagehiddenintheinternet @obsessiontoanime @prettyiolanthe @blvebcrry @r-xochitl @savagemickey03 @lundabean @kuroolv @shizunxie @senjuasuna

reblogs for boost are always appreciated ^.^

Pick up a book read a Wikipedia article watch a documentary anything please please please

fracture

haitani ran x call girl!reader(+some bonten stuff)

summary: after someone tries to kill you to send a message to ran he takes personal responsibility for your safety. sure he's killed every house plant he's ever had, but this will be easier than that, right?

cw - drugs, smut, guns, murder, praise, degradation, dub!con, reader is a sex worker w a sick brother. ran likes you!!! likes you a lot!! too much probably, probably far too much.

next

Haitani Ran cuts through the smokey front lounge of the most expensive brothel in the city like the bow  of a ship through waves. Men on couches, with beautiful women sipping drinks, and giggling fill the air, the tinkling music just enough to obscure general conversation. 

Still, his general demeanor attracted a fair amount of attention, and of course, the fact that this brothel, like almost every establishment in this part of the city, belonged to him made his presence even more intimidating. Waitresses bow out of the way as he steps to the back, touching the Madam on her upper arm. 

“Where is she?” He asks, hands in his pockets. 

“Room 914.” She says, looking up at him, concerned. “She’s a good girl, highest earner here, always on time.” Ran nods. 

“I’m familiar.” His violet eyes darken. “She’s not in trouble. No one touches my girls and lives to talk shit about it.” The Madam nods, and points him down the hallway. He’s not sure what he’s expecting when he walks through the door to your room, the girl whose john had turned on her when it came time to pay, but it’s not this. He pushes open the door to what was tantamount to your office, the plush pink bed covered in soft pillows, a closet full of lingerie and costumes, and you, sniffing delicately and clutching a stuffed animal to your chest. You gasp at the sight of him, of course you do, he thinks, you know who he is. “F/n?” He tries, and you visibly tremble, the tears in your eyes spilling over. 

“I’m sorry,”  you whisper, “Please, please don’t fire me, I don’t have anywhere else to go.” He softens immediately. 

“You’re not fired.” He strides over to you and sits down on the bed. “I need to know everything you can tell me about the man who attacked you.” You take a breath, and he notes the black makeup running down your cheeks. He hands you a handkerchief, but you only succeed in smearing it around. “Stop.” He orders, and you freeze, you sweet little thing. He takes your chin with one hand, and carefully wipes the makeup away. 

“He was tall, um,” you sniff, “Dark hair, but unstyled, just a mop of it. He had a tattoo of a tiger on his neck.” Ran’s brow furrows. “He said something, something I didn’t understand, about Roppongi? That he knew you.” You wipe your face again, and he notices that you’re struggling to keep one of your eyes open, that it’s clearly bruising. The redness around your neck has begun to fade to purple. “That he was going to kill me, that I was um, a warning shot.” You let out another shaky breath. 

“What did you do?” He asks. 

“I st-stabbed him, with,” you open one of your palms and hand him the eyebrow styling scissors, soaked in blood. “With these, but he got away.” 

“Tough bitch, huh?” Ran says, meaning it as a compliment but what little light was in your eyes dulls further. “C’mere,” he says, attempting comfort, an old, cold muscle, “C’mere, baby, you’re not in trouble. Bonten takes care of their own.” You break down as he pulls you into his lap. “Baby,” he tries again, as you keep crying, wiping your face self consciously. “Baby did you think we were gonna turn you in?” You nod into him, and he gathers you into his chest more tightly. He rubs a soft circle in your shoulder, wishing he still had time to make a point to test out the new girls, like he did in the beginning, so you’d have met before these unfortunate circumstances. 

“Thank you.” You whisper. “I do well here, I promise,” He nods.

“You’ll need to take a break,” He says, giving you a little squeeze, “While we find him. Do you have somewhere to go?” Your head snaps up to him, and he sees it in your eyes before you say it. 

“Nowhere safe.” He exhales, still absentmindedly rubbing your back. 

“You can stay with me,” He offers, without thinking about it. “Of course you’ll keep 

working, then.”  It takes you a moment to understand. 

“Oh, I don’t mind, whatever you want.” You say quickly. “I can follow orders.” 

“Of course you can.” He pats your shoulder, grinning. “Get your things.” He stands, “I’ll wait outside.” You nod, and he steps into the hallway, beckoning the woman back over. “She’s going home with me till it’s sorted out. No need to call the police.” His hand flies to the gun he keeps on his hip. “We’ll handle it internally.” She nods. 

“Her regulars will be disappointed.” 

“Give ‘em a discount,” Ran says, bouncing his leg impatiently. “Princess,” He drawls sarcastically, “I don’t have all day.” You throw the last thing you have into your duffel, the one you use to take your costumes and lingerie home when they need to be laundered. 

“Yes, sir,” you say, with all the brightness you can muster, wearing a wool coat over your lingerie and strappy heels. “I’m ready to go.” He offers you his arm and you take it, feeling a little awkward, and self conscious of the way your face must look to passerby. 

“My car is out front,” He says, “I’m driving, unfortunately for you. Women hate the way I drive.” 

“I’m sure I won’t mind sir.” You say quietly, barely audible over the low jazz and the hum of conversation at the front of the house. It’s raining outside and Ran opens the passenger seat of his Bentley for you, before scooting around the car. He takes a parking ticket off the windshield and tosses it in the gutter before flopping in the front seat. The bruised side of your face aside, you really were quite pretty in the low light, as you tighten  your grip on the armrest rather than complaining about the way he runs red lights, and changes lanes sporadically. 

“S’not every day I get to sit with someone who I didn’t know was ready to kill for us.” He jokes, filling the silence with words. You nod. 

“I um, it was self preservation, I can’t take credit for that.” You shrug. “I don’t know much about um, Bonten?” He glances at you. “It’s just a job for me.” 

“I’m afraid you’ll have to learn a bit now.” He watches you shiver before making a left turn that pulls a screech from his tires. “So how does a girl like you end up in a place like this?” 

“How do you know it’s not for the same reasons most girls end up in places like this?” You quip and he sighs, but takes the bait, revealing how much he’d already noticed about you. 

“No track marks,” he says, “And you’re too clear headed to be into uppers, plus anyone with a real rap sheet would have bolted if she thought we’d turn her in, which you did.” 

“I like xanax.” You say, crossing your arms and he laughs. 

“Of course you do,” he reaches over the seat without looking and flicks your temple. ”Got too much goin’ on in there, huh?” You don’t bother trying to fight him. “Never mind, figured it out.”  

“I doubt that.” You say serenely, before tacking on a “Sir.” 

“Do you do that with everyone?” He asks, glancing over his shoulder before changing lanes. Your grip on the console gets tighter. “The honorifics?” 

“Oh, no.” You shrug. “All the girls learn what the executives like, so that you don’t have to tell us if you decide to come by.” He can’t keep the smile from his face, 

“Fuck, I love my life.” He slams on the brakes in front of a huge glass apartment building. “C’mon sweetheart, we’re home.” You reach for the door, and he shakes his head. “I’m a gentleman, please,” you can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic. The rain’s picked up, but he doesn’t jog, a few long strides closing the distance around the car and swinging your door open, offering you his arm again, like some kind of giant regency gentleman. He leads you back to the building, watching you shiver in the lobby, waiting until you’re in the elevator to speak again. 

“Don’t you want to know,” he says, examining his own reflection, “What I figured out about you?” You sigh deeply. 

“Yes sir.” 

“That’s no fun!” He pouts, as you rocket up to the penthouse. “Engage with me.” He watches you performatively straighten, a practiced smile spreading across your face. “Nevermind, no acting with me, only real shit. That’ll be rule number one for staying at my place.” You nod. The doors swing open and he gets to watch the genuine shock as you step into his huge penthouse suite. 

“Oh my god,” you look all around, from the wall of windows, to the balcony, you step out of your shoes and walk across the floor mesmerized. “I’ve never seen anything like this.” You feel his hand come to rest on your back. 

“Yeah sweetheart,” he says, “Can I get you a drink?” You nod. “And I’ve got a first aid kit for emergencies.” You raise your unbruised eyebrow. “What?” 

“I didn’t take you for the caring type.” You muse and his lips twitch downward. 

“I have little siblings.” He says, pouring two glasses of whiskey and sitting on the couch. “I’m actually used to it.” He smirks. “So tell daddy where it hurts?” He’s surprised when  you let out a shaky, honest breath. 

“I’m so,” you take a big gulp of the whiskey, “I’m so scared,” your voice trembles, your hands shake, “I know I’m safe with you, sir, but I’m really afraid.” He can see it now, your eye is bad, it’s going to be swollen shut in the morning. 

“C’mere,” he shrugs out of his jacket and opens his arms. You reluctantly move across the couch, still holding your drink, taking a big sip of it before leaning down against his chest. “Was that so hard?” You feel one of his long arms wrap around you. 

“I don’t,” you start, “I don’t have a lot of experience asking for what I need.” He chuckles, bringing the drink to his lips. 

“You don’t get to be the highest earner at a place like that by prioritizing your own needs.” He says, starting to rub a circle in your shoulder. “You get that by being observant, and versatile.” He rubs his eyes. “Did we poach you from another house? I’m trying to remember how you got hired.” 

“You did.” You yawn, ignoring the throbbing of your head, drinking more, “You offered me healthcare.” Ran breaks into a wide smile. 

  “Subsidized healthcare for whores,” he finishes his drink, “Not even that expensive and suddenly we have the cleanest and the best girls in the city.”  You nod. “Not gonna complain about me calling you a whore?” You laugh lightly, feeling the whiskey dull your pain, and warm your body. 

“It’s pretty famously acknowledged that men hate listening to women nag. So I never do it when I’m working.” Ran nods slowly, scooting you off him and standing. 

“We’ll see about that.”  He takes the first aid kit and opens it on the coffee table, you sit up obediently and face him. He takes you in, now that he can look at you in normal light, even bruised and red eyed from crying, you were absolutely stunning. There’s something primordial about your beauty, like it’s not defined from your features, but by something burning inside you. He swallows, ripping open an alcohol swab. “C’mere.” He says and opens his palm, you lean forward, until your chin is resting in his hand. “Fucker nearly bashed your head in.” You don’t respond to that, but he clocks your little gasp of pain when he starts dabbing at the cut by your eyebrow. 

“Really,” you mumble, “Didn’t expect you to do this.” It’s true, Ran could have had someone else, anyone else take care of you, he could have dropped you at a hotel, or one of the other brothels, but something, some instinct had him bring you here instead. 

“When I was a kid, my brother got into more fights than me.” He explains, “I mean, no one would agree with that, because once Rin was in, I was in, whatever it was. But I got pretty used to patching him up.” A tear leaks out of your left eye, “I’m almost done.” 

“Thank you, sir.” You whisper. 

“You’ll make it up to me.” He says brightly, before carefully putting a little gauzy band aid over the affected area. “So, we were discussing you.” 

“Were we?” You murmur, and then you remember. “Oh you said you’d figured me out.” He nods. 

“Daddy issues.” He says, and you raise your good eyebrow, then wince. “Let me make some assumptions, you tell me if I’m wrong.” 

“Okay.” You feel Ran’s hands move down your bruised clavicle, and push your jacket off your shoulders. 

“I’m checking for swelling,” he murmurs, light touches down your shoulders. “But, you had no strong authority figures as a child.” 

“Correct.” You answer. 

“Maybe your mom was around, in some capacity, but daddy was always working,” You shrug. 

“That’s one way to put it.” He raises his eyebrows and you sigh and continue. “My father worked in finance,” 

“Rich little princess, huh?” He says, opening a new alcohol swab to dab at a scrape just below your collarbone from when the attacker dragged you across the rug. 

“Apparently.” You say softly. “Till he went to prison, and my mom fell off the wagon.” Ran nods slowly. 

“He screw a bunch of well meaning middle class people over or something?” He asks, slipping the strap of your lingerie off your shoulder. 

“Something like that.” You inhale sharply as Ran experimentally presses the swab against the scrape, to see if you’ll squirm.  

“If I asked you for something,” he says, smoothing some gauze over the cut. “You’d give it to me.” 

“Yes sir,” you say, fighting the exhaustion, your head hurts, and your body aches, but you’re working, you remind yourself, it’s a job. 

“So if I asked you to tell me the truth about how you were feeling right now, you would?” Your hands fly to your temples, massaging them. 

“Everything hurts,” you mumble, “And now I’m exhausted, and a little drunk.” You glance over the shoulder. “Am I on the couch?” 

“Nope,” Ran says, glee back in his voice as he closes the first aid kit. “My bed.” he lifts you like a child, cradling you to his chest, “There we are.” You shiver, then snuggle into the warmth of his body as he carries you across the penthouse. He deposits you on the bed carelessly, and you wince, curling into the fetal position with an arm wrapped around your ribs. 

“Your ribs might be broken,” Ran muses. 

“Why,” you say through gritted teeth, “Did you throw me?” 

“Because if you’re not going to tell me what hurts I’m going to find out somehow, now get up you have to brush your teeth.” 

“Are you serious?” You lift your head and he chuckles dangerously, enjoying the real pain and anger in  your eyes. 

“You still work for me.'' He says. “I’m not going to hit you, if I can help it, but it’s in your best interest not to push-” he stops when you don’t seem to be listening, your face screwed up in pain, and the last soft part of his soul tugs at him. “Alright,” he sits on the bed and rubs your   forehead. “I’ll have a doctor here first thing this morning, alright,” you take a shaky breath and he sees a tear you're unable to blink away. 

“This,” you press your lips together,voice tiny and tight, “This really, really hurts.” He massages his jaw, he’s not sure what he wanted, what possessed him to bring you here, what’s causing this odd protective stirring in his chest. It’s true, this was probably the best choice for Bonten, given that this man would be looking for you and causing trouble if you were anywhere else, but normally that wouldn’t have bothered him enough to open up his personal space to you. 

“Why didn’t you tell me your ribs hurt?” He asks, but realizes as soon as he says it, “Oh, you want to get back to work, huh?” You nod, your eyes are screwed shut now. “Whaddya need money for, sweetheart?” He’s back to softly rubbing your forehead. 

“Got a brother.” You breathe out slowly, “Sick. He needs the money.” Ran blinks at you in the darkness, withdrawing his hand. You hear him open and close a drawer and then feel something cold press to your cheek. 

You open your eyes and he’s ice cold, all mirth and teasing gone from his face. You don’t move, just try to hold his gaze. 

“How long have you worked for me?” He says, and you look confused by the question but answer. 

“A-about eight months.” 

“And where did we poach you from?”  

“The silver dragon.” You answer, a slight tremor from your voice, “What did I-” 

“Just answer some questions for me.” He says, pressing the gun harder into your cheek. “Did you know the man you stabbed?” You look up at him, eyes wide, “I asked you a fucking question.” 

“N-no.” You breathe. 

“You think you can show up here, with some sob story about a sick brother and get whatever you want from me, think I’ll let my guard down?” He still sounds calm. 

“No, no please,” you plead, “I can prove it, if you look on my phone, I have pictures of us.” He nods. 

“Get up.” You choke out a sob as the stabbing pain in your chest bursts forth, but struggle to your feet. He doesn’t help you, or let you lean on him, but he doesn’t push your pace as you struggle to walk back to his couch, barefoot in a silk slip, “Sit.” He says and you do, he keeps the gun to your head while he pulls your phone out of your coat pocket. “Passcode?” 

“9965.” You whisper, and a shiver runs up your spine, causing pain to bloom in your chest. He clicks into your phone, it’s depressing, barely any texts, but if he opens your photos it’s true, most of the pictures are of a younger boy with whom you share several features. He looks sickly and thin, and in some of them he’s making faces in a hospital bed, posing with an actor dressed as spiderman. Ran’s heart rate calms a little, but he’s not convinced. He opens your internet history, scrolling through it. 

“There’s a lot of porn here,” He muses, and the pressure with which he’s pushing on your head with the gun lessens. 

“It’s not like most of my appointments are interested in my pleasure,” you keep your eyes closed, unwilling to witness your own end, “And I have to take care of myself.” He chuckles, but between the porn and occasional shopping link it’s clear you’ve been doing research on childhood illness for at least as long as he can scroll, which is 10 months. It’s a lot of detail and work to put into tricking him, especially when you couldn’t guarantee he’d even look at your phone. He pockets the device. 

“This is mine now.” He says, but the only thing you really understand is that he withdraws the gun from your head. You try not to cry in relief, but end up barely biting back the sob, the pain tears at your chest. “Let’s get you washed up,” his touches are soft again, practically carrying you to the bathroom, giving you an extra toothbrush. He puts the gun away in a nightstand. You climb into his bed, scooting under the blanket, it’s a light but warm duvet. You’re making an effort to control your breathing, and you haven’t spoken to him since he took your phone. “Did I scare you?” He says, unbuttoning his shirt, tossing it on a chair. 

“Yes, sir.” You whisper, and he notes that the honorifics are back. He takes his rings and earring off, depositing them in a little dish beside his bed. He steps out of his pants, and flicks the light off, the only light coming from the full moon and the city, silver white patterns from his window are painted across his bed. He hooks his thumbs in his briefs and steps out of them, laughing when  you avert your eyes from the way his cock hangs heavily between his legs while he grabs a clean pair. “Modest, for a whore.” You don’t respond, shrugging then wincing at what it does to your chest. “I could give you something for the pain?” He offers, and you narrow your eyes. “What?” 

“I’m trying to decide if I trust you not to slip me something because you think it’s funny.” He giggles. 

“I mean it would be funny, but I’m a gentleman, and if I wanna watch a hot girl trip and lose her shit I coulda grabbed almost anyone else from your place of work on your way out.” 

“You’re a gentleman?” You raise your eyebrows, “Did your mother teach you it’s polite to hold young women at gunpoint.” His eyes narrow. 

“I think you don’t want to see what it looks like when I get impolite.” He says, and there’s a dark edge to his tone. Your eyes are on his tattoos as he lies down next to you, “Now come here.” You obey, ignoring the ache in your chest as he pulls you next to him. He digs in his drawer and pulls out a pill bottle, “Open,” he says, and you part your lips, sticking your tongue out. He puts a tiny blue pill out and places it on your tongue. It starts to dissolve and you watch him take one too. “Coulda left you there.” he grumbles. “Coulda just let you go home.” 

“I know.” You say softly. “I was um, I was teasing you,” He glances down at you, you feel a warmth spreading over your body. “I’m glad,” you follow an impulse, “That you didn’t leave me there.” You take one of his huge hands with both of yours, and his heart flutters uncomfortably. 

“So really,” He turns to you. “Not only am I a gentleman but I’m your knight in shining armor.” You sigh deeply, feeling the painkiller work its way through your system. “Say it please.” 

“Say what?” You blink up at him dumbly and fuck, his stomach does a back flip. “Sir.” You remember, barely. 

“Say I’m,” his head is clouding over, “Say I’m  your knight in shining armor,” he needles and you squeeze his hand. 

“Y-you saved me.” You mumble. “The knight thing is too cheesy, I can’t do it.” 

“Then kiss me.” He demands, and you obey, struggling to prop yourself up. He leans down impatiently, pressing his lips to yours with a desperate hunger, not caring about the little whimper you make at the pain of this position. He only pulls away when  you’re breathless. “Heal up.” He says, leaning over and kissing your forehead in an oddly caring and soft way. 

“Mhm,” you agree, drifting off to a peaceful sleep, the medicine fogging your mind. Ran watches you for a while, amazed at how quickly you relax even with the drugs. They take longer to hit him, and he laces and unlaces your fingertips, plays with your hair, even presses gently on the bruises on your body, just enough to pull a sleepy whimper from your lips, determined to find your weaknesses before you find his. 

You wake before him, nestled against his chest, your head tucked under his chin. You don’t stir, don’t move a muscle, every part of your body aches, from your ribs, to your face, to your neck. Ran’s got a tight grip on you, and he’s snoring softly. His alarm goes off a few minutes later, though and he smacks it with one huge hand, groaning. He sits up and examines you blearily. Overnight your bruises have gotten worse, you’re still pretty, but half your face is fucked, the bruises extend down from your eye to the corner of your jaw, and your neck is dappled with darkness and burst blood vessels. You hum softly and he rubs his eyes. 

“I’m gonna shower,” he says, “Our doctor will be here in an hour, and then I’m going to work, and you’re gonna stay here.” You nod. “Don’t get into my shit.” he warns and you shrug. “You can order whatever you want for lunch,” he digs through his wallet and puts a black card on the nightstand. 

“Can I have my phone back?” 

“No.” He rolls his eyes. 

“How will I order, then?” You bury your face back into the pillows and he thinks about it. “I’ll leave you a burner phone.” He opens a drawer and tosses you a blank cell phone. You nearly don’t catch it and he chuckles at you. “Stay put for a sec.” He jogs out of the bedroom, still in only his lavender briefs. He comes back a second later with a few bags, he’s got frozen peas, some frozen ore-ida french fries, and a bag of frozen pineapple. “Ice that shit.” He orders, “Twenty minutes on, twenty minutes off,” he eyes you warily. “I’d tie you down but you’re gonna have to use the restroom, huh.” You nod, and he sighs deeply, taking his phone out and putting it to his ear, “Can I get two decent guys up to my penthouse in the next half hour, need them to watch a girl for a day. Tell them it’s a cushy assignment, a chance to ah,” he grins evilly, “Impress me.” You resist the urge to roll your eyes, but he still regards you warily while finishing the phone call. You press the peas to the side of your face and wince at the temperature. Ran puts the phone in the crook of his neck, 

“Hold on a second,” he says. “Hey, dummy,” he snaps at you, “Gently.” You nod, and he rolls his eyes, annoyed, “Yeah, I got a girl who’s never put ice on a bruise before to deal with,” he says to the person on the other end of the phone, ignoring you as he slips more pillows behind your back. “Yeah, I told her she was dumb already,” He pats your head with one huge hand, still talking to the other guy as he disappears into the bathroom to shower. You relax against the pillows, curling up into the fetal position with the bag of frozen peas on your face. Ran come back in half an hour later, and you’ve got the pineapple bag on your neck. 

“What a good girl,” he coos, condescension dripping from his words, “But you’re missing your ribs, are they swollen?” 

“I, I don’t know.” You respond more quietly than he expects. He narrows his violet eyes and comes to your side of the bed, pushing you gently onto your back and removing the pineapple bag. “Sir?” You crane your neck to see what he’s doing as he peels the blanket back and then lifts your dress. You gasp at the sight of your skin, you knew  you were injured, but the nebula of bruises and the slight swelling shocks you. Ran seems unphased, pressing lightly on the bruise, just enough to make you whimper. 

“They’re not broken.” He murmurs, almost to himself, then remembers you, “But don’t fucking move too much, alright?” He stands, “Jesus.” He digs through his drawer, taking the bottle of pills and leaving one on the nightstand, shoving the bottle into his pocket, “Can’t have ya doin’ anything stupid.”

“Yes, sir,” you chirp, just a slight degree of mocking to your voice. He furrows his eyebrows, but doesn’t admonish you. He leaves shortly after that, in some monstrosity of a pastel suit, and no tie, a thin silver chain visible around his neck. You take the pill, and nearly don’t notice when two men come in, talking loudly. 

“He said she’d be sleepin’ but we gotta make sure no one gets in here,” one of them says, “Oi,” You stir, opening your good eye. “Mr. Haitani said you should be icin’  your shit.” You sit up and turn to face them, hearing their collective intake of breath at your face. 

“Jesus, sweetheart,” They’re both tall, broad and tattooed, one blonde, one dark haired. “You alright?” 

“No,” you almost whine, “Where’s the doctor?” 

“Runnin’ late.” One of them takes the iced food away and brings something else from Ran’s freezer. You hold it to your face as a tear leaks from your eye. Neither of the men talk much, which is fine, with the pill you’re drifting in and out of consciousness. You wake a few hours later, and an extremely hurried doctor pronounces you injured, hairline fractures on your ribs, no orbital fractures, and gives you a few painkillers that you’ll have to take with water, and that he tells you not to mix with alcohol or drive on. You scroll through the burner phone, then look up at the men. 

“Um, he said I could get lunch?” They blink at you. “Do you want lunch?” You take the black card off the night table, “I was thinking um, burgers, or something?” 

“Yeah, sure.” One of them says, and you hand them the phone and let them put their order in through the app, then add your own and put in the card information. You lay back, with the ice numbing your bruises. 

“Can um,” you close your eyes, “One of you wake me when the food gets here?” 

“Sure, honey.” One of them quips, and about an hour later you’re vaguely aware of an argument in the living room about which one of them should go down to get the food, because they both were supposed to stay up in the penthouse, when you hear the doorbell ring. It strikes you as odd for a full second. You hadn’t given the delivery person anything but the building address, no indication of the floor they should come to. Instinct overrides your terror and you fumble for the gun you saw Ran put away the night before. You hear a quick shout, and the smashing of furniture, as you stumble out of bed and click the safety off, holding it out in front of you. 

“Stop,” you cry quickly, and the severity of your situation becomes clear. One of the men Ran left you with is bleeding on the floor, having been caught off guard, and the other is grappling with a much larger man, who has him pinned. It looks like two intruders have broken in, with the second stalking towards you, both with matching tiger tattoos. “D-don’t move.” You say, cursing your stutter. “I’ll, I’ll shoot you.” 

“Stupid fuckin’ bitch,” the man snarls, and you can see something wild in his honeyed eyes, while his companion chokes the life out of the last conscious bonten member. “Put it down.” 

“I will shoot you.” You plant your bare feet on the ground, unaware if you're dizzy or just swaying a bit from the drugs. What happens next you’re not entirely sure, even though you’d be asked to recount it many times. He lunges for you, and you squeeze the trigger a couple times, squealing at the noise it makes even with the silencer on the end of the weapon. The recoil makes pain explode in  your hand, but when you’re out of bullets, no one is standing anymore. You sink, shaking, to your knees.

The man who lunged for you and his companion are both bleeding out on Ran’s expensive looking oriental rug. 

“Oh my god,”  you whisper, “Oh my god.” Almost on autopilot, you fumble for your cell phone, and find only the burner. You hover over the 9 for 911, but stop yourself, instead dialing the only number that’s saved. 

“Haitani,” You hear. 

“M-m-mr. Haitani,” you choke out, and Ran’s frowns at your tone, standing and walking out of the room he was in. “They, they came here for me and-” 

“Are you hiding?” He interrupts, grabbing his coat and signaling to a few of his men to follow him. 

“N-no,” you stammer, “I might have,” you can’t hear your own voice, you’re faraway from your own body. “I might have done something.” He’s in the elevator at this point. “Y-you know the gun in your nightstand?” He laughs. “Please don’t.” You beg. 

“If you shot one of my men they get to shoot you,” He quips, “Thems the breaks.” 

“No,” you swallow, “M-mr. Haitani, I shot,” the joy melts from his face as his car pulls up in front of the offices. “I shot them, the um, the people breaking in.” His eyes shoot open and he barks out a laugh.

“Don’t touch anything.” He says. “Don’t even move or breathe too much until I get there, understood?” 

“Yes, sir.” You choke out, sinking to the floor again and sitting there. You’re not sure how long it takes for him to burst into the room with a few men, not sure how long you sit on the floor, dizzied and nauseated by the scent of iron. Ran strides into the room and surveys the damage, then looks at you, small and broken, on your knees holding the gun. He leans down, pressing his finger to one of the men’s neck before standing again with a little huff. 

“Well, that’s that then.” You burst into tears. “Aw princess, don’t cry,” he coos, and reaches for you, “Let’s get you cleaned up,” He turns to his men. “And you, clean this up. I wanna know how the fuck they got up here, and I want to know yesterday. Clear?” The men nod, “They alive?” he asks about the bonten men and one of them groans. “Hey bastard,” Ran snaps, “Whatever rank you were, this bitch is now your fucking boss,” you’re still crying softly, wondering if he means for you to take his extended hand. He looks back at you, annoyed, and then plucks you off your knees, lifting you to a standing position. He takes you to his bathroom and helps you strip, you’re still bruised, and high, and a little concussed. “Gonna keep crying even if I tell you to shut up?” You nod, giving him a little hiccuping sob.

“S-sorry.” You choke out and he nods, turning the water on and kicking his shoes off, stepping out of his pants. “What are you d-doing,” you say wiping your face. 

“We’re gonna burn anything that you were wearing,” he says, “Same for me, since I touched you, alright,  but you’ve got blood on you so let’s get into the shower.” He’s a little impatient, tugging you into the steam. You cover yourself at first, nonsensically but he doesn’t peel your hands away. Instead he reaches for a bottle of soap. It smells like sweet almond oil, and he cleans himself first, washing his hair, his face, his shoulders. He notices the way you keep your attention up at his face, nearly ignoring his cock. 

“I’m a shower not a grower,” he quips, and you sniff, still reeling. “Alright,” he takes a pump of the soap, “Okay, let’s just,” he starts on your shoulders, dexterous hands moving over your aching muscles, a bit of red running down the drain as the blood washes off of you. His hands dip lower quickly, and he pushes your hands away from your breasts. He groans softly at the feeling of them in his hands, running his thumbs over your nipples and squeezing them, delighting in the way you squirm, your breath evening. 

“W-what’s gonna happen to me?” You whisper, and he shrugs, moving his hands lower, barely stopping at your waist before he slips them behind to cup your ass. 

“I like a bitch who takes care of herself,” he squeezes at the soft flesh. “Because it means if I take that away, you don't have anything left but me.” A shiver runs up your spine. “I’m gonna keep you,” you feel his hand dip between your legs, “And you don’t get a say in the matter,” he crouches a little so that you can look him in the eyes. “Does that feel good?” 

“A little,” you get out, as he parts your folds with one long finger,  you can feel the cool of his rings as the warm water drips between you. 

“You’re afraid of me?” He asks, eyes serious for a moment. 

“Y-yes sir,” you press your lips together, “I sh-shouldn’t have taken your gun, I’m s-sor-” He cuts you off with a chuckle. 

“If you hadn’t taken it you’d have just bled all over my sheets while you died.” He shrugs. “And I wouldn’t have appreciated that. I’m glad you took it.” You swallow. “Are you glad,” he asks, and you gasp softly as he slips a finger inside you, “That you killed those men?” 

“N-no,” the tears burn in your eyes, “I didn’t mean to.” 

“That’s what I thought,” he leans down and presses his lips to your forehead, “You’re just a good girl, caught up in something bigger, huh?” You nod, feeling the way he presses up softly against that spongey spot inside you. “Such a sweet little thing,” he muses as you draw a shaky breath, he knows what he’s doing, knows how to pull soft music from your lips, “Adorable little mouse caught in a trap.” 

“Ah,” you close your eyes, sighing, and he moves you, pushing you up against the cool black marble of his shower. 

“Since you’re such a good girl,” he repeats, “And you don’t wanna hurt anyone, I’ll take care of you, alright, daddy’s gonna make those bodies disappear,” you sniff, he adds a second finger, pulling the softest moan from your lips. “And in return, you’re gonna do everything I say, how does that sound?” 

“It sounds,” you can’t think clearly, “It sounds, um,” you gasp, he scissors his fingers inside of you and you feel the pain dully in your ribs, “Sounds um, thank you,” you close your eyes leaning against the cool tile wall, lost in the drugs, in the feeling of his thumb rubbing soft circles around your clit. 

“Just say yes, daddy,” he taunts and you let out a soft whine. 

“Y-yes, daddy,” your back arches off the wall of the shower. 

“You’re too high to fake shit with me right now,” he feels your legs start to tremble and you nod, “But it’s not allowed, understand?” 

“Yes,” you feel the hot coil in your stomach tighten as he picks up the pace, “Yes, daddy.” 

“Such a good girl,” he exclaims, dripping in condescension, examining you clinically. You’re bruised, and out of it, your eye is swollen shut to the point that you’re avoiding the gentle fall of water on the purpled skin. “My good girl.” You nod, whimpering. “You’re mine,” he repeats, “Say it.” 

“I’m yours,” it comes out soft, and high pitched as he fingers you roughly. 

“Cum for me, then,” he says, leaning further down and kissing your neck as you cum on his hand, gushing around him and crying softly, so overwhelmed with emotion and sensation that your knees buckle. He catches you handily, helping you into a soft white towel and laying you down in his bed. “Open.” He says and you obey mindlessly, letting him place another pill on your tongue, a different one, that makes your world so fuzzy at the edges that consciousness slips from you quickly. He gets dressed and strides back into his living room. The bodies are rolled up in rugs, the blood is gone, and Ran’s gun is sitting on the table, wiped clean of fingerprints. 

“Did you need to fuck the girl first?” He hears, and Rindou walks out of his half bathroom, wiping his hands on a towel. “Was it absolutely necessary for you to fuck the girl.” Ran grins evilly. 

“Would you be proud of me to know that for once in my life I was an unselfish lover?” Rindou retches. 

“No,” He takes some black latex gloves from his pocket. “So what, you had to-” 

“She was too injured to stand  on her own in the shower,” Ran explains impatiently, striding to the kitchen and pouring himself a drink. “Why are you here, exactly?” 

“Can’t I be worried about you, my only brother?” He says, crouching next to one of the bodies, pulling out one of their wallets. “This is,” he frowns, looking at the ID. 

“What’s up?” Ran quips, joining him. 

“The address on here isn’t a real place.” Rindou murmurs. “Because it’s the apartment building next to the one we grew up in in Roppongi.” Ran’s brow furrows. “And they tore that down a few months ago, I think.” 

“Someone trying to send us a message?” Ran says, quirking an eyebrow. Rindou nods. “Well,” he draws himself up to his full height. “I’m gonna beef up security.” 

“What’ll you do with her?” A smile plays on Rindou’s lips and Ran scoffs. 

“She’s mine now.” He shrugs. “Shiny new toy for me.”

You don’t see Ran again until later, you wake alone in his bedroom, stomach growling. You stumble to the living room, half high, half awake, and Ran is waiting for you, sitting on the couch on his laptop. 

“You’re up,” he says, lifting his head, watching you look around blearily. “It’s all gone, baby, all clean in here.” You nod, hands trembling. “Come here.” He pats the couch and you wince sitting down next to him. “You still need your brother's hospital bills paid?” He asks and you nod, letting him pull your body into his chest. “Consider it taken care of. You’ve been promoted in our organization.” You look up at him and he takes a big black gun from a shoulder holster. “C’mon,” he takes your hand and arranges it on the handle correctly. “Like this.” You bury your face in his neck. 

“I don’t want to hurt people.” You mumble, and he feels your lips move against his clean shave. 

“You need to learn how to use this.” He says calmly, “Focus for me.” He watches you direct your attention fully to his large hands on the gun. “This is a safety,” he clicks it on and off, “When  you’re not using it, you leave this on.” You nod. “We’ll getcha some practice.” You take his arm, and he looks at you, surprised. You press your whole body up against his side, nuzzling into him. 

“Thank you for not just killing me.” You whisper. He shrugs.

“You’re useful.” 

“I want to um,” you blink up at him, eyes round. “I want to be useful to you.” He laughs. 

“You’re in absolutely no shape to suck me off.” He gives your knee a little squeeze. “I’ll give you the chance to make it up to me sweetheart,” he leans over and presses a kiss to your forehead. “After all, I own you now.” You swallow. It’s true, he has the bodies, the evidence, the power, not to mention he’s the one with a gun. 

next chapter

high enough | haitani r.

haitani ran x fem!reader

summary: ran didn't know why he kept coming back to you when he knew the risks involved--or he supposed he did, he just wasn't willing to confront it yet.

warnings: sub!reader, dom!ran, bonten timeline, unprotected sex, a bit of gentle manhandling, mentions of gang violence and wealth disparities, angst + hurt/comfort undertones (? kind of i guess)

notes: ty teepot n eris n (eventually) kat for betaing sobs @sakusins @kxeyas @sano-obsessed

y'all this piece might be the one im most proud of i s2g i actually love how it turned out

He didn’t know why he was here. The air was cold against his skin, bitter on his tongue and the sky was dark, the only thing illuminating the street around him was the distant, flickering street lamps. Sirens and gunshots resounded through the air--a few streets away, he pinpointed, too close to you.

He should move you out of this area, but as soon as the thought raced through his head, he felt distinctly uncomfortable. He shouldn’t care this much. He shouldn’t care at all, really. You were a nobody--a random girl he had met at a bar a few months back that he used to relieve the stress that being a Bonten executive weighed on him.

But if you were a nobody, then why did he keep coming back?

It was easy for him to rationalize if he ignored a few important points. Sleeping around put him more at risk in regards to dangerous situations--fuck around with the wrong person and he might just be ending the night with a bullet lodged in his skull or a knife cutting open his neck. Sticking to one person, at the very least, lowered those chances. 

But even as the thoughts ran through his head, he knew that it wasn’t so simple. Sticking with one person brought other risks--risks of leaking sensitive information, risks of enemies pinpointing a possible weakness. It brought vulnerabilities that he just wasn’t quite able to accept because it would ruin any possible rationalization he might have to come back to you so often.

A particularly loud gunshot caught his attention, narrowed eyes shifting down the street toward where it came from, fingers drifting to curl around the loaded gun holstered at his waist. You lived in one of the shittier parts of the city--an area caught in the crossfires of the brutal, ongoing gang war between Bonten and its rivals.

It was dangerous for him to be here, the logical part of his brain reminded himself. There were hits on his head with bounties that would put oligarchs to shame, coming to this part of town with no back up, no one knowing where he was, no plan in case things went wrong, it was as good as a death wish and yet he found himself at your doorstep every other night. 

He was playing a dangerous game, a game of Russian roulette that he knew would end with him losing but he couldn’t bring himself to stop pulling the trigger. 

Go back to the apartment, he told himself but even as the thought raced through him he was pulling the trigger yet again--fist rising to knock heavily on your door. 

It was late--well past two in the morning but you were a night owl, you were usually up til the sun rose and slept well into the afternoon. And a part of him wondered if he had any hand in your odd sleeping schedule, he was sure that it hadn’t been this fucked before the two of you met but the thought conjured a warm feeling in his chest that he wasn’t willing to try to decipher. 

He waited a few moments before his chest began to curl anxiously. 

Why weren’t you answering?

His nails dug into his palm as he considered what to do--knock again? leave? 

He brought his fist back up against the door, knuckles rapping hard and rapidly against the wood. A series of worst case scenarios began to flood his mind--what if they realized what you were to him? 

You weren’t anything to him, he tried to argue back immediately but the sinking feeling in his chest was proof enough that you did mean something to him. 

His throat felt like it was closing up, the air around him becoming heavy, suffocating, he couldn’t breathe--images of you limp and bloody on the other side of the door flashing through his head, tied up and scared, wounded and unable to move, dead. He ignored the way his hands shook as he took a step back, preparing to kick in the door himself just so he could make sure you were alright.

But he didn’t have to. Just as he was about to drive his foot into the door, it unlocked from the other side and a numbing sense of relief swept through him as his eyes fell upon you standing in the doorframe, eyes sleepy and confused and trained on him. 

He could breathe again. 

Another blank.

Your nightgown hung off your shoulders as you brought a hand up to rub at your left eye, a yawn slipping past your lips, “Ran,” you murmured, “I didn’t think you were coming tonight, I would’ve stayed up. ‘m sorry. How long were you waiting?”

“I didn’t mean to wake you up,” his voice was colder than he intended for it to be and he hated the way your lips tugged down, and he hated himself for being this way, “I can go.”

“No,” you reached out, your smaller hand grabbing his and he stiffened instantly. Your hand dropped back to your side when you noticed his reaction, “Come in, it’s late, you looked exhausted.”

Ran opened his mouth to protest but didn’t get the chance, “Please,” you said quietly and Ran faltered, eyes unable to meet yours.

It’s late, whatever is going on down the street is getting closer--it isn’t smart for him to be wandering around in this area with the Bonten tattoo branding his throat, he rationalized as he stepped into your home. 

“You need to be more careful,” Ran said as you shut the door behind him, relocking the door with a flimsy chain that even Kokonoi Hajime would be able to kick down if he wanted to. He would have to get it replaced with a stronger one. “What if it wasn’t me behind that door?” 

Your lips pulled up into a soft smile that did something to his heart that he did not like. You looked back at him from over your shoulder, “I’m not one to linger on ‘what ifs’,” you told him. Ran looked down at the floor, unsure of how you could live so carefree in such a dangerous area. “You should go change out of that, I’ll go get you a glass of water.”

You didn’t wait for a response, walking in the opposite direction. He only stared after you for a moment, lips turned down, eyes heavy as you disappeared from sight. And Ran tried to pretend that he didn’t know the way through your home like the back of his hand, despite the confusing twists and turns of your hallways, ones that most people would end up getting lost in. He tried to pretend he didn’t recognize every little ding in the wall, every little stain in the wallpaper; he tried to pretend that he didn’t know which floorboards to step over, the ones that were worn out due to storms and the passage of time that you couldn’t quite afford to get redone. 

His shoulders were tense and stiff as he pushed open the door to your bedroom and he still continued to pretend--he pretended that the clothes tucked away in one of your drawers weren’t ones that he had ended up leaving during one of his nights staying over, ones you washed and cleaned despite the fact that you could barely afford detergent and your washing machine was on its last legs, even if it meant taking out some of your own clothes to tuck his away safely in your dresser. 

He ran his fingers through his hair, purple and black strands falling loose around his face. He let out a heavy breath, chest tight as he unbuttoned the red-stained shirt and tossed into the bin next to your dresser--casually, too casually, like he would in his own apartment. 

He felt ill. 

His eyes caught the cracked mirror resting against the wall by your dresser and his lips twisted even further down when he noticed the bruises lining the left side of his body—almost hidden, but not quite, by the dark tattoos decorating his skin. 

You would notice, you always did.

He hesitated as he reached for one of the cloth undershirts of his that you had stored in your dresser, an uncomfortable feeling stirring in his chest. What was he doing? He shouldn’t be doing this. 

He shouldn’t be doing this.

But it was addicting, you were addicting, you brought him a type of high that no amount of drugs or alcohol could hope to give him and he couldn’t bring himself to give it up, give you up. Even if he did know deep down it would be for the best; even if he knew it could get him killed, get you killed. 

A shattering of glass, a shriek, the trigger was pulled again, this time by his invisible opponent. 

Ran was moving in an instant, tearing out of your room without a second to waste. His shoes slammed against the floorboards, his lungs burned, his eyes were wide and he felt the world collapsing around him. Ran was fast, he knew that, he’d always been the fastest in whatever gang he was in--Tenjiku, Rokuhara Tandai, Kanto Manji, Bonten, no one could ever keep up with him--but in that moment he swore that time must have been against him, his feet felt like they were dragging against the floor, sinking in quicksand, it was like he was trying to run through waist-deep water and the tide kept pulling him back, preventing him from getting to you. 

His heart was in his throat as he turned the corner into the kitchen, gun in hand--he hadn’t even noticed he had pulled it from where it had been strapped to his waist. 

His heart was beating in his chest so loud that he was sure you could hear it, his eyes were wild as his gaze darted around, trying to figure out what had happened until his gaze fell upon you on the floor, eyes wide and trained on the gun in his hands.

You were on your hands and knees, glass shattered beneath you that you were trying to pick up with your bare hands, water pooling below you. His heart rate slowly calmed down once he realized what had happened--you dropped the glass. The raised gun fell to his side, his shoulders relaxed.

He could breathe again.

Another blank. 

You gave him a small, apologetic smile, “‘m sorry,” you said again, and he hated when you apologized--especially to him, “the glass slipped.”

You were unbothered by the gun in his hand, relaxed even, and Ran wondered if that had to do with the fact that you were used to guns and violence considering the part of the city you lived in. Or was it that you just trusted him that much? The latter thought made that warm feeling in his chest return. He pushed it away. 

He couldn’t move as he watched you clean up the glass, his feet were glued to the floor, holding him in place even as his mind told him to move forward and help you so you don’t end up cutting your hands. 

He didn’t understand you. He wasn’t sure if he ever would. He didn’t know why you kept willingly letting him into your home. You knew who he was, what he did--you had to, even if he had never explicitly told you. Everybody knew what the tattoo branding his throat meant, and the area you lived in leaned heavily toward Bonten’s enemies and they had received plenty of intel that their rivals were using civilians as their eyes and ears to keep an eye on Bonten’s movements without risking their own men. 

You knew who he was, what he did, you knew the risks that came with associating with him and yet every night he found himself at your doorstep, you opened your home, your arms, your bed for him. You took him, you gave him something to look forward to after long grueling days of blood and pain instead of drowning himself in drugs and alcohol trying and failing to forget old memories and what he had turned into, what he had dragged Rindou into. 

It had never been enough, no matter what he took, no matter how much he drank, the memories haunted him, fear consumed him--fear of what could happen to him, to his few remaining friends, to Rindou. 

It had never been enough--not until he met you at least, and all thoughts of trying to deny how much you meant to him disappeared as he watched you chat easily about your day at work. Your words went in one ear and out the other as his mind raced. You had become important to him quickly, too important, too quick. You had become the light to his darkness, your home a sort of sanctuary that he had never had experienced until he met you. 

You were good to him--too good. Sometimes he wondered if he was ruining you, a poison that was slowly eating away at your health, an acid corroding your happiness, your stability, your future; and sometimes he wondered if this was just a cruel, elaborate ploy from his enemies, showing him what love was like and then ripping it away.

His world stilled, his vision tunneled onto you.  

Showing him what?

Anxiety began to twist in his stomach, curl through his limbs, ice cold fear began to spread through his body and that familiar fight or flight feeling took hold as his breath quickened. Every instinct told him to run, protect himself--weakness, vulnerabilities, they weren’t allowed in his line of work. Every weakness brought disaster, every vulnerability brought death. He had seen it time and time again with friends and enemies alike. 

You’ll get yourself killed, you’ll get her killed, and he was about to turn on his heel--flee your home in an effort to protect himself and the one thing that might bring him genuine happiness--but then you looked at him as you stood from the floor, tossing the shattered glass into the garbage can, and you smiled, and Ran was selfish. God, he was so fucking selfish because instead of turning on his heel and leaving--making the choice that ensure you weren’t targetted by his enemies in attempts to get to him--he moved forward.

You let out a soft hum of surprise as Ran brought his hands to your face, large palms cupping your cheeks, fingers tracing your skin, toying with your hair and you inhaled sharply when he pressed his lips to yours, gently at first, his lips moving slow in time with yours, a special dance that only the two of you knew.

He knew that it was wrong, that he was risking your safety for his own selfish desires, but Ran couldn’t stop himself. He tilted your head up, one hand sliding behind your head, fingers entangled with your hair to hold you impossibly closer, and he could feel your fingers trembling from where they were wrapped around his forearms, he could feel the way your eyes fluttered shut as you relaxed into his touch.

And Ran thought it was sickening how you could be so at ease with someone like him, so willing to give into him, so happy to give into him. He didn’t deserve it, he didn’t deserve you, he was selfish and inherently cruel and he was undeserving of your love when there were so many better men out there that could treat you better than he could, give you the stability and safety that you deserved.

But unfortunately for them, and unfortunately for you, Haitani Ran was not a good man--a good man would have let you go so that you could make the best of your life, would have given you the means to get out of this shitty area so you could live a life free of crime and danger. But Ran was not a good man, and instead of pushing you away like he should, his grip tightened. 

His hands slid down your body, wrapping around your thighs to lift you and you gasped into his mouth, legs wrapping around his waist and arms circling his shoulders. You pulled back slightly, lips parting to speak but Ran didn’t give you the chance, leaning in again to capture your lips with his, tongue tracing the inside of your bottom lip. 

He knew you were probably confused, he could practically predict the question on your tongue--Ran had never been one to display affection like this, the most he kissed you was when he was half-drunk on your pussy and not thinking straight, and he didn’t want to answer the question you were bound to ask. He wasn’t ready to verbally admit the conclusion he had come to--verbally admitting it made it real, and Ran wasn’t ready to face the consequences of it being real. 

And it was unfair to you, he knew it was. He kept you in limbo, wondering each night if he would show up, wondering what you really meant to him, and you deserved better than that, better than him. 

His grip tightened on your thighs and you let out a soft moan into his mouth, your arms fell from around his shoulders, delicate hands coming up to his cheeks instead. Ran’s eyes slid shut as your fingers traced his cheekbones, nails drawing gentle patterns on his skin. And you always did this and he was quite sure he would never be used to it. His breath shuddered against your lips and he tried to hide it by kissing you deeper, his tongue running against yours, tasting the mint on your breath. You had always touched him softly, from the first night up until now, and it was another thing he would never understand because Ran was rarely ever gentle with you--he tried, he swore he tried but soft touches to your skin would always turn into bruising, borderline painful grips as he desperately tried to fuck away the pain and fear and stress that laid so heavy on his shoulders. 

But it didn’t matter how many unintentional bruises he left on your hips and thighs, ones that caused his chest to swell up with guilt when he woke up before you the next morning to slip out before you could try to convince him to stay, you would always cup his face gently the next time you saw him, tracing your fingers over his scars and tattoos, showing him a type of tenderness that he had never experienced in his entire life before you.

His throat felt tight as the slow kiss began to shift into a far more needy one, his teeth nearly clashing with yours as he leaned in closer, stepping from around the kitchen counter to lead you down the narrow halls toward your room. And yeah, he had to admit that it was harder to pretend that he didn’t know all of the little nooks and crannies of your home when he kept his lips pressed to yours, not even bothering to look where he was walking as he brought you back to your room.

“Ran,” you gasped against his lips, “What’s wrong?” 

Instead of answering, Ran pressed his lips to the underside of your jaw, trailing hot, wet kisses down your neck, making your words melt into soft moans next to his ear as his teeth grazed your skin and his lips massaged bruises on your neck. Ran let out a groan into your skin as one of your hands slid behind his head, intertwining with his hair, nails scratching his scalp as he laid you back on your bed.

And it was crazy, really--your bed creaked underneath the two of you, the mattress dipped, and he knew his bed back at his own apartment was objectively exponentially more comfortable than yours but he had never felt more at home, never slept better than when he was laid up with you in yours.

He dragged his lips back up your skin to your lips, arms braced on either side of your head, body heavy on top of yours. Your legs tightened around his waist and Ran bit back another groan as he rolled his hips against yours, feeling you whimper against his lips.

He carried his weight on one arm as he brought his other down between your bodies, and then between your thighs to slide your panties off. He smiled against your lips when he wasn’t met with the pretty silk panties he was used to. 

“Thought you weren’t expecting me to show up?” he murmured against your lips and you giggled, eyes bright as you looked at him and the warm feeling in his chest grew and he couldn't even bring himself to push it away this time.

“I was still hopin’ you would,” you said, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his lips that had him dizzy and reeling. His throat was tight as your lips left his, head falling back against the pillow and he couldn’t stop himself from chasing your lips, pressing them hard against yours with a type of desperation that he didn’t know he had in him.

As if you could sense the turmoil within him, which you probably could if he were being honest, you matched his intensity. Lips slipping against his messily, hands sliding across his shoulders, smoothing out over his skin, tracing his tattoos and making his body shudder, and Ran fumbled to undo his button and unzip his slacks, brows furrowing in frustration.

A curse slipped from his lips as he failed to undo the button again, but he paused as he felt your hands cup his cheeks, lifting his face to force him to look at you.

“Relax,” you said quietly, voice smooth and gentle and at once, all of his frustrations seemed to fade away, “There’s no rush, we’ve got all the time in the world, Ran.”

Ran’s breath was shaky as your hands drifted down his body, undoing the buttons with ease and he let out a moan as your fingers slid up and down his cock, hips bucking into your hand as you freed him from his pants. 

There were a million words on his lips—telling you that you didn’t have all the time in the world, that there were so many risks, so many dangers, that he was sorry for dragging you into this life and that he was sorry for not being a good enough man to let you go. 

But nothing left his lips—he did not voice his fears, he did not apologize, instead he kissed you more intensely, holding the side of your face hard, hoping to convey all that he couldn't speak aloud through his actions.

Your fingers wrapped around his cock gently, languid strokes that had him gasping against your lips, eyes fluttering shut. 

He bit down on your bottom lip, tugging it, and his eyes slid back open, meeting yours, questioning.

You gave him a small smile, and it was all of the answer he needed. He reached down with one hand, a large hand wrapping around your thigh and lifting it, pressing it up against your chest and hooking your leg around his shoulder and then repeating the process with your other leg. 

His jaw clenched as the tip of his cock nudged against your entrance, slipping against the slick and sliding between your folds. He bit back a low groan as you gasped but couldn’t hold back the moan that fell from his lips as he began to push his cock into you at an agonizingly slow pace.

Your legs were trembling on either side of his head, chest heaving and your nails were digging into his bicep as you tried to control yourself but the fluttering of your walls gave you away. Heavy pants escaped your lips as he bottomed out into you—walls contracting and squeezing him so good that it nearly had him whimpering.

And he watched as you braced yourself for the hard, heavy thrusts you were used to—the ones that would knock your breath out of your lungs and have you dumb and drooling into the mattress by the time he was done with you; that would have him out of breath and sweating, thighs tense and shaking as he emptied his load into you for the third or fourth time of the night.

But this time was different—slow, deep strokes that had your jaw slack and eyes half-rolled back. He could feel every inch of your walls as your cunt tightened and fluttered around his cock. Each roll of his hips had your thighs twitching and trembling and your toes curling as Ran let out shaky breath while he turned his head to the side, pressing his lips against your ankle as he continued the steady pace.

Each drag of his cock against your walls had his arms tensing and flexing on either side of your head, shaky groans that he couldn’t quite hold back spilling from his lips as your cunt clung to him like a lifeline—wrapped around his cock so tight that each slow roll of his hips had his eyes knocking back.

“Fuck, baby,” he gasped into your skin as he buried his face into your neck again, “Feel so good.”

And you were letting out barely intelligible babbles, begging him to fuck you faster, harder, but Ran couldn’t bring himself to do it—the new pace unlocking something primal within him, a warm unfamiliar feeling that had heat pooling in his lower stomach and spreading across his body like a wildfire.

He forced himself to pull his face from the crook of your neck, pressing his lips against yours again, and he inhaled sharply through his nose as your babbles for more shifted into high pitched whines and desperate moans. 

His lips brushed yours, breath mingling and creating a dizzying sensation that had him light headed. His eyes traced your face, hips stilling against yours as he watched your eyes water, glassy and unfocused and barely trained on his face, lips wet and swollen. 

You were beautiful—you were always beautiful but right now….

He brought one hand to cup the side of your face, watching as you instinctually leaned into his touch, eyes lidded and glossy, filled with a sort of intense love and trust that had never been directed toward him his entire life. You looked at him as if he weren’t Haitani Ran, a wanted criminal, a gang executive, a murderer and a liar and a coward.

Or maybe you looked at him like that because he was Haitani Ran.  

His throat felt tight, his heart felt heavy.

“I love you,” he breathed out before he could stop himself and he watched as your eyes widened, if only slightly, but he didn’t give you the chance to let his words register, instead leaning down to press an open-mouthed kiss to your lips as he began to rock his hips into you again.

He fucked himself deep, deep into you—as if he couldn’t get close enough—his slow place gradually shifting into a faster one. Your walls clung to his cock and he was letting out low groans into your mouth as he felt your cunt spasm around him.

You were close, he could feel it in the way your hips were rolling up to meet his, he could hear it in the way your moans were becoming breathy as your voice shook, in how your arms were wrapping tight around his shoulders, trying to hold him as close as possible.

“‘m gunna cum,” you sobbed against his lips, “‘m gonna cum, Ran, I-“

You didn’t get the chance to finish your sentence, one particularly sharp thrust of his hips had your jaw going slack and your eyes rolling back, body spasming beneath his. Ran let out a low groan, lips pressed to your jaw as the feeling of your walls contracting tight around him pushed him right over the edge—mind hot and fuzzy as he spilled his cum deep inside of you.

He panted against your skin, body heavy on top of yours as you went limp beneath him, chest rising and falling rapidly as you tried to recover from your high.

Ran let out a hiss as he let his cock slip out of you, rolling onto his back to pull you onto his chest. Your eyes were tired and droopy as you looked up at him and Ran let out a soft hum, bringing one hand up to cup your head as the other traced patterns on your skin.

“Ran…” your voice was soft, shaky, you still sounded half out of it but there was a question in your eyes that made him anxious.

“Go to sleep,” he murmured.

“Will you be here when I wake up this time?” your eyes were sad, your lips wobbled, and Ran’s heart was in his throat as he looked down at you.

The words spilled from his lips before he could consider what they meant, “I will.”

And he supposed the relief and adoration on your face was worth the fact that he would have to confront questions that even just the thought of made him sick and fearful. But you rested your head back down against his chest, eyes fluttering shut and breath evening out and Ran knew he wouldn’t have the heart to go back on his word—not with you.

He toyed with your hair as you slept soundly on his chest, his own eyes slowly drooping shut as exhaustion took hold. He leaned down, pressing his lips to the top of your head once before letting his head drop back against the pillow, and as he slowly allowed himself to drift off to sleep to the sound of gunshots and shouting in the distance, he couldn’t help but wonder how many blanks were left.

—-

taglist: @thomaphoria @dear-xiao @manjiroscum @arozaur @kisakiapologist @scandescent @crackheadwithtoes @kageyama-i-want-tobiors @adeptiixiao @zuuki @hollypastl @imkumichan @meena-in-a-nutshell @obsessiontoanime @prettyiolanthe @r-xochitl @whydohumansss @thevillagehiddenintheinternet @blvebcrry @lundabean @savagemickey03 @keijisprettygirl @kuroolv @shizunxie @kazuwhora @tokyometronetwork

1:14 PM | sanzu h.

sanzu haruchiyo x fem!reader

summary: post kanto manji gang vs toman, you’re staying with your boyfriend to help take care of him after he was released from the hospital.

warnings: spoilers for most recent chapters — once again, yn does not care ab anything except him, cuz i don’t :D, can be read as part two to the timestamp from yesterday but also as a stand-alone; kakucho implied to have survived

notes: 🥹 this is my coping mechanism

taglist: @kxeyas @sano-obsessed @thomaphoria @dear-xiao @kisakiapologist @manjiroscum @arozaur @scandescent @tokyometronetwork

wordcount: 1.8k

your jaw was clenched tight as you slipped into the water behind him, acutely aware of the wince on his face that he was desperately trying to hide, and acutely aware of the way his body shook in pain with every breath.

his arms were trembling and his lips were pressed tight together, and you didn’t speak as you settled in the water behind him, palm gently resting on his back.

“lay back,” you finally said quietly and sanzu inhaled sharply as he slowly leaned back, a hiss escaping his lips at the movement.

you swallowed thickly as you brushed his hair over one shoulder, letting his bruised back lay flush against your chest as the two of you soaked in the warm water. your arms circled him loosely, nails tracing feather-light patterns on his skin, careful of the deep purple and black bruises covering his entire abdomen and half of his chest, disappearing below the water where you knew they were also decorating his thighs.

his eyes slid shut as he rested the back of his head against your shoulder and you brought one hand up to cup his cheek, fingers tracing the blackened eye that slowly peeked back open at your touch.

narrowed blue eyes focused on you, “it looks worse than it really is,” he murmured for the millionth time.

and you only sighed, you knew he would say something along the lines of that—he had been saying the same thing since he got back from the hospital. sanzu hated showing weakness, especially to you. you let your eyes shut, leaning down to press your lips against his pale shoulder, resting there for a moment.

“you don’t need to put up this act with me,” you said softly, about to continue before you were interrupted.

“it’s not an act,” he said instantly, but his words were counteracted by the grimace that crossed his face as another wave of pain swept over him.

“baby, you can barely move,” you said gently, swallowing thickly, “you almost died, it’s okay to-“

sanzu bristled, and you should have expected this. he never took well when people tried to call him out on his weaknesses, even if they had good intentions.

“i said i’m fine,” he snapped harshly, but his body did not react well to the sudden burst of emotion and movement as he tried to sit up. he gasped sharply, eyes shooting open, and your arms darted forward to hold his shoulders, preventing him from doubling over because you knew it would only end up hurting him more.

you pulled him back against your chest, lips pressed to the top of his head as a ragged sob escaped his lips. sanzu had never handled pain well, ever since the first day you met him when you were younger — a fight gone wrong when he challenged a group of older, bigger and stronger boys who were talking down on the tokyo manji gang, who left him bleeding and unconscious in an alley for you to find on your way home from practice.

he had been insufferable then, going on and on about how it didn’t hurt all the while his legs were giving out with every step and he wasn’t even able to walk without passing out. and he was equally insufferable now, only the damage was ten times worse.

you knew better than to scold him—you had tried to talk to him about it at the hospital but his responses were less than desired—so all you could do now was hold him and help him get through it.

you murmured soft reassurances against his skin as his body trembled violently in your arms, as he gasped for air and as his eyes watered.

“i’ve got you,” you said quietly, “always got you, haru.”

you felt sick as you watched his abdomen tense and spasm, as his hand flew to his mouth to muffle another broken sob. you wondered how long it would last—the doctors had told him not to strain himself, physically or mentally, because he would be prone to waves of severe pain until everything healed properly.

but sanzu was sanzu, and sanzu didn’t listen to anybody except himself. the last time it had happened was this morning, and he had been curled up in bed, biting down hard on a discarded shirt to muffle the cries of pain as to not disturb you while you were making him breakfast.

you had come back to find him on the verge of passing out, eyes glassy and unfocused and face contorted in a sort of pain you’d never seen on him before. and you had dropped the glass of water you had been bringing him to rush to his side, holding him gently until the wave of pain passed, just like you were now.

“shhhh,” you pressed your face to the top of his head, hiding in his soft hair, “shh, it’s okay, baby, you’ll be okay.”

“hurts,” he gasped and you shut your eyes, a helpless feeling sweeping over you when you realized you couldn’t do anything except wait for it to pass, “i cant breathe, i cant-“

you brought your hand back to his face, cupping his cheek again and wiping away the tears that were slipping from his eyes.

and he always did this—when the pain became too much and he lost control over the facade he was so insistent on putting up. he always crumbled, letting out gasps and whimpers and mindless babbles about how bad it hurt, eyes wide and wild and glassy, searching yours for help. and it had your heart clenching so tight you thought you might die because you couldn’t give him the help he needed and you couldn’t ease the pain.

all you could do was hold him, press soft kisses to his shoulders and the top of his head until it passed.

and it did, you could feel his breath slowly evening out again, his erratic heart beat calming and his eyes fluttering shut. you didn’t speak, because you knew if you said something, you’d be met with resistance so instead you rubbed your hands up and down his arms soothingly, lips pressed to his hair, letting him settle down.

your hands tightened on his arms as he shifted but all he did was look back at you, and there was an emotion in his eyes that you couldn’t quite place. sanzu had aways been difficult to read, he refused to open up at all and he kept his heart closely guarded but over time, you had learned to catch his cues and understand the words he was wanted to tell you that always went unspoken.

but this was new. a foreign expression that you couldn’t decipher. you frowned lightly, fingers dancing across his cheekbone and you let out a shaky breath when his long lashes fluttered shut as he leaned into your touch.

“haru,” you murmured, but he didn’t say anything and your heart was in your throat as he shifted his face in your hand, pressing his lips to your palm and covering the back of your hand with his, holding it in place as his eyes slid shut again, lashes brushing his cheek.

your free arm slipped back around him, careful to not aggravate the wounds, holding him as he laid between your legs, back resting on your chest, head on your shoulder. and you noticed, briefly, just how small he seemed in your arms in that moment—a subtle grimace still marring his face, body bruised and broken and still trembling from the aftershocks of the pain.

“i hate this,” his voice shook against your palm, and you wondered if he was so frustrated that he was on the verge of tears again—he had always been the type of person that bottled everything up until he couldn’t hold it in anymore.

you held his head close to you, stroking his hair, fingers scraping his scalp gently, and you ignored how he shuddered against you. and you ignored the wetness that hit the hand that he was clutching to his face. you knew very well just how much he hated reaching this point, hated himself for not being able to handle it—bringing extra attention to it would only make him feel worse.

for a second, you wondered what he would do without you. and it wasn’t a sort of conceited thought or anything along the lines of that—sanzu did not have anyone else. all of his old friends were enemies or dead, the majority of the kanto manji higher ups had turned their back on him after he nearly killed kakucho, kokonoi betrayed kanto manji for toman—the only one left was mikey and mikey was… mikey. he wasn’t in the right state to help anyone, or even to care to help anyone.

your lips trembled against his head at the thought of him having to suffer through this alone—struggling to get out of bed in the morning, struggling to eat, suffering through these brutal waves of pain alone, each second feeling like eternity as he waited for it pass.

you inhaled shakily against him. you knew he wasn’t a good person, he had done terrible things, and tried to do even worse things, without a hint of remorse and some might even say that he deserved worse than what he was dealt but…

but he was good to you. he was always so fucking good to you, always gentle, always looking out for you. and to be quite frank, you didn’t give a single shit about anybody other than him.

and you knew a part of him hated this because of the helplessness that came along with it. he knew that the rest of s62 generation would be after him because of what he had tried to do to kakucho, and he knew that if they came for him while you were around, which was more than likely considering you rarely left his side at this point, there would be nothing he could do—and s62 was not known for their kindness. he could barely walk on his alone, much less fight off madarame shion, mochizuki kanji and the haitani brothers to protect you. because he knew that when they came, you wouldn’t leave his side and they would not take kindly to that.

“you’re stuck with me, y’know?” and you hated how your voice caught and wavered.

sanzu only squeezed your hand gently. you knew you weren’t going to get a response from him while he was like this. you never did because he knew that if he opened his mouth to speak he wouldn’t be able to calm down.

but he didn’t need to say anything. sanzu had aways spoke louder through his actions than he ever did through his words, so when his grip on your hand tightened and his body relaxed back into yours again, it really was all you needed.

𝐓𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐎 ⋮ 𝐁𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐆𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐈.

bakugou is six when you confidently tell him you’ll marry him, a giggly little toothy grin on your face as you hand him a flower.

“kacchan, one day we’ll get married,” you announce, and then you lean in, planting a soft kiss to his cheek.

he thinks his world just about stops for a moment.

but then he hears a snicker from the behind, and then another, and another—and suddenly he remembers his friends that are watching, a scowl quickly painting over his face as he grimaces.

“gross,” he grumbles, “i’m not marrying you,” he huffs, swiftly turning around and leaving you on your own.

he pretends like he’s forgotten the flower in his hand is still there, that he doesn’t hear you yell, “oh yes you will!” after him as he fights off the blush dusting across his face.

——————————

“you know, i do hate to say i told you so, but—”

“don’t,” bakugou grumbles, cutting you off. and something in his tone tells you he already knows what you’re going to say.

a small part of him is fond of the little memory, happy that things turned out just as you predicted—another part hates you’re about to tease him mercilessly.

“—but i did tell you so,” you grin, staring at the ring on your hand happily, wriggling your fingers to watch it glimmer in your dimly lit bedroom as moonlight pours through the window. you feel the rumble of his chest under your cheek as he grunts, shuffling closer as you lay your ring clad hand on his sternum.

“you never fuckin’ stop talking, do you?” he mutters, but his arm curls around you tighter.

bakugou thinks he’s spent the greater part of his life trying to get better, to be better—he almost forgets that sometimes, he can be just enough as is. and he thinks he always has been with you, worthy of your six year old hand in marriage even as he left you all alone at the sandbox, worthy of your saccharine smile and melodic laugh even as he pushes past you for years and years on end.

and sometimes, when the weight on his chest becomes too much, he almost forgets you’re all he really needs to breathe.

“i would never pass up a chance to tell sir dynamight ‘i told you so’,” you giggle, poking his cheek as he groans. he flicks your forehead, but there’s a slight wobble to his lips as he fights back a fond grin.

“quit callin’ me that, you sound like an idiot,” he scoffs. your finger traces a small heart across his cheek, and he snorts at the cheesiness. “marrying you’s a bad fuckin’ decision,” he sighs.

“hey,” you pout, “that’s rude. we haven’t even been engaged for a full day yet.”

“i don’t know if i’ll make it a full day as your fiancé.”

“aw, katsuki,” you drawl, planting a loud, wet kiss to his jaw, pinching his cheek as he swats your hand away with a scowl, “you can’t wait a whole day, huh? wanna get married that fast?” you tease through wriggled brows.

he wonders what prompted him to buy the ring in the first place.

“don’t flatter yourself,” he huffs flatly.

“well, we can’t elope,” you hum, and by now, your finger has settled for tracing meaningless patterns over his chest, gently running over the skin as his heart beats under your touch. “your mom would kill you if she didn’t get a wedding.”

“hate to break it to you, babe,” he smirks, pinching the tip of your nose playfully as he chuckles, “but marrying me means you’re apart of the bakugou family—so now you gotta feel the old hag’s wrath too. just like the rest of us.”

“nuh uh, i’m too cute,” you argue. it’s silent, and then he lets out a snort before he rolls his eyes, pressing a soft peck to your forehead—and it’s almost his silent way of agreeing.

“you’re trouble ‘s what you are,” he mutters. you hum, smiling thoughtfully, soft, gentle.

he wonders if he’ll ever fully deserve it.

“are you excited?” you murmur, cheek pressing further against his chest as you shuffle closer.

bakugou swallows for a moment. and it should be an easy question to answer—he doesn’t think he’s ever been more excited for something in his life before. not graduating, not going pro, not starting his agency, not even your first date (and you both still pretend he didn’t accidentally blow up the stems of the flowers he got you through sweaty palms.)

he feels his chest grow heavy, the weight of his emotions too much for him to comprehend, and he finds he’s still tumbling down the road of getting better—of being better. but then you kiss his chest under your cheek, and it’s easy to breathe again.

and he’s enough as is—always has been, always will be. your hand, the same hand that you promised him marriage with at six years old, grabs his and entwines your fingers together, and he thinks maybe being better shouldn’t be hard if you walk with him down the road right by his side.

“six year old me would throw a fit,” he mumbles instead, but he knows you have your answer when you giggle.

“six year old me would also say i told you so.”

“‘course you would,” he snorts, and then he tilts your jaw up and kisses your lips like he means it.

and bakugou katsuki, as his thumb runs over your cheek softly, like he’s holding the world in his hands and standing with the sun under his feet, can’t wait to kiss you on your wedding day.

© hanmas do not plagiarize, repost, translate to other sites, or recommend on platforms outside tumblr such as tik tok

᯽ warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, oral fixation, fem reader & pet names. Finger sucking, daddy kink. Draken babies reader, as he should, implied cockwarming.

᯽ Oral fixation off the charts today. Had to get this out because my brain rotted

Draken was reading through the news on his phone, one arm laying across the back of the couch while his eyes shifted over the words on the screen. It was a pleasant morning, the sun shining through the blinds, casting streams of golden along his black hair that was hanging lose around his shoulders

He didn’t take his eyes off his eyes phone when he felt you settle between his thighs that were spread apart. He also didn’t take his eyes off his phone when he felt your cheek pressing up against his right thigh, a little hum leaving your pouting lips.

“Kenny?”

“Yea baby?” He still didn’t look at you. It’s only when one of your hands lifted to his holding his phone, fingers fiddling with one of the rings on his finger that his dark gaze fell to you. You were still pouting and it made him smile a little.

“Kenny” You repeated again, and he caught the subtle whine in your tone.

“Yes, lil love?” He asks, sitting up a bit from his spot, finally setting down his phone so you could take his hand into both of yours. You were looking up at him through your lashes, tongue poking out to lick at your pretty pouty lips. You continues to play with his hand, tracing the one of the larger veins that crossed the back of his palm. “You need somethin?”

You nodded, your eyes fluttered a bit. Your gaze left his to look at his hand, before looking back up to him while nibbling on your lower lip. You cheek pressed further into his thigh when his grin grew, and finally you couldn’t help but whine. A soft, little whine.

“Mhm.. need—“ you licked your lips again. “Really want your fingers..” you trailed off as you brought his hand closer to your face. You pressed a kiss to the cold metal of the rings on his middle finger and ring finger, your eyes seeming to get a little glossy layer when he chuckled softly.

“Yea?” He spreads his legs a little further, his free hand patting the thigh you’re not leaning on. “C’mere, up.”

You don’t hesitate to crawl into his lap, curling yourself comfortably in his lap as you keep his hand held tightly in yours. You whined again, this time the sound vibrating through his skin cause your lips were pressed up against his knuckles.

“Open your mouth, pretty.” He murmured, his lashes lowering a bit as you obediently lulled your glossy lips open. His two fingers, specifically the two with the rings, didn’t hesitate to sink between your lips. Pads of his fingers pressed to your tongue as you closed your mouth around him, the pleased mewl you make around the digits making his pants feel a little tighter. Your eyes are shiny when you look up to him again, and he couldn’t help but picture little hearts in your eyes when you suckled his digits.

“That’s my good girl…” he murmurs softly, relaxing into the couch and letting you lay on him further. His other hand rubs your thigh, squeezing the familiar doughy flesh in his hand and gently massaging. “Just needed somethin between these pretty lips, didn’t ya?”

You nod, nice and slow and hum against his fingers. Your tongue pokes at his fingers, smoothing over his rings and sighing deeply out your nose. A little bit of drool bubbles from the corner of your lip and draken can’t help but chuckle fondly at you.

His cute little baby.

“Can suck on em all you want, okay?” You nod, eyes now getting a bit narrowed as your brain turns off. Just how he likes it. Loves seeing you pliant and soft, just for him. He pets your tongue, wetting his own lips as both your hands wrap around his much larger wrist. It makes his cock twitch under you.

“Then daddy’s gunna give you his cock. I know this pretty little mouth will keep it warm f’me.”

Tagging: @tokyometronetwork and sister wives @tokyomanjihoe @1990-06-12 <333

mafia au kuroo x f!reader

a/n - daddy kink, authority issues, d!kuroo, s!reader, lifestyle dom kuroo and reader brats for a second before giving in, praise degradation, good girl, he manhandles you, throws u around a bit, breeding but only a smidge. if you're ever interested in the context of this lmk

minors and ageless blogs dni

“My honor has limits.” He watches you struggle trying to unzip your own dress, watches you twist your back around trying to get it without asking for his help. Adorable. “Stop that, please.” To his delight, you freeze and he comes up behind you slowly, resting his hands on your waist for a moment before unzipping it for you. "You'll have to get used to asking me for help with things." Your mouth goes dry.

“I, I can try.” You say softly, feeling his breath on your neck. He slowly, carefully, starts to slip you out of your dress, you can feel every brush of his fingertips on you, cool against your burning skin.

“You’ve got goosebumps, sweetheart.” He breathes, leaning down to speak directly in your ear, “If I didn’t know better, I’d say that you want me.” The dress is bunched around your waist now, and you can smell his cologne, sharp and masculine. He moves very slowly, as if he’s waiting for you to stop him. Kuroo pushes it down, hooking  his thumbs in the soft material, pushing it down farther until it moves past your hips and crumples to the floor. He takes them in his hands, pulling you against his body. He’s still fully dressed but you can feel his muscles through his thin shirt, and his erection tents his pants, rubbing against your ass. You feel his lips on your neck and you moan softly, “Tell me,” he says, “Tell me you want me to stop, kitten,” 

“I, um,” you start, your voice pitched oddly, senses overwhelmed. It had been, a very long day. “Oh, god,” you say, stomach dropping when you feel his teeth on your neck, yelping a little when he bites down, hard. "Kuroo!"

“What are you supposed to call me when we're alone?” he purrs, moving his hands up your body, palming your breasts through your bra. “You’re barely breathing.” He says, a teasing edge to his voice. “Tell me to stop and I will, baby.” It takes a moment, but you shake your head. “No, you don’t want me to?” You nod, unable to look up at him. “Use your words.” He commands, still kind but there's an authoritative edge to his tone. 

“Don’t stop.” you breathe, turning around to look at him. “Please. I don't want you to-” He picks you up and throws you on the bed, you squeal as you fly through the air, completely caught off guard. You bounce on the mattress for a second as he tugs his tie off with one hand. He tears out of his clothes in seconds, and then he dives on top of you, devouring your neck, sucking and biting bruises into your skin, and  you’re moaning and grinding your hips up against his. 

“You’re so fucking pure.” He taunts. “You don’t even steal? Isn't that right?” You go to bite back and gasp when he bites you particularly hard.

“It’s, it’s wrong.” You manage. He laughs, a harsh mean sound. 

“I think," He says, unclipping your bra in one smooth movement, “You act like terrible brat, with a bad attitude,” you moan, loudly when he closes his mouth over one of your nipples, tweaking the other with his hand, "But deep down, you were hoping this would happen, weren't you,” 

“Oh, oh fuck,” you cry out as he bites down on your nipple, 

“Hoping I'd give you a reason to let down those walls hm?” He growls, “Fuck you’re little sounds are driving me fucking insane,” He dives back to your neck for only a moment and then leans back, slipping a hand underneath your panties, “You’re fucking soaked, god, you’re dripping.” You shift uncomfortably and then gasp when he slips a finger inside of you, your back arching, as you cry out. “Yeah, do you like that baby, come on slut, say my fucking name, who’s making you feel good, who is it?” he presses against that spongey spot inside of you, and you cry out again, 

“Daddy, please, please,” he growls in satisfaction, “Daddy, fuck me, fuck me please,” you beg, “I want it, I’ll be good.” He practically rips you out of your panties, but you can't bare to be that far from him, sitting up and wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He smirks a you for a second before he flips you over and takes a fistful of your hair forcing your back into a harsh arch, 

“Are you sure kitten,” He rubs the head of his cock against your folds, with the patience of either a saint or a madman, you're not sure which, “Only good girls get fucked, are you sure you’ve been good enough?” 

“Please daddy,” you say, desperately, unsure of what combination of degradation and submission will unlock his mercy, “I’ve been good, I’ll keep being good, I promise.” He hums a kind of low growl, it's almost a satisfied noise but it stutters to a gasp as he eases inside you. He leans over your back, letting out a sharp breath at how good you feel, tight, and warm, and soft.

‘Such a good girl, baby, your pussy is so fucking wet for me, and warm, fuck,” He growls, “Fuck, baby,” he starts to fuck you at an easy pace, releasing your hair and grabbing handfuls of you as he arcs his hips into you. 

“More, please,” you beg, “I want it harder, please daddy.” You ask and he chuckles and slaps your ass hard before obliging, picking up the pace and bottoming out on every thrust. 

“You know not to cum without daddy’s permission, right bitch?” He asks and you let out a whimpered confirmation.

“Yes, yes I know.” 

“Good fucking girl.” He growls, taking your hair again and pulling you back so that you can’t support yourself with your hands on the bed anymore. Your hands flail in the air for a second before he snaps, “Behind your back.” And you immediately oblige, keening for him as he bottoms out in you. He slaps your ass with his free hand, then loops it around your waist, pinning your back to his chest.

“I need to cum,” You beg, and the words spill from your lips before you've even fully thought them, “Please, I-” He almost sounds surprised when he responds. 

“Not yet.” He somehow picks up his already brutal pace, and you can feel him hitting your cervix with every thrust, sending waves of pleasure across your whole body. 

“Daddy please,” You beg again, feeling yourself tremble under his hands, the coil in your stomach tightening, “Please I’ll do anything you want please let me cum,” you feel his lips on your shoulder, he takes another beat before responding.

“Go ahead, baby,” he coos, “Cum all over daddy’s cock, kitten, cum for daddy.” You let the coil in your stomach go and your whole body spasms. He curses violently, feeling you clench around him, he fucks you hard, riding out your orgasm and following seconds later. You don’t even think about the fact that you’re not on birth control as he finishes inside you and then lets go of your hair, both of you collapsing onto the bed, chests heaving. You’re crying softly and he holds you close to him, curling your quivering form into his bare chest.

"Still mad at me?" He asks in the silence, rubbing your back. You shake your head. "That's what I thought."

something revolutionary

viking bakugou x f!reader

summary: Born a prophesied king under an exploding star Bakugou Katsuki is used to getting what he wants. That includes you.

cw: Kidnapping, bondage, spitting, choking, rough sex, drowning, ocean stuff, boats, like vaguely viking style but honestly more like barbarian aesthetic, please please let me know if i missed anything. Yandere undertones but it’s historical. Cursing. NS/FW or for ramadan. Dub!con, but bakugou does make her ask for it. MINORS DNI, all characters in their mid twenties, breeding, bakugou slaps you once - BUT A HAPPY ENDING I PROMISE OK I PROMISE

The mist hangs low on the edges of the water, lapping the sandy banks of the bay. The seawater is freezing, and you avoid it touching your shoes at all costs. It was early spring, and it would be many months before the water was even bearable, even then it was too cold to swim in. Somewhere, the sun was rising, but all you could see was its light elegantly diffused across an expanse of grey clouds. The wool of your plaid skirt keeps the cool off you as you carry the freshwater across the beach, back to the village. The bucket is heavy, your arms ache, but the freshest, sweetest water could only be found on the northernmost point of the island, where the snowmelt meets the sea. You have the two buckets on a yoke over your shoulders when you first see him.

He stands, like some kind of eldritch god, arising out of the reeds by the mouth of the river, face obscured by the bright sky behind him. For a moment you think it could be a boy from the village, but the silhouette is unfamiliar, you’ve never seen a helmet like that.

That’s when you hear it, the angry song of the horn, signifying the first Viking raid that your clan has experienced in years. The man in front of you takes a couple of steps forward, watching your eyes flash with fear before they steel over. You stumble backwards away from him, and you can hear on the horizon, the shouts of men roused from their late slumber. You’re weighed down by the water, but you’re the daughter of the chief, you know your worth, and you can recognize the fire burning in this man’s vermillion eyes. You make a decision, and let him stalk closer to you.

He removes his helmet, blonde hair ruffled by the wind, suntanned skin freckled and unmarred by smile lines. He watches you carefully, eyes skimming your figure, barely visible in your warm dress, long skirt, and soft shirt, your shoulders wrapped in a scarf your mother had knit for you. He gets closer, and closer, but you keep your eyes on the horizon, not even flinching when he’s only a few feet away, boots making heavy marks in the wet sand. His armor is leather and steel, helmet under his arm. His jawline is sharp, mouth angry, eyes narrow. The buckets swing next to you, sloshing gently. You take a deep breath and he reaches out to touch you, to grab a fistful of any of the layers of fabric obscuring your form, but you twist quickly at his actions, twirling and hitting him squarely in the stomach with freezing river water before turning and running deeper into the forest. He yells loudly but you don’t turn around to watch him get angry, you have the advantage here, you know the terrain. It’s rocky, mossy, and unforgiving.

You leap over rocks, hopping over rotting downed trees in the forest, but you still hear the heavy pounding of footsteps behind you. You know what happens to the women the Vikings take, you know what’ll happen to you, your heart thrums, you bite down on the inside of your cheek so hard you can taste iron, tears well and then stream past your face, the wind in your hair.

You’re doing well, or so you think. You hope that you lost him as your chest heaves, when something hits you hard. He tackles you from behind, strong arms pinning yours to your sides, rolling with you, protecting your soft body from the uneven ground with his armored one. You land with his legs around your hips, he smells clean, of musk, of men , and seawater, but somehow better than any man you’d ever been chased by in your village. But you don’t have time to dwell on this, you have one last desperate move, drawing the knife concealed at your waist, used mostly for cooking and household chores, glinting in the grey morning light, and plunge it into the chink of his armor at the shoulder. He grunts, words spilling from his lips in an unfamiliar language, but he doesn’t roll off of you, in fact, it seems to have the opposite of the desired effect. He pins both of your wrists above your head with his bad hand, as if the hilt of your knife wasn’t sticking in his shoulder. You mewl and squirm but he smiles as he pulls a leather cord from his belt, yanking you to your feet, not giving you a chance to run, shoving your body roughly up against a mossy tree. You set your jaw as he ties your hands behind your back. You think he’s done but he takes the rope off of his belt and wraps it around your waist, and then your wrists, securing it and taking the end of it in his hand like a leash, and then pressing his chest against your back, leaning down to speak in your ear.

“Walk.” He growls, voice low and angry. The ropes around your chest scoop under your breasts, pushing them up, plush pillows peeking out of the top of your dress. You struggle against them as you move back through the forest towards the beach. “Faster.” He taunts from behind and you pick up the pace, the sooner the better, maybe one of your younger brothers, your father, your mother, someone will see you on the beach. Without your arms, your balance is off, and you step on a rock only to slip in the damp air. He jerks on the leash, catching you with it, righting you, then urging you forward once more. Just before you get to the beach, you turn to him, eyes wide and pleading.

“Please.” You beg, eyes flicking to the smoke from your village. “Please leave me.” He shakes his head, a huge hand shooting out and curling around your throat, bringing your face near his chest, then he bends down.

“Mine.” He growls. “Understand?” Tears prick at your eyes but you aren’t ready for them to spill. You lean back and spit in his face. He backhands you, hard, only letting you fall for a second when you lose your balance, drawing your face back to his. He can see the tears flowing unbidden now, but carefully notes that your mouth is set, you’re not ready to cry. “Understand?” He says again, his hand held up, ready to make a matching red mark on your opposite cheek.

“I understand.” You respond, throat tight. A huge boat, in a style you don’t recognize pulls up in the sand. An even larger man peeks his head over the boat, unnaturally red hair in an intricate braided style.

“Oi, Bakugou, we weren’t supposed to get prisoners!” The man calls, huge arms bowing with muscles as he waves to a friend.

“Not a prisoner.” Bakugou groans, lifting you up towards the deck. “I’m keeping this one.” The redhead hops out of the boat and snatches you away from him, holding you like a child.

“Hey there,” he says cheerfully, then leaps back up onto the deck of the boat with you, the men manning the oars groan as Bakugou climbs aboard and pushes out into the sea. Your eyes are trained on your home, the smoking ruins of the place you grew up. “So why this one?” Speaking as if you’re not right there.

“She stabbed me,” Bakugou growls, pulling the dagger out of his shoulder, wiping the blood on his pants. “I’m fine. She nearly got away.” The redhead laughs, touching your shoulder.

“I’m Kirishima.” he says to you, squeezing gently, “And that’s Bakugou, doubt he had the wherewithal to introduce himself. You can sit.” He says, gesturing to the deck. You don’t want to, you keep your eyes on the horizon disappearing behind you. “Alright,” Kirishima grunts, forcing you down your knees. “Sorry, I know I didn’t phrase that like a command.” You swallow, and stare blankly out at the ocean, cool wind whipping through your hair.

“She’s also the leader’s daughter.” Bakugou studies the knife. “It’s got her name engraved in it.”

“A match made in heaven.” Kirishima crows. “Hey,” he says, waving a hand in front of

you, trying to wrench your attention from your smoking village. Both men watch as you part your chapped lips.

“I’d rather you throw me overboard than have him touch me again.” You say, voice hitched and rough, but your tone is still defiant. Kirishima nods, sitting next to you and inspecting your bonds.

“Mind if I redo these?” He asks the blond, who just looks away, which is apparently permission for Kirishima to carefully retie the ropes holding you as the sea sprays in your face and men manning the oars groan. You square your shoulders, back arched, chin out, every inch a princess as you sail into the unknown. You watch the blonde attend to his own stab wound, bandaging it carefully, making sure to keep it clean.

“Does that hurt less?” Kirishima asks quietly, and you nod. “Good.” He glances at Bakugou. “He was just in a hurry.” You swallow, twisting to face the man sitting next to you.

“What’s going to happen to me?” You ask, eyes wide and he takes a breath.

“You’re ours.” He clarifies, gesturing to your bonds and the boat. You nod. “And uh, he seems to like you”

“What?” You say, voice light and vulnerable. Bakugou takes your chin in his hand, leaning down. “She just needs to be broken.” He turns away and walks down the side of the ship moving swiftly through the sea. You summon some courage.

“I’m not afraid of you.” You say, sticking your chin out. “I’m a princess. I’ve led through more difficult situations than this. My people will rescue me or I’ll escape.” Both men stare at you. Bakugou’s eyes flick to the rope around your waist.

“Tighten that.” He says darkly, coming to stand in front of you on the gently rocking boat. He squats, his handsome face inches from yours. “Princess, huh?” He says, as Kirishima fiddles with your bonds. He spits directly in your face.

“I will take your fuckin’ virginity in front of all these men.” He snarls. “I’ll fuck you over the side of the boat and then throw you into the ocean.” You laugh lightly, the sound explosive and unhinged, tossing your hair against the wind.

“Not a virgin. So do it.” You feel the wetness drip down your face. “I’d rather die than be yours.” He rears back and for a moment you think he’ll hit you, and but he doesn’t just snarls,

“I’m gonna make you beg for me.”

“I’m praying for a curse on your house.” You say, starting to stand and Kirishima catches the rope around your waist, pulling you back onto your knees.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough out of both of you.” Bakugou scowls and Kirishima quickly continues. “Uh, especially you.” He takes a strap of cloth out of his pocket and slips it between your lips, forcing your mouth open, and tying it tightly behind your head. To your dismay, your kidnapper, Bakugou, sits on the other side of you, close enough so that you shoulders brush.

“Not a virgin huh?” He says and you shake your head. “Good.” He stares across the sea. “Maybe you won’t cry when you take my fat fucking cock.” You turn your face away from him and he grabs your chin. “Look at me.” He growls. “You are my property now, princess. Not cause you’re a fuckin’ woman, but because I caught ya.” You stare up at him defiantly, even next to you, he’s much, much larger. He takes you roughly then and shoves your upper half down into his lap, laying your head on his leather bound thigh, fingers carding through your hair. You whimper, the loss of the horizon takes a toll on your stomach immediately.

“Oh,” he coos, “She needs to see the water, huh, that where you’re gettin’ all this dumb shit courage from?” You squirm a little and his fingers snap together, so that they pull painfully. “Stay still,” he growls. You freeze, and his touches become soft again, gentle almost.

“Be nice, Bakugou, she’s probably terrified.” Kirishima chastises, and you mewl plaintively from Bakugou’s lap. “We’ll take care of you, alright?” He coos. “Don’t worry.” You struggle a little and Bakugou shoves you off of him, spending the rest of the trip staring out at the ocean pensively, while Kirishima keeps a tight hold on your arm. You can feel when it grounds, and Kirishima pulls you to your feet. The men unload the cargo and immediately Kirishima and Bakugou are overwhelmed by several friends who jump onto the boat.

“What’s this!” A young woman with brown skin and soft pink hair notices Kirishima’s tight grip on your upper arm.

“Bakugou took her.” Kirishima shrugs. “She’s a local princess apparently, Mina.” He carries you onto the dock, thankfully they don’t seem to expect you to be able to move much in your current state.

“She doesn’t look scared.” One of the other boys, who came to see Kirishima and Bakugou, with glinting amber eyes and yellow hair remarks. Before Kirishima can respond, Bakugou does.

“She will.” He snarls, taking the length of rope hanging from your waist and pulling you forward at an unforgiving pace. Kirishima and the others stay behind to tie the boat up, but Bakugou drags you up a hill, you barely keep pace with him in the wet new grass, sparse amongst the rocks. You can see his village then, at the base of the valley, much much larger than yours, bustling with people. The men catch up to him, having tied the boat and they walk into the town square with cheers at the things plundered, one of those things being you. Bakugou walks you like a dog, and if you go too slowly he kicks the back of your calves. You get to the center of town, hot humiliating tears burning in your eyes. There are cheers, and people dance, but you’re already trying to imagine what’s broken in the place you come from, your house, your neighbors, the stone walls of your old run-down castle.

“Oi,” Bakugou gets your attention with a low growl. “Don’t try shit.” You feel him loosen the ropes a little, and blood rushes back to your appendages. He hears your sigh of relief and makes a mental note. He keeps a tight grasp on your upper arm as he undoes the leather cord around your wrists, then shoves you to the ground, your back against a thick stone pillar in front of a large bonfire. He takes your arms and ties them around the back of the stone pillar, more gently than he’d done it earlier. It might be your imagination but you feel a quick soothing touch on the welts. “You injured?” He asks, tugging the gag out of your mouth.

“Just a little bruised.” You breathe, his face is inches from yours.

“Where?” He asks and you shift your weight.

“I hit my shoulder when you tackled me.” He nods sensing you’re holding back.

“And?” He says, eyes flicking to your lips and then back to your eyes.

“And I’m a little thirsty.” That was far from the truth, you were dying for a sip of water, you’d been thirsty when you’d gone to fetch water that morning.

“I’ll see to your shoulder.” He mutters, standing, turning back to the party at which apparently he’s the guest of honor. You shrink back into the stone as people laugh and dance and drink as the sun moves across the sky. He disappears into the crowd of people and you close your eyes, unwilling to be aware of the stares you’re getting. He comes back with a bandage and he kneels next to you. “Stay still.” He removes the wool scarf your mother knit you, and folds it beside you. He tugs gently on the shoulder of your dress and inspects the back of the joint carefully. You can feel the eyes, on him, on you, on your exposed skin, and you let out a little whimper when he presses on the swollen joint.

“Shh.” He says, glaring at others who look your way. “You’re mine.” You feel him brace your shoulder with careful hands, gingerly moving around the swollen joint. “Still thirsty?” He asks when he’s done, squatting in front of you. You nod vigorously and he smirks. “Yeah, that’s not gonna cut it bitch.” Your mouth drops open and he shrugs.

“Everything you get, you get because I feel like giving it to you. And I think for water, you gotta beg.” You nod.

“I understand.” Your voice is hoarse already and his grin widens, he takes your jaw,

“Open.” He says, and you obey. He spits right in your mouth. “Swallow.” He growls and it’s disgusting, he kidnapped you, the blood on his men’s clothing is probably your neighbors, your family’s. You squirm with displeasure but he seems to like that. “Let me know when you really fucking want some water.”

“Bakugou!” You call, desperately, you can’t take it, you need it right now, throat burning, and the fire’s been blowing smoke on you for hours. “Please.” You say, a note of desperation creeping unbidden into your voice. He looks at you for a moment.

“One more.” He says, face set.

“Please, can I have some water, Bakugou?” You croak, lashes wet. He nods, stalking off towards the well. The celebration swirls around you, people drinking and dancing, the leather of his armor discarded, he’s now in a loose white shirt, it’s crisp and clean, his pants tight and the bottoms of them muddy. He’s holding a worn skin, and he places one hand on the back of your neck and tips the end of it between your lips. The water is cool and clean and you drink as much of it as you can before he takes it away.

“Are you hungry?” He asks in a low growl and you nod, keeping your mouth shut. He takes some bread off a passing tray and rips off a small piece of it. “Open.” He says, and your face burns with humiliation as he feeds you, slowly, letting you swallow before letting you eat another piece out of his open palm. “The fuck are you crying for?” He asks you after a few minutes.

“I’m worried about my family.” You say quietly. “I had little brothers.” He nods.

“They might be dead.” You close your eyes, inhaling through your nose. He moves swiftly, and for a moment you think he’s going to comfort you, but you feel him slice through your bonds, and pull you to your feet. You wobble for a moment before he throws you over his shoulder. There are a few cheers as he carries you out of the party. The sun is sinking below the treeline, and it’s getting chilly. He opens the creaking wooden door to a one-room cabin. You squint in the low light. It’s exceedingly clean, furs on a bed and the floor, a chimney in the corner, made with rough grey stone, flecked with gold. He sets you on the bed.

“Do you sleep in all that?” He asks and you shake your head. Your cheeks are still wet from earlier but you put your face back on. If this was going to happen you certainly weren’t going to give him any more satisfaction than you had to. “Undress.” He says, and you fumble with the lace at the back of your dress for a minute before he loses patience at your contortions, pulling you up and shoving you roughly against the wall, undoing them himself.

“C’mon.” He grunts, shoving you down onto the bed, now that you’re only wearing a petticoat, a loose slip that covers your whole body. The air gushes from your lungs when you’re pushed down, a soft musical cry escapes your lips as he lifts the furs and scoots you underneath them. You watch as he slips out of his pants so that he’s only wearing the long, loose white shirt. He roughly wraps an arm around your waist, pinning your back to his hard chest. His arms hook upward, and he palms your breasts roughly, groaning, and rutting his hips against your ass. You let out a little involuntary whimper.

“Don’t worry princess.” He practically spits the word. “I’m not gonna touch ya till ya beg me, remember?”

“T-that will never happen.” Your voice trembles. You feel his breath on your ear, and you shiver as he speaks again, the vibrations awakening something deep in your core.

“Know why I picked you?” He says and you shake your head, trying to focus on anything other than the deep sound of his voice, his rough hands on your soft skin.

“No.” You confirm quietly. Trying to hold onto some of your dignity, you close your eyes. You were a princess. A princess from a small fishing village, but a princess nonetheless.

“I was just gonna take your knife.” He confirms. “I liked it. Lost mine, and I’ve needed a new one.” You swallow, and he laughs. “And then, I saw that haughty little nose in the air, and I thought, tch, that won’t fuckin’ do now will it? Can’t have some bitch running around sayin’ I spared her life, callin’ me weak.” You try to scoot away from him on the bed but he chuckles and holds you fast. “Then, ya had the fuckin’ audacity, to hit me.” He snarls the words as he starts to massage your chest, you can’t hold back the soft mewl that falls from your lips as he rubs his thumbs across your nipples. “And run away.” You’re squirming against him in earnest now as blood pools in your cheeks. You elbow him as hard as you can in the ribs, and he laughs harshly, undaunted.

“B-bakugou,” you get out.

“I never told you my name.” He says. “That’s just what the others call me. To you, I’m Katsuki.” You whimper again. “Fuckin love that sound,” he growls, “Make more, be louder, I’m gonna fuckin’ wreck you.”

“P-please.” You say softly.

“What?” He says. “Do ya want me to stop, princess, if you do, tell me, tell me you want me to take my hands off you, I fuckin’ dare you.” You bite down hard on your lower lip. “Ooooh,” he coos, “She can’t, can she, where’s that high and mighty attitude now, bet you’re soakin’ my goddamn bed huh? Should we find out?” You bury your face in the blanket, willing yourself to have the courage to scream, the ability to fight, but it feels - it feels so good. He releases your chest and you whimper at the loss of sensation, then you feel his teeth on your ear. “Stay. Still.” He hooks one muscled arm around your waist, you can’t help but notice, in this close proximity, how much he smells like pine and leather, as his hand dips beneath your skirt. His fingers ghost your thighs and move upwards, brushing the outside of your sex. He runs one calloused finger up your slit and you clench your thighs together.

“I said stay still.” He slaps your thigh hard enough so that you cry out, pinning your leg between his own, holding you open. “You’re gonna have to learn to follow orders.” He says as he touches the softest parts of you, fingers moving between your folds, but his demeanor seems to shift at what he finds. “Oh, you’re fuckin’ soaked.” Your eyes well with tears.

“What’s wrong,” He coos, “Don’t like that you’re my fuckin’ bitch, even though I’ve barely touched you?”

“‘M not your-” you don’t get to respond as he grinds his thumb against your clit and you squeal loudly at the stimulation, but Bakugou doesn’t give you a moment to relax, plunging two fingers into your core, and your hips buck against him.

“Fuckin’ hell.” He snaps, “Do I have to tie you down, are you genuinely too stupid to follow orders?” You don’t answer, you can’t, you’re losing control under his careful touch. He can feel the way your soft walls are squeezing around his fingers, loves watching how you lean away from him and hide your face in his blankets. He lets go of your waist and grabs your chin, forcing you to look directly into his eyes as you gurgle and gasp.

“H-hurts,” You choke out and he shakes his head.

“Poor slut’s never cum before huh?” You start to fight him a little but he’s so strong, it’s like pushing against steel. “Well I’m not gonna finish ya,” he growls, “Till you beg for my cock.”

“What?” You breathe.

“Beg. Beg for help. Beg for me to fuck you.” He says, eyes narrowing, reaching up and closing his fist around your throat, scissoring his fingers inside of you. You’re reaching for logic, for dignity, but everywhere there’s only Katuski. Smelling of pine, and sweat, and man, everywhere you reach he’s there, and the coil in your stomach tightens painfully, you want this, you want him to help you make it stop.

“Please.” You whisper, and he smiles wickedly.

“Please. What.”

“Please, fuck me.” You whimper, “Please please, Katsuki, I want, I want you.”

“What are you?” He asks and your eyes shoot open, you’re so close to the edge of something it’s painful, the tears that have been welling in your eyes spill over and he kisses them off your soft face, “Tell me what you are.”

“I-I’m… I’m yours.” He chuckles.

“That’s fuckin’ right you are.” He says, shoving you roughly to the center of the bed and climbing on top of you, “And I’m gonna fuck my sons right into that soft fuckin’ womb of yours,” you cry out, “That’s goddamn right.” he says, shuddering as he runs the head of his cock along your slit. “I’m gonna breed this prissy fuckin’ pussy.” He roughly sheaths himself inside you, watching your face carefully for your reaction, and fuck, do you you deliver. Your mouth drops open, eyes screwed shut, a high pitched keen escaping from your lips. He groans loudly as he waits for you to adjust to his size, starting to move slowly.

“Fuck,” he swears quietly, feeling how soft your walls were, pulsing around him, warm and perfect, everything he’d imagined when he saw that spark of defiance in your eyes, vowing to extinguish it. “Good slut.” He praises, “Good fuckin’ girl.” You whimper, the stretch was both pain and pleasure, more than you’d ever felt before, and you gasp when he reaches down and adjusts your legs so that he can bury himself to the hilt inside of you. To his surprise, you reach for him, tangling your hands in his braided hair, pulling him down to kiss you. He obliges, setting a gentle pace at first, one of your legs draped elegantly over his shoulder, he finds that you’re more skilled than he expected. You trap his lower lip between his teeth, and he shudders as your nails find purchase on his sculpted shoulder blades, then he opens his eyes to see a slight smile playing on your face.

“None of that, bratty fuckin’ bitch.” He snarls, and pounds into you, you scream, he has no doubt your voice is travelling out into the night, into the village, and he doesn’t fucking care. “Yeah, is this what you wanted, wanted me to fuck you like you’re a whore, princess?” He spits on your face and you choke out a sobbing moan, “That’s what I goddamn thought.” He leans down to your ear, biting it hard, feeling you push him away at the burst of pain. “Uh, uh,” He snarls, picking up the pace, snapping his hips against yours. You see stars every time his cock brushes your cervix.

“F-fuck, Katsuki,” You choke out and he smiles evilly in his victory.

“Yeah, bitch?” He snarls, “Cum for me, cum all over my cock like the whore you are.” Your back arches and you scream again, lips parted, eyes glossy, as he grunts, fucking you like an animal, biting at your soft skin, leaving his mark all over you.

“Gonna fuck an heir right into you, princess,” he grunts, “Gonna breed you like a fuckin’ bitch.” You can barely hear him as your first ever orgasm rips through your body, tears streaming from your eyes as he presses his sweaty forehead to yours. “That’s a good girl,” he says, listening to your little whimpers, feeling you twitch and shake, grunting loudly as he paints your walls with his seed. He keeps fucking you, pushing his cum up further inside of you, but you seem to know what to do, lifting your hips as he slips a pillow underneath them, clenching your legs together when he pulls out and lies down next to you as you cry softly.

“Beautiful.” He says, savoring how messy you look, your hair like a nest, your face flushed, your lips trembling. He kisses your forehead. “And mine.” You nod.

“Yours.” He pulls you into his strong arms, rubbing your head absentmindedly.

“I took you,” He says quietly, “So you’re my responsibility.” You nod into his chest. He kisses your forehead again. “I saw you, and I knew you were mine.” You sleep intertwined, when you move he wakes up, making sure you’re still there, and not trying to escape. You wake well into the night, with a nightmare, you’re wandering through the smoldering ruins of your home.

“Shhhh,” He whispers when he hears you cry. “Shhhh princess,” he rubs soothing circles on your back.

“W-want to go home.” You cry desperately. He takes your chin in his hand firmly, forcing you to look at him.

“You are home.” He pats the bed.

“Y-yes Katsuki.” He nods, something in his face softening.

“I’m home.” He attempts to clarify, clumsy with his words, swinging big with the meaning. You blink a couple of times.

“What?” He points to his chest.

“I’m home.”

“Oh.” He moves you so that you’re lying on his chest.

“You’ll understand.” He mutters. “I’ll teach you.”

When you wake the next morning he hands you new clothes, your old is dress discarded in a corner of his wood-panelled home. In the daylight, you can see how well decorated the room is, clean and organized but full of rugs and furs, warm-toned yarn woven together telling stories you don’t recognize. The clothes he hands you are simple, a long linen dress and cloak, cream-colored, with simple flowers embroidered on it.

“Thank you.” You say quietly, and he nods, then reaches around your body, tying a rope around your waist that he holds onto like a leash, but this time doesn’t restrict your movement, just keeps you close to him.

“Go.” He says, pointing towards the door of the cabin. He pulls you down to a grand hall, a building made of wood and stone and mud, where people sit, eating together. He pushes a plate of food in front of you, hands you a utensil. Quickly, he’s crowded by the people from the boat yesterday, you’d watched them at the party. The redhead, Kirishima, shoots you a warm smile.

“How’d you sleep?” He asks politely.

“We know how she slept,” The yellow haired boy, with a wide, teasing smile responds. “Don’t we, Bakugou?” Bakugou swats at the boy.

“Shut the fuck up.” Kirishima reddens.

“I wasn’t going to say anything.” He clarifies. You’re staring out the window, you can see the ocean from where you’re sitting.

“Oi,” Bakugou growls at you. “Didn’t you have questions for shitty hair?” You blink and then come back down to the ground, nodding, speaking softly.

“Are um, are my little brothers dead?” You ask quietly and he blanches, looking nervous.

“How little?” He asks finally.

“Very.” You say, voice barely audible over the chatter of people eating.

“We don’t kill children.” He says quickly. You nod, in a daze. So people did die, yesterday, while you were getting water. Bakugou watches you drift off into space, you push your plate away.

“That’s good, isn’t it stupid?” He hits the back of your head lightly and you shrug. “Eat.”

“I’m finished.” You say and he shakes his head.

“If you don’t wanna eat you won’t get any fuckin’ food.” He threatens, expecting you to bite back, to fight, but you don’t, you just nod.

“Alright.” He looks away. There’s an awkward silence and you go back to staring at the water, wondering how far you were from home. Wherever he goes through the small city, crowds part, and that means they part for you too. You cower, the unfamiliar faces and sounds making you jump. He reaches an arm behind him and to his delight you curl your body around it, holding one of his large hands with both of yours.

He notices though, that you’ve begun to slowly slip away from him. When you eat, it’s barely, and you don’t protest when Mina braids your hair, even when she yanks on a particularly tough tangle. You keep your eyes on him, where he leans on the doorframe, watching as all traces of your former identity wash away in the basin. All day, he catches you staring out at the ocean, even going as far as to walk you down to the water.

“Is this what you fuckin’ want?” He snarls. “Why won’t you talk to me?” For the first time in hours, you speak.

“Can we walk to the end of the dock?” He nods, so relieved to hear your voice he caves immediately, letting you lead the way until you’re standing a foot away from the endpoint, the sea spraying up and beading on your beautiful face. You turn to him. “My family is dead. Aren’t they?”

Bakugou has always been sure. Sure of his divine right to lead. Sure of who he was. Sure he was making the right decision, the best decision, he’d been born under a prophetic exploding star, signifying a new era, one he had decided would be an age of expansion. But he watches the tears fall down your face, as you refuse to cry, watches the pride he had admired in you crumble, watches you mourn, and suddenly that sureness ebbs from him. He takes a step towards you and you turn away, facing the ocean.

“It’s too cold to swim in here.” He says gruffly, and you nod, eyeing the rope around your waist. He tugs on it, but you stay where you are, watching the waves roll. “They aren’t dead.” He says. “Probably. Can’t account for anything that happened after we left.” You turn to him.

“What do you want from me?” You ask. “I’m submitting, I thought, I thought this was, what you wanted?” He struggles, clearly, it’s words you want, and he doesn’t have them. He doesn’t have an explanation.

“I was chosen,” he begins, and you laugh, it’s a harsh bitter sound. He yanks on the rope around your waist, drawing you back to him, forcing you to face him, his hips directly pressing against yours. “I was chosen,” he growls, “I was born under a broken star, to bring a new age to my people.” Your jaw sets and your eyes narrow.

“So you’re picking off fishing villages and stealing maidens from beaches?” Your lips curl into a sneer, you have nothing, absolutely nothing to lose, “What’s new or revolutionary about that?” You push against him and he moves backwards on the dock. “What’s new about war, about violence?” You ask the fire in your eyes back, you’re angry, and as the blood returns to your cheeks he recognizes you again.

“What’s new is the land, the ore, the riches -” You laugh again and he grabs your face in one huge hand.

“That’s pathetic.” You say as his eyes narrow, you’re testing his patience, you can tell but you don’t care, the hopelessness is finally gone from your stomach, as long as you can make this one point before he loses his temper and snaps your neck. You press a finger to his chest, “Peace. Peace would be revolutionary. Not violence, and plundering. You want to do something no man has ever done?” Your raised voice catches the attention of a few fishermen in their boats, who force themselves not to look. “Try impressing me.” You shove him, harder than you mean to, you’re angry, and you didn’t take into account the uneven planes of the dark wood dock, coated with salt and spray. But when he loses his footing and falls, you expect him to catch himself, to perform some kind of acrobatic athletic feat but he doesn’t, he just falls off the dock, it turns out under all that bravado, hes just a man. It happens almost in slow motion, wind whipping his little blond braid, the rest of his hair wild, expression livid, ready to swim back to shore, and make you pay, no doubt.

What he doesn’t count on, is a huge squall, a large wave pushing one of the canoes up, and bringing it down on his head. You see him go limp, then slip beneath the churning waves. You have seconds. Others are running, but they won’t get there in time, the current is strong, you can tell by the shape of the waves on the beach. You can let him die. You think. You could. And no one would blame you. No god, no man.

Time slows as you decide. You could let him die. You could. You could.

You rip your shoes off and dive into the black freezing waves. It’s been months since you’ve swum, but muscle memory is powerful and you counter each thrust of the ocean, opening your eyes in the burning salt, looking for your captor. A burst of sunlight, something catches his blond hair, glinting in the dark water, bubbles escaping from his lioa and floating towards the surface. You swim towards him, wrapping your arms around him tugging him towards the sky. He’s heavy, heavier than anything you’ve ever picked up on your own. You’re starting to feel the icy temperature of the water as the adrenaline wears off. The feeling in your fingers is the first to go, you’re holding him up on willpower alone as you finally break to the surface, gasping for air, kicking your legs desperately, taking a lungful of sea air before dragging him against the current towards the shore. His lips are purpled, a bad sign, and you’re losing feeling in your skin, the numbness starting to pinprick into sharp pain as the dark salty waters lap at your shoulders, your dress billowing underneath you. You summon the last vestiges of your strength. You can’t keep him above the water any longer and keep moving towards the shore. So as the men on the dock shout, their footsteps pounding on the wood, you take Bakugou back under, swimming perpendicular to the rip current towards the beach.

“She’s drowning him!” Someone shouts, but you ignore them, swimming down, swimming deep, you can hear the grind of the swirling sand, as your skin burns in the cold water, teeth chattering, pain ripping through your now stiff joints. You’re so close, just a few more feet.

You drag his body half out of the water onto the sand and immediately begin chest compressions with your trembling hands. Water gurgles out of his mouth, and when he begins to cough you collapse on his chest, shaking so hard you can’t sit still, your dress is heavy and soaked with seawater, you can’t move as practically the whole village thunders towards the beach and he moans. The first thing he sees is your face, cold, pallid, tendrils of hair sticking to your face. He reaches up and cups it, stroking your cheek as you shake and sob. He keeps coughing up water as the first people arrive on the scene. Kirishima falls to his knees next to Bakugou.

“She saved me.” He murmurs in a low growl. “You…” Your world starts to go dark at the edges, and you lose consciousness, falling on Bakugou’s chest. You wake, in warm soft water, the smell of wildflowers on the tip of your nose.

“Hi,” a voice says softly, Mina. “Hey there.” You’re alone, floating in a warm bath. You open your eyes, looking around a wood building filled with steam. “You’re alive.” She confirms and you sigh.

“Everything hurts.” You confirm. “So I know.” She lets you float in the steam room for a bit, leaving you alone, even if you hear the click of the lock on the door. You squint at the ceiling, bundles of dried wildflowers hang, which accounts for the scent. You take some water and wash your hair carefully, trying to get the sand out of it, out of your nail beds, out from between your toes. You don’t feel warm exactly, but neutral. The women come back in, they dress you and braid your hair, you don’t protest or fight them, sitting for hours on the floor with them, staring at nothing while they drink and talk.

“Where is he?” You ask after the sun starts to sink in the sky and Mina clears her throat.

“After you collapsed he gathered the men of the village for a raid.” She says quietly. “They’re all gone.” You nod. “When he comes back, he’s left instructions for your wedding.” You scoff.

“I’m sure he has.” Mina laughs.

“He’s rough around the edges, but I think he’ll be a good husband. Faithful, certainly.” You laugh and she shrugs. “He’s never been one to sleep around.” You spend the next week in routine, with the men of the village gone, the women work, feeding animals, cooking, and gathering. No one lets you do anything particularly strenuous, which come Friday afternoon, you’re beginning to resent.

Mina spots it first, a ship on the horizon while you’re all working on dinner. You squint at the brown dot. You’re stirring a pot, hair braided back, a couple of loose flowers in it from the field where you and Mina picked berries for dessert. She’s kind, but she never really knew what to say to you. You didn’t know either. She wrenches you away from the pot, pulling you into a large stone house by the river.

“We gotta get you ready!” She squeals, and you crack half a smile at her enthusiasm. “Come on.” You hear the men return outside, with unfamiliar voices, shouting and grunting, the stomping of boots on the muddy spring earth. The women paint your face in the traditional style, light black around the top of your eyes, they pinch your cheeks for a youthful glow, they dress you, in a linen gown with a low neckline and long draping sleeves, a soft pink, the color of the wildflowers they tuck into your hair. You don’t protest, letting them treat you like a little doll until Mina comes behind you and ties something over your eyes.

“Why?” You say, reaching out, and fumbling for something. “Is this traditional?” She snorts.

“Definitely not.” She leads you carefully out of the house, making sure that you don’t trip or fall. She takes your arm, and you make your way up some kind of outdoor staircase.

You can feel a cool breeze in your hair, your hands shake. What would he be like, this beast that had captured you, after a week away? Why didn’t he come to see you before he’d left? You’d been shocked he still wanted you, that the wedding was even being prepared at all. Mina lifts the blindfold from your eyes and your mouth drops. Standing in front of you is your father, dark eyes with crinkled edges, dressed in the traditional wool plaid of your family.

“My daughter,” He says in a low voice. “It would be my honor, to walk you down the aisle.” You burst into tears, throwing your arms around him, he smells of grass and linen and home. You’re standing at the end of an outdoor ceremonial ground, sculpted pews from cold grey stone, covered in lichen and moss. On one side, everyone from your home sits, some of them a little bruised, but each of your little brothers sits in the front row, even the baby squirming in your mother’s lap. The tears keep coming, as your best friend turns to you and smiles, giving a little wave. You wave back. You hear someone clear their throat and your attention turns to the altar. Bakugou Katsuki, dressed in your traditional ceremonial garb, stands in front of you, the smirk melting off of his face when he sees you, the angle of your jaw, the warmth in your eyes, the soft tendrils of hair in your face, it was all, perfect. Worth it. Your father takes your arm and leads you down the stone pathway, your leather boots tapping softly against the stone in the silence. The hills around you are muddy and green, and the sky is the kind of bright twilight blue that crackles with promise and electricity. A single puffy white cloud drifts across the sky. You stand in front of him, and he takes your shaking hands.

Wordlessly, he draws a knife from his pocket, your knife. He gets down on one knee, bows his head, and hands it to you.

“A life for a life.” He growls. You take the silver dagger with your name engraved in it and examine it. This glint of silver that had first caught his eye, that had brought you to the attention of Bakugou Katsuki. “If you will have me,” he looks up, “I will dedicate the rest of my days to provin’ that I am worthy of you,” he grins, “And uh, wipin’ that smug smile off your face.” You giggle, despite yourself, wiping your face clear.

“And if I won’t have you?” You counter, there are titters from the crowd.

“You’ve got the knife, princess.” He looks up, an evil grin on his face. You hesitate, turning it over in your palm. He rolls his eyes, and you can’t stop the smile that spreads across your face.

“Stand.” You say, and he leaps up and kisses you so quickly he knocks the breath from your lungs, lifting you off your feet and swinging you around. You laugh a little, and he wipes a few stray tears from your face. “You did this,” you say quietly, gesturing to your family, “For me.” He nods.

“Thought I’d try something revolutionary.” He says.

“Peace?” You offer and he grins, kissing your forehead before responding.

“Impressing you.”

“Are we still on for dinner? I’m free right now”

Time skip Kuroo Tetsurō

As some of you may already know, Ame, also known as @weebaboobs in our lovely little writing community, could use some help from us…

Her adorable pup, Peach, had to be rushed to the emergency room last night. Poor babe was swollen with hives. We’re happy to report Peach is starting to feel better, Ame was able to bring her home this evening. Unfortunately, though, Ame now has a pretty large vet bill to handle 🫣

Tay, @silverhairsimp, and I wanted to try and do something to help with the financial situation and so, we came up with an Emergency Writing Event!

((Because both Tay and I run 18+ blogs, you MUST be 18 or older to partake in this event AND have your age visible on your blog))

In exchange for donations, we are going to be offering 2 different writing rewards! They are as follows:

• $3 Characters Match Ups • $6 A Date with Your Fav

We want to make these pieces as personal as possible. To do that, if you decide to donate, feel free to give us as many details about yourself that you're comfortable sharing. Unlike regular Y/N or Reader fics like we're all used to, we really want you to feel like these write-ups are specifically for you!

Details about the specific tiers are below the cut.

To donate, please click the link HERE. This will take you to my (Scarlett’s) Ko-Fi account at Ame’s request where we will be collecting the donations for her and Peach. Pics above are of the sweet girl. Middle pic was during the hives 😭

• $3 Characters Match Up: With your 3-dollar donation, we will match you up with a character we think you’d be perfect with and give you a brief explanation of why.

Once your donation is complete, please send Tay or me an Ask or a PM with your Ko-Fi username so we can confirm the donation.

Once your donation is complete, please send Tay or me an Ask or a PM with your Ko-Fi username so we can confirm the donation.

Once confirmed, please let us know what pronouns you use, your likes and dislikes, and your basic personality traits.

Pics are allowed but not required, we will not share them anywhere. If you'd like to send a photo, please do so to Tay or me directly via ask or PM. Again, these will be kept to ourselves and will be deleted once your match-up is completed.

Make sure to include if you’d like to be paired with a male or female or if you have no preference.

We will be pulling matches from JJK, MHA, HQ, and TR.

Upon request, we can select from one specific show or leave a show out entirely.

• $6 A Date with Your Fav: For a $6 donation we will write up a date for you and a character of your choice to go on! Write-ups will be between 300-600 words.

Once your donation is complete, please send Tay or me an Ask or a PM with your Ko-Fi username so we can confirm the donation.

Please also include whom you’d like to go on a date with, some activities you and your date enjoy, and if you two are already in an established relationship or if this is going to be the first date.

For this tier please choose characters from JJK, MHA, or HQ.

ADDITIONALLY

When you donate PLEASE include in the message box the words, "for Peach" as well as your Tumblr URL or an email where you'd like the write-up to go.

Unless an email is provided, write-ups will be posted to either my (Scarlett's) or Tay's (@silverhairsimp) pages with your URL so you will be notified when your post is up! If you do not give us an email or a URL we will not know who the post needs to be for.

If you have any questions, please contact Tay or me via asks or PMs BEFORE donating.

We are doing this FOR Peach and Ame. Ame has enough going on and we do not want to bother her with questions about this event.

Lastly, I thank you for reading this far. Even if you are unable to donate at this time, a simple reblog would go a very long way and I know that Peach and Ame will certainly appreciate it. Ame has created some truly fantastic pieces of fan fiction that I know a lot of us have enjoyed. While making these stories for us she also goes to school and works full time. We just would like to try and help her out because we know darn well she’d do it for us 💕

Have a wonderful day/night - Scar ❤️

cipher I

ran x reader, mikey x reader, sprankle of rindou x reader

summary - you’d been dating Haitani Ran for nearly six months when you discover a letter in code on his desk. When you decipher it, it brings more questions than answers.

cws - rough sex, f!sub reader, intrigue, code, mystery, ran and mikey are both in love with you, reader is in grad school, smut. bonten ish timeline. this ch: drugging of reader(consensual, she knows it's in there and doesn't refuse to drink it), alcohol, jealousy, mikey kisses ran’s gf(you) this chapter. not real manga spoilers i killed some characters off pre this timeline but that’s an emme thing not necessarily a wakui thing.

note - im re writing this but this chapter has light rewrites. it's also posted on ao3.

- next

Ran bursts into the room loudly and Mikey scowls, unable to look away from his subordinate’s huge hand resting on the curve of your waist. Ran’s silver rings glint in the low light of the private dining room at the back of the club, and despite his best efforts, Mikey can’t help but bristle at the mark of casual ownership as you shift your weight uncomfortably in your heels. 

“What’s so important that I needed to drive across town?” He drawls, violet eyes icy. “We good to just let her wait outside?” Kokonoi nods, and gestures to one of the men by the door. 

“Keep an eye on Ran’s,” he pauses, and Mikey’s stomach does a backflip as a huge smile spreads across your face, and you glow with joy like a candle lit on a cold winter night. You giggle, the sound is bell-like, it cuts through the smokey silence.

“She’s my girlfriend.” Ran says, the way someone announces a hard earned promotion, and the way you smile at the idea of belonging to, to that fucking oaf pushes Mikey to down the rest of his drink. “So keep your hands to yourself, huh,” he says to the man with a wink, who nods,

“Yes sir.” He says. You take the new man’s arm agreeably, and Ran palms him some cash, before collapsing on the table, and pouring himself a drink. 

“Girlfriend, huh?” Kokonoi says, raising an eyebrow. 

“He just wants kids.” Rindou pipes up from the corner, bitterness dripping from his voice. “He’s not gonna stick with this once he gets what he wants.” 

“I absolutely am,” Ran counters, a cocky smile playing on his lips, “Have you seen her? And she’s the best pussy I’ve ever gotten, so guess what, fellas?” Rindou groans, massaging his temples. “I’m locking it down.” 

“You’d have to,” Rindou snips, “Before she realizes she’s a grad student with a world class IQ dating someone who’s preferred method of argument is a brick-” Ran rolls his eyes. 

“Enough.” Mikey says quietly, ending the conversation. Kokonoi pushes a folder across the table. “Someone sent this to Kisaki.” Ran raises his eyebrows.

“To Kisaki?” He opens the folder, and takes out a folded letter, printed on heavy cardstock. It’s embossed with a blood red dragon. The letter itself is incomprehensible at first glance, complete gibberish. “Why would we get a letter in code?” He murmurs, “What’s the purpose?” 

“Look at the address at the top.” Rindou says, a touch of impatience to his voice. Ran obeys, brow furrowing. 

“That’s the address to the apartment we shared that summer,” Ran says, meeting his brothers eyes across the table, “That’s an address in Roppongi?” 

“Whatever’s in this letter,” Rindou leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, “It’s addressed to you and I.” Ran nods, snapping a picture of the letter on this phone. 

“The red dragon’s are new,” Mikey takes a sip of his drink and shrugs, “Whoever they are, I’ve never heard of them.”

“Where’s Kakucho,” Ran asks, fumbling for his Juul, taking a puff, filling the air with an artificial cotton candy scent. “And uh, the rest of ‘em?” 

“Busy.” Mikey responds without making eye contact. “I’ll read them in for you. See if you can make sense of the letter.” Ran nods, “Whatever it is, it seems to have to do with the two of you.” 

______ 

Ran finds you at the party easily, your laugh coruscating above the low music, the clouds of smoke, the dull roar of conversation. Anxiety twists in his stomach but he relaxes a little when he sees you standing with another woman. 

“Baby,” he says, snaking an arm around your waist. “Who’s this?” 

“Elena,” You gesture to the beautiful woman, in a slinky purple dress, her dark eyes sparkling in the low light. “This is my boyfriend,” you can’t say it without giggling, “Haitani Ran.” He moves to stand behind you, folding over a little so that he can tuck your head under his chin. “Elena works with um,” you gesture, trying to remember, “Your um, your friend, Kokonoi.” Ran sizes two things up very quickly, one, there’s no way Elena works with Koko, her dress is off the rack, her nails are unmanicured, and there’s a tattoo that snakes around her neck that he’d remembered. It’s a python, curling down her arm, the head resting below her clavicle, its eyes as cold and dead as her own. 

“She was just getting me a drink,” you say, and Ran gives her his most bone chilling smile, the kind that’s all lips and teeth, and no warmth in his eyes. 

“If you’ll forgive me,” He gives you a squeeze, “I'll get my lady here a drink, I’m old fashioned like that.” Elena presses her lips together. “Koko will be out in a bit, if you want to see him?”  She shakes her head. 

“Oh,” you reach out and touch her arm. Ran thinks for a moment about how much he loves how trusting you are, and how often it wakes him up at night. “But you were looking for him, right?” Ran narrows his eyes at her.

“I can have some people show you where he is?” He keeps his tone casual as he offers.

“I will find him myself.” She says, giving you both a curt smile, he recognizes her accent as Russian. “Nice to meet you, Haitani.” 

“Likewise.” He watches her disappear into the crowd and decides it’ll be someone elses problem, turning back to you, “Sweetheart, you look fucking stunning,” You laugh again, tension dissipating, “Seriously, every guy in here  is eyeing up what’s mine,” he takes your arm and spins you like you’re swing dancing. 

“Ran,” you laugh again and he spins you into his chest. “You’re just paranoid,” he cups your face with both hands, leaning down and kissing you tenderly before leading you on to the dance floor. 

_____

Mikey stands at the doorway, watching Ran’s hands wander your body, pulling your hips flush against his own. 

“You could have asked her out,” Mikey doesn’t jump at Kokonoi’s voice behind him. “You saw her first.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He turns to the other man, who raises his eyebrows. 

“So we’re going to pretend you’re not staring at Ran’s girl instead of going home with any other woman here.” He says, a smirk flashing on his face. “That’s fine, boss, I can look away” Mikey shakes his head, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“I don’t,” he says, frustrated, “You don’t just pull someone into this life, without thinking about it.” 

“Is that what’s bothering you?” Koko drawls, “That he didn’t think?” Mikey turns away from the party, heading back to the private dining room. “It’s Haitani,” Koko follows him, “He wanted something so he took it.” 

“When you pick flowers, they die.” Mikey says, emotionless, remembering the cut roses on Emma’s, on Baji’s, on Draken’s graves. He steps into the private room, Rindou’s left to join the party. “I was thinking, that when you pick flowers, they die.” He massages his temples. 

“Well he was thinking about her pussy,” Koko says, pouring himself another drink. Mikey groans loudly.

“My head hurts.” He complains, the dull throbbing at the back of his neck only grows by the hour, he takes another swig of his drink. “Tell them that I want everything on these red dragons on my desk in the morning. Everything they can find in twelve hours.” 

“Yes, sir.” Kokonoi responds, and Mikey hesitates. 

“Why don’t you join the party?” He asks, and he sees it again, that heavy, dark sadness, that mutual feeling that had sparked the friendship between them. 

“There’s nothing for me out there.” He says, gravel in his voice. Mikey nods, and goes to get another drink. 

“For me either.” The lie falls from his lips like water. 

______

The party is in full swing a few hours later, when he watches you slink off, stumbling down a hallway. He sighs, following you, Ran’s distracted by some spectacle, drugs, maybe, he hopes it’s another woman but knows that you somehow have held his attention longer than any of your predecessors. He finds you laying on a bench in a hallway upstairs, and he nearly stops breathing when you reach for him. For a moment he wonders if you’ve made a mistake, if you think he’s Haitani, but when he sits next to you, you sigh his name, a soft, sad song. 

“Mikey,” you say again. You sit up and rest your head on his shoulder. He can feel the warmth of your cheek through his t-shirt. “Am I an idiot?” You slur a little, and he grunts lightly, breaking every rule he has when he slips an arm around your waist, his fingers sinking into the plush of your hip. He doesn’t answer, so you lift your head a little to see if he heard, but he pushes you back down into his shoulder. 

  “You’re drunk.” He responds. You can feel the base from the party downstairs reverberating through the walls. 

“But am I,” you sigh, “What am I doing, Mikey?” You rub your eyes. “I know, alright, I know you ‘n Ran don’t work in finance.” You sigh, picking at the hem of your dress. His heart thrums in his chest at your closeness, despite your words he’s elated, happier than he’s ever been, maybe, and your makeup is smudged under your eyes in the most perfect way. “I know you’re, you’re involved in some bad shit.” 

“Bad shit?” Mikey repeats, almost not listening to you, delighting in your soft body pressed against his. 

“I’m not,” you sit up a little but he pushes you back down again, this time tucking your head under his chin to hold you in place. You continue. “I’ve seen things, alright, but that's not important. I’d never, never do anything to hurt you, or him.” He’s silent, you smell so good, like sweet strawberry shampoo and daydreaming, like the crisp fall air, like the last time he’d actually felt invincible. “M right, aren’t I?” You say staring straight ahead, having given up trying to move away from him to look in his eyes. 

“You’re safe.” he says, by way of confirmation. “I’d never let anything,” his grip on you tightens, “Not anything ever, happen to you.” 

“I trust you.” You murmur and his chest aches dully. He makes a decision, sighing.

“You’re not going to remember this,” He fumbles for something in his pocket.

“Fuck you,” you giggle, “Yeah I will.” 

“No,” he says, taking a flask from his suit jacket, and dropping a pill into it, watching it sink to the bottom of the metal container. “No  you won’t.” 

“Mikey,” you whine, eyes widening, “Don’t wanna, don’t wanna forget.” You nuzzle into him. “I had fun, had a good time.” 

“Be a good girl for me,” he says, his heart aching in his chest, but his eyes darkening. “Drink up.” You take the metal flask in your hands, you let out a short huffy breath. He reaches out to tip  it into your mouth. He stops, a thought forming, and before he can stop himself, he leans forward, every nerve in his body sizzling like a high wire on a humid day. “Just, give me this.” There’s something soft in his tone borne from one of the last warm parts of his soul. He leans forward and kisses you hard, grabbing at your face, sucking at your lower lip with a clumsy, desperate hunger. He pulls away, breathing hard, his blood roaring in his ears. 

“Mikey.” You whisper, staring at him scandalized. You didn’t slap him, hadn’t run to tell Haitani. Both, he tells himself are good signs. That is, until you open your mouth and speak again, voice infused with an acid desperation. “Am I making a mistake?”He presses his lips together, thinking for a moment, before taking the flask from you and holding it to your lips. You drink obediently, and then wipe your mouth, coughing at the bitter taste. 

“You already made one,” he says, watching your eyes lose focus, and then flutter shut. You lay down on the bench and rest your head on his lap, and unconsciousness sweeps you away. He starts to pet your head but he withdraws his hand quickly as he hears Ran thundering up the stairs. He takes in the scene for a second before sighing with relief. His eyes are wild, and his hands are shaking. 

“Shit, we’re uh, Sanzu brought a fuckton of coke, is she passed out?” Mikey nods, flashing the metal flask. “Ugh,” Ran rubs his eyes. “What did she see?” Me, Mikey thinks. 

“She’s onto you.” He says shortly, reluctantly scooting away from your unconscious form. “Onto us. You gotta read her in or cut her loose.” Ran nods, eyes artificially wide and focused. 

“You give her something?” He asks and Mikey nods, standing. 

“She’s not gonna remember tonight.” Mikey finds the ability to keep his voice cool and nonchalant, as if the idea of you forgetting him didn’t shatter whatever he had left in his chest. Ran nods again, more slowly this time.

“Probably for the best,” He lifts you up off the couch in one smooth movement, “She wasn’t having a good time,” he coos down at your limp form, “Baby never drinks that much, I dunno what got into her.” Mikey doesn’t respond for a moment, thinking. “Shit, though, she was talking to someone, I wanted to ask her about it.” He muses, turning to Mikey. “Woman said her name was Elena, and that she was here for Koko, but obviously wasn’t. Snake tattoo. Ring a bell?” Mikey shakes his head, looking mildly concerned. 

“Are you going to take her home?”

“Back to my place.” Ran confirms. “I’ll uh, I’ll do coke with Sanzu another time.” This, Mikey thinks, this is the worst part. Because if Ran were shitty, and awful, and villainous, he could justify it, he could have Sanzu put a bullet in his fucking head, and be done with it, he could sweep you off your feet, buy you anything you wanted, fuck your brains out. But you bring out a side of the executive that Mikey’s never seen before. It’s almost, kind. Almost. “Gotta take care of my bitch,” he kisses your forehead, cooing condescendingly. “If I don’t lay her down right she could choke on her own puke if she throws up, these forget me pills are strong shit.” A vein in Mikey’s forehead twitches. 

“Are you reading her in?” He pushes.

“To the Bonten shit?” Ran looks conflicted, and Mikey knows why. Knows that the ‘bad shit’ Ran and Bonten gets up to might scare you away for good. “Nah, I dunno,” he hesitates, leaning against the wall. “I dunno.” He repeats. You let out a soft, uncomfortable moan. “Alright, alright,” he grumbles, shifting you so that your face is in his neck, and he’s holding you with one hand. “Baby let’s getcha home.” He thumps down the stairs and as soon as he’s gone Mikey whips the metal flask as hard as he can at the opposite wall.  “Fuck,” he snaps, when it just dents the wall and doesn’t break, and rubs his eyes. “Fuck.”

luna!! how’d you think bkg would be acting if him & his so did the couples quiz from gq?? like is he shy bc of the camera or straight up flirting like normal 😩🫣

omg i literally got this same ask months and months ago and i swear i’ve been meaning to answer !! i wanted to watch more of the interviews like research so i have a better idea so let’s gooo

gq couple quiz with bakugou !!!

okay so imagine what you want but i loveeeee how saweetie dressed in hers and quavos with the long dress she looked so BEAUTIFUL so yns in that and i’m imagining bakugou in a basic ass black t-shirt and black jeans with all black jordan’s. you both almost aren’t dressed for the same occasion but i think he loves when you look immensely better than him so all the attention is on you. he’s obviously got the face card though, his face is perfect with it.

he sits leaning forward on his knees, like elbows on his knees while you’re upright on your chair. you might even rest your feet beside him or on his knees and he like touches your ankles or something.

OKAY and in the interview when the questions start i imagine him being very quiet, smug and cocky. not shy at all and of course flirts with you. he’s confident in all his answers and when he speaks to you his eyes flick to your eyes and your lips.

in between questions when your flicking through the cards, he’s running his hand up your ankle, “y’look beautiful. love the dress.” then plays with the bottom. and i think you both never have interviews together maybe the second one so all his personal staff are low-key like who is this??? where’s dynamight gone?? and then you who’s used to his compliments but not always infront of cameras and a crowd, you’re looking at your cards then at him grinning sweetly, in a little whisper “thank you baby.”

sorry not to be cliche but he gets them all right lol the ones he doesn’t he gets a little louder and fights for his answer. also thinks of answers that you didn’t think of yourself and you’re like, “oh that’s true, i like that also i forgot about that.” and then if you’re saying his answers wrong he’s like “that’s not BLEEP-ing fair!! you literally ate it yesterday.” and you’re huffing, “trueeeeeee.”

and when he keeps getting them consistently right and he looks soooo smug with it, saying the answers in such a calm voice with eye contact you end up getting flustered with how much attention he gives you as a whole. right now and in your whole relationship. a little overwhelming i think. has you processing it in a whine, “you’re so annoying.” and he’s grinning, “i just know you baby.”

switches positions to lean back on the single sofa with his arms crossed and man spreads. definitely scoots his chair closer to you mid interview too and the producers don’t have it in them to correct him to move back because of filming purposes lol

“what’s my favourite feature of yours?” and katsuki’s rubbing his thumb against his lip in thought and he actually takes longer than a second to answer unlike the others. “my BLEEP.” he’d say so calmly before bursting out laughing when your mouth gapes open and you slap his knees. “shut up oh my god katsuki! be serious.” “i was baby but you love my pecs and thighs.” then he slaps his thighs loudly and you’re groaning again, “can’t you go with a sweet one like your eyes or hair or something?” “what’s wrong with my pecs and thighs? you tell me you love them all the time.” another huff, “fine. two points.”

“what’s three things i hate about you?” and katsuki does a short grunty laugh, “BLEEP. probably everythin’.” and you laugh patting his knee, “not true baby, c’mon.” “you hate my job—,” “what, no don’t say that that sounds so bad!!” “okay fine, you hate how dangerous my job can be and how we have to have long periods of time apart.” and the tone suddenly switches, he gets more somber and your bottom lip jolts out like you wanna cry. “no, nope doesn’t count. that’s your job, not you.” then he grips your chin and kisses you quickly then leans back in his chair, “i’m perfect aside from that.” he smiles, squeezing your knee to get you back, “erm BLEEP you hate when i wake up early because you always wanna lie in with me and you hate when i bite my nails when i’m stressed.”

and when he’s asking the questions, “what pisses me off?” “everything pisses you off.” “not with you, you don’t piss me off.” you shake your head, listing things off with your fingers, “you hate when i don’t say i love you back immediately,—“ “yeah i BLEEP-ing hate that” “—when i eat too fast because you know my stomach will hurt later and i’ll moan to you about it,” “i’m doing that for your own good though,” “—when you send me a selfie and i don’t compliment you—“ “yeah that’s rude! i sent you a pic and you ignore it!”

“what do i love about you? you’re not gonna get this right.” “you say you like my hair a lot. you always sniff my head and i have to slap your hand when you wanna touch it.” “true but not the right one.” “really? then… my smile?” “again true, but not what i’m thinkin’ of.” “huh? what is it then? if you’re gonna say something like my ass—,” “i do love your ass but everything.” and you freeze for a second, “that’s so cute!! what’s your favourite?” “nah i’m asking you now. what’s my favourite thing about you?” “my ass?” “your ass.”

the end would be like, “i didn’t get one BLEEP-ing one wrong.” “you did good baby” and you’d rub his jaw like a dog, squishing his cheeks, “you knew more than i thought.” “told you i pay attention, always listening to you.”

kids review dynamight’s career

hot wings youtube video

Aberration - Chapter 9

MHA!Various x Fem!Reader

Thriller/Horror/Drama

Criminal!AU

Words: 2.6k

A/N: After 1000 years, chapter 9 is FINALLY COMPLETED. I hope it’s good enough. It’s a wee bit shorter than the last but I wanted to leave this on a specific cliff hanger~ Enjoy!

Warnings: Yandere Themes, Mentions of murder, torture, abuse, blood, felonies, bullying, swearing, death and description of dead bodies.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of MHA, just this story. In no way does this reflect the characters, writers or VAs of the show/manga. MINORS DNI.

~~~

Aberration Masterlist

~~~

Move your legs, Y/N!’

It’s like time slowed down as you notice the inmates have been freed. Fear rises inside you knowing each and every single one of these people are dangerous.

‘Move your fucking legs, Y/N!’

You couldn’t move, couldn’t flee. Your body is frozen in pure terror. You KNOW you need to move. You KNOW you need to back out of that goddamn room or you will not survive. But no matter how much you will your legs to move, they’re practically paralyzed underneath you.

“MS. Y/N, YOU NEED TO LEAVE! NOW!”

Keep reading

one of my all time favs!!!

LITTLE DARK AGE

haitani ran x fem!reader x haitani rindou

summary: eight years later, you finally return to tokyo and find yourself caught in the middle of a violent gang war between the two most ruthless criminal organizations of tokyo’s underworld, forced to choose between blood and love.

genre: bonten timeskip, angst, forbidden romance, childhood friends -> strangers -> lovers, 18+ MDNI

warnings: fem!reader, gang violence, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, explicit smut, polyamory, profanity, MCD, unedited, MTBA

chapter warnings: disassociation, class discrimination, mentions of suicide and mass death

taglist closed — but if ur someone who actively reblogs n leaves feedback i might just find a spot for u

previous chapter -> masterlist -> next chapter

CHAPTER Ⅶ. AND YOU'LL NEVER BE PURE AGAIN

FOURTEEN YEARS EARLIER.

“Do we really have to go?” Rindou murmured, tugging at the ends of his suit jacket uncomfortably, glancing back at you. Your shoulders slumped as you fixed your dress in the mirror, a pout tugging at your lips.

“I mean, you don’t have to but I just don’t wanna go to this stupid event alone,” you said, giving both of the brothers a sullen look as they shared a look with one another. 

“Whether the boys go with you or not, you won’t be alone,” Miss Yua chided as she brushed your hair, “Don’t be dramatic, your uncle will be attending with you.”

“Uncle Ichirou will be off with Mister Sugawara the entire night, he’s not even driving there with us! He will not be with me, I’ll be off on my own dealing with the creepy Sugawara boys,” you said loudly and let out a sharp cry as Miss Yua smacked the top of your head with the brush, clicking her tongue. “What was that for! They are creepy! They’re always hanging around me and being touchy when I tell them not to, and they’re mean, they always call me names.”

“They what?” Ran asked, voice low, and you missed the dark look that he shared with Rindou as your eyes fluttered shut, letting Miss Yua finish up pinning your hair. 

“You heard me, Ran!” you said, turning around once Miss Yua let her hands drop from your head. “They’re just so awful, don’t make me go alone, please.”

You puffed your lip out, looking up at Ran, “Pretty please,” you asked, widening your eyes and letting your bottom lip tremble. Ran rolled his eyes, flicking your forehead hard, you let out a yelp, flinching back.

“Stop with that stupid face,” he muttered, you gaped at him.

“Ran, don’t be mean,” Rindou said and you straightened, pleased that he came to your defense, “She can’t help it, it’s her natural face.”

You gasped dramatically as Ran and Rindou burst into laughter, “Rindou!” you complained, shooting him a withering look, “you guys are the worst! At least my face isn’t as stupid as your hair!”

Ran only grinned at you, his hand falling from the top of your head to your shoulder, squeezing gently. You looked back up at him, eyes meeting his lavender ones and you almost smiled at the light look in his eyes, one that you still hadn’t gotten used to seeing over the past few months. 

“Don’t be dumb, ‘course we’ll come with you,” he murmured and a warm feeling settled in your chest as Ran looked down at you, hand lingering on your shoulder. You felt your face begin to heat up and you looked away.

“... I don’t actually think your hair is stupid,” you muttered, and Rindou snorted, nudging your shoulder.

“Yeah, we know that from how often you force us to sit down so you can brush it,” he said and you whipped toward him, scowling.

“Don’t act like you don’t like it! You’re practically sitting there half-asleep and drooling by the time I’m done, Rindou!” you said and Rindou gaped at you.

“I do not! Take that back!” 

“You do too!” 

Miss Yua clicked her tongue sharply and the two of you quieted down, turning to look at her. Her eyes were trained on you and Rindou gave you a severe side-eye as you tried to shift behind him to step out of her gaze.

“Go to Ayato,” Miss Yua pointed her long finger at you, flicking the air, “He will-”

“Miss Yua!” you complained, watching as she raised her eyebrows at the interruption, “I do not need to be lectured about behavior by Mister Ayato this time! If anything, Rindou and Ran should be going to see him! This is their first time at an event like this!”

“Way to throw us under the bus,” Rindou muttered and you giggled, he only glared at you from beneath his long bangs. 

“Go,” Miss Yua said, and it wasn’t up for argument so your shoulders dropped and you pouted, ignoring the way that Rindou snorted as you turned on your heel and walked away.

“How do the two of you even see under this mop of hair? And what is this dye-job?” you heard Miss Yua snap as you made your way down the hall toward Mister Ayato’s office, “Next week the two of you will be dragged to the stylist down the street whether you like it or not. Understood?”

Miss Yua’s voice became muffled as you turned down the hall, distantly hearing Rindou and Ran muttering their agreement before your eyes fell upon Mister Ayato fiddling with a hunting knife on his desk. He placed it down once he saw you approach, you eyed it curiously, never having seen it before, “What’s that from?” 

“My brother’s,” Mister Ayato said simply, walking around the desk to step toward you, “he gave it to me a few days before he passed away.”

You blinked, “You had a brother?” you asked quietly. A brother that passed away like… your throat felt swollen. It’s been a good amount of time since you’ve thought deeply about your parents and little sister, the Haitanis were always sure to keep your mind off of it but…

“I did, he was ten years older than me, died when I was in my early teens,” Mister Ayato said, and you stared at him, waiting for him to explain. He patted your head, “Gang violence.”

… but you’d never be able to forget the pain.

“Oh,” you said, “Like-“

“No,” he responded before you could finish, “Not like the boys’ little delinquent groups, actual gang violence.”

“Oh,” you said quietly, looking up as Mister Ayato sighed deeply, a strange look in his eyes.

“Look out for them tonight,” he said quietly and your brows furrowed in confusion, “This event is going to have a lot of dangerous people, don’t let them do anything that would put a target on their backs.”

You stared at him, “A target?”

Mister Ayato’s face twisted, as if he were trying to figure out how to explain, “You… you are in a unique position. Your uncle is a powerful man, amongst the people that will be at tonight’s event, you will be untouchable. The boys do not have that same luxury, do you understand? You will have to use your status to protect them.”

An ill-feeling settled in your stomach, “They might be in danger?” your voice wavered.

You knew your uncle was involved with shady stuff. You’ve known it since the week of the trial but you didn’t think… You weren’t thinking, why would you want to bring Rindou and Ran around these people? You were too focused on your distaste of the Sugawara boys, you weren’t thinking about others who might be attending the event.

Mister Ayato shook his head, “I didn’t say that. There’s no inherent danger in simply attending the event and I doubt that they change their minds now, just make sure they don’t do anything to bring unwelcome attention, and if they do…”

“If they do, I will take it off of them,” you said firmly, nodding your head, “I understand.”

Mister Ayato eyed you for a minute before letting out another heavy breath, “I wish that your uncle didn’t demand your presence at these events,” he murmured, “he should wait until you’re older.”

You opened your mouth to speak but Mister Ayato only waved you off, “Go, Akira will drive you and the boys to the event. Be sure to stay with them.”

You nodded, walking back toward the door, pausing before turning to look back at the older man over your shoulder, “Mister Ayato?” he raised his eyebrows, waiting for you to continue, “uncle Ichirou doesn’t really tell me what goes on at these events but I know it's more than just a party.”

It wasn’t a question but Mister Ayato looked perturbed, he wouldn’t meet your eye. You frowned.

“It’s not for you to worry about now,” Mister Ayato murmured and you opened your mouth to protest but Mister Ayato gave you a stern look, one that had you faltering, “Go, Akira is waiting.”

--

“Do not do anything rash at this event for whatever reason, do you understand?”

Rindou’s fists were clenched tight at his side as he watched a group of boys his and Ran’s age leer in your direction as you gleefully spoke to an older woman that Rindou didn’t recognize--it was hard to remember Miss Yua’s words as you shifted uncomfortably, bright smile temporarily fading as you met eyes with one of the boys. He and Ran lingered near you, silently snacking on some of the cheese and crackers that had been set up on a nearby table. 

They had been like this for twenty minutes now, standing back while you talked to the older woman, trying to ignore the unwelcome stares of the boys halfway across the room. Rindou didn’t have to ask to know they were the Sugawara boys that you had been bitching about before you all left the penthouse--they were the only other kids their age at the event, dressed in clothes that Ran and Rindou couldn’t have even dreamt of being in the vicinity of three years ago.

Rindou tugged uncomfortably at his own suit jacket, shifting on his feet. He hadn’t been able to adapt as well to the new lifestyle as Ran did--though that shouldn’t have been much of a surprise to him, everything came naturally easy to Ran and that included shifting from a survivalist lifestyle to a luxurious one. The new expensive clothes that you, and now Ran, donned like a second skin felt like a silly costume on him, one that he couldn’t quite get used to. 

“Should we do something?” Rindou asked, watching as another smile wavered on your face at a particularly loud comment. “She’s uncomfortable.”

Ran’s lips twitched down, eyes dark with irritation and a sort of helplessness that Rindou hated seeing on his brother’s face. 

“We can’t,” he said and Rindou’s jaw was tight as he forced his gaze away from Ran and back onto you, a feeling akin to relief sweeping through him when he noticed you bidding goodbye to the older woman and walking back toward them.

And Rindou felt warm when he noticed the smile on your face become wider and more genuine as you drew closer to them. 

“Rindou,” you said and Rindou gave you a questioning look, “Wanna dance with me?” 

Rindou’s face heated up immediately, eyes wide as he looked between you and the dancefloor, taking a step back. Next to him, Ran snorted and grabbed his shoulder, holding him in place before shoving him forward toward you, “Go on, don’t let the princess down.” 

Rindou stumbled forward into you, barely catching himself. He shot Ran a betrayed look but you had already grabbed his hand, “Ran, you’ll dance with me next?” you asked gleefully. Rindou watched as Ran winked at you.

“Of course,” he said, grinning, but Rindou knew from the look in his brother’s eyes that Ran would be long gone before the song was over. 

You didn’t give him the chance to protest, instead only dragging him toward the dance floor, smiling bright as you took his hands into yours. Rindou was sure his face was on fire and he didn’t know why--because it was just you. And I mean, yeah, Rindou didn’t really like entertaining conversation or hanging out with anybody but you or Ran--he wasn’t the most sociable or friendly but he’d never been one to get flustered and-

You moved closer to him, Rindou leaned back. You glared, Rindou looked away.

“I can’t dance with you if you’re holding me three feet away, Rindou!” you said.

And Rindou’s mouth was dry, eyes trained on the wall behind you instead of looking down at you and your pretty dress and your pretty face. Not pretty, Rindou thought viciously as you wrapped your arms loose around his neck, pointedly looking at the hands dangling at his side and he reluctantly placed his hands at your waist, letting you lead him in time with soft music because Rindou had no idea how to dance and you knew it, and he knew it, and Ran knew it from how amused he looked, and if Rindou had to bet, anyone that looked in your direction would be able to tell from how stiff he moved. 

“Why ya so tense?” you asked, a teasing smile tugging at your lips and Rindou scowled, pointedly looking away.

“I am not,” he said and he hated how petulant he sounded because you obviously noticed it from how you tried to smother a laugh. He couldn’t bring himself to be annoyed because your eyes were light and you were happy and Rindou supposed that he could deal with the ego blow if it made you laugh.

“You totally are,” you giggled, leaning in close, and Rindou’s eyes widened as he leaned back instantly.

“Why are you getting so close?” he asked, flustered, sure that his face was burning red. 

“Why are you getting so nervous?” you countered, and Rindou hated how you didn’t even look bothered at the proximity because he didn’t even know why he was thrown off by it--it’s not like this was the first time you’ve ever been this close to him so he wasn’t sure why it was affecting him like this. He hated it. 

He looked back in the direction of Ran, panicked, but the panic dissolved when he caught the strange expression on Ran’s face--Ran hadn’t even seemed to notice that Rindou was looking at him, despite the fact that Ran was staring at you and Rindou, and the grin that had been on Ran’s face had fallen into a more conflicted expression that Rindou couldn’t quite decipher, which was odd because Rindou could usually read Ran pretty easily. 

But Rindou didn’t get the chance to try to figure out what had changed because you were grabbing his arm to spin yourself beneath it and Rindou was focused on not making a fool of himself in front of all of your uncle’s rich friends and colleagues.

But you only laughed, a bright carefree laugh that had Rindou’s chest feeling light and tight at the same time, and Rindou couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips as you finished spinning and leaned close to him, arms snug around his shoulders and smiling up at him before resting your head on his chest. 

And Rindou couldn’t breathe, his eyes were wide and his hands were almost trembling on your waist as you spoke, “I’m really glad you ‘n Ran came, Rin,” you said, and Rindou usually hated when people shortened his name but somehow when it was falling off of your lips, he couldn’t bring himself to hate it. “It would have been dreadfully boring had I been alone ‘n I’m sure those dumb boys would have tried something by now, so thank you, I know this isn’t exactly your scene.”

Your scene, he thought to himself, glancing around at the gilded walls and antiques decorating the room, thousand-dollar paintings lining the walls. That’s putting it lightly.

“You don’t need to thank us,” he murmured, “We wouldn’t just leave you here.”

“Even so, I still want to thank you,” you smiled, looking up at him with such a sincere look in your eyes that it had Rindou tongue-tied, only able to nod in response.

“If I had known we were allowed to bring any old lowlife, I would’ve brought the whore that was eyeing me up on the way over here to make this shitty event less awful,” an unfamiliar voice said and Rindou stiffened, eyes darting over to where one of the boys--one with dark hair and darker eyes, was now standing much closer to where he was dancing with you, eyeing the two of you distastefully.

You didn’t pause in your movements, instead bringing Rindou’s arm up for another spin, “I am not surprised you’d have to stoop to whores for company, Sakuya, nobody would willingly spend time with you unless they were paid.”

Rindou choked on air and one of the boys standing near Sakuya snorted, trying to muffle it with his hand as Sakuya shot him a dirty look.

Rindou eyed the boy from the corner of his eye--Sugawara Sakuya, he recognized, you had warned him and Ran about him and his brothers on the way over. Sakuya was the oldest son--seventeen, a year older than Ran, three years older than you--and he was also the most vocal and aggressive when it came to tormenting and bothering you.

“Rich coming from the girl whose only friends are street rats that only stay around because they need shelter,” Sakuya said coldly and Rindou watched as your expression dropped and your feet faltered, a hurt look spreading across your face.

And Rindou’s ears rung, his blood ran hot and it took all of his self-control not to launch himself forward and rip Sakuya’s head off. Instead, his grip only tightened on you, shifting you behind him so he could step forward.

There’s five of them, five of them and one of him, and he has to protect you. He won’t win—maybe? How well trained are they? He didn’t know, you had mentioned that they were trained in some sort of martial arts but not how skilled. 

“What’s going on?” Rindou nearly relaxed at Ran’s familiar voice coming from behind the two of you, stepping in front of you and next to Rindou.

Okay, it’ll be fine. They wouldn’t beat him and Ran together.

“What? Are you gonna say I’m wrong?” Sakuya scoffed, stepping forward closer to Ran, and Rindou felt anxious when he noticed the dark look in Ran’s eyes, one that promised blood and violence if Sakuya continued. Dread pooled in Rindou’s gut as Sakuya started speaking again, “You think everyone here doesn’t know you’re using her for her money… or are you using her for something else too?”

Rindou’s mouth was dry at the connotation and he could barely even think over the blood roaring in his ears. This fucking-

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Rindou spit out as Ran’s hand twitched at his side, “You have no fuckin’ idea what you’re talking about.”

Sakuya’s eyes snapped toward Rindou, a combined look of disgust and fury twisted onto his face.

“Who do you think you are?” Sakuya said, voice low as he walked closer to Rindou. Rindou tensed, Ran’s fist tightened as he shifted you further behind the two of them as Sakuya drew closer. “You have some nerve even looking in our direction, much less speaking. Know your place.”

“Our place?” Ran asked, eyes aflame and Sakuya only scoffed.

“You can wear all the fancy shit you want but it doesn’t change the fact that you’ll always be street rats. You don’t belong here,” Sakuya spat and Rindou’s jaw clenched at the comment, a strange feeling bubbling in his chest. Ran took a step forward, eyes dark, fist tight.

Fuck, this was going to get-

Rindou’s eyes widened when he felt you fling his hand off of your arm, pushing forward past him and Ran to stand chest to chest with Sakuya, “Bold coming from the son of a family that gets the majority of their money from my uncle. You would have nothing without us, you have some nerve coming to my family to talk about wealth, know your place.”

Murmurs broke out around the group of you but Rindou couldn’t focus on anything other than you—my family, you had said and the words bounced around in his head over and over again, my family, my family, my family.

Rindou bit the inside of his cheek, trying to calm himself down. He glanced at Ran, taking how his brother’s eyes were wide and trained on you.

Sakuya spluttered, “Excuse m-“

“You heard me,” you interrupted, “Get out of my sight, just looking at you makes me ill.”

Rindou gaped, Ran gaped, Sakuya gaped before fury washed over his face. He stepped forward, fist clenched but Ran and Rindou were there first, grabbing his wrists and holding him in place.

“I would listen to her,” Ran didn’t make any sort of explicit threat but the dark undertone was there—listen to her or we’ll make you.

But Sakuya didn’t look deterred—at least not until a new voice spoke up, “Sakuya, father told us not to antagonize the guests,” a new voice said and Rindou’s gaze darted behind the older boy to a younger one with dark hair and cold eyes that made Rindou feel distinctly uncomfortable.

“Kenji, mind your fuckin business,” Sakuya spit out but even as he said that, he ripped his arms from Ran and Rindou’s arms and stepped away, brushing at his sleeves. “Whatever, a pair of filthy street rats aren’t worth the trouble anyway—gonna catch something if we stay around them any longer.”

Rindou bristled but didn’t say anything as they walked away, not now, he reminded himself over and over and over again. He frowned when he caught sight of the younger boy, Kenji, eyeing you curiously before following after his brother.

You tugged at his and Ran’s wrist immediately and they followed along quietly, pulling them away from prying eyes and toward the stairs that led to the upper floor. You didn’t say anything until you opened the doors to the balcony. The cool night air hit him hard, washing the anger away as the distant sounds of the party became muted.

You leaned against the railing, looking up at the night sky instead of at them, Rindou’s feet moved on his own as he joined you at the railing, Ran lingered back. Rindou tried to shoot him a look but only got ignored. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, “They’re despicable. I should have said something sooner.”

“You shouldn’t have done that,” was all Ran said in response, “Gotten so nasty with them on our behalf, it could have-”

Rindou remembered Miss Yua’s warning, how their actions could have backlash on you, he felt sick.

You only rose your chin, “Don’t be silly, I’ll always defend you guys. I don’t care who it’s against!” you said firmly, and Rindou’s face was so hot that he swore he was on the verge of setting himself on fire. “Even Uncle Ichirou!” 

“Even who?” 

Rindou’s eyes widened at the sound of an unfamiliar male voice from behind the three of them, he watched as your mouth dropped open as you turned around to face the man that Rindou recognized from pictures as your uncle. You looked thrown off for a second before steeling your shoulders, “Even from you!” 

And Rindou tensed, waiting for your uncle to get angry but instead his expression only softened, if only barely, a fond look in his eyes as he looked down at you. 

“I hope they deserve your loyalty,” he murmured as if the two of them weren’t standing right there. Rindou shifted uncomfortably as your uncle’s gaze landed on him, a contemplative expression on his face. “I’ll speak to Sugawara about his boys. They were out of line approaching you as they did. Don’t stay up here too long, people will talk.”

Your shoulders slumped, “It’s stuffy in there and I hate all of them.”

Your uncle clicked his tongue, “Get used to it, this will be your life when you take over Izanagi from me,” he chided.

“I’m not taking over Izanagi!” you said firmly, “I’m going to make my own company and outdo yours, you’ll see!” 

Your uncle raised his eyebrows, an amused smile twitching at his lips before nodding, “Of course,” he said and you looked disgruntled at his tone but your uncle didn’t wait for another response, turning on his heel to walk back toward the event. 

You slumped as soon as he was out of sight, tossing a petulant look in the direction of where he disappeared to, “I will,” you muttered before letting out a loud, exhausted sigh, leaning back onto the railing and looking back up at the sky.  

For a few moments, none of you spoke, instead just basking in the silence of the night and the distant chatter of the party. It was peaceful--genuinely peaceful and Rindou didn’t often get to experience genuine peace like that so he shut his eyes and enjoyed it, letting out a soft breath at the feeling of the light breeze cooling his skin and running through his hair, your arm brushing against his. 

You broke the peace with a loud shout that startled him, his eyes flew open, watching as you pointed toward the sky, “Look! A shooting star! Make a wish, make a wish!” 

“Shooting stars are bullshit,” Ran said immediately.

“Make a wish!” you demanded and Rindou watched as you shut your eyes, looking up at the sky, a smile on your lips and your hands interlocked. His throat felt tight and he couldn’t tear his eyes off of you to make his own wish.

“What’d you guys wish for?” you asked after a moment and Rindou’s gaze darted back up when you reopened your eyes, looking at the sky.

“We can’t tell you, you idiot!” Ran said, “then it doesn’t come true,”

“I thought you said shooting stars are bullshit!” you accused, pointing at Ran and Ran spluttered, looking away.

Rindou took one last long look at your bright smile and Ran’s reddening face, a tight feeling on his throat as he looked back up at the sky, making his wish.

I don’t want this to end.

---

PRESENT.

You couldn’t breathe, it felt like your throat was stuffed with dust, your tongue was sandpaper. Your eyes were open and your vision was dark and blurry. 

Everything was silent.

What had happened?

You couldn’t move, something was on top of you, the lower half of your body was stuck—you couldn’t see and you couldn’t breathe and you couldn’t hear anything.

Something was wrong, you should hear something—you were at the auction, people were here and then-

And then what?

Your breath quickened, your throat burned. You couldn’t remember. Think, you told yourself, you had to th-

“Ah, shit! Takuya, I’m running late to the meeting, i-what do you mean you’re not at Suvala HQ? Who the fuck is there representing us? …. Damn it, Takuya, this looks so bad on us, we-“

“Y/n?” you looked up at the new voice, a smile pulling at your lips as you recognize the man standing in front of you.

“Hm? Oh! Hey, Takuya, I’ll talk to you when we get to the building, be there in 15, okay? … yeah, see you. Gunter! What’s up?”

You couldn’t see anything. Your eyes were opened, you knew they were opened so why? You craned your neck up, wincing at the pain, your heart was erratic in your chest. 

Your face was wet, you could feel something warm dripping down your forehead into your eyes—blood, you realized what had been obscuring your vision. You lifted an arm, gasping in pain as your entire body screamed and ached in protest. You wiped the blood from your face, cringing as it smeared across your skin.

You gagged at the thick scent of iron, of garlic—garlic, the explosion, Hanma, Hanma had thrown himself over you. And Rindou, Rindou was in there and Ran you didn’t know where Ran was.

You wiped more frantically, trying to blink away the spots and blood staining your vision. Your stomach churned uncomfortably, the remnants of the explosion—the smoke, the fire, it reeked, you couldn’t think over the smell it was consuming you just like it had-

“Shouldn’t you be at the meeting?” Gunter Krüger grinned at you, “Here, I grabbed an extra coffee for Felix, was gonna meet him and Adie at the office, you take it. Don’t tell him it was his though, yeah?”

You laughed, taking the coffee from him and a small sip, “Yeah, my uncle’s secretary held me up on the phone at the apartment. I’m running late, bad look, I know,” you told him, “Wanna walk with me over?”

“Yeah, let’s go, it’s a short walk. I can cover for you so it doesn’t look as bad,” Gunter offered as the two of you walked down the street toward the large glass building in the near distance, “Say that I needed help and it took longer than it should have.”

“Don’t tell Felix,” you winked, “but you’re definitely the better brother.”

Gunter burst into laughter, “You say that until Felix saves your ass from one of those board meetings again.”

“True,” you agreed, “This should be the last one though.”

Gunter glanced at you, interested, “The decision’s being made today?” he asked and your smile fell, knowing damn well that the decision being made was not in your favor.

“Yeah, the dec-” but you weren’t even able to finish your sentence, eyes wide and voice faltering as an explosion rocked the very ground you were standing on, sending you and Gunter both careening to the ground.

You had to get up. Your arms trembled as you tried to push yourself up off of the ground. You couldn’t push up, whatever was blocking the lower half of your body was too heavy for you to push off. Panic began to flood through you, the scent of blood got stronger, the air got thicker. You couldn’t breathe.

You lifted your head up, neck aching but you could make out figures--or not figures? You couldn’t tell. 

Not figures, you realized, grimacing at the debris scattered all over the auction hall, broken seats, remnants of the stage, the balcony near the stage. Your eyes darted around, mouth drying when you caught sight of Hanma Shuji laying unmoving several feet away, body half-covered with debris, evidently having been blown off of you during the blast.

You tried to call his name but it felt as if there were ashes stuffed down your throat, your chest felt tight when you noticed the blood pooling beneath him and you tried to push yourself to your feet again, arms shaking violently but you let out a sharp gasp as your body fell limp to the ground as you failed again.

Get up, you begged yourself, get up.

“Y/n, get up!” your ears were ringing and your eyes were wide, the pavement was cool against your cheek but the air was hot around you, uncomfortably so. What the fuck had happened? You could barely breathe, think, much less rise to your feet. 

But someone grabbed your arm, yanking you to your feet, your eyes drifted behind you, falling on Gunter pulling you to your feet, “We gotta get out of here, t-the building, Suvala it-”

“There are people in there,” you gasped but you could barely hear yourself, looking around at the screaming pedestrians, at the familiar building collapsing in on itself in the near distance, “Felix and Adie, Gunter they’re in the building, we-”

You pulled away from him, stumbling forward to run toward Suvala Headquarters, eyes blurring and throat burning, the only thought circling through your head being to get to your friends.

The pressure was pulled off of you and your eyes widened, you tried to push yourself up but a gasp was ripped from your throat as a hand fisted your hair, yanking you to your feet. You winced, pain shooting through you, you could taste blood in your mouth and you could still barely see. 

Your vision was blurry and spotted as you tried to look around, figure out what was going on--the front half of the auction hall was decimated--the explosion came from below, the other side of the building probably. Hanma had mentioned the storeroom was over there--someone had rigged it to explode? The phosphorus? The phosphorus wasn’t even supposed to be in the building, so how-

Hanma, your eyes darted around, he had covered you, you had to-

The grip on your hair tightened, your eyes widened and your lips parted to let out a cry of pain but nothing came out. You felt nauseous as your head was yanked back, turning it to the side, and your eyes fell upon the bloody, scarred face of Sanzu Haruchiyo, pink hair matted to his forehead and cheeks, eyes wild. His lips were moving--he was speaking.

He was speaking?

You couldn’t hear him? 

Panic began to swell as your eyes widened, as you looked around--you couldn’t hear anything. You should hear something--screaming, the aftermath of the explosion, the building collapsing in—but it was all silent, your stomach dropped, your heart caved in.

Sanzu’s grip tightened on your hair, something sharp pressed against your neck and you gasped as you were forced back down onto your knees, grimacing as a sharp piece of wood dug into your calf, throat burning uncomfortably.

Your knees hit the ground hard, tearing holes into the cloth of your pants as Gunter crashed into you from behind, preventing you from getting any closer to the building. His hands curled around your bicep, holding you in place as you tried to scramble back to your feet.

“Gunter let me go! Let me go! Felix is fucking in there, Felix and Adie, we-”

“If you go in there, you’ll die,” he shouted but his words were barely registering, you couldn’t tear your eyes off of the building, over the billowing thick, white smoke that was expanding over the street and the sky about Suvala Headquarters, the fire that was spreading to nearby buildings, a park full of children. You tried to push him off, his grip tightened, “We have to get out of here.”

“Felix and Adie-”

“They’re dead,” Gunter roared, and you could hear his voice crack. His wife, his brother, they- “If the explosion didn’t kill them, the smoke and fire did--do you smell that?”

Sharp pungent, like garlic--you couldn’t breathe, you barely even think but you were able to recognize what it might mean. Phosphorus? There was no way-

“We need to get out of here--the fire’s just going to keep spreading, we can’t let that shit touch us,” Gunter was tugging you to your feet, dragging you away, and you watched--you couldn’t bring yourself to cooperate as you watched a group of teachers desperately try to evacuate a nearby elementary school, as civilians ran into the building and ultimately to their deaths trying to help.

The smoke was toxic, the fire was spreading faster than people could run-

The fire, your eyes darted around, the smoke was rising on the other side of the room, fire spreading. You had to get out of here.

You tried to tug at Sanzu Haruchiyo’s wrist, “Fire,” you tried to say but you couldn’t hear yourself, you didn’t know if he could hear you, you didn’t even know if the words were coming out correctly, “We have to get out of here, the fire-”

The grip on your hair tightened, shutting you up, you inhaled sharply as something sharp dug harder into your neck--a knife?

Your head felt fuzzy and you would have swayed were it not for Sanzu holding you up, your eyes drifted around, vision doubled and you caught sight of Hanma on his hands and knees, something puncturing his side, blood dribbling from his mouth and smeared across his face but he was alive and as much as the man might cause you discomfort, you were relieved because you were pretty sure he had saved your life.

He was saying something, you could see his lips moving but you couldn’t hear and you couldn’t quite make out the words through the movements of his lips. He was angry, spitting out words, gaze directed toward you and Sanzu. 

You couldn’t breathe, everything hurt--the people, there were so many people in the auction hall. You tried to look around but Sanzu yanked your head back again, you grit your teeth. Your lungs burned and you couldn’t-

-breathe. You couldn’t breathe. Gunter was dragging you by the wrist away from the building, People were slamming into you, desperate to get away, some were trying to run in the opposite direction, yelling for who you assumed were loved ones that were supposed to be in the area.

You felt sick, you couldn’t breathe, you could barely even think, the only thing that kept you going was the hand wrapped around your wrist. He was talking to you but you could barely hear him over the screams and the fire roaring and spreading in the distance. 

What had happened? Phosphorus, that had to be intentional, who would target Suvala? Y-

“I’ll handle it.”

You felt cold, which was strange because the heat of the explosion and the fire should have been overwhelming. There were more people--someone was helping Hanma to his feet and you could only barely recognize Mina. Relief swept through you like a tidal wave, he was okay. Your lips parted to say something but no words left your mouth.

There was someone on the ground next to them, Mina was holding him by the neck.

Kokonoi? You recognized, blood drenching his white hair--he was hit in the head during the explosion. His eyes were unfocused as they fell on you, dazed, blood dribbled from his nose and his lip was split. He had been punched too, you realized, eyeing Mina’s bruised fist.

You felt the knife that Sanzu had at your throat press deeper, Mina’s face twisted, he yelled something, his grip on Kokonoi’s throat tightened. 

A stand-off, you realized, catching sight of the man that had interrupted Ran and Rindou from interrogating you, Kakucho, looking between you and Sanzu and Mina and Kokonoi warily, as if unsure what to do. He held out a hand toward Sanzu, lips moving and you wanted to scream because you couldn’t hear and you didn’t know what they were saying or how you could help.

You could never help, everything that went wrong was always your fault. You never should have come back to Tokyo and-

“I never should have asked you for help!” you screamed at the phone that was laying on the ground of your apartment a few feet away, your uncle was silent on the other end. You pulled at your hair, sobs and dry heaves wracking your body, the news played in the background. “I didn’t mean like this, you know I didn’t mean this!”

“There is no risk of this being pointed back at you. It’s all under control.”

“That’s not what I’m fucking worried about!” 

Mina was shouting, his grip on Kokonoi’s throat was tightening. You could read his lips now but the words weren’t registering in your head--I’ll snap his fucking neck if you don’t let her go. 

“Investigations on the tragedy at Munich point toward a lack of continuity in safety inspections leading to a massive gas line leak.” 

Sanzu shook you violently, blood dribbled down your neck, the knife cut deeper into your skin.

“Nearly six thousand killed in the horrific gas pipe leak at the Suvala office in Munich.”

You had to get out of the auction hall, your hands were trembling, the floor creaked dangerously, the fire was spreading to the walls behind you and it was hot, it was so hot that you felt cold. If you stayed any longer, the smoke and the heat, it would cause irreparable damage. 

“Phosphorus munitions involved in the devastating incident at Munich? Eyewitnesses claim so! What isn’t the government telling us? Why are they trying to brush this off as a gas pipe leak?”

“Have to get out,” you gasped but you still couldn’t hear yourself and you felt sick, you brought a hand up to your ear, desperately trying to blink back the tears that formed when you felt the blood. “The smoke is toxic, the fire-”

“You will get on that stage and announce the merging of Suvala and Izanami. I do not care for your personal feelings on the matter, y/n. I gave you what you asked for, the means of how it happened is inconsequential now. Take advantage of the opportunity or be swallowed by those who will.”

Your body was snapped to the side, your vision went black, pain shot through your head, you reeled trying to figure out what had happened. Your head, Sanzu bashed your head into the debris of the chairs.

“In light of recent events, I, l/n y/n, founder and chief executive of Izanami Connect, will take it upon myself to step in for Chairman Krüger after the tragedy in Munich as previous negotiations dictated. As I move to bring the company under Izanami’s wing, I will take steps to ensure a disaster like this will never occur again. I swear to do right by all of the families affected by this tragedy.”

Your shoulder hit the ground hard, a gasp ripped from your chest, pain ricocheted through your body so intense that it had you blacking out for a second, vision spotty and head fuzzy. Your arms trembled as you tried to push yourself up only to crash back toward the ground. You turned your head to the side, still trying to figure out what was going on.

Your mouth dried as you caught sight of Rindou grabbing Sanzu by the collar, driving his fist into his face over and over and over again and your lips parted to call out for him, eyes blurring with tears because he was alive, he was fucking alive and that all that mattered because the last time-

“L/n-san, I’m so sorry for your loss. I know you were close to both of the Krüger brothers. Chairman Krüger in the explosion and now Gunter… It must be so hard.”

The last time none of them survived. 

Or, well. 

You supposed one actually did. You felt sick. Gunter is alive.

Kakucho rushed toward Rindou, trying to pull him off of Sanzu and someone grabbed your arm hard, yanking you back to your feet. You turned your head, eyes wide, but relaxed when you realized it was Mina, he was looking over you, speaking to you, but you couldn’t hear. You shook your head, trying to focus on his lips but you were seeing double, triple, you couldn’t focus.

Mina seemed to realize, instead only wrapping an arm around your waist to help steady you before motioning for Hanma to follow, fleeing the auction hall and you wanted to scream, tell Rindou to get the fuck out of there but you could barely breathe, your vision was going spotty again as Mina jostled you around, the pain becoming too much for your body to handle before it finally gave out on you.

--- 

You weren’t sure how long it took for you to come back to but your entire body ached and burned when you did. You grimaced at the light, wincing as you tried to push yourself up to figure out where the fuck you were. 

“Careful,” a familiar, gruff voice murmured, “You got fucked up back there, take it easy.”

“No shit,” you muttered, looking at Mina, wincing as your neck shrieked in pain in response to the movement, “Where are we?”

“A safe house,” a new voice said and your gaze drifted to the other side of you, where Hanma Shuji was laying on a bed, shirt rolled up as a middle-aged woman worked on stitching up a wound on his side. Amber eyes watched you curiously, “You’re already up.”

“No shit,” you repeated and Hanma snorted in amusement. “Where’s everybody else? Kawaragi? The guys she was with?”

Hanma looked away. Your eyes turned to Mina, whose lips were pressed together tight before he spoke, “Haven’t heard from her. Apparently, she was supposed to be where the bombs went off, doubt she made it out.”

Oh, something familiar and unwelcome squeezed at your chest. You pushed it away. Stop, you barely even knew her. 

“Bombs? Plural?” you narrowed in, trying to remember if there was more than one explosion but your mind was being torn to shreds and you couldn’t focus enough to remember. 

“Mm,” Mina agreed, “There were two explosions--a smaller one, which we assume was a grenade or something of the sort that set off the phosphorus munitions. Fucking lucky that the majority of it was being held in another warehouse otherwise we’d be melted right now.”

You felt ill. You opened your mouth to speak but paused when you noticed movement from the corner of your eye: Hanma waving away the nurse carelessly, teeth grit as he pushed himself to his feet, rolling his shirt back down, “C’mon, Sugawara wanted to talk to us when you woke up.” 

Mina looked between you and Hanma, a protest on his lips but Hanma simply ignored him, holding a hand out toward you.

“Why?” you asked warily, dread pooling in your gut. 

Hanma shrugged, “Didn’t explain,” he said simply, glancing down at his hand pointedly. Reluctantly, you took his hand, letting him help you to your feet and hook an arm around your waist to help you walk steady.

Mina rose to his feet, eyes narrowed. A mocking smile curled to Hanma’s lips, “Relax, I’ll bring her right back,” he cooed and Mina’s eye twitched, he stepped forward.

You shook your head and he frowned but stepped back, the wary expression not leaving his face, “I’ll be back,” you told him as Hanma started moving toward the exit of the room, not giving Mina any time to respond. As the two of you walked down the tiled floors of the hall outside the room, a dry comment rose to your lips, “Thought Sugawara said he’d bet his life the weapons weren’t at the auction hall.”

The mocking smile on Hanma’s face shifted into a crueler one, a playful look in his eyes that you weren’t quite sure how you felt about, as he looked down at you, “Maybe we should hold him to that, yeah?” 

You forced yourself not to let your eyes widen at the statement as Hanma pulled you down another hall toward a large open room, letting go of you as soon as you got in sight of the others in the room. No showing weakness, you understood as he forced himself not to wince with every step--he had been leaning on you for help as much as he had been helping you, you realized with a frown.

You shook your head, focusing on keeping yourself steady instead of Hanma Shuji so you didn’t make a fool of yourself in front of the other executives of Sugawara’s organization.

Your uncle was here, you noticed the grim look on his face and frowned. He refused to meet your eyes and an unsettling feeling took over--the woman from the meeting, Alyona, was standing next to him and on her other side, looking down at something you couldn’t quite see from where you were standing was Sugawara. 

He smiled bright when he saw you and Hanma, “Shuji, y/n, there you are! We’ve been waiting. I’m glad you’re okay, I heard the explosion was pretty bad.”

Pretty bad, your ears rung as you stared at him, certain that you must not have heard him correctly. Three-quarters of the people in that auction hall were probably killed. And he’s-

“It’s a shame it didn’t take out any of the Bonten executives though,” he frowned, and your eyes narrowed--how did he know that already? You glanced at Hanma but his expression was also tight and you could see the confusion spotting his eyes, “But! It’s not all bad news because we managed to get our hands on one of their executives anyway!” 

Tunneled. Your vision tunneled and the sound around you muted. 

Got our hands on one? But…

Your eyes drifted to the center of attention of the rest of the room, the figure tied on the ground, and at once, your entire world fell apart--the breath ripped from your lungs, the air around you became oppressive and suffocating, everything crumbled in a matter of seconds. 

Ran.

---

WORDCOUNT: 8K

REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK VERY MUCH APPRECIATED !!

Sooo soo great!!!

UNHAPPY BULLY

SERIES PART 1-4

Warning: May contain triggering content, bullying, mentions of blood, and other things you might not like. Errors might be present, please don't mind them. Enjoy!

Summary: She's the quiet one, she's the loud one, he's her tormentor, he's her problem at school. He might be obsessed with her.

Word count: 7.4k

Since it was requested and liked, I decided to make a story with almost the same premise, excluding the one-shot material, it's the full package. There's more to come. If you want;)

The more she tries to avoid it, the harder it gets. It's a bittersweet truth.

Subjected to his mean words retained a cynical outcome on her conviction, always glaring at her, smiling at her misery, touching her with intent to hurt, tossing paper balls at her, sometimes pulling her hair If she ever had the tragic coincidence sitting in front of him. Whenever they shared eye contact, she feels as though he is wordlessly disparaging her with his blood-red eyes. For the most part, however, it wasn't physical.

Today, he seemed more competitive.

Sitting in the far back with the other girls, separated by gender, she observes the way her blonde bully perfects his task, hearing her male classmates cheer at the sight, for anything minor or major, she had gotten adjusted. Her teacher returned, a whistleblower hanging from the collar, a small stick he likes to use at his grasp.

The girls beside her quietly laughed, whispering something into each other's ears, some lack shame she presumes.

They tapped her shoulder and gently uttered 'the boys told us to give you this message, Katsuki likes your black underwear.' She ceased, side-eyed her giggling classmate, then pressed her lips together, the humiliation sweeping up her body, she nervously looks back at their teacher, attempting to disregard the dreadful beats of her heart. Thoughts ran rampant in her affected mind, she clenches her fist around her wrist, swallowed her unease when the teacher noticed her.

"Let's see how much you've all improved since the last time, we'll be doing a race test, then throwball test, finally, strength test." He sternly spoke, glancing at his students, some appearing excited, others apprehensive.

"First row, you are up."

The words dulled themselves, the noisy cheers and girls talking tuning out, she just couldn't help but overthink, the most consistent thought being, 'when- how did he see it?' She has been so meticulous in evading him, no boys were allowed in the changing rooms unless someone beguiles, leaked information to disrespect her. It wouldn't be uncharacteristic of her classmates. She briefly looked at the other side, watching the blonde focus on the current race, however, slowly looked her way and smirked, as if he was anticipating her reaction.

She was the one to break away the instant their gaze met, steadily inhaling while she bit on her lips, she attempts to concentrate, hopefully, neglect her pressing notions for a short while, so she doesn't end up butchering her physical test.

"Ok! The last row, you are up!" She rose, jogging behind the girls to catch up, each race consisted of five students, she was up with the gossiping girls and two mean girls who probably knew what colour of underwear she was wearing now. She gulps, slowly taking her place in between them, failing to dismiss the pessimistic feelings, she got in her position, her heartbeat accelerating, she feels like she isn't in the moment when the whistle sounds out and the five of them galloped.

The applause was loud in her ears, shouts and raving she heard of her that managed to bother her. She kept up her pace, in the lead before the black-haired classmate caught up, then she listens to her say. "You suck, black underwear." She teased, quickly running forwards, she grimaced, using her last bit of energy to force herself to move hastily. As they neared the finish line, she sprinted right behind her, both of them now in the same place. It could be a tie if they kept up. She gave her nasty glare, putting all her strength and eventually left the girl behind, securing herself the first place.

She had never won the golden opportunity before, so it came as a pleasant surprise when her teacher cheered and said, "Woah! That's a big improvement, you had come last place, right?" He asked, she nodded, breathing heavily. He patted her and sent them away, then she saw, the shocking look in the girl's grey eyes. Hatred.

"She came first place, okay how did that happen?" She heard them mutter amongst themselves, staring at her as if she had grown another head.

"She must have cheated."

She sat down, pulling her blue water bottle out only to see it empty. Someone... Drank it? She knew exactly who it was. She groaned, thirsty but toiled to keep her temper in check, she leaned back, resting her trembling legs as the adrenaline fades off. Her throat itching for some water.

Wiping the sweat off her eyebrows, exhausted from just the first test, she inspected the boy's competition around the ground, a certain green-haired boy seizing her attention, in the last place, but still pushing with all his might. Small-ish, lean, short, and quirkless, a distant friend from childhood, he's another victim of her bully, known as deku, while she was referred to as loopy, in short, crazy.

"Ok! Last team! You are up."

It was katsuki's turn, she could heed the boy's gaiety already, the blonde pushed past the depleted greenette who didn't say anything and walked back to his seat, even her female classmates smiled, silently interested in seeing him.

"On your marks, get, set, go!!"

The five boys were off, and her bully quickly obtained the lead, the four others wanting to get the first place but Katsuki had already travelled a long distance and they wouldn't reach in time. He was going to win from the very beginning.

The crowd lauded, flaring the guy's ego, he gave a big restrained smile, moving back to his place, with a huge swell of arrogance, settling down in the middle of the restless boys, still celebrating their bets.

"Now then we are done with the racing test, we can go onto the next game, throwball. You'll be divided into two teams, consisting of both boys and girls, gather round, I'll team you up." Everyone got up, thrilled for the match-up, she wasn't too pleased about it, lazily hauling herself as she blended into the mob, observing her teacher evaluate his choice and gripingly put them into wrong teams.

"Team A, Miyamura, shin, Makoto, lolly, rudo, midoriya..." Then he carried on, she didn't get picked in that team, and neither, her bully, she was about to get teamed up with him, wasn't she? This day couldn't get any worse.

"Team B, Bakugo, Rosie, Haru, Asahi, lei, Aiko, Aoi..." Then his wrinkled eyes landed on her, she knew she was doomed.

"And L/n! Ok, we are good to go!"

It had been such an awful experience discussing strategy and arrangement with her bully, he straight up didn't want her in his team, but begrudgingly decided to have her beside him in the middle. She knew she was to be horrible at this, and he was going to hate her more now since he's so obsessed with winning, with victory.

The match began, most of the throws ended up on the blonde's side, and whenever it did head towards her, he would catch it instead, one time, he even hit her on the cheek with his elbow when he caught the ball, it hurt, she started to dislike him even more.

The fierce competition was ongoing, she had thrown a grand total of two times, miraculously, he deliberately plucks her out of place when she had to receive the brown orb, she ended up on her butt at least thrice, and they were in the lead, a few points and it will be over.

Relief had flooded her senses upon thinking the finale, she was expending less awareness when Katsuki yelled her name, and she was met with the ball to the face, disorienting her vision, she stumbled back, gripping her throbbing nose and face, she looked down at her palms and found blood, the dark red liquid slowly drips down her lips, she swallowed, looking at her teacher who rushed towards her before taking her off the field. Everyone stood still, silence engulfing their once clamorous contest.

She suffered a minor nose bleed, got cotton stuffed in her nostril, and had an awkward atmosphere upon entering the classroom, she was expecting someone to tease but none were sneered her way and the rest of the classes went on normally. She hadn't gotten any 'are you okay' either, she doesn't know if she preferred it or not.

Her P.E teacher nearly had a heart attack, one of his statements stuck with her, 'you are so delicate, you need to get strong.' He meant it with good intentions, she had heard that expression from her parents as well. Her bully hadn't backed off from making her day a little less bad by stealing her notes for the upcoming class. If she was caught not possessing her notebook, she's bound to get lectured and punished.

She hated him.

After class, she confronted him.

"Can you give me back my notes?" She vehemently spoke, arms crossed, one leg stuck out, tapping against the floor impatiently.

"Oh, you look ugly with those in your nose." He said, faking an exaggerated disgusted facade.

"Return it back or else..."

He turned towards her, fully facing her with a tough look in his eyes, she returned the gesture, pinching her lips with the way he stood with pride.

"What are you going to do? Report me?" He taunted, leaning inwards, challenging her with a glare.

"Yes, this time to the principal."

He laughed, grumbling, "just for a book?" He tsked, continuing, "you are pathetic."

"No, for everything you've done." She spits back, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Oh! Is that so? What evidence have you got against me? Deku? He won't get in a word, he's a loser, and you are far worse than him." He retorted.

"The principal won't have a reason to deny if I bring my parents into the picture, plus you still have my notebook with you, you haven't returned so it should be proof enough." She responded, not missing the way his lips twitched, his eyes hardening.

"Hey, dude! Why are you keeping us waiting for so long?" His friends shouted from the front of the class, halting at the sight of their friend and his victim, "you want us to leave without you?" They smugly smiled, elbowing each other, then slowly walking out, leaving the both of them to themselves.

"If you say anything to anyone, I'm going to make your life a living hell." He threatened, grabbing her collar and propelling her towards him. "You don't want that, do you?" He ceased for a moment, grinning wide as if he had gotten a brilliant idea, he resumed, "if you want me to stop, maybe we could do a trade."

"No thanks, I know how you are, it's probably not in my interest." She bravely muttered, it irked him, he shoved her away, the smile on his face fading away, "you don't know when to give up, do you?"

He grimaces, shifting back to get his backpack, plopping it on his shoulder, he stared at her maliciously and said.

"If you want your notebook, you gotta have something in return for me."

With that, he left.

She strutted there for a short while, reflecting on her alternatives because no matter what, he somehow manages to outsmart her. Every time.

When her tears were more than her words, her courage less than that of her quirk. She met her bully, with blonde hair, ruddy eyes, and an enlarged ego that seemed to increase tenfold once applause was sent it's way, it was a one-time thing, she was just going to play along with boys her age, perhaps younger since she had no one else, and while most of them were against it, a sweet green-haired boy insisted, holding her hand and bringing her with him.

It was discouraging to be thereafter the severe disagreement, however, she still followed, she was the only girl with four to five chaps.

That day, was the first and last time she was ever going to reside in that group.

They were far rowdier and carefree than her, proudly walking in the street, she and the other boy trailing behind them, and then they stepped inside a convenience store, she had watched them buy stuff, all might items, she observed their smiles upon tearing it open, right outside the shop, grinning in delight.

The blonde kid was far happier than any one of them, denying his now treasured object any spying eyes, protecting it and retrieving it inside his pocket. She felt out of place, for some reason.

Then, they played hero and villain, like any other kid she's seen, she had to be the one rescued, and she oddly delighted that. The green-haired boy was a villain, while the blonde one was a hero, she was the civilian who needed saving. It was a fun pastime, her heart was beating fast, watching the two quarrel, until the greenette got harshly pushed down. She got up and asked him if he was okay, it did not please the others.

"You are supposed to ask me if I'm okay, not him!" The blonde sneered at her, she frowned, lowering her gaze, muttering, "was I supposed to? But you weren't hurt." She innocently replied, "even villains are humans like us, they get hurt too, you know."

"Do you have a crush on deku or something? Because you sound stupid." He argued, she shared brief eye contact with the kid, a sad expression now on her small face.

She doesn't know what to say.

"I think I like him more." She hesitantly answered, "you don't know how a hero should act, they are never mean to anyone."

It bothered him.

Then came a hard shove.

That was what she recalled, seeing the all might plushie at the store, safely tugged at the corner, almost gone, the shop had a handful of customers at this time, nowadays, finding hero merch was common, and it got a lot of attention and profit. All might has never been her favourite, not after her mind associated that bitter memory with meeting her bully, then the green-haired boy, Deku, she never got herself to know him, maybe she was upset, angry with how things flipped upside down. Or she just resented him for suffering around those mean kids, it made her sad thinking about him, two of kacchan's victims.

"Oh! um..." she faced the timid voice, finding her greenette classmate standing before her, shying away from direct eye content, she turned away, picking the item from the toy section and prepared to depart, "you're taking that...?" inquired the boy, particularly no feelings stuck out to her, she felt nothing towards him, neutral, leaning a little towards dislike from time to time.

"Yes, did you want it?" she asked, ready to hand it to him, but he hastily disagreed, "n-no! It's fine! I've never seen you here, buying all might stuff..." he awkwardly replied, pressing his lips into a thin line. "I usually don't but because of someone, I have to," she responded.

His eyes light up, and he flashes her a tiny smile, "is it a gift?"

She quickly shook her head, furrowing her eyebrows and narrowing her eyes at the image of having her bully as a kind of friend, "no, I just gotta get it for my notebook." he questioned her with a puzzled look, "as an accessory?" she grinned, faking enthusiasm. She couldn't deal with any queries right now. She tries to leave, but is stopped again, by a curious boy who asked, "are you and kacchan... in a relationship?" she quickly answered, in a bitter tone.

"No." she gave him a brief glance and took off.

'He calls me loopy for a reason, perhaps he is right.'

The next morning, she approached him, demanded her belonging, and got back a crude response, asking for a little something, she had gotten a plushie but, would he even want it? A grown boy who was a bully would want something soft that she went out of her way to get, with her pocket money, to her liking, he wouldn't, a hardened guy like him can't appreciate it.

"Unless you give me something precious of yours, I won't give it back." he arrogantly declared, further irking her, her eyes sting, her throat tightened, and the urge to slap him amplified.

"I don't get it, what do you want?" she mumbled, irritated. As if she would ever willingly hand him her most treasured item with ease.

"Hmm, preferably something black." he shrugged. He knew that she knew what he was talking about, but she acted obliviously. "A mask?"

He moved forward, and softly whispered, "Black underwear loopy, remember that?"

She immediately pushed him back, ignoring his wicked laugh, and sat down, recoiling from stress and anger, glaring at his taunting form, how long can she go without her notes.?

At lunch break, she eagerly requested some of her classmates to lend her their book but, nobody was ready to hand it off and hope for the best, he seriously threatened them not to give her any help?

At last, she stopped in front of her final choice, Deku.

She stopped him as the entire class emptied, even their bully, so it was just the two of them, alone, together, as victims. She halts at his desk, gulping down her concerns.

"Can you lend me your science notebook, I promise I'll return it as soon as possible." she spoke pleadingly, he nervously stared at her, "um..." without hearing his answer, she slouched, speaking a little louder, "don't tell me Katsuki threatened you too?" he bowed his head down, looking up regretfully, confirming, "kacchan's been telling everyone not to help you with anything, but..." he finished, voice latched with sorrow. Their gaze connected, she fought the urge to tear her eyes away from him.

"Is that why you were getting him that plushie...?"

She momentarily ceased, thinking it through, then gently uttered.

"I wasn't thinking about it, I just bought it impulsively. Besides, not that he will return my notes either way, even if I gave it to him before he laughed." she honestly replied, correcting her posture and stepping back. Now aware, even he might not be able to aid her.

"But- you got it for him..." he softly mumbled to himself, lowering his eyes to his plain neat desk, hands gripped in his laps, blinking at his held fist.

"I don't get it, why are you so upset about it?" she mused, observing his expression alter and diffuse. "I-I'm not! I promise, just, do you regret meeting me?" he suddenly surprised her with the query, she watched him shift nervously in his seat, avoiding her eyes like it meant something horrible, "no, I don't. Actually, I don't think I've made amends with you."

He tearfully glanced at her face, wanting her to carry on but she turned her face from him and clutched the straps of her bag in her fingers, saying one last thing before cutting her short conversation with him, "it's okay if you don't wanna help, no problem, I'll see you tomorrow."

She leaves. The sting of guilt doesn't take long to invite itself in.



The school campus is brimming with students, tall, short and alike, striding their merry way home, she was one of them, gaze cast down, attending to the dirt crushing underneath her school shoes, it was breezy for a moment and then it wasn't, the light slowly veering orange. A heavy arm suddenly grabs her neck from behind, prompting her to avert her gaze to the familiar person holding her waterway in a tight squeeze.

"You're coming out rather late, what were you doing with deku?" The grumpy raspy voice of her tormentor sounded near her ear, she shoot him a scowl, about to plop his arm back to his side, however, he resettled his grasp and further leaned over to her cheeks.

"You could have my notes if you are so desperate." He mocked, snickering at her miserable endeavour.

"Yeah sure, why don't you just give me my notebook back." She acknowledged.

"What if I burned it and threw it away, you still want it back?" He muttered, drawing closer to her, his arm now slithering to her waist, just low enough, clasping her hipbone, perking up at her startled reaction.

Without saying anything, she ripped off his hand, removed it from her body and jabbed it to his left side, rejecting his terrorizing grimace, quickly stepping away from his reach, ambling towards the entrance.

"If you are not going to tell me then I'm going to ruin it, and I won't give you mine either, not like anyone else is going to entrust their belongings to you." He shouted, knowing where to pull her strings.

Even though she wouldn't admit it, she needed it before tomorrow.

She thinks for a quick duration, examining for any tell-tale signs of dishonesty or animosity, she forced herself to oblige, she couldn't get reprimanded for something fixable. Hesitantly, she speaks up.

"Fine." She swiftly made her way towards him, defensively folding her arms near her chest and disapprovingly staring at his arrogant face.

"What's your deal with that nerd?"

"I asked him if he would give me his notes, that's all, plus we met at a shop yesterday, nothing happened, I was just looking for something to buy." She responds.

He doubtingly peers, soaking in the slightest shift in her movement, her face, and his gut told him she wasn't lying right under his nose, he hums, pulling his bag off his shoulder, he quickly takes his book out, hands it to her, not before lifting out her reach.

"You better not damage it, or pour any drop of water, juice, anything, think you can do that?" He boasts, chancing to get an 'aye' out of her lips. She frigidly nods, lips tightened.

He smiles, content with his plan.

"Good. You better come to school tomorrow, don't even try to get me into trouble for getting absent with my notes."

"Okay! Geez, you have too many restrictions on your list, why the demand?"

"You should know who's in control right now, you say anything more and I'll snatch it back." She silently groans, mentally mourning her desperate decisions.

Her room reeked of jasmine. Denser in the centre of her space, her bed still unmade, curtains half drawn and her worn clothes thrown on her stool, she sat down on the comfy mattress, drawing out a relieved sigh, she inspected her sloppy area.

Suddenly standing up to view the book on her study table, she didn't notice it before, but his notebook oddly smelled like caramel, a little bit of burnt sugar, and an unidentified fragrance she couldn't pinpoint, was it apples? Or perhaps it was a men's cologne.

Seeing her phone, she instantly kept it back into its original position, interested in checking on the latest news about recent incidents, unfortunately, as soon as she opened it, she saw a lot of messages on her insto and reluctantly decided to hold off her mundane endeavour.

As she tasks herself to answer, she finds a few accounts of her classmates, and then it leads to her curiosity heightening and ripening, perceiving their cringe profile and caption, in the end, she managed to unearth one shocking discovery.

Her bully had an account.

She couldn't negate the familiarity between him and her hypersensitive torturer, it had to be him, no posts were made, just a simple affidavit to show his personality, she wants to bet his side-bubbies did this for him, but there's always a possibility of being false. Most of her classmates were following him, except her, and her distant friend.

Maybe he was dared to make an account- there's no way he did it out of his own will.

KATSUKI BAKUGO IS NOW FOLLOWING YOU. 1 SEC AGO.

Her eyes grow wide.

She receives the notification before a request to message, she wildly couldn't approve his follow petition, she could block him. Even if that sounds harsh, he's committed worse. Sadly for her, he is just going to afflict her more misery if she doesn't.

The proclamation reads, 'follow me back loser, you don't forget to bring my notebook tomorrow if you don't return it, I'm going to kill you.' He cared more about his paper tablet than her feelings. She stiffly hovers over the button, her thumb slightly trembling, stare trained on the smirking face of her bully, his picture confirmed it.

It was him.

Hesitantly her fingers tapped on the letters, erasing her sentence twice, rephrasing it properly in case he assumes it wrongly, the entire time, she doesn't realise she was holding her breath, chewing on her lips, reading her memo thrice, she sends it.

She accepted to follow him back and then blacklisted him. She couldn't see his messages and it was better that way.

Besides, not that he will care.

About to retire from her device to freshen up, disregard and forgive, she gets an unknown call, she immediately rejects it, standing up to close her curtains. It was likely just a bogus call.

Now adorned in soft clothes, she plops on her chair, her phone on mute, prepared to relax and binge-watch videos, but her mother shouting for her presence downstairs had compelled her to put her idea on wait again. She internally groans, carrying herself towards her mother's voice.

She retreated to her dull space after a tough while had breezed by, mildly annoyed but still had a soft tint in her eyes, grabbing her gadget to take pictures of her bully's notes since she doesn't feel like writing and it being impossible jot it down in a single day, she chose to print it out the next morning before school. She opened the slab, gently turning the papers and observing his rather neat handwriting, too elegant for a fella like him. She was astonished.

At unlocking her golden covered phone, several unknown calls had been made to her number, she got uneasy. Checking it prior to making a quick call to know who was trying to get a hold of her. She bought it to her right ear, nervously surveying her entire room as the call begins to drag on.

Until a firm stern voice startled her senses.

"Why didn't you pick up earlier?"

She knew who it was just by the tone of his voice, low, raspy, and an angered portrayal of him already playing inside her head.

She spoke.

"I didn't know it was you." She defended, her legs glued to the floor as she stiffly tried to think ahead, bitting her lips for reassurance.

He didn't answer.

"So- how did you get my number?" She anxiously inquired, glancing at the walls, anything her gaze landed on. She needed some sort of closure, her heart was slowly starting to pound faster.

"Deku gave it." He replied in a single breath, his line on the call was oddly quiet.

She looked at her clock, it was already past nine, was he a late sleeper?

"It's late, I'll hang up now. Bye." She sheepishly uttered, quickly tapping the red button and moving into her chair. She concludes with how different he sounded.

The next sunrise, she woke up late.

She didn't concern herself, at first.

Then recollected her plan to print his notebook just in case, then came her frenzied rush, unfortunately, she had less time to spare and ran out the door with her mother screaming to have breakfast, she sprinted, legs shaky and adrenaline coursing through her blood, breaths short and quick, inhaling through her mouth, her dry uniform dampen with sweat.

Jogging hastily at the scenery of her destination, she galloped across the deserted surface, dismissing the prying stares by her classmates, already in class and seated by the window. She stopped in front of her classroom door just on cue for the bell to ring and signal their impending lot. She collapsed, only to sit straight up and anxiously rampage her bag's contents.

Fishing out the notebook.

Searching it to see if it was the correct one.

It was, she could pass it over during lunch break. The problem was, approaching him willing, after the tactics he pulled on her, she's uncertain, cautious, careful, she shouldn't let him take advantage of her meek nature but, when their eyes connect and he glares with potent bitterness, her heart halts, and the air captive inside her lungs. He was intimidating.

She avoided him, solely for that rationale.

Part of her did not want to admit, she was frightened.

Instead of delivering it to him herself, she begged one of his side-buddies to do it in her cause, and he strangely consented, muttering her thanks and departing with the notebook. She grew more sentimental over it than her bully.

Positive this subsisting to be the last time she had to repay anything of his.

Besides, he was probably enraged she arrived later than sooner and was adamant about teaching her a lesson via a harsh glint, she's subconsciously made a comparison to him being moody vs his usual temper, pondering the same thing upon dropping down on her seat and getting a candy bar out of her pocket. In a hurry, she left her lunch box as well, and she didn't have breakfast either, so this was much she could afford with her current pocket money.

Students were present with her, just her bully and his friends were missing, breaks were her least and most favourite time of the day, it is also when her heckler was picky on her.

In the back seat, her green-haired friend shyly peeks at her figure, his hand grasping a pen and words neatly in scribbled. Wishing to talk with her, but decked not to.

And his intuition was right about it.

Entered their childhood bully with hands stuffed in his pockets. His buddies eluded from his side, standing straight as he loomed over the spirited female, immediately glancing up to stare at him, he lours, deferentially uttering.

"Why didn't you come to give me my notes huh? Are you that ungrateful?" He narrowed his scarlet eyes, furrowing his cream coloured eyebrows.

"I bet you are, didn't even say a word of gratitude after I humbly gave my help to you. You thankless brat." He scornfully ridiculed her, the girl took no intuitive to respond, drinking in his words, admitting mentally, he was right, she didn't thank him. Silence followed.

It was tense for a long moment.

She opened her lips and said.

"Thank you." She wasn't as prideful as him, and it didn't seize much out of her to say something appreciative.

He appeared taken aback, however, his hardened expression endured, he let out a disgruntled sigh, still glaring at her being.

Watching her without saying anything.

"Hmph. Loser." Finally, he mouthed, showing her his back and fled.

Her timid friend had taken note of everything unusual, but simply looked down and dismissed his longing to communicate.

But still, his gaze lingered around her.



School had ended, and she arrived home early, stomach protesting for some delicious contents, without having done anything she normally does after coming home, she strode towards the kitchen and opened the fridge. To find vegetables and none of her delightfully treats, she plopped down, upset with her spotting. "Oh you are home so quickly, you must be hungry." Her mom mocked behind her.

She internally mourned, speaking without thinking, "I am, I had to go without breakfast because I borrowed a notebook from someone troublesome." She frankly confessed.

"Why is that? You weren't absent for at least a week." Her mother remarked, walking towards the counter to prepare her daughter's belated breakfast.

"Hmm. This person insisted on giving me their notes and also demanded I give them back in time."

"Sounds like someone troubled."

She chuckled, sounding in agreement.

"I don't want you staying with anyone with bad influence, you hear me? Teenagers and alike are pretty rowdy these days." Her mother said, keeping the filled plate beside her daughter.

"That's an understatement."

"Well, you know better than me, don't remain in a bad friend group if it isn't for you."

She nodded, finding nothing wrong with the elder's worries. Besides, she was correct.

Finishing her food, she takes off to her room. Still craving for something sweet, but she was exhausted, she didn't want to do anything but rest and sleep, no homework, no nothing, even if she got in trouble for it.

Laying down after changing her outfit, she browsed through her phone, accidentally opening and closing apps she wasn't supposed to. Insto was now her least preferable place to pass time after she found out her bully and classmates also had accounts she never recognized until currently.

The screen is abruptly altered and she suddenly rises, seeing the unknown caller ID yet again. She did not want to pick up.

Thwarted, she childishly frowns. Huffing before accepting the call.

"Hello." She mumbled.

"Shut up loopy, why aren't you replying to my messages? You ignoring me!?" She could visualize his temper flaring.

"What messages? I didn't get any." She acted pretentiously, recalling herself blacklisting him, right after she replied to his first texts.

"Oh, I get it. You are ignoring me." He softly declared, declining her answer by cutting off the connection.

Abandoning her in sharp silence.

Her first few epochs at school have been uneasy, tense, although the peace was addicting, it was far unnerving existing without any unpleasant response or jeers, she shouldn't feel remorseful but, somehow it resolves in her pitying him, not her. Was it emotional manipulation? Or was she tripping herself?

He was frowning her way whenever she feigned ignorance, it bothered him, during breaks he would near her only to push shoulders and dismiss her certainty. Whilst classes were going on, she observed him break a pencil from the corner of her eyes, they sat at a place where they both could catch a glimpse of each other, in the middle, a few seats further or less, she on the left, closer to the window and he on the right.

Throughout it all, her lower abdomen was aching, maiming in a horrendous way that meant something bloody.

Quickly she got up, everyone's attention focused on her, moving towards her stunned female teacher, slightly leaning forward and she whispered. "Can I use the bathroom, please?" She pleaded, staring at her with soliciting eyes.

Her teacher thankfully let her, she raced to the washroom, mentally thinking, wishing her menstruation hadn't started. Regardless, she enters the restroom, rushing into a stall and removing her undergarments. To see dark red spots, she groans, whimpering at the sight.

Did she even bring pads?

Quietly, straining an innate smile, she arrived at her classroom, walking to her seat with a lowered gaze, slowly and steadily settling down, involuntarily, internally, cringing. Following this class was lunch break, so she could survive this.

What little time was left in that duration, her eyes were blown wide, lips pressed tight, and her notoriety drifting off. Her complexion dimmed as sharp jolts of pain coursed through her guts, she swallowed her spit more times than she counted, hands on the desk, her index finger squeezing the other, legs kept close and on the edge of her seat. Just subtly grinned when her teacher looked at her weirdly.

Subsequently, prior to any students leaving, she bolted out and disappeared into the hallway. Her bully watching her.

Coming back, appearing so much brighter and soothed, she swiftly took her place, bringing her lunchbox out and prepared to eat her agony away. Chunking on a piece of fried chicken, cold but still good, she softly chews in the noisy classroom, opting to take another bite but stopped herself as someone bought an empty chair in front of her desk and made themselves comfortable.

"You look stupid." He said.

She just peered at him unbothered, putting her meal into her mouth and cutely munching, no more meeting his eyes.

He grimaced in disdain, pushing himself forward, the mental feet of the chair scratching against the floor. He smirked when she stared at him, pleased with grabbing her interest.

"Why aren't you replying to my messages?" He pressured. She shrugged carelessly, darting her eyes around her desk.

"Hmph." He groaned, continuing, "guess you still don't know how to be grateful." He mocked. She promptly got disturbed.

"Yeah, you could return my notebook." She said he threw her a glance, offering her a warning stare.

"If you weren't such a brat, I would." He laughed, maintaining eye contact.

"I'm not the one bullying myself."

"You sure you can just talk back to me? Because last time I checked, I still have your notes and I can destroy them." He challenged, she took the bait without a second thought.

"I'll just tell the teacher you did it." She threw back, carrying on, "I mean how much can they ignore? It wouldn't be the last time you'll do it."

Without any inclination, he shoved her lunch box off the table, spilling the contents on the dirty floor. Strengthening his nasty glare, shoes planted on the surface, eyebrows furrowed and back erect, ready to take a swing at her face if she dared to say another accusing word.

She held her breath, staring at his face, all her classmates noticed their commotion, slowly she looked down at her spilt food, her heart beating loudly in her chest.

"If you so much as to say a word to the teachers about me, I'll end you." He hissed, his voice ringing in the calm room.

She struggled to keep her voice low.

Throwing daggers as he stood up and receded without voicing any foul words, pushing past the confused students who gawked at the scene.



She had horrible cramps the next day.

She took a day of leave, swimming in her blankets, curled up inwards, squirming, curtains were drawn to a complete close, encasing her space in a gloomy glow, tranquil except the tone of the waft, a mildly sweet fragrance roaming in the air, occasional noises of vehicle, the indistinct tune of birds. The girl tossed her blanket, feeling too warm and sluggish. Her eyes were heavy, the lure of unimaginable dreams getting tougher to resist, limbs loosely plonked, hoping to surrender and sleep without a care in the world.

She was startled awake late evening, feebly wiping the drool and gingerly attempting to recollect her last thought, stretching her toes, rubbing her face, and picking her non-functioning self up. In her dreamy state, moving towards her phone to disconnect it from the charger.

The thing she saw first, were five missed calls.

She glanced at the clock, assuming what time she drifted off to sleep, however, the calls were recent, fiddling with her choices, she goes back to bed, to lazy around till tomorrow's doom, but, seems like whoever was calling her weren't so patient.

She received it, somewhat composing herself and activating her mind.

"Hello-"

"Why weren't you at school." His deep voice interrupted hers, she blinked, pushing her lips and pressing the device closer.

"I wasn't feeling well." she honestly answered, stiffly standing in front of her bed.

"Yeah right, like it didn't have to do with what happened yesterday, you told your parents, didn't you?" he senselessly points the finger at her, impeaching her.

"I don't understand what you are talking about, I've been very generous with you since we've met, I haven't gone around telling everyone your bad qualities." she angrily retorted, torso leaning forward, lips tightened, and pulled upwards. Disliking his way of accusing her.

"And you've been shamelessly passing messages over to me by others, you think you have the right to be angry at me?" she calmly explained, mildly pitching her tone up.

"You haven't even given me my-"

"SHUT UP!!" he abruptly yelled on the call, surprising her, biting her lips from saying anything more, she could, but she had to be mature with the immature.

They both didn't say anything. He was breathing heavily she noted.

"First you go ahead and block me, then you have the guts to ignore me like if I'm nothing! You really know how to get on my nerves!" His voice cracked, and he sounded uncharacteristically hurt. "You better unblock me and reply to my messages." he darkly threatened.

"Or else..." she goes still.

Both sat in absolute silence, she was feeling uneasy, repressing the immediate urge to sever their unneeded conversation. Because she didn't feel comfortable nor safe.

"Why didn't you come today," he asked again. She thought twice before opening her bitten lips.

"I... wasn't feeling too good." she tensely replied.

"Aren't you going to ask for my notes?" He sounded like he was giving her an order rather than a stretch of kindness. "N-no... I'm fine, thanks."

"You'll be coming tomorrow, won't you?"

She gulped, wide eyes staring at the calendar, softly responding.

"I'm not sure."

"You won't come tomorrow?" he shamed daze, unconvinced with her uncertainty, now delicately mocking her with a low hostile tone.

"If I'm okay tomorrow, I'll come." she firmly stated.

Even though no words were spoken, she could feel his displeasure.

"Tell me your address." he sternly spoke.

She anxiously considered her few options. Outright telling what he wanted, or being clever about it and cutting the call midway, but he would confront her the very next day.

However, her mom shouts her name and it ended up being the perfect opportunity to say their goodbyes. "Sorry, gotta go now."

She quickly pressed the screen, tacitly stopping the call. Dropping her device and slowly inhaling, thinking over their exchanged words, she feels as though her heart would burst out her ribcage, closing her eyes for a moment, she wobbles her way to her mother.

"There you are! You've been sleeping for long dear, do you want some medicine?"

She declined, mulling over to sit, behaving unusually. Not bound to go unseen by the elder.

"I think I need a new haircut."

It wasn't like she couldn't afford another leave, she could sit all day in her room without worrying what her bully was going to do, irritatingly so, he's turned to online communication when he can't torment her face to face, eye to eye, recycling a loop of misery, designed purely for her. He was going to force her to give him her home address, if he hadn't already made someone vomit it by violence, verbally or physically. 

She already knew what was in store for her, and dreaded it. 

She almost thought of returning midday with an acted performance of a minor stomach ache or anything she could pretend but realized would only be prolonging the inevitable.

She still didn't want to go.

Stiffly sauntering across the stress, unwillingly making her way to school, to remain a prisoner till the noon, steadily increasing her pace, she carried on, heart dreadfully pounding, releasing shallow exhales, her mind figuring all sorts of scenario to toil with, but still the intense urge to just trot back to her dwelling and not take a step out till she feels stable.

As she continued, she fell into disquieting notions. Soon ceased before her loathed destination.

Faking her smile upon catching a familiar face of her teacher, muttering a good morning, and a slight nod. Then resumed her sad walk to class.

She really wanted to turn back.

She didn't want to go.

She couldn't take it.

Impulsively, desperately, she sprinted through the hallway she'd just passed, pushing towards the entrance and booking it. She did not want to stay.

She kept running till she arrived in a remote area. Gasping heavily, gulping her spit to her scorched throat. Her heart still thumping as loudly as possible, the realization of terror sparked up, dread pooling in her stomach.

She had an arduous time breathing. Her chest was hurting, a keen burning sense rippling inside, she felt tears stream down her warm cheeks, she feels awful. She told her mother she'd go to school and not wander off to the city in a fit of distress, her teachers saw her, wouldn't they question and notice her disappearance? Perhaps even call her parents and let them worry.

Even if she did go back, what reason was she going to give? She came back because her stomach was hurting? Because she was scared? Because she didn't want to go.

Considering both truths and lies.

She'd need to calm down first.

TAGGED PEOPLE

@1zzielizzie @survivorofmath

If you wish to be tagged, let me know.

UNHAPPY BULLY

SERIES PART 1-4

Warning: May contain triggering content, bullying, mentions of blood, and other things you might not like. Errors might be present, please don't mind them. Enjoy!

Summary: She's the quiet one, she's the loud one, he's her tormentor, he's her problem at school. He might be obsessed with her.

Word count: 7.4k

Since it was requested and liked, I decided to make a story with almost the same premise, excluding the one-shot material, it's the full package. There's more to come. If you want;)

The more she tries to avoid it, the harder it gets. It's a bittersweet truth.

Subjected to his mean words retained a cynical outcome on her conviction, always glaring at her, smiling at her misery, touching her with intent to hurt, tossing paper balls at her, sometimes pulling her hair If she ever had the tragic coincidence sitting in front of him. Whenever they shared eye contact, she feels as though he is wordlessly disparaging her with his blood-red eyes. For the most part, however, it wasn't physical.

Today, he seemed more competitive.

Sitting in the far back with the other girls, separated by gender, she observes the way her blonde bully perfects his task, hearing her male classmates cheer at the sight, for anything minor or major, she had gotten adjusted. Her teacher returned, a whistleblower hanging from the collar, a small stick he likes to use at his grasp.

The girls beside her quietly laughed, whispering something into each other's ears, some lack shame she presumes.

They tapped her shoulder and gently uttered 'the boys told us to give you this message, Katsuki likes your black underwear.' She ceased, side-eyed her giggling classmate, then pressed her lips together, the humiliation sweeping up her body, she nervously looks back at their teacher, attempting to disregard the dreadful beats of her heart. Thoughts ran rampant in her affected mind, she clenches her fist around her wrist, swallowed her unease when the teacher noticed her.

"Let's see how much you've all improved since the last time, we'll be doing a race test, then throwball test, finally, strength test." He sternly spoke, glancing at his students, some appearing excited, others apprehensive.

"First row, you are up."

The words dulled themselves, the noisy cheers and girls talking tuning out, she just couldn't help but overthink, the most consistent thought being, 'when- how did he see it?' She has been so meticulous in evading him, no boys were allowed in the changing rooms unless someone beguiles, leaked information to disrespect her. It wouldn't be uncharacteristic of her classmates. She briefly looked at the other side, watching the blonde focus on the current race, however, slowly looked her way and smirked, as if he was anticipating her reaction.

She was the one to break away the instant their gaze met, steadily inhaling while she bit on her lips, she attempts to concentrate, hopefully, neglect her pressing notions for a short while, so she doesn't end up butchering her physical test.

"Ok! The last row, you are up!" She rose, jogging behind the girls to catch up, each race consisted of five students, she was up with the gossiping girls and two mean girls who probably knew what colour of underwear she was wearing now. She gulps, slowly taking her place in between them, failing to dismiss the pessimistic feelings, she got in her position, her heartbeat accelerating, she feels like she isn't in the moment when the whistle sounds out and the five of them galloped.

The applause was loud in her ears, shouts and raving she heard of her that managed to bother her. She kept up her pace, in the lead before the black-haired classmate caught up, then she listens to her say. "You suck, black underwear." She teased, quickly running forwards, she grimaced, using her last bit of energy to force herself to move hastily. As they neared the finish line, she sprinted right behind her, both of them now in the same place. It could be a tie if they kept up. She gave her nasty glare, putting all her strength and eventually left the girl behind, securing herself the first place.

She had never won the golden opportunity before, so it came as a pleasant surprise when her teacher cheered and said, "Woah! That's a big improvement, you had come last place, right?" He asked, she nodded, breathing heavily. He patted her and sent them away, then she saw, the shocking look in the girl's grey eyes. Hatred.

"She came first place, okay how did that happen?" She heard them mutter amongst themselves, staring at her as if she had grown another head.

"She must have cheated."

She sat down, pulling her blue water bottle out only to see it empty. Someone... Drank it? She knew exactly who it was. She groaned, thirsty but toiled to keep her temper in check, she leaned back, resting her trembling legs as the adrenaline fades off. Her throat itching for some water.

Wiping the sweat off her eyebrows, exhausted from just the first test, she inspected the boy's competition around the ground, a certain green-haired boy seizing her attention, in the last place, but still pushing with all his might. Small-ish, lean, short, and quirkless, a distant friend from childhood, he's another victim of her bully, known as deku, while she was referred to as loopy, in short, crazy.

"Ok! Last team! You are up."

It was katsuki's turn, she could heed the boy's gaiety already, the blonde pushed past the depleted greenette who didn't say anything and walked back to his seat, even her female classmates smiled, silently interested in seeing him.

"On your marks, get, set, go!!"

The five boys were off, and her bully quickly obtained the lead, the four others wanting to get the first place but Katsuki had already travelled a long distance and they wouldn't reach in time. He was going to win from the very beginning.

The crowd lauded, flaring the guy's ego, he gave a big restrained smile, moving back to his place, with a huge swell of arrogance, settling down in the middle of the restless boys, still celebrating their bets.

"Now then we are done with the racing test, we can go onto the next game, throwball. You'll be divided into two teams, consisting of both boys and girls, gather round, I'll team you up." Everyone got up, thrilled for the match-up, she wasn't too pleased about it, lazily hauling herself as she blended into the mob, observing her teacher evaluate his choice and gripingly put them into wrong teams.

"Team A, Miyamura, shin, Makoto, lolly, rudo, midoriya..." Then he carried on, she didn't get picked in that team, and neither, her bully, she was about to get teamed up with him, wasn't she? This day couldn't get any worse.

"Team B, Bakugo, Rosie, Haru, Asahi, lei, Aiko, Aoi..." Then his wrinkled eyes landed on her, she knew she was doomed.

"And L/n! Ok, we are good to go!"

It had been such an awful experience discussing strategy and arrangement with her bully, he straight up didn't want her in his team, but begrudgingly decided to have her beside him in the middle. She knew she was to be horrible at this, and he was going to hate her more now since he's so obsessed with winning, with victory.

The match began, most of the throws ended up on the blonde's side, and whenever it did head towards her, he would catch it instead, one time, he even hit her on the cheek with his elbow when he caught the ball, it hurt, she started to dislike him even more.

The fierce competition was ongoing, she had thrown a grand total of two times, miraculously, he deliberately plucks her out of place when she had to receive the brown orb, she ended up on her butt at least thrice, and they were in the lead, a few points and it will be over.

Relief had flooded her senses upon thinking the finale, she was expending less awareness when Katsuki yelled her name, and she was met with the ball to the face, disorienting her vision, she stumbled back, gripping her throbbing nose and face, she looked down at her palms and found blood, the dark red liquid slowly drips down her lips, she swallowed, looking at her teacher who rushed towards her before taking her off the field. Everyone stood still, silence engulfing their once clamorous contest.

She suffered a minor nose bleed, got cotton stuffed in her nostril, and had an awkward atmosphere upon entering the classroom, she was expecting someone to tease but none were sneered her way and the rest of the classes went on normally. She hadn't gotten any 'are you okay' either, she doesn't know if she preferred it or not.

Her P.E teacher nearly had a heart attack, one of his statements stuck with her, 'you are so delicate, you need to get strong.' He meant it with good intentions, she had heard that expression from her parents as well. Her bully hadn't backed off from making her day a little less bad by stealing her notes for the upcoming class. If she was caught not possessing her notebook, she's bound to get lectured and punished.

She hated him.

After class, she confronted him.

"Can you give me back my notes?" She vehemently spoke, arms crossed, one leg stuck out, tapping against the floor impatiently.

"Oh, you look ugly with those in your nose." He said, faking an exaggerated disgusted facade.

"Return it back or else..."

He turned towards her, fully facing her with a tough look in his eyes, she returned the gesture, pinching her lips with the way he stood with pride.

"What are you going to do? Report me?" He taunted, leaning inwards, challenging her with a glare.

"Yes, this time to the principal."

He laughed, grumbling, "just for a book?" He tsked, continuing, "you are pathetic."

"No, for everything you've done." She spits back, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Oh! Is that so? What evidence have you got against me? Deku? He won't get in a word, he's a loser, and you are far worse than him." He retorted.

"The principal won't have a reason to deny if I bring my parents into the picture, plus you still have my notebook with you, you haven't returned so it should be proof enough." She responded, not missing the way his lips twitched, his eyes hardening.

"Hey, dude! Why are you keeping us waiting for so long?" His friends shouted from the front of the class, halting at the sight of their friend and his victim, "you want us to leave without you?" They smugly smiled, elbowing each other, then slowly walking out, leaving the both of them to themselves.

"If you say anything to anyone, I'm going to make your life a living hell." He threatened, grabbing her collar and propelling her towards him. "You don't want that, do you?" He ceased for a moment, grinning wide as if he had gotten a brilliant idea, he resumed, "if you want me to stop, maybe we could do a trade."

"No thanks, I know how you are, it's probably not in my interest." She bravely muttered, it irked him, he shoved her away, the smile on his face fading away, "you don't know when to give up, do you?"

He grimaces, shifting back to get his backpack, plopping it on his shoulder, he stared at her maliciously and said.

"If you want your notebook, you gotta have something in return for me."

With that, he left.

She strutted there for a short while, reflecting on her alternatives because no matter what, he somehow manages to outsmart her. Every time.

When her tears were more than her words, her courage less than that of her quirk. She met her bully, with blonde hair, ruddy eyes, and an enlarged ego that seemed to increase tenfold once applause was sent it's way, it was a one-time thing, she was just going to play along with boys her age, perhaps younger since she had no one else, and while most of them were against it, a sweet green-haired boy insisted, holding her hand and bringing her with him.

It was discouraging to be thereafter the severe disagreement, however, she still followed, she was the only girl with four to five chaps.

That day, was the first and last time she was ever going to reside in that group.

They were far rowdier and carefree than her, proudly walking in the street, she and the other boy trailing behind them, and then they stepped inside a convenience store, she had watched them buy stuff, all might items, she observed their smiles upon tearing it open, right outside the shop, grinning in delight.

The blonde kid was far happier than any one of them, denying his now treasured object any spying eyes, protecting it and retrieving it inside his pocket. She felt out of place, for some reason.

Then, they played hero and villain, like any other kid she's seen, she had to be the one rescued, and she oddly delighted that. The green-haired boy was a villain, while the blonde one was a hero, she was the civilian who needed saving. It was a fun pastime, her heart was beating fast, watching the two quarrel, until the greenette got harshly pushed down. She got up and asked him if he was okay, it did not please the others.

"You are supposed to ask me if I'm okay, not him!" The blonde sneered at her, she frowned, lowering her gaze, muttering, "was I supposed to? But you weren't hurt." She innocently replied, "even villains are humans like us, they get hurt too, you know."

"Do you have a crush on deku or something? Because you sound stupid." He argued, she shared brief eye contact with the kid, a sad expression now on her small face.

She doesn't know what to say.

"I think I like him more." She hesitantly answered, "you don't know how a hero should act, they are never mean to anyone."

It bothered him.

Then came a hard shove.

That was what she recalled, seeing the all might plushie at the store, safely tugged at the corner, almost gone, the shop had a handful of customers at this time, nowadays, finding hero merch was common, and it got a lot of attention and profit. All might has never been her favourite, not after her mind associated that bitter memory with meeting her bully, then the green-haired boy, Deku, she never got herself to know him, maybe she was upset, angry with how things flipped upside down. Or she just resented him for suffering around those mean kids, it made her sad thinking about him, two of kacchan's victims.

"Oh! um..." she faced the timid voice, finding her greenette classmate standing before her, shying away from direct eye content, she turned away, picking the item from the toy section and prepared to depart, "you're taking that...?" inquired the boy, particularly no feelings stuck out to her, she felt nothing towards him, neutral, leaning a little towards dislike from time to time.

"Yes, did you want it?" she asked, ready to hand it to him, but he hastily disagreed, "n-no! It's fine! I've never seen you here, buying all might stuff..." he awkwardly replied, pressing his lips into a thin line. "I usually don't but because of someone, I have to," she responded.

His eyes light up, and he flashes her a tiny smile, "is it a gift?"

She quickly shook her head, furrowing her eyebrows and narrowing her eyes at the image of having her bully as a kind of friend, "no, I just gotta get it for my notebook." he questioned her with a puzzled look, "as an accessory?" she grinned, faking enthusiasm. She couldn't deal with any queries right now. She tries to leave, but is stopped again, by a curious boy who asked, "are you and kacchan... in a relationship?" she quickly answered, in a bitter tone.

"No." she gave him a brief glance and took off.

'He calls me loopy for a reason, perhaps he is right.'

The next morning, she approached him, demanded her belonging, and got back a crude response, asking for a little something, she had gotten a plushie but, would he even want it? A grown boy who was a bully would want something soft that she went out of her way to get, with her pocket money, to her liking, he wouldn't, a hardened guy like him can't appreciate it.

"Unless you give me something precious of yours, I won't give it back." he arrogantly declared, further irking her, her eyes sting, her throat tightened, and the urge to slap him amplified.

"I don't get it, what do you want?" she mumbled, irritated. As if she would ever willingly hand him her most treasured item with ease.

"Hmm, preferably something black." he shrugged. He knew that she knew what he was talking about, but she acted obliviously. "A mask?"

He moved forward, and softly whispered, "Black underwear loopy, remember that?"

She immediately pushed him back, ignoring his wicked laugh, and sat down, recoiling from stress and anger, glaring at his taunting form, how long can she go without her notes.?

At lunch break, she eagerly requested some of her classmates to lend her their book but, nobody was ready to hand it off and hope for the best, he seriously threatened them not to give her any help?

At last, she stopped in front of her final choice, Deku.

She stopped him as the entire class emptied, even their bully, so it was just the two of them, alone, together, as victims. She halts at his desk, gulping down her concerns.

"Can you lend me your science notebook, I promise I'll return it as soon as possible." she spoke pleadingly, he nervously stared at her, "um..." without hearing his answer, she slouched, speaking a little louder, "don't tell me Katsuki threatened you too?" he bowed his head down, looking up regretfully, confirming, "kacchan's been telling everyone not to help you with anything, but..." he finished, voice latched with sorrow. Their gaze connected, she fought the urge to tear her eyes away from him.

"Is that why you were getting him that plushie...?"

She momentarily ceased, thinking it through, then gently uttered.

"I wasn't thinking about it, I just bought it impulsively. Besides, not that he will return my notes either way, even if I gave it to him before he laughed." she honestly replied, correcting her posture and stepping back. Now aware, even he might not be able to aid her.

"But- you got it for him..." he softly mumbled to himself, lowering his eyes to his plain neat desk, hands gripped in his laps, blinking at his held fist.

"I don't get it, why are you so upset about it?" she mused, observing his expression alter and diffuse. "I-I'm not! I promise, just, do you regret meeting me?" he suddenly surprised her with the query, she watched him shift nervously in his seat, avoiding her eyes like it meant something horrible, "no, I don't. Actually, I don't think I've made amends with you."

He tearfully glanced at her face, wanting her to carry on but she turned her face from him and clutched the straps of her bag in her fingers, saying one last thing before cutting her short conversation with him, "it's okay if you don't wanna help, no problem, I'll see you tomorrow."

She leaves. The sting of guilt doesn't take long to invite itself in.



The school campus is brimming with students, tall, short and alike, striding their merry way home, she was one of them, gaze cast down, attending to the dirt crushing underneath her school shoes, it was breezy for a moment and then it wasn't, the light slowly veering orange. A heavy arm suddenly grabs her neck from behind, prompting her to avert her gaze to the familiar person holding her waterway in a tight squeeze.

"You're coming out rather late, what were you doing with deku?" The grumpy raspy voice of her tormentor sounded near her ear, she shoot him a scowl, about to plop his arm back to his side, however, he resettled his grasp and further leaned over to her cheeks.

"You could have my notes if you are so desperate." He mocked, snickering at her miserable endeavour.

"Yeah sure, why don't you just give me my notebook back." She acknowledged.

"What if I burned it and threw it away, you still want it back?" He muttered, drawing closer to her, his arm now slithering to her waist, just low enough, clasping her hipbone, perking up at her startled reaction.

Without saying anything, she ripped off his hand, removed it from her body and jabbed it to his left side, rejecting his terrorizing grimace, quickly stepping away from his reach, ambling towards the entrance.

"If you are not going to tell me then I'm going to ruin it, and I won't give you mine either, not like anyone else is going to entrust their belongings to you." He shouted, knowing where to pull her strings.

Even though she wouldn't admit it, she needed it before tomorrow.

She thinks for a quick duration, examining for any tell-tale signs of dishonesty or animosity, she forced herself to oblige, she couldn't get reprimanded for something fixable. Hesitantly, she speaks up.

"Fine." She swiftly made her way towards him, defensively folding her arms near her chest and disapprovingly staring at his arrogant face.

"What's your deal with that nerd?"

"I asked him if he would give me his notes, that's all, plus we met at a shop yesterday, nothing happened, I was just looking for something to buy." She responds.

He doubtingly peers, soaking in the slightest shift in her movement, her face, and his gut told him she wasn't lying right under his nose, he hums, pulling his bag off his shoulder, he quickly takes his book out, hands it to her, not before lifting out her reach.

"You better not damage it, or pour any drop of water, juice, anything, think you can do that?" He boasts, chancing to get an 'aye' out of her lips. She frigidly nods, lips tightened.

He smiles, content with his plan.

"Good. You better come to school tomorrow, don't even try to get me into trouble for getting absent with my notes."

"Okay! Geez, you have too many restrictions on your list, why the demand?"

"You should know who's in control right now, you say anything more and I'll snatch it back." She silently groans, mentally mourning her desperate decisions.

Her room reeked of jasmine. Denser in the centre of her space, her bed still unmade, curtains half drawn and her worn clothes thrown on her stool, she sat down on the comfy mattress, drawing out a relieved sigh, she inspected her sloppy area.

Suddenly standing up to view the book on her study table, she didn't notice it before, but his notebook oddly smelled like caramel, a little bit of burnt sugar, and an unidentified fragrance she couldn't pinpoint, was it apples? Or perhaps it was a men's cologne.

Seeing her phone, she instantly kept it back into its original position, interested in checking on the latest news about recent incidents, unfortunately, as soon as she opened it, she saw a lot of messages on her insto and reluctantly decided to hold off her mundane endeavour.

As she tasks herself to answer, she finds a few accounts of her classmates, and then it leads to her curiosity heightening and ripening, perceiving their cringe profile and caption, in the end, she managed to unearth one shocking discovery.

Her bully had an account.

She couldn't negate the familiarity between him and her hypersensitive torturer, it had to be him, no posts were made, just a simple affidavit to show his personality, she wants to bet his side-bubbies did this for him, but there's always a possibility of being false. Most of her classmates were following him, except her, and her distant friend.

Maybe he was dared to make an account- there's no way he did it out of his own will.

KATSUKI BAKUGO IS NOW FOLLOWING YOU. 1 SEC AGO.

Her eyes grow wide.

She receives the notification before a request to message, she wildly couldn't approve his follow petition, she could block him. Even if that sounds harsh, he's committed worse. Sadly for her, he is just going to afflict her more misery if she doesn't.

The proclamation reads, 'follow me back loser, you don't forget to bring my notebook tomorrow if you don't return it, I'm going to kill you.' He cared more about his paper tablet than her feelings. She stiffly hovers over the button, her thumb slightly trembling, stare trained on the smirking face of her bully, his picture confirmed it.

It was him.

Hesitantly her fingers tapped on the letters, erasing her sentence twice, rephrasing it properly in case he assumes it wrongly, the entire time, she doesn't realise she was holding her breath, chewing on her lips, reading her memo thrice, she sends it.

She accepted to follow him back and then blacklisted him. She couldn't see his messages and it was better that way.

Besides, not that he will care.

About to retire from her device to freshen up, disregard and forgive, she gets an unknown call, she immediately rejects it, standing up to close her curtains. It was likely just a bogus call.

Now adorned in soft clothes, she plops on her chair, her phone on mute, prepared to relax and binge-watch videos, but her mother shouting for her presence downstairs had compelled her to put her idea on wait again. She internally groans, carrying herself towards her mother's voice.

She retreated to her dull space after a tough while had breezed by, mildly annoyed but still had a soft tint in her eyes, grabbing her gadget to take pictures of her bully's notes since she doesn't feel like writing and it being impossible jot it down in a single day, she chose to print it out the next morning before school. She opened the slab, gently turning the papers and observing his rather neat handwriting, too elegant for a fella like him. She was astonished.

At unlocking her golden covered phone, several unknown calls had been made to her number, she got uneasy. Checking it prior to making a quick call to know who was trying to get a hold of her. She bought it to her right ear, nervously surveying her entire room as the call begins to drag on.

Until a firm stern voice startled her senses.

"Why didn't you pick up earlier?"

She knew who it was just by the tone of his voice, low, raspy, and an angered portrayal of him already playing inside her head.

She spoke.

"I didn't know it was you." She defended, her legs glued to the floor as she stiffly tried to think ahead, bitting her lips for reassurance.

He didn't answer.

"So- how did you get my number?" She anxiously inquired, glancing at the walls, anything her gaze landed on. She needed some sort of closure, her heart was slowly starting to pound faster.

"Deku gave it." He replied in a single breath, his line on the call was oddly quiet.

She looked at her clock, it was already past nine, was he a late sleeper?

"It's late, I'll hang up now. Bye." She sheepishly uttered, quickly tapping the red button and moving into her chair. She concludes with how different he sounded.

The next sunrise, she woke up late.

She didn't concern herself, at first.

Then recollected her plan to print his notebook just in case, then came her frenzied rush, unfortunately, she had less time to spare and ran out the door with her mother screaming to have breakfast, she sprinted, legs shaky and adrenaline coursing through her blood, breaths short and quick, inhaling through her mouth, her dry uniform dampen with sweat.

Jogging hastily at the scenery of her destination, she galloped across the deserted surface, dismissing the prying stares by her classmates, already in class and seated by the window. She stopped in front of her classroom door just on cue for the bell to ring and signal their impending lot. She collapsed, only to sit straight up and anxiously rampage her bag's contents.

Fishing out the notebook.

Searching it to see if it was the correct one.

It was, she could pass it over during lunch break. The problem was, approaching him willing, after the tactics he pulled on her, she's uncertain, cautious, careful, she shouldn't let him take advantage of her meek nature but, when their eyes connect and he glares with potent bitterness, her heart halts, and the air captive inside her lungs. He was intimidating.

She avoided him, solely for that rationale.

Part of her did not want to admit, she was frightened.

Instead of delivering it to him herself, she begged one of his side-buddies to do it in her cause, and he strangely consented, muttering her thanks and departing with the notebook. She grew more sentimental over it than her bully.

Positive this subsisting to be the last time she had to repay anything of his.

Besides, he was probably enraged she arrived later than sooner and was adamant about teaching her a lesson via a harsh glint, she's subconsciously made a comparison to him being moody vs his usual temper, pondering the same thing upon dropping down on her seat and getting a candy bar out of her pocket. In a hurry, she left her lunch box as well, and she didn't have breakfast either, so this was much she could afford with her current pocket money.

Students were present with her, just her bully and his friends were missing, breaks were her least and most favourite time of the day, it is also when her heckler was picky on her.

In the back seat, her green-haired friend shyly peeks at her figure, his hand grasping a pen and words neatly in scribbled. Wishing to talk with her, but decked not to.

And his intuition was right about it.

Entered their childhood bully with hands stuffed in his pockets. His buddies eluded from his side, standing straight as he loomed over the spirited female, immediately glancing up to stare at him, he lours, deferentially uttering.

"Why didn't you come to give me my notes huh? Are you that ungrateful?" He narrowed his scarlet eyes, furrowing his cream coloured eyebrows.

"I bet you are, didn't even say a word of gratitude after I humbly gave my help to you. You thankless brat." He scornfully ridiculed her, the girl took no intuitive to respond, drinking in his words, admitting mentally, he was right, she didn't thank him. Silence followed.

It was tense for a long moment.

She opened her lips and said.

"Thank you." She wasn't as prideful as him, and it didn't seize much out of her to say something appreciative.

He appeared taken aback, however, his hardened expression endured, he let out a disgruntled sigh, still glaring at her being.

Watching her without saying anything.

"Hmph. Loser." Finally, he mouthed, showing her his back and fled.

Her timid friend had taken note of everything unusual, but simply looked down and dismissed his longing to communicate.

But still, his gaze lingered around her.



School had ended, and she arrived home early, stomach protesting for some delicious contents, without having done anything she normally does after coming home, she strode towards the kitchen and opened the fridge. To find vegetables and none of her delightfully treats, she plopped down, upset with her spotting. "Oh you are home so quickly, you must be hungry." Her mom mocked behind her.

She internally mourned, speaking without thinking, "I am, I had to go without breakfast because I borrowed a notebook from someone troublesome." She frankly confessed.

"Why is that? You weren't absent for at least a week." Her mother remarked, walking towards the counter to prepare her daughter's belated breakfast.

"Hmm. This person insisted on giving me their notes and also demanded I give them back in time."

"Sounds like someone troubled."

She chuckled, sounding in agreement.

"I don't want you staying with anyone with bad influence, you hear me? Teenagers and alike are pretty rowdy these days." Her mother said, keeping the filled plate beside her daughter.

"That's an understatement."

"Well, you know better than me, don't remain in a bad friend group if it isn't for you."

She nodded, finding nothing wrong with the elder's worries. Besides, she was correct.

Finishing her food, she takes off to her room. Still craving for something sweet, but she was exhausted, she didn't want to do anything but rest and sleep, no homework, no nothing, even if she got in trouble for it.

Laying down after changing her outfit, she browsed through her phone, accidentally opening and closing apps she wasn't supposed to. Insto was now her least preferable place to pass time after she found out her bully and classmates also had accounts she never recognized until currently.

The screen is abruptly altered and she suddenly rises, seeing the unknown caller ID yet again. She did not want to pick up.

Thwarted, she childishly frowns. Huffing before accepting the call.

"Hello." She mumbled.

"Shut up loopy, why aren't you replying to my messages? You ignoring me!?" She could visualize his temper flaring.

"What messages? I didn't get any." She acted pretentiously, recalling herself blacklisting him, right after she replied to his first texts.

"Oh, I get it. You are ignoring me." He softly declared, declining her answer by cutting off the connection.

Abandoning her in sharp silence.

Her first few epochs at school have been uneasy, tense, although the peace was addicting, it was far unnerving existing without any unpleasant response or jeers, she shouldn't feel remorseful but, somehow it resolves in her pitying him, not her. Was it emotional manipulation? Or was she tripping herself?

He was frowning her way whenever she feigned ignorance, it bothered him, during breaks he would near her only to push shoulders and dismiss her certainty. Whilst classes were going on, she observed him break a pencil from the corner of her eyes, they sat at a place where they both could catch a glimpse of each other, in the middle, a few seats further or less, she on the left, closer to the window and he on the right.

Throughout it all, her lower abdomen was aching, maiming in a horrendous way that meant something bloody.

Quickly she got up, everyone's attention focused on her, moving towards her stunned female teacher, slightly leaning forward and she whispered. "Can I use the bathroom, please?" She pleaded, staring at her with soliciting eyes.

Her teacher thankfully let her, she raced to the washroom, mentally thinking, wishing her menstruation hadn't started. Regardless, she enters the restroom, rushing into a stall and removing her undergarments. To see dark red spots, she groans, whimpering at the sight.

Did she even bring pads?

Quietly, straining an innate smile, she arrived at her classroom, walking to her seat with a lowered gaze, slowly and steadily settling down, involuntarily, internally, cringing. Following this class was lunch break, so she could survive this.

What little time was left in that duration, her eyes were blown wide, lips pressed tight, and her notoriety drifting off. Her complexion dimmed as sharp jolts of pain coursed through her guts, she swallowed her spit more times than she counted, hands on the desk, her index finger squeezing the other, legs kept close and on the edge of her seat. Just subtly grinned when her teacher looked at her weirdly.

Subsequently, prior to any students leaving, she bolted out and disappeared into the hallway. Her bully watching her.

Coming back, appearing so much brighter and soothed, she swiftly took her place, bringing her lunchbox out and prepared to eat her agony away. Chunking on a piece of fried chicken, cold but still good, she softly chews in the noisy classroom, opting to take another bite but stopped herself as someone bought an empty chair in front of her desk and made themselves comfortable.

"You look stupid." He said.

She just peered at him unbothered, putting her meal into her mouth and cutely munching, no more meeting his eyes.

He grimaced in disdain, pushing himself forward, the mental feet of the chair scratching against the floor. He smirked when she stared at him, pleased with grabbing her interest.

"Why aren't you replying to my messages?" He pressured. She shrugged carelessly, darting her eyes around her desk.

"Hmph." He groaned, continuing, "guess you still don't know how to be grateful." He mocked. She promptly got disturbed.

"Yeah, you could return my notebook." She said he threw her a glance, offering her a warning stare.

"If you weren't such a brat, I would." He laughed, maintaining eye contact.

"I'm not the one bullying myself."

"You sure you can just talk back to me? Because last time I checked, I still have your notes and I can destroy them." He challenged, she took the bait without a second thought.

"I'll just tell the teacher you did it." She threw back, carrying on, "I mean how much can they ignore? It wouldn't be the last time you'll do it."

Without any inclination, he shoved her lunch box off the table, spilling the contents on the dirty floor. Strengthening his nasty glare, shoes planted on the surface, eyebrows furrowed and back erect, ready to take a swing at her face if she dared to say another accusing word.

She held her breath, staring at his face, all her classmates noticed their commotion, slowly she looked down at her spilt food, her heart beating loudly in her chest.

"If you so much as to say a word to the teachers about me, I'll end you." He hissed, his voice ringing in the calm room.

She struggled to keep her voice low.

Throwing daggers as he stood up and receded without voicing any foul words, pushing past the confused students who gawked at the scene.



She had horrible cramps the next day.

She took a day of leave, swimming in her blankets, curled up inwards, squirming, curtains were drawn to a complete close, encasing her space in a gloomy glow, tranquil except the tone of the waft, a mildly sweet fragrance roaming in the air, occasional noises of vehicle, the indistinct tune of birds. The girl tossed her blanket, feeling too warm and sluggish. Her eyes were heavy, the lure of unimaginable dreams getting tougher to resist, limbs loosely plonked, hoping to surrender and sleep without a care in the world.

She was startled awake late evening, feebly wiping the drool and gingerly attempting to recollect her last thought, stretching her toes, rubbing her face, and picking her non-functioning self up. In her dreamy state, moving towards her phone to disconnect it from the charger.

The thing she saw first, were five missed calls.

She glanced at the clock, assuming what time she drifted off to sleep, however, the calls were recent, fiddling with her choices, she goes back to bed, to lazy around till tomorrow's doom, but, seems like whoever was calling her weren't so patient.

She received it, somewhat composing herself and activating her mind.

"Hello-"

"Why weren't you at school." His deep voice interrupted hers, she blinked, pushing her lips and pressing the device closer.

"I wasn't feeling well." she honestly answered, stiffly standing in front of her bed.

"Yeah right, like it didn't have to do with what happened yesterday, you told your parents, didn't you?" he senselessly points the finger at her, impeaching her.

"I don't understand what you are talking about, I've been very generous with you since we've met, I haven't gone around telling everyone your bad qualities." she angrily retorted, torso leaning forward, lips tightened, and pulled upwards. Disliking his way of accusing her.

"And you've been shamelessly passing messages over to me by others, you think you have the right to be angry at me?" she calmly explained, mildly pitching her tone up.

"You haven't even given me my-"

"SHUT UP!!" he abruptly yelled on the call, surprising her, biting her lips from saying anything more, she could, but she had to be mature with the immature.

They both didn't say anything. He was breathing heavily she noted.

"First you go ahead and block me, then you have the guts to ignore me like if I'm nothing! You really know how to get on my nerves!" His voice cracked, and he sounded uncharacteristically hurt. "You better unblock me and reply to my messages." he darkly threatened.

"Or else..." she goes still.

Both sat in absolute silence, she was feeling uneasy, repressing the immediate urge to sever their unneeded conversation. Because she didn't feel comfortable nor safe.

"Why didn't you come today," he asked again. She thought twice before opening her bitten lips.

"I... wasn't feeling too good." she tensely replied.

"Aren't you going to ask for my notes?" He sounded like he was giving her an order rather than a stretch of kindness. "N-no... I'm fine, thanks."

"You'll be coming tomorrow, won't you?"

She gulped, wide eyes staring at the calendar, softly responding.

"I'm not sure."

"You won't come tomorrow?" he shamed daze, unconvinced with her uncertainty, now delicately mocking her with a low hostile tone.

"If I'm okay tomorrow, I'll come." she firmly stated.

Even though no words were spoken, she could feel his displeasure.

"Tell me your address." he sternly spoke.

She anxiously considered her few options. Outright telling what he wanted, or being clever about it and cutting the call midway, but he would confront her the very next day.

However, her mom shouts her name and it ended up being the perfect opportunity to say their goodbyes. "Sorry, gotta go now."

She quickly pressed the screen, tacitly stopping the call. Dropping her device and slowly inhaling, thinking over their exchanged words, she feels as though her heart would burst out her ribcage, closing her eyes for a moment, she wobbles her way to her mother.

"There you are! You've been sleeping for long dear, do you want some medicine?"

She declined, mulling over to sit, behaving unusually. Not bound to go unseen by the elder.

"I think I need a new haircut."

It wasn't like she couldn't afford another leave, she could sit all day in her room without worrying what her bully was going to do, irritatingly so, he's turned to online communication when he can't torment her face to face, eye to eye, recycling a loop of misery, designed purely for her. He was going to force her to give him her home address, if he hadn't already made someone vomit it by violence, verbally or physically. 

She already knew what was in store for her, and dreaded it. 

She almost thought of returning midday with an acted performance of a minor stomach ache or anything she could pretend but realized would only be prolonging the inevitable.

She still didn't want to go.

Stiffly sauntering across the stress, unwillingly making her way to school, to remain a prisoner till the noon, steadily increasing her pace, she carried on, heart dreadfully pounding, releasing shallow exhales, her mind figuring all sorts of scenario to toil with, but still the intense urge to just trot back to her dwelling and not take a step out till she feels stable.

As she continued, she fell into disquieting notions. Soon ceased before her loathed destination.

Faking her smile upon catching a familiar face of her teacher, muttering a good morning, and a slight nod. Then resumed her sad walk to class.

She really wanted to turn back.

She didn't want to go.

She couldn't take it.

Impulsively, desperately, she sprinted through the hallway she'd just passed, pushing towards the entrance and booking it. She did not want to stay.

She kept running till she arrived in a remote area. Gasping heavily, gulping her spit to her scorched throat. Her heart still thumping as loudly as possible, the realization of terror sparked up, dread pooling in her stomach.

She had an arduous time breathing. Her chest was hurting, a keen burning sense rippling inside, she felt tears stream down her warm cheeks, she feels awful. She told her mother she'd go to school and not wander off to the city in a fit of distress, her teachers saw her, wouldn't they question and notice her disappearance? Perhaps even call her parents and let them worry.

Even if she did go back, what reason was she going to give? She came back because her stomach was hurting? Because she was scared? Because she didn't want to go.

Considering both truths and lies.

She'd need to calm down first.

TAGGED PEOPLE

@1zzielizzie @survivorofmath

If you wish to be tagged, let me know.

↳ a very yakuza christmas

summary. injured after an ambush from a rival gang, Mikey finds himself stranded on a local farm with a girl who shows him the true meaning of this holiday season and what it means to finally let all his walls down.

pairings. bonten!mikey x farmer!reader + all of bonten makes an appearance

genre. hallmark christmas feel good romance, kinda a reversed crash landing on you 

overall warnings. fluff, angst, explicit sex, language, mentions of weapons, mild crack, injuries, mention of strippers, Bonten works on a farm, suggestive content, canon typical violence, off screen death, male objectification, romance, christmas themes 

a/n. I wanted to end this year with something fluffy and sweet as a big thanks to all of you for sticking around with my little writing blog <3 ALSO! a huge wet kith to my irl sibling @neetro for helping me give life to this idea bc mikey deserves his happily ever. merry christmas, everyone 💓 (psst feedback and reblogs are very much appreciated!)

wc. ~ 27,000+

listen to. i need you christmas- jonas brothers • luxurious - gwen stefani • here i am again - yerin baek

Bastards.

A false lead. That was what found the stoic, powerful and indomitable Sano Manjiro in the middle of a 30 men free-for-all; blows, punches and kicks delivered swiftly but not swift enough that their faces blended in a mash of jeers and leers. His limbs weighed tiredly by his side, and despite how much he tried to reign in his exhaustion, the Bonten leader was fatigued from the stream of violence that just would not stop.

They had cornered him at his weakest, and he could tell how the fight would turn out—most likely with a mortal wound on his end and these bastards going scot-free, bragging about how the mythical unstoppable Bonten leader had folded to a bunch of small town hillbillies.

“He puts up one hell of a fight, huh,” one of the country hicks chortled, swiping some blood from his broken nose where Mikey had managed to land a debilitating blow. “Let’s sweep him up, boys.”

Attacking him all at once, Mikey felt for the first time in his life a powerlessness that pervaded every pore in his body; not even being surrounded by a hundred men with only Draken at his side during his delinquent days could match to the bleakness he was currently experiencing.

The last thing he felt before white-hot pain lanced through his head was a glob of spittle hacked onto his face, dripping down his swollen eyes that slipped shut on their own as the world around him started to fade into black.

Let’s finish him.

Keep reading

open season thirsts [9/?] /// Iwaizumi x f!Reader x Oikawa (18+)

Request: This is cringe so i understand if u ignore this lmao. Mafia!iwakawa found out that reader is kidnapped by their enemies

A/N: Dude I write anime character reader insert fanfiction, I’ve transcended cringe at this point. BUT I hope it’s cool I angled it a bit darker bc I’m nasty and awful :.)

Setup: reader is the daughter of the former family head, Oikawa’s the current boss, and Iwa’s his right hand man. You’re all childhood friends (Oikawa was your father’s protege before his retirement).

Tags/warnings: um…mafia, kidnapping, genre-appropriate violence/blood/death/murder (not reader), yandere/possessive tendencies, patronizing treatment, restraints/gag/blindfold, mentions of crying, “princess”, ‘family’ just refers to the organization (no one is related other than reader and her father), all characters are adults

“Do you think she’ll be crying?”

There’s blood on the floor. Iwaizumi shifts where he’s crouching so that the edge of his shoe doesn’t touch it—bloodstains are such a pain to get out of leather. “What?”

“I mean, when we find her.” Oikawa nudges the body over with one hand and inspects the blank, glassy look pasted over the man’s face. “This one’s done. I think we’re good here.”

Iwaizumi straightens, throwing a cold glance down to confirm before turning back to his partner. “We should be thorough. This wouldn’t’ve happened if there weren’t rats running around in the first place—and what the hell does that mean? Why would she be crying?”

“Don’t you think she might be scared? She’s such a crybaby.”

Oikawa’s running fingers through his hair now to slick back the strands that fell out of place during the struggle, smoothing his hands down the pressed fabric of his suit to flatten out any stray wrinkles, and Iwaizumi recognizes the gestures against his will. Oikawa’s preening—freshening himself up so he looks good when they find you. God forbid the moron look anything less than his best in front of you, even though you’ve probably been tied to a chair for the better part of a week and you won’t give a fuck what they look like as long as they’re cutting the ropes off.

Not that Iwaizumi can really blame him. Yes, Oikawa’s a vain bastard, but Iwaizumi feels it too—the nervousness, this excitement at the thought of seeing you again. It’s been four months since you insisted on leaving the compound to live independently—and didn’t they tell you it was going to end badly? Iwaizumi spent weeks trying to convince you that it was stupid to play pretend at a normal life (“come on princess, you know your father wants you to stay here, you know it’s not safe”), but you just had to pack your bags in the middle of the night and leave the family behind. You’ve always been headstrong. Neither of them want you to go through any hardship, but at least this time maybe you’ll have learned your lesson. Maybe this was for the best.

Well…it’s a lot easier for him to see it that way when he’s standing ankle deep in the bodies of the people who stole you. As much as Iwaizumi wants to have you back now, it’ll have to wait until he’s sure that every single one of your kidnappers is dead.

“She’s not a crybaby. Not anymore,” he says. It’s true that you used to cry whenever you were scared as a kid, and it didn’t help that as the former boss’s daughter you had plenty to be scared of. Iwaizumi has fond memories of wiping your tears away and telling you it was going to be alright after your father reprimanded you for something you did wrong, and it doesn’t surprise him that Oikawa feels the same way. You’ve always been so hard to pin down—always slipping up, always talking back—except when you’re crying. Back then, it was the closest you ever came to relying on the two of them.

But that was a long time ago. You’ve toughened up since you were little. It’s been years since Iwaizumi’s seen you cry.

“I guess,” Oikawa whines, stepping smoothly over another man lying prone on the floor as he makes his way to the backroom where you’re being kept. “But don’t you miss it? She was so cute back then.”

“She’s still…” Iwaizumi trails off, wondering if you can hear them through the locked door between you. If your eardrums are undamaged from the gunshots (Iwaizumi made sure to use a silencer, but you’re sensitive), you’ll be pissed if you hear him call you cute. “…She’ll be happy to see us either way. She’s been here for days.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“Then let’s hurry up and get it over with.”

One of the men on the ground is making a kind of…gurgling sound, and Oikawa kneels halfway down to make sure he’s not going to get back up, peeling back the edge of the bomber jacket the man is wearing and revealing a red stain spreading out from behind his ribs. “This is the last one. Still holding on, but he’ll bleed out by the time we take her out of here.”

“Stand back,” Iwaizumi says flatly, and as soon as Oikawa is out of range, a final gunshot cracks through the room to finish the dying man off.

“Oh—putting him out of his misery, are we? How generous.”

“Not generous. Impatient.”

Iwaizumi scans the room again, counting the bodies, checking for any last subtle breaths. There’s none. The door to the backroom is locked from the outside only—clearly your kidnappers were more concerned about you escaping than the possibility of anyone getting through the small army of guards outside the door. He only has to flip the lock and then the handle is yielding under his grip.

And it’s just like he pictured it. You’re tied to a chair, black cords looping around your ankles and your waist and your wrists and binding you to the wood. You look, predictably, like you’ve been wearing the same clothes for a week, but still—even with the greasy hair, even with the mussed clothing, even with your face obscured by a wad of fabric gagged into your mouth and a blindfold—Iwaizumi can’t help the rush of relief that comes from seeing you alive. And you’re safe, too. Now that they’re here for you.

Oikawa goes to you first, and Iwaizumi lets him. Oikawa’s the family head so he’s the first one who gets to touch you. Iwaizumi knows that’s how it is. Oikawa bends down next to you and when his hands go to undo the gag first instead of the ropes or the blindfold, Iwaizumi rolls his eyes privately. Fuck, how badly does the idiot want to see her cry?

The fabric is soaked with spit when Oikawa pulls it out of your mouth—you must have been trying to talk with it in. Maybe you were screaming. Iwaizumi wishes idly that he’d left some of the men outside alive—it could have been slower, he could have really made it hurt—but the wave of fury passes. It’s done. You’re fine. You’re safe now.

You open and close your jaw a bit, stretching out the sore muscles, and when you finally speak your voice is hoarse from a combination of neglect and likely dehydration. “Hajime? T—Tooru? It’s…you, right?”

“How did you know?” Oikawa pouts.

“I, um, heard the shots…I know what your gun sounds like—” Oikawa’s thumb rubs lightly over your cheek as you’re talking (probably subconscious, Iwaizumi doubts he even knows he’s doing it) and you jerk away from his hand. “Don’t touch me like that! You smell like blood.”

“Oh…I’m sorry,” Oikawa laughs softly, not moving his hand from your face. You’re still blindfolded, but he’s staring at you anyway in pure rapture. The wriggly movements of your body against the rope tell Iwaizumi that you’re waiting for them to untie you, but he holds back—considering the way Oikawa’s drinking in this image of you, it seems like he wants to savor this moment a little longer. Iwaizumi can’t say he doesn’t understand.

Really, it’s just that you’re usually so hard to pin down.

“Are you—aren’t you going to untie me?” Your voice sounds a little nervous now. Iwaizumi’s getting tired of waiting for his turn to touch—he kneels next to you, across from Oikawa, and laces his fingers into yours, pulling your hand awkwardly away from the place where it’s still tied to the arm of the chair. “—Hajime? Is that you?”

“Just give us a minute, princess,” he breathes, folding each finger down until your smaller hand is swallowed up in his grip.

“Were you scared?” Oikawa asks, and Iwaizumi wonders if it’s as obvious to you as it is to him that part of Oikawa wants the answer to be yes.

“No, um…” You’re turning your head blindly between the two of them, obviously trying to sort out whose hand is whose—who’s touching you, and where—but does it really matter? As long as it’s one of them? “I wasn’t. Not really. I…I knew you would come.”

“Good girl, good girl.” Oikawa’s hand tilts your chin up. “Are you ready to come home then? If you can admit it, I’ll untie you.”

“Come on…” It doesn’t feel quite right to hold you hostage like this, but then again Iwaizumi’s lost his sense of what right is when it comes to you. Maybe love isn’t supposed to be this obsessive, but by now it’s been so long that neither of them can tell the difference. Can you really fault them for that?

“It’s okay, Hajime, um—I’m ready.” You swallow roughly, turning back to where you think Oikawa is stroking your face. “Tooru…can I go back to the compound? I want to…go back…”

“You want us to take you back,” Oikawa corrects, cupping your cheek, careful all the time not to let the streak of blood on his hand meet your skin. “You want to come home.”

𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐞

— bonten!sano manjirou x reader x haruchiyo sanzu

contains smut ((🔞)) and dark themes || 7k+ wc.

tw violence/gore, drug use, yandere undertones, noncon, degradation, dacryphilia, toxic/unhealthy relationships, physical violence/choking, hair-pulling, exhibitionism, size kink, facefucking, mild corruption kink, lmk if i missed anything

// mikey keeps you around because he loves you. he thinks you’re the epitome of undeniable purity, with pretty angel wings like ivory — soft and dewy, most naive to the touch and begging to be held and cherished. but it’s too bad, really, because he only knows how to take.

// you think he’s got you on borrowed time; haruchiyo thinks he knows what’s best for his dearest leader.

note: please read the warnings carefully! this is a whole lot darker than what i usually write ๑´ ³`)ﾉ it’s the first part of a multi-part series i’m planning on writing, idk just seeing where this goes at the moment

if you read for mikey there’s a lot of smut, if you read for chiyo there’s just… a lot of him hating on you <3 but it won’t stay that way hehe

snapshot ;

Have you heard of this saying? Only a diamond can cut another diamond. Mikey glances at your doll-like face and figures there are two stuffed right inside your eye sockets — those ‘pretty eyes’ that Haruchiyo warned would one day be gouged out — to match the toughened gem of his heart. People think of him as the grim reaper with that malignant glint in his eyes, the last sight ghosting behind their eyelids before their lives were extinguished without a care or a hint of sanity; but truth be told, even the grim reaper has his soft underbelly.

∗

His body prickles all over and the only way Haruchiyo knows to fix it is to destroy destroy destroy — but when he settles for his unsuspecting victim for the night, a young maiden that looks suspiciously similar to you, he can’t help but imagine that it’s your face that he ruins beyond recognition, your cries that flutter like a sweet melody in his ears —

He has all the time in the world.

Your lover, the untouchable Sano Manjirou, is a little rough around the edges.

But if you were to paint a picture of his heart — a vivid, true-to-life picture of his ticking heart — you’d splay every inch of the canvas with brilliant watercolours; make it shine and glimmer pretty, like a chatoyant, tear-shaped crystal sitting numbly in your palm.

And criss-crossed and braided like a twined thread into its crystalline lattice, is a rich rich crimson.

The kind of crimson that’s thick and sticky and warm and won’t go away no matter how many times you put it through the washing machine. Unsalvageable — like the red that flows through every blood vessel in his body, jagged icicles branching out like vines under his skin — promising to one day burst, to splinter his bones and tear his innards to ribbons, should he forsake those dark dark desires of his. And all for what?

To hold him hostage. To shred. To make sure that he stays broken in a world where beauty will only be tarnished.

You can tell that much, because you’ve seen it happening in slow motion, unfurling right before your wide eyes; the gentle, excruciating, deconstruction of a paper crane — the way he fell apart gradually, slowly, the bird’s delicate feathers all crumbling to dust in the wind. That is how he has come to be the indisputable king, the very top of Japan’s worst criminal organisation to date, with his roots dug deep into a life of treachery. That is how you ache, deep and painfully, from the very core of your being, because no matter what you did, it had been inevitable.

He knows them like he knows you — the little voices leeching off the back of his mind whispering tiny, macabre yearning. He used to fight them, used to have outbursts in the middle of the night screaming back at them, used to be so disgusted with himself that he couldn’t even bring himself to confide in your panicked pleas to tell me what’s wrong.

Until the day he got too tired to pluck the little fuckers off, so he left them to thrive on his raw, puckered skin.

Now the soft, beating tissue exists no longer. You’re the only one who’s ever seen his heart in the flesh, despite the rumours that he was born without one. Because he, now rising twenty-seven and no longer the tender boy you once knew, wears apathy like a crown atop his pretty head — cold eyes flickering like a dying flame whenever he blows lightly at the smoke rising from a loaded gun, slinking away in silence only to leave a mangled corpse slumped in the corner of a nondescript alleyway. Left to bleed out. Left to rot.

It’s not rare that he comes home caked in that sticky red that you hate so much. A frown ghosting over his lips, his hair all mussed from the day’s work. Some of the blood’s his, some is not. He looks like a zombie, with a body that’s been hollowed out entirely of its internal organs.

The scene of him stumbling through the doorway has your heart leaping to your throat.

Thin fingers grasp at air, like tendrils stretching across the open space, feeling around until they make contact with your stiffened shoulders. He pulls you in, cages you in his arms without a word, clutching your head in a vice grip and breathing heavily through his mouth — and you’re too scared to ask what happened. No one ever told you how icky blood feels when it’s pressed right up against your cheek or how nauseating the smell of iron can be, he simply let you find out for yourself.

You force your muscles to lean into his touch, nuzzling your head into his chest and fighting the urge to wince. You tell him in a shaky voice that the bath’s ready and he must be tired, isn’t he? and let him stay like this a little longer, squeezing your eyes shut and swallowing hard, so you can tune out his heartbeat pounding so desperately against your head like a dizzying metronome.

So you can somehow pretend that everything’s fine and okay, even though his body count will never stop rising and rising and rising like the swelling summer tide. As if each life stolen by his hands is merely a drop in the ocean of a malice that knows no bounds, knows no satisfaction, no fulfilment.

You wonder, off-handedly, as his nails dig into your scalp, when the time will come when he decides to turn you into one of them.

But what can you do?

You let him caress your cheek, with a bloodied thumb and a hollowness shadowed in those familiar eyes. Somewhere in there is the man you’ve loved since your high school days. You love him. So when he bleeds, so do you — when he bleeds, you’re the only one who’s left to cauterise the wound, the one that never heals, the one that hides beneath the thick membrane of his skin.

But it’s truly a shame he doesn’t bother to pull wool over your eyes anymore. Doesn’t clean up before stepping into the penthouse. Doesn’t make excuses for the chip on his shoulder dripping scarlet. Doesn’t tell you which disobedient pawn he shot in the head today either — but you’ll find out on the news real soon.

∗

Sinking into the porcelain bathtub, you don’t bring up the fact that he’s spoken less than three words to you tonight — even as you rub his back and slather him with the intoxicating scent of lavender and pink roses, little fingers coasting over his pale skin in an effort to coddle him. Your thighs straddle his hips as you massage small circles over the tiny cuts that litter his forearm. He doesn’t get hurt often; only does so on purpose when he feels particularly sadistic and wants to watch his prey struggle before their last breath.

Iridescent bubbles pepper along the curve of your shoulders and reddish bathwater laps at your thighs, with your bare body glistening in the dancing candle light. It’s almost muscle memory at this point — you dip your hands into the water, letting the impurities dissolve into the murky foam soaking your bodies, then squeeze a portion of sweet-smelling soap on your palm, smearing it all over his scalp as your fingers comb through his damp hair. Rinse and repeat — until all visible proof of his bloodlust liquefies into a translucent pink.

The smell of iron hits the air but it’s easier to ignore when the soap bubbles quickly drown it out. Something strange is brewing under his tepid gaze, and you’re none the wiser. Something lurks underneath the shallowness of his breaths, as you lovingly knead your fingers through his silver tresses, and you’re nothing if not oblivious.

You can’t help but hum a little as you reach over to unclog the bathtub, your voice melding with the sound of rushing water and echoing off smooth marbled porcelain walls. Pink and red swirls down the drain like a cyclone; you smile a little as you start to douse him in lukewarm water flowing from the tap, delicate hands coasting over his slick skin. Your movements are natural — doting.

Something is wrong.

He feels an unnameable emotion creeping up on him. Feels his skin start to prickle like fire everywhere your soft fingers ghost over. Feels a compulsion — fed by your little form hovering over his body, bare skin shining with droplets of water, so perfect and so vulnerable, ripe for the taking — so horrible it makes his jaw clench.

He watches you bend over the tub to reach for a towel and feels the raw, aching need to break something.

∗

Your vision has been plundered, stolen — you know this to be the irrevocable truth.

He used to hoist you up in his arms and promise you the world; and you’ve got the world alright. But at what cost? You can only view it through a foggy lens of your own creation — through the mist-soaked glass precipitated from the memories that you will eternally hold of a time when he was sweeter. Gentler. Now he isn’t, not ever. Not unless his praise and his affection is dipped in sleet and rolled over in filth first.

When he drags you by your hair, still dripping and damp from the shower, past the pristine hallways and all the way to his lush bed, you’re sure this little game is about to come to an end.

“You’re so fucking pathetic, you know? I could kill you right now.” He’s livid, eyes clouded with fury when he shoves you onto the pillowy mattress. Why?

“Gonna let my fingers curl ‘round your pretty little neck, so fragile that it’ll snap in a second. You’ll let me, won’t you? Let me take that precious, pathetic life of yours?”

But he wouldn’t. Would he? No. You know he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t — h-he wouldn’t.

“It’s all you’re good for anyway, being my little toy.”

But even so, even so you can’t help the wetness pricking your eyes, the broken sobs that escape from your quivering lips — the cherry red lips that he bites and punctures until they bleed. Why? Why is he being like this? He pushes your knees to your chest, his lithe body bathed in the silver sheen of moonlight. He wastes no time with prep, wrenching a deep cry out of you as his cock breaches your folds painfully, his eyes reduced to cruel slits like rifts cut from a pitch-black void. When he sees the teardrops beading at your lashes his scowl only widens.

Why, why, why?

Stupid and naive — because you were stupid and naive to think that you could be strong for him. You wanted to be strong, stronger than anything, so that you could be his strongest pillar to rely on when the waves came crashing down; so that he didn’t have to rely on hurting others just for his own amusement, so that he could come to you instead — you, who promised him the world as long as he stayed in yours.

But now you see. Through that hideous, fogged-up lens, you see.

It was the vestiges of sentimentality clinging onto his heart, telling him to bide his time before disposing of you for good. Just to use up every single last drop of you. See if your puny life could ever amount to anything worthwhile in his eyes. After all, how could someone like you possibly hold his genuine affection? How could he stare at you with such contempt in his eyes and hiss at you with a tone laden with such coldness, and —

How could he rut his hips against yours so deep it hurts, and still call you his lover?

“The hell you crying for? Thought you loved me enough to take it, huh?” he snarls with his fangs bared, fingers grabbing fistfuls of your hair. When he pulls out and rams back his thick cock back in it feels like he’s snatching the breath away from your very lungs, pulling strangled sobs from you as you’re left helpless to stop him. And no, oh no, since when has his roughness left you feeling so hot? So reciprocative as he grunts a string of insults, so aroused as his rough hands come to pinch at your hardened buds?

Oh no, he’s got you all messed up too, hasn’t he?

But he always fills you up so good — always makes sure you cum so hard that you’re dizzy and drooling onto the silken bedsheets; makes sure that your speech is diminished only to screams and whimpers and cries of his name, pussy ruined with buckets of thick cum oozing out — all messed up for him, just as you should be.

“T-too much too much too much,” you whimper, tiny hands pawing and beating at his chest in a feeble attempt for mercy, only to be slapped away with a deep deep snarl. “‘S too much, Mikey—”

Why can’t you see? Why can’t you see that he needs you? He’s seething when his hand cinches around your throat, fingers wringing volumes of air out of your dented windpipe as you cry out. His nails burrow into the unmarred skin, leaving crescent-shaped indents in their wake. It hurts like hell and your vision’s gone blurry with tears and when you try to claw at his hand he only pins you down with a growl and everything’s gone blurry. Everything about him hurts like hell.

“Whiny little bitch.”

His grip wanes, if only to let the smallest amount of oxygen reach your lungs, as if dead set on squeezing the very life out of your body. His brutal thrusts are unrelenting, cockhead penetrating to a near painful degree the gummy walls of your womb, again and again igniting a rapid heat in your core that only serves to make you spiral further into scatterbrained madness. Everything’s spinning and tunnelling into hues of black and white — if not because of his hand seized around your neck then because he’s fucking you way too good than you deserve.

Your heart feels like it’s about to give out, about to burst into shreds right in front of him, but your body is honest. Gossamer strands of your juices coat his length when he pistons into you, sickening squelches that echo in the room reminding you of your own depravity. When your mouth drops open to moan only raspy cries claw their way out of the sandpaper stuck to the back of your throat. He’s got you trapped by his thighs, locking you in a position that has his cock ramming incessantly against the tiny opening of your cervix, a decadent gleam flashing across his maniacal eyes as he towers over your abused body.

You love him.

Even though he’s not gentle at all. Even though he thinks you’re prettiest when you’re battered and bruised by his hands. Even though he spits in your face when you gasp for air and let out strangled pleas, grinding against your clit harder when you cry in overstimulation and hot tears streak non-stop down the apples of your cheeks.

You’re getting close, and the harder your body thrashes, the harder your walls clamp down on his girth, the meaner he gets. The more he gnaws and tears at your supple skin with his teeth. The faster his twisted affection rears its ugly head, in the colour of withered roses carved like permanent brandings into your body. His body.

“Christ—so fucking tight, baby.” His chest heaves, beads of sweat glittering under the moonlight. “A-ah, fuck—you’re mine, all fucking mine. Say it. Say it, fucking whore.”

“Y-yours, yours, all y-yours,” you rasp, mouth gaping wide as you fight to draw in breath after breath. He bends your boneless, pliant body to his will, forcing your knees to press up further against your shoulders, rutting into you so hard you feel like snapping in half.

One hand relinquishes its grip holding down your wrists only for him to force his fingers through your drool-slicked lips, tracing the ridges of your canines and hooking against the roof of your mouth until they’re drenched in saliva. You wheeze around his digits, letting out gargled cries when his fingers flatten against your tongue.

“All sloppy and wet for me, aren’t you? Should’ve—known—you’re such a whore for my cock. C’mon, say ah, baby. You like this, don’t you? You little whore,” he grates, each word accentuated with a snap of his hips, fingers prodding forcefully at the back of your throat just enough to make you gag and cry harder. You whine and mewl into his fingers, babbling faint agreements as trails of saliva dribble out the edges of your mouth.

Your head’s been stuffed with bales of cotton, clouded with lust-filled haze and a syrupy, golden, animalistic desire to fuck yourself stupid on his leaking cock. He’s panting lightly and silvery strands of hair stick to his forehead and neck, and even in your half-lidded, teary euphoria you’re still captivated by his beauty.

Pretty, pretty, pretty — even when fractured into diluted shards of glass, tiny reflections staring back at you in each one, he’s still the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen on earth.

“Gonna fucking ruin you, and you better enjoy every second of it,” he snarls, flexing his fingers on your neck. You choke on a moan as his grip tightens and tightens, feeling more tears welling up and tumbling down your cheeks. Stop, please, please. You can’t — you can’t take any more! — you’ll snap! you’ll —

Frenzied thoughts rush to fill bottomless gaps in your mind — buzzing like static electricity in your eardrums when your head strains to break free from his iron grip. But the more you struggle the darker your vision gets, the faster you tumble headfirst into sweet excruciating asphyxia, and he revels in it, with a sick sick glitter to his eyes, the same one he gets just before slicing the throats of his wriggling victims.

The bedroom spirals into varied tones of black — you can’t make out his face anymore even as you desperately try to fight off the heaviness shackling your every limb, body thrashing to no avail, your choked cries filling the room as you scour for any sliver, any morsel of air that can scrape through your cinched throat. It’s no good.

He stutters and lets out a long, drawn-out groan, and with a heavy thrust, his warm seed bursts and spills into your insides, filling you up with ropes of white-hot cum. Your eyes roll to the back of your head in response, toes curling as lurid colour flashes behind your eyelids. You’re cumming, you think — there’s so much liquid gushing from your abused cunt that you can’t stop trembling from head to toe, muscles spasming as shadowy blotches start to cloud your vision.

Then it stops.

His cruelty fades obscurely into non-existence. He relents his serpent’s chokehold on your fragile neck. You cough and splutter loudly as at long last your lungs flood with sweet oxygen, grappling to retrieve each and every one of your senses even as the world continues to flicker in and out of view. Every fibre of your body seizes, your fingers twisting the sheets, the abused muscle on your neck contracting and throbbing, with a familiar purple bruise blooming in the shape of his fingers — it won’t be going away in the morning.

His taunts ring upon deaf ears as your hands fly up to clutch your neck in pain. Jagged coughs rack your chest, legs still quivering in the afterglow of your orgasm, whitish fluid marking an irreparable mess between your thighs. A thumb swipes at the tears still cascading down your cheeks in multitudes, and a tight grip on your hand tethers you back to reality. Slowly, in a mockery of gentleness, he peels your hands away from your neck, lacing your fingers with his instead.

You feel fuzzy. All you hear is shrill ringing and your blood pumping in your ears until he calls your name.

“Hey. Look at me,” he says, tapping your cheek, when the sharpness in his gaze has dulled to a low, biting flame. When the fire has quelled and all that’s left is the saccharine ivory that burns exposed, licking gently in spurts at your stinging wounds — in his hand smoothing out your still damp tresses, his fingers wiping away your tears and snot and saliva, and his lips pressing a fleeting kiss to your temple in what feels like a quiet descent into mourning.

Your laboured breathing brings a hazy smile to his face. He traces the line of your jaw and brings your panting mouth to melt against his. Forceful, like always, but tenderly so.

“You’re okay, sweetheart.”

That’s right. You’re okay, you’re breathing. You can breathe. You’re okay because you think you know what he really means — I love you, laced in the way his fingers still latch onto yours, his lips ghosting over every tender wound he has left tonight, until your breathing stills and your eyes flutter shut with exhaustion. You’re okay.

“Don’t die on me yet,” he mumbles, when he thinks you’re half asleep. You think you know what he means.

Wishful thinking.

∗

His fingers pause halfway when they’re threaded in your hair. All you hear is his warm breath brushing against your ear, not a single moving muscle in his thighs where you’re seated pretty on his lap. The uneasy feeling in your gut hardens into lead at the possibility of having said something wrong — like the crushed-up petals of a hydrangea flower, glued like thick sludge to the back of your throat, absorbing wholly whatever noise that tries to escape from within.

Why haven’t you killed me yet? — you asked.

Sometimes when you’re both alone in his oversized office he likes to reward you with soft kisses to your ear, nibbling on the tender cartilage and whispering if it’s okay to let your husband play with your pretty hair for a little while. You always say yes — you wouldn’t be caught dead refusing an offer of his affection. It’s rare, so rare, akin to trapping a single lightning strike in a glass bottle. When you’re alone he is painfully gentle, even with his insults that cut superficial on your heart — because you think you know what he really means.

But sometimes the hesitant truth can spill out where there is even the tiniest of openings, cutting a clear stream through the muddled fog of your inhibitions.

Not you. Never you — his answer doesn’t come out, because he is still as stone.

A hand steals out to rub against your cheek. You force down the snarling urge to incline your head into his touch as he presses his fingers to the soft skin. He coos your name hoarsely, as if he thinks it’s utterly ridiculous what you’ve just asked him — and the sound of his voice, how it drops a tired little octave, flits around in your ears like the flutter of a dove’s wings.

There’s a thud at the door; your body stiffens. Your eyes dart to the source of the disturbance — two short thumps, ones that belong to someone you recognise immediately from the curt sound. Mikey’s eyes narrow, though it’s not like you can see, and he growls something under his breath before issuing the order to come in. (You’re a little disappointed that the conversation was cut short.)

It’s his second-in-command. He strides through the towering, gold-embellished doors with an air of indifference, bowing with a polite greeting before beginning to recite a well-rehearsed report on Bonten’s shiny new project. One that involves a boatload of cash and a landfill of body bags, you surmise with a frown. You push down the fluttering unease in your belly, dropping your gaze and hyper-focusing on Mikey’s grip around your waist, his fingers toying with a strand of your hair as he listens with impeccable silence.

Today he has you clad in his favourite babydoll. It is ravishing as it is expensive, adorned with pretty white lace that flows just perfectly like fine silk along your soft curves, but it’s also thin and skimpy and barely leaves enough for the imagination — and you rarely get through the day without having it ripped from your body, so that his hands are free to wander between the silken skin of your thighs during every important meeting, playing with your little nub to hear your kitten-like whimpers as his placid executives collectively avert their gazes.

Whatever shred of modesty you possessed, he’d forced you to abandon. Now all that’s left is the pliant, submissive doll that he’s moulded to fit his every need, obey his every beck and call — his perfect girl.

His fingers toy with the hem of your nightgown, your breath hitching as he nudges your legs apart with a jerk of his knee. His hand starts to gravitate to where you dread the most — where your heat pulsates the most. Goosebumps feather up on your skin as he brushes his knuckles against your clothed cunt and you let out a tiny noise of surprise, eliciting a breathy chuckle from the man. Haruchiyo looks increasingly disgruntled as his boss merely replies with non-committal grunts to his words, attention being focused solely on you writhing on his lap.

And another thing, Haruchiyo clears his throat, it’s just the slightest bit unprofessional, what he’s doing. His executives may be desensitised but the other, newer business associates are not. Keeping a woman, a fucktoy, in such confidential quarters, where every twist and convulsion in the underground network surrounding Bonten is buried to the hilt, is not exactly a good idea. Not to say that he doesn’t respect Mikey’s wishes, he does, but given your… weak nature, there’s no telling when some other rival crime boss (like there are any, Mikey rolls his eyes) will swoop in and kidnap you — torture you, wring every single important, fatal secret out of your pretty eyes as they gouge them out one by one.

(That’s just a shame, isn’t it?)

Fucktoy. Weak. His words cut deep in your chest, especially when your supposed husband does nothing to refute them. Smirks, even. You can hear it in his voice.

“Don’t, fucking, care. If anyone tries, I’ll have their head on a platter.” He pushes your panties aside, scraping the pad of his finger against your clit idly, drawing breathy pants from you as you start to squirm on his lap. “Anything else before you leave? Or do you wanna keep talking my fucking ears off.” Haruchiyo’s eyes reflect red as he regards you, perched all whimpering and cowering on his King’s lap, with a cold stare that you only recognise as pure, unadulterated scorn.

“No, my king,” the subordinate grits through clenched teeth, straining a bow. “I shall leave as you wish.” He turns and heads for the door, the soles of his shoes thudding against carpet and clicking against glossy marble. You don’t miss the way his scarred lips are curled into a sneer just as he takes one final look at you, fingers stretched taut over the golden door handle. You swallow down a choked cry, feeling an unspeakable fear penetrating deep into your bones, but Mikey merely raises a brow.

“Well? Quit starin’,” he says, low and grating. Voided eyes belying unspoken wrath as his arm tightens around you unconsciously. “Unless you want me to put a hole in your damn head.”

∗

God, does he fucking hate you.

Haruchiyo doesn’t think he’s an evil person. Aggressive and the tiniest bit sadistic, yes, but after all; everything he does, everyone he kills, he does so in the name of his indisputable king — his raison d’être. If Mikey were to order him to slaughter every single living soul in the fifty-storey building he would gladly do so without a tremor of hesitation. He’s fucking unhinged where his dedication is concerned.

How evil could he be, then, to want to strip his king of all his weaknesses? So that he’d be guaranteed absolute control — stay at the very top forever, overseeing his inferior subjects with a bloodied, unyielding fist? (Ah, the thought might just send shivers down his spine.)

There was no reason for him to let you live, he deduces.

He knew this for a fact since the first time he laid his eyes upon your meek form. You were more timid back then, dainty little legs dangling off Mikey’s lap where he held you on display, your fingers twisted into his shirt with his jacket hanging off — no, engulfing — your shoulders, burying your head into his chest to shy away from sharpened gazes though it was obvious that you alone held the centre of attention in the room.

His king barely betrayed any emotion, merely ran his fingers up your jaw and ordered you to lift your head. Looks like you have an audience, he said, and even then, as Haruchiyo watched you quiver and avert your gaze anywhere but them, he felt a strange sensation welling up from beneath his outer layer of skin.

There was something about the way you often clung to his king as if he were your lifeline, something about the panicked, fearful gleam in your eyes whenever they met his by accident, in the scarce moments when you passed him in the halls without Mikey for once, that plucked and tore at his nerves in a disgusting, wretched way — like a bitter spat accumulating clump by clump on his stomach lining.

When he leaves the office (or rather, gets kicked out) his teeth grind on instinct. It’s been years and still, the answer is left far out of his reach. What is it about you that has his boss wrapped right around your finger? You’re weak as hell the way he sees it, no one could give a shit if you died — because he knows, no one has come searching for you in the four years you’ve been roaming the Bonten building like Mikey’s shadow.

He jabs his finger at one of the elevator buttons, biting back a hiss at the immense throbbing at the back of his skull. Doesn’t know where he’s headed but he doesn’t care as long as he gets out of these suffocating walls. Something is tingling like a bluish flame — something under his skin is itching like an old scab and it’s near unbearable like always. He reaches into his breast pocket, feels around for the little pills that he adores so much, and breathes a long, heavy sigh.

Slender fingers toy with a pretty two-toned capsule. He flicks it between his thumb and forefinger, eyeing the puny little thing before plopping it into his mouth, swallowing it dry.

Let it be known that his loyalty is written in blood; he would have your silky entrails littering the spotless hallways of the sprawling establishment if it were up to him.

He has plenty of time to get rid of you, he thinks, as the elevator dings and he’s stepping out the doors with a putrid scowl on his face. For now he plays the waiting game, merely seeking to chase the bubbling desire surging through his veins; the one that tempts him in a sultry voice to watch the decay of butchered skin on bleached bone.

His body prickles all over and the only way Haruchiyo knows to fix it is to destroy destroy destroy — but when he settles for his unsuspecting victim for the night, a young maiden that looks suspiciously similar to you, he can’t help but imagine that it’s your face that he ruins beyond recognition, your cries that flutter like a sweet melody in his ears —

He has all the time in the world.

∗

Have you heard of this saying? Only a diamond can cut another diamond. Mikey glances at your doll-like face and figures there are two stuffed right inside your eye sockets — those ‘pretty eyes’ that Haruchiyo warned would be gouged out — to match the toughened gem of his heart. People think of him as the grim reaper with that malignant glint in his eyes, the last sight ghosting behind their eyelids before their lives were extinguished without a care or a hint of sanity; but truth be told, even the grim reaper has his soft underbelly.

And if there ever is a modicum of doubt, he’ll gladly admit it. When he made you see stars for the first time, cumming so hard on his cock and begging so prettily that his world began spinning in colourised euphoria, he knew then how it felt like to have every semblance of control pried from his scarred, shaking fingertips, hurtling him headfirst into an addiction worse than any drug — love.

Love is written in the way he adores to fuck you within an inch of losing your sanity. Love is sprinkled into his callous quips of how fucking useless you are without him, how much you depend on him — so much so that he couldn’t leave you for a second lest you run off and die by yourself. Love is every ounce of taking and taking as it is giving, but even when he’s giving he expects to be repaid a hundred times more.

And it’s too bad that, no matter how much you beg, no matter how much you cry for him, there will never be a happy ending, filled with conventional love and softness, for either of you.

His fingers retract from your head.

“On your knees,” he commands softly, and all he has to do is count to three in his head before you’re snapping out of your daze, scrambling off his lap and onto the floor, dropping to your knees like the obedient little pet you are. Like the pet he made you to be. He feels an odd pride well up at your complete lack of hesitation, a sick satisfaction that you no longer flinch when he slides his hand comfortably around your bruised neck.

“Did I do something wrong?” Your voice is barely above a trembling whisper, sending soft vibrations drumming against his fingers. He looks into your wide eyes, brimming with fear, and almost wants to coo in condescending adoration.

Oh, how could he tarnish something so pure? How could he desire, from the very depths of his soul, to pluck from its very stem, the most delicate flower there exists, only to rip off every single glistening petal? To tear you apart again and again, yet convince you that you’re absolutely nothing without him?

He loves you, that’s how.

Neither Haruchiyo, nor any of those repulsive ‘business associates’, can ever begin to comprehend this simple fact. They will never comprehend, with those golf-ball sized brains they have encased within their thick skulls, because he’ll have them all in cardboard coffins by the time the thought crosses their minds to lay even a single finger on a strand of your hair.

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong, darling. Nothing at all.”

He smiles down at you, giving your neck a soft squeeze, and it’s genuine, you think. Like a sliver of sunlight, refracted by his crystalline heart. Your shoulders relax a little as you reciprocate a tiny smile; his eyes soften.

This is love.

He rubs his heel against your calf in a silent prompt. You take the hint almost immediately, trembling fingers reaching towards the growing bulge in his pants, cheeks flushing bright red as you palm his cock lightly. “C-can I…” You look to him shyly for permission, fluttering lashes framing your pretty eyes, and he almost feels his heart melt.

“Go ahead, sweetheart,” he purrs, a hand reaching down to engulf the back of your head. You swallow the lump in your throat and nibble on your lip, before unbuckling his belt and tugging down the waistband to reveal his hardened length.

“Think you can take me whole?” he coos, fingers digging into your scalp, coaxing you forward. It feels more like a statement than a question now; your tongue darts out to wet your lips at the sight of whitish precum beading at the tip, your head inching closer to give it an experimental lick.

He groans, a deep and breathy sound that has you feeling giddy with joy, but he can only be so patient. With a sudden force his fingers are shoving you face-first into his cock, paying no heed to your surprised squeals to slow down as he presses you deeper into your warm mouth. The back of your throat burns at the jarring intrusion, bringing a fresh onslaught of tears rolling down your cheeks as you gag violently.

Your jaw struggles to widen to accommodate his thick length — you’re breathing heavily through your nose as his movements increase in fervency, not once giving you a moment of respite. Drool trickles down the sides of your mouth; you let loose a string of muffled moans and choked mewls as his cockhead juts roughly against the back of your throat.

Hands twisting into your hair for leverage, he forces your lips to continue dragging in and out from the base of his cock, gruffly ordering you to use your tongue and your hands. You fight to whimper a small ‘yes’, palms cupping his balls and massaging softly, your tongue trying hard to swirl at the tip whenever he pulls out — just the way he likes it.

“God— you were made for this.” His fingers tense and shakily press you in further as his hips buck up ever so slightly, mouth dropping open and heady groans hitting the air. “Taking me—real good, my little cockslut—fuck—that’s it, babe.”

He’s dead set on chasing his own high, muffling you against his dick unabashedly, as your stomach churns heavy with anxiety. Anyone could walk in and catch you now — catch you red-handed, with your mouth stuffed full of their boss’ cock, whining so lewdly and drooling so messily it drips all over the designer carpet. You have no idea if the spotless walls are soundproof — almost everything about Bonten and its headquarters is kept from you (that, or you’ve just gotten extremely good at tuning out every single tedious meeting), but if there’s anything you’re sure of, you’re certain that everyone knows better than to disrupt Mikey’s alone time with you.

He throws his head back, allowing you the gorgeous view of his sharp jaw, tiny beads of sweat glimmering like shards of diamonds down his neck. “Fucking hell, princess,” he breathes shakily, and you know that he’s close. His thrusts get sloppy, fingers trembling ever more furiously, and before you know it the muscles of his thighs are flexing and tensing before he’s letting out a deep groan, fisting your hair as thick spurts of cum spill into your throat.

“Don’t you dare waste a drop,” he rasps, fingers sliding to the base of your neck to hold you down. Your mouth is flooded, the salty fluid overwhelming your tongue as you hold your breath, clenching your eyes shut as you try your hardest to swallow around his length. His cock slides out with a small ‘pop’, and you’re slapping a hand over your mouth to stifle a hiccup, dried tears streaking your cheeks.

“Show me.”

You force the remaining spurts of cum down your throat, before opening your mouth as wide as you can for him to inspect, doe eyes looking expectantly at him until he nods in approval. His big hand descends upon your head of hair, patting softly as another smile spreads across his face. Your heart twists. Twice in a day — you must’ve been good then. He wouldn’t smile so much otherwise.

∗

You scan briefly through the recesses of your mind, faint memories of him trashing the penthouse in a fit of blind rage rushing back to you, but no, you realise with a frown, even considering those times, never have you ever seen him this pissed.

At times the reigning king of Bonten can have a temperament akin to the calm before the storm. In his irises there’s a permanent hollowness etched into a bottomless black — but still, a deadly edge sewn into that piercing gaze.

Today there is nothing short of fury burning behind that emptiness.

The Haitani brothers share a look; Takeomi’s jaw locks though his gaze is fixed straight ahead. Haruchiyo is silent for once but his fingers toy with the cap of a tiny pill bottle, flipping it on and off with his thumb in a repetitive fashion — a nervous tick, you suppose. The others don’t look too good as well; the tension in the air is so thick that it’s enough to wedge a coarse lump in your windpipe. It’s oppressive. No one dares speak up, not after the news was dropped like a bombshell within the confines of the meeting room. They all know.

They know that in Bonten, there is only one supreme ruler — and whatever Mikey wants, he will make it happen.

If he wants to keep you by his side like his own personal lapdog, he will. If he wants to rule the whole of Japan with this lapdog tending to his every need, he will. If he wants to bring his lapdog along to that god-fucking-awful ‘errand’ they have to take care of for two whole days, he fucking will.

The only problem is, he can’t.

(If you really cared about her staying alive, you’d let her stay here.)

Takeomi didn’t say it, but he sure as hell implied it. It’s an unspoken duty that he’s been appointed with — spitting out the cold hard truth when it meant it was the best course of action. In this case it’s because Mikey is too fucking stubborn a boss to get through. Perhaps if he were thinking with his head instead of hormones he’d realise that you were more of a hindrance to keep around — but that’s a talk for another time, Takeomi thinks (but doesn’t dare bring up). Of course, his steady voice was almost enough to belie his uneasiness.

Under the hesitant scrutiny of his subjects the king lets out a deep, guttural groan.

A scowl materialises on his face, screwing up his pretty features into an expression that you hate so much. Your head is tilted up to look at him from your spot on the floor by his side, and you tug at the cloth of his pants ever so slightly. He tears his eyes away from his advisor to catch your worried gaze — and almost as if it were magic, you think you see a flicker of longing in his eyes, his frown thinning out just the slightest as he wordlessly observes your face.

But then he’s clenching his eyes shut, obscuring your view of those pretty irises, and putting a hand firmly on your head before sinking back into the plush of his chair, puffing out a long, defeated sigh.

He looks to his executives, gaze as steely as ever, and utters two things — a begrudging acceptance, along with an absolute order that has both your and Haruchiyo’s stomach dropping to the floor.

“This is final,” he emphasises, “don’t wanna hear you fucking complain. I’m pissed enough as it is.” His grip tightens on your scalp as he shoots daggers at his second-in-command. Oh, if looks could kill, Haruchiyo would be disintegrating on the spot right now.

But is it just you, or is he oddly unfazed? After the initial shock tapers off, you swear you notice the corners of his scar-ridden mouth twitch.

A chill runs down your spine when the rosy-haired man cocks his head curiously, his sapphirine gaze flickering towards your frozen form. As if eyeing up and down a fresh slab of meat — a milky sheep, made to be present for a bloody slaughter.

You don’t have time to ponder about what’s swirling inside those pretty blues, though, because when Mikey’s ordering them all to get out (and they do), he doesn’t wait for the doors to finish closing before lifting you by your waist, and slamming you onto the lean desk.

“Not—leaving—you—” He grunts sloppily into your neck, teeth sinking like needles into the pliant skin. His breaths are heavy, his eyebrows are scrunched together in frustration and he’s pinning you down like a snarling animal. “Never. Never.”

“Never,” you echo his words softly, breathlessly, lips parting just as he licks at the fading bite marks down the skin of your nape, already eager to leave new ones. Your hands caress the back of his neck, little fingers edging him closer ever so slightly.

No, he will never leave you. Physically he has to, but before you know it, he’ll be back to you like always.

Until then he has to bite back his fury and let Haruchiyo look after you. Because who better to trust than his right-hand man?

pt. 2 coming soon (ง ˃ ³ ˂)ว ⁼³₌₃⁼³

PART ONE, PART TWO (COMING SOON)

ೃ⁀➷ description; When you, a quirkless barista, accidentally gets added to a group chat for the graduated class of 3-A, you don't expect everything to slip through your fingers so fast.

You don't expect to find love in the two most frustrating men on earth, either.

ೃ⁀➷ genre; romance, comedy

ೃ⁀➷ content warnings; eventual smut, threesome f/m/m, shinkamisero, momojirou, tsuchako, rodydeku, lowkey crack but not really.

ೃ⁀➷ characters; hitoshi, shouto and katsuki.

CROSSPOSTED TO WATTPAD. REQUESTS ARE OPEN.

ran haitani x f!reader

join the taglist |  series masterlist | previous chapter

chapter 8 - ran gets to be the good guy, what could go wrong, really?

a/n - violence, kidnapping, reader is tied up in a not sexy way, some villain reveals and twists, swearing, guns, murder(?), intrugue, corruption. same tone as the show. reader is cis female, dom ran, sub reader.

You wake up with a bad taste in your mouth. Feeling slowly comes back to your limbs, you flex your fingers, your forearms, your feet, your thighs, and realize that you are tied quite securely to a chair. There’s a slight chill, and your coat’s been removed. There’s a dull throbbing at the back of your head. You wait to open your eyes until you’ve been listening for a few minutes, you can hear the hum of a television in the corner, the sound of someone breathing. The kind of fear that’s quiet and cold, that makes it hard to speak, hard to breathe, settles in your chest. You open your eyes.

“You up?” A deep voice, one they don’t recognize. “Yukihira’s a fuckin’ amateur,” You blink in the darkness of the room, you’re in a basement, cinderblock walls painted green, one window duct taped shut, with a tarp swaying gently against the wall. “He overdid it.” You turn your head towards the voice and the largest man you’ve ever seen moves towards you. You let out a little frightened squeak. “That’s fuckin’ precious.” He says in a low growl, his blond hair tied away from his face in a messy bun.

“Can’t believe Yukihira and Haitani hit that,” you feel his eyes rake over your body, “You’ve got shitty taste in men.” He pulls a box of cigarettes from his pocket and lights one up. He’s wearing a dirty white tank top that clings to his muscled abdomen, you can see his tattoos through the shirt. You swallow a couple times, bringing moisture for your mouth.

“W-where am I?” You can’t help the stutter that slips into your voice, your hands are shaking even as they’re tied to the chair.

“My place.” The man says, his eyes not leaving your chest when he speaks to you.

“I don’t have any money.” You say quietly, terror rippling through your body, and he nods.

“Don’t I know it.” He takes a long drag of his cigarette. “Gonna ask who I am?” Ice creeps into your veins as you realize, no, you don’t have to.

“You’re Terano South.” He smirks. “You uh, I’ve seen your picture in Tooru’s files,” a thought hits you, “Wait, where the fuck is Tooru?” South takes the cig out of his mouth and blows smoke.

“He wants to see ya but I told him to fuck off,” South crouches in front of you, “I wanted to meet the only girl Haitani Ran ever loved first. Alone.” You shake your head.

“He didn’t love me, really.” The words are heavy on your tongue, something you’ve thought often, an idea you’d cling to like a life raft, when you would lay next to some boy who wasn’t Ran, who might have been alright in bed, serviceable even, but who wasn’t Ran Haitani, wasn’t a slow smirk and firm hand, wasn’t yours. Those words had carried you for years, that if he loved you he’d have followed you, he’d have left Roppongi, he’d have come for you. Even after all this time, it had been you, not him, who had sought him out.

“It’s not any of my business.” South says, bringing you back to the present. “But I wanted to meet you.” He offers you the half smoked cigarette.

“I’m alright.” You say quietly, stretching a little, testing the rope. He shrugs, popping it back in his mouth, taking his phone out of his pocket. “Do I get to know why I’m here?”

“Ah,” South shrugs, “You were giving so much to Bonten, I just thought I’d have you spread the wealth.” Something about this rings oddly false to you. “Yukihira’s been mine for about a year, and when he let me know that Haitani was,” he thinks about the right word for it, “Hanging around, I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to get back at Mikey.” You blink a couple times. If you try hard, you can remember Mikey, remember the void darkness of his eyes, his blonde hair, his slight silhouette. “Of course, fucking with Haitani is just a bonus, but you,” he reaches out and cups your face with a gigantic hand, “You’re going to give me everything I want.” You swallow nervously.

“A-and what is it you want?” You ask, a pit forming in your stomach, but he waves your words away.

“A great number of things.” He rumbles, eyes flicking down to your breasts and then back to your face, “But I’ll start with the code to get into the evidence locker at city hall. I know they have a specific one that they use before trial, and I know that you know what the code is.”

“And if I refuse?” You ask, and he cocks his head at you.

“Interesting.” He considers, as if he’d never considered that you wouldn’t cooperate. “Interesting. Then I’ll hurt you.” Your jaw sets.

“Hurt me how?” You curse yourself for the pathetic tremble in your voice.

“Well, now,” he says, a smile plays on his lips, “That’s up to me isn’t it?” You shiver. “I can think of a lot of fun ways to make you see sense. Wonder if Haitani would still want you, after I made you mine?” He snarls the last word and you spit in his face, on instinct. “Stupid cunt,” South snaps, wiping his face on his already dirty tank top, and slapping you, his palm connecting with your face with a sound like thunder.

You’d take the hits back on the playground for your brother a thousand times, a hundred times, before this, it hurts, badly, but the sheer impact of it knocks the chair you're tied to onto its side, your wrist cracking against the concrete floor of whatever basement you’re in. “Yukihira,” South yells, “Come talk some sense into your fucking bitch.” There’s a pause, one you vaguely register as your brain floats back to your body and a tear leaks unbidden from your eye.

You blink a couple times, and South comes back into focus, oddly, he looks nervous, and jumpy rather than angry. You hear a loud crash and South takes off, bringing a walkie talkie to his lips. Your head spins on the ground, the pain in your wrist and face is intense, distractingly so, but it also grounds you, keeps you conscious. You rest your head on the cool ground, and listen to the growing shouts that clearly indicate a fight.

You start to wiggle your wrist out of the rope on your good arm, and it takes a few minutes, you can hear the kerfuffle escalating but as soon as you yank your hand free you get to work on your other hand, which is starting to swell. It works, but you’re slow, and clumsy. You bend forward to work at your ankles and the door to the room opens again. Your ex boyfriend steps into the room, knuckles bloody, hair askew.

“Fuck off,” You snap but he just looks concerned, as if your vitriol didn’t register. He notices several things very quickly, your already bruising cheek, your spot on the floor, your half untied form.

“Ah, ah,” He tuts, pulling your chair into an upright position. “Put those back,” he gestures to your wrists. “It’s nothing, right now. Just a little security breach.”

“If you actually cared about me,” You say, venom dripping from your voice, drawing your free hands into your chest so that he has to pry them away from you to attach them again. “You’d let me go.” He shrugs.

“I don’t like that he hurt you.” He says quietly. “But you knew what you were getting into when you re-entered this life, when you invited Haitani back in.”

“This is not about him,” You say angrily, “And Ran would never hit me. Not ever.”

“Is that so?” Tooru says, as if he’s barely paying attention to you. He opens his mouth to continue but his eyes roll in his head and he falls forward, blood at the base of his skull, stumbling and catching himself on the ground as Ran steps around the corner, tucking the slightly bloodied silver pistol into his shoulder holster.

“Of fucking course it is.” He rolls his eyes, and darts to you. “Bastard.” He whips out a knife from his belt. “If you’re injured, I’ll take it out on his fucking corpse. After I kill him.”

“Ran,” you’re in shock, numb, things are changing so quickly, “Ran I think my wrist is broken.” He presses a kiss to the side of your face and slices through the ropes on your waist and bends down to your ankles to free them.

Over his shoulder, you catch the familiarly monstrous silhouette darkening the hallway. Later, you would protest that your first thought was actually just to warn Ran, that it didn’t have anything to do with your faith in him, that it was complete instinct that had you rip the pistol from Ran’s upper back holster and point it at the blonde. You’d say you didn’t mean to pull the trigger, that you didn’t realize how sensitive the mechanism would be as you picked it up with your good hand and point it at South. There’s an ear splitting explosion as the bullet leaves the gun, hitting Terano South square in the chest.

“F-fuck,” the huge blonde falls to the ground, his breathing shallow. “Stupid, fucking bitch.” He spits blood on the floor, his eyes losing focus. Your ears are ringing in the silence, mind absolutely leaving your body as you stare at the body on the ground in the hallway. Ran lifts his head and takes exactly one beat to take stock of the situation, easing the gun from your shaking hands, holstering it, and lifting you in his arms.

“It’s okay,” he says quickly. “It’s okay, baby, don’t think for me, just hold onto my neck, can you do that?”

“R-ran,” you get out, your teeth are chattering, your temperature is dropping, Ran doesn’t have to be a doctor to recognize the onset of medical shock.

“I need you to breathe.” Ran says sharply. “Can you do that for me?” You nod, trying to focus only on taking short measured breaths. “That’s my girl.” He steps over South’s body, turning your face into his shoulder.

“Did I kill him?” You twist in Ran’s arms, and start to tremble, “Ran, did I just, did I just kill someone?”

“Shhhh,” he breathes, “Don’t think about that right now.”

“Ran,” you raise your voice as he runs out of the back of what you now realize is a huge warehouse and gets into a car that’s got the engine running, “Ran I can’t just-”

“Shut up for me.” He says, more sharply than he means. You feel him rub your forearms as you take a shaky breath. “Just don’t try to think about it right now for me, alright, we’re gonna go back to my apartment and-” He’s cut off by your dry aching sob.

“Ran,” you choke out, “Can you make it go away,” you wipe your face on your hands, and he tucks your head under his chin.

“Yes, baby,” he coos, “Daddy can make it all go away.” You start to cry then in earnest. “Give me your wrist.” He orders softly and you hand it to him. He takes the swollen joint and raps on the partition between him and his driver. “We’ll need a doctor to the office’s after you drop us off.” He presses a kiss to the side of your face, feeling you gasp and shake as you cry, hard. “Did they touch you, baby?” He asks, and you hear the threat, the undertone in his voice centers you a little as you shake your head and bury your face in his chest.

“R-ran,” you choke out, “I shot s-someone.”

“Let’s stop saying that out loud, darling,” he coos, “Can you do that for me?” You nod, sniffing loudly. “Gonna let me take care of things?” You nod again, the only warmth in your eyes is his own reflection. “That’s my girl.” You relax against him, he smells like pine and musk and right now, you cling to him, locking your arms around his neck as the car speeds off.

Ran rubs circles in your back as you start to sob violently, the kind of aching, headache causing angry tears he’s seen from you only once before.

“You know,” You’d said, leaning against the doorway to his room. “I’m leaving in a week.” He looks up at you, confused. It’s late summer, the golden days of August tinged with rot. “For college, Ran, I’m going to Tokyo.”

“You were serious about that?” He says, rolling his neck, listening to the joints pop. “Leaving me, for college?”

“It doesn’t have to be leaving you,” you protest gently. “I um,” he watches that shy smile that he loves so much creep across your face. “I know you have stuff here, with Rin, and Hanma, and whatever it is you all get up to.” He raises an eyebrow. “I know I know I’m choosing ignorance here.” He gestures for you to sit, but you don’t take him up on the offer.

“I mean, you’re not going.” He says, mouth pressing into a hard line. “No, I want you here, and you’re going to stay here, Lamb, you don’t want to go to school-”

“Yes I do.” You cut him off. “I do and I’m going and, and you’re not going to be able to scare me into staying Ran.” His eyes darken, wanna fucking bet, his mind races, imaginging what he could do to- “I have an offer for you.” You say, circumventing his planning quickly.

“Shoot.” He says, crossing his arms over his chest, walls up.

“Come with me.” You say, and there’s this quiet delicate urgency to your voice. “Get a normal job in Tokyo, Ran, fuck this shit, you’re smart, you could do it. There has to be something you want to do more than selling drugs, and all this violence I mean-”

“You think I can just roll up to an office,” Ran says, almost amused at the absurdity of the thought, “And get a job?”

“You could work at a bakery or something,” you say quickly, “Or in a kitchen, you could do data entry, maybe get your GED, finish high school-”

“Babe,” Ran laughs, “I don’t wanna do any of that shit.” He watches you deflate. “But don’t worry, you’re gonna stay here and move in with us. We need someone to clean, anyway.”

“I’m not,” you stop yourself, and take a deep breath, shoving down your anger at his immediate assumption that you’d be his live-in maid. “Ran. I’m going, I’m going to college. The question is if you’re coming with me or if you’re going to stay here and let your life continue to deteriorate.”

“Deteriorate?” Ran’s eyes narrow sharply, “Didn’t I save your fucking ass, on more than one occassion, and you wanna come in here and-”

“I want better for you,” your voice finally rises in pitch, “I want more, don’t you want more, than like, fucking around, never learning, never getting better?”

“I like my life.” Ran says, defensively, “I like my life a lot, and I’m not about to leave Rindou here and abandon all the shit we’ve built,” he leans forward, “We rule this fucking city, baby, and I wanna do it with you at my side I-”

“Except I wouldn’t be at your side.” You snap. “Because I don’t approve of violence, and I’d apparently be at home making you dinner.” He smirks.

“And you’d look sexy doing it.” He jerks his head towards the other seat at the table, but you stay at the doorway.

“I am leaving.” He hears it now, the desperation in your voice, “And I love you, Ran Haitani.” He doesn’t say anything. “I love you, so much.” You say again. “I think about you, when you’re out with your friends, I get so worried that my stomach hurts, when I know you’re doing dangerous shit, I, I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, and I can’t fucking live like this all the time knowing that you’re willingly putting yourself at risk, I-”

“I can take care of myself.” He says sharply, “I don’t need-”

“I know you don’t need me worrying,” Your hands shake harder, “I just, I think you’d be safer doing something else, anything–”

“You know I’ve killed people.” He says coldly, and watches you flinch like he’d swung at you. “I’m nineteen and I’ve seen the inside of a prison cell more than I’ve seen my own fucking mother..I am not the kind of person who can,” he laughs again but it’s joyless, “Go get a job at a bakery. And,” He stands, taking a step forward, towering over you, “I’m not the kind of person who you can just leave.”

“I,” your voice trembles, “I just wanted, I want,”

“To change me,” Ran says, eyes flashing dangerously, “To make me a completely different person, so that I’d fit in with your bullshit intellectualist friends? You think you’d want me if I was the kind of man your mother would approve of? You think you’d still want me without all this?” That makes your eyes shoot open and you lean towards him even as your lower lip quivers.

“I would want you. Period. End of sentence. That’s what love means. It means I want you.” You take a deep breath, and steady yourself, his expression is still completely unreadable. “I mean I,” you reach for him and he doesn’t reach back, but lets you take his dead fish hand, lets you lace your fingers with his. “Come with me.” You whisper. “I think you’re worth it,” you rock onto your tiptoes and press a kiss to his cheek. He remains impassive. “I think you’re worth saving, I wanna save you like you saved me, that’s all.” He nods slowly, and pushes you away from him. You feel your heart break in your chest. You’d never realized an organ could be so brittle. “Don’t you,” you warble, “Don’t you love me,” your voice is tiny, “Ran, please, say it back.”

“Get out.” He says, looking at the door. “Get going before I lock that fucking door.”

“Ran.” You beg, hating the sound of your own voice as you start to cry, hard. “Ran please,”

“I said fuck off,” He snaps, “I said fuck straight off with that shit, you wanna fucking save me, it’s too goddamn late, do you know how that fucking sounds?”

“I’ll, I’ll text you, tomorrow, I have a week we can-” “Don’t fucking bother.” He fumbles in his pocket for a cigarette. “Get out.” You don’t however, leave, you stand there, for some reason, tears pouring from your eyes, crying hard. “Are you waiting for me to comfort you?” He snarls, his voice taking on a mocking tone. “I can get any bitch I goddamn want I can-”

“Fuck you,” you choke out, wiping your face on your sleeve. “I’m going.” Please don’t. Ran thinks.

“Good.” He says. Please don’t leave, please don’t, please don’t, please, I’m begging I’ll beg. “Hope you find some other bastard to annoy.” You cry harder, but turn your back on him and head towards the door. It opens a second before you get there, and you go to push past Rindou, who sees you crying and grabs you by the upper arm roughly, stopping your escape.

“The hell is going on?” He asks. Ran lights up his cigarette.

“Let her go.” Ran says, shrugging. “Bitch wants to leave, let her go.” Rindou’s brow furrows, but makes a quick calculation, and drags you outside, slamming the door.

“You think I’m gonna let you near him ever again?” Rindou snarls, as if you’re not crying so hard you can barely see, as if your face isn’t puffy and swollen. The grey skies give way to a gentle rain as you stand outside the apartment. “If you leave, if you hurt him, I will never fucking forgive you.”

“I g-gave him a choice,” you choke out. “He told me to leave.” Rindou lets go of your arm, surprised. “He d-doesn’t love me.” You watch Rindou consider, consider the entire summer, how you’d been the first girl Ran hadn’t gotten bored of, the first girl he’d ever touched softly, the first girl who stayed over without being tossed to Hanma or Rindou in the morning. He remembers how you’d balked at the idea of being shared, even when Ran had ordered you to do it, how you’d refused, genuinely confused by the request.

“But I love you, Ran.” You’d said.

“Go, then.” Rindou takes a step back from you. “Just go. I’ll uh, I’ll talk to him.” You keep crying and walk down the empty stairwell alone, taking the long way home so that you’re cried out by the time you get to your kitchen. No one waits up for you any more. You collapse on your bed, and catch something dark draped over the chair of your vanity, and take out your phone.

You: I still have your jacket.

“I’m so sorry,” He whispers, hating those words, they taste so off on his tongue that he nearly recoils. “For being an asshole.” You look up, and he registers your bruising face, your likely concussion. “When you left, I should have held your hand, I should have begged, I wanted to, I wanted to tell you to stay. I was,” he pauses, “I was young.”

“It’s okay.” You croak.

“I’m gonna make it up to you,” He promises, “Gonna make everything up to you baby, I love you, love you so much, alright?”

“Never stopped,” you wipe your face on his shirt and he chuckles. “Embarrassing but I still have your jacket, if you want it.” That hits him harder than he expects, the idea that you held onto that cheap black jacket, that someone had embroidered for him when he was a teenager, for all these years.

“Later.” He says softly. You feel him caressing your silhouette, his lips on the top of your cheeks, his hand on your waist. “We’re gonna go to my office,” he says softly, “I’m gonna give you some pills they’ll help you chill out.” You nod, burying your face in his neck. “Wish I’d killed Yukihira.” He mumbles, trying to make a joke but you shudder.

“D-do you think I k-killed that guy?” You hiccup, and he pretends to think about it.

“Probably.” He says honestly. “Not many people get shot like that and live.” You lock your arms around his neck, fresh tears in your eyes. “You won’t go down for it,” he massages your scalp, “Promise I’ll take care of it.” He pauses. “You trust me?” You blink up at him, catching your breath long enough to say,

“With my life.”

Ran tucks a blanket around your body as the xanax helps your mind drift off to sleep before joining the rest of Bonten in the private dining room they did business in. Rindou glances in his direction, a bruise forming under his left cheek.

“Who gotcha?” Ran asks casually and Rindou rolls his eyes.

“Who the fuck do you think? Terano on his way out of there to get to you.” He says and Sanzu lets out a manic cackle.

“Heard your bitch took care of business for you.” Ran’s eyes narrow and he whirls on the hitman, but Kakucho clears his throat.

“We need to strategize. The two of you can whip your dicks out later.” Ran mutters something under his breath, sitting down next to Rindou. Mikey stands.

“Four warehouses, and three of our apartments were raided by federal officers who were apparently tipped off by someone who works for our organization. Terano acted on that information by way of his inside spy in city hall, Yukihira Tooru. The feds didn’t find shit,” Mikey’s eyes are dark and cold, “But we won’t be able to use those warehouses again for months.” Kokonoi massages his temples.

“I’ll figure something out, but it’ll be expensive. We got lucky.” He stands, sweeping the cards and empty drinks that cover the table they’re sitting at. “The way I see it, here are our players. We got City Hall, the feds.” He takes Ran’s empty Manhattan, the orange peel curled and fragrant. “We got Terano, and other gangs, and the link, is Yukihira and Ran’s girl.” Ran cocks his head a little.

“I didn’t think Terano had a crew,” Ran mutters, thinking.

“He doesn’t,” Rindou confirms, “I keep tabs on him.”

“So where did he get all those guys, and also,” Kachucho says, “Yukihira doesn’t have the kinda clout at city hall that can move a whole ass SWAT team.” Ran nods.

“His dad does.” You say, standing at the doorway, eyelids heavy as every mobster in the room turns to look at you. “His father,” you rub your eyes with your good hand, your other wrist heavily bandaged. “His father is the police commissioner. And this,” You pad over to the table and frown. “It would make sense if he gave some of his dirty cops to Terano to use to take you down, which would serve several of his needs, one,” you stop and yawn, “Sorry, one, to get rid of me, because I keep throwing his men in jail when they pull shit. Two, if he’s crooked in favor of Terano then he’d benefit from any power diminishing he could accomplish of um,” you think about it, “You call yourselves bonten, right?” There’s a silence. “My head hurts.” You mumble.

“So this is where Ran’s braincell has been.” Rindou says eventually. “You took it with you when you left.” You laugh halfheartedly, and Ran scowls, yanking you into his lap.

“C’mere.” He says, nestling you against his chest.

“I actually came in for more drugs,” you say, twisting to look up at Ran. Mikey’s eyes fall on you, his gaze is dark and cold.

“You’re sure about this?” He asks, and you swallow, trying to ignore the throbbing of your wrist and head.

“I’d bet my life on it.” You shrug. “I kinda am, already, aren’t I?” Mikey nods slowly. “For the record,” you return his joyless stare. “I think you should go to prison, and if I could, I’d put you there.” There’s a cold silence, even Ran doesn’t move. “But I want the commissioner gone more.” Ran’s grip on you tightens, a warning, but Mikey doesn’t seem baited.

“You wanna make a deal.” Mikey says, leaning forward, placing his palms flat on the table. “Do you think you’re in any position to negotiate?” Ran’s grip on your waist tightens, but you respond anyway.

“I,” and for the first time the vulnerability surfaces under the pseudo calm of the drugs. “I shot a man, a few hours ago.” Your lips twitch downward. “My grip on reality is um, tenuous at best. But I’m willing to give you, to give you what you want, if it means you’ll take the commissioner down. I don’t know if that counts as negotiation.” Ran opens his mouth to speak but Mikey puts a hand up.

“And what,” He says, “Is it that you think I want?”

“I can testify that Yukihira is dirty.” You lift your head. “He’s the D.A. in charge of organized crime, which would mean every clue he touched, every case he’s built against every man in this room would get thrown out because it’s,” you put up air quotes, “Fruit of the poison tree, aka inadmissible in a court of law in this country.” You shrug. “I can’t stop them from investigating you, but I can make them start from scratch.”

“Holy shit.” Kokonoi breathes. You rub your eyes.

“How do we take down the commissioner,” Mikey demands. You sniff, tears welling in your eyes as your broken wrist throbs. You wipe your eyes as every man in the room holds his breath.

“You have to um, you have to trick Tooru into outing his own father.” You swallow. “Or um, I have to. But I think I can do it. You’d have to trust me.” You turn in Ran’s lap. “This would mean letting me um,” you grit your teeth for a second and let out a long breath, controlling the pain in your head and arm, shoving it down, “Letting me out of your sight for a few minutes.”

` “Then no.” Ran says. “Then we do something else.”

“Haitani,” Mikey cautions.

“No fucking way,” Ran stands up, depositing you in the chair, “I just got her back, I get that none of you,” his voice cuts through the room like a blade, “None of you have shit like this, attachments, but I, I’m not gonna live without her because you wanna avoid getting your ass dragged into court.”

“Ran-”

“Shut up,” He snaps at you, “You’re the last person I want to-”

“Haitani,” Mikey glowers up at him, and Ran closes his mouth, but puts his hand up.

“I’m gonna talk to my bitch outside.” He pulls you into a standing position. “Anyone have an issue with that?” No one speaks. “Great.” Ran drags you into the hallway, ignoring your protests. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He says, voice low and dangerous. “You’re just gonna walk into a room of fucking criminals and open that mouth of yours? Mikey could have shot you, fuck Sanzu absolutely would have shot you-”

“Ran I know what I’m doing-”

“You do not.” He hisses.

“Ran,” you look up at him, eyes wide, pleading. “Ran I have to do this because after this is over I’m resigning.” He blinks down at you, shocked. Yes, you quitting your job was part of the plan, but he thought he’d have to knock you up first, that it would take years. “I have to do one last good thing but I,” you chew on your lower lip. “My faith is shaken. In,” you gesture broadly, “In the goodness of people. And of institutions, I,” you sigh. “I’ve known Tooru a long time, and he just,” you shake your head, “Handed me over to them like it was nothing, I mean, I slept with him, he stayed over, he told me he loved me, and then, for what, he betrayed me for power, for money? For revenge?” You shiver, and Ran softens, realizing what a blow this is for you.

“After this, you’ll resign?”

“Yeah,” You say, your voice tiny and small. “I’ll get some corporate counsel job, where um, where I can’t end up tied to a chair in someone's basement.” He pulls you into his chest. No, no you’re not, he thinks, it’ll be a miracle if I ever let you out of my sight again. Bbut he doesn’t say it.

“I’m gonna take care of things, alright, you’re gonna be safe from here on out because anyone coming near you,” you catch the steely glint in his eyes, “Has to get through me.” You take a fistful of his shirt.

“I’m sorry.” You mumble. “I feel like if I hadn’t reached out to you-”

“You calling me was the best thing that possibly could have happened to me.” He leans down and kisses the top of your head. “Let’s go back in there, you just stay in my lap this time like a good little lamb.” You laugh lightly.

“Painkillers first?”

“How about booze now,” He offers, “Painkillers tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.” You agree and he cups your face and you nuzzle his hand affectionately before leading you back into the room.

“Baby is going to behave.” He announces. “She does this for us, and none of you get near her again.” Mikey nods, and gestures to the table.

“So what,” you feel his dark eyes boring into yours, “Is your plan?”

This is so mf amazing!!!!!! Just everything about it !!

hanma x f!reader, baji x f!reader, izana x f!reader, ran x f!reader

chapter 2

summary - you spend an unexpected night with your ex. city hall makes a request.

a/n - police procedural au, judge! reader, please check out @keizos’s tokyo blue collar au, murder, mystery, intruigue, swearing, smut, banter, im guessing at how these things work purely for plot reasons.

unsure of how often this will update but envisioning at least three parts and a Fair Amount of Smut lmao | join the taglist | series masterlist

It’s another few hours before you leave the hospital, you’re curled up in a ball on the plastic chair, wrapped in Detective Ryuguji’s big jacket, with your scarf for a pillow. Baji wakes you with one hand on your shoulder.

You wave a sleepy goodbye to the other lawyers, and stumble behind the detectives as they go down to the parking lot. Baji yanks two parking tickets off his car and crumples them in the cup holder. You lay down in the back seat, shivering in the cold. It’s late enough so that there’s only one person at the front desk of Izana’s beautiful apartment complex, and one look at the electronic key you have and Baji’s badge, is all the convincing it takes to get your ears popping in the elevator, rocketing up to the top floor.

You let yourself in, and immediately collapse on the couch while Baji and Draken search for signs of a possible ambush, and upon finding none, collapse in chairs on either side of you. You’ve got a pillow under your head and have ripped the decorative throw blanket off the back of the couch and wrapped it around yourself, Baji’s shoes kicked off on the ground. It’s a few hours sleep before the door opens again and Izana strides in, violet eyes wide and awake. You sit up, rubbing your face.

“Can I make you coffee?” He asks softly. “F/n, officers?” You nod.

“Thank you.” Baji says gruffly, regarding Izana warily. “You’re not tired?” Izana strides to his kitchen, taking a tupperware container of freshly ground coffee from the cabinet, spooning it carefully into coffee machine, which whirs to life.

“When I was a resident we used to stay up for days.” He shrugs. “I'm used to this.” he glances over his shoulder. “And what are you doing on the couch when you know where the guest rooms are?”

“Izana,” you shake your head, “I’m not the type to just assume I’m invited to stay.” He turns on his heels, rolling his eyes.

“Fair, but I invited you.”

“It didn’t seem right.” You mumble and he presses the button and lets it run. The nutty warm aroma floats into the living room and he pours four mugs of it.

“I hope black is alright,” He says, setting a tray down on his coffee table. “I’m out of milk.”

“It’s fine.” Detective Ryuguji says, glancing around, clearly uncomfortable with the luxury of Izana’s penthouse. “What uh, what can you tell us about Kakucho?” Izana nods, sitting comfortably.

“He came in pretty close to death, and stayed that way for several hours. Four gunshots, one only grazed his arm though.”

“Rules out a professional hit.” Baji says, stretching a little.

“One hit him here,” Izana touches his own chest, “Above his heart, just nicking an artery, he’s had several transfusions. One hit here,” He points lower, more to the middle of his chest, “And the fracture from his ribs punctured one of his lungs, last hit was here,” he points to the other side of his chest. It was easy, a through and through. Barely caused any damage. That bullet is still at the bar, but we recovered one partial and one full, I had them sent straight to ah,” he has to think about the name.

“Wakasa?” Baji offers. Izana shakes his head.

“No, Kokonoi. Apparently he does ballistics.” He looks at you. “And I promised to tell you what I knew about the Giordanos.” You nod, taking the mug of coffee in two hands, feeling it’s warmth through the sleeves of Baji’s sweatshirt. “In my professional opinion, and I hate to speculate, truly so I want you to take this seriously, I have to agree with you, Detective, there’s no way this was a professional hit. No way. It was messy, the angles were bad, one shot didn’t even hit him.”

“With all due respect, Dr. Izana,” Detective Ryuguji begins, “It’s too early for either myself or my partner to be drawing such conclusions.” Izana nods, flashing his palms.

“Thank you for your patience with me while I finished surgery.” He says smoothly. “I know you must have been waiting anxiously for information.”

“What’s the prognosis?” Baji asks.

“He’s still in a medically induced coma.” Izana explains smoothly, bringing a steaming mug of coffee to his face. He swallows. “He will not, I’m sorry I didn’t realize I needed to confirm this, he will not be ready for trial on Monday.” Draken swears violently. “Isn’t there another D.A. or an A.D.A? I’m confused by your reaction.”

“There isn’t right now, the other D.A. is on maternity leave and none of the A.D.A.’s can handle a case like this.” You rub your eyes.

“You’re not thinking of taking it?” Izana says sharply. “It’s quite dangerous.”

“I’m not thinking about anything right now.” You take a sip of your scalding coffee. You watch the surgeon choose his words very carefully.

“If I,” he pauses, recalibrating, “I know it’s not my right to say but I’d prefer you didn’t.”

“Noted.” You respond cooly, placing the mug on the table. Izana stands.

“It’s late and you’re all welcome to stay here. I assume you’ll be holding her in tight protective custody until decisions can be rmade”

“Yep.” Baji stands and shakes Izana’s hand, the muscles in both men’s arms ripple as they engage in a minor display of strength, who can hold the other man's hand tighter, Baji ends up bowing out to the surgeon. “If you wanna go, we can go back to my place.” Baji offers, turning to you. You shake your head.

“Thank you for your hospitality.” Izana nods, not bothering to fight the small smug smile that flits across his face.

“I’ll show you to the guest rooms.” He points Baji and Draken to a room down the hall but Baji takes your arm before going in, eyeing the surgeon.

“If you change your mind, and wanna leave, I’m just a phone call or a scream away.” You nod, laughing lightly.

“Thank you, Baji.” You say softly, and Baji watches Izana stiffen when you drop his professional title.

“Doctors skeeve me out.” He mutters, shaking his head, “Night, your honor.” He closes the door and the two of you walk down the hallway.

“You know I have another guest room,” He says, stopping in front of a door, “But if you’d like to sleep with me, I’m sure you’ve had a difficult night. Perhaps I could be of some comfort.” You nod.

“Set an alarm for me?” You struggle to keep your eyes open, stifling a yawn, “I have court at 9AM.” Izana’s brow furrows.

“That’s setting you up for less than three hours of sleep.” You nod.

“I promised Hanma I wouldn’t push it. His client’s a real piece of work.” You yawn so hard it takes over your entire face and Izana pushes the door to his room open. One wall is entirely windows, the city gimmers in the cool night, and his bed is huge and high off the ground. He yanks his shirt off by the back of the collar, and then looks at you.

“Get that shit off.” He gestures to Baji’s sweatshirt. “At the very least you can’t wear another man’s clothing into my bed.” You giggle, and the sound is light and soft and girlish and when it carries down the hall, Baji realizes he’s never heard it before. It sends a shiver up his spine.

“I’m afraid my underwear is less than exciting.” You say, pulling the sweatshirt off of your body and stepping out of the sweatpants. Izana tosses you a soft t-shit, that you’re sure cost at least 100$, and climbs into bed. You follow, at first thinking you’ll keep your space but finding yourself nestled against warm tanned muscle.

“Quit and marry me.” he murmurs. You laugh again.

“Absolutely not.”

“Why?” He murmurs, massaging your scalp, making you shiver with pleasure.

“I love my job, Izana.” He shrugs.

“You’d love raising our children.” His silver hair is loosed from it’s bun, falling around his face, “Think of how fucking brilliant our kids would be.” He cups your face, stroking your cheek.

“Why do I have to quit, to raise your kids?” You ask, the high planes of your face cast in moonlight. He considers.

“Would you be able to cut back on your hours?” He says, genuinely asking.

“Would you?” You counter, and he groans, pulling your body into his chest.

“No.” He buries his face in your neck. “C’mere.” You feel his lips on your skin, his hands move up to grope at your chest. “Don’t you want this,” he breathes, his breath light and tickling on your skin, “Don’t you want someone who understands you?” You gasp when one of his hands moves from your thighs to your panties, reaching underneath the elastic.

“Izana,” you choke out, feeling him dexterously part your folds, find your clit without even looking for it, “Izana you spent 6 hours in surgery tonight.”

“Seven.” He says lightly. “And I’m gonna make you cum before we go to sleep,” he covers your mouth with his free hand and you move so it’s easier for him to slip a hand between your legs, “Don’t you want someone like me, who’s strong enough so that you can be weak?” You whimper against his hold. “Shhhh,” he breathes, “Shhh, darling, don’t want your cop friends breaking in here, hm?” You nod, barely able to think, let alone speak. Izana’s movements are deft and sure, two fingers pumping in and out of you, thumb grinding against your clit. His fingers twist and curl inside you, sending wave after wave of pleasure through your body, little whimpers that barely escape his palm.

“You’re close.” Izana says in your ear. “I can feel it, you’re close,” you nod, “Do you want it?” He asks, stupidly, maddeningly calm, you cry out softly as he briefly withdraws his hand to allow you to respond.

“Y-yes, Izana.” You whisper. “Please, please can I-”

“Cum for me, then.” He orders, possessive till the end, strong arms locked around your body. Your orgasm rips through you, you gasp sharply, feeling your whole body tremble. Izana rubs comforting circles in your hips and nestles you against his body. “Would it be so bad?” He asks. “Quitting your job?” You sigh.

“I don’t know who I am without it.” You mumble, and he nods.

“I understand.” He traces your silhouette. “I think it’s just that I don’t want to share you with work.”

“You know you’d have to share me with kids?” You counter and he groans.

“Why didn’t that turn your brain off, you used to be so sweet when I’d broken you?”

“Because the only time I’d relax around you would be after hours of that rather than a few minutes,” you swat at him halfheartedly and he dodges.

“Time to sleep.” He gives you a soft, tender kiss on the top of the head. “Goodnight.” You snuggle against him, consciousness easily slipping away from you.

“Goodnight.” You sleep deeply, if you have dreams you don’t remember them, only feeling the annoyance and anguish that comes with the blaring of Izana’s alarm at 7:30AM.

“Please don’t,” he mutters, “Please don’t move.”

“I have to.” You pull away from him, and he opens one eye blearily. “You can’t shower with me either.” He groans into his pillow.

“I’m remembering why we stopped seeing each other.” You hit him on the back with a pillow.

“Well, given that you proposed last night-”

“On the contingency that you put that big beautiful brain to less dangerous,” He sits up, rubbing his face, “Less strenuous work.”

“Your job is dangerous too,” you say grumpily, padding off to the bathroom. “And if I were a man we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.”

“You’re right.” Izana smirks, looking at your bare legs, the way his t shirt barely conceals your form. “We wouldn’t.”

“Ugh.” You close his bathroom door behind you and get in the shower, he’s got an expensive looking rainforest head that pours water directly down on you instead of at an angle. His shampoo and conditioner have complex woodsy scents that do little to wake you up, and when you towel off and see your face you note your sleepless appearance. Can’t be helped. You tell yourself. You get dressed in Baji’s clothes while Izana uses the shower and slip into the guest room to wake the Detective up.

“Detective,” you go to knock and the door opens, he’s fully dressed and ready to go.

“I’m gonna let Draken sleep.” He says gruffly, pulling his hair into a bun. “Let’s getcha out of here, huh?” You nod sleepily and the two of you don’t speak, still barely awake. He takes you to your apartment and lets you change, you barely get a bit of makeup on before he drags you down the stairs and hands you off to the next shift of detectives, who stay with you while you prep for court. You take your extra pair of glasses out of your desk, and they slide down your nose. You still beat Ran and Hanma to court by fifteen minute, you’ve got the end of your pen in our mouth when your phone dings with an email from the commissioner summoning you to his office at 10AM. You clear your throat and bang your gave.

“Ladies, Gentleman, court is in session.” You adjust your glasses. “Counselors, approach.” Ran and Hanma look exhausted, but Ran slips you a folder, and hands an identical one to Hanma.

“These are the official time logs for the employment of the plaintiff.” He says, rubbing his eyes. “Off the record your honor I’m fucking shocked you’re awake.” You give him a weak smile.

“Your concern is noted.” You run your finger down the time log. “There do seem to be some hours missing, Mr. Hanma, I’m assuming you can account for them somehow?” Hanma nods, sliding a few more pieces of paper.

“My client was attending a funeral for her neighbor's chihuahua on those days, and made it clear she wouldn’t be available.” You raise an eyebrow a single degree. “Your honor.” You open the file and sigh deeply, looking at the two women in front of you, and then back at the wage pay stubs. You shoo them back to their seats and press your palms to the podium.

“All rise, for the verdict.” The bailiff calls and you shake your head at Ran.

“I find in favor of the plaintiff, she’s owed back wages for the hours she was shorted as well as one thousand dollars in damages,” Hanma smirks, despite how exhausted he is and the girl behind him squeals with delight. You bang your gavel and exit, making your way back to your chambers where you rest your head on your desk, exhausted. You have a meeting with Takoemi at noon, you just have to hold on till then, you remind yourself. Your phone dings.

Izana: I sent a courier with coffee to your office. He’ll arrive shortly.

You: city hall has coffee

Izana: you hate their coffee. You like espresso. You can just say thank you, Izana, last night was lovely, I want to see you again and we’ll be able to move forward.

Izana: you’re not in court, love.

You: Thank you Izana for the coffee, it was lovely to see you last night, I would be happy to see you again.

Izana is working out in his penthouse when your response comes through, and he nearly drops the weight he’s curling when he sees your response, placing it on the floor and diving for his phone, wiping tendrils of silver hair from his face.

Izana: Tonight then. Pierres. 8PM.

You: Can you do 9? I want to sleep a bit first.

Izana: Absolutely. Absolutely.

You: Did you break?

Izana: Genuinely didn’t think you’d say yes.

You: you wore me down :)

Izana: Ahh the magic words

You: coffee’s here, talk later.

Izana: take care.

The coffee is delicious, some kind of deep European mocha, and you’re nearly finished with it when you make your way to the station to meet with Akashi, flanked on either side by officers you don’t recognize.

“I understand you were at the hospital last night.” He says, in lieu of greeting. You nod. “I say that because the mayor is joining us.” You nod again.

“Via video call, correct?” You ask, and he shakes his head.

“No.” He says and you groan loudly, attempting to smooth your hair. “You have no idea what this meeting is about?” He says and you look at him, bleary eyed.

“Well I’m guessing you’re going to ask me for an extension on the Giordano case?”

“Are you kidding?” The mayor pushes his way into the room. “I’m not asking for an extension, I’m demanding one. And,” the door closes behind him, Akashi stands and shakes his hand. “You went to high school with Kakucho, you cannot sit on on the case of the lead suspect of his attempted murder.”

“I am absolutely capable of being objective,” you snap, standing, “And for another thing-”

“It doesn’t matter.” The mayor cuts you off. “It doesn’t matter because I’m going to ask you to take the case.” You blink at him. “You’re the newest judge we have on the bench in this city, you have an absolutely impeccable record as a prosecutor. Ronald Giordano, we’ve been after him and his family for a long time. A long time.” You press your lips together.

“You’re aware you’re asking me to take a demotion that might get me killed.” You say coolly, Akashi shifts his weight behind the bench. “And it’s been years since I’ve practiced, I don’t know if I have the instinct for it anymore.”

“We’d get you the best support, the best paralegals, Detective Ken Ryuguji oversaw the case so you know it’s as airtight as it gets.” You sit.

“You know,” you pause, looking out the window of his office to the bullpen, a flurry of activity, “Hanma said I should do it, last night. Said I should put myself forward. And I laughed at him.” The mayor shrugs.

“You’re being called to serve your city, your country.”

“I have been serving my city, and my country. I could be working for Giordano and making fifteen times the states salary and here I am,” you stare daggers at him, “I will not be manipulated by whatever false sense of nationalism you’re hoping to stir in me. I will consider this weekend, you may have my answer by 8:30AM on Monday, at which point I’ll be granting the states request for an extension of preparation time due to an act of god.”

“An act of god?” The mayor sputters and your eyes flash dangerously.

“Here’s what I’m not about to do, sir,” you stand, he’s much taller than you but he takes a step back, “I’m not about to speculate on Kakucho’s case. I’m not about to litigate a case that the police haven’t even had for 24 hours. Who knows if the Giordano’s were even involved-”

“That’s naive-” The mayor starts, and you pick up your coffee, and toss the empty cup in the garbage,

“I’m taking the rest of today off,” you call over your shoulder, “Good day.” The mayor sinks into a chair and rubs his temples.

“She took that well?” He asks, and the Police Commissioner sighs deeply.

“Despite your best efforts, yes.”

Keep reading

lovesick (I)

— pairing: yandere ot7 x (f) reader — word count: 5.9k — warnings: yandere, stalking, obsessive behaviour, harrassment, mention of violence/bodily harm, 18+ — summary: You dreamed of the day you would get your very own soulmark. Though, you didn’t expect to wake up to a searing hurt in your arm, the phantom pain of your shoulder being dislocated and your forearm fractured. As if dealing with the worst possible soulmark ever wasn’t bad enough, you also have to come to terms with the fact that you’re being stalked. When the letters and gifts you receive begin to escalate and the police offers no help, you have no other option than to figure out who’s behind it yourself – and hopefully before it’s too late. — amazing cover by @leithold​!

Next

Your foot is throbbing – again.

You fall back into bed, lifting your leg up to rest it over your knee. You wince as you examine the damage, purple and yellow bruising covering your swollen ankle. Lightly pressing around the area, you’re relieved to find that it only seems to be slightly sprained.

You glance over at your bedside table as your alarm goes off again, the framed picture next to your phone catching your attention as you silence the shrill sound. It’s a photo of you and Heejun, your next-door neighbour turned best friend. This particular one was taken on the night before he turned eighteen, your grinning faces showing off the pure excitement you both felt at the time.

Ever since you were little, even before you met Heejun, you’ve always dreamed about meeting your soulmate. You’ve lost count of the endless nights you stayed up imagining what kind of mark you would find once you woke up on your 18th birthday. Your favourite was always discovering a note written on your arm – the same as your parents. A close runner-up was the countdown mark Heejun had, you always made sure to check in with him every day to watch as the time suddenly decreased or increased. You’ll never forget the day he called you, voice choked up with tears and joy as he told you he had finally bumped into his soulmate.

With thousands of different variants of soulmarks and new ones being reported every day, you always thought you would end up with something sweet, something fitting to the fairy tale you always wanted. You certainly weren’t expecting to wake up to a searing hurt in your arm, the phantom pain of a dislocated shoulder and forearm fracture sticking with you for weeks afterwards.

Keep reading

understated. | 3.

✦ you and nanami have been working side by side for three years now. when nanami brings his son to work with him one day, it changes the entire trajectory of your relationship in only 24 hours.

✦ nanami kento x f!reader

✦ word count: 2.2k

✦ warnings: none.

contents. | 2. | 3. | 4.

previously. 

instead, he says, “you know, i’m actually a little concerned that yuto’s turning out to be more and more like gojo every day.”

you choke on whatever’s in your mouth (which is not much - just air and spit).

nanami nods understandingly. “i agree.”

your choking turns into some sort of incomprehensible disapproval. “absolutely not. i won’t let that ever happen, not over my dead body.”

“well you’d need to live in order to make sure, right?”

you hang your head back and hear the tiny breath that escapes his lips as you slap your hands over your eyes. he’s got a much smarter mouth than you’ve ever realized - so much that you think yuto is turning out to be the most like his dad.

not a moment after, he says, “by the way, i’d much prefer having you as my partner than gojo as well.”

chapter 3. 

“it’s fine, i’ll fix it.” 

nanami’s already at his desk when you come into work. itadori looms over him, a frown plastered on his lips. 

it’s not a scene you haven’t witnessed before.  

“good morning,” you say tentatively. “what’s going on?” 

itadori opens his mouth to explain when nanami says, “nothing.” 

that’s not a response you haven’t heard before either. 

you stare at nanami. you’re hoping he feels you staring and just tells you what’s going on, but the more you stare, the more frustrated you get. 

when itadori blinks at you, you already know he’s judging you - and you won’t even deny it - you are one of those girls who looks at someone (nanami) and expects them to read your mind (and tell you what’s going on). 

Keep reading

Keep reading