PULL ME UNDER
-> Haruchiyo Sanzu x fem!reader
(AO3) she has always believed she would know when something crossed the line. then she meets haruchiyo sanzu, bonten’s number two, a man who is precise, obsessively loyal, and utterly without remorse, and she discovers that lines don’t simply snap. they erode over time.
WORST PART OF ME
-> Haruchiyo Sanzu x Yasuhiro Muto
(AO3) “the other divisions couldn’t handle this wild horse, you see.” that’s how haruchiyo sanzu is introduced to his new division captain. mucho has heard the stories before. about the temper and the violence. about toman's wild card. naturally, he prepares himself for the worst. what he finds instead is something far more complicated.
🌙 oneshots and drabbles .ᐟ
Killswitch
-> Tamsy Caines x fem!reader (AO3)
Heaven And Back
-> Rindou Haitani x fem!reader (AO3)
Heaven And Back
-> Rindou Haitani x Haruchiyo Sanzu ver. (AO3)
Middle Of The Night
-> Rindou Haitani x fem!reader (AO3)
Evening Glow
-> Haurchiyo Sanzu x fem!reader (AO3)
🌙 headcanons .ᐟ
Magi the labyrinth of magic
Judar
ideal s/o & relationship hcs
x artist!s/o
courting hcs
Tokyo Revengers
Rindou Haitani
relationship hcs w/ rindou
(n)sfw alphabet - a, b / a, c, g
(n)sfw alphabet - h, u, y / k, z
Ran Haitani
relationship hcs w/ ran
sfw alphabet - f, i, k, m & t
Haruchiyo Sanzu
relationship hcs w/ sanzu
sfw alphabet - f, i, k, m & t
please write more for rindou im begging on my knees (respectfully)
i’m so sorry i’m only getting back to you now, i was in a bit of a writing slump. i’m happy to say i just posted more rindou (this time sub rin, but i’ll be back to my regular schedule soon haha). i’m also brainstorming more ideas for him, sanzu, and maybe ran too ❤︎
synopsis: most people know him as chaos waiting to happen. she knows him as the quiet after it.
rating/warnings: established relationship, domestic haru, soft haru, just pure fluff. this idea popped into my head while i was at work, and i had to get it out of my system.
words: 1,6k+
masterlist
7:12 p.m. the clock on the wall opposite the entrance read as the front door clicked softly shut behind her. The apartment was wrapped in a kind of quiet that stood in stark contrast to the noise and chaos of the world she'd just left behind. Yet it wasn't the sort of silence that suggested she was the first one home.
A meeting to plan another meeting. Phone calls that could have been emails. Emails that shouldn't have left the drafts.
With her mind still crowded by the day, she kicked off her shoes.
Her boss enthusiastically preaching, for the fifth time this week, about the absolutely indispensable importance of their product. As if the people of Tokyo wouldn't survive without their carefully curated hotel experience.
Internally, she shook her head, trying to drive away the thoughts.
Her jacket found its usual place on the coat rack, and for a brief moment she simply stood there in the hallway, letting the quiet settle around her.
Eventually, she persuaded her tired body to move toward the next room, where the soft glow of the evening streamed through the large windows lining the right side of the apartment. Golden light spilled across the hardwood floor, stretching long shadows over the furniture. The door made no sound as she stepped into the living room, the heart of the home they shared.
Haruchiyo had almost certainly noticed her already.
Not only was he capable of moving in complete silence, he also possessed an almost unsettling awareness of other people's presence. She had long since lost count of how many times he'd accidentally startled her by appearing behind her without warning. Yet despite her best efforts, she'd never once managed to do the same to him.
Only now did she register the steady stream of dialogue coming from the television. A movie flickered across the screen, accompanied by the occasional burst of gunfire and dramatic background music. Some action film, by the look of it. It was unusual for the TV to be on this early in the evening. Then she remembered the Blu-ray Mucho had lent Haruchiyo the week before and simply assumed he'd finally gotten around to watching it.
As she approached, the blond man lifted his gaze to meet hers. His stare wasn't intense, but there was a clarity to it that made it obvious his attention had shifted to her instantly, as though he hadn't been fully absorbed in the movie only seconds earlier. The corners of his mouth twitched ever so slightly.
Skipping their usual greeting, she stepped around the armrest and rested one knee on the cushion before wrapping her arms around her boyfriend. A quiet, contented sigh escaped her as she buried her face against his chest. Warmth radiated through the thin fabric of his shirt, and almost immediately some of the tension she'd carried home with her began to melt away.
One of Haruchiyo's arms slipped around her waist without hesitation, settling there.
"Long day, huh?"
She didn't even need to look up to hear the grin in his voice.
"Don't get me started."
She remained there for another moment before swinging her other leg onto the couch and settling down, resting her head in Haruchiyo's lap. From there she could look directly up at him, his face framed by pale blond hair. The familiar tension that so often sat between his brows was gone, replaced by an openness in his expression that she was fairly certain very few people ever got to see. If anyone at all.
His hand found its way to her head almost immediately, fingers slipping into her hair as though guided by instinct. He gently scratched at her scalp before transitioning into slow, lazy strokes, carefully combing through the strands.
A contented sigh escaped her and she let her eyes drift shut, savoring the sensation.
The slightly older man continued running his fingers through her hair, somehow always finding exactly the right spots. It was a talent she was convinced he possessed exclusively to spoil her. With every gentle pass of his hand, the worries, frustrations, and pointless stress she'd carried home seemed to melt away.
A faint smile tugged at her lips as she nuzzled a little closer against him.
This had to be what heaven felt like.
"Wanna talk about it?"
His voice cut through the comfortable silence. The television was noticeably quieter now than it had been when she’d first walked in, the action scenes reduced to a low murmur in the background.
She cracked one eye open and found him already looking down at her.
The setting sun painted the room in shades of gold and amber, casting a warm halo around him. Combined with the soft light filtering through the windows, it gave him an almost angelic appearance. He really was unfairly handsome.
She shook her head and reached for the hand resting across her stomach, threading her fingers through his.
"Nah," she said. "I'd rather you catch me up on the movie so we can keep watching."
"I'm already thirty minutes in."
"Don't care."
Haruchiyo sighed. He already knew he'd lost.
"What about food?" he tried instead. "You usually come home starving."
"It's Friday," she replied. "Let's just order something."
For a brief second, his expression slipped. Like the idea had been sitting there waiting to be spoken out loud.
"That's what you were hoping for, huh?"
Haruchiyo immediately looked away. "Don't know what you're talking about."
She rolled her eyes and opened the delivery app on her phone.
Fifty minutes later, they were sitting on the floor in front of the couch, legs tangled together and a half-finished pizza resting on the coffee table between them.
Haruchiyo had insisted on restarting the movie while they waited for the food instead of spending twenty minutes explaining the plot. According to him, “it wasn’t that complicated,” which she strongly suspected was a lie.
As much as she hated admitting it, Mucho had excellent taste. This was one of the better movies she’d seen in a while. Either that, or she was just easy to impress when pizza and Haruchiyo’s lap-adjacent presence were involved.
A fight scene unfolded on screen, the protagonist somehow taking on what looked like an entire small army. Glass shattered and punches landed with exaggerated force.
She snorted. "Yeah, okay."
Haruchiyo hummed without looking away from the screen. “What?”
"No way."
Haruchiyo glanced at her. "No way what?"
“That.” She pointed lazily at the television with the slice of pizza still in her hand.
“One guy beating fifty people? That’s not happening.”
“It happens,” he said flatly.
“Nu-uh, it absolutely does not.”
“It does. Mikey does it all the time.”
She turned her head slowly, narrowing her eyes. “You’re biased.”
“How am I biased?”
“Because you’re one of those weird delinquents who idolizes their leader too much.”
His offended look only made her laugh harder.
“Weird delinquents?”
"Yeah."
"Weird?"
She nodded solemnly. "The weirdest."
Haruchiyo narrowed his eyes, a challlenging glint in them.
"Oh, really?"
"Really."
A grin tugged at the corner of her mouth as she set her pizza slice back down on the box and shifted closer. Before he could fully react, she swung one leg over his lap and settled there with deliberate ease, clearly pleased with herself.
"Look at you," she teased. "Getting defensive."
"I'm not defensive."
"You absolutely are."
She settled herself comfortably across his lap, clearly pleased with herself.
Haruchiyo stared at her for a moment. Then he said, completely deadpan, "You know I could end this fight whenever I wanted, right?"
She let out a laugh. "What fight?"
"This one."
"There is no fight."
"There is."
"Bullshit."
The word had barely left her mouth before Haruchiyo hooked an arm around her waist. Her eyes widened.
"Wait-"
In one smooth motion, he lifted her clean off his lap. A surprised squeal dissolved into laughter as she found herself slung over his shoulder.
"Haru!"
"I warned you."
"This proves nothing!"
"It proves everything."
Still laughing, she kicked her legs uselessly as he carried her the two steps to the couch and unceremoniously dropped her onto the cushions. She bounced once before collapsing into a fit of giggles.
Haruchiyo simply sat back down and reached for another slice of pizza.
"See? Fight ended."
"You're insufferable."
"And yet," he said, taking a bite, "I won."
A throw pillow hit him square in the face.
The grin never left. And she returned the smile.
For all the innocence Haruchiyo had lost far too young, for all the anger he still carried beneath the surface, and for every burden life had placed on both of their shoulders, she would choose this path with him every single time.
The worry never truly disappeared. Not when the situations Haru found himself in had long since become far more serious than the reckless troubles of his teenage years. Not when she spent her days working long hours at a dead-end corporate job he constantly insisted she didn't need to keep. She stayed because it gave them a semblance of normalcy, however fragile it might be.
And yet, none of it ever made her question her choice.
Because at the end of every exhausting day, she still got to come home to him.
To this.
To the rare, unguarded version of Haruchiyo that almost no one else ever saw. The one with softened edges and quiet smiles. The one who looked at her as though she were the easiest thing in the world to hold onto, like she was something steady in a life that had never been that way for him.
And if enduring all the worry meant she could come home and find him like this - alive, present, and here with her - then she would walk the same road beside him again and again without hesitation.
synopsis: there are very few people rindou haitani trusts with his life. even fewer he’d let tie him to a bed.
rating/warnings: explicit sexual content, established relationship, soft rin, sub rin, praise and degradation, edging, spanking, bonten timeline
words: 4,6k+
masterlist
There were a lot of things you could say about Rindou Haitani. Bonten executive, menace with a lazy grin, the guy who’d crank his DJ set at 3 a.m. just to see how long it took his brother to start yelling at him from the other room.
Most of what people said about him would be true. Not all of it would matter.
He was loud when he felt like it, social and extroverted. The kind of person who filled a room without even trying. Back when they were younger, he lived for nights that never really ended, jumping from one club to the next, drinks in hand and everything else pushed to the side. Nights where people let go a little too much and didn’t always like what they remembered in the morning.
For all the bickering, he loved Ran. He just wasn’t the type to say it out loud. Never had been. It showed in other ways instead. In the way they moved in sync during fights, like a single entity. The way they always made sure the other was okay before checking on themselves. Or in the small things. Like showing up late, tossing a Mont Blanc onto the table without a word when Ran was going through the motions.
Because the truth was, Rindou noticed everything.
He saw right through people, past the versions they carefully constructed and the image they tried so hard to maintain. He found enjoyment in picking people’s lies apart, noticing the little slips that would later be used as ammunition to humiliate them when the time seemed ripe. Behind his bored expression and uninterested demeanor, Rindou caught everything. And that is what made him dangerous.
Because Rindou Haitani was violent, too. There was no soft way to put that and no version of the truth that put him in a better light. The younger Haitani was an excellent fighter, and worse yet, could be frighteningly cruel when he wanted to be and sometimes when he didn’t need to be. For all the reputation that preceded Ran, in adulthood it was usually Rindou who people feared more. Even the lowest guys in Bonten knew better than to get on his bad side, because if Rindou got his hands on you, it wouldn’t be quick. The angles, the pressure, exactly how much force it took to make a bone give. He was an expert at making you suffer. And the worst part? He loved every single second of it.
Maybe that should have been enough to scare you off. But there was one thing people got consistently wrong about Rindou Haitani. And who could blame them, really, looking in from the outside? Rindou was many things, but never a bad partner.
Whatever Bonten had turned him into and whatever blood-stained horrors he left behind after a job well done, none of it ever followed him back to you. Of course, he couldn’t hide those parts of himself. Didn’t want to. But in the comfort of his own home, different sides of him were allowed to surface, too.
The carefree one, that still liked to be silly and play his DJ sets from his teenage years for you. Who would pick you up bridal style and carry you to the couch giggling.
The caring one, that liked seeing you happy. Maybe more than he’d ever admit out loud. The side that made sure a light wouldn’t stay broken long enough for you to complain about it or that important events never crept up on him.
The concerned one that knew about the dangers of life with a bonten executive where safety or coming home alive wasn’t always a guarantee. That sometimes regretted putting you in this position, but never once regretted choosing you.
And finally, the vulnerable one. The one who didn’t ask for much. Didn’t really know how to. The one who’d never learned how to voice his own emotional needs and relied on you to read between the lines, to notice the pauses and subtle tells he never bothered hiding from you. And over time, you learned how to.
So when he stepped into the dimly lit apartment that night, his shoulders hanging low, a smear of blood along his collar already drying, you knew exactly what kind of night it had been. The dark circles under his eyes a sign of exhaustion that went deeper than just lack of sleep.
“Bad night?” you asked, not really expecting an answer.
“Mhm.” Rindou hummed, walking over to you and pulling you into a firm hug. His cheek pressed against the top of your head, his strong arms wrapping around you, holding you close. You let your arms slip around his waist, face resting against his chest as a quiet content smile formed on your lips. You’d missed him.
“Wanna tell me about it?” you asked, softer still.
He shook his head just slightly.
Of course you weren’t oblivious to his work. You knew exactly what he did and who he worked with, had actually gotten quite close to Koko and even Sanzu over the years - a fact he initially wasn’t too excited about. Still, when it came to the gritty, brutal details, Rindou rarely felt the need to share. You were his safe haven. Here, in your shared apartment, with you, he could just be Rindou and he didn’t need Bonten to take that away from him, too.
You helped him shrug out of his jacket, hanging it neatly on a hook by the door while he kicked off his shoes. He rubbed at his stiff neck as he made his way to the sofa and plopped down. You wandered into the kitchen, suddenly craving a drink. You grabbed two cans and handed one to him, settling back on the couch beside him.
The crack of the cans opening filled the room. You both took a long sip, and Rindou rested his head against the back of the sofa, eyes drifting over to you with content ease. You were sitting with your back against one of the armrests, head turned toward him, and the younger Haitani pulled your legs onto his lap to start massaging them.
“How was your day?” Rindou asked.
“Boring meeting after boring meeting,” you sighed, thinking back to the uneventful day at the office. “Lunch was fun, but when I came home, one of the neighbors stopped to complain about the noise last weekend.” You laughed, not sure they would be quite as brave if they knew the real identity of the resident in the other apartment.
Rindou, unlike his brother, didn’t value anonymity. Your shared apartment was still luxurious, huge, and you were sure the bill could send you into a coma, but while Ran enjoyed his privacy, Rindou preferred a lively neighborhood in a better part of Tokyo.
“Hmm. They better get used to it,” he said, tracing circles on your legs and taking another sip of his beer.
Sometimes he felt bad about leaving you home alone for so long. Some weeks he was around a lot, but other times work required him to be gone for days at a time with practically no notice. Organized crime rarely followed a schedule, which led to many canceled dates and postponed trips. You always assured him it was fine, but he couldn’t help the guilty feeling.
Rindou leaned over you, fingers holding your face as he pulled you into a slow but passionate kiss. You melted into him, kissing back and grabbing a handful of his shirt. You had been with him so long, yet every kiss felt just as exhilarating as the first. You would never get tired of how perfectly he fit against you and were sure you would remember the taste of him forever.
Your lips moved against his, and his tongue asked for quiet entry, which you were more than happy to give. Rindou let his hands wander, from your neck down to your back and waist, until eventually they landed on your ass, pulling you a little closer. A pleased sounds left his lips at the lack of fabric. He loved when you wore his big shirts with nothing but some shorts or a pair of panties underneath. You sighed into the kiss and wrapped your arms around his neck, egging him on as his hand wandered further, explored your body. They eventually settled between your thighs, ready to pull your panties aside.
Without a warning you leaned back, breaking the kiss. The younger Haitani looked at you, confused.
“I was thinking,” you started, placing a brief kiss on his neck as an apology, “I want to try something new tonight.”
Rindou looked at you quizzically, unsure what to make of the sudden request. “Something new?” He raised an eyebrow.
You nodded. “I want to… take care of you and…” You weren’t sure how to convince him.
“Can I tie you up?”
Rindou looked at you surprised, genuinely not knowing what to say
“I’m not sure I…” he started. You knew full well the younger Haitani wouldn’t agree immediately. He never outright said it, but pleasing you, seeing your blissed-out face, fueled his ego immensely. The knowledge that only he got to see this version of you, that only he could make you feel that good, always pushed him further.
“Baby, I should be taking care of you,” he said simply. Even after a bad day at work, he still wanted to spoil you. You leaned forward, straddling his lap now, your fingers brushing his hair back, hands cupping his face.
“You always do that anyway, Rin,” you replied, your voice soft and laced with quiet admiration. “Just push that ego of yours to the side and let me return the favor for once.”
“And tying me up is required because…?”
You laughed softly. “Because I know you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands to yourself otherwise.”
His eyes met yours, and you could see the hesitation. And buried even deeper, a need he rarely let surface. A want to be taken care of. To feel your touch and just exist in it for a while.
“Please,” you mouthed, placing a featherlight kiss on his lips.
Rin sighed dramatically, though he was clearly pretending, and pressed his forehead against yours. “Fine,” he finally said. “But you’re not taking this from me.”
Before you could react, he hooked his arms under your legs, the other steady at your back, and stood up in one smooth motion. Not a single sign of strain as he carried you toward the bedroom, bridal style.
“Riiin,” you laughed in his arms, “you’re hopeless.”
______________________
Rindou placed you down on the bed, the mattress dipping under your weight. He started unbuttoning his vest, tossing it somewhere into the corner of the room before doing the same with his shirt.
In the meantime, you crawled further up the bed, reaching for one of the pillows and pulling out a pair of police-grade handcuffs from underneath. The lavender-haired man followed your movement. “You little…” he muttered, voice clearly amused. “You had this planned all along, huh?”
You shot him a grin. “Knew you couldn’t say no to me.”
Rindou had gotten stripped off everything but his briefs, the dim light catching on his toned body and the few small scars scattered across his skin. He stepped closer to the bed, bending down, ready to hover over you, when you stopped him.
“Ah-ah,” you said, patting the space next to you. “Sit down here.”
He looked at you for a moment, considering arguing, but eventually decided he didn’t quite have the energy for it. So instead he sat, the soft mattress giving way, eyes fixed on you. You were still only dressed in one of his favorite t-shirts and a pair of lacy underwear, so straddling him was easy. You climbed onto his lap, settling there, a self-satisfied grin playing on your lips as you looked down at him.
“Hands, please,” you said.
And to your surprise, Rindou obliged with no hesitation, lifting his arms and resting them above his head against the headboard.
You leaned over him, the metallic clink of the handcuffs filling the quiet as you opened them and secured his wrists to the bars of the bed. You gave them a pull, making sure they were tight enough that he couldn’t slip out but not enough to hurt.
When you sat back, facing him again, something in Rindou’s expression had shifted.
“Cat got your tongue?” you teased.
The younger Haitani looked at you, a hint of defiance returning to his features. “Wouldn’t dream of it. I’m paying you back after this,” he said.
You chuckled and leaned in, placing a soft kiss on his cheek before lifting his chin so he had to look at you.
“Well,” you murmured, “all I have to do is not let you go, then.”
You reached back for the pillow again and pulled out a piece of fabric - a blindfold.
“That wasn’t part of the deal,” Rindou said, but you hushed him, pressing a finger gently against his lips.
“Maybe you’re not the only one who doesn’t play fair,” you teased. “You can’t expect me to be around you and not pick up a few bad habits.”
You tied the fabric over his eyes, securing it at the back of his head, then waved your hand in front of his face to make sure he couldn’t see anything.
Satisfied, you settled back down, your clothed core resting against his.
“Rin…” There was a hint of surprise in your voice. He was already hard.
You pressed down against him, letting your weight add some friction as you rocked back and forth. Rindou’s lips pressed into a thin line. You placed your hands on his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin as you kept the movement going, the two layers of fabric keeping you from feeling him fully.
The air felt charged, heavy, and you let out a small gasp as his bulge brushed against your clit, your thighs pressing together involuntarily.
Deciding you wanted to take things slower, you moved away from him, settling between his legs instead. Your fingers hooked under his waistband as you motioned for him to lift his hips a bit. When he did, you pulled his briefs down in one smooth motion, discarding them on the floor with the rest of his clothes. The sudden exposure made Rindou shift slightly, the cool air hitting his skin.
You couldn’t help but stare. “So pretty for me.”
“Tch,” Rindou clicked his tongue, turning his head slightly, but the twitch of his cock gave him away. Who would’ve thought it took this little to reduce the bone-crushing Bonten executive to a mess.
You placed one of your hands on his thigh, fingers ghosting over his skin, moving up and down, always stopping just short of where he wanted you most. Your nails left faint scratches behind, and Rindou’s breathing grew heavier, his hands loosening slightly against the restraints.
You kept it up for a while longer, until eventually your boyfriend started bucking his hips up toward you.
“Stop the teasing,” he managed to get out, breath uneven. You couldn’t help but smile.
“Oh, I’m just getting started.”
Your hand moved to his abdomen, pressing him further into the pillows, putting more tension on his arms. You leaned down in front of him, your face just inches from him. Your breath alone was enough to send a shiver down Rindou’s spine. Not knowing what you would do next was driving him insane.
You wrapped your hand around him, applying light pressure at the base before dragging your tongue slowly along the underside. Rindou let out a breathy moan, and you felt yourself react instantly, pussy clenching around nothing. God, he sounded perfect.
Encouraged, you repeated the motion, slow and deliberate, letting your saliva coat him. Eventually, you took him into your mouth and tested the rhythm, your movements careful at first. Rindou tried to hold back, his muscles tensing, clearly trying to not buck up into you. Wanting to hold onto whatever semblance of control he thought he still had.
You adjusted, taking him deeper, your tongue tracing along the vein as you moved.
“Fuuuck” Rindou finally groaned, his hips lifting, hands pulling against the cuffs with a metallic clink. He wanted to touch you, to tangle his fingers in your hair, to guide you, but he couldn’t. He fucking couldn’t. The darkness behind the blindfold only made everything more intense. All he could focus on was the pull at his wrists and the feeling of your mouth wrapped around him.
His skin felt like it was burning, and you showed no sign of slowing down.
Instead, you added your hand, moving it in time with your mouth, the added pressure drawing another strained sound from him. The noises he made were almost sinful, and you could feel just how much it affected you, too. Your own breathing grew uneven, quiet sounds slipping past your lips as you kept going, eyes half-lidded and saliva dribbling down your chin. The fitted sheets were already a mess, but you couldn’t care less.
Your boyfriend couldn’t help but buck up into you, desperately chasing his release now. He was moving without shame, helpless in his endeavor to make you go faster by gripping your hair, the restraints digging into his wrists. You could feel him throb inside your mouth, felt the erratic stutter of his hips. The nails of your left hand dug into his flesh while your right made quick work of cock, stroking up and down while you worked your mouth on him, taking him all the way in
“I—… I’m gonna,” Rindou stuttered, breath hitching. “Fucking hell.” But he didn’t need to tell you. You already knew he was close, could feel it in the way his body tensed beneath you. So you ignored the tears prickling at the corners of your eyes and kept the relentless pace up, taking him all the way in and forcing yourself to stay still. Rindou released into you with a low groan, legs trembling and breathing labored, the tension finally snapping. You savored every sound he made and willed away your gag reflex, determined to swallow his release. When you finally let his cock slip from your lips, it left with a soft pop.
The Bonten executive was still trying to catch his breath as you slowly propped yourself up, just enough to hover over him. You leaned in, placing kisses all over his chest and belly, soft and lingering, each one filled with quiet affection. Finally, you caught his lips in a deep, passionate kiss, the taste of him still faintly on your tongue. Rindou’s breath hitched sharply when your hand found his slowly softening cock again, and he hissed, his sensitivity still at an all-time high.
“You didn’t think that was all, right?” you teased, your voice light, thumb tracing over his slit and smearing the remnants of his cum over it in slow, deliberate motions.
“At least take these off, so I-”
You kissed him again, cutting the protest off at its core.
“Not happening,” you breathed against his lips, pulling back just enough to spit into your hand and coat his cock with it.
Rindou hissed, his body twitching under the sensation. “S’too much… I’m still…”
“I’m sure my pretty boy can handle more.”
Rindou pulled at the handcuffs behind his head, clearly trying to break free now. You didn’t let it distract you. Instead, you traced slow, deliberate kisses along his jawline, working your way down to his neck. You lingered there before continuing to his shoulder, where you bit down gently, sucking at the skin until it flushed beneath your lips. You wanted to leave your mark on him - to make him feel even a fraction of what he usually made you feel.
“All mine,” you breathed, licking over the spot as you released the tender flesh.
Rindou let out a whine, one unlike anything you’d ever heard from him before. It shot straight through you, soiling your panties even more, if that was even possible. But tonight wasn’t about you. It was about him. And so you forced yourself to ignore the heat pooling low in your core, focusing instead on him, on every small reaction he gave you. Your hand moved along his shaft again, slower this time, gauging every subtle shift in his breathing, every twitch of his body, adjusting the pressure and pace just enough to draw out the most delicious sounds.
A faint sheen of sweat had started to form on Rindou’s body, catching the dim light as his muscles tensed and released beneath your touch. His lips were red, kissed raw, parted slightly as uneven breaths slipped past them. He looked absolutely sinful like this.
A strange sense of possessiveness washed over you as you shifted closer to him, finally pushing your panties down your legs and discarding them before settling back onto his lap. This time, nothing separated you. No fabric, no barrier, just skin against skin. Your slit pressed down against his shaft, the friction immediate and intoxicating, drawing a soft shudder from your body.
Rindou reacted just as strongly, his head falling back as his hips bucked up into you on instinct. You grabbed onto his shoulder for leverage, your other hand curling around his neck as you began to rock your hips slowly, deliberately. Your arousal coated him quickly, slick and warm, and every movement grew easier, wetter. Heat pooled deep in your core, your breath catching as you ground down against him, your nails digging into his skin.
Rindou’s groans and heavy breathing filled the room, low and uneven. He tilted his head upward, facing where he thought you were, trying and hopelessly failing to regain some semblance of control.
“Need more,” he muttered, voice rough and strained. “I want to feel you.”
Your body reacted instantly, a sharp twitch of need at how wrecked he already sounded.
“But aren’t you already?” you teased, though your voice betrayed the fake composure. You weren’t sure how much longer you could keep this up, but you wanted to hear it. Wanted him to beg.
Rindou bit down on his lip, stubbornness flickering across his expression despite everything. He stayed quiet for a moment, holding out, until you suddenly picked up your pace. Your hips rolled harder against him, your slick spreading, practically dripping over his cock as you leaned in, letting soft, breathy moans spill right against his ear.
“Fuck,” he broke, head falling back again, his composure slipping completely. His hands strained against the cuffs with a sharp metallic clink. “I don’t care… please. Just- please give me more. I need it. I need to feel you. Put it inside, fuck… I want to feel you squeezing me. Please…”
Whatever restraint you had left snapped instantly.
You lifted your hips, hand wrapping around his cock to guide him. Lining him up with your entrance, you didn’t hesitate. You sank down onto him in one smooth motion. The sudden stretch pulled a gasp from you, your head falling back as the feeling hit you all at once.
He filled you perfectly.
Rindou’s thighs trembled beneath you, his head falling to the side as a broken sound left him, somewhere between a groan and a breath. He melted into the sensation, completely overtaken, your tightness and warmth overwhelming him in the best possible way.
Your fingers found his jaw, angling it towards you and your lips found his in a heated kiss. Rindou leaned in as far as he could, his tongue running hot over your mouth. You parted your lips, granting him entry, and soon he was exploring you, his tongue meeting yours, moaning into you.
You met him with the same desperation, lips pressing into his, teeth catching lightly on his lower lip as you kept up the steady rhythm of your hips. He was buried impossibly deep inside you, and you could feel everything, the way you clenched around him, the way your body reacted to every movement.
When the tip of his cock brushed against your cervix, a sharp, heated sensation shot through you. Your vision blurred, thoughts going hazy as you chased that high.Rindou rested his head against your shoulder now, his ragged breaths hot against your skin as he felt you tighten around him.
“I’m-” the words caught in his throat. “Keep going… fuck, I’m close,” he managed, his hips snapping up into you as much as the position allowed.
You didn’t slow down. If anything, you held on tighter, crescent-shaped marks forming on his skin where your fingers dug in. One of your hands moved between your bodies, finding your clit, rubbing quick, desperate circles.
Your legs ached, but you ignored then. Your mind was full of nothing but him. The way he felt, his desperate sounds, the way he twitched inside you, drawing another involuntary squeeze from you in response. Your hips lifted and dropped again, almost pulling away completely before sinking back down, the motion enough to push both of you closer to the edge.
You came together with a deep, broken moan, bodies trembling as pleasure rushed through them. Your legs shook, barely holding you up, while Rindou sank back into the pillows, his chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath.
Your legs felt wobbly, and you stayed there for a moment, just taking it all in. His warmth still inside you, the slowly softening cock and steady rise and fall of his chest beneath you, the comfortable silence that now filled the room. Even his hands, still secured in the cuffs. You wanted to remember this. Every second of it.
Carefully, you reached forward and untied the blindfold. Rindou scrunched his face slightly as it came off, his eyes unfocused, blinking a few times as he adjusted. Even the dim light seemed too much at first, making him squint.
Slowly, you eased yourself off him, your hands gliding over the sheets until you found the key. With a small twist and a soft click, the restraints came undone, and Rindou’s arms fell limply to the bed, his muscles finally giving out after being held up for so long.
You leaned back into him, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “How are you feeling?”
The younger Haitani opened his eyes fully this time and turned his head toward you, taking a slow breath as he grounded himself. His hand settled at the small of your back, warm and steady, his thumb tracing lazy circles against your skin.
Rindou pulled you into a slow kiss.
“Much better…” he admitted honestly, his voice softer than usual.
His eyes searched your face, taking you in like he was afraid to miss a single detail. There was something unguarded in his expression now, something rare. His hand tightened ever so slightly against your back, assuring and familiar.
“I love you,” he said.
He reserved those words for quiet, meaningful moments like this. He showed them every day through his actions, in all the little things he did for you, but hearing them spoken aloud was rare. And because of that, you treasured them even more.
“I love you too, Rin,” you whispered before meeting his lips in a soft kiss, one filled with emotion, carrying everything said and unsaid between you.
No, Rindou Haitani wasn’t a good man in the conventional sense. But here, in this moment, you couldn’t imagine wanting anyone else. And for as long as you could, you would make sure he always had a place to come back to - a place outside of Bonten, far from the bloodshed and noise.
A place where he could be more than that. Where he could be soft, loved, unguarded. A place that reminded him this was part of who he was, too.
synopsis: “the other divisions couldn’t handle this wild horse, you see.” that’s how haruchiyo sanzu is introduced to his new division captain. mucho has heard the stories before. about the temper and the violence. about toman's wild card. naturally, he prepares himself for the worst. what he finds instead is something far more complicated.
rating/warnings: sanzu is his own warning, hurt/comfort, hurt/no comfort, childhood trauma, canon-typical violence, eventual smut, eventual romance, loss of virginity, emotionally unstable haruchyio sanzu, bottom haru, top mucho
word count: 8,9k+ (AO3)
masterlist
It was kind of an open secret that Sanzu Haruchiyo had never really been well liked within the ranks of Toman. No one could quite say when that quiet dislike had started. Mostly because it felt like it had always been there, lingering just under the surface. Most members had heard the stories that he’d been friends with Mikey since they were kids. The Mikey. The invincible Mikey. And yet the two of them were hardly ever seen together. Not openly, anyway. Not the way Mikey was with Draken. They weren’t laughing together, barely spoke in public, and definitely weren’t the type to stand shoulder to shoulder like close friends. Still, Sanzu always seemed to be there whenever the blond teenager showed up, appearing without warning, slipping quietly into the background like he’d been there the whole time.
He followed Mikey like a shadow. One Mikey didn’t seem to give a single conscious thought to in his everyday life, yet one that stubbornly refused to leave his side. Like some natural, constant phenomenon. Unquestioned and almost boring in how reliable it was. Something people just accepted as part of the scenery. Most days, his presence was so quiet, so unobtrusive, that plenty of members barely noticed him at all. And if Haruchiyo’s unwavering loyalty and constant presence had been the only notable things about him, he probably would have stayed little more than a footnote. Maybe a few judgmental looks here and there. Something bordering on pity, prompted by how little attention Mikey seemed to give him. A quiet, loyal dog trailing behind a master who barely acknowledged it anymore. Hardly worth thinking about.
But the lean teenager was a contradiction in a way that made new members underestimate him, sparked a strange kind of fascination in some, and made older members go out of their way to avoid him.
Haruchiyo was beautiful. Not just “for a guy,” but beautiful in an absolute sense. Anyone with eyes could see it. The way his long, well-kept hair framed his face. His soft features. Those long, thick lashes and the crystal-clear eyes that always seemed to see a little too much. His skin was flawless, and his slender frame didn’t give away how strong he actually was. Nothing about him or the way he looked hinted at danger. His beauty was the kind people associated with artwork displayed behind glass in quiet galleries, or with perfectly edited magazine photos of western models. Images polished so much they almost looked unreal. Not that most of Toman’s members knew much about that kind of thing. Still, maybe that was exactly what pulled them in at first. What made some of them linger a second too long, stirred curiosity and in a few cases, feelings they would rather not examine too closely.
But none of that truly defined Sanzu Haruchiyo.
What actually defined him, what wiped away that fascination and replaced it with a quiet sense of caution, sometimes even fear, was how unpredictable he was. The way his mood could flip without warning. The casual cruelty that crept into his smile when things turned violent, like violence wasn’t just a tool to him but something closer to instinct.
One of the newer recruits had seen it himself just a few weeks ago. Another newbie his age had laughed, loud and careless, asking what someone like Haruchiyo was even doing here. Joking that he would be better off bent over tables for the guys who were actually useful to Mikey rather than following him around like a lost puppy.
He hadn’t even finished the sentence before a fist brutally connected to his face. One moment Haruchiyo had been standing there, expression unreadable and the next, there was blood on the floor and a pained scream ringing through the air. It happened so fast no one had time to step in. And afterward, Haruchiyo didn’t even look particularly angry. If anything, he looked mildly inconvenienced, like he’d just dealt with a small, irritating problem. And honestly, that was exactly what it had been to him.
Unfortunately for everyone else, it wasn’t only blatant disrespect that could set the sixteen-year-old off. Sometimes a careless comment about Mikey was enough. Praise worded the wrong way. A joke that drifted a little too close to mockery. Words that could be twisted, if someone felt like twisting them. And Haruchiyo always did.
The punishment usually followed right away. A broken arm. A shattered jaw. A finger bent the wrong way.
Violence was almost a daily thing when you lived the kind of life they did. It was expected, and when it came to rival gangs, sometimes even looked forward to. Stupid fights and petty arguments inside the group weren’t unusual either. That’s what happened when you packed a bunch of hormonal teenagers with too much anger and not enough direction into the same space, most of them chasing ambitions a lot less idealistic than their leader’s. Bruises healed and grudges faded quickly.
But violence involving Haruchiyo was different. It was cold and precise. The kind of violence that felt almost surgical. He carried it out with complete disregard, not just for whoever was standing in front of him, but for himself too. There was no empathy in it. No real distinction between Toman and non-Toman. Once he crossed that invisible line, it was like nothing else existed. Nothing mattered except Mikey.
It was as if Haruchiyo would gladly throw himself away just to fracture, shatter, and break whatever stood in the king’s way. As long as he remained useful. As long as it meant protecting Mikey. It didn’t matter how ugly it got. How far he had to go. How much blood ended up on his hands or how much damage he took in return. He’d destroy himself just as easily as he’d destroy anyone else if it meant staying by Mikey’s side. That, more than anything, was what made him dangerous.
His cold unpredictability, paired with that unsettling lack of empathy, made him almost impossible to approach. And so, quietly and without anyone really saying it out loud, the members of Toman all came to the same conclusion: it was safer to stay away from Haruchiyo Sanzu. To lower their voices when he passed and to speak of certain things only once he was out of earshot.
Relief came in the form of Mutou Yasuhiro. Mucho. Tall, imposable Mucho with his stoic expression and immovable build, gave the illusion of structure amidst the chaos and a sense that someone had their hands on the reins. Someone who could contain what resisted being contained. Ever since Haruchiyo had been placed under his supervision, the outbursts had become a little less frequent. Not gone. No, definitely not gone. Just rarer. Still, when they did happen, and Mucho decided the reason was justified, he let the younger boy do as he pleased. Watching from the sidelines, sometimes with the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes and a silent fascination in his eyes. Though, deep down, in a hidden corner of his mind he would never allow himself to share with another soul, Mucho had to admit the truth: Sanzu Haruchiyo frightened him.
It wasn’t the physical danger he posed to the others that unsettled Mucho. He knew his own strength. There were maybe one or two people in all of Toman who could face him head-on, and one of them was Mikey. No, what set Haruchiyo apart and stirred a sense of fear in him was something easier to miss. Beneath the violence was calculation. Beneath the impulse, intent. He was treacherous, and worse, painfully patient. The kind of person who could wait without losing focus, who could stretch a plan out as long as it took until the outcome was certain.
Mucho had never been the type for that kind of game. He wasn’t a strategist who enjoyed dragging things out or circling a problem until it collapsed under its own weight. He preferred the blunt, violent approach Haruchiyo sometimes showed as well. Meet obstacles head-on. Crush problems with sheer force and the refusal to back down. There was something reassuring in that kind of simplicity to him. Maybe that was why, even with all his authority, Mucho sometimes caught himself watching Haruchiyo a moment longer than necessary. Not wondering if the chaos would break loose again, but when, and where it would land.
Their first meeting might have looked distant or even cold to anyone watching from the outside, mostly because both of them were naturally reserved. Sanzu was used to being alone, and Mucho was a man who spoke little and chose his words carefully. Still, to his surprise, it wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable or hostile as Mucho had expected after hearing all the stories about the younger boy. Instead, there was a sense of calm between them, an unspoken understanding that most likely stemmed from the fact that their cooperation had been a direct order from Mikey and therefore left no room for doubt in Haruchiyo’s eyes.
For the first few days, the blond followed him around without saying much. He learned Mucho’s routines, quietly adjusting his own pace to match them. Before long he was already reading Mucho’s patterns, anticipating instructions before they were even spoken. It was subtle, but effective. They ate lunch together when schedules allowed, sitting across from one another or side by side, exchanging brief remarks about upcoming meetings or discussing the current situation with one of the rival gangs. The conversations were sparse and practical, often followed by long stretches of silence neither of them felt compelled to fill. The kind of quiet where both parties were still figuring out the shape of the other’s presence.
Their first genuine exchange came later, at a Toman meeting. Haruchiyo arrived alone this time, separate from Mucho, riding in on a hotpink Kawasaki GPZ900R. It was the first instance since they’d begun working together that he hadn’t shown up on foot or picked Mucho up with his car. The engine cut cleanly, the bike rolling to a smooth stop before he swung his leg over it. Even from a distance, it was obvious the machine was kept in exceptional condition.
“Nice bike,” he said at last. “Didn’t know you rode.”
Haruchiyo straightened, pulling off his gloves with deliberate care before setting them down on the seat. “I do.”
Mucho stepped a little closer, slowly circling the motorcycle. The paint was flawless. No scratches along the frame, no grime clinging to the wheels or dulling the exhaust. It looked less like something that had been ridden and more like something that had been carefully preserved.
“I’ve always liked Kawasak,” Mucho said. “Solid engines. Reliable.”
Haruchiyo’s expression shifted to something Mucho hadn’t seen before. Interest, unguarded and brief, flickered in his eyes.
“This model especially,” Haruchiyo said. “changed everything when it came out.” He rested a hand lightly on the handlebar, thumb brushing near the throttle without actually touching it. “The balance, the speed. It responds well if you know how to handle it.”
“You sound like someone who rides a lot,” Mucho remarked, glancing over the spotless frame again. “Hard to tell though,” he added mildly. “It looks brand new.”
Haruchiyo stiffened. It was subtle, but noticeable enough for Mucho to catch. “I take care of my things,” he said, his voice a little sharper than before. “Doesn’t mean I don’t use them.”
Mucho lifted his hands in a placating gesture, a rare smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t say you didn’t.”
There was a short pause. Haruchiyo glanced down at the bike, scanning it as if checking for flaws that weren’t there. His fingers brushed over the seat in an absent, almost habitual motion. When he looked back up, his tone had evened out again.
“Took a while to get my hands on one,” he said. “Finding it in good condition wasn’t easy.”
“I can imagine,” Mucho replied. “Most people don’t bother keeping them like this.”
Haruchiyo shrugged. “Most people don’t appreciate them properly.”
The comment landed somewhere between defensiveness and pride. Mucho let it sit, nodding once. “Well,” he said, stepping back, “you’ve got good taste.”
Haruchiyo didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached for his gloves again and put them in his pocket. “Yeah,” he said. “I know.”
For the first time Haruchiyo heard a genuine laugh from Mucho.
__________________________________________
“Wear this.” Mucho’s voice was calm, but his gaze lingered on Haruchiyo with a quiet expectation as he held out a piece of black fabric.
“Maybe then the others will keep their eyes to themselves.”
He was certain Haruchiyo would take it as a reference to his scars, but that wasn’t the whole of it. If anything, it was probably self-preservation. After spending a few weeks around him, learning his routines, riding together, and slowly discovering a few shared interests, something about Haruchiyo had started getting under Mucho’s skin. He couldn’t quite name it. All he knew was that he would rather not feel it at all.
Haruchiyo reached for the fabric without hesitation. He took it from Mucho’s hand and put it on without a word of protest. He didn’t ask why. And if the thought had crossed his mind, he kept it to himself, probably settling on his own explanation instead. Mucho studied him for a moment and sighed inwardly. Only slightly better.
The fabric covered the scars and hid most of the younger boy’s face, which had been the idea. But what Mucho hadn’t factored in was how much more Haruchiyo’s eyes stood out against the black now, sharp and unnervingly intense. Eyes that looked like they could cut straight through someone. They were full of suspicion too. And yet, despite all that emotion sitting so close to the surface, they still seemed strangely empty.
Mucho wasn’t someone who usually got stuck on things like that. He didn’t overanalyze a stare or try to read too much into a teenager’s body language. But over the last few days, he kept catching himself glancing over at Haruchiyo again and again. The thought wouldn’t let him go.
His subordinate had started to feel like a riddle Mucho couldn’t quite solve. Like the answer was right there, sitting at the tip of his tongue, only to disappear the moment he tried to grasp it.
“Got something on my face, Captain?” Haruchiyo’s voice cut through the silence, carrying a hint of challenge. “You’ve been staring a lot lately.”
And truthfully, Haruchiyo hated it. He hated being looked at like that. His whole life it had been the same routine - people staring, whispering, acting like they had him all figured out before he’d even said a word. And now his own captain was doing it too.
Mucho blinked, clearly caught off guard, and looked away like someone had snapped him out of a trance.
“Just lost in thought, kid,” he said, deliberately dismissive. The situation was obviously uncomfortable for him, and he wanted out of it as quickly as possible. “Nothing personal.”
Haruchiyo let out a quiet scoff.
“Then you might wanna think in another direction,” he muttered. “Because it’s creeping me out.”
Some days, Mucho felt like they had gotten a little closer. They weren’t anything close to friends, but he had started to think he’d at least closed the distance between them. That Haruchiyo tolerated him, if nothing else. That maybe, in his own strange way, he was letting Mucho in as much as someone like him ever would.
But moments like this proved the exact opposite.
Every time Mucho took one step toward Haruchiyo, the boy took two steps back. Emotionally and physically.
And it wasn’t always obvious. Sometimes it was very subtle, barely visible in the way Haruchiyo’s shoulders stiffened, or how his eyes narrowed the moment someone came too close. Other times the reaction was immediate. If Mucho reached out without thinking, a quick hand on his shoulder or his arm brushing against Haruchiyo’s while they walked, Haruchiyo would recoil like he’d been burned and immediately create distance between them. What followed after usually felt like an invisible wall snapping into place between them. Solid. Impossible to get through. Every genuine attempt at connection bounced right off it, as easily as a ball hitting stone.
In some ways, Haruchiyo Sanzu reminded Mucho of an abused cat, all teeth and claws when cornered. Ready to lash out at anything that stepped into its space, even if it meant no harm. Mucho flinched every time, purely on reflex, like someone pulling their hand away after touching a hot stove. And yet, after enough time passed, he’d find himself doing it again. Trying again, as if the sting of rejection had already faded and his mind had conveniently forgotten the discomfort in favor of something else. It was ridiculous. And yet he couldn’t stop.
Haruchiyo, on the other hand, was unsettled for entirely different reasons. He had to admit, reluctantly, that the past few weeks hadn’t been as bad as he’d imagined. Back in his old division, he’d never exactly been well liked. Not that he cared about the approval of those extras anyway. But before, during his time in Toman, he hadn’t been directly assigned under anyone and could move around as he pleased. Well. Maybe not at his side. More like a few steps behind him. Still, it had been enough. Mikey’s presence had always been his anchor, his excuse, his shield, and his entire motivation.
The thought of being assigned to a new division, of being placed under someone else’s authority, had filled him with a quiet sense of dread at first, even if it had been Mikey’s order. He had kissed his autonomy goodbye and braced himself for the conflicts that would follow. Not knowing much about him, Haruchiyo had expected the captain to be the type who barked orders just to hear his own voice. Someone loud and self important, throwing his rank around like it made him untouchable. Like it meant something. Someone like Kiyomasa. But reality couldn’t have been further from the picture he’d built in his head.
Mucho wasn’t a man of many words. He didn’t boast in front of others, didn’t puff out his chest and act bigger than he was. He was hard to provoke and even harder to impress. Tall and intimidating, closed off, yet somehow easy to read at the same time. He stood tall and intimidating, closed off, yet somehow easy to read at the same time, like an open book that gave you all the info you needed if only you knew which page to turn.
Mucho was what he did.
He stood by his actions and let them speak for him. He was honest in a way that was hard for the younger teen to understand, and demanding in a way that felt fair, never pushy. Maybe that was exactly why the new division didn’t feel like punishment after all.Even though Haruchiyo technically served under Mucho, they didn’t have to spend as much time together as they did. They could have kept things strictly professional. Captain and subordinate, nothing more. But somewhere along the way, it started happening on its own.
One ride turned into another. Shared silence became routine. Passing conversations stretched longer than they needed to.
And Haruchiyo hated that the familiarity was starting to feel… almost welcome.
Because there was something dangerously comforting about it. Something that made him want to turn around and walk straight back to Mikey before he could get used to it. Before he could start wanting it.
Sharing things with Mucho felt wrong. Unnatural. To be fair, he never gave the older captain much to work with in the first place. He kept things cordial and surface level. Still, their conversations weren’t boring. They talked about movies, music, engines, bikes. Always bikes. That was easy to talk about. But the moment a conversation drifted somewhere more personal, Haruchiyo shut it down immediately. He would redirect it, guide things back to safer ground and steer the topic into neutral territory, away from anything with real weight.
He didn’t like sharing parts of himself. Just the idea made his chest tighten, something sour rising in his throat as if his body rejected the possibility outright. Vulnerability was messy, and completely unwelcome. Whether it was in his surroundings or within himself, he needed cleanliness and structure. A clean cut and a direct approach with no room for doubt or complications. No room for anyone to see inside.
Bikes weren’t the only thing they had in common, though. To his surprise board games gave both boys an escape. Truthfully, he hadn’t coined the older man as someone who found enjoyment in Shogi. But like so many times before Haruchiyo stood corrected. And so they played whenever time allowed. Equals on the board. Even though Haruchiyo claimed the slightly longer winstreaks, always one or two wins ahead of the older captain. It ignited a sense of pride in him. He knew Mucho was intelligent and, more importantly, that he didn’t hand out wins, didn’t go easy on him because of his age or rank. Which meant every victory was earned. And that made it addictive.
He’d learned to read the little signs: the crease that formed between Mucho’s brows the moment he realized he was trapped, the subtle jaw clench, the tiny shift in posture when he recalculated only to see it was too late. Mucho didn’t make a scene, but the faint sour edge to his expression and the quiet sting to his pride were there for anyone paying attention. And Haruchiyo did. Getting a win against him felt like winning twice.
“No luck today either, Captain, huh?” he teased, his tone mocking but lacking any real venom. “Maybe you could learn a thing or two from the younger folk.”
Mucho shot him a glare and took a long sip from his soda, his left arm resting loosely on his thigh as the cool liquid slid down his dry throat. The can crinkled faintly under the pressure of his grip, condensation dampening his palm. He made a mental note to go for another vending machine run soon; they had been at it for a while now, the warmth of the afternoon luring them into one of the larger parks near the river.
The whole scene around them almost felt comical in how peaceful it was. The park stretched wide and green, freshly cut grass giving off that sharp, earthy smell that always hung in the air during early spring afternoons. Cherry blossoms were already past their peak, but petals still drifted lazily from the trees whenever the wind picked up. They scattered across the paved paths and sometimes landed on the wooden table between them. Families occupied the open spaces further down, children’s laughter ringing out as they chased one another across the lawn, while older couples claimed shaded benches beneath the trees, engaged in quiet conversation. Somewhere nearby, a dog barked, followed by the metallic rattle of a bicycle passing along the path.
And right in the middle of it all sat the two of them. Black Toman uniforms, hunched over a shogi board like a pair of old men killing time. Haruchiyo could have sworn he caught a few weird looks from people passing by. Eyes lingering a second too long on the contrast between their intimidating uniforms and the oddly calm scene of them playing board games in the park. But today he wasn’t in the mood to care. He felt calm. Unguarded, at least as unguarded as Sanzu Haruchiyo ever let himself be.
It was the middle of spring and the temperature was steadily climbing. In a few weeks early summer would roll in, bringing that suffocating humidity that turned their black uniforms into quiet torture. Later that afternoon they had a Toman meeting to attend, but with no better plans for the Saturday and the hours stretching lazily before them, they had ended up here again, as they often did lately.
“Don’t think I’m letting you off the hook with a win,” Mucho finally said, setting the can down beside his boot. “Next one’s mine for sure.”
A gust of wind swept through the park, lifting strands of Haruchiyo’s long hair as he started gathering and rearranging the shogi pieces, already getting ready for the next round. He was still wearing the black mask Mucho had given him. In fact, ever since that day, Mucho hadn’t seen him without it once.
Admittedly, Mucho had expected the younger boy to wear the mask begrudgingly for a few days before eventually ditching it. But whether it was obligation, a bit of newfound comfort, or simply the relief of not getting stared at in public, he couldn’t really tell. The fabric hid the scars, sure. Still, it did nothing to dull the ridiculous beauty of the boy underneath it, and it definitely didn’t shield anyone from those sharp, damning eyes.
Mucho had wanted to ask about the scars for a while now. At first he figured they were leftovers from some brutal fight with a rival gang. But after spending more time around Haruchiyo and actually getting a good look at them, it became clear they were older. Too cleanly healed to be recent.
Even with the curiosity nagging at him, the question never came. If it was something he needed to know, Haruchiyo would have told him by now. And considering the younger boy barely shared anything about his life before Toman, it felt ridiculous to assume he would open up about something that personal. Even if Mucho asked. Still, it bothered him more than it probably should have.
“Ready for your third loss of the day?” Haruchiyo asked, tugging the mask down just enough to take a sip from his drink. After sitting in the sun for almost two hours, the soda had gone lukewarm, most of the bite gone from the fizz. The sweetness still clung faintly to his tongue though. He pulled the mask back into place with practiced ease, then picked up one of the shogi pieces and slid it across the board. He set it down with quiet confidence and motioned for Mucho to make his move.
They kept playing like that for a while.
People continued drifting past. Shadows stretched a little longer as the sun climbed higher in the sky. The breeze carried more warmth now, threading through their hair and stirring the leaves above them. Light filtered through the branches and scattered across the table in shifting patches of sun and shade. Somewhere up in the trees, a bird called out every now and then, the sound blending with the faint hum of the city beyond the park.
Haruchiyo leaned forward over the board, shoulders slightly hunched. His body cast a narrow shadow behind him across the wooden planks. Across from him, the crease between Mucho’s brows returned, deeper this time, carving that familiar line of concentration into his otherwise steady expression. It wasn’t looking good again.
And this time it actually chipped away at Mucho’s pride. Haruchiyo could tell. Unlucky for him, Haruchiyo wasn’t the kind of person who would ever let someone win out of sympathy. First of all, it just wasn’t in his nature to give up a victory. Especially not the quiet thrill of slowly cornering his opponent until there was nowhere left to go. Second, Mucho was a proud man. A third loss in a row would sting, sure. But getting pitied by one of his own subordinates would probably hurt his pride a lot more. That much Haruchiyo understood.
So the middle schooler picked up another piece and set it down with a soft click near one of Mucho’s last defenses, sealing the outcome.
“For fuck’s sake,” Mucho groaned. He pinched the bridge of his nose and leaned back slightly on the bench. “I’m really out of it today, huh.”
“Whatever lets you sleep at night.”
Mucho didn’t need to see the full expression under the mask to know Haruchiyo was wearing a smug, shit eating grin. It showed in the faint crinkle at the corners of his eyes and the unmistakable glint of satisfaction in them.
And despite himself, Mucho felt the corner of his own mouth twitch upward. “Whatever. I’ll let you have this one. But don’t get too used to it, Sanzu.”
His voice was light, almost careless, but there was something close to anticipation in it. That familiar competitive spark was still there, untouched by the losing streak. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t looking forward to these matches. Not that Mucho lacked company. Most nights were spent in dimly lit bars thick with cigarette smoke and low conversation, the air heavy with cheap alcohol and music that hummed through sticky floors. Other evenings he wandered the streets with a few trusted friends, the kind of aimless roaming that came with youth and too much restless energy. And sometimes, when the mood was right and the timing lined up, the night ended in the bed of some random chick he’d met along the way. The names rarely stuck until morning.
Mucho didn’t consider himself exceptionally attractive by any conventional standard. Still, there had to be something about his height, the solid build of his arms, and that constant intimidating presence that seemed to work for a certain kind of woman. Not that he complained. Or particularly cared. It was just another way to pass the time. Another outlet to burn off tension in a way that punching someone in the face never quite managed to do. Still, none of those distractions offered the same calm satisfaction as watching Sanzu lean over a board with calculating eyes, or feeling the slow burn of pride when he managed to corner him back.
Mucho checked his watch and let out a quiet breath as reality started creeping back in. The afternoon light had shifted around them without either of them noticing. Shadows stretched longer now across the grass and pavement.
“’Bout time we head to the meeting,” he said, pushing himself up from the bench and brushing nonexistent dust off his uniform. “Don’t wanna keep the boss waiting.”
Haruchiyo didn’t need to be told twice.
He started gathering the shogi pieces carefully, dropping them one by one into the linen pouch. The board folded neatly in half, the hinges lining up perfectly before he tucked it away with the bag. Even something as simple as packing up carried that same precision that seemed to follow him everywhere.
They left the park soon after, the late afternoon air warmer now, heavier against their skin. Gravel crunched under their boots as they walked toward the parking lot where Haruchiyo’s black car waited a little apart from the others. It was polished to the same near perfect standard as his bike, the surface catching the light without a speck of dust on the hood.
Haruchiyo fidgeted briefly while digging his keys out of his pocket. A soft electronic click unlocked the doors, the sound echoing through the otherwise quiet lot.
He slipped into the driver’s seat without hesitation, adjusting the mirrors almost automatically. Mucho settled into the backseat on the passenger side, long legs stretching out with a low exhale as the door shut with a solid thud. The interior of the car carried a faint, clean scent devoid of clutter or personal touches. Everything was in its place. As always.
And for a brief moment, before the engine started, the silence between them felt heavier than it had back in the park.
__________________________________________
The meeting was already in full swing as the afternoon sun began to dip lower in the sky. The warmth slowly bled out of the air, and the breeze moving through the crowd carried the first real chill of evening with it. Most of the Fifth Division stood gathered near the front on Mikey’s right side, their dark uniforms stark against the fading light. Mucho stood still among them, arms loosely crossed over his chest, his expression as unreadable as ever. Haruchiyo stood a little ahead of him, posture straight, hands tucked into his pockets.
At the front, Mikey and Drajeb addressed the group. Mikey’s voice cut cleanly through the low murmur of the crowd as he talked about Moebius. About the need to crush them before their arrogance grew any worse. About how Toman was done tolerating the kind of disrespect they had already let slide for far too long.
Something was mentioned about Pah’s friend, about the girl who had been attacked and left in such a brutal state that she was currently fighting for her life in a hospital not far from here.
And yet, strangely enough, Haruchiyo wasn’t looking at Mikey.
Mucho noticed almost immediately. Not because Haruchiyo was expressive, but because it was strange for him to focus on anything else when Mikey was around. Usually the blond leader was the only thing in the world that seemed important enough to hold his attention. But now Haruchiyo’s gaze was fixed somewhere else. It was locked on the skinny blond kid standing not far from Mikey’s side. Takemichi Hanagaki.
Mucho didn’t know much about him beyond what he’d overheard, but even that had been enough to paint a picture. Some pathetic middle schooler who had somehow stumbled into their world and survived long enough to become a recurring presence, a stray that Mikey had decided was worth keeping.
There had been talk a few weeks ago about Kiyomasa and his humiliating encounter with Mikey’s foot, and not long after that, word had spread like wildfire through Toman’s ranks that Mikey had developed an interest in the kid for reasons no one fully understood.
Mucho hadn’t paid him much attention. Takemichi didn’t interest him in the slightest, not as a fighter, not as a threat, not even as entertainment, and the kid was so painfully easy to tune out that Mucho often forgot he existed the moment he was out of sight.
But Haruchiyo clearly couldn’t. There was something in the way his eyes followed the boy. Mucho noticed the faint tension settling into Haruchiyo’s shoulders as he watched him. It triggered that same quiet sense of unease Mucho always felt whenever Haruchiyo locked onto something with that kind of intensity. It wasn’t jealousy in the usual sense. Mucho doubted Haruchiyo was the type to openly compete for someone’s attention. But there was a possessiveness in him that ran deeper than that. A loyalty twisted into something sharper, something destructive. Anything Mikey acknowledged automatically became one of two things: Sacred. Or a threat.
Mucho filed the observation away, already knowing he would bring it up later if the right moment came.
The meeting wrapped up a few minutes later. The crowd quickly broke apart, the air filling with excited chatter as people split into smaller groups. Laughter carried across the lot like the idea of a fight with Moebius was nothing more than a fun weekend plan. Some gathered to talk strategy, others wandered off on their own, and a few just lingered behind.
Mucho watched as Haruchiyo turned on his heel abruptly, far too stiff for someone who had been calm earlier that afternoon, and it was obvious even without seeing his face that his mood had soured. Mucho followed without a word, his longer stride closing the distance easily, until he was walking just behind him.
“Care for a drink?” Mucho asked after a moment, tone casual on purpose.
Haruchiyo didn’t stop. “Tch,” was the only response he gave. The sound was sharp and dismissive. If Mucho hadn’t spent the last few weeks figuring out Haruchiyo’s moods, he might have taken it as a flat no. But by now he knew better - anything that wasn’t a direct refusal could be treated as a yes.
So Mucho simply adjusted his direction a little, guiding them away from the thinning crowd and toward a convenience store a few blocks away. The kind of place that sold cheap alcohol to teenagers without asking questions, mostly because the clerk behind the counter clearly didn’t care enough to bother. Especially when the customers in question looked like delinquent gang members.
The walk there was quiet and more than once, Mucho glanced at his vice captain, trying to read the angle of his eyes or the slight tension in his hands stuffed in his pockets. The streetlights flickered on one by one as the sky fully darkened, casting a pale orange glow across the pavement, and by the time they reached the konbini, the air had cooled significantly.
Mucho headed straight for the drinks aisle. He grabbed a couple cans of cheap beer without thinking too much about it. They weren’t good, but they would do the job fast enough. He expected Haruchiyo to wait by the door, arms crossed, looking impatient like he usually did.
Instead, the younger boy wandered toward the shelves on the opposite side of the store. His long fingers hovered over different packages for a moment before he finally picked up something small in a plastic container. He dropped it into the basket.
Mucho raised an eyebrow. “…Didn’t take you for someone with a sweet tooth,” he said quietly, keeping his voice low enough that the clerk wouldn’t hear.
Haruchiyo didn’t look at him, but Mucho noticed the tiny pause in his movements. “It’s not like it matters,” Haruchiyo muttered. His tone was flat, but there was something faintly defensive underneath it, like he’d just been caught doing something embarrassingly human.
Mucho hummed, amused. Without thinking too much about it, he reached for another item nearby, a small packaged pasty. He had noticed Haruchiyo glance at it earlier before quickly pretending he hadn’t. When they got to the counter, the clerk barely reacted. He scanned the alcohol and other items with the same bored indifference he probably applied to everything else in his life. Mucho paid without any trouble, not bothering to hide that he was buying for two.
They stepped back outside and started walking again, still without speaking. This time they headed toward a small park nearby, where the noise of the city softened into the background. Trees lined the path, their branches casting long shadows as they moved deeper into the quiet.
Eventually, they ended up in a corner away from the main walkway, where a few benches sat half-hidden beneath the canopy of branches, and Mucho dropped down onto one of them with a slow exhale, stretching his legs out in front of him as he cracked open the first can with a sharp hiss. Haruchiyo sat down beside him and for a moment, as the distant city faded behind the rustling leaves and the soft chirping of insects, Mucho had a brief, dangerous thought. This almost felt… domestic.
He handed the younger vice-captain a drink. Haruchiyo took it, fingers brushing against the can for the briefest second, and if Mucho hadn’t been watching closely, he might have missed the way the younger boy’s shoulders loosened slightly as he brought it to his lips.
“So that Hanagaki kid…” Mucho started bluntly, not bothering to ease his way into the conversation. Subtlety had never really been his style anyway. If he wanted a reaction, the fastest way was usually the most direct one. Maybe part of him was even hoping Haruchiyo would latch onto the topic so they had something new to pick apart together, even if Mucho himself didn’t feel strongly about the boy either way.
Haruchiyo scoffed immediately, the sound sharp with open contempt. “Don’t get what Mikey sees in him.”
“He’s completely useless,” Haruchiyo continued with a quiet sneer. “Can’t fight, cries all the time, and keeps sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. But might probably has his reasons.”
Mucho shifted on the bench, lifting one leg so his foot rested against the wood while he leaned back slightly, stretching out his shoulders. His muscles felt tight today, coiled with a restless sort of tension that made him think it might be time to hit the gym again.
“Hard to imagine what that motive would even be,” he said with a quiet hum. “But you’re probably right.” He tilted his head a little, glancing sideways at Haruchiyo. “Mikey’s always been full of surprises. But you’d know that better than anyone.”
Mucho was well aware he was stepping onto thin ice. Using the rumors about Haruchiyo’s connection to Mikey as an opening wasn’t exactly subtle. Then again, subtlety had never been his strong suit, and even if it had been, he doubted Haruchiyo would fall for it. The boy had a habit of seeing straight through people. Sometimes the only way to get anywhere was to push a little.
Maybe if he approached it openly enough, Haruchiyo would be thrown off balance just long enough to open up.
“Hm…” Haruchiyo hummed absently.
For a moment he didn’t look at Mucho at all. His gaze drifted somewhere past the trees, focused on nothing in particular. “That might be true,” he said eventually. “But there are things about him no one can predict. Not Draken.”
A small pause followed.
“Maybe not even Mikey himself.”
It wasn’t entirely clear what he meant by that. Still, Mucho could tell there was more behind those words than Haruchiyo was willing to explain out loud. It showed in the way his eyes lingered somewhere far away, unfocused for a moment, as if he was looking at something only he could see. Like he had just brushed against an old memory.
Mucho did not push the topic. He knew they were not there yet, and any attempt to dig deeper would only end the conversation entirely. For a while he simply sat there, letting the quiet stretch between them while the faint rustling of leaves filled the small park.
Eventually he spoke.
“You watch him like a guard dog,” he commented, his voice calm even as he mentally prepared himself for the reaction that was almost certain to follow.
Like clockwork, Haruchiyo snapped back. “Watch your mouth.”
There it was - that bite and bark again. Rank clearly meant nothing to him when his temper flared. The venomous defensiveness, the hostility that so often turned outward toward anyone who stepped too close. Mucho had seen it countless times directed at other members. Still, it was not quite the same when it was aimed at him. Or maybe he only wanted to believe that.
Mucho stayed calm and didn’t rise to it. “Relax,” he said evenly. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing.”
He paused for a moment before adding, more quietly, “It just looks exhausting.”
There was no mockery in his voice. No pity either. Just a faint trace of sympathy buried so deep most people would probably miss it entirely.
Haruchiyo did not respond right away.
Instead his eyes settled on Mucho and stayed there longer than usual, studying him with that same piercing focus he used when he tried to read someone. For a while he simply stared at Mucho, eyes locked onto him as if searching for something hidden beneath the surface of his words. Whatever he was looking for, he didn’t seem to find it.
One hand reached up behind his neck, squeezing briefly at the tense muscles there. Then he let out a sigh that felt strangely uncharacteristic for someone like him.
“Yeah, well,” he muttered. “It’s what I chose.”
A motorcycle roared past somewhere nearby, the engine echoing down the street before fading into the distance. Not far from them a group of teenagers laughed loudly, their voices drifting through the warm evening air.
Mucho tilted his head slightly.
“Are you sure you are not forgetting something else in the process?”
Haruchiyo frowned faintly. He did not understand the question. More accurately, he did not understand the implication hidden inside it.
For the past few years his life had revolved around Toman. Around Mikey. Around making sure everything remained exactly the way it was supposed to be. Making sure people stayed loyal. Making sure no one stepped out of line or stood in Mikey’s way. That he had a purpose. That he was doing something right for once.
The days passed quickly when you lived like that. Weeks slipped by before he even noticed. Seasons changed without leaving much of an impression. He rarely stopped to think about what his own life looked like outside of that narrow path.
Well. Sometimes he did.
There were nights when the thoughts crept in anyway. Usually when his mind had nothing left to focus on. Sometimes a movie triggered them. Sometimes it happened during the quiet hours after a long day, when the usual noise finally faded and there was nothing left to distract him.
That was when his mind drifted back home. Back to Takeomi. To Senju. Back to a time when he had still been a kid who laughed easily and wanted nothing more complicated than spending time with his friends.
Even then something had always felt slightly wrong.
No matter what he did, someone always seemed ready to blame him for something. He never acted quite the right way. Never responded exactly how he was supposed to. Whenever something went wrong, the responsibility somehow found its way back to him. Sometimes it was Senju’s mistakes. Sometimes it was the pressure placed on Takeomi by parents who were never there. Somehow Haruchiyo still ended up carrying a piece of it.
All he had wanted back then was to belong somewhere. To hear someone say he had done well. That he had done something right for once. Takeomi never made him feel like he managed either.
And when Senju broke that toy plane, the fragile balance he had built around himself cracked completely. The disappointment and anger that followed did not stay confined to the house. It reached Mikey too.
Mikey had been different. Mikey had been his escape. The friend he admired. The person he wanted to impress more than anyone else. So when Mikey lashed out that day, violently enough to send Senju spiraling, when skin tore and blood spilled across the ground, Haruchiyo didn’t argue. He didn’t fight back.
He smiled. And something inside him simply broke.
A fire ignited in its place. A bitter, spiteful flame that did not point toward Mikey at all. It turned inward.
He could not lose this too. He didn’t care what it would cost.
In the years that followed he never allowed himself to notice the gradual distance forming between them. The way Mikey and the others drifted away piece by piece. The way their conversations grew shorter. The way he was included less often. Or maybe he noticed and simply refused to acknowledge it.
His focus remained fixed on Mikey alone. As long as he stayed close to him, as long as he remained useful, the world still had a center. That meant he was not truly alone and the rest stopped mattering.
He abandoned Senju and Takeomi. Left behind the family that had rarely given him anything except expectations and blame. Worse still, they had become the reason his only escape had turned on him in the first place. Sometimes he wondered if that was where the hatred had started.
He hated them for it.
He hated all of it.
Most of all, he hated himself.
So he made a promise instead.
He would be useful. He would serve a purpose. Do whatever it took to prove he had value, that he deserved to stand where he was. And if something or someone had to be destroyed along the way, it didn’t matter. Even if the thing that ended up breaking was himself. As long as, in the end, he could prove that he was worth something.
The faint rustle of aluminum pulled Haruchiyo back to the present. Mucho had shifted the can in his hand, the thin metal crinkling softly under the pressure of his grip before he took another slow sip.
Haruchiyo had not spoken. His posture had barely changed. To anyone else he would have looked exactly the same as before, shoulders slightly forward, gaze resting somewhere ahead in the darkened park. Something had pulled him away for a moment. Mucho noticed the reaction.
Haruchiyo felt it immediately. That quiet awareness settling on him again. His skin prickled faintly and a low sense of unease crept up the back of his neck.
He hated that.
Distractions irritated him. Unpredictable shifts in conversation irritated him even more. New impulses meant uncertainty, and uncertainty meant losing control over the direction things were moving in. In his mind, that kind of instability was something to be avoided whenever possible.
So he did what he always did.
“And what about you?” Haruchiyo asked, turning his head slightly toward Mucho. “You got nothing to get you through the day?”
The sharp edge had faded from his voice. The words carried the familiar teasing tone again, the kind that suggested mockery without committing fully to it. Anyone who did not know him might have assumed he was simply trying to provoke a reaction.
Mucho knew better. It was deflection, clean and efficient. Still, he took the bait.
“Oh, I do,” Mucho replied easily.
He leaned back slightly on the bench, resting one arm along the backrest while the other continued to idly turn the can between his fingers.
“The gym helps,” he said after a moment. “Keeps my head straight.”
Haruchiyo glanced at him briefly but said nothing. Mucho continued anyway, his tone calm and unhurried.
“Bikes too. Nothing clears your head faster than a long ride at night when the streets are empty.” He gave a quiet huff of amusement under his breath. “The guys in the division keep things busy as well,” he added. “Running drills, settling stupid arguments before they turn into real fights, making sure nobody does something so reckless it drags the rest of us down with them.”
Haruchiyo scoffed faintly. “Sounds exhausting.” he said, repeating the captain’s earlier words.
Mucho shrugged.
“Sometimes.”
He rolled the can slowly between his palms again, the aluminum catching the dim light filtering through the trees.
“Then there are the other distractions,” he continued after a beat. “Bars when the night gets too long. Friends when I feel like hearing someone else talk for a change. Sometimes a girl if the night’s going that way.”
The admission was casual, almost careless. There was no attempt to make it sound impressive. “I keep busy,” Mucho finished with a quiet shrug. “Plenty of ways to burn through a day.”
Haruchiyo studied him more carefully now.
“I know where my loyalties lie,” Mucho added after a short pause, his voice dropping slightly as he glanced sideways at Haruchiyo. “That part’s never been a problem.”
Another small turn of the can between his fingers.
“But loyalty doesn’t mean forgetting yourself either.”
The words settled into the quiet between them. Mucho did not elaborate. He simply lifted the drink and took another slow sip. The words had been blunt in the way only Mucho could manage. Direct, honest, and strangely uncomplicated. Haruchiyo found himself looking at him a moment longer than intended.
It was not the content of what Mucho had said that caught his attention. People talked about things like that all the time. Nights out, friends, distractions, ways to pass the hours when there was nothing better to do. Most of it barely registered when it reached his ears. Conversations like that usually slid right past him without leaving much of an impression. No one ever bothered explaining those things to him anyway. Most people assumed he would not care, and they were usually right.
Still, this time he did not feel the usual urge to shut it down or brush it aside. Because beneath the simple list of distractions and routines, Haruchiyo could hear what Mucho was actually saying.
Mucho had things that anchored him. Things that filled the empty spaces between obligations and loyalty. Things that allowed him to move through the day without letting any single part of it swallow the rest of his life whole. The message was simple: There were other ways to live. Other ways to stay loyal without letting it become the only thing that defined you.
Haruchiyo ignored it.
The thought that Mucho had caught on to him so quickly left a faint unease behind. Most people never got that far. They did not try, and if they did, the attempt usually ended quickly. Haruchiyo made sure of it. A sharp remark, a cold stare, the quiet hostility that warned people to keep their distance. Eventually they all did.
Mucho had seen those same edges by now. The temper, the violence, the parts of him the others avoided. Most people would have stepped back after that, satisfied with keeping their distance.
Mucho simply stayed, but not because the structure of the division demanded it. There were easier ways to keep things professional, easier ways to lead without lingering around park benches or wasting hours on pointless shogi matches.
Mucho could have kept his distance. He chose not to.
The realization settled somewhere in Haruchiyo’s chest, quiet and unfamiliar. Being looked at was nothing new. People had stared at him his entire life. But this felt different in a way he could not quite place.
The feeling lingered for a moment before he forced it down.
Haruchiyo lifted the can and took another sip of beer, letting the bitterness wash it away.
synopsis: he knows flirting with ran will piss rindou off. he also knows exactly what kind of mood it puts him in. to haruchiyo, some lessons are worth learning the hard way.
rating/warnings: explicit sexual content, praise and degradation, edging, spanking, bonten!rindou, jealous rindou, possessive rindou, dacryphilia if you squint, top rindou, bottom haru
word count: 4,1k+ (AO3)
masterlist
“What did I tell you not to do?” he asked sternly.
“I…” A moan slipped from Sanzu’s lips as his words caught in his throat, his body trembling against the cold surface of the counter while the steady rhythm of his hips behind him made it harder and harder to think. “Not to… ah… not to entertain Ran.” His hand came down sharply against his ass.
“And what did you do?” Rindou pressed. His voice was low and demanding as he drove himself deeper into Sanzu, each thrust forcing him farther forward across the counter while his grip on his hips kept him exactly where he wanted him. “Answer me.”
“I… I entertained Ran,” Sanzu managed between broken moans. The room spun around him as heat flooded every nerve in his body, his legs weakening beneath him while the relentless presence behind him consumed his senses, even though he could not see his face and had to imagine the expression he knew was there. Rindou was furious. He could feel it in the way he moved.
Pushing his buttons had always been dangerous, but the thrill of it made Sanzu reckless because jealousy stripped away every bit of restraint he normally kept in place around him and left only this version of him behind. No patience, no mercy, and certainly no holding back.
Ran had always been the easiest way to provoke him, especially when the older Haitani leaned into it with that effortless teasing charm, brushing close and murmuring things in his ear while pretending it was all harmless. Rindou never bought the act. Not once.
Rindou’s hand suddenly tangled in Sanzu’s hair and yanked his head back, forcing his spine into a deep arch that left him gasping as his other arm slid around his throat, holding him firmly in place while he continued to drive into him with a rhythm that left him shaking.
“And…” he grunted. His mouth hovered close to Sanzu’s ear, his breath warm against his skin while the rough edge in his voice carried a warning that made his pulse race. “What happens when you don’t listen to me?”
Sanzu could barely think. Every movement of Rindou’s hips struck a spot that made stars burst behind his eyes, and the pressure building deep inside him climbed higher with every second until the question he asked barely registered through the haze.
He did not let Sanzu ignore it. His free hand cracked lightly against his cheek, the sting snapping his attention back as his voice hardened. “Answer,” he barked. “I didn’t fuck you that stupid yet.”
Sanzu’s body clenched around him. If his arm had not been locked around his neck he would have collapsed forward onto the counter completely, his breath coming in uneven gasps as pleasure and tension tangled inside him.
“I get…” he faltered. Another thrust forced a helpless sound from his throat as his words dissolved into a gasp before he forced them out. “Ah… I get punished.” Another slap followed.
The sharp contact sent a jolt through him that pushed him even closer to the edge, his body tightening as the familiar wave of release rushed toward him faster than he could stop it. Rindou noticed immediately. By now he knew Sanzu’s reactions too well to miss the way his muscles tensed around him or the subtle change in the sounds he made when he was about to fall apart. He was an open book to him. And he had no intention of letting him finish.
His arm loosened around Sanzu’s neck without warning, and a second later the heat filling him vanished completely as he pulled out of him all at once, leaving his body clenching helplessly around nothing.
Rindou grabbed his hair again. It wasn't hard enough to truly hurt him, but the sharp pull still stung as he guided Sanzu across the room and bent him over the armrest of the sofa before letting go, leaving him draped awkwardly across the furniture with him completely at his mercy.
“Stay,” he ordered.
Rindou turned away without another word and crossed the room to grab something from a nearby table, and even though Sanzu could not see it yet he already had a strong suspicion of what he was reaching for. His heartbeat sped up immediately. Fear and anticipation tangled together inside his chest.
By the time he returned, Sanzu’s pulse was loud in his ears and his thoughts had turned hazy with the strange mixture of nerves and excitement that always came when he looked at him like this.
Rindou suddenly dropped to his knees in front of him. His hand closed in Sanzu’s hair again and he tugged his head upward, forcing him to look directly at him as his glossy eyes searched his face and took in every small detail. His hair was slightly disheveled from earlier, and the hard set of his expression made his features look almost unfairly beautiful. God, he looked good like this.
He noticed that Rindou was still fully dressed from whatever job they had returned from earlier, his tie loosened just enough to suggest impatience while his gloves remained firmly in place and a faint speck of blood decorated the sleeve of his jacket. The sight made heat coil low in his stomach. This situation was completely messed up, and yet the rush of it all only pulled him deeper into the moment. Sanzu felt the familiar warmth of arousal spreading through his lower body. “Please,” he started softly.
His voice wavered as memories of the last time he had pushed him too far flashed through his mind, recalling the dull ache that had lingered for days afterward and the way sitting down had become a careful, miserable process. “Please be gentle.” He knew it was a long shot.
The last time he had crossed the line like that, his normally attentive partner had taken a clear and almost devious satisfaction in watching him deal with the consequences of his own stubbornness, especially every time he winced while trying to sit down afterward. He had looked delighted. The growing bulge in his pants had refused to hide how much he enjoyed the situation.
“You know I can’t do that,” Rindou replied calmly. His tone was steady and almost patient, though there was a rough edge underneath it that told him he meant every word he was about to say. “I would be letting you down if I did.”
Fuck.
He released Sanzu’s hair then and let his head fall back against the couch cushion, his cheek pressing into the expensive fabric while his hair spilled loosely around his face. Rindou stood again. He moved with slow, deliberate steps until he was positioned behind him once more, the quiet sound of his shoes against the floor stretching the tension until it felt unbearable.
He instinctively tried to shift away. Though he knew the attempt was useless, since the angle he was bent over the armrest and the tight restraints holding his wrists made even the smallest movement difficult. A shiver ran through him.
Rindou’s gloved hand found his ass and began kneading slowly, testing the firmness of the flesh before giving it a light experimental slap that made him inhale sharply.
“This will hurt,” he said plainly. Despite the bluntness of the warning, Sanzu could hear the slight hitch in his voice that betrayed how much the moment affected him too.
“Fifteen,” Rindou continued. His tone sharpened with quiet authority as he added the rule that always made his stomach flutter with nervous excitement. “I want you to count every one of them.”
“And if you miss one,” he finished, “we start over.”
Sanzu was already trembling. His cock pressed against the sofa as the anticipation built higher and higher, leaving his breath shallow while his fingers curled uselessly against the restraints holding his wrists together.
“Yes, sir,” he whispered.
Time seemed to stretch into something slow, and he swore he could hear the faint rush of air as the paddle was lifted before it came down sharply against his backside with a sting so sudden and intense that it nearly knocked the breath from his lungs. He had not been bluffing.
“O… one,” he gasped weakly. His voice barely made it past his lips as the lingering sting spread across his skin.
“And?” he prompted. His fingers brushed against his entrance for a brief teasing moment, circling once before pulling away again as if the contact had only been meant to remind him how vulnerable he was right now.
“Thank you, sir,” he added quickly. The correction came out breathless but clear.
Rindou hummed in approval. “Good boy.”
Another strike followed. “Two… t-thank you,” he stammered, his voice shaky as the sting spread across his skin and settled into a warm burn that made his toes curl against the couch. Then came another. And another after that, each strike landing with the same unforgiving force as the last while Rindou showed no sign of easing up, the steady rhythm leaving Sanzu’s body trembling and his thoughts slowly dissolving into something blissfully empty.
The heat in his ass had grown intense by now, every nerve buzzing as the sting mixed with pleasure and the constant awareness that his merciless partner was standing just behind him, towering over him while he delivered every strike with careful precision. Nothing else mattered.
The world had narrowed to the sharp smack of the paddle, the pounding of his pulse in his ears, and the overwhelming heat pooling low in his body as pleasure and pain twisted together in a way that made him dizzy. If heaven existed, he was pretty sure it looked something like this.
“Last one, angel,” Rindou’s strained voice came from behind him.
The nickname was familiar but rarely used, and hearing it now sent a shiver racing down Sanzu’s spine while the tiny hairs along the back of his neck stood up instantly. He almost moaned just from that.
The final strike came down a second later, landing harder than any of the others and jolting his body forward as the sharp sting exploded across his skin. He had absolutely saved the worst for last. Even through the haze clouding his thoughts he swore he could practically hear the faint smirk on his lips, the kind of smug satisfaction he always carried when he knew exactly what he was doing to him.
His hair was still pooled around his face. His chest pressed firmly into the soft fabric of the couch while his watery eyes stared unfocused at nothing in particular, his breathing uneven as the sting pulsed across his skin. Then he felt his hand on his back.
His gloved fingers traced slow circles along his lower spine, soothing and gentle in a way that contrasted sharply with the punishment he had just delivered before he stepped into view and pressed a soft kiss against the top of his hair.
“How are you feeling?” he asked gently.
“Amazing…” Sanzu answered honestly. His eyes drifted up toward him, glassy and unfocused while his flushed face and slack expression made it obvious he was still floating somewhere far away. A tiny strand of saliva slipped from the corner of his mouth and stained the sofa. He looked completely wrecked and absolutely stunning.
“Good,” Rindou said. His tone sharpened again almost instantly as his expression shifted, his gaze turning colder while he looked down at him with that familiar intensity that always made his stomach twist.
“Because we’re not done here.” He was going to drive him insane tonight, he was certain of it.
He felt his hands move to his arms as he lifted Sanzu carefully off the armrest, steadying him when his shaky legs threatened to buckle before guiding him into a different position on the couch. His back pressed against the cushions now and his legs were spread apart on either side of him while he positioned him exactly where he wanted, leaving his body open and vulnerable beneath his gaze.
Rindou slid his arms under his thighs to pull him slightly forward until his hips rested near the edge of the couch, leaving his ass barely supported while the position forced his legs further apart. Then he slapped his cock.
The sudden contact drew a startled moan from Sanzu’s lips as the sharp sensation pulsed through his body, his hips jerking slightly before he lowered himself to his knees in front of him. A second later his tongue dragged slowly along the tip. His back arched immediately against the couch while the rope binding his wrists dug deep into his skin, the unexpected pleasure sending a wave of heat rushing through his entire body.
“Fuck,” he breathed. His voice was rough as he lingered there, his grip tightening on his thighs while he looked up at him through half-lidded eyes. “You taste so fucking good.”
And just like that, he was back on him. His tongue moved with practiced ease along his cock, licking slow stripes up and down before taking the tip into his mouth. His cheeks hollowed as he drew him in with a swift motion while he paid close attention to every reaction he gave until he heard his breath hitch and felt his body tense beneath his hands. He had him figured out.
Rindou devoured him like a starving man, occasionally lifting his gaze to meet his with an intensity that made his pulse race even faster than the sensation of his mouth alone. “God, Rindou,” he moaned. His bound hands tightened around his own arm behind his back as he tried to steady himself against the overwhelming rush building inside him. “Feels s’good.”
He hummed softly against him, the vibration sending a shiver through him while his tongue continued its relentless work. The sound alone made his hips twitch as the pressure inside his cock tightened again, that familiar wave of pleasure building faster and faster until it felt impossible to hold back.
“Yes… n’ah,” he moaned breathlessly. His voice cracked as he tilted his hips upward, chasing the exact spot that had his nerves sparking. “Yes, right there… haah…” He ground himself against his mouth without shame. His hips rocked instinctively as he chased the release that had been dangling just out of reach all night, his body moving on instinct while every nerve in his skin felt painfully alive.
Rindou stopped. For the second time that night he pulled away before he could finish, leaving Sanzu’s body suspended right at the edge while the pleasure that had been about to break suddenly vanished. The frustration hit immediately. A shaky breath escaped him as tears welled in his eyes and began sliding down his flushed cheeks, the overwhelming tension left behind making his entire body tremble. He needed to come so badly. His skin felt like it was burning from the inside out while his cock throbbed helplessly, aching with the absence of the pressure he had been chasing.
If his hands had not been tied, he would have grabbed him. He would have dragged him back down and buried his fingers in his hair just to force him to keep going until he shattered. But the restraints allowed none of it. His wrists were pinned uselessly behind him, leaving him completely at his mercy while the younger Haitani rose to his feet and towered over him.
His expression was calm, yet the look in his eyes made it obvious how much he was enjoying every second of this, especially when paired with the angry red tip of his cock and the way his shaft stood painfully erect.
“You come on my cock,” he said sharply. His voice carried a rough edge as his hand returned to his body, gripping his thigh as he shifted him again with deliberate control. “Or you don’t come at all.”
A second later he moved him onto the floor.
He ended up on his back, staring up at the ceiling above while he tried to steady his breathing and gather the scattered pieces of his thoughts. At least the lighting was dim. The soft glow from the corner of the room was far kinder than the harsh brightness of the ceiling light that would have made the moment feel far too exposed.
He felt him before he saw him. Rindou’s hands settled on his thighs and squeezed firmly before pressing them upward toward his chest, folding him into a position that left him completely open beneath him. The pose was shameless. It left nothing hidden from his gaze and everything fully on display for him to look at, something he clearly took advantage of as he leaned over him, his hair framing his face.
The shadows from the dim lighting framed his features while the hungry curve of his lips made it clear exactly what was running through his mind. His pants had come partially undone by now. Both the fabric and his boxers had slipped down to the middle of his thighs, giving him more freedom to move while revealing just enough of his body to make him stare. And stare he did.
His eyes dragged slowly up and down his body as he took in the sight of him towering above, his tattoos adorning toned muscles, clearly appreciating the view in a way he did not even try to hide. Rindou noticed. The subtle twitch of his cock was impossible to miss.
“Desperate whore,” he muttered. The words sounded far more like praise than an insult.
Finally, Rindou lined himself up with his entrance.
There was no need for any more prep with how worked up he already was, and he pushed inside him in one smooth motion that buried him impossibly deep. A low, guttural moan slipped from Sanzu’s throat. He stayed there for a moment, savoring the tight heat wrapped around his cock before slowly pulling out again and thrusting back in as he began to set a rhythm.
His arms braced on either side of him. Strong and toned, they caged his body between him and the floor while his gaze pinned him in place just as firmly as his weight did, leaving him nowhere to go and no desire to escape. Their bodies were tightly connected. His legs were draped over Rindou’s shoulders, forcing his thighs up against his chest and locking him into a deep mating press that left him reaching inside him again and again with every thrust.
The position strained his arms behind his back. The rope dug painfully into his wrists as the tension pulled at his shoulders, yet the pressure of his body and the way he held him there made him feel completely powerless beneath him.
“Ah…” he breathed. His voice was shaky as his chest rose and fell while he struggled to keep up with the sensations rushing through his body. “Harder, Rin… please. I… I need you.”
His eyes rolled back and his head tipped to the side as his gaze drifted unfocused across the room, unable to settle on anything while the only clear sensation in his mind was the feeling of him buried deep inside him. Rindou did not need to be told twice. He picked up the pace almost immediately, his thrusts turning rough and quick as he drove himself into him over and over again.
He bucked into him like an animal in heat, chasing his own release without even noticing the strain beginning to build in his muscles as the intensity of his movements increased. One of his hands reached for his face. He hooked his thumb into his mouth and pressed down just enough to force his attention back onto him when his dazed eyes tried to drift away again.
“Look at me,” he murmured.
When his gaze finally locked onto his, his fingers slid from his jaw to his throat, wrapping loosely around his neck before tightening slightly in the way he knew he liked. The pressure stole a little of his breath. His lungs struggled to pull in air as the squeeze made his head feel lighter, the lack of oxygen mixing with the pleasure rushing through his body until his thoughts blurred together completely.
“I’m close,” he said.
The words came out strained as he punctuated them with a rough thrust that broke the rhythm for a moment before he pushed deep again. “Want you to come with me.”
His grip around his throat tightened a little more before he leaned down and kissed him. The kiss was deep and hungry as he swallowed the moan trying to escape his throat, his tongue searching for his while the muscles moved against each other in frantic, desperate strokes that said far more than words ever could.
Rindou felt him tighten around him. The sudden, intense squeeze told him that he was close, and he kept his pace steady as he rocked into him with deep, controlled thrusts while chasing the release building in his own body.
He bucked beneath him. His legs lifted higher and closed behind his head, locking him firmly in place as his body instinctively tried to pull him deeper, even though the position already left almost no room for movement. Even with the limited space he did not slow down and instead continued driving into him, his hips rolling forward with determination until two more strokes pushed him over the edge completely. His body clenched around him again.
His legs trembled violently while the sound that escaped his throat was so raw and helpless that it sent a fresh surge of heat through him despite the exhaustion already creeping into his muscles. His release filled him while he held himself there for a moment longer, breathing heavily as the last tremors of pleasure moved through both of them.
Slowly he pulled out. A small trail of his release slipped from his cock as he withdrew, leaving him staring down at the mess they had made while he tried to catch his breath. His expression was dazed and sinful, his flushed face and unfocused eyes making it obvious that he was still floating somewhere deep in the afterglow. He never got tired of that sight.
It was one of his favorite moments, the quiet seconds after everything when the tension had finally broken and he looked completely undone. His hair was messy from where his hands had been earlier, his cheeks still flushed and his lips slightly parted as he tried to catch his breath, and the sight of him like that always stirred something deep and possessive inside his chest. All because of him.
Rindou let himself look for a moment longer before he finally reached out, his fingers brushing gently along his cheek. There was no trace of the roughness from earlier in the way he touched him now.
“C’mere,” he murmured quietly. His voice had lost the sharp edge it carried before as he helped him sit up, supporting him carefully while he reached for the rope still looped around his wrists. When it fell away his eyes turned to the marks it had left behind, angry red lines wrapped around his wrists where the fibers had pressed against his skin. The contrast against his otherwise smooth skin made his chest tighten and his thumb brushed across one of the marks. He watched him.
His eyes were softer now, the earlier haze of pleasure slowly fading while he studied his face with that familiar warmth that always seemed to see right through him.
Before he could even move away to put the rope aside, his arms slid around him and pulled him closer in the way he had clearly wanted to do all night.
“I love you, Rin,” he whispered. His voice was gentle as he leaned in and pressed a slow kiss to his lips, the kind of kiss that carried nothing but affection and reassurance. It caught him off guard. Not because the words were unexpected, but because he always seemed to say them at the exact moment he needed to hear them the most.
Despite the dangerous work they did and Rindou's cold demeanor he showed the rest of the world, he had always been able to see the quiet insecurities he kept buried underneath it all. He rarely pushed those places. But whenever he did, he made sure to follow it with something that reminded him he was still loved beyond all of it.
Rindou’s arms slid around his waist and pulled him firmly against him while he buried his face into the curve of his neck, holding him a little tighter than he normally would as he breathed in slowly. The steady warmth of his body against his chest grounded him far more than he would ever admit out loud.
synopsis: she has always believed she would know when something crossed the line. then she meets haruchiyo sanzu, bonten’s number two, a man who is precise, obsessively loyal, and utterly without remorse, and she discovers that lines don’t simply snap. they erode over time.
first it’s a warning under neon lights, then it’s a kiss. and finally, it’s witnessing something she should report and choosing silence instead.
so when she keeps returning to him, to the Haitani nightclub, to the violence she swears she hates, it becomes less a question of what he’s capable of and more a question of what she’s willing to excuse.
rating/warnings: character study, gang violence, canon-typical violence, sanzu haruchiyo is his own warning, eventual smut, eventual romance, character death, substance abuse, codependency, emotional hurt/comfort, emotional manipulation, bonten timeline, dead dove: do not eat, forced prostitution, hurt no comfort, torture, childhood trauma
words: 4,6k+
masterlist
chapter 1
chapter 2. closing deal
November arrived faster than she expected. The autumn rain that had soaked the city for weeks had vanished almost overnight, replaced by a cold that slipped easily through coats and gloves. Outside her office windows, the trees stood skeletal and bare. From her desk she watched people move along the street below. Scarves wrapped tight, hands buried in pockets and shoulders hunched against the wind. She was grateful for central heating and glass walls.
Halloween had only been a few days ago, but the night lingered in her mind in ways she hadn’t anticipated.The kiss hadn’t derailed the evening the way she might’ve expected. Conversation had resumed almost immediately afterward, as if her heart hadn’t slammed violently against her ribs the moment his mouth touched hers.
For a second she’d been certain someone in the VIP section was watching. The feeling had crawled along the back of her neck - cool, maybe disapproving. Sanzu hadn’t reacted at all.
They’d stayed longer than planned. He probably would have stretched the night even further if her phone hadn’t started vibrating against the table like it was trying to escape. Her friends were already on their way to another bar and apparently had strong opinions about her “disappearing into the void.” Not wanting to pay for a taxi that cost more than dinner - or worse, wait alone for the first train - she’d agreed and said her goodbyes.
Sanzu hadn’t stopped her. Hadn’t asked her to stay. If he minded her departure at all, it didn’t show.
It wasn’t until later, lying in bed with the lights off and the ceiling barely visible in the dark, that the realization finally surfaced. She hadn’t asked for his contact information. In hindsight, she doubted he would have given it to her anyway.
She exhaled slowly and leaned her head back against the cushioned office chair, closing her eyes for a moment. The day had dragged. The week felt worse. It was only Wednesday, and she was already longing for the weekend. Which felt ridiculous. On paper, her life was exactly what it was supposed to be. A stable career, her own apartment and friends she saw often enough to call it a social life. And yet the quiet dissatisfaction always lingered. After work she usually went straight home. Cooked something simple and ost herself in hobbies or scrolled through her phone until sleep felt like a reasonable option. Sometimes her mind drifted back to university. Her chaotic campus life. Half the time she’d been stressed about money or deadlines or both. But it had felt alive in a way that was difficult to replicate. Now everything moved in tidy five-day cycles with only a forty-eight-hour intermission. Predictable and safe. But most importantly, extremely boring.
She opened her eyes again and stared at the ceiling for a moment. Maybe she just needed a change. And she definitely needed to stop romanticizing being twenty-one and broke.
She rubbed her eyes and straightened up, forcing the thoughts aside. Her boss had mentioned a new client scheduled for the afternoon. A promising one, apparently. Someone looking for more than just a new apartment. The possibility of a generous closing bonus was motivation enough. She gathered her materials and assembled several exposés, stacking them into clean, orderly folders.
By three o’clock, she was seated in the spacious meeting room across the hall. She poured water into three glasses and adjusted them until they sat perfectly aligned with the edge of the table. The folders were placed in front of the opposite seats, ready to be opened.
Muffled voices drifted down the corridor, followed by the sound of approaching footsteps from three people, maybe more. She rose from her chair just as the door opened smoothly from the outside.
A man stepped in first. Long silver hair fell past his shoulders, the strands almost luminous under the office lighting. His red velvet suit looked almost theatrical and his features were narrow, almost feline. Pretty, she thought. Behind him entered another man in a perfectly tailored black suit and… unmistakable pink hair. Her composure cracked for half a second.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
She caught herself before her mouth could betray her shock. Their eyes met, and something flickered between there - recognition sharpening into amusement perhaps? Sanzu didn’t look surprised. He looked entertained. Like the universe had just handed him front-row seats to his favorite show.
Before she could speak, her boss stepped in behind them and closed the door.
“Ah,” he said cheerfully, gesturing toward them. “These are the new clients I mentioned. We’re very delighted to have you here.”
She offered her most practiced smile and bowed toward the silver-haired man. “It’s a pleasure.”
“Likewise,” he replied smoothly. “The name's Hajime’s.”
His partner followed with a small bow of his own and a smile that leaned a little too far into charm. “Sanzu Haruchiyo,” he added, as if she didn’t already know. Haruchiyo, huh?
They took their seats across from her and for a brief moment she gathered herself.
Since her so-called white knight turned employee of the month seemed perfectly content pretending pretending they had never met, she decided to follow his lead. Two could play that game.
Her boss handled the formalities.He praised her work ethic, reassured them about the agency’s discretion and made sure to mentio the company’s experience with high-profile clients. Then he excused himself, leaving the room with a polite nod.
The door clicked shut behind him and the real conversation began.
They were looking for something specific. Discreet. Private. Preferably several floors in a high-rise with secure access, separate delivery points, and minimal foot traffic. Hajime handled logistics and focused on location advantages. He spoke in numbers. Sanzu seemed more interested in everything else. He leaned back in his chair, long legs crossed, studying floor plans with surprising focus. He commented on interior flow, and whether a rooftop could accommodate “small gatherings.” The way he said it made her suspect those gatherings would be anything but small. Nightlife, maybe. Or something adjacent to it.
At one point he tapped the blueprint with a fingernail. “Hypothetically,” he said lightly, “how difficult would it be to knock this wall down?”
Not once did either of them ask about the price. She noticed it halfway through the meeting.
Most clients circled back to numbers eventually. Mortgage limits, negotiations disguised as polite curiosity. These two never did. Instead, they talked about access points and privacy. Money, apparently, wasn’t the obstacle.
She caught herself glancing at Sanzu more often than she should have. Here sat a composed, articulate man in a black suit who listened carefully and didn’t interrupt. Who asked the right questions and didn’t once make an inappropriate remark. It was disorienting.
She wondered which version of him was real. The calculating businessman in front of her, the man who casually tossed people into dark alleyways, or the charming, slightly closed-off nightclub partner she’d met before that. With Sanzu, the truth probably existed somewhere in the overlap.
The meeting stretched close to two hours before they narrowed the options down to two promising locations. Hajime informed her that he would be traveling later that week in a different prefecture and wouldn’t be able to attend.
“Sanzu will handle the viewings,” he said.
“Looking forward to it,” Sanzu added, his smile curving just a little too knowingly.
Great.
She didn’t want to admit it, but Thursday left her restless in a way that coffee couldn’t fix.
The day itself was busy enough to keep anyone occupied with meetings that ran five minutes too long, calls that could’ve been emails and paperwork that seemed to multiply the moment she finished a stack. Normally it would have been enough to keep her occupied. It wasn’t. Even during her break at her favorite café, tucked between a florist and a bookstore, her attention kept drifting. Her coworker chatted easily across from her, stirring her latte while recounting some office gossip. She laughed in the right places but her thoughts kept circling back.
It was weird.
What were the odds, really, that half a week after she mentioned working in real estate, he walked into her office as a client? Ginza had agencies on every other block. Prestigious ones. Trendy ones. Mediocre ones pretending to be prestigious. And she lived nowhere near the Haitani nightclub and her commute ran in the opposite direction. So he hadn’t followed her home. She was certain of that.
Which meant it had to be chance.
A recommendation passed along by one of their contacts or maybe the good reputation of her agency. Nothing more than weird timing. By the time she locked up Thursday evening, she almost believed it.
The thought lingered anyway.
Friday morning arrived bright and painfully cold. She stood outside the first property, hands tucked into her coat sleeves, scanning every passing car too carefully. 10:40 a.m. She’d arrived nearly twenty-five minutes early, which was excessive even by her standards. The building behind her rose clean and modern, all glass and steel, reflecting the pale winter sky. She shifted her weight from one heel to the other. Her tights were doing absolutely nothing to keep her warm.
She adjusted the strap of her bag and checked her watch for what had to be the sixth time in three minutes. If he was punctual, he’d be here soon. If he wasn’t… well.
“Aww, and here I thought I’d beat you to it.” She nearly jumped out of her skin.
There he was.
He stood a few steps behind her, hands in the pockets of his long black coat, deep burgundy scarf covering his neck and that stupidly perfect mullet shifting slightly in the wind. He looked positively stunning.
“Good morning, Sanzu-san,” she said, recovering quickly and dipping into an exaggerated formal bow. If he wanted professionalism, she would give him professionalism. His lips twitched immediately.
“It’s an honor meeting you outside of the office for the first time,” he replied smoothly, mirroring her tone just enough to make it clear he understood the game.
She couldn’t quite stop the smile.“That’s my line,” she said. “I didn’t expect you this early. Though, to be fair, I didn’t expect you at my workplace either.”
He tilted his head, hands readjusting his scarf. “Funny how that works. You could’ve mentioned you worked for one of the most prestigious agencies in Ginza. I would’ve told Koko to take his business elsewhere.”
Relief slipped in before she could stop it. So it really had been a coincidence.
“Koko?” she asked, catching on the unfamiliar nickname.
“Hajime-san,” he clarified. “Another partner. Harder to get along with than Ran and Rindou, though. He’s very serious about business. Cares about numbers more than vibes.”
“And you don’t?”
“Oh, I care,” he said easily. “About the vibes..”
A sharp gust of wind cut through the street, and she couldn’t stop the small shiver that ran through her. Her hands were freezing at this point. Sanzu’s gaze dipped briefly, taking in the way she shifted against the chill.
“You might want to rethink the wardrobe choices,” he commented.
“And dress for survival instead of aesthetics?” she countered. “Not happening.”
An amused breath escaped him.
She glanced back at the building behind them, the glass facade catching weak winter light. “Makes you wonder what a nightclub wants with a quiet, anonymous place like this,” she added, glancing up at the building.
“Diversifying,” he replied vaguely. “Not everything we do involves neon lights.”
That told her absolutely nothing.
“Shall we?” she said, pulling the key card from the folder tucked under her arm.
Inside, the building was quiet and eerily clean, the kind of lobby that smelled faintly of polished stone and expensive air freshener. Their footsteps echoed lightly as they crossed toward the elevator and rode up to the eighth floor passed in comfortable silence.
When the doors opened, natural light flooded the space from the left side where massive windows stretched the entire length of the wall, letting in pale winter sun that softened everything it touched. The floor itself was expansive and open, high ceilings giving it an airy, feel. Several rooms branched off down the hallway; some had glass fronts that kept the space visually connected, others were fully enclosed for privacy.
Sanzu stepped out first this time, slow and observant. His hands slid into the pockets of his coat as he looked around, taking in the layout without saying anything at first.
“The light’s good,” he said, glancing toward the windows. “Soundproofing?”
“Triple-glazed,” she replied, moving to stand beside him. “Above standard. Even during rush hour, you won’t hear much.”
He nodded once.
“And access points?”
“There’s a service elevator connected to the underground parking with a separate entrance on the side street. Keycard entry is possible and private lift installation could be done, but it’s pricey.”
“Separate entry points?” he pressed. “In case guests prefer… discretion.”
“There’s a side entrance accessible via keycard. It doesn’t face the main street.”
He walked further in, gaze shifting from walls to ceiling like he was mentally rearranging everything already.
“This could be a meeting room,” he said, stopping at one of the glass-partitioned spaces. “Can the panels be frosted?”
“Yep. Smart film installation is possible.”
“And this wall?” He tapped lightly against another section. “Load-bearing?”
She stepped closer, consulting the plan. “Non-load-bearing. It could be removed.”
His eyes flicked to hers. “You’re sure?”
“Very.”
A small smile appeared. “Good.”
They moved slowly through the rest of the floor. Their footsteps echoed faintly as they walked, voices filling the quiet while they discussed details. She tried not to show how surprised she was by how thorough he actually was. The man leaning casually over a floor plan now seemed both familiar and strangely different from the one she associated with the Haitani nightclub.
At one point he mentioned his own apartment almost casually. A loft with cozy lighting, soft pillows and maybe most importantly, spotless.
“You don’t strike me like a minimalist,” she said before she could stop herself.
“I’m not. Not really.” he replied easily. “I just don’t like chaos where I sleep.”
She had expected chrome and cold marble. Instead, she started picturing muted tones, comfortable furniture and dim lights.
“Order is important,” he added. “If the outside is chaotic, the inside shouldn’t be.”
By the time they finished circling the space, it felt less like a formal viewing and more like two friends having a casual chat. The air between them felt warmer than it had any right to be in an empty building in the middle of winter.
“I like it,” he said at last, giving a small, approving nod as he slipped his hands back into his coat pockets. “Fits all the criteria. Truth be told, I don’t even think I need to see the second place.” His mouth curved slightly. “Don’t tell Koko that, though.”
She blinked, momentarily pulled away from the notes she’d been scribbling into the margins of the floor plan.
“Oh… I-”She straightened slightly, pen hovering in midair. “Are you sure?”
“Yep.” He glanced around once more. “It’s perfect.”
Her pen lowered a fraction. “And the price is…?”
He looked at her then, faint amusement flickering in his expression. “Doesn’t matter,” he said dismissively. “Consider it taken care of.”
For a second she genuinely thought she’d misheard him. They hadn’t even gone upstairs. This was one of the agency’s most expensive listings, in one of the most expensive districts in the city, and he hadn’t so much as asked for a breakdown. No negotiation. No nothing.
What kind of nightclub generated money like that? Certainly not the clean kind. The thought slid into place quietly, confirming suspicions she’d been having for a while now. The discretion, the security questions and emphasis on separate access points. It all came together now. But she’d learned not to ask. Privacy and discretion were the currency of her industry, sometimes worth more than the square meters and skyline views. And she wasn’t about to sabotage what could easily become her biggest sale of the year because she asked the wrong questions.
“You’re the boss,” she said lightly, closing her folder. “In that case, I’ll prepare the-...”
“Oh.” He paused, as if he’d just remembered something trivial. “One more thing.”
Her stomach dipped instinctively. “We’d like to pay the deposit in cash.”
For a moment her expression slipped before she could smooth it out. Her eyes dropped to the numbers on the page, calculating automatically. Any deposit above a certain threshold required mandatory reporting. The amount they were discussing, or not discussing, did not merely cross that line; it obliterated it.
If she’d been uncertain before, she wasn’t now.
When she looked up again, his eyes were on her. Fixed there with unnerving focus, as if he were waiting for something small to betray itself. Was he testing her?
“I don’t think we can,” she began carefully. “A cash deposit this large would trigger automatic reporting.”
“I’m aware,” Sanzu replied without missing a beat. “But I figured being good at your job entailed some sort of… flexibility.”
The word lingered between them. Flexibility, huh? She weighed her options quickly. Laugh it off. Refuse and risk losing the deal entirely. Or agree and step across a line she couldn’t pretend not to see.
“Think of it as a favor,” he continued, his voice persuasive now. “I saved you then. You save me now. And you get a very sweet bonus out of it.”
He made it sound harmless. Easy. And the uncomfortable truth was that she had bent rules before. Of course always with just enough distance to avoid looking too closely at what it meant. With the right client and the right incentive rules had a way of turning into suggestions.
“I guess…” she tapped the edge of the folder against her palm while she thought. “I could break the payment into separate entries. Delay internal reporting.”
The moment the words left her mouth, the implication settled in. Technically, it crossed into territory she had once sworn she would avoid. Yet realistically, and standing there with the deal practically secured, it felt strangely abstract. Nothing more than rearranging paperwork, right?
His smile was subtle but unmistakable. “Knew you were the right choice.” he said.
At the time, the phrasing barely registered. Looking back, this was red flag number two.
They stepped back outside into the cold, the glass doors sliding shut behind them with a soft mechanical hum. The sun had finally broken through the cloud cover but the air still carried that sharp bite that crept easily through fabric.
Sanzu started talking again. Something about how Hajime would pretend to be outraged about skipping the second viewing while secretly appreciating the saved time, and she found herself laughing more easily than she expected.
And then, without warning, the laughter faded.
The fine hairs at the back of her neck rose, and she became suddenly aware of the quiet stretch of road beside them. She turned her head to the left, scanning the sidewalk and the parked cars lining the curb. There was no one there. Still, the feeling persisted.
Sanzu followed her line of sight without hesitation. His posture didn’t change. Hands still tucked loosely into the pockets of his coat, shoulders relaxed against the cold as his gaze moved slowly across the street. When his eyes returned to her, his expression hadn’t shifted much at all. “What is it?” he asked.
“Ah, it’s nothing,” she said quickly, giving a small shake of her head. “I just thought I saw something.”
Sanzu nodded once, “If you’re sure.” But his attention drifted past her again anyway, sweeping over the street a second time. There was something colder in his eyes now. something that she failed to catch as she adjusted the strap of her bag.
“This went quicker than expected,” she continued, eager to move on from the strange pause. “I’ll go over the details once I’m back at the office and finalize the purchase agreement. You should have the contract by tonight.”
“Efficient,” he replied, and the faint smile returned. “Koko will be pleased.”
He stepped a little closer as he spoke, closing the distance in a way that felt accidental. “You should head back before you freeze to death,” the pink-haired man said gently. “Wouldn’t want our star agent catching a cold.”
But even as he spoke, his attention kept drifting, this time more subtly, flicking toward the corner of the building and then to the reflection in the glass doors. His smile never moved.
“I’ll be in touch,” he said.
She returned to the office with a lightness she hadn’t felt all week. The elevator ride up seemed shorter than usual. When the doors slid open and she stepped onto the floor, her boss looked mildly surprised to see her back so soon.
“Already?” he asked.
“Already,” she confirmed, unable to keep the satisfaction from her voice.
His surprise shifted quickly into open delight once she explained that the client intended to move forward with the first property. By the time she mentioned the price bracket, his eyebrows had climbed nearly to his hairline.
“Well done,” he said, and this time there was no attempt to hide his approval.
She skipped lunch without a second thought.
Back at her desk, she opened her laptop and began drafting the contract with renewed focus. Numbers filled the screen in clean rows and neat formatting. They looked just as impressive typed into formal documents as they had on the listing. Maybe more.
She worked through the clauses carefully, already planning how to structure the incoming cash deposit so that it would pass through their systems without drawing unnecessary attention. Of course, she would need to inform her boss. But he had been the one to teach her, years ago, that morality and profitability rarely moved in the same direction. Principles were important, he had said. Understanding when to bend them was more important.
The bonus alone would make the inconvenience worthwhile. And yet, as the afternoon passed, she realized the money wasn’t what had her in such an unusually good mood.It was the morning with Haruchiyo. She pushed that thought away.
By the end of the day the contract was finished and ready for review. For once there had been no unexpected complications, no last-minute corrections. She even managed to leave an hour earlier than planned.
Outside, the early evening air had grown colder. Her breath appeared in small white clouds as she walked from the station toward her apartment building. The familiar streets felt quiet in that comfortable, end-of-day way. Once inside, she dropped her bag near the door and peeled off her coat. The silence of her apartment settled around her immediately.
A long bath helped chase away the lingering chill. Afterward she changed into soft, comfortable clothes that felt worlds away from tailored blouses and office heels.
With no plans for the weekend and the November weather doing its best to discourage unnecessary outings, she decided to start on the redecorating she had been putting off for weeks. It felt like the right kind of distraction.
Later that evening she ended up curled on the sofa, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and only the warm glow of the floor lamp cut through the darkness of the room. She told herself she was going to watch something mindless and forget about the day. Instead, her thoughts betrayed her.
They drifted back to the morning without permission. To the pale winter light spilling across polished floors. To the quiet echo of their footsteps in that empty building. To him. The pink-haired man she had now met three times. Four, if she counted the reckless two minutes behind the nightclub.
She stared at the ceiling for a while, listening to the distant hum of the city beyond her windows. A quiet realization settled slowly in her chest. Once the contract was signed and the keys handed over, there would be no reason for him to contact her again.
The thought left a dull disappointment behind.
“Ridiculous,” she muttered to herself. She threw the blanket aside with sudden determination. If she was going to mope, she was at least going to do it properly with snacks and a movie.
She marched to the kitchen and opened the cupboard.
Empty.
Well, not technically empty. There was rice, tea and something in the back that might once have been crackers. None of it qualified.
She checked the second shelf. Then the third, as if something might magically materialize out of thin air. Nothing. The fridge offered even less hope. She stared at it for a long second before letting out a long dramatic sigh. She could go back to the couch and pretend she didn’t need snacks. She could exercise self-control like a functioning adult.
Instead, she grabbed her wallet.
Five minutes later she was wrestling herself into the biggest winter jacket she owned, the one that swallowed her questionable lounge outfit. Oversized hoodie, soft shorts, fuzzy socks; basically a look that deserved to remain unseen. She wrapped a scarf high around her face, shoved her hands into her sleeves, and decided that the cold would keep everyone indoors.
The night air hit her hard the moment she stepped outside, sharp enough to steal her breath for a second. The fluorescent lights of the convenience store felt almost blinding after her dim apartment. She wandered through the aisles with far more enthusiasm than dignity, grabbing the greasiest chips, chocolate she didn’t need, and the most tooth-rotting soda she could find. After all, she was celebrating her biggest sale of the year, and absolutely not distracting herself from a certain pink-haired someone.
She was in and out within five minutes, plastic bag rustling at her side, oddly pleased with her haul. Her steps were light and her mind was already drifting toward which movie to pick. But then, gradually, the feeling from this morning returned.
She tried to ignore it at first, blaming it on an overactive imagination and the dark November nights. The street wasn’t completely deserted. There were buildings on either side, some windows softly lit. An empty playground sat to her right, its metal frame casting long shadows under the streetlamp. Further ahead, a couple walked hand in hand, their laughter faint but real.
Normal. Everything was normal.
Still, her grip tightened slightly around the handles of the plastic bag. Her steps slowed for just a second before she forced them steady again. Don’t start. Not now.
Without wanting to draw attention to herself, she let her gaze drift in small, casual movements, scanning reflections in dark windows, the spaces between parked cars and the quiet stretches between streetlights. The lamps helped, but only barely. Her heartbeat picked up.
Don’t be stupid, she scolded herself. There was no one there. Still, she quickened her pace.
The couple ahead turned a corner and disappeared, leaving her alone with the echo of her own shoes against the pavement. The sound seemed louder now, sharp and entirely too solitary. The unease pressed closer.
By the time her building came into view, relief washed over her so quickly. She hurried the last few steps, fumbling with her keys before slipping inside and closing the door firmly behind her.
She lingered for a moment in the dim hallway, heart racing faster than it had any right to, a flicker of embarrassment rising. Nothing had happened. The street had been empty. Perhaps the alley incident had shaken her more than she’d admitted. Or maybe - she swallowed the thought as she climbed the stairs to her apartment - maybe being involved with someone like Sanzu Haruchiyo, even professionally, meant her instincts were starting to pick up on things her eyes couldn’t see yet.
synopsis: she has always believed she would know when something crossed the line. then she meets haruchiyo sanzu, bonten’s number two, a man who is precise, obsessively loyal, and utterly without remorse, and she discovers that lines don’t simply snap. they erode over time.
first it’s a warning under neon lights, then it’s a kiss. and finally, it’s witnessing something she should report and choosing silence instead.
so when she keeps returning to him, to the Haitani nightclub, to the violence she swears she hates, it becomes less a question of what he’s capable of and more a question of what she’s willing to excuse.
rating/warnings: character study, gang violence, canon-typical violence, sanzu haruchiyo is his own warning, eventual smut, eventual romance, character death, substance abuse, codependency, emotional hurt/comfort, emotional manipulation, bonten timeline, dead dove: do not eat, forced prostitution, hurt no comfort, torture, childhood trauma
words: 8,3k+
masterlist
chapter 2
chapter 1. courtesy call
It was two in the morning by now.
The dancefloor was packed with moving bodies, a restless sea of limbs and glittering fabric, illuminated by the colorful neon strips lining the ceiling and the occasional spotlight that swept across the crowd. The bass was so loud it vibrated through her chest and made her ribs hum, drowning out everything else until the world outside this club ceased to exist entirely, leaving behind nothing but heat, alcohol, and the hypnotic pull of rhythm. Bodies moved in sync, swaying and grinding and laughing like it was the only thing that mattered, because for a few precious hours, they didn’t have to be anyone beyond the flashing lights.
One drink had turned into two, then a third, and not long after that, two men at the bar had bought her a fourth as if they were doing her a favor she’d be expected to repay. At first, she’d humored the conversation, smiling politely and laughing at the right moments, until it became obvious what they were hoping for, until their eyes lingered too long and their compliments grew sharper. And once it was clear she wasn’t interested, she’d excused herself under the pretense of going to the bathroom, leaving them both behind.
In the restroom, she’d told her friends about it briefly, the kind of casual update you gave when you were already half drunk. The girls had laughed and teased her, leaning into the mirror as they reapplied lipstick and adjusted their hair before they dragged her back out onto the dancefloor and they she let herself get pulled into the music again, the warmth and weightlessness of moving without thinking.
The Haitani brothers’ nightclub, one of the most popular in all of Roppongi, was naturally overflowing on a Saturday night like this. There was barely any space to breathe. Bodies pressed against bodies, strangers brushing hips with the casual intimacy of drunken crowds and the air thick with perfume and sweat. At some point the heat stopped being pleasant and became unbearable instead. The only thing that promised even a moment of relief was the cold night air outside.
So she excused herself again, leaning close to her friends to shout over the music, and slipped away before they could protest. She navigated through the club, weaving between drunk couples and laughing groups until she finally found her way outside, searching for a break from the masses. Even near the entrance people still lingered, clustered in loud groups on the sidewalk. But she kept walking, moving further down into one of the smaller side alleys nearby, just far enough that the music dulled into a distant throb and she could finally breathe.
Digging into her small purse, she pulled out her phone and scrolled through the photos from earlier that night. Her lips curved into a faint smile as she lingered on one of the group pictures, saving it as a favorite, and then she checked the messages she’d received in the meantime - nothing that couldn’t wait until tomorrow.
Suddenly, a voice cut through the night, close enough that she jumped a little.
“Well, if it isn’t our stuck-up little beauty,” the man drawled, feigned amusement dripping from every syllable. “Thought you could let people pay for your drinks and then just disappear?”
Before she could even react, a second voice joined in, just as close.
“Guess nobody ever taught you any manners.”
Her head snapped up, and suddenly she was staring straight into two pairs of eyes. They stepped closer, closing the distance until there was barely half a meter between them, and she recognized them immediately - two men from the bar, the ones who had bought her those drinks. Her stomach dropped hard. Shit. She hadn’t expected them to actually go looking for her.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” she said quickly, her voice lighter than she felt. “My friends were waiting-” A lie. A pathetically weak one at that. But telling them the truth felt like the worst possible idea right now.
She took a step back, trying to put distance between herself and them, but her back hit cold stone, and suddenly the narrowness of the alley felt like a trap. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“That’s what they all say.” The first man, sporting short black hair and rough stubble, spoke again, and his voice took on a more resentful tone. “And in the end you’re all just naive enough to think you deserve everything just because you’re pretty,” he spat, his lip curling. “Ain’t that so?”
Her breath caught when she felt fingers against her cheek, slow and deliberate, brushing her skin as if the drinks had bought him the right to touch her. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear with an intimacy that made her stomach twist violently, her skin crawling beneath his touch. The smell of alcohol hit her hard and sharp, suffocatingly strong now that they were this close. They’d been drinking far more than she had. Up close, she could see it clearly: the glassy eyes of the younger one, unfocused and heavy, the way he swayed on his feet.
“No, I-” she started, but her voice caught, her throat tightening as her gaze flicked toward the street, toward the club entrance that couldn’t have been more than twenty meters away.
She should scream. Surely someone would hear her. Someone had to. Even if they didn’t come running right away, maybe the noise alone would be enough to startle them. But luck wasn’t on her side. The second pair of eyes sharpened instantly, catching her intention before she could even fully commit to it or open her mouth and force the sound out.
A cold shiver ran down her spine, and then panic hit her all at once, heavy and choking, as a hand clamped over her mouth while another slid beneath her skirt like it belonged there. Her breath turned into a muffled gasp against his palm. “Don’t even think about it,” the man warned. Her knees began to tremble uncontrollably, and she looked between them with wide, pleading eyes, shaking her head as she tried to press herself further back into the corner, scraping uselessly against stone. The streetlamp nearby flickered above them, casting unsteady light across the alley, and somewhere not far away she could hear a group of people laughing carefree and bright, their voices floating through the night as if nothing in the world could possibly be wrong.
The club’s music droned faintly through the thick stone walls. And yet the only sound she could hear was the roaring rush of blood in her ears as the hand continued to move with sickening confidence, pushing further and further, and fear turned her body frozen.
BANG.
A loud sound suddenly cracked through the cold air. A door slammed open, followed by a pained shout and the unmistakable sound of a body hitting hard asphalt. The hand over her mouth didn’t move even an inch, but both men’s heads snapped sharply to the side, their attention ripped away as they searched for the source of the noise, and her own eyes followed instinctively, locking onto the club’s back entrance. She caught sight of a head of pale pink hair first. Piercings, gleaming briefly in the streetlight, and clothes that looked sinfully expensive even from this distance. An open shirt, fitted pants and leather shoes. The kind of outfit that didn’t belong in alleys.
On the floor lay a man dressed in black pants, an oversized white shirt stained with a dark blotch of blood across the front, and she realized with a jolt that his nose was bleeding. He had barely recovered from the fall when the pink-haired man leaned down and drove his fist into his face, the movement fast and effortless.
“Get. Lost.” His melodic but sharp. Agitated in a way that made the words sound less like a command and more like a warning.
She heard the man in front of her curse under his breath. “Fuck… is that-”
He didn’t even finish the thought before the other one nodded stiffly.
“Sure is.”
But his voice wasn’t smug anymore. In fact, it had lost all of its earlier confidence and she swore she saw panic flicker behind his eyes.
In the background, the injured man scrambled to his feet with what had to be his last shred of strength, stumbling away as fast as his battered body allowed. He limped, but he was faster than she would’ve expected, fueled by pure fear and the desperate understanding that staying would mean getting hit again. Or worse.
The man in the lilac shirt watched him go for a moment, wiping his knuckles meticulously before he turned toward them. The look on his face made her blood run cold. And judging by the way the two men beside her stiffened, she wasn’t the only one.
His gaze swept over the scene in front of him, taking in her pressed against the wall, the hand over her mouth, the fingers where they didn’t belong. He tilted his head and his eyebrow twitched.
“And what the hell is your problem?”
The men clearly had no intention of explaining themselves to the pink-haired stranger, nor did they seem exceptionally eager to remain in his presence for even a second longer. She felt the hands that had been pinning her down and covering her mouth instantly releasing her. In the span of a heartbeat, they shoved away from her, stumbled over their own feet in a hurry, and then turned and bolted down the street, disappearing into the night.
And just like that, there was nothing holding her in place anymore, nothing crushing her against the cold stone wall. Her legs felt like jello and she had to brace herself with her hands against the wall just to remain standing. Her breathing came in shallow, uneven pulls, the air scraping harshly against her throat as though she’d forgotten how to breathe properly. Her gaze darted back and forth between the street where the men had fled and the stranger who had emerged from the club, her eyes wide, her mind struggling to catch up with what had just happened.
For a brief moment, all that could be heard between them was the quiet hum of the city and the distant throb of bass bleeding through the club walls. They stared at each other for a heartbeat too long. But whatever he saw in that moment, it clearly wasn’t worth lingering over, because after only a second he turned away, ready to walk back toward the club.
Panic flared in her chest at the thought of being left alone, abandoned in this alley with her heart still racing and her skin still crawling, and the words left her mouth before she could properly think them through.
“Hey- you!” Her voice sounded strange to her own ears, unsteady and unfamiliar.
He didn’t pause fully, but just enough to signal that he’d heard.
“I-... thank you,” she managed, the words clumsy on her tongue. The man stopped and glanced over his shoulder, his expression flat and downright bored. Gratitude seemed like a concept he didn’t have much use for.
“Nothing you need to thank me for,” he said, voice calm and cool in a way that didn’t match the violence she’d witnessed moments ago. “Saving you wasn’t my intention.” His eyes flicked over her again, quick and clinical. “Just can’t risk idiots like that pulling shit so close to the club,” he continued, as if he were talking about littering or a parking violation. “Too much work to clean up afterward.”
The casualness of it made her stomach twist, not because she didn’t understand what he meant, but because she understood it too well. She swallowed, feeling the tension in her shoulders finally begin to loosen, the adrenaline bleeding out of her system in slow, shaking waves. “The outcome’s still the same,” she heard herself say and for a brief moment it seemed like he might respond, might scoff or say something else, but instead he only lifted one hand. Whether it was acknowledgment or dismissal, she couldn’t tell. And did it even matter?
The man disappeared back through the door, and just before it shut, she could’ve sworn she caught sight of another pair of eyes watching from the dimly lit interior, hidden somewhere in the shadows behind him. Then the door clicked closed and with it, the last thread of strength holding her upright snapped. Her knees gave out completely, and she slid down the wall until she hit the cold ground, her back pressed to the stone as if it was the only thing anchoring her to reality. She sat there for a moment, hands trembling violently in her lap, trying to process what had just happened, trying to force her thoughts into something coherent while her heartbeat still thundered against her ribs.
The cold night air made her shiver harder, the chill seeping into her skin now that the heat of the club had left her, and the poor lighting of the alley suddenly made it look like something out of a cheap horror movie.
The photo she’d saved that night never made it onto her wall.
She opened it once. Four of them pressed together beneath neon lights, glitter and blush dusted across cheekbones, her own smile wide and careless. It should have been easy to print, to pin it above her desk alongside the other memories - birthdays, rooftop drinks, sunburned weekends, proof that she existed somewhere outside of contracts and closing deals.
Her thumb hovered over the screen. Then she locked it and told herself it didn’t match the color palette. Another neat little lie.
Forty-eight hours later, she was back in her office. A quiet, carefully engineered kingdom of glass walls and dark wood, with framed photographs of luxury properties so expensive they bordered on parody. Monday was aggressively normal. Emails flooded in before she’d even finished her first coffee. Clients called with artificial urgency and meetings stacked on top of each other until her calendar looked less like a dare.
She slipped back into herself effortlessly, no trace left of the woman she was on weekends. She negotiated a contract before noon, smiled at the senior partner’s recycled joke and accepted praise about her “impressive closing rate” with just the right level of humility.
By lunchtime she sat at her usual café, stirring her coffee long after the sugar had dissolved, watching strangers pass by the window with purpose and fake urgency. People laughed and a dog barked somewhere outside. The weekend already felt distant. Filed away like the kind of embarrassing memory that only resurfaces at three in the morning when you can’t sleep.
Her phone buzzed.
She almost ignored it, assuming it was work, but the notification banner flashed her friends’ group chat instead.
HALLOWEEN NIGHT — A PARTY LIKE NO OTHER.A screenshot with flashy graphics. And beneath it, the location. The Haitani brothers’ nightclub.
For a moment, she simply stared at it, her thumb resting against the screen as if waiting for the letters to rearrange themselves into something less comical. Her first reaction was an immediate and definite absolutely not.
She could already hear herself declining: workload, exhaustion, prior commitments or something equally mature. But as the seconds stretched, irritation began to creep beneath the logic and she shook her head. She had liked that club. And she stubbornly, maybe even childishly, refused to let one bad experience ruin a place she’d previously enjoyed.
After all, bad luck didn’t strike twice. Right?
I’m in.
The message sent before she could overthink it. There, decision made.
The rest of the week blurred together in that suffocating, efficient way busy weeks always did. Each day folded into the next under fluorescent lighting and polite negotiations. She stayed late twice, closed another big sale and ignored the fatigue settling slowly behind her eyes. Somewhere between client calls and paperwork, she started thinking about what she would wear. Maybe something simple? She still had that red unworn dress sitting around… The idea bored her almost immediately. So she went in the opposite direction. If she was going back, it wasn’t going to be quietly.
By Friday night, the outfit and accessories were laid carefully across her bed, shimmering faintly in the low light of her apartment, and for the first time all week she allowed herself to feel something other than routine. Excitement.
By the time she stepped through the club entrance again with her friends, the familiar bass rolled through her body before thought could. The air was thick with heat and anticipation. The Halloween theme only amplified it. Everywhere she looked there was glitter, fake blood, lace, leather - cheap party store costumes mixed with outfits that had clearly taken hours to perfect.
She’d expected to feel off. Uneasy, maybe. But the strange tension she’d braced herself for never came.Instead, she felt… good. Better than she had all week.
they lost themselves on the dance floor for a while, letting the music swallow them whole until her body was warm and her head pleasantly light. Feeling her dry throat she peeled away from the dancefloor, making her way toward the bar with the intention of grabbing a drink. She slid onto an empty stool, ordered her usual, and took a small sip the second the glass was set in front of her. For a moment, she simply breathed.Then, all of a sudden, she felt a presence behind her. The distinct awareness of someone stepping into her space.
A man with short purple-and-black slicked-back hair moved into her peripheral vision, wearing an expensive suit that looked like it belonged in a penthouse rather than a nightclub, and the scent of equally expensive cologne hit her nose a second later. Something about him felt familiar. But before she could fully decide whether she wanted to turn and look at him fully, his shadow fell across the bar top beside her.
“Hey!” a voice said suddenly, full of recognition and far too amused. “You’re the girl Sanzu white-knighted the other day.” Mischievous purple eyes met hers, full of bright entertainment that suggested he knew something she didn’t. For a second she just stared at him, completely lost.
“Sanzu…?” she repeated, like saying the name out loud might jog her memory. The man grinned wider, happy to have grabbed her attention.
“The guy,” he clarified, waving his hand vaguely as though the guy could only ever refer to one person. “Last weekend. Alley. Fighting. The whole dramatic thing? Ring any bells?”
Her mouth parted slightly.
“Oh,” she said, and then, because her brain still hadn’t caught up, she added, “That’s his name?”
“That’s his name,” the man confirmed with obvious amusement.
She narrowed her eyes, skeptical now. “And you are…?”
He placed a hand over his chest like she’d just stabbed him through the heart.
“You can call me Ran,” he said smoothly. “The owner. Well, one of them. The other one’s my little brother.” He sighed, shaking his head as if the very concept of someone not immediately recognizing him was a personal insult. “Tragic, really. I run a whole business and still people show up not knowing who I am.”
She stared at him for a beat, then deadpanned, “My condolences.”
Ran laughed lightly, surprised and delighted, like he hadn’t expected a quick comeback.
“So,” she said slowly, gesturing vaguely with her drink, “Sanzu’s the name. I don’t think he-”
“Oh,” Ran interrupted brightly, cutting her off with the ease “I think he would love to see you again.”
Her brows shot up. “I highly doubt-”
But Ran was already reaching for her wrist, gentle, but firm enough that it left little room for argument. And to her own surprise, she didn’t pull away. Even though he had beaten someone half to death in front of her, if he lingered around this club regularly, taking care of nuisances like that, it might not be the worst idea to be on his good side if she planned on becoming a regular.
Ran seemed to sense her hesitation as she glanced longingly at the drink she’d barely touched. “Don’t worry,” he said “We’ll get you a new one. I promise I won’t let you suffer the tragedy of an unfinished cocktail.”
“That’s very noble of you.”
“I know,” he replied, completely unbothered. “It’s one of my many redeeming qualities.”
He guided her toward the stairs, past a bodyguard who nodded at him and toward an area marked with subtle signage that practically screamed VIP. She had a fleeting moment of self-awareness as she stepped through the entrance. This might actually be the dumbest decision I’ve made all week.
The lounge was noticeably less crowded than the chaos downstairs, but it was far from empty. There were still dozens of people scattered across couches and tables, the music pulsing through the walls but softer here, quiet enough that conversation didn’t require screaming directly into someone’s ear.
Ran scanned the room briefly, eyes flicking over faces before spotting someone and decisively changing course, dragging her along behind him like she was part of a grandiose plan.
“Oh,” he said, delighted. “Perfect.”
Her gaze followed his line of sight, and the first thing she noticed was the flash of bright blue eyes and a familiar head of pale pink hair, the same one she’d seen in the alley last weekend. The man was laughing at something, head tilted back, eyes gleaming under the soft lights, entirely at ease. Opposite him sat another man with a purple-and-blue jellyfish cut, similar features to Ran and same lazy posture.
Ran stopped right in front of them, like he was presenting a gift.
“Ah,” he announced dramatically, spreading his arms, “there he is. Our brave white knight. Hero of the night.”
The conversation at the table died instantly and both men looked up. Confusion crossed their faces at first before two pairs of eyes settled on her. She suddenly felt far less confident than she had at the bar.
The man she now knew as Sanzu looked her up and down, clearly puzzled at first, before recognition dawned. His expression shifted subtly, eyes flicking back to the man still holding her wrist. “Ran,” Sanzu said, voice dripping with mild disbelief. “What the hell.”
Then, “Why is she here?”
There was no real anger in his tone - maybe a mix of mild, playful annoyance, the kind someone used when they’d heard the same joke one too many times.
She didn’t think it was directed at her. Probably.
Ran pressed a hand to his chest, mock offended. “Oh, don’t be like that, Sanzu,” he said, voice teasing and far too cheerful for the situation. “You have so very few good qualities. I just thought we should celebrate this one.”
He leaned closer, lowering his voice slightly as if sharing a secret, even though he clearly wanted everyone in the room to hear.
“I might even frame your photo. Put it up as employee of the month.”
The third man, the one with the jellyfish cut, snorted. “Not like he works,” he added lazily. “Or gets paid.”
Ran gasped dramatically. “Rindou. Don’t say that. You’ll crush his spirit.”
Sanzu clicked his tongue. “I hate both of you.” But there was no real malice in his words and she could’ve sworn she saw slight amusement in his eyes. And somehow, despite everything, she found herself smiling, too.
Sanzu leaned back in his seat, gaze flicking up to her again, lingering just long enough to make her skin prickle.
“And what,” he asked slowly, voice smooth but edged, “exactly are you doing back here?”
Suddenly, three pairs of eyes were on her.
The whole situation was so absurd and Ran had dragged her upstairs so quickly that she hadn’t even had time to mentally prepare for this. One second she’d been sipping her drink at the bar, the next she was standing in a VIP lounge under the scrutiny of three men who looked like they’d never once been told “no” in their lives.
In that exact moment, she found herself asking the same question. Still, she refused to look like a fool and instead of shrinking under Sanzu’s stare, she met his gaze head-on.
“I was actually just here to party,” she said evenly. “Before I was-” she glanced sideways at Ran for half a second, “-not entirely voluntarily recruited into a sting operation with the owner.”
Ran looked please. Rindou chuckled softly.
“But,” she continued, straightening her shoulders slightly, “now that I’m already here… I did want to thank you. Again. Even if helping me wasn’t exactly your intention.”
She held his gaze when she said it. Sanzu, however, didn’t acknowledge the thank you at all. “Didn’t think you’d show up here again after all that,” he said after a moment and suddenly she felt like a kid who’d just been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to.
Because he was right. She hadn’t thought she’d come back either. Not when she’d been sitting on cold pavement with shaking hands, trying to convince herself she was fine. But she wasn’t about to admit that.
She lifted one shoulder in a small shrug. “Statistically speaking, lightning doesn’t strike the same place twice.”
“That’s wildly optimistic.” Ran commented.
Rindou added dryly, “Also not entirely accurate.”
She ignored both of them and kept her eyes on Sanzu. “And I like the music,” she added. “Basically, I refuse to let a couple of idiots ruin a perfectly good club for me.”
“Bold,” Ran murmured, clearly entertained.
Sanzu leaned back slightly, studying her like she was an interesting problem he hadn’t decided whether to solve or ignore.
“Or stupid,” he said mildly.
She smiled. “Guess we’ll find out. Worst case, I know you’re here to save the day again.”
For a second, the air between them felt charged, like something had almost sparked. Somewhere to her left, Ran made a pleased little sound
“Now,” she said, smoothing a hand over the fabric of her skirt, “I should probably go. My friends are probably looking for me right now.” She turned around, already half-committed to escaping this situation before it got any stranger.
“Ah-ah,” came the smooth voice of the short-haired brother behind her. “I promised you a drink, remember?” Ran said. “It would be terribly rude of you to reject our hospitality.” With a small, elegant gesture toward one of the waiters circulating the lounge, he silently ordered a replacement. The staff moved instantly.
“And your friends,” he added, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve, “have already been informed that you’re with us. I’m sure they can spare you for a little longer.”
Of course they had.
She sighed internally. That’s what she got for going along with him in the first place. One day she would learn to say no. But since today was apparently not that day, she turned back around and took the seat Ran motioned to. On the couch. Right next to Sanzu.
If she was going to make questionable decisions, she might as well commit.
The leather dipped slightly under her weight. Sanzu shifted almost automatically when she sat down, closing his legs just enough to give her space without making a show of it. He still had a glass in his hand, amber liquid catching the low light from the lamps mounted along the walls. He rotated it slowly between his fingers, watching the whiskey climb the sides before it settled again. Then he tipped his head back and finished it in one smooth swallow.
The empty glass clicked softly against the expensive wooden table when he set it down. For a moment, it was quiet. The low hum of music from downstairs pulsed faintly through the walls while conversation from other tables blended into a soft background noise. All four of them seemed content to wait for someone else to speak first.
Not far from their table, two women were giggling behind their hands. One of them, a tall, strikingly beautiful girl wearing a black dress and red devil horns perched in her slightly curled hair, kept glancing in their direction. The other hovered close beside her, a little more hesitant, maybe even shy, but clearly just as curious. They exchanged whispers. Then, with the kind of courage that only came from loud music and liquid confidence, they approached.
Sanzu glanced at them briefly, but his expression didn’t change. It was neutral in a way that suggested this happened a lot, maybe even daily. Rindou didn’t turn around, but he was clearly aware of the presence behind him. The corner of his mouth twitched faintly.
Ran, ever the perfect host, rose smoothly to his feet before either woman had the chance to awkwardly introduce herself. “My,” he said warmly, tone suddenly polished and professional. “What a sight.”
The taller woman beamed. “Hi… we, uh. We didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“And you didn’t,” he assured her graciously.
The woman with the horns laughed, clearly flattered. “We were just wondering if maybe-”
“Of course,” Ran interrupted smoothly, not giving her any time to make her true intentions known. He stepped aside with effortless grace, drawing attention away from the table with easy elegance, as his hand hovered at the small of one woman’s back. “Let me give you an exclusive tour.”
He shot one brief glance back at the table, something unreadable passed between him and Rindou. Then he offered her his arm and just like that, he was gone. Leading them further into the lounge like a gracious king surveying his kingdom.
Rindou leaned back in his seat, finally turning enough to look at her properly for the first time that night.
“So,” he said, resting one arm along the back of the couch “you’ve been returning to crime scenes.and given the honour of promoting our newest, and first, employee of the month.” His gaze flicked briefly to Sanzu. “That’s quite the week.”
She let out a small laugh, accepting the fresh drink the waiter set down in front of her. “It’s been busy.”
“I imagine,” he replied.
“Well maybe it’s because I’m stubborn,” she joked. “And I really like the music here. Whoever is in charge of it actually knows what they’re doing.”
There was the faintest shift in Rindou’s expression. “That would be me,” he said, very obviously pleased.
She blinked. “You?”
He nodded once. “I handle most of it. Lineups, sets, guest DJs. Sound system decisions.”
“That’s actually impressive,” she said honestly. “I figured you just hired someone.”
A small smirk appeared on the man’s face. “I did. Me.”
Sanzu let out a short breath that might have been a laugh. She leaned forward a bit. “So this is more than a job then?”
“You could say that. I’ve always been into music. Clubbing. The whole scene.” Rindou adjusted the rings on his fingers as he spoke. “When I was a teenager, I had a DJ setup in our living room that drove my brother insane. Cheap speakers. Terrible mixing skills. Thought I was revolutionary.”
She smiled. “Were you?”
“Absolutely not.”
That made her laugh properly.
“Eventually,” he continued, a little more relaxed now, “if you spend enough time in clubs, you start noticing what works and what doesn’t. What makes people stay or makes them leave.” A small shrug. “Opening one didn’t feel like a big leap. More like a natural progression.”
“That’s actually kind of cool,” she said, meaning it. “Most people just fall into business because it’s profitable.”
Rindou gave her a look. “You assume this isn’t profitable?”
She took a sip of her drink and chuckled. “Okay. Fair.”
Sanzu studied her from the side, blue eyes sharp. “And you?” he asked. “What’s your natural progression?”
She made a face. “Surviving corporate capitalism,” came the dry reply. “I sell expensive apartments that I can only dream of affording to people who already have too many.”
They both seemed amused. “Of course.” Sanzu commented.
She turned her head to look at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” he said with a glint in his eyes, “you give the impression of someone who negotiates for a living.”
She blinked. “Is that a compliment?”
“Observation.”
A low chuckle escaped Rindou’s throat. “He means you don’t fold easily. So yes.”
She leaned back further into the couch, folding one leg over the other, settling into the space like she belonged there. “Good. I’d be bad at my job if I did. So this,” she gestured vaguely to the club toward the club around them “is one of my many escapes. I clock out and pretend I’m more interesting than I actually am.”
Sanzu’s gaze dragged over her again. “You’re doing alright so far.”
She felt heat rise to her cheeks and hated that he probably noticed. No, he definitely did.
“What are the other escapes then?” the pink-haired man asked inquisitively, wanting to see what else she had to offer.
The conversation drifted easily after that. Into questionable hobbies and harmless gossip about terrible clients and nightmare guests. Followed by graphic stories about teenage phases and regrettable fashion choices. Occasionally, Rindou contributed bits and pieces of the club’s history. How he and Ran had taken over the space when it was barely more than peeling wallpaper and broken lights and how opening night had almost ended in disaster. Sanzu corrected him here and there, adding unnecessary yet embarrassing details that had her laughing before she could stop herself.
He teased her about her drink choice. Teased Rindou about his music taste and the absent Ran about his dramatic monologues. But he never offered much about himself.
At one point, curiosity got the better of her.
“So what do you actually do?” she asked Sanzu, leaning back into the couch as if it were a casual question and not one she’d been sitting on for the last twenty minutes.
“For a living?” he asked, tapping his glass against his lip.
“Mhm.”
“Business,” he said simply. “We’re partners.”
“With the club?”
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth “Something like that.”
“And what type of business is that?” she pressed, unable to help herself.
He took another slow sip of his drink, eyes never leaving hers, and let the question dissolve into the bass vibrating through the room.
Looking back, and deliberately ignoring the whole beating-a-guy-in-an-alley situation, that probably should’ve counted as her first red flag.
Eventually, Ran found his way back to the table. He looked slightly worn out, but still in good spirits, his expensive suit immaculate despite the hours that had passed. He sank down onto the couch opposite her, next to Rindou, brushing a loose strand of hair back before rolling his neck once.
“Given that you’re still here and haven’t used my absence as an opportunity to escape,” he said smoothly, raising an eyebrow, “I take it you’re enjoying the company?”
Before she could answer, he smirked. “I knew you would.”
The four of them fell back into conversation as if no time had passed at all. The mood between them, the way they anticipated each other’s words felt like that of old friends who had spent far too many nights exactly like this. But there was something else, too. Something faintly… off. It wasn’t anything obvious, just a subtle undercurrent beneath the laughter and expensive cologne and easy smiles. She couldn’t name it. She only knew she felt it.
Time blurred and eventually her phone buzzed.
For a moment she ignored it, assuming it was nothing urgent, but when it buzzed again she reached down, fingers slightly uncoordinated from alcohol as she retrieved it and squinted at the screen. 2:55 a.m. “Shit,” she muttered under her breath and a notification from her group chat lit up the display.
hey, we’re heading to the next bar with some guys. do you want to join?
Guilt prickled faintly in her chest. She typed quickly.
sorry, I completely lost track of time. didn’t mean to abandon you.
A reply came almost instantly.
don’t worry, girl. we saw the guy and don’t blame you ;) if u want to stay that’s fine. u can call us if u want to join later
She paused before answering, her gaze lifting almost involuntarily. Ran was mid-story, gesturing lazily with the hand that held his glass. Rindou listened with half-interest, nodding along but clearly distracted by something else in the room. Sanzu wasn’t speaking at all. He was watching her.
Did she want to stay?
The discomfort she’d felt earlier in the evening had long since dissolved. The alcohol had softened the edges of her week and for once she wasn’t dancing to escape her own thoughts.
you’re the best. go on ahead, I’ll join later. have fun. <3
She slipped the phone back into her bag, and when she looked up again she caught the slight lift of Sanzu’s eyebrow.
“Important?” he asked with surprising interest.
“My friends,” she said. “They’re club hopping.”
“And you declined?” Ran tilted his head, violet eyes widening in feigned shock as if she’d just confessed something outrageous. “For us?”
“Temporarily,” she corrected.
Rindou let out a quiet chuckle into his glass. “Careful. He takes that as a personal victory.”
“I do,” Ran agreed without hesitation.
She rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her mouth betrayed her. The crowd around them had thinned; most people had drifted back downstairs where the bass was louder and the lights brighter, leaving the VIP section a bit more intimate. Around the same time is when she noticed another girl approaching. Just like the other two before her, she was stunning, heels clicking softly against the floor as she stopped beside their couch and leaned toward Sanzu.
“Hey,” she said, voice sugary. “Haven’t seen you around before.” The pink-haired man didn’t look at her immediately. He finished his drink first, slow and unhurried, before setting the glass down on the table in front of him.
“I have,” he replied flatly.
The girl laughed as though he’d delivered a clever joke. “I like the serious type” She shifted closer now, clearly undeterred and confident in her approach. “Can I buy you a drink?”
Rindou’s mouth twitched faintly, barely concealed behind his glass, while Ran watched the exchange with idle interest.
Sanzu finally looked at her fully, eyes cool and obviously disinterested. “Hm…” Then he leaned back. “No.”
The girl blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “I- oh. Okay.” She recovered quickly, chin lifting. But there was a flicker of embarrassment before she straightened. “Your loss.”
“Unlikely,” he said, really hammering his point home. A beat of silence stretched thin between them, and the girl’s composure cracked just enough to show. Her eyes flicked briefly to Ran and Rindou, perhaps searching for an ally or hoping one of them would laugh and turn it into a joke. Ran only lifted his glass to his lips, expression politely neutral, while Rindou didn’t even bother pretending to be invested.
Realizing there would be no rescue, she scoffed softly under her breath and stepped back, heels clicking a little louder this time as she retreated into the lounge crowd, swallowed by colored light.
Ran sighed faintly, shaking his head like a disapproving dad. “You could at least pretend to entertain them. It’s good for business.” Sanzu leaned back further into the couch, one arm draped lazily along the backrest behind her, close enough that she could feel the presence of it.
“If your business depends on me flirting with drunk strangers,” he shot back, “you should reconsider your strategy.”
A soft chuckle slipped from Rindou. “He’s not wrong.”
Ran gave an exaggerated sigh, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “You’re both insufferable.”
She caught herself watching him, an unexpected flicker of pity for the girl mingling with a growing curiosity about Sanzu. “So what,” she pressed, tilting her head, “you just… don’t flirt? Don’t date? I figured that sort of thing came with the job.”
He lifted a shoulder in a careless shrug. “Don’t have the time.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
A slow, knowing smile traced his lips. “I indulge occasionally,” he admitted. “But only when and how it suits me.”
Her brows lifted before she could stop herself, taken aback by this sudden honesty. It felt like she’d just one the first piece of a 1000-piece puzzle.
“And,” he added, crossing one ankle over his knee, his posture loose but deliberate, “I don’t entertain expectations. No follow-ups. Or complications.”
A phone vibrated again, this time not hers. Rindou glanced down at the slim black device in his palm, brows pulling together slightly as he read something, then nudged Ran. “We should get going.”
Ran checked his own screen with exaggerated reluctance. “Duty calls, I’m afraid.”
“At three in the morning?” she asked, disbelief threading through her voice.
“It’s a tragic life.” They both stood, adjusting jackets and brushing invisible creases from their clothes as if the night had only just begun for them. Ran leaned slightly toward her. “It was a pleasure. Truly.”
Rindou gave her a small nod before turning to Sanzu. “Try not to traumatize our guest while we’re gone.”
Sanzu didn’t miss a beat. “No promises.” There was a faint spark of amusement in his eyes.
And just like that, the brothers disappeared into the crowd, swallowed by shifting lights and music, leaving her alone on the couch with him. The music from below seemed louder now, the bass traveling up through the floor. A couple argued quietly near the far wall, a waiter cleared empty glasses from another table and she became acutely aware of the space between her and Sanzu. Of the fact that his arm was still stretched along the back of the couch. Of the faint scent of something expensive and clean beneath the alcohol.
“Well,” she said, wanting to break the silence. “Looks like your coworkers abandoned you on the night of your big promotion."
“Must mean they trust me now,” he replied.
“With what?”
“Not to make a mess.” A taunting smirk pulled faintly at his lips as he twirled a loose strand of pale pink hair between his fingers, eyes never leaving hers. “Fatal error on their part, if you ask me.” He was obviously baiting her. Dangling the edge of something just to see if she’d step closer or retreat.
“Nice try,” she answered, though a faint chill crept down her spine. She forced her mouth into a small, unimpressed smile, lifting her glass as though she hadn’t noticed the subtle shift in air between them now that the other two were gone. “But bad jokes don’t spook me.”
He relaxed back into the cushion, studying her openly now, no longer distracted by Ran’s theatrics or Rindou’s commentary. The lounge lights cast shadows along the sharp angles of his face, catching briefly on the metal of his piercings.
“Wasn’t a joke.”
She took a slow sip of her drink, buying herself a moment, watching him over the rim of the glass. “You say that like you’re testing me,” she finally countered, aiming for something would tilt this back toward banter instead of whatever the hell this was becoming.
“I like to call it pattern recognition,” he replied in a cheerful tone. “Makes life easier.” Sanzu was clearly enjoying this. The slow circling and the way she refused to fold.
“And what pattern am I?” she asked before she could stop herself. Ah, there it was. A sharp knife, handed over politely.
Sanzu didn’t answer right away. His gaze dropped briefly, taking in the costume and the way she held herself like someone who refused to look small even when uncertain. Then his eyes returned to hers, bright and amused.
“You like control,” he said matter-of-factly. “You like thinking you can read a room in a matter of seconds and adjust accordingly.” Her fingers tightened subtly against her glass.
“And?”
“And you’re irritated that you can’t read this one.”
The bass thudded again. She let out a small laugh, but it lacked its earlier smoothness at the accuracy of his statement. “Bold assumption.”
“That’s not a no.” His smile widened like he’d just proven a theory.
She inhaled through her nose, holding his gaze because looking away now would feel like surrendering ground she hadn’t agreed to give him. “You always do this?” she asked, folding one leg over the other. “Turn people into little psychological case studies so you don’t have to answer questions about yourself?”
“Only when they insist on hovering around loaded weapons.” The words were casual. The warning was not.
Her jaw shifted slightly. “You think that’s what I’m doing?”
“I think,” he said, leaning back just enough to look relaxed while every ounce of his attention stayed locked on her, “you didn’t come back because you love the music.” The certainty in his voice made something tighten low in her stomach and it felt like he was seeing right through her.
“You came back because you don’t like the idea that something got the better of you,” he continued, taking the knife he’d been handed and slowly sticking it in. “You don’t like being the girl who had to be rescued in an alley, coincidentally or not, and then quietly avoids the place afterward.” The words were delivered casually, but they hit closer than she would have liked.
“And what’s wrong with that?” she asked, chin lifting a fraction.
“Nothing,” he agreed easily. “In the right environments.”
A pause stretched thin between them. The faintest smile curved at the corner of his mouth.
“This isn’t one of them.”
For a second, irritation flared, sharp and defensive. Who was he to decide what she could handle? Who was he to categorize her as outside of something he hadn’t even defined? But beneath the irritation curiosity bubbled. “You don’t get to decide that.”
“I do.” He held her gaze without blinking. Stopping for a second, he weighed his words and scratched whatever he had been about to say. “You should go back to your friends. Find a place that rewards what you think you’re doing.”
“And what am I doing?”
“Testing a theory.” Her pulse ticked higher. “in a place that doesn’t reward optimism,” he went on, voice even as though they were discussing weather.
She straightened slightly. “Then what does it reward?”
“People who understand consequences before they walk into them,” he said. “People who don’t mistake curiosity with immunity.”
She felt the edge again. The knife pressing in, not quick or merciful but slow, deliberate and painfully methodical. It dug beneath skin, beneath appearances and practiced indifference, cutting toward the soft parts she kept guarded. Turning everything unspoken into a visible puddle of red at her feet.
The words settled low in her stomach, heavy and hot. Sanzu’s hand lifted then, slow and unhurried, giving her more than enough time to step back, to laugh it off and reclaim whatever ground she still had. He didn’t rush her.
“Optimism,” he murmured, his thumb grazing just beneath her chin, lingering there, “doesn’t make you untouchable.”
“And you would know?” Her voice came out thinner than she intended, barely more than breath. She met his unusually bright eyes and noticed the thickness of his lashes, the sharp focus of his gaze, the hunger in it. The scars at the corners of his mouth shifted as his smile changed shape, pulling tighter.
“Yes.”
The word settled between them like a loaded chamber.
He leaned in first, but not all the way. He stopped just shy of her mouth, breath warm against her lips and offering her one final exit. His eyes held hers, bright and intent, silently asking whether she understood what she was stepping into. She didn’t. And so she remained.
For a flicker of a second, something almost approving crossed his face, as if she’d given the correct answer to a question he hadn’t spoken aloud. Then his mouth met hers.
The kiss wasn’t sloppy or rushed, it wasn’t just a reckless crash of two people hiding behind alcohol. Sanzu’s lips were warm and deceptively soft, tasting faintly of whisky. His hand slid from her jaw to her neck, fingers spreading along the sensitive curve beneath her ear. His thumb traced the line of her pulse as he tilted his head and deepened the kiss gradually, claiming more space. She leaned closer, and the heat of his body pressed flush against hers. The world outside the VIP lounge narrowed until it felt distant and irrelevant, reduced to the faint thrum of music as he parted her lips.
The kiss deepened and the control she prided herself on slipped. Her hand rose without permission from her better judgment, fisting into the fabric of his shirt, expensive and smooth beneath her fingers. The reaction it earned was subtle: a low hum against her mouth, pleased and darkly amused.
He felt the change in her breathing. Of course he did. His thumb pressed lightly against her pulse, a silent acknowledgment that he could map every reaction she gave him. The kiss lost some of its restraint then. His teeth grazed her lower lip before he soothed it with his tongue, and the shift sent a shiver down her spine.
For someone who had warned her about consequences, he kissed like he intended to become one.
When he finally pulled back, it wasn’t abrupt. His mouth lingered just a bit longer, brushing hers once, twice, before he withdrew just enough to look her in the eyes.Their breaths were warm and uneven, and up close his blue eyes looked brighter, something unhinged flickering beneath the composure he wore so well.
“See?” he said softly. His hand was still at her neck.
“Maybe you don’t actually want predictable.”
And the worst part, the part that made heat pool low in her stomach instead of anger rise in her chest, was that he was right.
synopsis: she knows flirting with ran will piss rindou off. she also knows exactly what kind of mood it puts him in. some lessons are worth learning the hard way.
rating/warnings: explicit sexual content, praise and degradation, edging, spanking, bonten!rindou, jealous rindou, possessive rindou, dacryphilia if you squint
words: 4,1k+
masterlist
“What did I tell you not to do?” he asked sternly.
“I…” A moan slipped from her lips as her words caught in her throat, her body trembling against the cold surface of the counter while the steady rhythm of his hips behind her made it harder and harder to think. “Not to… ah… not to entertain Ran.” His hand came down sharply against her ass.
“And what did you do?” Rindou pressed. His voice was low and demanding as he drove himself deeper into her, each thrust forcing her farther forward across the counter while his grip on her hips kept her exactly where he wanted her. “Answer me.”
“I… I entertained Ran,” she managed between broken moans. The room spun around her as heat flooded every nerve in her body, her legs weakening beneath her while the relentless presence behind her consumed her senses, even though she could not see his face and had to imagine the expression she knew was there. Rindou was furious. She could feel it in the way he moved.
Pushing his buttons had always been dangerous, but the thrill of it made her reckless because jealousy stripped away every bit of restraint he normally kept in place around her and left only this version of him behind. No patience, no mercy and certainly no holding back.
Ran had always been the easiest way to provoke him, especially when the older Haitani leaned into it with that effortless teasing charm, brushing close and murmuring things in her ear while pretending it was all harmless. Rindou never bought the act. Not once.
Rindou’s hand suddenly tangled in her hair and yanked her head back, forcing her spine into a deep arch that left her gasping as his other arm slid around her throat, holding her firmly in place while he continued to drive into her with a rhythm that left her shaking.
“And…” he grunted. His mouth hovered close to her ear, his breath warm against her skin while the rough edge in his voice carried a warning that made her pulse race. “What happens when you don’t listen to me?”
She could barely think. Every movement of his hips struck a spot that made stars burst behind her eyes, and the pressure building deep inside her climbed higher with every second until the question he asked barely registered through the haze.
He did not let her ignore it. His free hand cracked lightly against her cheek, the sting snapping her attention back as his voice hardened. “Answer,” he barked. “I didn’t fuck you that stupid yet.”
Her body clenched around him. If his arm had not been locked around her neck she would have collapsed forward onto the counter completely, her breath coming in uneven gasps as pleasure and tension tangled inside her.
“I get…” she faltered. Another thrust forced a helpless sound from her throat as her words dissolved into a gasp before she forced them out. “Ah… I get punished.” Another slap followed.
The sharp contact sent a jolt through her that pushed her even closer to the edge, her body tightening as the familiar wave of release rushed toward her faster than she could stop it. Rindou noticed immediately. By now he knew her reactions too well to miss the way her muscles tensed around him or the subtle change in the sounds she made when she was about to fall apart. She was an open book to him. And he had no intention of letting her finish.
His arm loosened around her neck without warning, and a second later the heat filling her vanished completely as he pulled out of her all at once, leaving her body clenching helplessly around nothing.
Rindou grabbed her hair again. It wasn't hard enough to truly hurt her, but the sharp pull still stung as he guided her across the room and bent her over the armrest of the sofa before letting go, leaving her draped awkwardly across the furniture with her completely at his mercy.
“Stay,” he ordered.
Rindou turned away without another word and crossed the room to grab something from a nearby table, and even though she could not see it yet she already had a strong suspicion of what he was reaching for. Her heartbeat sped up immediately. Fear and anticipation tangled together inside her chest.
By the time he returned, her pulse was loud in her ears and her thoughts had turned hazy with the strange mixture of nerves and excitement that always came when he looked at her like this.
Rindou suddenly dropped to his knees in front of her. His hand closed in her hair again and he tugged her head upward, forcing her to look directly at him as her glossy eyes searched his face and took in every small detail. His hair was slightly disheveled from earlier, and the hard set of his expression made his features look almost unfairly beautiful. God, he looked good like this.
She noticed that he was still fully dressed from whatever job they had returned from earlier, his tie loosened just enough to suggest impatience while his gloves remained firmly in place and a faint speck of blood decorated the sleeve of his jacket. The sight made heat coil low in her stomach. This situation was completely messed up, and yet the rush of it all only pulled her deeper into the moment. She felt the familiar warmth of arousal spreading through her abdomen. “Please,” she started softly.
Her voice wavered as memories of the last time she had pushed him too far flashed through her mind, recalling the dull ache that had lingered for days afterward and the way sitting down had become a careful, miserable process. “Please be gentle.” She knew it was a long shot.
The last time she had crossed the line like that, her normally attentive boyfriend had taken a clear and almost devious satisfaction in watching her deal with the consequences of her own stubbornness, especially every time she winced while trying to sit down afterward. He had looked delighted. The growing bulge in his pants had refused to hide how much he enjoyed the situation.
“You know I can’t do that,” Rindou replied calmly. His tone was steady and almost patient, though there was a rough edge underneath it that told her he meant every word he was about to say. “I would be letting you down if I did.”
Fuck.
He released her hair then and let her head fall back against the couch cushion, her cheek pressing into the expensive fabric while her hair spilled loosely around her face. Rindou stood again. He moved with slow, deliberate steps until he was positioned behind her once more, the quiet sound of his shoes against the floor stretching the tension until it felt unbearable.
She instinctively tried to shift away. Though she knew the attempt was useless, since the angle she was bent over the armrest and the tight restraints holding her wrists made even the smallest movement difficult. A shiver ran through her.
Rindou’s gloved hand found her ass and began kneading slowly, testing the softness of the skin before giving it a light experimental slap that made her inhale sharply.
“This will hurt,” he said plainly. Despite the bluntness of the warning, she could hear the slight hitch in his voice that betrayed how much the moment affected him too.
“Fifteen,” Rindou continued. His tone sharpened with quiet authority as he added the rule that always made her stomach flutter with nervous excitement. “I want you to count every one of them.”
“And if you miss one,” he finished, “we start over.”
She was already trembling. Warmth pooled between her legs as the anticipation built higher and higher, leaving her breath shallow while her fingers curled uselessly against the restraints holding her wrists together.
“Yes, sir,” she whispered.
Time seemed to stretch into something slow, and she swore she could hear the faint rush of air as the paddle was lifted before it came down sharply against her backside with a sting so sudden and intense that it nearly knocked the breath from her lungs. He had not been bluffing.
“O... one,” she gasped weakly. Her voice barely made it past her lips as the lingering sting spread across her skin.
“And?” he prompted. His fingers brushed against her clit for a brief teasing moment, circling once before pulling away again as if the contact had only been meant to remind her how vulnerable she was right now.
“Thank you, sir,” she added quickly. The correction came out breathless but clear.
Rindou hummed in approval. “Good girl.”
Another strike followed. “Two… t-thank you,” she stammered, her voice shaky as the sting spread across her skin and settled into a warm burn that made her toes curl against the couch. Then came another. And another after that, each strike landing with the same unforgiving force as the last while Rindou showed no sign of easing up, the steady rhythm leaving her body trembling and her thoughts slowly dissolving into something blissfully empty.
The heat in her ass had grown intense by now, every nerve buzzing as the sting mixed with the slick warmth between her thighs and the constant awareness that her merciless boyfriend was standing just behind her, towering over her while he delivered every strike with careful precision. Nothing else mattered.
The world had narrowed to the sharp smack of the paddle, the pounding of her pulse in her ears, and the overwhelming heat pooling low in her body as pleasure and pain twisted together in a way that made her dizzy. If heaven existed, she was pretty sure it looked something like this.
“Last one, angel,” Rindou’s strained voice came from behind her.
The nickname was familiar but rarely used, and hearing it now sent a shiver racing down her spine while the tiny hairs along the back of her neck stood up instantly. She almost moaned just from that.
The final strike came down a second later, landing harder than any of the others and jolting her body forward as the sharp sting exploded across her skin. He had absolutely saved the worst for last. Even through the haze clouding her thoughts she swore she could practically hear the faint smirk on his lips, the kind of smug satisfaction he always carried when he knew exactly what he was doing to her.
Her hair was still pooled around her face. Her chest pressed firmly into the soft fabric of the couch while her watery eyes stared unfocused at nothing in particular, her breathing uneven as the sting pulsed across her skin. Then she felt his hand on her back.
His gloved fingers traced slow circles along her lower spine, soothing and gentle in a way that contrasted sharply with the punishment he had just delivered before he stepped into view and pressed a soft kiss against the top of her hair.
“How are you feeling?” he asked gently.
“Amazing…” she answered honestly. Her eyes drifted up toward him, glassy and unfocused while her flushed face and slack expression made it obvious she was still floating somewhere far away. A tiny strand of saliva slipped from the corner of her mouth and stained the sofa. She looked completely wrecked and absolutely stunning.
“Good,” Rindou said. His tone sharpened again almost instantly as his expression shifted, his gaze turning colder while he looked down at her with that familiar intensity that always made her stomach twist.
“Because we’re not done here.” He was going to drive her insane tonight, she was certain of it.
She felt his hands move to her arms as he lifted her carefully off the armrest, steadying her when her shaky legs threatened to buckle before guiding her into a different position on the couch. Her back pressed against the cushions now and her legs were spread apart on either side of her while he positioned her exactly where he wanted, leaving her body open and vulnerable beneath his gaze.
Rindou slid his arms under her thighs to pull her slightly forward until her hips rested near the edge of the couch, leaving her ass barely supported while the position forced her legs further apart. Then he slapped her pussy.
The sudden contact drew a startled moan from her lips as the sharp sensation pulsed through her body, her hips jerking slightly before he lowered himself to his knees in front of her. A second later his tongue dragged slowly along her entrance. Her back arched immediately against the couch while the rope binding her wrists dug deep into her skin, the unexpected pleasure sending a wave of heat rushing through her entire body.
“Fuck,” he breathed. His voice was rough as he lingered there for a moment, his grip tightening on her thighs while he looked up at her through half lidded eyes. “You taste so fucking good.”
And just like that he was back on her. His tongue moved expertly against her clit, shifting between slow teasing circles and firmer pressure while he paid close attention to every reaction she gave until he heard her breath hitch and felt her body tense beneath his hands. He had her figured out.
Rindou devoured her like a starving man, occasionally lifting his gaze to meet hers with an intensity that made her pulse race even faster than the sensation of his mouth alone. “God, Rindou,” she moaned. Her bound hands tightened around her own arm behind her back as she tried to steady herself against the overwhelming rush building inside her. “Feels s’good.”
He hummed softly against her, the vibration of it sending a shiver through her while his tongue continued its relentless work against her clit. The sound alone made her hips twitch as the pressure inside her tightened again, that familiar wave of pleasure building faster and faster until it felt impossible to hold back.
“Yes… n’ah,” she moaned breathlessly. Her voice cracked as she tilted her hips upward, chasing the exact spot that had her nerves sparking. “Yes, right there… haah…” She ground herself against his mouth without shame. Her hips rocked against his tongue as she chased the release that had been dangling just out of reach all night, her body moving on instinct while every nerve in her skin felt painfully alive.
Rindou stopped. For the second time that night he pulled away before she could finish, leaving her body suspended right at the edge while the pleasure that had been about to break suddenly vanished. The frustration hit immediately. A shaky breath escaped her as tears welled in her eyes and began sliding down her flushed cheeks, the overwhelming tension left behind making her entire body tremble. She needed to come so badly. Her skin felt like it was burning from the inside out while her pussy clenched helplessly around nothing, aching with the absence of the pressure she had been chasing.
If her hands had not been tied, she would have grabbed him. She would have dragged him back down between her legs and buried her fingers in his hair just to force him to keep going until she shattered. But the restraints allowed none of it. Her wrists were pinned uselessly behind her, leaving her completely at his mercy while the younger Haitani rose to his feet and towered over her.
His expression was calm, yet the look in his eyes made it obvious how much he was enjoying every second of this, especially when paired with the angry red tip of his erection and the way his cock stood painfully erect.
“You come on my dick,” he said sharply. His voice carried a rough edge as his hand returned to her body, gripping her thigh as he shifted her again with deliberate control. “Or you don’t come at all.”
A second later he moved her onto the floor.
She ended up on her back, staring up at the ceiling above while she tried to steady her breathing and gather the scattered pieces of her thoughts. At least the lighting was dim. The soft glow from the corner of the room was far kinder than the harsh brightness of the ceiling light that would have made the moment feel far too exposed.
She felt him before she saw him. Rindou’s hands settled on her thighs and squeezed firmly before pressing them upward toward her chest, folding her into a position that left her completely open beneath him. The pose was shameless. It left nothing hidden from his gaze and everything fully on display for him to look at, something he clearly took advantage of as he leaned over her, his hair framing his face.
The shadows from the dim lighting framed his features while the hungry curve of his lips made it clear exactly what was running through his mind. His pants had come partially undone by now. Both the fabric and his boxers had slipped down to the middle of his thighs, giving him more freedom to move while revealing just enough of his body to make her stare. And stare she did.
Her eyes dragged slowly up and down his body as she took in the sight of him towering above her, his tattoos adorning toned muscles, clearly appreciating the view in a way she did not even try to hide. Rindou noticed. The subtle tightening of her pussy was impossible to miss.
“Desperate whore,” he muttered. The words sounded far more like praise than an insult.
Finally, Rindou lined himself up with her entrance.
There was no need for any more prep with how soaked she already was, and he pushed inside her in one smooth motion that buried him impossibly deep. A low, guttural moan slipped from his throat. He stayed there for a moment, savoring the tight heat wrapped around his cock before slowly pulling out again and thrusting back in as he began to set a rhythm.
His arms braced on either side of her. Strong and toned, they caged her body between him and the floor while his gaze pinned her in place just as firmly as his weight did, leaving her nowhere to go and no desire to escape. Their bodies were tightly connected. Her legs were draped over Rindou’s shoulders, forcing her thighs up against her chest and locking her into a deep mating press that left him reaching inside her again and again with every thrust.
The position strained her arms behind her back. The rope dug painfully into her wrists as the tension pulled at her shoulders, yet the pressure of his body and the way he held her there made her feel completely powerless beneath him.
“Ah…” she breathed. Her voice was shaky as her chest rose and fell while she struggled to keep up with the sensations rushing through her body. “Harder, Rin… please. I… I need you.”
Her eyes rolled back and her head tipped to the side as her gaze drifted unfocused across the room, unable to settle on anything while the only clear sensation in her mind was the feeling of him buried deep inside her. Rindou did not need to be told twice. He picked up the pace almost immediately, his thrusts turning rough and quick as he drove himself into her over and over again.
He bucked into her like an animal in heat, chasing his own release without even noticing the strain beginning to build in his muscles as the intensity of his movements increased. One of his hands reached for her face. He hooked his thumb into her mouth and pressed down just enough to force her attention back onto him when her dazed eyes tried to drift away again.
“Look at me,” he murmured.
When her gaze finally locked onto his, his fingers slid from her jaw to her throat, wrapping loosely around her neck before tightening slightly in the way he knew she liked. The pressure stole a little of her breath. Her lungs struggled to pull in air as the squeeze made her head feel lighter, the lack of oxygen mixing with the pleasure rushing through her body until her thoughts blurred together completely.
“I’m close,” he said.
The words came out strained as he punctuated them with a rough thrust that broke the rhythm for a moment before he pushed deep again. “Want you to come with me.”
His grip around her throat tightened a little more before he leaned down and kissed her. The kiss was deep and hungry as he swallowed the moan trying to escape her throat, his tongue searching for hers while the muscles moved against each other in frantic, desperate strokes that said far more than words ever could.
Rindou felt her tighten around him. The sudden, intense squeeze told him that she was close, and he kept his pace steady as he rocked into her with deep, controlled thrusts while chasing the release building in his own body.
She bucked beneath him. Her legs lifted higher and closed behind his head, locking him firmly in place as her body instinctively tried to pull him deeper, even though the position already left almost no room for movement. Even with the limited space he did not slow down and instead continued driving into her, his hips rolling forward with determination until two more strokes pushed her over the edge completely. Her body clenched around him again.
Her legs trembled violently while the sound that escaped her throat was so raw and helpless that it sent a fresh surge of heat through him despite the exhaustion already creeping into his muscles. His release filled her while he held himself there for a moment longer, breathing heavily as the last tremors of pleasure moved through both of them.
Slowly he pulled out. A small trail of his release slipped from her cunt as he withdrew, leaving him staring down at the mess they had made while he tried to catch his breath. Her expression was dazed and sinful, her flushed face and unfocused eyes making it obvious that she was still floating somewhere deep in the afterglow. He never got tired of that sight.
It was one of his favorite moments, the quiet seconds after everything when the tension had finally broken and she looked completely undone. Her hair was messy from where his hands had been earlier, her cheeks still flushed and her lips slightly parted as she tried to catch her breath, and the sight of her like that always stirred something deep and possessive inside his chest. All because of him.
Rindou let himself look for a moment longer before he finally reached out, his fingers brushing gently along her cheek. There was no trace of the roughness from earlier in the way he touched her now.
“C’mere,” he murmured quietly. His voice had lost the sharp edge it carried before as he helped her sit up, supporting her carefully while he reached for the rope still looped around her wrists. When it fell away his eyes turned to the marks it had left behind, angry red lines wrapped around her wrists where the fibers had pressed against her skin. The contrast against her otherwise smooth skin made his chest tighten and hiis thumb brushed across one of the marks. She watched him.
Her eyes were softer now, the earlier haze of pleasure slowly fading while she studied his face with that familiar warmth that always seemed to see right through him.
Before he could even move away to put the rope aside, her arms slid around him and pulled him closer in the way she had clearly wanted to do all night.
“I love you, Rin,” she whispered. Her voice was gentle as she leaned in and pressed a slow kiss to his lips, the kind of kiss that carried nothing but affection and reassurance. It caught him off guard. Not because the words were unexpected, but because she always seemed to say them at the exact moment he needed to hear them the most.
Despite the dangerous work he did and the cold demeanor he showed the rest of the world, she had always been able to see the quiet insecurities he kept buried underneath it all. She rarely pushed those places. But whenever she did, she made sure to follow it with something that reminded him he was still loved beyond all of it.
Rindou’s arms slid around her waist and pulled her firmly against him while he buried his face into the curve of her neck, holding her a little tighter than he normally would as he breathed in slowly. The steady warmth of her body against his chest grounded him far more than he would ever admit out loud.
synopsis: tamsy thrives on control, deception, and staying unreadable. a quiet post-mission night challenges all three. when someone sees past the mask, and doesn’t flinch, security turns into threat, desire into complication, and a carefully constructed plan begins to crack.
rating/warnings: explicit sexual content, power imbalance, praise and degradation, edging, orgasm control, psycholical power play, tamsy is his own warning
words: 6,3k+
masterlist
The corridors of the Cleaners’ headquarters were still loud when she left the great hall. Voices overlapped, laughter bouncing off the metal walls, boots clanging against the floor and Enjin arguing with Riyo about something that sounded half-serious, half-ridiculous. Their long mission had wrapped up that afternoon - successful enough to put them in high spirits, though with a different outcome as expected - and the familiar post-adrenaline hum still lingered in the air. Soon, the others would head off to their usual post-mission dinner. On any other day, she would have joined them without a second thought. Tonight, though, her mind was already elsewhere.
She slipped away without hesitation, determination leading her steps and letting the noise fade behind her. Even so, she could feel the weight of a pair of knowing yellow eyes on her back, watching until she disappeared through the tall metal door at the end of the hall. No one called after her. No one questioned it anymore. It had become routine, another unspoken rule folded neatly into the rhythm of the buzzing place she called her home.
Tamsy’s room lay farther down the hall on the third floor, tucked away into one of the quieter wings. Not directly beside Enjin’s, nor opposite it, but close enough that the blond man had been roused more than once by Tamsy’s “questionable” taste in music. Threats to kick in the door had flown, along with a few screaming matches that rivaled the volume of whatever White Chapel track had been blaring across the hall that morning. She paused in front of the door, a small chuckle escaping her at the memory, before knocking lightly.
“Come in,” Tamsy said, his voice calm and unbothered, as if he hadn’t needed to check who was standing there. Over the past few months, this had become a quiet ritual between them. It had slipped so naturally into place that neither of them could have said when it started or how.
He was sitting on the edge of his bed when she entered, jacket discarded, bandages visible beneath his shirt where the fabric had been cut and hastily replaced. He looked a little tired, but not weakened or in pain. It was rare for Tamsy to come back injured from a mission and even if he did, it was usually just a minor bruise here or a small cut there. In fact, it was rare enough that she had genuinely wondered whether it had been an accident at all or if, for some mysterious reason, he had allowed it to happen. The thought lingered for a moment longer than it should have before she dismissed it. She couldn’t imagine a reason he would, and so she filed it away as nothing more than a bad day and a lapse in judgment.
“You should be with the healers,” she said teasingly as she closed the door behind her.
He smiled a little. “I was. They did what they could.”
She didn’t comment on the fact that “what they could” clearly hadn’t been everything. Nor that he was clearly lying and hadn’t actually bothered stopping by Eishia’s on the way back to his room. If he had, this type of injury would have been completely gone by now. Tamsy rarely let people get closer than necessary and avoided being touched by anyone, so pressing him on it would lead nowhere.
She moved closer, settling onto the chair near his bed. The room was cozy, welcoming with it’s warm lights and the faint glow of an old speaker system tucked into the corner opposite his bed. Music hummed quietly in the background, something heavy and distorted, familiar enough to feel intentional and rhythmic enough to fade into the background.
For a while, they talked about nothing important. About the mission. About Delmon being insufferable and Enjin once again letting them do a majority of the work. About a new band he’d found recently and the way the vocals reminded him of one of his favorite bands. It was always like this, the atmosphere feeling welcoming and relaxed, neither of them having to think about what to say next or feeling the need to fill comfortable silence with unnecessary small-talk. And while Tamsy listened more than he spoke, nodding occasionally and smirking at the right moments, it was clear he was enjoying this just as much as she was.
Eventually, the conversation slowed.
She noticed it then, the way his posture shifted when the cut on his chest pulled uncomfortably. It wasn't as if it really hurt, but as someone who was rarely injured, the spot must’ve still been noticeable. Or so she guessed.
“Sit still,” she rose from the chair and crossed the short distance to the bed, fingers already reaching for the supplies laid out on the small table beside it. He didn’t argue but his eyes followed her nonetheless.
Her hands were steady as she worked, adjusting the bandages with a touch that was careful without being tentative. Close enough now to feel the warmth of him through the thin fabric of his shirt, to notice the slow rise and fall of his breathing. He didn’t flinch when she pressed a little firmer, didn’t pull away like he usually would. If anything, he leaned into it.
“You don’t have to do this,” he said. “It looks worse than it is.”
“I know.”
She finished securing the last wrap and withdrew her hands, fingers lingering for half a second longer than necessary before she stepped back. Instead of returning to the chair, she sat down beside him on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipping slightly under her weight.
The room settled into a quiet that felt heavier than before. Somewhere in the background, the low murmur of music continued, barely noticeable now.
“This isn’t like you,” she said finally.
He didn’t meet her eyes. He shifted instead, one hand drifting to the fresh bandage, thumb tracing the edge absently. “What isn’t?”
“Getting hurt,” she replied. “At least not like this. You’re usually better at avoiding it. Or choosing when it happens...” That earned her something small. Not quite a reaction but rather a pause that stretched half a second too long.
“For a moment,” she added, her voice lighter than the thought beneath it, “I wondered if you let it happen.”
He exhaled through his nose, something close to a scoff, and lifted a hand to tuck a loose strand of hair behind his ear. The movement pulled attention to the contrast in his hair - the dirty blond catching the dim light, the navy beneath it darker in shadow. His lip piercing glinted briefly under the dimmed overhead light when he turned back toward her.
“That would’ve been stupid.”
“Probably,” she agreed. “But not impossible.”
A small wrinkle appeared between his eyebrows, lips curling into a soft smirk. Surprise flickered across his face before he smoothed it away, the sharpness in his gaze softening into something more curious. Like she’d brushed against a thought he hadn’t expected her to voice. Hell, hadn’t expected her or anyone to even notice.
“You think too much,” he said simply.
“That’s not a no,” she countered.
Silence stretched again, thicker now. The kind that pressed against the skin instead of the ears. She leaned back on her hands, studying him with an expression that hovered somewhere near fond. That, more than anything, seemed to irritate him.
“You know, you’re full of surprises,” she said.
His brow lifted a fraction. “Because I got injured?”
A quiet laugh. “Because you’re never quite what you appear to be. Every time I think I’ve got you figured out, you do something that doesn’t fit and I have to start all over again.”
“That doesn’t sound like a compliment.”
“It is,” she said easily. “I like being surprised.”
He considered that, eyes narrowing as the corner of his mouth twitched. He shifted on the bed, the loose white button-down tugging awkwardly at his shoulders where the cut had forced it open, his navy tie hanging crooked and forgotten. What a waste, this was one of his favorites.
“You only say that,” he said, “because you don’t know everything.”
“Is that so?”
“If you did,” he went on, his tone light but unmistakably serious, “you’d be less enthusiastic. I guarantee it.”
She tilted her head, unbothered. “Or more.”
Now it was his turn to laugh, brief and genuine, before he shook his head. It was the sound of someone who’d heard that before and learned not to trust it.
“You’re optimistic,” he said.
“No,” she replied, her voice thick with defiance and something knowing. “I’m observant.”
Something about that insinuation wiped the amusement from his face. It sounded like a threat. And while he liked pushing people’s buttons, liked knocking them off balance and watching their reactions when he challenged them, being on the receiving end of that same energy, was something else entirely. It felt like surrendering control, and he hated it.
He leaned back, resting his weight on his hands, posture casual in a way that didn’t quite match the emotion in his eyes. His gaze drifted toward the far wall, where his drawer stood half-visible in the low light. The silence stretched the way it often did; only this time, the tension was unmistakable.
“That can be dangerous,” he said after a moment and it almost sounded like a warning.
“So can being predictable to the wrong people.”
Tamsy let out a quiet, practiced sound that might have passed for a laugh if it hadn’t been so restrained. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, his expression sharp and unreadable, a stark contrast to his usual relaxed demeanor.
“And you are one of those people?,” he asked, faint amusement threading through his voice, as if the very idea of her being a threat entertained him. “You might be projecting.”
She shrugged, knowing not to take this as an insult. “Maybe. Or maybe being too sure of yourself leads to carelessness - or worse, to underestimating people.”
For a moment, he didn’t respond. She noticed how his breathing slowed, deliberate and controlled, like he was filing her words away rather than reacting to them. Refusing to give too much away too easily.
“You sound very sure of yourself and whatever it is you’re trying to get at,” he said eventually.
Now his eyes were on her. The intensity of it made her breath hitch despite herself. His posture had gone rigid, the last traces of his usual ease stripped away, leaving something raw and instinctive in its place. He looked like a predator deciding whether to strike, measuring distance and intent, guided by little more than intuition and the next move of his prey.
“I am,” she replied. “About some things.”
She didn’t rush to fill the silence. She let it stretch, let it press in. She’d learned that Tamsy only offered things when he chose to, never when he was pushed. But she’d also learned that meeting him head-on, challenging him without raising her voice, had a way of throwing him off balance. None of the cleaners ever managed that - the shouting matches with Delmon or the chaotic fights over the aux with Enjin were loud and familiar but ultimately harmless. This was different. They both knew it.
“People see what they want to see.”
“And sometimes, they see what’s there and choose not to make a spectacle out of it” she replied. “Like your fondness for cake on a day off.”
The room turned ice-cold, all playful teasing and feigned ignorance dropped in an instant. Tamsy crossed the distance in a split second, movement sharp and decisive. He half straddled her where she sat, trapping her between his arms and the mattress behind her. The springs dipped under his weight and his body was rigid, coiled tight, close enough that she could feel the heat of him despite the sudden coldness of his expression.
His eyes were piercing now, stripped of warmth and filled with a hostility that sent a shiver straight down her spine, prickling the skin at the back of her neck. This was the part of him most people never saw. The part he made sure stayed buried.
She had expected a reaction, had braced herself for anger, for deflection, maybe even laughter. What she hadn’t prepared for was the sheer intensity of his presence. It knocked the breath from her lungs, left her momentarily aware of just how unpredictable he could be when cornered. And beneath the fear, there was something else: a strange thrill at finally seeing his mask slip.
“I don’t know your goal or your true intentions,” she said, carefully now, each word placed with intention. “I don’t pretend to.”
His gaze flicked to her hands where they fidgeted against the fabric beneath her, fingers betraying nerves she was trying hard to conceal. Then his eyes returned to her face, so composed it almost passed for calm. Under different circumstances he would have found it cute. The way she clung to control even now, holding knowledge he couldn’t simply take from her.
Now though, he felt like a threatened animal, patience fraying by the second. And Tamsy had never fared well when control was taken from him.
“But I’m not blind,” she continued. “And I’m not as easily distracted as you think. I’ve known about Amo for a while.”
He tilted his head slightly, still silent, a deliberate choice meant to push her forward, to make her fill the space he refused to occupy. A lock of hair had fallen into his face, trapping her further and sharpening his silhouette into something unmistakably predatory. She could feel his usual restraint thinning, could sense how close he was to deciding her fate.
“You’re implying a lot,” he spat. “And stating very little.”
The music shifted tracks, a heavier riff bleeding into the room. The timing was almost laughable in its cruelty.
She watched his fingers curl against the mattress beside her, knuckles whitening before relaxing again. His jaw tightened, then loosened, as if he were calculating which reaction would cost him the least. She was certain the only reason this hadn’t escalated further was the months of quiet closeness that had led to this moment - the shared nights, the trust he’d let her believe was real. Still, she wasn’t naive enough to think he wouldn’t discard all of it if protecting his goals meant hurting her.
“I don’t know why you kept her chained up in that basement,” she said, her voice steady. She didn’t accuse, didn’t push. “I don’t even know what you’re trying to accomplish. And I don’t know how you manage to keep such a straight face in front of Rudo, feigning sympathy, especially when you’re doing such a poor job of it right now.”
“You’re very confident for someone with incomplete information,” he said.
“Confidence isn’t the same as certainty,” she replied. “I just know when someone is pretending. And you’re very good at it. You’ve always been.”
Something flickered through his eyes, too fast to name, gone before she could be sure it had been there at all. She shifted beneath him, easing the pressure of his knee against her hip just enough to breathe easier. It was a small act of defiance, reclaiming a sliver of space without breaking eye contact. “I’m not here to threaten you,” she said quietly. “If I were, you’d already know.”
Silence stretched between them once more. The music played on, indifferent to the tension thick enough to choke on, as they remained locked in place, neither willing to move first.
“What do you want?” he inquired tentatively.
“For you to trust me” she said simply, holding his gaze with such intensity and determination that he almost let a frustrated groan slip. Just earlier she’d commented on how unpredictable he was, yet here she was refusing any script he’d imagined this conversation would follow. No fear. No bargaining. No desperate justification.
Instead of pulling away, he pressed her down harder, as if proximity itself could restore his authority. His hand closed around her wrist, pinning it to the mattress, his grip tightening just enough to hurt. He was determined to not let himself lose this exchange “Why?” he asked, brown eyes boring into her.
“You’re smart,” she replied evenly. “I’m sure you can figure it out.” She made no move to explain herself further. She’d said what she came to say, tossed the truth between them, and left the next move to him. And then, against all instinct, he could feel her relax beneath his weight. Her once tense muscles sank into the mattress, her breathing uneven but unguarded, her eyes fixed on him with an emotion so unfamiliar it left him unsteady.
He studied her face: the way her breath caught and stuttered, the way her gaze flicked from his eyes to his lips and back again. He wasn’t stupid. Of course he’d noticed. How could he not? But he had always shoved the thought aside, knowing exactly what letting someone get close would cost him. It was a liability. A huge one at that.
So he’d learned to keep everyone at arm’s length, always charming enough to be liked, yet distant enough to remain unreadable. No one stayed long enough to see the cracks. No one looked hard enough to see underneath the mask.
He didn’t know what was different this time. Only that it was. The answer hovered just out of reach, unnamed and entirely unwelcome.
It would be easy to end this. To trap her here, erase the problem, erase her memory of all of it. The Watchman book was only a few meters away, tucked neatly inside one of his drawers. Minutes, at most, and this would be finished.
Instead, he kissed her.
Hard.
The impact of it stole what little breath she had left, driven by the storm of emotions crashing through him all at once. Frustration at the fact that he couldn’t simply discard her, couldn’t bring himself to shove her aside and resolve the problem the way he always did. At how easily this should have been handled, how cleanly it could have fit into his plans. And beneath that, something far more revolting. The pathetic realization that despite his cultivated distance, his carefully maintained belief that he needed no one and nothing, he had leaned in now because she had seen something no one else ever did. She had looked straight at the ugliness, a fragment of the appalling truth beneath the mask and hadn’t run. Not yet.
It disgusted him. That he was the one in control here, that he could still end this whenever he wanted, and yet had chosen to give up a fragment of himself anyway. An exception he despised even as he made it. There was no version of reality in which he would ever be fully honest with her - certainly not now, not when he didn’t yet know how much she truly understood about him. Still, the challenge excited him. The thought of no longer pulling strings attached to easily manipulated puppets like Enjin or Delmon, but instead being faced with someone closer to a human. Not an equal, not quite, but someone who might not shatter at the first sign of pressure. A toy that might last longer. One he could actually enjoy.
She moved against him, hips lifting in an instinctive attempt to close the distance between them, to anchor him there. Her hands strained against his grip, wanting freedom, to curl into his hair and pull him impossibly closer - but Tamsy denied her that immediately.
He shifted his hold, using only one hand now to pin her wrists above her head. It was effortless. A quiet, unmistakable reminder of the difference in strength between them, despite his slim frame and unassuming build. His other hand wandered instead, fingers sliding down to cup her cheek, thumb pressing into warm skin. He dragged his tongue slowly over her lower lip not like he was asking. He was demanding. And she answered it without hesitation.
She moaned into the kiss, her tongue eagerly meeting his, tangling with his as they fought for control. It was hot and messy, overwhelming in a way that left her head spinning. Every coherent thought slipped away until there was only him. His dominating presence, intoxicating and all-consuming. He let his tongue wander deeper, slow and deliberate, before dragging it back to trace her lower lip and bite down gently. The sensation pulled an unguarded sound from her throat. Her hips lifted instinctively, chasing the contact, and he rewarded the movement by letting his hand slide lower, slipping beneath her shirt to grasp the soft curve of her waist.
His knee pressed between her thighs, close enough to set her nerves on fire but nowhere near enough to satisfy the ache building there. Her heart raced. It wasn’t enough and she wanted more. So much more. Tamsy smiled into the kiss now - a slow, devious curve of his mouth, heavy with self-satisfaction. Watching her unravel beneath him when he had barely touched her pleased him immensely. He wondered, distantly, what other sounds he could draw from her.
His hand wandered further up to her chest, the touch sending a shiver straight through her as his fingers traced lazy circles around her hardened bud before flicking with intent. She gasped, breath hitching sharply. He broke the kiss then, hovering over her as his long hair fell loose around his face, caging her in completely. Their lips were swollen, flushed red. He stared down at her with the hunger of a starving animal, taking in the faint blush staining her cheeks, the way her earlier confidence had cracked just enough to show what she was trying to hide. She felt trapped by her own need and hated that he could see it.
“That’s all you got?” she teased, even as the warmth in her cheeks betrayed the fragile composure she clung to.
“You’re not very convincing looking like that,” Tamsy replied calmly. His voice sounded almost bored, save for the faint teasing undertone that only someone who knew him well would catch. His chest rose and fell a little heavier than before, a clear indication that he was just as affected as she was, though he would never admit it out loud.
Then he withdrew.
He stepped away from her hips and stood, and for a brief second confusion flickered across her face, followed quickly by disappointment. Had she pushed too far? Had he changed his mind?
The answer came when he crossed the room and shut the stereo off entirely, plunging the space into heavy silence. With the other cleaners off on other missions or away in the city enjoying their post-mission dinner, no sound was heard from inside or outside other than their rhythmic breaths. The overhead light was turned off, leaving only the soft light of the two night lamps on the drawer and the bedside table to illuminate the room. Tamsy dragged a hand through his dual-colored hair, tucking strands behind his ear as he unbuttoned his shirt slowly, deliberately, his gaze never leaving her as he returned to the bed.
“I want to hear you choke on your words,” he said.
His voice dripped like venomous honey and he swore he heard her swallow hard.
She tried to scoot back, retreating farther onto the bed to give Tamsy space, but he clearly had other plans - hooking his arms beneath her legs and dragging her back with ease. “Ah-ah,” he murmured. “Who said you could run now?”
The slim man let his hands roam to her waistband, making quick work of the button before stripping her of her pants. The bite of cold air barely even registered against the heat of his hands on her newly exposed skin. Tamsy knelt between her thighs, the bedside lamp casting a soft glow over his features, accentuating his almost otherworldly beauty. Holding her gaze without shame, he licked a slow stripe over her clothed sex and as her hips jerked upward, she clamped a hand over her mouth, trying to stifle the sound that threatened to escape. His eyes alone set her nerves ablaze; the contrast between his almost innocent looks and his lewd actions did the rest.
“Take that hand away for me, sweetheart,” he commanded. “I thought I made myself clear.”
She looked down at him, her pupils blown wide with want, blood roaring in her ears as a single finger hooked beneath her panties and slid them aside. His touch followed slowly, deliberately, dragging along her slit as if testing her, gauging every breath and shiver.
“Barely did anything and you’re already this wet,” he mumbled, the comment clearly more for himself than for her. “Fuck.”
She heard him swallow hard, his voice thick and strained with desire. It took more restraint than he’d ever known he possessed not to rush straight to the main event, his erection pressing painfully against the confines of his pants. In that moment, he was grateful to have always favored loose-fitting clothes.
But he wanted to take his time with her. Wanted to see how far he could push, how completely he could make her unravel. So he made quick work of her panties, tugging them down and out of the way before resting his hands firmly on her thighs and drawing her closer.
When his tongue finally found her core, she let out a guttural moan she’d been holding back since earlier, the sound ripping from her chest and going straight through him. It only spurred him on. He started slow, giving her a few languid licks before circling her clit with his tongue, subtly alternating pace and pressure as he learned her responses. Tight circles with barely-there pressure gave way to firmer strokes, his tongue swirling in a deliberate figure-eight.
When another choked moan escaped her lips and she tugged instinctively at his hair, he knew he’d found her sweet spot. Deciding to take it one step further, he slid a single finger into her without warning. Her back arched sharply, a broken cry leaving her as her wetness made it effortless for him to push in, her warmth closing around him and pulling him deeper. He felt himself twitch painfully in his pants now at how tightly she clenched around his finger, already imagining just how good it would feel once he finally sank into her.
He curled his finger slightly, adding pressure as he searched for that spongy spot he knew would have her seeing stars. It didn’t take long. Her hips jerked up into him, a sharp gasp tearing from her as her nails dug into his forearms, which were still holding her thighs apart.
“Tamsy… I-” she started, the thought dissolving into nothing just as he added a second finger, stretching her wider.
“Fuck.”
The curse earned a brief, shit-eating grin from him as he kept his fingers moving in a slow, deliberate come-hither motion, lapping eagerly at her slick heat and dragging his tongue along her entrance.
“Tell me when you’re close,” he said, before burying his face in her completely, tongue circling her clit once more. The friction was delicious, relentless, the pace sharp enough to steal the breath right out of her lungs. Her chest heaved as her hands grasped for something, anything, to anchor herself. His arm, the sheets, the mattress beneath her. She arched up into him, all shame long discarded, desperately chasing the release she could feel racing toward her.
His fingers thrust in and out of her at an unrelenting pace, mouth fixed firmly on her most sensitive spot, uncaring of the mess she made of his sheets. He could feel it building. Felt the way her legs tensed, the way her slick walls tightened around his fingers, the crescent marks her nails carved into his skin. She was grinding down into him, breath ragged, thoughts scattered everywhere and nowhere, all of them circling back to him.
Tamsy. Tamsy. Tamsy.
The coil in her core tightened, so tight it was ready to snap at any second. And then… he stopped.
The bastard actually stopped.
The warmth retreated instantly, the delicious pressure gone, his fingers slipping free and leaving her aching, empty. Her body clenched around nothing, confusion crashing through the haze as she blinked down at him with wide, bewildered eyes.
“Wha-..?”
“Tamsy, what the fuck,” she slurred, still wrecked and trying to catch up. Her expression a mix of confused and desperate pulled a quiet laugh from his throat. There it was again: that cocky smile, those piercing, sadistic eyes. He was back in control, back in his element.
“You didn’t really think I’d let you off easy after the stunt you just pulled, did you?”
His voice lifted at the end, almost mocking. Oh, how she hated what that did to her.
“If you want something, you’re going to have to beg for it.”
She felt heat rush to her cheeks, her gaze drifting away despite herself. She knew Tamsy was blunt, always certain of what he wanted and asking for it. But he so often faded into the background rather than demanding the spotlight that seeing him like this made her shiver. She wasn’t surprised, exactly, but hearing him speak like that without even a trace of shame, unraveled her. It wasn’t like her to shy away from a challenge but something about the look in his eyes, the pure amusement at her vulnerability, reduced her to a flustered version of her usual self.
“Please,” she started, not entirely sure what he wanted to hear, which words would make him touch her again. She needed him. Needed him now. “Please… keep touching me.”
Tamsy’s expression remained unimpressed. “Pathetic. You can do better than that.” He rose from the floor and once again straddled her lap, leaning down until his mouth hovered right beside her ear. “Tell me what you want.”
The sudden closeness, his breath warm against her skin, his voice barely above a whisper, sent a full-body shiver racing down her spine. Any lingering hesitation melted away as he dragged his tongue slowly along her neck, sucking softly here and there, deliberate enough to leave marks she wouldn’t be able to hide the next day. “I need you, Tamsy,” she begged. “Need you to - ngh… fuck me.” He bit down on the soft skin of her neck, tightening his grip at her waist. “Atta girl,” he murmured before bringing his fingers to her mouth. “Suck.”
She opened without a second thought, welcoming first two, then three fingers, coating them in saliva as he made quick work of his buttons, kicking both pants and briefs to the floor. Once he was bare from the waist down, he withdrew his fingers and nudged her farther back onto the bed closer to the headboard. He discarded his white button-down and tie next, giving her a moment to take him in. Soft pale skin littered with scars, hair half-falling into his face while the rest spilled down his back. His erection stood tall and proud, the tip glistening with precum and a frenum piercing decorating his shaft. He looked like a work of art, and she couldn’t stop staring as heat pooled in her core. Tamsy didn’t miss the way her eyes traced him, hungry and full of want.
Oh, how he was going to enjoy ruining her.
She felt herself reaching for him, sliding her arms around his neck and tugging him down into another hot, open-mouthed kiss. Her fingers skimmed over him experimentally and the surprised moan it pulled from his throat sent a thrill through her. Tamsy pushed his tongue deeper into her mouth, exploring her fully, circling and teasing her tongue. As the kiss deepend his hands found her thighs, firm and possessive, folding them back until they were nearly against her chest, and ran himself along her entrance, coating himself in her slick heat and drawing out delicious friction. His whole body tensed - his patience was fraying, the lingering frustration from their earlier conversation only amplifying his need. One quick stroke was all it took before he pushed all the way in, burying himself to the hilt. The force of it tore a loud moan from her lips, swallowed by the kiss. He smiled against her mouth, then pulled back just enough to look at her properly; he wanted to see her.
And she was breathtaking. Her eyes were glassy with want, lips swollen and kiss-bruised, a faint mark already blooming where he had bitten her earlier. Her soft skin glowed in the low light beside them. “Such a pretty girl for me,” he murmured before drawing back slightly and then slamming into her again. The sudden motion knocked the breath from her lungs; she threw her head back into the pillows with a sharp curse, fingers clutching the fitted sheet beneath her. Tamsy set a relentless, unforgiving pace, feeling how tightly her body clung to him, like it was determined not to let him go.
She fit him perfectly, and the realization cracked something in his composure. He dug his fingers into the plush of her thighs, using them for leverage as he pressed deeper, angling himself impossibly far inside her.
The air between them felt electric, thick with desire. The only sounds were their harsh breathing and the rhythmic slap of his body against hers. A selfish, but honest part of him almost wished the others were home just to hear the shameless noises she made, the way she gasped and begged him not to stop, to please give her more. He wanted them to know it was him who made her feel like this, who fit her perfectly, who ruined her so completely. Next time, he’d make sure she took him where Enjin could see wipe that smug grin right off his face.
The thought sent a sharp twitch through him, nearly undoing him on the spot. He couldn't wait to see how far she was willing to go.
Suddenly, He felt her tighten around him, her body giving her away as she drew closer to the edge. Tamsy brought his hand down sharply against her clit, the sting making her gasp and choke on a breath.
“You’d better ask for permission,” he said flatly, voice rough, “before you even think about it.” Her body clenched around him like a vise, so tight it made it hard to keep the pace he had set. “What a masochist,” he muttered, breathless. “You get off on this, don’t you?”
The words lingered between them, not truly needing an answer since the flushed, unfocused look on her face said more than words ever could. Tamsy laughed softly, shaking his head. “Tch, you’re hopeless.”
His fingers found her, firm against soft flesh, circling her clit with deliberate precision while his hips continued their slow, punishing thrusts. The sound she made was obscene, her body responding instantly, slick heat pulsing around him and soiling the bed underneath them. “Please, Tamsy, I-” Her words broke off into another moan as the tip of him dragged across that sensitive spot inside her and turning her vision white for a split second. “Can I cum?” she gasped. “Please, I- I need to cum, I..”
She begged openly now, shame abandoned completely, senses overloaded by him, by his scent in her nose, his voice in her ears, the steady pressure of his fingers and the way his eyes consumed her like she was something made solely for him.
“Not yet,” he said simply.
He picked up the pace. His other hand slid to her abdomen, pressing down, anchoring her. The sensations intensified all at once and she could feel every drag of him inside her, the way her body clutched greedily around him while his thumb worked her clit with ruthless efficiency. And suddenly, without warning, it was too much. His earlier demand slipped from her mind entirely. She arched up into him, back bowing, core pressing closer into him as her mouth fell open in a silent scream. The orgasm tore through her violently, leaving her shaking and helpless beneath him.
“Oh fuck,” Tamsy groaned.
He hadn’t expected that, hadn't seen the sheer intensity of her orgasm coming and it unraveled what control he had left. The older man followed moments later, unable to stop himself, spilling deep inside her and painting her walls white. She was marked as his now. The thought of claiming her like this nearly sent him over the edge all over again. If he could have, he was certain he would have lost himself a second time right then and there.
Gradually, he felt her body soften, her grip loosening as she drifted down from the high. She searched for his eyes. When she found them, his gaze had already sharpened. A thin sheen of sweat glistened across his skin, and the smile on his lips promised nothing but trouble.
“Not so good at following orders, huh, angel?” he said mildly. “Guess we’ll just have to try again until you learn to listen.”
And something in his eyes told her, unmistakably, that he’d been holding back until now.
Love me a character that goes "Don't just internalize your trauma. Externalize it. Make your trauma everyone else's problem. Murder some guys about it maybe. And whatever you do, never ever stop being interpersonally unpleasant to be around."
