REQUESTS: CLOSED; my inbox is always open to chat about whatever :)
I will write for JJK (any character from anime or manga), AOT, Demon Slayer, Kaiju No. 8, Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure (parts 1-7), and Hunter x Hunter (Phantom Troupe, Leorio, and Kurapika)! Feel free to reply to this post, message me, or send an ask. No smut please!
WIPS
TAGLIST
Feel free to spam like, reblog, and/or comment as you work your way through this list! I love seeing you guys enjoy my work as much as I enjoy writing it :)
aki hayakawa surrenders, finally, at the aching dusk of an endless summer’s day, when a cool breeze carried atop the busied stench of the city stirs the hair by your face and brings with it the wistful scent of the sea, a whispered promise that there is still something to be found beyond all this. he is soul-weary and frayed; brine and rust lace his outline. he is caged in by the stark horizon, artificial lights marring the canvas, blanking out the stars.
to be fair, the signs have been there all day; possibly all week; possibly for longer than he’s cared to admit. little by little, like a seed curled in the dark womb of the soil, like a flower turning towards the sun, he has found himself unfurling. when he speaks to you he finds himself leaning ever-closer, drawn like a moth towards a light, craving; when his head droops on long drives, weary, he strays towards you further than he should, presumptuous that you are a place for him to rest; and he is comfortable in your space, in your skin, in a way he has never been in his own; alone, in a bath run cold, skin pruning, the ceiling far away and the surface of the water further; or so he’d like to pretend, knowing his body will rebel against him at the last moment and condemn him—spluttering, gasping—to life.
but with you, the air in his lungs tastes sweet; the blood in his veins rushes to the pulsing of his heart that beats in rhythm with something other than death or fear or rage; something new. he is alive as the cicadas and their evening serenade, and the trees with long graceful limbs that sweep to the darkening sky, and the birds that circle and sing and soar towards home.
“what is it?” you ask.
his hand rises to cup the side of your face, cool from the metal railing soaked in evening air. instinctively, startled, your eyes flitter to meet his; there is something in the way he looks back at you that is slow and soft and deep, acquiescent, more oceanic than ever before—as if his inhibitions have followed the sun’s flaming brow as it slipped below the horizon mere moments ago. his touch is trailing, idle, fingers soft under your chin, turning your face towards him. everything has fallen away; there is no space for pretense; there is no gap between his skin and yours. you scarcely dare to breathe.
“i never told you, did i?” aki says, so quiet you can barely hear his voice above the thrum of the city. “you’re beautiful…”
his face dips towards yours, drawn to you, inevitable, a wave rising, cresting. your breath hitches in the hollow of your throat, chest aching with an almost-pain, and this must be, you think, how magnets feel, straining, reaching, a moment away from falling into place. he is warm and so, so close you could count each eyelash, each mole, each perfect splatter on the canvas by the artist who carved him. your noses brush; he exhales. and then his mouth is on yours—the wave, falling, foam spilling on the shore. he is soft and malleable and everything, everything, and he kisses you like he is hungry—your hand finds the back of his neck and tangles in his hair and he makes a small sound in his throat and pulls you closer reactively and now he kisses you like he will die without it. and aki hayakawa has not truly lived until this moment, but now there is a fire licking along his veins, now the dull organ in his chest is thundering, singing, and now there is something in him that will not be silenced, that wants more, more, more, that will never be satisfied.
he is unfurling, reaching, blossoming; he is the laced pattern of salt on the shores left behind by the tide; he is the glistening of moonlight on the ocean that beckons, that whispers, come, here is a path for you, and though the moon is out of reach he walks to her; that is to say, he is everything beautiful in everything left behind; that is to say, the world is dark and violent but there you are, and there he is, and you hold him like he is someone worth holding, and the twilight fades, and the stars bloom, and the night is endless.
me: i hate kissing let me never write kissing again. also me: yo
this is ok tho it's ethical & moral kissing you can in fact pretend it's a metaphorical makeout session if you're so inspired
thank u leenu for glazing me when i sent ss of this in dms cringing over it i fear you've turned me into a dessert now
hi liv. guys liv is mogging me with her writing what do i do.
tags: canonverse / emotional reassurance / protective levi / hurt and comfort / established relationship / sfw / 409 w.
summary: sick and contagious in the infirmary, you worry about being a burden but levi stays anyway, steady and protective, reminding you you’re allowed to need him
જ⁀➴ ✉︎ read on ao3 ⋮ feveruary’26 ⋮ main masterlist
you’re curled up on one of the infirmary beds, wrapped in a thin blanket.
your body aches. your throat burns. every cough rattles deep in your chest.
the lights are too bright. the quiet too loud. even lifting your head feels like work.
levi stands near the doorway, clipboard forgotten in his hand. arms crossed. calm, but tense.
“you’re contagious,” he mutters.
“i know,” you whisper. “didn’t want to bother anyone.”
his eyes scan you. pale skin. trembling hands. the way you cling to the blanket.
“you’re my problem,” he says simply. “so yes, you bother me.”
you cough and bury your face in the blanket. “sorry.”
“don’t.” he steps closer. “i don’t care if you’re sick. i’m not leaving.”
“even if i’m contagious?”
his lips twitch faintly. “even then. i’m your boyfriend. that’s my duty.”
a fragile laugh slips out of you. “you’re ridiculous.”
“ridiculous enough to make sure you survive this,” he replies calmly.
he sits on the edge of the bed, brushing your hair back gently.
“drink water. take your medicine. don’t move too much.”
you lean your head against his shoulder. he stiffens for a second, then relaxes, arm settling across your back.
“you’re lucky i care,” he mutters.
“i know.”
he stays quiet. his hand brushes yours now and then, a silent reminder he’s there.
a cough shakes you.
“drink this,” he says, holding the glass just far enough that you have to reach.
you sip, wincing. “thanks.”
there’s a softness in his eyes. brief but real.
“i don’t want you getting worse,” he murmurs.
you nuzzle closer. “i hate feeling like this. weak.”
“you’re not weak. you’re sick. that’s different.”
he presses a careful kiss to the top of your head.
“i’m here. that’s enough.”
you rest your cheek against his chest, listening to his steady breathing.
“i don’t want to be a burden,” you admit softly.
“you’re not,” he says, unwavering. “end of discussion.”
another cough. he adjusts you gently so you’re more comfortable.
“medicine. then rest. don’t argue.”
“i feel bad for being sick.”
“you’re allowed to be sick,” he says. “you’re allowed to need me.”
you close your eyes, finally letting yourself melt into him. the fever still burns, but it’s bearable now.
“stay,” you mumble.
“i’m staying,” he replies instantly, arm firm around your shoulders. “you’re contagious. fine. i don’t care.”
and for the first time since this started, you let yourself drift, misery softened by his steady warmth.
Oh my goodness, over the last day and a bit I gravitated towards your lovely Hunter x Hunter writings and was smitten! Shalnark is my absolute favourite troupe member, and Feitan is a damn close second!
Part of me, as a writer, always takes notice of how other writers choose to break down a character that doesn't usually love learning to, and your depictions of Feitan are perfect. Each and every one he's still his cold, off-putting self, and I can really see how you give him subtle moments of 'softness.'
Especially when that softness reflects on his character. The burning sensation he describes a few times matches his character so well!!! I also like that he's still cocky (him insulting the reader in the beach one for not paying attention to her surroundings? Guhhh, perfect!)
Your Shalnark story—my goodness, I was parched for Shal content until I read it! His personality came through so well; I loved that you wrote him as being kind but not the type to throw out praise!
Genuinely, your ability to understand and recreate the personalities of characters is phenomenal. And your ability to pander to the reader, haha, you do a great job at making me kick my feet like a schoolgirl!
Keep up the fantastic work; I hope to read more of your work!
Oh my gosh this was one of the kindest messages i have ever received!! Seriously thank you so much, my heart is overjoyed after reading what you sent in😭😭 first, thank you SO MUCH for reading my works!!! It still amazes me that people read what i put out there, and not only do they consume it, but genuinely enjoy it like you do!!! I’m so glad i’m able to get the characterization down for some of your favorite characters; that’s the hardest part of writing in my opinion!!
I think with Feitan, i like the balance of him being such a weirdo and (most likely) love aversive with him also being thrown into love in such a subtle way… unless the reader is feeling particularly forward🤭😂 but i really do enjoy writing for him since i feel like i’m the same way when it comes to romance (in that i have absolutely zero clue what to do and i don’t like the odd, foreign feelings that comes with it lol)
But seriously thank you AGAIN for sending me such a ridiculously nice message!!! You’ve got me giggling and kicking my feet😂❤️❤️❤️
3 times levi didn’t say how he felt… and the time he finally did
pairing: levi ackerman x reader
tags: canonverse / slow burn / unspoken feelings / friends to lovers / sfw / 711 w.
summary: three times when levi cared without saying it to fixing your uniform when you were falling apart, stepping in when someone talked down to you, and staying outside the infirmary all night and the mission aftermath that finally pushed him to admit what he’d been holding back
note: modern ver here!!
1. the time he silently fixed your uniform after you broke down in an empty hallway
you thought the barracks hallway was empty when the stress finally caught up to you — the mission prep, the pressure, the fear sitting heavy in your chest.
you didn’t cry loudly.
just a quiet shake of your hands as you tried to steady your breathing.
you didn’t even hear his footsteps.
“your collar’s crooked” levi said quietly.
you jolted, wiping at your face too fast, trying to pull yourself together.
“i’m fine” you insisted.
“you’re not”
he stepped closer — slowly, like approaching a frightened animal — and reached for your collar with careful fingers. he smoothed the fabric, straightened the crease, the gesture so gentle it nearly undid you again.
he didn’t comment on your shaking hands.
didn’t ask why you’d been crying.
didn’t offer empty comfort.
just fixed your uniform piece by piece, as if putting you back together one adjustment at a time.
when he finished, he hesitated — then brushed a bit of dust from your shoulder.
“there” he murmured. “you’re good”
you whispered a thank you.
“don’t mention it” he said, already turning away.
but you noticed the way he slowed his steps, making sure you could walk beside him if you wanted.
he didn’t say he cared.
but he didn’t have to.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
2. the time he stood between you and a senior officer without meaning to
you’d been unfairly blamed for a miscommunication — something that wasn’t your fault. the officer’s tone was sharp, cutting.
levi stepped between you two before he even realized he’d moved.
“enough” he said, voice dangerously calm.
the officer backed off.
you blinked. “i… didn’t need you to do that”
“i didn’t do anything” he replied, refusing to look at you.
but his hand lingered near yours as if making sure you weren’t trembling.
he didn’t apologize.
he didn’t explain.
he just walked beside you the entire rest of the day.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
3. the time he stayed outside the infirmary all night
you’d overexerted yourself during drills and passed out — nothing life-threatening, but it landed you in the infirmary for the evening.
when you woke up in the middle of the night, the halls were quiet.
so was the chair outside your door.
levi was sitting there, arms crossed, eyes half-open in that stern, exhausted way.
“you’re awake” he said immediately — like he’d been on guard the whole time.
“levi… were you waiting?”
“don’t be stupid. i was—”
he stopped, reaching for an excuse.
“—checking the… cleaning standards”
“at two in the morning?”
“clearly they’re terrible”
but when your blanket slipped, he reached over instantly to fix it — too fast, too natural, like it wasn’t the first time he’d done it that night.
he cared.
he just didn’t say it.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
and the time he finally did
the next mission had gone badly. smoke thick in the air, the world ringing with the aftermath. you were helping secure the wounded when levi found you.
his steps were too fast.
his breath too sharp.
his eyes scanning you head to toe, searching for blood that wasn’t there.
“you’re late” he said but the words trembled.
“i was helping—”
“i know”
he swallowed hard. “i couldn’t find you”
that was it. the truth slipped out before he could stop it.
you blinked. “levi…”
“i thought…” he stopped, jaw tightening, breath shuddering in a way he tried to hide. “i thought you were gone”
his hands hovered near you — not touching, but wanting to. needing to.
“i keep telling myself it doesn’t matter” he said quietly. “that losing people is part of the job”
his voice dropped.
“but losing you—”
he looked away, pained.
“that’s not something i can… just live with”
your heart twisted.
he finally met your eyes — unguarded, exhausted, honest.
“i should’ve said it earlier” he murmured.
“i care. more than i should. more than i know how to handle”
“if you don’t want to hear it, fine” he added, softer. “but it’s the truth”
i return from my creative coma to bring you gamer choso. it's been a while, i'm rusty, but i missed writing so much. requests are open if you wanna drop anything in! 🖤
₊⊹. choso's first real encounter with games is watching you play on the couch. he sits at the very edge of the sofa, hands neatly on his knees, staring at the tv like it's a tactical briefing. you're just trying to clear a stage and he's quietly analyzing enemy patterns like it's a battlefield simulation.
₊⊹. at first, he insists he's "fine observing." translation: he is lowkey terrified of pressing the wrong button and making a fool of himself in front of you. his expression doesn't change, but his shoulders are way too tense for a man "not invested."
₊⊹. the first time you hand him a controller, he holds it in both hands like a sacred object. "this allows me to control the body on the screen," he repeats, slowly. you nod. he pauses. "that's… acceptable." ten minutes later he's moving like he's inputting hand seals every time he presses a button.
₊⊹. he reads every tutorial message like it's a government notice. you're mashing X to skip, and he calmly reaches over, trapping your hand with his. "wait. it says 'important'. what if this is about your survival?"
₊⊹. fighting games are where he shines. the precision, the timing, the patterns – his brain goes, ah, training. he's terrifyingly good within an hour, quiet and focused, barely blinking. the only time he reacts is when someone on screen lands a combo on your character; his jaw tightens. "they're targeting you too much. switch places with me."
₊⊹. he always picks the tank, the healer, or whoever has the biggest shield. if there's a "protect allies" stat, it's automatically his main. "if i stand in front, they will hit me first," he says calmly. you try to explain that aggro is just numbers, but he shakes his head. "it is comforting to see myself between you and danger, even here."
₊⊹. you learn quickly that if your character gets KO'd, he takes it personally. you laugh it off, but he says, just as serious as when he talks about kenjaku, "i don't like seeing you lying motionless. even if it's… pixels."
₊⊹. when you play horror games, he sits closer without realizing it. the jumpscares don't startle him, but your flinch does. his head whips toward you instantly. "did that hurt you?" you tell him no, it was just scary. he nods once, dead serious. "then i will remember its pattern and destroy it for you next time."
₊⊹. he loves co-op puzzle games because it lets him watch you think. you're muttering to yourself, trying to connect clues, and he's just… staring. totally absorbed. "your brain activity is fascinating," he says out of nowhere. "i could watch you solve problems for hours." anyone else saying that would sound like a mad scientist. somehow, from him, it's a love confession.
₊⊹. when you get frustrated and say, "i'm so bad at this, i should just quit," he looks genuinely offended on your behalf. "don't say that. you are learning." he nudges the controller back toward you. "besides, if you stop, the version of you inside the game will remain trapped forever at this difficulty. that feels unkind."
₊⊹. his favorite genre ends up being anything co-op. doesn't matter if it's a chaotic party game or some two-player story mode – he likes that you're on the same side. at one point, he says, quietly, "it feels similar to… fighting alongside my brothers. but… lighter." and you just sit there holding your controller and your feelings.
₊⊹. at home, he likes watching you play long story games. he'll sit on the tatami, back against the couch, letting your legs rest across his shoulders or chest. every so often he'll ask, "why did you pick that dialogue option?" not judging – just trying to map out how your mind works.
₊⊹. when you're focused on a hard level, he watches your hands, not the screen. "your fingers move very quickly," he says, tone thoughtful. "your veins stand out when you press the buttons. it suits you." if anyone else said that, you'd file a report. from him, it's weirdly… tender.
₊⊹. if you're playing handheld in bed, he'll quietly adjust your pillow, pull the futon higher over your legs, and angle the lamp so the light doesn't strain your eyes. when your console battery hits red, he's already reaching for the charger he coiled neatly earlier. "you always forget," he says softly. "i'll remember for you."
₊⊹. he carefully memorizes your favorite characters and skins. next time there's a gacha banner, he appears beside you with his phone open, brow furrowed. "if we pool our resources, the probability will increase, yes?" you have to explain it doesn't work like that. he looks genuinely betrayed. "so the system deceives you and offers nothing in return. i dislike it."
₊⊹. he keeps a running list in his phone titled "games we will play later." every time you off-handedly say "oh that looks fun" when a commercial plays in the train station, he quietly types it in.
₊⊹. he's weirdly proud when you teach him gaming slang, even if he doesn't use it right. after landing a clean combo kill, he says, completely monotone, "that was… clutch." you lose the round because you're too busy laughing.
₊⊹. online voice chat absolutely freaks him out. some random guy calls you "trash" after you miss a shot. choso goes completely still. in the flattest voice you've ever heard from him, he asks, "you are allowing strangers to speak to you like this?" you're like "it's just a lobby," and he replies, deceptively mild, "give me their location." you frantically mute the mic, because you've watched this man attempt patricide; you are not ready to see what he does in valorant lobbies.
₊⊹. he lowkey treats game centers like training grounds. the crane games? hand eye coordination. rhythm games? timing. even the coin pushers: "this teaches resource management," he says, feeding in another 100 yen while you stare.
₊⊹. he is bad at crane games. catastrophically bad. every time the claw drops the prize, he stares at it like it personally betrayed him. you offer to move on and he quietly says, "no. i made a promise in my heart to bring that one back for you." it's a round seal plush.
₊⊹. he ends up spending way too many coins. when he finally wins it, he presses the plush into your hands, almost solemn. "take care of them," he says. you ask for its name, and he replies without hesitation, "sanso. this is your second-in-command when i cannot be here."
₊⊹. he tries playing a dating sim once because he hears it's "about understanding human relationships." he chooses all the most straightforward, blunt options and ends up getting the "bad" ending. he sits there, staring at the screen. "… so if you are too honest, people leave?" you spend the next ten minutes assuring him you're not going anywhere.
₊⊹. friendship route with the tragic backstory side character? oh, he is in there. projecting like a 4K projector. he'll sit forward, elbows on his knees, murmuring, "he only needs someone to stand beside him. why is the player character ignoring that?" you pat his shoulder and he glances at you, soft. "you wouldn't leave me like that."
₊⊹. when yuji invites him to a multiplayer session at jujutsu high, choso accepts mostly because you say, "go, it'll be fun." he texts you later: "Yuji is reckless in games. However, it is enjoyable." there's a blurry photo attached of the two of them in front of the tv, victory screen blazing.
₊⊹. still, his favorite player to queue with is you. whether it's late-night mario kart on the floor of your tiny tokyo apartment, or a quick mobile puzzle game while you wait for the train, he always ends up leaning into your side, eyes soft. "when we play together," he says one evening, voice quiet under the hum of the console, "it feels… peaceful. like this is the kind of future they would have wanted for me."
husband!levi x reader / domestic fluff / modern au / sfw / 685 w.
⟡ — @flufftober
the air smells like cinnamon, roasted nuts, and wood smoke — autumn at its best. the local fall market is packed, rows of stalls lined with amber lights and the steady hum of chatter. there’s a light breeze, sharp enough to make you tuck your chin into your scarf as you walk.
levi’s hand rests at your waist, steady and sure, guiding you through the crowd. it’s a small thing—habitual after years together but every time his thumb brushes against your coat, warmth spreads through you all the same.
“crowded,” he mutters, eyes scanning ahead.
“that’s part of the fun,” you counter, smiling up at him.
he hums, noncommittal, though his arm doesn’t move. if anything, his grip tightens a little, like he’s making sure no one jostles you in the flow of people.
the two of you stop at a stall where strings of dried oranges hang from twine, catching the light like tiny suns. you reach out to touch one. “these would look cute in the kitchen.”
levi raises a brow. “we already have enough clutter on the counter.”
“it’s seasonal décor,” you correct with mock offense.
“mmh sure.” he looks away, but the corner of his mouth tilts up.
you roll your eyes fondly and move on to the next stall — a cider stand, the air sweet with spice and warmth. “two ciders, please,” you say, already digging for cash.
levi stops you with a look. “make it one. you won’t finish yours.”
“i will this time,” you argue, taking the cup anyway when he pays.
the first sip is perfect—sweet and hot. you then hand it to him so he can try. he takes a sip without hesitation, and when you reach to take it back, your fingers brush. his are warm. yours aren’t.
you shiver slightly, blowing on your hands. “ugh, my hands are freezing.”
“should’ve worn gloves.”
you pout. “i forgot...”
he huffs, a sound caught between exasperation and affection. “of course you did.”
you shrug, a little grin playing on your lips. “you could just… let me borrow yours.”
“not happening.”
you groan dramatically. “come onnn. i’m your wife. you’re supposed to take care of me.”
“i am taking care of you. i’m making sure you don’t waste cider and money.”
“that’s not the same!”
he shakes his head, amusement flickering briefly in his eyes. then, after a moment, he sighs, shifts his arm from your waist to reach for your hand. “give me your hand.”
you blink, caught off guard. “what?”
“your hand.”
you hand it over hesitantly, curious. he takes it without another word, sliding both your hand and his into the pocket of his coat. his fingers wrap around yours firmly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles once before settling.
the warmth is instant, spreading through your skin, up your arm, straight to your chest. you glance at him, trying not to smile too wide.
“practical,” he mutters, eyes still fixed forward. “don’t make it weird.”
you tilt your head up, teasing. “hey, i’m your wife—it’s not weird.”
he side-eyes you. “still making it weird.”
“no, i’m making it cute.”
“that’s worse.”
you laugh softly, bumping your shoulder against his. the sound of it seems to ease something in him—his grip loosens just enough that your fingers can shift, intertwining naturally with his.
you both wander through the rest of the market like that: sharing one cup of cider, your joined hands tucked into his coat pocket, you stop to sample apple butter, admire hand-knit scarves, and listen to the faint music drifting from the small stage near the end of the row.
eventually, the sky darkens to deep blue, and the lights above you glow brighter—gold against the chill air. your breath comes out in soft clouds, but his thumb keeps moving against your hand, keeping you warm in ways that have nothing to do with temperature.
you glance at him, eyes soft. “see? practical and sweet.”
levi exhales through his nose, shaking his head, though his lips twitch. “you talk too much.”
“you love it.”
this time, he doesn’t argue. he just squeezes your hand inside the pocket.
After hearing the news of his wife getting kidnapped, it's safe to say that Yoichi is not happy.
DEAD DOVE DO NOT EATㅤgraphic violenceㅤtoxic love [?] (you'll see)ㅤyandere!nagumo x reader but there's a mention of "wife" hereㅤcan be seen as pt.2 of FLIRT
ㅤ“THEY'RE not here?”
Shishiba’s voice echoed in the dark room, as his colleagues stood beside him, observing the surroundings. The trio was sent here by JAA to assassinate a group of hit-men who stole a billion yen from the JAA itself.
Nagumo chirped, “Obviously they're not here, Shishiba! Have you gone blind now?” He teased the male, who only glared at him in response. “Quit it, Nagumo. Or else you might just be the one I'm going to kill”
“So harsh! Made me shiver like crazy!”
“Shishiba-san, Look.” Osaragi called her mentor, pointing at the small note that's scribbled with a contact number. “We should probably contact this number.”
“We'll use Nagumo's phone.” Shishiba said. Nagumo glanced at the paper at Osaragi’s hands, his fingers swiping across his screen before pressing the green button.
The phone ringed for a while, until someone finally picked it up.
‘Nagumo Yoichi was it?’ the person from the other line confirmed. Strange. Nagumo thinks, how did they know that it was him right away? But all of that aside, he needs to track their exact location.
“Oh? That's cute! How did you—”
“We have your favorite doctor with us. Or should I say, "wife?”
For a flash second, the light in Nagumo's eyes disappeared at the mere mention of his wife, “What do you mean?” He asked dangerously. The man from the other line chuckled,
"You have a few minutes to get here, unless you want us to blow their head off.”
The words made Yoichi's blood boil, clenching his fist, he swears he will slit that man's throat open through the phone if he can.
“If you touch a single strand of their hair, you're absolutely done for.” He warned before the man on the other line ended the call—but it wasn't over. The man had also sent Yoichi a picture of you, unconscious, still in your uniform with a material covering your mouth.
“Fuck…” he cursed to himself, quickly shut his phone, turning to his colleagues. Shishiba was quick to take a note on Nagumo's look, silently eyeing Osaragi hoping she would get his message.
“Shishiba, Osaragi, You guys should go. I'll handle this alone” Nagumo said
‘Oh boy , here we go again…’ Shishiba thought, “Let me guess, they have [Name] with them?” silly Shishiba, there's no need for him to point out the obvious.
“Yup” Nagumo then looked at his weapon case, with a dangerous glint in his eyes. He then reopened his phone, chatting a few things to the man who called him earlier.
‘Be sure to prepare all of your strongest men.’
“they’ll pay for breathing the same air as them...”
ㅤ“BOSS, what should we do with them?” The minion motioned his head at the unconscious person on the ground. The mob boss leaned his head on the armchair, the light illuminating against your skin made him lick his lips.
“We could be a trillionaire if we sell this thing.” He leaned down to touch your face, but within a blink of an eye, his limbs were cut apart from his body.
“—! Boss! What happ—” The mans voice was cut off immediately as Nagumo cut the head off his body, smiling contently at the scene below him.
He grabbed the man's hair, making him look up by force. “I told you to prepare your strongest men, Am I right?” Nagumo said, leaning dangerously close at the man's face, “but what did you do? you sent me rats to deal with. Not the type to stick to orders, hm?”
The sharp blade shone against the light, as Nagumo carefully traced the tip at the man's adams apple.
“I'm going to be nice and keep you around for a little bit. Is this all of your men? Or there's more?" He took a towel from his pocket, wiping one of his blade sparkly clean.
"Better answer honestly because I hate liars.” Despite the sweet smile Nagumo gave, what lay beneath it was a devil under the disguise of a lover.
“tsk, like hell I'd tell you—!” he then felt a taste of metallic blood on his tongue, he glanced down to see Yoichi holding the blade on his tongue
“I told you to be honest.” He glared. The man only let out an inaudible sound, which pissed Nagumo off more than he already is.
“Time's up…”
sling!
The man's body fell down, as his blood splattered on Nagumo, landing some of it on his face. But he couldn't care less. His priority now is you.
Nagumo then went towards you, undoing the tight ropes that held your wrist, he noticed your wrist turn purple, the sight alone made Nagumo's heart clench.
“I'm sorry… If only I was early…” he whispered, placing a light and delicate kiss on your wrist. Nagumo swears this will be the last time that this will ever happen to you.
After undoing the other ties, Nagumo packed his weapon case, before placing his arms under your knee and head, carrying you and making sure you're comfortable.
“Yoichi…?” You stirred awake, yawning as you slowly opened your eyes, “what happened—are you okay?!” The sleepiness in you immediately washed off when you noticed his face tattered in blood.
Nagumo shook his head, “Not mine, but his” he then gestured towards the floor—where his victim lay dead, no head and arms whatsoever.
When you look down, you let out an “oh…” sound and Nagumo swears he felt his heart drop to his stomach. Are you disappointed in him? Scared—Mad?
Nagumo never felt fear in his life. Never. But hearing the sound of “oh” from you made him scared shitless. Are you going to leave him now that you realize what a true monster he is?
“Are you mad at me? Scared? You can hit me—yell at me—whatever you want, I don't care. Just don't—”
“Yoichi… all of this, for me?”
‘huh’
Nagumo's eyes widened, as he stared at you with pure shock, “what do you—”
“I'm asking you. Did you do all of this for me?”
The man felt his knees become weak at the tone of your voice, he lowered his head before breathing, “Yes... Yes I did. Just for you.”
A chuckle erupted from you, as you threw your head back in delight. Reaching for your pockets, you grabbed a small towel before wiping the blood off Nagumo's cheek with extreme care.
Nagumo could only stare at you in shock—he didn't expect this reaction from you. You were supposed to be scared of him, or even mad—
So why are you smiling at him, staring at him adoringly as you wipe off the blood of his enemy from his cheek?
“You're so messy, love. Do you know how hard it is to remove blood from clothes?” You scolded, god, you won't admit it but, you've been awake this whole time. Hearing everything unfold and knowing that he's doing it for you brings you to extreme delight.
“I'll save the scolding later, for now let's get out of here” You placed a peck on his cheek, you giggled, feeling him freeze up at the gesture.
“Right… let's get out of here, it's starting to reek.” He then turned his feet to walk towards the exit, still holding you safely in his arms.
While walking, you placed your hand on Nagumo's cheek, gently caressing it, “Yoichi.” You called, to which he responded with a hum.
“You're going to keep doing this for me alright?” you whispered against his ear, taunting.
If only you knew how much you meant to him.
No matter how many times you ask, yes. He will kill thousands of men just for you. And only you.
Yoichi smiled, the one that lights up your day amidst the storm. To other people, they might find it scary—uncanny even.
But for you, it's like flowers bloom and sun shines whenever he smile
“Anything for you. I'll do it without hesitation.” And he's not lying. When he said he will kill thousands of men who took a breath near you, he will do it.
That's why you know that Nagumo never lies.
all rights reserved to @taibami do not copy/repost.
📱 an: requests are open! You guys seemed to enjoy yandere Nagumo too much... ALSO MY INBOX IS FULL OF NAGUMO REQUESTS IM CRYINF no Uzuki guys? Rion? Gaku? Shin? 🥺🥺🥺 (Not complaining tho, i love nagumo) | receipts
