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✨Twenty Four✨ ✨Virgo✨ ✨MDNI✨

[lizzzylovee]

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Eywa’s Vision - Ongoing

Born with the ability to receive visions of the future, Kani must choose to abandon what she knows to aid in Navi that she's never met

Chapter 1: Arrival

Chapter 2: Story Time

Chapter 3: First Impressions

Chapter 4: In Pursuit

Chapter 5: Bittersweet Jubilee

Chapter 6: Divine Indulgence

[hai7ani]

Haitani Rindou, Me and My Girlfriend Tokyo Revengers' Ending Special

Your birthday is cold. The wind is big and your jacket is not doing its job good enough. Orangey leaves fall from the trees and they land on your heads. Sweet potatoes have never tasted so sweet before, but he thinks your smile is sweeter.

Tokyo has been getting pretty cold these days, but Rindou is always warm.

"It's soooo cold." You hide your face into his much thicker jacket and mewl like a sweet little kitten seeking for warmth. He reels your body in closer to wrap his arms around your figure, tight. "Told'cha to wear the other jacket." He sways you both around lightly. Your paper bag from Chrome Hearts is heavy and he grabs it off your fingers.

"But I wanted to wear this one for today. You got it for me." You sneak a peek from his chest to look at his face. He rolls his eyes in faux annoyance as you smile cheekily.

Draken is not happy with what he's seeing.

"What the hell? Did this guy just skip the gang meeting to date? That's some lame shit." He clicks his tongue, irritated. A thick vein bulges from his forehead and he starts stomping towards you both, who're standing under a tree all cuddled up together and so, so cozy 一 it's such an eye-sore.

Emma stops him before he can get any closer. "Oh, leave them alone, would you? Let them date in peace. Haitani Ran attended the meeting anyway!" She scolds, hands on her hips. Senju drags along Hinata with sparkly eyes and a wide-open mouth. "Ehhh? She's so pretty! They look so good together."

"Hah? Ya tellin' me four eyes' got a girlfriend?!" Hakkai's strikingly blue eyes almost falls out of his sockets as he witness the scene before him: you're stepping on your tippy toes to place a smooch on Rindou's cheek sweetly, and he's actually smiling like a damn fool. Sanzu only snarls 一 a common reaction for a guy who's just broken up with his girlfriend, while Hanma is busy smirking as he lights up a cigarette. "He's got some balls showing up here all lovey-dovey." ...He'd just broken up with his girlfriend, too.

Mitsuya snickers, "they've been together for a very long time already, I'm surprised you lot just found out about this," while Souya and Nahoya seem normal about it. "Do you guys not follow his SoundCloud? He makes a lot of songs for her. He shared his link with us willingly, too."

Chifuyu pitches in. "Last week they visited the pet shop to get some cat supplies, and he pretended not to know me with his nose up high, but he made me give him a staff discount while she was busy playing with Peke J. Evil person, I say." Baji smacks the back of his head, "that's just you, dude. He said hi to me and Kazutora." The said man raises his hand as a confirmation.

Inui's face does not change. "Draken wasn't around so he doesn't know, but they both came by D&D the other day to make me check on his car. We don't fix cars, bruh, but he still left with his engine problem solved. No idea how, 'cause I didn't do shit. Goofy guy."

Kokonoi sighs. "It's been ages since they've been doing this, guys. Has no one ever realised the freaking hickeys on his neck? He's fuckin' cocky 'bout 'em too."

But as always, Draken is quick to get pissed off even with reason. He scoffs, "So what? We meet up just once a week to talk about the gang. Is it so hard to show up for just two hours every Sunday?"

...Mikey is always faster. He's already looming over you both (in his head he is) while the others are still busy busting their heads over you two.

"You." His voice is flat and his eyes are squinted, very annoyed. He looks like a grumpy child pissed that he didn't get a souvenir from his classmate. It doesn't help that he is much shorter than your boyfriend as well.

"What the hell are you doing here? If you wanna skip a meeting at least don't show up at our venue to show off. Are you asking for a beating?"

You poke your head out from his jacket just enough to take a quick look at Mikey who is standing behind you both, arms crossed while tapping his feet on the ground. Rindou turns his head and eyes the growing crowd who're slowly circling around you both.

Shion and Izana shrug simultaneously with their hands in the air when Rindou glares at them. 'We didn't say shit,' but his best friend mouths to him anyway, 'dumbass'. And for once, Kakucho is laughing.

From the corner of his eyes he can see Ran slowly approach you both, left behind by the crowd while sucking on a popsicle at this weather like the maniac he is. He quickly stands properly to fix on your clothing gently without letting you go from the confines of his jacket 一 to keep you warm like the loving boyfriend he is or to keep your face hidden like the petty boyfriend he is, you're not too sure.

He faces the crowd with you hiding behind his back, eyes wide as you listen.

"It's my girl's birthday today." He simply mutters, loud enough for the crowd to hear. No attitude, no eye roll 一 just five words, plain and simple.

"Huh?" The steam rising off of Mikey's head vanishes like a fire being put off by water, and Draken's expression significantly drops. He immediately coughs into his fist and bows a little when he sees you looking at him, pretty eyes folded into thin crescents as you pat on your boyfriend's back a little, whispering into his ear to ease up.

"What? I can't take you out to shop on your birthday now?" He says it to you with the expression of a sad little mistreated puppy and you try your best to shut him up while laughing. "Yes, yes you can. Now quiet, be nice to them." You say between giggles.

"Sorry. Happy birthday." Mikey immediately apologises, dazed. You snicker against Rindou's back and try your hardest to nod as a courtesy with your face half-hidden.

He still has something to say, though 一 like the big boy who doesn't like being misunderstood that he is 一 despite your best efforts on making him play nice and not be rude to his friends.

"I didn't come all the way here to show off, baka. We're waiting for this guy to celebrate together." He explains, one finger pointing to his nonchalant brother, as you both meet with Ran under the lamppost.

"And, dating isn't lame. Still being single is." His gaze switches to Emma who is playing with the buttons of her cardigan silently behind Draken, with a teasing smirk on his face.

"Asshole-"

"Bye. Don't follow us." He mocks the way Draken's mouth moves with a grin and you hit his arm while lightly bowing to the others as a goodbye.

"She looks so familiar." Takemichi whispers as he watch the three of you take off, and Hinata hums for him to continue. "I feel like I've seen her before."

Mikey looks at him with a soft smile on his face, as he takes a glance back at the rest who are still discussing about you two. They're all loud and boisterous, but they're having fun, and they're alive.

And suddenly the wires connect in his head.

Yeah, that's right. In the timeline before this, the timeline before that, and in all the timelines he's met with the Haitani Brothers, he's seen you too. You and Rindou side by side, and you're always together with Ran. You and him were never together before this because of your disapproval on their dangerous gang activities, but you are together now, in this timeline, where Ran and Rindou aren't just juvie kids and they're no longer cold-blooded murderers.

Mikey knows that too.

"Finally a happy timeline, right, Takemicchi?"

i'm extremely late to this but happy 2 years since tr ended and also not much tags cus idk what this is honestly. just read for fun LOL :p

[anointedghost]

that one phrase “he’s right where he wants to be” makes me think of kirishima so hard with bitchy!reader.

you’re so mean. eyes narrow in a condescending manner as if those who ask stupid questions are below you. your eyes swipe over the individual with disdain, as if they’re a peasant and you’re the temple they should be worshiping. and it is so fucking—

—hot. it is hot as hell to eijrou. god, everytime he sees your face twisted up in a mean way his dick instantly swells—his face heats with admiration, adoration, and a need.

so many people ask how the hell he deals with someone like you. bitchy, rude, entitled—and he laughs and smiles it off. like it is nothing—because it is nothing.

“she’s good just the way she is,” he hums.

…and, either way, the ‘bitchy’ attitude you supposedly have flies out the door when he fucks you. thick cock hitting that spot so right that all you’re doing is pawing and whimpering at him.

“m-more, eiji!” “ngh—r-right there! righ—umph!”

…so, what attitude? he can’t find it.

[yenayaps]

stress me out

[ content: crazy!reader, fluff (?), rage baiting sukuna, #makehispocketshurt, for my cutie pie @indiewritesxoxo think of this as a love letter ]

Most people never understood your relationship with Sukuna.

For the most part, you were a friendly, upbeat person—talking to strangers in line at the grocery store, talking up the baristas making your coffee orders, sharing recipes with call center agents when the call got too long.

Then there’s the big grumpy man that’s always standing right behind you, and he never fails to look miserable when doing so. Strangers will try to speak to him and he’ll either grunt in response or just pretend to not hear them at all. Same goes for baristas. The last time he spoke with customer service through the phone, the agent started the call off by saying they hoped he was having a good day so far—Sukuna got annoyed and grumbled, “no you fucking don’t,” in hopes that they’d stop with the pleasantries.

Overall, he’s just kind of a dick. They look at you and immediately think of some horrific scenario like Sukuna yelling at you for not having dinner done by the time he got home.

That brings them to the question: how do you two even get along?

And your answer to that is: you kinda don't.

But that's okay! You knew what you were signing up for and you don't regret it one bit. You love him, and you love making him angry. It's so easy, too. Who needs therapy when you can just stress him out? Exactly.

So you sent the text.

[You]: are you fucking serious right now? i had to find out from HER?

[My Husband 🥰]: what are you talking about?

Missed call from My Husband 🥰

[My Husband 🥰]: babe pick up the phone

Missed call from My Husband 🥰

Missed call from My Husband 🥰

Missed call from My Husband 🥰

Missed call from My Husband 🥰

Missed call from My Husband 🥰

Missed call from My Husband 🥰

Missed call from My Husband 🥰

[My Husband 🥰]: what the fuck are you even talking about? find out WHAT???

Missed call from My Husband 🥰

[My Husband 🥰]: BABE

[My Husband 🥰]: PICK UP THE FUCKING PHONE

Missed call from My Husband 🥰

Missed call from My Husband 🥰

Missed call from My Husband 🥰

Missed call from My Husband 🥰

Missed call from My Husband 🥰

Missed call from My Husband 🥰

Missed call from My Husband 🥰

The only reason why the phone calls stopped was because you blocked him, but he would’ve kept calling until his phone died. It’s happened before.

Soon you get a Zelle notification.

R. Sukuna has sent you $200.00.

Memo: unblock me.

You sent R. Sukuna $20.00.

Memo: you can keep your fucking money

R. Sukuna has sent you $20.00.

Memo: you can’t just tell me to keep my money but then pocket more than half of it. and what the fuck am i gonna do with 20 dollars??

You sent R. Sukuna $2.00.

Memo: and now you have 2, see what happens when you don’t appreciate what you have?

R. Sukuna has sent you $2.00.

Memo: what the fuck does that even mean?? can you just unblock me already?

You sent R. Sukuna $0.50.

Memo: no

R. Sukuna has sent you $100.00.

Memo: JESUS FUCKJNGCHRIST UNBLOCK ME

You sent R. Sukuna $0.01.

Memo: NO

You sent R. Sukuna $0.01.

Memo: we’re out of sugar and creamer btw don’t forget to grab some on your way home

R. Sukuna has sent you $100.00.

Memo: wait so im not in trouble?

You sent R. Sukuna $0.01.

Memo: why would you be in trouble?

All rights reserved © 2026 yenayaps. Do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform. Do not feed my works into ai and do not turn them into chat bots.

[yenayaps]

sukuna tries to throw away the pot you beat him with <3

[ cw: crazy!reader, the title is self explanatory, not proofread, another love letter to @indiewritesxoxo if u guys like torturing sukuna pls check out her drabble series 😋 ]

he hates that god damn thing.

and despite the fact that it’s been an entire year since you’ve hit him over the head with it, leaving a giant dent the shape of his skull, you still haven’t thrown that fucking pot away.

you use it for everything—tea, coffee, ramen, scrambled eggs, his fucking birthday dinner—never failing to remind him of the day he ACCIDENTALLY called you a bitch.

he’s apologized for it, he’s changed, and is now an entirely different man than he was a year ago. why the hell do you still have it?

well, he’s getting rid of it tonight, so there’s really no use in asking any further questions. it took him an entire week to come up with a plan, which was more than fair given your unhealthy attachment to the item.

so far, everything’s worked beautifully in his favor. he came home with take-out from your favorite restaurant, along with a bottle of your favorite wine. he got you tipsy, then later on made you cum so hard you literally passed out.

there was no way you were waking up after that, not for another eight hours at least. and if you were, you weren’t getting up. you’d be too sore, too physically exhausted.

it was perfect.

after staying back for a few minutes, holding you and making sure you were dead asleep, he snuck out of bed and made his way into the kitchen to grab the literal bane of his existence. no noise was made while doing so, you hung the thing up like it was some medal you won at a competition.

the side door gently creaks as he opens it, then makes his way down the wooden steps. the trash cans are only a few feet away, and the excitement builds the closer he gets to them.

but just as he lifts the lid open, the giddiness he feels gets ripped away by something that made him startle.

“what are you doing?”

he freezes and slowly turns his head to the side until he’s met the sight of you wide awake, waiting at the top of the stairs, just standing there like a sleep paralysis demon. there are many questions that go through his mind, like, “how is she awake right now?” and “how did i not fucking hear her?” all of which die on his tongue because he is admittedly afraid at the moment.

“bring that pot back inside, now,” you demand.

“i’ll get you a new one,” he says in a pathetic attempt to bargain with you.

“I don’t want a new one.”

and with that, he doesn’t try to argue any further and walks back in defeat.

you yank the pot of his grip once he reaches the top of the steps. for a moment, he braces himself, thinking you’re about to add another dent to it. luckily, you just scold him. “i can’t believe the lengths you’d go through to get rid of something that i love.”

he scoffs, you say that as if he were trying to sabotage you or something. “i was getting rid of something that was barely functional.”

you let out a little laugh. “right, right. barely functional yet i’ve been able to do more than just cook with it.” you nudge him forward with the pot. “now get back in bed.”

All rights reserved © 2026 yenayaps. Do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform. Do not feed my works into ai and do not turn them into chat bots.

[bfbkg]

JAILBIRD! (2.1k)

— bakugou katsuki x reader

SYNOPSIS: after getting in another fight, you and your friends wind up in a jail cell. you call your boyfriend to get you out.

NOTES: quick drabble, somewhat crack fic? but not really lol. established relationship. fluff. mention of fighting n blood by reader.

“who is this!?”

the phone doesn’t have a second to ring before your boyfriend screeches down the phone. it sounds as if something’s in his mouth, a pen? he’s usually in his agency office at this time, finishing up an evening patrol and about to go home.

“hello? who the fuck got my number—,”

you take a deep breath before revealing yourself.

“it’s me, katsuki.”

“kacchan, did you get the stats—,”

bakugou sits up in his black leather chair, dropping his ballpoint pen and waving at deku across the room to shut up. he recognises you from the first syllable that crackles down the line.

“yn? baby? why’re you calling me from an unknown number? where’re you? you okay? what’s—,”

“i only have a minute so let me talk.”

you’re supposed to be out tonight with your girls, a monthly club night where you dance, eat and drink. a few of your favourite things in the world. you even sent him a selfie blowing a kiss before you left in your pretty outfit, wishing him good luck on his patrol and hoping he doesn’t get too bored with the low crime rates.

bakugou’s heart spikes, inhaling deeply before standing up. a villain has kidnapped you… someone is out to harm you. he’s already looking around for his gauntlets. he just tugged out of his hero suit but it’s right across the room for him to pull back on.

“what’s wrong with yn?” deku frowns from his seat on bakugou’s sofa. he’s typing up notes from their patrol together. bakugou hushes him again, with a warning finger.

“go on. are you safe?”

“please don’t be mad at me. please don’t be. but i might need you to—,”

“thirty seconds!” a man shouts somewhere down your line.

“who the fuck is that?” bakugou shouts, grabbing his keys and pulling an arm through his uniform. usually he’s levelheaded during missions and patrols. a mobile alert that there’s a villain robbery downtown doesn’t send a pang of panic through him. nor a kidnapping or high risk attack. bakugou’s seen it all. nothing scares him anymore.

but anything to do with you and bakugou’s back to square one. he can barely think straight. every single thought of his is scrambled, spelt backwards and upside down and he needs to get to you now.

“dickhead officer,” you mumble quickly, “okay don’t be mad at me, i need you to come get me at the station. maybe get me out of jail with your hero ways and connections. please. don’t be mad.” 

it’s all in one long ramble and he imagines you at the police station, fingers playing with the loopy wire of the telephone. bakugou freezes in place. his shoulders drop and he relaxes.

the list of reasons why bakugou loves you goes on forever. bakugou himself is yet to find an end to it. he loves your patience with him and his job, how you’re understanding when he needs to leave a date early and interrupts your evenings with heroic phone calls. how you’re always willing to learn something new, like self defence with him in his agency gym. he loves how much you love your friends and family, just like he does his. willing to stand up for them and stand by them. he also loves how you never take any disrespect. not from anybody, to you or others. that is exactly why he struggles to be mad at you right now.

“hah? the fuck did you do?” he pauses, pulling off his hero suit. he doesn’t need it. you already did the work for him.

“why do you assume it was me!?” you whine down the line.

“wasn’t it? why the hell are you in there?” he wants to bark but his tone softens knowing you’re on the other end. you give a dramatic huff that makes him grip the phone tighter for more.

bakugou looks at deku who still stares expectantly, unsure if he should be putting his hero suit on also. bakugou shakes his head.

“i’ll explain when you’re here. come quickly please. it stinks—,”

“ten seconds!” the same voice.

“quick, baby. i love you!” you shout.

“fuck, baby. love y—,”

bakugou shoves his phone in his pocket, letting out a short hearty laugh. 

“is everything okay with yn? did someone hurt her?”

“it’s gonna be the opposite. she’s in jail right now.”

when your boyfriend stops into the police station, with his black boots, black jeans and an oversized grey hoodie, you squeal, running to the bars trapping you inside like an animal. he looks so good, all boyfriend with his hood over his head and bags under his eyes. you even catch him rolling his eyes at you, giving you a nod and lip bite as you jump in excitement.

“katsuki’s here, he’s gonna get us out! we’re saved!” you tell your two friends sitting arms folded in the jail cell with you.

you wave to him and bakugou stomps right over, past the authorised doors and right to your cell.

“excuse me, sir! you can’t just—,”

bakugou turns to the police officer, one eyebrow raised.

“oh! dynamight, why are you here?” the policeman’s face floods a bright pink but both you and bakugou ignore him.

bakugou immediately reaches his hand through the bars, gripping your chin and moving your head side to side.

“he was the one telling me to hurry up on the phone!” you say smushed, “i’m okay! you should see the other girl!”

there’s no scratches on your face. your makeup has smudged and sweated off, just from time and dancing earlier. there is blood on your knuckles however, contrasting against your short little party girl outfit.

bakugou drops his hand with a loud grunt then eyes your friends, who send him jolly smiles and even a wave.

“hey dynamight!”

“thanks for helping us!”

he still has a soft spot for your friends, who look exactly like you. no bruises or scratches. the only proof of a fight is maybe two broken nails on your friend’s left hand and your other friend’s hair is a tamed mess. he often cooks you and them dinner whenever he is around your flat.

“why the hell are you here, baby? again?” he sighs hopelessly. he shakes his head, ignoring the other cells of people eying him suspiciously. 

a prohero visiting a jail cell? probably not his biggest fans.

still you smile at bakugou shyly, “i said don’t be mad!”

“i need to know what happened so i can get you out,” he levels with you.

you huff, looking away from your lover.

“baby. you told me to come quickly. i know you’re fine so what happened?” he soothes, despite the fact you don’t need soothing. he wants to give you a kiss and cuddle, scrub you down in the shower and bring you to bed. 

but you’ve got to be this firecracker.

“you know those girls who hate us? they saw us out tonight and started shouting at us! we weren’t even doing anything! and then you know what happened,” you drawl, grabbing bakugou’s hand though the bars as if he needs convincing.

bakugou fights the smirk off his face. of course he knows your lore and the beefs you have with everyone in your life. there’s nothing he doesn’t know about you. 

“no babe. what happened, huh?”

“she threw the first punch at me! she was chatting shit, so i did too! she tried to punch me, clearly didn’t get me, so then i punched her, it did get her. i’ll admit.” but you struggle to hide your own grin.

one tooth from you and bakugou’s grinning, “then what?”

“it was a little scrap! i had it under control. did the one with the elbow you showed me.”

“yeah? in her stomach?” bakugou eggs on.

you nod, grinning like a kid who’s won an award, “yeah! also some good old hair pulling. if it ain’t broke don’t fix it!”

bakugou does actually let out a laugh at that, rubbing his face with his palm restlessly, “oh shit, baby.”

“but then someone called the police and they got sent to the hospital together and we are… here.”

your friends have the audacity to look pitiful and you join them by pulling him closer by his hand.

“and what do you want me to do, princess?” he smiles devotedly, cheeks high and pink.

“what do you mean? get me out, stupid! use your hero ways, seduce or fight them. legal language. what you did last time!” you say, waving your free hand around like you’re in a position of power here, “i wanna shower.”

“how’s that supposed to teach you your lesson? no fightin’—,” he jokes but you send him a dead stare.

“katsuki, not funny. we wanna go home. look at us,” you pout.

you’re fucking adorable, bakugou thinks. with your little top and tiny skirt. you’re in thick sports socks currently, your shoes under the chair by your friends. your feet hurt he can only assume. he eyes the k gold necklace at your neck. feeling the stare, you subconsciously play with it between your fingers.

“if i let you out, you promise no fightin’?” he plays but you’re back to huffing. so close to stomping your foot.

“katsuki! i said it wasn’t our fault anyway!”

“yeah, yeah, whatever. i’ll see what i can do,” he smirks, fixing his hair. “gimme a kiss.”

you smile, pouting your lips to meet him through the bars. it’s a quick peck, one that has you missing him even though he’s still there.

“i’ll be back in a sec. no startin’ fights while i’m gone.”

“go hero!” 

bakugou slips his calloused palm out of your hand and stuffs his hands in his pockets, smiling back at you before turning around the corner to find an officer.

he fixes his hair under his hood, trying to keep his crush on you under wraps.

bakugou just about hears you say. “katsuki’s going to save us! didn’t he look kinda... that hoodie… yum.”

bakugou is waiting by his range rover when you and your friends fall out of the police station, giggling the same way you do when you leave the club.

your soft smile at katsuki makes his heart skip a beat, his breaths soften. he feels the urge to float over to you, despite the fact you’re already walking towards him.

“thanks for saving us, hero,” you coo, kissing his cheek once he’s close enough. bakugou’s quick to lean into it.

“thanks dynamight! it wasn’t our fault, i swear, dont get mad at yn.” your friend says, her bag and phone back in her hands.

“it was those girls again!” your other friend curses, “i swear once i find them—,”

“okay, okay. get in the damn car, i’ll drop everyone home,” he pretends to be annoyed but you see through it all. 

a fresh breeze swoops your hair back and causes bakugou’s hood to fall off his head. he’s tired and adorable, towering over you with his hand sliding onto your waist like it belongs there.

you take his hand as your friends mumble their thanks again, sliding into the backseat of his car.

“i mean it, ‘tsuki. thanks for getting us, i know you’d rather be in bed now.” you say, reaching up on your tiptoes, shoes back on. you’re still not close enough to his face so he manages by bending down to yours.

“we’re gonna talk about this properly. i hate you gettin’ hurt,” he tries to be stern, like how he is at work with his sidekicks that aren’t fast enough or his emergency team that aren’t precise enough. 

but you are enough. everything about you.

“i said i didn’t get hurt. well, my wrist is a bit sore but aside from that, i’m fine!” you promise, pressing a kiss to his cheek, “i swear!”

“d’you want me to deal with those girls? get mina and momo to tell them to not bother you—,” he tries but you shake your head.

“it’s not hero business, ‘tsuki.”

“you shouldn’t be fightin’ anyone. hero shit or not.”

you slink your arms around his neck and bakugou finds it hard to not let his eyes go half lidded with interest. he leans into you like he’s at home, just the smell of you dragging him closer.

“then they have to stop chatting shit,” you whisper, pecking his pouty lips softly. “i love you.”

bakugou knows he’s not going to win this conversation. he could train you to fight better though. he sighs, ready for a hot shower and bedtime with you.

“fine. we’re talkin’ about this later. love you too.”

[shadowreaper12-blog]

Trying to give it that 60s style 🥰

[shadowreaper12-blog]

Trying to give it that 60s style 🥰

[shadowreaper12-blog]

Inspired by "Today" by Jefferson Airplane

[magicalmatcha]

— all mine

❝we had our downs but we had way more ups,let's make love❞

pairing — firelord zuko! x fem!earthbender!reader

synopsis — who was surprised when you and zuko were the first in the gaang to get pregnant?

content — fem!reader, mature content (17+), suggestive themes, pregnancy, mention of sex, no actual plot really, indulgent fic, takes place seven years before the legend of aang (which takes placed 12 years after ATLA) so Zuko is 22 and Reader is 21, no use of yn, not proofread

author's note — I didn't watch the leaks yet just clips and if I do I'll still be watching the movie to support the animators

The Princess of the Fire Nation, though she often felt that, as the wife of the Fire Lord, she deserved a far grander title, sat before her vanity, studying her reflection. One by one, she had dismissed her maids, choosing instead to prepare for bed on her own. In truth, the new trending fragrance they all insisted on wearing had begun to make her nauseous.

Though, lately, everything seemed to make her sick.

“Aang sent a letter.”

She hadn’t even heard him enter.

Slowly, she turned to face her husband, a faint crease forming between her brows. “My love, you spend all day in council, and the first thing you do after not seeing me for hours is talk more about the council?” she teased lightly, though there was a hint of tiredness beneath it. She turned back to the mirror, picking up her hairbrush and dragging it gently through her hair.

“Well, love, this isn’t about the council. Technically,” he replied, stepping further into the room. “It’s about Aang. He needs our help.”

“Our help?” She turned again, confusion softening her features as she rose from the vanity. Her green satin nightgown draped elegantly over her figure, the gold stitching catching the candlelight with every movement. The most prominent change, however, was the gentle, undeniable curve of her stomach.

“You knocked me up, dummy,” she teased, a small smile tugging at her lips as she approached him. Her hands slid to his shoulders, then to the ties of his robes, beginning to loosen them with practiced ease. “Or did you forget already?”

He laughed softly, the sound low and fond, allowing her to help him out of his robes as the fabric slipped from his shoulders.

“How could I forget?” he murmured, turning toward her.

His gaze drifted over her slowly, appreciatively, before settling on the curve of her stomach. His hands followed, almost instinctively, coming to rest there, warm, steady, protective. His thumbs brushed gentle circles over the satin, as if he could feel something deeper beneath it.

“When you carry the future of the Fire Nation inside you?” he said quietly, his voice softening. “A little piece of me…”

His eyes lifted to meet hers, something tender and unguarded flickering there.

“And all of you.”

She hummed softly, rising onto her tiptoes as her arms slipped around his neck, drawing him down to her. Her lips met his in a gentle, fleeting kiss, soft, familiar, almost teasing.

But when she tried to pull away, he didn’t let her.

His hand tightened at her waist, the other still resting protectively against her stomach as he followed her retreat, capturing her lips again before the distance could grow. Even as her heels lowered back to the floor, he bent with her, closing the space she had tried to create.

This time the kiss deepened, slower, warmer, lingering in a way that stole the breath from her lungs. It wasn’t hurried, but it wasn’t soft either; it carried weight, intention, something unspoken between them.

His thumb brushed lightly against her side as he tilted his head, pressing closer, as if memorizing her. The world beyond them seemed to fade, the council, the letter, everything, leaving only the quiet crackle of candlelight and the steady rhythm of shared breath.

When he finally pulled back, it wasn’t far, just enough for their foreheads to rest together, his lips still ghosting over hers, reluctant to let her go.

“I can’t get you pregnant again, can I? Double pregnant,” he teased, a grin tugging at his lips.

She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head at him. “Oh, you’ve certainly tried,” she replied, her voice laced with amusement. Her hand lingered briefly against his chest before she stepped back, just enough to create space between them. “But don’t try again, I need this thing out of me first.” "I don't know if I love you referring to our child as a thing."

She separated from him fully then, turning slightly as if to busy herself, though she didn’t miss the way his shoulders subtly slumped at the loss of contact. The warmth between them lingered in the space she left behind, unspoken but felt.

Her fingers adjusted the sleeve of her gown absentmindedly, her expression softening for just a moment before she glanced back at him over her shoulder. There was still a hint of her earlier smile there, though now tempered with curiosity.

“Now,” she said, more gently this time, “tell me what Aang wants.”

"That can wait for the morning." He mumbled, his eyes never leaving her lips as he pulled her back into another kiss.

“A village?”

Zuko sighed, steadying Appa’s harness as he helped his wife climb aboard. “Why would he possibly want us to go to a random village?” And why would he say pack a coat? We're going to a mountain aren't we?" she huffed, gripping the edge before finally pulling herself over with a bit more effort than she liked. "I hate mountains."

He lingered below for a moment, looking up at her, concern etched into his features. “Are you sure it’s a good idea for you to go? You can stay—I’ll be back in a couple days.”

She leaned over the edge slightly, brows knitting. “Aang needs the second-best earthbender with him, Zuko. I’m not disabled—”

She winced mid-sentence, her hand instinctively going to her stomach before she turned toward Toph. “Sorry.”

Toph shrugged easily. “Hey, I’m just glad you finally admitted I’m the better earthbender.”

“I give you your flowers when they’re due,” she shot back with a small smile.

Toph grinned, but it slowly faltered, her head tilting slightly as if listening to something no one else could hear. "Your heart must be beating really fast." "Is it?" The princess quirked her head confused. "Why else am I hearing two heartbeats coming from you?”

Katara gasped, her hands flying together in delight. “Oh my gosh, you’re pregnant! I thought your coat was just oddly bulky but you're pregnant! Oh my Gosh!" she exclaimed, immediately rushing forward to wrap the Fire Princess in a tight hug. “I thought they were just rumors, because surely you and Zuko would’ve told us!”

The princess blinked, caught off guard, before her gaze slid over to her husband, who was just now hauling himself rather ungracefully into Appa’s saddle.

“Zuko,” she said slowly, one brow arching, “I thought you told them.”

Zuko froze mid-step, staring back at her blankly. “I thought you did.”

There was a beat.

“Oh my gosh.”

“I mean, it was only a matter of time,” Katara chimed in, smiling knowingly. “You two have never exactly been subtle. And Zuko practically insisted on marrying you the moment he could.”

Toph snorted, crossing her arms. “Yeah, honestly? I’m surprised it took this long. Thought for sure you’d have a whole lineup of heirs by now if Zuko could keep his hands to himself for more than, what? two minutes?”

Zuko nearly choked, his face flushing a deep, unmistakable red. “That’s— I—” He cleared his throat, straightening awkwardly as he avoided everyone’s eyes. “That’s not— we’re not—”

The princess, however, looked entirely unbothered.

In fact, she looked amused.

“Well,” she said lightly, smoothing a hand over her stomach as she glanced at him, “he does have a bit of a… lack of restraint.”

Zuko snapped his head toward her. “You’re not helping.”

Katara laughed, covering her mouth. “I mean, you can’t blame them. You’ve both been—” she hesitated, searching for a polite word before giving up, “—like that since the beginning.”

Toph grinned wider. “Please. ‘Like that’ is putting it nicely.”

“Toph,” Katara warned, though she was still smiling.

“What?” Toph shrugged. “I’m just saying—half the time, I didn’t even need my feet to know when they were in the same room. The tension alone was loud enough.”

The princess let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “You’re all incredibly annoying.”

Zuko groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Can we please focus on the actual reason we’re here?”

“Oh, no, no,” Toph continued, clearly enjoying herself. “You deserve this. All those nights you two kept everyone awake—”

“Okay, that’s enough,” the princess cut in quickly, though a smile tugged at her lips. She glanced at Zuko, amused. “He can’t get any redder. He’s about to turn into a tomato.”

Zuko let out a quiet, embarrassed huff, but didn’t argue, instead shifting closer and settling against her side, seeking some sense of refuge.

She softened slightly at that, her expression gentler as she let him.

“Let’s just go get Sokka,” he muttered, still avoiding everyone’s gaze.

The princess had shrugged off her coat minutes into the trip. They weren’t even close to Aang yet, and the extra weight had her uncomfortably warm, a light sheen of sweat clinging to her skin. The shifting air currents around Appa did little to help.

Katara, however, had not left her alone once.

The questions came one after another, gentle but relentless, curiosity shining in her eyes.

“How far along are you?”

“Five months,” she answered, offering a tired but polite smile.

“What’s the gender?”

“No clue.”

“Any baby names lined up?”

“We’re trying for something that blends earth and fire,” she said, glancing briefly at Zuko, “but nothing’s stuck yet.”

Katara brightened. “That’s so sweet—”

“Are you going to have more?”

The princess didn’t even hesitate. “Have you met my husband?”

Katara blinked, then laughed, covering her mouth.

Zuko, meanwhile, coughed into his fist, his ears burning all over again.

Through it all, his hand never left her, resting protectively over her stomach, thumb brushing slow, absent circles as if grounding himself in her presence. Every so often, his grip would tighten slightly whenever Appa shifted, like he could somehow steady both her and the child at once.

“Careful,” he murmured under his breath at one point, guiding her subtly as the saddle dipped.

“I’m fine,” she replied, though she didn’t pull away from him.

By the time the icy waters and familiar structures of the Southern Water Tribe came into view, the air had grown colder, sharper against their skin. Snow dusted the ground below, and the distant figures of Water Tribe members began to gather, pointing up at Appa’s descending form.

They didn’t have to search long.

Sokka was already striding across the snow toward them, boots crunching loudly with each step, his grin widening the second he took them in.

“Well, well,” he called, arms spreading like he was welcoming honored guests. “Look who finally decided to show up. Took you two long enough.”

His gaze flicked between them, lingering, calculating, before it dropped.

Then paused.

“…Whoa.”

Zuko stiffened immediately. “Don’t.”

But Sokka was already circling them, slow and deliberate, like he was inspecting something fascinating. “No way. No way. You’re serious?”

The princess raised a brow, unimpressed. “Very.”

Sokka let out a low whistle, dragging a hand down his face before pointing straight at Zuko. “I mean, I knew you two had issues with personal space, but I didn’t think you’d go and make it this… I don't even know the word for it. You two are freaks."

Zuko groaned, already regretting coming. “Sokka.”

“What?” Sokka shrugged, smirk growing. “You expect me to ignore this? This isn't even groundbreaking it's just expected from you both knowing you. This is, this is what happens when you two get even five minutes alone, isn’t it?”

Toph let out a quiet snort.

Sokka leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough to make it worse. “Actually, scratch that. Five minutes is probably generous.”

Zuko made a strangled noise. “Okay.”

Katara slapped a hand over her face. “Sokka—”

“No, no, I’m just connecting the dots,” he continued, clearly enjoying himself. “All those times you disappeared during meetings, all those ‘private discussions’ yeah, makes a lot more sense now.”

The princess tilted her head, completely unbothered. “You’re being very bold for someone standing this close to me.”

Sokka grinned. “I’m just impressed, honestly. You two had so much tension it was practically a natural disaster, and now—” he gestured vaguely toward her stomach, “—this is the aftermath. Surprised it took you this long."

Toph laughed outright at that.

Zuko looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

Sokka wasn’t done.

“I mean seriously,” he added, folding his arms, “if this is what happens when the Fire Lord gets a little too… distracted, I’m shocked there’s not a second one already on the way.”

Zuko choked. “That’s enough.”

“Hey, I’m congratulating you!” Sokka shot back. “Just saying, next time, maybe let people know before you two go off and—”

“Sokka.”

“—expand the royal family.”

Katara shoved him lightly. “You’re unbelievable.”

“But not wrong,” he corrected smoothly.

The princess let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “Unfortunately, he’s not entirely wrong.”

Zuko turned to her, betrayed. “You’re encouraging him.”

“We've been married for eleven months and I've been pregnant for five of them, you lack restraint Zuko” she stated bluntly, though her smile gave her away. He shook his head leaning close so only he could hear her. "Who suggested riding me in the throne ro-" "Okay hush now."

Sokka clapped his hands together once, satisfied. “Great. Now that we’ve established the Fire Lord has absolutely no self-control—”

“Sokka.”

“—can someone please tell me why Aang is dragging us to some random village?"

The teasing was warranted, deserved, even.

The Fire Nation had taken your father, your brother. Zuko’s redemption didn’t erase that. Not to you. He had hunted you, cornered you, forced you into survival more times than you could count. While the others learned to trust him, to laugh with him, to move on… you hadn’t. Not so easily.

So yeah, there had been tension.

A lot of it.

It just… hadn’t been resolved in a way anyone else approved of.

His lips brushed slowly along the inside of her thigh, unhurried, deliberate, testing, teasing. The touch alone was enough to pull a quiet, unwilling sound from her, her breath catching despite herself.

“Just do it already,” she muttered, more breath than voice, her fingers tightening against the sheets.

Zuko clicked his tongue softly, unfazed. Another kiss followed, closer this time, but still not quite where she wanted, where she needed.

“Not until you say please.”

Her head tipped back in frustration. “Why would I have to say please?” she shot back weakly. “You said you were atoning for everything your nation did. Consider this part of your apology.”

A quiet huff of amusement left him, warm against her skin. “I’ve been atoning for two months now,” he murmured, his voice low, almost thoughtful.

Another slow press of his lips, lingering.

“And yet,” he added, “every morning I wake up and you’ve already taken my portion of breakfast because, apparently, ‘murderers don’t deserve to eat.’”

She exhaled sharply, somewhere between a scoff and something softer. “Well, when the Fire Nation killed my family, I couldn’t afford breakfast—”

“I know.” His tone shifted immediately, the teasing giving way to something heavier, sincere. His hand stilled, grounding. “I know. And I’m sorry.”

There was a pause, the air between them tightening, thick with everything unsaid.

“I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make up for it,” he continued quietly. “For what I did… for what I stood for.”

His placed a long kiss to her core, a soft moan (against her will) escaped her lips.

“Let me try,” he said, voice gentler now. “Even if it’s not enough.”

“I’m glad you all could make it, this village needs our help with—” Aang began, pulling back from Katara mid-sentence.

His eyes flicked across the group.

Paused.

Then widened.

“…Are—did—?”

He leaned toward Katara, lowering his voice into what he clearly thought was a whisper. “Am I allowed to ask people if they’ve gained weight?”

Katara’s eyes widened. “No, Aang. We’ve been over this.”

Aang nodded quickly. “Right, right. No asking.”

“…They’re pregnant,” she added quietly.

Aang blinked.

Then looked back at them.

Then back at Katara.

“…Zuko’s pregnant too?”

Toph snorted.

Sokka immediately burst out laughing. “Yeah, yeah, Fire Lord had a lot to do with it actually.”

Zuko’s face flushed instantly. “That’s not—”

“I’m pregnant, Aang,” the princess cut in, voice flat.

“Oh!” Aang straightened immediately, relief flooding his face. “Oh, that makes way more sense.”

There was a beat.

“…Congratulations!” he added, a little too late but entirely sincere.

Then his expression shifted, concern creeping in.

“Wait, are you sure you should be here?” he asked, glancing between her and Zuko. “I mean, with everything going on… I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Zuko immediately nodded. “Exactly.”

She sighed.

“I’m pregnant, not made of glass,” she said, crossing her arms lightly. “I can still help.”

Toph smirked. “Told you.”

Katara smiled gently. “We’ll keep an eye on you. Just in case.”

Sokka grinned. “Yeah, someone has to make sure Zuko doesn’t give himself an aneurysm trying to watch after the princess.”

Zuko shot him a glare.

Aang hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. I trust you. Just… be careful, alright?”

She gave a small, confident nod.

“Always.”

Aang clapped his hands together once, refocusing. “Right, so. The village has been dealing with a spirit. It’s been acting aggressively, and I think it’s tied to something in the mountain.”

The princess exhaled slowly. “…So you did drag us out here for a mountain.”

Aang winced. “Technically… yes.”

Zuko sighed. “Of course.”

Toph cracked her knuckles. “Good. I was getting bored.”

Sokka looked between them, grin already returning. “Alright, angry spirit, pregnant Fire-Earth Princess, and Zuko on edge. This should go great.”

She leaned slightly into Zuko’s side, her hand brushing his.

“Next time,” she murmured, “we ignore the letter and go to Ember Island."

He huffed softly. “…Agreed.”

love speaks! rushed and indulgent sorry i wish this was better but if i draft it it'll never get done. divider by @/cafekitsune

[cassianig]

- Why Didn't You Wait for Me? -

Rindou Haitani - Words: 1405 warnings: uhh reader gets their drink spiked, dw nothing happens!! just a warning in general ive never been to a house party, never gotten my drink spiked so i did my best if its bad my bad.

no pronouns used rin calls reader pretty and ran calls her princess

hehe he poses so goofy. (got this off Pinterest ngl to u.)

You stand in front of the lively house, your phone in hand. You glance down at your phone and then back up at the house. This was the address Rindou had sent to meet at. You glance back at your phone looking over the messages you two had shared in the last hour.

———

[You]: [image]

[You]: does this look ok?

[Rinnie<3]: You look perfect. Now hurry up, you know I don’t like to wait.

[You]: are you sure they’re ok with meeting me?

[Rinnie<3]: Yes, they are happy to meet you.

[Rinnie<3]: Ran says to hurry up he wants to see you.

[You]: what was the location again?

[Rinnie<3]: ➤ Started Sharing a Live Location with you.

[You]: omw.

Read: 9:26 PM

———

You sigh and glance back at the building sending him a quick text, before you walk towards the front door. 

When you reach the front door, it’s cracked open. You push it open and step into the overly crowded two story house. You glance around scanning the crowd looking for either Rindou or his older brother. Your eyes flick from person to person, group to group. You bite onto your lip and glance back at your phone.

———

[You]: i'm walking in rn

[Rinnie<3]: Wait for me at the door.

[You]: ok hurry there's so many people

[Rinnie]: I’m wrapping something up just give me a min.

———

You stand by the door, awkward and out of place, nervously twisting your fingers and tapping your foot in waiting.

Your head turns when you hear a voice call out to you. “Hey there, you look lost. You looking for someone?”

You nod your head, “Yeah actually, well kind of.” 

“I know almost everyone here, shoot, I can probably point you in the right direction.” He gives you a charming smile, stepping right next to you, your shoulders almost touching.

“Well, my boyfriend said he’d meet me here,” You stated, unsure of whether or not you should tell him or just wait.

“C’mon, shoot!” He challenged rather confidently.

“Okay… I’m looking for Haitani Rindou and Ran, do you know where they might be?”

“Hmm,” He places a finger on his chin, “I think they might be in the kitchen, that's where I saw them last… Let me take you?”

You glance at your phone then back at him, “Yeah, alright.” 

He guides you through the mass of people around the house, you stick close to him as he leads you towards the kitchen. 

You pass through the archway that leads into the kitchen, you glance around and see no sign of your boyfriend.

“I don’t see him.” You voiced looking towards the guy. 

“He was just here, I swear I saw him.” He places his hands on his hips, “Here, I’ll help you look.”

“Ah- I should just go back to my waiting spot.” You point your thumb over your shoulder.

“I insist!” He remarks, reaching a hand out to which I just glance at. He retracts it and scratches the back of his neck. “Let me introduce myself, I’m Kenji. Would you like to get a drink and look for your boyfriend and his brother?”

You hesitate for a moment, “Yeah, alright.”

“Cool, what can I get ya?” He turns towards the liquor. 

“Oh- I don’t really drink.” You clarify, “Is there water or soda?”

“Oh, yeah that's cool, there's some coke over here,” He grabs a bottle of coca cola. “Ice, no ice?”

“Ice, please.” You tell with a smile.

“Gotcha.” He turns his back to you as he grabs the ice and puts it in the cup, then he turns and pours the soda. “Here you are.”

“Thanks.” You take the glass from him with a small smile.

“No problem, let's go find this missing man, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You nod, following him out of the kitchen and bringing the glass to your lips taking a small sip.

—

After a while of looking Kenji walks ahead of you with his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, and stagger behind. Trying to keep up but your vision was starting to get blurry and your footing was beginning to turn wonky.

“Ken-Kenji.” You call in a slur, trying to get him to slow down.

“Hm?”

“You’re going so fast- I’m not- I’m not feeling well. Can we take a seat somewhere so I can text Rindou?” You slur, grasping onto the wall as you blink slowly, reaching behind you to grab your phone.

“Kenji?” You call.

No response.

“Ken-”

“Hey,” A gentle hand places on your shoulder turning you around, “Who’s Kenj- Whoa are you okay?”

Your eyes focus in on the figure in front of you spotting the glasses, the multi-colored hair, “R-Rinnie?” 

“What happened? I was looking for you.” He places his free hand on your other shoulder for stability, leaning you against the wall.

“I don’t feel so good, Rin-” You breathe in a slur, your hand clumsily coming to grasp one of his.

“I can see that, what happened?”

“I was looking for you, Kenji was helping,” You glanced at where Kenji was last. “Woah, Kenji is gone.”

“Kenji?”

“Some guy I met, he told me he knew where you were, and fixed me a drink and we were going to find you, and look I found you.” You smile up at him.

Rindou’s eyebrows furrow, “Fucking dead man, he must have spiked your drink, did he touch you? Are you okay?”

You shake your head, “Mm-mm.”

“He didn’t touch you or you’re not okay? Use your words, pretty.”

“Didn’t touch me. ‘M really really sorry.” You lean against him, “I was trying to be nice.”

“Well don't.” He speaks bluntly, “I don’t give a shit who it is if you don’t know them, don't go with them, don’t take drinks from them, and sure as hell don’t leave our meeting spot.”

You lean down the wall, and Rindou crouches in front of you, “Didn’t mean to.”

“I know, pretty. But why didn’t you wait for me? I was almost done, almost there.” He sighs out, tucking loose hair behind your ear.

“Didn’t want to rely on you. Or bother you, was gonna find you.” 

“(Y/N).” He speaks, tucking his index and middle fingers under your chin, lifting your head to look at him. “You could never be a bother, you know that?”

You nod, “‘m really, really sorry, Rinnie.”

“You don’t need to apologize to me, pretty.”

He gently guides you to your feet, “Now, come on, we’re going to go find Ran and the others.”

You shake your head, “No… Can’t let them meet me like this.”

“It’s okay pretty, we’re only going to want a few answers.”

“Of what.”

“Kenji.”

—

Rindou leads you to a couch in the middle of a room with a group of people sitting at it. Ran notices you two first and stands to his feet walking up and wrapping an arm around you.

“What happened to you, princess?” Ran asked with a look of concern on his face.

“Some idiot spiked a drink and gave it to her.” Rindou answers for you.

“He seemed nice.” You slur.

“They all do.” Ran shook his head and they sat you on the couch.

“What was his name?” An unfamiliar voice calls.

“Kenji.” Rindou answered.

“What was he wearing? I’ll beat his ass. No one messes with my baby brother's future wife.”

“Huh?”

“Stay focused.”

“Sorry. He was- He was in a red jacket, it was poofy like this.” You gesture with your hands.

“That’s great, (Y/N). What else was he wearing?” Rindou asks.

“... Black pants, they were also poofy.”

“I know who that is.” Another unknown voice, you turn your head to see a guy with a tattoo on the side of his head, blonde.

“He had an ugly nose.”

The guy snorts, glancing at you, “Did he?”

“Mhm.”

“Take us to him, Shion.” 

“Okay.”

“Okay, pretty. You sit here with my friend Kakucho, okay?”

You nod, “Where are you going?”

“To go kick someone's ass.”

“Rindou-”

“Don’t worry about that pretty head of yours. We’ll be alright after all there's five of us and one of him.”

—

Let’s just say you had to meet them all again, they loved you and invited you out more!!

They also loved to make fun of Rindou for how much of a simp he is around you

Kenji was never seen again. Dun dun dun

[berryrev]

❝every gangster needs a little love...❞

kings of the streets, they carry reputations that speak for themselves: terrifying, untouchable, and etched in violence. the kind of men even the toughest fear to cross. no one can break them... until you. or how these gangsters soften up and drop their guard when you're around.

characters: sano shinichiro, imaushi wakasa, hanma shuji, sanzu haruchiyo, haitani rindou, haitani ran

cw: fem!reader, blood, guns, mention of drugs, violence, murder.

"i don't care if you run the streets, as long as you're coming home to me."

↬ Sano Shinichiro

Word on the streets is that the leader of Black Dragons is a charismatic and respected man. The followers he's gathered and the gang he's founded--now the biggest gang in Tokyo, are enough evidence to prove these aren't just hearsays whispered in alleyways.

He really is that man.

Sano Shinichiro is that man.

The roar of engines cuts through the busy avenue of Tokyo, making people part for them like waves. Whispers from the sidelines along with worried expressions from spectators blur past the members of Black Dragons as their motorbikes tear through the middle of the street like they own it.

And at the front of this sea of black uniforms rides none other than Shinichiro--ever so magnetic, his black tokkofuku flaring behind him, embroidered with words that scream who he is and what he represents: commander.

Takeomi smirks, looking at his friend who he thinks is farming way too much aura in this gang parade. He cracks a joke. "You look so cool asserting your dominance in this part of the city, boss!"

When Shinichiro hears it, a cocky smile immediately creeps across his face. "Gotta keep the legend alive!"

The lower members catch their commander’s shout and roar in agreement, making his words ring out like a battle cry.

Wakasa, Benkei, and Takeomi exchange a knowing look, shaking their heads in unison. (He’s bragging again… Yeah, as always… Let him… Ugh.)

The whole gang trails behind Shinichiro, pride and smoke drifting confidently through the air. Without warning, he slows his pace and lifts a hand to signal the group.

Everyone freezes.

"What's up?" Benkei scans the road for anything wrong. They aren't in enemy territory yet nor are there any suspicious people lingering around ready to attack them. But they've specifically stopped in front of a shotengai.

Shinichiro hops off his bike and walks toward the shopping district.

"I'll be right back."

"Oi, Shin!"

His vice commander grunts, tilting his head for the two captains to follow their commander.

"All of you, stay back!" Takeomi shouts over his shoulder. "We’ve got business to take care of."

The rest of the BD members’ eyes gleam as a shared thought flickers among them. Maybe this is the point of the parade--to prove they’re strong enough now to start claiming territory and money of their own.

"Yo, are we asking for protection money now?" "Holy shit, we're really turning into yakuza!" "Shinichiro-san is so damn cool!" "Tch, that's why he's the boss. No one else could pull that off."

A few yards away, the reality is a far cry from what the rest of the gang is picturing. There the three of them stand, bored out of their minds, waiting for their leader to wrap up his business.

"Uh-huh. we really stopped for this..." Wakasa mutters, giving the hyakuen shop a flat look.

"I'm just wondering what the others think we're doing--"

"They probably think we're shaking the place down," Takeomi interrupts dryly. "Moving up to yakuza status as we speak."

Their heads turn as Shinichiro finally steps out, that same legendary confidence radiating from him as if he’d actually just extorted the poor shop owner.

If it weren't for the small paper bag and the crinkled receipt in his hand, they might have believed it, too.

"Looking at him like this... it's just stupid," Benkei grumbles.

Takeomi snorts, knowing full well what their boss actually bought.

When Shinichiro and the others rejoin the group, the Black Dragon members erupt in a unified roar, celebrating what they assume was a successful ‘business deal.’ Shinichiro swings a leg over his bike and revs the engine, prompting the entire line of delinquents to howl in victory behind him.

For the rest of the parade, Shinichiro’s presence never wavers. He leads the gang with a cocky confidence that sends everyone’s adrenaline through the roof. He lives up to every word whispered on the streets--a living legend who commands fear without ever needing to demand it.

But the moment the meeting concludes and he pulls his bike up to a specific house, the energy shifts.

The smirk he’s worn like armor all day vanishes the second he knocks on the door, replaced by a bashful, boyish smile. The man who radiated power while riding through the city now stands there looking almost shy, clutching a small paper bag in his hands.

When you open the door, a smile is already on your face as you look up at your boyfriend.

"You're late."

"Sorry, baby. Forgive me?" Shinichiro asks, pulling a teddy bear from the paper bag. It’s soft and brown, sporting a tiny red bow tie. Your smile grows wider--so sickeningly sweet that Shinichiro swears he might actually die from the sugar rush. He can feel his heart thudding against his ribs just looking at you.

"Hmm, what’s this? A bribe?" You tease him, though you’re already pulling the bear into a tight embrace, letting the soft fur brush your cheek.

Shinichiro pouts, making a smooching sound with his cheeks puffed out. "No kiss? Aren't I a good boyfriend for buying you a gift?"

You burst out laughing, the sound a bit breathless. How is it possible for a gang leader to be this pouty? If the Black Dragons saw their "ever-charismatic" leader acting this mushy, they’d probably double over in shock. Takeomi, Benkei, and Wakasa on the other hand, would look on with pure, unadulterated disgust.

But this is your Shinichiro, not theirs. He can be clingy, pouty, and cheesy for you, and you love him just the same--maybe even more than the people who follow him.

With you, he isn't the legendary leader; he's a loving, sometimes cringy boyfriend, eyes soft and warm in a way no one else ever sees.

He pulls you into a tight embrace, your bodies pressed together as he leans down to peck your nose. "I missed you today" he admits softly. "That’s why I stopped at hyakuen. Consider it a bribe for being late… and for missing you more than usual."

"Silly. I understand you're busy with your… gang stuff," you murmur, nuzzling against him while still clutching the bear. "Though I did hear a lot of motorcycles earlier. Was that you guys making all that racket?"

"Maybe," he admits, his grin turning sheepish. "But hey, if they're afraid of us, they'll leave you alone. I just want you to be able to walk freely, baby." His fingers graze yours, the gesture holding more weight than his lighthearted tone suggests.

He lets out a low chuckle when you hit his shoulder. Cheesy.

"Let's go inside, Shin. It's cold, and I know you're tired and hungry."

"Alright, baby." But before stepping through the door, he leans down to claim the kiss he’s been craving all day. It’s soft and lingering, enough to make your heart skip a beat.

You’re breathless when he finally pulls away, your cheeks flushed warm despite the biting winter air.

And if his members saw him like this--completely loving and utterly whipped, he wouldn't be embarrassed for a second. Because as proud as he is to lead his gang, nothing compares to the pride he feels when he’s standing at your side.

↬ Imaushi Wakasa

Despite his high-impact moves during gang wars, Imaushi Wakasa is the type who rarely runs his mouth. His nonchalance and laid-back nature make it seem like he’s barely trying--an attitude that, unfortunately, makes him a target for those who don't know any better.

But anyone who has witnessed him in his prime--forged in clashes and street fights, knows better than to fuck with him. Because as much as he doesn't feel the need to talk, he loves conversing with his fists.

Even in the heat of a brawl, Wakasa remains completely unfazed, his expression so disinterested that his friends often find themselves wondering if he’s actually bored.

His unflappable nature doesn't just scare his opponents--it unnerves his own members. He is truly an unbothered king. So, when he casually announces to his inner circle after a meeting that he has a girlfriend, the silence that follows is nothing short of comical.

"What do you mean you have a girlfriend, Waka?" His commander-slash-friend nearly chokes on his smoke, coughing the words out in disbelief.

"I have a girlfriend." Simple. Calm. Unbothered. As if that three-word sentence explains the universe. But knowing Wakasa, those few words are enough. He says exactly what he needs to, and not a syllable more.

He isn't asking for an opinion. He’s stating a fact, and that’s that.

Shinichiro glances at Takeomi, who looks just as confused, though he quickly drops his eyes to the ground as if it owes him a detailed explanation. Benkei, on the other hand, is staring at the three of them.

They aren't looking at each other, but the same thought runs through all their heads.

How?

Wakasa is a good-looking man, undoubtedly. He’s had countless women confess to him over the years--girls who practically throw themselves at his feet but he never pursues them. None of them have ever piqued his interest. Maybe it’s because he’s too detached and unreadable. He barely speaks, and no one has ever managed to scale the wall he’s built around himself. It is cold and fucking impenetrable.

So how?

"How?" Thank you, Benkei.

The question hangs in the air as Shinichiro and Takeomi nod in frantic agreement. They lean forward, desperate for an explanation, for anything.

If they expect Wakasa to elaborate, they’re dead wrong.

"Fuck y'all."

The news is massive but the conversation dies right there. He has a girlfriend. His friends don't believe him, he doesn't care, and he dips.

Little does he know after his announcement, the three of them decide to tail him just to see if he's lying. And maybe witness what the great Imaushi Wakasa looks like in a relationship.

They give it a few days, waiting for the perfect time Wakasa goes somewhere that isn't gang-related. And when he finally mentions he has somewhere to be, that's the signal for the three of them to spring into action.

Determined to catch him in the act, they tail him as discreetly as three high-ranking delinquents can. They soon find themselves standing in front of a backstreet café none of them even knew existed. Tucked between two looming buildings, the place is practically invisible unless you know exactly where to look. A faded sign creaks above the door, and a soft, warm light spills from the windows, inviting and quiet.

"He'd meet his girl in some hidden café like this?" Takeomi mutters, sneaking a glance at the door Wakasa just entered. "You sure he's not meeting one of his yakuza buddies here?"

"Yeah, and this is yakuza territory too," Shinichiro adds. He crosses his arms, squinting at the café like it might reveal its secrets.

Either way, they slip inside the café as quietly as possible, sneaking glances around to track down their friend. It doesn't take long before they spot him, sitting alone by the window looking as calm and uncaring as ever.

"Look at that fucker," Takeomi whispers. "Knew it. He was lying out of his ass. Bet he's here to spend the money he extorted. Fancy motherfucker."

Shinichiro starts to chuckle. "Or maybe he’s going to--"

Benkei nudges his shoulder, gesturing toward the table just as a woman begins walking up to where Wakasa sits.

"Oh, shit."

Wakasa’s eyes track your approaching figure. You’re dressed simply, clean and effortless--a stark contrast to the grit of the world he usually inhabits. His expression remains unreadable at first but the moment you stop in front of him and take your seat something shifts.

The man known for being as cold as ice lifts the corner of his lips into the softest smirk any of them have ever seen.

"Hi, pretty."

He leans over the table, bridging the gap to catch your cheek in a soft, lingering kiss. There is no rush in his movements. He captures your hand, thumb idly stroking your knuckles--a habit born from a deep, quiet familiarity.

"I haven't ordered your drink yet. Want some cheesecake?"

His soft gaze doesn't waver as he waits for your answer.

To the rest of the world, Wakasa is a man of silences. But with you, the words come easily, almost hurried, as if he can't wait to share his thoughts. He speaks in a register reserved solely for you, his voice dropping into a tone that no one else is ever permitted to hear.

You squeeze his hand, giving it a playful tug to bring his attention back from his own thoughts. "Did you wait long, baby?"

Wakasa can't help it anymore. A genuine smile creeps across his face, wide enough to make his eyes squint.

Unbeknownst to both of you, a chorus of gasps and muffled curses erupts from a table not too far away, where three very wide-eyed men are silently losing their minds.

"I didn't. I just came here straight after the meeting. Let me order first, then we'll talk about your uni, yeah?"

You smile and nod, and he gives your hand a final, tender caress before standing up. He leans over one more time, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, lingering just a second too long before finally pulling away.

You watch his back as you are pulled into your own thoughts.

A delinquent and a university student isn't an ideal story to tell, but it's the world you currently live in and love. It isn't unusual to hear others question your decision to be involved with him, their words stringing together like accusations, urging you to let go of his hand.

"Why him? He's a delinquent!" "You're going to destroy your future!"

But none of that matters. The only words that truly resonate are the promises he’s whispered during those silent nights--words you choose to believe in above all else.

Wakasa is yours, just as you are his.

The clink of a cup on the table brings you back to the present.

"Here's your order, pretty."

He sets the coffee down in front of you--the order he’s memorized by heart. He knows how you cling to this specific drink whenever you’re pulling an all-nighter for school.

As detached as he is during his gang activities, with you, he notices everything. Every little detail about you is something he remembers and engraves into his memory as if it were the most vital information in the world.

Once again, he captures your hand, his soft gaze pinned on you as his rhythmic, gentle caresses begin to ease your mind.

"Tell me about your uni, baby?"

"Oh, you know… same hell," you sigh. "I'm currently working on a strategic plan for a hypothetical business...identifying its threats, strengths, and target markets. It’s exhausting, really."

"Poor baby," he murmurs, tilting his head with a playful glint in his eyes. "What if we tried executing your business in real life so it wouldn't be so hard on you? What do you say, pretty?"

You pinch the back of his hand, making him let out a low, amused chuckle.

"And?" you challenge with a smile. "Where exactly would we get our capital?"

A soft smile lingers on both of your faces as he leans closer, his fingers reaching out to gently tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear.

"Baby, I have ways."

It’s a joke, but you know deep down that if you ever truly asked, Wakasa would move mountains for you. For a man who rarely speaks, whose internal barriers are nearly impossible to pierce, the fact that you chose him is reason enough for him to do anything for you, legal or otherwise.

He loves you with that kind of intensity.

"Well, let's try your ways when I quit university and choose to be your fulltime girl"

And you love him just the same.

Both of you lean in, closing the distance until your lips finally meet in a soft, sweet kiss. Your hearts seem to beat in unison as the moment lingers, neither of you willing to pull away just yet. You can’t help but smile into the kiss, which coaxes a matching one from him, and soon you're both quietly giggling against each other’s lips.

You’re the first to pull away and sit back properly, while your boyfriend chases after you for one more lingering kiss at the corner of your mouth before finally settling into his own seat.

For a moment, everything feels perfect. It’s just the two of you in your own little world... right up until a loud, hacking cough cuts through the quiet café, followed by a sharp curse.

"Ow, fuck! Why is this so hot?! Are they trying to kill someone?"

Wakasa closes his eyes, letting out a long, weary sigh. "Uh-huh… couldn't they be any more obvious?"

"Waka?" You stare at your boyfriend for a moment before your gaze drifts to the three men seated not too far from your table. They're huddled together, desperately pretending to study a menu while very obviously burning holes in your direction. Your eyes dart from the strangers, to him, and then back to them again.

Wakasa quietly watches the gears turn in your head until the flicker of realization finally hits you.

"…They're wearing the same uniform as you."

"Unfortunately" he mutters.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "These idiots..."

Wakasa stands up, finally deciding to continue your date somewhere else. It isn't because he’s embarrassed to be seen with you, but rather to end this stupidity once and for all.

He isn't about to let these dumbasses ruin his time with you just because their nosy asses wanted to catch him off guard. They never will. His nonchalant persona and the softer version he shows only to you are both real--he’s simply more natural when you're around.

In truth, you're the only person in the world who actually has the power to catch him off guard.

He reaches out and gently tugs you up. "Let's continue our date somewhere else."

"Why--"

Before you can finish, he’s already walking toward their table with you in tow, his hand holding yours tightly. The three of them freeze mid-motion as you both come to a halt right in front of them.

"This is my girlfriend," he says flatly, his tone suggesting that talking to them is the most boring chore in the world. But the moment he turns back to you, that soft visage returns instantly.

"And these," he gestures lazily toward the three wide-eyed men, "are the idiots i told you about."

"Hi" you say with a polite smile, giving them a little wave.

The three of them just stare, unable to bridge the gap between the man they know and the one standing before them. The reality that his girlfriend actually exists is one thing, but the genuine look on Wakasa’s face is another entirely. Shinichiro’s jaw is tight, his silence loud, while Takeomi and Benkei simply go still, watching the scene unfold in stunned disbelief.

Before they can even find their voices, your boyfriend guides you toward the exit, leaving them completely dumbfounded.

It takes a moment for the reality to sink in, but they eventually snap out of their daze. "O-oi, Waka!"

"Pay for our coffee! Bye!" he calls back over his shoulder.

Once you’re both outside, a low, genuine laugh finally breaks from Wakasa’s chest. You stare at him, confused at first, but his amusement is so infectious and unfiltered that you can’t help but join him. The rare sound of his laughter fills the air, leaving a lingering warmth in your chest.

"You're terrible!" You laugh, swatting his shoulder.

His shoulders are still shaking as he tugs you closer, wrapping his arms securely around your waist. "They're more terrible for stalking me. They didn't believe I actually had a girl."

You return his embrace as he slowly begins to sway you back and forth, as if you’re dancing to music only the two of you can hear. "Maybe it's because you didn't explain it to them?"

His gaze softens as he leans down, his voice dropping into a low whisper. "No need. You're the only one who matters."

If your heart skips a beat, it’s a secret shared only between the two of you. Because just as you are his entire world, Wakasa is the only heartbeat that matters in yours.

"Let's go to your dorm, baby," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your temple. "I wanna keep kissing you all day."

And even if no one believes that your Wakasa is entirely different from the man who rules the streets, it doesn't matter. They don't need to see the side of him that only exists behind closed doors. Because he’s yours. Entirely yours.

↬ Hanma Shuji

If most people saw twenty-plus grown men in all-black suits walking down the street, the encounter would be nerve-wracking--terrifying, even. These men are armed and known for destroying anything in their path. They’re exactly the kind of people you’d avoid at any cost.

But right now? These same dangerous men are the ones trembling.

Sitting in front of them is another man in a pinstripe suit, a cigarette dangling lazily from his lips. His stare is sharp enough to serve as a final warning: one wrong move, and he will raise his pistol without a second thought to put a bullet through someone's skull.

The men can't even swallow, let alone allow the sound of their own breathing to be heard.

Because Hanma Shuji… is pissed as fuck.

Everyone in the damn room knows he's one snap away from going on a killing spree, and no one wants to be the first body to drop.

The smoke from his cigarette curling around his dark expression.

"You had one job, you pieces of shit. One fucking job!" He snarls.

No one dares to speak, breathe, or even blink. Any normal human action could get them killed. Act like a corpse if they must, just so long as their boss doesn't raise his gun or stand to beat the shit out of them. Even then, there's no guarantee of salvation.

He inhales sharply, his jaw clenching and unclenching with visible tension. "What is so hard to fucking understand? No one leaves until we have what we need! And you… you were so damn stupid that you let the cops tail you. Fucking morons."

Hanma lets the words hang in the air, the room already suffocating under the weight of his gaze. Everyone knows better than to move, but as with every tragic comedy, there is always one idiot who mistakes a pause for an opportunity to speak.

Hands twitching and sweat trickling down his neck, the man gulps, daring to lift his eyes to meet his boss lethal gaze.

"B-but b-boss, w-we-"

Gunshot.

In the blink of an eye, he crumples to the floor, a bullet lodged in the center of his forehead, blood pooling around him like crimson ink.

Don't rest in peace, idiot.

The ringing of the gunshot echoes across the room. If they've been stiff from the start of this execution (meeting) they're now completely paralyzed. Hearts pound harder than ever. Even if they don't pray aloud their minds are filled with desperate litanies, hoping they won't be the next to get shot.

Hanma Shuji stands, menacing aura unfaltering despite the kill.

"Why the fuck are you trying to piss me off even more, huh?"

He begins to prowl toward them, paying no mind to the blood seeping onto his leather shoes. He spits his cigarette at the feet of the men in the front row, a gesture of pure disgust. Looking down at them now, he isn't a god--he’s a true reaper deciding which soul to harvest next.

Hanma raises his pistol once again, the barrel shifting slowly toward the man on his right. The man goes rigid but the fast, shallow breaths rattling in his chest betray every ounce of terror he's trying to hide.

He's next. He's gonna die. HE'S NEXT.

Everyone holds their breath, bracing for the final moment of their lives...

until a phone rings inside Hanma’s pocket.

His jaw remains set as he pulls the phone from his pocket. Without glancing at the caller id, he presses accept, his other hand steady with his finger still hovering over the trigger.

He’s ready to snap at whoever dared to interrupt him, but the words die in his throat the moment a familiar voice carries through the line.

"Hi, baby."

The whole room remains locked in a deathly silence, making the voice from the phone loud enough for everyone to hear. It is a sweet, melodic voice, speaking with an endearment that only she has the right to use for a man as fearsome as him.

Yet, the men feel no relief. Instead, some close their eyes in a desperate prayer as the Reaper turns toward them, a single plea screaming in their minds:

"Whoever is the goddess on the other line... please, fucking save us from him."

Hanma lowers his gun without a word and strides back toward the table, the phone still pressed to his ear. When he turns to sit, the expression that had nearly eaten them alive begins to melt.

First, it shifts into something cold and unreadable... and then he tongues the inside of his cheek as his eyes slowly crinkle with delight.

"Hi, pretty baby," he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave into something dangerously sweet. "Why are you still up?"

To say the men are shocked would be a massive understatement--they can't believe their fucking eyes. Hanma Shuji--the man who reigns over the streets with terror and is feared even by his own kind is seconds away from smiling genuinely, all because of the woman on the other end of the line.

It is a well-known fact within the underworld that Hanma Shuji has a girlfriend. Some of the men have even met you, and their immediate thought was always the same: how unfortunate you were to be involved with a man like him. To them, you are young, beautiful, and tragically unlucky--doomed to be with a man who will eventually destroy everything he touches.

Little do they know, the gangster is wrapped tightly around your finger, and he’s there willingly. He is chained and devoted, with absolutely no place he would rather be than right where you want him.

"I'm trying to finish this new scarf I've been crocheting and suddenly thought of that milky donut we passed by the other day. I'm kind of craving it--wait, are you busy? I'm sorry, Shu--"

Shuji can’t help the smile creeping onto his face. He tries biting his lower lip to suppress it, but the joy is too infectious to fight.

When his useless subordinates see that wholesome expression tugging at the corners of his mouth, they finally dare to exhale. They are still in disbelief, but they cling to the sliver of hope his change in mood provides. Their boss smiling means, at the very least, they might live to see another day.

"Don't tell me you used that ugly color for my scarf--"

"Excuse me! Who said this scarf is for you?!"

That earns a roaring laugh from your boyfriend, the sound echoing through the stifling room as he pictures your indignant face. His eyes gleam, his voice dropping to a low, amused hum. "Come on now, baby. I know it’s for me."

Hanma lounges back further into his chair, the gun mindlessly tapping against his temple as he continues to bite his lower lip.

How amazing it is--to see a man capable of terrifying an entire group of hardened thugs turn into a smiling idiot just because his girl called.

It's a sight to see, really, and it could be a comforting one…

If only they were assured that after this call, he'd stay in a good enough mood for the rest of the night to spare them from Hanma's rage and carnage.

"Whatever you say, Shu."

There is a brief pause on your end, and Hanma tilts his head slightly, listening intently. He can hear faint shuffling, the rustle of fabric, and then something lightly clattering to the floor.

"Oh, shit!" Your voice suddenly grows distant and distracted.

Hanma immediately drops his feet from the table, his posture sharpening in an instant. His men stiffen in unison, fearing the shift in his body language is a sign that the execution is back on but Hanma’s attention is glued entirely to the phone.

"Baby?" he calls out, the irritation from earlier thinning into a sharp, focused curiosity.

More sounds filter through the speaker: the jingle of keys, a door clicking shut, and the soft, hurried tap of your heels against the floor. Hanma’s brow arches, amusement flickering in his eyes as he leans back into his chair once more, his grin curling lazy and wide.

"Baby… where are you?"

"H-huh? Ah--I'm crocheting your scarf--"

"You said it wasn't mine--"

"Shut it. J-just get my milky donuts before you come home, okay? Love you, take care!"

And then the line goes dead.

Hanma stares at his phone for a second longer, his grin stretching even further. But the moment the screen goes dark, the shift is instant. The boyish boyfriend fades, and the crime lord slips back into place like a second skin.

The room freezes all over again. The comfortable breaths some of them dared to release earlier are pulled right back into their lungs. Every man feels the same dreadful thought sink deep, like a stone dropping into cold water:

The call ended. We're fucked. See you in hell, boys. Damn.

Hanma stands up with a low groan, his hand sliding back onto his gun. He raises it casually, almost lazily, paired with a glare sharp enough to slice the air.

"If I'm gonna rid one stupid among a bunch of stupid, might as well rid them all, ain't it?"

These men accept their fate the moment they bow their heads. It's a sign of defeat, a silent confession that they're useless gangsters who fucked up their operation big time. If it weren't for their boss taking immediate action, they would've all been in jail by now.

And honestly, maybe they deserve to be scythed by the Reaper himself rather than be tortured by cops desperate for information.

Hanma doesn't say another word, fully prepared to let the ricochet of his gun do the talking.

But the split second before he pulls the trigger, the door swings open, allowing a faint floral scent to cut through the heavy, metallic air.

"Hi! Is Shuji here?"

Everyone witnesses the way Hanma’s eyes widen in genuine shock, his gun lowering instantly. The mere sound of that familiar voice is enough to make the criminal boss’s threatening countenance wobble a bit.

His girlfriend is here. His baby.

Hanma points firmly at the dead body on the floor, signaling his men to cover the bloody scene. He then frantically turns away from the table and hurries toward where you stand. His men immediately press themselves together, forming a human wall to block your view of anything beyond their backs as their boss reaches you.

"B-baby!... What are you doing here, huh?"

The collective movement that blocks what's in front of you makes you roam your eyes and tiptoe to see what they're trying to hide. But Hanma catches on fast and smoothly blocks your view by towering over you.

"What brings you here, doll? Isn't it a bit late for you to be wandering outside?" He holds your elbows softly, his touch gentle as he tries to guide you to turn around and leave this blood-scented room.

Hanma has never been nervous a day in his life. He has always chased the thrill of danger, so the concept of fear isn't in his vocabulary. But the thought of you barging in and seeing the grisly work he’s just finished is enough to make him panic.

"Were you surprised?" You look up at him, smiling so genuinely, as if your little stunt were both brilliant and sweet.

It is, certainly, but it’s in the entirely wrong place.

Hanma doesn't dare turn his head to see how his subordinates are handling the cover up. Instead, he keeps his focus entirely on you, fighting to push down the panic clawing at his throat. To distract you, he pecks your lips, his hands sliding from your elbows up to your shoulders to keep you anchored in place.

"Yes, baby, I am surprised," he murmurs. "Now, don't do it again."

You giggle, reaching up to caress his sharp jaw and gently pinch his cheeks. "Silly! It was supposed to be a surprise, Shuji."

You are so, so sweet that he can’t help the twitch of his lips, but he also can’t ignore the chaos clawing at his insides. He doesn’t care if his men can feel the frantic tension he radiates, or that he’s practically putty in your hands as he tries to steer you away from the carnage he orchestrated.

He isn't embarrassed to be seen like this, however he would be deeply unsettled if you witnessed another blood-stained scene especially when he promised, the day he asked for your hand, that you would never have to see one.

As dangerous as he is, he never lets you be at the center of his chaos.

And you? You knew the moment you let him into your life that danger would be inevitable and a common occurrence but you didn't care. Being with him is the only thing that makes you feel complete. Ironically, being in the arms of the most dangerous man in the room is exactly what makes you feel safest.

You love him as a whole, as much as he loves your everything.

"You could have told me. I should've picked you up--"

"Then it wouldn't be a surprise anymore!" you counter with a playful smile.

The soft smile you display makes Hanma's tension finally break. Unable to resist the smirk any longer, he pulls you to his chest and leans down, burying his face against your jaw as he peppers it with little bites and kisses.

"You missed me that much that you had to come here and surprise me? What a damn shame," he teases, though his grip on you says otherwise.

Your laughter echoes through the once-dreaded room, and you are entirely unaware that it isn't only your boyfriend who is eased by the sound. His men who had been facing the scythe of death only moments ago, feel the relief wash over them as well.

Still lost in your own world, the two of you don't notice his subordinates slowly embracing a rare sense of security. They finally dare to believe they might actually be safe from the hands of their boss--all thanks to you.

"Yeah, what a shame," you retort, rolling your eyes. "As if I’m the one clinging like a koala right now. In the presence of your men, really, Shuji? How embarrassing."

Shuji finally pulls away from your neck to look at your pretty face--full of smiles and adoration. He could return the tease, but instead he uses those seconds to appreciate how you immediately calm him.

"They could die for all I care."

You scrunch your nose. Fucking adorable.

"Please don't."

And somewhere among the gangsters huddled together, you swear you hear a sigh of relief. You have no idea what you did, but the gratitude radiating off their backs makes you think that maybe… you did something for them.

"Well, the reason I'm here is like what I told you over the phone. I'm craving that milky donut we passed by the other day. I want it as hot as possible… and I guess I missed you too."

You murmur the last part, your hands lingering to caress his suited chest. He catches your hands in his, pressing a lingering kiss to your fingers before turning toward his men abruptly.

"Clean that shit up and fucking scram after."

Before you can hear the collective breath of relief and chorus of gratitude, your boyfriend is already pulling you out of the room.

The night air hits you both as Hanma guides you outside the building, his hand firmly intertwined with yours. The tension and rage that filled him earlier are completely gone now, replaced by a softer, gentler version of him--one that only exists when you're around.

"So" he drawls, glancing down at you with that signature lazy grin "milky donuts, huh?"

You nod eagerly, squeezing his hand. "Hot and fresh. You promised you’d get them before coming home, anyway."

"Oh, did I now?"

He pulls you closer as you walk down the street, his arm wrapping around your shoulders to shield you from the cold wind. "Guess I have to follow the boss's orders."

That elicits a bright laugh from you, and for a moment, Hanma Shuji can only look at your face. He traces the way your eyes sparkle under the streetlights and the way you lean into him so naturally, so trusting.

The criminal lord wouldn't trade this moment for any thrill the streets or the underground could give him.

Because you're the most exciting part of his life. And even if he's a lawbreaker, a feared man, the Reaper, none of those titles give him a more fulfilling, satisfying feeling than being your man.

He's just Shuji.

The man who is wholly, utterly, and completely yours. Your Shuji.

"Let's go, baby. I don't want you getting grumpy if you don't get those donuts tonight."

He presses a kiss to your temple--a silent assurance and a promise kept.

↬ Sanzu Haruchiyo

Like a feral wolf fresh from a fight, he staggers toward Bonten's conference room, each breath coming in ragged gasps. It isn't just his labored breathing that shows the rough expedition he's been on, but also the blood splattered across his pinstripe suit and the bruises and busted skin scattered here and there.

Sanzu Haruchiyo has just returned from the front lines.

As an underboss of the most powerful criminal syndicate in the country, his days are perpetually fueled by threats and gore--nothing unusual for him. However, at this time of year, their enemies are particularly agitated. Challenges to Bonten’s authority have begun to pile up, resulting in weeks of grueling, back-to-back missions.

If his normal days are loaded with violence, these moments are defined by something else entirely: straight-up savagery.

When he slams the conference door open, the men inside expect hell in human form, and they aren't wrong. The executives watch in silence as the bloody second-in-command stalks into the room, drags a chair back with a screech of metal, and props his long legs onto the table.

Kokonoi Hajime, the only one who dares to linger his gaze on Sanzu for more than a second, knows better than to speak. Based on the feral look of his superior's eyes, it is clear that any word, no matter how small, might be the one that triggers an explosion. It’s better to leave him the fuck alone.

Sanzu still radiates a strong viciousness. His eyes twitch, an attestation of the adrenaline still surging from his kills. His right hand keeps alternating between gripping his gun and tapping it against his head, and there are little sniffs here and there.

The pinkette is still riding a high from the bloodlust, his nerves frayed and electric. No one in their right mind should trigger him now.

Hoping to de-escalate the tension, Takeomi--Bonten’s advisor and Sanzu’s brother attempts to mellow him out with a simple offering. He pulls out a pack and gestures.

"Smoke?"

Takeomi darts his eyes toward his brother, who is now lazily swinging his swivel chair left and right, his long legs still propped arrogantly on the table.

"Fuck off."

Understood.

The executives know better than to try their luck with Sanzu in his post-murder state, but someone(cue: Haitani) knows there is another wave of missions he has to address. It needs to be said now, because this next task is bigger and far more terrifying.

"Is this your last order for today?" Rindou is the second one to break the silence.

Unlike the advisor, who sought only to placate Sanzu, the younger Haitani’s voice is laced with a sharp, subtle teasing--as if he holds the one secret that could knock the mad man off his feet.

Sanzu bores his shaking, bloodshot eyes into Rindou. His movements are sluggish, yet he still manages to point his gun directly at him. "I said fuck off."

Rindou should take that as a final warning, but what is a Haitani if not a professional provocateur? If his voice earlier held a hint of a tease, his face now displays full-blown smugness as he prepares to drag Sanzu back to earth.

"Ah, hah… I just thought you’d appreciate a little briefing before your next 'mission.' That’s why I’m asking if that was your last order. Guess I’ll just let you stay fucked up then." Rindou’s words are laced with the fakest concern imaginable, yet he remains brave enough to meet Sanzu’s glare head-on.

Everyone in the room knows the number two is a single snap away from slipping back into feral mode. However, this is Bonten, and Sanzu going ballistic is a familiar, everyday sight. It is dangerous, certainly, but for others it is quietly entertaining.

And when it comes to entertainment, who would dare miss out? Certainly not the Haitanis.

That’s when the older brother, Ran, interjects. His voice snapping the tension between Rindou and the mad dog just before his younger brother gets bitten.

"When was the last time you went home, Sanzu?" Ran asks, straight to the point. He’s trying to gauge a different reaction from the pink-haired gangster, but to no avail. Still half-lost in his own head, Sanzu lazily redirects his aim, pointing his gun toward Ran.

"Why are you fucking ganging up on me, huh? You two motherfuckers know I'd beat the shit out of you, so fuck off--"

The almost slurred threat only makes Ran giggle like a little devil. He knows what's coming, and judging by the subtle shifts in Kokonoi and Takeomi’s expressions, they know too. They know exactly where this is headed.

"Just askin'. If I were you, I'd fuckin' straighten up and prepare."

"Hell yeah," Rindou chimes in from the back, sounding far too amused for his own good.

"What the fuck do you mea--"

"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned," Ran interrupts.

Sanzu clearly doesn't understand what the fuck Ran is talking about. He's a joke, always was. But the mention of the word woman makes him stop swinging his chair. The gun stills mid-play between his fingers.

And just as the realization is about to hit him, the door slams open.

A woman stands in the threshold, draped in black from head to toe. The thin, delicate lace of a veil covers her face, obscuring her expression entirely. Despite her silence, her attire speaks for her--and everyone in the room knows exactly what it implies.

Funeral.

It’s as if Sanzu Haruchiyo’s brain is lagging, delayed in signaling that the woman who just entered is none other than his own.

He still looks the same, bloodthirsty. But when the sound of your heels clicking against the floor echoes through the room as you slowly step inside, it's like liquid poison slithering into Sanzu's crevices, exposing a crack in his visage.

You come to a stop just a few feet from his chair. Even though he can’t see your eyes behind the thin, dark lace of your veil, he can feel your gaze burning through him.

Your voice cuts through the silence, calm and razor-sharp.

"I thought you were fucking dead."

The silence in the room is absolute. Even the Haitanis, who would normally find this shit laughable, don't have the breath to let out a single snicker. They know exactly who you are, and more importantly, they know how far your brand of crazy can go.

Bonten is an organization run by the deadliest men in the country--men who command fear and respect with nothing more than a glance. They thrive on blood and build their empires on death. They are, by every definition, lethal. But all their power and ruthlessness pale in comparison to a woman neglected and denied of love for weeks.

That specific brand of fury burns hotter and sharper than any underground war. In this room, everyone knows it--especially your boyfriend.

"I even felt bad for not bringing a flower..."

Your right hand lifts the veil from your face, slowly setting the dark lace onto the table. Your eyes, cold and focused, finally lock onto his.

"Only to find out you're alive and kicking. How disappointing."

Your words act as a trigger, and Sanzu’s expression shifts instantly. The hell in human form who stormed into the room just moments ago pauses, a faint narrowing of his eyes betraying a flicker of realization.

The gun he's been spinning between his fingers slows, hovering for just a moment as he slowly drops his legs off the table. Just for a heartbeat, the relentless predator looks slightly off balance but undeniably aware.

As he's about to rip the words out of his throat, maybe to defend himself or maybe to assert his dominance, he feels the heat of a palm press against his cheek.

"Fuck you, Haruchiyo! You should've told me you didn't want me anymore instead of never coming home, you asshole!"

And just like that, you storm out of the conference room.

The impact of the slap seems to have forcibly awakened Sanzu. His bloodlust is gone, replaced by a frantic, jagged sort of desperation. He shoots to his feet immediately, his instincts kicking in as he scrambles to follow you without a second thought.

"Fuck! y/n!"

The doors swing shut behind him, and the moment he is gone, the executives left behind finally exhale. The tension that had been suffocating the room snaps, replaced by the sound of the Haitanis snickering like it's the funniest show they've ever seen. Ran is doubled over, while Rindou doesn't even bother hiding his grin.

The others simply shake their heads in disbelief at the sheer absurdity of the scene they just witnessed.

"That fucker actually got hit in the feels," Kokonoi mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"y/n come on! Goddamn it!"

"Stop following me, or I swear I'll bash your head into a wall. Don't test me, Haruchiyo!"

Your voice drips with acid, each word sharp enough to cut. It isn't an empty threat, and Sanzu knows it. He knows you like the back of his hand. Every edge, every breaking point. And yet, he wouldn't be himself if he didn't try to provoke you anyway.

You're furious and unhinged, but he's worse. Crazier. Madly, irreversibly obsessed with you.

"I told you, didn't I? I was on a fucking mission--"

"Does that require completely forgetting you have a girlfriend?" you snap.

No matter how hard he tries, he can't match your pace. The more you storm ahead, the more ridiculous it looks. The feared mad dog of Bonten reduced to something almost pathetic.

Lost in a stream of mumbled curses, you don’t notice how quickly the pink-haired gangster closes the gap. In a snap, a hand clamps around your wrist like a vice, and suddenly you’re being dragged in the opposite direction.

"Get off! I don't want to go with you--fucking let go! I'm breaking up with you!"

"Like hell you are!" Haruchiyo snarls back.

His grip tightens as he tugs you toward the nearest door he can find. You retaliate immediately, slapping his arm in an attempt to make him release you. When that doesn't even make him flinch, you resort to pinching him instead.

"Haruchiyo--"

He shoves the door open and drags you inside with enough force to make you stumble, his grip on your wrist never wavering. The sudden jolt makes your rage falter, though he’s too focused to notice.

When he finally spins around to face you, he freezes. He's taken aback by the look on your face, because while anger still burns in your expression, your eyes are glossy and wet, threatening to spill over as they lock onto him.

"There's no point in talking. I'm so done with you."

You try to yank your hand free, but the more you struggle, the tighter his grip becomes. He stays rooted in place, staring at you like something is turning over in his head, like gears grinding against each other.

"Let me go, Haru--"

"I don't want to. We're fucking talking here." he bites back.

He drags you again, this time toward the wide office table. When he lets go of your wrist for a split second, it’s only to slide his hand immediately to your waist. With a surge of effortless strength, he lifts you and sets you down on the edge of the mahogany table. He steps in close, boxing you in, leaning down just enough to force you to look at him while bracing both hands at your sides.

"What part of I have multiple orders didn't you fucking understand?" he growls, his face inches from yours.

"You could've started with an apology, you fucking psycho," you snap back, refusing to be intimidated even as you sit perched between his arms.

You watch as he closes his eyes, his jaw tightening as his patience visibly thins. But instead of making you back down, it only ignites your fury further. How dare he look like the victim when he's the one at fault? How dare he act like this is exhausting for him, when you're the one who was left waiting, neglected, and grieving a man who wasn't even dead yet?

The moment you accepted Haruchiyo's affection (obsession) you knew it came with a heavy price. He isn't some normal man with a clean job and a respectable title. His name alone carries a weight that makes even the most hardened criminals falter.

Sanzu Haruchiyo is a difficult, violent man, yet when he offered you his blood-stained hands, you took them without hesitation.

Trusting.

You were introduced to the chaos of the life he leads, grew familiar with the shadows he inhabits, and even learned to turn a blind eye to the horrors he commits. You did it all because you learned to love him, and you realized a long time ago that loving a man as insane as Haruchiyo would eventually compromise your own sanity as well.

Sanzu groans, eyes closing as he lets out a sigh. That's your cue. Whatever you're asking for is just as ridiculous to him as the slap you delivered in front of his colleagues.

Impossible. He won't apologize. He never will.

You place a hand against his chest, the fabric of his suit still warm and smelling faintly of iron, and try to push him away. "Get off. This talk is useless. Just let me go home."

The acid that laced your voice moments ago has softened into a controlled whisper. It sounds tired--surrendering. Because, as you’ve realized, this conversation is a dead end. Not after witnessing just how far gone your boyfriend is today. His bloodied, relentless state says it all. There is no room in his head for remorse or the gentle "sorries" of a normal man. You have to accept that.

However, Sanzu has other plans.

Instead of letting you push him away, his hands tighten around your waist, pinning you in place. He leans in closer, invading your space until he buries his nose against the curve of your cheek, breathing you in.

"Let me go--"

"We'll go home after this," he murmurs against the apple of your cheek, punctuating the promise with a sharp, possessive nip.

"No. Let me go home--to my own house, Haru." Your voice finally cracks, a small, broken sniffle slipping out as the tears you’ve been holding back finally well in your eyes.

You're so, so mad at him that the slap hasn't been enough. You want to claw at his skin, pull his hair, bash his head into a wall just like you promised. But the betrayal of your own heart is the worst part. How can one kiss, one touch, make all that righteous anger start to melt away?

When Sanzu feels the wetness glide down your cheek, he pulls back slightly. He looks just like he did earlier: stuck. Those internal gears visibly grinding as he tries to process your grief. Subconsciously, as your tears continue to fall, his hand reaches up to brush them away.

"Stop."

"Wh-what?"

"Stop crying."

"Then fucking apologize! I thought you were dead because there were no updates from you! You told me you would call! or at least message me so I'd know you were still fucking kicking!"

Your anger flares again, reignited by the memory of silent nights spent waiting. Waiting for your man to come home in one piece. Even bloodied, wounded, or high--at least he'd return alive.

"Or you could've at least ordered one of your men to tell me you were still breathing and just busy slicing people! Haru, i was waiting!"

You wail through your words, and Haruchiyo continues wiping your tears as he listens. You don't notice that the more venom you spit at him, the calmer his expression becomes.

"And you're still not apologizing. I'm so sick of you." you whisper, exhausted.

Once he’s satisfied that your cheeks are dry, he leans in again, his face hovering dangerously close to yours.

"You know I can only bring burner phones during errands--"

"Then you could've ordered your men to update me--"

"I don't want any bastards near you."

It's the only explanation you're going to get--a possessive, irrational truth. But then he closes the final gap, kissing your lips roughly as if you’re the very air he needs to survive.

And for the first time that day, pressed against your mouth, the monster finally calms.

"H-haru--"

He doesn't stop. He refuses to let you speak another word, sealing your mouth with his and catching the gasp that escapes you. He takes the opening to deepen the kiss, his tongue mingling with yours in a way that is as demanding as it is desperate.

You taste a mix of sweetness and bitterness, maybe from the soda he always drinks before errands, or from whatever illicit medicine he's taken but it's familiar. It's something you've grown used to, something you love.

You press your palms lightly against his chest, a silent plea for air. Haruchiyo doesn't protest, but he doesn't pull away either. He only gives you enough distance, just an inch, so you can breathe, but close enough for his words to fall straight against your lips.

"You're always in my mind, y/n."

It isn't an apology. It’s a confession of his obsession. But the raw fervor dripping from his voice is enough to finally settle the storm inside you.

You accepted long ago that apologies are impossible for him. A man in his position will never humble himself over his wrongdoings. This is the path he chose and the life he lives.

Still, Haruchiyo has his own way of compensating: through his devotion and constancy. Even if he can't contact you for days, weeks, months, or even years, you will always be the center of his obsession. His own poisonous sweetheart.

"I don't know if I should be flattered by that," you mutter. "Imagine you slicing someone up and thinking about me."

He pecks your lips twice before nosing along your cheek, lingering there until his scarred lips brush your ear. His voice drops to a lower octave as he whispers,

"Keeping you on my mind is what makes me finish the job fast…"

You grip his shoulder when you feel his hands tighten around you once again, pulling you closer and closer until he settles firmly between your thighs.

"…I rush through it all just so I can come back to you."

You grab his hair and pull him off you to smash your lips against his. The kiss turns heated within seconds, both of you rushing to steal each other's breath like it's the only thing you know, like it's the only reason either of you exists.

Sanzu groans when you tug harder. You want him closer, close enough to crawl into his skin if it were possible.

You pull back just enough, breath ragged against his swollen lips.

"Let's go home now," you whisper. "Baby, please. Let's go home."

"Anything for you."

He hoists you off the table, and you immediately lock your legs around his waist. Without breaking his stride, he turns and bolts for the door, hauling you out of the office as fast as he can.

Because even if every corner of that office, that building, and every Bonten executive has witnessed how crazy the two of you can get, they will never know the madness you share behind the four walls of your room.

Oh, how love can be this insane.

↬ Haitani Rindou

Years of dominating gang fights in their youth and a growing tally of kills in adulthood have solidified a formidable reputation for the Haitani brothers.

Terrifying, merciless, and vicious.

Those three words define the infamous duo of Roppongi. Yet, while they are cut from the same cloth of violence, subtle cracks in their unity reveal the distinct traits that set them apart. Their kill counts may be nearly identical, but the methods they use to reach those numbers are fundamentally different. It is this divergence in style that truly defines them, even as they stand together on the same side of a blood-soaked field.

For instance, the older brother, Ran, can take a life while wearing the nastiest of smiles. He moves as if murder is nothing more than a pleasant pastime. That smile is charming--even genuine, and is often enough to fool an enemy into lowering their guard. Usually, they don't realize they are being led to their deaths until their own blood is already splattered across his Giorgio Armani leather shoes.

But every coin has two sides, and the Haitani name is no exception. Flip it over, and the image that stares back is something entirely different.

The younger brother--Haitani Rindou.

Word in the underground scatters that the younger Haitani is colder than his aniki. Though they are both sadistic by nature, Rindou is the definition of cold-hearted and ruthless. His expression in almost every endeavor is impassive, and if someone or something manages to draw a reaction from him, it is almost always followed by a cold-blooded execution.

In short, if some believe they can work around Ran before he kills them, others know to walk on eggshells around Rindou.

That is their main difference, and the men in suits are about to experience it firsthand as they wait for the arrival of the said gangster. They know exactly the kind of person they are about to deal with, hence, they maintain a stiff and calculated act despite the blaring music that shakes the room.

Rindou wanted this negotiation to happen in a club.

They couldn't say no. What power do they have to refuse? They are here to negotiate, and the least they can do is offer their best impression of submission, hoping that he might, just might--consider their deal.

"Is he coming? Or did we arrive at the wrong club, boss? It's been an hour."

The man in the suit, clearly a subordinate, leans closer and whispers to his superior--a man in a brown three-piece suit who has been seated in the VIP section for over an hour now.

While the stress doesn't show on his face, it is beginning to pile up beneath his calm exterior. It’s true, an hour has passed and there is still no sign of the man who owns this club.

Still, showing impatience would be the worst possible move. It is safer to appear compliant, to sit still and wait, than to risk being noticed for the wrong reasons. Any sign of irritation could be reported back to Rindou, causing him to walk away from the deal, or worse--ensuring the man ends up with a gun pressed to his skull.

"Let it be," he replies evenly, his voice steady despite the tension. "Mr. Haitani must have matters to attend to. He is simply late."

The subordinate bows his head once more before stepping back to his position, leaving his boss alone with his thoughts. The man focuses on the rim of the glass in his hand, fear slowly mixing with worry as the minutes drag on inside the deafening club.

The environment irritates him. The thumping music and flashing lights strain his eyes, sending a dull ache pulsing through his head. But showing even the slightest discomfort will do him no good, not when the entire couch is surrounded by Bonten's men

After a little while, the guards stationed around the VIP section shift.

It’s subtle, almost imperceptible but practiced. They scatter just enough to acknowledge a presence that has arrived, their bodies aligning to create a clear path for the man everyone has been waiting for. And despite the pounding music and the chaos of the club, the air seems to fall into a heavy silence the moment Bonten executive Haitani Rindou steps into view.

A posh young gangster. That is the first thing the other party notices when Rindou appears. But beneath the expensive exterior is an aura that screams full-blown, cold-blooded criminal. His face is a mask of detachment. He remains unsympathetic and untouched by the noise and bodies pressing in around him.

The boss, though nerve-wracked by the gravity of meeting a Bonten higher-up for the first time, calmly stands to greet him.

"Good evening, Mr. Haitani. Thank you for sparing us your time."

Rindou doesn't spare him a glance.

He simply sits down across from them, his posture relaxed and his gaze fixed anywhere but on them. The boss remains standing, stiff and uncertain, as if waiting for Rindou’s permission to sit. Instead of speaking, the mullet-haired gangster lifts his hand in a lazy gesture, and a subordinate immediately steps forward to pour his drink.

Only then does Rindou flick his eyes toward the man.

That is the cue.

The boss sits down at once.

"I’m giving you thirty minutes" Rindou says calmly, his voice flat and uninterested. "If I find your deal trash, I’m killing you for wasting my time."

It isn't a threat. It is a deadly promise. Everyone on that couch knows his words are absolute. No cheesy smile or kissing up his ass will ease the younger one unless the conversation comes with a clear purpose.

The boss starts immediately. Though his facade of calmness is beginning to crack, he does his best to straighten his back and clear his throat. "M-Mr. Haitani, we’re here to propose a partnership. A supply route."

Rindou doesn’t react. He leans back against the couch, one ankle resting over his knee and his eyes drifting elsewhere as if the man speaking isn’t worth facing yet. The glass in front of him remains untouched.

The boss continues, "We have access to ports in Yokohama and Chiba. Clean entries. No paper trail. We can move goods in bulk without customs interference."

Despite his nervousness, the boss finds himself searching the young one's face for any sign that his words have offended or provoked him. But all he notices is Rindou’s unwavering gaze fixed on the crowd below, as if he is watching something.

Guarding it.

Still nothing. No nod, no change in expression, just that same impassive stare until Rindou finally breaks the silence, his voice flat and detached as he asks

"What kind of goods"

"Firearms. Pharmaceuticals. Whatever Bonten requires," the boss answers too quickly. "We can guarantee discretion and efficiency."

This time, Rindou finally spares him a glance. The movement carries a hint of irritation--not because of what the boss said, but because Rindou has been pulled away from whatever he was watching below.

"You came to me.....with routes I already own?"

The air tightens.

Everyone on that couch feels it, especially the opposing party. Even though they've come prepared not to displease the younger Haitani, no one can truly predict how this ordeal will end.

The boss’s pretense of calm finally cracks under the weight of that silence. He stumbles for words, his mind racing to find an explanation that won’t further infuriate Rindou, but nothing comes. Not while the executive is staring him down with a deadly, focused intensity that feels like a physical threat.

"N-not ownership, Mr. Haitani. Coverage. Expansion. Y-your men control Roppongi…"

As the man tries his hardest to save face, Rindou’s scowl deepens, though his attention is already drifting away. His eyes snap back down to the chaotic crowd below, searching for the one thing he had been guarding, only to find that the space is empty and whoever he was watching is gone.

"…but these routes extend further. We're offering reach--"

Before the boss can even finish his stuttered explanation, Rindou’s eyes lock onto a sudden movement at the base of the VIP stairs.

A figure ascends toward the section, weaving effortlessly between the guards who part for her without a single question.

A woman.

Clearly tipsy by the way she sways as she walks and the soft flush of red coloring her cheeks. There is a lightness to her, a sense of genuine happiness that feels entirely out of place in this room, yet she is heading straight toward the center of a deadly negotiation.

Towards them.

Every man on that couch turns to watch her approach, waiting for the moment she comes to her senses and realizes that this part of the club isn't meant for her. To the other party, she looks like nothing more than a lost girl who has wandered too far, a silly, pretty distraction looking for a rich man to latch onto for the night. The boss’s face hardens with visible irritation, feeling disrespected by such an amateur interruption as he prepares to gesture for her to be dragged away.

However, despite the breach of protocol, Bonten’s men don't move. They stand like statues, offering no resistance as the woman reaches the booth and suddenly drops herself onto the leather cushion beside Rindou, latching onto his side with a playful familiarity.

The boss smirks to himself, oh hell no. He waits for the young executive to snap her neck or throw her to the floor, certain this woman is about to find out exactly whose arm she’s clinging to. Until--

"Hey, handsome~"

You trace Rindou's sharp jaw with your manicured finger, feeling the faint stubble you had helped him shave just that morning.

"You busy?"

Your words slur, followed by a soft laugh you can't help as your touch wanders from his jaw down to his chin, eventually ghosting over his lips. His expression doesn't waver until, without warning, he turns his head and bites your finger.

"I'm in the middle of business, y'know."

The bystanders don't know what to process first. The club continues to pound with life, but the atmosphere within the booth shifts the moment Rindou reacts. The once cold, impenetrable gangster--a man whose expression was nonexistent just seconds ago is now displaying a side they never imagined seeing. Yet, even as the unbelievable scene unfolds, no one dares to interrupt the unnamed woman at his side.

Scolding him for his behavior, you poke your finger into his cheek. Rindou lets his head tilt slightly with each poke, neither stopping you nor offering much of a reaction at all. While his face remains largely unreadable, his patience is unmistakably reserved only for you.

He catches your elbow as you lean closer to his ear, his grip firm but careful.

"And if you're in the middle of business," you murmur, voice low and teasing, "why do you keep eye-fucking me down below, huh? Mr. Haitani."

That does it.

Rindou lets out a roaring laugh--the first real emotion he has shown all evening. It is in that moment that everyone seated on the VIP couch realizes the truth: the power is no longer in the hands of the young executive.

It is in yours.

One look at your boyfriend tells you everything you need to know. The business he came here for has already slipped to the back of his mind. Given the choice, he would gladly choose you over this deal without a second thought.

His hands, always itching for violence, only soften when they wrap around your waist to pull you firmly against his side. The smile remains etched on his lips as he noses your cheek, his voice dropping into a private whisper.

"I’m just looking out for my girl. Can't have any asshats thinking you're available, can we?"

"In your own damn club?" You scrunch your nose. "They'd have to be really stupid to even dare, babe."

They really would be. Everyone knows who you belong to, and even though being with a Haitani--a high-ranking criminal executive comes with a constant shadow of danger and envy, you know it's worth it.

Because it’s Haitani Rindou who has you, and for him, you'd take every risk.

"Have you seen yourself, doll?" he murmurs, his eyes dark with a possessiveness he doesn't care to hide. "Some bastards would risk eating lead just to get a taste."

Even though you’re already tipsy from the alcohol, you find yourself getting drunker on his words, knowing they are a luxury reserved only for you. The Haitani Rindou everyone else knows--the cold, manipulative, and ruthless bastard is nothing more than a flirty boyfriend in your arms, one who craves you relentlessly.

Suddenly, the VIP section vanishes, leaving the two of you in your own world. You trade filthy, flirty whispers, ignoring the fact that he is in the middle of a high-stakes negotiation. Neither of you gives a fuck--not when he sits at the top of the food chain in this territory, and certainly not when you're the one who has him wrapped around your finger.

Rindou’s hand slides up the back of your neck, his thumb tracing the shell of your ear as he leans in to nip at the sensitive skin there. He feels the way you shiver against him, narrowing his focus down to the heat of your body. You respond by tracing the line of his jaw, your fingers caressing the sharpness of it. When he's about to lean closer to kiss you, you touch his lip, making him stop just inches away.

"Baby, you should focus on your business now--"

"Hm?" His eyes shift towards the nearest exit. "You wanna go home?"

"Rind--"

"E-ehem."

The stiff, nervous voice cuts through your bubble, trembling with a mix of fear and desperation.

"Apologize f-for interrupting you, M-Mr. Haitani, but--"

Rindou pulls away slightly, his hands still anchored to your skin. The indulgent warmth he was showering on you vanishes in an instant, replaced by his usual sharp, clinical edge.

The boss immediately feels the temperature drop. Nervousness climbs up his throat until he is incapable of forming proper words, his body instinctively reacting to the danger radiating from the couch.

"Yeah," Rindou says flatly, "You should fucking apologize."

His tone is calm, but it's more than enough to send everyone on the other side a clear warning--they're on fucking thin ice.

Sweat beads along the boss’s temple as he tries to humble himself, his posture breaking in front of the purple-haired executive.

Hands trembling, he stammers "I-I apologize again, Mr. Haitani. I-I didn't mean to interrupt. I--"

He scrambles for a way out but none exists. Rindou’s silence alone feels like a death sentence no matter what excuse follows. You watch the man struggle to save his own life, desperation written across his face. It’s uncomfortable to witness, especially since you know this predicament started the moment you wandered into their meeting.

To compensate, you gently tug on your boyfriend’s suit lapel.

"Rin… I’m exhausted. Can we go home now?" you whisper, the words meant only for him.

That is all it takes. Rindou cuts his death glare from the trembling man and shifts it to you. The change is subtle. The way his eyes soften from a predator's gaze to something gentle, and you are the only one in the room who would ever notice it. He doesn't speak, but his eyes ask a silent question: Are you sure?

You nod, offering him a reassuring smile.

Rindou stands abruptly, tugging you along with him. The boss remains bowed, not daring to lift his head or meet the eyes of the man who holds his life in his hands. Everyone in the VIP section holds their breath, waiting for a command that might end in blood.

But Rindou doesn't spare them another glance. The meeting is already a complete waste of his time. His arm wraps securely around your waist as he guides you away from the couch. Then, with the fatal desperation of a man who has already lost, the boss suddenly shoots up.

"M-Mr. Haitani, about the deal--"

"There’s no more fucking deal," Rindou cuts in coldly "You get it?"

The man stiffens.

Rindou doesn't even bother to look back as he speaks, his voice echoing with a dark authority. "Be thankful my girl spared your life tonight. You should be kissing the streets she walks on."

He leaves them dread-filled and shaken, deciding that not another second should be wasted on this pathetic company. As he leads you out of the club, a giggle slips past your lips and it doesn't stop until you reach the cool air of the parking lot.

Only then does he turn to face you. "What’s funny, hmm?"

Your giggle turns into a full laugh as you sway his hand, looking up at him with a mischievous glint in your eyes. "I just realized something. You only speak in longer sentences to other people when it’s about me. I wonder…" You poke his chest teasingly. "If you have a crush on me."

His expression shifts into the one he only ever wears for you: stubborn, boyish, and soft in ways no one else will ever see.

"You’re telling gang bosses to kiss the streets I walk on," you add, grinning. "Damn, you’re whipped."

Rindou rolls his eyes, but the smirk curving his lips betrays him completely. He reaches out, his hand sliding to the back of your neck to pull you into a kiss. Despite his rough reputation, his mouth is gentle and unhurried against yours. When he pulls away, he bites your chin lightly before pressing three soft kisses to the spot.

"Keep teasing me," he murmurs against your skin, "and I’ll put that mouth to good use."

A daring smile plays on your lips as you lean back just enough to meet his gaze. "Can't wait, Rin. Use it. It's yours to begin with."

Rindou’s response comes not in words, but in the way he collapses the small distance between you to claim your lips once again. The kiss is torrid and hungry--a desperate promise of exactly what will happen the moment you are both behind closed doors.

Haitani Rindou may certainly be the coldest of them all, but you will never feel that chill. Not when he only burns for you. You are the only one who keeps him warm in this cold-blooded world he has built. And if you ever asked him to burn it all down for you, he would. Gladly.

↬ Haitani Ran

"Enough, Ran… aniki. That’s enough. I said enough, nii-chan."

Haitani Ran’s bloodied hand, white-knuckled around a metal pipe, freezes midair. It is as if a sudden light has cut through the suffocating darkness of the room the moment he hears his brother’s voice calling his name. Though his grip remains firm, the harsh tension around his eyes begins to loosen, and the blinding rage that had consumed him eases away little by little.

Finally, Ran lowers his hand and stares down at the mangled, lifeless body beneath his dress shoes before carelessly tossing the pipe aside. The heavy metal clatters against the concrete, a sharp sound in the sudden quiet. He spits on the ground and nudges the corpse with the tip of his leather shoe, his voice raspy as he mutters, "This one was fucking tough."

He steps back, seemingly oblivious to the state he is in--bruised, wounded, and covered in a mixture of his own blood and theirs. The adrenaline that had been masking the damage finally ebbs away, allowing the pain to catch up to him all at once. His knee buckles, sending him into a near-collapse, but Rindou is already there, catching him and looping an arm securely over his shoulder.

"Man… fuck this shit," Ran hisses through grit teeth. His hand clenches around Rindou’s shoulder for support while his other presses firmly against the blooming heat of a wound at his side.

"You didn’t look affected by your injuries while you were beating those assholes to death earlier," Rindou notes, his voice steady despite the weight of his brother.

Ran turns to him, his breathing remaining ragged and shallow as they begin the slow, limping trek toward his parked car. "It was a surprise ambush," he exhales, his voice heavy with a mix of exhaustion "Didn’t know there were that many of them. Fucking bastards."

The hostility that had almost drained from his face rushes back the moment he remembers the situation he had been in just minutes ago.

Bonten Executive Haitani Ran had been ambushed.

It is a reality he has long since accepted. He knows that at any second of any day, someone is trying to drag him six feet underground.

To the authorities, taking him down represents a win for the system. A chance to lower crime rates and perhaps earn a medal or two. But for those who live in the same filth of the underground, killing a Haitani means something else entirely. It is a grim honor, a quest for prestige and bragging rights soaked in blood. Ran understands that every second of his life is spent walking on a blade, his very existence a target for anyone looking to make a name for themselves by toppling a powerhouse.

However, even for a man used to the shadows, he hadn’t expected the attack to be this bold. No matter how prepared he is to fight to the death, he cannot escape the physical toll of the encounter. His anger flares, not at the audacity of his enemies, but at the vulnerability of his own body.

Haitani Ran, whose life has been forged and surrounded by the blood of others, finds himself hesitating when it comes to his own. It isn't the pain that gives him pause, nor the looming possibility of death, rather it is the knowledge that someone is going to see him like this.

For Ran, the thought of her seeing him broken is worse than the ambush itself.

"So… are you going home in that kind of state, aniki?" Rindou asks, handing Ran a cigarette along with a lighter.

Despite the pain screaming through every fiber of his body, Ran refuses to get inside the car just yet. Instead, he remains standing by the hood, one hand braced against the metal as if he needs the support to anchor his racing thoughts.

"That’s exactly what’s got me fucking pissed," Ran mutters, his fingers steady as he lights the cigarette. "How am I supposed to go home looking like this? She’d probably let hell loose."

As he inhales, the smoke curling around his bruised features, his mind drifts through every possible way to mask the damage. Not going home isn’t an option; even if he dreads the scolding that inevitably comes from letting his skin split and bruise like this, his need to be in his woman's presence is stronger than his worries.

"Clean the gashes up. Make them less… you know, visible," Rindou suggests, his eyes fixed on his older brother. "Then wear something that can cover the bigger ones."

Ran lets out a long, painful sigh. Leaning back against the car he decides

“Let me shower at your penthouse first. I’ll think of excuses on the way home.”

He flicks the finished cigarette to the ground and limps toward the passenger seat, silently surrendering the wheel to Rindou. He sinks into the chair, needing to rest his aching body for a moment while his mind races to figure out how to hide the blood before he faces the woman who terrifies him more than death itself.

Ran is as fresh as he was when he left for work this morning.

He stands now in front of your door, wearing the crisp, ironed dress shirt and slacks he borrowed from his younger brother. There are no visible wounds--only the small scratch on his eyebrow he’s carefully taped and the faint, blooming bruise along the side of his jaw. He no longer smells of copper and violence, now he only carries the scent of his favorite cologne, the one you bought for him. With his appearance restored, he feels he can finally face you and hope you won't notice anything amiss.

Ran keys the door and steps inside. "y/n?"

His eyes scan the living room, searching for any trace of you. Usually, you would be sprawled on the oversized couch watching TV while waiting for him, but the screen is dark and the spacious room is empty.

"I'm home! Where are you, sweetheart?"

Despite his hobbled gait, Ran hurries to find you. After only a few steps, his breath turns ragged. Every inhale sends sharp pain shooting through his sides, particularly where the heaviest blows landed. Then, a sudden clanging sound echoes from the kitchen.

"Baby?" he calls once more, his voice tight with a mixture of pain and relief.

"Ran, are you there? I'm here in the kitchen, baby!"

He calms down at the sound of your voice and tries his hardest to wipe away any evidence of difficulty from his face and posture before heading straight to you.

Displaying his boyish smile, Ran leans against the doorframe just as he spots you bending down in front of the refrigerator. "I really don't mind this view--"

"Oh my god!!"

You almost drop the strawberry syrup, your breath catching as you steady it with a sigh of relief. You straighten and turn to the counter where your freshly made pancakes sit, courtesy of your late-night cravings. As you put the final touches on them, you sneak a glance at Ran, who is still leaning against the doorframe watching you.

"Don't sneak up on me like I'm your target," you say, shaking your head with a small smile. "You're late, baby. How was wor--"

That's when you realize it.

You set down the syrup and turn to face him fully. Ran, meanwhile, straightens to his full height and starts moving toward you. He looks normal enough as he makes his way over, doing his best to appear casual, but he doesn't know that the furrow in his brow, his careful steps, and the almost unnoticeable shortness of breath give him away.

"Hmm? What'd you make, sweetheart? Late night cravings again? Can I have some? I'm starving--"

"What happened, Ran?"

Ran stops. Only a short distance separates the two of you, but he goes completely still, searching your face as if weighing his remaining options.

He wonders if he should tell you the truth, or if he can keep up the pretense long enough for you to let it go--long enough for you to drag him to the couch, feed him your pancakes, and cuddle him. But that second option feels more impossible by the second as your expression shifts from soft concern to sharp realization.

"Ran--"

"I'm fine, sweetheart. Let's just go to the couch, yeah? And eat--"

You abandon both the staring competition and the pancakes, turning swiftly to the nearest cabinet to grab the medical kit. Ran just stands there watching you, his mind still racing for an out, still contemplating another lie. But the moment you grab his hand and lead him toward the living room, he knows better than to keep up the act.

You set the kit down and settle Ran onto the couch, the movement making him stiffen as his injuries protest.

"Baby, come on," he tries one last time, his voice a little thinner now. "It's really not that serious--"

"It's not that serious until you come home missing one of your limbs, or your eyeballs, or your head. Tell me, Ran, when would it become serious, huh?"

Your voice appears sharp, but the slight shake of your breath doesn’t go unnoticed by your boyfriend. That is enough for him to stop protesting, and he finally lets his hands fall limp at his sides.

He can accept the scolding because he knows it comes from a place of love. He can watch you unleash hell, knowing that’s how you care for him. What he can’t afford, though, is to see you crumble at the sight of him in pain.

Like now. Like how your hands shake as you pull wound cleansers and solutions out of the box. Like how, even though your words are as sharp as the stone he’d used to bash someone’s head earlier, your face is softened with a deep, aching worry.

When you finally look up at him, your eyes are brimming with unshed tears.

"y/n...."

His hands reach for your face, but you turn away, focused on the task at hand. Your fingers work to pull his long sleeves up, an order he obeys without hesitation, and the sight that greets you makes the tears finally spill over. There, fresh bruises and angry red gashes bloom across his pale, inked skin. You don't even want to think about the damage to the bones underneath.

"R-Ran… oh my god…"

You’re frozen, torn between dabbing the cotton on his wounds or simply reaching out to caress him. But Ran beats you to it. He gently grabs your hands, pulling them toward him as he begins kissing whatever his lips can reach,--your knuckles, your wrists, your fingers. He’s trying to soothe you, to tell you that even if he isn't fine physically, he is whole emotionally.

Because you are here.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. It's not that I wasn't careful during the fight, it's just that--"

He can't form any more words to ease your mind because the tears won't stop falling. All he can do is touch you as gently as possible, wiping away the salt from your cheeks and pressing kiss after kiss against your skin.

You accepted Ran for exactly who he is, even though the life you chose with him offers no promise of constant safety. For the sake of loving him with every breath you have, every dangerous and chaotic moment is deemed worthy.

Because it’s him. It’s Haitani Ran, and for you, that is enough.

You grab his jaw, moving carefully to avoid the bruise blooming there, and press a soft kiss to his chin. "I know… It’s just, how can I not let you get wounded and bruised every time you go outside? Baby, please, I don’t know what to do…"

It rips his heart to pieces. He knows that even though he is stronger and more brutal than you, even though he can take all the world's danger on his own shoulders while keeping you in the safest part of the town, in the comfort of the home he built for you, you are still searching for ways to keep him safe.

You are the only one who can rattle him like this.

"Just trust me, alright? I will always come back home to you. Alive and kicking."

Because you are his home. And he will always come back to you, just to hear you call him baby and ask if he’s alright.

Ran pushes you slightly so he can crouch down and bury his face against your chest.

Still hiccuping, you set aside the cotton and wrap your arms around his head, minding any hidden wounds that might be tucked beneath his hair.

"Please, please be extra careful next time, okay? If you must, don't engage in a fist fight. Just pull your gun to spare yourself from any injuries."

It isn't the right moment, but Ran lets out a chuckle. You just suggested gunning someone down in the softest, hushest voice. You're so fucking adorable.

"...and to spare them from their suffering," he adds playfully.

"Yeah, to spare them from suffering... or call Rindou to break their bones instead."

God, he loves you so much. You feel his hand creeping up to your chest, squeezing you gently. You let him. You know this is his way of grounding himself, of feeling that you're real and right here with him.

"Let's get you cleaned up, baby, before your hands do more and my pancakes get cold."

Ran sits up properly and faces your now-smiling face. He wipes the dried tears from your cheeks and pulls you in close, peppering your face with soft, lingering kisses. He kisses your forehead, each of your eyelids, and the tip of your nose, moving with a tenderness that seeks to erase every trace of your worry. Finally, he finds your lips in a kiss that lasts for several heartbeats before he pulls away to whisper,

"I'm home, baby."

Regardless of the pain, he is thankful because in your arms, he is finally home

© berryrev: all rights reserved. do not copy, translate, or repost my work to other platforms without my explicit permission. likes and reblogs are appreciated!

[ariamjan]

I can’t stop replaying the moment he saved her so here’s a sketch inspired by it.

[bfbkg]

luna…

need cuddlefucking with bakugou por favor :(

-mars(aplanet)

SOFA SURFING (4.1k)

— bakugou katsuki x f!reader

synopsis: you and your boyfriend have to sleep on his family sofa because his mother turned his childhood bedroom into an arts and crafts room.

what's coming up: fluff, smut (p in v, fingering (f) unprotected), having to be quiet, loads of pet names, established relationship, bkg's parents here!, set in japan, italics for japanese luna says: this was written when i was taking requests. i am not now. thank u @marsaplanet !!! probs needs another proofread. thank u aali for title hehe

“i fucking hate this,” you boyfriend says squished beside you, forced to be a big spoon on his parent’s tiny very public living room sofa. it’s only tiny because you’re sharing it with him.

it takes you longer than necessary to twist around with the small space you’re allowed. in order to accommodate bakugou’s big body that can barely manage a single bed, you’re left to only be able to lay on your sides. though once you manage, you give katsuki a pout in the dark and his chin a peck.

“i’m sorry your mum changed your bedroom into an arts and crafts room,” then you look away from him, which is quite hard considering you’re face to face, nose to nose, “it is such a nice room though. i’d love one of those.”

since bakugou became pro, he moved out of his parent’s home at the humble age of eighteen years old and never returned permanently. for the first few years, his parents kept his bedroom how it is, ready for him to visit when he wanted a traditional home cooked dinner instead of the unhealthy western food or just a break from the intense world of heroics. 

but this visit, without warning, his mother has changed his sweet all-might and manga filled bedroom into a well prepared arts and crafts room. fashion drawings up on the walls, sewing machines that cost more than your computer, rolls and rolls of fabrics and so much more. 

if bakugou didn’t plan to help his father out early tomorrow morning with his fishing gear, he would have booked a nearby hotel instead of attempting to stay over on the living room sofa with you.

he does love being this close to you though. having you tangled in his arms, your leg slung over his waist and your breasts pressed to his chest. you’re in a permanent cuddle unless you want to fall off the sofa or be crushed by your boyfriend during the night.

“no, i don’t care about my bedroom. i’d rather sleep in a goddamn bed,” he complains until you shush him.

“too loud, kats. your parents are sleeping.”

bakugou rolls his eyes but he does get noticeably quieter. he tightens his grip on you and his words tickle your ear, “shoulda got a hotel nearby. we haven’t… damn.”

he trails off, blinking slowly at you.

you know exactly what he means. you curl a wheat blonde lock around your finger and pull slightly. bakugou releases a low whine that vibrates into your body.

“i know, but we’ll be home tomorrow,” you sympathise. you get it. you really do. “you can have me all to yourself then.”

you shift your lower body to get comfortable, you swear it’s only because your leg is going dead laying on your side for so long. you twist into bakugou, your crotch bumping right over his. just at the feeling of him, hard and thick against your soft thigh, you eat your words. you don’t want tomorrow, you want him now.

bakugou had been on a two week long mission across the world, solving crime and fighting villains. he’s barely been able to call you during the weeks. a few texts littered in and definitely no photos due to the top secret nature of the mission. only to then arrive in your home country to meet you at the airport to fly to japan to meet his parents. it was the only time he could fit them in on his busy schedule and in an attempt to spend as much time with you as possible, you came along also.

which leads you about to hump your boyfriend like a teenager in his family living room. you were surrounded by family photos and cute baby photos. even a drawing he made of all-might when he was seven next to a photo of him with all-might at seventeen. you even see the baby photos his mother has already text to you, she knows to send every one she finds for your collection. 

but face to face with the grown katsuki, large hand spread over your lower back to press your hips into his. you can practically taste his breath, minty toothpaste that freshens your nose also. even in the dark you can see the lovesick way he stares at you, a sad pitiful gaze on your lips then your eyes. it even makes you laugh because despite how hot you are, trapped in his sleepy cuddle, you refuse to wear your usual pyjamas in his living room. your usual little boy shorts and a tank top for bed time. big tshirt and underwear. you’re in a long sleeve plaid set, just in case anyone wakes up for a glass of water in the night. 

bakugou can work around all the fabric. placing his hand on your bare back. pinging your elastic waistband against your hip. he doesn’t give a fuck, still counting this as his home despite the lack of bedroom. he’s shirtless, just a pair of shorts on.

“i haven’t seen you in weeks, doesn’t even feel like i had you today and the only alone time we get is on my fuckin’ sofa,” he huffs, stuffing his big head in the crook of your neck. bakugou inhales harshly, nose brushing against your silk bonnet, chest pressed right into yours.

you’re already whining, gripping on a semblance of control. “tomorrow, kats. tomorrow.”

you feel his stubble against your cheek, prickly but makes him look so fine. a few years older, a little rougher. bakugou pulls out your neck at your tone. he can predict you from a mile away.

“y’need me, baby? i haven’t been takin’ care of you, have i?”

always the first to read the room, always the first to read you. sugar sweet words from him have you falling apart like a dandelion, using your hooked leg around his waist to hump your hips against his cock.

it has been weeks. you’re used to being dicked down at least four times a week by him with multiple rounds but now, nothing. you could drool at the memory of being filled to the brim, your knees by your ears as he thrusts as an alternate way to show his love. honestly, you’d love to be pounded by him right now, pressed into a mattress with your beautiful man above you.

“b-but we can’t. your parents are across the hall. i’m not waking them. a-nd all your baby photos are out, this is your living room,” you reply, chewing on your bottom lip. you can feel your clit pulse, a hot tightness that gets you moving without meaning to, “we don’t have space either a-and you’re loud.”

bakugou narrows his eyes, pursing his lips, “you’re louder than me.”

“kats,” you warn, “remember in april, for your birthday?”

“that’s ‘cause you fuckin’ touched my—,”

you peck his lips to shut him up but it only draws out the palpable need between you both. your hand flies to his cheek as he pulls you back in. he rests on his forearm slightly to get the best angle on your lips, sliding his tongue into your mouth.

your kisses are louder than the words you just spoke. 

everything happens all at once with a rush you didn’t know you both felt. on the same equilibrium, you clutch a tuft of bakugou’s blonde locks to keep his open mouth, his tongue licking after yours. but every time he tries, you smile or grin or touch his tongue for a second before pulling back.

“stop playin’ with me, baby,” he whines against your lips, “gimme a taste.”

it’s always done something to you, your boyfriend just yesterday was shouting at his sidekicks and team in a foreign country, strategising a plan and being the voice everybody listens to. to now, him listening to you, begging you to give him more.

you don’t need to speak, you just slot your mouth over his in a wet kiss that is all tongue. you lick yours over his, circle it with the tip before letting him suck completely.

your moans bubble up, your thigh tenses around his waist and bakugou’s hand under your shirt is hot. 

“you’re gonna have to fuck me, kats. i can’t sleep like this,” you whisper, laying kisses across his jaw as he catches his heaving breaths. 

you lick over his earlobe, complete with a nibble to make him fall apart. “fuck. i know, i know. turn around f’me.”

you pout, “why? i wanna see your face.”

he grins, he’s exactly the same, “just for now. it’ll be easier for me. i’ll still be here.”

you huff dramatically, awkwardly shifting around so your back is to his chest. you lock eyes with three year old katsuki in the cutest red dungarees you’ve ever seen. though the actual katsuki behind you already has his massive hand under your shirt and on your stomach, fingers passing your elasticated waistband.

your hand flies to his, “not in front of your baby photos. look how cute you were.”

bakugou scoffs behind you, instead opting to unbutton your pyjama shirt, “the fuck? were? i still am.”

you look back, letting him reveal your breasts. you shove down the blanket to your knees. “you hate me calling you cute?”

bakugou kisses your neck then presses his cock into your ass without meaning to, “i’m still the cutest man you know.”

“you’re so stupid,” you giggle softly, eyes fluttering shut as his hands finally sneak past your waistband, over your tuft of hair and onto your soft clit. “oh shit.”

bakugou knows you better than he knows himself. he knew you wouldn’t be wearing underwear, he knew you’d already be wet and he knew you’d give in.

with two flat pads of his fingers, katsuki rubs firm clockwise circles into you, letting you shove and kick your pyjama bottoms to the ground. he lets you adjust to him, opening your legs wider and resting your leg on his hip behind you. 

you moan open mouthed, head falling back onto his bicep as he lifts himself upon his elbow.

“quiet, baby. feels good, though?” he asks, completely captivated by you.

it looks like you’re from a sexy christmas calendar despite it being mid july. your red and green plaid pyjama shirt is completely unbuttoned, naked body stretched around his and rolling your hips into his hand. 

“so good. so good, gorgeous,” you mumble, running your hand over his thick arm between your legs. you kiss his bicep by your cheek, “missed this with you. being—,” you inhale sharply, then soften into a whine, “being this close to you.”

“i know, baby. i get it. didn’t see your pretty face for two weeks. was going insane, staring at photos of you. fisted my cock over them one night,” he grunts into your ear and he feels your breathing hitch, your head roll back to look at him already looking down at you.

“kats, oh god,” you mewl as the sounds between your legs get louder, squelching and wet. “w-which picture, baby?”

katsuki stops the circles on your clit, instead choosing to sink his two fingers inside of you. you reach your hand behind you, fingers crawling into his hair and gripping. it only riles him up, a deep growl into your neck.

“those mirror selfies you sent before i left. on your bed, ass up in those tiny ass yellow panties you’ve got. and that one i took of you in my bed half naked in my old tee, so fuckin’ sexy baby.”

he curls his fingers inside, rubbing at your wet ribbed walls over and over again, pressing against your softest spots.

“oh fuck. oh fuck, kats,” you chant, your hips jolting without thought, your lower half burning up with the influx of pleasure, “right there. please.”

“you’re so beautiful, baby,” your boyfriend coos. he feels your stomach tense on his arm and he knows exactly what that means, “come for me, all over my hand. c’mon, darlin’.”

sliding your hand between your thighs, you only rub your clit a few times as bakugou keeps up pistoning inside you. despite your brewing orgasm, you’re only excited about being completely and utterly full by him afterwards.

you let your orgasm wash over you with ease. clenching your eyes shut as you’re mindful to keep quiet. honey and delight ripples over your body, a warming heat spreading under your skin starting right at your core.

“kats… kats… fuck,” you mumble and when you’re about to do one of your typical high pitched screams, bakugou smushes his face over yours to swallow them. he’s feels your vocal chords vibrate in the kiss and only when he’s sure you’re going to be quiet, he pulls off you.

you stop touching at your clit and bakugou slowly pulls his fingers out of you to stuff in his mouth.

you’re panting heavy, eyes closed and laying back on him with all your weight. still, you manage to laugh “you’re so… you really missed me?”

with your heaving chest, you look back at katsuki, shirtless in the dark with his tongue between his two fingers. “a fuckin’ stupid amount.”

you eye his tattoo of your name on his collarbone, then your eyes on his inner bicep amongst his tattoo sleeve. katsuki hasn’t seen his parents in months, you only a few weeks ago yet he still flew you across the world to spend time with him. it all hits you differently now, his love spreading through you at a rate you can’t measure.

“i love you. thanks for bringing me here.”

bakugou smirks, pecking your forehead, “one orgasm and you’re getting sappy on me?”

you scrunch your eyebrows together, “katsuki. say it back now.”

“‘course i goddamn love you.” he hums, watching as you twist around to face him again.

you’re back to being nose to nose with your lover, bare chest against bare chest. “your koibito.”

this is your second visit to japan with katsuki meeting his parents. you’ve heard him speak japanese over the phone and chatting with his friends. he’s taught you a few words and sentences, often helpful when he’s watching his japanese dramas with the english subtitles on for you.

but one word his father taught you was koibito. it was the first thing he said when you stepped out of the taxi with the same smile as your boyfriend and his arms out to embrace you.

“you brought your koibito!” katsuki’s father says to him, in a mix of both languages so you understand also. his arms wrap around you in greeting.

you don’t miss bakugou’s blush but you do miss when he says something very fast to his father in japanese.

“what’s koibito?” you ask, as his father brings your suitcase inside and you watch katsuki take his out the car boot.

he’s still flushed, cute red cheeks as he glances up at you. “lover. like my partner. my person.”

“oh!” you say, “why didn’t he just say girlfriend?”

you know the word for girlfriend.

bakugou sighs under his breath, placing his suitcase on the floor, “i think ‘cause it’s my second time bringing you ‘round. koibito is more serious, a committed relationship.”

you grin, hugging his arm, “i’m your koibito!”

bakugou says the same thing he said then but more solemnly. with a soft nod, “you are and i’m yours.”

you can’t help but pout at him, lifting your face to press your lips into his. it’s starts off slow, controlled but all too soon, bakugou is shoving his shorts below his ass and you’re wrapping your fingers around his cock.

“gonna love you properly when we—,”

“shh, it’s okay. just want you now,” you speak into his mouth, obsessed with how quickly he begins panting. you flick your wrist over him a few times. he’s already as big as he can get, stiff and curved, slapped against his lower stomach.

“put me in, baby,” katsuki drawls, his lips over your cheek.

again, you cock your leg over his hip. you just need to lift up a little, press his cockhead between your legs and let him do the rest but—

“we need to use a condom. can’t make a mess on the sofa, kats,” you whine.

half lidded eyes look back at you. you can tell he’s strategising, adding up ratios to likelihoods and where the hell his wallet is and if he even stocked it with condoms.

you feel him pulse, hot and heavy in your hand.

“no clue where they are, baby. we can put the blanket under us and i’ll wash it in the mornin’. yeah?” he brushes his nose over yours.

honestly, bakugou could have said anything and you would have said sure.

after a rushed shuffle of stuffing the blanket underneath your hips, you fist bakugou’s tip and press him against your opening.

“move kats,” you whisper and in one push, bakugou slides into you utterly and completely.

in unison, a moan ripples out of you both, one of pure relief. even though you’re across the world from yours, slotted like a final puzzle piece with your lover feels like home. 

you slide a hand under bakugou’s cheek between the pillow and wrap your other arm around his back in a cuddle. bakugou’s the same, with a hand spread over your lower back and his other arm under your side to keep you close.

“you are so perfect,” bakugou whispers to you, pressing a kiss to your lips. you’re warm and slippery, an easy glide from your orgasm before. he almost doesn’t want to move, wanting you to cockwarm him until the morning.

“so are you,” you smile, breathing a little shaky because despite not moving, he still manages to press against your sensitive spots. you bite down on your bottom lip to suppress a groan. “f-fuck.”

“i used to sit here as a kid, wonderin’ when i’d get a girl. what she’d look like, if i’d even like her,” he chuckles to himself. he taps your ass softly.

“w-why wouldn’t you like your girlfriend?” you reply, blinking slowly.

“i was a dick. girls would ask me out at school and i never liked ‘em back. thought my first relationship would be completely one sided.” he breathes a half hearted laugh. “how wrong was i?”

you giggle softly, brushing his locks off his forehead. “so wrong. i’d love to tell teen katsuki how many times you begged to take me out.” 

he kisses your cheek, “he’d say you’re a fuckin’ liar.”

“flying me here to meet your parents twice. you love me so much. it actually might be one sided.” you cheese and bakugou playfully rolls his eyes.

“won’t even be fuckin’ surprised with how much i think about you.”

bakugou punctuates his comment with a thrust, an easy bounce of his hips as you lay tangled side by side.

he sees your eyes roll back in real time, a swear falling past your lips.

“oh shit. oh shit, i missed this,” you warble as bakugou keeps up his thrusts, every one keeping him deep and full inside of you. 

“shh, baby,” he says over your lips, “fuck, i love you.”

“i love you too.”

every slap of bakugou’s hips causes your chest to bounce, has you inching up the sofa but he keeps you in place. he feels incredible, everywhere. his lips on your neck, nibbling your shoulder. you don’t mean to scratch down his back but when the sweet gets sweeter you need a release somewhere. 

it’s only when bakugou speeds up his thrusts, thighs slapping against thighs, heavy breaths transferred from mouth to mouth that the sofa starts to creak. loudly.

“we’re… we’re too loud,” you moan in pleasure, practically hugging bakugou’s big head to your shoulder.

“old ass fuckin’—,” bakugou bites on your shoulder to stop his moan waking up the whole house, he can’t stop now. if it’s not the squelching of you and him, the sofa is groaning too.

there’s nothing you can do about it but stop though you both refuse to. he’s hitting all your best spots at this pace. it’s as if fireworks are being lit all over your skin, your next orgasm rumbling.

“p-please don’t stop,” you cry into him, “i’m so close.”

“not stoppin’ for shit, baby,” 

having not seen each other in two weeks, means you’re both closer quicker than usual. bakugou notes your cute little gasp, you’re about to come.

“all for me,” he coos, “lemme have it all.”

amongst the slaps, the creaks and bakugou’s accidental loud grunts, you come all over his cock.

again, he envelops you in a kiss, swallowing everything you release. you tremble and shake in his arms, tensing tight around him which only sets him off.

he tries to keep up his pace for your orgasm but his own makes him jolty and stuttered. instead he goes for slow and deep, keeping you still with his arm locked around you.

“my beautiful baby,” he’s completely fucked out as he spills inside of you, the added friction of his come making him slide even deeper. 

your hand flies to his hip, “t-too much.”

bakugou gets you, mumbling an apology in your temple and opting to pull out. but once he does, dribbles of his come does too. 

“oh fuck.”

with the original plan completely forgotten, bakugou grabs your pyjama bottoms and wipes you up.

“katsuki!” you whisper-whine.

“didn’t wanna make a mess. don’t want my mum on my case,” he speaks to between your legs, lightly dabbing you down. 

“i hope we weren’t loud” you say, blinking up at him. then embarrassment washes over you, “acting like horny teenagers. we should have waited katsuki. we were so loud.”

bakugou kisses you quiet, “they’re both old as fuck, nothin’ is wakin’ them up. you’re good, baby. we’re good.”

“still don’t even know if your mother likes me—,”

“fuck off with that shit. you both text all the time.”

it’s true, that’s how you grow your folder of bakugou fun facts and baby stories.

“okay,” you mumble and you feel cosy when he kisses you on the tip of the nose. “i really liked this.”

bakugou grins cutely, stuffing your dirty pyjama bottoms on the floor. he’ll remember to wash them tomorrow. “yeah? next time i’ll eat you and—,”

“shh, i said i enjoyed this now with you,” you emphasise and bakugou understands.

“me too. missed you.”

breakfast with the bakugou’s is a mixture of japanese and english. you forced katsuki into a t-shirt because your scratches down his back look like hes been attacked by a cat in his sleep. he’s also in a new pair of shorts since he gave the ones he wore last night to you. your pyjama bottoms stained with him are currently what you’re staring at, swirling around the washing machine.

you refuse to talk, completely convinced your boyfriend’s parents heard you fucking their son in their living room the night before. you stuff your scrambled egg in your mouth and katsuki can feel the anxiety dripping from you.

he sighs to himself, “did you guys hear anythin’ last night?”

you gasp, kicking katsuki’s foot under the table. what the fuck?

“what do you mean? was it the matsumo’s sprinklers again? they’re always fucking going off at night.” his mother replies in japanese and you blink at her, “our stupid neighbours sprinklers are broken. sorry if they woke you up, honey.”

you sit up straight, shocked at how you weren’t caught, “oh uh, no! it was only for five minutes and it stopped.”

you look over at katsuki who grins sadistically.

“i heard dad snoring. still haven’t got that checked out, huh?”

“snoring?” his dad frowns, with accented english.

“snoring, dad.” katsuki translates.

“i’ve been tellin’ him!” his mother chips in, “he still refuses to go!”

“there is nothing wrong with a little snoring,” his father defends, “sorry if you heard it though, yn.”

you shake your head, “not a thing! i must have been asleep.”

for the rest of breakfast, you watch as the bakugous laugh, eat and bicker amongst themselves. every booming laugh from katsuki has him looking at you, checking if you’re okay, feeling safe and included. 

as katsuki’s mum shows his dad something on her phone, katsuki squeezes your thigh.

“told ya they didn’t hear shit.”

but katsuki’s mum has ears of an eagle, her head robotically turning to look at you both.

“hear what?”

you almost choke on your spit.

katsuki rolls his eyes, “nothin’ mum. mind your business.”

“don’t smart me. i will still slap your head.”

comments n reblogs are appreciated. no part 2 comments thanks

[ene-posting]

comfy shadamy sketches ♥️

[jasmine-jhon-art]

[rdrawing-974]

Lust flesh ❤️ (part 1 soft)