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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
Inspired by "Today" by Jefferson Airplane
— 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
- 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
❝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!
I can’t stop replaying the moment he saved her so here’s a sketch inspired by it.
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
comfy shadamy sketches ♥️
Lust flesh ❤️ (part 1 soft)
MUSCLE MOMMY TOPH APPRECIATION POST 💪🏻💪🏻
Shadamy — Amy redesign by @MoonToonsy
TW: nsfw, anal, suggestiveness & pressuring
fem reader
Thinking about really boyfriendly boyfriends – simpy and helpful and sweet – boyfriend material perfectly cut as if custom-ordered – boxed and shipped and sent express mail from the boyfriend factory with love.
He’s interested in your hobbies and studies and is equally passionate about sharing his interests with you. He’s comfortable and playful with your family and makes a true effort to befriend your friends. He’s even outgoing at parties where he doesn’t know anyone but you instead of sulking and asking you to leave like so many past boyfriends have.
He likes sharing food, sings loudly in the car, texts you throughout the day, and calls you when he’s at the store before coming over, asking if you need or want anything. He’s open and honest and geeks over new releases – that movie trailer, that game, those sneakers, that album, that car, and all that other boy stuff – and yet never fails to tell you how beautiful you are every time he sees you.
And he likes taking you on dates – cinema, arcade, roller rink, amusement park, road trips, picnics, beach days – or simply hanging out at his or your place – making food, binging a series in bed, kissing and dry-humping…
He’s just, all in all, everything you could’ve ever wished for. Perfect in every way.
Only… there hasn’t been a single time he’s had you in bed where he hasn’t all but begged to fuck your ass…
He’s literally crying for it while moaning, “Please~ lemme put it in~ just wanna try it once, please, baby~” with his hands squeezing your butt over your shorts and his head under your shirt, kissing and sucking your tits with the prayers on his lips as he humps his tented crotch against your clothed cunt – making your panties hot and damp.
You squeeze your eyes shut with a suppressed whine.
He keeps pleading, “I’ll be gentle~ just the tip~ I’ll go so slow~”
His fingers dig into the crevice of your cheeks, wedging your shorts and undies through your slit. Everything clenches from the friction.
Your face is heated, biting your lip with cinched brows. You knew he’d ask for it again today – he never doesn’t. Even though he’ll get pussy-drunk and pound your poor womb in a tight mating press the second he’s made you cum on his fingers.
He slurps your nipple, still begging, “Please, baby, please~ it’ll feel so good~ so-so-so good~”
You’d been deliberating giving in to his incessant proposals for a little while. He’d been so unrelenting you were starting to feel bad denying him for so long.
Not like past boyfriends hadn’t been equally relentless in the ask.
But this one was different… unlike the others… you really like him.
You think you might be in love with him, even though it’s a little early to say.
Still… since he’s so perfect… you want to do your best to be perfect for him, too.
So you’d made yourself ready for it this time – done preparations in the shower.
But… you pout… it was all so embarrassing, and your poor mind was riddled with doubts as though you were a virgin all over again.
What if something… gross happens? What if it hurts so bad you have to stop? Will it disappoint him? What if you hate it but go through with it anyway, only for him to keep asking? What if you have to break up because you won’t ever be able to look him in the eyes again?
“Are you okay? Is something wrong?” His voice slips through the inner turmoil.
He’d resurfaced from beneath your shirt on account of your silence, only to see you’d covered your face in both hands. He gently peels them away – revealing your eyes and the shy way you nibble your lip.
“I’m sorry…” He apologizes then. “I’ll stop asking-”
“No!” You blurt. To his surprise – staring at you with those big puppy-dog eyes you just couldn’t handle seeing look so disheartened. “I mean…”
You look away, cheeks burning – voice just barely above a whisper.
“If you really want to… I’m fine with it…”
He seemed to perk up at that. If he’d had a tail, you know it would be wagging behind him.
His chest swelled, eyes big and unblinking, swallowing thickly – breaths already thick with containment.
He leans in close and nose-kisses you, brushing your lips with heated words, “Really? You’ll let me?”
You made a small sound, too humiliated to say or do much more than nod your head in confirmation.
He seemed to shudder, closing the space between you, kissing your lips softly – he tasted like static – buzzing with restricted urgency. Parting with a soft-spoken yet strained, “Thank you.”
Both his hands messaged your waist – fiddled with the band to your shorts as though he couldn’t wait to drag them down your thighs and free you.
Still speaking against your lips, “Can you turn around on your knees for me?”
Everything was burning – from the tips of your ears to your lips and deep down in your stomach where something equally hungry and anxious was preparing for something.
He moved back to allow you to crawl into position, taking a pillow and placing it underneath you – patting it while telling you to “Lie down.”
You did like suggested, lying with your face and chest against the soft plume, sinking into it with your back in a slope and your ass presented. Heart pounding in your head, loud and hot, as he took position behind you – placing his hand back on your hips.
He hooked his fingers into the band of your shorts again, pulling them back over the fat of your haunches, then dragged them down slowly until they pooled around your knees. You felt the damp heat of his breath immediately hit the peach fuzz on the small of your back – seeping through the cotton of your panties – making your belly brew with butterflies.
“Just relax, okay? Tell me to stop if I go too far.” He said, sensing how you quaked as he placed both palms on your globes – denting the plump flesh with greedy fingers.
It’s not like you haven’t fucked in this position before – it’s just that you knew this time was going to be different. You felt so exposed.
He fingered the frill of your panties and started peeling them off – baring your naked skin and the pretty dip between your cheeks.
You yelped. His mouth was on you before he’d even finished undressing you – placing a sloppy half-bite half-kiss on your upper ass before proceeding to slurp the crack.
You whimpered – flustered and flushed as the heat of his tongue laid wet trails down through the valley until his lips met with your rim. You shuffled your thighs and balled the pillow in small fists as he groaned into you. Shamelessly squeezing your fat with his hands, spreading the cheeks to let him at your little puckered hole.
Your eyes screwed shut while you hid your face in the pillow beneath you – muffling all uneasy sounds as he canted his mouth against your ass. Chin rutting into your puffy cunt while bobbing his jaw, lipping at your taint and rim – nose nuzzled between your cheeks – mouth fully closed around you – moaning at the feel of it pulsing on the tip of his tongue as he runs it over the tight scrunch again and again.
Your shoulders brace as he tries and screw the wet muscle inside. You tense up way too tight for it to happen.
He smacks off with a raunchy sigh. Your heart is in your throat.
Slick from your ignored cunt feels sticky on your swelled pussy-lips – hot and twitching in the cool air.
He pops the cap of the little bottle of lube the two of you always keep on hand. You flinch when his slick fingers come back to rub your hole. He gives it slow and soothing circles before easing the tip inside. Filling you up only to the first joint, waiting for you to relax and loosen before sinking the rest inside.
He hums at the display, groaning, “Fuuh-ck~” Sliding the digit in knuckle-deep before slipping it out to the tip again – repeating the motion while feeling your muscles ripple around it. “You’re so cute, baby~ so pretty~”
He bows and places a chaste kiss on your buttcheek, laying his face on it like a pillow – his eyes half-mast while looking at his finger disappear inside you.
He works another in with the first, shuffling them – messaging the tightness, slowly training it to stretch. His hot breath fans over your wet skin, making you go goosefleshed.
“Fuck, baby – so pretty with my fingers inside yah~” He hums, almost in a whine while curling them inside you. “So fucking hot how you swallow and squeeze on ‘em like that~”
He pulls himself up again, tugging on his belt with one hand – keeping on fingering you with the other.
His pants drop to the floor a moment later, and he lifts his neglected cock out of the sticky mess he’d made in his boxers – throbbingly fat and hard, pulsing in his fist and leaking pre, another pearl each time he rubs over the bulge of his tip.
He looks at your hole – eyes misty. You seem to have loosened up a bit – enough for him to part his fingers.
He pulls them both out with a schlick. “I think you’re ready…” His voice is sticky – stuck to his throat. “I’m gonna try ‘n put it in.”
Your hands curl into the pillow as you nod your head – eyes still squeezed shut. It hadn't felt too bad so far – just weird. Embarrassing and… clinical. A bit like a doctor’s visit. But you knew that would all change now.
His hands glide across your back, catching your crop top in balled fists, stretching it as his tip works on stretching out your opening – nudging against it, coaxing it into accepting the head.
“Fuh- oh fuck~” He moans, lost to the sight and feel of your butt seizing around him – closing up around his tip.
You look so fucking perfect like that – face-down and kneeling with your ass pressed back against him – giving him your second virginity.
His eyes flitter across the slope of your spine – looking over your creamy skin, looking so pretty, all glossy with dew, until he reaches your face. Your brows are pinched together, gnawing on your bottom lip, eyes shut tightly.
“Are you okay?” He pants.
You nod your head – curt and rushed.
He suppresses a sound – feeling even more heated. You’re so perfect, so good to him – the best girlfriend he could have ever asked for. Trusting him like this, letting him do this even when you’re so nervous about it. You must really love him.
He’s nearly crying, holding onto your hips as he fucks you with just the tip – loosening the rim up and going just a little deeper for every shallow thrust. He nearly barrels over, standing there with his back hunched – bowing his head, looking at where the two of you connect while sweat drips from his weighted bangs.
“I love you, too.” He confesses out of the blue, and you blink, looking back at him – seeing his mouth parted with blissful moans, his eyes wet, and brows softly curled. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect fo’me – so good.”
He loves you so much he can barely take the blossoming in his chest, feeling like he wants to eat you up and swallow you whole. His girl – who laughs at all his silly jokes and holds his hand everywhere you go and doesn’t tease him when he yelps and holds you close during horror movies. His perfect perky girlfriend – who lets him fuck you raw and cum inside, and now… even letting him fuck your tight round ass for the very first time.
He's almost all the way in now – just a few more thrusts, and you’ll have him swallowed down to the base with his balls pressed firmly against the puffy lips of your wet pussy.
“Fuh-uuck-” He breathes out again, gripping your hips tight as he bottoms out.
He nearly cums right then, having to bite his lip to hold back – savoring how you ripple and squeeze him – so tight and firm.
You’re such a good girl taking him so well and so deep, lying so sweetly beneath him with your ass presented – letting him nestle his entire length inside you. Curling your toes all cutely as you adjust with only pretty girly mews leaving you.
You didn’t expect him to mount you.
But he does. Now standing with his feet in the bed, squatting over you with his cock sinking balls deep in your ass. Freshly broken-in, it’s tight and firm and twitchy as though it’s confused as to why there's a big fat cock stretching it out.
He can’t help but smile, perched on top of you – hands still hooked upon your hips for balance while he leans forward, settling even deeper.
You moan, and it nearly drives him wild. Barely holding himself together as he pulls out – wishing he had something to bite into instead of his lip as he focuses on the way your firm walls clench on him, clinging to his shaft so tightly it’s hard pulling out despite the wetness – it’s so good he’s losing it.
He’s taking his perfect girlfriend in her perfect ass. And it feels so fucking good his hands leave their grip on your hips as he slugs forward, bending over you until his chest presses into your back, and his head rests on top of yours, cheek to cheek – slinging both arms around you, putting you in a headlock – leaving you to do nothing else but pant, squished between his biceps and his cock kisses your guts.
“Can’t believe I'm fucking your little ass, baby.” He rants breathlessly. “It's so tight and good, gripping me so fuckin’ hard.” Huffing and groaning with his back hunched as he curves into your butt as deep as he can – stuffing into you from behind slowly and carefully as though he’s savoring every single flutter of you hugging him.
He’s barely even pulling out – kneading as far as his cock can reach instead – cock-warming himself inside you.
“Fuck, baby – I can cum inside, right?” He whimpers against you, kissing the corner of your mouth with his tongue out.
You’re so squished beneath him you can only just wheeze out the word. “O-okay-”
“Oh- fuck, I love you.” He cries when he blows, squeezing you so tight you’re choking as he pumps pulse after pulse of thick hot cum deep inside you. “I love you, I love you- love you- love you so much- so fuckin’ much-”
And you don’t know if it’s the confession, the headlock, or the cum being pumped up your guts – but your clit’s pulsing and your cunt’s twitching even though it’s around nothing, gushing down your shaking thighs as your butt pushes itself flush against your boyfriend’s cock, clenching hard around it and milking him free of every drop.
♡ BNHA – Deku, Shoto, Denki, Kirishima, Shigaraki, Touya-Dabi, Hawks, Natsuo, Mirio ♡ JJK – Gojo, Yuji, Yuuta, Choso ♡ HQ – Kuro, Bokuto, Miya twins ♡ AOT – Armin ♡ DS – Zenitsu ♡ WB – Sakura, Nirei, Umemiya
♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist
Revised version available here:
Read before bedtime! College Years is a collection of twenty short erotic thrillers, each with a loose theme revolving around college—and co
Oohh sonamy! Spicy!
te-hee <3
MDNI — taking gyomei who is huge
cw: afab!reader, creampie, size kink, soft RAW sex <3
"you need to relax honey"
the absolute nerve—how are you possibly going to relax when gyomei is practically splitting you in two on his cock?
his sweaty forehead rests against yours, with his arms caging your head. your tits are flush against his chest, every inch of you caught in the drag of his hips moving into you at a gut-wrenchingly slow pace.
"gyo, faster," your nails dig into his back, carving crescent shaped indents into his skin.
and god, he wants to—wants to so bad—but how’s he supposed to move any faster with the way your pussy is clenching around him?
his hand fumbles down between you, fingers finding your clit in a desperate attempt to make you ease up, rubbing tight little circles with the rough pad of his thumb. your walls soften around him, drawing him in closer until his tip is kissing your cervix. he groans softly, pressing his face into the curve of your neck.
his movements falter, and for a moment gyomei just breathes you in, quiet and wrecked and somewhere between a prayer and a sigh.
"y-you d'know what you're doing to me sweetheart," his breath trembles against your skin, the air between you heavy.
but you're sure you do with the way his cock is twitching inside of you. each movement feels like a confession , like he’s trying to remember what it means to be gentle.
for a moment, the weight of every fight slips off his shoulders, and it’s only you, soft and steady, holding what’s left of him together. every move of his hips deep, like he’s trying to lose himself in you. your eyes go hazy, hair spilled across the pillow, the air heavy with the ghost of a pumpkin candle long since burned out.
your hips move to meet his without thinking, but gyomei's touch trails down to your waist, holding you still. hand drifting over even more and brushing the bulge inside of your stomach that's caused by his monster cock.
he feels the shift in you, the way your walls clench around him like you're trying to milk his cock for all it's worth. the way you flutter your eyes shut and just barely scrunch your nose.
and it's not long before he has your legs shaking around him and your back arching off the messy sheets.
"gyo—hah—fuck, i'm cumming!" your knuckles start turning white from how hard your clutching the pillow.
and gyomei trails just behind you, a low groan slipping from him as his cum paints your walls. he collapses into you, all heat and weight, pressing you into the sheets as if letting go of himself entirely.
"shit, gyomei," you're trying desperately to get him off but he stays rooted, heavy and relentless.
but eventually, his presence settles around you like heat instead of weight, and sleep pulls you under, fingers threading through his hair as his lips brush your temple.
maybe him and his eleven inches weren't so bad.
masterlist
also not proofread, sorry for any errors
Show Me Where The Delicate Stops
Pairings ❥ ꜰᴀᴋᴇ ʙꜰ!ꜱʜɪɴɪᴄʜɪʀᴏ ꜱᴀɴᴏ x ꜰᴀᴋᴇ ɢꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ
Summary ❥ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴇʀꜰᴇᴄᴛ ᴘʟᴀɴ ᴛᴏ ɢᴇᴛ ᴍɪᴋᴇʏ’ꜱ ᴀᴛᴛᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ. ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ɢᴏ ᴡʀᴏɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ꜰᴀᴋᴇ ᴅᴀᴛɪɴɢ ʜɪꜱ ʙʀᴏᴛʜᴇʀ…ʀɪɢʜᴛ?
Trigger Warnings ❥ ᴄᴏᴍɪɴɢ ꜱᴏᴏɴ
Word Count ❥ ᴄᴏᴍɪɴɢ ꜱᴏᴏɴ
Author’s Note ❥ 🔞ᴍɪɴᴏʀꜱ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛ! ᴛʜᴇ ᴊᴇʟʟʏꜰɪꜱʜ ꜱᴛɪɴɢ ᴄᴀɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ʟᴇᴛʜᴀʟ. ᴇxɪᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇxʜɪʙɪᴛ ɴᴏᴡ🔞-ᴀꜱ ᴏꜰ ʀɪɢʜᴛ ɴᴏᴡ ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴀ ᴡɪᴘ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡɪʟʟ ꜱᴛᴀʏ ᴀ ᴡɪᴘ ᴜɴᴛɪʟ ɪ ɢᴇᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴛɪᴠᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ꜰɪɴɪꜱʜ ɪᴛ. ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ɴᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ. ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ!
Show me those pretty white jaws, show me where the delicate stops/Show me what you've lost, and why you're always taking it slow/Show me what wounds you've got, and show me love
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴜꜱʜʀᴏᴏᴍ ᴊᴇʟʟʏꜰɪꜱʜ ᴇxʜɪʙɪᴛ
©ᴅᴇʟᴜʟᴜ4ᴀɴɪᴍᴇ 2025 ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ
