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❝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."

"you don't look like my boyfriend.”

sypnosis: you're too drunk to recognize your boyfriend.

featuring: bonten boys (seperate) x fem!reader

warnings: alcohol mentions, swearing, drunk!reader.

—

MIKEY

you're swaying.

barely holding it together on the sidewalk, heels in your hand and eyes glossy from too many drinks. the night is loud — laughter, clinking glasses, someone singing off-key behind you — but everything feels like it’s underwater.

and then there's someone in front of you.

someone tall. all in black. white-blond hair, dark eyes, a glint of silver in his ear. calm expression that doesn't match the chaos around you.

you blink slowly. “who are you?”

he stares at you. deadpan.

you point a shaky finger. “you’re hot. but you don’t look like my boyfriend.”

his eye twitches.

Bonten NSFW 💗

Scene: Bonten men eating you out. 😼 Characters: Sanzu, Mikey, Ran, Rindou, Kakucho, Kokonoi, Takeomi. (Sorry, Mochi :<) Tags: Fem!reader! Smut! Oral (F. receiving)! Fingering! Dirty talk! Note: My first time posting smut 😢 hope its good. Also, English isn't my first language. My bad for any mistakes but hope you guys enjoy 🍽 divider crdts: @/diviniyae (red diamonds divider), @/cafekitsune (mdni divider), @/omi-resources (red line divider)

save him

Tokyo Revengers

How they would feel about a super popular, playful & funny, but at the same time gentle, calm and helpful girl who can't stand seeing people upset or hurt

Ft. Mikey, Chifuyu, Mitsuya, Kazutora, Izana, Kakucho, Sanzu, Ran, Rindou, Koko, Inui

A/N: This was requested by @leeseosara

After Midnight (Ran x Reader)

Summary: You’ve always taken care of yourself. Always worked too hard, stretched too thin, kept your head down and your heart locked up. That’s just how life has always been — until Ran Haitani finds you asleep at your desk after midnight, curled up in his hoodie, burnt out and breaking.

He doesn’t wake you.

Instead, he makes tea, locks the door, and stays by your side till morning — because no one’s ever taken care of you before, and he’s decided that ends now.

And when your boss crosses a line — takes your work, your credit, and maybe something more — Ran doesn’t just comfort you. He burns the man’s world down with Bonten’s full blessing

Words: 5263

The apartment is quiet when Ran walks in. Too quiet.

He doesn’t call your name — doesn’t need to. He sees your light on from the hallway and already knows where you are.

Your desk is cluttered with papers, an empty ramen cup half-tipped on its side. Your laptop screen is still glowing, the cursor blinking on a document you haven’t touched in hours. And there you are — curled up in your chair, wearing one of his old hoodies that swallows your frame whole, your head resting on your folded arms.

You’re asleep. Barely breathing through your parted lips, eyes ringed with exhaustion.

Ran pauses.

His eyes sweep over you. You’re shivering slightly, one foot bare where the blanket slipped off. He can see the tension still knotted in your shoulders, even in rest. How long were you like this? How long have you been pushing yourself until you drop?

His chest tightens. He hates that he missed it.

No one should look this tired. Especially not you.

He moves slowly. Quietly. He slips off his jacket, drapes it over the back of your chair. Then he gently picks up your foot, still cool to the touch, and tucks it under the blanket.

You stir. But don’t wake.

Ran crouches beside you, one hand brushing your hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear.

“Working yourself to the bone again, huh?” he murmurs, voice soft like he’s afraid to break you.

You don’t respond — not with words, anyway. Just a soft sigh in your sleep. Your cheek presses deeper into the sleeve of your hoodie. His hoodie.

He stands up with a quiet sigh of his own and moves to the kitchen. The water takes a minute to boil. He doesn’t rush. He knows you need rest more than anything right now — so he lets you have it.

He makes tea. The kind you like — chamomile with a little honey, two teaspoons, not one.

He carries it back, places it gently beside you. He doesn’t wake you to drink it. He just wants it there when you do.

Then, Ran does something he’s never done before.

He locks the door behind him. Quiet click. No words.

And then he sits down on the floor next to you — back against the wall, one arm resting on his bent knee, the other loose in his lap.

It’s late. Way past midnight. The city outside your window is buzzing with a distant hum. But in this room, it’s just him. Just you. Just the sound of your quiet, steady breathing.

Ran doesn’t know how to say it — not out loud. He’s never been good at the soft stuff. Never been the kind of guy who’s gentle with his hands or patient with feelings. But tonight, something in him aches.

Because no one’s ever done this for you. No one’s ever made sure you were okay when you were too tired to ask for help.

So tonight… he will.

He stays there until morning. Watches over you while you sleep. Doesn’t touch, doesn’t talk, doesn’t wake you.

He just… stays.

And when the sun rises and you finally stir — blinking, disoriented, sore — you’ll find a blanket over your shoulders, tea gone lukewarm, and Ran still at your side, fast asleep, his head tilted back against the wall.

You won’t know what time he got there. You won’t ask. You’ll just smile, quietly.

Because for the first time in a long time — maybe ever — someone stayed. And that someone is Ran Haitani.

__________________________________________________________________________________

You didn’t mean to fall asleep. Just ten more minutes, you told yourself. Ten more minutes to finish the report, the edits, the translation — you don’t even remember what it was anymore.

You remember the headache. You remember the quiet ache in your eyes from staring at the screen too long. You remember slipping into Ran’s oversized hoodie — the one that still smells like him, like cologne and something faintly sweet — and thinking it might help you focus.

And then, nothing. Just darkness.

___________________________________________________________________________

When you wake, everything feels… still.

Your neck aches from the awkward position, and your cheek is pressed into a crumpled sleeve. You blink blearily, your vision adjusting to the soft gray light filtering through the curtains.

Morning.

The clock on your laptop reads 6:42 a.m.

You sit up slowly, disoriented. Everything around you is just slightly off.

There’s a blanket over your shoulders that wasn’t there before. A warm mug — long gone cold — sits next to your elbow. Chamomile. Honey. Two teaspoons.

Your heart skips.

Then you hear it. Soft breathing. Steady, quiet. You turn.

Ran’s asleep on the floor, back against the wall, one leg stretched out, the other bent lazily. His head is tilted to the side, cheek resting against the wall, and his braids have fallen loose from their usual tie. A few strands fall across his face. He looks tired, but peaceful. Softer than you’ve ever seen him.

And he’s here. He stayed.

Something in your chest tightens.

You push the blanket off and walk over slowly, crouching in front of him. His brows twitch as if he senses you. But he doesn’t open his eyes.

Your voice is soft. Barely there. “Ran?”

His lashes flutter, then open.

He blinks a few times before his eyes settle on you. And then he smiles. Sleepy. Gentle. The kind of smile he never shows in public.

“Morning, angel,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep.

“You stayed,” you whisper.

“‘Course I did.”

You don’t know what to say to that. No one ever does.

________________________________________________________________________

You sit down beside him. Shoulder to shoulder. The warmth of him seeps into you like sunlight through a window. His hand reaches over, fingers brushing yours.

“You looked dead on your feet last night,” he says quietly. “Didn’t wanna leave you like that.”

“I didn’t even hear you come in…”

“You didn’t hear anything,” he teases gently. “You were drooling on your arm.”

You elbow him, half-hearted. “Was not.”

He grins. “I’ve got photographic evidence. Want me to show you?”

You groan and lean your head on his shoulder instead. He doesn’t flinch. He just lets you.

Silence settles between you. Not awkward — just… soft.

You inhale slowly, grounding yourself in his presence. His scent, his warmth, the rhythm of his breath. It’s quiet, but not lonely. For the first time in days, maybe weeks, your head doesn’t feel so heavy.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep like that,” you whisper.

“I know.”

“I just… I’ve had so much work, and I couldn’t afford to stop—”

“You could,” he says gently, interrupting. “You can.”

Your throat tightens. “Not really.”

“You can,” he repeats. “With me.”

You close your eyes. You don’t cry, but you could. He says it so simply, so casually, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world — like rest, and softness, and safety are things you’re allowed to have.

Things you deserve.

You lift your head and look at him. “Thank you.”

He raises an eyebrow. “For tea and blanket duty?”

“For staying.”

He pauses for a moment. Then he turns his head to look at you fully — eyes clear now, sharp and soft all at once.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says. “Not unless you tell me to.”

It hits harder than it should. Because he means it. And because a part of you has always been waiting for people to leave. You never thought Ran Haitani — chaotic, unpredictable, untouchable Ran — would be the one to stay.

You look away before he sees too much in your eyes. “You’re not who I expected.”

“Good.” He shifts closer. His thigh brushes against yours. “Means I’ve still got surprises left.”

You let out a breath of laughter. It’s small. But real.

He leans in, resting his chin on your shoulder. “So, what’s the plan today?”

You blink. “Plan?”

“Yeah. Are we going back to work?” He says it with mock dread. “Or are we going back to bed?”

You snort. “That sounds irresponsible.”

“Exactly.” He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you in a little closer. “Come on. Just this once. Call in sick. I’ll make breakfast. We can watch something dumb.”

You hesitate. The guilt creeps in.

He senses it immediately.

“Hey,” he says quietly. “You don’t have to earn rest. You’re not a machine.”

You let that sit for a second.

Then you whisper, “Okay.”

He blinks. “Okay?”

You nod. “Okay. Back to bed.”

Ran grins like you just handed him the moon.

_____________________________________________________________________________

You spend the rest of the morning tangled up under soft blankets, eating buttery toast in bed, and half-watching a dumb movie you’ll both forget by evening. You fall asleep again, curled up with your head on his chest, and this time, when you drift off, it’s not because you’re exhausted.

It’s because you finally feel safe.

And Ran? He keeps his arm around you. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t let go.

Because he meant what he said: No one’s ever taken care of you — so he will.

As long as you’ll let him.

_______________________________________________________________________________

The morning drapes itself lazily over your apartment like a second blanket.

The curtains are half-drawn, letting in soft golden light. The dumb movie is long finished. The toast crumbs are forgotten on a plate on the nightstand. You’re curled into Ran, your head resting on his chest, one leg hooked lazily over his.

He’s playing with your fingers.

No rush. No demands. Just warmth and quiet.

“You really don’t have to go back to that job,” he says after a long moment, voice low but clear. Not teasing this time. Not joking.

You blink. “Hm?”

“You know I’ve got enough,” he adds simply, brushing his thumb along your knuckles. “You wouldn’t need to lift a finger if you didn’t want to.”

You don’t answer right away.

His hand stills, like he’s waiting for you to pull away.

“You’re serious,” you say finally.

“Dead serious.”

You shift slightly, lifting your head to meet his eyes. “Ran…”

He shrugs a little. “What? It’s not a trap. You’d be free. Whatever you wanted. You could rest. Sleep in. Travel. Buy dumb shit off the internet just because it makes you smile.” He smirks faintly. “You wouldn’t have to burn yourself out just to survive.”

The offer is real. No strings. No expectations.

Just him trying to give you peace in the only way he knows how — by removing every obstacle between you and rest.

You reach up and touch his face. Just lightly. “That’s… really sweet.”

“‘Course it is,” he says, kissing your palm. “I’m a sweetheart, remember?”

You snort. “Debatable.”

“Hey—”

“But,” you cut in softly, “as tempting as doing nothing sounds…”

You pause.

“I think I’d go insane.”

Ran raises an eyebrow.

“I’d get bored,” you explain. “Maybe not right away. But eventually. I need something to pour myself into. Something that’s mine. Even if it’s not glamorous. Even if it’s tiring.”

He doesn’t interrupt.

You continue, voice gentle but firm. “I appreciate the offer. I really do. But I don’t want to lose that part of myself. The part that wants to build something. Even if I collapse sometimes.”

Ran studies you. Not like he’s disappointed. Just quiet. Thoughtful. Respectful.

Then he exhales and nods. “Okay. That’s fair.”

You relax a little. But then he adds:

“But you don’t have to do it alone anymore.”

Your eyes flick up.

“You don’t have to collapse to prove your strength,” he says. “You’re already strong. Let me help you stand, not just catch you when you fall.”

The words settle in your chest like something warm and slow.

You lean forward and kiss him. Just once. Soft and full.

“I’ll keep working,” you murmur against his lips. “But maybe... I’ll stop trying to do everything by myself.”

He smiles. “Deal.”

And just like that — it’s settled.

Not because he’s trying to rescue you. Not because you’re trying to prove something. But because love, real love, means standing side by side.

Even when one of you is tired. Especially then

_______________________________________________________________________

The office lights are too bright. The air too cold. The pressure in your chest, unbearable.

You stayed up all night finishing the report. Triple-checked the data. Cleaned up the formatting. Attached the research files with a bow.

You’d been proud of it. Right up until your boss walked into the morning meeting and presented your work like it was his own.

He didn’t just forget your name. He erased it.

“This took me hours,” he said casually, the way someone might say I picked this up on the way here. “Polished it myself. Hope the rest of you take notes.”

You opened your mouth to speak — but his eyes met yours. Cold. Warning. Like a leash tightening.

Don’t. Not here. Not now.

You stayed quiet. Swallowed it. Again.

__________________________________________________________________________

But it got worse.

He called you into his office after. Alone. Closed the door. No small talk. Just straight into criticism.

“You’ve been distracted lately.” “You’re not bringing anything unique to the team.” “You should be grateful you’re even here.” “I can find someone younger who’ll work twice as hard for less.”

Each word chipped something away.

And when you turned to leave — biting your tongue so hard it hurt — he grabbed your wrist.

Not tight. Not bruising. But enough. Enough to make your heart race, to freeze you in place.

“That’s not how we walk out of a conversation,” he said flatly. “Let’s try that again.”

Your voice shook when you whispered, “Let go.”

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. But he released you.

You didn’t try to argue after that. You walked out. Not just from the office.

From the job.

___________________________________________________________________________

By the time you reached the sidewalk, your hands were shaking so badly you couldn’t unlock your phone.

You barely remember dialing. Barely remember pressing Ran’s name.

But he picked up on the first ring.

“Hey, baby. You okay?”

You tried to say something. Anything. But your voice cracked.

Then silence. Just your quiet breathing. A broken sob.

“…Where are you?” His voice dropped an octave. Calm. Too calm.

You told him the address. The corner where you stood, next to a café with rain streaking down its windows. You couldn’t go back inside.

“Stay there,” Ran said. No hesitation. “Don’t talk to anyone. I’m coming.”

“Ran, I—”

“I’m coming.”

___________________________________________________________________________

He showed up in under fifteen minutes.

Leather coat. Braids tied back. Eyes like a loaded weapon. You’d never seen him look like that in daylight.

And the second he saw your face — the tears, the bruised expression you were trying to hide — all that cold fury melted into something else.

Something warm. Protective.

“C’mere,” he said, and pulled you into his chest.

You gripped the fabric of his coat like a lifeline. He didn’t speak for a minute. Just held you.

Then, low: “What happened?”

You shook your head against him. “My boss… he—he took everything. Said it was his work. Then told me I wasn’t good enough, like I was replaceable. And when I tried to leave he—he grabbed me, Ran.”

His entire body tensed.

“Where.”

You pointed without thinking. “The building behind us. Top floor.”

He nodded once.

“I’m gonna walk you to the car,” he said gently. “You’re gonna sit. Lock the doors. Play a song you like. Yeah?”

You sniffed. “Ran—”

“I’m not gonna hurt anyone.” His eyes flicked to the office. “Yet.”

“Please don’t—”

“I’m just gonna talk,” he said. Then his voice softened. “I promise.”

_______________________________________________________________________

You sat in the passenger seat, tears cooling on your face, your hands wrapped around the sleeves of his hoodie. Watching the door.

He was gone for ten minutes.

When he returned, he didn’t speak right away. He just slid into the driver’s seat, looked at you, and said:

“He won’t touch you again.”

You stared. “What did you do?”

“I had a conversation.” He shrugged. “Nothing illegal. Just helped him understand how dumb it is to mess with someone I care about.”

You swallowed hard. “You didn’t—?”

“I said I didn’t touch him.” Ran turned to you fully. “But I did tell him everything I know. His name. His wife’s name. The company’s little tax errors. The fact that your work’s timestamped and backed up. That sort of thing.”

You blinked.

“Oh, and I told him if he ever lays a hand on you again, I’ll break his fucking fingers.”

“Ran—!”

He reached over, cupping your cheek. “No one gets to hurt you. Not while I’m around. Not ever again.”

You didn’t cry this time. You just leaned into him.

And for the first time in days, you breathed.

__________________________________________________________________________

The car ride home is quiet.

Ran’s hand rests on your thigh the whole time, his thumb drawing slow circles, grounding you. You’re still wearing that stiff office outfit, and your bag feels like it weighs a hundred pounds in your lap. But his presence makes it bearable.

When you step into the apartment, you expect him to ask questions. Maybe even push for details.

He doesn’t.

He just takes your bag from your shoulder, kisses your temple, and says, “Go to the bathroom. I’ll run the water.”

You blink. “You don’t have to—”

“I know,” he says gently. “I want to.”

You don’t argue.

The bath is warm. Full of soft rose-scented bubbles you didn’t even know you had. The lights are dim, and soft music plays in the background — something slow and instrumental. Peaceful.

Ran walks in a minute later with two glasses of cold water and a small bowl of grapes.

“Hydration and fruit,” he says casually, kneeling beside the tub. “Domestic as hell.”

You give him a watery smile. “Thank you.”

He brushes your damp hair behind your ear. “I’ve got you.”

He doesn’t try anything. Doesn’t make a move. Just sits there as you sink into the water, tension uncoiling slowly from your bones. The tears come back — not from pain this time, but relief.

When you’re clean and warm and your fingers are wrinkled, he helps you out with a fluffy towel. He dries your hair gently. Gives you one of his shirts — soft and oversized — and a pair of lounge shorts that slide halfway down your thighs.

“I like you in my clothes,” he murmurs, kissing your shoulder.

“Feels like armor,” you whisper.

He kisses your forehead. “Damn right it is.”

___________________________________________________________________________

The kisses come after that.

Soft at first. Almost shy — like he’s afraid to break the moment.

He touches your cheek with the back of his fingers, as though asking without words: Can I?

You nod, barely, and he leans in.

His lips find yours slowly — not hungry, not rushed. Just there, gentle and sure. The kind of kiss that says I’m here. I see you. You’re safe now. You melt into it, your hands curling in the fabric of his shirt, grounding yourself in his warmth.

He cups your jaw like you’re something fragile. Not weak — precious. Something rare and worthy of being held carefully. Something he isn’t sure he’s allowed to touch, but can’t resist reaching for.

You kiss him back.

It’s quiet. Steady. The kind of kiss that lingers long after your lips part — a warmth that fills the space between your ribs.

Ran exhales like he’s been holding his breath all day.

You feel the tension begin to melt from his body. Slowly. One knot at a time. His shoulders drop. His jaw loosens. His hand slides behind your neck, his thumb brushing soft strokes into your skin.

You don’t speak for a while.

He holds you, forehead resting against yours, his breath warm and slow. As if he’s trying to put you back together without saying a single word.

“I wish I’d gotten there sooner,” he murmurs against your skin, voice low and rough at the edges.

You lift your hand to his face, your fingers threading gently into his braids. “You got there,” you whisper. “That’s enough.”

He doesn’t argue.

Instead, he kisses your brow. Then your cheek. Then the corner of your mouth. Each one softer than the last. Reverent.

He pulls you into his chest and tucks the blanket around you both like a cocoon. His arms around your waist. Your face buried in the crook of his neck. His scent, his heartbeat, the rhythm of his breath — all of it becomes your anchor.

And in that stillness, for the first time in weeks, you feel it:

No fear. No performance. No pressure to be anything but tired and loved.

You fall asleep like that — in his arms, warm and quiet and whole.

No alarms set. No fear waiting on the other side of rest. Only him.

_________________________________________________________________________

But Ran doesn’t sleep long.

By 9:45 a.m., the sun barely pushing through the blinds, he’s sliding gently out from beneath you. Careful not to wake you. His touch lingers on your shoulder for just a second longer.

He dresses in silence.

Dark suit. Crisp collar. His signature gold chains around his wrist and neck, glinting faintly in the soft light. Hair pulled back tight and low.

This isn’t the Ran who brought you tea at midnight. This is the Ran Haitani the world fears.

But even now, he’s quiet. Still. Measured.

Before leaving, he returns to your side.

Leans down. Brushes a kiss to your temple.

His voice is barely a whisper:

“Sleep, baby. I’ll handle it.”

Then he’s gone.

And the city has no idea that a storm dressed in designer is already on its way.

___________________________________________________________________________

You wake to the scent of vanilla rooibos and something sweet—maybe toast?—lingering faintly in the air.

Sunlight cuts across the bedroom through half-closed blinds, warming the sheets. The apartment is quiet. Safe.

And Ran’s side of the bed is empty.

You sit up slowly, still wrapped in his hoodie. The one that’s oversized even on him. The scent of him still clings to the collar: expensive cologne, faint cigarette smoke, and something warm you’ve always just called Ran.

On the nightstand, there’s a glass of water, two slices of buttered toast, and a handwritten note.

*“Didn’t want to wake you. You needed the rest more than anything. Eat something. Drink water.

There’s a playlist queued on your phone. I made it for mornings like this.

I’ll be back before lunch.

—R.”*

You don’t know when he had time to do any of this.

But your eyes sting anyway.

He didn’t say where he went. But something in your chest knows: this isn’t errands. It’s not casual. It’s business.

His kind of business.

___________________________________________________________________________

The elevator doors open with a soft chime, and the temperature in the Bonten boardroom drops by five degrees.

Ran walks in without a word, but the others glance up immediately.

He’s wearing his darker suit — the one no one breathes too loud around. Hair sharp, gold heavy at his throat, eyes unreadable.

Mikey is already seated. Rindou’s scrolling on his phone, but pauses when he sees his brother’s face. Kokonoi lifts an eyebrow. Sanzu—lounging as usual—grins like he smells blood.

Mikey speaks first.

“You’re late.”

Ran’s voice is calm. Too calm. “Something came up.”

Mikey leans back in his chair. “Her?”

A pause. Then Ran nods once.

“She didn’t tell me everything last night,” he says. “I got the rest this morning.”

He says it lightly. But the air in the room tightens.

“Boss crossed a line.”

Kokonoi already has his tablet out. “Name?”

“Makoto Fujiwara. Executive-level, mid-tier firm. Thinks he’s untouchable. I want him stripped down to bone.”

“You want it loud or quiet?” Sanzu asks, flipping a butterfly knife between his fingers.

“Quiet. But devastating. Ruin his rep, tank his standing, flip his own partners against him. I want him crawling back to HR with tears and no future.”

He pauses. Then:

“If he fights back—” “I’ll break him,” Rindou offers flatly, already pulling up the guy’s address.

Mikey watches all this without blinking. Then he speaks, voice low:

“Use what you need. She’s under Bonten now. But don’t make it too long.”

That’s all it takes.

Kokonoi nods. “I’ll freeze the accounts tied to his off-the-books deals.”

Sanzu grins. “I’ll leak his affair with his CFO to his wife and their board.”

Rindou cracks his knuckles. “He’ll wish you’d just punched him.”

Ran smiles, humorless. “I want him paranoid. Like he’s being watched every second.”

“You sure she doesn’t want more?” Mikey asks quietly.

“She walked away,” Ran says. “She’s not the revenge type.”

Then, colder: “But I am.”

___________________________________________________________________________

The apartment is quiet when the door unlocks.

You’re in the kitchen, barefoot, hoodie sleeves rolled up to your elbows as you move slowly between the counter and stove. The soft crackle of oil in a pan. Low music from your phone — the playlist Ran left for you. Your hair’s a bit messy. There's flour on your cheek.

Ran stops in the doorway like he forgot how to breathe.

You glance over your shoulder, sensing him before you hear him.

And you smile. Soft and tired, but real.

“You’re back.”

“I’m back,” he echoes, voice low.

You turn off the stove and set down the spatula, drying your hands with a kitchen towel as he steps closer. He smells faintly of sharp cologne and cold air — like he’s walked through a storm no one saw.

He says nothing.

Just pulls you into his arms and holds you for a long moment. Your face presses into his chest, your fingers curling in the lapel of his suit. He exhales slow and deep, like he’s been holding in something dangerous all morning.

“You okay?” you ask quietly.

“I am now.”

Your breath hitches. He always says that — like he only exhales when you touch him.

You pull back just slightly and reach up, brushing your fingers through his hair, now a little messy from the wind. “You didn’t sleep much.”

“No.” He rests his forehead against yours. “Didn’t want to.”

“Did you eat?”

“I’ll live.”

“Ran—”

His hands tighten briefly at your waist. “I needed to take care of it.”

You study him for a beat. The clean lines of his jaw. The controlled stillness in his body. The slight clench in his throat.

He doesn’t say what “it” was. He doesn’t need to.

You know. You’re not naive.

He lets you search his face for a while, and then breaks the silence with a question of his own:

“Did you rest?”

You nod. “Better than I have in weeks.”

His eyes soften at that. “Good.”

He steps away briefly to shrug off his jacket and unbutton his cuffs, then joins you at the kitchen counter, sleeves pushed to his forearms. He takes over flipping the pancakes you’d nearly forgotten, like he’s done this a thousand times. You lean beside him, eyes scanning his face again.

There’s no blood on his hands. No bruises. Not a hair out of place.

But that doesn’t mean he didn’t wreck someone.

“Ran?” you ask softly, breaking the silence. “What… happens now?”

He flips the last pancake onto a plate before answering.

“Now,” he says slowly, “he learns what it feels like to have everything taken.”

You blink. “You didn’t—”

“No. I didn’t kill him.” He looks at you. “But he’s already lost the job. The reputation. The investment fund. His company’s board wants him gone. His wife, too.”

You don’t know what to say. You reach for the plate absently and set it down on the table.

“...I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“I know.”

You sit. He joins you. His knee bumps yours under the table.

He watches you quietly for a moment. “Was it too much?”

You don’t answer right away. You press the back of your spoon into the pancake and watch the syrup pool in the shallow indent. Then:

“I didn’t want revenge.”

“I know.”

“But I don’t think I wanted forgiveness, either.”

Ran’s eyes meet yours. Sharper. Searching.

You continue: “I wanted to feel like it mattered. That I mattered. That someone gave a damn.”

His hand reaches for yours under the table.

“I do,” he says. “I give every damn I’ve got.”

You squeeze his fingers. He squeezes back.

The tension lingers. But it’s different now. Less fear, more weight. Something shared.

You eat together, in that quiet kitchen, knees touching, hearts steady. And outside, the city spins — unaware that a monster in a suit wrecked an empire just to make sure you never had to lift a finger.

Not because you’re weak. But because he chose to fight for you.

________________________________________________________________________

It starts with the dishes.

Ran insists on doing them, despite your protests. “You cooked,” he says, sleeves pushed to his forearms as he turns on the water. “Let me have this.”

So you sit nearby on the counter, swinging your feet gently, watching him work.

He hums something low under his breath — a familiar tune from the playlist he made you. The soap bubbles catch the morning light. His fingers move with practiced ease, and you wonder absently how many mornings like this he’s imagined. How many he’s quietly craved.

When he finishes, he wipes his hands, walks over, and tugs you down from the counter by the waist. You land gently against his chest.

“You’re staring,” he says with a smirk.

“You’re not used to being looked at?”

“Not like that.” He leans in. “Like I’m someone soft.”

You tilt your head. “You are.”

He doesn’t answer. Just closes his eyes and breathes you in.

Later, in the quiet hush of midafternoon, he combs your hair.

You sit on the floor between his legs, a fluffy blanket draped around your shoulders, his fingers moving through your strands with a gentleness that makes your chest ache.

No rush. No tugs. Just the patient sound of the comb and his steady breath above you.

“You’re really good at this,” you murmur.

“I used to do Rindou’s hair when we were kids,” he says. “Before the world got ugly.”

You let yourself lean back against his thigh, comforted by the weight of his hand smoothing down your hair.

“I feel safe with you,” you whisper.

He doesn’t speak.

But the way his hand stills—just briefly—and then moves again even softer, says everything.

Night falls. The city hums quietly outside.

You’re on the couch, curled up with a blanket, and Ran’s voice filters in from the other room. He’s putting on music — something low, jazzy, not quite a slow song, not quite upbeat.

When he reappears, he holds out a hand.

You blink at him. “What?”

“Dance with me.”

You let him pull you up without a word.

There’s no choreographed grace to it. Just bodies swaying slowly in the dim light of the living room, your cheek pressed to his chest, your arms wrapped loosely around his neck. His breath grazes your temple. One hand on your back. The other at your waist.

The song plays. The world outside fades.

“Should I be scared of you?” you murmur at one point, half-teasing.

He chuckles, soft and low. “Maybe. But I’ll never let anything hurt you — not even me.”

You believe him.

You bury your face in his collar, letting yourself be held like something worth protecting.

And in that room, wrapped in the kind of quiet that only comes after survival, you feel it:

Not just safety. Not just peace.

But belonging.

Love this sm <3

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revenger fanart #ran haitani #rindou haitani #the haitani brothers #bonten ran #sanzu haruchiyo #tokyo rev #bonten rindou #bonten kokonoi #kokonoi hajime #sano mikey manjiro #kakucho hitto #manjiro sano

“the grudge” | ran haitani x reader

one-shot 𓂃⋆.˚

synopsis: she was always the reckless one. the black sheep—and he was her sister’s perfect husband. until one night turned into a habit. and now, she’s not just stealing kisses. she’s after everything her sister treasures most.

characters: ran haitani, fem!reader

warnings: smut (18+), explicit sexual content, noncon, dubcon, infidelity, slight somnophilia, manipulation, intoxication, degradation, rough sex, breeding kink implication, slapping, spitting, choking, face-fucking, cumplay, creampie, cigarette use, emotionally toxic dynamics, cheating, small age gap (implied), coercion, emotional manipulation, substance use, explicit language.

notes: a month of hiatus, and idk if this is a good fic for a comeback. as usual, lmk ur thoughts! i fucking love unhinged ran haitani. and as always, the apperance is bonten ran haitani—cause he’s chef’s kiss MWA <3