ugh i love a lot of stuff ngl but mostly reading and doing nothing, but i am also good at volleyball
i hate slow people or people that dont catch on quickly, ykwim? and i hate judgers, especially when they judge people for addictions its just ew
idk tbh probably mochi or izana
if we dont have similair political opinions, especially about feminism, or someone that has no backbone or omg the worst is when a guy acts differently around his friends than how he acts around you thats genuinely a dealbreaker ong
how do you style your clothes– something absolutely necessary to carry with you at all times? i love the girlblogger stuff, everything lacy, feminine, i mostly wear pink, navy white grey or black, i only order stuff from vinted ( its genuinely always a hunt for vintage abercrombie or hollister) and i always carry lipliner, and vanilla perfume <3
i lowkey have jealousy issues and i also have bpd so there is that, but i love how much empathy i have and how i genuinely never judge a book by its cover
vices and virtues? idk if this is a good thing but im honest and that throws people off sometimes, i am never scared to voice out my opinion, and i value somebody that does the same, im a very good listener and im super social and easygoing and i make friends easily butttt sadly the term a friend to all is a friend to none kind of applies to me
friends to lovers, enemies to lovers, or like the idiots in love trope, and also the grumpy x sunshine but i hate hate hateeeeee the forced marriage thing
btw i also quickly wanna say i love ur writing its so delicious
LILBACHI 100 FOLLOWERS TOKREV MATCH-UP EVENT!
彡★ the person who's wishing for you is... shuji hanma!
hanma loves your mouth– everything about it. its shape and taste, the lipliner you wear, but most of all, he loves your quick wit and comebacks and the way you're not afraid to stand up for yourself when someone is clearly out of line. the first time hanma noticed you, really noticed you, is when you took a firm stance against kisaki. very few people question kisaki, and your refusal to back down had both kisaki and hanma stunned. kisaki spent the rest of that night grumbling about you, with hanma snickering to himself, regretting not asking for your number on the spot and probably wondering if he should be following you instead of kisaki, meow :p.
though you can sometimes be too honest, it's actually one of hanma's favorite things about you. he loves to push people's buttons and can sometimes go too far. hanma's known to be a wildcard and can easily get on people's nerves. he appreciates that he can trust you to tell him when he's gone too far with the jokes instead of internalizing it and lashing out at him later. he likes that you can take the lead in the relationship, that you don't always rely on him to defend you, and that it can sometimes feels like you don't need him (lol).
when it comes to your jealousy, loyalty has never been an issue with hanma. he finds your jealousy endearing. trust me when i say he's the kind of guy who will bark (yes, actually bark, not figuratively he's fucking stupid) if someone asks for his number and he's taken. he'll probably parade you in front of that person too just while he's at it because he's an asshole. he might tease you about your jealousy from time to time, but hanma is a true ride or die. at the end of the day, if all fails to soothe you, he'll hold you closer, squeeze you tighter– and he'll do whatever to prove he's yours and yours alone.
a/n thank you for participating!!! i'm glad u like my works ♡ and i also have diagnosed bpd i know it can be tough... the series i'm working on is actually menhera! reader x sanzu (menhera typically associated with bpd symptoms)
hanma x reader
description: hanma shuji has always lived for chaos, never expecting to have a place—or someone—to come home to. but as another late night ends with you quietly tending to his wounds, he begins to wonder if home was never a place... but a person.
rain had a habit of finding shuji hanma.
whether it was the night he first met kisaki, the countless gang fights that stained the streets crimson, or the evenings he wandered tokyo with blood on his knuckles and boredom in his eyes—it always seemed to rain.
tonight was no different.
the neon lights reflected across the soaked pavement as hanma lazily twirled his umbrella over one shoulder, humming to himself. another fight. another victory. another night that left him feeling absolutely nothing.
until he reached the apartment.
the light was on.
a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
"...guess you're still awake."
he unlocked the door.
warmth immediately greeted him.
the scent of curry lingered in the air. a pair of slippers waited neatly beside the entrance—one much smaller than his own.
and there you were.
curled asleep on the couch.
a book rested against your chest, half-read. the television quietly played some late-night variety show, though you'd long since drifted off.
hanma stood in silence.
this...
this was strange.
he'd never imagined a home.
not really.
he'd always assumed he'd die young—stabbed, shot, beaten, laughing all the way until the end.
yet here you were.
waiting.
for him.
"...you're gonna catch a cold sleeping out here."
his voice was unusually soft.
you stirred.
sleepily blinking, your eyes met his.
"...shuji?"
"you waited."
"you were late."
"i got distracted."
"you got into another fight."
"you know me too well."
you sighed before standing, walking toward him.
without saying a word, you reached up and gently brushed damp strands of blond-and-black hair away from his forehead.
"...you're bleeding."
"it's barely anything."
"it never is, according to you."
you disappeared into the bathroom.
hanma leaned against the wall with a crooked grin.
"you really don't have to—"
"i know."
you returned carrying the familiar first-aid box.
"...sit."
he laughed.
"bossy."
"you'll survive."
"barely."
he dropped onto the chair while you cleaned the cut above his eyebrow.
the room fell quiet.
hanma watched your concentrated expression.
your eyebrows furrowed.
your lips pressed into a tiny pout every time he winced—even when he was exaggerating on purpose.
"...you enjoy annoying me."
"i enjoy watching you fuss."
"i don't fuss."
you rolled your eyes.
"...idiot."
his grin widened.
there it was.
your insults always sounded affectionate.
once you finished wrapping the small bandage around his forehead, you gently tapped it.
"there."
hanma caught your wrist before you could pull away.
the playful smile slowly faded.
"...why?"
you blinked.
"why what?"
"why stay with someone like me?"
the question surprised even him.
he wasn't insecure.
he wasn't sentimental.
he simply...
didn't understand.
you looked at him for a long moment.
then smiled.
"...because everyone else only sees shuji hanma."
"and you don't?"
"i see the man who pretends he isn't exhausted."
his fingers loosened.
"the one who buys stray cats food when nobody's watching."
"..."
"the one who secretly remembers my favorite snacks."
"..."
"the one who always walks on the roadside so i'm farther away from traffic."
"..."
"the one who thinks he deserves to be alone."
silence.
heavy.
painfully quiet.
hanma looked away.
"...you're seeing things."
"i'm seeing you."
no hesitation.
no fear.
just certainty.
his laugh came out quieter than usual.
"...you're weird."
"so i've been told."
"you know people think i'm dangerous."
"i know."
"you should probably run."
"i don't want to."
"..."
"you've given everyone else the version of you that laughs during fights."
your thumb gently brushed over the tattoo across his hand.
"but you don't have to perform for me."
something inside him cracked.
not loudly.
not dramatically.
just enough.
hanma had lived his entire life chasing excitement because emptiness terrified him.
the rush of violence.
the thrill of chaos.
the next ridiculous thing.
anything to avoid standing still long enough to hear how lonely the silence really was.
yet somehow...
this tiny apartment.
a warm meal.
bandages.
your sleepy smile.
this was louder than any fight he'd ever won.
he suddenly pulled you into his lap.
you let out a surprised squeak.
"shuji!"
"you talk too much."
"you asked."
"i regret it."
"you don't."
"...no."
he rested his forehead against yours.
"...i don't."
you smiled.
"i know."
outside, thunder rolled across the sky.
rain continued to fall.
the city remained loud.
dangerous.
unpredictable.
tomorrow hanma would return to the streets.
he'd wear that same lazy grin.
the same mocking laugh.
the same reckless attitude.
people would never know.
they would never see the version of shuji hanma who quietly reached for your hand while falling asleep.
the version that lingered in doorways just to hear you humming in the kitchen.
the version that finally understood why people searched for somewhere to return to.
Fugitive hanma goes crazy having to live with you. Not because he hates it.
But because he likes It so much. Every item you have, everything you do, he finds you within it all. Your hair in the shower, your perfume clinging to the upholstery, your clothes thrown haphazardly around the house. He tries- since he can't do anything else- to make life easier for you. He learns , slowly mind you, to cook basic dishes. Mac and cheese, a quick ramen, daal, a vegetable bake, so you don't have to cook when you come home from work.
He cleans too. The entire house - top to bottom- because it drives him crazy that he's basically living there for free and you've not asked for a single penny from him. In fact you seem to be helping more and more to lay the foundations for him to stay. His own wardrobe, his own section in the bathroom for shaving products, face washes and shower gels and he quails with guilt when you talk about the idea of sleeping in the same bed. A welcome respite from the sofa yes, and he'd love to sleep with you yes (he's thought about it every single day since he got here) but there's so little he does to deserve that kind of stability.
He's taken to doing your laundry too. Bless him, he tries to be normal about it sometimes. When you're ranting about work and he's found your underwear in the basket and feels the familiar pulse in his boxer shorts because your scent still clings to the fabric.
He doesn't think you actually know about his feelings yet. He fucks you good, just how you like it, at least twice a week so he thinks you probably just keep him around for his dick and that's about it. Which he can't complain about he adds nothing else to your life, right? The cleaning and cooking and general attention you get from him is a paltry repayment for the fact that you let him live with you.
And sometimes yes he considers getting an under the table job, dipping a foot back into the underworld that he still has connections to - just to give you the life you deserve. He knows you don't know about him finding your notes. Calculations you've done to work out this month's rent. The things you've deliberately sacrificed just to keep going another month. He knows you've been saving for one of those fancy coffee machines for a long while.
Perhaps one day he'll be able to pay you back for this.
Some time passed, and even though neither Hanma nor (Y/n) talked about whatever their relationship had transcended to, it still was obviously clear. For them, but also from whoever was around as well. Surely the way Hanma treated (Y/n) wasn't the same when they were alone as when she was at the headquarters. Most times he didn't even spare her a glance. But when she was at his place? He still was as tough, but at the same time, he couldn't find it in him to be as cold. Hell, even if her body never stopped from boring many marks of his from all shapes and colors, he sometimes thought twice about being harsh with her. He had found himself holding back because, deep down, he did care for her wellbeing. Even if he was the way he was, he also had a little regard for her sometimes.
"Come," he said after watching (Y/n) bringing the plates of food to the dining table "Sit here" he ordered her, spreading his legs open a little while patting one of his thighs. She did as she was told, and as soon as she sat on one of his legs his hand wrapped securely around her waist. With the other one, he picked a piece of the food she had made for him
"Open your mouth" his voice sounded calm and commanding. His expression as neutral as always and his eyes as magnetic and fixed on hers as usual.
(Y/n) felt her heartbeat quickening due to his big and warm hand on her waist and by the proximity between them, but especially by the way his eyes looked at her, expectant and with a slightly arched brow. She swallowed and did as she was told, parting her lips open ever so slightly while she looked at him with flushed cheeks. Cheeks that only turned redder when Hanma slowly slid the food inside her mouth, feeding her. She softly closed her lips around his fingers and ate the food, careful not to bite on him as his fingers remained inside. He then moved his hand to where her jaw and throat connected, only leaving his thumb in as she sucked on it. He tilted his head slightly, golden eyes lingering to her lips for a second as the distance between them got shorter.
"What would you do for me?" he suddenly asked, voice low and deep, hitting right onto her lips. His eyes traveled down to her lips again, this time staying there longer and almost as if he was fleeing her own gaze.
"Anything," she answered honestly. Because as much as she had questioned it in the past, she was too enamored and infatuated with him to deny it any longer. There was a silence after her answer, and Hanma looked up to her eyes again, this time a glint of amusement in his eyes that still kept that serious aspect.
"Would you kill someone for me?" he asked with the same almost airy tone as before, breath hitting her again and making her hair stand just from how seriously he was saying it despite his almost tender tone. This time it was her throat where his eyes wandered to, his fingers finally leaving her mouth "I would kill anyone for you" he added when his eyes went up to her lips and his hand went to her nape, caressing her jaw as well "You just have to say it, and I'll have anyone dead in a second" he said, finally looking deep into her eyes with an expression that she had barely seen in him but that made her heat up and her chest flutter.
It became difficult to breathe for a second as she became even more entranced by him and by how his eyes looked deep at hers as if to let her know how serious he was. And his lips, now with that tiny and subtle smirk of his... She laid her hand on his chest, feeling it under his shirt, and leaned in to kiss him, which to her surprise, he actually allowed the kiss to stay soft. At least for a while.
"I'd kill for you too," she said without actually thinking it through. But she knew that if things ever got down to that, she might actually do it. That's just how he made her feel, just how heavy her feelings had become for him. Especially after he said that; as if he felt as intensely as her.
His smirk got bigger, and although the kiss continued to be relatively softer compared to the kisses they used to share, his hand traveled down to her thighs where he gripped and started to caress her exposed skin. She opened her legs slightly, allowing him more room to touch her. And at this action he couldn't help but smile again, kissing her forward and definitely heating up the kiss. His hand slid under her skirt, and when he touched her slightly wet underwear, she let go of a small gasp amidst the kiss. He gripped her thighs tighter and stood up, taking her up with him. She wrapped an arm around him as well, and happily let him take her, in this case to his bedroom.
He sat down on his bed, back resting against the bedframe, and he placed (Y/n) in between his legs, having her back be against his chest as his arms wrapped around her remarkably smaller body. Completely trapping her in him. Immediately after, his 'sin' hand slid down her belly until it found its way to her panties again where he now rubbed more shamelessly. And as soon as he did that she immediately leaned back her head against his chest, closing her eyes and closing her legs, trapping Hanma's hand in her sweet core. He smiled, looking down at her adorable flustered face, and while his sin hand slipped under her underwear, making her shudder from the feeling of his long and cold fingers pushing teasingly at her entrance, his other hand went to the hem of her shirt.
(Y/n)'s body slid down the bed the more pleasure that started to build up in her body. One of her arms hanged over his bent knee, gripping at his body while she rubbed her head more against his abdomen and chest, trembling and moaning when his long fingers finally slid inside at the same time that his other hand rubbed her shirt up, exposing her body while he started to massage her breasts.
"Ngh~" she started to pant as his fingers thrust in her at a faster pace, using his thumb and palm to rub at her clit while he used his other hand to press her body harder against him and massage her nipples and breasts "Shuji..." she continued to moan, leaning back her head even more.
She opened her eyes for a second and realized that he was intently observing her with a smirk and a tilted head. It only made her quiver more under him, turning even redder. She brought one hand to her face, embarrassed by the lewd expression she must've had. But her action only made him chuckle, and the sound ringing on her ears only made her squirm in pleasure more. To the point where she couldn't hold it anymore, and feeling one of his big hands, pressing down and fondling with her nipples, his other hand fucking her and stimulating her clit, and just the warmth and security his body offered around her... His smell, and not the light one of tobacco that usually accompanied him the days he smoked a lot, no. His actual scent. She just couldn't hold it anymore, and seeing that Hanma wasn't telling her not to come, letting her actually orgasm for once, she moaned and shivered, gripping at his leg and shirt while she came over his fingers. He smirked, seeing her so worked up and a mess, and leaned down to lay a kiss on her forehead.
That wasn't their usual interactions, for anyone wondering. But the more time they were together, and especially the more time she spent with him at his place, the more common they started to be. Of course, though, she didn't spend all of her time with him. He didn't want that, and she had other things to do like for example focusing on getting her degree. And that led her to also spend most of her time going from library to library, whenever she didn't have to work for the gang that is.
Today she had finished studying earlier, leaving her with enough time to unhurriedly eat lunch and take a nap, or maybe go outside on a walk. She wasn't sure what she would do with her free time, but she knew for sure that she was excited. So much excited in fact, that she didn't realize there was a car behind her, speeding up and seeming to have lost control as it drove over the sidewalk towards her.
"Girl!" a man called her at the same time he pulled her close to the door of a shop, making the car miss her for less than a meter. Only then did (Y/n) realize that there was a car out of control that luckily didn't hurt anyone.
The car stopped some distance further from everyone that had thrown themselves out of their way. And as people started to recompose themselves they all looked at the vehicle seeing that it was a dark van with no license plate.
"Thanks," (Y/n) muttered, feeling her heartbeat against her chest. But the man's hold on her arm became tighter when the car started to go backward at an unusual speed.
"Get out!" people started to scream, fleeing from the road.
"It's out of control!" another person yelled.
(Y/n)'s eyes widened when she saw that the car was going back in their direction, but she was frozen. She only snapped back when she was pushed further away by the man. She hit the floor and looked to where she was standing, seeing that the van had now broken into the shop from the now broken window.
"Run!" the man told her from inside the shop where the few people that were inside were hidden on the most farther corners, screaming in panic.
(Y/n)'s body was frozen cold yet again, and all she could do was stand up in panic. She looked at the van and locked eyes with the two people driving. The car lights lighted up again, signaling that it was going to drive off at high speed once more, and it was then when she knew. This car wasn't out of control. This car was purposely trying to kill her.
Her legs finally responded and she sprinted in another direction, going into a narrow alley that couldn't fit the van. She looked back while running and confirmed her thoughts when the van stopped right at the entrance, looking at her before it disappeared, trying to go around and find her. She started sweating cold and not because of the fact that she had been sprinting for minutes, trying to get the van lost. It was from how much scarier this was than to be almost run over by an out-of-control car. Because now, she thought it would be nearly impossible to escape if somebody wanted to kill her. Why is someone trying to kill me?! she screamed in her mind. Until she understood.
She finally seemed to lose the van and ran into a parking lot, hiding in a corner behind another big parked car. She brought her hand to her heart, trying to calm down while she caught her breath again. And then she took out her phone, dialing a number with trembling hands.
"What," Hanma's voice sounded annoyed at the other end of the line. He didn't like to be bothered while he was working after all "I'm busy" he added, but shut up when he heard (Y/n)'s silent cries.
"Shuji," she called him with a trembling whispering voice, making his frown change completely "someone's trying to kill me" she said but didn't say anything else when she heard a car again.
"Where are you" he demanded, seeming calm but definitely less calm than earlier. She tried to look over the car, trying to see if the car she heard was the same van or some other from the parking.
"I'm hiding at a parking lot" she cried anxiously again.
"Which parking lot you idiot" he said, starting to lose his calm.
"The one by the cinema" she said, but suddenly shut up when indeed she saw the van. She let go of a gasp when the drivers got out of the car, but she immediately went back to hiding.
"(Y/n)" he called her, his heart beating unsteadily "(Y/n)!" he called her again, this time significantly louder when the line went dead.
Ultimately I think nothing scares hanma more than the idea that you know he likes you.
He thinks he's so clever leaving little hints but never enough to gather conclusive evidence. You know he likes you but you like to let him think he's being clever and slick with it - by maybe making the occasional Instagram story directed at you but not really. The kind of thing that you could assume is about you but only if you knew something everyone else didn't.
Kisaki is fed up of his antics. Thinks it's annoying that he goes on and on about but never actually tells you his feelings. Conveniently finds ways to bring you up in conversation even if it has nothing to do with you and finds himself stalking your profiles for some activity. (And some evidence of his own. A tweet you've made maybe directed at him - trying to find the clues in your words that you maybe like him back)
And honestly there's a part of kisaki that doesn't want hanma to find out about your feelings for him, and his for you. He'd lose his best worker after all, and love is a liability. So yeah maybe, just maybe, he's been slipping hanma the occasional thread, gifting him the occasional tidbit of information that's been skewed beyond comprehension. Oh you've got a boyfriend, there's a date you're going on, you're interested in this other guy you mentioned.
So hanma spends obsessive amounts of him stalking your socials to determine the validity of these statements. He could ask you....
But then you'd know why he asked - clever girl like you, and if you don't feel the same then everything is ruined all together.
Besides, he supposes it wouldn't be too surprising if you did have your eye on some other guy. You're a gorgeous woman. Clever, talented and fun to be around, the kind of girl a man like him dreams of and you could have your pick of any guy. Didn't you mention something about a he in your recent tweet? This guy you kept thinking about? Maybe that's someone else. Hell, maybe he even knows them.
Even still, part of him enjoys leaving little hints for you..the occasional tweet about how he's thinking of a special someone on valentine's day, or how your birthday month is coming up (though you know you're not the only person born in that month but what are the odds?)
And truthfully you know they're about you. You wish he knew yours were about him too.
How long will it take him to figure out? You wonder.
tw: no protection, fem!reader, masochist!reader, sadist!Hanma, degrading, Stockholm Syndrome, fucktoy, p in v, slight fluff, bondage, free use, creampie
3rd person's POV wc1,7k
It happened out of nowhere, like always. She was cleaning the leftovers from the food she made for her and Hanma knowing that if she didn't come and cook something for him once in a while he would either eat unhealthily or not eat at all. Not that he was the healthiest of men anyway, but if she at least could help him get closer to that... It didn't cost her anything to do it, and he didn't seem displeased about it either.
So there she was, in the now gleaming and visibly fancy kitchen, when Hanma entered. Initially, he didn't make any sound, but at the sight of her, he couldn't help but smirk. Well, it wasn't her the reason but rather the fact that she continued to wear his collar. So pleased with that, he approached her from behind
His hands gripped at both sides of (Y/n)'s hips, but she didn't even have time to react to that as his hips thrust into her ass immediately after. It was so unexpected but it felt so good... his warm hands gripping at both sides while she felt his hard dick rubbing against her; she obviously couldn't continue with what she was doing. One of the glasses she was cleaning fell into the sink, splashing some water around her and making her somewhat wet, but nothing compared to how wet he was making her be.
Hanma continued to thrust against her ass as if there weren't any clothes between them, fucking her through her clothes. But despite all the pleasure he was making her have, and that he himself felt, it still made both of them wish for the clothes to be gone. One of Hanma's hands went up to her chest, gripping without any care or gentleness on one of her breasts, and then the other one travelled in between her legs, still over her clothes. And so, he kept thrusting hard against her perking up ass, one hand rubbing her clothed clit while the other one massaged harshly her boobs. She bit her lip, losing her composure completely from how amazing it was to feel his hands and just him in general touching and groping all of her body.
She had long ago stopped caring about what she was doing, and unconsciously and with low moans she instead leaned against the counter, trying to rub her ass against him as well. But of course, she couldn't keep it low the more she heard and felt Hanma's breath over her and felt the strength he used both to hold her still and to thrust against her. And on the other side, Hanma also couldn't help but smirk more the more she rubbed on her own, so desperate for him.
After that, one thing left to another and now she was laying over his lap, completely tied up and naked. But she didn't seem mad about it. She was, in fact, placidly asleep over his lap after having orgasmed some time ago. Hanma, on the other side, was still fully dressed, having one beer in one of his hands, and the other one having it over her marked ass. He loved to see her like that, tied up at his mercy without her complaining, obediently doing whatever he ordered her to. But he had to admit that it was even more rewarding to see her around untied and free yet choosing not to run away from him, perhaps because of how surprising it was to him. How strange it was to think that someone could ever choose to stay by his side, out of her own will... He didn't understand, and maybe that's why he preferred to tie her up, afraid that one day she'd realize and leave.
It was the same thing with drugs. He normally used to involve drugs whenever he fucked some chicks. He still smoked, sometimes joints instead of normal cigarettes, but he didn't involve her in it. He used to do drugs with girls, and not so that he could take advantage of them. In fact, the girls were the ones willing to take drugs while fucking with him. But she didn't, and he didn't understand why. She never smoked, never took drugs, and the occasions when she drank alcohol were scarce. She literally was too good and innocent for him. And that's why he didn't understand why she enjoyed being with him when she was completely sober. Why she kept on letting herself be used by him however he pleased. It wasn't like she could refuse anyway, but it seemed like the thought had not even crossed her mind yet. It was more exciting somehow because he felt like she willingly was giving her body to him, which she was. But it made him uncomfortable at the same time because he thought that it was a matter of time before she realized, especially given the fact she was never under any influences. Although thinking about it a little better, it wasn't a thought that made him uncomfortable, on edge perhaps. Oh no, he knew what it made him feel. He was scared, scared to imagine the day when she would try to leave him. And it angered him to know he had such feelings. Just as much as it angered him to wonder if she would be like this with any man that was willing to do this to her. Is she with me only because I can fulfill her kinks? Would she leave me for someone more normal if he gave her the same things? The thought angered him as much as it scared him. And as much as it pained him and infuriated him, he knew he had got used to her.
But how much he wished it was only 'having got used to' her. Because the more days that passed, the more he saw her, the more he fucked her... the more smiles he saw from her and the finer she seemed with freely being with him... It wasn't that he had got used to her, and he knew. It was the warm and fuzzy feeling that he had gotten used to. The feeling of... of being attached. He owned her, and she played into it. But that was it, she played.
A ringtone broke Hanma from his thoughts, making him realize his hand had gone from her ass to her sleepy head, caressing her hair gently. He didn't stop, he just kept looking at her with one of his usual dull faces. Until he had to get up, so with a sigh he carefully let her rest on the couch while he looked for his phone.
It didn't take a long phone call for Hanma to get in his work mood. That was something usual after all, usual for his type of work at least. But he couldn't leave just yet, not before he took care of (Y/n). So this time he approached her and started to untie her, not perturbing her sleep the least bit. Not until he picked her up on his arms and took her to his bed where she started to awaken.
She shuffled under the sheets of the bed, feeling that she was now untied and actually delicately tucked in. She sloppily opened her eyes, seeing Hanma's smirking face so close to her that it immediately made her blush despite her still sleepy state. And now that she happened to wake up he decided to get on top of her. He cupped her cheek with his big hand, caressing it with his thumb while his eyes looked deep into hers, smirk having faded when he loomed over her.
Her eyes widened at the proximity, even if her body continued to feel tired. And her breath caught up in her throat when the distance became even shorter. So short, their lips were merely touching each other and noses rubbing lightly against one another. His black and blonde fringe fell slightly and smoothly onto her face, just like his earring hung loose as well. He moved his lips over hers, but not kissing her, just continuing that deep stare that both of them maintained over each other's eyes. His thumb went down her jaw to her neck, gracing her collar, and with a serious tone and expression he muttered lowly:
"You belong to me," his lidded eyes never left her (e/c) ones, not even to linger to her lips. His thumb gave her skin a ginger caress, his punishment hand still holding her softly. She didn't say anything and stayed completely still, mesmerized by Hanma's look and low tone of voice. He wasn't asking, but his tone didn't resemble that of a harsh command either "And I to you," he added, golden eyes boring deep into hers.
She blinked, feeling her chest flutter in heat, and before she could nod, he closed the already small distance between their lips in a slow kiss. Or maybe it was the other way around and it was her who closed it. Who cares when the kiss was warm like they had never shared a kiss before.
"Work calls," he added, separating from her but without getting his hand away from her cheek yet "Stay here" and again, it was obviously an order, but it didn't sound like it.
He left without any further words or contact, leaving her so flustered it would be difficult to fall asleep again, that's for sure. But she stayed there, in his bed while she relished in this electric feeling that continued to spread over her skin, and while she pondered about her life and life choices.
This was not the life she wanted. The relationship she always dreamed to have. She didn't even have the happiness she hoped for one day. And still, she knew she wouldn't be able to leave Hanma's side even if she were given the option because the truth was that she was completely addicted and infatuated with him. If somebody else did something like the things he did with her, she would hate it. She would desperately cry for help. But because it was him the one to treat her like that, she liked it. He was hot, and he just... had something. She wasn't sure about what it was. It was the way he had of hurting her so ruthlessly and then caring for her. Of being so rash but then being gentle and caring for her. Damn it she was even wearing a shirt she knew he must have put on her while she slept and even felt some healing cream on her butt cheeks. It made her stomach and chest flutter. He made her heart flutter.
~Stopping into your office for lunch Shuji finds that someone is trying to take what’s his.
W.C: 2k
Warnings: A bit of jealousy and slight pettiness, workplace shenanigans mentions of violence and fear.
a/n: First time writing for Hanma, so I’m still trying to figure out this beloved yet complicated man!
- Also, I am working on those conersaton heart prompts! I promise. You can find the masterlist HERE!
Growing up, there was an alley Hanma would cut through to get to his favorite convenience store. Between the dark walls and dumpsters, there was always something scurrying off in the opposite direction. Fearful of his long shadow.
He gets the same sort of satisfaction now crossing the threshold of your workplace, the amusement on his features hidden behind a stone mask of indifference as your mousier coworkers scurry out of his way despite the fact his days of delinquency are long behind him.
Ignoring the wide eyes and whispers that seem to cling to the beige walls. He walks to your office, the route familiar, clear. No surprise to him, your office door is ajar while you sit at your desk, pouted lips half-hidden behind your monitor.
Your fingers fly across the keyboard furiously, no doubt trying to finish the last of your email stack before he treats you to lunch.
His lips part as he is about to ask you if you’re ready to go, but you silence him with a silent raise of your hand.
Not yet it says.
He loves that you aren’t afraid to boss him around. Affection rushes through his veins like liquid adrenaline and his gaze turns lovesick as he slides into one of the armchairs next to your filing cabinet noticing for the first time a crowded arrangement of roses wilting pitifully in the corner.
“What are these?” he asks with a practiced, nonchalance as he lazily stretches out and plucks the little card from the arrangement. Flowers are one thing, but these are just a monstrosity of misplaced wealth. The roses are too crammed and smothered with paint-scented golden flakes.
“Roses” you answer, with a tone that implies you aren’t exactly thrilled with the gift.
“Funny… I don’t remember buying you any roses.” he trails his long fingers up one of their thorny stems toward the plush petals. “Especially not ones that are so…” He plucks a gold-dusted petal from the outside ring of the rose and lets it flutter to the floor. “Tacky.”
“You didn’t,” you say regarding the roses with disgust. “A client sent them over this morning, I’d toss them but he’s coming in tomorrow to close a deal.”
“Kiss ass,” he practically purrs, running the pad of his thumb over a drying thorn it snaps to this side of the stem without giving him so much as a prick. He reads the note card in his other hand, recognizing the name of the client you’ve been complaining about for a while.
Someone who doesn’t know how to take a hint.
Every time you mention your interactions with the rat, Hanma’s knuckles crack and fingers twitch, searching for some teeth to punch in. Not that the guy is capable of making it a good fight, he seems the type to lose a battle with a heavy door on a windy day.
As much as he wants to, he can’t just beat your client to a pulp and leave him hogtied on the street. Because that could impact you.
Besides, he knows that you are fully capable of taking care of yourself.
You push back your chair and sign out of your computer. “ Don’t worry, I’ll toss them after the meeting tomorrow.”
“Good.” He smirks as you step out from behind your desk. Completely his for the rest of the day.
“You’re cute when you’re jealous.” you chuckle tilting your chin upwards to press a teasing kiss to the corner of his mouth.
“Like I’d be jealous of someone like him,” he deadpans. “I just don’t like it when someone tries to take what’s mine.” His hand cradles your jaw, tilting it towards him. The fire in your eyes makes his heart skip a beat as he detects a slight tremble in those sensible work shoes of yours as you melt deeper into his hand.
He pulls away, ever the tease. The look of flushed attraction on your face makes him feel as if he has just walked away from a good fight, leaving a trail of bloodied opponents in his wake.
“Don’t worry.” you say finally. “I’m not going anywhere.” A deep growl fills your office and you both look down at your stomach. “Except lunch.”
He spots an empty coffee cup in your trash and raises a brow. You did wake up late today, most likely you only had that today in lieu of actual breakfast. He smirks and slings a possessive arm over your shoulder.There is something about seeing his tattoo draped across your skin that stirs something inside him.
If it was there all the time at least people would stop trying to take you away from him, sending cheesy bouquets to your work and acting like he doesn't exist.
He’s beaten someone to a pulp for less.
But he's an adult now, in the real adult world, with a real adult job.
Some problems can’t be solved with just his fists.
But… maybe, he can fight with something else
He flashes his teeth as a lightbulb flickers to life.
“What’s with that evil look on your face?” you ask, walking out the door.
“Oh nothing.” he hums, placing his hand on the small of your back and guiding you out of the office for your scheduled lunch date. “Just got hit with a bit of inspiration, I think it’s gonna bruise.”
-
Has your office always felt this stifling?
This damn client, the one who has been trying to steal your attention for months has no problem making the place his own. Not caring about how uncomfortable you are in the process. The only bright side about his visit is that he brought over the signed contract from his firm and it has been handed off to your supervisor.
His feet are up on your desk as he lounges in one of the leather armchairs. A bubblegum pink glob of gum stares back at you from the expensive soles of his shoes as he goes on and on about spending the last weekend on his buddy’s boat.
“Honestly, you should come next time. All the other guys bring dates and you’d fit right in.” he says with a wave of his hand. “You’re free this weekend, right?”
You tap your foot impatiently under your desk, once this guy leaves your space you can pack up and go home for the weekend. Hanma is doing a photoshoot for a new resort on the coast and they gave you guys a free room for the long weekend.
Since your work responsibilities have been increasing lately, You haven't been able to go out with him on shoots lately and you miss it. Last time, it was up in the mountains. The clients booked you guys a cozy little cabin and then got called away leaving you with nothing but free time and a very comfortable bed…
“Anyways-” your client says, interrupting the pleasant memory you were having. “I’ll need to ask for you in our firm's next collaboration. You just have the magic touch when it comes to these kinds of things.”
As much as you wish you could kick him to the curb and slam the door behind him, you know that you don’t have the authority to turn him down professionally, so you give him the most bare bones corporate response you can give at the moment.
“Let's circle back after the long weekend.” you say keeping your face completely neutral.
His eye twitches and he runs a hand through his hair, spotting those wilting flowers in the corner. The sight of his gift on display turns his grin sly.
“I see you received my little gift.” he coos with an almost artificial sweetness in his voice.
“Yes, thank you.” you grit your teeth. “So thoughtful.”
“Anything for my Superstar,” he winks, making you feel absolutely nauseous. “Although I would much rather thank you over dinner.”
Not this again.
How many times do you have to turn this guy down before he takes the hint?
Now, with the contract signed and submitted you are prepared to tell him off once and for all. Before you can though, you are interrupted by a knock at your open office door.
“Yes?” you turn, giving as much attention to your distraction as you can. A man in a green polo and a white cap steps across the threshold with a clipboard.
“I uhh have a delivery for a…” he reads your name aloud.
“Yep, that’s me.” you smile taking the board and signing the dotted line at the bottom.
“Could you hurry up?” the client has the audacity to ask the guy. “We are kinda in the middle of something.”
The side-eye you send him is ice cold. “Actually we just finished.” you turn your attention back to the delivery guy and hand him back the clipboard with a genuine smile. “Here you go.”
He takes the board and smiles back. “You’re lucky, these were shipped with priority. Someone must care about you a lot.”
You’re about to ask what he means by priority when the delivery and steps back. “Bring em in boys.” he calls out into the hallway.
Two more delivery guys cart in the most luxurious flower arrangement you have ever seen in your life. The flowers still look fresh. Like they were only picked moments ago. The buds and blossoms arranged expertly. Like the ones you have seen on the cover of magazines.
“Wow these are beautiful, you gasp, inhaling the scent of the fresh florals, the tip of the crisp notecard tickling your cheek before you pull it out.
‘How’s that for flowers?’ the card reads, and you know exactly who sent them.
And if you know anything about your boyfriend, he intentionally probably scheduled this delivery for the end of your meeting. And being the sadist that he is he’s probably watching this whole thing go down.
“W-who sent you those, geeze.” the client stutters looking between the gaudy arrangement he had sent you and Hanma’s fresh one.
“My boyfriend,” you smile, holding the teasing card to your chest for dramatic effect. “He’s so considerate.”
It’s slight but you detect a low chuckle from out in the hallway.
The client bristles, narrowing his eyes. “So you’re serious then.”
“Very serious.” You say slightly annoyed that he is just now getting the hint despite knowing you have been in a relationship. You look at the clock trying to wrap this up. “He should be here any minute now if you want to meet him.” You show him a photo of the two of you on your lockscreen. Taking delight in how the client takes a nervous breath in.
“Oh… That’s him?”
You nod proudly. “Yep, I know he can look a bit intimidating but I swear he is a total sweetheart.”
He pales looking as white as a ghost. “Y-you know, maybe another time. I have to go…to another meeting.” He turns and stumbles over the armchair behind him, briskly walking out the door without looking back.
With the client finally gone, you breathe once again.
“I’m a total sweetheart, was it?” a voice calls from your doorway. Shuji steps into your office with an absolutely amused look on his face. “You’re such a liar.”
“The flowers were sweet,” you laugh, looping your arms around his neck. “Thank you for sending them.”
“I think he got the message.” he grins his ink-covered hands resting lazily on your hips “Wanna go?”
You nod eagerly, practically dragging him out the door, you notice he stops just at the edge of the room. “What’s wrong?”
“I gotta get one more hit in,” he murmurs, stalking over to the corner. He wastes no time picking up the display in the corner and dropping it unceremoniously into your waste paper basket. The swishing sound of the petals sounds almost like a thank you as the dying flowers are put out of their misery.
▹shuji hanma/f!reader ▹6k words ▹smut, hate sex, angst, spanking, pussy spanking
▹it's 1 am and shuji is really trying not to limp. the night feels heavy in his chest, thick with the embarrassment of coming out of a fight gone bad. there's really one place he could go to instead of crashing on the bench in a park somewhere… and it's unfortunate that you're the only person that could help him out. too bad he hates your guts.
▹dividers by @/cursed-carmine
‹𝟹 more tokyo revengers fics ‹𝟹 read it on ao3
it's 1 am and shuji is really trying not to limp. the night feels heavy in his chest, thick with the embarrassment of coming out of a fight gone bad—he still feels the sting in his thigh where the hit landed, he should've seen it coming, the little shifty cunt got out of his eyesight for one moment and—
he stops to relight his cigarette, muttering a curse with it bobbing between his lips.
this night was supposed to go differently, but now he's on his own, surrounded by the vibrant noise of the city. for others, it's only just starting, but shuji is already looking where to finish it. a habit—patting his jean pockets for the house keys—reminds him of how he stormed out this afternoon, chased off by his parents' yelling after his father took the keys from him. a sort of punishment, though not one that will result in anything good if the previous instances are anything to go by. but fine, it's not like he wants to go back now anyway. he could easily climb in through the window, but that would mean tiptoeing trying not to wake the ill-tempered old man sitting in the worn out sofa, and being injured won't make that very easy for him. no, home isn't an option tonight.
looking over his shoulder at the sudden loud noise of revving motorbikes, shuji feels a pang of jealousy at all the people that are staying behind. he should rejoin them, he should turn around and ignore the ache and the sticking of his jeans to the blood on his skin, he should and he so desperately wants to go back to laughing at some poor sod tripping over a purposely stuck out foot or trembling from the booming voices of hotheaded gang members ready to jump him if they so decide. but… he can't bear to turn back now, not when he's getting a little light-headed and breathless just from walking. he's just going to embarrass himself further. laughter echoes in his head, it doesn't stop even when he presses his bruised hands over his ears, still slowly walking, limping, ahead and aimlessly trying to piece together a makeshift map of all the locations where he could catch a fucking break.
in the depth of his mind he knows there is one… but even the thought of it makes him roll his eyes in annoyance. the place he doesn't go to unless things are dire, unless he's so desperate for a fuck or he's so drunk he doesn't know what he's doing, going against better judgement (though he hardly has any judgement at all) because would he fuck want to find himself around you without an ulterior motive. shuji hasn't even cleared this decision with his brain, and yet the drag of his feet keeps moving in the direction of your place, like some kind of fucked up autopilot thriving on self-destruction. and maybe he's a little sick for wanting it, despite the frown between his brows at the very idea.
the dull ache in his thighs keeps his walking slow, but something could be said about him still moving despite the sheer unwillingness to keep going. he has to exhaust every option, though, no matter how uncomfortable it may be. maybe he'll get lucky and you won't be home. he lights another cigarette with the previous one, keeping that one thought in his head. you won't be home. like a mantra he's trying to make true, manifesting his own physical misfortune to pacify his mind.
your apartment building is towering over him ominously. the flickering light over the entrance isn't helping, either. maybe it's an omen, a carved out sign that screams run, you stupid bastard, but he's trying to remind himself that he's not a coward. no matter how much he hates being here or dreads seeing you act like you're none the wiser about how he feels, still keeping up with your caring and gentle touches like last time… he just wants to prove to himself that he can do this. that is, if you're actually at home. which he's still hoping you're not. obviously.
the front door gives way, so at least he doesn't have to go through the whole excruciating ordeal of waiting for you to come and check who it is and maybe even refuse to buzz him in. one lucky thing, he scoffs.
the lights time out twice by the time he's climbed up the stairs to your floor. there's still time, he still has a chance to turn back, but he clears his throat and rubs his hands over his tired and bruised face, readying himself to see the last person he is willing to be vulnerable around.
every second between the knock on the door (too faint for you to hear, so he had to knock again, this time like he means it) and the sound of several locks opening from the inside feels as if a deft hand is playing his nerves like a guitar, plucking strings with a sort of planned carelessness to appear nonchalant while picking out the most bone-vibrating sounds. for a moment, just before the door opens, he's trying to force himself to be fine with it all, maybe going over why he dislikes you so much, trying to once again convince himself that it's not important and that he could get over it.
shuji doesn't account for the feeling of shame to ache more than the split skin just above his eyebrow. his heart beats in his ears, pounding his head into a dizzying disorientation that has him leaning on the top of the door frame for balance. he hangs his head down, swallowing saliva quickly to hear something other than the laughter that followed when you picked draken over him, and then later your giggle when you let emma have him instead like it didn't matter that much in the first place. like even your better choice was replaceable, if anything just because your friend liked him better. and it wouldnt really hurt that much in that moment had it not been fucking draken. that old embarrassment resurfaces every now and then when he's not swatting it away like an annoying fly, the dumb helpless feeling of things slipping away from his fingers. like the keys to his home weren't the only fleeting thing that he could hold in the palm of his hand before he got the harsh reminder that nothing in life is guaranteed and fortune favours his enemies after all.
the door opens and he's unsure if he feels more relieved of pissed off that you're home.
"shuji?" you say, softly like you've just woken up, though he knows it's bullshit and you're putting on this sweet innocent doll thing again. as if you didn't check your peep hole to see who it was, as if you're not relishing in seeing him struggle to stay on his feet when he would rather be lying in a ditch somewhere. or that's what he tells himself.
"you gonna ogle me while i bleed out or let me in?" shuji grumbles, pushing himself off of the door frame and walking inside when you move out of the way.
he hates that he knows the layout of your place. hates that he automatically takes off his jacket and hangs it on the hanger and knows there's just enough space for his shoes beside it. why is this the moment of weakness when his brain decides to remember details he didn't even know he knew? you close the door and walk past him, brushing against his elbow, and he has to stop himself from thinking about how it felt to grab you and pull you closer, to hear you yelp and giggle before you tangled your fingers in his hair.
you're quick on your feet, already rummaging for the box of gauze and other shit you put on him when he inevitably comes over bloody and tired. the cushion on your couch may as well already have his bony ass imprinted on it, and despite his emotional discomfort it feels good to sit down, to let out a deep groan as his body settles down into the familiar softness, and let his head fall back to finally rest. not that he should be resting here anyway. not that he should have even come over, but the more he sits and feels your closeness, the less appealing crashing in the park nearby sounds.
you didn't ask him any questions, he notices. just kept busy with dabbing a wet cloth over his bloodied knuckles, and maybe it's because of something inside him that he's not willing to acknowledge, but he lets you do what you will, maybe feeling ever so slightly grateful for it.
⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘
shuji wakes up desperately needing a smoke. he goes to pat his pockets, discovering that he's not wearing any pants. an almost smirk starts to form on his lips until he realises he's alone, sitting on the familiar couch—though not his own—in the dark with only a little lamp on in the hallway. he's stiff with a dull ache in his limbs, a headache announcing itself in his temples. there's a glass of water on the coffee table, a couple of what he assumes are painkillers beside it, so he leans forward with an audible, if a little shameful, groan to grab them. water feels good on his scratchy throat and he drinks while trying to piece together what has happened—what he did.
he was weak. that much is clear. knocking on your door was akin to admitting defeat, because why else would he let you see him in this state time and time again. his leg still kinda hurts, but it doesn't sting like hell anymore, looking down he sees that you finished the job of bandaging him up even after he passed out asleep. he hopes that he didn't mutter something embarrassing. his shirt and jeans are neatly folded on the other end of the couch, almost in a mocking way showing him that he got a kindness he's sure he didn't deserve from you. with a stifled grunt he gets up, inspecting his clean, though bruised and scratched, knuckles, and a few bruises blooming along his ribs that he can see when he turns towards the hallway. it's incredibly late, he's glad you've gone to sleep and left him alone.
digging around the pockets of his jeans for the remnants of cigarettes left in his there, once more he remembers—by the lack of his house keys—why he's here and not in his own bed. the lighter is cold in his hand and he squeezes it tight, the stinging tug on the freshly scraped skin on his knuckles almost a little satisfying as he tries not to lose his shit.
some crisp air on the balcony is just what he needs as he pushes open the door and stands there in his boxers. shuji shields the flame from the breeze as he lights the cigarette, closing his eyes trying to savour the smoke before he exhales it. this night has been an absolute shit show.
you don't have an ashtray here, but he feels no guilt ashing his cigarette on the edge of a plant pot on the balcony. maybe next time you'll cuss him out and kick his ass instead of letting him get cosy in your apartment, maybe that's what he needs to stop coming here. maybe that's what will let him move past the clenching feeling in his chest that he's telling himself is hatred.
there's one left in the pack, almost intact, only a little crumpled from when he landed on his ass—he's still trying to convince himself he tripped, refusing to believe someone managed to kick him onto the ground. he'll save that one for later, for when he's ambling the streets dragging out the minutes until he gets home and faces the consequences. there's one more stop before he gets dressed and slips out of here, hopefully without you noticing, he flicks the bathroom light on and hisses as the cold white bulb fries his eyes for a moment.
normally he wouldn't flinch at the sight of his face in the mirror. he'd wink at the reflection, maybe flex a little, lean in to fix a strand of his hair so it looks effortless and messy instead of just stupid, but now he's looking into the glass and wondering how he got so serious. the curve of his mouth isn't tugging upwards, his dark undereyes stand out against the pale skin of his face, there's a bruise just under his eye, stretching along his cheek bone and he can feel it pulse under the skin. fuck, he needs a good night's sleep. maybe several nights. maybe he should call kisaki and ask if he could crash at his place tomorrow and ignore the world until he's properly awake instead of running on fumes from fight to fight just trying not to slip out of the heat of the moment. maybe so, but first he needs to piss.
no matter how much things suck, at least there's a few moments when he can just focus on the relief as he stands there with his eyes closed. it's so mundane, so normal, and it finally doesn't feel like he's running for his life.
"feeling okay?"
he startles, cursing as he nearly gets your toilet seat wet.
"the fuck—" his heart bangs in his ears, thundering as he looks over his shoulder to see you leaning on the door frame. of course, he didn't close the bathroom door. of course, this is your place after all. of course, of fucking course, you must have woken up when he walked down the hallway past your bedroom. he can't recall if your door was shut or not, he simply didn't pay attention while feeling along the wall in this familiar space he's hating himself a little for remembering. either way you're here now, tugging on the oversized t-shirt you're using as pyjamas, making it cover at least the tops of your thighs in a feeble attempt to appear somewhat modest. your hair is all over the place, clearly showing you just tumbled out of bed upon hearing him. and your face…
"did you—" you yawn, "see the painkillers i left?"
shuji just nods, shaking his dick off before he pulls it back into his boxers. "what is this, you're spying on me while i'm trying to take a piss to check if i took my meds?"
even as tired as he is, he doesn't miss the roll of your eyes as you push off the door frame to rinse your face with water. why you'd want to be more awake at this ungodly hour is beyond him, but then again, he doesn't want to make sense of your actions or motivations.
"sass me all you want, shuji, i'm not gonna let you suffer just because you can be a dick sometimes." he frowns as you catch his eyes in the reflection above the sink.
"sometimes?"
there's a little quirk of your mouth, too tired to be a smirk, too lazy to be a smile. "most of the time." you concede, wiping your hands away from him as he turns towards you.
"i shouldn't have come here anyway." absentmindedly he scratches across his chest, chasing after some invisible itch that makes him very aware of the fact that he's mostly naked in your bathroom… again.
"you said that before," by the twitches of your head towards him it's clear you're trying not to look at him, whether out of respect for privacy or determination not to start something tonight, "but you know i'll help you when you need me."
"i don't." he all but snarls. like a cornered animal, though he knows he's in no danger here. not from you, not in your apartment. he's just lashing out to stop thinking kindly about you, and on some level he knows it. "i don't need you."
you just nod, but he catches your eyes in the mirror again, for better or worse, and stands a little straighter. you must be doing that on purpose, putting yourself out there like that, making sure he's thinking about you when he doesn't want to. shuji hates that you take it gracefully, handing him a towel to dry his face after he splashed it with cold water. he wants you to be at least half as mad at him as he is with you. at least a little bit, to stop him second-guessing this overwhelming feeling of dread.
"i'm just saying," you begin, folding your arms across your chest, "that if you're hurt and can't go home i'll help. i'll ignore that you hate my guts and i'll never mention it to anyone, just…"
a sigh on your lips betrays the exhaustion and some sort of longing, but he chooses to believe it's not for him, because where was that longing when you danced on two sides of the choice, toying with him before someone 'better' caught your attention and took you from his grasp. not that he wanted to have you in his grasp anyway… it didn't matter… he just felt stupid that he lost to fucking ken ryuguji of all people.
"you touched my stuff again." he interrupts because he can't let you go on about how you're so nice and helpful to him, not if he wants to keep a shred of his sanity around you. "told ya not to touch my fucking stuff."
you raise your eyebrow at him, and he's glad that you don't have a soft sleepy look on your face anymore. he can't bear it, another minute and he might start feeling bad for sticking a cigarette butt into your plant pot.
"you're welcome?" you scoff.
"i don't go 'round just putting my hands on everything in your place, do i?"
as if to argue his point, he reaches out and grabs the first thing he can reach on the hook by the door. it's something soft, and he only looks when your eyes widen at the sight. shit.
"if you could just… leave them…" you murmur, furrowing your brows as he lifts the pair of panties he picked up towards the light.
shuji can't deny that seeing you this flustered makes him feel a certain way, some kind of proof that he's not the only sick bastard in this dance getting hard by the displeasure between you. and he really is getting hard, he feels the strain of his boxers against his growing erection and the weight of your gaze as it meets the bulge.
it's a little freeing, too, knowing he doesn't have to try to make you like him. the hate he feels scratch at his fingertips is enough to keep him aroused, and you're never fucking making it difficult, are you?
he steps forward until you're backed up against the hallway wall, looking up at him as his hand—still holding the pair of panties he swiped—presses flat above you. the heat is rising between you again, stirring something in him whenever you're vulnerable around him.
"why would i do that?" he asks, almost too quiet for you to hear. it's almost unlike him, that low voice, but there's hardly any space between your bodies and every word hangs in the air until you swallow hard. "why the fuck would i do what you want me to?"
you don't answer, but where there was some kind of softness in your eyes before, now it's covered with something closer to what he's lacing his words with, a poison made to enhance this tension until the only emotion is the feeling of his hands on your body, his teeth on your skin, your moans in his ear. his other hand goes to your throat, and you quickly cover it with your palm, but not prying it off… never prying it off.
the defiance in your face has shuji bare his teeth just a little, enough attitude to not make the mistake of thinking this is in any way him being weak, this is him taking what he wants.
shuji slots his knee between your thighs, pressing closer until you've got no other choice but slowly grind against it, because both of you know how this will end. all of his burning rage ends here, when his cock is achingly hard for some sick reason, because the red he sees when looking at you surges into his crotch every time you're close enough to touch. he lowers his head down so it's level with yours, never letting go of your neck as he nudges your ear with his nose. shuji can feel your warm skin shiver, your hips roll against his thigh as you try to get as much friction as you can while he's here and willing.
a hitch in your throat vibrates against his palm, and shuji groans into your ear, nipping the shell of it in a moment of weakness. he will not kiss you like that, not gonna make it feel tender, no matter what. if he's going to give in to the want, he'll take it for all it's worth.
and it's worth the tension in his cock as your soft thigh rubs against it in a desperate effort to get yourself off while he presses you against the wall. his other hand trails down your side, then up again as if he's mapping out your curves, as if he hasn't grabbed them countless times before, until he cups his large palm over your breast, bunching up your oversized t-shirt when he wishes he could just rip it off and touch you like he deserves to. a moan tumbles out of your mouth, kicking him sideways as his thumb rubs over your clothed nipple. he shakes his head slightly, you're such a freak getting off to him touching you like this, making you work for it to show you want it more than him, even though his erection is screaming, the blood pulsing in his ears by the time your hips stutter and you squeeze his leg with your thighs, a feeble attempt to keep riding out through your orgasm.
your eyes rolling back and lip caught between your teeth is a sight, one that has shuji's jaw clench and his cock twitch impatiently. he's lowering his leg, but not letting you away from his crotch which presses against your belly with urgency. one clever hand sneaks under your shirt after releasing your throat for a change of approach, now tugging your soaked panties to the side so he can relish in the evidence of how much you want this.
"tch… pathetic." he groans, thumbing your folds apart slowly, gathering the wetness that's gathered there before he presses against your clit, sinking his index finger inside you. "all that from a little grinding… you been missin' me?" he adds the last part almost like an insult, knowing it has you rolling your eyes at him, and what's his talent if not getting under your skin and stinging you over and over.
"shu—"
"that's it…" he mocks, "tell me to shut up, doll." he groans, lifting your shirt up until he almost gets it off you, only briefly considering leaving it over your head like that. at least then he wouldn't have to cum while seeing your blissed out expression. but he yanks it off completely, tosses it on the floor somewhere, and finally gives you another finger to suck in with your cunt while he lowers his head and sucks on the soft flesh of your breast, biting it to hear you whine.
now all he needs is to get his cock out of these damn boxers, but your hands are already pawing at him, slipping your fingers under the waistband until you're tugging them down low enough to free him from the fabric, springing upwards so eagerly it would be embarrassing if you didn't clench around his fingers at the sight. he keeps pumping them inside you, gently scissoring them until you're squirming, wrapping your arms around his neck quite demanding so he sees no other option but to reach down to grab you by your ass and hoist you up, making you protest as his fingers leave the warmth of your cunt. your slick juices are covering his long fingers so he takes a moment before giving in to place his two wet digits against your lips, waiting for you to open like a good girl and lick them clean.
the tip of his twitching cock pushes at your soaked pussy, nudging your folds apart but not quite sinking into you yet, almost dragging it out like the excruciating moments in between him knocking on your door and you opening it, suspended in a space of possibilities as if he could suddenly get a fucking grip and leave without fucking you… as if he could deprive himself of the satisfaction of betraying his more rational side. so he does that tantalising dance a little more, until you're tangling your fingers in the hair at the back of his head, until you're kicking your foot out and panting hard, trying to wiggle your way out of his hold and onto his cock. it's torturous, but at the same time rewarding, because coiling in his abdomen is becoming more intense so he knows that the moment he gives it what it craves will be all the more satisfying. you've called him out on that before, calling him a masochist, but the word just slid off his skin like water that time, even though you may be a little correct with it. not that he would give you the satisfaction of knowing that. the fuck do you know about him anyway?
shuji never gives you the time to adjust. from the first slide of his cock into you, his hips start thrusting never once waiting for your hand to unclench from his hair. leaning down, he grunts into your neck, catching your sensitive skin with his teeth as he clashes his hips with yours. fucking you is a means to an end, the end being his own volatile nature relishing in an orgasm stolen from your body. every single time he thrusts into you, feels your greedy cunt suck his cock inside it, he imagines it a victory of sorts, because even though you thought you could cast him aside before, you keep opening your legs for him now. there's no sweeter victory than your pussy so slick crying out for him.
even now, as you moan quietly for him, breathless and pressed against the wall, he's looking at you with his lips parted and his eyes glazed over, unsure if he could ever get such a damn kick out of fucking someone else, someone he didn't fucking hate this much. a masochist… maybe. but it doesn't matter what you call it when all that truly matters is how much he loves punishing both of you with harsh, determined snaps of his hips against the flesh of your thighs.
"nah… nah fuck this." shuji mutters, grabbing you tighter and taking you away from the wall. you're clinging to him harder, the beginning of a protest dies in your throat as he takes you to your bedroom, step after step making you bounce against his body.
"what the—" you begin, but a moan ends your sentence right there when he lays you down on the bed and keeps rolling into you like nothing happened. "shuji… f-fuck."
"shut up." he punctures the words with harsher, faster thrusts, stuffing every single inch of his cock inside you. shuji listens for the pulse under your skin so deliciously warm under his lips as he presses them on your neck, sucking a bruise against your throat while he ruts into you like a madman. the squelch of your wet cunt against his balls as they tap against your lips has him grunt harder, louder, while he's biting another bruise into your neck. it's dizzying, maddening, and shuji grabs your legs to direct them behind his back where you lock your ankles together.
his hair tickles your chest as he shakes his head trying to keep it together when you pull him in deeper with your legs, making his pace falter for a moment before he realises he's starting to move a little slower, but the strokes are more precise.
shuji looks down at you, frowning, because you're seemingly under the impression that you're calling the shots here. "hey," he snaps, pushing himself up and grabbing your cheeks with one large hand, "knock it off."
your response is a half-baked whimper, your lashes batting up at him as he squeezes your cheeks together. he might even think you're cute pouting like that if you didn't piss him off so much.
"j-just slow down a lil…" you drag the words out, squeezing through your teeth until he releases your face and props himself up on his palms, creating more space between your bodies.
"why the fuck would i slow down?" shuji all but cackles, looking down at the dark red bruises at the base of your throat. "don't act like you don't wanna be fucked stupid."
he grabs a pillow from the edge of the bed, though, and slides it down to your hips. a smack on the side of your thigh tells you to lift up, and he slots the pillow under your ass, so when you settle back down on it he speeds up again.
"fuck… fuuuuck there it is." he grunts, still holding himself up to watch your tits bounce with every rough snap of his hips. "don't fuckin' tell me how to fuck you again."
the angle change has him rutting into your cunt like it unlocks some primal part of him. the messy, wet slide of his thick cock in and out of your soft walls is loud, slippery, and so damn addictive as your poor little cunt tries to squeeze his cock to keep him inside. pathetic. he pushes himself up and unhooks your legs from behind his back, pressing your knees further against your chest. he's got you opening up for him like a flower. a flower that's taking his relentless thrusts all sopping wet and going dumb on his dick. a flower that's whining as your hands grip the sheets under your back while he fucks you. shuji shakes his head and ignores the tugging sensation on his leg under the bandages, hoping he won't bleed through them while he's trying to fuck the night to an end.
shuji didn't think this would be the view he would have tonight. you, folded over yourself with your pretty cunt swallowing his cock. you, getting red in the face as your head tilts to the side, and you repeatedly moan against the mattress in time with the rough snaps of his cock into your perfect spot. you're so drunk on him it's almost funny, your body is pressed into the mattress and every single push of his fat tip into your spongy walls seems to deepen that hazy state you're in. to think you tried to make him fuck you slowly…
your thighs indent under the press of his fingertips. squishy flesh of your body invites his palm for a smack as he lands it on your ass and then the underside of your thigh. shuji grins as you whimper and tighten on his cock, dripping your arousal around it as he spanks you again and again, slamming harder into you until you're crying out.
"gonna cry?" he teases, a little breathless, "gonna cum on my cock? with me slapping you like this?" landing a lighter little slap against your clit earns him another jolt of your walls closing on him. shuji chuckles, doing it one more time to see you twitch under him.
"fuck— you—" the whine on your lips turns into a long, drawn out groan and you shudder and cum and he feels your defiance rise as your cunt squeezes him tighter.
"mhm… that's right." he groans, leaning forward just a little, changing the angle to feel the pinch on his tip as your cunt pulses with the waves of your orgasm, sending shivers up his spine. this is how he wants to feel it, until he's seconds away from bursting, until the golden light behind his eyelids blinds him and he has to let go. shuji slams harder into you, fucking that messy little cunt with reckless abandon while pressing your legs forward.
and right there is where he loses himself, on the very brink of an orgasm, his balls tightening with the inevitable release, his abdomen feeling like there's a storm inside. he quickly pulls out of your sopping cunt, stroking his cock with swift movements as his hand glides along the length easily with how wet your pussy got it. strings of pearly cum spill from his tip, landing in warm puddles on your belly.
it reaches as far as the underside of your breasts, and you open your eyes only to avoid the burning gaze of his golden irises, instead looking at your skin shimmering with a light layer of sweat and the very prominent splatter of shuji's cum. you're breathing heavily, but so is he, sitting back on his heels still holding his spent, quickly softening cock. his other hand runs through the mess that is his hair, the blond streaks in the front sticking to his forehead.
your legs finally fall onto the bed, still quivering a little, but your breathing is evening out. shuji looks down at the mess he made on your stomach and the corner of his lips lifts a little as he leans in to lick a slow, torturous strip between your sensitive folds. your attempt at pushing him away with your foot for the overstimulation on your poor clit only has him more amused, sucking in the little nub between his lips for a brief moment, just enough to make you curse at him.
"yeah, yeah." he murmurs, letting a glob of spit land just above your belly button, close to a little splatter of cum. "same to you."
he gets up off the bed with a groan, a little dizzy, and awkward standing in your bedroom. he knows his way around well enough, though, so he pulls a few tissues out of the box on the bedside table and puts them in your palm, setting out to go and find his boxers. by the time you're up and wobbly on your feet, leaning against the door frame naked, he's pulling his jeans up and stumbling into the hallway to put his shoes on.
"you're welcome." you mutter, folding your arms across your chest.
shuji looks you up and down, you missed a drop of his release on your hip, but he's not about to tell you that. he grins and grabs his jacket. "ditto. but don't hope for a repeat so soon."
the rolling of your eyes is only the best way he's ending this night. a glance at the clock tells him it's not the best time to go out and roam the city until he can brave his return home, but he'll have to manage. the alternative would be unbearable.
"oh shut up, shuji." you add something else after it, something he can't really hear as he unlocks the front door and slips out, exhausted, but a little better than when he found himself at your door earlier.
"yeah, see you in hell, doll." he responds mockingly, patting his pockets once the door shuts and he's out in the dark stairwell again. and he remembers that he left himself one last cigarette for later, but he can't feel the pack in his pocket… fuck.
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