includes| ran haitani x fem! reader x ken ryuuguji
warnings| 10k words, fem! pronouns, fem! nicknames, double penetration, anal, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, squirting, dumbification, slight mind break, size kink, cream pies, cum play, dirty talk, praise, degradation, slight objectification, multiple orgasms, multiple povs, eventual poly relationship, heavy m x m [2k words of idiots pining at the most inappropriate time], vivid descriptions of violence, kidnapping, pregnancy, maiming, mutilation, blood, guns, murder.
summary| ran haitani falls in love with ken ryuuguji’s girlfriend. madness ensues.
notes| this is for @souyawn and it is a repost! it’s about time. thank you to kai @lovebykai for betaing this for me and talking me down from scrapping it without even realizing that’s what she was doing. ❤️ I love and appreciate you!
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.
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 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.”
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.
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:
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.
cw: fem!reader, blood, guns, mention of drugs, violence, murder.
"i don't care if you run the streets, as long as you're coming home to me."
↬ Sano Shinichiro
Word on the streets is that the leader of Black Dragons is a charismatic and respected man. The followers he's gathered and the gang he's founded--now the biggest gang in Tokyo, are enough evidence to prove these aren't just hearsays whispered in alleyways.
He really is that man.
Sano Shinichiro is that man.
The roar of engines cuts through the busy avenue of Tokyo, making people part for them like waves. Whispers from the sidelines along with worried expressions from spectators blur past the members of Black Dragons as their motorbikes tear through the middle of the street like they own it.
And at the front of this sea of black uniforms rides none other than Shinichiro--ever so magnetic, his black tokkofuku flaring behind him, embroidered with words that scream who he is and what he represents: commander.
Takeomi smirks, looking at his friend who he thinks is farming way too much aura in this gang parade. He cracks a joke. "You look so cool asserting your dominance in this part of the city, boss!"
When Shinichiro hears it, a cocky smile immediately creeps across his face. "Gotta keep the legend alive!"
The lower members catch their commander’s shout and roar in agreement, making his words ring out like a battle cry.
Wakasa, Benkei, and Takeomi exchange a knowing look, shaking their heads in unison. (He’s bragging again… Yeah, as always… Let him… Ugh.)
The whole gang trails behind Shinichiro, pride and smoke drifting confidently through the air. Without warning, he slows his pace and lifts a hand to signal the group.
Everyone freezes.
"What's up?" Benkei scans the road for anything wrong. They aren't in enemy territory yet nor are there any suspicious people lingering around ready to attack them. But they've specifically stopped in front of a shotengai.
Shinichiro hops off his bike and walks toward the shopping district.
"I'll be right back."
"Oi, Shin!"
His vice commander grunts, tilting his head for the two captains to follow their commander.
"All of you, stay back!" Takeomi shouts over his shoulder. "We’ve got business to take care of."
The rest of the BD members’ eyes gleam as a shared thought flickers among them. Maybe this is the point of the parade--to prove they’re strong enough now to start claiming territory and money of their own.
"Yo, are we asking for protection money now?"
"Holy shit, we're really turning into yakuza!"
"Shinichiro-san is so damn cool!"
"Tch, that's why he's the boss. No one else could pull that off."
A few yards away, the reality is a far cry from what the rest of the gang is picturing. There the three of them stand, bored out of their minds, waiting for their leader to wrap up his business.
"Uh-huh. we really stopped for this..." Wakasa mutters, giving the hyakuen shop a flat look.
"I'm just wondering what the others think we're doing--"
"They probably think we're shaking the place down," Takeomi interrupts dryly. "Moving up to yakuza status as we speak."
Their heads turn as Shinichiro finally steps out, that same legendary confidence radiating from him as if he’d actually just extorted the poor shop owner.
If it weren't for the small paper bag and the crinkled receipt in his hand, they might have believed it, too.
"Looking at him like this... it's just stupid," Benkei grumbles.
Takeomi snorts, knowing full well what their boss actually bought.
When Shinichiro and the others rejoin the group, the Black Dragon members erupt in a unified roar, celebrating what they assume was a successful ‘business deal.’ Shinichiro swings a leg over his bike and revs the engine, prompting the entire line of delinquents to howl in victory behind him.
For the rest of the parade, Shinichiro’s presence never wavers. He leads the gang with a cocky confidence that sends everyone’s adrenaline through the roof. He lives up to every word whispered on the streets--a living legend who commands fear without ever needing to demand it.
But the moment the meeting concludes and he pulls his bike up to a specific house, the energy shifts.
The smirk he’s worn like armor all day vanishes the second he knocks on the door, replaced by a bashful, boyish smile. The man who radiated power while riding through the city now stands there looking almost shy, clutching a small paper bag in his hands.
When you open the door, a smile is already on your face as you look up at your boyfriend.
"You're late."
"Sorry, baby. Forgive me?" Shinichiro asks, pulling a teddy bear from the paper bag. It’s soft and brown, sporting a tiny red bow tie. Your smile grows wider--so sickeningly sweet that Shinichiro swears he might actually die from the sugar rush. He can feel his heart thudding against his ribs just looking at you.
"Hmm, what’s this? A bribe?" You tease him, though you’re already pulling the bear into a tight embrace, letting the soft fur brush your cheek.
Shinichiro pouts, making a smooching sound with his cheeks puffed out. "No kiss? Aren't I a good boyfriend for buying you a gift?"
You burst out laughing, the sound a bit breathless. How is it possible for a gang leader to be this pouty? If the Black Dragons saw their "ever-charismatic" leader acting this mushy, they’d probably double over in shock. Takeomi, Benkei, and Wakasa on the other hand, would look on with pure, unadulterated disgust.
But this is your Shinichiro, not theirs. He can be clingy, pouty, and cheesy for you, and you love him just the same--maybe even more than the people who follow him.
With you, he isn't the legendary leader; he's a loving, sometimes cringy boyfriend, eyes soft and warm in a way no one else ever sees.
He pulls you into a tight embrace, your bodies pressed together as he leans down to peck your nose. "I missed you today" he admits softly. "That’s why I stopped at hyakuen. Consider it a bribe for being late… and for missing you more than usual."
"Silly. I understand you're busy with your… gang stuff," you murmur, nuzzling against him while still clutching the bear. "Though I did hear a lot of motorcycles earlier. Was that you guys making all that racket?"
"Maybe," he admits, his grin turning sheepish. "But hey, if they're afraid of us, they'll leave you alone. I just want you to be able to walk freely, baby." His fingers graze yours, the gesture holding more weight than his lighthearted tone suggests.
He lets out a low chuckle when you hit his shoulder. Cheesy.
"Let's go inside, Shin. It's cold, and I know you're tired and hungry."
"Alright, baby." But before stepping through the door, he leans down to claim the kiss he’s been craving all day. It’s soft and lingering, enough to make your heart skip a beat.
You’re breathless when he finally pulls away, your cheeks flushed warm despite the biting winter air.
And if his members saw him like this--completely loving and utterly whipped, he wouldn't be embarrassed for a second. Because as proud as he is to lead his gang, nothing compares to the pride he feels when he’s standing at your side.
↬ Imaushi Wakasa
Despite his high-impact moves during gang wars, Imaushi Wakasa is the type who rarely runs his mouth. His nonchalance and laid-back nature make it seem like he’s barely trying--an attitude that, unfortunately, makes him a target for those who don't know any better.
But anyone who has witnessed him in his prime--forged in clashes and street fights, knows better than to fuck with him. Because as much as he doesn't feel the need to talk, he loves conversing with his fists.
Even in the heat of a brawl, Wakasa remains completely unfazed, his expression so disinterested that his friends often find themselves wondering if he’s actually bored.
His unflappable nature doesn't just scare his opponents--it unnerves his own members. He is truly an unbothered king. So, when he casually announces to his inner circle after a meeting that he has a girlfriend, the silence that follows is nothing short of comical.
"What do you mean you have a girlfriend, Waka?" His commander-slash-friend nearly chokes on his smoke, coughing the words out in disbelief.
"I have a girlfriend." Simple. Calm. Unbothered. As if that three-word sentence explains the universe. But knowing Wakasa, those few words are enough. He says exactly what he needs to, and not a syllable more.
He isn't asking for an opinion. He’s stating a fact, and that’s that.
Shinichiro glances at Takeomi, who looks just as confused, though he quickly drops his eyes to the ground as if it owes him a detailed explanation. Benkei, on the other hand, is staring at the three of them.
They aren't looking at each other, but the same thought runs through all their heads.
How?
Wakasa is a good-looking man, undoubtedly. He’s had countless women confess to him over the years--girls who practically throw themselves at his feet but he never pursues them. None of them have ever piqued his interest. Maybe it’s because he’s too detached and unreadable. He barely speaks, and no one has ever managed to scale the wall he’s built around himself. It is cold and fucking impenetrable.
So how?
"How?" Thank you, Benkei.
The question hangs in the air as Shinichiro and Takeomi nod in frantic agreement. They lean forward, desperate for an explanation, for anything.
If they expect Wakasa to elaborate, they’re dead wrong.
"Fuck y'all."
The news is massive but the conversation dies right there. He has a girlfriend. His friends don't believe him, he doesn't care, and he dips.
Little does he know after his announcement, the three of them decide to tail him just to see if he's lying. And maybe witness what the great Imaushi Wakasa looks like in a relationship.
They give it a few days, waiting for the perfect time Wakasa goes somewhere that isn't gang-related. And when he finally mentions he has somewhere to be, that's the signal for the three of them to spring into action.
Determined to catch him in the act, they tail him as discreetly as three high-ranking delinquents can. They soon find themselves standing in front of a backstreet café none of them even knew existed. Tucked between two looming buildings, the place is practically invisible unless you know exactly where to look. A faded sign creaks above the door, and a soft, warm light spills from the windows, inviting and quiet.
"He'd meet his girl in some hidden café like this?" Takeomi mutters, sneaking a glance at the door Wakasa just entered. "You sure he's not meeting one of his yakuza buddies here?"
"Yeah, and this is yakuza territory too," Shinichiro adds. He crosses his arms, squinting at the café like it might reveal its secrets.
Either way, they slip inside the café as quietly as possible, sneaking glances around to track down their friend. It doesn't take long before they spot him, sitting alone by the window looking as calm and uncaring as ever.
"Look at that fucker," Takeomi whispers. "Knew it. He was lying out of his ass. Bet he's here to spend the money he extorted. Fancy motherfucker."
Shinichiro starts to chuckle. "Or maybe he’s going to--"
Benkei nudges his shoulder, gesturing toward the table just as a woman begins walking up to where Wakasa sits.
"Oh, shit."
Wakasa’s eyes track your approaching figure. You’re dressed simply, clean and effortless--a stark contrast to the grit of the world he usually inhabits. His expression remains unreadable at first but the moment you stop in front of him and take your seat something shifts.
The man known for being as cold as ice lifts the corner of his lips into the softest smirk any of them have ever seen.
"Hi, pretty."
He leans over the table, bridging the gap to catch your cheek in a soft, lingering kiss. There is no rush in his movements. He captures your hand, thumb idly stroking your knuckles--a habit born from a deep, quiet familiarity.
"I haven't ordered your drink yet. Want some cheesecake?"
His soft gaze doesn't waver as he waits for your answer.
To the rest of the world, Wakasa is a man of silences. But with you, the words come easily, almost hurried, as if he can't wait to share his thoughts. He speaks in a register reserved solely for you, his voice dropping into a tone that no one else is ever permitted to hear.
You squeeze his hand, giving it a playful tug to bring his attention back from his own thoughts. "Did you wait long, baby?"
Wakasa can't help it anymore. A genuine smile creeps across his face, wide enough to make his eyes squint.
Unbeknownst to both of you, a chorus of gasps and muffled curses erupts from a table not too far away, where three very wide-eyed men are silently losing their minds.
"I didn't. I just came here straight after the meeting. Let me order first, then we'll talk about your uni, yeah?"
You smile and nod, and he gives your hand a final, tender caress before standing up. He leans over one more time, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, lingering just a second too long before finally pulling away.
You watch his back as you are pulled into your own thoughts.
A delinquent and a university student isn't an ideal story to tell, but it's the world you currently live in and love. It isn't unusual to hear others question your decision to be involved with him, their words stringing together like accusations, urging you to let go of his hand.
"Why him? He's a delinquent!"
"You're going to destroy your future!"
But none of that matters. The only words that truly resonate are the promises he’s whispered during those silent nights--words you choose to believe in above all else.
Wakasa is yours, just as you are his.
The clink of a cup on the table brings you back to the present.
"Here's your order, pretty."
He sets the coffee down in front of you--the order he’s memorized by heart. He knows how you cling to this specific drink whenever you’re pulling an all-nighter for school.
As detached as he is during his gang activities, with you, he notices everything. Every little detail about you is something he remembers and engraves into his memory as if it were the most vital information in the world.
Once again, he captures your hand, his soft gaze pinned on you as his rhythmic, gentle caresses begin to ease your mind.
"Tell me about your uni, baby?"
"Oh, you know… same hell," you sigh. "I'm currently working on a strategic plan for a hypothetical business...identifying its threats, strengths, and target markets. It’s exhausting, really."
"Poor baby," he murmurs, tilting his head with a playful glint in his eyes. "What if we tried executing your business in real life so it wouldn't be so hard on you? What do you say, pretty?"
You pinch the back of his hand, making him let out a low, amused chuckle.
"And?" you challenge with a smile. "Where exactly would we get our capital?"
A soft smile lingers on both of your faces as he leans closer, his fingers reaching out to gently tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear.
"Baby, I have ways."
It’s a joke, but you know deep down that if you ever truly asked, Wakasa would move mountains for you. For a man who rarely speaks, whose internal barriers are nearly impossible to pierce, the fact that you chose him is reason enough for him to do anything for you, legal or otherwise.
He loves you with that kind of intensity.
"Well, let's try your ways when I quit university and choose to be your fulltime girl"
And you love him just the same.
Both of you lean in, closing the distance until your lips finally meet in a soft, sweet kiss. Your hearts seem to beat in unison as the moment lingers, neither of you willing to pull away just yet. You can’t help but smile into the kiss, which coaxes a matching one from him, and soon you're both quietly giggling against each other’s lips.
You’re the first to pull away and sit back properly, while your boyfriend chases after you for one more lingering kiss at the corner of your mouth before finally settling into his own seat.
For a moment, everything feels perfect. It’s just the two of you in your own little world... right up until a loud, hacking cough cuts through the quiet café, followed by a sharp curse.
"Ow, fuck! Why is this so hot?! Are they trying to kill someone?"
Wakasa closes his eyes, letting out a long, weary sigh. "Uh-huh… couldn't they be any more obvious?"
"Waka?" You stare at your boyfriend for a moment before your gaze drifts to the three men seated not too far from your table. They're huddled together, desperately pretending to study a menu while very obviously burning holes in your direction. Your eyes dart from the strangers, to him, and then back to them again.
Wakasa quietly watches the gears turn in your head until the flicker of realization finally hits you.
"…They're wearing the same uniform as you."
"Unfortunately" he mutters.
He pinches the bridge of his nose. "These idiots..."
Wakasa stands up, finally deciding to continue your date somewhere else. It isn't because he’s embarrassed to be seen with you, but rather to end this stupidity once and for all.
He isn't about to let these dumbasses ruin his time with you just because their nosy asses wanted to catch him off guard. They never will. His nonchalant persona and the softer version he shows only to you are both real--he’s simply more natural when you're around.
In truth, you're the only person in the world who actually has the power to catch him off guard.
He reaches out and gently tugs you up. "Let's continue our date somewhere else."
"Why--"
Before you can finish, he’s already walking toward their table with you in tow, his hand holding yours tightly. The three of them freeze mid-motion as you both come to a halt right in front of them.
"This is my girlfriend," he says flatly, his tone suggesting that talking to them is the most boring chore in the world. But the moment he turns back to you, that soft visage returns instantly.
"And these," he gestures lazily toward the three wide-eyed men, "are the idiots i told you about."
"Hi" you say with a polite smile, giving them a little wave.
The three of them just stare, unable to bridge the gap between the man they know and the one standing before them. The reality that his girlfriend actually exists is one thing, but the genuine look on Wakasa’s face is another entirely. Shinichiro’s jaw is tight, his silence loud, while Takeomi and Benkei simply go still, watching the scene unfold in stunned disbelief.
Before they can even find their voices, your boyfriend guides you toward the exit, leaving them completely dumbfounded.
It takes a moment for the reality to sink in, but they eventually snap out of their daze. "O-oi, Waka!"
"Pay for our coffee! Bye!" he calls back over his shoulder.
Once you’re both outside, a low, genuine laugh finally breaks from Wakasa’s chest. You stare at him, confused at first, but his amusement is so infectious and unfiltered that you can’t help but join him. The rare sound of his laughter fills the air, leaving a lingering warmth in your chest.
"You're terrible!" You laugh, swatting his shoulder.
His shoulders are still shaking as he tugs you closer, wrapping his arms securely around your waist. "They're more terrible for stalking me. They didn't believe I actually had a girl."
You return his embrace as he slowly begins to sway you back and forth, as if you’re dancing to music only the two of you can hear. "Maybe it's because you didn't explain it to them?"
His gaze softens as he leans down, his voice dropping into a low whisper. "No need. You're the only one who matters."
If your heart skips a beat, it’s a secret shared only between the two of you. Because just as you are his entire world, Wakasa is the only heartbeat that matters in yours.
"Let's go to your dorm, baby," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your temple. "I wanna keep kissing you all day."
And even if no one believes that your Wakasa is entirely different from the man who rules the streets, it doesn't matter. They don't need to see the side of him that only exists behind closed doors. Because he’s yours. Entirely yours.
↬ Hanma Shuji
If most people saw twenty-plus grown men in all-black suits walking down the street, the encounter would be nerve-wracking--terrifying, even. These men are armed and known for destroying anything in their path. They’re exactly the kind of people you’d avoid at any cost.
But right now? These same dangerous men are the ones trembling.
Sitting in front of them is another man in a pinstripe suit, a cigarette dangling lazily from his lips. His stare is sharp enough to serve as a final warning: one wrong move, and he will raise his pistol without a second thought to put a bullet through someone's skull.
The men can't even swallow, let alone allow the sound of their own breathing to be heard.
Because Hanma Shuji… is pissed as fuck.
Everyone in the damn room knows he's one snap away from going on a killing spree, and no one wants to be the first body to drop.
The smoke from his cigarette curling around his dark expression.
"You had one job, you pieces of shit. One fucking job!" He snarls.
No one dares to speak, breathe, or even blink. Any normal human action could get them killed. Act like a corpse if they must, just so long as their boss doesn't raise his gun or stand to beat the shit out of them. Even then, there's no guarantee of salvation.
He inhales sharply, his jaw clenching and unclenching with visible tension. "What is so hard to fucking understand? No one leaves until we have what we need! And you… you were so damn stupid that you let the cops tail you. Fucking morons."
Hanma lets the words hang in the air, the room already suffocating under the weight of his gaze. Everyone knows better than to move, but as with every tragic comedy, there is always one idiot who mistakes a pause for an opportunity to speak.
Hands twitching and sweat trickling down his neck, the man gulps, daring to lift his eyes to meet his boss lethal gaze.
"B-but b-boss, w-we-"
Gunshot.
In the blink of an eye, he crumples to the floor, a bullet lodged in the center of his forehead, blood pooling around him like crimson ink.
Don't rest in peace, idiot.
The ringing of the gunshot echoes across the room. If they've been stiff from the start of this execution (meeting) they're now completely paralyzed. Hearts pound harder than ever. Even if they don't pray aloud their minds are filled with desperate litanies, hoping they won't be the next to get shot.
Hanma Shuji stands, menacing aura unfaltering despite the kill.
"Why the fuck are you trying to piss me off even more, huh?"
He begins to prowl toward them, paying no mind to the blood seeping onto his leather shoes. He spits his cigarette at the feet of the men in the front row, a gesture of pure disgust. Looking down at them now, he isn't a god--he’s a true reaper deciding which soul to harvest next.
Hanma raises his pistol once again, the barrel shifting slowly toward the man on his right. The man goes rigid but the fast, shallow breaths rattling in his chest betray every ounce of terror he's trying to hide.
He's next.
He's gonna die.
HE'S NEXT.
Everyone holds their breath, bracing for the final moment of their lives...
until a phone rings inside Hanma’s pocket.
His jaw remains set as he pulls the phone from his pocket. Without glancing at the caller id, he presses accept, his other hand steady with his finger still hovering over the trigger.
He’s ready to snap at whoever dared to interrupt him, but the words die in his throat the moment a familiar voice carries through the line.
"Hi, baby."
The whole room remains locked in a deathly silence, making the voice from the phone loud enough for everyone to hear. It is a sweet, melodic voice, speaking with an endearment that only she has the right to use for a man as fearsome as him.
Yet, the men feel no relief. Instead, some close their eyes in a desperate prayer as the Reaper turns toward them, a single plea screaming in their minds:
"Whoever is the goddess on the other line... please, fucking save us from him."
Hanma lowers his gun without a word and strides back toward the table, the phone still pressed to his ear. When he turns to sit, the expression that had nearly eaten them alive begins to melt.
First, it shifts into something cold and unreadable... and then he tongues the inside of his cheek as his eyes slowly crinkle with delight.
"Hi, pretty baby," he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave into something dangerously sweet. "Why are you still up?"
To say the men are shocked would be a massive understatement--they can't believe their fucking eyes. Hanma Shuji--the man who reigns over the streets with terror and is feared even by his own kind is seconds away from smiling genuinely, all because of the woman on the other end of the line.
It is a well-known fact within the underworld that Hanma Shuji has a girlfriend. Some of the men have even met you, and their immediate thought was always the same: how unfortunate you were to be involved with a man like him. To them, you are young, beautiful, and tragically unlucky--doomed to be with a man who will eventually destroy everything he touches.
Little do they know, the gangster is wrapped tightly around your finger, and he’s there willingly. He is chained and devoted, with absolutely no place he would rather be than right where you want him.
"I'm trying to finish this new scarf I've been crocheting and suddenly thought of that milky donut we passed by the other day. I'm kind of craving it--wait, are you busy? I'm sorry, Shu--"
Shuji can’t help the smile creeping onto his face. He tries biting his lower lip to suppress it, but the joy is too infectious to fight.
When his useless subordinates see that wholesome expression tugging at the corners of his mouth, they finally dare to exhale. They are still in disbelief, but they cling to the sliver of hope his change in mood provides. Their boss smiling means, at the very least, they might live to see another day.
"Don't tell me you used that ugly color for my scarf--"
"Excuse me! Who said this scarf is for you?!"
That earns a roaring laugh from your boyfriend, the sound echoing through the stifling room as he pictures your indignant face. His eyes gleam, his voice dropping to a low, amused hum. "Come on now, baby. I know it’s for me."
Hanma lounges back further into his chair, the gun mindlessly tapping against his temple as he continues to bite his lower lip.
How amazing it is--to see a man capable of terrifying an entire group of hardened thugs turn into a smiling idiot just because his girl called.
It's a sight to see, really, and it could be a comforting one…
If only they were assured that after this call, he'd stay in a good enough mood for the rest of the night to spare them from Hanma's rage and carnage.
"Whatever you say, Shu."
There is a brief pause on your end, and Hanma tilts his head slightly, listening intently. He can hear faint shuffling, the rustle of fabric, and then something lightly clattering to the floor.
"Oh, shit!" Your voice suddenly grows distant and distracted.
Hanma immediately drops his feet from the table, his posture sharpening in an instant. His men stiffen in unison, fearing the shift in his body language is a sign that the execution is back on but Hanma’s attention is glued entirely to the phone.
"Baby?" he calls out, the irritation from earlier thinning into a sharp, focused curiosity.
More sounds filter through the speaker: the jingle of keys, a door clicking shut, and the soft, hurried tap of your heels against the floor. Hanma’s brow arches, amusement flickering in his eyes as he leans back into his chair once more, his grin curling lazy and wide.
"Baby… where are you?"
"H-huh? Ah--I'm crocheting your scarf--"
"You said it wasn't mine--"
"Shut it. J-just get my milky donuts before you come home, okay? Love you, take care!"
And then the line goes dead.
Hanma stares at his phone for a second longer, his grin stretching even further. But the moment the screen goes dark, the shift is instant. The boyish boyfriend fades, and the crime lord slips back into place like a second skin.
The room freezes all over again. The comfortable breaths some of them dared to release earlier are pulled right back into their lungs. Every man feels the same dreadful thought sink deep, like a stone dropping into cold water:
The call ended. We're fucked.
See you in hell, boys. Damn.
Hanma stands up with a low groan, his hand sliding back onto his gun. He raises it casually, almost lazily, paired with a glare sharp enough to slice the air.
"If I'm gonna rid one stupid among a bunch of stupid, might as well rid them all, ain't it?"
These men accept their fate the moment they bow their heads. It's a sign of defeat, a silent confession that they're useless gangsters who fucked up their operation big time. If it weren't for their boss taking immediate action, they would've all been in jail by now.
And honestly, maybe they deserve to be scythed by the Reaper himself rather than be tortured by cops desperate for information.
Hanma doesn't say another word, fully prepared to let the ricochet of his gun do the talking.
But the split second before he pulls the trigger, the door swings open, allowing a faint floral scent to cut through the heavy, metallic air.
"Hi! Is Shuji here?"
Everyone witnesses the way Hanma’s eyes widen in genuine shock, his gun lowering instantly. The mere sound of that familiar voice is enough to make the criminal boss’s threatening countenance wobble a bit.
His girlfriend is here. His baby.
Hanma points firmly at the dead body on the floor, signaling his men to cover the bloody scene. He then frantically turns away from the table and hurries toward where you stand. His men immediately press themselves together, forming a human wall to block your view of anything beyond their backs as their boss reaches you.
"B-baby!... What are you doing here, huh?"
The collective movement that blocks what's in front of you makes you roam your eyes and tiptoe to see what they're trying to hide. But Hanma catches on fast and smoothly blocks your view by towering over you.
"What brings you here, doll? Isn't it a bit late for you to be wandering outside?" He holds your elbows softly, his touch gentle as he tries to guide you to turn around and leave this blood-scented room.
Hanma has never been nervous a day in his life. He has always chased the thrill of danger, so the concept of fear isn't in his vocabulary. But the thought of you barging in and seeing the grisly work he’s just finished is enough to make him panic.
"Were you surprised?" You look up at him, smiling so genuinely, as if your little stunt were both brilliant and sweet.
It is, certainly, but it’s in the entirely wrong place.
Hanma doesn't dare turn his head to see how his subordinates are handling the cover up. Instead, he keeps his focus entirely on you, fighting to push down the panic clawing at his throat. To distract you, he pecks your lips, his hands sliding from your elbows up to your shoulders to keep you anchored in place.
"Yes, baby, I am surprised," he murmurs. "Now, don't do it again."
You giggle, reaching up to caress his sharp jaw and gently pinch his cheeks. "Silly! It was supposed to be a surprise, Shuji."
You are so, so sweet that he can’t help the twitch of his lips, but he also can’t ignore the chaos clawing at his insides. He doesn’t care if his men can feel the frantic tension he radiates, or that he’s practically putty in your hands as he tries to steer you away from the carnage he orchestrated.
He isn't embarrassed to be seen like this, however he would be deeply unsettled if you witnessed another blood-stained scene especially when he promised, the day he asked for your hand, that you would never have to see one.
As dangerous as he is, he never lets you be at the center of his chaos.
And you? You knew the moment you let him into your life that danger would be inevitable and a common occurrence but you didn't care. Being with him is the only thing that makes you feel complete.
Ironically, being in the arms of the most dangerous man in the room is exactly what makes you feel safest.
You love him as a whole, as much as he loves your everything.
"You could have told me. I should've picked you up--"
"Then it wouldn't be a surprise anymore!" you counter with a playful smile.
The soft smile you display makes Hanma's tension finally break. Unable to resist the smirk any longer, he pulls you to his chest and leans down, burying his face against your jaw as he peppers it with little bites and kisses.
"You missed me that much that you had to come here and surprise me? What a damn shame," he teases, though his grip on you says otherwise.
Your laughter echoes through the once-dreaded room, and you are entirely unaware that it isn't only your boyfriend who is eased by the sound. His men who had been facing the scythe of death only moments ago, feel the relief wash over them as well.
Still lost in your own world, the two of you don't notice his subordinates slowly embracing a rare sense of security. They finally dare to believe they might actually be safe from the hands of their boss--all thanks to you.
"Yeah, what a shame," you retort, rolling your eyes. "As if I’m the one clinging like a koala right now. In the presence of your men, really, Shuji? How embarrassing."
Shuji finally pulls away from your neck to look at your pretty face--full of smiles and adoration. He could return the tease, but instead he uses those seconds to appreciate how you immediately calm him.
"They could die for all I care."
You scrunch your nose. Fucking adorable.
"Please don't."
And somewhere among the gangsters huddled together, you swear you hear a sigh of relief. You have no idea what you did, but the gratitude radiating off their backs makes you think that maybe… you did something for them.
"Well, the reason I'm here is like what I told you over the phone. I'm craving that milky donut we passed by the other day. I want it as hot as possible… and I guess I missed you too."
You murmur the last part, your hands lingering to caress his suited chest. He catches your hands in his, pressing a lingering kiss to your fingers before turning toward his men abruptly.
"Clean that shit up and fucking scram after."
Before you can hear the collective breath of relief and chorus of gratitude, your boyfriend is already pulling you out of the room.
The night air hits you both as Hanma guides you outside the building, his hand firmly intertwined with yours. The tension and rage that filled him earlier are completely gone now, replaced by a softer, gentler version of him--one that only exists when you're around.
"So" he drawls, glancing down at you with that signature lazy grin "milky donuts, huh?"
You nod eagerly, squeezing his hand. "Hot and fresh. You promised you’d get them before coming home, anyway."
"Oh, did I now?"
He pulls you closer as you walk down the street, his arm wrapping around your shoulders to shield you from the cold wind. "Guess I have to follow the boss's orders."
That elicits a bright laugh from you, and for a moment, Hanma Shuji can only look at your face. He traces the way your eyes sparkle under the streetlights and the way you lean into him so naturally, so trusting.
The criminal lord wouldn't trade this moment for any thrill the streets or the underground could give him.
Because you're the most exciting part of his life. And even if he's a lawbreaker, a feared man, the Reaper, none of those titles give him a more fulfilling, satisfying feeling than being your man.
He's just Shuji.
The man who is wholly, utterly, and completely yours. Your Shuji.
"Let's go, baby. I don't want you getting grumpy if you don't get those donuts tonight."
He presses a kiss to your temple--a silent assurance and a promise kept.
↬ Sanzu Haruchiyo
Like a feral wolf fresh from a fight, he staggers toward Bonten's conference room, each breath coming in ragged gasps. It isn't just his labored breathing that shows the rough expedition he's been on, but also the blood splattered across his pinstripe suit and the bruises and busted skin scattered here and there.
Sanzu Haruchiyo has just returned from the front lines.
As an underboss of the most powerful criminal syndicate in the country, his days are perpetually fueled by threats and gore--nothing unusual for him. However, at this time of year, their enemies are particularly agitated. Challenges to Bonten’s authority have begun to pile up, resulting in weeks of grueling, back-to-back missions.
If his normal days are loaded with violence, these moments are defined by something else entirely: straight-up savagery.
When he slams the conference door open, the men inside expect hell in human form, and they aren't wrong. The executives watch in silence as the bloody second-in-command stalks into the room, drags a chair back with a screech of metal, and props his long legs onto the table.
Kokonoi Hajime, the only one who dares to linger his gaze on Sanzu for more than a second, knows better than to speak. Based on the feral look of his superior's eyes, it is clear that any word, no matter how small, might be the one that triggers an explosion. It’s better to leave him the fuck alone.
Sanzu still radiates a strong viciousness. His eyes twitch, an attestation of the adrenaline still surging from his kills. His right hand keeps alternating between gripping his gun and tapping it against his head, and there are little sniffs here and there.
The pinkette is still riding a high from the bloodlust, his nerves frayed and electric. No one in their right mind should trigger him now.
Hoping to de-escalate the tension, Takeomi--Bonten’s advisor and Sanzu’s brother attempts to mellow him out with a simple offering. He pulls out a pack and gestures.
"Smoke?"
Takeomi darts his eyes toward his brother, who is now lazily swinging his swivel chair left and right, his long legs still propped arrogantly on the table.
"Fuck off."
Understood.
The executives know better than to try their luck with Sanzu in his post-murder state, but someone(cue: Haitani) knows there is another wave of missions he has to address. It needs to be said now, because this next task is bigger and far more terrifying.
"Is this your last order for today?" Rindou is the second one to break the silence.
Unlike the advisor, who sought only to placate Sanzu, the younger Haitani’s voice is laced with a sharp, subtle teasing--as if he holds the one secret that could knock the mad man off his feet.
Sanzu bores his shaking, bloodshot eyes into Rindou. His movements are sluggish, yet he still manages to point his gun directly at him. "I said fuck off."
Rindou should take that as a final warning, but what is a Haitani if not a professional provocateur? If his voice earlier held a hint of a tease, his face now displays full-blown smugness as he prepares to drag Sanzu back to earth.
"Ah, hah… I just thought you’d appreciate a little briefing before your next 'mission.' That’s why I’m asking if that was your last order. Guess I’ll just let you stay fucked up then." Rindou’s words are laced with the fakest concern imaginable, yet he remains brave enough to meet Sanzu’s glare head-on.
Everyone in the room knows the number two is a single snap away from slipping back into feral mode. However, this is Bonten, and Sanzu going ballistic is a familiar, everyday sight. It is dangerous, certainly, but for others it is quietly entertaining.
And when it comes to entertainment, who would dare miss out? Certainly not the Haitanis.
That’s when the older brother, Ran, interjects. His voice snapping the tension between Rindou and the mad dog just before his younger brother gets bitten.
"When was the last time you went home, Sanzu?" Ran asks, straight to the point. He’s trying to gauge a different reaction from the pink-haired gangster, but to no avail. Still half-lost in his own head, Sanzu lazily redirects his aim, pointing his gun toward Ran.
"Why are you fucking ganging up on me, huh? You two motherfuckers know I'd beat the shit out of you, so fuck off--"
The almost slurred threat only makes Ran giggle like a little devil. He knows what's coming, and judging by the subtle shifts in Kokonoi and Takeomi’s expressions, they know too. They know exactly where this is headed.
"Just askin'. If I were you, I'd fuckin' straighten up and prepare."
"Hell yeah," Rindou chimes in from the back, sounding far too amused for his own good.
"What the fuck do you mea--"
"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned," Ran interrupts.
Sanzu clearly doesn't understand what the fuck Ran is talking about. He's a joke, always was. But the mention of the word woman makes him stop swinging his chair. The gun stills mid-play between his fingers.
And just as the realization is about to hit him, the door slams open.
A woman stands in the threshold, draped in black from head to toe. The thin, delicate lace of a veil covers her face, obscuring her expression entirely. Despite her silence, her attire speaks for her--and everyone in the room knows exactly what it implies.
Funeral.
It’s as if Sanzu Haruchiyo’s brain is lagging, delayed in signaling that the woman who just entered is none other than his own.
He still looks the same, bloodthirsty. But when the sound of your heels clicking against the floor echoes through the room as you slowly step inside, it's like liquid poison slithering into Sanzu's crevices, exposing a crack in his visage.
You come to a stop just a few feet from his chair. Even though he can’t see your eyes behind the thin, dark lace of your veil, he can feel your gaze burning through him.
Your voice cuts through the silence, calm and razor-sharp.
"I thought you were fucking dead."
The silence in the room is absolute. Even the Haitanis, who would normally find this shit laughable, don't have the breath to let out a single snicker. They know exactly who you are, and more importantly, they know how far your brand of crazy can go.
Bonten is an organization run by the deadliest men in the country--men who command fear and respect with nothing more than a glance. They thrive on blood and build their empires on death. They are, by every definition, lethal. But all their power and ruthlessness pale in comparison to a woman neglected and denied of love for weeks.
That specific brand of fury burns hotter and sharper than any underground war. In this room, everyone knows it--especially your boyfriend.
"I even felt bad for not bringing a flower..."
Your right hand lifts the veil from your face, slowly setting the dark lace onto the table. Your eyes, cold and focused, finally lock onto his.
"Only to find out you're alive and kicking. How disappointing."
Your words act as a trigger, and Sanzu’s expression shifts instantly. The hell in human form who stormed into the room just moments ago pauses, a faint narrowing of his eyes betraying a flicker of realization.
The gun he's been spinning between his fingers slows, hovering for just a moment as he slowly drops his legs off the table. Just for a heartbeat, the relentless predator looks slightly off balance but undeniably aware.
As he's about to rip the words out of his throat, maybe to defend himself or maybe to assert his dominance, he feels the heat of a palm press against his cheek.
"Fuck you, Haruchiyo! You should've told me you didn't want me anymore instead of never coming home, you asshole!"
And just like that, you storm out of the conference room.
The impact of the slap seems to have forcibly awakened Sanzu. His bloodlust is gone, replaced by a frantic, jagged sort of desperation. He shoots to his feet immediately, his instincts kicking in as he scrambles to follow you without a second thought.
"Fuck! y/n!"
The doors swing shut behind him, and the moment he is gone, the executives left behind finally exhale. The tension that had been suffocating the room snaps, replaced by the sound of the Haitanis snickering like it's the funniest show they've ever seen. Ran is doubled over, while Rindou doesn't even bother hiding his grin.
The others simply shake their heads in disbelief at the sheer absurdity of the scene they just witnessed.
"That fucker actually got hit in the feels," Kokonoi mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"y/n come on! Goddamn it!"
"Stop following me, or I swear I'll bash your head into a wall. Don't test me, Haruchiyo!"
Your voice drips with acid, each word sharp enough to cut. It isn't an empty threat, and Sanzu knows it. He knows you like the back of his hand. Every edge, every breaking point. And yet, he wouldn't be himself if he didn't try to provoke you anyway.
You're furious and unhinged, but he's worse. Crazier. Madly, irreversibly obsessed with you.
"I told you, didn't I? I was on a fucking mission--"
"Does that require completely forgetting you have a girlfriend?" you snap.
No matter how hard he tries, he can't match your pace. The more you storm ahead, the more ridiculous it looks. The feared mad dog of Bonten reduced to something almost pathetic.
Lost in a stream of mumbled curses, you don’t notice how quickly the pink-haired gangster closes the gap. In a snap, a hand clamps around your wrist like a vice, and suddenly you’re being dragged in the opposite direction.
"Get off! I don't want to go with you--fucking let go! I'm breaking up with you!"
"Like hell you are!" Haruchiyo snarls back.
His grip tightens as he tugs you toward the nearest door he can find. You retaliate immediately, slapping his arm in an attempt to make him release you. When that doesn't even make him flinch, you resort to pinching him instead.
"Haruchiyo--"
He shoves the door open and drags you inside with enough force to make you stumble, his grip on your wrist never wavering. The sudden jolt makes your rage falter, though he’s too focused to notice.
When he finally spins around to face you, he freezes. He's taken aback by the look on your face, because while anger still burns in your expression, your eyes are glossy and wet, threatening to spill over as they lock onto him.
"There's no point in talking. I'm so done with you."
You try to yank your hand free, but the more you struggle, the tighter his grip becomes. He stays rooted in place, staring at you like something is turning over in his head, like gears grinding against each other.
"Let me go, Haru--"
"I don't want to. We're fucking talking here." he bites back.
He drags you again, this time toward the wide office table. When he lets go of your wrist for a split second, it’s only to slide his hand immediately to your waist. With a surge of effortless strength, he lifts you and sets you down on the edge of the mahogany table. He steps in close, boxing you in, leaning down just enough to force you to look at him while bracing both hands at your sides.
"What part of I have multiple orders didn't you fucking understand?" he growls, his face inches from yours.
"You could've started with an apology, you fucking psycho," you snap back, refusing to be intimidated even as you sit perched between his arms.
You watch as he closes his eyes, his jaw tightening as his patience visibly thins. But instead of making you back down, it only ignites your fury further. How dare he look like the victim when he's the one at fault? How dare he act like this is exhausting for him, when you're the one who was left waiting, neglected, and grieving a man who wasn't even dead yet?
The moment you accepted Haruchiyo's affection (obsession) you knew it came with a heavy price. He isn't some normal man with a clean job and a respectable title. His name alone carries a weight that makes even the most hardened criminals falter.
Sanzu Haruchiyo is a difficult, violent man, yet when he offered you his blood-stained hands, you took them without hesitation.
Trusting.
You were introduced to the chaos of the life he leads, grew familiar with the shadows he inhabits, and even learned to turn a blind eye to the horrors he commits. You did it all because you learned to love him, and you realized a long time ago that loving a man as insane as Haruchiyo would eventually compromise your own sanity as well.
Sanzu groans, eyes closing as he lets out a sigh. That's your cue. Whatever you're asking for is just as ridiculous to him as the slap you delivered in front of his colleagues.
Impossible. He won't apologize. He never will.
You place a hand against his chest, the fabric of his suit still warm and smelling faintly of iron, and try to push him away. "Get off. This talk is useless. Just let me go home."
The acid that laced your voice moments ago has softened into a controlled whisper. It sounds tired--surrendering. Because, as you’ve realized, this conversation is a dead end. Not after witnessing just how far gone your boyfriend is today. His bloodied, relentless state says it all. There is no room in his head for remorse or the gentle "sorries" of a normal man. You have to accept that.
However, Sanzu has other plans.
Instead of letting you push him away, his hands tighten around your waist, pinning you in place. He leans in closer, invading your space until he buries his nose against the curve of your cheek, breathing you in.
"Let me go--"
"We'll go home after this," he murmurs against the apple of your cheek, punctuating the promise with a sharp, possessive nip.
"No. Let me go home--to my own house, Haru." Your voice finally cracks, a small, broken sniffle slipping out as the tears you’ve been holding back finally well in your eyes.
You're so, so mad at him that the slap hasn't been enough. You want to claw at his skin, pull his hair, bash his head into a wall just like you promised. But the betrayal of your own heart is the worst part. How can one kiss, one touch, make all that righteous anger start to melt away?
When Sanzu feels the wetness glide down your cheek, he pulls back slightly. He looks just like he did earlier: stuck. Those internal gears visibly grinding as he tries to process your grief. Subconsciously, as your tears continue to fall, his hand reaches up to brush them away.
"Stop."
"Wh-what?"
"Stop crying."
"Then fucking apologize! I thought you were dead because there were no updates from you! You told me you would call! or at least message me so I'd know you were still fucking kicking!"
Your anger flares again, reignited by the memory of silent nights spent waiting. Waiting for your man to come home in one piece. Even bloodied, wounded, or high--at least he'd return alive.
"Or you could've at least ordered one of your men to tell me you were still breathing and just busy slicing people! Haru, i was waiting!"
You wail through your words, and Haruchiyo continues wiping your tears as he listens. You don't notice that the more venom you spit at him, the calmer his expression becomes.
"And you're still not apologizing. I'm so sick of you." you whisper, exhausted.
Once he’s satisfied that your cheeks are dry, he leans in again, his face hovering dangerously close to yours.
"You know I can only bring burner phones during errands--"
"Then you could've ordered your men to update me--"
"I don't want any bastards near you."
It's the only explanation you're going to get--a possessive, irrational truth. But then he closes the final gap, kissing your lips roughly as if you’re the very air he needs to survive.
And for the first time that day, pressed against your mouth, the monster finally calms.
"H-haru--"
He doesn't stop. He refuses to let you speak another word, sealing your mouth with his and catching the gasp that escapes you. He takes the opening to deepen the kiss, his tongue mingling with yours in a way that is as demanding as it is desperate.
You taste a mix of sweetness and bitterness, maybe from the soda he always drinks before errands, or from whatever illicit medicine he's taken but it's familiar. It's something you've grown used to, something you love.
You press your palms lightly against his chest, a silent plea for air. Haruchiyo doesn't protest, but he doesn't pull away either. He only gives you enough distance, just an inch, so you can breathe, but close enough for his words to fall straight against your lips.
"You're always in my mind, y/n."
It isn't an apology. It’s a confession of his obsession. But the raw fervor dripping from his voice is enough to finally settle the storm inside you.
You accepted long ago that apologies are impossible for him. A man in his position will never humble himself over his wrongdoings. This is the path he chose and the life he lives.
Still, Haruchiyo has his own way of compensating: through his devotion and constancy. Even if he can't contact you for days, weeks, months, or even years, you will always be the center of his obsession. His own poisonous sweetheart.
"I don't know if I should be flattered by that," you mutter. "Imagine you slicing someone up and thinking about me."
He pecks your lips twice before nosing along your cheek, lingering there until his scarred lips brush your ear. His voice drops to a lower octave as he whispers,
"Keeping you on my mind is what makes me finish the job fast…"
You grip his shoulder when you feel his hands tighten around you once again, pulling you closer and closer until he settles firmly between your thighs.
"…I rush through it all just so I can come back to you."
You grab his hair and pull him off you to smash your lips against his. The kiss turns heated within seconds, both of you rushing to steal each other's breath like it's the only thing you know, like it's the only reason either of you exists.
Sanzu groans when you tug harder. You want him closer, close enough to crawl into his skin if it were possible.
You pull back just enough, breath ragged against his swollen lips.
"Let's go home now," you whisper. "Baby, please. Let's go home."
"Anything for you."
He hoists you off the table, and you immediately lock your legs around his waist. Without breaking his stride, he turns and bolts for the door, hauling you out of the office as fast as he can.
Because even if every corner of that office, that building, and every Bonten executive has witnessed how crazy the two of you can get, they will never know the madness you share behind the four walls of your room.
Oh, how love can be this insane.
↬ Haitani Rindou
Years of dominating gang fights in their youth and a growing tally of kills in adulthood have solidified a formidable reputation for the Haitani brothers.
Terrifying, merciless, and vicious.
Those three words define the infamous duo of Roppongi. Yet, while they are cut from the same cloth of violence, subtle cracks in their unity reveal the distinct traits that set them apart. Their kill counts may be nearly identical, but the methods they use to reach those numbers are fundamentally different. It is this divergence in style that truly defines them, even as they stand together on the same side of a blood-soaked field.
For instance, the older brother, Ran, can take a life while wearing the nastiest of smiles. He moves as if murder is nothing more than a pleasant pastime. That smile is charming--even genuine, and is often enough to fool an enemy into lowering their guard. Usually, they don't realize they are being led to their deaths until their own blood is already splattered across his Giorgio Armani leather shoes.
But every coin has two sides, and the Haitani name is no exception. Flip it over, and the image that stares back is something entirely different.
The younger brother--Haitani Rindou.
Word in the underground scatters that the younger Haitani is colder than his aniki. Though they are both sadistic by nature, Rindou is the definition of cold-hearted and ruthless. His expression in almost every endeavor is impassive, and if someone or something manages to draw a reaction from him, it is almost always followed by a cold-blooded execution.
In short, if some believe they can work around Ran before he kills them, others know to walk on eggshells around Rindou.
That is their main difference, and the men in suits are about to experience it firsthand as they wait for the arrival of the said gangster. They know exactly the kind of person they are about to deal with, hence, they maintain a stiff and calculated act despite the blaring music that shakes the room.
Rindou wanted this negotiation to happen in a club.
They couldn't say no. What power do they have to refuse? They are here to negotiate, and the least they can do is offer their best impression of submission, hoping that he might, just might--consider their deal.
"Is he coming? Or did we arrive at the wrong club, boss? It's been an hour."
The man in the suit, clearly a subordinate, leans closer and whispers to his superior--a man in a brown three-piece suit who has been seated in the VIP section for over an hour now.
While the stress doesn't show on his face, it is beginning to pile up beneath his calm exterior. It’s true, an hour has passed and there is still no sign of the man who owns this club.
Still, showing impatience would be the worst possible move. It is safer to appear compliant, to sit still and wait, than to risk being noticed for the wrong reasons. Any sign of irritation could be reported back to Rindou, causing him to walk away from the deal, or worse--ensuring the man ends up with a gun pressed to his skull.
"Let it be," he replies evenly, his voice steady despite the tension. "Mr. Haitani must have matters to attend to. He is simply late."
The subordinate bows his head once more before stepping back to his position, leaving his boss alone with his thoughts. The man focuses on the rim of the glass in his hand, fear slowly mixing with worry as the minutes drag on inside the deafening club.
The environment irritates him. The thumping music and flashing lights strain his eyes, sending a dull ache pulsing through his head. But showing even the slightest discomfort will do him no good, not when the entire couch is surrounded by Bonten's men
After a little while, the guards stationed around the VIP section shift.
It’s subtle, almost imperceptible but practiced. They scatter just enough to acknowledge a presence that has arrived, their bodies aligning to create a clear path for the man everyone has been waiting for. And despite the pounding music and the chaos of the club, the air seems to fall into a heavy silence the moment Bonten executive Haitani Rindou steps into view.
A posh young gangster. That is the first thing the other party notices when Rindou appears. But beneath the expensive exterior is an aura that screams full-blown, cold-blooded criminal. His face is a mask of detachment. He remains unsympathetic and untouched by the noise and bodies pressing in around him.
The boss, though nerve-wracked by the gravity of meeting a Bonten higher-up for the first time, calmly stands to greet him.
"Good evening, Mr. Haitani. Thank you for sparing us your time."
Rindou doesn't spare him a glance.
He simply sits down across from them, his posture relaxed and his gaze fixed anywhere but on them. The boss remains standing, stiff and uncertain, as if waiting for Rindou’s permission to sit. Instead of speaking, the mullet-haired gangster lifts his hand in a lazy gesture, and a subordinate immediately steps forward to pour his drink.
Only then does Rindou flick his eyes toward the man.
That is the cue.
The boss sits down at once.
"I’m giving you thirty minutes" Rindou says calmly, his voice flat and uninterested. "If I find your deal trash, I’m killing you for wasting my time."
It isn't a threat. It is a deadly promise. Everyone on that couch knows his words are absolute. No cheesy smile or kissing up his ass will ease the younger one unless the conversation comes with a clear purpose.
The boss starts immediately. Though his facade of calmness is beginning to crack, he does his best to straighten his back and clear his throat. "M-Mr. Haitani, we’re here to propose a partnership. A supply route."
Rindou doesn’t react. He leans back against the couch, one ankle resting over his knee and his eyes drifting elsewhere as if the man speaking isn’t worth facing yet. The glass in front of him remains untouched.
The boss continues, "We have access to ports in Yokohama and Chiba. Clean entries. No paper trail. We can move goods in bulk without customs interference."
Despite his nervousness, the boss finds himself searching the young one's face for any sign that his words have offended or provoked him. But all he notices is Rindou’s unwavering gaze fixed on the crowd below, as if he is watching something.
Guarding it.
Still nothing. No nod, no change in expression, just that same impassive stare until Rindou finally breaks the silence, his voice flat and detached as he asks
"What kind of goods"
"Firearms. Pharmaceuticals. Whatever Bonten requires," the boss answers too quickly. "We can guarantee discretion and efficiency."
This time, Rindou finally spares him a glance. The movement carries a hint of irritation--not because of what the boss said, but because Rindou has been pulled away from whatever he was watching below.
"You came to me.....with routes I already own?"
The air tightens.
Everyone on that couch feels it, especially the opposing party. Even though they've come prepared not to displease the younger Haitani, no one can truly predict how this ordeal will end.
The boss’s pretense of calm finally cracks under the weight of that silence. He stumbles for words, his mind racing to find an explanation that won’t further infuriate Rindou, but nothing comes. Not while the executive is staring him down with a deadly, focused intensity that feels like a physical threat.
"N-not ownership, Mr. Haitani. Coverage. Expansion. Y-your men control Roppongi…"
As the man tries his hardest to save face, Rindou’s scowl deepens, though his attention is already drifting away. His eyes snap back down to the chaotic crowd below, searching for the one thing he had been guarding, only to find that the space is empty and whoever he was watching is gone.
"…but these routes extend further. We're offering reach--"
Before the boss can even finish his stuttered explanation, Rindou’s eyes lock onto a sudden movement at the base of the VIP stairs.
A figure ascends toward the section, weaving effortlessly between the guards who part for her without a single question.
A woman.
Clearly tipsy by the way she sways as she walks and the soft flush of red coloring her cheeks. There is a lightness to her, a sense of genuine happiness that feels entirely out of place in this room, yet she is heading straight toward the center of a deadly negotiation.
Towards them.
Every man on that couch turns to watch her approach, waiting for the moment she comes to her senses and realizes that this part of the club isn't meant for her. To the other party, she looks like nothing more than a lost girl who has wandered too far, a silly, pretty distraction looking for a rich man to latch onto for the night. The boss’s face hardens with visible irritation, feeling disrespected by such an amateur interruption as he prepares to gesture for her to be dragged away.
However, despite the breach of protocol, Bonten’s men don't move. They stand like statues, offering no resistance as the woman reaches the booth and suddenly drops herself onto the leather cushion beside Rindou, latching onto his side with a playful familiarity.
The boss smirks to himself, oh hell no. He waits for the young executive to snap her neck or throw her to the floor, certain this woman is about to find out exactly whose arm she’s clinging to. Until--
"Hey, handsome~"
You trace Rindou's sharp jaw with your manicured finger, feeling the faint stubble you had helped him shave just that morning.
"You busy?"
Your words slur, followed by a soft laugh you can't help as your touch wanders from his jaw down to his chin, eventually ghosting over his lips. His expression doesn't waver until, without warning, he turns his head and bites your finger.
"I'm in the middle of business, y'know."
The bystanders don't know what to process first. The club continues to pound with life, but the atmosphere within the booth shifts the moment Rindou reacts. The once cold, impenetrable gangster--a man whose expression was nonexistent just seconds ago is now displaying a side they never imagined seeing. Yet, even as the unbelievable scene unfolds, no one dares to interrupt the unnamed woman at his side.
Scolding him for his behavior, you poke your finger into his cheek. Rindou lets his head tilt slightly with each poke, neither stopping you nor offering much of a reaction at all. While his face remains largely unreadable, his patience is unmistakably reserved only for you.
He catches your elbow as you lean closer to his ear, his grip firm but careful.
"And if you're in the middle of business," you murmur, voice low and teasing, "why do you keep eye-fucking me down below, huh? Mr. Haitani."
That does it.
Rindou lets out a roaring laugh--the first real emotion he has shown all evening. It is in that moment that everyone seated on the VIP couch realizes the truth: the power is no longer in the hands of the young executive.
It is in yours.
One look at your boyfriend tells you everything you need to know. The business he came here for has already slipped to the back of his mind. Given the choice, he would gladly choose you over this deal without a second thought.
His hands, always itching for violence, only soften when they wrap around your waist to pull you firmly against his side. The smile remains etched on his lips as he noses your cheek, his voice dropping into a private whisper.
"I’m just looking out for my girl. Can't have any asshats thinking you're available, can we?"
"In your own damn club?" You scrunch your nose. "They'd have to be really stupid to even dare, babe."
They really would be. Everyone knows who you belong to, and even though being with a Haitani--a high-ranking criminal executive comes with a constant shadow of danger and envy, you know it's worth it.
Because it’s Haitani Rindou who has you, and for him, you'd take every risk.
"Have you seen yourself, doll?" he murmurs, his eyes dark with a possessiveness he doesn't care to hide. "Some bastards would risk eating lead just to get a taste."
Even though you’re already tipsy from the alcohol, you find yourself getting drunker on his words, knowing they are a luxury reserved only for you. The Haitani Rindou everyone else knows--the cold, manipulative, and ruthless bastard is nothing more than a flirty boyfriend in your arms, one who craves you relentlessly.
Suddenly, the VIP section vanishes, leaving the two of you in your own world. You trade filthy, flirty whispers, ignoring the fact that he is in the middle of a high-stakes negotiation. Neither of you gives a fuck--not when he sits at the top of the food chain in this territory, and certainly not when you're the one who has him wrapped around your finger.
Rindou’s hand slides up the back of your neck, his thumb tracing the shell of your ear as he leans in to nip at the sensitive skin there. He feels the way you shiver against him, narrowing his focus down to the heat of your body. You respond by tracing the line of his jaw, your fingers caressing the sharpness of it. When he's about to lean closer to kiss you, you touch his lip, making him stop just inches away.
"Baby, you should focus on your business now--"
"Hm?" His eyes shift towards the nearest exit. "You wanna go home?"
"Rind--"
"E-ehem."
The stiff, nervous voice cuts through your bubble, trembling with a mix of fear and desperation.
Rindou pulls away slightly, his hands still anchored to your skin. The indulgent warmth he was showering on you vanishes in an instant, replaced by his usual sharp, clinical edge.
The boss immediately feels the temperature drop. Nervousness climbs up his throat until he is incapable of forming proper words, his body instinctively reacting to the danger radiating from the couch.
"Yeah," Rindou says flatly, "You should fucking apologize."
His tone is calm, but it's more than enough to send everyone on the other side a clear warning--they're on fucking thin ice.
Sweat beads along the boss’s temple as he tries to humble himself, his posture breaking in front of the purple-haired executive.
Hands trembling, he stammers "I-I apologize again, Mr. Haitani. I-I didn't mean to interrupt. I--"
He scrambles for a way out but none exists. Rindou’s silence alone feels like a death sentence no matter what excuse follows. You watch the man struggle to save his own life, desperation written across his face. It’s uncomfortable to witness, especially since you know this predicament started the moment you wandered into their meeting.
To compensate, you gently tug on your boyfriend’s suit lapel.
"Rin… I’m exhausted. Can we go home now?" you whisper, the words meant only for him.
That is all it takes. Rindou cuts his death glare from the trembling man and shifts it to you. The change is subtle. The way his eyes soften from a predator's gaze to something gentle, and you are the only one in the room who would ever notice it. He doesn't speak, but his eyes ask a silent question: Are you sure?
You nod, offering him a reassuring smile.
Rindou stands abruptly, tugging you along with him. The boss remains bowed, not daring to lift his head or meet the eyes of the man who holds his life in his hands. Everyone in the VIP section holds their breath, waiting for a command that might end in blood.
But Rindou doesn't spare them another glance. The meeting is already a complete waste of his time. His arm wraps securely around your waist as he guides you away from the couch. Then, with the fatal desperation of a man who has already lost, the boss suddenly shoots up.
"M-Mr. Haitani, about the deal--"
"There’s no more fucking deal," Rindou cuts in coldly "You get it?"
The man stiffens.
Rindou doesn't even bother to look back as he speaks, his voice echoing with a dark authority. "Be thankful my girl spared your life tonight. You should be kissing the streets she walks on."
He leaves them dread-filled and shaken, deciding that not another second should be wasted on this pathetic company. As he leads you out of the club, a giggle slips past your lips and it doesn't stop until you reach the cool air of the parking lot.
Only then does he turn to face you. "What’s funny, hmm?"
Your giggle turns into a full laugh as you sway his hand, looking up at him with a mischievous glint in your eyes. "I just realized something. You only speak in longer sentences to other people when it’s about me. I wonder…" You poke his chest teasingly. "If you have a crush on me."
His expression shifts into the one he only ever wears for you: stubborn, boyish, and soft in ways no one else will ever see.
"You’re telling gang bosses to kiss the streets I walk on," you add, grinning. "Damn, you’re whipped."
Rindou rolls his eyes, but the smirk curving his lips betrays him completely. He reaches out, his hand sliding to the back of your neck to pull you into a kiss. Despite his rough reputation, his mouth is gentle and unhurried against yours. When he pulls away, he bites your chin lightly before pressing three soft kisses to the spot.
"Keep teasing me," he murmurs against your skin, "and I’ll put that mouth to good use."
A daring smile plays on your lips as you lean back just enough to meet his gaze. "Can't wait, Rin. Use it. It's yours to begin with."
Rindou’s response comes not in words, but in the way he collapses the small distance between you to claim your lips once again. The kiss is torrid and hungry--a desperate promise of exactly what will happen the moment you are both behind closed doors.
Haitani Rindou may certainly be the coldest of them all, but you will never feel that chill. Not when he only burns for you. You are the only one who keeps him warm in this cold-blooded world he has built. And if you ever asked him to burn it all down for you, he would. Gladly.
↬ Haitani Ran
"Enough, Ran… aniki. That’s enough. I said enough, nii-chan."
Haitani Ran’s bloodied hand, white-knuckled around a metal pipe, freezes midair. It is as if a sudden light has cut through the suffocating darkness of the room the moment he hears his brother’s voice calling his name. Though his grip remains firm, the harsh tension around his eyes begins to loosen, and the blinding rage that had consumed him eases away little by little.
Finally, Ran lowers his hand and stares down at the mangled, lifeless body beneath his dress shoes before carelessly tossing the pipe aside. The heavy metal clatters against the concrete, a sharp sound in the sudden quiet. He spits on the ground and nudges the corpse with the tip of his leather shoe, his voice raspy as he mutters, "This one was fucking tough."
He steps back, seemingly oblivious to the state he is in--bruised, wounded, and covered in a mixture of his own blood and theirs. The adrenaline that had been masking the damage finally ebbs away, allowing the pain to catch up to him all at once. His knee buckles, sending him into a near-collapse, but Rindou is already there, catching him and looping an arm securely over his shoulder.
"Man… fuck this shit," Ran hisses through grit teeth. His hand clenches around Rindou’s shoulder for support while his other presses firmly against the blooming heat of a wound at his side.
"You didn’t look affected by your injuries while you were beating those assholes to death earlier," Rindou notes, his voice steady despite the weight of his brother.
Ran turns to him, his breathing remaining ragged and shallow as they begin the slow, limping trek toward his parked car. "It was a surprise ambush," he exhales, his voice heavy with a mix of exhaustion "Didn’t know there were that many of them. Fucking bastards."
The hostility that had almost drained from his face rushes back the moment he remembers the situation he had been in just minutes ago.
Bonten Executive Haitani Ran had been ambushed.
It is a reality he has long since accepted. He knows that at any second of any day, someone is trying to drag him six feet underground.
To the authorities, taking him down represents a win for the system. A chance to lower crime rates and perhaps earn a medal or two. But for those who live in the same filth of the underground, killing a Haitani means something else entirely. It is a grim honor, a quest for prestige and bragging rights soaked in blood. Ran understands that every second of his life is spent walking on a blade, his very existence a target for anyone looking to make a name for themselves by toppling a powerhouse.
However, even for a man used to the shadows, he hadn’t expected the attack to be this bold. No matter how prepared he is to fight to the death, he cannot escape the physical toll of the encounter. His anger flares, not at the audacity of his enemies, but at the vulnerability of his own body.
Haitani Ran, whose life has been forged and surrounded by the blood of others, finds himself hesitating when it comes to his own. It isn't the pain that gives him pause, nor the looming possibility of death, rather it is the knowledge that someone is going to see him like this.
For Ran, the thought of her seeing him broken is worse than the ambush itself.
"So… are you going home in that kind of state, aniki?" Rindou asks, handing Ran a cigarette along with a lighter.
Despite the pain screaming through every fiber of his body, Ran refuses to get inside the car just yet. Instead, he remains standing by the hood, one hand braced against the metal as if he needs the support to anchor his racing thoughts.
"That’s exactly what’s got me fucking pissed," Ran mutters, his fingers steady as he lights the cigarette. "How am I supposed to go home looking like this? She’d probably let hell loose."
As he inhales, the smoke curling around his bruised features, his mind drifts through every possible way to mask the damage. Not going home isn’t an option; even if he dreads the scolding that inevitably comes from letting his skin split and bruise like this, his need to be in his woman's presence is stronger than his worries.
"Clean the gashes up. Make them less… you know, visible," Rindou suggests, his eyes fixed on his older brother. "Then wear something that can cover the bigger ones."
Ran lets out a long, painful sigh. Leaning back against the car he decides
“Let me shower at your penthouse first. I’ll think of excuses on the way home.”
He flicks the finished cigarette to the ground and limps toward the passenger seat, silently surrendering the wheel to Rindou. He sinks into the chair, needing to rest his aching body for a moment while his mind races to figure out how to hide the blood before he faces the woman who terrifies him more than death itself.
Ran is as fresh as he was when he left for work this morning.
He stands now in front of your door, wearing the crisp, ironed dress shirt and slacks he borrowed from his younger brother. There are no visible wounds--only the small scratch on his eyebrow he’s carefully taped and the faint, blooming bruise along the side of his jaw. He no longer smells of copper and violence, now he only carries the scent of his favorite cologne, the one you bought for him. With his appearance restored, he feels he can finally face you and hope you won't notice anything amiss.
Ran keys the door and steps inside. "y/n?"
His eyes scan the living room, searching for any trace of you. Usually, you would be sprawled on the oversized couch watching TV while waiting for him, but the screen is dark and the spacious room is empty.
"I'm home! Where are you, sweetheart?"
Despite his hobbled gait, Ran hurries to find you. After only a few steps, his breath turns ragged. Every inhale sends sharp pain shooting through his sides, particularly where the heaviest blows landed. Then, a sudden clanging sound echoes from the kitchen.
"Baby?" he calls once more, his voice tight with a mixture of pain and relief.
"Ran, are you there? I'm here in the kitchen, baby!"
He calms down at the sound of your voice and tries his hardest to wipe away any evidence of difficulty from his face and posture before heading straight to you.
Displaying his boyish smile, Ran leans against the doorframe just as he spots you bending down in front of the refrigerator. "I really don't mind this view--"
"Oh my god!!"
You almost drop the strawberry syrup, your breath catching as you steady it with a sigh of relief. You straighten and turn to the counter where your freshly made pancakes sit, courtesy of your late-night cravings. As you put the final touches on them, you sneak a glance at Ran, who is still leaning against the doorframe watching you.
"Don't sneak up on me like I'm your target," you say, shaking your head with a small smile. "You're late, baby. How was wor--"
That's when you realize it.
You set down the syrup and turn to face him fully. Ran, meanwhile, straightens to his full height and starts moving toward you. He looks normal enough as he makes his way over, doing his best to appear casual, but he doesn't know that the furrow in his brow, his careful steps, and the almost unnoticeable shortness of breath give him away.
"Hmm? What'd you make, sweetheart? Late night cravings again? Can I have some? I'm starving--"
"What happened, Ran?"
Ran stops. Only a short distance separates the two of you, but he goes completely still, searching your face as if weighing his remaining options.
He wonders if he should tell you the truth, or if he can keep up the pretense long enough for you to let it go--long enough for you to drag him to the couch, feed him your pancakes, and cuddle him. But that second option feels more impossible by the second as your expression shifts from soft concern to sharp realization.
"Ran--"
"I'm fine, sweetheart. Let's just go to the couch, yeah? And eat--"
You abandon both the staring competition and the pancakes, turning swiftly to the nearest cabinet to grab the medical kit. Ran just stands there watching you, his mind still racing for an out, still contemplating another lie. But the moment you grab his hand and lead him toward the living room, he knows better than to keep up the act.
You set the kit down and settle Ran onto the couch, the movement making him stiffen as his injuries protest.
"Baby, come on," he tries one last time, his voice a little thinner now. "It's really not that serious--"
"It's not that serious until you come home missing one of your limbs, or your eyeballs, or your head. Tell me, Ran, when would it become serious, huh?"
Your voice appears sharp, but the slight shake of your breath doesn’t go unnoticed by your boyfriend. That is enough for him to stop protesting, and he finally lets his hands fall limp at his sides.
He can accept the scolding because he knows it comes from a place of love. He can watch you unleash hell, knowing that’s how you care for him. What he can’t afford, though, is to see you crumble at the sight of him in pain.
Like now. Like how your hands shake as you pull wound cleansers and solutions out of the box. Like how, even though your words are as sharp as the stone he’d used to bash someone’s head earlier, your face is softened with a deep, aching worry.
When you finally look up at him, your eyes are brimming with unshed tears.
"y/n...."
His hands reach for your face, but you turn away, focused on the task at hand. Your fingers work to pull his long sleeves up, an order he obeys without hesitation, and the sight that greets you makes the tears finally spill over. There, fresh bruises and angry red gashes bloom across his pale, inked skin. You don't even want to think about the damage to the bones underneath.
"R-Ran… oh my god…"
You’re frozen, torn between dabbing the cotton on his wounds or simply reaching out to caress him. But Ran beats you to it. He gently grabs your hands, pulling them toward him as he begins kissing whatever his lips can reach,--your knuckles, your wrists, your fingers. He’s trying to soothe you, to tell you that even if he isn't fine physically, he is whole emotionally.
Because you are here.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart. It's not that I wasn't careful during the fight, it's just that--"
He can't form any more words to ease your mind because the tears won't stop falling. All he can do is touch you as gently as possible, wiping away the salt from your cheeks and pressing kiss after kiss against your skin.
You accepted Ran for exactly who he is, even though the life you chose with him offers no promise of constant safety. For the sake of loving him with every breath you have, every dangerous and chaotic moment is deemed worthy.
Because it’s him. It’s Haitani Ran, and for you, that is enough.
You grab his jaw, moving carefully to avoid the bruise blooming there, and press a soft kiss to his chin. "I know… It’s just, how can I not let you get wounded and bruised every time you go outside? Baby, please, I don’t know what to do…"
It rips his heart to pieces. He knows that even though he is stronger and more brutal than you, even though he can take all the world's danger on his own shoulders while keeping you in the safest part of the town, in the comfort of the home he built for you, you are still searching for ways to keep him safe.
You are the only one who can rattle him like this.
"Just trust me, alright? I will always come back home to you. Alive and kicking."
Because you are his home. And he will always come back to you, just to hear you call him baby and ask if he’s alright.
Ran pushes you slightly so he can crouch down and bury his face against your chest.
Still hiccuping, you set aside the cotton and wrap your arms around his head, minding any hidden wounds that might be tucked beneath his hair.
"Please, please be extra careful next time, okay? If you must, don't engage in a fist fight. Just pull your gun to spare yourself from any injuries."
It isn't the right moment, but Ran lets out a chuckle. You just suggested gunning someone down in the softest, hushest voice. You're so fucking adorable.
"...and to spare them from their suffering," he adds playfully.
"Yeah, to spare them from suffering... or call Rindou to break their bones instead."
God, he loves you so much. You feel his hand creeping up to your chest, squeezing you gently. You let him. You know this is his way of grounding himself, of feeling that you're real and right here with him.
"Let's get you cleaned up, baby, before your hands do more and my pancakes get cold."
Ran sits up properly and faces your now-smiling face. He wipes the dried tears from your cheeks and pulls you in close, peppering your face with soft, lingering kisses. He kisses your forehead, each of your eyelids, and the tip of your nose, moving with a tenderness that seeks to erase every trace of your worry. Finally, he finds your lips in a kiss that lasts for several heartbeats before he pulls away to whisper,
"I'm home, baby."
Regardless of the pain, he is thankful because in your arms, he is finally home
Ran Haitani x Fem!Reader
Warning: 18+, yandere vibes, sexual content - Noncon/dubious consent
Minors do not interact pls
Running from Ran Haitani was the dumbest thing you could have ever done.
But it was the only sane thing you could think of.
Because Ran Haitani wasn’t the man you thought him to be.
Upon meeting Ran, you had thought him to be a typical businessman in the middle of Japan. Yet when you looked into his eyes, you felt yourself fall for him instantly. All the stars were aligned after all. Right after landing the job of your dreams, you run into the most beautiful man you'd ever seen on the streets of Japan.
This was your fairytale. Your dream come true. Your prince charming that seemed to appear out of thin air.
So when he flippantly asks for your number with those dreamy eyes, you give it to him. No fight. No resistance. Simple obedience. He likes that about you. That's what he tells you when he’s running his fingers over your knuckles, pressing a soft kiss to them.
So you try not to ask too many questions.
When he takes off his winter coat and scarf on your dinner date, your wide eyes stare. “Oh - I didn’t know you had a tattoo…” That’s all you say, reminding yourself that you shouldn’t judge people based on ignorant ideologies you may have about things you know little about. After an unexpectedly rainy day together, you discover more tattoos curling down the side of his body when he removes his clothes for you to dry. You trace over them hesitantly and are happy when you see a smile curling on his lips.
Dumb.
Your relationship with Ran progresses quickly.
In one month, three weeks exactly, he asks you to be his girlfriend.
As unromantic as the setting was - in the small studio apartment you called home - you felt like Cinderella. “Y...you’re serious? I don’t like jokes, Ran.”
It’s only when Ran places a chaste kiss on your lips that you begin to cry, rubbing your teary eyes on his shirt. And if felt right to be in his warm embrace
When you first step into his penthouse that night, you feel shame. He’d seen your tiny living situation. Had eaten ramen noodles with you on your small sofa. Had been willing to help you hang up your laundry on the line outside your window.
But he is a businessman.
He hands you over a pair of keys, kissing your temple. “It’s yours.”
He introduces you to his younger brother Rindou in month two.
It is at a restaurant, and he looks you up and down before snorting, a slight grin on his face. That same tattoo on his neck. “Someone’s living beyond their means.”
His words sting your heart. You feel unworthy. Yet when you look up, you saw Rindou’s stare on Ran and felt the tightness of his hands on your own under the table. And that’s when you know those words aren't meant for you.
In month three, Ran asks you to move in with him.
“Let me take care of you,” he says, pressing his lips against your forehead before moving to take down the small photos on the wall.
“Wait Ran - you’re serious?” you ask, eyes wide and heart pounding. “You want me to move in?”
“I miss you even when you’re with me. I want to come home to you. Everyday. ” Despite the uncertainty in your head, your stomach fills with butterflies. The next day, he is moving your things into his penthouse.
In month four, he didn’t want you working.
“Can’t you understand that it makes me uncomfortable knowing that my woman is working when I can provide for her?” he nags to you in one of your small fights. “Why work when I do what I do for you?”
You stood, trying to calm him. “B-But Ran, you know I love my job - “
He grabs your arms, smoothing down the lengths of them to hold your hands. “I know you do, love, but don’t you think it’s time that we take us more seriously.” He rubs your ring finger, boring his gaze into your own.
And your eyes widen. A hint. A ring. Commitment.
Reluctantly, you agree for your work to be part-time and remote.
No matter how much time passes between the two of you, there is a boundary that you held onto despite Ran’s insistence.
“R-Ran,” you can't help but moan, pushing gently against his shoulders as he presses small kisses against your neck. You can feel his hands roaming down your sides, sliding under your sweater. “I don’t t-think - “ A hand strays to your jeans. Your breath hitches as he unbuttons them, sliding a hand over the front of your panties. Brushing against the thin, drenched fabric.
You gasp, pushing him off you abruptly and scrambling to the end of the sofa.
You take some time to catch your breath. You watch as he runs a hand through his hair, frustration dead in his eyes as he gets up without a word. Slamming the bedroom door. You find yourself gripping the front of your shirt, trying to calm your arousal.
Your sex life. Or lack thereof.
You are a virgin. And you were waiting for marriage. Little to do with religion, and more to do with your lack of trust in men. After an absent father, a not so pleasant uncle, and a brutal brother, you are afraid.
Afraid of choosing the wrong guy.
But you are sure that Ran was the one.
Until he comes home in blood one night.
Your world spins on its axis as you scurry to him, grabbing onto his soaked suit, blood staining your palms. “Oh my God, Ran - w-what happened?! Who did this to you?!”
Ran only sighs, pulling off black gloves. “Thought you were asleep, doll. Didn’t want you seeing this.”
“I n-need to call the police - “ Before you can finish your sentence, he brings his soft lips to your own. You push him away, worry clouding your chest as you usher him to the bathroom. He watches you with that lazy smile as you begin to undress him, his fingers rubbing small circles onto your waist.
That night, you bathe him, desperately trying to find the wounds. Yet you found nothing but faint scars hidden by tattoos.
It isn’t his blood you realize.
Ran chuckles as he drags you into the red, murky water, with little fight from you. Your white nightgown changes to a faint pink as he holds you in his embrace.
“I’m so lucky. You take such good care of me. ‘Love you so much.”
You don't sleep the next three nights. You spend your weekend scrubbing the entryway to the penthouse. No matter how much you scrub, you can still see blood on the floor and on your palms.
You still love Ran. So you don't ask any questions. That’s what he likes about you after all.
Quickly, you find yourself entangled in Ran’s lifestyle.
Gun rounds replace the remote on the coffee table. You try to get over your initial shock by organizing it, shakily putting it in a box on one side of the table. Your pill cabinet becomes full of blank bottles - from time to time, you’d see Sanzu, his co-worker, casually going through your pill cabinet in your bathroom. When he starts snorting coke on the kitchen counter, you don't have the nerve to say anything.
Kokonoi is a different story - you can talk to him. He just chose when to listen. You mistake his demeanor for childish mirth at the beginning. He’d been easy to talk to - almost like talking to a distant relative. Until he begins taking you around the city with him. First, it was to dinners, then movies. Shopping dates. All of these nice things were used against you when he suddenly takes you to the Red light district and you see how he gets his money. The first time you see a young girl, no older than 16, scantily dressed, giving Kokonoi her share, you can't sleep without seeing her thin face in your dreams. You avoid Koko now.
But the scariest addition to your life is Rindou.
His lingering gaze becomes a usual thing. He says things that make you uncomfortable -
“Ran actually lets you go out looking like that? Wow.” “You’re so dumb.” “You’d let me smash right? If the tables were turned?”
Rindou started wanting hugs from you when he would visit. Then kisses. The first time he kisses you on the lips, it catches you off guard. It makes you feel sick. But then, he does it again, this time in front of Ran. You expect rage; instead, Ran rolls his eyes and goes on about his business. The third time, Rindou pushed his tongue in your mouth. You cry the whole week behind it.
Dumb.
It didn't take a degree or complete common sense to know that Ran's "job" consisted of being enthralled in the shadows of Japan. Yet, you couldn't convince yourself to believe it. Or maybe, you just wanted to avoid it. So you tried to ignore it, but each instance made the hole in your heart grow bigger.
The day you question Ran is the day all hell breaks loose.
You try to voice your concerns to him over dinner. “Ran, c-can we talk for a minute?”
“Here we go,” he mutters, lifting his violet eyes to meet your own. That mirthful smile on his lips. As if whatever you two had going on was normal. As if it were just another Friday. He pulled away from the table, giving his lap a pat.
You try to act normal as you seat yourself on his lap, wrapping an arm around his broad shoulder. It’s only when you look down at him and his beautiful gaze do you break.
And you’re crying. Because this isn’t the future that you wanted for the two of you. Because those dreams of living happily with good morals are gone. You wanted your love to transcend beyond time, yet you have found yourself at a crossroads with Ran. Him or your morals? Ran, or the family you always dreamed of having? Ran...or you?
He’s wiping your tears away with his fingers, his touch gentle. “Doll, why are you crying? Did something happen?”
“Ran...I don’t like how we are right now…I feel like you’re keeping secrets from me.”
“What secrets?”
“Well, you never really told me what you do for a living...” When his light eyes flicker to you, you spill everything. “I’m just worried is all. I don’t like g-guns around the house. And, I don’t really like it when...when S-Sanzu does his business on the counter. And, I-I didn’t mention this at first, but Rindou- “
He cuts you off. “Didn’t know the world revolved around you, y/n. I put up with a lot of things, but I’m not complaining to you about them. Because I love you and I accept you for who you are, don’t I?”
What? “Um...yes, but I - “
“Why do you sound so unsure? Don’t I take good care of you, y/n? You know I do all of this for you, right?” He presses a kiss to your temple, dragging his lips to your ear. “Answer me when I’m talking to you.”
You try to move from his embrace, but he digs his fingers into your waist, making you wince at the sudden pain. “Yes Ran, but - “
“Good. Now drop it.”
You look away. You couldn’t let this go. “I’m not trying to start an argument -“
Suddenly he pushes you off of him as he gets up, beginning to pace around the room. “You’re so fucking annoying. You should be happy that I’m here with you considering all the bullshit you’re putting me through. ”
“Don’t curse at me.” His words and actions shake you. This Ran hadn’t existed when you first met. And though his words cut you, made you question your worth and choices, you couldn’t back down from this. “If this is about our lack of intimacy, Ran, I was honest with you about that in the beginning. Like I was honest about who I was and what I did. You, on the other hand, have been keeping things from me. I can’t trust you. And I won’t be with someone I can’t trust.”
A warning.
You are taken aback by the sudden fear in his eyes. Fear. Total anguish at your words.
You don't stop him when he leaves that night. Instead, you cry yourself to sleep, unaware of the fact that Ran was having a panic attack outside his brother’s home.
He comes home early the next morning. You feel him before you see him, his long arms coming to wrap around you from behind that morning. “I should’ve kept walking when I bumped into you. Shouldn’t have asked for your number. Should’ve just left you alone.”
Your tears wet the pillowcase.
He presses a kiss on the back of your neck. "But don't I deserve good things, too?"
You give in to his warmth as you drift back to sleep, praying for this peace to last longer between you two.
Things between you two change drastically.
Ran doesn't go to work for the next two weeks. He clings to you, never letting you leave his lavender gaze. He watches your every move. Whether you were in the kitchen, or the bathroom, or running errands - Ran is there. It is unsettling for you. It gets so bad that you have to quit your job to keep him sated with attention. You had yet to bring up his job, afraid of what his reaction would be.
His coworkers are not happy about this at all.
Ran begins snapping at everyone who calls his phone - Rindou gets an earful and a death threat. The only person who gets through to him and makes him get up off his ass (and away from you) was his boss “Mikey.” Even then you can't catch a break - he would text you every minute of the day to the point where he would repeatedly call your phone if you don't text him back within the 15-minute mark.
And this had been all your fault. If you hadn’t threatened to leave him, none of this would have happened. That’s what you told yourself. And you felt awful. Because the state of Ran’s well-being depended on you, and as much you hated how things were, you were still in love with him.
So, you decide to drop it. The surprise on Ran’s face when he is greeted with your embrace warms your soul. He clings to you, breathing in your scent as if it was his lifeline. “Let’s start over,” you whisper.
And for a few weeks, you are happy. So happy that you decide to surprise him at work.
When you walk into his office, you don't expect to see him with a group of unknown men. Ran ignores you as he continues talking to the men, and you go about your way in setting down the food on his desk. As you are about to leave, you catch the eye of one of the men. That’s when all hell breaks loose.
“The fuck are you looking at? Huh?," Ran spits.
You flinch, turning to meet his gaze. But he isn't looking at you. “When I’m talking, you pay attention to me," he yells towards one of the men. Everything goes fast, and suddenly he's smashing the man’s head onto his desk. Repeatedly.
You freeze in place, watching blood pour onto the floor. That manic gleam in Ran’s eyes. How the men in the room simply stare. The smell of dull pennies fills your head.
You cry to your sister on the phone when you get to your car. “Don’t be dumb,” she says. “You know what he’s doing.” Yes, you did now. He is a gang member. He is dangerous. Yet you loved him. “You need to leave.”
Ran comes home early. You will yourself not to flinch when he comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around you tightly as you cook dinner. “I’m sorry you had to see that today, love.” Not sorry that it happened. “You know how I am when it concerns you, right? Forgive me?”
You nod, and after a few minutes, he lets you go, only sparing you a short kiss to your neck as he announces he’s going to shower. You felt empty. Yet you continue your routine of picking up his jacket and suitcase off the floor. Then his phone rings. And as empty and as hurt as your chest was, you follow your intuition and picked it up.
“Rannn~, you left your burner here on the bed! What do you want me to do?” A woman says on the other line.
Your heart breaks in two. You can't stop the whimper that escapes your mouth, and immediately she knows who it was she is speaking to.
“Is...is this Y/n? I-I, sorry - p-please don’t tell him I called.” Her fear makes your stomach churn.
You hang up. It was only then that you look through the messages to see the requested nude pictures, the flirty texts, the promises of meeting up again. Not just from her - from several unnamed numbers.
And this is what happens when you push aside your morals and standards for someone else. You get hurt. And so do others. As much as it hurt and as much as your heart called out to Ran and his love, you knew better.
So you decide to leave.
Ran holds you especially tight this night, burying his head into your chest. His warmth brings tears to your eyes as you realize this would be your last night. You have to pry his fingers off of you. Luckily, he was a heavy sleeper.
He whispers your name in his slumber. You shut the door behind you and don’t look back.
You leave everything behind that night. Your clothes and shoes. Your car. Your phone. The remnants of your old life are left with Ran that night.
Your sister meets you at the bus station, catching your crying form in her arms. The amount of pain that you felt that night made you want to forget everything about him.
And you try.
For three weeks, you cry your eyes out on your sister’s couch. You barely eat. You go through your usual doubts and regrets - you see his violet eyes in your dreams from time to time. And in the dead of the night, your mind conjures up the possibility, or fact, that he’s already moved on to someone else. That he doesn’t lose sleep thinking about your whereabouts. That right at this very moment, he’s receiving warmth from someone else. Someone who could give him what he wanted. Someone who could support him in every way possible. Someone who he would give his love through and through.
And this breaks you all over again. Yet, it doesn’t destroy you.
Three months later pass along with your heartache. You can look at yourself in the mirror. The first time you finish your plate at dinner, your sister cries. You find a job that you love. All your old friends start coming around again. Things were becoming...great. You still miss Ran, but you can live without him.
...
But Ran Haitani can’t live without you.
In your classroom, one of your students comes up to you and asks, “Are you married, y/n-sensei?”
Your heart lurches forward, but you shake your head. “As single as a pringle. Your dad isn’t asking about me again, is he?”
He shakes his head, going back on topic. “But if you’re not married, who was that scary guy that walked you to the train yesterday morning?”
Your blood runs cold. “What are you talking about, hun?”
The little boy nods, “I saw you two get off at your stop on the way back too, so I just thought - “
Reality kicks in, and you’re leaving school to hop on the first train home. To your sister. Who you had got entangled in your mess. Your gut is screaming. You had ghosted Ran. You had left him and hadn’t come back. The blood on his hands becomes a recurring image in your hand, and you feel bile rising in your throat.
Your fears are confirmed when you get to your sister’s home and see a sleek black car on the side of the street. Two large men standing by the front door.
And you hear your sister yelling. The sounds of glass.
As scared and as cowardly as you are, you wouldn’t allow anyone to hurt your sister. The men don’t stop you from entering the home, almost as if they are expecting you to be here. And the house is crashed, broken picture frames and glass on a pile in the middle of the floor.
Your sister gasps at the sight of you as she huddles in the corner with a knife in her possession. “Leave, y/n! He’s fucking crazy - “
“Ever predictable aren’t we, y/n?” you hear him say, his words curt, anger underneath it all. But you don’t look at him, instead of going to your sister and pulling her close.
She clings to you, her nails digging into your skin. “You need to run, y/n. Please leave before he gets to you.”
“Y/n, we need to talk,” Ran says, and though you hear him approach the two of you, you will yourself not to look back. “Y/n.”
“I’ll be fine. I’ll fix this, okay?” You usher your sister to her room, closing it gently before finally turning your sight to Ran.
And despite his usual handsomeness and swagger, he looks tired. The dark circles under his eyes are bold. He’s lost weight you notice. And despite his passive expression, you can see that desperation in his eyes. That franticness makes your heart race. Yet you keep your cool, crossing your arms. “You have no right to mess up my sister's place, Ran. You’re paying for the damages.”
He scoffs, a frown settling on his brow. “Y/n, don’t fuck with me right now. Explain yourself before I spazz.”
“Don’t curse at me. You know I don’t like that.” You sigh, trying to push back the sudden tears trying to leak from your eyes. “There’s nothing to explain. You’re just not the man for me, Ran.”
His angry demeanor fades, and you’re left with the emotionless shell that is Ran. And he has nothing to say. As usual. And your emotions overflow.
You can’t stop the tears this time as you sob. When Ran reaches out to hold you, you pull away. “I can’t keep doing this, Ran. I don’t have the heart for it. I can’t be with you anymore.”
He looks taken aback, taking a moment to run his hand through his hair in frustration. “Y/n, we can talk about this at home. Just come with me and we’ll fix it - ”
“I’m not going. Please, just leave -“
You don’t get to finish your sentence before his ring-clad fingers are on your neck. And you can’t breathe. You gasp, digging your nails into his fingers.
“Do you want your sister to die tonight?,” Ran whispers. His grip tightens as he brings you closer, eyes piercing into your soul. “We’ll talk about this at home.” He says again. “Get your things and come outside. You have three minutes or I’ll blow her brains out.”
You nod, letting your tears fall onto his hand. He stares over your face, but he eventually let go and steps outside.
Your sister tries to pry you for answers, but you wave her off as you grab your things. You understood the situation. You had made a mistake dragging her into this.
You had decided to try at a relationship with someone as dangerous as Ran. These consequences are what you would have to bear, not her.
The ride back to your shared home is silent. You can’t keep your tears back as you look out the window. At one point, Ran reaches over to place a hand on your thigh. You ignore him, but don’t move away. This violent side of Ran is unpredictable. It scares you.
What scares you, even more, is when you make it back, and you find yourself in the same room with him.
“Put your things away. Then we can talk,” he motions to your suitcase. He watches you, and you watch him with hesitation. And with good reason. Because as soon as you turn to go to the closet, he wraps his arms around you from behind.
“Please don’t touch me,” you mutter, pushing him away as you move away from his neck kisses.
He sighs into your neck. “I’m working on my anger. You know how I get when it’s about you. Don’t hold it against me.”
You shake him off you, moving away from him. “Leave me alone, Ran.”
“We can start over. I’ll get over you leaving me if you forgive me. We can make this work.”
It was like talking to a broken wall. And the bedroom was feeling smaller than usual as Ran approaches you. You slip away from him, quickly going into the living room where there is more room.
“Y/n, are you listening?” Ran tries to grab you, but you yank your arm away.
“Are you listening, Ran? I don’t want to be with you anymore! We’re over! ”
You two are at a standstill at the couch. You’re pivoting from side to side, trying to avoid his grasp. It makes your heart race when his eyes lower into an emotionless haze. And suddenly, he’s chasing you.
“Ran, STOP!” You whimper, fear creeping into your chest. But he’s storming behind you with that sadistic energy. Somehow, you manage to lock yourself in the bedroom. The punches to the door are angry.
You’re crouching as tears fall down your cheeks. Ran has become unpredictable for you. You’re afraid of him, all the love you had turning to fear as he pounds on the door.
When you pick up your phone, you have half the mind to call the cops -
The pounding ceases as his deep voice seems to float under the door. “Don’t think about it or you’re fucked.”
That’s all he says for minutes. You know what he means. You don’t hear any doors. He hasn’t left. You don’t know what to do. You’re seven floors up. The only way to the front door is out of the bedroom.
All you can do is hide in the walk-in closet. Closing it and start to put boxes in front of it.
The bedroom door creaks open. You close your eyes. You hear him shift throughout the room. He’s laughing. Like it’s a game.
“You’re so dramatic, y/n. Where are you hiding?”
When you don’t answer he sighs. “You’re in trouble when I find you. I swear. First, you ghost me, and now this. Fucking ridiculous -“ something breaks before the light under the closet door flickers. He throws the lamp.
Ran yanks at the closet door suddenly, frightening you, yet you cover your mouth. When he finds it stuck, he laughs again.
“If you come out now, I won’t hurt you. I’ll forget this happened and we can go to bed, okay love?”
You don’t answer, and he kicks the door open.
“Sorry, s-sorry,” you plead, but he corners you into a wall. “I won’t tell anyone about what you do. I’ll go back home and won’t speak of you again.”
His fingers caress your neck once he’s close enough. You flinch. “Love, you are home.”
Still, you try to plead your case. “I can leave the country if you want. I promise I won’t tell anyone. J-Just, please, let me go.”
He starts to litter kisses on your neck down to your shoulder. He doesn’t listen. Ran never listens to you.
Instead, he pushes you towards the bed, prying your legs open to settling between them. You moved to push him away, but he grabbed your wrists, pushing them above your head.
You couldn’t stop your tears from flowing. “I won’t say anything to anyone. I’ll leave Japan - plea - “ He presses his lips against your own, his tongue slipping into your mouth. You try to move your face away, but the grip he had on your wrists is tight. Pain shoots down your arm.
“Try that again and I’ll tie you up. Stop.” He let go of your wrists, his hands sliding down your waist. Your nerves bubble in your throat as he settles into your neck, pressing wet kisses against your spot. You try to muffle your whimpers, but when his warm hands smooth over your breasts you couldn’t help but gasp.
“You like that?” He whispers before trailing his kisses to your collarbone. “You’re gonna be a good girl for me, yeah? Let me make you feel good?” he lifts your shirt above your breast, pressing his lips between them.
You would never forgive him. This would never make you forget.
Yes as much as you remind yourself of this, as much as you fear him, hate him, the warmth pooling between your legs is overpowering. And Ran’s teasing doesn’t help it, his deft hands sliding up your sides and working on undoing your bra.
“Love, I’m sorry. Please,” he speaks between kisses on your buxom, “Forgive me. Give me another chance? Be mine again.” He grabs your hands and presses your palm against his face. “It’s been so hard being without you. I could barely sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw your face. I know I deceived you. I know I’m not good enough for you. But I need you in my life. I can’t do this without you.”
You are shaking, tears clouding your vision as you look at the dark circles under his eyes and the way his own eyes are clouded in such emotion.
You would never find a man like Ran. You don’t know if that was a good or bad thing now.
“Y/n?” You can’t give him an answer. You are afraid of what you’d say. Your heart and mind are at war. Until you hear a sigh come from him, and the clinking of metal fills your ears. And suddenly you feel something click around your wrist.
You tug at it just for Ran to click the other end of the cuffs to the bedpost. And you realize how fucking stupid you are to fall for this act again.
“What an ungrateful little bitch - I bear my heart to you just for this? Rindou was right - I have spoiled you too much”
He falls on top of you again, pulling off the rest of your clothes. You kick and push against him, but he grabs your free arm and twists it back. The scream falls from your lips instantly, the pain excruciating.
“I told you to stop, didn’t I? Now you’ve gone and hurt yourself.” Ran rolls his eyes, tugging down your panties.
And you are embarrassingly wet.
You clamp your legs together. “Ran, please don’t do this. I-I don’t want this…”
He moves away from you with a sigh. “When I say I’ve been doing some soul-searching since you’ve been gone, I have. In your absence, I realized that my life is nothing without you, y/n. You are everything to me. No one can compare - not even Rindou anymore. I love only you, y/n.”.
He moves to rummage through the drawer beside you. You close your eyes, letting your tears fall down your neck. You expect to hear him unwrapping a condom. Yet when you open your eyes, you saw a small blue box in front of your nose. And when he opened it, cold hard dread seeps through you.
Tanzanite and diamond. Platinum band. $34,000. An engagement ring.
It slips perfectly on your ring finger. Before you could try to take it off, he intertwines his fingers with your own. “We’ll sort the details tomorrow. For now, tonight will be our honeymoon night. We’ll be one.”
“No,” you whimper, yet he closes the distance between you two again, his lips hungry. The expanse of skin on your stomach littered in kisses. Down to your mound. You involuntarily gripped his head at his first kiss to your clit, and you could feel the vibration of his chuckle against you.
“You’re so sensitive, y/n - all for me, right? No one else but your husband.” He passes up your sensitive bud to lick up your slit, and you moan so loudly you surprise yourself. “My pretty wife.”
Ran finds your spot. The edge where he could bend you where he wants. At his continued nips and licks at your entrance, your free hand moves to grip his locks, causing him to groan into you. The diamond ring shining in the moonlight from the windows. It was daunting yet romantic. It made your heart stir. Made the pain in your wrists intensify. Made you moan a little louder.
“You close? Gonna cum on my face, love? Do it.” His tongue probes at your entrance and you cave in at the pressure of his nose on your clit. You can’t give him any warnings - it is your first time. Your first orgasm. It sets your body free, the sensation pulling you upwards. Your release gushes onto his face, your hand nearly pulling the hair from his scalp as you held his face closer to your sex. Your head is stuffy, yet you can comprehend to say his name on your high.
His large hands slide up your chest, cupping your breasts and pulling at your nipples as he worked to slurp up your release as much as he could. You could barely breathe as ecstasy courses through you. Your body twitches as he kisses up to your face, placing a deep kiss on your mouth.
And when you make contact with his love-blown eyes, you weep. You wail, turning away as sobs rack your body
Ran uncuffs your wrist, massaging into the prints it made as he settles between your thighs. “Love, you’ve got to calm down. Take a deep breath for me.”
“I love you,” you sob, putting your face in your hands. “I never stopped loving you..” You’d put your whole future into Ran. Had dreamed about it. Could feel it at times. Yet, he’d sold you false hope. In this reality with Ran, you would never get your happy ending.
He lets out a breath of relief. “That makes me so happy. I could die right now. You know I can’t live without you, right? You’re the only woman who’s ever made me feel this way,” he pecks your lips, running a hand down your thigh towards your cunt. His middle finger slides in easily, rubbing gently against your walls.
You squeak, holding onto his wrist going in and out of you. “But you hurt me, Ran. You hurt me with the things you do. T-This isn’t what I want for my future.”
He buries his face into your neck, working another finger into you. You moan his name, the feeling of his fingers making your legs shake. Your actions only make him pick up speed, and suddenly you are gripping onto his shoulders, your hips moving in tandem with his fingers.
“Our future. Together. Like you promised me,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your temple.
You hate yourself. But when you look into his eyes and see your Ran, you can’t help the pleasure that fills you.
You can feel it building within you again, that golden pressure. Just as soon as it is about to burst, he pulls his fingers from you, plunging them into his mouth. “We’ll build our future together, y/n. I’ll give you everything you want.” He starts to undo his pants, and you panic. “I can change, y/n. For you, I’d do anything.”
“I can’t, Ran,” you whimper, pulling your legs together just for him to tug them apart.
“I want my family, y/n,” he snaps curly, pushing your legs to your chest. It takes you a few seconds to understand what he means before he pushes inside of you without notice. And it fucking hurts.
“No noonono, please, not this,” you beg, but he ignores you, pushing into you with hard, deep strokes. Each thrust causes more tears to fall, the pain intensifying.
Ran rolls his hips into you, catching your clit with his pelvic bone, making you cry out loud. “Fighting this when you really want it is annoying, y/n. Let go. If I wanted to pull out I couldn’t with the way you’re clenching me - shit!” He leaned into your neck, grunting. “Fuck, relax already!”
The irony. Ran's grunts, his thrusts, his scent - it was heightening your senses, making you throb more around his length. And he feels that and seems to be struggling to keep himself together. It makes your heart flutter. You can make him tremble. You can make him feel as breathless as he made you feel.
Your Ran.
Your tears subside as your hips meet with his thrusts. At your change of behavior, Ran starts kissing you, going into your deeper and stronger. The moment took over you. You throw your arms around his neck, playing at the hair at his nape.
For now, you would pretend. Pretend that this was the Ran you knew. Pretend that this night was his and yours together. Pretend that everything was okay in his arms.
At those peaceful dreams, your pull Ran closer, and he makes every effort to make your moans louder.
“Tell me you love me again,” he commands, his movements faster, shaking the bed. “Say it.”
“I love you,” You feel his tears seep out against your neck, and can’t help but tighten your hold on him.
He pulls away, looking down at you. “Look at me.” You try your best at keeping your eyes open to stare into his light ones. Even in this disheveled state, maniac and all, he is beautiful to you. “I love you too. Cum.”
You scream as your second orgasm is ripped from you - the strongest, most intense feeling you ever felt before. Your legs wrap tightly around his waist as you cream hard around his length. You could feel new tears forming in your eyes as you continue to clench around him rhythmically. His thrusts become faster as he seems to reach his breaking point. Despite the cloudiness of your mind, you quickly gain clarity as to what is about to happen.
You unwrapped yourself from him and weakly push against him in desperation. “Y-You have to pull out! Ran!” He doesn’t listen. Ran never listens. Not even two seconds later, you feel a warm flow inside of you.
He falls against you, his breaths are heavy. You try to weakly push him off, but he keeps you steady. When he pulls out, you can feel his release pool from you. Yet, he pushes it back inside of you, gently rubbing at your sensitive clit.
Your eyelids begin to drift, but you don’t miss the clicking sound of the cuffs on your wrists again. Or miss the warmth of Ran’s hand as it travels to pat the small of your stomach...
tr boys hc with reader who stays up night and wakes up early (basically never sleeps but is up and running fine)
Hehe I kinda like that, did it with Ran, Rindou and Kazutora (hope that’s okay)
Ran
- Cant talk about sleeping without talking about him
- Genuinely doesn’t understand how you function in life, bro needs his 14 hours of sleep to function properly.
- Every time you guys spend time together he ends up falling asleep on you while you stay up reading or just looking at your phone.
- Sometimes he’ll be upset at you if you do too much noise while he’s sleeping.
- Gave up on the idea of nap dates with you.
- If you do end up falling asleep before him (which almost never happens) you can bet he wont let you get out of bed.
- Rindou genuinely doesnt understand how your relationship works out.
Rindou
- He doesn’t really care at first, like he’s not your mom.
- Until he sees you pulling up all nighters a few times in a row
- If you put up with it, he’ll just grab you in bed, he doesn’t give a single fuck
- Probably calls you Batman
- If he wakes up in the middle of the night and see you’re not sleeping he’ll grab whatever you’re focusing on and put it away (doesn’t give a single fuck pt2)
- If it’s not affecting your health he’ll eventually let go and let you do whatever you want
- Would still pull you to bed sometimes, "for your health" while in reality he just enjoys feeling your presence when he falls asleep.
Kazutora
- He’s a night owl too, you two put on all nighters together.
- Would probably play video games while you do you, before asking if you want to join him
- If you do you’ll probably end up playing all night until he falls asleep on your lap at dawn
- Has a lot of nightmares so enjoys sleeping next to you, it soothes him.
- Sometimes if you two are together at night and you’re bored he’ll take you on a ride on his bike.
- Might end up in late night talks if he’s in an open mood
- Sometimes he’d just let his head on your lap while you’re on your phone and just look at you, ending up falling asleep most of the time.
tags. romance, angst, betrayal, hurt/comfort, established relationship, explicit sexual content, bonten!ran, detective!reader, canon-typical violence, crimes and criminals, drugs, smoking, drinking, illegal activities, EIGHTEEN PLUS ONLY.
“Baby. Wake up.” you stirred in your sleep, trying to pull the blanket over your head just so you couldn't hear your boyfriend, whispering in your ear to get the fuck up. “YN.”
“Leave me alone, Ran.” you mumbled, getting anything that you could reach just to cover your face but he’s one step ahead of you, there's nothing left for you to cover your head with. “Fuck.”
You heard him laugh, you felt the bed sink as he sat beside you. “Breakfast’s ready. Come on.”
But you didn't want to stand up. You just want to stay in bed and rot with him. Is that so bad? You haven't had the chance to see and be with each other this long, is it so bad to have one day for the two of you?
It isn't, right?
“Can we just stay in? We don't have to go to work today, right?”
You weren't that serious—okay, maybe you are. But you didn't think that Ran would lay down beside you and go along with what shenanigans you wanted to do today, “Okay.”
“What, okay?”
“Let’s stay in today.”
“Really? Aren't you like, needed for work because, I don't know, your boss is a pain in the ass?” you asked him with a wide smile, you looked at him and you saw his pretty eyes looking at you—you suddenly felt conscious, you just woke up, you haven't even brushed your teeth yet.
But he’s still looking at you like you’re the most beautiful woman in the world.
“Yeah. But that’s a problem for tomorrow.” he smirked, leaning in to kiss you but you pulled away and that made him frown, “What?”
You covered your mouth with your hand, “Bad breath.” you said with a muffled voice.
“The fuck I care, kiss me.” he says and pulls your hand away, you giggled and let him press his lips gently into yours—he bites your lip, and you close your eyes, draping your arm over his neck, pulling him close to you.
You both pulled away, gasping for air. “Yeah, you should brush your teeth.”
“Ran!”
“Kidding.”
You rolled your eyes at him and he just laughed at you, “You’re such a brat.”
“But you love me.” you said, closing your eyes again.
“Hmm. You’re going to sleep again?” you feel his arm slipping under your head, making it your pillow, “Don't you wanna eat first?”
“Too sleepy.” you murmured, “Wake me up in five minutes, ‘kay?”
You didn't hear him answer but it’s not long until you hear him say your name again.
“YN.”
You open your eyes, and there you are in front of him—with a gun in his hand. How the fuck did you get here?
“Ran.”
Ran held your wrist, pulling you away from the watching eyes. He knows they're not going to do anything—and they know that Ran’s not going to let you go that easily.
Even though you’re his girlfriend, Ran is in too deep in this shit—yeah, they think he’s stupid for having a detective girlfriend—but they know he wouldn't turn that easily, maybe.
You compromised their location, you found them. You could’ve called for back up the moment you saw the guy that you arrested back then, but all that you were thinking of was Ran. You could just easily point your gun to any of them but you didn't do any of that.
They know you wouldn't do that to Ran. They don't know you that much, but the look in your eyes was enough for them to know that you wouldn't just give him up—even if it’s the right thing to do.
You didn't pull away or protest—you didn't push him away, there were no arguments as he pulled you into the other room, with no other people, just the two of you. “YN—”
Instead of you speaking, your palms met his face over and over. “Fuck you. Fuck you, fuck you—”
“Stop.” he says, holding both your wrists. “Stop, YN.”
“Why the fuck would you do this to me? How could you?” your voice was small and shaky, your tears falling continuously, “Why the fuck would you keep something like this from me? You know how hard I worked, you know all of it, then you…?”
You look at him, and you see that he’s Ran… but he’s different. He’s like a stranger, a stranger with a familiar face. A stranger that you touch, you hold, you confide in—that you know—a stranger you love.
Ran couldn't find the words that he wanted to say. He hid this from you because he was selfish—he wanted to keep you, he wanted to be close to you.
If he could live this double life forever just to keep you, then he probably would.
He was different when he was with you, but that doesn't change the fact that he’s a horrible person who’s done a lot of horrible things, right? That’s how you see him now. “I wanted to protect you—”
“Protect me?” you laughed bitterly, “You really think that you keeping all of this from is protecting me? No, you're lying to me! Deceiving me, you were there every night! Listening to me struggle and you’re one of them?! Why, Ran? Why—”
“Because!” he slammed his hand on the table, “Because I fucking love you! I know it’s bullshit, I’m a fucking horrible person! How the fuck am I capable of love? But I do! I do love you and it’s so frustrating hiding all of this from you!”
You ignored what he said. Because if you did choose to acknowledge all that, you would’ve easily run into his arms—turn your back on your morals and just go with him wherever.
You’re too stupid and heartbroken to think straight that all you wanted to do was to touch him. You wanted him to hold you in his arms and tell you all the things he’s said before, that he’s there… that you’ve got nothing to worry about as long as you’re with him.
You can feel your chest closing in on you, it’s like you’re being suffocated to death that you needed to get out. “I need to leave.”
“You can't do that.” he said, holding your wrist when you were about to walk out the door. You tried to swat his hand away but he kept his hold on you, well, you really can't leave this place—it’s not that easy.
And maybe, he was afraid that if he let you leave—if he let you walk out that door, you’d be gone forever.
From him… from his life.
“Let me go!” you yelled, trying to wriggle out of his touch, but he pulled you into the couch, “The fuck—”
“I can't let you do that!” he shouted back, “Do you think you could just walk out of here? Do you think they wouldn't fucking kill you the moment you step out of this building?”
“Okay.” you said quietly, almost a whisper but enough for him to hear you, “Can you just please… let go of my hand.”
Ran sat in front of you, on his knees. “YN. Listen to me.”
“What?” your voice cracks, your tears still falling at the side of your eyes, you try to look at him, but every time you do, you feel like sobbing—so you look away.
“I love you.” he whispered, “I love you.”
That was all he could say because that is the truth. The only thing in his life that he didn't lie about to you.
You finally look at him, he smiles at you like he didn't do anything wrong—like with just one smile from him, everything will be okay.
And it’s not. Nothing’s ever going to make this okay.
“I love you, YN.” he cups your cheek and you don't pull away, his thumb brushing away the tears streaming down your face. His touch was familiar, it was comforting—just how it was before. “Please, don't leave. Just stay, hm? Stay.”
You have never seen him so… desperate, that he might just die if you didn't give in. But he had to try, if losing his dignity was the only way for you to stay then he would.
But it was a big thing. It’s a big selfish thing to overlook all the things that he had done, and you don't know if you could live with yourself with all of this.
But, it’s Ran. How could you do this to him? How could you leave him?
It’s Ran, for fuck’s sake. It’s Ran, you love him. You’d do everything for him. You’d jump off a cliff for him.
It’s him, you were going to build a family with him. He was there for you, the only one there when you were basically empty. When you had nothing, he was the only one there. So… how?
How could you even think about this?
It’s Ran.
There’s no question about that.
Fuck, YN. Think.
Think.
“YN—” you cut him off by pressing your lips into him, you drape your arm over his neck to pull him close.
You tug on his tie and deepens the kiss because fuck it. You both pull away to breathe, he presses his forehead against yours, you close your eyes and just try to feel him.
Just try to forget all the things that were happening.
His lips find yours again, but this time he was kissing you so hungrily, his teeth tugging on your bottom lip as if he was craving you for a very long time, your fingers unbuttoning his suit—you feel the cushion on your back as he towers over you.
His kisses travel down your neck, his hands unbuttoning—no, more like ripping your blouse, favorite blouse, open and pulling your pants down—ridding you of your clothes, you bite back a moan when his hands squeeze the swell of your clothed tits.
“Let me hear you.” he groaned, you can feel the vibrations on your skin, it’s as if you feel the nerve impulses all throughout your body. “Fuck, please.”
“Please, baby.” here you are legs sprawled open, under him but he’s the one pleading you, was he always this desperate for you?
His hands sets your panties aside, his fingers finding your swollen clit, drawing circles, trying to get just one fucking noise from you.
Finally, you gasp, your fingers gripping his hair as he pushes his fingers in and out of your cunt. Fuck, yes he was always this desperate.
Always so desperate to make you moan his name, always desperate to see your finger-fucked out face—he’s the only one who could make you like this, what makes you think that he would ever let go of you?
Why would he ever let go of you when you're so beautiful and helpless under him? Getting fucked ruthlessly, your legs hanging on his shoulder as he pump his cock in and out of your pussy?
“R-Ran, fuck! Please, slow down—ah!” you were a fucking mess, sobbing—mumbling all the right words that should come out of your mouth when he’s hitting all the right, sensitive spot inside you.
But it seems so hard to hear all your pleas when his hips slams into you like this, both your skin slapping, your wet pussy squelching when his dick slams inside you—it was too good, too good for him to stop, too fucking good to listen to you plead him to slow down, not when he can feel your cunt sucking him in.
You weren't sure anymore where you are, all you could see was your boyfriend’s face, fucking the life out of you.
Every grunt he was making passes through your ears and travels throughout your body. It was too much, you were exhausted—too exhausted to be in the right mind. Too tired to think if this is even right, if you should be even getting fucked right now.
You were already mumbling incoherent words when he switch your positions out, you were all on fours holding on the cushion while he fucks you raw from the back, he leans forward, squeezes your tits and pushes you against his chest.
“...too much, baby, slow down.” you whimpered, if only you could see the look on his face, “Ran, baby, please.”
“Tell me you’re mine.” he grunts, his voice hoarse—his breath was warm against your skin, “You're not going to leave, are you? ‘S too good, right?”
“‘m not, baby.” you gasp, your stomach churning as you feel his thrusts slow down, so agonizingly slow that you feel like he’s fucking with you, “‘m not going to leave. I love you.”
“Fuck!” he slammed his cock deeper, holding both your hips as he fucks you harder and harder, “Fuck, fuck—say that again. Say you fucking love me.”
“I love you,” you breathlessly say, “I fucking love you.”
…
You were just there sitting in silence—you, only wearing his coat, hands intertwined as you lean your head on his shoulder.
No one was speaking, you were bathing in the solace of just being there—together. It’s as if nothing happened, it’s as if you’re not going to make a big decision that’s going to affect your lives together.
Ran was the first one to speak, “Did you mean it?”
“Mean what?” you answer mindlessly.
“You said,” he paused, “You’re not going to leave, did you mean it?”
You don't answer him because you don't know. You have no idea if you mean it or not, all you know is you just wanted to stay here for a moment and not think about anything.
He squeezes your hand, his thumb caressing your skin, he holds on to you tight as if he’s going to lose you and holding on to you was the only way for you not to slip away.
“He’s my brother. The one with the long hair, similar color to mine.”
“I figured.” you whispered, “He looks a lot like you.”
“Yeah?” you hummed. “I guess.”
“Are we going to stay here forever?” you asked, “I’m hungry. I was going to cook dinner but…”
“You, cooking?” you heard him chuckle, “You sure about that?”
You immediately looked at him with a glare, “Excuse me?”
Your gaze softened when you saw that annoying smile on his face, just like that, it’s like everything was normal. It’s like you were on the bubble again, just the two of you—him teasing you, you being a brat but succumbs to him, and smiles back at him anyway.
But then you remember all the things that he lied about, all the things that you found out and all the things that you are about to find out.
“I love you.” he says. “I love you so much that I don't know what I’m going to do if I lose you… am I? Losing you?”
“I don't know,” your voice was small, almost silent just like the room that surrounds you, “Would you let me go? Would you let yourself lose me?”
The silence settled once again. He looks into your eyes, and if you looked closely you could almost see the vulnerability inside.
He’s Ran Haitani, he’s feared by some people. Even you figured that out. But when it comes to you, he’s not afraid to look stupid—he’s not afraid to beg you not to leave him.
You leaned your forehead against his, closing your eyes as you felt the ache in your chest. If it’s only that simple, if only you could say yes that easily.
You took a shaky breath as you felt your tears once again, “How do we do this, Ran? How do I love you like this?”
Ran doesn't know either. How could you love him when he’s this? But he’s too selfish to let you go, he’s too caught up in this mess that he holds on to you because you’re the only thing in his life that makes sense.
“Do you want to leave?”
“Leave?”
“We’ll leave. We’ll run away, me and you.”
Hearing him say those words just added to the pain you were feeling. He’s ready to risk it all for you. But this is wrong. “Why are you making it so hard for me to love you?”
Leaving isn't the solution, because one way or another, they're going to find you and that would probably end with the two of you dying. But if that’s what it takes to keep you, then he would gladly leave.
You can see the pain in his eyes, in those eyes that hold so much adoration for you. He pulls you in, your head leaning on his chest. You close your eyes as you listen to his heart beat, it was once again comforting, but it shouldn't be. It shouldn't.
“Then just let me love you enough for the both of us, hm?”
A:N: I just thought it’s cute when men shared back teas they heard of, back to their gfs so, here we go!
Chifuyu
-He has a lot of tea.
-He would share all about it to you back, when you would cook for dinner and he's just yapping beside you as he helps you.
-His teas are the best and you would enjoy listening it and yap back.
-It would be your little dinner activity.
Kakucho
-He hears teas against his will.
-He would secretly judge in his mind and share back with you during at night when relaxing after a long day.
-He doesn't talk tea with anyone but you because he knows he can trust you and only very comfortable with you.
Ran
-That man have very hot teas to share with you back.
-He would come to you randomly when he remembers the tea.
-He would mimic the tone or gesture, totally demonstrating exactly how the person sounded or acted and you can't help but laugh at it but thought he's cute.
Rindou
-He would share tea as if it isn't big deal.
-He would share any time he want and sometimes might even carelessly share the tea even if the ingredient is present (he doesn't know).
-As much as you love hearing his teas, you have to remind him to only share at home.
-It's not like he's a big gossip but he just want you to know as soon as he heard it.
Hanma
-He enjoys more listening the teas you share than sharing the teas.
-He mostly doesn't have tea cuz he's just minding his own business (time skip Hanma)
-He would listen carefully when you share him cuz he just love you yapping as he do work at home at night even tho he's not that much interested in the ingredients business.
Mikey
-He also doesn't have much tea or he might even forget even if someone told him the tea.
-But, if he would remember, he would share with you while he talks about his day back at you as its part of your usual little midnight conversation.
——
(A:N: Hi! Hope you enjoy this, luvs. Plz like, comment and share if you love this as it would mean a lot to me <33 Thanks a lot!)
₊˚ʚInspired by the excerpt from the song Ma Meilleure Ennemie (Stromae part. Pomme)
₊˚ʚLa pire des bénédictions, La plus belle des malédictions
₊˚ʚEnglish is not my first language, may contain errors
You and Ran were that kind of couple that when they met, one changed the other's life, it happened at the right moment, it turned your world upside down in a way that was completely unknown to you. But maybe you two had already passed each other before when you were washing dirty clothes but you were both too distracted by the amount of soap to pay attention to the people around you, when you two went to buy a coffee or a tea but there were people between you two in that line, walking around the park distracted with friends or at a party with neon lights that passed by for a second blocking the view of you two, but that was enough to stop you two from meeting each other at that moment. Maybe because that wasn't the right place or time to meet each other.
Or that dessert shop that has your and his favorite dessert and they are the best in the city. That dessert shop where you two met years ago and became a place with good, a little painful but good memories of you two. The dessert shop that became the place where you wished to meet him again one day and that he remembers sometimes and wonders: maybe by chance, if he passed by there, would he see you? Would you talk to him? Do you wish to meet him again? Maybe it's a cliché thing to think or happen, but the story of the two of you is cliché. You met in a silly way, you went to taste mont blanc for the first time and you hear someone say "That's the best dessert ever made", someone has the famous love at first sight, by luck or fate you two see each other again days later and you show him what the best dessert ever made is. Ran now has two favorite desserts.
Ran doesn't waste any more time, he can't make the mistake of letting you go again so he asks you out on a date. He didn't understand at that moment why he felt that way, why he acted that way, he only came to understand the reason for not wanting to waste time later. But cliché or not, even if it's the right person, the right place and the right time, love doesn't always have a happy ending.
It was like that with the two of you, love destroyed both of you and it doesn't matter if one of you had good or bad intentions, you both left with your hearts broken. Lies were told to try to protect the person he loved, wrong choices were made in an attempt to protect the person he loved. He should have chosen you, he should have taken you with him, Ran wasn't able to ask you to stay in his world and you weren't able to insist on staying, the pain in your chest was too strong to let you think clearly. You knew him so well, but you weren't able to see his lie.
"I don't love you anymore, you were temporary like all the others." Those words hit you hard, your world falling apart, sadness becoming a feeling of emptiness taking over you, you didn't see how he wavered at that moment. His face was sad for a few seconds and his lips almost opened in an attempt to take back what he had just said.
The biggest lie that had ever come out of Ran Haitani's mouth, the bitter taste was strong in his mouth, Ran felt the taste of the lie for the first time. The lie coming from him.
He had never loved any woman before, he had never committed to any of them before, the commitment issues he had, it was you who made him overcome it as a blessing. Something he never regretted.
Ran only had one regret.
Ran feels hammering in his head, the thought that he is a coward dominates him and corrodes him, something that perhaps he should have thought about the moment he decided to push you away, finally came to the surface. You always invade his mind so easily, not that he had forgotten you at any point, but now it was even harder for him not to think about you. He had tried, he had really tried not to think about you for all these years "I have to stop this." But your name came right after, the memory of you appeared right after. Avoiding asking them to look for information about you so he could know that you were okay, so he could know that you had moved on and only then, perhaps, he could have some peace and continue telling himself that it was better this way, that it was the right choice to make.
"It’s for her own good."
He knew that if he gave in to this, he would go to you, but the fear of making you a target would stop him for a while.
The sleepless nights because you invaded his dreams, the guilt, the anger, the discouragement consuming him became frequent again. He was even avoiding looking for women because that same cycle of none of them being you, would only repeat itself again and Ran would only torture himself more and more. He is tired of this, deep down he feels like he deserves it because this is the price of his mistake, but he is tired.
Ran thinks that maybe he should look for information about you, that maybe he should look for you. He thinks he should let go of the what ifs, he thinks he should stop overthinking and act, after all it doesn't suit him. But you changed him, you turned his world upside down the same way he did with you. But when it came to you, Ran was just Ran.
Ran was only human, Ran had weaknesses that he hid very well from others but not from you, because you were there to tell him that everything was okay and it really was, he didn't have to be afraid or ashamed. Ran could be the bad jokester, the child at heart that he was, he could be the person who also needed to be taken care of instead of being the responsible older brother. He stopped being that gang member who stood out, he stopped being that violent guy just to be a big dramatic fool, getting the attention that he loves so much, but it was even better because it came from you.
The bustling Roppongi became calm when Ran was hugging you, the false mask of sympathy to show someone else was left aside, lies told to others and to himself were forgotten, the difficulty in expressing feelings disappeared and a foolish Ran in love could be seen buying gifts for the woman who won his heart. Miracles happen, Rindou would think.
Ran could be loved and not feared.
Who would have thought that a gang member would be like this? A man considered violent became soft. Who would have thought that a gang member could have something like this? Growing up in a world of violence where there is no room for a quiet life, where there is no room for letting his guard down, he achieved something like this even if for a short time. Maybe it was a blessing or a curse, all Ran knows is that he wanted more of this. He wanted to get out of the cloudy world of adrenaline and alcohol, he wanted to get out of the world of repressed emotions and indirectly poured out at work, mercilessly poured out on enemies or on women considered empty. Ran wanted you to penetrate the armor he thought was impenetrable again.
He took his time, he really took his time to take action, Ran feels ashamed because a man in his early 30s is acting like a teenager afraid to confess. Ran feels ashamed for having taken the wrong action, "A stupid action" Rindou’s words. These words haunt Ran to this day, which he can remember and hear clearly, words that he knows Rindou said with reason but that he didn’t want to admit before.
But Ran wants to fix his mistake, he wants to show you that this won’t happen again, he wants to show you that he regrets it from the moment the thought of breaking up crossed his mind, he wants to show you that no matter where he goes from now on, he will take you with him. The only woman he loved, the only woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.
He can’t take it anymore, 5 years away from you was the worst torture that has ever happened to him. Ran won’t give up this time, he will do the right thing now.
I HAVE TAKEN GOD'S LONELIEST CREATION & PUT YOU INSIDE IT.
ଓ.° ・ ran haitani. tokyo revengers. reader has no specific pronouns or features. nsfw. MDNI.
quote cr : ocean vuong. title cr : halsey - bells in santa fe. revised / rewritten / reposted.
one.
the heart is not made of gentle beings when it has succumbed to bloodshed and brutality, hands bathed in sin & sanguine. he loves it, ran haitani : the warm body that lies next to you at 4:44am, and how desperately he seeks it out in redemption of catharsis from a life absolved.
in his blood there is corruption and underhanded means in vestige ; abandonment / stolen youth / survivalism is all he knows, all he is born from, and that’s all he needs.
he doesn’t need you, doesn’t care about you, and that’s okay. it’s alright. it makes this easier, you tell yourself, entranced in empty mantras of a siren’s song. it’s okay.
it’s okay because it doesn’t mean anything if you don’t care about him, either. you are going to convince yourself you hate him, ignore the way lavender eyes swallow you whole during wretched nights spent together, and act like you do not feel your heart pound against your chest in warning of what you will endure in the near future.
you are going to convince yourself you hate ran haitani. one day you will believe it.
two.
“this is--”
“-- the last time?” ran’s voice is heavy with amusement and taunting tones as his lips brush against the shell of your ear and trail down your neck, adorning your skin with crimson hues that serve as a warning to others.
and what does it even matter, you think, instinctively tilting your head back with a sigh as he sinks his teeth into your flesh, tongue tracing marks in their wake. it doesn’t matter. you aren’t his and he isn’t yours, so what does it really matter, anyway?
it doesn’t in the end, you suppose, so it’s not worth overthinking. none of it ever is.
“i’ve heard that before.” ran hums with feign thoughtfulness, laughing when you half-heartedly hit his shoulder. “care to remind me where?”
“shut up, haitani. it’s annoying.”
another laugh, soft.
“...and i thought i was the pushy one.”
a red mark blooms on your chest, then another. it signals nothing of devotion nor worship, blossoms in the midst of mockery, but you’ll drown in the sensations nonetheless because that’s all you know you can do when you’re underneath him. he makes his way down your body, hands trailing down your waist as he leaves kisses made of wanting and an unfamiliar hiraeth. you hate how he’s looking at you, gaze focused, waiting, watching as you give into him entirely, just as you have done all these past months.
you despise how he looks at you, how he touches you like you could be something more. this is a stupid game you both play, but you try over and over again, all the while knowing that neither of you will get the happy ending you silently wish for.
“focus on me, pretty thing.” his lips ghost over the inside of your thighs, amusement palpable in his voice when you tremble under his touch. you look at him, frustration pooling in your eyes, but he doesn’t think too much about it & what it means, doesn’t indulge in the thought that you could love someone you shouldn’t and that’s why you’re on the verge of breaking.
ran doesn’t think about it. he tries not to.
your breath catches in your throat at the feeling of his tongue against you, hand slapped over your face as you try to swallow your pride, repress all the noises he coaxes from that pretty little mouth. but ran likes to hear you, likes to know that he makes you feel good, so he wraps one hand around your thigh to keep you in place, uses the other to grab your wrist and lower your arm before lacing your fingers together. you lose yourself all too quickly when he does this, and you hate that he knows everything about you, about your body, and how suddenly it is that the self deprecation sinks into your existence and makes itself too known.
you try to remember to breathe, erratic pants filling the air as you throw your head against the pillow, trying to find purchase in something-- so you squeeze ran’s hand tighter when he brings you to that high. your body shudders, back arching off the bed as you instinctively press into his mouth, and you almost think you hear him chuckle against it.
your chest heaves, intoxication brewing in your veins, and a sudden exhaustion seeps into the marrows of your bones before you think to pull your hand away, but he doesn’t let go. ran sits up, gaze almost distant, hazy, before a lazy smile rests on the curves of his lips, and suddenly he’s too close, a calloused thumb tracing your jawline.
he kisses you, frighteningly gentle, and you think maybe such brevity in false affections is what truly will break you.
YOU ARE GOING TO CONVINCE YOURSELF YOU HATE RAN HAITANI. ONE DAY YOU WILL BELIEVE THIS.
three.
you are made of filth and lies. you are lying to yourself and you understand that, so it’s only deserving that you choose to embed yourself with hatred. it’s mindless, numbing, and it’s nonsense, but it’s how you cope, so you accept it.
you tell him it’s the last time. you said it again tonight, and here you are, pulling the sheets closer to your bare body to protect yourself from the frigid air. ran shifts next to you, arm draped over your side. you still, but already he is taken away from the brink of sleep, so he watches you, presses kisses against your shoulder.
you don’t think you can face him. your heart races in a way it should not ; you know what it means, but you don’t want to put a name to the feeling, so you tuck it into the remnants of dignity, detach it from the strings of the love that tries to survive in you.
“i need to go.”
ran stops moving at the barely heard words. your pulse is a strange sensation against his mouth. he doesn’t think he registers what you’ve said initially, and he wonders if you are shaking again.
he wants to know what face you’re making, but he won’t look. not for your sake, but for his. he pulls away, maintains a passive facade.
“okay.”
“...okay.” you whisper, so you get dressed and you never turn back.
you want to hate ran haitani, you do. so you leave.
four.
you do not see him for months after that. it should have gotten easier. it should have started the healing, rid of the hurt, this bitter distance, but it hasn’t.
ran texts you often. you know him to be the type to let people weave in and out of his life, apathy in his eyes when bonds are broken and never maintained. so why does he keep trying? your phone buzzes non-stop, but you pay no mind to it. in defeat, you turn it off, hate the way your reflection looks so miserable in the black screen.
this is not the answer. you already know what is, but fear is far stronger than a dispirited will, so you’ll stay like this, stagnant, and convince yourself that it’ll get better.
it’ll get better. it’ll get better. it’ll--
it is 1:54 in the morning. someone is knocking on your door.
you imagine it will get so much worse before it gets better. you open the door. ran haitani is in front of you.
dulled lavender, a newfound vacancy that barely slips through the cracks. you stare at each other, listless. there are tears that trail down your face.
you miss him. you hate him.
you hate ran haitani, so you let him in.
five.
“you didn’t say you were gonna go forever. go missing and ignore me like that -- think you can pull shit like that on me?”
your jaw clenches. everything is a mess; your mind riddled with anger and mourning and yearning. it’s all so stupid. you stare right at him and neither of you dare to move. he can’t understand you, doesn’t know what’s been going on in that head of yours.
it’s not like you to do this. he knows that much. he would be lying if he said he wasn’t concerned about you. he doesn’t know when it started, doesn’t even know why his footsteps led him here or why he even knocked on the door.
none of it makes sense and maybe it should stay that way, but he’s here now, and he expects answers.
“why are you here? i’m not yours, haitani.”
“ran.” he corrects you much quicker than he’d like, the strain in his voice too apparent. he looks away for only a brief moment, finds his composure, tries to retain that indifferent attitude. but even then, something more breaks free and he doesn’t like it. “if you don’t want me here, tell me to stop right now. i’ll go. if that’s what you want, speak up and tell me.”
there’s a subtle furrow of your brows; your lips part, but nothing falls from them. the hurt is more than you expect, harshness ringing loud and clear in his words. you understand his anger. you know you’ve been an idiot about this, running away from feelings you know aren’t reciprocated in even the slightest sense. you swallow hard, force yourself to remain in place when he leans forward, watching your features intently.
“tell me what you want.”
the words are gentle now. you don’t know if that hurts more, but you know your eyes sting and that you're a fool for crying. crying about emotions that have left you conflicted for god knows how long, crying because you miss ran and you think you love him when you were never supposed to be anything more than a warm body.
his lips ache. he wants you. he'll hand you his heart on a silver platter, stupid as it may be, if that’s what you want. because he recognizes this is love and he knows this isn’t him. he’s a man who only knows selfishness and horridness, but he loves you despite it all, and he wonders if you could feel the same, if you could ever be something else, something other than just someone he’s fucking.
he steps closer. you don’t step back.
“i want to hate you, ran.” the tears flow freely now, the loneliness that has been lurking in the shadows now present in full force. it hurts, this ache that has settled into your life. it turns sharp, jagged, and haunts you until you can’t bear it anymore.
“i want to hate you so much. why won’t you let me do this?”
what a fucking coward you are.
you break in front of ran haitani.
six.
ran doesn’t remember much after that night, everything blurred and in slow motion.
he doesn’t let you push him away, but he doesn’t push back, either, not after you told him that. he doesn’t fight for people, not like this. but you’re different ; you’re worth it all, even if it doesn’t make sense, even if it’s shitty, even if it fucking hurts and it’s excruciating.
he doesn’t know what to do.
“it’s like watching a game of cat and mouse,” rindou speaks up, holding his glasses up to the light and frowning at the inescapable specks of dust that gather on it, “either one of you going to cut the bullshit soon?”
it annoys ran. he inhales deeply, looks up at the sun. blinding, too bright, yet always so resilient.
“yeah.”
rindou almost snorts.
“better hurry.”
ran haitani knows he is in love with you.
seven.
“let me in.”
you glance at the clock, shake off the exhaustion that clings to your figure. it’s 1:54am again, a bittersweet smile of defeat appearing when you realize you will go through this all over again. nothing will change. he will leave and you will miss him.
you’re not going to get a happy ending with him, are you? ( and it’s your fault, too. because you could try. you could just try, bare your heart to him and break it in the process. but you would know that you tried, then. sometimes that’s all that matters. )
“who’s being pushy now?”
you don’t fight it when he enters your apartment. ran doesn’t sit down, doesn’t really do anything-- just waits. he stands in front of you, searching for something identifiable.
“you want me to say it? i’ll say it.” inside the apathy is desperation, longing. he’ll give it up, this sickening pride. he’ll give it up if it’s for you. “i’ll say it even if you think you hate me, even if--”
you watch, eyes wondrous as he goes on a tangent. you have never seen ran like this, disheveled and upset, save for the few exceptions when his brother gets injured. you don’t think hard before the words automatically spill out. you'll take the leap, risk it all. maybe it'll hurt, maybe it won't. but you let go in that moment, find your courage and wear your heart on your sleeve.
“-- i love you, ran.”
he can’t understand the way you look at him : eyes wide, afraid, yet hopeful all the same. the way you put aside your fear and admit that you’ve been in love with him all this time, the way you decide it’s time to stop running.
“i...” your mouth runs dry. how silly that this part is the hardest one to say. “i don’t hate you. i tried to-- i did, because i was afraid of--” a pause, then silence. hesitation.
“you’re exhausting. did you know that?” he stares at you, and suddenly he’s back, that same old visage he always wears present. but there's a relief beneath it all, and how suddenly difficult it is to keep himself at bay. “making me chase you like that.”
your brows furrow in slight confusion and bafflement ; you're nearly about to protest before he pulls you into a tight hug, face buried in your neck, tension dissipating at the feeling of your body against his.
it’s quiet. it’s two in the morning now, and you are both tired but you are both in love.
“...i love you.”
you laugh at the feeling of his lips against your skin. it is familiar. you missed it dearly.
brownies (Rindou's, part 1) | mooncakes (Ran's, part 2)
i.
Rindou finally agrees for dinner after being begged to go by his girlfriend after a whole week.
They show up 15 minutes late at his brother's house due to an unexpected road block to see his mother in the kitchen.
He hasn't seen this sight since he was 6 when Ma was still nice to him as her son.
She freezes when she turns to see him taking off his shoes at the foyer and his girlfriend is beside him, holding a bag of something that looks really fancy while she bows.
"I thought you weren't gonna come." She says curtly before turning around to scoop two bowls of rice from the cooker.
Rindou remains silent the entire time he pulls out two chairs for them both before looking for his brother.
"He's out at the pharmacy. Another 5 minutes I believe." She informs as if she has an extra pair of eyes behind her head. "Your sister is in her room."
He hasn't heard her speak so calmly before. What he has been used to hearing is passive-aggressiveness in her voice when she'd always pick on his acne or telling him to behave better when all he did was drop a piece of rice on the floor. She was strict and a hypocrite his whole life.
His girlfriend looks at him and he squeezes her hand under the table, but he doesn't say a word. He's quiet when he leans back to bore holes on her apron while she makes her way over to them.
The smell of Chinese herbs fills his nose and he coughs out of pure instinct, but he could see the way she takes a step back to quickly undo her apron, disappearing into the guest.
ii.
So far, dinner only consists of his sister-in-law commenting on how fragrant the rice is and how soft the tofu is cooked today (she helped preparing it), Ran picking out the bone of the fish delicately to place its meat on Rindou's bowl, with his mother watching her youngest eating everything on the table and picking up food with his chopsticks for his girlfriend, except for the plate of fried chicken right in front of him.
She picks a drumstick and places it into his bowl in one swift motion. His brother watches, eyes observant and daring, as he pauses to stare at the piece of chicken before his eyes. She then grabs a wing for Ran.
Both of the brothers have always liked eating chicken wings as kids and his mother didn't believe Ran when he told her so. She insists that Rindou likes the drums because it's what she's used to giving him when he was still really young.
Rindou scoffs when he remembers, but he still eats it anyway.
As always, Ran always gets the wings.
iii.
"Can you do Thursday, December 5?"
"Nope. I have work."
"Okay. What about weekends? Let's say, the 14th. Can't on the 7th, we have an ob-gyn meeting."
"Nah, I have plans."
Ran switches his phone off to sigh through his nose. He shuts his eyes, thinking through with his words.
"It's just one day. The doctor's only available half-day on Saturday and they're not in on Sundays. Just take the day off on 5th. Saturdays are too rushing."
"No. I have an investor's meeting on 5th. Just go without me."
"For fuck's sake, Rin. Your Ma's dying! The doctor's asking to see her direct family, which is us by the way, to brief on her situation and you're not being fucking cooperative at all." He yells. "One day is all I'm asking from you!"
Rindou remains still as he sits on the bed scrolling through his Yahoo feed. He's not actually looking at anything on his screen 一 he just doesn't want to deal with whatever Ran's putting him through.
He's not in the mood at all.
"You can go without me. Just shoot a text if you have anything." He shrugs, voice lazy.
"'S not like she'll want me there, anyway." He emphasises, and Ran visibly gets pissed.
"Say that again?"
Rindou doesn't repeat it despite really wanting to. He's just as pissed as Ran but he's better at hiding it by making it seem like he doesn't care 一 something he'd learned the hard way, growing up.
He stands and pulls open the door in one quick breath to see his mother standing there, a plate of freshly sliced fruits in her hand and two small bottles of Yakult held in the other.
Anyone can tell she's disappointed because she really has been trying 一 she just didn't know her son well enough to get a perfect score, and she had been stubborn with it, too. Which is why she had asked of Rindou's girlfriend on what he likes to drink because there's a lot of choices in the fridge. "He likes Yakult." A pause. "He still does?"
iv.
Snowfall is late this winter. Growing up, Rindou has never liked the cold. He runs warm and he likes the warm. He used to always get really sick on the first snow and Ran would be there to put a cold towel on his forehead and get him pills for his fever.
His mother never really cared when he'd get sick. She'd hand him a couple bills for KoolFever at Lawson and tell him to shower it off before heading out to go smoke in the snow. She has always liked the cold and he always thought she was not right in the head.
He got his trait from his father. He hates that man and he hates that he always has to think of him when he gets sick even on the days the flowers bloom or the waves are high.
He picks a clover from one of Ran's plant as he sits on the balcony people-watching. His sister-in-law and his girlfriend are in the nursery gushing over how cute the room is and his brother is in his study making a call. Probably to his wife's ob-gyn saying they'd have to postpone the appointment on 7th because they have plans on that day.
He feels something warm on his neck and flinches.
"The hell you're doing out here? You're gonna get sick again. You always一"
She holds her tongue and stops. For the first time in probably forever, his mother did not point the finger at him for something small and un-trivial.
He catches the scarf before it can slip off his hoodie. It's soft and it's red, and it's her favourite scarf.
The same one he got her as a birthday present with the money he'd saved up for months when he was thirteen and still naive that his mother really loved him. She still wears it to this day and suddenly he feels really, really bad.
The sour feeling in his heart returns and he turns around before he can let her see the reddening on his nose, the gloss over his eyes.
"Hope it doesn't snow." She says quietly, taking a seat beside him on the bench, sighing. "Can't have you sick before your meeting."
He bends down, arms resting on his knees with the scarf loosely, lazily wrapped around his neck. It smells of her and he holds his breath. He can't bear to tell her he hasn't been getting sick on winter anymore 一 it's one of the few things she remembered about him, and it stopped at 16 when his parents got a divorce and he had to follow his father instead.
"I hope it ends well." She places a warm hand on his back and rubs it up and down a little. Her movements are stiff but it works the magic. He feels the corner of his eyes getting wet and he clicks his tongue as soft as he can.
It's words she's not used to saying. She tries to make it sound as nice as possible, overthinking on her words before finally deciding to approach him and thinking that it might come off as really patronising. She doesn't want to scare her son away again 一 she's done it for so long that she's forgotten just how nice it is to be with him alone. Just like this, side by side. Mother and son. She’s always avoided Rindou since her husband started going astray because he looks so much like him, and she regrets it now.
She really does.
"Good luck, boy."
It's also words that Rindou isn't used to hearing at all. He tries to keep it in but it comes out anyway. It's a lot sweeter than he wanted it to.
i think i literally asked for a rindou hc recently but i seriously need a ran one where he’s like divorced for any reason that you want and he tries to get closer or to talk to his ex through their kid or appear at kindergarten when they’re picking the child from there or just try to talk to them when he goes to pick the kid for weekends or whatever, I JUST NEED IT 😭😭
take your time btw, don’t want you to get yourself busy with this when you have better things to do jahsjjajd:33
i.
Ran thinks it's cruel that your smile still haunts him awake at night.
It's one of the meanest things you can do to an ex after a nasty separation, he thinks 一 having a smile so warm and beautiful that you only show to a loved one (him, used to be), and the image still sticks so freshly on the inner walls of their head years after you divorce and aren't on speaking terms as much.
You can't go a minute speaking to him without choking on your words. You're always awkward with him when handing off your daughter for his night, but he still tries to make you feel comfortable around him again by cracking a joke or two that would've always made you laugh. You don't anymore and you haven't done it in a while, yet he still tries. And he continues with it as soon as he spots the small crack in your facade when one corner of your lips starts lifting against your will and you're quickly looking away to scratch at your elbow.
It's terrible how suffocating he feels currently. He isn't used to being like this.
Ran finds himself thinking way too much of you lately.
He often keeps his head awake at night to the thought of you and what the two of you were, and he has to keep reminding himself that he shouldn't be doing this anymore. Especially not now when you've got another man who isn't him sending you home after work and you're throwing the same sweetish, syrupy smile his way when you get off his car in a little bounce and you're holding onto his door to fix your heels.
It's been years since your separation. You're no longer the woman who'd put up with things just to have peace in the house, and he's no longer the man who'd put off things just to have some peace to himself. Your daughter is a big girl now and she's starting to understand things without anyone saying it outrightly to her. He hears a lot about you from her observations at home and he likes that you've started working on the things you've always wanted to do but didn't have time for because you were so preoccupied with taking care of everyone's needs.
Things have changed a lot since then. Improvements were made and they were done with quick effort 一 it's one of the things people start doing when they let something go and realise just how much they have been missing, or lacking.
And you're no longer together to witness that growth in each other.
But Haitani Ran has never been one to dwell on the past and think too much on what could've been 一 he fixes his issues and he does it really well. It's one of the things you've always liked about him.
If trying again isn't an option, he should at least see you. By tonight. He has to see you now. He wants to see you now.
He throws on a jacket and he grabs his keys to go.
Ran always lives in the present.
ii.
You have a lousy, too-big-for-your-face sheet mask on when he rings your bell. He almost laughs at how ridiculous you look paired with the frog pyjama pants you always like wearing to sleep, but you look so cozy, and a famous tear-jerking K-Drama is playing on your TV screen in the back. He decides he'll not poke the bear tonight.
"Arisa's already asleep." You tell him when he's on his way to go knock on her door and you're pouring him a glass of water. "That's fine."
But he's quick with it this time 一 no more than fifteen seconds with his daughter that he only sees three times a week and he's back out in the living room again with you.
"Hi sweetie. Daddy's gonna go win your mama back tonight, alright? Give me a minute, I'll be back."
He has more important matters at hand right now.
"How's the show?" He downs the cup in one go. His throat had been dry the entire ride to your place. Mind flooded with words he's unsure whether or not to say, but keeps as an option for later. He wants to see you way more.
You shrug and start peeling off your mask. "It's fine. A bit boring. Not as great as what they say." You rub on your face and go wash your hands in the sink.
As always, you're curt with him. You leave no room to continue a conversation. He doesn't blame you for it, though. He wasn't always there to listen.
"Listen, uh," he begins, fiddling with the cup, "can we talk?"
You eye the clock and shake your head. "No, it's getting late and I have to sleep. You should go too, now that you've seen Arisa一"
"一I came to see you." It's suffocating, the sudden silence in the house. And he realises swiftly it's back to square one again with the atmosphere around you both. You're creasing your brows and it's not looking nice.
"Honey, not that again一" You sweep your hair back out of frustration when you remember. "Sorry, I keep calling you that."
"Can we just talk, please? I need to talk to you." His eyes plead. His heart aches.
It's evil what the remnants of love can still do to two people who aren't together anymore.
iii.
"Risa's told me lots, you know一"
You light the cigarette hung between your lips and inhale.
"About you." He finishes his sentence.
"About what?"
In such a small space on the bench of your balcony you still manage to seat yourself as far away as you can from him, and you've got one leg on top of it. Back then his mother would've pointed out how rude it was to sit like this around your husband, but she's not here with you at your house, and you just want to get all of this done with.
He can tell.
But he thinks it's nice that he still managed to convince you to come out here and have a smoke together in the cold like the risqué couple you were back then. He wants to salvage this moment for as much as he can.
"Well, she told me you started doing cross stitch again."
You let out a breath through your nose. "Yeah, finally found the time, I guess. She keeps asking me to use the pink threads, but I don't know what else to stitch other than flowers and bows."
Your voice is a lot deeper than usual now that you've got a cigarette in your mouth and you no longer look as put together like you always do in front to him. Your hair is clipped in a messy bun and your pants are folded at the waist.
He's still charming as ever, though, and it pisses you off.
"And she told me you've been crying a lot lately."
Great way to piss you off even more. He looks at you when he says it and you don't like it from him at all.
Your chest is burning when he leans back in his seat. "Is it because of that twat? The one always driving around in that lame, old Mercedes? He's been making you cry?"
What a fucking guy.
You puff out the smoke and scoff. "I guess you still don't know me well enough then."
"Then tell me. What's going on?"
You click your tongue, agitated. Perhaps it's the nicotine that's keeping you on edge right now, and he notices you're a lot more straightforward with him this time.
He wants to talk? You'll give him just what he wants.
"I just don't get how you always make things look so fucking easy."
"What's easy?"
You shake your head, thinking. You throw the cigarette in the ash tray angrily and groan.
"I don't know! Moving on?"
You shoot daggers right into his eyes. "It's always so goddamn easy with you. Not even a year after we divorce and you've already got a girl on your arm. How the fuck did you do it? Was I so invisible to you in our marriage that all it took was just a year, or less, to go date someone else? And get so touchy with her? Did I not live in your heart at all?"
"What the fuck? What girl?"
You give him a big laugh 一 a fake one. "You're such an asshole."
"There hasn't been any fucking girl after you. I don't know what you saw that time, but nothing ever happened between me and any other girl, ever. And this thing about me moving on? Bullshit. I came to see you tonight. I never fucking moved on. It's been this way for two whole years. Jesus, it's always been you."
You're both out of breath by the time he finishes, and the waterworks come quick.
"Who was she?" You sob into your knees. He moves closer to you. So close you can feel the heat off his skin when he fixes a strand of your loose hair.
"A colleague from the Taiwan office. We attended a gala together and I sent her back to the hotel with the driver. I swear, nothing ever happened."
Your cheek is squashed against one knee when you look at him in those eyes that always gets him to fold. "You're so fucking mean. You're so cool and playful all the time. Did your heart not break when we ended? Aren't you even sad about it? This whole time I've waited to see if you were, but you never let anything show. I thought you moved on."
And finally, Ran pulls you into a hug. A hug so tight you can practically feel the crack echoing in his chest. So tight you're almost swallowed into his soul.
"We have a kid together, damn it."
You hear it then. You finally do.
"I still love you so much, baby." His voice is shaky, heart breaking apart in half from how much it hurts for you. "I never stopped, fuck. It's only ever you."
iv.
It's quiet when you sleep. Half-asleep.
You've got your nose buried in your blanket and your eyes are droopy. They're also red and swollen, but he'll take care of that for you tomorrow.
Thankfully, Arisa isn't woken up by the commotion. She's still sound asleep when Ran goes to check on her after he's ushered you in from the cold.
Your blanket rustles in the quiet when you reach your arms out to go pull him in closer to your chest. "Why are you so far away?"
He laughs a little, "I'm here," while you drape a leg over his hip.
Your sleeping position way too intimate for two ex-lovers who are divorced, and just yelled at each other's faces not too long ago.
But you don't think you care too much. Ran just admitted he still loves you and it's more than enough for you to kiss him again. You need to hold him tonight. You need him to be yours again, even just for one night.
"Rub my back." As always, you're very demanding with affection. And he always delivers as you wish.
But you can't deny that there's still a lot to work on in your relationship if you want to try again. Love isn't just enough to fix things, and only one minor improvement of him being attentive again to your feelings doesn't mean a lot if he can't show that he won't repeat it again.
And you're not perfect either. You're always wicked with your tricks when you don't get the attention you desire, or deem as enough. There's no denying that you only went out with a man to make a certain someone jealous 一 to see if he still cares 一 because you know he's been waiting around at your place to see if you get home by feet or in another man's car.
"That twat that you mentioned earlier..." You trail off and he hums, a smirk on his face when he buries it in your neck again. "I never did anything with him, okay? I stopped seeing him a month ago. We just went out for dinner, like, three times. And he always suggested to AA the bill every single time. He's stingy."
And again, you don't really leave room for him to continue the conversation.
"That's alright."
And perhaps tomorrow will be a better day.
But he's one step closer to winning you back again.
A win is always a win.
And againnnn this is not even close to what was asked for i think you might've been looking for fluff lol 😭😭🙏🏻 and i love how every individual as a couple aren't perfect and i tried my best to portray their own traits in here. And they've been following each other around after their divorce lol
part 3 - koko, inui, taiju, sanzu, hanma & kisaki, in the making!
•requests are open!
• Lowk forgot to post ut yesterday my bad
Inside
Staying cozy at home during winter was something Izana has always preferred, especially now that he has you to stay cozy with. His home is now bright with christmas warm lights and shiny decorations, the smell of homecooked meal coming from the kitchen. A home is still somewhat foreign to him, but not unwelcome at all. He's started a new little homely tradition too - cooking together once a week. It's really just him trying to do a new recipe for dinner and you keeping him company in the kitchen, but he likes it that way. He likes having you around, making the apartment more of a home. Would it really be a home without you? To him, not really. You've made your way into his heart, keeping him warm and cozy when it's freezing. Anyway, the dinner's ready. Have you tried red sause spaghetti? Hopefully you like them because Izana's getting experimental with it. Tiny baby tomatoes and basil leaves mixed in with the sauce. If you don't like the tomato slices he'd eat them for you, only if you feed them to him though. He's the big boss of the tenjiku gang, but that doesn't mean he won't want to be babied every now and them. He's not good at showing his love, but he's learning. Just fot you.
Rindou has never liked being outside in the cold, freezing his ass off. Why would he be growing icicles from his nose when he can be warm, toasty and lazing around at home? Sure, he's a party animal but he still wants to have a slow day every now and then, especially so during winter. He had all he needed inside - food, drinks and company. Even if it gets a bit boring being inside all day, he still has that little tradition with you - making homemade alchocol. Now don't get it wrong, he loves his expensive luxury stuff, but it's just different when he's done the work himself with you right by him. So every week he knows what to look foward to, and it gives him energy to pass the time by. Waiting for the said day, deciding what to try making, experimenting with new recipes, trying what you've already made.. His favourite, though, is the chocolate liquor. The first one you made together. He keeps it hidden, taking it out for just the special occasions - the holidays, achievements, and sometimes just because you're together. He's still a little flustered at the affection - his glasses are fogging up with just you leaning on him when you're thinking on what you could add, tiny little kisses make him unable to talk for a few minutes. To him, that's also a part of the tradition. Not that he's complaining tho
Just like his little brother, Ran has always preferred being at home when the weather drops. He's always being at l home anyway, you beung there just makes it better. And if it's cold it just gives him the excuse to cuddle you all day. "Its soo cold" or "come hug me, im freezing" are things you hear on the regular in winter. He's not above whining and begging if that's what would make you go back to the big, messy bed. Out of any time he could do that, his favourite is when there's no other soul awake other than him. He hates being awake at anything later than 11:30pm, much more at these ungodly hours, but the ambience makes it good. The room is dark and quiet. The muted light from the street lamps illuminates the falling snow, his patterned curtains leaving ornamented shadows across the walls. The world is quiet. Only sounds he can hear are the cars apasing by every now and then, the wind murmuring gently and your quiet, peaceful breathing. He can feel the countless soft blankets around him, brushing his cheek, and you warming him inside out. Feeling your skin agaist his, hand agaist back, leg over leg - it makes him feel like he's melting. Brushing your hair out of your face just to see how peacuful you look, next to him. Sure, he hates waking up at night, but having you there makes him almost want to wake up every now and then, just for a few minutes.
Outside
If its snowing outside expect to be dragged out by Shion the second he sees it. There's not a force on this earth to stop him from plopping face first on the snow, no matter how little it really is. He feels like he sees it rarely enough to give him a reason to run out to bask in it when it falls. He has an annual tradition - every year when first snow falls he must catch a snowflake with his mouth. It's silly, he knows, but he doesn't intend to break it. It's for luck! Even if the first snow has already fallen while he was asleep that won't stop him - he's just going to take a bite out of the snow. It's totally normal wdym Which puts you in the situation you're dealing with currently - a sick Shion. He's as healthy as a bull and his immune system is unbeatable, but that doesn't save him for catching the flu once a year. He's whiny and he doesn't shut up even if his throat hurts. He's constantly too warm, too cold, the blanket is too heavy and the air is too dry. With other words, he's insufferable. That won't stop him playing the sickness card to have you around longer, though. "Stay here please" and such will be all you're hearing for the next few days, even if afterwards he pretends it never happened. He's still grateful, even if he's bad at showing it. He's just waiting for his turn to take care of you when you're sick.
Even in the dead if winter Mochi still needs to walk around the city, even if its just for a little bit. Movement clears his head. Strolling around, earphones playing something for background, the cold air nipping his face. To him, that's his routine and that's his want. He's lazy every now and then and doesn't want to, but he knows that then he'd be restless. That's why he's so grateful to have you going outside with him. No matter the weather, no matter where or for how long - you being there makes it so much better. He's even started planning out a route to take you through every now and then. Stopping by this cafe or that bakery, looking trough this shop, going around that place. He wants to spoil you back in his own way. He can't help it - he feels like he's melting! Not that he's actually going to say it tho Seeing you dressing up just to go out with him, reminding him to take a hat, holding his arm while strolling around.. He'd never really say it, but to him that means the world. And he'll always return the gesture.
If there's one thing Kakucho likes about winter, it's all the holidays. Cristmas, New years, all the festivities - they give the freezing cold life. He's never been openly just waiting for them to come but he's never been good at hiding this either. Out of everything, he likes New Years the best. Who doesn't like the new start, yeah? As solitary as he is, he's never missed a new years gathering. The parties aren't his strong suit but they still bring him joy. The atmosphere of it is something he always forward to. The loud giggles and the low voices, people having conversations bumbling around the room. The muted light coming from a few different sources scattered across the rooms. The music playing loud enough to drown out your thoughts. He loves these but he prefers to just watch. And he's glad he has you to keep him company watching the party unfold. Even if he has to keep an eye in you drinking or go back more than usual he'd never complain. He's just waiting for the fireworks. Flaming shooting stars and sparlking blazing flowers exploding around the sky with a loud bang and dazzling, untouchable colors. Colorful comets howling across the sky. Brocades and crackles popping like popcorn. Fish of fire swimming beside them. Strobes flashing. And finally the biggest ones come, everyone waiting for them. Boquet of luminous hot chrysanthemums, peonies and dahlias paiting the sky in stars and the wind swishing around them. In all of that Kakucho was entranced not by the firework show, but by you. On your toes to see it all better, the gentle wind ruffling a strand or two of your hair, mouth agape and eyes wide open. He can see the reflection of the stars in your eyes and its better than watching it himself, he thinks. He's got you right there, next to him, looking up at the fireworks, hand in hand with him. He's never been superstitious, but for once he understands why some of them are created. You won't refuse the new years kiss, yeah?
