We know how the story ends: in all versions of it, the crane leaves her lover in tears.
(In which: Kakuchō meets you at his worst. Eight years later, you meet him at yours.)
Pairings: Kakuchō x F!OC/Reader (ft. Haitani Ran x F!OC/Reader)
Status: Multi-chapter / Ongoing
Current WC: ~27.5k
Series Tags / TW & CW / Notes:Dark/Mature Themes, Bonten!Timeline World-Building (pre-Bonten / Rise of Bonten Era), TR Manga Spoilers, Slow Burn, Angst & Hurt/Comfort, Pining, Organized Crime, Blood & Violence, Mentions of Domestic Abuse, Japanese Culture, OC will have a name but this will largely be written in 2nd POV, Character Study, Hostessing & Forced Prostitution, etc.
— “ *:・ﾟj'ai mieux baisé ta meuf // julien loki + vivien hugo
╰──—> cuckolding
you were laid on your back on the bed, legs spread wide, one ankle hooked over julien’s shoulder while he drove into you with that dialed-down pace he usually saved for the pitch. every thrust punched a filthy sound out of you.
your boyfriend’s best friend was rearranging your guts like he owned them.
hugo sat in the armchair across from the bed, completely naked, cock flushed dark and dripping onto his abs. he hadn’t touched himself once. he didn’t want to.
“putain… look at her,” julien muttered in that low, honeyed accent, hips snapping forward. “[Name]’s so fucking wet for me, hugo. your little girlfriend is dripping all over my cock~”
you moaned, high and helpless, when he angled deeper and ground against that spot that made your vision sparkle. your nails dug into the sheets.
hugo’s voice was already wrecked. “mmh… loki… sois prudent… you’re stretching her so wide…”
julien laughed softly, the sound filthy, and leaned down until his mouth was right by your ear. his next words were pure silk.
“dis-lui. tell your boyfriend how good i feel inside you. allez. sois une bonne fille.”
you could barely form words. “it’s— oohh fuck… juli~… s’so deep… so much longer than viv’s—”
hugo made a broken sound. his thighs were trembling. thick beads of precum rolled down the side of his cock but he still refused to touch it.
julien picked up the pace, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room. he grabbed your waist and yanked you down onto every thrust, using you like a perfect little toy. your tits bounced with every hard snap of his hips.
“écoute-la gémir…” he purred, glancing over at his friend with a wicked little smirk. “listen to how she moans for me. your jolie fille takes my cock like she was made for it look at her face, mon ami. she’s completely gone”
yeah. fuck yes you were. your eyes had rolled back. your mouth hung open. every time juli bottomed out you clenched around him helplessly, and he groaned like it was the best thing he’d ever felt.
hugo’s voice cracked. “fuck— i’m so close… just from watching… putain. loki, you’re ruining her…”
“bonne,” julien praised, clearly enjoying how stupid he’d made both of you. “regarde-moi bien, vivien. watch, how i fuck your princesse so you’ll know how to do it properly next time. elle est tellement serrée…”
he suddenly flipped you onto your stomach, hauled your hips up, and slammed back in from behind. the change of angle punched a delicious scream out of you.
julien fisted a hand in your hair and used it as leverage, pounding into you so hard the headboard slammed against the wall.
hugo’s breathing went ragged. his eyes kept dropping to his own twitching cock—untouched, leaking constantly—before dragging back up to you.
“look,” julien ordered, voice rough. “look at your boyfriend, [Name]. look how hard he is just from watching me take what’s his… c’est drôle~”
you forced your hazy eyes open and landed on hugo’s face. his eyes were glassy, lips parted, face flushed deeper than his hair. the second your eyes met his, his whole body jerked.
“tch, julien… she’s looking at me while you’re—”
julien reached around and rubbed tight circles over your clit, never slowing the brutal rhythm of his hips.
“viens pour moi~” he growled against your neck. “cum on my cock, mon ange… so your boyfriend can watch you fall apart on someone else. allez, chérie.”
you shattered with a broken cry, walls clamping down hard around him. he cursed and fucked you through it, hips stuttering as he buried himself to the hilt and came deep inside you with strings of whispered french curses.
the second julien started filling you, hugo finally lost it. he came untouched, cock jerking hard as thick ropes of cum painted his stomach and chest. his head fell back against the chair, a wrecked little sob tearing out of his throat.
“ah fuuuck… merde… loki… you came inside … you came inside my girlfriend… fucking connard…”
julien stayed buried deep, panting, one hand lazily stroking your hip while you twitched around him. he looked over at hugo with a satisfied, lazy grin.
“you didn’t stop me,” he said softly, still a little breathless. “... plus she takes dick like a dream, vivien… et regarde ça. you came just from watching. look at the mess you made.”
hugo was still shaking, staring at the thick cum dripping out of you like it was the hottest thing he’d ever seen.
julien leaned down and kissed along the back of your neck, voice dipping filthy again. “next time, maybe we make him clean it up. qu’est-ce que t’en penses, ma belle?”
you could only moan in answer while hugo’s spent cock twitched again at the mere suggestion.
manon, sweetheart, this one was honestly a no brainer. in my heart, you two meet at keisuke’s pet shop, arms full of supplies for your latest rescued kittens. and that’s where it all begins— the boy who loves animals more than he loves most people, and the girl who helps take care of stray kittens? a match made in heaven.
but it goes deeper than the cats (though astrale will be receiving free treats for life). you’re an overthinker, and keisuke is… an underthinker. where your head spirals, his doesn’t even leave the ground, and that balance is the whole point. furthermore, he’s not someone who will judge you. when you freeze mid-sentence hunting for a word, he doesn’t tease or try to finish it for you, because words don’t come easy to him either, and he’d never make you feel stupid for something he understands deeply. (he’s also zero help finding the word. you’re both left sitting there, staring at each other. it’s fine.)
and here’s the part that matters most: you never have to decode him. keisuke is a terrible liar, but he won’t mince his words regardless— if he says he likes your outfit, he likes the outfit. if he says you’re his, you’re his. and he doesn’t stop at words; he proves everything with his actions, his time, his whole reckless heart. family above everything, loyalty until it kills him, sweet to his people and absolutely nasty to anyone who wrongs them… sound like anybody you know? and once he tastes your cooking, i’m sorry, but you’re never getting rid of him <3
𝘚𝘕𝘈𝘗𝘚𝘏𝘖𝘛𝘚 𝘍𝘙𝘖𝘔 𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘍𝘈𝘐𝘙𝘎𝘙𝘖𝘜𝘕𝘋𝘚 !
✧ keisuke is convinced. the ring toss is RIGGED! what was supposed to be an easy win becomes a twenty-minute blood feud between him and a carnival game. he slaps down his last bills with murder in his eyes, and when he finally manages to land a ring, you receive one gigantic pikachu that he ends up hauling around for the rest of the night.
✧ he eats his way down the food booths— yakisoba, takoyaki, a humongous stick of some mysterious meat— and still says, between bites, “yours is better. this is, like, a six. yours is a hundred. shit.. ‘m spoiled now, aren’t i?”
✧ bumper cars were a mistake. not for you, but for everyone else. keisuke rides around cackling, hunting down the same teenager who bumped you exactly one (1) time at the start. by the end, the ride operator is watching him with visible concern, and you’re wheezing too hard to steer.
✧ he cannot keep his hands off you, and he isn’t even doing it on purpose. an arm hooked over your shoulders in line, his chin on top of your head while you decide on snacks, playing with the ends of your hair on the ferris wheel.
✧ you bring your camera, obviously. he makes a face in every single shot, sticking his tongue out or baring his fangs— but the photo that ends up printed and taped to your wall is the one he didn’t know you took: his head thrown back, laughing at his own joke, fair lights reflecting in his long, dark hair.
✧ there’s a little petting zoo tucked at the edge of the fairgrounds with goats, rabbits, and a couple of old horses— and you don’t even have to ask. the shyest horse in the pen ignores everyone and comes straight to you, and keisuke watches with his arms crossed and mutters, “fuckin’ figures. animals always know.” meanwhile, a goat is eating the hem of his jacket and he hasn’t noticed because a rabbit has fallen asleep in the crook of his arm.
𝘈𝘕𝘋 𝘍𝘖𝘙 𝘠𝘖𝘜𝘙 𝘗𝘙𝘐𝘡𝘌 . . .
keisuke feels you go tense somewhere between the petting zoo and the bumper cars— the crowd thickened, shoulder to shoulder now— but he doesn’t make it a thing. he just laces his fingers through yours and tugs, cutting a path with the giant pikachu wedged under his other arm, until the noise fades away and you’re in a narrow pocket of privacy between two tents, string lights burning soft overhead.
“better?” he asks, and when you nod, he grins like he’s won something even bigger than the pikachu plush.
he drops it unceremoniously into the grass— “keep watch,” he tells it— and then he’s crowding you back against a tent pole. not trapping, just close with one forearm braced above your head, the faint smell of hay still clinging to his jacket where the goat got him.
“y’know, your cat’s gonna kill me,” he murmurs, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before letting his fingers trail down your jaw slow enough to make you shiver. “been hoggin’ you a lot lately. she’s gonna smell me on you and start plottin’.”
“she would never!”
“yeah, you’re right. she likes me too much.” his thumb brushes the corner of your mouth. “wonder where she gets it from.”
your cheeks flush, but before you can respond, his lips are on yours— sweet for exactly three seconds before it isn’t, before his hands find your waist and pull you flush against him. when he finally decides to let you breathe, he doesn’t go far.
with his forehead against yours, bronze irises stare down at you. “sure found my prize.”
cass's note. ノ step right up! my birthday is this friday, and to celebrate, the fairgrounds are officially open! grab some cotton candy, ride the ferris wheel, and pick one booth to visit before the lights go out.
⧼ ADMISSION RULES !! ⧽
✧ tickets will be available until friday, july 17th at midnight.
✧ send your submission OFF anon — submissions won't be posted, and i need to be able to tag you in your prize!
✧ there will be a limited number of tickets per booth. it's first come first served, and you may only visit ONE booth, so choose wisely!
✧ you must be following me and have an age indicator somewhere on your blog so i can verify you're not a minor. no indicator = no entry, no exceptions!
✧ accepted fandoms: tokyo revengers & blue lock.
✧ all posts pertaining to this event will be tagged: #cass's carnival ✩࿐
𓋜 BOOTH №1 : THE MUSIC TENT — slots: 0/5
step into the sound tent and leave with a mini playlist made just for your selfship.
your ticket must include:
✧ your selfship
✧ any tropes associated with your ship / your ship's dynamic
✧ the vibe you're after ( yearning? angst? honeymoon-phase fluff? )
✧ genres you love — and any you absolutely don't want!
✧ if possible, one song you already associate with them
your prize: 5 songs curated for your selfship!
𓋜 BOOTH №2 : THE KISSING BOOTH — slots: 0/10
pucker up! tell me about yourself and i'll match you with your carnival sweetheart.
your ticket must include:
✧ which fandom(s) you'd like to be matched from
✧ any characters you do NOT want to be matched with
✧ your name, pronouns, zodiac sign, and mbti
✧ anything about yourself you're willing to share! likes, dislikes, hobbies, pet peeves, love language — the more you give me, the better the match!
your prize: a matchup + headcanons of what you two would get up to at the carnival.
𓋜 BOOTH №3 : THE PHOTO BOOTH — slots: 0/5
say cheese! commemorate your selfship with a souvenir moodboard.
your ticket must include:
✧ your selfship
✧ a physical description of yourself ( hair color/texture, skin tone, etc. )
✧ any aesthetics associated with your ship
✧ your favorite color
✧ the setting or AU, if any!
your situationship with sanzu has always lived on a knife's edge, literally and figuratively. when he shows up at your apartment unannounced, covered in blood, what starts as concern quickly spirals into something far more dangerous when he decides his leftover adrenaline needs an outlet.
˚⋮ word count. 4.5k
˚⋮ tags. smut. 18+ mdni. dark content ; weapon play ( knives ). a little blood play. dacryphilia. fear play. sadistic! sanzu. reader is a masochist. written in the bonten timeline ( everyone is aged 21+ ). praise & degradation. marking. mentions of branding. mentions of drugs. unprotected sex. slight overstimulation ( r ). petnames. rough sex.
˚⋮ author's note. this was meant to be a little exercise to help me brainstorm some fic ideas for kinktober and well. as you can see, it got a little out of hand ! likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated <3 also thank u to @lilbachi for beta reading!
the knock comes at 11:47.
you know because you’re looking at your phone when it happens, thumb hovering over the alarm you’re about to set for a morning that already feels too close. you’ve completed your whole nighttime routine; face washed, teeth brushed, skin moisturized. you are, by every reasonable measure, done with today.
but then— knock, knock, knock.
for a moment, you genuinely think it came from the TV, except the TV’s been off for twenty minutes. then you think it might be your neighbors, because sound carries strangely in this apartment complex, and old pipes do that sometimes. there’s an entire list of plausible explanations your brain runs through with increasing desperation because the alternative is that someone is standing outside your door at nearly midnight on a tuesday.
you set your phone down on the couch and slowly stand up, crossing the living room on your tiptoes. as you near the front door, you lean in to peek through the peephole.
“oh, baaaby,” the voice comes through the door, syrupy and slow, almost singsong. “i know you’re in there. open up.”
sanzu haruchiyo.
the dread that’s found its way into your stomach doesn’t leave, exactly; it merely transforms, reorganizing itself into something more familiar, the particular weariness you’ve been experiencing for the better part of a year now, ever since this man walked into your life and refused to walk back out of it.
through the fisheye warp of the peephole, you see him in pieces. pink first— that ridiculous mullet, unmistakable even distorted, even before your eyes have fully adjusted. then bright blue irises, which find the lens with unsettling accuracy, like he can see you through it. knowing him, he’s simply decided you’re there and committed to the bit. then there’s the signature grin, wide and wolfish. the scars pulling at the corners of it, the ones you’ve traced with your fingertips a hundred times and asked about only once.
he looks pleased with himself, but since that’s his default state, it tells you nothing.
you’re already sighing to yourself, already reaching for the deadbolt as a lecture readies itself on the tip of your tongue— phones exist, haruchiyo, we have literally talked about this, you can’t keep materializing at my door like a cryptid— and then your brain finishes processing the full image of him, and the words die in your throat.
because there’s a dark patch of something on his shirt, spreading from his ribs down past the hem.
you wrench the door open so fast the chain you forgot to unlatch snaps taut, and it bounces back at you. you curse, fumbling with it, your hands suddenly stupid, and you get it free on the second try. when it’s completely flung open, sanzu stands in your doorway, loose-limbed and swaying slightly like he’s listening to music, and upon closer inspection, he is covered in blood. what you’d previously mistaken for shadows proves to be a fine spray of it across his cheek and part of his throat.
“hi there, dollface,” he practically purrs.
“oh my god.” you grab a fistful of his sleeve and haul him over the threshold. thankfully, he comes easily, letting himself be steered. your hands are moving before you’ve made a single conscious decision, because the terrible thing is… you’ve done this before.
only once, but you have a procedure.
eight months ago, sanzu had shown up at this same door at two in the morning, ghostly pale and holding his side, sliced open along the ribs from something he never quite explained. you’d spent that night on your bathroom floor learning things you never wanted to know— how to butterfly a wound that truly needed stitches, how much gauze one human being can go through, how his breathing changed when the pain spiked, and how he’d joked through all of it, voice paper thin, like if he stopped performing he’d have to be a person who was hurt. you’d fallen asleep sitting up against the tub with his head heavy in your lap. in the morning, he was gone and there was money on your kitchen counter, and neither of you have mentioned it since.
so your body knows the drill, even while your mind is white noise. door shut, lock turned, get him under the light, find the wound—
“where..” you barely manage to keep the panic from leeching into your voice, “where is it, where are you hurt— sit down, why are you just— haru, sit down—”
he doesn’t listen. instead, he stands in the middle of your kitchen while you pull at the wet fabric of his shirt. it’s worse up close. the smell of it, and the sheer volume of it, soaked through from his ribs to his hip. you peel his shirt away from his stomach with both hands, searching the skin underneath, and some distant part of your brain has become a grim little accountant: that’s too much. that’s too much blood. a person doesn’t stay standing after losing that much blood.
your fingers keep expecting to find the tear, the pucker of flesh, the heat of an open wound, and they keep finding smooth skin. your panic intensifies every second you spend searching, because if you can’t find it, you can’t fix it, and if you can’t fix it, then tonight is the night. the one you’ve been bracing for since the first time this happened— the night your terrible arrangement with this terrible man finally costs more than you have.
“left side, right side, where—” you’re circling him now, checking his back with shaky hands. “you have to tell me where, i can’t— is it your leg? is it—”
“you’re so cute when you do this,” he says, dreamily.
“where are you hurt, haruchiyo?”
you grab his wrist to take his pulse, jamming two fingers against it, and it’s absolutely pounding. way, way too fast, and your grim little accountant supplies the answer immediately: shock. he’s going into shock, that’s why he won’t answer you, oh god, he’s going to go down right here on your kitchen floor—
“calm down, it’s not mine.”
relief hits first. it’s chemical, instant, your whole body unclenching before the words have even finished processing— he’s fine, he’s not hurt, he’s fine— a wave of it so strong your knees actually dip.
and then, arriving a half-second behind it like the second car in a pileup, the rest.
if not his…
then whose?
suddenly, the kitchen is quiet. the refrigerator hums. somewhere below, a neighbor’s television whispers through the floor. and you are standing there holding the wrist of a man soaked in someone else’s blood, and his pulse is still hammering beneath your fingertips— not from shock, you understand now, but with something much more dangerous.
sanzu watches you with his head tilted, like you’re the most interesting thing he’s seen all night. which, considering what he’s apparently been up to, is a bold assumption. “you gonna let go now? or are you that desperate to get your hands on me?”
you drop his wrist like it burned you, eyes narrowing up at him, but he just grins.
you take a step back, attempting to put some space between you, even though the kitchen suddenly feels too small. your heart is still racing from the panic, but now it’s mixing with something hotter and uglier— frustration, the kind that only sanzu can ever pull out of you.
“haruchiyo,” you say, and your voice is tight. “you cannot keep doing this. showing up at my door in the middle of the night covered in— in that— and expecting me to just… what? patch you up and pretend it’s fine? i thought you were dying. do you understand how fucked up that is?”
he tilts his head the other way. his pupils are huge, dilated so much that only a thin ring of pale blue encircles them. whatever he took tonight is still riding him hard.
“i like it when you fuss over me,” he shrugs. “checkin’ my pulse like a good little nurse. i think you just made my night, honestly.”
your jaw tightens. “i’m not fussing. i’m pissed— and scared. and you’re not even telling me what happened. again. look, if you want to sell drugs, i don’t care. but you can’t keep doing this. whatever bullshit you’re involved in, i don’t want a part in it.”
the words slip out sharper than you meant them to. you’ve never said it so plainly before— the suspicion that’s been sitting heavy in your chest for months. that he’s not just some guy with a bad habit. that whatever he does when he’s not here involves a lot more than recreational pills.
sanzu’s grin doesn’t falter. “aw, baby, you think i’m a drug dealer? that’s adorable. you’ve been sitting here makin’ up little stories about me in that pretty head of yours.”
you cross your arms over your chest, suddenly very aware that you’re only in a thin camisole and pajama shorts. “i don’t know what you are because you won’t tell me. you just show up, bleed on my floor, fuck me, and leave money on the counter like— like i’m some kind of hooker!”
okay, you know you’re reaching, but the words are already out. sanzu’s head tilts again, slower this time. his grin softens at the edges, but it doesn’t disappear. if anything, it grows a little meaner. a little more knowing.
“oh yeah? that really what you think, princess? that i only come around ‘cause of that perfect cunt? that i’m ‘paying’ you for the privilege of using it?”
your face burns as you open your mouth, but nothing comes out.
he takes a step closer, and you can see the fine spray of blood across his throat, the way it’s dried in the hollow of his collarbone. you should be disgusted. you are disgusted. but your body doesn’t seem to care. your pulse is fluttering for an entirely different reason now, and the space between your thighs is already warm in a way that makes you want to cross your legs.
sanzu watches the realization flicker across your face like it’s his favorite show.
“you know that’s bullshit,” he continues. “i’ve fucked you plenty of times without leavin’ a single yen on your counter. i’ve fucked you fast. slow. while i’ve been drunk, high. i’ve fucked you when i was half-asleep and just wanted to be inside you. i’ve let you ride me until you cried because you needed it. don’t act like this is some kind of transaction, doll. you know better.”
you hate how right he is. you hate that he can see straight through the flimsy defense you threw up between you. your arms are still crossed over your chest, but it feels defensive now instead of angry. the fear is still there, sharp and electric under your skin, but it’s twisting into something else. something hotter that makes your breath come shorter.
he’s too far gone tonight. you can see it in the way he sways, in the way his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, in the restless energy rolling off him in waves. this isn’t one of the nights where he lets you pull him back down to earth. this is one of the nights where he’s going to drag you to hell with him.
and the worst part is that some deep, shameful part of you wants to go.
sanzu reaches into his pocket like he’s pulling out a cigarette. a small pocketknife appears in his hand instead, the blade catching the overhead light in a mean flash. he doesn’t brandish it or point it at you. he just holds it loosely and watches your face.
your stomach drops. you’ve never been in a situation like this. you’ve seen knives in kitchens and utility drawers and the occasional self-defense video that popped up on your feed, but you’ve never stood in your own apartment while a man covered in someone else’s blood held one like an extension of his body. the fear that spikes through you this time is bright and immediate, and it makes your breath catch as your nipples tighten against the thin fabric of your shirt.
but it doesn’t make you step back, even when sanzu steps in again, close enough that you have to tilt your head to keep looking at him. the knife moves slowly, almost lazily, as the tip traces a light path down the center of your chest, right between the swell of your breasts, and the metal is cold enough to make you shiver.
“h-haru—” your voice comes out more uncertain than you want it to.
“shhh.” the tip of the blade catches the thin strap of your camisole, and he drags it down until the fabric pulls taut. with one quick flick, the strap snaps, and the garment slips lower on one side, baring the curve of your shoulder and the top of your breast. “you’re still actin’ like you’re mad at me. but you started clenching your thighs the second i pulled this out.”
you want to deny it, but the words won’t come. your heart is pounding so hard you can feel it in your throat. the fear is real, but it’s tangled up with something else now. something that makes your thighs press together without your permission.
sanzu’s free hand comes up to cup your jaw, thumb stroking once over your cheekbone. his touch is gentle. the knife is not. he drags the flat of it across your collarbone, and the metal leaves goosebumps in its wake, drawing his attention to the way your chest begins to rise and fall in shallow stutters.
“you’re scared,” he murmurs, his tone almost thoughtful. “but you’re not running. not tellin’ me to get the fuck out either. you’re standing here letting me tease you with this while your pussy’s probably beggin’ for some lovin’.”
“haru, i—”
the knife moves again. this time the tip catches the neckline of your camisole and slices downward in one smooth motion. the fabric parts like paper, falling open to bare your breasts to the cool kitchen air, and sanzu makes a low, appreciative sound when your nipples instantly harden.
“so pretty,” he comments absently, tracing the flat of the blade over one of them slowly, the metal making it pebble even harder. “so fuckin’ pretty when you’re like this. all soft and innocent and tryin’ so hard to stay mad at me.”
you’re not mad anymore. the anger has burned itself out, replaced by something more complicated. frustration, yes— at him, but also at yourself. at the way your body keeps betraying you. but it’s drowned out by the arousal curling low in your belly and the sharp edge of fear that heightens your senses.
he backs you up until your spine hits the counter, the knife never leaving your skin. it traces down between your breasts again, then lower, across your stomach, until the tip is resting just above the waistband of your pajama shorts. your hands grip the counter behind you. you don’t know if you’re bracing yourself or offering yourself.
sanzu leans in and kisses the corner of your mouth— soft, almost sweet— while the knife presses a little harder against your stomach.
“you still want me.” he says it against your skin.
you swallow, but your voice still comes out small. “i do.”
the curve of his lips is slow and satisfied. “good girl.”
he hooks the knife under the waistband of your shorts and slices through the fabric with one clean motion. the ruined material falls away, leaving you nearly naked in your own kitchen with your shirt hanging open and your shorts in pieces on the floor. sanzu steps back just enough to look at you, and the hunger in his eyes makes your knees feel weak.
he doesn’t give you time to find your balance. his hands are on your waist before you can speak, lifting you onto the counter. the granite is cold against the backs of your thighs, your ruined camisole still hanging open, but he doesn’t bother with it. instead, he hooks his fingers into the sides of your panties and tugs them down your legs. they catch on one ankle before he pulls them free and drops them to the floor with the rest of your clothes.
you’re completely naked now. you can feel every inch of exposed skin as sanzu steps in close, the front of his bloodstained shirt brushing your bare stomach. one hand rests on your knee, pushing your legs wider, while the other momentarily holds the knife to the side.
“look at you,” he grins. “fuckin’ knew you’d be wet.”
you try to close your legs on instinct, but he’s standing between them, and his hand on your knee doesn’t budge. to your mortification, two lithe fingers drag through your folds, gathering the slick that’s already begun weeping out, and the wet sound it makes is obscene in the quiet kitchen, nearly causing you to flinch.
“positively dripping,” he announces, and then, as if to prove he’s telling the truth, he brings his fingers up so you can see the shine on them. “all that attitude earlier, callin’ yourself a hooker like i’m some john payin’ for time… and here you are, makin’ a mess on my fingers before i’ve even pulled my cock out.”
you open your mouth to snap back, but the words evaporate when he pushes two fingers inside you without warning. the stretch is sudden and perfect, and your head tips back against the cabinet behind you with a soft thud as sanzu watches your face, eyes flicking between your expression and the way your cunt clenches around the digits.
“still wanna pretend you don’t want this?” he asks, curling his fingers just right.
you shake your head because it’s the only answer you can manage. your hands are gripping the edge of the counter so hard your knuckles have gone white.
sanzu makes a pleased sound low in his throat and starts fucking you with his fingers in earnest— deep, rapid strokes that press against that spot inside you on every pull. his thumb brushes your clit, not quite giving you enough pressure, but enough to make your hips twitch forward, chasing the friction.
that’s when the tears start.
they prick hot at the corners of your eyes from everything at once— the leftover anger that’s morphed into frustration, the fear that still hasn’t left your bloodstream, the overwhelming arousal that makes your thighs tremble around his wrist. you’ve never been in a situation like this, never felt so completely at someone else’s mercy while still knowing, bone-deep, that they won’t actually hurt you.
but the possibility is still there— and that possibility is doing something to you that you don’t have words for.
a tear slips free and tracks down your cheek.
sanzu sees it immediately. his rhythm doesn’t falter, but his expression darkens as he leans in without breaking eye contact and licks it off your skin with one slow lap of his tongue. the heat of it makes you shudder.
“there they are,” he breathes against your cheek. his voice has gone softer, but there’s a hunger underneath it you know all too well. “always such a crybaby. been waitin’ on the waterworks since i walked through the door.”
another tear falls. he licks that one too, then presses his mouth to the corner of your eye like he’s trying to catch them before they can escape.
you’re crying properly now, the tears coming faster and blurring your vision as his fingers keep working inside you. the pressure is building fast, tight and insistent, your clit throbbing every time his thumb grazes it. you’re close. so close it almost hurts.
abruptly, sanzu pulls his fingers out. you gasp at the sudden emptiness, a whine crawling up your throat only to taper off when he presses the flat of the blade directly against your clit— the cold, unyielding metal right where you’re most sensitive. the contrast makes your whole body jerk, and a broken sound escapes your throat.
“i know, i know,” he soothes, even as he rubs the flat of the knife in slow circles over your swollen clit. “i got you. just feel it.”
your hips rock forward on their own, grinding against the cold metal. it should feel wrong. it should feel terrifying. instead, it sends sparks shooting up your spine, the fear and the pleasure twisting together until you can’t discern where one ends and the other begins.
he pushes his fingers back inside you at the same time he keeps the knife pressed to your clit, and the combination is almost too much. your orgasm is right there, hovering just out of reach, your walls fluttering around his fingers, your breath coming in wet, broken pants.
that’s when he makes the cut. it’s small and deliberate, high on your inner thigh, just below where his fingers are buried inside you. the sting is bright and sharp and perfect, hitting at the exact moment your body is teetering on the edge, and the pain topples you over before you can even process what’s happened.
you cum with a loud sob, thighs clamping around his wrist and walls pulsing hard around his fingers as your orgasm crashes through you. your tears are streaming freely now— from the intensity, from the sting of the cut, from the devastating combination of everything all at once.
sanzu groans like the sound of you falling apart is the best thing he’s ever heard. he works you through it, fingers slowing but not stopping until the pleasure tips into something almost painful.
only then does he pull back. he brings his hand— the one that’s been holding the knife— up to his mouth and licks the small smear of blood on his thumb from the cut on your thigh, his eyes never leaving your face. the sight makes your spent cunt clench around nothing.
“fuckin’ masochist,” he muses out loud. “didn’t even know it until tonight, did ya? the second i cut you, you squeezed down so hard i thought you were gonna break my fingers.”
you can’t answer. your chest is heaving and your face is wet and your thigh is stinging in the best possible way. sanzu leans in and kisses you, tasting like copper and salt and something darker.
when he finally pulls back, he helps you down from the counter onto shaky legs. your knees nearly buckle, but he catches you easily, turning you around so your front is pressed against the counter. he nudges your feet apart with his boot, and then you feel the blunt head of his cock nudging at your entrance before he pushes in with one smooth thrust.
you’re still sensitive from your orgasm, still fluttering around him, and the stretch makes fresh tears well in your eyes. but sanzu doesn’t give you time to adjust, beginning to fuck you in steady strokes that push you forward against the counter with every piston of his hips. one hand grips your hip hard enough to bruise, the other lifting the knife up to press it against the side of your throat.
the position is vulnerable in a way that makes your stomach twist— bent over your own kitchen counter, completely naked, while he’s still fully clothed and covered in someone else’s blood. the knife at your throat is a constant reminder. every time your pulse jumps, he can practically feel it through the metal.
“you like this, huh?” he pants against the back of your neck as his hips snap forward. “like it when i scare you a lil’. like it when i make you cry while i’m buried in this perfect fuckin’ pussy.”
you nod mindlessly, and sanzu’s laugh is low and breathless. “my sweet lil’ girl. maybe one day i should carve my name into this pretty thigh of yours, right next to that cut i just gave you. let everyone who sees it know exactly who you belong to.”
the words send a fresh wave of heat through you, and you clench around him hard enough that he curses and fucks you harder, the knife pressing a little more firmly against your throat.
he doesn’t last much longer after that. the intoxicating cocktail of everything— the blood on his clothes, the way you’re crying and clenching around his cock, the leftover high still buzzing beneath his skin— pushes him over the edge. he pulls out at the last second, strokes himself twice, and cums across your ass and the small of your back in hot, messy stripes. you feel every pulse of it.
for a long moment, the only sounds are your ragged breathing and his low, shaky laughs as he comes down. then, the knife finally drops to the counter beside your head with a soft clatter.
sanzu stays pressed against you, forehead resting between your shoulder blades as one hand strokes soothing circles over your hip. when he finally pulls back, he grabs a dish towel and wets it under the tap, cleaning you up with surprising gentleness— wiping the cum from your skin and pressing the damp cloth to the fresh cut on your thigh until the bleeding slows.
he doesn’t bandage it, but he does kiss the skin above it, soft and almost apologetic.
then he turns you around and pulls you into his arms. your legs are still shaky, and your head feels light, the cut on your thigh registering in a way that makes your stomach churn with leftover heat. sanzu lifts you like you weigh nothing and carries you down the short hallway to your bedroom, laying you down on the sheets before crawling in beside you.
he pulls you against his chest and tucks your head under his chin. “you okay?”
you nod against his chest, your voice hoarse from crying. “yeah, ‘m just sleepy.”
he hums and presses a kiss to the top of your head. “sleep, doll. like i said, i’ve got you.”
you don’t remember falling asleep. one minute you’re listening to his heartbeat, slow and steady under your ear, and the next you’re gone.
when you wake up, the other side of the bed is cold.
sunlight filters through the blinds in thin stripes across your sheets. your body aches in places that make you wince when you stretch— the cut on your thigh throbs, your throat feels raw, and there’s a pleasant soreness between your legs that makes heat crawl up your neck when you remember why.
you lie there for a while before you finally drag yourself out of bed. the kitchen is exactly how you left it. your ruined clothes are still on the floor, and the dish towel is draped over the edge of the sink, still damp.
and there, low and behold, in a neat stack beside the coffee maker, is a thick bundle of yen.
you stare at it for a long moment as the golden morning light catches on the edges of the bills.
but you don’t touch it.
you just start the coffee maker, watching the steam curl up into the light while the cut on your thigh pulses in time with your heartbeat.
you can't stop starring at his pretty inked neck. watching the intricate details of the gracious black and red ink twirl along the sides of his throat, meeting just close enough into the middle of his jugular. you wanted to kiss the gorgeous art that trailed along his skin, you wanted to caress and trace over every detail with the pad of your finger. and sometimes, you wanted to just simply wrangle both of your hands around his pretty throat, just to "shake" some sense into the infuriating blonde.
then he looks at you, catches you starring at him and grins like a cheeky fuckass.
"what? got something on my face you want to get, doll? preferably with your lips?" he would imply, while waving his brows at you suggestively.
...yeah. you just really wanted to wrap both of your hands firmly around his throat.
summary: tired of being ignored for a late-night match, you take matters into your own hands.
little did you know that a frantic clash against the keyboard accidentally clicks his webcam wide open, giving his teammates a front-row seat to the entire thing.
tags: mdni 18+, desk sex, unprotected sex, established relationship, exhibitionism (accidental camera stream), voyeurism, guys being a pervy (sanzu and ran), pet names, handjob, spitting
🎴🎌 ctto of this scrumptious rindou fanart i stumbled upon on (っ'ཀ')っ ♡
the sharp clicks of a mouse, the rapid and aggressive tap of keys, and the smug, mocking bite in rindou’s voice dragged you out of sleep.
you blinked against the dim, neon tinted light of his room, stretching out into the warm space where he’d been lying beside you not too long ago. the sheets still heavy with the scent of cigarettes and his expensive cologne.
with a sleepy groan, you fell into that slow, lazy stretch, arms pulling up, back arching, and toes pointing beneath the tangled sheets. your hand aimlessly reached over for him, looking for that familiar warmth, only to catch nothing but cold, empty air.
figures. typical rin behavior.
you spotted the crumpled scrap of black lace on the floor, right where he’d tossed it earlier in his damn hurry to get you undressed. you reached down, slipping it back on, the familiar fabric cool against your skin. the matching bra was nowhere in sight, but that wasn’t unusual.
it never stayed on for long when you were with rindou, anyway.
when you sat up, a quick glance at the clock told you it was past midnight. the neon glow from his monitor painted the side of his face, casting sharp shadows over his tattoos. he was slouched in his gaming chair. the overpriced, ridiculous one he swore was “worth every yen” with his headset on, leaned forward with that typical arrogant posture. his hair was still a mess from earlier, but his eyes were locked on the screen like you didn’t even exist.
“rin,” you murmured, voice still rough from sleep as you padded across the room, stopping beside his gaming chair.
no answer. just more clicking and a muttered, “fuck! we gotta win the next round, you fuckers!”
you tried again, a little louder. “rinnie.”
from his headset came familiar voices, ran's sharp laugh and sanzu's low taunting rumble.
“yo, rindou,” sanzu drawled, “your girl’s up.”
you froze, instinctively folding your arms across your bare chest even though you’d already slipped your underwear back on, the matching bra still missing somewhere in the room. your gaze darted to the small webcam perched above the monitor.
“they can see me?” you asked, narrowing your eyes as you instinctively took a small step to the side, moving just out of the camera’s immediate scope.
“relax,” rindou muttered, his fingers still flying across the keys without missing a beat. “they don’t care, baby. don't trip.”
then sanzu's chuckle rolled through the headset, dripping with malice and amusement. “it’s not like this is new. we’ve even heard you before, doll.”
your head snapped toward the screen, face burning. “WHAT?”
rindou didn’t even blink, completely unbothered by the fact that his gang knew his business. “homies know i fuck my baby well,” he said, lips curling into a smug, arrogant grin as his hand reached out and gave your ass a quick, sharp slap before going right back to the mouse.
sanzu laughed again, low, slow, and entirely too amused. “i wouldn’t mind if she came a little closer to the lens though. let us see what you're hiding, rindou.”
that earned a smirk from you as you perched yourself on the armrest of his gaming chair, facing rindou. your back was toward the camera, giving them a clear view of your curves and the hint of black lace you were wearing.
“at least someone’s paying attention,” you murmured, letting your eyes flick briefly to the camera lens, at sanzu, before looking back at rindou.
sanzu’s laugh came through the headset, raspy and mocking. “damn, rindou… how the fuck are you so focused on the game right now? i’m more distracted than you, bro. let me get a look.”
a chuckle followed from ran, smooth, lazy, and entirely too amused by his little brother. “no kidding. ignore the match, rin-rin.”
rindou didn’t even crack a smile. his jaw tightened, his sharp eyes narrowing through his glasses. “know your place, idiots,” he said flatly, his tone dripping with hot delinquent pride.
he set the controller down, one hand gripping your hip with bruising force as he guided you off the armrest. the comms went quiet for half a second before breaking into low, appreciative whistles as you rose to your feet, only to step between his legs and settle onto the chair, straddling his lap.
“holy shit-” sanzu muttered, the sound of him scoffing echoing over the mic.
“damn, that’s a show,” ran added, completely loving the chaos.
rindou’s attention was entirely on you now, the game forgotten. both of his hands slid up and down your bare sides with deliberate, heavy strokes, his palms warm against your skin. you steadied yourself with your hands on his shoulders, one drifting up to cup his face, your thumb brushing his cheekbone in lazy circles. you leaned in to pepper a few loud, playful kisses across his sharp jawline before his head dipped lower, lips pressing a rough kiss to one breast, then the other, acting like he had all the time in the world for you and absolutely zero for the rest of the gang.
“this is making me hard, bro,” sanzu’s voice suddenly drawled through the headset, entirely shameless.
you blinked, pulled back to reality, the heat in your cheeks spiking when it hit you.
the boys could actually see you.
and they’d seen a lot.
worse, this wasn’t the first time rindou had let them catch a glimpse. typical arrogant haitani behavior, always showing off what's his. gods, rindou. why would you- ugh.
you turned your head toward the monitor at sanzu’s voice, and the movement shifted your torso, offering them a perfect view of the swell of your chest.
rindou’s hand came up immediately, covering your chest in a suffocatingly possessive grip, fingers curling tightly into your skin to pull you back toward him, forcing you to face him instead of the camera.
“fuck,” he muttered, his hot-headed nature flaring as he reached over with his free hand to violently flick the camera off.
rindou angled his chair back toward the desk, pulling you along with him so you stayed perched snugly on his lap. both of his hands went right back to the mouse and keyboard, his posture straight like having his girl straddling him during a match was completely regular business.
you leaned in, pressing slow, deliberate kisses to his jaw, trailing down to the curve of his neck where his collarbone met his throat.
“rin…” you murmured against his skin. “baby… the game can wait, please”
“push mid, now,” he ordered into the mic, his voice clipped, smooth, and completely ignoring your teasing.
ran’s laugh cracked through the comms. “bro, they’re done for. this idiot just walked right into your trap.”
“yooo- rindou, you wiped the whole squad again?!” sanzu barked a laugh. “guess the haitani brothers really can multitask.”
you kissed his neck again, right over his warm skin, whispering, “just look at me for a second…” your hands slid to his chest, fingers curling lightly into his skin, feeling the subtle flex of muscle beneath your touch.
his eyes stayed glued to the screen. “two more. clean it up,” he murmured, tracking the minimap. his thighs shifted beneath you, the movement making you rock ever so slightly against him, but his hands never left the setup.
ran and sanzu's voices overlapped, taunting the other team. “easy win! we took the top spot again.”
rindou glanced at the scoreboard, his expression completely deadpan. “pathetic.” then, without missing a beat, he went right back to finishing the match, still refusing to give you the satisfaction of a real reaction.
but since he wouldn’t give you his attention, you decided to take matters into your own hands.
you slid your hands up to his bare chest, feeling the heat radiating off him. your palms moved deliberately, tracing every contour before inching downward. your fingers curled around the waistband of his boxers, and with teasing patience, you slid your hand down, stroking the length pressed hard against the fabric.
rindou stiffened, a sharp, ragged breath escaping him. “hey, not now,” he said, his voice a little shaky as his hand reached down to weakly push your wrist away, “i’m still playing, baby.”
you smiled softly, watching his carefully built control completely unravel. his jaw clenched so hard the muscles jumped, but the dark flush rising on his neck gave him away. his usually sharp, competitive glare flickered into something dark, heavy, and vulnerable.
“focus, rinnie. aren't you locked in, mmm?” you whispered, your fingers ghosting over him. “or are you about to take your first real loss tonight?”
he tried to retort with a snarky, “jesus, babe-” but the words caught in his throat, replaced by a breathy, “oh, fuck…” that slipped out despite his best effort to stay cool in front of the guys.
you retracted your hand slowly and leaned in, your fingertips brushing his lower lip before gently tugging it down. “spit,” you commanded softly.
rindou hesitated for a fraction of a heartbeat, his dangerous gang executive aura melting away as he obediently let a small amount of saliva gather in his mouth before releasing it into your palm.
your hand dipped back inside his boxers, wrapping around his heat fully now. you started to stroke with purpose, your movements slow and rhythmic.
from across the game, ran smirked, definitely noticing the change in his brother's gameplay. “oi, rindou! you’re lagging! what's taking so long?”
“shut up!” rindou shot back, though his voice cracked just a bit too much to sound convincing. “i’m not lagging, moron.”
sanzu snickered, throwing playful, unhinged jabs. “hell, anyone’d lose focus with a girl like that putting in work. let him cook, ran.”
rindou gritted his teeth, his knuckles turning white on the mouse, but he couldn’t hide the dark flush creeping across his face. “focus on the game, you idiots.”
you pressed your hand a little harder, slicking the length of him, eliciting a low, almost inaudible groan from deep in his throat. he swallowed hard, attempting to maintain his composure, but it was clear he was completely losing it.
ran shook his head with a grin. “sure, sure. you keep telling yourself you're fine, rin-rin.”
rindou glanced up at you, his eyes narrowing, dark with a promise of absolute trouble. “consider yourself wrecked after this. good luck walking out of this room tomorrow.”
you smirked, your fingers never stopping their slow, agonizing pace. “oh, i think you’re enjoying this way more than you’re letting on, rinnie.”
rindou’s lips twitched in a reluctant smile as he tried to focus back on the screen, but the tension in his body betrayed him.every muscle taut, every breath shallow and uneven.
suddenly, rindou’s eyes snapped away from the screen entirely, the word bursting out before he could stop it. “fuck!” he violently yanked off his gaming headphones, slamming them onto the desk. the sudden silence in the room was deafening.
without a word, he stood up, his gaze locked on you with a fierce, starved hunger. your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, arms winding around his neck as he pulled you closer against his chest.
he grabbed you with a rough, delinquent urgency and practically slammed you down onto his gaming table, your ass nearly crashing into the keyboard and his crumpled gang uniform jacket scattered near the gear. your back pressed hard against the edge of his glowing computer tower, the heat between you instantly electric.
his hands slid down your sides, dipping under the waistband of your panties. with a swift, careless pull, he ripped them down your thighs as his cock instantly found its place against you, hard, demanding, and slick.
he grasped your thighs firmly, bruising your skin as he pulled them forward just enough for you to take him whole. his breath hitched, his voice low, guttural, and dripping with raw desire. “you wanted this so bad, huh? can't fucking wait? now fucking take it.”
the sound of your breath hitched as rindou thrust into you, hard and fast, driving you against the edge of the gaming table. his hands gripped your hips with a fierce, territorial possessiveness, his hips snapping relentlessly.
“fuck, you feel so good baby,” he growled, his voice rough and completely unrefined as he buried himself deeper. your nails dug into his bare shoulders, matching his violent intensity with desperate moans spilling from your lips.
rindou’s breath came in ragged pants, his hair's a mess as his lips parted against your skin, whispering, “you wanted my attention so bad, didn't you? now don't you dare close your eyes while i fucking ruin you.”
hus movements quickened, his hips slamming mercilessly, the desk rattling beneath the weight of his aggression. your moans mixed with his low, heavy groans, the tension spiraling completely out of control.
suddenly, a muffled voice cut through the haze from the discarded headset on the desk. “rindou?”
sanzu chimed in, “yo, man, why’d you gotta leave the match like that? we’re down by two. don't tell me you bit it.”
“bro, let’s just finish it without him. he's busy,” ran responded, laughing.
the boys’ laughter and chatter faded into the background as rindou’s grip tightened. he growled against your neck, biting the skin. “ignore them. you’re mine right now.”
your moans grew louder, matching his aggressive thrusts, the two of you lost in a wild, urgent rhythm while the rest of the team continued the match without him.
“i don’t like you ignoring me like that,” you gasped breathlessly, your hands sliding up to find his face, fingers gently caressing his cheeks.
without warning, rindou captured your lips in a possessive and silencing kiss, so intense it drove you back until your spine hit the cold, hard edge of the computer tower. the sharp contrast of the cold metal only made the fire between you burn hotter.
rindou’s hips stuttered for a fraction of a second, then snapped deeper, driving you closer to the absolute edge. your breath hitched and your hands gripped his shoulders tight, nails digging into his skin as pleasure burned through you.
“oh shit… keep going, baby,” you moaned, your voice trembling with pure need. “t-that’s so good, rin.”
he smirked against your neck, hearing every desperate, broken sound you made. his hands slid up to your face, his fingers spreading wide to cup your cheeks firmly, his thumbs pressing into your skin, squishing your face in a rough, dominant hold that was so uniquely him.
“you were looking so pretty for sanzu earlier, right?” he growled low, eyes dark with a dangerous promise. “let’s see if he can save you when i completely break you right here.”
the words sent a violent shiver through you as your body tensed, your release crashing over you in waves. rindou didn’t slow down, didn’t give you a second to breathe. his cock kept thrusting relentlessly, riding out your climax like he was feeding off your every desperate moan.
your hands scrambled for support, palms flattening against the gaming table. one slipped, your fingers accidentally pressing down hard on the mechanical keyboard, a string of random key clicks echoing loudly in the background. the monitor flickered with chaotic inputs, but rindou didn’t even glance at it, too locked in on making you come.
“pretty sure the boys just figured out exactly why i left the game,” he hissed, his grip on your cheeks tightening as if to permanently mark you. “bet they can hear every damn thing right now.”
little did you know, when your hand slammed against the keyboard, it had done more than mash random keys. one of the macro shortcuts had switched rindou’s camera right back on.
the stream lit up with a perfectly clear view of your back arched toward the monitor, arms bracing yourself against the table, rindou’s lean, toned figure moving behind you with sharp, relentless, and unforgiving thrusts.
you were too far gone to notice until a sudden, loud voice from the headset speakers cut through the haze.
“holy shit, rindou…” sanzu’s voice rasped through the speakers, a slow, completely thrilled laugh slipping out. “you fucking greedy bastard. keeping that all to yourself, huh?”
rindou let out a groan, his fingers digging into your hips so hard his knuckles turned white as he rode out the final moments of his control.
“keep your fucking mouth shut, sanzu,” rindou growled into the mic. “don't stop moaning, baby. let that bastard hear exactly who’s inside you right now.”
Enjin had been too quiet all day. That’s when you knew something was up. He didn’t grace you with that little smirk that got your toes curling.
Nothing. Nada.
You should’ve known it was only a matter of time until the tension snapped and you’d argue. That scared you a lot. Fighting. This goddamn anxiety of losing Enjin.
And then it happened—
“You looked real cozy back there.”
His voice cut through the air like his umbreaker.
“What?” you frowned.
Stiffly he leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. A normal gesture for anyone, but you could see how tense he was.
“With him. Zodyl. Didn’t think you’d switch sides that easily.”
Your stomach plummeted. “That’s not— Enjin! That’s not what happened.”
He let out a short, humorless laugh. “Really? Cuz from where I was standing, it looked like you were ready to walk right over to the raiders and stay there.”
“That’s not fair?”
“Not fair?” he pushed himself off the wall. “Not fair’s also watching you standing next to him like you belong to him.”
“I don’t and you know that.”
“Yea. Could’ve fooled me.”
Getting stabbed would hurt less than hearing this. Enjins trust and love meant everything to you and you cherished it daily. And now every word is aimed to hurt.
“You don’t understand,” you swallowed.
“Then explain it,” he snapped immediately. “Cuz I’m getting real tired of guessing what the hell you’re thinking.”
There it was - the edge in his voice. That possessive undertone. He was afraid, even if he’d never admit it. You searched for the right words, wanting to reassure your man that there’d be never someone else.
But that second of hesitation costed you almost everything.
“Unbelievable,” his jaw ticked.
“No no. Listen,” you stepped forward. “It’s not about choosing sides. Back then - before I joined the cleaners - Zodyl and I… we had to rely on each other. It was survival. If we hadn’t—“
“If you hadn’t what?” Enjin cut in coldly. “Fallen for him?”
“Huh?” your eyes widened. “What? No!”
He wasn’t convinced. Not even a little.
“Right,” he dragged a hand through his hair in painful frustration. “So that’s why you look at him like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like he’s worth saving.”
The words hung heavily between you as your mouth snapped shut. That part wasn’t wrong.
“He’s not what you think he is.”
Enjin’s expression hardened instantly. “Don’t. Don’t you fucking dare.”
“He’s not,” you insisted, stepping closer. “You didn’t see him back then. You didn’t see what he did to keep us alive. He’s not… he’s not evil, Enjin. He’s just—”
“On the wrong path?” he scoffed.
You nodded anyway and your man just stared at you. Then the most painful laugh bubbled from his throat.
This can’t be happening, you thought, please don’t. I need to do better. I need to convince him.
“Unbelievable,” he repeated quieter. “You’re defending him.”
“I’m not defending what he does now,” you said quickly. “I’m just saying he’s not beyond saving—”
“And what about me?”
The question hit you like a slap as you blinked. “What?”
He stepped closer and closer, invading your presence. Crowding you against the wall your breath hitched. His presence was overwhelming.
“You’re so damn concerned about saving him. But what about me, huh?”
“Enjin—“
“No seriously,” he hissed into your ear. “You think I don’t see it? The way you look at him? That you fucking hesitate when it comes to him?”
“That’s not fair,” you whispered.
“Nothing about this is fair,” he shot back.
His clock-like eyes are so raw. You had never see him this vulnerable. Jealous, yes. But never this fragile. It made you sick.
“I’m right here,” he continued. “I’ve been right here and you’re standing there talking about how he can still be saved.”
Your chest tightened painfully. “You don’t need saving.”
“Don’t I?”
Your entire posture faltered at this. And Enjin looked away defeated. He was cracking open.
“I don’t trust him,” he muttered. “And I don’t trust what he wants with you.”
“He doesn’t want anything from me,” you said gently.
“Yea?” his gaze snapped back to yours. “Then why does it feel like I’m the one losing you?”
Your mouth opened and closed again, because you didn’t have an answer that’d fix this.
His hand came up and for a split second it looked like he wanted to touch you. And you wanted this touch. Instead he rested the hand next to your head on the wall.
“You should’ve told me,” he said. “About your past with him. All of it.”
“I didn’t think it mattered.”
“It matters to me.”
Now you reached out for him… but he stepped back. Not once he ever denied your touch, but now he did. The pain was unbearable.
“Enjin, please.”
“I don’t like this,” he choked out. “I don’t like the way you look at him. I don’t like the way you defend him. And I really don’t like how it makes me feel.”
“Talk to me, Enjin. I want to make it better for you— us,” you pleaded.
Again that heavy silence as he just stared at you. “I think you’re choosing him over us.”
Hit and sunk.
“I don’t,” you sobbed out.
“No? Then fucking prove it to me,” he said, and then he left.
I feel like, as fans of this media, the growth of tokrev fandom largely relies upon our interaction with the fanfics, art, or anything made for tokrev. I know the tokrev fandom has been tagged as a dead fandom for quite some time now, but we have seen a surge of new fans, or old fans returning after the trailer release. It's ecstatic. But it can turn dead again. As a whole, maybe we should interact with the fanworks more to keep it alive and motivate the creators at the same time. it is not a demand but just a simple request. Interaction is obviously a very important part of creating and writing, as most writers write for themselves, but the motivation also comes from others who enjoy their work.
I'm not sure if anyone will read it, but I have been liking most of the works I come across in the Tokrev fandom because I enjoy the community and the characters. Readers are not obliged to like every piece they read, but if they enjoy it, then maybe they can think of leaving a like or comment.
☆ warnings -> ALL CHARACTERS ARE 18 OR PLUS/AGED UP. MDNI. jealousy. possessiveness. cringe (maybe?). fluff. pet names. pick me behavior. suggestiveness. emotional denseness. violence (in a very few). spoilers.
☆ status -> coming soon - 0,00k
☆ summary -> It's been a few weeks since the last time you had a date with your boyfriend; wanting to spend time with him, you decide to plan one. Everything goes pretty well, you take your lover out on a simple yet loving date, and you both have so much fun. Until you need to go away from your boyfriend for a moment. So you leave him, just for a few minutes. When you come back, your eyes settle on a girl openly flirting with your boyfriend. A burning jealous rush in your veins and you decide to show that annoying girl who that man she is flirting with belongs to.
▪ English isn't my first language, I'm sorry for any mistake I might make, you can always tell me if I made mistakes and I'll gladly correct them.
☆ author's note -> Hi! Hiiii, my little queen bees! I hope you're having a wonderful day. My brain suddenly decided to come up with this multi-muse including multiple fandoms. There are girls versions as well, love me some yuri. It's my biggest project as of right now and I'm happy to show it to you all. Have a fun time reading!!!
hihi smoochkums <33 ur latest chapter for pretty hostage was super yum u did so good 🥺 as for my ask, I was thinking for shuji, letters d, f, u! I personally think he’s into lacy lingerie with details that give the impression of innocence (#corruptionkinkshuji) I think he’d love lighter colors too, like baby blue or white :) but I’d love to know what do you think!! 🩷
ɞ ⊹ ࣪ a/n : i know exactly who this is ( ｡ •̀ ᴖ •́ ｡) you're not sly!!
[ d ] : dark content - does he partake in anything that would be considered dc?
yes, yes, and yes. hanma is a mean dom, so a lot of his kinks already sit in pretty grey-to-black territory. somnophilia— he loves slipping into bed when you're already asleep and using you however he wants, waking you up with his cock already inside you or his fingers working you open. knife play and gun play are also on there; he definitely gets off on the power trip. dacryphilia, dumbification, forced anal, branding, choking you to the point of seeing stars... yeah, you get the idea..
[ f ] : film - has he ever filmed himself having sex? does he send nudes?
yes to both, but not too often. sometimes, when he's in one of his more wilder moods, he'll get a few close up pictures of his thick cock stretching you open, or your face when you're crying. as for sending nudes, he does it whenever the mood strikes. you'll get random dick pics with his piercing visible, videos of him fucking his fist while he tells you exactly what he's going to do to you when you see him next. if he's hard and thinking about you, beware.
[ u ] : underwear - what type of lingerie is his favorite?
you're actually so sick for saying baby blue lingerie. SICK!! ..but i do agree that an innocent vibe is hanma's favorite. he likes the contrast— you looking all soft and sweet in delicate white or pale pink lace while he's about to absolutely wreck you. the way it barely covers anything but still gives that “pure” first impression… PHEW. he'll make you put on cute babydoll sets with garter belts and knee high socks, and he'll fuck you while you're still wearing it, pushing the panties to the side or tearing holes in the lace because he can't be bothered to take it off properly.
