જ⁀➴ Amelia/lia - 22 - asian - I'm a girl she/her - this blog is 18+ mdni!!! - English isn't my first language so forgive me for any mistakes
𖤓RULES FOR REQUEST
I don't write for incest/pedophilia or big age gaps, I'm not good at writing dark angsty stuff but if it's request I'll try😭 if you wanna know what fandoms I'll write for just ask
Reqs are open!
𖤓WORKS
Tr boys and their type (ran, rindou, sanzu, kakucho)
its my first time posting here so it might be weird. help me out here please.
Chapter 1
Tokyo has never been nice to the people roaming in its alleys. Especially after the clock strikes a certain time. Whatever tragedies occur, it is none of anyone’s business until someone responsible enough comes across the crime scene in the morning, or unfortunately, sometimes at dark itself.
One way or another, your steps always found their way through the district of Roppongi to your way back home. The familiar, mixing scent of cheap roadside perfume and high-end branded ones, the booming songs from inside the burlesques, or the silky smooth skin of women and hosts waiting outside for customers. They all felt unfamiliar, but home.
Since childhood, you have had a dream of living a glamorous, elegant life. If not that, at least a comfortable one where you wouldn’t have to worry about money. As you stumble on your heel and nearly faceplant onto the road, reality comes back too. The reason you walk home late more than half the days of the week is because of your work. Neither glamorous nor comfortable. The life you lead is normal, some would say comfortable. But if comfort means only food on your table and being able to afford a few dresses a year, you might as well live in discomfort. It is utterly boring.
You sigh and fix the strap of your bag on your shoulder. With your other hand, you massage the sore spot left by the strap and step out of the alley to the main road. The crowd is heavy as usual.
Your eyes wander around the clubs, the people in them, and the carefree expression on their faces. Some are high off their minds, and some are engaged in lust. Compared to your normal office outfit, their world felt like another universe apart from yours.
The crowd guides you ahead, feet moving on their own with no thoughts. It is a daily routine to check out the adrenaline-filled haze of these people while you think of dinner. Perhaps you could say it is the most entertaining part of your day, too. Some people bump into your shoulder and mutter quiet apologies. You offer the same, but pay no attention. For now, all you are is a doll enjoying the nightlife as a visitor.
+
Until you bump hard into something. Or rather, someone.
You hiss and recoil back at the sudden force. The person didn’t even faze and you feel a pair of eyes burning into your head.
Great, just what you needed. Another deep bowing fake apology of some drunkard to fill your night.
Any moment now, the sorry will be muttered, and you will do the same, then continue your way. Your eyes are already growing heavier each second, so why bother looking up at all? Keeping your eyes low, you wait.
It never comes.
Thoughtless. That is a word to describe your current state. Your brain is effectively a blank slate, too tired to process a word. But even you realise that the person was taking too long. You take a deep breath and turn your chin up to face the person.
Your eyes meet his empty ones. They are a colour between green and turquoise. A lively colour in contrast to their emotion. Something about his stare felt deeply stirring in your chest, but your attention goes to his other features. The slightly parted lips, with diamond-shaped scars at the corner, catch your attention first. Then his well-groomed pinkish hair.
The man looks up and down your appearance, as if sizing you up in a glance. No emotion passes his face during that. One thing was clear. From his expensive-looking suit to his scars. To the gun hidden behind his pants, this man is dangerous. The alarms going off in your head make you take a step back and do a small bow.
“Excuse me.” You step to the side to let the man pass and turn to continue on your way. But his rough, silk-like voice stops you.
“Wait,” his hand stop a beat away from your wrists. From his folded sleeves, a tattoo peeks out under the light. One you recognised, but didn’t understand the harm of.
You pause your steps and turn to face him fully, “Can I help you?” and this better be worth losing your rest over.
The man doesn’t speak for a few seconds. When he does, your stomach does a small flip that you do not acknowledge. “You bumped into me. Apologise.”
Sure. Men are rather handsome until they speak.
“Excuse me? That is not what happened,” you still maintain your polite tone, even though your insides were already starting to seethe. “You came out of nowhere and bumped into me.”
“Did I now?” he tilts his head to the side, scoffing. “Are you saying that you didn’t see a man like this in the middle of the road?” With one hand, he waves on his body. He reeks of confidence, tension and intensity that should make you run away right now and never look back. He is the danger lurking in the shadows.
No, he is the shadow. Yet you remain on your feet and let out an unamused chuckle. Tonight, your lack of control over your expression might end up killing you.
“Actually, I didn’t. Sorry, I don’t tend to check out every man walking past and around. But if you’re reacting like this, I probably should.”
The tension in his jaw clenches. For a man as beautiful as the stars hidden in the Tokyo skies, he hides a terror beneath, one unnamed. A thousand thoughts might run through his mind, and you still cannot decipher even one as he stares down at you, as nobody else was allowed to exist in the space he created around you.
“You have a sharp tongue. Good for business,” he unclenches his jaw and takes a step back. A few stray hairs fall on his face at the action. “Where do you work? Give me a name. I’ll buy it,” the hint of a wicked smile accompanied his equally odd sentence.
Is he drunk? But he isn't stinking of alcohol. So, high? Whatever it may be, it's none of your damn business. The best option is to end this conversation as soon as you can.
“I don’t think you can buy my work. Thanks for the offer-”
“You think I cannot buy these clubs here?” he barks, pointing at the most expensive-looking buildings. “Every club, every bar, every host and hostess works under me. Give me a name. I’ll buy your damn work, and that damn apology out of you.”
Aah, so he thinks you work at the clubs. Interesting.
“Oh,” unimpressed, utter disappointment drips from your words. “Well, at least you thought that im good enough to work there. But no, you’re wrong.”
Your words seem to irk the man more. “What? Are you not a hostess?” his brows furrow as he steps closer and leans down with his intense stare at your face. ”You don’t look like a waitress to me.”
His breath grazes your cheeks. And they felt hotter for no reason. You fold your arms on your chest and lean in too. Backing down from a fight is not what you do. “That's because I am not a waitress. Thanks for saying I have potential as a hostess. But I’ll be killed in less than two days. I hate egoistic men more than my job.”
His brows twitch, but he maintains his cool expression. “Quite the loudmouth, aren’t you? No wonder you don’t work at those clubs,” his voice drops. “You just can’t. So you have to deal with your dull life,” the man leans back, certainly seeming cheerier than before. But it is better not to point that out. “Go. I’m in a compassionate mood tonight. You’re lucky.”
…just like that? Is he pitying you?
Your hand shoots out to grab his wrists before he can leave. The man stiffens under your vice grip. “I don’t want your compassion.”
His eyes narrow, but you cut him off before he can speak. “This is a stupid argument. Handle this like adults and leave it out. You’re not apologising, and I won’t either. Im not dying for one either. It's not a matter of compassion.” his wrists fall from your hands, and you step back. “Go. We will pretend this embarrassing encounter never happened.”
The whole time, the man didn’t utter a word but only peered down at you. The corner of his mouth twitches from holding back a smile. But the silence extended. He listens to each of your words with unwavering attention. Almost borderline pathetically crazy sort of way. The way his eyes never left yours, something stammers your heart, but you don’t speak of it.
When you finish, he starts cackling.
Wild, crazed, eccentric in his ways, he doubles over on his stomach and laughs like he hasn’t had one in years. Your jaw clenches as a wave of nausea hits your stomach.
“Oh, you’re gone. As insane as me. Or more?” he slides his palms over his face, controlling his laughter. The tension in his shoulders is gone, replaced by the sheer amusement of you. It takes him a long time to manage his lopsided smile from the remains of his mirth.
Finally, his eyes land on you. The upward turn of it and the strange look in there. He dissects you in his mind, taking apart every limb and piece until the blood drowns its own parts under it. Such an odd look for a man so beautiful. If only he were not the most batshit crazy guy you have ever met. He leans in until his lips are just over your cheeks.
“My compassion is worth more than the life of the president. Keep it safe while you have it. Because if you lose,” the whisper brushes against your ear. For no reason, your heartbeat fastens. “- the consequences, they might not be as pretty as you are.”
His calloused hands find your shoulder and turn you around towards your original path, taking you by surprise. “Go on. Cherish your life a night more. And don’t go blushing on every man that bumps into you. Not everybody will let you go as I did.” A final whisper tickles your ears until you are pushed into the crowd.
The push was uncharacteristically gentle for someone like him, the complete opposite of the shame you currently feel. You spin around to see a glimpse of the man once more, only to see that he has disappeared in that mere second. Like he never existed.
Disappointment seeps into your heart, but you refuse to let yourself feel anything but annoyance for that stranger. You shake your head and force yourself to walk the way home.
An unease sets into your bones. His eyes, his scar, everything was an intrigue that pissed you off the more you thought about it. He is an unapologetic, rude and brash man who does not deserve another second of your time. If you ever see him again, you’d definitely ignore him. That man-
Your steps halt in the middle, and eyes widen as a realisation dawns.
island in the sun | rindou haitani x female reader
I am currently writing a longer fic for Rin and wrote this whole scene out that I'm not sure fits the vibe of the fic now...soooo it can be just a short little smutty Rin drabble or sneak peak depending on how the plot evolves ;) <3
summary: Rin can't control himself seeing your tan lines. Honestly this is very self indulgent
rating / warnings / tags: explicit sexual content, beach sex, quickie, rin has a thing for tan lines, from his POV
Okinawa was the closest thing the brothers had to a second home outside of Roppongi. Whenever they could disappear, they disappeared there. Ran had connections, knew someone with an obscene house that sat on a beach that was private enough that they could go days without seeing other life on the island.
The moment they got there it was like the world outside of the island ceased to exist. Vacation mode on, Ran lulled to sleep by the sound of crashing waves, her soaking up every ray of sunlight the world had to offer, Rin catching every wave he could, letting the salt water wash away his anxieties.
It was the most free Rin had felt in years.
He had gone into the water to clear his head and came out feeling refreshed, the sun already drying his shoulders by the time he reached the shore. He stood at the water's edge, shaking the excess water out of his hair, watching her stretched out on the beach exactly where he left her.
Five days in the Okinawa sun had deepened the color of her skin, leaving lighter strips where her bikini straps had been. He noticed them the day before and couldn’t stop thinking about them, something about the contrast on her skin had been driving him quietly insane.
He crouched beside her, trailing his fingers up the back of her thigh, going up over the curve of her ass, lightly dancing up her spine, before pressing a kiss into her shoulder.
“Having a nice nap?” he murmured against her skin.
She turned her head, eyeing him suspiciously, “What are you up to now?”
“Nothing.” He kissed her neck. “You’ve gotten so tan.”
She dropped her face back into her arms. “I’m busy relaxing, go back in the water.”
He trailed his fingers along the strap across her back, hooking his finger under, pulling it taut and letting it snap back against her skin.
“Rin!” She twisted to look at him, half laughing half annoyed, “What was that for?”
“No reason.” he was already untying the bow on her back, undoing it slowly while she tried to swat him away.
He flipped her over once he managed to get it undone, got her legs around his hips, trapping her underneath him while she fought to stifle her laughter, blinking up at him in the sun.
He was still wet, hair dripping onto her warm skin.
She wrinkled her nose. “Rin, you’re getting me wet–”
“God, I hope so.” he smirked.
She stared at him, then rolled her eyes, “What is wrong with you.”
He was already reaching up to push her bikini top aside. Uncovering the tan lines on her chest. The untouched skin meeting the warm afternoon light and something in him completely short circuited.
He groaned somewhat helplessly at the sight and heard her laugh under him.
“Rin–”
He ran his thumbs over her slowly, felt her nipples harden under his touch, the laughter dying in her throat as her breath caught and stuttered.
“God Rin, we’re outside–”
He bent down and licked across her nipple and she gasped hard.
“Oh my god, Rin–” she squirmed beneath his hold.
“Shhh.” He kissed across to the other side slowly. “Ran’s asleep.”
She tried to protest until he grazed his teeth over her forcing her to swallow the noise trying to escape her.
He kissed down her chest, her stomach, taking his time, the salt on her skin against his tongue, her stomach rising and falling faster under his mouth, breath getting shorter every second that passed.
He reached the waistband of her bikini bottoms and dipped his fingers under, pulling the fabric down enough to reveal the little pale patch of skin just below her tanned stomach,and pressed his lips there.
“Your tan lines drive me insane,” he said in between kisses.
He let his hand drift lower, over the fabric, fingers dancing lightly over her through the thin material.
“Rin.” Her voice was unsteady now, “what if someone sees.”
He kept his gaze locked onto her as he slid his thumb under the side of the fabric, pressing a slow circle directly against her. Her breath completely left her.
“No one will.” He cooed, keeping the pressure there, watching her try to keep still and quiet. “It’s a private beach and besides…we can be quick.” He grinned down at her.
She let out a small breathy laugh, her hips shifting against his hand wanting more. He moved his hand to pull her bottoms to the side, feeling just how worked up he’d already gotten her. He pushed his shorts down enough to free himself, stroking himself slowly while looking at her - spread out in front of him, bronzed and trembling slightly.
He rubbed against her slowly, until neither of them could stand it anymore, finally pressing into her.
“God,” she breathed and tipped her head back on the towel.
“Shhh.” He was smiling, held himself there watching her face, completely unbothered by how badly she was already squirming. “You’re gonna get us caught if you keep doing that”
She squinted at him ready to make a snarky remark but choked on her words as he pushed all the way into her at the same moment. Her back arched immediately, a sound escaping her she couldn’t catch in time.
“You’re such a di– ahhh–”
He pulled almost all the way out and snapped his hips back into her, watching her face contort, her words dissolving into mewls. “Sorry what was that, sweetheart?” He smirked and huffed a laugh, entirely too pleased with himself.
He stilled for just a moment, taking in the sight, dropping his head to her ear. “You have no idea,” he said quietly, “how fucking sexy you look right now.” He pulled back and drove his hips hard into her again, feeling her gasping on his neck.
She clenched around him and he had to stop speaking for a second, letting out a rough exhale. “Fuck, baby.” The sun on his back, the breeze cooling the water on his skin, her under him looking at him like that, it was almost too much.
He gripped her hip harder, pace quickening. She pulled him closer, one hand twisted in his damp hair, the other gripping his arm hard enough to leave marks, small helpless noises escaping her every time his hips moved against hers.
He could feel her getting close - her breathing was shallower, grip tightening in his hair. He trailed one hand down between their bodies, fingers finding her again and began pressing slow, steady patterns into her.
“Jesus, Rin–” her hips bucked under him.
She had nowhere to go. His weight holding her down while his hand never letting up. The desperate sounds she was making, the sight of her face, it all nearly undid him right there.
“Rin–” her voice cracked. “Rin rin rin please–”
He didn’t let up, “Come for me, baby”
Her back arched up hard, chest pressing into his, her whole body tightening as her orgasm tore through her, clenching around him so hard and suddenly that he lost the last thread of control he was holding onto.
He came with her, a groan tearing out of him as he buried his face into her neck, holding her tight through it - her body still trembling under his - until neither of them could move.
He slipped out of her slowly, glanced down between them and couldn’t help but laugh.
“What?” she asked, chest still heaving.
He was grinning, breathless, looking at the state of her. “I made a mess of you, again.”
She groaned and put her arm over her face, blocking out him and the sun, he laughed again leaning down to pepper kisses on her while she tried to not smile.
He pulled his shorts back up, then before she could fully process what was happening, he scooped her up and threw her over his shoulder.
“Rin– oh my god, Rin, no–”
“Cleanup time.”
“No Rin, it’s so cold–”
He carried her down to the water, laughing the whole way, her shrieking and kicking, failing to free herself before he jumped into the water.
She came up gasping, soaked, swatting at him. He caught both her wrists, still laughing and pulled her against him, kissing her.
“You’re so annoying,” she said, teasing.
“What can I say, you drive me wild.” He pushed her wet hair back from her face, thumb brushing her cheek, kissing her again. He pulled back, his voice losing all trace of teasing and held her face in both hands, “I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy in my life.”
She went still for a second then smiled. “Me neither.”
☆ summary. when you find yourself alone in the safehouse for the day, you decide to stop simply surviving and start searching for answers. but you should know by now that nothing in this house comes without a price, and curiosity has always been a dangerous thing to indulge.
☆ warnings. extremely dark content, please read all the warnings. 18+ ; MDNI. bonten timeline. bank robbery. hostage situation. guns. kidnapping. chloroform. cigarettes. anxiety. panic attacks. objectification. misogyny. sanzu has a drug addiction. stockholm syndrome. brief mention of cancer. smut. dubious consent. alcohol consumption. spanking. edging. mocking & condescension.
☆ wc. 8.8k words
☆ author's note. i know it took me forever to update ( i literally rewrote this chapter three separate times ) but i really like how it turned out so i do think it was worth the wait in the end! i hope you guys agree after reading it <33 i'd like to thank everyone for all the kind comments and asks about the series. i sincerely appreciate your patience! also a reminder to read the warnings for this chapter before diving in!!
╰ pretty hostage m.list | previous chapter | next chapter
You wake up thinking about Rindou.
The image is hazy at first, with vivid shades of violet slowly coalescing into a pair of hooded eyes framed by dark lashes. The memory of his hand cradling your face, his thumb skimming across your cheekbone. The warmth of him beside you under the stars, solid and real in a way that made everything else feel distant and dreamlike. The way he’d leaned in, close enough that you could count each individual eyelash in the moonlight. Close enough that you could feel his breath ghosting over your lips.
And then… the way he’d stopped.
You touch your lips now, lying in bed with pale morning light shining through the cracked curtains, and wonder what it would have felt like if he hadn’t.
Would he have been gentle? Demanding? Would his mouth have been soft or rough, patient or starving? Would it have changed everything, or nothing at all?
Part of you is grateful that he had the decency to stop— that he cares enough about your state of mind to exercise restraint. But a small, selfish part of you wishes he hadn’t pulled away. It wishes he had just kissed you, consequences be damned.
But mostly, you feel the absence of it. The ghost of something that almost was.
You roll onto your side and stare at the slice of sky beyond the glass. Two weeks ago, the window had felt like a wound. A taunt. Proof of everything you’d lost and could no longer reach. Now it simply feels like part of the room, part of the life you’ve stumbled into without ever deciding to live it.
You squeeze your eyes shut and exhale slowly through your nose.
You’re already my choice.
The words still sit heavy on your tongue, bittersweet even now, as you force yourself out from the comfort of your bed and down the stairs.
The house is quiet this morning, devoid of its usual clatter. The only sounds that reach your ears are the muted scrape of cutlery against a plate and the soft creak of the stairs under your feet. By the time you reach the bottom step, there’s a flutter low in your stomach— a fizzing, traitorous sensation that climbs up into your chest and trips up your pulse before you can tamp it back down.
You can’t remember the last time a man put this particular feeling in you. Not in months, maybe longer. And it’s ridiculous, to feel sixteen again over someone holding you hostage. But your body doesn’t seem to be concerned with logistics.
You smooth down your hair and step into the kitchen.
Rindou is already at the table.
It stops you for half a second, because it’s wrong— off-pattern. He’s not fiddling with the coffee machine, hair still damp from the shower, moving through the motions of making breakfast for both of you. He’s dressed, in a charcoal pinstripe suit with the jacket hung over the back of the chair beside him and his sleeves buttoned at the wrist. His lavender hair is dry and pushed back from his face, the mullet tamed into something presentable. There’s a plate in front of him, mostly empty, and a phone in his hand that he’s scrolling through with his thumb.
He’s been up for a while. Long before you. Long enough to shower and dress and eat and settle into that chair like he’s been waiting out the clock. The realization lands strangely. He got up early. To avoid you, a small voice in the back of your head supplies, and you hate how quickly your chest tightens at the thought.
You wait for him to acknowledge you. For a glance, a grunt, the bare minimum ‘morning’ you’ve grown accustomed to during your time here.
It doesn’t come.
His eyes stay fixed on his phone, his jaw set and the air between you charged. It’s thick with everything left unsaid last night— with his hand on your face and the space between you closing and then, devastatingly, reopening. But he gives you nothing. Not even the courtesy of looking at you.
So that’s how it’s going to be.
Forcing yourself to move, you cross the floor to the coffee maker. There’s a carafe still half full, and you pour yourself a cup. The ritual of it steadies you— cream from the fridge, two spoonfuls of sugar, the spoon clinking against ceramic as you stir. You’d hardly consider yourself spoiled, but the fact that he didn’t make it for you this morning stings, the absence of that gesture louder than anything he could have said to your face.
There’s a pan on the stove— eggs and bacon, gone lukewarm, and a serving spoon congealed in grease. He didn’t make you a plate either.
So, you serve yourself in silence, scraping the last of the eggs onto a plate with two strips of bacon, and carry it to the table. You could sit anywhere, and while the wise decision would probably be the island in the middle of the kitchen, you choose the seat directly across from him. You refuse to let him pretend you aren’t there.
He doesn’t look up.
You eat a few bites, chewing quietly. The eggs are good, even cold, fluffy and seasoned just right. When you take a sip of your coffee, you watch him over the rim of your mug, and the set of his shoulders is a wall you’re not stupid enough to think you can climb.
You break the silence anyway. You’ve never been good at leaving a wound alone.
“How’d you sleep?”
He doesn’t look up. “Fine.”
You wait for more, but more doesn’t come. “...Just fine?”
“Yeah.”
That’s it. That’s all he gives you— two words and an almost inaudible sigh. He sets his phone down, picks up his fork, and finishes the last bite of his breakfast, clearly having decided that the easiest way to handle whatever happened between you is to pretend it didn’t.
You open your mouth to push, but footsteps on the stairs cut you off. Ran appears a moment later, donning a similar suit with his shirt unbuttoned just enough to show the ink adorning his throat. His hair is swept back, but a few strands have escaped to frame his face, and he’s fastening a watch around his wrist as he walks, attention split between the clasp and the room.
“Good morning” he says to no one in particular. Then, to Rindou: “Is Sanzu still MIA?”
Rindou still doesn’t look up. “His bike’s still gone.”
Ran exhales through his teeth before dragging a hand down his face. “Mikey’s not going to be happy.”
“Mikey’s never happy,” Rindou responds flatly.
“You know what I mean.”
Rindou says nothing, which is its own kind of agreement.
You sit very still, the way you’ve learned to when the conversation turns to their work— quiet and unobtrusive, like a fly on the wall they tolerate but don’t quite trust.
Walking to the stove, Ran surveys the sad remains in the pan and makes a face. “You left me the dregs again. How charming.”
He pours what’s left onto a plate anyway and stands at the counter to eat, fork in one hand and his phone in the other. His eyes flick to you between bites, and his expression shifts.
“Don’t you look bright-eyed this morning,” he comments.
You don’t— you slept badly and you know it shows— but you don’t correct him.
“We’ll be out most of the day,” he continues around a mouthful of eggs. “Cleaning up after our wayward friend, among other things. Don’t expect us back until late.” His sets his fork down, dabbing the corner of his mouth with a napkin. “Which means you’ll have the place to yourself. Try not to throw any parties.”
“Who would I invite?” Your tone is dry.
His mouth curves. “Fair point. But remember, sweetheart— there are cameras. So be a good girl while we’re gone, hm? Don’t do anything you shouldn’t.”
Rindou scoffs.
It’s barely a sound— a derisive snort as he rises from the table and gathers his plate and utensils— but Ran catches it, and his head tilts with predatory interest, like a cat that’s heard a mouse in the wall.
“Have something to say, Rinnie?”
Rindou places his plate in the sink. “Just that you’re laying it on awfully thick this morning.”
Ran’s brow lifts. “Me?” He presses a ringed hand to his chest. “I’m being a gracious host. Forgive me for showing the lady a little warmth.” He pauses, and his smile sharpens. “Besides, I wasn’t the one who took her stargazing.”
Rindou goes still at the sink, and you feel your face go hot as a blush creeps up from your throat to your cheeks. You stare very intently at your coffee.
But Ran is enjoying himself far too much to stop. He saunters closer to you, nonchalantly picking a piece of lint off his sleeve. “Did he show you Cassiopeia? That’s his favor—”
“Ran.”
“What? I think it’s cute.”
Rindou’s glare isn’t even directed at you, and the hair on the back of your neck still rises. The muscle in his jaw pulses, and for a moment you think he might actually square up against his brother— but instead he grabs his jacket off the back of the chair and shrugs it on, every movement tight.
“We’re going to be late,” he says coldly. “Move.”
Ran sighs, the picture of long-suffering patience, and fishes a set of keys from his pocket. “So sensitive,” he murmurs, but he heads for the door all the same.
Rindou follows without sparing you a second glance, and you sit there at the table with your cold eggs and your hot face.
At the door, Ran pauses and looks back over his shoulder.
“Oh— and if Sanzu does show up, tell him to call me.”
Then they’re gone.
You hear the beep of the alarm being armed, the thunk of the deadbolt sliding home, and the muffled crunch of gravel as a car pulls out of the driveway. And then the house settles into silence around you, vast and empty and entirely yours.
Alone. For the rest of the day.
—
The silence of the house, once they’re gone, is a living thing. You stand in the kitchen for a while after the car disappears down the street, just listening to it— the tick of the clock, the hum of the refrigerator, the absence of voices and footsteps and that constant low-grade awareness of being watched. You’ve been alone in this house before, in stolen pockets of an afternoon. But never like this. Never with the whole day stretching empty ahead of you and no one due back for hours.
You decide to make the most of it.
You take a shower.
Not one of the quick, perfunctory rinses you’ve been allowing yourself, but a long, indulgent soak under water hot enough to turn your skin pink. The bathroom fills with steam until the mirror fogs over and the world narrows to heat and water and the slow loosening of the knot that lives permanently between your shoulder blades.
For the first time in two weeks, you let yourself relax.
The bathroom is stocked with toiletries Ran bought you— an impressive army of expensive products lined up along the edge of the tub, the kind you used to walk past in department stores and never let yourself splurge on. Shampoo that smells like lavender. A sugar scrub that smells like vanilla and leaves your skin impossibly soft. A razor that isn’t disposable, and a conditioner you’re pretty sure your hairdresser actually recommended once.
You use all of it.
You shave your legs carefully, the way you haven’t bothered to in weeks. You scrub yourself down until you’re silky and smooth and smell like a dessert.
It’s a small rebellion, this self-care. Or maybe it’s surrender. You can’t always tell the difference anymore. But standing under the spray with vanilla on your skin and lavender in your hair, you decide not to scrutinize it too closely. You’re allowed this.
You’ve earned this much, haven’t you? A single morning of feeling human.
When you finally step out, wrapping yourself in a bright white towel that’s thick and plush, you almost feel like a functional person again.
You take your time in the bedroom, too. The clothes Ran bought you hang in the closet, and you pick through them with more attention than the act deserves before settling on a pleated skirt that falls just above your knees and a baby blue sweater. The cashmere is warm against your freshly-lotioned skin, and the fit is perfect.
There’s makeup as well, a tiny collection of essentials in a drawer you’ve barely touched. You sit on the counter in the bathroom and study your reflection. Twin bruises of bad sleep sit beneath your eyes, and you dab concealer over them, blending until they disappear. A little mascara. The lightest touch of something on your cheeks. And a chapstick that smells like cherries, slicked over your lips and leaving them faintly tinted and shining.
When you’re done, you stare at yourself for a long moment.
You look good. Rested, even, in a way you haven’t in weeks. The girl in the mirror could be anyone— someone with a normal life and a normal morning, getting ready for a normal day.
You wonder if Rindou would have looked at you longer this morning, if you’d been wearing this.
Shoving the thought away, you grab your book from your nightstand— the Camus novel you’ve slowly been working through— and descend the staircase, finding your way to the living room and making yourself comfortable on the couch. You curl up beneath a blanket with your soft clothes and soft skin, and you try to lose yourself in it the way you used to lose yourself in books, back when reading was an escape rather than a way to kill time.
Be a good girl, Ran had said.
And for about twenty minutes, you are.
But the silence of an empty house is a different kind of silence than the one you’re used to. It’s one filled with opportunity, buzzing beneath your skin and impossible to ignore. With every page you turn, it grows louder, refusing to leave:
You’re alone. Truly alone. For the first time in two weeks, no one is watching you.
Or— are they?
You glance around at the corners of the room.
Curiosity killed the cat. You know this, but you also know something else, something that’s been crystallizing in your mind ever since the rooftop, ever since you held a gun in your hands and didn’t use it, ever since you started waking up thinking about pretty purple eyes instead of escape routes: You cannot afford to lie dormant.
You cannot simply close your eyes and hope this will all work out— hope that these men will decide to be kind and that being cooperative and good will keep you alive. That’s not survival; that’s just a slower kind of death.
You need knowledge. It’s the only currency you have in this house, and you’ve been letting it slip through your fingers, too frightened to reach for it.
But not today.
You close the book.
First, the cameras. If Ran was telling the truth— if there really are eyes hidden throughout the house— then you need to find them before you do anything else.
You walk through the living room slowly, methodically, scanning the walls, the bookshelves, the light fixtures. You run your fingers along the underside of shelves and behind picture frames, pull books partway out and peer into the gaps behind them. You grab a chair from the kitchen and examine the smoke detector on the ceiling, the air vents, even the little decorative trinkets that dot the surfaces.
Nothing.
You move to the kitchen, checking the cabinets and repeating the process. You feel slightly insane doing it, paranoid and twitchy, but you keep going.
Still nothing.
You search the hallways next, scouring every nook and cranny, every seam in the molding. You check the entryway, the staircase, the little alcove with the coat hooks.
When you reach the front door, you stop. Your hand drifts to the handle without quite meaning to— the old instinct resurfacing, the one that used to scream at you every waking hour of those first few days.
You try it, knowing it’s pointless. Locked. Deadbolted. The little keypad by the frame glows a steady, watchful red, and the thing that unsettles you isn’t that you can’t leave. It’s how faint the wanting has become— how the voice that used to scream now only murmurs, easy to ignore.
You take your hand off the handle and go back to looking for cameras. You look until your neck aches from craning and your eyes blur from squinting. And you find nothing. Not a single camera. Not a single lens, or wire, or even a measly blinking light.
You stand in the hallway, hands on your hips, and frown.
Maybe Ran lied. It’s not out of the question. It could’ve been a bluff, a leash made of nothing but the suggestion of surveillance. A way to keep you in line without spending a yen on the hardware. It’s exactly the kind of psychological warefare he’d find amusing.
But even as you think it, you know it doesn’t matter. If you haven’t found the cameras by now, you’re not going to find them in the time you have left. You can keep tearing the house apart looking for something that may or may not exist, or you can use the remaining hours you’ve been given.
Fuck it.
You climb the stairs.
You’ve always kept to your room and the shared common spaces, a model prisoner moving through the parts of the house you’re permitted and never reaching for the parts you’re not. But today you reach.
You start with Rindou’s room, wrapping your hand around the doorknob and twisting only to find it locked.
Of course it is. Truly, you would’ve been flabbergasted if it wasn’t.
You circle around to try the bathroom, since it connects your bedrooms, but it doesn’t budge either. The bastard locked that one too. Thorough, even in this.
Sanzu’s room is next, across the hall. You don’t expect much— and you don’t want to find Sanzu himself, who could theoretically reappear at any moment— but you try the knob anyway.
Locked again.
Then, Ran’s office— the room with the heavy wooden door you’ve never been allowed past, the room where his voice drops to that cold, clipped register through the walls. You don’t even bother getting your hopes up as you try it.
It’s locked, naturally.
You let out a frustrated breath, starting to think the whole expedition is a bust. Every door that matters is probably sealed against you, and you’ll have nothing to show for your nerve but a racing heart and a guilty conscience.
But there’s one more. Ran’s bedroom.
It’s tucked at the end of the hall beside his office, and you almost skip it, certain it’ll be locked like the rest. But you try the handle anyway, just for peace of mind.
It turns, and the door swings open.
Blinking rapidly, you stand in the doorway, hardly believing your luck.
Ran’s bedroom is larger than yours, and nicer, but it shares the same fundamental quality as the rest of the house: it’s beautiful yet impersonal, the bones of a luxury hotel suite dressed up to look lived-in. A safehouse, after all, is still a safehouse.
The bed is enormous, made up in slate-gray linens. There’s a sitting area near the window, a leather armchair, and a small square table. Thankfully, the heavy, blackout curtains have been pulled back to let light in, and you glance over a dresser, a nightstand, a wardrobe that takes up most of one wall.
But where the bones are anonymous, the contents are pure Ran.
Because Ran, you’ve learned, is a man who likes things.
The top of the dresser is cluttered with them— colorful bottles of cologne, a tray of silver rings and chains, a glass box with a dozen watches nestled in velvet. There’s a throw tossed over the armchair. There’s a pair of loafers by the door, butter-soft and clearly costly.
You step inside, easing the door shut behind you, and your heart is pounding so hard you can feel it in your throat.
You slide open his wardrobe first, and it’s exactly what you expected— a row of suits in dark, rich fabrics, organized by some system you can’t decipher. Saint Laurent. Tom Ford. Dolce & Gabbana. Names you recognize from the magazines you used to flip through on your lunch breaks. Silk shirts. A drawer of folded ties in jewel tones. Everything immaculate, everything worth a fortune.
You close it carefully and move to the dresser.
This feels more like trespassing, somehow. Opening the bottom drawer, there are socks and boxer briefs, neatly folded, and the second drawer is more of the same. The third one is filled with accessories— cufflinks, tie clips, and a small pouch of what look like very real diamonds. You don’t touch those.
The nightstand is next. You crouch beside it and slide the small drawer open. There’s a charging cable, a pair of reading glasses you’ve never seen him wear, and a bottle of lube. Nothing useful. You close it.
And then you notice the top of the nightstand.
There’s a stack of magazines there— glossy fashion ones, the kind with impossibly thin models and perfume samples tucked between the pages.
But it’s the thing sitting on top of the stack that catches your eye.
A folder. Plain and unlabeled. Manila, slightly worn at the corners, the kind of nondescript thing that could hold anything or nothing at all. It’s sitting there in the open, as if it were just another magazine— as if its owner never imagined anyone would be in this room to find it.
You stare at it as if it might lunge up and bite you.
This is it, you think. Everything up to now— the subtle snooping around, the trying of doors and windows— those are the sort of things they might expect, might even forgive with a roll of their eyes.
But this is something else. This is the kind of curiosity that gets people killed.
You pick it up anyway.
The first page is a list. It takes you a moment to understand what you’re looking at. Names arranged in a column with job titles beside them and numbers beside those— large numbers, sums of money, with dates. As you read, the bottom drops out of your stomach.
Det. Supt. Kenji Aoki — Tokyo Metropolitan Police, Organized Crime Division. More figures. More dates.
Yuna Ishikawa — Public Prosecutor's Office.
Takeda — Customs, Tokyo Port.
Sato — Tax Bureau.
On and on, a column that runs the length of the entire page and onto the next, name after name after name. Councilmen. Police officers. Prosecutors and customs officials. Bureaucrats whose titles you only vaguely recognize from news broadcasts. At least three dozen of them. A whole apparatus of supposedly respectable people, each one with numbers and dates beside their name.
A payroll.
You’re holding a payroll.
This is who they own. This is the machinery of Tokyo, bought and paid for and filed away in a manila folder on a nightstand. The customs official who waves their shipments through the port. The detective who loses the paperwork. The prosecutor who declines to press charges. The councilman who makes sure the right permits get approved and the wrong questions never get asked.
You understand, suddenly and completely, why no one has come for you. Why there’s been no rescue, no investigation. You understand why the men who took you move through the world with such confidence. It isn’t arrogance. It’s true: they are untouchable, in the most literal sense— they own the people whose job it is to touch them. The police you might have run to are on this list. The prosecutor who would charge them. There is no authority above them to appeal to, because they’ve already bought it out.
The thought is so overwhelmingly suffocating that you have to set the page down for a second just to breathe.
Warily, you start to sift through the rest of the folder. Behind the payroll are files. One for each name, you realize— or for some of them, the important ones. And these are not payments. These are insurance.
The first is Detective Superintendent Aoki. There’s a photograph clipped to the inside, and you turn it over and immediately wish you hadn’t. It’s a crime scene— or the aftermath of one. A woman’s bloody body and a face you recognize from the photo on the page: Aoki himself, caught in the frame, a knife in his hands. You don’t understand the full story, and you don’t want to.
The implication is enough: We have you. We can end you whenever we like.
You turn it face down with shaking fingers.
The next file is for Maruyama, the councilman. He’s pictured in several photographs that were very clearly never meant to be seen, in compromising arrangements with people who are very clearly not his wife. You flip past them quickly, your face hot with rising nausea.
Some of the files hold financial records, evidence of embezzlement, of accounts that don’t add up. Some hold photographs of things that turn your stomach— violence, captured and catalogued and saved for a rainy day. Leverage, all of it. A blackmail file for the officials on payroll, so that even if the money ever stopped flowing, the silence never would.
You read through all of it.
You don’t mean to— you mean to skim, to get the jist of things and put it away— but you can’t stop. It’s like watching a car accident. Page after page, file after file, the full and terrible intricacies of how this organization holds an entire city in its fist. By the time you reach the end, there’s a sour taste at the back of your throat.
This is what they are. Not just three men in a house.
Not just Ran’s charismatic charm and Rindou’s cold shoulder and Sanzu’s unpredictable mania. This is a criminal organization with the city’s officials in its pocket.
And you are inside it— not adjacent to it, not a bystander peering in— inside.
You’ve been eating breakfast with these men. Pouring their coffee and setting their table, cooking them dinner. You nearly let one of them kiss you last night. The sheer scale of what they are makes your own situation feel suddenly, vertiginously small— a single miniscule cog caught in a machine this large.
They could make you disappear as easily as they made a prosecutor look the other way, and no one with the power to care would even know to ask.
You sit there on the edge of the bed for a while, the open folder in your lap and your heart hammering against your ribcage.
And then you do the only sensible thing you can. You close it.
You put it back— carefully, exactly as you found it. You stand and survey the room, retrace your steps in your mind. The wardrobe, closed. The drawers, shut. The nightstand drawer, pushed flush. You smooth the spot on the bed where you sat, erasing the impression of your weight from the covers. Standing in the doorway, you look back and check it against the picture in your memory, making sure everything is precisely where it was when you walked in.
Then, you ease the door shut behind you and let out a breath you feel like you’ve been holding for an hour.
In the living room, you take stock of yourself.
Your hands are mostly steady, the nausea has faded to a dull unease, and beneath it all, a startling sense of accomplishment.
You took a risk today, and it paid off. You’ve learned something tangible— something they don’t want you to know, something that matters, even if you don’t yet know how. You’re not just surviving. You’re playing the game.
The information sits in your chest like a coal, burning warm and dangerous. You don’t know what you’ll do with it, or if you’ll ever be able to do anything with it at all. The knowledge that the whole city is bought is hardly a comfort— if anything, it should crush whatever hope you had left. But it doesn’t feel like crushing. It feels like clarity. Like for the first time, you can see the actual shape of the cage you’re trapped inside, instead of just its shadow.
There’s wine in the kitchen, a small cabinet stocked with bottles you wouldn’t know how to choose between. They’ve offered you alcohol before— Ran, mostly, holding out a glass with that disarming smile, you look like you could use one— and you’ve declined every time, always deciding it’d be better to keep your wits about you.
But you’re alone now, and you finally feel like you’ve earned the right to let go of the rope you’ve been white-knuckling.
You pick a bottle at random— a red with a label you don’t bother to read, and you pour yourself a sizable glass. The first sip is rich and tannic, warming you from the inside out. Content with your choice, you carry both the glass and the bottle to the living room and curl up on the couch with your book.
The sunlight streaming in through the windows goes from white to gold to gray as afternoon fades into evening.
You finish your first glass of wine and pour a second somewhere along the way, the warmth of it loosening the remaining tension in your body until you’re just as soft on the inside as you are on the outside. A pleasant haze settles over you, and you sink into the couch with your book open against your knees.
You don’t read much of it, mostly sitting with your thoughts, turning the day over and over— the folder, the names, the photographs, the unexpected thrill of having done something forbidden and gotten away with it.
You don’t notice how late it’s gotten until headlights sweep across the wall.
Twin beams slice through the dark before they die, the low purr of an engine cutting out in the driveway. There’s the chirp of the alarm disarming, the heavy clunk of the deadbolt, and the front door swings open on its hinges.
You instinctively straighten, setting your glass down on the coffee table.
Rindou comes in first, and he looks weary in a way this morning’s crisp suit no longer disguises— his tie gone, collar open, jacket slung over his shoulder by a hooked finger.
His eyes find you on the couch, and for the first time since the rooftop, he actually looks. They rake over you, taking in the skirt and the sweater, the makeup, the loose, clean fall of your hair. Something flits across his face, there and gone before you get a good look, but a crack in the blankness he’s been wearing nonetheless.
His jaw tightens, and he drags his gaze away before climbing the stairs without a word. A moment later, you hear his door click shut.
“Don’t take it personally.” Ran’s voice draws your attention back to the doorway. He’s shrugging out of his suit jacket and draping it over the back of an armchair. “He’s been in a mood all day. Business always finds a way of souring it.” He loosens his tie next, dragging it free from his collar and flicking open the top two buttons of his dress shirt. “Me? I find it invigorating.”
“Did Sanzu ever turn up?” you ask.
Ran shakes his head. “Still in the wind, but he’ll show up eventually. He always does.” He waves a hand dismissively, silver rings catching the lamplight. “Better not to dwell on it. He’s not nearly as interesting as my evening’s shaping up to be.”
His eyes drop to the empty glass of wine on the table. “Kenzo Estate, 2018. Good taste.”
“I wouldn’t know,” you admit.
“Beginner’s luck.” He holds up a finger, disappearing into the kitchen and returning with another glass. “Most people assume the one with the flashiest label is the best. You, however, went for one that actually tastes good.”
Picking up the bottle, he proceeds to fill both glasses before sinking onto the couch beside you. Then, he hands you your glass and taps the rim of his against it with a soft clink. “Good instincts, doll.”
You hum, taking a sip to cover the warmth crawling up your neck.
“You look lovely tonight, by the way.” His gaze drifts over you, slow and appreciative. “Almost relaxed. It’s a good look on you.”
You raise a brow. “The wine?”
“The ease. For two weeks, I’ve watched you tiptoe around this house like you’re waiting for the floor to give out, shoulders up to your ears.” Two lithe fingers trace along the curve of your shoulder, feather-light, and you feel it everywhere. “All but flinching whenever someone walked past you. And now look at you. Glass of wine in hand, curled up on the couch like you own it. It suits you far better than the fear did.”
“Well… thank you,” you say, the words coming out softer than you intended. “I figured I’d earned it.”
“Oh?” He drapes his arm along the back of the couch, and his fingertips find a strand of hair at your temple, twirling it around. “And what exactly did you do to earn it?”
“Not much, really.” The lie comes easily, smoothed over by the alcohol. You take another sip to sell it. “Took a nice, long shower and gave myself some much needed TLC. It was quiet. Peaceful.”
You glance up at him through your lashes, emboldened by the heat in your chest and the way his gaze is still fixed on you. “You should leave me unsupervised more often.”
“Is that so?”
“It is.”
“And here I was certain you couldn’t stand it here.”
“I can’t stand present company. The plumbing, though? Five stars.”
“Was that a joke?” Ran lifts a brow. “I didn’t think you had any in you.”
You continue to trade barbs, falling into easy conversation. After a few minutes, your glass has gone low again, and he reaches for the bottle, refilling it until the crimson liquid laps near the rim.
“You know,” you say, mock-serious. “A girl might start to think you’re trying to get her drunk.”
His mouth curves. “Absolutely not. Though, I am a little wounded.”
You blink. “Wounded?”
“Two weeks of me offering you a drink, and you turned your nose up every time.” He clicks his tongue. “Then the moment I’m out of the house, you help yourself to my cellar.”
“I did not,” you insist, and the corners of your mouth tip up despite yourself. “I was perfectly sober… until I wasn’t. If you want to get technical, it was past five o’clock. That has to count for something.”
“If we’re getting technical? You’re telling me you earned a drink because you took a seven-hour shower?”
“Oh my god, no! I told you— TLC. Tender. Loving. Care.”
“Which entails…?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“I would. Indulge me, doll.”
You roll your eyes. “For starters, I tried out all the skincare products you got me. Every single one. The scrub was heavenly. The shea butter too; it smells amazing.”
“It does,” he agrees readily, catching your wrist as you set your glass down on the table. He turns it gently to bring the inside of it to his nose and inhales deeply enough that you feel the brush of his breath against your skin. “Mmm. I’ve always loved vanilla.”
Your heart stutters. “Yeah?”
“Mmhm, cherry as well.” His eyes lower to your lips, and you have to consciously work not to bite at them. Can he smell your chapstick too?
“Your choice of products makes sense now.”
“It should.” Lilac hues lift back up to yours as he traces idle circles over your pulse point. “I merely chose the best. It’s what any excellent host would do.”
“You’re a kidnapper.”
“I’m an excellent host who happens to kidnap,” he corrects you. “The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”
That earns him a laugh, as morbid as the joke is. “You’re trouble, that’s what you are.”
“I beg to differ. I’ve been on my best behavior, unlike someone else.”
“Now, that’s not true.” Your voice lacks conviction, too breathless to sound convincing. “I’ve been as good as gold. Practically a saint.”
His smile curves wider, and he leans in, closing the last of the distance only for your breath to catch in your throat, lashes dipping as every nerve in your body anticipates the press of his mouth against yours—
But he veers past your lips at the last second, his cheek grazing yours until his mouth comes to rest against the shell of your ear. When he speaks, his voice is as smooth as honey.
“You’re a terrible liar.”
It takes you a second to process what he’s said. The wine has dulled your edges, blurring the words together into jibberish— and then the meaning catches up to you all at once, cold and jarring, like ice water down your spine.
You go rigid.
“What?” The question comes out thin. You pull back enough to look at him properly, and his expression hasn’t changed— still that charming smile, his eyes warm and amused.
It’s the warmth that frightens you. There’s no anger in them, no accusation. Just a knowing smile, like he’s letting you in on a secret the two of you already share.
“Come now, let’s not play dumb.” When you only stare at him, he sighs. “The cameras, darling. You spent such a long time looking for them, standing on chairs and running your hands along the walls. Truth be told, I found it incredibly endearing.”
You can feel the blood drain from your face, the wine curdling in your stomach.
“You didn’t find them because you weren’t meant to,” he continues, conversationally. “But I found you. Every room you tried. Every door you rattled. Every page you turned— and I’m not talking about that old Camus novel you’ve been pretending to read.”
The folder.
He knows.
He watched.
All of it. His bedroom, the drawers, the manila folder you’d been so careful to square back into place. The hours you’d spent congratulating yourself, pouring his wine, and basking in the satisfaction of a day well spent— and he’d been watching the entire time. Letting you believe you were clever. Letting you walk yourself, step by smug step, right into his lap.
“Ran—”
“Shh,” he presses a single finger to your lips, silencing you, and his smile doesn’t so much as flicker— sickly sweet and patient but utterly without mercy. The hand at your wrist slides up, fingers threading into the hair at the nape of your neck. “You had your fun today. Snooping around where you don’t belong. Touching what isn’t yours.”
His grip closes, and you gasp as your head is forced back, chin tilted up so you’re face-to-face. “So now, I’m going to touch what isn’t mine.”
“Wait—”
Again, he cuts you off, this time by pressing his thumb between your lips. His skin is salty when it hits your tongue, and saliva floods your mouth at the taste.
“You’re in no position to be giving orders, doll.”
Suddenly, the room feels too warm. The couch suddenly too soft beneath you. The wine in your system turns traitorous, leaving your thoughts slow and slippery as they struggle to catch up with the reality sitting in front of you.
“Me, on the other hand…” he hums, a low baritone that vibrates up from his chest as he watches panic flare in your eyes. “Spread your legs.”
You try to swallow, and he cants his head, regarding you with newfound interest— like he’s waiting to see which version of you will emerge first. The one that had spent the afternoon creeping around forbidden territory, emboldened by curiosity. Or the one sitting before him now, pulse fluttering wildly beneath delicate skin, finally understanding just how thoroughly she’s been outplayed.
“Don’t make me ask again.”
Something hot and ugly unfurls beneath your ribs— a heady mix of humiliation and anger. The sharp sting of realizing he’d sat beside you for nearly half an hour with this tucked behind his teeth, waiting for the precise moment to pull the rug out from under your feet.
He’s expecting submission. That’s his mistake.
You let your lips part further around his thumb— and then, you bite down. Hard. Hard enough that the coppery tang of blood blooms across your tongue, hard enough that you feel the give of skin beneath your teeth.
His smile slips as he grunts out a curse, brow twitching and lavender eyes sharpening, startled and bright. For one suspended second, you’ve got him— caught off guard by his own pet. The taste of it is sweeter than the wine.
But it lasts exactly that long— one heartbeat, maybe two— before something shifts behind his eyes. The surprise morphs into delight, and his mouth curls again, his expression almost proud.
“There she is,” he breathes.
You don’t wait to hear the rest. You wrench back, twisting out from his hold and scrambling for the opposite end of the couch. You don’t get far.
An arm hooks around your waist, and the world spins, and then you’re down— chest pressed to the cushions, one cheek mashed against the armrest, the breath knocked clean out of your lungs. A large hand splays flat between your shoulder blades, pinning you with an infuriating ease, like your struggling is cute.
“Ran..!” His name comes out muffled, partly swallowed by the upholstery.
“Mm, keep wiggling. It’s not helping you the way you think it is.”
You feel his free hand drag a path down the curve of your spine, lower until his fingers catch the hem of your skirt and tug it up. The backs of your thighs and your ass are bared to the cool air of the room, and you go hot all over as the humiliation intensifies, burning alongside something darker— something you’d never admit to.
His thumb is still bleeding. You can feel it smear, warm where it presses into your hip.
“You quite literally bit the hand that feeds you.” His palm settles over the swell of your ass, squeezing the soft flesh roughly. “I should’ve expected nothing less. You never do learn the easy way, do you?”
“Don’t—”
The first strike lands before your plea can materialize, and the crack of it splits the quiet, loud and obscene. The sting registers a moment later— a blistering heat that rips a gasp straight from your throat. Your hands shoot out, fingers fisting the blanket.
Ran hums again, smoothing his palm over the place he just struck like he’s admiring his work.
“That’s one,” he says. “Go ahead. Count for me, darling.”
You don’t.
You press your lips together, and you stare at the seam of the couch cushion an inch from your nose, giving him nothing. It’s the only thing left that’s yours— the silence— and you clutch it like the blanket twisted in your fists.
“No? Stubborn thing.”
The second slap lands harder than the first. You jolt, a squeal tearing loose, but it’s not a number. A vicious sort of satisfaction spreads throughout your limbs.
You can take this.
Pain you understand. Pain has an edge, a place to brace against. So you brace.
The third comes, and then a fourth and a fifth. You breathe through your teeth as the sting stacks and burns, your knuckles white, your defiance the one thing you refuse to surrender.
“My, oh my. You really are determined to make this difficult.”
“Go to hell,” you manage.
A deep laugh sounds. “We’re already here, sweetheart.”
And then his tactic changes.
The next touch he doles out isn’t a strike. It’s a caress, the tips of the fingers grazing softly over the seat of your panties, and your whole body locks up— because this, you don’t have a brace for. This has no edge to push against. It slips past every defense you’d build against the pain, joining the wine and the heat simmering low in your belly.
“Sensitive there, are we?”
You don’t trust your voice, almost certain it will crack the moment you try to speak, so you start to struggle in earnest, thrashing around beneath the weight of him.
Some distant part of you knows it’s futile, but your body hasn’t gotten the message your pride already has, so you fight. You buck against him and dig your knees into the cushions for purchase that isn’t there.
And Ran lets you. That’s the worst part of it. He doesn’t tighten his grip or snap at you to hold still— he just lets you ride it out, patiently, with his hand pressed firmly against the small of your back while you wear yourself down against him.
“Atta girl,” he croons. “Get it all out of your system.”
And that’s exactly what happens.
You thrash until the fight drains out of you, until your limbs go heavy and your breath comes ragged. You feel the moment it leaves you— the defiance. It leaks out of you like air from a puncture, and your forehead drops to the armrest as you stop.
His hand strokes up your spine. “Was that so hard?”
You don’t answer. You can’t. Your voice is somewhere you can’t reach, lost beneath the hammering of your own heart.
“Good. Now, let’s see what we’re working with.”
A whimper escapes you as he pulls your panties to the side, the cool air causing you to jerk where it meets your heated folds. “Wait, please— I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have went through your things. It won’t happen again, I promise!”
“Oh, I know it won’t. Still, I don’t think you’re truly sorry. Not yet, at least.” He tuts at you. “In fact, I think you’re enjoying this.”
“No! Please, Ran!”
“Please, what? Please stop?” Condescension colors his tone. “You keep saying that, but this pretty little pussy is positively soaked.”
In the next instant, you feel him drag a finger between your folds, and when he holds it up to your face, you can’t help the tears that prick at the corners of your eyes. To your absolute horror, the digit is wet and shiny, covered in the silvery slick dripping from between your thighs.
“See? Look at that. You can lie to yourself all you want, but I won’t let you lie to me.”
Whatever retort you try to throw back dissolves into a moan as his finger drops back down, notching against your clit. He rubs over it, chuckling at the way it twitches under his attention. You try to clench your thighs together, but he plants a knee between your legs to keep them parted.
“There you go. Go ahead and give in to it. Let me hear all of those sweet, angelic sounds. I’m sure if you’re loud enough, Rin will too.”
Your head is scrambled, each swipe of his fingers over your clit sending delicious sparks of pleasure up your spine. It’s damning, the control he has over you in this moment. Your legs start to tremble around his knee, your hips twitching as your body chases the friction.
“O-Oh fuck,” you stammer out, burying your face completely in the cushion.
“Feels good, doesn’t it? You like it when I touch you here?” It’s a rhetorical question, not that you could answer if you wanted to. Instead, a choked cry bubbles up from your chest as he abandons your clit, leaving it throbbing. “Of course you do. But you know what? Something tells me you’ll like it even more if I touch you.. here.”
You aren’t prepared for the way his finger sinks into you— all the way to the knuckle.
Your walls clamp down around the intrusion, lashes fluttering as he curls it. “I.. Shit, I can’t…”
“Use your words, pretty.”
But you’re panting now, writhing beneath him as a second finger joins the first. The stretch burns but only briefly, because he’s right— even with your long dry spell, you’re so wet that it slides in without much resistance. You don’t even have the energy to be mortified at how obscene the sounds are as he starts to fuck them into you, controlled and measured and so much better than you would have guessed. They scissor open, and your toes curl, another muffled mewl expelled from your lips into the couch.
“I can’t hear you.” His hand cards into your hair only to yank your head back to the side, and he leans down so his lips are by your ear. “I said, do you like it when I touch you here?”
He’s working you, coaxing you, and it feels so good that your train of thought is reduced to a desperate, short-circuited refrain: More. Not enough. Too much.
“I— I—”
“You’re close, I can feel it.” There’s an amused lilt to his voice. “How long has it been since someone made you cum, sweet girl?”
You try to remember. It’s a question that should make you bristle with embarrassment, bristle with shame of being so easily unspooled, but the answer is a haze— a memory so faded and irrelevant compared to the pressure of his fingers crooking inside you.
It’s been months, you think. Maybe a year. The last guy you slept with was such a non-event you don’t remember his name, let alone how he made you feel.
But you will remember this. You’ll remember this for the rest of your life.
“Come on, sweetheart. Say it,” Ran coos, his thumb finding your clit and circling it. “Tell me how much you want it.”
He already knows. He must, with the way your walls pulse around his fingers, so tight it almost hurts. He’s making a mess of you— not just your body, but your mind, your dignity, your sanity.
You don’t want to say it. You’d rather bite your tongue off than hand him another ounce of control. But the words claw their way up your throat anyway, prying your mouth open and spilling out in a pained confession.
“I want it..!” You gasp, shuddering when he presses hard against that spot that makes your vision blur. “Fuck, Ran, I want you to— please, just—”
“Good girl.”
You’re so close. It’s as if every atom in your body is gathering, bracing for that singular, shattering release—
He withdraws his fingers, and the emptiness is so abrupt that you sob, a raw, broken sound torn from the depths of your soul. It’s a betrayal so complete that for one dazed, breathless second, you simply don’t understand what’s happened.
“..W-what?”
You can barely form words. The ache between your legs is hollow, the aftershocks of denied pleasure rolling through your body, like a tide dragged out too soon. You shift, reaching back for him mindlessly, but he’s already pulled away, his fingers slick and shining as he wipes them on the curve of your ass.
“You didn’t think I’d make it that easy, did you?” His voice is syrupy, sated. “You don’t get to misbehave and walk away with a prize. That’s not how this works, sweetheart.”
You want to scream at him, curse him, beg him.
But every muscle in your body is spent and trembling. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears and feel it between your legs, blood roaring through your veins as another wave of humiliation washes over you.
You think he might say something else— a taunt, a lecture, a threat. But instead, he just stands and retrieves his suit jacket from the chair. He doesn’t look back at you, striding toward the staircase.
He takes the first step and pauses with his hand on the banister, glancing over his shoulder, violet eyes hooded and unreadable. “I wouldn’t stay there for too long, unless you want Rindou to see.”
Then he’s gone, leaving you there with your tear stained cheek pressed into the cushion and your thighs still parted around the ghost of his knee.
synopsis: there are very few people rindou haitani trusts with his life. even fewer he’d let tie him to a bed.
rating/warnings: explicit sexual content, established relationship, soft rin, sub rin, praise and degradation, edging, spanking, bonten timeline
words: 4,6k+
masterlist
There were a lot of things you could say about Rindou Haitani. Bonten executive, menace with a lazy grin, the guy who’d crank his DJ set at 3 a.m. just to see how long it took his brother to start yelling at him from the other room.
Most of what people said about him would be true. Not all of it would matter.
He was loud when he felt like it, social and extroverted. The kind of person who filled a room without even trying. Back when they were younger, he lived for nights that never really ended, jumping from one club to the next, drinks in hand and everything else pushed to the side. Nights where people let go a little too much and didn’t always like what they remembered in the morning.
For all the bickering, he loved Ran. He just wasn’t the type to say it out loud. Never had been. It showed in other ways instead. In the way they moved in sync during fights, like a single entity. The way they always made sure the other was okay before checking on themselves. Or in the small things. Like showing up late, tossing a Mont Blanc onto the table without a word when Ran was going through the motions.
Because the truth was, Rindou noticed everything.
He saw right through people, past the versions they carefully constructed and the image they tried so hard to maintain. He found enjoyment in picking people’s lies apart, noticing the little slips that would later be used as ammunition to humiliate them when the time seemed ripe. Behind his bored expression and uninterested demeanor, Rindou caught everything. And that is what made him dangerous.
Because Rindou Haitani was violent, too. There was no soft way to put that and no version of the truth that put him in a better light. The younger Haitani was an excellent fighter, and worse yet, could be frighteningly cruel when he wanted to be and sometimes when he didn’t need to be. For all the reputation that preceded Ran, in adulthood it was usually Rindou who people feared more. Even the lowest guys in Bonten knew better than to get on his bad side, because if Rindou got his hands on you, it wouldn’t be quick. The angles, the pressure, exactly how much force it took to make a bone give. He was an expert at making you suffer. And the worst part? He loved every single second of it.
Maybe that should have been enough to scare you off. But there was one thing people got consistently wrong about Rindou Haitani. And who could blame them, really, looking in from the outside? Rindou was many things, but never a bad partner.
Whatever Bonten had turned him into and whatever blood-stained horrors he left behind after a job well done, none of it ever followed him back to you. Of course, he couldn’t hide those parts of himself. Didn’t want to. But in the comfort of his own home, different sides of him were allowed to surface, too.
The carefree one, that still liked to be silly and play his DJ sets from his teenage years for you. Who would pick you up bridal style and carry you to the couch giggling.
The caring one, that liked seeing you happy. Maybe more than he’d ever admit out loud. The side that made sure a light wouldn’t stay broken long enough for you to complain about it or that important events never crept up on him.
The concerned one that knew about the dangers of life with a bonten executive where safety or coming home alive wasn’t always a guarantee. That sometimes regretted putting you in this position, but never once regretted choosing you.
And finally, the vulnerable one. The one who didn’t ask for much. Didn’t really know how to. The one who’d never learned how to voice his own emotional needs and relied on you to read between the lines, to notice the pauses and subtle tells he never bothered hiding from you. And over time, you learned how to.
So when he stepped into the dimly lit apartment that night, his shoulders hanging low, a smear of blood along his collar already drying, you knew exactly what kind of night it had been. The dark circles under his eyes a sign of exhaustion that went deeper than just lack of sleep.
“Bad night?” you asked, not really expecting an answer.
“Mhm.” Rindou hummed, walking over to you and pulling you into a firm hug. His cheek pressed against the top of your head, his strong arms wrapping around you, holding you close. You let your arms slip around his waist, face resting against his chest as a quiet content smile formed on your lips. You’d missed him.
“Wanna tell me about it?” you asked, softer still.
He shook his head just slightly.
Of course you weren’t oblivious to his work. You knew exactly what he did and who he worked with, had actually gotten quite close to Koko and even Sanzu over the years - a fact he initially wasn’t too excited about. Still, when it came to the gritty, brutal details, Rindou rarely felt the need to share. You were his safe haven. Here, in your shared apartment, with you, he could just be Rindou and he didn’t need Bonten to take that away from him, too.
You helped him shrug out of his jacket, hanging it neatly on a hook by the door while he kicked off his shoes. He rubbed at his stiff neck as he made his way to the sofa and plopped down. You wandered into the kitchen, suddenly craving a drink. You grabbed two cans and handed one to him, settling back on the couch beside him.
The crack of the cans opening filled the room. You both took a long sip, and Rindou rested his head against the back of the sofa, eyes drifting over to you with content ease. You were sitting with your back against one of the armrests, head turned toward him, and the younger Haitani pulled your legs onto his lap to start massaging them.
“How was your day?” Rindou asked.
“Boring meeting after boring meeting,” you sighed, thinking back to the uneventful day at the office. “Lunch was fun, but when I came home, one of the neighbors stopped to complain about the noise last weekend.” You laughed, not sure they would be quite as brave if they knew the real identity of the resident in the other apartment.
Rindou, unlike his brother, didn’t value anonymity. Your shared apartment was still luxurious, huge, and you were sure the bill could send you into a coma, but while Ran enjoyed his privacy, Rindou preferred a lively neighborhood in a better part of Tokyo.
“Hmm. They better get used to it,” he said, tracing circles on your legs and taking another sip of his beer.
Sometimes he felt bad about leaving you home alone for so long. Some weeks he was around a lot, but other times work required him to be gone for days at a time with practically no notice. Organized crime rarely followed a schedule, which led to many canceled dates and postponed trips. You always assured him it was fine, but he couldn’t help the guilty feeling.
Rindou leaned over you, fingers holding your face as he pulled you into a slow but passionate kiss. You melted into him, kissing back and grabbing a handful of his shirt. You had been with him so long, yet every kiss felt just as exhilarating as the first. You would never get tired of how perfectly he fit against you and were sure you would remember the taste of him forever.
Your lips moved against his, and his tongue asked for quiet entry, which you were more than happy to give. Rindou let his hands wander, from your neck down to your back and waist, until eventually they landed on your ass, pulling you a little closer. A pleased sounds left his lips at the lack of fabric. He loved when you wore his big shirts with nothing but some shorts or a pair of panties underneath. You sighed into the kiss and wrapped your arms around his neck, egging him on as his hand wandered further, explored your body. They eventually settled between your thighs, ready to pull your panties aside.
Without a warning you leaned back, breaking the kiss. The younger Haitani looked at you, confused.
“I was thinking,” you started, placing a brief kiss on his neck as an apology, “I want to try something new tonight.”
Rindou looked at you quizzically, unsure what to make of the sudden request. “Something new?” He raised an eyebrow.
You nodded. “I want to… take care of you and…” You weren’t sure how to convince him.
“Can I tie you up?”
Rindou looked at you surprised, genuinely not knowing what to say
“I’m not sure I…” he started. You knew full well the younger Haitani wouldn’t agree immediately. He never outright said it, but pleasing you, seeing your blissed-out face, fueled his ego immensely. The knowledge that only he got to see this version of you, that only he could make you feel that good, always pushed him further.
“Baby, I should be taking care of you,” he said simply. Even after a bad day at work, he still wanted to spoil you. You leaned forward, straddling his lap now, your fingers brushing his hair back, hands cupping his face.
“You always do that anyway, Rin,” you replied, your voice soft and laced with quiet admiration. “Just push that ego of yours to the side and let me return the favor for once.”
“And tying me up is required because…?”
You laughed softly. “Because I know you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands to yourself otherwise.”
His eyes met yours, and you could see the hesitation. And buried even deeper, a need he rarely let surface. A want to be taken care of. To feel your touch and just exist in it for a while.
“Please,” you mouthed, placing a featherlight kiss on his lips.
Rin sighed dramatically, though he was clearly pretending, and pressed his forehead against yours. “Fine,” he finally said. “But you’re not taking this from me.”
Before you could react, he hooked his arms under your legs, the other steady at your back, and stood up in one smooth motion. Not a single sign of strain as he carried you toward the bedroom, bridal style.
“Riiin,” you laughed in his arms, “you’re hopeless.”
______________________
Rindou placed you down on the bed, the mattress dipping under your weight. He started unbuttoning his vest, tossing it somewhere into the corner of the room before doing the same with his shirt.
In the meantime, you crawled further up the bed, reaching for one of the pillows and pulling out a pair of police-grade handcuffs from underneath. The lavender-haired man followed your movement. “You little…” he muttered, voice clearly amused. “You had this planned all along, huh?”
You shot him a grin. “Knew you couldn’t say no to me.”
Rindou had gotten stripped off everything but his briefs, the dim light catching on his toned body and the few small scars scattered across his skin. He stepped closer to the bed, bending down, ready to hover over you, when you stopped him.
“Ah-ah,” you said, patting the space next to you. “Sit down here.”
He looked at you for a moment, considering arguing, but eventually decided he didn’t quite have the energy for it. So instead he sat, the soft mattress giving way, eyes fixed on you. You were still only dressed in one of his favorite t-shirts and a pair of lacy underwear, so straddling him was easy. You climbed onto his lap, settling there, a self-satisfied grin playing on your lips as you looked down at him.
“Hands, please,” you said.
And to your surprise, Rindou obliged with no hesitation, lifting his arms and resting them above his head against the headboard.
You leaned over him, the metallic clink of the handcuffs filling the quiet as you opened them and secured his wrists to the bars of the bed. You gave them a pull, making sure they were tight enough that he couldn’t slip out but not enough to hurt.
When you sat back, facing him again, something in Rindou’s expression had shifted.
“Cat got your tongue?” you teased.
The younger Haitani looked at you, a hint of defiance returning to his features. “Wouldn’t dream of it. I’m paying you back after this,” he said.
You chuckled and leaned in, placing a soft kiss on his cheek before lifting his chin so he had to look at you.
“Well,” you murmured, “all I have to do is not let you go, then.”
You reached back for the pillow again and pulled out a piece of fabric - a blindfold.
“That wasn’t part of the deal,” Rindou said, but you hushed him, pressing a finger gently against his lips.
“Maybe you’re not the only one who doesn’t play fair,” you teased. “You can’t expect me to be around you and not pick up a few bad habits.”
You tied the fabric over his eyes, securing it at the back of his head, then waved your hand in front of his face to make sure he couldn’t see anything.
Satisfied, you settled back down, your clothed core resting against his.
“Rin…” There was a hint of surprise in your voice. He was already hard.
You pressed down against him, letting your weight add some friction as you rocked back and forth. Rindou’s lips pressed into a thin line. You placed your hands on his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin as you kept the movement going, the two layers of fabric keeping you from feeling him fully.
The air felt charged, heavy, and you let out a small gasp as his bulge brushed against your clit, your thighs pressing together involuntarily.
Deciding you wanted to take things slower, you moved away from him, settling between his legs instead. Your fingers hooked under his waistband as you motioned for him to lift his hips a bit. When he did, you pulled his briefs down in one smooth motion, discarding them on the floor with the rest of his clothes. The sudden exposure made Rindou shift slightly, the cool air hitting his skin.
You couldn’t help but stare. “So pretty for me.”
“Tch,” Rindou clicked his tongue, turning his head slightly, but the twitch of his cock gave him away. Who would’ve thought it took this little to reduce the bone-crushing Bonten executive to a mess.
You placed one of your hands on his thigh, fingers ghosting over his skin, moving up and down, always stopping just short of where he wanted you most. Your nails left faint scratches behind, and Rindou’s breathing grew heavier, his hands loosening slightly against the restraints.
You kept it up for a while longer, until eventually your boyfriend started bucking his hips up toward you.
“Stop the teasing,” he managed to get out, breath uneven. You couldn’t help but smile.
“Oh, I’m just getting started.”
Your hand moved to his abdomen, pressing him further into the pillows, putting more tension on his arms. You leaned down in front of him, your face just inches from him. Your breath alone was enough to send a shiver down Rindou’s spine. Not knowing what you would do next was driving him insane.
You wrapped your hand around him, applying light pressure at the base before dragging your tongue slowly along the underside. Rindou let out a breathy moan, and you felt yourself react instantly, pussy clenching around nothing. God, he sounded perfect.
Encouraged, you repeated the motion, slow and deliberate, letting your saliva coat him. Eventually, you took him into your mouth and tested the rhythm, your movements careful at first. Rindou tried to hold back, his muscles tensing, clearly trying to not buck up into you. Wanting to hold onto whatever semblance of control he thought he still had.
You adjusted, taking him deeper, your tongue tracing along the vein as you moved.
“Fuuuck” Rindou finally groaned, his hips lifting, hands pulling against the cuffs with a metallic clink. He wanted to touch you, to tangle his fingers in your hair, to guide you, but he couldn’t. He fucking couldn’t. The darkness behind the blindfold only made everything more intense. All he could focus on was the pull at his wrists and the feeling of your mouth wrapped around him.
His skin felt like it was burning, and you showed no sign of slowing down.
Instead, you added your hand, moving it in time with your mouth, the added pressure drawing another strained sound from him. The noises he made were almost sinful, and you could feel just how much it affected you, too. Your own breathing grew uneven, quiet sounds slipping past your lips as you kept going, eyes half-lidded and saliva dribbling down your chin. The fitted sheets were already a mess, but you couldn’t care less.
Your boyfriend couldn’t help but buck up into you, desperately chasing his release now. He was moving without shame, helpless in his endeavor to make you go faster by gripping your hair, the restraints digging into his wrists. You could feel him throb inside your mouth, felt the erratic stutter of his hips. The nails of your left hand dug into his flesh while your right made quick work of cock, stroking up and down while you worked your mouth on him, taking him all the way in
“I—… I’m gonna,” Rindou stuttered, breath hitching. “Fucking hell.” But he didn’t need to tell you. You already knew he was close, could feel it in the way his body tensed beneath you. So you ignored the tears prickling at the corners of your eyes and kept the relentless pace up, taking him all the way in and forcing yourself to stay still. Rindou released into you with a low groan, legs trembling and breathing labored, the tension finally snapping. You savored every sound he made and willed away your gag reflex, determined to swallow his release. When you finally let his cock slip from your lips, it left with a soft pop.
The Bonten executive was still trying to catch his breath as you slowly propped yourself up, just enough to hover over him. You leaned in, placing kisses all over his chest and belly, soft and lingering, each one filled with quiet affection. Finally, you caught his lips in a deep, passionate kiss, the taste of him still faintly on your tongue. Rindou’s breath hitched sharply when your hand found his slowly softening cock again, and he hissed, his sensitivity still at an all-time high.
“You didn’t think that was all, right?” you teased, your voice light, thumb tracing over his slit and smearing the remnants of his cum over it in slow, deliberate motions.
“At least take these off, so I-”
You kissed him again, cutting the protest off at its core.
“Not happening,” you breathed against his lips, pulling back just enough to spit into your hand and coat his cock with it.
Rindou hissed, his body twitching under the sensation. “S’too much… I’m still…”
“I’m sure my pretty boy can handle more.”
Rindou pulled at the handcuffs behind his head, clearly trying to break free now. You didn’t let it distract you. Instead, you traced slow, deliberate kisses along his jawline, working your way down to his neck. You lingered there before continuing to his shoulder, where you bit down gently, sucking at the skin until it flushed beneath your lips. You wanted to leave your mark on him - to make him feel even a fraction of what he usually made you feel.
“All mine,” you breathed, licking over the spot as you released the tender flesh.
Rindou let out a whine, one unlike anything you’d ever heard from him before. It shot straight through you, soiling your panties even more, if that was even possible. But tonight wasn’t about you. It was about him. And so you forced yourself to ignore the heat pooling low in your core, focusing instead on him, on every small reaction he gave you. Your hand moved along his shaft again, slower this time, gauging every subtle shift in his breathing, every twitch of his body, adjusting the pressure and pace just enough to draw out the most delicious sounds.
A faint sheen of sweat had started to form on Rindou’s body, catching the dim light as his muscles tensed and released beneath your touch. His lips were red, kissed raw, parted slightly as uneven breaths slipped past them. He looked absolutely sinful like this.
A strange sense of possessiveness washed over you as you shifted closer to him, finally pushing your panties down your legs and discarding them before settling back onto his lap. This time, nothing separated you. No fabric, no barrier, just skin against skin. Your slit pressed down against his shaft, the friction immediate and intoxicating, drawing a soft shudder from your body.
Rindou reacted just as strongly, his head falling back as his hips bucked up into you on instinct. You grabbed onto his shoulder for leverage, your other hand curling around his neck as you began to rock your hips slowly, deliberately. Your arousal coated him quickly, slick and warm, and every movement grew easier, wetter. Heat pooled deep in your core, your breath catching as you ground down against him, your nails digging into his skin.
Rindou’s groans and heavy breathing filled the room, low and uneven. He tilted his head upward, facing where he thought you were, trying and hopelessly failing to regain some semblance of control.
“Need more,” he muttered, voice rough and strained. “I want to feel you.”
Your body reacted instantly, a sharp twitch of need at how wrecked he already sounded.
“But aren’t you already?” you teased, though your voice betrayed the fake composure. You weren’t sure how much longer you could keep this up, but you wanted to hear it. Wanted him to beg.
Rindou bit down on his lip, stubbornness flickering across his expression despite everything. He stayed quiet for a moment, holding out, until you suddenly picked up your pace. Your hips rolled harder against him, your slick spreading, practically dripping over his cock as you leaned in, letting soft, breathy moans spill right against his ear.
“Fuck,” he broke, head falling back again, his composure slipping completely. His hands strained against the cuffs with a sharp metallic clink. “I don’t care… please. Just- please give me more. I need it. I need to feel you. Put it inside, fuck… I want to feel you squeezing me. Please…”
Whatever restraint you had left snapped instantly.
You lifted your hips, hand wrapping around his cock to guide him. Lining him up with your entrance, you didn’t hesitate. You sank down onto him in one smooth motion. The sudden stretch pulled a gasp from you, your head falling back as the feeling hit you all at once.
He filled you perfectly.
Rindou’s thighs trembled beneath you, his head falling to the side as a broken sound left him, somewhere between a groan and a breath. He melted into the sensation, completely overtaken, your tightness and warmth overwhelming him in the best possible way.
Your fingers found his jaw, angling it towards you and your lips found his in a heated kiss. Rindou leaned in as far as he could, his tongue running hot over your mouth. You parted your lips, granting him entry, and soon he was exploring you, his tongue meeting yours, moaning into you.
You met him with the same desperation, lips pressing into his, teeth catching lightly on his lower lip as you kept up the steady rhythm of your hips. He was buried impossibly deep inside you, and you could feel everything, the way you clenched around him, the way your body reacted to every movement.
When the tip of his cock brushed against your cervix, a sharp, heated sensation shot through you. Your vision blurred, thoughts going hazy as you chased that high.Rindou rested his head against your shoulder now, his ragged breaths hot against your skin as he felt you tighten around him.
“I’m-” the words caught in his throat. “Keep going… fuck, I’m close,” he managed, his hips snapping up into you as much as the position allowed.
You didn’t slow down. If anything, you held on tighter, crescent-shaped marks forming on his skin where your fingers dug in. One of your hands moved between your bodies, finding your clit, rubbing quick, desperate circles.
Your legs ached, but you ignored then. Your mind was full of nothing but him. The way he felt, his desperate sounds, the way he twitched inside you, drawing another involuntary squeeze from you in response. Your hips lifted and dropped again, almost pulling away completely before sinking back down, the motion enough to push both of you closer to the edge.
You came together with a deep, broken moan, bodies trembling as pleasure rushed through them. Your legs shook, barely holding you up, while Rindou sank back into the pillows, his chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath.
Your legs felt wobbly, and you stayed there for a moment, just taking it all in. His warmth still inside you, the slowly softening cock and steady rise and fall of his chest beneath you, the comfortable silence that now filled the room. Even his hands, still secured in the cuffs. You wanted to remember this. Every second of it.
Carefully, you reached forward and untied the blindfold. Rindou scrunched his face slightly as it came off, his eyes unfocused, blinking a few times as he adjusted. Even the dim light seemed too much at first, making him squint.
Slowly, you eased yourself off him, your hands gliding over the sheets until you found the key. With a small twist and a soft click, the restraints came undone, and Rindou’s arms fell limply to the bed, his muscles finally giving out after being held up for so long.
You leaned back into him, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “How are you feeling?”
The younger Haitani opened his eyes fully this time and turned his head toward you, taking a slow breath as he grounded himself. His hand settled at the small of your back, warm and steady, his thumb tracing lazy circles against your skin.
Rindou pulled you into a slow kiss.
“Much better…” he admitted honestly, his voice softer than usual.
His eyes searched your face, taking you in like he was afraid to miss a single detail. There was something unguarded in his expression now, something rare. His hand tightened ever so slightly against your back, assuring and familiar.
“I love you,” he said.
He reserved those words for quiet, meaningful moments like this. He showed them every day through his actions, in all the little things he did for you, but hearing them spoken aloud was rare. And because of that, you treasured them even more.
“I love you too, Rin,” you whispered before meeting his lips in a soft kiss, one filled with emotion, carrying everything said and unsaid between you.
No, Rindou Haitani wasn’t a good man in the conventional sense. But here, in this moment, you couldn’t imagine wanting anyone else. And for as long as you could, you would make sure he always had a place to come back to - a place outside of Bonten, far from the bloodshed and noise.
A place where he could be more than that. Where he could be soft, loved, unguarded. A place that reminded him this was part of who he was, too.
SYPNOSIS / rindou haitani runs the roppongi club scene, once you catch his eye your not leaving his grasp. CONTENT / 2006 timeline, making out, dry humping, mild language, afab reader, alcohol and cigarettes mentioned, both rindou and reader smoke, rin’s a bit of a loser, not proofread (no ones surprised).
the clubs packed. sweaty bodies pushing and grinding against each other as the bass pounded the walls and floor. the smell of alcohol and cigarettes wafted through the building
rindou sat in the vip, drink in hand. the rest of tenjiku were there too just doing their own thing. he remembers ran going off with some girl not long ago
maybe he’ll go and look for him so they can leave
sure he loves it, the dj’ing, the drinking, but tonight it just doesn’t feel right. theres many pretty girls who would be dying to get a chance with him, sure. but none of them keep his attention longer than a night - maybe a couple hours if they’re really unlucky
shion was talking again, god he hates when he does that and of course it has to be ten times worse when he’s drunk
rindou’s eyes travel to the level below the open booth. watching the crowd move to the music like a wave. the back of the crowd parts slightly letting someone through
he watches you move through the crowd effortlessly, your body moving to the beat of the song. you stood out amongst the crowd, like you were magnetic to him
he doesn’t know how long his eyes have been following your frame for but he couldn’t seem to get enough. rindou watched you wiggle yourself out of some creeps grasp making your way off the clubs main floor
“yo rindou! where you goin’ man?”
shions voice called out to him, drawing a few of the other tenjiku members to watch him make his way down the stairs and out of sight
“yeah great chat, love when you ignore me”
rindou’s eyes searched the people around him, feet moving down the back hallway of the club. the music isn’t as loud, like a pair of headphones is being placed over his ears
“shit…”
his eyes found you again, this time squatting against the clubs wall trying to light a cigarette. he thinks you look just as beautiful - if not more - up close
“want some help?”
his voice is rough from the alcohol, breaking you from your previous concentration. your eyes both met, and god, he thought his heart stopped for a second
“if thats ok”
your body slid up the wall, cigarette dangling between your lips. you stepped closer handing him your lighter. he stared down at the lighter for a moment
“what?”
“why’s it got a half naked anime girl on it?”
“your lighter doesn’t?”
he almost didn’t catch the sarcasm, far too busy trying to not to embarrass himself in front of you
“my friend got it for me”
he hummed in response. lighter clicking causing a glowing flame to light your face
you took a deep drag holding the smoke in before blowing it out. you offered the cigarette to rindou who gladly took it
who wouldn’t want to share one with someone as pretty as you?
“you always share your smokes with random guys?”
“jus’ the cute ones who watch me from upstairs for around thirty minutes”
rindou could feel the smoke get stuck in his lungs. he heard you softly laugh at his miserable coughing fit
rindou’s ears have gone bright red, so much for ‘not embarrassing himself’
he passed the cigarette back, watching you take another drag flicking the ash on the clubs floor. he could smell a mixture of tobacco and vodka coming from your breath, the scent swirling together with your perfume
it drew him further in, like a shark in bloody water
rindou’s eyes glanced at your lips glitter and gloss just begging for him to taste
he felt the palm of your hand on his hip, fingers slowly sliding under the fabric of his shirt. his skin burned under your touch. your eyes catch a glimpse of the tattoo running ip the side of his abdomen
“that’s s’cool”
words caught in his throat, choking on air at your compliment
“bet it hurt yeah?”
“wasn’t as bad as ‘t seems”
your lips curved upwards, body leaning in against his completely, lips speaking on his
“hm real tough guy aren’cha”
it didn’t even register in rindou’s mind that your lips were now on his. he could taste the tequila mixed with the flavour of cherry and vanilla. god it was addictive after that first taste
he felt you trying to pull away but he wouldn’t let you go. chasing after you, practically begging for more
rindou’s hands grabbed onto your waist holding you in place. his tongue darted to push your lips apart granting him access to your mouth
your arms slid to his shoulders gripping tight as you both roughly landed on the wall, your arms soon locking around his neck for more security. you felt his knee push between you legs forcing you to grind against him
both of your tongues fought each other for dominance the stimulation of your lips on his plus your core grinding on his knee felt like heaven on earth
your hips moved slow in contrast to the desperation of rindou and yours lips on one another. out of every guys you’d made out with in all the clubs you’d been too you had never had someone kiss as intense as rindou
you could hardly breath. the air in the club was thick of smoke and alcohol and someone was probably doing illicit drugs somewhere that added to the pollution around you
he didn’t seem to wanna give up. every time you tried for air he’d pull you right back in - not that you had a problem with it
hands sliding up to his hair as rindou’s tongue was sliding down your throat, spit mixing together along with your lipgloss. to him it was divine
you both parted gasping for air in the hot club. his eyes looked hazy, kinda glassed over like he was in the verge of tears. fucking hell it was hot
“why don’t we take this back to mine hm?”
he was overly breathy with his words, his breath still not caught
“what an offer, what was it?”
“rindou haitani, but i’ll take rin”
his answer was quick to please scared to run out of time with you
“how cute”
you smiled leaned in one last time lips pecking his
“see you ‘round yeah?”
eyes glancing at his lips one last time, your thumb rubbing the apple of his cheek then sliding to his back pocket of his jeans before you left
“bye rinnie”
he doesn’t know whether it’s the alcohol catching up to him or what, but he was having crazy heart palpitations. digging his hand into his back pocket while the other smoothed through his hair, spit and your gloss still stuck to his lips
now with a new found obsession and a phone number to go with it
why is writing people making out so awkward…ALSO I GOT A NEW PHONE SO I’LL TRY TO START POSTING AGAIN / can we tell tokyo revengers has seeped into my brain
round eyes stare back at rindou through the glass window. plastic, yet somehow so full of life.
the staring contest has gone on for nearly five minutes, but rindou is the one to break first, finally dragging his eyes away, with his feet soon to follow. he only makes a couple of steps before stopping and looking back over his shoulder, eyes reconnecting with the dark ones that still bore into him.
the bear is unchanged, but rindou is certain he sees a pleading look on it’s face, practically begging for rindou to stick around. or if he must leave, to bring him along for the trip.
someone brushes past rindou and he’s reminded he’s standing in the middle of the sidewalk on a busy day. once again, he tears his eyes away from the bear and joins in with the crowd of people, determined to go about the rest of his day.
one more meeting and then he can go home to you.
the thought of seeing your face immediately brings his mind back to the little bear sitting in the shop window. he can imagine what you would say if you saw the plush: “he’s so lonely there! we gotta bring him home, rin!”
rindou shakes his head as if to get your voice out of his mind. eyes roll up to look at the sky and he lets out a small “fine” before turning around to march back through the store, fighting through incoming rush of people.
as soon as he’s in the door, rindou wastes no time to look around, going directly to the bear and swiping him away from his lonesome throne in the window. those dark round eyes stare up at him, and rindou thinks that the little bear must be happy to be chosen.
you’ll certainly be happy to have a new addition to your ever growing plushie family.
as soon as rindou walks into the conference room, ran points at the bear that’s in his brother’s hand, “who’s your new friend?”
“shut up.”
rindou was going to leave him in the car, but his little face had been peaking over at him from where he lay on the passenger seat and once again your voice was in his head: “we can’t just leave him in the car! what if he gets too hot!”
it’s embarrassing but at least you will be happy to know the bear was safe on his journey to you.
summary: Sanzu has been too busy for you lately, so you decide to remind him what he's been missing.
Maybe a surprise office visit, his favorite dress and the lingerie he picked out just for you will jog his memory.
The door barely click shut behind you before his voice cut through the office
“-the fuck do I care? Fix it, you useless fuck. If i have to be there–”
He looked up.
Your eyes met his and whatever he had been about to say next ceased to exist.
“I’ll call you back.” The line went dead before the other person could respond.
For a moment he just looked at you from across the room, something in his expression softening a bit. He crossed over to you and pressed a kiss into your temple, hands finding your waist briefly, grounding himself there.
“Hiya, angel.”
Then he stepped back, ran a hand through his pink tresses and sighed.
“Shit you not, my eyes, the very windows to my soul, have witnessed the single most catastrophic sequence of decisions in the history of decisions. And these people are supposed to be on my side–”
You let him go, trying to interrupt him mid spiral was like herding cats, futile, inadvisable, and ultimately not worth the energy. So you stood there and watched him carve the same path back and forth across his office, every grievance of his day spilling out in exhausting detail but you waited nonetheless.
“--And Rin, that little shit, just stood there breathing out of his mouth–”
He stopped.
Mid sentence, mid step, like something stopped him dead in his tracks. The silence was abrupt enough that you almost said something to fill it. His eyes moved over you slowly, the crease between his brows deepening as his gaze traveled from your head to your feet and back again.
“...What’s different about you today.”
He crossed to you slowly, the rant completely forgotten. Eyes still moving over you like you were a problem he was close to solving.
“Is that–” His hands found your waist before he finished the thought, turning you slightly like he needed a better angle to confirm what he was seeing. The pink dress. His pink dress. The sound that left him was almost indignant, like you personally offended him by looking this good in something he had chosen for you.
“You. You wore this.” His hands smoothing slowly down over your hips, savoring the shape of you, reacquainting himself with something that belonged to him, “You actually wore this.”
“I like this dress. It’s one of my favorites.”
“Mm.” The look that painted his features was something he would never show anyone else - it was soft and completely at odds with everything else about him, his finger tracing the neckline slowly. Something adoring in the way his fingers absentmindedly touched you.
His phone buzzed behind him.
He glanced at the screen and just like that, something in him deflated. He pressed a distracted kiss to your forehead, stepped back and picked it up.
“Speak.” The word landed like a blade. Whatever came back made his eye twitch visibly. “No, go ahead, say that again, slowly this time.” He listened, “Mhm. Yeah, that’s what I thought you said.” He cut off the man on the other end, “You’re going to hang up, sit with your moronic decision and then call me back with something that doesn’t make you sound completely fucking useless.” He listened for approximately three seconds. “You’ve got about, ohhh–” he glanced at the time, “--thirty minutes to fix whatever the fuck this is before i decide to get involved.”
His voice dropped lower, “And you really don’t want that.” He hung up and tossed the phone back onto the desk.
What followed was him collapsing back into his chair - limbs everywhere, head thrown all the way back, eyes fixed on the ceiling like he was pleading for divine intervention.
“I cannot live, laugh, love in these conditions.”
You watched him lie there communicating with the ceiling for a moment longer than was necessary.
You had been patient. Genuinely, impressively patient. But you had not put on this dress, this lingerie, only to stand here and watch your boyfriend ask the ceiling for mercy.
Your heels came off quietly. You crossed the office and leaned back against the edge of his desk, directly in front of him, arms loosely crossed and waited.
Nothing.
You lifted your foot and let it rest lightly against the side of his leg.
His ceiling monologue stopped instantly..
You trailed it upward. Slowly. Dragging up his calf, the inside of his thigh, taking your time with every inch, watching his face the entire way. He tracked the movement, eyes dropping to follow the path of your foot up his leg, his jaw tightening before he looked back up at you.
The hem of your dress had ridden up just enough. Just enough for the garter strap to peek out against your thigh - soft pink against your skin - and the corner of his mouth pulled.
“...ohhhhhhhh, hello.”
He reached down and wrapped his hand around your ankle, thumb stroking once across your bone, almost absentmindedly. Then his palm moved, up your ankle, your calf, the back of your knee, just feeling, just taking his time, his eyes never leaving yours. Like he was in absolutely no hurry to get anywhere and intended to enjoy every second of the journey.
Then without a word he drew your foot forward, deliberately until you could feel him - hard beneath the fabric of his pants, the outline of him unmistakable under your foot. He held you there, letting you feel exactly how hard you were making him, what you had done to him.
Ohh.
He watched you carefully, that small smile playing at the corner of his mouth, waiting to see exactly how far you intended to take this.
So you pressed down. Just slightly, your gaze never leaving his.
His grip tightened around your ankle - not enough to hurt, just enough to stop you – his breath hitched once before he exhaled slowly through his nose. Then his smile returned, entirely too pleased with himself.
“I had a feeling you were scheming the second you walked in.” His thumb stroked once across your foot. “Were you planning to stand there all night and wait for me to notice?”
You tilted your head. “I thought I’d at least give you a chance.”
You pressed again, firmer this time and his head tipped back slightly, a short laugh escaping him.
“You’ve made your point,” he said to the ceiling. Then his eyes found yours again, dark and thoroughly entertained. “Very clearly, darling.”
His thumb traced idle patterns against your leg, you felt the steadiness of his grip, the warmth radiating off of him, the very clear evidence beneath your foot that your plan was working exactly as intended - and you decided you had been generous for long enough.
You pulled your foot back.
His hand caught you before you could even move, fingers tightening around your ankle with ease, like he’s been expecting exactly that move.
He looked up slowly, his smile spreading slowly like he won something.
“Ah ah, where do you think you’re going, sweetheart.”
He rolled his chair forward until he was eye level with the lace at the top of your stocking where it met the garter, and looked up at you with completely innocent eyes.
“I need to examine this more closely.” His lips pressed to the side of your knee, “I can practically feel my sins being forgiven.”
Both hands slid up from your ankle, fingers finding the seam of your stocking and tracing it upward. When he finally reached the lace at the top he traced the edge of it carefully. Memorizing it before his digits found the garter strap.
He pulled it taut and let is snap against your skin.
You bit the inside of your cheek hard, trying to not let any sound or smile escape and give you away.
He saw it anyway, of course he did. He knew exactly what he was doing.
He rose, slowly, lazily, unfolding himself to his full height, his hand trailing up the outside of your thigh as he went. You watched him straighten and felt the dynamic shift instantly. You had to look up to find his eyes now. He stepped closer until the desk met the back of your thighs. Not saying a word, just looking at you, taking his sweet time with you.
You felt him the moment he pulled you in - hard and thick against your stomach, the full length of him pressed flush against you. He kept you right there against it, his hands heavy on your waist, not letting you create any distance. Just holding you there to let you feel every bit. Let you understand exactly what walking through that door tonight did.
Your fingers curled into his shirt.
One finger came up beneath your chin, tilting your face to his.
“All of this–” his eyes dropped briefly, traveling over you, the dress, the lingerie, all of it, before finding yours again, “--for little ol’ me.” A small smile painted his features, “I’m flattered. Truly.”
He kissed you and it was not what you expected. Softer. His lips moved against yours with a gentleness that had no business existing in this same evening, one hand cupping your face carefully. You felt yourself lean into it before you had made the decision, chasing it slightly. His tongue traced your lips - slow and teasing, not quite giving you what you wanted - and the small frustrated sound that escaped you was humiliating.
He smiled against your mouth.
So you bit his lip.
His hips pressed into you hard and the sound that came out of him went straight through you, somewhere between a groan and a laugh, his grip tightening before he caught himself. He pulled back just far enough to look at your face and for a moment his expression was fraying - his composure unraveling slightly, his breathing becoming more uneven.
His thumb dragged slowly across your bottom lip.
“You,” he said quietly.
His mouth found your neck and your breath immediately became unsteady.
“I want it on record–” you started, fingers curling tighter into his shirt, trying to remember what it is you had actually come here today, “--that you have been in this office too long and have barely–”
“Mm.” he kissed lower. “Go on, i’m listening.”
“I’ve been very–” his lips found a spot that dissolved the rest of the sentence entirely. You tried again, “I’ve been patient–”
“Ohh incredibly patient,” he agreed against your collarbone. “The patience of a saint.”
“Don’t–don’t patronize me–”
“Awwwwwww, i would neverrrrrr.”
His hands found your ass and squeezed and he relished every sound that escaped you.
“Ohhhhhh, I’m sorry darling.” Completely remorseless. His lips found your ear, his fingers tracing the garter strap through the fabric. “I bought that for you.” A kiss pressed just below your ear. “Walked into my office, in that dress–” another kiss lower, “--wearing everything I picked out for you.” His teeth grazed just beneath your ear and thinking was becoming genuinely difficult. “Like i wasn’t going to notice.”
He rocked his hips into you. Just barely, almost like he couldn’t help it.
You smiled against his shoulder, tipping your chin up toward his ear.
“That didn’t take much,” you murmured softly. “I expected more self control from you.”
He pulled back and just looked at you for a second, his smile still there but something darker stirring beneath it, disbelief and delight tangled together. A small laugh escaping him at the sheer audacity of your remark.
The smile he wore now was something that should probably concern you.
“I’m going to need you,” he said quietly, “to take a second and remember exactly who you’re playing with.”
You blinked at him.
“You’re so right, darling.” You smoothed his collar carefully, tracing a line with your finger down his tie. “I don’t know what came over me.” You could feel the grin trying to crawl across your face. “I just thought I would pop in and check on you.” An innocent tilt of your head, the smallest pout and then you grabbed his tie pulling him toward you. “I should probably go and let you get back to work.”
You made the smallest move away from him.
His hand caught your waist before you could go anywhere. “Oh no you don’t.”
He picked you up and dropped you onto the edge of the desk in one motion. It took everything in you to suppress the delighted laugh bubbling up inside of you. You pressed your lips together hard, but could barely contain it.
He looked at you, shaking his head slowly. “You are the most fucking diabolical person I have ever met.” He said it like it's the highest compliment he could ever pay someone, “Let’s see how long that confidence of yours lasts, shall we.”
He pressed your knees apart gently and stepped between your thighs. Your dress began to rise, achingly slow, his fingers trailing up the outside of your thigh as the fabric bunched in his hands. He dropped down and pressed his lips just above your knee.
Whatever composure you had left was quietly making its exit.
He moved higher. His mouth dragging up the inside of your thigh in a path so slow it bordered on cruel, each kiss landing a little closer to where you were trying very hard to not think about. The hand you had braced behind you was barely keeping you upright, the other found his hair at some point.
By the time he reached the lace edge of your panties, you had all but abandoned trying to hold yourself together.
His lips pressed to the fabric. Just once. Teeth catching the lace at your hip, he looked up at you from under his lashes and the expression on his face was doing nothing to help your current situation.
“I would love nothing mor than to leave these on you.” His fingers curled into the waistband, “But i’m significantly more interested in what they’re hiding from me.” He flashed a devilish grin, “Forgive me.”
He drew them down slowly and when the light caught the evidence of exactly how this entire evening had gotten to you – he just stilled.
The silence stretched long enough to be completely intentional. His lower lip caught briefly between his teeth, eyes dropping once before cutting back up to your face.
“Mmm.” he said softly, “My sweet angel.” His thumb pressed once into the damp fabric slowly. “Came in here just to check on me, huh.” He tilted his head, mischief glimmering behind his eyes, satisfaction plastering his face. “This feels far from innocent.”
He set them aside carefully, his smile becoming considerably more dangerous. “Seems you’ve been holding out on me, sweetheart.”
You opened your mouth to respond but his fingers slipped between your thighs before you got a word out. He traced you slowly, circling where you were most sensitive and you could feel yourself getting wetter. When he finally dragged his fingers through your slick, the look that crossed his face was the most dangerous thing you’d seen all evening.
His fingers slid into you slowly and your hands flew to his shoulders, gripping hard as the heel of his palm pressed against your clit, his fingers curling up inside you. The combination of everything sent your head tipping back before you caught yourself. Your jaw tightened, you were not about to give him the satisfaction he craved.
He watched every bit of the war happening across your face with what could only be described as delight.
“You know–” he said casually, fingers moving in a slow pace that was making concentration genuinely difficult, “-I’m looking at these documents.” He paused, “under you.” His fingers curled and your grip on his shoulders tightened. “The ones that are currently, and i can’t stress this enough, absolutely ruined.” The heel of his palm pressed against you harder and you tried to suppress the whine trying to claw its way out of yout. “Koko is going to be beside himself. How do I even begin to explain what happened to them.” He tilted his head, eyes bright with amusement. “That my girlfriend came in here and–”
“Don’t–” you started.
He withdrew his hand completely.
The sound that escaped you gave everything away. His fingers traced over your entrance without pushing back in, circling your clit with just enough pressure to keep you right on the edge of losing your mind yet not near enough to give you what you needed.
“Ohhh,” he said softly, leaning in close, whispering into your ear. “I’ve got you now, darling.” His fingers dancing around, teasing everywhere. “All that attitude.” He pressed a kiss on your neck, “Look at you now.”
You rolled your hips desperately trying to catch any friction.
His free hand came down on your hip firmly, stilling you. “Ah ah.” he cooed, “Don’t do that.”
You were done. Done with whatever game you were playing. You didn’t want to win anymore, you just wanted him and didn’t care if he knew anymore.
“Haru–”
He didn’t budge.
“Please.”
Something broke within him. The playful demeanor he held all evening just dissolved. When his eyes met yours again they were dark and completely done.
He reached for his belt.
Unhooking it slowly, his eyes never leaving yours - like losing sight of you for even a moment wasn’t something he was willing to do. The slide of his zipper cut through the stillness of the office and he finally freed himself, wrapping his hand around his length slowly, stroking once, twice, gaze moving over you with an intensity that made your breath catch.
He stepped back between your thighs and dragged himself through your slick.
“Tell me what you want.” His voice came out lower than before. Less steady.
You reached up and took his face into your hands. You kissed him - not teasing, not retaliating - just kissing him. “I want you,” you said against his mouth.
He pushed into you slowly.
The stretch of him pulled a moan out of you that he swallowed with a kiss, his hands gripping your hips as he bottomed out. Moving slowly.
Deep, unhurried strokes that you felt everywhere - felt how he stretched you, how deep he went, the way each thrust sent heat through your entire body. His hands kept you angled to feel every inch of him. Your hands moved restlessly - his shoulders, his hair, fisting the back of his shirt - pulling him closer even though there was no space left between you.
The pace increased. The sounds filling the office, his breath ragged against your skin, your voice catching with every thrust, the creak of the desk beneath you. You felt like the world around you had ceased to exist outside of this moment.
Until the door swung open.
Rindou walked in mid sentence, eyes on his phone already talking. “-Sanzu i need you to look at these before–”
He looked up and was mortified. “Jesus Christ,” he said, very quietly. He took one step back. Then another. His eyes found the ceiling, the wall, the door, anything but the desk, trying to retreat without a word.
Ran appeared over his shoulder taking in the full scene with no care to look away and whistled low.
You had buried your face against Sanzu’s neck, so grateful that your back was to the door, the heat crawling up your face competing with everything else currently happening to you. Why didn’t i lock the door?! You winced to yourself internally.
Sanzu didn’t stop. Didn’t slow down. Didn’t acknowledge the situation in any way except to grip your ass harder, pulling you harder against him. You desperately tried to muffle the sound that escaped you with the sudden movement.
“Gentlemen.” His voice came out completely even. “My hands are a bit full at the moment, little busy.”
Ran laughed, absolutely delighted. “Oh by all means, don’t let us stop you. This is genuinely the most productivity i have ever witnessed in this office.”
“Ran.” Rindous voice called out, already in the hallway.
“Fine, fine.” Ran’s voice was retreating. He called back before closing the door, “Let me know if you ever want a third.”
The door finally clicked shut.
Your face was still buried against him, the heat crawling up your throat in a complicated tangle of mortification and anticipating how you were never going to be able to live this moment down.
His hand came up to your jaw, tilting your face up. “Look at me.”
His eyes were dark and locked in, his chaos narrowed down to a single point. You. His hips kept moving, deeper now and you felt every stroke.
“You know–” he started, his voice lower than before, rough at the edges, his thumb found your clit, “-I’m going to sit at this desk every single day.” His hips snapped harder. “And I’m gonna think about you.” His thumb moved in slow circles, “Spread open for me.” Deeper. “Dripping all over everything.” His eyes moving over your face like he was committing every detail to memory. “Looking exactly like this.”
His hand continued to work you until you were about to see stars.
“So you’re going to come for me.” He said it with certainty. “Right here. On my desk.” His lips found your ear. “Give me something to think about every time i have to sit through another fucking meeting with people who are genuinely testing my penchant for violence.”
The laugh that tried to escape you dissolved immediately when he pressed his thumb harder and snapped his hips faster - winding you unbearably tight.
His praise continued, pushing you mercilessly to your limit.
That’s it.
Look at you, so perfect, so fucking perfect.
Come all over my desk like a good girl.
That’s it angel, right there.
Hearing him like that, completely undone, his voice raw and genuine and only for you…
You came apart.
Hard. Thighs locking around him, hands gripping his shirt, his name spilling from your lips. He groaned low into your neck as he felt you clench around him.
Then he chased his own release.
His grip tightening almost painfully, his pace turning desperate, deep, hard strokes with nothing composed about them anymore. Your face buried in his neck, fingers twisting in his hair, taking everything he gave you.
“Fuc–” He choked out the word.
His hips stuttered through the last of it, burying himself as deep as he could go, riding each wave in slow shuddering movements until there was nothing left.
He finally stilled, his breath wrecked against your neck, his heartbeat gradually slowing. This was the quietest he had been all day.
“Those documents,” he said eventually into your hair, “were casualties of war.” He snorted, “Koko will have to understand.”
Featuring — Bonten!Rindou x Medic!Reader [Tokyo Revengers Angst]
About — Rindou's changed, he only uses you to fix himself.
First story on this blog!! Short though.
Duration — 3.3k characters , 600+ words !
Warning : angst/no comfort , not proofread , lowkey idk lol
You would tell people that you and Rindou were a great loving couple, but that was wrong. Rindou only came to you when something was broken. A bleeding arm, a scraped knee, or even a black eye—he'd knock twice, letting himself into the medic area. He wouldn't even greet you, just walk in and sit down on the recliner seat. Most check-ups were just in silence, he'd ask you where he should sit on rare occasions. You'd hear Ran asking him why he hardly talks to you anymore, and Rindou would just reply with a word and walk off. " Eh. I don't know. "
You always told yourself that it was just the way Rindou showed affection, he wasn't really a type of PDA or touchy person. But, whenever you'd ask if you could have some time alone with him or go out for dinner, he'd always make up excuses " Busy. " and just walk out the door. Denial was always in your mind, he was busy right? He just needs to work. The silence throughout your check-ups wasn't emptiness and just comfort! Those thoughts always kept you going through the day, they were your only motivation since Rindou wouldn't give you any.
But, when you go out for a break. You see Rindou, he's slumped over on the couch talking to one of the women prostitutes with a smile on his face. He hasn't smiled at you in months, your mind starts to fog up, and you speed-walk back into your office. You couldn't do it anymore, tonight had to be the night that you asked him.
" What am I to you? " You stand infront of his office door, breathing heavy. He looked up with you with lazy eyes, he sat at his desk and just sighed.
" Convenient. " He said. The word sank deep into your chest. You've accepted it now, he never came to see you.. he just came to get fixed. He came because he needed to get fixed and go back to fuck himself up again. You didn't cry, that was the first thing that he noticed. You just stare at him with an unreadable expression on your face, he could make out one emotion though.. hurt. He doesn't apologise, he doesn't take it back. He just stares at you with a blank expression back.
" Is that all I am? " you ask, your voice comes out quieter than you expect. " Someone to fix all your little broken bones and bleeding limbs? "
Irritation flickered through Rindou's face, he leans back on his chair with his eyes averted away from you. " Things are different now , I don't have time to baby you anymore. " There was no hesitation in his words. You just let out a scoff, your arms crossed.
" We've been dating since highschool, you've never treated me like this. " You can hear the hurt and tiredness in your voice, he doesn't even spare you a look while you say that. He just exhales loudly and runs his fingers through his hair.
" I couldn't care less about our relationship now, my loyalty belongs to Bonten and Mikey. " His words hit deep like you've been shot through the chest, your eyes widen. You bite the insides of your mouth as you chuckle. Your arms uncross as you turn around and grasp the doorknob, turning it and opening the door.
" Don't bother coming back to me. " You spat out the words of resentment, slamming the door shut as you left. Rindou finally turned his head at the door, a hint of hesitation flashed through his face, but… he couldn't do anything about it now. He couldn't run after you, there was nobody to fix him anymore.
🎬Despite being one of the richest cast members, Takemichi still dresses like a middle schooler.
🎬 At fight choreography practice, Mikey tends to forget that his kicks aren't supposed to connect. He and Izana had to be pulled off each other after Mikey accidentally kicked him in the gut.
🎬 The paparazzi can rarely catch Sanzu. No matter how long they wait to catch a glimpse of him or where they follow, the most they'd get is a photo of the back of his head.
🎬 Kiyomasa acts like he served an important role. You'll catch him on Instagram Live reminiscing about his time working on the show. When asked about Kiyomasa in an interview, Takemichi said, "Who?"
🎬Yamagishi has a talk show. He's basically the Wendy Williams of their world.
🎬Kisaki and Takemichi are best friends and have been since they were 10. They met after being cast as background characters for a show, and have been friends ever since.
🎬The twins use icepacks to soothe their cheeks after filming. Nahoya has a harder time keeping up his expressions than Souya.
🎬Draken and Emma do voice acting in lots of children’s movies. Their kids love to hear their voices in their favourite movies.
🎬Koko's 9-year-old son made a TikTok account, and he had to turn off the comments because they would ask if he knew about a game called Cash App.
🎬Naoto stars in lots of horror and thriller movies, but he's really picky about the films he's in. If the villain is a monster and they don't have an accurate depiction, he won't do it.
🎬People suspected that Rindou had a secret girlfriend when he was seen hugging a mysterious woman. It was Ran with his hair down.
🎬Shinichiro is ran through. The 20 rejection thing was a jab at his 20 failed relationships.
🎬When they were little, the twins used to play as one person. They've been on camera since they were in diapers, and they never take a role without each other.
🎬Shion is a widely disliked nepo baby. He got a role in the show because of who his mother is, so the writers made sure to disrespect his character as much as possible.
🎬Mikey does all his own stunts. He’s also such a danger to himself on set that the directors assign him a babysitter.
🎬Hanma had to publicly apologise after attending an interview high off 🍃, didn’t work cuz he was high while apologising.
🎬Mikey kept slipping and falling over because of the wet concrete during the 8/3 fight scene.
🎬When Senju was little, for her first role, she was cast to play a little boy. Takeomi didn’t like that, so he convinced the director to give her a role for a girl with less screentime.
🎬Mikey fell asleep at an award show and almost missed accepting his award.
🎬 Mitsuya Takashi, aka a stylist's worst enemy. Shows up to fittings telling them 'I got it' and completely outshines their work.
🎬 Kazutora cries after filming for shows and movies end cuz he thinks the rest of the cast will forget him.
🎬 Chifuyu is a fan favorite because he'll get so excited in an interview and accidentally spoil plot points. He usually catches himself mid-sentence and stares at the camera cuz he knows he's cooked.
🎬Takemichi is so good at his crying scenes that even after the cameras cut, he can't stop crying.
🎬 Rindou hates doing kissing scenes. Not because he's nervous, he just thinks they're awkward.
🎬 Izana and Shin have more power over the writers than they like to admit. If they say this scene isn't happening, this scene isn't happening.
🎬 Sanzu got banned from answering fan questions live because he keeps saying, “You’ll see,” even when the topic has nothing to do with the show.
🎬 Hakkai insists he “can’t sing” but somehow lands every musical role he auditions for.
🎬 Koko will play in any movie as any character. As long as they aren't poor.
🎬 Inui spaces out at award shows. There's a ten-minute compilation of him spacing out at the shows and snapping back into reality when people start clapping.
݁Pairing: Ran Haitani x Rindou's ex gf! Y/N˖
Warning: technicallly not cheating but i guess betrayal, cussing, doggy style, missionary, oral: f receiving, y/n is kind of pressured by ran but hes caring, caught in the act
Genre: Smut, Slow-burn
Word count: 4063
Requests: very much open
A/n: hii hope yall like this one <3 u can find it on my ao3 here
Minors DON'T interact
"You said I was- the most exotic flower."
↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺
୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧
The knock echoed louder than she expected. Y/N pulled her hand back like the wood had burned her, staring at the chipped paint on the doorframe where Rindou had accidentally slammed it too hard last summer.
Inside, the house smelled like leather and something faintly metallic—gun oil, maybe, though she’d never asked. Her throat tightened when she heard footsteps, but they were too heavy to be Rindou’s. Ran leaned against the doorframe, shirtless, one eyebrow raised. "He’s not here," he said, like it was an observation, not a warning.
She swallowed hard. His presence filled the hallway, all coiled muscle and quiet intensity. "I just came to collect my things," she managed, gripping the strap of her bag until her knuckles whitened. "If that’s okay." The words sounded small, even to her. Ran didn’t move, just studied her with those unsettling violet eyes, like he was deciding whether to let her in or slam the door shut.
The silence stretched too long. She shifted her weight, hyperaware of the way his gaze tracked the movement. She’d never talked to Ran alone before—not really. Even when she’d been with Rindou, Ran had always lingered just outside their orbit, a shadow with a cigarette dangling from his lips. Now, without Rindou as a buffer, she felt exposed, like prey under a predator’s scrutiny.
“Come in,” he finally said, stepping aside just enough to let her pass. The invitation wasn’t warm, but it wasn’t hostile either—more like a test. She hesitated, then slipped past him, her shoulder brushing his bare chest. The contact sent an unexpected jolt through her. His skin was warm, almost feverish, and she caught the scent of sweat and something darker, something she couldn’t name.
The room was exactly as she remembered, down to the pile of laundry in the corner and the faint smell of weed clinging to the sheets. Rindou’s bed was unmade, the pillow still dented from where he’d slept. Y/N clenched her jaw, refusing to let the memories surface. She moved mechanically, grabbing her hairbrush from the nightstand, the sweater she’d left draped over the chair. Every movement felt too loud in the silence, her breath hitching when Ran leaned against the dresser behind her, arms crossed.
"So, Y/N," he said, voice low, almost conversational. "How’ve you been holding up?" The question wasn’t gentle—it was a challenge, like he already knew the answer. She could feel his eyes on her back, tracing the tension in her shoulders. The air thickened between them, heavy with things unsaid.
She swallowed, fingers curling around the soft fabric of her sweater. "You know it’s hard," she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "But I’m surviving." The words tasted bitter, like she was confessing to a crime. She expected him to laugh—to scoff at her weakness—but instead, she heard him exhale, slow and deliberate.
Ran pushed off the dresser, moving closer. "Rin’s been off lately," he murmured, almost to himself. "Quieter than usual." The way he said it made her ears perk up—not out of concern, but because she recognized the edge in his voice, the same one Rindou got when he was circling something dangerous.
She folded the sweater into her bag too neatly, avoiding his gaze. "Yeah, well. He wasn’t quiet when he told me it was over," she muttered. The memory surged back—Rindou’s cold dismissal, his hands shoved in his pockets like she wasn’t worth the effort of pulling them out. Ran let out a soft huff, almost a laugh, but there was no humor in it.
"You’re a good kid, Y/N," he said, reaching past her to pluck a stray hair tie from the nightstand. He twirled it around his fingers, the elastic snapping taut. "I’m sure some guy’ll come along. Treat you right." The words should’ve been comforting, but the way his thumb brushed the inside of her wrist as he handed the tie back made her pulse stutter.
She didn’t respond. She grabbed her skirt from Rindou’s closet, the fabric still faintly smelling of his cologne. Her hands shook as she folded it, pressing the pleats too hard—like she could smooth out the creases Rindou had left in her life. Ran’s reflection watched her from the mirror across the room, his expression unreadable.
“You think that’s what I want?” she finally said, voice thick. The question hung between them, raw and jagged. Ran didn’t answer immediately, just tilted his head slightly, watching her like she was a puzzle he’d only just noticed.
୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧
She tossed the skirt into her bag with more force than necessary. “You don’t know shit about what I want.” The words tasted like defiance, but her hands betrayed her, fumbling with the zipper. Ran exhaled through his nose, slow, like he was savoring the tension. “Yeah?” He took a step closer, crowding her against the dresser. “Then tell me.” His breath ghosted over her ear—warm, tinged with nicotine. “What do you want, Y/N?”
The proximity should’ve made her shrink back, but instead, heat prickled under her skin. She turned sharply, meeting his gaze head-on. “Not pity,” she snapped. His lips curled, not quite a smile—more like he’d caught her in a lie. “Who said anything about pity?” His thumb brushed the hinge of her jaw, calloused and deliberate. The touch was electric, startling her into stillness.
“It’s so obvious you’re pitying me,” she muttered, but her voice wavered. His thumb stilled, pressing just hard enough to make her gasp. “Okay,” Ran murmured, leaning in until his nose grazed her temple. “Maybe I do pity you.”
The admission shouldn’t have stung—not after everything—but it did. She jerked her head away, only for his hand to slide into her hair, fingers tightening just shy of painful. “But not because you got dumped,” he continued, voice dropping to a growl. “Because you’re still hung up on the wrong fucking brother.”
Her breath hitched. The words slithered between her ribs, sharp and venomous. “Ran, what the fuck are you talking about?” she spat, but the tremor in her voice betrayed her. His grip tightened, tilting her head back until all she could see was the violet of his eyes, dark with something she couldn’t name.
“Rin likes them loud,” he mused, thumb tracing the frantic pulse in her throat. “Bright. Annoying.” A humorless chuckle escaped him. “You—quiet, fucking careful—you were always mine.” The claim reverberated through her, igniting a wildfire under her skin. She tried to shove him back, but he caught her wrist, pinning it against the dresser with a clatter of cosmetics.
Her knee jerked up instinctively—Ran blocked it with his thigh, pressing her harder into the wood. “You guys were a weird fucking pair,” he muttered against her temple, breath scorching. “Like watching a tiger play house with a rabbit.” The analogy was cruel, but it cracked her open, exposing the raw truth she’d buried: Rindou had devoured her in chunks, never noticing she was already half-gone.
Ran’s teeth grazed her earlobe, sharp enough to sting. “He doesn’t know what to do with a girl like you.” The words dripped with condescension. “And every time you fucked, I could tell.” Her stomach twisted.
୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧
"You heard us…?" The realization punched through her, hot and humiliating. The thin walls of the house, the way Ran’s bedroom shared one with Rindou’s—God, he’d heard everything.
Ran’s grin was all teeth. "Every fucking time." He dragged his tongue along the shell of her ear, voice dropping to a whisper. "You’d moan like it hurt—too high, too sweet. Fake as hell." His free hand slid down her side, rough fingers catching on the hem of her shirt. "But I liked it anyway."
She stiffened, breath stuttering. All those nights, all those sounds—he'd been listening, cataloguing her failures like a scientist dissecting a flawed experiment. "You liked them?" she asked, genuinely curious despite the humiliation coiling in her gut. "Really?"
Ran breathed out in a chuckle, low and dark, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "Oh, Y/N," he murmured, voice dripping with something between amusement and cruelty. "You think I cared about the sounds?" His fingers tightened in her hair, tilting her head back further. "I liked knowing you were lying."
Her pulse hammered against his thumb where it pressed into her throat, betraying her. "So you didn’t like the way that I sounded?" she shot back, voice cracking halfway through.
Ran exhaled sharply through his nose, his grip shifting lower to trace the column of her neck. "Y/N," he murmured, lips grazing her jaw, "I don’t know what you really sounded like." The confession hung between them, heavy with implication—he’d only ever heard her performance, the hollow echoes she’d crafted for Rindou’s benefit. His teeth scraped her skin, testing, like he was daring her to prove him wrong.
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders on instinct, fingers digging into the hard planes of muscle there—not pushing him away, not pulling him closer. Just holding on, like she was caught in the riptide of his words. His breath hitched when her nails scraped his back, the sound raw and unguarded. It was the first real reaction she’d ever pulled from him, and it sent a thrill through her.
Ran pulled back just enough to smirk down at her. “So,” he drawled, thumb hooking into the waistband of her jeans, “where does Rin keep his condoms?” The question was crude, deliberate, designed to make her flinch. Instead, she let out a shaky breath, staring up at him. “Top drawer,” she admitted softly, nodding toward the nightstand. “Left side.”
Ran didn’t move, just watched her with those predatory eyes, waiting. “Ran,” she whispered, fingers flexing against his shoulders, “I don’t think we can do this… I still love Rin. I shouldn’t be fucking his brother.”
His laugh was rough, rolling over her skin like gravel. “Y/N, you’re being neglected.” His hand slid down her spine, pressing her flush against him—so close she could feel every ridge of muscle, every hitch of his breath. “I know my brother. He’s not very experienced with stuff like this… sweet girls like you.” The words were silk-wrapped venom. “You ever really come with him?”
She shuddered, fingers tightening in his hair. “Yes, I have,” she said, too quickly. His smirk widened, sharp enough to cut. “Listen, I’m flattered you think I’m a sweet girl,” she breathed, “but don’t you feel shameful? It’s your brother—I don’t want to break that bond.” The protest sounded weak even to her own ears, drowned out by the hammering of her pulse where his thumb traced circles on her hip bone.
Ran leaned in, lips brushing the shell of her ear. “He won’t find out.” His voice was rough, edged with something darker. “And if he does—” His teeth grazed her earlobe, sharp enough to make her gasp. “—he’ll have to learn that he can’t go around neglecting girls.” The threat hung between them, thrilling and terrible.
She gave in—not with teeth and desperation like she had with Rindou, but with something softer, slower. Ran kissed like he fought: deliberate, calculated, each movement designed to dismantle her defenses. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, coaxing rather than demanding, and she opened for him with a shudder. It wasn’t sweetness—not really—but the contrast was dizzying, the way he could make surrender feel like victory.
Her back hit the mattress with a muffled thump, Ran’s weight settling between her thighs like he belonged there. His fingers worked the button of her jeans with practiced ease, the drag of denim against her skin almost painful in its slowness. She arched into the touch, gasping when his palm slid under the waistband of her panties—not tentative, not curious, but assured, like he already knew every inch of her. “Wait,” she breathed, but her hips canted up anyway, betraying her.
୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧
Ran paused, fingers flexing against the damp fabric. “Problem?” His voice was rough, but his eyes were sharp, watching her like he could see the war raging behind her ribs. She swallowed hard, fingers twisting in the sheets—Rindou’s sheets—the same ones they’d fucked on countless times before. The realization hit like a bucket of ice water: she could still smell him here, his cologne clinging to the pillowcases. “Not here,” she whispered, shaking her head. “Anywhere but here.”
He exhaled through his nose, slow, deliberate, before dragging his tongue along the inside of her thigh. The contact burned, his lips pressing into the sensitive skin with a tenderness that contradicted everything she knew about him. “Ran—” His name cracked halfway out of her throat when his teeth grazed the same spot, sharp enough to make her jolt. “Relax,” he murmured against her skin, the vibration making her thighs tremble. “You’re not doing anything wrong.”
Her breath hitched when he hooked his fingers into the lace of her panties, sliding them down in one fluid motion. The air was cold against her exposed skin, but his hands were hotter—rough palms tracing the curve of her hips before settling beneath her thighs. He spread her open with an almost clinical precision, his exhale warm against her center. The first swipe of his tongue was slow, deliberate, like he was savoring the taste of her hesitation.
Ran moaned quietly into her clit—a soft, breathy sound that trembled against her skin. Unlike Rindou, who had always rushed through this part with the same impatient energy he applied to everything, Ran took his time. His tongue circled her in lazy, practiced arcs while his knuckles brushed her inner thighs, coaxing her legs wider apart. She gasped when his nose bumped her clit, the sensation sharper than expected—not pain, but something dangerously close to it. "You okay?" he murmured against her, lips slick with her arousal. The question was perfunctory, but the pause in his rhythm wasn’t; he waited for her shaky nod before continuing.
Her breath came in short, uneven bursts, fingers twisting in the sheets as he worked her over with a patience that bordered on cruel. Every flick of his tongue sent sparks up her spine, her hips jerking involuntarily when he sucked lightly at her clit. The sound she made then—high and desperate—startled her. It wasn’t the practiced moan she’d perfected for Rindou’s benefit; this was raw, unfiltered, embarrassingly real. Ran chuckled against her, the vibration making her shudder. "There she is," he murmured, voice thick with satisfaction. "That’s the sound I wanted."
His hands—soft in a way she hadn’t expected—traced idle patterns on her inner thighs, calloused fingertips ghosting over the sensitive skin just shy of where she needed him most. When he buried his face deeper, his hair tangled against her thigh, brushing the damp skin there in a way that made her twitch. The contrast was maddening: the rough scrape of his stubble against her, the feather-light drag of his fingers, the dark strands of his hair catching on her sweat-slicked skin. She whimpered, thighs trembling around his head, her nails biting into her own palms.
Ran pulled back just enough to smirk up at her, his lips glistening with her slick. “Fuck,” he murmured, thumb circling her clit with agonizing slowness. “Look at you—already shaking.” His voice was rough, darker than she’d ever heard it, and the sound alone sent another wave of heat pooling low in her stomach. She gasped when his fingers slid inside her, curling in a way that made her back arch off the mattress. “Ran—!” His name ripped from her throat, ragged and desperate, nothing like the controlled sounds she’d practiced for Rindou.
It shocked her—how easily he unraveled her. How one deft twist of his fingers could drag a sob from her chest, how his smirk widened when she came apart under his touch. She’d spent months molding herself into Rindou’s idea of perfect, smoothing out her edges until she fit neatly into the hollow of his hands. But Ran didn’t want her polished—he wanted her raw, trembling, gasping his name like a prayer. His fingers crooked inside her, pressing against something that made her vision blur. “There you go,” he purred, watching her fall apart with something akin to reverence. “That’s it.”
୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧
When he finally withdrew—slow, deliberate—she whined at the loss. He opened Rindou’s drawer and reached over for the condom pack, the foil crinkling in his grip. “How do you want me?” The question wasn’t gentle—it was a challenge, his violet eyes dark with promise. Without waiting for her answer, he hooked his thumbs into his black joggers, shoving them down his hips. The lack of underwear wasn’t a surprise—nothing about Ran was coy—but the sight of him, fully hard and leaking against his stomach, punched the air from her lungs. He tore the condom open with his teeth, the plastic splitting with a sharp snap.
She stared, transfixed, as he rolled it down his length with practiced ease. His cock was roughly about two-three inches longer Rindou’s—she would’ve recognized the measurement anywhere—but thicker, the veins more pronounced under taut skin. The tip was darker, flushed almost purple where pre-cum beaded at the slit. “What do you mean…?” she uttered, distracted by the sight of him, her mouth watering despite herself. Ran smirked, palming himself lazily. “On top of you? Behind you? Under you?” Each option dripped with implication, his voice roughened by want. “How.”
Y/N swallowed hard, eyes flickering to the mirror across the room. The angle would be perfect—the reflection would capture everything. Her pulse stuttered at the realization: Rindou’s mirror, Ran’s hands on her, the wrecked flush of her skin. The thought sent liquid heat pooling between her thighs. “Behind,” she murmured, turning onto her stomach before she could second-guess herself. The sheets smelled like Rindou’s detergent, crisp and familiar, but the weight of Ran settling over her was entirely new—his knees bracketing her hips, his chest pressing against her back.
She gasped when his cock brushed her entrance, hot and insistent, the latex catching slightly against her damp skin. He paused there, teasing, his grip tightening on her ass as he angled her hips up. “Relax,” he murmured against the nape of her neck, the words vibrating through her. His breath was ragged, betraying the control he clung to—just barely. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her thighs, spreading her wider as he pushed in with one slow, unrelenting thrust. The stretch burned in the best way, her body yielding inch by inch until he was fully seated inside her.
Ran groaned, low and guttural, his forehead dropping between her shoulder blades. His balls rested against her clit with each shallow rock of his hips, the contact electric—just enough pressure to make her gasp but not enough to tip her over. She arched back into him instinctively, seeking more friction, more him, and he chuckled darkly.
୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧
His hands slid around her waist, fingers splaying possessively over her stomach—not guiding, not forcing, just anchoring her. “Take what you can handle,” he rasped, the words rough against her spine. The encouragement sent heat pooling low in her belly; she could feel him watching every stuttered breath, every minute tremble of her thighs as she adjusted to the stretch. His cock twitched inside her when she rolled her hips, the drag slow and maddening.
Y/N bit her lip, rocking back onto him with careful precision, letting the head of his cock catch deliciously against that sensitive spot deep inside her. She couldn’t take him fully—not yet—but the shallow thrusts sent sparks skittering up her spine, each movement deliberate, controlled. Ran exhaled sharply through his nose, his grip tightening fractionally. “Fuck,” he muttered, hips jerking involuntarily when she angled herself just right. “Like that.”
She groaned, pushing her face into the sheets—partly to muffle the sounds threatening to spill from her lips, partly because the scent of Rindou’s detergent was suddenly overwhelming. Ran took it as surrender, his chuckle vibrating against her spine as he pressed her deeper into the mattress. “That’s it,” he murmured, teeth grazing the shell of her ear. “No more pretending.” His hips snapped forward, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust.
She choked on a moan, back arching as he filled her completely, the stretch bordering on pain. Her fingers twisted in the sheets, knuckles whitening, but Ran merely hummed approvingly—as if he’d been waiting for this exact reaction. “There she is,” he growled, pulling back only to slam into her again, the force knocking her breathless. His hands gripped her hips hard enough to bruise, his rhythm relentless.
The sweetness from before was gone, replaced by something darker, more carnal. Each thrust sent his balls slapping against her oversensitive clit, the dual stimulation almost too much—pain and pleasure blurring into one dizzying sensation. She gasped when he angled his hips just right, the thick head of his cock grinding against that spot inside her that made her vision blur. “Ran—!” His name shattered into a sob as her thighs trembled, her body tightening around him involuntarily.
୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧
Ran growled low in his throat, fingers digging into the backs of her knees as he wrenched her legs over his shoulders in one rough motion. The stretch burned, the new angle forcing him even deeper, her body yielding with a slick, obscene noise. “Fuck, I need to see you,” he gritted out, his pupils blown black with want. The shift in position had her pinned completely, her hips canted up at a brutal angle that left her gasping for air. His hand fisted in her hair, forcing her to meet his gaze as he snapped his hips forward again—harder this time, his smirk widening at her punched-out moan.
She couldn’t hold back the sounds now—they spilled from her lips unchecked, raw and ragged, each thrust punching another gasp from her chest. Ran watched her with rapt fascination, his grip tightening as her thighs trembled around his waist. “That’s it,” he panted, his rhythm stuttering as she clenched around him. “Let me fucking hear you, darling.” His thumb found her clit, pressing down in rough circles, and she sobbed, her nails scrabbling uselessly against the sheets. The pleasure coiled tight in her belly, molten and unbearable, every nerve ending alight.
The front door clicked open downstairs—subtle, distant. Ran’s head snapped up, his smirk widening as he recognized the familiar cadence of footsteps on the hardwood. She was too lost in sensation to notice, her back arching beautifully as he drove into her harder, deeper, the bedframe creaking under their combined weight. His breath hitched when she keened, her body fluttering around him in warning. “Fuck, you’re close aren’t you,” he rasped, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips. “Go on, then. Cum for me.”
She shattered with a muffled cry, her thighs clamping around his waist as pleasure ripped through her. The bedroom door swung open just as Ran’s hips stuttered, his groan low and guttural against her sweat-slicked skin. Rindou stood frozen in the doorway, his grip slack on the doorknob, eyes wide with disbelief. The silence that followed was deafening—broken only by Y/N’s ragged breathing and the slick sound of Ran pulling out. He didn’t bother covering them, just met his brother’s stare head-on, his expression daring Rindou to react.
୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧
Ran’s fingers slid from her jaw to her throat, his thumb pressing lightly against her pulse as if to remind her who she belonged to now. Y/N couldn’t look away from Rindou’s shattered expression, his lips parting soundlessly before twisting into something raw and ugly. The crumpled condom wrapper on the nightstand caught the light, its crinkled foil glinting mockingly between them.
She just blinked at him, horrified. “Rin, I—” The door slammed before she could finish, the force rattling the mirror on the wall. Ran exhaled through his nose, almost bored, his grip tightening possessively around her waist as she scrambled to pull the sheets up over herself. “You knew,” she whispered, nails digging into his forearm. “You fucking knew he was home.”
Ran merely hummed, rolling onto his back and stretching like a satisfied cat. The condom glistened obscenely when he tugged it off, tossing it toward the trash bin with lazy precision. “Shh, sweetheart,” he murmured, fingers trailing idly down her spine. “Rest up.” His voice was syrup-thick with amusement. ♡
content: NOT SFW! + this is fully written in ran’s pov! + just a trip to pound town fr + stalker ran haitani + bonten!ran + fem!reader + implied stalking + established relationship
hope you like it ><
this was a request but the tumblr ate it so idk where it went 😓
—
A simple kiss had him star struck. The gentle press of her mouth against his, the way she had held onto the front of his shirt before she moved her hands up to his neck, trying to deepen the kiss but it was to no avail. She had lost grip of her footing on the ground and if it weren’t for Ran, she would have fallen right on the ground. And then she had left him after muttering an apology.
And here he is outside her apartment complex, admiring her from afar, watching her through her window.
‘My sweet girl never sleeps.’
That thought alone made him almost act on his intrusive thoughts, and he was about to get to up there to help her sleep. But it’s not time for that yet.
She doesn’t need to know I’ve always watched her. That I have orchestrated every fateful meeting we’ve had is an information that’s gonna be far away from her knowledge.
Ran loves to watch her. Even though she’s on the third floor, at the spot he is in, he can see everything and he watches her till she turns her lights off. It could go from half an hour to way more than that. And he loves it.
Ran sees how she tries to braid her hair but she regrets it halfway and ties her hair to a low ponytail. And she looks at herself in her mirror, rubbing her eyebags before she rubs her eyes but it’s to no avail. He can see how she groans and turns the light off.
It’s time.
And she’s a pretty little thing.
He never would’ve imagine that she’d talk to him first after orchestrating every encounter. Before she talked to him first, he’d always been in her proximity but he never spoke to her, even though his entire soul itches to be closer to her and speak to her.
And it’s been months of talking to her, hearing her voice in front of him instead of through the wireless audio bug he planted inside her apartment.
And he can now look at his pretty girl instead of through her window or on the monitors he set up inside his home, so he can watch her through the small wireless cameras he installed in her home.
—
Fuck.
Her eyes screwed shut in bliss, her hair tossed over messily on the pillow and the way she’s clenching down on my cock.
Lord, never take her away from me. Or else I join her even though I won’t have a spot in heaven, best believe I’m gonna be the most devoted follower just so I can have her to me in paradise.
“Ran—“ her soft moans, I could eat them up.
Thrusting into her like a devoted boyfriend I am to her, I look at her. She’s beautiful. Her hands is fisting the sheets, her breasts are covered in my love bites and I just couldn’t help but tighten the grip I have on her waist and love her harder.
Choked gasps escapes her mouth and her eyes opens as she looks at me with that cock drunken face.
“No, slower!” She shakes her head and she reaches her hands out to get a hug, but not now. She grips onto my hands on her waist, tears running down her face as she pleads for me to not go so fast. I lean my upper body down, pressing a kiss on her mouth.
“I just love you so much, sweet doll.” I coo at her sweetly.
“Fucking you hard is just showing how much I adore you.” And she moans at the sweet words and goes to hold onto the pillow below her head and she clenches down on me hard, her thighs shuddering and she comes with a sweet loud moan.
I thrust into her a few more, feeling my pace slow down a little. And as I give one last thrust, my cum fills her gummy walls, marking her mine further more.
She reaches her arms out to me and I finally give my darling girl her long awaited hug.
She’s always gonna be mine.
—
DICK ME DOWN RAN HAITANI PELASPELEPWALSLEPELEASDELEELAPSLWLLSDE uh stay safe yall, idk who that freak was 😓
if you enjoyed this, please leave a like and reblog! that would be veryyyyyy appreciated<33
☆ summary. when one of sanzu’s breakdowns escalates into a dangerous test of loyalty, your captors’ reactions reveal how deeply entangled the four of you have become. but under the quiet sprawl of stars, you’re forced to confront whether this connection is a fatal illusion— or the first real thing you’ve felt in years.
☆ warnings. extremely dark content, please read all the warnings. 18+ ; MDNI. bonten timeline. bank robbery. hostage situation. guns. kidnapping. chloroform. cigarettes. anxiety. panic attacks. objectification. misogyny. sanzu has a drug addiction. stockholm syndrome. brief mention of cancer.
☆ wc. 7.9k words
☆ author's note. hi guys! i actually struggled a lot with this chapter because i wasn't sure if the pacing is going too slow, but i think it's safe to say that this series will definitely be longer than 7 chapters! i realized it's actually impossible to wrap everything up in two more chapters, especially with all the ideas i have (': so my apologies to everyone who wanted a conclusion soon but i promise i won't make you wait until the last chapter for smut now <333
╰ pretty hostage m.list | previous chapter | next chapter
You wake to cold sheets.
Your hand reaches across the mattress before your mind fully catches up, searching for warmth that isn't there anymore. The bed still holds the impression of another body— a Ran-shaped hollow in the mattress beside you with an indent where his head rested on the pillow.
He left.
The realization settles over you like cold water, and with it comes a feeling that you immediately recognize as absurd. Worse than absurd— it's pathetic. You have no right to feel abandoned. You have no right to feel anything about Ran's absence except maybe relief.
But the empty bed feels like rejection anyway.
You sit up slowly, pulling your knees to your chest as you try to identify the exact moment you started expecting him to stay. When did you begin to rely on the weight of his arm draped across your waist? The sound of his breathing evening out in the darkness? The way he'd murmur something unintelligible when you shifted, pulling you closer without fully waking?
He's your captor. He held a gun to your head. He's the reason you're here in the first place.
But.
You dig your nails into your palms, jaw clenched against the hot pressure building behind your eyes. What's wrong with you? The question sits in your throat, bitter and unanswerable. This is what they do— what they've been doing since day one. Breaking you down so gradually you don't notice the erosion until you’re already worn smooth, reshaped into something that fits in their hands.
Forcing yourself out of bed, your feet hit the cold hardwood, and the temperature change jolts you further into wakefulness, chasing away the last remnants of sleep. Your reflection catches in the mirror across the room, and for a moment, you barely recognize yourself.
The girl who walked into that bank a week and a half ago wouldn't recognize you either. She had a routine, a job, a life that was small but predictable. Safe. Boring, maybe, but it was hers.
This girl staring back at you? You don't know who she is anymore.
Trudging down the stairs, the kitchen is brighter than your room, with late morning sunlight streaming through the windows. There's breakfast laid out on the counter— eggs kept warm under foil, toast stacked on a plate, and coffee in the pot still hot. You pour yourself a cup, and steam curls up into the cool air. They haven't been gone long, then. Or at least one of them hasn't.
You're adding sugar to your coffee when you hear footsteps on the stairs, heavy and uneven. Not Ran's measured tread or Rindou's purposeful stride.
Sanzu.
He appears in the doorway looking like death personified. His pink hair is a disaster, sticking up in every direction, and the tank top he's wearing is on backwards, the tag visible at his throat. But it's his eyes that stop you cold— pupils contracted to pinpricks, the blue around them almost colorless in the harsh morning light. His skin has a grayish cast, and there's a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead despite the cool air circulating through the house.
He's coming down. Hard.
You've seen him high before, seen him manic and energized and moving at twice the speed of a normal person. But you've never seen the aftermath like this— the crash when the chemicals run out and his body starts demanding payment for all that borrowed energy.
“Morning,” you venture carefully, keeping your voice soft and non-threatening.
He doesn't respond, doesn't even acknowledge that you spoke. He just moves past you to the coffee pot with jerky movements that remind you of a wounded animal. His hands shake as he pours, liquid sloshing over the rim of the mug and onto the counter, but he doesn't seem to notice, lifting the mug to his lips before grimacing at the heat or the taste or both.
You retreat to the kitchen island with your own mug, perching on one of the tall chairs as the silence stretches out between you. You can feel the volatility coming off him in waves, like heat shimmering on summer asphalt.
“I can make you a plate if you're hungry,” you offer, gesturing to the food Rindou left out.
“Not hungry.” His voice is hoarse, scraped raw. He still hasn’t looked at you, continuing to stare down into his coffee.
You sip your own coffee and say nothing else. Sometimes the best thing to do with Sanzu is to be quiet and let him work through whatever's happening in his head without external interference.
The silence continues for several more minutes. You can hear the kitchen clock ticking, marking time in a way that feels oppressive as Sanzu drinks his coffee in small sips. His hands are still shaking slightly, knuckles white where they grip the mug.
“Where's Ran?” The question comes out before you can stop it, your voice sounding too loud in the silence.
Now Sanzu looks at you, pale eyes focusing with an intensity that makes you want to lean back. “Why?” There's something cruel in his tone. “You miss him already?”
You don't answer, taking another sip of coffee to avoid having to respond.
“He had business,” Sanzu continues, circling around the island toward you. “Rindou too. Went for a run first— very disciplined, our Rindou— then business.” He takes another sip of coffee before his mouth twists. “So it's just you and me this morning, princess.”
The endearment sounds wrong in his current state— less playful and more poisonous. Like he's turned the word into a weapon.
“Sanzu—” you start, but he cuts you off.
“Don't.” He sets his mug down hard enough that coffee sloshes out again, adding to the puddle already on the counter. “Don't do that. Don’t use that soft voice like I'm a bomb you're trying to defuse. I'm not gonna fuckin’ explode.”
“I wasn't—”
“You were.” He's still approaching, backing you into the counter without touching you, using his presence alone to trap you. “You do it with all of us. Learned what makes us tick and figured out how to manage us.” His smile is all teeth. “You’re a smart girl, but y’know what? I'm not feelin’ very manageable today.”
Your heart is hammering against your ribs so hard it hurts. This is different from his usual demeanor— that has an element of play to it, a sense that despite the unpredictability, he's in control. This is rawer, more jagged around the edges.
“Where's your breakfast?” he asks suddenly, his gaze dropping to your empty hands. “We have all this food and you're not eatin’. Rindou made it special, and you're not even touchin’ it.”
“I wasn't very hungry either.”
He reaches past you and grabs a piece of toast from the plate. “Eat.”
You take the toast, acutely aware of how close he is. The edge of the counter presses into your back, but you force yourself to take a bite. It tastes like sawdust in your dry mouth, but you swallow it down.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, and the words make your skin crawl because they sound nothing like when Ran says them. “See? You're so good at followin’ orders now. Bet you didn't even think about it, did ya? Just did what you were told like a pretty lil’ pet.”
“Why are you doing this?” Your voice comes out steadier than you feel.
Something flickers across his face. “Doin’ what?”
“Being cruel.”
The words hang between you, stark and accusatory, and Sanzu laughs, the sound making the hair on the back of your neck rise to attention. “Cruel? Oh baby, this isn't cruel.” But there's something almost vulnerable underneath the venom, something that looks like pain if you squint hard enough. “You want to know what's cruel? Ran crawlin’ into your bed at night like you're his fuckin’ girlfriend. Rindou lookin’ at you like you're—”
He cuts himself off, jaw clenching hard enough that you can see the muscle pulse.
“You're gettin’ too comfortable here,” he says, his voice dropping lower. “And that's dangerous. For all of us.”
“What do you want from me?” The question bursts out as frustration overrides fear. “You took me. You’re keeping me here. You’re making me live with you. What the fuck do you want from me? To stay terrified forever? To spend every day crying and begging to go home?”
His eyes widen slightly. You haven’t sworn at him since the first night in the house. You've been careful, trying to survive by being accommodating, but something inside you has snapped.
“There she is,” he says, and there's something almost reverent in his voice. “I wondered where that girl went. The one who pounded on the window and cried to go home.” He leans in closer, close enough that you can see your reflection in his eyes. “Where'd she go, huh? What'd we do to her?”
You don't have an answer. The girl he's describing feels like a stranger, someone you used to know but can't quite remember anymore. That girl thought she had something to go back to. That girl believed rescue was coming.
Sanzu stares at you for another long moment, then he steps back abruptly, releasing you from the invisible cage of his presence. “Finish your breakfast,” he says, his voice flat now, emptied of the cruel edge. “I'm going back to bed.”
He leaves the kitchen without another word, taking his coffee with him. You hear his footsteps on the stairs, the creak of his door opening and closing, and the loud thump of music starting up moments later.
You're left alone in the kitchen with a piece of half-eaten toast in your hand and your heart still racing.
Your coffee has gone cold.
—
The afternoon passes in tense, uncomfortable silence.
Sanzu doesn't come back downstairs. His music plays on a loop— aggressive and angry, the kind that's meant to drown out thoughts rather than accompany them. You try to read, curling up in the living room with the same Camus novel you've been working through, but the words blur together. You can't sink into the narrative when your own reality feels so unstable.
Around four, you hear Ran's voice in the entryway and Rindou's lower rumble in response. They're back. The relief that washes over you is immediate and damning— you shouldn't be this happy to see them, but you are.
You stay in the living room, giving them space to decompress while you listen to the sounds of them moving through the house. Water running and doors closing, the low murmur of conversation you can't quite make out. Normal sounds that shouldn't feel as comforting as they do.
Around six, you make a decision. You're not sure what possesses you to do it— maybe it's the need to feel useful again. Maybe it's because you're tired of feeling like a ghost haunting their space, taking up room but barely contributing anything.
Or maybe— and this is the thought that makes your hands shake as you pull ingredients from the fridge— maybe you're trying to prove Sanzu wrong. To prove that you can exist here and participate in their life without it meaning what he thinks it means.
You find chicken in the freezer and vegetables in the fridge. There's rice in the pantry, soy sauce, fresh ginger, and sesame oil. You can make something with this.
You set to work, losing yourself in the familiar rhythm of cooking. Dicing the chicken into uniform pieces. Slicing the vegetables thin and even. Measuring the rice, rinsing it until the water runs clear, and setting it to cook. The mundane tasks quiet your racing thoughts, giving your hands something to do.
Ran finds you first, drawn by the sounds and smells of cooking. He appears in the doorway, suit jacket already discarded somewhere, tie loosened with the top button of his shirt undone.
“Well, well, well,” he says, and you can hear him smiling. “What's all this?”
You glance over your shoulder, offering a small shrug. “I got bored. Thought I'd make myself useful.”
“Mmm.” He moves into the kitchen, coming to stand beside you at the stove. “Smells amazing. What are we having?”
“Teriyaki chicken and stir-fried vegetables with rice.”
“Impressive.” His hand comes to rest on the small of your back, and the touch sends heat radiating through your body that has nothing to do with the stove. “Where'd you learn to cook like this?”
“My mom.” The answer comes automatically, and then you freeze, because you haven't talked about your life before. You haven't allowed yourself to think about your apartment standing empty, or your job that’s probably been filled by someone new, or your mother who's definitely called your phone dozens of times only to find a voicemail box that's been full for days—
“Hey.” Ran's voice slices through the spiral, his hand pressing more firmly against your back. “Stay here with me. Don't go there.”
You focus on stirring the vegetables, on the sizzle and pop of oil, on the way the colors brighten as they cook. “I'm here.”
“You know what I mean.”
You do. He's asking you not to disappear into your head. Not to dwell on the life you can't get back to. Not to succumb to the guilt and grief of everything you've lost. He's asking you to stay in this moment, in this kitchen, with his hand on your back and dinner cooking on the stove.
You're saved from having to respond by Rindou's entrance. He's showered since you saw him last and changed into clean clothes— soft gray sweatpants and a black V-neck. His hair is still damp, pushed back from his face, and his eyes track from you to the stove to Ran's hand on your back.
“She's making dinner,” Ran explains, unnecessarily.
Rindou grunts, moving to the fridge. “You don't have to do that.”
“I wanted to.” It's true, you realize as you say it.
Pulling a bottle of water from the fridge, Rindou drinks it in silence as he leans against the counter, watching you work. It should feel uncomfortable, being observed like this, but it doesn't. It feels almost normal— like you're just roommates sharing space.
You're plating the food when Sanzu comes downstairs. You hear him before you see him— his footsteps heavier than usual, that telltale unevenness that means he's still not quite right. When he appears in the kitchen doorway, he's changed clothes too, looking marginally more human than he did this morning, but his eyes still have that brittle quality that makes you nervous.
He stops in the doorway, taking in the scene— the three of you gathered around the counter, the home-cooked meal laid out on plates, the easy way Ran's still touching you while Rindou sets out silverware.
Something dark crosses his face.
“How adorable,” he says, his voice dripping with an acidity that burns. “Playin’ house again, are we?”
The temperature in the room drops twenty degrees. Ran's hand falls away from your back, and Rindou goes still, water bottle halfway to his mouth.
“Sanzu,” Ran says quietly, his voice carrying a clear note of warning.
But Sanzu's already moving into the kitchen, that neurotic energy back in his movements despite the obvious exhaustion weighing him down. “No, this is good. This is great, actually. Our pretty little hostage is makin’ us dinner like the good housewife she is." He picks up one of the plates you've prepared and examines it with exaggerated interest. “You put a lot of effort into this, didn't ya? So thoughtful.”
“Sanzu.” Rindou now, his voice harder than Ran's. “Drop it.”
“Drop what?” Sanzu's smile is sharp enough to draw blood. “I'm just appreciating the way she's settlin’ in so nicely.” His eyes find yours and hold your gaze. “Tell me somethin’, princess. What do you think’s happenin’ here?”
You don't answer. You can't find any words that won't make this worse.
“You think you're one of us now?” He takes a step closer, and Ran and Rindou both tense but don't intervene— not yet. They're giving him rope, waiting to see if he'll hang himself with it. “You think ‘cause you cook our dinners and sleep in our beds and learn our little quirks, that makes you part of this? Part of us?”
“That's enough,” Ran says, pushing off the counter, but Sanzu talks over him.
“You're a fuckin’ hostage!” The words crack through the kitchen like a gunshot. “That's all you are. All you'll ever be!”
The silence that follows is absolute. You can hear your own heartbeat thundering in your ears, feel the sting of tears you absolutely refuse to let fall. Not here. Not in front of him. Not when he's looking at you like this, like he's trying to break something inside you just to prove he can.
Sanzu reaches behind him and pulls out the gun he always carries tucked into his waistband. Your body locks up instantly, but he doesn't point it at you. Instead, he sets it on the counter between you with a heavy thunk that echoes through the kitchen.
“You know what usually happens to hostages?” His voice has gone quiet now, almost conversational. “Want me to tell you?”
“I swear to god—” Rindou starts, taking a step forward, but Sanzu cuts him off with a scowl.
“Stay out of this, Rin. This doesn't concern you.”
“The fuck it doesn't—”
But Sanzu's already picking up the gun again. He checks the chamber, and when he finds it empty, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a single bullet, holding it up to the light so you can see it clearly.
“They get used up. Wrung out for whatever information or leverage they're worth.” He loads the bullet. “And then, when they're not useful anymore…” He snaps the chamber shut. “They disappear.”
You can't breathe. You can’t move. You can’t bring yourself to look away as he holds the gun loosely in his hand, his finger nowhere near the trigger, but the threat implicit in every line of his body.
“One bullet,” he says, almost gently. Almost tenderly. Like he's explaining something to a child. Then he does something that stops your heart— he holds the gun out to you, handle first. “Go ahead. Take it.”
“Absolutely fucking not.” Ran moves toward you.
“Shut the fuck up, Ran.” Sanzu barks, holding up his other hand to motion him to stop. “She's a big girl. She can make her own decisions. Can't you, princess? Take the gun.”
Your hands are shaking so badly that you almost drop it when he presses it into your palm. The weight is familiar now— he taught you to shoot in the basement, stood behind you with his hands over yours and his breath hot on your neck as he murmured instructions. But this is different. This isn't target practice. This is real.
“Point it at me,” Sanzu instructs, backing up a step and spreading his arms wide. “Right here.” He taps his chest, over his heart. “C’mon.”
“What the fuck are you doing?” Rindou's voice has gone sharp with something that might be panic.
“Provin’ a point.” Sanzu's eyes never leave yours, bright and feverish. “Do it. Point the gun at me.”
The gun wavers in your grip. You can barely hold it, your arms shaking so badly that the barrel dips and rises erratically.
“Is it because you can't?” Sanzu continues, taking a step closer even though you're pointing a loaded weapon at him. “Or is it because you won't?” Another step, and now he's close enough that you'd have to be deliberately trying to miss. “Which is it? Are you too weak to pull the trigger, or are you too comfortable here to want to leave?”
“Stop,” you whisper, and you hate how your voice breaks.
“Make me.” He's close enough now that the gun barrel is pressed directly against his chest, right over his heart. His hand comes up to cover yours, pressing it more firmly against his chest. “Do it. Pull the trigger. Prove you're still that girl who got taken, not the girl who decided to stay.”
“Get your fucking hands off her.”
Before you can process what's happening, Rindou is across the kitchen in three strides. He rips Sanzu away from you with such force that Sanzu stumbles backward. The gun drops from your hand, clattering to the floor and spinning on the tile between you.
The first punch lands before Sanzu can get his guard up— Rindou's fist connecting with his jaw in a crack that makes you flinch. Sanzu's head snaps to the side, blood immediately springing from his split lip, and then Rindou hits him again. And again.
“She's not—” Punch. “—yours—” Punch. “—to break.”
It's quick and brutal and completely one-sided. Sanzu doesn't fight back, taking the hits and letting blood dribble down his chin. There’s a wild look in his eyes like this is what he wanted all along. Like he needed this, needed the violence to match what's happening inside his head.
Ran finally moves, grabbing Rindou's arm before he can land another punch. “Enough, Rin.”
Rindou shakes him off but steps back, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. His knuckles are split open, blood dripping onto the pristine kitchen floor. Sanzu straightens slowly, touching his mouth and examining the blood on his fingers with detached curiosity.
“Feel better?” he asks, and he's smiling. Actually smiling, even though it makes his split lip bleed harder. Laughing, even though it comes out wet and thick.
“Get out,” Rindou snaps. “Get the fuck out of here before I actually hurt you.”
Sanzu looks from Rindou to you, then down at the gun on the floor between you. He laughs again— an eerie, broken sound that makes something inside your chest ache.
“She didn't shoot me,” he mutters as he wipes the blood from his chin with the back of his hand. “She had the gun.. I gave her permission— practically begged her to do it.” His eyes find yours, and he holds your gaze with an uncomfortable intensity. “And she didn't.”
Then he's gone, shouldering past Ran and heading up the stairs. A door slams shut somewhere above, hard enough that you feel it in your bones.
The kitchen is silent except for Rindou's harsh breathing and the drip, drip, drip of blood hitting the floor. You're still staring at the gun lying there on the white tile, black and deadly against the smooth surface.
“Are you hurt?” Ran asks, moving toward you carefully.
You shake your head, unable to form words yet.
“Look at me.” He steps in front of you, his hand catching your chin, fingers firm but not painful. He tilts your face up, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Are. You. Hurt.”
“No.” The word comes out hoarse, and you have to swallow twice before you can speak again. “I'm not hurt.”
Ran's eyes flick to Rindou, and then Rindou is turning away, his bloodied knuckles still clenched into white-knuckled fists as he stalks toward the door.
“Where are you going?” you ask, brows pinching together.
He pauses in the doorway, but he doesn't turn around. His shoulders are rigid, every muscle in his body pulled taut. “Roof. Need to cool off before I go back up there and finish what I started.”
“Rindou—”
“I'm fine.” He cuts you off, his jaw working. “Just need some air.”
Then he's gone too, and you're left alone with Ran in a kitchen that smells like dinner and blood.
Almost immediately, Ran guides you away from the kitchen— away from the gun and the metallic scent of copper and the ruined dinner still sitting on the stove. He sits you down on the couch in the living room and presses a glass of water into your shaking hands. “Drink.”
You obey mechanically, the cold water helping anchor you back in your body.
“He's not wrong, you know,” Ran says quietly, sitting beside you on the couch. “About you getting comfortable here. About things changing.”
You turn to look at him, searching his face for— what? Condemnation? Agreement with Sanzu's assessment? But his expression is softer than you expected.
“But he's wrong about why that scares him,” Ran continues. “Do you know why Sanzu breaks the things he cares about?”
You shake your head.
“Because that's the only way he knows how to interact with them. Breaking things is safe— you know what's going to happen, you're in control of the destruction. But caring about something that might leave, that might be taken away?” Ran's smile is sad. “That terrifies him.”
The explanation sits heavy in your chest, settling alongside all the other complicated truths you've accumulated about these men. You think about Sanzu's face when he walked into the kitchen and saw you cooking, the barely concealed panic underneath the cruelty.
“I should have stopped him sooner,” Ran says, and now there's regret in his voice. “Before it went that far. Before he put a gun in your hands. I'm sorry.”
“You're apologizing to me?” The absurdity of it makes you laugh, borderline hysterical. “You kidnapped me, Ran. You held a gun to my head and drugged me and now you're apologizing because your friend had a breakdown in the kitchen?”
“I did all those things,” Ran agrees, not flinching from it. “Doesn't mean I want you traumatized in my kitchen. There's a difference between necessary cruelty and pointless harm.”
You laugh again, and this time it doesn't stop. It bubbles up from somewhere deep in your chest, and you can't make it quit. You're laughing or crying or both, and Ran just pulls you against his chest and lets you shake apart, one hand moving in slow circles on the small of your back while you come undone.
—
You sit on the couch for over an hour after Ran leaves you— he had phone calls to make, damage control for whatever business they'd been handling today. The house feels too quiet around you, and the kitchen is still a disaster zone. The dinner you'd made sits abandoned on the stove, probably cold now, congealing in its dishes.
You keep thinking about the weight of the gun in your hands. About how Sanzu was right— you could have done it. You could have pulled the trigger and watched him fall, made a run for it while Ran and Rindou were too shocked to react. The math was simple: one of them injured or dead, two others caught off guard, and you with a head start.
But the thought never even crossed your mind. Not in any serious, actionable way.
That's what scares you most— not that you had the opportunity and didn't take it, but that taking it never felt like a real option. Like somewhere along the way, escaping stopped being the goal.
When did that happen? When did you stop wanting to leave?
The question circles your mind like a vulture, and you don't have an answer you're willing to examine too closely.
Eventually, you can't sit still anymore. The walls of the living room feel like they're closing in, the air too thick to breathe properly. You need to move. Need to see the sky and feel air that hasn't been circulated through the house's ventilation system.
You find the entrance to the roof in the hallway outside Rindou's room— a hatch in the ceiling with a pull-down ladder attached. You've never been up there before, but you heard him mention it a few times, talking to Ran about needing air when the house got too claustrophobic.
The ladder creaks under your weight as you climb, each rung protesting your presence. Cool night air hits your face as you push through the hatch, and then you're out, standing on the flat roof under an open sky studded with stars.
Rindou is sitting near the edge with his back against a raised lip, one knee drawn up with his arm resting on it. He's smoking— you can see the cherry glowing orange in the darkness, the tang of tobacco carried on the breeze.
“You shouldn't be up here,” he says without turning around. His voice is clipped, but he doesn't tell you to leave.
You cross the roof carefully, and when you reach him, you hesitate for just a moment before sitting down a few feet away, leaving space between you that feels both necessary and insufficient.
“I wanted to thank you,” you say, looking out at the Shibuya skyline rather than at him. “For earlier.”
“Don't.” He takes a drag from his cigarette and exhales, lazy tendrils of smoke curling up into the air. “Don't thank me for basic human decency. That's a really low bar.”
“Is that what it was?” You risk a glance at him. “Basic human decency?”
He finally looks at you, and in the moonlight, his lavender eyes are shadowed. “What else would it be?”
You don't answer. You don't know how to put it into words— the barely controlled fury you saw in every punch, the way he'd looked at you afterward like he was checking for cracks in your foundation.
“Why did you stop him?” you ask instead, the same question from downstairs, but it means something different up here.
Rindou is quiet for a long time. He finishes his cigarette, stubbing it out beside him. “Because you're not a toy,” he says. “And he needs to remember that.”
“He was right, though,” you continue, pulling your knees up to your chest and wrapping your arms around them. “About me getting comfortable. About…” You pause, choosing your words carefully. “I didn't pull the trigger.”
“Of course you didn't. You're not a killer.”
“Maybe not,” you admit. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I had the chance and I didn’t take it.” You press your forehead to your knees, voice muffled against your legs. “What does that make me?”
Rindou shifts beside you, and you can feel his eyes on you. “Human. It makes you human.”
You lift your head. “Is that supposed to be comforting?”
“It’s honest.” He shrugs, taking another drag from his cigarette before exhaling slowly. “Do you think pulling that trigger would have made you something better?”
“No! I just… I just know that when Sanzu put that gun in my hands, the only thing I could think about was how much it would hurt to use it.” The confession spills out before you can stop it. “How wrong it felt to even consider it.”
Rindou doesn’t speak for a long moment— so long that you think maybe you’ve said too much, revealed something that’s changed everything irrevocably. Your heart hammers against your ribs as you wait for his response.
Then, unexpectedly, he stubs out his cigarette and stands, offering you his hand.
“Come on.”
You stare at his extended hand, your brows dipping into a slight furrow. “Where are we going?”
“Just trust me.” His voice is softer than you’ve ever heard it, and you blink up at him before laying your hand in his, allowing him to help you up and lead you to a different section of the roof. Here, the view is less obstructed— the stars scattered across the darkness like diamond dust.
He sits, tugging you down beside him, and points upward. “Look.”
The sky stretches above you, vast and infinite and beautiful in a way that steals your breath. You've lived in Tokyo your whole life, and you've forgotten what it's like to really see the stars— to feel small beneath their endless expanse.
“That's Cassiopeia,” Rindou says, tracing the distinctive W shape with his finger. “The queen who was so vain she claimed to be more beautiful than the gods, so they put her in the sky as punishment. And there—” He shifts slightly, his shoulder brushing yours as he points to another constellation. “Cygnus. The swan. In Greek mythology, it's Zeus hoping to woo another conquest.”
“How do you know all this?” Wonder colors your voice. Of all the things you've learned about Rindou thus far, this wasn't something you would have guessed. He seems too practical for something as abstract as astronomy.
His hand drops, and for a moment, you think he won't answer. When he does, the words come out rough, like they cost him something to say. “My mom taught me. Before everything went to shit.”
He pulls out another cigarette but doesn't light it, rolling it between his fingers in a nervous gesture you've never seen from him before. “She used to take me and Ran out on the balcony and point them out. Said that no matter how bad things got down here, the stars stayed the same. That they'd been there for thousands of years and they'd be there for thousands more.”
He's never talked about his past before. None of them have, not in detail. They've dropped little hints here and there— references to a life before this one, mentions of choices and circumstances— but nothing concrete. Nothing this personal.
“What happened?” you ask softly, afraid that speaking too loudly might shatter the moment. “To make everything go to shit?”
“She got sick.” He finally lights the cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating the harsh lines of his face. “Cancer ate her up from the inside.”
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, and although sincere, the words feel painfully inadequate.
“Why are you apologizing? You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Neither did you. Neither did Ran. You were just kids.”
“Well, kids don't stay kids for long in our world.” His smile is bitter. “You grow up fast, or you don't grow up at all. And we had to grow up real fuckin’ fast.”
You don’t know what to say to that, so you just sit with him in silence for a few moments. The stars continue to sparkle overhead, indifferent to the small tragedies playing out beneath them.
It's only when Rindou lifts his cigarette to his mouth that you notice the state of his hands. The movement draws your attention, and your breath catches when you see his knuckles properly for the first time since coming up here.
The skin is split across two of them, angry red edges crusted with dried blood. The surrounding flesh has already started to bruise, mottled purple and blue spreading across his hand. It looks painful— it has to be painful— but he hasn't mentioned it once.
“Your hands,” you say, reaching out instinctively before stopping yourself. “I didn't realize they were that bad.”
Rindou glances down at them like he's only just remembering they exist. He flexes his fingers experimentally, and you wince at the way the split skin pulls. “I've had worse.”
“That's not an answer.”
“It's the only answer I've got.” But there's the ghost of a smile on his lips now, barely visible in the darkness. He takes another drag from his cigarette, then adds, “I heal real fast. Ran says I'm part cockroach.”
The unexpected comparison catches you completely off guard. A laugh bubbles up from somewhere deep in your chest— genuine and unguarded, spilling out before you can stop it. You clap a hand over your mouth, but the laughter keeps coming, bright and surprised in the quiet night air.
Rindou's watching you with something close to wonder, his cigarette forgotten between his fingers.
“What?” you ask when you finally catch your breath, suddenly self-conscious under his stare.
“Nothing. Just…” He shakes his head. “That's the first time I've heard you laugh. Really laugh, not just that polite thing you do when Ran makes a joke.”
Heat creeps up your neck. “You noticed that?”
“I notice a lot about you.” He says it simply, like it's not a confession of how closely he's been watching. “More than I should, probably.”
The admission hangs in the air between you, charged with implications neither of you seems ready to fully explore. You look away, back up at the stars, trying to find your composure.
“You know what the fucked up thing is?” The words come out unbidden, riding the wave of boldness that the laughter created. You take a shaky breath before continuing. “I'm not even sure I'd go back. If you opened that door right now and told me I could leave, that it was safe, that Mikey wouldn't come after me…”
“Stockholm syndrome,” Rindou says, but there's no conviction in it. Just rote repetition of a diagnosis that doesn't quite fit anymore.
“Maybe.” You turn your head to look at him, and find he's already looking at you. His lavender eyes are shadowed in the darkness, unreadable as ever. “Or maybe I just didn't have anything worth going back to. Maybe I didn't even before you took me.”
“Don't say that.” There's an edge to his voice now, something almost like anger tightening his jaw.
“Why not? It's true. I went to work and sold overpriced bags to rich people and came home to an empty apartment and told myself it was enough. That I was fine. That this was what life was supposed to be.” Your voice cracks slightly. “But I wasn't fine. I was barely existing.”
“That doesn't mean you deserved this—”
“I'm not saying I deserved it!” The words burst out louder than you intended, and you're suddenly on your feet without consciously deciding to stand. “I'm saying that maybe... maybe you breaking me out of that life was the only way I was ever going to break free of it myself. Maybe I needed to lose everything to figure out that what I had wasn't worth keeping.”
Rindou stands too, and suddenly the space between you feels too small and too large all at once. “You're traumatized. You're rationalizing your captivity because it's easier than accepting what we've done to you.”
“Stop telling me what I'm feeling! Stop trying to make this simple when it's not. You think I don't know how fucked up this is?” Your hands clench into fists at your sides. “I know exactly how messed up it is that I care about you. All of you. But knowing it doesn't make it stop.”
“You don't care about us. You're just—”
“I do!” The words ring out across the rooftop, raw and desperate. “I care about Ran even though he held a gun to my head. I care about Sanzu even though he's unstable and dangerous and nearly made me shoot him tonight. And I care about you, Rindou. Even though you're standing here trying to convince me that what I feel isn't real.”
The silence that follows is deafening. You're both breathing hard, the space between you electric with tension. Rindou's hands are clenched at his sides, his jaw tight, and he's looking at you like he's seeing you for the first time.
“Don't,” he says finally, but his voice has gone rough again. “Don't look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I'm something other than your captor.” He takes a step closer despite his words, like his body is moving independent of his mind. “Like this could be something other than what it is.”
“What if I want it to be something else?” The question comes out barely above a whisper, but it might as well be a shout for how it lands between you.
“It doesn't matter what you want.” But even as he says it, he's closing the distance between you in slow increments like he's fighting himself with every step. “It doesn't matter what any of us want. You're here because we took you. Because Sanzu made a stupid decision, and now we're all paying for it. There's no version of this that ends well.”
“Then why are you still here?” You stand your ground even as he gets closer, tilting your head back to maintain eye contact. “Why didn't you go downstairs? Why did you bring me over here and show me the stars your mother taught you?”
He doesn't have an answer. Or maybe he does, but he's not willing to say it out loud. You're close enough now that you can see the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the way his pupils have dilated in the darkness, the tension in every line of his body.
His hand comes up slowly, giving you plenty of time to move away if you wanted to. Calloused fingers brush your jaw before tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture is so tender, so at odds with the violence you witnessed earlier, that you feel tears prick at your eyes.
“You're not thinking clearly,” he says, but his hand doesn't move away. It stays cradling your face, his thumb brushing against your cheekbone. “Tonight was fucked up. You're in shock, you're processing, you're—”
“I'm thinking more clearly than I have in weeks,” you interrupt. Your hand comes up to cover his where it rests against your face, holding it there. “And I know what I want.”
His eyes drop to your mouth before flicking back up to meet your gaze. “What do you want?”
The air between you is charged, crackling with possibility. You can feel the heat radiating off his body, smell the cigarette smoke clinging to his clothes. You could close the distance between you so easily— just lean forward and rise up on your toes—
But Rindou pulls away abruptly, his hand falling from your face as if you've burned him. He takes two steps back, then another, putting a sizable distance between you.
“We can't. Not like this. Not when you're…” He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Fuck.”
The rejection stings even though you understand it. Even though part of you knows he's probably right. Your hand is still raised where his face had been, fingers curled around empty air.
“When, then? When will it be the right time? When will this situation be less fucked up?”
“I don't know.” His hands are shaking slightly, you notice. He shoves them in his pockets, his jaw clenched so tight you can see the muscle pulse. “Maybe never. Maybe there is no right time for this.”
“Or maybe you're just scared.” Your voice takes on an accusatory, almost plaintive tone. “Is that it?”
Something flashes across his face. “Yeah, I'm scared. You want me to admit it? I'm fucking terrified. Because this—” He gestures between you, the movement sharp and frustrated. “—wasn't supposed to happen. You were supposed to be temporary. You weren’t supposed to matter.”
“But I do.”
“Yeah.” He sounds angry about it. “You do. And that’s the problem.”
The concession should feel like victory, but instead, it just makes your chest ache. You're both trapped in this impossible situation— wanting something that can't be, or shouldn't be, or maybe is already happening, whether either of you wants to admit it or not.
“Come on,” Rindou says after a moment, his voice tired. “It's late. You should get some sleep.”
You want to argue, want to push this conversation toward some kind of resolution. But you're exhausted too— emotionally wrung out by the events of the night. So you nod, wrapping your arms around yourself against the sudden chill, and follow him back across the roof to the hatch.
The climb down is quiet, both of you lost in your own thoughts. When you reach the hallway, you pause outside your door, and Rindou stops with you.
The silence between you is different now— heavier, weighted with everything that almost happened. The hallway is dim, lit only by a small nightlight plugged into an outlet near the bathroom. It casts long shadows across Rindou's face, making it hard to read his expression.
“Thank you,” you say quietly. “For tonight. For defending me. For showing me the stars. For all of it.”
“Don't thank me.” But there's less edge to his voice now, the frustration from the roof already fading. “I should have stopped Sanzu sooner. Before it went that far.”
“Maybe. But you stopped him when it mattered.” You hesitate, then add, “That matters to me.”
He looks at you for a long moment, and in the dim hallway light, you can see the conflict written across his face. Before you can second-guess yourself, you reach out and squeeze his hand— brief and chaste. His knuckles are rough under your palm, the split skin catching slightly against your fingers.
“Goodnight, Rindou.”
His fingers tighten around yours for just a second before he lets go. “Goodnight.”
You're reaching for your doorknob when the question bursts out of you, unable to be contained any longer. Your hand freezes on the metal, and you turn back to face him.
“When will it be the right time?”
You need to know. Need some kind of timeline, some indication that this thing between you might someday become something real. That tonight wasn't just a moment born of trauma and proximity, destined to be forgotten in the morning light.
Rindou turns back to face you fully, his eyes searching your face, looking for something you're not sure you can give him.
“When you stop looking at us like we're your only options,” he says slowly, each word carefully chosen, “and start looking at us like we're your choice.”
Then he's gone, disappearing down the hallway to his own room before you can respond, leaving you standing in your doorway with his words echoing in your head.
The distinction feels impossible. How do you separate those things when they've become so tangled together? When does necessity become want? When does adaptation become desire?
You slip into your room and close the door, leaning against it as you try to process everything that just happened. The conversation. The vulnerability. The almost-kiss that somehow feels more intimate than if you'd actually done it.
Your room is dark and familiar— the bed you've slept in for nearly two weeks now, the dresser with new clothes, the window that won't open. This prison that's starting to feel less like captivity and more like something else entirely.
You change into sleep clothes mechanically, brushing your teeth and going through all the motions of your nighttime routine on autopilot. But when you finally climb into bed, sleep feels impossibly far away.
You lie there in the darkness, staring at the sky you can't see, replaying every moment. The gun in your hands and the weight of Sanzu's eyes. Rindou's fist connecting with his face. The taste of your own fear. The stars overhead and the gentleness in Rindou's voice as he named them. His hand on your face. The space between you closing and then, devastatingly, reopening.
When you stop looking at us like we're your only options and start looking at us like we're your choice.
You roll onto your side, pulling your pillow closer, and something inside you cracks. Because you know the answer. You've known it for days now. You've just been too scared to admit it, even to yourself.
Squeezing your eyes shut, you whisper the answer into the darkness— the answer he never let you give:
“You're already my choice.”
But the walls don’t care. And neither do the stars.
⤷ ✦ he looks more like his dad and only got his mom's smooth hair, people who know him personally say that he's a prettier version of his dad.
⤷ ✦ he was born through c-section. his mom already had one tough delivery, recovered, tried again, and he sat wrong the entire pregnancy.
⤷ ✦ he's the LAZY GENIUS type of guy who never goes to school 99% of the time but aces academically.
⤷ ✦ he sleeps naked during summer, spring and fall but never does it during winter because he learned from his mistake that left him with a high fever for three days. (also because ran has zero nursing skills and often left rindou unattended because he was asleep)
⤷ ✦ he hates getting sick and that is also because of ran, he once made rindou drink the tea that their mom always drinks in hopes of seeing him all better the next day and he ended up getting even more sick. (ran was grounded for a month)
⤷ ✦ has a severe allergy to pollen and that is why he hates flowers, ironic because his name means "bellflower" and is his father's favorite flower to give to their mother because she is also allergic to pollen and campanulas have low pollen concentration.
⤷ ✦ he didn't give a shit about his parents' divorce as long as he and ran weren't he separated, but he was affected by his mother's departure and self-destructed until he and ran were both disowned.
⤷ ✦ sometimes hates being babied by ran but sometimes he loves it, it really depends on his mood.
⤷ ✦ he has that 2025 gen-alpha humor. (ran gets really annoyed by this because he can't understand what the hell rindou's saying)
⤷ ✦ he memorizes people’s patterns without trying. birthdays? no. but the exact cadence of someone’s footsteps or the shift in their breathing when they’re lying? yes.
⤷ ✦ his handwriting is neat only when he’s bored. the messier the notes, the more focused he actually was.
⤷ ✦ he has an oddly graceful way of moving when he’s not paying attention, like he’s constantly dodging obstacles that aren’t there.
⤷ ✦ he was the type of kid who didn’t talk much in class but always said one line that made the entire room go silent. teachers never knew whether to scold him or laugh.
⤷ ✦ he’s dangerously good at remembering arguments word-for-word. ran hates this because rindou will quote him verbatim months later just to win.
⤷ ✦ he has a habit of drifting off mid-conversation, not out of boredom but because his brain jumps topics too fast. ran has learned to snap fingers once; any more and rindou gets annoyed.
⤷ ✦ he likes puzzles but hates finishing them. once the picture is complete, he loses interest immediately.
⤷ ✦ he never admits when he’s cold. he’ll sit there shivering until someone forces a blanket over him, then act like it was his idea.
⤷ ✦ he and ran's relationship runs on a chaotic mix of loyalty, irritation, and unspoken devotion. they will argue nonstop but snap at anyone else who tries to join in.
⤷ ✦ ran treats rindou like a kid even when he’s not one anymore. he adjusts his collar, steals his food, ruffles his hair, and then gets offended when rindou complains.
⤷ ✦ ran’s love language is physical affection and teasing. rindou’s is silent presence and doing tasks without being asked. somehow, it works.
⤷ ✦ when they fight seriously, it’s silent. no yelling, just long stares and cold shoulders. after a few hours, ran knocks on rindou’s door and says “you hungry?” which is their version of “I’m sorry.”
⤷ ✦ ran brags about rindou constantly. to anyone. about anything. rindou hates it but also secretly loves it.
⤷ ✦ they’re each other’s first call; good news, bad news, boredom, hunger, danger. even after everything, that never changes.
⤷ ✦ he doesn’t romanticize it; he just genuinely likes the quiet. staring at the sky is the only time his brain stops buzzing.
⤷ ✦ he was introduced to jiu jitsu young, maybe around 8–9, and he hated the first few months. too many people, too much noise. ran laughed at him because he was forced into karate while rindou was stuck rolling on mats.
⤷ ✦ ironically, rindou ended up being naturally talented. not because he was aggressive, but because his brain clicked with the mechanics—leverage, angles, timing. he liked that you could win by being smart instead of loud.
⤷ ✦ jiu jitsu accidentally became his coping mechanism. when his mom left, when his dad became strict, when school became overwhelming, he’d show up on the mats early and practice silently until the world felt small again.
⤷ ✦ his coaches always said the same thing: rindou doesn’t fight with strength, he fights with intention. every move calculated, every reaction delayed just long enough to throw people off.
⤷ ✦ their father eventually realized rindou wasn’t doing it for him anymore. he was doing it because it was something he could control, something that made him feel capable without being loud or showy.
⤷ ✦ after leaving home with ran, nightclubs became his comfort zone and he took an interest in DJing. he was later banned after touching one without permission and breaking it, he and ran beat the owner up.
⤷ ✦ he is a frequent victim of ran's horrible french, but he doesn't say anything about it because he knew ran would just make it worst.
⤷ ✦ he’s the king of ‘I saw this coming.’ but not in a smug way, he genuinely predicted it. whether it’s someone messing up, someone lying, or the weather shifting, he clocks the pattern before it happens.
⤷ ✦ he eats like a cat. small bites, slow, picky, has food rules he refuses to explain. ran tries to bully him into bigger portions; it only works if he’s already tired.
⤷ ✦ has beef with ceiling lights. if a bulb flickers even once, he goes feral. he’ll drag a chair over and fix it immediately because he can’t stand inconsistent light patterns.
⤷ ✦ he’s freakishly good at finding lost things. not because he’s helpful, but because he remembers where everyone last looked and what they overlooked.
⤷ ✦ he keeps every single gift ran ever gave him. even the stupid ones. even the broken ones. especially the ones ran forgot he gave.
⤷ ✦ he cannot stand asymmetry. one picture frame tilted? he’s fixing it. someone’s collar uneven? he’s staring until they fix it or ran reaches over and adjusts it for him.
⤷ ✦ he hates thunderstorms but won’t say it. ran figured it out because rindou always “accidentally” ends up in the same room as him during heavy rain.
⤷ ✦ he’s weirdly good at taking care of plants that don’t flower. succulents, snake plants, ferns—thriving. anything with petals? instant death.
⤷ ✦ he doesn’t like sweets but will absolutely steal ran’s pastries. says he hates sugar, but eats the entire thing while pretending he isn’t enjoying it. (canon?)
⤷ ✦ he reads instructions once and never again. his brain archives them permanently. ran takes a whole day to assemble furniture; rindou does it in 20 minutes and sighs the whole time.
⤷ ✦ he doesn’t lose things—EVER. he puts an item down and it stays in a mental map. if something is missing, ran took it.
⤷ ✦ he listens to the same 5 songs on loop for months. then suddenly switches the entire playlist overnight because he “got bored.”
⤷ ✦ he stares at screens with zero blinking. ran had to remind him humans need moisture.
⤷ ✦ he gets motion sick easily but will sit in the backseat anyway because he “likes the angle.” then spends the ride staring dead ahead trying not to die. ran mocks him mercilessly.
⤷ ✦ he zones out so hard he forgets what he was holding. will stand there with a knife, a towel, a book, completely still, because his brain went somewhere else entirely.
⤷ ✦ he drinks water like he’s hydrating for the first time in his life. downs an entire bottle in one go, wipes his mouth, continues whatever he was doing like nothing happened.
⤷ ✦ he’s stupid good at spotting fakes—fake jewelry, fake apologies, fake smiles. he can tell instantly, but he won’t call it out unless it matters.
⤷ ✦ he cannot handle gore on screens but is somehow unfazed by real blood. movies? nope. actual injury? he rotates the angle to inspect it more clearly.
⤷ ✦ he can’t stand when music cuts off mid-beat. it ruins his entire mood. ran has exploited this by pausing songs at the worst possible moment.
⤷ ✦ he gets attached in subtle ways. remembering your drink, adjusting your seat height, handing you a charger without being asked.
⤷ ✦ he was a medically annoying child. allergic, picky, sickly, constantly visiting doctors. ran was the chaotic older brother; rindou was the “my head hurts again” younger brother.
⤷ ✦ he has tiny, almost invisible scars from jiu jitsu grips and burns. he doesn’t mention them, but he knows each one’s origin.
⤷ ✦ he memorizes voices frighteningly fast. can recognize someone from a single syllable or cough. ran uses him as a human lie detector.
⤷ ✦ he’s immune to guilt trips unless they come from ran. anyone else? he shrugs. ran? he actually listens.
⤷ ✦ he touches expensive equipment like it’s a wild animal. careful, slow, reverent and then somehow breaks it anyway.
⤷ ✦ he has a weirdly pretty speaking voice when calm. deep, soft, crisp consonants. ran says he sounds like he’s reading a sleep-aid commercial.
⤷ ✦ he was the quiet kid who bit people when he was a toddler. not out of anger, but because he was overstimulated and didn’t know how to express it. ran still holds this over his head.
⤷ ✦ his pain tolerance is stupid. sprained wrist? shrugs. cut on his palm? sighs and keeps going. fever? THAT’S the line. he crumbles like wet tissue.
⤷ ✦ he’s terrifyingly good with kids because they treat him like a large, quiet cat. they crawl on him and he just sits there like “okay, ig.”
⤷ ✦ he learns games disturbingly fast. ran buys a new console? rindou beats the hardest level in two hours and then never touches it again.
⤷ ✦ he hates people touching his neck, he’ll flinch violently, no matter who it is. the only exception is someone he fully, fully trusts.
⤷ ✦ he hates being photographed unless he’s fully prepared. candids? he looks feral. posed pics? he looks ethereal. there is no in-between.
⤷ ✦ he’s the type to fall in love slowly and catastrophically. subtle glances, quiet shifts, unconscious loyalty, then boom he’d commit felonies for you.
⤷ ✦ he would die before admitting this: he sleeps better when the person he loves is touching him. even the pinky finger is enough.
a/n: idk I just thought about this, hope you enjoy! Lmk if you want a part 2 <3 also requests for bonten x reader is open! Feel free to submit anything
notes: Bonten x reader
Well, fuck.
At this current moment you’re sitting outside one of Bonten’s meeting rooms patiently waiting for your fate. How could a receptionist fuck up this badly? For a criminal organisation that literally specialises in death, they sure do have a bunch of company policy bullshit when it comes to punching another Bonten member in the face. To be fair, he completely deserved it, especially after calling you “lowlife trash”. After that, there really wasn’t must that you could do, you just had to punch him in his stupid face. And you don’t regret it, even if it costs you your life.
For the last 4 months, working as a front desk receptionist at Japan’s most notorious criminal organisation, has been interesting, to say the least. Most of your job consists out of greeting members at the entrance of the Bonten building with nothing but a smile. Most of the lower level members of Bonten always greet you back, with plastered on smiles and hungry eyes that rake your body from top to bottom. It disgusts you, but one way or another you’ll be sitting in one of those executive seats, bossing people around and drinking with the big boys.
Speaking of the big boys, they never greet you.
Rindou Haitani. He often comes walking into the building, hands in his pockets, and an expression on his face that executes pure boredom. He hasn’t greeted you once in the 4 months that you’ve worked here. You’ve greeted him once, of which he stared at you directly in the eyes, and flat out ignored you. Ever since then, you haven’t greeted him.
His infamous older brother, Ran Haitani. The first thing you noticed about him was the smell of his expensive cologne. His hair is always slicked back perfectly, and his suit is probably worth more than your life. He’s greeting you once. To be honest, you wouldn’t even call it greeting. He waltz in there, busy on the phone. As per your basic expectation contract, you have to greet everyone that walks into the building. So of course, you greeted with a high pitched “Hi!” and a rosey smile, expecting nothing in return. Now imagine your surprise when he quickly glanced out you - still on the phone - and shot you a quick wink. You’d be lying to yourself if you said that you didn’t like the way it made you feel.
Haruchiyo Sanzu - the craziest motherfucker alive. Every single time he enters the Bonten building, he’s either drunk or high or both. He always greets you back, with a mischievous smirk and nine out of ten times, manic eyes combined with a simple “Hi, Doll.” Sometimes you swear you can feel him undressing you with his eyes. He scares you. Especially when he walks into the building with clothes drenched in blood and an attitude that screams ‘no fucks given’.
Hajime Kokonoi AKA the man who hired you. Needless to say, he’s been the ‘nicest’ towards you. Always greeting first, followed by a ‘how are you today?’ The thing you appreciate most about Kokonoi is his calming demeanour, and in an organisation like Bonten when everything is constantly chaos, it’s nice having a calming presence around. In fact, you’re sitting outside of his meeting room right now, waiting to be called in. You’re hoping that his calm demeanour stays just that when he finds out what you’ve done.
The first thing you noticed about Kakucho wasn’t the massive scar on his face, but rather his eyes. You remember thinking to yourself that this man has beautiful eyes the one time you made eye contact. He also never greets you.
Manjiro Sano - the man you’ve heard so much about, but never seen. When reception get quiet, you like to fantasise about what he looks like. You wonder what colour his hair is, and how the fuck he managed to start an organisation as powerful as Bonten. You wonder how his persona is like. Surely he must be ruthless as hell, even more so than Sanzu. The thought sends shivers up your spine, and in some sense, you’re happy that you’ve never seen him before.
Which brings us back to where you are now. Sitting quietly outside the meeting room, trying your best to listen in to what that motherfucker is saying about you to Kokonoi. You just know that he’s speaking shit about you. Your leg is bouncing up and down and you’re struggling to keep yourself calm, especially when you hear that ugly motherfucker refer to you as a “stupid slut” behind the closed doors.
You keep telling yourself to sit still, to look composed, to not give that bastard the satisfaction of knowing you’re nervous; but your body betrays you. Every muffled voice from inside the meeting room makes your pulse spike, especially his. The one you punched. You can hear him whining, dramatising the situation, dragging your name through the dirt, and every insult makes your fingers curl into fists.
You stare down at the polished marble tiles, trying to focus on your breathing, when something shifts in the corner of your vision. A shadow, maybe. Fabric moving. Your head spikes up immediately.
There’s a man standing a few meters away, like he’d been there the entire time.
You hadn’t heard footsteps. No doors opening. No presence approaching. He’s just there, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed, expression unreadable. The kind of stillness that feels deliberate, controlled. Like he takes up space without trying.
Silver hair, colder eyes than anyone you’ve met in this building, but there’s no recognition. No dramatic aura. He doesn’t look dangerous. He just looks… calm. Too calm for Bonten. He isn’t glaring or judging. He’s simply watching you, as if observing a crime scene he hasn’t decided how to interpret yet.
For a moment you wonder if you’re supposed to say hi. You open your mouth, but he speaks first.
“Do you think they’ll kick you out?”
His tone isn’t mocking. Not pitying. Not even curious. It’s just neutral, like he’s asking about the weather. You blink, thrown off by how casual it sounds.
“I don’t know,” you answer honestly, voice tight. “Maybe.”
He tilts his head slightly - barely an expression, eyes still locked on yours. It’s hard to tell if he’s bored or calculating.
“Hm.”
Just that. A single syllable. He looks away, begins walking past you like the conversation never happened. Not fast, not slow - just drifting, silent footsteps that somehow make no sound at all.
You watch him disappear around the corner, and the air feels colder once he’s gone. Whoever he was, he didn’t greet you. He didn’t threaten you. He didn’t seem to care at all. But your stomach twists anyway. Because for some reason, being ignored by him feels more dangerous than being noticed by anyone else in this building.
The door clicks open, and the noise behind it dies instantly. Kokonoi stands by the head of the long conference table, eyes shifting to you with that calm, unreadable expression he always has—like he’s calculating profit margins, not people.
“Sit,” he says simply.
You take the seat farthest from him, the seat at the back, spine straight, hands on your lap, pretending you’re not trembling. The guy you punched sits across from you, arms crossed, a bruised cheek already turning purple. He won’t look at you—just keeps glaring at the table like it personally offended him.
“You instigated physical violence against a ranked member of Bonten,” Kokonoi begins, tone flat. “And while the circumstances are questionable, the reputation cost isn’t negligible.”
You open your mouth to speak - but the door opens again. Three new presences enter the room like a shift in atmosphere.
Ran walks in first, hands in his pockets, expression laced with amused curiosity—as if he already knows something you don’t. His eyes flick down your body once, then he smiles to himself and takes a seat beside Kokonoi without acknowledging you.
Rindou follows, shoulders tense, eyes sharp and assessing. He leans back in his chair, arms crossed, stare cutting through you like he’s trying to diagnose a problem he hasn’t decided how to fix.
Sanzu is last - hair slightly messy, gaze unfocused yet far too intense at the same time. He shuts the door behind him with unnecessary force and sits down lazily, lips twitching into a smirk when he sees you.
None of them speak.
No introductions. No greeting.
Just eyes on you.
Kokonoi continues like their arrival means nothing, but the room feels tighter. “You understand that striking a member disrupts internal hierarchy,” he says. “There are protocols. Chain of command. A receptionist has no clearance to-”
“Who told you to sit in the back?” Sanzu interrupts, tilting his head at you. Your heartbeat stops. Everyone looks at you. You swallow. “No one. I just-”
“So you assumed you belonged there?” he says, voice soft but mocking. “Interesting.”
Ran snorts quietly, tapping his fingers on the table. “She’s got instinct. Better than most rookies.”
“Instinct gets people killed,” Rindou mutters.
None of them are looking at the guy you hit anymore—they’re looking at you. Kokonoi’s gaze sharpens slightly, a crack in his calm.
“This wasn’t supposed to be a panel review.”
Sanzu’s smile widens, manic interest flickering in his eyes. “Oh, we’re not here for the review.”
Ran’s voice is smooth, lazy, dangerous. “We’re here because he wanted to know why she did it.” Silence drops like a knife. Your pulse spikes. You force your voice to stay steady.
“Who?” All three look at you like the answer should be obvious. Sanzu leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes burning holes in your skin.
“Mikey.”
Your breath stops. Kokonoi finally looks away, exhaling through his nose like this entire situation is a problem he now has to solve.
“Sano wanted us to observe your disposition,” Ran clarifies, eyes narrowing with intrigue. “He doesn’t usually care about receptionists.”
The man you punched erupts, slamming his fist on the table. “What the hell does she have to do with the Boss?! She’s the one in the wrong-”
Kokonoi lifts a hand and the room goes quiet like someone cut the sound. “This isn’t a punishment hearing anymore,” he says calmly. “It’s an evaluation.”
You suddenly understand: You’re not here to be disciplined. You’re here to be assessed. By Mikey. Through them. And none of them look like they intend to be gentle.
For a second it’s silent. No one tells you to speak, so you sit there, hands pressed together in your lap, pulse hammering in your throat. Kokonoi finally folds his arms and faces you directly.
“Why did you hit him?” His voice is calm, almost bored, as if there is a right answer and he already doubts you have it. You take a breath. “He insulted me.”
“That’s not an answer,” Kokonoi replies instantly, “It’s a reaction.” Sanzu drags a slow glare across the table toward him, and he immediately shuts up. No one tells him to. He just knows.
Kokonoi continues. “You’re in an organisation built on hierarchy. Insults come with the territory. Why couldn’t you control yourself?”
“Because I didn’t think that he deserved to speak to me that way,” you answer boldly. The room shifts. Very slightly. Like you said something incorrect. Ran raises a brow, intrigued. Rindou’s expression darkens. Kokonoi’s jaw tightens the way it does when numbers don’t balance.
Sanzu is the one who speaks. “You think respect is something you’re owed.” He says it like a diagnosis, not a criticism. You swallow. “I think respect goes both ways.”
Ran laughs under his breath, leaning back. “Oh, she’s bold.”
Rindou mutters, “No. She’s naïve.”
Kokonoi muses quietly, “Boldness without power is a death sentence.”
Before you can respond, Sanzu taps the table with one finger. “Stand up.” It’s not a request. Your chair scrapes loudly against the marble as you rise. The sound echoes too long. Sanzu watches you like he’s tracking prey - lazy posture, razor-sharp eyes. He gestures to the guy you punched.
“Hit him again.”
You stare at Sanzu, unsure if you heard correctly. Ran stops tapping his fingers. Rindou’s gaze sharpens. Even Kokonoi looks at Sanzu like he’s testing a hypothesis too early.
“I…” Your voice catches. “Right now?”
“No,” Sanzu deadpans. “Next Tuesday.” Then he smiles. Sharp and dominating. “Of course right now.” The man across from you shifts uncomfortably, suddenly less confident now that other eyes are on him.
Kokonoi sighs. “This isn’t necessary.”
“It is,” Sanzu counters, tone sugary-sweet but laced with venom. “She acted on impulse. I want to see if she has conviction.”
Ran folds his hands behind his head.
“Or if she only fights when she’s emotional.”
Rindou adds, “Or if she learned her lesson.”
All eyes return to you. You feel heat crawl up your neck. Every instinct screams that this is a trap - for you or for him, you’re not sure. “But-” You pause, choosing your words carefully, “What is the purpose?”
Ran smirks. “She wants a business case for assault.” Out of the corner of your eyes, you see how Rindou rolls his eyes, before replying with, “Purpose is obedience. You were given an order.”
Your pulse spikes. They’re not testing your violence. They’re testing your submission. Slowly, you exhale. “No.” The room goes dead silent and you wish you would just evaporate into thin air, because what the living fuck is going on.
Sanzu’s smile vanishes, replaced by something darker, “You’re refusing?” You nod once. “I won’t hit someone just because I was told to. I hit him because he crossed a line. That hasn’t changed.” The air shifts again - this time in your favor, somehow. Ran looks like he just discovered a new favorite distraction. Even Rindou looks reluctantly impressed.
Kokonoi leans back, studying you more deeply now. “So you’re not impulsive. You’re principled.” Sanzu taps his teeth with his tongue, clearly irritated, “Or she’s just stubborn.”
Ran counters smoothly, “Stubborn keeps people alive longer than obedient.” The guy you punched finally snaps.“Why the fuck are we entertaining this? She’s a receptionist. She doesn’t matter-”
He doesn’t finish the sentence.
Sanzu’s chair screeches back as he stands, crosses the room in three steps, and slams his hand onto the guy’s shoulder so hard the table shakes. His voice drops to a whisper that everyone hears. “If he didn’t want us here, we wouldn’t be. Shut up.”
Ran taps his lip thoughtfully, “So what do we do with her?” The question isn’t directed at Kokonoi; it’s directed at the room.
Rindou shrugs. “Keep her where she is. She’s harmless.”
Sanzu scoffs. “No one with that ego is harmless. Move her. Give her responsibility.”
Ran smiles. “I want to see what she does when we stop underestimating her.”
Kokonoi exhales slowly, eyes narrowing and calculating.“Or she could be reassigned to someone with the authority to manage her.”
Sanzu’s grin widens. “Oh? You volunteering?” Kokonoi doesn’t answer. The tension sharpens, threading between them like wire. They’re not just deciding your fate - they’re negotiating over you. You open your mouth, unsure whether to speak or stay silent. Before you can choose, Rindou cuts in.
“This is pointless. If he’s interested, he’ll decide. We’re wasting time.” The room goes dead still. Sanzu slumps back into his seat, suddenly bored.
After a few seconds of silence, Kokonoi announces, “Meeting dismissed. She will remain under observation.”
The asshole you punches is about to opens his mouth to complain about the fact that you’re let off so easily. That is until Sanzu notices out of the corner of his eye, and looks at him, slightly tilting his head. He offers him a gruesome smile, almost like telling him ‘if you speak I’ll slice open your stomach and play with your organs.’ He picks this up, and immediately lowers his head.
“Go back to reception, we will call you if need be,” Kokonoi continues.
You say nothing, stand up, offer a quick bow, and you shoot out of that meeting room like a bullet. As you walk out, you can feel their eyes lingering on your frame and you internally shiver.
You close the door quietly behind you and rest against it, immediately falling down to the ground and letting out a huge sigh of relief. You can finally breathe again.
Something catches your attention out of the corner of your eyes. It causes you to sharply turn your head, still alert due to the fuckass meeting you just had. It’s the strange man from earlier. You tilt your head, “You again.”
Before he has the chance to respond, you continue your sentence, “you’re like a fucking ghost.” You break eye contact and gently throw your head back against the door, where they’re still busy inside. He doesn’t seem to be offended. In fact, he ignores your statement entirely.
“You get kicked out?”
A small giggle of relief leaves your lips, “Not yet, thank fuck.”
He says nothing. He just stares - observes. You wonder who the fuck this man is. Why is he so curious? Why is he like a literal ghost? Before you can stop yourself, you blurt out, “Who are you?”
“Who do you think I am?”
You slowly push yourself up from where you were sitting, “I don’t know, maybe an assistant?” He offer no expression, except for raising an eye brow. He’s not offended; he finds it interesting that you think he’s an assistant. Little did you know that you were in for the shock of your life.
“Hm,” he responds once again, deep in thought about what you said.
“Well,” you interrupt his train of thought, “are you?”
You’re now standing up again, and feeling a bit more relaxed in this random man’s calming presence.
“No.”
You furrow your eyebrows in confusion - you thought you were good at reading people. “Then who are you?”
Before he could answer the door swings open. Sanzu and the Haitani brothers walk out, and before they shut the door, you catch a glimpse on what’s happening inside the meeting room. The guy you punched, drenched in blood, breathing slowly as if struggling, Kokonoi sitting opposite him. You look away, and you’re remind that you work for a criminal organisation, crawling with cold hearted killers.
“Why aren’t you at the front desk?” Rindou asks sharply. You open your mouth but before you can reply, Ran interrupts you, “disobeying another order? Interesting.” He smirks.
Sanzu cackles at Ran’s statement, and it makes you nervous. Their presence makes you nervous. He catches of the still unknown man standing calmly as ever in the hallway.
“She’s an interesting one, isn’t she boss?”
Boss.
Your blood runs cold. All colour drains from your face and your mouth hangs open in shock.
Before anyone can say anything you bow, “I - Excuse me. I have to get back to work.” You turn your back and quickly walk down the hallway towards the elevator. Thank fuck it opens before you have to press the button and wait. A man in a suit walks out and spots the men in the corridor. He completely ignores you, “Mikey. Good to see you. Let’s get straight down to business shall we?”
Mikey. It’s been confirmed. You were chit chatting with the leader of Bonten. You called him an assistant. You shake your head in embarrassment before entering the elevator.
Once inside, you turn around and press the ‘ground floor’ button. Before the elevator doors close, you make eye contact with someone. With him. The literal boss of Bonten. His cold, empty eyes stare at you and don’t look away until the doors have closed completely.
You don’t know what the fuck just happened, but you did know one thing - you needed a drink.
