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polarity | 04 yandere!jungkook au

pairing: yandere!jungkook x (f) reader

genre: yandere

warnings: 18+ , toxic relationships, unhealthy and obsessive behavior , mentions of mental health, manipulation, blackmail, cheating,

word count: 13.4k

summary: Your best friend’s new boyfriend becomes infatuated with you…

Parts: 01 | 02 | 03 | ❄️CS | 03 JK | 04

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A/N; Hi babes! I took quite a lengthy break for personal health issues but I’m back! I hope you enjoy this chapter :) ❤️❤️🥰

You didn’t know how much time had passed before you finally had pulled away from Jungkook. The tears were dry on your cheeks now. You stared down at his phone, the screen had finally stopped displaying the crude video and now it was paused, only the thumbnail was just as raunchy. Turning away, you lifted yourself off the floor, clenching your fists. You eyed Eunji’s gift, not being able to stand the sight of it anymore. This time your feet moved at the speed of light, pulling a knife out from the wooden block near the kitchen sink. You saw Jungkook turn his head, quickly coming to his feet when he noticed what you were doing but it was too late, you plunged the knife directly into the leather material.

“Baby,” Jungkook called out, letting out a sigh in defeat when he noticed you were already repeatedly dragging the knife across the expensive purse, completely ripping it apart. Your hands seemed to work on their own, throwing every last bit of your pain into ruining it.

“Enough.” The knife was yanked out of your grip, he placed it on the counter beside you both and took the purse out of your hands, letting it drop to the floor.

“No! None of it is enough!” You cry out, you run your hands over your face and take a deep breath. You needed to calm down, you had to calm down. Jungkook was watching you with careful eyes, as if he was getting ready for you to lunge towards the knife again but you didn’t bother with it anymore. The sight of the purse didn’t heal nearly enough of your broken heart. 

Have you really been so blind? The more you think about it, the more obvious the signs are. Eunji wasn’t newly like this, her behavior didn’t come out of nowhere. Why was your heart and mind so hellbent on convincing yourself that her true character was a surprise? Was she not always like this? You remember all the small instances in that moment, all the seemingly insignificant times she had ignored you or paid little attention to your feelings. Even back in high school, you remembered the times she would spend hanging out with other people and completely leave you out of the equation.

You would never ask for an apology, or even an excuse. You would simply take it as it was. 

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what’s thicker than water - pirate bakugou x witch f!reader

ch 1 /  ch 2

summary - in a world where magic is formed by the bonds between  humans and gods, love is the only pathway to power.

a/n: vaguely pirates of the carribean themed au, eventual smut, violence(phsyical), guns, piracy, witchcraft, allusions to past torture under suspicion of witchcraft, bakugou is simp who cant articulate his feelings. murder.mention of major character death(readers husband, offscreen)(not voodo or anything that feels weird and appropriative.) eventual smut. 

minors/ageless blogs dni

wc: 6,644

The mast doesn’t snap, but smolders, bursting into flame at the top as the sea begins to toss the ship. Bakugou cocks his gun, pressing it harder against your forehead as the white light wraps around your bodies as the wind picks up. 

“Calm the sea,” he barks, the light becoming blinding. 

“Take the gun from my head,” you snap back. “Hecate doesn’t like to be threatened.” He looks at his crew, at the barrels starting to roll across the deck, and holsters his weapon. Almost immediately, the sea calms, and a gentle rain begins to fall. It’s not often that the deck of a pirate ship is silent, but as the streams of light connecting you and Bakugou fade the only sound is the slap of the waves against the hull. Without another word Bakugou grabs you by the hair and drags you forward, leaving you gasping in pain, scrambling to crawl behind him. You slide down the stairs, bruising your palms when you lose your balance. He kicks open the door to his bedroom and throws you on the ground. 

“Start talkin’.” He snarls. “I wanna know how this shit works, where it comes from, everythin’. Right fucking now, and if you leave anything out I will tie your ass to our anchor, and throw you the fuck overboard.” You take a deep breath. 

“Alright, alright, Captain.” You wipe your tears and he feels a twinge of unbidden remorse that he shoves down. He hands you his handkerchief, refusing to make eye contact while you dab at your face. There’s a knock on the door, 

“Ah,” Sero calls, “Where too?” 

“Open fucking ocean.” Bakugou calls. “I’ll be back soon.” He turns to you, pulling the chair at his desk out, and sitting down, leaving you kneeling at his feet. “Any minute now, dumbass.” You reach for your voice, and find it, somewhere, deep within yourself. 

“M-my grandmother, she was engaged to a violent man, and on the eve of her wedding, was going to throw herself from the clock tower in her village.” Bakugou nods. “But at the last moment, Hecate appeared to her, and offered to take care of the man, and to grant her the power to protect herself, and two generations of daughters.” You look up at him, trying to read his perfectly neutral expression, seeing only tanned disinterest. 

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three's a... - jean kirschstein x afab!reader x eren jaeger - 18+!!!

i feel like i have mentioned the possibility of giving y'all an erejean threesome way too many times to keep holding out on you, so now that i've finally nitpicked this fic to death, here we are!! literally living my dreams vicariously through this fic. i'm still not 100% happy with it, but eren and jean are sexy here and are doing half of the work of making this worth the read for me lolol. it's also written mostly through jean's pov which was interesting to play with.

pairing: eren jaeger x reader x jean kirschstein

wc: 6.5k

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

CWs: smut, consensual hook-up, threesome, established relationship (eren's ur perfect bf and u guys can't stop having sex with jean lol), unprotected sex, oral sex (male receiving), face fucking, rough sex, vaginal fingering, degradation, biting, dirty talk, penetrative vaginal sex, anal (fingering and fucking), swearing, use of names (slut, brat, pretty girl, good girl, angel), mean dom eren vs soft dom jean, multiple orgasm, dacryphilia/crying, creampie, double penetration, bicurious jean and bicurious eren (tasty, they definitely don't keep their hands to themselves), polyamory implied

buckle up, this was a blast to write and i hope it's equally as fun to read. enjoy <33

-

Jean should definitely not be here.

He should absolutely not be on his living room couch with Eren Jaeger’s girlfriend’s head in his lap, playing idly with her hair. By all traditional conventions and rules of exclusive relationships, Jean’s fairly sure that letting your girlfriend rest her head on the crotch of your roommate while he strokes her hair is on the no-no list. Not for Eren, apparently, who has your feet in his lap on the other end of the couch, playing with your toes absentmindedly and making you giggle and kick him in protest. Jean should not be here, but you and Eren have made a habit of roping him into circumstances that he would never admit to, not even at gunpoint.

If Jean is brutally, painfully honest with himself, he knows he had gotten himself into this. You were just so cute, wisping around their apartment in a big tshirt and tiny shorts in the mornings, always making sure to save him a cup of coffee. Maybe he had let his lingering glances linger just a little too long, smirked over his coffee mug at you one too many times, come up behind you to help you reach something on the top shelf and leaned a little too close, Jean couldn’t pinpoint exactly what caused Eren to notice his clear attraction towards you, but he did. Instead of getting his ass kicked like he had expected when you and Eren sat down to confront him, Jean had learned something.

Eren Jaeger has a greedy, spoiled brat of a girlfriend.

That had been the first time Jean came in you, fucking into your throat while Eren watched from across the room, palming over the bulge in his jeans. The second time, the two of you had invited Jean out for a drink, which, in hindsight, he should have seen the ulterior motive from a mile away. He had ended up cumming in your pussy, bending you over in the bar bathroom with Eren’s cock in your mouth. The third time had been in Eren’s bedroom as you rode him, Eren sitting behind you and working your hips over Jean’s cock as you wailed.

Jean had stopped his ministrations in your hair as he was reflecting on how exactly he got into this situation, trying very hard not to think too far into the filthy details to prevent propping your head up with an erection. You make a little noise of discontent, grabbing at his hands and urging them back to your hair.

“Jean, don’t stop. Feels good.”

Jean’s mouth tightens into a thin line at your choice of words, words he’s heard from you before under very different circumstances, but he obliges. So much for self control. Eren raises a smug eyebrow at him from across the couch.

“You’re giving her what she wants, right, Kirschtein?”

Jesus, you two are insatiable, still managing to grate on Jean’s razor-thin willpower with all of your clothes on. Jean wonders briefly what the appeal is for Eren, if he gets off on watching you take another man’s cock, bring another man near to tears with your warm, silken cunt. Does Eren enjoy dangling you in front of Jean until he’s forced to give in? Eren’s gaze lingers on Jean’s hands, threading through your hair, awaiting an answer.

“Yeah,” Jean says, not trusting any more words to his loose lips. They’ve already betrayed him three times now, saying yes when they should have been saying no.

“Good,” Eren responds simply, offering a small smile that, to anyone else, looks innocent. Jean knows Eren better than that. He watches as Eren’s hand travels up your bare leg, coming to rest on your upper thigh. You’re affected by it, such a simple touch, such a sensitive little body; he can feel you tense over his thighs.

Jean steels his jaw and forces his eyes back over to the movie. He’s got to stop playing these fucked up games of yours, it’s bad for him and he knows it. He hasn’t dated in months, not since you’d first pulled him into your little world, can’t bring himself to look at anyone else, can’t stand the thought of feeling anyone else’s skin under his fingers. His little crush has bloomed into full-blown lovesickness, and it would be best for him if he just stopped.

All of that ironclad willpower melts away in an instant when you let out a little moan.

Eren’s hand has snuck its way up to your shorts, nudging at the apex of your thighs. His focus is still trained on whatever reality show you’ve put on, completely ignoring the way you sigh under his touch. Jean’s cock twitches in his pants; this is his opportunity to hesitate, to say no, but he stays silent, only watching as you squirm in his lap.

“Eren,” your chastisement comes out as a breath. One of your hands comes to meet Eren’s, trying to push him away, but he simply swats your hand, shooting you a stern look.

“Behave,” Eren warns, eyes dark and dangerous. Jean’s learned that Eren’s mean to you, snappy when you put on your little attitude and fight back, but Jean doesn’t have the willpower. He holds you gently while he fucks into you hard, gives you anything you ask for.

You bite your lip and turn your head back to the TV, one hand coming up to pull Jean’s away from your head, wrapping your fingers around his. Jean’s breath hitches in his throat when you squeeze tight, back arching like you’re holding back a moan; Eren’s worked his way into your panties now, rubbing little circles over your clit.

“Look, Jaeger,” Jean makes a half-hearted attempt to remove himself, pulling his hand from yours and making all the movements to suggest he’s going to stand up, “I should–”

“What?” Eren cocks his head, as casual as if they’re discussing the weather. “Look at her, you really gonna just leave her there like that while I’m teasing her?”

Against his better judgment, Jean flicks his eyes down towards you. It’s a pitiful sight, your eyes already glossed over and staring up at him, wide and pleading, your bottom lip tucked in tight between your teeth.

“Jean,” his name comes out of your mouth, broken and already heady with arousal. That’s what snaps his resolve clean in two. You need him.

“What is it?” Jean hates the fondness in his voice, so glaringly obvious in front of your fucking boyfriend. Eren doesn’t seem to mind, though; he picks up speed, making you wriggle impatiently.

“Wanna kiss,” you whimper, reaching up towards his face.

“Don’t,” Eren stops Jean from leaning down, “she’s been bad today.”

“Is that so?” Jean rubs a thumb over your lips, frowning down at you. He can see the guilt in the way your brows knit together; oh, you have been bad, and you know it.

“Wouldn’t stop begging me for you, wanted to snuggle with Jeanie,” Eren raises his voice to mock you, slapping a hand against your clit and making you jump.

Jean’s face burns; is this it? Is this finally Eren telling him that you’re off-limits, finally deciding that Jean’s had his fill? And he’s going to rub it in his face by torturing you on Jean’s lap?

“Tell him,” Eren demands, another sharp smack landing on your cunt.

“Didn’t want to wait t-til you got home,” your face is already blotchy, eyes clouded with shame, “wanted Eren to text you and make you leave work.”

“And what did I say?”

“Be patient,” your voice wavers, Jean’s heart pounds in his ears, “and Jean would come take care of me.”

“So needy,” Eren tuts down at you, cruelly shoving a finger into your wet heat and instantly removing it, drawing a breathy whine from you, “see?”

Eren’s offering his finger to Jean, shining with slick, eyebrows lifted insistently. Jean narrows his eyes, cocks his head. What game is he playing at?

“What, don’t want a taste?” Eren’s eyes glint in the low light, taunting him. Jean leans forward hesitantly, lets the other man slide a thick finger between his lips. You always taste so good, salty and tangy; Jean feels a groan rumble deep in his chest. The corner of Eren’s mouth curls ever so slightly. Whatever game he’s playing, Jean’s losing. “Touch her, but no kisses. She has to behave if she wants that.”

You pout, bottom lip still wobbling where you’ve pushed it out, but you arch your back a little, straining your tits against your tank top. Jean knows you well enough by now, knows you chose that thin little top and didn’t wear a bra just for him, just to tempt him. You have been bad, but Jean doesn’t care, could never care when you’re looking up at him all sweet and needy. But he knows better than to disobey Eren’s rules, for your sake. Eren will edge you for the rest of the night, make himself cum, and leave you out to dry.

“Jean, please–”

“Sh,” Jean shushes you, sits you up just a little so he can pull your tank top over your head, “I’ve gotcha. Just be good for us, alright?”

You nod and smile drunkenly as he cups your breasts, kneading your nipples between his fingers. They’re one of his favorite things about you; he can’t resist leaning down to place sloppy, open-mouthed kisses along your hot skin, lick around your nipples just light enough to tease. Maybe Jean can be a little mean too.

“More,” you gasp, fingers coming to clutch at his head, “more, I– oh!”

Jean’s eyes flit down your body to see Eren’s now got two long fingers shoved knuckle-deep in you, curling them fast enough to make you cry out, roll your hips up towards him. If he looks closely, he can see a wet patch forming on the crotch of your shorts; it makes his cock throb. He’s never met a woman that gets as wet as you, filthy at the slightest touch.

“You’re so messy,” Jean voices his mind without exactly meaning to, pulling himself from you so he can prop you up against his chest and let you look at the mess you’ve made. You give him a little whine of protest, tilting your chin up towards him, searching for his mouth.

“Please, I want–”

“I know what you want,” Jean thumbs at your lip, “he’s mean, isn’t he? Making you behave yourself when all you want is a little love, isn’t that right?”

“Mhm,” you manage to shoot a scathing glare at Eren that makes Jean chuckle, makes Eren smack your thigh hard enough to echo throughout the room.

“Stupid little slut,” Eren growls, moving his fingers faster, “you’re just all about Jean because he spoils you, aren't you? Someone has to make sure you behave yourself.”

Jean’s eyes widen; Eren’s clearly in a mood today, and Jean hopes it doesn’t have anything to do with his presence. Eren’s a mixed bag most times. Jean’s overheard him making soft, quiet love to you, little praises slipping out from the crack in his bedroom door, but Jean’s also watched Eren edge you to the point of tears, spit on your cunt, spank you until you bruise. Maybe Eren’s jealousy finally is getting the better of him, Jean thinks, maybe he just can’t say no to your insatiable appetite, and he is actually pissed that you had begged him for Jean.

“Jean,” you’re clutching at his shirt, moaning pathetically as Eren sucks harsh bites into your thighs.

“Did it to yourself,” Jean shakes his head at you sadly, “you know better than to make him mad.”

“Shut her up,” Eren nods his head at your mouth meaningfully, “I’ve heard enough out of her for today.”

It takes some awkward repositioning, but Jean’s able to pull his cock out, tap it against your tongue where you’ve already got your mouth hanging open, drool pooling on his lap under your cheek.You shove yourself up with some effort, and take Jean almost to the hilt on your first go, slurping lewdly around him. Jean nearly chokes.

“Oh, you are needy today,” he hisses, threading his fingers through your hair, making sure his view remains unobstructed. “That what you wanted? My cock in your throat?”

You manage a stiff nod around him in between the muffled moans you’re letting out around his cock; Eren’s added his thumb to the mix now, pulling your panties to the side so he can swipe at your clit.

“She was fuckin’ drooling for it earlier,” Eren says, meeting Jean’s eyes with a smirk, “should have seen her, all pouty and sad because her Jeanie wasn’t here. Pathetic.”

In the small part of Jean’s brain that’s still able to think rationally with his cock nudging at your gag reflex, he’s frowning in confusion. Eren is pissed at you because you were begging for Jean, and here he is spurring Jean on in fucking into your throat. It makes no fucking sense, really, but Jean’s getting his dick sucked, and not for the first time, by the woman he’s been pining after for months, so who is he to question it?

“Mmph!” You squeal, mouth too full to form a real sound, hips canting up violently towards Eren. Eren laughs, low and cruel.

“Aw, I think she’s gonna cum soon,” Eren pulls his fingers from you, a tear slips down your cheek. “Pity.”

Your cry of protest is whimpered by Jean standing up slightly, angling his hips to plunge as deep as he can. He’s only had his cock in your mouth a few times, but Jean’s intuitive. He knows how much you can take, knows exactly how far to push you before it’s too much.

“Don’t whine, baby,” Jean huffs, “just gonna make him more mad. He won’t let me help you if you don’t behave.”

“Look at you,” Eren runs his hands along your thighs, leans down to press a chaste kiss over where you’ve ruined your shorts, “being a good girl for us. S’that what it takes for you to behave? Need both of us?”

If Jean’s not mistaken, the garbled sound you make around him is one of agreement. The thought goes straight between his legs, brings him far closer to the edge than he’d like to be at this point. He pulls your mouth off of him, making you pout.

“But–”

“I know, I know, you want it,” Jean rubs an affectionate thumb over your cheek, “but you want me to fuck you, too, right?”

“Please,” you breathe, reaching down to wiggle your shorts off. Eren’s face lights up.

“Wanna show him your little surprise, baby?” Eren’s tugging at your shorts now, ripping them off and tossing them to the sides. He puts his hands under your arms, yanking you out of Jean’s lap and throwing your chest over his shoulders. When Eren’s hands come to your cheeks, spreading them so Jean can see, Jean’s heart nearly stops. There’s a little pink rhinestone glittering where your asshole should be– a plug, keeping you open and ready. Eren meets Jean’s eyes, daring. “She picked it out just for us. Want us both, don’t you? Nasty little thing.”

Eren punctuates his statement with a grin and a sharp slap to your ass that makes you jump, nod desperately from behind him. Jean reaches a cautious hand over, puts two fingers around the toy and pulls lightly, just enough to watch it move in you. You whine; he can see your empty cunt flutter.

“Can she take it? Both of us?”

“Oh yeah,” Eren brushes off Jean’s concern, “been using all her little toys for weeks, making me practice with her. She can take it.”

With that, Jean’s standing, padding into his room and knowing Eren’s following with you still tossed over his shoulder. His head spins; you, his precious little toy, have been stretching yourself out, getting yourself ready to have two cocks in you? The thought nearly makes Jean moan to himself, imagining how tight you’ll be all stuffed full.

Eren’s thrown you on the bed none too gently, stripping as you look up at him, hearts in your eyes. He stops midway through pulling his clothes off to grab your chin, offer your pleading gaze to Jean.

“Why don’t you ask him, hm?” Eren coos, looking between you and Jean with a filthy grin on his face. “Ask him again, see if you’ve been good.”

“Will you kiss me, Jean? Please?” Your voice has that thin, fucked out tone to it that drives Jean crazy, makes him want to make you cry.

“Yeah princess, I’ll kiss you.” He leans down, takes your soft mouth in his, Eren never releasing his hold on your chin. Jean can taste himself on your tongue, smiling appreciatively at the salty tang. Eren rips you away far too soon, pressing his mouth down on you far rougher than Jean had. They balance each other well, Jean thinks, the gentle caresses and the sharp slaps that make you come undone under them in a way neither of them can manage alone.

“On your knees, brat,” Eren sneers, the shred of tenderness that he’d grabbed your face with long-gone, “convince us to fuck you stupid.”

You nod obediently, sliding off the bed and onto your knees, reaching for Jean. He steps forward, letting you hold his cock in your little hand, rub up and down while you take Eren in your mouth. Even your hands are enough to drive him crazy, so soft and supple around him; Jean’s head falls back.

“Fuck,” Eren sucks a sharp breath in between his teeth, “that’s it, baby, take it.”

Something possesses Jean, what it is he can’t be sure, but he reaches a hand down to the back of your head, pushing you further down Eren’s length. He half-expects Eren to chastise him for it, but Eren groans, long and loud, a sound that simmers in Jean’s stomach.

Jean watches the contractions of Eren’s abs, trails his eyes up to where the other man’s strong chest is heaving, a strange, hot sensation trickling through his center. It’s too late to look away once he realizes he’s been caught, but instead of finding amusement when he meets Eren’s eyes, Jean finds something else entirely.

Eren’s looking at Jean the way he looks at you, all lusty and uninhibited. Jean nearly scowls at him, everything he’s internalized over the years rearing its head in his chest, but Eren stops him with a hand wrapped around the back of Jean’s neck. In the blink of an eye, there’s a set of lips on his, a sharp tongue licking into his mouth.

Jean lets out a wanton, strung out moan that Eren swallows, echoes with one of his own. Jean notices that your head has stilled under his hand, and he shoves you back onto Eren’s cock mindlessly, relishing in the way Eren’s mouth stutters against his own when you retch around him. He trails his hand, tentative and exploratory, up to Eren’s hair, grabs the bun at the back of his head and pulls. Jean’s surprised at the heat beneath his palm; he’s always known Eren runs hot, especially after the last few times he’s fucked you. It’s only natural to brush arms, brush legs during the act, but Eren’s skin is scalding, damp with sweat under his touch.

It’s not Jean’s first kiss with a man, not by any means, but he’d never guessed that Eren, headstrong, manly, unreadable Eren, had this in him. Had it been hiding there for all of these years? Was it a spur of the moment thing, that Eren would look back on and cringe at later?

Doubt getting the better of him, Jean breaks first, pulls away with a quiet smacking sound. Eren’s eyes are just as wide as his feel, searching Jean’s face for any sign of regret, of satisfaction, of something. A loud whine from below distracts them both, and whatever odd moment was forming is broken as they look down at you.

Your chin is covered in drool from where you’ve been choking on Eren, gagging around him, and your eyes are glossy and needy. Jean’s cock gets impossibly harder.

“What?” Eren taunts. “You jealous that I kissed your Jeanie?”

“Yeah,” you pout, brows knitting, but Jean can see the arousal written into your features. You liked it.

“Get up,” Jean says to you, voice hard and unforgiving.

You follow his instruction, standing on shaking legs. Jean can see the snark in your eyes before it comes out of your lips. “What, finally going to pay attention to me now?”

As soon as the words have left your mouth, Eren’s hand is around your jaw, wrenching it open for him to spit into your mouth. “Don’t fucking talk back, not if you want to cum.”

“You were doing so good,” Jean rubs a hand over your hip, guiding you to lay on top of him on the bed, “what, are you that desperate for us that you can’t mind your manners?”

“I just–”

“Want both of your slutty little holes filled?” Eren scoffs, kneeling on the bed behind where you’re straddling Jean’s hips. “Yeah, we know.”

You frown and lean down to Jean, searching for consolation, but he shoves you to sit back up, admiring the way your chest bounces with the movement.

“Can’t be nice to you all the time,” Jean’s voice is low, dangerous, “not when you act like a brat.”

He can see the heartbreak on your face, revels in it, but it’s short lived. Your eyes fly open as Eren works the plug out of you, tossing it to the side and wrapping an arm around you to take your neck in his hand. Eren looks down at Jean, exchanges a conspiratorial smirk with him.

“Why don’t you ask Jean if you can sit on it while I work you open, hm?”

Your eyes glisten pleadingly at Jean, but something’s come over him. He realizes he likes drawing those begging moans out of you, likes holding you over the edge between the tips of his fingers. Jean shrugs.

“Show me how bad you want it.”

While Eren reaches over to scrounge around for the lube in Jean’s bedside table, you start to work your hips over Jean’s cock, slicking it up with how wet you already are. Jean grabs you by the back of the neck, pulls you to him to drink down the little whimpers and moans that escape your lips.

“Jean, please,” you sigh into his mouth, “I need you.”

Jean’s resolve wavers, but he stands firm. “Beg.”

“I–” hot tears of shame are welling in your eyes now, Jean wants to lick them from your cheeks– “please, I need it, need your cock in me, please, Jean.”

“What do you think, Eren?” As Jean asks the question, it strikes him just how often he refers to the other man simply as “Jaeger”, not by his first name. In his mind, ‘Jaeger’ is his friend of many years, and ‘Eren’ is the man that he had just inexplicably, passionately kissed. “Think she’s earned it?”

“Let’s see how she takes my fingers,” Eren replies, slicking his fingers up with lube and forcing two into your already-stretched hole with ease, making you squeak in surprise, “oh fuck, she’s already so stretched out for us. Yeah, give her what she wants, let her warm up to it.”

“Thank you, t-thank you,” you stammer, out of your mind with want as Jean slides the head of his cock into you with a long groan.

“Shit,” Jean growls, holding onto you tight to prevent your hips from pushing down on him too fast, filling you up too quickly with Eren’s fingers hard at work in your other hole. Maybe he is the nice one, after all. “So fucking tight for me, aren’t you?”

“Mhm, for you,” you hum, lip tucked in your teeth.

“Think she likes you more than me,” Eren smirks from over your shoulder, working a third finger into you and making your jaw drop. For his part, Jean bottoms out, hissing as you pulse around him. He can feel Eren’s fingers scissoring through your walls, eyes rolling back into his head at the sensation.

“You okay? Is it too much?” Jean notices one of those tears that had sparkled in your eyes earlier threatening to fall, grabbing your face and forcing you to look at him. You look beautiful, all stretched around him and fucked out, mind blank.

“It’s a lot,” you nod, sniffle, “but I’m okay, I can take him. Want to, want– need you both.”

Eren’s eyes darken, and Jean can feel him remove his fingers, feel the accommodating stretch of your walls able to breathe again. Jean takes your hips in his hands, rolling you along his cock to grant both of you some of the friction you desperately need. You mewl, leaning over to wrap your arms around his shoulders. Eren’s lining up behind you, running a soothing hand over your back.

“Deep breaths, baby,” Jean instructs you, holding you to his chest. You sniffle and nod into his shoulder, muscles tense and twitching.

“Tell me if it’s too much, alright angel?” Eren leans over to press a surprisingly tender kiss between your shoulder blades and gives Jean a signaling nod, which Jean returns.

Jean can feel it the moment Eren pushes in, feel your body stretching itself to accommodate both of them. You squeal into the skin of Jean’s shoulder that you’ve taken between your teeth, and it hurts, but he lets you, rubbing circles on your lower back.

“Doing so good for us, baby,” Jean hums, pressing his lips to your ear, “too much?”

You shake your head, whimpering as Eren pushes in further.

“God, she’s– shit, it’s so fucking tight,” Eren growls, jaw clenched and a little vein protruding in his neck from the effort of holding himself back, reining in the part of himself that just wants to snap his hips forwards into you.

“Yeah, she is,” Jean chokes out, feeling suffocated by the way you’re pulsing around him, by the pressure of Eren’s cock shoving at him. He’s not sure where he ends and where the both of you begin, if there’s even any separation between his skin and Eren’s and yours anymore.

“Feel so– full,” you hiccup, nails digging into Jean’s shoulders. Your watery voice makes Eren pause, rub a hand over your back.

“You doing okay, baby? How you feeling?”

“Feels….” you take in a deep, heaving breath, “good. Feels so good.”

Eren grins, something feral. “That’s our girl. So good for us, yeah?”

“You like being full, hm?” Jean can feel a smile mirroring Eren’s on his face.

He doesn’t miss Eren’s choice of words. Our girl. And you are their girl, you love being full of them. Of course you do. You’re their insatiable little plaything, so good at taking them in each of your holes. You love it, you love them.

“It’s– fuck, I’m in,” Eren’s staring at where you’re all connected. Jean wishes he could see, but the tightness of you around him is enough, the way he can feel Eren through your thin walls, pressing against his cock. Eren pumps his hips experimentally, and all three of you moan in sync.

“Pl-please move, Jean, fuck- no, Eren, just–” you’re babbling nonsensically, music to their ears.

“We’ve got you,” Jean hushes you, fucking his hips up into you and cutting you off, “just sit tight and be our good little girl, alright?”

“Oh g-god.” Your words wrench from you in a sob, jolting with the thrust of Jean’s hips up into yours. It takes some work, but soon enough, they’re pumping in and out of you at the perfect pace, synced up so you’re never empty, not for long. You’re wailing, voice scratchy from all the crying you’ve already done that night, clutching onto Jean like he’s your last lifeline.

“Feels so fucking good,” Eren grits out, digging his fingers into the flesh of your hips, “so good for us.”

“Not gonna last long, not like this,” Jean agrees, sitting you up so he can see you, see your wet cheeks and your open mouth, “so pretty like this, aren’t you? All stuffed full?”

“She loves it,” Eren growls over your pathetic, shaky moan of agreement, landing a smack on your ass, “fucking loves us, don’t you baby? Tell us, tell us how much you love it.”

“I-I love it,” you manage, voice wrecked, “love you— fuck- love you both so much.”

Jean’s eyes widen, roll back in his head a little. You’re so perfect, obedient and willing to take both of them, let them abuse your holes. The thought makes him bite down on the inside of his cheek, not willing to be the first to break and ruin this perfect moment.

“Jean, I– shit, I’m gonna cum soon,” Eren pants, pupils blown wide and mouth hanging open when he meets Jean’s eyes. “Make her cum.”

Jean nods determinedly, somehow finds the presence of mind to slide a hand in between your slick bodies, swiping at your clit insistently. Your body blooms for him, back arching as you throw your head back against Eren’s shoulder. He feels you clench violently around him, knows you’ve already been on the edge since they started with you, knows you won’t take much goading to break for them.

“That good?” Jean forced out through his clenched jaw, trying to keep pace with Eren amidst your vice-like grip on him.

“Yes, so fucking– oh my god, J-Jean, I’m– Eren,” you’re babbling, close to the point of hysteria, eyes blank and teary. Jean’s free hand wraps around your hip, grabbing hard at the flesh there. He’s so gone he barely catches it, just barely, but he notices Eren’s hand. Eren lays his palm over Jean’s, deliberate and steady, grabbing onto the other man’s hand and squeezing down. Jean meets Eren’s eyes, fucked out and hooded.

“Come on,” Jean rubs faster, harder, his eyes flitting back and forth between yours and Eren’s, “show us what a good fucking girl you are for us.”

Whatever was tethering you to your sanity falls away, and you cum harder than Jean’s ever seen, mouth hanging open in a silent scream as your muscles lock up, legs trembling on either side of Jean’s hips. He grips your hip harder, trying to maintain a pace so you can ride your orgasm out on top of them. Eren follows quickly behind you, biting into your shoulder with a loud, long groan. When Jean feels Eren’s cum leaking out of you, feels the mess they’ve made between your legs, he falls over the edge too, slamming your hips down into his and grinding up into you with a moan.

The three of you collapse into a heap of limbs and sweat and stickiness, chests heaving and muscles twitching. Jean can feel the burn of Eren’s skin and the slick, plush give of yours, enveloping him from every angle, and for the first time in months, he lets his eyes flutter shut, letting himself enjoy the simple pleasure of touch.

But nothing is forever, and after a few minutes, he feels you begin to stir between them, mumbling about needing to go to the bathroom. Eren reluctantly rolls off the bed to help you to the bathroom to clean up, leading you out on shaking legs. Alone again, Jean throws his hands over his face and sighs, deep and hefty.

He shouldn’t be here, he should have never let you both goad him into this.

It occurs to Jean that he needs some air; the apartment feels suffocatingly small knowing that both of you are only a few layers of plaster and a door away. He pushes through regret and self-doubt, pulling his sweatpants back on and scrounging around in his laundry basket of unfolded, clean clothes to find a shirt.

“What are you doing?” Eren’s suddenly in the doorway, scowling at him.

“Going out.”

“You worked this morning. What, do you have plans or something?” There’s a clear note of annoyance in Eren’s voice, but Jean’s too exhausted and shaky to look into it.

“Jean?” You, Eren’s shadow as always, peer around his shoulders, a cute little furrow of confusion between your brows. “Where are you going?”

Jean nearly growls in frustration, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Out. I’m going out.”

He hates the way you flinch, grab onto Eren’s hand for stability in the wake of his snapping at you. Eren speaks next, but Jean doesn’t recognize his tone; it’s firm, but somehow, it’s lacking Eren’s perpetually angry intonation.

“Sit.” Eren’s got one finger pointed to the bed, ordering him as if this isn’t Jean’s own room. He drags you over behind him, plopping on the bed as if you all do this every day. Jean glares at Eren, softens his eyes at the way you’re looking up at him invitingly.

“We just want to talk a little,” you pat the comforter, smiling softly. That breaks him, and against Jean’s better judgment, he’s sitting where you’ve indicated, t-shirt still fisted in his hands.

“About?”

“We don’t want you to think– well, this…” Eren gestures his hands between the three of you, frowning deeper, and eventually sighing, “I don’t know how to say it.”

You pick up for Eren, smiling at him. “We don’t want you to feel like you’re out of place here, that’s all.”

Jean cocks an eyebrow. “In my own bedroom?”

“No, asshole,” Eren rolls his eyes, “with…with us.”

“What does that mean?” Jean’s heart nearly stops. A small, soft hand over his makes his breath catch in his throat.

“We’re not, like, experienced with this, so maybe we’re doing this whole thing wrong,” you look to Eren anxiously, who nods at you reassuringly, “but…we have room for you. If you’re open.”

“Like…” Jean barely trusts his voice to carry above a breath, “in what sense?”

“It’s not just sex,” Eren mumbles, flushing pink, “to us, at least.”

“We like you,” you clarify, smiling again, “and however you want us, if you want us, at least, you can have us.”

Jean blinks stupidly, looks to Eren to see if his face betrays anything, anything that could explain the conversation taking place, if it’s a joke, if he’s unsure. To his surprise, Eren looks up at him, green eyes earnest and burning into his, and takes the t-shirt out of Jean’s hands, giving one of Jean’s hands to you and taking the other for himself.

“It works,” Eren says, finding some conviction, “whatever you want to call it, this works.”

“For both of you?” Jean can hardly believe his ears, can hardly fathom the feeling of your soft, delicate little fingers and Eren’s calloused palms wrapped around his hands.

“For both of us. But…does it? For you?” Your voice wavers, your nerves betraying you.

“I mean, I don’t know what it is. I don’t understand it,” Jean admits, positive that his eyes are comically wide in the face of this new information.

“Me neither,” Eren shrugs, “but we don’t have to be so serious about it–”

“Not for now at least,” you smile at Eren encouragingly, nodding and urging him to press on.

“Not for now,” Eren agrees, squeezing Jean’s fingers ever so slightly, the smallest, most tentative reassurance, “we can figure it out later.”

“If you want it,” you bite your lip, looking up at Jean through thick lashes, “want us. We won’t be upset if you say no. No pressure.”

Jean thinks for a moment, thinks about everything you’re offering him. You, who he’s pined after for months, so beautiful and sweet to him. He thinks about sharing coffee with you in the mornings, holding you tight to his body and drifting off to sleep, letting you play with his hair. He doesn’t know if he loves you, but whatever he feels is pretty damn close to it, close enough to drive him crazy and keep him up at night.

And Eren. He’s been friends with Eren for near a decade now, known him for as long as he can remember. What this agreement means in terms of his relationship with Eren, Jean hardly dares to press, knowing how Eren is: flighty, argumentative, brash. None of that is written into Eren’s features now, though; Eren’s watching him intently, earnestly, chest stilled as if he’s holding his breath, waiting for Jean’s answer.

Something old and something new mixed together into something entirely unfamiliar.

“We don’t have to put a label on it now, or even go through the semantics,” Eren’s voice is spent, nearly breathless.

“We’ll give you some space if you need–”

“No,” Jean cuts you off, looking between you both, “no, it’s– it’s just a surprise, that’s all.”

Eren snorts. “How many times do we need to fuck you before you get the hint?”

“Eren!” You slap his arm, looking between him and Jean meaningfully. “Not really the time for jokes, is it?”

“I mean, fucking in the bathroom of Scout’s isn’t exactly wining and dining me,” Jean rolls his eyes. Eren laughs at that, unintentionally tightening his grip around Jean’s fingers and making Jean’s heart thud a little in his chest.

“You two are beyond annoying,” you huff, crossing your arms over your chest. Eren and Jean exchange a wicked smirk.

“Regretting this already?” Eren teases you, digging his fingers into your side and making you giggle.

“Get over here,” Jean pulls you onto his lap, feeling emboldened to press a quick succession of kisses to your jawline, to your cheek. God, maybe he does love you, the weight of you in his arms feeling almost perfect. Eren leans over and tackles you both, tickling you wherever he can reach, Jean pinning you to his chest despite your protests and thrashing.

That’s what’s missing, Jean realizes. It’s not about you and Jean, or you and Eren, or he and Eren. He understands Eren’s bluntness earlier: the three of you just work, regardless of the weirdness of it all or the awkward conversations that lay ahead. It works, and for now, that’s enough.

Eren relents in his torture, scooting up the bed and dragging you with him, pulling Jean’s covers over you both like he’d done it a hundred times. Jean’s last little inkling of self-doubt perseveres, and he hesitates, until Eren tosses the covers on your other side back, patting the sheets meaningfully. Jean swallows his pride, swallows his insecurity, and pulls you into his side, very mindful of Eren’s arm tossed over both of your shoulders, of Eren’s fingers weaving absentmindedly through the hair at the nape of his neck.

And in the morning, when Eren mimics Jean’s loud snoring and you’re playfully throwing little crumbs of toast at them over the counter, the little voice in Jean’s head that had warned him to keep his distance will be completely silenced for the first time in months.

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kicking off kinktober tomorrow (today? shh) with satoru gojo, breeding and princess diaries !! find it live at 20:45pm gmt <3

Glitter and Rot

What better way to bring in the new year that with my favourite, degenerate twins. Happy belated new year, y'all <33

Miya Osamu x female reader x Miya Atsumu

w.c 6.8k

tw: extreme dub-con, themes of infidelity, major character death, smut lite, slight gore/violence, somnophilia if you squint, murder, and, as always, yandere themes

The rain comes heavy, soaking the dirt beneath your bare feet. 

The cotton of your nightgown, drenched, plastered to your skin, does little to keep the chill of the midnight air from seeping into your bones. Raindrops fall from the leaves of the trees above you, dripping onto your shoulder, clinging to the ends of your hair, your eyelashes. 

In the mountains, away from the city lights, the night glitters with stars, streaks of soft moonlight spilling through the canopy on clear nights. Tonight, though, with the rain clouds looming ominously overhead, there’s no light beyond the sole beam of torchlight, steadily making its way closer towards you.

Your toes wriggle in the earth. Run. 

He calls out your name, twigs snapping in the undergrowth behind you. 

How… how did you get out here? 

The wind picks up, biting at your soaked, exposed skin. You shiver, and he calls your name again. This time you can hear a note of concern – not quite panic, though. Not yet. 

Run, that quiet voice urges.  

You take a step. Another–

And the torchlight finds you. Squinting under the sudden bright light shining on your face, there’s only a sigh, and the beam shifts downwards.

A familiar countenance peers back at you through the rain; dark hair, grey eyes, a strong jaw. Your husband. 

“You’re gonna give me a fucking heart attack one’a these days, sweetheart,” Osamu says, with a wry sort of laugh. “C’mon, let’s get’cha home.”

Holding an umbrella in one hand and the torch in the other, he passes you the latter so that his arm can snake around your middle, tucking you into his side and out of the rain. Unbothered by the dampness of your skin, he presses a kiss to your temple, his thumb rubbing at your side.

“… I’m sorry,” you mumble, “I don’t know– I don’t remember–”

He squeezes you side, offers you a crooked smile as he helps you back through the trees. Back home. “It’s fine, the Doc said this could happen, remember?” 

You do, vaguely. The Doctor had said a lot that day, most of it lost to the ringing in your ears. 

Neither of you say much as you make the trek back to the house. There’s a gentleness to the way he helps you peel off your sodden nightgown, letting the shower heat up before ushering you in. 

“I’m sorry,” you tell him again, when he passes you the big, fluffy towel to rub yourself dry. 

Sorry for causing him to worry. Sorry for making him chase after you in the rain in the middle of the night. Sorry that you can’t remember what came before, the life you built with him and all the happiness surrounding it.

You feel like a shell, hollow and useless. You don’t know why he keeps putting up with it, and somewhere in the back of your mind, a nasty voice whispers that he won’t for much longer.

But Samu just shakes his head with a snort, “Don’t be stupid. You’re my wife, ya don’t apologise for anythin’.”

You muster a weak smile in return, quickly glancing away. He’s only being polite, you remind yourself, pulling the towel tighter around yourself. Accident or not, none of this is ideal. It’s been weeks now, and you haven’t gotten better. Your memories are still gone, and no one can tell you with any degree of certainty when or if they’re going to come back, not to mention that tonight officially marks the third time you’ve wandered off in your sleep.

What if your memories don’t come back? What if you never return to the person you used to be? 

Before this you had a family, friends, a history. Likes, dislikes, funny stories from your childhood and weird habits. The things that shape who you are from where you’ve been. You’re just supposed to slide back into the life you had, but how can you when you don’t know who that person was?

What kind of man would want–

“Hey,” he says, catching your jaw to coax your face back up. Grey eyes appraise you, a frown pulling at his features. “I mean it. None of this is your fault. Not the accident, or your memories, the sleepwalking, none of it. And I’m not going anywhere either, alright?”

He holds your gaze, surveying you intently until you bob your head in agreement. 

“Good girl. Now are ya comin’ back to bed or are ya planning on leavin’ your poor husband high and dry for a second time tonight?”

Your cheeks heat, the heaviness between you easing somewhat as amusement dances across his face. He’s handsome, almost intimidatingly so – striking features and excellent bone structure. Something coils in your stomach as the weight of his gaze bores into you. Taking your face in his palms, his thumb brushes along the curve of your cheekbone. Slowly. 

Your mouth parts then, but whatever response you have is lost as his lips descend on yours, kissing you deeply. 

When he pulls away, when you’re breathless and slightly dazed, satisfaction and more than a touch of pride gleams from his expression.

“Though we might have to invest in some better locks. Don’t want ya wandering off too far on me.”

—

Sometimes it feels like you’re waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under you.

As if you’ve woken in someone else’s life, or a dream, and it’s only a matter of time before it all comes crashing down and you’re whisked away back to reality. A handsome, devoted husband, not one but two houses – the mountainside retreat you’re staying at while you get better, and a place in the city you haven’t yet seen – even the ring on your finger, the bright, sparkling diamond that sits next to your platinum wedding band. 

How can it be real? 

He tells you that the two of you work together in his restaurant back home, and that too  sounds sweet in an oddly domestic way.

And looks can be deceiving, you know that. Money, success, the image of a perfectly happy couple, it doesn’t mean anything. Façades can crack, rot can fester beneath the surface, slowly eating away. 

Everything he tells you sounds so… good.

You’re happy. In love. Fulfilled with your job and comfortable enough financially for the both of you to take the time off while you’re still trying to fix the broken pieces of yourself.

Accident aside, no one gets everything they want. Surely no one can be this happy. 

There’s a niggling sense of unease that bites and gnaws. No one can be this happy. 

There’s a woman who keeps calling Osamu’s phone. You know because those are the calls he lets ring out, ignoring them until he thinks you’re asleep or busy, distracted by whatever task he’s set you on for the day. 

He calls her Hikari. No, that’s not entirely true now, is it – he calls her Kari. 

“Kari, you know I wanna be there, but I can’t. Things are just– it’s not a good time right now, s’all.”

And the house is quiet enough that you can hear her desperate sniffles on the other end of the line, “Samu, please, this is important. I need you back here.”

He huffs, running a hand through his sleep mussed hair, pacing the length of the living room. “I can’t,” he repeats. “I’m sorry, I am, but after everythin’… it’s too much.”

She cries again, and it’s a strange thing but your heart squeezes in response. She sounds so broken, so lost and scared, a fragile, pitiable thing. “… I know… “ her voice trembles, “Despite what happened, I know you still care about her. I need you to come back. Please, Samu.”

You slip away then, unable to bear it anymore.

Sliding back beneath the covers of your bed, you let out the shuddering breath you’d been holding, trying to process the conversation you’d overheard. 

There were perhaps other explanations beyond an affair, but as you lie there, mulling it over, none come to mind. If she were a friend–

‘I know you still care about her.’

No. You’re not that naive. Maybe you were before the accident, or maybe you had suspicions, hell, maybe you’d physically caught him in the act – you suppose none of that matters anymore, does it? All that matters is what you’re going to do with this new development.

And as your husband returns a few minutes later, crawling into bed beside you, an arm hooked over your waist, the warmth of his muscular frame pressed up against your back chasing away the winter chill, you wonder if he sees this as some kind of atonement.

Osamu exhales, nuzzling closer in an effort to get more comfortable, and amidst the strange heaviness in your chest, you close your eyes and will yourself back to sleep. 

—

If Osamu knows that you eavesdropped on his call last night, he gives no indication come morning. Although, admittedly, that might be because of your visitor.

The day the Doctor came to the house, he’d said a lot about what was happening to you. A result of head trauma, there was no telling if or when your memories might return. 

He’d spoken to Osamu, taking your concerned looking husband aside just before he’d left.

“What did he say?” you’d asked when he’d returned dutifully to your side.

He hadn’t answered straight away, choosing instead to reach out and take your hand in his. For a moment, his focus remained on your entwined fingers, and then he’d said, “To take things slow. Too many people, too much it might… might overwhelm ya. Until things are better, it’s best if it’s just you ‘n me.”

Today, apparently, marked a change to that, because his twin brother was arriving to stay for a little while. 

Which, shortly after mid morning, he does. 

Naturally, you’ve seen pictures, you and the twins back in highschool, posing with a friend of theirs, grinning toothily and laughing at the camera. Seeing the two of them in person, though – it’s a whole other ball game.

Next to each other, they’re a mirror image, but… not. Tiny, subtle differences that weirdly make them appear more similar than less. It doesn’t make any sense at all, and yet you have no other way of explaining it. 

Osamu stands at your side, his arm slung over your shoulder as his brother pulls up front in a fancy, fast looking car. Atsumu, however, pays him no mind,  eyes – a few shades browner than his brother’s – fixed solely on you, a familiar, smirking grin broadening across his handsome visage.

Osamu tells you that the three of you are close, yet with only a faint, glimmering recognition and your husband’s words to fall back on, it’s hard to know how you’re supposed to greet someone you once knew and loved.

With an arm loosely wrapped around your front, you settle for a smile. 

Atsumu notes this with a raised eyebrow. “Aw, c’mon now, that ain’t no way to greet your favourite twin, is it?”

Before you can stop him he’s on you, yanking you away from Osamu so he can pick you up into a near crushing hug, spinning you around for good measure. You shriek and bury your face in his neck, clinging to him while he laughs, eventually setting you down on wobbly feet.

“Fuck, I missed you,” he says, ignoring Samu’s disapproving scowl in favour of taking you in, hands settling on your waist. And there must be some giveaway, a hesitance he notes because his demeanour turns curious, head tilting to the side, “Still nothin’, huh?”

You shake your head, shrugging. “Sorry.”

Feels like that’s all you’re capable of saying lately. 

“Nah, don’t be. Not your fault.”

While you don’t necessarily agree – it’s hard not to think of any of this as some kind of moral failing, as though the only reason you can’t recover those precious memories is because you’re simply not trying hard enough – it’s… nice having someone else around to help fill in the gaps a little.

Not that you aren’t endlessly grateful to Osamu – more than you actually know how to convey to him, and you have tried. It’s just that when you woke up in an unfamiliar bedroom, being watched over by a man you didn’t recognise, and with no memories of who you were or what had happened, you hadn’t reacted well.

Being your husband (the issue of fidelity aside), he’s supposed to be the person who matters the most to you, and you assume that’s a two way street. In a sense, forgetting him is its own kind of betrayal, with that comes the heaviness of expectations and fears and awfulness.

Plus, things have been… strained between you two, lately. 

So yes, having Atsumu here as a sort of buffer between you two is a relief. Having someone else to help fill in the gaps in your life, to tell you about the person you used to be – the one you’re trying to fit back into – even more so.

“That year we made it all the way to the finals before gettin’ knocked out.”

His finger draws across the picture; the volleyball team, sweaty and defeated, bowing before the roaring crowd. All these years later, now a pro playing in arguably one of the best teams in the country (according to him), a two-time Olympic medalist, and he still sounds pissed about it.

You bite back a giggle, following when he turns the page of the year book. “I dunno, second in the nation when you’re still in high school doesn't sound too bad to me.”

“You were there that day.” 

Glancing up, you find Osamu considering the two of you from the kitchen, elbow deep in food prep for dinner. “I was?”

He nods. “Yeah. Ya came to all our games, right from the start.”

“There,” Atsumu taps on the next page, a picture of a younger you cheering wildly from the stands, hands cupped around your mouth to amplify your shouts, maroon ribbons in your hair. “Our cute little cheerleader.”

“We begged ya to become our manager, but ya kept turnin’ us down,” Samu adds, then smirks, “Said you couldn’t stand being around Tsumu for another ten hours a week.”

The dig reaches its mark, Atsumu sneering as he flips Samu the bird, while his other arm slides from the backrest of the couch to drape over your shoulders. You hardly notice, utterly transfixed by the book on Tsumu’s lap. You don’t think you’ll ever get over how weird it is to be seeing these pictures, like peering into some alternate universe; you, but not you. You look happy, though.

It makes your heart ache a little.

Did you like sports, or was it more of a school pride sort of thing, you wonder. Or was it them – him, really – who drew you into it? If you watched a game now, would you feel anything, some glint of recognition? Excitement?

Flipping the page, you study the various pictures until one in particular catches your eye – only after a second glance. To be fair, the photo isn’t of you – well, it is, but you’re not the focus. Rather it’s of two girls who appear to be in the same year as you, posing cutely with each other on the school’s courtyard. Behind them, though, in the background there’s a wooden picnic bench in the shade of an oak. Perched cross-legged atop it, sitting amongst piled up books and notes, there’s you – and you’re not alone.

Shoulders back, eyes closed, soaking in the rays of the sun filtering through the leaves sits another boy. Not Osamu, one of his teammates, a dark haired kid you recognise from a bunch of the old photos they’d shown you.

The image itself might not be so remarkable – you’re not doing anything all that interesting, one of a number of people captured in the background, and slightly out of focus at that– if not for the one tiny detail that has a strange feeling racing through your heart.

Barely visible but for the way you study it, your hand is curled in his. 

“– listenin’?”

“Huh?”

Mid-way through scraping out his rice, Osamu fixes you with an odd expression. Atsumu, however, just snickers and flicks your forehead. “Ya always were a little spacey.”

Halfheartedly, you chuckle along with him.

The smart thing to do – perhaps the right thing – would be to leave it. 

Samu told you the two of you dated right through high school, so it can’t be anything like that. There’s a possibility the two of you were just close. Good friends, judging by how often he appears in the photos with you and the twins. He’d told you your parents, the only family you had, died in an accident years ago, but Samu hasn’t really spoken much about your friends. You know why, and understand it to an extent – he doesn’t want to stress you out unnecessarily, not while you’re still so fragile.

‘The doc said we gotta take things slow, baby.’

Nevertheless, your lips part, the question burning on the tip of your tongue–

Suddenly, as has become a frequent occurrence in the past few days, Osamu’s phone blares to life, the loud vibrations against the marble countertop startling all three of you. 

He doesn’t answer it, by this point you no longer expect him to. 

—

You dream of fingers running through dark hair, of lips smiling lazily. Someone laughing, ‘You’re an idiot.’

There’s a warmth, a slow burning heat that ignites in your body, trailing from your jaw, down the slope of your neck, dancing along delicate collarbone, another unfurling deep within your core. You chase the pleasant sensations, a soft, pretty moan drawn from parted lips. 

Only when teeth bite down, a tender nip to sensitive flesh are you roused from your dreams to find your husband straddling you, his mouth now between your breasts, dark eyes that glint in the low morning light taking in your visage as you slowly come to. 

“S-Samu, wha–”

“Shh.” He chuckles, your stomach flipping at the deep rumble, “Relax. Gonna make ya feel good, baby.”

Whatever protests you might have (if you have any at all) are lost when you realise that the heat pooling in your guts is due to the two digits Osamu has curled up inside of you, slowly easing in and out.

It isn’t the first time the two of you have been intimate since the accident, and while you hadn’t fought him those times either, there’s a slight niggling sensation, nearly lost to the burgeoning pleasure, that twists and knots at the thought of what’s to come.

There’s no possible way of knowing how often you’ve had sex with each other in the years you’ve been together. For him, this must be old hat. For you though, with no frame of reference, no past partners to call to mind, there’s an edge of vulnerability you wish you could get rid of.

A hesitance you don’t give a voice to – not that Samu offers you much of an opening to do so. 

Pushing up the hem of your nightdress, your husband lifts your hips enough to ease off your panties, dragging them slowly down smooth legs until they’re dangling from one ankle, and you kick them aside.

Spreading them either side of his broad frame, Osamu stands briefly to rid himself of his own underwear, crawling on all fours back between your legs – gripping one thigh to sink his teeth into soft, delectable flesh – his tongue quick to soothe the hurt when you cry out.

“A-Atsumu, he’s gonna wake up,” you murmur as he once more takes you by the waist, hefting you forward so that you lie flush against him, your legs hiked up over his hips. 

The very last thing you want right now is an audience.

With one hand, he strokes his cock with the fingers that had been buried inside your pussy, spreading the glistening mix of your slick and his pre over the thick member. The other’s planted near your shoulder, keeping him stable while he rolls his hips forward, slowly bullying his cock into your warm, tight little cunt. Osamu grins roguishly, lowering his top half down to hover above you as you fist at the sheets, your spine arcing, ankles locking over his back.

“Maybe–” he grunts, relishing in the sounds of your sweet cries and gasps as he inches his way into stuffing you full. “Maybe I want him to hear.”

—

A heavy weight drops onto the couch beside you. “Somethin’ on your mind, sweetheart?”

You fiddle with the rings on your left hand. How many times now have you caught yourself toying with them, completely lost in contemplation, their weight on your finger almost foreign? 

A few times now you’ve taken them off to wash up and forgotten about them entirely, not noticing their absence until Samu himself comes to take your hand in his and slide them back on. 

Did you used to do that before the accident?

No… no, you probably spent days marvelling at them, wiggling your fingers to make the diamond sparkle in the light. You were probably enthralled by the pretty thing. Blissfully in love. 

Happy.

“I think Osamu’s cheating on me.”

You don’t dare raise your eyeline when you say it, afraid of what you’ll see. You might be his wife, however poor a job you’re currently doing, yet the one person Osamu’s closest to is undeniably his brother. 

Since Tsumu arrived three days ago, all they’ve done is bicker between themselves, and yet without either of them saying as much, the writing’s on the wall. It’s in the looks they share, full of silent conversations you’re not privy to and won’t ever have a hope of understanding. In the way they move around each other, that implicit, frankly unnerving trust they have with one another. 

There are things Osamu can’t share with you – or won’t, maybe – but there’s not a doubt in your mind that if Samu were sleeping with somebody else, if he loved them as he claimed to love you, Atsumu knows about it.

It’s not confirmation that you’re searching for, though. You doubt he’d admit it to begin with – between you and Samu, there’s no question of which side his loyalty falls. This isn’t about that.

For days now, weeks, you’ve had this gnawing pit in your stomach that keeps getting worse, and worse and worse. 

With each day that passes, you should be making some kind of progress towards regaining your memories or, if not that, then at the very least becoming more comfortable around him. Yet you still feel like a stranger inhabiting this body, and to make matters worse, your marriage might be failing before you can try to adjust yourself to it. 

Atsumu’s really the last person you should be saying this to. It’s the sort of thing you accidentally let slip to a friend after one too many glasses of wine, letting them comfort you and offer advice, commiserate, even.

Yet Samu won’t so much as bring up the friends you had before for fear of making things worse – because you’re fragile and weak, and you haven’t shown any signs of getting better. From the complete and utter radio silence on their ends, you can only assume none of them bothered to fight him on it. 

Again, rationally speaking you can understand it – that doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting in its own bitter way.

Beside you, Atsumu laughs. Actually laughs. 

Indignation – hurt – burns, heating your cheeks as your hands curl into pathetic little fists in your lap and shake. Much to your dismay, tears prickly uncomfortably at your waterline. You go to say something, only for a lump to settle in your throat, blocking all noise. You didn’t think he’d spill the truth just like that, but to laugh at you?

In a split second decision you start to rise, planning on stalking off to go lick your wounds alone in your bedroom until Samu comes home, when a hand on your shoulder stops you.

He chuckles again when he’s met with your poisonous glare, “Hey, c’mon. Don’t run away, I wasn’t laughin’ atcha.”

Raising an eyebrow, you scoff. His lips curl into a smirk, hands coming up in a peaceful gesture. “Okay, okay, I was but… s’just funny to me that you think Samu’d ever look twice at another girl. He’s been in love with ya pretty much from day one.” 

The words should be more of a reassurance than they are. Your shoulders rise and fall, a tight shrug as your gaze dips once more to your lap, to the rings that shine mockingly on your left hand. 

Atsumu, however, isn’t so willing to drop the subject. 

“Nah, you don’t get to say some wild shit like that ‘n then go all quiet on me. Explain.”

If you got up and left, would he follow you? Probably, you muse. If anything, Atsumu’s proven over the past few days that he’s nothing if not persistent. He’s clearly amused, at your expense, mind you, yet the way he scrutinises you now, the slight narrowing of his eyes, that reminds you of a dog with a bone. 

No, he won’t let this go.

Nibbling at your bottom lip, you shrug again, “There’s this girl– woman, I guess. She keeps calling him… Samu won’t talk to her if I’m around.” You swallow tightly, “I–I overheard them, the last time she rang, and…” 

“What’d ya hear?”

You fiddle with the hem of your skirt as that tell tale prickle stings at your tear ducts. After your early morning tumble in the sheets, you’d thought that things might’ve been different between you two. But Samu still left, some hollow excuse about running errands, and all you can think is that he’s with her now, that whatever you gave wasn’t enough and–

“Look at me.” Atsumu’s no longer laughing. If anything, he actually looks mildly pissed off by the whole thing, his jaw tightening even as he tries for a reassuring smile, scooching closer and touching your shoulder again, “What did she say to him?”

“She told him she needed him, begged him to come home.” Your voice breaks, just as the dam to your tears do, tumbling down your cheeks as your shoulders shake and crumple inwards. 

Atsumu runs his tongue over his teeth before muttering a quiet curse, and you suppose that that’s confirmation enough. Without a word he pulls you into his arms, your face held to his chest while he strokes your back and you cling to him in turn, letting all the frustration and grief and confusion of the past few weeks spill out  of you in horrid, trembling cries. 

You don’t know how long you sit there, half cradled in Atsumu’s lap before he finally speaks, “I don’t care what ya heard. Samu loves you more than anythin’, we both do. He ain’t gonna throw that away for nobody.”

Drawing back, he takes your cheek in one hand, cupping it in his palm, the broad pad of his thumb sweeping away the remnants of your tears with a tenderness that near breaks your heart. 

“I mean it,” he says. You’re close enough that the warmth of his breath tickles your skin, that you can count every last one of his eyelashes. Your stomach flutters. “You mean everything to us. Nothin’s gonna get in the way of that.”

And before you can stop him, before you can blink, Atsumu’s closing the gap between you, his lips meeting yours. 

Like a computer short circuiting, there’s nothing you can do but freeze and falter as he kisses you, wholly unbothered by your lack of participation. His lips are surprisingly soft, warm as they move against yours, and while his tongue brushes along your lower lip, he makes no real effort to deepen it, seemingly content with the contact he has. 

Your heart pounds against your ribcage so violently that it drowns out all other noise. Your stomach twists, flips, churning as he moans softly into your mouth, but for the life of you, you can’t move, can’t stop this. You’re frozen. Shellshocked. Only when Atsumu breaks away, pupils dilated, eyes slightly glazed over, wearing a stupid, self satisfied little grin do you finally gain control over your body again.

By that point, he’s already shifting to settle you back on the couch, rising himself. “Samu and I love ya. We aren’t goin’ anywhere, stop worrying your pretty little head about it, yeah?”

And then he’s walking away, whistling as he goes.

—

A little while later, Atsumu calls out that he’s going for a run. You don’t acknowledge it. 

The front door opens. Closes. The sun moves across the sky, minutes tick by, and eventually he returns, sweaty and panting, popping his head in the door to make sure you’re right where he left you.

The whole time you sit stationary on your bed, staring vacantly out the window to the forest that lies beyond. Numb, just numb.

“Gonna go have a shower, then I think you ‘n me should talk before Samu gets back.” He waits and you don’t acknowledge him. Shrugging off his shirt, something wicked enters his expression, “Unless ya wanna come join me?”

That, finally, gets a reaction; your head jerking back to regard him with wide, scandalised eyes, “What?”

He winks, snickers when your gaze drops briefly below his shoulders, eyeing his muscular chest, the well defined planes of his stomach. A bead of sweat rolls from his neck, you track its path with a rapt focus, down to his navel, the smattering of hair there, the cut of the V shaped muscles that draw your attention towards– 

Abruptly, you force your attention upwards, cheeks burning as blood rushes to your face.

Atsumu, grinning smugly, missed none of it. “Next time, then.”

And with that, he waltzes off, leaving the door ajar.

… What the hell?

What the actual fuck?

Head reeling, you have no idea how you’re supposed to process this sudden shift in… well, everything. Had this – you and Atsumu – happened before? Did Osamu know about it? 

Were you cheating, too? 

Was that what your relationship with Osamu was; two deeply unhappy people screwing countless others to avoid fixing whatever it was that festered between them.

Your mind jumps to the picture you’d seen in the year book, you and that boy on the picnic bench, your hand wrapped around his. Osamu told you that you’d been dating ever since your high school days, had you been unfaithful that whole time – spreading your legs for his friends and brother until he gave up trying to be loyal in return?

You feel sick at the thought. 

What other option is there, though? What explanation? Either Atsumu’s being particularly cruel and messing with you, or he isn’t and you’re apparently more than okay fucking not only your husband but his brother as well.

‘Despite what happened, I know you still care about her.’ Hikari’s words ring mockingly in your head. All this time you’ve been so bent out of shape over the idea of Osamu with another woman, and it’s now occurring to you that maybe you might’ve been the one to drive him to it.

Despite what happened.

You draw in a shuddering breath, you bring a hand to your lips, either to stifle a sob or to keep yourself from throwing up, you’re not entirely sure which. 

And as the sound of running water filters through the room, so too does a sense of calm clarity. 

For weeks now you’ve been trying to make this work, trying to slip back into the person you were, a life that you don’t truly remember.

And it isn’t working. 

You still don’t feel normal around Osamu. You don’t remember anything, and despite what you’d been told from the start – despite fighting it every step of the way – you have to accept the possibility that that might not change.

Your spine straightens, the grip you have on the duvet easing as you take another, calmer breath in, letting it fill your lungs and clear your head.

The answer’s been staring you in the face this whole time. If you can’t find your way back to the life you led before you got hurt, perhaps rather than clinging to a past that doesn’t truly belong to you anymore, it’s time you cut it loose and walk away.

A clean break doesn’t sound like such a bad idea when the current situation promises nothing but messiness, hurt and heartbreak for everyone involved.

Even if the thought of going it alone is a terrifying one. 

Even if it means leaving the one – now two, you suppose – people who stood by your side in the aftermath behind.

And as if the universe senses the tumultuousness inside your head, the sharp, trilling sound of a ringtone shatters it, snapping you out of your thoughts and back into the moment. 

You figure that it must be Atsumu’s phone and despite being startled, you’re content to let it ring out – after all, it’s not your phone, not your business. 

Atsumu’s a professional athlete, an incredibly successful one at that, there could be any number of important people on the other end of the line, and if it’s critical, whoever it is can leave a message. You’re not his receptionist.

After a few seconds, the ringing stops. And begins again.

Frowning, you push yourself up from the bed, heading towards the dining room. Atsumu’s still in the shower, you can hear the faucet running, your only thought is that if it’s Samu and it’s something urgent, he won’t mind. 

Except when you find it, lit up and vibrating on the kitchen bench, the caller ID isn’t his twin’s. Again, the ringing stops, and again, after a short beat, it begins anew. 

The picture that fills the screen is of a pretty girl with dimples, her arms looped around a familiar looking brunet.

Not Osamu, but the boy from the yearbook. Older, of course, smiling lazily at the camera while she pokes her tongue out and throws up two peace signs. 

Little Suna, the caller ID tells you, and in brackets next to a sun emoji; Hikari.

Your heart squeezes, a thick lump settling in your throat as you survey the image of the two of them. But it isn’t dismay, or the hurt you’d felt earlier when Osamu was hiding her. You can’t put a finger on what it is exactly, only that looking at that picture fills you with an incomprehensible and near overwhelming sense of grief, like someone’s clawed their way into your chest, taken your still beating heart in their hand and slowly, agonisingly, ripped it from you.

Without consciously choosing to do so, you slide the little bar across, answering the call and clicking on the speaker icon.

“H-hello?”

The silence you’re met with is heavy. Pregnant. Why did you pick up? Why the hell did you answer?! Panic and common sense sets in and you silently curse yourself for being so stupid, your finger moving to hurriedly tap the end call button. 

And then you hear her gasp, a tiny, sharp little thing that spears right through you. Hikari stutters your name, “You… Wha– they… they found you?”

She starts to laugh then, or maybe she’s sobbing, it’s difficult to tell exactly. 

“You’re okay?” she asks, the sound muffled by choked, ragged noises. “Oh my god, I can’t believe you’re okay! A-after they found Rin, I-I thought–”

White noise drowns her out.

… Rin.

Rin…taro. 

Suna.

Your knees go weak, giving way beneath you. Pain sings through your kneecaps as they collide with the wooden floorboards, but it’s nothing compared to the agony that overtakes your chest, spreading with every beat of your frantic heart until it’s the only thing you can feel, and you cling to it. Desperate. Gasping.

There’s a frantic noise somewhere, Hikari calling your name; it’s lost to the pounding haze. Nothing more than the buzz of a gnat flittering around your head.

Every thought eddies from your head, only him. Only that name; Suna Rintaro.

And suddenly–

“You’re an idiot, you know?”

You laugh, throwing an arm around his shoulder as you wriggle your fingers in front of his face, admiring the sparkling ring. “But it’s so pretty, don’t you think? It suits me.”

He raises an unimpressed eyebrow when you turn to cheekily grin at him, “Considering I was the one who picked it, yeah, that was kind of the idea.”

Giggling, you stretch up on your tippy toes to press a kiss to his cheek.

………

“Gin can’t make it. Somethin’ about his girlfriend and the baby,” Rin mutters, appearing in the doorway of your bedroom. “So it’ll just be us and the twins, I guess.”

“Well geez, no need to sound too excited about it,” you say, eyeing your boyfriend – fiancé now, you have to keep reminding yourself – from the mirror as you battle with the clasp of your necklace. “It’s fine, we’ll see him when we see Kita and the others next month.”

A few seconds pass with no sign of victory, and Rin rolls his eyes, “Let me.” 

He comes up behind you, taking the delicate gold chain from your fingers and nimbly clasping it shut in what feels like a mockery of your struggles. Adjusting the pendant so that it falls better, he exhales, letting his arms fold loosely around you, his chin coming to a rest atop your head. 

The faint crease between his brows, the set of his jaw – to anyone else he might appear bored, annoyed even. You aren’t so easily fooled. You know Rin, know better than to push. It’s not hard to guess what’s bothering him, though. “You think it’ll be weird?”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then he shrugs, “I think it’ll be weirder without Gin.”

“It was years ago, they’ve both moved on – a long, long time ago. They’re our friends, Rin. The only thing they’re gonna be is happy for us.”

………

A hand covering your mouth, another roughly shaking your shoulder, rousing you from sleep. “Shh, shh, it’s just me. There’s someone in the house,” Rin’s voice whispers in your ear. “Get under the bed and don’t make a sound, okay? I’ll be right back.”

“Rin–”

“Not a fucking sound!” he hisses, and quietly slips from the bed. As if on cue, a loud shattering noise cuts through the room, and terror, absolute terror, grips you. You do as he bids, limbs shaking and clumsy, the sound of every breath enhanced in the quiet stillness Rintaro leaves behind. You clamp a hand over your mouth to try and muffle it.

You wait, and wait, trembling in the darkness.

And then a crash, heavier than the last one. Rintaro’s yelling, more voices raised, more muted thumps, grunting and howling bellows of agony that have every hair on your body standing on end, and abruptly–

Silence.

It rings in your ear, echoing.

Your pulse thunders, every beat of your heart pumping a paralysing mix of fear and panic through your body. You’re shaking like a leaf, tears streaming down your cheeks as you try – try so desperately – not to make a noise like Rin told you to.

The footsteps that approach have your blood running cold, and you squeeze your eyes shut, wheezing terrified breaths as you choke back sobs and pray that they won’t find you. 

You aren’t that lucky.

You aren’t that quiet.

They stop at the foot of the bed. Two of them. One bends down, a hand finding your ankle and with a snickering laugh, yanks you out into the open. 

You scream and fight against the figures clad head to toe in black, thrashing like a wild thing for all the good that it does you. You’re determined not to go easy – at least, not until they carry you out past the living room, the mess they left there.

Rin, but not Rin. Not with his face brutalised like that, his skull all caved in, limbs broken and splayed out all wrong.

No.

No, no, no, no.

One eye, empty and lifeless, staring back–

It’s too much.

You blink, jerking back to the present with a heaving gasp. Glancing up, your gut tightens into a knot as two things become starkly apparent. 

One; Osamu’s finally returned, standing half frozen in the doorway, appraising you with an uncharacteristically cold expression.

Two; it’s deathly quiet. Turning your head, you find that the call with Kari’s gone silent, a shirtless Atsumu, hair damp, a towel wrapped dangerously low around his hips, gripping his phone, jaw tightly clenched.

It twists into an awful sort of forced grin when he notices you’ve come back to them. 

“I really, really wish ya hadn’t done that, baby.”

something revolutionary

viking bakugou x f!reader

summary: Born a prophesied king under an exploding star Bakugou Katsuki is used to getting what he wants. That includes you.

cw: Kidnapping, bondage, spitting, choking, rough sex, drowning, ocean stuff, boats, like vaguely viking style but honestly more like barbarian aesthetic, please please let me know if i missed anything. Yandere undertones but it’s historical. Cursing. NS/FW or for ramadan. Dub!con, but bakugou does make her ask for it. MINORS DNI, all characters in their mid twenties, breeding, bakugou slaps you once - BUT A HAPPY ENDING I PROMISE OK I PROMISE

The mist hangs low on the edges of the water, lapping the sandy banks of the bay. The seawater is freezing, and you avoid it touching your shoes at all costs. It was early spring, and it would be many months before the water was even bearable, even then it was too cold to swim in. Somewhere, the sun was rising, but all you could see was its light elegantly diffused across an expanse of grey clouds. The wool of your plaid skirt keeps the cool off you as you carry the freshwater across the beach, back to the village. The bucket is heavy, your arms ache, but the freshest, sweetest water could only be found on the northernmost point of the island, where the snowmelt meets the sea. You have the two buckets on a yoke over your shoulders when you first see him.

He stands, like some kind of eldritch god, arising out of the reeds by the mouth of the river, face obscured by the bright sky behind him. For a moment you think it could be a boy from the village, but the silhouette is unfamiliar, you’ve never seen a helmet like that.

That’s when you hear it, the angry song of the horn, signifying the first Viking raid that your clan has experienced in years. The man in front of you takes a couple of steps forward, watching your eyes flash with fear before they steel over. You stumble backwards away from him, and you can hear on the horizon, the shouts of men roused from their late slumber. You’re weighed down by the water, but you’re the daughter of the chief, you know your worth, and you can recognize the fire burning in this man’s vermillion eyes. You make a decision, and let him stalk closer to you.

He removes his helmet, blonde hair ruffled by the wind, suntanned skin freckled and unmarred by smile lines. He watches you carefully, eyes skimming your figure, barely visible in your warm dress, long skirt, and soft shirt, your shoulders wrapped in a scarf your mother had knit for you. He gets closer, and closer, but you keep your eyes on the horizon, not even flinching when he’s only a few feet away, boots making heavy marks in the wet sand. His armor is leather and steel, helmet under his arm. His jawline is sharp, mouth angry, eyes narrow. The buckets swing next to you, sloshing gently. You take a deep breath and he reaches out to touch you, to grab a fistful of any of the layers of fabric obscuring your form, but you twist quickly at his actions, twirling and hitting him squarely in the stomach with freezing river water before turning and running deeper into the forest. He yells loudly but you don’t turn around to watch him get angry, you have the advantage here, you know the terrain. It’s rocky, mossy, and unforgiving.

You leap over rocks, hopping over rotting downed trees in the forest, but you still hear the heavy pounding of footsteps behind you. You know what happens to the women the Vikings take, you know what’ll happen to you, your heart thrums, you bite down on the inside of your cheek so hard you can taste iron, tears well and then stream past your face, the wind in your hair.

You’re doing well, or so you think. You hope that you lost him as your chest heaves, when something hits you hard. He tackles you from behind, strong arms pinning yours to your sides, rolling with you, protecting your soft body from the uneven ground with his armored one. You land with his legs around your hips, he smells clean, of musk, of men , and seawater, but somehow better than any man you’d ever been chased by in your village. But you don’t have time to dwell on this, you have one last desperate move, drawing the knife concealed at your waist, used mostly for cooking and household chores, glinting in the grey morning light, and plunge it into the chink of his armor at the shoulder. He grunts, words spilling from his lips in an unfamiliar language, but he doesn’t roll off of you, in fact, it seems to have the opposite of the desired effect. He pins both of your wrists above your head with his bad hand, as if the hilt of your knife wasn’t sticking in his shoulder. You mewl and squirm but he smiles as he pulls a leather cord from his belt, yanking you to your feet, not giving you a chance to run, shoving your body roughly up against a mossy tree. You set your jaw as he ties your hands behind your back. You think he’s done but he takes the rope off of his belt and wraps it around your waist, and then your wrists, securing it and taking the end of it in his hand like a leash, and then pressing his chest against your back, leaning down to speak in your ear.

“Walk.” He growls, voice low and angry. The ropes around your chest scoop under your breasts, pushing them up, plush pillows peeking out of the top of your dress. You struggle against them as you move back through the forest towards the beach. “Faster.” He taunts from behind and you pick up the pace, the sooner the better, maybe one of your younger brothers, your father, your mother, someone will see you on the beach. Without your arms, your balance is off, and you step on a rock only to slip in the damp air. He jerks on the leash, catching you with it, righting you, then urging you forward once more. Just before you get to the beach, you turn to him, eyes wide and pleading.

“Please.” You beg, eyes flicking to the smoke from your village. “Please leave me.” He shakes his head, a huge hand shooting out and curling around your throat, bringing your face near his chest, then he bends down.

“Mine.” He growls. “Understand?” Tears prick at your eyes but you aren’t ready for them to spill. You lean back and spit in his face. He backhands you, hard, only letting you fall for a second when you lose your balance, drawing your face back to his. He can see the tears flowing unbidden now, but carefully notes that your mouth is set, you’re not ready to cry. “Understand?” He says again, his hand held up, ready to make a matching red mark on your opposite cheek.

“I understand.” You respond, throat tight. A huge boat, in a style you don’t recognize pulls up in the sand. An even larger man peeks his head over the boat, unnaturally red hair in an intricate braided style.

“Oi, Bakugou, we weren’t supposed to get prisoners!” The man calls, huge arms bowing with muscles as he waves to a friend.

“Not a prisoner.” Bakugou groans, lifting you up towards the deck. “I’m keeping this one.” The redhead hops out of the boat and snatches you away from him, holding you like a child.

“Hey there,” he says cheerfully, then leaps back up onto the deck of the boat with you, the men manning the oars groan as Bakugou climbs aboard and pushes out into the sea. Your eyes are trained on your home, the smoking ruins of the place you grew up. “So why this one?” Speaking as if you’re not right there.

“She stabbed me,” Bakugou growls, pulling the dagger out of his shoulder, wiping the blood on his pants. “I’m fine. She nearly got away.” The redhead laughs, touching your shoulder.

“I’m Kirishima.” he says to you, squeezing gently, “And that’s Bakugou, doubt he had the wherewithal to introduce himself. You can sit.” He says, gesturing to the deck. You don’t want to, you keep your eyes on the horizon disappearing behind you. “Alright,” Kirishima grunts, forcing you down your knees. “Sorry, I know I didn’t phrase that like a command.” You swallow, and stare blankly out at the ocean, cool wind whipping through your hair.

“She’s also the leader’s daughter.” Bakugou studies the knife. “It’s got her name engraved in it.”

“A match made in heaven.” Kirishima crows. “Hey,” he says, waving a hand in front of

you, trying to wrench your attention from your smoking village. Both men watch as you part your chapped lips.

“I’d rather you throw me overboard than have him touch me again.” You say, voice hitched and rough, but your tone is still defiant. Kirishima nods, sitting next to you and inspecting your bonds.

“Mind if I redo these?” He asks the blond, who just looks away, which is apparently permission for Kirishima to carefully retie the ropes holding you as the sea sprays in your face and men manning the oars groan. You square your shoulders, back arched, chin out, every inch a princess as you sail into the unknown. You watch the blonde attend to his own stab wound, bandaging it carefully, making sure to keep it clean.

“Does that hurt less?” Kirishima asks quietly, and you nod. “Good.” He glances at Bakugou. “He was just in a hurry.” You swallow, twisting to face the man sitting next to you.

“What’s going to happen to me?” You ask, eyes wide and he takes a breath.

“You’re ours.” He clarifies, gesturing to your bonds and the boat. You nod. “And uh, he seems to like you”

“What?” You say, voice light and vulnerable. Bakugou takes your chin in his hand, leaning down. “She just needs to be broken.” He turns away and walks down the side of the ship moving swiftly through the sea. You summon some courage.

“I’m not afraid of you.” You say, sticking your chin out. “I’m a princess. I’ve led through more difficult situations than this. My people will rescue me or I’ll escape.” Both men stare at you. Bakugou’s eyes flick to the rope around your waist.

“Tighten that.” He says darkly, coming to stand in front of you on the gently rocking boat. He squats, his handsome face inches from yours. “Princess, huh?” He says, as Kirishima fiddles with your bonds. He spits directly in your face.

“I will take your fuckin’ virginity in front of all these men.” He snarls. “I’ll fuck you over the side of the boat and then throw you into the ocean.” You laugh lightly, the sound explosive and unhinged, tossing your hair against the wind.

“Not a virgin. So do it.” You feel the wetness drip down your face. “I’d rather die than be yours.” He rears back and for a moment you think he’ll hit you, and but he doesn’t just snarls,

“I’m gonna make you beg for me.”

“I’m praying for a curse on your house.” You say, starting to stand and Kirishima catches the rope around your waist, pulling you back onto your knees.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough out of both of you.” Bakugou scowls and Kirishima quickly continues. “Uh, especially you.” He takes a strap of cloth out of his pocket and slips it between your lips, forcing your mouth open, and tying it tightly behind your head. To your dismay, your kidnapper, Bakugou, sits on the other side of you, close enough so that you shoulders brush.

“Not a virgin huh?” He says and you shake your head. “Good.” He stares across the sea. “Maybe you won’t cry when you take my fat fucking cock.” You turn your face away from him and he grabs your chin. “Look at me.” He growls. “You are my property now, princess. Not cause you’re a fuckin’ woman, but because I caught ya.” You stare up at him defiantly, even next to you, he’s much, much larger. He takes you roughly then and shoves your upper half down into his lap, laying your head on his leather bound thigh, fingers carding through your hair. You whimper, the loss of the horizon takes a toll on your stomach immediately.

“Oh,” he coos, “She needs to see the water, huh, that where you’re gettin’ all this dumb shit courage from?” You squirm a little and his fingers snap together, so that they pull painfully. “Stay still,” he growls. You freeze, and his touches become soft again, gentle almost.

“Be nice, Bakugou, she’s probably terrified.” Kirishima chastises, and you mewl plaintively from Bakugou’s lap. “We’ll take care of you, alright?” He coos. “Don’t worry.” You struggle a little and Bakugou shoves you off of him, spending the rest of the trip staring out at the ocean pensively, while Kirishima keeps a tight hold on your arm. You can feel when it grounds, and Kirishima pulls you to your feet. The men unload the cargo and immediately Kirishima and Bakugou are overwhelmed by several friends who jump onto the boat.

“What’s this!” A young woman with brown skin and soft pink hair notices Kirishima’s tight grip on your upper arm.

“Bakugou took her.” Kirishima shrugs. “She’s a local princess apparently, Mina.” He carries you onto the dock, thankfully they don’t seem to expect you to be able to move much in your current state.

“She doesn’t look scared.” One of the other boys, who came to see Kirishima and Bakugou, with glinting amber eyes and yellow hair remarks. Before Kirishima can respond, Bakugou does.

“She will.” He snarls, taking the length of rope hanging from your waist and pulling you forward at an unforgiving pace. Kirishima and the others stay behind to tie the boat up, but Bakugou drags you up a hill, you barely keep pace with him in the wet new grass, sparse amongst the rocks. You can see his village then, at the base of the valley, much much larger than yours, bustling with people. The men catch up to him, having tied the boat and they walk into the town square with cheers at the things plundered, one of those things being you. Bakugou walks you like a dog, and if you go too slowly he kicks the back of your calves. You get to the center of town, hot humiliating tears burning in your eyes. There are cheers, and people dance, but you’re already trying to imagine what’s broken in the place you come from, your house, your neighbors, the stone walls of your old run-down castle.

“Oi,” Bakugou gets your attention with a low growl. “Don’t try shit.” You feel him loosen the ropes a little, and blood rushes back to your appendages. He hears your sigh of relief and makes a mental note. He keeps a tight grasp on your upper arm as he undoes the leather cord around your wrists, then shoves you to the ground, your back against a thick stone pillar in front of a large bonfire. He takes your arms and ties them around the back of the stone pillar, more gently than he’d done it earlier. It might be your imagination but you feel a quick soothing touch on the welts. “You injured?” He asks, tugging the gag out of your mouth.

“Just a little bruised.” You breathe, his face is inches from yours.

“Where?” He asks and you shift your weight.

“I hit my shoulder when you tackled me.” He nods sensing you’re holding back.

“And?” He says, eyes flicking to your lips and then back to your eyes.

“And I’m a little thirsty.” That was far from the truth, you were dying for a sip of water, you’d been thirsty when you’d gone to fetch water that morning.

“I’ll see to your shoulder.” He mutters, standing, turning back to the party at which apparently he’s the guest of honor. You shrink back into the stone as people laugh and dance and drink as the sun moves across the sky. He disappears into the crowd of people and you close your eyes, unwilling to be aware of the stares you’re getting. He comes back with a bandage and he kneels next to you. “Stay still.” He removes the wool scarf your mother knit you, and folds it beside you. He tugs gently on the shoulder of your dress and inspects the back of the joint carefully. You can feel the eyes, on him, on you, on your exposed skin, and you let out a little whimper when he presses on the swollen joint.

“Shh.” He says, glaring at others who look your way. “You’re mine.” You feel him brace your shoulder with careful hands, gingerly moving around the swollen joint. “Still thirsty?” He asks when he’s done, squatting in front of you. You nod vigorously and he smirks. “Yeah, that’s not gonna cut it bitch.” Your mouth drops open and he shrugs.

“Everything you get, you get because I feel like giving it to you. And I think for water, you gotta beg.” You nod.

“I understand.” Your voice is hoarse already and his grin widens, he takes your jaw,

“Open.” He says, and you obey. He spits right in your mouth. “Swallow.” He growls and it’s disgusting, he kidnapped you, the blood on his men’s clothing is probably your neighbors, your family’s. You squirm with displeasure but he seems to like that. “Let me know when you really fucking want some water.”

“Bakugou!” You call, desperately, you can’t take it, you need it right now, throat burning, and the fire’s been blowing smoke on you for hours. “Please.” You say, a note of desperation creeping unbidden into your voice. He looks at you for a moment.

“One more.” He says, face set.

“Please, can I have some water, Bakugou?” You croak, lashes wet. He nods, stalking off towards the well. The celebration swirls around you, people drinking and dancing, the leather of his armor discarded, he’s now in a loose white shirt, it’s crisp and clean, his pants tight and the bottoms of them muddy. He’s holding a worn skin, and he places one hand on the back of your neck and tips the end of it between your lips. The water is cool and clean and you drink as much of it as you can before he takes it away.

“Are you hungry?” He asks in a low growl and you nod, keeping your mouth shut. He takes some bread off a passing tray and rips off a small piece of it. “Open.” He says, and your face burns with humiliation as he feeds you, slowly, letting you swallow before letting you eat another piece out of his open palm. “The fuck are you crying for?” He asks you after a few minutes.

“I’m worried about my family.” You say quietly. “I had little brothers.” He nods.

“They might be dead.” You close your eyes, inhaling through your nose. He moves swiftly, and for a moment you think he’s going to comfort you, but you feel him slice through your bonds, and pull you to your feet. You wobble for a moment before he throws you over his shoulder. There are a few cheers as he carries you out of the party. The sun is sinking below the treeline, and it’s getting chilly. He opens the creaking wooden door to a one-room cabin. You squint in the low light. It’s exceedingly clean, furs on a bed and the floor, a chimney in the corner, made with rough grey stone, flecked with gold. He sets you on the bed.

“Do you sleep in all that?” He asks and you shake your head. Your cheeks are still wet from earlier but you put your face back on. If this was going to happen you certainly weren’t going to give him any more satisfaction than you had to. “Undress.” He says, and you fumble with the lace at the back of your dress for a minute before he loses patience at your contortions, pulling you up and shoving you roughly against the wall, undoing them himself.

“C’mon.” He grunts, shoving you down onto the bed, now that you’re only wearing a petticoat, a loose slip that covers your whole body. The air gushes from your lungs when you’re pushed down, a soft musical cry escapes your lips as he lifts the furs and scoots you underneath them. You watch as he slips out of his pants so that he’s only wearing the long, loose white shirt. He roughly wraps an arm around your waist, pinning your back to his hard chest. His arms hook upward, and he palms your breasts roughly, groaning, and rutting his hips against your ass. You let out a little involuntary whimper.

“Don’t worry princess.” He practically spits the word. “I’m not gonna touch ya till ya beg me, remember?”

“T-that will never happen.” Your voice trembles. You feel his breath on your ear, and you shiver as he speaks again, the vibrations awakening something deep in your core.

“Know why I picked you?” He says and you shake your head, trying to focus on anything other than the deep sound of his voice, his rough hands on your soft skin.

“No.” You confirm quietly. Trying to hold onto some of your dignity, you close your eyes. You were a princess. A princess from a small fishing village, but a princess nonetheless.

“I was just gonna take your knife.” He confirms. “I liked it. Lost mine, and I’ve needed a new one.” You swallow, and he laughs. “And then, I saw that haughty little nose in the air, and I thought, tch, that won’t fuckin’ do now will it? Can’t have some bitch running around sayin’ I spared her life, callin’ me weak.” You try to scoot away from him on the bed but he chuckles and holds you fast. “Then, ya had the fuckin’ audacity, to hit me.” He snarls the words as he starts to massage your chest, you can’t hold back the soft mewl that falls from your lips as he rubs his thumbs across your nipples. “And run away.” You’re squirming against him in earnest now as blood pools in your cheeks. You elbow him as hard as you can in the ribs, and he laughs harshly, undaunted.

“B-bakugou,” you get out.

“I never told you my name.” He says. “That’s just what the others call me. To you, I’m Katsuki.” You whimper again. “Fuckin love that sound,” he growls, “Make more, be louder, I’m gonna fuckin’ wreck you.”

“P-please.” You say softly.

“What?” He says. “Do ya want me to stop, princess, if you do, tell me, tell me you want me to take my hands off you, I fuckin’ dare you.” You bite down hard on your lower lip. “Ooooh,” he coos, “She can’t, can she, where’s that high and mighty attitude now, bet you’re soakin’ my goddamn bed huh? Should we find out?” You bury your face in the blanket, willing yourself to have the courage to scream, the ability to fight, but it feels - it feels so good. He releases your chest and you whimper at the loss of sensation, then you feel his teeth on your ear. “Stay. Still.” He hooks one muscled arm around your waist, you can’t help but notice, in this close proximity, how much he smells like pine and leather, as his hand dips beneath your skirt. His fingers ghost your thighs and move upwards, brushing the outside of your sex. He runs one calloused finger up your slit and you clench your thighs together.

“I said stay still.” He slaps your thigh hard enough so that you cry out, pinning your leg between his own, holding you open. “You’re gonna have to learn to follow orders.” He says as he touches the softest parts of you, fingers moving between your folds, but his demeanor seems to shift at what he finds. “Oh, you’re fuckin’ soaked.” Your eyes well with tears.

“What’s wrong,” He coos, “Don’t like that you’re my fuckin’ bitch, even though I’ve barely touched you?”

“‘M not your-” you don’t get to respond as he grinds his thumb against your clit and you squeal loudly at the stimulation, but Bakugou doesn’t give you a moment to relax, plunging two fingers into your core, and your hips buck against him.

“Fuckin’ hell.” He snaps, “Do I have to tie you down, are you genuinely too stupid to follow orders?” You don’t answer, you can’t, you’re losing control under his careful touch. He can feel the way your soft walls are squeezing around his fingers, loves watching how you lean away from him and hide your face in his blankets. He lets go of your waist and grabs your chin, forcing you to look directly into his eyes as you gurgle and gasp.

“H-hurts,” You choke out and he shakes his head.

“Poor slut’s never cum before huh?” You start to fight him a little but he’s so strong, it’s like pushing against steel. “Well I’m not gonna finish ya,” he growls, “Till you beg for my cock.”

“What?” You breathe.

“Beg. Beg for help. Beg for me to fuck you.” He says, eyes narrowing, reaching up and closing his fist around your throat, scissoring his fingers inside of you. You’re reaching for logic, for dignity, but everywhere there’s only Katuski. Smelling of pine, and sweat, and man, everywhere you reach he’s there, and the coil in your stomach tightens painfully, you want this, you want him to help you make it stop.

“Please.” You whisper, and he smiles wickedly.

“Please. What.”

“Please, fuck me.” You whimper, “Please please, Katsuki, I want, I want you.”

“What are you?” He asks and your eyes shoot open, you’re so close to the edge of something it’s painful, the tears that have been welling in your eyes spill over and he kisses them off your soft face, “Tell me what you are.”

“I-I’m… I’m yours.” He chuckles.

“That’s fuckin’ right you are.” He says, shoving you roughly to the center of the bed and climbing on top of you, “And I’m gonna fuck my sons right into that soft fuckin’ womb of yours,” you cry out, “That’s goddamn right.” he says, shuddering as he runs the head of his cock along your slit. “I’m gonna breed this prissy fuckin’ pussy.” He roughly sheaths himself inside you, watching your face carefully for your reaction, and fuck, do you you deliver. Your mouth drops open, eyes screwed shut, a high pitched keen escaping from your lips. He groans loudly as he waits for you to adjust to his size, starting to move slowly.

“Fuck,” he swears quietly, feeling how soft your walls were, pulsing around him, warm and perfect, everything he’d imagined when he saw that spark of defiance in your eyes, vowing to extinguish it. “Good slut.” He praises, “Good fuckin’ girl.” You whimper, the stretch was both pain and pleasure, more than you’d ever felt before, and you gasp when he reaches down and adjusts your legs so that he can bury himself to the hilt inside of you. To his surprise, you reach for him, tangling your hands in his braided hair, pulling him down to kiss you. He obliges, setting a gentle pace at first, one of your legs draped elegantly over his shoulder, he finds that you’re more skilled than he expected. You trap his lower lip between his teeth, and he shudders as your nails find purchase on his sculpted shoulder blades, then he opens his eyes to see a slight smile playing on your face.

“None of that, bratty fuckin’ bitch.” He snarls, and pounds into you, you scream, he has no doubt your voice is travelling out into the night, into the village, and he doesn’t fucking care. “Yeah, is this what you wanted, wanted me to fuck you like you’re a whore, princess?” He spits on your face and you choke out a sobbing moan, “That’s what I goddamn thought.” He leans down to your ear, biting it hard, feeling you push him away at the burst of pain. “Uh, uh,” He snarls, picking up the pace, snapping his hips against yours. You see stars every time his cock brushes your cervix.

“F-fuck, Katsuki,” You choke out and he smiles evilly in his victory.

“Yeah, bitch?” He snarls, “Cum for me, cum all over my cock like the whore you are.” Your back arches and you scream again, lips parted, eyes glossy, as he grunts, fucking you like an animal, biting at your soft skin, leaving his mark all over you.

“Gonna fuck an heir right into you, princess,” he grunts, “Gonna breed you like a fuckin’ bitch.” You can barely hear him as your first ever orgasm rips through your body, tears streaming from your eyes as he presses his sweaty forehead to yours. “That’s a good girl,” he says, listening to your little whimpers, feeling you twitch and shake, grunting loudly as he paints your walls with his seed. He keeps fucking you, pushing his cum up further inside of you, but you seem to know what to do, lifting your hips as he slips a pillow underneath them, clenching your legs together when he pulls out and lies down next to you as you cry softly.

“Beautiful.” He says, savoring how messy you look, your hair like a nest, your face flushed, your lips trembling. He kisses your forehead. “And mine.” You nod.

“Yours.” He pulls you into his strong arms, rubbing your head absentmindedly.

“I took you,” He says quietly, “So you’re my responsibility.” You nod into his chest. He kisses your forehead again. “I saw you, and I knew you were mine.” You sleep intertwined, when you move he wakes up, making sure you’re still there, and not trying to escape. You wake well into the night, with a nightmare, you’re wandering through the smoldering ruins of your home.

“Shhhh,” He whispers when he hears you cry. “Shhhh princess,” he rubs soothing circles on your back.

“W-want to go home.” You cry desperately. He takes your chin in his hand firmly, forcing you to look at him.

“You are home.” He pats the bed.

“Y-yes Katsuki.” He nods, something in his face softening.

“I’m home.” He attempts to clarify, clumsy with his words, swinging big with the meaning. You blink a couple of times.

“What?” He points to his chest.

“I’m home.”

“Oh.” He moves you so that you’re lying on his chest.

“You’ll understand.” He mutters. “I’ll teach you.”

When you wake the next morning he hands you new clothes, your old is dress discarded in a corner of his wood-panelled home. In the daylight, you can see how well decorated the room is, clean and organized but full of rugs and furs, warm-toned yarn woven together telling stories you don’t recognize. The clothes he hands you are simple, a long linen dress and cloak, cream-colored, with simple flowers embroidered on it.

“Thank you.” You say quietly, and he nods, then reaches around your body, tying a rope around your waist that he holds onto like a leash, but this time doesn’t restrict your movement, just keeps you close to him.

“Go.” He says, pointing towards the door of the cabin. He pulls you down to a grand hall, a building made of wood and stone and mud, where people sit, eating together. He pushes a plate of food in front of you, hands you a utensil. Quickly, he’s crowded by the people from the boat yesterday, you’d watched them at the party. The redhead, Kirishima, shoots you a warm smile.

“How’d you sleep?” He asks politely.

“We know how she slept,” The yellow haired boy, with a wide, teasing smile responds. “Don’t we, Bakugou?” Bakugou swats at the boy.

“Shut the fuck up.” Kirishima reddens.

“I wasn’t going to say anything.” He clarifies. You’re staring out the window, you can see the ocean from where you’re sitting.

“Oi,” Bakugou growls at you. “Didn’t you have questions for shitty hair?” You blink and then come back down to the ground, nodding, speaking softly.

“Are um, are my little brothers dead?” You ask quietly and he blanches, looking nervous.

“How little?” He asks finally.

“Very.” You say, voice barely audible over the chatter of people eating.

“We don’t kill children.” He says quickly. You nod, in a daze. So people did die, yesterday, while you were getting water. Bakugou watches you drift off into space, you push your plate away.

“That’s good, isn’t it stupid?” He hits the back of your head lightly and you shrug. “Eat.”

“I’m finished.” You say and he shakes his head.

“If you don’t wanna eat you won’t get any fuckin’ food.” He threatens, expecting you to bite back, to fight, but you don’t, you just nod.

“Alright.” He looks away. There’s an awkward silence and you go back to staring at the water, wondering how far you were from home. Wherever he goes through the small city, crowds part, and that means they part for you too. You cower, the unfamiliar faces and sounds making you jump. He reaches an arm behind him and to his delight you curl your body around it, holding one of his large hands with both of yours.

He notices though, that you’ve begun to slowly slip away from him. When you eat, it’s barely, and you don’t protest when Mina braids your hair, even when she yanks on a particularly tough tangle. You keep your eyes on him, where he leans on the doorframe, watching as all traces of your former identity wash away in the basin. All day, he catches you staring out at the ocean, even going as far as to walk you down to the water.

“Is this what you fuckin’ want?” He snarls. “Why won’t you talk to me?” For the first time in hours, you speak.

“Can we walk to the end of the dock?” He nods, so relieved to hear your voice he caves immediately, letting you lead the way until you’re standing a foot away from the endpoint, the sea spraying up and beading on your beautiful face. You turn to him. “My family is dead. Aren’t they?”

Bakugou has always been sure. Sure of his divine right to lead. Sure of who he was. Sure he was making the right decision, the best decision, he’d been born under a prophetic exploding star, signifying a new era, one he had decided would be an age of expansion. But he watches the tears fall down your face, as you refuse to cry, watches the pride he had admired in you crumble, watches you mourn, and suddenly that sureness ebbs from him. He takes a step towards you and you turn away, facing the ocean.

“It’s too cold to swim in here.” He says gruffly, and you nod, eyeing the rope around your waist. He tugs on it, but you stay where you are, watching the waves roll. “They aren’t dead.” He says. “Probably. Can’t account for anything that happened after we left.” You turn to him.

“What do you want from me?” You ask. “I’m submitting, I thought, I thought this was, what you wanted?” He struggles, clearly, it’s words you want, and he doesn’t have them. He doesn’t have an explanation.

“I was chosen,” he begins, and you laugh, it’s a harsh bitter sound. He yanks on the rope around your waist, drawing you back to him, forcing you to face him, his hips directly pressing against yours. “I was chosen,” he growls, “I was born under a broken star, to bring a new age to my people.” Your jaw sets and your eyes narrow.

“So you’re picking off fishing villages and stealing maidens from beaches?” Your lips curl into a sneer, you have nothing, absolutely nothing to lose, “What’s new or revolutionary about that?” You push against him and he moves backwards on the dock. “What’s new about war, about violence?” You ask the fire in your eyes back, you’re angry, and as the blood returns to your cheeks he recognizes you again.

“What’s new is the land, the ore, the riches -” You laugh again and he grabs your face in one huge hand.

“That’s pathetic.” You say as his eyes narrow, you’re testing his patience, you can tell but you don’t care, the hopelessness is finally gone from your stomach, as long as you can make this one point before he loses his temper and snaps your neck. You press a finger to his chest, “Peace. Peace would be revolutionary. Not violence, and plundering. You want to do something no man has ever done?” Your raised voice catches the attention of a few fishermen in their boats, who force themselves not to look. “Try impressing me.” You shove him, harder than you mean to, you’re angry, and you didn’t take into account the uneven planes of the dark wood dock, coated with salt and spray. But when he loses his footing and falls, you expect him to catch himself, to perform some kind of acrobatic athletic feat but he doesn’t, he just falls off the dock, it turns out under all that bravado, hes just a man. It happens almost in slow motion, wind whipping his little blond braid, the rest of his hair wild, expression livid, ready to swim back to shore, and make you pay, no doubt.

What he doesn’t count on, is a huge squall, a large wave pushing one of the canoes up, and bringing it down on his head. You see him go limp, then slip beneath the churning waves. You have seconds. Others are running, but they won’t get there in time, the current is strong, you can tell by the shape of the waves on the beach. You can let him die. You think. You could. And no one would blame you. No god, no man.

Time slows as you decide. You could let him die. You could. You could.

You rip your shoes off and dive into the black freezing waves. It’s been months since you’ve swum, but muscle memory is powerful and you counter each thrust of the ocean, opening your eyes in the burning salt, looking for your captor. A burst of sunlight, something catches his blond hair, glinting in the dark water, bubbles escaping from his lioa and floating towards the surface. You swim towards him, wrapping your arms around him tugging him towards the sky. He’s heavy, heavier than anything you’ve ever picked up on your own. You’re starting to feel the icy temperature of the water as the adrenaline wears off. The feeling in your fingers is the first to go, you’re holding him up on willpower alone as you finally break to the surface, gasping for air, kicking your legs desperately, taking a lungful of sea air before dragging him against the current towards the shore. His lips are purpled, a bad sign, and you’re losing feeling in your skin, the numbness starting to pinprick into sharp pain as the dark salty waters lap at your shoulders, your dress billowing underneath you. You summon the last vestiges of your strength. You can’t keep him above the water any longer and keep moving towards the shore. So as the men on the dock shout, their footsteps pounding on the wood, you take Bakugou back under, swimming perpendicular to the rip current towards the beach.

“She’s drowning him!” Someone shouts, but you ignore them, swimming down, swimming deep, you can hear the grind of the swirling sand, as your skin burns in the cold water, teeth chattering, pain ripping through your now stiff joints. You’re so close, just a few more feet.

You drag his body half out of the water onto the sand and immediately begin chest compressions with your trembling hands. Water gurgles out of his mouth, and when he begins to cough you collapse on his chest, shaking so hard you can’t sit still, your dress is heavy and soaked with seawater, you can’t move as practically the whole village thunders towards the beach and he moans. The first thing he sees is your face, cold, pallid, tendrils of hair sticking to your face. He reaches up and cups it, stroking your cheek as you shake and sob. He keeps coughing up water as the first people arrive on the scene. Kirishima falls to his knees next to Bakugou.

“She saved me.” He murmurs in a low growl. “You…” Your world starts to go dark at the edges, and you lose consciousness, falling on Bakugou’s chest. You wake, in warm soft water, the smell of wildflowers on the tip of your nose.

“Hi,” a voice says softly, Mina. “Hey there.” You’re alone, floating in a warm bath. You open your eyes, looking around a wood building filled with steam. “You’re alive.” She confirms and you sigh.

“Everything hurts.” You confirm. “So I know.” She lets you float in the steam room for a bit, leaving you alone, even if you hear the click of the lock on the door. You squint at the ceiling, bundles of dried wildflowers hang, which accounts for the scent. You take some water and wash your hair carefully, trying to get the sand out of it, out of your nail beds, out from between your toes. You don’t feel warm exactly, but neutral. The women come back in, they dress you and braid your hair, you don’t protest or fight them, sitting for hours on the floor with them, staring at nothing while they drink and talk.

“Where is he?” You ask after the sun starts to sink in the sky and Mina clears her throat.

“After you collapsed he gathered the men of the village for a raid.” She says quietly. “They’re all gone.” You nod. “When he comes back, he’s left instructions for your wedding.” You scoff.

“I’m sure he has.” Mina laughs.

“He’s rough around the edges, but I think he’ll be a good husband. Faithful, certainly.” You laugh and she shrugs. “He’s never been one to sleep around.” You spend the next week in routine, with the men of the village gone, the women work, feeding animals, cooking, and gathering. No one lets you do anything particularly strenuous, which come Friday afternoon, you’re beginning to resent.

Mina spots it first, a ship on the horizon while you’re all working on dinner. You squint at the brown dot. You’re stirring a pot, hair braided back, a couple of loose flowers in it from the field where you and Mina picked berries for dessert. She’s kind, but she never really knew what to say to you. You didn’t know either. She wrenches you away from the pot, pulling you into a large stone house by the river.

“We gotta get you ready!” She squeals, and you crack half a smile at her enthusiasm. “Come on.” You hear the men return outside, with unfamiliar voices, shouting and grunting, the stomping of boots on the muddy spring earth. The women paint your face in the traditional style, light black around the top of your eyes, they pinch your cheeks for a youthful glow, they dress you, in a linen gown with a low neckline and long draping sleeves, a soft pink, the color of the wildflowers they tuck into your hair. You don’t protest, letting them treat you like a little doll until Mina comes behind you and ties something over your eyes.

“Why?” You say, reaching out, and fumbling for something. “Is this traditional?” She snorts.

“Definitely not.” She leads you carefully out of the house, making sure that you don’t trip or fall. She takes your arm, and you make your way up some kind of outdoor staircase.

You can feel a cool breeze in your hair, your hands shake. What would he be like, this beast that had captured you, after a week away? Why didn’t he come to see you before he’d left? You’d been shocked he still wanted you, that the wedding was even being prepared at all. Mina lifts the blindfold from your eyes and your mouth drops. Standing in front of you is your father, dark eyes with crinkled edges, dressed in the traditional wool plaid of your family.

“My daughter,” He says in a low voice. “It would be my honor, to walk you down the aisle.” You burst into tears, throwing your arms around him, he smells of grass and linen and home. You’re standing at the end of an outdoor ceremonial ground, sculpted pews from cold grey stone, covered in lichen and moss. On one side, everyone from your home sits, some of them a little bruised, but each of your little brothers sits in the front row, even the baby squirming in your mother’s lap. The tears keep coming, as your best friend turns to you and smiles, giving a little wave. You wave back. You hear someone clear their throat and your attention turns to the altar. Bakugou Katsuki, dressed in your traditional ceremonial garb, stands in front of you, the smirk melting off of his face when he sees you, the angle of your jaw, the warmth in your eyes, the soft tendrils of hair in your face, it was all, perfect. Worth it. Your father takes your arm and leads you down the stone pathway, your leather boots tapping softly against the stone in the silence. The hills around you are muddy and green, and the sky is the kind of bright twilight blue that crackles with promise and electricity. A single puffy white cloud drifts across the sky. You stand in front of him, and he takes your shaking hands.

Wordlessly, he draws a knife from his pocket, your knife. He gets down on one knee, bows his head, and hands it to you.

“A life for a life.” He growls. You take the silver dagger with your name engraved in it and examine it. This glint of silver that had first caught his eye, that had brought you to the attention of Bakugou Katsuki. “If you will have me,” he looks up, “I will dedicate the rest of my days to provin’ that I am worthy of you,” he grins, “And uh, wipin’ that smug smile off your face.” You giggle, despite yourself, wiping your face clear.

“And if I won’t have you?” You counter, there are titters from the crowd.

“You’ve got the knife, princess.” He looks up, an evil grin on his face. You hesitate, turning it over in your palm. He rolls his eyes, and you can’t stop the smile that spreads across your face.

“Stand.” You say, and he leaps up and kisses you so quickly he knocks the breath from your lungs, lifting you off your feet and swinging you around. You laugh a little, and he wipes a few stray tears from your face. “You did this,” you say quietly, gesturing to your family, “For me.” He nods.

“Thought I’d try something revolutionary.” He says.

“Peace?” You offer and he grins, kissing your forehead before responding.

“Impressing you.”

“spare me the details”

Pairing: matsukawa x fem!reader Genre: angst with a happy ending (i promise lmao), friends to lovers Summary: matsukawa is a good friend, which is why when you ask for his help figuring out what to wear for your date, he agrees without thinking much of it. but the longer he spends watching you get ready, the more he realizes how much he doesn’t want you to go. WC: 10,446 Warnings: brief mentions of alcohol, lots of suggestive lines, and on top of it all they were roommates (oh my god they were roommates) A/N: this fic happened because i wanted to write literally one scene of mattsun zipping up reader’s dress and now, 10k+ words later, we’re here :) also shoutout to luna for coming up with the fic title! <3 -Dawn

When you text Matsukawa right after his shift with a series of panicked voice notes and a string of siren emojis to match, he expects nothing short of a bug armageddon. He comes home fully prepared to find you standing on the kitchen counter, broom in hand as you frantically shout for him to get rid of whatever creepy crawling thing has invaded your home, the way he has on three separate occasions since the two of you moved in together.

Instead, when he arrives at your shared apartment, he finds you standing in the middle of your bedroom, heaps of fabric scattered across your mattress and pouring out from your closet. Thankfully, there’s no bug in sight, but you still look far from pleased, scowling at the floral-printed dress you’re holding as if it’s personally offended you.

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darknets | 03 yandere!jungkook au

pairing: yandere!jungkook x reader (f)

genre: yandere

warnings: 18+, obsessive & unhealthy behavior, spying, non-consensual videotaping, tormenting, graphic violence,( TW; human trafficking, heavy themes, non-con touching/groping, mentions of physical abuse )

word count: 14.5k

Playlist

A/N; i just want to make it clear, im no expert in criminology so forgive me if there’s inaccuracies, I tried to do my best with research but it’s purely fiction!

summary: You should’ve known better than to chat with strangers online…

Parts: 01 / 02 / 03

The paper cup was held tightly in his hand. He had dropped a tea bag inside , Chamomile. It usually helped with nerves. He watched the girl through the glass, she didn’t look particularly nervous but she did look distraught. The dark eye bags gave away the limited sleep she must have endured, her oversized hoodie making her look smaller than she really was. The added bad posture wasn’t helping either. Her shoulders were slumped, her arms resting on the table in front of her as she stared down at her hands.

Detective Namjoon sighed, opening the door which immediately caused her to turn her head over to him. He gave her a reassuring smile, passing her the cup as he seated himself across from her. His long limbs sat a bit awkwardly on the small chair but he squared his shoulders nonetheless.

“I understand you said she had been acting a little strange for the past few days.” He stated, maintaining a steady gaze on the girl.

“Did she have any mental health issues that you know of? Was she struggling with depression, anxiety or anything of the sort?”

Mina swallowed, bringing her eyebrows together in feigned concernment.

“No, not that I know of.” She explained, letting out another shaky breath. “ It’s just, she was acting really paranoid like, just off, you know?”

Namjoon listened, nodding slowly as another question sat on his tongue.

“Was she scared of someone perhaps? An ex-boyfriend, someone she was romantically involved with?”

“No, I mean the last boyfriend she had was over a year ago and he transferred to another college months ago.” Mina shook her head, then hesitated a bit. “But-“

The detective raised an eyebrow in question, eyes darting around her face as he silently urged her to continue.

“But..?” He added quietly, the girl seemed to be unsure of herself which wasn’t always a good sign. The behavior usually signaled she was holding back, knew a bit more than she was willing to confidently say or was afraid of saying it.

“She had a crush, a guy in our college.” She replied, frowning slightly. “ Jaehyun. I don’t why I brought it up, it’s just a stupid crush.”

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fracture

haitani ran x call girl!reader(+some bonten stuff)

summary: after someone tries to kill you to send a message to ran he takes personal responsibility for your safety. sure he's killed every house plant he's ever had, but this will be easier than that, right?

cw - drugs, smut, guns, murder, praise, degradation, dub!con, reader is a sex worker w a sick brother. ran likes you!!! likes you a lot!! too much probably, probably far too much.

next

Haitani Ran cuts through the smokey front lounge of the most expensive brothel in the city like the bow  of a ship through waves. Men on couches, with beautiful women sipping drinks, and giggling fill the air, the tinkling music just enough to obscure general conversation. 

Still, his general demeanor attracted a fair amount of attention, and of course, the fact that this brothel, like almost every establishment in this part of the city, belonged to him made his presence even more intimidating. Waitresses bow out of the way as he steps to the back, touching the Madam on her upper arm. 

“Where is she?” He asks, hands in his pockets. 

“Room 914.” She says, looking up at him, concerned. “She’s a good girl, highest earner here, always on time.” Ran nods. 

“I’m familiar.” His violet eyes darken. “She’s not in trouble. No one touches my girls and lives to talk shit about it.” The Madam nods, and points him down the hallway. He’s not sure what he’s expecting when he walks through the door to your room, the girl whose john had turned on her when it came time to pay, but it’s not this. He pushes open the door to what was tantamount to your office, the plush pink bed covered in soft pillows, a closet full of lingerie and costumes, and you, sniffing delicately and clutching a stuffed animal to your chest. You gasp at the sight of him, of course you do, he thinks, you know who he is. “F/n?” He tries, and you visibly tremble, the tears in your eyes spilling over. 

“I’m sorry,”  you whisper, “Please, please don’t fire me, I don’t have anywhere else to go.” He softens immediately. 

“You’re not fired.” He strides over to you and sits down on the bed. “I need to know everything you can tell me about the man who attacked you.” You take a breath, and he notes the black makeup running down your cheeks. He hands you a handkerchief, but you only succeed in smearing it around. “Stop.” He orders, and you freeze, you sweet little thing. He takes your chin with one hand, and carefully wipes the makeup away. 

“He was tall, um,” you sniff, “Dark hair, but unstyled, just a mop of it. He had a tattoo of a tiger on his neck.” Ran’s brow furrows. “He said something, something I didn’t understand, about Roppongi? That he knew you.” You wipe your face again, and he notices that you’re struggling to keep one of your eyes open, that it’s clearly bruising. The redness around your neck has begun to fade to purple. “That he was going to kill me, that I was um, a warning shot.” You let out another shaky breath. 

“What did you do?” He asks. 

“I st-stabbed him, with,” you open one of your palms and hand him the eyebrow styling scissors, soaked in blood. “With these, but he got away.” 

“Tough bitch, huh?” Ran says, meaning it as a compliment but what little light was in your eyes dulls further. “C’mere,” he says, attempting comfort, an old, cold muscle, “C’mere, baby, you’re not in trouble. Bonten takes care of their own.” You break down as he pulls you into his lap. “Baby,” he tries again, as you keep crying, wiping your face self consciously. “Baby did you think we were gonna turn you in?” You nod into him, and he gathers you into his chest more tightly. He rubs a soft circle in your shoulder, wishing he still had time to make a point to test out the new girls, like he did in the beginning, so you’d have met before these unfortunate circumstances. 

“Thank you.” You whisper. “I do well here, I promise,” He nods.

“You’ll need to take a break,” He says, giving you a little squeeze, “While we find him. Do you have somewhere to go?” Your head snaps up to him, and he sees it in your eyes before you say it. 

“Nowhere safe.” He exhales, still absentmindedly rubbing your back. 

“You can stay with me,” He offers, without thinking about it. “Of course you’ll keep 

working, then.”  It takes you a moment to understand. 

“Oh, I don’t mind, whatever you want.” You say quickly. “I can follow orders.” 

“Of course you can.” He pats your shoulder, grinning. “Get your things.” He stands, “I’ll wait outside.” You nod, and he steps into the hallway, beckoning the woman back over. “She’s going home with me till it’s sorted out. No need to call the police.” His hand flies to the gun he keeps on his hip. “We’ll handle it internally.” She nods. 

“Her regulars will be disappointed.” 

“Give ‘em a discount,” Ran says, bouncing his leg impatiently. “Princess,” He drawls sarcastically, “I don’t have all day.” You throw the last thing you have into your duffel, the one you use to take your costumes and lingerie home when they need to be laundered. 

“Yes, sir,” you say, with all the brightness you can muster, wearing a wool coat over your lingerie and strappy heels. “I’m ready to go.” He offers you his arm and you take it, feeling a little awkward, and self conscious of the way your face must look to passerby. 

“My car is out front,” He says, “I’m driving, unfortunately for you. Women hate the way I drive.” 

“I’m sure I won’t mind sir.” You say quietly, barely audible over the low jazz and the hum of conversation at the front of the house. It’s raining outside and Ran opens the passenger seat of his Bentley for you, before scooting around the car. He takes a parking ticket off the windshield and tosses it in the gutter before flopping in the front seat. The bruised side of your face aside, you really were quite pretty in the low light, as you tighten  your grip on the armrest rather than complaining about the way he runs red lights, and changes lanes sporadically. 

“S’not every day I get to sit with someone who I didn’t know was ready to kill for us.” He jokes, filling the silence with words. You nod. 

“I um, it was self preservation, I can’t take credit for that.” You shrug. “I don’t know much about um, Bonten?” He glances at you. “It’s just a job for me.” 

“I’m afraid you’ll have to learn a bit now.” He watches you shiver before making a left turn that pulls a screech from his tires. “So how does a girl like you end up in a place like this?” 

“How do you know it’s not for the same reasons most girls end up in places like this?” You quip and he sighs, but takes the bait, revealing how much he’d already noticed about you. 

“No track marks,” he says, “And you’re too clear headed to be into uppers, plus anyone with a real rap sheet would have bolted if she thought we’d turn her in, which you did.” 

“I like xanax.” You say, crossing your arms and he laughs. 

“Of course you do,” he reaches over the seat without looking and flicks your temple. ”Got too much goin’ on in there, huh?” You don’t bother trying to fight him. “Never mind, figured it out.”  

“I doubt that.” You say serenely, before tacking on a “Sir.” 

“Do you do that with everyone?” He asks, glancing over his shoulder before changing lanes. Your grip on the console gets tighter. “The honorifics?” 

“Oh, no.” You shrug. “All the girls learn what the executives like, so that you don’t have to tell us if you decide to come by.” He can’t keep the smile from his face, 

“Fuck, I love my life.” He slams on the brakes in front of a huge glass apartment building. “C’mon sweetheart, we’re home.” You reach for the door, and he shakes his head. “I’m a gentleman, please,” you can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic. The rain’s picked up, but he doesn’t jog, a few long strides closing the distance around the car and swinging your door open, offering you his arm again, like some kind of giant regency gentleman. He leads you back to the building, watching you shiver in the lobby, waiting until you’re in the elevator to speak again. 

“Don’t you want to know,” he says, examining his own reflection, “What I figured out about you?” You sigh deeply. 

“Yes sir.” 

“That’s no fun!” He pouts, as you rocket up to the penthouse. “Engage with me.” He watches you performatively straighten, a practiced smile spreading across your face. “Nevermind, no acting with me, only real shit. That’ll be rule number one for staying at my place.” You nod. The doors swing open and he gets to watch the genuine shock as you step into his huge penthouse suite. 

“Oh my god,” you look all around, from the wall of windows, to the balcony, you step out of your shoes and walk across the floor mesmerized. “I’ve never seen anything like this.” You feel his hand come to rest on your back. 

“Yeah sweetheart,” he says, “Can I get you a drink?” You nod. “And I’ve got a first aid kit for emergencies.” You raise your unbruised eyebrow. “What?” 

“I didn’t take you for the caring type.” You muse and his lips twitch downward. 

“I have little siblings.” He says, pouring two glasses of whiskey and sitting on the couch. “I’m actually used to it.” He smirks. “So tell daddy where it hurts?” He’s surprised when  you let out a shaky, honest breath. 

“I’m so,” you take a big gulp of the whiskey, “I’m so scared,” your voice trembles, your hands shake, “I know I’m safe with you, sir, but I’m really afraid.” He can see it now, your eye is bad, it’s going to be swollen shut in the morning. 

“C’mere,” he shrugs out of his jacket and opens his arms. You reluctantly move across the couch, still holding your drink, taking a big sip of it before leaning down against his chest. “Was that so hard?” You feel one of his long arms wrap around you. 

“I don’t,” you start, “I don’t have a lot of experience asking for what I need.” He chuckles, bringing the drink to his lips. 

“You don’t get to be the highest earner at a place like that by prioritizing your own needs.” He says, starting to rub a circle in your shoulder. “You get that by being observant, and versatile.” He rubs his eyes. “Did we poach you from another house? I’m trying to remember how you got hired.” 

“You did.” You yawn, ignoring the throbbing of your head, drinking more, “You offered me healthcare.” Ran breaks into a wide smile. 

  “Subsidized healthcare for whores,” he finishes his drink, “Not even that expensive and suddenly we have the cleanest and the best girls in the city.”  You nod. “Not gonna complain about me calling you a whore?” You laugh lightly, feeling the whiskey dull your pain, and warm your body. 

“It’s pretty famously acknowledged that men hate listening to women nag. So I never do it when I’m working.” Ran nods slowly, scooting you off him and standing. 

“We’ll see about that.”  He takes the first aid kit and opens it on the coffee table, you sit up obediently and face him. He takes you in, now that he can look at you in normal light, even bruised and red eyed from crying, you were absolutely stunning. There’s something primordial about your beauty, like it’s not defined from your features, but by something burning inside you. He swallows, ripping open an alcohol swab. “C’mere.” He says and opens his palm, you lean forward, until your chin is resting in his hand. “Fucker nearly bashed your head in.” You don’t respond to that, but he clocks your little gasp of pain when he starts dabbing at the cut by your eyebrow. 

“Really,” you mumble, “Didn’t expect you to do this.” It’s true, Ran could have had someone else, anyone else take care of you, he could have dropped you at a hotel, or one of the other brothels, but something, some instinct had him bring you here instead. 

“When I was a kid, my brother got into more fights than me.” He explains, “I mean, no one would agree with that, because once Rin was in, I was in, whatever it was. But I got pretty used to patching him up.” A tear leaks out of your left eye, “I’m almost done.” 

“Thank you, sir.” You whisper. 

“You’ll make it up to me.” He says brightly, before carefully putting a little gauzy band aid over the affected area. “So, we were discussing you.” 

“Were we?” You murmur, and then you remember. “Oh you said you’d figured me out.” He nods. 

“Daddy issues.” He says, and you raise your good eyebrow, then wince. “Let me make some assumptions, you tell me if I’m wrong.” 

“Okay.” You feel Ran’s hands move down your bruised clavicle, and push your jacket off your shoulders. 

“I’m checking for swelling,” he murmurs, light touches down your shoulders. “But, you had no strong authority figures as a child.” 

“Correct.” You answer. 

“Maybe your mom was around, in some capacity, but daddy was always working,” You shrug. 

“That’s one way to put it.” He raises his eyebrows and you sigh and continue. “My father worked in finance,” 

“Rich little princess, huh?” He says, opening a new alcohol swab to dab at a scrape just below your collarbone from when the attacker dragged you across the rug. 

“Apparently.” You say softly. “Till he went to prison, and my mom fell off the wagon.” Ran nods slowly. 

“He screw a bunch of well meaning middle class people over or something?” He asks, slipping the strap of your lingerie off your shoulder. 

“Something like that.” You inhale sharply as Ran experimentally presses the swab against the scrape, to see if you’ll squirm.  

“If I asked you for something,” he says, smoothing some gauze over the cut. “You’d give it to me.” 

“Yes sir,” you say, fighting the exhaustion, your head hurts, and your body aches, but you’re working, you remind yourself, it’s a job. 

“So if I asked you to tell me the truth about how you were feeling right now, you would?” Your hands fly to your temples, massaging them. 

“Everything hurts,” you mumble, “And now I’m exhausted, and a little drunk.” You glance over the shoulder. “Am I on the couch?” 

“Nope,” Ran says, glee back in his voice as he closes the first aid kit. “My bed.” he lifts you like a child, cradling you to his chest, “There we are.” You shiver, then snuggle into the warmth of his body as he carries you across the penthouse. He deposits you on the bed carelessly, and you wince, curling into the fetal position with an arm wrapped around your ribs. 

“Your ribs might be broken,” Ran muses. 

“Why,” you say through gritted teeth, “Did you throw me?” 

“Because if you’re not going to tell me what hurts I’m going to find out somehow, now get up you have to brush your teeth.” 

“Are you serious?” You lift your head and he chuckles dangerously, enjoying the real pain and anger in  your eyes. 

“You still work for me.'' He says. “I’m not going to hit you, if I can help it, but it’s in your best interest not to push-” he stops when you don’t seem to be listening, your face screwed up in pain, and the last soft part of his soul tugs at him. “Alright,” he sits on the bed and rubs your   forehead. “I’ll have a doctor here first thing this morning, alright,” you take a shaky breath and he sees a tear you're unable to blink away. 

“This,” you press your lips together,voice tiny and tight, “This really, really hurts.” He massages his jaw, he’s not sure what he wanted, what possessed him to bring you here, what’s causing this odd protective stirring in his chest. It’s true, this was probably the best choice for Bonten, given that this man would be looking for you and causing trouble if you were anywhere else, but normally that wouldn’t have bothered him enough to open up his personal space to you. 

“Why didn’t you tell me your ribs hurt?” He asks, but realizes as soon as he says it, “Oh, you want to get back to work, huh?” You nod, your eyes are screwed shut now. “Whaddya need money for, sweetheart?” He’s back to softly rubbing your forehead. 

“Got a brother.” You breathe out slowly, “Sick. He needs the money.” Ran blinks at you in the darkness, withdrawing his hand. You hear him open and close a drawer and then feel something cold press to your cheek. 

You open your eyes and he’s ice cold, all mirth and teasing gone from his face. You don’t move, just try to hold his gaze. 

“How long have you worked for me?” He says, and you look confused by the question but answer. 

“A-about eight months.” 

“And where did we poach you from?”  

“The silver dragon.” You answer, a slight tremor from your voice, “What did I-” 

“Just answer some questions for me.” He says, pressing the gun harder into your cheek. “Did you know the man you stabbed?” You look up at him, eyes wide, “I asked you a fucking question.” 

“N-no.” You breathe. 

“You think you can show up here, with some sob story about a sick brother and get whatever you want from me, think I’ll let my guard down?” He still sounds calm. 

“No, no please,” you plead, “I can prove it, if you look on my phone, I have pictures of us.” He nods. 

“Get up.” You choke out a sob as the stabbing pain in your chest bursts forth, but struggle to your feet. He doesn’t help you, or let you lean on him, but he doesn’t push your pace as you struggle to walk back to his couch, barefoot in a silk slip, “Sit.” He says and you do, he keeps the gun to your head while he pulls your phone out of your coat pocket. “Passcode?” 

“9965.” You whisper, and a shiver runs up your spine, causing pain to bloom in your chest. He clicks into your phone, it’s depressing, barely any texts, but if he opens your photos it’s true, most of the pictures are of a younger boy with whom you share several features. He looks sickly and thin, and in some of them he’s making faces in a hospital bed, posing with an actor dressed as spiderman. Ran’s heart rate calms a little, but he’s not convinced. He opens your internet history, scrolling through it. 

“There’s a lot of porn here,” He muses, and the pressure with which he’s pushing on your head with the gun lessens. 

“It’s not like most of my appointments are interested in my pleasure,” you keep your eyes closed, unwilling to witness your own end, “And I have to take care of myself.” He chuckles, but between the porn and occasional shopping link it’s clear you’ve been doing research on childhood illness for at least as long as he can scroll, which is 10 months. It’s a lot of detail and work to put into tricking him, especially when you couldn’t guarantee he’d even look at your phone. He pockets the device. 

“This is mine now.” He says, but the only thing you really understand is that he withdraws the gun from your head. You try not to cry in relief, but end up barely biting back the sob, the pain tears at your chest. “Let’s get you washed up,” his touches are soft again, practically carrying you to the bathroom, giving you an extra toothbrush. He puts the gun away in a nightstand. You climb into his bed, scooting under the blanket, it’s a light but warm duvet. You’re making an effort to control your breathing, and you haven’t spoken to him since he took your phone. “Did I scare you?” He says, unbuttoning his shirt, tossing it on a chair. 

“Yes, sir.” You whisper, and he notes that the honorifics are back. He takes his rings and earring off, depositing them in a little dish beside his bed. He steps out of his pants, and flicks the light off, the only light coming from the full moon and the city, silver white patterns from his window are painted across his bed. He hooks his thumbs in his briefs and steps out of them, laughing when  you avert your eyes from the way his cock hangs heavily between his legs while he grabs a clean pair. “Modest, for a whore.” You don’t respond, shrugging then wincing at what it does to your chest. “I could give you something for the pain?” He offers, and you narrow your eyes. “What?” 

“I’m trying to decide if I trust you not to slip me something because you think it’s funny.” He giggles. 

“I mean it would be funny, but I’m a gentleman, and if I wanna watch a hot girl trip and lose her shit I coulda grabbed almost anyone else from your place of work on your way out.” 

“You’re a gentleman?” You raise your eyebrows, “Did your mother teach you it’s polite to hold young women at gunpoint.” His eyes narrow. 

“I think you don’t want to see what it looks like when I get impolite.” He says, and there’s a dark edge to his tone. Your eyes are on his tattoos as he lies down next to you, “Now come here.” You obey, ignoring the ache in your chest as he pulls you next to him. He digs in his drawer and pulls out a pill bottle, “Open,” he says, and you part your lips, sticking your tongue out. He puts a tiny blue pill out and places it on your tongue. It starts to dissolve and you watch him take one too. “Coulda left you there.” he grumbles. “Coulda just let you go home.” 

“I know.” You say softly. “I was um, I was teasing you,” He glances down at you, you feel a warmth spreading over your body. “I’m glad,” you follow an impulse, “That you didn’t leave me there.” You take one of his huge hands with both of yours, and his heart flutters uncomfortably. 

“So really,” He turns to you. “Not only am I a gentleman but I’m your knight in shining armor.” You sigh deeply, feeling the painkiller work its way through your system. “Say it please.” 

“Say what?” You blink up at him dumbly and fuck, his stomach does a back flip. “Sir.” You remember, barely. 

“Say I’m,” his head is clouding over, “Say I’m  your knight in shining armor,” he needles and you squeeze his hand. 

“Y-you saved me.” You mumble. “The knight thing is too cheesy, I can’t do it.” 

“Then kiss me.” He demands, and you obey, struggling to prop yourself up. He leans down impatiently, pressing his lips to yours with a desperate hunger, not caring about the little whimper you make at the pain of this position. He only pulls away when  you’re breathless. “Heal up.” He says, leaning over and kissing your forehead in an oddly caring and soft way. 

“Mhm,” you agree, drifting off to a peaceful sleep, the medicine fogging your mind. Ran watches you for a while, amazed at how quickly you relax even with the drugs. They take longer to hit him, and he laces and unlaces your fingertips, plays with your hair, even presses gently on the bruises on your body, just enough to pull a sleepy whimper from your lips, determined to find your weaknesses before you find his. 

You wake before him, nestled against his chest, your head tucked under his chin. You don’t stir, don’t move a muscle, every part of your body aches, from your ribs, to your face, to your neck. Ran’s got a tight grip on you, and he’s snoring softly. His alarm goes off a few minutes later, though and he smacks it with one huge hand, groaning. He sits up and examines you blearily. Overnight your bruises have gotten worse, you’re still pretty, but half your face is fucked, the bruises extend down from your eye to the corner of your jaw, and your neck is dappled with darkness and burst blood vessels. You hum softly and he rubs his eyes. 

“I’m gonna shower,” he says, “Our doctor will be here in an hour, and then I’m going to work, and you’re gonna stay here.” You nod. “Don’t get into my shit.” he warns and you shrug. “You can order whatever you want for lunch,” he digs through his wallet and puts a black card on the nightstand. 

“Can I have my phone back?” 

“No.” He rolls his eyes. 

“How will I order, then?” You bury your face back into the pillows and he thinks about it. “I’ll leave you a burner phone.” He opens a drawer and tosses you a blank cell phone. You nearly don’t catch it and he chuckles at you. “Stay put for a sec.” He jogs out of the bedroom, still in only his lavender briefs. He comes back a second later with a few bags, he’s got frozen peas, some frozen ore-ida french fries, and a bag of frozen pineapple. “Ice that shit.” He orders, “Twenty minutes on, twenty minutes off,” he eyes you warily. “I’d tie you down but you’re gonna have to use the restroom, huh.” You nod, and he sighs deeply, taking his phone out and putting it to his ear, “Can I get two decent guys up to my penthouse in the next half hour, need them to watch a girl for a day. Tell them it’s a cushy assignment, a chance to ah,” he grins evilly, “Impress me.” You resist the urge to roll your eyes, but he still regards you warily while finishing the phone call. You press the peas to the side of your face and wince at the temperature. Ran puts the phone in the crook of his neck, 

“Hold on a second,” he says. “Hey, dummy,” he snaps at you, “Gently.” You nod, and he rolls his eyes, annoyed, “Yeah, I got a girl who’s never put ice on a bruise before to deal with,” he says to the person on the other end of the phone, ignoring you as he slips more pillows behind your back. “Yeah, I told her she was dumb already,” He pats your head with one huge hand, still talking to the other guy as he disappears into the bathroom to shower. You relax against the pillows, curling up into the fetal position with the bag of frozen peas on your face. Ran come back in half an hour later, and you’ve got the pineapple bag on your neck. 

“What a good girl,” he coos, condescension dripping from his words, “But you’re missing your ribs, are they swollen?” 

“I, I don’t know.” You respond more quietly than he expects. He narrows his violet eyes and comes to your side of the bed, pushing you gently onto your back and removing the pineapple bag. “Sir?” You crane your neck to see what he’s doing as he peels the blanket back and then lifts your dress. You gasp at the sight of your skin, you knew  you were injured, but the nebula of bruises and the slight swelling shocks you. Ran seems unphased, pressing lightly on the bruise, just enough to make you whimper. 

“They’re not broken.” He murmurs, almost to himself, then remembers you, “But don’t fucking move too much, alright?” He stands, “Jesus.” He digs through his drawer, taking the bottle of pills and leaving one on the nightstand, shoving the bottle into his pocket, “Can’t have ya doin’ anything stupid.”

“Yes, sir,” you chirp, just a slight degree of mocking to your voice. He furrows his eyebrows, but doesn’t admonish you. He leaves shortly after that, in some monstrosity of a pastel suit, and no tie, a thin silver chain visible around his neck. You take the pill, and nearly don’t notice when two men come in, talking loudly. 

“He said she’d be sleepin’ but we gotta make sure no one gets in here,” one of them says, “Oi,” You stir, opening your good eye. “Mr. Haitani said you should be icin’  your shit.” You sit up and turn to face them, hearing their collective intake of breath at your face. 

“Jesus, sweetheart,” They’re both tall, broad and tattooed, one blonde, one dark haired. “You alright?” 

“No,” you almost whine, “Where’s the doctor?” 

“Runnin’ late.” One of them takes the iced food away and brings something else from Ran’s freezer. You hold it to your face as a tear leaks from your eye. Neither of the men talk much, which is fine, with the pill you’re drifting in and out of consciousness. You wake a few hours later, and an extremely hurried doctor pronounces you injured, hairline fractures on your ribs, no orbital fractures, and gives you a few painkillers that you’ll have to take with water, and that he tells you not to mix with alcohol or drive on. You scroll through the burner phone, then look up at the men. 

“Um, he said I could get lunch?” They blink at you. “Do you want lunch?” You take the black card off the night table, “I was thinking um, burgers, or something?” 

“Yeah, sure.” One of them says, and you hand them the phone and let them put their order in through the app, then add your own and put in the card information. You lay back, with the ice numbing your bruises. 

“Can um,” you close your eyes, “One of you wake me when the food gets here?” 

“Sure, honey.” One of them quips, and about an hour later you’re vaguely aware of an argument in the living room about which one of them should go down to get the food, because they both were supposed to stay up in the penthouse, when you hear the doorbell ring. It strikes you as odd for a full second. You hadn’t given the delivery person anything but the building address, no indication of the floor they should come to. Instinct overrides your terror and you fumble for the gun you saw Ran put away the night before. You hear a quick shout, and the smashing of furniture, as you stumble out of bed and click the safety off, holding it out in front of you. 

“Stop,” you cry quickly, and the severity of your situation becomes clear. One of the men Ran left you with is bleeding on the floor, having been caught off guard, and the other is grappling with a much larger man, who has him pinned. It looks like two intruders have broken in, with the second stalking towards you, both with matching tiger tattoos. “D-don’t move.” You say, cursing your stutter. “I’ll, I’ll shoot you.” 

“Stupid fuckin’ bitch,” the man snarls, and you can see something wild in his honeyed eyes, while his companion chokes the life out of the last conscious bonten member. “Put it down.” 

“I will shoot you.” You plant your bare feet on the ground, unaware if you're dizzy or just swaying a bit from the drugs. What happens next you’re not entirely sure, even though you’d be asked to recount it many times. He lunges for you, and you squeeze the trigger a couple times, squealing at the noise it makes even with the silencer on the end of the weapon. The recoil makes pain explode in  your hand, but when you’re out of bullets, no one is standing anymore. You sink, shaking, to your knees.

The man who lunged for you and his companion are both bleeding out on Ran’s expensive looking oriental rug. 

“Oh my god,”  you whisper, “Oh my god.” Almost on autopilot, you fumble for your cell phone, and find only the burner. You hover over the 9 for 911, but stop yourself, instead dialing the only number that’s saved. 

“Haitani,” You hear. 

“M-m-mr. Haitani,” you choke out, and Ran’s frowns at your tone, standing and walking out of the room he was in. “They, they came here for me and-” 

“Are you hiding?” He interrupts, grabbing his coat and signaling to a few of his men to follow him. 

“N-no,” you stammer, “I might have,” you can’t hear your own voice, you’re faraway from your own body. “I might have done something.” He’s in the elevator at this point. “Y-you know the gun in your nightstand?” He laughs. “Please don’t.” You beg. 

“If you shot one of my men they get to shoot you,” He quips, “Thems the breaks.” 

“No,” you swallow, “M-mr. Haitani, I shot,” the joy melts from his face as his car pulls up in front of the offices. “I shot them, the um, the people breaking in.” His eyes shoot open and he barks out a laugh.

“Don’t touch anything.” He says. “Don’t even move or breathe too much until I get there, understood?” 

“Yes, sir.” You choke out, sinking to the floor again and sitting there. You’re not sure how long it takes for him to burst into the room with a few men, not sure how long you sit on the floor, dizzied and nauseated by the scent of iron. Ran strides into the room and surveys the damage, then looks at you, small and broken, on your knees holding the gun. He leans down, pressing his finger to one of the men’s neck before standing again with a little huff. 

“Well, that’s that then.” You burst into tears. “Aw princess, don’t cry,” he coos, and reaches for you, “Let’s get you cleaned up,” He turns to his men. “And you, clean this up. I wanna know how the fuck they got up here, and I want to know yesterday. Clear?” The men nod, “They alive?” he asks about the bonten men and one of them groans. “Hey bastard,” Ran snaps, “Whatever rank you were, this bitch is now your fucking boss,” you’re still crying softly, wondering if he means for you to take his extended hand. He looks back at you, annoyed, and then plucks you off your knees, lifting you to a standing position. He takes you to his bathroom and helps you strip, you’re still bruised, and high, and a little concussed. “Gonna keep crying even if I tell you to shut up?” You nod, giving him a little hiccuping sob.

“S-sorry.” You choke out and he nods, turning the water on and kicking his shoes off, stepping out of his pants. “What are you d-doing,” you say wiping your face. 

“We’re gonna burn anything that you were wearing,” he says, “Same for me, since I touched you, alright,  but you’ve got blood on you so let’s get into the shower.” He’s a little impatient, tugging you into the steam. You cover yourself at first, nonsensically but he doesn’t peel your hands away. Instead he reaches for a bottle of soap. It smells like sweet almond oil, and he cleans himself first, washing his hair, his face, his shoulders. He notices the way you keep your attention up at his face, nearly ignoring his cock. 

“I’m a shower not a grower,” he quips, and you sniff, still reeling. “Alright,” he takes a pump of the soap, “Okay, let’s just,” he starts on your shoulders, dexterous hands moving over your aching muscles, a bit of red running down the drain as the blood washes off of you. His hands dip lower quickly, and he pushes your hands away from your breasts. He groans softly at the feeling of them in his hands, running his thumbs over your nipples and squeezing them, delighting in the way you squirm, your breath evening. 

“W-what’s gonna happen to me?” You whisper, and he shrugs, moving his hands lower, barely stopping at your waist before he slips them behind to cup your ass. 

“I like a bitch who takes care of herself,” he squeezes at the soft flesh. “Because it means if I take that away, you don't have anything left but me.” A shiver runs up your spine. “I’m gonna keep you,” you feel his hand dip between your legs, “And you don’t get a say in the matter,” he crouches a little so that you can look him in the eyes. “Does that feel good?” 

“A little,” you get out, as he parts your folds with one long finger,  you can feel the cool of his rings as the warm water drips between you. 

“You’re afraid of me?” He asks, eyes serious for a moment. 

“Y-yes sir,” you press your lips together, “I sh-shouldn’t have taken your gun, I’m s-sor-” He cuts you off with a chuckle. 

“If you hadn’t taken it you’d have just bled all over my sheets while you died.” He shrugs. “And I wouldn’t have appreciated that. I’m glad you took it.” You swallow. “Are you glad,” he asks, and you gasp softly as he slips a finger inside you, “That you killed those men?” 

“N-no,” the tears burn in your eyes, “I didn’t mean to.” 

“That’s what I thought,” he leans down and presses his lips to your forehead, “You’re just a good girl, caught up in something bigger, huh?” You nod, feeling the way he presses up softly against that spongey spot inside you. “Such a sweet little thing,” he muses as you draw a shaky breath, he knows what he’s doing, knows how to pull soft music from your lips, “Adorable little mouse caught in a trap.” 

“Ah,” you close your eyes, sighing, and he moves you, pushing you up against the cool black marble of his shower. 

“Since you’re such a good girl,” he repeats, “And you don’t wanna hurt anyone, I’ll take care of you, alright, daddy’s gonna make those bodies disappear,” you sniff, he adds a second finger, pulling the softest moan from your lips. “And in return, you’re gonna do everything I say, how does that sound?” 

“It sounds,” you can’t think clearly, “It sounds, um,” you gasp, he scissors his fingers inside of you and you feel the pain dully in your ribs, “Sounds um, thank you,” you close your eyes leaning against the cool tile wall, lost in the drugs, in the feeling of his thumb rubbing soft circles around your clit. 

“Just say yes, daddy,” he taunts and you let out a soft whine. 

“Y-yes, daddy,” your back arches off the wall of the shower. 

“You’re too high to fake shit with me right now,” he feels your legs start to tremble and you nod, “But it’s not allowed, understand?” 

“Yes,” you feel the hot coil in your stomach tighten as he picks up the pace, “Yes, daddy.” 

“Such a good girl,” he exclaims, dripping in condescension, examining you clinically. You’re bruised, and out of it, your eye is swollen shut to the point that you’re avoiding the gentle fall of water on the purpled skin. “My good girl.” You nod, whimpering. “You’re mine,” he repeats, “Say it.” 

“I’m yours,” it comes out soft, and high pitched as he fingers you roughly. 

“Cum for me, then,” he says, leaning further down and kissing your neck as you cum on his hand, gushing around him and crying softly, so overwhelmed with emotion and sensation that your knees buckle. He catches you handily, helping you into a soft white towel and laying you down in his bed. “Open.” He says and you obey mindlessly, letting him place another pill on your tongue, a different one, that makes your world so fuzzy at the edges that consciousness slips from you quickly. He gets dressed and strides back into his living room. The bodies are rolled up in rugs, the blood is gone, and Ran’s gun is sitting on the table, wiped clean of fingerprints. 

“Did you need to fuck the girl first?” He hears, and Rindou walks out of his half bathroom, wiping his hands on a towel. “Was it absolutely necessary for you to fuck the girl.” Ran grins evilly. 

“Would you be proud of me to know that for once in my life I was an unselfish lover?” Rindou retches. 

“No,” He takes some black latex gloves from his pocket. “So what, you had to-” 

“She was too injured to stand  on her own in the shower,” Ran explains impatiently, striding to the kitchen and pouring himself a drink. “Why are you here, exactly?” 

“Can’t I be worried about you, my only brother?” He says, crouching next to one of the bodies, pulling out one of their wallets. “This is,” he frowns, looking at the ID. 

“What’s up?” Ran quips, joining him. 

“The address on here isn’t a real place.” Rindou murmurs. “Because it’s the apartment building next to the one we grew up in in Roppongi.” Ran’s brow furrows. “And they tore that down a few months ago, I think.” 

“Someone trying to send us a message?” Ran says, quirking an eyebrow. Rindou nods. “Well,” he draws himself up to his full height. “I’m gonna beef up security.” 

“What’ll you do with her?” A smile plays on Rindou’s lips and Ran scoffs. 

“She’s mine now.” He shrugs. “Shiny new toy for me.”

You don’t see Ran again until later, you wake alone in his bedroom, stomach growling. You stumble to the living room, half high, half awake, and Ran is waiting for you, sitting on the couch on his laptop. 

“You’re up,” he says, lifting his head, watching you look around blearily. “It’s all gone, baby, all clean in here.” You nod, hands trembling. “Come here.” He pats the couch and you wince sitting down next to him. “You still need your brother's hospital bills paid?” He asks and you nod, letting him pull your body into his chest. “Consider it taken care of. You’ve been promoted in our organization.” You look up at him and he takes a big black gun from a shoulder holster. “C’mon,” he takes your hand and arranges it on the handle correctly. “Like this.” You bury your face in his neck. 

“I don’t want to hurt people.” You mumble, and he feels your lips move against his clean shave. 

“You need to learn how to use this.” He says calmly, “Focus for me.” He watches you direct your attention fully to his large hands on the gun. “This is a safety,” he clicks it on and off, “When  you’re not using it, you leave this on.” You nod. “We’ll getcha some practice.” You take his arm, and he looks at you, surprised. You press your whole body up against his side, nuzzling into him. 

“Thank you for not just killing me.” You whisper. He shrugs.

“You’re useful.” 

“I want to um,” you blink up at him, eyes round. “I want to be useful to you.” He laughs. 

“You’re in absolutely no shape to suck me off.” He gives your knee a little squeeze. “I’ll give you the chance to make it up to me sweetheart,” he leans over and presses a kiss to your forehead. “After all, I own you now.” You swallow. It’s true, he has the bodies, the evidence, the power, not to mention he’s the one with a gun. 

next chapter

one of my all time favs!!!

LITTLE DARK AGE

haitani ran x fem!reader x haitani rindou

summary: eight years later, you finally return to tokyo and find yourself caught in the middle of a violent gang war between the two most ruthless criminal organizations of tokyo’s underworld, forced to choose between blood and love.

genre: bonten timeskip, angst, forbidden romance, childhood friends -> strangers -> lovers, 18+ MDNI

warnings: fem!reader, gang violence, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, explicit smut, polyamory, profanity, MCD, unedited, MTBA

chapter warnings: disassociation, class discrimination, mentions of suicide and mass death

taglist closed — but if ur someone who actively reblogs n leaves feedback i might just find a spot for u

previous chapter -> masterlist -> next chapter

CHAPTER Ⅶ. AND YOU'LL NEVER BE PURE AGAIN

FOURTEEN YEARS EARLIER.

“Do we really have to go?” Rindou murmured, tugging at the ends of his suit jacket uncomfortably, glancing back at you. Your shoulders slumped as you fixed your dress in the mirror, a pout tugging at your lips.

“I mean, you don’t have to but I just don’t wanna go to this stupid event alone,” you said, giving both of the brothers a sullen look as they shared a look with one another. 

“Whether the boys go with you or not, you won’t be alone,” Miss Yua chided as she brushed your hair, “Don’t be dramatic, your uncle will be attending with you.”

“Uncle Ichirou will be off with Mister Sugawara the entire night, he’s not even driving there with us! He will not be with me, I’ll be off on my own dealing with the creepy Sugawara boys,” you said loudly and let out a sharp cry as Miss Yua smacked the top of your head with the brush, clicking her tongue. “What was that for! They are creepy! They’re always hanging around me and being touchy when I tell them not to, and they’re mean, they always call me names.”

“They what?” Ran asked, voice low, and you missed the dark look that he shared with Rindou as your eyes fluttered shut, letting Miss Yua finish up pinning your hair. 

“You heard me, Ran!” you said, turning around once Miss Yua let her hands drop from your head. “They’re just so awful, don’t make me go alone, please.”

You puffed your lip out, looking up at Ran, “Pretty please,” you asked, widening your eyes and letting your bottom lip tremble. Ran rolled his eyes, flicking your forehead hard, you let out a yelp, flinching back.

“Stop with that stupid face,” he muttered, you gaped at him.

“Ran, don’t be mean,” Rindou said and you straightened, pleased that he came to your defense, “She can’t help it, it’s her natural face.”

You gasped dramatically as Ran and Rindou burst into laughter, “Rindou!” you complained, shooting him a withering look, “you guys are the worst! At least my face isn’t as stupid as your hair!”

Ran only grinned at you, his hand falling from the top of your head to your shoulder, squeezing gently. You looked back up at him, eyes meeting his lavender ones and you almost smiled at the light look in his eyes, one that you still hadn’t gotten used to seeing over the past few months. 

“Don’t be dumb, ‘course we’ll come with you,” he murmured and a warm feeling settled in your chest as Ran looked down at you, hand lingering on your shoulder. You felt your face begin to heat up and you looked away.

“... I don’t actually think your hair is stupid,” you muttered, and Rindou snorted, nudging your shoulder.

“Yeah, we know that from how often you force us to sit down so you can brush it,” he said and you whipped toward him, scowling.

“Don’t act like you don’t like it! You’re practically sitting there half-asleep and drooling by the time I’m done, Rindou!” you said and Rindou gaped at you.

“I do not! Take that back!” 

“You do too!” 

Miss Yua clicked her tongue sharply and the two of you quieted down, turning to look at her. Her eyes were trained on you and Rindou gave you a severe side-eye as you tried to shift behind him to step out of her gaze.

“Go to Ayato,” Miss Yua pointed her long finger at you, flicking the air, “He will-”

“Miss Yua!” you complained, watching as she raised her eyebrows at the interruption, “I do not need to be lectured about behavior by Mister Ayato this time! If anything, Rindou and Ran should be going to see him! This is their first time at an event like this!”

“Way to throw us under the bus,” Rindou muttered and you giggled, he only glared at you from beneath his long bangs. 

“Go,” Miss Yua said, and it wasn’t up for argument so your shoulders dropped and you pouted, ignoring the way that Rindou snorted as you turned on your heel and walked away.

“How do the two of you even see under this mop of hair? And what is this dye-job?” you heard Miss Yua snap as you made your way down the hall toward Mister Ayato’s office, “Next week the two of you will be dragged to the stylist down the street whether you like it or not. Understood?”

Miss Yua’s voice became muffled as you turned down the hall, distantly hearing Rindou and Ran muttering their agreement before your eyes fell upon Mister Ayato fiddling with a hunting knife on his desk. He placed it down once he saw you approach, you eyed it curiously, never having seen it before, “What’s that from?” 

“My brother’s,” Mister Ayato said simply, walking around the desk to step toward you, “he gave it to me a few days before he passed away.”

You blinked, “You had a brother?” you asked quietly. A brother that passed away like… your throat felt swollen. It’s been a good amount of time since you’ve thought deeply about your parents and little sister, the Haitanis were always sure to keep your mind off of it but…

“I did, he was ten years older than me, died when I was in my early teens,” Mister Ayato said, and you stared at him, waiting for him to explain. He patted your head, “Gang violence.”

… but you’d never be able to forget the pain.

“Oh,” you said, “Like-“

“No,” he responded before you could finish, “Not like the boys’ little delinquent groups, actual gang violence.”

“Oh,” you said quietly, looking up as Mister Ayato sighed deeply, a strange look in his eyes.

“Look out for them tonight,” he said quietly and your brows furrowed in confusion, “This event is going to have a lot of dangerous people, don’t let them do anything that would put a target on their backs.”

You stared at him, “A target?”

Mister Ayato’s face twisted, as if he were trying to figure out how to explain, “You… you are in a unique position. Your uncle is a powerful man, amongst the people that will be at tonight’s event, you will be untouchable. The boys do not have that same luxury, do you understand? You will have to use your status to protect them.”

An ill-feeling settled in your stomach, “They might be in danger?” your voice wavered.

You knew your uncle was involved with shady stuff. You’ve known it since the week of the trial but you didn’t think… You weren’t thinking, why would you want to bring Rindou and Ran around these people? You were too focused on your distaste of the Sugawara boys, you weren’t thinking about others who might be attending the event.

Mister Ayato shook his head, “I didn’t say that. There’s no inherent danger in simply attending the event and I doubt that they change their minds now, just make sure they don’t do anything to bring unwelcome attention, and if they do…”

“If they do, I will take it off of them,” you said firmly, nodding your head, “I understand.”

Mister Ayato eyed you for a minute before letting out another heavy breath, “I wish that your uncle didn’t demand your presence at these events,” he murmured, “he should wait until you’re older.”

You opened your mouth to speak but Mister Ayato only waved you off, “Go, Akira will drive you and the boys to the event. Be sure to stay with them.”

You nodded, walking back toward the door, pausing before turning to look back at the older man over your shoulder, “Mister Ayato?” he raised his eyebrows, waiting for you to continue, “uncle Ichirou doesn’t really tell me what goes on at these events but I know it's more than just a party.”

It wasn’t a question but Mister Ayato looked perturbed, he wouldn’t meet your eye. You frowned.

“It’s not for you to worry about now,” Mister Ayato murmured and you opened your mouth to protest but Mister Ayato gave you a stern look, one that had you faltering, “Go, Akira is waiting.”

--

“Do not do anything rash at this event for whatever reason, do you understand?”

Rindou’s fists were clenched tight at his side as he watched a group of boys his and Ran’s age leer in your direction as you gleefully spoke to an older woman that Rindou didn’t recognize--it was hard to remember Miss Yua’s words as you shifted uncomfortably, bright smile temporarily fading as you met eyes with one of the boys. He and Ran lingered near you, silently snacking on some of the cheese and crackers that had been set up on a nearby table. 

They had been like this for twenty minutes now, standing back while you talked to the older woman, trying to ignore the unwelcome stares of the boys halfway across the room. Rindou didn’t have to ask to know they were the Sugawara boys that you had been bitching about before you all left the penthouse--they were the only other kids their age at the event, dressed in clothes that Ran and Rindou couldn’t have even dreamt of being in the vicinity of three years ago.

Rindou tugged uncomfortably at his own suit jacket, shifting on his feet. He hadn’t been able to adapt as well to the new lifestyle as Ran did--though that shouldn’t have been much of a surprise to him, everything came naturally easy to Ran and that included shifting from a survivalist lifestyle to a luxurious one. The new expensive clothes that you, and now Ran, donned like a second skin felt like a silly costume on him, one that he couldn’t quite get used to. 

“Should we do something?” Rindou asked, watching as another smile wavered on your face at a particularly loud comment. “She’s uncomfortable.”

Ran’s lips twitched down, eyes dark with irritation and a sort of helplessness that Rindou hated seeing on his brother’s face. 

“We can’t,” he said and Rindou’s jaw was tight as he forced his gaze away from Ran and back onto you, a feeling akin to relief sweeping through him when he noticed you bidding goodbye to the older woman and walking back toward them.

And Rindou felt warm when he noticed the smile on your face become wider and more genuine as you drew closer to them. 

“Rindou,” you said and Rindou gave you a questioning look, “Wanna dance with me?” 

Rindou’s face heated up immediately, eyes wide as he looked between you and the dancefloor, taking a step back. Next to him, Ran snorted and grabbed his shoulder, holding him in place before shoving him forward toward you, “Go on, don’t let the princess down.” 

Rindou stumbled forward into you, barely catching himself. He shot Ran a betrayed look but you had already grabbed his hand, “Ran, you’ll dance with me next?” you asked gleefully. Rindou watched as Ran winked at you.

“Of course,” he said, grinning, but Rindou knew from the look in his brother’s eyes that Ran would be long gone before the song was over. 

You didn’t give him the chance to protest, instead only dragging him toward the dance floor, smiling bright as you took his hands into yours. Rindou was sure his face was on fire and he didn’t know why--because it was just you. And I mean, yeah, Rindou didn’t really like entertaining conversation or hanging out with anybody but you or Ran--he wasn’t the most sociable or friendly but he’d never been one to get flustered and-

You moved closer to him, Rindou leaned back. You glared, Rindou looked away.

“I can’t dance with you if you’re holding me three feet away, Rindou!” you said.

And Rindou’s mouth was dry, eyes trained on the wall behind you instead of looking down at you and your pretty dress and your pretty face. Not pretty, Rindou thought viciously as you wrapped your arms loose around his neck, pointedly looking at the hands dangling at his side and he reluctantly placed his hands at your waist, letting you lead him in time with soft music because Rindou had no idea how to dance and you knew it, and he knew it, and Ran knew it from how amused he looked, and if Rindou had to bet, anyone that looked in your direction would be able to tell from how stiff he moved. 

“Why ya so tense?” you asked, a teasing smile tugging at your lips and Rindou scowled, pointedly looking away.

“I am not,” he said and he hated how petulant he sounded because you obviously noticed it from how you tried to smother a laugh. He couldn’t bring himself to be annoyed because your eyes were light and you were happy and Rindou supposed that he could deal with the ego blow if it made you laugh.

“You totally are,” you giggled, leaning in close, and Rindou’s eyes widened as he leaned back instantly.

“Why are you getting so close?” he asked, flustered, sure that his face was burning red. 

“Why are you getting so nervous?” you countered, and Rindou hated how you didn’t even look bothered at the proximity because he didn’t even know why he was thrown off by it--it’s not like this was the first time you’ve ever been this close to him so he wasn’t sure why it was affecting him like this. He hated it. 

He looked back in the direction of Ran, panicked, but the panic dissolved when he caught the strange expression on Ran’s face--Ran hadn’t even seemed to notice that Rindou was looking at him, despite the fact that Ran was staring at you and Rindou, and the grin that had been on Ran’s face had fallen into a more conflicted expression that Rindou couldn’t quite decipher, which was odd because Rindou could usually read Ran pretty easily. 

But Rindou didn’t get the chance to try to figure out what had changed because you were grabbing his arm to spin yourself beneath it and Rindou was focused on not making a fool of himself in front of all of your uncle’s rich friends and colleagues.

But you only laughed, a bright carefree laugh that had Rindou’s chest feeling light and tight at the same time, and Rindou couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips as you finished spinning and leaned close to him, arms snug around his shoulders and smiling up at him before resting your head on his chest. 

And Rindou couldn’t breathe, his eyes were wide and his hands were almost trembling on your waist as you spoke, “I’m really glad you ‘n Ran came, Rin,” you said, and Rindou usually hated when people shortened his name but somehow when it was falling off of your lips, he couldn’t bring himself to hate it. “It would have been dreadfully boring had I been alone ‘n I’m sure those dumb boys would have tried something by now, so thank you, I know this isn’t exactly your scene.”

Your scene, he thought to himself, glancing around at the gilded walls and antiques decorating the room, thousand-dollar paintings lining the walls. That’s putting it lightly.

“You don’t need to thank us,” he murmured, “We wouldn’t just leave you here.”

“Even so, I still want to thank you,” you smiled, looking up at him with such a sincere look in your eyes that it had Rindou tongue-tied, only able to nod in response.

“If I had known we were allowed to bring any old lowlife, I would’ve brought the whore that was eyeing me up on the way over here to make this shitty event less awful,” an unfamiliar voice said and Rindou stiffened, eyes darting over to where one of the boys--one with dark hair and darker eyes, was now standing much closer to where he was dancing with you, eyeing the two of you distastefully.

You didn’t pause in your movements, instead bringing Rindou’s arm up for another spin, “I am not surprised you’d have to stoop to whores for company, Sakuya, nobody would willingly spend time with you unless they were paid.”

Rindou choked on air and one of the boys standing near Sakuya snorted, trying to muffle it with his hand as Sakuya shot him a dirty look.

Rindou eyed the boy from the corner of his eye--Sugawara Sakuya, he recognized, you had warned him and Ran about him and his brothers on the way over. Sakuya was the oldest son--seventeen, a year older than Ran, three years older than you--and he was also the most vocal and aggressive when it came to tormenting and bothering you.

“Rich coming from the girl whose only friends are street rats that only stay around because they need shelter,” Sakuya said coldly and Rindou watched as your expression dropped and your feet faltered, a hurt look spreading across your face.

And Rindou’s ears rung, his blood ran hot and it took all of his self-control not to launch himself forward and rip Sakuya’s head off. Instead, his grip only tightened on you, shifting you behind him so he could step forward.

There’s five of them, five of them and one of him, and he has to protect you. He won’t win—maybe? How well trained are they? He didn’t know, you had mentioned that they were trained in some sort of martial arts but not how skilled. 

“What’s going on?” Rindou nearly relaxed at Ran’s familiar voice coming from behind the two of you, stepping in front of you and next to Rindou.

Okay, it’ll be fine. They wouldn’t beat him and Ran together.

“What? Are you gonna say I’m wrong?” Sakuya scoffed, stepping forward closer to Ran, and Rindou felt anxious when he noticed the dark look in Ran’s eyes, one that promised blood and violence if Sakuya continued. Dread pooled in Rindou’s gut as Sakuya started speaking again, “You think everyone here doesn’t know you’re using her for her money… or are you using her for something else too?”

Rindou’s mouth was dry at the connotation and he could barely even think over the blood roaring in his ears. This fucking-

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Rindou spit out as Ran’s hand twitched at his side, “You have no fuckin’ idea what you’re talking about.”

Sakuya’s eyes snapped toward Rindou, a combined look of disgust and fury twisted onto his face.

“Who do you think you are?” Sakuya said, voice low as he walked closer to Rindou. Rindou tensed, Ran’s fist tightened as he shifted you further behind the two of them as Sakuya drew closer. “You have some nerve even looking in our direction, much less speaking. Know your place.”

“Our place?” Ran asked, eyes aflame and Sakuya only scoffed.

“You can wear all the fancy shit you want but it doesn’t change the fact that you’ll always be street rats. You don’t belong here,” Sakuya spat and Rindou’s jaw clenched at the comment, a strange feeling bubbling in his chest. Ran took a step forward, eyes dark, fist tight.

Fuck, this was going to get-

Rindou’s eyes widened when he felt you fling his hand off of your arm, pushing forward past him and Ran to stand chest to chest with Sakuya, “Bold coming from the son of a family that gets the majority of their money from my uncle. You would have nothing without us, you have some nerve coming to my family to talk about wealth, know your place.”

Murmurs broke out around the group of you but Rindou couldn’t focus on anything other than you—my family, you had said and the words bounced around in his head over and over again, my family, my family, my family.

Rindou bit the inside of his cheek, trying to calm himself down. He glanced at Ran, taking how his brother’s eyes were wide and trained on you.

Sakuya spluttered, “Excuse m-“

“You heard me,” you interrupted, “Get out of my sight, just looking at you makes me ill.”

Rindou gaped, Ran gaped, Sakuya gaped before fury washed over his face. He stepped forward, fist clenched but Ran and Rindou were there first, grabbing his wrists and holding him in place.

“I would listen to her,” Ran didn’t make any sort of explicit threat but the dark undertone was there—listen to her or we’ll make you.

But Sakuya didn’t look deterred—at least not until a new voice spoke up, “Sakuya, father told us not to antagonize the guests,” a new voice said and Rindou’s gaze darted behind the older boy to a younger one with dark hair and cold eyes that made Rindou feel distinctly uncomfortable.

“Kenji, mind your fuckin business,” Sakuya spit out but even as he said that, he ripped his arms from Ran and Rindou’s arms and stepped away, brushing at his sleeves. “Whatever, a pair of filthy street rats aren’t worth the trouble anyway—gonna catch something if we stay around them any longer.”

Rindou bristled but didn’t say anything as they walked away, not now, he reminded himself over and over and over again. He frowned when he caught sight of the younger boy, Kenji, eyeing you curiously before following after his brother.

You tugged at his and Ran’s wrist immediately and they followed along quietly, pulling them away from prying eyes and toward the stairs that led to the upper floor. You didn’t say anything until you opened the doors to the balcony. The cool night air hit him hard, washing the anger away as the distant sounds of the party became muted.

You leaned against the railing, looking up at the night sky instead of at them, Rindou’s feet moved on his own as he joined you at the railing, Ran lingered back. Rindou tried to shoot him a look but only got ignored. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, “They’re despicable. I should have said something sooner.”

“You shouldn’t have done that,” was all Ran said in response, “Gotten so nasty with them on our behalf, it could have-”

Rindou remembered Miss Yua’s warning, how their actions could have backlash on you, he felt sick.

You only rose your chin, “Don’t be silly, I’ll always defend you guys. I don’t care who it’s against!” you said firmly, and Rindou’s face was so hot that he swore he was on the verge of setting himself on fire. “Even Uncle Ichirou!” 

“Even who?” 

Rindou’s eyes widened at the sound of an unfamiliar male voice from behind the three of them, he watched as your mouth dropped open as you turned around to face the man that Rindou recognized from pictures as your uncle. You looked thrown off for a second before steeling your shoulders, “Even from you!” 

And Rindou tensed, waiting for your uncle to get angry but instead his expression only softened, if only barely, a fond look in his eyes as he looked down at you. 

“I hope they deserve your loyalty,” he murmured as if the two of them weren’t standing right there. Rindou shifted uncomfortably as your uncle’s gaze landed on him, a contemplative expression on his face. “I’ll speak to Sugawara about his boys. They were out of line approaching you as they did. Don’t stay up here too long, people will talk.”

Your shoulders slumped, “It’s stuffy in there and I hate all of them.”

Your uncle clicked his tongue, “Get used to it, this will be your life when you take over Izanagi from me,” he chided.

“I’m not taking over Izanagi!” you said firmly, “I’m going to make my own company and outdo yours, you’ll see!” 

Your uncle raised his eyebrows, an amused smile twitching at his lips before nodding, “Of course,” he said and you looked disgruntled at his tone but your uncle didn’t wait for another response, turning on his heel to walk back toward the event. 

You slumped as soon as he was out of sight, tossing a petulant look in the direction of where he disappeared to, “I will,” you muttered before letting out a loud, exhausted sigh, leaning back onto the railing and looking back up at the sky.  

For a few moments, none of you spoke, instead just basking in the silence of the night and the distant chatter of the party. It was peaceful--genuinely peaceful and Rindou didn’t often get to experience genuine peace like that so he shut his eyes and enjoyed it, letting out a soft breath at the feeling of the light breeze cooling his skin and running through his hair, your arm brushing against his. 

You broke the peace with a loud shout that startled him, his eyes flew open, watching as you pointed toward the sky, “Look! A shooting star! Make a wish, make a wish!” 

“Shooting stars are bullshit,” Ran said immediately.

“Make a wish!” you demanded and Rindou watched as you shut your eyes, looking up at the sky, a smile on your lips and your hands interlocked. His throat felt tight and he couldn’t tear his eyes off of you to make his own wish.

“What’d you guys wish for?” you asked after a moment and Rindou’s gaze darted back up when you reopened your eyes, looking at the sky.

“We can’t tell you, you idiot!” Ran said, “then it doesn’t come true,”

“I thought you said shooting stars are bullshit!” you accused, pointing at Ran and Ran spluttered, looking away.

Rindou took one last long look at your bright smile and Ran’s reddening face, a tight feeling on his throat as he looked back up at the sky, making his wish.

I don’t want this to end.

---

PRESENT.

You couldn’t breathe, it felt like your throat was stuffed with dust, your tongue was sandpaper. Your eyes were open and your vision was dark and blurry. 

Everything was silent.

What had happened?

You couldn’t move, something was on top of you, the lower half of your body was stuck—you couldn’t see and you couldn’t breathe and you couldn’t hear anything.

Something was wrong, you should hear something—you were at the auction, people were here and then-

And then what?

Your breath quickened, your throat burned. You couldn’t remember. Think, you told yourself, you had to th-

“Ah, shit! Takuya, I’m running late to the meeting, i-what do you mean you’re not at Suvala HQ? Who the fuck is there representing us? …. Damn it, Takuya, this looks so bad on us, we-“

“Y/n?” you looked up at the new voice, a smile pulling at your lips as you recognize the man standing in front of you.

“Hm? Oh! Hey, Takuya, I’ll talk to you when we get to the building, be there in 15, okay? … yeah, see you. Gunter! What’s up?”

You couldn’t see anything. Your eyes were opened, you knew they were opened so why? You craned your neck up, wincing at the pain, your heart was erratic in your chest. 

Your face was wet, you could feel something warm dripping down your forehead into your eyes—blood, you realized what had been obscuring your vision. You lifted an arm, gasping in pain as your entire body screamed and ached in protest. You wiped the blood from your face, cringing as it smeared across your skin.

You gagged at the thick scent of iron, of garlic—garlic, the explosion, Hanma, Hanma had thrown himself over you. And Rindou, Rindou was in there and Ran you didn’t know where Ran was.

You wiped more frantically, trying to blink away the spots and blood staining your vision. Your stomach churned uncomfortably, the remnants of the explosion—the smoke, the fire, it reeked, you couldn’t think over the smell it was consuming you just like it had-

“Shouldn’t you be at the meeting?” Gunter Krüger grinned at you, “Here, I grabbed an extra coffee for Felix, was gonna meet him and Adie at the office, you take it. Don’t tell him it was his though, yeah?”

You laughed, taking the coffee from him and a small sip, “Yeah, my uncle’s secretary held me up on the phone at the apartment. I’m running late, bad look, I know,” you told him, “Wanna walk with me over?”

“Yeah, let’s go, it’s a short walk. I can cover for you so it doesn’t look as bad,” Gunter offered as the two of you walked down the street toward the large glass building in the near distance, “Say that I needed help and it took longer than it should have.”

“Don’t tell Felix,” you winked, “but you’re definitely the better brother.”

Gunter burst into laughter, “You say that until Felix saves your ass from one of those board meetings again.”

“True,” you agreed, “This should be the last one though.”

Gunter glanced at you, interested, “The decision’s being made today?” he asked and your smile fell, knowing damn well that the decision being made was not in your favor.

“Yeah, the dec-” but you weren’t even able to finish your sentence, eyes wide and voice faltering as an explosion rocked the very ground you were standing on, sending you and Gunter both careening to the ground.

You had to get up. Your arms trembled as you tried to push yourself up off of the ground. You couldn’t push up, whatever was blocking the lower half of your body was too heavy for you to push off. Panic began to flood through you, the scent of blood got stronger, the air got thicker. You couldn’t breathe.

You lifted your head up, neck aching but you could make out figures--or not figures? You couldn’t tell. 

Not figures, you realized, grimacing at the debris scattered all over the auction hall, broken seats, remnants of the stage, the balcony near the stage. Your eyes darted around, mouth drying when you caught sight of Hanma Shuji laying unmoving several feet away, body half-covered with debris, evidently having been blown off of you during the blast.

You tried to call his name but it felt as if there were ashes stuffed down your throat, your chest felt tight when you noticed the blood pooling beneath him and you tried to push yourself to your feet again, arms shaking violently but you let out a sharp gasp as your body fell limp to the ground as you failed again.

Get up, you begged yourself, get up.

“Y/n, get up!” your ears were ringing and your eyes were wide, the pavement was cool against your cheek but the air was hot around you, uncomfortably so. What the fuck had happened? You could barely breathe, think, much less rise to your feet. 

But someone grabbed your arm, yanking you to your feet, your eyes drifted behind you, falling on Gunter pulling you to your feet, “We gotta get out of here, t-the building, Suvala it-”

“There are people in there,” you gasped but you could barely hear yourself, looking around at the screaming pedestrians, at the familiar building collapsing in on itself in the near distance, “Felix and Adie, Gunter they’re in the building, we-”

You pulled away from him, stumbling forward to run toward Suvala Headquarters, eyes blurring and throat burning, the only thought circling through your head being to get to your friends.

The pressure was pulled off of you and your eyes widened, you tried to push yourself up but a gasp was ripped from your throat as a hand fisted your hair, yanking you to your feet. You winced, pain shooting through you, you could taste blood in your mouth and you could still barely see. 

Your vision was blurry and spotted as you tried to look around, figure out what was going on--the front half of the auction hall was decimated--the explosion came from below, the other side of the building probably. Hanma had mentioned the storeroom was over there--someone had rigged it to explode? The phosphorus? The phosphorus wasn’t even supposed to be in the building, so how-

Hanma, your eyes darted around, he had covered you, you had to-

The grip on your hair tightened, your eyes widened and your lips parted to let out a cry of pain but nothing came out. You felt nauseous as your head was yanked back, turning it to the side, and your eyes fell upon the bloody, scarred face of Sanzu Haruchiyo, pink hair matted to his forehead and cheeks, eyes wild. His lips were moving--he was speaking.

He was speaking?

You couldn’t hear him? 

Panic began to swell as your eyes widened, as you looked around--you couldn’t hear anything. You should hear something--screaming, the aftermath of the explosion, the building collapsing in—but it was all silent, your stomach dropped, your heart caved in.

Sanzu’s grip tightened on your hair, something sharp pressed against your neck and you gasped as you were forced back down onto your knees, grimacing as a sharp piece of wood dug into your calf, throat burning uncomfortably.

Your knees hit the ground hard, tearing holes into the cloth of your pants as Gunter crashed into you from behind, preventing you from getting any closer to the building. His hands curled around your bicep, holding you in place as you tried to scramble back to your feet.

“Gunter let me go! Let me go! Felix is fucking in there, Felix and Adie, we-”

“If you go in there, you’ll die,” he shouted but his words were barely registering, you couldn’t tear your eyes off of the building, over the billowing thick, white smoke that was expanding over the street and the sky about Suvala Headquarters, the fire that was spreading to nearby buildings, a park full of children. You tried to push him off, his grip tightened, “We have to get out of here.”

“Felix and Adie-”

“They’re dead,” Gunter roared, and you could hear his voice crack. His wife, his brother, they- “If the explosion didn’t kill them, the smoke and fire did--do you smell that?”

Sharp pungent, like garlic--you couldn’t breathe, you barely even think but you were able to recognize what it might mean. Phosphorus? There was no way-

“We need to get out of here--the fire’s just going to keep spreading, we can’t let that shit touch us,” Gunter was tugging you to your feet, dragging you away, and you watched--you couldn’t bring yourself to cooperate as you watched a group of teachers desperately try to evacuate a nearby elementary school, as civilians ran into the building and ultimately to their deaths trying to help.

The smoke was toxic, the fire was spreading faster than people could run-

The fire, your eyes darted around, the smoke was rising on the other side of the room, fire spreading. You had to get out of here.

You tried to tug at Sanzu Haruchiyo’s wrist, “Fire,” you tried to say but you couldn’t hear yourself, you didn’t know if he could hear you, you didn’t even know if the words were coming out correctly, “We have to get out of here, the fire-”

The grip on your hair tightened, shutting you up, you inhaled sharply as something sharp dug harder into your neck--a knife?

Your head felt fuzzy and you would have swayed were it not for Sanzu holding you up, your eyes drifted around, vision doubled and you caught sight of Hanma on his hands and knees, something puncturing his side, blood dribbling from his mouth and smeared across his face but he was alive and as much as the man might cause you discomfort, you were relieved because you were pretty sure he had saved your life.

He was saying something, you could see his lips moving but you couldn’t hear and you couldn’t quite make out the words through the movements of his lips. He was angry, spitting out words, gaze directed toward you and Sanzu. 

You couldn’t breathe, everything hurt--the people, there were so many people in the auction hall. You tried to look around but Sanzu yanked your head back again, you grit your teeth. Your lungs burned and you couldn’t-

-breathe. You couldn’t breathe. Gunter was dragging you by the wrist away from the building, People were slamming into you, desperate to get away, some were trying to run in the opposite direction, yelling for who you assumed were loved ones that were supposed to be in the area.

You felt sick, you couldn’t breathe, you could barely even think, the only thing that kept you going was the hand wrapped around your wrist. He was talking to you but you could barely hear him over the screams and the fire roaring and spreading in the distance. 

What had happened? Phosphorus, that had to be intentional, who would target Suvala? Y-

“I’ll handle it.”

You felt cold, which was strange because the heat of the explosion and the fire should have been overwhelming. There were more people--someone was helping Hanma to his feet and you could only barely recognize Mina. Relief swept through you like a tidal wave, he was okay. Your lips parted to say something but no words left your mouth.

There was someone on the ground next to them, Mina was holding him by the neck.

Kokonoi? You recognized, blood drenching his white hair--he was hit in the head during the explosion. His eyes were unfocused as they fell on you, dazed, blood dribbled from his nose and his lip was split. He had been punched too, you realized, eyeing Mina’s bruised fist.

You felt the knife that Sanzu had at your throat press deeper, Mina’s face twisted, he yelled something, his grip on Kokonoi’s throat tightened. 

A stand-off, you realized, catching sight of the man that had interrupted Ran and Rindou from interrogating you, Kakucho, looking between you and Sanzu and Mina and Kokonoi warily, as if unsure what to do. He held out a hand toward Sanzu, lips moving and you wanted to scream because you couldn’t hear and you didn’t know what they were saying or how you could help.

You could never help, everything that went wrong was always your fault. You never should have come back to Tokyo and-

“I never should have asked you for help!” you screamed at the phone that was laying on the ground of your apartment a few feet away, your uncle was silent on the other end. You pulled at your hair, sobs and dry heaves wracking your body, the news played in the background. “I didn’t mean like this, you know I didn’t mean this!”

“There is no risk of this being pointed back at you. It’s all under control.”

“That’s not what I’m fucking worried about!” 

Mina was shouting, his grip on Kokonoi’s throat was tightening. You could read his lips now but the words weren’t registering in your head--I’ll snap his fucking neck if you don’t let her go. 

“Investigations on the tragedy at Munich point toward a lack of continuity in safety inspections leading to a massive gas line leak.” 

Sanzu shook you violently, blood dribbled down your neck, the knife cut deeper into your skin.

“Nearly six thousand killed in the horrific gas pipe leak at the Suvala office in Munich.”

You had to get out of the auction hall, your hands were trembling, the floor creaked dangerously, the fire was spreading to the walls behind you and it was hot, it was so hot that you felt cold. If you stayed any longer, the smoke and the heat, it would cause irreparable damage. 

“Phosphorus munitions involved in the devastating incident at Munich? Eyewitnesses claim so! What isn’t the government telling us? Why are they trying to brush this off as a gas pipe leak?”

“Have to get out,” you gasped but you still couldn’t hear yourself and you felt sick, you brought a hand up to your ear, desperately trying to blink back the tears that formed when you felt the blood. “The smoke is toxic, the fire-”

“You will get on that stage and announce the merging of Suvala and Izanami. I do not care for your personal feelings on the matter, y/n. I gave you what you asked for, the means of how it happened is inconsequential now. Take advantage of the opportunity or be swallowed by those who will.”

Your body was snapped to the side, your vision went black, pain shot through your head, you reeled trying to figure out what had happened. Your head, Sanzu bashed your head into the debris of the chairs.

“In light of recent events, I, l/n y/n, founder and chief executive of Izanami Connect, will take it upon myself to step in for Chairman Krüger after the tragedy in Munich as previous negotiations dictated. As I move to bring the company under Izanami’s wing, I will take steps to ensure a disaster like this will never occur again. I swear to do right by all of the families affected by this tragedy.”

Your shoulder hit the ground hard, a gasp ripped from your chest, pain ricocheted through your body so intense that it had you blacking out for a second, vision spotty and head fuzzy. Your arms trembled as you tried to push yourself up only to crash back toward the ground. You turned your head to the side, still trying to figure out what was going on.

Your mouth dried as you caught sight of Rindou grabbing Sanzu by the collar, driving his fist into his face over and over and over again and your lips parted to call out for him, eyes blurring with tears because he was alive, he was fucking alive and that all that mattered because the last time-

“L/n-san, I’m so sorry for your loss. I know you were close to both of the Krüger brothers. Chairman Krüger in the explosion and now Gunter… It must be so hard.”

The last time none of them survived. 

Or, well. 

You supposed one actually did. You felt sick. Gunter is alive.

Kakucho rushed toward Rindou, trying to pull him off of Sanzu and someone grabbed your arm hard, yanking you back to your feet. You turned your head, eyes wide, but relaxed when you realized it was Mina, he was looking over you, speaking to you, but you couldn’t hear. You shook your head, trying to focus on his lips but you were seeing double, triple, you couldn’t focus.

Mina seemed to realize, instead only wrapping an arm around your waist to help steady you before motioning for Hanma to follow, fleeing the auction hall and you wanted to scream, tell Rindou to get the fuck out of there but you could barely breathe, your vision was going spotty again as Mina jostled you around, the pain becoming too much for your body to handle before it finally gave out on you.

--- 

You weren’t sure how long it took for you to come back to but your entire body ached and burned when you did. You grimaced at the light, wincing as you tried to push yourself up to figure out where the fuck you were. 

“Careful,” a familiar, gruff voice murmured, “You got fucked up back there, take it easy.”

“No shit,” you muttered, looking at Mina, wincing as your neck shrieked in pain in response to the movement, “Where are we?”

“A safe house,” a new voice said and your gaze drifted to the other side of you, where Hanma Shuji was laying on a bed, shirt rolled up as a middle-aged woman worked on stitching up a wound on his side. Amber eyes watched you curiously, “You’re already up.”

“No shit,” you repeated and Hanma snorted in amusement. “Where’s everybody else? Kawaragi? The guys she was with?”

Hanma looked away. Your eyes turned to Mina, whose lips were pressed together tight before he spoke, “Haven’t heard from her. Apparently, she was supposed to be where the bombs went off, doubt she made it out.”

Oh, something familiar and unwelcome squeezed at your chest. You pushed it away. Stop, you barely even knew her. 

“Bombs? Plural?” you narrowed in, trying to remember if there was more than one explosion but your mind was being torn to shreds and you couldn’t focus enough to remember. 

“Mm,” Mina agreed, “There were two explosions--a smaller one, which we assume was a grenade or something of the sort that set off the phosphorus munitions. Fucking lucky that the majority of it was being held in another warehouse otherwise we’d be melted right now.”

You felt ill. You opened your mouth to speak but paused when you noticed movement from the corner of your eye: Hanma waving away the nurse carelessly, teeth grit as he pushed himself to his feet, rolling his shirt back down, “C’mon, Sugawara wanted to talk to us when you woke up.” 

Mina looked between you and Hanma, a protest on his lips but Hanma simply ignored him, holding a hand out toward you.

“Why?” you asked warily, dread pooling in your gut. 

Hanma shrugged, “Didn’t explain,” he said simply, glancing down at his hand pointedly. Reluctantly, you took his hand, letting him help you to your feet and hook an arm around your waist to help you walk steady.

Mina rose to his feet, eyes narrowed. A mocking smile curled to Hanma’s lips, “Relax, I’ll bring her right back,” he cooed and Mina’s eye twitched, he stepped forward.

You shook your head and he frowned but stepped back, the wary expression not leaving his face, “I’ll be back,” you told him as Hanma started moving toward the exit of the room, not giving Mina any time to respond. As the two of you walked down the tiled floors of the hall outside the room, a dry comment rose to your lips, “Thought Sugawara said he’d bet his life the weapons weren’t at the auction hall.”

The mocking smile on Hanma’s face shifted into a crueler one, a playful look in his eyes that you weren’t quite sure how you felt about, as he looked down at you, “Maybe we should hold him to that, yeah?” 

You forced yourself not to let your eyes widen at the statement as Hanma pulled you down another hall toward a large open room, letting go of you as soon as you got in sight of the others in the room. No showing weakness, you understood as he forced himself not to wince with every step--he had been leaning on you for help as much as he had been helping you, you realized with a frown.

You shook your head, focusing on keeping yourself steady instead of Hanma Shuji so you didn’t make a fool of yourself in front of the other executives of Sugawara’s organization.

Your uncle was here, you noticed the grim look on his face and frowned. He refused to meet your eyes and an unsettling feeling took over--the woman from the meeting, Alyona, was standing next to him and on her other side, looking down at something you couldn’t quite see from where you were standing was Sugawara. 

He smiled bright when he saw you and Hanma, “Shuji, y/n, there you are! We’ve been waiting. I’m glad you’re okay, I heard the explosion was pretty bad.”

Pretty bad, your ears rung as you stared at him, certain that you must not have heard him correctly. Three-quarters of the people in that auction hall were probably killed. And he’s-

“It’s a shame it didn’t take out any of the Bonten executives though,” he frowned, and your eyes narrowed--how did he know that already? You glanced at Hanma but his expression was also tight and you could see the confusion spotting his eyes, “But! It’s not all bad news because we managed to get our hands on one of their executives anyway!” 

Tunneled. Your vision tunneled and the sound around you muted. 

Got our hands on one? But…

Your eyes drifted to the center of attention of the rest of the room, the figure tied on the ground, and at once, your entire world fell apart--the breath ripped from your lungs, the air around you became oppressive and suffocating, everything crumbled in a matter of seconds. 

Ran.

---

WORDCOUNT: 8K

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