bimbodolllll

[bimbodolllll]

۶ৎ The Girlfriend Effect!

۶ৎ auth: <3

۶ৎ Summary: The boyfriend effect; you adopt your boyfriends mannerisms. However, the girlfriend effect, they adopt what you do.

۶ৎ: drabbles | gender neutral reader | fluff

۶ৎ Characters Included: Manjiro “Mikey” Sano, Ken “Draken” Ryuguji, Keisuke Baji, Chifuyu Matsuno, Kazutora Hanemiya, Izana Kurokawa, Nahoya “Smiley” Kawata, Souya “Angry” Kawata, Takashi Mitsuya, Hajime Kokonoi

۶ৎ Manjiro “Mikey” Sano

• Style Upgrade: Starts wearing cleaner, more polished outfits. He never cared much before, but now his clothes are less wrinkled, and he smells faintly of vanilla and fresh laundry.

• Emotional Maturity: Slowly learns to communicate better, though he still struggles with opening up completely. Your patience teaches him that being vulnerable doesn’t mean weakness.

• Healthier Habits: Starts eating more than just junk food because you remind him he needs proper meals.

—

Mikey sat on the couch, legs sprawled, watching you move around the kitchen. He had a plate of curry in front of him—a meal you made, light on the spice because he hated too much heat.

“Y’know,” he mumbled between bites, “I don’t even like curry that much.”

You raised an eyebrow. “So why’s the plate almost empty?”

“Dunno.” He shrugged, looking away. But you caught it—the tiniest smile tugging at his lips. “It just tastes better when you make it.”

۶ৎ Ken “Draken” Ryuguji

• Style Upgrade: His hair stays neat, and he’s more mindful of keeping his tank tops clean. He even switches to cologne instead of relying on the scent of motor oil.

• Ambition Boost: Becomes more serious about expanding the shop because he wants stability for the future.

• Better Communication: He starts explaining his feelings more instead of bottling them up, thanks to your influence.

—

Draken stood beside his bike, wiping the grease off his hands. You watched him, arms crossed, eyes narrowing slightly.

“What?” He smirked, but there was a softness in his eyes.

“Did you… clean the garage?”

He shrugged, avoiding your gaze. “Thought it was about time. Can’t have you breathing in dust every time you come around.”

You tilted your head. “Since when do you care about dust?”

“Since you started coming by.” His voice was quieter now, almost shy. “Can’t have my girl dealin’ with all that.”

۶ৎ Keisuke Baji

• Style Upgrade: He still wears his leather jacket, but now it’s less ripped, and his boots aren’t caked in mud. He’ll never admit it, but he likes when you compliment how he looks.

• Healthier Habits: He cuts back on junk food (a little) because you nag about it.

• Emotional Maturity: Learns not to blow up when things go wrong, trying to stay calm because he knows you hate yelling.

—

Baji leaned against his bike, arms crossed, waiting for you after class. His usual wild grin softened when he spotted you.

“Yo.” He handed you a drink, your favorite.

“Since when do you remember what I like?” You teased, taking a sip.

“Since I started actually listening,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t make a big deal outta it, okay?”

But the way his eyes lingered on you a little longer than usual? That said everything.

۶ৎ Chifuyu Matsuno

• Style Upgrade: He switches from mismatched outfits to more coordinated ones—sometimes even matching your color palette without realizing it.

• Ambition Boost: Becomes more serious about managing the pet shop, thinking about the long-term future.

• Better Communication: Learns to be more honest about his feelings, not just brushing things off.

—

Chifuyu stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his hoodie. You leaned against the doorframe, watching with an amused smile.

“New fit?”

“Uh… yeah.” He glanced at you, cheeks flushing slightly. “Figured I should stop looking like I just threw on whatever I found.”

You stepped closer, fingers brushing over his sleeve. “Trying to impress someone?”

“Maybe.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but the look in his eyes told you exactly who.

۶ৎ Kazutora Hanemiya

• Style Upgrade: Starts wearing softer colors because you told him he looked good in them.

• Healthier Habits: He’s more mindful of sleeping enough and eating better because you’re always worried about him.

• Emotional Maturity: Learns to control his impulsive outbursts, wanting to be a calmer version of himself for you.

—

Kazutora sat beside you, his head resting on your shoulder as you scrolled through your phone.

“Hey,” you murmured, “you’ve been quiet.”

“Just… thinking.” His voice was soft, barely above a whisper.

“About what?”

“About how… I’m lucky you stuck around.” His fingers brushed lightly against yours, his grip hesitant. “I’m trying, y’know? To be… better.”

And he was.

۶ৎ Izana Kurokawa

• Style Upgrade: Starts paying more attention to how he looks, favoring neutral tones that complements your outfits.

• Better Communication: He opens up about his fears and insecurities, something he never thought he’d do.

• Ambition Boost: He works harder to stabilize Tenjiku, not just for power but to build something stable for the both of you.

—

Izana stood by the window, staring out at the city below. You walked up behind him, resting a hand on his back.

“Lost in thought again?”

“Just… thinking about the future.” His voice was distant, but there was a softness in it.

“You’re not alone in that anymore, you know.”

His hand found yours, squeezing gently. “I know. That’s why I want to make sure… it’s a future you’d want, too.”

۶ৎ Nahoya “Smiley” Kawata

• Style Upgrade: His clothes get a little less chaotic, matching his accessories to his outfits (sometimes).

• Emotional Maturity: He learns to read the room better, understanding when to dial down the jokes.

• Healthier Habits: He cuts back on staying up all night because you nag him about taking care of himself.

—

Nahoya sat beside you, legs stretched out in front of him.

“Yo,” he nudged you lightly, “notice anything different?”

You glanced at him, noticing his shirt wasn’t as wrinkled, and his nails were… clean?

“You… took care of yourself?”

“Figured I’d start lookin’ decent since I’m always standing next to a goddess.” He winked, but there was a hint of sincerity behind the playful grin.

۶ৎ Souya “Angry” Kawata

• Style Upgrade: Starts wearing softer fabrics because you said they feel nice when you hug him.

• Better Communication: He opens up about his emotions more instead of bottling them up.

• Healthier Habits: He starts drinking more water and taking vitamins because you remind him.

—

Souya sat at the kitchen table, quietly sipping the tea you made for him.

“Did you… put honey in this?”

“Yeah,” you smiled softly. “It’s good for your throat.”

He glanced away, cheeks slightly flushed. “Thanks… I, uh, started taking those vitamins you gave me, too.”

You blinked, surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah.” His eyes met yours, softer than usual. “You… worry about me too much. I don’t wanna make you worry more.”

۶ৎ Takashi Mitsuya

• Style Upgrade: Starts incorporating subtle hints of your favorite colors into his designs.

• Ambition Boost: He becomes more focused on expanding his brand, wanting to create a future where you’re both secure.

• Emotional Maturity: He becomes more expressive, showing affection in quieter, meaningful ways.

—

Mitsuya sat at his sewing machine, fabric draped across his lap.

“What’s that?” You leaned over, curiosity piqued.

“Something… for you.” He didn’t meet your gaze, but the blush on his cheeks was impossible to miss.

“For me?”

“Yeah.” He finally looked up, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Wanted to make sure you had something that… reminds you of me.”

۶ৎ Hajime Kokonoi

• Style Upgrade: He starts wearing softer tones that match your style, even ditching all-black sometimes.

• Ambition Boost: His business ventures become more personal, focusing on stability rather than just money.

• Emotional Maturity: He learns to prioritize love over material gain, valuing your presence more than anything.

—

Kokonoi sat across from you at the café, his usual suit replaced with a sweater in a soft shade of cream.

“New look?” You teased, eyeing him with a raised brow.

“Maybe.” He sipped his coffee, avoiding your gaze. “Figured… I should try something different.”

“Because of me?”

His lips quirked into a small smile. “Because I want to be someone… who fits into your world.”

[bimbodolllll]

Hey! Umm well can you do a Mikey oneshot if he had a girlfriend who is extreemly kind and thoughtful of him? And loves to hug but afraid he's the type of people who doesn't want to be hugged

It may sound weird but thanks for considering <3

۶ৎ Wrapped In Warmth.

۶ৎ auth: hehe this was cute. I had fun writing this last night.

۶ৎ Summary: Being as kinda as you were it’s no doubt you love hugs, when whenever you hug your boyfriend he seems to differ—which in turn makes you think he doesn’t like then(though that’s far from the truth)

۶ৎ: one shot | female reader | fluff

۶ৎ Characters Included: Manjiro “Mikey” Sano

Mikey wasn’t the kind of guy who wore his heart on his sleeve.

He was the invincible leader of the Tokyo Manji Gang, the one everyone looked to for strength and guidance. To most, he was untouchable—an enigma wrapped in layers of cool detachment and unwavering confidence.

But you…

You saw through it all.

You saw the boy behind the leader, the one who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders but never let it show. The boy who hid his pain behind that lazy grin and half-lidded gaze.

And maybe… that was why you loved him so much.

⸻

You had been dating Mikey for a few months now, and while he wasn’t the most vocal about his feelings, his actions spoke volumes. He was always there—waiting for you after school, bringing you taiyaki when he thought you were craving something sweet, or silently holding your hand when the world felt a little too overwhelming.

But there was one thing…

You loved hugs.

Like, really loved them.

You weren’t clingy, but something about feeling someone close to you brought you comfort. And Mikey? Well… he wasn’t exactly the most physically affectionate person.

He didn’t push you away or act cold, but you had noticed how stiff he got when you tried to hug him. How his body tensed for a split second before he relaxed.

And it made you wonder…

Did he not like being hugged?

The thought made your heart ache a little. You never wanted to make him uncomfortable, but at the same time, you couldn’t help but crave that closeness.

So, you did what you always did when something weighed on your mind.

You kept it to yourself.

⸻

“Oi, what’s wrong?”

Mikey’s voice was softer than usual, but it still carried that playful lilt that always made your heart flutter.

You blinked, realizing you had been zoning out while he was talking about his latest victory over Draken in a video game.

“Hmm? Nothing,” you murmured, forcing a small smile as you stirred your drink with the straw.

Mikey wasn’t buying it.

His dark eyes narrowed slightly, lips pressing into a thin line as he tilted his head. “Liar.”

Your cheeks warmed. “I’m not lying, Mikey.”

“You are.” His tone was gentle, but his gaze was unwavering. “You’re quiet. And not your usual ‘I’m thinking about something cute’ quiet.”

You couldn’t help but smile a little at that. “I didn’t know I had a ‘thinking about cute stuff’ expression.”

Mikey smirked, leaning back in his seat with that signature lazy confidence. “You do. Your eyes get all soft, and you kinda space out like you’re in a rom-com or something.”

You laughed softly, but it faded just as quickly.

Mikey didn’t miss it.

“Talk to me, babe.” His voice was softer now, almost coaxing.

You bit your lip, glancing down at your drink. “It’s nothing serious… I just…”

Mikey waited. Patiently.

“I like hugs,” you mumbled, barely above a whisper.

Mikey blinked, leaning forward slightly. “Huh?”

You felt your cheeks heat up. “I… I like hugging you.”

Silence.

“But I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” Your voice was even quieter now, almost drowned out by the faint hum of the café. “I just… I don’t know if you like it or if it bothers you, and I don’t want to do anything that makes you feel weird.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, heart pounding in your chest.

And then—

“That’s what’s been bothering you?”

His voice was laced with amusement, but there was something else there too. Something softer.

You blinked, finally looking up—and your breath hitched.

Mikey was smiling.

Not his usual playful grin or cocky smirk. No, this smile was different. It was gentle.

“Babe…” He reached out, cupping your cheek with a tenderness that made your heart ache. “I don’t hate hugs.”

Your eyes widened slightly. “But…”

“I’m just…” Mikey’s eyes lowered for a moment, as if he was searching for the right words. “Not used to it.”

Your heart squeezed.

“Growing up…” His voice was quieter now, more vulnerable. “I didn’t really get hugged a lot. At least… not the kind that felt good.”

Your chest ached at the unspoken pain in his words.

“So, when you hug me…” His thumb brushed gently against your cheek. “It feels… different. Good. But…” He looked away for a moment, his usual confidence faltering. “I just… don’t know how to react sometimes.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out.

“It’s not that I don’t want you to.” Mikey’s eyes met yours again, and this time, they were impossibly soft. “I… like it when you do.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

“A lot.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “Mikey…”

“But I…” He scratched the back of his neck, looking almost sheepish. “I’m not good at… showing that.”

You stared at him for a moment, taking in the vulnerability he rarely showed.

And then, without thinking—

You hugged him.

Your arms wrapped around him gently, carefully, as if you were afraid he might pull away. But he didn’t.

Mikey stiffened for a split second—old habits dying hard—but then…

He melted.

Slowly, his arms circled around you, pulling you close as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

“You don’t have to be good at it,” you whispered softly, your fingers brushing through his hair. “I’ll be patient. I’ll always be patient with you.”

Mikey didn’t say anything, but the way he held you tighter spoke louder than words ever could.

You felt the tension leave his body, his breathing evening out as he relaxed completely in your arms.

“You’re warm,” he murmured after a moment, voice muffled against your skin.

Your heart swelled. “So are you.”

Mikey’s hold on you tightened just a little, as if he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

“I like this…” His voice was barely above a whisper now, softer than you’d ever heard it.

You smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head. “Me too.”

And for the first time in a long time…

Mikey felt safe.

With you.

[bimbodolllll]

can you do a korosensei x student reader who struggles with suicidal episodes / depression ?

^ _ ^

۶ৎ Sunlight Through fog.

۶ৎ auth: ofc!! As some who still goes through this I understand how hard it can be.

۶ৎ Summary: throughout all your life, you’ve wanted to just fade out, and you figured everyone would forget when you did. But someone watching closely, wanted you to make sure you don’t feel too alone.

۶ৎ: one shot | gender neutral reader | mentions depression/Suicide.

۶ৎ Characters Included: Korosensei

Korosensei had a habit of noticing everything. The way Nagisa’s eyes flickered when he doubted himself, how Karma’s smirk was always a little sharper when he was hiding something, or how Kayano’s cheerful facade occasionally cracked when she was deep in thought.

But you—

You were different.

You didn’t wear your emotions like a badge or hide them behind a mask of confidence. You were quiet. Too quiet. Not in the observant, calculating way that Nagisa was, but in a way that felt like you were folding into yourself, trying to disappear.

Korosensei noticed.

It wasn’t just the way you barely spoke unless spoken to or how your eyes looked dimmer than the rest of the class. It was the way you sat in the back, gaze distant, as if the world was moving too fast for you to keep up. It was the way you flinched when someone raised their voice—even if it was just a joke. And how your smile never quite reached your eyes.

Korosensei had seen these signs before. Too many times.

And now… he feared he was running out of time.

⸻

“Y/N, would you stay back after class?”

His voice was gentle, as always, but something in his tone made the room go quiet. The other students glanced at you, but you barely reacted. You just nodded, eyes trained on the desk as everyone filed out.

Korosensei waited until the classroom was empty. His tentacles moved with a quiet grace, uncharacteristically subdued. No exaggerated antics or goofy remarks. Just… stillness.

You didn’t look up.

“Y/N,” he said softly, the usual playful edge gone. “You’ve been quieter than usual lately.”

You shrugged, a hollow gesture that conveyed nothing.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Silence.

Korosensei didn’t press. He knew better. Forcing you to speak would only make you retreat further into yourself.

“I’ve been told…” He paused, tentacles folding neatly in front of him, “that sometimes, when the world feels heavy, it’s easier to pretend you’re invisible. To fade away.”

Your fingers clenched the hem of your clothes, knuckles going white.

“But fading away isn’t the answer, Y/N.”

His voice was barely above a whisper now. “Because even if you think no one would notice…” His eyes softened, that familiar warm yellow glow dimming. “I would.”

Your throat tightened.

“And I’m not the only one.”

He moved closer, but not too close. Just enough for his warmth to be felt—just enough for you to feel… something.

“The class… They would notice.”

“They’d move on.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, cracking under the weight of unspoken thoughts.

“No, they wouldn’t.” Korosensei’s tone was firm but kind. “Nagisa would notice immediately. Karma… would pretend he didn’t care, but he’d blame himself. Kayano would cry.”

Your eyes welled up.

“And me?” His voice grew softer, almost breaking. “I would never forgive myself.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks before you could stop them, silent but endless. Your shoulders trembled, the weight of everything crashing down.

Korosensei didn’t speak for a moment. He let the silence hold you, comfort you in the way words never could.

“Why…?” Your voice was barely audible, as if the question was dragged out of the depths of your heart.

“Why do you care so much?”

Korosensei’s eyes grew impossibly gentle.

“Because I know what it’s like…” He whispered, his voice carrying the weight of a thousand regrets. “To feel like the world is better off without you.”

Your head snapped up, eyes wide, tear-filled.

“But I was wrong.” His smile was sad but unwavering. “And I can’t let you make the same mistake.”

The air grew heavier.

“Y/N…” His voice was barely above a whisper now, full of a quiet ache. “You matter.”

Those words shattered the last wall you had so carefully built. Your sobs echoed through the empty classroom, and Korosensei was there—not too close, but close enough that his presence was a grounding force.

And for once…

You didn’t feel so alone.

⸻

“Y/N.”

Days passed after that conversation, but Korosensei never stopped noticing.

He noticed how your posture was a little less rigid. How your responses, while still hesitant, had a bit more life in them. He noticed the way you lingered after class, standing just a little closer to your classmates.

But he also noticed the days when the darkness crept back in.

Like today.

You sat by the window, head resting on your hand, staring outside with that distant look.

“Y/N,” Korosensei called softly, gliding beside you. “Would you like to help me prepare for our next lesson?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Me?”

“Of course!” He smiled, but it was softer this time. “Your perspective might be just what I need.”

You hesitated but nodded.

Korosensei didn’t miss the flicker of warmth in your eyes.

⸻

“I’m still… not okay,” you murmured one afternoon, voice barely above a whisper as you stood alone with him after class.

Korosensei didn’t move.

“You don’t have to be.” His voice was steady, grounding. “Healing isn’t a straight path. It’s okay to take your time.”

You swallowed hard, eyes lowering.

“Just…” His tentacles reached out, lightly brushing against the top of your head in a gentle, reassuring gesture. “Don’t walk that path alone.”

Tears welled up again, but this time, they weren’t so heavy.

“I won’t,” you whispered.

And for the first time in a long time…

You meant it.

⸻

“Y/N,” Korosensei said one evening as the sunset bathed the classroom in warm hues. “I read somewhere that even the tiniest cracks can let sunlight in.”

You looked up at him, eyes reflecting the orange glow of the fading day.

“So, even if you feel like you’re breaking… there’s still light.”

His smile was soft, sincere.

“And I’ll be here,” he whispered, voice barely above the rustle of the wind, “to help you see it.”

And in that moment, you believed him.

For the first time, the cracks didn’t feel so wide.

And maybe—just maybe—there was a little bit of sunlight waiting for you after all.

[bimbodolllll]

۶ৎ Love Is A Waste Of Time.

۶ৎ auth: felt like writing a little angst—might do a make up/comfort to the angst if you want. Inspired“Love is a waste of time” by lovely peaches, I recommend listening to it as you read

۶ৎ Summary: you were everything; a saving light, a breath of fresh air, but even then—sometimes loving someone can be too much.

۶ৎ: scenario | gender neutral reader. | inspired by the song “Love is a waste of time” by lovely peaches. | angst.

۶ৎ Characters Included: Kakucho Hitto, Izana Kurokawa, Manjiro “Mikey” Sano, Ken “Draken” Ryuguji, Keisuke Baji, Ran Haitani.

۶ৎ Kakucho Hitto

The streets were quiet, the sun dipping low enough to bathe everything in hues of dying orange. Kakucho stood where he always did after school, hands buried in his jacket pockets, foot tapping anxiously against the pavement. You were late. Again. But he told himself not to care, told himself you’d show up like you always did. And you did—eventually.

You came running, breathless, a weak smile plastered across your face as you greeted him with that same half-hearted warmth he’d been getting lately. His heart clenched, but he still managed to return the smile, like he hadn’t been standing there for an hour convincing himself not to leave.

“Sorry, Kaku… got caught up.” You said it so casually, like it didn’t matter that you were late, like he wouldn’t notice the faint smell of someone else’s cologne lingering around you. It was subtle, but Kakucho noticed everything. He always did when it came to you.

“Don’t worry about it,” he murmured, his voice softer than he intended. His eyes scanned your face, searching for the girl he fell in love with, but she wasn’t there. Not really. You were looking away, avoiding his gaze, and that hurt more than anything.

The walk to your usual spot was quieter than normal. Kakucho didn’t know what to say anymore. Words used to come easy with you. Now they stuck in his throat, heavy with unspoken fears and doubts he didn’t have the courage to voice.

You sat beside him on the park bench, but you felt a thousand miles away. He could feel it in the way your body leaned just slightly away from his. The distance wasn’t physical, but it felt like a chasm he couldn’t cross.

“Did something happen?” His voice was barely above a whisper, but the weight of his question was crushing.

You didn’t answer right away, your fingers playing with the hem of your skirt. “It’s nothing, Kaku,” you mumbled, but he could see through you. He always could.

“Don’t do that,” he pleaded, his hand finally reaching out to touch yours. “Don’t push me away.”

For a moment, you let him hold your hand, but it felt different. You weren’t holding back like you used to, weren’t squeezing his hand like you were afraid to let go. No… this time, you held on like you were already saying goodbye.

“I’m not pushing you away,” you lied, and Kakucho’s heart cracked a little more.

“Then tell me why…” His voice wavered, his grip on your hand tightening. “Tell me why it feels like I’m losing you.”

You pulled your hand back, and that was when Kakucho felt it—like someone had driven a knife straight into his chest. The absence of your touch was louder than any words you could’ve said.

“I don’t…” You swallowed hard, finally looking up at him, and the look in your eyes was what destroyed him. Regret. Sadness. But no love. “I don’t think this is working anymore.”

Kakucho’s world tilted. His mind screamed at him to fix it, to say something, to do anything to make you stay. But his mouth was dry, and his body felt like lead. He watched as you stood up, taking a step back, as if even being near him hurt.

“I’m sorry, Kaku…” Your voice was barely audible over the pounding in his ears.

“Don’t,” he whispered, but you were already turning away.

He didn’t chase after you. Maybe he should’ve. Maybe if he had, things would’ve been different. But he stayed rooted to that bench, watching the love of his life walk away, leaving him with nothing but memories that would haunt him for years to come.

When you disappeared around the corner, Kakucho finally let the tears fall. He told himself it was okay, that you’d come back. But deep down, he knew…

Love meant nothing. Kakucho had never wasted so much of himself on anything.

۶ৎ Izana Kurokawa

Izana wasn’t used to feeling warmth. His world had always been cold, cruel, and unforgiving. But then you came along—like sunlight piercing through a thick fog, lighting up corners of his heart he didn’t even know existed. And for a while, Izana let himself believe that warmth was something he could hold onto. Something that wouldn’t slip through his fingers.

But he should’ve known better.

He stood in the rain, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, the drizzle soaking through the fabric and chilling him to the bone. It was fitting, he thought. The cold matched the emptiness gnawing at his chest. His head was pounding, the echoes of your last conversation reverberating through his mind like a cruel joke he couldn’t escape.

“You’re suffocating me, Izana.”

Those words. They tore through him like a bullet, leaving nothing but a gaping hole behind. He hadn’t meant to hold on so tightly, hadn’t meant to make you feel trapped. But Izana didn’t know how to love any other way. His love was possessive, all-consuming. It was the only way he knew how to keep the things he cared about close—because everything he ever loved was ripped away from him.

“Why can’t you just let me breathe?”

You hadn’t yelled. You never yelled. But your voice had been strained, full of exhaustion that Izana had been too blind to notice. You were tired of him. Tired of the way he clung to you like you were his lifeline. And maybe you were. Maybe that was the problem.

Izana’s jaw clenched, his teeth grinding together as he stared down at the wet pavement beneath his feet. He should’ve fought harder. Should’ve made you stay. But what was the point? You were already gone before you even said the words.

When he finally looked up, he saw you. Walking towards him, an umbrella in your hand, shielding yourself from the rain that soaked him to his core. Your eyes met his, and for a moment, Izana felt like he could breathe again. But then… he saw it. The hesitation. The sadness. The absence of the love that used to shine so brightly in your eyes.

“Why are you here?” His voice was cold, distant. A defense mechanism, because if he didn’t protect himself now, he wasn’t sure if he’d survive what came next.

“I didn’t want to leave things like this…” You sounded so small, so fragile. And Izana hated how that only made him want to pull you closer. “I—”

“Don’t.” His voice was sharper this time, cutting through the space between you like a knife. “Don’t give me hope.”

You looked away, biting your bottom lip, and Izana knew. He knew you weren’t here to fix things. You were here to bury whatever was left of what you once had.

“Izana… I love you.” Your voice cracked, and for a moment, he almost believed you. “But love isn’t enough. Not when it feels like I’m drowning.”

“Drowning?” His lips twisted into a bitter smile. “I gave you everything. Every fucking piece of me. And you’re… drowning?”

You flinched, and Izana hated himself for it. Hated that even now, he was hurting you. But he didn’t know how to stop. Didn’t know how to be anything but destructive when it came to love.

“I can’t do this anymore.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, but it echoed in his ears like a death sentence. “I’m sorry, Izana…”

And then you were gone.

Izana didn’t chase after you. He wanted to. God, he wanted to. But he knew better. He knew that if he chased after you now, he’d only hurt you more. And he couldn’t live with that.

So he stood there in the rain, watching you disappear into the distance, leaving him with nothing but the taste of regret on his tongue and the hollow ache of a love that was never meant to last. Izana had wasted too much of himself on something that was never his to keep.

۶ৎ Manjiro “Mikey” Sano

Mikey had always been a master at hiding pain. A crooked smile, a carefree laugh, a joke that deflected everything too close to the truth. He wore his facade like armor, protecting himself from a world that had taken too much from him. But with you, Mikey didn’t need to pretend. You saw through his cracks, through the shadows he tried so hard to conceal. And for a while, he let himself believe that maybe—just maybe—he didn’t have to face the darkness alone.

But Mikey should’ve been quicker.

The sun was setting, bleeding hues of crimson and orange across the horizon as he sat on his bike, foot propped on the ground, hands gripping the handlebars tighter than necessary. The wind brushed against his face, but it didn’t bring him any comfort. Not anymore. Not since you left.

“Why are you so distant, Mikey?”

Your voice echoed in his mind, soft yet laced with the ache of someone who had been trying to hold on for too long. He remembered the way you looked at him that day—eyes filled with concern, but also something else. Something that made his stomach twist.

Exhaustion.

“I’m not distant.” He had lied, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m just tired.”

You didn’t believe him. Of course, you didn’t. You knew him too well. Knew that when Mikey said he was tired, it wasn’t about physical exhaustion. It was about the war he was fighting inside his head—one that he was losing.

“Talk to me,” you had pleaded, your fingers brushing against his cheek. Your touch was gentle, grounding, and for a moment, Mikey had leaned into it, desperate for that warmth.

But he pulled away. Like he always did.

“There’s nothing to talk about.” His voice had been cold, distant. A defense mechanism. He didn’t want to burden you with his demons. Didn’t want to drag you down with him. But in doing so, he was pushing you away.

And then… one day, you stopped asking. Stopped waiting for him to let you in. You were still there, still smiling, still pretending like everything was fine. But Mikey felt it—the distance growing between you, inch by inch, until it was too wide to bridge.

He should’ve done something. Should’ve pulled you back before you slipped too far. But Mikey was selfish. He let you drift because he thought keeping you at arm’s length would protect you from the darkness that consumed him.

But it didn’t.

“You don’t have to do this,” his voice had cracked that night, the night everything fell apart.

“I can’t keep loving a ghost, Mikey.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, but it echoed louder than any scream. “You’re not here… not really.”

Mikey’s heart clenched, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. He just stood there, watching as you packed your things, tears streaming down your face.

“I love you.” You had said it like a confession, like a goodbye. “But I can’t keep loving someone who won’t let me in.”

And then… you were gone.

Now, Mikey sat in the fading light, the emptiness inside him heavier than ever. His hand instinctively reached into his jacket pocket, fingers brushing against the small, worn-out charm you had given him—one that he never took off. A reminder of the love he let slip through his fingers.

“Idiot…” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the wind. His throat tightened, and he blinked rapidly, but the tears came anyway, hot and unforgiving.

Mikey never cried. Not for anyone. Not even for himself. But for you��� he’d let the tears fall.

Because losing you wasn’t just painful.

It was suffocating.

And now, all he was left with was the unbearable silence where your laughter used to be. Manjiro had wasted too much of himself trying to protect you, only to lose you anyway.

۶ৎ Ken “Draken” Ryuguji

Draken had always been the strong one, the one who stood firm no matter what storm raged around him. He was the pillar everyone leaned on, the steady hand that held Toman together when the world tried to tear it apart. He wore his scars like medals, a badge of honor for the battles he had fought. But behind that unshakable exterior, there was a man who was terrified of letting anyone in.

And then you came.

You were like a calm breeze in the chaos of his life—something he could rely on, something that made the noise fade into the background. With you, Draken didn’t feel like he was just a warrior, a protector, a leader. With you, he felt like a man. Just a man. And he had never wanted that feeling more than when he was with you.

But Draken was never good at being just a man.

“I don’t need anyone, Ken.”

Your words cut through his chest like a knife, deep and deliberate, but it wasn’t the words that hurt the most. It was the way you said them. The way your eyes—eyes he had once thought were full of trust—had turned into something cold. Distant. Like you had already made up your mind, and there was no turning back.

He remembered it too clearly—the night you’d finally reached the end. He’d seen the cracks in your smile long before you spoke those words. The subtle distance. The way you stopped waiting for him to come home, stopped hoping for a text back, stopped expecting anything from him at all. It had been building for months, but Draken had refused to acknowledge it.

“I’m tired, Ken.” You had whispered that, standing in the dim light of his small apartment. The quiet desperation in your voice made his stomach churn.

“Tired of what?” Draken had asked, but the question felt pointless as soon as he spoke it. He already knew. He just didn’t want to hear it.

“Tired of waiting for you to come back,” you said, stepping back from him, as though creating space between you and the person he had become. “Tired of fighting for your attention, your time, your heart. I’m… I’m not enough for you.”

The words felt like a slap, sharp and stinging, but the worst part wasn’t what you said. It was that it was true. He had nothing left to say because he knew you were right.

Draken’s world had always been about duty—about Toman, about Mikey, about being the man everyone needed him to be. But he had forgotten that someone—you—needed him too. And by the time he realized that, by the time he tried to open up, to give you a piece of himself, you were already slipping through his fingers.

“I love you, Ken. But I can’t keep doing this.”

Those words—those words were the ones that burned him. Not because he didn’t understand them, but because they were a line he couldn’t cross. He couldn’t give you everything you needed, everything you deserved. He couldn’t balance being the man who had to save everyone with being the man you wanted to love.

“I’m sorry,” he had said then, but the words felt hollow, empty. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I… I never meant for you to feel like this.”

But it was too late.

You left, and Draken didn’t stop you. Because deep down, he knew you were right. You deserved someone who could give you the love you craved, someone who wouldn’t make you feel like an afterthought. And he couldn’t be that man. Not when he was drowning in the weight of Toman, not when he was suffocated by his own guilt, his own sense of responsibility.

Now, he stood alone in the empty apartment, the silence pressing down on him like a weight. He could still hear the echo of your voice in his mind, the quiet desperation that haunted him even now. The regret was unbearable, but it wasn’t something he could fix. Not anymore.

His hands tightening into fists. Love was a waste. But even as he thought it, he knew the truth. He had wasted his time too.

Because he had let you go.

And now, there was nothing left but the hollow space you used to fill.

۶ৎ Keisuke Baji

Baji was fire—reckless, untamed, and burning too bright for anyone to hold. He lived on the edge, constantly teetering between chaos and control, and he didn’t care. Not about the consequences, not about the scars. But with you… it was different. You weren’t afraid of the flames. You stood beside him, unflinching, letting his fire warm you instead of consuming you.

But even fire burns out eventually.

The wind whipped through Baji’s hair as he stood on the rooftop, Tokyo stretching endlessly beneath him. The city lights blinked like stars, but they didn’t offer any comfort. His hands clenched at his sides, nails biting into his palms, but the pain was a dull throb—nothing compared to the ache lodged deep in his chest.

“Don’t shut me out, Kei.”

Your voice echoed in his mind, soft and pleading, and Baji could still see the look in your eyes that night. You weren’t angry. You never were. Even when he came back with blood on his knuckles and a wild gleam in his eyes, you didn’t flinch. You just… stayed. But that night, there was something different. A sadness that weighed heavier than any of his mistakes.

“I’m not shutting you out,” he had lied, the words tasting bitter on his tongue.

But you weren’t stupid. You saw through him like no one else ever could.

“You’re losing yourself, Kei,” you whispered, your fingers brushing against his bruised knuckles. “And I don’t know if I can keep watching you do this.”

Baji had pulled his hand back, a knee-jerk reaction to protect you from the chaos that followed him like a shadow. “I’m fine,” he muttered, looking anywhere but at you.

But you didn’t believe him. You never did when he tried to pretend.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” you had murmured, and for a moment, Baji wanted to believe that. Wanted to let you in, to let you carry some of the weight that was crushing him.

But Baji wasn’t built for that. He was built to protect, to shield the people he loved from the darkness that followed him. And so, he did the only thing he knew how to do.

He pushed you away.

“I told you, I’m fine,” he had snapped, sharper than he intended, and the flicker of hurt in your eyes was like a dagger to his heart. But he didn’t apologize. He couldn’t. Because if he did… he knew he’d break.

“I can’t keep doing this, Kei.” Your voice had been so quiet, barely louder than the wind. But it was enough to tear through him. “I love you… but I can’t love someone who won’t let me in.”

Baji had said nothing. Because what was there to say? He wasn’t the type to beg. Wasn’t the type to hold on when he knew he was only dragging you down with him.

So, he let you walk away.

And now, standing on that rooftop, Baji was left with nothing but the memory of what he lost. The wind howled around him, carrying echoes of a love that had slipped through his fingers like sand. His heart felt heavy, but his eyes remained dry.

Baji didn’t cry. He didn’t break down. He just stood there, silent and numb, feeling the emptiness swallow him whole.

Because Baji knew… he had a chance to hold on. And he let it slip away. Baji had wasted too much of himself protecting someone who was never the one who needed saving.

۶ৎ Ran Haitani

Ran was never the type to show vulnerability. He had built himself into someone untouchable, always one step ahead, always in control. He had seen too much pain in his life to let it show on his face. But with you… you were different. You made him feel something he couldn’t quite explain—something soft, something human. And for a while, Ran let that feeling stay, let it settle deep inside his chest, until it became something he couldn’t ignore.

But now, as he leaned against the cold brick of an alleyway, hands shoved deep in his pockets, Ran felt the weight of the emptiness you left behind.

“Why are you still here, Ran?”

Your voice echoed in his mind like it was yesterday, soft and questioning, filled with a frustration he could never quite shake off. He hadn’t wanted you to ask, hadn’t wanted to admit the truth. But you had pressed him, over and over, until the cracks began to show. And when you saw that, when you saw the truth he kept hidden so carefully, you didn’t stay.

“I don’t need anyone.” He had told you that, in a voice that was far colder than he intended. But he had meant it—because the moment he let someone close enough to see his weaknesses, to see what he really was… he couldn’t keep them. And he couldn’t keep you.

“Ran, don’t do this,” you had whispered, your hands trembling as you reached for him. “I love you.”

He remembered that moment clearly, the way you looked at him, the sincerity in your eyes. But he couldn’t return it. He couldn’t let you in, couldn’t give you that piece of himself that would only end up broken in your hands.

“I’m not the one you think I am,” he had said, and this time, his voice had cracked. He hated that it cracked. Hated that you could see through the walls he had built around himself. “You don’t want this, trust me.”

But you didn’t listen. You tried to reach him anyway, to bridge the gap between who he was and who you wanted him to be. And for a while, it worked. Or so he told himself. You stayed, and maybe—just maybe—Ran let himself believe that it could last.

But it never does.

And when you left, Ran didn’t stop you. He didn’t even try to chase after you. His pride, his ego, everything that had always kept him together, stopped him. Because deep down, he knew the truth. He didn’t deserve you.

Now, standing in the alley, the city buzzing with noise around him, Ran felt the hollow space in his chest where your love used to be. The cold air cut through him, but it didn’t sting as much as the memory of your touch, your laugh, your presence.

“I never needed anyone,” he muttered to himself, but the words felt empty, hollow, because he knew the truth now. He needed you.

And you were gone.

The sound of footsteps echoed down the alley, but Ran didn’t move. He didn’t look up. His gaze stayed fixed on the ground, on the shadow of his own regret that stretched far too long in the dim light. Ran had wasted too much of his life pretending he could live without it.

[bimbodolllll]

may a request Mitsuya x reader where she is his girlfriend but he didn't tell Toman about her and his friends just suspect that he has one and basically they are secretly watching him and trying to guess who the girl is with whom they saw him

۶ৎ Guess Who.

۶ৎ auth: 3/3, how you enjoy <3

۶ৎ Summary: He been acting different, his friends are getting suspicious and assuming he’s dating someone and now they determined to find out who you are.

۶ৎ: oneshot | female reader

۶ৎ Characters Included: Mitsuya Takashi

Toman was known for handling gang wars, throwing hands, and protecting their own. But when it came to Takashi Mitsuya’s love life?

They were absolutely useless.

It all started with a whisper.

“Oi, Chifuyu.”

Chifuyu glanced up from his drink, only to be met with Baji’s mischievous smirk. They were lounging around after school, killing time before another Toman meeting.

“Hmm?”

“Have you noticed… Mitsuya’s been acting weird lately?” Baji leaned in, his tone dripping with suspicion.

Chifuyu blinked, looking over at Mitsuya, who was sitting across from them, casually scrolling through his phone. Nothing about him seemed out of the ordinary—calm, collected, and cool as always.

“Weird how?”

“He’s been smiling more.”

Chifuyu raised a brow. “And that’s… bad?”

“Not that kind of smile,” Baji whispered dramatically, leaning closer like he was about to share classified information. “It’s a different smile. Like… a girl smile.”

Chifuyu’s eyes narrowed as he glanced back at Mitsuya, watching as his fingers typed out something on his phone, a small—barely noticeable—grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

“…He’s right,” Draken muttered from the side, crossing his arms as he joined the conversation. “I caught him sneaking out after our last meeting. And when I asked where he was going…” Draken’s eyes darkened.

“What did he say?” Chifuyu whispered, leaning in as if they were plotting a heist.

Draken’s face was unreadable. “Home.”

“Home?” Chifuyu echoed, blinking.

“Home?” Baji’s jaw dropped. “Bro… Mitsuya never lies. But he’s been going somewhere. And I know damn well he wasn’t going home.”

“Exactly.” Draken nodded.

Silence fell over them as they processed this earth-shattering revelation.

“…Mitsuya’s got a girl,” Baji declared, eyes wide with realization.

“Wait, wait, wait…” Chifuyu’s voice was barely above a whisper. “You’re telling me Mitsuya… Takashi Mitsuya… has a girlfriend and didn’t tell any of us?”

“Tch.” Draken clicked his tongue. “If he’s hiding her… it’s serious.”

“Which means…” Baji’s grin returned, more devious than ever. “We gotta find out who she is.”

—

Phase One: Surveillance—as Baji called it.

The next few days were filled with chaos.

“Okay, okay, okay!” Baji whispered harshly, ducking behind a tree as Mitsuya walked out of class. “He’s on the move.”

“Why are we whispering?” Chifuyu hissed, crouching beside him.

“Because it’s a stealth mission, duh.”

“Will you two shut up?” Draken muttered, standing behind them with his arms crossed. “We look like idiots.”

But the moment Mitsuya turned the corner, the three of them silently followed—keeping a “safe” distance but staying close enough to watch his every move.

It didn’t take long for Mitsuya to run into someone—a girl.

“Target acquired,” Baji whispered dramatically.

“Is that her?” Chifuyu squinted, trying to get a better look.

The girl was cute—short hair, bright smile, and she seemed to be talking animatedly about something. Mitsuya looked… interested, but his expression remained neutral.

“Maybe…” Draken murmured, watching closely.

But then—

Mitsuya bowed politely, waved, and walked away.

“Nope.” Baji groaned, smacking his forehead. “False alarm.”

“Damn,” Chifuyu sighed.

—

Phase Two: Process of Elimination

“Okay, so it’s not the girl from class 3-A,” Chifuyu muttered, crossing her off the list.

“Or the girl from the sewing club,” Baji added.

“Not that one chick who asked him for notes, either,” Draken murmured.

They had been at this for days. And despite their best efforts, they were getting nowhere. Every time they thought they had figured it out, Mitsuya would deny it with a straight face.

“Who, her?” Mitsuya had blinked, confused. “Nah. We were just talking about fabrics.”

“Her?” He tilted his head. “She needed help with her homework.”

“Eh? No.” He laughed softly. “I don’t even know her name.”

They were going crazy.

“Maybe… maybe he doesn’t have a girlfriend,” Chifuyu said one afternoon, his tone almost defeated.

“He does,” Baji insisted. “I feel it in my bones.”

“Then why hasn’t he told us?”

“Because,” Draken muttered, his eyes narrowing, “he doesn’t want us to mess it up.”

They all paused.

“…That’s fair,” Baji admitted.

“Very fair,” Chifuyu nodded.

—

Phase Three: Accidental Discovery

They had given up.

After weeks of failed attempts, they decided it wasn’t worth the headache. If Mitsuya wanted to keep it a secret, fine. Let him be.

But fate had other plans.

It happened after a Toman meeting one afternoon. Mitsuya had left early, as usual, giving his usual “gotta take care of my sisters” excuse. Nothing suspicious.

But as they were walking down the street, they spotted him.

And he wasn’t alone.

Mitsuya was walking beside her. And this time…

There was no denying it.

She was laughing softly, her hand brushing lightly against his as they walked, and Mitsuya—their Mitsuya—was looking at her with the softest expression they had ever seen.

“Holy…” Baji whispered, his jaw practically on the floor.

Chifuyu blinked. “That’s… definitely her.”

“She’s… cute,” Draken murmured, brows raised.

But it wasn’t just that.

It was the way Mitsuya looked at her—like she was the only person in the world.

“Damn,” Baji whistled lowly. “Our boy’s smitten.”

They watched as Mitsuya walked her to her door, saying something that made her giggle before she leaned up and kissed his cheek.

Mitsuya’s face turned a shade of pink none of them had ever seen before.

“He’s blushing,” Chifuyu whispered, eyes wide.

“Bro,” Baji blinked. “Mitsuya blushes?”

“Apparently.” Draken’s lips twitched, barely holding back a smirk.

As Mitsuya turned to leave, his gaze lifted slightly—only for his lavender eyes to lock onto them.

The trio froze.

Mitsuya’s eyes narrowed.

“Shit.”

“RUN!”

—

Mitsuya was pissed.

“Why were you guys following me?” he demanded, arms crossed, giving them all a look that could kill.

“We weren’t following you,” Baji lied, poorly.

“Then why were you hiding behind a vending machine?”

“…Coincidence?”

“Baji.”

“Okay, fine!” Baji threw his hands up. “We were curious!”

“Yeah,” Chifuyu muttered, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “You’ve been acting… different. We just… wanted to know who she was.”

Draken, ever the reasonable one, sighed. “We just didn’t expect you to keep it from us, Mitsuya.”

Mitsuya’s expression softened slightly at that, but he still looked mildly annoyed.

“I wasn’t keeping it from you guys…” he mumbled. “I just… didn’t want you messing it up.”

“Fair,” Baji muttered.

“Very fair,” Chifuyu echoed.

“So…” Baji’s grin slowly returned, eyes glinting with mischief. “When do we meet her?”

“No.” Mitsuya’s answer was immediate.

“C’monnnn,” Baji groaned.

“No.”

“But we’re like family,” Chifuyu added.

“No.”

“You’re gonna have to introduce us eventually,” Draken said calmly, but Mitsuya could see the tiniest hint of amusement behind his words.

“Eventually.” Mitsuya stressed, rubbing his temples. “Not now.”

“Fine,” Baji smirked. “But just so you know…”

Mitsuya raised a brow. “What?”

“We’re definitely watching your back now.”

“Literally.” Chifuyu snickered.

Mitsuya groaned, but despite his frustration, he couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at his lips.

Because as annoying as they were…

They really did have his back.

Even when they were absolute idiots.

[bimbodolllll]

could you please write oneshot about how mitsuya will behave in love (when he is somewhere around 12-13 years old), and also about how his friends will tease him/help him, he seems pretty serious but I'm just curious how he would act

۶ৎ Stitched With Love

۶ৎ auth: 2/3 posted. I’ve had these done, but oven out all day, I hope you like this one<3

۶ৎ Summary: He’s level headed, always composed. That was until he seen you.

۶ৎ: oneshot | female reader. | fluff

۶ৎ Characters Included: Mitsuya Takashi

Mitsuya was only twelve, but he carried himself like someone far older. While most kids his age were still figuring out what they wanted to be, Mitsuya already had a purpose—taking care of his sisters, protecting his family, and honing his craft with a quiet, steady resolve. He had no time for childish crushes or silly distractions.

Or at least… that’s what he told himself.

Until she came along.

It started innocently enough. She was a classmate, someone who had just transferred into their school a few months ago. She wasn’t loud or flashy—she was kind, soft-spoken, and always had a warm smile for everyone. But for some reason, whenever she smiled at him, Mitsuya felt something… different. Something that made his cheeks warm and his thoughts stumble.

He wasn’t sure when it happened, but one day, he realized he was watching her more often than he should—taking note of how she tilted her head when she was confused, how her fingers tapped lightly against her desk when she was deep in thought. And when she laughed? God. Mitsuya was done for.

“Oi, Takashi…”

Mitsuya blinked, pulled from his thoughts as Draken’s voice cut through his daydream. He hadn’t realized how long he’d been staring in her direction.

“Hmm?” He tried to play it cool, but Draken’s raised brow told him he wasn’t fooling anyone.

“You’ve been staring at her for five minutes, bro,” Draken smirked, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall outside the school.

“Five whole minutes,” Baji chimed in, a devilish grin tugging at his lips as he slung an arm around Mitsuya’s shoulders. “You tryna sew her a love letter or somethin’, Mitsuya?”

“Shut up.” Mitsuya’s ears turned pink as he shrugged Baji’s arm off, trying to look unaffected.

“Ohhh, look at him!” Baji cackled, nudging Draken. “Our boy’s got it bad!”

“I don’t ‘got it’ anything,” Mitsuya mumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking away. But his face betrayed him—his cheeks were practically glowing.

“Bro,” Draken’s tone was amused but serious enough to catch Mitsuya’s attention. “Just talk to her.”

“Yeah,” Baji added with a grin that was way too mischievous for Mitsuya’s comfort. “Or should I go tell her for you? I mean, I am pretty good with words.”

“Baji.” Mitsuya gave him a look, but the heat in his face only intensified.

“C’mon, Mitsuya,” Draken nudged him lightly. “You’re not gonna get anywhere just staring at her like a lost puppy.”

Mitsuya sighed, running a hand through his hair. He wasn’t used to this—this feeling. It made him feel… unbalanced. Like his usual steady control was slipping every time she so much as looked his way,

But before he could answer, Mikey appeared, practically bouncing with excitement.

“Yo! Who are we talking about?”

Baji’s grin widened. “Oh, just Mitsuya’s crush.”

Mitsuya groaned, covering his face with his hand. “I hate all of you.”

“Wait, Mitsuya has a crush?!” Mikey’s eyes widened like a kid who just discovered a new flavor of candy. “No way! Who is it? Who is it?”

“I’m leaving.” Mitsuya turned to walk away, but Baji grabbed his collar, yanking him back with ease.

“Not so fast, lover boy.”

“Guys, I’m not—”

“Dude.” Draken cut him off, his tone calmer but still laced with amusement. “Seriously. Just talk to her. What’s the worst that could happen?”

The worst? Mitsuya could think of a lot of things. What if she didn’t feel the same? What if he embarrassed himself? What if—

“Fine,” Mitsuya muttered, exhaling slowly. He couldn’t believe he was actually considering it. “But if this goes bad… I’m blaming all of you.”

“Deal,” Baji grinned. “Now go, Casanova.”

—

The next day, Mitsuya tried.

He really did.

He waited until lunch, choosing a moment when she was sitting by herself, quietly sketching in her notebook. His heart was pounding so hard he was sure she could hear it.

“Hey.”

She looked up, her warm eyes meeting his. And just like that, Mitsuya forgot how to breathe.

“Hi, Mitsuya,” she said softly, her smile making his brain short-circuit.

Okay. Say something. Anything.

“Um… I noticed you like to draw,” he said, mentally kicking himself for how awkward he sounded.

“Oh!” Her eyes lit up, and she closed her notebook shyly. “Yeah… it’s just a hobby. I’m not very good yet.”

“Everyone starts somewhere,” Mitsuya said, his lips tugging into a small smile. “I sew. I mean… I make clothes. It’s kinda my thing.”

“Really?” She looked genuinely interested, and Mitsuya felt the knot in his chest loosen a little.

“Yeah…” He scratched the back of his neck, his nerves settling. “If you ever want, I could… show you some designs? Or maybe… we could… y’know… work on something together?”

Her smile grew, and Mitsuya felt that unfamiliar warmth flood his chest again.

“I’d like that,” she said softly.

—

By the time Mitsuya rejoined his friends, his face was still pink, but his heart felt lighter than it had in days.

“Well?” Draken asked, a knowing look on his face.

“She said yes,” Mitsuya mumbled, a shy but satisfied smile tugging at his lips.

“He did it!” Baji whooped, punching the air like they’d just won a fight. “Our boy’s growing up!”

Mikey practically beamed. “I knew you had it in you, Mitsuya!”

“Shut up.” Mitsuya tried to sound annoyed, but he couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face.

“Looks like we’re gonna have to start calling him Lover Boy Takashi now,” Baji teased, grinning ear to ear.

Mitsuya just shook his head, but for once… he didn’t mind.

[bimbodolllll]

Hi, could you write Mitsuya with female reader where he fall in love with her at first sight (please, make him 14-15 years, during Toman timeline)

۶ৎ Stitching Hearts Together.

۶ৎ auth: hope you like it <3

۶ৎ Summary: the first time he laid eyes on you, he fell in love.(short scenario)

۶ৎ: scenario | female reader.

۶ৎ Characters Included: Mitsuya Takashi

It was a quiet summer afternoon, and Mitsuya was making his way home after another exhausting Toman meeting. The sun hung lazily in the sky, dipping just low enough to paint the city in shades of gold and orange. His mind was still half-focused on the day’s events, thoughts swirling about Mikey, Draken, and the ever-looming chaos that seemed to follow Toman. But those thoughts came to a screeching halt the moment he saw her.

She was standing by the corner near a small fabric shop, carefully examining rolls of pastel-colored fabric. The soft breeze made her hair dance gently around her face, catching the last rays of sunlight. Her expression was one of pure focus, eyes scanning the delicate patterns as if she was searching for something specific.

Mitsuya stopped dead in his tracks.

Who… is that?

His heart skipped a beat—no, several beats. He had never seen her before, but something about her drew him in instantly. Maybe it was the way she bit her bottom lip slightly while thinking, or the way her hands delicately brushed over the fabric, as if she respected its beauty. She was different.

“Oi, Mitsuya, you good?”

The distant voice of Hakkai barely registered in his ears. Mitsuya was too lost in the moment, his lavender eyes locked onto the girl who had unknowingly stolen his breath away.

“Yeah…” he murmured absentmindedly, his gaze never leaving her.

Before he knew it, his feet were moving on their own. He found himself walking toward her, his usual calm demeanor replaced by an unfamiliar nervousness. The closer he got, the more he realized just how beautiful she was up close—her eyes gleamed with curiosity, her lips slightly parted as she examined the fabric.

“Thinking of making something?” Mitsuya asked before he could stop himself. His voice was softer than usual, almost hesitant, but it caught her attention.

She turned toward him, and that’s when it hit him hard. Her eyes met his, and Mitsuya felt his entire world tilt on its axis.

“Uh, yeah…” she replied, her voice warm and gentle. “I was looking for something soft… I’m trying to make a dress.”

Mitsuya’s heart slammed against his chest. A dress? His fingers twitched—his love for designing and sewing igniting a familiar spark. But that wasn’t what floored him. It was the way she looked at him, eyes filled with quiet determination, her passion for creating something beautiful mirroring his own.

“You… sew?” he asked, his tone filled with genuine interest.

“Kind of,” she smiled shyly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m still learning… I’m not that great yet.”

“Everyone starts somewhere,” Mitsuya said softly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I… I sew too.”

Her eyes brightened, and Mitsuya swore his heart stopped.

“Really?” she asked, genuinely surprised.

“Yeah,” he nodded, his usual calmness returning, though his heart was pounding louder than a drum. “If you want… I could help you. I mean, if you’d like…”

For a moment, she just stared at him, and Mitsuya wondered if he had said too much too soon. But then, that smile—that smile—lit up her face, and he felt like he could die happy right then and there.

“I’d like that,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

And just like that, Mitsuya knew.

He was done for.

The rest of the world faded into the background as they stood there, talking about fabrics, stitches, and ideas. Mitsuya listened intently, offering advice while she shared her dreams of making clothes that made people feel beautiful.

And with every word she spoke, he fell harder.

By the time they exchanged names and numbers, Mitsuya was already smitten. His mind raced with thoughts of her—how she smiled, how her eyes lit up when she talked about her passion.

As he walked away that evening, his heart still pounding, he couldn’t help but smile to himself.

She’s perfect.

For the first time in a long while, Takashi Mitsuya wasn’t just thinking about the chaos of Toman or the weight of protecting his family.

He was thinking about her.

And deep down, he knew—this was only the beginning.

[bimbodolllll]

HI! I saw your request was open? I have been reading the boys of tommen series and i just read keeping 13 and i was wondering if you could wirte some tokyo rev characters (preferebly Shinichiro, Mikey, Izana and mitsuya) getting walked on while they're having their first time with reader? (Feel free to turn this into a one character thingy, i would love this with either of them😭😭😭)

۶ৎ Interruptions.

۶ৎ auth: OKAY SO. This probably isn’t as detailed as you may want, and that reason is because I’m not really all that interested in sexual relations and I don’t have much experience writing it :(

۶ৎ Summary: The night with him where you both decide that the right time would be now. But as things start—you’re interrupted.

۶ৎ: implied nsfw | scenario | gender neutral reader. !! All characters are aged up.

۶ৎ Characters Included: Shinichiro Sano, Manjiro “Mikey” Sano, Izana Kurokawa, Mitsuya Takashi

۶ৎ Shinichiro Sano

Shinichiro was the quiet and thoughtful older brother, the one who carried the weight of responsibility on his shoulders and made sure everything around him stayed intact. He had always been the one to hold things together for his younger siblings, to be their pillar of strength. But with you? He didn’t have to be strong. With you, he could let go, even if just for a moment.

The night had started innocently enough—just the two of you, spending time together in the familiar quiet of Shinichiro’s room. It wasn’t anything extraordinary at first. He was always so careful, so gentle with his words and actions. But the air between you both had shifted, and it was clear neither of you wanted to let the moment slip away.

Shinichiro looked at you, his dark eyes full of warmth, but there was a flicker of something else—something deeper, more intense—beneath his calm exterior. His hand found yours, his thumb brushing over your skin in slow, deliberate movements, like he was trying to memorize the feel of you. He leaned in slightly, his face inches from yours, his breath warm against your cheek as he whispered, “Are you sure about this?”

His voice was low, almost a murmur, and there was a slight tremor in it—one that he couldn’t hide. Shinichiro was always the one who was careful, the one who took his time to make sure everyone else was okay, and now, when it came to something as personal as this, it was clear that he was still trying to figure out how to navigate the situation.

You nodded, your fingers gently tracing his jawline. “I’m sure, Shinichiro.”

He sighed softly, the weight of your words seeming to ease the tension in his chest. His hand moved to the back of your neck, pulling you toward him slowly, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was tender, almost hesitant at first. But the moment you kissed him back, it was as if the dam had broken. His restraint vanished, and he pulled you closer, his hands moving to guide your body against his, his warmth enveloping you entirely.

For a moment, there was nothing but the two of you—no worries, no responsibilities. Just the feeling of his lips against yours, his body pressed against yours, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat in sync with yours.

Shinichiro’s hands wandered, but he was still careful, as though he didn’t want to rush anything, but at the same time, there was a sense of urgency in the way he kissed you, as though he couldn’t get enough of you. His touch was gentle but firm, as if he was trying to pull you even closer, to feel more of you, but at the same time, he was hesitant, as though he feared pushing you too far.

Just as his lips moved to your neck, the door to his room suddenly creaked open.

“Shin, I—”

It was Manjiro, his voice loud and unbothered as he pushed the door open without a second thought. The moment he saw the two of you, his eyes widened in surprise, and he quickly slammed the door shut again, muttering an apology through the door.

Shinichiro froze, his body stiffening, his face turning a deep shade of red. He let out a deep breath, clearly trying to regain his composure. “…I told him to knock…”

You both sat there for a moment in stunned silence, the air now thick with awkwardness. Shinichiro’s usual calm demeanor was now laced with embarrassment. He turned back to you, his cheeks flushed, and his eyes full of a mixture of frustration and apology.

“I’m so sorry about that,” he said, his voice low, almost too soft. “I didn’t expect him to just barge in like that.”

You smiled softly at his flustered state, your hand gently cupping his cheek. “It’s okay, Shinichiro. It happens.”

He gave you a small, relieved smile, clearly grateful for your understanding. But even though he tried to mask it, you could tell he was still embarrassed by the interruption.

“You’re too kind,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss you gently, as if seeking comfort. “I promise it won’t happen again.”

As he kissed you, this time with a little more confidence, you couldn’t help but smile. Shinichiro’s love for you was something deep, something steady. And even though his vulnerability was a rare sight, when he let it show, it was the most genuine and real thing about him.

This time, when he pulled away, there was a quiet promise in his eyes. “I won’t let anything ruin this,” he said, his voice soft but full of determination.

And you knew, no matter what happened, Shinichiro would always try his best to make sure you felt safe and cared for, even if it meant taking things slow and being patient.

۶ৎ Manjiro “Mikey” Sano

Mikey was always full of energy, a ball of mischief and charm that made him stand out wherever he went. Yet, beneath that carefree and sometimes reckless demeanor was a side to him that only a few ever saw—a more vulnerable and possessive side, one that he kept hidden from most. With you, though, he didn’t need to hide it. He wanted to let go of that carefully crafted image and simply be.

The night was just like any other—quiet, calm, and comfortable. But there was a tension in the air that Mikey couldn’t ignore. The way his fingers brushed against yours as you sat together, how his eyes would linger just a little too long when he thought you weren’t looking. He had always been the one to make the first move, but tonight, it was different. Tonight, he was uncertain, unsure of how to navigate the space between you.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice softer than usual as he leaned in closer. His breath was warm against your skin as his lips hovered just above your ear. “You okay?”

You turned to face him, a soft smile tugging at your lips. There was something about Mikey’s vulnerability, his need for reassurance, that made you want to protect him in return. “I’m fine,” you whispered back, reaching up to gently brush a strand of his messy hair out of his face.

Mikey’s eyes softened, his usual bravado faltering. He was always the strong one, the leader, but with you, it was like he didn’t have to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. His hand found yours again, and this time, he didn’t let go.

The moment was charged with an unspoken understanding, a mutual desire that had been building for weeks. Mikey’s lips found yours in a kiss that was surprisingly gentle at first, like he was savoring the moment. But as the kiss deepened, so did the intensity. He was desperate for this—desperate for the connection, the reassurance that you were his and no one else’s. His hands roamed, tracing the outline of your body with a quiet urgency, as if he wanted to memorize every inch of you.

But just as things were escalating, a loud bang echoed through the door.

“Mikey, what the hell are you doing in there?” It was Draken, his voice booming from outside the room.

Mikey froze, his body stiffening at the sound. His eyes flicked toward the door before he turned back to you, his face flushing with frustration and embarrassment.

“Dammit, Ken-chin,” Mikey muttered under his breath, sitting up and adjusting himself quickly. “I told him not to interrupt.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the situation, but Mikey was anything but amused. He got up and walked over to the door, yanking it open just enough to peek his head through.

“You really have no concept of privacy, do you?” Mikey’s voice was low, but there was an edge to it that made it clear he was pissed off.

Draken was standing in the hallway, arms crossed and a grin plastered on his face. “Sorry, didn’t realize you were busy,” he teased, his eyes flicking between Mikey and you.

“I swear to God…” Mikey grumbled, clearly not in the mood for Draken’s teasing. He turned back to you, the frustration still clear in his eyes, but there was also an underlying protectiveness. He wasn’t going to let anyone ruin this moment between you two, not even his best friend.

“Next time,” Mikey said as he closed the door, turning back to you with a sheepish smile, “I’ll make sure to lock it.”

He sat down next to you again, his hand immediately finding yours once more. His earlier hesitation was gone, replaced by a renewed sense of focus. He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours, his breath heavy with desire.

“Sorry about that,” he whispered, his voice soft again. “Let’s just forget about him.”

You smiled, reaching up to kiss him lightly on the lips. “It’s fine. Just… maybe warn me next time so I can be ready for the interruption.”

Mikey chuckled, his usual playful smirk returning. “I’ll try my best,” he said, before his lips found yours again, this time with more determination, as though he was reclaiming the moment. And this time, no one was going to interrupt.

۶ৎ Izana Kurokawa

Izana Kurokawa had always been calculated, precise, and ruthless. His every move was deliberate, his demeanor sharp, and the way he carried himself demanded respect from all who crossed his path. But with you? He was something else entirely—a side of him that no one else ever saw.

The tension between you both had been building for days, and tonight, there was no avoiding it anymore. Izana had always been good at hiding his emotions, his cool exterior never faltering. Yet, in the quiet privacy of his room, it was different. There was a faint unease in his usually composed eyes, as if he didn’t entirely know what to do with the soft vulnerability that bloomed whenever he was around you.

He pulled you close, his long fingers brushing along the side of your face as if afraid you’d slip away from him if he wasn’t careful. His lips met yours with the same intensity and precision as everything else he did. But it wasn’t just lust that fueled his kiss—it was something deeper, something he didn’t understand but couldn’t ignore.

Izana’s hands roamed over your body, slow and deliberate, as though he wanted to memorize the feel of you beneath him. His touch was commanding, as though he was asserting control over the situation, but there was an underlying gentleness to it that felt almost out of place. He made sure you felt every inch of him, his body pressing against yours with a sense of urgency that was foreign to his usual detached nature.

“Is this what you want?” His voice was low, almost a growl, his breath hot against your skin as he trailed kisses down your neck. His control was slipping, but he didn’t want to lose himself entirely—not yet. Not with you.

You nodded, your hands threading through his soft hair, urging him closer. His jaw clenched, his eyes burning with something that was far beyond the calm, distant gaze he often wore. He kissed you again, deeper this time, his body moving over yours as he slowly guided you both to the edge.

The tension in the room was thick, the air electric with desire and the quiet understanding that neither of you would back down from this.

Just as his lips moved to your neck, the door to his room creaked open. “Izana, are you—?”

The voice was unmistakable. It was Kakucho.

Both you and Izana froze. The room was deathly silent for a split second before Izana’s eyes flicked toward the door. His expression was unreadable, cold, and calculating.

“Izana…” Kakucho began again, stepping into the room but freezing as soon as he noticed the situation. His eyes widened in shock, taking in the scene before him.

The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly.

Izana, ever the master of composure, didn’t flinch. He looked at Kakucho, eyes narrowing slightly. “Get out.”

Kakucho, still frozen in place, blinked a few times, confusion written all over his face. “What the hell are you—”

Izana’s voice cut through the air like a sharp knife. “I said, get. Out.” His tone was deadly calm, the same tone he used when he was about to destroy someone.

Kakucho hesitated, his usual bravado faltering for just a moment, before he quickly turned on his heel and backed out of the room. “Okay, okay, I’m going. But damn, Izana, you could’ve locked the damn door.”

Izana didn’t answer. He simply stood there, staring at the door long after Kakucho had left, his mind obviously racing. After a moment, his gaze flicked back down to you. The heat between you both hadn’t diminished, but there was an awkward tension now, the intrusion lingering like an unwelcome guest.

He ran a hand through his hair, his face still inscrutable. “…I’m sorry,” he muttered, though it was almost a whisper. “I didn’t expect that.”

His words were sincere, but his expression remained hard, his mask slipping just slightly as he tried to recover from the awkwardness of the situation.

You smiled softly, reaching out to gently pull him back to you. “It’s okay,” you whispered. “It happens.”

Izana let out a small breath, his lips curling into a small, almost imperceptible smirk. “You’re right. Next time, I’ll make sure the door stays locked.”

And with that, he leaned down to kiss you once more, the intensity of his earlier desire reigniting, this time with a silent promise that no one else would interrupt you. Not again.

۶ৎ Mitsuya Takashi

Mitsuya Takashi was always the calm and composed one, the one who carried the weight of responsibility without hesitation. His demeanor was often one of quiet strength, but when he let his guard down around you, it was a different story. He was gentle, caring, and surprisingly tender in a way that made your heart race without even trying.

That night, the atmosphere between you two had shifted, and the weight of unspoken desires hung in the air. Mitsuya had always been the type to carefully read the room, to understand when things were moving too fast or when they needed a little push. But tonight, his patience had worn thin. His movements were deliberate but not rushed, like he was savoring each moment with you.

You could feel the difference in the way he kissed you—slower, deeper. His hands were soft but firm, guiding you closer to him, making sure you felt the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your fingers. The warmth of his touch spread through your body, and the heat between you both grew with every passing second.

Mitsuya pulled back for a moment, his eyes locking with yours, searching for any sign of hesitation. “If you’re not ready…” he murmured, his voice soft but laced with concern. His usual confidence was there, but it was tempered by a tenderness that made your chest tighten.

You reached up, brushing your fingers along his cheek, reassuring him with a gentle smile. “I’m ready.”

That was all it took. Mitsuya’s expression softened, his lips curling into a small, almost shy smile, as though he was relieved to hear your words. He kissed you again, this time with a deep sense of urgency that came from months of restraint. His hands were everywhere, exploring, touching, his body pressing closer to yours with every movement.

He moved slowly, deliberately, wanting to make sure you were comfortable and taken care of, but you could feel the heat in his touch, the way his fingers gripped your skin as though he was afraid to let go. You could see the strain in his jaw, the way he fought to keep himself controlled, but every now and then, you’d catch a glimpse of his vulnerability—the way his eyes would soften as he looked at you, the way his breath hitched as you responded to him.

But just as things were reaching a fever pitch, the door to his room cracked open.

“Mitsuya, you’ve been in here a while, everything okay—?”

It was Sanzu’s voice, casual and carefree, but the moment he stepped in and saw the scene before him, his words caught in his throat.

Mitsuya froze, his body tense, but his expression remained as composed as ever, though you could see the flush creeping up his neck. He immediately moved to cover you with the blanket, his protective instincts kicking in. “Sanzu,” he said, his voice calm but with an underlying warning, “get out.”

Sanzu didn’t even blink. He stood there, eyes flicking from Mitsuya’s flustered face to yours, then back again. His lips curved into a smirk. “Ah, I see… my bad, didn’t realize you were busy.”

Mitsuya, usually the level-headed one, stood up from the bed, eyes narrowed slightly. “I said get out.” His voice was quiet, but the sharp edge to it made it clear that the situation was no longer funny.

Sanzu raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, I’m going. But don’t worry, Mitsuya, I won’t tell anyone. Not a word, I swear.”

As Sanzu backed out, still chuckling, Mitsuya let out a deep sigh, running a hand through his hair. He turned back to you, his usual calm composure returning, but there was a hint of frustration in his expression.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice almost embarrassed. “I didn’t expect him to barge in like that.”

You smiled softly, sitting up and reaching for his hand. “It’s fine. Honestly, it’s kinda funny.”

Mitsuya let out a small laugh, his shoulders relaxing as he sat back down beside you. “Yeah, well, I’ll make sure to lock the door next time,” he said, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips.

You could tell he was still a little flustered by the interruption, but as he leaned in to kiss you again, you knew that no matter what happened, Mitsuya was someone who always made sure you felt safe, loved, and cared for—no matter how awkward the situation might get.

[bimbodolllll]

KOROSENSEI X STUDENT!PICA!READER WHO STRUGGLES TO NOT EAT CHALK OR PENCIL LED!?!??!?(ik it's weird but theres barely any rep for pica ppl)

۶ৎ Don’t eat that!

۶ৎ auth: so so sorry about my recent inactivity. Schools been kicking my ass and I’ve been super distracted lately!! :( the other post I promised abt TR will be done that is a promise!!

۶ৎ Summary: Korosensei knew his students were unique, but you stood out for an unusual reason—your relentless urge to eat non-food items like chalk and pencil lead. No matter how much he tried to stop you, you always found a way to sneak a bite, much to his exasperation. Determined to help, Korosensei takes it upon himself to keep a close eye on you, leading to amusing and oddly heartwarming moments between teacher and student.

۶ৎ: sfw | scenario | gender neutral reader | fluff

۶ৎ Characters Included: Korosensei

Korosensei had seen many things in his time teaching Class 3-E. He had seen his students fail and rise stronger, he had watched them grow into formidable assassins, and he had even witnessed Karma actually take notes once. But you were something else entirely.

At first, he thought he was imagining things. The occasional smudges of white dust on your lips, the way you sometimes chewed absentmindedly with no food in sight, the suspiciously gnawed-on corners of your notebooks. But then, one fateful day, he caught you in the act.

“___-chan, drop it.”

His voice was smooth, casual, but there was an unmistakable warning behind it.

You froze, your fingers gripping a fresh piece of chalk, mere centimeters from your lips. Your guilty gaze flickered to the side, and you slowly turned your head to meet Korosensei’s sharp golden eyes. He was floating just behind you, his expression a perfect mix of disappointment and exasperation.

“…Drop what?” you asked innocently, though your grip on the chalk remained firm.

Korosensei’s body wobbled slightly, an amused sigh escaping him. “The chalk, dear student. And don’t even think about swallowing it.”

You hesitated, eyeing the piece longingly before sighing and placing it back on the desk. “But it looks so—”

“I don’t want to hear how ‘deliciously powdery’ it is!” he interrupted, tentacles flailing dramatically. “For the last time, chalk is not food!”

His exasperation was almost comical. Even as he lectured you, his voice held no true anger—just the deep, familiar fondness of a teacher who had already accepted that his student was a menace.

To counter your concerning eating habits, Korosensei took it upon himself to become your personal food watchdog. If you so much as thought about putting something in your mouth that wasn’t edible, he was there in an instant.

One time, during a math lesson, you absentmindedly reached for your mechanical pencil, twirling it between your fingers before lightly biting the tip while deep in thought. You had no idea that Korosensei was watching like a hawk.

The moment your teeth touched the pencil, a blur of yellow shot across the room, followed by a piercing shriek.

“___-CHAN, NOOOOOO!”

Your pencil was yanked from your mouth so fast you barely processed what happened. Korosensei held it at arm’s length as if it were a live grenade, his entire body flashing red in distress. The class went silent, everyone staring as he visibly trembled, horrified.

“ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME WITH STRESS?!” he wailed, pressing a tentacle to his chest as if suffering a heart attack. “Pencil lead! Pencil lead in your mouth! Do you want me to perish before you even get the chance to assassinate me?!”

You blinked at him, cheeks heating up in embarrassment. “Geez, Sensei, calm down.”

“Calm down?! CALM DOWN?!” His entire body wobbled with dramatic grief. “You are literally eating poison! Do you have a death wish?!”

“It’s not real lead, you know,” you muttered, avoiding his piercing gaze.

“That doesn’t make it okay!” he cried, before suddenly disappearing from view. Within the next second, he reappeared in front of you, holding a neatly wrapped chocolate bar. “Here! Instead of chewing on pencil lead, why not enjoy some dark chocolate? It has magnesium! And it won’t send me into an early grave!”

You stared at the offering before reluctantly taking it from him. “…Fine.”

Despite your grumbling, you couldn’t ignore the warmth that settled in your chest. No teacher had ever cared this much before—not just about your grades or your assassination skills, but about you as a person.

From that day forward, Korosensei doubled his efforts to ensure you ate only safe, edible things. He kept a stash of snacks just for you, always prepared to swap out any erasers or bits of notebook paper you tried to sneak in. He even went so far as to create a personalized meal plan, filled with foods that would curb your pica cravings in a healthy way.

Did it get annoying sometimes? Maybe. But in the end, you couldn’t deny that having the world’s fastest, goofiest, and most caring assassin-turned-teacher looking out for you was… kind of nice.

[bimbodolllll]

I read your likes and dislikes, and for someone who really seems to like angst (omg literally same) your baby fic of TR guys was so fluffy and sweet I got cavities 😅

Yeah.. I really do like TR and the idea caught my attention so when I jumped to the opportunity to write for it and I genuinely did enjoy the idea. But don’t get me wrong I still love angst, I guess fluff is just starting to overthrow the likeness

[bimbodolllll]

If you all would like the AC Oc fic I’ll give like a rough assessment of my oc’s features, relationships, skills etc. and the TR samu would be done at the same time, just let me know :)

Or if you’d like a different smau for something different let me know that too!!!

[bimbodolllll]

۶ৎ Typical.

۶ৎ Summary: He never admits when he’s wrong. It’s never his fault, never takes accountability, it’s yours and yours alone, do typical for him.

۶ৎ: angst | scenario | narcissism(?) | bad boyfriend

“Maybe, you’re just insecure.” He spat back at me in response from one side of the room. The glare that rested on his face never left, as he eyed me with a look is distinct rage. I stare at him, the same anger on my face, I sneer in disbelief. “Me? Insecure? I wouldn’t need to be insecure if you didn’t do the shit you do!” The words left my mouth with a quickness, the harshness in my tone never lowered as I hissed my response out in annoyance.

“Don’t pin shit on me. None of this is my fault.” He was quick to utter a lie. Typical. “If you weren’t insecure you wouldn’t feel the way you do. And that’s not my damn fault.” His words bounced off the walls of the room as his tone of voice slightly shifted.

The expression on his face however didn’t move an ounce. “It is your fault! The entire thing is your fault! The way you act, the constant flirting, berating, arguing! All of it, it’s your fault!” My voice rose to match his tone. Each word that left my mouth felt overwhelming to me. We’ve had this conversation multiple times, each time it’s always the same: it’s never his fault. Nothing is.

“Oh, so you’re just fucking perfect?” He took a step forward from his position by the wall, the once angry expression deepening into something more serious. “I never said I was,” “But you think you are. Don’t you.” He muttered with disgust cutting me off.

The look of love and admiration that was once radiating from his eyes, the look that could be seen by anyone was now gone. And was replaced by pure and utter disgust. I never thought I was perfect, never said I was. I replied with nothing more to his response. My face contorts into a look of annoyance.

“You think all of this is my fault? I’m the so called problem, huh?” The sentence held no emotion, I was over it, the conversation, the relationship. Everything. “Maybe you are the problem. Maybe you are the main problem.” The world ‘main’ was hissed out with aggression as he looked at me. I felt judged. I always felt judged with him, never a moment where I wasn’t judged. “The fuck do you mean ‘the main problem’.” Repeating his words back to him felt like looking into a mirror, and seeing myself in his place.

His face shifted, the look of anger was replaced with a blank look of annoyance, or simply just indifference. “You are my main problem. Everything has to be about you. All your insecurities, your feelings, everything. You are the main problem.” He spoke once again every word was emphasized. The words hit me hard. Too hard, the once angry expression on my face was replaced with hurt and shock. I’m his problem? The question rung in my head like a bell.

“You’re my boyfriend! You’re supposed to care for my feelings, you’re supposed to love me! Or was that some lie you made up for the past three years?” By now I was done with this whole situation. As I spoke my throat felt dry and scratchy, my mouth felt like cotton. “I never said I didn’t love you.” He murmured, I shook my head at his response. “I find that hard to believe.” The look I held on my face was one of betrayal.

I couldn’t deal with this anymore. When he opened his mouth to say something I cut him off. “I can’t do this. All the arguments, I’m over it. I love you .. but I can’t keep going back and forth with you.” It was silent for a moment before he spoke. “You’re breaking up with me.” It was more of a statement than a question, all I did was nod. “I have flights to catch.” That was the last thing I said. Then we parted ways.

Rindou Haitani | Ran Haitani | Kazutora Hanemiya | Hanma Shuji | Manjiro ‘Mikey’ Sano | Izana Kurokawa | Taiju Shiba | Keisuke Baji | Hajime Kokonoi | South Terano | Kisaki Tetta | Sanzu Haruchiyo | Kakucho Hitto | Satoru Gojo | Suguru Geto | Toji Fushiguro | Sukuna | Light Yagami | L (Lawliet) | Osamu Dazai | Chuuya Nakahara | Fyodor Dostoevsky | Ken Kaneki |Touka Kirishima | Tsukiyama Shuu | Thorfinn | Askeladd | Aki Hayakawa | Makima | Reze | Rin Itoshi | Sae Itoshi | Shidou Ryusei

[bimbodolllll]

Uh,first time using an ask but uh, Korosensei x f!reader and can it be fluff pls?

۶ৎ A Fleeting Comfort.

Korosensei x f reader.

۶ৎ auth: I wasn’t sure if you meant it in a “they are together way” or “she’s his student, so father figure way”. So I went with the first option and made two scenarios in one, the first is while he is a cephalopod, the other is before that. If this wasn’t what you meant feel free to let me know and I’ll redo it!<3

۶ৎ Summary: scenario one: you work hard to help and be a good teacher and take care of others, but in spite of that—you often forget to take care of yourself. Scenario two: after a difficult day you retreat to a quiet place on the roof top to find some peace—however, you’re not alone for long—he finds you, as he always does, slipping into your space as he usually does.

۶ৎ: sfw | scenario | fem reader | fluff.

۶ৎ Character(s) Included: Korosensei.

۶ৎSecnorio One.

THE school grounds were bathed in the gentle hues of the setting sun, casting warm golds and soft purples across the sky. The once-bustling halls had grown quiet, leaving behind only the distant rustling of trees and the occasional chirp of a bird settling in for the night. After a long day of teaching and guiding your students, you had come to the rooftop, seeking a moment of peace before heading home.

A familiar gust of wind swept past you, ruffling your hair just before a voice chimed in, light and teasing. “Ah, what a breathtaking view! But I must admit, there is an even more captivating sight right before me.”

You turned just in time to see a blur of yellow and black before Korosensei came to a floating halt beside you. His large, expressive eyes crinkled in delight, and his tentacles swayed lazily in the breeze, exuding his usual playful energy. Despite his ever-present mischievous grin, there was something softer in his gaze tonight—something that made your heart skip a beat.

“You’ve been working so hard today,” he mused, his tone dipping into something gentler. “Dedicating yourself so earnestly to our dear students—ah, it’s truly admirable! But a diligent teacher such as yourself mustn’t forget to take breaks, lest she withers away from exhaustion!”

Before you could protest, he moved in a blur, and in the next second, he was holding a small box in his tentacles, opening it with an exaggerated flourish. Inside was a perfectly crafted dessert, one you had casually mentioned craving weeks ago but never got the chance to buy for yourself.

Your breath caught for a moment as you looked up at him. “You remembered?”

Korosensei let out a dramatic gasp. “My dear, of course I remembered! A man—I mean, a cephalopod!—who does not recall the preferences of the one he cherishes most is hardly worthy of such affections, don’t you think?” His eyes twinkled with mischief, though the warmth in his words was unmistakable.

You felt a familiar warmth bloom in your chest as you accepted the treat, touched by the thoughtfulness behind the gesture. “You really didn’t have to, but… thank you.”

He turned a suspicious shade of pink, though he quickly recovered with a dramatic sigh. “Ah, how cruel! To be thanked in such an adorable manner—this must be an assassination attempt! Such a direct hit to my heart, I may never recover!”

You laughed, shaking your head at his antics, and took a bite of the dessert. It was perfect, just as you’d imagined, but somehow sweeter knowing he had gone out of his way to get it for you. The two of you remained there, sharing easy conversation and teasing remarks, watching as the last traces of daylight faded into the horizon.

For all his speed, for all his unpredictability, Korosensei had a way of making time slow down when he was with you. And in that moment, surrounded by nothing but the cool evening air and the sound of your quiet laughter, you realized just how much you cherished that.

۶ৎSecnorio Two.

THE rooftop was quiet, save for the distant hum of the city below. The night air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of rain that had fallen earlier in the evening. You exhaled softly, watching as your breath dissipated into the cool air, your arms wrapped loosely around yourself. This place had always been your escape, a sanctuary high above the chaos of the streets.

“You’ve been sighing an awful lot,” a voice broke through the silence, smooth and laced with amusement.

You turned, unsurprised to see him standing there. He always had a way of finding you, slipping into your solitude as easily as if he belonged there. Dressed in black, he blended into the shadows effortlessly, but there was no mistaking the sharp gleam of his eyes as he watched you.

“You always show up when I least expect it,” you murmured, turning back to the skyline.

“Maybe you should start expecting me, then,” he replied, stepping forward to lean against the railing beside you. His presence was strangely grounding, despite everything you knew about him—what he did, what he was capable of. Even so, with him standing here like this, with no walls between you, it was easy to forget.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The quiet stretched between you, comfortable in a way that words never could be.

“Rough day?” he asked eventually, his voice softer now.

You hesitated, debating whether to brush it off. But you knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t let you. “I just needed some space,” you admitted. “Everything feels… heavy today.”

He was silent for a moment, then, without a word, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders. The warmth of it, of him, seeped into your skin, and you turned to look at him in surprise.

“You’ll catch a cold,” he said simply, as if that was all there was to it. But the way he avoided your gaze, the slight tension in his posture—it told you more than his words ever could.

A small smile tugged at your lips as you pulled the jacket closer around you. “You’re not as heartless as you pretend to be.”

He let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “And you’re not as strong as you pretend to be.”

The breeze carried your laughter into the night as he settled beside you, watching the city lights flicker below. He didn’t press you for more, didn’t try to fix whatever it was that weighed on you. He just stayed. And in that moment, it was enough.

[bimbodolllll]

Hi koli i saw your request were open and was wondering if you could do a Tokyo revengers x reader (final timeline) where they have a baby and they say their first word with preferably: chifyuy, kazutora, baji, mikey, izana, rindou, shinichiro and any others you would like to include

۶ৎ. Babies First.

Tokyo Revenger Boys.

۶ৎ auth: ahhhh omg my first request in like so long, I’m actually so excited to work on this!!! Feel free to request any anime, show or movie, and any character!! :) I might make a taglist.

۶ৎ Summary: After so much back and forth to fix the future, you’ve finally settled down—and finally had a baby. The joys of parenthood only continue and your baby says their first words.

۶ৎ: sfw | scenario | fem reader | babies/parenthood | fluff | time skipped | implied poc reader, though you could ignore the information that doesn't fit you.

۶ৎ Characters Included: Chifuyu Matsuno, Kazutora Hanemiya, Baji Keisuke, Manjiro (Mikey) Sano, Izana Kurokawa, Rindou Haitani, Shinichiro Sano, Kokonoi Hajime, Ken Ryuguji.

۶ৎChifuyu Matsuno

It’s an ordinary evening, and Chifuyu sits with the baby on his lap, his calm, logical demeanor softened by the tiny bundle in his arms. His black undercut, neatly styled, contrasts with the gentle warmth that radiates from him as he softly coos at the little one, a sense of peace enveloping the moment. The baby’s big, curious eyes stare up at him, the faintest glimmer of recognition in their gaze.

You’re nearby, watching quietly from the kitchen, as usual, keeping a close eye on the small family gathering. The baby shifts slightly in Chifuyu’s arms, their little hands reaching out, exploring, unsure of the world but finding comfort in the familiar presence of their father.

Chifuyu looks at the baby, a tender smile creeping across his face. He’s normally so composed, always the steady one, but this… this softens him, makes him feel an unfamiliar kind of warmth. “Come on,” he murmurs softly, “say something for me.”

The baby babbles incoherently for a moment, small giggles escaping their lips as they grab hold of his finger, wrapping their tiny hand around it like it’s the most important thing in the world. Chifuyu chuckles, shaking his head softly. “You’re as stubborn as your mom,” he says under his breath, smiling at the thought of you.

Then, suddenly, the baby’s little voice breaks the silence. It’s not a full word, but there’s a clear attempt to speak. “Da-da!” the baby declares proudly, their voice high-pitched but full of delight. Chifuyu freezes for a moment, his face lighting up with surprise, a hint of pride showing in his usually calm features.

You, hearing the unexpected word, laugh softly from your spot, watching the exchange. Chifuyu’s usual composed self cracks for a brief moment as he stares down at the baby in awe. “Did… did you just say ‘Dada’?” he asks, though it’s clear he’s delighted.

The baby repeats it again, this time with even more enthusiasm, “Da-da!” Chifuyu shakes his head, a small laugh escaping his lips. “Guess I’ll take that as a victory.”

You walk over quietly, your heart swelling at the sight of Chifuyu, who’s always so composed, now with the smallest of smiles, cradling their child with complete adoration. The baby, seeing you, reaches out with their tiny arms, making a soft noise of recognition.

“Looks like you’ve got competition,” you tease, leaning against the doorframe, your voice light and playful.

Chifuyu’s face turns slightly red, his calm demeanor returning, though the smile still lingers. “It’s just a fluke,” he mutters, though it’s clear he’s overjoyed. The baby giggles again, the sound filling the room, and Chifuyu leans in, pressing a soft kiss to their forehead. “I can’t believe you said ‘Dada’ first,” he murmurs, his voice low and full of affection.

The baby, oblivious to the momentous occasion, just giggles again, content in the safety of their father’s arms. It’s a simple, tender moment, but to Chifuyu, it’s everything.

۶ৎKazutora Hanemiya

The air is still, heavy with the calm that comes with the evening as Kazutora sits on the couch, a small, fragile smile on his face as he looks down at the baby resting in his arms. His long, black hair, streaked with yellow, falls lazily over his shoulders, the strands a contrast to the tenderness with which he holds the child. There’s an unfamiliar peace in his expression, a quiet moment of solace after all the chaos that’s filled his life. His usually volatile demeanor seems distant as he looks at the little one, their soft breaths the only sound between them.

You’re just a few steps away, your presence like a gentle echo in the background, keeping watch as Kazutora carefully adjusts the baby in his arms, the kind of delicate handling that surprises even him. He’s never been one for softness, always pushing against the world with a hardness that left little room for gentleness—until now. He looks down, eyes tracing the baby’s tiny hands, the little fingers wrapped around his own with surprising strength.

The baby stirs, their wide eyes blinking up at him, and Kazutora’s breath catches slightly in his chest. For a moment, it’s as if everything else—the turmoil, the chaos, the memories—fades into the background, leaving only this quiet exchange between father and child.

Kazutora’s voice is soft, almost hesitant as he speaks to the baby, a far cry from the manic energy he once carried. “Hey, little one… can you say something for me?” he murmurs, his voice filled with a quiet kind of longing, though it’s not for the world outside—it’s for this fragile connection he never thought he would have.

The baby, in their own way, tries to respond, making gurgling noises that grow into more distinct sounds. Kazutora watches in silent anticipation, a rare, genuine smile creeping onto his face as the baby’s mouth moves again. It’s almost as if they’ve been waiting for the right moment to speak.

Then, with a bright, innocent giggle, the baby suddenly blurts out a word, though it’s not what Kazutora expected. “Dada!” they say, the sound coming out in a clear, high-pitched tone.

Kazutora freezes, his eyes wide in disbelief for a second. His heart lurches unexpectedly in his chest, and he looks down at the baby as though they’ve just given him the most precious gift. His expression softens, a deep and almost bittersweet tenderness settling in his gaze. “Dada…” he repeats under his breath, as though trying to wrap his mind around it. There’s a tremor in his voice, something raw and vulnerable that he doesn’t often let surface.

You can’t help but smile as you watch the moment unfold, the baby’s innocent giggle filling the room, unaware of the weight they’ve just placed on Kazutora’s heart. Kazutora’s fingers twitch slightly as he holds them closer, his past, his pain, his regret all swirling beneath the surface of this simple, unexpected moment.

The baby, sensing the comfort of Kazutora’s embrace, reaches up with their tiny hands, trying to grab at his face. Kazutora laughs softly, the sound foreign yet warm as he leans into the baby’s touch. “You’re gonna make me soft, huh?” he mutters, though there’s no bitterness in his words—only a quiet affection.

You step forward then, offering him a soft, knowing glance. Kazutora looks up, his eyes meeting yours, and for a moment, everything between the two of you seems to settle. There’s a flicker of something deeper in his gaze, something that says more than words ever could.

Kazutora’s voice breaks the silence, still low and almost tender. “I never thought I’d be here, y’know? This… this feels different.”

You smile gently, watching him with the baby in his arms, a sense of peace settling over you both. The moment is fleeting, but it’s a reminder—Kazutora, despite his past, is finding something he never thought he deserved.

۶ৎBaji Keisuke

The night is quiet, the soft hum of the streetlights casting a dim glow in the room where Baji sits, his wild, untamed jet-black hair falling to his shoulders in loose waves. His usual grin is absent for the moment, replaced by a look of calm as he watches the baby in his arms, who is squirming lightly, their little hands reaching up as if trying to make sense of the world around them. There’s an intensity in Baji’s eyes, but it’s not the usual fire of a fight—it’s something softer, something that only surfaces when he’s with his family.

You stand by the doorway, leaning against the frame, quietly watching the scene unfold. Baji, who is always full of energy, the type to jump into action at any given moment, seems almost frozen in this moment, the wild spark in his eyes replaced by a rare tenderness as he holds the baby close to his chest.

The baby gurgles softly, their small face scrunching in curiosity as they look up at him. Baji’s lips twitch into a small smile, but it’s different than his usual mischievous grin—it’s something warmer, more protective. “What’s going on in that head of yours, huh?” he murmurs, his voice low and warm, though a hint of his usual playful nature is still there.

The baby babbles in response, their little voice almost a melody as they stare at Baji with wide, innocent eyes. And then, as if on a whim, the baby utters a word. It’s clear and unambiguous, the word they’ve been practicing, but it’s not what Baji expected.

“Dada!” The word rings out, not perfectly clear, but undeniably present.

Baji’s eyes widen, and for a moment, his usual grin falters, replaced by something almost vulnerable. He looks down at the baby, his hand resting gently against their tiny back, and the slightest breath escapes him. His fingers twitch as if unsure how to react to the sudden surge of emotion he didn’t anticipate. His heart pounds, a rush of warmth flooding through him, and despite all his bravado, there’s a crack in the tough exterior.

You smile, stepping a little closer to them, your heart swelling at the sight. “Looks like you’ve got a little fan there,” you tease softly.

Baji’s grin slowly returns, though it’s softer now, not the usual wild energy that so often defines him, but something more intimate. He leans down, his sharp canine teeth flashing briefly as he chuckles under his breath, the sound light and full of affection. “Yeah, I guess so.” He says it with his usual swagger, but it’s evident that something about the moment has shifted. This isn’t a victory he expected, but it’s a victory that matters more than any battle.

The baby reaches up toward his face, their tiny fingers brushing against his cheek, and Baji’s heart skips a beat. He looks at you for a moment, a wordless exchange between the two of you, before he leans down and presses a gentle kiss to the baby’s forehead. “Good job,” he mutters, his voice soft but steady.

You can’t help but watch the moment unfold with a quiet admiration. Baji, the wild, adrenaline-fueled force of nature, has just experienced something that slows him down, something that pulls him out of the chaos of the world and into a simple, pure connection. The baby giggles, their tiny hands grasping for his hair, and Baji laughs too, the sound genuine and full of joy.

For a brief moment, the world outside seems distant, and all that matters is the little family in that room—the wild heart of Baji, softened and made whole in the presence of his child.

۶ৎManjiro (Mikey) Sano

Mikey sits in the quiet of the living room, the soft hum of the clock the only sound besides the gentle breath of the baby in his arms. His short, dark hair is parted neatly at the middle, the weight of the world outside this moment temporarily forgotten. The familiar carefree energy that Mikey is known for seems absent now, replaced by a tenderness he rarely shows. He’s holding the little one close, his hands steady and secure around them, the once-unshakable pillar of Toman now softened by something unexpected.

The baby stirs in his arms, their small face scrunching in confusion as they try to adjust to the world around them. Mikey watches them with a faint smile, though there’s something more complex behind his eyes. The carefree grin that usually defines him is replaced by a quiet focus, a vulnerability that he seldom allows others to see. His heart is heavy with thoughts of the past, of everything he’s lost, but in this moment, the baby offers him something pure, something he hasn’t had in a long time—peace.

The baby’s tiny hand reaches up, grasping for the fabric of his suit, their tiny fingers curling in and out as if trying to touch something they don’t fully understand yet. Mikey’s breath catches in his chest, his gaze softening. He can feel the warmth of their small body, the innocent trust they place in him without question, and for a moment, it feels like the weight of his own burdens lifts just slightly.

“Mama?” The baby says, the word coming out softly but unmistakably.

Mikey freezes. The sound is far from perfect, the baby’s voice still nasally and unsure, but it’s clear enough, and Mikey’s heart skips a beat. He blinks down at the child, his expression flickering between surprise and a strange tenderness, something unfamiliar and soft that he never expected to experience. His hand twitches, fingers tightening around the baby instinctively as if protecting them from the world outside.

You, standing nearby, catch his gaze, the understanding between the two of you unspoken. Mikey clears his throat, the faintest hint of a grin tugging at the corner of his lips as he glances at you, trying to regain some of his usual bravado. “Guess that’s not the word I was hoping for,” he says, his tone playful, though there’s a depth to it, a warmth he’s not used to showing.

The baby reaches up again, this time grasping Mikey’s finger, their touch delicate yet insistent. Mikey smiles softly, the usual coldness in his eyes replaced with something warmer, something that speaks to the weight of the love he’s learning to give. “It’s okay, little one,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Maybe next time, huh?”

He presses a gentle kiss to the baby’s forehead, his lips lingering just a little longer than necessary. The moment feels suspended in time, as if the world around him has faded and all that matters is this—the small, fragile life in his arms and the quiet peace they’ve brought him, in spite of everything he’s carried.

You step closer, watching the scene with a soft smile of your own. Mikey looks up at you then, his expression still soft, but now there’s a flicker of something deeper in his eyes. He may have once carried a darkness that threatened to consume him, but here, now, with his child in his arms, that darkness feels far away, as if for a brief moment, he can just be… Mikey. The Mikey who is a child at heart, who’s capable of tenderness and love even amidst the weight of his past.

With a soft chuckle, Mikey leans back slightly, his hand still holding the baby close as he looks at you with a playful glint in his eyes. “You heard that, right?” he asks, his voice teasing but there’s something vulnerable in it too. “They said ‘mama.’ Guess I’m off the hook for now.”

You laugh, the sound light and full of warmth. Mikey’s grin widens just a little, and though it’s not the wild grin of a fighter or leader, it’s something just as genuine—something that feels like a promise, a reassurance that even with all the darkness he’s faced, he’s finding light again. And maybe, just maybe, this little one is part of that light.

۶ৎIzana Kurokawa

Izana sits in the dimly lit room, the soft hum of a guitar string resonating in the air. His large purple eyes, usually cold and calculating, are softened by the warmth of the baby in his arms. His wavy hair falls gently around his face, the strands catching the light as he adjusts the baby’s tiny body against his chest, the faint scent of plants and the soft ripple of water from the fish tank nearby offering a peaceful backdrop to an otherwise chaotic life. He had never imagined this—holding a child, one so small, so fragile in his arms. His usual detachment feels muted, replaced by a strange sense of responsibility, a sensation he’s never quite allowed himself to experience before.

The baby stirs in his arms, eyes blinking open and gaze unfocused, their small hands reaching out in curiosity. Izana’s usual composure doesn’t waver, but the faintest trace of tenderness lingers in his gaze as he watches the child, something unfamiliar surfacing beneath the layers of bitterness and coldness he’s built over the years.

The baby makes a small noise, a soft whine, their lips twitching as they try to vocalize something. Izana tilts his head slightly, his eyes narrowing, waiting. His fingers gently caress the baby’s back, an instinctive gesture of care that surprises even him. In the silence of the room, a soft and tentative word escapes the baby’s lips. It’s not quite clear, but the intention is unmistakable.

“Dada.”

Izana freezes. His grip on the guitar tightens for a brief moment, his eyes blinking as he processes the sound, the word hanging in the air like a sudden, unexpected shift in his world. It’s simple—just one word—but for someone like Izana, who has spent most of his life surrounded by cold, violence, and manipulation, hearing such a soft and innocent utterance stirs something deep within him.

A flash of his past flashes through his mind—the loneliness, the bitterness that once consumed him. He had never felt a connection to anyone, certainly not like this. He had always been the one to push people away, to make himself unapproachable, but here, in this moment, the baby’s small hand wraps around his finger, their soft grip a reminder of something pure, something he had lost long ago—the ability to care without expecting anything in return.

He exhales slowly, his face betraying nothing but the faintest softness that only the baby could elicit from him. His hand gently lifts the child, their eyes still wide with curiosity, before he leans in close, pressing a soft kiss to their forehead.

“Dada, huh?” Izana murmurs, his voice quiet but not without a hint of amusement, the corners of his lips turning upward in a small, unexpected smile. It’s a rare sight, one that doesn’t appear often, but in the quiet presence of the baby, it feels more natural than anything he’s ever known. “Guess I’m not as bad as I thought,” he adds softly, almost to himself.

You, standing nearby, watch the scene unfold with a knowing smile. Izana doesn’t often allow anyone to witness such moments, but here, now, with the child in his arms, the pieces of his past—the anger, the bitterness—seem to fade into the background, if only for a moment. Izana looks up at you then, his eyes softer than usual, as if silently asking for your approval, for reassurance that he’s doing this right. That he’s not as lost as he often feels.

He doesn’t say anything more, but the warmth in his eyes speaks volumes. The man who once sought power, control, and dominance has now found something far more valuable—a sense of purpose, a bond he never thought he would have. As he looks down at the baby, his grip tightening slightly around them.

۶ৎRindou Haitani

Rindou sat on the floor of the living room, legs stretched out, his back against the couch, the afternoon sun casting long shadows through the windows. His pinkish-purple mullet, with its dark blue roots and tips, was damp from a shower, strands falling messily around his face. He had a lazy, almost indifferent expression as he stared at his phone, absently scrolling, but his free hand rested on the baby seated between his legs, offering a steady support as they clumsily played with a soft, squeaky toy.

The baby babbled, gnawing on the corner of the plush thing, drool soaking it thoroughly. Rindou, ever stoic, just watched, raising an eyebrow whenever the squeak got too loud. His black stud earrings caught the light, a stark contrast to the rough Bonten insignia tattoo inked boldly across his neck.

“You’re gonna drown in your own spit,” Rindou muttered, lifting the baby gently by their underarms, pulling them up into a wobbly stand on his thighs. The child stared back at him, wide-eyed, chubby cheeks flushed. Their little fists grabbed at his shirt, seeking balance, and for a moment, there was a quiet exchange—a softness that rarely found its way into Rindou’s life.

The baby blinked, their gaze fixed on Rindou’s face with intense concentration, like they were processing something far too big for their small brain. And then, out of nowhere, they let out a small, clear sound.

“Dada.”

Rindou froze.

The word was soft, tentative, but unmistakable. His blue-gray eyes snapped to the baby’s face, as though he wasn’t sure if he’d actually heard it. His normally stoic expression cracked, a rare flicker of surprise flashing across his sharp features.

“What…?”

The baby blinked again, almost as if testing the sound, and with a little more confidence, repeated it.

“Dada.”

This time, it wasn’t a fluke.

For a solid five seconds, Rindou just stared. The usual snarky, blasé attitude was nowhere to be found—his mouth slightly open, the baby still gripping his shirt tightly, unaware they’d just done something monumental.

A scoff broke the silence, but it was soft, almost disbelieving. “… No way.”

He tried to play it cool—but there was no hiding the way his lips twitched, threatening to pull into a smile.

“You’ve got shitty taste in first words,” he murmured, lifting the baby higher until their noses nearly touched. The baby, delighted with their new word, kicked their legs happily and repeated, “Dada,” with even more enthusiasm, like they knew they’d hit gold.

Rindou exhaled sharply through his nose, something warm and unfamiliar blooming in his chest. He glanced toward the hallway, as if making sure no one else was around to witness this moment of weakness.

“Yeah, yeah,” he whispered, giving in as he brushed his nose against the baby’s cheek, the smallest, almost imperceptible grin forming on his lips. “I hear you. I’m your ‘Dada,’ huh?”

The baby squealed, a high-pitched giggle, and Rindou couldn’t help the quiet chuckle that escaped him. He was used to fights, to blood and bruises, to commanding fear—but this? This was different. And for once, he didn’t mind losing. Not to them. Not to this.

۶ৎShinichiro Sano

It was a quiet afternoon at the Sano bike shop, the scent of oil and metal lingering in the warm air. The faint sound of a wrench clinking against the concrete floor echoed through the open garage, where Shinichiro Sano sat cross-legged, lazily working on a motorcycle engine. His unkempt black hair stuck out in random directions, and a cigarette hung loosely from his lips, the thin tendrils of smoke curling upward.

He wasn’t in any rush—never was, really. Dressed in his usual pearl-white shirt and light-washed jeans, a jacket lazily tied around his waist, he looked as effortlessly relaxed as ever. A silver chain peeked out from beneath his collar, catching the sunlight every now and then.

Nearby, his daughter sat on a thick blanket, surrounded by a mess of soft toys and teething rings. She was barely old enough to crawl properly, but that didn’t stop her from making every effort to squirm toward her father, her tiny hands grabbing at the air.

Shinichiro glanced over at her, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his thin lips. “You getting bored over there, sweetheart?” His voice was raspy, warm, and effortlessly gentle as he set the wrench down and wiped his hands on a nearby rag.

She responded with a string of baby babble, half-formed sounds that made no sense but filled the space with life. He watched her, enchanted by the simplest things—how her little fingers curled and uncurled, how her eyes, a perfect mirror of his own dull black ones, lit up every time he spoke.

“Hold on, hold on. I’m comin’.” Shinichiro stubbed out his cigarette on the edge of the ashtray, rising to his feet with a lazy stretch. He scooped her up effortlessly, holding her against his chest, her small hand immediately tangling itself in the fabric of his shirt.

“You smell like motor oil,” he murmured with a chuckle, kissing the top of her head despite the mess on his hands. “Not exactly the ideal dad scent, huh?”

As he swayed gently, rocking her out of instinct more than anything, the baby stared up at him, wide-eyed and thoughtful, her chubby cheeks flushed pink from the warmth of the afternoon. She blinked slowly, as though studying him, her tiny mouth opening and closing like she wanted to say something.

And then, soft as a whisper, it happened.

“…Da…da…”

Shinichiro froze.

The word was faint, breathy—so delicate he almost thought he’d imagined it. His heart skipped a beat, a strange, unfamiliar warmth surging through his chest.

“…What?” His voice came out quiet, almost disbelieving, as he pulled her back slightly to look at her properly. “What’d you just say?”

The baby blinked again, her expression pure and innocent, and as if sensing his awe, she tried again, this time stronger, more confident.

“Dada.”

Shinichiro felt something inside him break wide open.

He laughed—not his usual lazy, carefree laugh, but something softer, shakier. “You serious right now?”

Her tiny hand reached up, grabbing at the silver chain around his neck, and for once, Shinichiro felt completely helpless—in the best way possible.

“You’re not supposed to say that yet…” he whispered, though the grin on his face betrayed him completely. His thumb brushed gently over her round cheek, his eyes shining with a tenderness so deep it made his chest ache.

“Yeah… yeah, I’m your ‘Dada,’” he murmured, pressing his forehead to hers, closing his eyes as he breathed her in. “Lucky me.”

The bike shop, the tools, the cigarette smoke—none of it mattered in that moment. All he knew was the weight of his daughter in his arms, her tiny voice calling out to him, grounding him in a way nothing else ever had.

And for the first time in a long while, Shinichiro felt like he truly had everything he could ever want.

۶ৎKokonoi Hajime

The city skyline glittered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Kokonoi’s penthouse, casting long shadows over the sleek, minimalist living room. The distant hum of traffic blended with the soft jazz playing from the speaker, creating a calm, almost surreal atmosphere.

Koko sat cross-legged on the floor, dressed down in black sweatpants and a plain white shirt, his silver-white hair loose around his shoulders. He had a glass of whiskey beside him — untouched — as he watched their daughter with that same quiet intensity he reserved for high-stakes meetings… except this was different.

She was sitting in the middle of a plush play mat, surrounded by a chaotic scatter of toys, a stuffed bunny half-chewed, and a colorful book she had zero interest in. Her soft hair fell over her round cheeks, and she looked up at him with wide, thoughtful eyes — eyes that mirrored her mother’s so distinctly that Koko sometimes forgot how to breathe when she stared at him like that.

“Pretty, aren’t you?” he murmured, a faint smile touching the corner of his lips as he leaned back on his hands. “Got that from your mom… lucky kid.”

She babbled in response, smacking the bunny against the floor with impressive determination, her little brows furrowed as though she were solving some great mystery.

Koko’s gaze softened, a rare warmth breaking through his usual cool composure.

“You’re really giving that thing a hard time,” he remarked, watching her with a mix of amusement and fascination. “What did it ever do to you?”

She paused, blinking up at him, lips slightly parted, as though she was about to say something… but instead, she dropped the toy with a dramatic flair and crawled toward him, tiny hands smacking against the polished hardwood floor.

He sat up straighter, heart giving an odd little skip — not that he’d ever admit that.

“You comin’ over here?” he asked quietly, more to himself than her.

She reached him, pulling herself up with clumsy determination, her chubby fingers grabbing a fistful of his shirt as she balanced on unsteady legs. Koko’s hands hovered near her waist, ready to catch her if she wobbled too much.

And then, she looked up at him… and with a small, clear voice, said:

“Da…da.”

Koko blinked.

For a moment, he thought he’d imagined it. The word was soft, delicate, but unmistakable. His throat tightened, the glass of whiskey forgotten entirely.

“What… what did you say?” he asked, his voice lower now, almost a whisper.

She stared up at him with the same serious expression, as though this wasn’t a monumental moment — just another part of her day.

“Dada.”

The second time, it hit him harder.

A sharp inhale, and then — to his surprise — a soft laugh escaped him, the sound rough and disbelieving.

“You—” He ran a hand through his hair, as if trying to ground himself. “You’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

She, of course, said nothing. Just continued to stare at him, her tiny hands gripping his shirt like she had no intention of letting go.

“First word, huh?” Koko said, his voice softer now, almost fragile. “And it’s me…”

Something in his chest ached — something he hadn’t felt in years. He thought of how, for so long, he’d believed everything important in his life slipped through his fingers, no matter how tightly he held on. But here she was… holding onto him.

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” he whispered, brushing a gentle hand over her soft hair.

She leaned forward, her head resting against his chest in a way that made his heart squeeze painfully.

“I should tell your mom,” he murmured, though he made no move to get up. “She’s gonna want to hear this…”

But he didn’t. He just stayed there, holding her, listening to the quiet rhythm of her breathing, as though he was afraid to break the spell.

“Dada,” she mumbled again, sleepily this time, as if testing the word.

Koko closed his eyes for a long moment, pressing a light kiss to the top of her head, the faintest smile on his lips.

“Yeah…” he whispered. “I’m your Dada.”

And for once, there was nothing else he needed.

۶ৎKen Ryuguji

The rain tapped lightly against the windows, casting soft shadows across the small but cozy apartment. The scent of warm tea and baby powder lingered in the air, a comforting mix that made the place feel lived-in — loved.

Draken sat on the floor, back against the couch, his long legs stretched out, and their daughter nestled comfortably between them. His strong, calloused hands were gentle as he helped her balance, her tiny fingers grabbing at the hem of his patterned jacket with the determination of someone on a mission.

“Steady now, princess,” he murmured, his deep voice softer than usual, a faint smile playing on his lips as he watched her.

She had her mother’s eyes — there was no denying it. That same soft, soulful gaze that could stop Draken in his tracks, no matter how tough he tried to act. The resemblance was almost eerie, especially when she stared up at him with that thoughtful, almost knowing expression, as if she could see right through him.

“You’re gonna be a heartbreaker, you know that?” he teased, running a hand over his buzzed undercut, the dragon tattoo on his temple stark against his skin. “Just like your mom…”

His daughter, of course, was unimpressed. She was too busy trying to pull herself up, grabbing at his jacket with clumsy determination, her chubby legs wobbling as she straightened herself.

Draken arched a brow, watching her with a mix of amusement and quiet pride. “Look at you… tough little thing,” he muttered. “Didn’t get that from her.”

She babbled something incoherent, rocking back and forth on her feet, her lips forming shapes that almost sounded like words.

“Yeah?” Draken chuckled, leaning in closer, his braid falling over his shoulder. “What are you tryin’ to tell me, huh?”

She paused then, swaying slightly before gripping his jacket tighter. For a split second, Draken thought she was about to fall — his hands twitched, ready to catch her — but she steadied herself, blinking up at him with wide, serious eyes.

And then…

“Da…da.”

Draken froze.

The word was soft, barely more than a whisper, but it hit him like a punch to the gut.

“What…?”

She said it again, clearer this time, her small voice filling the room in a way that made the air feel heavier.

“Dada.”

Draken stared at her, his heart pounding in a way he hadn’t felt since his gang days. His throat tightened, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure what to say — wasn’t sure if he could say anything at all.

“You…” He swallowed hard, his voice rougher now, a little hoarse. “You just—”

Before he could finish, she took an unsteady step forward and fell right into his chest, her tiny arms wrapping around him as best as they could.

“Dada,” she mumbled again, her voice muffled against his shirt.

And that… that broke him.

Draken closed his eyes, his large hand cradling the back of her head as he held her close, his thumb brushing over her soft hair. The warmth of her small body against his made his chest ache in a way he wasn’t prepared for — a deep, protective kind of love that scared him more than any fight ever had.

“Yeah…” he whispered after a long moment, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, his voice softer than it had ever been. “I’m your dad…”

He stayed like that for a while, holding her, feeling her small breaths against him. He didn’t call for her mom — not yet.

This moment was his. Just for now.

[bimbodolllll]

۶ৎ. Cute Kid.

Tokyo Revenger Boys. Pt 1.

۶ৎ summary: They asked you out on a date, but your child had other plans. So the date was cancelled and instead happened at your home, this leads to your child blatantly cockblocking. Your child (and soon to be new man) actively have beef with one another.

۶ৎ: sfw | scenario | fem reader | reader has a young child(different kid each time) | fluff(?) | time skipped | may or may not seem ooc | implied poc reader, though you could ignore the information that doesn’t fit you.

۶ৎ Characters include: Rindou Haitani, Chifuyu Matsuno, Kazutora Hanemiya, Hanma Shuji, Manjiro (Mikey) Sano Nahoya Kawata, Izana Kurokawa, Hajime Kokonoi, and Tetta Kisaki.

۶ৎRindou Haitani:

The apartment was warm and cozy, with soft pink accents and the sweet scent of vanilla candles filling the air. You’d been forced to cancel your date tonight — Raiden wasn’t feeling well, and there was no way you were leaving him alone, not even for a few hours. You’d expected disappointment, maybe a gentle “next time,” but instead, Rindou suggested bringing the date to you. It was thoughtful, sweet, and you’d appreciated it… though as you opened the door and saw him standing there, black button-up fitting just right, a small bouquet of white lilies in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other, you knew this might’ve been a mistake.

Rindou’s gaze flicked over you as you stood in that flowing white and blue dress, his expression unreadable for a brief moment before he smiled — soft, charming, and far too smooth. “Hey,” he murmured, stepping inside as you moved aside, heart fluttering just a little. But before you could say much, Raiden appeared.

The four-year-old stood in the hallway like a tiny bodyguard, wearing his dinosaur pajamas and holding a half-empty sippy cup, glaring at Rindou with the intensity of a seasoned interrogator.

“Who’s that?” Raiden asked flatly, not taking his eyes off him.

Rindou, ever polite, crouched slightly, offering a friendly smile. “Hey, buddy. I’m—”

“I know who you are,” Raiden cut him off, his tone accusatory. The tension in the room shifted instantly.

As Rindou settled onto the couch, Raiden wasted no time wedging himself between the two of you, clutching his stuffed tiger protectively. “This is my seat,” he announced, eyes narrowed.

Rindou, playing along with a small smirk, shifted to the side. “No problem, champ.”

But that tiny smirk was all the opening Raiden needed. The battle lines were drawn.

Every time Rindou tried to talk, Raiden interrupted.

“Mommy, I’m hungry.”

“Mommy, my show is on.”

“Mommy, he’s sitting too close.”

You tried to juggle it all, gently redirecting Raiden, but he wasn’t having it. When Rindou offered to help with dinner, Raiden “accidentally” knocked a toy truck off the coffee table — right onto Rindou’s foot.

“Oops,” Raiden said, monotone, not breaking eye contact.

Rindou, biting his tongue, gave a tight-lipped smile, but you could see the flicker of frustration in his gaze. He knew what was happening… and Raiden knew that he knew.

Dinner didn’t go much better. Rindou made an effort, asking about Raiden’s favorite shows, his toys, what games he liked to play.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” Raiden replied flatly, stabbing at his mac and cheese with a plastic fork.

“Okay… fair,” Rindou muttered, clearly trying not to laugh.

But halfway through the meal, Raiden deliberately spilled his juice across the table — and right into Rindou’s lap.

“I said oops,” Raiden repeated, voice utterly void of remorse.

Rindou, now with wine-stained pants and a forced smile, wiped at his jeans, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like a curse before plastering on his charming expression once more. “Yeah. Sure you did.”

After dinner, the battle continued. Raiden insisted on being carried to bed — by you. Not Rindou. As you tucked your son in, brushing his hair back gently, he clung to you, clearly determined to stretch this bedtime routine as long as possible.

When you finally stepped out of Raiden’s room, leaving the door cracked, Rindou stood in the hallway, hands in his pockets, waiting. From his bed, Raiden’s small voice called out, loud enough for only Rindou to hear.

“You’re leaving soon.”

Rindou, leaning casually against the doorframe, raised a brow. “You really don’t like me, huh?”

“Nope.”

“Why?”

Raiden shrugged, pulling his blanket up to his chin. “Because you’re not supposed to be here.”

There was a pause, then Rindou chuckled quietly, ruffling his own hair, looking away with an almost amused sigh. “Little punk…” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head.

But as he grabbed his jacket from the couch and slipped it on, you could tell — he knew he’d lost tonight. Raiden had won this round, and the tiny smile on your son’s face as he drifted off to sleep made it clear he knew it, too.

۶ৎChifuyu Matsuno:

Chifuyu showed up right on time, dressed casually but nice — a crisp white shirt, black jeans, and sneakers. He had a small bag of pastries from that cozy little bakery down the street, probably thinking it would be a sweet touch. The plan was supposed to be a simple dinner out, something light and easy, but of course, that couldn’t happen. Haruki was having one of his clingy days, the kind where he wouldn’t let you out of his sight without throwing a fit. Cancelling the date seemed inevitable, but Chifuyu, ever understanding, suggested bringing the date to your place instead.

The moment he stepped inside, Haruki was already sizing him up. Sitting on the floor with his building blocks, pacifier half-hanging out of his mouth, he didn’t say a word — just stared, eyes narrowed with a silent challenge.

“Hey, little guy,” Chifuyu greeted, giving a friendly wave.

Haruki didn’t answer. He just kept watching, calculating. Then, without breaking eye contact, he grabbed a block and casually tossed it. Not hard, but enough to make a point. It hit Chifuyu’s shoe with a soft thunk.

“Oops,” Haruki mumbled around the pacifier, eyes wide with fake innocence.

Chifuyu smiled, playing it off, though there was a flicker of something behind that polite expression — something that said he knew exactly what was happening.

“It’s okay,” you said, smoothing things over, but Haruki was already planning his next move.

Throughout the evening, it was a passive-aggressive battle, and Haruki was winning. Every time Chifuyu tried to engage with you, Haruki countered like a tiny, chubby-cheeked saboteur.

“So, how’s work been?” Chifuyu asked, leaning in, his voice warm and easy.

Before you could answer, Haruki, as if on cue, climbed into your lap. “Mommy, hold me,” he demanded softly, snuggling against your chest with a smug little glance at Chifuyu over your shoulder.

Of course, you picked him up — how could you not? His arms wrapped around your neck, thumb back in his mouth, looking victorious. Chifuyu just sipped his tea silently, clearly aware he was losing, but too kind to say anything.

When dinner was ready, things only got worse. Haruki outright refused to sit in his booster seat. “I don’t wanna sit there!” he whined, clinging to your arm.

“Haruki…” you tried gently, but he wasn’t having it.

Chifuyu, ever patient, tried to help. “Hey, buddy, I’ll tell you a story if you sit in your chair.”

Haruki’s response was a blunt, unwavering, “No.”

So, the entire dinner was you trying to eat one-handed while Haruki picked at your plate, glaring at Chifuyu like he was some kind of intruder.

The breaking point came when Chifuyu offered to help clean up. As he stood to take the dishes, Haruki “accidentally” knocked over a full glass of water — straight into Chifuyu’s lap. The splash was loud, ice clinking against the floor, and Haruki’s little “oops” came way too quickly to be sincere.

Chifuyu froze for a second, water soaking through his jeans, and you could see the brief, slow inhale he took, grounding himself.

“It’s okay… it’s fine…” he muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched as he forced a smile. Meanwhile, Haruki, nestled comfortably in your arms, looked utterly satisfied with himself.

When bedtime rolled around, Haruki refused to sleep unless you stayed with him. “Mommy, sleep with me,” he whispered dramatically, eyes big and tear-filled, the ultimate weapon.

From the couch, Chifuyu heard this and knew the date was officially over. As you took Haruki to bed, Chifuyu lingered near the doorway, smiling gently, ever understanding.

But as you turned off the light, Haruki opened one eye to find Chifuyu still watching… and offered a subtle, triumphant smile. It was the kind of look that said, You’re leaving soon.

Chifuyu gave a playful, defeated little wave. “Goodnight… little monster,” he whispered.

And as the door softly closed, Chifuyu knew, without a doubt, he had completely lost this round.

۶ৎKazutora Hanemiya:

Kazutora arrived at your place just as the sun was setting, casting long shadows across the living room. He looked good—casual but sharp in a fitted black Henley, distressed jeans, and his usual combat boots. His messy hair, falling in golden waves, gave him that effortless cool that was so undeniably him. In his hands was a bouquet of sunflowers, bright and thoughtful. The plan was supposed to be dinner out somewhere nice, but you’d had to cancel because Renji wasn’t feeling well earlier. When Kazutora suggested a cozy date night at home instead, it seemed like a sweet compromise.

Renji, curled up on the couch with his blanket and a stuffed tiger, watched Kazutora enter with wide, suspicious eyes. There was something comical about it—the little tiger in Renji’s arms and the tiger tattoo stretching over Kazutora’s neck. “Hey, little dude,” Kazutora said with a small smile, trying to sound friendly. Renji didn’t respond. He just stared, lips pressed together in a tight line, already radiating an unmistakable “I don’t trust you” energy.

As you set the bouquet in a vase, Renji made his move. Kazutora tried to sit next to you on the couch, but Renji climbed into your lap, pressing himself against you with exaggerated heaviness. His head nestled into your chest, little arms wrapped tightly around your waist as if to stake a claim. “You okay, baby?” you asked gently, running your fingers through his hair. Kazutora leaned back, trying to play it cool. “Tired, huh?”

Renji lifted his head just enough to glare at him. “She’s my mommy.” His voice was soft but firm, the kind of territorial declaration that only a four-year-old could pull off with such conviction. Kazutora raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching, already realizing this wasn’t going to be easy.

The sabotage began subtly. Every time Kazutora tried to start a conversation, Renji interrupted. “So, how’s work—” Kazutora started. “Mommy, look at this!” Renji demanded, holding up a random toy he’d strategically grabbed from the floor. Of course, you praised the toy, smiling, while Kazutora sat there, watching the whole thing unfold with a mix of amusement and exasperation. “That’s… cool, man,” Kazutora muttered, but Renji just stared at him like he’d committed a crime by speaking.

When Kazutora brought over takeout from a fancy ramen place, trying to make dinner feel special, Renji took the opportunity to escalate. He refused to eat unless you fed him. “I can’t do it,” he whined dramatically, holding out his spoon like his arms didn’t work. So there you were, spoon-feeding your four-year-old while Kazutora silently stabbed at his food, fully aware that he was, once again, the third wheel on his own date. Renji, between each bite, shot him a smug, triumphant look. Kazutora whispered under his breath, “Little punk…”

Later, when Kazutora suggested watching a movie, hopeful for a little alone time with you, Renji made his next move. Just as you shifted to sit beside Kazutora, Renji announced loudly, “My tummy hurts!” Panic-mode kicked in immediately, and Kazutora watched helplessly as you scooped Renji into your arms, rubbing his back, comforting him. But as Renji nestled into your shoulder, Kazutora caught a glimpse of his face—Renji peeked at him and smiled. A slow, evil little grin. Kazutora blinked, realizing the kid had faked the entire thing just to kill the vibe.

After some coaxing, you finally got Renji to agree to go to bed, and Kazutora thought maybe, finally, there was a chance to salvage the night. But Renji wasn’t done. A few minutes after being tucked in, he appeared in the hallway, rubbing his eyes dramatically. “Mommy, I’m scared…” he whispered. Kazutora, sitting on the couch with a drink in his hand, muttered, “You are not scared.” But the way you immediately went to comfort Renji told Kazutora he’d lost this battle.

Tucking Renji back into bed, you kissed his forehead, promising to stay until he fell asleep. Kazutora, sprawled on the couch, staring at the ceiling, knew it was over. When you finally came back out, Kazutora caught one last look—Renji, eyes half-closed, offering a triumphant little smile from his bed. The unspoken message was clear: Mine. Kazutora, defeated but amused, mouthed back, “You win this time…” But he knew the war for your attention was far from over.

۶ৎHanma Shuji:

Hanma showed up that evening with his usual chaotic charm, dressed in black skinny jeans, a white button-up with the top few buttons undone, and his signature trench coat slung over his shoulders. His black-and-blonde hair was slicked back lazily, and he carried a bag of takeout and a bottle of wine. The original plan was dinner out, but you had to cancel because baby Shion was “extra fussy” and refusing to sleep.

When you opened the door, Hanma’s gaze swept over you, taking in the white maxi dress with its blue seashell and fruit print, the halter neckline that tied at your chest, creating a keyhole cutout, and the open back with thin blue straps that crisscrossed and connected to the skirt. For a split second, Hanma forgot how to breathe.

“Damn, babe… you really gonna make me behave tonight?” he teased, his voice low and playful. But just as he leaned in for a hello kiss, a loud, shrill baby wail pierced the air. Hanma froze mid-lean, eyebrows raised, as Shion made his presence very, very known. You gave him a sheepish smile, already exhausted, and said, “He’s just a little cranky…”

Hanma stepped inside, and there was Shion on a playmat, aggressively chewing on a teething ring, big teary eyes glaring up at the new man in the room. Hanma squatted down to his level, offering a lopsided grin.

“Yo, little man.”

Shion stared… then let out a loud, angry babble — a clear “No.”

Hanma, laughing softly, muttered, “Oh, we’re starting like this, huh?”

You tried to settle Shion back on the mat, but the second you moved toward Hanma, Shion’s arms shot up, demanding to be held. You scooped him up, and he immediately buried his face in your neck, shooting Hanma a side-eye over your shoulder.

“Guess he’s not a fan of sharing,” Hanma joked, setting the food on the table. Shion made a small, possessive coo, tightening his chubby arms around your neck.

Hanma tried to set up the food, plates, and wine, hoping the baby might calm down. But every time you tried to sit next to him, Shion fussed until you were forced to hold him in your lap, feeding him little bites of soft food with your fingers.

“Want me to hold him while you eat?” Hanma offered, reaching out.

The instant Hanma’s hand got too close, Shion let out a furious wail — loud, sharp, and accusing. Hanma pulled back, blinking.

“Damn… okay. I get it.”

You looked apologetic, gently rubbing Shion’s back while Hanma tried to play it cool, chewing his food slowly, though there was a clear challenge forming in his amber eyes.

After dinner, Hanma tried again — grabbing one of Shion’s stuffed animals and making it dance.

“What about this guy? He seems cool.”

Shion glared… and then dramatically threw the toy on the floor with a loud thud.

Hanma raised an eyebrow.

“Okaaay. Tough crowd.”

You gently scolded, “Shion, be nice…” but Hanma was already smirking, recognizing the game.

“It’s cool, babe. He’s just testing me.”

Shion, as if understanding, grabbed another toy and chucked it — this time, narrowly missing Hanma’s knee.

“Oh-ho… so we’re throwing things now?” Hanma chuckled, but there was an almost playful competitiveness in his tone.

You tried to put Shion down for bed, giving Hanma a hopeful smile.

“He usually falls asleep pretty fast… I’ll be back in a sec.”

Hanma leaned back on the couch, stretching out with a satisfied smirk, thinking the battle was over. But ten minutes later…

WAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH.

Shion, standing in the crib, red-faced, absolutely refusing to sleep.

Hanma sighed, watching you scoop Shion back up and cradle him, bouncing gently. The baby, once again in your arms, gave Hanma a smug little look over your shoulder.

You ended up sitting on the couch, rocking Shion while Hanma sat beside you, trying to act unfazed. But Shion made sure there was no hand-holding, no cuddling, no date-night atmosphere whatsoever.

Eventually, you leaned your head back, sighing softly as Shion finally dozed off against your chest. Hanma glanced at you both, smirking despite the chaos.

“You really are his whole world, huh?”

You smiled softly, brushing a hand through Shion’s hair, but Hanma caught the glint in baby Shion’s barely-open eyes — the silent message: “You won’t be here long.”

Hanma leaned closer, whispering near Shion’s ear with a sly grin:

“We’ll see about that, little man.”

۶ৎManjiro (Mikey) Sano:

Your apartment was cozy and softly lit with warm-toned fairy lights along the walls. The air smelled faintly of lavender and fresh laundry. Mikey showed up wearing black cargo pants, a plain white tee, and an oversized black hoodie—casual yet effortlessly attractive. His black hair fell in soft, messy layers around his face. He was carrying a small bag of taiyaki and a six-pack of melon soda, fully expecting a chill, intimate night in since you had to cancel your restaurant reservation due to baby Sora’s “restless mood.”

When you opened the door in your white and blue maxi dress, his dark eyes immediately scanned you, lips quirking into a lazy grin. “Wow… you really got dressed up just to break my heart and stay in?” he teased, but before he could lean in to kiss you, a loud, angry cry erupted from somewhere in the apartment. His smile twitched as he glanced past your shoulder. “Ah… the little prince.”

You laughed softly, feeling a bit tired as you let him inside. Just as the door closed behind him, Sora toddled into the living room, a pouty frown on his chubby face, clutching a small plush dinosaur. He stopped in his tracks when he saw Mikey. For a brief moment, there was a tense silence—the baby processing this intruder—before Sora dramatically dropped his toy and raised his arms to you with a demanding whimper. “He’s been a little clingy today,” you murmured apologetically, scooping him up.

Mikey offered a gentle smile, reaching out a finger to tickle Sora’s side. “Hey there, kiddo.” But the second Sora felt himself being handed off, he immediately erupted into a meltdown, screaming like Mikey was made of fire. Mikey blinked, then chuckled, shaking his head. “Ah… I see how it’s gonna be.”

As you tried to set up your little at-home dinner, Sora refused to be put down, clinging to you like a koala. Mikey sat cross-legged on the floor, watching with an amused smirk, but every time you tried to hand Sora a toy or put him back on his playmat, his face scrunched up in pure outrage, arms flailing. Eventually, Mikey offered, “Want me to hold him for a bit?”

You hesitated, but Mikey was already reaching out gently. The second Sora felt himself being handed off, though—instant meltdown. “WAAAAHHHHHHHHH.” His scream was ear-piercing, like Mikey had just committed a grave sin. You quickly took him back, soothing him with gentle shushes while Mikey, now rejected, sat back with a raised eyebrow. “Okay, so I’m the bad guy now?”

Sora, once safely in your arms again, gave Mikey a triumphant side-eye—subtle, but unmistakable. Mikey narrowed his eyes playfully. “I see what you’re doing.”

After dinner, you tried to put Sora down for the night. Mikey, hopeful, watched you walk toward the bedroom, thinking the battle might finally be over. He sprawled back on the couch, smirking to himself, waiting for your return. Five minutes passed… ten minutes… and then, WAAAAHHHHHHH. Sora’s angry, tired wailing filled the apartment. Mikey groaned quietly, running a hand through his hair as you reappeared, holding a very awake and very cranky baby. “He won’t sleep unless I hold him…”

You looked apologetic, but Mikey just offered a soft smile. “It’s fine.” He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder, his hand subtly resting on your thigh, though Sora was still very much the center of attention.

You sat beside him again, gently bouncing Sora, who was snuggled against your chest, eyes half-lidded but still refusing to fully sleep. Mikey leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder, his hand subtly resting on your thigh. But every time Mikey leaned in to say something—a soft compliment, a joke—Sora dramatically shifted in your lap, shoving his head against your chest or reaching up to grab your chin, forcing your attention back on him.

Mikey looked down at the tiny foot, then up at Sora, who, despite looking half-asleep, gave Mikey a slow blink of pure defiance. You hummed softly, your fingers running through Sora’s hair, completely unaware of the silent war going on right under your nose.

Mikey leaned closer, whispering just loud enough for the baby to hear, “You’re lucky you’re cute, little man.”

Sora smirked—or at least Mikey swore it was a smirk—before closing his eyes, fully claiming you for himself. Mikey sighed, leaning back against the couch, defeated for now—but the challenge was set. Round two, tomorrow.

۶ৎNahoya Kawata:

The evening had a gentle warmth to it, the sun just beginning to set, casting a soft golden hue over the apartment. You’d planned to go out tonight — a long-overdue date with Nahoya — but, of course, life had other ideas. Kaito had been fussy all day, refusing to nap, and by the time the sitter was supposed to arrive, it was clear you weren’t going anywhere. You felt bad canceling, but Nahoya, ever relaxed, just laughed over the phone and said, “No biggie. I’ll come to you instead.”

You hadn’t expected him to actually show up thirty minutes later, leaning against your doorway with that easy grin, hands in his pockets, looking far too good in his black short-sleeve Henley and ripped jeans.

“Thought I’d make your night a little less boring,” he teased, eyeing you with a playful glint as you stood there in that white and blue maxi dress — the flowing fabric hugging your curves, the open back making you feel a little more elegant than a typical night in.

But as inviting as the scene was, there was one small, glaring problem.

Kaito.

Your three-year-old was sitting right in the middle of the living room floor, surrounded by blocks, and the moment Nahoya stepped inside, his chubby cheeks puffed out in a pout that spoke volumes.

“Who’s that?” Kaito asked, blunt as ever, eyeing Nahoya like he was an intruder.

Nahoya, never one to back down from a challenge, crouched slightly, offering a friendly wave. “Yo, kiddo. I’m Nahoya.”

Kaito stared. Hard.

You could already feel the tension brewing, though Nahoya seemed completely unfazed. He kicked off his shoes and made himself comfortable on the couch while you moved to the kitchen, already preparing snacks.

The second your back was turned, the battle began.

Kaito, still sitting on the floor, glared up at Nahoya, gripping a bright red block in his little fist. “That’s my couch.”

Nahoya smirked, lounging deeper into the cushions, spreading his arms across the back like he owned the place. “Yeah? Looks like I found it first.”

Kaito’s eyes narrowed dangerously — well, as dangerously as a toddler could manage.

The next half hour was a constant back-and-forth.

“Momma, I want a snack.”

“Momma, I’m thirsty.”

“Momma, can you come here?”

Every request timed perfectly to interrupt any conversation or moment of closeness between you and Nahoya. You could see the amusement dancing in his eyes, though, as he played along, more entertained by the challenge than anything else.

But Kaito wasn’t done. No, not by a long shot.

When Nahoya tried to help clean up the blocks, Kaito dramatically threw himself on top of the pile, shouting, “NOOOO! Don’t touch my toys!”

“Alright, alright,” Nahoya chuckled, raising his hands in surrender, though you caught the faintest twitch of annoyance in his smile.

Dinner rolled around, and Kaito, sensing his mother’s attention was being stolen, took things up a notch.

“Momma, sit next to me,” he demanded, climbing into his chair with a determined frown.

You gave Nahoya a small, apologetic smile as you slid into the seat beside your son, leaving Nahoya on the other side of the table, now thoroughly third-wheeled by a toddler.

Halfway through the meal, Kaito “accidentally” knocked over his water cup, sending a small flood across the table — and right into Nahoya’s lap.

“Ooops…” Kaito drawled, with the most unapologetic expression a three-year-old could muster.

Nahoya froze, blinking as the cold water soaked into his jeans, before exhaling slowly through his nose, giving Kaito a long, unreadable look. “Yeah… sure.”

After dinner, the standoff continued.

Kaito insisted on bedtime stories — multiple bedtime stories — and of course, only from you. Not Nahoya. You could feel the man’s gaze on you from the doorway as you tucked your son in, brushing his hair back gently, his tiny hand clutching your fingers as he yawned, dragging out the bedtime routine as long as physically possible.

When you finally stepped out, closing the door quietly behind you, Nahoya was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching with a lopsided grin.

From inside the room, Kaito’s voice drifted out, soft but pointed.

“Is he still here?”

Nahoya smirked, not missing a beat. “Yup.”

“Tell him to go home.”

“Not happening, kid.”

There was a pause. Then, from beneath the blankets, Kaito muttered, “I don’t like you.”

Nahoya let out a quiet, amused huff, shaking his head. “I got that, yeah.”

But even as he grabbed his jacket, preparing to leave, there was a flicker of determination in his eyes. Kaito might’ve won tonight… but Nahoya clearly wasn’t planning on giving up anytime soon.

۶ৎIzana Kurokawa:

The evening air was soft and warm, the sky painted with hues of pink and orange as the sun began to dip below the horizon. You’d planned a night out — something rare and exciting — but with Kaizer still so little, the reality of getting away for a few hours was impossible. The babysitter canceled last minute, and despite your apologies over the phone, Izana’s voice was smooth and unconcerned.

“I’ll come over,” he said simply, as though it was no trouble at all.

You didn’t expect him to actually show up on your doorstep twenty minutes later, dressed effortlessly in a sleek black shirt and dark jeans, hands in his pockets, giving you that quiet, knowing smile that always seemed to unnerve and charm at the same time.

“You look beautiful,” he murmured, gaze trailing over the flowing white and blue maxi dress you’d put on for what was supposed to be a night out — the open back, the delicate halter neckline, and the soft skirt brushing your ankles. His eyes lingered, but his attention was quickly stolen by the soft babbling of Kaizer, who sat in the middle of the living room floor, surrounded by his plush toys.

The second Izana stepped inside, Kaizer — barely over a year old — froze, blinking up at the unfamiliar man with wide, dark eyes. And then… the hostility began.

Kaizer stared at him with a seriousness far beyond his baby years, clutching a stuffed bunny with both hands, holding it like a weapon.

“Hey there,” Izana greeted softly, crouching down a little, keeping his distance but offering a gentle smile. “What’s up, little guy?”

Kaizer blinked once. Twice. Then, with the most exaggerated pout imaginable, he let out a loud, disapproving wail.

You rushed over, scooping him up into your arms, gently bouncing him, whispering soft reassurances, but Kaizer’s dark little eyes remained locked on Izana with an intensity that spoke of pure, baby-sized betrayal.

Izana chuckled softly, not at all deterred. “I don’t think he likes me.”

“He’s just… fussy,” you tried, offering a weak smile as Kaizer buried his face against your shoulder, one chubby hand clutching your dress possessively, as though claiming you as his and his alone.

The evening unfolded with Kaizer declaring quiet, passive-aggressive war.

When you sat on the couch, Kaizer insisted on being in your lap. When Izana tried to sit beside you, Kaizer kicked his tiny feet out, accidentally (but very much on purpose) hitting Izana in the thigh with surprising strength for such a little thing.

“Oops…” you murmured, shooting Izana an apologetic glance.

Izana, ever composed, just smiled, though there was a glimmer of challenge in his eyes as he leaned back, watching Kaizer with amusement, as though recognizing a worthy opponent.

Dinner was no better.

Kaizer, seated in his high chair, stared Izana down with the determination of a baby defending his territory. Every time Izana tried to talk to you, Kaizer made a loud, random noise — banging his spoon, squealing, or blowing raspberries with dramatic flair — effectively cutting off any adult conversation.

“You’re doing that on purpose, aren’t you?” Izana murmured, gaze locked with Kaizer’s.

Kaizer responded by throwing his spoon on the floor. Hard.

You sighed, bending down to retrieve it, and when you sat back up, Izana was still watching Kaizer with a faint, unreadable smile, like he was actually enjoying the challenge.

After dinner, things escalated.

Kaizer, tired but refusing to go to sleep, became extra clingy. You tried rocking him, singing softly, but every time you tried to set him down, he wailed, reaching for you with dramatic sobs, forcing you to pick him back up.

“Go to sleep, little man,” Izana said quietly from the doorway, his voice calm but firm.

Kaizer’s head snapped up from your shoulder, glaring over at him with sheer, baby-sized defiance.

“No,” he said, clear as day.

You blinked.

Izana blinked.

Kaizer, satisfied, buried his face against you again, little arms tight around your neck, effectively claiming victory.

“You’ve got your hands full,” Izana said with a soft chuckle as you finally emerged from the nursery, looking tired but relieved that Kaizer had finally fallen asleep.

“Yeah… sorry. He’s… a bit much,” you sighed, brushing your hair back, offering a sheepish smile.

But Izana, leaning casually against the wall, gave you that slow, unreadable smile of his — a mix of amusement and quiet determination.

“I like a challenge,” he murmured, voice low, eyes glinting as though silently telling Kaizer — asleep just beyond the door — that he wasn’t going anywhere.

۶ৎHajime Kokonoi:

The evening had that soft, golden glow that only came with summer’s end — warm, honeyed light streaming through your windows, casting long shadows over the hardwood floor. The smell of shea butter and cocoa lingered faintly in the air, mingling with the soft floral perfume you’d carefully dabbed on your wrists. You stood in front of the full-length mirror, adjusting the white maxi dress that hugged your curves just right, its blue seashell and fruit print vibrant against your caramel-toned skin. The halter neckline tied neatly at your chest, forming a small, teasing keyhole cutout, while thin blue straps crisscrossed your bare back before meeting the fitted waist. The skirt flared out gently, brushing against your ankles with every shift, giving you the kind of soft, effortless elegance you rarely got to feel anymore.

You’d even taken the time to refresh your curls, the thick, springy coils framing your face perfectly, glossy with a light coat of coconut oil. The scent was subtle but warm — familiar, comforting. Your edges were laid flawlessly, baby hairs swooped in delicate waves along your hairline, the kind of detail that took time and patience but made all the difference. You looked good, felt good… for once.

But of course, peace was never that simple.

From the living room came a loud, exaggerated sigh — the unmistakable sound of your five-year-old daughter, Airi, broadcasting her boredom and dissatisfaction with her entire soul.

“I really can’t go out tonight,” you whispered into your phone, glancing toward the sound of her dramatics. “My babysitter canceled… I’m so sorry, it’s just—”

“I’ll come to you,” Kokonoi interrupted smoothly, his voice low and decisive, like he’d already made the call before you could protest.

You hesitated, glancing back at Airi. She was sprawled out on the floor, her caramel-brown cheeks slightly flushed, surrounded by a mess of coloring books, markers, and her ever-present pink stuffed bunny, whose fur was worn down from years of love. Her wild, coily pigtails stuck out in two large, frizzy puffs, stubbornly resisting your attempts to tame them earlier that day. She was gripping a marker like her life depended on it, her little brows furrowed in fierce concentration as she colored — hard.

“I don’t know if that’s a good—”

“I’ll be there in twenty,” Kokonoi said, and just like that, the line went dead.

You barely had time to straighten up the house before the doorbell rang.

When you opened it, there he was — sleek and polished, like he’d just stepped out of a high-end fashion magazine. Kokonoi Hajime, with his hair perfectly tousled, a black button-up with the top buttons undone just enough to hint at the smooth line of his collarbone, and fitted slacks. His sharp, calculating eyes did a slow, deliberate sweep over you, taking in the dress, the curves, the bare skin of your shoulders, and the smoothness of your legs.

“You look…” He paused, his voice rough around the edges now. “Incredible.”

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, a flattered, fluttery feeling stirring in your chest — until a small, suspicious voice shattered the moment.

“Who are you?”

Airi had materialized in the doorway, barefoot, wearing her oversized princess nightgown, the hem brushing her ankles, her stuffed bunny dangling limply from her hand. Her skin glowed softly in the evening light, and her big, dark eyes were narrowed in unmistakable distrust.

Kokonoi’s gaze flicked to her, and for a split second, he looked… caught off guard. Clearly, he wasn’t used to being interrogated by someone half his height.

“I’m a friend of your mom’s,” he said smoothly, offering a faint, polite smile.

Airi wasn’t impressed.

“Why are you here?” she pressed, her tone flat, her little arms crossed tightly over her chest, one hip popped out in that sass-filled way only a five-year-old girl could manage.

“I—”

“You’re not my dad,” she announced bluntly, her expression making it clear that this fact alone was enough reason for him to leave immediately.

The air went thick for a moment. You pressed your lips together to keep from laughing, watching as Kokonoi — cool, composed, and calculating — found himself on the receiving end of the world’s tiniest power move.

“Airi…” you started, your voice low with warning, but she wasn’t done.

With dramatic flair, she turned her back to him, marched into the living room, and flopped onto the couch with a loud, pointed sigh, clutching her bunny to her chest like a beloved battle companion.

“I’ll be nice if you give me twenty dollars,” she added, not even looking up, her voice casual, like this was just a standard transaction.

Kokonoi blinked. Slowly. The disbelief was plain on his face as he glanced back at you.

“She’s extorting me,” he muttered under his breath.

“She does this with everyone,” you whispered, your tone apologetic, but Airi was already watching him out of the corner of her eye, waiting.

Kokonoi, ever the businessman, sighed and pulled out his wallet, producing a crisp twenty-dollar bill.

“Is this all it takes?” he asked dryly, raising a sharp eyebrow.

Airi snatched the bill with the speed of a seasoned hustler, stuffed it into the pocket of her nightgown, and… went right back to glaring at him.

“She’s not going to be nice, is she?” Kokonoi asked quietly, his voice tinged with a mix of amusement and resignation.

“Nope,” you confirmed, sighing. “Not a chance.”

And thus, the silent war began.

During dinner, Airi made sure to sit pressed up against your side, her small, warm arm looped possessively around yours. Every time Kokonoi tried to speak to you, she’d cut in — her tone flat, her gaze sharp, tossing shade with the casual precision of a child who knew exactly how to get what she wanted.

“You’re sitting too close,” she declared when Kokonoi shifted his chair an inch nearer.

Kokonoi gave her a long, unreadable look… and leaned back with a sigh, clearly calculating his next move.

After dinner, you tried putting her to bed, but of course, that didn’t go smoothly either.

“She does this every time someone comes over,” you whispered when you reappeared, looking mildly exasperated.

Kokonoi, lounging on the couch, one arm draped casually over the back, smirked faintly.

“She’s protective,” he said simply, like that explained everything.

“You’re being generous,” you muttered, collapsing beside him, grateful for the moment of peace.

But just as the tension shifted, as Kokonoi leaned in a little closer, his eyes dark with something warmer, hungrier—

“Mommy! I need water!”

You groaned, already halfway to the kitchen, Kokonoi watching you with a resigned, faintly amused smile.

“She’s not going to let this happen, is she?” he murmured.

“Not a chance,” you called back, grabbing a glass.

And as the night stretched on, it became clear that Airi, your tiny, sassy gatekeeper, had won this round — and probably every round after.

۶ৎTetta Kisaki:

The evening light filtered through the window, casting a soft golden glow in the living room, while the faint scent of lavender and honey mixed with the sound of your daughter’s footsteps running across the hardwood floor. Your white maxi dress with the blue seashell and fruit print clung to you just enough to feel graceful and feminine, but the reality of your life had you focused on much more than your outfit. The halter neckline with the keyhole cutout felt flattering against your caramel-toned skin, and the blue piping accentuated the curves that had both the grace and strength of motherhood. The warm, soft feel of the fabric as it swayed with your movements made you feel light — a moment of calm before your daughter inevitably interrupted.

Layla, your 10-year-old daughter, was on the couch, sitting cross-legged, her dark brown eyes flickering with impatience. With a sharp mind that often made you think twice, she had an opinion about everything, and that included the people you brought around her. And now, someone was here — and Layla didn’t quite approve of him yet.

When the doorbell rang, you opened it to reveal Kisaki. He stood tall, sharp in his dark suit, his platinum blonde hair a stark contrast to the darkening evening. His cold, calculating eyes softened a little when they met yours, but the usual smug smirk played on his lips, always so confident in his approach.

“You look stunning,” he said, his voice smooth as always.

You smiled, half-flattered but aware of the tension in your chest. “Thank you.”

But as soon as you let him inside, Layla piped up from the living room. “Who’s that?”

You glanced back toward the couch, where Layla was sitting, arms crossed, a serious look on her face, her deep brown eyes narrowing slightly as she sized up Kisaki. She looked like she was calculating him, figuring out the angles, the weaknesses. She was smart, and she wasn’t quick to trust.

“Hey, Layla. This is Kisaki. He’s a… friend of mommy’s,” you said, trying to keep the tone light.

Layla looked at you, then at Kisaki, then back at you again, her expression unchanged. “A friend, huh?”

Kisaki raised an eyebrow but didn’t break his cool, collected demeanor. “That’s right. Just a friend.”

Layla’s mouth curved into a slight, knowing smirk. “So, are you going to be here for dinner or are you just here to stare at my mom?”

Her tone wasn’t rude, but it had the unmistakable bite of a child who wasn’t afraid to be blunt. And there was something in the way she said it — the way she didn’t flinch when Kisaki’s gaze met hers — that made it clear she wasn’t going to let him off easy.

Kisaki’s smirk didn’t falter, but you could see the glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “I’m here for dinner,” he replied, a trace of humor in his voice.

Layla didn’t move. She just stared at him for a long moment, as if trying to read him like an open book. It was clear from the way her eyes flickered that she wasn’t intimidated, just observant. A sharp, calculating mind wrapped in a 10-year-old’s body.

You shook your head slightly, both amused and exasperated. “Layla, go set the table, please.”

Her eyes flickered to you, then back to Kisaki, and she hesitated only for a moment before she stood and stalked off to the kitchen. Her steps were heavy, purposeful, and she muttered something incoherent as she passed by.

Kisaki looked at you, his expression unreadable. “She’s… something.”

You sighed, turning back to the kitchen where Layla had already taken charge. “She’s protective, that’s all,” you said.

Kisaki chuckled low in his throat. “I can tell.”

Dinner was an exercise in patience. Layla continued to challenge him with her snarky comments and hard stares. She didn’t make it easy for him, questioning every little thing he said with a critical eye. She’d interrupt the conversation to tell him how she preferred her food to be cooked, pointing out how she thought he was a little too fancy for a family dinner.

“Do you always wear suits?” Layla asked between bites of her food. “It’s not a formal occasion.”

Kisaki leaned back in his chair, his fingers lightly tapping the rim of his glass. “I like to dress for the occasion,” he replied smoothly, his voice steady despite the underlying tension.

Layla wasn’t convinced. “And is this an occasion? Or is this just you trying to look important in front of my mom?”

You nearly choked on your drink, a laugh bubbling up, but you quickly stifled it, clearing your throat. “Layla, that’s enough.”

But Kisaki didn’t seem offended. He almost looked impressed, like he was enjoying this little game. “It’s fine,” he said, his eyes not leaving Layla’s. “But I’m not trying to look important. Just trying to get to know your mom.”

Layla narrowed her eyes. “I’m not stupid. You’re trying too hard.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “Layla, please.”

But Layla didn’t seem to care. She’d made up her mind. This wasn’t just a regular dinner — this was a test. And she was going to see how Kisaki handled it, every little bit of it.

The rest of the evening didn’t get much easier. Kisaki tried to engage you in conversation, but Layla always seemed to have a way of interrupting at just the right moment — demanding more juice, needing to tell you something about her day, or giving you the “look” that told you she was still suspicious of him.

As the evening wore on, Layla finally retired to her room with a heavy sigh, giving you a moment to catch your breath. You turned to Kisaki, exhausted from the mental gymnastics of the evening.

“She’s a handful,” you said, massaging your temples.

“I’m not bothered,” Kisaki replied, his voice still smooth, but there was a glimmer of something in his eyes. “It’ll take more than that to stop me.”

You looked at him, half-amused, half-exasperated. “I’ll be honest — she’s not easy to win over. But she’ll eventually warm up… hopefully.”

Kisaki smiled, a smirk playing on his lips. “I’m patient. I’ll wait.”

And you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of something, something between excitement and apprehension, as you realized that this wasn’t going to be over quickly. Layla might be protective, but Kisaki wasn’t a man who gave up easily.

[bimbodolllll]

✶⋆.˚ ᵎᵎ 𝟏𝟖+ 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈 | 𝒔𝒉𝒆/𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 | 𝒎𝒖𝒍𝒕𝒊-𝒇𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒎 ✶⋆.˚ ᵎᵎ

|➜ ۶ৎ 𝑹𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕: Currently Open!

|➜ ۶ৎ 𝑪𝒖𝒓𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒇𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒎𝒔: Tokyo Revengers, Saiki K, Hazbin Hotel, Assassination Classroom, Blue Lock, Angels Of Death, Windbreaker, Genshin Impact, Disneys Twisted Wonderland & more..

|➜ ۶ৎ 𝑴𝒚 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆𝒔: Fashion, make up, games, music, writing, sketching, art, baking, cooking, anime, talking, k-pop, angst(I love it so much), fluff/sfw content, sleeping, gardening, modeling, engaging with others >u<.

|➜ ۶ৎ 𝑴𝒚 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆𝒔: Hateful attitudes, blatant disrespect, racism, being overly stressed, being too rushed/busy.

|➜ ۶ৎ 𝑬𝒙𝒕𝒓𝒂 𝒊𝒏𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏: I don’t really do smut, but I write for vague smut if that make sense? Like I don’t use full terms(because the thought of the act feels icky for me idk) but I do write for it, not as detailed as my other stories though. And request can be for anything not just TR, and not just for scenarios, you could even throw in a photo that you specifically want the story to be about/the characters to do. Really anything. (still currently reworking …)

۶ৎ 𝑴𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒂𝒍 𝑳𝒊𝒔𝒕

۶ৎ𝑻𝒐𝒌𝒚𝒐 𝑹𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓𝒔

Cute Kid. Pt1 — drabbles (multi char)

Babies First. — drabbles (multi char) (request)

Typical. — one shot (multi char)

Interruptions. — scenario (multi char) (request)

Stitching Hearts Together. — Mitsuya Takashi (request)

Stitched With Love. — Mitsuya Takashi (request)

Guess Who. — Mitsuya Takashi (request)

Love Is A Waste Of Time. — multi char angst

Wrapped In Warmth. — Manjiro “Mikey” Sano(request)

The Girlfriend Effect! — multi char

۶ৎ𝑨𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝑪𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒓𝒐𝒐𝒎

A Fleeting Comfort. — Korosensei(request)

Don’t Eat That! - Korosensei x student reader(request)

Sunlight Through Fog. — Korosensei x student reader (request)

۶ৎ𝑯𝒂𝒛𝒃𝒊𝒏 𝑯𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒍

Coming soon…

۶ৎ𝑺𝒑𝒚 𝒙 𝑭𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒚

Coming soon…

(More fandoms soon, or request one you’d like!! >u<)

[bimbodolllll]

why you're all sleeping on velvette

the things you like the other vees for? she's better

first, she's even MORE modern than vox. if you think about it- he's television, but who watches tv anymore? on the other hand, you'll be hard-pressed to find someone today not on social media. and while valentino is the overlord of addicts and drug, isn't social media far more widespread and addictive than whatever he has going on? people who like valentino often like controversial things and starting fights. well, social media is the queen of starting fights.

side note on this topic: STOP INFANTILIZING VELVETTE. a lot of people like her as their favorite vee because she's 'not as bad as vox and valentino'. no. she knows what they do, she either supports them or doesn't care. she's not some innocent thing they dragged into their den of filthy vices, she is completely aware of their actions. she is just as bad as they are (/pos)

she reads people like books

to quote another post i saw, alastor pisses people off by correctly reading their weak points and using them to insult his opponents (as seen in hell's greatest dad and stayed gone). he doesn't really see himself as a father figure to charlie, he's just saying that to get under lucifer's skin. you know who else does that?

velvette. she immediately sees all of carmilla and zestial's tells, abandons trying to infuriate the latter after he plays back into her song and focuses her attention on making carmilla snap. and it works.

her rise to power is underratedly terrifying

finally, she's the YOUNGEST overlord (headcanoned to have died in the 2000s-2020s?) this means her rise to power was basically immediate as soon as she got into Hell. alastor had to kill overlords with his raw power, but we haven't seen evidence of velvette being able to do that yet- which arguably is scarier. how could she have risen so fast without needing to kill? how could she have befriended powerful overlords that died decades before her and ascended to be their equal so quickly?

conclusion

velvette is one of the most underrated characters in the show i'd love to see more of in season 2. she is not to be underestimated!!