#[echoes of time]

[slttygeto]

༉‧₊˚. episode 08: lost in the fire.

preview: " . . . Without a second glance, he flicked the cigarette to the ground and crushed it beneath his foot, his voice low and taunting. “I don’t feel guilt, doll.”

“I…” you cannot put into words how you feel, it feels as though you had swallowed your tongue and any smart retort you had prepared is thrown out of the window. Shuji notices the change in your expression, how you went from being incredibly affected by his words to nothing all of a sudden. There’s an emptiness behind your eyes as you nod at him. “You’re right.”

And then you were gone. ."

word count: 5,3k

content warning: nsfw warning! heavy smut, choking, biting, n!pple sucking, unprotected s/x, not enough foreplay, jealousy.

༉‧₊˚. note: happy new years :) starting 2025 with a new chapter! thank you to my amazing best friend @aurelianamu for being my beta reader and helping point out mistakes and things that needed serious editing! i am still on a hiatus, but enjoy reading. thank you!

༉‧₊˚. reblog + comment!

➜ MASTERLIST

Hanma openly admits his vocabulary isn’t exactly expansive, chalking it up to his teenage self choosing cigarettes over books, biker gangs over libraries and nasty fights over going to school. Only that he knows a couple of words, they’re still insufficient when he is facing this hurricane of emotions and fails to locate the heart of it. He can’t pull the plug on something that’s blurry, so he sits in his car and looks out of his window. The vehicle trembles in sync with the rhythm of his restless foot.

A tattooed hand goes up to his face, and he slides down his blouse cuff to stare at the watch adorning his wrist; 10:32PM. You had to be awake, right? 

One would question why he couldn’t simply send you a message, and the truth is far more complicated than that suggestion. He can’t message you when he was the one who told you he doesn’t fuck you on your period. You were offended by his tone more than what he was implying, and told him and he quotes ‘to go fuck himself and never come back again’. 

Now, this wasn’t the first time that the two of you had a petty argument, the earliest one Hanma can remember was of him saying he didn’t want to eat your homemade food because he thought soup was boring, and you had glared at him the whole night until he apologized with his head between your thighs. Or when you tried to insinuate that he was so much softer than you had thought, the night ended with tears streaming down your face as you gagged and choked on his cock. 

The two of you didn’t know what communication was, sex seemed to be the solution to everything. Well, except for this time.

You were understandably hormonal when you texted him, asking if he could drop by and hang out with you for a couple of hours at the beginning of November. And him being an asshole, he made some poor joke about how ‘he doesn’t fuck women on their periods because they’ll get attached’ and the rest is history.

Hanma doesn’t think he fucked up that badly, but that wouldn’t explain the fifth cigarette he throws out of his car window as he glares daggers at your balcony door. You can’t keep ignoring him forever, it’s been ten days. 

He mutters a sharp “fuck” under his breath as he swings the car door open, stepping out and locking it with a press of his key fob. His strides are long and confident as he reaches into the pocket of his suit pants for another cigarette. Shielding the flame with his hand, he lights it, the glow briefly illuminating his face before he tucks the cigarette between his index and middle finger. He ascends the stairs, smoke curling in his wake as he eyes the apartment doors one by one. Ironically, the one thing he had memorized beside the feeling of your hallway, was the smell of homemade food that emerged from beneath your doorway, a scent which was forever engraved at the forefront of his mind. 

A familiar wooden door greets Hanma as he steps into the dimly lit hallway, and he braces himself for how many times he is going to knock to get you to open the door for him. The memory of you whisper-yelling at him to just get in flashes before his eyes and an amused smirk finds its way up his lips, but it’s immediately wiped off when the door suddenly swings open. Surprised, he takes a step back with furrowed eyebrows, hand reaching towards his gun holster out of instinct. 

Then he hears it, the sound of high heels clicking against the tiles. 

You step out of your apartment with your back facing Hanma, allowing him to scan your outfit for a brief moment. It was cold outside, so you were wearing an oversized, fluffy and warm jacket on top of what he believes to be a short dress, and the black stockings you had chosen for the night bring more attention to your legs. To match the aesthetic of the outfit, you chose to wear your knee high, black leather high heeled boots, adding a couple centimeters to your height. And to finish off the look, you had styled your hair in a way that Hanma could only describe as intoxicating. The perfume you were wearing was dizzying, and it only worsens when you turn around and Hanma sees you with a full face of makeup. The right amount of glitter, the sharp eyeliner, the mascara giving your face that doe-eyed look and finally, that lip combo.

Where the hell were you headed to?

The good thing about working in corporate jobs was the amount of birthday celebrations to look out to. You had at least two birthdays each month, and November was no exception. But to ensure that not every winter birthday is celebrated inside the company, a co-worker took it upon themselves to invite everyone to a club, and who were you to turn down the offer? 

You hated being holed up in your apartment for too long, it made you feel claustrophobic and anxious, and you were getting sick of your balcony and the same boring view. The moment you step out, you get a whiff of cigarette smell and instantly, you realize who was behind you. Your movements are slow and careful as you lock your door, fix the scarf that’s wrapped around your neck to keep you warm then–you see him.

Hanma doesn’t miss the way your eyebrows twitch when you lock eyes with him, he can’t deny that the slight purse to your lips makes the coil in his stomach tighten, then your frown deepens. 

“Smoking’s not allowed in the hallway,” you point out towards the cigarette bud hanging between his fingers.

“Where are you going?” he completely dismisses your statement, eyes scanning your outfit from head to toe for what feels like the hundredth time. He knows exactly what hides beneath those layers of clothing, he’s touched and felt and groped it so many times already–then why does it bother him that you’re dressed so prettily for an occasion?

You’re already fed up with him, your high heels clicking against the tiles as you walk past him and Hanma almost groans when he gets a whiff of your perfume. Fuck, why did he have to be so stupid?

“Whatever, don’t stay here for too long or else they’ll kick you out.” You announce as you call for the elevator, pressing the button as you put your keys in your handbag. 

The tall man is quickly standing behind you. He knows why you’re ignoring him, but he doesn’t think it entirely justifies not answering him. “Did you not hear me?”

You scoff. “You’re saying that?” 

“It’s different, I’m asking where you’re going–”

“And now I’m asking you to mind your own business?” you hear a ding and step onto the elevator, Hanma right behind you. “I’m a grown ass woman.”

“Never seen your grown ass outside at night.” How blunt.

“Oh right, because in the last two months when you’ve known me and rarely ever visited may I add, you’ve never seen me go outside after 8PM?” 

You were bitter, that’s understandable, but that doesn’t explain completely avoiding his question, does it? He was only asking about your whereabouts so that he knows where to expect to see you! 

And perhaps even follow you there. 

Hanma bites his tongue at your words. He would never admit that you were right, or that he messed up by completely ignoring your phone calls and messages because you had told him that you were on your period. However, everyone makes mistakes and it’s what makes us human…

…or however that saying goes. 

The elevator starts to go down, his golden eyes alternate between scanning the number shown in bold colors indicating the floor number and the screen of your phone. You were sending a text in a group chat, he could see the name of it–something about your company, and next to it was the word ‘birthday party!’. He’s thankful that he’s being sneaky enough to be able to look at what you were typing, however that doesn’t last when you finally notice that he has grown a little too quiet. You hide your phone in your chest.

“Can you not?” you hiss, voice laced with venom as you shoot him a glare over your shoulder. 

“A colleague’s birthday?”

“What are you, twelve?” you furrow your eyebrows as you turn to face him fully. Even with high heels, you don’t reach his full height and you hate it. You hate that you are looking up at him, at his handsome face which you didn’t see for a full week, and you absolutely despise the way he is staring at you.

His eyes were devouring you, forcing you to think of anything but how you’ve made them roll to the back of his head countless times. You refuse to stare at his bulging arms, or how his hair was slightly disheveled from running a hand through it. Was he frustrated by his own actions? You hope he was, you hope he fisted his cock pathetically to the thought of you, that his whines were so loud it echoes in his empty apartment. You pray that a mission interrupted his alone time, and he had to finish off some guy he didn’t like with painful blue balls.

And you fervently and desperately hope that he cannot read your true thoughts.

“Add sixteen years to that,” he replies while bringing the cigarette to his lips, taking a whiff from the stick. He pulls his hand away, smirking when he notices the slight shift in your expression and it worsens when he blows smoke on your face.

“Stop that! I don’t want to smell like cigarettes when I get in the car!”

“Oh?” he tilts his head to the side, golden eyes locked with yours as he searches for another clue. “So you need a car to get there?”

“I would be crazy if I walked outside dressed like this.” you ignore his intense stare, masking your nervousness with annoyance as you pull out your phone again. 

“Who’s driving you there?”

“None of your damn business.” 

“An uber.” The elevator finally dings and you hurriedly step out of the cubicle, trying to get away from him as far as possible. 

“Oh! We got ourselves a detective here!” you exclaim jokingly, the sound of high heels clicking against the tiles echoing in the empty hallway. “You should work for the FBI, has anyone ever told you that?”

Hanma ignores your comments, his strides long and purposeful as he walks right behind you. “You keep clutching your purse, it’s open so you can make sure that your credit card is there and your forgetful ass didn’t actually miss anything. You’ll stop getting anxious when you get into the car and pay the driver–”

“Stop that!” You finally turn around to stare at him, and the tall man has to stop himself from scooping you into his arms and fucking you against the nearest wall. You puff out your chest like a balloon ready to burst, a fragile show of dominance and anger, but you were clearly fed up and you couldn’t handle hearing his voice anymore.

“You think you can read me easily, you think using your little criminal tricks on me will get you off the hook, it doesn’t.” you get even closer to the man, a manicured finger poking at his chest with each syllable rolling off your tongue. “You think you’re the only one who can read me? Well, I’ll tell you what’s in front of me right now.”

Hanma remains unnervingly quiet, so you continue.

"I see a man who couldn’t keep his word if his life depended on it. Someone who drowns his guilt in cigarette smoke because facing it is too much to bear. A man so shaken by the idea of me living my life without catering to him that he’ll go as far as to ruin it for me, hoping to force a reaction out of me. Well, guess what? You won’t. So enjoy your misery and your frustration, because tonight? You won’t be getting anything from me"

The only sounds breaking the stillness of the moment were the occasional hum of passing cars outside the building, their distant echoes a sharp contrast to the suffocating quiet of the hallway. The air around you felt heavy as you struggled to catch your breath, your face was in flames. Your gaze flickered wildly over Shuji’s expression, desperate to find even the slightest crack, some hint that your words had gotten to him, that they had landed where they intended to. 

But all you were met with was silence, dragging on until a scoff cut through the air and you felt your chest tightening. 

Without a second glance, he flicked the cigarette to the ground and crushed it beneath his foot, his voice low and taunting. “I don’t feel guilt, doll.”

“I…” you cannot put into words how you feel, it feels as though you had swallowed your tongue and any smart retort you had prepared is thrown out of the window. Shuji notices the change in your expression, how you went from being incredibly affected by his words to nothing all of a sudden. There’s an emptiness behind your eyes as you nod at him. “You’re right.” 

And then you were gone. 

He doesn’t try to follow you, the sound of your high heels clicking against the concrete becomes a distant sound the farther you walk away and he stands near the entrance of the building with his hands buried in his pockets. 

It was time to work.

—

“Where were you? We were looking for you!”

“Sorry! My cat threw up on the carpet and I had to clean it real quick,” you say with a wave of hands, looking around the crowded area with bright eyes. “Seems like the birthday girl is having fun!” 

You see a flash of red hair on the dance floor, and chuckle when you notice the way she seemed to effortlessly become the center of attention. People were cheering her on, clapping and asking the DJ to change the song just to match her energy. Meanwhile, you decide to take off your coat and place it on the chair that a coworker had reserved for you. 

You weren’t the type to go clubbing, years of being constantly guarded by your brothers had left you tense and uneasy under the flashing lights, but you envied those who did it so effortlessly. They wouldn’t look as awkward as you do. 

That is until you feel a pair of eyes following your every move, and you are forced to look at them. 

It was a coworker, someone you had grown comfortable around because of his kind gestures. He would offer to help you carry papers around even if you were going to take the elevator, and when you ran out of water or your favorite drink in the fridge, he would be the first to request a restock for you. He was a gentleman, one that didn’t know how to hide his attraction towards you.

And you didn’t seem to mind it, a woman could appreciate being treated nicely once in a while.

“Not going to join them?” He gestures towards the rest of your colleagues who seemed to be enjoying their time on the dance floor. You chuckle as you shake your head, leaning back in your seat.

“Dancing is not my thing,”

The man, whose name is Tomoya, takes this as an open invitation to sit across from you. He puts his elbows on the table as he leans forward, clearly invested in the conversation.

“Why? It’s just moving your body to the beat.”

You press your lips as you hum, leaning towards the brown haired man as you respond.“Hmmm, I’m not sure if I like that.” 

“How about this, if I can change your mind, you–” he pauses as he points his finger at you, eyes glimmering with mischief. “--go on a date with me.”

You scoff, raising an eyebrow at him. “A date?”

“Yup.” 

How do you explain this to a man you hardly speak to at work? How do you tell him that your life is already entangled with someone else–someone too deeply involved in your world to simply cut loose? The idea of going on a date with Tomoya doesn’t seem so bad, but the thought of facing Hanma, of telling him about the possibility that you want to end whatever it is you have, makes you hold your head in your hands. 

“We’ll see.”

You’ll deal with it later.

The rhythm of the music reverberates through the air as you find yourself on the dance floor with your colleague, Tomoya, who seems to be enjoying himself far more than you. The bass is heavy, the lights flicker like a heartbeat, and for a moment, you can almost forget your reservations. His encouragement draws a timid smile from you, and despite your clumsy attempts to follow his lead, you eventually surrender to the music. The tension in your shoulders eases as your movements become less forced, and soon enough, you find yourself laughing and moving your body to the beat.

You walk through the crowd to greet the birthday girl, your grin bright and contagious as you ask if she’s having fun. Before long, Tomoya succeeds to reclaim your attention. His lips move, but it’s hard to hear anything with the loud music.

“What?” you call out, cupping your ear for emphasis.

With a smile, he leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “I said, you look beautiful.”

Goosebumps rise on your skin at his words, and your face heats up. Your laughter quiets down as you shyly glance away, scanning the room for an escape from his intense gaze. That’s when you see him. A familiar figure near the bar freezes you in place. Your chest tightens, the world blurring as you focus on the tall man leaning casually against the counter.

“Are you okay?” Tomoya’s voice snaps you back, but your response is dismissive.

“Yeah, yeah,” you pat his shoulder with a forced smile. “I’ll be right back.”

Your steps quicken as you drag your feet through the crowd, each stride bringing more dread. Please don’t be him. Please. But as you approach him, there’s no denying it. That sharp grin, the cigarette dangling between his fingers–it’s him. Your hand finds his shoulder before you can stop yourself, and when he turns, you’re met with those golden eyes that seem to silently mock your surprise. 

“Well, what a coincidence, doll,” Hanma drawls, his voice dripping with amusement. “Do you need something?”

“Excuse me,” you snap, your hand gripping his forearm as you pull him to his feet. “We need to talk.”

“Oh absolutely,” he smirks, letting you drag him past the sea of curious eyes. He seems far too entertained for your liking, his laughter barely contained as you shove open the door to the women’s bathroom.

The startled gasps and shrieks from the women inside only add to the dread you were feeling. You glance around apologetically, muttering a quick, “Sorry,” as they scurry out, a few of them shooting you knowing looks. 

“Relationship emergency?” one asks before disappearing out the door.

“I don’t know,” you mutter, locking the door behind you.

“Are you insane?” you whirl around, glaring at Hanma as he leans casually against the sinks, an infuriating smirk painted across his face. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Why? Did I ruin your little moment out there?” His tone is playful, but there’s an edge to it that makes your throat tighten and your mouth go dry. “Mad that I stopped you from almost fucking him?”

“Don’t you even start–”

“Or what?” His voice drops, low and dangerous, as he pushes off the sink and begins to close the distance between the two of you. The confidence in his stride makes your knees feel like jelly, and you’re suddenly hyper aware of the way he towers over you so easily. “Tell me, doll, is this why you didn’t want to tell me where you were going tonight? Were you afraid I’d show up and fuck up your little date with that fucker?”

“Don’t call him that,” you retort, though your voice wavers under his suffocating stare.

His eyebrows raise, mock surprise etched across his face. “Oh? Defending him now, are we?”

“I’m not defending him!” you argue, though the crack in your voice betrays you. Shit, you were a nervous mess. “He didn’t do anything to deserve your anger.”

Hanma chuckles, low and menacing. “Anger? Oh, doll, I’m not angry. Not with him, anyway.” His steps falter when he’s inches away from you, his body caging you against the door. “Because we both know he doesn’t mean shit to you, right?”

Your silence speaks louder than words, and the corner of his mouth twitches upward.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmurs. “It’d crush him, wouldn’t it? If he knew why you’re so hesitant to go on a date with him.”

“I never said–” Your breath catches as his hand cups your jaw, tilting your face upward. 

“So you do want to go on a date with him?” His golden eyes burn into yours, searching for something, though his grin never falters.

You gulp, your voice barely above a whisper. “...maybe.”

His thumb brushes your bottom lip, and you can’t stop the way your lips part instinctively. “You’re a liar,” he coos, his tone dripping with mock pity.

“Am not–”

A gasp is ripped from your body when you feel his knee push past your thigh, landing perfectly on your clothed cunt as he presses you further against the wall.

“Let’s try again,” he purrs, pressing his lips against your ear. “Do you want to go on a date with him?”

Your lips tremble as you throw your head back, and Shuji’s hand lands perfectly on your throat. He feels a piece of jewelry there, but he ignores it as he squeezes your neck gently, drawing a quiet moan out of you. 

“I…” you start, unable to keep your eyes open as you feel your body burn up. The effect he had on you, the way it felt effortless to make a mess of you felt unfair. You gulp as you try to morph the lust in your gaze into anger. “I do.”

A pair of lips crash against yours almost immediately, and Hanma quickly catches as your knees give out on you at the impact. You would be lying if you said you didn’t miss this–his lips, how roughly he handled your body whilst making sure that nothing hurt you, because you craved it more than anything else. So you kiss him, fervently moving your lips against his as your hands claw at his shoulders and back. You felt like a flower starved of sunlight, withering in the absence of warmth and connection. 

Hanma couldn’t offer either, but his touch was enough to fill the void. 

He pats your butt and you jump, wrapping your legs around his waist before sitting you on the sink. The marble is cold, sending a sharp chill against your skin but it quickly fades away when Hanma’s lips travel down your neck, then your exposed chest where your perfume hits his nostrils the hardest. 

The tall man stands there, inhaling deeply as your scent washes over his senses, his eyes closing as he surrenders to its intoxicating pull. He notices the necklace, how it seems to be stuck to your skin even if it doesn’t match your attire and something coils in his stomach.

Without second thought, he sinks his teeth on the skin of your boob, a loud gasp ripping from your throat as your hand finds his hair.

“Not there–” You try to reason with him, but he doesn’t listen. Instead, he sinks his teeth into a different spot, watching as you throw your head back, your back arching in response, a wave of pleasure taking over.

If he could, he would tear that piece of jewelry from your body.

“Shuji,” the sound of his name slipping from your lips is a melodic drawl, intoxicating him like no drug ever could. An animalistic growl rumbles from the back of his throat as he pulls down the top of your dress, revealing your boobs. The cold air makes goosebumps rise on your skin, and your nipples instantly harden under the attention given to them. 

He fervently licks and sucks on the buds, shoving his hands under your dress. You are lost in the pleasure, fingers digging in his scalp as he gently bites on your left nipple, his hand groping the other breast. 

Then you hear a tearing sound, followed by a sudden chill, making you shiver as the coldness creeps in.

“Oh my god!” you scream in horror, instinctively trying to close your legs as you eye the ripped stockings. “Those were expensive you fucking asshole!” 

“Fuck that,” your heart stills when you see him lean down, biting your inner thighs and salivating at the sight of your black thong. “I’ve got money.”

“Y-You’re not buying me a-anyth–ah!” you try to cover your mouth when you feel his head get shoved between your thighs, a wet tongue pressing against the fabric of your thong. And then, you hear a dark chuckle. 

“You smell so fucking good. Did all that fighting turn you on?” he pulls away, his fingers playing with the straps of your thong. “Or did you fuck around hoping that I’d fuck the attitude out of ya?”

Stubborn yet looking for a good fuck, you respond breathlessly.“No.”

“No?” he tilts his head, a mocking expression on his face as he purses his lips. “So you don’t want me to fuck you?”

He sees you look down at your own lap, and bursts out laughing as he finally removes the fabric off of your body. “Ah, you’re so fucking adorable,” he moves away from the sink and starts to unbuckle his belt. You sit up on the sink to admire him as he frees his hardened cock, stroking it a couple of times before standing between your thighs. He notices your starstruck gaze, and a low chuckle rumbles from the back of his throat, as if amused by the effect he has on you.

“Cockdrunk already?”

“Shut up.” You pull him in for a kiss, your hand traveling down to line up his tip with your entrance. He parts his lips, but then you feel him smile against your mouth. You open your eyes to meet his gaze. 

He watches with an amused grin as your jaw goes slack the moment he pushes himself inside, but it quickly fades away when the wetness of your pussy washes over his senses and he has to take a moment to ground himself. 

He can’t cum too quickly, that would be pathetic.

Hanma doesn’t take long before starting to fuck you, slow and calculated thrusts quickly turn into hurried and sloppy ones when your pussy clamps down on him with each kiss he presses to your pulse. He feels his self control slipping through the cracks of his mind, and when he finally looks at your face again, he is reminded of why the two of you were fucking in the women’s bathroom. 

With a clenched jaw and flared nostrils, his hand travels to the back of your head and he yanks it back. 

“Thought we had an agreement doll,” he hisses through gritted teeth, barely able to keep his eyes open as he grips your hair. “I thought you knew that you couldn’t pull shit like that with me. But I bet you like it, huh? You love testing my limits–ah fuck!” you clamp down on him again when he hits that one spot that makes your eyes roll, the added friction of his crotch against your clit sending shivers down your spine as you arch your back.

“Oh my god!” you cry out, the burning in your scalp mixing with pleasure. 

Hanma leans forward, pressing his lips against your cheek as he growls. “Answer me.” 

Tears well in your eyes, overwhelmed by the sheer presence of him. He was everywhere–inside of you, touching you–and now it felt as though he was trying to invade your very thoughts. “Fuck, fuck Shuji please don’t stop, please–” 

He continues to fuck you at the same angle, licking his fingers to rub your clit in messy circles.“You like getting on my nerves, don’t ya? Makes it more fun for me to fuck you stupid.”

“Oh!” You gasp at the stimulation, eyes widening as you try to look down at where the two of you meet. “Oh, right there!”

“I asked you a fucking question.”He spits out venomously, his grip tightening around your head, forcing your forehead to press against his as he holds you in place.

“Yes!” You cry out, not caring about how fucked out you must look. “Yes, yes I do! I love it, oh my god please don’t stop fucking me, please–”

“Yeah, that’s what I fucking thought–come on baby girl, get filthy with me.” Hanma grins triumphantly, but the pleasure starts to wash over him. “Make a mess on me, pretty girl. Use my cock, you know how to do that.” 

He leans back, watching as you pathetically try to move your hips back and forth. After a few failed attempts, you break down in front of him.

“I c-can’t, I can’t!” You sob, your hips trembling and shaky. Hanma’s gaze locks onto yours, his dark eyes fixated on the tears streaming down your cheeks–the sight of you so fragile beneath him is enough to send him over the edge. “Please, please fuck me Shuji.”

“Fuck��” His hand wraps around your throat, fingers grazing your necklace as he captures it in the same motion, and then his hips find that same delicious pace. His fingers find your clit again, rubbing in the same dizzying motion that made you the loudest earlier, but instead he hears nothing.

You suddenly fall quiet as your body arches away from him and Hanma watches in awe as your hand shakily grips his forearm. The bathroom is filled with wet sounds of skin to skin, and then he feels something wet on his pants and a loud gasp painfully rips from the back of your throat. 

“Oh shit!” His proud laughter dies down on his tongue as your pussy clenches on him, burying his face in your chest. He reaches his own orgasm after a couple of strokes, biting down on your shoulder to muffle his own noises.

The two of you sit there in silence, with mostly you trying to familiarize yourself with your surroundings. You had never cum that hard before, not with a man at least, and your face burns with the realization that you squirted on him.

“Oh no, how am I going to clean that?” you don’t even notice that Shuji’s pants are soiled as well, his cock still nestled in your pussy.

“I don't pay cleaners so I can grab a mop myself.” 

“What?” you furrow your eyebrows as you stare at him. “What do you mean?”

“Did I not tell ya?”

“Huh?”

 His voice dips lower as his grin stretches wider, “I own this club, doll.”

2025 © all works belong to @slttygeto. do not repost, translate or steal any of my works.

[sodapaladin]

🚨Optional librarian party member who looks like a nun🚨

[sisselkalle]

This was an effort and a half and took me most of the day to work on All 5 of them came from the illustrations provided in the Final Fantasy Crystal Chronicles Sound Selection CD, they were completely redrawn from scratch at a higher resolution

Hi-res versions can be found here in the archive

[myrrhderjuice]

A Ballroom in Chaos

September 9, 2156. 22:15. Durham, England.

Julie Lexington

Alex and I were posing as a couple in front of the ‘elites’ in the ballroom. I was indifferent to it at this point. After so many time-travel missions posing as a couple you get used to it. Lovers in the past, but partners in the present.

The only reason we were a couple in our home time was because I wanted to attend the Rose family birthday gala. Alex had gotten an invitation to attend and I begged him to let me be his plus one. The only issue was I had zero clue what any modern gala etiquette was, but for some reason, Alex did. He gave me brief lessons all last week, but now I had to apply them. I think I’m doing quite well.

The ballroom was decorated in an eerie way. It was the beginning of September, but it looked like the room was ready for Halloween already. Hanging between the pillars outline the room were translucent, black curtains with red string lights hanging down against them. Black pieces of tulle hung from chandeliers in the ceiling to the curtains in between the pillars creating indoor canopies for the tables underneath. The chandeliers glowed with a warm yellow light similar to candle light, only brighter.

Waiters started to scurry around the room, similar to small and scared mice running from something. Odd. Some pushed carts while others walked behind the cart pushers. The waiters walked down the aisle between tables, the two carters at the front continuing to the end of the tables while those in the back would branch off to tables.

I leaned to my left toward Alex. “Were they supposed to enter like that?” I watched as Alex glanced over at me. I heard whispered giggles from across the table and immediately returned to my former posture, without an answer from Alex.

Every table had three waiters now. A carter, and two that were empty handed. In sync, the waiters grabbed the plates of food and set them in front of each guest. I thought back to my lessons with Alex. This would be the first of many courses. I shouldn’t be too greedy with my food.

In front of me was a bowl of soup, labeled:

Compression of Vine Plum Tomatoes & Basil

Gazpacho

Soup wasn’t prioritized on the list of ‘how-to-eat’ etiquette lessons for me. I could only remember bits and pieces of what to do. I looked around the table seeing the ‘elites’ eyes glancing at me.

I heard them whispering-gossiping-about me. Is she going to request grilled cheese for her soup? Or will she pick up the entire bowl like an animal? I hate how everybody must know about everything here. Information spreads like a wildfire

I felt Alex’s hand on my knee and began to watch him from the corner of my eye. In his right hand-dominant hand-he held the soup spoon. I saw him dip the spoon in pushing it toward the back of his bowl then “scrape off” the excess on the edge before bringing it to his mouth. He took his hand off my knee and I took my eyes off of him. His quick mini-lesson was over.

I reached for the soup spoon with my left hand. I heard Alex clear his throat-code for me that I was doing something wrong. I switched the hand reaching out to my right, grabbing the spoon with it and transferring it to my left hand. I mimicked Alex’s movement. Dipping the spoon in, pushing it back, scraping off the excess, then bringing the spoon to my mouth.

As the gazpacho hit my mouth, I could taste the summer wind. The tomatoes had been grown and picked by hand and left alone before being made into the soup. I was no chef, but I had zero doubts in my mind.

Alex Rosenberg

I watched as Julie began to quicken her eating pace. To remind her to eat slower I cleared my throat. Her eyes never moved but she had gotten my message all the same. Her cheeks became flushed and she returned to the slower eating pace. I looked around our table and only saw stoic, yet impressed, faces from the ‘elites’. These people were taught to hide their emotions well. They all thought they were special just because they had money and status. The only thing that made them elite was their high capacity to judge others though.

I glanced around the room, taking note of the waiters. They hadn’t left right after food was served, waiting for any food questions from party goers. However,  they should be headed for the kitchen right now. The waiter standing by the other side of the table looked tense. Not uncommon for a caterer, but his clenched jaw and trained eyes were definitely uncommon. 

I thought back to the way they entered the room before. They walked in a fearful manner. As if something was chasing them. They were running from something.

Heavy footsteps came from the kitchen, “If you wish to live tonight, then do as I say.” The scurrying of the waiters and tense posture from our waiter now made sense. “Nobody moves, nobody makes any noise. Clear?”

Everybody in the room nodded. ‘Elites’ were trained at a young age to do as an attacker said, unless you were 100 percent sure you wouldn’t get yourself killed. Good thing for Time-Traveler’s training. I couldn’t determine what kind of weaponry my opponent would have on them, putting me at a disadvantage. Do as you're told then.

I heard footsteps to the right of me-fast footsteps. Someone was running, probably a waiter. A gunshot went through the room followed by a thud. Now I knew what kind of weaponry they had on them.

“I’m impressed. Normally there’s a scream or two when there’s a sudden loud sound.” The attacker’s words seemed slurred, like they’d been drinking. That was their mistake. “I’m only here for one woman.”

I set my hand on Julie’s knee. I quickly tapped my finger on her knee, talking to her in morse code. You. Negotiate. From the corner of my eye, I watched her nod. I had a plan now, a second hand in the game.

“Miss Harpeet Tremble.” Former elementary school teacher turned into an incredible scientist. She is a staple in the time-travel community as she revolutionized its complicated science. She had died a couple years ago but Julie looked similar enough to her. I tapped Julie’s knee with my hand then took it off.

Julie’s chair skidded on the floor, alerting everyone to ‘Miss Tremble’ giving herself up. The attacker waved his hand and beckoned her over. Julie looked at me, seeking confirmation. I nodded, I had a plan. I needed her to walk over so I could slip past the hanging curtains.

I waited until Julie was about halfway between our table’s spot along the aisle and the attacker before making my move. I stood slightly, enough to have the illusion of sitting, and lifted my chair up and back. After setting my chair back down I grabbed my dinner knife before quietly darting to the left where the curtains hung. Hidden behind the black curtains and red lights, I took off my suit jacket and rolled my dress shirt sleeves up.

Prepared to fight, I made my way toward the attacker, covered by the curtains and red lights.

Julie Lexington

I had no idea what I was doing before and now I was being watched by all these rich people, walking towards a tipsy shooter. My southern American origins and mannerisms were too prominent in my mind. I just wanted a stress free night.

I had no clue what Alex had planned, but I trust him more than I trust myself right now. The only safety net I had right now was the fact the person in front of me was either almost drunk or drunk. That also puts me at a disadvantage. It would be difficult to negotiate with them if they weren’t in the right mindset.

“Miss Tremble,” The attacker spoke, I felt like I was trembling. “Long ago, you left my beloved little elementary school to go do-” They put their fingers up in air quotes, “Big kid science. How could you leave us like that?”

How could I? “I could because I could change the science you would use now.” I judged the attacker based on appearance to figure out how old they were. “The science we understand now is different than twenty years ago. When you were five or six, time-travel was still such a dangerous thing. Now you can time-travel without fear of dying or getting hurt.” My rugged accent stood out against their posh one, but I took a tentative step toward the attacker. “What’s your name?”

The attacker muttered, “Ivan. Ivan Hardson.”

I spoke loudly, hoping Alex was calling the cops, “Ivan Hardson. I remember you. I told you that you were going to do great things when you were older. I meant it.” That’s a thing teachers say, right? “Look at what you’ve done with your life. Are you proud of yourself?”

“Yeah. I’m proud of myself. I have a stable job, a family, and two dogs. Do you remember the picture of the dogs I drew for you?”

I had never seen a drawing from this man. “Yes, I remember dear Ivan.” I took a second tentative step toward him. “I’m proud of you Ivan. You’ve come so far. Now, may I please see the gun in your hand. I don’t think you’re aware enough to understand what you’re doing.”

His body tensed up, “Was this just a ploy to disarm me?” Ivan yelled. “You don’t even know who I am, do you? Are you even the real Harpeet Tremble? Are you?” Ivan brought the gun up until his eyes could be seen over the top and brought his voice back down, “What if I just shot you right now?”

I took my steps back. I looked around the room, searching for Alex. Searching for my partner. When I didn’t find him, I faced Ivan again. I watched the gun, searching for any slight movements. With my eyes trained on the gun, I started inching backwards.

“Where do you think you’re going?” When Ivan talked, the gun moved and ruined his aim.

“Why don’t you follow me, then you can know exactly where I’m going.” I responded, seeing what movement would do to his aim.

When Ivan walked, the barrel tipped up and down. Good. I kept him trudging around the room.

Alex Rosenberg

Julie was walking around the ballroom with Ivan, making my job of tackling him more difficult. I was watching from behind the curtains. She was walking in circles inside the aisle. She was consistent in her structure, but she would sometimes turn earlier or wait longer to turn. Whether that was her being genuinely inconsistent there or purposefully taking ‘different’ paths, it was good.

I made my way to the closest pillar. I watched as Julie and Ivan made their way around the ballroom, waiting for my opportunity to strike. I made a pigeon coo noise, Julie and I’s signal. I saw her nod; she had gotten my message.

“What was that?” Ivan put a second hand on his gun.

Julie was quick to respond, “It was just a pigeon. One must’ve flown in here at some point.” They rounded the end of the aisle.

I jumped out, Julie jumped backwards. I took Ivan down to the ground. I heard a gunshot and my ear stung. Being closer in his face, I learned that Ivan was in fact sober and aware. I reached my right hand toward the gun, but I saw it wasn’t aimed at me anymore.

“Quit fighting me, or she’ll suffer the consequences.” Ivan had the gun pointed at Julie.

His grip was mediocre, and I doubted it’s do any real damage to her. Still, I didn’t move or get off of him, but didn’t fight him either. I looked over to Julie, her eyes were on the gun. She’d be making the same notes as I did, perks of having the same combat training.

“Get off of me, or she gets it.” Ivan was upset and loud. Julie looked at me. She had a firm look in her eyes, telling me she had a plan. 

I reached out for Ivan’s gun. Another gunshot went off, and I heard Julie yelp. The recoil sent Ivan’s hand hitting the hardwood floor. Judging by the lack of strength Ivan put into counteracting the recoil I guessed that the only pain Julie would feel would be the bullet grazing her leg.

 I pinned his hand to the floor by his wrist. Ivan threw a punch to my face and I felt blood trickle out of my nose. I heard a new, and larger, gun go off behind Julie. I heard the clicking of heels run to my left and behind me. She was still mobile, which is a good sign.

I ripped the gun out of Ivan’s hand. A second gunshot from the mystery gun went off, this time ‘elites’ did scream. I put my left knee on Ivan’s chest, holding the gun toward the source of shots.

Across the room stood a waiter with a rifle in his hand. I aimed Ivan’s pistol at him, my right index finger hovering over the trigger. I pulled the trigger back. Click. The gun didn’t go off. I ducked and dropped the magazine. Empty. My next best option was to run and hide, creating a distraction from the rest of the attendants.

As I stood up to run, I heard the clicking of a different magazine. I ducked back down. A gunshot went off from the third gun. I heard something thud from across the room. The second shooter. While still on the ground, I turned toward the click, holding Ivan’s gun with the barrel in my right hand. In front of me stood the birthday boy himself. Uriah Rose.

I stood all the way up. If he wasn’t still aiming at something, all threats were neutralized. I handed over Ivan’s gun, and as I did I heard the familiar clicking of Julie’s heels from near the pillars. Though her gait sounded off.

“Are you okay?” I asked, running over to help her walk.

She looked down at her leg, “Yeah, I’ve got the scratch tied up. I’ll be walking like normal in a few minutes.”

I walked us back over to where Ivan was. He was coughing trying to get his breath back. Before he could Uriah swung the stolen empty gun across his face, knocking Ivan out. Uriah looked down at the gun in his hand, then back up at me. “Police are on their way. And I assume the press will want to know what happened.”

“Alex and I are media trained.” Julie spoke leaning against me. “It’s part of basic WATT training.”

We’d have to thank the World's Association of Time Travel later. Because of them, we would be able to recount the events to the press without upsetting anyone in attendance. The ‘elites’ can be distraught and the time-travelers could be heroes.

Uriah had formed a plan, “Alright. You two start planning what you want to say. I’ll come over in a bit to revise and confirm. It is my birthday after all.”

Julie Lexington

September 10, 2156. 00:15. Durham, England.

Alex and I stood outside the venue in front of every news program representative for the globe. We’d spent fifteen minutes neutralizing Ivan and the rogue waiter, 45 minutes with the police, and an hour planning our story. Then the press asked every question they could think of. “Was it someone everyone knew?” “Did they reveal themselves?” “Were you scared of dying?” “What do you think this means for future Rose family events?” “Do you think your injuries will get infected?” The whole shabang.

“I thought I was going to come and have a stress-free night.” Alex was being interviewed right now. On his own. He was a natural at it. He was making jokes, treating the whole deal like everyday work, though it wasn’t far off.

“And how about you Miss Lexington, what were your first impressions of the night?” The interviewer stuck her mini microphone to my face.

“I was really excited to be a part of the gala. I just wish I could’ve gotten more food after talking with the police.” I gave her a smile.

She grimaced at me, I assumed it was because I wasn’t giving her any details on what had happened. “Well thank you for allowing me to interview you guys. I hope you make it to your hotel safely.” As she walked away, I could see her spirit drain right out of her.

We were all tired. ‘Elites’ and waiters alike. The only difference was the waiters had work to get back to in the morning.

“Aw crap. We have to be back at HQ tomorrow.” I whined. “At least we can thank them for giving us the training that kept the ‘elites’ alive tonight, right?”

Alex chuckled, “We can check in with Evette at the European headquarters and let her know that minimum people died because of my quick thinking.”

I commented, “Oh, you mean because of your recklessness?”

Alex was silent for a long time. “Who tackled the guy with a gun?”

“You did, because you weren’t thinking straight.” I yelled, appalled at his ego.

I turned and began walking, with a little limp, toward the train station that would take us to our hotel. Alex waited a while before speedwalking to me, silently bragging about his not injured leg. It was a five minute walk there, and a ten minute commute on the train. While we rode the train, Alex sent Evette-our boss-an email explaining our current situation. When we made it to the hotel room, we took off our shoes and dived into our beds.

Alrighty...so it's a long read. I apologize for that, but I hope you enjoyed it! I had to write a short story for my creative writing class and this was the result.

[real-life-senshi]

Does this happen to anyone writing in the Sailor Moon fandom?

You try to write a scene set in the past life, and your brain over complicates it by trying to world build for all the past life kingdoms, and now you wonder if you should write a prequel about the past life? 😂🙈

At this point I have as much notes on the kingdoms as I do for my EoT plot.

[leasdoodles]

New blorbo just dropped!

Mayhem, a wizard college dropout and wannabe edgelord who's not-so-secretly a big ol' softie

For a future campaign dm-ed by @witchxrydnd

[echoes-of-time-tales]

Actually spent at least 20 minutes moving two boxes in a timed puzzle today. Nearly quit. But I survived and I locked in and I did it!!!! More screenshots soon :D

[wiiroms]

(via Final Fantasy Crystal Chronicles: Echoes of Time)

[muliesu]

“Rewrite History.”

wanderlust

[slttygeto]

༉‧₊˚. PLAYLIST

༉‧₊˚. episode 09: nothing but strangers in a bed.

preview: " He wants to see, hear and feel everything. The slight twitch to your lips as he starts to thrust in and out of you at an achingly slow pace, the breathy moan as his pubic hair brushes against your sensitive clit and the flutter to your pussy when he leans down to capture your lips in a searing kiss. 

Being in bed with you, fucking you like this, was beginning to shake Hanma’s unwavering belief that God didn’t exist. "

content warning: a very long chapter, lots and lots and lots of smut, this is filthy, dirty talk, choking, reader likes the idea of getting caught. (and you have a cat, his name is kenta)

word count: 10,1k (she's a long one)

༉‧₊˚. note: second chapter of the year :)! thank you once again to my amazing best friend @aurelianamu for being my beta reader and helping me fix areas that needed serious editing! i won't yap for too long, this isn't my best work but I am improving and I need this story to be as frustrating as it can be. enjoy the introduction of a certain character ;)

༉‧₊˚. reblogs + comments are really appreciated!

➜ MASTERLIST

The neon glow of Shinjuku flickered below your feet as you peeked your head over the edge of the rooftop. Your brothers were going to kill you, you were certain of that.

The city hummed an unfamiliar tune, one you would never be able to catch from the balcony of your room in Roppongi. Passing cars, screeching trains, distant shouts—Kabukicho was filled with night owls, different from the ones you’ve heard in Roppongi. You can see Hanma’s motorcycle parked at the entrance of the abandoned building, the purple cheetah print visible even in the dark night. 

“Come on.” 

You almost scream when you hear his voice, holding a hand to your chest as you exhale. You look up at him, a tall and imposing figure seeming intimidating as your eyes scan his long limbs and the confident smirk on his face. This was his idea, a way for you to live your life for once without the suffocating grip of your brothers. He extends his hand out to you and you grab it as you step onto the edge of the rooftop. 

It’s spacious enough for you to stand behind Hanma, peeking over his shoulder. 

“Are you sure this is safe?” Your hand grips the hem of Hanma’s white tee, scared and trembling as you hide behind the taller male. 

“Of course, doll. You don’t trust me?” He flashes you a grin, one that doesn’t seem to ease your anxiety as your other hand grabs onto the fabric of his shirt. No answer is an answer. 

Hanma, although reckless and seemingly intolerant of other people’s bullshit, reaches his hand and wraps it around your left wrist. You gasp, trying to ignore the soft flutter in your heart as you look up at him.

“You gotta trust me.”

“...I’ve never done anything like this before.” You whisper the confession, voice small and laced with a hint of shame. If it were any other person, Hanma would’ve cackled so loud, letting the person know how ridiculous they sounded. But this was you, and you were holding onto him like a lifeline. He couldn’t brush off how important he felt considering he managed to convince you to sneak out and risk getting scolded by your brothers.

“I know,” slowly, he pulls you towards the front and grips your biceps. “But it’s worth it.”

“Holy–!” you gasp, closing your eyes fast as you ball your hands in fists. “Oh my god, oh my god Shuji that’s high!”

A low chuckle rumbles from the deepest parts of Hanma’s chest as you press your back against it, your hands gripping his shirt for support. 

“I know, isn’t that so fun?”

“Fun?!” You exclaim, whipping your head back to stare at him. “This is—” Before you could finish your sentence, Shuji’s hand grips your jaw and forces you to stare forward, then you finally see it.

What he had been telling you about since your first meeting, the view from the abandoned building in Kabukicho, the city lights and the freedom that comes with standing at the edge of the rooftop. You weren’t sure how to describe Hanma beside the term “adrenaline junkie”, but you couldn’t deny it—you were starting to understand.

What a breathtaking view. 

“I feel dizzy.”

The teenager doesn’t believe you at first, he thinks you’re being dramatic, acting like the spoiled princess who lives in Roppongi. However, when he feels your hands tremble and then your hold on his shirt weakens, he quickly pulls you against him and off the edge of the rooftop. 

You melt against him, and Hanma’s hand travels up to your face as his eyes dart across your features. From your soft lips, your closed eyes to your furrowed eyebrows, Shuji doesn’t like the flutter in his chest one bit. And the gentle hold he has on your jaw turns into a playful tap to your cheek.

“Ouch—”

“You should be an actress.”

“No,” you shoot him a glare but make no attempt to let go of him. “That was genuinely so scary. I am terrified of heights, Shuji.”

He likes the way his name rolls off your tongue. 

Still, the butterflies in his stomach must be a sign of disgust from your spoiled-rotten behavior. “You gotta get over it. What if you get on a plane one day?” 

You scoff, but Hanma sees the twitch of your lips. “That’s different. I won’t have to look out of the window.”

His golden eyes widen in disbelief. “You wanna tell me you wouldn’t want the window seat?”

And when you remain quiet, Hanma pretends to let go of you just to hear your squeal.

You smack his chest. “Don’t do that!”  

He leans down, face awfully close to yours. And for some odd reason, you don’t want to pull away. 

“And where’s the fun in that, doll?” 

—

Twelve years later, you don’t dare look the man in the eye after he is done ravaging you. You stand behind him like a statute, waiting for his cue as he motions for his bodyguards to open the backdoor of the club. 

“Come on doll, let’s go home.”

The tattooed man starts to lead the way towards the VIP entrance of the club, growing aware of your sudden silence as your high heels quickly click against the tiled floor in an attempt to keep up with his long strides. You’re right behind him, but Hanma feels as though you want to disappear into the shadows. Turning around, he sees you going through your phone with a frown on your face and he raises an eyebrow as he pushes the door open for you to step out.

“What is it?”

But you’ve completely shut him out for the rest of the night and surprisingly, Hanma doesn’t push your buttons any further. He lets you get inside the car, buckle yourself and then you rest your head against the window before closing your eyes. Even if the ride back home might be short, you pray that it’s enough for you to pass out as soon as you get home. 

As soon as Hanma parks near your building, you start to unbuckle yourself from the passenger seat then your hand reaches for the door handle. However, you don’t expect him to get out of his car as well. 

“What are you doing?” You question as he stands in front of you with an extended hand. 

“I’ll carry you.” 

Hanma doesn’t like how loud you laugh at that. “Since when did you become a gentleman?” your voice drips with venom, and you eye him in a way that Hanma doesn’t seem to be fond of. Those eyes that used to shine so bright for him, reflecting the comfort and trust you had in him, now shone with something akin to hurt and disdain. 

So he doesn’t say anything, and he steps away from the car just as you expected. You scoff, putting your high heels on as you hug your coat and purse tight to your chest. You were grateful that he managed to get them for you without having to go through the embarrassment of explaining to your co-workers the lack of stockings, but it doesn’t change how annoyed you were with him. 

You start to walk away, waiting to hear the confirmation that Hanma was driving away. But when you look back, you are startled to find the man walking awfully close to you.

“Wha—”

“What?” He asks, feigning confusion while annoyance creeps back into your system.

You climb the first couple of stairs before turning to face him.“What do you want now?”

“You think I want something?” Hanma questions as he tilts his head. 

“You always want something.” 

“Ahhh,” he hisses, pretending as though your words hit his skin like a hot iron. “Don’t like what you’re insinuating, doll.”

Rolling your eyes, you don’t bother with him anymore. You start to walk towards your elevator, completely ignoring Hanma’s footsteps behind you as he tries to catch up to you. However, the elevator doors closed right before he could step in and the tall man could’ve sworn there was a hint of an amused smile on your face as the elevator went up.

You think you finally get rid of him when you step onto your floor, but to your shock, Hanma is standing near your front door with a new cigarette dangling from his lips.

“...do I need to ask?”

Hanma makes a gesture towards his legs. “Long limbs.”

“Ah,” you simply nod before reaching for your purse. 

You can’t find the right word to describe the vibe between the two of you. Despite needing your own space, the wave of disdain and nausea you felt towards him earlier completely dissipates and is replaced with a gaping hole in your chest and an insatiable need to bicker with Hanma a little longer. You don’t deny the attraction, only a fool wouldn’t be able to see that the two of you got along really well.

(And your shared moment in the bathroom of his club is a testament to that.)

So the two of you walk into your apartment, stepping out of your shoes as you toss your keys on your kitchen counter. Hanma finally learns his lesson as he mirrors your actions then follows you into the kitchen.

“What?” you glance over your shoulder. “Are you hungry or something?”

“Not really.” 

You leave the conversation there. You grab a bottle of water from your fridge and the man is still standing right behind you even as you pour the liquid into the glass. The silence is finally starting to bother you, and you turn to fully face the tall man.

“Seriously, what is your problem?”

“Kinda miss the view from behind.” His words are filthy and the grin on his face reflects just how much he enjoys toying with you, watching your expression twist and your lips twitch as your brain conjures up a witty come back.

You can feel the heat creeping up your neck and you chug down some water before slamming the glass down on the counter. “You really need to work on your timing.”

Hanma tilts his head, a finger sliding under your chin as he slowly towers over you. “Why? I don’t think it bothers you.”

The small of your back collides with the marble of your kitchen counter, staring up at the man with bright eyes before swallowing thickly. “You’re too close,” you whisper, a hand sliding up his chest. 

Despite wearing a suit at all times, the tattooed man rarely ever feels hot. No straining physical activity or hot summer night ever bothers him. But being in your presence like this, like he hadn’t bent you over a couple of hours prior, as though he hasn’t seen you naked on so many occasions—it makes the fabric feel like lava against his skin. He wants to take it off, to tattoo the spot where your hand was resting on his chest as a reminder of what you two have. He’s never felt this way before and maybe it would’ve scared him had he not been so close to you.

In a flash, he crashes his lips against yours and pins you harshly against the kitchen counter, swallowing your pained gasp. You cringe at the feeling of his glasses against your eyes, whining when he pulls away for a moment. You open your eyes and you swear you’ve never felt as hot and bothered as now, watching the tall man remove his glasses and toss them to the side. You’ve kissed Hanma before when the two of you were having sex, but it felt new to be up against him so soon after your ordeal in his club. 

Hanma’s hands find the hem of your dress, pushing it up to your stomach. He groans at the sight of your ripped tights, letting his hands grope your ass before sliding up to your hips where he grips them.

You whine against his lips, melting at the feeling of his fingers digging into your skin. “Are you gonna stay?” 

Hanma grins against your skin. “You don’t want that?” But even as he utters the words, you can tell that his self-control was slowly slipping through the cracks of his mind. 

“I do,” you whisper as your hand grips his hair. He presses his forehead against yours, and you can’t get over how filthy and primal it feels to feel him grind his bulge against you. “Please stay–”

“Pretty girl,” his thumb brushes over your bottom lip, then your tongue swirls around the finger. “Never thought you’d be this filthy.”

“I’m not who I was twelve years ago,” You try to glare at him, but you’re too fucked out to sound threatening.

The grin plastered on his face should’ve annoyed you, but instead your heart flutters as he wraps his other hand around your throat as he leans closer. “I know that, doll.” 

—

The night at the club is what solidifies your situationship  

You had become far more comfortable expressing your sexual needs with the man and he couldn’t deny that it excited him. Instead of him seeking out sex as a way to distract himself from your very first time together, it felt like you were on equal footing in terms of wanting to fuck like rabbits. Although, you still refused to send him nudes and were very clear that you wouldn’t think of it, even if he were to pay you. 

When asking you about it as he watched you clean yourself up after fucking you on your couch, you simply replied with. 

“Who knows what you’ll do with them. You’re a dangerous guy.” 

Fair enough.

But this also meant that sexting between the two of you wasn’t as often as the man had hoped. For the past month, Hanma was not sent on any mission outside of Tokyo which worked perfectly with his agreement with you. He would visit you at 2 in the morning after coming back from his strip club, all riled up and horny, he would fuck the frown off of your face as you try to scold him about the importance of getting a good 8 hours of sleep and how waking you up for sex was just selfish of him. Once he’s done with you and you’re drifting back to sleep all satisfied, you mumble something about how good dick is always worth it. All he can do is chuckle and put his clothes back on. 

He is gone before the sun rises, and you grow used to an empty bed in the morning.

You learn to accept that asking him to stay was a one time thing, and he would never do it again.

He stands in the snacks aisle with a frown on his face. He looks…so out of place doing this. He doesn't even buy groceries for himself, so what was he doing buying snacks for the two of you? 

Christmas was just around the corner and you had mentioned something about not finding your favorite snacks from when the two of you were still teenagers. Naturally, he thought it would be a good idea to finally shut you up and buy you everything that you needed. In return, he hoped that you would give him a proper blowjob this time. 

“Pretzels.” Your school uniform was probably Hanma’s favorite thing on this planet. A cute, short skirt with the most adorable and tempting pair of thigh high socks. A white blouse and a baby blue tie which you proudly admit you tied on your own. He is distracted by how cute you look in your school uniform that he doesn’t hear a single word you say.

“What?”

“I like pretzels, but even better when you dip them in–” you gasp, clapping your hands before staring up at the boy.You point to the aisle behind him, and he notes how this is the most excited he’s seen you while talking about food. “Chocolate! There they are!”

Adult Hanma now stands before the snack section and grabs a family sized bag of chocolate dipped pretzels, before heading to the front of the store. He scans the item, missing the way the cashier gives him a bewildered stare when he pulls out his black card and then walks to his car. 

You already know it’s Hanma when you hear your doorbell repeatedly–a habit that is so uniquely his given the lack of consideration for your poor doorbell. When you open the door, he’s grinning at the scowl on your face.

“One day, you’ll pay for a new one.” You don’t even wait for him to get in before walking away to your living room.

“I was hoping you’d say a new bed, can’t believe we haven’t broken it yet–” he starts to walk towards your kitchen before feeling something soft hit his side. 

“No shoes in my house.” He raises his arms in the air, sliding them off in the middle of the hallway before putting the plastic bags on the kitchen counter. “And no shoes in the middle of the hallway!” 

You’re sitting cross legged on your living room floor by the time he joins you, staring at you in confusion when he sees the show that’s playing on your large screen.

“Criminal minds? Didn’t that shit come out in 2005?” He scoffs as he throws his head over the couch, bouncing his leg as he releases some air and reaches for his pocket to grab a cigarette.

“Is a show supposed to have an expiration date?” you throw him a dirty look from over your shoulder. Hanma catches it and you gasp when you feel his foot on your back. 

“Ew! Get off!” 

“Ew?” Hanma narrows his eyes. “I know for a fact my feet don’t smell.”

You roll your eyes at him. “I don’t want your feet anywhere near me.”

“Yeah yeah,” he motions for the spot near you and you narrow your eyes as you glance to the side. You see the snack bag and Hanma is certain he’s never seen you this excited over food like now. 

“Chocolate dipped pretzels?!” 

He winces as he brings a hand to his ear. “I think even dogs heard that.”

You throw yourself over his lap, and Hanma’s breath hitches at the proximity. His hand hovers over your head momentarily, unsure as to where to place before giving your back a gentle pat.

“Thank you, I haven’t had them in a while!”

And after a long beat of silence, the tattooed man speaks up. “Don’t thank me, it’s fucking weird.”

You smile before patting his knees. “Still as awkward as ever,”

But before Hanma could come up with a reply, you’re pushing yourself up. “Ugh, now I’m hungry. Do you want to eat?”

“You made dinner already?”

“It’s like…7:30PM.” You frown at the man who raises an eyebrow at you.

Hanma shrugs. “Do I look like I have a routine to you?”

“Oh yeah right,” you walk closer to him, grinning at the man as you lean down to remove his glasses. Hanma watches with amusement as you wave the accessory in the air, walking towards the kitchen with a little sway to your hips just to tease him. “The only thing that’s consistent about you is your dick.”

“Is that so?” your stomach flutters when you see him push himself off the couch, all height and broad shoulders as he approaches you. He throws the cigarette pack on the soft cushions, suddenly consumed by something far more carnal than the need to smoke.

“Mmmhm. It’s not a bad thing.” you look over your shoulder with his glasses sitting on the bridge of your nose, trying to brush off the heat pooling between your legs as you stand near the stove.

“I know that,” stepping behind you, rough tattooed hands quickly find your bare skin under your shirt and he gropes your boobs. “Your body speaks to me, doll.” 

“Does it?” You try to muffle your moans when one of his hands travels down to your shorts, pushing your panties to the side to cup your pussy.

“Loud and clear, baby girl.” You wish you could say something in return, poke fun at the man or say something smart–but it’s all thrown out the window when he starts to rub at your clit while his lips press against your pulse. You’ve gotten used to not seeing his face while he pleasures you. Even when you ride his face, you’re more focused on gripping the headboard for dear life than at the lust reflecting in those gorgeous golden orbs. 

“What’s…what’s up with you and doing it in the kitchen?” you ask breathlessly, hissing when you feel his teeth bite at your neck.

“Why? You don’t like it?”

“No–”

“I know,” you can hear the grin in his voice, fingers messily rubbing your clit. “This pussy is soaked.” 

It’s safe to say that the two of you did not eat that night.

You’re always the first one to pass out after having sex with Kisaki’s right hand, not that he minds. But he quickly finds out that as long as you don’t hold him or talk to him after sex, he doesn’t feel the urgency to leave. 

The intimidating man sits up against the headboard, foot shaking slightly as he realizes where he had left his cigarette pack and curses under his breath. Then he turns his head to the side, and his eyes fall on your sleeping figure. Something so familiar yet so guarded. He knows every inch of your body like the back of his hand, is able to have you unravel beneath him with the flick of an experienced hand–but your heart is as guarded as it can be. His fingers twirl the loose strands of your hair, watching as your chest slowly rises then falls, lips parted to allow air in–until they get too dry. You lick them, pink muscle peeking out so adorably. He takes note of the constant twitch in your face muscles, how you have the same expressions you give him and he can’t help but chuckle. 

Still, the heavy feeling in his chest comes back and he pushes himself off the bed to grab his clothes. Why does it bother him so much? Why was it that the longer he spent time with you, the more unbearable it was to breathe? 

Hanma doesn’t feel guilt, he finds some lame excuse for the ache in his chest as he drops his pants to the floor. His feet drag him towards your living room where he finds his pack of cigarettes and he steps out onto your kitchen balcony to have a smoke. 

The city isn’t foreign to the criminal, he practically lives during the night, but it feels strange to watch it from above like this and from your kitchen balcony. It almost feels like he is seeing things from your perspective, although he highly doubts you’d stay up this late. 

An amused chuckle escapes his lips as he takes a whiff of the cigarette, leaning forward with his elbows on the metal railing and his head hangs between his shoulders. Suddenly, he feels something soft rub against his ankle and his body jolts up.

“What the fuck–” It’s dark, but he makes out a pair of bright eyes glaring daggers at him from the balcony door. Squinting, he leans down to make sure his eyes weren’t betraying him. “Is that–are you the fat fuck?”

A sharp hiss cuts through the dimly lit space of your kitchen, and Hanma laughs when your pet bares its fangs at him, its whiskers flaring in defiance. “Oh sorry, how does round motherfucker sound?”

“See, you and I don’t really have a good history.” Hanma squats to be eye level with your cat. “You cockblocked me, but I still got to fuck your mom though.” 

When your cat hisses at him again, Hanma’s grin turns devilish. “I guess that makes me the motherfucker–”

“Kenta?” your sleepy voice cuts through the one sided tension between the two, and Hanma’s eyes shift towards you. His blouse is hanging loosely over your nude body, with your hand holding it together so it doesn’t fall open. He can’t pull his eyes away from your bare legs, as though he didn’t have them wrapped around him hours prior, but he forces himself to stare elsewhere to soothe the ache in his throat.

“What’s wrong?” he hears the panic in your voice as you speak to your pet, and steps into the kitchen. You hold a hand to your chest, clearly taken aback by his presence. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Did I wake you up?” Hanma brings the cigarette back between his lips, inhaling the smoke as his eyes keep shifting from your bare legs to your visible nipples.

“Oh, mmmm,” you rub your eyes sleepily and Hanma bites down at his cigarette bud. Your lips were extra pouty, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen you look so harmless, so small. Not even when you’re whining beneath him. “It wasn’t you, I heard Kenta’s bell. He doesn’t go to the kitchen a lot at night,” he sees you lean down to pick up your pet, golden eyes flickering down to your butt as the blouse rides up and then back at you. The cat sits comfortably in your arms, but its disdain for the man is evident as he hisses again. 

“Oh! That’s not nice,” your voice is soft as you rub your cat’s nose, but it’s clearly done with the man as it wiggles in your hold before you place it down and watch it run away. “He doesn’t like men.”

He chuckles, clearly amused. “Yeah, you told me that.”

You glance towards the clock on your microwave before staring at him in surprise. “It’s 2AM?” 

Hanma nods. “You got work?”

“No, it’s Saturday.” You rub your eyes as you yawn and Hanma pulls his eyes away from your bare face. He’s grown used to seeing you like this — all bare and vulnerable, willing to show him a side of you he dreamed of seeing as a teenager. But the more he thought of it, the quicker he could feel bile rising to his throat. So he clears his throat. 

“Oh yeah, right.”

You shiver slightly when the wind hits your body, hugging yourself tightly. “Lucky you, you don’t have a corporate job.”

Hanma leans against the door frame. “I wouldn’t consider myself lucky, doll.”

You shrug before continuing. “No 9 to 5, no meetings–”

“We do have meetings.” He interjects and you roll your eyes at him as you open the fridge to grab water.

“Then something about your job is more fun than mine.” 

“Uh…it doesn’t feel like someone’s fucking you in the ass?”

You wince at the image, shaking your head as you bring the glass of water to your lips. “Yeah, I mean you don’t have to sign a contract or something.”

“The only contract you’re signing is that if you betray us, then you’re fucking dead.” he puts emphasis on the last part with a dark chuckle, puffing out smoke in the air. He leans against the railings of your balcony and soon enough, you join him. 

However, Hanma is a man with a good memory — and he recalls many instances where he had to lend you his very thin jacket when it would snow, and lie to you that he wasn’t cold just so he could see your cheeks turn pink from getting warm. So he glances to the side and true to his recollection, you are trembling from the cold. 

“You’re shivering.”

You shake your head, determined to fight your body’s need to slide in your warm bed. “I’m fine now.”

It wasn’t everyday that Hanma stayed, let alone have a conversation like this. You were willing to sacrifice body heat in order to stay up with the nocturnal man, and pray that he would be the one to suggest going back inside and… talk. 

Hanma’s eyes shamelessly travel down to your erect nipples, the way they harden in the cold and how your bare thighs seem to tremble as you lean against the cold railings. Naturally, Hanma’s brain leads him down a dirty path.

 “You sure someone can’t see you from here?”

“I’ve lived here long enough to know where to stand naked,” you joke around. You don’t know when throwing jokes and jabs at one another became fun around Hanma, all you know is that it doesn’t feel awkward anymore. 

“You’re not naked though,” he flickers the cigarette to the ground, and you give him a nasty side eye for it. “At least, not enough.”

“What do you mean?” your heart is racing in your chest, but you don’t pull back when he starts to lean down before capturing your lips in a searing kiss. He pushes you against the cold railings, but you make no attempt to grab onto them as devours you. He smells of cigarettes and a hint of sandalwood, a combination your brain has adjusted to over the weeks. Your arms instinctively wrap around his neck, and you gasp into the kiss when you feel his hands grope and smack your ass cheeks. You pull away with a whine, staring up at him behind your eyelashes. 

The action causes the man to hiss, and you could’ve sworn you saw his pupils dilate as he pecks your lips.

“You’re into shit like that?” his hot breath fans over your mouth, forcing you to stare at his lips for a quick moment. 

“Shit like what?” You breathe out and Shuji’s hands grip your ass cheeks. 

“Someone possibly catching us?”

You don’t give him a direct answer. You peck his lips once, twice then the third time seems to have the man unravel as he goes from kissing you passionately to devouring you in a split second. 

Hanma feels your fingernails dig into his scalp, and it ignites a fire in his stomach — a need to destroy you in front of the whole world to see. He pulls away from the kiss to bite down at your neck, and you gasp as your grip tightens around his hair. 

“As long as you make me cum.”

Challenge accepted.

You knew better than to test the man, you should’ve expected him to be determined about listening to your demands — but nothing could’ve prepared you for how shaky your legs would be by the end of it.

Hanma pulls your arms behind your back as he drills his cock into you, his nose nestled against the crown of your head as you push your ass back against him so sweetly. Your chest rests against the railings, digging uncomfortably into your rib cage but it didn’t matter — not when he was fucking you like this. 

“Filthy fucking girl,” he hums, using his other hand to wrap itself around your neck and pull you back against his chest. “I can feel your fucking pussy—she’s a messy one,” you can’t see his face, your vision blurred with tears as you fight back the loud noises threatening to spill from your lips. 

“O-Oh my g-g– Shuji–”

“Yeah baby, say it. Say my fucking name.” His thrusts become sloppy, erratic but he seems to be adamant on bruising that sweet spot. “Say my fucking name loud and clear. Tell people who’s fucking you right now.”

“Shit!” 

“Who’s fucking you? Who’s ruining this fucking pussy?”

“Shuji please!”

“Say it!”

“It’s you! It’s you Sh-Shuji it’s you, it’s you, it’s you—!” you blabber, drool spilling from the corner of your mouth and you hear Hanma curse under his breath as an orgasm washes over you in violent waves. He holds your body against him as yours shakes and trembles, kissing your neck through the tremors of your euphoric state. 

And soon enough, he is reaching his orgasm as well before melting against your back. 

Hanma carries you to the bathroom where he lets you do your business as well as clean yourself. He watches intently as you wash your hands and you shoot him a questioning look through the mirror. 

“Just thinking.”

“That’s never a good sign.” You yelp when he delivers a smack to your ass and you turn to pout at him. “You’re mean!” 

The tall man chuckles before approaching you, and at first you think he is going to try to grope you or push you against the sink. Suddenly, you see the world upside down.

“Shuji!” You gasp, holding onto his shirt as a giggle rips from the back of your throat. “Put me down!”

Another loud smack bounces off the walls and you let out a pained moan. “That really hurt!”

“Let’s go to bed.”

“I can walk!” 

You hear the playful chuckle right before Hanma drops you to your mattress. “Then I gotta fuck you harder.”

—

Over the last few weeks, Hanma’s presence has become a constant in your life. The tattooed man would stay long enough for the two of you to make breakfast together (or attempt, at least) and then he would leave. 

Naturally, that meant that the two of you had developed a sort of…routine together, one that neither of you wanted to acknowledge nor disrupt. 

7PM - He pulls up to your apartment building, and as he looks up to your living room window, the lights are on. 

It takes him about 5 minutes before he is abusing your door bell, and when you open the door to scold him, he leans down to capture your lips in a searing kiss and hopes that it distracts you. 

(It does sometimes).

Afterwards, it goes something like “did you eat yet?” “not really” “Shuji, how many times should I tell you–” and you proceed to scold him about the importance of getting three meals a day, staying hydrated enough and getting a good night of rest. Obviously, Hanma isn’t listening and only nods because is distracted by your small shorts. 

7:30 PM - The two of you are done eating dinner and he helps by drying the dishes. You tell him you are still not used to him standing in your kitchen and he complains about how small it is.

8PM - You try to get him to watch an episode of Criminal Minds, and he tells you it’s stupid. He says he doesn’t understand the concept, and that they’re probably not even smart. After an episode or two, he changes his mind but only half-heartedly and without ever admitting that he likes the plotline of the episodes. 

The next 20 minutes are spent making out on the couch, with Hanma whispering into your ear lines from one of the characters. You are always surprised by how good his memory is. 

9PM - Hanma asks you if you should start getting ready for bed, but you are still needy from the makeout session and he can’t hide his amusement as you drag him to your bedroom. He watches as you make a poor attempt to switch the roles in bed and take control, but a single thrust up of his hips has you melting on top of him and surrendering to the pleasure. You are usually knocked out by 10:30 PM. 

The tall man wants nothing more than to experience this right now — but it’s all cut short when he hears his phone buzzing. He fights back the urge to go through your older messages, questions of what he wants to have for dinner and some sneaky pictures you’d send each other when you’re both busy at work. Then his eyes find the latest message.

—I have a work dinner I need to attend. sorry :( 

The brightness of his phone casts a shadow over his face, and a frown sits heavy on his features as his eyes scan the message for multiple seconds. His thumb hovers over his keyboard, unsure of what to type as a response. 

Have fun? He hopes someone chokes on their food, but he knows your kindness and how willing you would be to stay with the co-worker in the hospital until they feel better. 

Eat well? Hanma knows for a fact that you would’ve eaten better in his presence and while watching your favorite show. 

Stay safe doesn’t work either, he’s not a fucking guardian angel. 

Get home soon? Fuck no. 

Hanma cannot find a single appropriate response that doesn’t make him come off as possessive and jealous, which is far from how he feels at the moment. Obviously, the knot in his stomach is from how hungry he is and you are to blame for it. After all, you’re the one who made him get so used to a routine, modified it so it would match his schedule. 

He stares at the watch and the frown turns into a glare when he sees the time. 

7:10PM

Finally, he unlocks his phone and his thumb slides across the screen as he types a response. 

—OK. 

“Look who’s visiting.” You can’t say you’re surprised he is here, but you still didn’t expect the owner of the restaurant to come to your table. All brooding, big and handsome; a pair of golden eyes lock with yours in the dimly lit space. Surrounded by all of your co-workers, you can’t hide the big smile that paints your features, and you miss the looks they all exchange as you get up from your seat to greet the man properly.

“I suggested the restaurant, actually.” You feel your phone buzz in your hand, but you choose to ignore it and place it down as you wrap your arms around the taller man’s shoulders. Feeling his big, muscular arms circle your waist, you fight back a blush as he pulls you against him slightly.“Heard you were good with seafood.” 

He smirks at your playful comment, eyes scanning all of your co-workers as their eyes shine with something he could only describe as mischievous. “I’m excellent with seafood,”

“I have a feeling that’s not the only thing he’s excellent with,” Misaki, your co-worker, teases slightly and you find yourself flushing at the comment. Shooting her a warning glare, she shrugs her shoulders and snickers when she sees you try to fan your face.

“Uh, thank you so much for coming.”

“No problem, let me know when you’re ready to order. I’ll make sure that you’re taken care of.” He places a warm hand on your bare shoulder, and you force yourself to look away from him when you catch him eyeing your cleavage for a bit too long. 

You’re not prepared for the overwhelming amount of questions and comments that are thrown at you. 

“Who was that?”

“You have a boyfriend and didn’t tell us?”

“He’s huge! I know a size kink when I see one–”

“Guys!” you try to calm the situation. “We’re not dating, he’s not my boyfriend!” 

Another co-worker, Aya, quirks an eyebrow at your reply. “Oh yeah? But he sure looks like he wants to be.”

“No he doesn’t.” You sigh, sinking in your seat as you pretend to read the menu. “Plus, he and my ex are close friends. I can’t do that to him.” 

“Please,” Misaki speaks up again. “You don’t owe your ex anything, you two have been over for a while.” 

“Aaand, if I had a man who looked at me the same way he looks at you…” Aya sighs dreamily and you furrow your eyebrows in concern. “I wouldn’t know how to act around him.”

Objectively speaking, he was an attractive man. Tall, handsome, strong and big–all of these traits combined are enough to make any woman fall face first. Well, you weren’t just any woman. You’ve known him for quite some time now, ever since his fight with Mitsuya and the whole shift in the blue haired man’s character–you watched him change entirely for his two siblings and after many years of hard work and discipline, he managed to open a chain of many successful restaurants all across Japan. So yeah, on top of being so physically charming, he was a smart man, a good flirt and he always smelled so good. 

And beside there was Hanma. Despite things not being official between the two of you, you couldn’t imagine yourself doing it to the taller man. 

No matter how charming, handsome and huge Taiju was. 

You catch yourself before your thoughts go down a dirty path, squeezing your thighs lightly before crossing your legs and clearing your throat. 

“Well you have to learn how to act around him because–”

“Act around who?” Your blood runs cold, but you quickly look up to find Taiju staring directly down at you. All handsome face and chiseled jaw. His hands were on your chair, and you would be lying if you said you didn’t feel nervous at the close proximity and the feeling of his body heat. 

“You said you’d send someone?” You change the topic quickly and it seems as though the taller man doesn’t mind. 

Shrugging his shoulders, he pushes himself away from your chair and grabs his phone from his pocket. “I thought about it, and I’d rather do it myself. Memorize your order and all.” He sends you a wink and you flush. His gaze was a wildfire—unrelenting, consuming, and impossible to look away from, and honestly–you’d rather stare at him forever than meet the playful looks from your colleagues. So you point to the menu as he types away. 

“Uhh I’ll take the–”

–

“You’re leaving?” The broad-shouldered man steps into your space from behind the counter and you flash him an apologetic smile as you wrap your scarf around your neck. 

“Yeah, early day tomorrow.” 

Raising an eyebrow, you don’t miss the slight twitch to his smirk as he crosses his huge arms across his chest. “Early day, huh?” 

Sensing his amusement, you roll your eyes at him and look down at your shoes, finding them interesting. 

“Shut up, it’s not bad.” 

“Not judging ya bunny.” You were grateful that your colleagues were busy with paying, and that none of them was looking at you–or else, they’d have endless questions about why your eyes widened so much and why your face looked as though it was matching the restaurant’s fancy red carpets?

“Don’t.” 

“Don’t what? Call you bunny?”

When you don’t give him an answer, only a lighthearted glare and a smile you try to suppress, Taiju’s hands find your shoulders and he starts to guide you out of the restaurant. “Alright alright, but it’s good to know it still has the same effect on you.”

“Not the same effect if it’s not the same person saying it,” you mumble only to yourself, but the tall man catches it and chuckles. 

“You’re right, lover girl, my bad.”

“I’m not a lover girl.” 

“Mhm, and I’m not a Christian man.” You feel him squeeze your shoulders playfully, but you still can’t deny how comforting it feels to have him touch you like this. Nonetheless, you pull away from his touch when you find your colleagues waiting for you near the car.

“Okay I have to go,” you shiver slightly from the cold, nuzzling your face in your scarf while Taiju looks almost unfazed by the icy, cold wind. “Thank you for tonight.”

“No problem.” But even as the conversation comes to an end, you can feel that Taiju has more to say. You tilt your head to the side, and Taiju catches onto your movement with a slight chuckle.

“Spill.” You nudge the man and he shrugs.

Taiju’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “Who’s the lucky man?”

Your eyes widen. “Huh?”

“Come on bunny,” he leans down to be eye level with you. “I recognize that look on your face. Only one man has ever made you act this way.”

But you remain quiet, burying your face in your scarf as though it could magically make you disappear. You don’t want to tell Taiju or anyone about him, you like how secretive and intimate it feels to be involved with a man like Hanma. And for the longest time, you thought that you were hiding how complete and new Shuji made you feel, that your lies about having a self-care night and going on solo dates were convincing enough to your co-workers. 

Perhaps they weren’t, and maybe Taiju knows you that well and you are only learning about it now. 

Your shoes become interesting again, and you can’t control the blush that travels up to your face. You would like to blame it on your scarf, that you were breathing into it, but that wouldn’t explain the glossiness of your eyes. 

Before you can part your lips and utter a response, a loud honk makes you jump out of your skin. Taiju stays put as he stares at the fancy car parked right in front of his restaurant, his hands buried in his pockets as his eyes stay fixated on the driver of the car. 

You turn to see who the culprit is, about to complain to Taiju about how rude people have become lately and then you see him. 

“Didn’t take you for a seafood lover, doll.” Hanma gets out of his car, marching slowly towards you and Taiju with a cigarette between his lips. “Shit, didn’t take you for Shiba’s friend either.” 

“Oh we…” you gulp as you stare between the two men in panic. Your heart is beating so loudly you can feel in your throat, but you muster up the strength to wave for your co-workers to go ahead without you before they can question the situation you were in.

Which was nothing, so you didn’t understand where the anxiety came from. 

“We’ve known each other for a while.”

Hanma tilts his head to the side. “Have you?” 

You nod, trying your best to seem unfazed by the dark look in his eyes. 

“Why is this news to me?” 

You shrug, “You never asked.” 

Taiju watches the interaction unfold with curious eyes. He can tell from your body language that Hanma isn’t a stranger, but he isn’t…just a friend either. You seem almost hesitant to talk about another man in his presence, but you are confident enough to stand your ground and not let him intimidate you.

But he does wonder, how is it that someone like you goes from Mitsuya to a man like Hanma? It seemed a little unexpected, but he continues to observe the interaction between the two of you. 

You grab onto your scarf again, eyebrows twitching as Hanma steps onto the pavement. He stands to his full height, something he rarely ever does and your breath catches in your throat. 

“You ready to go home, doll?”

You shoot him a look. “Should I ask how you found me?”

Hanma flashes you one of his playful smiles while you fight one of your own, like it’s one of your inside jokes, your own little shared secret.

“Get in the car, doll.” 

For the first time during the night, Taiju feels as though he shouldn’t be standing near you. He doesn’t voice it out, watching intently as you wave at him once you are near the car. You wish him goodnight with a bright smile, before getting in Hanma’s car. 

“Interesting.” The blue haired male tells Hanma and the latter doesn’t respond. The two stand in silence for a few more seconds before Taiju scoffs, waving a hand at you before glancing at the criminal.

“What, lost the way to your car or something?” 

A dark chuckle escapes the tall man’s lips as he retreats to his car. “You’re fucking lucky she’s there.”

—

You’ve never seen Hanma drive back home as fast as he did tonight. The entire ride feels like a blur as he pulls up near your apartment building. And when the two of you get out of the vehicle, you almost don’t register that he is physically dragging you up the stairs and inside the elevator.

“Shuji?” You whisper his name with a hint of hesitance, unsure as to why the man was suddenly as quiet as he is. But he doesn’t respond, clenching the elevator’s railings. “Are you okay?” 

Still no answer.

The elevator doors open again and the taller man is back to dragging you by your wrist. When you are finally in front of your door, you dig your hand into your purse to grab your keys then Hanma snatches them out of your hands to unlock the door himself. Your lips part and close multiple times, the coil in your stomach tightening as you take in Hanma’s body language.

Stiff shoulders, tight jaw and a dark look in his eyes. 

This could go either really bad, or really well. 

When you finally step into your apartment, Hanma doesn’t waste a single second as he pushes you up against the nearest wall and clashes his lips against yours. It’s primal, the way kisses you, pushing you so harshly against the wall that you grip his shoulders and whine against his lips. But it doesn’t shake him, instead giving him a boost to make an even bigger mess out of you.

When he finally pulls away, it is to pepper kisses down your jaw and remove his glasses as he strips you from your scarf and coat. Finally, he gets a look of the dress you were wearing.

“Work dinner?” Even as he asks, his hands don’t leave your skin. He shoves them under your dress, groping your ass cheeks before giving them a harsh smack. 

“Yes Shuji,” you bite your lips as you wrap your arms around his neck. “I like to look good.” 

You always look good.

He hikes up your dress just enough to shove his hand in your underwear, rubbing your clit in circles until he feels the wetness soak his digits. You melt against the wall behind you, whimpering when the tip of his fingers swiped and teased your entrance. 

“So unfair,” you whine to the man and he raises an eyebrow. 

“I’m no damn mind reader.”

Grabbing his belt, Hanma seems to be taken aback as you pull him flush against your crotch. “I wanna see you”

His movements are hurried as he pulls away from you, chuckling at the whine you let out at the loss of contact. 

“So fucking whiny for me.”

“Don’t push it.” But even as you glare at him, there’s a smile dancing on your lips before you pull him back in for a kiss. 

You feel his naked body against yours, moaning into the kiss when the tip of his cock grazes your entrance a couple of times. His thumb slides down to rub at your clit, taking in the way you tense into the kiss when he finally starts sliding his cock inside you. He applies a good amount of pressure to your clit, watching with lustful eyes as your jaw goes slack and you throw your head back against the wall. 

Hanma’s hand slowly wraps itself around your neck and his fingers collide with the metal of your necklace. You can feel his hot breath fanning against your lips as you part them. His eyes are like two burning suns, pulling you towards their heat but so intensely bright that tears start to blur your vision. Your hand finds his forehead, and you brush his hair away as you press your forehead against his and moan loudly into his mouth. 

“Shu,” you whisper out, voice laced with wanton and a need for his presence like never before. Hanma finds himself groaning into your mouth when your voice reaches his ear, the hold he has on your neck tightening a bit.

“Don’t say my name like that,” his voice breaks at the end, and it’s a tell-tale that his orgasm was near. And like a pyromaniac, you love to play with fire. 

Your hand slides down to his jaw, gently cupping it. The intoxicating movement of his hips distracts you for a moment, and you hold back from tossing your head on the wall as the tip of his cock brushes against your sensitive spot. “Like what, Shu?”

Another loud groan erupts from the back of his throat, then he leans down to press his nose against your pulse. “Fuck me, doll.”

Giggling to yourself, you wrap your leg around his waist as you pull him in. 

“I am,” 

And that seems to catch his attention as he pulls away from your skin, hovering over your fucked out body with flushed cheeks and bruised lips. 

“Looks like I haven’t fucked you stupid yet.” He taps your butt and you jump, wrapping both legs around his waist as you gasp.

“If I can still talk? Yeah, you haven’t.”

Smirking, Hanma moves away from the wall with him still inside, and starts to walk towards your bedroom. He makes quick work of opening your door before laying your body down on the mattress. 

You almost miss the way he is gentle with your body.

Slowly, he starts to hover over your body and your legs pull him in closer. His hand squeezes your neck once before dragging down your chest, torso and eventually your stomach where he presses down hard enough for you to gasp. You look up at him from behind your lashes, eyes shining with what Hanma could only be described as pure lust, then you drag your hands down to fondle your own breasts. That seems to seal the deal for the tattooed man, his fingers digging into the skin of your waist to pull you even closer to him. 

You yelp at the sensation, body arching off the mattress as you throw your head back on the pillow. “Suddenly wanna show off how strong you are?” you mumble against the back of your hand, poorly attempting to cover up your flushed cheeks.

“Maybe,” Hanma shrugs, his thumb brushing over your swollen clit. “Cause I’ve seen the way this pussy squeezes around me when I do that.” 

You have no response to that—no smart retort or sarcastic comment, only a hot face and a pathetic whimper that escapes the back of your throat with so much desperation that Hanma’s eyes widen in shock.

“Oh shit,” he chuckles. “Oh fuck, you do like how strong I am.”

“Shuji stop,” you look to the side, now using your arm to cover your face. You bend your knees as you try to escape his grip, but that seems to put you in the perfect position for Hanma to fold you in half. 

Pinning you to the mattress, his hands grab onto the back of your knees as he pushes them to your chest. You are trapped beneath him, forced to come face to face with the man who had been drilling you all night. 

“Don’t look away, doll.” And he means it. 

He wants to see, hear and feel everything. The slight twitch to your lips as he starts to thrust in and out of you at an achingly slow pace, the breathy moan as his pubic hair brushes against your sensitive clit and the flutter to your pussy when he leans down to capture your lips in a searing kiss. 

Being in bed with you, fucking you like this, was beginning to shake Hanma’s unwavering belief that God didn’t exist. 

Hanma’s eyes seem to be fixated on your sleeping figure, on the slow fall and rise of your chest, the soft inhale and exhale and the plush of your lips. He doesn’t seem to realize, but you’ve pulled him in a trance and he can’t seem to escape. His hand traces the small of your back, a chuckle escapes him and it’s so soft, so devoid of malice or sarcasm that it leaves an ache in his dull, cold heart. And then, he feels a lump in his throat. 

The longer he stares, the more his touch lingers on your skin, the harder it is to pull away and the pain in his chest intensifies. It spreads like a wildfire, and a tattooed hand lands on his torso as he feels bile rise to the back of his throat. 

He rips his eyes away from your innocent expression, trying to distract himself from the fact that your hand was resting on his arm as a way to keep yourself grounded. Even now, Shuji was aware of the fact that you don’t cuddle to sleep, you told him once when the two of you were young and dumb and he truly believed that he could somehow end up as your first boyfriend.

“That sounds like such bullshit,” a young Hanma appears in his memories, he is going through your magazines that Ran had bought for you and a teenager version of you is trying to pry them off his hands. 

“Put them down! Ran and I spent so much time organizing them!” But when that doesn’t work, you huff and land on your desk chair with your arms crossed over your chest. “What do you mean it sounds like…”

Hanma can’t stop smirking as he repeats. “Bullshit? Come on doll, not allowed to curse?” 

“I am allowed to curse!” The defensiveness and lack of eye contact tell a different story. 

“Sure thing, princess.” He pats your head rather aggressively, but not enough to hurt you. You’re annoyed that he messed with your hair, then Hanma speaks up again. “You’re too whiny and clingy to not want to cuddle when you sleep.”

Your heart aches. “Clingy?” 

When he hears the hint of pain in your voice, he smoothly places a band-aid over it. “Like a kitten. It’s not bad.”

But you shrug, leaning against your chair. “I really can’t cuddle, I feel uncomfortable.”

Hanma sits on your bed after picking a magazine. “How?” 

“I don’t know?” you tilt your head. “Maybe with a boyfriend it will feel different.”

In reality, he doesn’t know whether or not your habit has changed. For the first time, he chooses to assume that he doesn’t know you as well as he does, that you’ve grown into a person he doesn’t recognize and that his brain was playing mind tricks on him whenever he recognized old habits that never died down.  

But your hand keeps sliding up his arm, nails digging into his shoulder as you shift closer to him in bed. 

You press your lips against his bicep, and Hanma instinctively reaches his hand down to cup your face.“Shuji?” 

“Hm?”

“What do you say we go out and have brunch tomorrow?” It’s mumbled and barely coherent, but Hanma makes out a few words and manages to piece them together. However, he doesn’t say anything in return. 

This wasn’t unusual, the two of you have made plans before. And like every other time, you expect him to reply with his usual ‘yes’ and ‘I will find a place’.

Instead, all you hear is a shuffle before your face is pressed against his chest. You can hear his heartbeat, steady and comforting, and it slowly pulls you back to sleep. 

But even with your naked body pressed up against his, and as you mumble his name in your sleep, Hanma can’t seem to brush off the discomfort that suddenly engulfs his entire being. The walls of your bedroom suddenly seem like prison walls, and the pendant of your necklace presses against his chest like the tip of a knife. 

A loud buzzing sound interrupts his thoughts, and he quickly reaches for his phone on the nightstand. 

It’s Kisaki. He brings the phone closer to his ear.

“Hm?”

“Where are you?”

Despite being familiar with your sleeping habits, Hanma’s voice is unusually quiet. “Why?”

Kisaki doesn’t need to say much before Hanma is slipping out of your arms and into his work outfit. He doesn’t cast you a glance, golden orbs fixated on the grey of your carpet as he sits at the edge of the bed to put on his socks. 

Homemade meals, soft covers and a place you turned into home with your own delicate hand; those were all things Hanma wasn’t used to, and he couldn’t afford to keep lying to himself about being deserving of something like this. 

Suddenly, the walls of your room feel foreign to him. He doesn’t see himself in any of the pictures in your living room, nor can he find a way for his existence to fit on the pillowy bed of your heart.

He steals a glance at your sleeping figure, still curled around the pillow that had cradled his head just moments ago, before tearing his gaze away. 

He was never meant to find his way into your life again, and by the time the sun rises, he will be nothing more than a shadow lost to the morning light. 

2025 © all works belong to @slttygeto. do not repost, translate or steal any of my works.

[sodapaladin]

I try to get information from this guy and the option to end the convo gets ruder and ruder until it finally makes you demand a “prezzie” what the hell haha

[myrrhderjuice]

Basically...

[kechichronicles]

Guess I'll go ahead and start adding some tough to find official arts to this growing FFCC database!! These are official wallpapers of a few of the Crystal Chronicles FF TCG card art given out on the Final Fantasy Portal app!! You can still download these directly from the source by downloading the app and earning some points for them! (earning points is super easy and only requires viewing news articles)

[myrrhderjuice]

I have decided to take a step back from active writing and actually develop my characters in full. This is something I haven't really thought of until a week ago when I thought "Is my MC a self-insert?" While I understand that all characters have a bit of the author within them, I am trying to make sure that there isn't too much of me in my MC. If you are interested in reading my writing, I have chapters 1 & 2 on this blog and more on Wattpad. The blog will say Immortal Time, however I have changed the title to Echoes of Time.

Here is the Wattpad Link

[real-life-senshi]

SURPRISE. Here's another chapter, uploaded to AO3 and replaced in FF.net. LOL

Significant changes:

Better perspective on Minako's psych (I say that self-indulgingly. I keep flipping back and forth wondering if I overdid it or not.)

I FINALLY fleshed out the villain's backstory completely in my plans (something I failed to do so when I first started writing EoT all those years ago), so I'm hoping to be more intentional and linear in how I write Danburite, Rubellite, Hematite and Azurite moving forward. The villain scene in this chapter is significantly changed, with what I hope to be good hints sprinkled in to future plot.

Significant struggles.:

I am trying to reduce the use of epithets... But dear god, Azurite and Hematite's names weren't meant to be revealed till chapter/Act 13... And it's a struggle to write them without their names. LMAO

[wickedzeevyln]

Germ Theory

▶︎|၊|။ My Own Forgiveness ||||။‌၊| The tree lived the way the wind bent it, trunk hunched, groaning as the breeze ripped its leaves. Right before winter blew its way, it stood naked, its shade dangled on its body, bending with amber light as it stretched over crumbling dead leaves that for a fleeting time clung to its branches. It stood there while the cold slashed through the land. Way past…