#so a yakuza a yakuza and a yakuza walk into a bar

[zaddyazula]

i stayed up until like 1am finishing yakuza 3 because i was not leaving that shit to hang

[thecoochiefairy]

bloodhound. toji.

𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 15.9K word count. blackfem!reader, toji fushiguro, mafiagangmember!toji , violence, dominant!toji, sweet!toji, aggressive!toji, sensual sex, black woman, vaginal penetration, rough sex, lil bit of sweet talkin’, creaming, oral [f], choking, praising, LOTS of dirty talk, condom-less sex, kissing, spanking, minors aren’t welcome!

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ this idea came at a random, kinda just for fun. loved it at first, started hating it as i wrote it? was committed to finish. idk. ugh. however, it was inspired by ‘the yakuza wife’ anime. anyways, a lot happened in the real world, sorry y’all. i love you. just enjoy. visuals.

EYES. THEY WERE ALWAYS RECEIVED TO HER BY THE STARE OF OTHER PEOPLE. It was common at this point, so much that it didn’t even offend her—But it should’ve.

 Instead, she brought her focus upon the dimly lit lanterns that lead to the end of the market, needing to make it back to Tokyo before dark. Chocolate brown panels above to protect the stores from rain, cherry blossoms sprouting along the poles as she passed by, watching as the bars and restaurants began to pack like sardines within a can. 

Back to the staring, she counted about three people today. It wasn’t the worst thing in the world. It just didn’t make sense to her—she’d been in Japan all her life, and she still felt like an outsider. She didn’t have fair skin, silky hair, or a petite frame. She was different, but he always reminded her there was beauty in being like no other. 

She’d make sure to grab a small carton of rouge strawberries, her favorite fruit at any time of day. Number four, the man at the counter gives her a strange look as she walks around the store, before suppressing his peculiar stare, replacing it with a respectful smile as she hands him 10,000 yen.

It was a silent two hour ride back home—she knew she was going to get chastised, especially being without protection. The familiar walkway of succulents swayed with the wind as she followed a pathway, now standing in front of the barrier that separated her from the machiya—or house— as he’d taught her to say. She glances up at the camera that tries to hide at the top of the gate, also looking down through the bars as she can see one of the guards pointing a gun directly at her. The groceries become heavier.

She sighs, “Are you gonna let me in, or shoot me?” 

When the guard recognizes the familiar voice, he lowers his gun at the same time he bows, constantly repeating, “Sumimasen,” as the top of the gate unlocks.

She gives a polite wave to the older women dressed in their housekeeping attire. She hears one of them call to help her with the groceries, to which she always waved off. Making her way inside, she quickly dropped the groceries in the kitchen, beginning to pull the items out of the bag as she could instantly feel someone behind her. She doesn’t have to look back, knowing it’s the man that’s assigned to follow her everywhere she goes. 

She exhales, “You don’t have to hide in the corner, Kenji. Is my grandfather awake?”

Kenji, a tall and muscular man, emerges from the shadows and makes his way into the kitchen. He stands by the fridge, hands behind his back. 

"No ma’am, he is still asleep," Kenji replies, his voice low and authoritative. He watches as she unpacks the groceries, his gaze unwavering. 

"You didn’t tell anyone you were leaving.”

“Would you have taken me down to Kyoto if I asked?” She raises an eyebrow, knowing the answer to that, “I needed fresh fruit. You would’ve gone out and got it yourself.” 

Kenji was an older, extremely serious man. Barely could get a laugh, smile, even the twitch of his pale face. He’d been the guardian of their family for years, but even he had his stresses when it came to her.

“That doesn’t mean you should leave the estate without me,” he replies stiffly, “You could’ve woken me up and I would’ve taken you.”  

“I made it back safely,” she counters, “No one recognized me, so it’s fine. You want a strawberry?” She takes one from the plastic, reaching it out to him.

Kenji eyes the strawberry for a moment, before reluctantly taking it. 

"It’s not about making it back safely," he replies, a hint of irritation in his tone, "It’s about the fact that you left without telling anyone. Anything could’ve happened to you." 

“Ahh, you took it from me! You’re not that mad, Mamoru,” she calls him the traditional term, “You can save all that intimidation shit for Jiji, not me.”

"Don’t call me that," he mutters, crossing his arms. "And don’t call your grandfather Jiji. Have some respect."

“What? Is Ojiichan better for you?” She questions as she reaches her hand out, “Here. Have another strawberry. You’re mean today.”

Kenji grumbles, but accepts another strawberry anyway. 

"Don’t try and butter me up," he mutters, taking a bite, "I’m not mean. I’m just doing my job." 

He leans against the counter, looking at her with a mix of annoyance and concern. He taps the piece within his ear, his eyes coming up as he says, “Your grandfathers awake.”

“I’m going,” she’s already beginning to make her way upstairs, “Don’t touch the groceries! I can put them up myself.”

She comes down the hallway, sliding the wooden frame of the door, pressing her hand against the translucent paper as her eyes follow to the sight of her grandfather. Smile lines creased his olive face, even when he wasn’t happy. 

She watched the housekeeper dab a cold towel against his face, walking forward as she tells her, “I’m here, you can go take a break,” she gives a light smile, offering to take the towel from her.

The housekeeper nods appreciatively and leaves the room, closing the door behind her. The only sound left is the soft breathing of her grandfather. 

He turns his head towards her, his eyes slowly opening. “You’re back,” he rasps, his voice weak.

She sits along the floor beside his bed as she softly replies, “I’m surprised you’re not raising your blood pressure to yell at me.”

Her grandfather manages a weak smile, wincing slightly as he shifts in the bed. 

"I'll save my anger for later," he mutters, his voice gruff. "What were you thinking, leaving without telling anyone?"

“I wasn’t gone that long,” she tells him, to which he says, “Bogo de hanashite kudasai.”

She replies, “You’re getting better at your English—can you not be difficult right now?”

"You still haven't explained why you went to the market by yourself."

“I went to your favorite market in Kyoto to find those dumplings you like, I wanted to make ramen,” she says, reaching out as she lightly dabs the towel against his face, “You’ still wanna yell now?”

Her grandfather's gruff exterior softens, and he looks at her with a hint of surprise. He can never stay mad at her. 

"No," he mutters, closing his eyes as he lets out a long sigh. "I suppose you did bring me my favorite dumplings."

“How are you feeling?”

Her grandfather grunts, waving off the question. "I'm fine," he says dismissively, "You don't need to worry about me."

He notices the look on her face, and sighs. "I'm tired," he admits, wincing slightly as he tries to sit up more in the bed.

“You’ll feel better once I cook,” she mentions, “Do you want to try to take an actual shower today?”

“I’m too weak to stand,” he mutters, a hint of stubbornness in his voice, “But I’m still capable of taking care of myself.”

“Yet you can’t stand?” She raises an eyebrow. 

She watches him lean back into the pillow, breathing as if he’d just done a marathon. The ball in her throat begins to form, and she hates that. She then says, “The man that would kill to protect his family, is now letting cancer take him in the dead of the night. You say I’m stubborn, and you wonder where that comes from?”

He grunts, turning away from her gaze. “Don’t start,” he mutters, his voice hoarse. “I’m an old man. I’ve already lived my life. I don’t need your pity.”

“And I’m not giving it to you,” she swiftly replies, “We could’ve found the best treatment in Japan. And yet here you are, wanting your final months to be in the walls of this home. The leader of the Yakuza—who’s gonna scare the city when you’re gone?”

Her grandfather glares at her, his eyes narrow and sharp. "I've made my decision," he snaps, "This is where I want to be. I'm not some coward who's afraid to face death. And don't talk to me about the Yakuza. I've done everything I needed to do for them." 

He lets out a deep sigh, his shoulders sagging as he leans back against the pillows, "I don't need you to remind me that I'm dying."

She brings her head down, staring along the towel she holds. She says softly, “Gomen’nasai,” her throat becoming tight again as she continues, “I just wish you weren’t trying to run away from me.”

"I'm not running away from you," he says, his tone gruff but gentle, "I'm just tired. I've spent my whole life fighting and I just want to rest now."

She knows that. It’s just hard to hear. The man that raised her, taught her everything she needed to know, maybe even more.

She hesitates, “Nani ka kiite mo īdesu ka?”

He nods, intertwining his fingers back together, laying himself properly back along the pillows beneath his body.

“Do you regret the life you lived?” 

The question is general, although she wants to be specific. She slowly continues, “I know you for who you are, but others don’t. They feared you, feared the people you brought in. You—hurt people, did…illegal things. Would you have changed that?”

Her grandfather lets out a long sigh, thinking about her question. He is silent for a moment, contemplating his life spent. 

"Yes," he finally says, his voice rough. "There are many things I regret about the life I lived. Things I did that I wish I could undo. But I did what I thought was necessary for our family—But I never regret meeting your grandmother, and I never regret having your father. Meaning— I never regret bringing you into this world."

She suppresses her smile as she says, “You’re getting soft on me, Jiji.”

"I'm not getting soft," he mutters, rolling his eyes, “I'm just being honest. However, I have one dying wish.” 

She nods her head, waiting for him to continue. He then says, “You will be twenty-six soon, and all I ask is that you’re married before I die.”

She frowns, “That’s not long, Jiji, what am I supposed to do? Go out and pick a husband off of the street?”

Her grandfather smiles at her reaction, amused by her stubbornness. "No, obviously not," he chuckles, coughing a little at the end. "I don’t expect you to pick the first man you see. But you need to start thinking about it. You need to find a good man, someone who will take care of you after I’m gone."

“I can take care of myself,” she always told him, “I’ll be the first in your generation to be lonely with cats.”

Her grandfather grunts, looking at her with a mixture of amusement and annoyance, “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not going to live alone with cats."

“I suspect you have a line up of men to offer to me?” She raises an eyebrow, “I don’t think I’m fond of being with those Yakuza crazies you keep under your wing.”

He studies her again, his eyes narrowed, "They’re respectable men. You're not a little girl anymore. It's time to start thinking about your future."

“I do think about my future. I’m trying to finish school to become a registered nurse, but you seem to tune out as soon as I tell you that,” she reminded him. Her grandfather was unfortunately an extremely traditional man, only seeing women to be taken care of by men.

"You're wasting your time with that," he grumbles, his eyes flickering back to hers, “You don't need to work. You have enough money to live comfortably for the rest of your life. And you certainly don't need to be a nurse. You're a woman, not a doctor."

“So what are you saying?” 

“I’m saying that I’ve found someone for you.”

Her frown deepens. She says, “Ojiichan, I hope you aren’t insinuating an arranged marriage.”

“An arranged marriage is not something you should reject right away," he says, "I know the perfect man for you. He's respectful, wealthy, and he comes from a good family in the Yakuza.” 

“What happened to not wanting me married off to a man like you or my father? That’s what you want for me?” She sharply replies.

"Don’t you talk to me like that," he snaps, "I worked hard for this family. So did my son. I made sure we had power and a life most people dreamed of. This is a good man—strong, traditional. You will meet him tomorrow.”

Her eyes widen slightly, “What? ‘The hell do you mean tomorrow?”

Her grandfather looks at her sternly, his eyes piercing into hers, “You will meet him tomorrow. I'm not asking you, I’m telling you. You will get dressed and you will sit with him for tea." 

He raises a hand when she starts to speak, silencing her, “This is not a discussion. You will meet him, and you will be polite. Understood?"

When she goes to argue again, his hand raises further, her eyes catching the trail of ink littered along the back of his arm, knowing it followed all the way up his back, down his spine. It was a reminder of who he once was, and the authority in his tone also did that. 

He finalizes, “This is my dying wish, Sayuki. You will do this.” 

The call of her full name means it’s no room for argument. She wasn’t ready to meet anyone, let alone be married. But this was all he asked of her, and she wanted to respect his wishes in death. 

She nods her head, “Okay.”

Her grandfather’s expression softens slightly as he sees her nod. He lowers his hand, gesturing to the door, “Good. Now go make my gyoza, a dying man needs to eat.”

At this moment, she thought about poisoning his food. But she gave him something easier. A fake smile, a bow, and exiting the room. 

                                          𝓐ᥫ᭡

     CHAMOMILE TEA. That’s what she remembered from this interaction. When the next day came, it flew by just to spite her. It was now closer to the evening, the lanterns of the night beginning to light as she stood within the mirror of her bedroom. She turned her body as she looked at herself, the backless pale yellow dress flowing down to her thin golden heels, straps wrapped around the tattoos along her feet. The top of her dress tied into a bow around her neck, dark hair up within a matching claw clip.

 If there was a luxury her grandfather had given her, it was to dress however she chose. He’d shoot on sight for anyone that had an opinion on it. Tendrils flew around the caramel complexion of her face, honey brown freckles showing through her makeup despite her foundation, fox eyes slender beneath her lash extensions, pointing upwards along her face. 

She pressed the brown outline of her cupid's bow lips to mix with the mauve closest to her mouth, spraying herself of a sensuous vanilla and jasmine scent before she made her way out of the door, Kenji immediately following behind. 

She asked him softly, “Do I look okay?” Knowing the older man didn’t have much opinion, but she needed some type of reaction from someone.

Kenji looked at her, his expression stoic as usual, his eyes roaming over her figure, "You look beautiful," he said, his voice dry as usual. 

He paused for a moment, his eyes lingering on her face, "But you’re nervous," he added, “You’re squeezing your hands together."

“I know,” she sighs, “What if this is the husband of my dreams, Kenji? Like those dramatic movies I used to watch as a kid?”

He patted her shoulder reassuringly, "Just...try to act normal. And don’t punch him, at least not right away."

She huffs out a breath, “Thanks.”

She then slides the opening door to her grandfather's room, seeing as a housekeeper sat beside him, pressing a spoon to his mouth as she fed him soup. 

Sayuki greeted, “I hear a lot of noise from downstairs, Jiji, are your children already running amuck?”

“Don’t joke like that,” he said, his tone gruff, “But yes, half of the clan’s already gathering. They’ll be at a meeting while you’re on your date.”

“Did you have to do that the same day? I’d rather avoid the embarrassment,” she replies, “…You didn’t tell me my dress was pretty.”

“You look like a delicate flower, my child.” 

That makes her feel at ease. She then says, “Don’t let those idiots rummage the fridge, please? Those groceries are for you. I’ll be in the garden if you need me, okay?”

Her grandfather grunts, waving her off with a hand, "Don't show that attitude when you meet him. Don't be sharp-tongued or sarcastic. Act like a proper lady."

She keeps from rolling her eyes. Leaning down closer to the bed, she gives him a kiss on the cheek, before sliding the door closed and making her way downstairs. The men of the Yakuza filled the entire living room and kitchen, rowdy, loud, cigarette smoking, talking shit. Matching black suits, dark hair—an intimidation brought all along Tokyo. It was as if she hadn’t passed by, throaty laughs filling the house as they continued to play cards, arguing with one another.

She was back to following the path of plants, leading up to the gazebo that was surrounded by clear water, koi fish and flowers she’d planted herself, or even helped the housekeeper plant. Her eyes fell over the figure sitting on the inside of it, a table now in the middle of the seating area, small bowls, cups and mugs placed atop. She glanced back at Kenji who now stood by the door that led back into the house, far away enough from the garden, but close enough if anything happened. Her eyes gazed over the smoke that released from the cigarette in between his scarred lip, his frame unfamiliar to her eyes.

Her eyes slowly dragged over the man seated in her gazebo, taking him all in. His broad, muscular shoulders. His sharp jawline. His tall figure even when seated, long legs traveling for miles. Onyx hair and eyebrows furrowed, the dark suit he wore hugged against his large frame that could’ve exploded the seams of material. 

She couldn't help but find him attractive already—and maybe a little intimidating. She took a deep breath, gathering the last bit of her courage, and walked through the garden towards him.

She lifted her leg onto the step, taking him in even closer. When his eyes finally met hers, her heart thumped, as his face wasn’t the best at expressing his emotions. Her hands clasped together in front of her, and she gave him a respectful bow—although she didn’t want to—making her way to the opposite side of the table as she sat herself down. His hand was huge, two fingers molding around his cigarette, plump lips taking another inhale as he scanned her. A couple minutes of silence go past, before his deep, attractive voice is the first to speak. 

“Nihongo o hanasemasu ka?” 

She blinks, trying to hide the scrunch in her nose as she replies, “I prefer to use English. Why wouldn’t I speak Japanese?” 

He doesn’t give an answer, only using his eyes to frown at her. She does roll her eyes this time, briefly explaining, “My mother is black. I’m fluent in both English and Japanese, if that’s what you’re trying to confirm.”

He seemed completely uninterested, his expression still blank. He took another drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke out, his eyes never leaving her. After a moment, he spoke in English.

“You’re not what I was expecting.”

“Am I supposed to apologize for that?” She raises an eyebrow.

He narrowed his eyes at her, his expression cold, but amused, “Nah. An apology is unnecessary.”

His eyes flicker over her figure again, the corner of his lip twitching slightly, “But an introduction wouldn’t hurt, yeah?”

She crossed her right leg over her left, clearing her throat in a way to retract her question as she replies, “Sayuki. And you?”

“Toji Fushiguro.”

His eyes traveled down to her legs as she shifted them, watching her move.

“It’s a pretty name,” he says suddenly, taking another drag, “Sayuki. ‘Longevity, long-lived’.”

“You knew that off the top of your head?” She questions, “I don’t know what your name means.”

He chuckled slightly, a rare sound, his deep voice making her heart thump again before he responded. 

“Lucky,” he says, blowing another stream of smoke out, “My name means ‘lucky’.”

“Are you lucky?” She tilts her head, “I would say the habit of smoking is relatively unlucky.”

“Are you worried about my health after ten minutes of knowing each other?”

The question throws her off a bit. She wasn’t trying to have the upper hand in this conversation, but she surely didn’t want to seem nervous. She felt her face go warm as she counters, “Smoking is a bad habit for anyone. My grandfather did it a lot, one of the reasons he’s on his deathbed sooner than I’d like him to be.”

He looked at her steadily, the light smoke from his cigarette curling into the air as he watched her through the haze.

“I’m not worried about shit like life expectancy,” he says simply, “My job comes first. If smoking helps me get through stress, then fuck it.”

“You Yakuza men seem to never care about something as important as your health, or your life,” she points out, “You think if you got married your wife wouldn’t be worried about that?”

Toji chuckled again—a dry sound—but an amused one. “Who says I’m looking to get married?”

“Then why are we talking then?” She questions, “Isn’t that what we’re here for?”

Toji’s expression darkened slightly, his eyes flickering with a flash of annoyance. But then he chuckled again, a mocking, arrogant sound. 

“My old man’s making me talk to you,” he admits, taking another drag of his cigarette, “He’s your Ojiichan’s right hand. Wants me to start a family, continue the bloodline and all that bullshit. So here I am.”

Yup, there it was. Her patience was thinning. 

She then asks, “And you don’t want that?”

“Nah,” he said simply, “Not at all.”  

He then smirked again, his dark gaze piercing her’s, “Why? Do you want to start a family, Sayuki?”

The way he said her name, emphasizing the pronunciation in their native tongue made her shift a bit. It was annoying. She answers honestly despite his tone, “I’m about to be twenty six, so a family would be nice. But I want my degree first, I’m studying to be a registered nurse. I wanna help people in ways my grandfather wouldn’t allow me to help him.”

"A career nurse," he repeats, “How noble and selfless of you."

She raises her posture up a bit, “What is that supposed to mean?”

His dark eyes dragged over her figure again, “You’re pretty as fuck—enough to marry an old millionaire, who’d pamper you ‘till the day you die.”

She now becomes visibly irritated, “I’m not tryna’ be a housewife and pop out a bunch of kids if that’s what you think by looking at me.”

“And why not? That’s what you were designed to do. A body like that and such a pretty ass face. You’d be worth the fuck.” 

Yeah, that was it.

She takes the steaming tea in front of her, chucking it directly in his face, letting the actual cup follow after. She stands as she spits, “A disrespectful ass mouth like that, I can see why you’d still be wife searching at your grown age. Go fuck yourself.” 

She’s already stomping away, fire in her eyes as she mutters, “Fuckin’ stupid ass nigga—Kenji! Let’s go!”

Toji’s eyes widen for a moment as the steaming tea is splashed into his face, his skin searing against the liquid as it hits him, cup following after. He looked to see the large bodyguard standing by the porch, and even he was shocked. All he could do as he watched her fly past him was give Toji a helpless stare before muttering, “Yes ma’am.”

In the past years of her grandfather being sick, the next five days was the first time she’d heard him curse in the longest. His anger trickled over to guards, staff within the house, even his men who worked for him. He was pissed after hearing what his granddaughter had done. She stayed in the room if she wasn’t checking on him, and the moment she saw him ready to go off, she would grow wings and fly. He’d be fine eventually. 

She was now within the living room, palms and feet pressed along a mat as she did her morning stretches, talking on the phone with her mom to tell her of the situation. 

“Chile, I don’t know why you’re calling me. Kenji already told me what happened—had your grandfather called, the man would’ve written his own eulogy. Doctor said his pressure is at an all time high,” her mom said, chuckling into the phone. 

Sayuki sighs, “I wasn’t trying to give the man a heart attack.“

“I’m sure you didn’t, honey. But you know that first impressions matter.”

She brings herself to her knees, halting her stretching as she deadpans, “Momma. I understand the cultures around here, okay? Respect is big and all that shit. Jiji taught me that. Ole’ boy was the disrespectful one. I just gave him a taste of his own medicine. Or tea, to be specific.”

“I know he was being rude, but you know how important this is for your grandfather.” 

There’s a pause between them, before her mother’s voice comes through the line again, a bit softer this time, “It won’t hurt to try and get along with him. At least for your Jiji’s sake, yeah?”

“That’s if I ever see the bastard again. You know Grandpa said? That he made some valid points in our conversation—he thinks all I’m supposed to make of myself is the perfect wife,” she shakes her head, raising her leg out to stretch the muscles behind.

Her mother is silent for a few long moments, before sighing again, “You know your grandfather is stuck in his traditional ways. You can’t expect for him to just change this late in life. Your father was the same way—just wanted me to pop out babies.”

She knew her mom wouldn’t have much commentary on this, considering she’d lived as a housewife for years before her husband's passing. She couldn’t handle the life Sayuki’s father lived, being within the Japanese Mafia—but her father in law refused to be without his granddaughter. So she let her stay in Tokyo, and went to the states to set out her own dreams.  

Sayuki sighs, “How’s the army treating you, Sergeant? Where do they have you based right now?”

Her Mom chuckles slightly into the phone, an amused sort of sound, “I swear they have me stationed in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. Texas, in the middle of this town called Waco. The people here are good ‘ol bible-thumping country folk. I’m terrified.”

Sayuki laughs, “You’ wanted to be head honcho so bad, now they’ got you in places you’ve never been before.”

Her mother is quiet for a moment, still chuckling, before she speaks again, “The job’s more stressful than I imagined,” she says, “But I’m getting the hang of it. I’m stationed at the base now, working with the new guys and whatnot,” She paused for another moment, before she sighs and continued, “I really need to get stationed back in Tokyo, though. I miss you and your Jiji a lot, you know.”

Sayuki hates that feeling of tightness in her throat. She told her mom to live out her dreams with her being an adult, and that she would be fine under the protection of her grandfather. But she also needed the only parent she had left. 

“I miss you too, momma.” 

She then hears the sliding door open to the hallway, Kenji appearing with a bow as he greets, “Ohayou gozaimasu. Your grandfather would like to speak to you.” 

Sayuki sits on the floor fully as she raises an eyebrow, “He’s awake already?”

Her mom’s still on the phone, a soft hum coming from the line before she questions, “He’s not a morning person. You’ really gave him a heart attack, huh?” 

Kenji replies, “He seems to be fine. He’s awake and very much alive,” He glances at Sayuki and bows again, before saying, “His orders were to bring you to his room.”

“Alright momma, I’ll try to call you before you turn in your phone again. I love you, always,” she doesn’t want to hang up, but her grandfather could be an impatient man, especially if he was upset.

Her mother’s voice filters through the line again, a familiar, comforting sound, “I love you, too, Sayuki-baby. Stay safe, okay?” 

Then, she’s gone, and Kenji turns his attention back to her. The big man just silently starts walking, obviously expecting her to follow.

Sayuki follows him down the hallway, making their way to her grandfather's bedroom. She sends off Kenji as she slowly opens the door, to be greeted by a housekeeper who’s nervously patting his face with a cold sponge.

She tells her, “You can go. Thank you.”

The housekeeper immediately scurries off, taking the towel and bucket with her. Sayuki’s left alone with her grandfather now, who’s sitting up in bed, a newspaper on his lap. His eyes flicker up to her for a few moments, still sharp as ever.

“Do you come in peace?” She questions, sitting herself beside the bed, “I see you have the newspaper. You must be in a good mood.”

“The doctor said my pressures have risen,” he starts, his voice still surprisingly even, “But I am still breathing. If you hadn’t annoyed me so greatly, I would probably have another decade in my life.”

“Oh? So it’s my fault now? How about you’ put your lil’ gang members in check?” She crossed her arms.

Her grandfather’s eyes widened slightly at her blunt words, obviously surprised. He looks at her for a few long moments. Then, he shakes his head, “I taught you to respect men. Why can’t you be a little more…well… gentle? Polite?”

“I was soft and feminine like you want me to be. He’s the one that said he didn’t want to be married, and that I wasn’t even his type. He doesn’t even like black women,” she rambles. 

As she sees her grandfather’s face, she rolls her eyes as she corrects herself, “Okay—he ain’t say all that. But he did say he was only there for his father’s sake.”

“It doesn’t matter what he said. I know that boy’s a bit arrogant. A little rude too. But family is important. He’s my right hand’s son.” 

His eyes narrow slightly as he looks at her, saying, “And you have no choice in whether you marry him. You’re getting older, Sayuki. Twenty-six is not young anymore. I’m not letting you leave this house unless you’re a wife.”

“Is this my death sentence? What did I do to deserve this treatment?” She flops herself on the end of the bed, “Have you’ no heart?”

Her grandfather simply rolls his eyes, his expression unchanging, “Don’t be so dramatic, Sayuki. You know how marriage works in this family. I had an arranged marriage, and so did your father. The men pick their wives.” 

He paused before leaning forward a bit in the bed, asking, “...Why are women so damn stubborn these days?”

“Cause this isn’t the fifties, that’s why!” She exclaims.

He takes a deep breath as he mutters, “Now if I become as dramatic as you and die right here on the spot, you’ll be very upset with me.” 

He lets a few minutes of silence pass before he mutters, “…With your father not here, I won’t have anyone to protect you when I’m gone, Sayuki.”.

She sits up a bit, hearing as he becomes serious. She comes closer to him on the bed as she lays her head on his shoulder, “I can take care of myself, Grandpa.”

Her grandfather takes her small hand into his large, calloused one, his fingers gently intertwining with hers. He sighs, “You may be a strong young woman, but you’re too reckless. It’s not safe in this world. No matter how prepared you are to defend yourself.” 

He squeezes her hand slightly, “When you asked me the regrets I have—it made me think, with the kind of family I have, who’s going to protect my Mago when I’m gone? The people that hate me, the people that won’t be able to hurt me because I’m gone, so they hurt you?”

Arranged marriage sounded silly to her, but with the family she had, she understood where her grandfather was coming from. He wasn’t doing this to force anything on her. He just wanted to make sure she was safe—even without him. 

She squeezes his hand, giving him a kiss on the cheek as she suggests, “Maybe I can talk to him. But he needs to apologize. If he doesn’t, I’m not agreeing to this, is that fair?”

Her grandfather grunts again, his expression unchanging as a soft sigh escapes him, “He’s not a man to grovel. And you’ve already left a bad first impression. He won’t apologize for anything. That’s how we raised them.”

He pauses for a few moments before giving her hand a tight squeeze again, “....But I will speak to him,” He finalizes, his voice low.

“See! Don’t you feel better when you talk things out instead of being violent? A lot of your issues would’ve been solved better that way,” she gives him a smile.

Her grandfather grunts once more, his gaze fixed on the window away from her, “Violence is good when there’s nothing else to talk about. But I’m glad you feel better—because you’ll be going with him to fetch some groceries to cook dinner tonight.”

She immediately pulls her hand back, stepping off the bed as she says, “Huh? A meal? Who he’ think he is—Buddha?”

“Sayuki,” He warns. 

He takes a deep breath, before continuing to speak, “You’re going to go to the store. Then you’ll come back here and cook for him. And maybe by then, you’ll have managed to impress him with your lovely personality.”

“Why can’t Kenji just go with me? You want me and Toji to go, alone, as if I don’t want to put a fork up his ass? You said you don’t want me traveling to Kyoto without him anyways,” she crosses her arms.

“Gengo,” her grandfather snaps, “Just because I’m old doesn’t mean I won’t break your ass in two. Toji will go with you. I’m tired of arguing with you. I want to take a nap.”

“Well go take your old man ass nap, then!” She exclaims, “And now you’re not getting any of your favorite fruits!” 

She opens the slide door, shrieking as a tall frame stands on the side of the wall, instantly recognizing the cigarette that hangs between the dark pink lips she’d seen days before. 

She exasperates, “Great—this was a set up! I don’t like anybody in this house.”

Her grandfather chuckles gruffly, a low, amused sound, just as Toji takes a long drag of his cigarette. He glances her way, still leaning against the wall as he speaks, “Good to see you too. I can feel the love.”

“Shouldn’t you be somewhere recovering from third degree burns?” She continues walking, making her way back towards the living room, purposely walking fast in hopes that she’d lose him.

Toji pushes off the wall, easily catching up behind her as he questions, “Why are you so hellbent on avoiding me?”

“Hm, I don’t know—maybe cause you told me all I would be is a good fuck? You remember that?” She pushes the door open to the living room, stepping back onto her yoga mat.

“Yeah, I remember clearly.”

He glances over her, adding, “Although, you’re a lot more interesting than I thought you’d be when this all started.”

She sighs, “If you’re doing this for some brownie points from my grandfather, we can wrap this up quick as fuck, Fushiguro. I’m not sensitive, okay? But what you said hurt my feelings. I was being nice to you, even if I wasn’t keen on this arranged marriage thing in the first place. I need to finish stretching, so are we done?”

At her words, Toji takes a puff from his cigarette, before taking it out of his mouth and crushing it out. 

“I’m here to apologize.”

She crosses her arms over each other, raising an eyebrow at that,  “Are you saying that because someone asked you to?”

“Why were you so pissed about some words that came out of my mouth?” He questions, “You could’ve easily ignored them.“

“You don’t even know me. You assumed that I’m some airhead ass bitch that’s looking to be sold to the highest bidder. Well I’m not. I have my own dreams and ambitions, none of them involving a man—unless I decide that for myself.” 

Toji looks at her for a few moments in silence. He runs a hand through his dark hair, before speaking once more. 

“So I hurt your feelings.” he mutters. “And you’re not some airhead. Anything else I should know?”

His stare was intense at times, and it made her feel naked under the SKIMS army green romper she wears, headband and glasses pulling her hair out of her face. Facing him, she reaches down to grab for her ankles, stretching her legs out as she huffs, “That’s your form of an apology?”

He does take the time to watch her stretch, but doesn’t comment on it, just saying, “Goddamn, girl. I’m trying. I’ve never apologized to someone without a gun to my head.” 

He takes a step forward, his head lowered as he stares down, now practically upside down with her. 

“I have a habit of saying shit I don’t mean. So I’m sorry. You can throw some more scorching ass tea on me again if you want.”

She pulls her hair out of her face as she stands up, looking around the expression on his face. It’s the same—eyebrows low, waiting for a response. But it doesn’t lack sincerity.

 She sighs, leaning down as she begins rolling up her yoga mat, “I’m not gonna do that. My grandpa will throw me into a pit of fire if he hears I assaulted you again.”

He watches her roll up the yoga mat, “You’ still mad at me?”

She looks up at him, tilting her head as she questions, “Do you want me to be?“

“I don’t know.”

He glances down at her, eyes lingering for a moment on her exposed skin, before he returns his gaze to her face, “If you’re not mad, what are you?”

“Ready to take this long ass train ride to Kyoto,” she finalizes, making her way around him, “I need to go shower.”

“What, no invite?”

“And somehow you’ve managed to lose points again,” she dismisses, slamming the door shut to her bedroom. 

When comes out of her bedroom an hour later, she steps into the hallway to glance along the full body mirror—as she usually did. She pulls her dark hair behind her ear as it was straightened, her usual makeup along her face that consisted of cat eyed extensions, her lip combo of brown and mauve, lower eyelid filled with the matching dark brown of her lips. Her leather jacket clung to her frame, showing off a bit of her midriff as her pants were a matching leather material, hips desperately wanting to bust out of the tight seams. 

She notices Toji along the wall, “…I don’t know what shoes to wear.”

Toji’s eyes flicker her way, a brief, almost unnoticeable glance at her frame, then back to her face, then back to her frame. He’ll shamelessly admit that his jaw tightened, and maybe he felt his dick jump. 

“You’ asking for my opinion?”

“Jiji is the worst dressed man on the planet, and Kenji is in hiding so—yes.” 

She eyes him in the mirror as he walks behind her, turning her head as she notices the look he gives her. She raises an eyebrow, “What?”

“You look good as fuck, you know that?”

“You’re not telling me what shoes I need to wear,” she almost pouts, “I wanna go before it hits noon!”

Toji doesn’t respond right away, just looking her up and down again, his gaze lingering for a few seconds on her hips, before he mutters, “You’re hard headed as hell. I said you looked good. I didn’t say what shoes you should wear. If it’s gonna make you hurry up, you should wear heels.”

“‘Kay’,” she turns around, making her way back into the room with a twist to her hips. She finds a pair of Dior black pumps, knowing she’d be fine in those for most of the day as they were comfortable. She sprays herself of her vanilla scent, shaking her head from side to side, throwing her head back to fix her hair. 

“You don’t have to watch me, you know.”

He pushes off the wall again with his foot, moving toward her now. He’s a very imposing man, his form broad and tall. He’s at least a full foot and a half taller than her.

“My fault. I have a hard time looking away. You’ ready?”

She grabs her purse as she nods, “Mhm,” giving him a quick head to toe. He’s more simple in his clothes, a long black sleeve that hugs his muscular frame, belt, jeans and hefty boots along his feet, hair tossed around the sculpted sharpness of his face. Her eyes flick down to his wrist as she sees the ink hiding beneath the material, coming forward as she pulls it farther up to fully cover it, “The point of your Irezumi is that it’s supposed to be hidden.”

His wrist feels like hot iron under her fingertips. He can’t help but look down as she touches his wrist, her head slightly tipped to look up at him. Fuck, she’s gorgeous from this angle. 

He raises an eyebrow as he grunts, “I know that,” allowing her to fix his clothing.

“I can see it on the back of your neck too,” she points out, reaching up, wrapping her fingers lightly in between his neck and back, “You should put a jacket on.”

The tightness on his jaw returns, his gaze fixed on her as his voice drops to a low murmur, “Are you gonna let go any time soon?”

She hesitates, her fingers still sitting on his upper back as she questions, “Am I making you uncomfortable?” She then fully pulls herself back, “I’m sorry.”

“Did I say that?” 

“No.”

“Then why are you apologizing?”

Before she can reply, he’s already going around her, heading down the hallway to pull the Harley Davidson leather jacket over his body, her eyes also taking notice of the M9 gun he places in the back of his pants. He nods his head in the direction of the door, and she follows after, not before quickly diving into the master bedroom to give her grandfather a kiss goodbye. 

The train ride had been…interesting for her to say the least. With it being the weekend, it was one of its busier days, the train compact with people to a point where they had to stand. Sayuki leaned her back against the window of the train as Toji hovered over her, hand gripping the bar up top. When the train came to a stop, everyone began slanting forward, trying to catch their weight on themselves. Toji’s body connected to hers, pressing his chest lightly against her nose to keep her from moving. 

She inhaled quietly, the scent of his cologne trapping her nostrils, his jaw touching the top of her head made her heart speed up a bit.

He tried not to be too obvious as he watched her from this view—but damn, she was pretty like this too. Under him like this. It felt like she belonged there.

It didn’t become any better the moment they arrived in the bustling streets of Kyoto. The cherry blossoms hung along the top of the buildings, brightly lit colored signs coaxing in their next customer. There was a feeling coming to him he’d never experienced before, watching as she politely spoke to people who passed her, talked up the people who worked within the stores, complimented each woman's outfit she saw. Hell, she’d even crouched down, sneaking sample food to a homeless cat mewling close by an alleyway.

Toji was starting to realize just how opposite their personalities were, but God, she had a certain…charm to her. He’d been silent, watching her with a blank expression as she interacted with everyone they passed, never breaking that smile. Toji was gruff, blunt, intimidating—didn’t bother to look at anyone twice. Yet she was the opposite in every way.

How could they ever be compatible?

She makes her way into a smaller market, empty as she knew it was more expensive than the ones on the outside. But this was usually where she bought all of her fresh produce. She glances to the man at the counter, seeing as he flicks his eyes up to her, sitting himself up more straight—as if he had to keep his attention on her. 

She looks around, “Is there anything in particular you like to eat?” She questions, turning herself towards Toji who stays close to the front door, lighting a cigarette between his lips.

Toji takes a long puff from the cigarette resting between his lips, his dark eyes following her through the small shop.

He takes a moment before replying, “I like fish.”

His eyes glance over her form, her ass practically calling to him in those pants. She was sexy without even trying. 

“How about Sashimi? Are you okay with yellowtail?” 

She’s so concerned with his taste buds, Toji only seems to notice the grimace the man at the counter continues giving her.

He looks back at her, all while his eyes are still focused, his tone is a bit more softened as he replies, “Yeah, that’s fine,” taking another long breath from the cigarette between his lips.

“Okay,” she says softly, talking more to herself as she decides how she wants to cook the fish. When she has all of her ingredients, she comes up to the register as she sees the fruits are behind the counter.

She greets, “Ohayo gozaimasu, do you have fresh strawberries by chance?”

“No strawberries today,” he doesn’t return her greeting, cutting straight to her question as it’s nowhere near friendly. 

She frowns a bit, “Are you sure? I come here for them often— the lady that works usually gives me a good amount.”

“I said we don’t have any,” he replies again, his eyes lingering over her, “Are you done shopping?” 

He’s clearly not looking at her in a very favorable way, a look of irritation and disdain written on his face.

From Toji’s stance, he can see behind the counter, looking directly at a box of what looks to hold strawberries. And as he notices the man now glaring at him, he raises an eyebrow, pulling the cigarette down from his lips, blowing out a puff.

When Sayuki notices this as well, she turns back to Toji, putting together that he may have known Toji from being a part of the Yakuza. The owners of this store had to be from a clan that wasn’t too fond of them. 

She then says, “We’re not coming here to cause any trouble—I just wanted my strawberries. I can buy a bundle of them?” She offers, beginning to rummage her purse for the money.

“We don’t serve the likes of you people,” the cashier spits.

And from the way he looks at her in disgust, it feels personal. Her eyebrows lower against her face, hating the way that once again—her feelings are hurt. 

She sighs, “It’s fine. Let’s just go.”

Toji’s jaw clenches, his entire body stiffening. Something about the way her expression broke had his blood boiling.

“Go? Yeah, nah. I’m good on’ that.” 

When he pushes himself off the wall, he’s already standing in front of the counter. In one swift motion, the shriek from this man fills the entire store as Toji has him by his shirt, tugging him halfway over the counter. He fights against the one hand holding him in a effortless yet painful grip, shouting as Toji casually sighs, “Shut up,” raising his cigarette, ashing the man on his forehead. He then takes it back to his lips as he talks, “Now see, we didn’t even have to do all this,” removing the gun from the back of his pants, tapping it against the side of the man’s cheek.

Sayuki steps back, eyes wide as she panics, “Toji! It’s fine!” 

It’s like he doesn’t even hear her, his eyes fixated on the trembling man in his hands.

“Strawberries, right?” 

When the man replies with a stutter, “Y-Yes, sir,” Toji’s expression doesn’t soften, “You got ‘em in back?”

He nods his head quickly, whimpering again, “Y-yes, sir.”

The sight of that man that just had so much mouth for Sayuki, now stuttering and terrified in Toji’s hold, Sayuki can’t help the slightly scared giggle that stumbles from her lips, shocked at what she’s witnessing.

That single sound of laughter reaches his ears, catching his attention as he slightly turns to glance her way, “Oh you like that shit, huh?”

 When he looks back at the cashier, his voice drops even deeper, “Apologize to the pretty lady.” 

The man replies instantly, “Yes, yes! I’m so sorry!” 

Sayuki is still giggling, watching as Toji shoves the man back so hard that he knocks into the wall of objects behind him, nearly falling onto the floor. He presses his gun back into his pants, adjusting his jacket as he mutters, “‘Made me get all out of character,” before he commands, “Go get the strawberries before I actually get mad.” 

The man scrambles on shaky legs, pulling out the box of fruit behind him as he says, “T—Take them! Take everything you need!”

Sayuki politely takes two cartons as she gives him a smile, “Thank you,” as Toji tugs the register closer to him, knocking his fist down to it, watching as it opens, pulling cash out of the object. 

She shakes her head, “Now you’re doing too much.” 

“They don’t call me a criminal for nothin’, baby,” he puffs out some smoke, “You’ hungry?” 

She sighs, keeping her complaints to herself as she puts all her groceries within her tote bag, “Starving, actually.”

“Good.”

He takes one last drag from the cigarette, before flicking it to the floor, watching as the man flinches, thinking he was gonna toss it towards him. 

“C’mon,” he gruffs, “It’s on me. Or him, in this case.”

They make it to a restaurant a couple of blocks down, Sayuki placing the strap of her tote against the chair behind her, giving a polite smile as the waiter places the food down against the table. She glances up at Toji, taking the mini slice of pizza as she questions, “Are you gonna smoke in every building we go to?”

“You gonna bother me every time I do?” he shoots back.

She scrunches her nose, “You’re supposed to be nice to me. Wanna bite of my pizza?” She offers, raising the slice towards him.

He raises a dark eyebrow, a huff of a laugh leaving him as he leans forward, his jaw parting slightly as she brings the pizza to his mouth, biting into it. When she pulls her hand back, he chews silently before replying, “I didn’t shoot that dumbass in the store, and I just took a bite of your food without arguing. I’m Peter Pan at this point.”

The laugh that falls from her mouth is bubbly, wrapping her full lips around her straw. Once again, she’s back to noticing him staring at her, she raises an eyebrow as she questions, “Why are you always just looking?”

“Can’t help it. Got some pretty ass lips.”

“Quit flirting,” she moves her hair behind her shoulder, glancing down at her phone to distract herself from the warmth that comes along her face.

She then hears him remind, “You never told me how school was going.”

She peers her head up, “Why do you care now?”

He doesn’t even look phased by the question, “Can’t I ask? You’d rather I don’t show any interest in you?”

She sighs a bit, “I don’t think you’d know anything about it.” 

Toji’s eyebrows raise up at her response, “Why you’ said that shit like I’m uneducated?” 

He leans in closer, his knee now touching hers beneath the table, the feeling intimate, “Talk to me.” 

She tilts her head, trying to adjust her knee away from his, but it’d be too obvious to completely shift the way she sits. So she leaves it there. 

“I’m tryna’ get my Bachelors in Science. Meaning I have to take some stupid ass, hard ass class like Pathophysiology. They teach shit like that in the Mafia handbook since you know everything?” 

“You don’t need a degree to know how the human body works, baby,” he replies, “Seen a lot of dead bodies in my time.”

“Gross,” she dismisses, “Hearing that makes it all the more worse. This is harder than college advanced math for me. Maybe I’m just stupid or something,” she presses her lips together, leaning her head in the palm of her hand, placing her elbow against the table. He can see the change in her expression, the way her mood visibly drops. 

“Baby,” he sighs, her heart fluttering a bit at the repeated pet name, “You can’t really think I was callin’ you stupid.”

“I know you weren’t. It’s just— I’ve taken this class twice, and I’m someone who believes shit happens for a reason—maybe this isn’t my path, cause I’d be able to pass if it was meant for me, right?” She blinks, her lashes fluttering heavily.

“Or,” he interjects, “Maybe you need to learn how to ask for help instead of just assuming you’re incapable of passin’.” 

He can see her brain processing, a slow flicker of shock and confusion in her gaze. When she just stares at him, silent, he confirms, “You don’t gotta deal with all your problems alone.”

“This is where you just say I’m pretty and my brain is big,” she rolls her eyes, picking a pepperoni slice off her pizza, chewing against it to distract herself.

“Baby, I’ll call you pretty whenever you want. But I’d like it even more if you’d admit you’re smart without me havin’ to remind you.”

“My dad was really good at sciences, it must’ve skipped a generation,” she gives a weak smile, a tinge of sadness hidden beneath her expression. 

Toji’s jaw clenches at the sight of such a weak smile on her face. Something about how sad she looked bothered him, and maybe he wanted to get back that bubbly expression she’d just had moments ago. 

“You’re smart, Sayuki. It never skipped a generation.”

She tilts her head a bit as she replies, “I think you’re just saying that cause you have a lil’ crush on me.”

“Damn, guess I’ve been figured out.” 

That actually makes her giggle, and to see that return to her face does make him relax a bit. She then offers, “Want me to feed you again?”

He glances down at the offer, looking back up at her, his head tilting a bit as he grins, “You miss my mouth already? Greedy ass.”

The stark contrast of their first interaction up until now was nothing that Sayuki had ever expected. She wasn’t the one to believe in fairytales, or have these high hopes when it came to the possibility of a relationship. But this was something she hadn’t felt with anyone in a while—romance. 

Maybe she was starting to like him— maybe she was love bombing him. She wasn’t entirely sure. She noticed small things, like anytime his stride was longer than hers, he’d slow down to walk more behind her. They were now walking through the quiet night in between two buildings, planning to make their way back to the train. 

When she caught onto his purposeful walking tactic, she took hold of his hand, tugging him forward a bit as she became annoyed, “You can walk faster.”

“You keep tuggin’ on my arm like that, I’ll think you’re desperate for me to touch you or somethin’.”

She rolls her eyes, “Don’t be cute. I’m not.”

But as she feels his long strides slow down, she turns behind herself, now feeling as her back is being lightly pressed along the wall. Her head tilted up as his jaw reached her nose, his body having to hover for her comfortability.

He places sturdy hands on either side of the wall, pinning her in place. His eyes hold a dangerous gleam in them, the playful attitude continuing as he looks down to her. 

“You’re quiet. Tell me what you’re thinking.” 

He leans down, his face a lot closer than before, the distance miniscule. 

She takes a deep breath, kneeling her face closer to his, scanning the dark grey of his eyes. She then admits, “I um…I had a nice time with you today.”

“You did, huh?”

She smacks her lips at that, turning her face away. One of his hands leaves the wall, moving to grip her chin between his thumb and pointer finger, tilting her face to look back at him. He hums, “What other shit you wanna admit while you’re at it?”

“That I like you,” she blinks up at him, “And…that I hope you saying you liked me too in the restaurant wasn’t just talk.”

His hand moves up further, his fingers moving along the skin of her cheek slowly, “How about you quit doubtin’ me?”

One thing he’s good at doing is making her easily irritated. Her eyebrows furrow as she looks at him, “Well why can’t you just say it again? You always gotta answer my responses with a question. You can just be so—“

Another thing she couldn’t stand about him—he was smooth. There should’ve been no way that he caught the rest of her words within his mouth, gripping her in a kiss to shut her up. His hand grasps the back of her neck, tugging her hair a bit to keep her head tilted up. A baby gasp pulled from her mouth, tugging at the bottom of his shirt to keep herself steady. His mouth was warm, tongue heavy, her eyes slowly fluttering shut at the taste of him.

And god, that gasp of hers was music to his ears, pushing his tongue further into her mouth in response as the hand once on the wall slid down to grip at her hip, using it to pull her against his body. It wasn’t rushed, instead slow, his tongue twisting slowly around hers, his teeth catching gently against her bottom lip in a way that couldn’t be an accident.

She’s so drowned within him, she has to reach up and clasp her fingers around his jaw, pushing his mouth back as she presses her forehead to his, breathlessly giggling, “We’re gonna miss the train…”

He leans forward again, and for a second, she thinks he’s going to push for another kiss, but his nose brushes against hers instead, his tone lower as he questions, “You’ that eager to go home?”

“I’m just—“

“Yo, Yakuza boy!”

They both halt, Sayuki pulling herself away as she looks to the end of the alleyway, seeing two men beginning to walk towards them. The way they walk towards them—it’s not inviting in the slightest. 

“We heard how you robbed the market a couple blocks down, thought we’d come politely ask for that money back.” 

She knew Toji wasn’t afraid. But in the sense of her being with him, she could see the way he lifted his head, glaring at the two. He lightly took her body within his arm and pushed her behind himself.

“We can do this shit later. I got a woman with me,” he warns, “Your cashier boy pissed me off, I was teaching him a lesson.”

The two men glance between each other, before going back to Toji, taking another couple of steps forward. One of them grins, his tone mocking as he responds, "And? We didn't ask for the life story."

Sayuki grips her fingers against the jacket he wears, trying to pull him back as she muffles, “Let’s go, Toji. We aren’t in Tokyo—“

“Leaving so soon?” 

She turns, seeing another man coming from the opposite end of the alleyway. They were now surrounded, and this one carried a crowbar within his palm.

Toji tenses visibly, his arm tightening around her as he glares at the three men surrounding them, his eyes flickering from each one.

“You’ got a fuckin’ death wish?”

“I think you do,” one of the guys counters, “You know this is our turf. Now shit has to get a little ugly in return. We’ll just strip you down, call it even, cool?”

Sayuki steps from behind him a bit, coming towards the man with the crowbar as she quickly says, “I don’t mind bringing the stuff I took from the market back. It’s no problem—“

But just in that millisecond, it’s as if someone cut the lights off in her brain. She doesn’t register the knuckles that crush against her face until she slams against the ground, her hair falling over her jaw that throbs the minute she feels pain register. She grunts, her ears ringing, palm dragging against the cement to try to bring herself to reality as she can now hear fighting above her.

Everything seems to go silent for Toji when he watches her fall to the ground, a heavy rush of red flooding his vision that he’s never felt before. When he sees her hands desperately gripping the ground beneath her trying to get up, a voice in his brain snaps, and he’s charging at the guy that hit her before any sort of rationality can make an appearance. All three men are surrounding him as he swings, forcing his weight down into every punch he throws.

Within seconds, one of the men is clutching his abdomen, another bent over on the ground, and the third—crowbar in hand—struggling to stay upright as he raises the bloody metal weapon in the air to swing down against Toji’s head.

Her vision is a bit blurry, hand trembling as she reaches for the wall close to her, eyes opening as she begs, “T—Toji…stop…” so quiet that she knew he couldn’t hear it. 

She could see as he picked up the man bent on the ground, beginning to plummet his fist into his face. He won’t stop.

She can hear the blood against his knuckles, the crack of bone shifting beneath his punch, the small grunt each time he swings forward. Her body feels cold, a sense of fear exhilarating her skin like no other. Seeing him mercilessly beat this man was a reminder of who he could be—who he was.

“Toji…” she pushes her voice out more, “…Please stop! You’re going to kill him…”

As she pleads, the punches continue. She watches as the man with the crowbar drops the weapon, pulling a pocket knife from his pants, rushing over as he lunges into Toji’s side. That makes Sayuki almost sober up, watching as he drops the man in his hands, hitting the ground with him.

Toji grunts out in pain, his hand moving to grip his side. He can feel the way more blood pours from the wound, soaking the side of his pant leg and jacket.

An anger she hadn’t expected seeps through her entire body. Even with a throbbing jaw, a weary vision, she scurries forward as she grabs the crowbar the man originally held, raising it as she swung harshly at him, watching as he slammed against the wall from impact. She reaches within the back of her jacket as she pulls out an even bigger pocket knife. Waiting no longer, she jabs it within his side, using her strength to hold him against the wall, ignoring the curse he lets out. 

She grits her teeth, “Now you’ll both have matching scars,” twisting the knife within his body, ignoring his painful shout.

Toji pushes himself up with a low grunt at the sound of her voice, his hand still covering the spot where he was now pouring blood. He’s pissed at how own vision was becoming blurry—he can’t see. Hearing the shouts of the man, he sees his shadow glide by as he took off out the alleyway, knife still within his side.

Sayuki throws the crowbar within her hand, rushing over to Toji as she drops to her knees in front of him, pressing her hand against his wound as her eyes chaotically scatter over his pained look— “Hey—hey—look at me…” Her own hand becomes painted red, “Shit!”

Toji’s eyes are screwed shut for a couple of seconds as her hand presses against his, body flinching at the pain. But when he registers her voice again, his eyes snap open. The feeling of her hands against his skin is enough to help clear the darkness that was starting to take over his mind. His hand moves from his side to grab hers.

“I’m fine,” he mutters.

“No you’re not,” she croaks, her vision returning to a blur, clearing as warm tears slide down her freckled cheeks, “You’re not. I���m calling for help, okay? P—Please stay awake,” she’s holding his wound, clutching the side of his neck, her heart beating outside of her chest.

Toji’s eyes look at her, seeing the worry across her face. He knew he had to stay awake, not only for her sake, but for his own if he didn’t want to bleed out in some alleyway. Her touch on his neck was making it near impossible for him to keep his head up.

 He huffs out a short breath, “Don’t…call anybody.”

“Don’t be fucking stupid right now!” She panics, fingers trembling as blood rushes over the screen of her phone, dialing someone, anyone at the moment. The phone slides farther away from them as she tries to pull him up, desperately taking his jacket off to press it against his stab. 

She’s rambling in panic, “I—I’m—I’m so sorry…”

Toji feels his balance stagger a bit as she pulls him up, the action forcing a hiss of pain from his mouth. He leans his weight against the wall, his eyes flickering to the phone on the ground. His jaw clenches, the thought of her feeling like any of this being her fault irritates him, “S—Stop apologizin’…not now…”

“I can’t,” she cried, terrified at the sight of him, her face entirely red, breathing unleveled as her chest heaved.

Toji’s heart twists at the sound of her crying. He wants to reach up to wipe her tears, but the pain in his side stops him. 

“Don’t cry…” he practically pleads with her, the thought of her crying any harder making his head spin.

In Toji fashion, he raises his free hand up to reach for her body, pulling her close to him. He wasn’t dramatic, but seeing his vision blur might’ve had him tense, and if he did pass out, he had to make sure she was still there. 

He grits out, “You…had a knife on you this whole time?” 

She blinks through her tears, sniffling as she registers the question. She nods her head, trying to keep herself calm. Even stabbed, he was able to form some type of amusement, a tired huff of a chuckle blowing against her face as he said, “You really are my fuckin’ wife.” 

She can’t help but laugh in return, the weakness of his voice making her cry harder. Toji couldn’t help it, holding her felt good, especially in his current condition. His hand moves to tangle within the ends of her hair, pulling her closer to his chest as he leans his head back.

He couldn’t tell how much time passed as the lights of Kenji’s Cadillac Escalade illuminated the dark alleyway. But it didn’t matter, he’d passed out—Her touch being the last thing he could feel.

                                     𝓐ᥫ᭡

SAYUKI LOOKED WITHIN THE MIRROR, head in her lap as the housekeeper continued to press ice along her bruised jaw, tuning in and out of her grandfather's chastising. Even in sickness, even on his deathbed, the man had a voice on him. 

She sighed, “You’re going to run your blood pressure up if you keep yelling like that, Jiji.” 

He makes a clicking noise with his tongue, the action clearly disapproving. His eyes glared at the bruise on his granddaughter’s face.

“Of course I’m going to raise my goddamn blood pressure. You were assaulted. I’m going to have those bastards heads sent back to their families!”

“Me and Toji stole from a market in Kyoto,” she reminds, “We didn’t know the store belonged to a different turf.”

“I don’t care where you were—“

He grits the words out between his teeth, his eyes narrowing. Kenji, standing in the doorway, gives the older man a look telling him to relax. He huffs, closing his eyes for a moment.

“How does your face feel?”

“Like I fell off my bike, Ojiichan,” she softly replies, “Is Toji alright?” Her patience is wearing thin, no one telling her any updates of him since they took him down to the basement, calling along their underground doctor.

The older man sighs, “The doctor stitched him up. It appears he didn’t lose that much blood…he was lucky,” he grumbles, his eyes flickering back to her face, “You two should’ve known better. We don’t need another incident like—“ 

He stops himself, not wanting to bring up the past. He then says, “He’ll be in one of the guest rooms tonight. You should go check on him. I would like to go to sleep.”

She knows he’s upset, but she doesn’t want to make it any worse. So she leans down as she gives him a kiss on the cheek, bowing as she allows the housekeeper to get him ready for bed. Her eyes kept down on the blood running off her fingers as she showered, and the whole incident replayed in her head like clockwork. Again. Again.

Throwing an oversized tee on herself, she slips along her plush slippers as she goes in search of the guest bedroom along the opposite side of the house. It’s dim within the hallway, quiet as she pads her feet against the floor. She doesn’t know why she feels nervous. She stands in front of the sliding door, halting herself there as she takes a quiet breath. She knocks along the wooden part, not wanting to intrude.

Toji is sitting at the edge of the bed, shirtless as he looks over his stitched up wound. He had scars from every fight, any trouble he got himself into, but the newest one was…different.

The doctor was right—One wrong move and he could’ve died. That thought makes his jaw clench.

He huffs out a breath, replying, “Come in.”

She slides the door open, closing it behind herself as she looks over him, now seeing his Irezumi face to face. The colors strike upon his skin, body painted in ink from the top of his back to his tailbone, traveling all across his arms. It’s like he wears another shirt. Even through the ink, she can see the stitches along his side. She comes forward as she kneels herself in front of him, placing a gentle hand close to his injury as she asks, “How does it feel?”

Toji’s eyes watch as she moves. Her face is bare, freckles prominent, dark hair curly and damp, stretching down her back as she’d just gotten out of the shower. He had never seen her look so small—maybe because she rarely looked so vulnerable.

“Hurts like a motherfucker.”

He immediately catches hold of the bruise against her jaw, grunting to her, “Tell me it hurts. Don’t lie to me.”

“It doesn’t,” she promises, “I’m fine.”

Toji makes a disapproving noise in the back of his throat. He brings his other hand to her chin, gently turning it to see her from a different angle in the light. 

“I know you’re pissed off, but I’d rather you just say that you’re glad I’m okay,” Sayuki attempts to lightly joke, “My grandpa’s given me enough shit about my injury.”

His head cocks to the side as he gives her a look, “You seem to know me already.”

His grip on her chin is still tight, his thumb softly moving across the skin, “You have no idea how pissed I am that this shit happened….all because of me.”

She exhales, her mind flashing of memories she didn’t want to be reminded of. She rubs her thumb across his arm, flicking her eyes up as she admits, “The moment I saw you on the ground…it just—it made me remember how I felt…seeing my dad like that.” 

She hates that she feels her body go cold, finding it so hard to talk about this. 

“It happened all the same—walking from the market, being trapped by members from another clan. They stabbed him, killed him—enjoyed how I cried for them to stop.” 

She can feel the tears in her eyes. She swipes her fingers under her cheeks, hands trembling as she shudders, “I just…I was so scared,” she tremors, “You can’t do shit like that, Fushiguro…”

She’s hyperventilating at this point, “I c—can’t lose someone else like that…” she brings her hands to her face, sharply inhaling as she full on cries.

Toji feels his chest shift at the sound of her broken voice. Seeing her cry because of him, seeing her so terrified—it does something to him.

He pulls her from her kneeled position to place her in his lap, his arms wrapping around her body to hold her close. He didn’t say a word for a while, letting her cry into his bare chest as his voice lowered, “…I’m sorry.”

She cries into his neck, clutching him tighter, feeling all of her emotions pouring through her body. Her cries are then encapsulated by his mouth as he grunts, “C’mere,” pulling her into a kiss, the mixture of her mouth trembling beneath his making him groan.

It’s messy. Her tears mixed within their kiss. Her body shaking between his, her sobs breaking against his lips as he continues to kiss her. Toji felt a pang in his chest at the action, his arms pulling her body closer to his, fingers tightening around the shirt she wore. His injured body ached, but having her so close to him like this was worth it.

Toji’s hand moves to the side of her face, pulling her in for a deeper kiss, tongue dragging her mouth around with his. She tasted like warmth, a home that he never knew.

His free palm comes under her shirt, gripping the skin of her ass to twist her back onto the bed, body now hovered above hers. She quickly hesitates against his mouth, “Your stitches, Fushiguro…” pressing her hand along his chest, not wanting to hurt him.

“Did I say you hurt me?” 

“No—“

“So give me your mouth, I want you bad as fuck right now,” his nose nuzzles against her neck, the ticklish pleasure making her eyes roll back slightly.

She pulls face down to meet him, bringing her lips close to his mouth as she says softly, “Go slow, please…” pressing their noses together, breathing hesitantly against his mouth.

Toji’s face darkens, his eyes looking intensely as his pupils dilate. He wasn’t exactly a gentle man—but he wanted to try for her sake. 

He clutches Sayuki by her neck as he pulls their lips back together, the weight of his body overpowering even as he tries to be soft. His hand presses against the bare skin of her hip, dragging his thumb along the goosebumps forming. Sayuki’s vision flicks to the mirror above, engraving the ink along his back in her brain—the colors— she locks her fingers in his hair to have his mouth fall more into hers, dropping her lower lip to release a shaky breath.

Toji’s hair was soft between her fingers while his touch was firm along her hip. His tongue flicks out to catch her mouth just before it leaves his.

She reaches below herself as she arches her back off of the bed, face warm as she pulls the end of her shirt upward, peeling the material from her skin. To see his glare at the sight of her, she pulls his shoulder down to press her chest to his, hating how he stared.

“Don’t do that,” he grunts, raising himself back up, pulling one of her hands above her head as he slips his fingers through, eyes burning at the sight of her bare skin. Her brown nipples, caramel skin, she’s glowing beneath the dim light of the bedroom.

His mouth travels, sucking her nipples in between his full lips, her body arching towards him the more he lowers himself. His arm holding one of her hands keeps her in place, her body wanting to pull away, contrasting as she also wanted to have him closer.

Toji’s tongue is rough and wet, tracing the skin of her neck line and collarbone. He wanted more of her—all of her. Her taste and her body makes his head spin. 

“I can’t fuckin’ get enough of you.”

The sound of his voice makes her breathing become heavy, her thighs shuddering as he makes out with the skin of her leg, swirling his tongue up to her ankles, kissing along her feet—he was everywhere. It makes her grip the material of the sheet beneath her, his mouth gliding down to the back of her thigh, making her shakily release, “T—Toji…”

He loves the sound of his name on her lips, almost as much as he loves the taste of her skin. Her body shivers beneath his touch, her toes curling as he leaves a trail of kisses all the way back up her leg. 

He growls against her, “Say my name again.”

His large frame is able to keep the intertwine of their palms together as lowers himself down, locking his other palm against the back of her thigh, tugging her lower half even closer. Her heart beating in her ears nearly implodes the moment she feels his mouth drag up the folds of her pussy that keeps her clit hidden, and she full on gasps, the sound shuddering as her head knocks back against the pillow, breathlessly whining a repetition of his name.

“T—Toji!…”

She’s warm and wet—thighs shaking as he holds her by the ankles, locking her knees against the sheets of the bed, tugging her down to meet the lap of his tongue. It’s flat against the nub of her clit that swells at the connection, her arousal collecting against his jaw, Sayuki’s skin trembling involuntarily as he’s already slurping.

She couldn’t remember the last man in between her legs. But Toji knew exactly what he was doing. She wants to snap her legs together, warmth forming along her cheeks as she desperately reaches for his hair, taking the air out of the room with her pouty gasps. His hands grip her ankles tighter, the spread of her legs making his mouth become even deeper. Toji grunts as his nose pressed into her slick folds, tip of his tongue circling the sensitive bud before sucking it gently between his lips, giving opened mouthed kisses. 

"’Pussy never tasted like this,” he groans against her heated flesh, his voice low and husky with desire, “I could eat this shit all fuckin night." 

He’s back to lapping at her, alternating between long, slow strokes and quick drags, almost lost within her taste.

She shudders, “W—wait— baby—“ the pet name falls from her lips naturally, although she’s shy to release it, another pant coming from her as he raises her legs right in front of her face, closing them in so she isn’t able to see him eating away at her. 

She whimpers as her knees press a bit to her chest, dragging her nails against the skin of her thigh, laying her head against the pillow as she forces herself to fully relax. Her eyes flutter shut as she whines again, “Go slow, baby…” she keeps reminding him.

A deep growl vibrates through his throat, “Sensitive as fuck,” the vibrations sending pleasant tingles through her wet heat as he continues his assault. He’s pushing his mouth deeper, swirling his tongue around languidly, slow in his speed, weight in his efforts. He suckles the sensitive nub greedily, his lips sealing around it as he applies just the right amount of pressure.

The way he listens, his mouth runs off against her as he groans, grinding her hips to lead back onto his tongue, “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, baby—fuck,” sucking her pussy so sensually into his mouth, the sounds it creates—she does the worry of her pleas as her eyes come down, watching as she gushes unexpectedly into his mouth. Her upper body arches up as she trembles, gasping deeply within her throat as she cums.

A moan flies from her lips when she feels him spank her, leaning up to capture the broken sounds she makes, dragging his palms along the back of her knees, already locking her legs over his wide shoulders. Her mind is within a pleasured frenzy, and she has to tug her fingers back into gripping his hair, giving herself a sense of control as she pants again, “S—Slow, baby…please…”

Toji was anything but slow, his mind hazy and cloudy as he felt his body throb with need. She was soft—like everything he could’ve ever needed.   

His lips, wet and lush, move against her, a small grunt leaving his mouth, “I hear you,” he mumbles against her skin like a prayer, his hands gripping her waist to pull her further against him. Her eyes knocked down to him removing his pants, hearing the slap of his tip kiss his abdomen briefly—it’s heavy, smacking politely against her clit, but the size made it impolite. 

He pulls his mouth back from hers, pressing their foreheads together to listen to her breathing, pleas within the music of her voice. It’s as if time halts itself, Toji taking her free hand and locking it back above her head with his, his other hand wrapping along her ankle, pressing it farther into the bed. His face frowns atop of hers, keeping a focused attention as his tip nudges in between her sensitive folds—Her lower body aches with a rush of pleasure as he sinks himself in, mixed with an erotic pain she hadn’t felt in so long. Her eyes fall shut as her head falls back into the pillow, her body shuddering as she whimpers, twisting his hair within her fingers as she knocks her forehead back to his. 

Their lips brush along each other as he rolls his hips forward, spreading her legs wider, it makes her stutter out a whimper again, “Baby—I can’t—Mmmph,” squeezing his palm as he holds her down, feeling as she tries to escape. 

“‘Not even in your shit for ‘real, baby,” he grunts against her lips, “Make this dick yours, you got more to take.” 

She moans brokenly at his voice, pulling his mouth down towards her throat, “M—move….”

Toji’s head drops into her neck, his teeth dragging against the spot where a violet bruise laid. Her cries were pretty, but her moans were prettier. 

He holds her in place as he pulls his head back to glance at her face, her skin flushed with heat. 

“It’s mine now, huh?” he asks, his voice low.

Her face is warm, pulling his mouth back to hide her expression within his neck, sucking the skin there as she pitifully gasped in response to him grinding himself forward, feeling an arrogance pooling within his body.

Toji moans, his ego growing even more as he feels her mouth against his neck. She’s marking him just as much as he’s marking her, his head feeling fuzzy for more than one reason. He moves a hand to her jaw, his fingers gently holding her chin between his forefinger and thumb to force her face to his, “Let me see that pretty ass face.”

Her teary eyes blink up at him, bringing her tongue forward as she slides it along his mouth, essentially begging for a kiss.

Her tongue against his makes something in his brain short-circuit, his eyes closing as he opens his mouth and gives in to the plea, chuckling in between, “‘Needy as fuck for my mouth, even now.” 

It’s hot, wet and messy, both of them pressing their lips together to taste each other in a way that will never be enough. 

She whimpers to him, “Don’t laugh at me…” dragging her nails lightly along his back, trying not to form her mouth into a pout.

Toji’s eyes open in time to see the pout against her lips, he can’t help but release a low chuckle again at the sight of it. 

“I’d never,” he grunts, leaning in close enough that their noses brush together, a small grin on his face, “I need you too, baby. Talk to me.”

Her voice is small, her panting heavy within her chest as she keeps her nose brushed against his, admitting to him, “It f—feels good…”

Toji’s cheek presses further into hers, his face becoming stoic again, a sense of hunger returning. He’s gentle with his touch, his mind completely focused as he absorbs himself in her pleasured noises. 

“Yeah? Not hurtin’ you?” he asks, his voice gruff in her ear, his teeth nipping at the skin of her earlobe.

She shakes her head, pressing a soft kiss along his lips as she whimpers, “Just squeezing too hard on my wrist, baby…”

His grip instantly loosens from her wrists as her admission. He curses to himself, “Sorry,” he apologizes, rubbing his fingers along the skin to ease the pain from his large hands.

Feeling his attempts to be soft—it made her heart swell. A man that wasn’t emotional, wasn’t soft in the slightest, was trying just for her. It’s like crashing waves of pleasure rush her stomach as he rocks himself forward, making her deeply gasp, “R—right—t—there…”

The sound of the gasp mixed with the pleasure in her voice made Toji groan, his hips jerking against hers. He wanted her to be full of pleasure, wanted every inch of her to feel him—but the patience he had, it was leaving.

She blinked before she knew they were switching positions, trembling as she felt him smack her ass again, grunting to her, “On your stomach.”

This was…different. She’s now against her belly, chest to her back as his body hovered above. He clutches her neck from behind—his mouth is now against her ear, still using his free hand to hold her fingers against the sheets. He sinks his dick in, the heaviness of her ass clapping along his skin— her face contorts, her mouth lightly dropping as his hips become connected with the back of her thighs, tightening his palm against her throat.

His hand is firm against her throat, holding it in an intimate way that controls her. It’s possessive.

His mouth is hot against her ear, his voice a growl against her skin, “‘Just gonna have to take it,” he grunts, voice heavy and full of meaning as his hips drop down against hers, hand holding her in place, “‘Need you to feel me, baby. You feel it?” 

She knew he wouldn’t be able to be gentle for long. Here it was, that cocky, dominant side he’d been holding back. The sounds she makes—they’re loud, high-pitched. She’s mewling with each stroke as he swirls his hips down, Sayuki’s eyes rolled back, listening to the sounds their skin creates against the room, arching deeper into the bed as she embarrassingly moans, “Oooh, shit. Baby—I feel you…”

He grunts in response, his teeth biting her ear as she moans. She felt so tight around him. He’s not pulling halfway out like before—he’s now pulling back until his tip is halfway inside, sharply driving back in, watching arousal squelch more and more, filling to the brim to drip against his balls. He presses his body against hers, his chest flush against her back, moving his hand to the side of her face to hold her head in place as he growls in her ear, “‘Makin’ a fuckin’ mess, baby. Can’t even think straight anymore, huh?”

Her head is leaning back against his shoulder, tilting her eyes up to look up within the mirror on the ceiling as he clutches her jaw. She watches the muscles of his back flex, the color of his tattoos all along his skin, she shudders, gasping, “Yeahh, c—can’t think…”

He catches her gaze in the mirror, watching his body, the way his muscles were flexing. She’s staring at him, him—and the action makes his brain feel like it’s overheating. 

“You lookin’?” he groans, her voice wrecked as his grip on her jaw tightens.

She’s clawing at the sheets beneath her, inhaling deep, gasping dangerously as she whines, “Y—Yeah….don’t stop. Don’t stop…” she feels tears brimming within her eyes, a pleasure erupting within her body she’d never felt before.

She's sniffling, trembling, a small sob pulling from her lips, reaching behind to clutch for his hair again, pulling his mouth down to her throat. He’s cooing in her ear, “I know, baby.”

She drags her fingers into his scalp as she turns her head, “Kiss me,” she begs, rolling her hips back, “Please…”

Her back is arched against him, her skin flushed and glistening with sweat, watching the way her ass recoils against his skin—It drives him wild.  

His nose slides against her face to reach for her mouth, his tongue slipping past her lips, the kiss filthy and raw. He grunts to her, “Gonna fuckin’ marry you, gonna’ kiss you like this at our fuckin’ wedding.” 

He chuckles against her shuddering body, watching as she holds onto him for dear life. He won’t stop talking, “You never answered my question. This shit mine, huh?”

She’s full on crying, so wrapped up in the pleasure he gives her— her cheek is along the sheet of the bed, his body following down with hers, pressing his cheek against her jaw, dropping his hips down, earning a squeal in response. She groans, letting the sound drag into a loud moan, clutching her hand over her mouth as she softly cries, “I’m yours, fuck…don’t s—stop…”

His. She's his. The thought is almost his undoing, his heart beating heavily against his chest as he feels her crying, her body clinging to him like she’s lost if he leaves her. 

Her voice is broken as he speaks, a whine from the back of her throat as she tightens around him, “You hear me? I’m gonna marry your ass. Never gonna’ fuckin’ leave. Always gonna fuck you like this.”

He watches her tears stream down her face from the mirror above him, a dark desire stirring within him. It’s a gorgeous sight—her completely and utterly ruined from his touch. 

He grunts into her ear, “You gonna’ say yes?”

His palm locks around her parted mouth, sliding his fingers on her tongue, using the leverage to yank her back, skin applauding like gunshots within the room. The scent of his body is all around her, she’s moaning, turning her head back to look at him, “Yes ...yes…”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You mean it?”

She can feel her hips falling into his, body becoming exhausted as she trembles, the scream that attempts to release from her lips inhales into a gasp, pulling her mouth down to muffle her sounds as she softly cries, “Mean it, Toji…”

Her words leave her in a whimper, the sound mixed into a sobbed moan, Toji can’t think—He feels like he’s on fire. The pleasure, emotions that course within their body come together in another kiss, her entire body spasming beneath him as she orgasms. Her sobs, her trembling, he can feel it, smell it, taste it. 

He whispers in her ear as he holds her, groaning as he releases with her, his voice completely wrecked, “Fuck—I got you, baby.”

There’s nothing left but their shaking bodies, their tangled limbs wrapped together, panting breaths, and the sound of the two against each other. He can’t get his arms to leave her. 

She grazes her nails along his arm, trying to take control of her breath as she whispers, “Gonna’ put me in a headlock if you told me any tighter…”

He loosens his grip, shifting to turn her body to face him without separating. He’s still inside her, and he won’t budge. He wipes his thumb along the tears on her face, “My bad, pretty.”

She frowns, “When’d you get soft on me? Didn’t know I’d have such a sweet bean of a husband,” she giggles, seeing him raise his eyebrow at that.

He hates that something in his heart melts at her words—but just like a man—he has to circle back to another point of her sentence. 

“Just when I was gonna’ be nice and ask what size ring you wear,” he smacks his lips, Sayuki gasping as he wraps his fingers along the back of her neck, pressing her face down into the sheets, “Now’ I gotta remind you who I am. Put that ass up, I’m not done with you yet.” 

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

To love me better

Tags: Yakuza Lord!Sukuna x fem!Reader, american!Reader, forced/arranged marriage, dark romance trope, dead dove, age gap romance (reader is around 21-22, Sukuna is 37), cursing, suggestive language, use of nicknames like “doll” and “kitten”, use of y/n, use of “good girl”, NSFW, MDNI, Sukuna is his own warning.

Synopsis: Yakuza Lord!Sukuna owns all of entertainment district. You’re trying to work to put yourself through law school. He has a proposition for you, and you have one for him. Chaos ensues.

An: I love how I started out on Tumblr as a Gojo girlie, but I quickly became a Toji girlie. However, I write the most fics about Sukuna. He’s just so interesting. I want to eat him.

Part one. | Part two. | Part three.

*art creds for sukuna image goes to @.maru6 here on tumblr

Nothing could ruin the rest of your night, nothing.

Not when you were counting up the money you made from tonight alone, and it was enough to keep you steady for over three months. You might not even have to work this job for long. Student loans be damned.

You were sat at the bar after closing. Your phone screen dimly illuminated that it was well past four in the morning, and your battery was running low.

The club was much less intimidating now. The music was dulled down to a low hum. The lights were on, exposing the club for what it actually looked like. Janitorial services were walking around while disinfecting every surface imaginable.

Honestly, the stranger’s words that he would be back had long left your mind. At first, you were nervous. You kept looking to the door, expecting for him to be there. You were jumpier too, and you started looking at your customers wearier.

Then, you realized it was probably a hollow threat. He had clearly had business with the Gojo clan, and he may not even make it out alive from that.

Yorozu was wiping down the bar and cleaning up. Since your customers were the last to leave, you were tasked with staying behind with her so you two could leave together. The club liked to use a buddy system for all of the girls. Of course, security personnel members were still posted at each and every corner.

“Sheeesh girl, you must have a natural talent for this,” Yorozu whistled as she watched you count through the massive pile or money before you. Most of it came from that stranger’s pocket.

“It must’ve been a hidden talent,” you meekly murmured with a small shrug, but you couldn’t bite back the small smile on your face. You felt elated, even if your feet were throbbing from the ridiculous heels you were wearing.

Yorozu grinned at you with a small laugh. She honestly found your calm and demure appearance to be charming, especially in this industry. “So humble,” she giggled. “Listen, some of the girls invest some of their money right back into the product to make sure they keep up with demand, but I don’t even think you need any of that.”

“The product? They invest in Malevolent Mass?”

“Girl no. They get work done. You know, a boob job here, tummy tuck there, a Brazilian butt lift if they’re brave enough. Remember, the product is your looks as well as the booze.”

“Oh… I don’t know,” you said sheepishly. The thought of walking around a courtroom with a BBL when you’re a lawyer didn’t necessarily strike you as professional, but to each their own.

“No, no, no, I get it. Like I said, I think you’re doing a good job with what you got. I’m trying to compliment you, silly.”

“Oh,” you exhale with a nervous laugh. You ease into the barstool, trying to remind your fight or flight instincts that Yorozu has been nothing but kind to you. You should relax around her. “Uh— I think you’re pretty too by the way.”

The bartender grins at you while she flips her high ponytail over her shoulder with a small wink. “Aww, thanks. I feel like I have the looks, but I don’t have the personality for a bottle girl. That’s why they stuck me back here.”

“Why is that?” you inquire, leaning your elbow on the bar as you prop your head up with your hand. Yorozu is working on cleaning off all the taps and nozzles.

“Because the first motherfucker to try and grab me is getting a bottle smashed across his head.”

You involuntarily laugh from the sudden bluntness of her words. Immediately, you imagine trying to defend her in court as her attorney, immediately taking a self-defense plea.

Before you can reply, tires screeching and motorcycles revving outside has you looking towards the door. Surely, it’s a couple of drunk people not realizing that the club is closed.

Then, the door swings open, and you can hear a few deep laughs echoing through the building. Security will deal with them, right?

You look up to Yorozu, wondering if she’ll end up telling them off instead, but you catch her fixing up her hair and pulling down her shirt a little bit further to expose her cleavage that was in fact — very pleasing to look at.

Feeling confused, you finally look over to who had entered the club, and your heart drops into your stomach. Instantly, your skin feels like TV static, and you have the instinct to run.

The handsome pink-haired stranger was walking towards the bar with a smirk planted on his face. His white button-up had been stained with a red splatter that you could only assume to be blood.

“Lord Sukuna,” Yorozu greets with a pretty smile.

Sukuna. You’ve heard that name before. Who was this man?

“Yorozu,” his gravely voice greets back. “Get my men a round, will ya? They deserve it.”

“Hell yeah! Drinks are on the boss tonight!”

“Boss! What about us, huh?” A security guard calls from his post on the second floor.

“The security men too, Yorozu.” He adds before he casually slides onto a barstool right next to you.

Surely, they’re just calling him boss out of terms of endearment.. You already met the manager, and this wasn’t him. Maybe he’s a friend of the owner..? Maybe…

“Good girl. You waited on me,” his voice lowly praises you as his eyes focus on your face. He finds your confusion and fear to be absolutely decadent. He’s going to savor this moment for as long as possible.

“I—“ your words get lodged in your throat as you don’t even know what to say right now. You have so many questions, but Sukuna’s men and security personnel are crowding around the bar. Everyone is too close, and you don’t want to embarrass yourself.

Yorozu planted a drink in front of every man including Sukuna, and she made one for herself. “What are we saying cheers to tonight?” she asked casually as she looked around the room.

“To the Gojo clan for being made up of a bunch of dimwits,” a man with short black hair called out, and he toasted his shot glass in the air. The rest of the men agreed, even Sukuna raised his shot glass before he tossed back his head, and the amber liquid slid down his throat.

Your eyes were zeroed in on the way his Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed, and you traveled your gaze over to his hand, remembering the way his fingers tested your throat out while you cried on his lap. You felt a dull heat settle between your thighs, so you clenched them together to soothe the ache.

“You said you didn’t drink,” you whispered sheepishly to Sukuna while the men hooped and hollered in the bar, bragging about the easy hits they got off on the Gojo men.

“Oh doll,” Sukuna cooed as he looked over to you. He gave you a mock pity glance. “I lied.”

“Just like you lied about being the owner?” you questioned as you went to stand from your barstool. You didn’t need this. You made enough money in one night for three months. You could find another job before then. The last thing you needed was to get mixed up in a crowd like this.

A strong hand settled on your thigh, gripping it as he applied a little pressure to keep you sat. Sukuna cocked an eyebrow at your boldness. To think you could just walk away from him so easily…

“Did I ever specifically say that I wasn’t the owner?” he asked as he sat his shot glass down on the bar.

“Another round?” Yorozu spoke up. This was the most chipper you have seen her ever.

Sukuna merely waved his hand out her with an indifference that even made you want to flinch. However, she took it in stride and made everyone else another round, skipping you and Sukuna.

You still feel her eyes dig into your face as it’s obvious you and Sukuna are engaged in a pretty serious conversation.

“No, you didn’t, but I feel like that’s just lying by omission,” you say as your eyebrows furrow slightly. You can feel your stomach twisting in knots. A swirl of emotions settle in your body: shame, fear, and inexplicable arousal.

“Oh y/n, are you really the one to talk about liars hm?”

Your name on his lips fellt like a sucker punch to the gut… and the clit. You never gave him your name, only opting for your codename, but he knew who you were. It was only a matter of time before he knew what school you went to, what you were majoring in, everything…

You’re already in too deep.

Suddenly, everyone feels to close. Your clothes are itchy, and your hair is sitting on you in the wrong way. Everyone’s too loud, and the buzzing of the lights makes you want to rip off your skin.

Your breath picks up, shifting to small pants as you try to calm yourself down. You haven’t had a panic attack in so long... why now?

“Alright, hop up. Let’s go to my office,” Sukuna says as his hand lets go of your thigh, and he gently hovers it over your lower back as he stands up from his stool.

Nothing sounds worse than going to his office, except for staying here and breaking down in front of a bunch of Yakuza members and coworkers.

Your legs wobble beneath you, but Sukuna keeps a steady hand against you, grounding you to him as he carefully guides you up stairs.

“We’re almost there. You’re okay,” he sounds like he’s trying to comfort you, but allowing him to soothe you would be like cuddling up to a venomous snake when they wrap themselves around you. He’s sizing you up, looking at you like prey.

You’d pay more attention to your surroundings if you weren’t so focused on trying not to hyperventilate. You hear a small beep before a door opens. It’s locked by a fingerprint sensor, only Sukuna could enter.

He guides you to sit down before his desk, and you hear the door shut behind you.

“Let it out,” he lowly demands as he walks over to the corner of the office. He presses a button on a fan before it blows in your general direction. You’re grateful for the cool breeze as you let out a haggard sigh.

You silently bring yourself back down to earth. You were in a sticky situation now, but you’ve done nothing wrong. Sure, Sukuna is the owner of Malevolent Mass, and sure, he had his fingers down your throat earlier, but that’s not a crime.

His large figure stands before you as he rummages through his desk for a moment. Once he finds what he’s looking for, his gaze snaps back up to you.

“You’re not letting it out,” Sukuna grumbles as he steps behind you. His large hands comb through your hair. Your eyes involuntarily close, and you hone in on your five senses to ground yourself further.

You can feel the air from the fan blowing past you, and Sukuna’s fingers are gently combing through your hair. He gathers it up into his palms. His office smells like him, of leather and bourbon with a nice manly musk as well. The fan is quiet, but you can hear the small motor buzzing as its blades are propelling around. Opening up your eyes, you recognize that his office is quite bare. It doesn’t look like he’s here all that often.

By the time you’re finally feeling better, you realize that your hair is off your shoulders, and you look up to see Sukuna standing behind you, looking down at you.

Your eyebrows furrow, and you reach behind your head to see what he did, and you feel your hair tied up in a bun, using a pen to hold it in place.

He put your hair up in a bun for you.

“Did you think I chopped it all off?” he asks, not missing a beat with his smirk. Satisfied with your calmness, he walks around his desk before taking a seat.

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” you say slowly at your eyes look up to meet his. Being nervous wasn’t going to get you anywhere, you tried to remember the lessons in confidence that your law professor had given you. You straighten your back, pushing your shoulders back as you face Sukuna squarely. “So, should I call you boss too?”

He barks out a laugh from your little display. You really were nothing like anyone he’s ever met, and he’s met plenty of people from all walks of life. “Oh doll, I would much prefer if you said my name instead.”

His eyes rest upon you with an expectant gaze. He’s waiting for you to say it. He needs to hear you say his name.

“Okay… Sukuna,” you finally relent, choosing your battles wisely. “I— um,” Dammit, you’re already failing your confidence lessons. It’s something about Sukuna’s soft red eyes exploring over your face, like he’s hanging onto every word you say. “Thank you for getting me away from them and… helping me through that.”

“How precious,” Sukuna snickers as he leans back into his chair. “It’d do you well to know that everything I do is for the benefit of me, doll. Nevertheless, you’re welcome.”

“Putting my hair up in a bun benefitted you?” you press a bit, wondering just what his motives are now. Before, you assumed he was just some older rich man who was looking for a bit of play, but now… you weren’t so sure.

“I needed you calm before I sat down and spoke to you,” Sukuna answers as he watches your face carefully. He loves watching you try to piece everything together.

“Is this meeting some sort of performance review because if so, it’s rather late. I have other matters to tend to like trying to maintain some sort of proper sleeping schedule.”

“You’re rather mouthy to the man you work for, and for the man who forked up thousands of yen to you.”

A small sigh escapes you, knowing he has you under his thumb now. You should’ve never taken the money. You gave an inch, and now, he was going to take a mile.

“Oh darling, don’t look so down. I think it’s charming. It was just an observation on my part.”

You take a deep breath. You’re still at a loss for what was motivating him now. “Right… So, why am I in your office?”

“I have a proposition for you,” Sukuna says as he twirls a pen around his fingers. His digits effortlessly spin the pen in intricate circles, never losing grip or control.

“Listen— you’ve been exuberantly kind with your money, and I appreciate that, truly. But…”

“Aht, Let me finish,” he says in a lightly scolding tone. His eyes give you a disapproving look for interrupting him. “I don’t want you to work for me anymore. If anything was proven tonight, it was that you’re not cut out to be a bottle girl.”

Your jaw drops open, and your eyebrows furrow a little bit, forming a crease between them. He was firing you? How could he say that when Yorozu said you had a natural talent??

“Tch. Don’t take it as a bad thing, girl. Like I said, angels don’t last long in this industry. Consider it a favor that it’s ending with you being fired and not dead in a ditch.”

“Oh wow, thank you. How should I ever repay you?” you ask bitterly, barely holding back frustrated tears as they threatened to spill from your eyes. Your fists clenched at the hem of your dress. It’s just one setback after another.

“If you must, you can crawl under this desk and show me just how grateful you are,” Sukuna replies as he leans forward on the desk with a small smirk.

The audacity of this man makes you see red. He never misses a beat with his responses, and he’s fucking unshakable.

“So your proposal was for me to blow you for firing me-?” you ask incredulously.

“Oh doll, that would really be a treat, but no. I’m wanting something that can’t be obtained in just one night.”

“Please—“ you say before you pinch the bridge of your nose. You take a deep breath. Emotions don’t belong in negotiation, and that’s exactly what this is. “Can you be a little less cryptic? It’s been a long night, and to top it all off, I just got fired from the only job I’ve had.”

Sukuna’s quiet for a moment. His eyes roam over you before it looks like he finally takes pity on you. “Alright, I don’t want you working for me at Malevolent Mass. I think your set of skills would best be allocated elsewhere. Instead, I wanted to offer you a proposition.

“It’s clear that you’re money motivated, and before you throw some sort of tantrum, I’m not saying that as a bad thing. It’s just a fact. I want to support you through school, and in return, I just need you to be available to me.”

You stare for a long minute. Available to him. You could only guess what he meant by that. “You want a sugar baby,” you say slowly, narrowing your gaze at him.

The thought of letting him do more with his fingers than train your throat crosses your mind. You have to cross your legs to soothe the small thrumming feeling you feel deep in your core.

“Mmm, not quite. I’m not offering to buy you cute little outfits and fund your next beach trip. I’m offering to put you through school. Any expenses that relate to your schooling and/or living situation, I’ll handle. Actually, scratch that. I will buy you cute little outfits if they're for my eyes only,” Sukuna leans back in his chair, and his eyes stay glued onto your face.

“I can only assume that available to you means free use,” you scoff, rubbing your face in a stressed out gesture. You just made more money than you have ever seen, got fired, and propositioned to be a free use not-sugar baby all in one night.

“Smart girl,” he replies with a slight predatory grin.

You take a moment to wrack your brain for every little detail you’ve learned in your law classes so far. This deal seems like it benefits you, until he just gets tired or supporting you or until you don’t feel like doing a sexual favor for him.

He could also invoke his free use policy at any given time, demanding that you miss class or wake up in the dead of night.

There was also another problem.

“Free use of every inch of my body?” you inquire, raising an eyebrow at him.

Sukuna lets out another deep growly chuckle as he tips his head back. “This is what I get for trying to bargain with a future lawyer.”

Your eyes widen as you stare at the man across from you. “You know what I’m in school for?” you ask as your heart starts to thump harshly in your chest. You haven't mentioned that small detail to anyone at Malevolent Mass with the hopes that you could keep your work life and university life separate.

“Oh y/n, I know a lot more about you than you think, kitten. I don’t just hire anyone at Malevolent Mass, and I don’t just extend offers to just anyone either.”

You glance back towards the door, wondering if you could just run from this, but horror strikes you as you realize there’s a fingerprint sensor on this side too. The only person who could leave freely was Sukuna.

“Don’t look so petrified, doll, It was really a simple background check. I have to make sure those nasty dogs from the Gojo clan don’t try and weasel their way into my space.”

You look back to face him, trying to convince yourself that he was telling the truth. It was just a protocol procedure…

“You never answered my question. Will my entire body be free use to you?” you say, trying to keep your voice from shaking.

Sukuna rests his elbows on the desk, and he gives you an almost bored expression now. “Yes. I’m not putting you through school just to experience only half of the fun, girl.”

“No thank you. I’ll pass.”

He looks interested now, peaking up at you with a small smirk. “What bothers you about that, doll? Is it the ass play? I’d be willing to give that up. Never been much of an ass guy anyway.”

“I wasn’t—“ your eyes widen as you realize you’d be giving up your whole body to whatever kinks he had in store. You hadn’t even thought about anything past vanilla sex. “No, that’s not why. I just— no deal.”

“I hear you, but tell me what’s spooking you off from taking my deal.”

“I made a promise to someone really close to me,” you don’t dare to mention your dad, not wanting Sukuna to pry anymore into your personal life than he already did. “I’m not willing to give myself up before marriage, especially not to some sort of free use deal.”

Sukuna’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly. He shifts in his seat as his lips twitch upwards. Things just got much more interesting for him. “Ohhh, I see. You’re a cute little virgin, huh? I should’ve known based on how you cried from merely sitting in my lap.”

You swallow thickly, feeling your fight or flight instinct kick back in. He was acting as if you told him some sort of heirloom secret in your family. Your head slowly nods, not trusting your voice to speak.

“Hm. Alright, fine. Get out of my club, girl. And don’t let me see you here as a guest either unless you want me to bend you over my lap and discipline you myself.”

“I want to propose a counter offer.”

“Huh-?” Sukuna is rarely ever caught off guard. He prides himself on knowing everyone’s next moves, probably before they even know their next move. However, he did not foresee you, a meek little thing, giving him a counter offer.

“Are you not willing to hear me out? I’ll gladly leave with the money I made tonight,” you say, calling his bluff on kicking you out.

He quickly fixes his face from a look of surprise to another confident smirk. “Go on, doll. Show me what you got.”

“No free use. You support me through school financially including my livelihood and beyond that,” You purposely leave out the part where you don’t necessarily have a livelihood, but he’ll find that out sooner or later. “We get married, and then, you can have me as free use with the only stipulation that it can’t interfere with my school or work.”

Sukuna silently reaches over, and he clicks off the fan that was blowing on you earlier during your panic attack. A heavy silence fills the room, and his eyes bore into you.

“Are you looking to become the sole beneficiary of my life insurance policy, hm?” he finally breaks the silence, and a feline grin almost spreads across his face. He’s mocking you.

“No, you keep your life insurance policy to whoever it is. I’ll even sign a prenup stating that I’m not entitled to anything of yours in the event that we get divorced due to infidelity or any nefarious acts on my end,” you explain as your fingers subconsciously twiddle together.

Sukuna's silent for another moment as he weighs everything out in his head. You look down towards your hands, wondering if you just made some grave error in trying to negotiate. You should've just taken the money he gave you and ran.

“I take great pride in understanding human motives, doll. You’ve been one of the few to truly stump me. Tell me, why would you want to marry me? Because I know good and well it’s not to fulfill some promise to someone important to you. If it was about that, you’d understand that this… certain somebody would want you to marry for love, not for a contractual agreement.”

You licked your lips to wet them as you took what Sukuna said into consideration. You suppose he’s right. Your father didn’t want you to marry for some sort of mutually beneficial contract. Perhaps, your late father wanted you to marry so that you couldn’t be so easily abandoned again like your mother had abandoned you.

“Maybe you don’t understand because you’re on the inside,” you say slowly, keeping your eyes trained onto the floor. You felt your face warm with the unfamiliar feeling of vulnerability. Tears bit into your eyes.

“On the inside of what?” his question was more like a demand.

“Despite being born in this country, I am still on the outside. I don’t have a last name that anyone takes seriously. If I want to make change, people have to look at me with reverence and respect. Even being an outsider who doesn’t understand all the great family names of this land, your last name made me take heed. Your name demanded respect, and I want that same respect in turn for myself.”

Sukuna’s eyes widen but a fraction as his pupils dilate while looking at you. From the moment he knew your name and saw your pretty face, he knew you’d be interesting, but this? This took the cake for him.

“I need an heir for my… empire. If you’re married to me, I’ll expect at least one, though you should expect that I’ll keep your hands and stomach full with wifely duties,” Sukuna said, testing to see how you’d react.

“I want my degree first,” you expertly counteroffer, looking back up at him in the eyes. You were really agreeing to marry this man and have his children, but you have no earthly idea what his ‘empire’ truly was.

“Done. What else would you like, doll?” Sukuna easily agrees. His body leans forward into the desk. You’re so fucking tantalizing to him, and you don’t even know it. His heart is beating wildly in his chest. This is the same high he chases right before a well deserved kill. The only other person who has made him feel this same way without dying was Satoru Gojo, head of the Gojo clan.

“If you’re really a…” The word ‘yakuza’ dies on your lips. People didn’t throw around that word so frivolously. “If you and your business partners outside this office subscribe to that sort of kinship, I want to be as clueless about it as El Chapo’s wife. Please, give me plausible deniability.”

You could feel your moral compass shattering just from the mere bargaining of this. Just because you didn’t see something, doesn’t make it any less real. You were just turning a blind eye to Sukuna’s crimes… just like how corporations turned a blind eye to your father.

You try to remind yourself that this was for the greater good. You wanted revenge and penance for all the workers who have suffered at the hands of greedy men. You had to play to win.

This was only temporary. Once you established yourself in the field of law, you wouldn’t need Sukuna’s last name. By that time, he would likely already grow tired of you and move onto the next young pretty thing that fell onto his lap. Both of you would move onto different things.

Sukuna let out a deep, rich laugh that only men of high status could give. “Darling, I wouldn’t dream of involving you in my work, as long as you don’t involve me in yours.”

You let out a deep breath. This was really happening. What would your father say about the life you had chosen to live?

Your future husband slowly held out his hand to you. His palm was rough and calloused. The small splatter of blood on his white button-up spoke volumes to you. This was a man you didn’t want to cross.

“A deal, then?” his voice coated you in a false sense of security. Sukuna was terrifying, but in a way, he also brought you comfort.

“Before I shake your hand, I want the right to end our engagement should I change my mind. I’ll forfeit the money, and I’ll never step foot in the entertainment district. I’ll also never utter a word about anything I may have seen during our engagement.”

Sukuna kept his hand extended towards you. “The door your eyes kept glancing to has been unlocked this entire time, darling. The fingerprint sensor isn’t even active right now. You’re free to walk away from me all the way until you say I do,”

You glanced down at his hand then up to his eyes. He’s wearing a subtle smirk that tells you that he’s comfortable right now. You take his hand, and you shake on it before you could think wiser.

“Good girl. We can go over more explicit details the next time we meet,” your future husband smiles — a real genuine smile, and he stands up from his desk. His hands go to unbuttoning his shirt.

“I—“ your words get caught in your throat as Sukuna shrugs off his button-up shirt. His muscles look as though they’ve been delicately sculpted by one of the greatest artists to ever live. His tattoo, lines and circles that seem to have no other purpose, only accentuate every hill and ditch on his body. No, Sukuna’s not some sort of man — he’s a god.

“What are you doing?” your voice is about an octave too high, betraying your nervousness. You quickly stop yourself from staring, opting to cover your eyes up with your hands.

“Oh doll, don’t be shy,” he teases with a throaty laugh. He’s enjoying watching you squirm over him. “I’m for your enjoyment now, seeing as though we’re engaged.”

You hear fabric rustling, and you take the chance to peek between your fingers to see what he’s doing. He had another shirt tucked away in his desk, and he was now buttoning it up across his chest.

His old shirt was no where to be seen. He must’ve already expertly discarded it for no one to find.

You slowly stand as well, taking the hint that this conversation was coming to an end. You look for your bag before you realize that you must’ve left it at the bar when Sukuna led you up to his office during your panic attack.

“Come, doll. I’ll take you home,” Sukuna says, beckoning to you like an owner would their dog. He opens the door, proving that it really wasn’t locked.

You slowly follow behind him. “It’s fine. I can walk or take a subway,” you say slowly. The thought of Sukuna seeing where you lived, even if you were on student housing, made your skin crawl with unease.

“Oh y/n, you have so much to learn about me,” he taunts as his hand grazes the small of your back. He carefully leads you down to the club level. The bar had mostly cleared out. You noted how Yorozu had seemingly left. So much for the buddy system. “I’m not the type of man to let my future wife navigate the entertainment district at this ungodly hour without so much of a cell phone to call for help.”

“I have a cell phone—“ you quickly protest before you pick it up off the bar. It was completely dead. You close your eyes and take a deep breath. How did he even know about that..?

“I watched the screen fade to black as you were accusing me of lying. Let this be your first lesson, your trip here was the last time you’ll be free to roam the streets of the entertainment district without some sort of protection with you.”

You swallow thickly as you slowly grab your purse. Not that the money mattered, but it was still left undisturbed on the bar. Sukuna’s eyes flickered between you and the stack of yen, as if silently telling you to take it… even if you didn’t need it now.

“Consider it a down payment,” Sukuna laughs as he grabs a helmet off the bar. Your eyes widen as you remember that he didn’t drive a car here.

Your future husband doesn’t take a moment for pause as he walked towards the doors. He holds it open for you, expecting you to follow him.

What other choice did you have? You also didn’t necessarily fancy walking home without a phone to call for help if you needed it.

He turns to face you before reaching around and pulling the pen he had meticulously placed in your hair to hold it up. Your hair fell down, and he stepped closer to you. “Have you ever ridden before?”

You slowly shake your head. You’ve never even been close to a motorcycle before, and Sukuna’s bike looks intimidating.

“Mm, I should’ve guessed by the fear in your eyes,” he laughs lowly before slowly slipping the helmet over your head. You’re rendered blind for a moment as it takes him a second to adjust the helmet to your head. His fingers delicately adjust the straps beneath your chin, making sure you’re properly secured in.

“If I would’ve known I’d have my future wife with me, I would’ve opted for the car instead of my bike. You’re lucky I’m a good driver, doll.”

Your hands go to raise your visor up so you can look him in the eyes instead of a tinted plastic meant to protect your eyes. However, Sukuna slaps the visor back down with a hearty chuckle. “Keep it down, kitten. Don’t you want to be able to see while you walk down the aisle?”

His strong hands then wrap around your waist, and he lifts you effortlessly as though you weigh nothing to him. You barely make it through a gasp before he safely settles you onto the back of his bike.

“Put your feet on the pegs,” he instructs as he carefully swings his own leg over the bike. “When we’re riding, you hold onto me, and lean with the bike not against it.”

“What does that even mean?” you shout, feeling like your heart is going to have palpitations after this ride.

“It means…” he reaches behind himself to grab your hands, and he makes you wrap your arms around his waist. He places your palms on his rock solid stomach. “Hold onto me and trust me, doll.”

You’re forced to lean into him, practically laying yourself against his muscular back. His warmth seeps into you as you hold onto him tightly. The bike roars to life.

“You ready for the ride of your life, doll?”

The beautiful neon lights of bright purples, lime greens, and cyan blues zip past you as Sukuna revs the bike. The engine purrs and whines as he drives the bike with a confidence that comes with riding for several years.

The entertainment district is at its prettiest during this hour. Not many people are out and about, but it’s still dark and the streetlights illuminate the space. It feels like it’s straight out of a dystopian science fiction movie.

The ride is mostly silent. You’re focused on the feeling of the wind in your hair and the sights that Japan has to offer. You stay wrapped around Sukuna, using his body as an anchor while it feels like you might blow away.

It gives you time to think and reflect. You’ve done more new things in the last 24 hours than you have all your life. It feels… freeing, a sort of freedom that you haven’t felt since your father was injured at his job.

A sudden thought occurs to you. You never told Sukuna which student housing you live in… Sure, he could infer that you live on student housing, but there’s still multiple housing facilities that you could live in.

Much to your dismay, he pulls up to the exact right building, and he slowly kills the engine. “How was that?” he asks as he turns over his shoulder to look at you.

Your fingers quickly fumble with the strap of your helmet, trying to peel the safety gear off of you.

Sukuna laughs quietly as he watches you struggle. He pushed himself up off the bike, so he could tend to you better. “Careful, doll. Don’t overwork yourself. I’m sure the ride wasn’t that bad.”

Once the helmet was off, you stare up at him with a heat of a thousand suns. “How do you know where I live?” you demand as your eyebrows furrow. Your lips curl into that adorable pout that makes Sukuna involuntarily grin at you.

“I already told you, doll. I don’t just let anyone work at Malevolent Mass, and I certainly don’t just offer marriage to someone I hardly know,” he says it as if it’s the most natural thing on this planet.

You’re completely speechless for a moment, reeling over just how much he knows about you. He made the deal with you knowing what he was getting himself into; however, you basically just signed yourself up for a blind sentence.

“As much as I crave the fear you’re wearing on your face, it’s late. You have class on Monday, which means you need to fix your sleeping schedule tonight. Go inside, get some rest, and make sure to charge your phone. I’ll be in touch.” You don’t even bother asking how he knows your phone number.

He reaches out to you, bracing a hand behind your head as his fingers intertwine strands of hair. He then bends over and presses his lips gently against your forehead.

A warmth blossoms over you. A simple forehead kiss was not what you were expecting from the man who fucked your mouth with his fingers and propositioned you for a free use bargain. It felt simple, sweet, innocent…

It’s almost enough to make all the anxiety lift from your shoulders, but you still yourself, reminding yourself not to fall for such frivolous tricks and pretty words… even if it was really thoughtful that he had already thought about your schooling.

“I’ll draft up a contract before our next meeting, doll.” He slides the helmet over his own head, and he pushes the visor upwards so you can gaze into his red eyes that appear soft at the moment.

Coming to your senses, you give him a weary gaze. “Written contracts only ever benefit the writer of the contract.”

You can’t see his lips, but you can tell from his eyes that he’s smirking at you like he’s proud of you for picking up on such a minor detail. “I have such a clever little wife.”

With that, his bike roars to life, and he points towards the door of your building. His intention is clear enough. You’re now to do as your future husband says.

Taglist: @theuniversesnepobaby @lizatonix @starmapz @everywonuu @totallygyomeiswife @sukubusss @depressiondiaries @t4naiis @hishearttohave @soraya-daydreams @lulunx @s-1-xx @el-lise @prettyngeto @marifujioka @iheartlinds @gina239 @actuallynarii @shxyxyxxxx @krispycreamepie @emoedgylord

[coffee-and-geto]

I THINK HE DID IT BUT I JUST CAN’T PROVE IT (HE DID IT) — part one.

“Tell me something… You really like to put yourself in danger wherever you go, don’t you, troublemaker?”

❦ pairing: professor!toji x f!reader

❦ summary: you are a student of criminal studies at a prestigious university with one goal in mind: get your father out of prison one day. but how will you react when your new professor in the subject, as attractive as he is odious, comes to replace your old teacher who has deserted the post? especially when that new teacher is keeping a secret that will jeopardize your plans. one thing’s for sure, your life will never be the same again...

❦ warnings: +18 only, dead dove: do not eat!!, smut, nsfw, violence with graphic description, vulgar language, mention of bullying/suicide/weapons/drugs/gambling, mature and dark content, toxic parental relationships, murders, yakuzas, panick attacks, heavy angst, fluff, manipulation, childhood trauma, death, grief, betrayal, hurt with/without comfort, student/teacher relationship (fictional, not real!!), depiction of the life of a hitman/appearance of yakuzas, enemies to lovers, but not a real slow burn, dark academia vibe, art by @/521jie.

❦ wc: 19,055 (sorry for all this length. next parts will be less long—at least I hope so...)

next chapter ->

series masterlist | ao3

“No way…” 

“Is it true?”

Whispers of gossip rippled through the crowd of students packed like sardines in the Keio University courtyard under a grayish sky, crying its fine April rain. A back-to-school gathering announced straight away upon the opening of the doors of the prestigious school spared no curiosity.

Not even yours.

It’s was as if the news uttered has echoed like a clap of thunder in your ears.

Amid this gathering, you have a direct view of the main rostrum of the university, which usually serves as a stage for annual events. Mr. Yaga, the principal, stands, the handle of a microphone wrapped in his fingers, patiently waiting for a silence that you think takes an eternity to muzzle all those voices.

“Your attention, please.” Mr. Yaga’s voice resonates throughout the courtyard and cuts off the chattering. “As I just mentioned, Mr. Kiyotaka Ijichi, the professor of criminological theory, has submitted his letter of resignation at the beginning of this semester.”

He lets a silence permeate the consciousness of his students before continuing in a solemn voice, “He didn’t wish to give any justification for this sudden decision, and I doubt that this news will please the master’s students in criminal sciences. We have sent an express request to the Tokyo Academy to find a new professor worthy of teaching in this school. Temporary schedules will be sent by email this weekend pending a new professor for this position. Please be patient. Our staff is well aware of the concern you may feel. But we can assure you that we are doing everything possible to enable you all to excel in your studies.”

It’s done.

The image of your former professor of criminological theory—the man who previously handled your dominant subject—begins to fade from your mind. The subject for which you usually strive has just slipped from your hands like a wet bar of soap. 

No matter Yaga’s words.

The chances of a qualified and worthy professor walking through the doors of Keio University is like ‘looking for a needle in a haystack’.

You stop listening to the rest of the principal’s back-to-school speech and understand that it has ended when the crowd of students disperses under the squeaking of their shoes trotting on the wet grass of the courtyard.

“Don’t you find it strange?”

A mischievous voice whispered in your ear making you jump. You glance in your peripheral vision and the fresh breeze finally blowing on you making you catch a glimpse of blue hair.

“Miwa,” you mumble without turning around.

A discreet chuckle follows. You begin to leave the courtyard without lingering, and Miwa theatrically sighs your name before slipping to your side in your attempt to quicken your pace. You’re one of those people who avoided Miwa Kasumi.

Alias the university gossip girl. The one to whom you can never hide any of your secrets.

Miwa’s gaze follows you as you hurry towards the exit gate. She has a smug smile on her lips. A smile that screams ’you know what I’m talking about’.

“So, your teacher resigned without giving any explanation?” Miwa says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “How strange...” A second laugh escapes her lips, and a shiver runs down your spine.

You quicken your pace, not wanting to further prolong the conversation, already too long for your liking.You don’t respond to Miwa’s remarks—unsure if it’s because you have nothing to say or because you already know the reason for her approach.

Miwa finally sighs in annoyance. “Why are you in such a hurry? Don’t you want to listen to me? Don’t you want to discuss Mr. Ijichi?” she asks.

But you already know what she wants to talk to you about.

The light rain from earlier is now heavier, and drops crash down on the top of your head. You anticipated it, which is why—still immersed in silence—you take out your umbrella from your bag and unfold it over you.

“C’mon... Talk to me a little...” Miwa insists with her teasing tone. She gives you a pout, pretending to be hurt by your indifference.

You sigh and stop walking, standing at the edge of the university gate. “What do you want?” you finally give in. You check the time on your phone, pretending to be in a hurry.

“I’ve got an exciting article lined up for this week.” Miwa locks her blue eyes on you, and for a moment, you feel naked. It’s as if her eyes exist only to probe people’s minds. “And guess who will be in the spotlight?”

You swallow the bile rising in your throat. “I don’t know,” you mutter uncertainly, your eyes fixed on her with uncertainty.

Miwa raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying your lie. “It’ll be a weekend surprise, I advise you to stay active on the blog.” Her icy-sweet tone makes you want to run away, but you remain silent.

She winks at you before slipping away.

If the students of Keio University couldn’t bring themselves to continue living their student lives—with the apprehension of seeing their names displayed in bold on Miwa’s blog every Sunday, revealing the juiciest secrets of their private lives—this year, she subtly gave you a new piece of information about the extent of her new targets.

This year, even the teachers won’t be spared.

°°°°

“I think... Well... Let’s say next Friday? Would that work for you?” The secretary’s voice and the clicks of a computer mouse reach your ears.

You stand in front of your fridge, looking at your calendar fixed with decorative magnets. After a few seconds of thought, you nod before replying, “Yes, that would be perfect,” momentarily forgetting that the secretary at the penitentiary you’re contacting can’t see you.

“Very well. I’ve scheduled your appointment, and we’ll contact you by email to confirm your visit. Your father will be informed, of course.” You can feel the secretary’s pleasant smile in her voice. She seems to be waiting for your confirmation.

To which you quickly respond before ending the call.

Your mind has been distracted since you left the university this morning. The news of Mr. Ijichi’s unexpected (or almost) resignation and Miwa’s announcement about her next article this Sunday had you overthinking. However, setting up the visit with your father in prison, sweeps away some of the weight on your shoulders.

Yet, in the darkness that settles in your apartment as evening begins, you sincerely hope that no other news will distract you so from the goals you’ve set for yourself.

°°°°

One skill that sets you apart is your undeniable sixth sense.

Just two days ago, you feared more or less unpleasant news, but this Sunday, two caught your attention when your phone emitted notification sounds from two different sources—but nonetheless related in some way.

The first comes from a blog you reluctantly follow titled “Keio’s gossip.” Although the author of the articles posted remains anonymous, every student on the Keio University campus knows their true identity, without having the necessary evidence to do anything against him—or rather her.

Miwa Kasumi is indeed the author of the articles that publicly displayed the slightest gossip concerning each student. A majority has already tasted it, and the flavor was far from the sweet mochi sold as dessert culinary specialties in the heart of Tokyo—according to the faces that the ’pointing fingers’ made on Monday after the weekly publication of an article every Sunday afternoon.

With your eyes glued to your phone screen, you discover the article that was posted a few minutes ago on the blog. The light from your phone is the only source illuminating your room as you sit cross-legged on your bed. Your mouth opens slightly, and you resign yourself to reading the article, the title of which tightens your heart:

’Kiyotaka Ijichi: voluntary or forced resignation?’

Your eyes begin to move back and forth from line to line, and a vise grips your chest as you continue to swallow the horrifying words recounted in the article.

“It was true that Professor Ijichi was subjected to certain remarks from his students,” confides a second-year master’s male student in criminal sciences. “Jabs, sometimes even inappropriate remarks. But no one really reacted... We all thought it would stop at some point...”

“Last year, we all thought he would eventually commit suicide,” adds a history female student. “He was the type to just take it and wouldn’t dare respond or discipline his students for fear that their parents would put his position at stake at the university. Spoiled brats with excessive power, you know.”

“Yet, he was a very good teacher. He was very kind, attentive, and always spoke with humility, no matter who was in front of him,” affirms another female student, on the verge of tears. “He really didn’t deserve this...”

“It was after several other testimonies like these...”

“So, we concluded that...”

“...Kiyotaka Ijichi, former professor of criminological theory at Keiô University, therefore decided to resign from his position as a professor, which would also imply that suicide, could have been a very different departure option that he left behind at this prestigious school. The constant harassment of students, mostly from children of parents with high financial means, would thus be the real reason for Mr. Ijichi’s departure.”

“Keiô private university regularly proclaims its impeccable professionalism through numerous awards, the excellent teaching of its professors, and the discipline of its students. Here is a fact that calls all of this into question—particularly regarding the treatment of teachers. Does Keiô University really admit students for their promising futures? Or is it swayed by the big checks provided by parents from the upper bourgeoisie?”

You finish reading the article, and your brain is bombarded with thoughts racing at over a hundred kilometers per hour, but no words can break through the barrier of your lips.

Even after his departure, Mr. Ijichi couldn’t leave in peace.

A sense of injustice runs through your veins, but you can’t do anything about it.

Why did Miwa feel the need to write this article?

Was it really necessary?

You leave the article page, which is starting to receive comments as you watch the numbers increase below the end-of-page bar, and you redirect yourself to your email inbox.

It’s always the weakest who suffer the worst treatment from society. Whether it’s in the family, at work, with friends, or even at school.

You bite your lip and check the second notification in your inbox. As you expected, Keiô University has sent you your schedule for the coming week. You even expect to find empty slots in your schedule. But strangely, your major subject—criminological theory—fills its place on the colorful digital file with different colors according to the subject indicated. You think there’s an error or something. Until you read the name of the professor in charge of your courses.

T. Fushiguro.

You hastily exit the downloaded file on your phone and open the email sent by the university. After a second reading, your eyes widen like saucers.

“Regarding the replacement of the former criminological theory professor, a request has been submitted to the university. The director’s decision has been finalized. The new professor, Mr. Toji Fushiguro, will therefore lead the courses in this branch for master’s students in criminal sciences from the beginning of the semester.”

Two contradictory feelings finally want to burst in your chest.

The first is relief. You can finally resume your goals serenely without having to worry about the delay you might have experienced in the case of a prolonged wait for Mr. Ijichi’s replacement. What other good news can offset the frustration you felt less than two days earlier?

But the second taints this joy that you should feel: doubt. Keiô University is known for its excellent teaching, which includes rare, highly qualified, and renowned professors. It goes without saying that each of them has at least one doctorate mentioned on their CV. So how, over the course of a single weekend, could your former professor of criminological theory have been replaced so quickly? That’s where Miwa’s article strikes you.

“Is the university being swayed by big checks?”

You need a teacher. And not just any teacher. A teacher who would help you get a degree that would help get your father out of prison. So the fact that the university found a new professor so quickly leaves you skeptical, and your sixth sense wandering behind you like a ghost does not bode well.

So you pray that, for once, your sixth sense is wrong.

°°°°

“How’s he called, again?”

You bite your lip, your gaze lost in the rainy landscape of the courtyard outside the window. “Toji Fushiguro.”

Shoko takes a drag of her cigarette and exhales through the window opening next to which she’s leaning against a shelf. She glances at your absent expression with a slight smile on her lips, and then flicks her finished cigarette butt over the window ledge, making sure it’s extinguished by the damp grass outside. She sighs and stands up. “Let’s go. The bell is about to ring.”

You grimace but obey her words, pushing your back off the wall of the university library and following her along the rows of books stacked so high on wooden shelves that ladders are provided for students invested enough in their studies.

It’s already Monday, and you dread your very first class in criminology theory with your new professor Toji Fushiguro. Is it necessary to mention that, for the first time since your entry into the university a few short years ago, you don’t feel well? But in a normal way, like any average student? No, you have a bad feeling. Something’s off. And you can’t put your finger on it, the only thing you found to do is lament to Shoko, your trusted friend.

“Stay strong. You’ll brief me afterward, won’t you?” Shoko encourages you with a friendly elbow nudge to the arm followed by a wink from one of her eyes marked by violet circles.

You respond with a nervous laugh, and she waves before leaving you in front of the library doors as she heads towards the wing dedicated to medical sciences. With a knot in your stomach and a desire to go home and bury yourself under your blanket, you head towards your classroom in the building reserved for law students.

When you arrive at the amphitheater door, a small herd of students begins to gather in front of the swinging doors, clustering together like a school of fish. The most eager are female students who, dressed in their university’s pine green uniforms, make the most noise with their conversations, the subject of which soon pierces your ears.

“Did you see him this morning?”

“Yes! He’s so hot!”

Giggles echo until you notice that the class line-up is oddly divided. The girls are glued to the closed doors and the boys are standing back, lined up along the corridor walls. Most of them pay no attention to the girls’ chatter and pass the time on their screens—laptops and phones alike.

When the bell rings throughout the university, you enter behind your peers and sit at the end of a central table in the amphitheater. Your eyes scan the stage reserved for the professor after the last steps at the bottom of the room, and your eyes finally settle on a singular silhouette.

Your breath catches, and you almost feel your pupils dilate as Professor Fushiguro leans over his desk, with his open laptop in front of his eyes.

With your mouth slightly open, it’s as if you’ve been robbed of the ability to speak, think, and soon, to breathe.

You don’t know which details unsettle you the most—from his tall silhouette and broad musculature adorned by the beautiful navy blue shirt so deep that from further away you would have mistaken it for black; to his hair, the jet-black locks similar to stalagmites that brush his ears and neck, to his sturdy and prominent jawline.

Everything about him is so grand.

And so beautiful...

You catch yourself looking at him for too long, and your thoughts drift too far. Heat floods your face. Fortunately for you, you weren’t the only one staring at him so much—and with interest—which you use as an advantage to mask your embarrassment when you take out your belongings.

Professor Fushiguro has a beauty that you don’t consider fair for just a simple professor.

As the amphitheater falls into a heavy silence, Professor Fushiguro raises his head towards his students, and the class begins as soon as his voice is heard by all ears.

It’s—

Deep, profound, calm, composed, and above all...

...magnetic.

Professor Fushiguro doesn’t need to ask for silence for the class to hang onto his every word. Nobody seems to react as he doesn’t mention his previous colleague—Mr. Ijichi—not even once.

With furrowed brows, you rest your elbow on your polished wooden desk space and don’t take your eyes off your professor. Under your mask of attentive student, the screen of your laptop hides your chest, where your heart buried inside beats to the rhythm of cannonballs launched at full speed.

Professor Fushiguro doesn’t have the visual demeanor of a professor.

That’s the sentence you keep repeating as Professor Fushiguro continues his class, unaware that three-quarters of his class have stopped listening to what he’s saying since the first word crossed his thin lips—and prefer to admire his only physiognomy built by God himself.

Fuck.

You knew it.

You knew this replacement couldn’t be normal. The way things concluded with such a quick replacement couldn’t help but hide something.

Professor Fushiguro doesn’t have the visual demeanor of a professor.

You force yourself to tear your eyes away from your teacher and start taking notes on the course introduced on ’The Evolution of Crime and Detection Methods Throughout History’. He provides an appendix with a manual to be obtained by the end of the next two weeks, and you try to type its title into your schedule for the coming days in the Notion app on your phone without being distracted by how well your ears welcome the timbre of his voice.

You swallow and close your eyelids for a few seconds, analyzing each word in an attempt to understand the course he almost entirely reads from his printed sheets held in one of his hands just below his nose.

“...legal reforms have also shaped our understanding and treatment of crime. For example, the abolition of the death penalty in many countries reflects a change in our values and conception of justice. These reforms reflect our evolution as a society and our commitment to principles of justice and humanity.”

You open your eyelids after a minute in hopes of refocusing. Unfortunately for you, your eyes fall directly onto emerald orbs that stare at you for a moment.

With a lower lip curled up in a sign of noticeable annoyance, Professor Fushiguro doesn’t say a word and eventually averts his gaze from you, resuming his magnetic monologue.

You bite the inside of your cheek and hide behind the screen of your laptop, your cheeks probably flushed. Perhaps he thought you were dozing off in his class... You curse yourself internally despite the fact that he made no remarks.

At the end of what seems like an eternity, the bell rings, signaling the end of the class. The entire class stands up simultaneously, and you expect to have to wait for the exit door to be unblocked by the herd of students eager to leave the amphitheater.

But to your great surprise—which ultimately wasn’t so unexpected—a part of the group of girls whose conversation you overheard just before the start of class descends the room’s steps towards Professor Fushiguro.

You purse your lips and leave the class with a nonchalant step, your bag hanging from your shoulder.

You feel how long this semester is going to be...

°°°°

“And how are the classes?” your father asks through the window that separates you from him.

Your index finger traces distracted patterns on the metallic surface of the side of your table where your forearms rest, supporting your slightly hunched shoulders. You are still haunted by the image of your new professor.

“It’s okay. We have a new professor in criminology theory,” you reply, looking up at him.

Your father raises an eyebrow. “For what reason?” he asks suspiciously before wrinkling his nose. You notice he has a three-day beard and that his wrinkles appear more pronounced than usual—or at least, since the last time you visited him.

“Actually, the old one resigned, and the university found a new one.”

This time, your father’s eyebrows furrow. “So fast... Is he any good? I hope they didn’t hire some nobody who—“

“No,” you quickly cut him off, shaking your head, “he’s good.” You refrain from adding ’why don’t you take an interest in me?’ And your heart twinges every time you see your father show more interest in your studies than in yourself. Your avoiding eyes wander over the contours of the window that separates you from him, sitting across from you in a somewhat tense position—shoulders slightly hunched inward, and hands clasped on the table.

He seems to notice it and clears his throat before sitting up straighter on his plastic chair. “You... remember my friend Miguel?” your father starts, changing the subject. He speaks in a more concerned tone. “The one who went to Kenya.”

Your eyebrows furrow, and you focus your gaze back on him before blinking. “The one who was with you?” you ask with a bitter taste in your mouth. Miguel was your father’s ex-business associate, who, unlike your father, wasn’t imprisoned when the police arrested him.

“Yes. He wrote me a letter earlier this week,” he replies, “to ask how I’m doing and to let me know that he’s coming back to Japan next week. He said he’s inviting you to dinner with his wife and daughter.”

You process the information at the same pace as your swallowing. Your father slides an envelope—no doubt already opened by the prison administration before him—through the communication slot between you under the window. You take the envelope and read the letter inside.

“Why?” you murmur.

“He’s not a bad guy, you know.”

This simple sentence reminds you of something he’s told you before.

’Miguel hasn’t done anything. Nobody has anything against him. They wrongly accused me. I did it for you. I’m not like the others.’

And by ’the others,’ he referred to other associates who were arrested along with your father a few years ago, for the same reason—embezzlement.

To the tune of a considerable sum of just over a hundred billion yen.

Your father assured you that he wasn’t involved in any of it and that former acquaintances he thought were trustworthy led him to be involved against his will in a whole story that ended behind bars.

You believe him, of course.

Your father—with whom you’ve had a rather difficult relationship since your mother’s death when you were in middle school—seemed to want to rebuild a healthy father-daughter relationship with you. And who were you to refuse? You wanted your father to give you the affection you dream of every night after seeing a father and his daughter eating ice cream in a square, or a father and his daughter shopping at the mall.

Everything you’ve never had.

And when your father opened his arms to you at the end of your high school studies—still undecided about your direction for further studies—your father let you know that studying criminology could be ideal. And with that, maybe you could help him get out of the unjust prison that prevents you from being fully happy.

You love your father.

So it didn’t take long for you to become one of the top students in your university class in criminal science studies. You want to excel, and that in all areas. It makes your father proud. It stretches his lips into a smile that warms your heart. Who calls you ’my angel’ and admits wanting to hug you.

Things he would never have told you before.

“Yes,” you reply, lifting your chin. “I’ll visit him. Don’t worry. I promise.” Your voice softens, and you refrain from letting tears fill your eyes as a faint smile stretches across your father’s lips.

“Thank you.”

°°°°

“Don’t tell me he’s that handsome?” Shoko lets out a giggle that resonates through the speaker of your phone.

“Want to bet that most girls drool over him every night, imagining him in their beds?” You mutter with a hint of aggression aimed at the pot whose sushi rice you ate for lunch has stuck to the bottom. You scrub the leftover rice with your metal sponge in the kitchen sink and let out a sigh.

You glance at the screen of your phone leaning against the tiled ledge, giving you a FaceTime view of Shoko sitting at her desk in her bedroom. She giggles and brings a pen to her mouth to nibble on its end—a tic she has to replace the cigarette usually in that spot. “Just like you, for example?” she teases.

Your cheeks warm up. “Excuse me? You know that’s not true.”

“Nuh-uh…”

You purse your lips as your heartbeats accelerate at Shoko’s words and her sarcastic tone. No, you didn’t have wet dreams about Professor Fushiguro. But that doesn’t stop most female students from gossiping about the entirety of Professor Fushiguro’s physique—aka Hercules’ twin body. And from what you’ve already heard during the first week of classes, they don’t mince their words.

But you can’t say you were indifferent to him. The rest of the week flew by so quickly that you find yourself on a Wednesday afternoon discussing your life on FaceTime with Shoko. She has to study for her medical exams, and you didn’t have time to see her during the first weekend due to the workload your friend endured.

You toss the metal sponge into a corner of your sink and grab a classic, foamy sponge to scrub the surface of your pot, now smooth and immaculate.

“Oh, by the way. Are you free this weekend?” Shoko asks, looking up from her books.

You rinse your pot, turning on the faucet, and sniffle mournfully. “Nope. A friend of my father invited me to dinner with his wife and daughter. I spoke to him on the phone this morning.”

“Damn. We need to meet up so you can show me this professor too. I feel like everyone has seen him except me.”

“Even Satoru,” you chuckle as you dry your hands. “Have you heard him curse about him? He has a beautiful rival, I must say.” You continue to smile at the memory of your friend with albinos hair and cerulean eyes who was shocked to see his popularity among the female gender decline in less than a week. You shake your head, still shaking with laughter. “The look on his face…”

Shoko giggles in turn. “I guess you’ll also be studying on Sunday?” Her smile fades, and she rests her cheek against her palm a bit bored.

“Unfortunately.”

She snorts after seeing your apologetic smile.

“But don’t worry. I’ll find time for us to meet. And also to show you—”

“Yes, the man of your dreams,” Shoko cuts in with a laugh, “literally!” 

You gasp at her words. "Shoko!”

°°°°

“And on this one, we were visiting Paris. We were so young…” You lean in slightly to observe the photo that Miguel, your father’s friend, is showing you.

“Oh, he never told me he traveled so much. I remember him mentioning taking my mother to Spain once, but he never talked about his trips with you.” You smile politely, sweeping away the twinge in your heart that makes you want to wince.

Miguel adjusts his beret and tilts his head to the side. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” you reply, rocking back and forth on your feet, “but I suppose he didn’t think about it. He was often tired when he came home from work when I was younger.” You force your smile even more at Miguel’s surprised reaction, which stretches the features of his smooth, dark skin.

Unlike your father, Miguel is clean-shaven, and you have no doubt that his well-groomed appearance—from his navy blue suit and charming tie with silver stripes—speaks of the comfortable life he enjoys and shares with his family. This simple fact rekindles the cuts in your heart that you’ve tried to mend over the years. But is it enough?

“And otherwise, is he doing well? Will he soon have served his sentence?”

“No, he still has a few years left,” you reply with a hint of intentional bitterness that wipes the smile off your face. “When I think that he was wrongly accused while he’s innocent…” Your fists clench, and you notice Miguel freezing. You furrow your brow, curiosity piqued by his behavior.

“Yes,” he says with a embarrassed throat clearing and a nod. “Yes, of course. The justice system is really too manipulable. I didn’t know he told you he was... innocent.”

You note Miguel’s tone. He doesn’t seem certain of what he’s saying, and you wonder if it has anything to do with the fact that he didn’t have a sentence to serve unlike your father, of whose innocence you’re convinced.

“Yes, he is,” you repeat firmly. Your gaze wanders around Miguel’s main living-room, which is decorated very chicly, in beige and black tones—warmed by the soft light of the crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling and the fireplace in the background. It’s the epitome of a luxurious and cozy home. Yet again, something you don’t have.

You swallow back the bile rising in your throat, and as Miguel is about to continue the conversation, his wife, dressed in a stunning red velvet evening gown, enters the living room, a smile on her lips and a large plastic spoon in her hand. “Are you staying for dinner, dear?”

You’re taken aback for a moment and glance at the time on your phone then at the bay window in the living room, which offers a view of the already darkening sky. “I have to pick up a package from a nearby store before it closes... So, I’m not sure. Do you mind if I go and come back? I’ll be quick.” You offer her the same polite and forced smile you gave Miguel a few minutes ago.

“No, not at all. You’re welcome, my dear.”

And you purse your lips at the nickname but don’t let anything show. Miguel’s wife walks you to the front door, and before you have a chance to turn the handle, you hear small footsteps behind you. You turn around and see Miguel’s nine-year-old daughter, holding her Barbie doll close. Her brown pigtails sway slightly with each step, and she offers you a shy look.

“You’re leaving? Already? I haven’t shown you all my dolls yet…” she murmurs in a small voice. Her mother giggles, and you do the same. You take a few steps toward the little girl and bend your knees to her height.

“No, sweetie. I’m just going to get something outside, and I’ll be right back for dinner. We’ll even have time to play, if you want.”

“Yippee!” she exclaims, throwing herself into your arms and threatening to knock you over.

You burst into a genuine, light laugh. “I’ll be back soon. I promise.”

Miguel’s daughter pulls away from you, a huge smile on her face, and her mother opens the door for you, apparently pleased to see her daughter showing affection for you.

Without lingering, you quickly leave the Oduol’s huge luxurious house and head to the tobacco shop a few hundred meters away. You ordered the manual that Professor Fushiguro requested for the coming weeks, and your order needs to be picked up from a store where the package was deposited. The air outside is icy and sharp for an April evening. It has been raining every day, and strangely enough, the sky has decided to hold back its tears this evening—just like you.

Arriving at the store, you ask to pick up your package, and once you have it under your arm, you almost immediately regret it. The warmth of the shop contrasts too much with the icy cold of this evening. In the deserted streets, not even a cat dares to show its nose. The neighborhood where Miguel lives is usually quiet because it’s reserved for the wealthiest. You clearly don’t live as luxuriously, and that’s somewhat reassuring. It’s as if anything and nothing can happen here.

As you turn the corner of the street where Miguel lives, bursts of orange light catch your attention. You barely have to look up before your package slips from your hands and collides with the pavement.

Miguel’s pavilion, as beautiful and luxurious as you saw it earlier, is on fire.

Despite this, silence reigns in the street. It’s as if no one sees what you see—huge flames licking at walls now darkened by the heat, and beams giving way and crashing onto the gradually shrinking lawn, also consumed by the fire. You want to scream and call for help—anything. But a silhouette emerging from the front door of the house seals your lips shut. You would have hoped it was Miguel, but you don’t live in paradise.

It’s indeed a masculine figure with an imposing muscular build, tall stature, and a black compression shirt, walking towards a motorcycle casually parked near Miguel’s fence. A large sports bag hangs from his hand by the handle. He effortlessly loads it onto the back of his bike despite its obvious weight. You’re afraid the man will notice you—though he hasn’t yet—but the paralysis freezing your limbs prevents you from making any move. While there’s no outward sign of activity, your heart rebels. It thumps so loudly in your chest that you almost fear the man might hear it from where he stands.

He straddles his bike and puts on his helmet before you have a chance to identify his face. The evening’s darkness obscures any chance of recognizing the arsonist. Once his motorcycle helmet is securely fastened, the man starts his bike and glances back one last time.

Familiar emerald eyes fall upon you.

And as the man turns away without a hint of reaction, he lifts his foot from the ground and rides off into the night’s silence.

A silence that persists even as you rush to the front of Miguel’s house and scream with all the strength of your lungs for help, calling out the names of his wife and daughter. But only the crackling of flames burning your hopes for their survival answers you.

°°°°

You can’t breathe.

The air escapes you.

Emerald irises glare at you from the corner of your room where you’re paralyzed by sleep. Thin lips stretch into a smile that haunts you like a cursed spirit. You blink, and the silhouette is now leaning over you on your bed, hands clasping around your neck with a powerful grip.

It suffocates you.

And its irises stare at you impassively.

Choking you in a deadly silence.

DING DONG.

DING DONG.

DING DONG...

You wake with a start. Your forearm rests on the polished wooden table of the university library, a small patch of saliva staining the fabric of your white shirt from your sleep. Still bleary-eyed, you look around and notice the ghostly silence of the library. You retrieve your phone from your pocket, and the displayed time tells you three things.

The first is that the bell that just rang was the second warning for the start of classes.

The second is that you’re late.

And the third—the worst—is that you have class with your current nightmare: Professor Fushiguro.

You hastily grab your bag and dash through the corridors towards the law studies building. Of course, your classroom had to be the farthest one, and of course, you’re running late. Your lack of sleep, caused by the multiple nightmares you’ve been having lately, only serves to increase your stress, which is clearly not what you need.

What you witnessed last weekend.

Breathless, you gently push open the swinging doors of the amphitheater, praying with all your heart that the class is still chatting as they settle in.

But as if your poor heart wasn’t exhausted enough, as soon as you step through the swinging doors, a familiar and magnetic voice interrupts, and a heavy silence greets you, with all the students’ heads turning towards you. Heat climbs up your neck, and you dread a fainting spell.

“You’re late.” Professor Fushiguro’s icy voice is as cutting as the iceberg that split the Titanic and resonates throughout the lecture hall. You struggle to swallow, nearly choking.

Mumbling apologies, you lower your gaze, not wanting to meet eyes that has haunted you recently. After sighing, Professor Fushiguro completely ignores you, and you take a seat on the nearest chair, still red with embarrassment as he resumes his lecture. Two male students whisper to each other, their voices audible enough for you to hear as you take out your trembling laptop.

“What’s up with him today?”

“I don’t know. He seems to be in a murderous mood today, according to the other classes.”

You clear your throat softly. Your hands shake so much that you can’t type a word on your keyboard without making multiple spelling mistakes. Your already empty stomach twists, and you suppress the nausea lingering in your chest.

“The time is up. You will submit your essays on my desk,” Professor Fushiguro orders in his deep voice.

Your pen continues to scratch your paper with its blue ink as you lift your head abruptly, panic flooding your face. “No, no, no…” you murmur, looking over your sheets, knowing that the work is insufficient.

Professor Fushiguro had given an in-class essay assignment on the recent topics introduced on criminality. Unable to write a single word during the first forty-five minutes, the limited time left had triggered a realization that made you forget about Professor Fushiguro and recall that your grades affect the relationship you’re trying to build with your father. The mere image of his disappointed face is enough to bring back the nausea you felt earlier.

Most students rise almost immediately and descend the lecture hall steps to submit their work. Yours, which must contain half of what the others have provided, will not secure an average grade. You are already certain of it. While you are usually one of the top students in your class, this year is off to a rough start, especially given your delicate situation with Professor Fushiguro.

Resigned, you abandon your pen and pack your belongings into your bag. You’ll start your first grade of the year with an F – and, more importantly, with a professor/student relationship whose outcome you don’t even know. Is Professor Fushiguro plotting something against you?

As you drop your papers on his desk surrounded by girls who you often see gossiping about his beauty—which you no longer appreciate— you intentionally meet his gaze. Your breath catches.

Behind his statue-like mask, Professor Fushiguro’s emerald irises pin you in place. With a hatred you sense is more intense than the incident involving Miguel that led to his death and that of his wife and daughter.

Turning your head away, you spin on your heels and climb the amphitheater steps. But you distinctly hear Professor Fushiguro dismiss the group of admirers sharply. “Leave the room if you have no questions about the class.”

Regardless of his lack of comment.

You will do the same—hoping he won’t touch anything directly related to your life.

And you push aside yet another bad feeling that you hope is wrong.

°°°°

But you are wrong, even years later, to doubt your sixth sense.

With shaking hands, you hold your corrected essay paper returned by Professor Fushiguro. Covered in red pen marks, a large F – circled in the corner of your sheet is the only thing that catches your attention despite the background chatter of the class. In a situation like this, you would have gone to see your professor and asked for clarification on what you did wrong and to understand what went awry. But you can’t.

A sigh escapes the barrier of your lips as you shove your paper into your bag, trying to forget how it’s not even the mediocre quality of your work that cost you this grade, but rather that every paragraph you wrote had been aggressively attacked with crimson ink. This means that Professor Fushiguro probably didn’t grade you so poorly out of some revenge.

At least, that’s what you hope.

Until the next classes resume, and each of your assignments submitted to Professor Fushiguro ends with an F – or F + (the latter when he seems to be in a good mood). You can’t count how many times you’ve run your hand over your face to sweep away the frustration that overtakes you—especially when you see other students getting results you should have. Assignments for which you put in maximum effort. Yet, nothing seems to change.

“It’s true that no other article has been posted since…”

“Do you think she has another scoop?” a frustrated voice says from behind a bookshelf.

“According to some students in her class, she no longer shows up for lectures.”

“Weird…”

“Good riddance, I say! It’s been paradise since we stopped reading anything on her damn blog!” curses a student, storming away from the aisle followed by his friends.

You lift your face from where it’s buried in the crook of your folded arm on the table. Only the faint sound of Shoko’s keyboard tapping reaches your ears. You exchange a glance with her to see if she caught what you just overheard.

Shoko takes a small breath that she releases in a small sigh. Stretching, she yawns before pulling out a bottle of your favorite drink. “Here. Keep sleeping instead of listening to such crappy gossip about Miwa. At this rate, you’ll end up just like me.”

You offer her a tired smile and take the bottle, eagerly gulping down its contents. You eat much less at home, sleep less, and spend most of your time dozing with your arms crossed on one of the tables in the university library, soothed by a sense of security reinforced by the fact that you’re not alone and the sound of the rain beating against the windows is one of the most relaxing sounds to fall asleep to.

You’re constantly on the alert at home. You startle at the slightest noise and constantly feel like danger is lurking overhead. You have no one to confide in.

You haven’t revealed anything to Shoko either.

Omitting from the police and your friend that you know the identity of the murderer of the Oduol family, you lied by saying that fear and shock caused memory issues. A policewoman took note of your statement after escorting you to the police station following the fire you urgently reported. You bluntly responded that you saw a vague figure leaving the house but don’t know more. The policewoman, sympathetic, brought you back safely home and kindly offered for you to provide any details regarding the ongoing investigation in the coming days. She then left and you haven’t contacted her since.

You’re exhausted.

Tired of studying for courses where you end up with a poor grade every time, of having insomnia that prevents you from sleeping with the constant fear of being killed in your own home.

And the worst part is your grades.

You dismissed the excuse of the mediocre quality of your first assignment. But as for those that followed, you almost gave your soul. You don’t understand the mistakes you make in each assignment. And you don’t dare to talk to the source either.

You’re too afraid.

Especially of opening your mouth during his classes.

But the next one might be even harder—because the next session will focus on a themed debate.

°°°°

“The nature of redemption for criminals.”

The debate opens for your next few hours, and you’re trapped in the amphitheater room that’s become your nightmare. For the first time, you see Professor Fushiguro questioning students and engaging in conversation with them on a topic you never thought he would address. He responds with the perfect image of a teacher. And it unsettles you.

For a criminal, he’s surprisingly good at it.

Snide remarks keep blooming in your head with each student’s intervention that receives a response from your professor. You’re so frustrated that your clenched teeth start to hurt your jaw. But you say nothing. You know you mustn’t open your mouth. But still, you burn with the desire to participate. To respond with your arguments, to shut Professor Fushiguro up, and to spit out all the hatred and frustration you have against him. But nothing can break your forged silence.

Nothing except—

“...even the most ruthless criminals may have the opportunity to redeem themselves and find redemption, provided they sincerely express remorse and commit to changing their behavior. Malcom X, Shaka Senghor, or even Piper Kerman are excellent examples of individuals who have committed reprehensible acts but have managed to reintegrate into society after serving their sentence and showing real change,” asserts Professor Fushiguro, standing with his lower back leaning against the edge of his desk and facing the class.

His calm and composed voice makes you want to scream what you’re holding back from replying.

Redemption my ass!

Your eyes burn into Professor Fushiguro’s figure, and when his gaze lingers on you, you notice the small smirk forming on his lips.

A smug and discreet smile but one that openly mocks you—because you can’t say anything about it.

And that’s the last straw.

You rise from your seat in front of the entire amphitheater, chin held high. “I disagree,” you say in a loud, clear voice that resonates in everyone’s ears.

Professor Fushiguro loses his smug smirk and turns it into a mask of ice. He raises his eyebrows—probably surprised that you’re speaking up. “You disagree?” he repeats your words slowly and doesn’t blink once. For the first time since the beginning of the year, you have his full attention publicly.

“Yes,” you affirm with conviction. You maintain a steady voice that threatens to tremble under the rapid beats of your heart.

Your last name rolls off Professor Fushiguro’s tongue like venom. “Well, then, enlighten us with your objection,” he says sarcastically and provocatively but in the silence of the room, you dare not cross any line.

Not yet.

You take a tiny breath of courage. “I have doubts regarding the possibility for some criminals to truly find redemption, especially when they have committed particularly heinous or repeated acts,” you retort. “Don’t you think that raises some neglect towards the personal responsibility of criminals? I believe it’s necessary to also consider the interests of the victims in the rehabilitation process.”

Throughout, the class as well as Professor Fushiguro haven’t taken their eyes off your bold mouth. Your teacher’s neutral face doesn’t change, but you sense a hint of irritation in his voice when he speaks up.

“I understand your concerns, but we cannot afford to condemn individuals outright without giving them a chance to redeem themselves. Even those who have committed unforgivable acts deserve a chance at redemption, for that’s how we, as a society, progress towards a better future.”

You hold back a sarcastic laugh.

You don’t care about the consequences now. You release all the frustration you’ve been holding back, crossing your arms over your chest to reply, “Allow me to doubt the nature of redemption for those involved in clandestine criminal activities. Some individuals may claim to seek redemption while continuing to commit reprehensible acts in secret,” you emphasize, raising your eyebrows and curling your lips. “Perhaps it would be useful to question the sincerity of their repentance.”

It’s as if the breath of the entire class is held.

Professor Fushiguro remains silent, but you feel him freeze at your words.

“On what examples are you basing this, exactly?” he asks in a sickly sweet tone before pursing his lips.

His response makes you let out a scoff.

Seeing Professor Fushiguro’s game, you cross the forged line. He’s testing you to see if you’ll dare to speak up. And that’s exactly what you do.

“Is this a joke? Well, let’s see…” You pretend to think, and release all your frustration accumulated over so many days. “What about hitmen?”

Never have you shown such insolence to a teacher. You realize you’ve gotten yourself into serious trouble when right at that moment, the bell rings to signal the end of classes and Professor Fushiguro utters words that sign your death sentence.

“You’ll come see me.”

As the entire class rushes to pack up their belongings, you ignore the whispers behind you and stuff your laptop into your bag with slow, feverish movements. Your heart is pumping rapidly, and your tongue, burning just a minute ago, now feels numb.

You descend the emptying amphitheater stairs and wait for the double doors to let the last student pass before approaching Professor Fushiguro’s desk. He hasn’t moved from his position, partly leaning against the edge of the desk. You leave a safe distance between the two of you, ready to sprint if he tries anything against you. But will he dare to do it within the university premises?

“You displayed a certain insolence during the debate,” he begins in a low voice. His eyes scrutinize yours, but this time, you don’t look away.

“It was a glimpse of my frustration,” you reply with coldness.

“Oh? Your frustration?” He tilts his head to the side, a sarcastically surprised expression on his face.

“I suppose you know the cause.” You leave a silence for a response he doesn’t give you. So, you continue, “Stop giving me unjust bad grades. I know you’re doing it with the intention of ruining my academic record.” Your voice is as low as Professor Fushiguro’s, who sneers at you.

“I could easily inform on you to the police, you know. I haven’t said anything until now, but they assured me they’re keeping an eye on my voice,” your courage loosens your tongue but raises the heavy, fast beats of your heart in your ears. Blood pounds in your ears.

Toji purses his lips but doesn’t falter in the face of your threats. “And I could sue you for defamation. You have no proof, my lovely.” A smug smile stretches his thin lips, and you notice the hint of a scar drawing in their corner. He leans slightly forward so that his low voice can only reach your ears. “By nosing around into things that don’t concern you, maybe the absence of your colleague Kasumi, which worries the principal so much, will eventually affect you too." He grins as he sees your eyes widen in horror.

“...Are you involved in that?” you whisper in a hoarse voice, to which he responds with a shrug.

You’ve put yourself in a situation that may be worse than it already is, but you value your life. You take a step towards him and speak with less confidence. “Fine. I’ll keep quiet. But change my grades in return. Or at least, give me a better grade next—”

“Nuh-uh.” He shakes his head. “You’re not in a position to negotiate. And what makes you think I trust you?” His smile turns into outright mockery. “Your word means nothing to me.”

The noise of students’ conversations waiting behind the amphitheater doors grabs your attention. You don’t have time to argue any longer.

As you prepare to respond one last time, your face contorted by Professor Fushiguro’s blunt refusal, he interrupts you by raising his index finger to impose silence. “A word of advice. Don’t risk playing with the devil when you don’t know what hell looks like. Don’t venture into a game where you’re not ready to risk your neck.”

°°°°

“In a delicate yet profitable context, I’ve organized, with the help of the principal, a collaboration with the police to put you through a real investigation exercise. The main subject of the investigation revolves around the worrying disappearance of a student from this university. As you’ve probably heard from leaked rumors, Miwa Kasumi’s disappearance was reported a few days ago by her family to the police station. We’ll take advantage of the investigation’s opening to help the police find Miwa with your assistance and to use this situation to your advantage by putting you in the field. Professor Fushiguro will supervise this exercise with me.”

The words of your criminal justice professor—Professor Higuruma—come back to you as a distant voice seems to call you.

“Hey, are you listening to me?”

A snap of fingers brings you back to reality.

You raise your head to your father, who watches you with concern from behind the glass that separates you from him. “Yes, yes. Sorry.” You rub your eyes, burning with tiredness and reddened with burst blood vessels.

You’re back in prison for another visit to your father, who has been informed of Miguel’s death. You told him everything in detail—naturally omitting the perpetrator of the fatal fire. After over an hour of questioning you, your father changed the subject to discuss your studies.

As usually.

“And the classes?” he says, a hint of annoyance in his voice. “Usually, at this point in the semester, you give me updates on your grades.”

You swallow hard. “Uh... Well, the workload is a bit heavier and—”

“You got bad grades?” your father interrupts, raising an eyebrow.

His conclusion catches you off guard.

“No... Well, my grades aren’t as excellent as they used to be but—”

“Answer my question.”

You blink. “I... Yes.” You take a deep breath. “But wait, Dad, I can explain—”

“And do you think this is how I’m going to get out of this rathole? I thought you wanted us to reconnect,” your father retorts, shooting you a sharp, annoyed, and disappointed look. He crosses his arms over his chest before standing up. “Don’t visit me again until your grades improve.”

“No, wait! Dad!” You exclaim, standing up abruptly and pressing your hands against the glass that separates you as your father’s back leaves the inmate visitation room. “DAD! DAD!”

Your voice breaks under the punches you give to the glass to hold him back—in vain.

°°°°

Toji enters a sushi restaurant and glances around to analyze each customer, looking for a particular person. His eyes settle on a man tattooed up to his neck, and he joins him at his table, taking a seat across from him.

The man looks up at Toji, his face lighting up as he recognizes him. “Ah! Here’s my guest. Please, order whatever you want.”

Toji nods in greeting. "Oyabun."

An elderly waitress approaches their table and smiles kindly at them. “Have you already ordered, gentlemen?”

The oyabun nods and turns to Toji. “Place his order. I’ve already eaten. You’ll put it on this account.” He takes a business card out of his jacket pocket and hands it to the old lady.

“Takoyakis,” Toji orders without a glance at her.

The lady takes note of the dish and leaves. Toji leans his elbows on the table and leans just enough to inform him, “I handed the bag to a kaikei. You didn’t tell me it contained so much money. I remind you that you still haven’t paid me.”

The oyabun puts on a serious expression and takes out a joint from his jacket. Toji lets his eyes wander vaguely over the pockets and wonders what else he could pull out.

“Do you remember the issue concerning the clan? Well, this money you recovered from Oduol belongs to me and is partly what I’m reclaiming.” He takes on a paternal tone and lights a lighter to scorch his spliff. “The rest of the sum still eludes me. I can’t pay you yet. But you know I’m not a scammer, Toji. I’ve always paid you, haven’t I?” The smell of cannabis reaches Toji’s nostrils, and he wrinkles his nose in disgust.

“And you can’t pay me with the money I recovered?” Toji asks, almost... urgently. “I’m sure the bag already has enough to cover all my other unpaid missions.”

The oyabun shakes his head and inhales the smoke from his spliff. “This money is mine,” he replies before exhaling, “and that means you should be paid with the money that’s rightfully yours. You still don’t realize the astronomical sum one of those bastards owes me.”

“So I have to keep playing the good teacher? Where are you sending poor Shiu to look for work, seriously? I’m already struggling to pay my rent, you know? I want to get back to my real full-time job,” Toji retorts bitterly.

The waitress approaches their table and sets the plate of takoyakis in front of Toji, wishing him bon appétit before slipping away. He loosens his chopsticks and crosses them to pick up a sauced ball between them.

“I know, I know. Listen, Toji. I already have some issues to sort out, but you have my word that as soon as I’m done, you’ll be paid in one go. It’s this problem that’s preventing me from paying you. I need you, and you’re already helping me a lot. Oduol had a part of the money that belongs to me, and I recovered it. Thanks to you,” the oyabun smiles wide—revealing gold canines. “You’re my best man. You’re the only one I truly rely on. You’re under my protection as long as you stay with me.”

"I need nothing but my dough," Toji answers back with less pronounced bitterness but still irritate, and the oyabun knows his words have managed to appease him somewhat. Toji swallows his takoyaki balls one by one and casually adjusts the loosely unbuttoned collar of his black shirt.

The oyabun leans back in his chair and pours himself a glass of sake. His fingers adorned with silver rings grasp the glass, and he drinks its contents in one go. “While you’re waiting for your next target, you can take it easy.”

°°°°

Toji’s calloused hand tidies his course papers on his desk as the students in his class hurry to leave the lecture hall in the usual cacophony. He hears giggles behind him and sighs in annoyance before rolling his eyes.

Those pissy girls in uniform again.

The lecture hall grows quieter, and a quick glance over his shoulder informs him that you are still packing up your belongings. The group of girls approaches him, and he turns halfway, exasperated.

“Professor Fushiguro,” one of them begins before cackling like a hen, followed by her peers, “we wanted to ask you—”

“No, I haven’t changed my cologne. No, I’m not a former national boxing champion, and no, my shirt isn’t from a luxury brand, but from a thrift store. Now, go away,” he cuts them off sharply.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs again, hoping not to have to fend them off any longer.

Since his first day here, Toji has been the constant subject of discussion among both professors and students alike. And he knows it perfectly well. But he didn’t expect to have a fan club of ‘pissy girls in pine green uniform’—as he calls them—during his very first class.

The girls stop giggling and freeze. They look at each other and give up. The group wishes him a good day and finally leaves the lecture hall, leaving Toji in peace. But Toji knows he’s not alone. You are already descending the stairs with measured steps.

He sits at his desk, waiting—and even praying—that the bell rings earlier than expected so that you don’t have to talk to him. But Toji has never been lucky. If that day were to come, it would be because God has shown him mercy.

“Professor,” you murmur cautiously once you’re at his desk.

Toji ignores you, feigning to focus on his laptop. He knows he has nothing to do on it, but he prefers to keep his eyes absentmindedly on the screen rather than having to talk to you.

“Can you explain to me what my mistakes were in this assignment?” you continue with a fragile sweetness that almost prompts Toji to lift his gaze from his PowerPoint to check if you’re crying or not. “I don’t understand my errors despite your corrections…” You hand him your paper marked in red ink.

Toji doesn’t respond and pretends to turn a deaf ear while correcting elements of his slideshow. His peripheral vision notes that you have approached him, reducing the distance to about one inch.

You are crossing a boundary that is forbidden to you.

“Please,” you insist with a hint of impatience.

Toji is about to continue ignoring you when he freezes in place as you place a hand on his forearm resting on the polished mahogany desk and gently squeeze it with your fingers. The contact of your hand sends an unusual shiver down his spine, and the warmth emanating from your palm on his skin is as scorching as the fires of hell awaiting him in exchange for his sins. He regrets rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing forearms defined with muscles and a few raised veins running across the surface of his pale, almost translucent skin.

Turning his neck slightly to look at you, Toji squints and murmurs in a threatening tone, “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

Your eyes meet his, and he almost feels the dilation in his pupils as he realizes the mirroring effect of yours.

You were on the verge of tears.

“Please…” you murmur as your eyes speak for you in a unspoken plea. “I swear I won’t say anything. It’s my grades that matter to me. I have secrets to keep too, and I don’t want to get involved in yours.” But seeing that he offers no response and merely stares at you without any further reaction, you continue, “Professor, please—”

“Enough!” he snaps in a half-annoyed, half-angry whisper. With a sudden movement, he pulls his arm away from the weak grasp of your hand. “Go away.”

“But—”

Once again, you’re unable to continue your pleas because of the bell ringing for the next classes, along with the voices of the next class with Professor Fushiguro behind the doors.

Swallowing back your tears, you turn on your heels and crumple your umpteenth paper, marked with an additional F –, adding to the frustrated sob that escapes your mouth as you leave the lecture hall in long strides.

All under Toji’s eyes, who, for the first time, has a heart still pounding from a confrontation he would have preferred to avoid.

°°°°

The rain pounding against the windows of the lecture hall is so loud that it drowns out the voices of the police officers. A policewoman, annoyed at having to raise her voice, borrows a lapel microphone from Professor Higuruma and stands in the center of the small platform reserved for the professors.

“Testing. Can you hear me? Perfect,” she says with a smile. “So, as we’re trying to tell you, this amphitheater has been reserved specifically for us, the police, as speakers.” She gestures toward Professors Fushiguro and Higuruma, who stand in a corner of the platform with their hands in their pockets. “Thanks to your professors,” she continues, “we can now officially open the investigation into the disappearance of student Miwa Kasumi, reported missing by her parents a few days ago. Your professors have deemed the situation, while concerning, suitable to put you in a real investigative situation. No report has been filed yet. Kasumi’s parents have provided us with some information about the last time they saw her.”

She clasps her hands behind her back to replace her smile with a serious and professional demeanor. “So I’m counting on you to help us write this report. You’ll give us all your information, and vice versa. We’ll sort it all out, and we’ll print it out for you. Over the next few days, you’ll be tasked with gathering information by visiting the last places Kasumi went before disappearing and gathering testimonies. Your invaluable help, combined with our own research, will constitute key elements. As soon as we feel we have enough and your professors have enough to grade you, the investigation will no longer concern you and will be entirely our responsibility. If you have no questions, I think we can begin.”

The policewoman joins one of her coworker sitting at the desk assigned to a professor and starts typing on her laptop.

Sitting at the back of the room, you stare at Professor Fushiguro. He stands nonchalantly leaning against a wall next to Higuruma. You notice that he has his lips pinched and his eyes alternate between the police officers. A thin, sinister smile curls your lips.

Of course, a hitman isn’tt comfortable in front of those who could send him to prison on the spot.

You rub your eyes with the palms of your hands and yawn.

The police’s questions begin.

Your insomnia from the previous night has left you in a murderous mood. Your reddened and burning eyes from crying all night don’t help you keep your eyes completely open under the aggressive lights of the amphitheater.

But you don’t take your eyes off Professor Fushiguro for a moment. You’re not going to let a fool like him ruin your life for grades. If you have to resort to extreme measures, you will. And that’s what you’ve been trying to do since your last desperate altercation with him. You gave up your dignity at that moment. This time, you’re already looking for something—a threat, anything—to make him change his mind. The police right now must be making him very uncomfortable—because a word from you, and he could end up in handcuffs. But you can’t.

At least not yet.

As the session nears its end, a police officer sends the report to each student’s university email and also sends it to be printed at the university library. So as you come to pick up your copy at the bottom of the amphitheater, you pass by Professor Fushiguro without a glance. As you turn on your heels, your eyes rise to meet his. He doesn’t break eye contact, but you know he can’t have failed to notice your bloodshot eyes and your silence in front of the familiar policewoman—the one who escorted you home after the fire at the Oduols’.

Despite her inquiries about your memories, you claimed that you don’t really remember who the man was.

°°°°

At the end of the week, your research has finally paid off. And there’s no way this time that Professor Fushiguro will give you yet another F –. You’re prepared to go to great lengths to force him to stop his blackmail.

Your knuckles rap three times on the door of Professor Fushiguro’s office. A muffled “come in” reaches your ears, and you enter the room. You immediately close the door behind you and observe the surroundings. Contrary to what you might have imagined, the space is decorated in a traditional academic aesthetic—large bookshelves filled with books of all sizes adorn the walls, floral wallpaper, or even a Persian rug with complex blood-red patterns sleeping at the feet of a burgundy sofa.

You clearly doubt that the aesthetic taste of the office comes from him.

“I’ve come to bring you my report,” you say after clearing your throat.

Professor Fushiguro, seated at his ebony wood desk, pays no attention to you and keeps his eyes glued to his computer. The only response is the clacking of the keyboard keys.

You take a few steps and reach the desk. You carefully place your report down and sit in one of the armchairs facing your teacher.

With your heart pounding, you take a small breath and waste no time. “Professor? Can we get back to what I was trying to tell you last week?”

Professor Fushiguro continues to royally ignore you, and you close your eyelids for a second.

This can’t go on any longer.

“Stop ignoring me.” You suddenly stand up and close Professor Fushiguro’s computer with the tips of your fingers. He barely has time to remove his fingers from the keyboard and looks up at you.

His eyes narrow like those of a cobra, and he’s about to respond—undoubtedly about your insolence—but you raise your hand in the same way he has done with you before to impose silence and hiss a “no!”

The professor’s thin lips part in surprise at your boldness. He doesn’t say a word and waits for what your audacity has in store for him. For the first time, you leave him speechless.

“Now, you’re going to listen to me until the end.” You lean dangerously toward him across the desk and place a hand on its surface. A determined gleam shines in your eyes, and your tongue loosens immediately. “You seemed particularly nervous during the first intervention with the police, or am I mistaken? You were very tense despite your facade of a relaxed man. And you saw me. I didn’t say anything.” You grit your teeth and hold back the urge to strike him in the face with his silence. Your throat is already painfully tight. You really hope he’ll listen to you until the end.

“I know you were bluffing about Miwa because you would never have dared anything directly with the police. Nothing will happen to me. So if you decide to do nothing about my grades thinking you can relax, you’re sorely mistaken. You underestimate me far too much. If I won’t speak about your crime, I’m ready to create one against myself. I’ve been kind enough so far,” you declare in a strained voice. The accumulation of silence over these weeks is too much today. 

You’re exhausted. You take a breath that has shortened.

But after all the reactions you could have hoped for from Professor Fushiguro, the one he offers you catches you off guard. At first, a slow smile stretches across his lips, then a chuckle escapes him, and finally, he bursts out laughing. The heat rising to your cheeks spreads all over your face, and the blood pounds in your ears.

“Let me laugh a little more. Who’s talking about bluffing here, again? Do you think I’m going to swallow that?” He leans his elbows on the desk with both arms to rest his chin on the back of his intertwined hands and looks at you with his emerald irises. “I don’t believe you, pretty girl. You’re capable of nothing. And I’ve already told you. Your word means nothing to me,” he murmurs with a mocking smile that curls his lips.

“Oh really?” you murmur under your breath. “That’s what I thought. You know you’re the subject of almost every conversation in this university, Professor Fushiguro. Wouldn’t it be detrimental to your already dubious reputation if a professor like you—who looks more like a model working for Calvin Klein than anything else—gets involved in an unpleasant affair with a student? You underestimate the cunning of women. Knowing that three-quarters of the female students have already had wet dreams about you. And believe me, it’s certainly not the stress of student life that stains their underwear every night. Nothing is indifferent to anyone in this university.”

The image of your father walking away from the inmate visitation room comes to mind. Your eyes sting, but you try to hold on and not break down in front of him.

Caught up in the momentum of emotion, you lean so close to him across the desk that the distance between your two heads is only about eleven inches. “I stand by what I said. I won’t let my academic record rot for a man like you. I also have secrets to keep. And I’m ready to do anything to protect them. Even if it means committing immorality.”

With these final words, you can’t hold back a tear escaping from one of your eyes and letting it roll down your cheek.

You don’t give him time to respond and turn on your heel to leave the office, wiping away the other tears that finally streak your cheeks.

°°°°

“And another loss, my friend.”

Shiu Kong chuckles beneath his neatly trimmed mustache. He shuffles the blackjack cards and picks them up one by one. He glances at Toji’s indifferent expression. “What? Is that all it does to you?”

Toji shrugs and takes a sip of whiskey. “Nothing new. I never have any luck.” The liquid burns his throat for a moment, but the sounds of the casino machines distract him, and his thoughts keep drifting to your face he encountered the previous day.

Shiu takes out a pack of cigarettes and lights one up. With a nod of his head, he offers one to Toji, who declines with a shake of his head. “It’s a shame you lose at games that could earn you a little cash—of course—but which can quickly accumulate thanks to many rounds. Must be better than your teacher job, right?”

“I also have secrets to keep. And I’m ready to do anything to protect them.”

Toji leans back in his chair, sighs, and runs a hand over his tired face, trying to rid himself of your voice in his head. He hasn’t forgotten the sound of your sobbing or your sniffles every time you left after trying to change your grades.

Toji has never felt the slightest guilt.

And he doesn’t want it to start now.

Especially when it involves you.

“Yeah. It really is a shitty job.”

“I’m sorry, miss, but he has the right to refuse visitors.” The voice of the penitentiary secretary sounds slightly irritated.

“But—”

“I’m sorry to insist, but even if you come in person, it won’t matter. He’ll probably remain in his cell,” she interrupts hastily.

You purse your lips and sit on your bed in the dim light of your room. “I see... Thank you,” you murmur softly, your voice breaking.

“Have a nice day, miss.”

The line disconnects, and you let your back sink into the mattress.

Your father requested to refuse your visit if you try to contact him in any way. Your throat knots horribly, and it feels like the knot is laced with thorns.

It’s all his fault.

Professor Fushiguro is your tormentor.

You hate him so much.

He ruins your life in every way—without you being able to do anything about it.

All you ask for is your father’s love, as you dream of every time.

Were you asking for too much?

Or perhaps you simply don’t deserve it.

°°°°

C +.

“C +.”

You blink several times.

No...

You must be dreaming.

From your seat at the back, you watch Professor Fushiguro finish distributing the corrected reports made by the students in the class. When he returns to his desk, the rest of the students quickly pack up their things, following suit. With Professor Higuruma present, the rest of the class will continue in a different amphitheater to update the police, who will collect all the information provided by each student.

But you still can’t believe that Professor Fushiguro, the man who has been threatening you and making your life difficult from the start, is starting to give you better grades. A “C +” isn’t the best grade you’ve ever had, but in theoretical criminology, it’s worth celebrating.

A bubble of hope swells in your chest.

Throughout the continued class, you’ve been trying to catch Professor Fushiguro’s gaze, but to no avail. Without even knowing why you’re doing it.

“Very well. Excellent, I would even say,” the same policewoman declares during the first intervention. Her voice projected through the microphone is clear and captures everyone’s attention. “Thank you, dear students. According to the overall assessments and reports from your professors, Miwa was seen in some very undesirable places just before her disappearance. Other information has been taken into account, and I ask those who know of such... prohibited areas, not to disclose their locations. Please. This part of the investigation is for the police only. We plan to involve you in real investigation work with the agreement of your professors, but for now, do not attempt anything dangerous to find your missing classmate.”

The entire class exchanges sarcastic looks.

It’s true, after all. Miwa ins’t the favorite student of most students at Keio University. She has always posted articles against any student who has a secret that could draw attention to her blog.

“But I want to emphasize that if you obtain any further necessary information before our next meeting, you are welcome to share it. Your help is greatly appreciated. Thank you for your hard work.”

Applause erupts from the group of police officers alongside Professors Higuruma and Fushiguro. The class joins in, and whistles echo through the room.

Your eyes continue to search for Professor Fushiguro’s, but not once has his head turned in your direction. A pang of disappointment pricks at you without understanding why. If he has finally decided to listen to you and stop his threats, you should be happy about it. Not that you’re not pleased, but you want him to pay attention to you.

And in a good way.

°°°°

The coffin lids finally close, plunging the Oduol family into the sleep that death offers them.

You can’t help but bite your lower lip.

The committee attending the funeral is much smaller than you thought. The morgue is filled with just over half a dozen people—including you. The majority consists of a few men in suits, one of whom, presumably their leader, is tattooed all the way up to his neck.

Without exception, they all prayed.

You’ve wondered many times who they are. Especially when, in your somber attire, a glance from you is enough to meet the gaze of the tattooed man. His indifferent eyes glanced at your silhouette, perhaps wondering who you are, but you didn’t speak to each other—because the men didn’t linger at the morgue either.

If you sideline that, on the way back to your apartment, you constantly wonder why Professor Fushiguro had to kill Miguel. And the image of the huge gym bag he carried with him twists your stomach into a bad omen.

It contained money, you have no doubt.

And then, Miguel was wealthy.

He was also your father’s friend.

But unlike him, Miguel didn’t end up in prison for embezzlement. You begin to wonder if Miguel’s wealth came from the infamous sum for which your father is behind bars. Is the money being pursued by other people?

If this deduction is true, Miguel had been a target while free, while your father has not been for years.

If Professor Fushiguro decided to target Miguel, it must also be related to why your father is imprisoned. But one last deduction lights up your brain, and suddenly nausea grips you.

Is Professor Fushiguro also after your father?

°°°°

Your fist knocks three times on Professor Fushiguro’s office door.

A muffled “come in” allows you to enter the room with a steady step. For some reason or another, you are no longer afraid to speak with your teacher—despite the fact that you haven’t said a word to him since the first time you came to talk to him in his office like today.

You’re not afraid anymore.

And only when it concerns your father.

You carefully close the door before sitting down on one of the armchairs opposite him as he doesn’t deign to look at you. Professor Fushiguro is buried in a small stack of students’ papers to correct mercilessly as he did for you.

“Hello, Professor.”

Silence.

Undeterred in the slightest, you continue, “I would like some explanations about the report you corrected. I don’t understand my grade.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, and his pen scratches a sentence on the paper he’s working on. You take the opportunity to take out your own report handed in a few days ago in class. You remain perfectly silent, waiting for an answer that you’ll force out of him if necessary.

Several minutes pass, and you wonder for a moment if he will open his mouth at any point.

Your request seems to have been heard when he sighs in annoyance and sets aside one assignment to move on to another before glancing at you and your report. “Can’t you read?” he says sarcastically. He shifts his attention back to another assignment to correct.

“So you’re still giving me bad grades on purpose?” you ask, furrowing your brows, a feeling of revolt swelling in your chest and encouraging your tongue to say what you’ve been holding back. “I thought you had changed your mind about—”

“Can you stop chattering like a magpie for two minutes?” he cuts in, looking up at you with a stern expression. “How do you expect me to do anything if you never shut up?”

Silence.

“...So,” you blink, “do you agree?”

“One more word, and I change my mind.” He adjusts his dark tie over his black shirt, and your gaze follows the movements of his hand holding the pen.

A few minutes later, Professor Fushiguro pushes his papers aside and sighs. You wait for him to focus his attention on you, and when he does, his deep voice snaps like a whip in your ears, “What’s wrong this time?”. He’s annoyed. And he doesn’t hide it.

You show him the red marks streaking your paper with careful words you endeavored to put on. “I didn’t understand why I got this grade. I took it seriously. I think you’re grading me too harshly.” You tilt your head slightly to the side and squint. “And I don’t understand your correction.”

“So you can’t read.” He leans his elbow on the desk, pinching the bridge of his nose, then straightens up.

“I said I didn’t understand,” you insist. You purse your lips.

Professor Fushiguro seems to relent, because for the next ten minutes, he turns the paper towards him to re-explain the notes framing the margins of the pages.

When he finishes his oral correction, a question gnaws at you, and you scrunch your nose.

“I have a question.” You pause. “Are you grading me this way because you’re being harder on me or because you’re really grading me?” Your expression of indifference hides an analysis of your teacher’s facial expressions.

“I thought I made myself clear. I’m not threatening you anymore. But that doesn’t stop me from grading you as you should be.” He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. “Your old teacher was unbelievably mediocre. No wonder you’re surprised by such poor results when reality hits you.” He raises his eyebrows as if what he just said was such a mundane fact that you seem stupid for not understanding it earlier.

You purse your lips in an indignant pout. “Says the professor who bought his degree,” you reply almost venomously.

Professor Fushiguro raises an amused eyebrow. “So you think I faked my degree?” A smirk curls his lips.

“Coming from someone…” you murmur, searching for your words, “...like you, it’s obvious.”

“Sometimes, what seems most obvious to us is very far from reality.”

“So are we making peace?” you ask, resting your hands on your thighs, a hint of suspicion.

Under his gulp, Professor Fushiguro’s Adam’s apple oscillates. “I suppose so. But that doesn’t mean other threats can’t come your way, and for real this time.” His tone, sickly sweet, sends a shiver down your spine.

“I see. So, I’m not exactly your bosom buddy?” you say sarcastically. You cross your legs and fidget with your fingers. “So, my grade is deserved?” The corners of your lips twitch in a murmur of frosty disappointment.

An imperceptible nod from the professor is his response. “Since I’m not a ‘real teacher,’ as you put it, I might as well do my job properly to avoid arousing suspicion. If you have no further questions, the door is open.” His hand vaguely gestures to the door behind you with a sign. But you notice that he looks up insolently.

He looks like a teenager.

He pulls his laptop towards him, but you speak up again, your heart pounding. “No, I still have questions.” He rolls his eyes and pushes your report back towards you, probably hoping to silence your questions.

“I attended the funeral of the man you—” He gives you wide eyes and suddenly turns his face towards the closed door of his office. You lower your gaze to your intertwined fingers and freeze. “Anyway. I know it’s the last thing you want to talk about but…” You lean forward slightly. “Do your targets have any connection with Miguel?”

Professor Fushiguro purses his thin lips and glares at you. “No,” he murmurs reluctantly. He squints suspiciously and speaks in a voice so low that you have to lean in even more to hear him and not miss a word of his response. “I work under orders, period. I have no connection or relation with anyone. And you should stop sticking your nose into business that doesn't concern you. Or there will be consequences.”

The vise gripping your chest loosens, and you sigh with relief.

“Oh, one last thing.” You take your corrected paper and put it back in your bag. “Do you have, um, any textbooks to recommend to improve my grades? I won’t ask you anything else after this,” you add hastily, seeing his expression about to give you a flat no.

He sighs again and thumbs over his shoulder to the library behind him. “First shelf from the top on the right.”

You quickly get up and start looking at the books with dark bindings. Some vases with green plants adorn the wooden shelves, and you stand on tiptoe to try to grab two books that you can only touch the bindings with the tips of your fingers.

“I can’t reach them,” you say without turning around, breathless from the effort.

You reach higher, while the size of Professor Fushiguro looms behind you. He mutters to himself, and when your nails finally grip a leather-bound book, you pull on it and lose your balance. Your hand clutching the book sweeps the vase nearby, and in the momentum, you expect it to fall on you.

But it doesn’t.

A powerful hand pulls your forearm, and your nose hits something flat and hard. A second later, a crashing sound is emitted at your feet.

Your eyes, closed in fear, open, and you immediately look behind you.

The potted plant decorating the bookshelf has just shattered right where you were seconds ago. Your breath catches, and your heart races against another heart. The scent of masculine cologne fills your nostrils, and a single movement of your head puts you face to face with Professor Fushiguro.

Who just saved you from a trip to the hospital.

His strong arms encircle your waist in a firm and secure hold against him. Silence weighs in the room as your eyes get lost in the emerald ones of Professor Fushiguro—whose dilated pupils, alert from his movements, probe you. You swallow imperceptibly, and his warm breath brushes your face.

It’s as if time has stopped.

But the bursting of a storm outside breaks the moment, and you let go of the book you’re holding with the tips of your fingers.

Immediately, and in a synchronized movement, you both pull away from each other and avert your gaze. With flushed cheeks, you lean down to pick up one of the books, and as soon as you straighten your torso, two other books hit your chest.

Professor Fushiguro holds out the books to you and doesn’t wait any longer to lean towards the broken vase where soil has scattered on the floor. Neither of you speaks a word, and the sounds of rain beating against the window replace the silence of a few seconds ago.

You clear your throat and approach the pieces of pottery vase to pick them up, your cheeks crimson. But the same hand that just saved you pushes you away with a sharp gesture.

You raise your eyes to Professor Fushiguro who gazes back at you with...

…uncertainty? Embarrassment? You’re not sure. His eyes are too clouded.

“Leave it. You have your books,” his voice mutters before he turns around to pick up the pottery shards. You don’t see his face because by the time you perceive the expression he wears, he’s already turned his back to you.

Not wanting to push further under his tone indicating you should leave quickly, you nod anyway despite the fact that he can’t see it.

With your books and bag over your shoulder, you stride quickly towards the exit of the office, almost having legs like jelly. The areas of your body that came into contact with him burn, and you open the door before stepping halfway through and freezing.

You glance over your shoulder. Professor Fushiguro turns around at the same moment. Seized by some unknown impulse, you regain the use of your voice to whisper three words, “Professor Fushiguro... thank you.” Before swiftly disappearing without giving him a chance to react.

And your tone indicates that you’re not just thanking him for the books.

°°°°

Back in his apartment that evening, Toji slumps onto his couch, exhausted. He rubs his eyes with one hand and turns on the TV, a habit of his to avoid overthinking when sleep calls but his mind won’t rest. Unfortunately for him tonight, his heavy eyelids flutter open every time he tries to drift off. So he eventually gives up on dozing off, sleep eluding him. A shadow catches his attention in the dim light cast by the TV in his otherwise darkened living room.

He recognizes your silhouette.

He’s speechless by your sweet, angelic smile. Your shining eyes caress him with their gaze, and your lips are delicately parted. Paralyzed, Toji swallows hard but doesn’t move an inch, his eyes almost bulging in shock at seeing you here—while you, you lean towards him with a slowness that he thinks might be an eternity.

“Professor Fushiguro... thank you.”

His heart skips a beat.

His lips feel dry as if sewn shut, while you draw back and glance at the TV broadcasting the day’s news. You shift your focus back to Toji and grace him with the most angelic smile for the second time.

Angelic.

That’s the only word that registers in his brain, unable to think.

But he knows he’s never seen that smile on your lips in reality.

It’s the first thing he thinks about as he blinks his tired eyes, which soon squint as the harsh light from his living room TV makes him realize that it’s all just a dream.

°°°°

“Where did you get this?”

You swallow thick.

The policewoman’s question echoes in your head.

You purse your lips and reply in a barely audible whisper, audible only to her. “In a bar…” you lie. The sharp, piercing gaze of the policewoman silences your voice, and suddenly, you feel intimidated.

“Really? And when? In such a short amount of time?” She bombards you with questions while raising her thin eyebrows. She briskly takes the report folder from your hands and begins to flip through it without really reading your findings.

Your heart pounds in your chest like crazy, and your body temperature rises a notch. Lying has always made you anxious. And lying about where you actually went—a casino—will be no exception for you today. You sneak a discreet glance towards Professor Fushiguro, who approaches his desk in the lecture hall, the very place where you are confronted by the policewoman.

Your eyes lock onto his with insistence as the suspicious policewoman continues to grumble while flipping through your report. “Did you do your research all by yourself?” the policewoman insists, squinting her eyes.

You nod and turn your attention back to her. “Professor Fushiguro is aware,” you add a bit too quickly, blood pounding in your ears. “He has read my report and is aware of the situation.” You turn to him. “Isn’t that right, Professor?” This is your moment to send a distress signal to the only person who might save you at this moment.

The policewoman clicks her tongue against her palate and looks at the concerned Professor Fushiguro with annoyance, tacitly asking him to confirm your words.

Please, please, please...

Professor Fushiguro brings his hand to his chin and rubs his jaw. Now standing next to you facing the policewoman, his imposing physique towers over both you and the policewoman. During the split second of your silent eye contact exchange, you pray that he will cover for you and support your lie.

You dread that your heart will stop beating when he slightly parts his lips and declares in his deep, grave voice, “Yes, she came to see me.”

“You see?” you immediately insist with a forced smile. The heat on your face must be apparent now, but you choose to be in denial when neither of the two interlocutors makes any remarks. “I found a witness in a bar who told me they saw Miwa there. Professor Fushiguro tried to call her using the contact information she provided, but she didn’t answer.”

You cough, and your foot brushes against his.

Professor Fushiguro lifts his head a little and sighs, playing along with your game. “I had already decided to call her back as soon as possible, but I see that Miss has been a little more impatient than expected.” He tucks his lower lip and gives you a sidelong glance. His expression is icy and nonchalant—almost grumpy—as usual. “I understand your suspicion when we see that a student is the only one submitting a report, knowing that no other student has done so. And that the information she seems to... provide has escaped the police.”

You feel your armpits becoming slightly damp with sweat under your white shirt. You clear your throat. “Yes. I apologize for not being clearer from the start.”

The policewoman hums and sets your report aside on the table, visibly irritated. “It will be reviewed as soon as possible.”

You sigh as your steps lead you to your seat in the lecture hall and thank God that the noise of the students has helped to conceal your discussion. Perched on your chair, you lock eyes with Professor Fushiguro for the umpteenth time. And a gleam in his emerald eyes reminds you of the clear message he has already indirectly conveyed to you.

Clear explanations will be necessary.

°°°°

“Wait. I know—”

“What the hell is this now?” Professor Fushiguro cuts off sharply, carefully closing the door to his office. He returns to his seat and drops heavily into it. Rubbing his eyelids with one hand, he lets out a sigh.

Taking advantage of his momentary silence, you continue, “Listen to me, at least. I didn’t go to a bar. I lied.” You nervously fidget with your fingers on your thighs. “Actually, I went to... a casino.”

Professor Fushiguro’s eyes widen, and he tilts his chin up to your face, wrinkled with your confession. “Excuse me? And the police warnings?” He exhales irritably through his nostrils, and you could swear you see smoke coming out like a bull.

“Listen, you just have to call the woman and tell her to simply overlook the fact that I met her in a casino rather than a bar.” You force a smile, hands now sweaty. “She’ll agree, I’m sure. I’ve already saved her contact details on my phone. We just need to do it before—”

“And why didn’t you do that at the time? You knew you weren’t allowed to go there for the investigation.” Professor Fushiguro’s jaw tightens, and this time he tugs at his indigo tie—a perfect match for his black shirt, you can’t help but think—to loosen it a bit. “I can’t believe I defended you…” He sighs, dismayed.

You notice his under-eye circles are a bit more pronounced than usual but refrain from commenting.

You bite your lower lip and dare to speak up nonetheless. “She gave me informations because she also owns a bar. And... she has quite a few contacts who—”

“It doesn’t matter,” he cuts off abruptly. “I don’t even have the energy to reprimand you properly.” Leaning on his desk, he clasps his hands to address you. “Stop pursuing the investigation outside of class. You’ve done enough.” It’s an order, you notice.

Determined, with your eyes narrowed in frustration that is starting to hit you like a shockwave, you assert, “To make progress, ongoing work is not enough.” You straighten your back a little to show him your determination. “I’ll find Miwa.”

Professor Fushiguro’s incredulous face is presented to you. But he doesn’t seek to ask you why you are so attached to a student with a reputation more than unfavorable.

Perhaps it’s the strange, subtle attachment you have to her? Just because she never pointed fingers or denounced your situation with your father, which could have shattered the reputation of your school record? For that alone, you thank her by searching for her.

“And... it’s also kind of you to have covered for me.” Your voice softens. “I promise you that if the woman listens to us, there will be no more problems.” Your lips twist into a slight, embarrassed smile against your will. “So, thank you.”

Professor Fushiguro’s Adam’s apple oscillate as he swallows. His lips part for a moment then close again, and he hums in response before averting his gaze.

Your smile widens, and all the nervousness you felt evaporates. You gain a bit of confidence, and when he rolls his eyes, you can’t help but let out, in a whisper, “I don’t see why you’re being grumpy when everything is under control.”

He shakes his head. “You’re a real troublemaker, you know? A trouble magnet, I would even say.” He stands up, a sign that the conversation between the two of you is over.

But you remain seated.

The unpleasant remark pinches your heart, but you don’t lose your smile. “Perhaps... you’re precisely the one who’s supposed to protect me and save me from these problems—even in your role as a teacher.” You lower your gaze to his large, calloused hands. “Despite your hands stained with the blood of your sins,” you hold back a broad smile and add, looking up at him, “and your grumpy bear behavior.”

Hands in his pockets, he takes a step towards you—one that would require two for you—and his stature looms over you despite his stooped spine to meet your eyes squarely. “Unfortunately for you, a sinner cannot afford to protect the wings of an angel. He might dirty them.” He pauses to tilt his head slightly to the side. “Or worse, burn them in trying to help.”

His words hit your heart and make it skip a beat.

Palpitations seize you, but you brush them off with a blink of an eye. Your eyes get lost in the emerald of Professor Fushiguro’s eyes. The parting of your lips is the only thing that allows air into your lungs. You also ignore the strand of hair that has escaped from your hair and refrain from blowing it away.

It serves no purpose.

Especially when it’s him who tucks it back behind your ear without a word.

°°°°

Under the usual hubbub of the lecture hall, where students discuss yet another assignment given by Professor Fushiguro, your fingers shake under the featherweight of your corrected paper. But instead of dreading to see the grade marked on it, your breath catches as you discover it.

You can’t believe it.

Or maybe you don’t want to believe it.

It’s unreal.

“A +.”

You lift your gaze from your corrected paper, which bears barely traces of ink from your professor’s pen. Your heart leaps in your chest as you meet his eyes.

Professor Fushiguro has his hands buried in his pockets, as always, and he looks at you with a neutral expression—perhaps omitting the obvious glint in his eyes. You try to guess his expression, and a faint smirk gives you the answer before he looks away.

°°°°

At the end of class, when the amphitheater is empty, you decide to descend the steps to speak with your professor, your heart strangely drumming in your ears.

“What did I do to deserve such a nice grade?” you start with the beginnings of a smile. You adjust the strap of your bag and absentmindedly play with the dangling end of the compression strap.

Professor Fushiguro responds without stopping to organize his lecture notes. “My hand slipped,” he replies sarcastically.

You curl your lips into a smile. “We can say it slipped at the right moment on the right paper.” A gentle warmth rises to your cheeks.

He doesn’t respond and closes his laptop.

“Also, were you able to contact the woman from the casino?” you ask in a low voice.

He hum in response, and as he doesn’t seem willing to continue the conversation, you purse your lips together into a tight pout.

“Has your opinion of me changed, at least? Do you no longer see me as a danger?” you insist in a whisper.

Professor Fushiguro doesn’t speak right away. He carefully packs his belongings into his own bag, avoiding looking at you with care. When he finishes, he finally lifts his eyes to yours, and his tone towards you is so peculiar that it catches you off guard. “Your mere existence is a danger. You sow trouble wherever you go.” Yet, his tone is neither dry nor hurtful.

But unbeknownst to you, in Toji’s eyes, you are simply the embodiment of danger.

“I shouldn’t be so lenient with you. Especially when you are the only person who knows a truth that risks my life.”

You furrow your brows. Your tongue burns, a sign that you’re dying to ask him what he’s implying. Professor Fushiguro is a part-time hitman, and that’s no secret to both of you. So why is he saying such... mysterious things?

“I will restore justice,” you assert with conviction. “I will find Miwa.”

As you exit the room with determined and confident steps, your brain still simmers about your professor and his strange remark.

But one thing is sure in your mind amidst all your doubts.

You will get your father out of prison. And you will prove his innocence.

That he was unjustly imprisoned.

°°°°

“Lost again,” Shiu scoffs, a smirk on his face and a cigarette dangling between his teeth.

Toji grunts before scowling. He exhales in annoyance and rubs his eyes, burning with tiredness and bloodshot. Sounds of disappointment from the pachinko machine he faces taunt him before displaying his mediocre score on the screen. Once again, Toji has lost at a game where he hoped to earn some extra money alongside his poorly paid teaching job.

“Anyway, I’ve got a new mission from the oyabun,” Shiu announces.

Toji suddenly perks up, awakened by the mention of his true job, which was enough for him before the problems his boss faced. “Spill it out.”

“Oh? Awake now?” Shiu chuckles. He raises an eyebrow before continuing, “And let me tell you, buddy, this ain’t just any target.” He takes out a lighter from his suit jacket pocket and lights the cigarette between his teeth. “According to oyabun, it’s a former associate who used to work for him before deserting the clan. And that son of a bitch stole some of the money he had. It represents a significant portion of what belongs to the clan. Get it?”

Toji stares into space, though his ear is still attentive to Shiu’s explanations. His muscular arms hang halfway between and against his negligently spread thighs on the chair he’s sitting on. Veins bulge along his forearms, exposed by his black t-shirt—he can thank his long gym sessions for the gift.

“But the man isn’t alone,” Shiu adds. “He has an associate from the same hole, but oyabun doesn’t want you dealing with him. He asked me you to focus on the associate currently at large. The rest of the kyodai will fill you in on the other details.”

Toji nods and is about to respond when a security guard with eyes concealed behind black sunglasses approaches them. “If you’ve lost and don’t have any more money, free up the seat,” he orders coldly, feigning a certain authority by crossing his arms, which only serves to annoy Toji.

The latter stands up. And even a blind person could sense how tall Toji is. He towers over the guard by two heads, who, despite his broad, stocky shoulders, pales in comparison to Toji’s stature.

“Hmm?” Toji’s face is filled with nonchalance and scowls, having lost his game, and especially with a cold anger that constantly boils within him but never explodes. His almond-shaped eyes narrow, and he tucks his hands into his pockets.

The guard’s lips part slightly, and he swallows, unable to utter a word—mesmerized by the figure of the man in front of him.

Toji shrugs and walks past Shiu, who’s been waiting for him. “Let’s go,” he says.

°°°°

Camouflaged in dark clothing and a hood of the same color, Toji sits at a small, discreet round table in the corner of a seedy bar. His eyes narrow as he scrutinizes the back of a man seated on a stool at the counter. His new target.

His gun is fully loaded and strategically placed at his waist so that a single movement would allow him to eliminate the target as quickly as he would leave this place where the various scents of mixed alcohols sting his nostrils. There aren’t as many people as Toji had expected—which suits him just fine. His target sips from a sake glass and reads one of the newspapers provided for patrons.

A single shot, and a new sum will be added to the one awaiting him.

Toji prepares to reach for his weapon when the bar’s doorbell tinkles softly.

And there, Toji realizes he’s truly cursed from birth.

With your usual gait, you take a seat on a stool three spaces away from his initial target.

God fucking damn it.

You grip a small notepad and pen between your fingers and place an order. From where he’s seated, Toji can barely hear your voice. Fragments reach him, and he just wants to set fire to this bar as he did to the man’s house weeks earlier.

Of course, you haven’t seen Toji.

From his ‘hideout’, you may not even notice him at all.

And, thrown off by the situation—for the first time on a mission—he doesn’t know what to do. Should he kill his target as planned, despite your disturbing presence? What if he accidentally harms you due to another unforeseen circumstance? Toji swallows thick. He could, but something within him prevents it.

Especially when he hears snippets of your voice conversing with the bartender. And Toji just wants to smack you for disobeying him.

“...gone missing for a few weeks now…” Your voice reaches his ears in snippets. “It’s worrying, and…”

The bartender, eyebrows furrowed, shakes his head. He continues to wipe pristine glasses. Toji grits his teeth when a group of men—mostly tattooed and wearing piercings—takes seats on the stools beside you. Even from his vantage point, Toji sees you flinch. But you don’t falter. You continue your questioning.

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices two men from the group engaging you in conversation. For a moment, he restrains himself from getting up and breaking their bones. Toji suppresses his impulses. His eyes never leave your form. From your nervous tic of biting your lip to your foot tapping gently on the stool’s lower bar.

But you’re not the only one who notices, especially as you alternate between your interrogation with the bartender—who’s starting to grow suspicious—and the multiple evil glances thrown your way by other patrons.

Why did you have to be here on the same night as his mission?

But your inquiry goes largely unnoticed when a distinct voice from one of the tattooed men is heard all the way to Toji’s table, even drawing some attention from his target, who slightly turns his head toward you. “You sent by the cops?”

You freeze in your chair.

A bead of sweat rolls down Toji’s neck.

You quickly shake your head, your lips mouthing a stuttered no. The pressure on you intensifies when Toji discreetly listens and hears the bartender slamming a clean glass onto the counter, angrily cutting you off, “I don’t want to be associated with anything or anyone. Especially not with the cops.”

Toji’s heart races, and he abruptly stands from his table to slip away to the restroom when he notices the glinting blade of a knife slowly emerging from the pocket of one of the men sitting at the counter. Toji discards his stifling hood and adjusts a few details to avoid being noticed as ‘the hooded man in the corner of the bar’.

He rushes out of the dingy men’s restroom and adopts a casual stride as he heads toward you. The men along the counter turn toward him as you’re almost in a panic.

Toji positions himself just behind you, towering over the entire group surrounding you—including the bartender. From his peripheral vision, Toji’s heart stills as he sees the blade of the knife from one of the men slide back into his pocket.

He still places his hands on your waist, exerting a slight pressure on the flesh. The warmth of your body sends waves to Toji’s cold hands. He leans dangerously to the side of your neck and peeks a small kiss there, causing you to slightly startle and turn around.

Toji offers you a reassuring smile despite the turmoil in his mind at this very moment. His alert eyes try to capture your attention, and you seem to understand.

“How long have you been waiting for me, angel?” Toji asks softly.

You look up at him—your pupils dilating in surprise at his unexpected presence—and you blink twice. Your lips part, and you weakly blow out, “A while already.”

“Forgive me. Can we go now?” Toji gently squeezes your waist, a clear sign of refusal for a no.

You nod in the silence of the bar, and Toji takes your hand, intertwining your fingers with his. He leads you to the exit where no one dares to utter a word. His mere stature was enough to deter the group of men who are—without a doubt—members of enemy yakuza clans that Toji’s oyabun explicitly forbade him from contacting.

Too bad for the mission.

°°°°

The cool night air whips against your face. You try to pull your sweaty hand away from Toji’s much larger one, but his firm grip keeps your fingers intertwined in silence, and you refrain from throwing a tantrum like the children in supermarkets.

He leads you to the back of the grassy courtyard of the bar. A single beech tree planted near a wooden fence prevents you from slipping and falling when suddenly, Toji’s muscular arm sends your back colliding with the trunk. The pain from the impact brings tears to your eyes.

With anger etched on his features, Toji opens his mouth to say something. But the bell on the bar’s door chimes the very next second, letting out the group of men from earlier along with some new faces. The group is much larger than before.

From your position, you can’t see them, but nothing escapes your notice, and you understand. Toji senses that attention is directed towards the two of you, and under an impulse that escapes him, he leans towards you and presses his lips against yours.

Caught off guard, you freeze and widen your eyes. You run a hand over his chest to push him away. You can’t comprehend what’s really happening and push against his chest, but it’s futile.

In the end, you find yourself awkwardly returning his kiss to cut it short. Toji’s lips are cold but so soft against yours. They steal your breath away, and you almost get lost in them.

Until a male voice laughs and declares cheerfully, “Are the whores out here too?”

Coarse laughter erupts from the group of men. Your blood boils in your veins, and you prepare to push Toji away for good and defend your dignity. But Toji runs his hands along your sides and slips them under your shirt to access your bare skin, drawing slow and pleasurable circles with his thumbs on your stomach. He deepens the kiss, and you can’t help but let out a small moan that cuts short your desire to revolt. Toji’s tongue brushes against your lips to request access to yours, and your palm pressed against his chest gives you a glimpse of his racing heartbeat.

You part your lips, and your tongue meets his in a warm, wet kiss. You lose your breath, and the sound of the footsteps of the group of men fades into the silence of the night. Toji freezes his lips and gently pulls away from you. His lips are glossy from the shared kiss, but no smile lights up his features. A dark gleam animates his irises.

Your chest simply rises and falls with the rhythm of a breath you seek to regain. A warmth rises in your neck to the roots of your hair. Toji’s eyes narrow as he scrutinizes you, and his hands withdraw from under your shirt.

“Tell me something… You really like to put yourself in danger wherever you go, don’t you, troublemaker?”

❦ a/n: so there we go! i hope you all enjoyed this first part ;) english isn’t my first language, so be gentle. @gojonanami this incredible girl who one day restored my taste for writing and kindly let me know to feel free to tag her if I post my fic. thank you Sab!

[stargildedskies]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧

Yet another wonderful request as part of my JJK Fic Readers Supporting Noury event!

This fic is a gift for @starlitnotes (who Tumblr is apparently against me tagging, so I will DM her 😅) Thank you so much to everyone who has supported my event and my writing so far 💜

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Afab!reader x Hiromi Higuruma Rating: Explicit (18+ minors DNI) Word Count: 9k Request: Yakuza bosses Nanami and Higuruma

Click here to join my taglist!

Warnings are found below the cut!

Warnings (besides what it says on the request): Use of pet names (darling, baby, etc), threesome, oral sex, cum swallowing, praise kink, breeding kink, masturbation, Double penetration (vaginal), cervix fucking, etc.

“Excuse me, Miss?” An unfamiliar voice rang out from behind you as you scoured hardened syrup from the wooden surface of your coffee bar. 

You whirled around, tossing your rag aside and snatching a spatula off the other counter. The cafe had been empty five minutes ago, and you knew that you’d already locked all the doors. No matter how polite your intruder was, he shouldn’t have been able to get in.

“Don’t come any closer,” you warned, clutching the spatula like a lifeline and pointing it toward the voice. Even though it was just a small silicone and wood tool, you felt safer with it in your hands.

A tall young man in a well-cut black suit seemed to melt out of the shadows that lined the back exit hallway. He calmly walked closer as you brandished your “weapon” at him, running a hand through his unruly brown hair and smiling sheepishly. 

“I swear I’m a friend; I’m not here to hurt you.” The mystery guest raised his hands placatingly, showing you that he was unarmed. “My name is Takuma Ino, and unless you want to be arrested for conspiring with the yakuza…. please come with me.” 

There was a loud, booming knock at your front door as if on cue, and another unfamiliar male voice yelled. “This is Detective Zen’in with the Tokyo Police Department! I’m here about an urgent matter. Please open the door so we can speak.” 

Ino bristled at the sound of the detective’s voice. He immediately grabbed your upper arm and attempted to tug you towards the back door, but the sudden action spooked you. Your reflexes completely took over, and you slammed the wooden handle of the spatula against his fingers with a resounding crack. The young man barely suppressed a yelp of surprise, snatching his hand back and hissing in pain. 

“Owwww,” he groaned quietly, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, but we have to go now.” 

The detective knocked at your front door again, and you flinched, feeling very much like cornered prey. Ino nervously rubbed his fingers, trying to soothe the sting as he glanced at the front door. “Please, Miss….. Look, you can bring that thing and hit me again if I make you feel uncomfortable in any way, but please just come with me.” 

The knocking grew more insistent, and the detective yelled again, “Ma’am, we know you’re in there. If you do not comply, we will forcefully open this door.” 

Ino looked at you frantically as he mouthed another silent plea and gestured toward the exit. A potent, white-hot mixture of fear and adrenaline shot through you as you realized that you had no time left; you had to decide now. You could only hope you wouldn’t regret your choice as you nodded at Ino, grabbed your purse, and followed him out the back door into the night. 

As soon as the two of you reached the back alley, Ino motioned for you to stay put. He glanced around, scanning the other small, connecting road. Due to the lack of foot traffic behind the stores, there were only a few street lights in the alley, and you could barely see anything beyond your feet. Ino seemed frustrated, muttering under his breath until suddenly, lights flicked on inside a sleek, expensive-looking black car near the road. Your savoir sighed in relief as he ushered you towards the vehicle, throwing the door open and nearly tossing you in. 

It all happened so fast that you barely had time to think before Ino slammed your door closed and vaulted into the passenger’s seat. The driver instantly shut off all the interior lights and revved the engine, leaving you scrambling to buckle your seatbelt in the dark. Your fingers scraped over supple, well-conditioned leather as the car shot forward, hurtling through the back roads and away from the cafe. Ino and the driver carried on a hushed conversation across the front seat as you tried to process everything that had just happened, but there was one primary concern on your mind. 

“Ino-san….” you spoke carefully into the dark, “Why do the police think that a Cafe owner is involved with the Yakuza?”

“It’ll make more sense when you meet the Oyabun… er, well, both of them. They can explain everything,” Ino offered, exchanging a look with the driver. You felt so frustrated; they had left you literally and metaphorically in the dark. All you could do was sit there in the quiet luxury of your surroundings, more questions and concerns brewing in your mind as the car sped off into the night. 

You passed the time by staring out the window, trying to retain some bearing of your surroundings, but the car was traveling too quickly for you to read the names of any streets or buildings. Soon, the blurry grey cityscape disappeared altogether. Lush trees began to fill your vision as moonlight poured into the car. The treeline grew thicker and thicker, seemingly stretching on forever as the road began to incline steadily. You realized the two men were taking you deeper into the mountains outside Tokyo, and an icy chill shot through you.

“Oh, god…. They’re going to kill me out here, and no one will ever find my body.” 

The driver must have sensed your quiet fear, and he sighed deeply. “Ino-kun, please tell me that you explained at least some of the situation to her.”

“I figured that the Oyabun would want to tell her most of it,” Ino grumbled, still nursing his hand, “We didn’t have a lot of time with that weasel of a detective outside her door, so I just told her to come with me if she didn’t want to be arrested, and that she could hit me with that spatula again if I scared her.” 

The exhausted-looking driver removed one hand from the steering wheel and slapped it against his forehead, wincing and rubbing his eyes over the rim of his glasses. 

“What!?!” Ino protested, throwing his arms out dramatically. “It seemed reasonable enough to me. That thing hurts, and besides-! She’s safe, and that’s what matters!” 

In any other situation, you probably would’ve found the scene hilarious. The other man gave a long-suffering sigh, pointedly ignoring Ino as the young man continued to try and explain his reasoning, complete with a dramatic re-enactment of you smacking him. The driver slowed the vehicle in the middle of the road and pulled off to the side without another word. Your hand crept towards the door handle, just in case. 

“Please…. don’t.” The driver clicked on the cabin light and turned around, looking at you tiredly as your fingertips brushed the only barrier that stood between your freedom, “I give you my word that it would be a mistake to leave now; please let me explain more thoroughly.”

You gazed back at him warily, moving your hand away from the handle just enough to signal that you’d hear him out. The driver had a kind but somewhat pinched and anxious face; for a yakuza driver, he seemed strangely considerate.

“My name is Kiyotaka Ijichi, and this is Takuma Ino. We both work for the Kintatsu-ikka, and our Oyabun-” 

“Our boss!” Ino supplied helpfully, turning to give you a lopsided grin. 

“We received a tip that you were wrongfully associated with two different Yakuza groups and placed in danger. That detective who arrived at your Cafe is not a good man; if he had reached you first, you’d likely be jailed over false charges. The Oyabun of our family sent us to pick you up and bring you somewhere safe.” Ijichi explained calmly, adjusting his glasses. 

“That still doesn’t answer why they think I know you people.” You snapped back, a little more forcefully than intended. Hot, angry tears welled up, threatening to spill over at any moment as you huffed. “I’m innocent. I don’t associate with criminals.” 

“Don’t panic,” Ijichi reassured you gently. “I may not have the answers, but I’m taking you to people who will. It may not mean much coming from me, but our organization is different than what you think. Let us prove to you that we aren’t just ‘criminals.’”

“It doesn’t sound like I have much of a choice,” you sniffled, toying with the hem of your sleeve.  

Ijichi smiled at you, the expression softening his face and lightening the dark circles under his eyes. “We aren’t too far from our destination, but please try to relax some.” 

He left the light on as he started to drive again, quickly pulling back onto the road with smooth precision. You sighed, suddenly aware of the massive amount of tension in your shoulders and back that wasn’t there an hour ago. Ijichi leaving the light on was a small gesture, but it did help you relax. Ino remained silent in the passenger seat, and every so often, you could see him glance at you using the rearview mirror, but the atmosphere was no longer tense. Still, you couldn’t shake all of the anxiety from your mind as the car traveled on.

 After a few more minutes passed, Ijichi turned the car down an almost-hidden road, and the massive outline of a house appeared through the dark curtain of trees. As you drew closer, the soft glow of lanterns lined a well-paved stone driveway, growing brighter and illuminating more of the multi-floored house and surrounding gardens. Your mouth parted in a silent exclamation as you stared out the window. It was gorgeous…. dark and sleek, like a modern mansion, but heavily influenced by the style of a traditional Japanese home. Like many other people who lived in Tokyo, you’d only ever lived in a tiny, very drab city apartment; there was no way you could fathom anyone owning something that massive.

You tried to stifle your amazement, quietly reminding yourself that you weren’t here to ogle some crime boss’s home as Ijichi pulled up and around to the front steps. Ino stepped out, opened your door, and offered his hand with a small smile. As you looked out, you were distracted by two massive stone dragon statues that flanked the steps. Their teeth were permanently bared in a protective snarl as a warning for those who entered, and you shivered. 

“Kintatsu-Ikka,” Ino reminded you coyly.

Tentatively, you accepted the young man’s help, and he led you onto the beautiful wooden engawa that surrounded the entire mansion. He didn’t even need to unlock the door; he simply pushed it open to lead you inside.

Your jaw dropped despite your best attempt to keep a neutral expression; the interior was somehow even more beautiful than the exterior. Moonlight entwined with lanternlight pooled through massive floor-to-ceiling windows, shining on dark, polished wood floors. A crackling fire burned in a glass fireplace beside a common area furnished with plush-looking leather couches and chairs. 

Notably, the central couch was occupied by a young boy in the most rumpled suit you’d ever seen. He was completely sprawled out in a position that made your back hurt just to look at, watching a cheesy action movie on a glossy, widescreen T.V. that probably cost more than your entire yearly salary. 

Ino chuckled at your awe-struck expression, “I know, right? I think everyone had that reaction the first time they saw the place. Our Oyabun has good taste.”

The young boy perked up at the sound of Ino’s voice, nearly falling off the couch as he tried to stand up. “Kyodai! You’re back!”

He bounced onto the floor with youthful zeal, altogether abandoning the movie he had been so engrossed in and running up to the two of you. “Hi, I’m Yuji. Who are you?” 

Yuji cocked his head at you in curiosity, the sudden movement causing his strawberry-pink hair to flop to one side. You smiled and introduced yourself, charmed by the sweet boy, but your inner thoughts only grew more complicated. 

“This sweet boy is supposed to be a criminal?? Why do none of these supposed Yakuza act or look anything like the stories?” 

Of course, you had heard more than your fair share of stories about the shady criminal organizations that Japan was so infamous for. Yakuza were supposed to be malicious gangsters who only pretended to follow an honor code. They were supposed to be rough, low-life criminals who had simply been given a spit-shine and a suit, but the young boy who stood in front of you seemed like an overeager puppy, energetic and harmless. 

Yuji’s eyes shone as he recognized your name. “Oh! You’re-”

“Can’t talk now, little bro. She’s got a meeting with your dad.” Ino interrupted him, pulling you past before you could register what he said.

Ino led you past a few rooms where the glossy wooden floors gave way to traditional tatami mats. You turned down another hallway, passing more closed doors and what looked like a sizeable library before the two of you arrived at the end of the hallway, where one more door waited. The soft glow of lamplight shone out from the frame, signaling that it was occupied. Your stomach fluttered anxiously as Ino stepped up and knocked softly. A low, delighted chuckle came from inside, and your heart stopped as the door finally swung open.

“N-Nanami-san?!?” You managed to squeak out, almost dropping your purse in surprise. 

You had no idea who you had expected to meet, but it certainly wasn’t one of your favorite longtime customers. Moonlight shone down on Nanami Kento's tall, well-built figure, further softening his sharp features as he sat behind a massive wooden desk on the far side of the room. Despite the late hour, he was still dressed in the tan suit and spotted tie he always seemed to favor. A few stray strands of Nanami’s beautiful golden hair framed his face as he nursed a glass of whiskey, raising the crystal highball glass to his lips for a taste of the amber liquid. He let his gaze wash over you, almost as if he was savoring your presence alongside the alcohol. 

A low chuckle came from behind the door, and a raspy, darkly intelligent voice teased. “Oh? I didn’t think you’d ignore me…. I’m hurt.”

 Your heart had stopped earlier, but now it just left your body entirely as Higuruma Hiromi stepped into view. As always, he was almost the visual opposite of Nanami but no less handsome in his black suit. Hiromi walked towards you, tall and lanky, darkly attractive with mussed hair and a near-permanent look of exhaustion hidden behind a small grin. 

“Don’t badger her, Hiromi. She’s had a long day.” Nanami chastised firmly.

Hiromi adjusted the sleeves of his crisp dress shirt and gave you a lopsided grin that made your stomach churn. “Sorry, sorry. I was trying to lighten the mood.” 

The two men were night and day from each other, but they were both your favorite patrons by far, each visiting the Cafe on the same day every week. As certain as night became day, Hiromi showed up on Monday mornings, and Nanami visited you every Thursday. You had grown to cherish their company, even allowing them to come and visit with you in the early hours before the Cafe actually opened, something you had never let anyone else do. However, neither man had ever mentioned the other, and you had never seen them at the same time. You had absolutely no reason to think the men had known each other. 

A memory flashed through your mind as you stared at Nanami, gasping for air.

He had come to visit even earlier than usual one morning, walking in while you were tending to the pastry dough in your small professional kitchen. 

Nanami had poked his head in to find you listening to an old song on your small radio, swaying your hips and humming along to the infectious tune. You were in your own little world, completely oblivious to his presence as you systematically filled croissant dough with chocolate and plopped them onto an awaiting tray. 

You moved to place the tray into the oven but tripped over a rag on the way over, crying out as you braced to hit the hard tile floor…. but the pain you had expected never arrived. Instead, you landed against a broad chest and surprisingly muscular arms that broke your fall. The pastries hit the floor with a loud clatter, but it didn’t matter as Nanami chuckled in your ear, his low, rich voice bringing a deep flush to your cheeks as his hand stroked your waist. 

“Careful, now.”

Only a few weeks later, Hiromi knocked on your front door one morning and stumbled in, tired and exhausted from “a long night at work,” but he had come anyway, wholly unwilling to miss his visit with you. 

“You’d worry too much if I didn’t come,” he’d grinned at you, teasing but infuriatingly correct.

You had steadfastly ignored him, instead choosing to chastise the exhausted man for not taking better care of himself. You made his usual order from memory while making him swear that he’d get more rest. As you pushed the warm cappuccino into his hands, Hiromi’s clever fingers brushed against yours in a way that made your heart flutter. 

“Anything for you,” he had said, looking into your eyes with a smile that made your knees weak.

You lurched back to reality as Hiromi led you to a plush leather armchair and gently helped you sit back. Your movements were slow and robotic, but you didn’t pull away from the warmth of his hand. 

“What… what the fuck is going on?”  You suddenly felt breathless, like you were drowning in the deep end of a pool. Hurt and anger flashed through you like wildfire. You had let these men in. Not only that, you had trusted them and grown to care for each of them. 

 “I’m sorry. We should have told you sooner.” Nanami sighed, “We both agree that keeping you in the dark was wrong, but please give us the chance to explain. The last thing either of us wanted was to hurt you.”

Hiromi reluctantly pulled away from your side, returning to take his seat next to Nanami. He nodded in agreement with the blonde man’s words and took a deep drink from his wine glass before he spoke. “We may not have been completely forthright with everything, but I promise that neither my brother nor I ever lied to you.” 

“But… I thought you were a salaryman, and I thought you were a lawyer?? You didn’t ever mention each other, but now you’re brothers? I thought I knew you. What are you… Who are you?” You questioned furiously, gesturing between the two men. 

All the stolen touches, all the charged glances, and honeyed words... Were they all a lie? 

You’d wanted one or both men so desperately that you’d deleted the dating app on your phone, praying that eventually, you’d work up the courage to ask one of them out. At night, you dreamed about how they’d touch you; in your wildest dreams, you even thought about what having both of them at once would be like. 

Both men had the decency to look ashamed as a single, angry tear rolled down your cheek. Hiromi tugged at his tie as if it had grown too tight, and Nanami sighed deeply, bowing his head. “We aren’t brothers in the literal sense, but we are ‘brothers’ because Hiromi and I joined the same Yakuza family when we were young. You may have heard Ino refer to another member of the Kintatsu-Ikka as ‘shatei’ or ‘little brother,’ which is the same concept.”   

Hiromi finished fiddling with his tie, leaving it undone around his neck. “As for your other question, I am still a lawyer, and he does have some salaryman duties; Kento still handles a lot of booking-related concerns because he’s too damn good with numbers. We both started our careers in administration….” he paused, selecting his next words carefully, “...before we decided that certain things in our organization needed to change.”

You stared at the desk, steadfastly refusing to look at either man as Nanami continued, “Our family split into two rival factions, and Hiromi and I each took control of one side. We reshaped both organizations but left them separate because it allowed us a certain advantage over other, much less savory groups. My men became known as the Kintatsu-ikka, and Hiromi formed the Kageakuma-Kai.”

The names bounced around in your brain, and suddenly, something clicked. You had heard of them; some of the other shopkeepers around your district had specifically purchased protection from one of the two groups. They told you that the men were kind and honorable and could help you if any other Yakuza families tried to trouble you. 

“Why didn’t you tell me who you were in the first place?” Your cheeks flushed hot, and you drew your arms around your body, desperate for some comfort from the way your heart ached. “Were you wanting to play with my emotions… to make me look like a fool?” 

Both men looked instantly mortified. 

“No. Absolutely not.” Hiromi said firmly, frowning as he set his wine glass down with a soft clink.

“That is the last thing we wanted,” Nanami’s handsome brow furrowed deeply as he agreed. 

“You must understand that in our line of work, we don’t meet many genuine people,” Hiromi mused, studying how his red wine swirled against the glass. “Most people we meet either instantly fear us or they want something from us. You…. were an outlier; you were kind, warm, and just-.” 

“Lovely,” Nanami murmured, finishing the raven-haired man’s sentence. “You were lovely. By the time we realized that we needed to tell you, neither of us knew how to. It isn’t an excuse, but we do want to make it up to you.”

“W-what am I supposed to do now?” You stammered. “Ijichi-san mentioned that the detective who showed up at the Cafe today was a ‘bad man.’ What does that even mean?” 

If you had any doubt that the two men in front of you were telling the truth about being Yakuza, it immediately vanished as their expressions hardened in an instant. Nanami’s normally warm, brown gaze carried the full weight of scorched earth, and Higuruma’s dark irises glinted like obsidian.

“Don’t worry; he will be taken care of,” Hiromi muttered, staring intensely over the rim of his wine glass. His tone had a dark, glittering edge, and the implication behind his words made you freeze. 

“The two of you… You hurt people, don’t you?” You questioned softly, almost afraid of the answer. 

Hiromi and Nanami looked at each other briefly before the weight of their combined gaze settled back on you.

“We do, but only people who deserve it,” Nanami said plainly as if he were discussing the weather. “Both the Kintatsu-Ikka and the Kageakuma-Kai are groups that actively follow the code of bushido. We practice honor and restraint but do not show those virtues to those who do not deserve them.”

“That weasel knows that you likely have nothing to do with our organization. He’s a corrupt cop that another Association bought with their blood money; you’re innocent, and he’s trying to hurt you.” Hiromi spat darkly. 

Both men radiated a fiercely protective aura that filled the room and made your heart skip a beat. You had been absolutely terrified earlier, and you had even felt betrayed by both men. They had certainly made a mistake by keeping you in the dark about their identities, but they had also done their best to fix it by helping you and answering all of your questions. A warmth began to blossom in your chest, replacing the fear and anger that previously resided there. With the intensity and honesty of your conversation, you knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that both Nanami and Higuruma would walk through fire to keep you safe. 

“So…. What do I do now, then?” You questioned with a soft smile, trying your best to extend an olive branch. 

Their intensity faded, giving way to sheer relief as Nanami exhaled softly, and some of the tension left Higuruma’s shoulders. 

“I’d like for you to stay here, at least for a little while,” Nanami responded gently. “This house is safer than almost any other place in Tokyo.” 

Higuruma huffed into his wine glass, “I think you’re vastly underselling it, but I agree. My place would be the other option, but it’s in the middle of the city, and I don’t think it’s safe for you to re-enter Tokyo just yet.”

You looked down at your coffee-stained clothes and then back to the two men, trying to figure out how to ask what you’d do about basic necessities. Nanami caught on to your dilemma quickly, and he simply smiled and waved his hand. “Oh, don’t worry. One of the guest rooms is already fully set up and we can have anything you need brought in tomorrow.” 

“We’ve caused you enough stress,” Higuruma acknowledged with an apologetic smile. “I can easily speak for both of us when I say that we’d like to take good care of you while you’re here.” 

The lamplight reflected off his dark eyes, which were slightly hazy from the wine. You blushed and swallowed nervously at his words; your frustration had evaporated, leaving you painfully aware of the feelings you still harbored toward both men.

“You’re to treat my home as your own while you’re here,” Nanami added softly. “Ino and Yuji will keep you safe if we have to step out during the day, but both Hiromi and I will be here all night, every night. We will do everything in our power to resolve this matter and keep you safe.” 

The two men shared a pointed look before turning back to face you. Higuruma and Nanami gazed at you with a tenderness that made your heart skip a beat. 

“It must be obvious by now that both of us… care for you,” Hiromi murmured, his black eyes softer than you’d ever seen them. “If you allow us, we want to make up for our mistakes. We want to care for you- honestly, we’d both like to spoil you rotten.” 

Your breath caught in your throat as Nanami nodded in agreement. “We both just want to see you safe and happy.” 

“Thank you. I feel much better now with both of you here,” you murmured, desperately trying to keep your voice from shaking. 

It was true. You did feel much better, but you were also completely exhausted from the day's harrowing events. Your body had held so much stress and tension over the last few hours that almost every inch of your skin hurt. 

Hiromi noticed your discomfort, frowning slightly. “Kento, let’s save the rest of this for later. She’s beyond exhausted.”

“How about a hot shower and some sleep?” Nanami suggested softly, and you nodded in vigorous agreement. 

“That sounds lovely.” You murmured wistfully, already imagining how the hot water would soothe your aches and pains. 

Without further fanfare, Nanami and Higuruma got up to escort you from the office. Your legs were wobbly from sheer exhaustion, but you managed to stand and follow the two men without any major issues. As they led you through the house, it was empty; everyone else had either gone home or had long since gone to bed. 

“This will be your room, and the one next to it is mine. Hiromi is on your other side, and my son sleeps across the hall,” Nanami said with a smile, gesturing at each door in turn. If you need anything, please let one of us know.”  

“I will,” you murmured, returning his smile. 

Both men studied you carefully in the dim lighting. They seemed reluctant just to leave you alone, but Hiromi finally broke the silence rather awkwardly. “Er, well, I can only think of one more thing you’ll need to know. We wanted to give you clean clothes to sleep in, but we don’t have many women around… Anyway, we both left you a few choices that should be comfortable enough.” 

Hiromi’s voice was raspier than usual as he looked to the side and scratched his head sheepishly. A light flush had spread across the lawyer's cheeks if your eyes weren’t tricking you in the dim lighting. 

“Ok….?” You said tentatively. Part of you questioned his reaction, but the tired half of your brain just decided to go with it.

“Good night, then. We are glad that you arrived safely.” Nanami whispered with a small smile as the two men headed off to their respective rooms. 

Unsurprisingly, the room they had you staying in was no less beautiful than the rest of the house, but you were far too tired to inspect it thoroughly. All you cared about was the large, soft bed and the attached bathroom as you opened the door, threw off your clothes, and immediately jumped into the shower. The warm water felt just as good as you’d thought, and the spacious bathroom was stocked with any luxury product you could ever need. When you were ready to get out, your skin felt soft and wonderfully pampered. 

You still didn’t fully realize why Hiromi had been so sheepish until after you had toweled off and stepped back into the bedroom. A small, multicolored mountain on top of the dresser caught your eye, and you audibly gasped when you realized that it was entirely made up of men’s clothing. There were luxuriously soft sweatpants, pattered pajama pants, socks, hoodies, and many different styles of well-loved T-shirts, all laid out for you to choose from. Honestly, there were enough clothes in the pile that you could easily have pajamas or comfortable loungewear for an entire month. 

Eventually, you decided on a pair of lovely knit socks, some soft grey sweatpants that were clearly from Nanami’s wardrobe, and one of Higuruma’s old law school shirts. It was almost unfair; the clothes smelled like a perfect mixture of the two men. A heady blend of leather, aftershave, tea, and tobacco clouded your senses, and you blushed, realizing that you’d be wearing their clothes and nothing else since you had no clean underwear to put on. As you dressed, a shiver ran down your spine, but it wasn’t from fear; no, this was a shiver of pure need. 

Both Higuruma and Nanami had been recurring visitors in your dreams for many months, and you had only grown more desperate to know how they’d feel and how they’d taste. You wanted to know if they’d be rough, pressing you into the mattress with deep, almost brutal thrusts, or if they’d be slow and sensual, coaxing orgasm after orgasm from you with their tongues and fingers, making you beg to feel their cocks. Maybe they’d switch between the two, or maybe they’d want you on top. Honestly, you couldn’t even tell what scenario you wanted more. 

Your desire for both men had grown to the point where they were all you could think about. No porn quelled your appetite; no erotic novels brought you relief from the deep-seated desire that throbbed deep in your core and refused to leave for hours at a time. Honestly, you felt like it was driving you insane. If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost swear the two men sent you into some kind of feral heat because you were always obscenely wet every night, nearly sobbing in frustration as your pussy begged for something more than your own fingers.

You’d tried overstimulation, erotic ASMR, vibrators, plugs, and even lube meant to replicate cum… literally everything you could think of. You tried to stuff your aching cunt full of every toy imaginable, desperate to find some relief, but nothing truly worked. Sure, you’d eventually orgasm, but it was never as satisfying as you needed it to be, and it did nothing to sate your desire. If anything, it was like only being able to swat at an itch instead of scratching it outright. 

Tonight was even worse than usual; the way Nanami and Higuruma had been so protective of you earlier had only added fuel to the fire. You clenched your thighs together in sheer desperation as you slid into bed and slipped your hand underneath the waistband of your—no, Nanami’s—sweatpants with a whimper. 

 “Both of us care for you…. We want to spoil you….”

Their earlier words rang in your ears as you slid a finger through your folds teasingly, biting the swell of your lower lip to stifle the next pitiful whine that escaped. Your poor little clit was already throbbing, so puffy and sensitive that you had to turn over and bury your face into the pillow as you circled it with your fingers. The men you had fantasized about for so long were literally on either side of you as you touched yourself to thoughts of them, and you could only pray that you were being quiet enough-

There was a single, sharp knock on the door before it cracked open, catching you right at the moment your fingers slid into your soaked cunt.

You could hear Hiromi’s muffled voice, his tone urgent as he asked, “Are you okay? We heard you cry- oh.” 

Two sets of footsteps entered the room and approached you on the bed as you slipped your hand out from between your legs, threw the sheet over your head, and prayed to somehow evaporate on the spot. 

“Is there something you want to tell us, sweetheart?” Nanami rasped, voice low and thick with barely restrained lust. 

“C’mon now, don’t be shy,” Hiromi purred, drawing another whimper from your lips. “We want to help you.” 

You babbled an incoherent mess of words into the pillow, and Nanami slowly pulled the sheet back from your body. He hooked a thick finger under your jaw, gently pulling your face away from the pillow. 

“Need you to use your words for us, darling.” The blonde man murmured. 

“‘M so sorry… just need it so bad. Please, I need you both.” You sobbed shamefully, fat tears rolling down your cheeks as you clenched your thighs together in desperation. 

Something instantly snapped in both men. You felt the bed dip behind you as Nanami crouched down to pull you into a searing kiss. Hiromi slotted himself between your legs, pulling them apart, and you whined desperately against Nanami’s lips as the man between your legs pressed his gorgeous, hooked nose directly against your still-clothed cunt. 

Higuruma inhaled deeply, luxuriating in the scent of your arousal as he growled and cursed under his breath, “Fuck, she’s so goddamn wet already.” 

Nanami sucked your bottom lip into his mouth, nipping it lightly with his teeth as you moaned again, completely lost in your desire. Hiromi licked greedily at the damp patch of fabric that separated his hot mouth from your cunt, shoving his face even further in between your legs like he intended to devour you through the fabric of Nanami’s sweatpants. 

“Ngh, ‘Romi,” You whined against Nanami’s lips as you kissed him sloppily, drawing a deep chuckle from the blonde. 

“What about me, hmmm?” He teased. “If he gets to taste your pretty little pussy, what do I get? 

Nanami trailed his lips across your jaw and down the corner of your neck, licking and biting at your pulse point before making his way up to coo against the shell of your ear, “I think I have an idea.” 

You had never been so aroused in your entire life. All you could do was lay there as Nanami stepped away to undress, and Hiromi pulled you backward. He ripped off your clothes and coaxed you to your hands and knees, stroking your back and sides and whispering hoarse praises as you forced your jelly-like limbs to support the weight of your body. 

As soon as you had all four limbs solidly planted on the bed, Hiromi’s patience snapped, and he lurched forward, sinking his tongue into your dripping cunt. The lawyer moaned shamelessly against your folds as he explored every inch of you with his tongue, kissing and sucking at your labia before reaching forward to stimulate your puffy little clit. 

“Kento, she tastes so fucking good.” He groaned, leaning back to kiss and nip at the pillowy, soft skin of your inner thighs. You shook above him, back arched in pure hedonistic bliss as Higuruma devoured you like a man starved.  

Your eyes rolled back in your head as Hiromi wrapped his hands around your hipbones, encouraging you to thrust back against his eager mouth. Nanami groaned at the sight of the raven-haired man devouring you as he returned to the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight, and your eyes fluttered open again. Suddenly, you were treated to the sight of the tall, blonde man completely nude and kneeling in front of you. 

Moonlight shone through the window, once again illuminating Nanami Kento's form, and your mouth went bone-dry. Sure, you had noticed how broad his chest was and how his suit jacket clung to his form, but now you could watch the way his muscles rippled and flexed with every move. Certainly, nothing had prepared you for the massive, golden dragon proudly inked over his entire right arm. It started at his wrist, wrapping up and around his shoulder to bare its fangs in a ferocious snarl across his pectoral. Your gaze trailed further down, past defined abdominal muscles to where his erection stood proudly against his belly. It was certainly larger than average, but what stood out the most was how thick his erect cock was. 

You whimpered, and your cunt throbbed around Hiromi’s tongue as your gaze traveled to the swollen tip that was already starting to leak pre-cum. The raven-haired lawyer pulled back from your thighs, chuckling hoarsely, “I think our pretty baby likes what she sees, Kento. You should’ve felt the way she just squeezed me like a damn vice.” 

Nanami’s large hand cupped your jaw, stroking it with his thumb as he leaned down and pulled you forward into another bruising kiss. In doing so, he accidentally pulled you forward and away from Hiromi’s mouth, causing him to growl in displeasure. 

“Don’t worry, we’ll learn to share,” Nanami whispered against your lips, trailing his hand down to palm your tender breasts. “Are you going to let me feel that pretty mouth, sweetheart?” 

“Please…. Wanna taste you.” You nodded rapidly, already almost salivating in anticipation as the golden-haired man rose and shifted his hips forward. Without any further encouragement, you licked his swollen tip, swirling your tongue around it to taste the heady musk of his pre-cum. His thick cock twitched, and Nanami groaned your name softly, guiding his shaft towards your plush, kiss-swollen lips with one of his hands. 

You greedily sucked the thick tip into your mouth with an audible pop as Higuruma continued to torture you with his tongue and clever fingers, still completely drunk on your taste. Nanami cupped your cheek with one of his large hands before moving that same hand into your hair, entwining his fingers with the strands. From the look of intense concentration on his face and the way his abdomen twitched, you could easily tell that he was fighting the desire to sheath his cock in your throat all at once. 

“Fuck, sweetheart…. you have such a perfect mouth,” Nanami groaned hoarsely, reflexively tightening his grip on your hair. 

You moaned around his cock in response, causing even more of the thick shaft to slide in. 

“Perfect, hah, beautiful…. Divine.” He growled more praises as you slowly took more and more of him until, finally, you nuzzled your nose against the coarse, honey-blonde hairs that trailed up from the base of his cock. 

You had never felt so perfectly and deliciously used as Nanami began to thrust his hips shallowly, sliding his thick cock in and out of your throat. Hiromi’s clever fingers kept circling your engorged clit in the most delicious way, and you launched higher and higher into ecstasy between the two men. 

The band of pleasure in your stomach began to tighten uncontrollably, causing you to moan and drool even more. You could actually hear how aroused you were as Hiromi drilled his fingers into your soaked cunt, easily rubbing against the spongy spot that had you whining like a bitch in heat. 

“Please cum, baby. Need to feel you cum.” Hiromi groaned reverently, almost like he was praying. He reached down to squeeze the base of his own cock hard, trying to keep from cumming in his pants. 

“You're doing so well for us. Please, sweetheart.” Nanami joined in as his thrusts became shaky. 

You wanted to tell them that you would, that you were trying, and that you were so close to the best orgasm you’ve ever had…. but you didn’t even get to finish the thought before your bliss hit you like a falling star, sending you shattering over the edge into hedonistic oblivion. 

You cried out around Nanami’s cock, soaking Hiromi’s face in your arousal as your orgasm was ripped out of you. A shaky curse tumbled from Nanami’s lips as he felt his swollen balls clench hard.  As if you’d started a chain reaction, thick ropes of his cum filled your throat, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you registered Higuruma’s hoarse cry as you greedily swallowed every last drop of Kento’s cum. 

After a few minutes passed, Nanami gently pulled you off of his softening length. He held you against his broad chest, pressing reverent kisses to the top of your head and whispering praises against your skin. Hiromi remained pressed against the mattress for another moment, left completely spent from his own unexpected orgasm, but eventually, he slid up behind you, pressing kisses to your shoulder blades. 

“Beautiful girl, you did so well for us,” He murmured hoarsely, allowing you to slide into his arms as Nanami passed you over and slid out of bed to run the three of you a bath. 

You looked at him with eyes half-lidded in complete exhaustion. “‘Romi, didn’t get to make you feel good,” you fretted. 

“Oh, but you did,” he whispered back, pressing a kiss to each of your eyelids. “You tasted so good that I came in my damn pants like a teenager.” 

—

After that night, you rarely went more than two days without warming the bed of one or both men. True to Nanami’s word, he and Hiromi spoiled you rotten with anything you could ever want, and both men quickly became excellent at sharing you. You lightened up their lives in a way that did not go unnoticed by those around them, but the three of you hadn’t yet discussed what would happen with your relationship when you were entirely safe and able to return to the city. The uncertainty weighed heavily on your mind for a few weeks, and you finally decided to ask the two men. 

A few nights after you’d made up your mind, the opportunity to ask presented itself when the three of you went to the onsen late at night. Both Nanami and Hiromi used the spa and the attached bathing facilities almost religiously, finding it an excellent way to relax from the stress of their day. Like other Yakuza, their tattoos barred them from entering any public bathhouse, so they simply built their own far away from prying eyes. 

“Ken, Hiromi, I’ve got a question for the two of you,” You murmured, slipping into the warm water of the sizeable, man-made hot spring. 

Higuruma chuckled, pulling you close to nibble the shell of your ear playfully. “This could be trouble,” he teased, passing you to Nanami, who chose to press a soft, affectionate kiss to your cheek. 

You smiled at the two men, lightly smacking Hiromi’s arm for the quip. He growled at you playfully, surging forward to chase you around the small pool. Eventually, he caught you and tossed you over his lithely muscular back like a sack of potatoes, giving you a perfect view of the black, swirling Oni mask tattooed across his skin. 

He returned you to your rightful place between him and Nanami as the blonde man scoffed at him, although both of you knew the stern dragon secretly loved your antics. 

“You were saying, sweetheart?” Kento asked pointedly. 

“Mhhmmm,” you nodded slowly, “I… I wanted to know what’s going to happen when it’s time for me to return to the city.”

Both men looked at each other pointedly, just as they had on the night your relationship actually began. 

“Well, we’ve been discussing that, actually,” Hiromi started with a small smile. “Kento and I have concluded that it’ll be beneficial for the Kintatsu-Ikka and the Kageakuma-Kai to officially rejoin forces.” 

You stared at them blankly, “That’s good… I think?” 

“Yes, it is,” Nanami murmured smoothly. “Funnily enough, we both seemed to conclude that most important alliances are forged through marriage.” 

“And we aren’t planning on marrying each other, so, naturally, the best option would be to find a willing third party to act as a proxy.” Higuruma grinned at you. 

Tears of joy pricked at your eyes, “You know…. if you’re asking me to marry you, you may want to ask in slightly less legal terms.” 

Nanami slid up behind you, pulling you back against his muscular chest. He leaned down to kiss your shoulder reverently, cradling your body as if you were the most precious jewel.“Then allow me. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” 

Hiromi grew more serious, but his smile never faded as he knelt in the water in front of you and cupped your hand in his, “And I would also like to ask for your hand in marriage. Let us make you the happiest woman in the world, darling.” 

You pulled both men in to embrace you as tears of pure happiness rolled down your cheeks, splashing into the steaming water. “I love you both so much.”

Nanami and Hiromi wound their arms around you, completely interlocking your body with theirs. 

“There’s one more thing you’ll need to know, love,” Nanami murmured next to your ear. 

“Oh?” You purred.

“If you agree to marry us, there’s a certain…. competition we will need your help with.” 

“And what would that be?” You asked curiously, glancing between the two men. 

Nanami gently reached his hand to trail over your lower stomach, and your breath caught in your throat as you realized what they were about to ask. 

“We want you to give both of us children, darling,” Hiromi husked, roaming his hands over your body, “But instead of planning who will go first… we want it to be a surprise.” 

“You want to see who can get me pregnant first?” You asked in a daze. Both men inhaled deeply at your words, and you could feel them start to harden against you almost instantly. 

“We’ve both seen the way you dote on the babies who visited the cafe…  and the way you look at baby videos on your phone with that soft little smile on your face,” Nanami murmured, “Yuji could use a sibling or two… Just say the word, and we’ll give you a baby of your very own.” 

Your face flushed hotly at the idea of growing round and full with their children, and you had to bite your lip to stifle a whimper. The three of you could likely fill this spacious mountain mansion with children, and you knew that Hiromi and Kento would make the perfect fathers. They both knew when to be stern versus caring, and they’d protect their family with their lives if needed.

“Fuck, you’ll be such a pretty mommy,” Hiromi groaned, palming the swell of your breasts in the water. “We’ll get to see these all full and heavy…”

“If I say yes…. Can we start now?” You ask breathlessly, drawing a hoarse laugh from Nanami and a pleased grin from Higurumua. 

“I think it’d be a shame to waste any time,” Kento said, picking you up bridal-style and carrying you from the pool deck with Hiromi hot on his heels. 

–

In no time at all, you were lying on your back in Nanami’s spacious bed with both of your future husbands hell-bent on bringing you to the pinnacle of bliss. You’d already cum twice, and now Kento was sprawled out between your legs with your knees hooked over his shoulders, softly lapping at your clit as Hiromi kneaded your breasts with his clever fingers. Every so often, the lawyer leaned down to pop one of your hardened nipples into his hot mouth, sucking on the bud until you cried out. 

“Ken… ‘Romi, nnngh, it feels so good….. too much,” You whined desperately at the blissful almost-pain of overstimulation. 

“C’mon, baby. Make another mess for us, yeah?” Hiromi begged shamelessly, leaning up to kiss you deeply. He swirled his tongue into your mouth at the same time Nanami swiped his tongue across your clit, and you saw stars, wantonly moaning into the kiss. 

Nanami repeated the movement with his tongue, and your hips bucked off the bed, but the strong man simply pinned you back down with a growl that made your clit throb. 

“Darling, darling, fuck- so beautiful. You can do it,” The raven-haired man praised you desperately, and your back arched off the bed as your clit throbbed pitifully. Every nerve ending in your body lit up at once as your orgasm ripped through you, causing you to shudder between the two men. 

Nanami pushed himself off the bed and back onto his knees as he wiped the visible traces of your arousal from his chin and licked them from his fingers, smiling down at you in a manner that made you shiver with anticipation. 

“We’re going to fill you up now, darling,” he purred roughly, “One of us is about to get you pregnant, so what do you say?” 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” you mumbled over and over as Hiromi turned you over and laid you against his chest, making sure your legs were hooked over his. He palmed his erection between your legs, using his fingers to coat his thick shaft with your arousal before slowly sliding you down onto his length. 

You moaned in tandem with the raven-haired lawyer as he bottomed out inside you. He was only slightly less thick than Nanami, but his cock was beautifully long. The swollen tip greedily rubbed against your cervix, almost pleading for it to accept his babies as Hiromi tipped his head back, panting heavily. You had to claw at the sheets on either side of him to keep from moving your hips. 

“C’mon, Ken… ‘s not easy to stay still.” Hiromi groaned. 

Nanami chuckled roughly, positioning himself behind you and threading his legs over Higuruma’s but under yours. “Baby, do you remember the word if we need to stop?” 

You nodded frantically. “Please… I remember; just please, Ken.” 

With another long groan, Nanami positioned his swollen cock next to Hiromi’s, doused himself with lube, and very slowly began to push in. At first, it felt as if you were being completely split in half by the two men. You were well past properly aroused, but the intense stretch of taking two thick cocks at once simply took time. Fortunately, both men were more than willing to be patient. 

“Good fucking girl,” Kento moaned as he finally sank all the way in, his balls resting against your plush ass and his cock nestled directly on top of Hiromi’s as they took you at the same time. You sobbed against the dark-haired man’s chest, and he cursed loudly in return; the pressure and heat and delicious friction were almost too much for everyone involved to last any proper amount of time. 

Nanami began to slowly thrust in and out of your core, which was now soaked with a hedonistic mixture of your cum, a generous amount of lube, and the pre-cum from both men. Every thrust sent him rubbing against Hiromi’s cock, creating delicious friction for both men and giving you the overwhelming feeling of being obscenely full. 

Miraculously, the three of you managed to last another three minutes before you came unbelievably hard, convulsing between the two men as your vision turned white. As soon as your core began to flutter around Hiromi and Kento, both men were gone. They each came with a hoarse cry, painting your womb white with their combined seed as your cunt greedily milked it from their swollen balls. 

Eventually, the two men slowly recovered their senses, but you were still absolutely floating. Hiromi pulled out of you first, motioning to Nanami to keep their cum tucked safely inside you. The blonde did so happily, gently keeping you plugged with his cock and fingers until the other man returned with enough clean pillows to prop your hips up properly. After sorting out your positioning, they quickly cleaned themselves off and returned to your side, ready to spoil completely rotten you once you woke up. 

“Oh, and may the best man win.” Hiromi lazily jabbed at Kento, who simply scoffed with his own satisfied grin. 

“The way I see it, we both already won.”

Tagging some friends: @pseudowho @saradika @thefact0rygirl @babygirl-leon-kennedy @hereforthesunrise @ashotofspotchka @ironandglass @amyroswell @cassandrablacker @lady-valtieri @justanothersadperson93 @orangecremepuff @belle-smith07 @outspokenbrat @enchantedsylveon @khaleesihavilliard @spam-love @silverliningsandstorms @msniks @panteramarron @eldritchbeauty @unoriginalidea @cindyneko-strider @markleeisdabestdrug @gabbyburgers @its-chickenwing-450 @luneariaa @akiiireix @tojispookiebear @dangoank0 @ifuckinghateschool @barryatsumu @voids-universe @mahgyu @themoonmonologues @byul9158 @starlitnotes @makingtimemine @mischiefmanaged71 @galactict3a @dreahmdere @mirrors-musings

[takamimami]

Heaven in Hiding

Pairing: Keigo Takami x fem!reader (use of Y/N)

This one-shot was inspired by a fan art drawing I saw on TikTok by x.4haru and also some KadeArt pics - The NightHawks brainrot is so real. (Kadeart inspo: here, here, & here :3)

CW: SMUT; praise kink, orgasm delay/denial, cum play, choking, 'Sir' kink, dacryphilia, degradation kink, slight consensual non-consent, brat taming 0_o, yakuza/gang affiliations, references to drugs --- word count: 10.9k

🔞NSFW; MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS KEEP IT MOVING🔞

Summary: Enigma (e•nig•ma) A person or thing that is mysterious, puzzling, or difficult to understand. Your night out goes just as you wanted it to, but not with the person you’d expected.

The wind had a bitter bite to it as it blew your jacket open, sending a brisk chill through your whole body. The rain had picked up a bit, causing you to pick up your walking pace as well. Easier said than done, however, given that the black stilettos you chose to wear tonight were nearly six inches high and the matching bodycon dress was threatening to ride up your thigh and expose your ass. You cursed yourself for your attire choice at this moment, knowing that it was your tipsy and single brain that told you to dress this way. It didn't help that the only free parking was nearly a block away from your destination. 

"Let's go to Camelot," they said.

"It will be fun," they said.

"We can meet some 'lookers'," they said. 

Well, you were still hoping that the last part would be true. It had been a hot minute since you had seen any sort of action, and being that you just got off your period, you were hoping to be humping something other than your pillow tonight. 

You shook your head at your impure thoughts keeping your head down to not ruin the makeup that adorned your face. You noticed a few black feathers strewn on the ground in front of an alleyway, most likely from crows that frequented the busy alleys. As you neared your destination you felt eyes on you, and you nervously scanned the area to make sure you were in the right place. You were relieved to see the entrance to the club just up ahead, indicated to you by the big lit-up pillars with "CAMELOT" written on each one. There was a line of people stretched down the sidewalk, but luckily your friend had connections with the owner and got you on the VIP list, claiming it was your "birthday". You walked past the waiting crowd, a few catcalls and whistles faintly heard over the sound of the city accompanied by the bass you assumed was coming from inside the club. You ignored them and rolled your eyes as you made your way up to the bouncers, one of which was holding a clipboard and a flashlight. 

"You on the list?"

You nodded your head and gave him your name, as well as fetched your ID out of your wallet and handed that over to him. 

"Ah, the 'birthday girl'," he said, waving his air quotations so you could see them. You blushed slightly before he continued, "Don't worry, your secret is safe with me."

You thanked him as he lifted the barrier so you could enter the club, the upbeat music blaring in your ears as soon as you opened the door.

The inside of the club was dimly lit, with colored lights leading your way down the dark hallway towards the much brighter bar. Once you got down the end of the hallway you scanned the bar area for your friends, praying you weren't the first person there. The entire area was furnished in brown leather, with comfortable-looking booths and lavishly cushioned seats replacing the typical bar stools you'd expect to see at a club. All of the walls were lined with mirrors, causing the flashing lights from the dance floor to bounce vibrantly throughout the entire venue. The dance floor was as crowded as ever, which made sense given it was a Saturday night. You recognized the song blaring over the speakers as one from the K-Pop group BTS. Dynamite, was it?

Your thoughts were abruptly interrupted by an average height man bumping into you, causing you to stumble a bit. He quickly turned around to look your way, nearly spilling the whiskey in his cup as he did so. You could smell the liquor on his breath, indicating he was probably a couple of glasses in so far.

"Hey there, sexy thang! My apologies!" His voice was somehow louder than the blaring music in the background. You could hardly recognize him at first, but you couldn't mistake the long blonde hair. It was relaxed and back in a loose hanging bun, as opposed to his usual spiked updo. Hizashi Yamada, a well-known DJ in the area, was most likely here for a gig.

He brought his orange glasses down to the brim of his nose as he looked you up and down, "So what brings a hot chick like you out alone on a night like this?"

You nearly giggled at how corny he sounded hitting on you, "I- I'm here with some friends to celebrate my uh, birthday."

He noticed your increased awkwardness and scanned the room before leaning in to speak in a bit of a hushed tone, "Don't worry sweet cheeks, I'm not hitting on you. My partner over there would beat my ass if I was," he motioned over to a tall black-haired man standing at the bar, ordering a drink. His hair was pulled back in a half-up, half down 'do. The bartender handed him a couple of drinks and he turned in our direction, giving Hizashi a glare as he saw us looking in his direction. 

"Well, that's my queue to go, don't wanna keep the hubby waiting," he nudged you in the side, a laugh escaping his lips. "Oh, and happy birthday!"

Just as quickly as he appeared, he disappeared in the crowd in the direction of his partner. You smiled to yourself as you turned in the opposite direction of him, scanning the crowd for any familiar faces. Giving up, you made your way over to the bar, pulling your phone out as you made your way there. To your surprise, you had two unread messages from your best friend.

Hey, I’m running a little late! Traffic is absolute shit. You there yet?

Should be there in 10. Order me a shot of Patrón, kay?

As you were reading the second message, a third one came through.

Parking now! See you soon, hot stuff!

You smiled and replied with a simple 'Yay!' and several dancing emojis before sliding your phone back into your jacket pocket. You made it to the bar and quickly ordered a shot of your favorite liquor, needing something to ease the slight headache forming at the base of your neck. As you waited for your drink you turned around, surveying the venue a little more. There was a group of women in the booth nearest you, all of which looked to be in their early 20's. A few were posing for pictures together, and others were making goo-goo eyes at some men across the bar from them, making you chuckle to yourself a little bit. The booth directly next to them was full of men in dark suits, all sipping dark liquor and looking around, almost suspiciously. You quickly averted your eyes over to a man in his late 20's/early 30's using his water manipulation quirk to impress some girls by pouring their drinks without using his hands.

Your people-watching was abruptly cut short by a pair of golden eyes staring at you from the entrance of the club. You watched as he emerged from the darkness of the hallway, his gaze never leaving you. It took you a moment to realize that a pair of prominent black wings adorned his back, almost as majestic looking as they were sinister. He ruffled them out slightly as he shimmied his jacket off his shoulders, the bouncer to his rear grabbing it for him and removing it, and carefully maneuvering around his wings. The red button-up shirt he wore was a good contrast to the black vest and dress pants he wore, everything fitted perfectly to his toned build. He bit the index finger of his glove and slid it off, then grabbed it and did the same with the other hand, the slightly seductive action intrigued you. Something about him had your body frozen in place. You let a seductive smirk curl up on your lips, and almost immediately he did the same. 

You finally broke the intense staring game as you heard the bartender return with your shot glass. You turned around quickly and thanked them, grabbing the glass and swirling it around, staring at the liquid inside. Giving yourself a slight pep talk, you started a silent count down before tipping your head back and taking down the liquid, savoring the burn in the back of your throat.

As you sat the drink back down on the counter a masculine scent filled your nose and a smooth voice rang in your ears.

"Always nice to see a girl who can handle her liquor." 

The chuckle that rang through the air made the hairs on your arms stand up, and you pivoted on your heels only to come face to face with your long distant admirer.

"Oh c'mon, I meant that as a compliment," he joked, the cockiness in his tone about as obvious as the wings on his back. You could tell why, however, the man standing next to you was nothing short of attractive. His golden locks were all but organized, but the messiness of it seemed deliberate and added to his edge. His chiseled face matched his physique, and the tattoos painted on his forearms added to his edgy demeanor. His face was riddled in piercings, a black stud nose ring and a hooped eyebrow piercing added a harsh contrast to his smooth skin. 

"Take a photo, princess. It will last you longer."

Your cheeks went flush as you quickly averted your eyes back to the bartender, reaching out to order another shot.

Just as you opened your mouth to order, the man beside you grabbed your hand, and that's when you noticed the knuckle tattoos reading "NIGHT" peeking out from under the gunmetal rings on his fingers. You gazed down at the other hand to see the same font on those knuckles, this one reading “HAWKS”.

"We'll take two shots of Yamazaki, neat." 

You rolled your eyes, laughing at the audacity of the man now holding your hand. He looked at you inquisitively, before raising your hand to his mouth and running your knuckles over his lips lightly a few times before placing a chaste kiss on them. Something about his aura intrigued you, although all the signs pointed to that being a bad thing. You swallowed that feeling into your gut to ignore it, pulling your hand away and placing it on the bar.

"So, tell me, princess, what brings you to my neck of the woods on this wonderful night?"

You raised an eyebrow to him teasingly, " Your neck of the woods?"

The menacing smirk that curled up onto his lips indicated your unintentional teasing was working, much to your surprise. Just as he leaned forward to offer a rebuttal, a shrill squeal came from behind him, startling you both.

“Y/N!!!! Happy Birthday!”

You recognized the high-pitched voice immediately, seeing as it belonged to none other than your best friend. You rolled your eyes while simultaneously flashing her a smile. 

“You’re so full of shit,” you giggled, pulling them in for a warm hug. As you did, you noticed your new acquaintance had taken a few steps back, still eyeing you as a predator does its prey.

As you pulled away from the embrace you turned to the bartender, realizing you had forgotten to order a shot of Patrón as requested. When you did, you were as shocked as ever to hear your best friend strike up a conversation with your admirer like they were old friends.

“You just couldn’t wait to introduce yourself, could ya?”

The comment caused you to snap your head back in their direction, both of their eyes turning to you as you did.

“You know how I get around beautiful women,” he mumbled, earning him a slap on the arm in return.

She playfully shoved him before moving closer to you, “Even though you’ve clearly met, I’ll introduce you anyway. (Y/N), this is my cousin Kei-”

The conversation was abruptly interrupted by your hand being grabbed and you being pulled away quickly.

“My name is Enigma, princess. You’ll wanna remember that for later tonight.” 

The sly smirk on his face was almost too much for you to handle as a chuckle escaped your lips. You weren’t sure what was more comical, the nickname, or his comment.  Before you could offer a witty comeback, your best friend grabbed your arm and pulled you back over to them.

“Yeah, yeah, Enigma. We got some dancing to do,” they giggled as they threw back their awaiting shot and pulled you to the dance floor. You followed their lead and took down your awaiting whiskey shot and rushed to the dance floor, leaving Enigma alone at the bar, the menacing look returning to his eyes as you walked away.

“So what’s the deal with your cousin?”

After making your way to the middle of the dance floor, your best friend turned around and smiled at you.

“Why, you think he’s hot?”

You weren’t sure if your face was hot from embarrassment or the drinks, but before you could reply they nudged your shoulder playfully.

“I’m just messing with you. His dad is my mom’s brother. He’s a cocky little shit, but he’s good people. He’s always been there for me since we were kids. He’s also always been our grandfather’s favorite, so I rarely get to see him since he joined the family business.”

You nodded, a little more interested, “How come you’ve never talked about him before?”

“He and my grandfather are very private people. They don’t come around too often, especially now that my grandfather’s health has declined a bit.”

You nodded, and just as you were about to reply, your favorite Megan Thee Stallion song began blaring over the speakers, so you opted to start dancing instead.

The next hour or so was a blur for you, feeling the two shots you took back to back working their way through your system. You couldn’t shake the feeling of having eyes on you at all times, but every time you scanned the room for Enigma, you couldn’t find him. 

You shook off the feeling once again and continued dancing, not sure who your best friend had gone off with. You felt a body come up behind you and introduce themselves, the music blaring so loud you couldn’t even make it out. You smiled and tried introducing yourself as well before turning around and swaying your hips to the rhythm of the song playing. 

Everything was fine for a moment, but then the gentle hand on your hip turned into two hands gripping your ass, and you began to feel uncomfortable. You tried to pull away from the stranger, but instead, they pulled you back into them aggressively, grinding their groin roughly on you. You were ready to throw an elbow in their direction and curse them out before a flash of black clouded your vision and you felt yourself finally get the separation you desired. 

“Hey man, I don’t think the lady wants you dry-humping her on the dance floor.”

You recognized the voice from earlier. Enigma stood before you, his hand firmly gripping your forearm, keeping you separated from the man who was groping you moments ago. 

The man looked between the two of you a few times before leaning into Enigma, a challenging expression written all over his face.

“And just who are you to decide that?”

Instead of retaliating, you saw Enigma fluff out his left-wing and motion down at his waistband. You saw the man's eyes move from Enigma’s face to the waistband, his eyes widening slightly before meeting Enigma’s eyes again. 

Someone who must’ve been a friend of his came up behind him and patted him on the shoulder, clearly witnessing what had transpired so far. You thought you heard him tell the groper it wasn’t worth the trouble, but before you had the chance to process it you saw an unknown dark-colored drink come flying in your direction. You weren’t sure if you saw everything clearly, but he seemed to also be reaching for what you assumed was the gun on Enigma’s hip.

A commotion ensued as Enigma pulled you into him, wrapping his left wing around you to shield you. You peeked out from behind it to see two bodyguards grab the man you had been dancing with and drag him off the dance floor and out a door that was in the opposite direction of the exit.

Turning to face you, Enigma scanned you up and down, inspecting you for any injury.

“Are you alright, princess?”

You don’t know how or why, but a wave of calm washed over you as he held you close, the pet name he sang sending the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy.

“Yeah, it’s just a drink, I’m not that fragile,” you retorted, almost feeling half bad for your involuntary sarcasm.

He only reacted with a warm smile as he ushered you off the dance floor, “Come with me, let’s get you cleaned up.” 

You followed him back behind the DJ booth and into a doorway, you could barely tell was there, the only indication of it being there was the door handle and the ‘Authorized Personnel’ sign. He held the door open for you before leading you down a hallway and up some stairs, his gentle hand never leaving yours. You were grateful for his help, as the mixture of the alcohol and these heels did not make it an easy staircase to scale.

“Watch your foot on the top step, it’s a little higher than the others,” he instructed as he stood at the top of the staircase, watching you intently to assure you made it up alright. He then opened another door for you, this time leading into a dim-lit lounge.

“Thank you,” your voice almost came out in a whisper, taking in your surroundings as you entered the new room. Cigar smoke and marijuana immediately filled your nose, the smell actually more pleasant than you’d expected. 

You felt Enigma’s hand fall from yours only to rest on your hip as he led you further into the room. You passed a few gentlemen dressed similarly to Enigma, only most of them wore black from head to toe. None of them even so much as offered you a glance as the two of you made your way over to a booth near the corner of the room. As you sat down you noticed the entire wall to your left was a one-way mirror, making it so that you could see the entire dance floor from just above the DJ booth. 

Enigma whistled to one of the men behind the small bar, asking him for a towel.

“Sure thing, Boss.” 

He quickly dipped behind the bar and popped up with a towel, tossing it to Enigma, who then turned around to face you. Much to your surprise, he went down onto his knee and grabbed your foot, cleaning off your shoes and the drink that had splashed down your leg. He then handed the towel to you as he stood up so you could finish drying yourself off. 

“Good thing I wore black tonight,” you joked, laughing off the events that just unfolded. You tilted your head to look up at Enigma, a semi-concerned look still plastered on his face. 

You stood up, the liquid courage still running its course through your body. You leaned in slightly, placing a subtle peck in his cheek, catching him off guard.

You didn’t say anything, just watched his expression as a smirk curled upon his lips. When he didn’t reply, you offered up your explanation.

“Your reward for saving me back there,” you admitted shyly. You weren’t normally this forward with a complete stranger, however, something about him made you feel at ease.

“Well, I hope there’s more where that came from,” his voice came out just above a whisper, the octave of his voice lower than it was previously.

You smirked at him before looking away, gazing out at the crowd down below. “People watching must be really easy from up here,” you muttered, turning your head back to glare at Enigma. In response he let out a low chuckle, raising his hands and shaking his head.

“It does have its perks, I’ll admit.”

You shake your head in response, not caring enough to take that conversation any further.

“So, what did my cousin tell you about me?”

Your cheeks immediately flared up, but you maintained your eye contact with him. 

“They told me you’re good people, and that you’ve always been there for them when they needed you.”

He nodded and moved his gaze to the floor, “Yeah, they’re right about the last part.”

You tilted your head, “Are you saying you’re not good people?”

He kept his gaze on the floor a moment as if he was pondering his reply. Then he lifted his head enough to make eye contact with you, changing the tone in his voice to a more serious one.

“Depends who you ask.” 

The two of you kept your eye contact for a brief moment before a voice interrupted it, calling Enigma over to the other side of the room. He shifted his weight a bit as if he was going to walk away, but he turned his head back around to you before he did so.

“I’ll be right back, princess. Duty calls,” he sang the ending of his statement, adding that you should order the two of you some drinks for when he returned.

You nodded and made your way over to the little bar, the bartender busy cleaning glasses with his back turned to you. You cleared your throat and ordered two shots of Yamazaki, just as Enigma had for you downstairs. You figured that was the safest bet, given you had no clue what liquor he preferred.

“The Boss’ favorite, smart girl,” the bartender joked with you, “So how’d you end up as the Boss’ date?”

You laughed to yourself, wondering the same thing. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

The slender, blonde man behind the counter looked up at you, his eyes scanning you up and down a few times before snickering.

“Heard you’re friends with the Boss’ cousin, Kami’s granddaughter. It’d be nice to see you around here more.” 

The smile on his face was genuine, making you show off one of your own. 

“Who’s Kami,” you inquired, “If you don’t mind me asking.”

He looked up and scanned the room before looking back at you, leaning in slightly before answering. 

“The big Boss, Enigma’s grandfather. He’s the owner of this club, Enigma just started taking over for him ever since his health’s gone downhill,” he answered, setting the drinks down on the counter in front of you.

You recalled the conversation you had with your best friend regarding that. You were about to inquire further on how he knew about you when a door on the opposite side of the room shutting grabbed your attention. 

Enigma, along with three hefty-looking men, walked back into the room, grimacing looks on all of their faces. He removed his gloves in the same fashion he did the first time you laid eyes on him, but this time he wasn’t looking in your direction. He scanned the room before his eyes landed on you, his face immediately softening.

Something about the vibe in the room had shifted, and you could tell there was something you weren’t in the loop on, but you didn’t have the gut to ask about it. Not yet, anyway.

Enigma made his way over to you, discarding his gloves on a nearby table as he walked. As he got to the bar, he grabbed your hand tenderly and brought your knuckles to his lips for another chaste kiss. 

“What did I miss?”

You smirked and grabbed the drink from the countertop, sipping it lightly as he cocked an eyebrow in response.

“We were talking about you,” you replied slyly, bringing the glass back up to your lips. 

Enigma’s eyebrow cocked even further, “That so? Well, I guess if I’m gonna have a wingman, I’d prefer it be you, Yagi.”

You saw a proud smile curl up on the bartender’s face as he extended his hand in Enigma’s direction, offering him a joint. Enigma grabbed the joint and stuck it between his lips as you watched, the swift motions he made mesmerizing you. Once he lit the spliff he took a hard drag before handing it back to Yagi behind the bar. He let the smoke escape his lips and sucked it up into his nostrils before turning his head away from you and exhaling. After taking a hit himself Yagi extended his hand to you, though you respectfully declined, not wanting to mix your vices. 

Enigma looped his arm back around your waist and pulled you back in the direction of the booth. The two of you sat across from each other, as if in a business meeting. You talked for what felt like hours about anything and everything, your childhood, parents, favorite restaurants, and everything in between. The occasional interruption occurred, but it never lasted for more than a few moments. 

You learned he was an only child, his mother was abusive and his father was often in trouble with the law, so he was mostly raised by his grandfather. You also learned he had dreamt of being a hero, but that learning the truth about one of his idols changed his entire outlook on life. You also found out that he was born with red wings, but an encounter with an old friend left him with burns on 75% of his body and nearly burnt them off, causing them to grow back black in color. 

“Honestly, I kinda like it more,” he admitted, the two of you now onto your third drink since coming up to the lounge. You were cursing yourself for doing so, knowing if you tried to stand on your own right now you surely wouldn’t be able to walk straight.

“It's getting late, I should probably get back to your cousin,” you started, noticing the time.

Enigma placed a hand over yours, attempting to reassure you. 

“She left about an hour ago, found some guy to take home with her,” he chuckled, noticing a worried expression on your face. “Don’t worry, we checked him out before they left.”

You weren’t sure what that meant, but the liquor in your system allowed you to shake it off easier than you usually would. You could tell you were getting tired, and it must have been obvious because Enigma offered to have you driven home so you made it home safely. 

You agreed, handing over your keys and letting him know where you were parked. He handed them over to a tall man in a dark grey suit, who quickly disappeared down the hall towards the exit.

“Do you mind if I show you something first?”

The question, as innocent as it was, ignited a fire deep in your core, sending the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy. You nodded and gladly took his hand, your knees a bit wobbly as you stood.

He led you down a hallway to an elevator, one that requires a passcode for entry. He entered it quickly and the doors opened, the lights inside illuminating the entire hallway. Enigma wrapped an arm around your waist and helped you into the elevator, noticing that you were a little less steady than you had been at the beginning of the night. 

The two of you rode the elevator all the way up past the 29th floor, the penthouse button lighting up as you reached your destination. You stepped out of the elevator into a lavish suite, the sight before you was overwhelming. Dark hardwood floors and structures contrasted beautifully with the white amenities and furniture. Before you had time to fully admire everything, you were whisked away towards the back wall of the suite, which was actually floor-to-ceiling windows. With the flick of a switch, the curtains covering the windows swung open, revealing a walk-out patio with an infinity pool and a gorgeous recreational space. You were speechless as Enigma opened the door to the patio and led you out into the chilly night. You clutched at his forearm as the two of you made your way out to the ledge, looking over the city. 

“Are you scared of heights?” He looked down at you smiling, noticing you clutching his arm tighter the closer you got to the ledge. 

“Only when I’m drunk,” you replied, snorting slightly as you let out a laugh at your own poor joke.

The city below you was as busy as ever, even though it was getting close to the early morning hours at this point. All the lights made it seem just as bright as if the sun was out, but the dark Shibuya skyline added a layer of beauty to it all. 

“Sometimes when life gets crazy I like to just sit out here and gather my thoughts. It’s my little escape,” he started, your eyes still fixated on the busy city below. The wind picked up slightly, a gust blowing open your jacket slightly. You felt Enigma wrap his wing around you as it did, blocking you from the cool breeze.

You found your gaze slowly shifting to the man holding you, admiring his features even closer than you had earlier. You noticed what looked like a few faded scars on his cheek, and you also noticed that he had a plethora of ear piercings on both ears.

Enigma turned his head to meet your gaze, the two of your staring at each other for what felt like an eternity. After a few moments of waiting for him to make a move, you let out a gentle laugh before whispering a request.

“If you’re gonna kiss me, you should probably do it before my ride gets here.”

Within a split second of you finishing your last word his lips were on you, a warm and somehow familiar feeling washing over you. The kiss was simple at first, a gentle lip-lock with a slight tilt of the head on your part to deepen it. Things quickly picked up, however, and it wasn’t long before his tongue and teeth were nipping at your bottom lip, begging for entrance. You parted your lips ever so slightly, granting it to him gladly. The taste of liquor on his tongue accompanied by the masculine scent coming from his clothes was driving all of your senses wild and you knew it was obvious. Your tongues continued to battle over dominance as he leaned down slightly to grab at the back of your things and lift you off the ground. You wrapped your legs around his waist tightly, feeling your stiletto heels fall to the floor. You took advantage of the fact that you were now looking down on him slightly to take control of the kiss, sucking and biting at his bottom lip before continuing to dance your tongue around his.

It only took a moment for the two of you to be back inside the loft, causing you to cast away your jacket as you felt your body temperature increasing by the second. You felt Enigma stop moving momentarily when suddenly he let go of you completely, dropping you down onto the couch. Between the sensation causing your stomach to drop and the heated makeout session taking place, you were completely out of breath. You relaxed down into the cushions to catch your breath momentarily as you watched Enigma unbuttoning his vest and shirt, exposing his toned torso. You admired the tattoos scattered across his chest, some leading to his back and neck, none of which you cared to make out at this point. The only ones you could distinguish were the wings on his forearms, which were reminiscent of his own. 

You were pulled from your daydream by a hand grabbing hold of your chin, lifting your lips back to his. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down onto you, his arms coming down on either side of you to not crush you underneath him. Once he got his balance back he lifted his hands to explore your body, tracing every curve lightly with them.

You weren’t ready for it, but he abruptly pulled away from you, causing you to whimper from the loss of contact. He looked you deep in the eyes, his eyelids hanging lower than they had previously.

“Now, i-I think it’s quite obvious here that I want to fuck t-the absolute shit out of you,” he stuttered, still trying to steady his breathing. “But, as any true gentlemen would, I must make sure that you want the same, princess.”

His bluntness caught you only slightly off guard, mostly because you thought it was obvious that you were both in the same mindset. Again, however, the liquid courage in your system egged you on a bit more than you were used to, so instead of a simple nod you propped yourself up on your knees and pushed him down onto his back. The look of curiosity mixed with arousal on his face only egged you on even more.

“Well, you see, I had actually planned on fucking your brains out instead,” you whispered in his ear seductively, trying your best not to slur your words. You leaned back to gauge his reaction, to which he raised his hands and placed them behind his head, granting you full access to do as you pleased.

“Be my guest, your highness.”

You wasted no time in undoing his pants, requiring a little help with his belt as it proved to be much more of a challenge than you expected. The briefs were the next battle. As you pulled the waistband of them down you couldn’t help but shiver with anticipation as his erection sprung out of them enthusiastically, slapping up against his lower abdomen. You shifted your gaze up to meet his, his eyelids heavy and his proud smirk driving you absolutely wild.

Determined not to make a fool of yourself, you quickly took him in your mouth, forcing a hiss out of his lips. You focused on the area just behind the head of his cock where the head meets the base, running your tongue over it several times before bobbing your head down, taking most of him in your mouth. You pumped the base of his cock with your hand, rotating your wrist in rhythm with your head bobs. You peeked up at your lover every couple of moments to gauge his enjoyment, the furrow of his brow and his lip sucked in between his teeth giving you the assurance you needed. Every couple of bobs you would take as much of him in your mouth as you could before slowly moving your way back up to the tip, increasing your suction the closer to his head you got. The slight ‘pop’ of the suction breaking echoed through the room, and the second time you did this it elicited a throaty moan from the man before you. The third and final time you performed this act you made sure to maintain eye contact the entire way through, and by the time you reached the head of his cock his eyes had rolled back and he covered his face with his hand, mumbling profanities into his palm.

His cock fell from your mouth, and as you reached out to grab it again Enigma grabbed your chin roughly, pulling you up for a quick sloppy kiss before spinning you around, your ass now in his face and your face back in his crotch. 

“I can’t let you have all the fun,” he mumbled, lifting your dress and nipping lightly at your right ass cheek. You shivered with anticipation as he hooked his finger around the waistband of your lace thong, pulling it down just enough to give him access to your core.

You felt him hesitate momentarily, causing your anxiety to spike. You felt a sudden pressure on the top of your head, which you realized was his hand, urging you to finish what you had started. You reached out and took him in your mouth again, bobbing your head slowly. After a few moans escaped his lips you felt him place a gentle kiss on your labia, catching you off guard. After doing so a few more times you felt him run his tongue along your slit before using it to part your folds. Simultaneous moans escaped both of your lips, vibrating through each other’s respective cores and amplifying the pleasure you felt. Reaching around he hooked his arms tightly around your waist, pulling you closer to him as to allow himself deeper access. He skillfully maneuvered his way to your clit and circled it a few times, eliciting a throaty moan from you. You found it harder and harder to focus on your task at hand as he took your sensitive bud in between his teeth, rolling it around gently before continuing to dance his tongue over it. You relied heavily on your hands to compensate for your lack of concentration, pumping the base of his cock as he continued his assault on your core. You rolled your hips back into his face slightly, losing yourself to the feeling of his tongue. You felt Enigma’s moan vibrate through you as you run your tongue down the base of his cock, causing it to twitch in your hand. You took the head of his cock in your mouth, teasing it with your tongue before feeling pressure at the back of your head. You realized it was Enigma’s hand once again, his eagerness showing as he pressed your head down while slowly lifting his hips, forcing you to take all of him in your mouth.

Between his skillful tongue dancing circles around your clit and his moans sending vibrations through your whole core, you felt a tingling sense of euphoria creeping up in the pit of your stomach. Your moans were muffled by his dick at the back of your throat, which only earned you more moans in return. You threw your head back in ecstasy as your orgasm reared its head, slowly creeping up until you couldn’t contain it anymore.

“E-Enigma I-... fuck. I’m-” you were a moaning mess as you felt your hips begin to shake, your orgasm ripping through your body as your cries of profanities polluted the air in the room. You tried to continue pumping his cock, however as you did his moans only intensified your arousal. Enigma only seemed to be focused on heightening your pleasure as he locked your hips in place, keeping you steady as you rode out the final waves of your orgasm.

Your heartbeat had never felt so harsh as you rested your head on his abdomen, closing your eyes and focusing on leveling out your breathing. You felt Enigma place a gentle kiss on your labia before shimmying out from underneath you, leaving you breathless on the couch. 

Your stomach dropped as you were suddenly lifted into the air, coming face to face with your lover for the night. The proud smirk on his face set your cheeks on fire, a quiet giggle all that you could manage as a reply. You felt him pull you up further and grab ahold of your ass firmly before turning and slowly walking towards the back of the suite.

“I think that’s a point for me,” he hummed into your ear. He grabbed the lobe of your ear between his teeth and nibbled down on it playfully, a proud chuckle escaping his lips.

You remembered your declaration you recited moments ago, accepting the challenge yet again. You wiggled away from his grasp and hopped down from his arms, pushing him aggressively back down onto the couch. The look on his face was an arousing combination of shock and excitement, and it only made you want him even more. 

You made quick work of straddling him, leaning forward, and kissing him aggressively. He moaned into your mouth as you gripped his cock again, feeling the precum oozing from the tip in your palm. You smirked as you looked into his eyes seductively, lining him up with your entrance. You felt his cold hands reach around and grip your ass again, and as he did you let go of his cock and grabbed both of his hands. You held both of them together at the wrist with one hand before realigning his cock with the other and ever so slowly sliding down onto it.

Your simultaneous moans filled the air as you took him a little over halfway before stopping, bringing your hips back up to allow yourself time to adjust to him. The second time you took him all the way down, a throaty moan erupting from him below you. Your smirk only grew larger as you repeated the action, clamping down on him tightly and grinding your crotch on his as he hissed a few curses under his breath.

“Fuck, (Y/N), he groaned, “You’re so tight, princess.”

Adjusting your position slightly you switched so that your feet were firmly on the ground before increasing your pace, gripping his wrists tighter as the pleasure washed over you. 

Enigma’s head was thrown back and he was watching you with lust-filled eyes, his eyelids hanging low. You leaned down and connected your lips softly and then ever so lightly stuck out your tongue and licked his upper lip, following a trail up to the tip of his nose. You increased your speed, even more, the sound of your skin slapping filling the air. 

Enigma’s moans slowly started to become a little whiny, his enjoyment evident on his face. You ignored the growing heat in the pit of your stomach as you watched him intently, determined to even the score. You released your vice grip on his wrists and gripped the back of the couch, grinding your hips onto him harder. 

“Fuuuuuucking shit,” he hissed. A few more profanities left his lips as he reached down aggressively before slapping your left ass cheek harshly, earning a whimper from you. He traced his fingers up to your hips before gripping them tightly, leaning back a bit and rocking his hips up into you. 

“That’s it, princess, ride that dick for me,” he moaned, teetering on the edge of his climax. You heard the strain in his voice and leaned forward slightly so you were closer to his face, looking into his lust-filled eyes as you muttered your response.

“Cum for me,” you commanded, not once breaking eye contact. You dipped your head down and sucked down on his jaw, leaving little love bites down his neck as he came undone below you.

“(Y/N),” he groaned, accompanied by a thick moan. You felt his hips buck up into you as he gripped your hips even harder, pulling you down onto him with force. You felt his warmth fill you up as you continued to bounce on his cock, the angle of his hips brushing it against your g-spot effortlessly. You bottled the desire to get off for the time being as you watched Enigma’s orgasm wash over him, the look of euphoria on his face giving you a sense of accomplishment. You slowed your movements, listening to the string of curses and profanities that left his lips until you came to a complete stop. His cheeks were flush and his eyes remained closed, his head tilted back in exhaustion. You cursed your own depleted stamina as you watched his chest rise and fall while simultaneously trying to steady your own breath. You tried to stand, but your legs were too shaky to support yourself, so you stayed put.

He peeked out from under his disheveled hair, meeting your eyes and laughing to himself before averting his eyes to the ceiling.

“Well, princess… I guess that makes us even,” he said exasperated, his breathing still unsteady.

You nodded and leaned forward, placing a sweet kiss on his lips as he tucked his hands under your bottom, lifting you up once again. He shakily stood still for a moment as he regained his balance, before turning and walking in the direction he had tried to go earlier. 

You nuzzled your face into his neck as you reached the small spiral staircase, which led to the lower level of the suite, which was actually just a large bedroom. You noticed there was an entirely separate living space on the other side of the large glass partition dividing the room, but you couldn’t see much more since the room was dark aside from the light peaking in the window. As you reached the bed you felt Enigma’s grip loosen, letting you slide down from his grasp but leaving his arms around you until he was sure you had your footing. 

“You’re tired,” his voice came out just above a whisper. Your exhaustion was clearly evident as you pouted, slightly disappointed that your antics were being halted for the evening.

“Don’t worry princess, there’s always tomorrow,” he said as both of you reacted to a sound that could be heard coming from the upper level. What sounded like a buzzer could be heard faintly, causing Enigma to grab a pair of boxers from the nearby closet and throwing them on along with a button-up shirt. 

“Stay here, I’ll be back,” he commanded. Your brows furrowed up in confusion, to which Enigma placed a reassuring peck on your forehead.

“It’s probably your ride,” he joked, making you giggle in response. You watched as he scaled the staircase quickly, skipping a step with each stride. Once he was gone you dipped into the massive walk-in closet, searching for something more comfortable to slip into. After only being able to find dress shirts and button-ups, you stumbled upon a sweatshirt tucked away in a drawer and threw it on, discarding your dress and bra on the ground. You also tossed on a pair of his boxers and pranced back towards the bed, crawling under the soft duvet and sinking into the mattress. 

It wasn’t long before you heard his footsteps coming back down the staircase, only this time he was fully clothed. You gave him a puzzled look, to which he replied with a sheepish grin. 

“I’ve got some business to attend to downstairs, princess. I’ll only be gone a little while,” he said quickly, not giving you time to protest. You realized he had your phone in his hand, which he must have grabbed from your jacket pocket. He faced it towards you, signaling for you to enter your passcode. 

You hesitated for a moment, before giving in and entering it in. He quickly turned the phone back to himself, entering a phone number and saving it before handing the phone back to you.

“You’ll be more than safe up here, it's the most protected place in the whole building,” he said jokingly, though you knew he was being honest. “I’ll be back before you even realize I’m gone. If you need anything, just call that number.”

You nodded your head, albeit him feeling the need to tell you that made you slightly more uneasy. Not wanting to be nosey you swallowed the curiosity, setting your phone on the end table before settling back into the bed. You heard his footsteps getting further and further away, leaving you alone with your thoughts as you slowly drifted to sleep.

~~~

You awoke suddenly to disgruntled voices coming from the level above you. You rolled over and grabbed at your head, a sudden ache pulsating through your skull. You laid still momentarily until the pain resided, trying your best to listen in to the conversation being held in the room above. Unable to hear anything, you crawled out of bed and slowly scaled the staircase to the upper level. As you approached the doorway, the voices grew quieter before completely stopping as you entered the room.

Your confusion only grew stronger as you stood there awkwardly, not sure what to do or say. You first locked eyes with an older man, clearly in his 60’s at least, who was standing on the opposite side of the kitchen island as Enigma. He quickly averted his eyes after not recognizing you, not seeming to have a care as to who you are or why you were there. You then met Enigma’s gaze, his eyes soft as they looked over you. You noticed he had a cut on his cheekbone, which was being held shut with a thin strip of tape, and underneath it, you could see a bruise starting to form. His hair and clothes were all awry as if he had been a part of an altercation of some sort. He also had a spliff between his teeth, the marijuana smoke still lingering in the air.

So many questions came flooding in as you watched Enigma make his way over to you but you couldn’t get any out, choking on your own words. He placed another chaste kiss on your forehead as he reached you, wrapping his arm around your waist gently. You looked to him to offer some sort of explanation, but it was the old man who was the first to speak.

“I just wanted to be sure you were alright, and now that I see that you are I will be on my way,” he stated. Enigma turned to him, still holding you by his side.

“Thanks, old man, but you really shouldn’t have come all the way down here just for this.”

The old man smirked, mockingly waving his hand, “Oh, please. You know me better than that. Now, it would appear that you have company to attend to,” he said, motioning in your direction as he headed towards the door. Once he was gone you turned your attention back to Enigma, who was staring down at you with adoring eyes.

“Well, this is one hell of a way to end a first date, huh?”

You laughed at his question, shaking your head as you walked back towards the staircase. You remained silent, not sure what question to ask first. Before you could make up your mind, Enigma beat you to the punch, offering a few answers to questions you were too shy to ask.

“That guy that was feeling upon you earlier wasn’t the biggest fan of mine,” he started, pausing to see your initial reaction before continuing. “He was giving my boys a hard time after he left and insisted on talking to me face to face.” This time he took another long drag off his joint, this time inhaling hard before releasing the smoke into the air.

You kept your gaze on the floor, not sure of how to respond. You felt like he wasn’t telling you the whole truth, and that pissed you off slightly. The non-satisfactory look you gave him must have spoken for itself, because he quickly moved closer to you, grabbing the side of your face in his hand. His eyes had lost the initial glow they had when you first looked into them from across the bar and were now clouded over with a dark haze.

“Listen, the less you actually know about me, the better off you’ll be, princess.”

You laughed at how cliche he sounded, rolling your eyes obnoxiously so he was aware of your disapproval of his statement. His next action caught you off guard as he grabbed your chin roughly, holding it in place to assure you could only look him in the eyes.

“I mean it, now stop acting like a little brat, would ya?”

His eyes seemed a shade darker as he made his request. Little did he know being a brat was your most dominant personality trait. 

“Or what?”

Your challenge was met with a wicked grin stretched across Enigma’s face, his hand still holding your chin firmly. He paused momentarily to take a final drag of his spliff, blowing the smoke in your face slowly before ashing it on the nearby end table. He then led you back over to the edge of the bed and instructed you to strip before yanking you down aggressively, forcing you to drop to your knees. He sat down on the edge of the bed as you fell, undoing his pants and pulling his already semi-hard cock out. Not bothering to take off his pants he pulled your head to his crotch, slapping your cheek roughly with his cock a few times before forcing it into your mouth.

The initial hiss that left his mouth was venomous as he placed his hand on the back of your head firmly, forcing his cock to the back of your throat. Unfortunately for you, the sudden change of pace caught you a bit off guard and your gag reflexes failed you, a violent gagging sound filling the room. Enigma seemed to have found the sensation enjoyable, keeping your head down for a moment before letting you come up for air.

You gasped desperately for air as he grabbed your chin in his hand again, pulling your face up to look at him again.

“Oh c’mon princess, I know you can do better than that.”

Before you had time to react he forced his cock down your throat again, this time the gag was slightly less violent. You lasted much longer this time, breathing in through your nose as you deepthroated his cock. When you pressed your hand to his thigh to signaling you needed air yet again, he gladly obliged and pulled your head back slightly, allowing you to breathe, but not fully removing his cock from your mouth. Not a moment later he was pressing your head back down, this time his free hand coming up to pinch your nose shut as if to test how long you could truly take him. 

“That’s my good girl ,” he cooed.

As you started to hear your brain begging for oxygen you felt Enigma release his grip on your head, pushing you backward as he stood up. He allowed you to choke out a few harsh breaths before spinning you around, pressing your back up against the bed. He then grabbed your face once more and brought his cock back to your mouth, this time standing with a leg on either side of your seated body. You reached up to pump his cock and he pushed your hands away, instead of rolling his hips forward and pushing his cock into your mouth, not quite as far this time. He bucked his hips towards you at a vigorous pace, fucking your face to his heart's content. You tried choking out moans in between thrusts, but every time you did he made it a point to hit the back of your throat, causing you to gag.

Abruptly your mouth felt empty as Enigma bent over and wrapped his calloused hand just tight enough around your throat to make it hard to breathe. The wild look in his eyes excited you more than scared you, and you knew you were in for an interesting rest of your night.

“Now,” he said, his breath staggered and harsh, “You’re gonna be a good little slut for me and take all his cum in your mouth.” His words came out as a command, not a question. “But, you will not swallow until he says so, got it?”

You nodded your head, but the Enigma's brows furrow and he grabs your chin, shaking his head."

"Use your words," he barks, the command making your legs tremble.

"Yes," you breath out shakily.

"Yes, what?"

You quirk a brow before realizing the dynamic he was looking for, and deciding not to press your luck any further, you comply.

"Yes, sir."

Almost immediately following the words leaving your mouth his cock was back in it, hitting the back of your throat repeatedly as he began to fuck your face again. It wasn’t long before his thrusts became sloppy, indicating he was nearing his end. He pulled away from you slightly, grunting lightly as he began pumping his cock in your face.

“Please cum for me, sir,” you cooed, sticking your tongue back out and holding your mouth open for him. 

That encouragement was just enough to push him over the edge, his cock finding its way back into your mouth as you tasted his warm cum fill your mouth. When he finally removed his cock you collected all of his juices on your tongue, opening your mouth proudly to show you had followed instructions.

“Mhmm, such a filthy little whore,” he snickered, pulling you up to your feet and turning you to face the bed. He pulled your arms behind your back, holding them in place with one of his. You felt his breath creep up your neck as he brought his lips to your ear.

“Now, you’re gonna keep that cum in your mouth, until I allow you to swallow it, got it? I want you to savor the taste,” his command came out as a low rasp as he motioned for you to kneel on the edge of the bed. He slowly began to bend you over, spreading your legs and forcing you to arch your back slightly to allow himself easy access to your throbbing pussy.

You felt him run a finger over your slit lightly, teasing your entrance before pulling his hand away.

“Now, I already made you cum with my tongue… The question is,” he started, “Do I make you cum with my fingers or my cock next?”

His words only excited you, sending a chill up your spine as he began stroking your soaking wet pussy again with his digits. He made his way to your clit slowly, skillfully drawing circles around the sensitive bud when he found it. You then felt his fingers dip inside you, curling up just enough to graze your sensitive wall as he pumped them in and out of you. At the same time, he pressed his thumb to your aching clot, circling it in sync with his fingers that were buried in your pussy. He worked you relentlessly, your muffled moans only egging him on more. Your orgasm quickly came to the forefront as you leaned your hips back onto his hand, begging for the impending release. Your moans were quickly cut off as he removed his hand completely, your core quivering from the loss of stimulation.

“Huh uh uh,” he hummed, slapping your ass harshly, “I know you weren’t about to cum without permission, princess.”

The pet name added insult to injury as he brought his digits to his mouth, leaving you a blubbering mess attempting as best you could to beg him to touch you again.

“P-please,” you managed to squeak out, doing your best to preserve the salty liquid in your mouth.

“Please? Please, what?”

You cursed everything about your predicament, frustrated at not being able to properly beg.

“P-please fu-” you stuttered, “Fuck me!”

As you cried out your request your breath hitched in your throat as you felt his cock enter you suddenly, bottoming out inside of your throbbing pussy. The sudden sensation caused your mouth to fly open, an unholy moan escaping your lips as you tightened around his cock.

“Aw, princess, look at you,” he hummed from behind you, clearly pleased at the state he had you in. “Look at all that cum dripping from your mouth, looks like I won this round.”

He pulled his cock out of you quickly before snapping his hips forward again, almost knocking you on your face. You did your best to suppress the burning sensation in your core as he pumped into you mercilessly, nothing but your animalistic moans able to be heard over the sound of skin on skin.

“You better ask permission before you cum on my cock,” he grunted, continuing the relentless speed of his thrusts. His thrusts hitting just the right angle, allowing his cock to brush against your g-spot with precision.

“Please, sir,” you whimpered, tears welling in your eyes as you tried your best to suppress your climax, “please can I cum all over yo-, ah! Please let me cum on your cock!”

Your shriek rang through the room as a single tear fell from your eye, the intensity of the moment overwhelming you completely. 

You were suddenly yanked back towards Enigma’s chest, his hand wrapping around your throat tightly, but still allowing air to pass. He leaned his head against yours, his lips brushing against your ear as he continued to pump in and out of you.

“Cum for me, princess.”

Relief washed over you as you felt a hard hand come down on your left ass cheek before gripping your hip tightly, holding you in place. Your head immediately fell as you felt your core tense up with pleasure, however, your head was pulled back up by Enigma’s hand tightening around your throat. You opened your eyes to meet your reflection, realizing the entire headboard was a large mirror. 

“Don’t you go closing those eyes on me,” he groaned in your ear, lowering his hand from your hip down to the sensitive bud just above your entrance. “I want you to watch yourself cum all over this cock.”

His words sent you over the edge as you took in the scene now laid out before you. His possessive grip over you was menacing as he focused solely on pleasuring you. His wings were puffed out and disheveled, a few stray feathers threatening to fall from where they laid. Another tear fell from your eye and you weren’t sure if it was from the overstimulation or from the wave of sheer euphoria that was washing over your body. 

The air was filled with your moans and profanities as you watched Enigma fuck you through your orgasm, his grip slowly slipping from your neck and his thrusts growing sloppy, signaling his own end. The intensity of this orgasm was none like you’d ever felt before, causing your vision to go blurry as it ripped through your body.

“Oh, fuck , (Y/N),” he cursed, struggling to suppress his own release. You tilted your head back towards him, and when you did you felt him crash his lips into yours for a sloppy kiss.

After he pulled away, his cock still ramming into you from behind, you returned your gaze to the mirror to meet his eyes.

“Please cum inside me, sir. I want you to fill me up-”

You could hardly get the last sentence out because of Enigma’s tightened grip on your throat, his thrusts quickening suddenly. Your name fell from his lips repeatedly as he emptied his load into you, some of the liquid running down your leg as it combined with your own. His thrusts slowly came to a halt, and it wasn’t until they did that you realized your legs were shaking.

You also hadn’t realized just how much Enigma was supporting your body weight until he released you from his grip, causing you to collapse on the bed before him. He followed suit rather quickly, pulling the duvet over both of your now naked bodies. 

The silence in the air was a nice contrast to the noises that filled the air just moments ago. You laid in the same position for a moment, only moving because Enigma pulled you to his chest. You listened to his heartbeat level out as his chest rose and fell with each breath, helping you to level out your own breathing. The final wave of bliss washed over you as you came back down from your high, finally able to process all of the events of the night. 

Your body was still on fire, still processing the intense rush of emotions you were feeling for the man whose arms you laid in. You weren’t a believer in love at first sight, but the way you opened up to him was something you never in a million years would have done with just anyone. There was something different about him, and though you couldn’t put a finger on it yet, you were determined to get to the bottom of it. Especially if it meant you got to have more nights like this. You tilted your head up to meet his gaze, finally breaking the silence in the room.

“You never told me your real name,” you started, opting to ignore the many questions still lingering in your mind over what happened to him hours prior. You wanted this moment to last forever, but knowing it couldn’t you decided to savor it.

He remained quiet for a moment before parting his lips as if he was pondering whether or not to tell you. After another moment of deafening silence, you heard his low voice ring through the air.

“It’s Keigo,” he nearly whispered, as if afraid someone may overhear.

You looked up and met his eyes, now back to the beautiful golden color you first saw. You leaned in and placed a chaste kiss on his lips, running your finger over the bruise on the other side, reminding him you hadn’t forgotten about it.

“Thank you for tonight, Keigo,” you cooed before nuzzling yourself back into his chest. His only response was holding you tightly, placing a kiss on your forehead as you drifted off to sleep, finally succumbing to your exhaustion.

If you made it to the end of this I am not sure whether to be impressed or embarrassed (at myself) bc why tf was this so long 0_o I wrote this 3 years ago and wanted to bring it to tumblr so it wasn't so lonely on AO3 lol :3

as always, lemme know what you think, and if you liked it, I would love it if you liked and reblogged to spread the love <3 ✨come say hai :3✨

Do not copy, repost or translate.

[mullermilkshake]

Yakuza!Kento in the bedroom.

Yakuza!Kento Nanami x Fem!reader

Kento is all on his own, but he hopes not for long.

Yakuza!Kento has no experience with you in the bedroom just yet, but that doesn't mean he doesn't think about it every waking moment. Now that he's introduced himself to you properly instead of just watching you from a distance, you are all he wants. (As if he didn't already know that)

Yakuza!Kento has increased his communication with you in the form of calls and meet ups in coffee shops and bars. It gives him plenty of material to fantasise about to see you in that lower cut shirt or clinging body-con dress bringing out your eyes beautifully.

Yakuza!Kento goes home and touches himself whenever he can. Just thinking about you. Some call it desperate and some call it weird, but until Kento can verbalise just how much he does adore you once he knows how you feel about him, playing with his cock is the only way to stop him from telling you that he loves you. (Far to early)

Yakuza!Kento can't afford to trip over his tongue when he wants it buried in your pussy until you beg him to stop. And that's what makes him hard as soon as he walks through the door. He can't help himself when the material of his pants strains.

Yakuza!Kento barely makes it to his bed before his cock is out and in his hand, twitching and throbbing because you looked beautiful. So stunning that all he could think about was fucking you over the bar or in the upscale carpeted bathroom where he'd pay the restroom attendant to leave so he can devour you.

Yakuza!Kento wonders what your moans sound like. Are they raspy and breathless? Or are they loud and uncontrollable? He hopes they are a little bit of both because he wants you as loud as you can be, knowing his fingers are deep inside you before his cock is.

Yakuza!Kento finishes all over his chest and stomach when he comes, but he'd rather it be all over yours. Your breasts, stomach, pussy and face. Everywhere, anywhere, mixed together with your own fluids. Perfect thoughts, laying there on his bed mustering up the courage to see past the clarity he gains to clean himself off.

Yakuza!Kento feels ashamed, but he also craves your touch and longs for it. Just the pressure of your lips to his, or a quick brush of your finger tips on his hand. A grab of his cock-

Fuck. That just gets him hard again.

Tag list:

@veras-fanfic-reblogs, @nanamineedstherapy, @lovelyysuku, @paradisestarfishh, @nadja-1607, @incog07, @inthedarkshadows000, @jinjen, @kbirdieee2540, @silkysub, @itznyxii, @clio-ismene, @lil-meowmeow, @pppppppppppsposts, @bambambam-beh, @nasalogys, @rrtfon67, @heyheyheyheyheyheyhry, @chososwifey24-7, @sumire-oo, @sumire-o,@celloccino

[sixpennydame]

dark side of the moon⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ [chapter 2]

Pairing: Yakuza!Levi x F!reader

Word count: 6.2k

Newly out of prison, Levi is thrown back into life in the yakuza.

Series Content/Warnings: mafia/yakuza AU, flashbacks, slow burn, mystery, cyberpunk, sci fi, non-binary Hange Zoe, eventual smut, dark content, graphic violence and sexual content

Author's Note: A huge thank you to my beta reader @bitchymanlet - you were such a big help through this!

next chapter/masterlist/AO3

“Inmate 012025, Ackerman. It’s time.”

With a loud thud, the heavy, titanium doors slide open, and bright light fills the small cell.

”Hands against the back wall. Make it quick.”

Levi stands up and walks to the back of his cell. With a sigh he raises his hands and presses them against the wall.

Immediately a guard grabs his arms and places them behind his back, before clicking the cold cuffs around his wrists.

“Don’t give us any trouble now, Ackerman.”

As if he would do something today, of all days.

The two guards lead him down the corridor, past all the other cell doors; Levi can feel the other inmates staring out from the tiny window on their cell door. Their eyes follow him, wild and predatory.

But Levi Ackerman had never been their prey.

One of the guards presses a code into a keypad and another heavy door opens. There’s a series of offices, all behind thick-plated, forcefield glass.  The three men move toward a desk where a woman with blue hair, deep wrinkles and uninterested eyes types in the air. With a blink of her eyes, the screen before her disappears.

”Ackerman, Levi?”

Levi nods and the woman takes a device that scans his eye, confirming his identity. 

“Hold out your right hand.”

He does so, while she scans another device over his wrist. There’s a sharp sting, and then the glowing tattoo of his inmate number - 012025 - was gone.

“That takes care of the detection device implanted inside your wrist,” she informs in a monotone voice.

Levi touches the silver button behind his left ear. “What about my cerebral comm system?” 

“It’s been completely deleted. You’ll have to have someone reactivate it.”

The woman moves to a back room and returns with a large vinyl bag.

”Here are your belongings. You can change there.” She gestures to a door just outside their office cluster. 

Levi takes the items, walks to the room and closes the door. He steps out of the grey prison jumpsuit and stands there in just his underwear, looking at the stack of clothing he hasn’t seen or felt in almost five years: a black t-shirt, black combat pants, boots, socks..

He puts on each item, and wonders if he’ll feel different - if he’ll revert back to the man he used to be before he was put behind titanium bars.

But he doesn’t feel different. He doesn’t feel….anything.

When he finishes dressing, the guards walk him to the outer gate of the prison. The forcefield comes down and Levi takes his first step outside as a free man.

”You’re late. I’ve been waiting out here for over 30 minutes,” comes a voice from behind him.

Levi turns to see a tall man with sandy brown hair leaning against a cherry red vehicle. “I thought you’d done something to get another year added to your sentence.”

”Tch, as if I had any say in what time they’d release me.”

”You look like shit.”

”Takes a piece of shit to know one.” 

Both men glare at each other, then the tall one smirks. “Good to see you again, Levi.” He pats him on the shoulder.

”You too, Farlan..” Levi replies warmly.

”Come on, let’s get you out of here.” 

The car’s engine purrs as Farlan weaves in and out of traffic. Levi is enveloped by the leather seat, the glow of the neon accents inside reflecting off of Farlan’s dark suit coat.

”Looks like you’re doing well for yourself,” Levi says.

“The last few years I’ve been managing all our legit businesses, making sure they look good on paper. At least good enough that nobody will snoop around further.”

”So you’re a paper pusher,” Levi remarks. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

”Beats fixing the books for underground gambling rings,” Farlan answers defensively. “It’s the same concept though, just a different arena. I’m suited for this.”

Farlan had always been smart. He knew how to work the angles and how to get people to let down their guard.

They’d met at the orphanage they were both put in during one of Neo Tokyo’s efforts to, “alleviate the growing population of homeless children littering the city’s streets.” Farlan had convinced Levi that his calorie bar - the only thing they received for dinner - was infested with invisible larvae and that if he gave it to him he'd get another one. Finally figuring out he’d been conned, the next day he punched Farlan in the face and took his daily ration. 

They’d been friends ever since. 

During their teenage and young adult years with the Ackerman clan, everyone knew their names. They had their hands in almost every backalley operation - from gambling to fights and everything in between.

And if Farlan had been the brains of their operation, then Levi was the brawn. Farlan could shake people down through intellect, and when that didn’t work, Levi would beat them to a pulp. Together, they were feared and respected.

They had been equals. But now, after five years, Levi felt left behind.

“So where are you taking me? I need a shower.” Levi scrunches his nose at the musty smell emanating from his clothing.

”To your apartment. I made sure they didn’t touch anything. It’s all there as you left it.”

”Probably a dusty mess…but thanks for looking after the place.”

”Wasn’t that hard. Not like you had much stuff in there.”

”…and Isabel?” Levi asks tentatively, afraid to know the answer.

”Still functioning, and still entirely devoted to you. She could barely contain her excitement today.”

Levi felt a rush of relief. He never thought he’d feel any sort of affection for an android, but Isabel was different. She was a friend and comrade, and had saved his ass on more than one occasion, stitching up his cuts and gashes from a fight or standing beside him during a back alley brawl. But he was often surprised by how human she behaved sometimes, tearing up when she’d see a dead animal on the side of the road, or stealing food to give to a needy family. 

Sometimes he thought she was more human than he was. 

The buildings grew higher and higher the closer they got to the city center, their reach seeming to pierce the orange-red sky of the late afternoon. The next thing he knew, Farlan was pulling up to his apartment building, both of them entering the elevator decorated with layers upon layers of graffiti, and finally walking down the hallway and standing in front of his apartment door. 

It was finally hitting him. He was free.

”I bought you some suits, hopefully they fit. Though you do look like you’ve bulked up a bit.”

”Not much else to do in prison but exercise. I tried to train as much as I could, too. I wanna get back into the ring.” 

“After all this, you still want to fight?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“It’s just…nevermind. Take a shower, get dressed,” Farlan hesitates. “Oyabun wants to see you this evening.”

“Oyabun…” Levi repeats, the word turning sour in his mouth. “Your professionalism is getting on my nerves. You don’t have to talk to me like I’m some new recruit.” 

“That’s who he is, Levi. He deserves our respect.”

Levi grimaces. “So Kenny’s pulling my leash already, huh?”

”Levi.. I know things were…strained between the two of you before, but he kept you protected while you were in prison.”

”Bullshit.”

”Believe what you want.” Farlan waves his hand in surrender before walking towards the door. “I’ll be back this evening.”

”Don’t bother, I can drive there myself. Where’s my bike?”

“It needed some tuning up since it’s been out of commission for so long. Isabel’s getting it ready for you.” Farlan turns to grin at his friend. “So you’re stuck with being chauffeured by me just a little longer. See you in a few hours.”

The door shuts and Levi is surrounded by silence. It’s a different sound than he’s used to; even though it’s the space he lived in for years, it feels unfamiliar and new.

His eyes scan the room; it really was exactly as he left it. Always the minimalist, his small sofa nestled in a corner across from a dining table with two chairs. No pictures, no books; the only personal item was an antique ceramic teapot and two cups.

”Petra.”

Suddenly, the lights fade up in the room, as if the apartment itself was coming to life.

”Welcome back, Levi,” the female voice resonates in the space, “it’s good to have you back. I haven’t been activated in such a long time.”

”Yeah, I’ve been…away.”

”Shall I prepare you some tea?”

”That’d be great,” Levi pulls off his shirt, “but I’d like to take a bath first.”

There’s a chime of recognition and then, “The bath water is ready. Please relax, sir.”

”Thanks.”

Levi had always felt prompted to treat Petra respectfully, even though he knew she was just an apartment AI - an assistant built into almost every home in Neo Tokyo. But it was so rare for him to hear a kind word from anyone in his life, so hearing her voice made him feel like he was being reunited with an old friend.

He takes off his clothes and turns on the shower, taking a sponge to wash away the dirt and grime from his body and hoping in some small way, that it might wash away some of the memories as well. 

But those proved harder to get rid of. He knew only time could do that.

He finally sinks into the steaming bath water and a heavy sigh escapes his lips; he can feel his muscles relaxing with the heat, years of built up tension slowly melting away. The Martians of Neo Tokyo knew what an important resource water was, but now Levi felt it in his very bones. 

Stepping out of the bath, he looked at his naked body in the mirror. He was bulkier than he was five years ago, Farlan was right about that. His lean, muscular frame, useful for street fighting and cage matches, was now replaced by more defined arms and chest; it was noticeable now, even beneath the tattoos swirling on his body. 

A giant eagle, designed in the classical Japanese style, stretched across the length and width of his back; its wings outstretched and talons out, as if attacking prey. A red moon shone from his right shoulder and clouds wrapped around his torso, swirling up his abs and around his pectoral muscles. Over his left pec was the Ackerman clan crest, the Japanese character for power, 力, encased inside a circle.

That had been his first tattoo, when he was initiated into the Ackerman clan as a teenager. That felt like an eternity ago now.

His yakuza tattoos covered many of the scars Levi had received throughout his life, but there were new scars from his years of incarceration. He collected them all like badges of honor; evidence that he’d survived another day.

He found his electric shaver and erased the light stubble growing on his face, then decided to shave his undercut again, just like he’d always had it. But this time, he kept his hair slightly longer than it had been before. He slicked it back with a comb, exposing the sharp features of his face - flawless, except for one scar running through his right eyebrow, breaking it in two and barely missing his eye.

He’d forgotten how he'd received most of his scars, but that one…

…he’d never forget that night.

Wrapping a towel around his waist, he walks to his bedroom.

”Petra, I’ll take that tea now. Green jasmine.”

”Right away,” she responds. 

As Farlan had promised, there were several suits hanging in the small closet. The yakuza were old fashioned, and clan members always preferred the look of the classic, tailored suit, in contrast to the bright and bold fashions prevalent on the streets of the city. Levi scans each one and decides on a dark navy blue suit with a white shirt. In a drawer are several ties, but he decides to forgo them and instead keeps the top two buttons undone, slightly exposing his chest tattoos that start just under his collarbone.

If Kenny wants him to wear a suit then he’ll do it his way.

He rummages through another drawer and finds his gold earring stud. The hole in his ear has grown smaller but he pushes it through, wincing just a bit as it breaks through skin. He welcomes the pain, though. Pain has always made him feel alive.

“Your tea is ready, sir.”

Levi takes the tea cup from the food preparation compartment and eases into a chair that’s facing his balcony window. How long has it been since he’s had a steaming cup? Tea wasn’t the type of contraband that could be obtained in prison, no matter what an inmate had to trade. He lifts the cup to his lips and takes a sip, breathing in the aroma.

”These are imported leaves from off-planet. Where did you get them?”

Petra blinks on. “Mr. Church wanted to make sure that you had the best for your homecoming.”

Levi’s lips turn upward into a faint smirk. 

Farlan.

He guesses his old friend can afford things like this now. No more slumming it like they did when they were kids. He’d made his way in the world, and now Levi wanted to as well.

But first things first…

He finishes his tea then grabs his suit jacket. “Petra, I’ll be back later,” he says to the room, before stepping out of his apartment and into the city streets. The sun was just starting to set, creating a copper glow to the sky as it reflected off the high rise buildings and skyscrapers. Neo Tokyoites filled the sidewalks, bustling from one place to the next, but no one drifted an eye toward Levi as he walked along the city streets - just another face in the crowd. 

The city hadn’t changed much since Levi had left it, but even if it had, he could make it to his destination with his eyes closed. He takes a right, then a left, turning into a narrow alley and scaring a cat or two before arriving at an unmarked door. 

He knocks once, a pause, then two more quick knocks.

There’s commotion on the other side of the door, as if someone is scrambling towards it. Then it bolts open.

“Aniki! I knew you’d come!”

A small red-headed young woman throws her arms around Levi’s neck, practically throwing his body across the alley. 

“See? Didn’t I tell you he’d come right away?” she boasts as she pulls him through the space Levi had once used for training. His punching bag was still there, gathering cobwebs in the corner, along with his other training equipment, but the rest of the room was now littered with electronics and various tools.

And sitting in another corner was Farlan, scrolling through his comm device as he lounged in one of the only chairs in the entire space.

“Isabel knew you wouldn’t stay in your apartment for long, so I thought I might as well just wait for you here. Saves me a trip, anyway.” Farlan smirks.

Isabel can hardly contain her excitement. “The trio is back together, just like old times!”

Old times…Levi thinks as he looks around the space. Everything - and he’s sure everyone - has changed, but it’s a relief to see that Isabel is still the same. 

Levi puts his hand on the top of her head. “Glad to see that Kenny didn’t get rid of you once I was arrested.”

“What? No way! Farlan got me out of there the moment you were busted. He’s been getting me steady work ever since, working on bikes and cars, even some augments here and there.” Her face beams, “Kenny may have thought me a useless android, but I’ve been making my own way.”

That also gave Levi some relief. Throughout these past years, he’d wondered what had become of the spunky little android he’d saved from the wrecking yard. 

Levi had always had a soft spot for things that were considered broken beyond repair. 

“Isabel, I need you to reboot my cerebral comm connection.” 

“Oh yeah, yeah, not a problem.” Isabel takes his hand again and leads him to a part of the room with a computer connected to a multitude of cables. 

Levi sits on what looks almost like an examining table, leaning his face into the light above. “You’ve got quite the set up here.”

“Since I’m not a certified augmentation android, I have to stay under the radar, so most of my clients come from Farlan or from word of mouth.” 

Isabel rolls her chair over to Levi. “Just turn your head to the right for me…” One of her small hands finds the silver button behind his left ear and with one swipe of her tool, pops it out.

 “Let’s see what I can do here..”

There’s a slight sense of pressure as Isabel sticks a cable into the port, connecting Levi to her computer. She rolls back over to her station, clicking her keyboard methodically.  

“All your contacts are still here…at least they didn’t try to wipe your memory for names and information.”

“Oh they tried,” Levi remarks, “but it didn’t work. Seems my Ackerman genes are good for more than just kicking people’s asses.”

“I bet that pissed them off,” Farlan adds, still scrolling through the air with his pointer finger as images only he can see moves across his eyes.

“Almost there..” Isabel says, intensely concentrated on her computer screen.

There’s a few more clicks of her keyboard, and then Levi feels a slight jolt of electricity through his head.

“And that should be it.” Isabel rolls back over the Levi, disconnecting him and replacing the silver button. “You should be connected to your old contact list now.”

“Thanks.” Levi pats her head again and she grins from ear to ear. 

“I’ll have your bike ready for you tomorrow.” The red-head responds while Levi gets up from the examining table. Farlan gets up, giving both of them a look that says it’s time to go. As Isabel walks them to the door she puts a tentative hand on Levi’s arm.

“Aniki…once the word is out that you’ve been released, people are going to wonder when you’ll start fighting again.” 

“That’s a good question, and one I’m about to get an answer to,” he responds. 

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

The Ackerman Clan headquarters was housed in a nondescript, four-story building, just on the outskirts of the entertainment district. The only thing that made it stand out from the other business buildings was the Ackerman crest emblazoned next to the door; no other signs were needed, and inhabitants of Neo Tokyo didn’t have to be fluent in Japanese to know its meaning…

Power. The word that’s synonymous with Ackerman.

Farlan pulls up and the door to his car lifts up automatically. “Oyabun is in his office - I assume you remember where everything is.”

“You’re not coming in.”

“Nah, not this time. Kenny wanted to meet with you privately, and I have a meeting to get to, anyway. I’ll see you later this evening.”

Levi steps out of the car, straightening his suit jacket before stepping up to the door. The moment he touches the handle the door unlocks for him.

At least he knows he hasn’t been completely shut out of the organization.

There are voices coming from the second floor - new recruits, most likely, being made to clean and prepare dinner for the evening. Levi remembered the hierarchical structure well; it was something he’d also had to go through in his teenage years. But unlike the others here, he wasn’t recruited into this clan.

It was something he was born into.

The elevator takes him to the top floor, which was reserved entirely for the clan’s leader. Levi walks through the empty reception area and knocks on the office door.

“Come in,” a low, gravelly voice answers.

Behind the door is a room split in half; the front part serving as a reception area and in the back, a broad desk surrounded by pictures of past leaders. The man behind the desk grins broadly then stands up, gesturing to Levi to come in. His face shares many of the same features as Levi: a sharp profile and even sharper eyes of a stormy grey hue. He’s taller than Levi, however, and leaner, with a powerful aura that fills the entire space.  

“Look who’s back from the dead,” he says, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

Levi scoffs at the phrase, but it’s true; the last few years in prison made him feel like a corpse, a half-life that dragged on and on. In a way, he has been resurrected.

“Kenny…” he says sharply, “you wanted to see me.”

”Of course I did! It’s not every day that I can celebrate the release of my nephew from prison.” He gives Levi a once-over. “You survived with all your limbs, that’s good. And you look strong,” he frowns, “but not any taller.”

Kenny laughs at his own joke and then offers for Levi to sit, but he refuses, standing in front of the broad desk with his arms crossed. 

“And no better sense of humor either,” Kenny deadpans before sitting on the edge of his desk. “Always so serious. But no matter…let’s get right to business.”

At that, Levi finally sits, though he’s on edge and alert, not sure where this conversation might go.

Kenny walks behind his desk where a katana sword is displayed. He picks it up and slowly removes it from the sheath.

“You know, Levi, we Ackermans have been feared for our strength for generations, even before we were yakuza. This power has shaped us into what we are today. I’ve been preparing you to take on this role someday, but you’ve been a pain in my ass from the beginning: disobedient, disorderly, and headstrong. That fire in you needed to be beaten into submission.”

Light glistens off the katana as Kenny moves about the room. “I let you do those cage matches because it gave you a purpose and kept you compliant. But when you started earning huge sums of money, and weren’t paying your dues to me and your brothers - well, that just wouldn’t do.”

Kenny stands in front of Levi now, the katana held loosely at his side. “I hope your time in prison taught you a thing or two about respect, Levi. What I say, goes. Always.”

He pauses, as if expecting to get some sort of reply from Levi, but gets none.

“You were supposed to lose that match - that was the deal we’d set - not beat the humanoid within an inch of his life. You lost me an incredible amount of money, and respect from the Reiss Agency. So you needed to be taught a lesson.”

Levi’s hands ball into fists in his lap, his nails digging into his palms. He takes a deep breath before he responds. “Consider the lesson learned. When can I start fighting again?”

“Fighting?” Kenny laughs. “You think I’m gonna put you in the ring again after that stunt you pulled? Abso-fucking-lutely not. It’s time you started preparing for a bigger leadership role.”

Levi grits his teeth. He wants to grab that katana Kenny holds and slice him right down the middle. 

He could do it - he’s strong, probably stronger than Kenny now. He could do it and finally be free. 

He takes a breath. No, this isn’t the time.

Be smart…

Kenny presses a button on his desk and a few seconds later, a tall, blonde woman enters.

“Sir,” she says in a stern, serious voice.

“Levi, you remember Caven. She’s my wakagashira now.” He grins. “The title you should have had. I suppose you’ll have to usurp her someday.” Levi can tell that it gives Kenny no greater joy than to think of the two of them fighting for the role and for his approval. 

Caven’s eyes slide towards Levi, her body on edge, as if Kenny could call for them to fight any minute. Kenny laughs. “But that’s a problem for another day. Caven, introduce Levi to the new shatei - he’ll be in charge of them now.”

At that, Levi stands up. “What? I don’t want to be in charge of some brats.”

“Oh, but you will, Levi. Because what I say goes.” Kenny’s eyes darken and his voice lowers. He walks towards Levi, looking down at him, the katana still in his hand. “Got it?”

Levi looks away, wordlessly conceding to Kenny’s demand. He turns to follow Caven out of the office.

”I guess this is when I’m supposed to welcome you back,” she says coldly.

”Don’t bother. We don’t have to pretend that we like each other.”

They both walk down the stairs to the second floor. “I’m not sure what you mean, Levi. You’re my brother. We’re all family here - or did you forget that while you were in prison?” 

Levi clicks his tongue at the statement. He always thought the yakuza’s obsession with family laughable; if this was supposed to be a family, then it was the most dysfunctional one he’d ever known. 

Not that he’d really ever known anything else.

The brief times he’d ever felt the true bonds of family was when he was with Farlan and Isabel, or as a small child, when it was just him and his mother. But those years were fading from his memory with every year he grew older.

“Speaking of which,” Caven opens the door to the second floor, where there are clattering and raised voices coming from the living area.

”I told you to clean this place up!”

”I did! Why can’t we just have androids do this?”

”There are no androids here, idiot. Oyabun is against it. Now hurry up, our brothers are gonna be here soon.”

Caven pinches the bridge of nose and gives a heavy sigh. “Connie! Jean! Get out here.”

Two young men emerge from the room: one on the smaller side, with silvery grey hair and a buzz cut; the other tall and lanky, his light brown hair growing slighting over his undercut. 

They both look at each other then at Levi, mouths slightly agape. Caven clears her throat, clearly disappointed at their sudden lack of manners.

”Connie, Jean, this is Levi. He’ll be your big brother from now on and will prepare you to be a true member of the clan.”

”Levi… Ackerman…we heard all about you,” Jean says, bowing deeply. When he sees Connie still standing there staring, he pulls him down as well. “It’s an honor, sir…uh, aniki.”

They both stay in a bow and Levi shifts uncomfortably. “What am I supposed to do with them?”

”Take them around on neighborhood patrols and payment collections. You know, standard stuff.” Caven raises an eyebrow. “Unless you’ve forgotten the basics.”

Levi gives Caven a cold look, then walks over to his new younger brothers, their bodies still at a ninety degree angle. 

“Ok, that’s enough. You don’t have to bow to me.” Levi looks around the space as they stand up. “You were cleaning?”

Jean rubs the back of his head nervously. “Yeah…then we were gonna start cooking dinner after we finish this…”

Levi’s discerning eyes continue to survey the room, seeing every hairball and clump of dirt left behind. “Oh, you are nowhere near finished.” He hangs up his suit jacket. “You. Baldy.” His finger points at Connie. “Go get the mop. Jacques – ”

“...it’s Jean, sir..” 

“-- get a rag and start wiping everything down.”

“But we just cleaned —,” Connie interjects, but when Levi glances towards him, his mouth clamps shut.

“I’ll leave you all to it, then,” Caven says, sauntering away. “Good luck, you two.”

Connie and Jean immediately start their tasks. Levi rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt.

”I’m sure you’ve heard lots of things about me, but one thing you should know right now: I do not tolerate filth.”

”Yes, aniki!” They both answer.

”I’ll start on dinner prep. You two join me when you finish here.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

It’s not long until other clan members start ambling into the building for dinner. Levi hears their voices before he sees them, and the corners of his mouth curl into a slight smile.

”It smells cleaner in here! Could it be?” 

A tall man with long, blonde hair strides into the kitchen. “If it’s not the man himself! Oi! Levi’s back, everyone!”

“Pipe down, Eld, the whole damn neighborhood can hear you,” Levi chides, before shaking his hand. “Good to see you again.”

“Shit, I don’t believe my eyes. Levi!” Another man enters, patting Levi on the back generously. 

“Gunther..”

“It’s about time they let you out..” comes a lackadaisical voice from the back. Levi turns to see a third man, arms crossed, leaning against the wall, a cigarette hanging from his mouth. 

“Well you know, Oluo, I had to get back here and beat your ass back into shape.”

Eld and Gunther laugh, but Oluo frowns. “Come on, Levi, I’m a lot stronger now. You’ll see.”

Levi feels a bit uncomfortable with all this attention on him, but it’s expected; these are men he’d known since they were new recruits. He’d done jobs with them, showed them how to take a punch and even give them when needed. It’s amazing how much they’ve changed in just these few years.

He wonders what else has changed in this organization. 

“I see you’ve met the little brothers,” Eld says, grabbing Connie and putting him in a headlock.

“I’m in charge of them, actually.”

“Damn,” Oluo laughs. “Hope you two are up for it.”

“Up for what?” Jean asks.

Oluo smirks as he sits down with the others at the table. “For the daily ass beatings you’re gonna get if you don’t keep the damn place spotless.”

Everyone laughs except Connie, Jean, and Levi, who looks at his two little brothers. “They are right about that.”

Connie and Jean eat their food quietly, listening to the stories being told around the table by the others about Levi. He shifts in his chair uncomfortably; he doesn’t particularly like being talked about like he’s some history report, but he’s content enough to listen, especially as the conversation shifts to updates on the clan and its newest exploits.

Hours pass with more stories being told and alcohol being drunk, until Caven walks through the door, a serious look on her face.

“There’s been a disturbance at Club Azure. Some members of the Jaeger Clan are causing a scene and harassing the hostesses. Levi, Kenny wants you to take care of it.”

Before Levi can even respond or refuse, she’s on her way out the door, but stops, glancing at him behind her shoulder. “And take Connie and Jean with you.”

“Fucking Jaeger Clan, thinking they can mess around on our territory,” Gunther says, his hands balling into fists. “Unfortunately for them, Levi’s back.”

Without a word, Levi gets up from the table and grabs his jacket.

“Those Jaegers won’t know what hit ‘em,” Oluo adds. 

“Come on,” Levi finally says to his two brothers, who scramble away from the table and file behind him. “Let’s get this over with.”

Levi hadn’t realized how much time had gone by that evening until he stepped out into the brightly lit streets of the entertainment district. Signs flashed and holograms coaxed patrons to step inside their clubs, while drunks stumbled around them, yelling about which bar to hit up next. 

Pachinko parlors, night clubs and host and hostess bars lit up every corner of every block; and when these institutions closed in the early morning light, there was still entertainment to be found in the sex clubs and soap lands. 

And every one of them was protected by the Ackerman Clan.

“Does Hange still own Club Azure?” Levi asks as they make their way to the club, an easy walk from the clan headquarters.

“Yeah,” Jean answers, “but I’ve heard times have been tough over there.”

“Tough for a lot of the clubs these days, I heard,” Connie adds. “Members of the Jaeger Clan have been busting shit up around here recently and scaring customers away.”

Levi wants to ask more about this Jaeger Clan, but they’ve already arrived at the doors of the club. By the time the three men enter, there are raised voices amidst the smooth jazz music.

“We got ourselves a non-aug!”

Levi hears a voice say over the others. He looks over to the source of the noise and sees a man - probably no more than nineteen or twenty - being slapped by one of the hostesses.

“Don’t you touch me,” the woman says.

A few seconds later, he sees the man backhand the woman.

And that’s when something ignites in Levi.

“Stay here,” he says to Connie and Jean, wasting no time in walking toward the disturbance. The man grabs the woman’s face hard, saying something about not fucking with the Jaeger clan.

“Oi.”

From then on, Levi goes into combat mode, the rest of the world fading away as he throws the man across the room. He senses the rest of the men gathering around him; he deals with them one by one, barely breaking a sweat.

The leader reaches for a weapon in his jacket, but Levi is faster, his knife in his hand in the blink of an eye.

Even in the heat of the moment, his breathing is calm, his heartbeat is steady, and his concentration is laser focused. He feels his strength coursing through him.

The feeling of his fist against skin, his punches sending a resounding crack across the room…

This is who he is. This is what he does.

He blinks a few times when he sees them scrambling away, the room incredibly silent, until - 

“Thank you so much, um..”

You’re in front of him suddenly.

Your dress does little to hide every curve of your body, and every bit of skin that is revealed shows not a single tattoo or augmentation. He blinks a few more times to focus on your face, and it’s like time stands still. Tears have formed in the corners of your eyes, probably from the force of the blow to your cheekbone, but your eyes are still bright, undefeated. 

No longer able to hold your gaze, he gives you his name and turns away. 

Why is his heart beating so fast?

When he reaches the bar he turns around to see you being whisked off by another hostess.

“Whew! Well that was not how I wanted this evening to end.” Hange says, leaning against the bar and looking at Levi. “And when I called Caven, I had no idea you were gonna show up. I didn’t even know you were out of prison.”

“I just got out today.”

Hange laughs and pours him a drink. “I bet this wasn’t the welcome you had in mind.”

“Who’s that girl? The one that got hit.”

“That’s Luna. She just started here today. Guess you two have something in common there.”

“She’s not augmented?”

“Nope. Pure as snow. Not that I’ve ever seen snow before.” Hange pours a drink for themself and downs it in one gulp.

“Where is she from?”

“Earth… Why do you want to know so much about her?”

That breaks Levi from his concentration on you. He doesn’t answer, but instead shifts on the bar stool and takes a swig of his drink. 

“It’s natural to have those urges, Levi. You’ve been in prison for so long,” Hange’s voice has a teasing lilt.

“Fuck you, Hange.”

“Not even on a good day, Levi. But she might.” Hange gestures to the dressing room where you’ve been taken.

Wanting to get away from the conversation, Levi gulps down his drink and stands up. “I’ll take my guys and search the perimeter of the club to make sure they’ve left.”

“My hero, just like old times!” Hange yells out, as Levi and the other two walk towards the exit of the club. “Don’t be a stranger!”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

“Hange has a new girl working at Azure.”

It’s the first thing Levi says to Farlan when he picks him up the next morning. He hasn’t been able to think about much else since last night.

”You’re not usually interested in the products.”

“She’s from Earth.”

”So what?” Farlan counters.  “There’s lots of Earth refugees here; in fact, many of them work in that sweatshop Kenny has, making fake….”

”She’s not augmented. At all. Not one mark or change.”

Farlan looks up. He knows where this is going. “That’s not a rarity for Earthlings, Levi. It’s a coincidence.”

“What if it’s not?”

”What difference would it make now? What’s done is done, Levi. You can’t change the past.”

”That’s easy for you to say.”

”Look, I know you want answers, but you’re not gonna find them in some girl from Earth. You have a chance to start things over. Don’t stir shit up.”

But it was too late. Levi’s curiosity had already been piqued. His gut told him there was more to you than what you seemed, and he wanted to know what that was.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Glossary of terms:

Oyabun - title given to the leader of a yakuza group

Aniki - “older brother”, used to refer to someone who is considered a superior

Wakagashira - a lieutenant, works directly under the Oyabun

Shatei - “younger brothers”, they work under the more experienced “older brothers” (kyodai) of a yakuza clan

Pachinko Parlor - a mechanical game like pinball, used for gambling

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[sashi-ya]

東京 NIGHTS mini event

𝑨 𝑫𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑲, 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑹𝑨𝑴𝑬𝑵 𝑻𝑶𝑶 ㅤㅤ 𓂃 ࣪˖ trafalgar law x f! reader

⤹˚ synopsis. would you invite your work colleague Law for ramen after some drinks at the bar?

requested by: @leftladyluminary ➡ May I request Law + A drink after work in a little bar of Shinjuku Golden Gai with a fem reader maybe a little nsfw (or completely lol) tw: MNDI. alcohol usage. nami x vivi heavily implied. abusive coworkers. law saving the night. smut with a "lot" of "plot". mutual pinning that both realized about it just now. oral. nipple play. vag sex. unprotected sex. creampie implied. did they eat the ramen? who knows. The bar does exist! it's the Bar Coo at Shinjuku Golden Gai! same as the train station (Yamanote Line, from Shibuya to Ueno) wc: 4.7k (sowwy) masterlist

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤI need sleep. I need sleep. I need sleep “(Name), come with us to the izakaya! Let’s have some beers!” ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤI just want to go home… “Law is coming too, it’s a miracle!” ㅤLaw? Law? I think I can afford yet another night of barely three hours sleep…

ㅤ“I’ll be there in a minute, let me turn off my computer and grab my coat!”

It’s not new information that your jobs are overexploiting you, working for such big company as the Don Quijote chain requires a lot. It is also not new information that once in a while -almost every time- you need to go have some drinks with your colleagues and bosses… because if you don’t, you aren’t engaging enough in that “work family” nobody likes, but everyone pretends to love.

There was a certain colleague, however, who always finds ways to sneak and never get to the bar with you… and that man, precisely, is the man of your dreams. He doesn’t know, and you are sure you shouldn’t tell him, as him is no other than the boss’ nephew.

Trafalgar Law, a tall man with an unfriendly façade but definitely handsome features. Or more than that, you could say. His eyes sometimes shine golden like the earrings he wear, and sometimes silver like the winter lights in Roppongi. He is covered in tattoos, a pretty unique characteristic for being an employee but a lot more logical if you think a little further about his Uncle. Nobody can say it out loud, but all of you know… they are most probably part of the Yakuza.

Despite that, you couldn’t care a less… Law has been your crush since the day you watch him walk into the office so carefree.

It’s a cold night, winter is coming faster than expected. It always does. November ends up quickly, and the first snows begin to tint everything in pristine white. Your long coat covers your body up to your ankles, as well as Law’s black one. You watch him walk, in silence. Most of your coworkers always try to rip words from his mouth, but he is not really interested in engaging in any conversations.

You watch his tattooed fingers scrolling through his phone, as all of you walk the streets of Shinjuku. The Golden Gai awaits for you in their little old Izakayas, all packed within a narrow passage of warm lights, and flickering signs.

“You are staring way too much, (Name)” Nami, one of your coworkers whispers.

You widen your eyes… “Is it that noticeable?”

“It is, but don’t worry… we all think the same, he is hot but also out of reach. I mean, maybe not for you, that is. You are more than beautiful but remember where he is coming from… be careful” she says, being pure honesty with you. She is only trying to protect you. And Nami is completely right, you should be careful with Law.

You smile at her, and both cuddle in each other’s arm grabbing until one of your colleagues chimes and ask the rest if it would be ok to try for nothing a certain bar that looks a little… secret -suspicious, too-.

“Coo bar? It looks weird… but the painting on the door makes it look pretty interesting” you think, waiting for them to knock on that painted wooden door that reminds you somehow to Van Gogh’s style.

A little window slides open, and a pair of black slanted eyes scan you all. They close the little gate and immediately after the door opens welcoming all of you inside.

Law allows everyone to walk pass first, while his eyes scan the surroundings. You, of course, are not the exception.

“Please, girls” he says, paying special attention to your burning cheeks. Nami, who is not really interested in men, simply smile, and walks inside the bar. You, remain a little bit more lost in his golden eyes, but ultimately walk inside too.

You were mostly sure he wouldn’t even put a foot inside, and rather walk away once all of you were unaware. But tonight, it was different, he stayed.

The inside of the tiny bar looks more like an old Japanese living room transformed into a restaurant. The walls are made of wood, and there are many random things hanging from them. Old maps, old posters, photographs, even a big hamster plush that looks as old as you.

The scent of yakiniku fills the ambience, and your stomachs growl with the simple thought of tasting that salty and sweet meat grilled right in front of you.

All of you get into the biggest table you could find, but the tight will be fit nonetheless. You, who always chose to sit last, this time had to move a little to the side. The man of long legs, and tattooed hands decided to sit right next to you.

“Are you comfortable, Law-san?” you ask, trying to make enough room for him to be sitting comfortably.

“Yes, thank you (Name)-ya” he says, kindly than you have ever listened him spoke.

You smile, softly, looking down at your fidgeting fingers.

Soon enough a friendly waitress comes ready to take your order. Of course not before putting the so awaited portable grill in the middle of the table.

The more meat, the better. All of you ask for it, and a beer each… that you are sure it will turn in more than three.

The conversation bases in gossiping about the office, nothing really deep and most of the topics all end up in laughter. Law, however, doesn’t really laugh and you are sure he is not even listening… he is just pretending to.

You take swift looks at him, glancing with the side of your eye at the tattoos of his hands; at how his phone screen shines constantly with more and more notifications. He must be a very required man, and most probably has a lover already if not more than one.

Of course, you are not an unpopular woman either. And most of your male coworkers always try their -non efficient, and pretty cringey- seductive tricks with you the moment a drop of alcohol reaches the tip of their tongues.

“(Name)! here, I grilled this one for you!” one of them say, using the clamps to pass you a piece of meat.

“Oh, thank you…” you murmur, receiving the food in your plate. A thing you shouldn’t have done as that -simple smelly monkey- man, thinks you want everything from him for just accepting a piece of tiny meat. -as tiny as his dick, probably-

Most of them also offer you to serve you more alcohol, as ordering for a glass turned into “bring us the bottle, it’s faster and cheaper”. They were right, it was cheaper. But annoying.

Nami, whose blood began turning into bubbly alcohol, throws to Vivi’s arms. Yet another sweet coworker, who is married, but her eyes-only shine for the redhaired coworker that’s always by your side. The moment they indulge in alcohol, their inhibitions are set free, and what’s meant to be… it’s meant to be.

And that means a sudden trip to the women bathroom, where you were not clearly invited -unless you were into it, in which case they were more than pleased to welcome you in-. But that also means you are sitting all by yourself now. Surrounded by idiots who, as well as the ladies, wanted to end up their night on a love hotel or maybe just the bathroom of the bar with you.

Law seems unfazed, and keeps eating, drinking, and reading something on his phone. Why is he there, after all, you have no idea.

As soon as Nami and Vivi’s spot are free, the guy who offered meat slides right next to you. Thinking he is sleek, only to hit the table and make most of the drinks to spill on top of it. Yet, he is not even worried about it; he is just interested in one thing, you.

“More?” he asks, coming closer and closer, forcing you to consequently graze Law’s arm with yours.

“Uh.. I’m full thanks” you lie. You aren’t even half full, but you don’t want shit from him.

“I meant in your glass, let me serve you…” he whispers, grimacing. The bottle lets its liquids pour into your tiny glass, with the strong intention of getting you as wasted as possible.

You swallow, you won’t drink that up. Not all of it. But he keeps coming closer, and by now, your leg also touches Law’s. And then your back, until it is too noticeable for the tattooed pal to stand up in a violent, quick motion.

“How much are you going to insist on her? She is practically sitting on my lap from how much you are bending over her” Law says, looking at him with eyes on fire and disgust on his voice.

“Traf- Trafalgar-san, I-“ he stutters, he is not worried about you but about his job continuation after this.

“Get the fuck away from here, I don’t want to see you anymore” Law spits, he is not interested in fighting. He has had enough. You are not sure if it was because your body touched him, or because he was trying to defend you… but in any case, you are grateful he did.

You look to the ground, knowing your position wasn’t safe either. This will have consequences, and misogyny always finds the way to win.

Law sits back down, as the rest move away from the long wooden seat to let the bastard go away. But right before he stood up, he whispered at you disgusting words you were already waiting to hear…

“You are a little whore, and you know that. You are probably sucking his dick, aren’t you… slut. Be very careful when you walk home alone tonight”

You chose to keep quiet, as everybody else did. Because nobody would stood up for a woman, not in a men’s world.

You watch him go, drinking almost all the glass in one chug. You needed something to drown the fear and disgust you were feeling right now.

“Are you ok, (Name)-ya? Don’t worry, he has his days counted” Law suddenly says, grabbing his phone again.

“I am… thank you so much, Law-san” you shily and respectfully appreciate his help. “I am sorry for ruining the night…” you whisper, finally.

“It wasn’t your fault, at all. Men like that don’t belong in our organiz- company”

You swallow… and soon you realize what he meant when he mentioned the man had his “days counted”. You try to think of any words to spare the life of the abuser, but soon you chose to stay silent. You didn’t force him to do anything, after all.

Nami and Vivi leave the bar, without saying much. You didn’t want to tell them about the “situation”; you didn’t want to ruin their -lustful- end of the night.

As for the rest of your coworkers, most stood up to smoke outside, while others already took their leaves. Law, remained on his seat until one of the guys invited him to go smoke with them.

There is no point in staying; that drunk bastard won’t probably fulfil his threats against you as he is most probably passed out somewhere else due to the alcohol. Therefore, you pay your share, take your coat, and get outside the bar.

You try to leave without alerting anyone, but it is impossible to do so as one of your coworkers wave goodbye at you.

“Oi, (Name)? are you leaving already?! See you on Monday!” he screams; a scream that catches everyone’s attention, including Law’s.

You wave at them and begin to walk away with your keys in your hands and praying to reach for Shibuya as fast as possible to take the JR towards home… hopefully safe and sound by the end of the night.

A sudden pull in your wrist scares you and wasn’t for his fast reaction one of the keys would have ended carved somewhere on Law’s body.

“Oi, calm down. It’s me. I heard what he said on the bar, let me accompany you”  Law says, putting down your hand slowly so he doesn’t get hurt by your keys.

You sigh, relived. Law is still a stranger, but if you had to die you would prefer doing it by the hand of a hot killer…

“Thank you, Law-san. But do you think is it ok? What are they gonna think? Plus, I live in Ueno” you ask, worried for future -unfortunately fake- rumours.

Law lifts his shoulders. “I personally don’t give a single fuck about that. I do, however, care for your safety”

You scoff sweetly, he doesn’t seem like one… but he is, indeed, a gentleman. A real man.

“If you don’t mind, then let’s go. I will repay the favour with some delicious ramen if you allow me. Right in front of my apartment we have the best convenience store of all Tokyo”  you chime, happily. Perhaps you mistaken this by a date, but at least for some seconds you indulge on the happy thought of it.

Law nods. “The best one? What makes it so special?”

“It’s special because I spent many nights studying there late at night having the best instant ramen” you inform, proud of it.

He scoffs, and a little smirk appears on his lips. “Good, I wanna try the ramen there. As long as it doesn’t contain bread, I’m good”

You notice he can be a lot more interesting than what you thought; despite keeping the mysterious aura, he is a very talkative guy when he feels comfortable. And, apparently, he does with you.

Most of the conversation turns into a nerdy talk about his favourite comic series, that it is surprisingly the same as yours. And you couldn’t be happier, at least a dreadful night ended up better than expected.

Getting to Shibuya was easy; but the last train was about to part. Therefore, both of you, a little dizzy from the drinks -specially you- found the running a lot more challenging than expected. Yet ultimately, grabbed by Law’s hand, you were able to reach the train just in time before doors closed.

“I am so relieved we made it in time!” you sigh, sitting on one of the empty seats. “Same… I mean you could have taken a taxi but…” Law murmured, stopping his words midway. He realized that sending you home in a taxi would be the end of the time together… and he didn’t want that.

Law then proceeds to sit right next to you, crossing his long legs in such way it makes you bite your lower lip. He is a tease by total nature, he doesn’t even try. And he probably knows that too well. As the girls right in front of him gossip and giggle while looking at him.

The train ride is a little long, and the exhaustion suddenly hits you. You remember the fact that sleeping had been rather scarce the last few days of the week, plus the alcohol in your system…

The next station is Ueno. Doors will open on the right

“(Name)-ya… I think this is our station… wake up”  Law’s soft voice whisper in your dreams, and your comfortable pillow suddenly takes the form of what it really was; his shoulder.

“Oh my, sorry! I didn’t mean…” you apologize, quickly brushing off the sleepiness. You notice he is not mad at you, but his façade has relaxed a lot more since the beginning of the night.

“It’s ok, you’ve been working a lot more than the rest lately. You are always the last one to leave the office” he says, helping you stand up and walking to the doors of the train.

You rub your eyes… he knows? That means he’s been watching you… but for how long, and why?

Ueno is as pretty as Shinjuku. The trees that will turn pink in the spring, now hold flowers made of silver flickering lights. There is a considerably less amount of people compared to the big city, though.

The cold air that hits your cheeks wake you up almost instantly, and you are back at having enough energy to eat that instant ramen that you promise Law.

“So, are you still up for the ramen?” you ask, shy and still ashamed for falling asleep on his shoulder. You wonder if snore or even worse… drool on him.

Law nods with a smile on his face and his eyes closed. He is also tired, but he doesn’t want to leave, and you can tell.

You guide him, and after walking a few blocks, the convenience store appears in the corner of a calm neighbourhood’s street.

“Come on, follow me” you chime, pulling from his hand inside the store.

Law follows, and for the first time both grab each other’s hands tightly. Despite gasping, you keep squeezing it… it feels like a dream…

perhaps it is, and I’m still sleeping on the train?

The cashier greets you both, and immediately after recognizing you she informs that the water boiler won’t be working until Monday in case you were there for ramen.

“We can have it in your place if you are ok with it” Law suggests, and your stomach gets full of butterflies… is this like the korean “would you like to come home for ramen?”, is this your “Netflix and chill”?

You nod. After all he did for you, there is no point in letting him go back to Tokyo with at least nothing warm to eat.

Soon he buys two packets of ramen, two sticks of cheese and two cans of sakura edition Monster. And without much conversation you two cross the street to finally reach for your apartment.

The ride on the elevator was as silent as the very beginning, apparently none of you had something further to say… both were absorbed into your own thoughts; what type were the ones inside his head, you begin to wonder.

“Here we are, my room might be in shambles. But the rest I think looks fine” you joke, opening the door and turning on the light.

You were to lie if you said you weren’t lucky; your department is tiny but still has beautiful looks towards the city. Nothing fancy, but decent and exquisitely decorated.

Law smiles, pleased. He enjoys spaces like yours.

“I like you…r place…” he whispers, right behind your back while you walk towards the open kitchen.

“Thanks…” you whisper back, biting your lower lip; sensing the high tension in the air like little zaps of energy, like counter shocks.

You receive the bag with the food from his hands and put a pot of water on the stove. It is necessary for a good instant ramen to boil the water before putting the noodles in. Or so that’s what you always thought. In any case, you needed your mind to be anywhere else but the idea of pleading him to fuck you against the counter.

“(Name)-ya, are you single?” he suddenly asks, after the last crumble of noodles fall from your hands into the bubbly water.

You turn around, slowly. Your ponder whether you should lie to him, or not. Perhaps a taken woman would be a lot more interesting to chase than looking like a lonely girl.

“Because I haven’t seen any man around you…” he continues, sitting on one of the stools and letting his elbows on the counter.

Busted. You can’t lie.

“I am single, yes. What about you, Law-san?” you ask, it is proper -and necessary for you to know-.

Law bends forward, his chin rests on his hand and his golden eyes fix in yours. You realize there has to be a hint of eyeliner on his waterline, and the dark circles intensify under the low light of your kitchen.

“Would you prefer to listen I am?” he asks, straightforwardly and so sexily.

You swallow; what…. the fuck?

“It depends, honestly. I wouldn’t like to be the other woman if you weren’t single” your words sound bigger than yourself, your eyes widen because you don’t even know who is talking right now… but it is definitely not your normal you; this is most likely, your horny you… the “you” that can’t keep hiding how much you are into your boss’ nephew.

Law stands up, walks around the breakfast bar and dominantly -yet, very, very slow- takes his fingers to your chin. You move slightly to the side, allowing your butt to hit the counter behind.

Your fingers clutch to the cold stone surface, your hips feels like magnets being pulled, attracted against the other’s.

“Is that so, (Name)-ya? Well… I am single, indeed” Law whispers, coming closer, so dangerously closer to your lips. His thumb, inked with the letter D, grazes your lower lip ever so softly. And you pout, just enough for him to be able to play with it.

Your sloppy eyelids, your separated lips, your head barely tilted to the side… like feverish, in need of medicine... Law’s lips medicine.

“I’m glad you are…” you moan, opening your mouth just enough to trap with your front teeth his thumb right after. The tip of your tongue follows, wetting his finger. And then, so that there are no more doubts, you suck on it so deliciously lustful.

Law takes a big breath, and sighs right after. He is smirking, so dark. Like you never seen him before. Like you always wish you did.

He lifts you up, helping you sit on top of the counter. Your legs, spread, allow him to come closer.

“You are glad I am gonna fuck you tonight, too?” he asks, leaving you breathless… continuing with the lack of oxygen, as his lips crash on yours.

His tongue, disrespectfully sexual, violates your mouth in pure impetuous need. With gasping and moaning in between, with heavy breathing, with desire for your flesh that seems to be unleashed after being trapped like a beast for so long.

The more he kisses you, the more he wants more. And you do, too.

His playful hands, lift the blouse that seemed to be so enticing to his eyes all through out the night. His delicate fingers crawl from your belly to your chest, squeezing your breasts with no modesty, with no decency.

When he lets your lips free, you feel them swollen, aching for more. You open your eyes, meeting his and a shiver runs through your back. The most handsome man in the earth is right in front of you, wanting to devour you… so desperately.

“So, are you glad… (Name)-ya?” he asks, again. This time with his hand on your neck, squeezing on the right spot to make you dizzy and horny.

“Mhj… yes… please, fuck me” you beg, so weak for his touch.

“Heh” he smirks, ripping your blouse, making the buttons pop and fly away. He doesn’t mind, he doesn’t care… “This damn blouse… you always wear it on Fridays, don’t you? it was making me so hard to see the way your nipples barely peeking through them with the air conditioner… heh…” he moans, with his lips pressed on the commissure of your lips.

For how long have you been watching me in silence, Law? …

Law kisses you one more time before going down to your neck and breasts. The nipples he mentioned were once and for all right before his eyes, hard because of him and not because of the a/c.

Desperately, he cups your right breast, trapping your hard sensitive button with his front teeth. Sucking, twisting, licking. Your body quivering, spasming. Your nails pulling from his messy onyx hair in response to pleasure.

A few more minutes, where you barely reached for the stove to turn it off, are enough for him to want more and more of your body.

“And then, this damn black tight skirt… were you doing it on purpose? Letting your paperwork to fall to the floor, for me to see right when you bent to pick them up, your panties through your pantyhose…? Mh? (Name)-ya?” he asks, kneeling in between your legs, sliding your skirt up, grazing the nylon tights with his teeth.

Why lie? If he was completely right? You did. You did so many times. And yet, never once you thought he could see, he could notice… you remain silent, because silence speaks louder than words…

“You did it on purpose, didn’t you?” he scoffs, carving with his middle finger a hole on your thighs, ripping violently down to expose your core. The view is pure art to him… to see your dripping wet panties, and the flesh of your thighs protruding from the indentations and ripped places of your panty hose...

He kisses those patches of free skin, and then bites them too. He enjoys the way the nylon material gets wet around with his own saliva; you quiver to the sensation, the cutting sharp edges, the kisses, his teeth grazing, the wetness increasing.

And those kisses, that keep going up and up, reach your core for the first time. “How much I wanted to taste your sex… you got me wanting to do it so bad” he grunts with his lips on your wet panty. The warmth of his breath against your sex, makes you flinch… a sting on your clit that felt like a bullet.

A kiss, a lick. Fine fabric getting drenched. Eyes turning white, his nose buried, inhaling your scent. Curious fingertips, moving lace away. The moment his tongue reached for your folds; your heels carved in between his shoulder blades.

Eating you out, you throw back your head, moaning loud, loudly. But you want even more… And almost like if he could read your mind, he stands up. Law uses his inked, veiny hand to clean -or rather spread- the mess you’ve made on his mouth and chin.

“You want me to fuck you, don’t you… you are insatiable, I’ve always knew it” he growls, perhaps ignorant to the fact you are insatiable but only for him.

“I want you” you simply babble, ripping his yellow shirt off to discover his inked chest. The heart on his pecs that goes down until his belly button, pointing to his hardness fighting against his jeans… “I want you so bad…” you whine again.

“Then let me fuck you the way you deserve, (Name)-ya” he moans, biting your lower lip. You help him to get free from his clothes, desperately. You want it now; he wants it more than you.

Soon, his hardness blesses you with his imponent presence in between his fingers. Drippy, slightly veiny, pinkish tip that turns redder the second it passes. He pumps just enough to spread the precum all over, perhaps in an attempt to lubricate… as if it was really needed… you are sure your juices have dripped to your kitchen floor.

With not much, but only pure passion, he lifts one of your legs up until your whole sole is touching the counter. Well spread, enough for him to fit perfectly in, he pulls you closer to the edge.

“I am dying to try your walls clenching around my dick, (Name)-ya” he huffs, with his forehead pressed against yours.

“I want you inside of me, please…” you beg, taking your hips closer to his drippy gland.

Law kisses you brutally, to impale you equally after. He drinks your moans; you breathe off his grunts. His hands land on the small of your back, moving in an out of you with strong pace. While your nails carve on his shoulders, leaving marks of love.

The sound of skin slapping skin flood the kitchen, mixed with the pleasure song of your throats.

Law carries you to the table, and your body lies there until he can bend completely over you to keep fucking you while kissing and biting everything he has in front. You do the same, pulling from his lip, biting his neck, his shoulders… trapping him against you, with no way out, with your legs snaked tightly around his waist.

Nothing matters the most, than him never leaving your insides. Nothing matters the most that being bound to the other, mixed in one and only.

Filled with his release, he keeps on going. Reaching for one, two, three times the maximum climax… more, more and more…

“We can eat the ramen tomorrow… right?” “Y-yes…”

[redwolfxx]

if he died

(Gun x reader)

Tw: death

Summary: Title

A/N: i'm a gun stan 🫣 can't help myself, he's too fine, sorry for all the angst - such a mood killer, gonna have to right something happier this makes me feel like 💩😭😭

If he was killed

It was late and he was still out. He'd normally be back by now, dragging himself in through the door, body, likely littered in cuts and bruises, nothing ever fatal. He'd walk in and lightly brush past you, kidding your forehead on his way to the bathroom to clean up.

But he wasn't. At first you'd try and reason with yourself, maybe the job was farther away than normal. Maybe he was out with Goo again at one of those god awful karaoke bars they'd try to drag you to.

But by now hours had passed and he still wasn't home. Texts and calls unanswered. You knew you couldn't ask Goo as the two weren't exactly on good terms at this point, but you didn't have another choice.

As you scrolled to his contact, the doorbell rang out through your apartment. Ah, he was home.

As you went to greet him you stopped. He has a key.

Quickly you go to grab the metal baseball bat you kept in the hallway closet. As you grew closer you carefully looked through the peephole.

It was Goo.

Hesitant, you opened the door. At first he didn't say anything, he wouldn't meet your gaze.

You tried to invite him in but he wouldn't even look up.

Eventually he looked up and opened his arms to hug you. Yes, Goo, hugging, you.

You begin barraging him with questions about what he was doing, why he was there, etc, and most importantly where was Gun.

But he wouldn't answer, his only response was to hold you tighter as you began crying out your questions, occasionally hitting his chest in a pathetic attempt to force him to say it, to tell you it was a joke.

But he didn't.

Once you had calmed down he had apologized out of pity.

After he left you closed the door behind him, locking yourself away.

Friends calls went unanswered and texts unread as you cried out for a ghost that wouldn't come home.

His lawyer would come one day, reading to you, his last wishes. Explaining how title transfers and money transfers to you would work.

At first you'd refuse telling him that Gun was alive and he must've gone into hiding and he'd be back. The man only looked at you with a gaze of knowing pity for you.

Eventually when affairs were settled you'd visit his grave in Japan, it was on his family home estate, that his father still owned. You'd met him a long time ago when you'd visited Japan with Gun. He had invited you up to see his final resting place to give you a chance to properly grieve.

You'd sat on the bench by his grave, it was fancy and expensive, not a speck of dust, not a mar of imperfection. It was him. With that you'd cry, you'd cry to him asking him why he'd go and get himself killed. Why he'd left you without saying goodbye. And you'd cry because you loved him. You'd cry because he'd never comeback, you'd cry because you could.

The attendants had left you to cry in peace, but you felt their gazes watching you, some pitiful, some criticizing, and some jealous. But you'd paid them no mind.

Once you had your good share of crying, you sat there. Starring at his name. Starring at him.

Eventually you'd return back to Korea, back to your shared apartment, back to the real world.

You'd have to go back to the same cruel routine without him to ground you. You'd have to go on alone.

If he died of natural causes

(be fr he has so many enemies 😭)

You'd grown old together, and had shared a life, a home, one love.

When the two of you were old enough you'd both move to Japan together where you'd work a regular 9-5 for a while, while he ran his Yakuza.

Eventually he'd convince you it was too dangerous to work without his protection and you'd retire to focus on your hobbies and spend his money as you wished.

You'd have kids together and you'd do your best to try and keep them away from what their father did but boys'll be boys and your son would be drawn to what his father did, and would become successor to Gun. Your daughter would go abroad to study, going on to work and start a new life in the States.

You'd grow old together, his love for you as obvious as ever and never growing thin. As they say, time makes the heart grow fonder, and it did. You'd enjoy dates to fancy restaurants and simple shops around the world.

You'd watch your kids have kids and you'd watch your son pry Gun away from the fighting and push him into retirement with you.

You'd buy a place in the country, away from the noise, away from people. You'd have a garden out front and a lake behind your place to yourselves. Occasionally friends and family would visit, and you'd find joy together in the peace.

Your home would be decorated with random wood figures he'd make in this newfound free time.

And eventually when the time was right the two of you would pass. Your final resting places next to each other for eternity. Whether he went first or you, didn't matter to time as the other of you two followed soon after.

You'd live lives without much regret, you had lived together and you had died together. Your love was eternal.

---------------------------------------------------------

Note: i love him so much i'm actually gonna lose it if he goes (no spoilers, im only up to date w the webtoon app chapters)

[hyqerfixation]

WAITER SAT AT THE TABLE

-art by ringorenji88 on twitter.

OKKK YAKUZA PILLARS WE LOVE..

Kny boys Drabble NOT FINISHED..

---------------------------------------------

"oh shit for real? The pillars are here!? " the pianist asked in shock

"yeah u can see them in the vip seating on the other side of the casino"

"oh for fuck sakes, another fight is probably gonna happen some time soon. "

"you bet"

After hearing the two colleagues gossip Y/n placed her old hairbrush back into her bag.

“What the fuck are pillars?” Y/n thought.

The strip club was definitely something,a popular angle wing in the outskirts of the city of japan

But how could she describe this club?

Utter shit

Female hookers only had a little bit to get ready for their customers, and the bartenders had even less time to change into their uniforms and set the stools down before the casino gets ready

Too add on, the club didn't have a wonderful dressing room for performers to get "all dolled up," as many owners put it, so she dressed up in the ladies employees restroom as long with her female colleagues.

____________________________________________

"HELP Y/N I CANT ZIP MY DRESS UP AND I HAVE TO GO OUT ANY MINUTE!"

"ume calm down jesus fucking crist, Turn around ill do the zip."

Y/N zipped up the performers outfit, which was way more flashier then her skutty uniform.

"daki ur late ur supposed to be on stage letter A right now!"

Another performer exclaimed, rushing daki out of the females room.

"OKAY OKAY I'M COMING ALRIGHT" daki turned around to y/n who was also supposed to be out on her shift right now.

"LET'S MEET UP LATER MM K?"

Y/N sighed lightly while giving a suttle smile

"sure" y/n replied on her way to follow daki to the exit.

Y/n exited the bathroom, leaving her aftershow clothes in on the bathroom sink as long as her bag, and began shifting her fingerless gloves.

“I should’ve pretended to sick today smh” she thought.

"hey y/n! What's up w being late all the time. We could've had a smoke break together."

"i would of been here five minutes ago but I was helping your sister "

Y/ns workmate, also known to be gyutaro rolled his eyes as he gave y/n her note pad and biro pen.

"whatever dude, but come tell me when your on your next break so we can go smoke mm k?"gyutaro said

Y/N waved him goodbye as she slowly walked away.

"we could've talked longer if u came on the right fucking time."

"mm k!" y/n mimicked, taking notes how the siblings act like each other.

Y/N walked out of the bar counter and pushed a stool aside her to continue on to taking orders.

Yet while she looked around she noticed all her work mates avoided the back left,also known as the more "mightier side". Was there someone big there? But if it was someone famous there wouldn't everyone be offering to take their order?

It didn't make sense.

Y/N walked towards to back without a ponder. There wasn't anyone to take the people's orders since the waiters scurried to take their orders, as if they were avoiding a certain table.

'whatever this is; i need that bag, so I guess I'm just going to have to deal with whatever hits me.' y/n thought.

High heels clanked on the ground while y/n search for a table to assist, only for-

"y/n! Y/n!"

She turned around.

"sasumaru? What's up with you?"

Sasumaru was one of y/ns closet friends at the casino, besides the siblings. She wanted to be a volley ball player but failed at everything ever since she was put under house arrest.

"I'm begging you to do that vip table! All of us are to scared to do it!"

"Well why, its not like they are gonna try to kill u for getting their order wrong."

Sasumaru laughed sarcastically

"they tried to kill yahaba because he asked if they wanted ice in their drink!" sasumaru exclaimed, rocking y/n back and fourth by the collar.

"whatever, I'll do it" y/n dead panned

"Are u so sure after hearing what I just told u!" sasumaru panicked even more

"yes it's fine I'll just do what they say, no questions, no ice."

Sasumaru stopped and starred at y/n

"Now will you let me go?" y/n asked.

"AAAAA UR SO COOL Y/N!!! SO BRAVE TOO, JUST LIKE ME"

Y/N pulled sasumaru off her and continued to walk to the vip room

'if u were brave like me, u would be walking to the vip lounge' y/n giggled to her self.

"hey babe what's ur number?"

"look at the fat in her back!"

"I would smack that"

Y/N grumbled to her self about these comments, much to her dismay shes pretty much used to the cat calling here. The manager doesn't really give a shit about the treatment his female employees get here.

'tch, whatever. Fucking saddos'

Y/N walked to the vip table, no in closer inspection she saw a group of men.

Rich men.

Rich and powerful men.

How could y/n tell they were powerful? Doesn't the silent tables of men around them tell you enough? What about the employees refusing to serve any where over here? Is that enough?.

"what could I get for you guys" y/n asked carefully, remembering what happend to yahaba.

"finally someone flashy to help us order!" one of the men said. His hair silver white with magenta eyes that popped. Jewellery coated his body with a expensive tuxedo.

"can I please just have some water? I hope that's okay." the other man said, he was way more bigger then the others and had a red beaded necklace on, his eyes were-wait, is he blind?

"CAN I PLEASE HAVE SOME HOT WINGS" a booming voice asked, his eyes were orange and red, matching with his hair.

"shut the fuck up Kyojuro. I want a sex on the beach cocktail" another white haired male asked, his appearance way more scary then the others with his scars that show from his face to where the tuxedo is undone to show more scars.

"I want the same as sanemi!" the male from the start exclaimed again.

Y/N noted all of these

"anything else?"

"how about you darling?" the flashy man asked. y/n internally screamed inside.

"can uzui shut his mouth for ten seconds" the man known as uzui smacked the scar face beside him while the others laughed.

Y/N walked away when they finished their order.

Okay! Maybe they are a little bit imtimidating.

Yeah, especially when she realised she saw them on the news for murder half way through their order.

But it's fine. It won't bother her THAT badly. Would it?.

"what's up with you? You are all shaken up."

"I just realised I was taking the fucking pillars orders"

"Are you fucking stupid? Everyone knew that's why they stayed closer to the entrance."

Y/N clicked her tounge, she knew that she was stupid but she Just wanted some more money! Cut her some slack!

"I did hear the pianist talk about it outside of getting changed. I didn't really deep much into it though."

Gyutaro placed the drinks on a round black tray along with some hot wings.

"I mean it's your problem now, and to be honest if they didn't like you, you would have been dead by now."

Y/N awkwardly smiled, knowing shes fucked.

"yeah yeah whatever."

She grabbed the tray and started to walk back towards the mobsters

I mean are they really mobsters? even though how imtimidating they were, they somewhat respected you.

They respected you way more then other people you are close with.

"look at her body."

"she's hot."

"yo guys should I ask for her number?"

At this point y/n couldn't even hear the things that were said about her. She was too focused about the men on the Vip table. Is she scared? Incredibly. Is she going to act like nothings bothered her about them? Yes. She is.

The platform heels platters the floor, alarming the men on the table.

"I see your back so soon"

The bling guy said, clasping his hands together.

"took her time didn't she." the scarface complained, tapping his finger on the table.

"don't be so rude sanemi."

" and how the fuck am I being rude?!?"

Y/N placed their drinks down, ignoring how her body's shaking from the pillars infront of her.

"so lady! How long have you been working here?"

Y/N paused at what she was doing and looked up to the fire head who just asked her a question.

"just under a year."

Kyojuro nodded and smiled

"that's nice, you look so young though how old are you?"

Sanemi who sat on the edge of the table hanged his leg out

"I bet not a day over 19"

Y/N chuckled lowly, letting her guard down

"I'm 23"

Uzui spat his drink out

"HUH"

Gyomei smiled towards y/n, he felt comfortable around her arua.

He couldnt explain it, she just seems nice to hang around with.

Y/N chuckled again

"do I really look that young? -"

"NO WAY UR MY AGE"

Uzui shouted light heartily, maybe he could have a 4th wife.

"how about she sits down with us? Since u guys are obsessing over her like bitchy dogs."

Sanemi complained, true they were acting like dogs, but he would be lying if he didn't want to talk to y/n too.

"that's not a bad idea!" Rengoku exclaimed while tengen patterned on the the sofa like chair in between him and Kyojuro.

"how about you sit here precious?"

Y/Ns face paled, does she have a choice? I mean she doesn't mind sitting between them she's just worried her boss would think she's slacking off again.

"don't force her, remember she has a job to do." gyomei said to the two, for sanemi to agree

"I'll pay her to sit with me, her job is to get money from customers right? Come sit down with us darling."

Uzui said, while rengoku took a few papers out of his wallet.

"It's fine if you don't want to! We will still pay for our drinks." Rengoku re assured y/n.

Y/N smiled softly, forgetting her worries about any of them.

"cmon girl they will be asking all night if u don't say anything." sanemi grumbled, embarrassed of the two weirdos on the table with him.

"sure.but not for to long"

"BETTER THEN NOTHING!" Rengoku shouted, for uzui to nudge sanemi to move for y/n to get in.

Sanemi stood up and put his hand on her shoulder.

"come on uzui we don't have all day."

"Sorry my fatass Is making it harder to get out, I know you can't relate sanemi" uzui chuckled to make sanemi embarrassed. Y/n chuckled lowly, just to embarrass him more.

"whatever, in you get girl"

Y/N nudged over to Kyojuro, only to smile at each other while ignoring gyomei telling uzui to not body shame anyone.

"It's not my fault he fails at squats" uzui said nudging over to sit next to y/n

Which made her sandwiched between two physco extroverts who wears expensive tuxedos

Nothing else could get worse then it already is.

"so pretty face, what's your name?" sanemi asked, fed up of the name calling.

"I bet her name is really cool!"

"I bet its something snazzy"

Gyomei took a sip of his water and looked over to y/n

"whatever her name is, it would be beautiful."

Y/N was going to answer sanemis question once she had some of uzuis drink, that he offered her.

"my name is -"

"Y/N."

[foxglovepng]

ꨄ︎ Satosugu Headcannons 1 ꨄ︎

A/N: I got brainwrorms for them rn I must release them. I'm also thinking of trying a new layout I'm tired of the old one. Ugh I love them sm sdvfsgvshngvshngvsgvusgvhswugvhwsgvswgv

I may or may not have included some visuals on what I think they would look like

I had the intention of writing this in a more modern AU. I will be putting this into 2 posts. This post will be centered on my personal headcanons of them and the second post will lean into the more Poly. side.

I have seen (MOST) of JJK but I do know what goes on however I have not read the manga so if I miss anything that's been stated in the manga don't tell me I don't wanna be spoiled. (BECAUSE THIS FANDOM KNOWS JACKSHIT ABOUT HIDING SPOILERS)

Reminder these are just my personal hcs for them so don't take it seriously it's not that deep.

CW: Family angst mentions, Yakuza, swearing, non-sexual nudity, I love Suguru so much.

Pt.2

Satoru Gojo

I think he would be a college professor, and he would teach Physics. I could also see him going into Quantum physics and Quantum Theory as like his main thing. (He's the professor everyone wants a piece of)

Regarding his family I don't think he talks to them. In modern world I could see his family be considered high ranking or like famous in a way. (In some kind of business or something) I think the only family member he talks to is Yuta.

I think his family tries to bribe him into talking to him by sending him money or gifts In which he gives to Suguru

Him and Toji have massive beef. He has partial parental rights to Megumi and helped raise him. He met the other students through Megumi from dropping him off/picking him up from places.

Him and Suguru met in highschool and became best friends (Boyfriends in denial).

He's surprisingly not on the verge of getting type 2 diabetes

He's a huge flirt and may come off as a guy who would rather do casual one-night stands, but if he has his eyes on someone, he would definitely be loyal asf to them as possible.

Since he has 3 different degrees in physics he tries to do some cool magic shit with physics to try and impress the huzz Geto.

Suguru Geto

He's a tattoo artist/piercer and runs his own shop. He also has ties to the Yakuza

He still talks to his family and has a good relationship with them. I also hc that Mimiko and Nanako are some kind of relative and he's really close with them. He spoils the fuck out of them as if they were his actual daughters.

I can see him being very into Rock/Emo/Metal/Goth/Punk/J-Rock/etc music. (HE JUST LIKE ME FR)

He collects vinyls and has a record player and a walkman for cassettes.

He's in the process of quitting smoking since Gojo started complaining about the smell.

Has a whole lotta tattoos and piercings and has nipple piercings as well as some more nsfw piercings.

He uses glasses for blue light. When drawing a tattoo, he draws on paper and his iPad, so when he's on the iPad, he has glasses for the light.

Has a collection of books and actively shits on Colle*n H*over. I think he would read anything, but he has a guilty pleasure for romance and dark romance books.

Has 20 different types of tea and has a mini tea bar in the kitchen.

Being Roommates

They moved in together after high school.

Gojo CAN and WILL walk around the apartment butt-ass-naked. He's flashed Geto multiple times because of this. (He also slept in his bed once or twice)

Gojo has also on multiple attempts, tried to bring a feral/wild animal home to have as a pet.

"Can we keep it, please?"

"Satoru, that is a WILD ANIMAL."

Suguru has to do all of the grocery runs because he doesn't trust Gojo to do it.

They do 50/50 housework and split everything.

When they go out with friends, Suguru is the one usually driving Satoru home after being insanely drunk.

They tend to borrow each other's things a lot. If Gojo likes a shirt Suguru is wearing, he is stealing it to wear it. If Suguru runs out of shaving cream, he will use Gojo's.

They also take each other's stuff unintentionally.

Gojo is trying to find his shirt for work, but Suguru accidentally took it, thinking it was his.

When arguments happen, they makeout after to makeup one of them usually leaves the house for a bit to cool off. Or they both go to their designated rooms to cool off then talk later.

Gojo uses a 10 in 1 toothpaste, shampoo, conditioner, body scrub, body wash, deodorant, facial cleanser, lotion, spf, moisturizer. While Geto uses 4 products for his hair, 12 products for his skin, 2 oils for his nails, lotion specifically for his tattoos, ointments for his piercings, and has 3 different ChapSticks.

Suguru has the really expensive shampoo and conditioner and threatens to kick Gojo out when he uses it all without replacing it.

They have matching tattoos of black and white koi fish.

Some Visuals

𝑭𝖔𝖝𝖌𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊𝖕𝖓𝖌™

[clairewritesjjkxreader]

Yakuza x Cinderella AU Part 1 (Sukuna x Reader)

A/N: I listened to Sukuna’s Russian voice dub while writing this. Gave me some cool gangster vibes.

Everyone would have understood if you shed the “Itadori” name after old man Wasuke passed away, and no one would have blamed you if you walked away from being Yuuji Itadori’s legal guardian. After all, you just started college, you didn’t need to be “burdened,” especially by a kid you weren’t even related to.

But there was no way you could leave eleven-year-old Yuuji alone. You grew up changing his diapers, taught him how to ride a bike, cleaned up his boo-boos, and threatened his bullies. 

He was your family.

Prioritizing your baby brother and his future above your own, you decided to bartender at a fancy but sleazy bar. Although the majority of patrons were assholes and the place was too far from your house and the university, the pay was better than most other part-time jobs so you sucked it up.

Between your job, mandatory onsite classes, group assignments with lazy jerks, and taking care of Yuuji and the house, you could never afford to sleep for more than three hours a day. 

But Yuuji was, of course, an angel. 

He didn’t like to show it, but you knew he missed gramps, and you often caught him biting his lip to suppress his whimpers and wiping his eyes with his back turned to you. He did his best to appear strong, but you wished he’d rely on you more. But the little tiger never stopped doing his chores and liked offering to do yours.

“I can’t get a part-time job yet so all I can do is take care of the house and everything else!” When he said that, you swore an arrow pierced your heart and you almost died from fluffiness. 

Seeing Yuji’s bright smile was the only thing that kept you going, especially after a long day at the bar.

That’s where you met Ryomen Sukuna. He was the single most irritating bastard you’ve ever had the misfortune of meeting. It wasn’t like he was a sleazebag per se–he was actually more of a silent, brooding type compared to the handsy, foul-mouthed drunkards you usually dealt with. At least, that was your first expression of him.

It was nine pm and your five minute break was almost over so you sent Yuji a good night text and a reminder to lock the doors and windows. You brushed your hair and went to your post behind the bar. 

This place was in the inner city, far from most schools, so it was rare to find college students here, but it was a Friday and the end of finals week so the place was jam-packed with depressed people. You didn’t mind. Actually, you preferred having a bar full of university kids over a bar full of working adults. You liked college students. They were… nicer, more polite and patient compared to their older counterparts, who were usually middle-aged career men and women whose dreams have been shattered by the real world. Your regulars were broken and pathetic, and they often liked making their problem yours. You’d “listen” to their ramblings, nod and pretend to care, when in reality their words just went in one ear and left straight out the other.

You didn’t like talking or socializing. You left that part up to the waitstaff and prepared the drinks as quietly as possible in order to avoid trouble.  

It was nearing one am, almost time for you to go home. You finished wiping the last piece of glassware when the store bell rang. You didn’t bother to even pretend to be polite this time and continued cleaning up, waiting for one of the waiters to tell the guest that the bar was already closed. But that didn’t happen. 

“The VIP room is a little unclean right now, so if you’re willing to wait–”

“What do you mean unclean? You should always keep it ready,” a cold, androgynous voice reprimanded.

You were annoyed. And a bit confused. You’ve been here for several weeks now and you just found out about this so-called VIP room. And up until now, the personnel here always shooed away all customers during closing. 

“It’s fine, Uraume,” a deep, husky voice interrupted. “I’m fine waiting here. Just get me my drink.”

You raised your eyes and saw a tall man in a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, bringing attention to his… big veiny hands and sinewy arms, lined with black tattoos. 

“O-of course!” Your boss clasped her hands together. “Please excuse me, I’ll get the sake ready in a bit.”

As if sensing your gaze, your tall, red-haired stranger turned his head, revealing a face also full of tattoos. You blushed but composed yourself and bowed in greeting. You refused to make eye contact again though, too embarrassed that you were caught ogling. He was more gorgeous than most idols and sports players that showed up on TV.

“On second thought, I think I’ll sit at the bar.”

Ah, crap. 

“Oh, um…!” Your boss fumbled towards you, putting a hand over your shoulder. “Th-this is Y/N. She’s new. Really new, I don’t think you’ve met yet.” It felt odd watching your usually calm and charming boss act like this. She was the one who dealt with perverts and other difficult clients, all without getting too emotional or stuttering, but she seemed almost afraid of this man. “Y/N, this is Mr. Ryomen Sukuna, he owns this bar.”

That name certainly felt familiar, but you sucked at names, and as for his face… you glanced up at his smirking face. Yeah, there was no way you’d forget a guy like him. Even if you just saw him walking down the street for a split second you would remember him for sure. 

Your boss squeezed you and you quickly bowed your head again. “Um, hello, thank you for the opportunity.”

“You seemed irritated when my companion and I walked in.” 

“No, you must be mistaken.”

“Really? You couldn’t even be bothered to greet us. Bartenders are supposed to be friendly.”

You just tilted your head, contemplating on what to say next when your phone started ringing from the counter. Mr. Sukuna swiped it before you could blink. 

“Hey!” Your sudden burst of energy shocked you and your boss. You slapped a hand over your mouth. “Er. I mean… I apologize.” 

“Shouldn’t phones be on vibrate during work hours?”

“It was on vibrate. We’re supposed to be closed now.” Welp. You were already as good as fired so you didn’t try to cover up your weariness. Yuji sometimes woke up randomly in the middle of the night. He was probably wondering where you were. You held out your hand. “Can I please have it back now? Sir?”

Like you just told the world’s funniest joke, he threw his head back, laughing heartily. 

Despite your boss almost fainting on the spot thanks to your little stunt, you didn’t get fired. Sukuna seemed absolutely smitten with you–that is, as much as an owner can be smitten by a pet hamster. 

It was the beginning of an irritating, one-sided relationship. 

Ever since that day, Sukuna began frequenting the bar more often. Sometimes three times a week, other times almost daily. Rather than stay at the VIP room, he’d hang out by the bar and find many ways to piss you off, like hitting on you, annoying you until you talked about either Yuji or your classes, and asking you to make some complicated cocktail he heard from a business partner, only to then insult it (he’d always finish the thing though). At the very least, he didn’t try touching you inappropriately. And plus, his childish fascination with you meant he demanded you hang out with him immediately after you finished preparing someone else’s drink, so you didn’t have to listen to other people whine about their lives and you didn’t have to make up excuses with the more gropey customers.

To be continued…

[lemonxdaisybby]

Judgement Gang - First Kiss

Slowly working through my requests, but I needed some fluff for the Judgement gang first because I don’t seem to get a ton of requests for these cutie patooties, and the Judgement masterlist was looking a lil sad compared to the Yakuza one ✨

Yagami:

The first kiss probably occurred before the two of you had even started dating, as this man took absolutely ages to ask you out. There would be so much chemistry and tension between the two of you, and I feel like everyone would know there was something going on, but it would be a sort of ‘will they, won’t they’ situation.

The two of you would be hanging out at a bar, just chatting away and having a cute old time. It would actually feel like a date with it being just the two of you, but whenever you meet up, you always insist to yourself that it’s just a friendly little catch up. At one point during the ‘non-date’, Yagami would just kind of pause and hold your gaze for a bit too long, and there would be a deafening silence lingering between the two of you. Before you know it, he’s leaning in, and you’re leaning in too, and suddenly his lips are against yours, gentle at first, but gradually gaining confidence as he feels you melting in to the kiss. You want this too.

It wouldn’t be a sexual kiss, but it definitely wouldn’t be innocent either. He’s been harbouring feelings for you for such a long time, and there’d definitely be a sense of longing in the kiss. His lips would just move against yours perfectly, his hands gently holding the back of your neck, tilting your head back ever so slightly, to deepen the kiss.

Afterwards, though he wouldn’t really be that embarrassed or flustered, he would feel a tiny bit bashful, and you might be able to spot the faintest of blushes on Yagami’s face, and he would cough awkwardly as the two of you pull apart, scooting away from each other slightly. If he noticed you acting rather shy, he would likely smile to himself, finding you absolutely adorable, and wishing he’d kissed you sooner if he knew he could elicit that reaction from you.

He would finally confess to you following the kiss, as he holds his drink between his hands and stares down at the glass, trying his best to appear casual, but he can’t quite meet your gaze just yet. He’d also suggest that the two of you arrange an actual date, a small smile working its way on to his face as you agree. He’d probably be kicking himself internally for taking so long to make his move, considering how easy it was to just kiss you. He’d be in a good mood for the rest of the night, making sure to walk you back home, before making his own way back to the office in a happy daze.

Kaito:

Your first kiss with Kaito would definitely occur at the end of your first date. He is a huge flirt, and a hopeless romantic, and is likely pretty experienced with dates. He knows what he’s doing, and how to score a second date.

Kaito would opt to walk you home after the date, planning on giving you a nice smooch as he drops you off at your front door. Very traditional, and it seems to work a treat. He would be a tiny bit giddy on the walk back with you, feeling all smitten, and the idea of kissing you would just make him feel so soft. You would probably be able guess straight away what’s coming next, by the way he stares down at you once you two stop outside your front door.

He’s not a shy man, and he’s got a decent amount of experience with dates and women, but with you, it would feel different. He wouldn’t exactly be bashful, but he might rub the back of his neck awkwardly as he stands before you, shuffling his feet about, before he finally just goes for it. You’d probably get a bit of a fright to be honest, as he would just suddenly move towards you quickly.

He would surprisingly gentle for the first kiss, but would still manage to leave you breathless. He wouldn’t use tongue, despite really wanting to, and he would keep it so innocent and sweet. You’d get the slight taste of tobacco when kissing him, mixed with the taste of flavoured chewing gum or a breath mint, which he sneakily used beforehand to try and mask the taste of tobacco. Instead, the two tastes would intertwine deliciously.

As much as he would want to try and keep the first kiss romantic and wholesome, if you did invite him in to your house after, he would definitely be down to fuck you, even if it is the first date. Man can’t resist an invitation like that from you, and the kiss would definitely leave him wanting more.

Higashi:

Higashi would have spent ages working up the courage to kiss you, and absolutely would have carefully planned it in his head. In fact, he’d likely overthink your first kiss completely, making it seem like a much scarier feat than it needs to be.

It would likely occur a couple of dates in to the relationship. He likes to take things slow. He would walk you home like a true gentleman, and the whole time he would be thinking about the upcoming kiss. He’d appear rather quiet and fidgety, and would desperately be trying to hide the fact that he’s a nervous wreck. You’d probably know something was up right away.

Though he’s nervous and a bit unsure of himself, he wouldn’t ask to kiss you first. He wouldn’t be able to get the words out without cringing. He’d probably just go for it. You two would be stood outside your home, an awkward silence falling as he internally battles himself about the kiss, almost chickening out. In the end, he’d just lean down, quick as a flash and before he can change his mind, placing a quick, gentle peck on your lips. He would try his best to appear casual after, but the blush on his cheeks would be a dead giveaway that he’s feeling rather shy. He’d attempt to clear his throat, gruffly blurting out an embarrassed goodbye/goodnight. Play with this babygirl a little. Grab a fistful of his shirt and pull him back in for another, deeper kiss. You’d almost give him a heart attack, albeit he’d still respond by eagerly kissing you back, his face practically on fire at this point.

Sugiura:

Clingy man Sugiura probably hangs out with you in between dates, even when the two of you start initially dating. He can’t stay away from you, so likely you’d see him almost every day. The kiss would take place during one of these random hangouts, and would be very spontaneous.

You two would be chilling on the rooftops, looking down at the busy city together and people watching, and it would just suddenly occur to Sugiura that this may be the perfect moment to finally kiss you. It’s just the two of you up here, and the view of the city is pretty amazing. He’d think it was sort of romantic.

Of course, he would be a little tease about it. He’d tap you on the shoulder to make you face him, a sly glint in his eye as he stares at you. He’d move very quickly, his lips crashing against yours. It wouldn’t just be a quick peck, and he’d definitely go for a deeper kiss that would leave the two of you breathless. He’d generally be his usual, cheeky self after, and would be wearing his signature smirk, but you’d definitely notice a nice, rosy hue to his cheeks.

It might turn in to a bit of a make-out session, to be honest. Sugiura has probably thought about kissing you for a long time, and now that he’s got a small taste of your lips? He can’t get enough. You two would just sit side by side, bodies angled to face one another, as you continue to kiss fervently, whilst the world passes by below.

[6rookie-writer0110]

Strange Lovers

Cheryl Blossom X Male Reader.

Request - Hello can you Write Cheryl Blossom X Male Reader. The reader was the great criminal leader of the Yakuzas in Japan, arriving in Riverdale the reader sees that the Ghoulies try to hurt Cheryl but he saves her from all of them, and the two fall in love.

Cheryl met with her friends at Pop's Diner. She sits across from Betty and Veronica. They have been hearing rumors about the new guy moving to Riverdale. She has been hearing all kinds of rumors about the new guy, but she hasn't seen him just yet. But she is curious about how he looks and where he came from.

“Have you any of you have seen the new guy?” Cheryl asked.

“No. But Veronica has” Betty said.

“Really?” Cheryl said.

Veronica nods “I was having car trouble and he helped me. His name is Y/n and he helped me get into a mechanic shop”

“Is he cute?” Cheryl asked.

“I think he is cute and he does know how to dress,” Veronica said.

“He lives a few houses down from my house,” Veronica said.

They continue to talk about the new guy. Now, Cheryl is interested in meeting the new guy.

After spending time with Betty and Veronica, Cheryl left Pop’s diner. She noticed you and she walked towards you.

“So, you are the new guy that everyone can't stop talking about,” Cheryl said.

“And you are?” You asked.

“My name is Cheryl Blossom and here I Invented Red, I Am Red” Cheryl said.

“Interesting intro, Red,” You said.

“Why Riverdale?” Cheryl asked.

“Straight to the point, I see that you always take charge,” You said.

“Obviously. Just to let you know, I do what I want. What’s your name?” Cheryl said.

“My name is Y/n and that’s all you need to know,” You said.

You have a complicated past and did some bad stuff, but you want that to be private.

“I do have a habit of finding out about people’s past and among other stuff, Y/n,” Cheryl said.

“I’m not going to play little games with you because you are bored,” You said.

You walk away and she turns around.

“I will find out,” Cheryl said.

You didn't say anything and you went home. Cheryl did go home and she goes online to look for information about you. After almost an hour, she didn't find anything online. She knew that was strange because everyone had a digital trace. But she starts to think about how else to look up information on someone.

——-

People around have noticed your bodyguards. But you don't harass anyone or steal from them. But Robert Phillips aka Sugarman wanted to do a deal with you, buying and taking drugs to different towns. You said you will think about it. You wanted to make sure no one was on his trail.

Cheryl was determined to find out about your past. She even followed you around for the whole night but she didn't get a lot of information about you. She noticed how your bodyguards would take orders from you.

✬ ✯ ✫ ✬

One night, Cheryl starts to follow you. You went out and you stopped at a small bar. You noticed a car was following you and you parked the car. But you saw her get out of the car and before you could do anything, a group of guys started to harass Cheryl.

The Ghoulies surrounded her.

“Cheryl Blossom, you are on the wrong side of town,” Malachai said.

“Why don’t you and your hobo friends go take a shower and leave me alone” Cheryl said.

“Someone needs to teach you a lesson, bitch. No one disrespects me or my gang” Malachai said.

“Or what?” Cheryl said.

He grabbed her arm hard.

“We will teach you how to respect us,” Malachai said.

You get out of the car.

“Leave her alone now!” You yelled.

“Who is this your boyfriend?” Malachai asked.

“Step away before I make you cry,” You said.

“Go home, asshole this is between me and this bitch right here,” Malachai said.

“You talk too much for a little bitch” You said.

You put on your brass knuckles. Your bodyguards are behind you. Malachai runs towards you then you punch him in the face and he starts to bleed, you break his nose. You start to punch him in the face and the stomach, and then your bodyguards start to brutally beat up Malachai’s friends. She saw you throw Malachai onto the ground and you start to kick him hard in the stomach. Then you get down and start to punch him in the face, and he bleeds out fast. Some blood splatter on your face and shirt

“Who’s the bitch. Now” You angrily said.

You stand up and you wipe the blood off your face.

“Let’s go now,” You said.

“What about her?” He said.

“She is coming with us to make sure she isn't hurt then we take her home,” You said.

Cheryl is stunned and she did get in the car with you.

You took her to your house and you cleaned yourself up. Then you offered her a drink and she said no.

“Thank you,” Cheryl said.

You and Cheryl are alone, you sent your bodyguards home.

“Are you okay, I have a first aid kit” You said.

“I’m fine, Y/n,” Cheryl said.

“I know you were following me, why” You said.

“I wanted to know what you are hiding,” Cheryl said.

“Do you have to know everything?” You asked.

“Yes, I do,” Cheryl said.

You watch her look at the pictures hanging on the wall.

“Are you in the Yakuza?” Cheryl asked.

“What makes you think I am?” You said.

“All these men have tattoos up to their chest, wrists, and ankles. And you have samurai swords,” Cheryl said.

She saw a picture of you and the other Yakuza members. Even if she told the police, you would just pay them off. You already have some police officers working for you.

You have Japanese art, samurai swords, and Oni makes everywhere. She keeps staring at the items.

“I’m not going to answer that,” You said.

“I will take that as yes,” Cheryl said.

“I’m just a guy from Japan,” You said.

“Don’t take me as a fool” Cheryl said.

“I don’t,” You said.

She rolled her eyes at you.

——-

You kept your eye on Cheryl to be sure she was safe. The Ghoulies haven't harassed you or Cheryl. Malachai was so badly beaten that he had to stay in the hospital for two weeks.

“What made you leave Japan?” Cheryl asked.

“Many reasons, I am not going to bore you with,” You said.

“Now, why you are following me?” Cheryl asked.

“Making sure they won't harass you,” You said.

“If you wanted to go on a date you could have asked,” Cheryl said.

You couldn't help to smile.

“Okay, I will take you out on a date,” You said.

“Nowhere cheap,” Cheryl said.

“I won't take you anywhere cheap, promise,” You said.

✬ ✯ ✫ ✬

You and Cheryl made it official to be in a relationship. Everyone knows that you are her boyfriend and her parents don't like it. But she doesn't care what they think about it. You and Cheryl do open up to each other about everything. You did admit that you are in the yakuza but you know she won't tell anyone.

“Come here,” Cheryl said.

He is lying on your bed and she extends out her arms, and you lie on top of her. She wraps her arms around you and she kisses your head.

“Glad, you are here tonight,” You said.

You stare at her and she starts to smile. She kissed you on the lips and she started to smile.

“Sorry about earlier I had to take care of something,” You said.

“You just have to make it up to me, Y/n” Cheryl said.

“How?” You asked.

You lie on your back and she lies on her side, she places her hand on your chest. She kissed you again and you started to smile.

“You have to figure it out,” Cheryl said.

You start to kiss her and your hand is under her shirt. You never opened up to anyone before and she is the first. You don’t regret it and she feels the same way. When you are alone with her, she is very affectionate with you.

“I have a surprise for you,” You said.

“What?” Cheryl asked.

“Follow me,” You said.

She followed you to the other room and you opened the door. She walks in and she is in shock and you gently grab her hand.

“This is your art room. You will have everything that you need to draw or paint. You can come here anytime you want and just paint. This is why I had the door locked because I was getting everything ready” You said.

“This is amazing. Just wow, Y/n!” Cheryl smiled.

She turns around and she wraps her arms around you. She starts to kiss you passionately and she doesn't stop smiling.

“I’m going to show you how to paint,” Cheryl said.

“Okay,” You said.

You showed her the paint set and you took out the canvas for her. She is showing the basics of how to mix paint. Then she tells you to paint what you feel. You are starting to have fun with her and you never painted anything before.

[heich0e]

yakuza!suna/escort!reader part 4: the prequel(ish) continued..., tw alcohol, reader goes by a stated pseudonym for her work (Yua) but is otherwise unnamed, this part immediately follows PART 3 and here are PART 1 + PART 2 icymi!! series masterlist

“You.”

The sound of the man’s voice—low, smooth, and unmistakably pointed—makes you freeze.

The room goes terribly quiet in the wake, like no one is quite sure how to respond.

Kaito’s eyes snap towards you, a flash of something close to panic momentarily slipping through the facade of his gregariousness. He composes himself quickly and looks back to this new guest, his brows lifted in surprise as his eyes narrow into crescents thanks to how his mouth lifts in an easy smile. “Who, sir?”

“Her.”

All eyes in the lounge turn to you, but somehow you only manage to meet one pair.

Your grip on the champagne flute in your grasp is so tight you worry that the thin stem might snap between your fingers.

Kaito laughs a bit, but the sound is stiff and doesn’t fit his usual tone. He reaches up and places a friendly hand on the man beside him’s shoulder. “Why don’t you take a while to acquaint yourself with the girls, then you can—“

The man—Suna-san as he’d been introduced to you all just a few moments before—turns his face to look at him. You watch as his eyes flicker down to the hand resting on his arm with a look of disdain.

“Is there a reason you’d question my choice?” he asks flatly, a chill in his tone that makes your stomach feel uneasy. “I was told these girls are your best.”

“Of course,” Kaito assures him with an easy, obliging smile. You can’t help but notice how he quickly drops his hand. “You’ve made an excellent decision.”

The other girls and Kaito quietly leave, once the manager waves them out following a terse snap of his fingers. There’s a sense of disappointment that you detect from some of the girls as they bid the guest goodnight as they step past him, having scarcely had the opportunity to spend time in his company at all. Yuki meets your eyes as she glides past you towards the door, a curious—if not concerned—look passing between the two of you.

The door to the lounge closes behind Kaito once the last girl has filed out, and then it’s just the two of you.

You watch as Suna walks to the chair on the opposite side of the room, directly across from you, sticking close to the very edge of the wall and giving you a rather wide berth. It’s strange. Most men in these situations make their way right for you, or at least beckon you to come to them— especially ones as forthright as he’d been. Instead, he gestures for you to take your seat, nodding towards the chair you’re still standing beside. In spite of your relative confusion, you oblige him. On the other side of the room he does the same, slumping down into his seat with his legs spread wide.

You sit at the edge of the upholstered chair with your hands crossed primly atop your lap.

He watches you for a while, and under his heavy stare you find yourself resisting the urge to fidget. 

“What’s your name?” he asks you after a while.

You blink slowly, as though you’re processing the question he’s asked—though it’s anything but a difficult one.

“Yua.”

It’s not your name, of course. You’re sure he knows that too. It’s not even one that you’d chosen for yourself, in truth. There had been a girl working at the club before you started who’d used it as her pseudonym, and when she left and you arrived to take her place, it was easier just to inherit it than come up with a name of your own.

The kanji used spell out binding love.

The irony isn’t lost on you.

It doesn’t seem to be something Suna-san misses either, because there’s a little pull at the corner of his mouth that indicates a sort of wry recognition of the fact.

It goes quiet again.

You being to worry things are getting awkward. You can’t let that happen.

“Would you like something to drink?” you finally ask him, shooting him a warm smile before looking towards the mini bar.

His eyes flitter to the empty glass in your hand. “What are you drinking?”

“Champagne.” You stand and approach the bar, running your finger along the bucket where the half-empty bottle sits in ice. “But there’s plenty to choose from, no matter your taste.”

“What do you like to drink?” It’s the same question as before, more or less, but this time he poses it differently.

You glance at him over your shoulder, and find he’s watching you intently—still torpidly reclined back in his seat.

“I’m not very picky,” you answer with a little laugh. You reach for a bottle of whiskey off the bar. It’s a nice one. Expensive. You hold it up so he can see it, turning around to face him. “Would you like a highball?”

He cocks a brow. “Will you join me?”

“Of course,” you agree with a smile, and then you set to work.

Highballs are easy cocktails to make. Calling it a cocktail seems undeserved, sometimes, but the quality is in the ritual. 

First the ice goes in, and you stir it for 30 seconds using a long barspoon to chill the polished glass. The ice clinks against the edge in a delicate little noise as you go.

The room is weirdly quiet. Unnaturally so. 

The private lounges are mostly soundproof, for many reasons, but it means that none of the usual thrum of activity or music from the rest of the club seeps into the little space you occupy. It leaves a stagnant, almost uncomfortable silence stretching in between you while you work.

You drain the water from the bottom of the glasses carefully. 

Next you add the whiskey.

You’re partial to a stronger highball—somewhere closer to a 2:1 ratio of soda to spirit, but you know not everyone enjoys their drinks so potent. You opt instead for a 3:1 ratio for the evening, letting the whiskey spill down into the waiting glasses below. You stir it precisely 13 and a half times clockwise in each glass.

Last is the soda, which you allow to trickle down the rivulets of the bar spoon so it doesn’t lose its effervescence. Each drink is then garnished with a delicate twist of lemon.

You swallow, steeling your nerve before you turn to face your patron once more.

“Would you like to listen to music?” you ask cheerfully as you bring his drink towards him. 

There’s a sound system throughout the room controlled by a tablet, you’re trained to make the offer just as you had been to prepare the drinks.

“Not really,” he replies from below you once you arrive next to his chair. He reaches up to take the glass you offer him from your hand, and your fingers brush as the drink passes from your grip into his own.

His touch is warm.

Most men would pull you down into their lap at this point in the exchange, or otherwise grope you in some way, but save for that gentle pass of his fingertips along your own, he doesn’t make any attempt to touch you. 

You perch on the couch beside him, a little bit perplexed.

This man is not what you’d expected. 

He’s young, handsome, and above all strange.

Especially how he watches you—his gaze heavy-lidded but surprisingly impassive. You’re fully dressed but the way he watches you makes you feel terribly bare.

He lifts the drink to his mouth and takes a sip.

“Is it to your liking?” you ask him coyly.

He nods.

Since he’s taken his first sip, you’re now free to do the same. This drink is far sharper and stronger than the watered-down champagne you’d been sipping earlier. You savour how the heat of the whiskey sears its way down to your stomach. Part of you is relieved to finally have a proper drink in your hands.

Beside you, Suna sighs. He leans forward and sets his glass on the low table in front of him, and you watch as a bead of condensation drips down the edge of the polished glass.

Your eyes flicker over to him curiously. He meets your gaze.

“I’m not much of a drinker,” he admits with a little shrug.

“If you don’t drink and you don’t like music,”—you prop your elbow up on the armrest of his chair and rest your cheek in your hand, batting your eyelashes demurely—“this seems like a strange place you’d choose to spend an evening.”

Suna’s eyes flicker down to your lips, and he leans towards you.

“I don’t think anyone is coming here for the atmosphere.”

There’s a flutter in the pit of your stomach that erupts in the same place the whiskey had just warmed. For a few petrifying moments, only the span of a few heartbeats, you wonder if he’s going to kiss you.

As a general rule, you prefer not to kiss newcomers. It might seem an arbitrary place to draw the line, but some forms of intimacy just feel unnatural with a stranger, even in your line of work. Some of your regulars don’t even get to do that. 

For a confusing, startling moment, you can’t help but think you’ll let him if he tries.

But he doesn’t.

Instead he leans back in his seat once more, his long legs still spread before him.

“It wasn’t my choice, anyway,” he says.

You make a little sound of confusion from the back of your throat, quenching your sudden thirst with another long sip of your drink. You’re not quite sure what he means.

“Coming here tonight,” he explains, sensing your uncertainty. “I just got into a bit of a… scrape at work. My boss sent me to blow off some steam.”

He wouldn’t be the first man who used this place as a means of stress relief. Though you wonder who his boss might be to have had Kaito scrambling the way he was.

“I see,” you reply quietly. Slowly, you reach forward and set your glass atop the table next to his own, the difference in how much you’ve each consumed more stark when your glasses rest side by side. You pull yourself upright again, and turn to face him with your lip caught gently between your teeth. You let it slip out to quietly murmur, “I’m happy to help with that, if you’d like.”

Suna’s head tips back against his seat as his eyes close, and he lets out a breathy little laugh towards the ceiling.

Just above the neckline of his high-necked sweater, along the column of his pale throat, you see the faintest edge of a mark. 

A tattoo.

Without thinking, you reach out for it. Just before your fingertip can touch the enticing tendril of ink, his hand catches yours in a tight grip.

You jump slightly at the unexpected contact, and your eyes flash up to his face, only to find that he’s watching you again—more alert now than you’ve seen him since he arrived.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize meekly, your entire face suddenly feeling hot. You're not sure what possibly possessed you to think touching him like that was okay.

He’s still clutching your hand, but after a moment his grip eases—his touch slipping down to your wrist. His long fingers circle it easily, and something about the sight makes you feel strangely small. Breakable even. 

His hold is different now, gentler. More delicate.

Slowly, he takes your hand and guides it to his cheek.

“Your hands are cold,” he remarks as his eyes slowly close again, and you realize the chill of your touch must feel nice against his injury. His cheek is radiating heat as he holds your hand to it.

You cup your hand to cradle his face in your palm, but he still holds fast to your wrist.

“It’s from making the drinks,” you reply quietly to his comment, your thumb reaching out and ghosting over the cut on his mouth without thinking. Other than the wound, his lips are incredibly soft under the pad of your finger.

He hums, leaning into your touch. After a few moments his eyes flutter open and meet yours, but they’re heavy lidded again. His gaze hazier now. More disarming, somehow. Your thumb is still pressed to the swell of his bottom lip.

“You’re good at this,” he whispers softly, like you’re not supposed to hear it at all, and you’re confused by what he means. He tilts his face and presses his lips to the heel of your palm in a hot, open-mouthed kiss. Next his lips slide down to your wrist, mouthing at you there too.

“Pardon?” when you finally manage to speak, you find your voice is fluttery and unlike yourself.

“I really had no intention of fucking you,” he murmurs into your skin. “You just looked so miserable when I walked in that I thought it might be fun to bother you a little bit.”

Your heart is suddenly hammering in your chest, and you wonder if he can tell as his tongue sweeps out against your pulse point.

He smirks against your skin, his unfairly long eyelashes fluttering as he peeks over at you once more—his stare is just as electrifying as it had been the first time he turned it on you.

“I underestimated you,” he says, and his words sound like commendation.

Your head tilts to the side, not quite knowing what he means, but your confusion only heightens as Suna takes your hand and guides it to his throat. He holds it there the same way he holds you in his gaze—firm and unwavering.

“I didn't think you’d be so good at seducing me.”