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ok im upset i started bnha like last year but i also started hella other anime at the same time so i skipped around finishing one at a time some how didnt get back to bnha yet. so literally last time i saw bakugou he was in that little jean outfit. im scrolling through tumblr minding my GD BUSINESS. & BOOM. DEAD KATSUKI ON MY FUCKING DASH. TF IS THIS. WHAT IS HE DOING THERE. i dont like this i wont watch it. my heart doesnt deserve any of this not at all this is some sick fucking joke
i feel like i shouldn’t read as many fake scenarios as i do but like it brings me such joy idk what to tell you. i realize that it’s joy that was fabricated, but at the same time my brain fully believes i’m in a committed relationship with an animated character.
may not be “healthy” or “good for my psyche” but what is let’s be real.
i’ll take my lil artificial serotonin from the lil fake stories i could be getting it from hard drugs let’s be positive here.
tags: post timeskip!megumi, best friends to lovers, fake dating, wedding AU, drinking & mentions of alcohol, lots of pining and yearning, me writing this and including a lot of megumi dialogue bc writers on here love to make him mute and indifferent >:( he is very passionate to me >:( | wc: 5.4k+
He’s made a mistake.
Oh, Megumi has made a huge mistake.
He knew he should’ve listened to that tiny, pessimistic voice in the back of his mind when you’d asked him to attend a wedding with you.
Granted, it’s not a terribly strange ask of you—you are best friends, after all. But Megumi should’ve denied your advance the second he discovered the twist to it.
He wasn’t there to be just any old regular wedding plus one. He was there to be your date, your faux boyfriend for the night. To put on a show so your relatives could get off your case for being single.
With hesitance, he agrees. He can’t not agree to helping you out. Not when you’re his best friend, not when he feels his heart skip a beat every time you so much as sigh in mild disappointment or irritation.
But, god, was he wrong when he thought he could handle this.
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trying to sleep cuddling with satoru with your back faced to him just to feel one of his hands wandering around your body and his light breath on your ear as he pretends he’s not doing anything until you feel his touch under your shirt to grope your breast and his leg spread yours so you’re almost riding his thigh
you’d let a shaky breath out and he would move his hand to your throat, pressing gently and pulling your head back and holding your jaw in place so he could kiss the spot behind your ear
“we should sleep now” you said with your eyes closed without actually believing your words and he let out a breathy laugh, pulling you even closer so you could feel the state he was on
liking fictional men is my toxic trait bc my standards are literally unreachable. how is a dirty silly little man supposed to compete w an idealized version of an idealized caricature of a person. he was WRITTEN. he has NO FLAWS. if the author writes something ab him that i dont like i can simply pretend i dont see it!!! there’s no way to lose except for the disgusting reality that HE DOESNT EXIST😩😩😩 hate it here
ok i cant be crazy- im rewatching hxh on the chimera ant arc and uh… is netero not sexc ??? maybe its daddy issues talking but smth ab that man is igniting smth feral inside me if he’s doing 10k punches that quick imagine getting fingered😳😳 ok thats enough but seriously. 50y/o netero could get it
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LMAO “came out” to my mom bc i was wearing bracelets 2 cover up scars & one of them has a rainbow pattern. she was like is this for pride month or something more i shrugged & she told me 2 leave😜 more 2 think ab at night🤪
a/n: writing this bc im so short compared to everyone ik and its not fair that gojo is 190 cm and toji is like 180 cm while im 162 cm ):<
tags: sfw, gn!reader, no warnings <3
• i feel like he would be the worst-best boyfriend ever w a short s/o since he is such a tease, but he cares ab u a lot and hes hot so u forgive him
• he likes to put ur things up in high places. like ur favorite cookies are always on the top shelf. his excuse is that they "grew legs and climbed up there"
• however when all is said and done, his ego is boosted when u come running to him asking for help getting ur stuff down since ur replying on him. depending on the mood he may or may not be like "oooh it's to high for me to reach, guess u gotta get on my shoulders :("
• he teases u about ur height literally all the time, but only he and ur friends are allowed too. he doesnt allow anybody u dont know to make fun of u
• people think ur his like daughter or his student bc he makes it well known he is a teacher. so sometimes some women will approach him like "ooo, u have a daughter, she is so pretty ♡" tryna win his affection by being nice to his 'daughter'
• ur always sitting on his lap. its just thats ur so tiny and make the perfect headrest for him. so he will iust out his chin on ur head and snake his arms around ur waist since hes so clingy
• hugs! he loves giving u bear hugs, and its completely random. one second ur talking to a friend and then the next to have a 190 cm man wrapped around u
• aww and cuddles too, he really likes when u both face eachother where ur legs are wrapped around his waist, he just finds it really intimate since u both can whisper sweet nothings to eachother and just be close
• he once heard u say something about wishing u were taller and he barges in the room like "no." just no, that was it
• kisses are a bit awkward. he has to bend over to kiss you but when he really wants to teast u he will grab u by ur arm pits ans lift u so ur face level with him and then kiss u
• he will give u his clothes, especially long-sleeves tops, sweaters and sweatshirts. he loves seeing how the hang off ur arms bc they r so long and how u awkwardly wear his sweatshirts that are huge on u
• also ur blankets, u have a really short blankey that barely covers his legs but he will still use it as a blankey if u and him ever fall asleep on the sofa, however he will probably wake up and grab a bigger blanket at some point
• when he sees another dude talking to u and he is in his jealous mood he will stand behind u and the dude is just looking up at him and ur just blabbering ab something random
• he purposely towers over u like sometimes u could be standing talking to somebody and u look up and see him leaning over u like "sorry, what was that? couldn't hear u down there?"
• and then u lean over the table and grab his head and yank him into a kiss but he doesnt care bc he likes when u get rough w him if ykwim
“there was only one bed” with gojo but he did it on purpose👯♀️
PURRRRR ANON ur so right for this
satoru gojo x reader (wc:1.4k+)
“What the fuck is this?”
You stand in the entryway of a decently appraised hotel in the middle of a city you don’t know the name of. It’s not the room itself that’s causing you distress—in fact, the room is rather nice. Big windows, clean carpeting, a sufficiently sized television mounted on a neutral colored wall. You had to admit, being sent on an away mission with Gojo of all people did have its pros (as well as its cons).
Pros being the treatment he receives for notoriously being the strongest sorcerer. He’s always waited on, hand and foot, as he saunters around ogling eyes and performative reactions. You’d gotten a hotel room last minute and free of charge thanks to his celebrity status, as he’d put it.
Cons being that you’re stuck in a foreign area. With Gojo. In a room. With one bed.
Quite frankly, all you want to do is collapse onto a plush mattress and let your aching bones rest for the night. It’s what you deserve after a long day of exorcizing curses and dealing with Gojo’s ridiculous antics. The hotel would serve its purpose. Sure, it’s not the most expensive place you’ve stayed at, but that didn’t matter right now—what matters is that there is a singular bed in a room for two idiots to share.
“What?” Gojo questions your remark as he towers behind you. You can feel his breath dangerously close to your neck as he speaks slowly.
“Never been in a hotel room before? I mean, I know your standards are low but this isn’t all that impressive,” he tries to poke fun as he ushers past you and into the room, practically throwing his designer duffel bag down on the closest armchair before removing his shoes.
“The only thing low about my standards is the fact that I’m here with you right now,” you grumble from your spot in the doorway.
“Ouch, you wound me,” he feigns hurt as his large and pale hand covers his heart. His lips pout dramatically, and you loathe that there’s a small part of your brain that tells you to kiss it off of him.
As cute as the scene before you is, you still don’t budge from where your feet are glued to the floor, where the room just barely meets the hallway, as if you're too stubborn to even cross the threshold of the entryway. He eyes you up and down skeptically as he sits down on the mattress and spreads his legs, stretching them out from a long and grueling day of being put to work. Your arms cross in defense as you put your foot down.
“Gojo.”
“Yes?”
“Why is there only one bed.”
He knows it’s a question, but it sounds more like a demand. An order to know how the hell he messed this up.
And truthfully, he knows exactly how this happened.
He’s more than aware that when he called to book a room for the two of you to stay overnight in, they had specifically asked him how many beds he’d like. It would’ve been too easy to say two, and Gojo doesn’t do easy—he likes a challenge with a bit of a rough edge to it, and he thinks that’s why he likes you so much. He found that just one, please rolled off the tongue a bit too naturally for his usually guarded and lonely self. So yes, he knows exactly how the two of you ended up in this predicament.
But what’s the fun in letting you know all of that?
“Dunno,” he attempts to be nonchalant, but the smirk slowly creeping across his face gives away his true intentions, “Could’ve sworn I asked for a room with two.”
He can tell from the look you're shooting him that you're not buying his act, so he persists, “In fact, I remember being very adamant about it, actually. Didn’t want to get your panties in a twist, or at least not in that way.”
The mattress he’s sitting on is slightly bigger than a twin but not quite wide enough to be considered a full, and you didn’t even think they made beds this size. It’s an awkwardly proportioned bed in general, let alone for two people—one of those people being a giant lanky asshole who takes up as much space as humanly possible.
With your fingers lightly squeezing the bridge of your nose out of annoyance, you accept defeat and enter the room, locking the door behind you.
A few silent minutes go by. You wash up and change out of your (now very dirty) uniform. Satoru eats a bag of candy he’d boughten on the way home when he’d forced you to stop at a kiosk downtown. He stands in front of the television, laughing mindlessly at an old sitcom re-run playing and it’s fine, you think. This isn’t the most terrible thing that could’ve happened to you. He’s not being intolerable, and it’s just one night.
That is, until night falls and he begins to make himself more than comfortable underneath the duvet of the mattress.
You're taken aback at his confidence regarding the situation: had he just assumed that the two of you would share the space without any issues? Had he not taken a moment to think about giving you the bed, taking the floor for himself like the gentleman he claims to be?
“You’re not gonna offer to sleep on the floor?” your mouth slightly hangs ajar as you bore at him in disbelief.
“The floor?” he practically gasps, “Are you out of your mind?”
Another glare sent his way confirms that you are, in fact, deadly serious, so he rationalizes.
“We can both sleep in the bed. Together. Like two grown adults. Right?”
Like muscle memory, his words force your tongue to prod into your cheek. He’s baiting you—challenging you, by bringing up the concept of maturity. He knows you can’t resist calling him out for his childish behaviors and stupidly irritating mannerisms. You have to be the mature one. You can’t let him get away with being so comfortable about something you can’t even stomach.
So, like a fool, you give in.
“Speak for yourself, you’re the immature one here,” you practically snarl as you peel back the covers and brace for impact.
Satoru laughs, “I’m not the one making a fuss over the bed situation,” he lightheartedly quips with a shrug of his shoulders.
You slowly, deliberately, crawl underneath the blankets and into the bed with him, as if one wrong move could set off a bomb and the whole hotel would be blown to pieces. Gojo can feel you practically laying atop eggshells as he notices you barely settling into the mattress, denying yourself the right to get fully comfortable.
He waits to feel you sink further into the foam, to give in to your drowsiness and let yourself relax, but it never comes. What does come—after a few moments of silence and soft breathing—is a command from you.
“Move over,” you quietly bark.
“If I move any further, I’ll be hanging off the bed-”
“That’s the point.”
Gojo sighs, and even though the room is pitch black and you can’t see his stupid face, you know he’s grinning like an idiot. You’ve heard him sigh enough times to know the difference between a tired one and a menacing one—and this particular sigh was definitely one of the latter.
“Y’know, we could use this to our advantage, maybe even-”
You’re quick to cut him off, feeling like a blushing virgin as your heart races like a school girl at the thought of what could potentially fall from his lips.
“M’not having sex with you here, Gojo.”
His chuckle vibrates the bed, maybe even the whole room.
“Here? That implies that you would have sex with me, somewhere.”
He feels you roll over from your back to your side, now facing away from him due to the childish comment. He chuckles as he imagines the look on your face; all blushing and flustered and so damn cute.
“Anyways, I wasn’t even going to suggest that,” he ensures with an accusatory tone, “Says a lot about the way your mind works, though.”
From your covered face hiding in the pillow, he hears a muffled, “What are you suggesting?”
And he’s been waiting for this exact moment ever since he called the stupid hotel in the first place.
His answer is simple and concise, “Huddle for warmth and conserve space,” he states obviously, “Like the cavemen did.”
He feels your body jolt with a mix of a scoff and laugh, and he catches himself automatically leaning in closer to your still turned away frame at the warmness it ignites in him.
“Well, you certainly resemble a caveman,” you quip as you finally turn to face him.
A silent exchange of shared looks through the dark is all it takes for the two of you to wordlessly agree and intertwine limbs.
Gojo’s warm—you’d always imagined he’d run on the colder side (not that you actively imagine what his skin feels like at all). Your head is ushered onto his chest by a comically large hand that rests on the crown of your scalp. His other hand gently runs a few fingers up and down your forearm. As you’re now practically on top of him—it tickles, but simultaneously feels like sparks dancing on your freezing skin.
Over time, the bomb diffuses.
After feeling your body finally loosen underneath his touch, devoid of all tension and stress you had been keeping in all day, he finds himself naturally doing the same. With your head on his chest and your hand on his stomach, he lets out an curious mumble to check in and make sure that you're comfortable with whatever this is.
He knows you are, he wouldn't have done this in the first place if he knew you wouldn't be. He just wants you to admit it—to say it out loud and confirm his suspicions. To feed both his ego and his heart, which is a tough feat that only you can seem to conquer these days.
“S’not terrible, I guess,” you admit in a whisper, already feeling yourself dozing off in his hold.
“No, it’s not,” he quickly agrees and you can practically hear the smile dripping from his lips.
“Just don’t drool on me in your sleep, this shirt probably costs more than your-"
A slap on the wrist is what follows. And while it’s no goodnight kiss, Gojo doesn't think he’d have it any other way, as he allows his eyes to close with a mental image of you and his thoughts to wander about the way your hand feels on his heart.
You wake up having had the best sleep you’ve had in weeks. Gojo says nothing, but his smile is a bit brighter, his laugh a bit louder.
summary - you spend the day at bonten headquarters, and ran makes a choice.
cw - drugs, smut, guns, murder, praise, degradation, dub!con, reader is a sex worker w a sick brother. ran likes you!!! likes you a lot!! too much probably, probably far too much. he's possessive! and ill behaved! my beloved.
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You sleep with him, and he curls his long body around you, burying his face in your shoulder. When he moves in the night he pulls you with him, and when you wake you find your face in his chest, his hands tangled in your hair. He stretches, picking his phone up off the nightstand, then glancing back over at you, bleary eyed. You’re still bruised, and the side of your face is even worse than the day before with the marks jaundicing slightly as they heal. He reaches out and brushes some hair from your face. You stir, and he leans over, pressing his lips to your forehead.
“Ready for work?” He asks and you nod, even though you have no idea what he means. You’re still in no shape to have sex, or even to pleasure anyone else. He gets up and thumps off to the bathroom, tossing you a gigantic shirt to wear. “You’re coming into the office with me.” He says brightly, “Since apparently you can’t be left alone.” You sit up, the shirt covers most of your body, hanging down around mid thigh.
“Do you have my suitcase?” You ask and he shrugs.
“I think you look good like that.” He says casually, and you shake your head.
“I, I, I need pants,” you manage, “I need-”
“I said I think you look good like that.” He responds, shooting you an icy glare. You shut your mouth. “Good girl,” he coos, reaching for the bottle of pills, “Open.” You let him place the small purple pill on your tongue. He leans down and kisses your forehead as you let it dissolve. He pulls you to the bathroom and you brush your hair, applying minimal makeup, not bothering to try to cover the bruising, which looks even worse today. You catch Ran looking at you with mild concern, catch the way his eyes flick to the little cut on your face, to the bruises around your neck and down your chest, but he doesn’t say anything.
You’re followed out of the apartment and into the elevator by at least four heavily armed men, and on your way to the office they open doors for you both, drive cars, walk in front of you and behind you. Ran boosts you up into the backseat of a sleek black escalade. He pulls you most of the way into his lap and you shiver, nuzzling into him for warmth, the cold piercing right through the shirt he’d given you.
“It’s freezing.” You whisper, and he wraps two arms around you, tucking your face into his neck.
“I know, just get close to me.” He says, his voice is almost kind. If you were more sober maybe you’d wonder if he’d done this on purpose, kept you almost naked and vulnerable so that you’d be forced to hide and take refuge in him. Instead, you watch a light snow fall outside the car, feeling the circles he’s rubbing in your thigh. Bonten’s offices are above an old Italian restaurant, and he leads you through it, letting you hide your face from the waitstaff in his big blue suit jacket. You come up the stairs right behind him, holding onto his hand for stability, his silver rings cool on your skin. The stairway is narrow and carpeted, and the office seems normal enough if it weren’t for the constant presence of security, the oddly expensive looking art on the wall, the little minifridges filled with booze, monster and red bull, and the slight smell of cigar smoke.
“And who’s this?” You hear, and peek out from behind Ran. A huge man, tall and thin with dark hair gives you a predatory smile.
“Bitch shot two guys in my apartment,” Ran says, fumbling in his pocket for his vape, patting you affectionately with his free hand. “I dunno what they’re after me for this time but I told her she could stay with me till shit calms down.”
“Hanma Shuuji,” the tall man says, extending a tattooed hand. You reach out and accept it, taking just the slightest step away from Ran, and revealing more of your face. “What the hell happened to you?” He recoils initially, then bursts out laughing. “Didja learn to fight from Haitani or something?”
“Shut up.” Ran snips, pulling you away from Hanma.
“She fights better than Ran,” you hear, and see a younger man, with long pink purple hair framing his face. He has the same gentle sloping nose as Ran and the same light eyes. “She actually hit the guys she was shooting at.”
“I, I wasn’t,” you pipe up, and then wonder if you should have asked permission to speak, “I didn’t mean to hit anyone, sir.” Ran takes a puff on his vape, rolling his eyes as he’s momentarily overtaken by a grape flavored cloud.
“You got your ass kicked a lot, Rin, I don’t wanna hear shit from you, and you,” he turns to Hanma, “Don’t scare the bitch, she’s gotta get back to work for us when she’s all healed up.” He hits you lightly on the back of the head. “Got an email from your boss on the way over here, she said your regulars are complaining.”
“Let ‘em complain.” Hanma says, smiling again in a way that feels distinctly unwarm, his stare making you shiver.
“That is bad for business.” Ran says, tugging you along the hallway and away from the other executives. You feel the purple haired man, Rin, Ran had called him, you feel eyes on you, sure that in the fluorescents Ran’s shirt was translucent. “C’mon. You gotta meet the others, they’ve each got their fun little thing.” Ran pulls you into what looks almost like a conference room, but you’re 90% sure there’s a woman's thong sitting casually on the table in between an empty scotch glass and an ashtray. Rindou and Hanma follow you inside, and Ran makes a show of introducing you to people. “That’s Kokonoi, he likes money more than he likes people. That’s Sanzu, he likes drugs more than he likes people, and Mikey, over there, more than he likes drugs. Mikey doesn’t like anything, and neither does Kakucho.”
“Are you finished?” Mikey says, leaning forward in his chair, scowling. Ran just shrugs. You take a step back from the blond, his dark eyes covered in shadow.
“I don’t think so,” Ran rubs his chin, “Did I introduce you to Rin or did he just insult me?”
“Haitani Rindou,” the purple haired man says, stepping into the room and rolling his eyes. “Now she’s met me, can we sit down?” Ran sighs dramatically, plopping into a chair and yanking you into his lap hard enough to make you gasp with pain, a sound that the group largely ignores. Mikey, however, frowns.
“I’d prefer you not make her do that again.” He says, and you look up at him but he’s holding Ran’s gaze, not yours. “What happened?” The others take a seat around the table, some of them are drinking, and some of them look crumpled and disheveled like they’re still up from the party the night before.
“Someone broke into one of our establishments,” Ran says, “Tried to kill her to send a message to me,” he glances down at you, “But she’s tougher than she looks, he about kicked the shit outta her but she stabbed him.”
“Is that why she’s in your lap?” Kokonoi says dryly. “So that if she stabs someone this time it’s you?”
“She’s in my lap because I want her there.” Ran says, still in his lazy drawl but with a dark undercurrent.
“Keep going.” Mikey says, sounding bored.
“I took her back to my place, for obvious reasons,” you’re still half hidden in his chest, “Can ya look at the people, sweetheart?” You nod, and obey, turning your face fully out from his chest for the first time. You get the sense that even in a room full of people who’ve seen terrible things, done terrible things, your face still looks pretty bad.
“Embarrassing.” Kakucho mutters eventually. “Hitting someone who can’t possibly fight back.” Ran shrugs.
“I mean you can’t say all the fights I picked were fair but I did win them.” He grins, “You can go back to hiding, I’ll let you know if you need to speak.” They all watch as you obey, still high, wrapping the inside of his jacket around yourself. “Anyway, she came back to my place, I asked for two decent guys,” he glances at Rindou, “Which I thought my dear brother was capable of providing,” Rindou scowls, “But someone broke in, kicked the shit out of them, and she shot ‘em.” Mikey rubs his eyes.
“And they seemed only interested in you, not in us?” He asks, and Ran gives you a little nudge.
“They said it was about something he did in Roppongi.” You murmur, peeking out to look at Mikey.
“That could be almost anything.” Kokonoi takes a sip of his drink, it’s cherry red, and you imagine it’s syrupy and sweet. “And nothing to do with you?” He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Piss off one of your johns, princess?” You open your mouth to speak but Ran chuckles.
“She’s actually very well reviewed.” He says, and you feel your face burn. “But don’t get your hopes up boys, she’s got three broken ribs.”
“I mean,” Sanzu speaks for the first time. “We could get her high enough so that she doesn’t feel it.” You shrink even further into Ran.
“Every day that she’s not in her little room downtown we are bleeding money.” Ran shakes his head. “Which is why I would like to find these people quickly.” He slides some paper across the table. “I think honestly I know who it is.” Rindou looks up. “I mean, who hates me personally more than Daito.”
“Hmmm,” Rindou rubs his chin, and for a moment you’re struck with the mannerism of Ran’s he’s unconsciously mimicking. “Daito Yagami, shit.”
“Are the two of you speaking in your own cute little language or do we all get to know what’s happening?” Hanma drawls.
“We killed his brother.” Ran explains, “When I was sixteen.” He feels you tense in his lap, “Oh baby,” he coos, looking down at you, “Does that scare you?” You don’t respond and he chuckles. “I’d never hurt anything as defenseless as you.” You don’t look convinced and there are a few laughs from the group. “I’ll have my men look into that, but it could be new rivals, could be Taiju, or somethin’ else entirely.” He leans back in the rolling chair, testing to see if you’ll keep taking refuge in him. You do, following his movements no matter how he shifts. They spend the meeting planning something but you’re too high to hear what’s happening. You’ve got two little fistfuls of Ran’s shirt, he’s got one hand on the back of your head, petting it softly. “Sweetheart,” he says, and you’re not sure how long it’s been when you blink back to reality, the light in the room has changed and there are more drinks on the table, more cigs in the ashtray. You blink a couple times.
“She’s fuckin’ gone.” Sanzu mutters. You rub your good eye, head pounding.
“You hungry?” Ran asks, and you nod dumbly. “You want another pill?” You nod again and he digs in the pocket of his suit jacket, producing the bottle. He takes a pill out and you open your mouth, he puts it directly on your tongue, and before it can even dissolve you’re back to hiding in his jacket.
“You’re gonna have to give her back,” Mikey says coolly, “If she’s really as high an earner as you say she is.” Ran shrugs.
“I’m thinking about promoting her.” He shrugs. “Considering she’s technically already completed initiation.” Kakucho looks troubled, but Mikey leans forward, his thoughts plain on his face.
“She could probably come and go from different places without being suspected,” he muses, “Of course, when she’s not,” he gestures to the bruises visible all over, “Like this.” He stands, “Sanzu, Haitani and I have some business, you’ll watch the girl.”
“I don’t think she’ll go with him.” Ran says quickly.
“I said he’d watch her.” Mikey says coolly, eyes narrowing. “Is there a problem?” The room drops several degrees in temperature, all conversation stops. Ran doesn’t appear affected by it though. He shrugs.
“Let’s give it a shot, boss.” He peels you off of his lap, your eyes go wide with fear. “You’re gonna hang with Sanzu, baby, can you handle that?” You frown. “Gonna miss me?” He teases, but you hear the implicit threat and answer immediately.
“Yes.” You whisper. He cackles, pushing you towards Sanzu. You crash hard against his chest, and he rights you without care for your injuries and you suck in a sharp breath at his touch to your waist.
“Why,” Mikey pinches the bridge of his nose, “Haitani why isn’t she wearing pants?” Ran takes a puff on his vape before responding.
“Because I didn’t give her pants to wear.” He grins, turning to Sanzu. “Try and keep her in one piece for me?” Sanzu grins, lifting you off your feet, cradling you to his chest.
“If you care so much, do something about it.” Ran takes another drag on his vape, “Are we gonna go or nah?” Mikey nods, leading the lavender haired man out of the room. Sanzu bounces you like you’re a child he’s trying to soothe. He smells different than Ran, sweeter, a honeyed smoke.
“Haitani’s little plaything,” he says softly, and you lift your head to look at him. His eyes are a crystal clear blue, light and haunting as a wide open sky. You feel him looking at your bruise, examining your injuries as the rest of the men file out. “Losing a fight’s no fun, huh?” He says and you nod, unsure if you’re being encouraged to make conversation with him. You don’t have to wonder long because he looks away and carries you out of the conference room, down the hall. He has his own office. The desk is a mess of papers, there’s a couch and coffee table, and a window with the blinds closed. He sits you on top of the papers, and you blink a few times, trying to focus. Your head is spinning, this feels stronger, different from the painkillers.
“What,” you mumble, and realize your tongue feels heavy in your mouth, “What did he, what did he give me?” Sanzu glances at you and shrugs.
“Dunno.” He says, and you run your fingers through your hair, trying to focus. “Don’t fight it though,” he advises, “Just relax and enjoy sweetheart.” You take a deep breath, your nails digging half moons into the skin of your palm. “You eaten?” You shake your head. He picks up the phone on his desk and you think he orders food, but you’re not entirely sure, floating in and out of the conversation.
“Sitting up hurts, please, god.” You barely manage the words, your voice tight and pinched, and evidently you’ve interrupted him mid sentence because he cocks his head at you.
“I fucking forgot,” he cackles, “That’s what I told Ran I wanted bitches to call me,” he laughs like a hyena, running his fingers through his already wild cotton candy colored hair, “Whaddya want me to do about that?” You nod, chewing the inside of your cheek.
“I,” you take a gulp of air. “I could lie down on the floor.” He cackles again, but the offer was genuine, you start to move. He gets up quickly, stopping you.
“I was kidding, I,” He helps you onto your feet but you can’t tell if he’s purposely touching your tender spots or if he’s genuinely clumsy, and you can’t bite back the gasp of pain that rushes from your lips as he guides you by the waist to the soft leather sofa. You curl into the fetal position, tears sparking in your eyes, every sensation heightened as Sanzu squats down next to you, studying you for a moment before brushing some hair from your face.
“So sweet,” he coos, “Sweet little girl.” You moan softly, it feels nice and safe. “Does it hurt baby?” He asks.
“Mhm.” You whimper. He keeps playing with your hair, like he’s fixated on it, sitting on the ground next to you while you float in and out of consciousness. You’re not sure how long he does it for, the repetitive motion and the drugs is making you feel soft and warm. It must be a long time, because when your eyelids flutter open the light has changed and he’s still there, scrolling through his phone with one hand and massaging your scalp with the other.
“Why did you do it?” He asks, so quietly you nearly ask him to repeat himself.
“Do what?”
“Why didn’t you stop fighting?” He asks, and he holds your eyes, stare intense but not cold.
“In, in my room I,” you sigh, “I just, when he said he was going to kill me I could have screamed,” you roll onto your back, eyes drifting shut. “I had a moment where I could have screamed, and someone would have come.” He withdraws his hand from you. “But I couldn’t find my voice, I,” you laugh lightly and then moan in pain as it blooms uncomfortably in your chest, “I reached for it but I was so afraid I couldn’t speak. So I decided I’d have to save myself.” Sanzu nods. You reach up and run your fingers through your hair.
“Haitani called you a tough bitch.” He says, and you look at him again, pressing your lips together. “You don’t like that, being called a bitch?”
“I’m not strong.” You clarify in a high pitched whisper. “Just, just trying not to die, I, I have people, people I care about.” He nods absentmindedly, setting his phone on the table and reaching down to touch your bare thigh, you hear him grunt a little as he stands. He pushes your legs apart, and you feel his fingers on your panties. “I, I don’t know if, If Mr. Haitani-”
“I don’t care.” Sanzu interrupts you, and you feel him slip them to the side. “I’m just looking, anyway,” you feel him part your folds and you try to sit up but you can’t. “Do you not want me to, sweetheart?” He asks, and you shiver.
“I’m afraid it’s going to hurt, god.” You whisper, and he chuckles.
“Of course it’s going to hurt,” He coos, “It’s definitely going to hurt.” Your eyes widen. “Shhh,” he breathes, “Shhh, if you’re gonna cry don’t get too loud, I, I’ll try to be gentle, I will.” You swallow, steeling yourself, closing your eyes as your hands curl into fists, your nails digging half moons in your palms. You feel him part your thighs, and can’t even conjure the embarrassment at being so casually on display, “Such a pretty pussy.” He says, marveling at you. “You work for Bonten, you know that kinda makes you my property.” You don’t respond. “Kinda makes this pussy,” he mutters to himself, as he pushes two fingers inside you, “Kinda makes this pussy my property, what do you think about that?” You breathe in slowly, but you know an order when you hear one.
“P-please,” you muster, “Please use your pussy, god.” He cackles again, utterly tickled at the sacrilege.
“Are you damaging our property?” You hear a new voice, Rindou, and when you look at him he’s leaning against the door frame, an utterly neutral expression on his face.
“Fuck off,” Sanzu says, without missing a beat, pulling a soft moan, half pain half pleasure from your lips. “M busy.”
“She needs to go back to work.” Rindou presses, but you’re having trouble focusing on it. Sanzu shrugs.
“Not my problem,” He leans over you, “Is it my problem sweetheart, no, no it isn’t.” He reaches out and cups your bruised face, “You’re gonna sit still while I use you, aren’t you baby?” You nod, gritting your teeth. Rindou sighs deeply, but feels the odd power dynamic at play, clearly more logical, clearly more centered but also, in Bonten, he’s clearly out ranked. “You wanna watch,” Sanzu grins, “You sick fuck.”
“I want to make sure you don’t kill her.” Rindou protests, but you don’t have time to process that because Sanzu’s thrown your legs over his shoulder and is easing himself inside with a soft groan.
“Fuck, yes,” he hisses, watching the pain bloom on your face with his first thrusts, “Fuck that’s my girl, that’s my pretty girl, huh,” you let out a whimper and he picks up the pace, but you’re grateful he keeps from slamming his hips against yours, only jostling you a little bit. Tears still pool in your eyes, even as he reaches down and plays with your clit, even as you gasp and clench around him.
Rindou’s brow furrows, but he doesn’t move, waiting for Sanzu to finish, unable to tear himself away from you. With the light coming in from the window it’s almost like a renaissance painting, Sanzu is beastly, tyrannical, scarred and wild, and you arch your back dutifully, unable to keep still, perfect lips parted as he coos praise at you, tears falling from your eyes.
For you, the pain has given way to pleasure, and you’re lifting your hips to the best of your ability to meet him, his hands digging into your hips, occasionally reaching up to wipe some of your tears.
“So sweet,” he coos, “So good for me, hm, is that why they like you so much, you’re a good girl?” You swallow, unable to respond, he doesn’t seem to expect you to. He lets out kind of a strangled snarl and pulls out, cumming onto his hand and grabbing a pile of napkins from his desk. You let out a low cry of pain as he lets your legs fall onto the couch, but try to focus on breathing.
“Has she eaten?” You hear Rindou ask.
“Oh shit,” Sanzu says, “I ordered food and then I ate it, nah you should probably take care of that.” You feel strong arms lift you up off the couch, tucking you into their chest. “Yeah just bring her back,” Sanzu says, tossing the napkins in his office garbage can. “I’m supposed to be watching her.”
“Yeah.” Rindou shrugs. “Whatever.” You open your eyes and lean into Rindou’s chest, he carries you down the hallway and sets you on the couch in his office. You float out of your body, high out of your mind, and the last thing you feel is a blanket being tucked around your body.
You hear his voice on the phone, arguing loudly with someone, something about billing and private information. You open your eyes just once, and he scowls at you, tucking the phone back into his neck.
“Go back to sleep.” He snaps, and you do.
____
“Oi,” you hear, “Heard you skipped lunch.” You open your eyes and Ran is in front of you, his shirt somehow even more unbuttoned than it had been earlier, a single tuft of purple hair flopping on his forehead. You struggle into a seated position, feeling a bit better, he pushes something into your hands and you hear a crackle of plastic. It’s dark out, but the office is light in the hallway, you glance around Rindou’s office, wondering if he turned off the light so you could sleep.
“Thank you, sir.” You whisper, and peel the plastic off of the onigiri, stomach growling. Ran nods, inspecting you. Even after a few hours, you look a bit better, eyes more clear, bruises having retreated even by a degree.
“Look good,” he grins, plopping on the couch next to you. “Know what we’re gonna do tonight?” You shake your head. “You up for a party?” He boops your nose. “You’re my plus one.” You look down at your clothes, you’re still dressed in his shirt and you have no idea what Sanzu did with your panties. “We’ll change at my place, I had them send over some options.” He stands, and lifts you, putting you on his hip like a child, one arm hooked around your waist. “Hold onto my neck,” he instructs, and you feel his gun in its holder on his belt, digging into your thigh. “Let’s go.” He leads you through the office, which is largely empty. You pass a room where Mikey and Kokonoi seem to be having some kind of argument, and you catch the blonde’s dark eyes for a moment as you pass, shivering and hiding in Ran’s shoulder. Ran looks down at you, about to speak, when the conference room door opens behind you.
“Wait.” You recognize Mikey’s voice even before Ran turns around, adjusting your weight on his hip.
“What’s up, boss?” Ran says, oozing nonchalance in a way that feels nearly, like it could be, just a degree performative. There’s something about the way he says boss, maybe it’s the pop of the b sound, the hiss of the ss. You can’t quite put your finger on it.
“I promoted you.” He says, holding eye contact with you. You swallow. “You won’t be going back to your,” he pauses, and you wonder if he’s avoiding the word whore, avoiding the word slut, avoiding the word prostitute. “Previous employment.” He says eventually. “Haitani has informed me you have some debts that we’ve taken care of.” You raise your eyebrows, looking sharply up at Ran, whose face remains placid and unreadable. “You’re now,” a little smile, “An executive assistant. Better pay, healthcare, no more spreading your legs for men with money.” Your mouth goes dry, you wonder if he expects you to thank him. You find your voice.
“Thank you, Mikey.” You say softly, and feel Ran tightens his grip on you. Mikey shrugs.
“Technically,” He gives you a lazy smile, “You completed our initiation ritual twice, in protection of an executive, and ah, the men whose lives you saved now report to you.”
“I, I won’t know what to do,” you blurt, and Ran gives you a squeeze.
“I gotcha, sweetheart.” he says. “That it boss? Idiots forgot to give her anything to eat all day.” Mikey sighs deeply.
“Of course they did.” He shrugs. “No. Whatever. See you tonight.” Ran turns and takes you back out through the restaurant. You hide your face in his chest again, conscious of how much of your bruised body is on display. He helps you into a car and the driver takes off, you feel his lips on your cheek as the engine purrs.
“How are you feeling?” He asks, sitting you on his lap so that you’re facing him on your knees.
“Better, sir.” You say softly, and he takes your face in two large hands and kisses you, it’s soft and deft, he moves with more skill than you expect, and you’re suddenly reminded that he’s a few years older than you, as you feel one of his hands cup your ass, you feel the cool of his rings through your shirt. He hums with satisfaction, pulling away and tucking you into his chest.
“I don’t care, by the way, that Sanzu touched you.” he says, one hand on the back of your head as he pushes your face into his neck. You stiffen, in your experience, that usually meant men did care, very much. “It’ll never happen again.” Ran says, still sounding calm, still speaking like he’s discussing the weather, or lunch plans. You snuggle into him, he’s so warm, and you’re freezing. “If anyone else touches you though,” he says, rubbing the back of your head, “I want you to tell me. Understand?” You nod.
“Yes, sir.” Your head finally feels clear, and your ribs don’t ache as badly as they did that morning. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.” He leans back, holding you tightly.
“What did you give me, today?”
“Oh,” he has to think about it, “Mostly downers with a little upper to keep ya conscious, what’s up though, you want more?” You shake your head. “Aw, what’s wrong, didn’t like napping?”
“It was hard to focus,” you explain, “And I,” he feels you wrap your arms around his neck, genuinely holding him back for the first time since he’d first touched you, his heart hammers in his chest. “I want to focus, when I’m with you.” You feel his lips on the top of your head.
“Can’t believe Sanzu couldn’t just get another fucking whore,” Ran complains, and the
scent of artificial grape fills your nostrils, and you know he’s taken a hit of his vape. “Your fucking ribs are broken.” You don’t speak, understanding that likely you’re not supposed to. “Whatever, though,” he softens, and it seems genuine. You feel his 5 o’clock shadow prickling against your face as he swallows. He reaches up and squeezes your arm, feeling the way you’re genuinely clinging to him.
“What happens now?” You mumble.
“You’re my executive assistant,” He explains, “You’ll help me with my schedule, attend meetings with me, get me drinks when I tell you to get me drinks.” You don’t have to ask if that means you’ll be staying in his bed, sleeping at his apartment. “You’ll have some ah, men reporting to you, you can think of them like bodyguards but trust me I’ve threatened them within an inch of their life, they know what happens if they touch what’s mine.” Logically, that should make you nervous, you realize, that he was so possessive, so willing to threaten, but you only feel a warm relief spread across your chest.
“Good.” You murmur, lifting your head, looking up at the only person who’d ever saved you from anything. The only person who’d ever bandaged your wounds, who’d ever cared if you’d eaten, ever cared if you’d rested.
“Yeah?” He says, a smile spreading across his face, his canines glinting as a panel of light passes over his face, the driver pulls up in front of his apartment complex but he doesn't move. You nod, and he runs his knuckles down your cheek, “Such a pretty girl,” he breathes, “Such a pretty, pretty girl.” You squirm with pleasure at his praise, and then wince. “Alright.” he grins, more businesslike. “Let’s getcha some food, and then dressed up, huh?” He ruffles your hair. “I wanna see how you clean up.”
___
Security is omnipresent, you realize, they’re there in Ran’s kitchen, standing outside his bedroom, one of them, Shion, you’re told, stands with you in the bathroom as you style your hair, and attempt to paint makeup over your broken face. You don’t speak to him, afraid at first of getting him in trouble, and then the silence gets comfortable. Ran takes phone calls as he gets dressed, apparently Bonten is acquiring a few new warehouses and they’re haggling the price a bit lower.
“It’s not a threat, Rodrigo,” You hear Ran say, through the bathroom door, you imagine him partially dressed, pacing in his bedroom. “It’s not a threat, it’s a statement of a fact, you don’t want to fuck us anymore than you wanna get fucked,” there’s a pause. “Tell ya what,” he says, “Tell ya what, let’s get dinner, tomorrow, bring your girl, and we’ll talk it through, see if we can’t come to an agreement.” He laughs, but it’s a joyless terrifying sound. “Well, we’ll see what happens after, we’ll see.” Ran pokes his head into the bathroom a moment later, you’re adjusting your eyeliner.
“Sweetheart, we’ve got dinner plans tomorrow, don’t let me forget.”
“Could I,” You turn to him, and his mouth waters, despite the constellation of bruises still visible, your form in the tight, red velvet wrap dress is positively intoxicating, your eyes are wide and a little fearful, he realizes what animal you remind him of now, doe eyed and skittish. “Could I get a notebook, something to write these things down in?” Ran shrugs, and glances at Shion.
“Yeah, get her whatever she wants.” He says, shrugging, and Shion takes a phone out of his pocket, “You wanna meet your bitches, baby?” He coos, offering you an arm. You’re still barefoot, your dress drags on the floor but he smirks at the haste with which you move to be close to him.
“Yes, sir.” You beam at him. He’s nearly dressed, for once in a full, dark suit and crisp white shirt. He’s so tall, you imagine everything has to be tailored and custom. He’s got another silver chain around his neck, his shirt only mostly buttoned, his hair coiffed. He shaved again, at some point, you realize, and he catches you staring.
“Eyes up,” he says, directing your gaze out to his living room. You almost don’t recognize the space as the room you’d shot two men in, but you absolutely recognize your bodyguards. “Boys,” Ran drawls, “Think you might owe the lady something.”
“Thank you.” The one of them with raven hair, and some kind of a panther tattoo on his neck steps forward, looking at the ground. “For saving my life.”
“Thank you Yuuta!” Ran crows, and the first man, Yuuta, takes a step back. “And you, Isami, anything to share?”
“Thank you,” the second man nods a bleach blonde head, “Thanks for saving my life.”
“Good.” Ran says, grinning. “Now, if anything happens to her you know that neither of you has any use to me, correct?”
“Yes sir.” They both say in unison.
“And you know what happens to things that have no use to me?” Ran presses, rubbing a circle in your lower back as he casually threatens their lives. You lean into his touch.
“Yes sir.” They say again. They’re both tall, you realize, though shorter than Ran, they’re more broad and muscular.
“Regrettably, I can’t spend every minute of every day with you,” Ran explains, “But they will,” he pauses, glancing around, looking annoyed, “Didn’t she ask for a notebook? God.” he runs his fingers through his hair, and it’s another few minutes before a leather book is pressed into your hands. Ran takes another phone call before you leave and you wait for him on the couch, sitting in between the large men. You look up at them.
“Ah, Yuuta, and Isami?” You ask, and they nod. “Okay,” you take a shallow breath. “Can I ask one of you to get me a drink, or do I-” Yuuta steps away immediately, returning in seconds with a glass of chilled white wine. “Oh, ah, I prefer whiskey, actually,” you look up at him and he shrugs.
“Mr. Haitani specified what we’re allowed to give you.” He says and you chew the inside of your cheek, taking a sip of the wine. It’s grassy, maybe something from California, or southern France, you wonder if you’d live to see those places. It’s winter now, icy rain beating against Ran’s wall of windows, and you wonder, shivering, surrounded by these men with guns, if you’ll live to see spring, to feel a warm breeze again. Ran saunters back into the room before you can start to catastrophize, handing you something. It’s your cell phone.
“A little embarrassing for you that there are no notifications besides work and your little otome game,” he teases, “But I assume based on the call history you call your brother most nights around 9PM.”
“That’s right before he starts chemo.” You say softly, taking it in your hand. “He’ll be nervous that I didn’t call yesterday.” Ran sighs deeply.
“Yes, well if Yuuta and Isami were capable of doing their jobs,” his words slice through the artificially heated air, “You’d have made that call.” You give him a little smile, and reach for him experimentally. He takes your hand, pulling you into his chest.
“Be nice, maybe?” You try, looking up at him with just a bit of pleading in your face, he leans down and kisses you.
“No,” he says when he pulls away, smiling widely in a way that conveys not a drop of warmth. “Lion can’t change its spots sweetheart.” You have one moment where you consider correcting him, but don’t bother. “How about, I don’t throw their worthless bodies in the river, and you,” he pauses mid sentence, kissing you again, “You just sit there and look pretty. I’ll be done soon.” You pout a little, sitting gently back down on the couch.
“I’m not quite, pretty again.” You murmur, your bruised face fresh in your mind. He shrugs.
“Look fine to me. Call your little brother.” You put on a big wool coat, it’s black with fur cuffs and a fur collar, you’d have to ask Ran if it would be possible to exchange it for something faux, wondering if he’d care. It’s freezing, and you’re barefoot, but you pad onto the stone, flanked by your new security.
“Hey,” you hear, there’s a little crackle, reception in the hospital was always bad. “I was worried, when you didn’t call?”
“Oh yeah,” you play it off, something about the warm familiarity of your brother's voice after the chaos of the previous days makes you want to cry. “I got into a bit of trouble, it worked out but ah, I got a new job.”
“Really?” You hear him shift a little in bed.
“Yeah, just admin work instead of cleaning, so um,” you tuck your hair behind your ears, “Scheduling, that kind of thing.”
“You’ll be so great at that!” He says. “I’m, ah, I’m proud of you. I wish I could help out more, I know you’re really on your own right now.”
“I’m not on my own,” you protest, just as Ran cracks the sliding door to the balcony to eavesdrop. “I’m not on my own, dummy I have you, and ah, I think with this job I might make some friends, so there.”
“Who would want to be your friend?” He teases, and you both laugh.
“No idea.” You wrap an arm around your ribcage. “You feeling okay?”
“Sure.” He says, “Sure never better.”
“I’ll come see you,” you promise, “I’ve been saving up, it’s just a three hour train up to-”
“I’m the reason you can barely afford a train ticket,” Your brother says, and Ran watches your face fall, “You don’t have to come see me.”
“I want to.” You try. “I want to come see you, I’ll um, I’ll text you, okay?”
“Yeah, alright, I’m um, I’m pretty tired.” He says, “They’re gonna take me in soon. I love you.”
“I love you too.” You barely get the words out before the phone goes dead. “Okay,” you say out loud to yourself, shivering in the cold, “Okay, I’m, I’m okay.” You glance over at the bodyguards and nearly catch Ran snooping but he ducks away just in time. “I’m alright to go back inside.” You say softly and one of them opens the door for you. The second you step back inside Ran sweeps you into a hug, pressing his lips to the top of your head.
“Everything alright?” He asks, and you nod.
“Would it be possible for me to um, to visit him?” You look up at the executive who remains inscrutable. Ran considers, possible, yes, but it was a bad time for him to leave Tokyo, and a worse time for you to be out of his sight for more than a few hours.
“I’ll think about it.” He says. “It’s dangerous right now.” You nod, snuggling into him. “Are you worried about him?” He tries, testing the water, remembering the little whimpers you’d made that first night when he’d pressed on a bruise.
“Yes, sir.” You don’t let go of Ran. “Also I need to know the details about the dinner tomorrow, so um, so I can make sure you remember.” He grins at you.
“Of course.”
_____
The party is loud, and there are cries of joy when Ran walks in, immediately some gigantic man embraces him, and takes your hand, bringing it to his lips. You hold his gaze for a moment, and he offers you a wide smile.
“What did you let happen to such a pretty little thing,” He says, speaking to Ran, who raises a single eyebrow before forcing a smile. “You know, all of my girls are-”
“Routinely vaccinated against various viruses,” Ran cuts in, smirking, “I know.”
“Haitani,” He shakes his head. “You never change, and you,” he looks back at you, “Can’t blame a man for trying.”
“She’s actually my assistant.” Ran says smoothly, his grip on your shoulder tightening. “Not one of our girls.”
“Ah, that’s not what I heard,” He releases your hand, “You can call me Benkeii.” His voice is deep, a little booming, you have to fight the urge to cower. He takes a step to the side. “Make your rounds and then come see me.” You get the impression he’s talking to Ran, even though his eyes haven’t left you. Ran nods, pulling forward into the crowd. There are rows of velvet booths with curtains, a populated dancefloor, and a dark wood bar that Ran pulls you to, ordering himself a scotch and another glass of white wine for you. He doesn’t ask you what you’d like, and you don’t comment on it, glancing at Yuuta and Isami behind you. Yuuta looks calm, if tired, and Isami looks annoyed, you wonder if bodyguards who resented their charge were worth anything.
“Unfortunately I can’t babysit you the entire night,” Ran boops your nose, “And,” he takes a step forward, speaking in your ear. “You’re working.” You keep your face neutral, and then smile a little, as if he’d said something intimate.
“Of course,” your drinks arrive, Ran intercepts them, inspecting yours before handing it to you.
“I’ll letcha know what I need in a few,” he downs his drink, and pushes off into the crowd. As soon as his silhouette is obscured, your bodyguards step closer, and you wince. The wine is terrible, tasting sweetly cheap.
“How are you feeling?” Yuuta leans down and speaks in your ear. “Are you in pain?” You nod, you can still feel the dull throbbing of your ribs and head but it’s not prohibitive. “We can find you a place to sit.” Yuuta points, and not for the first time, you notice how much they go out of their way not to touch you. Somehow, they guide you to a booth where you sit by yourself, staring out at the throng of people. Normally, if you were working, you’d be making conversation with the richest looking man in the room. The girls used to try and guess who that was, based on bespoke suits, jewelry, and pure aura. You’d never had much luck, despite your brief brush with childhood wealth you’d spent your life on the outside of that world looking in. You take another gulp of wine, and finish the glass, pushing it away from yourself to find it nearly immediately replaced by a passing waiter. One of the bodyguards takes it before you can, looking at it before handing it to you. You consider taking your phone out, you’re in too much pain to dance, not that it would be allowed you assumed.
Your hands shake on the table, and you force the rest of the wine down, as you take a deep breath in through your nose. You see him then, indisputably, the richest man in the room. It’s not the suit, which has to be hand dyed, you decide, in order to get that purple that was nearly black, almost black, so deep and rich. It’s not the rings decorating his hands, or the flash of the heavy chain around his neck. It’s not the intricately beautiful tattoo work on his chest, curling up onto his neck. It’s not his posture, his smirk, his delicate features.
No, it’s the way he looks at you, the way he returns your gaze like a panther in the forest, the way he sizes you up, the little smile, intensity burning in his eyes, barely visible under a mop of light blonde hair. It’s the way he walks to you, swagger is the wrong word, his movements are sure. Deft. Intentional. You’re fully aware that he’s walking across the room to speak with you, and the crowd parts for him, his lazy smile hiding the intensity of his presence. He holds a hand out to you, his eyes flicking to the bruises around your wrist and on your clavicle.
“Wakasa Imaushi.” He says, and your bodyguards take a slight step to the side, allowing you to take his hand. “You look miserable.”
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synopsis: a single father, a new nanny and a delusional ex-fiancé. What could go wrong?
summary: Ken Ryuguji, face of TOMAN MODELS AGENCY, is one of the top models in all of Japan. He’s also the father to the sweetest little girl named Ryoko Ryuguji. He’d do anything for her, including keeping the little one away from her manipulative mother. When Draken struggles with finding child care so Ryoko could know some sort of stability. Mitsuya comes to the rescue, contacting an old friend from college.
based on @keizos blue collar: TOKYO | precinct prompts.
original prompt here
writers notes: this is based on a prompt I saw I few months ago. Original it was gonna fully based on that prompt and be an actual story, but I decided to try my hand at a socmed!au. So I had to change things around, so I decided to change their jobs around. I hope you guys enjoy this.
00. Profiles
.profiles.001
.profiles.002
01. CHAPTER ONE
02. CHAPTER TWO
03. CHAPTER THREE
04. CHAPTER FOUR
05. CHAPTER FIVE
06. CHAPTER SIX
07. CHAPTER SEVEN
08. CHAPTER EIGHT
09. CHAPTER NINE
10. CHAPTER TEN
11. CHAPTER ELEVEN
12. CHAPTER TWELVE
13. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
14. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
15. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
16. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
17. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
18. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
19. CHAPTER NINETEEN
20. CHAPTER TWENTY
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taglist: (please use the taglist form in my bio)
Schedule: every Tuesday and Saturday (changed to just Saturday)