It’s the way Ran spread open your legs so shamelessly over his own, making you face the pink-haired man whilst slender fingers catches on your sensitive bundle of nerves again and again and again until you let out a soft cry. Body squirming against his, “R-Ran! I’m s-sorry I didn’t mean to—!”
Tw: dubcon, brief mention of noncon, stepcest, possessive, manipulation, gaslighting, mention of murder, decryphilia, 3-4 years age gap but both are 18+ when anything sexual happened, Bonten!Ran
A/N:This was supposed to be a drabble for this thirst and I got carried away
@jozhenji — Stepbrother!Ran who intimidates and threatens anyone who comes to take you out cuz he loves the adorably angry little pout you give him when yet another boy doesn’t make it past the first date after meeting your big brother he’d prefer if you were whining and screaming his name for a different reason, but he’ll take what he can get for now
–pairing:devil!ran haitani x f!reader, 17th century new england au, inspired by ‘the witch (2016)’ and the salem witch trials folklore
–content:dark content, corruption, loss of virginity, ritual sex, erotic horror,monster-fucking, breeding, oral (f!receiving), fingering, overstim, mentions of assault/abuse, archaic dialogue
–note:my shot at erotic horror featuring ran haitani for @semisgroupie’sheaven&hell collab bc i watched the witch and thought ran would make a good human!black phillip, dark content ahead so minors can f*ck off! feel free to rb, send me an ask, or leave a comment <3
You fled from the only home you knew since crossing the tempestuous waters of the sea after the demise of your parents, running as fast as your legs would carry. The events that led to your expulsion happened so quickly, you left with only the clothes on your back as your aunt chased you out of her home.
The resounding hammering of your heart was almost loud enough to overpower the cruel clamor of the villagers from behind the settlement’s walls. Their insults were all ones you’d heard before from the lips of the only family you had left–your paternal aunt. She had uttered them in passing as you dutifully worked on your morning chores while your uncle ogled at you, hissed them into your ear as she pulled you away from her husband’s wandering hands, and finally screeched them early that morning when she found the very same man hovering over you as he tore your bodice and pushed up your skirts.
“Whore. Slut. Witch.”
You were none of those things. Your virtue remained intact despite the attack in the barn moments prior. Your fingers had not breached your mound even when the sounds of your aunt and uncle’s couplings snaked into your ears and all of the warmth within your body pooled between your legs. Instead of falling prey to your innate sinful desires, you turned to prayer–to your faith–to dispel those corrupt thoughts. After losing your parents and your homeland, your love of God had been what kept you going. It gave you the courage to board a ship and sail to the New Land to reunite with the only family you had left, gave you the strength to work from sunrise to sunset completing household chores, and it would give you the will to press forward in hopes of finding a village or a family in need of an extra set of hands.
Hopes that wore thin after a day and a half of walking without the smallest sign of civilization. No matter how far you traveled along the edge of the dark, ominous forest, there was only a clearing of grassy rolling hills as far as the eye could see.
Throughout your journey, venturing into the wood had never been an option. Nothing good ever came from places shrouded in darkness where the lord’s light could not shine through. Darkness was what propagated all sorts of sin. That was the reason you fell asleep watching undulating flames dancing in the fireplace.
Night crept upon you, and you woke up to the sound of rustling grass and snapping twigs. Exhausted beyond anything you had ever experienced, you mindlessly followed the noises and collapsed next to a brook near the wood to quench your thirst. You cupped your hands and desperately drank your fill of freshwater until your belly cramped from the sudden intake. You were splashing water over your face when, suddenly, the faint smell of smoke wafted up your nose.
Despite the pulsating ache in your feet and calves, you leapt to your feet and staggered to the source of the scent only to find hot ashes over a bed of dead grass. It was the first sign of human life you had seen since leaving the settlement, and you could not help the breathless laugh that left your lips at the hopeful sign. Just as you wondered where the person behind the fire could have gone, you heard more rustling grass and snapping twigs and looked up to see movement in the tall grass and weeds leading to the wood.
It seemed to almost beckon you to enter it; a ray of light shining down just at the entrance before darkness engulfed the rest of the wood. Weary, hungry, and desperate, you clutched at your soiled skirts and stared at your adversary–the primeval forest–debating whether to enter or not.
In the end, you took the light as a sign from God and entered the wood, knowing that it would either lead to your salvation or perdition.
As you clumsily made your way through the forest, the little daylight that did squeeze through the thick towering treetops waned as another day in the wilderness came to an end, and your renewed hope with it.
Panic bubbled in your chest and your breathing become labored as you struggled onward. The deeper into the wood you traveled, the thicker the foliage became, until you were squeezing through vines, piercing yourself on thorned stems, running into wayward branches, and stumbling on the jutting tree roots that littered your path.
One nasty tumble, in particular, was what pushed you over the edge and had you sobbing, face down on the cold earth as hot tears spilled from your tired eyes. With your faith stripped, you were left vulnerable for sinful thoughts to cross your mind and you pleaded for death to the ground below.
But instead of death, you received another sign of life–the smell of chimney smoke–just ahead and only growing stronger. And like the survivor you were, you slowly rose to your feet and wiped your tears with dirty hands before trudging toward the miraculous smoke you weren’t so sure was a blessing from God anymore.
The difficult path eventually gave way to a clearing of dead grass where a cabin stood directly in the middle. It was a striking but strange structure of black wood panels, a steeply pitched roof, and glass-paned windows that emitted a blood orange glow from within. An intricate dwelling that was out of place yet matched the ominousness of the wood.
It wasn’t until the door creaked open that you stopped in your tracks and realized that the wood had been engulfed in uncanny silence except for the grass crackling beneath your feet. A shudder ran down your spine as you watched a tall silhouette appear from behind the door amidst the strangely tinged light.
The figure quirked its head to the side as if considering you, and blood pulsated in your ears as every fiber of your being told you to flee. But before you could take more than a step back, the figure took a step forward, and you found yourself unable to move or speak as the most handsome man you had ever seen approached you.
His appearance was unlike any other and that only added to his allure. His cropped short hair was dyed like a fine, patterned cloth and combed to the sides. His white chemise was without ruffles or puffed sleeves. His black clothing was long and form-fitting with little to no adornments save for golden buttons down the length of his waistcoat and coat and a flat and narrow red silken cravat. His black leather boots were also strange in that they stopped at the hem of his breeches instead of traveling up his calves.
It was not until you caught yourself admiring his pale skin, thin pink lips, high cheekbones, and lidded-lilac eyes that you realized you felt no shame in your libertine actions, and he too was not offended by them. On the contrary, his lips curled upward into a beguiling smile as he towered over you, his eyes catching the light as they too drank their fill of you in a way that made you feel naked.
“Thou art alone.“ It was not a question, but you were too enthralled by the melodic quality of his voice to notice. “Thou art weary, lost, and in need of shelter.”
He reached out for you, his long slender fingers picking out a dry leaf from your hair. Your breath caught in your throat as his warm fingers trailed down the side of your face to gingerly cup your cheek. Deprived of affection for far too long, you readily leaned into the strange man’s touch with a whimper, closing your eyes and pretending it was your father’s hand.
“Come unto me, Little Lamb, and thou shalt have everything thy heart desires.” He murmured, slipping his other hand behind your head and drawing you closer until his warm breath fanned over your face.
You opened your eyes and swirling orbs of lilac peered down at you, haunting and inviting all at once.
“W-what dost thou require of me?” You shivered under the intensity of his gaze, pressing your legs together as heat pooled between them.
“What canst thou give?” His head cocked to the side, and his eyes lowered to your torn bodice and further to your filthy skirt.
“I’ve only myself,” you whispered. A maddening flush spread from your cheeks up to your ears and down to your neck and chest. It pricked your skin and caused that familiar pulsating ache to build until wetness seeped past your quim.
His smile took on a sinister edge, but you had long since gone past the point of no return. “‘Tis all I ask, Little Lamb.”
He pulled you to him and his mouth pressed against yours in a fervent kiss. It was unlike what you had ever expected. It was violent and bruising, hot and wet. It overpowered you and forced you into submission. It tasted of sweet sin and set your skin aflame. It was everything you had been deprived of and you soon returned it with just as much ardor, snaking your arms around his neck and tangling your fingers in his hair.
If there was still any doubt that the stranger before you was the Devil himself, it vanished the moment your surroundings transformed into a bedroom with a crackling fireplace, dim blood orange light, and black luxurious furnishings.
The Devil’s hands slithered behind your back and ripped up your bodice and chemise until they fell onto the ground in ribbons. He did the same with the rest of your clothing until you were trembling and bare. His mouth moved down your neck and sucked on the flesh there, leaving a trail of marks in its wake. You gasped and squirmed but his hands grasped your arse and held you in place. His mouth journeyed further until he took a nipple into his wet warm mouth and suckled on it like a babe before giving the other the same attention.
Jolts of pleasure coursed through you and a throaty whine escaped your lips as the room shifted once more and you found yourself arching off silken sheets with the Devil naked and looming over you, lidded eyes aflame, swollen lips parted, and pale skin covered in a sheen of sweat. He was bewitchingly beautiful and all you could do was watch in awe as he settled between your legs and put his mouth on your dripping quim.
It was a dirty sinful act, but you cared not and reveled in your sin. His long forked tongue parted your folds and lapped at your slick. It traveled up to the throbbing nub atop your mound and flicked at it before drawing it between his lips and sucking until you were writhing underneath his hold. As his mouth and tongue worked your sensitive nub, A finger pushed between your folds, past the ring of tight flesh, and into your most sacred place. It thrust in and out of you with deliberate strokes that pressed against one fleshy spot in particular. One finger became two and then three and before you knew it, waves of molten pleasure built up and bubbled over, a wail ripping from your throat and blinding light clouding your vision.
You halfway expected the flames of hell to engulf you and send you to the deepest depths of Hell, but instead of death by hellfire, you were proven to be very much alive when the Devil pierced you with his cock and claimed your virtue.
He wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you up onto his lap. “I have accepted thy gift, Little Lamb. Thou will want for nothing. I shall provide everything thou desires. I shall be thy lord, master, father, and husband.”
The blacks of his eyes expanded until they covered the entirety of his eyeballs and a set of ridged horns protruded from his scalp. He was a monster but you cared not for he had promised everything you had ever wanted.
“Ride my cock,” he growled into your ear before gripping your hips.
“Take my seed into thy womb,” he continued, picking you up and slamming you back down onto his length.
“And seal thy fate with mine!”
You kissed the Devil and did your new master’s bidding. Your hands gripped his horns and you met each thrust of his hips with your own, sobbing out in pleasure every time he hit the nerves near your womb that had you seeing stars.
“Yes, right there!” you cried, throwing your head back in ecstasy, “there, there, there!”
He rutted into you like the beast he was, stretching you out and working you toward another peak more intense than the first one. You turned into a babbling mindless mess with each forceful thrust, your walls contracted around the Devil’s pulsating cock. An animalistic growl ripped from his throat, and he bit into your shoulder, his sharp teeth drawing out blood and long tongue lapping it up.
Pain and pleasure–that was what drove you to completion and the Devil shortly afterward. Your spend gushed out of you and coated your conjoined bodies while the Devil’s shot his inside of your womb, filling you up until your belly swelled and cramped.
You squirmed underneath him and whined in pain, but the Devil paid you no mind, pinning you down on what was now the cold rumbling earth.
Back in his human form, he pulled out of your spent quim and pressed a kiss against your sweaty brow.
“‘Tis done,” he declared with a horrifying smile. “You are mine.”
At his declaration, his seed turned molten and burned your insides. You writhed and screamed as the Devil laughed above you, lilac eyes shining, and just when you were sure the mercy of death would befall you, the ground split open beneath you, and you fell to the depths of Hell with the Devil holding you for what would be all eternity.
hi everyone! i’m back after a hiatus, hopefully you will like this thing here <3 let me know if you would want a part 2 with other characters
ft. mikey, ran & hanma
warnings: nsfw, minors DNI! public sex obviously, sex toys, fingering, oral sex, public flashing, fem bodied reader, nipple play
mikey
your punishment could have been worse, you knew that damn well. it was mikey after all, you knew how he could get. that’s why you didn’t argue when he made you wear the smallest dress on earth with no panties at bonten’s annual party. you thought you would be able to handle it, even though you were struggling to keep your tiny and skin-tight black dress down. honestly, from the back it was noticeable that you had no underwear, you just needed to bend forward a little bit and anyone who looked closely could guess the outline of your pussy.
mikey was now talking to the haitani brothers about business, as you clung onto his arm. from the front, it looked like mikey had his hand on your ass, which would be acceptable, but if anyone saw this from the back, they would be able to see mikey’s fingers dancing on your pussy lips, sometimes rubbing your puffy clit and other times entering your wet cunt. you tried your best to not make a single noise but it was hard, and you had a deathly grip on mikey who pretended like everything was fine. you only made a noise when mikey gave your pussy a small slap that almost sent you over the edge, and you profusely apologized, lying about having a hiccup.
a few minutes later, mikey was fucking you in the nearest bathroom, his cock bullying your walls, punishing you for blowing your cover.
ran
ran and you liked to spice things up in the bedroom with toys and other gadgets, so obviously you ended up buying a toy that could be controlled from someone else’s phone. but the goal here was to use it in public during one of your shopping sprees.
you were wearing a long flowy dress with the toy attached to your clit thanks to the tight panties you were wearing. at first, ran just played with it on lower mode and both of you were giggling like teenagers. you liked the vibrating sensation, it was enough to make you feel good and still be able to act like nothing was happening. progressively, ran raised the level of vibrations, and you were starting to feel a little dizzy, struggling a bit to walk. ran had to lead you with his arm around your waist to different shops.
you were now in a lingerie shop, looking at different underwear and bras when ran decided to raise the level to the maximum, and your legs almost dropped. you speed-walked to the fitting rooms, not wanting everybody to see you in this state, and ran followed you, a smirk on his face. once in the fitting room, he lifted your dress and immediately buried his face between your trembling legs, licking long stripes up your slit, as the toy buzzed against your clit. it took you only a few minutes before you came all over his face, while the store manager asked if everything was okay in there.
hanma
for your anniversary, hanma took you to this fancy restaurant in town. the kind of restaurant that you had to book a month in advance to get a table. your table was in the corner of the restaurant, you had a view on everything and everyone but hanma’s tall body sitting in front of you hid you. which was perfect for him. indeed, as usual, hanma felt a little playful today, and ran his hand up and down your legs, a cocky smile plastered on his face as you asked him to stop.
buthe knew you secretly loved it, doing stuff in public. that’s why you didn’t hesitate to pull your tits out of your bra and play with them when hanma asked you to flash everyone. his long arm reached out for your nipples and pulled on them as you tried to hide your squeals. thankfully, no one noticed what was happening, but hanma wanted to take it a step further. he wanted you to suck him off right here, right now. the table was covered in a long white tablecloth going all the way down to the floor, so he knew you would be completely hidden once on you were on your knees.
you therefore slipped under the table and went down to business, hanma encouraging you by pushing your head up and down his cock, as your tongue danced around his shaft, your hands playing with his heavy balls. you had to control your laugh when hanma told the waiter that you were busy making a phone call and would come back in 5 minutes, just so you would have time to let him cum deep in your throat.
your hands wrap around the edges of the sink, your gripping it so hard that you feel it could break in your hands. his arms wrap around your waist along with you bunched up skirt. your eyes are screwed shut as his cock abuses your cervix over and over. his groans fill the air of the slightly dirty club bathroom.
pairings.hitto kakucho x fem!reader, haitani ran x fem!reader
cw.SEXUAL ASSAULT ATTEMPT, triggering language about sexual assault, blood, violence, suicide ideation, HEAVY ANGST, divorce, fingering, suggestive content, adultery, guns, injuries, flashbacks will be in italics, reader discretion is heavily advised
Ran looked up from his phone, streaks of blood from their previous kill still on his cheek. The white stick he had clamped between his teeth tasted bitter as the ashes that lined Rindou’s face when he departed such a dire warning.
“What?”
Gesturing at the device in his hand, Rindou had not missed how Ran was smirking to himself, and there could’ve been one cause for his smug happiness—you.
“Nii-san.” The last time Rindou called him that honorific was when he was in high school after telling his brother how a group of boys had beaten him to the ground and stolen his glasses. After promptly breaking their bones and making sure he was okay, Ran had firmly told him to never call him that again.
Call me ani, Rin. It’s not so formal as nii-san.
Ran’s attention was immediately on the younger Haitani. Gauging his expression carefully, Rindou uttered, “We have a code—a code not to fuck with another man’s wife.”
A scowl settled on his handsome features and Ran scoffed.
Not this again.
Putting out the lit end of the cigarette, he fixed Rindou with an unfathomable look. “There is no code for a woman who cannot even recall her husband.”
“Nii-san, listen,” Rindou urged, somnolent eyes growing slightly wider at his brother’s stubbornness. “Y/N will regain her memories back—you’ve heard what the doctors said. And when she does, how do you think she will perceive you?” As if those thoughts and worries for his brother weighed heavily in his mind, Rindou took in a deep breath, locking his shoulders. “Our code clearly states that we do not touch anyone’s wife or children.”
The so-called “code” that Rindou was referring to was nothing but a bunch of arbitrary rules some old geezer put in place to control his rowdy gang. Mikey had adopted it because Kokonoi had urged him that an organization needed a set of guidelines. Ran Haitani was pretty sure that if given the chance, the head of Bonten would break those rules for the right person, too.
“It’s fine,” he dismissed Rindou’s concern with a wave of his hand. Smiling, he lifted the phone, gesturing to the screen. “Y/N and her mother invited me over for lunch on Wednesday at her favorite cafe. Should I wear the YSL or Louis Vuitton?”
Rindou’s shoulders slumped, and he hoped that his brother would listen to reason just this once, but Ran was always stubborn—in fact, that was where Rindou got his bad habit of never heeding anyone else’s words. Fire could not tame fire—it would only make it glow brighter, and Rindou sensed he would be the last person who should talk rationalism into his besotted brother.
Even he had to admit it. Ran was happier with you. He walked with a pep in his step, executed traitors with a flourish, and didn’t complain when Takeomi walked in and set down twenty binders on his desk with a firm fix your damn mess, can’t even read your shitty reports. His brother was in love, and who was he to rain on his parade?
Taking one more look at that poor fucker’s face and how over the moon he seemed to just hear from the woman who went on a supposed second honeymoon with her strained husband made Rindou sigh inwardly; hoping for the best. That being he wouldn’t find Ran with a bullet in his head and drowning in a pool of his own blood.
Kakucho would never hurt a fellow comrade unless by order, but as saintly as Bonten’s number 3 was, he had a feral side that was waiting to be unleashed.
Rindou could only stand by and pray he would be lucky enough to protect his brother from the scarred man’s wrath—if it ever came to that.
“The YSL,” he muttered, gut tightening at Ran’s lovesick grin. “Fits you better.”
Waterlogged and bleary-eyed, Kakucho’s ass was starting to hurt from sitting too long on the cold marble floor.
An expensive pair of Bottega sandals shuffled back and forth from his line of vision; Kokonoi wearing holes from his pacing. Beside him, hip against the vanity counter, Takeomi broke the hotel’s no-smoke rule by blazing through his second cigarette, barely a sound in the bathroom beyond the water dripping from the ends of his raven locks, pooling around his feet.
Starkly reminding him of what he had just done.
The pacing stopped right in front of him. He looked up into Kokonoi’s pinched expression. The front of his red suit was stained with water from where the shorter man had plunged his whole upper body into the tub to drag his limp body out from the depths. According to Takeomi, Kokonoi had to perform CPR on him while the older Akashi yelled for help.
With the aid of two in-house nurses and money passed under the table to ensure no stray ears would ever hear of this situation, they had managed to save his life.
And Kakucho resented them for it.
“This is absurd.”
Lifting those dual-colored eyes onto snake-like ones, Kakucho had to admit—it was hilarious to see Kokonoi playing the shoulder to cry on. That role was usually relegated to him. From pregnancy scares to overdoses, Kakucho had been the one to protect his fellow comrades from succumbing to their devices. And this time, it was Koko’s turn to take the helm.
A part he was sorely unprepared for.
“What were you thinking?”
Kakucho hung his head, tracing the irregular puddles of water with tired eyes. The towel they had thrown onto him could scarcely hide his modesty, but after what they both had seen tonight, his dignity was the last thing that should be preserved. What was he thinking?
Your face flashed in his mind and he exhaled brokenly, his lungs and nose still burning.
Right. He wasn’t thinking.
Instead of reassuring his comrades that he was fine and that he didn’t need their help, Kakucho clenched his jaw and forced himself to his feet. The towel slipped down his broad shoulders and he caught it in time to wrap around his bare waist. Two pairs of eyes watched him fastidiously as he leaned into the tub and reached for the golden band at the bottom, holding it in his palm from view before they could see and judge him further for his lapse of sanity.
“I need to get out of Tokyo.” Seven words that were stated in a hoarse voice. He cleared his throat and forced his bleary eyes to latch onto Koko’s flashing sharp ones. “Whatever mission you have on hand. However long it takes—the longer the better. I want to leave.”
Koko and Takeomi shared a look. Eventually, it was the veteran gangster who put out his cigarette by flicking it into the tub still filled with water, fixing the youngest of them all with a frown.
“Shanghai. Ground mission going undercover to scope out an IT gambling empire and bringing down the leader. You up for—”
“Perfect,” Kakucho bit out, expression hard. He was starting to shiver from the AC blowing on his pruny skin. In a tone that brokered no argument, he looked Koko dead in the eye. “Set me up for that. I leave at the soonest convenience.”
Despite looking like he wanted to argue, Koko wasn’t in a position to do that. He may be the treasurer and one-ninth of a powerful echelon of executives, but Kakucho was Bonten’s number 3. He held superiority and seniority over Hajime, and to go against his words would be a death wish. But, he could still raise his concerns without sounding like a pecking mother hen.
“It’s completely off-radar,” he grunted. “Mikey may need you at the base.”
“Tell Sanzu to fill in for me and… Ran to take my place.”
Both men internally winced at the flash of pain on Kakucho’s face when he said their other comrade’s name. The atmosphere thickened with tension that rolled off their broad shoulders.
Kokonoi sensed it would be useless to try and change his mind. Kakucho may have a more genial and serious disposition than the rest of Bonten, but he could also be unyielding when he wanted. In the end, all he could do was nod and hope that Mikey wouldn’t tear him a new one for allowing his most loyal executive to venture out on a mission that was guaranteed to get him killed. But if the head himself had a problem, there would be a way for him to retain Bonten’s number 3—only if he wanted to, of course.
Unable to comfort him the way how Kakucho would comfort his other comrades when they were in need, Takeomi and Koko shared another look and slipped out of the bathroom without another word. Leaving the tall and scarred man alone.
He heard the door closed and when it did, his shoulders loosened and his jaw grew slack. Tears misted in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. Your wedding band in his hand was cold and he set it on the vanity, unable to look at it, knowing for a fact that if he ruminated on it for a second longer, he would hop right back in that tub and finish what he started.
Or, place the nozzle of his gun on his tongue—tasting the rough metal texture and the bitterness of the powder before he pulled the trigger. What would Mikey say then? Kakucho mirthlessly wondered, walking over to and unplugging the tub, watching Takeomi’s cigarette guzzle down the drain in a whirlpool of ash and dirty water.
Kakucho straightened and looked into the mirror, nearly flinching at the sight before him. Both his eyes were red-rimmed, and his nose was leaking, mouth swollen and pale. Strands of raven locks were plastered to his forehead and his fingers were numb when he ran it down his chest; past the indents that would form bruises on his pale skin from Koko’s exertion to expel the water out of his lungs.
Blinking the remnants of the water and tears from his eyes, Kakucho stumbled back to the room. A thin line of pink was on the horizon, signaling a new dawn as if the nightmares that he endured a few hours ago were washed away and the world spun on without him. Life truly was the cruelest mistress.
Even if he had succumbed to the water stuck in his throat and lungs; even if he had pulled the trigger and splattered his brains all over the cream white walls—the world would still continue turning.
Bees would still buzz. The breeze would still blow. Night would fall in a few hours and the sun would rise again in an equal amount of lapsing time.
Everything would be as it was. Time would flow; life would go on.
And Kakucho does not know what is sadder—the fact that his death would have little impact in a world that had no need of scum like him in the first place…
… or the fact that if he died right this very second, it wouldn’t be of any torment or concern to a woman he once dearly called his wife.
The numbness spread from his chest down his arms, plaguing him like a cold fog to keep him rooted to the spot, rerunning those words that broke him over and over again as if his mind was little more than an insidious record player.
Because I don’t love youBecause I don’t love youBecause I don’t love youBecause I don’t love youBecause I don’t love youBecause I don’t love youBecause I don’t love youBecause I don’t love youBecause I don’t love you.
BecauseI don’t love you.
He closed his eyes and lifted his wet face to greet the first warming rays of a brand new day.
It took all of Kakucho’s strength to return back to the house he once called home with you.
After the disastrous holiday at Okinawa, the space was worse for wear; flies lazily hovering over heaps of rotting trash, grimy floors and a messy bed greeted him back with echoing hollowness. His phone remained empty of your name, and what little shred of hope he harbored that you would change your mind even after what you told him on that deck was slowly dwindling away.
Kokonoi hadn’t returned back with news of his mission to Shanghai. Since he was still on extended leave from Mikey’s graces, he had plenty of time to whittle away—time which he found himself spending by getting out of the suffocating apartment as much as he could. He would dawdle down the familiar streets, passing by places that bore the mark of his memories together with you.
In the distance, your favorite cafe loomed; packed to the brim with patrons who were taking advantage of the last days of summer before winter arrived; cold and foreboding.
A silhouette caught his attention and he noticed it was your mother. Further to her left, his heart constricted. You were seated next to her, radiant and smiling, a sundress adorning your figure that Kakucho thought he was dreaming. There was a sparkle in your eye that was unmissable; a healthy glow to your cheeks, unlike his haunted expression, mused hair, and empty eyes. Looking like an angel who stole the sun’s rays completely on her while he was a complete wreck. He mumbled your name, instinct taking over and propelling him to walk towards you.
But, at the sight of a mop of lilac hair appearing from inside the cafe with a tray full of coffee and desserts, he halted dead in his tracks.
“How did he get that nasty scar?”
Kakucho knew in the deepest pit of his gut that it was wrong to be eavesdropping. But, he couldn’t help it. All throughout dinner, your parents kept on sharing minute glances at each other; a silent question to who exactly was this dangerous-looking young man their precious daughter was entangled with.
He didn’t blame them. If it wasn’t for his unconventional appearance, it would be the milky scars littering his body—one the long-sleeved dress shirt and as many disarming smiles he shared with them could not quite hide.
You tittered and he could just picture your strained expression. “That’s not my story to tell.”
“Don’t you think he looks a little… odd?”
Kakucho held his breath. He wouldn’t know what to do if you agreed to your mother’s prodding. It was one thing to be told that he was ugly and deformed for his whole life—a cripple who did not deserve to live. But, it was an entirely different ball game when it was confirmation coming from the one person in the world whose opinion mattered to him.
A plate was set down onto the marble counter with a sharp click.
“No. No, he does not.” Both your mother and he were stunned into silence at the intensity in your wavering voice. “He is kind and loving and the gentlest person I’ve ever had the privilege of meeting in this life. I don’t care if you think he looks dangerous or if you think he’s not the right one for me. I love him. As my mom, I think that is the only thing you should concern yourself with.”
The quiet that resounded could have echoed a pin dropping to the floor. Kakucho dared not breathe.
“I see.” Your mother’s voice was laced with disappointment. “So you both are serious, then?”
“I don’t know about him, but I’m serious,” you mumbled. Kakucho swore his heart ballooned to twice its size when you said, “I’m serious about loving him.”
Foolish. It was foolish to stand here and think of the past memories when the present held no similarities. He was an idiot for pushing away the one bright spot of sunshine he had left in his tainted world. How it ached and tore into him like metal claws when he saw you laugh with your mother who was obviously charmed by Ran. The older Haitani was grinning smugly, plush lips moving as he regaled the two women with another well-timed joke, every bit the perfect man of your dreams. He was attentive to you; passing you a tissue when you accidentally spilled some coffee on the table, wrapping his arm around your shoulders to pull you closer to him when you laughed a little too hard. And it looked like you weren’t the only one besotted with the handsome executive.
From the flutter of her eyelashes, and the wide smile of the older woman whose face was so much like yours, it was clear who your mother favored more, and Kakucho could not help but think that this accident was a blessing in disguise for the L/N family who had always disapproved of their only daughter’s marriage.
They never wanted you to marry him; as wary as they were that he would only bring you pain and suffering in your life.
And they were right.
As if sensing a pressing stare, you lifted your head and caught his eye, a look of surprise melting into recognition. Admittedly, your heart sank when you noticed the hollows of his dark circles; the tight frown pulling the corners of his lips down. The night you left him echoed emptily in your mind, and while guilt pervaded your chest, it was nothing compared to the fresh laceration of white-hot pain that exploded in his chest when he saw how your face fell.
Not with regret. But, with mortification.
He swallowed back the sand in his throat and bowed his head low, turning around to walk away.
“Kakucho!”
Your sweet voice nearly stopped him and he wanted to sprint—to run and get away from here—to get away from you if it meant you would never see the tears in his eyes. He sped up, taking long strides, and hurried down the bustling street, grunting apologies whenever he swerved too close to an unsuspecting civilian.
“Kakucho!”
A street corner loomed in the distance and he ducked under an awning, letting it hide his bigger build as he pressed himself against the wall. Your footsteps scattered past his hiding spot and he held his breath, no different from the man he was back in your dining room when he heard your rebellious confession in the darkness.
“Where did he go?” Ran’s deep voice encroached in on the silence.
“I don’t know.” He hated how saddened you sounded. It nearly made him want to jump from his hiding spot and claim you by his side; to wipe the tears from your cheeks and coo at you that everything would be fine. That he would protect you from all harm. But, he knew it would be impossible. Fate would not allow him to do this. You were in love with Ran Haitani and he would be nothing but a muddy face in your past you could not quite conjure in the waters of your memory.
“Does he hate me?”
“It’s not… easy… being in his position.”
He could almost see your crestfallen expression in his mind’s eye. “I’m trying,” you exhaled shakily. “I’m trying so hard to remember him but nothing’s coming back Ran.”
“Ssh. It’s okay, princess.” Kakucho’s gut turned when he heard the sound of a soft kiss being pressed onto your skin. “He’ll come around to us. I know he would. ‘Sides—“ there was a grin in Ran’s rebuke. “—I love you just as much. I hope you know that.”
“I know,” you murmured.
Kakucho wanted to scream; to yell up at the sky loud enough to reach the ears of the callous deities who cursed him with the worst of curses. To be in love with a woman who didn’t even remember him. To watch her fall in love with someone else while he had to bite his tongue and just let it all unfurl.
You’ve already had your chance, Ran sneered in his head. And you blew it.
He did. He had the woman of his dreams in his life and what did he do? Make everything a priority but her. Like a goddamn fool.
Kakucho did not waste any time, hurrying back to the apartment, suddenly aching to escape from the unending hot stare of the sun on the back of his neck. He practically lunged past the door, staggering down the hallway, needing to press his back to the walls to hold him up. Every single neuron in his mind was numbly on hold, playing a single loop of the sound of Ran’s lips touching your skin.
That sickening smack of another man’s mouth on his wife’s flesh.
Kakucho wanted to hurl.
His knees jarred onto the hard, cold tiled floors, and he spewed out his dinner from yesterday into the porcelain toilet bowl which left his stomach even more achingly empty than it was a few hours ago; back when he had to force himself to consume at least two mouthfuls of food before he couldn’t keep it down without gagging.
A shell of a man stared back at him from the mirror. It was no wonder you had looked at him in utter horror; if the definition of ‘haunted’ could have a face, he would be the poster child for its bleak campaign. His eyes—already an oddity—were lined with dark circles so deep they seemed etched into his face. The frown that had marred his mouth for the past few weeks was set in stone and he had a perpetual look of exhaustion about him. His already defined cheekbones made even gaunter from the lack of appetite.
Kakucho wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. A wave of exhaustion so potent it almost made him stagger to the floor crashed into him, and he went into the bedroom for the first time since your accident. It had remained untouched since your voluntary eviction from his home, and the scarred man did not have the strength to pry open the door, fearing that if he did, it would be the manifestations of all his nightmares coming true.
That you were well and truly gone from his life.
But, he was not in control of his limbs when he stretched out a trembling hand and grabbed the brass knob; turn it around and let the ivory door fall open.
The scent of your perfume was the first thing to hit him in the face. Citruses and peonies, he inhaled the fragrance like a starving man, closing his eyes and imagining with stunning clarity that you were here. Like walking through a museum of memories, he threaded into the room with a hesitant gait. The bed was empty save for your slinky nightie haphazardly thrown on your side. He recalled you had changed out of that and into your Saint Laurent dress just a few hours before the car crash that completely wiped his existence out of your mind.
“Kakucho, please have some dinner,” your soft voice burst through his mind like cold water. He staggered awake, wiping the slight drool from his cheek that had seeped out from his parted lips. What time was it?
He checked the clock and his cheeks paled. “Sorry,” he mumbled just loud enough to reach you at the other end of the room. “Go ahead without me—I was supposed to submit this an hour ago.” Fuck.
Mikey would have his head.
Kakucho was busy scanning the clauses for a new weapon’s deal that he failed to hear you move away from your perch at the threshold. He was only aware of movement when you came in with a plate of warmed food and set it down by his elbow. Shooting you a quick, grateful quirk of his lips, he went back into his work, oblivious to how you shifted from foot to foot beside him.
“Kaku?”
Not even sparing you a glance, he mumbled, “yes, love?”
“Can I have a kiss?”
He set his pen down and took in your flushed cheeks with a small smile. “‘Course,” your husband replied and you smothered your senseless excitement, leaning in close to peck his lips. You both were married. Kisses should’ve been a given. But, it felt like heaven to receive them all the same. He briefly inhaled in your sweet perfume and brushed one more soft kiss to the curl of your lower lip.
You deepened it, taking liberties to nudge yourself closer and straddle his lap, catching him off guard. Melting yourself into his embrace, you twined your fingers in his hair, rocking your core against the growing bulge of his pants. Kakucho wanted to indulge you—he really did—but the mounting workload that was calling out his name could not be easily ignored.
Like swimming in the deepest trenches of the ocean and trying not to drown, he eased himself away from you. He forced himself not to feel too guilty at the disappointment in your face. This was what he was doing for your family. It was his duty as your husband—as the father to your future children—to make sure the accounts were fully padded, ready to provide at the drop of a hat.
“Kaku—“
“I’m sorry, love, but I have to finish this or else the meeting at Omi’s bar tomorrow night is going to be awkward as hell,” he attempted to lessen the blow by gently kissing your temple. “I’ll be coming back to the bedroom in a bit, so go ahead and wait for me there, ‘kay? I’ll be with you in fifteen minutes.”
Your bright smile eased some of the discomfort stirring in his soul as you hopped off his lap and giddily made your way back to the shared room; eagerly awaiting for your husband with no idea how disappointed you would be.
Fifteen minutes turned into thirty. Then an hour passed. Two hours. Your eyes were heavy, the slinky lingerie piece you wore for your husband feeling more and more like a clown’s suit the longer you lounged in it. Thumbing the black silk and lace, you closed your eyes, inhaling deeply. Tonight was just not going to happen.
A pair of footsteps shuffled back into the bedroom and you perked up. Kakucho entered, completely exhausted but growing sharper when he noticed you. And what you had worn for him.
That spark of excitement turned into panic and he made a strangled sound in the back of his throat. “My love, I’m so sorry, I completely forgot,” he rushed to make amends, quickly moving to your side to clasp your hands in his shaky ones. “Please, forgive me. It completely slipped my mind.”
You forced a smile with the patience of a saint as you shook your head. “It’s fine,” you uttered softly, reaching out to pull him into your embrace. “You’re worth the wait, my love.”
You let him take you that night amidst the disappointment, cock pistoning in and out of you with languid intensity. You did your best to please him as a wife did; moaning out your pleasure, squeezing down on his length, panting out his name. But, after it was all done, you couldn’t find it in your heart to hold onto him. While Kakucho slept on peacefully, you were locked in your inner world of torment.
Quietly, you picked up your strip of morning afters and swallowed one pill, washing down the heavy feeling in your chest with a quick gulp of water. Kakucho grunted brows pinched as he reached out to you in his sleep, finding your waist and pulling your back flush to his chest.
Despite nothing but a layer of sweat separating the both of you, you felt like you were a million miles away from your husband. You thought he wouldn’t hear, wouldn’t feel the vibrations of your chest as you cried yourself to sleep. But, he did. If there was one thing he was good at, it would be lying stock still, pretending to be dead to the world as it fell apart all around him.
Kakucho was wide awake when he heard your hitched breaths; felt the slight shudder of your shoulders. Every part of him burned with the pain of bringing you to this state. All he could do was tighten his grip on you and nuzzle his face into your neck, praying that you would still be patient with him. Your breathing stuttered and you laced your fingers above his ones splayed across your waist, your wedding band digging into the back of his hand.
A silent promise of a forever.
Kakucho came back from that memory, holding the lace nightie you wore on that night of the many different nights your disappointment in him began to fester. He pressed it to his face, catching hints of your favorite vanilla body wash from the material. The only physical sign that you had been in this room and that the very last night he had with you was not an illusion.
Perhaps, Ran was right.
Kakucho was never meant for you.
He had tried to give you a sliver of happiness but it always backfired. He had you for three years and all you could remember of that weighty commitment of a forever in your altered state was… nothing.
While you had been given a second chance to fall in love, he had to contend with the demons of a failed marriage that would not stop haunting him. That would not stop raking their teeth through his throbbing flesh.
Every oozing pore screamed disappointment loud and clear in the red rivulets of his bleeding heart.
A low hum against your throat made you whimper.
Slim fingers gently lifted the hem of your sundress, curling slowly up your inner thigh where your pussy throbbed in anticipation. His other hand was busy fondling and twisting your nipples through the thin material, and you bit back on a moan when he traced the outline of your lips through your thong.
“Having fun?” Ran’s husky voice caressed your earlobe. One second, he was teasingly running the tip of his finger up and down your clothed seam, and the next, his fingers slipped into your heat with no warning at the same moment his other palm clasped around your mouth to muffle your gasp of shock.
You melted against his broad chest, head lolling back as your hips undulated; trying to gain more friction. He nipped your jaw and teasingly warned, “Don’t scream—you wouldn’t want mama to come running upstairs only to find her precious baby girl like this, wouldn’t you?”
Barely able to nod, your whole body tensed when he dropped his hand from your mouth to play with your nipples again. His cock was a hard steel rod against your lower back and you ached for him to fuck you. Ran was adamant about not claiming your pussy yet, always giving the excuse that you were still tied to Kakucho to deflect your pressing questions.
Such a tease. You bit on your lower lip when you felt his thumb running tight circles on your clit; his index and middle finger scissoring you open till you were seeing stars. Hitting your sweet spot with deadly accuracy, you could now see why Ran was the second-best shot in Bonten after your husband.
At the thought of Kakucho, your chest tightened and you stilled his wrist by wrapping your fingers around it. Halting his movements.
Ran hooked his chin on your shoulder, his curious stare burning into your cheek; you couldn’t even look at him, all too consumed by the rotting stench of your regret at the memory of Kakucho’s wounded expression. How the hand that Ran was holding now seemed infinitely lighter without a wedding band adorning your ring finger.
“I don’t think I can do this.” Ran retracted his fingers from the seat of your panties and gently squeezed your thigh, a wordless apology.
“Thinking about him?”
The other man doesn’t have to wait long for your reply; it was implicitly woven in your silence. How the guilt of hurting someone else was eating into your soul. His sigh stirred up the loose strands of hair around your face and he pressed the softest of kisses on your cheek, quietly aching at the fact that you were hurting from something that was completely out of your control. He didn’t know what compelled him to blurt out his next words; only cognizant of the weight of them once they slipped past his careless lips.
“Marry me.”
You blinked. Turning your gaze to him, you were floored at the sincerity in them; how those lilac orbs were glossed over with both fondness and trepidation. Your tongue darted out to wet your lips and you tried to find your voice but sorely failed.
Watching you malfunction in real-time, Ran lowered his eyes and expectations, preparing himself for your outright rejection. For his ego to be sore and bruised because what the hell was he thinking? Marriage was never in his cards; he was not one to stay long enough with a single woman to even consider it. So why was it incredibly easy to depart those dreaded two words to you?
You tottered on your too high heels, wobbling around and nearly falling flat onto the sticky ground when a hand shot out to grab you.
Half expecting it to be your husband, you were surprised to see that it was his colleague instead. Ran Haitani.
“Ran,” you slurred over your words, nearly tripping over your own toes in your haste to wrap your arm around his shoulder in a lame half-hug. “What’re you—“ a strong hiccup caught you off guard. “What’re you doing in the girl’s toilet?”
His thin lips were pulled in a line of amusement as he steadied you, one hand lightly around your wrist. “Careful there, Y/N. You could’ve gone tumbling down.”
You hiccuped again and returned his teasing with a scowl. “S’not like that. M’fine.”
Ran’s smirk melted into a look of concern when he noticed the bleeding emptiness in your eyes. He’d known for a while now that your marriage to Kakucho was slowly becoming strained. Where there was once gentle smiles and intimate glances, it was now replaced with perfunctory hand-holding and tight grins. The other executives could see it, too; how Kakucho left you alone with them as he mingled with the key figures of the night’s celebrations. How his underlings had to watch over you as he did deals in the dark, threatened men behind closed doors, and made promises he struggled to keep through whiskey-soaked lips.
All in the name of Bonten. While you—his wife—waited patiently and loyally for him.
Like a damn puppy, he thought with pity. You would follow Kakucho to the ends of the earth. And the most tragic part was that the scarred man was too caught up in his own warring loyalty and tenacity for the organization’s success that he neglected the one person that anchored him back to reality.
“I’ll be back soon. G’na get you some water.” You nodded, barely hearing anything else above the low thump of a techno number vibrating through the thin walls. The room was spinning and you cursed yourself for drinking way too much. It couldn’t be helped—you were completely and utterly bored out of your wits, that when Koko offered you a glass of vodka, you had downed two more to make up for the burn in the back of your throat that mimicked the pulsing humiliation at being left alone while your husband did god knows what.
You had wanted to stay home and watch a movie, but Kakucho had insisted you dress up and come with him to a dingy club where almost every executive had a whore languishing on his lap and a drink in his ring-clad hand. It thrilled you that your husband pulled you onto the seat of his broad thighs, but that spark of giddiness was replaced by dull disappointment when he nudged you aside in favor of pulling an hour-long disappearing act.
Wouldn’t it be ironic that he’s with another woman? Your lips curled sardonically at the thought. You had long held a growing suspicion that Kakucho was seeing someone else and you had kept extra vigilant tonight for an errant stare; a careless glance from another woman that would solidify the sickening pit in your gut that told you your husband was not faithful.
It never did come—mainly because you hadn’t seen Kakucho for the past one hour and you were steadily growing exasperated at his demeanor.
The door to the bathroom opened again, and you lifted your head, expecting to find Ran but it was a tattooed underling who had an ink teardrop etched on his right cheek. His name did not come to you. Yamoto? Yoshino? You blinked and straightened, ice shooting through your veins at the sight of his pervy leer. The door closed behind his large build and his lips moved, but you could barely make out the words from the fear completely rooting you to the spot.
“… pretty ass mouth… staring at you the whole night… you look lonely… come here.”
He dragged you into his arms, pushing your body against the cold wall and tugging the hem of your dress up. The large bulk of his body settled in between your thighs and you could scarcely move; the sight of his gun glinting from the band of his pants filled you with complete dread. Nailing you firmly to the wall like a frozen portrait.
“Don’t scream or else I’ll gut you,” his breath was hot and putrid on your neck.
You whimpered when he squeezed your thighs hard enough to leave a mark and screwed your eyes shut, the world spinning out of control when something hot and wet licked up the side of your cheek.
One second, a suffocating weight was pressed against you, and the next, Ran’s bloody fist was all you could see; pummeling the cretin over and over again until you had to gasp out for him to stop—impulsively reaching out to grab his wrist and holding him back. Ran turned to you, nostrils flaring and eyes pinpricked with adrenaline, a far cry from the smirking, callous executive you had come to know.
“Stop,” you forced your tongue to move. “S-stop. Enough.”
“He tried to rape—”
You cringed and shook your head, streaks of tears leaving tracks in your foundation; smudging your mascara around your eyes. “Enough.”
Ran reluctantly let that asshole go and he stumbled out of the cramped bathroom with a low groan, holding the bridge of his broken nose to avoid more pools of blood from staining the floor. You hadn’t noticed you were shaking until a thick jacket wrapped around your shoulders, engulfing you in his comforting scent of coffee and warmth.
Gentle hands took yours, squeezing them as if they would break from the slightest pressure. “Are you alright?” you hated to admit it, but Ran’s low baritone was soothing. It helped you fight the tears back, at least for a little while as your heart slowed down. You felt cold all over, your vision narrowing to his large hands clasped around yours.
Before you could fathom what you were doing, your head pitched forward, and Ran caught you, allowing your tears to stain the front of his suit. He rubbed your bare shoulders, shushing you, and you didn’t give a single damn about how this looked like to an outsider. You were scared and confused; unable to regulate your emotions long enough to remember that the man you should be seeking comfort from was not the one currently right in front of you.
“Do you want to tell Kaku?”
You shook your head and Ran stifled a sigh. “He has to know. We have rules to not touch another man’s wife.”
“I-I don’t want to cause a scene,” you mumbled, internally wincing at the idea of how this could potentially drive a wedge between you and Kakucho. Your relationship with his job scope was already as precarious as it was, and you didn’t need another added layer of stress. Or to force him to choose between his job and you.
“That’s fucking stupid,” Ran scoffed. “He would want to know. He’s your husband, Y/N. He needs to know.”
“No,” your voice wavered and he sensed that it was useless to fight you. “I don’t want him to think I’m being fussy.”
“You were almost raped—“
“Please,” you whispered, manicured hands fisting the front of his pristine suit vest. “Just… let me tell him when the time is right.”
Ran could never say ‘no’ to you. His heart was far too soft as it was for a woman who belonged to his superior. Just the sight of your wet eyes and swollen lips alone could make his breathing pick up, and he yearned for nothing more than to lean forward and plant his mouth on yours. To finally claim you as his own—to wash the bitter taste of losing you to a man who did not even deserve your devotion.
He remembered the news of when your marriage broke to the rest of Bonten. How he was the only one who had no heart to congratulate the dark-haired, scarred bastard who unfairly claimed you as his own. How he had returned to his empty penthouse, too exhausted to even call one of his whores on beck and call to relieve his stress. The empty whiskey glasses lined his bar as he drank himself to a stupified, heartbroken sleep on a far too luxurious couch in the middle of an achingly empty apartment.
If only he hadn’t been stupidly generous on that night for Kakucho to make the first move.
If only he gave in to his impulses to steal you away from him before it was too late.
Ran had many chances to sweep you off your feet, but he never took it. How could he when that damn asshole was the happiest he had ever seen him since the day Izana died?
When the roots of this once flourishing marriage started to sour, that was when the lilac-haired man absolutely regretted his inaction. How he had not followed his heart and took you as his wife when it was clear you deserved an ocean of devotion. Not drops or crumbs that your husband gave you. Kakcuho was so busy chasing the ghost of his past that he made himself a specter to his own living loved ones.
You didn’t deserve this. Ran would never treat you this way.
Your honeyed smile gave him hope. His uncertainty melted away when you turned around to straddle his lap, cupping his face in your palms like he was something precious to be admired. To be loved by the likes of you. You—a goddess far too enamoring for her own good; a bright ray of sunshine that could enliven even the darkest corners of a man’s broken soul. Someone far too good for a man as tormented and abhorred as him.
“Yes,” you pressed a soft kiss to his parted mouth, a smile growing in between the kiss. “Yes. I’ll marry you.”
The divorce papers in his mail hit him like a slap to the face.
Kakucho had never thought that you would go through with your callous words on the deck; never would’ve thought that the reality of this marriage dissolving would ever see the light.
But there it was on his dining table, like a beacon that spelled out in red letters how he had failed this marriage. How it was too late to see you and change your mind because the next thing he knew, his phone was blowing up with texts from Koko, Omi, and strangely enough, Rindou.
It was not enough that the younger Haitani had sent him a string of messages, but he had also called Kakucho a few times in a span of five minutes. On the third call, he picked up the phone, only to hear Rindou’s exhausted, “Hello?”
“Haitani?”
“I tried to stop him.”
The papers forgotten, Kakucho shot to his feet, no longer a heartbroken husband but a keenly aware Bonten executive. “Who? What happened? Is it anyone we know?”
Silence echoed on the other side. Rindou asked him a strange question.
“You don’t know?”
Kakucho wracked his brain for an inkling of what the other man was trying to say, but unfortunately, nothing came to his mind. “Don’t know, what?” He didn’t mean to sound frustrated, but his emotions were at an all-time high from the nasty surprise in his mailbox and the impending realization that everything in his life was completely turning upside down. It could’ve made even the sanest person want to end it all.
“I’m sorry,” Rindou whispered. Arrogant, cruel, and callous, the Haitani brothers were not exactly known to be considerate or even diplomatic. Ever. What else could one expect from the iron-fisted rulers of Roppongi? Certainly not an apology—never.
Kakucho was getting increasingly worried. “Rindou, what the fuck is going on? Is someone dead? Who is it?”
Another beat of silence. And then, the one reveal that made his entire soul shatter into pieces.
“I just found out that my brother has proposed to Y/N… and she accepted.” He could just picture Rindou’s furrowed brow and a deep frown. “I’m sorry.”
Kakucho froze, his stomach plummeting completely down to his feet. The phone slipped from his hand and clattered to the table. It was stiflingly quiet in the apartment that he could hear his own labored breathing; Rindou’s confused voice on the other end asking if he was alright. His blood roared through his ears.
No.
No.
This was impossible.
Ran would never…
But, he would.
Hedid.
Didn’t he? Didn’t he say that his wife would be his? That he would do whatever it takes to make sure she belonged to him?
That wasn’t a threat. It had been a promise all along.
Kakucho’s fingers twitched and in the distance, Rindou’s voice melted away into a dial tone.
He had known all along that he was undeserving of love; that for all his life, an impenetrable fog of loss hovered over him and brought death to anyone he dared to touch. In that sense, he understood now why gods were lonely. Why the tallest trees often stood alone in the middle of the forest. To these great beings, love was something unattainable.
In succumbing to love, they would have to give up their dignity. Their vitality.
Kakucho had long thought both dark power and love could co-exist side by side. But, he was starting to see now that it never could.
He wasn’t merely just Kakucho the husband, or Kakucho the lover. He was Kakucho the Bonten executive; the third most notorious, dangerous and sought-after man in all of Japan and possibly the world. Where Mikey might’ve been Zeus with his almighty potency, and Sanzu the vengeful, vacillating second deity most fitting of Poseidon himself, Kakucho was, by contrast, the quiet God of Death.
Alone in his penthouse, he watched the world sway in life and brightness while he would never be allowed to partake in their livery. To always be shrouded in darkness and be known for his frightening abilities to execute a man from where he stood. A good enough shot that a bullet will always find purchase to end a life. Even his childhood was tainted by death, and as if summoned, the phantom pain he battled with for half of his life throbbed in his left eye, echoing the dull pangs of the lacerated skin that ran down his forehead and stopped just at the milky, visually impaired orb.
An oddity.
An outlier.
Never to be loved.
Always to be seen as a monster.
There was once when he thought he had found his Persephone, but the one thing that separated him from Hades was that at least the Greek God of Death cherished his wife. He would never think to let her be upset in his domain. He would bring the sun and flowers to her on bended knee if she so much as whispered that she missed the world above.
Unlike him. He never brought you flowers or the sun or happiness. All he did was take, take and take. Leaving you a husk of the woman you once were.
So, he would sign the papers. He would let you leave the Underworld and in doing so, maybe you will find it in your heart to forgive him once you stepped back into the sunshine. Into the life you were meant to live with a man who wouldn’t have to steep you in darkness in order to show his devotion.
To finally be free of him.
Kakucho touched his face, surprised to find his cheeks wet. But, his heart had long gone cold and numb. The ache was bearable, or perhaps he had gotten used to it. Memories of you filling the penthouse with your warm presence, your smiles, prancing around in nothing but his t-shirt. Every inch held a memory of the life you both once shared. The kitchen where you almost burned your hair making his favorite dish, the worn-out couch upholstery that was tattooed with the divots of your bodies pressed together whether in the ecstasy of love-making or lazy Sunday afternoons where you both just held onto the other.
Like a ghost, he wandered the apartment, delaying the inevitable.
Pulling out the remainder of your clothes in a sorry excuse of your closet, only to place them in a pile. Running the expensive silks and soft cotton through his roughened palms. Bringing them to his nose to hungrily catch a whiff of your sweet perfume that was growing fainter with each passing day.
Once he had his fill of replaying the memories that suddenly came back with astounding clarity, he staggered back to the kitchen. To the dining table where those heartbreaking papers stood like a sentinel; waiting to bring him to his inevitable fate towards the gallows as he watched the last of his hopes get snuffed out.
Where he would have to finally accept that he had lost you.
True love is selfless. And it is prepared to sacrifice.
Izana taught him that fact a long time ago. You had taught him that true love cared for no one but the other person for close to four years.
Now, he has to put these lessons to good use.
These lessons on learning how to put someone else’s happiness before his own. Like how you once did. Like how you would continue to do if you were still here today with him. The lessons on letting go.
It wouldn’t be fair to you, and so, he had to release you. For you to be happy with someone who could give you what he couldn’t. Kakucho loved you far too much to even think of causing you pain any longer. It was a done deal, it was over. He would let you go.
And so, with a heavy heart and trembling hand, he picked up the ridiculously expensive fountain pen you had gifted him for your second wedding anniversary and signed his name on the dotted line.
Finally granting you the happiness he knew with every fiber of his soul you deserved.
“It’s all happening too fast.”
Your mother looked up from styling your hair, a frown tugging on the corners of her lips that were so similar to yours. The weeks seemed to have flown past like a bullet train. At first, you had been relieved that the divorce papers arrived back in a pristine condition, crisply signed with no resistance from the scarred, dark-haired man you hadn’t seen since that fateful day on the deck.
But, when the preparations began, something felt off.
It was in the air; the awkward gait of his fellow executives and the forced smiles on your parent’s faces. The palpable relief when you showed them the divorce letters. Your future husband, in contrast, was all smiles and soothing kisses that distracted you from what was hovering worryingly in your mind. Always with a quip to calm your nerves.
You knew what his answer to your soft question would be.
It’s just the right speed when I’m with you, baby.
Apparently, your mother seemed to echo his sentiments. “It’s because you’re in love, my dear. And you can’t wait to spend your life with Ran.”
That’s not it, you wanted to say but couldn’t find it in yourself to ruin the glint of happiness in her eye. She was smiling softly, lovingly smoothing down the stray loose locks of hair and placing a soft kiss on the top of your head. You always had a gentle heart and hated to disappoint anyone. It was your people-pleasing ways that made you hold onto your tongue all for the sake of keeping the peace—while you suffered the repercussions of that smothered silence.
But, you had no idea exactly what you would be losing out on in this instance when marrying Ran. You had no idea of the hushed whispers his colleagues would depart when your back was turned; or how throughout this entire wedding preparation, the unfamiliarly familiar mop of dark hair and dual-tone eyes could not be found amidst the party of stony-faced men.
You had asked Ran if you should invite him, to which your fiance replied that he had already extended an invitation, but Kakucho had declined. Neither of you wanted to rub it in his face and make things even more awkward—taking the signed divorce papers as his white flag of him wishing you both well, but not conceding to attend the wedding.
It wasn’t exactly a loss, but you felt disconcerted all the same.
Without warning, you stood up, and your mother took a step back. You met her eyes through the mirror and shot her a tight smile. “I need to use the bathroom.”
Not sensing that anything was amiss, your mother nodded. You departed for your next destination, the thick door blocking out the raucous noises of the engagement party.
Where you had no idea of the conversation that took place just a few feet away in the other room.
He drew the hoodie closer to his frame, keeping his hands fisted in his pockets as he wandered down the decked-out hallways.
Ran had gone all out with the budget; vines of real roses hung from the ceiling, accents of gold from the gilded chairs and tables. Even the napkins were embossed with gold and both of your names together, a stark reminder that he was not welcomed at this party despite the older Haitani’s good faith in extending him an invitation.
At first, Kakucho had almost burned it, but he reined in his anger, keeping the offensive piece of paper locked in the bedside table of his hotel room until he calmed down long enough to pull it back out.
All this for an engagement party? It seemed as if the real wedding was happening today, and a part of him would not be surprised. Ran loved theatrics, and he had no doubt if given free permission, he would hold the wedding right here and now. The only variable he could foresee that would cause a hiccup in his plans was your reluctance and careful behavior.
In some ways, you were just like him when it came to the matters of the heart, where arduous expressions of love had to be regarded with suspicion.
Kakucho was so steeped in his thoughts that he turned the knob of the first door he encountered. Only to find your mother staring back at him with wide eyes in a room filled with dresses, shoes, and makeup.
Recognizing what this must look like to the older woman, Kakucho took a step back. “Okasan. I—”
“What are you doing here?” her sharp question hit him like a whip, and he almost flinched. “How did you get past security?”
Regaining his wits, he mumbled, “I’m here to find Ran.” As to her other question, he gave her a reticent look. “The guards let me through. I rank higher than Haitani and have a right to enter any premise of Bonten that I want.” He did not mean to gloat, but damn if the stricken look on her face did not strike him with satisfaction.
She cleared her throat and gestured down the hall. “He’s in the groom’s room with Rindou-chan.” Her sharp look was back and Kakucho wondered if you had ever gazed at him like this—no, you hadn’t. Once upon a time, he was your everything and there was no one else in the world that you would hold a soft spot for quite as you did for him.
“Let her go, son.”
Whatever he expected his former mother-in-law to say, it was not this. Kakucho hung his head forward, unable to meet her eyes. Those eyes that looked so much like yours it sent an ache straight to his soul.
“I am,” he finally said after a beat of silence. “I am letting her go.” Masking his pain, he stood straighter, removing his hands from the pockets to assume his executive gait—proud and unbowing. “The alimony money has kicked in and Y/N should receive a payment of ¥400,000 every single month as per our nuptials.”
At least your mother had the gall to look sheepish. She nodded, lowering her eyes. Neither party knew what to say to the other, and Kakucho thought this would be it—his first and only marriage ending not with old age as he wanted to believe, but with a whisper of defeat. He shouldn’t have let the tears cloud his eyes, but he was hopeless to stop them. Your mother realized a second too late that he was crying and she cautiously walked over to him, pressing a hand to his shoulder.
“For what it is worth, I am grateful that you took care of my daughter for three years.” She dropped her hand when he nodded, regaining his composure back to give her a small smile, dashing at the tears running down his face with the heel of his palm. A gesture that was so unbecoming on his usual stoic countenance that he was sure his ex-mother-in-law was quietly stunned.
“And for what it is worth, thank you for accepting me into your family.” He bowed his head in humble gratitude. “Thank you for giving me something I’ve never known and for taking me in. I will forever cherish your kindness.”
Before she could retort, he left the room, closing the door and walking in the direction that he had been given. He stopped in front of the last door down the hallway and steeled himself, knocking on it once.
A low baritone asked, “Who is it?”
Kakucho cleared his throat softly. “It’s me.”
There was a pause, and for a second, he was sure they would not let him in. But then, the door slid open and a pair of lilac eyes bore into his.
Seeing Ran in his engagement tux solidified the sickening pit in his stomach. But, Kakucho promised to play nice for today. He would not torture himself by watching you walking down the aisle to marry the man he once saw as his adopted older brother; however, it didn’t mean that he couldn’t give his blessing in the background when the world expected him to burn down this union even before it began.
“I’m here to talk.”
Ran nodded towards Rindou who hesitated for a split second, as if by leaving his brother behind, he wouldn’t find him in one piece after this meeting with him. Eventually, the younger Haitani turned around and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him to give the two men their privacy.
“You look like shit, Kaku-chan.”
He had enough bitterness in him to muster a laugh; the gall of a man who was going to marry his wife saying that he wasn’t as put together as he usually was. Only Ran Haitani could be this dense and insensitive. It was sheer luck that Kakucho did not bring his gun—he wouldn’t know what impending disaster would befall them both if he decided to bring his weapon with him today.
What he knew was that neither of them would leave this scuffle unharmed. And it would’ve been a great outcome if he couldn’t stop himself from picturing your horrified expression. How you would run to Ran first and not him—once more, he had to contend with the humiliation of his wife choosing another.
At his silence, the older man frowned, adjusting his tie and coat lapels while he waited impatiently for his comrade to speak. But, as the unbroken quiet stretched on, he wracked his mind for a way to break the terse atmosphere, settling on a prodding question instead.
“Kakucho, why’re you here—?”
“She always needs to sleep with a soft light,” he muttered, cutting him off.
Ran stopped fiddling with his cufflinks and fixed him with an unfathomable look. Kakucho was lost in his recollections, not sparing a glance at the older Haitani. Speaking to himself rather than the other man who would soon claim his wife as unfairly his.
“She loves to cuddle, especially during a thunderstorm. Lightning and thunder scare her so always make sure to hold onto her tight.” Kakucho’s deep voice, always sturdy and sure, was now barely above a whisper. “She has trouble falling asleep and will always smile when you bring her a cup of chamomile tea.”
The world he built with you—the woman he loved—flashed through his mind like a montage reel. Revealed to another man who would pick up where he left off to fulfill his failed duties.
“Always let her pick the Friday movie and even when she says she can handle the spice from the green curry at any Thai restaurant, don’t trust her and order another glass of ice water. Just in case.”
Ran could not find his voice. What could a man say to another man who had already conceded to the reality that they were going to marry their amnesiac wife?
The situation was unorthodox—scratch that, it was completely bizarre. Ran did not know how the younger man did it. If he was in Kakucho’s position, he would burn the whole world down to ashes at the thought of another man touching his wife. In fact, if any of the Bonten members so much as looked at you, he would break their necks. Kakucho included.
But, he had nothing to worry about when the younger man informed him of his next move. “I’m leaving for Shanghai in two days’ time. Thought I should let you know first before Mikey breaks it to you.”
Ran exhaled, almost in relief. “How long?”
His answer was a stony shrug. “Depends on who comes back in a body bag. The target or I.”
–pairing:devil!ran haitani x f!reader, 17th century new england au, inspired by ‘the witch (2016)’ and the salem witch trials folklore
–content:dark content, corruption, loss of virginity, ritual sex, erotic horror,monster-fucking, breeding, oral (f!receiving), fingering, overstim, mentions of assault/abuse, archaic dialogue
–note:my shot at erotic horror featuring ran haitani for @semisgroupie’sheaven&hell collab bc i watched the witch and thought ran would make a good human!black phillip, dark content ahead so minors can f*ck off! feel free to rb, send me an ask, or leave a comment <3
pairings.hitto kakucho x fem!reader, haitani ran x fem!reader
cw.SEXUAL ASSAULT ATTEMPT, triggering language about sexual assault, blood, violence, suicide ideation, HEAVY ANGST, divorce, fingering, suggestive content, adultery, guns, injuries, flashbacks will be in italics, reader discretion is heavily advised
Ran looked up from his phone, streaks of blood from their previous kill still on his cheek. The white stick he had clamped between his teeth tasted bitter as the ashes that lined Rindou’s face when he departed such a dire warning.
“What?”
Gesturing at the device in his hand, Rindou had not missed how Ran was smirking to himself, and there could’ve been one cause for his smug happiness—you.
“Nii-san.” The last time Rindou called him that honorific was when he was in high school after telling his brother how a group of boys had beaten him to the ground and stolen his glasses. After promptly breaking their bones and making sure he was okay, Ran had firmly told him to never call him that again.
Call me ani, Rin. It’s not so formal as nii-san.
Ran’s attention was immediately on the younger Haitani. Gauging his expression carefully, Rindou uttered, “We have a code—a code not to fuck with another man’s wife.”
A scowl settled on his handsome features and Ran scoffed.
