Title: What’s Taking A Life or Two? (If It Means Getting to Keep You)
Pairing: Hanma Shuji/Female Reader
Word Count: 5.7k
Warnings: angry outbursts, discussion of previous dr*gging, details of torture, mention of blood play (sorta?), gun trafficking, discussing violent nightmares, unprotected sex, MDNI, uh Hanma may cry a lil bit.
A/N: I like when you guys pop into my inbox to talk about the chapters. Pls I wanna know how you feel about this one skdjksj. also Luna, mi amore, thank you for being my beta for this chapter <3
As if he wasn’t already over protective (or possessive), Hanma doesn’t let you do a single thing without being by your side or the first to do it. Meals are made by him or they’re ordered in. If you need something from a store or remember a task that needs completing, he’s barking orders at someone else. He hardly lets you stand, which, honestly, is probably for the best. The wound still weeps red and will for a few more days, so moving feels atrocious. Everything hurts no matter the twist or turn and Hanma sees this in the harshly made lines of your face.
“Can I at least make you a drink?” You ask after being catered to hand and foot for the last handful of days. “I feel like I’ve done nothing but sit here.”
“Rest,” he says. “Get better. That’s what I want you to do.”
“But, Hanma–”
“No.” A kitchen cabinet closes and the sound of a glass being set on a counter reaches your ears. “It should be easy enough for you to sit there and look pretty.”
Before leaving, you yank open the backseat of Hanma’s private vehicle, and grab the jacket you always wear on frigid nights like this. Stupidly, he always leaves his car unlocked , never worrying about someone stealing from him despite his obvious show of money. You’re wishing you had shoes tucked away somewhere in the car too, as the ones you have on are tearing into your skin.
Rin had left as soon as you had gotten out of his car, so you knew he’d be long gone by now. Probably headed home to rub out whatever blue balled boner he had before coming to save your sorry ass. You pat over your person, making sure your gun is still holstered underneath the skirt of your dress on the inside of your thigh. There’s two hundred dollars stashed in your breasts for emergencies, and thankfully you were aware enough to leave Hanma’s with the bag you had with you at the party. You’ve access to Hanma’s bank accounts if you wanted, but you also had one separate from him with your own money. An account he forbade you to touch while you stayed with him.
“Keep it,” he said with a mischievous smile on his face as he chuckled. “In case my accounts freeze and we need extra money.”
Title: What’s Taking A Life or Two? (If It Means Getting to Keep You)
Pairing: Hanma Shuji/Female Reader
Word Count: 3.6k
Warnings:DC, MDNI AND BLANK/AGELESS BLOGS DNI! Reader illustrates past sexual assault/violence (non-con), and physical violence from her ex. Mentions of a scarification kink, definite manga spoilers if you even care at this point lol, night terrors, and hanma calls reader a c*cksleeve.
A/N: Sorry this took so long guys, I’ve already started working on the next one. Hoping to get things out sooner this next time around. Thank you to both @kentimestwoand@rosesandtoshi for looking over this piece <3
Nightmares are a norm for you; waking up in a cold sweat, tears falling down your temples and into your ears. Shuddering breaths and cottonmouth are familiar companions to your abrupt awakening.
When you were a toddler, you would cry out for your parents in the middle of the night when a nightmare ripped you from your sleep. Sometimes, if things were nearly petrifying, you would wake up wailing, screaming bloody murder, but you didn’t do that anymore. It had nothing to do with being stronger or older, but everything to do with the real life nightmare you had lived.
Matsumoto Souta is the paralysis demon in your dreams, and for a while you could keep him at bay. Hanma keeps your brain preoccupied. With him, you aren’t scared of someone kicking you until your ribs are broken or knotting their fingers up in your hair to use you like a rag doll. Except now, having seen him and been a victim of his antics once again, you’re thrashing in your sleep, screaming out as tears fall freely.
Hanma tries desperately to hold on to you, arms wrapped tightly around your body as he shouts your name over the sounds of wailing.
Tags:User discretion is advised. MDNI, hurt, heavy angst, mentions and descriptions of miscarriage, stalking, emotional abuse, vivid imagery about miscarriages, trophy wife, runaway wife, hiding, strong language, slight yandere themes, panic attacks, grabbing, mentions and descriptions of sex, regret, mentions of Emma, mentions of divorce, one-sided love, a desperate Hanma, brief moments with Kisaki, too many messy emotions in general
Damn. This took hell lot of time ngl (╥﹏╥) It was worth it tho. I took almost three months to complete this because of all my exams and tests in between and was busy balancing my own schedule and concentrating on making myself better. I really hope y'all like it. I felt like I went overboard with the crying here and there but that is justified, afterall, after what Y/n was put through. This the last and final part btw. Enjoy! I’ll link a smol playlist I made for this. Listen to it in order, music makes the reading experience way better, trust me.
|Part 1 | Part 2 | Playlist | Asks about Affliction are open |
By the time Hanma had collected his bearings, leaving the mansion in pieces as the aftermath of his shock, he notices the blue crockery set on the table, laden with food.
He’s shocked.
After some examining, he realises that there was food, and lots of it, and by judging the copious number of boxes in the refrigerator, there was enough to last for one week.
He doesn’t know what to feel.
Guilt eats him alive.
“What have I done?”
He asks himself, repeating the sentence like a broken record.
Hanma sinks to his knees, hands clutching at his head, as the taste of tears register to his tongue.
The only person who stayed constant for the longest time was gone.
Just like that.
Like the first flash of thunder; beautiful in its own fearful way.
The onslaught of emotions he felt at the reality of the circumstances catching upto him was overwhelming. Overwhelming as the events of the day he lost everything grip his mind.
This was the first time he was being frank with himself. The first time he let himself to feel, to kneel on the ground and finally let out the tears which needed to fall. To finally let himself feel the weight of the loss, to revel and bathe in the pain.
To let the burn of abandonment reduce him to the ground and feel what he loved to inflict upon others.
To finally let her see what was underneath the mask of indifference he’d lived under his whole life.
But the thing was, she wasn’t here.
She wasn’t. And by the way her voice seemed to break more and more with each word on the recording…she wouldn’t ever look back.
