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8aji · 1 year

Text

100% mulberry silk. // s.s.

pairing. shinichiro sano x reader

wc. 1.8k

tags/cw. MDNI, established relationship, pwp, smut, AFAB reader, oral (fem receiving), fingering, sub-ish!shinichiro, dub-con voyeurism, p in v, reader wears a dress but thats about it really!

a/n. based on a dress i really wanted but did not buy, im still mourning it ngl :,) ya'll should've seen it, it was so silky and beautiful and lovely and and- anyway this is the second or third smut ive ever written so pls be kind TT

m.list ˖ tags ˖ byi/dni

“You look so pretty with it,” he breathed out, letting his forehead rest against yours in a desperate attempt to keep himself upwards. The buttery texture of the silk against his fingers made him gulp. The way the fabric fell down your body, touching your skin in ways he craved to do as well lit a fire inside of him he seemed to be unable to put out.

You sighed in satisfaction, toes curling in excitement as his calloused hands trailed up your legs, bunching the fabric of your dress until he reached your hips.

His hands were warm, they made you shiver as his thumbs played with the lace on the hem of your underwear. He would pretend to dip his fingers, waiting for you to sigh in relief before pulling away, subjecting you to the same gruelling teasing he was often the victim of.

“Keep it on for me, please.” He begged, words fueled by the unquenchable thirst prompted just by experiencing you.

You bit your lip to hide the whine bubbling in your throat, fervently nodding as his hands ghosted over your panties, teasing your clit by applying gentle pressure with one of his knuckles. “Just be careful with it.”

He hummed in response, whispering a needy thank you before he gave you a quick peck, followed by another and another, pulling giggles from the two of you.

Time seemed to slow down as you watched him kneel before you, eyes blown with lust and hunger, looking up at you like you were his last meal.

Once again, you fervently nodded as he wordlessly asked for permission to pull your panties down, nudging your waist with his nose while, once again, playing with the hem.

He hooked his fingers over the lace, pulling on it and letting go, making you flinch in satisfaction and conjuring another whine from you. Every sound that fell from your lips only served to further his desire, dick hardening inside his pants as he desperately held back the urge to rut against your body.

Giving a kiss to your clit over the fabric followed by a tentative lick, he basked in the grip you had on his hair. Soft yet commanding, even in the position you were in you guided him wherever you wanted, and he followed with no complaints.

He gave your clothed core one last kiss, gently sucking at the covered nub before peeling the soaked fabric from your skin, with a gentle grip on your calf as he helped you get it completely off.

“Fuck, you're dripping.” He sighed in contentment, licking his lips as one of his fingers toyed with your entrance, collecting your wetness before sucking on his digit, groaning in delight. “You taste so good.”

Slowly, he gave your pussy another tentative lick, taking his time to savour your arousal and letting it pool on his tongue. Moving upwards, one of his hands kept your hips still, glued against the wall as he sucked on your clit. His other hand made their way back to your entrance, two digits curling upwards the moment they had sunk inside your walls. He let your moans wash over him, basking on the indirect price before speaking

“You're so good to me,” his breath tickled your sensitive skin, making your hips stutter in his hold. “Can feel you squeezing my fingers”

The closer you pulled him in, the more enjoyment he got out of eating you out, Eagerly lapping at your juices. Feeling the way you desperately rutted against his face, tongue permanently enveloped by the taste of you, with his nose buried against your skin along with his fingers deep inside your cunt; it only made him up his rhythm.

“Shin I–“ your voice cracked, unable to hold back the moan that ripped from your throat. The man kneeling in front of you hummed in acknowledgement, patting the side of your thigh so you could rest his leg over his shoulder. He needed you impossibly closer. “Shin, if you don’t stop, I'm gonna– Aah! Fuck, Shin, you're gonna make me cum.”

“Cum then.” He mumbled, the sound muffled as he continued with his ministrations, effortlessly licking and sucking, hitting all the right spots as if he had them memorised. “‘Need you to cum on my face.”

Your pussy clenched around his fingers at his words and the grip you had on his hair simultaneously tightened. With the leg he had placed/thrown over his shoulder, you pulled him closer, making him groan.

“I’m–“ you whimpered, interrupting yourself as your mouth went dry, your thighs quivering. Your shoulders sagged against the wall, head lolling to the side as your breath tried to even itself out. His own breathless pants added to the blissful sensation, puffs of air warm against your sensitive clit.

A lazy smile stretched on your face while you brushed your hand through his messy locks, taking in the sight of his cheek pressing against your inner thigh, skin flushed and overly warm, making a few strands of his hair stick to his forehead. He hummed in satisfaction as he willingly melted at your warmth, like he had been the one tipped over the edged

“That was good right?” He asked, voice buttery and laced with buzzing ease. He looked up at you through lidded doe eyes, the corners of his lips curling upwards into a soft smile. His pretty black orbs glistened along with his puffy lips under the dimmed lights in your bedroom. the more you kept looking at them the more you wanted to get a taste of you directly from his tongue.

You raked your fingers through his hair once again, basking in the way he melted against your touch, before you gently pulled on the strands, motioning him upwards.

Now standing, he rested his forehead against yours and you let the puffs of air leaving his lips caress your skin. His chest rose and fell in tandem with your own heartbeat, and for a moment you swore you could feel his desperation cursing down through your bloodstream.

The neediness he embodied was otherworldly, letting his body speak not through words but through its motions. And it was there, mere inches from a kiss, that you finally let out a previously contained whimper, mumbling ‘so good, you're so good’ with as much need of your own, before the two of you were crashing against each other in a synchronised yet desperate rhythm.

Hands everywhere, scrunching fabric and pulling it off while simultaneously trying to get a hold of every inch of skin available to the touch. The two of you could barely contain the muffled giggles at each other's clumsiness. But You couldn’t help it, just existing so close to Shinichiro felt like another brand of honey-like sweetness you couldn't describe.

He was quick to peel your underwear off your body, helping you step out of the garment before he worked on the zipper of his jeans; the strain of his pants had become too much for him, causing an uncomfortable yet pleasurable friction against his clothed member that almost forced a moan out of him once he pulled them off.

Pearlescent beads of precum dribbled down the reddened tip. He was drooling all for you, and it took all of your willpower not to get down on your knees and clean him up with your tongue. The two of you had other plans for the night, which you were quickly reminded of as he pressed his dick against your bare pussy, letting the tip press against your nub before dragging it downwards to your entrance, over and over again until the two of you were covered in a mess of both of your juices.

“Stop teasing,” you pressured through a shaky breath. By now, your head had settled in the crook of his neck, giving you the perfect view of your bodies sliding against each other. The sight in front of you forced you to swallow down a whimper, shutting your eyes close as the head nudged the hood of your clit.

“I– I can’t–” He panted, cheeks turning darker as he stumbled with the moan brewing inside his throat. “It feels so– so good like this I can’t stop.”

“C’mon Shin,” it was your turn to whine. It was unusual for your boyfriend to lose himself in his own pleasure, preferring to put yours over his any day. But whenever it happened, it was almost like his mind emptied itself until the only prevailing thought was to cum. “You always look so pretty inside of me, don’t you wanna see?”

He nodded desperately, biting down on his bottom lip with enough force to break the supple skin. If it weren’t for you putting pressure against it, you think he would’ve. And to your satisfaction, he let your finger enter his mouth without resistance, pulling you as close as possible before lining up against your entrance.

At that exact moment he swore he could cum solely from the pressure of his tip being wrapped around your sticky warmth, one of his hands pressing against the wall to keep himself upright. Everything around him felt too good to be real, and for less than a couple of seconds his brain seemed to have deluded itself into believing he was actually dreaming. Almost angelical, you looked so beautiful, so pretty taking his cock inch by inch until he had fully sheathed himself inside.

You wrapped your leg around his waist at the intrusion, the silky material of the dress scrunching against your waist and adding to the heightened sensation. His whole existence was permeated with a thick layer of want. You could feel it in his touch, his breath, his whimpers. You could feel it sizzling as you left wet kisses behind his ear and down his neck. You could feel it whenever his hips stutter inside of you, fighting against his own will to maintain a constant rhythm.

Nudging his cheek with your nose, you grabbed his face with your hand to keep him steady for a couple of seconds, leaving a couple of pecks on his lips and giggling along with him whenever he tried to sloppily kiss you back.

“More,” you mumbled, “‘want more.”

And like the good boyfriend he was, he followed through.

Almost like drunk in you, he quickened his pace like his only goal was to make you feel good. Two of his slender fingers made their way towards your clit, ghosting over where you needed them the most and waiting for you to whine before he started rubbing soft circles over it.

The squelching noises of both your bodies were borderline pornographic; louder and louder with which thrust and groan and whimper. And like you had mentioned, and in spite of the word sounding out of place within the confinements of your shared obscenity, the view of him inside of you was beyond pretty.

Or at least, that’s what Wakasa thought while he fisted his own cock, peering from behind the thin strip that had been left ajar; by mistake or not, he didn’t care, it was all for him to observe.

#shinichiro x reader #sano shinichiro x reader #shinichiro sano smut #shinichiro smut #sano shinichiro x you #shinichiro x you #tr smut #tr x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tokrev x reader #tokyo revengers smut #master collection.#tr collection.#tw dub con #tw voyeurism

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seijorhi · 2 years

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Undertow

A tokrev purge AU, as a treat :))

Kakucho x female reader, Kurokawa Izana x female reader

w.c 6.4k

tw: murder, blood & slight gore, implied non/dub-con, yandere themes

This is not a test, this is your Emergency Broadcast System announcing the commencement of the annual Purge sanctioned by the Japanese Government. Weapons of class four and lower have been authorised for use during the Purge. All other weapons are restricted. Government officials of ranking ten have been granted immunity and shall not be harmed.

Commencing at the siren, any and all crime, including murder, will be legal for twelve continuous hours. Police, fire, and emergency medical services will be unavailable until tomorrow morning at 7:00 a.m, when the Purge concludes.

Blessed be our new founding fathers and Japan; a nation reborn.

As the polite, female voice falls silent, klaxons ring out, blaring through the night.

Seven years now.

Five, since your brother decided to join the would be Purgers and never made it home. It never becomes normal, you never lose that fear. You do, however, learn the rules.

Stay home. Lock yourself away behind the reinforced shutters and doors, pretend that everything’s fine, that you can’t hear the screaming and gunshots, the violent chaos being gleefully wreaked outside. You put on some movies, music maybe, sit on your couch, swaddled in blankets with the volume too loud and pray that tonight won’t be the night that someone decides to test just how impenetrable the defences around your home truly are.

Arms encircle your waist, pulling you back against a firm chest. A kiss is pressed against your hair. “Babe, don’t look so worried. We’ll be fine. We always are.”

–Only this time, you’re not waiting out the Purge by yourself.

You exhale, Natsuya’s hold easing to allow you to turn and face him. He smiles at the pinched expression on your face, “We’re gonna be fine,” he repeats. “Now will you please come have a drink with me? The others are starting to wonder why my beautiful,” his lips meet your forehead, “smart,” the tip of your nose, “incredible girlfriend’s hiding herself away.”

He kisses your lips last of all, a sweet, gentle thing. Brushes your hair back from your face.

“No one’s getting through the security system, and even if they did, no one’s gonna hurt you, I’ll make sure of it.”

Yes, you’d caught an eyeful of the shotgun he’d been cleaning when you’d arrived. His friends undoubtedly have their own weapons stashed away, too. After all – there’s no such thing as a pacifist on Purge night.

It doesn’t ease your worry any, but you smile and nod for him, letting him tug you back to the lounge room where his friends and sister await.

Because what else does Purge night call for, if not a party?

Miyano – charming and roguish, long dark hair swept up into a bun – the first to greet you, passing you a shot of amber liquor with an easy wink. “Purge classic,” he tells you, referring to the drink, “it’s tradition – and a secret.”

You knock the shot back, wincing at the burn in your throat as it goes down. “Why does it taste like toothpaste?!”

“Disgusting, isn’t it,” Tomori, Natsuya’s sister and the only other girl present, says with a grimace.

Miyano looks mightily pleased with himself, Ayumu and Suwabe both snickering good naturedly. The two of them couldn’t be more different from each other. Suwabe’s short and stocky, Ayumu willowy-tall, blond and bespectacled, and yet one’s never far from the other.

Your boyfriend sneaks an arm around your waist, dutifully accepting his own with a rueful sigh.

“So you guys do this every Purge?”

Suwabe nods, “Yeah, for the past four or five years. It’s a shit night, we figured we might as well make the most of it together instead of stressing out about it alone.”

“And you’ve never been tempted to…?”

The three of them share a look, Suwabe shrugging, “What, to Purge? Ayumu and I went one year. Not to kill anyone or nothing,” he hastens to clarify at your wide eyed expression, “we wanted to rob his boss’s place.”

“The guy was an asshole. Rich as hell, too. We knew he wasn’t gonna be there, it seemed as good a time as any to try our luck,” the blond elaborates.

“And how’d that go for you?”

He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck, “Yeah, we didn’t even make it onto the property. And it was fucked out there, not something I want a repeat of anytime soon.”

Your brother’s face flashes to mind, a pang striking deep in your chest. He’d made his choice, though, with intentions far less justifiable, and so you shove those feelings aside, tilting your face to meet Natsuya’s, “And no Purging for you?”

Intended as a joke, his fingers, resting comfortably above your hip, inexplicably twitch. “‘Course not.”

“The whole thing’s messed up. Who wants to go out and hunt people for fun?” Tomori snorts, passing you a glass of wine and pouring one for herself.

“Kind of a necessary evil, though, right?”

She meets her brother’s gaze with one raised, unimpressed eyebrow, “Oh c’mon, Nats, you can’t honestly tell me that you believe the Purge is in any way a good thing. Those who can afford it lock themselves away, and the poor pay the price. It’s chaos for the sake of chaos, the only difference between now and before is that alongside all the criminals who would’ve gone out looting and murdering anyway, the government’s convinced stupid, entitled dumbasses like those two,” she jerks her chin towards Ayumu and Suwabe, both suddenly fascinated with their drinks, “that killing and stealing and hurting other people is morally upstanding, and worse; fun.”

And so the conversation goes, as it always does. You nod and hum idly along with the others every now and then, nestled comfortably into Natsuya’s side while they argue back and forth, until– “Look, all I’m saying is that anyone who’s dumb enough to get themselves killed on Purge night probably isn’t a great loss to society anyway.”

The change in the air is palpable. Natsuya stiffens behind you, Tomori’s breath catching, her eyes immediately finding yours.

Figures that Natsuya told her.

And to Miyano’s credit, he seems to realise he’s misstepped even before your boyfriend’s growled, “Dude, shut the hell up.”

“Shit, that’s not what I– Fuck, I didn’t–” You raise a placating hand, and his mouth closes with an audible click.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it, I’m not gonna bite your head off,” you chuckle awkwardly, pretending that you don’t see Suwabe’s wince.

Still, his expression looks almost stricken, eyes darting between you and a disapproving Nats, and you feel a slight twinge of… something.

Miyano hadn’t said it to be spiteful.

What happened to your brother happens to hundreds every Purge – they leave the safety of their houses with the belief that because they’ve got a weapon and a free pass for twelve hours, they’re invincible.

Usually, they’re wrong.

“It’s fine,” you repeat with a tight smile, pointedly ignoring Natsuya’s scoff.

“No, I shouldn’t’ve–”

Whatever he’s about to say falls by the wayside as a loud, pounding suddenly reverberates through the house.

The front door.

For a long beat, nobody moves. Nobody breathes. Six pairs of eyes shift to the entry-way, towards the unknown figure waiting on the other side of the door.

Silence settles over the six of you, thick and uncomfortable, and undercurrent of tension pressing down on your body. Every door and window’s locked and reinforced behind steel shutters, they’re not impenetrable, though. Nothing is.

Abruptly, the banging resumes, so sudden that you jerk, flinching back against Natsuya’s frame.

“Pull up the security feed,” Suwabe suggests.

There’s a panel with a keypad on the wall by the kitchen, a few clicks of the buttons and the screen comes to life. Split across six sections, the cameras show a near 360 degree view of the exterior of the house. Natsuya taps on the upper left, bringing the view from the front of the house – the man battering down the door – full screen, the audio filtering through.

“–gonna kill me! You have to let me in! I promise I’m not armed, I swear it, just– help me, please!”

Your stomach flips.

“I–” you swallow, drawing in an unsteady breath.

The shock of black hair, the jagged scar cut like a bolt of lightning across his forehead, his eyes, one red, the other a milky white, wide and frantic now as he risks another look behind him – they’re not features you’re likely to forget any time soon. “I know him.”

You feel more than see the way that Natsuya tenses, pulling back to study you, a note of questioning in his eyes.

“He catches the same train home, we talk sometimes.” There’s more to it than that; a creep that tried to feel you up and Kakucho’s intervention, but you don’t feel like getting into that now.

Not when he’s hoarse and begging on Nats’ doorstep.

He hammers his fist against the shutters, strong enough that you swear you can feel the vibrations rattling in your chest. “He’s coming– fucking hell, please!”

Nobody says anything, uncomfortable glances shared between all six of you.

It’s an exercise in futility begging anyone for help on Purge night. He has to know that – everyone knows that.

And yet your heart’s lodged firmly in your throat, because it’s not just anyone at the door. It’s not a stranger begging for mercy, for sanctuary, it’s Kakucho.

Kakucho, who stood up for you.

Kakucho, who took the seat next to yours for weeks before he so much as said a word to you.

Kakucho, who looks half crazed – terrified – pleading for his life.

You barely know him, a kind act and a few conversations on your nighttime commute doesn’t make him a saint, doesn’t mean you have any sort of deeper relationship or trust built between you, but…

“Nats,” you breathe, your hand seeking his. His palm’s warm, engulfing yours, and you squeeze it, “I know him.”

It isn’t a plea, not quite.

“Dude, are you crazy? You can’t let him in!” Suwabe hisses, smacking his shoulder. “It sucks, but that’s what happens–”

Tomori‘s eyes flash. She folds her arms over her chest, shooting daggers his way, “So we throw him to the wolves? Just leave him to die?”

“Yeah; that’s the fucking Purge, Mori! He’s banging on your door ‘cause no one else’s stupid enough to let him in!”

“And if it was your friend and not some random stranger, you’re telling me you‘d leave him to the wolves rather than risk opening your door?”

Miyano, up until now silent, exhales, “She’s kind of got a point.”

“He’s not a friend though, she said it herself!” Suwabe snaps back, jabbing his finger in your direction. He turns to Ayumu, watching the argument unfold with a small frown. “Back me up here, dude, you know I’m right.”

The blond shifts on his feet, fingers tapping an uneasy rhythm against his drink as his gaze flickers between you and Natsuya. And all the while, the pounding outside continues, furious and desperate, layered beneath Kakucho’s shouts. You’re half convinced that any second now, that door’s gonna give way, and your stomach churns. You feel sick.

He’s a mere step above a stranger; an acquaintance at best. Suwabe isn’t wrong, either. This is Purge, this is what happens. Those who don’t have the means to protect themselves either learn to fight back or pay the price. There’s no helping that and it’s naive to think otherwise.

Right now you’re safe. Barring an all out assault, you’ll remain that way for the rest of the night.

The smart thing to do would be to hunker down and pretend the world outside the front door doesn’t exist for the next however many hours. That was the plan. That’s always the plan for the Purge.

Even the harmless looking ones pose a threat tonight. Kakucho, with his stature and scowl, the scar and those frighteningly intense eyes, never struck you as all that harmless.

So you don’t blame Suwabe for his reticence. You can’t. The smart, rational choice here is as cold and brutal as it is simple; you keep the door locked.

Yet your hand tightens around Natsuya’s, anchoring yourself in the touch as Ayumu’s eyes flit across yours, considering.

You won’t beg, you won’t, but–

“It’s your house,” he eventually says, more to Natusya than you. A shrugs then, sliding his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “There’s six of us, we’ve got guns if he tries anything.”

Something looses inside of you, a shuddering breath filling your lungs.

Natsuya doesn’t look particularly thrilled judging from the clenched muscle in his jaw, the crease between his brows. One glance at Tomori, though, her lovely face set is a mask of determination and that resolve of his weakens.

And shatters entirely.

“Fine. Fucking– fine. Let him in; 4869.”

He snatches the shotgun off the table as he says it, drawing you back into his side whilst Miyano – the closest to the door – punches in the code. Suwabe, meanwhile, disappears from the room, reappearing a moment later with a gun in hand.

Sliding himself into position between Tomori and the door, he cocks the slide with a grim expression. He locks eyes with you – only for a heartbeat – and you find yourself wanting to blurt out that the guns aren’t necessary, that Kakucho isn’t a threat.

You don’t, though, tongue leaden in your mouth, and he nudges her back as his attention shifts to the door.

In your ear, low enough that the others won’t hear, Natsuya murmurs, “You don’t leave my side, understand?”

You nod.

With a heavy clank, the shutters begin to lift.

Your fingers dance by your side, your insides in knots. Inch by inch it goes until finally, Miyano unlocks the door, pulls it open and Kakucho barrels in.

No one breathes. No one moves as he rights himself, bleeding, panting.

“Shut the fucking door,” he rasps, and like that, whatever spell everyone’s under is broken and both Suwabe and Miyano snap into action to close off the house once more.

And all the while you simply stare, blinking, unsure of what you’re supposed to say or do right now. Kakucho’s eyes shift around the room, slowly considering each of your friends, tasking them in one after the other, Suwabe’s gun, Natsuya’s, until at last, his eyes fall on you.

Recognition glints. Surprise. His head tilts, almost puppy-ish, brows drawing together. He murmurs your name in that deep, gravelly rumble, and Natsuya goes rigid.

It’s an instinctual response, you think, because a breath later his thumb rubs soothingly at your hip, slow and gentle, a quiet apology for brutish behaviour. Everyone’s on edge tonight.

And once again, it falls to Tomori to break the tension.

“Are you hurt? You look like hell.”

Kakucho doesn’t answer her immediately, his attention lingering on you for a heartbeat longer than necessary. Long enough that you have to fight the urge to fidget. Eventually, though, he grunts and shakes his head, turning his head to face her. “It’s nothing. I‘m fine.”

“You’re bleeding,” she presses, as gently as she can.

Dazedly, he lifts his hand to his face, fingers finding the gash on his cheek. They come away wet and shining, glistening with his own blood – he stares at it, almost confused. “It’s… nothing,” he repeats, slower this time.

Tomori rolls her eyes, huffs in a way that’s so similar to Natsuya that under other circumstances you might have laughed. “What is it with men and their bullshit need to act tough all the time?”

None of them, not even Miyano has anything to say to that, and despite the heavy tension still hanging in the air, a wry grin pulls at your lips.

It only lasts a moment.

“You guys have a first aid kit, yeah?” Ayumu asks, to which both Tomori and your boyfriend nod.

“In the kitchen, the shelf above the fridge.”

And like that, the boys begin to disperse. Ayumu to fetch the kit, Miyano water and alcohol. Suwabe sticks by Tomori’s side, and when she mentions something about towels for the blood, he follows her out into the hallway. You suspect it’s more to give you a moment with Kakucho – or to escape the thick, awkward atmosphere – but you’re grateful all the same.

With the others gone, Kakucho’s attention turns back to you. Says nothing as you approach, Natsuya trailing right behind you, watching the two of you carefully.

Tomori hadn’t been wrong. Tough act or not, he has to be in pain. Split lip, knuckles grazed and reddened. The gash on his cheek, and blood seeping from a cut on his brow. Mottled bruises darkening his skin. Even his gait is off, his left leg supporting the majority of his weight. You’ve never seen the aftermath of a beating like this before. They hadn’t even let you see your own brother after they’d found him.

It twists at something inside of you, sends a pang right through your heart. He has to be hurting, yet Kakucho wears the damage like it’s nothing.

There’s a strange urge – one you steadfastly ignore – to reach out and take his ruined cheek in hand. To see someone in pain, hiding it… you might not be friends exactly, but a lump forms in your throat, your chest tightening. You’ve never felt so uselessly inadequate.

You sigh, eyes searching his, “What happened to you?”

“Let him sit down first, babe,” your boyfriend mutters.

Kakucho regards him warily. He’s still holding the shotgun, admittedly by his side, his other hand moving to your shoulder.

A clear message, and you don’t know how you feel about that.

In any case, your cheeks warm, a sheepish laugh – one without much humour – leaving your lips. You’re doing this all wrong. Stupid, stupid. “Of course, it’s probably better if we do this at the table, right?” you ask no one in particular. “Can you walk over or do you need somebody to lean on?”

A faint frown mars his face, “I said I’m fine.” Again, there’s no heat in the statement, the words are dull, robotic almost.

The others are returning now, Ayumu blowing his blond locks away from his face as he sets the first aid kit down on the table and pops it open. Yet surprisingly it’s Suwabe who pipes up, “Stop being an asshole, she’s just trying to help.”

Well, maybe not that surprising.

You repress another sigh, shaking off Natsuya’s grip to go and help him, Ayumu clearly having the same thought, when the doorbell rings.

You freeze.

No one dares to breathe, each of you slowly turning to face the door, still locked behind those steel shutters.

The doorbell rings again, twice in quick succession.

You hear someone quietly whisper, “Fuck.”

Cold dread sluices through your system, every pound of your heart echoing in your ear as Natsuya chokes on his spit, glances to Miyano.

And all eyes shift to the security screen. Tomori’s closest this time, Suwabe’s quick to grab her, pull her back as he instead brings the feed to life. Another tap, and the exterior front door once again fills the screen.

Your heart, pounding so violently in your chest that it feels like you’re going to be sick, constricts.

A blond man with striking – deeply unsettling – violet eyes stands at the doorstep, smiling directly into the camera. He’s not much older than you, less than five or so years you’d guess, dressed in an elegant, brocaded red coat.

“I’m assuming I have your attention,” he begins. His voice is pleasant and smooth, it sends shivers down your spine, the warmth leaching from your blood.

He waits a beat, still smiling that chilling, awful smile. “Good. Excellent. As I have no intention of wasting my time on this precious Purge night, I’ll make this brief. Nice and simple for you; it’s come to my attention that you’re harbouring something that belongs to me.” You hear Tomori’s breath catch, and hers aren’t the only pair of eyes that shift to Kakucho. “The man – the dog – you’ve inexplicably given sanctuary to tonight is nothing but filth. A defiler. A killer. A menace to our just society, and like all dogs, he must be brought to heel.”

His teeth, straight and white, glint as his grin widens. You can’t breathe, Natsuya’s hand finding yours, tightening wordlessly. You can feel the tension shift in the room, the fear that descends like a blanket at his words. But you know Kakucho, he’s wouldn’t– he’s not–

“By offering him sanctuary, by standing between me and what is rightfully mine, you’ve aligned yourself with those to be Purged. So, again, I’ll make this clear. You may think that behind this security system of yours, you’re safe. That the locks on your doors and steel shutters will keep me out – that is a lie you’ve been sold. I am coming in, it might take five minutes, maybe twenty, but these defences will fall. And if the dog inside hasn’t ripped you all to pieces, rest assured that I will. I suggest you good folks run. Hide. You cannot keep me from what I want.”

Abruptly the screen goes black, and no less than a split second later, the power in the house cuts out, plunging you into an eerie green-lit dimness as the sole emergency light flickers on.

The sound of your shaking breath feels too loud in the dead stillness. You swallow, and slowly turn to face Kakucho.

A defiler and a killer, the smiling man had said.

Those things can’t be true, because the Kakucho you know…

He meets your stare. Cold and empty, and that racing, trembling heart of your sinks into the very pit of your stomach. “K-kakucho?”

Two guns lift, Natsuya yanking you back, and in the space of a breath, everything goes to hell. Ayumu’s closest, had gone over to help, and quicker than your eyes can follow, Kakucho lunges forward, a knife appearing in his hand.

One moment, your friend, with that quiet, dry humour and a heart of absolute gold, is standing, the next – Kakucho’s knife is at his throat, and he’s being yanked backwards. “Put the guns down,” he says.

Like his expression, his voice is cold and flat.

Neither Natsuya nor Suwabe make a move to lower their weapons, Suwabe teeth bared in a silent snarl.

“Just do what he says, for fuck’s sake!” Miyano hisses, and you’re not imagining the panic lacing his tone.

The corner of Kakucho’s lips curl, “However fast you think you can shoot, I can guarantee you it won’t be quick enough. Put them down. On the floor.”

“Kakucho, please…”

He doesn’t so much as spare you a glance. Natsuya’s hand tightens, a silent plea for you to keep quiet, and not draw his attention.

“Do what he says.” It’s Ayumu, his voice a hoarse whisper. Wide eyed, shaking, the knife at his throat pressed so tightly that the movement of his vocal chords causes skin to break, a thin line of blood beading across his neck. “Please.”

“I am not–”

“Do what he fucking says, Suwabe!”

A long silence settles, neither making a move, unwilling to give an inch despite their friend’s desperate plea. And perhaps the terror in the blond’s voice finally breaks through to them, or the cool, detached ruthlessness of Kakucho’s demeanour, but with a heavy reluctance, the two lower their weapons.

“On the floor,” Kakucho repeats, pressing the blade tighter against Ayumu’s throat. “I’m not asking.”

Suwabe snarls, dropping the pistol. A moment later Natsuya follows suit, the both of them glaring at the larger man.

Kakucho smirks. Glances at you.

A defiler, the smiling man had called him. A killer.

And too quickly for anyone to stop him, he yanks the knife across Ayumu’s throat and shoves him aside. There’s a ringing in your ears as Tomori screams, Suwabe falling to his knees, scrambling for his discarded gun. Too slow. Kakucho’s sprinting – unhindered by his supposed ‘injured’ foot – disappearing into the darkness of the house, and Ayumu’s bleeding out on the floor.

Gaping and gasping, twitching like a fish out of water.

You can’t move, can’t hear a thing but the pounding of your pulse in your ears as you stare into his eyes. There’s so much blood, more and more spraying with every dying beat of his heart, pooling beneath his body, splattering the walls, the furniture, everything. And you can’t move.

Ayumu, glasses knocked askew, pretty blond locks falling into his eyes, chokes and gurgles, a trembling, bloody hand stretching out for help – and you can’t do a thing.

No one can.

And just as Miyano jolts out of his stupor and lunges for him, Ayumu’s body falls slack.

The light in his eyes fading away into nothingness.

Dead.

Suwabe screams, fires two shots blindly down the hallway, howling in rage and agony. Natsuya grips you so tight that it cuts off your circulation, his own eyes wide and horrified, taking in the carnage before him. Tomori lets out a keening sob, and the shutters on the front door screech ominously, as if to remind you all that there are bigger problems at hand.

There’s no time for grief. There’s a killer in the house, another forcing his way inside. Five of you left, two guns, and another ten or so hours until all of this can be over.

And suddenly Natsuya’s in front of you, grabbing your face in both hands and forcing you to look at him. You blink dazedly, trying in vain to focus as he speaks to you.

“–bathroom, lock the fucking door and do not open it until I come back, you understand?”

You blink again, eyes sliding back at Ayumu. His eyes are open, gazing at nothing, empty, empty, empty–

Your fault.

He’d told them it was okay. They had guns so it’d be okay, but you were the one–

“Listen to me!” Natsuya hisses, yanking your attention back to him. “I need you safe, so take Tomori and lock yourself in the bathroom right now. You don’t open that door no matter what, not ‘til I come back and tell you it’s safe, do you understand me?”

You find yourself nodding, a short jerking movement.

It’s enough for Natsuya, who presses a quick, desperate kiss to the crown of your head and takes you to Tomori. She grips your hand tight and the two of you disappear into the bathroom, one last glance at the three of them, grim faced and vengeful, gathering their weapons under the green glow before the doors shut, and you click the lock into place.

The two of you sit in the darkness, Tomori’s arm around your shoulders, sniffling into your shoulder as you wait.

You hold her, a hand running up and down her spine, tears of your own spilling down your cheeks.

Your fault, your fault, your fault. All of this is your fault.

Tomori flinches with every noise, every muffled thump. There’s a deafening bang somewhere on the floor above you – a gunshot maybe, or something falling, it’s hard to tell.

Your fault. Your fault. Your fault.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, clutching her closer as she whimpers – the only reassurance you can bring yourself to give her. “It’s okay.”

How could this happen, you think numbly. For months now, you’ve sat next to a murderer, talked with him. Laughed with him.

You thought him a protector. A friend, even.

And you all but begged them to let him inside.

Ayumu’s blood’s on your hands. You might all die here tonight and it’s entirely your fault.

‘I know him,’ you’d told them. ‘I know him, and it’s okay.’

The look he’d given you, that smirk. Like he knew every thought that was running through your head. Like none of this was accidental, but the pieces of a puzzle falling slowly into place.

A defiler.

Bile creeps up your throat, and it occurs to you that death might not be the only thing waiting for you and Tomori if Kakucho finds you.

The tears fall quicker, and you close your eyes and bite down on your quivering bottom lip.

Locked away in the darkness, time crawls by. Minutes, maybe, or hours – there’s no way of knowing how much time has passed when you hear the tell tale sound of metal groaning, the splintering of wood. Tomori moans in despair, sobbing uncontrollably now as the front door gives way.

“It’s fine,” you soothe, “It’s okay.”

It’s a lie, because while the others – if they’re still alive (they have to be alive, they have to be) – are distracted with Kakucho, all that’s between you and the smiling intruder is a locked door.

Far less indestructible than the one he just broke through.

And soft as they may be, you hear the footsteps echoing off the wooden floorboards as the intruder leisurely makes his way down the hall. Closer and closer. Desperately, you try to quiet Tomori, but it makes no difference. He comes to a stop on the other side of the door.

Bringing a hand to your mouth, you bite down on the back of your palm in an effort to stifle your breathing. Tomori cringes.

When the door opens, you’ll attack, you decide. Go for the eyes, or knee him in the crotch – anything to give Mori a chance to run.

A heavy, pregnant pause, and then–

“I know you’re in there. Hiding away while your friends are getting hacked to pieces.” You can’t see it, but you know he’s smiling, grinning on the other side of the door. You can hear it in his voice. And you hate him, hate him even as paralysing fear claws its way through you, keeping you rooted in place. “That’s fine, I don’t mind. You can stay there for a little while longer, I still have one last thing to take care of, and then we can have some fun, no?”

He laughs then, light and boyish, as if this is nothing more than a game. To him, perhaps it isn’t.

“I’ll see you soon.”

In any case, his footsteps recede, and you’re left sitting in the darkness alone with your fear once more.

The thumping upstairs grows louder. There’s a crash and more yelling, a series of gunshots.

And then the screaming starts. Awful, bloodcurdling howls that have every hair on your body standing on end. Your stomach roils, what little you’d eaten earlier forcing its way back up your throat as you retch into the toilet, shaking and pale.

“We’re gonna die here, aren’t we?” Tomori whispers, and you can’t find the strength within yourself to try and convince her otherwise. If you survive this, those screams won’t ever leave you. You’ll wake in the middle of the night, gasping for air, unable to shake them.

“I don’t know.”

Silence, when it falls, feels like a death knell.

And then come the footsteps. You wait with bated breath, praying that it’s Natsuya. Miyano. Even Suwabe. Any of your friends.

A knock; the sound ricocheting through you. “Love, are you gonna open the door for me?”

Tomori wails like a banshee, broken and agonised, and you feel that little, tiny spark of hope you’d kept deep within your chest wink out.

“I’m sorry,” you tell her, kissing her hair as you hold her close. “I’m so sorry, Mori.”

And as the door shudders under the force of a kick, you hold her close and pray for a quick end. Another kick, and the wood splinters.

A third, and it breaks open entirely.

That eerie, green light floods the bathroom, the blond man stepping inside. He smiles at you, blood flecked across his face. The blood of your friends. Natsuya’s maybe.

“Ah, I thought there was one missing. She’s in here,” he calls out, glancing over his shoulder.

For a heartbeat, confusion flickers beneath the terror. Did he bring others with him? Maybe that’s how he broke in so quickly, maybe there’s a whole gang of them.

Your unspoken question, however, is answered when another figure steps into the bathroom behind him.

“She won’t be a problem.”

Your blood turns to ice.

Kakucho. Tall, broad and looming, he surveys the two of you with interest, his gaze lingering on you. “Are you gonna come quietly or am I gonna have to drag you out?” he asks, a single eyebrow raised.

To your credit, you try to stand. You might not be brave, but you’re not suicidal either. If there’s any chance that compliance gets you or Tomori out of here, even if these monsters killed Natsuya and the others, you’ll do what they ask.

Yet your legs are shaking so bad that you barely make it to your feet before they give out beneath you. Kakucho tuts, sighing heavily – and sweeps in to lift you up into his arms as if you weigh nothing at all, paying no mind to the way that you flinch and shudder.

The blond pads out behind you as Kakucho carries you back into the living room.

You’re half expecting to be shoved to your knees, the barrel of a gun pressed to the back of your head, but Kakucho sets you down gently on the couch, pats the top of your head twice before retreating back to the bathroom.

The blond stays behind, those violet eyes a sickly colour under the green glow fixated curiously on you. Your hands are shaking in your lap as he draws closer.

“I bought you something,” he says.

You frown, tongue darting out to wet your lips as you mumble, “W-what?”

From the pocket he pulls out a velvet box, pressing into your hands as he settles down beside you. “Open it.”

Swallowing tightly, you fumble with the lid for a moment – until he sighs and takes it back from you, popping it open and handing it right back to you.

And you don’t understand when you take it back, because nestled into the white pillow is a necklace with a pendant, a hanafuda design, matching the earrings dangling from his lobes.

“Well? Are you going to put it on?” he asks, just as Kakucho returns with a squirming Tomori. Yet rather than setting her down the couch as he had with you, he drops her carelessly onto the floor in a tangle of limbs and retreats again – this time back towards the stairs.

You start to rise with the intention of helping her, only to be stopped by an iron grip around your wrist. “If you get up from this couch, I’ll put a bullet through her brain right here and now, do you understand?”

He says it so mildly, the threat takes a second to register.

When it does, though, you nod shakily and fall back to your seat. He smiles again, a mirthful twinkle in his eyes. “Good girl.” He pats your knee, “Now, put it on for me.”

Casting a quick glance to Tomori, prone and near catatonic on the floor, you do as he bids, lifting the thing chain from the box. It’s long enough for you to slip it over your head without having to fiddle with the clasp – a good thing, seeing as your fine motor skills seem to have abandoned you in your terror. The pendant falls between your breasts, which the blond man takes a good, long moment to admire.

“Suits you,” is all he says as Kakucho returns once more.

And drops another body on the floor.

Your heart seizes in your chest as it moves. Groans and lifts his head, blinking to adjust to the dim light.

“Nats–” you cry, and forgetting the blond at your side you go to rise once more. This time he snarls, quiet and vicious, seizing your shoulder and forcing you back down.

“Don’t. Be. Rude.”

You draw in a shallow breath, hope and despair warring inside of you as you glance from Natsuya to Kakucho, who manhandles him onto his knees. His face is bruised and bloody, a dark, wet-looking patch you can only assume to be blood seeping from one of his thighs.

He’s alive, though. Put through the wringer but alive.

You almost sob.

Beside him, Tomori’s also being raised to her knees, the dead look in her eyes fading somewhat as she takes in the sight of her brother.

Your gut clenches.

Both of them are facing you, Kakucho looming threateningly behind them. Despite the momentary joy, this isn’t a happy reunion.

The blond at your side hums, leaning in close. With a delicate touch, he sweeps back a lock of hair, tucking it behind your ear. The hand on your knee drifts higher, grazing along the inside of your thigh.

“You get a choice, think of it as… a going away present,” he says. The warmth of his breath fans across your skin, his hand now slipping beneath your skirt. You shudder, trying to blink back the hot tears that well up in your eyes. You refuse to cry in front of him, you refuse to give him the satisfaction. Amusement and something like glee dances across his face, “One of them dies now; quick and relatively painless. The other…” his fingers brush the seat of your underwear, his tongue darting out to lick at the stray tear that slips from your lashes. His voice dips, “The other gets to watch while the three of us have our fun tonight.”

Natsuya snarls, only for Kakucho to kick him back to the ground and keep him there with a foot on his back.

“And a-afterwards?” you force the words out.

“Afterwards, Kakucho’s going to beat the other one to death with his bare fucking fists. I wasn’t lying when I told you he was violent,” his lips brush your cheek, featherlight and gentle, “I wasn’t lying about any of it.”

You look to Kakucho then, his eyes bearing down on you with a hunger he doesn’t bother to hide. An obsession.

All those nights, sitting on the train next to him. All the stupid, meaningless conversations you’d had, the night he’d damn near knocked the lights out of that creep. The way he’d begged on the doorstep, and the smirk when his ruse was discovered.

Lies, all of it lies.

You draw in a shaky breath and close your eyes, hands tightening into fists by your lap.

“So tell me, love,” he continues, fingers once again teasing at your panties. “Which one goes first?”

#yandere tokyo revengers #yandere izana #yandere izana x reader #yandere kakucho #yandere kakucho x reader #yandere kurokawa izana x reader #yandere kurokawa izana #tw: dubcon #tw: noncon #more implied than anything else but #to be on the safe side

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