Kokonoi X Reader - Blog Posts

holy fuck this is amazing

Ride or Die

Warnings = mentions of non-con🔞 , captivity, false hope, infantilization, use of guns, killing/murder

Pairings = Bonten x fem! reader

Summary = Meeting them was a mistake. A fatal mistake on your end. Now you're trapped in their operation.

Word count = 5.7k words

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You’re running, but you’re not fast enough. They’re probably just right behind you. You had no idea what you were going to do even if you were to escape; there was no safe house waiting for you whatsoever.

Who are they? And why are they chasing you?

Ah right— Mikey and his lackeys. 

He probably had hundreds, but none come close to Kokonoi, Sanzu, Mochi, Kakucho, Takeomi and those freak siblings, Ran & Rindou. They were practically a package, if you messed with one of them, you messed with the others.

You couldn’t remember, but it was Kakucho? Maybe he was the one that offered you a job at his company. It was a simple task really, just be there for a few days of the week, not even everyday. 

Seemed easy enough, but that was your mistake for thinking that it was just an innocent job. The job being having their cocks shoved deep inside your throat or deep inside you 24/7. Believe it or not, it felt kind of weird when you didn’t have something inside you. It was just the effect of it overtime.

Ever since the day you crossed paths with them, your life just seems to keep getting worse. From how controlling they get to how possessive they are over you, it was annoying.

You swore you could count how many times they let you out of the office with just one hand, and it was only three times. One was for clothes shopping and even then they bought a huge amount of clothes for you at once to avoid any unnecessary shopping trips. 

You still felt that lingering feeling of their touches, even if it happened long ago. The way their hands just seemed to invade any non-existent boundaries just seemed to make you even more uncomfortable than you already were. 

You remembered how you begged to let them let you put your clothes on by yourself. It was like they were convinced you couldn’t be trusted to do simple tasks, it was like they were convinced you were a child of some sort. 

“Stop it, I can do it myself. Just let me go in the changing room, it’s not like I have any chance to escape,” you complain to Ran, even though you knew the argument was only going to come in from one ear and exit the other ear.

“Hmm? I’m just tryna help, just let me help you,” he says with an iron grip on the door of the changing room, not allowing you to close it.

And after that, the memory just blurs… but you just can’t shake off the uncomfortable feeling.

That time was also the time they implemented an “unwritten” rule of giving you 0 privacy. Whether it’d be showering, changing clothes, or even sleeping… one of them always had to be beside you, breathing down your neck as you did simple activities.

It didn’t happen all the time, but it happened most of the time. They did it mostly to annoy you if anything, they knew how you hated having no time for yourself, but technically, everyone hates it.

The second time was to have you trick their client into believing that they aren’t being threatened. The same way they had tricked you into believing that they were trust-worthy.

“S-sir please, they aren’t dangerous at all!” the lies spill from your mouth.

You had felt bad for the man; actually you felt bad for anyone who had the bad fortune of getting anywhere near Bonten. 

“You’re clearly just as messed up as all the others! How could a sweet woman like you fall for their type of behaviour!” he spat out, each word hitting you like a sharp blade to the chest.

You could see the disappointment in his eyes. You felt like a daughter who just got scolded for failing the recent math test. Speaking of tests, the third and last time was… a test as well.

In some sick way, they all had collectively agreed to give you that false hope. The false hope of believing that you were able to be free. 

You remembered it like it was yesterday. The door was wide-open, well not really. But that day, there weren’t any guards stationed near the entrance, and none of them were seen. You should’ve known. After all those weeks and months of carefully watching you, why would you be left alone all of a sudden?

You remembered the series of events. It started when you stood in the common room, looking through the shelves on the walls, the furniture, and the decor. They barely bothered to give you any sort of entertainment. They hadn’t let you have a phone, tablet, nor a laptop. Actually, they didn’t let you have anything.

The boredom drove you crazy; it was pure torture. That was when you started fidgeting with the door… and you realised. 

The door wasn’t locked… it was unlocked. 

You looked around at the surroundings, a lump starting to form in your throat. The usual watchful eyes, the always-present guards were all gone, as if they’ve dissipated into thin air. The hallway stretched before you, eerily silent, untouched by the suffocating presence that had come with your every move for months.

For the first time, there was no one. No lingering figures in the corners, no distant murmurs of conversation, no sharp clicks of your dress shoes against the polished floors. Just stillness.

And that was when the thought crept in, fragile and dangerous.

‘I could be free.’

The possibility lodged itself in your chest, a spark of hope so reckless it almost hurt. Your fingers twitched at your sides, your body was torn between instinct and disbelief. It had to be a trick. It had to be.

But what if it wasn’t?

What if— by some impossible twist of fate— they had finally let their guard down?

But, no, of course they didn’t. They had given you that chance just to mess with you. 

You remembered the aftermath of the ‘escape’. You remembered how they held you down and raped you. They claimed that it was a necessary lesson for you.

You remembered how you whimpered, begged, and screamed for them. The memory still rung in your head like a death knell. 

And, even after that, you dared to try and escape again. That’s what you’re doing now. You’ve been trapped long enough to know that they’ve probably added drastic measures just in case you got too far but you highly doubted it was that bad.

The premises was a mix of an apartment and a work building. Half of it was dedicated to tending to business and the other half was for living in. And you had the oh so unfortunate experience of living in it.

Well, whatever, you’re here now. 

People say “run like a girl” means to run for your life. And you agree with that. The way you’re running right now was like a crazed lunatic on drugs. Your lungs were on fire. Your legs were on fire. Everything was on fire. You disagreed with alcohol, but the way it burned your tongue helped burn away the pain.

You weren’t planning to escape right now, but you were planning to escape. The reason you despised school and having a nine-to-five job is because of how suffocating it felt. This is how you feel now and forever with them.

As mentioned before, you’ve tried to run so, so many times— yet they keep capturing you and bringing you back.

They were like annoying mosquitos who chased you around for blood, never able to leave you alone and similarly, hunting you down for blood. The only difference being their motive.

You lost track of time ever since you started running. Last time you checked it was 7.50 AM in the morning and you just finished breakfast with the same group of people who kept you captive.

It was like hell.

“Darling, why haven’t you eaten anything…? We are soooo worried about you,” Sanzu joked, earning a chuckle from all the other members. 

“You should eat. We spent good money on the food.” firmly stated by Mikey. He was never like the others. He always had that intense, serious, terrifying aura surrounding him at all times— but don’t get it twisted, he was just as messed up.

“Fuck you.” you thought to yourself, but, oh, how badly you wanted to say it to them. 

All you had— no, can— do right now was just to focus on running. You had managed to run all the way onto the main road. You threw your arms up high in the air around in hopes of gaining any driver’s attention, and luckily you did.

As soon as the door to the red pickup truck opened, you quickly blurted out: “Please, take me far, far away from here.”

“Do what the lady says fool, DRIVE.” a lady from the back suddenly appeared out of nowhere and said. She had beautiful, shiny, blonde hair travelling down her back and her lips were the perfect shade of pink… okay get yourself straight now.

“Alright! Calm it down a notch would’cha?” he says, each word being spit out. 

Breathlessly and shockingly, you managed to mutter a small “Thank you so much…”.

“No worries! What’s it all about anyway? Runnin’ from yer parents?” she asks.

“No… no… nothing of that sort. I’m… just running from an…ooh…! Wait a second… let me catch my breath…” you gasp.

“It’s alright, just take your time,” the man in the driver seat replies.

Your gaze drops down, scanning your legs. The place was isolated, it was practically in the middle of nowhere, but not really… rather, it was in the middle of the woods. A few seconds of silence passed by to let yourself collect your thoughts and scene of events.

Wait… what even happened?

What date is today anyway?

All you remembered was seeing a job offer at… Bonten… building? There was a job interview for you on July 28th, 2017. You accepted it… and… wait what happened? 

—

Around 6 months ago~

Your heels clicked sharply against the polished marble floor, each step measured exactly the same distance from one another and deliberate as you approached the receptionist’s desk. Yes, it might’ve been a bit too extra but you might as well since you’ve already gone through and through with all the other preparations.

Today, you had actually left behind your usual overstuffed purse to minimize the risk of dropping your bag and letting all the contents fall out and also for a lesser chance of drawing unwanted attention since having an extremely full bag did somewhat draw attention to you in an expected yet unexpected way.

You were dressed in a fitted black blazer to what people would say “over-ironed” white, buttoned shirt. Every piece of your outfit was meticulously chosen to show that you were there for business. A tight pencil skirt hugged your form, perfectly cinched at the waist by a thin belt and even your hair and makeup were flawless, every detail put together for the sake of looking professional. 

Click. Click. Click.

“Good evening ma’am, do you know where to meet uhmm… Kakucho Hitto?” you ask her.

Her eyes darken before she looks up at you. Her eyes seemed dull, as if there were no emotions behind her. Well, now you understand why. 

You should’ve noticed how her demeanor was back then. You could’ve chalked it up to just a “bad day”, but they way she acted was abnormal. 

“Yes, he— I mean Boss Kakucho is on floor 10, third room to the right.” she firmly states.

“Thank you…” you gratefully say to her. 

Ding!

The elevator doors slide open smoothly with a quiet chime following it, and you walk in. Oh, there’s also another person. He had… red and white eyes? It was rare enough to see someone with heterochromia let alone see someone with red eyes and/or white eyes only.

"She said the third room to the right… right?" you mutter to yourself, forgetting about the man beside you in the elevator.

A low chuckle comes from him, but barely hear-able from the low hum of the elevator. But you still shift your head towards him, locking gazes.

"Talking to yourself, huh?" His voice is smooth, but there’s something in his tone that makes your skin get goosebumps.

You stiffen slightly before forcing a small laugh. "Oh, yeah… Just making sure I don’t get lost."

His gaze lingers on you, dark eyes sharp and unreadable. "Third room to the right. Floor 10." A pause. "That means you're going to Kakucho's office."

You blink your eyes at him. "Uh… yeah. Do you know him?"

There’s a sudden, well not really sudden, shift in the air— a suffocating one at that, it’s subtle but inescapable. He exhales, tilting his head just enough for the overhead lights to cast a small ray of light along his sharp features. 

"Oh…" he says. "That’s me."

The elevator dings. The doors slide open. But for some reason, you don’t move.

It reveals a long and narrow hallway lined with the same identical doors everywhere. The dim lights above cast small, faint shadows along the walls. It somehow made the area feel both like an endless void and yet… claustrophobic at the same time.

“Come with me,” he states firmly, ordering you. You do follow him and to your luck, the interview went smoothly. 

That’s why you came back, no?

Now that you’re thinking about it, you weren’t lucky at all.

—

Once you’ve gathered everything in chronological order, the story comes out like a word vomit. 

“U-ugh… So it StartsWithMeGettingAJobInterviewAndIGotTheJobButTurnsOutTheWholeCompanyWasJustAHugeMafiaThingOrSomethingAndAfterThat…”

And it continues…

With every word spilling out of your mouth, the two other people in the car just look even more shocked. You swore their jaws only dropped further on the ground as the story-telling went on. 

“W-wait… so you’re running away from… them right now?” she clarifies with you. She doesn’t seem too confused about the story since, it’s just basically torture on your end. 

“YES!” you say to her, glad that she understands for the most part.

“S-should we… call the cops…?” the guy asks, looking concerned as hell.

You stare at him for a while, completely unresponsive. Then, you swallowed the lump growing in your throat. “N-no… you can’t do that. If I get caught again, it’s going to be even worse if the cops get involved.”. 

“Dude! This is crazy. I feel like it’ll get worse if the cops DON’T get involved?” the guy asks, slightly laughing at your logic. He takes his arms off the steering wheel for a while to show his shock and turns his body to you.

Your body jolts at the unexpected rise of volume. “I get it but look, I-I’m sorry… but I don’t want this to get worse!”

“Girl, you’re absolutely delusional if you don’t think we are gonna call the cops.” she says before whipping out her phone from her purse.

“Wait— no— stop!” you yell. Instinctively, you try to jump to the backseat to rip her phone from her hands.

“Hey! What the hell?!” the guy screams as your sudden shove jerks the wheel, causing the car to go into a wild, sudden swerve.

SCREEECH— SKRRRTT—

The tires shriek against the pavement, the entire vehicle violently turning left, then right, then left again— nearly spinning out of control. The force slams you against the door roughly, your heart starting to hammer against your chest as the car skids dangerously close to the separator thing in the middle.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” he shouts as he tries to regain control of the car. His grip starts to tighten around the wheel, causing his knuckles to turn white from gripping the wheel.

“Ugh—! Just let us help you!” she shrieks, trying to loosen your grip on her wrist. 

“No! Y-you can’t!” you yell back at her.

“GIRLS STOP IT!” the driver screams loudly. The outsiders probably heard it too.

“Alright fine, we won’t call the cops. Well, not until we find you somewhere safe.” the girl subsides.

“Thank you…” you say, going back to your seating position and crossing your arms angrily.

The car goes quiet for a few moments, all of you sharing the awkward moment. The only sound you could hear at this point was the hum of the car engines and the honking and yelling from the outside. 

The silence was unnerving, but it was probably best that no one talked at the moment. 

That was until you let out a sigh and finally muttered a response. “Fine… you guys promise to call the cops when I get to a safe—”

Then an impact came out of nowhere. One second, the streets were quiet with just the quiet sounds of the road along with the car and suddenly, the next being a pair of headlights cut through the dark, and then—

A huge crash.

The vehicle fell sideways. Metal screeched against the cemented ground. Glass exploded, sending shards everywhere. The seatbelt went deeper into your chest, locking you in place as the car spun out of control before slamming to a stop.

For a moment, there was only the ringing in their ears. The scent of burnt rubber. The weight of shock pressing down on their ribs.

Then— footsteps. They were heavy, terrifying.

A silhouette approached through the haze of broken headlights, the soft click of a lighter from the silence. The fiery glow of a cigarette revealed a familiar emblem embroidered in black.

Bonten. It was them.

Your stomach dropped. This wasn’t just an accident, no, this was your kidnapping version two.

—

You woke up with a bag over your head. You could tell the room was empty with how any small sound was echoing since there was nothing to absorb the sound, only the walls reflecting it.

Your wrists were tied behind your back and so were your ankles. They were starting to hurt with just how tight they were around your joints. The ropes seemed to be those huge, heavy ropes that you would use on a farm animal rather than a human. There were sharp strands standing astray from the pack, sharply rubbing against your skin. It’s going to hurt, just like their usual trademark. 

You tried to jump up, but the only result was an echo of the metal chair moving. 

Then— the door locks clicked.

“Get in quicker, you dumb whore.” Rindou orders. You’re sure it was Rindou, the voice matched his and so do the words.

“Alright, alright! Just be nicer— I’m a fragile girl okay?!” a female voice yells back.

The bag is ripped off your head, and now you can see. You can see the girl from before kneeled in front of you, her hands tied behind her back as well. Shit.

“Hey!” you jump. “P-p-p-please don’t hurt her!”

Ran moves over to you, hands moving above your head… and it goes down… and again… and again… in a stroking pattern. It might’ve been lovely… if only not for the situation. Then, he leans down to your ear to whisper, “Y’know… you should’ve just obeyed our rules.”

Right. Their three “simple” rules. Don’t escape, don’t disobey orders, and don’t do anything without one of them being present.

Click.

The sound of a gun.

And it was pressed onto her temple.

“Any last words to her?” Sanzu asks, his finger on the trigger.

“W-wait! I’ll do anything!” you suddenly yell out.

“Ohohoh… you really think you can do that now…? It’s far far too late for that now, darling.” Sanzu says, sadistic eyes drilling holes into you.

Shoot. What are you supposed to do? Someone who wasn’t supposed to get involved got involved and now they’re held at gunpoint while you were bound onto a chair, unable to help them.

Your breath hitched as you struggled against the restraints, the rope starting to drill into your wrists. Panic clawed at your chest, drowning out every rational thought. She was innocent, shaking… and she squeezed her eyes shut, her entire body trembling under the cold press of Sanzu’s gun.

“Please—” you choked out, voice raw with desperation. “Please, she’s not involved! This has nothing to do with her!”

Sanzu’s lips curled into a grin, his finger teasing the trigger. “Oh, but she is now,” he sings, tilting his head. “And whose fault is that?”

You.

It’s your fault.

Your mistake.

Your punishment.

“Please,” you whisper, throat tight. “I’ll take whatever you want. Just let her go.”

Ran lets out an amused hum, his hand still lazily stroking your head like you were some pet begging for mercy. “That’s cute,” he murmurs. “But you know the rules. No disobedience. No escaping. No acting without one of us.”

He clicks his tongue, and his grip tightens in your hair, yanking your head back painfully. “And you broke every single one.”

Sanzu’s laugh is light, almost playful. “It’s a shame, really. She seems so… sweet.” He leans down, his voice dripping mock sympathy. “Go on. Say your goodbyes.”

Tears burn in your eyes. “Please…”

Your voice cracks.

Sanzu sighs. Then—

Click.

Bang.

The sound rips through the air like a whip, and for a second, time stops.

A scream lodges in your throat. Blood splatters all over. It’s warm, sticky and all over your skin, and when you force your eyes open, your stomach turns to ice.

The girl slumps forward, motionless.

Sanzu hums, spinning his gun on his finger as if he didn’t just pull the trigger. “Oops,” he chuckles. “Guess you were too late.”

Ran releases your hair, letting your head drop. The weight of the moment crushes you, suffocating, unbearable.

Then, a hand cups your cheek— gentle, almost tender. You flinch.

“Shhh,” Ran coos, tilting your face up to meet his violet eyes. “You brought this on yourself, sweetheart.”

Sanzu crouches in front of you, resting his gun under your chin, forcing you to look at him through blurry, tear-filled eyes.

“Now,” he purrs, “let’s talk about…” Sanzu moves towards the door, pressing the door handle and opening the door.

It was to reveal the other guy. The guy who was supposed to drive you to safety. But only because you demanded him to. How’d you get 2 people killed in less than a day?

Sanzu grins, stepping aside to let the man stumble in. He was barely standing. Blood dripped from several spots on his head, staining the collar of his shirt. His breaths were ragged, uneven, as if he had been beaten within an inch of his life before being dragged here like a trophy.

"Look who we found at the scene lurking around," Rindou drawls from behind him, arms crossed. "He was trying to escape but… he was not very subtle, was he?"

Your stomach churns. He wasn’t supposed to get caught. He was supposed to be long gone out of this hellhole, far away from them. And yet, here he was.

The man lifts his head, eyes meeting yours. Defeated.

Broken.

Sanzu leans against the chair you’re tied to, sighing dramatically. “Now, I am gonna let this slide. Maybe teach you a little lesson and send you back to your pretty little room.” His fingers trail along the side of your face before he grabs your chin roughly, forcing you to look at the man. “But then you had to go and involve him too. How greedy.”

“Sanzu,” you whisper, voice barely audible. “Please.”

He pouts mockingly. “Aw, you sound so sad.” He spins the gun between his fingers before pointing it at your driver. "You already lost one. Think you can handle losing another?"

Ran chuckles, draping an arm over your shoulders. "Or maybe," he muses, "we make this interesting. How about a little… choice?"

Sanzu grins, eyes glinting with something wicked. "Yeah. That sounds fun." He crouches down next to you, tilting his head. "So, what'll it be, sweetheart? Him?" He gestures to the beaten man. "Or you?"

The room feels colder. Your pulse pounds in your ears.

There’s no right answer.

There never was.

Because you knew either way, you’d both die. It’s just they’d probably let you live longer, just to live with the guilt.

“So… how is it Y/N?” Takeomi asks, his deep raggedy voice echoing through the room.

“Shoot me.” you answer, with almost no hesitation.

“WRONG!” Sanzu yells before quickly moving the gun over to him, and pressing the trigger.

Bang.

The shot rings out, sharp and final.

Your body jerks against the restraints, a strangled noise catching in your throat as the man crumples to the floor. Blood pools beneath him, spreading like ink across the cold concrete. His chest shudders once— twice— before falling still.

Gone.

A choked sob forces its way past your lips. You did this. You led him here. You got him killed.

Sanzu exhales, almost bored, before twirling the gun and slipping it back into his holster. "Tsk, tsk. You really thought we’d let you choose?" He crouches, tilting his head with a smirk. "That’s cute."

Ran clicks his tongue, brushing a hand through his hair before crouching next to you. His fingers brush your cheek, almost affectionate. Almost. "See, sweetheart, it was never about the choice. It was about watching you break."

And you were.

Piece by piece.

Sanzu claps his hands together, standing back up. "Now that the fun’s over, let’s move on, yeah?" He grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him. 

His grin stretches wider, wicked and sharp. "You’re ours. You always were. And after this? You always will be."

Ran hums in agreement, brushing a stray tear from your cheek. "Now, be a good girl and behave, alright?"

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Because you can’t escape.

Then, the door opens once again. It’s Kakucho.

“Hmm, are you guys done?” his hand still on the handle, he glances shortly at the scene inside the room. “Clean it up. Once you’re done, bring her down. Mikey called.”

Then, the door shut behind him. 

Your breath hitches. Mikey.

The name alone sends a shiver down your spine.

Sanzu clicks his tongue, rocking back on his heels before standing up. “Well, you heard him,” he sighs, rolling his shoulders. “Let’s get this over with.”

Ran hums, giving your face one last slow, mocking pat before standing as well. “We should make her presentable first,” he muses, glancing at the blood smeared across your face. “Mikey won’t like her looking like a mess.”

You barely register their words. Your ears are still ringing, your body trembling as you stare at the lifeless body in front of you.

It’s over. He’s gone.

Because of you.

A hand grips your arm, yanking you forward. You stumble, legs barely holding you up as Ran steadies you with an almost gentle touch.

“Come on now, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice deceptively soft. “Let’s not keep Mikey waiting.”

Sanzu only grins, eyes gleaming with sadistic amusement. “Oh, I can’t wait to see what he has planned for you.”

And as they drag you out of the room, past the blood, past the bodies.

—

Somehow, their definition of making you presentable was putting you in a super see-through, lacy lingerie. It was a shade of pastel pink, and had a beautiful motive… it’s just the situation wasn’t as pretty.

The humiliation burns hot inside you, it’s hotter than the fear.

Sanzu lets out a low whistle, arms crossed as he leans against the wall. “Damn, sweetheart,” he chuckles. “You clean up nice.”

Ran smirks, tugging at the delicate lace strap on your shoulder before letting it snap back against your skin. “Mikey’s gonna love this.”

You swallow down the lump in your throat, glaring at them despite the helplessness weighing you down. Your arms are bound, your body exposed, and yet, they look at you like you’re nothing but entertainment.

“You bastards,” you seethe, voice trembling.

Sanzu only grins wider, stepping closer until the cold barrel of his gun rests under your chin again. He tilts your head up, forcing you to meet his manic gaze.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” he purrs, voice sickly sweet. “You stopped being in control the second you thought you could defy us.”

Ran sighs, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeve. “Enough playing around. Let’s go.”

Then, without warning, they grab you, forcing you forward. You stumble, the cold air prickling against your exposed skin.

You go down the halls, then down the stairs. And when the doors swing open…

Mikey is waiting.

You expect to be slapped, beaten, punched, but no. He doesn’t do any of that. Instead, he brings you out into the cold, dark night. Seeing the dark forest in front of you reminded you of the escape attempts.

His touch is rough, unforgiving. He releases you from his grip and pushes you out past the threshold. You stare out at the forest.

The forest is dark— suffocatingly so. The thick cluster of leaves letting small traces of moonlight through the dense branches. The air is damp and thick with the scent of earth, soil and death. The smell was the kind of smell that holds onto you and makes itself at home in your lungs. 

The ground beneath you is uneven. Gnarled underground roots and damp leaves creating uneven bumps all over the ground. And the twisted branches reaching out reminded you of skeleton fingers. They cast jagged shadows that dance with the faint flickers of movement, frightening you everytime.

A cold wind howls through the trees, rattling the leaves as if it’s whispering, as if the forest itself is alive. Like it’s watching, waiting. The deeper you go, the more the atmosphere changes. With every step it grows colder, heavier, pressing in around you like an invisible force. The path, if there ever was one, has long since disappeared, swallowed by tangled undergrowth and thorny brambles that snag at your skin, leaving behind thin, stinging cuts.

It’s silent. But the silence isn’t empty. It’s laced with something, something just out of reach. The kind of silence that prickles at the back of your neck, that coils in your stomach like a warning. It’s the kind of darkness that doesn’t just hide things. It feels like it’s swallowing them whole.

You could barely see anything through the darkness, but those are the things you remembered from the many times you ran through the forest. It was kind of like your second home at that point. 

Nonetheless, you were still far too shocked from before.

“W-what the hell d-d-do you want me to do…?” you ask, shivering since the sheer clothing didn’t do much in shielding you from the cold.

“Go. If you wanted to create such a huge scene, then do it. Run. We’re letting you have one last attempt.” Mikey responds coldly, completely inconsiderate of the situation you were put in before.

“W-what…?” you ask again. What the hell?

He lets out a loud, disappointing sigh before coming closer to your fallen form. “Go have one last run around the forest before we chain you up.” he pauses before crouching down to meet your eyes. “I have Sanzu, Takeomi, Kokonoi, Ran, Rindou, Mochi and Kakucho waiting out there for you. Once you’re done with your shenanigans, they’re going to bring you back.”

“H-huh…?” you stare at him in disbelief. “I-I-I-”

“You-you-you what?”

“I don’t want to…”

“Didn’t you hear me? Have one last run, go. I’m not repeating myself anymore.” he says with a finger softly stroking your cheek.

“I-I don’t want to… I want to stay with you… Mikey…” you say defeatedly.

Mikey’s eyes darken. Something shifts. The moment of forced gentleness vanishes like a wisp of smoke, replaced by something colder, sharper.

His fingers, once ghosting along your cheek, suddenly tangle in your hair—and then he yanks. Hard. Your head snaps back, a sharp gasp escaping your lips as pain blooms along your scalp.

“You want to stay with me?” he echoes, voice eerily calm, but there’s a quiet rage simmering beneath it, barely restrained. His grip tightens, pulling your face inches from his. “After all that fucking running? After making us chase you down like some pathetic little stray?”

His lips curl, disgust flashing in his darkened gaze. “You really think saying that now is gonna change anything?” He tugs again. “Don’t act helpless now, sweetheart. You weren’t so eager to stay when you were trying to claw your way out of here.”

He leans in, voice dropping to a whisper, but it’s anything but gentle. It’s venomous. “Go run. Make it fun for us. Or do you want me to drag you out there myself?”

“N-no… please. I just want to stay with you… I’m sorry.” you pant, shooting pleading eyes up at him in hopes he’ll give in.

“Fine. Let’s just go back in.” he says, almost too easily. Mikey wasn’t one to be persuaded easily. 

Mikey doesn’t say anything as he yanks you forward, his grip bruising against your skin. The night air still lingers on your body, cold and sharp, but it does nothing to stop the suffocating heat crawling up your spine as you step inside. The door slams shut behind you, cutting off the outside world, the last sliver of freedom you had, and replacing it with the suffocating presence of them.

They weren’t outside. They weren’t waiting. They were here all along.

Sanzu is just sitting lazily in a chair, spinning the gun used to traumatize you between his fingers. Takeomi leans against the wall, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Ran and Rindou are smirking, eyes filled with condescension, like they already knew how this would play out. Mochi says nothing, his presence alone enough to make the room feel smaller. Kakucho stands at the back, watching, always watching.

You feel sick.

The weight of their stares presses down on you, suffocating, humiliating. Because Mikey never intended for you to run. No, he actually let you go. Gave you the chance to run… because he knew you wouldn’t.

Because you couldn’t.

And now, standing in front of them, exposed and weak, it finally hits you.

You never had a chance.

Not against them.

Not against him.

And now, you were right where they wanted you. They had predicted you didn’t want to do it. 

Hi koli i saw your request were open and was wondering if you could do a Tokyo revengers x reader (final timeline) where they have a baby and they say their first word with preferably: chifyuy, kazutora, baji, mikey, izana, rindou, shinichiro and any others you would like to include

۶ৎ. Babies First.

Tokyo Revenger Boys.

۶ৎ auth: ahhhh omg my first request in like so long, I’m actually so excited to work on this!!! Feel free to request any anime, show or movie, and any character!! :) I might make a taglist.

۶ৎ Summary: After so much back and forth to fix the feature, you’ve finally settled down—and finally had a baby. The joys of parenthood only continue and your baby says their first words.

۶ৎ: sfw | scenario | fem reader | babies/parenthood | fluff | time skipped | implied poc reader, though you could ignore the information that doesn't fit you.

۶ৎ Characters Included: Chifuyu Matsuno, Kazutora Hanemiya, Baji Keisuke, Manjiro (Mikey) Sano, Izana Kurokawa, Rindou Haitani, Shinichiro Sano, Kokonoi Hajime, Ken Ryuguji.

۶ৎChifuyu Matsuno

It’s an ordinary evening, and Chifuyu sits with the baby on his lap, his calm, logical demeanor softened by the tiny bundle in his arms. His black undercut, neatly styled, contrasts with the gentle warmth that radiates from him as he softly coos at the little one, a sense of peace enveloping the moment. The baby’s big, curious eyes stare up at him, the faintest glimmer of recognition in their gaze.

You’re nearby, watching quietly from the kitchen, as usual, keeping a close eye on the small family gathering. The baby shifts slightly in Chifuyu’s arms, their little hands reaching out, exploring, unsure of the world but finding comfort in the familiar presence of their father.

Chifuyu looks at the baby, a tender smile creeping across his face. He’s normally so composed, always the steady one, but this… this softens him, makes him feel an unfamiliar kind of warmth. “Come on,” he murmurs softly, “say something for me.”

The baby babbles incoherently for a moment, small giggles escaping their lips as they grab hold of his finger, wrapping their tiny hand around it like it’s the most important thing in the world. Chifuyu chuckles, shaking his head softly. “You’re as stubborn as your mom,” he says under his breath, smiling at the thought of you.

Then, suddenly, the baby’s little voice breaks the silence. It’s not a full word, but there’s a clear attempt to speak. “Da-da!” the baby declares proudly, their voice high-pitched but full of delight. Chifuyu freezes for a moment, his face lighting up with surprise, a hint of pride showing in his usually calm features.

You, hearing the unexpected word, laugh softly from your spot, watching the exchange. Chifuyu’s usual composed self cracks for a brief moment as he stares down at the baby in awe. “Did… did you just say ‘Dada’?” he asks, though it’s clear he’s delighted.

The baby repeats it again, this time with even more enthusiasm, “Da-da!” Chifuyu shakes his head, a small laugh escaping his lips. “Guess I’ll take that as a victory.”

You walk over quietly, your heart swelling at the sight of Chifuyu, who’s always so composed, now with the smallest of smiles, cradling their child with complete adoration. The baby, seeing you, reaches out with their tiny arms, making a soft noise of recognition.

“Looks like you’ve got competition,” you tease, leaning against the doorframe, your voice light and playful.

Chifuyu’s face turns slightly red, his calm demeanor returning, though the smile still lingers. “It’s just a fluke,” he mutters, though it’s clear he’s overjoyed. The baby giggles again, the sound filling the room, and Chifuyu leans in, pressing a soft kiss to their forehead. “I can’t believe you said ‘Dada’ first,” he murmurs, his voice low and full of affection.

The baby, oblivious to the momentous occasion, just giggles again, content in the safety of their father’s arms. It’s a simple, tender moment, but to Chifuyu, it’s everything.

۶ৎKazutora Hanemiya

The air is still, heavy with the calm that comes with the evening as Kazutora sits on the couch, a small, fragile smile on his face as he looks down at the baby resting in his arms. His long, black hair, streaked with yellow, falls lazily over his shoulders, the strands a contrast to the tenderness with which he holds the child. There’s an unfamiliar peace in his expression, a quiet moment of solace after all the chaos that’s filled his life. His usually volatile demeanor seems distant as he looks at the little one, their soft breaths the only sound between them.

You’re just a few steps away, your presence like a gentle echo in the background, keeping watch as Kazutora carefully adjusts the baby in his arms, the kind of delicate handling that surprises even him. He’s never been one for softness, always pushing against the world with a hardness that left little room for gentleness—until now. He looks down, eyes tracing the baby’s tiny hands, the little fingers wrapped around his own with surprising strength.

The baby stirs, their wide eyes blinking up at him, and Kazutora’s breath catches slightly in his chest. For a moment, it’s as if everything else—the turmoil, the chaos, the memories—fades into the background, leaving only this quiet exchange between father and child.

Kazutora’s voice is soft, almost hesitant as he speaks to the baby, a far cry from the manic energy he once carried. “Hey, little one… can you say something for me?” he murmurs, his voice filled with a quiet kind of longing, though it’s not for the world outside—it’s for this fragile connection he never thought he would have.

The baby, in their own way, tries to respond, making gurgling noises that grow into more distinct sounds. Kazutora watches in silent anticipation, a rare, genuine smile creeping onto his face as the baby’s mouth moves again. It’s almost as if they’ve been waiting for the right moment to speak.

Then, with a bright, innocent giggle, the baby suddenly blurts out a word, though it’s not what Kazutora expected. “Dada!” they say, the sound coming out in a clear, high-pitched tone.

Kazutora freezes, his eyes wide in disbelief for a second. His heart lurches unexpectedly in his chest, and he looks down at the baby as though they’ve just given him the most precious gift. His expression softens, a deep and almost bittersweet tenderness settling in his gaze. “Dada…” he repeats under his breath, as though trying to wrap his mind around it. There’s a tremor in his voice, something raw and vulnerable that he doesn’t often let surface.

You can’t help but smile as you watch the moment unfold, the baby’s innocent giggle filling the room, unaware of the weight they’ve just placed on Kazutora’s heart. Kazutora’s fingers twitch slightly as he holds them closer, his past, his pain, his regret all swirling beneath the surface of this simple, unexpected moment.

The baby, sensing the comfort of Kazutora’s embrace, reaches up with their tiny hands, trying to grab at his face. Kazutora laughs softly, the sound foreign yet warm as he leans into the baby’s touch. “You’re gonna make me soft, huh?” he mutters, though there’s no bitterness in his words—only a quiet affection.

You step forward then, offering him a soft, knowing glance. Kazutora looks up, his eyes meeting yours, and for a moment, everything between the two of you seems to settle. There’s a flicker of something deeper in his gaze, something that says more than words ever could.

Kazutora’s voice breaks the silence, still low and almost tender. “I never thought I’d be here, y’know? This… this feels different.”

You smile gently, watching him with the baby in his arms, a sense of peace settling over you both. The moment is fleeting, but it’s a reminder—Kazutora, despite his past, is finding something he never thought he deserved.

۶ৎBaji Keisuke

The night is quiet, the soft hum of the streetlights casting a dim glow in the room where Baji sits, his wild, untamed jet-black hair falling to his shoulders in loose waves. His usual grin is absent for the moment, replaced by a look of calm as he watches the baby in his arms, who is squirming lightly, their little hands reaching up as if trying to make sense of the world around them. There’s an intensity in Baji’s eyes, but it’s not the usual fire of a fight—it’s something softer, something that only surfaces when he’s with his family.

You stand by the doorway, leaning against the frame, quietly watching the scene unfold. Baji, who is always full of energy, the type to jump into action at any given moment, seems almost frozen in this moment, the wild spark in his eyes replaced by a rare tenderness as he holds the baby close to his chest.

The baby gurgles softly, their small face scrunching in curiosity as they look up at him. Baji’s lips twitch into a small smile, but it’s different than his usual mischievous grin—it’s something warmer, more protective. “What’s going on in that head of yours, huh?” he murmurs, his voice low and warm, though a hint of his usual playful nature is still there.

The baby babbles in response, their little voice almost a melody as they stare at Baji with wide, innocent eyes. And then, as if on a whim, the baby utters a word. It’s clear and unambiguous, the word they’ve been practicing, but it’s not what Baji expected.

“Dada!” The word rings out, not perfectly clear, but undeniably present.

Baji’s eyes widen, and for a moment, his usual grin falters, replaced by something almost vulnerable. He looks down at the baby, his hand resting gently against their tiny back, and the slightest breath escapes him. His fingers twitch as if unsure how to react to the sudden surge of emotion he didn’t anticipate. His heart pounds, a rush of warmth flooding through him, and despite all his bravado, there’s a crack in the tough exterior.

You smile, stepping a little closer to them, your heart swelling at the sight. “Looks like you’ve got a little fan there,” you tease softly.

Baji’s grin slowly returns, though it’s softer now, not the usual wild energy that so often defines him, but something more intimate. He leans down, his sharp canine teeth flashing briefly as he chuckles under his breath, the sound light and full of affection. “Yeah, I guess so.” He says it with his usual swagger, but it’s evident that something about the moment has shifted. This isn’t a victory he expected, but it’s a victory that matters more than any battle.

The baby reaches up toward his face, their tiny fingers brushing against his cheek, and Baji’s heart skips a beat. He looks at you for a moment, a wordless exchange between the two of you, before he leans down and presses a gentle kiss to the baby’s forehead. “Good job,” he mutters, his voice soft but steady.

You can’t help but watch the moment unfold with a quiet admiration. Baji, the wild, adrenaline-fueled force of nature, has just experienced something that slows him down, something that pulls him out of the chaos of the world and into a simple, pure connection. The baby giggles, their tiny hands grasping for his hair, and Baji laughs too, the sound genuine and full of joy.

For a brief moment, the world outside seems distant, and all that matters is the little family in that room—the wild heart of Baji, softened and made whole in the presence of his child.

۶ৎManjiro (Mikey) Sano

Mikey sits in the quiet of the living room, the soft hum of the clock the only sound besides the gentle breath of the baby in his arms. His short, dark hair is parted neatly at the middle, the weight of the world outside this moment temporarily forgotten. The familiar carefree energy that Mikey is known for seems absent now, replaced by a tenderness he rarely shows. He’s holding the little one close, his hands steady and secure around them, the once-unshakable pillar of Toman now softened by something unexpected.

The baby stirs in his arms, their small face scrunching in confusion as they try to adjust to the world around them. Mikey watches them with a faint smile, though there’s something more complex behind his eyes. The carefree grin that usually defines him is replaced by a quiet focus, a vulnerability that he seldom allows others to see. His heart is heavy with thoughts of the past, of everything he’s lost, but in this moment, the baby offers him something pure, something he hasn’t had in a long time—peace.

The baby’s tiny hand reaches up, grasping for the fabric of his suit, their tiny fingers curling in and out as if trying to touch something they don’t fully understand yet. Mikey’s breath catches in his chest, his gaze softening. He can feel the warmth of their small body, the innocent trust they place in him without question, and for a moment, it feels like the weight of his own burdens lifts just slightly.

“Mama?” The baby says, the word coming out softly but unmistakably.

Mikey freezes. The sound is far from perfect, the baby’s voice still nasally and unsure, but it’s clear enough, and Mikey’s heart skips a beat. He blinks down at the child, his expression flickering between surprise and a strange tenderness, something unfamiliar and soft that he never expected to experience. His hand twitches, fingers tightening around the baby instinctively as if protecting them from the world outside.

You, standing nearby, catch his gaze, the understanding between the two of you unspoken. Mikey clears his throat, the faintest hint of a grin tugging at the corner of his lips as he glances at you, trying to regain some of his usual bravado. “Guess that’s not the word I was hoping for,” he says, his tone playful, though there’s a depth to it, a warmth he’s not used to showing.

The baby reaches up again, this time grasping Mikey’s finger, their touch delicate yet insistent. Mikey smiles softly, the usual coldness in his eyes replaced with something warmer, something that speaks to the weight of the love he’s learning to give. “It’s okay, little one,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Maybe next time, huh?”

He presses a gentle kiss to the baby’s forehead, his lips lingering just a little longer than necessary. The moment feels suspended in time, as if the world around him has faded and all that matters is this—the small, fragile life in his arms and the quiet peace they’ve brought him, in spite of everything he’s carried.

You step closer, watching the scene with a soft smile of your own. Mikey looks up at you then, his expression still soft, but now there’s a flicker of something deeper in his eyes. He may have once carried a darkness that threatened to consume him, but here, now, with his child in his arms, that darkness feels far away, as if for a brief moment, he can just be… Mikey. The Mikey who is a child at heart, who’s capable of tenderness and love even amidst the weight of his past.

With a soft chuckle, Mikey leans back slightly, his hand still holding the baby close as he looks at you with a playful glint in his eyes. “You heard that, right?” he asks, his voice teasing but there’s something vulnerable in it too. “They said ‘mama.’ Guess I’m off the hook for now.”

You laugh, the sound light and full of warmth. Mikey’s grin widens just a little, and though it’s not the wild grin of a fighter or leader, it’s something just as genuine—something that feels like a promise, a reassurance that even with all the darkness he’s faced, he’s finding light again. And maybe, just maybe, this little one is part of that light.

۶ৎIzana Kurokawa

Izana sits in the dimly lit room, the soft hum of a guitar string resonating in the air. His large purple eyes, usually cold and calculating, are softened by the warmth of the baby in his arms. His wavy hair falls gently around his face, the strands catching the light as he adjusts the baby’s tiny body against his chest, the faint scent of plants and the soft ripple of water from the fish tank nearby offering a peaceful backdrop to an otherwise chaotic life. He had never imagined this—holding a child, one so small, so fragile in his arms. His usual detachment feels muted, replaced by a strange sense of responsibility, a sensation he’s never quite allowed himself to experience before.

The baby stirs in his arms, eyes blinking open and gaze unfocused, their small hands reaching out in curiosity. Izana’s usual composure doesn’t waver, but the faintest trace of tenderness lingers in his gaze as he watches the child, something unfamiliar surfacing beneath the layers of bitterness and coldness he’s built over the years.

The baby makes a small noise, a soft whine, their lips twitching as they try to vocalize something. Izana tilts his head slightly, his eyes narrowing, waiting. His fingers gently caress the baby’s back, an instinctive gesture of care that surprises even him. In the silence of the room, a soft and tentative word escapes the baby’s lips. It’s not quite clear, but the intention is unmistakable.

“Dada.”

Izana freezes. His grip on the guitar tightens for a brief moment, his eyes blinking as he processes the sound, the word hanging in the air like a sudden, unexpected shift in his world. It’s simple—just one word—but for someone like Izana, who has spent most of his life surrounded by cold, violence, and manipulation, hearing such a soft and innocent utterance stirs something deep within him.

A flash of his past flashes through his mind—the loneliness, the bitterness that once consumed him. He had never felt a connection to anyone, certainly not like this. He had always been the one to push people away, to make himself unapproachable, but here, in this moment, the baby’s small hand wraps around his finger, their soft grip a reminder of something pure, something he had lost long ago—the ability to care without expecting anything in return.

He exhales slowly, his face betraying nothing but the faintest softness that only the baby could elicit from him. His hand gently lifts the child, their eyes still wide with curiosity, before he leans in close, pressing a soft kiss to their forehead.

“Dada, huh?” Izana murmurs, his voice quiet but not without a hint of amusement, the corners of his lips turning upward in a small, unexpected smile. It’s a rare sight, one that doesn’t appear often, but in the quiet presence of the baby, it feels more natural than anything he’s ever known. “Guess I’m not as bad as I thought,” he adds softly, almost to himself.

You, standing nearby, watch the scene unfold with a knowing smile. Izana doesn’t often allow anyone to witness such moments, but here, now, with the child in his arms, the pieces of his past—the anger, the bitterness—seem to fade into the background, if only for a moment. Izana looks up at you then, his eyes softer than usual, as if silently asking for your approval, for reassurance that he’s doing this right. That he’s not as lost as he often feels.

He doesn’t say anything more, but the warmth in his eyes speaks volumes. The man who once sought power, control, and dominance has now found something far more valuable—a sense of purpose, a bond he never thought he would have. As he looks down at the baby, his grip tightening slightly around them.

۶ৎRindou Haitani

Rindou sat on the floor of the living room, legs stretched out, his back against the couch, the afternoon sun casting long shadows through the windows. His pinkish-purple mullet, with its dark blue roots and tips, was damp from a shower, strands falling messily around his face. He had a lazy, almost indifferent expression as he stared at his phone, absently scrolling, but his free hand rested on the baby seated between his legs, offering a steady support as they clumsily played with a soft, squeaky toy.

The baby babbled, gnawing on the corner of the plush thing, drool soaking it thoroughly. Rindou, ever stoic, just watched, raising an eyebrow whenever the squeak got too loud. His black stud earrings caught the light, a stark contrast to the rough Bonten insignia tattoo inked boldly across his neck.

“You’re gonna drown in your own spit,” Rindou muttered, lifting the baby gently by their underarms, pulling them up into a wobbly stand on his thighs. The child stared back at him, wide-eyed, chubby cheeks flushed. Their little fists grabbed at his shirt, seeking balance, and for a moment, there was a quiet exchange—a softness that rarely found its way into Rindou’s life.

The baby blinked, their gaze fixed on Rindou’s face with intense concentration, like they were processing something far too big for their small brain. And then, out of nowhere, they let out a small, clear sound.

“Dada.”

Rindou froze.

The word was soft, tentative, but unmistakable. His blue-gray eyes snapped to the baby’s face, as though he wasn’t sure if he’d actually heard it. His normally stoic expression cracked, a rare flicker of surprise flashing across his sharp features.

“What…?”

The baby blinked again, almost as if testing the sound, and with a little more confidence, repeated it.

“Dada.”

This time, it wasn’t a fluke.

For a solid five seconds, Rindou just stared. The usual snarky, blasé attitude was nowhere to be found—his mouth slightly open, the baby still gripping his shirt tightly, unaware they’d just done something monumental.

A scoff broke the silence, but it was soft, almost disbelieving. “… No way.”

He tried to play it cool—but there was no hiding the way his lips twitched, threatening to pull into a smile.

“You’ve got shitty taste in first words,” he murmured, lifting the baby higher until their noses nearly touched. The baby, delighted with their new word, kicked their legs happily and repeated, “Dada,” with even more enthusiasm, like they knew they’d hit gold.

Rindou exhaled sharply through his nose, something warm and unfamiliar blooming in his chest. He glanced toward the hallway, as if making sure no one else was around to witness this moment of weakness.

“Yeah, yeah,” he whispered, giving in as he brushed his nose against the baby’s cheek, the smallest, almost imperceptible grin forming on his lips. “I hear you. I’m your ‘Dada,’ huh?”

The baby squealed, a high-pitched giggle, and Rindou couldn’t help the quiet chuckle that escaped him. He was used to fights, to blood and bruises, to commanding fear—but this? This was different. And for once, he didn’t mind losing. Not to them. Not to this.

۶ৎShinichiro Sano

It was a quiet afternoon at the Sano bike shop, the scent of oil and metal lingering in the warm air. The faint sound of a wrench clinking against the concrete floor echoed through the open garage, where Shinichiro Sano sat cross-legged, lazily working on a motorcycle engine. His unkempt black hair stuck out in random directions, and a cigarette hung loosely from his lips, the thin tendrils of smoke curling upward.

He wasn’t in any rush—never was, really. Dressed in his usual pearl-white shirt and light-washed jeans, a jacket lazily tied around his waist, he looked as effortlessly relaxed as ever. A silver chain peeked out from beneath his collar, catching the sunlight every now and then.

Nearby, his daughter sat on a thick blanket, surrounded by a mess of soft toys and teething rings. She was barely old enough to crawl properly, but that didn’t stop her from making every effort to squirm toward her father, her tiny hands grabbing at the air.

Shinichiro glanced over at her, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his thin lips. “You getting bored over there, sweetheart?” His voice was raspy, warm, and effortlessly gentle as he set the wrench down and wiped his hands on a nearby rag.

She responded with a string of baby babble, half-formed sounds that made no sense but filled the space with life. He watched her, enchanted by the simplest things—how her little fingers curled and uncurled, how her eyes, a perfect mirror of his own dull black ones, lit up every time he spoke.

“Hold on, hold on. I’m comin’.” Shinichiro stubbed out his cigarette on the edge of the ashtray, rising to his feet with a lazy stretch. He scooped her up effortlessly, holding her against his chest, her small hand immediately tangling itself in the fabric of his shirt.

“You smell like motor oil,” he murmured with a chuckle, kissing the top of her head despite the mess on his hands. “Not exactly the ideal dad scent, huh?”

As he swayed gently, rocking her out of instinct more than anything, the baby stared up at him, wide-eyed and thoughtful, her chubby cheeks flushed pink from the warmth of the afternoon. She blinked slowly, as though studying him, her tiny mouth opening and closing like she wanted to say something.

And then, soft as a whisper, it happened.

“…Da…da…”

Shinichiro froze.

The word was faint, breathy—so delicate he almost thought he’d imagined it. His heart skipped a beat, a strange, unfamiliar warmth surging through his chest.

“…What?” His voice came out quiet, almost disbelieving, as he pulled her back slightly to look at her properly. “What’d you just say?”

The baby blinked again, her expression pure and innocent, and as if sensing his awe, she tried again, this time stronger, more confident.

“Dada.”

Shinichiro felt something inside him break wide open.

He laughed—not his usual lazy, carefree laugh, but something softer, shakier. “You serious right now?”

Her tiny hand reached up, grabbing at the silver chain around his neck, and for once, Shinichiro felt completely helpless—in the best way possible.

“You’re not supposed to say that yet…” he whispered, though the grin on his face betrayed him completely. His thumb brushed gently over her round cheek, his eyes shining with a tenderness so deep it made his chest ache.

“Yeah… yeah, I’m your ‘Dada,’” he murmured, pressing his forehead to hers, closing his eyes as he breathed her in. “Lucky me.”

The bike shop, the tools, the cigarette smoke—none of it mattered in that moment. All he knew was the weight of his daughter in his arms, her tiny voice calling out to him, grounding him in a way nothing else ever had.

And for the first time in a long while, Shinichiro felt like he truly had everything he could ever want.

۶ৎKokonoi Hajime

The city skyline glittered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Kokonoi’s penthouse, casting long shadows over the sleek, minimalist living room. The distant hum of traffic blended with the soft jazz playing from the speaker, creating a calm, almost surreal atmosphere.

Koko sat cross-legged on the floor, dressed down in black sweatpants and a plain white shirt, his silver-white hair loose around his shoulders. He had a glass of whiskey beside him — untouched — as he watched their daughter with that same quiet intensity he reserved for high-stakes meetings… except this was different.

She was sitting in the middle of a plush play mat, surrounded by a chaotic scatter of toys, a stuffed bunny half-chewed, and a colorful book she had zero interest in. Her soft hair fell over her round cheeks, and she looked up at him with wide, thoughtful eyes — eyes that mirrored her mother’s so distinctly that Koko sometimes forgot how to breathe when she stared at him like that.

“Pretty, aren’t you?” he murmured, a faint smile touching the corner of his lips as he leaned back on his hands. “Got that from your mom… lucky kid.”

She babbled in response, smacking the bunny against the floor with impressive determination, her little brows furrowed as though she were solving some great mystery.

Koko’s gaze softened, a rare warmth breaking through his usual cool composure.

“You’re really giving that thing a hard time,” he remarked, watching her with a mix of amusement and fascination. “What did it ever do to you?”

She paused, blinking up at him, lips slightly parted, as though she was about to say something… but instead, she dropped the toy with a dramatic flair and crawled toward him, tiny hands smacking against the polished hardwood floor.

He sat up straighter, heart giving an odd little skip — not that he’d ever admit that.

“You comin’ over here?” he asked quietly, more to himself than her.

She reached him, pulling herself up with clumsy determination, her chubby fingers grabbing a fistful of his shirt as she balanced on unsteady legs. Koko’s hands hovered near her waist, ready to catch her if she wobbled too much.

And then, she looked up at him… and with a small, clear voice, said:

“Da…da.”

Koko blinked.

For a moment, he thought he’d imagined it. The word was soft, delicate, but unmistakable. His throat tightened, the glass of whiskey forgotten entirely.

“What… what did you say?” he asked, his voice lower now, almost a whisper.

She stared up at him with the same serious expression, as though this wasn’t a monumental moment — just another part of her day.

“Dada.”

The second time, it hit him harder.

A sharp inhale, and then — to his surprise — a soft laugh escaped him, the sound rough and disbelieving.

“You—” He ran a hand through his hair, as if trying to ground himself. “You’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

She, of course, said nothing. Just continued to stare at him, her tiny hands gripping his shirt like she had no intention of letting go.

“First word, huh?” Koko said, his voice softer now, almost fragile. “And it’s me…”

Something in his chest ached — something he hadn’t felt in years. He thought of how, for so long, he’d believed everything important in his life slipped through his fingers, no matter how tightly he held on. But here she was… holding onto him.

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” he whispered, brushing a gentle hand over her soft hair.

She leaned forward, her head resting against his chest in a way that made his heart squeeze painfully.

“I should tell your mom,” he murmured, though he made no move to get up. “She’s gonna want to hear this…”

But he didn’t. He just stayed there, holding her, listening to the quiet rhythm of her breathing, as though he was afraid to break the spell.

“Dada,” she mumbled again, sleepily this time, as if testing the word.

Koko closed his eyes for a long moment, pressing a light kiss to the top of her head, the faintest smile on his lips.

“Yeah…” he whispered. “I’m your Dada.”

And for once, there was nothing else he needed.

۶ৎKen Ryuguji

The rain tapped lightly against the windows, casting soft shadows across the small but cozy apartment. The scent of warm tea and baby powder lingered in the air, a comforting mix that made the place feel lived-in — loved.

Draken sat on the floor, back against the couch, his long legs stretched out, and their daughter nestled comfortably between them. His strong, calloused hands were gentle as he helped her balance, her tiny fingers grabbing at the hem of his patterned jacket with the determination of someone on a mission.

“Steady now, princess,” he murmured, his deep voice softer than usual, a faint smile playing on his lips as he watched her.

She had her mother’s eyes — there was no denying it. That same soft, soulful gaze that could stop Draken in his tracks, no matter how tough he tried to act. The resemblance was almost eerie, especially when she stared up at him with that thoughtful, almost knowing expression, as if she could see right through him.

“You’re gonna be a heartbreaker, you know that?” he teased, running a hand over his buzzed undercut, the dragon tattoo on his temple stark against his skin. “Just like your mom…”

His daughter, of course, was unimpressed. She was too busy trying to pull herself up, grabbing at his jacket with clumsy determination, her chubby legs wobbling as she straightened herself.

Draken arched a brow, watching her with a mix of amusement and quiet pride. “Look at you… tough little thing,” he muttered. “Didn’t get that from her.”

She babbled something incoherent, rocking back and forth on her feet, her lips forming shapes that almost sounded like words.

“Yeah?” Draken chuckled, leaning in closer, his braid falling over his shoulder. “What are you tryin’ to tell me, huh?”

She paused then, swaying slightly before gripping his jacket tighter. For a split second, Draken thought she was about to fall — his hands twitched, ready to catch her — but she steadied herself, blinking up at him with wide, serious eyes.

And then…

“Da…da.”

Draken froze.

The word was soft, barely more than a whisper, but it hit him like a punch to the gut.

“What…?”

She said it again, clearer this time, her small voice filling the room in a way that made the air feel heavier.

“Dada.”

Draken stared at her, his heart pounding in a way he hadn’t felt since his gang days. His throat tightened, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure what to say — wasn’t sure if he could say anything at all.

“You…” He swallowed hard, his voice rougher now, a little hoarse. “You just—”

Before he could finish, she took an unsteady step forward and fell right into his chest, her tiny arms wrapping around him as best as they could.

“Dada,” she mumbled again, her voice muffled against his shirt.

And that… that broke him.

Draken closed his eyes, his large hand cradling the back of her head as he held her close, his thumb brushing over her soft hair. The warmth of her small body against his made his chest ache in a way he wasn’t prepared for — a deep, protective kind of love that scared him more than any fight ever had.

“Yeah…” he whispered after a long moment, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, his voice softer than it had ever been. “I’m your dad…”

He stayed like that for a while, holding her, feeling her small breaths against him. He didn’t call for her mom — not yet.

This moment was his. Just for now.