The Songs You Grow To Like Never Stick At First

He is trying to fool himself

boss levels aren’t so hard when your older brother has your back 👾

All Mine｡°✩ Bakugou Katsuki

Masterlist ୨ৎ

is it normal for a tinder hookup to invite you to his birthday party? only one way to find out.

.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒

Glitter 𐔌 𐦯 : happy birthday Katsuki!! you guys voted for this on the poll (Sorry if you were expecting smut... but I cringe at myself attempting to write it so suggestive is all you get), enjoy!

Warnings : VERY SUGGESTIVNESS so minors beware (nothing explict but still), Female!Reader, modernAU, aged-up, drinking, mention of drugs, classic Bakugou warnings

W/C : 3k

.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊

[10:37 PM] B: you got plans tmrw

B is Bakugou Katsuki. The guy you've been enjoying lately. To say the least.

You met in the classic way—late-night Tinder, you feeling lonely and a little reckless. He had only one picture—a sharp jawline, messy blond hair, and not much else to go off. But he looked good. Really good. So, feeling lucky, you swiped right.

Match. Instantly.

He messaged first. You messaged back. Five minutes later, you were making plans to meet at a bar downtown. All you could hope for was that he wasn’t a catfish, and that getting dressed up wouldn’t be for nothing.

It definitely wasn’t.

You barely spent time at the bar. Most of the night was spent tangled up at your place. And that’s kind of how it went from there—he’d text, you’d text back. He’d come over, he’d leave. That was the thing. Sometimes you’d text first—on the nights you were feeling extra needy, craving hot hands and hungry lips.

You didn’t even know much about him. Just his name, his major, and the sounds he makes when he’s close. You didn’t think of him as much else. Didn’t let your mind drift into soft little daydreams about who he might be outside of your bedroom. What he was like with friends, what music he listened to, what kind of kid he was in high school.

Because Bakugou Katsuki didn’t seem like that kinda guy. There was nothing lovey-dovey about him. Just low curses and hard thrusts. 

So this message? Felt different.

For one—you never made plans. That wasn’t how this thing worked.Just heat-of-the-moment, spur-of-the-night kind of energy.

And two—it wasn’t even his usual type of text. He didn’t ask. He told. Normally, it was a blunt little “im comin over”—not a question, but something close to a courtesy. A way of saying: I’m giving you the out, if you want it.

You scroll back at your texts these past few months and see the same pattern over and over, this one sticking out like a sore thumb from the rest. 

[10:40 PM] You : idk. 

[10:40 PM] You : why

Does he notice the difference, too? The pause in your rhythm. The hesitation. Why does it matter if he does?

[10:42 PM] B : im having a party tmrw

[10:42 PM] B : or my flatmate is 

[10:42 PM] B : u should come

You stare at the screen for a second, not sure if you’re more confused or just… surprised. Not that it matters.

The read receipt doesn’t faze him. He doesn’t even wait for a response. Just sends the address, followed by a quick “starts at 7. let me know if ur coming and il order an uber.”

You don’t reply.

You don’t reply, because this isn’t part of the unspoken deal that you are familiar with. And maybe he just wants a pretty girl to stand near the drinks, someone to make the party pictures look good. Because Bakugou Katsuki is probably nothing more than an asshole. Probably. 

~~~

Maybe curiosity really does kill the cat. Because somehow, you decide to go.

You never reply to him, leave him to conclude that the silence means no, you idiot, I only want you for one thing. But against your better judgement, you pull something skimpy on and brace yourself for what's to come, because you are curious.

You want to see where he lives. Who he likes. What he looks like when he’s out of his element. You want to see if it all matches the version you've been playing in your head. The version you’ve carefully constructed while you’ve kept things simple, kept it just about the physical.

But you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of thinking you’re actually going to show up. So, you leave him hanging, go radio silent, and step out at 10 PM. Plus a glass of wine or two before you leave—just enough to make the shyness a little easier to ignore.

The alcohol burns nice in your veins… for a bit, until you’re standing outside the apartment door and the cold air cuts right through you, sobering you up fast.

At least you know it’s the right address, because you can hear the light thumping of bass and loud voices from out here (Not Bakugou’s though, but what would he even sound like loud, all you know is the low rough murmurs as he-). No turning back now. Not because you feel good about this decision, but because it’s freezing and your dress is doing absolutely nothing. So, you knock. Lightly.

And no one answers. Obviously. It’s a party, and half the people inside are probably too drunk or too distracted to notice. And none of them know who the hell you are anyway, so it’s not like anyone’s waiting at the door.

You check the handle. It turns. It’s open.

So, you step inside.

And it hits—hard. Like sensory overload dialed to ten. The place is decked out top to bottom, barely recognizable as a regular apartment. Streamers, lights, drinks in every corner. And before you can even take it all in, your eyes land on the handmade banner slapped across the wall: Happy Birthday Katsuki!

You don’t even need to ask. A quick glance around says it all—loud and clear.

There are old photos strung up along the walls, clipped to fairy lights that flicker unevenly. Most of the pictures are clearly from childhood—blond hair, scowling even as a toddler, surrounded by messy frosting and crooked party hats. One’s shows him mid-scream, cake all over his face. It’s kind of cute. Kind of surreal. Because this is his party.

It’s Bakugou’s birthday.

And he invited you to his birthday party?

You scan the room again, sharper this time. The place is crowded, but not enough to lose someone like him. And he’s not here. That heavy, sinking feeling creeps into your chest.

Maybe he invited someone else.

Maybe when you didn’t text back, he moved on, picked another warm body to fill the space. It wouldn’t be crazy. It wouldn’t be wrong. You don’t owe each other anything, and that’s the whole point of this thing—or at least it was. But still, the thought lands heavy, makes something sour churn low in your gut. Makes your throat go tight in that way you hate.

You swallow it down, hard.

You’re already halfway through turning around, ready to slip back out before you embarrass yourself any further, when a voice cuts through the noise. One you don’t recognize, but it says your name like it knows you.

It’s coming from a big, beefy redhead, cheeks flushed pink from alcohol, smile wide and boyish like he’s genuinely thrilled to see you. There’s this urgent sparkle in his eyes, and for a second you’re stuck wondering how the hell does he know your name.

“You’re here! Oh my god, I can’t believe you’re actually here,” he laughs, loud and booming and way too happy.

Before you can say anything, he’s placing a warm, heavy hand on your shoulder, “Hey, let me take your jacket. I’m Kirishima, by the way! Don’t think we’ve met yet.”

And you just… let him. Because honestly, you can’t think of anything else to do. You shrug your jacket off, hand it over, and he somehow manages to wedge it onto an already overflowing coat rack like it’s no big deal.

“Katsuki is…” he glances around, squinting into the crowd, “—well, I think he already snuck off somewhere. Classic. Gets sick of his own birthday halfway through every year.”

He laughs again, easy and fond, like that’s something everyone should know. Like you’re part of the group that gets Bakugou Katsuki.

And when it’s clear you’re not going to laugh with him—that you’re not in on the joke—he shifts, scratching the back of his neck, the flush on his cheeks deepening.

“Let’s get you a drink, yeah? Before Katsuki finds out you’re here and steals you away.”

Then he’s already turning, guiding you through the tangle of bodies toward the kitchen. You follow, trying not to overthink that last part. Steals you away. Like you’re some prize Bakugou might casually claim.

Does everyone think you’re just a body to him? And would that really be so bad… if it meant he’d picked you?

Fuck you need that drink. You toss the first one back the second it’s in your hand—barely tastes like anything, just cold and sharp. Kirishima lets out a loud laugh, already reaching to pour you another like it’s a challenge. As he talks, he’s all bright chatter—rambling about how annoying the setup was, how they almost didn’t get enough booze. He asks when your birthday is like it’s just part of the conversation, like none of this is weird.

He’s mid-sentence when someone interrupts—a blond, all pretty eyes and glazed-over smile, leaning in over Kirishima’s shoulder like he’s got zero sense of personal space. Drunk, maybe high. Definitely nosy, not that Kirishima seems to mind anyway. 

“Who’s the pretty girl, Ei?” he slurs, trying for a smirk that doesn’t quite land.

Kirishima just laughs, easily wrapping an arm around the guy to steady him. “This is Bakugou’s girl, bro. Back off.”

The blond seems as thrown by that as you are. Bakugou’s girl? Since when?

“Wait… I thought she wasn’t coming,” he frowns, looking a little too disappointed. “That’s why Bakubro was being extra mean to me today…”

You expect Kirishima to jump in with something. But instead, he just gives you this look—his brows raised slightly, an expectant glint in his eyes, like he's silently nudging you to explain yourself too. 

“Oh, um…” You twist uncomfortably under their gazes, feeling the weight of the attention. “I didn’t think I’d be able to, but… I am here now, so…” You shrug, the words feeling clumsy even to you.

Kirishima just watches you, his expression blank, and you get the sense that he’s not exactly thrilled with your answer—or with your whole last-minute appearance. Blondie, on the other hand, pouts deeper, his voice laced with a hint of teasing frustration. “Well, I would’ve preferred if you came before the beer pong… He was so aggressive with it…”. Kirishima gives the guy a playful pat on the head in response, a silent gesture that seems to acknowledge the comment without words.

This whole interaction has you itching to find Bakugou, to see why everyone’s been expecting you, why his flatmate seems annoyed by your absence. And, of course, to catch a glimpse of his handsome face too. “Where’s the birthday boy? I haven’t been here before, so…”

At the mention of Bakugou, Kirishima’s energy shifts, his enthusiasm returning like flipping a switch. “Let me show you,” he says, peeling Denki off his shoulder with a gentle but firm hand. “Denks, drink some water, okay?” Kirishima adds, his tone casual but with a hint of concern, before turning back to you to lead you back through the crowd. 

Eventually, Kirishima stops in front of a hallway door, turning back to give you a quick grin. “He’s probably hiding out in there,” he says, giving the door a casual knock. “Don’t be too shocked, though. He’s a little… cranky tonight.” He flashes you one last smile before turning and walking away, leaving you standing there at the door.

You push the door open, silently wishing you will either find him inside alone, or not at all. 

The room is dimly lit, the faint glow of string lights hanging lazily in the corners, old posters covering the walls. The scent of cigarette smoke lingers in the air, mixing with the faint buzz of the party from down the hall. Your eyes scan the room, searching for him, and that's when you see him: Bakugou, slouched in a chair by the window, arms crossed over his chest.

He doesn’t seem to notice you at first, too caught up in his own world. You can’t help but watch him for a moment, noticing the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw tightens slightly as he breathes in. You hesitate for a moment, but before you can second-guess yourself, his voice breaks the silence.

"Didn't think you'd actually show," he mutters, his gaze still locked on the window, his tone rougher than usual.

"You didn’t tell me it was your birthday," you say, unmoving from your place at the door.

He doesn’t respond right away, his silence thick in the air between you. The seconds stretch on, but then, slowly, he turns to face you. His brow furrows, lips curling into something between a frown and a smirk, but it’s his eyes that catch you off guard. They’re wide, not shy, but hungry, tracing your frame with an intensity that makes the space between you feel smaller than it is.

"Come closer," he demands, voice low, almost challenging. "I want a better look at you."

You hate how easily you obey, the words pulling you forward like a magnet. Until finally, you’re close enough that the air between you feels thick, charged. His legs caging your own as you stand between them. 

He doesn't move, not yet, but you feel the weight of his gaze, steady and intense. And when his hands finally find your waist, it’s almost a relief. Almost. They tug you forward, pulling you down onto his lap with a quiet but unmistakable force.

You try to steady yourself, to regain control, but his grip tightens just enough to remind you who’s in charge here. You swallow hard, your pulse quickening at the feel of his body so close to yours.

"Is this how you like it?" His voice is rougher now, darker, a question more than anything else.

“You know how I like it.” 

He lets out a dry chuckle, the sound rough. "Damn right," he mutters, his hands sliding through your hair, fingers pulling roughly at your scalp, forcing your eyes to meet his. You hold in the quiet noise already threatening to come out from the treatment. 

"I was pissed when you didn’t reply," he says, his gaze burning into yours. “Told everyone my girl was coming, even helped Shitty hair with putting the decks up, got the good drinks too. But you didn’t show.”

His grip on your waist tightens, pulling you in just a little closer, the light scent of alcohol on his breath. "Do you always keep people waiting?" he asks, his voice rougher now, low and almost a growl. "Or was this just for me?"

You hate how his words vibrate through you, how you have to resist the temptation to press your legs together while spread out on his lap, refusing to let him feel the impact of his own words. “But what is it you want from me, Katsuki?” You breathe out, close enough now to see his eyes flash at the name change. “I thought this was just sex, and now you’re inviting me to your birthday party and getting pissy when I don’t show... Is meeting your friends part of the deal now, too?”

“You think this is just sex?” he says, voice rougher now, like he’s testing the words himself. “You think I don’t hate walking away every time? That I haven’t thought about just… staying? Not leaving for once. Keeping you.” A beat. “Keeping you as mine?”

Your breath catches.

“Katsuki… then why didn’t you just ask?” you whisper. “Instead of always running off.”

“Never the right fuckin’ time,” he mutters, his fingers brushing the side of your face, his touch unexpectedly gentle. “You were always either sleeping or too fucked out to hold a conversation. And you... you sure know how to make a guy nervous Angel.”

You blink. “I make you nervous?”

His hand moves to the back of your neck, his grip tightening just enough to pull you closer, “You think I do this often?” His laugh is low, a little dry, but there’s a sincerity to it that catches you off guard. “I downloaded Tinder as a fuckin’ joke. But when I saw your face... couldn’t resist. And the second I had you? Casual was never gonna work for me.”

The weight of his words settles in your chest. You can’t look away, not when he’s watching you like that, like he’s been starving for this moment.

“But hey,” he says, voice dipping low, almost a murmur now. “If you don’t want more, that’s fine. I’ll still give you what you need.” His thumb traces your lower lip, a delicate contrast to everything else about him. “But I want all of it, Angel. I want everything you’ll give me.”

You stare at him, your voice steady despite the heat flooding your veins. “You think I’d be here if you hadn’t caught me too?” you say quietly. “I don’t get this pretty for just anyone.”

His expression shifts. The hunger softens into something warmer, heavier. Something like possession. “You better not,” he says, almost reverently. “You’re mine now.”

And then his mouth is on yours.

Your lips crash together, like they have a million times before, and then he’s picking you up and caging you on the bed underneath you. He dives into your neck, his lips trailing fire across your skin, a low, satisfied groan vibrating from his chest as he kisses you like a man starved. You gasp, trying to hold onto the moment, but you can barely keep your thoughts straight.

You laugh, a little tipsy on him more than the alcohol now. “Katsuki, wait—” You reach up to gently tug at his hair, trying to pull him back. “There’s like a million people in your apartment.”

He barely registers the comment, his hands already at your waist, pulling you closer. “Don’t care,” he mutters, ripping off his shirt with frustration, exposing his toned chest as he leans down to kiss you again.

“I care,” you protest weakly, though the excitement burning in you is undeniable. “I just met them… I want to leave a good impression.”

His eyes darken, a smirk tugging at his lips as he stares down at you. “Fuck that,” he growls, his hands tracing the curves of your body possessively. “The only person you need to be good for is me.”

You roll your eyes, trying to bite back a grin. “Yeah, sure, but I’d prefer not to be that girl at your party—”

“Angel,” he interrupts, voice full of mischief, “I’m the birthday boy.”

His breath ghosts over your ear, sending a shiver straight down your spine.

“Now…” he murmurs, lips brushing your skin, “let me open my present.”

.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊.⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊

general taglist 🏷️ : @cristy-101 @cielito--lindo @waterfal-ling

undertale reference

𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒐𝒐𝒏… 🎀

♡ private college au - katsuki bakugou x reader

‿‿ 𝒔𝒖𝒈𝒂𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒂𝒍𝒕: an mini series written by me, @bkgsdoll , coming soon ( ˵ᵔ ³ ᵔ˵ )♡

a/n. it's been a hot minute, y'all. this is inspired by a reel i saw on instagram (@dagirlythang), although i believe this is one of those notorious accounts that reposts content from other creators without proper citation :\ still, credit is due where it's (partially) due. anywho, i haven't written in a WHILE, but i hope this still scratches the itch for some of you. enjoy! (0.6k)

“here, kats.”

from where he’s just put the car in park, bakugou looks at you—first, instinctively—then carefully, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion at the sight of what you’re holding.

his normally crimson eyes that are seeming darker under the dim light of his brand new porsche dart up to meet yours. “the fuck is that?”

you frown at his unexpectedly hostile reaction, although it’s quick to morph into a look of realization when it hits you belatedly.

“shit, sorry,” you half-laugh, half-sputter, hurriedly returning it to your bag before reaching into its depths for your phone. you thumb in your password in almost less than a second, gaze trained on the app as you click it, “i forgot you preferred cashless transactions.”

you’re in the middle of typing in bakugou’s phone number—you’re embarrassed to admit you already have it memorized just two weeks into dating him—when your device is unceremoniously yanked out of your grip—so fast that you could barely squeak in surprise. you whip to face the pro-hero—about to reprimand his ear off for ripping it away from your hands like that—when you catch a glimpse of his features and all the words suddenly die in your throat.

uh oh.

“tell me,” he starts, voice low, and you find yourself gulping despite yourself. “did i buy this car so i can quit hero work and be a driver?”

“…no?”

a scowl. “then why are you treating me like i’m you’re fucking uber?”

you blanch. “i’m not! i just figured i give you some gas money.”

“why the fuck would you send me gas money?”

you know better than to answer that, so you shake your head and ignore the way he’s practically glowering at you, before pulling out the wad of cash from earlier, “is this much okay—”

“you ain’t sending me shit,” bakugou essentially spits—cutting you off—just as he reaches over the console and thrusts your hand back into your wallet.

he’s still gripping onto your phone.

you toss him an exasperated expression.

that earns you an eye roll. “don’t.”

you pout. “why won’t you let me help?”

“this isn’t about help, dumbass,” bakugou drawls, mirroring your irritation. “i won’t be caught dead asking my girlfriend for money.”

you try to breeze past the way he just referred to you as his girlfriend, masking your fluster with a scoff. “so it’s a pride thing now?”

the ash-blonde sneers. “more like the bare fucking minimum.”

to that, you snort, although you can’t fight the smile that tugs at your lips. “easy for you to say, rich guy.”

“watch it,” he warns, and you break into a laugh, then laugh harder when his mouth wobbles in a sorry attempt to keep a stern face.

that grants you a playful punch to the shoulder, which you take in stride, still chuckling. soon enough, the air falls into a quiet lull with neither of you making a move to get out and into your apartment’s parking lot. this goes on for a few beats, before bakugou finally breaks the silence.

“p-promise me.”

bewildered, you glance at the pro-hero, who’s looking straight ahead onto the wall beyond the car. “promise you what?”

he swallows, as if nervous. “that you’ll get used to this.”

your eyes widen, suddenly speechless. the urge to ask him what he means by ‘this’ quickly surfaces—something tells you it’s more than just him spending on you—albeit dies down just as swiftly. the last thing you want is to ruin the moment.

instead, you settle with peering at him curiously for another minute, before: “…do i have a choice?”

at that, bakugou turns to you, grinning. “nah.”

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat with you. have a nice day!

tagging. @bunnysaursushii @yawnzzzzzzzz @cholios @kashee-h @iluv-ace @lotuslovers @elarakive @touyas-moon @napbatata @k0z3me @h0ngh0ngh0ng @honeyoru @yoongiwithglasses @hellokitty-doll @lilsebnem @tetsuukuroo @crangrapel0ver @syrhra @qyuin @lotusstarr

This is canon

Zayne trying to be the voice of reason 😭

soukoku as one of my dearest renaissance paintings

maomao when every important figure in the empire keeps asking for her help

Request!! Can you prettyy please do a Ranpo x masochist reader? It can be to whatever degree you interpret it as: romatic & sexual, or a platonic pass-time to cut up a monotonous day. Go crazy w it. Physical or emotional, I'll eat up anything you put out. Feel free to ignore my dumbass, luv you! 𓆟

Yandere!Ranpo x Masochist!Reader

Another day at the Armed Detective Agency, the sun filtering through the wide office windows, the sound of papers shuffling, the occasional clatter of Fukuzawa’s tea set. Everything was normal.

At least, on the surface.

You were a new recruit—diligent, polite, attentive—the kind of employee everyone liked. You followed orders without complaint, kept your workspace tidy, and never seemed to cause trouble. Nothing about you was particularly suspicious.

But Ranpo noticed things.

The first incident.

It was entirely his fault, of course. He’d been slacking off (as usual), leaning lazily in his chair while balancing a cup of hot tea on his knee. Someone called his name, he turned too fast—

Ah, shit.

The cup tipped, spilling a few hot drops over your fingers before you managed to pull away.

"Ah—!"

Ranpo blinked down at the mess, lazily dragging his gaze back to you. You didn’t flinch. You just… turned your head slightly to the side, as if inconvenienced, as if this wasn’t worth reacting to at all. You wiped your hand on a napkin, casual as ever.

"Ahh, sorry, sorry~! Guess I got too excited" Ranpo said, dragging out his words in a sing-song tone.

"It’s okay" you replied easily, already moving on.

Ranpo squinted at you.

"Huh. That didn’t hurt?"

"Not really." You smiled

Hmmm.

The next time, he did it on purpose.

It was lunch time, the office mostly empty as everyone scattered to grab food. You were focused on your work, fingers gliding over the keyboard, too absorbed to notice Ranpo creeping up behind you.

"Boo!"

You didn’t jump.

You barely reacted at all. Your shoulders stiffened for half a second before you forced yourself to relax. But Ranpo saw it—the tension in your fingers, the way your breath hitched before settling into something controlled.

Not fear. Not normal startlement.

No—you were suppressing something.

Ranpo leaned on your desk, grinning. "Wow, you’re no fun. Didn’t even scream."

You smiled, but your grip on your pen tightened.

"You startled me a little."

"Liar~," Ranpo hummed, tilting his head. "That wasn’t ‘a little startled,’ that was a ‘I’m used to sudden things happening but I have to act normal’ kind of reaction."

Your fingers twitched. He saw that too.

The crowded hallway.

Yosano brushed past you while walking by, nothing more than a casual nudge of shoulders. You jerked ever so slightly, fingers curling, tension visible for half a second before you forced it down again.

Ranpo, watching from across the room, narrowed his eyes.

It wasn’t normal. The way you reacted to sudden movement, casual touches, heat, pain—it wasn’t the reaction of someone simply uncomfortable.

It was someone who wasn’t used to things being this light.

Ranpo popped a candy into his mouth, still watching you closely.

"Ne, ne~" he called lazily, "You sure are sensitive, huh?"

You glanced at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Dunno," he hummed, tapping his chin. "People brush past you, and you act like you’re bracing for something. But it’s subtle. Most people wouldn’t notice."

Ranpo grinned. "You don’t like pain, do you? You like it a little too much."

Your breath caught. Gotcha.

And from that moment on, Ranpo was hooked.

This was going to be so much fun.

It was too easy to pretend.

You kept your head down, listened well, followed orders. Everything about you was perfectly normal—on the surface. No reason for anyone to look too closely. No reason for anyone to suspect that beneath all that obedience was something much, much uglier.

Unfortunately, Ranpo wasn’t just anyone.

He didn’t act right away.

So instead, he watched. Quietly.

Every time you flinched—he noticed. Every time you suppressed a reaction—he noticed. Every time you acted a little too unaffected by something painful—he noticed.

And most importantly? He noticed the way you always made sure other people were around.

Because when people were watching, nothing could happen to you.

It was instinctual, the way you hovered just close enough to the others, safety in numbers, an unspoken barrier. But Ranpo was smarter than you. He was smarter than everyone.

And the moment he realized you were avoiding being alone with him?

That’s when he decided it was time to change the rules.

"You should stay late today."

He said it so casually. A lazy request, stretched out in a bored drawl, as if it were nothing important.

"You don’t mind, right? Just a little longer~? I could use the extra help with this case."

It was nonsense. Ranpo never needed help. And everyone in the ADA knew it.

You hesitated. But what could you say? No? That would be suspicious.

So you smiled, pretended it was fine. "Sure."

And with that, the office emptied out.

One by one, the others left. Atsushi, Yosano, Kunikida—all of them disappearing through the doors, their voices fading into the night. The agency lights dimmed, the usual buzz of conversation died, and soon...

It was just you and him.

Ranpo didn’t immediately pounce on his curiosity.

At first, he actually pretended to work—lounging back in his chair, half-heartedly flipping through files, occasionally tossing you some meaningless task just to keep you still.

Then, when he was sure the moment was right, he spoke.

"So… you don’t feel pain, huh?"

You froze.

It was so, so small. A brief pause in your breathing, a millisecond of tension in your fingers—but Ranpo saw it.

"What are you talking about?"

"Ohhh, don’t play dumb~." He propped his chin on one hand, watching you squirm. "I noticed, you know. You’re real good at hiding it, but I’m better at noticing things."

"I really don’t know what you mean."

Ranpo sighed dramatically, stretching his arms over his head. "Well, if you won’t admit it… should I prove it?"

Before you could react, he suddenly reached forward—

And flicked you hard on the forehead.

It wasn’t much. A childish, meaningless flick—something Atsushi would have yelped at, something Kunikida would have scolded him for. But you?

You didn’t move. Didn’t swat his hand away. Didn’t blink. Didn’t react at all.

"See? That’s what I’m talking about."

He leaned forward, too close now, too knowing. His elbows rested on his knees, posture casual, but his eyes—those sharp, all-seeing eyes—were locked entirely on you.

"That didn’t hurt, did it?"

"Don’t even try to deny~."

The office felt smaller than before. The empty desks, the dim lighting, the utter silence surrounding you both. Your heartbeat, the shift of your breath, the scrape of Ranpo’s chair as he leaned just a little closer—

It was suffocating.

"You’re really good at faking normal," he mused, tapping his chin.

His smile stretched, playful and lazy, but something dangerous lurked beneath it.

"But see, I’m kinda a genius? So stuff like that doesn’t really work on me."

He reached for his candy jar, popping one into his mouth as if this were just another conversation. As if he weren’t pinning you in place with nothing but words.

"So let’s play a game, okay?" he said cheerfully, unwrapping another candy—a deliberate pause, a build-up, forcing you to wait. "You tell me what’s up with you, and I won’t have to figure it out myself."

The candy clicked against his teeth. His smile didn’t fade.

"I mean, I’ll figure it out either way~."

"I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Ranpo hummed. "Liar."

Another flick—this time, to your wrist. A harmless little tap, one that shouldn’t even be worth reacting to. But the expectation behind it? The way Ranpo was watching, waiting, calculating?

It made something twist inside your stomach.

"It’s weird, y'know?" he continued. "Most people have all sorts of little tells when they feel pain. They wince, they pull away, they rub at the sore spot, even just instinctively."

He tilted his head, studying you like a puzzle piece that didn’t fit.

"But you? Nothing."

"Ohhhh~." His tone lifted into something mockingly amused. "Wait. That’s not it, is it?"

Your fingers curled—Ranpo saw.

"You don’t ignore pain, you like it."

"What I don’t get," he mused, tapping a finger against his temple, "is why you try so hard to pretend otherwise."

He moved. A slow shift, resting his chin in his palm, his elbow propped against the armrest—lazy, relaxed, but watching you like a cat with a cornered mouse.

"What’s the point?"

You swallowed.

"I don’t—"

"Nuh-uh." He cut you off, "No more lying~."

Then, Ranpo sighed dramatically. "Okay, fine. If you won’t say it, I’ll just have to test it myself."

And before you could process what he meant—

His fingers suddenly tightened around your wrist.

A simple touch, his thumb pressed lightly against your pulse, fingers wrapped loosely around your wrist.

But the implication was what made something cold coil down your spine.

Because Ranpo didn’t touch people.

Not unless he was stealing snacks or draping himself over Fukuzawa like a spoiled housecat. But this?

This was deliberate.

Ranpo hummed. "Ah, see? I can feel your pulse picking up~."

"That means you’re nervous," he went on, "But not scared. Which means—"

He squeezed.

Ranpo studied you for another long, agonizing moment before suddenly—letting go.

He leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms with a yawn. "Welp~! That’s all I needed to know."

Ranpo smiled.

"You’re really bad at hiding things, y'know? But that’s okay!" His tone was cheerful. "I don’t mind playing with you a little."

Ranpo reached for another candy, lazily unwrapping it with one hand. He didn’t look at you, but you could feel the weight of his attention.

"Just so you know~," he drawled, popping the sweet into his mouth. "I’m not letting this go."

"And the fun part? You can’t stop me."

That much was clear.

Ranpo knew your secret.

----

Wherever you went, cases followed.

Murders, disappearances, odd incidents—the kind of things that required his presence, much to his displeasure.

Ranpo had noticed the pattern early on.

It wasn’t just coincidence. It wasn’t just bad luck.

You were like a grim reaper in disguise.

And for the first time in a while—Ranpo wasn’t bored.

"You attract the fun kind of trouble."

"Tsk, tsk~." Ranpo clicked his tongue, rocking back on his heels. "You really know how to keep me busy, huh?"

Another crime scene. Another case that wasn’t even worth his full brain power.

Blood soaked the alley floor. The body was still warm. And yet, Ranpo barely spared it a glance, instead letting his sharp green eyes drift to you.

You were used to this.

"You know, I almost feel bad," Ranpo continued, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Wherever you go, someone dies. How tragic~."

You sighed. "I don’t cause it."

"Mmm, debatable."

Ranpo grinned, but there was something sharper behind it.

"You're always at the scene. Always nearby. Even when it doesn’t make sense for you to be."

A slow step forward.

"Almost like you enjoy it."

He got bored so easily. That was the problem.

Most cases weren’t worth his time. Most people were predictable.

But you? You were different.

Ranpo licked his lips, thoughtful. "Ne, ne~. Do you think the killers know?"

"Know what?"

"That they should be more scared of you than me."

There it was. That little, tiny slip of hesitation.

Ranpo grinned.

"Don’t worry, I won’t tell."

For the first time in ages, solving cases wasn’t boring.

Because you were there. Because you reacted in all the wrong ways.

Because you weren’t normal, and Ranpo loved breaking things open just to see what spilled out.

"I think I’ll stick close to you~" he hummed, nudging your shoulder as the sirens wailed behind you both.

"After all—" he turned, smiling like a child with a new toy.

"—I wouldn’t wanna miss the show."

It was getting ridiculous at this point.

The Agency had been busier than ever since you joined.

Accidents. Murders. High-profile cases that should’ve been one-in-a-million coincidences—yet somehow, wherever you went, another incident cropped up.

Fukuzawa hadn’t said anything outright, but you knew he’d noticed. Kunikida was constantly scribbling in his notebook, muttering about “statistical anomalies.” Even Dazai had joked about how you were the unluckiest (or maybe luckiest) person they’d ever hired.

And Ranpo?

Ranpo just grinned like he already knew the answer.

"Maybe you’re cursed."

You had shrugged. "Maybe."

Ranpo hummed, popping a piece of candy into his mouth. "If you are, I kinda like it."

And that had been the end of that.

"Tch—! Atsushi, focus!"

You barely ducked in time as the enemy’s blade sliced through the air.

This case was supposed to be hard. A brutal serial killer—one with connections to the Port Mafia, one who had managed to evade capture far longer than expected.

Which was why Atsushi had been sent with you.

"I got him!" Atsushi growled, dodging a strike before slamming his claws into the enemy’s ribs—only for the bastard to twist away at the last second.

A few feet behind you, Ranpo yawned loudly. "Ahhh~. You guys are taking too long."

"Then help—!" Atsushi snapped, but Ranpo waved him off.

"Nah, I already solved it."

"…What?"

Ranpo grinned. "Yup! Figured it out ages ago. He’s got an old knife wound in his left side, see? From a previous fight. That’s why he keeps avoiding right-handed attacks—his muscles are weaker there."

Atsushi stared.

"Then—then why didn’t you say anything sooner?!"

"Because you were having fun~," Ranpo said simply, stretching his arms over his head. "And it’s not like I was ever in danger."

The second Ranpo spoke those words—the moment he revealed that he was the one who had figured everything out—The killer moved.

He must’ve known the Agency would catch him eventually. He must’ve known this was the end.

So if he couldn’t escape…

He would at least take one of you with him.

And he knew exactly who to target.

Ranpo—the brains of the Agency.

The knife swung for him.

And you—because you were you—reacted immediately.

Atsushi shouted. Ranpo’s eyes widened.

But neither of them moved fast enough.

Because you were already there.

You stepped into the blade.

Pain blossomed.

A sharp, beautiful thing.

The knife sank deep, slicing across your side, the force of the attack knocking the breath from your lungs. Blood soaked through your clothes, warm and spreading, but the moment the blade left your skin—

Your lips curled into a smile. That was amazing.

"Oi—!!"

Ranpo’s voice was sharper than you’d ever heard it.

He caught you just as your knees buckled. His usual lazy demeanor had vanished—replaced by something much, much darker.

"What the hell was that?" he hissed.

You swallowed, heart pounding. "Keeping you alive."

"That wasn’t your job."

"Well, it is now."

Ranpo’s expression shifted.

Something visibly snapped behind his green eyes.

Atsushi roared—his tiger form tearing into the culprit, rage and panic fueling his attack. The sound of metal hitting the floor, the sickening crunch of bones breaking—none of it mattered.

"You shouldn’t be able to smile like that."

His fingers dug into your wrist.

"You’re bleeding."

The moment you collapsed into him. The moment he realized you had taken a wound that was meant for him.

The game had shifted.

Ranpo wasn’t bored anymore.

"I don’t like that." His voice was light, but his grip on you was too firm. "I don’t like that at all."

And then—Ranpo smiled.

A slow, terrifyingly amused thing.

"Guess I’ll just have to keep a better eye on you, huh?"

---

The first thing you noticed was the lack of pain.

You should’ve felt sore, at the very least. That knife wound had dug deep, and yet— When you shifted, there was nothing. No sting, no ache—just the softness of a futon and the unmistakable presence of another person.

Ranpo.

Sitting cross-legged beside you, sucking lazily on a lollipop.

He was watching.

"Ohhh~." His voice was mockingly sweet. "Look who’s awake~."

You sat up slowly, glancing around. Yosano’s doing. You had been expecting that.

"Completely healed" he said, stretching. "Ain’t that nice? If it were anyone else, they’d probably still be out cold for another day or two. But since it’s you~"—he wiggled his fingers—"poof! Good as new."

You stared.

Then, cautiously, side-eyed him.

Ranpo giggled.

"What? You don’t trust me?" He pulled his lollipop from his mouth with a dramatic pout. "That hurts, y'know~."

You didn’t respond.

Ranpo hummed, twirling the candy between his fingers before suddenly holding it out to you.

"Here. Wanna taste?"

You glanced between him and the half-melted candy.

Slowly, narrowing your eyes.

Ranpo’s lips twitched.

"Haaah~. So rude." He rolled his eyes, stuffing the lollipop back into his own mouth before reaching into his pocket.

Crinkle.

A fresh one.

He unwrapped it for you, flashing you a mockingly indulgent smile as he held it up—

And just as your fingers brushed against it—

Ranpo leaned in.

And licked it.

Smirking as he pressed it right against your lips.

"Here~" he purred. "Open up."

"C’mon," he teased, voice dripping with amusement. "You’re not gonna waste it, are you?"

You could still see the way his tongue had just been on it.

The heat of his breath, the lazy grin, the unmistakable enjoyment dancing in his green eyes—

This was a game.

And he was waiting to see if you’d play along.

You didn’t play along.

Ranpo pouted dramatically.

"Maaaan" he sighed, tilting his head. "You’re no fun."

The lollipop hovered at your lips. Sticky. Sweet. Still carrying the warmth of his mouth.

You stared.

It was a battle of patience now.

Ranpo watched, waiting for you to crack.

You waited for him to get bored.

"Fine, be that way~."

You almost sighed in relief

Until his teeth sunk into your finger.

Not hard. But enough. Sharp canines pressing down—just the right amount of pressure— Your lips parted, a sharp inhale slipping through before you could stop it.

And in that moment of weakness—

Ranpo took his win.

With an obnoxiously pleased hum, he pushed the lollipop past your lips.

"See?" he cooed, leaning back with a mockingly triumphant smile. "That wasn’t so hard, now was it?"

You glared at him over the candy.

Ranpo just giggled.

He had won.

This time.