Trope: Villain × Hostage | Dangerous tension | Slow unraveling
Pairing: Maki (the villain) × Harua (the hostage)
Vibe: Knife-to-throat intimacy, but with hands that don't quite let go.
WARNING: May seem like Stockholm syndrome so be advised (It's not really that deep but still if you are uncomfortable -viewer discretion is advised)

It begins with fear

Harua's wrists are bound in front of him, rope coarse against his skin.
His knees ache from the cold marble floor of the old manor.

Across from him, lounging in an ornate chair like it was built just for sin, sits Maki.

All calm arrogance — legs crossed, gloved hands drumming against the armrest, eyes glittering in low candlelight.

"Do you know why you're still alive?" Maki asks at last, voice soft. Almost playful.

Harua swallows hard.

"Because you need leverage."

Maki hums. Tilts his head.

"Partly. But also because you're interesting when you're scared."

Harua bristles. Looks away, heart pounding.

The line blurs

Days pass. Harua's kept locked in a suite — disturbingly beautiful, with velvet drapes and gilded mirrors.

Maki visits every evening. Sometimes with food, sometimes with questions he doesn't bother to disguise as interrogation.

Sometimes just to sit there and watch him. Like Harua's a puzzle he wants to savor figuring out.

One night, Harua snaps.

"What do you want from me?"

Maki studies him for a long moment. Then stands, crosses the space between them.

He crouches down — level with Harua's wide, wary eyes.

"Maybe I just want you to keep looking at me like that."

Harua's breath shudders.
Because under the cruelty, there's something hungry. Something lonely.

The breaking point

Later, Maki draws a knife. Harua stiffens.

But instead of harm, Maki gently cuts the ropes binding Harua's wrists. His hands linger, thumbs brushing over raw skin.

"Run, if you think you can."

Harua doesn't move.

"Why aren't you leaving?" Maki asks, voice tight.

"Because..." Harua exhales, closes his eyes.
"I'm tired of running from you."

When he opens them again, Maki looks almost pained.

The softest betrayal

Their first kiss tastes like desperation. Like every wrong choice sealed with breathless heat.

Maki's hand trembles on Harua's cheek.
Harua clings back like he's afraid Maki will vanish.

When they pull apart, Maki presses his forehead to Harua's.

"I can't promise you safety."

"Then don't promise me anything. Just stay."

In the dark, Maki lets out a quiet, broken laugh.

"Careful. Keep saying things like that, and I might just ruin everything for you."

Harua's lips curve in a tired, aching smile.

"Maybe I want you to."

A tense "rescue" that fails

It happens one storm-wracked night.
Thunder growls outside the manor. Harua wakes to shouting — then the sharp echo of gunfire in the hall.

Suddenly his door bursts open.
A familiar face from his old life, breathless and wild-eyed.

"Harua! We're getting you out. Now."

They grab his arm, try to pull him toward the door.
Harua plants his feet. Shakes his head.

"I'm not leaving."

"What—? He's holding you prisoner!"

"He was," Harua admits. "Now I'm staying because I choose to."

They stare at him, horrified.

"He's poisoned you. You don't mean that."

Harua's hands tighten into fists.

"I do."

Then another voice cuts through the chaos — low, deadly calm.

"I'd suggest you let him go."

Maki stands in the doorway, gun leveled, face an unreadable mask.
Lightning flashes behind him like a crown of hellfire.

"Because if you don't," Maki continues softly, "this gets very ugly for you."

The rescuer looks from Maki's eyes to Harua's, seeing something there — a dark thread binding them tight.
Slowly, hands raised, they back away.

When it's just the two of them, Harua collapses against Maki's chest.

"You're insane," he breathes.

"And you're worse for staying," Maki whispers back.

Their kiss tastes like relief and ruin. Like the promise of sins they'll never apologize for.

Nightmare & Calm

The safe house is silent, save for the distant roll of waves.

Moonlight cuts through thin curtains, pools on the bed in shifting silver.

Maki jolts awake, breath ragged.
Sweat slicks his neck. His hands clench into the sheets so tight his knuckles pale.

A ghost from an old job — a scream that wouldn't stop. Blood under his nails.
Something he couldn't save, someone he didn't even try to.

Beside him, Harua stirs.

Still half-asleep, he reaches out — hand sliding across Maki's ribs, thumb pressing just above his racing heart.

"Easy," Harua whispers, voice rough with sleep.
"I've got you. It's just us."

Maki doesn't answer. Can't. His throat locks tight.

So Harua shifts closer, presses their foreheads together. Breath warm against Maki's lips.

"Here," Harua says, pulling Maki's hand to rest flat on his own chest.
"Count it."

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Steady. Real. Not dying. Not gone.

Maki's breathing slows. His hand spreads wider, greedy for that heartbeat.

Harua lets him. Smiles faintly, even as his eyes slip closed again.

"Whatever monsters were chasing you," he mumbles, "they'll have to go through me next time."

Maki huffs a weak laugh. Then leans in, kisses Harua's temple — soft, shaky, but grateful in the deepest way.

"Deal," he rasps.

And finally — finally — he lets himself fall asleep again.

Still tangled in Harua's arms.
Still counting that heartbeat.

Years later: flawed but together

They're older. Not gentler — but more certain.

A shabby safe house on the coast, windows thrown open to let in salt wind. A scar map spread across the table, dotted with notes in both their hands.

Maki stands over it, coffee mug in hand. Harua leans against his side, arm looped around Maki's waist.

"Marseille?" Maki suggests.
"Too obvious," Harua murmurs.
"Argentina?"
"Mmm, maybe after the thing in Buenos Aires cools down."

They're plotting like criminals — which they are.
They're laughing softly under their breath, heads close, conspirators in every way.

At one point, Maki presses his lips to Harua's hair, voice rough.

"Do you ever regret this?"

Harua lifts his head, meets his eyes, and smiles in that tired, adoring way that always wrecks him.

"Only that I didn't choose you sooner."

💬 Final moment

Outside, the ocean pounds the shore like a slow drum.
Inside, two men lean over blood-stained maps, dreaming of the next kingdom to set aflame — together.

Not heroes.
Not truly villains anymore, either.

Just each other's.