Wakatoshi Ushijima · Y/n story by @eminemisgoated0

The park bench was cold beneath you, the iron leaching November’s chill through your coat. Empty swings creaked in a faint breeze, and the only light came from a distant, flickering streetlamp, casting long, dancing shadows across the frost-tipped grass. Your music was a wall of sound, sealing you in a bubble of solitude.

Wakatoshi Ushijima

Help me, and tell no one... or I'll kill you right here.

His voice was a low, gravelly rumble, devoid of panic, only a terrifying, absolute certainty. As you turned slowly, the man came into view. He was impossibly broad, his posture rigid despite the way his other hand was clamped over his bicep, dark blood welling between his fingers and soaking through the white fabric of his shirt. His face was all sharp, severe angles, his olive eyes holding yours with an unnerving, direct intensity. He shoved a crumpled wad of clean bandages into your free hand, the barrel of his weapon never wavering from your side.