X86- Always the Crybaby
She always wanted to be a mafia wife, ever since she first met Tsuna-san. This isn't what she had in mind. She wants to blame Byakuran for it all, the coffin in the woods, the ever-shrinking territory the Varia hold, the fact that the tattered, bloodstained flag outside has a single line painted next to the ornate X. Haru watches that flag and does her very best to ignore the same XI engraved onto her wedding ring. A slammed door and the sound of heavy boots prowling towards her are all the warning she gets to wipe the tears from her eyes before he sits down on their bed and beckons to her. Sometimes, most times, he's covered in blood that she's never sure is his or someone else's with all the scars snaking across his body, and today is no exception. As much as she hates the sight, she obliges, closing the distance between them on shaking legs.
He throws her down on the bed and slides on top of her, like a predator in for the kill, and it's all she can do not to put her arms up in front of herself in a feeble attempt to ward him off. His kiss is rough as his hands, practically tearing off her clothing without much regard as to whether she's comfortable or not. There's no denying now that she's attracted to him in a purely physical way, and a soft "hahi" escapes her sore lips when his hand slips into her panties. Haru knows how much he hates that noise, but she can't help herself, as much out of pleasure as a need to be the girl whose biggest concern was gaining a kilo after Haru Appreciation Day. Both of them are ready and wanting, and the lack of foreplay owes itself as much to that as it does the constrictions of time, the sparse minutes between one Millefiore assault and the next. He takes her hard and fast, but the room is dead silent, save for their harsh breathing and the shifting of the sheets that are never clean anymore, no matter how hard Haru washes them. An alarm wails in the distance, and he pulls out with a sound of disgruntlement, tugging on his clothes and storming out the door like nothing ever happened.
Alone and unsatisfied, Haru's trembling fingers wander downward over her body, seeking to at least finish for herself. They dip into blood, and she nearly cries out at the sight of it plastered all over her torso from his shirt and body. Its metallic reek is more than enough to dispel her arousal, and she lays there, eyes squeezed shut, alone. Forcing herself to stand, she stumbles into the shower and scrubs until it is all gone and the water is no longer tainted even the slightest pink. Her legs give in then, and she falls to the floor, sobbing. Today, there is no Bianchi, no Kyouko to cling to, so she leans against the cold tile of the wall and curls her fist, trying her hardest to imagine the warmth of friends long-gone. By the time the water has gone cold, the sound of those boots returns. This time, Haru cannot bring herself to stand up and go to him, to repeat the entire thing over again the way they have for over a year now. All she can do is let the sobs wrack her body and hope he’ll give up and go away- both him and Byakuran, and all this misery. After all, she always was the crybaby, never at least trying to change things for the better.