Okay, okay yes i know i promised you a part two on both of my other bonten x fem!reader fics, but i'm actually bored of them now, and i need to write something else. Also, all of these take place during the bonten arc. Choose one:
omg i’m so obsessed with your writing! I loved both of your bonten stories and I was wondering if you were gonna do a part two for them or if not maybe something with them seeing reader in a new light like she wasn’t open with them and then she hangs out with other people and all of a sudden she’s so free and open and they get jealous off of that. you can completely ignore this and stuff if you don’t want to do it! I hope you have an amazing day!!
hey beautiful
thanks for taking the time to ask me a question, I really appreciate it :)
i definitely will be making part twos for both on the fics, it’s in the making. i just haven’t 100% decided in which direction to go yet (for both of the fics)
for anyone new; here are the fics we’re talking about:
The Ghost of Bonten (Bonten x Reader)
Pretty Little Psycho (Bonten x Reader)
if you have any recommendations of where I should go in part two - for both fics, please don’t be scared and let me know, I’d really appreciate it
also, requests for Bonten x Reader are open, go wild
a/n: idk I just thought about this, hope you enjoy! Lmk if you want a part 2 <3 also requests for bonten x reader is open! Feel free to submit anything
notes: Bonten x reader
Well, fuck.
At this current moment you’re sitting outside one of Bonten’s meeting rooms patiently waiting for your fate. How could a receptionist fuck up this badly? For a criminal organisation that literally specialises in death, they sure do have a bunch of company policy bullshit when it comes to punching another Bonten member in the face. To be fair, he completely deserved it, especially after calling you “lowlife trash”. After that, there really wasn’t must that you could do, you just had to punch him in his stupid face. And you don’t regret it, even if it costs you your life.
For the last 4 months, working as a front desk receptionist at Japan’s most notorious criminal organisation, has been interesting, to say the least. Most of your job consists out of greeting members at the entrance of the Bonten building with nothing but a smile. Most of the lower level members of Bonten always greet you back, with plastered on smiles and hungry eyes that rake your body from top to bottom. It disgusts you, but one way or another you’ll be sitting in one of those executive seats, bossing people around and drinking with the big boys.
Speaking of the big boys, they never greet you.
Rindou Haitani. He often comes walking into the building, hands in his pockets, and an expression on his face that executes pure boredom. He hasn’t greeted you once in the 4 months that you’ve worked here. You’ve greeted him once, of which he stared at you directly in the eyes, and flat out ignored you. Ever since then, you haven’t greeted him.
His infamous older brother, Ran Haitani. The first thing you noticed about him was the smell of his expensive cologne. His hair is always slicked back perfectly, and his suit is probably worth more than your life. He’s greeting you once. To be honest, you wouldn’t even call it greeting. He waltz in there, busy on the phone. As per your basic expectation contract, you have to greet everyone that walks into the building. So of course, you greeted with a high pitched “Hi!” and a rosey smile, expecting nothing in return. Now imagine your surprise when he quickly glanced out you - still on the phone - and shot you a quick wink. You’d be lying to yourself if you said that you didn’t like the way it made you feel.
Haruchiyo Sanzu - the craziest motherfucker alive. Every single time he enters the Bonten building, he’s either drunk or high or both. He always greets you back, with a mischievous smirk and nine out of ten times, manic eyes combined with a simple “Hi, Doll.” Sometimes you swear you can feel him undressing you with his eyes. He scares you. Especially when he walks into the building with clothes drenched in blood and an attitude that screams ‘no fucks given’.
Hajime Kokonoi AKA the man who hired you. Needless to say, he’s been the ‘nicest’ towards you. Always greeting first, followed by a ‘how are you today?’ The thing you appreciate most about Kokonoi is his calming demeanour, and in an organisation like Bonten when everything is constantly chaos, it’s nice having a calming presence around. In fact, you’re sitting outside of his meeting room right now, waiting to be called in. You’re hoping that his calm demeanour stays just that when he finds out what you’ve done.
The first thing you noticed about Kakucho wasn’t the massive scar on his face, but rather his eyes. You remember thinking to yourself that this man has beautiful eyes the one time you made eye contact. He also never greets you.
Manjiro Sano - the man you’ve heard so much about, but never seen. When reception get quiet, you like to fantasise about what he looks like. You wonder what colour his hair is, and how the fuck he managed to start an organisation as powerful as Bonten. You wonder how his persona is like. Surely he must be ruthless as hell, even more so than Sanzu. The thought sends shivers up your spine, and in some sense, you’re happy that you’ve never seen him before.
Which brings us back to where you are now. Sitting quietly outside the meeting room, trying your best to listen in to what that motherfucker is saying about you to Kokonoi. You just know that he’s speaking shit about you. Your leg is bouncing up and down and you’re struggling to keep yourself calm, especially when you hear that ugly motherfucker refer to you as a “stupid slut” behind the closed doors.
You keep telling yourself to sit still, to look composed, to not give that bastard the satisfaction of knowing you’re nervous; but your body betrays you. Every muffled voice from inside the meeting room makes your pulse spike, especially his. The one you punched. You can hear him whining, dramatising the situation, dragging your name through the dirt, and every insult makes your fingers curl into fists.
You stare down at the polished marble tiles, trying to focus on your breathing, when something shifts in the corner of your vision. A shadow, maybe. Fabric moving. Your head spikes up immediately.
There’s a man standing a few meters away, like he’d been there the entire time.
You hadn’t heard footsteps. No doors opening. No presence approaching. He’s just there, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed, expression unreadable. The kind of stillness that feels deliberate, controlled. Like he takes up space without trying.
Silver hair, colder eyes than anyone you’ve met in this building, but there’s no recognition. No dramatic aura. He doesn’t look dangerous. He just looks… calm. Too calm for Bonten. He isn’t glaring or judging. He’s simply watching you, as if observing a crime scene he hasn’t decided how to interpret yet.
For a moment you wonder if you’re supposed to say hi. You open your mouth, but he speaks first.
“Do you think they’ll kick you out?”
His tone isn’t mocking. Not pitying. Not even curious. It’s just neutral, like he’s asking about the weather. You blink, thrown off by how casual it sounds.
“I don’t know,” you answer honestly, voice tight. “Maybe.”
He tilts his head slightly - barely an expression, eyes still locked on yours. It’s hard to tell if he’s bored or calculating.
“Hm.”
Just that. A single syllable. He looks away, begins walking past you like the conversation never happened. Not fast, not slow - just drifting, silent footsteps that somehow make no sound at all.
You watch him disappear around the corner, and the air feels colder once he’s gone. Whoever he was, he didn’t greet you. He didn’t threaten you. He didn’t seem to care at all. But your stomach twists anyway. Because for some reason, being ignored by him feels more dangerous than being noticed by anyone else in this building.
The door clicks open, and the noise behind it dies instantly. Kokonoi stands by the head of the long conference table, eyes shifting to you with that calm, unreadable expression he always has—like he’s calculating profit margins, not people.
“Sit,” he says simply.
You take the seat farthest from him, the seat at the back, spine straight, hands on your lap, pretending you’re not trembling. The guy you punched sits across from you, arms crossed, a bruised cheek already turning purple. He won’t look at you—just keeps glaring at the table like it personally offended him.
“You instigated physical violence against a ranked member of Bonten,” Kokonoi begins, tone flat. “And while the circumstances are questionable, the reputation cost isn’t negligible.”
You open your mouth to speak - but the door opens again. Three new presences enter the room like a shift in atmosphere.
Ran walks in first, hands in his pockets, expression laced with amused curiosity—as if he already knows something you don’t. His eyes flick down your body once, then he smiles to himself and takes a seat beside Kokonoi without acknowledging you.
Rindou follows, shoulders tense, eyes sharp and assessing. He leans back in his chair, arms crossed, stare cutting through you like he’s trying to diagnose a problem he hasn’t decided how to fix.
Sanzu is last - hair slightly messy, gaze unfocused yet far too intense at the same time. He shuts the door behind him with unnecessary force and sits down lazily, lips twitching into a smirk when he sees you.
None of them speak.
No introductions. No greeting.
Just eyes on you.
Kokonoi continues like their arrival means nothing, but the room feels tighter. “You understand that striking a member disrupts internal hierarchy,” he says. “There are protocols. Chain of command. A receptionist has no clearance to-”
“Who told you to sit in the back?” Sanzu interrupts, tilting his head at you. Your heartbeat stops. Everyone looks at you. You swallow. “No one. I just-”
“So you assumed you belonged there?” he says, voice soft but mocking. “Interesting.”
Ran snorts quietly, tapping his fingers on the table. “She’s got instinct. Better than most rookies.”
“Instinct gets people killed,” Rindou mutters.
None of them are looking at the guy you hit anymore—they’re looking at you. Kokonoi’s gaze sharpens slightly, a crack in his calm.
“This wasn’t supposed to be a panel review.”
Sanzu’s smile widens, manic interest flickering in his eyes. “Oh, we’re not here for the review.”
Ran’s voice is smooth, lazy, dangerous. “We’re here because he wanted to know why she did it.” Silence drops like a knife. Your pulse spikes. You force your voice to stay steady.
“Who?” All three look at you like the answer should be obvious. Sanzu leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes burning holes in your skin.
“Mikey.”
Your breath stops. Kokonoi finally looks away, exhaling through his nose like this entire situation is a problem he now has to solve.
“Sano wanted us to observe your disposition,” Ran clarifies, eyes narrowing with intrigue. “He doesn’t usually care about receptionists.”
The man you punched erupts, slamming his fist on the table. “What the hell does she have to do with the Boss?! She’s the one in the wrong-”
Kokonoi lifts a hand and the room goes quiet like someone cut the sound. “This isn’t a punishment hearing anymore,” he says calmly. “It’s an evaluation.”
You suddenly understand: You’re not here to be disciplined. You’re here to be assessed. By Mikey. Through them. And none of them look like they intend to be gentle.
For a second it’s silent. No one tells you to speak, so you sit there, hands pressed together in your lap, pulse hammering in your throat. Kokonoi finally folds his arms and faces you directly.
“Why did you hit him?” His voice is calm, almost bored, as if there is a right answer and he already doubts you have it. You take a breath. “He insulted me.”
“That’s not an answer,” Kokonoi replies instantly, “It’s a reaction.” Sanzu drags a slow glare across the table toward him, and he immediately shuts up. No one tells him to. He just knows.
Kokonoi continues. “You’re in an organisation built on hierarchy. Insults come with the territory. Why couldn’t you control yourself?”
“Because I didn’t think that he deserved to speak to me that way,” you answer boldly. The room shifts. Very slightly. Like you said something incorrect. Ran raises a brow, intrigued. Rindou’s expression darkens. Kokonoi’s jaw tightens the way it does when numbers don’t balance.
Sanzu is the one who speaks. “You think respect is something you’re owed.” He says it like a diagnosis, not a criticism. You swallow. “I think respect goes both ways.”
Ran laughs under his breath, leaning back. “Oh, she’s bold.”
Rindou mutters, “No. She’s naïve.”
Kokonoi muses quietly, “Boldness without power is a death sentence.”
Before you can respond, Sanzu taps the table with one finger. “Stand up.” It’s not a request. Your chair scrapes loudly against the marble as you rise. The sound echoes too long. Sanzu watches you like he’s tracking prey - lazy posture, razor-sharp eyes. He gestures to the guy you punched.
“Hit him again.”
You stare at Sanzu, unsure if you heard correctly. Ran stops tapping his fingers. Rindou’s gaze sharpens. Even Kokonoi looks at Sanzu like he’s testing a hypothesis too early.
“I…” Your voice catches. “Right now?”
“No,” Sanzu deadpans. “Next Tuesday.” Then he smiles. Sharp and dominating. “Of course right now.” The man across from you shifts uncomfortably, suddenly less confident now that other eyes are on him.
Kokonoi sighs. “This isn’t necessary.”
“It is,” Sanzu counters, tone sugary-sweet but laced with venom. “She acted on impulse. I want to see if she has conviction.”
Ran folds his hands behind his head.
“Or if she only fights when she’s emotional.”
Rindou adds, “Or if she learned her lesson.”
All eyes return to you. You feel heat crawl up your neck. Every instinct screams that this is a trap - for you or for him, you’re not sure. “But-” You pause, choosing your words carefully, “What is the purpose?”
Ran smirks. “She wants a business case for assault.” Out of the corner of your eyes, you see how Rindou rolls his eyes, before replying with, “Purpose is obedience. You were given an order.”
Your pulse spikes. They’re not testing your violence. They’re testing your submission. Slowly, you exhale. “No.” The room goes dead silent and you wish you would just evaporate into thin air, because what the living fuck is going on.
Sanzu’s smile vanishes, replaced by something darker, “You’re refusing?” You nod once. “I won’t hit someone just because I was told to. I hit him because he crossed a line. That hasn’t changed.” The air shifts again - this time in your favor, somehow. Ran looks like he just discovered a new favorite distraction. Even Rindou looks reluctantly impressed.
Kokonoi leans back, studying you more deeply now. “So you’re not impulsive. You’re principled.” Sanzu taps his teeth with his tongue, clearly irritated, “Or she’s just stubborn.”
Ran counters smoothly, “Stubborn keeps people alive longer than obedient.” The guy you punched finally snaps.“Why the fuck are we entertaining this? She’s a receptionist. She doesn’t matter-”
He doesn’t finish the sentence.
Sanzu’s chair screeches back as he stands, crosses the room in three steps, and slams his hand onto the guy’s shoulder so hard the table shakes. His voice drops to a whisper that everyone hears. “If he didn’t want us here, we wouldn’t be. Shut up.”
Ran taps his lip thoughtfully, “So what do we do with her?” The question isn’t directed at Kokonoi; it’s directed at the room.
Rindou shrugs. “Keep her where she is. She’s harmless.”
Sanzu scoffs. “No one with that ego is harmless. Move her. Give her responsibility.”
Ran smiles. “I want to see what she does when we stop underestimating her.”
Kokonoi exhales slowly, eyes narrowing and calculating.“Or she could be reassigned to someone with the authority to manage her.”
Sanzu’s grin widens. “Oh? You volunteering?” Kokonoi doesn’t answer. The tension sharpens, threading between them like wire. They’re not just deciding your fate - they’re negotiating over you. You open your mouth, unsure whether to speak or stay silent. Before you can choose, Rindou cuts in.
“This is pointless. If he’s interested, he’ll decide. We’re wasting time.” The room goes dead still. Sanzu slumps back into his seat, suddenly bored.
After a few seconds of silence, Kokonoi announces, “Meeting dismissed. She will remain under observation.”
The asshole you punches is about to opens his mouth to complain about the fact that you’re let off so easily. That is until Sanzu notices out of the corner of his eye, and looks at him, slightly tilting his head. He offers him a gruesome smile, almost like telling him ‘if you speak I’ll slice open your stomach and play with your organs.’ He picks this up, and immediately lowers his head.
“Go back to reception, we will call you if need be,” Kokonoi continues.
You say nothing, stand up, offer a quick bow, and you shoot out of that meeting room like a bullet. As you walk out, you can feel their eyes lingering on your frame and you internally shiver.
You close the door quietly behind you and rest against it, immediately falling down to the ground and letting out a huge sigh of relief. You can finally breathe again.
Something catches your attention out of the corner of your eyes. It causes you to sharply turn your head, still alert due to the fuckass meeting you just had. It’s the strange man from earlier. You tilt your head, “You again.”
Before he has the chance to respond, you continue your sentence, “you’re like a fucking ghost.” You break eye contact and gently throw your head back against the door, where they’re still busy inside. He doesn’t seem to be offended. In fact, he ignores your statement entirely.
“You get kicked out?”
A small giggle of relief leaves your lips, “Not yet, thank fuck.”
He says nothing. He just stares - observes. You wonder who the fuck this man is. Why is he so curious? Why is he like a literal ghost? Before you can stop yourself, you blurt out, “Who are you?”
“Who do you think I am?”
You slowly push yourself up from where you were sitting, “I don’t know, maybe an assistant?” He offer no expression, except for raising an eye brow. He’s not offended; he finds it interesting that you think he’s an assistant. Little did you know that you were in for the shock of your life.
“Hm,” he responds once again, deep in thought about what you said.
“Well,” you interrupt his train of thought, “are you?”
You’re now standing up again, and feeling a bit more relaxed in this random man’s calming presence.
“No.”
You furrow your eyebrows in confusion - you thought you were good at reading people. “Then who are you?”
Before he could answer the door swings open. Sanzu and the Haitani brothers walk out, and before they shut the door, you catch a glimpse on what’s happening inside the meeting room. The guy you punched, drenched in blood, breathing slowly as if struggling, Kokonoi sitting opposite him. You look away, and you’re remind that you work for a criminal organisation, crawling with cold hearted killers.
“Why aren’t you at the front desk?” Rindou asks sharply. You open your mouth but before you can reply, Ran interrupts you, “disobeying another order? Interesting.” He smirks.
Sanzu cackles at Ran’s statement, and it makes you nervous. Their presence makes you nervous. He catches of the still unknown man standing calmly as ever in the hallway.
“She’s an interesting one, isn’t she boss?”
Boss.
Your blood runs cold. All colour drains from your face and your mouth hangs open in shock.
Before anyone can say anything you bow, “I - Excuse me. I have to get back to work.” You turn your back and quickly walk down the hallway towards the elevator. Thank fuck it opens before you have to press the button and wait. A man in a suit walks out and spots the men in the corridor. He completely ignores you, “Mikey. Good to see you. Let’s get straight down to business shall we?”
Mikey. It’s been confirmed. You were chit chatting with the leader of Bonten. You called him an assistant. You shake your head in embarrassment before entering the elevator.
Once inside, you turn around and press the ‘ground floor’ button. Before the elevator doors close, you make eye contact with someone. With him. The literal boss of Bonten. His cold, empty eyes stare at you and don’t look away until the doors have closed completely.
You don’t know what the fuck just happened, but you did know one thing - you needed a drink.
a/n: wsg bitches after 3 years I finally felt like writing again x
notes: bonten x reader, reader is a clever little fucker. no directly explicit content (yet), part 2, anyone?
You’ve been here enough times to know the patterns: the way the hopeful ones sit forward in their seats, elbows on the table, eyes glued to the cards like staring harder will change probability; the way the broken ones clutch their last chips with the same reverence someone else might reserve for a rosary; the way the staff notice you and then pretend they didn’t, because it’s safer to act like you’re just another name than to admit you’re the ghost that haunts their profit margins.
You tap the edge of a black chip against the felt, each soft click a metronome for your thoughts, your gaze moving lazily from the cards to the man across from you, whose forehead is already shining with nerves he doesn’t yet realize you’ve noticed, and when he finally folds with a muttered curse you don’t smile because the win doesn’t excite you, not really—what excites you is how predictable he was.
You’re not here for money, not truly.
You’re here because you’re bored, and boredom is what gets you into the most interesting trouble.
You lean back, chair tilted a little on its back legs, posture relaxed in that deliberately careless way that makes people underestimate you, and your mind wanders, cataloguing faces and microexpressions and patterns like a mental game of connect-the-dots.
And then the entire room changes.
It happens slowly and all at once. A dealer mid-deal falters. One of the security guards straightens like someone yanked a string in his spine. The laughter from the slot machines dims, as if the sound itself is nervous.
You feel it before you see it: that drop in temperature that has nothing to do with air-conditioning and everything to do with power stepping into the building.
You keep your eyes on the table for a heartbeat longer, because you’ve never been good at obeying unspoken rules, especially not the one that says look down when predators walk by, and the temptation to break that rule is irresistible.
Finally, you turn your head.
They stand at the entrance like a glitch in reality.
Men in dark suits that fit too well, posture too straight to be anything but dangerous, each of them carrying a different flavor of menace—sharp, lazy, analytical, unhinged. The staff look away quickly, the patrons even quicker, chips suddenly forgotten in trembling hands.
Bonten.
You recognize the name the way people recognize storm warnings.
Sano Manjiro walks at the front, smaller than some of the others and yet somehow the gravitational center of the entire room, black eyes empty in a way that makes your skin prickle, like looking at the sky right before lightning hits. At his side, slightly behind, is Haruchiyo Sanzu—pink hair that shouldn’t look as elegant as it does, a scarred mouth curled into the kind of smile that says he’s thinking at least three violent things and enjoying every one of them.
Behind and around them: the Haitani brothers, Ran and Rindou, radiating opposite energies but the same predatory amusement; Kakucho, straight-backed, watchful, wired with quiet tension; Kokonoi, gaze already moving like he’s calculating profit margins on the wallpaper; Takeomi like a shadow dragged from another life, something tired and dangerous in his eyes.
The casino bends around them without anyone moving a muscle.
You feel the shift in attention like static, like the entire room folding inward while you sit exactly where you are, tapping your chip against the table, the only person who still looks like they might be enjoying themselves.
You should be afraid, you think.
But mostly, you’re just intrigued.
Sanzu’s eyes sweep the casino lazily, all sharp pink and pale blue and something unhinged lurking at the edges, and when his gaze passes over you, he doesn’t keep going.
He stops.
His head tilts slightly, the way a cat might notice something fluttering in the corner, and even from across the room you see the way his grin deepens. He lifts a hand, two fingers touching his temple in a mock salute, a silent “I see you” sent across distance and cigarette haze.
You let the corner of your mouth twitch—not into a smile, not fully, just enough to acknowledge the gesture while making it very clear you are not impressed, you are not intimidated, you are not going to suddenly look away like everyone else does when monsters stare at them.
If anything, you stare back.
His eyes widen just a fraction, like you’ve done something surprising without even trying.
Then he starts walking toward you.
He doesn’t part the crowd so much as the crowd parts for him, bodies shifting aside out of pure survival instinct, people finding urgent reasons to move away from your table as if they’ve all decided simultaneously that your immediate radius is now a blast zone.
You sit up slightly, chair legs settling onto the floor, posture still relaxed but sharper now, senses tuned. Your brain hums: Bonten. Casino. High value targets. Power structure. What do they want? What do I want? How dangerous can this get before it gets fun?
He reaches your table and drops into the seat across from you like he’s claimed it, like he’s claimed you, his elbows resting on the felt, long fingers laced together, rings flashing under the warm lights.
Up close, he’s worse. Better. Both.
Eyes too bright, like he’s constantly on the edge of laughing or killing or both at once. The scars slicing through his lips draw your gaze for half a second—not out of pity, just fascination with how they twist his smile into something that never looks fully sane. There’s a faint chemical scent on him—smoke, metal, expensive cologne, and something medicinal that makes you think of powder on mirror glass.
“Didn’t expect to find a shark in a place this small,” he says, voice low, rough around the edges, the words coming out with a lazy ease that doesn’t quite hide the predator underneath. “You’re the one they whisper about, right? The gambler who doesn’t know how to lose.”
The dealer looks like he wants to sink into the floor.
You spin the chip once between your fingers, letting it dance over your knuckles, and offer him a slow, lopsided smile.
“I wouldn’t say I don’t know how,” you answer, your tone light, conversational, as if you’re talking to some random idiot and not Bonten’s right hand. “I just find losing… statistically unappealing.”
His grin sharpens.
“Oh, I like you already.”
He flicks two fingers at the dealer without taking his eyes off you. “Poker. High stakes. No training wheels.”
The dealer hesitates. “S-Sir, the table limit—”
“Doesn’t apply to me,” Sanzu interrupts, still watching you, voice pleasant but carrying enough violence under the surface to make the man swallow his next words. “Raise it. And we’re changing the rules.”
You arch a brow. “Are we, now?”
He nods, amusement flickering in his gaze. “No folding after the turn. If you’re in, you’re in.”
You make a soft thoughtful sound, tilting your head, eyes narrowing slightly in that way you get when your brain starts tossing possibilities around like puzzle pieces—odds, tells, human ego, risk profiles.
“That’s strategically inefficient,” you say. “Which is why you like it.”
“Exactly,” he says, delighted. “So. You playing?”
You look at the pile of chips still neatly stacked in front of you, then at his empty space, then back at him, reading the impatience in the tap of his finger against the table, the subtle twitch of anticipation in his jaw.
“I was bored,” you admit calmly. “You might fix that. Deal me in.”
He laughs, a quick sharp sound that turns a few heads, and he leans back in his chair, stretching like a cat in sunlight as the dealer shuffles, the cards a blur between shaking fingers.
Around you, Bonten gathers.
They don’t crowd, they frame you, like a living portrait. Ran slinks in first, lazily propping a hip against the rail, purple hair falling over amused eyes; Rindou takes a more detached angle, arms crossed, observing like he’s cataloguing your movements for later. Kokonoi lingers back but his gaze is razor-focused, weighing, measuring. Kakucho positions himself where he can see both you and the rest of the room, protective by habit, unreadable by design. Takeomi exhales smoke, looking like he’s seen this story before in a different year with different players.
Mikey stops at the edge of the table, hands in his pockets, blank gaze resting on you like a silent judgment.
You feel all of it—the pressure, the interest, the danger—and your pulse doesn’t spike, it steadies, like your body recognizes this as the kind of moment you were built for.
Conflict. Strategy. Audience.
Perfect.
The first hand is a test.
You can see it in the way Sanzu’s expression flickers between lazy and focused, how he watches not just your eyes but your hands, your breathing, the angle of your shoulders. You deliberately let your gaze drift, not too much, just enough to pretend distraction, pausing on Mikey for a fraction of a second, then on Ran’s smirk, then on Kokonoi’s gleaming watch.
You don’t bother to hide the way you study Sanzu in return. The slight twitch at the corner of his mouth when he has a strong opening hand. The way his fingers go still when he’s considering a bluff. The almost imperceptible shift in his eyes when the card on the flop doesn’t match what he hoped for.
He’s good, very good—reckless, but in a calculated way, like a man who’s grown used to the world rewriting itself to suit his madness. He throws chips into the pot with an ease that tells you money doesn’t matter to him; what matters is the game, the risk, the rush.
You understand that a little too well.
You play the first few rounds lightly, folding once, calling twice, winning small pots and losing smaller ones, feeding him a pattern to misread. Your posture stays loose, almost lazy; you talk more than you should, on purpose, drifting topics from card probability to casino architecture to whether or not slot machines are the most effective psychological torture machines ever invented.
At one point, when he raises pre-flop with a little too much enthusiasm, you hum and say, “You do realize you’re broadcasting your excitement like a pirate radio station, right?”
His eyes narrow just a fraction. “And you do realize most people wouldn’t say that to my face.”
“Most people are boring,” you say simply, and flip your cards to fold.
Ran laughs under his breath. “She’s fun.”
“She’s reckless,” Rindou mutters, though there’s a spark of reluctant appreciation in his tone.
“Reckless people survive longer than cowards,” you say without looking at him. “At least in stories that are worth telling.”
You feel Mikey’s gaze sharpen at that, just a flicker, like your words have hit an old nerve.
Sanzu drums his fingers once, twice, studying you like you’re a puzzle he hasn’t seen before.
“You talk a lot,” he muses.
You shrug. “I think a lot. Talking is a side effect.”
He grins, slow and delighted. “It’s going to be fun breaking you.”
You meet his eyes, hold them, and let your smile morph into something sly and dangerous.
“You can try,” you murmur. “But you’ll probably end up liking me instead.”
Takeomi exhales another ribbon of smoke that might be a laugh. Kokonoi’s eyes glint like someone just put a new investment opportunity on the table. Ran looks almost giddy.
Mikey says nothing, but his weight shifts slightly, attention tightening.
The air between you and Sanzu changes.
By the time the big hand comes, the table has become its own world.
The rest of the casino might as well be another planet; the chatter and slot machine noises and distant music blur into background static, unimportant. All that matters is the circle of light over the table, the green felt, the turning of cards, the clack of chips, the steady, electric line of tension strung between you and the man across from you.
He’s leaned closer now, forearms resting on the edge of the table, chin tipped down, pink hair falling slightly over his eyes. From this distance you can see the faint tremor in his hands—not fear, you realize, but thrill, like his whole body is vibrating with the high of the risk.
You’re calmer than he is, and he hates it and loves it at the same time.
The dealer lays out the next hand.
Your hole cards: nothing spectacular, but workable. The kind of hand that can turn beautiful if the board cooperates and the opponent overestimates their edge.
You don’t let any reaction show. You just glance down, glance up, and tap your chip once.
Sanzu raises pre-flop, eyes on you the entire time, not even pretending to care about anyone else at the table—though it hardly matters, because by now there is no one else. The last remaining players have folded out of fear or caution or common sense, leaving the two of you alone in the spotlight, surrounded by the silent semi-circle of Bonten.
You match his raise.
The flop comes down. One card you wanted. One you expected. One that changes nothing and everything.
Sanzu’s gaze flickers to the board, then back to you. You watch the microsecond of satisfaction in his pupils, the faint upward quirk of his lips.
He thinks he’s ahead.
He bets big.
You don’t rush. You let the silence stretch, fingers lightly drumming the felt, gaze wandering as if you’re considering the décor. You let your eyes drift over the circle: Kakucho’s sharp focus, Ran’s delighted grin, Rindou’s narrowed eyes, Kokonoi’s calculating tension, Mikey’s unreadable face.
You return to Sanzu and meet his eyes like you’ve just made a decision.
“Call.”
The pot grows, chips stacked high, a gleaming monument to risk in the center of the table.
The turn comes.
Another shift. Another possibility. Odds sliding like beads on an abacus inside your mind, probability trees branching out in a fractal pattern only you can see.
Under the table, your leg bounces once—not in anxiety, but restless excitement. Your brain is loud and bright, mapping outcomes, weighing his tells, factoring in personality traits and ego and that unhinged edge that makes Sanzu the worst person to bluff and the best person to bait.
He watches you like he’s trying to crawl inside your head.
“You’re… too calm,” he murmurs. “Either you’re faking it, or you know something I don’t.”
You smile slowly. “I usually know something other people don’t. That’s why I’m good at this.”
He laughs, low and sharp. “Arrogant.”
“Accurate,” you correct—then you say, almost thoughtfully, “Are we sure you’re not the arrogant one, going all in on every little thrill?”
Ran lets out a low whistle. “She’s going to get herself killed.”
“Or hired,” Kokonoi says softly.
Sanzu’s eyes glitter. “You think you’ve got me figured out?” he asks.
You tilt your head. “I think you like to pretend you’re chaos,” you say, voice soft enough that only those close can hear, “but underneath it, you’re still bound by patterns like everyone else. You take bigger risks when someone challenges your ego. You bet higher when you think someone’s underestimating you. And you talk more when you’re not sure you’re actually winning.”
For a moment, his mask slips.
Then he smiles, slow and dangerous. “You’ve been watching me closely.”
“You sat at my table,” you say. “What did you expect me to do? Blink and cry?”
He huffs out a sharp breath that might be a laugh, and then he does something that makes the entire table tighten.
“All in.”
He shoves his entire stack forward, fingers gliding through the chips with a certain vicious elegance, and the mountain of money crashes into the center of the table with a heavy, final sound.
The dealer goes pale.
Kakucho’s shoulders go taut. Rindou’s brows shoot up. Ran’s grin widens. Kokonoi’s eyes flick to your face instantly, searching for the crack, the flinch, the hesitation.
There isn’t one.
You look at the chips, then at Sanzu, and then you smile in that slow, bright way that has gotten you into so much trouble your whole life.
“Okay,” you say simply. “All in.”
Your hands are steady as you push your stack forward, the tower of chips joining his in the center, transforming the table into something more than a game: a wager of pride and power and the right to walk out without a target on your back.
The room feels like a held breath.
Sanzu’s pupils are blown, adrenaline rushing under his skin. “You really don’t fear me, do you?” he asks, voice softer now, almost curious.
You consider the question for a moment, genuinely, and then you shake your head.
“No,” you say. “You’re dangerous, but danger is just… information. Once I understand it, it stops being scary.”
That earns you something new in his gaze—respect, twisted through obsession.
Mikey shifts closer, his shadow touching the edge of the table, his presence cold and quiet. When he speaks, his voice is soft and flat, but it slices through the tension like a blade.
“Show your hands.”
It’s not a request.
You and Sanzu stare at each other, neither of you moving for a second, the weight of the moment pressing down. Then, at the exact same time, you both slide fingers under your cards.
“On three,” Sanzu says, lips curling. “One…”
His eyes hold yours.
“Two…”
You can feel every gaze in Bonten locked onto you, measuring, waiting, deciding.
“Three.”
You lay your hand down.
It lands with the kind of inevitability that makes people believe in fate.
The board sings with probability gone your way. Your mediocre opening has bloomed into something beautiful and brutal—stronger than it had any right to be, strengthened by every small risk you took, every call you made, every second you spent reading his ego instead of just his cards.
Sanzu’s smile falters.
He flips his hand, almost robotically.
It’s good. Very good. Another player would have folded in worshipful panic. Another player would have been destroyed.
But not you.
You win. Cleanly. Final.
For a heartbeat, no one breathes.
Then the sound rushes back all at once—a stuttered exhale from the dealer, an aborted curse from someone standing too close, the faint clink of a glass at the bar where someone’s hand shakes.
You sit there, calm and still, looking at the cards like you’re mildly pleased with a hypothesis confirmed.
Sanzu leans back slowly in his chair, eyes wide, lips parted, staring at the table with a look that’s not shock so much as disbelief tipping into something far more dangerous.
Then, to your absolute delight, he laughs.
It starts low in his chest, then rises, rough and unhinged, spilling out into the heavy air. He drags a hand through his hair, head tipped back, eyes glittering with mania and something like joy.
“You—” he chokes out, pointing a finger at you, laughter shaking his shoulders. “You beat me. You actually beat me.”
Ran is smirking so hard it looks painful. “I told you she wasn’t just talk.”
Rindou exhales through his nose, reluctantly impressed. “She read you like an open book, Sanzu.”
Kokonoi’s gaze is on you now, calculating. Not just the money, no—for once the numbers seem secondary to what you represent: intelligence, nerve, talent. An asset.
Kakucho’s expression softens just a hair. You see it—the flicker of respect in the way he straightens—and you know that in his world, that means more than most words.
Takeomi takes a long drag of his cigarette and mutters, “This is going to be trouble,” and he doesn’t sound upset about it.
Mikey steps closer.
The temperature drops again. Not in reality, but in feeling, the kind of chill that moves along the back of your neck when someone who decides life and death takes an interest in you.
You don’t stand. You don’t bow your head. You sit there, surrounded by chips and proximity to death, and you meet his gaze head-on.
“What’s your name?” he asks.
Not “who are you.” Not “where did you learn that.” Just the one thing he’s decided matters.
You tell him.
He repeats it once, like he’s testing how it feels in his mouth, then nods.
“You’re wasted on this place,” he says simply. “We’re taking you with us.”
The way he says it leaves no space for argument. It’s not a suggestion or an invitation. It’s a declaration—like saying the sky is dark, or the cards are dealt, or the house always wins.
Except tonight, the house didn’t.
Your lips curl, slow and dangerous.
“With respect,” you say, tone polite but edged in steel, “Bonten doesn’t just take me. You want me, you convince me.”
A ripple goes through the circle.
Rindou tenses. Kakucho’s hand shifts slightly, just enough that you know he’s ready to move if things go sideways. Ran looks delighted, like he’s watching his favorite drama live. Kokonoi’s eyes go wide for a split second, then narrow in fascination.
Sanzu’s laughter dies down into something quieter, more focused. He leans forward again, eyes gleaming, elbows on the table, invading your space like he owns it.
“Oh, we’ll convince you,” he says softly, the promise in his voice more dangerous than any threat. “You like games, don’t you?”
You tilt your head. “I like winning.”
His grin slices across his face, all scar and sin and madness.
“Then come with us,” he murmurs, “and I’ll make sure you never get bored again.”
Mikey watches you, utterly still.
And you realize in that suspended, electric moment that the real gamble of the night wasn’t the hand you just played—it’s the decision you’re about to make now, with all of Bonten’s attention pinned on you like butterflies in a glass case.
You look at Sanzu, at the way he’s practically vibrating with the thrill of having been beaten and wanting, now, to own the person who did it.
You look at Mikey, at the quiet, fathomless weight in his eyes that tells you he’s already placed a bet on your future in his mind.
And you feel it.
That familiar, reckless spark in your chest.
Curiosity.
You smile, bright and sharp and utterly unafraid.
“Fine,” you say. “Surprise me.”
The corner of Mikey’s lips lifts a fraction.
Sanzu’s eyes light up like someone handed him a brand new weapon.
The world outside the casino keeps spinning, indifferent, unaware—but for you, the timeline shifts, the stakes rise, and the night that started as a game has turned into something far more dangerous.
You stand, chips forgotten, and feel every gaze follow you.
And as you step away from the table and toward Bonten, you have the very distinct, thrilling feeling that you haven’t signed up to be their pet gambler—
You’ve just walked into their den as the one person stupid and brilliant enough to try and bend the house to your own rules.
hiding away in a closet as to not get caught by the enemies but dazai decided to be a menace and make you ride his thigh so you have to stifle your moans, could you write a scenario about this? thank you!
closet
Dazai Osamu x Reader
warnings -> NSFW, language
a/n: yes, anon, yes. great mind, anon, great mind. requests are closed
reblogs are appreciated <3
if you had to choose one word to describe your situation right now, it would be uncomfortable. you love Dazai with all your heart, you really do, but in situations like this, you wish you could just sew his mouth shut. wether it be because of the filth he’s spewing into your ear or the teasing words that just won’t stop. and the worse part, is that it gets you all worked up.
you didn’t choose to be here. you were forced into this tiny closet by your own mind, to avoid making contact with the enemy. and honestly, you praise your critical thinking skills but at the same time you hate yourself for falling into Dazai's trap. you think for a second that maybe he had this all planned out, ending up in a closet, pressed closely into each other.
he's got your body pressed into his, both of your legs spread between his thigh, giving him leverage of teasing your cunt. you silently curse yourself for wearing a skirt, the only thing that had been available. which gives dazai more leverage, your clit being separated, from his pants, by your thin thong.
as you're lost in thought, trying to figure out how to get yourself out of the current dilemma you're in, you're immediately brought back to reality when dazai flexes his thigh. you bite your lip to keep your moans intact, but the way you clit rolls along his thigh already indicates that, that scheming bastard has you right where he wants you.
"Dazai, do not start with your shit," you warn when you feel his hands wander down to your clothed waist. "But my belladonna! This is the perfect opportunity for you to test your self control!" He whispers enthusiastically into your ear. you lightly smack him over the head and he winces.
you're about to scold him, but he covers your mouth with his hand, smirking and putting a finger over his mouth to indicate that you need to be quiet. that's when you hear it. the faint noise of the enemy's guards. Dazai's hand slowly leaves your mouth and you try to calm your beating heart. then he begins.
Dazai presses your body impossibly close to his; he's kissing your neck as you sit comfortably on his thigh, trying to maintain your last bit of sanity. "Dazai," you interrupted yourself with a soft gasp when you feel his hands start to guide your hips up and down his thigh.
"Shh, my darling. You don't want us getting caught do you?" you shake your head and bury yourself into Dazai's neck. you try and gather your thoughts to whisper back a snarky comment, but the feeling of your covered clit sliding up and down Dazai's thigh is too much.
"Dazai," you mumble into his neck, "we really shouldn't-- ah!" Dazai pushes your head further into his neck when he hears the footsteps get closer to the closet that you're located in. "I know it feels good, my love, but you need to be quiet," Dazai's raspy voice against your ear has you soaking even more.
the feeling of almost being able to get caught excites you. maybe it's the fact that right behind the closet door there are people who can easily discover your current rendezvous with a simple pull. or maybe it's how you have to stay quiet or you're fucked even more than you are now. either way, it riles you up and of course, Dazai's enjoying every moment of this.
he continues to move you on his thigh, you nails clawing into his shoulders. he can feel the damp stain forming on his pants and based on the way that you're whimpering into his shoulder, he can see that you're close to reaching an orgasm. your body locks in when you hear the footsteps stop right outside of the closet, the guards continuing their casual conversation.
Dazai grins when you lift your head out of his shoulder, eyes wide, like you're a deer that's been caught in the middle of the road. he smirks to himself when you throw your head back in pleasure, trying to control your breathing. the friction of your wet clit on his thigh becomes exhilarating.
"Dazai--" you stop when you feel his hand behind your head, pushing you into his neck again to stifle your moans. "'m close, 'm gonna cum," you whine into his neck. "Shh, belladonna, I know," he tries to lower your voice. it takes one last motion of up and down, and you tensing up, legs shaking and your teeth biting into Dazai's neck, trying to stay as quiet as possible.
Dazai chuckles as he lets go of your your waists, his hands rubbing your back. you lift remove your head from his neck, heart racing and chest heaving up and down, as you try to control your panting. " I know you enjoyed that," Dazai says and you can already see the smirk on his face, despite not even looking at him.
"Dazai, shut the fuck up and figure out how to get us out of here, please. I'm to fucked out to think," you pant softly and he giggles. "Hmm, belladonna... I'd watch my tone if I were you, we're far from done."
a/n: just something random I came up with :3 requests are closed
reblogs are appreciated <3
you're not supposed to be here. you know you're not supposed to be here. but just as fate has its way with everyone, it seems that tonight your feet were led by fate, as you stand before Dazai's door. your ex coworker's door. yes, ex coworker. Dazai's time at the port mafia was never really spent alone. he was always with chuuya, or Mori, or you.
friends with benefits. no strings attached. that's what it was supposed to be. did it end up just being that? no. did both parties catch feelings and were then torn apart by that stupid thing called fate? maybe. all that you could feel right now, was the embarrassment crawling up your spine. and not to mention, you were soaked.
you just couldn't do it anymore. the absolute horror of being in the port mafia. at the beginning, you had no choice. poor, no parents, you had no choice but to join the port mafia. the killing, the brutality and all things bad, you had no choice but to cope. and your coping mechanism? dazai. of course, it wasn't always sexual, the both of you being teenagers, you were close. good friends. best friends
that is, until you got older. feelings started to bubble up within your chest and before you knew it, the both of you couldn't keep your hands off of each other. which is ironic, since you decided on the 'friends with benefits' label. therefore, when dazai left, it came to no surprise that you were heart broken. you only string of hope had left you.
so, when you just couldn't do it anymore, you ordered your henchmen to find his address and then one day you popped. that day was today. you had seen an innocent child been killed by the port mafia's hands and you just couldn't do it anymore. why did he get to leave? why didn’t he tell you? why did he leave you?
after work, you ran through the rain to his address, curious and desperate for his touch, after a dreadful four years without him. so here you were, soaking wet from the Yokohama rain and face red, awkwardly standing outside his door. you hadn't knocked or rung the doorbell or anything, however you did come to the conclusion that this was stupid.
he’s probably forgotten about you. he obviously didn't care, since he hasn't tried contacting you. so with a blood red face and shaky hands, you turn around. your feet are heavy and the pounding sound of rain has taken over your hearing as you dreadfully move your body away from his door.
"Y/N?"
you immediately froze at the sound of your name and at the sound of that voice. your brain tried to register wether or not you were become delirious because of the exhaustion or not. with stiffed shoulders you slowly turned towards that very familiar voice. your eyes were met with wide brown ones, an expression of shock.
"hey, dazai," you said softly and giggled awkwardly. "how've you been?" Stupid. You shouldn't have asked that, now he's going to think you're mental. your thoughts got the best of you, and before you knew it, you felt a pair of hands on your shoulders. "you're tired," dazai states, looking deep into your soul.
your eyes are tearing up, fat tears threatening to fall. "I-" your voice fails you, the inability to speak over takes you. you head falls onto his chest and sobs violently escape your throat. Dazai's arms are quick to slither around you, as he pulls you closer. "why did you leave me?" you sob into his chest, and all he's able to do is stroke your hair, water dripping down his fingers.
the two of you stand in front of his door, holding onto each other as the rain pours onto the roof above you. "I can't, dazai. I can't do it anymore," you say between hiccups, your head still pressed against his chest. "I know, darling. I know," he sighs back, patting you like he used to. it feels so familiar, so natural.
for a second, it's perfect. for a second, the two of you are one. and for a second, the two of you are long lost lovers, finally reuniting. when dazai grabs your chin, looking at your red puffy eyes, you hear the words you've been waiting for. "join me," he says, eyes sparkling. your heart can't help but jump, butterflies forming.
*slides in your inbox politely* Dazai taking out his stress on me after a bad day at work 👀 (if possible the reader works at ADA to.) Totally cool if not. I read your fic 'no mine' and I'm in love 💖
stress ball
Dazai Osamu x Reader
warnings -> NSFW, language
a/n: plsssss @dazaiscum I am in love with your username <3 and I hope you enjoy :) requests are closed
reblogs are appreciated <3
dazai, in general, is a very relax person, and so when he's stressed, he'd often make jokes about the situation at hand to lighten the mood. very little people have actually seen dazai stressed, you being an exception. of course, with him being your boyfriend and all, it would be normal for you to see him stressed. and so when you do, you have no problem offering yourself to him as a stress reliever.
dazai is quite difficult to outsmart, however you can see right through him. which is why you're not surprised when he pounced on you the moment the two of you walked through your door. not lots of things cause dazai to get stressed, however the constant routine put together by kunikida causes him to tick just a bit. especially since he's too lazy to actually do all of the paperwork himself. which then ends up in him slowly sliding the paper towards Atsushi's desk and then Atsushi politely declining and insisting that he should do the work himself. Hence dazai is left with no choice but to do the work himself.
as he's sitting at his desk, actually doing the work himself, you notice the way his eye twitches as he looked down on the pile of paperwork he has to do. you notice the way his hand shakes with frustration when after two hours, he only gets half way through the pile. and you notice the way he subtly glances at you, every now and then, to get his mind away from the living hell in front of him.
by the end of the day, when work hours are finished, you end up with a very irritated, stressed and annoyed dazai. so of course, being the wonderful girlfriend that you are, you don't mind at all when he pushes your legs to your chest, putting you in a press, and fucking your brains out, releasing all the pent up stress on you. in fact, judging by the way you're eyes are rolled back and the strings drool falling pass your lips, you actually love it. and due to dazai's observing gaze, he notices immediately.
"My, my, belladonna, you're quite the slut! Creaming all over my cock as I use you as my stress ball."
he says it in a condescending tone, as he snaps his hips harder into your pussy. a strand of pleads leave your mouth and he chuckles, "fuck, I bet you do like it, my whore." the degrading words have you clenching and creaming around his cock, much faster than expected. dazai grunts at the feeling and pushes your legs even more against your chest, splitting you open. "Ah!" you yell out as he continues to abuse that spongy spot inside your cunt.
"Hmm, belladonna, you're gonna make me cum," he mutters against your ear as his hips speed up. you can't help the pleads and moans bubbling up from your throat, as your cunt constantly clings against his cock. his hips come to a sudden stop against yours as he grunts. you let out a scandalous moan as you feel dazai's hot cum released inside of you. he stays still for a while, both of you catching your breath's.
"fuck, thank you, belladonna," he says softly as he pulls out, watching his cum leak out of your fucked out pussy. you hum in return, a small smile on your face. dazai slowly wipes up the cum with a tissue before he flops down next to you. you laugh as he groans into the pillow, saying something about unfinished paperwork and kunikida's scolding.
when you realize that a couple of days ago kunikida told you that this whole week was just gonna be paper work, tingles run down your back, excited for tomorrow night.
hey i saw your request post and decided to ask you to make a headcanon for dazai and chuuya's s/o reacting to them having a pick me girl friend? the friend then just bothers s/o and say that they are not compatible with them and says they need a s/o who has the same interest thank you!
Dazai Osamu & Nakahara Chuuya encountering a 'pick me'
->Dazai Osamu x Reader
->Nakahara Chuuya x Reader
warnings-> language, nothing really
a/n: tysm for requesting, I hope you enjoy <33 requests are closed
replogs are appreciated <3
-> Dazai Osamu
you know, having a genius as a boyfriends really is helpful 99.9% of the time.
the day started ordinary, you both woke up, got dressed and headed work.
first thing that happened was that kunikida scolded you both for being late, which you ended up blaming on dazai, who was so dramatic about it, "but my belladonna! you are the one who refused to let me go in bed this morning!"
which was a complete lie, in fact he refused to let you go
so, as punishment for being late, kunikida sent the both of you to go buy supplies for the agency, which you happily agreed to because at least he didn't give you extra paper work (not that dazai would have done it anyways)
the two of you get to the shopping malls and the first thing you do is get ice cream. insisted by Dazai. "baby, you know we're technically on work duty right now yeah?"
"ah, it's just an excuse to spend more time with my belladonna <3"
you are dating a man baby
so fast forward and you're done with the shopping, after three and a half hours. why? because someone kept on getting distracted by bandages sales.
when you're done, you go put all the shopping bags in the car and as you're doing that, Dazai decided to get more ice cream. "here you go my love!" "Dazai, this is our third round of ice cream-"
you take it anyways because you love him so much <3
so now you both are sitting on a bench in the park, enjoying your third round of ice creams.
your mindset is so very calm and peaceful and you're convinced nothing can go wrong as your laughing at dazai's stupid suicide jokes, that include ice cream. yes, his new plan is to commit suicide by drowning in ice cream
that is until you see her
"shit, dazai, hide me!" you whisper scream as you plunge yourself into his neck, trying to hide your face from the girl that everyone hates
dazai is so confused, but the moment he's about to ask, you hear her annoyingly fake high pitched voice, "Oh my! Y/N is that you?"
"fuck me," you whisper as you slowly remove yourself from dazai's neck, who by the way, caught up on what's happening and is shining like the sun, beyond amused
"hey Aiko," you say through gritted teeth, a forced smile on your face.
"My oh my! Who's this man next to you! Don't be a hag, Y/N, introduce us!"
you have to physically stop yourself from pouncing on this woman and beating the fuck out of her.
you open your mouth to reply, but dazai is quicker than you, "She doesn't have to introduce me, I can do that myself. Dazai Osamu, nice to meet you."
you're quite terrified. even though Dazai has a smile on his face, you'd have to be dumb to mishear the very obvious threat behind his words.
"oh wow! Y/N how'd you manage to pull him? he's wayyyyyy out of your league, and wayyyyy to attractive for you"
she giggles after saying that, twisting her fake blonde extensions around her index finger, acting all innocent
all the color of your face has been drained. anyone can see that you're now visibly upset.
Dazai's just smiling, but if looks could kill she'd be dead, twice
"you know, if you want something better, I'm free tonight. I'm sure Y/N has my number, you can ask her for it," she says eyeing you up and down, "I'm not as... basic as all the other girls."
Dazai can't help but let out a chuckle, he finds this very entertaining.
"no thank you, I don't waste my time with worthless whores like yourself. my love is so much more than just manicured nails and fake hair. next time, before opening that worthless mouth of yours, get your facts straight<33"
you have to bite your lip in order not to laugh at her expression. Aiko is frozen in her spot, mouth open in shock.
"would you please move? you're blocking the view," Dazai says with a chuckle
she replies with a mumble of 'whatever' and walks away, her heals clicking loudly on the cement.
"Dazai! I could've handled it! That was going overboard!" you scold him.
"c'mon my belladonna, I saw the way you were trying not to laugh! you were enjoying it as much as I was!"
you giggle in response, nodding your head to agree with him
"besides, no one gets away with insulting you"
he'll always be there <3
-> Nakahara Chuuya
shame, that poor girl
because chuuya loves you so much, he often buys you expensive gifts, such as designer dresses and very pricy jewellery. you almost always wear the gifts he buys you to work
for some background, you also work at the port mafia. you're one of the top assassins and the top female assassin
everyone knows and doesn't know that you and chuuya are a couple
they've seen how the two of you interact and how he treats you, so they just assume that the two of you are together
but at the same time, they're to scared to actually ask
so therefore, everyone knows and doesn't know
however, there are a couple of people who know about your relationship, mori, kouyou, elise, the akutagawas and a couple of others
so, when you and chuuya are set up to interrogate an absolute whore, it comes to no surprise that chuuya's up on his feet ready to defend you at any moment
unfortunately, you have to start the interrogation alone, since chuuya had an executive meeting
you walk into the room and you've already lost your patience
the girl, named Aimi Tanaka, is slouching in her chair, chewing her gum extremely loudly, and is on her phone, almost like any 14 year old mean girl
you let out a sigh as you mentally prepare yourself for the frustration you're about experience
"good morning, miss Tanaka. I'm here to interrogate you about you boyfriend, Hiroto Ito," you say as you take a seat
"uhm... no. ex-boyfriend, actually," she says, taking a selfie and not even looking at you, still busy on your phone
"right," you mumble as you start questioning her. the first part of the interview went shit, she's barely able to look up from her phone as she's caught up on social media
even when you threated her with a gun, she didn't care
just as you were about to start screaming at her and emotionally fuck her up, Chuuya walked in
"right, I'm here, what are we dealing with?" he asked as he sat beside you
only then, Aimi decided to look up from her phone, giving Chuuya a hungry look. you didn't even try to mask the disgust on your face. she put down her phone, just to look at Chuuya
"well, hello," she giggled, as she pushed herself forward to give him a view of her clearly implanted breasts
Chuuya didn't even hear her, never less look at her as he placed a kiss on your cheek as a greeting, "What have you gotten out of her?"
you let out a sigh, head falling down on the table in despair, "Nothing, Chyuu. absolutely nothing."
only then is when he looked at Aimi, and he immediately understood why.
she was pushing her tits together and batting her eyelashes at him. she's realized that the two of you must be dating, since he had given you a kiss before
just as chuuya was about to threaten her, she started speaking.
she looked him dead in his eyes, mouth curling up into a smirk, "isn't it exhausting having a boring girlfriend?"
you stared at her in shock, looking at chuuya as he clenched his jaw in anger, but she continued.
"I mean... she's not even pretty! I bet I could give you everything you want and more."
after that, she giggled and gave you a dirty look, "and by the looks of those Louboutins and that Chanel dress she's wearing, I bet you'll be able to keep me happy as well."
Chuuya slammed his fists down onto the table and the girl flinched
"what an absolute whore," he said as he got up, pulling you by the hand and leading you out of the room
before he left, he looked at her fearful face, smirking down at her as he said,
"I don't fuck cheap pussy"
you laugh at his statement as he closed the door, his arm wrapping around your waste, he smashed his lips onto yours. he could feel you giggling into the kiss
"God, I love you," you said against his mouth and he replied by pressing his body harder into yours
Gin awkwardly stood outside, waiting for her next command
Chuuya turns to her, "Deal with her."
she gave him a curt nod and went into the room
the last thing you heard was the screaming of Aimi's voice as you and chuuya went to go eat lunch at a luxurious restaurant
anyone with a brain won't fuck with you becuase they'll know that chuuya will rain hell upon them <33
Hello, may I request angst to smut + chuuya with their s/o during an argument like spanking please.
hot headed
Chuuya Nakahara x Reader
warnings -> language, NSFW, filthy shit, angst
a/n: hi lovely ! thank you so much for being my first request <3 i hope you enjoy <33 requests are closed
reblogs are appreciated <3
you know, it wasn't supposed to be like this. if only chuuya wasn't so fucking possessive, maybe it would have ended differently. but you'd be lying to yourself if you said that you didn't like this position you were in right now. you were draped over his knees, ass red with how many times he had spanked you, forcing you to say 'thank you, sir' after each smack. how did you end up here? all because of your own stubbornness and pent up frustration you had with chuuya.
you work for the port mafia, one of the best assassins there. you knew that, mori knew that, yet chuuya wouldn't stop with his 'you need protection' shit. you were independent, so why couldn't he see that? did he look at you like you were some five year old? in reality, chuuya knew you were a strong, independent woman. however, that did not cover up the fact that you're his girlfriend. he didn't look at you, like any other member of the port mafia, no. he looked at you with love, and fear that he might loose you. which is why Mori rarely ever puts you two together in missions.
he knows that the emotional connection you two had would make it difficult to work with each other and you'd get in each other's way. not to mention, you won't be able to stop bickering. everyone knew that you loved your independence, so can you just imagine the disaster that would unfold if you two were put together. and since chuuya is an executive, with much more power than you, who also happens to be your boyfriend, you would not appreciate him telling you what to do.
but unfortunately, mori had no choice. looking at the given information and the stats, you two had to be put together for a mission. now the mission was a success! but it was how it became a success that matters, not to mori of course, if it's done it's done, but to the relationship you had with your boyfriend. you were fed up with his shit, him rudely shunting you around. today, he made damn sure you saw him as a boss and not a boyfriend, which pissed you the fuck off.
you had both gone on the mission, with backup men, and you being you, you quickly came up with a plan to eliminate the enemy. however, chuuya disapproved, pointing out each flaw in your plan. and when you insisted that your plan would definitely work, he shut you down immediately and came up with his own plan. worse part, was that his plan was much more effective and efficient than yours, not that you'll ever admit it. however, what bothered you that most was how rude he was with you, in front of your underlings as well. the whole thing just made you fucking angry. who did he think he was?
meanwhile, chuuya felt the exact same. he didn't like when people looked down on him, so when you had insisted on your plan, he had to make sure that you know your place. needless to say, everyone could feel the tension coming from you two. after the mission, you both calmly (or so it seemed) walked back to chuuya's penthouse. the two of you still hadn't spoken a word since the incident had happened. as you walked through the door, you waited patiently for chuuya to close it before you popped. "what the fuck is wrong with you?" you spat bitterly.
now, in hindsight, you regret saying that. "choose your next words carefully, pretty girl," he said coldly, staring into your soul, taking off his hat and putting it on the table. at that moment, you were way to frustrated to care about consequence, "no, you do not get to fucking do that right now." chuuya was becoming more and more angry by the second, "it's not my fucking fault your plan was fucking shit," he said, his face close to yours as he had angrily walked up to you with every word. next thing you knew, your hand made contact with his face, sending it into another direction.
you immediately pulled you hand away, both hands coming up to your mouth to cover your gasp. "baby, I'm so sorry, I didn't think I'd do-" before you could even finish your sentence, chuuya began to laugh. not a cute funny laugh, but an intimidating one that already had you thinking about how he was gong to punish you. "no, pretty girl. you weren't thinking," he said, right before his lips crashed against yours in a heated kiss. teeth crashing against teeth, tongues fighting for dominance, which he had won. and that’s how you ended up where you are now.
his hand made contact with your bare ass, sending stinging sensations up your spine as you let out a yelp. "thank you, sir" you said with a tremble in your voice. you could hear chuuya smirking as he replied with "no problem, pretty girl, it's what you deserve" after what seems like an eternity of him abusing your ass cheeks, he finally decided that you've had enough. not to mention, it's quite hard to miss the wetness dripping from your cunt. before you know it, he yanks your naked body up against his fully clothed one. "Have you learned you lesson, baby?" he asks in a mocking tone. "yes, sir. I have learned my lesson," you repeat as his hand cubs your cheek, his thumb collecting the sticky tears beneath your eye lids. "good girl."
the next moment, he has you up against the wall, fucking into your clenching cunt like a wild man. "yeah? you like that you fucking slut?" all you could do was drool against the wall as you frantically nodded your head up and down. "of course you do, dirty slut," his words have you creaming around him in a matter of seconds. and he doesn't stop there, "who the fuck gave you permission to cum?" a bubble of incoherent apologies leave your lips and it does nothing but boost his ego.
"chuuya!" you moan out as his hips speed up. "fucking slut, creaming around my cock," he grunts against your ear and before you know it, you're cumming on his cock again, milking him for everything he has. "Fuck!" his hips still as he pours his hot seed in your cunt. he stills for a moment, letting you both catch your breaths. When he pulls out, his fingers push his cum back into your cunt and you let out a whimper. he has to catch you when he lets go, since your knees had given out a while back. "whoa, pretty girl, I got you," he whispers as your arms find away around his neck. he picks you up and carries you to your shared bed. he doesn't care that you're all sticky and sweaty, he just needs to be close to you.
as your dozing off on his chest, he decides to speak, "I didn't let us go through with your plan, because I know you would've gotten hurt." he says it so softly it's like a silent confession, much more than enough to please you. you hum in response, "you know I love you, but I'm never again going on a mission with you ever again." you feel his chest vibrate beneath you as he laughs, an unspoken agreement.
