Can I request a little thing with Bonten Mikey and pregnant wife reader? Like reader just stops showing up one day and the rest of them get worried and one day she just shows up with baked goods and a big ole baby bump!
“surprise bump.”
bonten mikey x pregnant!fem!reader
the bonten executives are used to seeing you.
mikey’s wife. their queen. the only person who can walk into the room and calm even the nastiest of storms.
except… one day, you just stop showing up.
meetings, dinners, late-night hangouts—you’re nowhere. mikey doesn’t explain much either, and the tension starts to brew. ran teases about you leaving him. rindou jokes (too nervously) about a secret affair. even mochi starts pacing like a worried uncle.
by the time a whole month passes, they’re seconds away from staging an intervention for their boss.
and then the door to the bonten lounge swings open.
“hi boys,” you greet sweetly, balancing a tray of neatly wrapped baked goods.
every head turns. jaws drop. because it’s not just the muffins you’re holding—
it’s the very obvious baby bump you’re carrying.
“holy shit,” rindou blurts, nearly dropping his phone.
“what the—” sanzu almost chokes on his cigarette.
kokonoi actually blinks three times in disbelief.
ran whistles low. “well damn. so that’s where you’ve been hiding.”
mikey doesn’t say a word. he just gets up from his chair and walks over, as if the entire world has slowed down. his dead eyes are lit up in a way none of them have ever seen, and when he reaches you, he just… rests a hand on your belly like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
you smile up at him, kissing his cheek before handing him one of the muffins. “sorry for vanishing. i got a little busy.”
“a little?” mochi sputters. “you’re pregnant!”
you laugh, setting the tray down on the table as the others crowd around—half curious, half reverent, like they’re staring at some kind of miracle.
rindou immediately tries to reach for a muffin, but sanzu slaps his hand away.
“don’t touch the queen’s offering before she says you can.”
“what is this, communion?” ran snickers.
but beneath the jokes and chaos, there’s a soft kind of awe in the room. because for the first time, they’re reminded that their boss—the king of bonten, the man with the dead eyes—has something to live for. something warm.
mikey doesn’t let go of you the entire time. his hand stays over your bump, protective, possessive, like a silent warning: she’s mine. they’re mine.
and when the others finally get their muffins, rindou mutters under his breath, “guess it’s true then. what the queen wants, the queen gets.”
Can i request where Sanzu wife give birth a girl and the baby is identical to Senju
“she has your eyes.”
sanzu haruchiyo x fem!reader
the delivery room is quiet now. too quiet.
the doctors left, the nurses left, and it’s just the three of you—him, you, and the tiny bundle sleeping in your arms.
you thought haruchiyo would cry. you thought maybe he’d smile that broken, beautiful smile of his, the one he only shows you when the world is soft enough to allow it.
instead, he’s silent. staring.
your daughter—your perfect little girl—rests against your chest, wrapped in white. her breathing is soft, her lashes long, her tiny lips parted.
but it’s not her that’s making his throat close. it’s her face.
the same small nose. the same curve of her cheeks.
her eyes, when they opened earlier—god, they were the same pale blue as senju’s.
haruchiyo’s little sister. the sister he abandoned. the sister he betrayed. the sister he hated.
his fists clench at his sides. you see it—his jaw locked, his breathing uneven. he’s shaking, and not from joy.
“...haru,” you whisper, your voice tired, pleading. “say something.”
he swallows, throat dry.
“she—” his voice cracks, and he turns away for a moment, covering his mouth with his hand.
when he finally looks back at you, his eyes are glassy. “she looks… just like senju.”
the words hang in the air, heavy and sharp.
your heart twists, because you know what that means. every time he sees her, he’ll be reminded of everything he lost. everything he destroyed.
but then—he steps closer. slow, like he’s afraid. his hand trembles as he reaches out, hesitating above your daughter’s tiny head before finally letting his fingers brush her soft hair.
she stirs, making the smallest sound. and something in him breaks.
his knees buckle, and he kneels beside your bed, pressing his forehead to your arm as he finally lets the tears fall.
“i don’t deserve her,” he chokes. “or you.”
you press your lips to his hair, holding your baby close.
“haru… she’s ours. she’s yours. no matter who she looks like.”
he stays there for a long time, clinging to you like you’re the only thing tethering him to earth.
when he finally looks at his daughter again, his expression is softer. still aching, still haunted—but softer.
“she has senju’s eyes,” he murmurs. “but maybe… maybe she’ll have your heart.”
and for the first time that night, he lets himself hope.
Omg image this I was watching Wednesday and I Immediately thought of Bonten Mikey dressing up as Gomez and Morticia but like Mikey fits Morticia's personality more, please could you imagine them all looking at Mikey weird if he acted like Gomez instead. Down right bad for his queen. 😭
“my queen, my goddess, my everything.”
bonten mikey x fem!reader | crack + fluff
bonten’s halloween party was supposed to be simple. lowkey. just the executives, drinks, some costumes for the hell of it.
except, of course, your husband had other ideas.
“we’re doing a couples costume,” mikey had said firmly. “you’ll be morticia.”
you blinked. “and you’ll be… gomez?”
“no,” he corrected, dead serious. “i am morticia. but i’ll act like gomez.”
...you didn’t question it. because at this point, questioning mikey was like arguing with gravity—pointless.
so now here you are. standing in bonten hq, dressed as the perfect morticia addams, and mikey at your side… also dressed like gomez, but radiating morticia energy.
and the executives don’t know what to do with themselves.
—
“cara mia,” mikey breathes dramatically, taking your hand and kissing your knuckles like the world will end without you. “mon amour, my dark goddess, do you know how your beauty slays me?”
the room goes dead silent.
you blink. “…mikey.”
“don’t stop me, beloved. my lips exist only to worship you.” he grabs your hand again, kissing up your wrist, your arm, your shoulder.
ran chokes on his drink. rindou’s jaw actually drops. koko mutters, “what the fuck is happening right now.”
mikey tilts his head, eyes gleaming, and strokes your hair. “your eyes put the stars to shame. your skin—like the pale glow of the moon. your presence, intoxicating. i am but a humble man, ruined by your love.”
“bro,” mochizuki whispers. “he’s possessed.”
“nah,” ran says, eyes wide. “this is worse. he’s simping.”
“simping?” mikey repeats sharply, like the word offends him personally. he grabs your waist, pulling you flush against him. “this is no mere simping. this is devotion. obsession. eternal adoration. i would burn the world for her smile.”
you, torn between dying of secondhand embarrassment and melting at his words, just mumble, “mikey, they’re staring.”
“let them.” his voice drops, rich and low, and the way he’s looking at you makes your knees weak. “they should know what it means to truly love someone.”
you’re certain ran mutters “i feel sick” under his breath. rindou looks like he wants to evaporate. koko’s eye twitches.
meanwhile, sanzu is leaning back in his chair, smirking. “finally. about damn time he admitted he’s pussywhipped.”
“sanZU—” rindou hisses.
but mikey? mikey doesn’t even flinch. he just tilts his head, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he murmurs, “pussywhipped… and proud of it.”
the executives collectively scream internally.
you? you’re not sure if you want to crawl into a coffin from embarrassment or kiss him stupid for being so shameless.
either way, halloween is officially ruined for bonten—because mikey won’t stop calling you cara mia for the rest of the night.
I can see Sanzu being the type person for Mikey and reader. Like their own personal therapist but he gives no actual advice they just rant and solve the problem themselves but Sanzu knows everything and I mean everything, maybe a little to much and he can’t say anything about it. 🫠 And the others don’t ask what Mikey talks to Sanzu about because of the emotionless look in his eyes when he comes out of the office. 😭
"Therapist Sanzu (but Like, Not Really)" — Sanzu + Mikey x fem!reader
The Bonten headquarters had one unspoken rule:
Never. Ask. What Mikey and Sanzu talk about behind closed doors.
Especially when Mikey walked out of Sanzu’s office with that dead stare like he’d just faced a spiritual death and rebirth.
The first time it happened, Ran opened his mouth to ask—
“Don’t,” Rindou whispered, gripping his arm. “Just… don’t.”
Inside the Office, Earlier That Day
You were pacing the room like a storm. Mikey sat on the couch, arms folded.
Sanzu?
He sat cross-legged in his chair like a feral little pink-haired goblin, eating sour candy and staring blankly at the wall.
“I cannot believe he said that to me,” you snapped. “It’s not that hard to say ‘I’m sorry’ when you’re being a total jackass.”
Mikey side-eyed you, unimpressed. “I said I was sorry in my head.”
“You mumbled it into your ramen, Manjiro!”
Sanzu blinked. “...Did you at least finish the ramen?”
“Sanzu.” you both said in unison.
He shrugged, tossing another candy in his mouth.
You kept pacing. “We haven’t had a real date in weeks. We could’ve gone out, but instead we sat in silence and he watched some weird documentary about serial killers.”
Mikey muttered, “It was about brain chemistry.”
“Of murderers!”
Sanzu nodded thoughtfully, eyes still glazed. “That’s... kinda romantic. In a morbid way.”
“Stop helping,” you snapped.
But still—you ranted.
Mikey sulked.
Sanzu just sat there, absorbing it all like a therapy sponge from hell.
Eventually, after like 40 minutes of tension and passive-aggressive glares, Mikey spoke.
“You looked cute when you were mad though.”
You paused. “…You noticed?”
He blinked slowly. “You had that little crease between your eyebrows. I like it.”
You stared at him. “...You’re the worst. But also, ugh—fine.”
You flopped down beside him, and Mikey reached out, brushing your hand with his.
Truce.
Sanzu, still munching his candy, whispered to himself, “Therapy achieved.”
Later, in the hallway—
Mikey walked out of Sanzu’s office first, that signature deadpan look back in place.
Rindou glanced up from his phone. “Yo. You good?”
Mikey just stared. Didn’t say a word.
Sanzu walked out right after, sipping something aggressively pink from a juice box.
Ran leaned against the wall. “What even happens in there, man?”
Sanzu looked at them. Smiled wide.
“Wouldn’t you like to know~”
And vanished back into the chaos like a gremlin with every secret in the world.
Because Sanzu knows everything.
He knows Mikey’s softest thoughts.
He knows what you mutter when you think no one’s listening.
He knows how many times Mikey’s replayed your voice in his head instead of falling into the dark.
But say something about it?
Never.
He just watches the drama unfold like a psychic raccoon with a PhD in chaos.
Image Bonten Mikey with a out going person. Like the complete opposite of him. He wears all black and reader wears all bright colours and people are like ‘how 😀’ but they are like perfect for each other and makes out Mikey happy.
“Color Theory” — Bonten!Mikey x fem!reader
In the chaos of Bonten, Mikey was a constant.
Cold. Composed. Unreadable.
The mere sound of his boots down the hall was enough to silence an entire room. Rumors painted him as untouchable, void of emotion—a walking shadow dressed in black, feared even by his own executives.
So when he strolled into a café one afternoon with you on his arm, in your lemon yellow sundress and strawberry-glossed smile, jaws dropped.
“Is that Bonten Mikey?”
“And that’s… his girlfriend?”
“She’s so… bright??”
You had heart-shaped earrings that dangled with every bounce in your step. A pink scrunchie on your wrist. Little sparkles under your eyes that caught the sun just right.
You were everything Mikey wasn't.
And yet—he stood next to you, his hand calmly resting on the small of your back, like the world could go to hell and he'd still be at peace as long as you were beside him.
You noticed the stares. You always did.
But you never let them get to you.
You leaned into Mikey with a grin, eyes twinkling. “People are staring again.”
He blinked slowly. “Let them.”
You giggled. “Is it because I’m prettier than you?”
Mikey cracked the faintest smile—one of those rare ones that made even Sanzu raise an eyebrow whenever he caught it. “No. It’s because you’re louder than me.”
You made Mikey laugh. Not often. But enough.
Enough for the Bonten executives to get suspicious.
“Did he just…smile?” Ran had whispered once.
“She must be drugging him,” Rindou mumbled.
“I think she’s an angel,” Takeomi muttered under his breath, dead serious.
You were bright. Loud. Open-hearted.
The kind of person who left glitter in your wake, accidentally or not.
Mikey, on the other hand, was darkness wrapped in restraint. He was violence simmering beneath the surface.
But with you? He softened.
He still wore black every day, but his nails were often painted—usually lilac or sky blue, because “it matches your soul,” you claimed.
His desk in the Bonten HQ had a little ceramic bunny you made for him at one of those DIY pottery dates.
He never said he liked it, but it never left his desk either.
One night, when the city lights dimmed behind your apartment window, Mikey lay on your bed with his head in your lap, listening as you played with his hair.
“You know,” you murmured, “everyone always asks how we ended up together.”
He looked up at you. “And?”
“I tell them you followed me home one day like a sad black cat.”
“…That’s not inaccurate.”
You snorted. “And I fed you strawberry milk, and you never left.”
He was quiet for a moment. Then:
“...You made me feel human again.”
Your fingers paused.
He didn’t look away. “Before you, everything felt... faded. Like I was drowning in grayscale. But you... you brought the color back.”
Your throat tightened at his honesty—so rare, so raw.
“I love you, Mikey,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Even when you wear black every damn day.”
He smirked. “It’s our balance. I wear black, you wear chaos.”
You chuckled. “Fine, but you’re still letting me pick your nail color next week.”
Can I request something with Bonten Mikey and his wife that was his childhood love and Sanzu is her brother and the others didn't know so they thought she was cheating and they try and tell mikey and Rin just blurts it out and now eveyone is scared. 😭
"you're gonna wanna sit down for this."
bonten mikey x fem!reader | crack + fluff + misunderstandings
📩 —request always open!
you should’ve seen this coming.
to be fair, it’s not your fault that you and your brother tend to look... suspiciously close when you’re together. affectionate. loud. chaotic. maybe a little too comfortable.
it’s also not your fault that your husband's coworkers—tokyo’s most feared criminals, mind you—have the emotional intelligence of a brick wall and the tendency to jump to conclusions like olympic athletes.
especially when it comes to you.
especially when it involves mikey.
today, you’d stopped by bonten hq to bring your brother lunch. harmless. normal. nothing serious. except, of course, sanzu greeted you with a dramatic, “aw, baby sis, you missed me already?” and hugged you.
not a side hug. a full-bodied, arms-wrapped-around-you, chin-on-your-shoulder hug.
and unfortunately, that’s the exact moment koko walked into the room.
...
"guys, we need to tell mikey."
rindou blinks. “tell him what?”
“his wife,” koko says darkly. “is cheating.”
cue dramatic gasp from mochizuki.
ran squints. “wait, the pretty one who brought cupcakes last week?”
“yes.”
“the one who tied my tie for me when i couldn’t get it right?”
“yes.”
“...she’s cheating?”
“with sanzu.”
dead silence.
“what the actual—” mochi starts, but koko cuts him off.
“i saw them hugging. she called him ‘baby.’ and he said he missed her.”
“sanzu says that to me and i’m not even into men,” rindou mutters.
mochizuki rubs his temples. “so we tell mikey?”
“absolutely not,” ran says. “i like living.”
but rindou already looks deep in thought, probably imagining a world where mikey goes off the rails. again.
“he deserves to know.”
“you deserve to shut up,” koko hisses.
“guys, he’s literally walking over here—”
“what’s going on?”
mikey’s voice cuts clean through the room, quiet but sharp.
everyone freezes. literally no one wants to be the one to say it. they all look at each other, telepathically pushing the responsibility onto someone else.
and rindou, bless his stupid, stupid mouth, cracks first.
“YOUR WIFE IS CHEATING WITH SANZU—”
record scratch.
you and sanzu walk in literally at that moment. you’re holding his leftover lunch, sipping from a shared soda can, mid-laugh.
your smile drops.
mikey blinks. “…what.”
you look between the guys and your husband. “...what the hell did you just say?”
ran is already sliding down the wall. koko looks like he’s calculating escape routes. mochizuki’s whispering a prayer.
and then, sanzu—utterly unfazed—just sighs.
“dumbasses,” he mutters. “she’s my sister.”
everyone stops breathing.
mikey tilts his head. “…wait, did they not know?”
“you never told them?!”
“i forgot.”
“YOU FORGOT?”
sanzu shrugs. “i don’t go around telling people my family tree.”
ran slaps a hand over his face. “you two couldn’t have warned us? i’ve been panicking for like, 30 minutes!”
you blink. “you thought i was cheating with haru?”
“you called him baby!!”
“he’s my brother!”
mikey reaches out and gently pulls you to his side. you’re still fuming, half-annoyed, half-shocked that any of them thought you would cheat. on mikey. with sanzu, of all people.
“do you want me to kill them?” mikey asks calmly, like he’s offering to take out the trash.
“no,” you sigh, resting your head on his shoulder. “just let them suffer.”
and suffer they do.
for the rest of the week, the rest of bonten avoids both you and sanzu like the plague.
nobody makes eye contact. nobody asks questions. and absolutely nobody hugs you again.
I NEED a ran haitani x Female reader where ran being the Player he is cheats on her and shes like...weridly chill about it. Like honestly she couldnt care les! And thats because when she found out about the cheating she wasnt bitter she was just like "oh? Wait i didnt know this was an open realtionship...Cool! Okay! Never been in one before...could have told me ran but whatever! Im gonna have some fun then!" To herself right? So she just ends up doing the same he does! Id love this in rans pov please i beg! I need the full Story!
“open relationship?”
ran haitani x fem!reader
warnings: cheating, angst with petty revenge, cursing
i thought i had you all figured out.
sweet. calm. just the right kind of clingy when we were in private. quiet when i came home late—too late. never threw shit, never raised your voice. it was easy with you.
maybe too easy.
i slipped. more than once. not ‘cause you weren’t enough—fuck, you were—but ‘cause i thought you’d never know. or maybe, deep down, i thought you’d always stay anyway.
but then you found out.
you were waiting on the couch that night, hair up, makeup fresh. something in your hand. your phone, maybe. and you looked at me with this unreadable expression. like you were trying to figure out a math problem you already knew the answer to.
“so,” you said, tone light. “this an open relationship now?”
i blinked. “what?”
you nodded slowly, like you were talking to a toddler. “i mean, you didn’t tell me, but—since you’ve been sleeping around, i figured it’s just open, right? cool. never been in one before.”
you smiled. genuinely.
and fuck, it scared me.
you didn’t cry. didn’t accuse. didn’t break anything.
you just laughed, got up, and patted my cheek like i was a dumb little boy who didn’t know how badly he’d fucked up.
you didn’t bring it up again after that. not directly. but you started dressing up more. staying out later. laughing at your texts and locking your screen before i could peek. once, i saw a hickey on your neck.
you didn’t bother hiding it.
and god, it drove me insane.
“who was that?” i asked one night when you stumbled in at 2am, heels in hand, lips smudged red.
you blinked, feigning innocence. “what?”
“the guy. i saw him drop you off.”
“oh,” you said with a shrug. “just a friend. open relationship, right?”
you said it with my words. my logic. but it hit different coming from your mouth.
because now i was the one up at night, wondering who was touching you the way i used to. wondering if you’d smile at them the way you used to smile at me. wondering when the fuck you stopped loving me—or if you ever did at all.
and the worst part?
you didn’t even try to hurt me.
you just stopped trying to love me.
and that was worse than any revenge you could’ve pulled.
Can I please get something with someone talking about going after Kanto Mikey’s oblivious but sweet girlfriend. Dark impulse activated. 🔪
“say that again.”
kanto manjiro sano (mikey) x fem!reader
warnings: dark impulse mikey, possessiveness, threats
you don’t hear it.
but mikey does.
the moment it slips past the guy’s lips—careless, playful, stupid—something in him stills.
he was just a shadow in the back of the room a second ago. quiet. unreadable.
but now?
now he’s listening.
"—you seen that girl mikey’s always with? real cute. wonder if she’s as sweet in bed as she looks on his arm."
someone chuckles.
someone else whistles.
"bet she wouldn’t mind a guy who actually knows how to smile. mikey always looks half-dead. think she’d let me—"
crack.
the guy doesn't finish the sentence.
because mikey’s chair scrapes back slow. deliberate.
and the next sound is the sharp, ugly thud of knuckles slamming bone.
you weren’t even in the room.
but he heard it.
you—his soft little girl who still thinks the world is kind.
who wears his hoodie like it’s armor.
who doesn’t know half the shit he’s done just to keep that smile on your face safe.
you would’ve smiled at the guy if he approached you.
probably would’ve been nice. too nice. that’s just who you are.
but mikey knows what guys like that mean.
and now?
so does he.
the guy’s on the floor. blood in his mouth. gasping.
“what the hell, man?! it was just a joke!”
mikey’s voice is low. flat. too calm.
but his eyes? his eyes are pitch black.
“say it again.”
his foot comes down, hard, right beside the guy’s head.
“go on,” he whispers. “you were brave enough a second ago. finish the joke.”
silence.
everyone in the room holds their breath.
mikey crouches down—slow, almost casual. and when he speaks, it’s still soft.
“you think you can look at her like that? think you can talk about her like she’s something you can take?”
he tilts his head. the corner of his lip twitches—not a smile.
“you think you can walk out of here with your tongue still in your mouth?”
he laughs then. quietly.
“nah.”
a pause. a hum.
“you don’t get to want her. you don’t get to see her. you don’t even get to say her name.”
and then he leans in real close, whispers—
“you ever breathe in her direction again, i’ll bury you before sunset.”
his fist tightens.
but before he can throw another punch, his phone buzzes.
it’s a text.
you: what time r u coming over? i miss u
he reads it.
his expression softens instantly. like someone flipped a switch.
he pockets the phone. stands. straightens his hoodie.
then he turns his back on the room—on the guy still bleeding on the floor—and walks off like none of it ever happened.
later that night, you greet him with sleepy eyes and open arms. you don’t ask why he smells like cigarette smoke and dust. you just press a kiss to his cheek and murmur, “missed you.”
and he pulls you into his chest. breathes you in.
like you’re his only tether to the earth.
because you are.
and you’ll never know what it took to keep it that way.
Hiiiii I love ur stories they're so fun idk if u will take requests ATM but would u write like the reader is the haitanis sister and starts dating sanzy or izana?
“wait—you're dating who?”
pairing: sanzu haruchiyo x fem!haitani!reader
you should’ve known this would happen.
actually, no—you did know. you just chose to ignore the chaos that would inevitably follow.
because dating haruchiyo sanzu behind your brothers' backs?
definitely in the top 5 “do not attempt if you value peace.”
ran and rindou are terrifying. not in the “they’ll scold you” kind of way. more like the “they’ll bury your boyfriend in an unmarked grave if he breathes wrong” kind of way.
which is exactly why you didn’t tell them.
at first, it was harmless. a little flirting during bonten meetings, a few sneaky texts. then he kissed you behind the elevator after a mission and called you “his pretty little secret” and you knew you were doomed.
now here you are—three months in, half in love, and halfway into a breakdown because rindou just found a very suspicious photo in your camera roll.
“who’s hand is that on your waist?” he asks, tilting the phone toward you.
“uh… mine?”
“you have veiny hands now?”
ran appears out of nowhere like a cursed spirit. “whose hand.”
you gulp.
before you can even lie, someone knocks on the door.
and then walks in.
“yo.” sanzu grins, all pink hair and zero shame. “babe, you left your charger in my place—oh.”
silence.
you look at your brothers.
you look at your boyfriend.
you think about running. maybe to another country. maybe to the moon.
rindou blinks. “i know this isn’t what it looks like.”
ran cracks his knuckles. “it better not be.”
sanzu steps forward, slips an arm around your waist. “it is.”
you could literally hear your funeral music start playing.
but then—unexpectedly—rindou just sighs.
“you’re lucky she likes you,” he mutters, turning to walk away. “because if you hurt her, i will break your kneecaps.”
ran’s eye twitches. “i’m not done here—”
“yes you are,” you say quickly, dragging sanzu out the room before ran remembers he owns a gun.
“worth it,” sanzu whispers, kissing your cheek.
“even if i die tonight, worth it.”
you roll your eyes.
but your smile says the same thing.
═══════════════════════════
a/n:
thank you for the request!! 🫶 hope this chaotic mess lives up to your idea hehe.
ran and rindou are 100% the overprotective brothers who will interrogate anyone you date. request are always open!
“the boyfriend experience (featuring megumi’s dry sarcasm)”
pairing: megumi fushiguro x fem!reader
you find megumi standing in your kitchen at 7:42 a.m.
shirt wrinkled. hair messy. arms crossed. judging your entire life.
“…you’re not supposed to put metal in the microwave,” he says flatly.
you blink at the small sparks inside the microwave, then blink again at the spoon sticking out of your mug.
“…i forgot it was in there.”
“mhm.” he walks over, presses stop, opens the microwave, and carefully pulls the mug out with that little disappointed sigh he always gives you—like you’re his beloved problem.
you grin at him anyway. “good morning, boyfriend.”
he gives you a deadpan stare. “you almost exploded your kitchen.”
“still counts.”
megumi just exhales, sets the mug down, and bumps your hip gently with his.
“sit down. i’ll make you something before you hurt yourself.”
you flop onto the couch like a starfish. “you’re such a housewife.”
“you’re such a hazard.”
you hum happily, watching him shuffle around your tiny kitchen. he knows where everything is now. where you hide the chocolate. which mug is your favorite. he even knows the sound of your laugh before your actual laughter kicks in.
it’s so stupid. and soft. and warm.
“you’re staring,” he mutters.
“you’re pretty,” you shoot back.
his ears turn red.
he tries to hide it by turning back to the stove. “shut up.”
you snort.
he brings you breakfast anyway—eggs just how you like them, tea without any spoons of doom this time—and sits beside you.
you rest your head on his shoulder and sigh, eyes fluttering shut.
“you’re staying today, right?”
he pauses. then nods. “yeah.”
“for how long?”
“…as long as you want.”
you smile, small and sleepy.
he doesn’t say anything else. but his hand finds yours, lacing your fingers together gently. grounding. quiet. real.
and that’s the thing about megumi. he’ll act all put-upon, but he’ll show up. every time. in every way.
he’ll stop your microwave from catching fire. he’ll learn your tea preferences. he’ll stay, even when he doesn’t say much.
because he’s yours. fully. quietly. faithfully.
and honestly?
that’s more than enough.
═══════════════════════════
a/n:
i love writing megumi as the sighs but stays anyway type of boyfriend. he's tired. you're chaotic. it’s a perfect match😌
Omg hiii I was wondering if you could do bonten Sanzu with like partner in crime reader like a Bonnie and Clyde vibe or Morticia and Gomez! just that mutual obsession and adoration!
“we die pretty, don’t we?”
cw: violence mentions, toxic love if you squint, chaotic criminal behavior, sanzu being sanzu
“you drive,” he says, tossing you the keys with blood still drying on his knuckles.
you catch them midair with a smirk, unfazed. the sirens aren’t even close yet. you’ve got time. not a lot—but enough.
“baby,” you grin, slipping into the driver’s seat like a throne, “you get blood on my leather again and i’m making you lick it clean.”
“and you say i’m the freak in this relationship,” he snorts, climbing in beside you, grin sharp and eyes half-lidded like he’s still riding the high.
he leans over to kiss you before you even hit the gas. slow and possessive, like he’s savoring the taste of chaos on your tongue. it’s his favorite flavor, after all.
you press down on the pedal, tires screeching into the night.
“we make a good team,” you hum, watching the city blur past in streaks of neon.
“we make a perfect team,” he corrects, gaze locked on you instead of the road. like you hung the stars instead of just setting buildings on fire.
and god, he means it.
sanzu never believed in soulmates until you. until someone laughed during a shootout and kissed him in an alleyway while sirens wailed like a love song.
you don’t flinch when he kills. he doesn’t blink when you lie. you make crime look like foreplay, and love like an explosion with no survivors.
“we should rob a bank tomorrow,” you say casually, checking your lipstick in the rearview.
“only if we kill a corrupt politician after,” he shrugs, hand trailing to your thigh.
you giggle like a schoolgirl. he looks at you like you hung the moon and then stole it for fun.
“i love you, y’know,” he says, voice low. raw.
“i know,” you say, turning to meet his gaze. “and you’d burn the whole world if i asked.”
“i already did,” he smiles.
and it’s true. because for sanzu, love was always bloody. but with you—it’s beautiful too.
OMG, CAN YOU PLEASE DO A BONTEN MIKEY WITH A SINGLE MUM PLS?!??!! Like reader and her son are his whole world. The reason he smiled again. 😭🥹
“home looks like this.”
bonten!sano manjiro x fem!single mom reader | fluff, healing, dad!mikey
he never expected it.
never thought the cold could thaw out of him this way.
but then you came along — not alone, but with a little hand clinging to yours and wide curious eyes that made him pause.
your son.
small. quiet. sweet.
mikey didn’t know what to say the first time he met him, just gave a nod and that dull stare that made everyone else shrink.
but not him.
your boy blinked up at him and said, “you look like a lion.”
and something cracked open in him.
because you laughed — really laughed — and mikey hadn’t heard something that warm in years.
you didn’t know who he was at first, not really. not the bonten side. just a tired man who visited the bookstore where you worked, always hovering near the kids section and never buying anything.
until one day, he asked for help. a book recommendation. something with pirates, maybe. or robots.
“how old is your kid?” you asked.
“he’s… not mine,” mikey replied, and then after a beat, “…yet.”
and you didn’t push.
you never pushed.
when things began — slow and careful — mikey found himself showing up more. not just for you, but for the little boy who started calling him mii-chan.
he was afraid at first. terrified, really. of breaking something so fragile. of not being enough. of loving too hard and ruining it.
but then he heard your son call him “daddy” for the first time — shy, like he didn’t know if he was allowed — and mikey's heart broke in the best way.
he dropped to his knees and hugged the kid so tight he nearly cried.
you watched from the kitchen with tears in your eyes.
he never expected to have this. a little family. bedtime stories. sticky hands. you in his shirt, barefoot in the morning. a home that didn’t smell like blood or smoke.
he comes back from meetings now just to be greeted with hugs around his leg, and your tired smile as you say, “we saved you some dinner.”
and god — he smiles.
real, soft, toothy smiles.
the kind that make his men stare like they’re seeing a ghost.
one night, as you lie in bed, your son snuggled between the two of you, he murmurs, “thank you.”
you blink at him sleepily. “for what?”
“for letting me have this,” he whispers, brushing a hand over your boy’s hair. “for giving me something to come home to.”
you reach over and squeeze his hand. “you deserve it, mikey.”
he shakes his head, eyes on the tiny chest rising and falling beside him.
“no… but i’ll protect it like i do.”
and he means it.
he would burn down the world for his family.
but for now, he just pulls you closer, warm under the blankets, heart steady.
because for the first time in years, he’s not waiting for something to break.
hii, can i request angst bonten!ran haitani? like he cheats on reader and gets silent treatment or maybe reader gonna move to a foreign country without telling?? have a nice day tho<3
“you didn’t even say goodbye.”
bonten!ran haitani x fem!reader | angst, cheating
he doesn’t notice it at first.
too caught up in whatever haze he’s been living in — girls, smoke, deals, silence. your silence.
he thinks you’re just giving him space. thinks you’ll snap out of it like you always do. thinks it’s not a big deal.
you’d always loved him too much, hadn’t you?
and maybe that’s why he never thought you’d actually leave.
he comes home late again — the hallway too quiet, your usual scent faint and fading. there’s no music playing from the speaker. no plate waiting on the table. no warmth at the door.
the closet is half empty.
he frowns.
checks the drawers. they’re neater than they’ve ever been.
almost… untouched.
he checks his phone. no message.
he calls.
it rings.
and rings.
and rings.
but you don’t answer.
it’s rindou who says it first.
"you didn’t know?" his little brother asks, surprised. “she’s leaving.”
ran stills. “what?”
“she’s moving out. overseas, i think. saw her at the airport earlier with a suitcase. didn’t wanna say goodbye.”
the words feel like bricks to the chest.
no goodbye?
he drives like a man possessed, ignoring red lights, ignoring calls, ignoring the ache in his throat that feels a hell of a lot like guilt.
he makes it to the airport, but he’s too late.
the flight’s gone.
the seat where you would’ve sat — gone.
the last chance — gone.
you didn’t even tell him.
and maybe he deserved that.
after all, he was the one who shattered your trust. the one who didn’t even try to explain the unfamiliar lipstick on his collar that night. who called you dramatic when you cried. who laughed when you went quiet. who rolled his eyes when you stopped waiting up.
he told himself it meant nothing.
that she meant nothing.
but now you’re gone. and all he has left are memories that hit harder than fists.
his chest feels empty in a way violence can’t fill.
his phone buzzes with a photo from rindou — the last picture he took of you at the airport.
you weren’t crying.
you weren’t smiling, either.
you just looked... done.
and god, he wishes he had told you not to go.
wishes he had begged you to stay.
wishes he had remembered what he was supposed to lose before it slipped through his hands.
Omg Bonten Mikey having a little daughter that's like the sweetest person ever. Always sharing her cookies with Rindou. But like her papa has that dead stare. 💀 Like image Sanzu takes a cookie and she just stares at him making him slowly put the cookie back. 😭
“not yours.”
bonten!mikey x fem!reader (mentions), girl dad!mikey, fluff + crack
there’s a certain type of silence that fills the bonten break room whenever your daughter shows up — a strange, sacred hush. not out of fear. not out of reverence.
but because everyone knows better than to upset the boss's kid.
she’s four. in a pastel hoodie. sparkly jelly shoes. and two ponytails so perfectly done that sanzu actually asked if mikey went to cosmetology school just for that.
she waddles in on her tiny legs holding a ziplock bag full of cookies — chocolate chip, a little messy, a little crumbly, but very proudly made.
“papa, can i share?”
mikey, still as unreadable as ever with that cold deadpan expression and resting murder face, gives a small nod. “you can share with the nice ones.”
she beams, nods, and walks up to rindou first.
“rinnie.”
he almost tears up at the nickname.
she hands him a cookie like it’s the most sacred offering ever made. he takes it like it’s gold.
“thank you, princess,” rindou says, kneeling down to her level. “can i eat it?”
“yes.”
she even pats his head.
rindou dies on the spot.
then she turns to take a seat on the couch beside her dad, who doesn't smile, doesn’t speak, but softens just enough to drape an arm around her back.
sanzu, who’s been eyeing the cookies like a starving raccoon, tiptoes over to the table. slow. careful.
he reaches for the bag.
and then—
“no.”
he freezes.
your daughter’s voice isn’t loud. not even firm. but when she turns to look at him, she’s wearing mikey’s exact expression.
OMGMGMG I NEED A PART TWO TO "You Forgot." With ran, try to make up for it when he realizes the next day that he's forgotten. ILYYY SMMMM PLS WRITE MORE I SWEAR EVERYTIME I SEE NEW WORK I JUMPPP ❤️❤️
“you remembered.”
part two to “you forgot”
the dining table is still set when he wakes.
the candle’s burned out, wax hardened in a soft puddle. the food’s cold, untouched. and the scent of your perfume still lingers in the air like a ghost that never left.
ran blinks.
his head pounds from the hangover, but something else stabs deeper — a flash of your face last night, the silence in your eyes. the way you didn’t even raise your voice.
he looks down.
he’s still in his dress shirt. smells like a place he shouldn’t have been. there’s a faint smudge of lipstick on his sleeve — not yours. the kind of red you’d never wear.
he curses under his breath.
his phone’s dead. no alarm. no unread messages. no reminders.
but the date clicks in his mind like a bullet.
your wedding anniversary.
fuck.
he shoots up from the couch and nearly trips over his own feet as he rushes toward the kitchen — sees the way you set the table, the little details. folded napkins. his favorite side dishes. that one dessert you always said was too much trouble to make but you learned because he liked it once.
and then the guilt hits like a freight train.
his feet move on instinct, pushing your bedroom door open without knocking.
you’re awake.
sitting on the edge of the bed in one of his shirts, legs pulled up close to your chest. you don’t look surprised to see him — just tired. like you’ve already accepted whatever half-assed apology he’s about to give.
“baby,” he says, voice low and hoarse. “fuck, i… i didn’t realize.”
you don’t answer.
he steps closer, careful this time. “i was an asshole last night. i know i was.”
still, silence.
“i remembered the second i woke up.” his voice cracks. “i saw the table. the candle. the food. i saw everything. and it made me feel like the biggest piece of shit in the world.”
you finally glance up at him. “it’s not the first time, ran.”
he flinches.
“you keep forgetting,” you say softly. “maybe not dates. but me.”
he walks over and kneels in front of you, taking your hand in his. you try to pull away, but he holds on — gently, insistently.
“i don’t wanna forget you,” he whispers. “i’ve never wanted that. i’m just—i get caught up in all this bonten shit, and i convince myself you’ll always understand. that you’ll wait for me.”
you stare at him. “and what if one day i don’t?”
his grip tightens.
“then i’ll deserve it.”
the room falls quiet again, thick with everything left unsaid.
but then he rests his forehead on your knee. not in defeat — in apology.
“can i make it up to you?”
you exhale. “how?”
“however you want,” he says immediately. “just… tell me what i need to do.”
you hesitate.
“…start with heating up the food.”
he lifts his head, eyes wide. “you didn’t throw it away?”
“of course not. i spent three hours cooking.”
he smiles — crooked, relieved. “i’ll eat all of it.”
“you better.”
he leans forward and presses a kiss to your hand.
and this time, he sees you.
------
Here is the long-awaited part two! @idk-what-myurl-shouldbe & @mytaiyakeylover
barely holding it together on the sidewalk, heels in your hand and eyes glossy from too many drinks. the night is loud — laughter, clinking glasses, someone singing off-key behind you — but everything feels like it’s underwater.
and then there's someone in front of you.
someone tall. all in black. white-blond hair, dark eyes, a glint of silver in his ear. calm expression that doesn't match the chaos around you.
you blink slowly. “who are you?”
he stares at you. deadpan.
you point a shaky finger. “you’re hot. but you don’t look like my boyfriend.”
his eye twitches.
“you’re drunk,” mikey mutters, stuffing his hands into his pockets.
you gasp — scandalized. “how do you know me?!”
“you’re my girlfriend,” he says flatly.
“liar,” you squint at him. “my boyfriend doesn’t scowl like that. he smiles at me. like this—” you flash your teeth in a crooked grin, tipsy and far too confident.
mikey sighs, stepping closer. “you tried to kiss a bartender, y/n.”
“i did not,” you pout. “he had glitter on his face. i thought he was a fairy.”
“you told him you’d trade your phone for a ride on his back.”
you freeze.
“…was he gonna say yes?”
“get over here.”
he doesn’t wait. just loops an arm around your waist and lifts you up like you weigh nothing, tossing you into the backseat of the black car parked at the curb. you squeak, landing in plush leather as the door shuts behind him.
“manjiroooo,” you groan, flopping onto his chest like a ragdoll.
he hums lowly, letting you cling. “what am i gonna do with you?”
“feed me.”
“you threw up your last meal.”
“because it was spicy and i don’t like spice!” you say dramatically. “you know this. you should’ve protected me.”
“you said you loved wasabi.”
“i was lying!”
he chuckles. actually chuckles.
his hand comes up to brush your hair behind your ear, fingers lingering at the back of your neck. you blink slowly against his shoulder, your words slurring into sleep.
“…you’re warm,” you mumble.
mikey leans in, lips grazing your temple.
“next time you’re drinking, i’m chaining you to me.”
“is that your new kink?”
he groans. “just shut up and sleep, brat.”
and as your breathing evens out, arms still wrapped lazily around him, mikey glances at your peaceful face and thinks —
yeah. he’d carry your drunk ass a thousand times over.
as long as you come home to him.
✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦
SANZU
you’re wobbling in your heels.
like really wobbling. cartoon-character-on-ice kind of wobbling.
sanzu watches from across the room, half amused, half exasperated. he told you not to take another shot. he literally pulled the glass away from your hand at one point. but then some giggling friend of yours handed you another one while he was on a call and now.
now you’re drunk.
you’re so drunk you don’t even notice him approaching.
"baby," he says, catching you by the waist before you can tip forward and faceplant into a couch, "what did i say about the tequila?"
you blink up at him.
pause.
your brows furrow. you lean in a little, squinting.
“…who are you?”
sanzu blinks. “what?”
“you’re really pretty,” you slur, poking his chest with one finger. “but i have a boyfriend. he’s scary. he kills people.”
he snorts. “yeah? what’s he look like?”
“pink hair. sharp teeth. eyes like a lazy cat. talks too much sometimes but i love him.”
he tries to hold it in—he really does—but a laugh bursts out before he can stop it. “wow. sounds hot.”
“he is,” you nod solemnly. then you lean closer, all whispery and secretive. “his name is… haruchiyo. but everyone call him sanzu. you can't tell anyone.”
“your secret’s safe with me.”
you sway again and he steadies you with both hands on your waist. you stare up at him, suspicious.
“…wait a minute,” you whisper, narrowing your eyes. “you look like him.”
“maybe i am him.”
you gasp, scandalized. “no, you’re not. he wouldn’t wear a shirt like that.”
he looks down at his black button-up. “…i wear this all the time.”
you ignore him, gently smacking his chest. “nope. nice try, imposter.”
sanzu just sighs and lifts you into his arms. bridal-style. effortlessly.
you squeak. “hey—stranger danger!”
“you’re so lucky you’re cute,” he mutters, carrying you out of the venue like a man on a mission. “your scary boyfriend would’ve murdered me by now.”
you squint at his face one more time, like it’s just starting to click.
“…wait. are you my scary boyfriend?”
“finally.”
you stare at him.
then giggle.
then pass out on his shoulder.
he sighs again. but it’s fond this time.
“dumbass,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against your forehead. “don’t ever change.”
✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦
KAKUCHO
you’re swaying in place when kakucho opens the penthouse door.
mascara a little smudged. shoes in your hand. clutch barely zipped. and your smile? way too wide to be sober.
“hiiiiii,” you slur, waving like you’re meeting a stranger. “whoa… you’re really hot.”
kakucho’s brow twitches. “you’re drunk.”
“mmmaybe.” you hiccup, then squint at him. “wait. do i know you?”
he blinks. “you don’t remember me?”
you take a cautious step forward, wobbling. your eyes trail over the expensive dress shirt clinging to his chest, the familiar scar on his face — but your brain is still foggy and floating somewhere between tequila shots and karaoke.
“you kinda look like my boyfriend,” you mutter.
“do i?”
you nod solemnly. “but he’s mean sometimes. really serious. you look nice.”
he deadpans. “glad to know i’ve got a nicer twin.”
you gasp, like it’s a revelation. “are you the good twin? can you kiss better too?”
“baby.”
“ohmygod, you sound just like him,” you whisper, poking his chest. “are you two, like, related?”
kakucho sighs through his nose and steps forward, gently looping an arm around your waist before you stumble into the damn wall. “i am him.”
you pause, peering up at him with bleary confusion. “…huh?”
he leans down, brushing your hair back from your face, voice low. “you’re really drunk, sweetheart. let’s get you to bed.”
you blink once. twice.
then your mouth drops open in realization.
“kakuchoooo!” you squeal, throwing your arms around him like you haven’t seen him in months. “my boyfriend!! i missed you soooo much!!”
he stifles a laugh, catching you easily.
“you saw me this morning,” he mumbles into your hair, but the way his hand rubs circles on your back gives him away — soft. patient. relieved you made it home safe.
you sigh dramatically against his chest. “i was scared you wouldn’t love me anymore ‘cause i wore that short dress.”
he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. “you looked beautiful.”
“really?”
“really.”
you smile so wide it makes his chest ache, even as you sway again.
“‘m sleepy…”
“then let’s get you to bed,” he says, scooping you up effortlessly.
you wrap your arms around his neck, cheek pressed to his shoulder, voice muffled. “you’re the best boyfriend in the world…”
he presses a kiss to your forehead, chuckling softly.
“yeah,” he murmurs, “even when you don’t remember me.”
✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦
TAKEOMI
you’re absolutely wasted.
not tipsy. not a little buzzed. wasted.
takeomi finds you outside the bar, sitting on the sidewalk with your heels off, feet bare, and a bag of chips in your lap that you definitely stole from someone inside. your friends had texted him to come pick you up — and good thing too, because you look seconds away from face-planting into the asphalt.
“baby,” he calls gently, crouching down in front of you.
you blink up at him, squinting under the streetlight. your mouth opens slightly.
“…do i know you?”
takeomi blinks. “are you serious?”
you lean back a little. “are you hitting on me?” you gasp suddenly. “wait—i have a boyfriend!”
“yeah,” he sighs. “me.”
you narrow your eyes at him suspiciously. “prove it.”
he sighs again, but there’s a quiet smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “you always make me late by stealing my hair gel in the morning and hiding it in your bra.”
you gasp again, scandalized. “how do you know that?!”
“because you tell me every single time.”
“that sounds like something i’d do,” you mutter, nodding.
he reaches for your bag of chips and tosses it aside before gently helping you up. you wobble against his chest and bury your face into his jacket, sighing dramatically. “you smell like my boyfriend.”
“probably because i am your boyfriend.”
you pause.
“…oh.”
takeomi wraps an arm around your waist and leads you to his car, holding your shoes in one hand while you mutter something about him being suspiciously handsome. he just shakes his head with a laugh, brushing his lips against your temple as he opens the door.
“let’s get you home, pretty girl.”
you blink up at him again, swaying slightly.
“…hey.”
“yeah?”
you point a finger at his chest, dead serious. “if my boyfriend finds out you kissed me, he’s gonna kill you.”
he sighs. “i’ll take my chances.”
✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦
KOKONOI
you’re swaying.
not from music. not from happiness. just… swaying.
your heels are clumsy against the pavement, arms flailing slightly as you stumble toward the black car parked outside the club. you barely register the man who steps out of it — tall, lean, dressed in an expensive black coat and even more expensive glare.
“jesus,” he mutters, eyes locking on you. “you’re wasted.”
you stop walking.
tilt your head.
squint.
“…huh?” you blink, swaying again. “who’re you?”
kokonoi hajime just stands there. lips parting slightly.
you don’t know him.
your boyfriend — the man who held your hair back when you were sick, who tucked hundred-thousand-yen gifts in your purse like loose change, who loves you more than life itself — and you don’t even recognize him.
“you don’t even know me?” he asks, voice quiet.
you frown. “…are you hot?”
he chokes.
“what?”
you take another unsteady step forward. “are you, like, my type or something?” you poke a finger into his chest, clearly unaware you’re messing with one of bonten’s top executives. “you’re kinda pretty. do i know you from somewhere?”
his jaw tightens — not in anger, but something else.
god, you’re so drunk. flushed cheeks, glassy eyes, wobbling in your cute dress like you haven’t slept in days.
he exhales slowly and slips his coat off, draping it over your shoulders without a word.
“i’m your boyfriend,” he says, pulling you close so you don’t tip over. “kokonoi. hajime. remember now?”
you stare at him. long and slow.
“…no,” you whisper. “but i like your voice.”
he closes his eyes for a second like he’s praying for strength.
“come on,” he sighs, wrapping an arm around your waist. “let’s get you home.”
you hum softly against him, cuddling into his side like instinct. “you smell nice.”
“i should,” he mutters. “you bought me the cologne.”
“…i did?” you blink up at him, awed. “that was so nice of me.”
slumped against the backseat of a sleek black car, your cheek is pressed against the window, fogging up the glass with every hot exhale. the city lights blur into hazy halos as you mumble incoherent things about ramen, frogs, and how the bartender definitely had a crush on you.
mochizuki kanji is sitting beside you — arms crossed, jaw clenched — watching you spiral deeper into drunken chaos with a look that’s a mix of what the fuck am i gonna do with you and i’d kill anyone who touches you.
he’s calm, quiet. only ever speaks when it matters. but right now, he’s biting the inside of his cheek because you — the love of his life — have just looked him in the eye and slurred:
“you’re not my boyfriend.”
he blinks. “…what?”
you squint at him like your vision’s lagging. “you’re not him. he’s taller. angrier. his eyebrows are… madder.”
kanji raises an eyebrow. “madder?”
you poke his chest. “and he smells like cigarettes and laundry softener. you smell like… like a man i don’t know.”
he stares at you. speechless.
then you dramatically flop sideways, landing right against him with a whine. “i want kanjiii,” you say, sniffling, like a child who lost her toy. “he’s my big scary boyfriend. he growls when he talks.”
“i am kanji.”
“liar.” you squint again. “kanji’s nose is more punchable.”
he exhales, presses his fingers to the bridge of his very punchable nose, and fights the urge to laugh or scream.
“…you’re drunk.”
“nooo.” you hiccup. “you’re just impersonating him. is this a bonten thing? secret twins?”
he leans forward, his voice lowering. “baby, i swear to god—”
“see? that’s how he sounds!” you gasp like you cracked the case. “do it again.”
mochi’s eye twitches.
you’re fully sprawled across him now, clinging to the lapel of his coat like a lost little puppy. he adjusts your seatbelt with one hand, sighing, then brushes your hair away from your face with the other.
“i’m taking you home. and tomorrow, when you wake up with a hangover, i’m gonna remind you how you called me an imposter.”
you giggle. “you sound hot when you’re mad.”
he mutters under his breath, “so i am your boyfriend?”
“…hm. jury’s still out.” you poke his cheek. “i’ll decide when i’m sober.”
kanji leans back in the seat, groaning. “you’re so lucky i love you.”
you yawn and nuzzle into his side, half-asleep already. “my boyfriend loves me too…”
he glances down. your arms are wrapped around him now. soft breaths tickling his neck. and he knows you won’t remember a damn thing in the morning.
but he smiles anyway.
“yeah, he really does.”
✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦
RAN
you’re tipsy. no— scratch that.
you’re gone.
ran knows it the second you stumble out of the bar, heels in hand, mascara a little smudged, smile big and dizzy as you scan the street like it’s moving. it’s not. you are.
“there you are,” ran drawls, slipping his phone into his pocket, voice low and lazy as ever. “i’ve been looking everywhere, baby.”
you squint at him.
you squint at him.
and then you take a step back, blinking. “…sorry, do i know you?”
ran freezes.
“…what?”
“you’re really tall,” you slur, clearly impressed. your finger pokes at his chest, right at the silver chain peeking from his collar. “and you smell expensive.”
he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “you don’t recognize me?”
you tilt your head, swaying. “are you a celebrity?”
ran is trying. really, he is. but the corner of his mouth twitches.
“something like that,” he murmurs, stepping closer to steady you as you wobble. you stare up at him, lips parted, brows furrowed like you’re solving a math problem.
“wait…” you whisper. “do you… have a girlfriend?”
his brows shoot up.
you gasp, dramatic as ever. “because if you don’t—i know a girl who’d be sooo lucky to have you.”
he stares at you for a long, silent moment.
“...you’re trying to flirt with me,” he deadpans.
you nod eagerly. “you’re hot.”
“baby,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. “i am your boyfriend.”
you freeze.
pause.
“…you are?”
“yes.”
“…are you sure?”
“you live with me,” he deadpans. “you wear my shirts. i literally dropped you off at this bar three hours ago.”
you gasp again. “wait—you’re ran?!”
ran looks like he’s this close to losing it. “oh my god.”
“i’m so sorry,” you whisper. “you’re so hot i didn’t recognize you.”
“…that’s not even a compliment. it’s a safety hazard.”
you giggle, tipsy and smug now, as you stumble forward into his chest. “well, you’re mine now, right?”
he rolls his eyes, arms wrapping around your waist anyway. “was always yours, drunk idiot.”
“can we get fries?”
“…you don’t even remember dinner, do you?”
“nope!”
he kisses your forehead, groaning like he’s suffering, but the smile tugging at his lips betrays him.
“alright,” he murmurs, scooping you up bridal style. “fries and then straight to bed. my bed.”
“ooh,” you giggle. “that hot stranger’s bed?”
“jesus christ,” he mutters, shaking his head.
but he’s smiling the whole way home.
✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦
RINDOU
rindou has seen you in many states. sleepy, grumpy, pouty, clingy. he's even seen you swing a pan at mochi for “looking weird.”
but drunk? drunk you is a different species entirely.
“what the fuck,” he mutters, watching you sway unsteadily in your heels as you stumble out of the bar with your friends. “she said she’d have one drink.”
you spot him leaning against his car, wearing his usual black, his lavender hair tousled and unbothered. but instead of rushing into his arms like you usually do—
you squint.
hard.
“...who are you?” you ask, dead serious.
rindou blinks. “what?”
you point at him accusingly. “you’re hot. are you a stripper?”
“a what—?”
“did my friends send you? for my birthday?? oh my god, you’re my present, aren’t you??” you gasp dramatically, stumbling forward with jazz hands. “stripper boyyyy~!”
rindou grabs your waist before you faceplant into the pavement. “jesus, baby. it’s me. rindou.”
“rindou?” you frown. “nooo, my rindou has sleepy eyes and looks mean but actually buys me cat stickers when i’m sad.”
“that’s literally me.”
you lean in closer, squinting harder. “hmmm. i don’t know. you’re suspiciously hot. too hot. hot with earrings?? hot with a lip ring?! are you even real???”
“what the hell are you even saying,” he says, but he's already pulling you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “get in the car, idiot.”
you gasp. “he even smells like rindou!! what kind of AI technology—”
he physically picks you up bridal-style before you embarrass yourself any further. you're still rambling nonsense about stripper androids as he buckles you into the passenger seat and shuts the door.
rindou sighs, running a hand through his hair.
“should’ve just handcuffed you to the couch tonight,” he mumbles.
“kinky,” you slur from your seat.
he slides into the driver's side, throws you a dry look, and says, “remind me to delete your birthday next year.”
you giggle and flop your head against his shoulder.
“…but you’re cute for a stripper.”
rindou mutters under his breath, “yeah, and you’re dead when you sober up.”
OMG I NEED A DRABBLE WITH BONTEN RAN HAITANI WITH ANGST ! 😭😭💔 MAYBE CHEATING OR ARRANGED MARIAGE IDKKKK 😭 (I love ur works bby pls write more 🫶)
"You Forgot."
Bonten!Ran Haitani x fem!reader | angst | arranged marriage
The food is cold now.
You had plated it all carefully—his favorite dishes, little touches he never noticed but always benefitted from.
You even lit a candle. Wore the dress you picked out last week and never had the nerve to wear before. Too much skin, maybe. Too much hope.
You didn’t expect romance. That was never what this marriage was built on.
But acknowledgment? That would’ve been nice.
The clock hits 11:42 PM when you hear the door unlock, followed by a clumsy thud against the wall and the low groan of someone who’s had too much to drink.
“Ran—”
“I know, I know I came home late again,” he slurs, stumbling in with that loose, lopsided smirk you used to find charming. His arms stretch wide in mock surrender. “I’m sorry, I’ll just make it up to you like always?”
That last line lands like a slap. Casual. Dismissive. Mechanical. Like this is a routine you signed up for.
You don’t bother answering right away. You just exhale. The candle flickers, almost mocking you.
“Why are you drunk?”
He drops his keys somewhere near the couch and starts tugging off his tie, missing the loop. “Told you, didn’t I? I messaged you—didn’t you read it? The boys and I got invited to a dinner with Mr. Nakamura. That big-shot from the yakuza group we just closed the deal with.”
You nod, more to yourself than him. Then you catch it—the unmistakable scent of unfamiliar perfume clinging to his shirt.
“You smell like another woman.”
He scoffs, like you’re telling a joke he’s heard too many times. Like you're just entertainment now. “Come on, Y/N. We’re all boys there. Stop being paranoid and annoying.”
The word cuts deep.
Annoying.
You freeze, then let out a laugh that tastes bitter on your tongue. “Oh. So I’m the annoying one now?”
“Yes,” he snaps, dropping onto the couch with a grunt. “Because you’re talking my ear off when I’m clearly tired! It’s not like I don’t update you from time to time for you to act like this.”
Your eyes sting, but you blink the tears back before they fall. He doesn’t get to see them. Not tonight. Not anymore.
You don’t say anything. You just watch him as he throws his arm over his eyes, muttering something under his breath before slipping into a half-conscious state on the couch, reeking of alcohol and something that isn’t yours.
He doesn’t notice the way your hands are trembling. He doesn’t hear the quiet shuffle of your steps as you walk away.
He doesn’t see the table you set.
Doesn’t see the dress.
Doesn’t see you.
And he doesn’t wake when you close the bedroom door behind you.
