⊹ people assume he’d want somebody loud enough to match his energy but his entire life is noise, meetings, violence, people demanding things from him, chaos everywhere. when he comes home and finds you curled up on the couch reading or scrolling through your phone in complete silence, it genuinely relaxes him.
sometimes he’ll just flop down beside you and put his head in your lap. neither of you say anything for half an hour. he doesn’t need conversation. he just likes being near you. spending quality time with you is the best part of his day.
⊹ everyone in bonten knows you’re his weak spot. everyone knows. the second your name comes up, sanzu changes completely. his expression softens. his voice loses that dangerous edge. he’ll answer your texts in the middle of important conversations and not even try to hide it.
the funniest part is that he thinks he’s subtle but he isn’t. one time somebody joked that you had him wrapped around your finger. the room went completely silent. everyone expected sanzu to get angry. instead he shrugged and said, “yeah, obviously.”
⊹ he gets ridiculously soft when you’re affectionate first. normally sanzu is the clingy one. he’ll throw an arm around your shoulders, pull you into his lap, grab your hand whenever he feels like it. but the rare moments when you initiate affection - he completely malfunctions.
if you quietly take his hand first, he’ll stare at you for a second because he genuinely wasn’t expecting it. if you lean against him while you’re sleepy, he immediately goes quiet. he’ll act normal on the outside but he’s replaying that moment for the next three business days.
⊹ if you’re talking to someone else for too long, he’ll eventually wander over. if you’re sitting across the room, he’ll somehow end up beside you within ten minutes. if everyone’s gathered together, his arm ends up resting against yours before he even realizes he’s moved.
one night you’re sitting with ran and rindou while they’re telling some ridiculous story. you’re actually laughing - a rare enough occurrence. twenty minutes later, sanzu walks into the room, takes one look at the situation, and immediately sits beside you.
ran raises an eyebrow. “we’re having a conversation.”
sanzu glances toward you. “not anymore.” he says as he takes you over to his office.
⊹ there are nights when bonten keeps him out until ridiculous hours. nights where everything goes wrong. nights where he’s exhausted, irritated, and running entirely on caffeine and stubbornness. during those nights he becomes quieter than usual. not angry. just tired. and no matter how late it gets, eventually he texts you.
“awake?”
“you home?”
or sometimes just your name.
the first time it happens, you ask if something’s wrong.
“nothing’s wrong.”
“then why are you texting me at 3 a.m.?”
there’s a long pause. another minute passes. finally his reply appears.
“wanted to hear from you.”
⊹ he develops this habit of pressing a kiss against your forehead whenever he walks past you. sometimes it’s your temple. sometimes your cheek. sometimes the top of your head while you’re focused on something else. half the time he isn’t even paying attention to what he’s doing. it’s become so normal that neither of you notices it anymore until one day kakucho does.
you’re standing in the kitchen talking quietly about something. sanzu walks by, leans down, presses a quick kiss against your hair, and keeps walking without breaking the conversation he’s having on the phone.
kakucho stares.
“…what?” sanzu stares back.
“nothing.”
⊹ after something genuinely dangerous happens, sanzu spends the next few days sticking unusually close to you. he’ll deny it if anyone points it out. claim it’s coincidence. act irritated whenever rindou starts making comments but everyone notices.
especially you. he keeps reaching for you. checking that you’re there. touching your shoulder when he walks past. pulling you beside him on the couch. resting a hand on your back whenever you’re standing nearby. eventually you ask him about it.
“you’ve been acting weird.”
he looks at you for a second.
“thought I lost you.”
the words leave his mouth before he can stop them because sanzu almost never admits things like that. after a moment, he sighs and pulls you closer against his side.
synopsis: how he reacts when you ask the chat to watch him for you.
warnings: the haitanis are kinda short
note/s: i’m back on my writing shit… i think, anw, please enjoy these short drabbles while i force away the rust in my writing, glad to be back 🩷 (i also plan to write a wbk version of this so heads up for that one!)
mikey:
“can you babysit my boyfriend for me?” you say to your camera as you propped it up in front of your boyfriend who paused midchew.
“babysit?” mikey asked, mouth filled with dorayaki, his dark eyes looked like a confused puppy as he looked at you, who walked away without giving him a response.
mikey swallows the sweet treat before he stares back at the camera with a confused expression. he mentally counts the seconds being recorded, confusion still etched onto his face before he brushes away the blonde strands that were framing his face.
“wanna see a cool trick?” mikey asks no one in particular before he grins and picks up the phone and props it onto a higher place.
“okay so… this is called a high kick.” mikey says as he demonstrates it, flashing a grin to the camera. the next few minutes were spent with him showing the camera all the kicks and moves he knows from the dojo.
“and finally… this is my special nuclear kick, as kazutora would like to call it– wait! let’s get a better view.” he says before he lowers the camera. “there.”
“in three… two… one…—oh oops!”
your boyfriend accidentally kicked the camera off the table.
the impact caused the tempered glass to shatter and the noise caused you to run back inside.
“what happened?!” you asked as you assessed the situation, mikey only gave you a sheepish yet guilty smile. “they couldn’t handle me…”
commenter: it started well until he knocked me tf out ⅖ will not babysit again, the kicks were cool tho.
commenter: bro struggled with placing us on a higher place but he’s a cutie patootie so i’ll give him that.
chifuyu:
“i’m gonna take a walk, watch my boyfriend for me.” you say to the camera before placing it in front of chifuyu who was combing peke j’s fur.
“baby? where are you—” “i’ll see you in a bit, baby! be nice.” you cut him off, closing the door shut.
“uh…” chifuyu didn’t know what to do. is this a new tiktok trend? are you messing with him? is the camera even— yep, it was recording.
“hi so uh.” chifuyu coughs. “my name is chifuyu, i’m (y/n)’s boyfriend.” he awkwardly introduces himself, green eyes fluttering back to the front door, silently hoping for you to walk back in.
after a few seconds and no sign of you, he refocuses back to the camera and raises peke j in view. “this is my cat.”
“his name is peke j.” he grabs one of peke j’s paws and waved it to the camera, making a small meowing sound as he does so. “he’s saying hi too!” chifuyu grins before he laughs at his cringe.
“what the hell am i even doing.” he says before petting peke j’s head and running over his scar. an idea suddenly coming to his head.
“so… my mom didn’t want peke j at first. i had to hide him in my hoodie when i was 12 just so i could keep him…”
you came back to chifuyu talking animatedly to the camera, a big smile on his face as he pets his cat.
“oh, baby! you’re here.” chifuyu notices you immediately before he pats the space beside him. “i was just telling them how peke j was the reason how you and i met!”
the two of you talked to the camera until your phone notified that there was no more storage. you should really clean up your gallery, stop procrastinating.
commenter: HE’S SO ORANGE CAT CODED
commenter: his lil cat adoption story was so sweet pls make a part 2!!
rindou:
your boyfriend was in his homemade gym room doing his sets when you placed the phone on the tripod that you set up in the room. rindou sets down his dumbbells as he looks at you with a raised brow.
you say nothing to him before you start recording, “make sure my boyfriend doesn’t hurt himself, thanks!” you say to the camera before you bolted out the room before rindou could say a word in.
rindou sighs as he gets up from his bench press, all sweaty and gross as he approaches the camera. he rolls his eyes once he realizes that the camera was recording. nevertheless, he returns back to his sets, grunting heavily every time he finishes parts of his routine.
you came back to see your boyfriend doing push-ups, a circular weight on his back and his biceps flexing everytime he pushes down.
“really?” you asked and rindou pauses mid push-up to look at you with a confused gaze.
“you’re being all slutty and sweaty for my camera?” you cross your arms, a deadpan expression on your face, rindou kneels from his position and gives you a look of disbelief.
“you’re the one who started recording! i’m just doing my normal routine.” you scoff.
“then why’d you have to look like a whore doing it!”
“excuse me?”
commenter: bro groans like a good boy
commenter: excuse me sir that groan? what happened to hi and hello?
(rindou had to make a follow up video explaining that he was taken AND he does NOT take it like a good boy.)
baji:
“i’m going to get the food outside, can you watch him for me?” you say, shoving the phone to baji’s face before running away. the action causes baji to jolt up from the couch and gripping the phone to stop it from falling in his grasp.
“oi, what the—” “oh, and no swearing, keisuke! we don’t want to get flagged.” you say before running out the door.
“huh?” it was only then baji realized that the phone was on a livestream and there are dozens of comments squealing over him.
“i’m so fu–darn hungry, (y/n)’s taking so long” he groans
“what am i supposed to do with this?” baji asks the chat and one comment in particular caught his eye.
“that’s a great idea, kazutora” he smiles ominously.
the next thing you knew was chifuyu calling baji’s phone. you picked it up and before you could even get a word in, you can hear chifuyu’s panicked voice.
“(y/n)! baji’s about to commit arson in your backyard!”
“he’s about to what?!”
commenter: 2/10 will not babysit again, he looks like he bites
commenter: 1/10. he scares me
kazutora:
“hey, babysit my boyfriend for me? thanks!” that was said with no context as kazutora finds himself facing the front camera of your phone. he stiffens up, not used to looking at himself much.
he awkwardly reaches for his bowl of cereal, eyes hyper focused on the camera as he scoops the spoon into the bowl.
“uh… hi.” he waves awkwardly, trying to watch the series that was on tv but he still couldn’t feel comfortable with the camera pointed at him so he turns the tv off.
“so uh… i’m eating a bowl of cocoa puffs.” kazutora says, showing the camera his meal, “they’re really good. it tastes like cocoa… i mean obviously– anyway!”
kazutora coughs. a blush forming on his cheeks on how awkward the entire situation is.
“so uhm. cats are cool.” he starts. “did you know that the calico cats were brought in japanese voyages because sailors thought they brought good luck?”
“it’s uhm. a pretty cool fact if i do say so myself.” silence.
“uh a cat was also mayor in an alaskan town for 20 years so there’s that.”
“oh! also, did you know that isaac newton invented the cat door?”
commenter: 5/5 he’s a lil awkward but his cat facts are so cute
commenter: 4/5 did not know about these cat facts and ill change my rating to 5/5 if we get more cat facts
sanzu:
“watch haru for me, thanks. he’s your problem now.” you say as you plop the phone in front of sanzu’s desktop.
“babe, what the hell?”
“careful, chat, he bites.” with that, you turned on your heel and left.
sanzu looks at the livestream and realizes that everyone was either thirsting for him or asking when your next shared content will come out.
“i’m in the middle of editing the video when that headache forced you to babysit me” sanzu said, shaking his head. “i do have one with senju coming out tomorrow, we tried 1 star hair products.”
he reads a comment and shakes his head. “of course not on my hair. (y/n) loves running her fingers on it and i’d be damned if i ruined it." he says before reading more comments
“what are your hair recommendations for someone with dry hair? well first, go condition that shit…”
“your curly hair is getting frizzy? souya said to not comb it while dry but i don’t know, if you fuck it up, blame the twins. my hair is pin straight so i wouldn’t know”
“skin care? i don’t know. whatever (y/n) puts on my face— don’t you dare take me out of context.”
commenter: was expecting to babysit this babygirl but got great skincare and haircare advice
commenter: apparently i was using the wrong toner, thanks for the help 5/5 will babysit again.
ran (bonus):
did not need any babysitting, was just asleep.
commenter: bro’s snoring
commenter: hes meditating guys
commenter: he’s died
note/s: if there is a tiktok trend u best believe i WILL write about it, i also hope u get the meme reference for ran.
in which your heartbreak over Mikey pulls you into the dangerous and irresistible orbit of Bonten's Number Two, Haruchiyo Sanzu.
warnings. sanzu haruchiyo is his own warning, graphic violence, substance abuse, toxic & manipulative relationships, explicit sexual content, depression & self-destructive behaviour, strong language.
tags. female reader insert, bonten au, tsundere!sanzu, ex-boyfriend!mikey, angst with a happy ending, slow burn, heavy pining & yearning.
masterlist
SPECIAL PART. 8.8k words
Haruchiyo Sanzu knew exactly where he stood in this fucked-up world.
Life, to him, was like a game of chess. The pieces, every last one of them, were expendable, existing solely to protect the king. Pawns were fodder, their only worth measured in how far they could march before being struck down. But Haruchiyo didn’t see himself as a mere pawn, weak and replaceable. No, he was the knight, the unpredictable force leaping over obstacles, carving his own jagged path through the board. His moves were calculated chaos, impossible to predict, lethal to anyone foolish enough to cross him.
And for Haruchiyo, there was only one king: Mikey.
The one who didn't demand respect because it was already his by default. The one whose mere presence could still the air, suffocating lesser men with the weight of his gaze. Mikey was strength incarnate, a force of nature, the eye of a storm Haruchiyo would gladly lose himself in. To serve Mikey wasn't just loyaly, it was purpose. It was identity.
So, when it came to protecting Mikey, hesitation wasn't in Haruchiyo's vocabulary. Even as the vice president of the Kanto Manji Gang, commanding men who would have spilled blood for him without question, he had walked into an enemy trap alone.
Fourteen men against one.
It was a calculated sacrifice. A massacre.
Haruchiyo had fought like a demon unleashed, his katana moving with a ferocity that turned the narrow alley into a butcher's den. Flesh tore, blood sprayed, and screams rose like a choir of agony in the night. For every cut he delivered, though, another fist found its mark. A bat slammed into his ribs. A knife grazed his body. Yet he didn't stop. Every movement, every ounce of pain, was fuel for the fire that burned him.
By the time the last man fell, Haruchiyo was barely standing.
Now, sprawled on the street, his breath came in wet, ragged gasps, each one an effort that felt like swallowing glass. The katana he'd fought so fiercely with had slipped from his grasp, its one-sharp edge dulled and stained crimson. A knife wound in his side pulsed with pain, the searing ache radiating outword with each shallow rise and fall of his chest. His blood pooled beneath him, soaking into the filthly street like a grosteque offering.
The world around him began to twist and blur, a kaleidoscope of dim streetlights and distant, faceless silhouettes. People were there; he could hear the hurried shuffle of their feet the murmurs of unease carried on in the wind. But none of them came closer. Their figures remained hazy and indistinct, heads turned away as if acknowledging his existence was an act too heavy to bear.
And maybe it was. He didn't deserve their pity. He didn't want it. What use did a knight have for mercy?
His hand slipped slightly, the strength draining from him faster than he could summon the will to move. A part of him recognised the truth: he was losing too much blood.
It was fine. This was how it was supposed to end, wasn't it?
Haruchiyo had always been a piece on the board, a knight thrown into battle again and again without hesitation. He was meant to break, to shatter, to be discarded when his usefulness ran out. As long as the king stood tall, untouchable, his sacrifice was nothing more than a necessary loss. And so, as the void began to reach for him, he let his mind drift, accepting its cold embrace with the faintest hint of a smile.
Until your voice jolted him awake.
“Are you alright?”
It was soft, hesitant, and so out of place in the blood-soaked reality he lived in that it made his eyes flutter open, despite the overwhelming exhaustion.
At first, he could only make out the shape of you, standing in front of him, your figure illuminated by the dim orange glow of a nearby streetlight. His gaze shifted, struggling to steady, until he caught sight of your school uniform. A pristine, ordinary thing that looked so absurdly out of place amidst the blood-soaked chaos. And then there was your face: wide-eyed and paled with worry, as you stared at him like you couldn't quite believe what you were seeing.
You shouldn't have been there.
Someone like you—a stranger, so normal, so untainted—had no business stopping for him. You should have turned away, just like everyone else. You should have kept walking, left him there to bleed out and vanish, just another nameless casualty swallowed by the night.
And yet, you hadn't.
You were holding out something to him. A handkerchief embroidered with flowers. It looked laughably small in your hands, the kind of thing that belonged neatly folded in a school bag. How could that delicate thing possibly fix the mess he was in?
When he didn’t move, didn’t say anything, uncertainty flickered across your face, and your hand lowered slowly.
“I just called the ambulance,” you said, your voice was steady, but he didn’t miss the way your fingers trembled. “They should be here any minute.”
Your gaze darted to his wound, and he saw the way your lips pressed into a tight line as if you were debating whether you should be doing more.
“I… I can’t stay long,” you added, almost apologetically. “I’ve got an important test to get to. But I didn’t want to just…”
You trailed off, biting your lip as though the words felt inadequate, as though you were ashamed of even thinking of leaving him.
His chest ached at your concern.
It wasn’t pity though. Your voice didn’t carry that patronizing weight. It was genuine. The kind of thing he hadn’t encountered in what felt like a lifetime.
He wanted to tell you to leave.
That your kindness was wasted on him. That people like him didn't deserve help, didn't deserve saving. That the world would be better off if he bled out here, just another piece sacrificed for the king's game.
But the words wouldn't come.
All he could do was lie there, his breathing ragged, his body a leaden weight against the cold asphalt. His eyes, hazy yet piercing, locked onto yours, as if searching for an answer he didn't know how to ask.
Then you knelt in front of him, holding out the handkerchief once more.
The mechanical mistrust ingrained in him since childhood roared to life. His instinct flared violently, screaming at him to shove you away, to guard himself. His hand shot out before he could stop it, knocking yours aside with more force than intended.
You froze mid-motion, your hand lingering in the air, your eyes widening slightly. A moment of silence passed, and he anticipated the usual response: fear, disgust, even hatred.
But your gaze softened instead.
"I'm not going to hurt you," you said gently as though you were speaking to a frightened animal. "I just want to help."
Help.
He stared at you, his chest tight with disbelief. The concept felt alien, as if you'd spoken a language he'd never learned. People didn’t help without wanting something in return. Not in his world. Not in the life he’d been swallowed by since the day Mikey pulled him out of the gutter and gave him a purpose.
Still, your hand came forward again, slower this time, the handkerchief trembling between your fingers.
The soft fabric brushed against his cheek, and he froze. Every muscle in his body locked, the instinct to recoil roaring in his mind, but his body betrayed him, rooted in place. Your touch was gentle, so impossibly careful, it felt like you were afraid of breaking him.
Breaking me? The thought almost made him laugh, if he weren't already choking on exhaustion. But I'm already broken.
His life had been a series of fractures, cracks spreading deeper with every betrayal, every fight, every sacrifice made in Mikey's name.
And yet, your touch, your gaze, your voice, scraped at a forgotten part inside him, a hollow space he'd long since buried beneath rage and violence. A part of him he didn't recognise anymore.
For that fleeting moment, Haruchiyo let you clean the blood off his face. The warmth of your touch soothed the sting of his wounds, both seen and unseen, you presence anchoring him a way he didn't understand and didn't want to question.
Then the panic set in.
"Don’t," he snapped, the word tearing from his throat, as he jerked your hand away again.
Letting someone in, even this much, felt like a crack in his armor, and the vulnerability clawed at him like a living thing.
You sighed in response, your frustration flickering across your face, but there was no genuine anger. “Fine, I’ll stop.”
You tucked the handkerchief away.
Haruchiyo watched silently as you pulled out a notepad from your bag, scribbling something quickly before tearing the page free. You folded it neatly in your hands and held it out to him.
"I really need to get going now," you said, straightening to your full height. Your schoolbag shifted on your shoulder, a reminder of the normal life you'd be returning to—a world so far removed from his.
"But if you need anything, call me. Please. I mean it."
Haruchiyo stared at the paper, but he didn’t take it.
You hesitated for only a second before bending down and slipping it into his hand yourself. Your fingers brushed against his briefly, but the contact was enough to send a jolt through him, one he didn’t know how to process.
He stared down at the paper now crumpled in his hand, the faint imprint of your touch still linegering on his skin. His mind raced, torn between the instinct to throw it away and the inexplicable urge to hold onto it like a lifeline.
You.
Someone who had stepped into his world, this twisted hell he lived in, and hadn't turned away. Someone who didn't treat him like he was nothing more than a lunatic, a dog loyal to its master.
Someone who looked at him and saw a man worth saving.
He didn't understand it. He didn't trust it. But he couldn't bring himself to reject it.
You turned to leave, but paused a few steps away, glancing back over your shoulder with a small, uncertain smile.
"Don’t forget," you said softly, "you can call me, okay?"
And then you were gone, your figure swallowed by the chaos of the city.
Still, he didn’t move. The sounds of the world around him—the distant hum of traffic, the wail of approaching sirens—blurred into static. His heart pounded, erratic and uneven, a thundering rhythm he couldn't control. He couldn't explain it. Why his chest felt tight, why his throat burned, why this small, stupid piece of paper felt heavier than the katana he'd wielded mere hours ago.
For the first time in his life, Haruchiyo Sanzu didn't know what he was supposed to do.
And it terrified him.
Haruchiyo Sanzu couldn’t get you out of his mind.
It was infuriating.
Days had passed since you left him on that bloodstained street with your naive kindness and a flimsy promise tucked into his hand. Days spent staring at white ceilings, surrounded by the antiseptic stench of the hospital Mikey had sponsored. Mikey hadn’t even bothered to visit, and part of Haruchiyo expected that. The boss was angry.
Not that Mikey’s silence stung. It did.
But the truth was, Mikey had done enough. He’d kept the whole ordeal from reaching the police, hidden the mess Haruchiyo had made in his reckless attempt to protect the king. That was Mikey’s way: decisive and clean. Still, the absence of his leader left Haruchiyo restless, trapped in a limbo of recovery and idleness.
And then there was you.
Your voice, your face, the warmth of your touch. They haunted him. Haruchiyo scowled as he pulled the crumpled note from his pocket, smoothing the creases with his thumb. Your number, still smudged with his blood, stared back at him like a challenge.
“Don’t forget, you can call me, okay?”
He hadn’t called you.
Not even once.
He told himself it was for the best. You were a normal girl, innocent, untouched by the filth of his world. It would be irresponsible to drag you into the dark. But no matter how hard he tried to ignore it, the selfish, traitorous part of him wanted to see you again.
The knock at the door snapped him out of his thoughts, and Haruchiyo shoved the paper back into his pocket just as it creaked open.
Ran Haitani sauntered in like he owned the place, a shit-eating grin on his face, and dark Kanto Manji Gang uniform hanging perfectly off his tall frame. His signature braid dangled over his shoulder, swaying with every step.
“You look like shit, man,” Ran quipped as he stopped at the foot of Haruchiyo’s bed.
Haruchiyo shot him a glare, his lips curling in irritation. “If you’re here to waste my time, get lost.”
Ran didn’t budge. Instead, he leaned against the wall, one leg crossed over the other, as if he owned the place. “Relax. I’m only here as a messenger. Boss sent me.”
At that, Haruchiyo’s eyes narrowed, his posture stiffening despite the ache it caused. “What does he want?”
“He’s pulling you out of the gang for a while. Says you’re supposed to rest.”
The words hit like a punch to the gut. Haruchiyo pushed himself upright, ignoring the sharp pain that lanced through his side. “Bullshit. Mikey wouldn’t say that.”
Ran shrugged indifferently. “Believe what you want, but those were his exact words.”
Haruchiyo clenched his jaw, his fists balling in the sheets. “There’s no one who can protect Mikey like I can. He knows that.”
At that, Ran’s smirk faltered, his violet eyes narrowing just slightly. “That’s the problem, Haru-chan. You think you’re the only one who can do shit? Like the rest of us are just for show?”
“Because you are,” Haruchiyo snapped. “None of you understand what Mikey needs. What it takes to keep him safe. You’re all just playing at loyalty.”
The room grew tense, the air thick with unspoken challenges. Ran straightened, his easygoing demeanor shifting into a chilling coldness.
“And you think kissin’ his ass makes you better than us? Newsflash, Mad Dog. Just because we don’t worship him the way you do doesn’t mean we’d hesitate to kill for him.”
Haruchiyo opened his mouth to fire back, but before he could get a word out, Ran’s fist connected with his face.
The punch wasn't hard enough to cause any real damage, but the impact jerked Haruchiyo’s head to the side. The sting was enough to leave him momentarily stunned, his fingers flying to his cheek as his eyes snapped back to Ran, blazing with fury.
“—The fuck?!”
Ran shrugged, a lazy grin spreading across his face as if he hadn't just signed his death warrant. "I’ve always wanted to do that. Figured now's my best shot since you're, y'know, bedridden."
Haruchiyo’s hands clenched into fists, his entire body vibrating with restrained rage. "You want to die, Haitani?"
"Not today," Ran replied smoothly, raising his hands in mock surrender. But there was no fear in his eyes, only that infuriating glimmer of amusement.
“Anyway, Boss got another job for you.”
Haruchiyo scoffed, his anger momentarily eclipsed by disbelief. "What job?"
"You're going to guard someone."
Haruchiyo frowned. Guard duty? That wasn’t his style. He wasn’t some babysitter.
“Who?”
Ran’s grin widened, and his next words came as casually as a bomb dropping.
“Mikey’s girlfriend.”
Haruchiyo’s body stilled, his mind whirring as the air seemed to shift around him. “What? Mikey’s girlfriend?”
“Surprise, surprise.” Ran chuckled. “Turns out Boss is a ladies’ man. Figures, huh?”
Haruchiyo said nothing. His expression was carefully blank, but his chest tightened with a foreign, unpleasant feeling. Mikey, his king, had a girlfriend? He’d never heard anything about her before.
The thought churned in his gut like acid, his loyalty and jealousy clashing violently. Who the hell was she? What kind of girl could hold a place in Mikey’s heart that wasn’t reserved for the gang; wasn’t reserved for him?
Whoever she was, Haruchiyo doubted she deserved him.
“She’s important,” Ran said, turning to leave. “So don’t screw this up, Haru-chan. If you do… well, I’ll have another reason to smash your face in.”
Haruchiyo didn’t respond, his mind already spinning as the door clicked shut behind Ran. He leaned back against the pillows, his head swimming with questions.
His fingers brushed against the paper in his pocket, its edges worn and stained. The burning question lingered like a curse: Who the hell was she?
And why did he already feel like he was losing something he never even had the chance to claim?
Haruchiyo Sanzu leaned casually against his superbike, its black frame gleaming beneath the afternoon sun. His presence alone drew a crowd, as it always did. Dressed in a loose black turtleneck and fitted jeans, with his pink hair pulled back into a ponytail, he cut a figure both intimidating and impossibly attractive. The all-girls school gate was abuzz with murmurs and giggles as students streamed out, whispering and glancing in his direction.
But Haruchiyo ignored them.
He wasn’t here for them.
Today, he had a job to do. A job he wanted no part of. Guard Mikey’s girlfriend. The words alone made his blood boil. He knew this wasn’t about trust; this was a punishment. Mikey was pulling him away from the gang, away from what Haruchiyo lived for, because he’d disobeyed. Charging headfirst into enemy territory was reckless, and Mikey knew it wasn’t just about protecting him. Haruchiyo enjoyed the fight. The blood. The chaos.
And this? This assignment was meant to tear that from him, to leash him like a misbehaved dog. Worse still, Mikey was entrusting him with someone weak. Someone unworthy of a king.
His phone buzzed in his hand, breaking him from his brooding thoughts. He glanced at the screen before answering lazily, holding the phone to his ear.
“Is that you with the bike? I’m right in front of you!”
The feminine voice rang through the line, soft, sweet, familiar. Haruchiyo frowned, his gaze lifting instinctively to search the dispersing crowd.
And then he saw you.
You were waving a hand above your head, your phone still pressed to your ear as you caught his eye. Your face lit up when you spotted him, a bright, cheerful smile gracing your lips as you walked toward him.
His breath caught in his throat.
You.
The girl who had stopped for him. The girl who’d knelt beside him on that blood-soaked street, her voice soft and kind, her hands unshaking as she wiped his face. The girl who had called an ambulance and disappeared, leaving him with nothing but a crumpled note and a memory that had been haunting him ever since.
What the hell is going on?
Haruchiyo stiffened, his hand tightening around his phone as he stared at you approaching. He felt the ground shift beneath him, felt a sharp and painful twist in his chest. The warmth he’d felt in that moment you saved him—the unspoken gratitude he refused to admit—curdled into a dark and bitter emotion.
“Hey,” you said as you stopped in front of him, lowering your phone. “You’re Sanzu, right? Mikey’s friend?”
He stared at you, his teal eyes wide in disbelief. “You…” The words tumbled out before he could stop them. “Who the hell are you?”
You blinked, clearly confused by the question.
“I’m Mikey’s girlfriend,” you replied, the words light and cheerful, so matter-of-fact that you might as well have driven a knife through his chest.
Haruchiyo’s stomach dropped. The blood drained from his face, leaving him cold.
Mikey’s girlfriend.
The truth hit him with all the subtlety of a freight train. His mind reeled, a thousand thoughts crashing into one another. You’re Mikey’s? The girl who had stopped for him, the girl who had shown him kindness he didn’t deserve, you were Mikey’s.
A hot, suffocating mix of anger and jealousy roared to life in his chest. It confused him, rattled him to his core. Jealous of Mikey? Jealous of you? He couldn’t tell anymore, but the fury was there, blinding and undeniable.
“Y-you’re Sanzu, right?” you asked again, your voice hesitant now as you took in his silence.
He ignored your question entirely. Turning away sharply, Haruchiyo pulled a helmet off his bike and tossed it at you without warning. You barely caught it, stumbling back as it hit your hands clumsily.
“Get on,” he ordered coldly, already swinging his leg over the bike and settling onto the seat.
“Oh… alright,” you said softly, your tone unsure, as if you’d finally realized he wasn’t the friendly face you’d expected.
Haruchiyo felt your weight shift behind him as you climbed on, the awkward shuffle of your movements pressing against his back. He didn’t give you a moment to settle. He twisted the throttle, and the bike roared to life, lurching forward so suddenly you were forced to cling to him.
Your arms wrapped tightly around his waist, your fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt as if he were the only thing keeping you upright. He could feel your body against his, your warmth seeping into him, and it only made the ache inside him worse.
The ride was silent.
Haruchiyo’s mind was anything but.
The cold wind whipped past him, but he barely felt it. All he could think about was you. The girl who’d saved him. The girl who’d smiled at him, looked at him like he wasn’t just a weapon, wasn’t just Mikey’s loyal dog. That brief moment of kindness had lingered inside him, burning like a flame he couldn’t snuff out.
And now you belonged to Mikey.
Of course you did. Mikey got everything. Every ounce of respect, every shred of loyalty, every good thing this world had to offer. And Haruchiyo? He was just the knight on the board, meant to protect the king. Nothing more.
But the worst part—the part that clawed at him like a splinter lodged deep in his chest—was the fact that you didn’t remember him.
To you, he was just Sanzu Haruchiyo. Mikey’s friend. A stranger on a bike.
Not the broken, bleeding boy you’d knelt beside.
Not the one you’d saved.
As the city blurred past him, Haruchiyo tightened his grip on the throttle, pushing the bike faster, as if speed could drown out the storm raging in his head.
But no matter how hard he tried, the bitterness wouldn’t go away.
You were Mikey’s.
And Haruchiyo Sanzu hated it.
Haruchiyo Sanzu leaned against the wall, hands shoved deep into his pockets, his expression blank. Or at least, he hoped it was blank. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to catch the storm brewing beneath the surface.
“Can’t believe Mikey’s letting some chick walk all over him like that,” he muttered, just loud enough for you to hear.
You froze mid-step, your head tilting slightly as his words registered.
“The bitch got him wrapped around her little finger. It’s pathetic.”
The words were entirely uncalled for, but Haruchiyo couldn’t stop them from spilling out. He told himself it was necessary as a reminder to himself, to you, that you were unworthy of Mikey.
And for a moment, he thought he’d feel better for saying it.
But then he saw the look on your face.
It was so fleeting that anyone else might have missed it, but Haruchiyo caught it. The flicker of hurt in your eyes was like a dagger straight to his chest.
His heart clenched, his stomach twisting painfully. Guilt began creeping in slowly, wrapping around his throat like a noose. He wanted to say something, to take the words back, to apologize, but his pride slammed the door shut before he could.
Instead, he turned away, ignoring your gaze as he stalked off, every step heavier than the last. His heart thudded against his ribs as he tried to ignore the pang of regret gnawing at him. He didn’t know where he was going, but anywhere was better than standing there, looking at the pain he’d caused.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Haruchiyo didn’t know how to deal with this; how to deal with you. You weren’t supposed to matter. You weren’t supposed to be anything more than an assignment Mikey had handed him, one he’d reluctantly accepted out of duty.
You’d been targeted lately by bullies, opportunists, people who thought messing with Mikey’s girl was a shortcut to provoking him. Mikey had ordered Haruchiyo to guard you, along with a few other trusted gang members, and Haruchiyo had obeyed without question.
But obedience didn’t mean he had to like it.
Your presence made him feel unsteady, like the ground beneath his feet was shifting constantly. He’d tried to shake it off, to focus on the task at hand, but being alone with you was unbearable.
So instead, he dragged you around the others, tossing his so-called responsibility to them under the guise of laziness. Kakucho, Ran, Mochizuki. Hell, anyone else could do it. As long as he didn’t have to be alone with you.
But no matter where you were, his eyes always found their way back to you.
Ran’s voice broke through his thoughts. “What’s with the face?”
“What face?” Haruchiyo replied flatly, not bothering to look at Ran. His eyes were glued to you, watching as you chatted awkwardly with Kakucho.
“That face,” Ran drawled, a teasing lilt in his tone. “You look like you’re about to stab her. Or Kakucho. Maybe both.”
Haruchiyo didn’t respond. His grip tightened in his pockets as he watched you giggle at something Kakucho said. The sound of your laugh was like a dagger twisting in his chest.
You were Mikey’s girl. You should only be laughing like that around Mikey. Or… him.
Before he could spiral further into his thoughts, the distant, throaty growl of Mikey’s Street Hawk sliced through the air like a warning bell. The familiar sound carried weight that silenced the room in an instant. Every head turned toward the door.
Haruchiyo’s spine straightened instinctively, his eyes flicking toward the door as the door swung open to reveal Mikey, calm and collected as always.
And then you moved.
Haruchiyo watched as your face lit up the second you saw Mikey. That radiant smile—blinding, unfiltered, genuine—was a sight he hadn’t seen you give to anyone else all day.
“Mikey!” Your voice was filled with warmth, the kind Haruchiyo hadn’t realized he craved until it wasn’t directed at him.
Before anyone could process it, you were already rushing toward Mikey, throwing your arms around him like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Haruchiyo’s stomach churned, the knot of emotions in his chest tightening until it felt like he couldn’t breathe. Mikey’s hand rested lightly on your back in return, his expression unreadable. But Haruchiyo knew Mikey. He knew how rare it was for Mikey to show affection so openly.
The casual intimacy between you and Mikey clawed at him, a sensation so raw and uncomfortable that he had to bite the inside of his cheek just to keep himself in check.
He didn’t even realize how hard he was staring until Ran’s voice slid into his ear again.
“Careful. You’re staring holes into them. People might start thinking you’ve got a thing for her.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Haruchiyo snapped.
Ran smirked, clearly enjoying the reaction. “Relax, Haru-chan. She’s just doing what girlfriends do. It’s not like you’ve got a shot anyway.”
The words hit their mark, and Haruchiyo snapped his glare toward Ran, his sharp eyes practically daring him to say more. But Ran, ever the provocateur, just chuckled and walked off, leaving Haruchiyo stewing in his own fury.
He tore his gaze away from you, but it was too late. The image of your arms wrapped around Mikey was already burned into his mind.
The jealousy bubbling in his chest was scorching, suffocating. And the worst part was, he couldn’t tell who he was jealous of.
Was it Mikey? Mikey, who had everything Haruchiyo had ever wanted: respect, loyalty, and now, you?
Or was it you? You, with your radiant smile, your soft laugh, your ability to draw out a side of Mikey that Haruchiyo hadn’t seen in years.
The lines blurred until all Haruchiyo could feel was a searing hatred for the way you made him feel.
Hatred, because he couldn’t stop thinking about you.
Hatred, because he couldn’t stop looking at you.
And hatred, because no matter how much he told himself you didn’t belong in their world, a selfish part of him wanted you to stay.
Haruchiyo Sanzu knew exactly what he wanted.
He was a man of sharp edges, carved by desire and driven by instinct. When he reached for something, he never hesitated. Women were no exception. Most of them fell for his dangerous charm, entranced by his striking pink hair and the unshakable confidence he exuded. But you? You were different.
Because you weren't just unreachable.
You were Mikey's.
That fact alone made every lingering thought about you unbearable. Every smile you gave to Mikey, every laugh that lit up your face, each one was a taunt, a reminder of the invisible line Haruchiyo couldn't cross.
And yet, you haunted him.
Haruchiyo had tried to convince himself that his infatuation with you would fade, that the strange ache in his chest every time he saw you with Mikey would eventually dull. He sought distractions, found fleeting thrills, and buried himself in the chaos of the gang’s world. For a while, he believed he had it under control.
The ache didn’t lessen, but he’d learned to hide it. He’d trained himself to stop flinching when you smiled at Mikey, to ignore the way his stomach twisted when you laughed, to dismiss the pang of jealousy that gnawed at him when he saw the way you looked at Mikey.
Then, one day, it all unraveled.
You came to him, tears streaming down your face, your voice trembling as you pleaded for his help.
“Mikey—he’s surrounded! There are too many of them. Please, you have to save him!”
Your words hit him like a knife to the chest, but it wasn’t just the message that cut him. It was the sight of you with your tear-streaked cheeks, your swollen red eyes, the desperation in your voice.
“The fuck are you doing here? You tryna get yourself killed?!” His voice cracked like a whip, making you flinch.
His knuckles whitened around the hilt of his katana, the metal trembling with the force of his grip. Rage rolled off him in waves, but beneath it bled a deeper emotion, fear, desperate to be disguised.
He hissed through his teeth, voice dropping low. “Just… get the fuck out of here before you end up a corpse at my feet.”
Your tearful gaze wavered, lips parting as if to speak, but Haruchiyo had already turned away, jaw locked tight as though he couldn’t bear to look at you any longer.
You don’t belong here, he thought bitterly, his jaw clenching as he strode forward. Why the hell are you even involved in this mess?
He knew the answer: because of Mikey.
It was always Mikey.
The realization only stoked the fire inside him, the bitter lump in his throat making it harder to breathe.
By the time he found the enemies, Haruchiyo was already seeing red. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t stop to consider his actions. The first swing of his katana was precise and brutal, and the rest followed in a blur of blood and chaos.
His mind was blank, his body moving on instinct. He didn’t even register Mikey’s presence amidst the fight; didn’t notice his boss standing off to the side, silent and watchful.
All Haruchiyo cared about was eliminating every single threat.
When the last body hit the ground, Haruchiyo Sanzu stood amidst the carnage, chest heaving, blood dripping from his katana. He didn’t know whose blood it was anymore—his or theirs—but it didn’t matter. The red painted across his skin and clothes told the same story: violence and rage.
He turned to you.
You were still standing there, frozen, your hands trembling at your sides. Your wide eyes met his, but they weren’t filled with relief or gratitude.
They were filled with fear.
Haruchiyo’s stomach twisted painfully, but it wasn’t the trembling in your figure that drew him closer. It was the smear of blood on your cheek, stark against your pale skin, that compelled him forward.
Without thinking, he stepped toward you, his boots crunching against the blood-soaked pavement. His hand rose unsteadily to wipe the blood from your face.
You flinched.
The sharpness of your movement cut hit him like a freight train, forcing him to stop mid-reach. His breath hitched, the sting of rejection settling deep in his chest.
What the hell was he doing? Trying to wipe your cheek like he was someone who could comfort you? Like he was someone who deserved to touch you?
His hand didn’t retreat. Instead, it lowered, wrapping gently around your throat.
There was no pressure, no intent to hurt. Just his palm resting against your skin, feeling the rapid pulse beneath it. The warmth of your neck spread through him, grounding him in a way he didn’t understand.
For a moment, he let himself believe a lie.
That your quickened heartbeat wasn’t from fear but from something else. That it matched his own racing pulse, fueled by the same feelings coursing through him.
“Sanzu… Have we met before?”
The question jolted him.
He blinked, his grip loosening slightly as he stared at you.
“You were that boy,” you continued, realization dawning in your wide eyes. “The one I saw bleeding on the street.”
A bitter sneer twisted his lips, baring his teeth in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “What about it?”
Your words faltered, dying in your throat as his fingers flexed against your neck. His gaze bore into yours, searching, desperate to find something other than fear in your eyes.
But it wasn’t there.
The crunch of footsteps behind him made Haruchiyo freeze.
Your eyes snapped past him, locking onto the source of the sound. Relief washed over your features, softening the fear that had been etched there moments ago.
Mikey.
Haruchiyo didn’t need to turn around to confirm it. He could feel Mikey’s presence, like a weight pressing down on his shoulders.
Your gaze darted back to him, uncertain, as if you weren’t sure whether to plead for him to release you or to run.
Haruchiyo almost laughed at the absurdity of it.
“Run,” he muttered.
And you did.
You swatted his hand away, stepping back before turning on your heel and running straight to Mikey.
“Mikey!” Your voice cracked with emotion as you clung to his arm. “Are you okay?”
Haruchiyo didn’t move. His hand hung limply at his side as he stared at the empty space where you’d stood just seconds ago. The warmth of your skin lingered against his palm, but it did nothing to quell the cold sinking into his chest.
He sighed, his shoulders slumping as he took a moment to recompose himself.
When he finally turned, his gaze met Mikey’s.
You were holding onto Mikey’s arm, your tear-streaked face pressed against his shoulder. Your sobs were quieter now, but the sight of you leaning on someone else, stung in a way Haruchiyo didn’t have the words to describe.
The weight of his guilt, his jealousy, his unspoken feelings pressed down on him, and Haruchiyo couldn’t breathe.
He dropped to his knees in front of Mikey, bowing his head low.
“Boss,” he murmured.
Mikey’s dark eyes flicked to Haruchiyo, unreadable as always. “Akashi.”
Haruchiyo Sanzu had spent years pretending he didn’t feel anything for you.
But he wasn’t stupid.
He knew what it was. This thing clawing at his chest every time you smiled at Mikey. He knew it when you clung to Mikey’s sleeve back in school, when you cried into his arms, when you looked at him—Haruchiyo—as though he was just a shadow standing in Mikey’s light. That hollow weight in his chest wasn’t hate. It was hunger.
Obsession.
He told himself it didn’t matter. That it would pass. That you’d go away or Mikey would grow tired of you. That he would grow tired of you.
But you didn’t. Mikey didn’t. And Haruchiyo never did.
He tried to drown it out. He tried. Even now, years later, with Bonten inked into his skin and blood on his hands, he was still haunted. Haunted by the shape of your mouth, by the way your voice rose when you were angry, by the way you existed without even trying, and drove him fucking insane while doing it.
The nightclub owned by the Haitani brothers became his escape.
Most nights, he’d end up in that dim, smoke-filled private room on the third floor, neon lights flashing like a heartbeat through the glass. Music pounding against the walls. Lines of white spread out neatly across the glass table, a lighter flicking on and off between his fingers. There were always women around—girls who giggled too loud and touched him too much—but they were nothing.
They weren’t you.
They didn’t sneer the way you did when you were pissed. They didn’t challenge him, didn’t call him a lunatic like it was a curse and a promise all at once.
They didn’t burn.
And so, Haruchiyo stopped pretending. He sent the girls away. He drowned himself in pills, crushed and bitter on his tongue, chased with whiskey that burned like guilt. The drugs numbed the rage but not the ache. Not the way your name still hovered in the back of his throat like smoke he couldn’t cough up.
Most nights, the Bonten executives left him alone. Too many bad nights. Too many broken bottles. Too many holes in the walls and bruises blooming across people’s faces when they touched him wrong.
He was too much when he was high, they said.
But alone, that’s when the worst came.
The drugs hit fast, coating his mind in a blissful, detached haze. Everything slowed down. Everything softened.
Except you.
You were always there. In the corner of his eye. In the phantom weight on his lap. In the echo of your voice curled around his name like a noose.
And fuck, it wasn’t fair.
Why did it have to be you?
Why was it only you?
He sank deeper into the couch, one hand running down his face, the other sliding beneath the waistband of his pants. He didn’t even hesitate anymore. Didn’t bother closing his eyes, didn’t need to. Your face was already there, so vivid it made his chest hurt.
His breath stuttered as his fingers wrapped around his length. He was already half-hard just thinking about your voice, sharp and angry, soft and breathless. He imagined you straddling him, fists in his shirt, cursing him through gritted teeth while your body told a different story. He imagined the way you’d glare at him when he made you beg.
Haruchiyo’s hips bucked into his palm.
A sharp breath. A curse. His grip tightened.
He shouldn’t be doing this. Mikey would fucking kill him if he knew. If he ever knew what Haruchiyo thought when he looked at you; what he did when he thought about you.
But he couldn’t stop.
He wanted you too much.
He stroked faster, chased the edge like a man starved, his mind spinning, your name the only coherent thing in the chaos. You, sneering. You, crying. You, moaning. You, screaming his name like it meant something.
The orgasm hit hard, like a wave crashing over him, dragging him under. His breath hitched. He groaned, slumped further into the couch as the aftershocks rolled through his trembling frame.
For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Just his heartbeat, pounding like a war drum in his ears.
And then—
Disgust.
It crept up slowly. Sour and shameful. He stared at the ceiling, chest rising and falling, the back of his hand pressed to his mouth like it could somehow take the moment back.
He felt sick.
Not because of the drugs. Not because of the high.
But because you didn’t deserve this.
Because he didn’t deserve you.
And maybe that was the worst part. That even now, after everything, he still wanted you. Still craved you. Still wanted to be close, even if it meant seeing you in someone else’s arms.
Haruchiyo Sanzu didn’t believe in love.
But if he did… it would look like this.
Like obsession. Like hunger. Like madness in his veins.
And your name in his mouth.
Haruchiyo Sanzu rubbed a hand down his face, dragging the heel of his palm across his mouth like it could erase the memory of what he’d just done. His other hand trembled faintly, twitching with the remnants of the high, though whether it was the drugs or you, he couldn’t tell anymore.
Suddenly, a shrill, high-pitched ringtone shattered the silence, stabbing through the haze in his skull.
His head snapped toward the phone vibrating violently on the table.
That phone. Only one reason it ever rang.
Work. Mikey.
He scrambled, wiping his hand on the nearest towel and snatching the phone up with a speed that nearly sent the table crashing.
The screen flashed: “King.”
He took one shaky breath and answered.
“Yo, Mikey.”
His voice was too casual. Too light. He forced it through his teeth anyway, trying to slap the familiar crooked grin into his tone. Trying to sound like he hadn’t just been stroking himself raw to the image of his boss’s girl.
There was a long pause on the other end. Then, finally, that cold, detached voice: “Come to my office, Akashi.”
Mikey’s voice was never loud. He didn’t need to be. The silence after his words was always enough to fill the room.
Haruchiyo’s mouth curved into something halfway between a smirk and a grimace.
“‘Course I’m comin’, Mikey.”
He hung up before his voice could crack.
The ride to Bonten was a blur of neon lights and roaring engines. His superbike carved through Tokyo’s streets like a blade, wind tearing through his open jacket, smoke still clinging to his clothes. The night air helped clear the static from his head and sobered the crawl of chemicals in his bloodstream. But it didn’t stop your name from echoing in the corners of his mind.
By the time he pulled into the underground lot, his hands were steady again.
Mostly.
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime as he stepped into the heart of the beast.
Bonten headquarters was too silent. At this hour, only ghosts and executives moved through its marble halls. But tonight, the usual stillness had a different weight.
Haruchiyo’s boots clicked down the marble corridor until something caught his eye. Mikey’s office door, left ajar.
That never happened.
A muscle in Haruchiyo’s jaw ticked as he pushed it open.
Mikey sat slouched behind his desk, paperwork scattered around him. His silver hair was mussed, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves shoved up. He looked… frayed. Not weak, but not the untouchable king Haruchiyo bled for either.
Haruchiyo smirked faintly, out of habit more than anything. “Boss?”
Mikey didn’t look up right away. When he did, his voice came flat and detached, like he was announcing the weather.
“I’m getting married.”
The words cut clean through the air.
And Haruchiyo knew instantly.
Married. To someone else. Not you.
It was instinct. He could tell from the absence of warmth in Mikey’s voice. Because Mikey wouldn’t sound like that if it were you. If it were you, the words would’ve carried something. Anything.
Haruchiyo’s chest caved in around the realization, bitter heat flooding his veins.
His brain, trained on bloodshed and chaos, refused to accept what it had just heard. He should’ve felt triumphant. Hell, maybe even smug. Mikey letting go of you meant you were free now. No longer wrapped around the king’s neck like a noose. No longer the soft spot that Haruchiyo resented you for.
But the image that bloomed in his mind wasn’t one of relief.
It was you, shattered. Eyes glassy. Lips trembling. Voice cracking around a scream you wouldn’t know how to let out.
Because you loved Mikey. You loved him in that all-consuming, sacrificial way. Haruchiyo had always thought it was stupid. Weak. But now the image of your heartbreak wouldn’t stop clawing at the inside of his skull.
His jaw clenched until it ached.
“The fuck you sayin’, Mikey?” Haruchiyo’s voice came out hoarse, barely restrained.
Mikey didn’t even flinch a muscle. “I’m getting married next week.”
Same flat tone. Same dead-eyed delivery. Like it was nothing. Like he wasn’t detonating every part of Haruchiyo that still felt.
Haruchiyo’s hands trembled. He wasn’t even high anymore, and still his control was already slipping.
He took a step forward.
“What about her?” he hissed. “You just gonna toss her aside like trash?”
Mikey didn’t answer. His eyes remained empty and unreadable.
The silence sliced through Haruchiyo like a wire pulled taut. He shouldn’t care this much or be this angry. Mikey was his king. His god. If Mikey decided to marry some no-name woman to fulfill some ancient wish, it wasn’t Haruchiyo’s place to say a goddamn thing.
But you—
You would be ruined.
And Haruchiyo couldn’t stop seeing it.
“It’s what Shin wanted,” Mikey said at last, gaze drifting away. “It’s the least I could do to honor him.”
The words sounded noble. But they felt like betrayal.
Haruchiyo’s eyes flared wide, fury swallowing any logic left in him. He slammed his hand against the desk hard enough to make the papers scatter.
“And what about her, Mikey?” he growled again, louder now. “What the fuck about her?!”
Mikey’s eyes snapped back to his, a flicker of irritation flashing in that black void of a stare.
“You don’t question me, Akashi. I’m the boss here,” he said coldly.
Haruchiyo froze, just for a beat. The cold weight of his boss’s tone pressed down on him. But it wasn’t enough. Not when his gut was on fire, not when the image of your broken face was clawing at him.
“Then maybe you should fuckin’ act like one,” he spat, venom dripping from every word. “Not some coward hiding behind his dead brother’s ghost!”
That did it. Mikey moved. Fast.
A blur of movement, fist crashing into Haruchiyo’s face with a sickening crunch. His head snapped sideways, blood exploding from his nose as he staggered back, nearly knocking over a chair. The taste hit instantly, metallic, warm and humiliating.
But he didn’t fight back. He looked up instead, with split lip and racing pulse, and saw something that made his breath hitch.
Mikey’s expression had finally cracked.
He looked like a mess, heartbreak bleeding through his carefully built mask. The edges of his mouth trembled. His brows pinched. And in his those empty, abyssal eyes, was the unmistakable glint of pain.
Haruchiyo faltered.
Suddenly, everything made sense.
Mikey wasn’t letting you go because he wanted to. He was burying you. Just like he buried Shin. Draken. Emma. Baji. And every piece of himself he couldn’t carry anymore.
The weight in the room was unbearable. Grief hung in the air like smog.
Slowly, Haruchiyo stood straight.
He looked at Mikey. At the man he worshipped. The man who had ripped him from the jaws of death and made him a monster.
Then, in one fluid motion, Haruchiyo dropped to his knees. “Please… don’t do this to her.” His voice was low. Strained. Like it had been ripped straight from his lungs.
“You can fucking kill me. You can burn the world if you want. But don’t hurt her, Mikey.”
The room was silent. Not even the lights buzzed now. Only the soft rustle of scattered papers. The heavy sound of two broken men breathing in a room that had no god left.
Mikey didn’t speak.
And for the first time since he was a boy, Haruchiyo Sanzu didn’t know if the man he knelt before was still a king…
…or just another corpse waiting to rot.
Haruchiyo Sanzu’s hands wouldn’t stop shaking. The pills rattled against his palm before he shoved them into his mouth, swallowing them dry. His throat burned, his chest ached, and the familiar static began to crawl at the edges of his vision. It wasn’t enough. It was never enough.
The Haitani nightclub pulsed like a living beast. Heat, sweat, perfume, alcohol, the roar of bass so heavy it felt like it was cracking his skull in half. Girls draped themselves over men like ornaments, and one had slithered her way beside him now, giggling, her nails grazing his thigh in a way that should’ve distracted him.
But nothing could tear his gaze away from you.
Not when you were in the back room.
Not when Mikey was there with you.
Not when he watched the moment your face shattered.
The scene carved itself into him like glass. Mikey’s calm and empty voice, telling you he was getting married to someone else.
He saw the disbelief in your eyes dissolve into something worse. Betrayal. The way your body folded in on itself as though trying to contain the pain, the way your tears spilled before you could catch them. Mikey gathered you against him, wrapping you in those arms you once believed could hold up the whole world. He kissed the crown of your head like it was mercy.
Haruchiyo felt his stomach heave.
But it wasn’t jealousy. Not this time.
It was hollow. It was ruin.
He’d begged Mikey earlier. Like a fool, he’d begged.
Don’t leave her behind. Don’t abandon her. Even if you’re marrying someone else, don’t you dare let her stand alone in this fucked up world.
The words still burned his throat. He hated himself for it. It was pathetic and weak. It wasn’t loyalty to Mikey anymore, but a was weakness for you. All these years he’d told himself he was protecting you from this world, keeping you alive, keeping you safe. But now? Now he couldn’t bear the thought of you gone. Of you not here, within reach, even if it meant watching you cry in another man’s arms.
The girl beside him shifted, pressing closer, her perfume suffocating. She murmured something sweet and meaningless, her hand on his leg, tugging for his attention. And for once, Haruchiyo let her. His arm came around her shoulder, pulling her flush against his side. The gesture was too intimate for him, who never touched women like this unless it was transactional. Her breath caught in surprise, flustered.
But his eyes never left you.
Not when he tilted her chin and pressed his mouth against hers.
The kiss was hollow, mechanical, his lips moving against hers, his tongue tasting nothing but the bitterness of his own obsession. And when his gaze slid past her face and found yours—
That was when it hit.
You were staring. Through the tears clouding your vision, through the brokenness twisting your features, you were staring at him. The corner of your mouth trembled. Then your glare cut sharp, searing through him like fire before you turned away, burying your face into Mikey’s shoulder.
Haruchiyo almost smiled against the woman’s mouth.
It was pathetic. Twisted. Ugly. But it was something.
If all he could take from you was your hate, your disgust, your rage, he’d take it. He’d hoard it. He’d carve it into his chest like scripture. Because even when it hurt like hell, it meant he still existed in your world.
Even if it was only as a shadow.
He pulled away from the woman, his pupils blown wide, the pills buzzing in his bloodstream, and he whispered into her hair like it was meant for you:
“I love you.”
And he did. In his own ruinous way, he loved you. Loved you even when every gift you’d ever placed in his hands was pain. Loved you enough to bleed himself dry just to watch you smile at another man.
"go to sleep. . ." sanzu's gruff voice cuts through the still silence of the night. you suck in a sharp breath, it startled you a little—you've been tracing sanzu's pretty features with your eyes as he lays on his back next to you. his side profile never fails to amaze you; the way his thick lashes curl upwards, every dip and curve of his cute nose, his rosy lips.
"or, you can keep looking." despite the tiredness in his tone, there's an evident tease. sanzu turns to his side, giving you a full view of his face. he had his arms loosely crossed over his chest, eyes sealed shut, and forehead slightly creased from his knitted brows.
bringing a finger towards sanzu's face, you ghost it over his face; along the bridge of his nose—causing him to scrunch it a little at your soft butterfly touch—to the dip of his lips, and over the ridged skin on the corners of his mouth.
"you're so pretty, haru. . .”
sanzu's heart pounded against his chest. thank the heavens for the moonlit room because you couldn't see sanzu's creeping blush. pretty. no one calls him that. the rosy-haired man lets out a little scoff before turning his back to you, hiding the fact that he's flustered.
you let out a soft laugh before wrapping your arms around him, tightly -his back flush against your chest. his scent engulfed you, immediately putting your body at ease.
"so beautiful, my haru."
sanzu lets out an absent-minded hum, taking your hand in his. naturally, he'd snap at other people calling him those words but it's different with you, it always is.
The classic cat dad who didn't want the damn cat in the first place.
(4k words)
slice of life fluffy comedy
The lights flash and the doors unlock on the sleek sports car parked in Sanzu's spot at the Bonten executive garage. Phone in one hand, keys in the other, Sanzu stops short.
"Oi… You better not leave more paw prints on my damn hood."
A medium-haired white cat casually glances up from a bathing session, giving little regard to the warning as cats often do. It had become somewhat of a daily occurrence, as the cat had claimed Sanzu's car as the perfect napping spot, much to his chagrin.
"Time to go, cat." Sanzu swings open the driver's side door, prompting it to reluctantly abandon its bath. Stretching languidly and giving a wide yawn, it jumps off the hood while Sanzu finishes typing a text message. He hits 'send' and tosses the phone onto the passenger seat.
It wasn't far from the Bonten building to Sanzu's place. Maybe fifteen minutes or so, depending on traffic. Today, the traffic gods appeared to be on his side. Hitting every light as it turns green, it was smooth sailing; he'd be home in no time at all. Or so he thought.
Just then, a white blur shoots from the back and settles onto the passenger seat.
"The fuck?" Sanzu does a double-take, swerving and nearly swiping his tire on the curb. "How the hell did you get in here?"
The cat looks up at him and trills softly, seemingly proud of its stealthy stowaway success.
"No. No, absolutely not," he says firmly, pulling over. He reaches to open the passenger door and let the cat out. The cat just blinks at him.
"Go on." Sanzu points to the freedom outside. The cat sniffs at his finger and rubs its face along his hand.
"Don't do that." He couldn't admit to himself that it was pretty damn cute. "I don't want fleas in my car. Shoo," he scoffs.
The cat turns as if to leave, then jumps into the back seat, clearly not interested in the world outside the car.
"Goddammit, cat." He reaches to grab the animal, only for it to dart under the driver's seat. Fuck. So he throws open his door and reaches under the seat. His hand brushes against soft fur. He gives it a nudge.
The cat emerges and resumes its spot on the back seat, plopping down comfortably and licking its paw.
"You're mocking me, aren't you?" Sanzu's eyes narrow. Determined to get the feline to leave, he hops out and slides the seat forward. He reaches for the fluffy menace only for it to now dart underneath the passenger seat.
Sanzu chases it, moving to the passenger side and repeating his attempt to extricate it. Now it's under the driver's seat again. A sheen of sweat beads on his brow. He groans in frustration, running a hand through his hair.
"Fine," he concedes. "Have it your way."
He resumes the drive to his building, parking in his reserved spot. As he exits the car, so does the cat.
"Oh, I see how it is." He crosses his arms over his chest like he's scolding a child. "Well, congratulations. You get to stay in the garage for tonight." He strides over to the elevator and jabs the button, waiting for the door to slide open. The cat rubs against his leg.
"Oh, no. You're not coming upstairs." Sanzu shakes his head. "Don't even think about it."
Mrow.
"I said no."
The door opens with a soft chime and the cat scoots into the elevator before Sanzu can catch it. He tries nudging it out and pressing the 'close' button. But the door is far too slow to keep out a cat hell-bent on staying in.
Sanzu isn't going to win this battle. He knows it, yet he still tries. "I told you no. Get lost."
Mrow.
He sighs in defeat, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Mrow.
The cat looks up at him, gloating as if cats were capable of doing such a thing. Which they absolutely are.
When the elevator reaches the top floor, Sanzu steps out with the feline matching his stride. He removes his shoes at the entryway. The cat takes to sniffing at everything in sight. Sanzu's shoes, the couch, the coffee table, the crispy and yellowed potted pothos that was barely clinging onto life.
"Don't get too comfortable. It's only for a night," he says, loosening his necktie and padding to the kitchen. The cat follows him eagerly, trilling all the way.
"Oh great. You're hungry." He pauses to think— what did he have that a cat could eat? He opens the fridge and peers inside. Nothing he could feed to it without giving it the shits, probably. Speaking of… "Shit."
Cats need litter boxes. And food.
He checks the time. Maybe he could catch Rindou. Sanzu knows the younger Haitani always buys cheap beer from the konbini on his way home. Why he prefers that swill when he can afford the good stuff is beyond Sanzu's understanding. It may, however, work to his advantage.
He calls Rindou, who picks up on the third ring.
"It better be important. I'm off the clock," Rindou answers with a chuckle.
Sanzu cuts right to the chase. "I have a cat. I need cat… things."
Laughter erupts from the other end of the line. "You have a what?"
Sanzu grumbles," A cat. That damn cat from the parking garage."
Rindou knows exactly who he's talking about. "The white one I've been feeding?"
"You're feeding it?" Sanzu sputters. "Then you come get it and take it home."
"Nope, can't do that," he flatly refuses. "Goma hates other cats. And quit calling her 'it.' Yuki is a girl."
"Yuki?" he asks in disbelief. "You even named it?" As if it wasn't bad enough that Rindou had been feeding the fluffball, he named it too. And something so unoriginal at that. A white cat named after snow.
"Her. I told you, she's a girl. I'll bring you a litter box and some food. See you in a few." He ends the call before Sanzu can say another word.
Sanzu looks down at the phone in his hand like it had personally offended him. Rindou actually expects him to keep this animal here? With it shitting in a box? In his penthouse? "You can't be serious," he mutters under his breath.
Mrow. The cat rubs against his leg again.
"Yuki, huh?" Sanzu shakes his head. "You're not staying."
A sharp knock sounds at the door. “Tch. That was fast,” he mutters, crossing the living room. He swings the door open.
Rindou stands there with two plastic shopping bags dangling from his hands and a smug little grin on his face. “I brought the essentials. Food, litter, and box. Beginner's kit.”
Before Sanzu can retort, Yuki trots right past his ankles like he’s a piece of furniture. She makes a beeline for Rindou, chirps, and immediately flops over dramatically at his feet—full belly-up, paws curled, dead bug position. Total and complete surrender.
Rindou chuckles. “Aww, she missed me.”
Sanzu’s eye twitches. “She’s manipulating you.”
Rindou crouches to scratch behind Yuki’s ears and rub under her chin. She purrs so loudly the floor practically vibrates.
“Oh yeah, totally being manipulated,” he says flatly, giving the cat even more attention.
Sanzu crosses his arms over his chest. “Quit encouraging her.”
“Encouraging her to… like me?” Rindou asks, glancing up.
“No—encouraging her to act like I’m not the one stuck with her here.”
Rindou stares at him, his smile widening. “Oh my god. You’re jealous.”
Sanzu scoffs so hard he nearly chokes. “I’m not jealous. I just don’t want her thinking this place is some kind of cat hotel.”
Yuki rolls onto her back again, batting gently at Rindou’s sleeve. He obliges her with more pets.
Sanzu mutters, “Traitor,” under his breath.
"Who's a pretty girl?" Rindou praises as he continues lavishing attention onto Yuki. "Oh, she's so pretty…"
Sanzu rolls his eyes so hard he could see the inside of his skull. "You sound ridiculous, Haitani."
He chuckles, glancing up again. "He's just jealous," he whispers to Yuki. Rising to stand, he all but shoves the bags of food and litter at Sanzu. "Best of luck to you. Have fun."
He opens the bags, peering inside. Several cans of paté and a package of kibble in one bag, a tray and litter in the other.
"It's the same stuff Goma eats. Oughta last you a few days," Rindou points out. "You'll have to feed her the same kind. You can't switch food too fast, you'll upset her tummy."
"Well, we wouldn't want that, now would we?" Sanzu's voice drips with sarcasm.
"No. Believe me, you don't." Rindou shakes his head with a serious expression. "It's not fun."
Sanzu groans, "Fine. Whatever. Give the princess her food, no stomachaches. Got it."
Sanzu leans against his kitchen counter, watching Yuki dig into her food. She takes dainty little bites without even one morsel straying from the bowl. "Well, at least you're not messy," he comments.
Once he's cleaned up after her meal, he sits down to pour himself a well-deserved and long-awaited couple of drinks. The whiskey just touches his lips when—
Scritch, scritch, scritch…
He freezes. The sound is coming from the washroom. The litter box.
Scritch, scritch, scritch…
"Oh god… Are you doing what I think you're doing?"
Sanzu dashes down the hallway to find Yuki squatting in her litter box, mid-shit. A look of utter existential horror contorts his face. And then, the smell hits him. He doubles over, retching, his hand covering his mouth.
Yuki covers her little gift with a mound of litter and breezes past Sanzu on her way out. She doesn't even spare him a glance. The disrespect.
The stench must be stopped before it permeates the entire penthouse. Sanzu rolls up his sleeves and arms himself with rubber gloves and a face mask, preparing to handle nuclear waste. Yuki sits at the doorway, watching.
He hesitantly picks up the scooper, hovering over the small mountain of litter and poo. He retches again.
"Goddammit, cat."
He fishes the tiny turds out, sifting the litter through the scooper, then dropping them into a bag. He dashes to the elevator, still wearing his hazmat gear, and jabs the down button with his elbow.
The infernal machine won't move fast enough. So he runs down the stairs, huffing and puffing by the time he's halfway down. As enjoyable as smoking is, Sanzu is starting to regret ever picking up a cigarette right about now.
Finally reaching the dumpster, he flings the sack of shit like a grenade before taking the elevator back up. He doesn't look to see where it lands. That's someone else's problem.
He rips the gloves off and leans back against the door. Yuki trots up to him and rubs his ankles.
Mrow.
"Yeah, you'd better appreciate this," Sanzu says. "I won't do this again."
He scrubs his hands nearly raw, using way more soap than is necessary. He still doesn't feel clean. But no way in hell was he getting sweaty every time Yuki took a shit. He texts one of his guys, and thirty minutes later, an automatic self-cleaning litter box arrives. The most expensive model.
Sanzu has his man hook the contraption up and instructed him not to breathe a word about his white, fuzzy houseguest under pain of death. And when Sanzu Haruchiyo says you're going to die, you're going to die. In a most unpleasant way.
Mrow.
"Now, when you shit, I don't have to deal with it," Sanzu beams, proud of himself for finding a permanent solution to his temporary problem.
With equilibrium restored, Yuki traipses past him, tail high, heading straight for the bedroom. Sanzu scoffs.
"Oh, now you think you own the place? Unbelievable."
He follows behind her, removing his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. The cat hops onto his bed with zero hesitation, circles twice, then plops down in the middle of his pillows.
"No." He points like she'll respect the gesture. "Absolutely not. You're not sleeping here."
Yuki blinks and curls tighter.
Sanzu grumbles under his breath, changes into a clean shirt, and tells himself he’s too tired to care about where the cat is. He turns off the lights, climbs into bed, and stays perfectly on his side. Away from the cat. Far away.
At least, that was the plan.
When his alarm blares the next morning, Sanzu shifts—and then freezes.
A warm, fuzzy weight is curled against him. Tiny paws rest over his bicep like she’d claimed him in his sleep. Her head is tucked under his chin, purring softly.
“Oh, hell no.”
He scoots back and nearly falls off the bed. Yuki just stretches luxuriously, jaws opening in a big yawn, as if he’s the one who intruded.
“This is exactly why you’re leaving today,” he mutters, gathering his clothes. “You made yourself too comfortable. That’s your problem, not mine.”
She follows him into the kitchen. Into the hallway. Into the washroom. Back out of the washroom. He swears he trips over her tail twice.
“Stop following me. I’m taking you home.”
Mrow.
“That garage is your home. Not this place.”
Sanzu guides her toward the elevator, stepping in before she can dart out again.
The ride down is painfully slow. Yuki sits between his feet, perfectly behaved, tail flicking with quiet confidence.
“You’re not staying,” he tells her again.
She doesn’t answer this time. Which is somehow worse. She just hops into the car like they're going on some fabulous journey.
When the car door opens next, into the Bonten garage, Sanzu gestures grandly toward the concrete floor.
“Go on. Do whatever cats do.”
She doesn’t move.
“Don’t look at me like that. This is for your own good.”
Still no movement.
Irritation prickles along his skin. “Fine. Have it your way.”
At the end of the day, he strides toward his reserved parking spot, intent on leaving her there, hoping she got bored and wandered off.
And then he sees it. There, perched proudly atop the glossy hood of his car, is Yuki.
She’s lounging like she owns the damn thing. Tail flicking. Ears perked. Waiting for him.
Waiting to go home.
Sanzu stops dead. “You’ve gotta be kidding me…”
She stands and pads toward him, hops down, and presses against his leg like this is their routine.
“Unbelievable,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face. “Fine. You win. One more day.”
Yuki chirps triumphantly.
“…But I mean it this time.”
He absolutely does not.
The morning briefing begins with the usual tension, cigarette smoke, and clipped voices. Sanzu stands stiffly beside the table, hoping the dark circles under his eyes aren’t obvious.
Rindou saunters in five minutes late, tossing a lazy wave. “Morning.”
Kakucho gives him a disapproving look; Mikey doesn’t bother to acknowledge him.
Rindou heads straight for Sanzu. “So,” he says casually, but loud enough for everyone to hear, “how’s Yuki doing?”
Several heads turn.
Koko raises an eyebrow. Takeomi outright pauses mid-cigarette. Mocchi glances up with sudden interest.
Sanzu stiffens. “Fine,” he says through clenched teeth. “She’s fine.”
"So." Takeomi exhales a long stream of smoke. “You brought a woman to your place?”
Sanzu blinks. “What? No—”
Koko tilts his head. “Yuki. That’s a woman’s name.”
Kakucho nods. “Didn’t think you were the type to get attached, Sanzu.”
Mocchi cracks his knuckles, smirking. “Is she pretty?”
Sanzu looks around the room like he’s been dropped into an alternate reality. “What the hell are you all talking about?”
Takeomi shrugs. “If you’re seeing someone—”
“I’m not seeing anyone!” Sanzu throws his hands up in exasperation.
Rindou loses it. He slaps a hand over his mouth but fails to hide a choke of laughter.
Mikey finally looks up from the snacks he’s been dismantling. “Oh? Sanzu’s got a girlfriend?”
Sanzu lets out a strangled noise. “SHE ISN’T—THERE IS NO—IT’S A CAT.”
The room went deathly quiet.
“…a cat?” Koko repeats slowly.
Rindou wipes a tear of laughter from under his eye. “A very fluffy white cat.”
Takeomi stares at him blankly. “You lost sleep… because of a cat?”
Mocchi snorts. “Shit, man, I thought you were getting laid.”
Koko gives Sanzu a long, assessing look. Then an even more judgmental one. “You can’t keep a plant alive,” he says. “And yet here you are… adopting a cat.”
“It wasn’t my idea!” Sanzu snaps. “She followed me!”
Rindou claps him on the shoulder. “Sure she did, man.”
“Shut up, Haitani.”
Mikey hums. “I want to meet her.”
Sanzu looks skyward, praying for the floor to open up and swallow him whole.
The room hasn’t even finished processing Sanzu’s outburst when Mikey wipes his hands on a napkin and fixes him with a flat stare.
“Where is she?” Mikey asks.
Sanzu blinks. “Who?”
Mikey raises an eyebrow. “Your cat.”
“My— she’s not mine,” Sanzu corrects automatically. “And she’s in the parking garage where she belongs.”
Mikey tilts his head, a gesture that could mean anything from mild curiosity to an execution order. “In the garage?”
Sanzu swallows. “Yes. That’s where she usually is.”
Rindou helpfully adds, “On his car.”
Sanzu whips around. “Shut. Up.”
Mikey ignores both of them. He reaches for another dorayaki, tears into it, and then says casually — a little too casually, “Go get her.”
Sanzu blinks again. “What?”
Mikey looks at him like the answer is obvious. “Bring her up.”
For a moment, Sanzu genuinely thinks he misheard. “Into… the boardroom?”
“Yes.”
“The boardroom,” Sanzu repeats, louder, waiting for someone — anyone — to correct his ears.
Nobody does.
Koko adjusts his sleeve like he’s anticipating a spectacle. Kakucho tries and fails to hide the bemusement pulling at his lips. Even Takeomi seems invested, cigarette hanging loosely between his fingers as he leans forward.
Sanzu’s voice climbs an octave. “You want me to… retrieve a cat from the garage… and bring her to a high-level executive meeting?"
Mikey nods. “I’ve never met a cat named Yuki.”
“But she’s— she’s not— she’s a stray!”
Mikey shrugs. “Bring her anyway.”
Sanzu’s eye twitches so violently it looks like it might detach from its socket.
Rindou is no help at all. “Better hurry,” he says with a grin. “You know how she gets when she’s hungry.”
Sanzu contemplates murder. Several murders.
But Mikey is watching him with that unreadable expression. The one that means he isn’t joking.
Sanzu inhales slowly, through clenched teeth. “Fine…"
He turns on his heel and stomps toward the door. “But I’m telling you right now, if she claws someone, I’m not paying for hospital bills.”
“Bring her,” Mikey says again, like he’s ordering a sandwich.
Sanzu mutters profanities the whole way out. As the door shuts behind him, Mocchi leans toward Rindou and whispers, “We’re really meeting a cat?”
Rindou nods. “Oh yeah. And she’s gonna love it.”
Koko smirks. “I’ll be impressed if Sanzu even gets her into the elevator.”
Sanzu returns to the garage, muttering threats that would get anyone else arrested. Or worse.
Yuki is exactly where he left her — perched on the hood of his car, tail curled neatly over her paws like a queen awaiting her servant.
“Don’t you dare look proud of yourself,” he grumbles.
She immediately looks proud of herself.
Sanzu scoops her up before she can bolt, holding her at arm’s length like she’s radioactive. She purrs.
“Stop that. You’re embarrassing both of us.”
In the elevator, Yuki settles into the crook of his arm, purring louder. Sanzu stares at the ceiling like he’s being punished for sins he hasn’t committed yet.
“Don’t get used to this,” he says.
Mrow.
The elevator dings. The doors open. And in the microsecond Sanzu loosens his grip, Yuki launches.
“HEY—!” Sanzu lunges, but she’s already trotting down the hallway with the confidence of someone who pays rent.
“Get back here!” he hisses. “I swear to god—”
She ignores him.
With a flick of her paw, Yuki pushes the boardroom door open just enough to slip inside. Sanzu bursts in after her.
“Oh, perfect timing,” Rindou says, as Yuki makes a beeline for him. She flops at his feet, rolling belly-up like he’s her long-lost soulmate.
Rindou crouches, scratching her stomach. “Aww, she missed me again. Didn’t you, Yuki?”
Sanzu glowers. “She only missed you because you feed her.”
“Mmm. Still likes me more.”
Before Sanzu can strangle him, Yuki abandons Rindou and pads to the head of the table.
To Mikey.
She sits in front of him and lets out a single, polite trill.
Mikey pauses mid-bite of his dorayaki.
Slowly, something soft flickers across his expression. A moment of surprise, then it grows into something gentler, almost warm. Almost boyish.
He lowers his snack. Yuki jumps onto his lap.
The entire room stops breathing.
Mikey doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Then—
He strokes the top of her head. Yuki purrs loud enough to rattle the table. A small, almost invisible smile curls at the corner of Mikey’s mouth.
Not a Manjiro smile. A Mikey smile.
“…She’s cute,” he says quietly.
Everyone stares like they’ve witnessed a miracle.
Sanzu clears his throat. Loudly. “She’s—she’s fine. She’s average. Perfectly average cat.”
Mikey continues petting her. “I like her.”
A death sentence. A blessing. A decree.
Sanzu’s stomach drops. If Mikey likes Yuki… he’s never getting rid of her.
Rindou leans over to whisper, barely containing laughter. “Congrats, Sanzu. You officially belong to the cat now.”
Sanzu rubs his temples. “I hate all of you.”
Yuki looks at him from Mikey’s lap with smug, slow-blinking satisfaction.
She’s won.
And they all know it.
The meeting dissolves after Mikey finishes reviewing the last of the reports, though it’s questionable how much he absorbed, given that Yuki remained purring in his lap the entire time. Every time she shifted, he paused mid-sentence to steady her, completely derailing the fearsome aura he usually radiates.
When the final document is signed, Mikey stands, Yuki still tucked comfortably in the crook of one arm.
“Sanzu.”
Sanzu straightens instantly. “Yes, Mikey?”
Mikey holds out Yuki like an offering. “She comes to all meetings from now on.”
Sanzu blinks. “…What?”
“She’s good for morale.”
“That’s debatable,” Koko murmurs.
Mikey continues as if he hadn’t heard either of them. “And she stays with you.”
Sanzu opens his mouth. Closes it. Tries again. “Mikey, she’s— she’s a cat. She sheds. She knocks things over. She—”
“You’ll take care of her.”
It isn’t a suggestion. The silence afterward is absolute. Even Rindou doesn’t dare crack a joke now.
Sanzu bows his head. “Of course. If that’s what you want.”
Mikey nods once, satisfied, and hands Yuki back to him. She settles against Sanzu’s chest like fate had always intended it that way. Mikey heads for the door with his hands in his pockets, humming quietly.
Koko lingers. He looks at the cat. Then at Sanzu. Then at the cat again.
“Didn’t you kill a pothos in under a week?”
Sanzu bristles. “It was defective.”
“It was the most indestructible plant known to man.”
“It was weak,” Sanzu insists.
Koko’s lips twitch. “If the cat dies, I’ll assume it was the same problem.”
“I’m not going to kill the cat, for fuck's sake!"
“Mm.” Koko pats him on the shoulder. “Good luck, then.”
One by one, the executives file out until only Sanzu is left, cradling a purring bundle of white fluff who has single-handedly destroyed his life in thirty-six hours.
He sighs and looks down at her.
“You don’t even know the trouble you’ve caused,” he mutters.
Yuki headbutts his chin.
He doesn’t smile. He would never admit to that, but something inside him clicks into place. Something small. Something soft. Something stupid.
He scratches behind her ear. She purrs louder.
“Tch. Fine. Stay. But only because I don’t have a choice.”
He adjusts his grip and heads for the elevator, Yuki held securely in his arms like she belongs there. As the doors close, he glances down again.
“…And maybe,” he adds under his breath, “because you’re not the worst company I’ve ever had.”
ᯓ You love making Haruchiyo flustered & a lil birthday post for my favorite pink haired boy :> .
"Mmm..what're you doin' ?"
Haruchiyo doesn't need to ask you that question because what you're doing right now is crystal clear.
You perched on his lap, pressing a series of kisses against the spot beneath the pointy end of his jaw. Not that he's complaining but that's supposed to be his job.
His job to get the butterflies in your stomach eat your insides by how flustered you'd get, his job to kiss and love you the way you're doing right now.
And though he does do all of that and more, you just can't help yourself. He's just so...kissable. And he looks so perfect with his legs spread, you can't help but take your rightful place at your throne.
He loves it, but he doesn't love how embarrassingly flustered he'd get.
Your smile etches it's way onto his pale skin, your breath tickling him through your teeth, and oh.
That sweet whimper that rumbles from the pits of his stomach, flourishing in his chest, and up his throat. Tasting like nothing but pure, pure honey.
Oh how high he got off of your presence, his head swaying in circles, lust tugging at his eyelids, shoulders slumping as he gets lulled in by your presence.
His cheeks flush at the sound of your mocking giggle, his tongue clicking at the top of his mouth irritably. God you're such a tease...
"Loving you is what."
Your voice is slurred, your tone so small and yet so utterly seductive. He's a victim, a victim to your ministrations, how evil you are. How...unforgiving when you become like this.
Affectionate, loving, giving. So much love to shower him in, so many kisses to place on their rightful place, his body. And he's grateful for that, grateful for your open-ness and your confidence to initiate such acts for he can't find these traits in himself.
It's just another night, a hot summer night, nothing but the soft hum of the fan and the occasional horn of a car or two, blurred from the high penthouse that you both reside in, the TV flickering from whatever movie is currently playing, volume muted.
So perfect. This night is so perfect, feeling your skin against his, feeling your warm breath against his neck, your lips licking a hole of fire against that one spot right beneath the end of his sharp jaw.
You're so perfect. And there's nothing better than you in his messed up life.
ᯓ SPECIAL MESSAGE FOR . . . @okkalo
HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!! Wishing you the sweetest 19th birthday and nothing but endless happiness and prosperity, I wish you greatness and luck in everything you do and want to do, i miss u sm ml <3 Have a wonderful day :>
hey kaz, um... can you do bonten sanzu with a soft reader who's a pediatrician, she really likes kids and she wants kids too! like every time they do it, she always asks if sanzu will finally give in to her wishes...
Bonten!Sanzu x Soft!Pediatrician!Reader
♡ NSFW, fem reader, this is low-key just plot with smut and a bit of fluff, soft sex soft sex soft sex! ♡
note: anon I'm so sorry 😭 I know you requested this at least a month ago, but I'm here now to deliver so we're all good, right pookie?
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You and Sanzu were an interesting couple to say the least. He was a dangerous criminal and he ended up with a such a sweet girlfriend, much to his surprise. Though what surprised him even more was the fact that you actually wanted kids with him. He never felt like he'd live up to the role of being a father, or even a proper role model.
But you made him feel differently. With you, he felt like he could do anything, like he could be anything. And what he wanted to be was everything you needed, and if that included being the father of your children then he'd give you exactly what you wanted.
Night after night, when he'd come home from work and leave behind the grimy work he did for a living, he'd stop being Sanzu for a while. For now, he was just your Haru. He could forget himself and all the terrible things he'd done with you underneath him, clawing at his back as his hips repeatedly slapped against yours. He peppered kisses on your neck and face, getting high off the soft whimpers of his name you let out.
The way you begged him every night to knock you up drove him up the walls, but he always pulled out, even after saying he wouldn't. But tonight wasn't like those nights, tonight he needed every ounce of your being and every drop of his seed to fill you. His cock ravaged your insides despite his slow pace, hands gripping the plush of your thighs as he whispered in your ear.
"I'm not gonna pull out tonight...I promise."
He slowed his thrusts down even further, hitting all the right spots inside you to make you drench his cock in your juices. As you wrap your legs around his waist, he slides his hand between your bodies, toying with your clit.
"C'mon sweets, let's cum together."
He ceased all movement as he felt you clench around him, anticipating your release and rubbing your clit faster. He trailed sloppy kisses across your jawline, pumping his hot load inside you as you cum.
"That's it pretty girl... finally getting what you wanted. You're gonna be such a good mom."
sum. babysitter!reader. idk where i was going with this one
manjirō sano
tension. too much tension. it's not easy trying to focus on a happy baby when you have two eyes digging through your soul. his gaze is terrifying—whether it's just the way he's just there quietly or the fact that he's bonten's leader, you don't know. he's a scary man.
trying your best to ignore whatever he's doing, you focus on cheerful baby that's been slapping her hands continuously on the little container with water.
she's five months currently so you decided it's time for sensory playtime! starting off with water and slowly adding little sensory toys into the container as she plays.
“it's getting messy.”
“oh—should we stop?”
“no, continue. i'll clean up.”
mikey pushes himself off of the door's frame and wanders off to some room for a mop. he walks away with thoughts swimming in his head; delusional thoughts if you asked him.
he doesn't really know what is it that he's feeling. is it love? dunno. he never felt it in a long time. well, it's not like he remembers what love felt like—he didn't even love the mother of his daughter. hell he can't even remember what possessed him to have sex.
coming back into the playroom, he stills for a moment. cute, he thinks. you look fitting like that. something about the way you're giggling with his daughter while she babbles words only those of her kind understands really makes his heart swell.
“'m back,” he announces after a good few minutes of gawking.
moving the baby onto her crib, you pinch her cheek before going to help mikey.
so close, you think. his body's just above yours—close to the point where you can feel his sweater on your head. his hands moves on yours taking hold of the container.
you made the mistake of glancing at him,, now you're stuck gazing into his static eyes, looking for any hints of his current emotion.
five seconds turned into ten and he doesn't break the eye contact. rather, his right hand glides from the container and rests itself on your cheek.
does he know why he did that? no.
is he going to elaborate? also no.
a few more minutes in wondering silence until he breaks it.
“you're pretty.”
oh!
it takes a minute to process it; eyes opened but still looking into his. mikey drifts his gaze from your lips and back to your eyes. he shows no signs of taking back what he said.
“thank...you..?”
chuckling, he notes your confusion and decides to fuel it by saying: “you're welcome. be my girlfriend.”
sanzu haruchiyo
“pick a colour: blue or red.”
“how about no!” hoisting up his daughter on your hip, you circle around the table making your way to the kitchen as you ignore his attempts of getting you to pick the drug of the day.
sanzu raises his eyebrow at you. you sure have a lot of nerve in front of someone that can easily kill you but he won't. why would he kill you when he isn't sure if he, sober!sanzu, loves you or if he, high!sanzu, is just fucking around.
eh, it's not like he's worried. that's something for future him to worry about!!
“sanzu, her formula's about to end!” shouting from the kitchen as you violently shake her bottle, you faced your focus more on the quiet eight month old rather than the twenty-eight years old father.
“is that all?” sanzu moves on arm behind the couch as he looks back at you. she's a natural with kids—especially mine, he thinks. he's going to blame the drugs for that even though he's very much sober.
“yeah, is it okay if i use your card? i need to stock up on the groceries too.” you explained, dropping a few droplets of the milk on your forearm to check the temp.
“why're you askin' me? it's your card. i took it out for you.”
“because i don't wanna—oh???” you paused. sanzu, your boss, couldn't have possibly taken out another card for you right? certainly, right? god, it's so hard to focus after he said those words. you try to not think too much of it but it's just too difficult.
lost in thought, you didn't realize that he's already in front of you, holding up his mini to give her a nose kiss before looking back at you.
“looks like she's finished. let's go.” walking towards to door, sanzu grabs his keys from the holder along with his mask.
“huh—oh, right her stuff. just a minute!” you can't seem to think coherently, not when those words still linger fresh in your mind.
maybe it's the drugs,
maybe it's you,
maybe it's him,
maybe it's the way he holds your hand firmly while smiling whenever an elderly lady compliments your little “family”,
or maybe it's the way he guides you into his room at night after his daughter fell asleep, pulling you into a kiss that answers all questions.
