reissancesstuff

[reissancesstuff]

Can I request something with Bonten Mikey and his wife that was his childhood love and Sanzu is her brother and the others didn't know so they thought she was cheating and they try and tell mikey and Rin just blurts it out and now eveyone is scared. 😭

"you're gonna wanna sit down for this."

bonten mikey x fem!reader | crack + fluff + misunderstandings

📩 —request always open!

you should’ve seen this coming.

to be fair, it’s not your fault that you and your brother tend to look... suspiciously close when you’re together. affectionate. loud. chaotic. maybe a little too comfortable.

it’s also not your fault that your husband's coworkers—tokyo’s most feared criminals, mind you—have the emotional intelligence of a brick wall and the tendency to jump to conclusions like olympic athletes.

especially when it comes to you.

especially when it involves mikey.

today, you’d stopped by bonten hq to bring your brother lunch. harmless. normal. nothing serious. except, of course, sanzu greeted you with a dramatic, “aw, baby sis, you missed me already?” and hugged you.

not a side hug. a full-bodied, arms-wrapped-around-you, chin-on-your-shoulder hug.

and unfortunately, that’s the exact moment koko walked into the room.

...

"guys, we need to tell mikey."

rindou blinks. “tell him what?”

“his wife,” koko says darkly. “is cheating.”

cue dramatic gasp from mochizuki.

ran squints. “wait, the pretty one who brought cupcakes last week?”

“yes.”

“the one who tied my tie for me when i couldn’t get it right?”

“yes.”

“...she’s cheating?”

“with sanzu.”

dead silence.

“what the actual—” mochi starts, but koko cuts him off.

“i saw them hugging. she called him ‘baby.’ and he said he missed her.”

“sanzu says that to me and i’m not even into men,” rindou mutters.

mochizuki rubs his temples. “so we tell mikey?”

“absolutely not,” ran says. “i like living.”

but rindou already looks deep in thought, probably imagining a world where mikey goes off the rails. again.

“he deserves to know.”

“you deserve to shut up,” koko hisses.

“guys, he’s literally walking over here—”

“what’s going on?”

mikey’s voice cuts clean through the room, quiet but sharp.

everyone freezes. literally no one wants to be the one to say it. they all look at each other, telepathically pushing the responsibility onto someone else.

and rindou, bless his stupid, stupid mouth, cracks first.

“YOUR WIFE IS CHEATING WITH SANZU—”

record scratch.

you and sanzu walk in literally at that moment. you’re holding his leftover lunch, sipping from a shared soda can, mid-laugh.

your smile drops.

mikey blinks. “…what.”

you look between the guys and your husband. “...what the hell did you just say?”

ran is already sliding down the wall. koko looks like he’s calculating escape routes. mochizuki’s whispering a prayer.

and then, sanzu—utterly unfazed—just sighs.

“dumbasses,” he mutters. “she’s my sister.”

everyone stops breathing.

mikey tilts his head. “…wait, did they not know?”

“you never told them?!”

“i forgot.”

“YOU FORGOT?”

sanzu shrugs. “i don’t go around telling people my family tree.”

ran slaps a hand over his face. “you two couldn’t have warned us? i’ve been panicking for like, 30 minutes!”

you blink. “you thought i was cheating with haru?”

“you called him baby!!”

“he’s my brother!”

mikey reaches out and gently pulls you to his side. you’re still fuming, half-annoyed, half-shocked that any of them thought you would cheat. on mikey. with sanzu, of all people.

“do you want me to kill them?” mikey asks calmly, like he’s offering to take out the trash.

“no,” you sigh, resting your head on his shoulder. “just let them suffer.”

and suffer they do.

for the rest of the week, the rest of bonten avoids both you and sanzu like the plague.

nobody makes eye contact. nobody asks questions. and absolutely nobody hugs you again.

lesson learned.

[reissancesstuff]

bro may I ask— are you filipino? because that oneshot: "GO, SEXY LOVE" has an exact moment in a movie called "SHE'S DATING THE GANGSTER".

yesss omg i'm so glad you caught that!! i've been waiting for someone to recognize the reference 😭😭 and yes i'm filipino!! that scene from she’s dating the gangster lives rent free in my head, i just had to sneak it into that oneshot.

[reissancesstuff]

I NEED a ran haitani x Female reader where ran being the Player he is cheats on her and shes like...weridly chill about it. Like honestly she couldnt care les! And thats because when she found out about the cheating she wasnt bitter she was just like "oh? Wait i didnt know this was an open realtionship...Cool! Okay! Never been in one before...could have told me ran but whatever! Im gonna have some fun then!" To herself right? So she just ends up doing the same he does! Id love this in rans pov please i beg! I need the full Story!

“open relationship?”

ran haitani x fem!reader

warnings: cheating, angst with petty revenge, cursing

i thought i had you all figured out.

sweet. calm. just the right kind of clingy when we were in private. quiet when i came home late—too late. never threw shit, never raised your voice. it was easy with you.

maybe too easy.

i slipped. more than once. not ‘cause you weren’t enough—fuck, you were—but ‘cause i thought you’d never know. or maybe, deep down, i thought you’d always stay anyway.

but then you found out.

you were waiting on the couch that night, hair up, makeup fresh. something in your hand. your phone, maybe. and you looked at me with this unreadable expression. like you were trying to figure out a math problem you already knew the answer to.

“so,” you said, tone light. “this an open relationship now?”

i blinked. “what?”

you nodded slowly, like you were talking to a toddler. “i mean, you didn’t tell me, but—since you’ve been sleeping around, i figured it’s just open, right? cool. never been in one before.”

you smiled. genuinely.

and fuck, it scared me.

you didn’t cry. didn’t accuse. didn’t break anything.

you just laughed, got up, and patted my cheek like i was a dumb little boy who didn’t know how badly he’d fucked up.

you didn’t bring it up again after that. not directly. but you started dressing up more. staying out later. laughing at your texts and locking your screen before i could peek. once, i saw a hickey on your neck.

you didn’t bother hiding it.

and god, it drove me insane.

“who was that?” i asked one night when you stumbled in at 2am, heels in hand, lips smudged red.

you blinked, feigning innocence. “what?”

“the guy. i saw him drop you off.”

“oh,” you said with a shrug. “just a friend. open relationship, right?”

you said it with my words. my logic. but it hit different coming from your mouth.

because now i was the one up at night, wondering who was touching you the way i used to. wondering if you’d smile at them the way you used to smile at me. wondering when the fuck you stopped loving me—or if you ever did at all.

and the worst part?

you didn’t even try to hurt me.

you just stopped trying to love me.

and that was worse than any revenge you could’ve pulled.

[reissancesstuff]

Can I please get something with someone talking about going after Kanto Mikey’s oblivious but sweet girlfriend. Dark impulse activated. 🔪

“say that again.”

kanto manjiro sano (mikey) x fem!reader

warnings: dark impulse mikey, possessiveness, threats

you don’t hear it.

but mikey does.

the moment it slips past the guy’s lips—careless, playful, stupid—something in him stills.

he was just a shadow in the back of the room a second ago. quiet. unreadable.

but now?

now he’s listening.

"—you seen that girl mikey’s always with? real cute. wonder if she’s as sweet in bed as she looks on his arm."

someone chuckles.

someone else whistles.

"bet she wouldn’t mind a guy who actually knows how to smile. mikey always looks half-dead. think she’d let me—"

crack.

the guy doesn't finish the sentence.

because mikey’s chair scrapes back slow. deliberate.

and the next sound is the sharp, ugly thud of knuckles slamming bone.

you weren’t even in the room.

but he heard it.

you—his soft little girl who still thinks the world is kind.

who wears his hoodie like it’s armor.

who doesn’t know half the shit he’s done just to keep that smile on your face safe.

you would’ve smiled at the guy if he approached you.

probably would’ve been nice. too nice. that’s just who you are.

but mikey knows what guys like that mean.

and now?

so does he.

the guy’s on the floor. blood in his mouth. gasping.

“what the hell, man?! it was just a joke!”

mikey’s voice is low. flat. too calm.

but his eyes? his eyes are pitch black.

“say it again.”

his foot comes down, hard, right beside the guy’s head.

“go on,” he whispers. “you were brave enough a second ago. finish the joke.”

silence.

everyone in the room holds their breath.

mikey crouches down—slow, almost casual. and when he speaks, it’s still soft.

“you think you can look at her like that? think you can talk about her like she’s something you can take?”

he tilts his head. the corner of his lip twitches—not a smile.

“you think you can walk out of here with your tongue still in your mouth?”

he laughs then. quietly.

“nah.”

a pause. a hum.

“you don’t get to want her. you don’t get to see her. you don’t even get to say her name.”

and then he leans in real close, whispers—

“you ever breathe in her direction again, i’ll bury you before sunset.”

his fist tightens.

but before he can throw another punch, his phone buzzes.

it’s a text.

you: what time r u coming over? i miss u

he reads it.

his expression softens instantly. like someone flipped a switch.

he pockets the phone. stands. straightens his hoodie.

then he turns his back on the room—on the guy still bleeding on the floor—and walks off like none of it ever happened.

later that night, you greet him with sleepy eyes and open arms. you don’t ask why he smells like cigarette smoke and dust. you just press a kiss to his cheek and murmur, “missed you.”

and he pulls you into his chest. breathes you in.

like you’re his only tether to the earth.

because you are.

and you’ll never know what it took to keep it that way.

[reissancesstuff]

“go sexy sexy love”

gojo satoru x fem!volleyball player!reader

modern au | college au

genre: crack, fluff, chaos, public embarrassment via love language

you’re not expecting him to come.

he said he was busy. some group project with geto and shoko, something about deadlines and “real adult responsibilities” as if he’s ever once acted like one.

you even waved off his apology earlier that morning when he kissed your cheek and whispered, “kill it out there, babe. i’ll be cheering in spirit.”

so you focus. you shake off the nerves. you serve. block. spike. your team’s playing hard, crowd’s loud, you’re in the zone.

until you hear it.

loud. clear. unholy.

“GO SEXY, GO SEXY, GO SEXY SEXY LOVE!!!”

you pause.

you blink.

oh no.

the chant comes again, louder now.

“GO SEXY, GO SEXY, GO SEXY SEXY LOVE!!”

and there he is.

gojo satoru—your idiot of a boyfriend—standing at the front row of the bleachers like he owns the place. blue eyes shining, white hair a mess, sunglasses on indoors for no reason.

and next to him?

geto, haibara, shoko, megumi, nobara, yuuji—and a whole lineup of people you've never even met??

every single one of them chanting with unholy enthusiasm, hands cupped around their mouths, like a damn cheer squad from hell.

someone in the crowd joins in.

then a few more.

and before you know it, the entire gym is echoing:

“GO SEXY! GO SEXY! GO SEXY SEXY LOVE!!!”

the camera pans to you.

your name flashes on the jumbotron.

and your soul? leaves your body.

you want to crawl into the floor. dig six feet under. move to a remote island and change your name to not-gojo’s-girlfriend.

“he’s so hot,” your teammate whispers next to you, watching the chaos unfold.

“he’s so dead,” you mutter back.

and yet… when you glance at the bleachers, he’s got both hands shaped like a heart. mouthing “i love you!!” with the dumbest grin on his face.

megumi looks like he regrets everything.

nobara’s filming.

yuuji’s actually got pom-poms???

you don’t know whether to cry or laugh.

but when you score the next point and the gym erupts with “GO SEXY!!!” again…

…you let yourself smile.

a little.

maybe just enough for him to see.

—

a/n:

this gojo is the type to propose mid-match on the jumbotron and get kicked out by security while everyone cheers.

megumi pretends not to know him every time. shoko joins in for fun. geto’s the one who taught them the chant. guess where i got the idea? lol.

[reissancesstuff]

Hiiiii I love ur stories they're so fun idk if u will take requests ATM but would u write like the reader is the haitanis sister and starts dating sanzy or izana?

“wait—you're dating who?”

pairing: sanzu haruchiyo x fem!haitani!reader

you should’ve known this would happen.

actually, no—you did know. you just chose to ignore the chaos that would inevitably follow.

because dating haruchiyo sanzu behind your brothers' backs?

definitely in the top 5 “do not attempt if you value peace.”

ran and rindou are terrifying. not in the “they’ll scold you” kind of way. more like the “they’ll bury your boyfriend in an unmarked grave if he breathes wrong” kind of way.

which is exactly why you didn’t tell them.

at first, it was harmless. a little flirting during bonten meetings, a few sneaky texts. then he kissed you behind the elevator after a mission and called you “his pretty little secret” and you knew you were doomed.

now here you are—three months in, half in love, and halfway into a breakdown because rindou just found a very suspicious photo in your camera roll.

“who’s hand is that on your waist?” he asks, tilting the phone toward you.

“uh… mine?”

“you have veiny hands now?”

ran appears out of nowhere like a cursed spirit. “whose hand.”

you gulp.

before you can even lie, someone knocks on the door.

and then walks in.

“yo.” sanzu grins, all pink hair and zero shame. “babe, you left your charger in my place—oh.”

silence.

you look at your brothers.

you look at your boyfriend.

you think about running. maybe to another country. maybe to the moon.

rindou blinks. “i know this isn’t what it looks like.”

ran cracks his knuckles. “it better not be.”

sanzu steps forward, slips an arm around your waist. “it is.”

you could literally hear your funeral music start playing.

but then—unexpectedly—rindou just sighs.

“you’re lucky she likes you,” he mutters, turning to walk away. “because if you hurt her, i will break your kneecaps.”

ran’s eye twitches. “i’m not done here—”

“yes you are,” you say quickly, dragging sanzu out the room before ran remembers he owns a gun.

“worth it,” sanzu whispers, kissing your cheek.

“even if i die tonight, worth it.”

you roll your eyes.

but your smile says the same thing.

═══════════════════════════

a/n:

thank you for the request!! 🫶 hope this chaotic mess lives up to your idea hehe.

ran and rindou are 100% the overprotective brothers who will interrogate anyone you date. request are always open!

let me know if you want an izana version too.

[reissancesstuff]

“the boyfriend experience (featuring megumi’s dry sarcasm)”

pairing: megumi fushiguro x fem!reader

you find megumi standing in your kitchen at 7:42 a.m.

shirt wrinkled. hair messy. arms crossed. judging your entire life.

“…you’re not supposed to put metal in the microwave,” he says flatly.

you blink at the small sparks inside the microwave, then blink again at the spoon sticking out of your mug.

“…i forgot it was in there.”

“mhm.” he walks over, presses stop, opens the microwave, and carefully pulls the mug out with that little disappointed sigh he always gives you—like you’re his beloved problem.

you grin at him anyway. “good morning, boyfriend.”

he gives you a deadpan stare. “you almost exploded your kitchen.”

“still counts.”

megumi just exhales, sets the mug down, and bumps your hip gently with his.

“sit down. i’ll make you something before you hurt yourself.”

you flop onto the couch like a starfish. “you’re such a housewife.”

“you’re such a hazard.”

you hum happily, watching him shuffle around your tiny kitchen. he knows where everything is now. where you hide the chocolate. which mug is your favorite. he even knows the sound of your laugh before your actual laughter kicks in.

it’s so stupid. and soft. and warm.

“you’re staring,” he mutters.

“you’re pretty,” you shoot back.

his ears turn red.

he tries to hide it by turning back to the stove. “shut up.”

you snort.

he brings you breakfast anyway—eggs just how you like them, tea without any spoons of doom this time—and sits beside you.

you rest your head on his shoulder and sigh, eyes fluttering shut.

“you’re staying today, right?”

he pauses. then nods. “yeah.”

“for how long?”

“…as long as you want.”

you smile, small and sleepy.

he doesn’t say anything else. but his hand finds yours, lacing your fingers together gently. grounding. quiet. real.

and that’s the thing about megumi. he’ll act all put-upon, but he’ll show up. every time. in every way.

he’ll stop your microwave from catching fire. he’ll learn your tea preferences. he’ll stay, even when he doesn’t say much.

because he’s yours. fully. quietly. faithfully.

and honestly?

that’s more than enough.

═══════════════════════════

a/n:

i love writing megumi as the sighs but stays anyway type of boyfriend. he's tired. you're chaotic. it’s a perfect match😌

[reissancesstuff]

Omg hiii I was wondering if you could do bonten Sanzu with like partner in crime reader like a Bonnie and Clyde vibe or Morticia and Gomez! just that mutual obsession and adoration!

“we die pretty, don’t we?”

cw: violence mentions, toxic love if you squint, chaotic criminal behavior, sanzu being sanzu

“you drive,” he says, tossing you the keys with blood still drying on his knuckles.

you catch them midair with a smirk, unfazed. the sirens aren’t even close yet. you’ve got time. not a lot—but enough.

“baby,” you grin, slipping into the driver’s seat like a throne, “you get blood on my leather again and i’m making you lick it clean.”

“and you say i’m the freak in this relationship,” he snorts, climbing in beside you, grin sharp and eyes half-lidded like he’s still riding the high.

he leans over to kiss you before you even hit the gas. slow and possessive, like he’s savoring the taste of chaos on your tongue. it’s his favorite flavor, after all.

you press down on the pedal, tires screeching into the night.

“we make a good team,” you hum, watching the city blur past in streaks of neon.

“we make a perfect team,” he corrects, gaze locked on you instead of the road. like you hung the stars instead of just setting buildings on fire.

and god, he means it.

sanzu never believed in soulmates until you. until someone laughed during a shootout and kissed him in an alleyway while sirens wailed like a love song.

you don’t flinch when he kills. he doesn’t blink when you lie. you make crime look like foreplay, and love like an explosion with no survivors.

“we should rob a bank tomorrow,” you say casually, checking your lipstick in the rearview.

“only if we kill a corrupt politician after,” he shrugs, hand trailing to your thigh.

you giggle like a schoolgirl. he looks at you like you hung the moon and then stole it for fun.

“i love you, y’know,” he says, voice low. raw.

“i know,” you say, turning to meet his gaze. “and you’d burn the whole world if i asked.”

“i already did,” he smiles.

and it’s true. because for sanzu, love was always bloody. but with you—it’s beautiful too.

[reissancesstuff]

OMG, CAN YOU PLEASE DO A BONTEN MIKEY WITH A SINGLE MUM PLS?!??!! Like reader and her son are his whole world. The reason he smiled again. 😭🥹

“home looks like this.”

bonten!sano manjiro x fem!single mom reader | fluff, healing, dad!mikey

he never expected it.

never thought the cold could thaw out of him this way.

but then you came along — not alone, but with a little hand clinging to yours and wide curious eyes that made him pause.

your son.

small. quiet. sweet.

mikey didn’t know what to say the first time he met him, just gave a nod and that dull stare that made everyone else shrink.

but not him.

your boy blinked up at him and said, “you look like a lion.”

and something cracked open in him.

because you laughed — really laughed — and mikey hadn’t heard something that warm in years.

you didn’t know who he was at first, not really. not the bonten side. just a tired man who visited the bookstore where you worked, always hovering near the kids section and never buying anything.

until one day, he asked for help. a book recommendation. something with pirates, maybe. or robots.

“how old is your kid?” you asked.

“he’s… not mine,” mikey replied, and then after a beat, “…yet.”

and you didn’t push.

you never pushed.

when things began — slow and careful — mikey found himself showing up more. not just for you, but for the little boy who started calling him mii-chan.

he was afraid at first. terrified, really. of breaking something so fragile. of not being enough. of loving too hard and ruining it.

but then he heard your son call him “daddy” for the first time — shy, like he didn’t know if he was allowed — and mikey's heart broke in the best way.

he dropped to his knees and hugged the kid so tight he nearly cried.

you watched from the kitchen with tears in your eyes.

he never expected to have this. a little family. bedtime stories. sticky hands. you in his shirt, barefoot in the morning. a home that didn’t smell like blood or smoke.

he comes back from meetings now just to be greeted with hugs around his leg, and your tired smile as you say, “we saved you some dinner.”

and god — he smiles.

real, soft, toothy smiles.

the kind that make his men stare like they’re seeing a ghost.

one night, as you lie in bed, your son snuggled between the two of you, he murmurs, “thank you.”

you blink at him sleepily. “for what?”

“for letting me have this,” he whispers, brushing a hand over your boy’s hair. “for giving me something to come home to.”

you reach over and squeeze his hand. “you deserve it, mikey.”

he shakes his head, eyes on the tiny chest rising and falling beside him.

“no… but i’ll protect it like i do.”

and he means it.

he would burn down the world for his family.

but for now, he just pulls you closer, warm under the blankets, heart steady.

because for the first time in years, he’s not waiting for something to break.

he’s just… home.

[reissancesstuff]

hii, can i request angst bonten!ran haitani? like he cheats on reader and gets silent treatment or maybe reader gonna move to a foreign country without telling?? have a nice day tho<3

“you didn’t even say goodbye.”

bonten!ran haitani x fem!reader | angst, cheating

he doesn’t notice it at first.

too caught up in whatever haze he’s been living in — girls, smoke, deals, silence. your silence.

he thinks you’re just giving him space. thinks you’ll snap out of it like you always do. thinks it’s not a big deal.

you’d always loved him too much, hadn’t you?

and maybe that’s why he never thought you’d actually leave.

he comes home late again — the hallway too quiet, your usual scent faint and fading. there’s no music playing from the speaker. no plate waiting on the table. no warmth at the door.

the closet is half empty.

he frowns.

checks the drawers. they’re neater than they’ve ever been.

almost… untouched.

he checks his phone. no message.

he calls.

it rings.

and rings.

and rings.

but you don’t answer.

it’s rindou who says it first.

"you didn’t know?" his little brother asks, surprised. “she’s leaving.”

ran stills. “what?”

“she’s moving out. overseas, i think. saw her at the airport earlier with a suitcase. didn’t wanna say goodbye.”

the words feel like bricks to the chest.

no goodbye?

he drives like a man possessed, ignoring red lights, ignoring calls, ignoring the ache in his throat that feels a hell of a lot like guilt.

he makes it to the airport, but he’s too late.

the flight’s gone.

the seat where you would’ve sat — gone.

the last chance — gone.

you didn’t even tell him.

and maybe he deserved that.

after all, he was the one who shattered your trust. the one who didn’t even try to explain the unfamiliar lipstick on his collar that night. who called you dramatic when you cried. who laughed when you went quiet. who rolled his eyes when you stopped waiting up.

he told himself it meant nothing.

that she meant nothing.

but now you’re gone. and all he has left are memories that hit harder than fists.

his chest feels empty in a way violence can’t fill.

his phone buzzes with a photo from rindou — the last picture he took of you at the airport.

you weren’t crying.

you weren’t smiling, either.

you just looked... done.

and god, he wishes he had told you not to go.

wishes he had begged you to stay.

wishes he had remembered what he was supposed to lose before it slipped through his hands.

[reissancesstuff]

Omg Bonten Mikey having a little daughter that's like the sweetest person ever. Always sharing her cookies with Rindou. But like her papa has that dead stare. 💀 Like image Sanzu takes a cookie and she just stares at him making him slowly put the cookie back. 😭

“not yours.”

bonten!mikey x fem!reader (mentions), girl dad!mikey, fluff + crack

there’s a certain type of silence that fills the bonten break room whenever your daughter shows up — a strange, sacred hush. not out of fear. not out of reverence.

but because everyone knows better than to upset the boss's kid.

she’s four. in a pastel hoodie. sparkly jelly shoes. and two ponytails so perfectly done that sanzu actually asked if mikey went to cosmetology school just for that.

she waddles in on her tiny legs holding a ziplock bag full of cookies — chocolate chip, a little messy, a little crumbly, but very proudly made.

“papa, can i share?”

mikey, still as unreadable as ever with that cold deadpan expression and resting murder face, gives a small nod. “you can share with the nice ones.”

she beams, nods, and walks up to rindou first.

“rinnie.”

he almost tears up at the nickname.

she hands him a cookie like it’s the most sacred offering ever made. he takes it like it’s gold.

“thank you, princess,” rindou says, kneeling down to her level. “can i eat it?”

“yes.”

she even pats his head.

rindou dies on the spot.

then she turns to take a seat on the couch beside her dad, who doesn't smile, doesn’t speak, but softens just enough to drape an arm around her back.

sanzu, who’s been eyeing the cookies like a starving raccoon, tiptoes over to the table. slow. careful.

he reaches for the bag.

and then—

“no.”

he freezes.

your daughter’s voice isn’t loud. not even firm. but when she turns to look at him, she’s wearing mikey’s exact expression.

brows slightly furrowed. eyes blank. unreadable. terrifying.

sanzu gulps. his hand stays mid-air. “just one?”

“not yours.”

mikey doesn’t say a word. but his presence behind her is loud enough.

sanzu puts the cookie back. carefully. like disarming a bomb.

rindou, already halfway through his, tries to hide his chewing.

your daughter snuggles into mikey’s side, and he gently plays with one of her pigtails.

the bonten boys stare like she’s a tiny, cookie-wielding deity.

“what’s the moral of the story?” koko murmurs to takeomi.

“don’t fuck with mikey’s kid,” takeomi replies solemnly.

“especially not her cookies.”

[reissancesstuff]

OMGMGMG I NEED A PART TWO TO "You Forgot." With ran, try to make up for it when he realizes the next day that he's forgotten. ILYYY SMMMM PLS WRITE MORE I SWEAR EVERYTIME I SEE NEW WORK I JUMPPP ❤️❤️

“you remembered.”

part two to “you forgot”

the dining table is still set when he wakes.

the candle’s burned out, wax hardened in a soft puddle. the food’s cold, untouched. and the scent of your perfume still lingers in the air like a ghost that never left.

ran blinks.

his head pounds from the hangover, but something else stabs deeper — a flash of your face last night, the silence in your eyes. the way you didn’t even raise your voice.

he looks down.

he’s still in his dress shirt. smells like a place he shouldn’t have been. there’s a faint smudge of lipstick on his sleeve — not yours. the kind of red you’d never wear.

he curses under his breath.

his phone’s dead. no alarm. no unread messages. no reminders.

but the date clicks in his mind like a bullet.

your wedding anniversary.

fuck.

he shoots up from the couch and nearly trips over his own feet as he rushes toward the kitchen — sees the way you set the table, the little details. folded napkins. his favorite side dishes. that one dessert you always said was too much trouble to make but you learned because he liked it once.

and then the guilt hits like a freight train.

his feet move on instinct, pushing your bedroom door open without knocking.

you’re awake.

sitting on the edge of the bed in one of his shirts, legs pulled up close to your chest. you don’t look surprised to see him — just tired. like you’ve already accepted whatever half-assed apology he’s about to give.

“baby,” he says, voice low and hoarse. “fuck, i… i didn’t realize.”

you don’t answer.

he steps closer, careful this time. “i was an asshole last night. i know i was.”

still, silence.

“i remembered the second i woke up.” his voice cracks. “i saw the table. the candle. the food. i saw everything. and it made me feel like the biggest piece of shit in the world.”

you finally glance up at him. “it’s not the first time, ran.”

he flinches.

“you keep forgetting,” you say softly. “maybe not dates. but me.”

he walks over and kneels in front of you, taking your hand in his. you try to pull away, but he holds on — gently, insistently.

“i don’t wanna forget you,” he whispers. “i’ve never wanted that. i’m just—i get caught up in all this bonten shit, and i convince myself you’ll always understand. that you’ll wait for me.”

you stare at him. “and what if one day i don’t?”

his grip tightens.

“then i’ll deserve it.”

the room falls quiet again, thick with everything left unsaid.

but then he rests his forehead on your knee. not in defeat — in apology.

“can i make it up to you?”

you exhale. “how?”

“however you want,” he says immediately. “just… tell me what i need to do.”

you hesitate.

“…start with heating up the food.”

he lifts his head, eyes wide. “you didn’t throw it away?”

“of course not. i spent three hours cooking.”

he smiles — crooked, relieved. “i’ll eat all of it.”

“you better.”

he leans forward and presses a kiss to your hand.

and this time, he sees you.

------

Here is the long-awaited part two! @idk-what-myurl-shouldbe & @mytaiyakeylover

[reissancesstuff]

"you don't look like my boyfriend.”

sypnosis: you're too drunk to recognize your boyfriend.

featuring: bonten boys (seperate) x fem!reader

warnings: alcohol mentions, swearing, drunk!reader.

—

MIKEY

you're swaying.

barely holding it together on the sidewalk, heels in your hand and eyes glossy from too many drinks. the night is loud — laughter, clinking glasses, someone singing off-key behind you — but everything feels like it’s underwater.

and then there's someone in front of you.

someone tall. all in black. white-blond hair, dark eyes, a glint of silver in his ear. calm expression that doesn't match the chaos around you.

you blink slowly. “who are you?”

he stares at you. deadpan.

you point a shaky finger. “you’re hot. but you don’t look like my boyfriend.”

his eye twitches.

“you’re drunk,” mikey mutters, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

you gasp — scandalized. “how do you know me?!”

“you’re my girlfriend,” he says flatly.

“liar,” you squint at him. “my boyfriend doesn’t scowl like that. he smiles at me. like this—” you flash your teeth in a crooked grin, tipsy and far too confident.

mikey sighs, stepping closer. “you tried to kiss a bartender, y/n.”

“i did not,” you pout. “he had glitter on his face. i thought he was a fairy.”

“you told him you’d trade your phone for a ride on his back.”

you freeze.

“…was he gonna say yes?”

“get over here.”

he doesn’t wait. just loops an arm around your waist and lifts you up like you weigh nothing, tossing you into the backseat of the black car parked at the curb. you squeak, landing in plush leather as the door shuts behind him.

“manjiroooo,” you groan, flopping onto his chest like a ragdoll.

he hums lowly, letting you cling. “what am i gonna do with you?”

“feed me.”

“you threw up your last meal.”

“because it was spicy and i don’t like spice!” you say dramatically. “you know this. you should’ve protected me.”

“you said you loved wasabi.”

“i was lying!”

he chuckles. actually chuckles.

his hand comes up to brush your hair behind your ear, fingers lingering at the back of your neck. you blink slowly against his shoulder, your words slurring into sleep.

“…you’re warm,” you mumble.

mikey leans in, lips grazing your temple.

“next time you’re drinking, i’m chaining you to me.”

“is that your new kink?”

he groans. “just shut up and sleep, brat.”

and as your breathing evens out, arms still wrapped lazily around him, mikey glances at your peaceful face and thinks —

yeah. he’d carry your drunk ass a thousand times over.

as long as you come home to him.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

SANZU

you’re wobbling in your heels.

like really wobbling. cartoon-character-on-ice kind of wobbling.

sanzu watches from across the room, half amused, half exasperated. he told you not to take another shot. he literally pulled the glass away from your hand at one point. but then some giggling friend of yours handed you another one while he was on a call and now.

now you’re drunk.

you’re so drunk you don’t even notice him approaching.

"baby," he says, catching you by the waist before you can tip forward and faceplant into a couch, "what did i say about the tequila?"

you blink up at him.

pause.

your brows furrow. you lean in a little, squinting.

“…who are you?”

sanzu blinks. “what?”

“you’re really pretty,” you slur, poking his chest with one finger. “but i have a boyfriend. he’s scary. he kills people.”

he snorts. “yeah? what’s he look like?”

“pink hair. sharp teeth. eyes like a lazy cat. talks too much sometimes but i love him.”

he tries to hold it in—he really does—but a laugh bursts out before he can stop it. “wow. sounds hot.”

“he is,” you nod solemnly. then you lean closer, all whispery and secretive. “his name is… haruchiyo. but everyone call him sanzu. you can't tell anyone.”

“your secret’s safe with me.”

you sway again and he steadies you with both hands on your waist. you stare up at him, suspicious.

“…wait a minute,” you whisper, narrowing your eyes. “you look like him.”

“maybe i am him.”

you gasp, scandalized. “no, you’re not. he wouldn’t wear a shirt like that.”

he looks down at his black button-up. “…i wear this all the time.”

you ignore him, gently smacking his chest. “nope. nice try, imposter.”

sanzu just sighs and lifts you into his arms. bridal-style. effortlessly.

you squeak. “hey—stranger danger!”

“you’re so lucky you’re cute,” he mutters, carrying you out of the venue like a man on a mission. “your scary boyfriend would’ve murdered me by now.”

you squint at his face one more time, like it’s just starting to click.

“…wait. are you my scary boyfriend?”

“finally.”

you stare at him.

then giggle.

then pass out on his shoulder.

he sighs again. but it’s fond this time.

“dumbass,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against your forehead. “don’t ever change.”

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

KAKUCHO

you’re swaying in place when kakucho opens the penthouse door.

mascara a little smudged. shoes in your hand. clutch barely zipped. and your smile? way too wide to be sober.

“hiiiiii,” you slur, waving like you’re meeting a stranger. “whoa… you’re really hot.”

kakucho’s brow twitches. “you’re drunk.”

“mmmaybe.” you hiccup, then squint at him. “wait. do i know you?”

he blinks. “you don’t remember me?”

you take a cautious step forward, wobbling. your eyes trail over the expensive dress shirt clinging to his chest, the familiar scar on his face — but your brain is still foggy and floating somewhere between tequila shots and karaoke.

“you kinda look like my boyfriend,” you mutter.

“do i?”

you nod solemnly. “but he’s mean sometimes. really serious. you look nice.”

he deadpans. “glad to know i’ve got a nicer twin.”

you gasp, like it’s a revelation. “are you the good twin? can you kiss better too?”

“baby.”

“ohmygod, you sound just like him,” you whisper, poking his chest. “are you two, like, related?”

kakucho sighs through his nose and steps forward, gently looping an arm around your waist before you stumble into the damn wall. “i am him.”

you pause, peering up at him with bleary confusion. “…huh?”

he leans down, brushing your hair back from your face, voice low. “you’re really drunk, sweetheart. let’s get you to bed.”

you blink once. twice.

then your mouth drops open in realization.

“kakuchoooo!” you squeal, throwing your arms around him like you haven’t seen him in months. “my boyfriend!! i missed you soooo much!!”

he stifles a laugh, catching you easily.

“you saw me this morning,” he mumbles into your hair, but the way his hand rubs circles on your back gives him away — soft. patient. relieved you made it home safe.

you sigh dramatically against his chest. “i was scared you wouldn’t love me anymore ‘cause i wore that short dress.”

he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. “you looked beautiful.”

“really?”

“really.”

you smile so wide it makes his chest ache, even as you sway again.

“‘m sleepy…”

“then let’s get you to bed,” he says, scooping you up effortlessly.

you wrap your arms around his neck, cheek pressed to his shoulder, voice muffled. “you’re the best boyfriend in the world…”

he presses a kiss to your forehead, chuckling softly.

“yeah,” he murmurs, “even when you don’t remember me.”

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

TAKEOMI

you’re absolutely wasted.

not tipsy. not a little buzzed. wasted.

takeomi finds you outside the bar, sitting on the sidewalk with your heels off, feet bare, and a bag of chips in your lap that you definitely stole from someone inside. your friends had texted him to come pick you up — and good thing too, because you look seconds away from face-planting into the asphalt.

“baby,” he calls gently, crouching down in front of you.

you blink up at him, squinting under the streetlight. your mouth opens slightly.

“…do i know you?”

takeomi blinks. “are you serious?”

you lean back a little. “are you hitting on me?” you gasp suddenly. “wait—i have a boyfriend!”

“yeah,” he sighs. “me.”

you narrow your eyes at him suspiciously. “prove it.”

he sighs again, but there’s a quiet smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “you always make me late by stealing my hair gel in the morning and hiding it in your bra.”

you gasp again, scandalized. “how do you know that?!”

“because you tell me every single time.”

“that sounds like something i’d do,” you mutter, nodding.

he reaches for your bag of chips and tosses it aside before gently helping you up. you wobble against his chest and bury your face into his jacket, sighing dramatically. “you smell like my boyfriend.”

“probably because i am your boyfriend.”

you pause.

“…oh.”

takeomi wraps an arm around your waist and leads you to his car, holding your shoes in one hand while you mutter something about him being suspiciously handsome. he just shakes his head with a laugh, brushing his lips against your temple as he opens the door.

“let’s get you home, pretty girl.”

you blink up at him again, swaying slightly.

“…hey.”

“yeah?”

you point a finger at his chest, dead serious. “if my boyfriend finds out you kissed me, he’s gonna kill you.”

he sighs. “i’ll take my chances.”

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

KOKONOI

you’re swaying.

not from music. not from happiness. just… swaying.

your heels are clumsy against the pavement, arms flailing slightly as you stumble toward the black car parked outside the club. you barely register the man who steps out of it — tall, lean, dressed in an expensive black coat and even more expensive glare.

“jesus,” he mutters, eyes locking on you. “you’re wasted.”

you stop walking.

tilt your head.

squint.

“…huh?” you blink, swaying again. “who’re you?”

kokonoi hajime just stands there. lips parting slightly.

you don’t know him.

your boyfriend — the man who held your hair back when you were sick, who tucked hundred-thousand-yen gifts in your purse like loose change, who loves you more than life itself — and you don’t even recognize him.

“you don’t even know me?” he asks, voice quiet.

you frown. “…are you hot?”

he chokes.

“what?”

you take another unsteady step forward. “are you, like, my type or something?” you poke a finger into his chest, clearly unaware you’re messing with one of bonten’s top executives. “you’re kinda pretty. do i know you from somewhere?”

his jaw tightens — not in anger, but something else.

god, you’re so drunk. flushed cheeks, glassy eyes, wobbling in your cute dress like you haven’t slept in days.

he exhales slowly and slips his coat off, draping it over your shoulders without a word.

“i’m your boyfriend,” he says, pulling you close so you don’t tip over. “kokonoi. hajime. remember now?”

you stare at him. long and slow.

“…no,” you whisper. “but i like your voice.”

he closes his eyes for a second like he’s praying for strength.

“come on,” he sighs, wrapping an arm around your waist. “let’s get you home.”

you hum softly against him, cuddling into his side like instinct. “you smell nice.”

“i should,” he mutters. “you bought me the cologne.”

“…i did?” you blink up at him, awed. “that was so nice of me.”

kokonoi smiles despite himself. “yeah. you’re amazing, remember?”

you don’t respond.

you’re too busy falling asleep on his shoulder.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

MOCHI

you’re absolutely smashed.

slumped against the backseat of a sleek black car, your cheek is pressed against the window, fogging up the glass with every hot exhale. the city lights blur into hazy halos as you mumble incoherent things about ramen, frogs, and how the bartender definitely had a crush on you.

mochizuki kanji is sitting beside you — arms crossed, jaw clenched — watching you spiral deeper into drunken chaos with a look that’s a mix of what the fuck am i gonna do with you and i’d kill anyone who touches you.

he’s calm, quiet. only ever speaks when it matters. but right now, he’s biting the inside of his cheek because you — the love of his life — have just looked him in the eye and slurred:

“you’re not my boyfriend.”

he blinks. “…what?”

you squint at him like your vision’s lagging. “you’re not him. he’s taller. angrier. his eyebrows are… madder.”

kanji raises an eyebrow. “madder?”

you poke his chest. “and he smells like cigarettes and laundry softener. you smell like… like a man i don’t know.”

he stares at you. speechless.

then you dramatically flop sideways, landing right against him with a whine. “i want kanjiii,” you say, sniffling, like a child who lost her toy. “he’s my big scary boyfriend. he growls when he talks.”

“i am kanji.”

“liar.” you squint again. “kanji’s nose is more punchable.”

he exhales, presses his fingers to the bridge of his very punchable nose, and fights the urge to laugh or scream.

“…you’re drunk.”

“nooo.” you hiccup. “you’re just impersonating him. is this a bonten thing? secret twins?”

he leans forward, his voice lowering. “baby, i swear to god—”

“see? that’s how he sounds!” you gasp like you cracked the case. “do it again.”

mochi’s eye twitches.

you’re fully sprawled across him now, clinging to the lapel of his coat like a lost little puppy. he adjusts your seatbelt with one hand, sighing, then brushes your hair away from your face with the other.

“i’m taking you home. and tomorrow, when you wake up with a hangover, i’m gonna remind you how you called me an imposter.”

you giggle. “you sound hot when you’re mad.”

he mutters under his breath, “so i am your boyfriend?”

“…hm. jury’s still out.” you poke his cheek. “i’ll decide when i’m sober.”

kanji leans back in the seat, groaning. “you’re so lucky i love you.”

you yawn and nuzzle into his side, half-asleep already. “my boyfriend loves me too…”

he glances down. your arms are wrapped around him now. soft breaths tickling his neck. and he knows you won’t remember a damn thing in the morning.

but he smiles anyway.

“yeah, he really does.”

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

RAN

you’re tipsy. no— scratch that.

you’re gone.

ran knows it the second you stumble out of the bar, heels in hand, mascara a little smudged, smile big and dizzy as you scan the street like it’s moving. it’s not. you are.

“there you are,” ran drawls, slipping his phone into his pocket, voice low and lazy as ever. “i’ve been looking everywhere, baby.”

you squint at him.

you squint at him.

and then you take a step back, blinking. “…sorry, do i know you?”

ran freezes.

“…what?”

“you’re really tall,” you slur, clearly impressed. your finger pokes at his chest, right at the silver chain peeking from his collar. “and you smell expensive.”

he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “you don’t recognize me?”

you tilt your head, swaying. “are you a celebrity?”

ran is trying. really, he is. but the corner of his mouth twitches.

“something like that,” he murmurs, stepping closer to steady you as you wobble. you stare up at him, lips parted, brows furrowed like you’re solving a math problem.

“wait…” you whisper. “do you… have a girlfriend?”

his brows shoot up.

you gasp, dramatic as ever. “because if you don’t—i know a girl who’d be sooo lucky to have you.”

he stares at you for a long, silent moment.

“...you’re trying to flirt with me,” he deadpans.

you nod eagerly. “you’re hot.”

“baby,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. “i am your boyfriend.”

you freeze.

pause.

“…you are?”

“yes.”

“…are you sure?”

“you live with me,” he deadpans. “you wear my shirts. i literally dropped you off at this bar three hours ago.”

you gasp again. “wait—you’re ran?!”

ran looks like he’s this close to losing it. “oh my god.”

“i’m so sorry,” you whisper. “you’re so hot i didn’t recognize you.”

“…that’s not even a compliment. it’s a safety hazard.”

you giggle, tipsy and smug now, as you stumble forward into his chest. “well, you’re mine now, right?”

he rolls his eyes, arms wrapping around your waist anyway. “was always yours, drunk idiot.”

“can we get fries?”

“…you don’t even remember dinner, do you?”

“nope!”

he kisses your forehead, groaning like he’s suffering, but the smile tugging at his lips betrays him.

“alright,” he murmurs, scooping you up bridal style. “fries and then straight to bed. my bed.”

“ooh,” you giggle. “that hot stranger’s bed?”

“jesus christ,” he mutters, shaking his head.

but he’s smiling the whole way home.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

RINDOU

rindou has seen you in many states. sleepy, grumpy, pouty, clingy. he's even seen you swing a pan at mochi for “looking weird.”

but drunk? drunk you is a different species entirely.

“what the fuck,” he mutters, watching you sway unsteadily in your heels as you stumble out of the bar with your friends. “she said she’d have one drink.”

you spot him leaning against his car, wearing his usual black, his lavender hair tousled and unbothered. but instead of rushing into his arms like you usually do—

you squint.

hard.

“...who are you?” you ask, dead serious.

rindou blinks. “what?”

you point at him accusingly. “you’re hot. are you a stripper?”

“a what—?”

“did my friends send you? for my birthday?? oh my god, you’re my present, aren’t you??” you gasp dramatically, stumbling forward with jazz hands. “stripper boyyyy~!”

rindou grabs your waist before you faceplant into the pavement. “jesus, baby. it’s me. rindou.”

“rindou?” you frown. “nooo, my rindou has sleepy eyes and looks mean but actually buys me cat stickers when i’m sad.”

“that’s literally me.”

you lean in closer, squinting harder. “hmmm. i don’t know. you’re suspiciously hot. too hot. hot with earrings?? hot with a lip ring?! are you even real???”

“what the hell are you even saying,” he says, but he's already pulling you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “get in the car, idiot.”

you gasp. “he even smells like rindou!! what kind of AI technology—”

he physically picks you up bridal-style before you embarrass yourself any further. you're still rambling nonsense about stripper androids as he buckles you into the passenger seat and shuts the door.

rindou sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“should’ve just handcuffed you to the couch tonight,” he mumbles.

“kinky,” you slur from your seat.

he slides into the driver's side, throws you a dry look, and says, “remind me to delete your birthday next year.”

you giggle and flop your head against his shoulder.

“…but you’re cute for a stripper.”

rindou mutters under his breath, “yeah, and you’re dead when you sober up.”

but he doesn’t push your head away.

[reissancesstuff]

OMG I NEED A DRABBLE WITH BONTEN RAN HAITANI WITH ANGST ! 😭😭💔 MAYBE CHEATING OR ARRANGED MARIAGE IDKKKK 😭 (I love ur works bby pls write more 🫶)

"You Forgot."

Bonten!Ran Haitani x fem!reader | angst | arranged marriage

The food is cold now.

You had plated it all carefully—his favorite dishes, little touches he never noticed but always benefitted from.

You even lit a candle. Wore the dress you picked out last week and never had the nerve to wear before. Too much skin, maybe. Too much hope.

You didn’t expect romance. That was never what this marriage was built on.

But acknowledgment? That would’ve been nice.

The clock hits 11:42 PM when you hear the door unlock, followed by a clumsy thud against the wall and the low groan of someone who’s had too much to drink.

“Ran—”

“I know, I know I came home late again,” he slurs, stumbling in with that loose, lopsided smirk you used to find charming. His arms stretch wide in mock surrender. “I’m sorry, I’ll just make it up to you like always?”

That last line lands like a slap. Casual. Dismissive. Mechanical. Like this is a routine you signed up for.

You don’t bother answering right away. You just exhale. The candle flickers, almost mocking you.

“Why are you drunk?”

He drops his keys somewhere near the couch and starts tugging off his tie, missing the loop. “Told you, didn’t I? I messaged you—didn’t you read it? The boys and I got invited to a dinner with Mr. Nakamura. That big-shot from the yakuza group we just closed the deal with.”

You nod, more to yourself than him. Then you catch it—the unmistakable scent of unfamiliar perfume clinging to his shirt.

“You smell like another woman.”

He scoffs, like you’re telling a joke he’s heard too many times. Like you're just entertainment now. “Come on, Y/N. We’re all boys there. Stop being paranoid and annoying.”

The word cuts deep.

Annoying.

You freeze, then let out a laugh that tastes bitter on your tongue. “Oh. So I’m the annoying one now?”

“Yes,” he snaps, dropping onto the couch with a grunt. “Because you’re talking my ear off when I’m clearly tired! It’s not like I don’t update you from time to time for you to act like this.”

Your eyes sting, but you blink the tears back before they fall. He doesn’t get to see them. Not tonight. Not anymore.

You don’t say anything. You just watch him as he throws his arm over his eyes, muttering something under his breath before slipping into a half-conscious state on the couch, reeking of alcohol and something that isn’t yours.

He doesn’t notice the way your hands are trembling. He doesn’t hear the quiet shuffle of your steps as you walk away.

He doesn’t see the table you set.

Doesn’t see the dress.

Doesn’t see you.

And he doesn’t wake when you close the bedroom door behind you.

[reissancesstuff]

hi, do you write aus? can I request bonten!izana with a pregnant reader during an ultrasound?

A/N: hi babes, sorry for being inactive lately i've been sooooo busy plus i feel so unmotivated to write anything:< anyway this is one of the requests that is rotting in my inbox lol. i hope you enjoy it, anon!

“Little Heartbeats”

Bonten!Izana x pregnant!reader

“You’re nervous.”

You glance over at Izana, who’s slouched in the too-small chair beside the examination table. His usual suit jacket draped across the back of the chair. But his eyes — sharp and pale — are watching you like a hawk.

You exhale. “A little. First ultrasound, you know?”

His hand finds yours. “It’ll be fine.”

That’s Izana-speak for I’m nervous too but won’t admit it. He’s still got that edge to him — Bonten’s leader, blood on his hands, chaos in his bones — but when it comes to you, everything softens. His thumb brushes the back of your hand in slow, absent-minded circles.

The doctor walks in with a smile and greets you both, making small talk as she sets up the machine. “We’re going to do a quick check today. We’ll listen for the heartbeat.”

Izana’s grip tightens slightly, and he scoots his chair closer.

You lie back and pull your shirt up, exposing your belly. The gel is cold — you shiver — and Izana mutters something about needing to install better heating in this place, as if he owns the clinic.

Then the probe touches your skin.

Static at first. A low hum. Then—

ba-bump. ba-bump. ba-bump.

Your breath catches. The sound is faint but steady, like a tiny drum inside you.

Izana goes still.

“That’s your baby’s heartbeat,” the doctor says warmly.

You look over at him — and the expression on his face nearly makes you cry.

He’s wide-eyed. No smirk, no arrogance, no aloofness. Just… awe.

“That’s them?” he murmurs.

You nod. “That’s our baby.”

He swallows. Slowly. Then leans in, hand still clutching yours. “You’re sure they’re okay?”

“Perfectly healthy,” the doctor confirms.

Izana doesn’t say anything right away. Just stares at the screen, at the blurry shape nestled safely inside you.

And then, quietly — softer than you’ve ever heard him — he whispers:

“…I didn’t think I’d get this far.”

Your heart twists. You squeeze his fingers, and he finally looks at you.

“You did,” you say. “We did.”

He leans forward and kisses your knuckles. “Guess I’ve got a reason to stop dying for things.”

You smile. “Now you live for them instead.”

He lets out a breathy laugh, brushing a thumb along your belly like he can already protect the tiny life inside. The terrifying Bonten executive who once ruled with fear now looks at you like you hung the stars — and at the screen like it holds his future.

“You’re gonna be spoiled, you know that?” he murmurs to your stomach. “I’ll make sure of it.”

And for once, the king of destruction sounds like a man who finally found something he wants to protect.

[reissancesstuff]

“WHO are you?”

sypnosis: you're too drunk to recognize your boyfriend.

warnings: alcohol (reader is drunk), swearing.

featuring: gojo satoru, geto suguru, nanami kento, fushiguro toji, sukuna ryomen.

Gojo

You are absolutely, unapologetically, undeniably wasted.

You don’t even remember how many drinks you’ve had. All you know is that the room is spinning, your heels are in your hand, and you’re sitting outside the club on the curb with a pout that could kill a man.

“Satoru,” you mumble, squinting at your phone. “Why hasn’t he called me back? That bastard.”

You’re just about to text him for the eighth time (your phone is upside down, for the record) when a familiar voice cuts through the haze.

“There you are,” the voice says, amused. “You’re lucky I’m sexy and patient.”

You blink up, shielding your eyes from the moonlight—or maybe it’s the streetlight, or maybe it's the glowing aura of the man standing in front of you.

He’s tall. White-haired. Wearing a black coat and sunglasses, at night, like a menace.

You frown.

“Who,” you say seriously, “the fuck are you?”

He freezes.

You narrow your eyes further, wobbling to your feet and poking his chest.

“Back off, handsome stranger,” you declare. “I already have a boyfriend.”

He sputters. “Handsome? Wait—”

“He’s the love of my life,” you say proudly. “Six feet of nonsense. White hair. Smug face. He’s so annoying. But like, in a hot way.”

“…That’s literally just me,” he deadpans.

“Nooo,” you slur. “Satoru’s prettier.”

His jaw drops. “Excuse me?! I AM SATORU!”

You gasp. Loudly.

“Oh my god. You’re one of those crazy fans.”

“What???”

You stumble back, dramatically offended. “You wanna be him, don’t you? Is that why you dyed your hair? Is this cosplay?!”

Gojo stares at you, dumbfounded.

You wave your heel in the air like a sword. “Back off! I’m loyal!”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply. “Sweetheart—”

You cut him off, whispering, “Don’t call me that. Only Satoru calls me sweetheart.”

“…I am Satoru!”

A pause. Then, suddenly, you gasp again—like your brain has rebooted.

“Wait… You sound like him,” you say slowly, brows furrowing. “Say something only Satoru would say.”

He leans in, lips grazing your ear.

“I know how you like it when I kiss that one spot on your thigh.”

You shriek, smacking his chest. “Okay you’re him!!”

He laughs—loud, stupid, proud.

“I hate you,” you mumble into his coat as he wraps his arms around you, lifting you off the ground like you weigh nothing.

“You said I was hot,” he hums smugly. “I’m never letting that go.”

“You’re annoying,” you grumble, snuggling into him anyway. “Still prettier in my head.”

He kisses your forehead. “Good thing I’m also prettier in real life.”

---

By the time he gets you home, you’ve fallen asleep in his arms.

You wake up the next morning with a hangover, a glass of water on your nightstand, and a sticky note on your forehead.

"Handsome Stranger says hi. —Your boyfriend 💙"

You groan, burying your face in the pillow.

God, he’s never gonna let this go.

But honestly?

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━

Geto

You’re drunk.

Like, embarrassingly drunk.

Like, sitting outside the izakaya barefoot with your shoes in your lap and a half-eaten skewer in your hand, slurring into your phone like it’s your long-lost best friend.

“Where the hell is Suguru?” you mumble. “I’m cold. And also beautiful. I deserve a ride.”

A shadow falls over you.

You look up—slowly, dramatically—and see a tall, broad figure standing above you, dark hair in a low bun, wearing all black like he’s auditioning to be a villain in a slow-burn romance anime.

“Get up,” he says. Calm. Deep. Familiar.

You squint. “Oh my god.”

He raises a brow. “Yes?”

“You’re hot,” you whisper.

He sighs. “Baby, it’s me.”

“No,” you say, pointing a threatening skewer at him. “My boyfriend is nicer. He’s sweet. And warm. And smells like sandalwood and chaos. You look like a mafia boss. You probably steal hearts and credit cards.”

Suguru stares at you like he’s questioning all his life choices.

You stand up—well, try to—and nearly fall into him. His arms catch you effortlessly, like it’s muscle memory.

You shove a finger in his chest. “I’m taken. My boyfriend will kill you.”

“Will he?” he asks, humoring you. “Violent type?”

“The worst,” you say proudly. “He once glared at a guy so hard his hairline receded.”

“Sounds terrifying.”

“He is,” you nod seriously. “And he calls me ‘sweetheart’ when he wants something.”

Suguru exhales a laugh, something low and fond. “Okay. What if I prove I’m him?”

You blink at him, considering. “…Fine. Do it.”

He steps close, close enough that his chest brushes yours.

“Two weeks ago, you said if I didn’t let you adopt a cat, you’d put glitter in my shampoo.”

Your jaw drops. “How did you—?!”

“Three days ago, you cried because a dog in a TikTok wore boots.”

“And last night,” he leans in, brushing his lips by your ear, “you told me I’m your favorite ‘tall dark and dangerous’ man, but you’d leave me instantly for Keanu Reeves.”

You gasp. “Suguru?!”

“Yes.”

“OH MY GOD.” You slap his arm. “Why didn’t you say so earlier!?”

“I did.”

You cling to him, dramatic as ever. “I missed you. You smell good. Don’t ever leave me again.”

He lifts you effortlessly, carrying you bridal style toward the car, shaking his head with the softest smile.

“You’re gonna regret all of this in the morning,” he murmurs, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“I regret nothing,” you slur. Then squint up at him. “Wait. Did you really glare a guy’s hairline off?”

“…That one might’ve been a little exaggerated.”

“Still hot.”

---

The next morning, you wake up in Suguru’s hoodie, with water, painkillers, and a sticky note on your phone:

“Mafia Boss says thank you for your compliments. You’re under permanent protection now. —Your real boyfriend 💌”

You bury your face in the pillow.

He’s never letting this go.

And honestly? You’re kind of glad.

━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━

Nanami

You’re sitting on a curb, absolutely wasted.

There’s glitter on your eyelids, chicken nuggets in your purse, and a girl from the bar sobbing beside you because her ex posted a gym selfie.

You offer her a nugget.

“You deserve better,” you tell her. “You’re gorgeous. Your eyebrows are, like, symmetrical. I’d marry you.”

She sniffles, then stares behind you. “Uhh… is that your boyfriend?”

You turn.

And see a tall, broad man walking up, sleeves rolled, tie loose, face unreadable—like God sent a male model from a finance firm to collect wayward souls off the street.

You frown.

“You look expensive,” you say slowly. “Are you one of those… high-end butlers?”

He stops in front of you. “You’re drunk.”

You blink. “How do you know?”

“Because I’m your boyfriend.”

Your jaw drops. “No you’re not. My boyfriend is… emotionally repressed. Wears beige. Has a sexy office job and a judgmental stare.”

Nanami sighs. “That’s me.”

You squint suspiciously. “Okay, if you’re really my boyfriend… what’s my weirdest habit?”

He looks down at you, voice flat. “You talk to plants. You name them. One is called Baby Groot. You cried when he lost a leaf.”

Your lips part. “Only he would know that…”

You wobble to your feet and nearly fall, catching yourself on his very firm chest. You clutch his shirt.

“Oh my god,” you whisper. “You are my sexy office man.”

“Let’s go home,” he mutters, guiding you gently toward his car.

You dig your heels into the ground. “Wait! Waitwaitwait—don’t kidnap me! I have a boyfriend!”

“You just admitted I am your boyfriend.”

“…Oh. Right.” You giggle. “Lucky me.”

He helps you into the passenger seat like you’re fragile cargo. Once seated, you stare at him as he buckles you in.

“You’re so handsome,” you murmur.

“I know.”

“And patient.”

“I have no choice.”

“You’re gonna marry me one day.”

His hands still for half a second.

Then: “I already plan to.”

You pass out smiling.

---

The next morning, you wake up in bed, dressed in your comfiest pajamas, with a glass of water, aspirin, and a note:

"In case you forget: yes, I am your boyfriend. No, I am not a butler. Please hydrate. —Kento"

You giggle into the pillow.

You’re definitely going to marry that man.

━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━

Toji

You are sitting on a barstool, double fisting two very illegally strong cocktails, laughing at absolutely nothing.

You're also very certain that a hot man is trying to kidnap you.

“Ma’am,” the man says, standing in front of you like an irritated wall of muscle. “It’s me.”

You look him up and down.

Black hair. Green eyes. Tall. Scary aura. Tight shirt. Very very hot.

But no. You're loyal.

You squint. “You’re not my boyfriend.”

The man pinches the bridge of his nose. “I picked you up from karaoke an hour ago.”

“Impossible,” you say dramatically. “My boyfriend would never show up to karaoke. He thinks fun is ‘a scam made by broke people.’”

“That’s exactly what I said,” he grunts.

You gasp. “You are hot though. Like, really hot. But listen—my boyfriend? He’s kinda mean, super strong, and terrifying. He could totally kill you.”

He stares.

You continue: “He’s also soooo good in bed. Real monster. Demon behavior. But he’s mine, so—”

Toji grabs your wrist. “Get your ass up.”

You gasp again. “You’re aggressive. Just like him. But he’d never touch me like that in public unless I pissed him off.”

“Oh?” he says, voice flat. “You mean like getting blackout drunk, threatening the DJ, and petting strangers' dogs without asking?”

You tilt your head. “So you do know me...”

“I live with you.”

You lean forward, squinting hard, then grab his face between your hands. “Say something only my boyfriend would say.”

He deadpans, “If you puke in my car again, I’m charging you five grand.”

Your mouth drops open. “Toji?!”

“Finally.”

You throw your arms around his neck. “Where have you been all night?!”

“Chasing your drunk ass down. Again.”

He tosses you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and starts walking to his car.

“Wait,” you slur. “You’re not gonna murder me, right?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“But I’m your babygirl…”

He opens the car door. “You’re my goddamn headache.”

“Love you too!”

---

The next morning, you wake up with a hangover and a bruise on your hip that looks suspiciously like the edge of Toji’s shoulder.

You check your phone.

1 New Message from Toji

📸 [photo of you passed out face-first in his passenger seat, drooling]

Toji: Don’t drink again unless I’m there. Dumbass.

You smile.

Your murderous, scary, mean boyfriend is the best.

━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━

Sukuna

You’re absolutely, irreparably hammered.

How do you know?

Because there is a gorgeous man standing in front of you with piercings, tattoos, and arms you’d like to sit on — and instead of flirting with him, you’re loudly sobbing to your friend.

“He’s gonna kill him. He’s gonna kill the hot guy,” you sniff.

“Who?”

“That guy,” you point at the very man you’re talking about. “He’s hot but he’s not my boyfriend. But he’s gonna die. My boyfriend is crazy.”

The man in question — the hot one — drags a hand down his face. “You’re drunk off your ass.”

You nod solemnly. “Yes. And you should leave before he finds you.”

“I am your boyfriend.”

You blink. “Noooo, my boyfriend has tattoos—”

He lifts his shirt.

“—oh my god you have tattoos,” you whisper.

“And piercings.”

You stare at the twin bars through his eyebrow and the silver glint on his tongue as he smirks.

“My boyfriend has those too!” you giggle. “But also, he’s terrifying. He’d murder you in an alley for touching me.”

He steps closer. “You mean like this?”

He wraps an arm around your waist, pulls you flush against him.

You freeze. “Bold of you, hot stranger.”

He leans in, voice low and dark in your ear. “You bit me last time I tried to wake you up from a drunk nap.”

You gasp. “Sukuna?!”

“Yeah, baby. It’s me.” He presses a kiss to your jaw, sharp canines grazing your skin. “Now let’s get you in the damn car before I dump you in a gutter.”

You wrap your arms around him, eyes wide. “You’re so mean. I love you.”

“I know you do, dumbass.”

---

The next morning, you wake up to an ice pack on your head and a water bottle on your nightstand. Sukuna is sitting at the edge of the bed, scrolling his phone.

“…Did I threaten you again last night?” you mumble.

“You told me you’d report me to the FBI if I didn’t prove I was your boyfriend.”

“Oh god.”

“You also called me ‘Mr. Jail Tattoos’ and asked if I knew I was hot.”

“I hate myself.”

He glances at you with that lazy smirk. “You said, and I quote, ‘I wanna kiss you but my boyfriend’s gonna beat your ass.’”

You pull a pillow over your face. “Did you beat your own ass?”

“Nah.” He shrugs. “But I did let you tackle me onto the bed. You drooled on my neck.”

“…Love you?”

He flicks your forehead. “Be less dumb next time.”

You grin. “That’s rich coming from you, Mr. Jail Tattoos.”

And he does, in fact, tackle you right back.

[reissancesstuff]

“Strictly Fan Service.”

Actor!Gojo Satoru x Actress!Reader

You were living every fan’s dream.

Award-winning actress. National sweetheart. Half of the most famous on-screen couple in the country. Your face was everywhere—billboards, magazines, commercials.

Beside you in almost all of them?

Gojo Satoru.

Golden boy. Drama king. Arrogant, self-absorbed, painfully irritating.

You hated him.

And he hated you back.

“You’re late,” he’d hiss when you arrived two minutes past call time.

“You’re smug,” you’d snap when he winked at fans instead of focusing on his lines.

But when the cameras rolled?

He’d pull you into his arms like you were his whole world.

You’d smile like he was the only man you ever saw.

Because you were professionals.

And the fans ate it up.

Every. Single. Time.

Your latest series—a steamy enemies-to-lovers drama—swept the nation like wildfire. People were obsessed. Your chemistry was award-winning. Literally. You both won Best Couple of the Year, which made Gojo smirk for an entire week straight.

“Fan service,” your manager had said sweetly. “Smile at each other. Be playful. Hold hands when you can. The people love it.”

You nearly gagged. So did he.

Which brings you to today: a live interview with a sea of fans watching in real time. You, Gojo, and your second lead, Arashi.

The interviewer was charming. Arashi was charming. Everyone was charming.

Except Gojo, who was brooding.

You didn’t understand why. He was sitting to your left, arms crossed, sunglasses on indoors like he owned the damn studio. Meanwhile, Arashi was to your right, leaning closer than necessary, whispering something that made you laugh.

Gojo’s jaw ticked.

“Now, Y/N,” the interviewer beamed. “Between Satoru and Arashi, who are you more close with?”

Easy answer.

You turned slightly to Arashi, parting your lips.

But before you could speak, you felt it.

A hand.

On your thigh.

Big. Warm. Smooth. Confident.

Sliding across the exposed skin just beneath the hem of your skirt.

You froze. Your back straightened.

Gojo didn’t even blink.

“Of course,” he said, voice velvety and calm, “we’re more close together.”

You turned your head slowly.

He was already looking at you. Shades pushed up, blue eyes piercing yours. A cocky smile tugged at his lips as his hand gave your thigh a little squeeze.

“Right, Y/N?”

You forced a smile.

The fakest, sweetest smile known to man.

“Of course,” you said, voice sugary as poison.

The fans lost it.

Clips spread like wildfire. Screencaps. Gifs. Edits.

“Gojo’s so possessive 😭😭😭”

“Not him putting his hand THERE 😭🔥”

“IS THIS FAN SERVICE OR REAL??? 👀”

You kept your smile for the cameras. You kept your posture poised.

But when the interview ended and the cameras finally cut—

“What the hell was that?” you hissed through gritted teeth, slapping his hand off you.

Gojo shrugged, too pleased with himself.

“Company said fan service,” he murmured smugly. “I’m just doing my job.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“You like it.”

“I hate you.”

“Sure,” he said, leaning in so close his breath brushed your skin. “But the fans? They love us.”

You wanted to kill him.

But you also knew the worst part was…

He was right.

And maybe—just maybe—your heart was racing a little too fast for a simple publicity stunt.