Sanzu X Reader - Blog Posts

𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍'𝐒 𝐍𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎

— sanzu haruchiyo x fem!reader

PART ONE 4.9k words

short summary. 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

Manjiro Sano once promised you forever. He'd said it so easily back then, like it was a given, something as natural as breathing. You were fifteen, standing by the riverbank after another reckless night, his blonde hair glowing under the streetlights. He had to tilt his head up to meet your eyes then, his expression so open, so sure.

"It's you and me, always."

Now, nearly ten years later, that memory feels like a lifeline in the middle of a storm. You hold onto it so tightly that your knuckles turn white. It's the only thing keeping you grounded as you stand in the shadowed corner of a chapel, watching him slip a ring onto another woman's finger.

The bride is stunning, of course. Her white gown flows around her like something out of a dream, her face set in a serene mask of duty. And Manjiro—Mikey—he looks... distant. Like he's not even there, going through the motions, his face unreadable, hollow. It's a mask you've seen him wear too many times now, a defense mechanism, something to protect the broken parts of him he never lets anyone see.

You sip your wine slowly, the bitter taste doing little to mask the bile rising in your throat. A strange mixture of dark satisfaction and aching sadness twists inside you, an uncomfortable knot of emotions you can't quite unravel. 

He doesn't love her, you remind yourself. He's still yours. He promised.

But the truth is, the wine does little to dull the sharp edge of betrayal. The ceremony feels like a bad dream, one you can't wake up from. 

It's a sham. Just a business arrangement, nothing more. A duty to his late brother Shinichiro, who made a deal with her family long ago, a deal Mikey feels bound to honor. You respect that, you always have. His loyalty is part of what made you fall for him all those years ago.

But it still feels like a knife in your chest, twisted with every vow spoken. You won't question it though. You can't. Because questioning it would mean questioning Shin's memory, and that's something you'll never do. Still, the pain lingers, like a bruise you can't stop pressing on.

As the ceremony ends and the couple walks down the aisle, Mikey's eyes meet yours, even from across the room. For a brief moment, his lips curve into that familiar soft smile, the one that's always been just for you, full of unspoken words and old promises. It's enough to settle your nerves, if only slightly. 

He's still yours, you remind yourself again. This doesn't change anything.

The guests start to shuffle toward the reception hall, but you hang back, feeling the taste of the wine and the weight of the day pressing down on you. The laughter and chatter fades as you step into a quieter hallway, seeking a moment of solitude, a reprieve from the overwhelming noise of celebration.

But you're not alone. A figure leans against the far wall, tall and lean, with faded pink hair that you'd recognize anywhere.

Haruchiyo Sanzu.

Of course, he'd be here. Even though no one from Bonten was supposed to attend, you should've known Sanzu would show up, disregarding protocol like he always does. He's dressed in one of his garish purple suits, the cigarette in his hand burning slowly as he takes a long drag, his katana resting lazily against the wall next to him. The sight of it makes you roll your eyes despite the situation. How he manages to carry that damn thing everywhere without someone calling the cops on him is beyond you.

He doesn't even look at you as you approach, though you know he's aware of your presence. Sanzu's always like that—aloof, unreadable, like he's waiting for something but never telling you what.

Your heels click against the marble floor, the sound too loud in the silence, as you stop in front of him. You cross your arms, defensive. 

You've never liked him. Not since the beginning. And he's never made an effort to hide the fact that he feels the same way about you. His disdain has been obvious for years now—cutting comments, backhanded remarks. Always just subtle enough to avoid Mikey's wrath.

"You shouldn't be here, Number Two," you say, your voice sharp, cutting through the haze of tension.

Sanzu exhales a slow stream of smoke, not bothering to meet your gaze as he taps the ash onto the floor, a flick of his wrist that seems deliberate in its carelessness. 

"Neither should you," he replies, voice lazy, eyes flickering toward you briefly before he adds, with a smirk, "Mistress."

The word lands like a punch to the gut. You stiffen, your chest tightening as anger flares hot and fast inside you. You want to snap back, to tell him to fuck off, but you hold it in, forcing yourself to stay composed.

Sanzu's teal eyes slide back to you, and there's a gleam in them that you hate—a predatory gleam, like he's enjoying this far too much. He tilts his head, studying you like you're something amusing, something to poke and prod until it breaks.

"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" His voice is smooth, laced with mockery. "You know, it's almost cute. The way you're still holding out hope. Like he's going to drop everything and come running back to you."

Your jaw clenches, but you don't give him the satisfaction of a reaction. You've dealt with Sanzu long enough to know better than to let him get under your skin. He feeds off that kind of thing, turns it into a weapon.

"Shut up," you bite out, your voice low, controlled. "You don't know a damn thing about us."

That earns you a smirk, his scarred lips curling into something cold and twisted. "Don't I?" He takes another drag of his cigarette, exhaling slowly as if savoring the moment. 

"I know enough. I know he's up there, at the altar, with his wife, while you're out here clinging to whatever scraps he throws you."

You feel your fists tighten at your sides, nails biting into your palms. The urge to slap that smug look off his face is overwhelming, but you know better. You've learned that lesson the hard way. Sanzu isn't just annoying—he's dangerous. And he wouldn't hesitate to turn this entire ceremony into a disaster just to prove a point.

"Fuck you," you snap, barely keeping your voice steady.

Sanzu's smile fades, replaced by something colder, something far more dangerous. His eyes narrow, and for a brief moment, you wonder if you've pushed him too far. But then he chuckles, low and dark, like he's enjoying the tension between you.

"Feisty today, huh?" His voice is almost amused, but there's an edge to it, a warning. "You're out here sulking while your beloved plays house. Maybe that fairy tale you're clinging to doesn't mean shit anymore."

You feel your heart hammering in your chest, a mix of anger and something you can't quite place. It's the truth in his words that stings the most, the haunting possibility that he could be be right.

"At least I'm not the one standing out here with a stupid katana looking like a fucking fool," you shoot back, your voice sharp.

Sanzu's eyes flash, but instead of responding, he steps forward, closing the distance between you in an instant. His presence is suffocating, too close, too intense. You feel your pulse quicken, the air between you crackled with unspoken danger.

"Maybe," he murmurs, his voice low, almost a growl. "But you're not untouchable. Sooner or later, even Mikey won't be able to protect you. Then what?"

His words hang in the air like a threat, and for the first time, a shiver of uncertainty runs through you. You meet his gaze, refusing to show fear, but something about the way he's looking at you now—cold, calculating—makes your stomach churn.

You don't answer. Instead, you turn and walk away, your heels echoing in the empty hallway. But Sanzu's words linger, like a dark cloud that follows you, heavy and inescapable. You push them down, focusing on the only thing that matters: Mikey's promise.

But deep down, you wonder if Sanzu's right. And that thought, more than anything, terrifies you.

Manjiro Sano keeps his promises. At least, that's what you've always believed. He said it with conviction when you were fifteen, when his bright blonde hair caught the sunlight and his eyes reflected an unwavering certainty. His promises became your lifeline, a thread that tethered you to him, through the chaos of Tokyo Manji, through Bonten, through all the things that should have torn you apart. You never doubted him.

But now, with a ring on another woman's finger, that belief feels less like truth and more like denial. 

You lie beside him, his arms wrapped loosely around you, his breath steady against your skin. In the quiet darkness, you try to convince yourself that this—you—is still his reality. Not the woman he married out of obligation. Not the business empire he's running. But you, the one he promised forever. The one he swore to love no matter what. 

But there's something cold in his touch tonight. Not the soft warmth you used to know, but a distant, mechanical tenderness. His fingers trace absent patterns on your skin, but they feel foreign now, like they're just going through the motions. He's here, physically, but his mind is far away, lost in a place you can't reach.

"Did something happen?" you ask, keeping your voice light, even as anxiety twists in your stomach. 

He's staring at the ceiling, eyes vacant, as if the weight of the world is pressing down on his chest. The silence is thick, heavy, a barrier between you that wasn't there before. You wish he'd tell you. You wish he'd break through that wall and let you in, but he never does. Not anymore.

He shifts slightly, his eyes meeting yours for just a second. "What do you mean, love?" His voice is soft, casual, but there's something missing. Something that used to be there—a spark, a fire that you could always count on. Now, it's just... hollow.

"You seem distracted," you murmur, choosing your words carefully, even though your heart is screaming to ask more.

Mikey sighs, his chest rising and falling beneath you. He pulls you closer, but the embrace feels almost... polite. Like he's afraid to hold on too tightly. You want to shake him, to tell him to stop being so careful. To hold you like he used to—like he was afraid of losing you. But instead, he just holds you the way someone holds a fragile thing.

"Yeah," he admits, his voice quieter now, as though he's confessing something he doesn't want to. "It's just Bonten stuff."

And that's it. The conversation ends. Your heart clenches at the emptiness of his explanation, at how easily he can sweep your concerns under the rug. 

You know Bonten is complicated—dangerous even—but you've always been kept at a distance from that side of his world. He's never let you close enough to see the true depth of what he's carrying. You've respected his boundaries, trusted him, but now you wonder if that distance is starting to destroy you.

"Oh." The word leaves your lips, but it feels small, insignificant.

The silence returns, thicker than before, wrapping itself around both of you like a suffocating shroud. You stare at him, at the man you once thought you knew so completely, and wonder when he became a stranger.

You want to reach out, to bridge the gap, but fear holds you back. There's a fragility in the air tonight, something that makes you hesitate. If you push too hard, if you ask for too much, you're afraid the entire thing will shatter. Maybe it already has. Maybe that's why his touch feels different now, why his kisses lack the urgency they once had.

You long for the Mikey who would stay up with you until dawn, laughing, his arms tight around you as if you were his whole world. You miss the nights when he couldn't keep his hands off you, when his love felt raw and reckless, a fire that burned brighter than anything else. Now, it's all ashes.

"You don't have to carry it all alone," you whisper, hoping that your words might reach him, might bring him back from wherever he's gone. "I can help. You don't always have to protect me from it."

He doesn't respond right away. For a long moment, there's only the sound of his breathing, deep and rhythmic. When he finally speaks, his voice is distant, almost resigned.

"I know."

But he doesn't mean it. You can hear it in the way he says it—like it's just something he's supposed to say, not something he believes. His walls are still up, and you're on the outside, no matter how close you are in this bed, no matter how many nights you spend together.

You press your cheek against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. Once, that sound would have comforted you. Now, it only makes you feel more alone. Even when he's with you, he's somewhere else. And the space between you grows wider every day.

"Mikey..." you try again, but your voice falters. 

You want to tell him you're scared. That you're afraid you're losing him, that this marriage is pulling him further away from you than you can bear. But the words won't come.

He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, but it feels like a goodbye more than a reassurance. And that scares you most of all.

You close your eyes, trying to drown out the doubts, the fear, the aching emptiness. But it lingers, like a shadow that won't go away. You tell yourself he still loves you. He promised you forever. He's just... distracted. It's Bonten. It's the marriage. It's everything else.

But deep down, you know. You know that the Mikey who promised you forever is slipping further and further away. And no matter how hard you try, you can't seem to pull him back.

Manjiro Sano never lies to you. He never has before, and you never thought he could. You know he keeps secrets sometimes, but it's always to protect you—or so you've convinced yourself. You've clung to this justification, repeating it like a prayer when things feel too uncertain. 

When there's a question he doesn't want to answer, he'll give you a vague response, the kind that leaves you in a haze of ambiguity, and you never push him further. You know better than to force the issue. Sometimes, he'll be blunt and tell you outright that it's none of your concern. But a lie? Never.

At least, he never did until now.

Sitting across from him, in the dim light of your shared apartment, the shadows cast across his face, you notice the subtle shift in his expression. His gaze remains low, unfocused, like he's avoiding you. The way his fingers tap against the armrest of his chair—once steady, now restless—betrays him. The quiet cadence of the room, punctuated by the tension building between you, only makes his discomfort more pronounced. 

You know he's lying, even though the words are barely out of his mouth. It feels like a crack splintering through the foundation of your entire relationship.

It's not that you're good at detecting lies; you've never needed to be, not with him. His cold distance has always been paired with an odd, unwavering honesty, no matter how painful it could be. But this time? This time, he's hiding something. His body language is too off, too tense, like he's barely holding onto his own façade.

You asked a simple question: "Where were you?"

He hasn't been home in a week. It's not unusual—Mikey has never been the type to stick around. You've long since accepted the lonely nights, the excuses of 'business meetings' and 'late-night operations' with Bonten. You'd even accepted the wife. 

But something feels different now, a gnawing unease that claws at the back of your mind. You thought he'd say he was dealing with Bonten's usual mayhem, or perhaps, reluctantly admit that he'd been spending time with her. Anything would've been better than the silence hanging in the air now, thick with unspoken truths.

But you never expected him to lie.

Instead of the rage you thought would surge, an icy dread curls through your chest. Fear. A raw, unsettling fear that digs its nails into you as you realize just how far away he feels. As if he's not just sitting across from you, but miles away, unreachable. The distance between you stretches and stretches, suffocating in its vastness. It's like watching him drift out to sea while you stand, helpless, on the shore.

You need answers. The kind you know Mikey won't give you. So you turn to the only other person who might know what's going on: Haruchiyo Sanzu.

God, you hate him. There's not a day that passes where you don't fantasize about knocking that arrogant smirk off his face. Sanzu embodies everything that repels you—his cruelty, his recklessness, his toxic devotion to Mikey. But one thing you can count on is that Sanzu never spares your feelings. If anything, he takes sadistic pleasure in tearing you down with his cold truths. 

And that's why you're standing here, in front of his door, hand trembling slightly as you press the doorbell. The silence stretches, your heartbeat loud in your ears. You press the button again, your anxiety spiking with each passing second. 

Finally, the door creaks open, and there he is—Sanzu. He leans lazily against the doorframe, like your presence is a personal offense. His disheveled appearance surprises you—hair unkempt, shirt unbuttoned at the top. There's a faint scent of soap, but he looks like he's been in a rush, as if your arrival interrupted something.

His eyes narrow, flashing with irritation. "The fuck are you doing here?" His voice is cold, almost bored, like he can't be bothered to care.

"I need to talk to you." You're surprised your voice comes out steady when everything inside you feels like it's spiraling out of control.

Sanzu doesn't even give you the courtesy of a full response. He turns, slamming the door behind him, heading toward the elevator without a second glance. You follow, your pulse quickening. His long strides make it difficult to keep up.

"Where are you going?" you ask, slightly breathless. You hate how small you feel next to him, like you're always scrambling to catch up.

"To work. Where else?" He doesn't even look back as he taps the elevator button impatiently. His eyes flick to you briefly, condescending, before he adds, "Unlike you, I don't have the luxury of doing nothing all day."

The dismissiveness in his tone grates on your nerves. You swallow back the retort, knowing it's not worth the fight. You're not here to argue with Sanzu—you're here for something much more important.

The elevator ride is thick with tension, the air suffocating between you. He stares at the floor numbers as they change, clearly eager to get away from you. You take a deep breath, summoning the courage to say what you came here for.

"I need to ask you about Bonten." Your words feel heavy in the silence.

Sanzu's head snaps toward you, eyes sharp and piercing. There's a moment of silence, and you feel the weight of his stare, like he's assessing how much to toy with you before answering.

"I warned you," he says, voice dangerously low. "Stop sticking your nose where it doesn't belong. Just because you're Mikey's little sidepiece doesn't mean you're part of this world."

Sidepiece. The word hits like a slap, stinging far more than you'd care to admit. But you hold your ground, your voice sharper now as you bite back, "I was asking nicely, wasn't I?"

He lets out a cruel chuckle, his amusement laced with mockery. "And you should've known better than to come to me."

When the elevator doors open, Sanzu strides out, leaving you to catch up once again. You hurry behind him, the cold concrete of the basement parking lot biting through your shoes as you watch him head toward the row of parked bikes.

"Just tell me where Mikey's been," you call out, your voice cracking slightly. The desperation seeps through despite your best efforts to keep it buried. 

Sanzu doesn't even slow down. He throws a leg over his black superbike, adjusting the helmet in his hands. 

His tone is icy as he responds, "Why the hell would I tell you?"

You feel the panic rising, the gnawing insecurity clawing at your chest. You can't let this go. 

"It's his wife, isn't it? Something's going on between them?" The words tumble out before you can stop them, but you know it's true.

Sanzu finally turns to face you, his expression dark, a twisted glint in his eyes. "You really wanna know?" His voice is like a knife, cold and cutting. 

"Married couples fuck and have kids. You didn't think they'd just sit around holding hands, did you?"

Your world tilts. Pregnant. Mikey's wife is pregnant. The words hang in the air, crushing you. Sanzu's bike roars to life, drowning out everything as he speeds away, leaving you standing there, reeling.

Manjiro Sano says he still loves you. He says it so many times, even when you confront him about her pregnancy. You have tears in your eyes, your voice quivering as the words left your lips. His hands, warm and gentle, hold you close—just like always. The softness in his embrace feels too familiar, almost comforting, like you could convince yourself, just for a moment, that nothing has changed. That you could still believe him.

He'd whispers that she might be his wife, but you are the one who had his heart. That his feelings for you haven't shifted, not even after this new life he is bringing into the world. That you still matter.

But something about it never sits right after that day.

It isn't the sex that bothers you. You've made peace with that. He is married, after all, and while it stings, you tell yourself it's just physical. Something they have to do. Something that won't affect your place in his life. Mikey's quiet assurances of love are enough to quell the hurt, at least for a while. He always knows exactly what to say, how to soothe your insecurities without letting them fester.

Until they do.

Each time he doesn't come home, doesn't call, doesn't text—each time he leaves you waiting, that old promise of his love grows weaker. It starts to feel like a distant echo, hollow and fragile. The uncertainty eats you away, the creeping doubt filling the space between your conversations. And then comes the guilt. You couldn't ignore it anymore, couldn't shove it to the back of your mind. She is pregnant with his child. 

And you? 

You are the other woman now. The mistress. The sidepiece. 

You tell yourself to be patient, to wait it out, to trust him. But those same reassurances you cling to begin unraveling with every unanswered phone call. Mikey's silences cut deeper than his words ever could, a painful reminder that you are no longer the center of his world. You are becoming the afterthought.

And today is your ninth anniversary. Nine years.

Nine years since the day the two of you had become inseparable, since the day you thought you'd be each other's forever. And as you get ready, as you slip on your favorite dress and touch up your makeup, you're hit with an overwhelming sense of nostalgia—memories flooding back of how you used to be. How easy it was back then, how natural everything felt when there were no lies between you. 

It takes everything in you to keep your spirits up as you head to his office, imagining the look on his face when you surprise him. Maybe that's what you need—a face-to-face reminder of who you are to him. That spark between you will rekindle, and the distance will melt away.

You hope.

The lobby feels colder than usual, and as you step inside, something feels off. The receptionist greets you with a stiff smile. You've seen her enough times to know that she's never this tense. She doesn't say much, but there's an awkwardness in the air, like she knows something you don't.

Your nerves tighten as you enter the elevator. The ride to the top floor feels longer than usual, the anticipation in your chest growing with each passing second. When the doors open, you step out into the executive lounge, the familiar sight of Bonten's most trusted members lounging around.

Ran is the first to notice you, his lazy smirk never quite reaching his eyes. Kakucho is next, nearly spilling his drink when he spots you.

"You okay there?" you ask with a light laugh, trying to ignore the unease in the pit of your stomach.

Kakucho straightens up, but his eyes dart nervously toward the hallway that leads to Mikey's office. "You here to see Mikey?" he asks, his voice strained.

You nod, offering him a small smile. "Yeah. I thought I'd surprise him." 

Ran's smirk doesn't falter, but there's something about the way he's watching you that makes your skin prickle. 

"Surprise, huh?" he says, his voice cool and detached.

Kakucho shifts uncomfortably, his gaze flickering between you and the hallway again. "Maybe now isn't the best time..." he starts, his voice trailing off as if he doesn't want to finish the thought.

But you brush off the strange tension between them. Kakucho's always been awkward with you, right? 

You make your way down the hall, your heels clicking against the marble floors in rhythm with your racing heart. This is supposed to be a happy moment—your anniversary. You don't want to ruin it by reading too much into their strange behavior.

But then you hear it.

A voice. Her voice.

You freeze mid-step, the sound of her moaning his name sending a violent shock through your system. The world around you blurs, your body moving on autopilot as you edge closer to the door, your hand trembling as you press it against the wood. The crack in the door is just wide enough for you to see.

Mikey is there, his wife's legs draped over his shoulders, his hands on her thighs, his face pressed between her legs.

You can't breathe. 

This is different.

Not the act itself—but the intimacy, the tenderness in how he touches her. He's doing something for her that he's never done for you. Not once, in all your time together, had he ever gone down on you. But here he is, giving her something more, something deeper. And you feel your heart shatter into a million pieces.

You can't stay here.

Your feet carry you backward, your movements slow, cautious. You shut the door as softly as you can, careful not to make a sound. Your entire body feels numb, a sick feeling twisting in your stomach as you stand there, staring at the ground, trying to process what you've just seen. 

Why did he never do that for you?

A rush of shame washes over you, mingling with the rage bubbling in your chest. You'd always told yourself you were enough for him. But now you wonder—were you? Was it all a lie, just something to keep you hanging on, while he gave her all the things you thought were reserved for you?

The world feels like it's tilting around you, the walls closing in as you stand there, numb. The sound of footsteps snaps you back to reality.

"You're here to see Mikey too?" Kakucho's voice filters through the haze.

"Yeah, yeah," comes the lazy reply. 

It's Sanzu, his voice slurred and casual, as if nothing in the world could touch him. He's closer now, and you barely register it, lost in the whirlwind of your own thoughts.

Ran's voice follows, a teasing edge to his tone. "Dude, you're tripping balls."

Sanzu laughs, a sound so careless it makes your skin crawl. "Friday night, what'd you expect?"

Before you can fully process the situation, a rough hand grabs you by the arm and yanks you back. You stumble, whirling around to face him.

Sanzu.

His teal eyes are wild, bloodshot and blown wide from whatever cocktail of drugs he's taken today. You know he's high, as the smell of drugs clinging to him, intoxicating the air around you.

"What the fuck are you up to this time?" he sneers, his voice low and mocking.

You try to pull away, but his grip tightens, his fingers digging painfully into your arm. "S-Sanzu, I—"

He cuts you off, his face uncomfortably close to yours now. "Scared?" he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. The sick amusement in his voice makes your stomach turn. He's enjoying this—enjoying your fear, your vulnerability.

You try to twist free, but he pulls you closer, his lips curling into a twisted smile. "You should be," he whispers, his voice dripping with malice.

Your heart races, panic clawing at your chest. Sanzu when he's like this—high, unpredictable—is a beast you've learned to fear. He's always been unstable, but now, he's downright terrifying.

Yet, as you stand there, trembling in his grasp, all you can think about is Mikey. The lie he told you. The image of him with her, of how easily he discarded you, flashes through your mind again and again.

I still love you.

The words are poison now, burning through you as Sanzu's grip tightens.

< part one ends >

author's notes. heyy sanzu kinnies <3 i'm so excited to finally share the first part of 'bonten's number two'!! this idea has been brewing in my head for two years lol and i cant wait to see what you think ;) if you enjoyed it, please consider leaving notes! i'd love to hear your thoughts!! thanks for reading guys! you're awesome (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)و

taglist. @iluv-ace @reiners-milkbiddies (comment below if you’d like to be added to the taglist!)

© CANDYEAGER. do not copy, repost, modify, or translate my works in any other platforms.

I love this sm

⌜Sanzu's Girl⌟

cw - fem reader. noncon. kidnapping. murder.

wc - 3.2k

a/n - repost. lightly edited/revised. no part two unless an alien fucks me first so don’t ask. also @katslutski @suspirihah bc they asked to be tagged :’)

Sanzu let his eyes take in the décor of your room; pink. It was a lot of fucking pink. He glanced down at the strands of silky, pink hair resting against his shoulders and snickered to himself.

Won’t like pink for much longer.

You’d soon come to associate all the horrors of the world with that eye-grabbing color once he finished what he came here to do, and that was putting your father six feet under the ground—Naoto Tachibana.

He had stuck his filthy fucking snout in too many places it didn’t belong, Bonten business being one of them, and Mikey had officially put a hit out on him after letting him run wild for so long, something he only did for the sake of Takemichi. Takemichi. Sanzu wasn’t sure what kind of friendship the two shared, although he had a sneaking suspicion it was more romantic than anything—because Sanzu would only ever go to the lengths Mikey went for Takemichi over a nice piece of ass, and even that was pushing it.

Sanzu hummed to himself and walked over to your bed where you were peacefully sleeping, completely unaware of how your life was about to be turned upside down. He sighed, corners of his lips pulling up as he watched the steady rise and fall of your chest under the sheet that was covering you. So innocent..so dumb..so clueless. Did you not feel his presence? Were you so trusting in your father’s ability to keep you safe that you hadn’t developed any survival instincts? What a Goddamn shame. Naoto had failed you. Now he had another reason to send him down to the pits of Hell, not that he ever needed one in the first place.

Killing wasn’t something Sanzu needed to justify. He liked to do it, so he did it. It was fun for him, entertaining even. He liked shooting people, stabbing people, suffocating people, drowning people, blowing people up—he liked it all. It was fun. He could already feel the excitement brewing in his stomach as he danced in his spot, his heart race increasing as he pulled the katana off of his back and unsheathed it, crystalline blue eyes reflected in the blade. His tongue ran along the back of it until he reached the tip, and a deep groan left him as it pricked his tongue, a familiar copper taste flooding his taste buds as it did.

His eyes snapped over to you when you stirred in your sleep and rolled onto your side, and his heart jumped at the prospect of you waking up and giving him a reason to put his blade to use early. You weren’t the target, but you always could be. Mikey wouldn’t give two shits if Sanzu slit your throat. Or if he forced the blade down it until it reached your belly. Sanzu could do whatever he wanted, to whoever he wanted.

His shins hit the edge of the mattress as his lips split into a wide grin, scars at the corners of his mouth pulling, and as he mulled over the most gratifying way to slit you open in his mind, you shifted once again, this time rolling into your original position on your back, and Sanzu’s thoughts of splitting your belly open left as the sheet displaced itself, revealing your lack of clothing underneath it.

His fingers danced across the hilt of the katana the same way his eyes danced across your body; your breasts and the taut nipples that adorned them, the curve of your hips, the pudge of your thighs and what lay between them—a pussy covered by a light dusting of hair—and down to your—fucking sheet. He pushed it the rest of the way down with the tip of the blade, and his cock, that was already at full mast from his earlier thoughts, was now leaking in his slacks, a problem that his dry cleaners would have to deal with when he dropped his suits off at the end of the week.

But fuck that, it wasn’t time to think about that bitchy front desk attendant who he wouldn’t mind seeing on a missing persons poster. No, it was time to think about you. Time to think about—is that a dildo? He sheathed the katana, and with care that only came out with his most prized possessions, he gently laid it on your bedside table before leaning over your bed to get a better look at the object laying beside you. A dick. A pink, silicone dick. He grabbed it, a laugh that was more of a huff than anything leaving him as he looked it over. Your juices were still on it, cold and sticky, as if you had just recently used it, and with a perverseness that would make the wickedest criminals blush, he lifted it to his nose and inhaled deeply, his tongue darting out a second later to lick it base from tip. Fucking divine.

Eyes rolling and chest heaving, he pushed the dildo into his mouth to get more of your taste, a deep groan leaving him as your flavor flooded his taste buds. He suddenly stopped his greedy sucking when he looked back at you, more specifically your cunt. He pulled the dildo out of his mouth and snorted, finally realizing he could just get it directly from the source. Fuck, I’ve gotta lay off the coke.

He moved to the end of your bed, and his hands grabbed ahold of your ankles as he prepared himself to yank you down, but he froze in his tracks when he realized that would surely wake you up and send you into a screaming fit. He didn’t want Naoto coming in to ruin the fun before it even started, so with a slowness and calmness so unlike him, he pushed your legs apart and crawled onto your bed on his stomach, careful not to jostle you too much.

By the time he was finally face to cunt with you, his face was red with annoyance at having to move at a snails pace, but that feeling died down when he spread your folds apart with two fingers, dopey grin making its way onto his face as he saw traces of your previous orgasm. Having waited long enough, he pushed his face forward, the warmth from your pussy feeling like home, and licked a stripe up your cunt. His eyes closed on their own accord as he lapped at you like a dog, spit dripping off his chin, and he flicked his tongue back and forth over your clit to incite a new rush of slick from you, just barely containing an excited chirp when he got his intended reaction.

He didn’t know how long he stayed between your legs, loudly sucking and slurping away at you, nor did he care. The only thing Sanzu loved more than killing was fucking—and besides, the longer he spent defiling Naoto’s daughter under his roof, the more time he’d have living. Before he killed him, he’d make him thank him for his generosity.

Sanzu pushed his tongue into your hole, and his mind immediately went to how it’d feel to have you creaming around his cock. His hands kneaded the flesh of your thighs as he tongue fucked you, his nose pushing into your clit, and he made a noise in his throat when your walls tightened around his tongue, signaling your orgasm, and he greedily drank up all you had to offer. He pulled back and smacked his lips as if he had ate a five star meal, and in his mind he had. If there was a restaurant that had your pussy on the menu, he’d order it every damn time and savor it like it was his first time tasting it. Fucking. Divine.

He glanced up to your face to see you were still sleeping oh so peacefully, the only indication Sanzu had spent close to an hour—judging by the clock on your wall—laid between your thighs being the furrow in your eyebrows and the light trembling of your legs. He pushed up so he was back standing, and kicked his shoes off as he worked on the button of his pants. They pooled around his ankles before he stepped out of them, now completely bare save for the black button down he wore, and he worked on unfastening the buttons as he climbed back onto the bed, pushing your legs further apart with his knees.

Once his shirt was undone and showing off the lean muscles of his chest and stomach, he cupped the backs of your knees and pushed your legs up as far as they’d go, no longer caring if you woke up. He was within distance to shut you the hell up in an instant, and with that security blanket, he snapped his forward, cock bullying it’s way inside you and sinking in deep. You winced, but otherwise didn’t react, and Sanzu laughed under his breath as he let his head fall back, needing a minute to keep from coming already. How fucking embarrassing would that be? And imagine if you were awake...he’d really have to kill you then.

Once he was certain he wasn’t gonna blow like a teenage virgin copping a feel of his first tit, he began to thrust in and out of you, his pace slow and steady. Your pussy was wet enough—thanks to his eager mouth as well as your little solo session earlier— for it to be an easy glide, and he relished in the lewd squelches that sounded each time he pushed into you, your walls happily sucking him in. His eyes watched the way your tits bounced with each roll of his hips, and he gave you a particularly hard thrust, grinning at the dramatic bounce before his attention was pulled away by you finally starting to stir awake.

Your nose twitched as your head softly thrashed side to side, and Sanzu watched as you blinked your eyes open, a groggy moan forcing itself out of you as he twirled his hips, thick cock hitting something and bringing forth another one of those pretty sounds. Your eyes glanced down between the two of you, and Sanzu spread your thighs to give you a nice view of how he was fucking you, and grinned as your eyes slowly trailed up his body until they landed on his face.

“Hell of a good way to wake up, right?” You blinked at him, and he could have cooed at how stupid you looked right now. “Wish I woke up everyday to a nice fuck,” he rasped, pace picking up as he watched your face contort into a terrified expression, eyes filling up with tears as your mouth opened and closed. “You’re a real lucky girl, you know that?” He groaned as you tightened around him, from fear probably, and his hand dropped one of your legs and covered your mouth when you sucked in a big breath, no doubt getting ready to call for the nosy piece of shit bitch you called a father.

“Make one noise and I’ll bury that,” he jerked his over to his katana, and you looked over, eyes comically widening when you saw it. “In your daddy’s guts. You got that, princess?” He was going to do that anyways, obviously, but it was fun to watch the cogs turned in your head as you thought over what he said. You were probably thinking, ‘just be quiet and let him finish and no one’ll get hurt’, or something like that. Or maybe you weren’t as dumb as you looked, maybe you knew he was going to kill him either way, possibly even you—hell, maybe you even knew who he was.

A spark of recognition shone in your eyes, and Sanzu’s signature grin was back as he moved his hand from your mouth, his hips stilling as he pushed his face into yours, now so close that your breaths mixed together. “I know that look…” That look of horror that he was always greeted with when someone finally realized exactly who was standing in front of them. “What’s my name?” His finger trailed down the side of your face, and he watched your lips tremble, his breath hitching when they finally managed to form words.

“S-Sanzu..” he raised a brow. “Sanzu Haruchiyo.” He hummed, a low deep sound that made you flinch, and let his finger run down the length of your neck before he wrapped his hand around it. You gasped as he squeezed, hard, hard enough to give you an idea of what it’d feel like to die by his hand in this moment.

“Your daddy tell you that? Tell you how much of a bad man I am?”

You nodded.

“‘S about the only thing he did right.” He muttered. “That, and raising a daughter that knows how to take a cock.” And with that he started up a brutal pace, relishing in the way you tried to bite back your cries and squeals each time he slammed into you. You were trying so hard to keep your dad alive; lips pressed tightly together and eyes squeezed shut, your hands pushing at his stomach to try and slow him down, but he fucked into you faster and harder—so fast and hard that the headboard began to tap against the wall with his movements.

His hand dropped down so he could thumb at your clit, and he laughed in your face when a moan managed to slip out, your face crinkling in shame and embarrassment before you covered it with your hands. “Ah, fuck that’s real cute.” He didn’t let up on you, instead switching to a slower pace that allowed him to make sure you felt every sensation; every drag of his cock along your walls, every brush of the pad of his thumb on your surely sensitive clit, he wanted you to feel it all. He wanted to see pleasure overtake shame. Wanted to see your eyes roll back as he forced you to cum on his cock this time and not his tongue as you called out his name. He wanted it, and he’d get it, because Sanzu always got what he wanted.

The hand that wasn’t between your legs moved to your breast, and he pinched and rolled your hard nipple between his fingers, eyes darting up just to see you still covering your face. “Enough of that. Let me see you,” you shook your head, “that wasn’t a fuckin’ request.” He momentarily let go of your breast to snatch your hands away, fixing you with a cold glare to warn you not to do it again, and then his fingers were back to toying with your nipple. He was now free to watch your face contort in a mix of pain and pleasure, and his eyes drooped as he pressed down hard on your clit, cock throbbing inside you when a pathetic, whimpering moan slipped past your lips. “That’s what I wanna hear.” He did it again and got the same response.

His smile was back on his face as he once again picked up the pace, and your moans that you had kept so quiet before were now freely flowing, egging him on to fuck into you faster to see just how loud you could get. Would you be loud enough for Naoto to hear you? Would he come check on you? Thinking you had snuck a boy in only to be met with the sight of the man he had been trying to put behind bars for years balls deep in his precious little girl? Would the last thing Naoto see in his life be your face screwed up in pleasure as you came around a murderer’s cock?

Sanzu threw his head back as he laughed; a loud, unhinged sound that rivaled all the other noises going on in the room. His thrusts were just as erratic as his behavior, and soon enough he felt your pussy clamp down on him as you cried out a shrill ‘Sanzu!’—and at the moment, your bedroom door burst open. Sanzu turned to look, his eyes locking with a pair of shocked ones, and his eyes rolled back into his skull as he buried his cock inside you, the band in his stomach snapping as he filled you with his cum.

There was a moment of silence, Naoto trying to get over the shock of watching his daughter get fucked by the criminal he had been building a case against for years, and you from trying to get over the shock of being fucked by said criminal and getting walked in on by your dad.

Ay yi yi, what a mess.

That brief moment of hesitation was Naoto’s downfall. With a swiftness that no one was expecting, Sanzu slid off the bed and retrieved the gun that laid on the floor, it having fell there when he dropped his pants, and took aim at Naoto’s leg before pulling the trigger. Two screams rang out as the bullet pierced his flesh, and Sanzu was grateful that Naoto had chosen to buy a house in total isolation.

Naoto crumpled to the floor, his hand pressed to the wound as blood spurted out around it. Sanzu walked over to the nightstand and picked up his katana, and he glanced back at you who was still on the bed, soiled sheet clutched to your chest. “You might wanna cover your eyes, princess.”

“Did you take care of him?”

Sanzu looked at Mikey and nodded his head with a grin, fingers tapping the arm of the chair he was sat in. “Mhm. Strung him up in the yard for the mailman to find, too.” Mikey looked up from the paperwork he was signing off on, and Sanzu’s grin widened at his blank expression.

“I told you not to make a mess.” He looked over the splotches of blood covering Sanzu’s clothes, as well as the dry, crusted blood that was in his hair. “And what is this?”

“What’s what?”

Mikey sat down his pen and leaned back in his seat, his hands clasping together as he exhaled through his nose.

“What’s that,” he nodded his head to you who sat perched in Sanzu’s lap, your empty gaze locked onto your knees. “And why is it here?”

“Oh, this.” Sanzu tucked you further into his chest as his hand moved to tilt your head up, your dull eyes that had an uncanny resemblance to his boss’s now focusing on Sanzu’s lips. “Introduce yourself, princess.” You mumbled out your name, and he grinned before placing a messy kiss on your cheek, whispering a ‘good girl’ in your ear as he did. “She’s my souvenir. Isn’t she cute? You can use her any time, Mikey.”

“I’ll pass.” Of course he would, Sanzu thought. “Keep her out of sight and make sure she doesn’t get away from you, because if she does,” a gun was suddenly pointed at Sanzu, and he breathed out a laugh as Mikey clicked off the safety. His finger pulled back on the trigger, and Sanzu didn’t so much as blink as the bullet whizzed past his head, grazing his cheek as it went. “That’ll be between your eyes instead of in my wall.”

“You don’t have to worry, Mikey,” Sanzu wrapped his arms around your waist, his face nuzzling into your neck. “She’s gonna be on her best behavior, because if she’s not..” He pushed his mouth against your ear, and he lowly chuckled when he felt you shiver. “She’ll end up just like her daddy.”