BNHA | Oɴᴇsʜᴏᴛs

Giran x Reader

Smoke and Territory

The club was buried beneath a ramen shop in Shinjuku. No signs, no windows. Just a red-lit staircase and the throb of bass you could feel in your teeth. Giran leaned against the bar, cigarette dangling between his fingers, watching the entrance like a man waiting for a problem he couldn't wait to meet.

And she walked in like she owned the place.

High heels, black coat, eyes like razors. She didn't flinch under the low lights or the stares. Didn't slow down when Giran exhaled a lazy cloud of smoke and raised a brow at her approach.

"So," she said, voice smooth and rich like danger wrapped in silk, "You're the man with the keys to the kingdom."

Giran gave her a slow once-over. "That depends. You here to kiss the ring or cut the hand off?"

Her smile was sharp. "I'm here to make a deal. Or a mess. That depends on you."

He liked her already.

They sat in the back room, away from the music, the thugs, the cameras. She laid out her proposition: a weapons cache in Naruhata, transport routes through Hosu, a mutual partnership that would put them on top of the villain underworld.

Giran listened. Watched the way her fingers drummed against her thigh, calm but coiled. She was hiding something. But so was he.

"You know," he murmured, leaning closer, his voice like gravel and smoke, "people who sit across this table from me usually want something more than a handshake."

She met his gaze. Unflinching. "Do I look like a woman who settles for handshakes?"

He chuckled. Low, dark. "Nah. You look like trouble wrapped in leather and bad decisions."

"Then stop flirting and say yes."

He didn't. Not yet. Instead, he reached across the table and plucked the cigarette from his lips, letting the smoke curl between them.

"I'll think about it," he said. "But if you're going to play in my world, sweetheart, you better know how to bleed pretty."

She stood, stepped close enough that he could smell the faint mix of blood and perfume on her skin, and whispered in his ear. "I bleed diamonds. Don't forget it."

When she left, she took the whole room's attention with her. Giran stayed behind, smiling like the devil just found his favourite sin.

Whiskey and Warnings

Two nights later, she was in his office. Uninvited.

He'd come in late, jacket over his shoulder, tie loosened, hair wind-tousled, and there she was. Feet up on his desk, drinking his whiskey, looking like temptation with a switchblade smile.

"You break in often, or am I just special?" he asked, flicking on the desk lamp.

Light slid across her face, catching the gleam in her eyes. "Your security's shit. I figured if we're going to be partners, you should know that."

He dropped his jacket on the couch and lit a cigarette, studying her through the curl of smoke. "You've got nerve."

"You like it."

"Maybe." He took a drag. "Or maybe I just like the view."

She smirked, took a long sip from his glass, then stood and walked toward him slowly. Purposeful. Like a predator dressed in silk. She stopped a breath away.