Nakahara Chuuya

Such lone depravity made him hate everything humanity stood for. Maybe that's why he kept coming back. You made him question his most fundamental goals. Did he want to be human when humans could be as pathetic and worthless as the likes of you?

“Turn it down,” Chuuya grunted, tossing down the bag of groceries on the kitchen counter. The day had been long, violence clung to him as he walked into the little hellhole had created for themselves. Porn, or, hentai maybe. Probably hentai, Chuuya was ashamed to admit he'd started to recognize which was which.

He shrugged off his coat, hanging it on the doorframe as that genuinely was the only surface he knew was clean. “Turn it down,” he hated repeating himself, the anger in his voice quickly returning in a sharp edge. “Aint the whole neighborhood trying to listen to your degenerate... bullshit.” The mafioso sauntered over, his footsteps muffled by the clothes strewn around the floor.

Chuuya's gaze drifted over the monitor, tilting his head. Some oversexualised highschool anime, typical. Probably had some bullshit name too, School of Sex or whatever. Chuuya clenched his jaw, eyes narrowing. “Fuckin' idiot,” Though he had to admit he watched longer than was strictly necessary.

It wasn't good, but it was... decent. Decent enough he leaned on the back of their chair and kept staring. It's not like stopped touching themselves either. By now they've been moving around each other for months.

Despite his complaints Chuuya didn't turn it down, his gaze roamed the screen, then back down to 's hand disappearing under their clothes. “Rent is due,” he muttered, trying to fill the space with something other than moans. “Pay up.”

Knowing them, they'd have some excuse ready and have him spot it. Again. How much yen has he spent on this mentally-ill piece of shit? Chuuya clenched his jaw, shifting his stance to make his erection less noticeable. “Did ya even hear me?” No point asking, he got a barely audible mumble and a huff.

The show kept drawing back his attention. Right, he's a mafia executive getting distracted by low quality whatever the name for this barely-clothed animated should-just-be-called-porn is.

It rushed over him without as much thought, his hand collided with the back of their head and gravity did the rest. The wood of their desk creaked under the sudden pressure, the sharp edge was probably digging into their ribs. “Fuckin' skank,”

Consider it payback. Or maybe Chuuya just didn't consider this at all. “No, don't look away from your screen now, idiot,” splinters dug into their chest, the pressure felt strong enough to bend bone. “When's the last time you went outside? The last time you quir wallowing around in your own filth like som' downright pig, ay?”

The solution was simple.

Fuck them senseless until all they could see was the hentai bullshit displayed on the monitor in front of them. Until their face twisted like those brain-dead too-young-looking anime girls. Since they'd rather pay attention to that than him.

Nothing gentle, nothing lovely, Chuuya wouldn't even pretend he cared. Hes no patient man. He didn't have to pull their underwear down much, they had it halfway their thighs to masturbate anyway.

“Bet it's your first time fucking anything other than your own hand, huh? Yeah?” gravity let up just enough for them to breathe, though the rest of them remained stuck to the surface like cement blocks. Chuuya nudged down his pants, freeing his cock and stroking it hard. With his free hand he delivered a sharp smack to their ass, gripping and groping the flesh until it reddened. Feeling generous he leaned down to spit on their hole, smearing it around either as to clean some of their grime or act as some sort of lubricant.

His thrust wasn't clean, not in the slightest, but the fact he wasn't getting full resistance from made him grin. “Feel nice being taken by a real man, you little pervert?” He grunted over the wanton sounds spilling from their busted audio system. “Bet you like it too, bet it gets you off.”

No, Chuuya doesn't look like the gambling type. While he's not entirely financially responsible—no one ever taught him to be—it wasn't catastrophic.... usually.

His blue gaze remained fixed on his computer screen, the error message, the money that wouldn't transfer back to his account. Round of poker, he genuinely believed he had the best card in the pot. It's a big-boy game, no more playing down with ¥1,000, or maybe a ¥5,000 if you were feeling lucky.

¥500,000.

It would triple, he'd get so much more back. The rush, the opportunity, the sheer knowledge of winning.

The site crashed. Or it pretended to. Not only had it withdrawn his original input, it withdrew what he would've gotten if he won the round. ¥1,500,000. Down the drain because of some stupid bug.

His money? Gone.

Chuuya kept clicking, ᴏʙᴊᴇᴄᴛ ᴛʀᴀɴsғᴇʀ small yellow button tucked away that didn't seem to work. Shit. Shit shit shit. Get it back, get it back. What the fuck is he supposed to say to the mafia?

Customer support. He called the number, some young sounding girl answered the phone. Somehow the words "get me my money back" weren't in her vocabulary. He wasn't one to scream at customer support staff, but he nearly threw his desk across the room out of frustration when she asked for his account number for the 6th time that call.

House always wins, doesnt it? Well Chuuya was about to come over there and burn that house to the ground, how about that?

Call it Mafia privilege. Online casinos are, well, secure. It's a bunch of money, who wouldn't keep their money safe? But Chuuya had connections, who in turn had connections, and he managed to somehow keep it all under the radar from the boss. In the end it took him all but 8 hours to get his hands on an apartment number somewhere downtown and an alias under which the site was sun. . Stupid name.

In the end he went over there at an ungodly hour in the night. He could burn the house down, literally, something in him whispered not to. Wait, just a second. Get the money, obviously, maybe then you can burn it down.

Chuuya placed his palm against the front door's lock, twisting the gravity until the entire section twisted and crumbled. It was almost soundless, save for a short second of mild splintering. It was a basic apartment lock, those don't require much force to be brute opened. “Gotcha.” He was a mafioso, not a petty thief, but he wasn't about to waste his money on an account error.

For a presumably small-scale, illegal operation the inside of the apartment looked surprisingly well kept and domestic. Like someone lived here. Did... did they? Online casino screams "computer center with no one actually present" rather than, "run out of my childhood bedroom". Actually, why does he care? He needs his money back.

“Hello?” Some of the furniture looked expensive, but it had gathered dust. No one had cleaned around here for a while. A single pair of shoes in the hallway, at home slippers left abandoned beside them. Whoever lived here went barefoot, and that just made Chuuya hate them more.

“?” He stepped further, eyes scanning the surroundings. It smelled putrid, and while certain areas were almost spotless others looked like a landfill. Things only get clean if you use them, after all.

Down the hall one of the rooms was humming, the sound of the computers drowning out the rap spilling from the gap in the door. Guess that's the big HQ... Chuuya shoved his hands deeper in his pockets, sauntering over with measured steps.

The stench hit quick, and he was half expecting to find a decomposing husk behind there. Still, money was money. He didn't say anything, placed his hand on the door handle and expected some resistance. People lock their saves too, after all. It just... swung open. Clearly this wasn't expecting company. Dumb, considering they literally ran a scam site.

“Fuck, what the fuck, fuck what—” he could say fuck plenty of more times as he squinted at the bright lights from the various monitors. It stank of body and take out, and some of that food was definitely rotting. “What the fuck? Who are you?”

Some figure sat hunched over between all the cables and PCs, idly clicking through what Chuuya can only assume was the backend of the casino. “Hey!” He called out, unsure if his voice even penetrated the person's headphones.