#{☆}: mitsuya takashi

[metranart]

Will you be Toman’s darling? Mikey can’t seem to stop asking, it’s not enough to be able to fuck you whenever he wants, he needs the title that you’re HIS but not only his but also his mates, those guys he loves more than his own life… and unfortunately, you do as well. 

You don’t understand why it’s so important to them, but each one has asked the same question over and over again. Draken kisses you, his tongue dancing with yours while his hips don’t miss a single thrust, it’s delicious, it’s delirious and he only dares to break the kiss to ask. “Will you be ours?” —You don’t answer, just bite his lip and begin to thrust your hips to him, as a way to distract him but he’s not dumb and less of all, a quitter, so he won’t give up, none of them will! 

Baji’s strong hands anchor you to him, perched on either side of your hips as he rams you from behind, your eyes have been blank for more than fifteen minutes, his name rolls off your tongue like your private mantra and from his tongue rolls: “Say yes,” his ragged breath demands, “Stop torturing us and say yes, shit!” The answer he wants to hear isn’t spoken but that doesn’t discourage him from cumming deep inside you -marking you from the inside out at least gives him so kind of relieve-…. 

Mitsuya’s attempts are more tender, kisses and cuddles, your naked bodies tangled in each other, the strong fingers of his fist tangled among your sweaty strands of silky hair, each thrust hitting that special place inside you that makes you see stars, his lips only parting to adore you and when you think you’re safe: “We will take care of you, we will go out of our way for you… just say yes, just grant us that favor—be OURS….”. Apparently being filled by each and every one of these gang members isn’t enough, moaning their names and marking their necks with hickey doesn’t satisfy them, they want you for themselves, they want you in their gang as their banner as their princess. 

Mikey is the most stubborn, his fat thumb slides under your skirt, snaking behind your panties, two fingers accompanying it to slip inside you, drumming and circling your clit as if it were the joystick of an Xbox control, your flushed cheeks and half-open lids delight him, makes him drunk and dizzy, just being able to put you in that delirious state. He knows it’s his mission in life to have you like this forever, you’re his, you must conquer Tokyo with them, you must stop resisting and agree to their terms. Mikey doesn’t waste any moment to ask, while he kisses you, while he eats you out, while he makes you cum harder than ever. 

“Will you be ours? ....yesyesyesyes-?”

Their teamwork is weakening your good judgment, it’s too much, your knees buckle, and your voice is a permanent moan. Damn! Your shivering lips parted and the gazes of the four gang members shine with hope. Anxiety and stress can be detected in their clenched fists, a heavy silence falls over everyone when you say: 

“I’m already yours, why do we need to tag it… I’m not going anywhere.”

There is disappointment, frustration, even anger but also amusement in their features. They won’t accept a refusal. They will just have to keep convincing you, again and again and again. You are stubborn, but so are they.

➡️ FULL NSFW ART of this drabble 🥵

[ksnzuy]

۶ৎ The Lover Effect!

۶ৎ auth: <3

۶ৎ Summary: The boyfriend effect; you adopt your boyfriends mannerisms. However, the girlfriend effect, they adopt what you do.

۶ৎ: drabbles | gender neutral reader | fluff

۶ৎ Characters Included: Manjiro “Mikey” Sano, Ken “Draken” Ryuguji, Keisuke Baji, Chifuyu Matsuno, Kazutora Hanemiya, Izana Kurokawa, Nahoya “Smiley” Kawata, Souya “Angry” Kawata, Takashi Mitsuya, Hajime Kokonoi

۶ৎ Manjiro “Mikey” Sano

• Style Upgrade: Starts wearing cleaner, more polished outfits. He never cared much before, but now his clothes are less wrinkled, and he smells faintly of vanilla and fresh laundry.

• Emotional Maturity: Slowly learns to communicate better, though he still struggles with opening up completely. Your patience teaches him that being vulnerable doesn’t mean weakness.

• Healthier Habits: Starts eating more than just junk food because you remind him he needs proper meals.

—

Mikey sat on the couch, legs sprawled, watching you move around the kitchen. He had a plate of curry in front of him—a meal you made, light on the spice because he hated too much heat.

“Y’know,” he mumbled between bites, “I don’t even like curry that much.”

You raised an eyebrow. “So why’s the plate almost empty?”

“Dunno.” He shrugged, looking away. But you caught it—the tiniest smile tugging at his lips. “It just tastes better when you make it.”

۶ৎ Ken “Draken” Ryuguji

• Style Upgrade: His hair stays neat, and he’s more mindful of keeping his tank tops clean. He even switches to cologne instead of relying on the scent of motor oil.

• Ambition Boost: Becomes more serious about expanding the shop because he wants stability for the future.

• Better Communication: He starts explaining his feelings more instead of bottling them up, thanks to your influence.

—

Draken stood beside his bike, wiping the grease off his hands. You watched him, arms crossed, eyes narrowing slightly.

“What?” He smirked, but there was a softness in his eyes.

“Did you… clean the garage?”

He shrugged, avoiding your gaze. “Thought it was about time. Can’t have you breathing in dust every time you come around.”

You tilted your head. “Since when do you care about dust?”

“Since you started coming by.” His voice was quieter now, almost shy. “Can’t have my lover dealin’ with all that.”

۶ৎ Keisuke Baji

• Style Upgrade: He still wears his leather jacket, but now it’s less ripped, and his boots aren’t caked in mud. He’ll never admit it, but he likes when you compliment how he looks.

• Healthier Habits: He cuts back on junk food (a little) because you nag about it.

• Emotional Maturity: Learns not to blow up when things go wrong, trying to stay calm because he knows you hate yelling.

—

Baji leaned against his bike, arms crossed, waiting for you after class. His usual wild grin softened when he spotted you.

“Yo.” He handed you a drink, your favorite.

“Since when do you remember what I like?” You teased, taking a sip.

“Since I started actually listening,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t make a big deal outta it, okay?”

But the way his eyes lingered on you a little longer than usual? That said everything.

۶ৎ Chifuyu Matsuno

• Style Upgrade: He switches from mismatched outfits to more coordinated ones—sometimes even matching your color palette without realizing it.

• Ambition Boost: Becomes more serious about managing the pet shop, thinking about the long-term future.

• Better Communication: Learns to be more honest about his feelings, not just brushing things off.

—

Chifuyu stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his hoodie. You leaned against the doorframe, watching with an amused smile.

“New fit?”

“Uh… yeah.” He glanced at you, cheeks flushing slightly. “Figured I should stop looking like I just threw on whatever I found.”

You stepped closer, fingers brushing over his sleeve. “Trying to impress someone?”

“Maybe.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but the look in his eyes told you exactly who.

۶ৎ Kazutora Hanemiya

• Style Upgrade: Starts wearing softer colors because you told him he looked good in them.

• Healthier Habits: He’s more mindful of sleeping enough and eating better because you’re always worried about him.

• Emotional Maturity: Learns to control his impulsive outbursts, wanting to be a calmer version of himself for you.

—

Kazutora sat beside you, his head resting on your shoulder as you scrolled through your phone.

“Hey,” you murmured, “you’ve been quiet.”

“Just… thinking.” His voice was soft, barely above a whisper.

“About what?”

“About how… I’m lucky you stuck around.” His fingers brushed lightly against yours, his grip hesitant. “I’m trying, y’know? To be… better.”

And he was.

۶ৎ Izana Kurokawa

• Style Upgrade: Starts paying more attention to how he looks, favoring neutral tones that complements your outfits.

• Better Communication: He opens up about his fears and insecurities, something he never thought he’d do.

• Ambition Boost: He works harder to stabilize Tenjiku, not just for power but to build something stable for the both of you.

—

Izana stood by the window, staring out at the city below. You walked up behind him, resting a hand on his back.

“Lost in thought again?”

“Just… thinking about the future.” His voice was distant, but there was a softness in it.

“You’re not alone in that anymore, you know.”

His hand found yours, squeezing gently. “I know. That’s why I want to make sure… it’s a future you’d want, too.”

۶ৎ Nahoya “Smiley” Kawata

• Style Upgrade: His clothes get a little less chaotic, matching his accessories to his outfits (sometimes).

• Emotional Maturity: He learns to read the room better, understanding when to dial down the jokes.

• Healthier Habits: He cuts back on staying up all night because you nag him about taking care of himself.

—

Nahoya sat beside you, legs stretched out in front of him.

“Yo,” he nudged you lightly, “notice anything different?”

You glanced at him, noticing his shirt wasn’t as wrinkled, and his nails were… clean?

“You… took care of yourself?”

“Figured I’d start lookin’ decent since I’m always standing next to someone as divine as you.” He winked, but there was a hint of sincerity behind the playful grin.

۶ৎ Souya “Angry” Kawata

• Style Upgrade: Starts wearing softer fabrics because you said they feel nice when you hug him.

• Better Communication: He opens up about his emotions more instead of bottling them up.

• Healthier Habits: He starts drinking more water and taking vitamins because you remind him.

—

Souya sat at the kitchen table, quietly sipping the tea you made for him.

“Did you… put honey in this?”

“Yeah,” you smiled softly. “It’s good for your throat.”

He glanced away, cheeks slightly flushed. “Thanks… I, uh, started taking those vitamins you gave me, too.”

You blinked, surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah.” His eyes met yours, softer than usual. “You… worry about me too much. I don’t wanna make you worry more.”

۶ৎ Takashi Mitsuya

• Style Upgrade: Starts incorporating subtle hints of your favorite colors into his designs.

• Ambition Boost: He becomes more focused on expanding his brand, wanting to create a future where you’re both secure.

• Emotional Maturity: He becomes more expressive, showing affection in quieter, meaningful ways.

—

Mitsuya sat at his sewing machine, fabric draped across his lap.

“What’s that?” You leaned over, curiosity piqued.

“Something… for you.” He didn’t meet your gaze, but the blush on his cheeks was impossible to miss.

“For me?”

“Yeah.” He finally looked up, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Wanted to make sure you had something that… reminds you of me.”

۶ৎ Hajime Kokonoi

• Style Upgrade: He starts wearing softer tones that match your style, even ditching all-black sometimes.

• Ambition Boost: His business ventures become more personal, focusing on stability rather than just money.

• Emotional Maturity: He learns to prioritize love over material gain, valuing your presence more than anything.

—

Kokonoi sat across from you at the café, his usual suit replaced with a sweater in a soft shade of cream.

“New look?” You teased, eyeing him with a raised brow.

“Maybe.” He sipped his coffee, avoiding your gaze. “Figured… I should try something different.”

“Because of me?”

His lips quirked into a small smile. “Because I want to be someone… who fits into your world.”

[chalkscene]

tokyo revengers ⇢ YOU’RE TOO DRUNK TO RECOGNIZE YOUR BOYFRIEND

ft. manjiro “mikey” sano, ken “draken” ryuguji, keisuke baji, takashi mitsuya, rindou haitani, ran haitani & shuji hanma

warnings: alcohol and a very hammered reader. the boys are more responsible than you <3

this is one of the rare occurrences wherein MIKEY actually shares his food. when you’ve finally given up on fighting him for the last bottle of alcohol, you start whining about your sudden hunger so he slides his plate of nachos over to you. he watches you eye it for a second before you drag your gaze up to him. “i have a boyfriend you know?” you tell him, your attempt to be menacing coming out pathetically as the attitude dripping from your tone is dampened by your slurred speech. mikey doesn’t need the club to be well lit. the strobe lights already illuminate your face enough for him to get a clear view of your glassy eyes and flushed cheeks. “i know,” he confirms with a tinge of exasperation, “because it’s me. mikey. your boyfriend.” he emphasizes his last words, his last effort to knock some sense into you but you only let out a cackle which catches him off guard. “nice try but mikey never shares his food.”

“that’s enough.” DRAKEN snatches the last of your many drinks for the night before you can gulp it down. being the perceptive boyfriend he is, he can already hear the complaint that’s about to slip from your tongue so he’s quick to pull you by the wrist, up from your seat and out the door. “where are you taking me?” you ask as clearly as your drunken state can let you—not so much but enough for your boyfriend to understand. “home.” at his curt reply, you yank your hand from his grip with a strength that startles even toman’s former vice president. “what the hell are you doing?” draken hisses lest you make a scene in public. “i’m calling my boyfriend,” you warn him, “bet he can kick your ass.” “yeah? i’d like to see him try.” he dismisses your empty threat, reaching for you once more to guide you to the exit but upon hearing a few whispers from prying strangers who are clearly getting the wrong idea, he stops in his tracks and turns to no one in particular, no longer caring about whatever commotion he may cause as his voice booms over the loud music: “i’m the boyfriend!”

“let me go!” you relentlessly thrash around, yelling out threats of calling your boyfriend, while BAJI—the boyfriend in question—pulls you into an empty alleyway to avoid any possible public humiliation for the both of you. “fuck,” he huffs out a breath, “when did you get this strong?” some time in the night, he’s tuned you out telling him off, on a sole mission to stop you from drinking more than you already have. and he’s relieved he managed to get you out of the bar—that is until he hears a weird noise coming from you. “wh-” baji doesn’t get the chance to utter a single word as you begin to throw up. in a panic, he hastily puts your hair up with his spare tie before rubbing soothing circles on your back. your hair looks real messy, he notes, but that’s the least of his worries. “you feeling better?” he checks on you after a while, only to be met by more retching, making him grumble to himself, “and i get an earful when i drink too much.”

MITSUYA is helping you get on your feet—sweet boyfriend he is—but as soon as you find your footing, you give him a hefty shove. “i have a boyfriend, jackass!” you seethe, too drunk to recognize him, and all he can do is sigh as he regains his balance. “yes. me.” something clicks in your brain at his response and you squint your eyes to get a better look at him. “takashi?” “hi, love.” and just like that, you perk up, your mouth stretching into a wide grin. “taka,” you squeal, excitement coursing through your veins when you recognize your boyfriend, “hiiiii~” he laughs at the shift in your tone and takes the opportunity to slide an arm around your waist once more. “let’s get you home okay?” “mhm.” you wrap your arms around him and he lifts you with ease. mitsuya assumes you’re fast asleep until a few minutes later, you mumble something against his skin, “someone tried to flirt with me but i said no.” a chuckle bubbles past his lips as he adjusts his hold on you. “really?” “mhm,” you nod into his neck as you snuggle closer, “i only love you.” “i love you more.” “love you most,” you reply before soft snores fall from your lips and your breathing evens out.

you’re rambling about RINDOU to rindou himself, going on and on about the reasons that made you fall in love with him. and while you’re occasionally interrupted by your hiccups, he patiently listens to your every word then he hears a “but.” the ways you describe him next are less flattering, less romantic—how he tries so hard to act indifferent to your cooing as if the tips of his ears don’t instantly turn red. or how he has a permanent scowl etched on his face. and other things you already tell him even when you’re sober. “he’s really lucky he doesn’t have any wrinkles yet,” you add with a giggle. “you’re really annoying when you’re drunk, you know that?” rindou deadpans. despite the lack of lighting in the club, he doesn’t miss the shock washing over you, your eyes getting mistier by the second. “what?” your voice comes out shaky and your bottom lip starts to wobble, making rindou release another groan. “for fuck’s sake.”

in spite of your insistence to stay at the club, RAN easily managed to drag you to his car. this isn’t his first rodeo. as an older brother, he has had to deal with rindou when he was blackout drunk. “where are we going?” you mumble as you begin to stir in the passenger seat. “home.” “i wanna see ran.” your boyfriend throws you a quick glance—your eyes remain closed and the rest of your words are incomprehensible—before he focuses back on the road. amused by your drunken state, he plays along. “alright, we’re going to ran.” the stretch of silence that follows is cut short when you speak again, “i’m thirsty.” so ran makes a quick stop at a convenience store, coming back shortly with a bottle in hand. he unscrews the cap before he gives you the drink, “careful.” you take a big gulp, instantly grimacing at the taste and it elicits a snort from your boyfriend. “what is this?” “water.”

“want more,” you slur. across from you, HANMA watches as you clumsily reach for the empty shot glasses on the table, flipping them upside down as if more alcohol will magically appear. he’s not going to lie—he finds it funny. entertaining, even. and if the circumstances were any different, he would’ve even encouraged this behavior. but he’s your boyfriend now and if there’s one thing he truly cares about, it’s you. drunk out of your wits, you don’t notice when hanma slides out of the booth until he’s soon presenting two more glasses to you. even though the contents are the same, he asks you to choose, “which one?” “hmm… that.” before you can get your hands on your drink, hanma intercepts and downs it in one go. you’re about to protest when he throws you over his shoulder and chugs the other drink out of your sight before heading for the exit. “let’s go.”

[stunie]

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁ KABEDON W TOKYO REVENGERS

TOKREV BOYS CAGING YOU AGAINST A WALL. ft. izana kurokawa, takashi mitsuya, & shuji hanma x f!reader

sfw. 1K wc. i’ve been sooo excited to write for izana !! & my head’s been buzzing w so many ideas after seeing a bunch of maid-sama edits back on my fyp <3

IZANA KUROKAWA. mild jealousy & possessiveness

You wonder if Izana can hear the rapid thumping of your heart as his arm comes to rest against the doorframe, his eyes looking intently into yours.

“Who was that guy you were talking to?” His voice breaks the silence, tone laced with the faintest hint of curiosity that sends a shiver down your spine.

You swallow hard, trying to compose yourself even though the proximity has heat rising all the way to the tips of your ears. “I don't know,” you mumble, your voice barely above a whisper. “He just asked for my number. And i said no.”

There's a moment of silence as izana processes your words, his gaze never leaving yours. You hold your breath, waiting for his reaction, unsure if you should add that you mentioned you have a boyfriend too.

“That’s all?” Izana finally speaks, his voice low and steady, but there's something in his eyes that betrays his calm exterior.

You nod. “That’s all.”

He exhales deeply, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he moves closer to you. His fingers brush against your cheek, lingering on your jaw for a brief moment before gently tilting your head to the side. “Izana?”

“Mhm,” he hums softly, his breath warm against your skin as he presses gentle kisses along your collarbone. “That sounds right.”

His lips move with a deliberate slowness to cover every inch of your skin, and you can’t help but melt into his touch as his lips ghost down your neck, leaving a trail of soft kisses along your skin. His arms wrap around you, pulling you closer to him, and you sigh. “That’s good.” He repeats to himself.

“Don’t pay them any attention.” Izana reminds you, his voice dropping to a soft murmur against your skin. “You’re mine.”

HANMA SHUJI. recreation of that !! scene from maid sama (he gives u a hickey on your back), reader wearing a backless dress, ‘pretty thing,’ ‘princess’

“That’s a tiny dress you got on.” Hanma muses, long arm resting just above your head as he cages you against the wall, his face coming to hover mere inches in front of yours.

“Where’s a pretty thing like you headed tonight?”

“Well, yeah,” you pout, adjusting the thin strap of your dress. “I’m going to my friend’s birthday party tonight.”

You struggle to read the expression on his face, amused eyes lingering on the simple design of your dress, ignoring the way you huff impatiently.

“Backless?”

“Yeah, backless. I’m leaving now.” With a quick tilt of your head, you try to gauge his reaction again, a part of you skeptical to whether or not he’s planning something this time.

He only responds with a slow hum, chuckling a bit when you rudely swat his arm off the wall, gaze following the natural sway of your hips as you mumble something in annoyance and walk away.

Backless…he thinks.

That’s right— backless.

An idea pops into his head, his lips curling into a mischievous grin. Without a second thought, he reaches out to roughly tug at one of your wrists, pulling you back towards him in one swift motion.

“The hell are you doing-” you snap, your voice trailing off into a sharp intake of breath when you feel his lips press against the middle of your back. “S-shuji!” You protest, heart racing as you feel the warmth of his lips press against your skin.

There’s a pop when he pulls back slightly to look up at you, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips.

“Oh? You’re going? With that hickey on your back?” His voice comes out low, tinged with too much amusement for your liking.

“Hope you have fun, princess.”

TAKASHI MITSUYA. he takes care of you when you’re feverish

“You shouldn’t be out of bed right now.” Mitsuya’s voice breaks the silence, and you stop dead in your tracks.

There’s an exasperated groan from you, your hand coming to rub at your temples. Of course he would be awake— you really thought you had waited long enough before trying to sneak downstairs.

“I want cake, Mitsuya.” You whine, arms folding over your chest. “‘M not sick anymore. The fever’s gone down.”

“Is that so?” Mitsuya’s tone sounds both amused and skeptical as he steps closer, watching the way you start to fidget with the sleeves of your shirt. You give him a quick and desperate nod to confirm, and it’s all a little too suspicious for his liking.

But before you can protest further, his arms come around you, caging you against the wall, and you suck in a sharp breath as he scans you up and down. His gaze is focused and intentional— and you feel your heart rate pick up.

“Interesting,” he whispers, warm breath grazing your skin. It sends a violent shiver down your spine. “Let me check.”

“W-wait you shouldn’t—” your protests are halted as he leans even closer, until his face is just an inch in front of yours. He thinks it’s cute the way your eyes slam shut involuntarily, your heart pounding against your chest at the proximity. His forehead presses gently against yours, and you can feel the subtle warmth of his skin.

“Liar.” He murmurs softly, his lips brushing against yours so gently you almost miss it. “You’re burning up.”

[tsukimirecs]

TOMAN 𓏵 tokyo revengers // fic recommendations

note: remember to read the tags! + i do not own any of these works

manjirou sano - mikey

taiyaki for the soul

taiyaki for the soul pt. ii

stubborn picky eaters

how you get the girl

two birds

baji keisuke

dandelions

drunk kisses

patch me up

of large rimmed glasses and dusted blazers

just a memory

ken ryuguji - draken

homecoming queen

sleepy mornings

her soul begs for me

a month without you

when i'm with you

city lights

mitsuya takashi

memo

traces

just passing by

pin cushion

when glory favors the verdant

kazutora hanemiya

dice or no dice

love confessions

penpal

matsuno chifuyu

take me back!

easy solace

on time.

committed

murder you with cuteness

hands down

[missmadella]

"How They React When You Dress Up Beautifully (But Usually Dress Boyish) "// Tokyo Revengers

Charakters: Mikey, Mitsuya, Chifuyu, Sanzu, Ran, Rindou, Shinichiro, Wakasa, Hanma

Synopsis: you’ve always been the hoodie girl. the one in scuffed sneakers, hands in your pockets, hair tied up, blending in with the boys without even trying. you weren’t there to be looked at — you were there to hold your own. and you did. but tonight? tonight, you show up in a dress. and not just any dress — one that fits, hugs, flows, turns heads. hair down. lips glossed. eyes soft but untouchable. and suddenly, no one knows what to say.

he stares. he freezes. and then he remembers how to breathe.

CW: possessive behavior, mild jealousy, physical affection (waist grabbing/thigh touching), suggestive dialogue, strong language, gender assumptions, toxic remarks from side characters

Mikey (Sano Manjiro):

When you first joined Toman, you were all hoodies, joggers, combat boots — tough, quiet, and fast with your fists. Mikey assumed you were just another strong kid in a sea of delinquents. Until Draken casually said, “You know she’s a girl, right?” Mikey froze. “Wait— she?”

You weren’t bothered. You didn’t correct anyone. You let your fists do the talking.

And god, did Mikey fall fast.

The way you handled yourself in fights. The way you leaned back on his bike like you owned it. How you never tried to impress anyone — just did your thing. Mikey loved that.

You were you, no matter what.

__________________________________________________________________________

The late afternoon sun filtered through the trees surrounding the old shrine, casting golden light over the cracked stone path. The Toman boys had gathered early, as usual — laughing, arguing, throwing weak punches, killing time before the captains' meeting started.

You were leaning against Mikey’s prized bike, one leg propped up on the step, hoodie sleeves pushed up to your elbows, hands in your pockets. Comfortable. Invisible, almost — exactly how you liked it.

Mikey was sprawled lazily on the shrine steps, back against the railing, munching on a dorayaki. His legs were stretched out, crossed at the ankles, eyes half-lidded in his usual not-quite-here, not-quite-gone state. You caught him glancing at you every so often, though.

"Yo, [Y/N]," Baji called suddenly from where he sat cross-legged beside Draken. “Serious question.”

You lifted an eyebrow. “What?”

He grinned wickedly. “You sure you’re a girl?”

The entire group broke into a mix of groans and snickers.

“Baji…” Mitsuya warned, but it was too late.

Even Smiley jumped in. “For real, though. Hoodie, boots, baggy jeans. I thought you were one of the boys until, like… last month.”

“Didn’t she knock out that Mobius guy in, like, one hit?” Takemichi added, trying to defend you — but mostly just fueling the fire.

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t frown. You were good at brushing this stuff off. You’d heard it before — from rivals, from randoms. But something about it coming from your people — even jokingly — made it stick just a little more than usual.

You pushed off Mikey’s bike and walked slowly toward them, stopping right in front of Baji.

He was still grinning until you flicked his forehead. Hard.

“Ow—!”

You smirked. “You wanna test if I hit like a girl again, or are you still nursing that bruise from last week?”

The others laughed. Even Baji had the decency to rub his forehead with a sheepish grin.

But the teasing… didn’t really stop. Just got quieter. Lingered in the way some of the boys eyed your outfit, or nudged each other when you sat back down. Like they couldn’t quite picture you in any other way.

Mikey had been quiet through it all. Now, he was watching you again — not with teasing or judgment, just that unreadable calm of his. Dorayaki half-eaten in his hand.

“Nothing?” you asked when you caught his eye.

He shrugged and licked his thumb clean. “I like you like this.”

A warmth bloomed in your chest — a quiet kind of comfort. You leaned in and gave him a quick kiss, surprising him just enough to freeze. You chuckled.

“You taste like dorayaki.”

Then you kissed him again — soft, quick, on the lips — before pulling back to sit beside him on the step.

He blinked, then smiled to himself, mumbling, “Good.”

Still, even with his quiet reassurance, the teasing hung in the air like a thin mist — not heavy, but not entirely gone either.

__________________________________________________________________________

A few days passed after the teasing at the shrine.

You didn’t let it show, but their words echoed in your head more than you expected. Not in a way that made you feel insecure exactly — but it stirred something inside you. A quiet want to remind them, maybe even remind yourself, that just because you didn’t show it, didn’t mean it wasn’t there.

So tonight, when Mitsuya messaged the group about another Toman meetup at the shrine, you made a decision.

No hoodie. No combat boots.

Instead, you stood in front of your mirror in a soft, flowing dress — nothing flashy, but elegant in its simplicity. The fabric complimented your frame, and the color made your eyes stand out. Your hair was styled neatly — maybe a loose wave, maybe tied back with a soft ribbon. And the shoes? Cute, comfortable, and just a little dressy. Enough to make a statement.

You looked at yourself once more.

“You are a girl,” you whispered with a smirk.

Then you headed out.

The sun was just beginning to set when the Toman captains began gathering at the shrine again — laughter echoing, engines cooling, boys lounging on the steps with drinks and snacks in hand. It was the usual chaotic calm before a meeting.

Mikey was perched on the top step, half-lidded eyes scanning the horizon as he slowly nibbled at a dorayaki. His gang surrounded him in clusters — Baji play-fighting with Chifuyu, Draken arguing with Smiley over something dumb, and Mitsuya sketching something in a small notepad.

No one noticed you at first.

You didn’t roll up with a loud voice or stomp of boots like usual. This time, your arrival was silent. Smooth. Confident.

A dress — soft in color, simple but beautifully fitted — hugged your form and flowed with each step. Your hair was done — styled softly to frame your face — and your usual boots were replaced with adorable, polished shoes. No hoodie, no slouch. Just you, in a way they had never seen before.

You walked up the path like you owned it.

Baji was the first to glance your way.

He paused mid-sentence, blinking.

“…Yo, who’s that?” he muttered, elbowing Chifuyu.

“Dunno,” Chifuyu whispered back, eyes narrowed. “She lost or something?”

Mitsuya looked up next, brows furrowed. “Wait. She looks… kinda familiar?”

“Holy shit,” Draken murmured. “That’s— wait. No way.”

But Mikey didn’t look up. Not yet.

You walked past the others without a word — straight to the steps. His gaze lifted just as your shadow fell over him.

He blinked.

You smiled softly, leaned down — and kissed him on the lips. Light, sure, confident.

He went stiff, stunned — and then blinked again, his mouth parting slightly.

You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes and said sweetly:

“Miss me, baby?”

BOOM.

The realization hit all at once.

“Wait— THAT’S [Y/N]?!” Baji yelled.

“No. No way!” Chifuyu’s jaw dropped.

“What the f— you’re kidding me,” Smiley practically choked, appearing from behind the bikes.

Even Draken looked halfway between impressed and shocked. “That’s... definitely [Y/N]. What the hell.”

Mitsuya just leaned back and gave you a proud little nod. “Damn. You pulled that off like a runway model.”

Mikey stared up at you in a daze, still holding the half-eaten dorayaki like he forgot what it was. Then slowly, he smiled — lazy and warm, the kind of smile that made your knees a little weak even though you were the one with all the power right now.

“You really trying to give me a heart attack?” he muttered.

You laughed. “What? You didn’t recognize your own girlfriend?”

“I thought you were some kind of dream.” He reached for your hand, pulling you gently down to sit beside him. “A very pretty one.”

The rest of the gang was still making noise behind you, but Mikey didn’t care.

He pulled you in close, rested his forehead against yours, and whispered, “Remind me to never let anyone else see you like this without me standing right next to you.”

You smirked. “Possessive much?”

“Damn right.”

And with that, he kissed you again — this time slower, deeper, like the teasing didn’t matter anymore. Like he wanted to make it very clear you were his.

___________________________________________________________________________

Mitsuya Takashi:

The music pulsed low through the speakers of the small design club Mitsuya was part of — a cool, casual creative space filled with fabrics, threads, sketchbooks, and the occasional loud personality.

You usually didn’t come here. It wasn’t really your scene. But Mitsuya had left his bento behind, and you were already out, so you figured — why not drop it off?

Wearing your usual: black joggers, oversized hoodie, hair thrown up lazily, and sneakers you’d worn into far too many alley fights. You didn’t care — it was you. And Mitsuya never complained.

When you walked in, he was in the middle of helping two girls adjust a dress on a mannequin. They both turned as you approached.

One of them blinked, glanced at your outfit, then gave a tight smile.

“Oh… hi,” she said, eyes scanning you quickly. “Are you one of the junior designers?”

You smirked. “Nope. Just the delivery girl.”

Mitsuya looked up at the sound of your voice, and his face lit up instantly. “Hey, babe. You brought it? You’re the best.”

You tossed him the bento and leaned on the edge of a table, letting him finish his work. As you did, you could still hear the quiet voices behind you — whispers they definitely didn’t think you could hear.

“That’s his girlfriend?”

“She’s so… plain.”

“She dresses like a guy. I mean, he’s so stylish—”

“I thought he’d be into someone more… delicate, you know?”

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t even look back. You just stood there, cool and unbothered, picking at a loose thread on your sleeve.

Because deep down? You didn’t care what they thought.

But later, as you lay on your bed at home, a small thought slipped through:

Still… wouldn’t it be fun to shut them up without saying a word?

___________________________________________________________________________

A Few Days Later – Shrine Meeting Pickup

Mitsuya was finishing up club work when you texted him.

“I’ll meet you out front. Ready when you are, fashion prince.”

He chuckled and packed up his things, heading down the steps of the club with a light smile. You were always cracking jokes. Always casual, lowkey — always you.

So when he stepped outside and saw someone standing by the gate, dress fluttering gently in the breeze, he paused.

For a moment, he didn’t even realize it was you.

The dress you wore hugged you in all the right places, soft and flowy, not flashy — but effortlessly beautiful. Your hair was done, shoes delicate, and your usual confidence was still there… but this time, wrapped in elegance.

Mitsuya blinked.

And blinked again.

“…[Y/N]?”

You turned to him with a sweet smile. “Took you long enough.”

He slowly approached, eyes drinking you in like you were a piece of art — no, like you were the runway.

“Holy shit,” he muttered softly. “You look… breathtaking.”

You smirked, adjusting your dress lightly. “Too boyish for you now?”

Mitsuya frowned for half a second — then it clicked. His gaze darkened just a touch as he remembered the girls at the club.

“They said that?” he asked, voice low.

You shrugged. “Didn’t matter. I know you love me for me. Just figured… I’d give them something to think about.”

He reached out, took your hand gently, and pulled you close.

“I love you in your hoodies. I love you with messy hair. I love you when you’re wiping blood off your knuckles.” He leaned down, lips brushing your ear. “But seeing you like this? That’s not just pretty — it’s dangerous.”

You laughed softly. “Good. Let them be scared.”

He smirked, then kissed you, slow and firm — right there outside the club, where anyone could see. Not because he needed to prove something — but because he was proud.

When you finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours and whispered, “You're mine. And they all just realized they never even stood a chance.”

___________________________________________________________________________

Chifuyu Matsuno:

The pet shop was slow that afternoon.

Chifuyu was restocking cat food behind the counter when the doorbell chimed and a girl — older high school maybe — walked in with that confident sway that made Baji would’ve whistled at, but Chifuyu didn’t even blink. He gave her a polite nod and went back to shelving cans.

But she didn’t move on. Instead, she leaned on the counter, elbow propped up, voice just a bit too sweet.

“You work here all the time, right? You’re kind of cute.” She smiled. “Are you single?”

Chifuyu paused. “Ah, no. I’ve got a girlfriend.”

“Oh?” she tilted her head. “Where is she?”

Right on cue, the bell chimed again, and you walked in — hoodie, old jeans, sneakers. Comfortable, like always. You noticed the girl at the counter but didn’t think much of it. You headed toward Chifuyu, ready to hand him the drink you grabbed for him on the way.

The girl turned, eyeing you. Up. Down. Then smirked.

“This is your girlfriend?” she asked, not even trying to lower her voice.

You raised a brow. “Problem?”

She laughed, like it was a joke. “No, no... it’s just surprising. I figured he’d go for someone, I dunno— more feminine? Prettier?” She added, “No offense,” in a voice meant to offend.

Chifuyu stiffened behind the counter. “Hey, that’s enough.”

You just sipped your drink, unfazed. “You done?”

The girl rolled her eyes and walked out, muttering something under her breath that sounded like, “Should’ve been me.”

Chifuyu turned to you, brows drawn tight. “I’m sorry. That was—”

You cut him off with a grin. “Relax. It’s not the first time someone judged a book by its hoodie.”

Still, something in your chest twisted. Just a little.

___________________________________________________________________________

Chifuyu was waiting outside the little soba shop near your usual meeting spot, playing with his phone when he heard your footsteps. He looked up casually — and froze.

You were wearing the cutest outfit he had ever seen on you.

A soft, flowy skirt that hit just above your knees. A cozy sweater tucked in neatly. Delicate earrings. Your hair was styled, face softly made up — nothing over the top, just enough to look effortlessly beautiful.

“Hey,” you said, smiling.

Chifuyu just stared. Like you’d punched the wind out of him.

“Babe?” you tilted your head.

He blinked. “You’re... holy crap.”

You smirked. “Still think I’m not pretty enough for you?”

His whole face turned tomato red.

“No—! I mean— You’re always pretty, it’s not about the clothes— I just—damn.” He looked like he short-circuited.

“You okay, Chifuyu?”

He covered his mouth with the back of his hand, nodded quickly, and looked away like he needed to reboot. “Y-Yeah. I just wasn’t ready. You look like… like you stepped out of a movie or something.”

You laughed and leaned in to fix the collar of his jacket. “Good. I wanted you to see what ‘not pretty enough’ looks like.”

He finally turned back to you, eyes soft and serious now. “You didn’t need to prove anything. But... I’m really glad I get to be the only guy who sees you like this.”

You gave him a wink. “Only if you stop turning the color of your fish tanks.”

He groaned and muttered under his breath: “Too late for that.”

___________________________________________________________________________

Sanzu Haruchiyo:

The Bonten hideout was buzzing that evening — sharp suits, low voices, and tension like cigarette smoke in the air.

You were never one for flashy entrances. Hoodie on, hair tied back, combat boots heavy against the concrete floor as you made your way toward the back, where Sanzu was seated on one of the couches with a drink in his hand and a bored expression on his face.

There was a girl sitting next to him — one of the newer affiliates, clearly trying to climb the ranks by any means necessary. She laughed too loudly, leaned in too close.

Sanzu didn’t move. But his eyes flicked to the door the moment he sensed you.

The girl noticed. She turned too, eyebrows raising slightly at the sight of you.

“That her?” she asked, low. “The girlfriend?”

Sanzu hummed, swirling his drink.

The girl’s lips twitched. “Huh. I expected someone more... polished. She kind of looks like she works security.”

You reached the edge of the couch just in time to hear it.

“I do,” you said dryly. “His.”

The girl blinked.

Sanzu gave a wide, lazy grin — not even hiding how much he loved that.

The girl stood up fast, murmuring some fake apology and brushing past you.

You didn’t chase her.

But your fingers lingered a little on Sanzu’s shoulder as you walked by. “You free tomorrow night?”

He looked up at you like you were made of gold. “Always, baby.”

___________________________________________________________________________

The restaurant was private, upscale, drenched in dim lighting and heavy marble tables where the core Bonten members were already gathered. You were running a little late — intentionally.

Because tonight, you weren't wearing a hoodie.

You stepped into the room in a dark, body-hugging dress that split at the thigh, delicate chains brushing your collarbone, your makeup sharp and your heels clicking softly as you walked.

Conversation halted.

Rindou blinked. Ran actually coughed. Kakucho whispered something under his breath.

And Sanzu? Sanzu froze — eyes locked on you like he’d just watched a cathedral rise from the floor.

He stood up slowly, like in a trance, pushing his chair back with one hand and licking his bottom lip like he didn’t know what else to do with himself.

“Holy fuck,” he muttered.

You smiled, coming to stand in front of him. “Miss me?”

He grabbed your waist — not gentle — pulling you flush against him in front of everyone.

“You’re trying to kill me,” he said, voice low and ragged at your ear. “And it’s working.”

You leaned in, lips brushing his cheek. “Still think I look like security?”

He growled something under his breath and kissed you, hard, in full view of the Bonten table, like he was branding the moment into the timeline.

Later, as you sat on his lap while he lit a cigarette with shaking hands, he whispered against your neck:

“Next time someone says anything about you… they die before they finish the sentence.”

You laughed, sipping his drink. “Relax. I just like reminding them you’re mine.”

He pulled you closer, breath hot at your throat. “No one could ever forget.”

___________________________________________________________________________

Ran Haitani:

The Bonten meeting was already heating up when you walked into the lounge.

You weren’t dressed to impress. Just your usual look — hoodie, cargos, clean sneakers. Comfortable, low-effort. Just how Ran liked you.

You spotted him instantly: sprawled lazily on a black leather couch, legs crossed, one arm draped over the backrest like he owned the room. (He basically did.) He looked up the moment he felt your eyes on him — and smiled.

That lazy, lethal grin that said “Come here, baby.”

You were halfway across the room when a girl — tall, glossy, and clearly not from your side — stepped right into your path and shoulder-checked you hard enough to knock you off balance.

“Oops,” she said, not sounding sorry at all.

You steadied yourself, shooting her a cold glance.

She turned to Ran with a syrupy voice. “Ran~ I didn’t know you were into ugly girls now.”

You blinked. Excuse me?

The room quieted just slightly. Someone muttered “damn” in the back.

Ran didn’t stand. He didn’t raise his voice.

He just leaned forward with a slow, sharp grin. “Huh. I didn’t know I was talking to a corpse.”

The girl blinked, confused.

Ran stood in one smooth, terrifying motion, walked straight past her, and stopped in front of you. Without a word, he slid one hand around your waist, tugged you flush against him, and kissed you — full, possessive, leaving-no-room-for-doubt.

You barely had time to gasp before he pulled back just enough to murmur against your lips, “You good, pretty girl?”

You nodded, slightly dazed. “Yeah…”

He looked over his shoulder at the stunned girl still standing there, and with a light but pointed tone, said, “Next time you try to talk, don’t.”

Then, as if she no longer existed, he turned, led you over to the couch, and sat down — pulling you right onto his lap, tucking your legs over his, one arm still firm around your waist like you were made to fit there.

The girl stormed off, flustered and silent.

Ran kissed your temple and whispered, low, teasing:

“I dare someone else to try that again.”

You chuckled softly. “You really like making a scene, huh?”

He smirked. “No, baby. I like reminding everyone who you belong to.”

You leaned into his chest, grinning. “You’re lucky I do.”

He gave a little laugh, brushing your hair behind your ear.

“No,” he whispered. “I’m the lucky one.”

___________________________________________________________________________

The warehouse was buzzing low with tension — Toman and Bonten finishing up a deal that had taken longer than expected. Everyone was watching, waiting, half-expecting trouble.

And trouble had a name — the same girl from before, standing near Ran with that smug look like she thought she’d won last time.

But this time, you weren’t the hoodie-and-sneakers girl.

No, today, you owned the room.

You stepped inside wearing a sleek black dress that hugged your figure perfectly, a daring slit running up the side. Your makeup was flawless — smoky eyes, deep red lips, hair cascading in soft waves. Your heels clicked confidently on the concrete floor.

Heads turned. Even the roughest gangsters paused. Ran’s eyes darkened as he caught sight of you.

The girl near Ran’s side froze — mouth open, completely caught off guard.

You smiled, slow and cold, as you walked over to him like you owned the place.

Sliding onto Ran’s lap, you leaned in and smoothly stole the cigarette from his lips, holding it between your fingers, and locking eyes with the stunned girl like she was beneath you.

“Miss me?” you purred, voice low and sharp.

The girl’s mouth snapped shut, and she took a step back, powerless.

Ran’s grin was wide, full of pride and amusement. He leaned in, brushing his lips against your ear.

“You look dangerous tonight, baby.” His breath was warm. “Good luck trying to forget who owns me.”

You gave a little laugh, flicking ash from the cigarette as you turned your eyes back to the girl, who was now fully retreating.

Ran cupped your face, kissed you deeply, and whispered, “You’re mine. Always.”

The room was electric. Everyone knew the message.

And no one dared to challenge it again.

___________________________________________________________________________

Rindou Haitani:

The Bonten hideout was shrouded in cigarette smoke and low conversations, a familiar haze that settled like a second skin. You were leaning against a pillar, arms crossed, watching the usual dance of power and strategy between gang members.

Sanzu was there, of course. Always watching, always sharp. And tonight, he had his sights set on you.

He flicked ash from his cigarette, eyes gleaming with that sly, dangerous amusement only he could pull off.

“Never seen you dress up before,” he called out, voice dripping with mockery. “Do you even know how? Or are hoodies the only thing you’re comfortable in?”

The room shifted slightly; some chuckled, some glanced your way, waiting for your reaction.

You just smiled — a slow, confident curve of your lips that promised something different.

___________________________________________________________________________

The street was quiet, bathed in the soft glow of the city lights as you stepped out of your building.

A sleek black luxury car waited at the curb, the engine humming softly. Behind the wheel, a professional-looking driver sat, eyes forward, ready to go.

But it was the man standing outside the car who caught your attention.

Rindou — sharp suit, cool and calm — leaned casually against the door, his arms crossed. His dark eyes locked on you the moment you appeared, a slow smile spreading across his face.

You were wearing a dark red dress that hugged your figure beautifully — the fabric silky and smooth, accentuating your curves and tone with elegance. The slit on the side revealed just enough to turn heads without saying a word. Your hair fell in loose waves, your makeup perfect with smoky eyes and matching red lips.

Rindou pushed off the car and approached, his gaze hungry and possessive.

“Damn,” he said quietly. “You look like trouble.”

You smiled, stepping closer. “Exactly what you need.”

He opened the door for you with a flourish, then held your hand as you slid into the backseat. The driver started the engine, and the car pulled away smoothly into the night.

The restaurant was dim and classy, the kind of place that made everyone sit up and notice when you walked in.

Sanzu was already there, leaning against a pillar with that cocky smirk. His eyes flicked over you and Rindou.

“Never saw you dress like that before,” he said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

You didn’t flinch.

Instead, you walked over to Rindou, sliding onto his lap as if you owned the place.

After you slid onto Rindou’s lap, the room held its breath.

You locked eyes with Sanzu and coolly said, “Hope you learned to shut up now, Sanzu.”

Without hesitation, Rindou grabbed your waist and pulled you closer. His lips crashed onto yours — deep, fierce, and full of possession.

He kissed you like he was marking his territory, like the whole world was watching and he wanted to make sure no one could miss it.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, his dark eyes burned with fierce pride.

“Sanzu doesn’t know how hot you are,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “And he sure as hell doesn’t know that you’re mine.”

His hands held you tight, as if letting go was unthinkable.

You smiled against him, heart pounding.

“Good. Let him think whatever he wants. I’m right here.”

Rindou’s lips curled into a satisfied smirk.

“Exactly. And I’ll make sure everyone remembers that.”

The room was silent — the message clear.

You were his. And no one could take that away.

___________________________________________________________________________

Shinichiro Sano:

Shinchiro was behind the counter of his shop, focused and calm as usual, fixing a bike with his sleeves rolled up.

You leaned casually against the doorway, dressed in your usual comfortable, boyish clothes — hoodie, jeans, sneakers — because, honestly, that’s just how you liked it.

A couple of gang members were hanging out nearby, watching you both with that teasing smirk.

One of them nudged the other and said loud enough for Shinchiro to hear, “Man, she’s like one of the guys, huh? Hard to believe she’s even his girlfriend.”

Another laughed, “Yeah, kinda forgot she was even a girl sometimes.”

You just rolled your eyes but didn’t say anything.

Shinchiro glanced up and smiled softly at you, shaking his head like he still couldn’t believe he was the lucky one.

__________________________________________________________________________

The sun was dipping low, casting a warm golden glow over the quiet street as you approached Shinchiro’s shop.

This time, you weren’t wearing your usual hoodie and sneakers.

Instead, you stepped out in a soft cream blouse with delicate lace trimming at the cuffs, tucked neatly into a flowing navy skirt that swayed gently with each step. Your hair was styled into loose waves that framed your face perfectly, and your makeup was subtle but glowing — just enough to highlight your natural beauty.

You walked with quiet confidence, the soft click of your polished flats echoing slightly on the pavement.

The gang members leaning against the walls outside the shop immediately noticed.

The conversation around them froze. One of the guys stopped mid-sentence, eyes wide.

“Is that… her?” another whispered, disbelief clear in his voice.

The usual teasing smirks vanished, replaced by stunned silence.

Shinchiro, coming from inside the shop, stopped dead in his tracks as he saw you.

His eyebrows lifted, and his breath hitched for a second.

“Wow,” he murmured, voice low and full of awe.

You smiled softly, stepping closer until you were just beside him.

He reached out, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your cheek.

“You look… incredible,” he said quietly, his eyes shining with something tender and proud.

From the corner of the street, Wakasa leaned casually against the wall, watching the scene with a sly grin.

He called out loud enough for everyone to hear, voice full of authority and humor:

“And this is why you shut the fuck up when it’s about Shins girlfriend.”

The group exchanged embarrassed glances, knowing better than to argue.

Shinchiro pulled you into a quiet embrace, his hand resting protectively on your lower back.

“I still don’t know how I got so lucky,” he whispered into your hair.

You smiled, feeling the warmth of his words.

“Well, lucky’s on your side,” you teased, leaning up to kiss his cheek.

___________________________________________________________________________

Wakasa Imaushi:

Wakasa lounged against the cracked brick wall outside the usual hangout, a cigarette lazily perched between his fingers. The dull orange glow pulsed rhythmically as he exhaled smoke, eyes half-lidded in that usual relaxed, cool expression. The world around him seemed slow, the evening light casting long shadows as the sun dipped toward the horizon.

You approached quietly, your footsteps soft on the concrete, but this time something was different. No hoodie. No oversized jacket. No boyish jeans.

Instead, you wore a summer dress — soft and flowing, the fabric light as air, with gentle pastel hues that caught the fading sunlight and seemed to shimmer. The dress hugged your waist just right, flaring gently into a skirt that fluttered softly with each step. Your hair was styled simply, but in a way that made you glow with a delicate, feminine beauty that Wakasa had never really seen before.

His cigarette suddenly slipped from his lips and hit the ground with a soft clatter, forgotten.

Wakasa’s dark eyes flicked up, wide with surprise and something raw and unguarded.

For the first time, the usual calm, almost indifferent mask faded.

His breath hitched, and the slow, lazy smile he usually wore vanished as he stared at you, his gaze tracing every curve, every detail of this new, stunning version of you.

He straightened, pushing off the wall with a sharpness that made the air between you crackle.

His movements were slow and deliberate as he closed the distance, like he wanted to savor every moment of this surprise.

When he reached you, he lifted one hand gently to your cheek, his thumb brushing softly, reverently, across your skin.

His voice came low, rough around the edges, but filled with a possessive warmth:

“I’m the only one who gets to see you like this.”

Then, without hesitation, he leaned in.

His lips met yours in a kiss that was slow, deep, and fierce — like staking a claim on you in a way words never could.

The cigarette smoke seemed to disappear entirely as you lost yourself in that kiss, feeling the heat of his desire and the protective intensity behind it.

When Wakasa finally pulled away, his dark eyes burned with pride and something softer — admiration, awe.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “Always have been. But this… this is something else.”

You smiled, heart pounding in your chest, knowing this was a moment neither of you would forget.

Wakasa pulled you closer, resting his forehead against yours, and added quietly, “No one else better even think about it.”

The streetlights flickered on, casting a soft glow around you both, but all Wakasa saw was you.

___________________________________________________________________________

Hanma Shuji:

The pulsing lights of Hanma’s club cut through the smoke-filled air as music throbbed from every corner. The usual chaos of the night buzzed all around, but Hanma’s eyes never left the entrance.

He was leaning casually against the bar, a glass of something dark in his hand, his signature devilish grin playing on his lips.

Normally, you’d stroll in like always — hoodie up, jeans, sneakers, blending into the rough crowd with that boyish comfort that Hanma secretly loved.

But tonight was different.

When you walked through the door wearing a tight, sexy dress that hugged your body perfectly, showing just enough skin to drive him wild, the entire room seemed to dim.

Your heels clicked confidently on the floor, turning heads left and right — but Hanma’s gaze was locked on you, sharp and hungry.

Without breaking his gaze, Hanma pushed through the crowd and pulled out the seat next to him.

As you settled down, he didn’t just let you sit quietly.

His hand slid around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

His fingers pressed possessively against your hips, tracing slow, deliberate circles.

Then his other hand moved to your thigh, fingers grazing up and down with a teasing, almost electric touch.

“Look at you,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “Not some hoodie-wearing kid tonight.”

You smirked, leaning into him, your lips close to his ear.

“Thought I’d shake things up,” you teased.

Hanma’s grin widened, dark and dangerous.

“You do more than shake things up, baby.”

He tightened his hold on your hips, pulling you even closer as his eyes sparkled with wicked amusement.

“Don’t think I’m gonna let you out of my sight tonight.”

The tension between you crackled like electricity, the wild energy of the club fading into the background as you two owned the moment — fierce, unstoppable, and utterly magnetic.

[fuyungus]

he's the type of guy that when you're both drunk he swears he's not going to fuck you, but as soon as you both get home he kisses you, hungry, until you're both against the door of your shared room, he opens the door with his free hand and when you're coming in he lifts you off the ground and kiss you violently.

"Just the tip, yeah?" he asks as he pulls down your pants and spread the tip between your folds, once he's fucking the tip slowly in and out of you, but he can't wait anymore. "Fuck it" he grunts before pushing his cock all the way inside of you, making you squirm under his body.

Eren, Draken, MITSUYA, Geto, NANAMI, Bokuto, GEKKO, Yoru, Miguel + your favs!!

[beeing1alive]

Turning on Tokyo Revengers boys without knowing it pt.1

f.t.: Mikey (Manjirō Sanō); Draken (Ken Ryūgūji); Mitsuya (Takashi Mitsuya); Baji (Keisuke Baji); Chifuyu (Chifuyu Matsuno); Kazutora (Kazutora Hanemija)

Warning: Nsfw content, minors do not interact

Mikey:

can't help but get a hard-on when he sees you sitting on his motorbike

especially when it's summer and you're wearing short clothes

his gaze veils slightly, he draws the air through his teeth slightly and watches every movement you make

i'm not going to lie, he's never got hard so fast

Without hesitation, he ran over to you and sat on his motorbike with you, just to kiss you a little more intimately than he wanted to

you can always tell if he's Horney when he kisses you extremely kinky in public

Draken:

Gets hard the fastest when you wear his clothes

I think we can all agree when I say that he has a size kink

I mean, he just can't help it when he sees you in his clothes, which are obviously way too big for you

especially when you're wearing one of his shirts and otherwise just a pair of panties

his eyes would darken slightly and he would slowly move towards you to tell you that he has a big little problem in his trousers and that you could help him with it

Mitsuya:

jealousy turns him on immensely

I mean, I know he doesn't look it so much, but he gets rock hard in seconds when he sees you talking to another boy for a little too long

a chiselled smile appears on his handsome face and he tries as hard as he can to hide the ever-growing and pulsating bulge in his trousers, which he manages to do quite well

as soon as you and the boy are ready, he pulls you behind him, gently but firmly

the moment you arrive in a quiet corner, you are his

Baji:

nothing turns him on more than seeing you in a leadership position

I mean, when you assert yourself and do all those leader things

he'll sit still, his eyes veil slightly and he watches every little move you make

I'm not even lying when I say that he just sits there and a slight, barely noticeable blush spreads across his face as he notices his trousers getting tighter in a matter of seconds

Chifuyu:

gets hard within a few seconds if he sees you in short clothes

for example, shorts and a revealing shirt

he is just too innocent and would blush extremely and in rare cases get a nosebleed too

if he feels confident enough, he'll snuggle up to you from behind so you can feel his hard boner pressed against your bum, which doesn't make it any better for him

he'll gently give you a sweet kiss on the neck and tell you that you know how much it turns him on when you wear revealing clothes

Kazutora:

turns him on most of the time when you're sitting or lying on his lap

the first few times this happened, he was very uncomfortable because you felt it directly when he got hard and he can't hide it

when he's feeling very horny, he tries to move his hips against your bum to create friction

if you're also wearing short clothes, he'll almost come in his trousers at the slightest touch

I mean, that divine view of you, in short clothes, on his lap, pressed against his hard cock

he just can't help it, so don't be angry with him

Here is pt.2

Attention: The characters and the GIF do not belong to me. The credits go to the original owners. If you want anything to be changed or removed, please contact me.

[tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang]

Mitsuya fr deserves an award for all he had to put up with while doing the uniforms. Like there is no way all of the toman founders were perfectly still and well behaved during this especially if they were altogether at this time.

We've probably got Mikey fidgeting and trying to snack, Pah falling asleep and Kazutora + Baji messing around together

[zerokurokawa]

This is my favorite manga panel:

Ran’s all like…

“oh really?” WHAMM

[s-u-w-i]

taking measurements II. 🧵 two more (/≧▽≦)/

[kanyerealdaughter]

— ★ TWITTER LINKS

sexual content , intercourse , hickies , bdsm , unprotected sex , nipple play , ( tr boys x fem )

*you have to be login into twitter/x to see the links*

———————————————————————

fucking you through your soaked panties

ׂ╰┈➤ sanzu , hanma , rindou , inui , mitsuya

getting pulled by your collar in backshots

ׂ╰┈➤ izana , kokonoi , shinichiro

lazy side fucking in bed

ׂ╰┈➤ ran , rindou , kakucho , chifuyu

hickies on your sternum and lower…

ׂ╰┈➤ baji , ran , draken , wakasa

good morning lethal backshots

ׂ╰┈➤ mikey , hakkai , rindou

he’s so rough on you but it feels so good

ׂ╰┈➤ taiju , kisaki , sanzu , kazutora

———————————————————————

» , ᴀ ᴋᴀɴʏᴇʀᴇᴀʟᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ

copyright ©️. ᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴛɪᴏɴ . «

[wellterr]

some tr shenanigans

[koinomegaluvr]

TOKYO MANJI GANG

[missmadella]

"How they react when you come back from a Terrible Date" (They're Secretly in Love With You) // Tokyo revengers

Charakters: Mikey, Mitsuya, Chifuyu, Ran, Rindou, Draken, Hanma, Shinichiro, Kazutora, Sanzu

Synopsis: You come home from yet another awful date — frustrated, humiliated, and swearing off dating for good. He’s waiting. Always is. The one who never says it, but watches you like he could burn the world down for you. You start ranting, words sharp and bitter... but before you can finish, he’s already in front of you. Close. Too close. One look. One kiss. And it all snaps.

“Shut up,” he breathes. “You’re mine.”

And maybe you always have been.

Mikey (Sano Manjiro):

You slam the front door a little harder than necessary.

Shoes off. Purse on the floor. Frustration clinging to you like a second skin.

“Unbelievable,” you mutter to yourself.

Mikey’s sitting exactly where you left him—on your couch, legs crossed, eating Pocky like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. He doesn’t say anything yet. Just watches you from the corner of his eye, tracking your every movement like a cat waiting to pounce.

You’re too annoyed to notice.

“Literally the worst date I’ve ever been on,” you grumble, heading to the kitchen to put your keys in the dish.

Mikey leans his head back. “Didn’t think anyone could top last week’s guy.”

“Oh, this one did,” you say, raising your voice from the other room. “First, he shows up late. No apology. Then spends half the dinner talking about himself—nonstop. Doesn’t ask me a single question.”

Your voice grows sharper, more animated, as you stalk back and forth, venting.

“I mention I like manga, he says ‘Oh, that nerd stuff?’ Like, excuse me?” You scoff, grabbing a glass from the cabinet and slamming it down. “Then he tries to guilt-trip me into inviting him up to my place. Said I was leading him on because I smiled too much.”

Mikey’s body shifts slightly. His eyes are locked on you now, and he’s not blinking. Still silent.

“And the worst part?” You huff. “I actually tried. I tried to be interesting, polite, charming. I laughed at his terrible jokes. I wore the dress I wasn’t sure about because I thought maybe it’d make me feel confident.”

You open the fridge, grab a bottle of water, ramble on.

“I just—God, why do I even bother? Every time, I end up with these walking red flags in human skin. Like I’m cursed or something.”

You twist the cap off and lean down to shove some leftovers back into the fridge, muttering to yourself.

“What’s so hard about finding someone who just... sees me for who I am?”

And that’s when it happens.

You turn around and nearly bump into him.

You didn’t hear him move. Didn’t hear a single step.

But Mikey is suddenly right there, only inches away. His expression unreadable. Shoulders tense. Eyes locked on you like he’s barely holding something back.

Your mouth opens, confused. “Mikey—”

His hands grip your waist.

And then you feel your back hit the wall behind you with a gentle thud as he presses you there, body close, leaving you no room to retreat. The bottle of water slips from your fingers and rolls away.

“Mikey, what are you—?”

You don’t finish.

Because he kisses you.

Hard.

It’s not a question. It’s not careful or delicate. It’s the kind of kiss that steals the breath from your lungs, the kind that tastes like every unsaid word he’s ever swallowed. His mouth claims yours like he’s starved for it, like he’s furious with how long he’s waited.

Your hands go to his chest out of instinct, half in shock, half because your legs are suddenly jelly.

When he finally pulls away, just barely, his voice is low and trembling.

“I’ve been in love with you since forever.”

You stare up at him, stunned, lips parted, your heart slamming in your chest.

He breathes out a shaky laugh. “Since the first time you called me out on my shit. Since you patched me up after a fight without asking questions. Since you sat next to me in silence when I didn’t know how to talk.”

His forehead presses against yours.

“And every time you told me about those stupid dates... every time you came home looking sad and tired... I wanted to be the one you came home from a date with. I wanted it to be me.”

You’re still breathless.

Still pressed to the wall by the only person who’s ever made you feel this seen—like your words, your fire, your rants aren’t too much.

You swallow, still stunned. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

His hand cradles the side of your face gently now, his thumb brushing your cheek.

“Because I was scared,” he whispers. “That if I kissed you, I wouldn’t be able to stop.”

There’s a moment — one long, charged heartbeat — where the world seems to go quiet.

And then you say it.

Soft. Barely a breath between you.

“Then don’t.”

His eyes flicker.

And that’s all it takes.

He doesn’t ask. Doesn’t hesitate.

Mikey dives back in like a man who’s drowning and you’re the only air left on Earth. His mouth crashes onto yours again — rougher this time, messier, needier. His hand cradles the back of your head, angling you just right, while the other grips your waist with something between desperation and relief.

You gasp into the kiss, and he takes advantage, deepening it until you’re practically melting against the wall. Your fingers twist into the soft fabric of his hoodie, pulling him impossibly closer as he kisses you like he’s making up for every second he’s kept this to himself.

Teeth clash. Lips bruise. Tongues slide.

It's not pretty. It's not polite.

It’s raw, breathless, real.

He presses his body against yours fully now, like he wants to sink into you, like this is the only place he’s ever wanted to be. You can feel his heart racing against your own — fast, erratic, like he’s on the edge of completely losing control.

He breaks the kiss for just a second to breathe, but your lips chase his, and he lets out a low, broken sound that sounds almost like your name before he kisses you again — slower this time, but no less intense. He tastes like sugar and fire and something you can’t name, but know you’ll never forget.

You barely register that your back is still pressed to the wall, that the water bottle rolled across the floor. The only thing that exists now is him — Mikey, here, holding you like he’ll never let go.

And you kiss him back like you feel exactly the same.

Because maybe you do.

Maybe you always have.

___________________________________________________________________________

Mitsuya Takashi:

The door clicks behind you with a sigh as you step into your apartment, emotionally wrung out and physically exhausted.

You’re already shrugging off your jacket, toeing off your shoes, when you hear him.

“Hey,” Mitsuya’s voice comes from the kitchen. “Welcome back.”

You hadn’t even remembered he was coming over. But there he is — sleeves rolled up, a gentle expression on his face, stirring something warm on the stove. It smells like curry. The good kind. His kind.

Your lips tremble before you even realize they are.

He glances at you and pauses.

“Bad date?”

You let out a sharp laugh. “You could say that.”

You step further in and drop your bag onto a chair. He doesn’t ask. He doesn’t push. He just keeps stirring, calm and steady, waiting.

You lean against the counter and start talking.

“I don’t even know why I bothered. He was fifteen minutes late, spent most of dinner checking his phone. Said something like, ‘I don’t usually go for girls like you’—whatever the hell that means.”

Mitsuya’s jaw twitches subtly. But he doesn’t interrupt.

“He laughed when I said I liked sewing. Said it was ‘a grandma hobby.’ Then asked if I had a backup plan, because he didn’t think people ‘like me’ could make a real living out of it.”

That’s when Mitsuya puts the spoon down.

You keep going, frustrated and trying not to let it show how hurt you really are.

“And I just sat there. Smiling. Nodding. Pretending I wasn’t sinking. I don’t know why I do that—I just keep giving these guys chances, hoping one of them will… I don’t know. See me. Actually see me.”

When you look up again, Mitsuya’s closer.

You blink, startled. He was on the other side of the kitchen just a second ago.

“I see you,” he says softly, and the words land so gently it takes a second to register how much they mean.

You smile, trying to brush it off, even as your chest tightens. “Thanks, Mitsuya. But—”

“I mean it.”

He’s closer now. Only a few feet away.

You can see the tension in his shoulders, how carefully he’s holding himself back. He takes another step, slowly, like he’s giving you time to stop him. You don’t.

“I see how hard you try, even when people don’t deserve it. I see how you light up when you talk about the things you love. You’re not too loud, or too much, or ‘intimidating.’ You’re just… real.”

Your breath hitches. He’s right in front of you now.

“And that’s what makes you so damn beautiful.”

You don’t move. Can’t move. The air between you is thick with something unspoken, and finally, finally, Mitsuya reaches out and brushes his fingers across your cheek.

He watches your reaction, searching your eyes. “Can I?”

You nod.

And when he kisses you, it’s soft — like he’s afraid you’ll break. Like you matter. It’s not rushed. It’s warm and reverent, like he’s memorizing the shape of your mouth, the taste of this moment.

But then your hands curl into his shirt, and you kiss him back — harder. Hungrier.

That’s when the dam breaks.

His hand moves to your lower back, pulling you against him, the other curling into your hair as he deepens the kiss. He still holds you like you’re something precious, but it’s laced with years of held-in emotion.

When he finally pulls back, both of you breathless, he presses his forehead to yours.

“I’ve been in love with you for longer than I’ll ever admit,” he murmurs. “Just say the word, and I’ll show you every single day.”

You smile, tears prickling behind your eyes — not from sadness this time, but relief.

“I think I just did.”

He lets out the softest breath of a laugh — almost disbelieving, like he’s been dreaming about this moment for too long to trust it’s real.

And then he kisses you again.

This time, there’s no holding back.

It starts slow, sweet — but as soon as your fingers tug gently on the fabric at his waist, something shifts. He moves in closer, kisses deepening, mouth pressing harder against yours. His hand finds your lower back again, guiding you gently until the edge of the kitchen counter is right behind you.

You feel him pause for a second — lips still brushing yours — giving you one last moment to stop it.

But you don’t.

Instead, you murmur, “Come here,” and that’s all it takes.

He lifts you effortlessly onto the counter, settling himself between your legs like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His palms brace your thighs, thumbs dragging slowly, possessively along your skin as he leans in to capture your mouth again.

This time it’s urgent. Hungry.

Your fingers slide up into his hair, tugging just enough to draw out the low, rough sound he makes into your mouth — half groan, half sigh.

“Mitsuya—” you whisper between kisses, your head tilting as his mouth moves to your jaw, your neck, leaving warm, lingering kisses that make your skin burn.

“I’ve wanted this,” he says into your skin, voice husky and low, “for so long.”

You shiver at the way his hands explore — not rushed, not greedy, but purposeful. One hand behind your back, supporting you as he leans you slightly into him, the other trailing up under your shirt, fingertips tracing the warm skin at your waist.

You wrap your legs around his hips, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss until there’s barely room to breathe between you. It’s messy now — all teeth and tongue and heat and longing, years of tension finally snapping like thread pulled too tight.

He kisses you like you’re the answer to every quiet ache he’s ever stitched into the seams of his silence.

And when he pulls back for just a second to look at you — cheeks flushed, lips kissed red, hair slightly tousled from your hands — he just says softly:

“Tell me this is real.”

You lean forward, press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, and whisper against his lips:

“As real as it gets.”

___________________________________________________________________________

Chifuyu Matsuno:

The bell over the pet shop door jingles as you push it open.

It smells exactly the same as always — soft sawdust, warm fur, hay, and something lightly sweet from the hand-poured candles he insists on keeping near the register. It's cozy. Familiar. Safe.

There’s no one else inside, just the usual sounds — a soft chirp from the birds, a few mews from the kitten enclosure, water gurgling in the turtle tank. You don’t say a word.

You don’t have to.

You walk past the aisles with barely a glance, past the register, past the puppy sleeping in its pen. Straight to the back door — the one that leads into the supply room where Chifuyu’s probably doing inventory or feeding the animals.

Your heart’s still pounding from the rage, the disappointment, the stupid date that went wrong in a hundred tiny ways. You don’t want to vent. You don’t want pity.

You just want him.

You push open the door, and there he is.

Chifuyu’s crouched down next to a big bag of kibble, scooping some into a bin, a soft smudge of something on his cheek. He looks up, eyes lighting up with that instinctive smile he only gives you.

“Hey,” he says, brushing his hands off on his jeans. “How’d it—”

You don’t let him finish.

You step straight into his space, grab the front of his worn black T-shirt, and pull him down into a kiss.

It stuns him at first — a quiet gasp against your mouth — but he doesn’t hesitate long. His hands find your waist, anchoring you, as the kiss deepens quickly. Years of tension. Months of watching you go on dates with guys who didn’t deserve to say your name. All of it explodes in the quiet little back room of his shop.

Your fingers tangle into his hair as he walks you slowly backward until your back hits the old wooden counter. His lips are warm, urgent — like he’s been waiting for this moment so long he’s afraid he’ll wake up and it’ll be gone.

He only pulls back long enough to breathe your name.

“Wait—what happened?”

You don’t answer. You just look at him for a second — really look at him — and whisper, “Don’t ask me about him. I don’t want to waste another second thinking about anyone who isn’t you.”

His throat bobs.

And then he's kissing you again — harder this time, like he finally understands that this isn’t just a moment. It’s you. It’s real.

His hands roam — not impatiently, but like he’s trying to memorize you. One slides up your back, the other resting warm at your waist, pulling you in. You lean into him, your hands never leaving him, your mouths tangled in something that feels so far from temporary it makes your chest ache.

Chifuyu kisses you like he’s spent years holding this back.

Because he has.

You don’t stop until both of you are breathless, flushed, your heartbeats pounding in sync like they’ve finally caught up to the truth.

When he finally rests his forehead against yours, he whispers, “You don’t have to say it yet. But I’ve been yours for a long time.”

You smile — the first real one today — and kiss him again, slower this time.

“I know,” you whisper. “And I think I’ve been yours too.”

Chifuyu blinks, stunned still for a second — then his smile curves slow and real, soft at the edges but burning in the center.

“Stay,” he breathes. “Let me close up.”

You nod, eyes never leaving his. He steals another quick kiss — like he can’t help it — then pulls away just long enough to flip the front sign to CLOSED, twist the lock, and dim the overhead lights until the entire shop feels like a quiet little secret.

He’s barely stepped back into the room when your back hits the counter again and he’s kissing you like it’s the last ten minutes before a goodbye he’ll never recover from.

Your fingers tangle into his shirt, pulling him closer, and he lets out a soft sound low in his throat as he slots his mouth over yours again. This kiss is deeper — less hesitant, more claiming — the kind of kiss that says, we’re doing this now, and I’m not pretending anymore.

His hands settle at your waist, thumbs brushing under your shirt, and your legs part slightly to let him closer between them. The world outside disappears: just the quiet hum of the fish tank, the rustle of small paws, and the warm, breathless press of his body against yours.

You break apart just long enough to whisper, “That bad date might’ve been the best thing to happen to me.”

He laughs, breathless, then leans back in to kiss you again.

“Same,” he murmurs against your lips. “About time.”

___________________________________________________________________________

Ran Haitani:

You don’t knock.

You never do with Ran — not when he’s told you a hundred times, “Door’s open, baby. Just come in.” And tonight? You don’t have the patience for polite.

You step into his apartment, heels clicking on marble tile, barely holding it together.

“Whoa.” His voice slides in from the living room, low and lazy like smoke. “Now that’s an entrance.”

You turn the corner, and there he is — draped across the couch like a damn prince, one long arm over the backrest, shirt half-unbuttoned, gold chain catching the city light pouring in through the windows. He looks you over, head tilting slowly.

“You’re dressed up,” he says. Then, with a smirk, “Let me guess. Bad date?”

You toss your bag down harder than necessary. “Bad would’ve been generous.”

“Oof.” He whistles, sitting up. “Let me get the popcorn. You about to tell me how he cried at the bill or started quoting Jordan Peterson halfway through dinner?”

You shoot him a glare. “He said I was too much.”

Ran blinks.

Then he says, too casually, “...Too much of what, exactly?”

“Too opinionated. Too loud. Too passionate. Too everything.” You pace now, hands gesturing wildly. “Like I should just smile and nod and be one of those girls who only talks in curated Pinterest quotes. He said I needed to be more 'contained.' Can you believe that?”

Ran’s on his feet now, slower than you, predatory and precise. He stalks forward while you rant, hands in his pockets, head tilted.

“I mean—who says that to someone’s face? I should’ve left mid-dinner but I thought, No, be civil. Be mature. But then he had the audacity to—”

You don’t even see him move.

One second you’re pacing.

The next — your back hits the door and Ran’s mouth crashes into yours.

The kiss is sudden, deep, devastating. He kisses you like you’ve been pissing him off for years without realizing it — like every word you just said flipped some hidden switch.

Your gasp is swallowed by his mouth, and his hand comes up to cup your jaw as he tilts your face to deepen the kiss. His other hand braces against the door beside your head, boxing you in.

He pulls back just barely — lips brushing yours, voice low and wrecked.

“You are too much. And I’ve been going crazy over it for years.”

You’re breathless, stunned. “Ran—”

“I’m serious,” he growls, eyes locked on yours. “Too smart, too stubborn, too sharp for those boring little bastards you keep giving chances to. I wanted to kiss you the first time you told me to shut up.”

Your fingers twist in the fabric of his shirt, grounding yourself. “Then why didn’t you?”

He smirks — but this time, there’s heat behind it. Honesty.

“’Cause once I start with you… I won’t be able to stop.”

Your breath catches. And this time, it’s you who pulls him down — crashing into another kiss, rougher, messier, full of everything you’ve both been avoiding.

Ran groans into your mouth as your hands slide up into his hair, tugging slightly, and he presses his body fully against yours, trapping you between him and the door like he owns the air you breathe.

He doesn’t stop kissing you for a long time.

And when he finally pulls away, lips swollen, voice hoarse, he rests his forehead against yours and says,

“Told you I’m not the civil type, baby.”

You barely have time to catch your breath before Ran’s hands are under your arms, lifting you up effortlessly.

“Come on,” he says, voice low and husky, “Let’s get you off your feet.”

Before you can protest, he’s carrying you like you weigh nothing, pressing you close enough you can feel the heat radiating from his chest.

The couch is right there, and he sets you down gently, but his hands don’t leave you — one resting possessively on your hip, the other trailing slow and teasing up your thigh.

You look up at him — all sharp angles and smirking lips — and realize the room feels too small for just the two of you.

Ran leans down, capturing your mouth again, kiss deep and demanding, like he’s staking his claim.

Your fingers find the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer, and he groans — low and rough — into the kiss.

This time, it’s slower, more intimate, like the world around you has finally faded out, leaving just the two of you tangled up on the couch in a heated, breathless embrace.

___________________________________________________________________________

Rindou Haitani:

You showed up at the diner without warning — damp from a light drizzle, hair messy, eyeliner smudged. You didn’t even text him you were coming, but Rindou didn’t seem surprised when the bell over the door rang and you walked in like you’d just run out of a dream and straight into his world.

He looked up from his coffee, eyes locking on you like gravity.

You dropped into the booth across from him, exhaling like you’d been holding your breath the entire night.

There was a pause — thick and full of tension — before you finally spoke.

“He was nice,” you said flatly, folding your arms over your chest. “Too nice.”

Rindou tilted his head slightly, but didn’t speak. He knew you well enough by now to let you get it out.

“He asked all the right questions. Laughed at everything I said. Held the door open. Didn’t check his phone once.” You paused, eyes narrowing. “But it felt like I was sitting across from cardboard.”

Your fingers traced a drop of condensation down the side of your water glass. “He had no edge. No bite. No soul. Just… safe. Like he’d read a script on how to date someone like me and followed it word for word.”

Rindou’s lips twitched. Just a little. But he stayed quiet.

“And the worst part?” you said, looking at him now, really looking. “For one second, I thought—maybe this is what I’m supposed to want. Someone easy. Predictable. Someone who won’t ever argue with me or make things complicated.”

You let the silence hang, then said the part that hurt most.

“But I don’t want easy. I don’t want to settle just to say I have someone.”

That’s when Rindou moved.

Not fast, not dramatic — just that slow, smooth kind of motion that makes your pulse skip. He slid out of his side of the booth and into yours, his body close, knee brushing yours under the table.

You turned slightly, but before you could speak—

His hand was on your chin, tilting your face toward him.

“Good,” he murmured, voice low and edged with something darker. “Because I’m not easy. I’m not safe. And I’ve never been the kind of guy who plays by the rules.”

Your breath caught.

And then he kissed you.

It was slow at first — not because he was hesitant, but because he wanted you to feel it. Every inch of it. Every second of tension he’d been storing, every stare that lingered too long, every moment he almost touched you and didn’t.

Then it deepened — fast, rough, possessive. The kind of kiss that said, I’ve thought about this a hundred times, and now that I have you, I’m not holding back.

You melted into him, fingers gripping the front of his hoodie, gasping into his mouth as he shifted closer, his thigh pressing against yours and his arm sliding behind your back.

When he finally pulled away, both of you were breathing hard.

He looked at you like you were the only person who’d ever made sense to him.

“You don’t need someone who fits into a box,” he said, voice gravel-low. “You need someone who’ll burn it down with you.”

You stared at him, stunned and trembling in the best way.

And when you whispered, “Then what are we waiting for?”

He didn’t answer.

He just kissed you again — harder, deeper — like that was the only answer you’d ever need.

The second kiss ended, your breaths tangled between you, and Rindou didn’t even hesitate.

“Come on,” he muttered against your lips, his hand already sliding down your back. “Let’s get out of here.”

You didn’t ask where. You didn’t need to.

The night air outside was thick with summer humidity and leftover rain, the world quiet except for the soft buzz of streetlights and the distant echo of traffic. Rindou’s car was parked down the street, black and sleek, half in shadow.

He opened the passenger door for you like it was muscle memory — not gentlemanly, but instinctive, like keeping you close and protected was just wired into him.

By the time you were both inside, the air felt electric.

He was in the driver’s seat, fingers gripping the steering wheel like it was the only thing grounding him, jaw clenched, breath shallow.

You stared straight ahead, lips still swollen from his kiss, heart beating so loud you were sure he could hear it.

Then you turned to him — and the look in his eyes told you everything.

No words.

Just heat. Need. That tightly coiled restraint he was so damn close to losing.

And you wanted him to lose it.

So you moved.

Without a word, you slipped off your seatbelt and climbed into his lap.

He sucked in a sharp breath, his hands instantly grabbing your waist — firm, hot, trembling just slightly.

“You sure?” he muttered, voice like smoke.

You leaned in, your lips brushing his ear.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

That’s all it took.

His mouth crashed into yours again, this time with no restraint. His kiss was rough, all-consuming, tongue sliding against yours with a hunger that left you dizzy. Your hands tangled in his hair, nails scraping gently against his scalp as his hands roamed your back, your thighs, like he couldn’t decide where to touch first.

The windows fogged instantly, the air thick with heat and breath and that soft, desperate sound of lips crashing and parting.

His teeth grazed your bottom lip, tugging it before he murmured, “Been dreaming of this. You. Just like this.”

You gasped when his mouth trailed down your neck, kissing, biting, breathing you in like you were oxygen and he’d been suffocating for years.

Your hips shifted instinctively, grinding against him, and he groaned low — dark, guttural, head falling back against the seat for a second.

“Fuck,” he breathed, voice wrecked. “You feel like trouble.”

You smirked against his jaw, kissing along it. “You like trouble.”

He chuckled, one hand sliding up your back and fisting in your hair to pull you into another kiss. “Damn right I do.”

You stayed there, tangled in heat and want, the car your whole world — just lips, breath, skin, and the dangerous promise of what came next.

And when he whispered, “You’re mine now,”

You didn’t argue.

You kissed him harder.

___________________________________________________________________________

Draken (Ken Ryuguji):

The garage light was still on, low and golden, humming faintly like it always did when he was finishing up work late. You let yourself in through the side door, your jacket clutched tightly in one hand and your heels dangling from the other.

Draken looked up from under the hood of a bike, grease on his forearms and a black bandana tied around his head, like something out of a photo you didn’t have the heart to frame yet.

The second he saw your face — tired, frustrated, lips pressed into a thin line — he straightened immediately.

“Hey,” he said softly. “That bad?”

You dropped your shoes on the ground and ran a hand through your hair.

“He talked about himself the entire time,” you muttered, walking past him and flopping onto the old couch tucked against the wall. “Didn’t ask me a single thing. Then called me emotional because I said I didn’t find cheating ‘complicated.’”

You scoffed bitterly, arms crossed. “Like, sorry I’m not morally flexible enough for your gray-area bullsh—”

You didn’t even see him move.

One second you were rambling, venting, trying not to scream into the nearest cushion — the next, Draken was standing right in front of you, tall and solid, a shadow cast over your curled form on the couch.

You blinked up at him. “What—?”

“Get up.”

You frowned. “Excuse me?”

“I said get up,” he repeated, voice low, rough — but not angry. It sounded more like… restraint.

You rose slowly, confused, until you were standing toe to toe with him. He looked down at you, jaw tight, chest rising and falling faster than before.

“You really think you need guys like that?” he asked, voice suddenly softer — but more intense. “Guys who talk at you? Who don’t see you?”

You opened your mouth, but the lump in your throat stopped your words.

Draken stepped forward, so close now you had to tilt your head back to keep eye contact. His hand rose — big, calloused — and brushed a damp strand of hair from your cheek.

“You deserve someone who shuts up and listens. Who fights for you. Who’s scared to lose you. Not some weak-ass punk who treats you like you’re disposable.”

You felt your breath hitch.

And then—

“You know I’ve been in love with you for years, right?”

It was barely a whisper, like he was scared the truth might break the room in half.

Your heart stopped.

And then he leaned in and kissed you.

Hard.

Like he couldn’t take another second of pretending he didn’t want to. His hands cupped your face, big and warm and a little greasy from the bike, but you didn’t care — not when his lips crushed into yours like he was finally claiming what had always been his.

You gasped against his mouth, your hands fisting in the front of his work shirt, and he kissed you again — slower this time, deeper, like he was memorizing how you tasted.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead pressed to yours, his hands still wrapped around your waist.

You stared up at him, dazed. “Draken…”

He gave a soft breath of a laugh, rough and raw. “That’s my line, you know.”

You blinked. “What is?”

“‘He was awful. He didn’t see me.’ I’ve said that about every guy you’ve dated for the last three years.”

A pause.

Then, without even thinking—

“Then don’t let me date the wrong ones anymore.”

He smirked, and you swore it sent heat down your spine.

He kissed you again — slow and firm — before gently walking you back until your knees hit the couch. You fell with a soft laugh, and he followed, hovering over you like the quiet storm he always was.

“Guess I’m gonna have to make up for a lot of lost time,” he murmured, lips brushing your jaw.

You smiled against him.

“Good. I’m not going anywhere.”

Draken’s hands were warm on your waist, steadying you like he still wasn’t sure if you were real — if this was actually happening.

You could feel the way his breath caught every time your fingers traced the edge of his jaw, the way his body tensed when your thighs parted slightly beneath him. He was big, solid, a wall of quiet heat caging you in, but not once did you feel trapped.

You felt wanted.

The kiss deepened fast — no more hesitation, no more holding back.

His lips moved against yours like he was making up for every second he’d stayed silent, every time he’d watched you smile at the wrong guy. Your hands slid under the hem of his shirt, fingertips brushing bare skin, and he groaned softly into your mouth — low, raspy, like you’d knocked the air out of him.

You shifted underneath him, angling your hips just right, and his mouth broke from yours for a heartbeat — his eyes dark and wild and locked on you.

“You keep moving like that,” he said roughly, “and this make-out session’s gonna get real complicated, real fast.”

You grinned, breathless. “You complaining?”

He smirked — crooked and devastating — and leaned in again, kissing you until your lungs burned and your fingers trembled.

The couch creaked beneath you, his knee pressing between your thighs as he held himself above you with one arm, the other hand running up your side, your ribs, tracing the shape of you like he was trying to memorize everything in the dark.

When he kissed down your neck, biting gently before soothing the spot with his tongue, you gasped and tugged him closer.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he murmured against your skin.

“Try me,” you whispered back, eyes fluttering shut.

He kissed you again — deep, bruising, claiming — and then pulled back just enough to look at you. His voice was rough with something more than lust.

“Mine now,” he said. “You get that, right?”

You pulled him down by the collar and kissed him hard.

“I’ve always been yours.”

___________________________________________________________________________

Hanma Shuji:

You were already regretting this date ten minutes in.

He was… fine. Nice enough. Well-dressed. Kept talking about his job in finance like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. You nodded along, smiled politely, sipped your drink — counting the minutes until you could fake a headache and bolt.

And then the bar door opened.

And in walked Hanma Shuji — tall, cocky, every inch of him oozing trouble in that long black coat and lazy grin. He scanned the room like he already owned it, like he was looking for someone.

And his eyes locked on you.

Your heart skipped a beat. You barely had time to process the slow, smug grin that curled on his lips before he was moving toward you with all the calm, deliberate confidence of a man who had no business being there — and didn’t give a damn.

Your date turned slightly, confused. “Uh… do you know that guy?”

Before you could even answer, Hanma was there — towering over the table, one hand casually stuffed in his pocket, the other lifting to brush a knuckle down your cheek like he owned you.

“You ready to go, babe?”

You blinked. “What—Hanma, what are you doing?”

He leaned in closer, his grin never wavering — but his eyes were burning now, dark and focused on you like you were the only one in the room.

“Your date’s not over yet.”

Before you could ask what the hell that meant — he grabbed you.

Not rough, not forceful — just desperate. Like he couldn’t wait one more second.

His hand curled around the back of your neck and he kissed you — right there in front of everyone — a hungry, unrestrained claim. Lips crashing into yours, mouth moving like he’d thought about this every night and finally snapped.

You gasped against him, hands gripping the front of his coat, torn between shock and heat and the dizzying swirl of oh my god, this is happening.

When he finally pulled back, your lips were swollen, your pulse racing, and your date was staring at the both of you with wide eyes and a half-open mouth.

Hanma didn’t even glance at him. His focus was locked on you.

“That guy?” he said, breathless but sharp, his voice low and curling with something jealous and smug. “He’s not even your type. He’s awful just to look at.”

You huffed out a breathless laugh, dazed. “Says the man who just hijacked my date.”

Hanma leaned in again, brushing his mouth over yours with maddening softness this time.

“Says the man who’s been in love with you for years and is done watching you waste time on walking cardboard.”

You stared at him, heat flooding your chest. “And if I say I wasn’t done with the date?”

He smirked against your lips, hand sliding to your hip, tugging you closer.

“Too bad. I’ve already decided we’re leaving.”

He kissed you again — slower this time, deeper — and when you finally broke apart, your date was already standing awkwardly, grabbing his coat.

You didn’t stop him.

Because Hanma’s arm was already around your waist, leading you out of the bar like he’d just pulled off the greatest heist of his life.

And maybe he had.

You.

__________________________________________________________________________

The car ride was silent for exactly twelve seconds.

Twelve seconds of thick tension, of his hand gripping the wheel so hard you could see the veins pop, of your thighs pressed together as the echo of his kiss still tingled on your lips.

You glanced over.

His jaw was clenched. His tongue dragged across his bottom lip like he was trying to stay calm. He didn’t look at you — not yet. Just stared at the road like it had personally insulted him.

“You gonna say something?” you asked softly.

That did it.

He yanked the car into a back alley near the edge of town, tires crunching on gravel, engine still humming low. Then he put it in park, ripped his seatbelt off, and turned toward you — eyes wild with everything he hadn’t said in years.

“Yeah,” he said, voice gravel and fire. “Get in the back.”

You stared. “What—”

“Backseat. Now. Unless you want me climbing over this console.”

You didn’t even think — just unbuckled and slipped into the back, heart pounding, skin already burning before he even touched you.

Hanma was on you in a heartbeat.

He closed the door behind him, and then his hands were on your face, in your hair, his mouth crashing into yours with zero hesitation. The kiss was desperate, tongue tangling with yours, his body already pushing you back into the seat like he wanted to melt into you.

You moaned against his mouth as he climbed between your thighs, one hand sliding down your waist, gripping your hip tight enough to leave a mark. His other hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face to kiss you deeper — wetter — filthier.

“You don’t even know,” he murmured against your lips, voice wrecked, “how long I’ve wanted to do this. Every damn time you went on one of those dates with some loser…”

He kissed down your neck, teeth dragging, making you shiver. “I should’ve done this years ago. Should’ve just dragged you into my lap and made you forget every guy before me.”

You didn’t care anymore. Your fingers were in his hair, pulling him closer, thighs clenching around his hips as you arched into him.

“Then do it now,” you whispered. “Make me forget.”

Hanma groaned — full and low — and kissed you so hard you forgot your name for a second. He pulled you flush into his lap, grinding up into you with slow, aching precision. The entire car rocked with every movement, every desperate shift of your bodies.

Breathless, messy, hot.

Fog steamed up the windows, your back arching off the seat as he mouthed down your throat, hips rocking, teeth biting your shoulder just enough to make you gasp.

“You’re mine now,” he muttered, voice husky against your skin. “You get that?”

You nodded, head tipping back, chest heaving.

“Say it.”

You grabbed his face, lips brushing his.

“I’m yours, Shuji.”

That was it.

He kissed you again — hard enough to bruise — as his hands roamed your body like he had no plans of stopping until the sun came up.

And honestly?

You didn’t want him to.

___________________________________________________________________________

Shinichiro Sano:

The scent of oil, metal, and something warm always lingered in his bike shop — like nostalgia and comfort wrapped into one. The sign outside said closed, but the lights were still on when you showed up, heels in one hand, bag slung over your shoulder.

You pushed the door open, the little bell chiming softly.

From behind the counter, Shinichiro looked up — a rag slung over his shoulder, grease smudged on his cheek, black tee hugging his frame. His eyes lit up for a second at the sight of you… then dimmed a little when he saw your expression.

“Bad night?” he asked gently, setting a wrench down.

You sighed. “Can I just sit here for a second before I burn the memory of that date off the face of the earth?”

He chuckled, voice warm and laced with concern. “That bad?”

You kicked off your shoes and dropped onto the old couch in the corner, groaning as you rubbed your temples. “Worse. He kept calling me babe like we were already married. And then — get this — he tried to explain how motorcycles ‘aren’t practical’ and that I should consider dating someone with a Tesla instead.”

That made Shinichiro pause.

You looked over just in time to see the slow twitch in his jaw, the restrained look of pure disbelief.

“…He said that to you?” he asked, dry.

You nodded, sighing again. “Yes can you believe it? He was such a dick.”

Shinichiro walked out from behind the counter and leaned against the wall across from you, arms crossed.

His gaze was on you now — not soft. Focused. Intense.

“You just keep looking at all the wrong ones.”

You frowned. “Then who’s the right one, Shin? Because so far all I’m finding are emotionally constipated tech bros who think passion is a red flag.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then he pushed off the wall and stepped toward you — slow, deliberate.

“The right one’s been here the whole damn time.”

You blinked. “Wait—what?”

Shinichiro didn’t stop until he was standing right in front of you, close enough that you could see the flecks of brown in his dark eyes, the scar at the corner of his lip twitching slightly.

He swallowed hard. “You think I enjoy hearing about your dates? Sitting here fixing engines while some idiot gets to sit across from you, wasting your time, making you feel small?”

You opened your mouth, stunned, but he kept going — voice low, raw.

“It should’ve been me. It should’ve always been me.”

You barely had time to whisper, “Then why—”

Before you could finish, he kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t wild. It was desperate in the softest way — like he’d been holding his breath for years and finally exhaled. His hand cupped your cheek, thumb stroking gently as his lips moved against yours, slow and deep and aching.

You melted into him instantly, grabbing the hem of his shirt and pulling him down with you until you were both sitting on the couch — tangled, breathless, starving.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his forehead resting against yours.

“You’re everything I ever wanted,” he whispered. “I just didn’t think I could have you.”

You smiled, touching his face with both hands, eyes shining.

“You’ve had me this whole time, Shin.”

And this time, you kissed him — slow, intentional, pouring every unspoken thing into it. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his lap as the make-out deepened, your bodies pressing close on that worn leather couch that suddenly felt more like home than anything else ever had.

The shop was quiet, the world forgotten outside those metal doors.

Because tonight? You finally found the right one.

And he wasn’t going to let you go.

The kiss turned hot fast.

You didn’t know who moved first, but suddenly you were both standing — mouths never parting — and Shinichiro’s hands were on your waist, your back, your thighs, gripping you like he didn’t know where to touch first and couldn’t choose. You moaned against his lips when he picked you up effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist like it was second nature.

“Shin…” you breathed, dazed.

“Shhh,” he whispered back, forehead pressing to yours, voice tight with restraint. “Just—just let me have this. I’ve waited so damn long.”

He carried you through the shop — past half-finished bikes, scattered tools, and dusty helmets — deeper into the back, where the lights were dimmer and the only sound was the echo of your shared breath and the thudding of your heart in your chest.

And then he laid you down gently on one of the old worktables — solid, flat, clutter pushed aside in a single sweep of his arm. His hands never left your body, never stopped roaming, like he was trying to commit every curve to memory.

You pulled him down with you, your fingers twisting into his shirt, tugging him close until your mouths met again — this time harder. More urgent. Teeth clashing. Tongues tangled. Years of repressed desire unraveling in a matter of seconds.

He kissed down your jaw, your neck, pausing at your collarbone to leave a mark — a soft bite, followed by a kiss — like he wanted you to remember this tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that.

“You don’t know,” he whispered against your skin, “how many times I watched you walk out that door and wondered if I’d ever get a chance like this.”

Your hands cupped his face, tilting it back to yours.

“You have me now,” you said, voice thick with heat. “What are you gonna do about it?”

He growled low in his throat — the sound wrecked, surprised by how fast he was losing control. “Everything,” he promised.

His mouth crashed into yours again — this time with no more hesitation, no more restraint.

One hand fisted the back of your shirt while the other braced on the table beside your head, holding himself just above you, his hips pressing between your legs, grinding into you with delicious pressure that made your back arch off the cold metal.

The worktable creaked with every movement, your name tumbling from his lips between kisses like a prayer he was only just allowed to say out loud.

You pulled him closer, breathless. “Shin—someone could come in…”

He looked at you, lips red, breathing heavy, eyes blown wide.

“Then let them see who you belong to.”

And just like that, he kissed you again — messier, hotter, slower — as the night deepened around you and the bike shop faded away until it was just you and him and everything you’d both kept buried for far too long.

__________________________________________________________________________

Kazutora Hanemiya:

The moment your trembling fingers dialed Kazutora’s number, your chest felt like it might cave in. Every breath was sharp, every sound around you a threat. You ducked into the public restroom near the station, your heart pounding so loud you were sure it echoed off the cold tiles.

“Kazutora…” your voice was barely a whisper, trembling. “He’s… he’s following me. The guy from my date. I don’t know what to do. I’m in the bathroom. I’m scared.”

You heard his intake of breath through the phone, sharp and quick. His voice came low and steady.

“Where exactly are you? I’m coming.”

Before you could say anything else, the door creaked open.

Your breath hitched. Was it him? Or the other guy?

“(Y/N), it’s me,” Kazutora said, voice calm but with an edge that told you he meant business.

You unlocked your stall and stepped out, your legs weak but steady. Your eyes met his — hoodie pulled low, jaw clenched, fists tight at his sides. The golden flecks in his eyes shimmered with something fierce.

You whispered, “Kazu…”

But he didn’t stop.

His stride took him right past you and out the door — like a storm ready to explode.

You froze, ears straining.

Then came the sound you feared but couldn’t tear your ears away from — the sudden crash of flesh meeting fist, the grunt of someone caught off-guard, the curse muttered through clenched teeth.

You covered your mouth with your hands, heart thudding as the fight unfolded just outside the door.

Moments later, Kazutora returned, breath ragged, hair falling over his forehead, knuckles red and swollen.

“Let’s get you out of here,” he said softly, voice a contrast to the rage he’d just unleashed.

On the way back to his place, you kept close, your fingers entwined with his. No words. Just the steady beat of his hand holding yours — grounding you.

Once inside his apartment, the warmth felt suffocating after the cold chaos outside.

You leaned against the door, your breath shaky but steady.

Kazutora stood across from you, eyes fixed on the ground, the bruises on his knuckles visible in the dim light.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, voice thick. “You shouldn’t have had to see that side of me.”

You stepped forward, reaching out to tilt his face up gently.

“Kazutora,” you said softly, “that’s not the side of you I’m scared of.”

He swallowed hard, jaw tightening.

“But you were scared, right? After what I did… after the fight?”

You shook your head, voice firm but kind.

“No. I was scared before you showed up — scared of being alone with him. Scared of what he might do. But the moment you appeared… I felt safe.”

His eyes searched yours, disbelief flashing across his face like a storm breaking.

“You’re not afraid of me?”

You cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly across the bruises.

“No. I’m not. I’m safe with you.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, Kazutora’s defenses crumbled. His shoulders sagged, his hands dropping to your waist as if anchoring himself to reality.

You pulled him close, lips meeting in a kiss that was both tentative and fierce — a wordless promise of healing and trust.

His hands tangled in your hair, pulling you closer as if afraid you’d disappear.

When you finally parted, your foreheads rested together, breaths mingling.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, voice raw and steady.

You smiled, tracing the line of his jaw.

“And I’m yours. Always.”

The dim light of Kazutora’s room was soft, almost forgiving. The hum of the city outside was distant, muffled by the closed windows and thick curtains. Here, the chaos of the night seemed to dissolve.

You and Kazutora stood close, still breathless from the adrenaline and the stolen kiss by the door.

His hands were tentative at first, fingers tracing the sides of your face like he was afraid you’d vanish if he didn’t hold you just right.

Your hands slid around his neck, pulling him in deeper. Your lips met again—this time slower, more deliberate, savoring every touch.

Kazutora’s breath hitched when you let your tongue brush his lips, silently asking for entry.

He responded immediately, tongue sliding against yours, warm and searching. The kiss grew urgent, needy, as if he wanted to make up for every second he’d spent holding back.

His hands moved down your back, pulling you flush against him, your body melting into his like you were the missing piece he’d been chasing all this time.

You could feel his heartbeat against your chest — uneven, pounding, desperate.

He broke the kiss just long enough to murmur, “I don’t want you to be scared ever again.”

You smiled softly, your fingers threading through his hair.

“With you, I’m not scared.”

He smiled back, a fragile but real curve of his lips, before capturing your mouth again.

Slowly, carefully, he guided you toward his bed, never breaking contact.

You sank down, Kazutora following, his hands exploring your body with a mix of reverence and hunger.

Every touch was an apology and a promise all at once.

The night stretched on with whispered confessions, trembling hands, and the quiet discovery of each other’s scars — both visible and hidden.

In his arms, you felt safe.

In your warmth, Kazutora found peace.

And as the city slept outside, two broken souls finally began to heal — together.

__________________________________________________________________________

Sanzu Haruchiyo:

You burst through the door, cheeks flushed, words spilling out in a rush.

“It was awful. Absolutely horrible. He wouldn’t stop talking about himself like he was the center of the universe, the food was disgusting, and then—” You paused, exasperated, “—he asked if I was seeing anyone. Like, who does that on a first date?”

Sanzu leaned lazily against the wall, watching you rant with a half-smile tugging at his lips, those sharp eyes glittering with something dark and amused.

“Sounds like you had a real catch,” he murmured, voice low and teasing.

You shot him a glare, about to launch into another tirade, but he stepped closer, closing the space between you with deliberate slowness.

His hand came up to cup your cheek — fingers warm and firm, thumb stroking gently across your skin. Your breath hitched, caught off guard by the sudden intimacy.

“Shut up,” he said, voice thick with quiet command.

You blinked, stunned by the unexpected order.

“What?” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly as his gaze bore into yours.

“You don’t get to complain when you look like that,” he murmured, his breath hot and intoxicating against your cheek.

Before you could protest, his lips crashed onto yours, fierce and demanding.

Your hands flew up to grip his chest, fingers clutching the fabric as his tongue slipped between your lips, exploring, claiming.

Every frustrated word you’d been holding inside dissolved into the heat of his mouth, your body arching into his touch.

He deepened the kiss, one hand sliding down to your waist, pulling you flush against him, the other threading through your hair and tugging gently.

When he finally broke away, chest rising and falling rapidly, his eyes were dark, wild, and glittering with mischief.

“If that date was so terrible,” he whispered huskily, “then don’t bother with anyone else.”

You tried to speak, but he silenced you with another searing kiss — harder this time, like staking a claim.

His hand moved to press you back against the wall, fingers digging into your hip with a possessive grip.

“I’m the only one who gets to see this side of you,” he growled low, lips brushing your ear.

You shivered, heat blooming deep in your core as his breath mingled with yours.

“So, shut up. And look at me.”

His eyes held yours with a fierce intensity, leaving no room for argument.

You swallowed hard, heart pounding as your body responded to his every touch, every whisper.

The rest of the world fell away — the awful date, the frustration, the noise — until there was only you and him, tangled together in the quiet storm of desire

The moment Sanzu’s lips met yours again, it was like a spark ignited a wildfire inside you. His mouth was fierce, hungry—every kiss demanding, claiming. Your hands tangled in his dark hair, pulling him closer as his fingers dug into your waist, holding you like you were the only thing that mattered.

He pressed you back against the wall, the cold surface a sharp contrast to the heat radiating between you. His tongue traced yours, exploring, teasing, while his breath hitched with every deepening movement. Your heart thundered in your chest, caught in the storm of sensation he stirred.

Sanzu’s hands slid beneath your shirt, fingers brushing against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. He groaned softly against your lips, the sound vibrating through your whole body. You clung to him tighter, desperate for more, lost in the intensity of his touch.

Breaking the kiss just long enough to whisper against your mouth, his voice was low and rough, “You’re mine.” Then he claimed you again, devouring your lips with an insatiable hunger that left you breathless and trembling.

[anisespice]

random texts #2 || tokyo rev.

synopsis: more shinanigans lol pairing: mitsuya x fem!reader, chifuyu x fem!reader warnings: mature topics ahead, MDI. suggestive language, reader is just being unreasonable for the sake of entertainment (it backfires) (NOT CLICKBAIT)!!!!, mild bullying, vulgar language (pussyyy), kindaaaa toxic behavior(?) and I think that's it :) note: hear ye, hear ye - yet another attempt at fighting writer's block woooo

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