viperrbby

[viperrbby]

𝑨𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑯𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔

Synopsis-Dante's only goal tonight: wreck you so thoroughly you'll never even look at another man again.

And judging by the broken bed, the shattered floor, and the bruises on your hips? Mission accomplished.

(NSFW / MDNI / Warnings: filthy smut, unprotected sex, rough sex, jealousy, possessiveness, teasing, manhandling, breeding kink, overstimulation, hair-pulling, mouth-fucking, marking, degradation + praise, messy sloppy drunk energy, Dante being a rabid man)

(A little thank you gift for 400 followers so sit yall fine asses down and grab water because what I’m about to deliver is gonna have you needing to pace around your room for 10 minutes)

You barely made it through the front door.

The second it slammed shut behind you, Dante had you caged against it—hot, heavy, feral.

"You fuckin' tease" he growled against your mouth, voice wrecked, hands already hiking your tiny, skin-tight club dress up your thighs. "Flirtin' with every bastard in that club—shakin' that ass like you wanted me to fuckin' lose it, huh?"

You gasped, breathless, clawing at his leather jacket to yank him closer.

You could still taste the liquor on his tongue, still feel the pounding bass of the club vibrating through your bones.

He ripped the jacket off and tossed it somewhere without looking.

Lifted you clean off the ground like you weighed nothing, throwing you over his shoulder with a rough smack to your ass that made you shriek and giggle.

"You think it's funny?"

"Wait till I show you how funny it is when you can't fuckin' walk tomorrow"

He stalked through your apartment like a man possessed, kicking open your bedroom door of off its hinges, tossing you onto the mattress like a ragdoll.

You barely had time to scramble up before he was on you again—grabbing your ankles, dragging you down the bed, manhandling you until you were flat, pinned, helpless.

"Stay fuckin' still" Dante rasped, yanking your dress up and over your head, leaving you in nothing but a flimsy pair of panties.

His blue eyes burned.

Dark. Starved. Dangerous.

"You wore this tiny little shit to the club?" he hissed, dragging two fingers roughly up your slit, already soaked through the lace. "You wanted attention that bad, huh? Wanted everyone seein' what's MINE?"

You whimpered, grinding helplessly into his hand.

"Yeah, you fuckin' did"

"Don't worry, sweetheart. Gonna make damn sure you remember exactly who you belong to"

He hooked his fingers in your panties and ripped them clean off—no ceremony, no patience.

Before you could even catch your breath, he was on you—mouth messy, sloppy, devouring your pussy like he hadn't eaten in weeks.

You screamed.

Fist tangled in his hair, thighs clamping around his head.

He groaned into you, like he was savoring every filthy sound you made, grinding his tongue against your clit with reckless, brutal focus.

When you came, it was violent.

Tearing sobs from your throat, soaking his mouth, your whole body twitching under his iron grip.

Dante didn’t even give you a second to recover.

Wiped his mouth with the back of his hand—smirking, cocky—and shoved you further up the bed.

"Face down, ass up, princess"

You scrambled to obey, still dizzy from the orgasm, and he was already pulling his cock free—thick, heavy, dripping precum.

He didn’t prep you.

Didn't warn you.

Just lined up and shoved his way in one brutal thrust, punching the breath from your lungs.

You clawed at the sheets, sobbing into the mattress, as he started pounding into you with zero mercy.

The bedframe slammed into the wall with every vicious thrust, the whole apartment shaking.

"Fuckin' tight little hole, squeezin' me so fuckin' good," Dante growled, spanking your ass hard enough to leave a handprint. "Can't believe you were showin' this perfect pussy off at the club—gonna have to fuck the attitude outta you, huh?"

You screamed into the sheets as he bent over you, biting and marking your shoulder, pounding you so hard the bed legs cracked against the floor.

It wasn't enough for him.

He flipped you over mid-thrust, manhandling you into a full mating press—legs over his shoulders, your ankles pinned near your ears, leaving you fully exposed and helpless as he rutted into you.

"Look at you" he growled, one hand wrapping around your throat, squeezing lightly as he fucked you deeper, harder, faster. "Pretty little slut. Perfect fuckin' hole. Gonna pump you so full you won't know where you end and I begin"

You were crying now.

Tears streaming down your cheeks from the intensity, the overwhelming stretch and heat and pleasure.

"That's it" Dante purred, licking the tears off your face. "C'mon, princess. Cry for me. Show me how bad you need it"

You shattered again, convulsing around him, screaming so loud your neighbors probably called the cops.

Dante snarled, fucking you through it, never slowing down—until you felt the brutal pulse of him cumming deep inside you, filling you to the brim, thick, hot, endless.

He collapsed on top of you, still sheathed deep, grinding lazily into your oversensitive cunt to milk every drop inside.

"Not done" he rasped, voice wrecked. "Gonna fill you up again. Gonna keep fuckin' you till you're so fuckin' full it leaks down your thighs"

You whimpered, barely able to think.

And he smirked—slow, wicked, dark.

"You asked for it, sweetheart"

"Now you're gonna take all of it"

And then he started moving again.

No mercy.

No escape.

Just Dante,

and you,

and the kind of sin that no amount of praying could ever erase.

[viperrbby]

Like Hell, You’re Shy Now || Dante Sparda ||

The old, battered leather of Dante’s chair creaked under him as he leaned back with that usual half-lazy, half-hungry smirk. You stood between his legs, fingers fidgeting at the hem of your oversized shirt — one of his, of course. It swallowed you whole, brushing your bare thighs, the scent of gunpowder and cedarwood clinging to the fabric.

Dante’s red coat hung off the side of the chair, his black undershirt tight across his chest, half unbuttoned from earlier. His eyes never left you, glowing like smoldering embers — waiting, watching, eating you alive without a single touch.

“You gonna keep lookin’ like that,” he murmured, voice low and rough, “or are you gonna climb on and make a mess of me?”

Your breath caught, thighs pressing together. You’d had him before — over desks, against walls, in the damn kitchen once — but this… this was different. Riding him? That meant taking control. That meant all his focus on you. No place to hide.

“I—I don’t know if I can—”

Dante chuckled, the sound dark and rich. He leaned forward slightly, one gloved hand dragging up your thigh, slow and possessive. “Like hell, you’re shy now,” he whispered, voice teasing but tender. “You’ve taken my cock screaming before, sweetheart. What’s this really about?”

You swallowed hard, heat creeping up your neck. “Just… it’s new,” you admitted. “You watching me. All of me.”

His eyes softened for half a second before darkening again, fingers curling around your hip, tugging you gently forward. “Then let me make it easier for you.”

With his help, you climbed onto his lap, straddling him. The friction of your bare heat against his jeans made you gasp, and Dante’s jaw clenched as he felt the wetness through the fabric.

“Shit, baby,” he growled. “You’re soaked already?”

Your cheeks burned, but your hips shifted instinctively, chasing the pressure. He looked like sin itself beneath you — legs spread wide, muscles tense, his expression a mix of reverence and filth.

“Take what you need,” he murmured, voice husky. “I’m not going anywhere.”

With trembling fingers, you reached between you, unzipping him and freeing his cock — thick, hot, and already leaking for you. Dante helped, one hand guiding you as you lined yourself up and sank down, inch by inch.

Your head fell back with a whimper as he filled you, stretch delicious and overwhelming. His hands gripped your hips hard, grounding you, but he let you control the pace. You started slow — the roll of your hips unsteady at first — but his praise poured like gasoline on your nerves.

“That’s it,” he groaned, teeth gritted. “Look at you… fuckin’ perfect. Ridin’ me so good, baby.”

You rocked against him, gradually finding rhythm, the drag of him inside you hitting every nerve. Dante’s head fell back against the chair as he watched you through hooded eyes, pupils blown wide.

“Goddamn, you were made for this,” he grunted. “Made for me.”

The warmth on your cheeks was matched only by the heat pooling deep in your belly. Each bounce sent shocks of pleasure through you, and the way he held your hips tighter, thrusting up just enough to meet you — it pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

“You feel so good, Dante,” you whimpered, nails digging into his shoulders.

“Come for me, angel,” he growled, suddenly snapping his hips up hard. “Wanna feel that pretty pussy squeeze me while you fall apart.”

You shattered, moaning his name as you clenched around him, trembling in his lap. Dante wasn’t far behind — he pulled you down hard and spilled into you with a groan that vibrated through your whole body.

You collapsed against his chest, both of you breathing heavy, skin slick and bodies tangled, legs still shaking as your fingers clutched a fist full of his shirt.

After a moment, he tilted your chin up and kissed you — slow, sweet, reverent.

“Next time,” he murmured against your lips, “you’re takin’ that shirt off first, your beautiful tits out. I want the full view, babe.”

You laughed breathlessly. “You’re insatiable.”

He grinned. “Only for you.”

[viperrbby]

omg hi!!!! im so glad to finally found an active tokyo rev writer 😖 this req might be kind of unhinged so i completely get it if you dont wanna do it. okay so imagine ex-bf sanzu filming reader (consensual ofc) while they’re having sex and then he “promises” it’s only for his pleasure. but knowing sanzu ofc that’s a lie and he ends up sending it to mayb her new bf or her husband 😳 (if you wanna skip the cheating it’s fine!!! then just with the consensual filming then maybe he uses it to threaten her to get back with him)

SMILE FOR THE CAMERA 🤳

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

ᡣ𐭩 ft: ex!bf sanzu haruchiyo x f!reader

ᡣ𐭩 summary: hurt by her husband’s betrayal, she hit up her ex to remind herself what being wanted feels like. her mistake??? thinking this was just for revenge. sanzu’s not the kind of guy you leave twice.

ᡣ𐭩 cw: minors dni, explicit sex, consensual filming (with manipulative intent), cheating, obsessive ex-boyfriend!sanzu, toxic relationship dynamics, emotional manipulation, voyeurism, possessive behavior, praise & degradation kink, mention of emotional revenge

ᡣ𐭩 notes: to the anon who dropped this sinful prompt into my inbox— thank you for your service 😈 you really said “let sanzu film it and destroy her peace” and i saluted. anyway, enjoy the tape. i mean… the fic <33 (wc: 1.5k words/not proofread!)

“you’re shaking,” he whispers, breath hot against your collarbone.

“you nervous, baby?”

you try to shake your head, but the truth is you are nervous. not because of him. not even because you’re somewhere you shouldn’t be. but because of the phone propped up on the dresser across from the bed you’re lying on, its lens pointing straight at you.

he had suggested it earlier — “for my pleasure,” he said. “just once. please let me keep this one.”

and maybe it was the heartbreak, or maybe just the shock, but you didn’t argue. you simply nodded — anything to block out the sting of your husband’s betrayal. now, the phone rests on the dresser across the room, already recording the sinful scene that’s about to unfold.

“i’ll ask you one last time, are you really sure about this??”

you nodded.

“you want him to see how you fall apart for me?”

you give a slow, silent nod— lips parted, breath already shaking as your mind reels back to what happened just a few hours ago.

** flashback

you had shown up at your husband’s office unannounced. coffee in hand, heels clicking against the marble floor only to immediately freeze in place when you caught the sight of him kissing another woman. his hands were on her waist, her blouse already undone — and he didn’t even noticed when you walked in. he just kept going.

you didn’t bother to scream or make a big scene. you simply turned around and left — coffee still warm in your hand, heart breaking quietly in your chest.

and that was when something in you snapped. later, when the silence in your chest turned heavy with resentment, you did the one thing you knew would hurt him more than anything else.

you hit up the man you were never supposed to see again. your ex-boyfriend, sanzu haruchiyo.

sanzu answered on the first ring.

“h-haru…?”

“…baby?” his voice cracked through the speaker, laced with disbelief.

“a-are you serious?? am i dreaming right now or are you actually calling me but wait… why do you sound like you’re crying??”

you sniff, lips trembling as you say, “i- i need you right now, haru...”

there’s a beat of silence.

then his voice drops — no teasing this time, just low and serious,“where are you now?”

“… at a hotel.”

“text me the location & room number… i’ll be on my way.”

you nod, even though he can’t see it. and as you end the call, your fingers are still shaking. you don’t know if this is a mistake. but right now, it’s the only thing that feels like revenge.

if your husband could have his filthy little secret, then so could you.

** present

which is how you ended up here.

in a hotel room — naked beneath the man you swore you’d never call again, still wearing a ring that suddenly feels meaningless. and maybe it always was.

his hips move slow, each thrust dragging along your walls like he wants the lens to memorize the way you open up for him. and then he pulls back just enough to watch you flutter, then thrusts in again, wet and slow, dragging a whimper from your throat.

“fuckkk, baby… do you know how much i’ve missed you???” his voice cracks, hips still grinding into you like he’s trying to carve the feeling back into his bones.

“you feel the same, don’t you? fuck— i knew it. i fucking knew it!! your body never forgot me.” he groans, burying himself deeper.

“you’re still mine, baby. fuck— look at you, clenching so tight— like you want me to ruin you all over again.” his hand curls around your throat, thumb stroking your jaw like you’re precious even as he fucks you like a sinner.

“say it. tell me you missed me too. i wanna hear you say it with his fucking ring still on your finger.”

“i-i did… i missed you so fucking much…” your voice breaks as you gasp through it, back arching. “d-don’t stop. please…. make me forget him. make me remember you.”

the sight beneath him made his cock twitch. his ex-girlfriend, the love of his goddamn life— fucked out and gasping, laid bare as if she’d never left. her wedding ring still on, mascara running down her cheeks and her pussy clenching around him like the years apart hadn’t meant a thing. it’s almost as if her body never forgot who it really belonged to.

“fuck, baby… we should send him a copy. maybe he’ll learn a thing or two,” he says with a grin, turning around to look straight at the phone.

then he looks down at you, watching your body tremble as you moan in front of him, too far gone to even pretend you’re not enjoying this.

“now smile for the camera, pretty girl,” he growls, fingers gripping your jaw tight. “let him see how much you love being fucked by your ex-boyfriend.”

your face is streaked with tears and drool, lipstick smeared from how rough he kissed you earlier. his palm finds your hand and he brings it up into frame, holding it steady so the lens catches the glint of your wedding ring.

“there it is,” he growls. “say my name with that ring in the shot.”

and when you do, voice cracking— “h-haruchiyo—!”

he immediately loses it.

without warning, he flips you onto your stomach, grabs your hips like he’s about to break something, and yanks you up hard. across the room, his phone stays steady on the dresser— camera still rolling, red light blinking. it captures everything: the slick between your thighs, the bruises blooming under his grip, and the exact moment he thrusts back into you hard enough to knock the air from your lungs.

your breath is still hitching from the aftershocks when he suddenly palms your chest like he never once forgot the weight of it.

“damn… i missed these tits,” he groans, voice low as his thumbs sweep over your nipples. “they still fit in my hands like they were made just for me...”

you’re practically a sobbing mess now, but your hips keep moving — pressing back into him like you’ve got something to prove. it’s almost as if your body knows who it truly belongs to, even if your mouth’s too wrecked to say it.

“fuck, that’s it—” he groans, breath stuttering.

you sob his name like a prayer that’s already failed.

“haruchiyo— fuck i c-can’t too rough” your voice catches as he thrusts deeper, and it sounds like you’re falling apart from the inside out.

“ohhh, but you can,” he pants.

“— because you’re mine.”

your body gives out with a broken cry, face buried in the sheets as you come undone. he follows right after, hips jerking as he empties inside you with a low, guttural moan. then he pulls out slow, both hands dragging your legs apart to watch the mess he made. his cum drips from your cunt in slow, filthy threads, and he just grins — tongue flicking out, like he’s seriously considering licking it all up.

“that’s mine,” he mutters. “every fucking drop.”

afterward, he rises from the bed with his phone in hand, brings it to your chest, and tilts it down. the camera captures everything — the sweat slicking your skin, the soft rise of your tits, and the slow, obscene drip of his cum spilling out from between your thighs. in the corner of the frame, your wedding ring catches the light; gleaming like a cruel little punchline to everything he just did to you.

then his voice — low and mocking, just behind the phone:

“smile for your husband, baby. make sure he knows who really fucked you tonight.”

the screen goes black.

──★

somewhere in Tokyo, 3:15AM

a phone buzzes on the cold nightstand. a woman’s hand reaches for it— manicured, red polish chipped from a recent rendezvous.

notification:

📧 A deposit of ¥72,000,000 JPY 💴 has been credited to your account.

she smiles. rises up from the bed and slips her blouse back on like this was just another job. beside her, your husband lies dead asleep — collar stained, belt hanging open with lipstick still fresh on his neck.

she glances at him, unimpressed. then at the mirror, where a faint bruise marks her neck.

“men are so predictable,” she mutters under her breath, quietly slipping her lipstick back into her pouch. just as her fingers graze the handle of her handbag, a soft ting echoes from the nightstand.

she pauses. and then turns to pick up her phone with one hand.

a single message from an unknown number pops up the screen:

“hope you enjoyed your little role, sweetheart. it was nice working with you.”

© itoshiierae 2025 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ please do not modify or repost my content onto any other platforms.

[viperrbby]

[viperrbby]

"How they react when you are about to marry someone else — but backs out at the altar and kisses them in front of everyone." // Tokyo revengers

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

Synopsis: you’re halfway through your wedding vows when your eyes find them in the crowd. The one you never stopped loving. and suddenly, the ring feels like a shackle. So you run — not away, but to them. and when you kiss them in front of everyone?

yeah. you never belonged to anyone else.

TW: emotional conflict, public rejection, intense romantic tension

Mikey (Sano Manjiro):

The lace on your wedding dress feels heavier than iron chains.

Every step you take down the aisle is slow, controlled. Your heartbeat pounds louder than the violins playing some romantic piece in the background — a sound that feels cruelly mismatched to the war going on in your chest.

You don’t hear the gasps. You don’t hear the vows being whispered by the officiant. All you hear is your heart. And his name.

Mikey.

He’s here.

You didn’t think he’d come. You told yourself he wouldn’t. That he shouldn’t. But there he is, near the back — dressed simply, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable. His pale hair catches the light, and his eyes... those dark eyes meet yours the moment you lift your head.

And your world stops.

The man at the altar — your fiancé, your mistake — is waiting. The guests are watching. You can feel the tension in your mother’s stare, the anxious shifting of your bridesmaids. Everything is set. Everything is prepared.

Except you.

Because your heart is sitting in Mikey’s hands, and it has been for a long, long time.

He hadn’t confessed. Neither had you. But every moment you spent together — silent rides on his bike through the city, nights where he’d show up at your window just to sit next to you, times when his hand lingered near yours and neither of you said a word — it was love.

It was never said. But it was there.

And now, it’s too loud to ignore.

The officiant asks the question. “Do you take this man to be—”

“I can’t.” Your voice breaks the silence.

Gasps. Murmurs. A ripple of confusion tears through the room. The groom turns to you, stunned.

You don’t look at him.

Your eyes are locked onto Mikey — and for the first time, you see his expression crack. His eyes widen, his lips part slightly. He takes a step forward without realizing.

Your veil flutters as you turn away from the altar, walking — then running — toward the back.

He doesn’t move.

You reach him, breathless, your heart in your throat.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “But I can’t marry someone I don’t love.”

The words hang in the air between you. Mikey’s lips tremble. His hands are still in his pockets, like he's holding himself back.

So you take the last step for both of you.

You grab his face and kiss him.

Soft. Desperate. Real.

His hands shoot up, finally, gently gripping your waist like you might vanish if he doesn’t hold on. His lips answer yours like a question he's been asking himself for years.

When you pull back, the silence in the room is deafening.

You’re about to run — until he stops you with just one word.

“Wait.”

You freeze.

Mikey stares at you, searching your face like he’s trying to make sure this isn’t a dream.

“You’re in love with me?” He says it so softly you almost don’t hear it.

You nod. Tears gather in your eyes. “I always have been.”

He exhales — like it’s the first breath he’s taken in years.

Then he smiles. Just a small one. Just for you.

“Then let’s go.”

He takes your hand — not with urgency, not with panic — but with the quiet certainty of someone who’s sure now. Sure that he doesn’t have to lose you. Not today.

The two of you walk out together. Past the whispers, the shock, the mess. Past expectations. Past everything you thought you were supposed to do.

Outside, the sun is warm. The world feels new.

You turn to him, still dazed, still breathless.

“I just ruined everything.”

Mikey looks down at you with that same quiet calm.

“No,” he says. “You just started everything.”

___________________________________________________________________________

Sanzu Haruchiyo:

The lights are too bright. The flowers are too perfect. Everything feels like a lie.

You're standing at the altar, staring at a man whose name you barely say without feeling sick — a man chosen for you by family or circumstance or pressure. He’s smiling. The crowd is smiling. Everyone believes this is a beautiful moment.

But your heart?

Your heart is roaring in your chest. And it’s screaming one name.

Sanzu.

He’s standing off to the side, in the back. Hands in his coat pockets, pink hair messy, scar tugging at his lip with that familiar twitch. He's not dressed for a wedding. He didn't come to celebrate. He came to watch you break his heart.

Or so he thought.

His eyes — those wild, stormy eyes — are locked onto you. Burning.

Your lips part.

You hear the officiant’s voice start the ceremony.

"Do you take this man to—"

“No.”

It comes out louder than you meant. Sharp. Real.

Gasps. Confusion. Your fiancé turns to you in disbelief.

But you don't even see him.

All you see is Sanzu, and the way his pupils dilate. He tilts his head like he can't quite believe what he's hearing — like his brain is glitching through every worst-case scenario and suddenly hits a plot twist.

You step away from the altar.

He doesn't move.

You keep walking.

His jaw tightens.

You stop right in front of him — still in your wedding dress, heart pounding so hard you're afraid it’ll shatter through your ribs.

“I can’t do this,” you whisper. “Because I’m in love with someone else.”

Sanzu blinks. You can see a million versions of his reaction flash through his mind — anger, mockery, disbelief — but none of them come out.

So you kiss him.

Hard.

It’s messy. Breathless. A collision more than a kiss. But he responds — oh, he responds — hands flying up to grip your waist like he’s terrified you’ll vanish again.

His mouth is wild on yours. Desperate. Hungry.

When you pull away, you expect chaos.

And you get it.

The entire room is staring.

Sanzu licks his lips, breathing hard, eyes blown wide. And then he starts to laugh.

Not mocking. Not cruel.

Just... delighted.

“Oh, you’re insane,” he says, grin twitching. “You’re just as insane as I am.”

He grabs your hand tight.

“Let’s ruin everything.”

And he means it.

The two of you tear out of the building, leaving the stunned crowd in your wake. You’re still in your gown, veil flying behind you like a ghost of the life you just escaped.

Sanzu is running beside you, laughing like he just won the lottery.

“You really did it,” he says, breathless. “You picked me.”

You stop for a second, heart racing, hands still in his.

“You always thought I wouldn’t, didn’t you?”

He grins, eyes dark and glittering.

“I didn’t think anyone would ever be crazy enough to love me back.”

Then his voice softens, and you see a glimpse of the real Haruchiyo — the hurt, the lonely, the boy under the madness.

“But you did.”

And he kisses you again — this time slower, deeper. As if he's finally found something he thought he'd never have.

And he’s never letting go.

__________________________________________________________________________________

Ran Haitani:

You're standing beneath a crystal chandelier, heart pounding like a war drum beneath layers of silk and lace.

You look perfect.

At least, that’s what everyone keeps telling you.

But you feel nothing. Nothing but the ache in your chest. The hollow space where your heartbeat used to be — because it’s not here. It’s not with the man standing across from you, smiling nervously at the altar. It’s not in this crowd full of strangers and polite expectations.

It’s in the back row.

Where Ran Haitani is lounging against the pew like he’s bored to death.

He’s got that lazy smirk on his lips. Twirling his signature purple braid around one finger. Slouched like this is just another social stunt he’s enduring for fun.

But his eyes?

They are razor-sharp.

Watching you.

He doesn’t look away. Not even when your fiancé reaches out for your hands.

That’s when it hits you.

You’re about to say vows you don’t mean. To marry someone you don’t love. While the man who owns every late-night thought, every forbidden fantasy, and every skipped heartbeat — just sits there and watches.

No.

Not today.

You take a deep breath. Step back.

The officiant blinks, confused. “Is something wrong, miss?”

Your voice is clear. “I can’t do this.”

Gasps echo through the room.

“I’m sorry,” you say, stepping off the altar. “I can’t marry someone I don’t love.”

You walk — no, march — straight down the aisle, past shocked faces, a few hands trying to grab your arm, your veil fluttering behind you like a flag of rebellion.

Ran straightens up.

His smirk fades slightly.

You stop in front of him, chest heaving. Everyone is watching. You don’t care.

“It’s you.” Your voice trembles, but your eyes don’t leave his. “I’m in love with you, Ran.”

And before he can say a word — You kiss him.

For a heartbeat, he freezes. His brain breaks, short-circuits. Then he melts into it.

His hand slips around your waist in that effortless, possessive way, pulling you close. His lips move against yours like he’s had this dream a thousand times — but never believed it could be real.

When you pull back, breathless, he stares at you like you just turned the sky upside down.

Then, slowly — that smirk returns. But this time, it’s not smug.

It’s stunned joy.

“Damn, princess.” He leans closer, voice low and warm. “You really just kissed me at your own wedding. You trying to kill me?”

You blink at him, heart thundering. “I just blew up my life.”

He grins wider.

“Yeah? Well... lucky for you, I’m a fan of explosions.” He takes your hand. “Come on. Let’s run before your fiancé cries on the carpet.”

As the two of you slip out — Ran guiding you through a side exit like he planned it himself — you hear the whispers behind you. The chaos. The scandal.

And beside you?

Ran’s laugh.

Soft. Genuine. Maybe even… happy.

“You’re mine now, you know.” His hand tightens around yours. “No take-backs.”

___________________________________________________________________________

Rindou Haitani:

The room is too quiet.

It's not supposed to be. You're at the altar. Your wedding.

But the silence isn't peaceful — it’s pressure. It’s weight.

Eyes on you. Hundreds. Flashbulbs ready. Fake smiles. A groom you barely know. A life you never wanted.

And somewhere near the back — trying to disappear into the crowd — sits Rindou Haitani.

He’s half-slouched, avoiding eye contact with the world. His suit’s a little wrinkled. His brows are furrowed. He’s twisting the rings on his fingers over and over like it’ll distract him from the knife in his chest.

He told himself not to come. Told himself it’d be easier this way. Told himself it was just a crush.

But he still came. And now he’s watching you — the person he’s been quietly in love with for far too long — getting ready to say “I do” to someone else.

Except…

You look like you’re about to run. He sees it. In your eyes. In your hands shaking.

And suddenly he can’t breathe.

The officiant speaks. “Do you take this man—”

“No.”

Your voice cuts through the air like a blade.

Rindou’s head snaps up. His hands freeze.

Gasps ripple around the room. People are whispering, moving. The groom stares at you like you’ve betrayed him — but you don’t even look at him.

You're walking.

Fast. Determined.

Right toward the one person you want.

Rindou doesn’t move. He’s frozen — stunned — like his heart is malfunctioning.

You stop in front of him. He barely manages to look at you.

You whisper, just loud enough for him to hear:

“I can’t do it, Rindou. I can’t marry someone else.” Your eyes meet his. “I love you.”

His mouth parts. Eyes wide. You can see his soul fracture and rebuild in one heartbeat.

“You…” His voice cracks. “You what?”

So you kiss him.

And at first — he doesn’t move. Because it doesn’t feel real. It can’t be real.

But then your lips press a little harder. Your hands slip into his.

And suddenly?

His world shifts.

He kisses you back like he’s trying to memorize it. Like it’s the first time he’s let himself feel anything in months. Like this kiss is the answer to every quiet ache he's carried in silence.

When you pull away, you're both breathless. And the room is still watching.

You whisper, "Come with me."

And that’s what snaps him out of it.

He stands so fast his chair screeches. Takes your hand and holds it tight. Like he’s afraid he’ll lose you if he doesn’t grip hard enough.

He glances at the crowd, then back at you.

“Are you sure?” His voice is rough, honest. “I’m not like him. I’m not easy. I don’t… say the right things.”

You squeeze his hand. “I don’t need easy. I need you.”

For a second — just one — Rindou’s eyes soften in a way no one in that room has ever seen. Not even Ran.

Then he pulls you close, leans in, and whispers:

“Then let’s disappear.”

You run together. Out the door. Into the light. Into whatever comes next.

And behind you, the noise fades.

All that remains is his hand in yours.

And a future that finally feels right.

___________________________________________________________________________

Hanma Shuji:

They say weddings are supposed to feel like magic.

This? This feels like a prison.

The dress clings too tight. The air is too still. Your heartbeat isn’t romantic — it’s panicked. You glance down the aisle, where your fiancé stands — perfect, polished, everything you’re supposed to want.

And yet.

There, in the very back of the room, leaning against the wall with that wicked grin, like none of this matters?

Hanma Shuji.

He didn’t dress for the occasion. Didn’t fix his hair. Didn’t even pretend to be subtle. One hand in his coat pocket, the other twirling a cigarette he’s definitely not supposed to light inside. His eyes are locked on you. That unsettling, sharp gold glint that’s half mockery, half obsession.

He’s not here to stop the wedding.

He’s here to watch it happen. To punish himself.

Because he thought — for once — he’d lost.

But he doesn't know what’s been building in your chest for months. All those nights you couldn’t sleep because your mind was haunted by his crooked grin. The way he laughed like the world was a joke. The way he looked at you like you were the only thing he ever took seriously.

And suddenly, you can’t breathe.

The officiant begins. “Do you take this man to be—”

“No.”

The room explodes into murmurs.

You step back, dress dragging behind you like a ghost of a life you’re leaving behind. “I’m sorry,” you say, voice shaking but clear. “I can’t marry him.”

You turn. Walk straight down the aisle.

Eyes wide. Whispers flying.

And Hanma? He’s staring at you like he’s watching a car crash — beautiful, horrific, impossible to look away from.

You stop in front of him.

He raises an eyebrow. Smirks. “Oh?” he drawls, voice low, amused. “Don’t tell me you came running for me, sweetheart.”

You grab him by the shirt and pull him down.

And you kiss him.

Hard. Desperate. Final.

It feels like setting a match to gasoline.

His hands go to your waist immediately — gripping, pulling, claiming. He kisses back like he’s waited forever and thought it would never come. He doesn’t care who’s watching. He doesn’t even pretend to hold back.

When you pull away, breathless, lips tingling, he’s laughing.

Low. Rough. Absolutely delighted.

“Shit,” he says, eyes wild with something dangerous. “You just ruined your whole life for me.” A beat. Then he grins wider. “I think I’m in love.”

He takes your hand — doesn’t ask, doesn’t hesitate.

And you both walk out. Together. Leaving gasps, outrage, scandal in your wake.

Outside, you finally speak.

“I just lost everything.”

Hanma pauses, then tilts his head with that mad glint in his eyes.

“Nah, baby.” He grins like the devil himself. “You just won me.”

And in his world? That’s everything.

___________________________________________________________________________

Izana Kurokawa:

The wedding hall is drowning in white — white flowers, white silk, white lies.

Everything is perfect. Except you.

Because you are trembling beneath layers of expensive lace and quiet misery, standing beside a man you don’t love, repeating words you don’t believe. Everyone is smiling, clapping softly, watching like this is the climax of a fairy tale.

But none of them know what’s actually happening.

Except him.

In the farthest corner of the room, dressed in black, back pressed against the wall like he doesn't belong — stands Izana Kurokawa.

Arms crossed. Eyes unreadable. Expression? Cold.

But inside?

He’s burning alive.

He told himself he wouldn’t come. Told himself this day would mean nothing. That you were never his to begin with.

And yet… he’s here. Punishing himself.

Watching you give your heart away to someone else.

Or so he thinks.

Because as the officiant starts to speak, your chest tightens. You can’t breathe. You can’t lie. Not about this.

Not when he’s in the room.

“Do you take this man to—”

“No.”

Silence.

Real, shattering silence.

You step back. “I can’t do this,” you whisper, stronger this time. “I’m in love with someone else.”

The whispers rise. Your fiancé says your name like a curse. But you’re already turning—

Running.

To him.

Izana stiffens the moment you come near. His pale eyes widen, just a flicker, like a mask cracking.

You stop inches from him.

His voice is quiet. Dangerous. “This isn’t funny.”

You reach up, hand against his cheek.

“I’m not joking. I’m in love with you, Izana.”

He blinks. Once. Twice.

You lean in — and you kiss him.

It’s soft at first. Trembling. Like you’re afraid he won’t kiss back.

But then he does.

And it’s not soft anymore.

It’s starved. Wild. His hands fly to your back, holding you like he’s scared you’ll disappear. He kisses you like it hurts. Like he’s angry he needs you this much.

When he finally pulls back, his voice is wrecked.

“You really mean it?” he whispers. “You left everything for me?”

You nod, heart pounding. “Yes.”

He stares at you for a long time.

Then—he laughs. But it’s not cruel. It’s shaken. Disbelieving. Like he can’t believe he gets to feel this way. That someone chose him.

“You’re mine now,” he says, low and hoarse. “You understand? I’m never letting go.”

The crowd behind you erupts in noise, chaos, disbelief.

But you don’t hear any of it.

Because Izana takes your hand in his — firm, trembling — and walks you out of that place like he’s walking away from a life of solitude, abandonment, and pain.

And into something terrifying.

And beautiful.

And finally, finally his.

___________________________________________________________________________

Shinichiro Sano:

He’s never been good at hiding how he feels — but today, Shinichiro is trying harder than ever.

He’s sitting in the back row, dressed in a suit that doesn’t quite fit right, hands folded too tightly in his lap, head down like he's praying to disappear.

He told himself he had to be here.

He had to watch you smile, marry someone who was actually good for you. Someone who wasn’t broken. Someone who didn’t carry the weight of failure like a second skin.

You deserve that. You deserve happiness. Even if it’s not with him.

Even if he has to watch you promise forever to someone else while trying not to break down in front of everyone.

He can’t hear a word of the ceremony. His ears are ringing.

His chest is tight. His throat burns.

He keeps thinking — I should have told you. I should have said something before it was too late.

And then—

You stop the ceremony.

His head lifts so fast it almost hurts.

“No,” you say, voice loud, clear. Breaking the room in half. “I can’t marry him.”

Shinichiro forgets how to breathe.

People are whispering. The groom is calling your name. The officiant is frozen. But none of it matters — because you’re walking straight down the aisle. To him.

Shinichiro stands up in disbelief.

He stares at you like you're a ghost. “What are you—?”

You’re already in front of him. Tears in your eyes, dress swaying behind you like wings.

“I love you,” you say. Not a whisper. Not a maybe. “I always have.”

You reach for him, but he flinches — not because he doesn’t want you.

But because he does, too much.

“I’m not—” His voice cracks. “I’m not good enough for you.”

You smile through your tears. “I never asked for perfect. I just want you.”

And then you kiss him.

He trembles.

It’s soft, unsure — like he’s afraid the moment he moves, you’ll disappear. Like he’s still convinced this is a dream and he’ll wake up alone in that tiny apartment with oil-stained hands and a broken heart.

But then your hand brushes his jaw — gently, lovingly.

And he kisses you back.

Slow. Deep. Full of every ache and sleepless night and quiet prayer he ever whispered when no one was listening.

When you pull away, he’s crying.

Just a little.

But enough.

“I thought I lost you,” he breathes. “I thought I’d have to watch you walk away and never be able to tell you.”

You take his hand and press it over your heart.

“You’ve always had me, Shin.”

And he holds onto you like he’s afraid the universe might take you away again.

But this time — it won’t.

Because you chose him.

The broken one. The soft one. The one who loved you so much, he would’ve let you go if it made you smile.

And now?

He smiles too.

___________________________________________________________________________

Wakasa Imaushi:

Wakasa doesn’t do weddings.

Too many emotions. Too many people pretending. Too much pain wrapped in a smile.

But he came to this one.

He came for you.

He leans against the back wall of the venue, sunglasses low on his nose, arms crossed over his chest. Watching. Not saying a word.

Everyone thinks he’s being cool.

But inside, he’s suffocating.

Watching you stand there, beautiful in a dress that doesn’t suit you — not because it’s ugly, but because it’s wrong. It’s not you. It’s not your smile, not your laugh, not the soul he’s watched shine in dark corners for years.

It’s a version of you he doesn’t recognize.

And he knows he should leave. Should walk out before it destroys him.

But he can’t.

Because deep down, a part of him is still whispering:

Maybe she’ll look at me. Just once. Before she says “I do.”

And then — you do.

Your eyes lock with his.

And something inside you snaps.

You say it.

“No.”

The word hits the room like a gunshot.

Gasps. Chaos. Movement.

But Wakasa doesn’t move. He just stands there. Watching. Waiting. His heart doesn’t beat — it slams.

And then you’re walking — no, running — toward him. Dress clutched in one hand, bouquet dropped somewhere behind you like dead weight.

You stop in front of him, breathing hard, eyes wild with tears and defiance.

He raises an eyebrow, trying to stay cool. “You really just pulled that in front of everyone?”

You laugh, breathless. “I just realized… I couldn’t marry him because my heart’s been stuck on someone else this whole time.”

He knows where this is going. He doesn’t let himself hope. Not yet.

You take a step closer.

“I love you, Wakasa.”

And just like that — his world stops.

You reach for his face, fingers brushing the side of his jaw. He stiffens — not because he doesn’t want it.

But because he does. Too much.

You lean up and kiss him.

And it’s not desperate. Not rushed. It’s slow. Real.

Like the calm after a war.

He breathes you in like he’s been drowning for years. When you pull back, he’s silent. Eyes on yours. Serious. Then his voice comes, low and quiet:

“You’re out of your mind.”

You smile. “Maybe.” He grabs your hand.

And for the first time in years, Wakasa lets himself want something. He glances back at the stunned crowd, then down at you again. Smirks — just a little.

“You’re mine now.”

A pause.

“And I don’t share.” You grin and nod.

And together, you walk out. Slow. Calm. Certain.

Like the storm is behind you.

And the real life — your life, his life — is finally about to begin.

___________________________________________________________________________

Chifuyu Matsuno:

He came for you.

Not to stop the wedding. Not to confess. Just to see you one last time.

Chifuyu is sitting quietly in the crowd, dressed neatly, head slightly down. He’s been smiling politely at people who greet him, saying congratulations like the words don’t hurt.

Because he’d rather die than let you know how much it hurts.

He’d rather sit through your wedding with his heart breaking in silence than risk making your life harder.

You deserve everything. Even if it’s not him.

But when you step out in your wedding dress — beautiful, glowing, smiling that tight smile that doesn’t reach your eyes — his chest clenches.

You’re not happy.

You’re trying to look like you are, for everyone’s sake. And Chifuyu sees it. He always sees you. Then the moment comes. The vows.

And you hesitate. Everyone’s watching. The officiant gently prompts you again. But your eyes — they’re scanning the crowd now.

Looking for someone. And then you find him.

Chifuyu.

He shakes his head, eyes wide, silently begging you not to do something reckless for him. He doesn’t want to be the reason your life goes off-course.

But you don’t care.

Because the real reckless thing… would be walking away from the man who’s loved you in silence for so long.

“I can’t.” Your voice is clear. Strong. “I’m sorry. I can’t marry him.”

Gasps. Outrage.

But Chifuyu’s frozen. And then—you're running toward him.

He stands without meaning to, heart slamming in his chest. He looks like he might run away himself out of pure disbelief. You stop right in front of him, eyes filled with tears — not sadness, but relief.

“I’m in love with you,” you say.

His lips part.

You lean in.

And kiss him.

It’s soft. Gentle. But everything about it screams real.

He kisses you back — carefully, like you’re made of glass. His hands hover at your waist before finally resting there, trembling slightly. Like he still can’t believe you’re not a dream.

When you pull away, he’s speechless.

His voice is barely a whisper. “You love… me?”

You nod, smiling through your tears. “Always have.”

He lets out a breath like he’s been holding it for years.

Then he laughs — small and cracked — before pulling you into a hug so tight it nearly knocks the wind out of you.

“I thought I was gonna have to sit through that whole wedding pretending I was fine,” he murmurs into your hair.

You squeeze him tighter. “Not anymore.”

He pulls back, blinking rapidly. “I didn’t even dress nice. I thought this was gonna be my funeral.”

You laugh.

And Chifuyu smiles — truly smiles — like the sun’s finally come up after a long, bitter night.

Then he links his fingers with yours and says, soft but certain:

“Let’s go. I’ve got a whole life to build with you.”

[viperrbby]

hanma who towers over you playfully, and when you look up you expect him to be wearing that playful smirk of his but instead there’s a smile. a genuine, beautiful smile and he’s wearing a comfortable T-shirt and shorts, glasses sitting prettily on his nose and hair messy and still damp. your heart flutters and you have to put a hand on his chest before inhaling deeply.

“would you stop that?”

“stop what?” even his tone isn’t playful, and you think you’re losing your mind with how hot your face feels.

“this! why are you—good god you’re beautiful.”

he leans down just enough to whisper against your ear. “that’s my line, doll.”

[viperrbby]

[viperrbby]

NEW TOKYO REVENGERS OFFICIAL ART!!!!

[viperrbby]

how would kazutora survive nnn 👀

NSFW UNDER THE CUT || MINORS DNI

NOVEMBER 1ST, 2023 || 11:42AM

NNN CHALLENGE MASTERLIST

i'm sorry, but this dude is a loser in the best possible way. kazutora hanemiya is someone with little to no self-control, and i think that is a fact everyone knows. he was always a needy person, especially when it came to his friends. he would go out of his way for their attention and praise, even if it meant resorting to less... ethical methods.

you already knew that kazutora would have a difficult time making it through the challenge, as he was your obsessive boy who could never seem to keep his hands off of you. you would have loved to say you at least thought he would make it past the first week, but you didn't even have that much faith in the man to make that promise (and be grateful that you didn't, you almost owed baji 20 bucks for that bet).

when you had suggested the idea at first, you had just wanted to see his reaction. you didn't think that the moment the words left your mouth, he would immediately agree without even considering the longevity of it.

"a month? that's not that bad. if my baby wants to do it, then what reason do I have to say no?" he chirped, the brightest and happiest smile on his face. initially, you were ready to remind him that a month was in fact 30 days and that he could barely survive 15 minutes without trying to put his dick in your mouth because he "couldn't hold it anymore". but then you quickly remembered that the man is a simp, and you should have known that the moment you expressed your want for something, there was no way he could deny you.

despite that, you both joined the challenge on the first day of november, hoping that the three rounds you had last night would be enough to hold you both over for the next 30 days.

the next morning you woke up with a small moan, eyes finally peeling themselves open enough to see the sun shining through your window, alerting you to finally wake up and drag yourself out of bed. you reached behind you as you did every morning, feeling the strands of kazutora's hair draping over his face. had he not hummed pleasantly at the feeling of your fingers in his hair, you would have assumed that the man was still sleeping, his arm wrapped around your waist tightening its grip.

"good morning kazu," you spoke softly, voice still a bit raspy from sleep. he responded with a couple taps on your tummy, something he always did when he was too sleepy to actually give a verbal response. you smiled softly, shuffling more under the covers as you cuddled against his chest. you shut your eyes again, letting yourself revel in a few more minutes of sleep before deciding to get ready for the day ahead of you. you lay in silence for all of 10 minutes before you felt a rough hand caressing your stomach again, the light touch making you jerk a bit as you held in a laugh. when he did it again you giggled, jerking your hips back as you ran away from his touch. "baby, that tickles."

"sorry..." he grumbled, voice rumbling so deep that you nearly felt it in your own chest. he moved his hand from your stomach and chose instead to run it down the length of your leg, stopping momentarily to grab the underside of your knee. "you're just so soft..."

when his sentence had finished your leg was being lifted, kazutora resting the limb on his own, which he'd so precariously placed between yours. you didn't think much of it until the skin of kazutora's thigh was being pushed into your mound, a heavy gasp escaping you as the pressure made your stomach turn.

"so soft," he said again, this time crystal clear as his hand continued to trace every inch of exposed skin on your body. you only truly reacted when his hand slipped into your shirt, trapping one of your breasts between his fingers. he fondled the mass, relishing in the way your body reacted to his ministrations. your hips ground against his thigh, the heat in your stomach spreading as the man pinched your nipple softly. "and pliant."

"kazu..." you warned, although it sounded more like a plea for more in his ears than anything else. "we can't."

the man behind you whined, only playing with your tits more feverously at your rejection. "why? don't we always have sex in the morning?"

his voice sounded borderline distraught as you tried to remove his hand from your shirt.

"we're doing the challenge, remember? we've barely even made it 12 hours," your words made the man pout. he knew that he agreed to the challenge rather quickly, but you wouldn't actually deny him like this, would you?

"but i want you..." he pouted, sleepy hands moving once again to roam around your body. he didn't miss the way your hips never stopped grinding against his thigh, his free hand that wasn't playing in your hair moving towards his own mouth to wet his fingers before slipping them into your night shorts. a quiet moan came out of your mouth as his fingers flicked at your clit, your hand that was playing in his hair pulling at the strands harshly. "don't you want me too, baby?"

you did. you truly did want the man and honestly, with your current conditions, you didn't think that it would be that bad of an idea. you'd barely even started this challenge, so how hard would it be to just say you never even attempted at all? maybe if you just let it go this one time...

your thoughts were cut short by the feeling of kazutora's fingers sliding into your cunt, knocking the air out of you as you felt the digits curl, pressing directly into your g-spot. a curse passed your lips and it was only a moment later that you felt kazutora press against the side of your face, forcing you to look directly at him. "all you have to do is say the word. you know I can't say no to you," he purred. his bright eyes caught your attention immediately, and it was then that you knew you could never say no to him, either.

"please, kazu," you didn't hesitate before asking him, the challenge be damned. you didn't fight him as he leaned in, pressing his lips onto yours softly, a small moan slipping from the man's mouth to your own.

"more, baby!" kazutora groaned as spent no time stuffing you full of his cock the moment you asked, although you were sure it was more for him than you. your breathing was labored as you tried to find something to steady yourself, your hoisted leg and kazu's rapid thrusts almost forcing you off of the bed. you were still propped on your side, your boyfriend being more than too lazy to change positions. "fuck, keep fucking me like that."

you didn't have the time or energy to explain to him that he was the one fucking you, but let the man run his mouth regardless. this was something that you were used to already, his cries and pleas for you to do more when he was the one effectively leaving you brain dead. your hands found purchase in the sheets, holding onto them for dear life while kazutora pressed his body against yours, the warmth only inspiring the man to go harder.

"s-slow down baby..." you pleaded, feeling your body jerk with every stroke of his cock against your g-spot, your wet cunt squeezing around him so beautifully. "you're gonna...b-break me like t-this."

"let me," he demanded, holding your body still as he fucked you mercilessly. "wanna see you completely broken for me."

his words left a lingering pulse in your heat, giving way to kazutora's begging and allowing him to fuck you the way that he wanted. at your compliance the man cursed to himself, burying his head in the crook of your neck. you cried out when you felt his teeth sinking into the skin connecting your collarbone to your shoulder, sucking on the area until there was a purple mark flourishing on the surface.

if he wanted you broken, he certainly was accomplishing his mission. you could barely breathe with the way he was fucking you, your stomach clenching and cunt pulsing as you felt your orgasm coming strong.

"fuck, i wanna come inside you. let me come inside you baby?" the man asked, hand grabbing the underside of your leg and holding it upright as it started to slip. when you wordlessly nodded your head, kazutora let out a deafening groan. "thankyouthankyouthankyou-"

you barely had a second to register his gratitude before your eyes were shooting open, wide and blurry as kazu forced himself as far as he could go inside of you. the warmth that followed was enough for your body to shudder, orgasm washing over you as you only saw a white cover of bliss envelope your vision.

kazutora didn't even bother pulling out as he finally released your leg, legging your body go completely limp against the sheets. your breathing was labored and heavy, barely able to speak as you turned your head to look at the man behind you.

"do you feel bet-" you didn't even get the chance to finish your sentence as you saw kazutora with his eyes closed, chest rising and falling in an even rhythm. you couldn't stop the scoff that escaped you, a loving smile adorning your face before you laid back down and covered your exposed body with the duvet.

you were so grateful that you never accepted that bet from baji.

dont plagarize! it's not nice <3

[viperrbby]

So, I know requests are temporarily closed but I can’t get this out of my mind. I wanna hear your thoughts on Tokyo Revengers boys with a Hispanic!Reader. I love the idea of reader having like a thick Spanish accent and she calls them nice things like “cariño”, “mi amor”, “mi rey” like out in public but calls them “papi” in the bedroom. I don’t see a lot of like xHispanic!Reader so I kinda just make my own little headcannons. When you get the chance babes, I’d love to hear your thoughts. 🫶🏽

-SunRay☀️

Okay so I saw this and immediately had a flow of ideas so I'll list the characters that came to mind first

Mikey, Takemichi, Mitsuya, Izana, Shinichiro, Shion, Ran, Hanma, Kazutora, Baji, Chifuyu, Taiju, Rindou, Hakkai (I know I obviously forgot some but these are the ones I thought of off the top of my head)

♡ Ran, Shion, Baji and Hanma wouldn't even know what those pretty words coming from your mouth meant but they loved them. They for sure knew what papi meant tho and act accordingly by fucking you dumb.

♡ Izana, Mitsuya, Rindou, and Chifuyu would definitely know what you're saying (I really headcanon Mitsuya and Izana as being fluent in spanish) and would call you sweet names too

♡ Hakkai, Shinichiro, Kazutora, and Takemichi heard "papi" in the bedroom once and malfunctioned, like they deadass thought their heart was gonna stop 😭

♡ Taiju probably thinks you're cursing at him lmao, he'd consider learning spanish for you though

♡ Mikey tries to repeat the things you say and butchers the hell out of it 💀

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

Taglist

@arlerts-angel @i-literally-cant-with-this @trevengersprincess @giugiette @katkusuo @happy-trenchcoated-impala @drunkcheesecake @darkstarlight82 @reiners-milkbiddies @manji-hoe

[viperrbby]

Me after clicking a p link thinking it was a fic rec.

Jumpscare.

[viperrbby]

does anyone else get, like, jealous when a fictional character dates or has a crush on another character?

... no? just me?

[viperrbby]

“Their eyes locked from across the room”

[viperrbby]

Sorry girls, but this man drives me crazy.♡♡♡♡

[viperrbby]

family: “why are you just sitting in ur room smiling at ur phone?”

me who’s been reading smut about fictional characters for the past 6 hours:

[viperrbby]

[viperrbby]

i loved grumpy x sunshine! can we get more of it? bucky’s just a big doberman who loves his sweet precious baby girl more than anything

yes I absolutely love their dynamic and BIG DOBERMAN energy is so spot on!! here’s protective Bucky *wink wink*

Sink in

grumpy!bucky barnes x sunshine!reader

summary: you go on an undercover mission with Bucky who gets overprotective and… jealous?

word count: 2771

WARNINGS: 18+ explicit content, MDNI. curse words, dirty talk, praise kink, PiV, unprotected sex, rough sex, semi-public sex, mirror sex, breeding, possessive behavior, mutual desperation, fully consensual by both parties although not explicitly stated.

You didn’t need to be told twice to smile — it came naturally to you.

Even undercover in a tight red dress and uncomfortable heels, walking into an event filled with arms dealers and corrupt diplomats, you smiled like you had nothing to fear.

Bucky hated it.

“You’re drawing attention.” he muttered under his breath, large hand on the small of your back. “You walk in like that and every asshole in here’s gonna think you’re available.”

You bumped his hip with yours. “That’s kind of the point, grump. You’re supposed to look like you’re here with your arm candy.”

“I don’t like the idea of being bait.” he muttered.

“You’re not bait,” you said with a smile that could melt titanium. “I am.”

Bucky sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “That’s even worse.”

Your relationship with Bucky wasn’t simple. He didn’t flirt. He didn’t tease. He grunted. He rolled his eyes. He glared at anyone who looked at you too long. You weren’t dating. Not officially. You hadn’t kissed, hadn’t crossed that line.

But you’d shared motel rooms. Shared food. Watched old movies on scratched discs in safehouses, shoulders brushing in the dark. You’d woken up more than once with your legs tangled under a too-small blanket and his arm slung heavy across your stomach.

You called him “grump” and he let you. You made him coffee just the way he liked it — Black, one tablespoon of sugar— even when he never asked.

He called you doll once, under his breath, when he didn’t know you were listening. And when things got dangerous, when missions got ugly, when people came too close — Bucky stopped being silent. He turned brutal. Fierce.

Protective.

Of you.

You weren’t sure what that meant. You weren’t lovers. But you weren’t just teammates either.

Sometimes, when you caught him staring too long — at your mouth, at your bare shoulder, at your smile — you thought maybe… maybe he felt it too.

The pull.

The way the air shifted between you like something unsaid was pressing against both your ribs.

But he never made a move.

Never crossed the line.

So you didn’t either. You stayed in that strange in-between — close, but not close enough.

But tonight?

When he was here with you in that goddamn tailored suit? Gods be good — it was getting difficult. Very difficult to not get close.

You continued your undercover mission, glancing at Bucky who was watching just from around the corner.

Everything was going fine — until it wasn’t.

You were halfway through your flirtatious distraction with a smug suit named Anton when something shifted. You felt it before you saw it — the way Bucky stiffened across the room, how his gaze locked onto yours like a damn hawk.

Anton’s hand brushed your bare arm. Too high.

Bucky moved.

Not walked. Not jogged.

Moved. Like a fucking missile.

By the time Anton leaned in to whisper something vile in your ear, Bucky was already there.

His metal arm was around your waist before you could blink, yanking you back against his chest as his other hand slammed Anton back into the velvet booth.

“She’s not yours to touch.” he growled, low and deadly.

Anton sputtered, caught off guard. “She said—she was just—”

“I don’t care what she said,” Bucky snapped. “You don’t lay a hand on her.”

“Bucky—” you started, cheeks warm, heart hammering. You weren’t sure If you felt embarrassed or flustered… or maybe it was both?

“No.” His voice was sharp, eyes never leaving the guy’s face. “You don’t touch her unless she asks you to. Got it?”

Anton nodded, wide-eyed, hands raised. Bucky didn’t let go of your waist.

Not even when the man scurried away like a kicked dog. Not even when the music returned to full volume and the mission resumed.

He held you tight against him, breathing hard.

You looked up at him, that same soft smile on your face. “You okay, soldier?”

His jaw was clenched tight. “Don’t do that again.”

“What?”

“Let someone else put their hands on you.”

You blinked, voice lowering. “It was part of the mission.”

“Don’t care.” His grip tightened slightly. “Next time anyone tries that, I’m breaking more than their pride.”

And just like that — it was silent between you.

Hot.

Tense.

Buzzing with a line you hadn’t crossed yet, but you were so close.

Then he leaned down, mouth brushing your ear.

“You’re mine to protect. You get that?”

Your breath caught.

You nodded.

And from the way his hand slipped down your hip, lingering like he needed to feel you were safe, you knew the mission wasn’t the only thing getting dangerously close to explosive.

You watched him leave and soon as you made sure Bucky made his way back to his spot, talking with some other men you rushed to find the bathroom, your breath still caught in your throat, panic raising with every passing moment.

The second the door to the staff’s restroom clicked shut behind you, you exhaled.

Not calmly. Not softly.

You practically collapsed against the sink, palms flat on the cool porcelain as your shoulders slumped forward.

Your heart was still racing, and it wasn’t just the mission.

It was him.

God, it was always him.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror, the bass from the club thudding through the floor beneath your heels.

You looked like yourself.

The flirty dress. The soft smile still trying to recover. But inside, you were buzzing. And tired. And confused. And a little bit angry.

Because Bucky had done it again.

The jealousy, the possessiveness — the way he’d shoved that man like he was seconds from pulling the trigger, growling like a feral thing with the words that basically said “don’t touch what’s mine.”

But then, as always, he’d walked away like nothing had happened. Like he didn’t just claim you in front of a room full of people and then leave you standing there, heart pounding, body still warm from his hands.

You felt like a fool. You closed your eyes. Let out a slow breath. You weren’t weak. You weren’t. You’d handled worse.

But not this.

Not him.

You had no idea what the hell you were to Bucky Barnes.

Some days, he looked at you like you were his only peace in this godforsaken world. Other days, he barely spoke — only snapped when you got too close to danger or when someone else looked at you too long. He’d touch you — your waist, your back, your wrist when he needed to pull you out of the way — but he never stayed.

Never kissed you.

Never said anything.

You opened your eyes again and muttered to your reflection:

“Just say it, man. Just say it. Either you want me or you don’t.”

Your voice cracked, and you hated it.

Because you were tired. Tired of feeling like you belonged to someone who didn’t want to belong back.

You didn’t even hear the door open. You only felt it — the sudden shift in the air behind you. The presence. Heavy. Quiet. Familiar.

Then the low voice:

“Why’d you run?”

You turned slowly. Bucky stood just inside the doorway, arms crossed, filling the frame like a storm you hadn’t seen coming.

“I didn’t run.” you said, trying for casual. It came out thin.

“You disappeared.”

“I needed air.”

“You could’ve told me.”

Your hands clenched. “Oh, so now I’m supposed to tell you where I go, too?”

His jaw ticked. “That’s not what I—”

“God, Bucky, what are we?”

The words exploded out of you before you could stop them. Your voice trembled, but your spine stayed straight. “Because one second you’re pushing guys off me like you own me, and the next it’s like nothing happened. You look at me like you… like you want me. But you never say it. Never do anything. And I’m so – so damn tired of guessing!”

Silence. It pressed thick between you, heavy enough to crush. His stare didn’t waver. But his shoulders had dropped just slightly, and something vulnerable flickered behind his eyes.

You swallowed hard, chest rising and falling. “Do you even know what you want from me?”

He didn’t move for a second. Then he stepped forward — slow, deliberate.

“I want you safe.” he said quietly.

You scoffed. “That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one I can say without crossing a line I can’t come back from.”

Your heart skipped. “So cross it.”

His jaw clenched.

“Cross it.” You repeated, as If you were daring him.

He was in front of you in a breath, eyes wild, hands reaching out and gripping the counter on either side of your hips, caging you in. His body hovered, close but not touching. You could feel the heat of him. Smell the leather and sweat and something so distinctly him that your knees nearly buckled.

His hands left the counter and grabbed your waist instead, yanking you flush against his chest. You barely had a second to gasp before his mouth was on yours — rough, devouring, starving. He kissed you like a man possessed. Like he’d been holding this in for months. Maybe he had.

You whimpered into his mouth, hands fisting the front of his suit as he pushed you back until your spine hit the cold bathroom wall.

“Fuck,” he muttered between kisses. “You don’t get it, do you?”

You gasped as his lips moved down to your neck, sucking a mark right under your ear. “G-Get what?”

His grip tightened on your hips. “That every time someone touches you, I want to break their fucking hands. That I can’t sleep unless I know you’re okay. That I’ve been dying to do this.”

He ground his hips into yours and you felt it — thick, hard, desperate. You moaned.

“This what you wanted, doll?” he growled against your throat.

You nodded, breathless. “Yes—God, yes—”

He spun you around, pressing your front against the sink as his hand shoved your dress up roughly over your hips. You let out a breathy gasp, the cool air hitting your thighs.

“No more running,” he muttered, voice low and dangerous. His hand cupped between your legs through your soaked panties, his fingers rubbing your wet heat. “You’re mine. Say it.”

“Yours,” you breathed. “I’ve always been yours—”

He growled something filthy under his breath — you only caught good girl — and then he was pulling your panties down and freeing himself from his pants. You looked up just in time to see your own wrecked reflection in the mirror.

He caught your eye there. Held it. One hand flat on your stomach, the other guiding himself to your entrance.

He teased your slick folds with his cock first, making you moan and gasp, your body moved in anticipation and he let out a dark chuckle.

“Please,” you whispered. “Need you, Bucky—just… need you.”

That was all it took.

He thrust into you in one sharp motion and you cried out, hand slamming against the mirror to steady yourself. He filled you completely, thick and pulsing inside, and didn’t give you a second to adjust — just started pounding into you like he was making up for every moment he hadn’t touched you before.

“Fuck—tight little pussy—been dreamin’ about this,” he groaned, metal hand gripping your hip so hard you’d have bruises tomorrow. His other hand grabbed your jaw, making you look at yourself in the mirror. “Look at you. Fuckin’ perfect.”

Your moans bounced off the walls — you barely cared who heard. His thrusts were deep, punishing, filthy.

And he wouldn’t shut up.

“Not letting you flirt with those assholes again,” he snarled, eyes locked on yours in the mirror. “You wanna act like bait? Fine. But I’m the one who gets to fuck you after.”

You clenched around him at his words and he felt it.

“Oh, baby. You like that, huh? You like when I get mean for you?”

“Y-Yes—fuck, Bucky—please—”

He brought his hand down and smacked your ass, not hard, just enough to make you yelp. “That’s right. This pussy’s mine.”

“Yours,” you sobbed. “All yours—”

He reached around and rubbed tight circles on your clit, hips never faltering. You were unraveling fast, so fast, the pleasure built from weeks — months — of wanting this.

You came hard, body shaking against the sink as he kept fucking you through it, murmuring praises into your ear. Good girl. So sweet. So fuckin’ good for me.

When he was close, he pulled out just long enough to flip you around and lift you onto the sink. You gasped as your back hit the mirror, legs spreading on instinct.

He slid back in easily, growling into your mouth as he kissed you again — slower now, but no less intense.

“You’re mine now,” he whispered against your lips. “Mine, doll. Say it again.”

“Yours,” you gasped. “Only yours.”

He came with a groan, forehead pressed to yours, hips twitching as he filled you deep, his seed spreading inside of your walls.

And then — silence.

Just breathing. Just heat. Just the faint bass of the music still thumping beyond the door, as if none of it mattered. The rush, the blinding pressure of it all started to fade — and Bucky was the first to come down from it.

You were still boneless, leaning back against the mirror with your legs dangling over the edge of the sink, dress wrinkled, panties somewhere on the damn floor.

And Bucky… looked like he’d seen a ghost.

His hands were still on your thighs, but barely. Like he was afraid to touch you now.

His chest was heaving, jaw tight, eyes flickering between your face and the door behind him, like he wasn’t sure whether to kiss you again or bolt.

You gave a small, lazy smile. “Hey.”

His eyes locked onto yours.

You reached up, brushed a strand of hair off his forehead. “You okay?”

“I—shit,” he mumbled, stepping back just enough to give you space. “Shit, I—did I hurt you?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What? No—”

“I was rough. Too rough.” His metal hand hovered near your waist but didn’t land. “You didn’t even—fuck, we didn’t talk, I didn’t even ask, I just—”

“Bucky,” you said, soft but firm. “Look at me.”

He did. Slowly.

Your smile was still there. Warm. Safe.

The look on your face didn’t match the apocalypse going off in his head. If anything, you looked… happy. Messy, flushed, glowing — and happy.

“I would’ve stopped you,” you said gently. “I would’ve said no if I didn’t want it this way.”

He exhaled hard, running a hand down his face like he didn’t believe you could possibly be real.

You reached for him again and tugged him back between your knees. “Bucky. I wanted it,” you said, more seriously now. “I’ve wanted you. For so long. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

His hands settled on your hips, gentler this time. His head bowed.

“…I’ve never had anyone like you,” he said quietly. “I don’t know how to… be.”

Your heart squeezed.

You brought his hand — the flesh one — to your cheek, nuzzling into it. “I know… You were perfect, Bucky.”

A few moments passed in silence.

Then he cleared his throat. “You should… uh. Let me clean you up.”

You laughed softly. “What, getting shy now?”

He flushed. The Bucky Barnes blushing? You were keeping that in your pocket forever.

“I just—yeah, lemme take care of you, okay?” he muttered.

He grabbed some paper towels from the dispenser, ran one under warm water, and returned with a careful, almost reverent look.

He was quiet as he cleaned you up — too quiet. Focused. Gentle.

You tilted his chin up so he’d look at you again. “I’m not gonna break, Buck.”

“I know,” he said, smiling faintly. “But you’re still my doll.”

You blinked, surprised by how soft he sounded saying it out loud — like it slipped out without permission.

“…You’ve never called me that to my face before.”

He shrugged, looking away. “Didn’t want you to know how gone I was.”

He helped you off the counter and found your underwear with a grunt, slipping them into your hand with an adorably sheepish look.

You both fixed yourselves up, and when you opened the door, the gala still raged on like nothing happened.

But something had changed.

Because Bucky took your hand — not just to lead you out, not just for safety.

He held it.

And he didn’t let go.