❛❛ 𝐓𝐎𝐊𝐘𝐎 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐓, 𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐂.
ꗃ sum. a collection of tokyo's hottest summer tunes! featuring ran haitani, rindou haitani, sanzu haruchiyo, kakucho hitto, and wakasa imaushi. get to know them intimately in these new hit tracks!
tags. fem!reader. smut. all characters are written in their adult timeline (20+). pwp. unprotected sex. weed. miniskirts. (semi) public play. fingering. choking (r). spanking. brat taming. orgasm denial. edging. ruined orgasms. overstim. marathon sex. creampies. dacryphilia. oral (g). shotgunning.
a/n. i present to you the last installment of tokyo heat! i'm considering doing this for some other fandoms so if there's one you'd like, send an ask! c:
ꗃ : side a / side b / side c
☆ track #1: ran haitani — feat. miniskirts
if there’s one thing ran haitani can’t resist, it’s miniskirts.
not only do they show off your thick thighs, but sometimes when you bend over, he even gets a peek of your pretty pink panties— the lacey kind he buys you, the ones with tiny bows on the back. the tiny scrap of fabric barely counts as underwear, and he makes a point to tell you that every chance he gets.
“wearing this in public, princess?” he hums, his fingers splayed low on your hips as he presses into you from behind. “that’s dangerous. you might give some poor guy a heart attack.”
you’re standing in the far corner of a packed club— music pulsing, lights flashing, the press of bodies all around. but ran’s hands are steady, possessive, gliding under the hem of your skirt like he owns you. and tonight, he does.
he ducks down, his lips brushing your throat. “you wanted attention, didn’t you?” he murmurs, rocking his hips forward, just enough for you to feel the stiff line of his cock beneath his jeans. “wearing that tiny little thing… fuck, baby. you’re not making it easy.”
he slips a hand between your thighs from behind— quick, practiced, and far too confident for someone doing it in public. two fingers press right against the thin lace of your panties, stroking over your folds and making your knees wobble.
“shhh,” he chuckles when you whimper. “no one can see. not unless you make a scene.”
his other hand lifts your skirt just slightly in the back— enough for the cool air to hit the backs of your thighs, enough for him to see exactly how soaked the fabric’s gotten. “look at that,” he drawls. “dripping for me? in a room full of people? we’ll have to fix that, won’t we?”
you twist in his grip, but he holds you in place, his fingers slipping beneath the soaked seat of your panties and swirling over top of your clit. your breath catches, and ran bites down a groan of his own as it twitches under his touch.
“if i told you to get on your knees right now, would you do it?”
you don’t answer, your mouth parted on a silent moan as his middle finger finally dips into your pussy. ran just laughs, glancing down at you knowingly. “that’s what i thought. stay still, princess, or i’ll fuck you right here where everyone can watch.”
☆ track #2: rindou haitani — feat. brat taming
you’re pushing his buttons on purpose.
rindou knows it. he’s known it since the second you walked into the club wearing that skintight dress, the one that clings to your curves and rides up every time you so much as breathe. it’s in the way you bat your lashes at him, the way your lips curl when he narrows his eyes at you. you’ve been needling him all night— talking back with that smart mouth, grinding in his lap under the guise of dancing, whispering obscene little things into his ear just to watch his jaw clench.
he’d kept himself together in public, but now? now, you're bare from the waist down, draped over his lap like a ragdoll, your dress bunched around your hips and your panties discarded somewhere on the floor. your thighs are trembling, your breathing shallow, but that devious smile is still on your face.
“you done?” rindou’s voice is calm, but there’s a heat simmering beneath it. his hands are firm on your hips, his thumbs pressing into the tender space between your pelvis and ass, locking you in place. “or do i have to fuck the attitude out of you?”
you giggle, and that’s all the answer he needs.
the first slap lands with a loud crack, his palm colliding with the plush swell of your ass hard enough to make you yelp. your hands claw at the bedsheets as your spine arches, your hips jerking forward before he hauls them back into place. another blow follows almost instantly, and then another— each one harder than the last, paced perfectly to let the sting blossom into something molten.
he watches the handprints bloom across your skin, evidence of your disobedience painted in vivid red. he rubs over one, soothing the burn just long enough to make the next strike even more startling.
“still think it’s funny?” he asks coolly, “go on, laugh again.”
you don’t.
“there we go.” his tone is smug now, satisfaction dripping from every syllable. “knew you’d come to your senses eventually.”
his hand drags down the curve of your back, following the slope of your spine until he reaches the soft, sticky heat between your legs. his fingertips ghost over your folds, and you shiver, a pathetic little sound slipping from your throat as your hips buck instinctively toward the contact. he clicks his tongue under his breath, withdrawing just as quickly.
“nuh uh,” he mutters. “you wanna act like a brat? act all big and bad, baby? then you better be ready to take the consequences.”
he slips two fingers inside you without warning— slow but firm, stretching you wide as your walls flutter helplessly around the intrusion. his knuckles brush your entrance as he curls them, hitting that spot inside you that makes your knees nearly buckle.
“now count. let’s see how many more you can take before you start begging.”
☆ track #3: sanzu haruchiyo — feat. ruined orgasms
sanzu doesn’t let you cum. not properly, anyway.
he’s mean, smiling sweet as sugar with one hand around your throat and the other between your legs, fingers drenched from the mess he’s already made of you. you’ve been riding the edge for what feels like hours now, your cunt slick and swollen, your thighs sore from how many times they’ve tensed, your voice hoarse from all the cries he’s dragged out of you.
“fuck, you sound so pretty when you cry,” he murmurs. his middle finger presses deep inside you, and your mouth falls open in a silent moan. “but you don’t deserve it yet. not until i say so.”
you’re nothing but nerve endings now— overstimulated and underfucked, ruined from the inside out. and still, he doesn’t let up. his hand leaves your throat only to cup your jaw, tilting your face toward his with a gentleness that doesn’t quite match the feral glint in his eyes.
he presses his thumb against your clit again, and your whole body jolts. your hips lift in a desperate attempt to chase the pressure, but he doesn’t give it to you. not when you’re right on the brink of an orgasm— not even after half an hour of this torture.
he pulls his hand away with a wet sound, the slick between your legs shiny on his fingers. you don’t know whether to beg or scream, blinking through tears as the tension inside you ebbs away.
“oh, angel,” he coos, tapping your cheek condescendingly. “that almost sounded like a sob. you want it so bad, don’t you? you wanna cum on my fingers? you think you’ve earned it?”
your head nods before he’s even finished speaking, and sanzu leans down, practically purring in your ear. “go ahead, baby. cum for me.”
he thrusts his fingers once, twice— expertly stroking against your twitching walls, and when your body seizes again, right at the cusp of bliss, he stops. his fingers slip out of you just as your climax crests, the release yanked from your body like a punishment rather than a reward. it’s unsatisfying, a cruel imitation of pleasure.
your cunt clenches around nothing, throbbing through the aftershocks of an orgasm you didn’t get to feel, the high collapsing in on itself. you cry out, the sound cracked and raw as your hips jerk uselessly against the air.
“aww,” he drawls in a mocking tone. “was that it? that tiny little spasm?” he tuts, wiping his fingers off on your inner thigh. “poor baby. can’t even cum right without my help.”
☆ track #4: kakucho hitto — feat. marathon sex
kakucho doesn't stop at one.
you always knew he had stamina— you saw it in the way he worked out, the way he fought, the way he carried himself like he was a man with something to prove. but you hadn't expected *this.*
you hadn't expected to be folded beneath him, tears streaming down your cheeks as he forces yet another orgasm out of your spent body.
you've lost count how many times you've cum— on his fingers, on his tongue, on his cock. your pussy is swollen and overstimulated, so full of his cum that it’s dripping onto the sheets in thick, wet smears. it clings to your thighs, your skin sticky with the proof of how thoroughly he’s taken you.
even now, after pumping you full only a few seconds ago, you can feel him start to harden again. his cock swells where it rests deep, twitching like it’s got a mind of its own, like his body refuses to give you a break even if his heart might want to.
your breath stutters, and your nails sink into his shoulders.
“cho…” your voice breaks around the plea, but he’s already shushing you, his lips pressed to your temple, large hands gentle on your hips. it completely contradicts the restless throb inside you— needy and insistent, already pushing forward.
“i know, sweet girl,” he murmurs. “i know you’re tired. but you’ve still got more in you, don’t you? you can give me another.”
his hips begin to move again, slow and steady. every stroke makes you feel like you’re being split open anew, like your pussy is still learning how to take him despite the way it clings to his cock.
his fingers find your clit again, rubbing soft circles over the puffy little bud. it makes you choke on a sob, the wrecked sound catching in your throat— but he keeps going. keeps touching you until you’re cumming *again.*
your body convulses as shudders rip through your limbs. you shatter around him, gasping out as another orgasm crashes through you— deeper this time, devastating in its intensity. your muscles seize. your vision blurs. tears streak hot down your cheeks as your pussy clamps down, milking him hard.
kakucho hisses, a muscle in his jaw feathering. his abdomen flexes as your walls milk him dry, but even then— even after all of that, he doesn’t stop. he doesn’t even slow down.
“fuck, that’s it,” he groans in your ear. “just like that, baby. you’re doing so good. gimme one more, yeah? just one more.”
☆ track #5: wakasa imaushi — feat. shotgunning
wakasa tastes like salt and smoke and sin.
he’s sprawled out against the headboard, legs spread wide, a joint perched lazily between his fingers burning slow and sweet. the scent of bud is rich in the air, and the cherry glows with every pull, casting a shadows and a faint amber light across his features.
he exhales slowly, like he’s savoring both the high and the sight of you— plump lips stretched tight around the swollen head of his cock, your eyes beginning to glaze over.
“shit,” he murmurs, his voice thick as smoke curling from his lips. he tips his head back. “you’re too good at that.”
you hum around him in response, and the vibrations make him twitch. his hand finds the back of your head, not to control or guide you, but just to feel. feel the weight of you kneeling between his thighs, the heat of your mouth wrapped around him, the wet suction that makes his jaw slacken.
he takes another hit, dark lashes fluttering, then taps your chin with two fingers. “open up f’me.”
you pull off of him with a loud pop, your lips glossy with spit and your breath already short. you look cock drunk already, and wakasa leans forward, the joint pinched between his fingers as he captures your mouth, exhaling the smoke directly between your lips.
you inhale without thinking, your lungs filling with his secondhand high. it tastes like him. like warm sugar and burnt leaves. your tongue flicks across his lip, and he groans against your mouth, his fingers flexing in your hair.
the high washes over you all at once— like static in your brain— and by the time he pulls away, your pupils are blown wide, your eyes rimmed with red.
“there you go,” he whispers, brushing your cheek with his thumb, admiring the dazed tilt of your head. “pretty girl gettin’ high off me in more ways than one.”
you sink back down between his thighs without a word, your lips parting again. you take him in slow, and he lets you— watching with hooded eyes, his head lolled to the side.
“mmm,” he hums, “this just might be my new favorite way to hotbox a room.”
