“How they react when they kiss you out of anger” // Tokyo Revengers
Charakters: Mikey, Sanzu, Ran, Rindou, Hanma, Wakasa, Kokonoi, Izana
Synopsis: You never thought you’d find yourself tangled up with someone you couldn’t stand — but here you are, caught in a whirlwind of bickering, sharp words, and stolen moments that make your heart race. Every argument feels like a battlefield, every glare a challenge, and yet, somehow, all the hate is just a thin veil over something much deeper.
The rooftop was drenched in silence except for the heavy breaths you both struggled to control. The night air was sharp against your skin, but neither of you noticed—your worlds had shrunk to this moment, to the tension bristling between you.
“You don’t get it, do you?” you snapped, hands clenched at your sides. “I’m not just some backup plan you pull out when things get tough. I’m not going to sit quietly while you risk everything like it’s a game!”
Mikey’s eyes darkened, jaw tightening as he took a slow step forward, closing the distance between you. “I’m doing this for us. For the people I care about. You think it’s easy? You think I want to be alone in this?”
“Then why do you shut me out every time it gets hard?” you spat back. “Why act like I’m the enemy when I’m the only one trying to keep you from breaking?”
His fists clenched at his sides, the tension coiling tight like a spring ready to snap. He inhaled sharply, voice low and harsh, “Maybe because you’re so damn annoying.”
The words hit you like a punch, but before you could say anything, Mikey grabbed your waist, yanking you forward with a desperate force that stole your breath.
His lips crushed against yours, rough and wild, like he was trying to erase all the anger and confusion with the heat of that kiss alone.
You barely had time to register the movement before he was speaking again, voice raw and urgent between gasps.
“You don’t know how much I hate that you get to me like this,” he murmured, teeth catching your lower lip as his hands tangled in your hair. “You rile me up, make me lose control, and I… I can’t stop thinking about you.”
He kissed you harder, desperate, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.
“I want you,” he confessed, breathless. “More than anything. More than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.”
His forehead pressed to yours, eyes wild and searching. “You drive me crazy. You’re the only one who ever does.”
He kissed you again, slow and deliberate this time, lips tracing yours as if memorizing every inch.
“I’m scared,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Scared I’ll screw it all up. But I can’t stay away. Not from you.”
His hands slid down your back, pulling you impossibly close. “You’re so annoying… but I don’t want anyone else.”
The fight, the frustration, everything that had weighed on you both slipped away in the heat of that moment—leaving only the undeniable truth burning between your bodies.
___________________________________________________________________________
The narrow alley seemed to close in around you, the night heavy with tension and frustration. Your voice echoed off the cold brick walls, sharp and unyielding.
“You don’t get it!” you snapped, stepping forward, anger flaring in your chest. “You think you can just do whatever you want, hurt whoever gets close, and then act like nothing happened? What about me? What about what I want?”
Sanzu’s dark eyes glinted with something fierce as he took a step toward you, his usual smirk twisting into something almost vulnerable. “You think I want this? Dragging you into all this chaos? I don’t. But I can’t stop it either.”
You shook your head, voice cracking. “Then why do you push me away? Why treat me like I’m some annoying problem instead of the only person who’s actually trying to be there?”
His grin turned wicked, biting, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. “Because you’re so damn annoying.”
The words hit you like a slap—but before you can respond, Sanzu’s hands are on your waist, yanking you close with a desperate urgency.
His lips slam onto yours, fierce and demanding, crushing away all the anger with the heat of the kiss. Your breath hitches as his hands roam your back, pulling you impossibly tight.
You wrap your arms around his neck, fingers tangling in his dark hair as the kiss deepens, messy and raw.
Between ragged breaths, Sanzu pulls back just enough to murmur, voice low and rough against your lips, “You don’t know how much you mess with my head... How every time we fight, it’s like you’re the only thing I can’t forget.”
His lips trail down your jawline, teeth grazing your skin before capturing your mouth again. “I hate how much I want you. How you drive me crazy every damn day.”
The kiss grows slower, more heated—full of all the frustration and longing he can’t put into words.
His hands slide lower, resting on your hips, holding you steady. “You’re the only one who gets under my skin this deep. The only one I want to fight for, even when I want to push you away.”
You feel the wild storm in his eyes as he kisses you again, soft and fierce all at once. “You’re annoying as hell... but I’m never letting you go.”
The world around you fades until there’s only the two of you, tangled in desperate, searing kisses, the fight replaced by something far more dangerous and real.
___________________________________________________________________________
The rooftop air was warm and electric, the neon glow of the city casting soft light over the two of you. It wasn’t the first time you and Ran had ended up like this—too close, too angry, too aware. But this time? It had been brewing for weeks.
“You think everything’s a joke,” you hissed, stepping into his space, jabbing a finger into his chest. “People get hurt, Ran. You hurt people.”
His lips curled in that lazy, dangerous smirk. “And yet, here you are. Still chasing me around like you’re not obsessed.”
You scoffed. “You’re delusional.”
He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to graze your nerves. “You talk like you don’t want me. But your eyes always tell on you.”
You shoved him lightly, but he didn’t move. He just tilted his head, watching you. Waiting.
“God, you’re so annoying,” you snapped.
Ran’s smile twitched, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He took one step closer—then another—and then his hand was on your jaw, firm but not rough. He looked at you for a heartbeat longer. And then he kissed you.
His lips crashed into yours, all smooth confidence stripped away and replaced with something messier—more real. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him as his mouth moved against yours, urgent and unrelenting.
You kissed him back, just as hard, meeting fire with fire. Your hands tangled in his hair, your body arching toward him like you’d been waiting for this since the first time you laid eyes on him.
He broke away for just a second, breathless, eyes burning. “You think I don’t feel it?” he murmured against your mouth. “Every time you walk in a room, I feel it. This pull. And it pisses me off.”
Another kiss—hot, open-mouthed and intense, like he was trying to consume the very air you breathed.
“You get in my head,” he whispered, voice cracking as his lips traced your jaw. “You make me reckless.”
He kissed you again, rougher now, like the more he kissed you, the less he could hold himself back.
“You’re the only one who talks back to me like this. The only one who doesn’t care who I am.”
He pinned you gently against the wall, hands slipping under your jacket, grounding you there, while his mouth found yours again, slower this time—deep and consuming.
“I tell myself to stop,” he breathed between kisses. “To stay away from you. But then I see you again… looking at me like you see through all of it.”
He paused, forehead against yours, breathing hard, fingers tangled in your hair. “And I lose. Every time.”
You pulled him back in before he could say another word, and he met you with even more desperation—like he needed this, needed you, to feel something real.
The fight, the taunts, the arrogance—it had all been the buildup to this: the moment Ran Haitani let go of control for you.
___________________________________________________________________________
You shouldn’t have come to the club.
You told yourself you were done with him — with the constant games, the hot-and-cold stares, the things he never said and the way he always looked like he might say them. But you were there anyway. And of course, he noticed.
Rindou didn’t approach you at first. He just watched.
From across the room, leaning back in a booth, fingers drumming lazily against the table, his eyes locked on you like a storm just waiting to roll in.
You tried to ignore him. Tried to laugh, to dance, to act like he didn’t exist.
But when you slipped outside for air, he was already there—waiting in the alley, cigarette hanging from his lips, his expression unreadable.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said flatly, voice low, almost bored.
You crossed your arms, heart pounding. “You don’t own me.”
He let the cigarette drop, grinding it out with his heel. “Didn’t say I did.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Then why does it feel like you think you do?”
He stepped forward—slow, deliberate—and suddenly the air between you was suffocating. His voice dropped lower. “Because you’re in my fucking head. All the time.”
“You think I don’t notice when you disappear?” he said, voice sharper now, words cutting close. “You think I don’t see the way you look at me and pretend it means nothing?”
You backed up half a step, your spine hitting the alley wall. He followed, close but not touching. Not yet.
“You’re so fucking annoying,” he muttered, eyes locked on yours. “You make everything complicated. You make me complicated.”
No hesitation. No teasing. Just months of tension spilling over, crashing into your lips with raw, unspoken emotion.
His hands found your face, holding you still as his mouth claimed yours — rough, deep, and desperate. You kissed him back without thinking, your body moving with his like you’d been waiting for this just as long.
He pulled back for a breath, lips brushing yours, voice ragged. “I hate how much I want you.”
He kissed you again, slower now, like he needed to memorize every second.
“I try not to,” he whispered, biting your lower lip between kisses. “I tell myself it’s just tension, just something to shake off…”
Another kiss. This one longer, drawn-out. Hungry.
“But then I see you walk in a room, and it’s like—fuck. I lose everything.”
His fingers slid into your hair, his mouth finding yours again, pulling you deeper into him.
“You drive me insane,” he breathed, pressing his forehead to yours. “And I want you so much it actually hurts.”
You stared at him, stunned by the rawness in his voice. But he didn’t stop. He kissed you again, slower this time, as if every kiss was another truth he couldn’t say out loud.
___________________________________________________________________________
The warehouse was empty, echoing with the sound of your boots and the bite in your voice.
“I’m not one of your toys, Hanma,” you snapped, storming across the floor. “You don’t get to screw with people’s heads just because you’re bored.”
He stood by the railing on the upper level, arms spread out wide like he was enjoying a performance. “Oh, come on. Don’t flatter yourself. You’re just the loudest one when I poke.”
You climbed the stairs two at a time, fury rising in your throat. “You think this is fun for me? You showing up, starting shit, running your mouth like none of it means anything?”
Hanma’s grin twisted, and in the dim light, he looked like something wild barely kept on a leash.
“You like it,” he said flatly. “You like fighting with me. You like that I see through your little act.”
You reached the top and shoved him, hard. “Fuck you.”
He didn’t move. Didn’t even flinch. Just stared at you, eyes glinting behind those purple lenses, that goddamn smile glued to his face.
“You’re so annoying,” you spat.
And that’s when it snapped.
Hanma surged forward and grabbed your face, smashing his lips against yours.
The kiss was violent — clashing teeth, panting breaths, a tangled mess of everything neither of you had the guts to say. His hands dug into your waist, dragging you flush against him, and you kissed back with equal heat, fists tightening in his shirt.
“God, you piss me off,” he growled against your mouth.
Another kiss — hot, biting, filled with years of tension. His hand slipped under your jacket, fingers gripping your side possessively.
“You walk into a room, and it’s like—bam. I can’t think straight.”
You moaned into his mouth as he kissed you again, tongue sliding over yours like he needed to consume you just to shut himself up.
“I try to ignore it,” he muttered between kisses, lips dragging down your neck. “Try to laugh it off. Pretend it’s nothing.”
He nipped at your skin, breathing hard. “But I look at you, and it’s fucking chaos in my head.”
Another kiss — desperate now, almost angry. You were both pressed against the metal railing, bodies colliding like sparks off gasoline.
“You’re the only one who doesn’t play by my rules,” he said, voice cracked. “And I fucking love it.”
His hand cradled the back of your neck, keeping you close as he kissed you again, longer this time, like he was trying to tell you everything he couldn’t put into words.
“You’re so annoying,” he whispered again. “And I can’t get enough of you.”
You didn’t respond — not with words. You just pulled him back in, devouring the rest of his confession from his lips.
His fingers tangled in your hair, and without another word, Hanma pulled you back in — crashing his mouth to yours like he’d starve if he didn’t.
The kiss was frantic. Messy. Teeth grazing lips, hands roaming, both of you losing yourselves in the fire you’d been fanning for far too long.
You gasped against his lips, and he swallowed the sound hungrily, pressing you harder against the railing. His body caged you in, all sharp edges and heat.
“Fuck,” he whispered between kisses, voice hoarse now. “You taste like every bad decision I’ve ever wanted to make.”
He kissed you again. Slower, deeper. This one burned less with rage and more with something he didn’t dare name. His hand cradled your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek as he tilted your head and kissed you like he needed you — not just wanted you.
“You don’t leave my head,” he murmured, lips barely pulling away. “Even when I want you gone.”
Another kiss. Then another. Quick, hungry presses of his lips to yours like he couldn’t stop, like stopping would be worse than dying.
“You fight me,” he whispered, kissing the corner of your mouth. “You challenge me. And god, it kills me how much I love it.”
Your hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt as he kissed down your jaw, trailing heat over your skin.
“I’ve kissed a lot of people,” he said lowly, lips brushing your neck now. “But I never needed it like this.”
He pulled back just enough to look at you — his usual smugness replaced by something raw. Bare. Like maybe, just maybe, you were the first person to ever knock him off balance.
But he didn’t let you answer. He was kissing you again. Softer this time. Lingering. Like he wasn’t sure when he’d get to do it again.
And the most dangerous part? You didn’t want him to stop either.
___________________________________________________________________________
The shop was closed, the lights half off. Just the low amber glow of a single lamp over the workbench. You leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching Wakasa from across the room as he wiped his hands with a rag, jaw tight, shoulders tense.
The silence stretched between you like a rubber band on the verge of snapping.
“You’re ignoring me again,” you said finally.
Wakasa didn’t look up. “I’m working.”
“No,” you shot back, voice sharp, “you’re avoiding. Like always.”
He sighed, setting the rag down with deliberate calm. “You came here just to pick a fight?”
You pushed off the counter, stepping toward him. “No. I came here because I’m sick of pretending this thing between us isn’t real. Because every time I get close, you back off like it’s a mistake.”
He turned slowly to face you. His expression was unreadable — cool, distant. Too still.
“I told you,” he said quietly, “this isn’t a good idea.”
“And I told you to stop acting like you don’t feel it too.”
His lip twitched — the only sign of the emotion simmering under his skin.
“You’re so fucking annoying,” he muttered, voice laced with frustration. “You always have to push. Always have to dig.”
You stepped right into his space, not backing down. “Because I know there’s more under that mask you wear.”
Wakasa’s eyes met yours — and whatever restraint he had left broke.
In one swift movement, he grabbed you by the collar and kissed you — hard. The workbench dug into your back as he pressed you against it, mouth claiming yours with weeks of pent-up silence, frustration, and something too raw to name.
You gasped into the kiss, but he didn’t give you space. His hands gripped your waist, holding you like he’d been denying himself this every single day.
“You think I don’t want you?” he whispered between kisses, lips brushing yours. “You think it’s easy for me to pretend?”
Another kiss — deeper now, slower. His mouth moved like he was trying to memorize the shape of yours, trying to make up for every moment he looked at you and said nothing.
“This shop…” he murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth, “used to be a place I came to feel peace.”
Another kiss. His hands slid under your jacket, tracing your spine.
“Now all I feel here is you.”
You pulled him back in, kissing him like you were claiming him in the same space where he used to hide from his own heart.
“I hate this,” he whispered against your lips. “I hate how much I need this.”
But he didn’t stop. He kissed you again, slower now, lips softer but still trembling.
“You’re not supposed to matter this much.”
And yet, in that dim, dusty shop filled with memories of the past, he held you like you were the only thing that had ever made him feel alive in the present.
___________________________________________________________________________
The penthouse was quiet except for the faint hum of the city lights below. The sleek marble and expensive furniture felt cold and distant—just like him. You stood across from Kokonoi, arms crossed, eyes sharp as you watched him pour a glass of whiskey with the slow, precise motions he always used to keep everything controlled.
“You think putting on that flawless act makes you untouchable?” you said, voice steady but laced with frustration. “That no one sees the cracks underneath?”
He glanced up at you, a slow, almost mocking smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. “And you think yelling at me is going to fix that? How adorable.”
You took a step closer, refusing to back down. “I’m not yelling. I’m trying to get through. But you don’t make it easy.”
His smirk deepened, sharper this time. “Maybe because you don’t even know what you want from me.”
“Maybe I do,” you said quietly, voice dropping just enough to be dangerous. “You’re scared. Scared that I’ll see through your walls.”
He laughed, but it was cold and bitter, nothing like genuine amusement. “Scared? You don’t even understand the word.”
“You’re terrified,” you shot back, moving closer so that the space between you was thick with heat. “Terrified that I’ll find out what you really feel.”
His eyes flickered, the first crack in his perfect mask. He set the glass down hard on the table and grabbed your wrist, yanking you toward him with sudden force. Your breath hitched as his face hovered inches from yours.
“You’re insufferable,” he muttered, voice rougher now. “But you’re the only thing I can’t just walk away from.”
Before you could say anything, he pressed his lips to yours—urgent, demanding, nothing gentle about it. His hands tangled fiercely in your hair, pulling you flush against him. The kiss was fiery, raw, like years of frustration poured into a single moment.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding on as if you could stop the world spinning out of control just by being there.
When he finally pulled back, his breathing was ragged, his eyes dark with something more than annoyance.
“You push me to the edge,” he said hoarsely, voice cracked. “I hate it. I hate how you make me want things I’m supposed to forget.”
His hands slid down your back, pulling you impossibly closer. He kissed you again, slower this time, lips brushing yours with a desperate softness that made your heart twist.
“I hate how you’re the first thing I think about when I wake up,” he murmured, his forehead resting against yours. “And the last thing I want to admit before I fall asleep.”
You smiled, small and shaky, brushing your fingers along his jaw.
“And yet here we are,” you whispered. “Neither of us able to walk away.”
He smiled back, a rare, genuine thing, and kissed you again—this time full of promise and surrender.
___________________________________________________________________________
The warehouse was silent except for the faint drip of water somewhere far off. Dust motes floated in the shafts of moonlight cutting through broken windows, painting everything in cold silver.
You faced Izana Kurokawa, his pale eyes unreadable, fixed on you like you were a puzzle he’d been trying to solve — or maybe a problem he hated to admit he cared about.
“You really think you can just barge into my world and change anything?” His voice was low, steady, but there was an edge of something sharp underneath, like ice cracking.
You didn’t back down. “Maybe I don’t want to walk away.”
A flicker of something like frustration—or was it longing?—passed through his eyes. He stepped closer, deliberate and slow.
“You’re insufferable,” Izana said quietly, a ghost of a bitter smile curling his lips. “You keep pushing. You keep testing. You rile me more than anyone ever has.”
“And you hate it,” you said softly, “because you can’t admit what you really feel.”
His gaze darkened, the carefully constructed mask slipping just enough for you to see the storm beneath.
“You don’t understand what I’ve buried,” he whispered, voice thick with pain and something close to fear.
His hand lifted, fingers brushing your cheek with a tenderness that shocked you—fragile, hesitant.
Then he closed the distance.
His lips were cold at first, barely brushing yours in a testing kiss. But when you didn’t pull away, when you leaned in, his kiss deepened — desperate, fierce, filled with years of silence and unsaid things.
His hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him like he could hold the world steady if only he held you.
Between breaths, he murmured, “I’m tired of pretending. Tired of hiding behind control and coldness.”
His lips parted from yours only slightly, his forehead resting against yours, voice breaking just a little.
“You make me feel alive… and it terrifies me.”
You ran your fingers through his silken hair, feeling the tremor beneath his calm.
“Izana…” you whispered, your voice barely audible.
He kissed you again — this time softer, slower, as if trying to memorize every inch of you.
The loneliness he carried wrapped around you both, fragile and aching. For a moment, the fierce leader was gone — just a man, afraid and vulnerable, reaching out.
“I don’t know how to be anything but this,” he confessed, voice raw. “But with you… I want to try.”
You smiled gently, heart pounding, knowing that in this quiet warehouse, surrounded by shadows and memories, something fragile and real was beginning.
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