This is my first time coming back to this page and it's for a callout post. I'm not a big Tumblr person on here, but since a certain SOMEONE wants to block and deny, I'm gonna come out and say it.
@blkkizzat is a manipulative ass person. Who's been doing a SMEAR campaign over someone while has NOT ONCE reached out in 6 months.
This all started because of a NICKI MINAJ JOKE. Me and this friend have beem friends since the start of covid, 6 YEARS, I know them a lot better than Kali. She has systematically targeted this friend of mine, because ill make the same jokes as well and I get are crickets.
Kali has DMed me trying to get her on her side and there were SO MUCH shit missing. So yeah, im calling Kali out in her bullshit. You say you didn't wanna bring me into this and YET—
You're basically reaching out to me to if see my friend said anything about you. I could see, she could see it, and YOU DENY IT.
Pointers here: The only reason my friend was lashing out was because,
YOU were targeting her.
YOUR FRIEND, who didn't say or do shit about defending her then-girlfriend at the time was being reprimanded. Let's not act like my friend's now ex-fiancee is innocent.
You two have given her REASONS to lash out at both of you.
And lastly, DO YOU KNOW I CAN SEE YOU IN THAT SERVER????
You set off this domino effect because you DIDN'T GET PICKED. You successfully sabotaged a relationship.
And MAIN CHARACTER SYNDROME??? 😭😭😭 HOLY PROJECTION, she hasn't even been thinking of you and I find it HILARIOUS that you decided to say all this shit AFTER, I blocked you on some bullshit fr. Speaking of projection, whats this about you accusing her of liking shota-con??? If I remember correctly, that was you, who said they liked shotacon. Not only that, but you lie, A LOT.
Sending screenshots of out of context shit,
lying about your age,
DOCTORING screenshots to make it seem like you're the victim???
All you've done in that server is bully her, pick on her, and you've sat down FAST when I step in. But since you have me blocked on your new account, I hope you find me. 🤨🤨🤨 I don't care bout NO ONE ELSE. You've been stalking someone who essentially doesn't even care about you in the slightest.
And the sad thing was. I really wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. But as soon as I saw you trying to manipulate me, yeah no fuck that.
They say there is a loser in the Zen'in clan. A man who doesn't even have an ounce of cursed energy. I wondered how pathetic of a man he would be... I wondered what sort of miserable face he would have...
JUJUTSU KAISEN: THE CULLING GAME (2026)
— EP. 51: Perfect Preparation, 「葦を啣む」
thinking about fratboy! ran, who clocks you the second you walk into the party— fresh faced and sipping your drink a little too fast, like you're trying to drown your nerves in it. he doesn’t even have to try; one cocky smile, a few refills of your cup, his hand ghosting over the small of your back, and you’re already pliant, already letting him lead you upstairs to his bedroom.
he doesn’t bother with foreplay, just bends you over his bed with your skirt shoved up and panties tugged to the side. ran fucks you like he’s trying to break the mattress, hips snapping forward hard enough to rattle the headboard against the wall. he coos at you when you whimper, digging his fingers into your waist to stop you from shying away as he drives into you, deeper, faster, until his sheets are stained with your tears.
and in the morning, when you wake up— your body sore, mascara smeared, and hair a mess— ran’s already leaning against the doorway with a lazy grin and a plastic bag in hand. he presses a small white pill to your lips, his thumb stroking your jaw when you hesitate. “swallow,” he says before lifting a glass of water to your lips.
you don’t even realize it’s plan b he’s feeding you— because with ran haitani, you never realize until it’s already too late.
a/n: It's been a few months and I'm back on some bullshit. I'm dabbling into my psychological thriller juices, soooo.....have some demon!Haitani brothers.
w/c: 1.3k
Tales tell a of two brothers, the ruled the streets of Roppongi at a young age. The ruled the streets before it was even called Roppongi. They've gained their powers and abilities by the charismatic manner and intimidation. They've been around for centuries, looking for more, yearning for more. The Roppongi boys were a precautionary tale of young adults keeping to themselves and keeping their heads down.
The two brothers looked down from a balcony of a high building. Waiting, watching, looking for new prey to play their games. The two looked normal during the day, but at night they looked menacing, taller, more ragged. Their bodies an angry shade of red, their matching body tattoos like they were meant to fit like a puzzle. The youngest looked down, looking for prey.
"I don't know, Ran." He began to wonder. "Not much here, tonight."
"Patience, Rindou." Ran spoke, his lavender eyes looking down at his crouching brother. "Someone's gotta be interesting to pick at. Did you leave the bait down there?"
Rindou nods as he pinpoints the exact spot he left it at. They watch closely as they spot you, coming home from a long shift. You looked exhausted, tired, you just wanted tk go home. For some reason you stopped where you were. You saw something glaring in the neon lights, as you came closer it was something shiny,beautiful. A pendant.
The brothers looked over to where you were. Their eyes widened at the display, Rindou's smirk widened as they were ready to play with their new toy. Ran chuckled a bit at the spectacle as he pays his younger brother's head. You never talked the pendant, but you did hope someone was responsible to get it to it's rightful owner.
"This is going to be fun, bro." Rindou says and smiles at him.
"It will indeed, Rindou." Ran replied with a smirk on his face.
These next few weeks have been quite eventful, You don’t remember how the pendant got in your pocket.
One night, in the glimmering chaos of Shibuya, you stumbled out of a crowded bar. The streets were alive with cigarette smoke and pulsing neon. A flyer girl handed you something, but when you looked down, it wasn’t a flyer.
It was… this. A pendant.
Black metal, impossibly cold. Etched with symbols that shimmered faintly under the streetlights, shifting like oil on water. The chain was delicate and old—too old. And the weight of it… wrong. Not heavy, but present. Like it was aware of itself. Of you.
You should’ve thrown it away.
But instead, you put it on.
You started dreaming of them.
Two men. Tall. Pale. Not quite human.
One was smooth, composed, regal in a way that made your stomach twist. His voice echoed like cathedral bells, laced with danger and allure. He looked at you like you were a question he couldn’t wait to dissect.
The other was crueler. Hungrier. His grin held too many teeth. He never blinked. He whispered to you while you slept, breathing secrets into your ears in a language that gave you nosebleeds.
You didn’t remember their names. They didn’t offer them. But in every dream, they reached for you.
“You’re wearing our gift,” the elder brother murmured.
“It suits you,” the younger said, brushing a claw against your throat.
You woke up gasping. The pendant always warm against your skin. Your neighbor died on the stairs. A freak fall, they said.
Two days later, your ex texted you out of the blue, saying he felt like someone was watching him. He didn’t text again. You saw his name in the obituaries a week later—heart attack. Age twenty-seven.
You start seeing things out of the corners of your eyes. Reflections that don't match your movements. Your apartment grows colder. The lights flicker when you're alone. The shadows move like they're breathing.
You take off the pendant one night. Just to see. And you feel empty. Nauseous. Lost.
You put it back on without thinking. The first time you see them awake, it’s at a club in Kabukicho. One of those places you never intended to go to, but somehow ended up at. The kind with black-painted windows and music like distant thunder.
They’re waiting for you.
The elder sits like a king on a leather couch in the VIP section. His eyes—solid black and endless. He says nothing, but his gaze pins you in place.
The younger is already behind you before you realize it. His fingers slide up your neck, brushing the pendant.
“Wearing it still. Good little thing.” Ran asked you.
Your pulse spikes.
They talk to each other in front of you, as if you’re not there. As if you’re an offering laid on an altar. A meal waiting to be picked apart.
“Too soon?”
“Let them stew. Let them rot a little more.”
And then they vanish. Just like that.
You stumble home. You vomit in the sink. You try to sleep, but the dreams come again—stronger. Their voices layered over the sound of fire and screaming.
You don’t sleep for two days.
The metal scorches your skin sometimes. A punishment, maybe. Or a reminder. You try locking it in a drawer. The next morning, it’s around your neck again.
You stop going to work. You don’t eat. You barely remember your own name.
You see people following you. You hear whispers in empty rooms. You can’t tell if you’re hallucinating or if the city itself is turning against you. The air feels wrong. Thick. Watched.
You take photos of yourself and see them in the background. The brothers. Watching. Smiling.
You delete the photos. They reappear. Your best friend confronts you one night.
“You look sick,” they say. “You’re not sleeping. You’re losing it.”
You try to explain, but the words don’t come out right.
You try to take the pendant off again, and this time, it won’t.
It fuses to your skin. Your friend sees it—tries to help.
They die in a car crash the next day. Brake failure.
You hear the brothers laughing in your dreams. Their voices louder now. Closer. One kisses your forehead while the other strokes your hair.
“So pretty when you’re grieving.”
“So close to breaking. We like you like this.”
You stop being you.
You start waking up in places you didn’t go to. Clothes you didn’t remember wearing. Blood under your nails. Cigarette smoke on your breath, though you don’t smoke.
You speak in tongues when you’re alone.
You write symbols on the walls in ink, or maybe something darker.
The brothers appear more frequently now—no longer just in dreams or reflections. They stand in your kitchen. In your shower. By your bed.
They touch you more. Trace your jaw. Your throat. Your chest.
They never hurt you—directly.
But you feel bruised. Inside. Hollowed out.
You try to leave Tokyo. You buy a bus ticket. You pack a bag.
You make it as far as the station before the pendant tightens around your neck—strangling you until you collapse. You wake up at home again. The bag is gone. The door won’t open anymore. The windows show places you don’t recognize—blasted landscapes, bone fields, cities of ash.
You scream. They come.
And they hold you as you fall apart. You don’t know how long it’s been now.
Time doesn’t work the same. You don’t sleep anymore. You don’t need to.
The brothers are always with you. They whisper things that don’t make sense but feel true. They touch your mind like a piano, playing notes you didn’t know you had.
And you… like it now. You belong to them. You don’t even want to take off the pendant anymore.
Not when they say things like:
“We carved your fate into your soul the moment you touched it."
“You wear us well, beloved. We’ll never leave you.”
Your skin pulses with their mark. Your eyes glow faintly in mirrors. You hear screams under your floorboards. And your laughter doesn’t sound like yours anymore.
If trouble had a face, it’d be grinning at you with lazy eyes and mismatched tattoos.
Hanma Shuji had been orbiting your life like a bad habit. He didn’t even go to your school — just showed up whenever he felt like it, leaning on the fence behind the gym with a cigarette in his mouth and his hair tied back like some deranged samurai.
The first time he said your name, you knew peace was over.
“Hey, pretty thing,” he called, voice a teasing lilt. “You always look this bored, or am I just not doing enough yet?”
You ignored him. You tried to ignore him.
But Hanma was relentless. He’d steal your pen and claim it was a hostage situation. He’d slide into your lunch table with the smoothness of a cat and the chaos of a fire alarm. Once, he even picked you up after school in a stolen moped — “borrowed,” he insisted — and dropped you off fifteen minutes late to your part-time job with no helmet, no shame, and a wink.
“You’re going to get me fired,” you hissed.
“Nah,” he smirked, licking a lollipop. “I’m your good luck charm. Look, no blood today.”
You hated how often he made you laugh.
You hated more how your stomach flipped when he leaned in close, when his voice dropped just a little lower, all mock-serious:
“Tell me, angel — you ever think about kissing someone just to shut them up?”
You hated that the answer was yes, and that it was him.
One evening, you found yourself on the school rooftop, watching the city blink awake in neon. He sat beside you, legs hanging off the edge, fresh bruises peeking out from his collar. You tried not to ask. You always tried not to ask.
But you couldn’t help it. “Why do you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Start fights. Start chaos. Drag me into things.”
He looked at you then, eyes sharp under the gold-pink sky. For once, he wasn’t smiling.
“’Cause I like you,” he said simply. “You’re the only one who sees me and doesn’t flinch. That’s rare.”
You blinked. “You think basic human decency is attractive?”
Hanma let out a full laugh, tipping back with one hand over his heart like you just said the funniest thing all week. “God, you kill me.”
There was a pause. The city buzzed below. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears.
And then he said it:
“I’m serious. I like you. And not just ‘cause you look cute when you’re yelling at me for nearly getting us arrested.”
You turned toward him, heart caught somewhere between jump and don’t be stupid.
“Shuji…”
“Yeah?” He grinned. “This the part where you slap me or kiss me?”
You rolled your eyes — but your hand was already reaching for his collar.
And when you kissed him, he didn’t joke. He just kissed you back, warm and reckless, like he’d been waiting for you to lose your mind for weeks.
When you pulled away, breathless and a little dazed, he leaned in close, forehead to yours.
“About damn time.”
You pushed him off with a laugh. “You’re still getting me into trouble.”
He smiled, all teeth and mischief. “Yeah, but now I get to call you mine.”
Your kiss was supposed to shut him up.
But Shuji never knew how to stay quiet — not when his blood was pumping, not when your lips were on his, and definitely not when you were straddling his lap on the rooftop, hands buried in his jacket like you were ready to tear it off.
He broke the kiss with a low chuckle, lips brushing your cheek as he spoke against your skin.
“Shit… never thought I’d get you like this,” he murmured, voice husky with want. “So uptight, so clean — and now you’re grinding on me where anyone could walk up those stairs.”
“Shut up,” you breathed, but your body betrayed you, rolling your hips again, chasing the friction between you.
Hanma growled low, hands gripping your waist tight. “You really want me to?”
One of his hands slipped under your shirt, dragging his palm up your back, fingers splayed and possessive. The other cupped the back of your head, pulling you into another messy, open-mouthed kiss — all tongue and teeth and that signature desperation you only ever saw in his fights.
But this wasn’t violence. This was heat.
“Fuck,” he muttered when he pulled away again, forehead pressed to yours. “You’re driving me insane.”
He slid his hand down, between your thighs, just to tease the edge of your underwear through your uniform skirt.
Your breath hitched. “Here? Are you serious?”
Hanma licked his lips slowly. “Dead serious, sweetheart. You wanna stop me?”
Your thighs twitched around him, and that was all the answer he needed.
His fingers dipped under the fabric, cocky smirk fading into something darker as he found just how wet you already were.
“Well damn,” he groaned, fingers gliding through your slick folds. “You’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you? Bet you touched yourself to the thought of me running that filthy mouth, huh?”
“Shuji—”
“I’ll be good,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your jaw, then your neck. “Real good. Just let me have you right here. Let me ruin you a little.”
You didn’t say yes — you didn’t have to. The way your hips rocked against his hand, the way your nails dug into his shoulders, told him everything.
Soon, he had you leaning back against the rooftop tiles, skirt flipped up, legs spread around him as he knelt between them. He didn’t even bother undoing his belt all the way — just shoved it low enough to free himself, eyes glazed over as he stroked himself with one hand and held your thigh with the other.
“Gonna fuck you so good, baby. Gonna make sure the whole damn school knows you’re mine.”
And when he finally pushed in — slow, deep, dragging a moan from your lips — he gave you that wicked smile again, eyes half-lidded and wild.
“See?” he whispered, breathless. “Told you I’d be your favorite kind of trouble.”
After the rooftop, sneaking home together
Your legs felt like jelly by the time you managed to get dressed again.
Hanma didn’t make it any easier — not with the way he lazily zipped himself back up while watching you like he’d just devoured his favorite meal. His hair was messier than usual, lips swollen, bruises freshened where you’d grabbed too hard. He looked wrecked and smug about it.
“You okay?” he asked, voice low and warm.
You tried to scowl, but it barely formed on your lips. “You fucked me on the school roof.”
He slung an arm over your shoulder like that was completely normal. “Yeah. And?”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“And you’re adorable when you’re freshly fucked and trying to act mad.”
You shoved him lightly, but he just laughed and kissed your temple, stealing a moment of softness before tugging you toward the back staircase.
It was late now — the sky was navy, stars pricking through city haze. Most of the school was dark. Hanma peeked through a side door before nodding. “Clear. C’mon, babe. We’re ghosts.”
You both slipped out like criminals, ducking behind fences, giggling when a janitor passed by obliviously. Hanma pulled you into an alley near your house when someone’s car headlights got too close. He pressed you to the wall, not out of fear, but out of habit — and maybe just because he wanted to feel you again.
He kissed you there, slow and lazy.
No rush. No teasing. Just tongues tangled, hands around your waist, his body still humming from earlier.
“You know,” he muttered between kisses, “you’re gonna have a hard time getting rid of me now.”
You snorted. “Like I could get rid of you before?”
“True,” he grinned, teeth flashing in the dark. “But now I’ve got extra incentive.”
You gave him a flat look. “Sex.”
“Nah,” he said, eyes glinting. “You.”
It caught you off guard — how real it sounded coming from him. You blinked, heart thudding in your chest, and for once, Hanma didn’t laugh it off.
He just kissed your cheek, then your jaw, and whispered, “Come home with me. Just for a bit. I wanna keep you a little longer.”
You hesitated. Then nodded.
He didn’t wait. He laced your fingers together and took off down the street with that reckless energy of his, like he always did. Like he always would.
And maybe — just maybe — being his favorite kind of trouble didn’t sound so bad anymore.
passing notes 📝 | r. haitani + reader | Tokyo Revengers
a/n: A small little drabble of my favorite boy. Hope you all enjoy. Shutup, I like him. 👀
You glance sideways.
Rindou Haitani sits two desks over, long limbs sprawled out, chin resting on one hand, lazily spinning a pencil with the other. His headphones are around his neck, but he’s not listening to anything. Just… staring out the window.
Perfect. He’s bored.
Which means he might actually read it this time.
You fold the paper in half, trying not to breathe too hard. Your handwriting looks neater than usual, even though your fingers had trembled the whole time. A simple message—nothing wild. Just enough to make your stomach flip.
"Hey. If I said I liked your dumb hair, would you stop ignoring me and look this way?"
You add a tiny doodle of a snake. You don’t know why. It just felt Rindou-ish.
You slide it across the desk to the person between you, who raises a brow but passes it on without question. It reaches him. He opens it.
You look down at your notebook and pretend to read.
Seconds pass. Your ears burn.
Then—
A soft tap lands on your desk.
You glance down. Same paper. New message scrawled underneath yours, in sharp, lazy handwriting.
"Only if you say it again. Out loud."
And at the bottom, a doodle of a bat with a smug little smile.
You look up.
Rindou is already watching. Smirking. That unreadable, troublemaker glint in his eyes.
Okay so this is kinda just a rant because I'm feeling feral rn, y'all remember that one scene of corrupt Toman Hanma, you know the one where he's pointing down
This one if you can't remember ⬇️
Literally all I can think about is Hanma doing this to signal that he wants head 😭 like he could be in the middle of a meeting, with you sitting next to him, and he'd point down and expect you to suck him off. You look at him like he's crazy and he just keeps pointing until you give in and give him what he wants.
He'd also carry on full conversations while you're sucking him, this man would have no shame and I desperately need him. Thank you for reading my silly little rant lol
True form!Sukuna who’s just so big that he’d have you sitting all prettily on his meaty lap and you’d be struggling to straddle him - can anyone blame you? He’s proudly over seven feet- and as it mentioned: big.
True form!Sukuna who can just carry you ‘round wherever you wanted, and he’d only need one arm for that, too. A princess carry, on top of his shoulders, thrown around like a sack of potatoes - you name it, he wouldn’t even feel it.
True form!Sukuna who has to spends hours n’ hours just trying to make both of his lengths fit. Because he was big, big - coaxing and cooing at you with his two mouths while he pounds in a biiiig tummy buIge.
germansingergirl
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theartofmadeline
dededos
areudirty
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