#hanma

[anisespice]

" WARNING " | tokyo rev.

synopsis: how they would react to an empty/not-so empty threat on their weiner

warnings: suggestive themes. MDI. cursing, reader is a little aggressive but in the clerb it's all fam, energies are matched (izana), hanma gets his own warning, just yet another crack fix for yall lol

notes: a little some some for my patient readers 🤲🏾 hope you enjoy !

© 2024-2025 anisespice ッ all rights reserved. likes, comments & reblogs much appreciated!

[aurelianamu]

Baby you can have it all

Reblogs help a ton.

[slttygeto]

pairing: hanma shuji x fem! reader

nsfw!

hanma, who by the time he lets himself fall in love with you, has grown accustomed to your routine, a telltale sign that he was subconsciously falling into your orbit face first.

hanma, whose touch becomes slightly less perverted than it was at first, he cradles your face as his lips spill out the filthiest words of praise. from “dirty slut” to “good girl” you feel dizzy at the contrast between the way his fingers are rubbing messily at your clit, and how soft his lips feel against yours.

hanma, who is well aware of how flawed he is, still cannot believe that you love him. the way you’re riding him is nothing short of filthy, eager to please him—he is quite vocal, but you’ve never heard him like this. whiny. his fingers threaten to bruise the skin of your hips, digging so harshly that you hiss against his lips.

“I love you.”

he hears you the first time, but it’s all too overwhelming. his head is tipped back, ears a bright red color and his jaw clenched as he tries to suppress his own noises. so you repeat it.

“shuji,” you call out for him, hand cradling his face with so much tenderness that has his eyes blurring. “I love you.”

you watch in real time how he falls apart beneath you. you squeeze around his cock on purpose, and hanma doesn’t miss the small smile adorning your features as he bucks up his hips against yours.

“you fucking tease.” he says through gritted teeth, but he is barely able to contain his noises as he spills everything inside, painting your walls white.

hanma knows he hasn’t said it back, and he fears you might’ve misunderstood or gotten the wrong idea. but when he lays you down on your back ever so softly, golden eyes never once leaving yours as his hand wraps around the back of your thigh to push it against your chest—he sees it.

your gaze, full of warmth and trust, pulls him closer than ever. your arms wrap around his neck, and your lips brush against his playfully.

“I’m waiting,” your fingers scratch at his nape, and hanma could’ve sworn he felt his heart leap in his chest. “or do you wanna show me instead?”

hanma has never been a man of many words, but he can make an exception for you.

2025 © all works belong to @slttygeto. do not repost, translate or steal any of my works.

[luli12905]

Does anyone love this big scary old man too, or I'm the only insane one who do that. (T^T)♥

I need someone to write some headcanons or anything about him.

[the-atlas-sister]

𝚈𝚘𝚞'𝚟𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎.

𝙸𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚃𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗'𝚜 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚎… 𝙼𝚒𝚝𝚜𝚞𝚢𝚊 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚊 𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕.

If you would have told anyone in Toman that Mitsuya would be the first guy to actually get a date with a girl they would be pissing in their pants laughing at you. Except Takemichi.

"You've got to be shitting me, right?" Draken snickered, slapping Mitsuya's shoulder as he sewed the final touches into his jacket for the infamous date. The grey haired boy was surrounded by Mikey, Draken, Chifuyu and Takamichi as Mikey tinkered with his bike.

"I'm serious," Mitsuya said with a smirk, looking up at his taller friend. "She even asked me out."

"Bullshit," Chifuyu snorted.

"Why's it so hard to believe?" Takemichi asked, leaning over Mikey as he tinkered with his bike. "Mitsuya seems like he'd be better with girls then any of us."

"Except Mitsuya hasn't had a girlfriend, or even hooked up with a girl," Draken chuckled, leaning over his friend in question with a teasing smirk.

"Neither have you," Mitsuya shot back with an equally teasing smirk of his own.

"That's by choice for me," Draken shrugged, standing up fully.

"Plus, Draken's got Mikey," Chifuyu teased. "I don't think he'd have enough time for a girlfriend."

The other's couldn't help but laugh, except for Mikey, who pouted from his spot beside the bike. "Kenny doesn't need a girlfriend, he's got Emma," he pouted, wacking Takemichi with his wrench.

"Hey! What'd I do!" Takemichi yelped, hopping around comically and holding his calf.

The boys continued to laugh at their friend's antics before Mitsuya felt his phone buzz. He pulled it out and flipped it open, only to see a message from none other than the girl in question.

"Is that her?" Chifuyu asked, hovering behind to older boy, trying to peak at his phone.

"You're almost as bad as my little sisters," Mitsuya scoffed, pushing Chifuyu away with a teasing scowl.

"Tell her to come here," Draken smirked. "So we can see this girl for ourselves."

Mitsuya scoffed at his friend but smiled softly. It'd be nice for him to show you off, give him an excuse to gloat in front of his friends. "Alright, I will," he said to himself before sending you the location.

"Let's pretend you do actually have a date," Chifuyu said, leaning on the bike. Mikey sent him a scowl, making Chifuyu quickly back off with a flushed face. "How'd you meet her?"

"Sewing club," he stated simply, going back to his jacket. "She needed an outfit for a date or something and asked for some pointers. Then she asked me on the date."

"Wow, bold girl," Takemichi mumbled slightly. "Reminds me of Hina." He stared into the distance with a far off grin. Chifuyu quickly smacked him upside the head with a bored expression.

"Speak of the devil," Mitsuya mumbled, smirking at something in the distance. The boys followed his gaze to see a girl running up to the small group. She wore a bright grin and a dazzling outfit, assumingly the one Mitsuya was previously talking about.

"You've got to be shitting me," Draken repeated, shaking his head with his arms crossed over his chest. You were fucking stunning.

"Hey," Mitsuya said, standing as you approached the ground.

"Hey Taka," you said with a wide grin. Your eyes fell to his jacket. "Woah- did you do the embroidery?" you asked with wide eyes, gently picking up the fabric.

"Just finished it," Mitsuya responded with a small smile.

"Amazing work, as always," you said with a small grin of your own. You looked over his shoulder at the gaping gang members. "Oh, hello!"

"You've got to be shitting me!" Chifuyu exclaimed, making you chuckle awkwardly.

"Excuse me?"

"Sorry about them," Mitsuya said, sending his friends a small smirk. "My friends are just surprised."

"Oh," you said, smiling once more. "Hi Taka's friends!"

They all waved awkwardly at you, still in disbelief.

"So, ready to go?" you asked, turning your attention to Mitsuya.

"Yeah, you good with a motorcycle?" Mitsuya asked, pointing over his shoulder at his bike. Mikey stood from his place on the ground and wiped the sweat from his head.

"Mhm!" You wandered to the motorcycle, waiting patiently for Mitsuya.

"Told ya," he mumbled to his friends with a smirk before wandering to the bike with you.

"You've got to be shitting me!" Chifuyu yelled once more as the couple drove away.

[white-poppie]

As a writer, I wanna check if the TRV fandom is alive or not

Reblog if you are a part of the Tokyo revengers fandom and consume TR content

[shujigutz]

my baby's adorable 🥹🥹❤️‍🩹

[littlepumpky]

"Quit it" (Hanma x reader)

Summary: You’ve been trying to make Shuji Hanma stop smoking for years. It works… semi well. He still smokes whenever he feels like it, just to get on your nerves. But every once in a while, he tosses the cigarette away without a word and pulls you into a kiss instead.

Words: 1712

“You’re such an asshole, Shuji. I clearly knocked out more guys than you did, and you still stole the last one from me just because you couldn’t stand losing with that stupid, oversized ego of yours.”

“Shut up, Y/N. You’re annoying.” It was something Shuji Hanma had called you since childhood. It was more of a habit then a real insult against you. His bloody knuckles fumbled with a crushed cigarette pack as he walked right beside you. Both your faces were marked with bruises, but neither of you seemed to care. His other hand dug through his pockets, searching for his lighter and failing.

Maybe because you stole it.

Because you wanted him to quit smoking.

“Y/N,” he sighed.

“What?” you answered, still a little grumpy.

“Where’s my lighter?” His tone was exhausted from the fight, but still demanding.

“I don’t know what you mean.” You tried to play it cool, but he caught the small smile forming on your face.

“Stop playing around,” he murmured, annoyed and still waiting for his deserved cigarette to be lit. You glance at the cigarette between his fingers, then back up at his face. Bruises bloom along his cheekbone, dried blood at his lip. His knuckles split and swollen. You cross your arms, jaw tightening. “You don’t need it,” you say flatly. “You’ll survive without one.” Your look stays on him a second longer than necessary. “You just fought half the city, Shuji. That should be enough for tonight.”

He lets out a quiet laugh like you’ve just said something amusing instead of challenging him. The cigarette stays between his fingers as he steps closer, close enough that you can smell the smoke clinging to his clothes.

“Enough for tonight?” he echoes, head tilting slightly. His eyes rake over your face on your own bruises like he’s counting them. “Since when did you start deciding that for me?”

He leans in just enough to crowd your space, smirk tugging at his mouth. “You always do this,” he adds softly. “Stealing my stuff anyway.”

For a split second, something quieter flashes in his gaze before it’s gone again. “Give it back,” he murmurs. “Or are you planning on babysitting me all night?”

You scoff, refusing to back away even when he crowds your space. “Someone has to,” you mutter. “You’re terrible at taking care of yourself.”

Your hand moves instinctively toward your pocket, fingers brushing the familiar shape of the lighter. “I took it because—”

Because you don’t want to bury him someday.

But before you can finish, Hanma’s hand is already there.

Quick. Confident. He hooks two fingers into your pocket and pulls the lighter out like it was always his to take. The motion is practiced — like he’s done this a hundred times before. Maybe he has.

“Yeah,” he says, lips curling into a satisfied grin. “You’ve always had bad timing.”

He flicks the lighter open, the flame sparking to life between his fingers. The cigarette finds his mouth a second later, and he lights it without breaking eye contact with you.

Inhales.

Slow.

Smoke spills from his lips as he exhales, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Still stole it, though,” he adds lazily. “Kinda cute.”

“I hate you,” you mutter, glaring up at him.

It doesn’t faze him. If anything, his grin widens. Smoke coming from the corner of his mouth as he exhales.

“Yeah,” he says easily. “You’ve been saying that since we were kids.”

He leans a little closer, close enough that the smoke drifts right between you. “Never meant it then either.”

“Stop smoking already.”

The words leave your mouth quietly.

For a moment, the only sound is the city below and the faint crackle of the cigarette between his fingers. Hanma doesn’t answer right away. He watches you through half-lidded eyes, the familiar smirk nowhere to be found. Something that makes your heart beating.

“You’re really not gonna let that go, huh?” he mutters, rolling his eyes as if annoyed, but he doesn’t step away.

If anything, he steps closer.

Close enough that you can feel the warmth off him, smell the smoke mixed with sweat and iron. His gaze flicks down to your mouth, then back up.

“You always say that,” he adds quietly. “Like it’s gonna make me listen.”

Your jaw tightens. “One of these days,” you say, “you’re going to—”

He doesn’t let you finish.

The cigarette stays between his fingers as he reaches out, fingers brushing your wrist before sliding up to tilt your chin.

His mouth meets yours.

The kind of kiss that feels more like a challenge than an apology.

When he finally pulls back, it’s barely an inch. Close enough that you can still feel his breath.

“See?” he murmurs, a crooked grin tugging at his lips. “You finally stopped complaining.”

You glare at him, heart beating faster than it should. “You’re impossible.”

He chuckles softly, knocking his forehead against yours. “Yeah,” he says. “And you still worry.”

The cigarette burns forgotten between his fingers, smoke drifting upward as the space between you stays close.

___________________________________________________________________________

“Put it out, please?” you try once more. It sounds more defeated than you’d ever let it on a normal day.

He sighs out loud, narrowing his eyes as they meet yours again. For a moment, he just watches you. The way you’re looking up at him, your soft hair moving in the warm summer breeze.

“What do I get for that?” he asks, breaking the quiet between you. His smirk is bright as day when the words leave his mouth.

“Why would I need to give you anything?” you laugh, reaching up to snatch the cigarette from his fingers. He easily lifts it higher, far out of your reach. “Don’t even think about it, doll.”

“Mean as always,” you mutter under your breath, crossing your arms over your chest.

Your gaze drifts away from him, settling on the empty street where you’ve both stopped. You can feel his stare on you. You know him too well – his mind is never at rest.

When you turn your attention back to him. You can already tell he’s up to something. But before you can step away, his reflexes are faster than yours.

The lit cigarette that had been between his fingers a second ago drops to the dirty street below. His hand moved to your face in an instant.

“You’re an annoying woman.”

The next second, his lips crashed onto yours again. Your eyes widened in surprise. “Shuji, wh—” you tried to speak, but the words were swallowed when he kissed you harder this time, a little more force behind it.

For a moment, you resisted out of pure reflex. Then your lips began to move with his, finding a rhythm as you finally gave in.

Maybe because he threw the cigarette away for you. His body closed the remaining distance between you in a heartbeat. One hand sliding firmly behind your back as he pulled you against him. There was no space left to breathe.

Your fingers tightened in the nape of his hair, gripping hard, keeping him just as close. The rhythm between you turned heated. His hand at your back tightened. It was almost like he was trying to replace one addiction with another.

When you finally pulled away you were breathless. Your lips were swollen from the intensity of his kiss, your pupils widened as you looked up at him.

“You look tired, doll,” he murmured, his voice low and slightly rough. “Don’t know what you mean.” You replied just as sly as him which made him smirk.

Your chest is still rising unevenly when your gaze drops past his shoulder.

The cigarette lies forgotten on the pavement, its faint glow already fading, smoke dissolving into the night air.

You look back up at him.

He follows your gaze without you saying a word. A small, knowing smirk touches his lips.

“See?” he murmurs, brushing his thumb lightly along your jaw. “Didn’t need it.”

The words hang between you.

Not a joke this time.

You study his face, searching for the usual deflection but find nothing.

You tilt your head slightly, closing the small distance again.

The final kiss is slow. His hand settles at your waist, holding you steady.

When you pull back, it’s with a faint smile.

The cigarette is out.

And he doesn’t reach for another.

___________________________________________________________________________

Or at least that’s what you used to think after all the time you had spent together. Not only did he keep smoking, he seemed to enjoy doing it just to annoy you every single day. Even years later, it was still the same argument and it didn’t sound any different than before.

And yet, neither of you would have wanted it any other way.

“Shuji, at least open a window.”

He leans back in his chair. Cigarette balanced lazily between his fingers. He watching the smoke curl toward the ceiling. “You said you were used to it,” he replies smoothly.

“I said I tolerate it,” you correct.

The apartment smells faintly of smoke and expensive cologne and late nights. Money you both could swim in even though you knew it was not really honest money either. He doesn’t come home with bruised knuckles anymore. He doesn’t need to.

Shuji doesn’t fight.

He orchestrates.

Phone calls at odd hours. Quiet meetings. Names you don’t repeat. He moves people like pieces on a board, watching the chaos unfold from a distance.

You learned early not to ask too many questions.

But you learned something else too.

No matter how late it gets, no matter how dangerous the game becomes.

He always comes back to you.

“Regretting it?” he asks one evening, smoke slipping from his lips as his eyes flick toward you.

You shake your head.

Life with Shuji Hanma was never going to be simple. Never going to be safe. It was a part of him.

And somehow you stopped trying to change that.

Instead, you walk over and take the cigarette from his fingers. With a light smirk you take a small drag yourself. Just to watch his eyebrows lift in surprise.

You don’t fight about it anymore.

You just live with it.