Tokyo Revengers Hcs: The Gift That Keeps on Giving
TR Men x Blackfem!reader
You come home with a thoughtful present, they register it in their own appreciative way, then time skip to them already balls-deep, raw and rough, their gratitude or obsession spilling out in different forms. Featuring: Manjiro “Mikey” Sano, Ken “Draken” Ryūguji, Ran Haitani, Rindou Haitani, Shuji Hanma, Kazutora Hanemiya, Chifuyu Matsuno, Takashi Mitsuya, Hakkai Shiba, Ryohei "Peh-yan" Hayashi, and Seishu "Inupi" Inui .
❤︎18+ 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓸𝓻𝓼 𝓓𝓸 𝓝𝓸𝓽 𝓘𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽 ❤︎
Manjiro "Mikey" Sano
You come back from a trip with a bag of sweets, the ones he grew up eating. His eyes widen, then narrow—like he doesn’t want you to see how much it gets to him. “You always remember shit like that,” he says, voice flat, but his hand lingers too long over yours when he takes the candy.
Time skip—he’s buried in you, dick stretching you slow, deliberate. His eyes are sharp, lips twisted in something between a smirk and a sneer. “Brat. Always spoiling me. Think you can buy my love?” His hips snap forward, sudden and deep, making you yelp. He keeps you pinned, legs hooked over his shoulders, fucking you so deep your belly aches.
But his hands tremble where they grip your thighs. His jaw tight, voice ragged: “You belong to me, y’hear? Not going anywhere. Ever.” You nod frantically, lips brushing his. You kiss him deep, mouth reverent, hands worshipful as they trail. His thrusts turn brutal, shoving you into the mattress, making the frame groan. You choke out his name, already cumming again, and he doesn’t let up, staring down with wild devotion. He leans close, whispering harsh in your ear: “I’d kill for you. Don’t forget that.”
-
Ken “Draken” Ryūguji
You show up at the garage with takeout, the exact noodles he craves after long hours. He blinks at the bag, then at you, like he can’t quite process how you always know what he needs. “You think about me too much,” he mutters, low, almost like it bothers him. But he eats every bite with you sitting on his lap, your thighs spread wide across his.
Time skip—his cock is driving into you from behind, desk rattling under the force. One massive hand on your hip, the other on the back of your neck, holding you bent forward. “Always so fucking sweet,” he starts, hips slamming hard enough to make your breath catch. You moan his name, cunt clenching around him, and his grip tightens. “This pussy—” he grits his teeth, fucking you deeper, meaner, “—mine. All mine. You take care of me, so I’ll fuck you until you can’t walk.”
You cry out, fingers scrambling against the wood, thighs quivering as another orgasm tears through you. But your hips push back because your body is greedy, no matter how far gone your mind is. And he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t soften. His chest presses to your back, hot, sweaty, voice breaking near your ear: “Love you, girl. Don’t even know what to do with you but this.”
I would do unspeakable things to this man...
-
Ran Haitani
You toss a sleek watch box at him—you’d noticed his old one cracking. He smirks, slow, sharp. “You keepin’ tabs on me, baby girl?” He slips it on, the gold gleaming against his wrist. His grin is wolfish. “Spoiled little thing, takin’ care of me like this. You know what that makes you?”
Time skip—his dick is dragging through your soaked pussy, pace cruel, deliberate. He’s got your face pressed to the sheets, his hand on your ass as he slaps it hard enough to sting. “Makes you my fucktoy. That’s what.” He pumps in deep, stretching you raw, his laugh low and mean when you cry out. “Aw, poor baby—too much dick? But you wanted to spoil me, right? This is your reward.”
You try to protest, whimpering, but your pussy clenches around him, betraying you. He groans, thrusting harder, deeper—the sadistic edge never softening. “That’s it. Take me. Take it all.” You reach back for him, hand shaky. His eyes flicker down, watching the way yours plea beneath wet hooded lashes. A smirk pulls at his lips. He intertwines his fingers with yours and leans down, voice hot in your ear: “You're so good for me. Always come back to me, no matter how I break you down.”
-
Rindou Haitani
He sees the new headphones you bought him, high-end, just his taste. He blinks, lips parting, then scoffs. “You really went out your way for me, huh?” His tone is mocking, but his ears burn red, and his smile is barely contained. He mutters low: “Too good for me.”
Time skip—his dick is buried in your ass, both hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. He’s panting, thrusts sharp and punishing, voice shaking. “Fuck—you’re so tight. Can’t believe you let me in here.” You cry out under him, tears streaking your cheeks as you clench around him. You said you wanted the try since he mentioned it last time. Now, you're slumped against the mattress spent, sore, and trembling at the intensity.
He yanks your hair back, sneering down at you. “Sweet girl, buyin’ me shit. Spoilin’ me. And now look at you—stuffed full of my cock where no one else gets to touch.” His thrusts grind cruel and deep, his hand slipping to rub your clit fast until you’re screaming. His laugh is low, breathless. “Yeah. That’s right. Cum for me, slut.”
-
Shuji Hanma
You show up with rare liquor he’d mentioned in passing. He throws his head back, laughing. “Damn—you actually listen to me. Such a good girlfriend.” His eyes glitter, tongue sliding across his teeth. “Gonna have to thank you my way.”
Time skip—he’s got you spit-roasted, his cock in your throat while his fingers pump your soaked cunt viciously. “Gag on it, baby,” he moans, hips snapping shallow into your mouth. “You love this—don’t even lie.” When you choke, he just laughs, mean and wild. “Pathetic. Look at you drooling for me.” The weight of his gaze makes your pulse jump. You moan at his words, sucking harder as you rock back onto his fingers.
Later he’s got you flipped, cock drilling your pussy raw, thighs shaking under the assault. His sweat-slick skin brushes yours with each brutal stroke. His hand smears your spit across your face, his voice dark. “You bring me gifts, you act so sweet—but you’re my nasty little slut, aren’t you?” His thrusts are brutal, every one stealing your breath. He groans, head falling back as you clamp down. “Fuck—yeah. You’ll never get rid of me. I’ll always be inside you.” He doesn't stop even when you're shaking and spent, his gratitude coming out in the form of deep, relentless thrusts that claim every inch of you.
-
Kazutora Hanemiya
You come home with a little trinket for him—a keychain shaped like a tiger. He freezes when you hand it over, staring at it too long, then at you. His voice is hoarse: “Why would you… even think of me like that?” He pockets it, but his hand shakes. His smile is cracked, unstable. “You’re too good for me.”
Time skip—he’s got you folded under him, cock driving in so hard the bedframe screams. His hands are everywhere, clutching your wrists, your throat, your thighs spread wide. “You think of me,” he snarls, hips slamming sharp, “you bring me shit—sweet little gifts. Like I’m worth it.” His teeth sink into your shoulder, his thrusts mean, drilling deep into your soaked cunt.
You cry his name, trembling under him, and he moans like a man breaking. “I’ll ruin you,” he gasps, sweat dripping onto your skin. “If you’re gonna stay, I’ll ruin you so no one else can want you.” He keeps pounding you until your voice cracks, until you sob his name through another orgasm. His mouth is at your ear, whispering, desperate. “You’re mine. Forever. Mine.”
-
Chifuyu Matsuno
He finds the manga you bought him, signed by the author he adores. His jaw drops, ears flushing red. “No way—you actually found this?” He stares like he doesn’t deserve it, doesn’t deserve you. “You always think of me, don’t you? Damn…” His voice is quiet, almost breaking. He smiles, pulling you by the waist, hugging you close.
Time skip—he’s fucking you sloppy, cock buried deep, pace wild. His hands are on your tits, mouth sucking at your neck as he mutters against your skin. “You treat me so good—so sweet—and all I can do is fuck you like this.” He slams into you, rougher, harder, the sound of skin on skin loud and filthy. “You’re gonna cum for me again. You hear me? Again.”
Your moans turn frantic, thighs shaking as you gush around him. He holds you in place, making you take every inch. He chokes on a groan, thrusts erratic but relentless. "You're too sweet, too perfect—I'm gonna ruin you for anyone else. You're mine, okay? Just tell me you're mine." He buries his face in your chest, hips grinding until you both break, his voice muffled: “I love you. Always.”
-
Takashi Mitsuya
You walk into his studio with a neatly wrapped box—new shears, imported, the kind he’s been eyeing but would never splurge on. His lips part in shock, then curve slow. He shakes his head, huffing a laugh. “You really don’t miss a thing, do you?” His voice is soft but his eyes are heavy on you, loaded.
Time skip—he’s buried to the hilt, pace measured, grinding deep enough to make your insides twist. Your thighs were trembling from the previous rounds, slick soaking down your ass, wetting the sheets. His forehead rests against yours, damp hair sticking to his temple. “You—mghn—think of everything for me,” he murmurs, but his thrusts aren’t gentle—they’re deep, deliberate, fucking the words into you. “Every damn detail. How’m I supposed to let you go after that?”
Your nails rake his back, body spasming around him as you cum again, and he gasps, hips stuttering but never pulling out. “Fuck, you’re perfect,” he groans, voice breaking. His eyes bore into yours, steady and raw. “I love you. I’ll never stop loving you.” His thrusts sharpen, driving deeper, until you’re crying into his mouth as he kisses you hard, spilling warmth deep inside.
-
Hakkai Shiba
You stop by with a bundle of new necklaces and earrings, the good kind—sturdy links, real silver, wrapped in linen. He blinks at them, then at you, shoulders tense like he’s bracing for a punch. “You... you shouldn't have spent that on me,” he starts, but his fingers are already ghosting over the expensive jewelry. "I don't know why you're so good to me."
Time skip—He has you pinned against the wall, massive hands under your thighs, bouncing you down to meet his thrusts. His dick is hitting deep, stretching you open with each stroke. His pace is desperate, almost clumsy in its intensity, like he’s trying to merge his body with yours. "T-Thank you, baby. You're so—ughm." You wrap your hand around the new chain, twisting it to choke him while pulling him into a sloppy kiss. He hums into it, fucking you faster.
It amazed you how a man who, for over eight years, struggled to look you in the eye and hold a conversation was now carry-fucking you. He groans, his head falling back as you clamp down. "You're everything to me. I'll get you something better; I promise." He spills inside you—but he keeps going, fucking you through it, holding you in place, telling you how special you are to him.
-
Ryohei "Peh-yan" Hayashi
You show up at his place with a new helmet—black, matte, same model as his old one that cracked in that last scuffle. “You tryna keep me alive or something?” he says, tone caught between a laugh and disbelief, but you can tell he means thank you. When he leans in to kiss you, it’s quick, rough, like he can’t handle sitting in the softness too long.
Time skip—You're in his lap, legs trembling as he drills into you rough, desperate. Each thrust sharp, deep—pushing out a string of screams and moans. "What're you screaming for? This is what you wanted, right?" he asked, crossing his arms around your back, pulling you closer. "Brought me something nice. Let me thank you."
Your nails dig into his shoulders, eyes watering as he pounds harder. He cups the back of your head and kisses you. His tongue slides against yours, claiming it like everything else. You reach down to rub your clit, eyes locked with his, which always held that sad but fierce look that you were oddly attracted to. You choke out his name, already cumming, and he doesn’t let up. "M'shiit—Yeah, give it to me. Cum all over this dick. You're so fuckin' perfect like this."
I loove his face
-
Seishu "Inupi" Inui
You find a rare, vintage motorcycle manual—first edition, perfectly preserved—and leave it on his workbench. Inupi stares at the yellowed pages, his thumb tracing the spine with a reverence that borders on holy. He doesn’t say thank you with words; he just looks at you, his eyes glassy and dull, before pulling you into a kiss that tastes like a silent vow.
Time skip—You gag around him, drool and precum coating your knuckles as you bob your head, taking as much as you can, moaning around his length. Your wetness leaks onto his chin, his fingers, the sheets. "Mmm, you taste so good, honey. Could keep you like this for hours," he murmurs, words muffled against your pussy. You squirm, but his arm locks tighter, pulling you closer. His tongue thrust in and out of your heat, slurping your juices, nose nudging your clit while he listens to your gags and moans.
Later, he's fucking you prone, cock buried to the hilt. He grabs the side of your face, fingers curled into your jaw, turning your mouth to his. "You do so much for me... always taking care of me," he coons, hips snapping against your ass in slow, rough thrusts. "You love me?" he asks, rubbing your clits steady, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. You moan yes, fingers curling into the sheets, body quivering as you gush around him.
MORNING SEX with him was sweet and lazy. He was spooning you, with his chest pressed against your back, his head resting on your shoulder blade as he slid his hand underneath your thigh. Holding your thigh up, your hand slipped between to slide your panties to the side and pull down his boxers enough to let his cock spring free.
His lips gently pressed against your neck, a groan slipping as his cock rubbed in between your folds, gathering your slick that acted as lube so he could easily slip into your clenching hole. It started with slow, lazy thrusts, but eventually turned fast and sloppy. The hand holding your thigh up slid down to circle your clit, giving you just enough pressure to reach that high sensation sooner rather than later, while his arm hooked underneath your thigh to keep it up.
"y'feel so good in the mornin'.. y'know that?"
He murmured, his lips brushing your earlobe. His hand rubbing your clit trailed up along your body until he grabbed your chin, forcefully, yet still gently turning your head to face him. He leaned in to press his lips against your own, while his thrusts slowed ever so slightly. He wouldn't exactly be able to kiss you if you were already busy moaning so sweetly for him.
"feels good, huh?"
He spoke softly against your lips, the corners of his own curling up into a knowing smirk before he kissed you more deeply, taking advantage of the moans that slipped out for him to slip his tongue in. He knew exactly what to do and what to say to make you fall over the edge. With his thrusts once again becoming faster, yet still sloppy as his lips stayed pressed against your own. With a groan from his lips, you could feel him slam his hips harder against your own, before a warm, wet sensation filled you to the brim.
What else could you want as the sun rays began to fill the room, while he was filling you?
OSAMU MIYA, ATSUMU MIYA, Daichi Sawamura, Asahi Azumane, Kuroo Tetsuro, Hanma Shuji, Takashi Mitsuya + any of your favs !!
are we really surprised he's here? man just wants your attention. all. the. damn. time. so if you ever have to leave his side? mikey sticks his head around the corner, the question popping out before you can even get your shoes on. and yes, it inevitably means that you're late to whatever you were going to do—now too preoccupied with bouncing on mikey's cock. and you can best believe that he's cumming inside, marking his territory so to speak. secretly loving that you'll have him leaking out of you all evening.
your friends hate it—the tardiness, being late all the time.
the marks on your neck tell them exactly what—or rather who—held you up. (you'll tell them all the naughty details over cocktails, giggling like teenagers again.) not that you care, showing up thirty minutes late, dropped off by the menace himself, planting one final kiss on your grinning face.
☆ shinichiro
maybe it's a genetic thing? or mikey learned it from the source. a full blown ten stage clinger! any hopes for 'escaping' without this beanpole flashing those damn boba eyes at you are fruitless. a hopeless endeavor. shin will beg, like sat on the floor, gangly legs wrapped around yours, preventing you from leaving until you cave—you just like that he gets so desperate for you.
eventually by the end of it you're slumped, drained and melting into the surface of wherever y'all were doing the nasty. draped over the kitchen counter? yea, that has happened. half off the bed? your neck was sore for daaaays after. face down in the carpet? ugly rug burn on the side of your face.
it means that you don't leave. immobilized. which is exactly what this freak wanted.
☆ hanma
a baby. will pull out a bottle of fake tears, in front of you, then proceed to sniffle and pout to get his way. and you know what? it works. like a charm. this man learned early into your relationship that you fall for his puppy dog eyes—he has been abusing that knowledge for years!
hanma can't help himself, you get all dolled up for girl's night and expect him to behave? when you're dressed like this? looking like every single one of his fantasies come to life before his very eyes. absolutely not. he needs to show you, drill it into you, how beautiful he finds you. to make sure that you're satisfied.
call it an insurance policy. his version of one. you won't cheat if you cum three times—or more—before leaving the house. because no damn hook-up would take better care of you than him. (not that you were going to, but it eases his mind nonetheless.)
tw // 18+ nsfw, vaginal, brat taming, impact play & daddy kink
he has you bent over the bed when he slips it inside your sopping hole from behind, sloppily palming your clit while relishing in your obscene moans. your stomach stirs and you bite down on your lower lip, trying to deal with his length jammed into your tight walls.
you're given some time before he inquires, "no 'thank you, daddy'?" his hips gradually begin to move against yours, wringing out another moan from you, "what happened to those perfect manners, sweetie?"
your eyes twist shut at how his frim cock drags against your tender insides, too enraptured by the feeling to aknowledge his question. for which you were promptly punished by a quick slap to the ass, causing you to hiss, as he grabs a hanful of your flesh.
he scowls, "guess i need to fuck some sense into this dumb pussy, yeah?"
brat tamers. guys that absolutely love seeing their pretty little girl acting all bratty when she's under them. he loves making you feel like you have some kind of control over him with your bratty behavior. he knows you do it on purpose because you love getting on his nerves just so he could put you back into your place. he grabs the back of your knees, bringing your legs up to your chest, holding you in an almost painful mating press as he slams his dick inside of you. one of his hands wraps around your throat, squeezing it just enough to make it harder for you to breathe. you're crying and nearly screaming his name, but he knows you love it.
"please.. p-please, no more! I-I can't take it anymore!" you cry, your eyes rolling back and your tongue slipping out as he pulls orgasm after orgams out of you even after you're far too overstimulated to think straight.
"can't take anymore, huh? aww, you poor thing, probably should've thought of that before you decided to act like a little brat." he teases, shoving his dick deliciously deeper into your dripping cunt.
"don't even try to pretend, you know you love this." and you do. that's why you keep acting like a brat even after promising you won't do it again.
although, let's be honest, he knows you'll do it again, and he loves that about you.
a/n :: omg I'm alive !! I'm so sorry for disappearing for- idek how long ㅠㅠ i js know it's been over a month now. I was thinking about writing another fic or more headcanons but I didn't really have motivation to write longer works so I just stuck with this lol, also this is probably one of my first times writing smut (if you don't include the chifuyu smut headcanons) and I honestly can't tell if it's good or absolutely crap soo- 🥲 bear with me I'm trying
your boyfriend's best friend has never approved of you, and one night at dinner, he stops pretending otherwise. kisaki's words leave a bruise you don't know how to name— but hanma does, and he has his own way of answering for them. it just requires a camera, your knees on the floor, and kisaki's number in his contacts.
˚⋮ word count. 4.5k
˚⋮ tags. smut. 18+ mdni. established relationship. oral ( g ). ptv sex. unprotected sex. filming. degradation + praise. condescension & mocking. pet names. creampie. stomach bulge. oral fixation. a little mouth play. kisaki is an ass, but what's new?
˚⋮ author's note. hi guys! welcome to my first shuji fic <3 i struggled a little bit because i don't typically write for him, but i'm pretty happy with the way it turned out! i hope you end up hating him as much as i do <3
ap·a·thet·ic (adj.) - showing a lack of interest, enthusiasm, or concern.
if there’s one word kisaki tetta would use to describe hanma, it’s that.
apathetic.
he’s seen it time and time again— that glassy, detached look in hanma’s eyes as if nothing ever quite manages to hold his attention. hanma doesn’t care for much beyond instant gratification; he only ever lights up when there’s blood on his knuckles or sirens in the distance. everything else— people, places, fleeting amusements— comes and goes like smoke.
weapons, drugs, women; they all blur together after a while. hanma has a habit of burning through them fast, discarding each new obsession the moment it ceases to entertain him. kisaki’s long since accepted that about him— hanma gets bored easily. he always has.
or at least, he did before you.
before his darling little pet.
the first time kisaki saw you, he assumed you were temporary. a brief distraction. you had that meek, uncertain air about you that screamed easy prey. hanma had his arm slung lazily around your shoulders that night, his grin sharp and eyes half-lidded with amusement. you looked like you didn’t know whether to be flattered or terrified, and kisaki decided then and there that you wouldn’t last a week.
that was six months ago.
now you show up everywhere hanma goes— perched quietly beside him in meetings, tucked beneath his arm at parties, hovering in his shadow like you’ve learned to navigate his moods through silence alone. you don’t drink much, you don’t interrupt, and you most certainly don’t draw attention to yourself. you sit there, small and well-behaved, while hanma’s long fingers trace idle patterns along your thigh under the table.
kisaki doesn’t get it. he can’t possibly understand hanma’s fascination with you. you’re… ordinary. pretty, sure— he can acknowledge that— but not the kind of beauty that should have hanma, of all people, hooked. you don’t have money. you don’t have power, or come from an influential family. you don’t command a room. you barely even speak, and when you do, it’s always quiet and hesitant, like you’re apologizing for taking up space.
next to hanma, you’re almost painfully mundane.
and yet somehow, you’ve got him wrapped around your finger.
kisaki’s tried to make sense of it, but every theory sounds ridiculous, even to him. witchcraft, maybe. some kind of spell that’s made hanma soft and domesticated. because there’s no other explanation for the way hanma looks at you— like you’re something divine. like the man who’s laughed through murder suddenly believes in devotion.
it’s unsettling.
he realizes just how deep it runs one night over dinner.
you're all gathered at some sushi restaurant hanma insisted on, a place that tries too hard to look expensive but reeks of cigarette smoke and soy glaze. hanma likes that sort of thing— cheap luxury, pretense dressed up as glamour.
the four of you take the back booth: hanma, isaki, you, and one of hanma’s new underlings whose name kisaki hasn’t bothered to remember. you’re seated beside hanma with a smile on your face, but your fingers are curled around your glass like it’s a lifeline.
you shouldn’t fit here. everything about you looks wrong against the dim, lacquered setting— the soft curve of your jaw, the way you flinch when laughter spikes too loud. and yet hanma’s arm stays hooked around your waist, a wordless claim that keeps every curious glance at bay.
the food arrives. plates clatter. chopsticks click. hanma starts talking about some brawl that broke out earlier in the week, laughing around a mouthful of fried rice, and kisaki watches how you react.
you don’t. you sit perfectly still, offering polite nods when prompted. you eat quietly, keeping your eyes down. even when hanma squeezes you mid-story, tugging you closer, you only press a hand to his wrist like you’re used to being handled that way.
that’s what finally gets under kisaki’s skin.
maybe it’s the monotony of your silence, maybe it’s the way hanma keeps reaching for you— his fingers brushing your shoulder, his thumb tracing circles on the back of your hand. touches that don’t look romantic so much as possessive. like he’s reminding everyone, even now, who you belong to.
kisaki takes a slow sip of his drink, amber liquid catching the light, and says, offhandedly, “you ever notice she doesn’t talk much?”
the underling looks up, startled, and you blink, mid-motion, your chopsticks still hovering near your lips.
hanma glances up from his plate, a lazy smirk tugging at his mouth. “she’s shy.”
“shy,” kisaki repeats with a dry laugh. “right. that’s one word for it.”
hanma hums a warning note under his breath, but kisaki ignores it.
“she doesn’t add much, though, does she? you bring her around, and she just sits there like furniture. i don’t get it.” he shrugs, his tone casual but his eyes sharp. “what’s the point?”
the underling goes silent. even the low music in the background seems to fade.
your chopsticks tremble in your hand, and hanma notices.
kisaki expects the usual— hanma’s laugh, an easy shrug, or, perhaps, a deflection. but it doesn't come.
instead, hanma’s smirk stills. his eyes shift from you to kisaki, and the thin golden ring in them seems to darken. the grin that stretches across his face this time doesn’t reach his eyes. “careful, tetta.”
“why?” kisaki’s tone is light, but the corner of his mouth twitches. “i’m just saying what everyone’s thinking.”
hanma’s smirk lingers for half a second longer than it should, then disappears. the playful tilt of his head straightens out as his gaze slides from you to kisaki, and for a moment, it feels as if the room itself is holding its breath. even the underling senses it, shifting uncomfortably and pretending to be interested in his food.
kisaki lifts a brow, waiting. provoking.
“well,” hanma says finally. “you’re the one always complaining that women talk too much. figured you’d appreciate one who doesn’t.”
the conversation stutters back to life in stilted fragments. the underling blurts out something about a new shipment, desperate to fill the silence, and although hanma hums in response, his attention never fully leaves you.
kisaki pretends not to notice the way you avoid his eyes for the rest of the night.
and he doesn’t apologize. he doesn’t see why he should. you’re a distraction— a liability dressed up in a pretty little package of soft skin and glossy lips.
if tonight proved anything, it’s that hanma’s not immune to weakness after all.
half an hour later, the check arrives without ceremony. a folded slip of paper, tucked discreetly against the corner of the table that hanma plucks up before anyone else can reach for it. he slides a few bills across the tray, and waves off the waiter without looking at them.
you can still feel the tension sitting thick between him and kisaki, but no one dares mention it.
the underling excuses himself first, bowing slightly before scurrying off toward the exit. kisaki follows, his chair scraping back slowly. you glance up just long enough to meet his eyes— cool and disinterested, a hint of smugness buried behind the glass of his lenses. then he’s gone too, his footsteps fading into the night.
hanma doesn’t move right away. he lights a cigarette instead, eyes half-lidded, watching the smoke curl toward the ceiling while you wait. you’ve learned not to interrupt him when he’s quiet like this. his silence is its own kind of language.
when he finally stands, the scrape of his boots against the tile sounds louder than it should. “c’mon, doll,” he says, his voice low. “let’s go.”
you nod, slipping out of the booth and smoothing your dress down before following him outside. as soon as you do, the scent of rain and exhaust fills your nostrils. streetlights cast fractured halos over the puddles pooling along the curb, and you do best to step over them as you keep up with hanma’s long stride.
when you reach the car, he flicks the cigarette away and opens the passenger door for you. the small gesture would almost seem gentlemanly if not for the flatness in his eyes. you murmur a thank you anyway and slip inside.
for a long time, neither of you speak. the streetlights blur past the window, casting a soft golden light over his profile— the sharp line of his jaw, the corner of his mouth pulled tight in something that isn’t quite a frown. the engine rumbles softly, and his hand drums against the steering wheel, the same slow rhythm as earlier at dinner.
you can feel the question coming before he even asks it. “you alright?”
his voice is quiet, but not gentle. it’s a test.
you hesitate, then nod. “i’m fine, shuji.”
hanma hums, but it isn’t in agreement. it’s disbelief.
you glance sideways, catching the faint glint of his eyes in the rearview mirror. they don’t look like they did in the restaurant— sharp and feral. they’re calmer now, but calm with hanma never means safe.
“fine, huh?” he repeats, almost to himself. his knuckles tap once against the wheel. “didn’t look that way when tetta ran his mouth.”
you swallow and stare down at your lap. “he was just—”
“bein' a dick,” hanma finishes for you. “yeah, that’s what he does.”
you nod again, and the car falls back into silence, but this one feels heavier. denser.
hanma’s loyalty has always been strange, unpredictable thing. you know better than to mistake it for softness— he isn’t soft. he doesn’t know how to be. when he looks at you, it's the same way that predators do: hungrily.
you can feel that gaze now, even as you keep your eyes on the road.
after a while, he exhales a long, low sigh and shifts gears. “you know, doll,” he says, his tone deceptively casual, “tetta’s got a big mouth for someone who doesn’t know when to shut it.”
you don’t answer. what are you supposed to say?
“thinks he’s funny,” hanma goes on, his voice almost thoughtful. “thinks he can talk about you like that.” a pause. “maybe i should show him why i keep you around.”
something in your chest tightens as you finally look at him, but his face is unreadable save for the subtle curve of the corner of his mouth— barely a flicker.
“relax,” he drawls, eyes still on the road. “i'm not gonna hurt him.”
you nod again, but the knot in your stomach doesn’t ease. you know that smile too well. you know what it means:
he’s planning something.
the rain’s heavier by the time you reach hanma's apartment. it drums against the windshield in a steady rhythm, the kind of sound that feels louder in the silence between you. hanma doesn’t grab an umbrella, weathering the downpour as he strides up to the door and slides his key into the lock. rainwater drips from his hair and collar as he steps inside.
you follow after him, and the door shuts behind you with a click that echoes through the dark room.
flipping on the lights, hanma shrugs out of his jacket and tosses it carelessly across the back of the couch. it smells faintly of smoke and spice— the familiar scent comforting, but the air is still charged with the same tension that’s been coiled tight since dinner.
you stand there a moment, unsure whether to move or speak, but you freeze when hanma’s gaze sweeps over you slowly, assessing. “still think you’re fine?”
you open your mouth, but no sound comes out. whatever excuse you were going to give him dissolves right on your tongue as he steps closer. there’s only the sound of the rain and the faint hum of the fridge as he crowds into your space. his hand comes up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth.
“you let him talk to you like that,” he murmurs. “let him look at you like you’re nothing.”
you shake your head, barely. “i didn’t—”
hanma tilts your chin higher, cutting you off. “you didn’t stop him.”
you can’t hold his gaze. it’s too sharp, too knowing.
a long moment stretches between you, quiet and suffocating. then, suddenly, he leans in. the kiss lands hot and heavy, the kind that steals the air from your lungs before you realize you’ve given it up. his hand slides to the back of your neck, keeping you still as he deepens it, the taste of smoke still lingering on his tongue.
when he pulls back, his mouth grazes your jaw, his breath warm against your skin. “tetta thinks you don’t matter,” he murmurs. “thinks i keep you around for no reason.”
you swallow hard. “he was just—”
“wrong,” hanma finishes for you, his tone final. “and we’re gonna show him that.”
you blink up at him, your heart hammering behind your ribs, and his fingers trail down to your throat, resting lightly against your pulse so he can feel the quick flutter beneath.
“don’t look so nervous, doll,” he drawls. “you’ll like this part.”
your heart stutters at the shift in his voice, but then he’s reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone, unlocking it with a flick of his thumb. the screen’s glow paints his features in pale blue light as he scrolls to something unseen, his eyes lifting back to yours a second later.
“be a good girl for me,” he says, a command disguised as affection.
he gestures with a tilt of his head toward the floor.
and without fully understanding why, you move. you sink down onto your knees before him, the hardwood cold as it seeps through the fabric of your dress. your pulse roars in your ears, louder than the rain against the windows, and hanma’s shadow looms over you.
his smirk is wide, but it isn’t playful. it’s a razor’s edge— amusement cut with something far more dangerous. “you seein’ this, tetta?” he murmurs, angling the camera so that it catches you from above. “obedient, isn’t she?”
he brings his free hand down, sliding his fingers along your jaw. the pads of them trace the seam of your lips, teasing without actually applying pressure, a deliberate test of how far you’ll let him go. “open.”
when you part your lips, he still doesn’t rush; he only traces the inside of your bottom lip with the edge of his thumb, watching the camera’s screen as though seeing you through its eye. the faintest curl of satisfaction flickers across his face.
“good girl” he praises, his voice a dark purr as he leans in closer, phone still raised. “see, this is what tetta doesn’t get. this is why you’re mine.”
he tilts the phone slightly, capturing your face framed by his hand, your lips parted, your eyes wide. he lowers his head, and you shudder as his mouth grazes your temple. “he thinks you’re nothing, but he’ll see exactly why i keep you so close.”
your cheeks are flushed when he draws back, heat blooming beneath your skin like a secret you’re ashamed to hold. “open wider.”
you comply, and his thumb slides past your lips only to press down on your tongue, dragging across the soft, wet surface. saliva gathers instantly, soaking the joint of his knuckle when he pushes a fraction deeper.
“look at you,” hanma muses, gaze flicking from the screen to your eyes. he’s watching both at once— your reaction in real time and the image of you through the phone’s lens, and a faint flicker of hunger crosses his face as your cheeks hollow instinctively around his thumb.
drawing his thumb out, a thin strand of spit glistens before breaking and falling to your chin. you whine at the loss, but he just smears what’s left across your lower lip, rubbing it out until your mouth is shiny. “what's wrong, baby? need somethin' in your mouth?”
you nod, and his voice drops lower as his thumb strokes lazy circles over the slick surface he’s made. "then take it out."
you don't have to ask what it is, your eyes blowing wide as they drop to stare at the obvious bulge in his jeans. you glance back up at him, then to the camera. “..right now?”
hanma’s smirk widens, the glint in his eyes sharpening as he keeps the camera trained on you. “what, you shy now?” he taunts, a mocking lilt in his voice. “you weren’t so shy when you were beggin’ for it last night.”
your cheeks burn at the memory— at the way he’d fucked your throat raw until you were sobbing, mascara streaked down your face. you swallow hard, but hanma only laughs, a dark sound that sends a shiver down your spine.
“c’mon, doll,” he coaxes, reaching down to cup your chin in his free hand. his grip is firm, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you who’s in control. “don’t make me ask again.”
you hesitate for a moment longer, nerves coiled tight in your stomach as you glance up at him through your lashes. the camera’s lens feels like a spotlight, illuminating the uncertainty shining in your eyes as hanma waits expectantly above you.
but then his thumb brushes over your lips again— gentler this time— and something inside you gives.
you reach up with trembling hands to undo his belt, slender fingers fumbling with the buckle as he watches with barely concealed amusement. the metal clinks softly against the hardwood as you tug it free, and his breath hitches when your knuckles brush against the bulge straining beneath the fabric.
he doesn’t say anything as you work open the button and zipper next, just watches with that same predatory focus as you ease his cock out into the open.
it’s already half hard from anticipation alone, thick and heavy in your palm as you tentatively wrap your fingers around the base. you stroke him slowly at first, testing the weight of him in your hand, but he isn’t patient tonight.
“don’t tease,” he warns, his voice rougher now. “open up.”
you do as he says without protest this time— parting your lips wide enough for him to guide his length between them. the taste of salt and skin fills your mouth, and hanma groans low in his throat when you immediately try to take him deeper, tongue swirling around the head of his cock before sinking further down.
he holds still for a moment, letting you adjust to the stretch before thrusting forward just enough to make tears prick at the corners of your eyes.
“that’s it,” he murmurs approvingly from above, his phone still recording while his other hand tangles in your hair. “show tetta what a good little slut looks like.”
you start to bob your head, slow at first, but quickly picking up the pace as his grip tightens in your hair. spit drips down your chin, pooling at the base of his cock as you gag around it— the sounds obscene, wet and desperate, but hanma only groans in approval, thrusting deeper with each pass.
“fuck yeah,” he curses. “keep suckin’— hollow those cheeks out for me.”
you do your best to obey, relaxing your throat as he fucks into your mouth. tears stream down your cheeks now, mixing with the spit that coats your lips and chin. you can feel him twitching against your tongue, but just as you brace yourself for the inevitable rush of heat down your throat, he pulls you off of him with a sharp tug on your hair.
“not yet,” he says, his voice a little breathless. “get up.”
you blink up at him through watery eyes, chest heaving as you struggle to catch your breath. your legs wobble when you move to stand, but hanma doesn’t offer you any help, sitting down on the couch with the phone still trained on you.
“c’mere,” he beckons with a crook of his finger.
you shuffle forward, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth as you wait for his next command: “mm, go ahead and strip.”
your hands tremble as you reach for the hem of your dress, slowly peeling it up over your hips and lifting it above your head until you’re left standing in nothing but a pair of lace panties. amber eyes rake over every inch of exposed skin, lingering on the swell of your breasts and the curve of your waist before finally settling between your thighs, where dampness has already begun to seep through the fabric.
his tongue runs over his teeth before he meets your gaze again. “all of it. i want him to see everything.”
the air in the room thickens as hanma leans back on the couch, one arm draped across the backrest with the phone still poised in his hand. he doesn’t rush you. he doesn’t need to. the wicked curve of his mouth says it all— he knows you’ll do exactly what he asks.
your hands tremor when they dip down to the waistband of your panties. the lace is delicate, almost too soft against your skin as you slide it down inch by inch. hanma tracks the motion, and his jaw flexes. “good fuckin’ girl,” he says, the words a rough murmur that scrapes against your skin. “you’re so goddamn pretty.”
he reaches forward, tracing his knuckles along the smooth skin of your stomach before his palm slides upward, over your ribs. when he cups your breast, his thumb brushes across the peak, and the whimper that escapes you makes his smirk deepen.
“look at these perfect tits” he practically purrs, pinching your nipple and rolling it between his fingers until the bud hardens. “bet tetta would love to get his mouth on ‘em.”
he repeats the process on the other side while you squirm, unconsciously rubbing your thighs together at the thought— at the image of kisaki watching this video later with his cock in hand— but hanma doesn’t give you time to dwell on it. he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes again, a sinister sparkle shining in their depths.
“unclench those thighs for me,” he orders.
you swallow, your throat bobbing, but you force yourself to listen and adjust your stance so your legs are parted. hanma’s gaze drops, and his expression softens with admiration before it’s swallowed by something darker.
he drags the back of his fingers along the inside of your thigh before his touch drifts higher, and the camera follows until it’s angled directly at your pussy.
“perfect,” he mutters, running a finger through your slick folds before bringing it up to show off for the camera. “look how wet she is already— all from suckin’ my cock.”
he slides two fingers inside without warning then, stretching you open around them as you moan. your hand lashes out and grabs onto his shoulder, nails digging into his skin while he drives them in and out.
“you like that, baby?” he coos, curling his fingers until he finds that sweet spot that makes your hips jerk. “you like when i stretch this tight little cunt out for the camera?”
you nod desperately, grinding down against his hand as pleasure winds hot and heavy in your stomach.
“fuck, close already?” he teases, a grin spreading across his face when he feels you clench around him. “such a greedy little thing— always so damn eager to cum.”
you can only whine, your thighs trembling as you teeter on the edge of release— but just when you think you’re about to fall over it, hanma pulls his fingers out with a wet pop.
“i don't think so,” he says, holding them up to show off how soaked they are before bringing them to his mouth and sucking them clean. he shifts back on the couch, spreading his legs wide as he strokes his cock. “want you to ride me.”
desperate for more, you all but forget about the camera as you clumsily climb into his lap and plant your knees on either side of his hips. he helps you, lining himself up at your entrance, and when you finally start to sink down onto his cock, your eyes roll to the back of your head.
the stretch is delicious as he pushes past the initial resistance, sliding deeper, inch by inch until he’s buried to the hilt. you’re too busy processing the sheer pleasure it gives you to notice the way hanma tilts the camera down, pointing it directly at the small bulge in your stomach.
“you see that, tetta?” he groans. “that right there— that’s why i fuckin’ keep her around.”
without warning, his hand grips your ass, lifting you up only to slam you back down. your face scrunches up as you cry out, tears prickling the corners of your eyes. “isn’t that right, baby?”
before you can even try to formulate an answer, he gathers the hair at the base of your neck and nods your head for you. “atta girl, now fuck yourself on my cock.”
you must not move fast enough because his palm comes down on your ass once, twice— the cracks echoing throughout the room as you scramble to start bouncing. his hands roam your body, tweaking your nipples before skimming down to your hips and helping guide you.
the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, along with your moans and hanma’s filthy words. “look at this tight little pussy,” he says, reaching down to spread your lips for the camera. “so fuckin’ sloppy— just how i like it.”
you feel yourself edging closer to your climax, your walls fluttering as pleasure builds low in your stomach. your thighs begin to shake at the effort, slowing you down, but hanma isn’t about to let the show end early.
in an instant, he has you flipped onto your back, his hips pistoning in and out as he fucks you with a fervor that leaves you breathless. you’re a mess, tears streaking down your flushed cheeks as you writhe beneath him. “s-shuji..!”
he points the camera down at your pussy, capturing every detail for kisaki to see— the way your folds are slick and swollen, the way your walls hug him tight with every thrust, even the way your clit peeks out from under its hood when he presses his thumb against it.
your hands grab at the cushions beneath you as you arch your back, begging for more as hanma fucks you like you’re nothing but a toy for his pleasure.
and when you finally cum— pulsing around him as white hot pleasure rips through you— he follows soon after, releasing himself inside you with a deep groan.
he doesn’t stay still for long, pulling out only to film his cum dripping out of your pussy— a thick, sticky mess he smears around with the head of his cock.
“now, that’s why i keep her around, tetta. hope you enjoyed the show.”
a/n: literally wrote this in 5 mins srry. lmk if this should be turned into a little series w different characters bc i have lots of ideas <3
18+
.
hanma makes up a safe word just to grin and fuck you harder when you try to use it. 💔
it gets him so worked up, makes the sex so much more exciting when even he doesn’t know how far he’ll take it. you’re just so cute when you’re crying like that, babbling that same meaningless word over and over in between choked moans of his name. it takes no effort to keep you pinned down as you try to thrash and kick, but you ultimately can’t run from how deep he reaches inside you. he hopes you understand— he can’t stop when you’re squeezing him so hard and shaking all over because— look at that, you’re already cumming so pretty for him, all over his big cock. you wouldn’t have gotten there if he’d stopped like you wanted him to.
in fact, you wouldn’t have gotten the next three orgasms he fucked into you if he’d stopped when you said… what was that word again? he can’t remember, he hasn’t heard it since you stopped being coherent a while ago. you look pretty dumb underneath him, reduced to a constant stream of tears and noises that he really can’t be bothered to interpret as he pushes you well past your limit. nothing turns him on more than taunting you, slowing his thrusts down to a deep grind as he tells you to remind him of the safe word, baby, he’ll really stop this time if you say it, and he watches you crumble beneath him, moving your hips around pathetically as you cry because you’re either too dumb to remember now or— you don’t need it anymore.
it sends shockwaves of excitement coursing through his body. he’s never been more proud of you, thinking of it as a successful training experience as he chases his own high, using you to get off as you twitch and shriek. he helped you learn something new about yourself— you can take more than you thought you could. more importantly, you liked taking more than you thought you could. you should really be thanking him, he thinks as you cry out once, twice, then clench around his cock again as he spills a heavy load of warm cum inside you.
the thought amuses him as he falls on top of your smaller frame, keeping you trapped beneath him as he catches his breath and lets the last of his seed fill you. he’s already decided, blissfully humming as you cry in his arms, your new safe word will be thank you.
