🌑𝓛‌𝓲‌𝓪🪼

ref from here !

It only took one search to unravel the rest.

When he mentioned he mostly traveled for work? F1 Racing on weekends in championship cups. Which you guessed was what he meant when he said he liked cars. But what man didn't?

Why the fuck would you assume some guy you met at the beach would be the current first driver's seat for fucking Ferrari?

You didn't know shit about the sport. Or well, any sport.

Strangely enough, you still felt almost betrayed, something stinging at the fact he hadn't bothered to bring it up. You didn't think you were special, or that this was serious. But you didn't like feeling stupid either.

"You're glaring," He commented, stuffing his face full of some high protein meal meant to keep his physique up, a black compression shirt clinging to his chest like he'd come from the gym.

"Okay," You shrugged, picking at your own food.

He picked a place with hardly any people today. No one to catch him with a nobody.

"Are you gonna be a brat all night?" He sighed, dropping his fork and scowling back at you.

"Maybe," You shrugged again, glancing away from him to stare at the cash register. Your wallet was in your purse, the temptation to get up to pay for your half and go getting stronger by the second.

"Fine," He grunted, taking one last big bite before tossing too much cash on the table. You guessed he could do that with how much he was getting paid to drive dangerously and toe the line with death. "Want me to fuck that attitude out of you?"

For all his skills, he still hadn't managed to do that two rounds later.

Both of you panting and sweaty, one palm pressing down on the slight bulge of your stomach where his cock was currently thrusting and the other pressing your thighs up higher, folded into a mean full nelson.

"Fuck, you feel me there?" He groaned, biting yet another bruising hickey into your neck while you nodded weakly.

Your limbs ached, feeling more like accessories than body parts by now, a doll for him to fuck, a way to blow off steam before you both returned to your real lives. His cock stretched you out with each searing pump, splitting you open so his kisses and rough reassurances could stitch you back together.

He stalled inside you with his tip smashed against that spongy spot in the back, holding it there just to make you squirm in his arms. His nose grazed against your ear, his breath warm on your skin before he murmured softly, "Stop holding out on me."

"Oh, a-am I annoying you?" You breathlessly teased, and his little huff sent a shudder through you when he tried to push himself in deeper, that extra inch or two leaving your hips struggling to break free and jolt from him, already filled to the brim and about to spill over.

"You keep runnin' from me," He grunted, and in two blinks, he was switching positions, rolling you over on your stomach and pushing your back into a pretty arch before climbing back over you to prone bone.

Shoving his cock in and pinning you to the mattress with his weight, one of his big hands pressing down on the nape of your neck while he bottomed back out inside you.

"S-Sukuna," You gasped, but then he was leaning down and his mouth was on yours, claiming you with a bruising kiss.

"Again," He practically growled against your lips, his canines nipping at them.

"What?" You blinked, the desire still coiling in your stomach and the cum leaking down your legs and even just the scent of his cologne sticking to the sheets starting to melt the confusion from your mind on how you felt about him..

"Say my name again," Sukuna demanded, barely disguising his own moan when he slammed into you. All your muscles were tense, everything oversensitive already, flying so high you were pretty sure you'd crash any moment.

"Ego maniac," You muttered instead, and he readjusted to deliver a harsh spank across your ass, the pain quickly converting to pleasure when you gasped and squeezed around him.

But then he refused to move, buried to the hilt and not budging.

Sukuna didn't say anything. He didn't have to. He was waiting on you.

You were just as stubborn as he was though, biting your lip and hiding your face in the pillow to try to wait him out, counting on him being impatient or getting pissed off. His cock was throbbing inside you, begging to move, your clit aching for relief of it's own.

But you were both two idiots who couldn't admit what you wanted. Even if it was each other.

"I can stay like this all night, sweetheart," He murmured in your ear, dark and dangerous and delicious.

"Me too," You mocked back, adding a fake yawn and cradling your head over your forearms like you might fall asleep in this position.

He bent first. Or maybe he'd convinced himself he could make you break.

And yeah, amidst the blur of blunt thrusts and love bites, you did end up crying his name more than once when he lifted your hips enough to slip one hand under to play with your clit while he used the angle to practically abuse your poor g-spot, slamming into it every time with damn near surgical precision. Chuckling at the way you whined and shuddered, clenching desperately around his huge cock until he was abruptly pulling out and cumming on your back in thick spurts.

You showered together in silence.

Him passing you the soap and you washing his hair, his arms wrapped around your waist for extra warmth. He draped the towel around you afterwards, and you used an extra one to dry off his hair. Falling asleep in bed tracing the tattoos on his face.

In the morning?

You woke up before him, creeping out of bed to get dressed as quietly as possible.

He still hasn't told you about his career. Or anything really about himself outside the barest of basics. You resigned yourself to keeping the biography you'd read through about him the day before to yourself. What was the point of telling him you knew who he was when you wouldn't see him again?

Your vacation was over. Not wasted, but you were leaving more wistful than when you arrived, a deep and uncomfortable knot tangled in your stomach staring at the handsome man sleeping on the bed and the wrinkled sheets and blanket next to him where you should be.

You would go home. Go back to work and sleeping in your own bed and cooking your own meals until maybe you found some nice, normal guy to settle down with.

He'd go back to bigger and better things. Fucking models instead of a random girl he just happened to meet on his break. Too busy to be with someone like you anyway.

"Where are you going?" Sukuna grunted, scowling as he sat up in bed, running his fingers through his soft hair.

"I've got a flight to catch," You murmured, fixing the strap of your dress and hurrying to collect the last of your things you'd left here over the past two weeks of fucking.

"Oh."

You didn't say anything else, shoving an extra pair of panties from under his bed inside your purse, but it meant getting close enough that he reached out to touch you, fingers ghosting over your hip.

"If I paid, would you stay another day?" He asked, and you really had no clue what the fuck to make of that. His dark eyes had softened, shades of purple ringed underneath them, but they weren't harsh, didn't threaten to cut you down.

It didn't feel like the type of casual sex where you couldn't talk about your personal lives when he stared at you like that.

"I have to go back to work," You mumbled, wishing you didn't just as much as you wished you wouldn't miss him.

"I'll call you."

You didn't believe him.

But three days later, when you were curled up in bed and hating how empty it was, how cold it felt, your phone rang.

"Hi," You breathed, answering on the fourth ring after getting over your surprise.

"Hey," Sukuna grunted.

The phone calls became a common thing. Some weeks every day, others where you barely heard from him at all. But he tried though, even if it was just for a few minutes at a weird time. You answered even if it was at one in the morning or afternoon, forcing yourself to stay awake or sneaking out to the bathroom at work to hear his voice.

He begrudgingly admitted what his job actually was after a couple weeks, downplaying it to just racing. If it wasn't for the odd hours and the short calls, you had a feeling he would've tried to skip over the subject entirely. You tried to accept it. Asked if he'd be weirded out if you looked him up or watched his races. Sukuna's whatever wasn't exactly reassuring.

But it was pretty easy to piece together that he lived and breathed racing.

He'd been born into it. Karted as a kid and grown up behind the wheel.

You guessed you were the only thing in his life that was just for himself, outside of all of that.

"You sound stressed," You commented, cuddling a pillow to your chest and suppressing a yawn. There wasn't a real routine to this, but after a few months, you'd gotten comfortable with his calls instead of spending all day nervous and stressed over them.

"Gojo's trying to take my seat," Sukuna scoffed. He rarely talked about this sort of stuff with you, barely brought it up, so you knew it was bothering him much more than he let on. He never opened up, not the way most people did, just dropping occasional bits of information that you had to stitch together with what was publicly available.

Unsupportive family, a more rough upbringing than the rest of his competitors, rivalries that'd started long before he ever qualified for F1. Despite everything, he'd still won the world championship four times in six years, the past two consecutive wins.

"I mean, can he do that?" You asked, unsure how exactly those sort of decisions were made. You knew Gojo was still a couple years younger than Sukuna, but probably his biggest competitor. Rumors had started to swirl about the white-haired pretty boy moving to a different team next year after his contract was up.

"Over my dead fuckin' body.'

A lump too large for you to choke down bubbled up in your throat, a newfound fear you'd recently discovered after looking up clips of him racing in your free time. The idea of his crashing or doing something reckless and getting himself killed had implanted itself in your head no matter how many times you tried to shake it out.

"You still there?" He grunted.

"Yeah, I am," You swallowed hard, doing your best to force those thoughts down too.

"What are you doing?" Sukuna asking sounded more like demanding, but his voice had taken on a different quality now. Darker, more hoarse. In desperate need of relaxing.

"I'm in bed," You admitted, rolling flat on your back in anticipation.

"And?"

"I'm wearing your favorite pair of panties," You murmured, face flushing already.

"And you weren't going to send me a picture?' He tch-ed.

"One second," You muttered, readjusting to open your camera and try to pose, despite how unnatural it felt. You snapped a few photos, then flipped the camera around, pulling up your loose t-shirt to take a couple more pictures of your tits, careful to make sure your face wasn't in frame.

They were immediately marked as seen once they were delivered.

"Fuck," He murmured, and you could hear the sharp inhale he sucked in.

"Do I get one too?" You giggled, heat already starting to pool between your thighs at the idea of him touching himself to you.

He hung up, a request to video chat almost immediately popping up instead. You nervously accepted, fixing your hair and chewing on the inside of your cheek before flipping the camera down to where your panties were clinging to your skin, slipping a hand down between your thighs teasingly.

"Sukuna?" You said, the picture on the other side grainy as it connected before you got the view of him stroking his pretty cock, his huge hand furiously pumping up-and-down over the thick veins, his tip almost as pink as his hair.

"It should be you here," He grumbled, his voice cutting out for a second afterwards.

"Yeah? You just miss fucking me?" You softly laughed, your heart straining in your chest at the rough timber of his voice.

"Wanna see your face," He gritted his teeth, like it was something difficult to confess.

You didn't want him to see you blush, but he was hard to say no to, harder to convince yourself you wanted whatever scraps of him he offered to you.

Hesitantly, you flipped the camera around to your face, and he let out a hoarse moan, his hand working faster, sloppy strokes that didn't match his usually calculated precision.

"Touch yourself for me," He muttered, all gravelly.

"You're gonna talk me through it?" You teased, and the sound he made was half a scoff and half a chuckle.

"Whatever my brat wants."

It was embarrassing how much you wanted to just be his.

You slowly pressed two fingers over your clit through the lace of your panties, making slow circles over the fabric just for extra friction.

"Should I flip the c-camera?" You asked, your breath hitching as you increased the pressure, thighs tense as you watched him jerk off, not sure if it was pre-cum or lube making his hands so slick.

"No," He huffed. "Need to see your face when you cum."

A flash of heat washed over you, your inhales starting to get shaky, your fingers twitching as you began trembling with each harsh circle you traced.

You scrunched your eyes shut, reclining your head back against your pillow and struggling to focus.

"Eyes on me, pretty," He chuckled, and you whined, pouting at him when you peeked them back open, barely able to hold yourself together staring at his cock on screen as you picked up the pace. Wishing it was your hand instead of his and his instead of yours, wishing for him to just be here instead of countries away, for him to fuck you the way he had months ago.

"Are you gonna cum for me, baby?" You murmured, his hand twitching and stalling for a second while he made some hissing sound, like he barely stopped himself from finishing them and there.

"Jus' waiting for you first," He growled, and you could practically hear his clenched jaw. Watching the veins of his cock pulse, the way it twitched at every little flicker of your expression, imagining how it'd feel in your mouth or buried deep in your cunt. You gasped a little, the pressure building and teetering on the verge of snapping, your hips arching up to chase the high. "Close, princess?"

His voice shoved you over.

Headfirst and falling hard as you unravelled in front of him, your common sense snapping with it when you moaned his name, murmuring something about how much you liked him and hoping he didn't hear it. He was cumming too, coating his strong, sturdy fingers white.

You were both breathless, coming back down in the same comfortable quiet you shared in person.

"You make a cute face when you cum," He eventually said, and you couldn't decide if it was a compliment or just him mocking you in some casually cruel way.

Sukuna was a hard man to understand. But you guessed that was by design. He didn't want anyone to know him.

"Do I?" You dryly asked, yawning out loud this time.

"Would I say it if you didn't?" He grunted.

"You just like to tease me," You complained halfheartedly, curling back up on your side.

"So?"

You shrugged, too tired to offer a better response tonight.

"I'll get you plane tickets. There's a race I want you to come to next month," He grunted, confident that you wouldn't say no.

"Seriously?" You hesitated, hoping it wasn't written on your face.

"Yeah," He insisted, like he was exasperated he had to reiterate it.

There was another race next weekend, but you wondered if maybe he'd just be too busy for you then. Or what other reason he had to wait for the one next month.

"Okay, sure, I guess. Um, I'll request off from work," You mumbled, a faint fluttering starting to stir in your stomach at the realization you might be seeing him again soon.

"Good."

Somewhere along the way, all the lines between friend and girlfriend had gotten blurred.

In your head, the dim hope that maybe he offered to fly you out was to make whatever this was official.

But when you tuned into watching his press conference the next Thursday for his upcoming race?

You hadn't realized how clearly he'd draw the boundaries back. It was stupid. Him scowling as some reporter baited and asked him a question about if there was a special someone supporting him or cheering for him before he rolled his eyes and said he wasn't in a relationship so they should stop asking.

Ouch.

You didn't watch any of the races. Ignored his two-sentence text where he didn't even apologize for being too busy to talk. Didn't answer his call two nights later.

He sent a bunch of questions marks in response.

Which might've made you laugh if you weren't already crying for getting too attached when you knew better.

The next day you'd send a congratulations message for him winning or placing or whatever the fuck he'd done, giving some excuse for being too busy with your own work to chat.

You went a week without calling. Barely replying to his texts hours afterwards, trying to untangle him from your heart.

Gojo, the guy in the second Ferrari seat, posted photos of them together though, ones that got plastered on a bunch of stupid sports news sites you'd forgotten to turn off notifications for, ones where they were at some club you'd never be able to get into, pretty girls next to them, diehard fans, apparently.

So when one of your coworkers asked you on a date?

You said yes.

Got dressed up, put on your makeup and plastered a bandaid over your heart. He picked you up with flowers in hand, waiting outside while you hurried to put them in a vase before walking back out with a shy smile.

"You look gorgeous," Geto hummed, a warm hand pressed against your back as he lead you to the car.

"Thank you," You blushed, but you couldn't tell if the butterflies in your stomach were fluttering or being stabbed.

Geto was a smooth-talker, all soft-spoken words that soothed your blistered disposition and dreamy eyes it'd be easy to lose yourself in. So why couldn't you?

The date was picture perfect. Not a detail out of place.

But when he dropped you back off, you couldn't bring yourself to invite him inside. You let him kiss you, his lips soft and tasting like wine as he caressed your cheek.

"I'd like to take you out again sometime," He murmured, apparently not put off by your reluctance. "I had fun tonight."

"Yeah?" You asked, wondering if maybe you needed more time to move past the man still lingering on your mind.

"Yeah."

You watched through a window as he drove away.

Changing into pajamas before digging your phone out of your purse, planning on scrolling through videos before you saw two missed calls and six missed texts.

You'd only read through a few of Sukuna demanding to know why you weren't talking to him before he was calling again.

Your thumb hovered over the button before you begrudgingly answered him. "Hello?"

"God, do you know how long I've been trying to call you?" He gritted his teeth, clearly annoyed already.

"Sorry," You shrugged. "I was on a date."

"A date?" Sukina was about to blow a fuse. That one vein that sometimes throbbed on his forehead was probably about to explode.

"Yeah?" You hummed, unbothered.

"That's not funny," He scoffed.

"Good thing I'm not joking," You sighed, walking around to fiddle with the flowers now sitting pretty in your vase, fingers grazing over the individual petals.

"What the fuck?" He huffed.

"Is there a problem with that?" You asked, walking the line between being an asshole and being apathetic. "I mean, didn't you just say you weren't in a relationship?"

"Shit, you saw that? I'm sorry, it's not like that, just look-"

Yeah, shit.

"It's fine, I get it, you play by a different set of rules than the rest of us, right? My fault for thinking I meant more." You accepted the blame because there was nothing else you could do with it.

Everything else hurt.

"It does mean more," His voice was low, like it took all his pride to admit it.

"Uh-huh," You dismissively nodded, tucking your phone between your ear and your shoulder.

"Did that prick even treat you right?" He grumbled, having an easier time hating someone else than focusing on his issues.

"He brought me flowers. Paid for my dinner. I had fun," You offered the smallest details, just enough to irritate him. To rub salt in his wound too.

"Are you going to see him again?" He asked, acidic and harsh.

"Maybe."

The silence was heavy this time, thick with tension and crackling with some charge you could feel even when he was in a different country.

"Don't."

"Why?" You genuinely asked this time.

"Give me a chance," He grumbled, before reluctantly murmuring, "Please."

"I'll think about it," You hummed noncommittally.

"Just, get on the plane, okay? I'll take care of everything else." Sukuna was probably scowling even when he was begging you.

The next night there was a ridiculously large bouquet of flowers delivered to your door along with your favorite food, and you didn't need to read the card attached to the flowers to know it was all from him. But you read it anyway.

I'm not letting you go. Sukuna.

You hadn't quite believed it until he'd actually managed to pick you up from the airport a couple weeks later, surely missing some kind of practice or press event, a sign made with your name on it. You almost didn't recognize him when he had on a hoodie and dark shades, probably trying to go unnoticed.

But the second he saw you, he was walking fast over to you, pulling you into him with a crushing hug, like he needed to know you were real.

That you hadn't given up on him yet.

He kissed you the second you got into the passenger seat of his car, his hands in your hair and his mouth on yours, trying to memorize your taste again after so long.

"I was an asshole," He admitted.

"Yeah," You scoffed.

"Sorry," He gruffly apologized. "I thought you knew."

"Knew what? That you're a dick? Or that you don't want people to know about us?" You sarcastically murmured between kisses, and he was hurrying to pull you onto his lap, his hands on your ass and his mouth trailing down your throat.

"That I'm an idiot in love with you," He grunted, and you froze, completely stiff as his sturdy thighs tensed underneath you.

"Don't be stupid," You huffed, refusing to believe him.

"Too late," He chuckled, his teeth sinking in to leave a light love bite above your collarbone. "Gonna show you off all weekend long."

And Sukuna rarely said anything he didn't mean.

His hands refusing to leave your waist when he showed you around the paddock, introducing you as his girlfriend and grumbling when he got dragged into media events.

"So you're actually real, huh?" A cheeky voice teased, aligning an arm around your shoulder while you sipped on an overpriced drink Sukuna had insisted on getting you.

You shoved Gojo off, recognizing him from voice alone.

"I'm Satoru Gojo," He grinned, sticking his hand for you to shake.

You didn't get to shake it before Sukuna returned from talking to their team principal, your boyfriend swatting his hand away from you.

"No touching my girl," He grunted.

"Are you his girl?" Gojo pouted, pushing out a plush, pink bottom lip. "Come on, you could do better, this guy's such a buzzkill."

You thought Sukuna was going to punch him.

"Are you trying to say you're better?"

"Don't fuckin' answer that," Sukuna scowled at him, pulling you back and leading you somewhere else, maybe to show you his real car up close like he'd promised on the way over.

It was prettier in person, a dark shade of red and sleek design. He ran his hands over it, pride glinting in his eyes.

And it kinda terrified you still, to picture him inside that death trap, but you liked watching him in his element, the way it seemed to be a second skin to him.

"Eyes on me out there," He murmured.

You don't think your eyes left him once the rest of the weekend.

In the haze of heated touches or when he was on the circuit, watching on the screen and unable to rip your attention away. He drove with the same control that he lived with - like he couldn't die.

No one was surprised when he took the top spot this time.

What did was him going to you first after he won. Kissing you in front of the crowd and picking you up in a tight hug.

Instead of an after-party, he dragged you back to his hotel room, pulling you back on top of his lap, already tugging your dress up and shoving your panties aside to push himself in after fingerfucking you stupid on the ride over. Your head was a little dizzy from the champagne he popped, your giggle turning into a gasp as his thick tip grinded up into you.

"Easy," You laughed, his fingers squeezing your sides as he guided you up-and-down slowly, savoring each second of being inside you.

"Can't I get my trophy?" He complained with a huff, brows furrowed together as he dragged you back down on his dick, distracting you from the stretch with a long kiss.

"I'm your trophy?" You giggled again, tilting your head back for him to decorate your throat with more hickies.

"My favorite one," He taunted, holding your hips in place and groaning at the way you squeezed around him.

He wasn't used to taking anything slow, but he was trying for you.

"What'd you think?" Sukuna asked as you tangled your fingers through his hair.

"Of what?" You hummed, relaxing into his touch.

"Everything. Did you like it?" He cocked his head to the side, leaning back against the bed's headboard and pulling you closer. The VIP lanyard still dangling around your neck bounced with the force, but you laughed. You were still nervous, still anxious and unsure of how it'd be to adjust to long-distance and what life with him meant. But the past few days had been a high you didn't want to give up.

Sukuna was someone you didn't want to give up.

His hands settled on your waist instead, enjoying being ridden for once instead of in the driver's seat.

"I like you."