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𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬◞﹒୧ . Almost 10 years have passed since you sent Sukuna to prison after he broke your heart. In the meantime, you've become a famous model who wants to create her own fashion brand, and Sukuna became a Formula 1 World Champion after getting out of prison. However, your story isn't over yet. To support your brother Satoru during his new Formula 1 season, you choose to accompany him during the long months he'll be racing. But fate chooses to mock you because your brother's new teammate is none other than Sukuna, his rival for years. Forced to cohabit with your evil ex-boyfriend, you expect to spend months having fun traveling, but instead, you're targeted by Sukuna—your stalker. He wants revenge for the years he spent in prison. But no matter how hard he wants to break you, his love for you will always win.
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬◞﹒୧ . 18k words, dark content, dead dove do not eat, black!reader, fem!reader, the reader has short hair, plus!size!reader, chubby!reader, pov alternating, modern au, heavy angst, heavy backstory for sukuna, hurt/comfort, past sexual abuse, trauma, racing au, formula one, underground fighting, modeling, racer!sukuna, model!reader, enemies to lovers, dark romance, unhinged!sukuna, ghost face mask, messy relationship, stalking, stalker!sukuna, threats, tension, hate/love, morally grey characters, pyromaniac!sukuna, murder attempt, revenge, violence, smut, dacryphilia, cock piercing, pussy grabbing, vaginal fingering, dry humping, cnc, voyeurism, non-con recording, fear play, panties ripping, gunplay, hate sex, rough sex, breath play, choking, slapping, degradation, gun sucking, vaginal penetration, orgasm denial, prey/hunter, aftercare.
𝐤𝐫𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐥'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬◞﹒୧ i hope it's not triggering, and that you'll understand sukuna's psyche and enjoy the dark romance. i recommend listening to dark light by night lovell, hotel by montell fish, supermodel by sza and futile devices by sufjan stevens. happy reading <3
𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕
˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝟎 - 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐫𝐤 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
If Sukuna were a god, he would be the god of wrath, of destruction. Seth, from Egyptian mythology. A spiritual entity that destroys everything in its path, possesses people, and delights in the tears it causes. The people who worship him wanted revenge, to bring chaos to the world.
As his fists crashed into his opponent's face, Sukuna's heart pounded with excitement. His dick twitched every time his victim whimpered, the corners of his mouth lifting beneath his black balaclava, revealing only his red eyes, full of madness. Adrenaline coursed through his blood and took hold of his being, making him invincible. The dangerous gleam in his eyes intensified with every punch, every blow, every moan of pain. It was his drug. Hurting others, listening to their sobs and pleas, Sukuna thrived in barbarity.
The spectators of the fight screamed with elation and clung to the railings that demarcated the ring. Sukuna was a showman; he gave his fans what he wanted. Violence. Suffering. An expression of pure domination. Dressed only in military pants, his bulging muscles glistened in the room's artificial light. The black ink of his tattoos contrasted with his tanned skin, and the people around him were too distracted by his brutality to dwell on the self-harm scars on his forearms, testifying to a dark past that might explain this savagery.
“You're going to kill him! The fight is over!”
The one in charge of financial bets grabbed Sukuna by the shoulders to separate Sukuna from the poor man with the bloody face who was barely standing. Sukuna huffed, letting him do it. The victim coughed up blood, and Sukuna smirked under his balaclava.
“You made thousands of dollars last night, Ryomen. You're truly the best,” the manager rubbed Sukuna's back appreciatively. Sukuna's eyes narrowed.
“Don't touch me until I make you as messed up as him.”
His interlocutor winced at his cold voice and moved away from Sukuna. The ruthless fighter left the ring without a glance at his fans who reached out to touch him. Sukuna was a celebrity in every area of his life: in the world of Formula 1 and in the world of underground fighting. He was used to being adored, and that was what he craved.
When we didn't receive love from your parents, we became addicted to external validation. Sukuna learned very quickly that if he was going to be noticed by his parents, who were too busy taking care of his twin brother Yuji, he had to be the problematic and troublemaking brother. He embodied his role perfectly, and even at 27, he constantly had this need to prove to others that he existed.
He changed in the locker room and put on a black shirt. When he left the secret facility where clandestine fights took place, he was greeted by the light New York breeze, characteristic of January. He put on his helmet and climbed into his luxury vehicle. He drove down the road for several minutes, replaying the scene from earlier where he beat the shit out of his victim. A bulge formed in his pants and a wave of desire took hold of him. He stopped at a gas station, too excited.
Not caring about being in public, he took off his helmet and unbuttoned his jeans, still on his motorcycle. His hand palmed his erection through his boxers and let out a soft sigh as he visualized his opponent's frightened face, tears prickled at the corners of his eyes, his breathing increasing as the images became more and more vivid. He freed his hard length of the fabric, and his thumb rubbed the slit, his digit pressing against his silver piercing. He smeared the precum onto the metal ball, and shuddered as the wind cooled him.
He leaned and spat on his dick, and with his palms, he massaged it up and down. He closed his eyes and imagined a pretty girl with a tearful face, sobbing pleas. Automatically, you materialized in his mind, and he squeezed his cock so hard it hurt.
He hated it when you crossed his mind. Despite the many years that had separated you, he felt like he was still that teenager pathetically in love with you. Except that wasn't the case. He wanted your downfall more than anything, to get revenge for the years of suffering he experienced in prison because of you.
It didn't matter that he deserved your revenge since he broke your heart; you were a traitor. And he despised people like you. One day, he would make you pay.
A noise next to him made him open his eyes, and an elderly woman was looking at him wide-eyed, her gaze fixed on what he had in his hands. Sukuna didn't care. He continued to run his hand along his length, maintaining her gaze. He hoped she was uncomfortable, and bonus points if she felt violated and hurled insults at him. The woman blushed and cleared her throat. She lowered her head to refuel her car. Sukuna rolled his eyes. Boring. He lost all his excitement, disappointed. He got dressed and took control of his vehicle to return home under the moonlight.
𖥸
Instead of going straight to his fiancée's apartment, Sukuna entered the basement of the building where he had a private shooting range. He grabbed a gun and positioned himself to fire. Focused and expert, Sukuna never missed the center of his target. Having fallen in love with karting around the age of 6, it wasn't until he was 12 that he developed a passion for weapons. It started with collecting daggers he found beautiful, until Uraume, his best friend, got him to play Call of Duty, and he discovered more powerful weapons. In another universe, Sukuna wasn't an F1 driver but a sniper.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
Yorozu's soft voice echoed behind him as he stared at his target, his left hand supporting his left wrist while his arm was raised. Sukuna didn't turn to look at her.
“I already told you not to call me that.”
“You’ll have to get used to it, we’re getting married at the end of the next F1 season.”
“I don’t even see you as human, stop acting so dumb and trying to romanticize our bond. You’re a tool for me,” he chided, and lowered his arms to put away his gun. He turned to his future wife, looked displeased, his features sharpening. Yorozu’s long black hair cascaded down her back, her light-colored eyes shone with a glint of desire as she wore a red lace nightie. The shade of red looked more vivid against her fair skin. Sukuna looked away, his fists clenched.
“You’re not my type, don’t try to seduce me. Just play your part.” Sukuna walked past her without a glance and slammed the door behind him.
Once in his luxurious, minimalist apartment (he didn't spend much time there with his F1 races), he took a shower and wrapped himself in the blankets of his king-size bed. A notification flashed on his phone screen, and his heart tightened when he saw that it was his twin, Yuji, sending him a photo from a show he had participated in.
Being autistic, Yuji's special interest was the piano. He was non-verbal, and therefore communicated his feelings through music. Sukuna had learned the piano out of jealousy, hoping his parents would compliment him as they did with Yuji, but it was as if Sukuna was invisible. All that mattered to the family was supporting Yuji and creating a safe place for his autism. Sukuna belonged in the trash.
He liked the image and replied with a short message. Sukuna knew it wasn't his brother's fault if he was neglected, but he still felt jealousy and resentment every time he interacted with his brother. But he loved him too much to cut ties, so he tolerated his mixed feelings toward him.
Sleep took over him, and he began to doze, his head on his pillow. Some time later, he felt hands caressing his back, his stomach, and a breath on the back of his neck. A cold shiver ran down his spine, and fear gripped him. Still lost between the world of dreams and reality, he thought it was his mother who had sneaked into his bed again to rape him at night. With a swift movement, Sukuna sat up, grabbed the person by the throat, and pinned them against the bed. His eyes fluttered open, his breathing rapid.
“You fucking whore.” He tightened his grip, a shadow passing over his gaze. “Do I have to kill you to get you to leave me alone?”
Yorozu's eyes were wide, her hands on Sukuna's wrists to stop him from choking her. “Kuna’, we've lived together for years and we haven't made love once.”
Sukuna winced at ‘kuna’, you were the one who called him that when he was little. But hearing the rest of the sentence, he snickered, the rough sound rumbled in his chest. "Make love to you? Who do you think I am, you fool? I don't make love."
Yorozu's breasts rose and fell with her ragged breathing. “Fuck me, then.”
“You wish. I wouldn't even fuck you on our honeymoon.”
Yorozu's face paled. “Why not?”
“Because all that shit is an arranged marriage. Nothing forces me to touch you. You didn't write 'sex' in your conditions.”
“Because it goes without saying!” she protested, her voice indignant.
“Buy yourself a dildo and leave me alone.”
Sukuna released her throat and stormed out of the bedroom. The only women who had ever touched him were you and his mother; he loathed women. If he didn't care about his F1 career, he would kill Yorozu right away. Maybe he should see a therapist for his fear of intimacy, but he didn't particularly want to heal. Sukuna loved how ruthless, violent, and selfish he was right now. It protected him from the thing that destroyed his life: love.
𖥸
You were the most beautiful woman Sukuna had ever laid eyes on. Yorozu was nothing compared to you.
Wearing a thick belt to serve as a bra, a long denim skirt, and black mules heels, you walked the runway with elegance and confidence, each step demonstrating your expertise in modeling. Your smooth brown skin glowed and your makeup was light; you didn't wear much artifice to highlight your naturally bewitching beauty. Your short hair was defined into beautiful coils, the dramatic baby hair on your forehead were decorated with white pearls in the bends.
With narrowed eyes, Sukuna only paid attention to the show when you were there. He had been invited to New York Fashion Week this year, and it was the first time he'd seen you in real life since he broke your heart when you were 18.
He was used to seeing you on television, in magazines; you were one of the most popular models of your generation. But it was nothing to see you face to face. You were famous for your voluptuous body, which defied the standards of a model. Many people said you made it big in the modeling world thanks to your mother, who was a '90s supermodel. But Sukuna knew you'd worked hard to get there; he was there during your sessions learning how to walk and pose for runway shows as teenagers. You were both icons—you, the plus-size model, and your mother, one of the most respected black models in the fashion world.
Everyone's faces were filled with wonder as you walked near the audience, while Sukuna glared at you. The people around him looked uncomfortable next to him, because Sukuna had a terrifying reputation. Having spent five years in prison for manslaughter, rumors spread that it was his money that saved him, that he had killed the victims in cold blood.
Only he knew. Only he knew you were with him when he killed those people. Only he knew you laughed when he set fire to that abandoned house in the forest. Only he knew you were merciless, vicious like him. Only he knew you were a manipulative girl hiding behind a baddie persona. You weren't the bold, confident girl you showed the world.
One day, Sukuna would shatter your heart. To put the pieces together and create a better you that would align with him. When Sukuna hated someone, he wanted to kill them, beat the shit out of that person until they were disfigured. But he couldn't do that to you. That pretty little face of yours was worth millions; Sukuna wouldn't ruin your career, right?
No, Sukuna had other plans. When the time was right, he would unleash his revenge. He would break you the way you broke him. Make you taste the miserable life he experienced in prison. He'll fucking own your body and soul, and you won't be able to escape him, reducing you to a little thing begging to be spared.
Being married to Yorozu wasn't going to stop him from doing what he'd wanted to do for years. He will find a way. He had to.
𖥸
𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕
Dim red and blue lights danced across your body as you swayed against strangers with a cocktail in hand. It was a fashion week afterparty, and you were surrounded by nothing but celebrities and models. You're the one by KAYTRANADA was playing in the bar, the song filling the room with a good vibe. Everything was going well until your eyes fell on the ghost of your heart in the middle of the dance floor.
Hands in the pockets of his baggy navy jeans, Sukuna stood straight, his expression cold and distant. 6 feet 6 tall, with thick eyebrows and the right slit, a multitude of ear piercings, tattoos that stretched all the way down his neck, and massive muscles that made him imposing, Sukuna was the kind of man you always noticed when you walked into a room. His slightly wavy pink hair fell over his forehead, and framed his angular face. He wore a white, short-sleeved shirt and a burgundy tie that was mostly undone. A classy, casual look.
You frowned, not liking how flawless he looked. It would have been quicker to move on from him if he were as ugly as a louse. Rolling your hips, you approached him and took advantage of his vague gaze to bump into him. The contents of your glass spilled all over him, staining his clothes. You placed your hand over your mouth in mock surprise.
“Oh, I’m so sorry.”
Sukuna looked up and his face hardened.
“˚ʚ♡ɞ˚.”
He had a way of saying your name, saying the syllables slowly, as if each one counted. Your stomach twisted at how your name rolled on his tongue.
“Ryomen,” you smirked. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you. The last time I saw you was…” You pretended to think with your index finger on your chin. “Oh,” Your eyes lit up with a cruel glint. “It was when I sent you to jail. So, how was it?”
His handsome face looked terrifying. His features sharpened and his red eyes darkened.
“You want to show you how it was?”
With a swift movement, Sukuna grabbed a handful of your hair, ruining the defined curls and pulling you closer to him. Your body bumped against his muscular chest. You tried to back away, but his grip was so strong it hurt. He lowered his head to your ear.
“You’re fucking lucky you live in California, I would have ended your life a long time ago.”
A shiver ran down your spine, and your smile faded. It was Sukuna’s turn to smile, his lips curled into a menacing grin.
“What is it, ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚? I thought you were pretty confident. Where did your arrogance go?” His deep voice next to you made it hard to concentrate, and you glared at him.
“Let go of me, you son of a bitch.”
“Yeah, you’re right, my mother is a bitch. But so is yours, right? That’s why we loved each other before, remember?” His breath brushed your face, and your stomach churned at his threatening look. You swear that he was like a demon. “Don’t you get nostalgic for when we were teenagers sometimes?”
“You mean when you cheated on me to go with Yorozu, you bastard?” Your gaze was full of venom.
“I’m not a traitor like you, I never cheated on you. However,” he let out a low chuckle, “I admit it makes me happy to know that your childhood memories are tarnished by me. It even makes me hard, actually.” He pressed his erection against you and you placed your hands on his shoulders to push him away but he yanked you against him. “Women like you don’t know how to behave, you want me to teach you how to be a good girl? Maybe with that you’ll stop fucking all your model colleagues.”
“You’re so obsessed with me that you keep up with my relationship news?” you asked in disgust, feeling his dick against your belly. “A killer and now a sexual harasser. Your situation doesn’t seem to be improving with time.”
“Oh baby, I always been a sexual abuser, have you forgotten what we used to do? All the kinks I created for you? I corrupted you.”
A shadow passed across your face. You didn’t want to think about all the twisted sexual things you did with him. You were two young and traumatized teens, so your sex life was doomed from the start.
“Let go of me.”
“Tell Satoru that he will admire me from second place next season,” Sukuna let go of your hair and turned around without saying anything else.
You huffed. “You wish! My brother will beat you this year!”
He walked away, ignoring you, and you gave him the finger in the back.
𖥸
˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝟎 - 𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐲 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
For as long as you could remember, Sukuna had always been an asshole.
You met him at Merklay Park, near Beverly Hills, California. It was some time after your mother divorced your father and married Satoru's father, when you were 13. You used to design your clothes outside, inspired by the nature around you.
He was fighting with a younger boy he'd extorted. Ruthless. Violent. Barbaric. There was something sinister about seeing a teenager capable of such brutality, and the worst part was that he smirked while he beat his victim.
A normal person would have looked away or called the police. But you weren't a normal girl. You were an artist who aspired to be a fashion designer. So when people expressed intense emotions, it inspired you. In fact, you found him handsome. There was something poetic about the way he unleashed himself on the boy, something raw.
Caught up in it, every time you came to the park and saw him fighting, you hid behind a tree to watch him. Your heart always pounded, and you were still too young to understand why you got tingles down here as soon as your eyes landed on him.
He still had that effect on you, even after he'd broken your heart.
Sitting in the Ferrari team's conference room in the Italian capital, you shifted uncomfortably in your seat as Sukuna's gaze pierced you. Sukuna was the frightening definition of darkness. He wasn't an F1 driver who was adored for his good looks; most of his fans were intimidated by him. Rumors of his murders were still rife even four years after he was released from prison.
Early in his career, people said Sukuna had gotten into Formula 1 on the money and didn't deserve his place, but the second he became a driver at 23, he won every championship. There was no denying his talent.
“Why ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ is here?” Sukuna's deep, cold voice echoed through the room.
“My sister is going to follow me for the entire F1 season,” Satoru stated, adjusting his tie. “She wants to cheer me on since you ruined my last race last year.” He glanced at you and gave you a smile, which you didn't return because you were tense.
Sukuna's eyes narrowed on you, and the corners of his mouth lifted into a wicked smile. “You can't be that dumb and want to be close to me after what you did.”
Your face hardened, and you knitted your eyebrows.
“I'm doing what I want with my life, and I'm not afraid of you, Ryomen.”
The Ferrari team principal took a sip from his glass of water, watching you silently. Satoru grew impatient.
“Can we know why you invited us here? You know very well that Sukuna and I have been rivals for years. He stole first place from me.”
A dark chuckle escaped Sukuna's lips.
“Did I steal first place, or did it not belong to you?”
“You know perfectly well that you deliberately made contact with my car.” Satoru’s face twisted into a frown. “You never respect the rules.”
“The FIA didn’t find any violations. Maybe you have trouble admitting that you’re no match for me,” Sukuna goaded.
“That’s enough,” the director sighed. “The reason I brought you here, Satoru Gojo, is because Mercedes wants to make a transfer. They want to choose a rookie for their team and get rid of you because you’ve always finished second for the past four years. We agreed to remove Mahito from the team to accommodate you. You’ll be Mr. Ryomen’s teammate for the coming seasons.”
Your lips parted, your eyes wide. “But they hate each other!”
The old man shook his head.
“They're the best in Formula 1. We'll easily win the constructors' championship with you two.”
“Actually, that's a good idea,” Satoru grinned, and you turned to him, surprise flashing across your face.
“What are you talking about, 'toru? Sukuna is a bastard who made you miss out on last year's championship. How are you going to get along with him?”
“Exactly. Being on his team will make me improve more. And don't forget that I'm better, sister. It's even more gratifying to crush him by being his teammate.”
“You're not going to crush anyone, dickhead,” Sukuna snickered. “All F1 drivers are below me, you're all my sons.”
“Okay, Nicki Minaj,” Satoru rolled his eyes. “Sorry to exist in your world.”
“But that's not all I wanted to say,” the director began. “Since you're the most popular drivers, everyone's going to be curious about how you'll compete together. So the marketing director decided we're going to do a show during the season.”
“I'm not here to do reality TV,” Sukuna scowled.
“It's so cool!” Satoru beamed, always loving to be the center of attention.
Sukuna glared at Satoru.
“You're a fucking child. I can't believe I have to work with a fool like you.”
“A child, yes, but the fool always ends up in pole position.”
“That's a bare minimum as a driver, idiot,” Sukuna muttered.
You fidgeted your hands, anxiety running through your body. You had agreed to follow Satoru during his Formula One season, to cheer him on after his defeat last year against Sukuna, but you hadn't anticipated him leaving Mercedes for Ferrari, and thus becoming your worst enemy's teammate.
The director gave more information about the program's schedule and what the big changes would be for Satoru. You weren't listening anymore and were lost in painful memories that dated back several years.
˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 - 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
“Why do you always cut yourself?” you asked, curiously looking at the still-red wounds on Sukuna's arm. Curled up against his chest as he lay on the grass in Merklay Park, he caressed your back with lazy movements. The sun beat down on you, the typical California heat, but you were too comfortable together to care.
You were Sukuna's best friend, of course you were going to ask him this kind of question one day. His cold expression betrayed no emotion, but he let out a soft sigh.
“To better cope with what I feel.”
“And what do you feel?” You cocked your head to one side. His eyes locked with yours, as your breath caressed his face.
“Despair.”
You played with the wavy locks that fell over his forehead. “I feel despair too.”
“Because of your mother?”
Your face darkened. “This bitch doesn't deserve my emotions. She's just a whore who can't keep her legs closed.”
Sukuna smirked.
“What you're saying is misogynistic, you know?”
“She's the one setting feminism back years by constantly getting remarried. It's like she can't be alone, it's pathetic.”
At 16, you were mature and noticed that your mother had psychological problems. She was a compulsive liar, a manipulator, and a cheater. She was awful to you, constantly putting you down because she saw you as a rival. You thanked her for remarrying into the Gojo family because that way you met Sukuna and Satoru.
“Do you prefer your father or your mother?”
“Kuna’, my father is basically absent in my life.”
“I know,” Sukuna’s face softened. “But you always criticize your mother and never your father.”
“You do the same thing. You always complain that your father ignores and neglects you while your mother rapes you.”
“Because my mother acts as if I exist, so I guess I resent her less for violating me.”
“You exist, but at what cost? What's the point of her paying attention to you if it's to steal your innocence?”
“I'm seventeen, baby. My innocence is long gone. You still think of me as a fragile boy, even though you helped me burn down a house a few weeks ago. We killed people together.”
You chuckled, your eyes lit up with a playful glow.
“That was so much fun. We should kill people more often.”
Sukuna burst into a deep laugh, hugged you even tighter, and pressed a kiss to your forehead.
“Something is wrong with your head, baby.”
“That's why you love me so much.”
“Right, I love you so much.”
When you looked up and met Sukuna's piercing eyes, devoid of the warmth he used to have when you were teenagers, your heart sank. How could a boy who had been your safe place for years become your enemy, toward whom you harbored boundless hatred? You were troubled teenagers, wounded by life, with no one to understand you, and when you met, it was as if the shattered pieces of your hearts had come back together to form one.
You thought your story was over, but it all started again. For many months, you were going to live with the man you hated. You should be scared. You knew Sukuna. He was everything a human shouldn't be. Merciless. Brutal. Cruel. But it wasn't fear that gripped you when his eyes lit up and he gave you the most sinister smile you've ever seen.
It was excitement.
𖥸
𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕
˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝟏 - 𝐬𝐚𝐤𝐡𝐢𝐫, 𝐛𝐚𝐡𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
You were the stupidest woman Sukuna had ever met in his life.
You knew he hated you, knew he was dangerous, that taking another's life didn't affect him, that he was an arsonist who hid his crimes behind his pyromania, that he was completely crazy. Yet, you agreed to be near him for the entire season. A normal person should have escaped and fled when they learned of the transfer. No, you had given him back his grin in the conference room. Sometimes, Sukuna forgot that you came from the same realm of darkness.
While you were with your brother doing race simulations, Sukuna placed cameras in your hotel room. His family was wealthy and owned a luxury perfume company, Rose Noire, so he had the means to do whatever he wanted. Asking for your keys by sliding bills across the counter was easy for him.
His revenge had just begun. He was going to break you, make you cry until you begged him to leave you alone. Make you his in the most twisted way, fucking you until you're sorry to even exist.
𖥸
𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕
'I will make you so terrified that you will pray everyday that I leave you alone.'
You were reading your usual dark romance books—the kind of problematic, unhealthy book that allowed you to escape and experience your worst fantasies—when you received this message from an unknown number. You chuckled and ignored it. It was probably a joke. Immersed once again in your protagonist's story, you sighed when you received a second message.
'˚ʚ♡ɞ˚. 26 years old. Gojo Satoru's half-sister. On bad terms with your mother because your ex-boyfriend cheated on you with her. Want to have a fashion brand but is afraid of not living up to her famous mother. Enjoy CNC.”
Your whole body froze, a sense of dread taking hold of you.
'Who are you?' you answered him with trembling hands.
'You don't need to know me. Just do what I want.'
'What do you want?'
'Destroy you.'
You swallowed with difficulty. Your heart raced, your whole body still. Your intuition told you this wasn't a joke; this person couldn't randomly reveal such private information.
'You want money?'
'You think money will fix what you've done, you fucking bitch?'
'I don't understand what's going on.'
'I know, you've always been dumb.’
Always been? It was someone you knew. It was even more terrifying.
‘You don't want to tell me who you are?’
The stranger stopped responding, but your heart was still racing. You took deep breaths to calm your anxiety and went back to reading your books.
'How are you?'
A notification flashed on your phone; it was Nanami. He was a driver at McLaren, and you had met him during the press conference on Saturday, before qualifying. A handsome man, you naturally gave him your number. You were always looking for your perfect man to spend the rest of your life with, so you multiplied your partners.
'I'm waiting for the race to start so I can go to the VIP area.'
‘You’re going to encourage me?’
You grinned.
'I'm here for my brother, Nanami. But I'll throw champagne at you if you're on the podium.'
The stranger sent you another message.
'What's making you smile?’
Your smile faded. You studied your surroundings, looking for cameras.
'Stop talking to Nanami.'
Your eyebrows furrowed. How did he know you were talking to that man?
'I do what I want.'
'You think I'm playing with you?' I will end the life of any man who touches you.’
‘I don’t know how you got that information about me, but I’m not going to be intimidated by a stranger.’
‘Dumb bitch ‘til the end, I guess.’
A door knock sounded in the room, and Satoru entered your room. He shot you a goofy smile.
“It’s race time. Ready to scream my name for two hours?”
“That’s extremely weird put like that, ‘toru,” you chuckled and put your phone away. You didn’t want to worry your brother with your new stalker; it would distract him from Formula 1.
“Sukuna qualified first and I qualified second on the grid as usual,” he grumbled.
“That just means you only have one person to pass, look on the bright side!” You got up from the bed to pat him on the shoulder.
Satoru was your safe place. You'd never had a real family before your mother remarried, and you were grateful to have met him.
Even though he'd been a huge obstacle in your relationship with Sukuna when you were teenagers, you loved him more than anything. The Ryomen and Gojo both lived in Merklay, a town generally inhabited by millionaires, near Beverly Hills. The two families harbored endless hatred for each other because they both had the same background: they were Japanese who had settled in California and owned a luxury perfume company. They were competitors in America, and they'd warned you not to get attached to a Ryomen.
It was too late the day they told you that. You were already seeing Sukuna secretly, meeting up at Merklay's central park.
“Father is here,” Satoru scratched the back of his head, and your voice softened.
“Are you nervous?”
“I'm just tired of disappointing him every day.”
Satoru's mother was the CEO of the luxury brand; Satoru's father was a successful former F1 driver and eight-time world champion. Satoru had always grown up in his father's shadow.
“You know he's proud of you, no matter where you finish.” You hugged him. He leaned into your touch. “You're the one who puts this pressure on yourself to be as good as him.”
“˚ʚ♡ɞ˚, they call me Cursed Toru because I always finish second.”
“You've already been world champion twice, you forget that quickly.”
“That was before that asshole Sukuna got into Formula 1. I don't know how he managed it when my dad did everything he could to avoid it. It's probably thanks to Yorozu.”
Your eyes narrowed. Yorozu was a girl who lived in the same neighborhood as you and Sukuna, and she was a childhood friend of Sukuna's (if he was capable of having friends). You had never been able to be friends because she was extremely jealous of your relationship with Sukuna. Your relationship worsened when Sukuna cheated on you with her. At least, that was your version. You hadn't forgotten how he claimed he'd never cheated on you. Maybe that idiot had a short memory.
“Her family works for the FIA?”
“Yeah, her father is one of the assistant managers, and her uncle is the principal of the Red Bull team.”
Oh.
“Imagine if their relationship is fake and he got together with her because he knew your father would keep him out?” you mumbled, realizing it was very likely since Sukuna treated Yorozu like a pain in the ass in high school.
Satoru shrugged. “That manipulator would be capable.”
A hollow ache pierced your chest. If that were really the case, why did Sukuna have to break your heart and abandon you? Sukuna had never been anyone's first choice. His family only cared about his autistic brother. A glass child. The healthy child neglected while the rest of the family only paid attention to the one who was sick or disabled. That's why no one had ever noticed he'd been a victim of incest.
Sometimes, when you thought about his life, you wanted to cry. He was successful now, but he'd suffered so much. He was incredibly strong and resilient. But deeply damaged. That's why you'd loved him so much. Looking at Sukuna was like looking into a mirror. You had the same wounds and you knew how to heal them for each other.
“˚ʚ♡ɞ˚, are you coming or not?”
You shook your head. “Yes, sorry.”
𖥸
𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕
His gloved hands gripped the steering wheel as he slowed to take the turn. The landscape around him was a blur due to the speed he was driving. He couldn't wait for the race to be over because the red Ferrari suit was making him hot.
“There's no one near you, you can go full speed,” the race engineer told him over the radio. “You really are the best, Ryo.” Sukuna smirked. He recognized the voice; it was Kenjaku. He'd been around since Sukuna started in F1; he would have called him 'friend' if he weren't so heartless.
He pressed the accelerator and enjoyed the adrenaline rush this action gave him. The car sped along the straight, before reaching a second turn. The soft tires squealed on the asphalt as he boldly took the turn. The Sakhir circuit was a succession of straights and slow corners, lacking the sweeping curves that made Formula 1 so spectacular.
“Easy,” Sukuna chuckled, recording yet another lap.
“Satoru and Nanami are behind you.”
The sweet sound of the engines roaring filled his ears, his favorite music. His car sped like a red lightning bolt, zipping around the track with ease and confidence, even as Satoru's car closed in on him. Sukuna gave him the finger and used his maximum speed to pull away.
He crossed the finish line and ended the race with a yawn. Too easy. He let the mechanics take care of his car as he took off his gloves. Journalists rushed towards him, but Sukuna pretended they didn't exist.
He took off his helmet, and fangirls shouted his name with signs featuring his face in close-up. His lips quirked up, amused. Did these stupid women know he was a psycho?
Nightcrawler by Travis Scott was playing during the trophy ceremony as Sukuna, Satoru, and Nanami took the top three spots. Your brother wore a tense expression and glared at Sukuna.
“Toru the Cursed always confirms his curse,” Sukuna sneered.
“Shut your fucking mouth.” Satoru gritted his teeth. “It's only the first race.”
“And your first loss of the season. Congratulations.”
The tradition of splashing champagne brightened Satoru's mood, and Sukuna slipped away to the VIP floor reserved for his family.
“Hey, sweetheart,” his mother greeted him in a soft voice. Her long pink hair cascaded down her back as her body was wrapped in a fur coat.
“Kill yourself,” he muttered, walking past her without a glance.
His father was sitting on the couch reading a newspaper. He didn't look up, just gave him a thumbs-up. Sukuna's jaw tensed. Of course. Everyone didn't care about his victory except his brother.
A gentle look passed across his face when he saw his brother watching ASMR videos of soap cutting. It had always calmed him.
“Sup.”
Sukuna ruffled his twin's hair without hugging him because Yuji hated being touched. His brother lifted his head and offer him a smile that reached his eyes. Since Yuji was non-verbal autistic, Sukuna had learned to speak sign language to communicate with him.
Yuji would raise his hands and say 'congratulations'.
“Thank you, but you should be used to having a talented brother. We're both prodigals.”
A chuckle slipped out of Yuji's mouth. 'Of course, we are really THAT boys,' he communicated silently.
Sukuna nudged his shoulder. 'The pride of the Ryomen.'
“I'm proud of you too,” his mother joined in. Sukuna's eyes darkened.
“What don't you understand about 'kill yourself'?”
“Talk to your mother better,” his father interjected.
“I talk how I want to whomever I want, and you won't do anything,” Sukuna raised his voice.
“Don't shout, Yuji doesn’t like noise.”
“As if Yuji is the center of the world!” Sukuna clenched his fists.
An uncomfortable silence fell in the room and Sukuna stormed out, slamming the door. Breathing rapidly, he ran to the nearest bathroom. Once inside, he vomited. He'd met his mother's gaze for a few moments; it had disgusted him.
He wiped his mouth with toilet paper before going out and bumping into you.
“What the fuck are you doing in the men's room?” Sukuna asked, his voice cold.
“Why are you throwing up like you're sick? You should be in a good mood, your lame ass stole my brother's victory again,” you jabbed, your chin held high.
“The lame ass is your brother, dumbass.”
You washed your hands, ignoring him, and Sukuna's eyes fell on your round ass and thick thighs, molded into your slim jeans. He licked his lower lips, his eyes predatory.
“Nice ass.”
“Kill yourself.”
“That's exactly what I told my mom earlier. She didn't listen.”
Your face softened. “You saw… your mother? Are you okay?”
“Don't be so stupid to worry about me. I'd kill you if I could.”
“I'm not an idiot. I just have empathy for anyone, no matter what's been done to me. Which you clearly lack.”
“Empathy is a weakness. I'm not interested in other people's suffering. But I am in yours, if I caused it.”
Your eyes shot daggers at him. “You're an awful human being.”
“You loved me before.” Sukuna left the room without looking at you.
𖥸
𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕
˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝟐 - 𝐣𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐚𝐡, 𝐬𝐚𝐮𝐝𝐢 𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐚 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
The crew filming the show arrived during the second week when you arrived in Saudi Arabia. They were there mainly for Sukuna and Satoru, but they occasionally interviewed you. Satoru was in his element; he had an outgoing and cheerful personality and loved being filmed. Sukuna, on the other hand, was grumpy. He ignored most of the questions and often slipped away to escape the cameras.
'I know you're still talking to Nanami.'
You were taking off your clothes in the hotel locker room, getting ready to go to the private pool when you received a message from your stalker. You rolled your eyes.
'I already told you I'll do what I want.'
'I think you don't quite understand your position in our relationship. I'm a predator and you're my prey.'
'Stop this corny ass shit.'
'You really want to provoke me? I wanted to start slowly with you.'
You ignored his message and put on your swimsuit. The pool was empty because it was 10 p.m. You dove into the water and made a few strokes before letting yourself lie on your back, arms outstretched from your sides. With your eyes closed, you jumped when you heard the lights go out, the area illuminated only by the underwater lights.
“Is anyone there?”
Your heart raced, and you approached the edge of the pool, inspecting your surroundings. You hadn't heard the door open, which meant the person had been there since you'd been undressing in the locker room. It sent a chill down your spine.
You waited a few minutes, your senses alert, before starting to swim again, thinking it was a technical problem. You turned in the water and hummed music, moving quickly and easily around the pool. You stopped looking around, busy thinking about what you were going to do tomorrow and playing in the water. When you reached the edge and turned around, facing the exit, your heart gripped with dread.
You screamed when you saw an imposing man leaning against the doorway. He was so tall that his head touched the top, and he was impossible to identify because he wore a ghost face mask. Dressed entirely in black, he took a few slow steps toward the pool. Petrified, you were unable to move, your eyes wide with fear.
He circled the pool to get to you, each step accentuating the pounding of your heart in your ribcage. Every cell of your being vibrated with terror.
“You’ve been a bad girl lately, am I right? You think you’re in control here?”
His voice was vaguely familiar, but deeper than what you were used to hearing. You swallowed with difficulty. He knelt beside you and raised a large, tattooed hand to caress your cheeks with his rough knuckles. You stood frozen, your whole body shaking like a leaf in the wind. Your stalker slapped your face violently, making you spin your head and let out a gasp. He grabbed a handful of your hair to pull you back close to him. His grip was so firm that you moaned in pain.
“Next time you don’t act like a good prey, I’ll rape you. Do you understand?”
You gave him a shy nod, sweat trickled down your brow.
“But today, I’m going to give you a little punishment. Call that an appetizer, baby.”
You opened your mouth to protest, but he plunged your head into the water. You struggled, clawing at his wrist until it bled to let you breathe. You held your breath with difficulty. A sense of dread, slow and cruel, crept your spine, making every second feel like an eternity. When you began to stop moving, unconsciousness took over your body, and he let go of your hair.
You coughed, taking deep breaths, your body panicking from the near-drowning you had experienced. By the time you had finally regained your normal breathing, your stalker had disappeared.
𖥸
𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕
Sukuna was only 18 when he entered prison. He was used to fighting with people younger than him, but for the first time in his life, he was confronted by someone older, bigger than him.
The first week had been the hardest. His roommate had tried to rape him in his sleep. An old man with a beer belly had rubbed himself against him before trying to undress him.
“Ryomen…”
He had been paralyzed, because he immediately understood what was happening. Except it wasn't his mother who was slim, it was a man much larger than him. He let himself be touched; the man ran his hand over his stomach and kissed his neck. Sukuna fought not to vomit. It was when his hand slipped into his jeans that he choked him, like a reflex.
He'd been forced into solitary confinement even though he'd explained what the man had tried to do. The prison staff didn't care about that. He posed a threat to other inmates, and he already had aggravating circumstances.
In an isolated cell for two weeks, he'd spiraled. Being alone with his thoughts for more than 24 hours, without seeing sunlight, with nothing to do but sit and pace in the small room, it drove people crazy.
Sukuna still had these kinds of nightmares. He relived the moments when he was locked up, alone, a scared young adult, cursing the only girl he'd ever loved for doing this to him.
Sukuna woke up with a knot in his stomach. A hollow ache in his chest made it hard to breathe properly. He hated it when he had these kinds of cursed dreams. He'd rather relive his rapes than be locked in a room and spiral.
Dressed only in his gray sweatpants that hung low on his hips, he put on his sneakers and left the hotel. The hotel had a garden, and Sukuna began to walk around it, hands in his pockets.
“Are you a nudist?”
He turned where the voice came from and narrowed his eyes on you. Dressed in your mini pajama shorts and tank top, you had deep dark circles under your eyes.
“Don’t disturb me, I’m not in a good mood.”
“I almost died a few hours ago. A little traumatized, but you must be happy, right? Someone is granting your wish.”
His lips curved into a wicked smile. “Tell me more.”
“I think they'll really kill me if I tell anyone.”
You already understood the implication of not telling anyone; Sukuna was doing his job well. Judging by your dark circles, you were already starting to get scared, and that was all Sukuna wanted. To make your life miserable like his had been in prison.
“Are you still cutting yourself?” you whispered, looking at the red marks on his wrist.
He pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek, taken aback. He hid his hands behind his back. If you looked too closely, you'd realize they were your scratches.
“None of your business.”
“I hope you see a therapist one day.”
Sukuna's face twisted into a scowl. “I would have been much better off if you hadn't sent me to prison. This is all your fault.”
“You talk as if you didn't actually commit these murders, Ryomen.”
“It doesn't matter, we promised each other we wouldn't tell anyone.”
“I would have kept my promise if you hadn't stood me up for our first date and then I saw you in Yorozu's arms the next day, and you ignored me.”
Sukuna looked away, silent. In his contract with Yorozu, he was forbidden from explaining to you that his relationship with her was fake. Yorozu wanted everyone to think he was hers. It irritated Sukuna, but he had no choice if he wanted to secure his place in Formula 1. You folded your arms and gave him a glare at his silence.
“Are you ever going to explain?”
“You don’t deserve my time.” Sukuna stared at the flowerpots, avoiding your furious gaze.
“You're mad at me for sending you to prison, but what was I supposed to do? I was in love with you, Sukuna. So madly in love. I would have done anything for you. If you suffered in prison, how do you think I suffered when I waited for you at the restaurant and you never came? You think I didn't cry when you ate next to Yorozu the next day at school even though you knew she hated me? You think I was happy when I saw you blocked me everywhere without saying anything?” Your eyes stung, and your voice was hoarse. “I'm sorry you suffered in prison. I can't imagine what it's like to be locked up with strangers for five years, but you should have thought before breaking my heart. I'm not an idiot who lets people walk all over me easily.”
That's exactly why he loved you for so many years. Oh god, he loved you so much.
He squeezed his eyes shut. The love he felt for you was like a tsunami he was unable to control, overwhelming him in moments when he didn't want to be a slave to his heart. Then he remembered. The attempted rapes by his roommates. The solitary confinement cells. The indifference of the prison staff. The long training sessions outside to become stronger and defend himself better. The many times his life would have turned into a life of crime because of offers to work for a gang. His revenge, which he had planned long in advance. He remembered the hell of the facility, and he opened his mouth, his voice harsh.
“So for a few minutes of heartbreak, I have to suffer all my life? Do you think this kind of wound can be healed?” He approached you dangerously, a threatening look on his face. You backed away from the hotel wall. “You managed to move on while I'm affected every day.”
“Who told you I moved on?” you murmured. “You think I can move on from the love of my life? You think I don't think about you when I'm with other men?”
“You're talking nonsense, are you drunk?”
“I drank a few cocktails. I was anxious.”
“Dumbass.” Sukuna sighed. “There's no love between us anymore. I was never the love of your life. Stop saying stupid shit like this.”
“She'll never be me, you know that, right?” Tears of rage prickled at the corners of your eyes. “Understanding, acceptance, being seen for who you truly are without judgment, all of that, only I can give you. She isn't even the half of me. You're miserable because you're making the wrong choices. You're staying with a woman who will never satisfy you, and you're breaking the heart of the only one who was your equal.”
Sukuna bit the inside of his cheek. You were pretty when you cried. He wanted to kiss you.
“Since when you're so sappy? Our relationship wasn't that deep.”
“We killed people together, Sukuna.”
“I killed people, you watched. You were never as crazy as me.”
“Oh, I need to kill people now to prove I'm the better choice?”
“Maybe, it will turn me on.” He rested his forearm above your head on the wall, his breath mingling with yours.
“I’ll never prove my worth to anyone, I know what I’m worth. Too bad for you if you can’t see what you’re missing.”
“Because if I left Yorozu right now, would you take me back?”
You paused. You sniffled and avoided his eyes. Sukuna smirked.
“Oh, you’re so down bad.”
“Shut up.”
Sukuna wrapped his hand around your throat and pulled you closer.
“You’re a lover girl, I forgot. Are you still reading your romances?”
You inclined your head, acknowledging.
“You know you'll never find protagonists like me. Crazy men who can kill, and can fuck you in a way that will earn me more years in prison? All your dark romance fantasies, you can have them with me. Too bad, I will never be yours. My type isn't the traitorous whores.”
He tightened his grip until your eyes widened and your breath hitched. You struggled against him, but Sukuna was stronger than you. It was when your eyes began to close that he let go of your throat.
“My love for you is in the past. You ruined everything when you betrayed me. Now, move on. Don't be so pathetic. I will end your life if you bother me again with your sappy shit.”
Sukuna put his hands back in his jeans pockets and moved away from you.
“You're the one who ruined everything!” you shouted. “Why is the blame always on me? Okay, five years in prison isn't cool, but you betrayed me first, you fucking asshole!”
Your outburst was met with silence as Sukuna walked back into the hotel without a word.
𖥸
𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕
Nanami had won first place in this race, so to reward him, you gave him your body. Or was it the alcohol from the afterparty that had inhibited you?
The problem was, you were broken.
His slow thrusts bored you. You wanted him to treat you like a whore, to fuck you like he hated you. You thrived in pain. You wanted to be choked, spat on, hit, and slapped. Motionless and lying in the starfish position, you stared at the ceiling, absentminded and waiting for it to be over quickly.
It was moments like these that you missed Sukuna. Only he knew how to treat you in bed; he could fulfill any of your fantasies without judgment and in complete safety. He was an asshole, but he fucked you so well.
You avoided Nanami's gaze when it was over, hoping he hadn't noticed your moans were fake. You put on the miniskirt and bikini top you'd worn to the party again and left the hotel to smoke. Once outside, your eyes watered.
“Fuck,” you sniffled, wiping away your tears. You walked around the hotel and paused when you saw someone familiar.
Sukuna was still in the garden, looking at the flowerpots, his bare, shiny chest and messy hair as if he'd been struggling in his sleep because of a nightmare. Hands in his pockets, he had his usual cold expression.
“You fucked Nanami and are disappointed,” he stated bluntly, without looking at you.
Tears streamed down your cheeks, unable to stop them. You didn't even know why you were crying.
“It's none of your business,” you mumbled, your voice hoarse.
“I bet he was bad at it, he can't handle all that.”
His gaze roamed your body with a glint of appreciation and desire in his eyes, lingering on your big breasts, accentuated by your bikini top.
“You wanna fuck me?”
“We both know you don't want to be fucked and you want something more sinister.”
“Will you give it to me?”
“I gave it to you enough when we were teenagers, find yourself another guy.”
“But what if I want you?”
Sukuna glanced at you, his eyebrows furrowed.
“Have you been drinking? You're always emotional like that when you're drunk. When you're sober, you'd rather die than say stuff like that to me.”
“I'm just…” You sniffled. “I don't know. I hate you, but sometimes I miss you. We were so compatible.”
“It was just sex.”
“It was so much more than that, you fucking asshole. Do you think Yorozu can do the rape roleplays we used to do?”
“I don't touch her, and I don't want to know.”
Surprise flashed across your face. “But it's been nine years since you're together?”
“And?” His voice was defensive.
The weight of realization made you dizzy. You gave him an arrogant smile.
“You still love me. You can't touch another woman because I was the only one you felt safe with.”
His face hardened and he remained silent, a storm in his red irises. You were awfully right. You burst into laughter, your shoulders shaking.
“I miss you and you can't move on, but we hate each other. Why are we so messy?”
“Shut up.”
“Just know if you wanted to rape me for revenge, you can,” you smirked.
He drew his lips into a thin line, a blazing fire in his eyes.
“Shut. The. Fuck. Up.” He pushed past you and disappeared into the hotel.
𖥸
˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝟑 - 𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞, 𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐚 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
'I told you not to fuck Nanami. You need to be punished for real now.'
Goosebumps ran up your arms as you read the notification. Maybe something was wrong in your head, but you loved having a stalker. It was so much fun being afraid someone would hurt you. You were the worst prey, because being hunted was your kink.
You ignored the message and put on a pair of mini short and a sports bra in the gym locker room. The hotel you were staying at in Australia had a pool, sauna, and private gym. You waited until 11 p.m. to use the gym in peace.
To maintain your body shape for your modeling job, you did pole dancing. It was a tough sport that deeply worked your abs, arms, and thighs. You'd been pole dancing since you were a teenager. Sukuna used to come see you at your sessions and ravish you afterward.
Your heart ached. You missed that bastard painfully.
You grabbed the pole confidently, and in one fluid movement, you rose into the air and gripped your thighs around the metal bar. You spun and wrapped yourself around it with grace and elegance. Once you were hoisted to the top, your head touching the ceiling, the feeling of being watched paralyzed you.
You turned your head to inspect the room. The pole dancing room was surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows that looked down on the weight room, so if anyone was there, you'd see them.
Like vertical poetry, you began to continue your figures, one by one. With absolute mastery, you perched your body on top of the pole and sat down abruptly on the metal bar, performing a perfect pole sit.
As soon as your ass touched the ground, the lights faded, plunging you into darkness. Your breath caught in your lungs, your heart pounding.
Footsteps sounded beside you. Out of survival instinct, you silently rolled on the floor to press yourself against the wall. You held your breath to prevent the stranger from hearing you. Your cunt throbbed, adrenaline and fear coursing through your body, making you so turned on. You felt like you were in a game.
“Hide well because if I catch you, I fuck you.”
The stalker's voice made the hairs on your back stand up. You put your hand over your mouth, your breathing quickening. You shifted to find a better hiding place but instead kicked a flowerpot.
“Stupid bitch,” your stalker knelt beside you and reached out to touch your body. You trembled.
He lay on top of you on the floor, his erection pressing against your ass. His weight on you was similar to Sukuna's when he fucked you in brone prone, and the thought made you roll your eyes in pleasure. He buried his head in your neck, his hot breath caressing your skin. His hips rocked against your ass, rubbing his body. You weren't sad, traumatized, or scared. No, you were fucking alive. Every cell in your body vibrated with excitement, and you moved your ass to meet your stalker's fake thrusts.
He paused when he realized you were enjoying what was happening. His body tense against you. He pulled your hair to lift your head off the floor, his grip firm and rough.
“That's rape, you dirty whore. Stop gyrating your hips against me like you enjoy it.”
His mouth closed around your flesh, he bit down hard, his teeth sinking into your neck. You gasped, a wave of pleasure snaking through your lower abdomen. His free hand dug into your mini shorts to grab your clothed pussy. He grunted at the feeling of the wet fabric. His hips crashed against your ass, your pelvic pressing against the floor, and your hipbones slammed against the hardwood, making you moan in pain.
“What do I have to do to make you afraid of me, huh? Don't you understand what position you're in?”
His fingers slid under your thong, stroking the glossy folds. You ground against his hand, pants escaping your lips. This was so much fun. A boiling storm raged within you and overwhelmed all coherent thought. You were just vibing, living your darkest fantasy.
He parted your lips, gliding through your folds, to shove two digits up to your cunt. He plunged his fingers in and out, the lewd, wet sound of friction making your cheeks warm. The tips curled at your sweet spot and your legs trembled.
“Please, keep going,” you moaned.
Your stalker froze.
“The fuck you’re talking about?”
Blood rushed to your cheeks, making the tips of your ears hot.
“Mhm…”
“You're enjoying being raped?” he asked, his voice gruff and furious. “You’re broken, baby. I can’t save you.”
He got up from you, and you made a noise of protest. He couldn’t stop now! You heard his footsteps in the dark, and a door slam. Your shoulders slumped in disappointment.
𖥸
𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕
Sukuna watched you masturbate through the camera he'd left in your hotel room with knitted eyebrows and a clenched jaw. The bulge in his pants might have indicated he was enjoying what was happening in front of him, but the truth was, he was mad as hell.
He tried every way he could to scare you, but everything he did turned you on. Right after his attempted rape, you'd run to your room to stick your fingers in your pussy and hump your pillow. His eyes lingered on how your breasts bounced with every movement you made, your hips undulating against the cotton fabric.
"Fuck it," he muttered, pulling down the fly of his jeans. He was about to start palming his erection through his boxers, but he paused when you started moaning his name. A shiver chased down his spine, and his eyes narrowed on you.
Of course, you were thinking about him. It was with him that you did consensual non-consent when you were teenagers. You lived with constant pressure from your mother, always having to be perfect, so you let go with him. Being submissive wasn't something degrading for you, but something liberating. It was as if you released all the anxiety, all the tightness in your chest every time you saw your competitive mother, and let Sukuna take care of you.
An uncomfortable feeling he couldn't name bloomed in his chest. Even with all the pain he'd caused you by breaking up with you for Yorozu, without explaining his true intentions, he was still the safe place you came back to when you needed him. His dick softened, no longer in the mood. He looked away, avoiding seeing you on the screen, his gaze fixed on the wall of his room.
The unpleasant hollow ache in his heart, reawakening like a wound that had never healed, made him sigh. He zipped up the fly of his jeans and his eyes fell on his gun on his bed.
It didn't matter that Sukuna still loved you. It didn't matter how his chest fluttered when he thought about how much you still needed him. He had revenge to exact. He had to end up traumatizing you like you did when you sent him to prison.
If raping you in the dark turned you on, why not threaten you with his gun?
𖥸
𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕
˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝟒 - 𝐬𝐮𝐳𝐮𝐤𝐚, 𝐣𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐧 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
In the show that followed you, Sukuna and Satoru had decided to go for a hike in the forest. F1 drivers needed to exercise, and sometimes they took advantage of their travels to discover new places to practice their sports.
Surrounded by dark green trees with brown leaves, you shivered in the breeze that swirled around you. Dressed in a miniskirt and a crop top, you hadn't expected the temperature to drop so much upon arriving in Japan.
“Satoru's sister is really fine as fuck,” one of the sound engineers murmured next to his coworkers behind you, admiring the curve of your fat ass. You instinctively turned around to see who said that.
“You only have one job and you're already bad at it. Should I show you what a real brother would do if they talked like that about my sister?” Sukuna's heavy hand crashed down on the man's shoulder, as he wobbled under the force of his palm.
“Uh, n-no…”
“Right, so shut the fuck up.”
Sukuna took a few long strides away from the idiot, coming up alongside you. You cocked your head to one side.
“You're such a feminist, defending me when I'm objectified,” you teased him.
Sukuna's cold eyes remained fixed in front of him, his palms tucked into his jeans pockets.
“I just want him to focus on his work. It's my reputation that'll suffer if the show is poorly recorded.”
“Right, Sukuna. You care so much about people's opinions.”
“I do.” His voice grew lower. “Why do you think I'm an F1 driver? Only attention whores would like my job.”
“Is my evil ex-boyfriend confiding in me about his mysterious personality?”
“You're the one who normally talks to me as if we don't hate each other's guts.”
You let out a heavy breath.
“I decided to be nice to you just for the duration of the Formula 1 season. We're constantly being filmed, I don't want to get backlash just because I was a bitch to the fan-favorite driver.”
His lips quirked up, curving into a wicked smile.
“Oh, you're going to be nice to me? How kind of you. I can break your heart and you will still be mature. You're the perfect woman.”
You crushed his foot and walked away, rolling your hips, fuming with anger. Behind you, Sukuna chuckled and licked his lips, staring at your ass, which moved with every step you took.
𖥸
Lost in thought, you walked along the forest path, not noticing that the group had moved away from you. You thought about Sukuna, your stalker, your mother, and your future fashion brand.
Being a model wasn't your dream; what you wanted to do was be a fashion designer. To have your own clothing collections and be able to showcase them at fashion week. But your mother criticized every choice you made, competing with you to ensure you were never the best anywhere. Are you a model? You'll never be better than her because she was the best Black model of her generation. Do you want to be a fashion designer? You'll never be better than her because she was now the art director of Chanel.
Focused on your thoughts, you didn't notice Sukuna behind you, who had put on a ghost face mask and taken his gun out of his jeans.
“I'm back. Missed me?” He asked in your ear, pressing the barrel of his gun against your temple. You froze, your heart pounding in your chest, threatening to explode. “Let's play a little game together.”
“Y-Yeah?” All your senses were waking up, alert and hypersensitive. But it was the excitement coursing through your veins that was the most overwhelming feeling.
“I'll let you escape, but what if I catch you? I'll fuck you like you've never been, you hear me? And I won't stop even if you cry, you fucking traitor. Someone needs to ruin you for you to realize the consequences of your actions,” he threatened, his voice harsh and gruff.
He shoved you in the back, and you staggered but didn't dare run or turn around yet. You took a few steps before he fired on you, and it grazed your ear, which turned bloody. The fear of dying invaded you, like a sweet poison in your body, and you ran towards the deep forest, away from the group where your brother and the cameramen were.
The sweat on your back was building up quickly as his heavy footsteps echoed behind you, intensifying the frenzy that was about to take over your entire body. This was so much fun! Your breathing quickened, you took deep breaths every time your foot touched the ground, crushing the dead leaves.
You jumped and screamed every time he fired between your feet. He had frightening accuracy in his shots; he was probably a sniper. You hadn't thought about him much because you treated him like a real-life fantasy, but you were curious about who he was. After Sukuna, he was the first man who had really made you wet.
You scampered between the trees, but a branch that hit your head made you fall. You crawled to hide under a pile of leaves, not having time to get up, but your stalker easily grabbed your calf and pulled your body towards him.
“I should give you a safe word, right, baby? Because I'm going to destroy you.”
He knelt between the leaves, and with his gun, he ran over your body, pressing the barrel of it. Your chest rose and fell frantically, your breathing ragged from the chase, and he pushed his gun against your clothed breast, making a dip in the soft flesh. You remained motionless, staring at his ghost face mask as your cunt throbbed and you took quick breaths. You hoped he was really going to fuck like crazy like he'd promised because you hadn't been satisfied with Nanami.
“Strip,” he commanded, positioning his gun in the direction of your head.
You swallowed hard and nodded. You slid your skirt down your legs, the wind caressing your skin covered in goosebumps.
“Why are you already wet?” The man glared at you through his mask.
“It's kind of my kink,” you murmured, your voice shy. “I'm not afraid of you. You could have killed me several times, but it seems like you're just trying to scare me.”
Fed up, your stalker removed his mask and your eyes widened when Sukuna shot dangers at you.
“You fucking whore, what do I have to do to get revenge on you?” He leaned down and grabbed your throat, squeezing it hard. You struggled against him, but in vain. His red eyes were furious, full of lust and madness. The eyes you loved the most.
“So you were the one doing all this? You're trying to get revenge for the years in prison?” You managed to utter in a frail voice with a weak smile. “Why can't you just kill me?”
“You know exactly why I can't kill you,” he snarled. “You're…”
He closed his lips, looking away, his face hard. He released your throat, and you coughed, hand on your chest.
“Rape me.”
His whole body tensed, but he remained silent.
“Kuna, rape me. Show me how much you hate me.”
“As if I'll give you the thing you want most,” he huffed.
“You don't want to see me cry and beg you to stop?”
He looked around to make sure no one was around to overhear their morally incorrect conversation. His eyes fell on you, dark and burning.
“Take off your top.”
You grinned, and he wanted to hit you to make you stop smiling like that. But you knew he was never going to actually hurt you. His hatred came from a place of hurt, not malice. You had both hurt each other a lot and now had a messy relationship because of it. A mixture of hate and love that few could understand.
Your top met your skirt in the grass, and he caught sight of you wearing only a thong. He missed your wide hips, which he could cling to when he thrust into you, and the little pudginess of your lower belly that made you authentically you.
“You gained weight since the last time I saw you.”
“Is that supposed to hurt me? I don't care if you don't like my body.”
“Never said it wasn't a good thing and that I didn't like it.” He smirked. “Now, open your thighs.”
You spread your legs as he wanted, wincing as you felt the twigs dig into your flesh. Sukuna positioned himself between your thighs and rubbed the barrel of his gun against your clothed pussy, running along the clothed slit. Your thighs clenched around his hand, a heat crackling in the pit of your lower abdomen, the danger heightening the thrill of the situation. He slapped your leg and you flinched.
“I said open these fucking thighs.”
“Sorry.”
“Ah.” His smirk widened into a full sly grin. “Are you already in sub mode? Did you miss it?”
Before you could reply, he yanked away and ripped your thong and threw it somewhere in the forest where he didn't care. You made a sound of protest, but it was quickly replaced by pants as he stroked your slick folds with his weapon. It was so wrong and unhinged, but you were hooked. You rocked your hips against the revolver to push it deeper inside you.
“Needy slut,” he muttered. He leaned down, spread your lips with his fingers, and spat on your tight heat. He lifted his head, your gaze locked as he thrust his gun into you. A blazing red in his eyes, his stare electrified you. An 'o' formed on your mouth as you felt the metal sink into you, your walls clenching painfully around it.
“Kuna, you're such a bastard. You didn't prepare me beforehand.”
“You love me that way, am I right?”
You let out a chuckle, but your chest tightened. If only you didn't have this mutual hatred, this resentment, you'd be a happy couple. He'd encourage you in your career as a fashion designer, tell you to not care what your mother says, tell you that you're the best in his eyes, like he always did when you were teenagers. You'd be there for him every time he saw his mother, rub his back when the sight of her made him vomit, and not judge him for the way his brain worked, knowing that it all stemmed from trauma.
“You really ruined everything, ‘kuna,” you said, hurt in your voice.
“I don't deny that I did things wrong, but you didn't need to send me five years to hell.”
“What was I supposed to do? You—Oh my god!”
With his free hand, he stroked your throbbing bud, his index and middle fingers tracing circles around your clit. His other hand continued to move back and forth, plunging the gun in and out of you. Lewd, wet noises came from the union of your weapon and you. He angled his hand perfectly to hit that spongey spot inside you, making you writhe and moan.
“You're still the same unhinged bitch.”
“Speak of me with respect because we're the same.”
His eyes almost softened, almost. He quickened the pace of his gun-thrusts, his gaze narrowing on the way you were milking the weapon, a white ring around the rear sight. He stopped touching your clit to press a hand on your lower pudgy belly.
“Pochari,” he whispered, pressing harder to increase the sensations of his gun inside you.
That was the nickname he always called you when you were little. You always fought with him, thinking it was an insult, but over the years you'd learned it was a cute Japanese word for "chubby." Heat rushed to your cheeks at the sound of him calling you that, your chest fluttering.
“Don't call me that.”
“Why not?”
“You're the one who wants revenge and I'm the victim, there's nothing more between us than that.”
“Are you sure about that?”
He pulled out his gun—you protested, wanting your orgasm—slicked with your arousal, and brought it to his mouth. His tongue swirled around the weapon, and it was so nasty that your cheeks burned. After that, he set it down in the grass and pulled down his pants and boxers just enough to be comfortable enough to fuck you. Your mouth watered at his pierced girth, thick and big, just like you remembered.
“Can I?” You held out a hand.
“Fuck off. You're my victim today.”
He pushed your hand away and wrapped your thick thighs around his waist, letting out a sigh at the sweet sensation of being surrounded by your plushness.
“Say red if you want to stop,” he murmured before sliding his dick between your folds, plunging between your velvet walls. He cursed under his breath at the familiar feeling of your warmth around him.
“Since when are you so considerate?” you teased him, placing your hands on his abdomen.
“Don't play with me, I've always fucked you with a safe word.”
His gaze lingered on how his girth disappeared inside you, gaining inches every time his hips moved forward a little more. He lifted his head and noticed your wince. He shot you a sly smile.
“What? Can't handle that dick?”
“Shut up. You gave me a safe word, but you're not doing anything special.”
“I'm not even deep inside, woman.”
You mock-punched against his muscular belly. “Don't call me that.”
“What do you want me to call you then?” His hips moved backward in an obscene wet sound before slamming against you. Hands gripping your sides, he was really getting into it, pistoning up into you. “Tell me, baby. What do you want me to call you? Sweetheart? My love? Do you want me to play the perfect boyfriend after you sent me to hell?”
“I was angry, I didn't want you to suffer so much, I—”
The sharp slap he gave you made your head spin, your cheek burning.
“You think I'm dumb, right? That you snitched on the police without meaning to hurt me?” He grabbed your throat again, his large tattooed hand wrapping around your neck. His aggressive and hard thrusts continued to abuse your cunt, making your walls spasm. “I see right through you, you traitorous fucking bitch.”
He squeezed your throat so hard that you rolled your eyes in pleasure, the sensations raised to the maximum.
“Keep fucking me like you hate me, please,” you manage to say, your voice trembling, panting softly as his dick plowed into you.
Sukuna's glare made you pulsate around him, turned on by how he was mad at you.
“You shouldn’t like this, woman.”
“I love how you fuck me, ‘kuna. You’ve always been the best at this nasty shit.”
A low chuckle escaped his mouth.
“Literally begging for my dick, aren’t you ashamed at all?”
“Nah, you won't tell anyone, it'll stay between us, right, 'kuna? You've always been the best at keeping secrets.” You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and pressed him against you, forgetting that you were in a forest and you were going to have the marks of the twigs on your back.
Sweaty chest squashed your own, he fucked to oblivion as he rutted into you, cock buried deep in your cunt, your pussy swallowing him and glinding up and down with each of his strokes. His piercing nudged your cervix every time he bottomed out, making you squirm and whimper.
Your pussy clutched onto his cock, and every time he brushed against your G-spot, you gripped his hips, telling him to go harder, as if you were never satisfied with his pace. He laughed at that, a brief moment of affection before he released your throat to take his gun.
“You're not scared enough f'me.”
He pushed the barrel of his weapon into your mouth as surprise flashed across your face. The metal tasted like you. Once deep in your mouth, he placed his index finger on the trigger, making you shudder with fear.
“What if I shoot?”
Tears welled up in your eyes.
“Awww,” he cooed, “don't be so upset, baby. Isn't that what you want? To get killed by a big, muscular, tattooed man who hates your gut?”
The wet squelching sounds of your pussy coating his dick could be heard as he rocked his hips into you—with force, with aggression, with greed. He craved, needed to see your lips parted, your eyes watering as you nails digged into his back. He coveted your distress. Choking sounds came from your mouth as he pushed his revolver as far back as possible.
Ironic or not, it was like that you came. Almost humiliated, your cheek burning from the slap, and strangulation marks around your neck, your body was riddled with spasms of pleasure, like an overwhelming wave that took hold of you and left you quivering.
“Fuck,” he rasped, his handsome twisted into a frown, as your pussy pulsated around him. Your walls fluttered around him, and he slid in and out of you again, his violent thrusting stopping brutally as he emptied himself inside of you.
He pulled out of you and lowered his head just to see his cum coming from your twitching hole. With a smirk, he got dressed and stood up. Without a glance at you, he grabbed his gun and was about to leave before you grabbed his wrist.
“I'm not a cumdupster. We do whatever you want as long as there's aftercare afterward.”
Sukuna looked up in exasperation but leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. The action made butterflies swell in your stomach, and you smiled at him like an idiot—the smile a woman in love would give her husband.
“Don't look at me like that, I'm still an asshole, I hate you and—”
“Aftercare isn't just a kiss, 'kuna. You could carry me, my legs hurt.”
“And why would I do that?”
“You ripped my panties.”
“It bothered me to fuck you.”
“It was a Victoria Secret, it's expensive, you dummy.”
“You're probably richer than me.” Sukuna waited until you were getting dressed before wrapping his arms around you to carry you bridal-style. You played with his wavy pink locks, a deep smile on your face.
“Are we back together?”
He paused and glanced at you with his eyebrows knitted.
“Are you serious right now?”
“Why not? If you're still mad at me, come release your hatred in my bed.”
His lips curved into a devious smile as he walked through the forest to find the path where your brother and the cameramen were.
“Oh, now you plan to make me come to your bed when I have too much hatred inside me?”
“Why not?” You yawned, hand on your mouth.
“I'm getting married, woman.”
Your whole body froze, his words creating a heaviness in your chest. Yorozu, of course. You'd forgotten about her, too happy to have "found" your boyfriend again.
“You don't love her, you love me." You frowned.
“Even if you're right, I'm under a contract.”
“Why, 'kuna? You do whatever you want, you don't respect any rules, so why would you respect a contract that separates us?”
“You should have asked your father-in-law to stop preventing me from entering Formula 1; I would never have accepted the contract otherwise.”
You fell silent, unable to find anything to contradict him. Their love story was forbidden, doomed from the start. Sukuna's family would never accept a Gojo in their home, and Satoru's family would never accept a Ryomen. And now, Yorozu entered the equation. Thinking about all this was making your brain foggy so you rested your head on his chest, letting him carry you, wondering how much longer you had with him before he went back to his life with Yorozu.
𖥸
𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕
The weeks passed, punctuated by Sukuna's races and the nights he came to your hotel room to slut you out. There was nothing morally correct about your relationship: Sukuna was in a relationship and getting married, and you were his rival's sister.
Yet, it was impossible for the two of you not to touch and be intimate with each other. Grabbing your ass when you were alone, cuddling after sex when you were exhausted, a kiss on the forehead after a particularly violent intercourse... He even came to spend time with you when you were getting ready for the afterparties after the races, watching you affectionately do your baby hair, define your coils, and put on a short dress that revealed your voluptuous curves.
Sukuna loved you. He really did. In his own way, in a twisted way, with a little hatred, a little resentment. His love for you was like a rose, beautiful, blooming, but dangerous because of its thorns. Every time he saw you, he thought back to his misery in prison, to all those nights he fell asleep with a knot in his stomach, the fear that his roommate would try to rape him in his sleep because he was younger than him.
In a way, he had become a 'real man'—from a patriarchal point of view—thanks to you. Prison taught him how to defend himself no matter the size and age of his opponent, to trust no one, to be cold and impassive, and to observe people carefully, because you never know what's going on inside people's heads.
An uncontainable wrath was born within him after his release from prison—an anger directed at you. That's why he started underground fighting. Now, it's something that allows him to release the pressure of his job; it's part of him. He always wore a balaclava to avoid recognition, and was known worldwide for his tattoos, his muscles, and the fact that he never lost his fights.
As he pounded into you, one hand on the bedframe and the other around your neck, with your legs on his shoulders, he panted as if he were in the middle of a fight with an opponent. And it was real, because you were a formidable opponent—the guardian of his heart.
Arms wrapped around his shoulders, you whimpered at every drag of his dick, the pace so brutal that the bed slammed against the wall with a deafening thud. His thick veins pulsed against your walls, the squelch of pussy filled the room, and your tits bounced with each of his hungry thrusts.
Sukuna was traumatized by incest, he was unable to have sex while being submissive, it reminded him too much of how helpless he was in the face of his mother's sexual abuse. You were a perfect match, you, the woman who needed to let go by being submissive, and him, the man who needed to regain control over his body by being dominant.
“You're really the best 'kuna, I love you so much,” you moaned, hugging him tightly.
His eyes lit up with amusement.
“The fuck you're talking about? I'm fucking you like you mean nothing to me.”
One thing Sukuna noticed about you was that you had trouble moving on from people you loved deeply. You were unable to cut ties with your toxic mother, and you were unable to completely hate Sukuna for breaking your heart. It wasn't naiveté, but more love. When you loved someone, it was so intense that it was impossible for you to let that love evaporate. You treasured your loved ones in your heart, and when they did something bad, you always kept a door open for them.
In fact, it was already almost impossible to be close to you. You were a confident woman, a little arrogant and passionate. You had grown up wealthy, so you had very specific requirements for your boyfriends. You slept with Nanami because he was rich and successful, but he didn't meet all the criteria you wanted.
The only man who met them all was Sukuna. That's why you couldn't move on. This man was your perfect match, your safe place since childhood.
“I don't care how you fuck me, I know you love me. Besides, everyone adores me.” You gave him an arrogant smile.
You looked pretty like this, he thought. He leaned over to kiss you and traced your lower lip with the edge of your tongue to coax you to open your mouth. Your lips parted and your tongues tangled together. He continued to roll his hips at a beastly pace, your thighs clenching around his head, and heat pooling low in your stomach.
The scene was domestic, intimate. You still had your satin bonnet on your head, your nightie still pulled up to your waist, and his silver chain tapped against your forehead every time his hips snapped forward. With an affectionate gesture, Sukuna pushed a curl back into your satin bonnet.
After you were done making love, you snuggled up to Sukuna.
“Do you still hate me?” you asked.
“Let's say I tolerate you. And you?”
“I tolerate you too.” You grinned. “You're still a selfish asshole, but I've grown to like you that way.”
A lazy smile on his face, he rubbed soothing circles over your back. He rested his chin on the top of your head and let out a soft sigh.
Sukuna couldn't have sex with other women who weren't you; you were the only one he felt safe with. He wouldn't be able to hug Yorozu like he does with you now. He saw women as manipulative, abusive, and rapists.
Secretly, he was jealous of all the boyfriends you'd had since him, even though his heart had never forgotten you.
He lowered his head, taking in the sight of you dozing off, and he told himself that you were meant to be together.
𖥸
˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝟐𝟏 - 𝐬𝐚õ 𝐩𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐨, 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐥 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕
Wrapped in your blanket, crouched in your bed in your hotel room, you sobbed. The rain outside tapped against the windows; the sound was comforting but couldn't soothe your inner turmoil.
Sukuna entered your room without knocking as usual, hands in the pockets of his baggy jeans, before tilting his head when he saw you crying.
“Who stole your smile so I could break their jaw?”
Sukuna didn't like it when other people made you cry. You were his victim, his prey, his to break.
He arrived at your bed and leaned down to dry the tears that rolled down your cheeks with his fingers.
“My mother,” you mumbled. “I showed her the clothing collections I wanted to do for my fashion brand, and she criticized everything as usual.”
His eyes narrowed. “Why do you persist in having a relationship with your mother when she hates you?”
“I don't know. You hate your mother too, yet you're still in a relationship with her.”
His face hardened. “Our situations have nothing to do with each other. I can't tell my father what my mother did to me, because… Fuck, baby. You know exactly why I can't tell anyone.”
A gentle look passed across your face. “I know, 'kuna. It's hard as a man to admit that you were sexually abused by a woman. But you shouldn't feel like this; you were a child. You can't defend yourself in front of an adult when you're under 13.”
“Let's focus on you and your mother and not on the whore who act as my mother,” Sukuna cleared his throat, uncomfortable. “Show me your collections.”
You grabbed your laptop from your bedside table and opened the canvas pages where all your clothing designs were stored.
“The inspiration is Afrofuturism. It's the idea of imagining Africa without colonization, but among African Americans it became very popular in the 2000s with R&B,” you explained, your voice serious. “Music videos with black girls in futuristic outfits, platform boots, and lots of silver in their clothes, that's Afrofuturism.”
Sukuna's lips quirked up, amused by your nerdy expression and how passionate you were about your subject. But he never mocked you; he was as interested as you were; everything about you interested him.
“So I analyzed the work of African designer Chris Seydoux, who brought mudcloth, an African fabric, to international fame. I took inspiration from Senegalese and Cameroonian fashion and researched different traditional fabrics.”
You showed your dresses, skirts, and tops, all with different patterns, inspired by different African fabrics, but with your own personal touch, so there were stars everywhere and silver.
“˚ʚ♡ɞ˚, it's amazing.”
Flustered, you lowered your head.
“I want my models to be exclusively Black and plus-sized women. I don't really care if my brand doesn't appeal to everyone; my focus is Black women.”
“Why is your stupid mother criticizing such a good idea? I don't understand why she wants to crush all your dreams like that when you're talented.”
You shrugged. “I feel like all the fame she had in the '90s made her afraid of getting old and no longer being famous. So me, her daughter, a girl in her twenties, makes her competitive.”
“That's bullshit. Her famous time is over, it's your turn now.” He wrapped his muscular, tattooed arms around you, and you found comfort in them. “Don't listen to what she tells you, you're talented. You've been doing this since you were little. That's how I met you, remember? You were drawing in Merklay Park, and I was fighting with some innocent guy who didn't ask for anything.”
You chuckled and nuzzled his chest. “Yeah, I remember. I thought you were super fashionable while you were fighting.”
“There's something wrong with your head, baby.”
“You like me that way.”
He held you tighter. “Don't listen to that bitch. You'll be one of the best fashion designers of our generation, I'm sure of it.”
“You're so cute when you're like that, kuna.”
“Do you want me to stay in my 'my girl is the most talented artist ever' mode?”
“I'm your girl?” You raised your heads to look at him, and your gazes locked.
“No, but I wish you were,” he whispered, his voice intimate.
“You know the SpongeBob meme with the huge handcuffs with lots of space, so he wasn't really restricted? That's how I see you.”
Sukuna rolled his eyes. “You don't understand. You're not even supposed to know that my relationship with her is fake, I'm already breaking the rules.”
“No sex tonight, you put me in a bad mood with your bullshit.” You pushed him away to sit up in bed away from him, and he sighed.
“˚ʚ♡ɞ˚.”
You ignored him and slipped your headphones into your ear to work on your fashion designs. Sukuna stared at you silently before leaving your room with a frown.
𖥸
˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝟐𝟐 - 𝐥𝐚𝐬 𝐯𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐬 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
You hadn't spoken to him all week, not even to congratulate him when he won the twenty-first race. Sukuna was in a sour mood. He had found the girl he loved again, but his past choices had to ruin everything. He didn't care about Yorozu; all he cared about was getting a spot in Formula 1.
Hands in his pockets, he moved through the crowd of people at the party, grunting every time a woman brushed against him, trying not to strangle them. His eyes searched for you, and when they found you sitting on the lap of Suguru, a McLaren driver, his stomach dropped.
From where he was, he saw your tongue curling around his, your smile against his, and Suguru's hands on your ass. He hurried to find the nearest restroom and threw up his dinner. There were two things that made him vomit: seeing his mother, and seeing you with someone else.
Was this the future that awaited him? Marrying Yorozu, having children with her while his heart longed for you? Seeing you go from boyfriend to boyfriend because no one satisfied you better than him, seeing you kiss and fuck other men while your perfect match was waiting for you in New York, stuck with a woman he didn't love as much as he did for you?
He sat on the bathroom floor, running his hands over his face, his body trembling.
Nothing had gone as planned these past few months. He had to get revenge on you, destroy you, break you. But all he did was fall even deeper into the abyss of love. Now, going back to Yorozu felt like sin. The mere thought of having to undress in front of a woman other than you gripped his heart with dread.
Just then, as if fate were mocking him, Yorozu called. He stared at his phone with a grim expression, but took the call.
“What do you want?”
“I sent the wedding invitations to everyone, and everyone will be there. Your mother wants to make the cake, does that bother you?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose and took deep breaths. It was Formula 1 or you. And the more time passed, the more he regretted choosing Formula 1.
𖥸
˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐚 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝟏 𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬 - 𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐤𝐥𝐚𝐲 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
Yorozu's wedding took place in the park where you and Sukuna had met, ironic as the situation was. Dressed in a black suit, Sukuna kept his lips tightly closed throughout the ceremony. He didn't laugh at Yorozu's family's jokes, didn't acknowledge the compliments he received for having finished first at the end of the Formula 1 season and Satoru only second, and didn't play with the children who tugged at his pants to play with dolls in the grass.
No, Sukuna, he was contemplating the disaster of his life.
Spending those few months with you had reminded him why he loved you. It was the little things like your focused expression while working on your laptop, how your brown pussy swallowed his reddened tip, how you constantly held your high as if you felt superior to others—you really felt it, how you curled your toes every time orgasm threatened to overwhelm you, how you smirked every time you found something funny to say against his mean remarks, how you never let yourself be pushed around by others but remained vulnerable in front of people like your mother and him.
Yorozu wasn't even half of you. She didn't have your passion, your intelligence, your beauty. When Sukuna painted pictures of the woman of his dreams, it was a black woman with short curly hair, who always spent hours doing dramatic baby-hair styles, who wore a proud smile no matter what, and had curves that made any man drool, not Yorozu. It was even an insult to compare you to her.
Yorozu's wedding dress was a sequined white, with a low back. Sukuna held back his cussing, thinking you would have killed it in that outfit with your wide hips and deep arch. His face was cold and distant, and he let himself be led around by his fiancée, who held his elbow. He was even depressed, realizing how miserable it was going to be. Just thinking about his honeymoon made his hairs stand on in disgust.
Yorozu was saying his wedding vows, talking about eternal love, shit that Sukuna couldn't care less about. He looked away, toward the west, where your mansion was. You still lived with your mother. Sukuna didn't know why you were such a masochist, but he didn't judge you. He, too, had affection for a mother who didn't love him.
"Mr. Ryomen?"
The priest addressed him urgently, as everyone was staring at them, waiting for the pink-haired man's wedding vows.
"I have nothing to say, continue the ceremony," he muttered.
The priest scowled but couldn't say anything more, as the ceremony had to continue anyway.
"I pronounce you husband and wife," he stated, raising his arms as all the guests began to applaud. Yorozu leaned forward to press a kiss to Sukuna's cheek, but he pushed her away. The applause stopped, an uncomfortable silence in the park.
“‘Kuna?” Yorozu frowned.
“Don’t call me that.” His heart squeezed painfully. Only you could call him that.
Yorozu’s eyes darkened, and she grabbed his arm with a tight grip to forcefully kiss him. Sukuna froze, shocked.
This was what was waiting for him. This was how women operated. They took what they wanted by force, making abusive contracts, without asking your opinion, like when his mother raped him. Shock slowly gave way to fury when he pushed her away so roughly that she fell backward. Screams rose in the park, people rushed to help Yorozu up, but Sukuna was already far away, hurrying to find his driver who was napping, waiting to be called for the honeymoon.
“Take me to ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚’s house,” Sukuna ordered, sitting down in the tinted-window bus. His whole body was shaking with rage, anger, and helplessness. How could he have chosen Yorozu for almost ten years when the woman of his life was right under his nose?
The driver, who had known Sukuna since he was little, wrinkled his forehead in confusion. He knew your address very well, because for years, it had been a secret between him and Sukuna to take him to your house when your parents were away.
“Yes, master.”
He did exactly as Sukuna asked, parking in front of your mansion. Sukuna took off his seatbelt and turned off his phone so he wouldn't receive incessant calls from his mother or his fiancé. He knocked on your door, his heart pounding in his chest.
“Mhm, yeah?” A sleepy voice answered, you opened the door in your nightie, still wearing your satin bonnet. "Who—Sukuna?"
Surprise flashed across your face, and Sukuna's lips crashed against yours. He cupped your face, stepped back into your mansion, and slammed the door with his foot. Craving, want, need—everything he felt was reflected in his kiss as you parted your lips, shocked by his brutal display of affection. The soft presses of his lips against yours transformed into devastation as his mouth molded against yours, and his tongue slid over yours.
“Sukuna, the wedding—”
“I don’t give a damn about that thing right now.”
He put his arms under your ass to lift you up and carry you to your room.
“Sukuna, my parents will be here any moment…”
“It’s a bit like when I used to sneak in to see you, right?”
You chuckled against his lips and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. “Yeah, it’s like that. Except back then, you were mine.”
“The thing is that I’m yours, baby. Painfully, absolutely, forever yours.”
“And the Formula 1?”
“I don’t care!” he sneered. “I don’t give a damn about that, I just want you damnit.”
He laid you down on the bed and took off your clothes, his own joining the floor. He gave you a little foreplay, but he was too eager to feel himself inside you to really get into it. When his dick sank into you, he sighed with relief, his eyes watering.
“‘Kuna… My pussy is so good you got emotional?” You smiled sweetly at him, raking a hand through his thick, unruly pink strands.
“You don’t understand,” he murmured, pressing his forehead against yours. “I loathed you for so long, I planned my revenge for 5 years, I had lots of ideas, what I did to you wasn’t even 10% of what I intended to do, but the second I was with you, I… Fuck, I’m so sappy right now, it’s so embarrassing.”
His hips rose just enough to drag his dick against your walls, then sank back down with a slick, obscene sound. Your breathing quickened, and you clenched your thighs around his waist. He peppered your face with kisses to relax you because of the sudden stretch.
“I don’t even know what to do, my mother will be so mad, Yorozu will break my contracts with the FIA, but… I don’t know, I don’t give a fuck. I just want…” He kissed you. “Be with you.”
Your hands clapped in his back, his pelvis pressed against your clit, rubbing at each of his slow thrusts.
“Does this mean you’re mine now?”
Sukuna nodded, his gaze locked with yours. He intertwined his fingers with yours.
“Painfully—thrust—absolutely—thrust—forever—thrust—yours,” he repeated, each roll of his hips sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.
In the privacy of your bedroom, a place he had long missed, you reconnected with the only man you had ever truly loved.
𖥸
˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
𝟓 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫
The São Paulo sun caressed the skin of Sukuna, you, and your 3-year-old daughter, Naya. Being autistic, Naya hated the feeling of sand on her body; she sat comfortably on her father's lap. He stroked her back, looking at her with affectionate eyes.
After the disaster at Yororzu's wedding, she complained to her father about ruining Sukuna's career. It worked because they replaced him with a talented rookie, who went on to win the next few races. But Sukuna was sure of his choice. He had decided to enter the world of professional boxing and was a famous MMA athlete. His years of underground fighting had taught him everything he needed; he just needed to learn the rules so as not to actually hurt his opponents.
A lot had changed in your life since you married Sukuna. Encouraged by him, you finally created your own clothing brand, and it was a success. Satoru's family didn't want to have any contact with you anymore, finding your choice unforgivable, but your brother still checked in from time to time. As long as you had him, everything was okay. You were now living in Brazil with your little family.
"Are you sure you don't want to go swimming, sweetheart?" you asked your daughter, and she looked at you with terror in her eyes.
A quiet laugh rumbled in Sukuna's chest.
“Don't torture our daughter, woman.”
“Okay, okay,” you chuckled, and leaned over to kiss her forehead.
This was the life Sukuna wanted. He wanted to protect his daughter as much as possible so she wouldn't have to go through what he had gone through when he was little with his mother. He trusted you, and that was the most important thing in your relationship. He had taught his daughter to always refuse to be touched if she didn't want to be, always asked her permission when he had to shower her, and was careful never to force her into something she didn't want. Consent was learned very early, and it was the focus of his education.
After your swim at the beach, it was late at night. You tucked your daughter into bed and started your favorite game. Sukuna, wearing only his sweatpants, hanging low and revealing his hip tattoos and sculpted abs, and his ghost face mask, with his gun in his hand, walked into your house. Hiding under your bed, you placed your hand over your mouth so he wouldn't hear your breathing, your heart pounding at each of his steps next to you.
Except he always found you. He grabbed your foot, trying to drag you out of bed, and you let out a small scream. You pretended to want to escape—you wanted him to slut you out like never before, but he knew that.
“Strip,” he threatened, his gun aimed at your head.
With a pout, you took off your clothes and knelt in front of him. Sukuna lowered his sweatpants and boxers, and gestured for you to come closer to take his erection in your mouth. You licked your lips, eager to please your husband. You took his hard length in your hand, looking up at him with soft doe eyes, making his dick twitch. When your lips wrapped around his cockhead, Sukuna closed his eyes in pure bliss.
It took a while, but you were finally together, the wedding ring around his back glinting in the artificial light, a testament to his loyalty to you. And now you had all of eternity to have fun, do the most unhinged things, and heal from your traumas in a morally incorrect way, but without judgment because you loved each other. You were bound. Bound by darkness.
⋆｡°✩Synopsis: The two of you met at a random party bonded by smoke, music, and the kind of loneliness that hides behind half lidded eyes. He was a musician, You were just trying to get through the night. But somehow, that one night turned into more shared blunts, shared beds, shared secrets. Eren was messy, but he had a certain pull about him. He was more than halfway gone the night you met him. You weren’t supposed to care. You weren’t supposed to drown with him. But the late-night studio sessions, the pills, the feeling of being seen it was all too much and not enough at the same time.
⋆｡°✩Contents: drug use/substance abuse, sexual content, angst, drug overdose, toxic relationships. (there will be more in depth content warnings at the beginning of each chapter)
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☆Playlist
☆chapter one - so high
"You get me so high I know you ain't a drug but you get me so high."
sypnosis: short drabble of a awkward moment between you and your crush as he drives you to the beach to meet his friends during spring break!
cw: modern au!, alcohol usage, slight perversion from eren (he looks at ur ass like a victorian man seeing ankles💀🥀), reader lowk cant put down the cup, kinda shy reader, mutual pining (not shown here but eventually), simp! eren makes an appearance at the end a little bit, didn’t kno how to end this so it got lazy at the last two lines
Looking at the road did only so much to ease my tension. I look around again in nervousness, trying to find my answer in the car instead. Catching a glimpse of a few things like eren's focused face on the road, the car freshener and a cheap customized ‘MVP’ chain that hung from the rearview (which he got after winning our homecoming game), the random decorations that littered the dashboard. Like a lottery machine, my eyes finally landed on the cup holders that held erens open hard seltzer.
Jackpot.
Without a second thought I picked it up with the slight crinkle sound of the can. eren furrowed his brows while looking between me and the road.
“You drink?” His voice comes in slight surprise and a little disbelief.
i feel my shyness creep up on me, not because of him, but because im not sure how to go about this situation as it was obvious i was probably going to drink it.
“Yeah..sometimes.” I said lowly enough for him to hear.
Side eyeing him to see his reaction, Eren’s face formed a smirk and he chuckled a bit before shaking his head.
“Look at you. Who would’ve known?” He jokes.
Obviously no one if I was never here with you.
I shrug my shoulders to go along with the joke and not ruin the mood he was trying to set. We weren’t close enough to where I would laugh at his jokes but they did land every now and then.
We fell back in silence as he continued driving and I took the time to take a swig of the seltzer. Feeling the drink and the freshness of it go down my throat felt heavenly as the weather was humid and hot. I inspect the can and nod my head in approval.
Fruity. Definitely citrus in here.
“You know there’s more in the cooler? Y‘Can grab one if you want. More flavors in there.” He says and points his thumb to the backseat.
I look at eren and turn my head to the backseat floor where the cooler was behind him. I nod my head and gave him a quick ‘thanks’.
I’m definitely gonna need to remember this later.
As we come up to a red light, I turn my body completely and head for the cooler. I put my knee on the middle console to stabilize myself while I leaned into the back for a strawberry kiwi seltzer after skimming over the many options of drinks.
Sitting back down, i noticed Eren with a slight blush on his face as he looked in my direction.
…is he cool?
“You good?” I ask him with concern.
He snaps out of what seemed to be a daze as he struggles to find words.
“Oh! It’s just uh- uhm. It’s nothing, nothing.” Panic is his voice as he rushed his words. His eyes darting between my gaze and my thighs before he turns his head back to the road. Much thanks to the driver behind us for honking.
…weird.
I furrow my brows a bit and press no further and attend to my drink.
Taking my first sip, I think about what happened so suddenly for him to react like that…
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An:(I made this on a whim LOL no headers because I can't find them nor make them rip)
Warnings: cussing, spoilers for DC Young justice
"wait so you watch young justice?" Eren leaning against his dingy dorm couch as he looked at you in awe. As of now you're holding the remote and selecting young justice on Netflix. "Hell yeah! this would be my..what? 5th rewatch?" you paused to count on your hands "yeah 5th! Ugh I wished they added star fire and raven though!' Y/N look back at eren confused by his odd reaction. "I thought I told you about this? I mean I said I would fuck batman.." even rolled his eyes groaning "ANYONE would fuck batman he's the whore of dc." Y/N giggled pressing paused. "Wanna quiz me on my knowledge?" Eren smirked doubting her 'knowledge' "Sure, who was Batman's robins?" Something easy to start off. "Easy. and I'm only naming the main 4! Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim drake and his blood son Damien Wayne" even nodded "correct, okay uhhh how did Barbara gordon get paralyze?" You sighed. "In one issue she was shot by joker in young justice she try to stop orphan from killing someone." You smiled. Eren grumble. "okay, okay wait let me.." he grabbed his phone typing some questions "Okay! got it! Who's Jason Todds best friend?"
"Roy harper."
"Who became batman after crisis on infinite earths?"
"Nightwing aka Dick Grayson."
"Who was batman main love interest?"
"Some version, huntress, cat women and taila a'ghul"
Eren groaned annoyed that you actually knew your shit.
"Okay how was Conner Kent made?
"In a lab using lex and superman DNA, that was messy as fuck." You laughed falling back on the couch. "how the fuck you gonna make a child with the man you hate the most and he takes custody of said child? Lex down an thousanddd" You booed eren snatching his phone out his hand to see where he got these question from.
"...Armin?" you looked up asking "You got the questions from armin...The one who's the president of the comic club? the club I'm in? the one that I'm treasure at-" eren snatched his phone in embarrassment "okay, okay I get it, How the fact you know more then me?" You giggled "I read some comics but I really watch movies and read wiki, teaches you a lot trust me!" he took his sweater off and extended his arms over the couch. "Im not reading fucking wikipedia play the damn show the fuck"
"Glady..bitch ass nigga.." you whispered the last part and press play before he could say anything smart
it’s so nice when toji is able to pick you up from frat parties! especially when he agrees to pick up your friends too!
pairing: dilf! toji fushiguro x fem! reader x satoru gojo
contents: smut, threesome (fmm), fingering, p in v, oral (m! receiving), virgin! gojo, submissive-ish gojo, age gap (toji is late thirties, reader/satoru is start twenties), praise, creampie, pet names (kid, sweetheart, baby, sweets) alcohol consumption
wordcount: 3k
MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT.
“Can I sleep at yours tonight?” Satoru leans down to ask you while placing a hand on your lower back. His breath tickles your neck, and you frown.
“No,” you reply, and Satoru whines, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you flush against his chest. “Sleep at your own place,”
“Please, sweets,” he says, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. He’s tipsy, you can tell, but he’s nowhere near drunk enough to be acting like this. You shrug him off and send him a look. Satoru’s cheeks are flushed and his hair is messy, and he’s pouting at you.
“Why?” you ask, feeling some pity for your friend, and Satoru grabs your chin, directing your face towards the other end of the room. The couple isn’t hard to spot. Shoko and Suguru have found a couch, the former sitting in his lap as they make out. You grin at the sight.
“Fucking finally,” you say, and Satoru scoffs.
“Yeah, but there’s no way I’m sleeping at the dorm if they’re gonna fuck all night,” he whines, sending you a look that could rival a kicked puppy. “Please?”
“Who’s your friend, kid?”
Toji is not happy. You send him an apologetic smile, slipping into the front seat of his car, while Satoru gets in the back, and you curse your weak resolve.
Stupid Satoru and his stupid puppy eyes.
“This is Satoru. Satoru, this is Toji.”
Satoru gets in the middle of the backseat, his gaze darting between the two of you, a smile growing on his lips. You suddenly feel far too tipsy for this confrontation.
Your friends don’t know about your little arrangement with Toji. At this point, they’ve all figured out that you’re seeing someone, but since you live off campus and the rest live in the dorms, they haven’t been able to find out who.
“Who’s this old geezer?” Satoru asks, and you sink into your seat, pinching the bridge of your nose. Toji gives Satoru a bored look, before putting the car into gear and driving toward your apartments.
“Some manners,” Toji states, ignoring Satoru as he glances at you. You feel warm all over as you decide to just look out the window to ignore the two men having a weird jab-off.
“Thank you for picking us up, Toji,” you say, hoping to butter him up, and a light gasp leaves you when Toji reaches over and squeezes your thigh, his thumb coming dangerously close to your clothed cunt. He eyes your skirt before trailing up to the slutty little shirt you opted to wear for the night.
Your cheeks burn as you meet his eyes. Despite just wearing grey sweats and a black shirt, Toji looks good. Delicious even, and you squirm in your seat. Toji smirks. Your eyes flicker to the rear mirror, and you catch Satoru staring at you wide-eyed.
“Slut”, he mouths, and you glare.
“What’s your address?” Toji asks, and both your heads whip towards him. He looks at Satoru through the back mirror as well, lips turning upwards, scar stretching. You squeeze your thighs together.
Satoru hums. “I’m sleeping at her place,” he states, eyes flicking to you in the mirror, and you shift in your seat again, looking out the window this time.
Toji hums. It’s a low, threatening sound that makes you worry slightly for your well-being, especially when his hand on your thigh tightens for a short while before it’s back on the steering wheel.
“Is that so?”
“Yes”,
You ignore the awkward tension rising in the vehicle, occasionally glancing awkwardly at the back mirror. For a second you consider if throwing yourself out of the car is a viable option.
“How old are you?”
You squeeze your eyes shut, silently cursing Satoru before you hear Toji chuckle. Toji’s hand finds your thigh again and the thumb on the inside of your thigh caresses your skin.
“I’m thirty-six.”
Satoru whistles, leaning forward, one arm curling around the headrest behind you as he winks at you teasingly.
“You’re fucking a dinosaur, sweets,” he states, and you flick his forehead, ignoring his whine when he leans back.
“Thirty-six isn’t even that old,” you retort, eyes flickering to Toji when he laughs. He looks amused, you realise, and you can’t help but smile, rolling your eyes. “Besides, at least this dinosaur is actually getting some,” you add, and Satoru gasps in disbelief.
“Hey!” he starts, but Toji’s attention has seemingly been caught because he’s staring at Satoru through the rearview mirror.
“What’s that supposed to mean, kid?”
Drunk on something dangerous and the few drinks you had earlier, you teasingly shrug and place your hand on top of Toji’s on your thigh.
“Satoru is a viiiiiiiiiiirgin.”
You regret your decision.
Never in your life would you have thought that Toji would take Satoru’s side over yours. It seems completely irrational as if you’ve ended up in some alternate universe where oil mixes with water.
Your back is pressed to Toji’s chest, sitting firmly between his legs, something hard poking at your back. In front of you, Satoru sits, blinking at your ruined state, his brain completely short-circuiting.
Flushed cheeks, messy hair, wet pussy, thighs all spread open just for him.
Or at least somewhat just for him.
Toji has one hand around your waist keeping you still; meanwhile, his other hand pumps two fingers in and out of your sticky cunt, spreading you nice and open for him. He kisses your temple, murmuring pretty words, but his eyes are set on Satoru, lips turning slightly upward.
“Now, sweetheart, a person’s virginity is something sacred,” Toji states and Satoru feels his ears grow red, hardly knowing what to do with himself. It’s all so lewd, you sitting there in all your messy glory, meanwhile, Toji is completely clothed. Satoru eyes the arm holding you in place, almost gulping at the muscles.
Fuck.
“You shouldn’t tease your friend,” Toji adds, and you hiccup, eyes nearly rolling back when he curls his fingers up, locating your g-spot perfectly. “So, how are we going to make you apologise, huh?”
You bite your lower lip, eyes focusing back on Satoru, your brows knitting together. There’s an obvious bulge in his pants, and he looks bewildered at best, so out of his element that it’s almost funny. You can’t believe he agreed to do this.
It doesn’t surprise you that Toji is a cherry chaser, but you never thought Satoru’s virginity would be up on the table.
“I’m sorry, ah, so sorry, Toru,” you whine, and when you reach for him, Satoru wastes no time, crawling forward and letting you cup his face. “Can you forgive me?”
He wants to come up with some sassy, smart reply, but it’s proving itself difficult when the sound of your slick pussy is filling the room and your little gasps and moans spill from your lips like honey.
“Of course”,
Toji laughs, deep and rumbling, and Satoru feels himself grow even hotter, especially when you’re pulling him in, shaky hands zipping open his pants, attempting to get them off. He helps you without a word, quickly shrugging them off before he’s on you kissing you messily. He’s greedy, swallowing you up before he’s pulled back by the hair.
Toji’s grip is firm on Satoru, and he shakes his head.
“Not so fast, brat,” he states, removing his hands from your pussy, ignoring your whine as he puts them in front of Satoru. Your jaw fully drops when Satoru opens his mouth without complaint, sucking Toji’s fingers clean of your slick. Satoru moans at the taste and you feel yourself pulse with need.
“I’m letting you borrow my sweet thing; the least you can do is show some respect to your elders.”
You huff, squirming in his lap and rolling your eyes.
“God, old man, why do you have to be so–”
You don’t get to finish your sentence because soon Toji’s fingers are stuffed down your throat instead, letting you taste the remnants of yourself and Satoru, and you moan. Toji shushes you, kissing your temple.
“Holy fuck,” Satoru states, and you glare at him, hardly able to retort when your mouth is full. There are stars in Satoru’s eyes when he crawls forward, eager to get his hands on you.
Toji pats Satoru’s cheek before moving his hands down, pulling his dick free from his boxers. You gasp at the sight, your eyes going glossy. It’s so pretty, all red and leaking at the tip. He’s not as girthy as Toji, but he might be even longer, and you silently pray for your cervix's well-being.
Toji seems to make the same observation as you because he removes his fingers from your mouth and strokes your cheek softly.
“Guess you won’t need more preparation, huh, sweetheart?” His tone is teasing, but you don’t miss the blush on Satoru’s cheeks, especially not when Toji brings his hand down, guiding Satoru’s dick through your slick folds.
“Please,” you whine, hands pulling Satoru closer, scratching his undercut and making him shudder.
“Fuck me,” he murmurs under his breath, eyes trained on your pretty needy cunt, dying to feel your heat wrapped around him.
“You nervous, kid?” Toji asks. Satoru grins.
“Nah”,
The first push of his hips against yours is pure ecstasy, your walls sucking him in, as you claw at him. You’ve barely been fed a couple of inches, and you’re so cockdrunk, wrapping your legs around Satoru’s waist, begging him to fuck you already.
Satoru’s eyes are squeezed shut, and he hides his face in the crook of your neck, feeling completely overwhelmed. The feeling of pussy is unlike anything he could’ve imagined, and his dick throbs inside of you, immediately ready to pump you full.
“Move,” you whine, always so impatient, and Satoru whines, shaking his head.
“Gimme two seconds,” he says, taking a deep breath, and he feels your body vibrate when Toji laughs, somehow only making Satoru feel closer to his inevitable end.
He’s not exactly interested in giving too many thoughts as to why that might be, so instead he slowly begins grinding into you. The mewl you let out is sinful, and you grip him tight, nails digging into his skin as you throw your head back on Toji’s shoulder.
Satoru’s brows fly up, and he meets Toji’s gaze.
“Is she always like this?”
Toji huffs.
“With me, she’s worse.”
That seems to start something, because soon enough you’re getting your guts rearranged, every push and pull of Satoru’s cock causing pleasure to shoot through your body. It’s so good that you can hardly form a thought, let alone a sentence, wondering how the fuck this is Satoru’s first time when he’s making you feel this good.
Satoru is no better. His face is buried in the column of your neck again, practically drooling onto your skin as he bullies himself inside of you, revelling in every moan you let out. It’s all so new, especially when a big hand once again runs through his hair and he’s eye to eye with Toji, who grins at him.
“Thrust upwards,” he states, and Satoru’s hips stutter for a moment as he processes the demand. Something delicious is turning in his gut, and he lets out a dumb huh, feeling completely stupid from the grip of your pussy. “Upwards, kid”,
Once his brain finally catches up, he does as he’s told, a faint voice in the back of his head asking him why he’s taking commands from some old man, but then the head of his cock hits somewhere good, and your sensitive walls constrict around him so tight it makes his eyes roll back.
The moan that leaves you is downright filthy, something between a sob and a whine, but it seems like a good thing, so he decides to focus his attention on that spot, hitting it over and over again.
"That's it.”
Satoru’s head snaps towards Toji, who’s kissing your neck, one hand grabbing your tit, rolling his thumb over your nipple, while the other snakes down your body.
“You close?” he asks, and Satoru nods, biting his lower lip to keep anything embarrassing from spilling. Toji chuckles. It’s deep and raspy, and it only makes the knot in Satoru’s stomach tighten as he grips your hips and fucks you harder.
“Ah, that’s not gonna work, dumbass,” Toji says, and the hand on your tit moves to Satoru’s abdomen, slowing him down. The other hand moves to your clit, rubbing firm circles that make you twitch and gasp for air.
“Sir”, you gasp, a hand flying down to grip his wrist, but it’s hardly effective, doing nothing to stop the assault on your poor clit.
“Let me help you, baby,” Toji says, before turning his attention back to Satoru. “Steady pace, there you go.”
Satoru feels dizzy, enchanted by your cunt and somehow also by Toji's presence.
“Good boy.”
He nearly blacks out when he comes, a broken whine leaving him as he spills inside you, fucking you through his orgasm. Toji’s skilled hand, along with Satoru burying himself as deep as he can go, tip pushing against your cervix makes you come soon after, your body going rigid as your eyes roll back.
It’s a glorious sight, and Toji groans, removing his hand from your clit when tears begin to spill down your cheeks. It takes Satoru a minute or two to come back down, but when he does, he giggles at your tear-stained cheeks.
“Always such a crybaby,” he teases, and you pout, especially when he pulls out, watching cum leak out of your messy pussy.
“I’m not,” you sob, feeling Toji wipe your tears before pressing a kiss to your neck.
“Not bad for your first time, kid.” Toji stays, and Satoru rubs his neck, shrugging.
"Yeah. Thanks,”
He’s ready to go to the bathroom and clean himself up, but then you’re getting out of Toji’s lap and dragging Satoru down beside you, so you’re both between his legs.
This feels a little weird, and Satoru almost gulps when he looks up at Toji.
“It’s polite to return the favour, Toru,” you say, and he blinks at you, especially when you rub your cheeks against the bulge in Toji’s sweat, looking up at the old man with hearts in your eyes. “I’ll help you.”
It’s unbelievable.
Satoru is used to seeing you so dominant.You’re sassy, and smart, and most of all, you’re pretty much always teasing him, never letting him relax. Always one to start arguments (even the ones you can’t win).
With Toji, you’re sweet. A completely different woman, pliant, docile, obedient. Satoru’s not even sure if Toji has done anything in particular; the man radiates dominance, but you’re just so eager to please as you keep eye contact and pull his dick out of his sweats, immediately sucking on the tip. It’s like you’re a completely different woman.
Satoru’s eyes nearly roll out of his head when he eyes the sheer size of Toji’s dick, but then you’re turning your attention towards him, urging him to come closer, pulling off Toji's cock with a pop.
“C’mere”, you giggle, and Satoru almost whines, especially when you put Toji’s cock to his mouth and he licks a stripe down the side. “Good boy”,
Satrou feels himself twitch, and he gasps, especially when you join in, and now you’re both licking and sucking Toji’s dick, tasting the precome dripping out of his slit and worshipping him in all of his glory.
“Fuck”, Toji’s eyes are shut in bliss, and he puts a hand on each of your heads, guiding you up and down as he pleases. He cracks an eye open, pulling Satoru off before he guides your head down till his pubes are tickling your nose and you’re choking on it.
Tears prick in your eyes, and you moan, gagging as you grip Toji’s thigh while the other digs into Satoru’s hand. When Toji finally pulls you off, you gasp for air, and Satoru is just about to tease you, but then it’s his turn, apparently, and before he knows it, Toji is guiding his head down on his cock.
Satoru moans, especially when he feels your nails raking down his scalp; meanwhile, you’re crawling up, kissing Toji messily. He cradles the back of your head, and kisses you messily, sloppy, meanwhile his hips are thrusting up into Satoru’s mouth, twitching each time he gags on it.
Satoru barely feels the twitch before Toji comes down his throat while releasing a series of sinful moans into your mouth. He keeps him there for a few seconds, riding out his high before he pulls off Satoru too, kissing him on the mouth.
“You’re much more tolerable when my cock is down your throat,” Toji compliments, and Satoru can't help but grin, especially when you kiss him too.
“Mhm, thank you, Toru baby,” you add, kissing his neck. “Did so well.”
As if on cue, it seems that your tiredness catches up with you, and you sink into the comfort of your sheets, sighing. You feel the bed creak when Toji gets up, slapping your ass before saying something about cleaning up and getting a towel.
“Is he your boyfriend?”
It sounds like a question, but it seems to you that Satoru has already drawn a conclusion. Huffing, you attempt to ignore the beating of your heart and the tiny lump in your throat.
“No”,
“Does he know that?” When you open your eyes, Satoru is still grinning, wiggling his eyebrows at you, and you groan.
“Fuck off,” you say, glancing towards your door before looking back at Satoru. “There’s cum on your chin, by the way.”
“You know we shouldn’t have met, right?”
“I’ve never had any luck, troublemaker. No matter who I meet, I destroy everything I touch.”
❦ pairing: professor!toji x f!reader
❦ summary: you are a student of criminal studies at a prestigious university with one goal in mind: get your father out of prison one day. but how will you react when your new professor in the subject, as attractive as he is odious, comes to replace your old teacher who has deserted the post? especially when that new teacher is keeping a secret that will jeopardize your plans. one thing’s for sure, your life will never be the same again...
❦ warnings: +18 only, dead dove: do not eat!!, smut, nsfw, violence with graphic description, vulgar language, mention of bullying/suicide/weapons/drugs/gambling, mature and dark content, toxic parental relationships, murders, yakuzas, panic attacks, heavy angst, fluff, manipulation, childhood trauma, death, grief, betrayal, hurt with/without comfort, student/teacher relationship (fictional, not real!!), depiction of the life of a hitman/appearance of yakuzas, enemies to lovers, but not a real slow burn, dark academia vibe, art by @/521jie.
❦ wc: 10,000
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series masterlist | ao3
“Unfortunately for you, a sinner cannot afford to protect the wings of an angel. He might dirty them. Or worse, burn them in trying to help.”
His words blur within the drowning sea of memories that twist through your mind.
“Tell me something… You really like to put yourself in danger wherever you go, don’t you, troublemaker?”
His rough fingers tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear, his emerald irises lingering on your figure a little too long in the lecture hall before he looks away, his arms wrapping around your waist to protect you from the vase, his lips crashing against yours just before devouring them…
All these memories swirl like a maelstrom in which you are submerged, your arms desperately trying to escape in order to flee the forbidden moments you shared. But every time you turn your head, one face keeps coming back to you.
“Can you hear me?”
From jet-black hair with strands as sharp as stalactites, almond eyes that find your gaze before piercing through to your soul and—
“Hello, Moon, this is Earth?”
Your head jerks up. “Huh?”
Shoko raises an eyebrow mischievously. “Were you listening to me?”
You blink, still a little shaken from your friend’s grounding. It feels like you’ve been pulled out of a drowning situation you thought you wouldn’t escape. The light from the library almost blinds you, and for a second, an unpleasant buzzing persists in your ear, making you grimace slightly.
“Yes, yes… You were talking about…” Your eyes fall on her medical textbook on the table, and you glance back up at her. “Your… presentation on anatomy?” you attempt with little conviction, still frowning.
Seeing your sorry face, Shoko shakes her head as you mutter a soft ’sorry’. “What were you thinking about?” And in your silence, she adds, “Or rather, who were you thinking about?”
“Nothing,” you mumble to avoid the conversation drifting into too dangerous waters.
It’s almost as if you’ve forgotten that you’re in the university library. Small groups of students linger in the aisles, quietly gossiping about the latest news, others immersed in their work, or those simply here to enjoy the calm of the massive room to sleep for an hour or two.
As for you and Shoko, you’ve settled into your favorite corner at the back of the library, where a four-person table is monopolized by the two of you, and a stained-glass window provides the perfect angle on the courtyard.
“I was talking about the upcoming sales. But from the looks of it, it seems like you don’t care about that either.”
You run a hand over your face to refresh your distracted mind. It’s not the first time lately that you’ve been called out for your absent-mindedness. But it’s not like you can do anything about it.
“Yeah, sorry. I’m a bit tired lately,” you reply with a small, weak smile. “And the sales? Would you like to go together?”
“Yep,” she confirms, chewing on the blue cap of her pen before glancing at her laptop screen. “It’ll be a while for both of us, but it’d be even better if we bought a new dress or two, right? You know, for the parties.”
The idea pops into your mind, and just the thought of a relaxing trip to the mall with your friend tempts you. It’s almost as if you want to forget about the sales and swipe your credit card through every clothing store as if changing your wardrobe would erase your memory.
“Why not,” you reply, a warm bubble swelling in your chest. “It’s been a while since we did a shopping spree.”
“Perfect then.” She closes her textbook, closing yours at the same time. “Tell me,” she leans toward you so only you can hear her, but you already see her mischievous smile pulling at the corner of her pink lips, “Was it your professor again, hmm? Are you becoming like all those other girls?”
In immediate reaction, your heart skips a beat, and despite your traitorous flushed cheeks, your thick civil code acts as a weapon as you hit her arm. “Shoko!” you protest, stung.
She pulls back slightly, stifling her laughter with a hand over her mouth as the old, unpleasant librarian walks past your tables with a glare as sharp as her long nails.
Once she’s passed, Shoko leans toward you again to add, still teasing, “Come on, admit it, you’re finally drooling over him because of his irresistible charm.” She emphasizes the last word by looking up at the sky like a fangirl.
You gasp. “Absolutely not, and keep this up, and I swear I’ll make you eat my civil code,” you threaten, despite the constant warmth in your face.
“Your tomato face speaks for you anyway.”
“No, but Shoko!” you protest again.
“Shhhhhh!!” The librarian hisses sharply in your direction, her angry expression ending the conversation.
~~~~
“As for the rest of the year, your Master’s programs will need to be accompanied by alternating internships,” Professor Higuruma announces from his desk at the bottom of the lecture hall stage.
His eyelids, heavy with an evident lack of sleep, make him look on the verge of dozing off, yet all attention is on him. From his black suit to his perfectly ironed white shirt, and his sharp aquiline nose, Professor Higuruma never fails to draw eyes to himself, no matter what he says. Especially with his reputation as an outstanding lawyer at a prestigious firm.
“And so, my colleagues and I are offering to take part in this process to make things easier for some of you.”
You sit up slightly in your chair, ears more attuned than ever, making sure you don’t miss a single word.
He continues, “This means that spots with us will be limited and will only be reserved for those who prove themselves worthy of working alongside us. The rest will have to manage on their own to find internships.” He waves his hand dismissively as if brushing away the thought before lowering his gaze back to his files.
Working with Higuruma?
That’s practically a dream come true at this point.
As the bell signals the end of class, you hurriedly pack up your things, eager to join your friends in the cafeteria. Your heart pounds wildly in your chest, too distracted to notice as you accidentally bump into someone while queuing up.
A broad back, wide shoulders, and an athletic yet lean build.
The person turns around, revealing a head of near-white hair and a pair of cerulean eyes, half-hidden behind round sunglasses.
“Ah, we were looking for you,” Satoru announces, stepping beside you with his tray.
“Where are they?” you can’t help but ask as you start filling your own tray with food.
Satoru grins. “Already eating. Probably talking about what we’re gonna do with Suguru,” he chuckles. And when you give him a skeptical look, he shakes his head, prolonging the suspense.
After both finish picking out your food, your friend walks alongside you toward a four-seater table already occupied by your brunette friend and Suguru, who has tied his hair into a half-bun, leaving the rest of his long, raven-black strands draping over his shoulders.
Upon reaching them, Shoko only lifts her eyes from her phone to acknowledge your arrival before immediately lowering her gaze back to her Instagram feed. “What’s new?” she asks the group without much interest, making Satoru roll his eyes.
“Kids and their phones…” he mutters as he sits down.
Suguru and you exchange an amused glance as Shoko slowly raises her head from her screen before practically shoving her phone in Satoru’s face. “Says the one who posts sixteen stories in one night?”
Just as he’s about to defend himself, Suguru steps on his foot to shut him up. “Anyway.”
“What’s got you two so excited?” you ask, taking a bite of your fish.
“Well, well, well,” the albino hums as he digs into his salad appetizer. “Suguru and I have decided to rejoin the university rugby team this year,” he announces, flashing his signature mischievous grin, mouth still full.
“To get crushed by Kyoto again?” you snicker. "Yeah, and I’m switching to medicine with Shoko."
Shoko and Suguru join in on your laughter while Satoru glares at you, holding an open yogurt cup threateningly, ready to fling it at your face.
Once the laughter finally dies down, he reaches into his bag, pulling out a brand-new rugby ball. Holding it up like a trophy, he twirls it between his long, agile fingers before tossing it to Suguru, who catches it effortlessly mid-air.
“We’re gonna beat Kyoto this year, and I even bought my own lucky ball,” Satoru insists.
“More like a cursed ball,” you mutter to Shoko, chortling a bit. Then, you turn to look at Satoru and Suguru again. “And what about that brute from last year? Aoi, wasn’t it? How do you plan to beat someone who practically smashed your faces in?”
“Thanks for the reminder.”
The two boys exchange a knowing look before directing their gazes a few tables away. You turn around, confused.
Satoru adds, “Zenin is signing up too.”
Your eyes land on Maki Zenin, a student with dark green hair tied in a high ponytail, sitting with her friends Yuta, Panda, and Toge several tables away, entirely unaware of your group’s attention.
Turning back to the boys, you frown. “Her? She’s strong?”
“Strong?” Suguru scoffs as if your question is the dumbest thing he’s ever heard. “Wait till you see her at practice, and then we’ll see if you can find a better word.” He pauses when he notices your confusion.
How does he even know her when she wasn’t on the team last year?
“She goes to the gym, does wrestling, and Taekwondo,” he clarifies.
You let out an impressed whistle.
Shoko raises her eyebrows, equally surprised. “Have they announced the training sessions yet?”
“Coming soon, yeah.”
Satoru pauses. A smirk starts tugging at the corner of his lips as he raises an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me our lovely ladies will come to watch us train? Aww, I’m flattered.”
You exchange a glance with Shoko again. “More like filming you picking your nose during practice, but yeah, why not,” you reply with a mischievous half-smile, but Satoru doesn’t lose his.
Instead, he snatches the rugby ball from Suguru’s lap and starts playing with it — balancing it on his head with impressive control, rolling it across his shoulders and arms — prompting yet another whistle from you, though this time, there’s a hint of teasing in your tone.
“If you’re trying to get people’s attention, congratulations, you got it. Now stop,” Shoko grumbles, returning to her phone, annoyed by the number of eyes now on your table because of him.
It’s true; a good number of students are now staring.
Satoru is a popular quantum physics student who thrives on attention, loves showing off his strength, and — well, he’s Satoru Gojo, you know.
A tall, striking albino charismatic enough to convince the entire university to throw a party? That’s him. Flirting with literally anyone — women, men, and even objects (yeah, you heard me)? He’s practically a professional at it. Though you’ve never failed to notice the shift in his gaze whenever he looks at his own best friend.
Suguru, on the other hand, is humble but equally as cunning as Satoru. He can attract attention too, but he remains far more composed. They seem like complete opposites, yet their bond is brotherly, inseparable. And when you catch, out of the corner of your eye, the way Suguru is glaring at a group of giggling girls ogling Satoru from afar, a thought crosses your mind — an idea of—
“It’d be a shame if the whole school found out you barely drink alcohol just ’cause you can’t handle it, hmm?” Suguru mutters out of the corner of his mouth, stabbing a piece of carrot with his fork as if skewering it. His tone is dry, irritated. “Or maybe that you currently have a hemorrhoid in your right ass cheek that’s keeping you from hitting the gym?”
Immediately, Satoru’s rugby ball loses its balance on his head and falls straight onto his plate — landing right in his mashed potatoes with a sickening splat.
~~~~
From your seat in the middle of the lecture hall, the relentless rain from earlier that afternoon continues to batter against the enormous windows, giving a vague idea of how late it’s already getting for a typical student day. The deepening blue of the sky soon blends into the darkness of the swaying tree branches, shaken by the wind, which seems just as unwilling to leave.
The cold weather is reflected just as much inside the room, dragging down the general morale of the students — and, unfortunately, that of the one person everyone, without exception, wished it wouldn’t affect.
The dreaded Professor Fushiguro.
His tall, imposing frame moves sharply and swiftly between the rows, handing back graded dissertations, their pages streaked with red ink as if it had bled all over them.
It’s no surprise that yours — despite the B- circled on the first page — is riddled with red scribbles, as sharp and cutting as the personality of your criminology professor.
Determined to improve, you have always made it a habit to seek out your professors to better understand your mistakes and avoid repeating them.
A habit that has become particularly delicate since the last time you saw Professor Fushiguro under… circumstances better left buried in the grave, wouldn’t you say?
The hostile gaze he casts over every student is reason enough to abandon the idea of approaching him here and instead wait to speak with him in his office. Like before. Before he—
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Even through the heavy oak door separating you from the professor’s office, you hear the irritated sigh before a nearly growled “Come in” reaches your ears.
You push open the door with a certain apprehension, your muscles tense.
The office hasn’t changed much since the last time you were here.
Bookshelves line the walls, filling nearly every available space, though you highly doubt Professor Fushiguro is an avid reader. The walls are painted in muted autumnal tones, the same Persian rug covers the floor, and the same dark hues dominate every piece of furniture — from the massive mahogany desk where he sits, to the polished hardwood floor, the black window frames, and the brown leather chair.
As you carefully close the door behind you, the fear that he might kick you out immediately grips you. The air is so thick with tension that neither of you dares to speak — just two figures frozen in place, eyes slightly widened by the sheer weight of the moment.
Fear.
Which kind?
That’s the real question.
Act normal, just like always, you keep repeating the thought in your head, teeth clenched as you finally settle into the chair across from your professor.
Today, he wears the same kind of outfit as usual, but you notice, with some curiosity, that there’s always a slight variation. Sometimes his tie is a shade darker, or the color carries a cooler undertone.
Shoving those irrelevant observations aside, you clear your throat, your throat drier than ever.
“I’d like to go over the points I might have missed in my paper that led to a—“
“A B-, yes,” he murmurs, one elbow resting on the desk, his eyes never leaving his laptop screen. His fingers absentmindedly toy with his lower lip — a nervous habit? Or stress?
Encouraged by his response, you pull out the pages of your dissertation and slide them toward him.
“Exactly. I read through your comments—“
“And is that never enough for you?” He rolls his eyes, and that single second of dismissal is enough to cool your resolve. He types a few more words on his keyboard before adding:
“Do you really think I don’t put enough effort into marking your work? Do you really need to come all the way here just to clarify what’s already perfectly clear and—“
“It’s too concise,” you cut him off, pushing your paper closer to him, hoping he’ll finally detach himself from that damn laptop and pay real attention to you. Even though, deep down, you already understand why he’s acting this way.
Your heartbeat quickens slightly as you lean in just a fraction more toward the desk, toward him, and insist, “Professor.”
The second your whisper falls between you, Professor Fushiguro nearly snaps his neck turning to look at you.
His emerald eyes are unreadable, yet filled with a chaotic mixture of emotions. His irritated expression softens, as do his furrowed brows — mirroring yours.
For a split second, his gaze flickers downward — to your slightly parted lips, waiting for his response — before snapping back up to meet your eyes.
He thinks you didn’t notice.
Hands trembling ever so slightly, you pull them back from the edge of the desk, resting them on your lap over your black stockings. You inch back just a little, re-establishing a safer distance.
Fushiguro follows suit, adjusting himself in his chair before finally picking up your paper, skimming through the pages, eyes flickering over his own barely legible notes scrawled in sharp red ink.
During those seemingly endless seconds, you find yourself watching him more closely. His dark, smooth hair — slightly unkempt, yet effortlessly striking. The shadow of his jawline, even more prominent from your angle. The muscle in his jaw that keeps flexing and relaxing as his eyes dart between the lines.
When he finally looks up, he clicks his tongue in annoyance.
“Can you even read?” he deadpans.
“I just need you to explain my mistakes as you correct them. If you need to go over the lesson again, I’m willing to stay as long as—“
“You’re not supposed to stay in my office for who knows how long just to go over mistakes that are already clearly explained in my feedback," he shoots back, narrowing his eyes. “You do realize people have eyes, don’t you? There are tutoring centers with students who’d be more than happy to—“
“I don’t need that,” you interrupt, snatching your paper from his rough, calloused hands—hands big enough to entirely cover yours, making it disappear beneath his palm. "What kind of professor are you?" you mutter under your breath, irritation creeping into your tone. "If this is about last time—"
“Leave.”
The single word freezes you in place.
You inhale deeply, forcing yourself to stay calm. “What happened last time isn’t—“
The professor abruptly rises to his feet, and the sheer weight of his presence instantly silences you.
“I said get out.” The words escape his lips faster, louder, and harsher than he probably intended.
Eyes wide, you don’t even dare to exhale, the stray lock of hair in front of your face remaining undisturbed by your breath.
Then, finally, you give up — even if this moment didn’t last as long as you had planned.
“You’re just a coward,” you spit before standing up just as abruptly as his voice had risen, grabbing your things and turning your back on him to storm out of the room.
As the door slams shut with a dull thud, Toji slowly sinks back into his chair, his body feeling heavier than it has in days. A sigh escapes his lips as he leans back against the seat, pressing his cold hands over his burning face.
~~~~
“…and this one…” You hand him your certified copies, each marked with a bold A+ or sometimes an A-, encircled neatly. Your small, hopeful smile is stiff with tension. “This was recent. I spent hours at the library studying.”
Your palm, clammy with a feverish warmth, brushes against the glass surface of the table — so cold it feels almost glacial. Your fingers, trembling in micro-shakes, nudge the papers forward just a little more, silently urging your father to take them.
His bloodshot eyes drop onto the copies, but he doesn’t bother reading the carefully written remarks from your professors. He doesn’t even pick up the sheets to grant them a semblance of interest.
“Not bad,” he finally says, one hand gripping his unshaven chin, scratching at the irritated skin as if lost in thought. “See what happens when you actually try?” he adds after an exhale that sounds almost relieved. The tension in his shoulders loosens slightly.
Your own muscles relax instantly in your chair. You retrieve your papers, though the persistent sting in your chest lingers — after all the effort you put in, the fleeting relief of not being in conflict with him lasts barely a second.
It’s a shame, really, to give your all only to receive the bare minimum in return.
“Sorry I couldn’t do better before,” you murmur, lowering your gaze to the table. Your father lets out a dry chuckle — not mocking, but lighter than it could have been.
“It’s good that you recognize your faults and are trying to make up for them by improving,” he says, arms crossing over his chest, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips.
As you pack up your things, a thought suddenly resurfaces, prompting you to lift your head. “My criminal justice professor is offering an internship for the top students,” you tell him with a slight smile. “I’m thinking of applying and working a little harder to be among the first selected. Mr. Higuruma is the best, you know.”
Then, in a last attempt to make a better impression, your eyes gleaming with hope, you add, “He’s one of the best lawyers in Japan.”
The words seem to strike a chord.
In a sharp, almost instinctive movement, your father jerks his head up, suddenly giving you the full attention he’s never granted before.
“Good.” He clears his throat, his voice slightly rough. “Excellent, even. Make connections.”
You nod, swinging your bag over your shoulder before leaving the visiting room of the penitentiary center.
By the time you get home, the once-dimming sky has given way to a nighttime landscape, where only the distant hooting of owls replaces the birdsong from earlier. A handful of stars glimmer in the deep blue sky — a beautiful sight, one you hadn’t taken the time to notice in a while.
In the shower, the droplets crash heavily against your skin. The water is hot, yet somehow, it feels as if it’s carrying the weight of your exhausted body.
Once in your pajamas, you feel no urge to stay up longer than necessary to study. With your hair still damp, you curl up in bed, strands sprawled over the pillow. As you close your eyes, you secretly hope that sleep will offer more comfort than certain people ever could.
People who have failed you. Irrevocably.
~~~~
In the small classroom where students start to pour in as the bell rings, Toji grabs a piece of white chalk and writes the lesson’s objective on the board:
“Acquire specific knowledge about certain criminal behaviors.”
The murmurs gradually fade, stifled by the sharp snap of the door closing as Toji shuts it behind the last student to enter. Silence settles in immediately — tense, expectant.
Toji has always had a way of commanding respect. His deep, powerful voice carries the same weight as his silence. He never has to demand authority — it imposes itself.
With a slow, sweeping glance, he scans the room, instinctively taking in every face… until his eyes land on an empty seat.
Yours.
A slight furrow creases his brow. It’s not like you to be late. A quiet inhale, a blink to push aside the unnecessary thought. It’s not his problem. It never has been.
Straightening up, he wastes no time switching on the projector and getting straight to the point.
“Today, we’ll be studying the behavior of past criminals to deepen your understanding of criminal psychology. This course is essential for those pursuing careers in law, law enforcement, profiling, or any profession related to behavioral analysis.”
A pause. Then, in a steadier, more deliberate tone, he continues:
“I’ve chosen our subject of study: Jeffrey Dahmer.”
A faint shiver seems to ripple through the room. Some students straighten up; others exchange intrigued glances. A flicker of amusement brushes against Toji. He gets why some teachers enjoy their job — when students are this captivated, everything becomes more interesting.
He crosses his arms, his expression unreadable, though a faint gleam of interest sparks in his eyes.
“Crime isn’t just blood and headlines. It’s a method. A pattern. An instinct.”
A faint creak draws his attention to the door, which hesitantly cracks open. A familiar strand of hair peeks through the gap.
For a moment, Toji refuses to believe it. But his instincts never fail him.
You.
Your figure follows, more hesitant than usual, moving through the small room under a few curious glances. As you pass him, you mumble a vague, barely audible, “Sorry,” eyes avoiding him.
Toji watches you in silence, his expression impassive. He should call you out for being late. But he doesn’t have the energy — not when he sees your unsteady steps and the unnatural pallor on your face.
Instead, he simply looks away and resumes in a neutral tone:
“As I was saying…”
Feigning indifference, he fixes his gaze somewhere in the room, avoiding yours. He can’t. He shouldn’t.
Nothing happened between you.
That’s what he’s been telling himself since last time. What he has to keep telling himself.
Yet, as he continues his lecture, he can’t help but notice — from the corner of his eye — your trembling hand gripping your pen, your shoulders slightly tense as you take notes with forced concentration, as if trying to ignore your own discomfort. Or at least, that’s what he assumes. Your dark circles look deeper.
His eyes linger a fraction of a second too long. A student catches his gaze and quickly buries themselves in their notes, uneasy. Toji’s jaw tightens imperceptibly before he leans down to display the next slide.
An image appears on the screen: Jeffrey Dahmer’s impassive face during one of his many trials in the ‘90s.
“Jeffrey Dahmer.”
His voice resonates—low, steady.
“Serial killer, necrophile, cannibal. A man who could’ve gone unnoticed but ended up exposing himself.”
A tense silence fills the air. Some students swallow discreetly.
“His method?” Toji lets the pause hang. “Targeting vulnerable victims. Isolated prey. Gaining their trust… before trapping them.”
And this time, he feels your gaze — uneasy, restless, yet futile.
A strange flush rises to your cheeks, but given your almost swaying stance and the way your eyes flicker unstably toward him, an unsettling premonition prickles at the back of his mind.
But with a slight tilt of his head, he dismisses the distracting thought — once again.
Thirty minutes pass. Toji carries on with his lesson uninterrupted. He concludes Dahmer’s biography, letting a heavy silence settle, each student absorbing his words, their attention suspended on the chilling details he unveils. Some avert their eyes, lost in thought, while others remain fixated on the screen.
He continues, diving into the psychology behind criminal behavior, ignoring both the students’ discomfort and their unwavering focus.
A brief nod. Then, his voice takes on a peculiar coldness.
“All of this falls under criminal psychology. The behaviors, the actions… the warning signs.”
He pauses, sweeping his gaze across the room — until, for a split second, he catches what he thinks is your blurred, lost expression, almost pleading for his attention.
Against his better judgment, Toji stares a second too long. Or maybe not long enough.
It only takes him turning his back — to you and the entire class — for the sharp scrape of a chair to jolt his ears, making him freeze.
Footsteps. Unsteady, faltering, uneven — light yet heavy and clumsy at the same time.
Or at least, that’s what he thinks he’s hearing.
He turns back to confirm his suspicion — and is met with the dreadful sight of you, staggering, gripping tables for support as if the ground itself is tilting beneath your feet.
Chapped lips part slightly in his direction, your face deathly pale with a sickly green tinge. Your eyes are beyond pleading — vacant, unfocused.
Toji stands momentarily frozen, just as the entire class holds its breath when you murmur, barely holding onto the wall:
“Need to… infirmary…”
Your brows furrow as if battling through pain. And judging by your shaky stance, it’s as if the floor is slipping away beneath you.
Regaining composure in an instant, Toji takes a slow, hesitant step forward — then rushes to catch you just as your legs give out entirely.
In a firm, controlled grip, a distant part of his mind registers that every student is watching. Watching him. Watching the person he’s supposed to hate the most.
His strong arms brace your back, holding you upright as professionally as possible. But the moment your unfocused eyes flutter toward him, he crosses the line he’s been so desperate to maintain.
His voice drops to a whisper, low enough for only you to hear:
“Don’t do this to me…”
The near-inaudible strain in his own voice catches him off guard. But in your now unconscious state, you don’t hear it.
And Toji doubts it even matters anymore.
Exhaling at last — almost in exasperation — he slides an arm beneath your knees and hoists you up effortlessly. He barely tilts his head toward the class, masking any trace of emotion beneath a composed facade.
“A student has passed out. I’m taking her to the infirmary. Class is dismissed.”
~~~~
Your body refuses to respond. Everything seems to come from a distant place — sounds, muffled, swallowed by what feels like the depths of the ocean. Only your hearing seems to resurface, because even as you try to move your limbs slightly, none of them obey. Every part of you is numb.
“...Fuck... couldn’t wait... end... faint...?”
Your eyes flutter open gradually, your blurred vision adjusting slightly but not quite enough. A gentle, rhythmic sway of your hair tells you that you’re on a swing. Or a hammock?
A dark, familiar shirt, infused with a perfume of Yves Saint Laurent — Myself, the one you smell every time he’s around — fills your senses. Massive arms — maybe twice the size of yours — enclose you, holding you relentlessly against a warm chest.
The swaying is pleasant, like a lull. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt this light.
A sinister creak nearly makes you wince. A door.
“...student... fainted...” The sound reaches you a little more clearly this time. Deep, low, and composed. A man’s voice.
Another, sharper, feminine, hurried. “...other students... no time... sugar... water... the cabinet...”
Bit by bit, the words exchanged become more than just vague sounds. You begin to process them — and that’s what matters. Especially when you realize you’re in the arms of the last person you’d ever want to be.
You’re carefully laid down onto a mattress, a bed, or maybe a thin foam pad. Just enough to keep it from being too uncomfortable.
Shadows hover over you, growing sharper. One broader, the other slimmer. A woman.
Her cold hand brushes your cheek, then your forehead, before she directs a question at the bulkier figure.
“Did she eat anything?”
Before he can answer — because he doesn’t have an answer — you force your stiff neck to shake your head, though the movement is weak. Still, she seems to understand. She shrugs on some kind of jacket, one you can’t quite make out — not because your vision is still unfocused, but because of the dim, almost eerie lighting in the room.
One of them opens a window, letting in just enough fresh air to brush against your exposed skin, reviving you slightly. The slimmer shadow — the nurse, now that you’re beginning to regain awareness — steps away, leaving you alone with a professor who looks just as lost as you feel.
A soft click of the door. And then, silence.
Pins and needles tingle at the tips of your fingers and toes — a sign that your sense of touch is returning. You swallow. Your head still aches, a throbbing pain pressing at your temples, as if your blood is rushing too fast in one place.
Your lashes flutter as the world around you sharpens, your surroundings becoming clearer. You’re definitely in the infirmary. Pushing yourself up slightly on your arms, you take in the dingy little room, right as the grumbling of a certain professor fills the space.
“Is she fucking serious? What the hell am I supposed to do…?”
Toji’s broad frame rummages through the cabinets above a tiny, chipped sink, the paint peeling in layers that must be over thirty years old. The space is cramped — just a small stainless-steel basin and a counter, half-buried under a mess of paperwork. Coffee and tea mugs, used and abandoned, are stacked haphazardly around the sink, untouched for what looks like days.
“I’m fine…” you mumble, more to yourself than to him. He doesn’t acknowledge it.
It’s already a miracle when Professor Fushiguro finally pulls a glass from one of the cabinets, along with a small box of sugar packets. He gives the glass a quick glance — just enough to make sure nothing is crawling in it — before filling it with tap water.
You focus on the sound of the running water, grounding yourself so you don’t collapse again when you attempt to sit up properly. The effort is pointless when Toji rips open a sugar packet and lets it dissolve into the glass, stirring lazily through the liquid with a spoon he probably found just clean enough.
He holds out the glass to you, his movements measured, keeping a deliberate distance — though that’s nearly impossible in such a cramped, cluttered space.
But you don’t react. Your eyes stay locked on the swirling sugar in the water, watching the undissolved granules dance in a slow, hypnotic spiral.
“What the hell are you doing?”
He grabs your hand, ignoring the way your eyes scream at him — intrusionintrusionintrusionintrusion — letting his jet-black hair fall carelessly over his face as he forces you to take the glass.
Your fingers barely manage to wrap around it. The glass trembles under your weak grip, your strength failing before you can even lift it.
Toji notices the moment the water spills over the rim, dripping onto your shoes, your feet dangling over the side of the infirmary bed.
“Fuck’s sake...” he mutters under his breath, jaw tightening as he snatches the glass back.
This time, he brings it to your lips himself, and though your body tenses at the gesture, you part your lips reluctantly, allowing the cool water to soothe your parched throat.
Your eyes remain fixed on the wall behind him, choosing to glare at the cracks in the peeling paint rather than acknowledge the smug, knowing smirk that threatens to curl at the edges of his lips.
Your silence, your refusal to react, contrasts with the flicker of amusement in Toji’s sharp green eyes. Different from the last time he’d been this close to you.
As soon as the glass is empty, you exhale, clearing your throat, your voice oddly hoarse.
“You should’ve just let me come here on my own.”
He lets out a dry chuckle, the sound surprisingly soft to your ears. Maybe one of the rare times you’ve heard him do anything other than grumble.
Straightening up, he carelessly places the glass in the sink.
“You might’ve forgotten that you passed out in my arms in front of the whole class, huh? Or am I wrong?”
You furrow your brows. “I just felt a little dizzy.”
He leans against the counter, crossing his arms while scrutinizing your face more attentively, his usual dark aura intensified by the lack of light in the room. Another cold draft runs down your spine, making the thin line of sweat trickling along it feel even more chilling.
“And a heatstroke,” you add in a muttered grumble, groggy and displeased, casting an evasive glance toward the empty cabinet in the corner of the infirmary.
“I can leave, by the way. I feel better.”
You push against your hands to stand up, only to almost collapse again as a sudden wave of vertigo assaults your skull.
“You’re staying here.”
Having a different plan from yours, he wraps his fingers around your wrist and forces you back down onto the infirmary cot.
With a sigh that implies you are nothing but a nuisance, Fushiguro ignores your incessant murmuring, opens the cabinets again, and seems to find what he was looking for as his brows relax, accompanied by a quiet “Ah.”
You roll your eyes as he approaches once more, this time with a cloth he has just dampened, bringing it toward your face to press against your undoubtedly flushed skin.
Lifting a weak hand, you push his hand.
“I can do it myself, it’s fine…”
“Do you ever shut up?” he retorts in an exasperated whisper.
So exasperated, in fact, that you don’t even answer back. He pushes your hand down onto your lap and leans in slightly, pressing the cool cloth against your forehead, your cheeks, your chin — where the fabric lingers a second too long.
Destabilized, you hold your breath. Your eyes meet the moment he flickers up from your lips to lock onto yours.
“You’re really funny,” he comments in a low voice, a hint of mocking amusement laced in his tone.
“Do I look funny?” you snap back in contrast, sharp, cutting, despite the pleasant sensation of the cold cloth against your fevered skin.
He raises an eyebrow. “Are you going to get mad again if I say yes?”
A sigh escapes your chapped lips, which you refrain from wetting, fearing he might misinterpret the gesture as something misplaced and inappropriate, even though that is far from your intention.
Every single one of his movements has a way of irritating you.
“The nurse said you probably had a hypoglycemic episode. Didn’t eat this morning?” he asks with indifference, folding the cloth in half to press a colder side against your skin.
“I wasn’t hungry,” you murmur, barely audible.
He hums, his gaze as neutral as if you had just told him it was raining outside.
“Cover up and eat like the perfect girl you want people to think you are, then.” He steps away to rinse the cloth and wring it out again. On his way back, he drags the nurse’s stool closer, sits down, and resumes his task.
For a fleeting moment, you consider closing your eyes, but fearing he might make a remark, you resist the heaviness of your eyelids, longing for sleep that you stubbornly deny them.
Instead, you fix your gaze on him, scrutinizing him as if it were the first time — not the countless times too many.
There’s a faint, graying scar at the corner of his lips. Left side. The question of how he got it suddenly burns at the tip of your tongue.
“Where’s that from?” And when he furrows his brows, you make a chin wave. He instantly understands what you are referring to.
“Mind your own business.”
“You are daring.”
“As much as you, troublemaker,” he murmurs in a low, gravelly voice, his wrist momentarily freezing as the cloth lingers against your jawline.
The nickname rings out like an old cassette tape someone is trying to rewind.
A past memory someone tried to distort, to bury, to erase forever.
But no matter how deep it’s pushed away, it always resurfaces.
And you two—
You haunt each other.
Never allowing the other to forget a single look, a single touch, a single moment.
Every night, your last thoughts slip into sleep, only for sleep to act not as a relief, but as a mediator. Not to resolve your conflicts, but to bring you back together. To let your souls collide again, even when your bodies refuse to.
Forgetting is impossible.
Even if you force it.
Even if you walk away.
Even if you break, even if you hate, even if you love.
So why not give in?
Lean in. Let your breaths mix, coaxing each other closer like an unspoken spell, a pull, an inevitability — until your fates are sealed by the few inches still left between you.
Eyes locked, unable to meet in any way other than the one dictated by a kiss. A mere press, fleeting in weight, dissolving into the heat of the moment. Never truly feeling the agony of not merging, of always being stuck orbiting each other—
The torture of blinking, because closing your eyes feels like falling into darkness.
Because the second you open them, they might be gone.
Because the moment before might have been nothing more than a dream.
A distant memory, only replayed in the most desperate moments, when you feel at your lowest.
One blink, and the moment will vanish.
One blink, and—
One blink—
One—
With all the effort it would take to lift an anchor barehanded from a ship lost at sea, Toji slowly draws back.
For a brief moment, his eyelids had threatened to close.
But he won’t make that mistake again.
You were never supposed to meet.
Let alone end up like this.
So he chooses to close his eyes only when, in the quietest rustle of fabric, you slip out of the infirmary — leaving behind a stolen breath, without ever having touched him.
~~~~
The next few days passed as slowly as they did quickly. A good week in bed, a treatment with medication and a good night’s sleep, always accompanied by a complete diet, your doctor had said with an insistent look at the three words.
The days are as frequently rainy as usual. The nights are just as cold. The landscape is greener, though, you mentally note, temple pressed to your bedroom window.
An exhausted sigh escapes you.
The last events at the university were, unfortunately, those spent in the infirmary with Professor Fushiguro. The torrid radiation of his body next to yours, his gaze plunged into yours, as if lost in the whirlwind of shared memories with vestiges that will never fade.
Every look, every moment gets worse and worse. Crosses the barriers of the forbidden. A ban that turns into irresistible audacity. Impossible to fight.
It’s bad. It’s wrong. And you know it.
That’s why you’ve decided to forget what happened — or at least try to — and take the day off from going back to university on Friday while you’re still on your feet. The weekend has begun, so you might as well catch up on what you’ve been missing.
It’s a better thing to do than let yourself be tormented by persistent thoughts — far too persistent to simply ignore - of your criminological theory professor.
So it’s sitting at your desk, nose plunged in front of your laptop, that your phone rings, vibrating in the corner of the cold wooden surface alongside manuals and printed documents.
First of all, it’s a masked number calling you. And you take the initiative not to answer. No. That’s not advisable, so you ignore the call until it ends.
Returning your attention, still slightly disturbed by this unexpected call, the lessons come back to you. They’re certain, safe. Rational.
Half an hour later, this time it’s a complete number that appears on your phone screen — a number for a real person like you. Just like anyone else. So you decide to take the trouble to answer it, your hand tightening slightly around your screen as you press the button to accept the call.
“Hello?” you say.
There is no answer.
A deathly silence completely paralyzes you as you try as best you can to open your now dry mouth a second time.
“Hello?” you repeat.
But only the chilling silence of the line persisted.
Then, without warning, the call was hung up.
With your heart pumping too fast and too hard in your ribcage, you put your phone back down with not your hand trembling, and your whole body shivering and your muscles frail.
It’s not your habit to panic over a call that could just have been a mistake or a scam — you never know.
But since you started school, nothing has been the same.
You’ve reached a point where every strange or abnormal moment in your life alerts you to a life-threatening danger. Adrenalin pumping more often than it should, or attention sharper than a student cheating on an exam. Every rustle, every sound, every breath is perceived by you.
And it doesn’t matter if people call you paranoid.
Your curtains are drawn. Your front door is double-locked. It’s dead silent in your apartment, and the sun has already set.
Yet the pressure has never been so intense.
Catching the breath you’ve been unconsciously holding, you wipe your sweaty palms on your thighs.
Fuck.
And to break down the growing pressure on you, your phone has to vibrate on your table.
A new message.
As you lean your face close to the notification that appears, your heart drops into the pit of your stomach.
XXX-XXX-XXX : Open the door
So someone is there, behind your door, just waiting for you to open it and slit your throat or worse.
Your mouth dehydrated, your swallowing not going and your dead heart losing your brain as you try to figure out what to do.
Call the police?
What if they hear you?
What if he breaks in?
Fuck!
Your legs drag you into the kitchen, every limb shaking in ways you can’t control.
Not now, though.
Your fingers wrap around the thickest, largest knife you have and you pull it out of its compartment. No choice.
Breathlessly, with your back pressed against the flat of the door and your face half-turned towards the peephole, your right eye focuses on the tall, lanky, fully hooded figure — making recognition impossible.
Your sweaty hands grip the handle of your makeshift knife tighter, fearing it will slip from your fingers. Your pupils dilate, your lips part, then...
The shadow lowers its hood and a pair of emerald eyes stare at your door, looking nonchalant and annoyed at the same time.
You unlock the door immediately, and as the door opens on Professor Fushiguro, you threaten to drop the knife at your feet (a very bad idea).
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
He ignores your flabbergasted expression to walk past you, while you stand at the foot of the door, still in shock. Meanwhile, Fushiguro unashamedly allows himself to slump heavily on the sofa like an unemployed dad, then lets out a sigh.
“Don’t you have something to drink?” he asks, wringing his neck to eye you up sarcastically. “I mean, it’s not polite to ignore your guests.”
And you want to stab him in the heart with his words. How dare he?
“I’ve got nothing. And what the hell are you doing here already?” you retort tartly, slamming the door to your apartment in the process.
“Checking if you weren’t dead. I was worried about you.” An odious smirk tugs the corner of his lips and he rests his arm on the armrest of the sofa, watching your murderous scowl. “What? Aren’t you happy?”
“It’s you who needs to fuck off, actually. You have nothing to do in my house and you don’t have to send me such dubious messages as to open yourself up with a gun,” you retort, still in the same tone, swinging your knife at the nearest surface — a small piece of furniture supporting a lamp. You rest a hand on your hip, eyebrows furrowed. “I thought you didn’t want anything more to do with me?”
He rises with the utmost laziness and rolls his eyes. “You have a way of drawing people into your troubles, haven’t you noticed?” he replies as he opens your fridge in search of a drink. When he finds his fill, his face lights up slightly with a satisfied expression. “Not bad.”
He picks up a can of beer, which he always opens with slow, nonchalant movements, ogling you with that snide scowl that makes you want to smash his head against your fridge.
It could be a good idea.
A pause sets in, uncomfortable and stifling. Of course you want to get your teacher out of your house — what if someone has seen him?
You need to break this silence as thick as molasses, so you look up at him, noting the significant distance between the two of you before saying:
“Explain yourself,” you both say at the same time.
You frown and, incredulous, you follow up still at the same time as him without being able to control it, “No, you.”
Then you lean against the nearest wall, an annoyed pout on your lips. “You’re the one with something to tell me.”
The remark pricks Fushiguro’s spine and he purses his lips. He seems caught in an inner dilemma before sighing and leaning against the wall opposite yours — the distance between you still as significant as ever. One of his arms is raised to support his freshly stolen beer can.
“Listen,” he begins in a low voice, ”what you saw at the bar you can forget. Neither you nor I were supposed to meet there, were we?” He sustains the heavy eye contact until you give in and nod. “Good.” He takes another sip. “I was on a mission, you were on yours despite my warnings.”
“Because I don’t have to listen to you.”
“And you don’t have to put yourself in danger,” he retorts in a tone that couldn’t be more serious, his eyes on you. “This witness business with the police must stay between us. Or do you want to die? Are you that suicidal?”
“Who told you I was in danger and would die? I may have looked suspicious, but that wouldn’t justify anything—”
“You were in danger several times during that evening,” Fushiguro cuts you off curtly, brushing aside your sentence with a wave of his hand. “My target was armed, another had a knife. Don’t you realize what could have happened to you?”
“No,” you simply reply with a crumpled, shameless expression — pure defiance, out of pride at not having to admit that he’s right and has shown more maturity and humanity than you.
“Are you always this stubborn?” he growls, rolling his eyes.
“We could very well be talking about you,” you retort in the same tone, folding your arms across your chest.
“What do you mean?”
“Since when did you stop being a block of ice?” you murmur. “Now you care about me?”
“Since you started messing up everywhere you go. A real bag of jinxes.”
You gasp at his words. “I could say the same for you who stick to me like a faithful dog!”
“You gave me a theatrical performance in the middle of class,” he retorts, outraged.
And seeing him so revolted makes the shadow of an amused smile pass over your lips. For the first time. But this is no time for laughter.
Despite your cat-and-dog retorts.
“Because I got sick! And what’s more, you refused to help me with my lessons.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You don’t need it, goddamnit. You’re one of the best in your class, and you still don’t know it? Or do you want to hide your snoopy nose behind a mask of hypocritical humility?”
His words hang in the air between you two. Your dumbfounded expression almost makes him chuckle.
Almost.
He finally snorts helplessly and rests his gaze on your kitchen counter, letting the silence settle in the room without trying to fill it.
Then you decide to do it.
“So can we pretend it never happened?” you mutter with less sourness.
You see his Adam’s apple twitch as he swallows. “Yeah,” he retorts before craning his neck toward you. “I have no intention of apologizing, troublemaker. But I would like to say in my defense that I was only protecting us. That must remain clear. It didn’t mean anything.”
And the way she avoids saying the word “kiss” makes your breathing slightly heavier around you.
You nod without breaking the silence in your turn. Night has fallen from your window and a bluish aspect of this early evening hour comforts you a little.
You’re not alone right now. And even though he’s the person you despise most in the world, this simple moment, this decision to come to you even to knock on your hinges, makes your heart weak.
Because even if that kiss didn’t mean anything, it marked a change between the two of you. In your relationship — conflicted, at best, but forever intertwined nonetheless. Even if that kiss will never mean anything to her, it will to you.
“How did you get sick?” Fushiguro asks in a low voice — conducive to an unsought but natural intimacy — as he takes yet another sip of his beer.
“Slept with my hair still wet,” you respond as you avert your gaze on the kitchen’s counter too. “And I haven’t eaten very well for a while.” You blow out a small exhalation. “It must have built up.” After a moment’s pause, you add, “But I’m better now,” as if answering an unspoken question.
The soft, intimate atmosphere warms a cold block somewhere-you don’t know where, or even him, on the spot. Opening up seems more likely now, despite the fact that there’s still this unknown that links you with Professor Fushiguro.
Him in his zip-up sweatshirt and an old pair of jogging pants straight from the thrift shop or the back of the wardrobe. And that’s when you notice how tall he is. Much taller than most teachers or students.
But it’s not just this factor that plays into it, or even his muscles drawn like those of a Greek statue.
No, it’s more an aura, an energy he exudes.
Perhaps it’s due to the environment he frequents, but you won’t know the answer to that today.
Finishing his can of beer in one gulp, Toji walks over to the nearest basket and drops the empty metal with a rustling sound. Your eyes devour him with every move he makes; the way he passes a slow glance over the details of your home, like a stray cat looking for something.
His expression is more peaceful, you notice, a little pensive pout on his lips and his eyebrows slightly furrowed in your torpor. He seems so harmless at this moment. His features are calm, open — a stark contrast to anything you’ve experienced recently.
It’s like a small step in the shadows, slowly but surely leading you towards the light.
Your eyes then follow his every step, leaving the open kitchen and passing between the living room sofa and the few small furniture holding lamps and other personal objects to which he pays little attention. Just one of his glances, however, manages to catch your attention.
Having approached the area of the wall you’re leaning against, Professor Fushiguro catches his gaze on the picture frames hanging on the wall. He halts his steps and stops at one photo in particular — one that makes your heart beat much faster than the reason for this proximity between the two of them.
The photo is one of many, you would have explained, but that would have been a lie.
In the shot, you appear in the middle, much younger than you are today. Two adults wrap their arms around your shoulders, staring straight ahead at Fushiguro and yourself, grinning from ear to ear — especially yours.
A woman stands to your right. The same smile to match, and the same expression and warmth that form your features.
The man on your right has the same smile, albeit with a different feel. He looks as much like you as he is different. His irises emanate a determination, a will of his own that can be recognized in your gaze.
The three figures are bundled up in winter coats with garish red scarves. The moment frozen. Impossible to erase.
“Is this your family?” Toji articulates in a low voice. He gives you a quick glance before returning his attention to the shot, eyebrows arched a hair’s breadth in concentration.
You nod, without adding to what you might have done to find out exactly where they are. You don’t feel like talking anymore. You might as well talk about every possible subject, but not this one.
So you turn your head away and whisper instead, praying that he’ll take his eyes off the pictures, “Professor...”
He turns to you, the distance between you two now reduced to a meter or so.
“Now... do you think we can really make peace?” you whisper so low that he has to read your lips to reply with the same even timbre.
“I... suppose so, yes.” He shoves his hands into his jogging suit pockets, meeting your gaze with a gleam that throws you off balance for a second.
Could this be vulnerability?
You shake the idea from your head and close your eyes for a moment. It couldn’t be. Not from the coldest person you’ve met in weeks.
So you simply nod, savoring this exchange of simple, sweet words spoken with all the simplicity in the world.
“How did you get my phone number, anyway?” you ask as he moves ahead of you towards the door.
He stops, his hand around the handle, but doesn’t turn it immediately.
He half turns his head to face you. “Higuruma has passed on to me some of the candidates’ files for the work-study offer so that I can make recommendations on the best files and those to avoid.” He pauses briefly. “I took the opportunity to get your number, as you’ve been pretending to be dead and I was afraid someone would come after me,” he adds with a tiny, sarcastic smile.
You feel the red creep up your cheeks before mumbling a soft ‘okay’.
You walk him out of your apartment and stop at the door. Your eyes remain fixed on his back as he walks down the hall towards the elevator.
A twinge tingles in the stupid organ that serves as your heart.
“Professor?”
He stops without turning around.
You hesitate for a second before blurting out, “You know we shouldn’t have met, right?”
He deliberately turns around, his emerald irises plunging into yours as if into the deepest abyss as his words — though spoken in a low voice — echo as loudly and far down the corridor as they do in your mind.
They mark something inside you that he’s letting you glimpse.
A crack in your teacher, so impervious to communication or anything to do with you.
He purses his lips, slightly hesitant, before declaring gruffly:
“I’ve never had any luck, troublemaker. No matter who I meet, I destroy everything I touch.”
~~~~
In the night, owls hoot in turn. The deep blue sky inks the sky, the wind’s breath caresses the branches and leaves of the trees as if to lull them to sleep. A few timid stars sparkle in the sky.
Tonight, you’re wrapped up in your warm blankets, looking for sleep that has deserted you for long hours. It's impossible to sleep in such brooding silence.
Your phone, resting on your bedside table, turns on and displays a new message notification after vibrating one time.
The heart swelled with a bubble of hope, you immediately grab your phone to read the contents and the recipient. Despite the apparent disappointment on your face, a smile blooms on your lips in the darkness of the room. It’s not the one you were hoping to read, but that doesn't make the message any less valuable.
Satoru: awake?
You: what’s up?
One minute later, he replies:
Satoru: ready to watch us play? (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ
You chuckle softly, an even bigger smile stretching your cheeks without you having any control over it. Then you answer:
You: more than ready
❦ a/n: lmaooooo 😂😭 okay okay, i’m very sorry guys for this. it’ll be soon almost a year since i haven’t updated this series but hey, we’re here now, aren’t we? 🥹 ahem, anyway funfact: i wanted to give to toji a perfume signature, so i went to sephora today and asked a salewoman (she was so sweet <3) to help me and here came my choice of Myself by YSL. the scent is extra toji, i swear! i couldn’t choose anything so if you’re curious, check at their stores! :)
i hope you guys enjoyed this part 2 and i’ll try my best to write the part 3 asap (i even started it)! (i tagged some ppl who commented on the last part and where enjoying it so i won’t feel too bad but i won’t do it for the following parts haha.)
if you want to be added in the tag list, just tell me on the series masterlist and i’ll tag you for sure!! thank you all for reading this story <3 it means really the world to me :)
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summary: plug!eren yeager x fem!reader -finding a plug was hard these days—let alone a reliable one, so you took matters into your own hands and found yourself in the hands of eren yeager.
warnings: drug use (marijuana), unhealthy drug habits (using it to cope), plug!eren yeager, big dick eren, use of pet names, size difference, praise, dirty talk, degradation, cunnilingus, literal filth, unprotected sex, spanking, pnv, porn with a little bit of plot, do not try this at home. wc; 4.8k
authors note: having severe plug!eren brainrot.
you unlocked the door to your apartment, finally stepping inside its warmth after a long, rainy, miserable day. you were greeted by your roommate, sasha, who you found sitting on the couch in your shared living room. as a broke university student, you couldn’t afford to have your own place so you lived with your childhood best friend. she was a pretty good roommate, a little messy at times but a great cook. she loved baking, especially when the two of you got high together, a habit you both developed earlier this year in an effort to battle the stress of school. usually, you were the one responsible for getting the weed—sasha claimed that she didn’t trust herself to get a good deal but in reality you knew she was just too shy to go pick it up herself.
and that's exactly how you found yourself going to jean kirstein every week, to get your shared weekly stash of weed. jean however, was a terrible plug. he was the first one you had found and it turns out that he was known for his inconsistency and terrible attitude. and that’s also why last week was the last time you ever picked up weed from jean kirstein.
“and what are we supposed to do now?” sasha exclaimed, eyes wide with confusion after you told her that you were finally done with jean’s bullshit.
“i’m going to find a new plug. connie told me his roommate eren yeager sells” you replied, joining her on the couch with a steaming cup of tea. you and connie were friends, having went to high school together. apparently, eren was one of his 4 roommates but you hadn't actually been to connie's new place since he moved in so you’ve never seen any of the guys he lived with.
“i’ve heard of that guy. apparently he picks and chooses his clients, and doesn’t deal to just anyone. good luck getting on his list” she answered, clearly annoyed with your news.
“don’t worry. i already texted him, connie gave me his number. i’m sure he put in a good word for me” you explained, taking slow, small sips of your tea in an effort to warm up from the rain you got caught under on your way home.
“okay, whatever you say. i still think you shoulda just stuck with jean though. so what if he’s flakey? at least his weed is good” she responded, her eyes fixed on some stupid show that was playing on the tv.
“of course you’d say that sasha, his weed is the only weed you’ve ever smoked” you shot back, followed by a chuckle. sasha only started smoking recently, but you had dabbled in it before, so you knew your way around things better than she did.
she shifted her gaze from the screen to you, rolling her eyes exaggeratedly to make sure you noticed. “yeah yeah whatever, just let me know if this eren guy replies” she said, fixing her gaze back on the tv.
you lingered on the couch a little longer until you finished sipping your cup of tea. it had been a long day. you had class all day, somehow managed to forget to pack a lunch and got caught in the rain without an umbrella on your way home. some weed would have been nice to relax after a day like this but you and sasha had run out just a few days ago. you decided that a long hot shower sounded like the second best way to wind down after your miserable day. 15 minutes later you were out of the shower and in front of your fogged up bathroom mirror doing some skincare when you heard your phone buzz on the counter beside you. a slow smile crept onto your face as you checked the message. eren had replied.
[8:16PM] you: hey, i’m y/n. connie gave me your number. i heard you sell?
[9:03PM] eren: depends. what do you need?
you finished applying your moisturizer and picked up your phone to reply.
[9:04PM] you: i need some 🍃.
[9:04PM] eren: alr. when do u need it?
[9:05PM] you: as soon as possible
he stopped replying after the last message which had you wondering what he was up to. connie hadn’t told you much about him, only that he was picky with who he sold to and that he was one of his roommates. however to you, he seemed quick to get you weed. eren must’ve known you knew connie. another 20 minutes later, you were sat in your pj’s on your bed, finishing up some homework when your phone buzzed again.
[9:26PM] eren: can u come tn?
your eyes widened at the text. that was quick you thought. it was getting late and you had just showered and done all your skincare, but you couldn’t help yourself. a joint would have done wonders for you right now.
you walked out into the living room, deciding to consult sasha. “sasha, he replied, he’s asking me to come pick up tonight” you told her. she was still fixated on her tv show.
“no way. he’s already asking you to pick up? damn y/n what did you say to this guy?” she joked, eyes darting in your direction.
“nothing, i just asked him if he sells and he asked me to come. let me ask him where to pick up and then i guess ill decide” you replied, pulling out your phone to send eren a reply.
[9:30PM] you: depends. where should i pick up?
[9:32PM] eren: my house. i’ll send the address.
he sent you the address and you put it in your map. you were shocked to find out that he lived not even a 5 minute walk from your apartment, you knew roughly where connie lived but you didn’t know it was this close. jean lived a good 20 minutes away so this would be so much more convenient for you.
“he lives like 5 minutes from here. i didn’t know connie lived that close, he still hasn’t invited me to see his new place” you explained to sasha, annoyed that you’d be meeting connie’s roommate at his house before him.
“you should totally go then. do you want me to come with?” she replied, her eyes sparkling with excitement. the rain had stopped while you were showering and you thought you could use some fresh air.
“it’s cool, i’d like a walk to clear my head anyways” you responded, confident that you can handle it by yourself.
“if you say so. stay on the line though and call me if he tries some weird shit with you” she reassured you. you knew sasha didn’t do well in situations like these, so having her on the phone would be much easier than having to ease her anxieties the whole walk on your way to some guy’s house for weed.
“i’ll be fine, connie said he’s a chill guy. i’m gonna go get dressed” you said, as you walked back into your bedroom and put on a pair of comfy sweats and a hoodie. it wasn’t too cold outside, and now that the rain had stopped, a hoodie would do just fine. you walked towards the front door and grabbed your keys while putting your shoes on. before you left, you shot eren a text.
[9:45PM] you: i’ll be there in 5.
you were hoping connie would be home so you could kill two birds with one stone–seeing connie who you haven’t seen outside of class in months and getting weed from eren since they conveniently lived in the same house. after a short refreshing walk to the given address, you found yourself planted on his porch, standing right before his front door. you weren’t sure whether to text him first or not, but you opted to ring the doorbell when you noticed almost all the lights on in the house. the door swung open a moment later, revealing a tall, broad shouldered guy with brown hair tied back in a lazy man bun. he wore a black t-shirt which accentuated his biceps and grey sweats. he looked like he worked out. you weren’t expecting him to be so attractive.
“uh hey, i’m y/n, connie’s friend, i’m here to pick up?” you said awkwardly, breaking the silence. he looked you up and down, his eyes studying every part of your body.
“yeah, connie told me about you. i’m eren. come in” he said quickly, and stepped aside, making room for you to come in. jean had never really asked you to come inside before so this was kind of weird, but you felt safe knowing connie lived here, so you decided to follow him in. you stepped inside the house noticing it looked exactly like your typical frat house. you looked around, noting all the chipped furniture and stupid posters on the walls.
“is connie home?” you asked, pulling yourself back to the present moment after observing all the small details of their living room, noticing eren leaning against a wall with his hands in his pockets, eyeing you.
“nah, i think he’s out with some girl” he replied casually.
“oh, okay” you said awkwardly, waiting for him to either say something else or finally give you the weed you came here for.
“you want a smoke before you pick up? it’s on me” eren asked moments later, pushing himself off the wall.
“oh um, are you sure?” you replied nervously, not sure if he was being serious. jean never offered you a free smoke. the one time you smoked with him, he made you pay.
“yeah for sure” he replied. his eyes were such a dark, vibrant green, his gaze alone was enough to send blood rushing to your cheeks, making you suddenly feel very aware of yourself. “come on out back, we can smoke in the backyard” he added, walking out of the room, expecting you to follow him. and that’s how you found yourself in the backyard, watching him hold a perfectly rolled joint between his lips, with a lighter in his hand. he brought the lighter to the joint, lighting it and took two puffs before passing it to you. puff puff pass.
“thanks” you mumbled before taking it and bringing it to your lips. you only took one drag before passing it back to him.
“is this your first time smoking weed?” he asked, eyeing you with an indifferent expression on his face.
“no, i usually smoke alone at night or with my roommate, we just dropped our old plug for being too flakey” you replied, watching him smoke the joint. something about him standing there, joint hanging between two fingers, stray hairs falling out of his bun, was so damn attractive.
“i bet it was jean wasn’t it? that dude’s the flakiest fuck i know” he said, his deep voice sending a shiver down your spine. it must have been the weed making your body react this way.
“yeah, his weed wasn’t great either. yours better be good or i’ll find another plug” you joked, chuckling awkwardly.
“you’ll find that i don’t give my good shit out to just anyone princess” he answered, the corner of his mouth lifting up in a slight smirk. the pet name shocked you, pulling you back to reality. you were with a random (hot) stranger. smoking weed. in his house. at 10pm. fuck.
he took his puffs, and passed the joint back to you. he was clearly amused by the surprised look on your face after calling you princess. “we’ll see about that eren” you replied confidently a few moments later, making sure to drag out the last syllable of his name. his eyes were fixed on you, watching the way you effortlessly took a pull and brushed your fingers against his when passing it back to him.
the two of you fell into easy conversation while finishing the joint, and talked about everything from university to your future goals. he was an easygoing guy which was refreshing for you, considering all the guys you’ve dated or spoken to before always had something negative to say about how you lived your life. not to mention, eren was also extremely attractive with his slightly messy dark hair and his piercing green eyes which you caught looking at you a little too often.
the high was finally kicking in, you noticed yourself feeling lighter and the tingling sensation you usually felt was coursing through your body. you and eren started laughing about something stupid together toward the end of your conversation which told you that you weren’t the only one feeling it. you couldn’t help but notice how eren would re-tie his man bun when it fell loose, or how he skillfully held his joint between two slender fingers. his gaze was always fixed on you, rarely breaking eye contact. after finishing your shared joint, eren gave you a tour of the house, and invited you up to his room to hang out and eat some snacks. you protested at first, claiming you needed to go home but you couldn’t lie to yourself, you were having a really good time with him. it felt so easy with him, like you had known each other for ages.
you were sitting on his bed snacking on some chips that he gave you. there was no denying it—the guy was stocked with snacks. his room was surprisingly clean, contrary to what you expected. it was obvious that he was a gamer from the expensive looking setup on his desk and the red and purple led lights lining the perimeter of his room. he was standing in his doorway, leaning against one side, his forest green eyes once again fixed on you.
“what do you think of the weed? better than jean’s?” he asked suddenly. you turned to face him and noted how he almost fills the entire door frame with his height, his broad shoulders barely fitting within the frame. it must have been the weed talking because wow, did he always look this good?
“i suppose so. i guess yours will do for now” you teased, enjoying watching his face twist at your sarcasm.
“oh yeah? you suppose?” eren raised his eyebrows, taking a couple of steps towards where you were sat on his bed, the tone of his voice bordering on seductive. you felt your whole body tense, your thighs pressing against each other from just that one sentence alone. had the temperature gone up? the room suddenly felt so much hotter. his muscular arms were crossed over his chest, his demeanor cool and alluring. you stood up from the bed to face him and even at your full height he towered over you. “mhm” you hummed in return, crossing your arms to match his stance and looking up at him with glossy eyes. whatever this was, it felt like a game— one you knew you wanted to play.
using his index finger and thumb, he tilted your chin further up towards him, making you crane your neck back to look up at him. "if you were to ask me, i'd say you're enjoyin' it veryyy much princess. don’t ya think?" he whispered, voice low and husky, his face so close to yours that you could feel his warm breath practically dancing over your skin. the proximity, the difference in size, the nickname, and the intoxicating smell of his cologne, it was all too much for you to handle at once. you felt a fire burning low in your gut, begging for something you weren’t quite ready to acknowledge just yet. the thrill of the whole situation had you absolutely buzzing, waiting for what was next to come.
“answer me” he ordered when you didn’t respond, his tone making your whole body tense up with a mix of fear and something a little too close to what felt like pleasure. “i suppose i am enjoying it” you teased, playing right back. you felt an invisible line snap, something in the air had changed between the two of you. and that’s when you did something sober you would have never done. you licked your lips, and kissed him. you didn’t need to touch eren to feel his whole body go stiff. you paused momentarily, lips on his, and just as you were about to pull away, eren dove right in. one hand moved to your waist, grabbing it and pulling you closer, and the other was tangled in your hair, pulling at it. he kissed you impatiently, as if he were running out of time. you felt his tongue glide along the inside of your mouth, mapping, and learning every inch of it.
you pulled away for a moment to take your chunky hoodie off. the room felt too hot, the kind of heat that made you want to undress entirely. eren looked down at you while you undressed, his eyes clouded with lust. but disappointment washed over him quickly when he noticed that the hoodie was all you were planning taking off. that wouldn’t do. he stepped around you, and sat down on the bed, resting his elbows on his knees. you were about to join him but before you could, he purred, his voice low and seductive, “strip for me beautiful”. your eyes widened at the request, the order mixed in with the compliment had your core throbbing, silently begging for more. you chose to do as he asked without so much as a word, and slowly began taking off your shirt, followed by your sweats and finally your bra. your cheeks felt warm, embarrassed at the nudity you displayed for him, especially while he was still fully clothed.
“leave them on. i wanna take em’ off myself” he said when he noticed your fingers playing with the lace on your panties. eren groaned at the sight before him, lazily palming himself over his pants. you were so fucking hot, and ready to do anything he told you. “c’mere” he added, admiring you through his lustful gaze. you walked over to him, and planted yourself between his thighs. without another word, he placed one hand on your waist, and the other snaked up to your breast. he took hold of one of your tits, kneading its soft flesh with his calloused hands, his gaze still fixed upon you. you whimpered at the sensation, feeling that same fire impatiently burning in your gut. “aah-“ you moaned, unable to hold yourself back. you could almost feel the weed circulating in your bloodstream, making you so much more sensitive to eren’s touch. “you’re such a fuckin’ slut” he murmured against your skin before pulling you into his lap, and locking his mouth over your nipple. you bit your lip, attempting to hold back sounds, only to fail once you felt him bite.
this almost sent you over the edge. you let out another lewd sound, feeling eren harden beneath you. he pulled his mouth away and in one swift motion, wrapped his arm around your waist and flipped you over, making you bounce on the bed from the impact. you were now laying on the bed, propped up on your elbows, while eren stood hovering above you. he finally pulled his shirt over his head revealing the toned muscular skin it was covering. wow. it must’ve taken him years in the gym to build the physique you were currently looking at. the sight of his abs and biceps made you want to drool. “you like whatchu see princess?” he asked playfully, noticing the way your eyes scanned every part of him, memorizing every vein and muscle. “i guess” you uttered sarcastically, waiting to see his reaction. you saw annoyance flicker through his eyes. “mmm now that just won’t do, baby” he said and gave you no time to reply as he lowered his head to the lace on your underwear, grabbed it with his teeth, and slowly began pulling it down, only using his mouth. fuck. you had never experienced something like this, let alone with your friends roommate— who you had just met.
heat pooled in your lower stomach, and your pussy throbbed yet again, begging for attention. eren waited no time to grab hold of your thighs and position himself between them. he blew lightly, sending chills through your whole body. “eren, please” you moaned, unable to wait any longer. and that’s when you felt his mouth at your core, licking and sucking the sensitive bundle of nerves that formed your clit. your hand flew to his hair, pulling on it and gripping it so tight you felt your knuckles turn white. he paused briefly to rasp, “you’re so fucking wet for me princess” before his mouth was back on your opening, exploring every inch of it with his tongue in a way that had your toes curling and your back arching off the bed. the air was thick and hot, and you felt your pulse quicken as eren skillfully inserted his tongue in you, licking and cleaning every part of your drooling pussy. the sensation was maddening, and you felt yourself getting closer and closer to your release by the second.
eren removed a hand from your thigh, and easily slid two fingers in, pumping them in and out slowly as he sucked on your clit. you moaned at the sensation, pleasure coursing through your body. “e-eren, i’m gonna c-cum” you stuttered, unable to form a proper sentence. “mmm cum for me baby” he mumbled, high not only on the drug coursing through his veins, but also on you. and mere seconds later, you clenched around his fingers, feeling your body convulse with pleasure as you released your sweet juices all over his fingers, finally reaching your highly anticipated climax. eren lifted himself from between your thighs, sliding his fingers out of you. giving you no time to recover, he easily flipped you over with one hand, placing you on your hand and knees, and pushing your head into the mattress so your ass was up high in the air. you then felt him run his cum soaked fingers down your asshole. you felt the bed dip, watching him position himself in front of you from the corner of your eye, your head still pressed into the mattress. you felt his tongue travel from your still pulsating core all the way up to your ass, causing you to whimper incoherently, feeling him licking up all the juices he smeared on you moments earlier. this man was filthy— that you could say for sure.
you wanted, no— needed eren inside you, the pleasure from the climax finally subsiding in your body, and turning right back into that burning need. “ ‘ren please” you whined the plea, your voice breathless and erotic. “please what?” his mocking tone sent a humiliating thrum of pleasure through your body. even his mocking made you so fucking wet. “please eren, i need you inside me” you muttered in response, annoyed with his teasing. you felt him shift off the bed and do something that sounded a lot like taking off the rest of his clothes. finally. you felt the bed dip again, and you lifted yourself back onto your hands to take a peek at his cock. you couldn’t help it— you had to see what it looked like. and the sight sure didn’t disappoint, as his long, thick cock had you practically drooling. eren smirked, noticing the wide-eyed look on your face. but he let you look no longer because soon you felt your head being pushed back down into the mattress while he used his other hand to spank you, making you yelp with a mix of pain and pleasure in response. “aah- w-what was that f-for?” you asked, voice muffled by the sheets surrounding you.
“that’s for being such a fucking slut earlier” he replied, voice heavy with desire. he spanked you a couple more times, sending sharp stings into the flesh of your ass. you felt his fat tip prodding at your entrance, gliding up and down in a slow tortuous way, coating himself in your slick . he gave you no warning before he slammed into you, making you cry out. “nngh- e-eren fuck” you babbled, inhaling sharply while trying to adjust to his sheer length and girth. he was big—bigger than anyone you’d ever fucked before. he gave you a minute to adjust, relishing in the warmth of your tight walls desperately clenching around him. this is what heaven must feel like, he thought. he heard your panting slowing into longer breaths, indicating that you were mostly adjusted. he began thrusting into you with long strokes at an agonizing pace. he was teasing—you quickly learned that nothing came quick with eren, he was going to make you wait whether you liked it or not.
the pace was absolutely tantalizing. he pushed himself in and pulled himself out entirely before pushing back in again. he progressively quickened his pace, pounding into you mercilessly. eren took a hand off your hip, and entangled it in your hair pulling hard enough to lift your head off the mattress. a sob tore through your throat, the pain causing wet tears to roll down your cheeks while the intoxicating pleasure of his cock had you feeling lightheaded, almost as high as the weed made you feel. he groaned, speeding up his pace, hitting that sweet spot inside of you over and over again. the only sounds filing his room were the shallow breaths you both let out and the lewd sounds the two of you created as your bodies moved against each other, over and over again. it felt like you were being split open, his frantic pace enough to fuck you stupid. "e-eren, nngh i'm gonna- ah" you whimpered, unable to form a single coherent sentence. you heard him groan followed by him leaning close to your ear, still holding your hair and growling "what's that baby? couldn't hear you", the feeling of his hot breath on your ear sending chills down your spine.
" 'm gonna c-cum" you croaked, breathlessly. he let go of your hair, letting your head fall back to the mattress. he slowed himself down a bit, returning to that same agonizing pace from before. "come for me baby. i want to see you come all over my cock" he ordered, and you felt yourself snap free. your toes curled as you felt the familiar flame spread through your body, sending waves of pleasure through to your core as you clenched around his cock. "fuck" eren rasped, inhaling sharply and you felt his cock twitch while his body shuddered from pleasure, his release following yours. he pulled out, plopping down on the bed beside you while you flipped over to lay on your back. you were both panting, both glistening with sweat under the red-purple light of his LEDs. you spent a few minutes there in brief silence, breathing shallow breaths and coming down from the high of your orgasms.
moments later, eren got up, walking into his bathroom. he came back out a few minutes later and brought out a warm towel to clean you up. he was surprisingly gentle with you, compared to the almost feral side of him you saw mere minutes before. "you did good, princess" he said, the praise sending a warm rush of pleasure through your body. he cleaned you up, put his grey sweats back on, and picked your clothes up off the floor, bringing them to where you lay on the bed, propped up on your elbows. "do you treat all your clients this way?" you asked sarcastically, but with a hint of curiosity. you couldn't help but wonder if he did this to every girl he sold weed to. the thought of that made you feel something a little too close to jealousy. "only the ones i reallyyyy like" he joked, his tone playful. when you didn't respond, he added "you're the only one" his tone shifting to serious. "yeah okay" you replied, eyeing him suspiciously, but somehow you knew he was being serious. you sat up finally, slowly pulling your clothes back on. meanwhile, eren walked around his room, grabbing things from some of his drawers. you saw he pulled out a rolling tray, some papers and a jar of weed.
"so, how many grams did you want?" he asked, turning to look at you. right. that's why you were here in the first place. to pick up weed. and you had just fucked your new plug on the first pick up.
a/n 2: if you made it this far, thank u so much for reading. i had so much fun writing this. i'd love to hear your thoughts, so feel free to send me any thoughts or ideas into my inbox! - may
desc- (April knows something is up with your story, and decides to investigate)
warnings - swearing (duh)
word count - 2.1k
READ PREVIOUS PARTS HERE- one - two
The first message pops up on your screen when you’re at one of the corner tables in the cafe, on your mandatory 30 minute break when she texts, drinking something that wasn’t on the menu. It’s from an unsaved number.
[hey! It’s April]
The first time she’s texted you after exchanging numbers. An easy smile comes to you.
[Can we meet up tomorrow? I’ve got a lead on a few break-in cases]
You set your cup down to respond, wiping your mouth with your sleeve and start typing back quickly.
[i’d love to, but i’m working a 6-9 :((]
She types and sends another message almost immediately.
[does tonight work then?]
She sure was relentless.
[sure! any place in mind?]
[would your place be okay?]
Your place? Your quiet, empty, drab apartment?
[yeah that works ! lemme send you the address. i get off at 7]
[awesome thxxx]
You laugh quietly to yourself while typing down the complex name and your room number. April seemed nice enough from the little you knew about her. Strong, independent, gorgeous. Vern was definitely trying to tap that. You really hoped he didn’t, but she read as a woman that could hold her own. You liked it.
Your coworker coughed to get your attention, indicating you’re 3 minutes past your break. You pocket your phone, and then stand to clock back in and finish the last half of another boring shift.
April’s already beaten you to your apartment, leaning against the outer wall by your door and looking down at her phone when you get there. Her head lifts with a pretty smile when you greet her.
“Hey! Sorry I’m running a little behind.”
Your hands fumble the key ring before shoving one into the lock and it twists with a click. She’s understanding.
“No worries. I’m glad we could meet up.”
“Sorry,” you’re quick to bring awareness to the nearly bare space when the door creaks open, “I don’t really have a lot going on in here.”
April scans the room while you shed your jacket and shoes, walking in and taking in stride the plain couch and old carpet.
“Wow. Kinda lonely.”
Ouch. Painfully truthful but, ouch. Way to beat around the bush.
“Yeah,” you huff, “I’m not here a lot. Or anyone else.” That statement proves false when a high-pitched meow and tinkle of a little belled-collar comes from the kitchenette. The cat is patting her little feet on the counter.
“Hey there kitty.”
Your visitor walks over to give her a little scratch under the chin, which she accepts gladly.
“Oh yeah, she’s here too. Watches over the house for me.”
April chuckles.
“What’s her name?”
“Vannie. Like Van Gogh.”
You thought the name was genius when you first picked it out, poking a little fun at her one missing ear. It sounded a little bit ridiculous now, when you were saying it out loud to another person. April’s eyes get this curious, excited little light behind them when she turns to look at you. What it’s about, you have no clue, and don’t care to ask.
“You named her after an artist.”
“Sure did.”
It’s odd to you, how that seems to be the kicker, but that thought doesn’t even reach the processing department of your brain before April reaches into her crossbody bag and pulls out a laptop.
“I wanted to show you some of these recent reports on break-ins in lower manhattan. Maybe we could try and find your guy.”
“Okay miss detective,” it’s a compliment you mean, well impressed with her dedication. She was just so cool. April flips open the screen and sets the device on the countertop next to Vannie, wasting absolutely zero time. You feel a little guilty there’s not even a table or chairs for the two of you to relax at.
She opens a file on the Home page with two clicks. Vannie paws at the clicker icon that darts around the screen.
The two of you share a little amused laugh, and then divert your attention to one of the worded documents that she’s scrolling through.
“Rising illegal activity… here.” April moves her face back so you can move in and scan over the report. It read along the lines of a few specific perpetrators and their repeated offenses of theft and breaking and entering in around the block you lived on.
“It’s weird,” April rests an arm on the counter in thought, “You said some guy stopped whoever it was trying to grab you from your window. A ton of the reports and witness statements I’ve read over mention similar stuff.”
This surprises you slightly. She opens a different report and lets you freely scroll.
All of the accounts have about the same cookie-cut story. A shadowed figure, moving in, attacking, and then disappearing with little to no trace. No descriptions, no clues to who they were.
You knew though.
“So like… a vigilante.”
“Exactly,” April confirms. The way she’s looking at your face, gauging a reaction, settles weird in the pit of your stomach. It’s like she already knows the answer, the big picture to this case you’re still trying to put together.
“And all of them seem to be, what, a guy with a weird amount of strength that’s kicking ass at night and leaving the NYPD to clean up their mess?”
“Or…” she knows you know something, and it’s making you break a little sweat under the building pressure. You’re suddenly uncomfortable.
“Or… More than one. You can’t cover that much area in such a short amount of time.”
“Right.”
You’re cracking under the weight of her curious stare in the silence of the room.
April O’Niel is fucking baiting you.
She wants you to tell her the truth about who, or what, stopped your attacker a few weeks ago on the balcony. And poor, unsocial, people-pleasing you just spills it out.
“Okay, I-I know this is gonna sound absolutely crazy.”
The words come flowing from your mouth, a sporadic spout of words that you can’t stop. Her eyes grow wider and wider as you admit you really did know what the guy looked like, and how he’d come to your window intentionally one night just last week. Maybe it was the pure lack of having someone personable (and also not a cat) to listen to your insane story that just keeps tumbling out. By the time you’re finished, April has the same look on your face that you did when you first encountered the giant turtle, like she was practically reliving the story in her own head. You’re breathless.
“I know it sounds like I’m insane, but I just couldn’t tell Vern,” you’re quick to your own defense, “He would never talk to me again. Nobody would.”
She just stands there for a minute in the quiet, gears clicking in that quick brain of hers.
“I don’t think you’re crazy.”
You don’t believe that for a second. Her baffled stare just moments ago were a telltale sign of someone’s concern. April was probably already thinking of how to transport you to the nearest psyc ward.
“I get it, it sounds-“
“Look… I gotta take go take care of something,” she shuts the laptop and is already shoving it into her bag, while you stand there fumbling for something to say to try and convince her of your story, “I promise I’ll get back to you, this is just super, super important.”
She definitely thinks you’re crazy.
“April, please,”
She grabs your pleading hand in both of hers and pats it like an old woman pitying the poor.
“I’ll text you, when I get the chance.”
April leaves you standing, slouched with your arms just hanging defeatedly at your sides while she practically runs out of the door.
“It was good seeing you! Have a good night!”
It’s quiet all over again when the door slams shut. Vannie meows, like it’s a question and you look at her with a pathetic expression.
“She thinks I’m batshit crazy.”
But you’re so wrong, because as you prepare yourself for another night of restless sleep, April’s quickly walking down the stairs and out onto the street with a phone to her ear, and a satisfied smile on her face.
“Donnie?”
“Hey April! What’s up?”
“We gotta talk. I’m swinging by the lair in a few.”
•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•
The boys are all standing around their booth table (the really cool one they’d dragged down into the lair forever ago), mouths agape while April explains in confidence the situation at hand. Splinter is sitting next to her, with a wise, attentive ear.
Raphael is trying to brood at his friend practically snitching all of his secrets to his brothers and dad, but he’s still so shocked at what he’s hearing that his brows are curling in confusion rather than anger.
“I told you to stay away from her apartment, Raph!” Leo’s first instinct is to point an accusing finger towards his younger brother. He seethes at it but before he can get a snide remark out, someone’s talking again.
“I didn’t know Vern had a sister.” Donnie is stuck on the main focus of all of their surprise.
“Or, like, any family!” Mikey cuts in, “He’s a lone wolf.” He lets out a horrendous impression of howl, and performance of ripping a nonexistent shirt from his body like a werewolf. April snickers.
“Vern doesn’t talk about her much,” she defends, “I just met her last week.”
It really was a ridiculous coincidence that the pretty girl Raphael has been so unintentionally drawn to was stupid Vern Fenwicks younger sister. Though he doesn’t think it would have made a difference in the outcome of him silently following her home some nights to ensure she makes it there without incident. Thankfully, April doesn’t know this, otherwise she would’ve outed that information to everyone by now. The oldest of the four speaks again, desperate to turn this into some sort of lesson.
“If you’d just listened-“
“What’s done is done, Leonardo.” Splinter's voice is calm, but commanding, “You cannot change that she’s seen him.”
That finally silences Leo, but he’s visibly unhappy. Donnie speaks up again.
“So what does this mean for us?”
This renders all of them unanswered. It’s a complicated thing. They can’t make you just forget the multiple interactions you’ve had with Raphael. But how do they approach forward from here? April has a suggestion she’s been thinking of since she left your apartment.
“I think she should meet you guys.”
“WHAT?”
All four voices are overwhelmingly loud and surprised at the idea.
“It would only make sense. She knows you guys are out there every night, she’s seen Raph,” she lifts her hand to acknowledge the turtle who just grunts in annoyance, “And she totally thinks that I think she’s crazy. I feel bad.”
“I don’t know,” Donnie’s hesitant, “this isn’t a dire, life threatening situation where human interaction is necessary.”
“What if she tells her friends?” Leo adds.
April bites her tongue. As sweet and kind as you are, it would come as a surprise to anyone on the outside that you pretty much only talked to people at your job.
“She won‘t.”
“So many people have seen us out there, and they don’t need to know who we are. Why should she?”
“Am I seriously the only one here who digs the idea?” Mikey says, “We have, like, two human friends up top.”
Raph is the only one who hasn’t spoken up. Secretly, it excited him to think about meeting you with, hopefully, no repercussions. But also, so many things could go wrong. He doesn’t realize everyone’s staring at him, waiting for his input, until the silence draws on for just a little too long.
“Man, I don’t know about this one.”
“Come onn,” Michelangelo throws a soft punch at his shoulder, “You can finally introduce us to your girlfriend.”
Raph pushes the youngests’ face away with his palm.
“Knock it off, dumbass.”
“Splinter?” Leo looks to his dad for guidance. The party’s torn and he’s left to be the mediator. After sitting in thought for a moment, the rat speaks.
“I don’t believe it would hurt to indulge. If April trusts the girl, I cannot see a reason not to make an acquaintance.”
“She really is sweet,” April’s on your corner of the ring, and Splinter’s words credit her immensely. She can see them all look at each other and wordlessly cave in, one at a time. Mikey pumps his fists in the air with excitement.
“Okay so even if we do decide to meet her,” Leo’s already made up his mind, but pretends not to, “We can’t just bring her down here.”
A good point.
April gets another idea. She pulls out her phone and holds up her finger to pause the conversation.
“Hold that thought.”
And with another text sent, the plan’s set in place.
•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•
*hands you this chapter with a wink*
PART 3 BABY, THINGS ARE GETTIN GOODDD
Sorry this chapter is a little shorter, but trust, I've already gotten the next chapter fully written out, and it'll definitely make up for it ;)
lemme know if you want to be a part of my slowly growing taglist, so you don't miss out on the next chapter!!!
✎₊˚⊹♡ summary: i just got the thinking about toji fucking you with a chain on and how drastically different he would be from plug!choso and well... she came out!
🏷 tags/warnings: smut. fem!reader, reader has vagina, black coded, big dick toji, pet names (ma, mamas, daddy) daddy is used as "hey zaddy" not in a ddlg kind of way, slight size kink bc toji is huge squirting, fingering, some degradation, toji being a meanie its why we love him. dom!toji, cervix touching, deepthroating, weed smoking, mentions of criminal activity, toji is as toxic ass mf, reader is a fly ass bitch, toji fucking you w the chain on cuz duhhhh! Also subject to be edited
✎₊˚ word count: 6.5k sorry i had a lot to say about plug!toji yall!
Plug!Toji who is drastically different than plug!choso from personalities and down to how you meet.
You were college girl and Plug!Toji is the king of the city you moved to. You two lived in separate worlds until you decided further education was not for you and dropped out. It wasn't the fact that you weren't making grades — you were on the dean's list the entire time you were there — but you suddenly felt bored. Destined for more, you submitted those drop out papers and felt instant relief knowing that was the right decision. Now that you had time to pursue something other than college, you started bouncing around jobs. Retail job here, customer service agent there, eventually you tried out being a bottle girl at a local luxurious nightclub after being referred through a friend of a friend. That decision led you to be tangled with the notorious Toji Fushiguro.
Plug!Toji flew back to the city on this particular day. He touched down and decided immediately he need to be fucked up with a pretty woman in his lap. He went to his penthouse condominium, ridding himself of his clothes to start a hot shower before he got ready to go to one of his favorite clubs.
The same one you happened to work at full time now
Plug!Toji waited for the shower to get hot when one of his trusted men, Gojo Satoru, sent him the details of the section booked, followed with a selfie of him and an unknown's stripper's ass, grinning really hard. Toji could only grunt out a small laugh, tossing his phone onto the counter and climbing into the shower.
Originally not scheduled, you picked up a shift that fateful night Plug!Toji arrived back in town. You wanted the extra cash — and needed to justify spending money on getting your hair done into a smooth silk press. Your hair was long and straight down your back, and you looked absolutely divine. You garnered more attention that night from both clients and coworkers. You only laugh off each compliment, saying thank you, before tossing the strands over your shoulder. You had time for nothing more. You were here to get your bag and go.
Absorbed in your bag chasing, you failed to notice Plug!Toji watching you from his section. Satoru had the section packed with a plethora of strippers and bottle girls but you were all he could find himself focused on. Strippers kept trying to get his attention but he shooed him away every time as he watched you bring a bottle to a table. He saw your gorgeous smile all the way from his section. He continued to watch you and he took a generous swig from the Hennessy bottle. He doesn't flinch as the dark brown liquid raced its way bitterly down his throat. He still didn't care. His only focus was on the pretty woman with the exuberant personality he saw from across the way. You.
"Wait, I think the Toji is staring at you." One of your coworkers peeped as you were walking to the bar to prepare another drop on a table. The other one looked over and saw the big brooding man staring shamelessly in your direction. She quickly looked back to the rest of you before joining in the confirmation.
"He's definitely looking this way, but could he really be staring at y/n?" The other asked, clearly not attempting to hide her jealousy and you laughed. You only shook your head, not even bothering to look at who they were talking about because again, you were here to get your bag and not fawn over men. Money was the only thing on your mind and these men had to prove they were worthy of your attention. The three of you approach the bar before you replied.
"Girl not you sounding like a damn hater," you checked her, "we'll revisit that comment later, but either way I have no idea who that man is." You continued as you watch the bartenders finish up the last touches on the bottles you were delivering. The girl only rolled her eyes.
"Even more reason why I hope he's not looking at you. You're too new around here and you getting all the high end clients-" You looked directly at your coworker.
"You worry about the wrong damn things. Focus on ya bag and maybe you won't be so hurt when someone new comes in and takes up your clients." You snapped, not bothered — or concerned — if customers heard. This coworker in particular had been testing you since you got here and were sick of the unwarranted attitude. The witnessing coworker whistled.
"Y/N got a point. Step ya pussy up and maybe you'll party with Fushiguro one day." She said, defending you and that was all you needed to hear. You heard her fix to say something else, but then your manager popped up next to you three. A big grin was on his face
"Ladies, Yuki is going to fill in for Y/N. Toji Fushiguro just bought Y/N for the rest of the night." You raised your eyebrow and turned to face your manager. You didn't even bother to sneak a glance at your hater coworker. You knew she was fuming but that wasn't your focus. You had a smile stretched across your lips.
"How much?"
"Shit, probably enough to pay off the remainder of your loans from school. I know I could go out and buy a car with the money he just offered off tip alone." He said honestly and that was all you needed.
Plug!Toji who watched your manager fill you in from a distance. He immediately got up from the section, not wanting to share you with anyone. He descended from the stairs with suave arrogance as if he owned the place. Shit, he pretty much did one way or another with the way he ran this city. Everyone ate out of his hand whether they knew it or not. He continued his descension and that's when you finally looked in his direction. You unknowingly clenched your fist when you settled on his face, the look of an adonis but eyes of something so evil and sinister. You felt the tides change in that moment and knew your world was about to shift tremendously.
Plug!Toji stalks up on you, towering over you and your manager. He offers his free hand that wasn't holding the Hennessy bottle. His hands are cold. . .
so why was your palm so hot when he held it?
"You're y/n?" you nodded, "you ever fucked with someone who could buy you fucking the world, pretty girl?" Toji asked, quickly inspecting your empty wrist and empty ring finger. Perfect. That meant it would easier for him to snatch you up if you didn't have anyone at home waiting for you.
"Nah, but I assume you're about to change that, Toji?" Your mouth moved before you could stop yourself. He could only smirk and he bit his lip as he looked at you up and down. Your manager sensed he was no longer needed and walked himself away as he felt the wad of cash in his pocket - courtesy of Toji bribing for your time.
"Had a feeling you had a mouth on you," he brought his lips close to your ear, "glad to know I was right." A shiver skated down your spine and you felt goosebumps prickle on your arms. You brought your face back to look at him, shooting him a mischievous grin and Toji felt something adjacent to love in that moment. A desire to have you to himself had grew even more. You leaned close to him and he brought his ear back down to you so you could speak clear into it.
"I'd love to know what else you suspect about me, Toji." You challenged, voice something sensual and thick with sultry honey. He traced a thumb over your knuckle and replied back.
"Careful with me, baby. I just might snatch you up and never bring you back." Toji warned. You probably should have took some time to think about what he was saying, but you felt high off this banter alone and wanted to do anything to keep it going. So, you licked your lips, stepped close to him and placed a testy hand on his stomach and spoke.
"What if I been waiting for you to come do that, Fushiguro?" You said. You removed your lips from his ear to capture the look in his eyes. Sensual darkness passed over and he grinned sinfully, that scar lifted at the corner of his mouth. You had only just fully realized how eerie he looked with it, but for some reason you wondered what it would be like if he let you licked it. . .
"Then," he broke your thoughts, "lets go ahead and get acquainted, baby. Whatcha say?" He questioned and you nodded. He smirked again and took a final swig of the Hennessy bottle. He looked to his left to see your coworker from earlier gawking at you two. He motioned her over, excitement came across her face as she thought she was joining in on you. However, Toji placed the empty bottle in her hand, patted her cheek, and shooed her away. He focused his attention back on you before witnessing the crestfallen look on her face. You couldn't even attempt to shoot her a fake sympathetic look because you started squealing.Toji literally snatches you up and takes you out of main room and to the lounge he faithfully rents out.
Plug!Toji who had you squeezing your legs tight as he carried you to keep your cunt from fluttering. The brute exhibit of his strength had you swoon as he balanced you with one arm. He took you to his favorite lounge where drinks and pre-rolled blunts were already waiting. He took a seat on the plush couch and you slid down next to him. He stared at you all over, not bothering to hide his wandering gaze. He stared at you for a few moments before he spoke.
"You smoke?"
Plug!Toji who offers you a blunt - to which you gladly take. Smoking on the shift with this handsome man? That's a dream come true. You take a couple puffs, barely coughing and Toji is impressed as you passed it back. He takes a hit before passing it back to you.
"You be smoking, huh baby?" He asked you. You chuckled, nodding as you take another generous hit. This time you stifle a small cough and he laughed at you.
"Yeah. It's how I decompress." You admitted, coughing again and he chuckled at you once again. He rubbed your back jokingly to help you through your fit.
"Can't smoke my shit like its regular baby this shit pressure." He said, taking another hit to hold the blunt for you. You rolled your eyes, looking at him to see he scooted closer to you. You felt the heat from his body waft off his and onto yours, words dissolved from your brain as you looked at his appearance appropriately. His all black outfit with a black tee, jeans, and shoes - a simple yet sexy monochrome moment. A thick gold herringbone chain draped around his neck to provide a pop of color and you couldn't stop yourself from wondering how the weight would feel on your face while he fu-
"What you looking at, y/n?" Toji asked, smirking at you once again as he caught you staring at him in deep thought. You subconsciously licked your lips as while staring at his chain and he felt compelled to call you out on it. You snapped from your gaze, trance lifted and your eyes shifted back to his. You only smiled.
“Your chain, daddy.” You teased and he shifted at the pet name that rolled off your tongue. He didn't even try to hide his sleazy ass grin.
“What about my chain, ma?” He took a final hit of the blunt, ashed the rest in the tray. Leaning back into the couch, he stretched out his legs and patted a broad hand on his lap. You knew this signal, and usually you ignore it but with Toji? You obeyed and got up to slide into his lap. You placed an arm around his shoulders to steady yourself against his frame. His broad arms circled around you and caged you in possessively. You sunk into his hold and then you spoke.
“It's pretty.” You reached up and your fresh manicure set brushed against the herringbone. He swallowed when he felt your nails scratch against his neck and he only stared at your face in the lounge lighting. He’s allowed to see your pretty complexion in this space, gorgeous set of pump lips, and lashes extended for days. Your eyes looked from the chain to see him staring at you. You smiled and tossed your hair over your shoulder.
“Want one?” He asked you, eyes flickering to your naked neck and picturing how a matching one would look on you. He thought about adding a T charm to it so people know you were his. A smile on his face when he thought about it but it looked like he was mirroring yours because you had also smiled.
“Maybe. What I gotta do for one?” You teased and played a dangerous game consciously. You played dumb, but you knew the whispers about Toji Fushiguro. He was the top boss of the city and he did highly illegal things. Too many of the people he was affiliated with were fighting charges and RICOS. And you had sat in the most dangerous man in the city’s lap, and flirted with him as if it were nothing.
When you look back on your behavior that night, you couldn’t help but wonder if you always knew you were secretly made for this kind of life with Toji.
“Let me take you out of here and I’ll show you everything you can do for me, pretty girl.”
Plug!Toji didn't need to ask you twice. You immediately left without telling any of the girls and your manager. You texted your roommate you would be out late and shared your location with a trusted best friend and that was as much as you did.
Plug!Toji met you out front. He grabbed your hand and led you to a vehicle, opening the door for you to the backseat of a sleek, black suv. The leather interior had you wondering how much it cost as Toji slid in the backseat with you. The driver greeted Toji and he responded with grunted instructions to go home.
“Ayo you know the rules. Don’t look back here. And shit with this one,” Toji looked at you, licked his lips, and wondered how yours would taste, “if you even think about looking back here i’ll cut those eyes out.” You didn't have time to register how serious Toji’s threat sounded because he placed his rough lips against yours. You immediately shut your eyes, melting into his lips and you felt immediately brazen enough to grab onto his t-shirt to bring him closer. Toji could only smirk against your lips, seeing how you were bold and never terrified to be in close quarters with him regardless of his criminal status. He only wanted you more that night.
Plug!Toji who didn't give a fuck his driver was less than a foot away and he pulled down the raunchy work top you wore. You gasped when his calloused fingers pinched at your hardened nipple. The action earned a twitch between your thighs.
"I been wondering how pretty these tits were since i saw you and i'm not disappointed. They real aint they?" Toji said against your lips, he paused kissing you to cast a gaze down at your breast. He saw the perky bunch prickle with goosebumps as your nipples stood at the cold air and stimulation. You only moaned at his compliment before you snaked your hand that was on his shirt to the back of his head to bring him closer, aching to devour his taste of mint and hennessey again. You're stuck your tongue out lewdly as you drew him closer and he smirked sinisterly before you two kissed yet again. This time was sloppy and spit swapping with teeth bumping against one another as tongues traced one another. The taste of your strawberry gloss and tongue left Plug!Toji feeling greedy and he needed more.
Plug!Toji and you only managed to kiss on the car ride. When Toji was about to place you in his lap the driver alerted you two that you had arrived to his apartment. He grunted, pulling away from you to see your gloss smeared around your lips and pupils blown sexually. He took a thumb and rubbed the gloss off your chin as you tuck your breast back into your shirt. Toji reached into his pocket, took out a wad of wash, and threw it into the lap of the driver.
"Good job not looking. Y/N, baby come on."
Plug!Toji who wasted no time and fucked you crazy in his apartment that night. He brought you up to his apartment and was nice enough to let the door close before he had began tearing your clothes off. You can't recall who took off what, but what you do remember is the first thing he made you do was lay face down ass up on the edge of the bed. His hands caressed your ass as his tongue lapped up and down your cunt ravenously. Salvia and dripping cream dribbled down his chin and lips but he didn’t care. Your angelic wails melodic to him and each time you went an higher octave he felt his cock swell another inch.
“Sexy as fuck when you moan,” Toji complimented you, “pussy pretty and soaked too think you ready for this dick?” You were so delirious you agreed. Your cunt lusted for something inside it and you felt him tap on your ass. You got up from your position, turning around to face him as you sat on the edge. You looked up at him, his massive frame towered over you as he slowly undid his jeans, his shirt long gone but that damn gold chain still sitting grandly on his chest.
He settled onto the middle of his bed, free from his clothes and he gave you a look. You didn’t need to be told, and you crawled towards him, swift hands at the band of his boxers and you languidly pull down . . .
you gawked at his immense cock that flopped against his stomach, stiff and flushed at the tip. You attempted miserably to hide your overwhelmed countenance but Toji saw the way your eyes widened and snickered. You don't notice him laughing at you because you were still so mesmerized by how huge it was. The veins are engorged around his shaft and even though it’s so brawny and intimidating it’s so pretty.
"Never seen a dick this big before huh?" Toji teased you, a playful thumb coming to caress your cheek as you continued to stare at his cock. You shook your head, just astonished. His enticing mauve shaft with a pink tip had you licking your lips at his color. The tip bubbled with precum and you leaned forward and kitten licked his slit. Toji hissed, but then grumbled as you took his tip in your mouth. He moved his hand to your hair and held it back, his brawny fingers fisting it into a ponytail. His thighs jerked when you kept trying to take as much as him as you could. What you couldn’t take you caressed with two delicate hands.
"Y/N." Toji hissed your name again and gripped tightly onto your hair. You answered with obscene noises coming from your throat and mouth as you performed the best oral of your life. You were so determined as you were determined to claim him with your mouth. Toji noticed your stubborn nature and one of your hands snuck away to fondle at his balls. He cursed and bucked his hips up in your mouth.
His tip bullied its way down your throat and it caused you to gag, but you took it obediently. He carnally bucked his hips into your awaiting throat, more obscene noises tumbled before you pulled your mouth off of him to breathe. You gasped as spit and a little bit of precum slid lewdly down your chin from the excess on your lips. You only smiled, giggled, and then continued to massage his balls with your hands.
"Dick so fucking big, Ji." You said, fucked out just from sucking his cock and Toji could only smirk. He saw that look in your eye and could not believe you were drunk off sucking his cock alone. He almost replied but then you tucked him back into your mouth. Toji groaned as he watched you hungrily slide his dick past where you stopped last time, deep throating him.
"Fuck— mouth so fucking good let me fuck that throat again." Toji said desperately. You barely gave his thigh a gentle caress as a go before he bucked inside your mouth again. You released a sound that was a mix of a whine and a gag and Toji felt his dick jump in your mouth. He bit his lip, relishing in the feeling of your wet and hot mouth and pictured what your cunt felt like. He casted a gaze down at your legs to see you grinding your poor thighs together. He smirked.
"Rubbing your thighs while sucking my dick is crazy. Get cho ass up here and fucking ride it."
You pulled your mouth off his cock, lungs gasping for air as you let oxygen fill them once more. You got up to your knees, quickly placing a few fingers at your entrance to feel the slickness. You're beyond drenched and your glossy fingers were indisputable proof. Toji snatched your hand as you straddled his waist and stuck your fingers in his mouth. Your taste danced on his taste buds and he sighed with pleasure.
"How I taste, daddy?" You inquired, finding your voice now because when he ate you out earlier words were scarce.
"Fucking delicious now sit on this dick."
Plug!Toji had a feeling he was going to fall damn near in love with you the moment you deepthroat his cock, but the way you rode him with something serious he felt in heaven. His arms were crossed behind his head as he enjoyed the way you slapped your hips against his pelvis erotically. His groomed hairs sticky and soaked with your nectar. You huffed, tits bouncing as you ignored the burn that plagued your inner thighs.
"To-ji!" You moaned, continuing to bounce up and down on his cock. You strived to ignore the fact that his girth was literally splitting you in half. You could feel him in the depths of your soul each time you managed to bottom him out completely. Your cunt quivered each time and you panted out pathetic gasps between moans. Toji only continued to smirk at you, drinking in and loving the way you moaned his name. Why was everything about you so perfect?
"You're so fucking sexy taking my cock like a pro, mama." Toji grinned and the scar at the corner of his mouth lifted. He decided he can't take not feeling you against his skin anymore and removed a hand from behind him, bringing it to your waist to steady your body. You mewled when he touched you, not realizing you missed his touch until he placed his hand on your hip. You take one of your hands that was at your breast and move it to hold onto Toji's hand.
"Cock so fucking big." You sighed as you continued to feel his tip deep in your cervix. His cock pulsed inside you this time, twitching when your tepid walls embraced him. Your cunt throbbed, hugging him tightly to beg for his seed. Toji groaned at the feeling, moving the hand from your hip to your ass. He caressed the fat before spanking it ruthlessly. You shout and threw your head back as the sting echoes throughout the surface.
"Biggest cock you ever fucking had, huh mama?" Toji asked of you. He witnessed your face contort in pleasure as you nodded shamelessly.
"MMmmm, yes Ji." You're drunk off the thickness, feeling your cunt tightening up and that thread deep in your belly become taut. You felt it coming and you were biting your lip to brace yourself for the messy spout about to erupt from between your legs.
"You a squirter, y/n?" Toji already had an inkling what was fixing to take place. You nodded, hurling your hips down faster as you felt it coming promptly. The feeling knocked into you when Toji's cruel thumb traced circles on your nub. You wailed, screeching as your cunt sprayed all over Toji, soaking his pelvis and hairs once more.
"Toji!" You panted while you rutted your hips greedily to let the last few spurts of squirt leave your cunt. He grunted and sat up before throwing you off of him and to the side on the bed. You weren't given a chance to register anything before his raven locks dove between your legs.
Plug!Toji has one of your legs thrown over his shoulder as his tongue assaulted your folds the second time tonight. His tongue reveled in every last drop as it oozed out of you. Arousal coated his lips and he doesn't mind. He licked his lips before he suckikg at your trembling hole. You whimpered, wanting to run away because of how good his hot muscle felt against you. Toji only gripped your thighs roughly, surely to leave violet reminders that following morning.
"Fuck you think you doing running from me, y/n?" He swore, slapping your thigh and you whimpered.
"Sorry, Toji—" You attempted to apologize but he cut you off.
"Nah, don't "Toji" me now wheres all that daddy shit from earlier huh?" He taunted you, bringing a finger to your awaiting hole and you sighed at the intrusion. You completely forgot he asked you a question when he sunk a second finger inside. A loud squelch sounded out and your eyes rolled back and you moaned. He slapped at your thigh again.
"Fucking answer me, y/n."
"I'm sorry, daddy. Please—” You tried to speak but his fingers curling deep in that one spot left you winded..
"Please what, pretty girl?" He teased, fucking your hole with his fingers and he earned a nasty squelch. His tongue circled your clit and you cry out. Toji’s fat tongue was so mean and overpowering your poor little clit as he fucked it. He earned another gush to coat his fingers and on the sheets.
"Want that dick, daddy." You finished your thought finally. Your pussy finished its second round of squirting and Toji licked at your clit one last time. He traveled down and sucked the arousal from around your folds before he came back up to you. He grabbed onto your face and you opened your eyes, seeing him stare down at you with that precarious darkness in his eyes.
"Open, and I just might give it to you." He said and you obeyed without question. Mouth open, you stuck your tongue out as he gathered the spit and arousal left in his mouth. The liquid is on your tongue and before you can swallow it Toji's mouth chased after you. You moaned in the kiss as your tongues swirled together in a salacious dance. You were so distracted by the kiss you fail to notice he was prepping to slide in until he eased in you.
"Toji—fuck—feels ssssogood!" You slurred underneath the brute man as he fucked you into his mattress. You couldn't keep up, pathetic gasps and whimpers fell from your lips each time he pistoned into you. He only smirked, drunk off the sounds that left your lips. He knew you ain't ever had dick like this before.
"Could say the same about you baby," he looked down at you, his chain bumped into your nose but you don't care, you're in heaven at the feeling, "pussy so pretty, leaky, and creamy can't have no one else fucking my shit." He spoke about you filthily but you don't care — again. You only get enraptured off his words and nodded frantically.
"It's all yours, daddy," you're drunk off his cock as it continued to send you in a lustful spiral, "i promise." You approached your orgasm and threw your legs around his waist to pull him closer. Toji only grunted and continued to fuck deeper into you as you squeezed him tighter.
"All mine huh," you nodded as your eyebrows scrunched up, face contorting into a euphoric expression once more, "that's what i like to fucking hear." He fucked into you faster, his thumb coming to rub on your clit again and you cried. You threw your head back, screaming as you felt your body succumbing to the orgasm.
"To—ji!" You're choking, pussy tight and leaky on Toji's thick cock as you came. You creamed, sucking him in and gushing hard around him. Toji only kept fucking you through your orgasm, his cold chain continuing to dust lightly against your face. You became a whimpering mess underneath him, unable to comprehend anything as overstimulation took over.
"Fucking tight pussy tryna get me to cum in it the first night," Toji chuckles, "shit should I, baby?" You nod your head so fast you should have felt shame for it.
"Want it all, Ji." You tell him and Toji didn't need to be told twice.
You're cumming again when he finally spills himself inside. He grunted and groaned, the sounds melodic to your ears and your cunt twitched around him more. He felt it, continuing to milk his cock with your silky walls and coming down from his high. He looked down at you and saw the roots had turned curly and a light smirk came to his face. A moment passed when you opened your eyes and looked up at him.
You mewled, coming back to Earth and you studied the man who lingered above still. His chain is still swinging against your face but you don't flinch. Dark eyes peered down and you hold his stare for a moment. The scar caught your attention, and the fingers that were on his back found themselves sliding forward to trace along the abrasion.
Plug!Toji tried to ignore the electricity he felt when your manicured finger traced along his skin. The moment felt slightly tender as he held a gaze with you. Something short of vulnerability flashed briefly until he snapped out of it. He hooked a strong arm around your waist and pulled you up from laying on your back and into his lap.
Plug!Toji who sparked a blunt before speaking,
"Once you with me there's no backing out." A subtle warning that once you were tangled with him and his lifestyle that was it. There would be no take backs. You only held his stare and took the blunt from him. You spoke.
"Long as you don't play me for no goofy bitch we good." A subtle warning from your side and you took a hit from the blunt. Toji could only smile sinisterly at your attitude.
"Yes ma'am." He chuckled darkly, taking the blunt back from you before he thinks to himself.
yeah, she'll fit right in.
flash forward a few years later and your life has changed drastically.
You're no longer a bottle girl. Why would you need a job when you had Plug!Toji to take care of you and spoil you to death?
The same went with your apartment. Why did you need to continue to pay expensive ass rent with a mediocre roommate when you had Plug!Toji who was ready to move you into his two floor loft after that first night of fucking?
And last but not least? You're the queen of the city.
Just as violent as Plug!Toji, you always get your way and opposition was always dealt with quickly and efficiently. If one didn't like you, you just prayed for their sake you never met them. Probability very high that the day you two crossed paths would be their last.
Plug!Toji has you as his iced out baby girl who he spoils. He always gets you what you want whenever you ask and men who stared at you a second too long always got punched out by him. Everyone wanted to know who was this one that was always next to Fushiguro. They knew you were someone special to him because Toji never showed up with the same woman more than once, never had a protective hand on their backs at times...
but it was the gold herringbone chain with a "T" brandished clear as day that marked you. Everyone knew it Fushiguro's way of marking you as his.
And you can't help but relish in this new found life of yours. The luxury, opulence, comfort, and excitement it offered to you was unimaginable. Soon after that first night with Plug!Toji, he took care of you instantly. He settled your loans and paid your roommate off to let you break the lease to move into his apartment a month later.
"I need you close to me this shit dangerous. Here, buy you that Saint Laurent bag you been eyein' or somethin just stop that fuckin poutin'.'" Plug!Toji argued, tossing his credit card in your lap on the drive back to his apartment with all your essential stuff in the rear area.
And you did in fact stop pouting and purchased the Saint Laurent purse you had been fawning over. This wasn't the first time Toji asked you to do something and rewarded you when you gave in. As mentioned earlier, you quit your job a couple weeks after meeting him because one time he wanted to see you but you had a shift . . .
"Mane, fucking quit that place, y/n. I take care of you now." You could hear the annoyance in Plug!Toji’s voice as you spoke over the phone, but you were feeling reluctant to agree. Relying completely on him after what you had in your account was gone? You felt uneasy and Toji could sense it. You heard him shuffling on the other end.
"Y/N." He said your name that day and he sounded like he was in a building.
"Yeah, I don't know To-" You started to tell him your thoughts until you heard knocking at your door. You went to answer it, seeing on the other side is none other than Toji. You can't help but roll your eyes as you two hang up. You take in his sexy all black appearance with that signature thick gold herringbone.
Plug!Toji showed up with a present. You two went to your room, you huffed and puffed about how he was going to make you late for work but he ignored you. Toji occupied himself with the jiggle of your ass as you lightly stomped into your room. You had went to the side of the bed, placing the bag there before opening the gift. Toji stood behind you and watched you remove the tissue. You saw the black box, raising your eyebrow as you feel his mischievous hands on your waist and slowly slide up your body. He hands were at your neck when you finally began opening the box.
Plug!Toji sported that signature devilish smirk, moving your hair from your neck as you revealed the gift. You gasped so loud that day.
The gift: a thick gold herringbone necklace similar to Toji's, however yours brandished a "T" in the center. You gasped at how pretty it was but also the slight meaning behind it.
"Toji.." You were still in awe as he began kissing on your neck, moving his hands back down to your waist. He naughtily licks a stripe along your pulse, causing your knees to buckle. He held you up before bringing his lips to your ear.
"Quit that fucking place, y/n."
You didn't even hesitate and immediately agreed that you would.
And moments later, you were riding him with nothing on but that pretty gold herringbone chain.
bonus scene:
present time: you lay pretty in a bathtub, rose and cinnamon filling the air. The ambience relaxing and romantic with your plenty bubbles and aromatic candles lit. Your muscles were slowly releasing the tension from a long day of shopping. A way to decompress after a stressful week of being the fiancé of the notorious Plug!Toji.
Plug!Toji who finds you sitting beautiful. Your eyes are opening, sensing he arrived and your lips shift into a sensual smirk. All day you missed your man and seeing him waltz through the door all tall and delicious you were ready to pounce. Your eyes sank seductively and Toji watches that look pass over you. He sits on the side of the tub as you speak.
"I missed you today, daddy." You speak.
"Missed you too baby," his eyes look you over before speaking, "come out that tub we both know you aint tryna bathe right now." A cocky smirk on his lips and you can only chuckle. However, you get up, standing up from the water and letting the suds and bubbles run with the water down your enticing frame. Toji licks his lips, watching the bubbles fall from your tits, stomach, hips, and between your thighs. He watches intensely as you step out, water lands on the floor but the two of you didn't care as you stand before him. You grab the towel from the sink and hand it to Toji. He leans down and grabs your wet calf, bringing your foot onto his knee as he begins drying your leg off.
You look at his lap, seeing his dick laying against his leg through the tight slacks he was wearing. You bring your foot up, sliding it until your toes were pressing into the print.
"You hard already, Toji" You tease him, he only looks at you sinisterly, knowing he was about to have fun with you tonight.
"Don't play these games y/n you know I aint the mufucka for that." He warns.
"What games, daddy?" You press your toes harder and before you can register the mean look he gave you he swiftly pulls you into his lap. The towel is gone and you're squealing, giggling even because you know you're about to get put in your place.
"Oh we actin' brand new? That's cool." He strikes your ass, earning a lament of shock.
"Get your fucking ass on the bed so i can break this fucking pussy so you don't fucking forget shit again."
riding logan early in the morning had to be your favorite thing.
it would sometimes happen more frequently than you’d think, fucking each other back to sleep; even though you did most of the work.
his morning wood combined with your morning dew had you dripping more than usual.
he would wake up, feeling strained; cock pressing into your ass as he spooned you, and you’d wake up a few seconds later—ready to get on top.
he loved when you’d get on top, looking so blissfully fucked out, but he loved it even more when you turned around on him—your plump ass jiggling in his face.
his beater that you’d wear, would rise up each time you bounced. the mix of your fluids that would build up, coat around his shaft and made a sexy squelching noise each time you came down on him; had him going crazy.
logan loved it especially when you’d turn your head slightly, catching his eyes; with your face contorted in pleasure. and when he noticed a tear falling out of your eyes, it made him cling to the bedsheets. not because you were in pain or anything, but because it was feeling wayyyy to good for you.
“sh-shit, baby. you’re gonna make me cum~” you’d breathed out—to fucked out to say anything else.
“go ahead, doll. cum for me~” he’d bring his hips up and jackhammer the hell out of you—kissing your squishy cervix with each thrust. and then you let go, with him right behind you—milky white ropes of mixing with yours.
you’d pull off of him and lie right down, falling asleep next to each other; as his cum spills out of you.
you loved riding logan. but, you also loved being creampied right before bed.
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