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“You just stay still Lebleb…it’s my time in the cockpit now,” you giggle at your bad joke as you clumsily climb on top of him.

“God, Caleb, I’m so–horny right now,” you complain under your breath, realizing you’ll have to do all the work yourself. “I can’t even use your Evol for help, so unfair. Making me do all the work myse–hold on!”

You climb off again, stumbling out of bed and nearly tripping over his thick thigh. “Shit, fuck that was close. Ok, still sleeping i guess, damn, he’s really sleeping like a rock.”

You grab your phone, deciding you want a little souvenir. You prop it up on the bedside table, angled just right for it to capture his lower body and you above him. “Oh, this is good!! Really good!!” you chuckle, hitting record.

You already know you’ll use this to tease him later, you have no intention of sending it. Caleb lets out a quiet huff, shifting slightly. “How dare you have nightmares while I’m about to fuck you? Rude,” you climb back on top of him.

You sit upright, guiding his hard cock between your slit, slowly grinding against him. At first, it’s a shallow roll of your hips, testing the pressure, the angle without losing balance.

You shift slightly, adjusting until it hits just right, until your movements fasten and send a sharper spark through you, your fingers curl into the sheets beside him as you start to find a rhythm.

Caleb loves when you use him like this. When you chase your own pleasure. He especially loves watching you like this…

You move carefully, making sure the angle is just right for his cock to rub your clit, holding back your moans so you don’t wake him and ruin your fun.

“Fuuuck… Caleeeeb,” you whisper under your breath. It’s addictive; the way you can use him like this, the way his body responds so easily and quickly.

You lean forward, pressing kisses all over his face, leaving behind soft lipstick marks everywhere. You grab your phone, flipping the camera to his face, cupping his marked cheeks as you tilt his head side to side.

“Yeah… that’s right. You’re mine,” you whisper hungrily, your voice possessive. “You hear that? You belong to me.”

"Having fun?” You freeze.

Your phone immediately slips from your hand, landing on his chest.

Caleb is awake.

You laughed, slipping under her big umbrella and heading towards the porch. "Not everyone who writes horror is a freak," you murmured, wiping your muddy shoes on the welcome mat, which seemed as old as the house itself. Cute.

"No, but everyone who moves to the place in the middle of the forest and without any signal..." She looked at her phone. "...only to move into a haunted house, certainly is."

"It’s not haunted!" You giggled, opening the white, wooden door. "Oh!"

The inside was as beautiful as you expected. Warmth spilled over the old desks and dark walls, giving the interior an antique soul. The Persian-style carpet under your feet looked as if freshly washed, drawing you towards the centre of the house. Long, dark stairs led to the second floor, while two corridors welcomed you further inside.

Shoko followed you into the kitchen – old and slightly rusty, with rain tapping against the large windows. You hurried to explore other rooms – the living room, a small basement that Shoko refused to enter, and a cosy office with beautiful mosaic windows overlooking the garden. Eventually, your feet carried you upstairs.

The big bedroom, with a baldachin bed and a wide windowsill, seemed an ideal spot for reading in the evening. Shoko grimaced at the old, flowery tapestry covering the walls and the crimson carpet on the floor. 

"Has no one redecorated this house since the nineteenth century?" she murmured, and then her eyes fell on the bedside table. "Oh my gosh, is that a paraffin lamp? Are you kidding me?"

Your eyes fell on the little, yellow lamp and twinkled like little stars. It was indeed a paraffin lamp, and you would surely check whether it was still working.

"Oh, come on, it has a soul!" You tapped your finger against a crying window before turning back to sighing Shoko. "I love it. Just imagine how beautiful it’ll be when the garden blooms again."

Your friend walked to your side, looking out the window. The sky was torn apart over the withered trees and flowers, but she had to admit it indeed had potential. With just a bit of care and patience, the whole place could be turned into a fine summer house, with her and Utahime coming over for the weekends.

"I saw a lake nearby. I guess… we could have a BBQ or something," she muttered, and you bounced on your feet with a squeak. 

Your arms wrapped around her shoulders, and cheek nuzzled against hers. "I told you! I’ll make sure you love this place. And since Utahime also likes gardening, just bring her over at the weekend."

The moving company brought all your things inside, and when you went downstairs, heavy boxes loomed like wicked trees over the living room. The old crimson sofa seemed a bit dusty, so you both sat on a carpet and began to unpack slowly. 

Wind and rain hit the windows, letting the faint tap-tap-tap fill the house. After an hour, you ordered a pizza and stuffed yourself, enjoying the dark, rainy day from the porch. The air smelt earthy, tickling your skin with a gentle chill. A light jumper warmed your goose-bumped arms, and you laughed, thinking how delirious the weather was. 

"So does it look like the place to give you an idea for another story?" Shoko asked, taking another slice. 

A low hum slipped past your lips as the crispness wrapped around your nostrils. "I can already sense another best-selling murder in a little, eerie town. Or a haunted house, maybe?"

She giggled, nodding slowly. "A haunted house would work," she said, her eyes looking up the long stairs to the attic. "I guess you can ask neighbours about any freaky accidents. Aren’t they like a hundred years old?"

"I don’t know, the listing only mentioned that they’re quiet."

"So maybe they’re dead."

A low tsk escaped your lips, and Shoko chuckled. "I’m just joking. But if they really have been living that long, you should ask them some questions." She wrapped a loose jumper around her arms a bit tighter as a chill wind smooched her cheeks. "This place is so fucking old I wouldn’t be surprised if someone had been murdered here."

A minute of comfortable silence stretched between you before Shoko turned your way, a slight frown on her forehead. "I’m serious. This place was crazy cheap, so what if someone died here? In, you know, the most wicked and horrible way."

Shivers washed over your spine at the sheer thought of someone dying in the same living room where you had just unpacked your things. But at the same time, something exciting bubbled in your belly. Something telling you that the writer’s block that had haunted you for the past few months would finally dissolve into thin air.

That, after all, was the whole point of moving hours away from your previous town. Leave family and friends behind, only to get yourself cosy somewhere, nowhere, in the middle of a forest. In a small, unknown town, living in a centuries-old Victorian house that kept the secrets of the most unknown and dreadful kind.

It’s been a while since you wrote something good. Winning the global charts, an immediate bestseller-type of good.

The past few months had truly been nothing but hellish, with a nasty break-up topping it all. You still tried to kick Sukuna’s body, hunched over some blonde slut, on your shared sofa in your shared apartment out of your mind. His pathetic attempts to coax you up, because he’s been a bit too lonely, simply overly drunk, and he absolutely didn’t mean it. 

Three years of relationship ended just like that and a week later, with all the money saved on the previous two bestsellers, you bought this house. 

Old and very pinkish, waiting for its owner for a very long time. You didn’t ask much about why. Didn’t ask whether someone had died here or if it was haunted. At that point in your life, it simply didn’t matter. The only thing you were thinking about was how to get away from Sukuna’s begging to bring you back and cut yourself off from your editor’s constant prying about the newest text.

Shoko glanced at your furrowed forehead and sighed. "Here," she said, fiddling with her jeans’ pocket and placing something on the table. "I found it in the drawer of your night table. Maybe you could start by asking about them?"

You looked at the piece of paper before noticing it was, in fact, a picture. Old and a bit crumpled, it showed two young men. The first, closer to the camera, had a loose strand of black hair brushing his cheek. Eyes slightly lidded, looking down at his hands. He looked rather handsome, with a sharp jaw and a straight nose, no more than in his late twenties. 

The other man behind him seemed almost ghastly. With white hair and crystal eyes, he looked straight into the camera. Two raised fingers covered his lips, but with only such a bit of detail, you noticed that the beauty of his face was indeed unmatched.

You flipped the photo to see if it had a description. There was something, a few letters, but someone blanked them out with a black marker.

"Previous owners?" You asked, squinting eyes and trying to read what was written under the heavy marker. Unfortunately, to no avail. 

Shoko shrugged, chewing another slice of pizza. "A bit young for the owners, no?" You shot her a look, and she chuckled. "Right, sorry. They do look our age. But I don’t think they make cameras like that anymore. It must’ve been taken a long time ago."

Your brows suddenly furrowed, as if you had just remembered something. "You said you found it in the bedside table?" Shoko nodded. "I checked it before, but there was nothing inside."

She stopped chewing, chestnut eyes suddenly bulging. If the plate wasn’t already on her thighs, she would drop a slice of pizza, sauce-side down, dirtying her jeans. 

"Don’t joke," she murmured, seeing the wicked smile turning your lips. "Oh my god, stop! I really think there’s something wrong with this house!"

But the thing was – you did not, in fact, joke. After coming into the bedroom and opening all the furniture with handles, you truly didn’t see this photo. It may have slipped to the bottom of the drawer or stuck to one of its sides. You may also have missed one of the three drawers the table had, and indeed didn’t notice it.

Your thumb brushed the old photo. And only then did you notice a yellow, slightly hazy date in the corner. 

1966.

Shoko looked at the point your thumb just brushed over and pretended the goosebumps washed over her spine. 

"Sixty years ago," she muttered, staring at it with wide eyes. "If your neighbours are that old, surely they will know something about them."

Two hours later, after Shoko helped you unpack most of your belongings and returned to your city – though not before repeatedly assuring you, just call me if anything happens; I’ll get here as fast as I can – you finally found yourself in front of a neighbour's door.

The short stairs led to the ground floor, and you noticed they lived just beneath your kitchen. Thick wooden doors featured a small window in the centre, mostly covered by a curtain. You knocked once, twice, and before deciding to ring the doorbell, you thankfully looked down at the old mat with a don’t ring the doorbell or whistle sign.

"So what am I supposed to do?" You wondered, trying to peek through the blinds.

The inside looked a bit empty, dark, as if no life had graced it for a long, long time. But with a squint of your eyes, you noticed a gentle flicker of the lamp, shining somewhere deep within the house. 

"Hello?" You knocked again. "I’m your new neighbour! Just wanted to drop by and say hi!"

But the long silence that stretched between you and the wooden door was broken only by the soft pattering of rain. 

And so, with a photo in the back pocket of your jeans and gaze lowered, you turned away and walked up the stairs.

Not a second later, someone fiddled with the handle. You heard a whisper, and the door opened with a loud bang. "Oh, I’m sorry, sweetie. Next time, try to knock a bit louder!"

You looked over your shoulder and saw a tall, old woman. With a strange waist-to-breast ratio, you wondered how her back handled the weight of such size. Blond hair, neatly brushed into a bob, and blue eyeshadow smeared on her eyelids.

You tried to suppress a giggle at the pink fur she wore, which made her look more like an old dancer than a senior lady.

"Oh, hello. I’m sorry to bother you, but I just moved in and wanted to say—"

"Of course, sweetie, come in, come in," she turned back to look at someone. "Darling, please boil the water for tea! We have a guest."

And so you slipped inside the dark house, only then noticing that the long corridor stretched further into the place. The woman led you right to the velvet curtain covering the rest of the home, and as she lifted it, a large, dimly lit living room spread before you. 

With multiple flickering candles scattered all over the place – decorating the chimney, shelves, and a low wooden table set right out from the sofa. Red cushions swallowed you whole as you plumped down. 

Only then did you notice at least five dogs running around the room. Barking, sniffing your slightly wet shoes, jumping on the sofa and trying to lick your cheek. You pushed them away with a low giggle before a blond woman took them all down to the old carpet and joined you on the couch.

"Call me Miss Forcible, sweetie," she said, looking towards the chimney. At the large picture showing two slim women dressed in tight gymnastic suits. "For I was unmatched for a whole life!"

A short gasp slipped past your lips as you looked closer. Both women looked as if they were in their late twenties, with beaming smiles and circus-like decorations stretching behind them. A waterfall of colours, ribbons and lights, and you could almost smell the familiar scent of burnt popcorn and the cheesy melody that mingled with children’s laughter. 

You recognised the tall lady with long, blond hair, but the other one, with an arm wrapped around her waist…

"And me, Miss Pink!" A slightly pitched voice filled the dimmed living room, turning your head towards a room that seemed to be a kitchen. 

A short, older woman walked out, carrying three cups of tea. A bit curvier than her friend, much, much smaller, she reminded you of an apple. Pink hair curled under her eyes, making her plump face look even plumper.  

Three cups of tea were set on the low table, while Miss Pink slouched in the soft chair next to the couch. Dressed in a green bathrobe braided with plastic feathers. Her rosy face smooched with a round, crimson blush, reminding you of those vintage china dolls with cheeks plump like peaches and a round bloom coating their pale skin.

"Oh, our new neighbour?" She asked, looking at her friend. 

Miss Forcible nodded, placing a cup in front of you. "Yes, darling, this is…"

You introduced yourself with a giggle, feeling a slightly intimate manner stretch between the two women.

"Such a beautiful name!" Miss Pink gasped, pushing a plate of buttery cookies towards you. "And what a beautiful owner!"

A shy thank you slipped past your lips as you bit into a cookie. Buttery creaminess spilled over your tongue, with a few sugary droplets moving under your teeth. 

Miss Forcible nodded and picked up her cup of tea. "So why here, sweetie? Isn’t Pink Palace a bit too… vintage for a young bird like you?"

You swallowed the cookie and took a sip of black, bitter tea. Miss Pink watched you with a gentle smile, like a sweet, caressing auntie. 

"I think the house is beautiful. And I just needed a little break from the city’s rush," you half-lied, not mentioning the break-up. "Oh, I’m also a horror writer and thought a Victorian house would be a perfect place to get a few fresh ideas."

A few dogs sat patiently by your legs, waiting for a few crumbs to drop onto the carpet. Something sweet lingered in the air, and the room was much warmer than your house. More cosy, homey, so you let yourself sink deeper into the couch.

"This house is full of ghastly stories!" Miss Pink gasped. "And if you visit a nearby town, I’m sure you’ll find some spooky tales. I think you can still visit the place where they burned witches," she giggled, and you followed. A minute later, a thought clouded her forehead, and thin, pale eyebrows lifted. "Actually, why won’t you ask the boys? They know everything about that stuff."

Your head tilted, and your hand froze over the second cookie. Miss Pink nodded, as if to herself, and Miss Forcible sighed. 

"Darling, they moved out a long time ago," she said, adding a sugar cube to her tea. The third one already. "She’s too young to know them."

Miss Pink hummed under her breath, chubby fingers fiddling with a bathrobe. "Ah, right, indeed. I seem to forget how much time has passed," she muttered, taking a sip of tea. "I wonder how they’re doing."

Now your ears pricked up and eyes shone with curiosity. It was a pity you didn’t have a notebook to write down this brief chit-chat, but your brain was already working at full speed to memorise every detail. 

"Who knows?" Miss Forcible waved her hand. "Moved out, went missing… They just disappeared one day. It was for the best; enough problems had been caused by their presence."

And then, you remembered. The thing you came here for. 

The picture felt like a burn on your skin, as if reminding you of a hidden mystery within its thin, paper-like form. You pulled it from your back pocket and placed it on the low table. A few candles cast a warm glow over the old photo, making it shimmer faintly.

"Are you talking about these two?"

Miss Pink and Forcible leaned in, squinting at the photo. One of the dogs leapt onto the sofa, nuzzling its furry head against your shoulder and waiting to be stroked. You scratched it with a giggle, as it bounced in place. Miss Pink gasped, pointing at the men with her long nail. 

"Darling, we made this photo!" She exclaimed, glancing up at Miss Forcible. 

"Mhm," the other woman hummed, still squinting her blue eyes. "I remember. On the day you broke your ankle."

"And they needed to take me all the way to the town’s hospital," Miss Pink said, turning your way. "We were fifteen then, just before a local acrobatic competition."

Your head tilted as a few questions began to bubble beneath your chest. "So it was…"

"Sixty years ago," Miss Forcible sighed, setting down her cup of tea. "They lived here for four years before their sudden disappearance."

Candles on the table flickered, though the air stayed still and sweet. Sugary, with a buttery scent clinging to your clothes. But you didn’t mind, taking another cookie from the plate. 

"Can you tell me a bit more about them?" You asked, swallowing the sweetness with warm tea.

But Miss Forcible only frowned, her gaze fixed on the low table. Blonde locks were neatly tucked behind her ears, and blue eyeshadow smudged across the eyelids and along the waterline. She looked young for a seventy-five-year-old, though wrinkles did indeed bend and curve across her slim face. 

"They were real gentlemen…"

"Only because they were nice to us doesn't mean they may be called gentlemen, darling."

Miss Pink pouted, shaking her head. "Well, they were quite nice indeed. And funny, especially this one," she said, her finger pointing at the white-haired man. "Although I don't seem to remember his name. He always gave me sweets and dolls," she added, this time her wrinkled finger moving to the black-haired man. "Made by him. Oh, and he always spent all day in the garden! It was so beautiful, I tell you, sweetie. I lived in the attic apartment back then, and we always had so much fun!"

A smile tugged at your lips as the image of such a vast space in full bloom suddenly popped into your mind. If only the rain stopped for a moment, you could go and take care of it. Ignore the book you haven't even started yet and your phone, which glimmered with a dickhead nickname at least five times a day.

"But the townspeople never liked them," Miss Forcible added, pulling a heavy sigh from her darling. "Outcasts, you may say."

"Why?" You asked, taking a sip of still-warm tea. 

It pooled in your stomach, rising as a fluttering, tender feeling.

But it seemed your question carried a sort of mouth-shutting spell. Both women looked at each other, a sense of something obscure clouding their foreheads in the same manner. A thought, a memory, long forgotten in the corners of their minds, was pulled back with a single question of yours. 

And, from their expressions, the memory seemed to be of no pleasant sort. But rather a nightmare that plagued their wrinkled heads, with gazes crossing and reddened lips sighing lowly. 

A long minute stretched between you, with warm candles flickering over a single buttery cookie left on the plate, and an old clock ticking tick-tock tick-tock, filling the room with its steady tune. 

Then, suddenly, Miss Pink’s eyes glimmered, and a life turned to her flushed cheeks once again. Wrinkled hand petted one of the dogs as she giggled under her nose and glanced at the blonde woman. 

"Darling, why won’t you invite the boys over? I haven’t seen them in a long time."

꩜ ꩜ ꩜

Five minutes later, you were standing under the long stairs leading to another neighbour. 

The words all of them are old and crazy said by your real estate agent, still lingered in your mind, and thus you simply deduced that Miss Pink simply had a sort of dementia. 

Miss Forcible, on the other hand, seemed to know something. Remember, of the two men, whose picture once again burned through the back pocket of your jeans. 

After finishing the tea, you decided to excuse yourself, as it seemed your questions were only making one, if not both, of the elderly women uncomfortable. Although it was a pity, as they truly seemed to be the only ones who could tell you as much about those two young men. 

The rain was pitter-pattering on your yellow coat draped over the loose jumper. A low huff slipped past your lips, seeing the sky still showing no trace of the warmth you longed for. Although the weather indeed looked rather perfect for indulging yourself in a story. 

Or at least its outline. 

Or maybe simply opening the draft.

You walked up the stairs, its old, rusty metal chattering under your steps. 

You knew nothing of the other neighbour, aside from the fact that he used to work in a circus. A tall man with a certain accent, as Miss Forcible said. Rather weird, smelling of radish and with little footprints following him all around. 

So when you knocked on the white door, you expected to hear another wave of barks. Or maybe a low meow, slipping from the endless darkness spilling behind the small window. 

This time, you didn’t have to wait long, as the door opened with a creak. If not for your rather quick reflexes, the man, at least two metres tall, would surely have hit your nose. 

"Excuse me?" You gasped, quickly jumping back. 

Your eyes followed up, and up, through the tight shirt hugging his torso, with a few stains on its white material. Through the long arms and wide chest, till fixing on a thick moustache and eyes squinted like a cat. Sandy irises looking up and down your drenched body, with a yellow hood of a raincoat protecting your head.

"Excuse you indeed, young lady," his voice was low and lined with a sort of bitterness. "Who are you, if I may ask?"

You took another step back, feeling a strong smell of radish emanating from his body. So the weird ladies were saying the truth.

"I’m your new neighbour," you pointed downstairs at the porch. "Just wanted to say hi, and–"

"Hello," he said and a second later, the door closed. 

Simply, just like that, leaving your mouth open and fingers digging into the wet palms. The darkness spilt behind the little glass window, with a white curtain covering the inside of his attic apartment. 

It’s not like you desperately wanted to come in, but… well. You did want that. 

To see the inside of his house, ask about the previous owners from sixty years ago. Although considering the timeline, there was a chance he wouldn’t even know them. And a man looked a bit younger, too, of no more than sixty years.

With a low, irritated sigh and dickhead slipping past your lips, you started walking downstairs.

Stairs felt slippery under your shoes, rain hit your cheeks, and the photo weighed almost a ton. Filling the inside of your pocket like little stones, till you felt each scratch and crumple of the paper. 

The hood obscured your vision, forcing you to focus on the metal stairs. Crystal droplets hit your ears, also making you rather deaf to anything else around you.

And thus you didn’t hear, didn’t feel the footsteps following you, until a heavy hand landed on your shoulder. 

You turned with a shock, twisting your face and letting a muffled gasp escape throat. 

The man who closed the door in front of your nose stood mere millimetres from you. With face eerily close to yours, finger pressed to lips and gaze fixed somewhere. Over your shoulder, down the stairs, towards the porch and the crying windows. 

"What–"

"My mice say, young lady cannot open the door," he whispered, still looking anywhere but into your eyes.

As if whatever he said was of the utmost secret.

Your forehead furrowed, and nose squirmed, feeling the strong smell.

"The door? What door?" You asked in an equally whispering tone. 

He, finally, looked at your face. A low hum filled his throat and moustache moved with a parting of his lips. 

"The small door. Don’t open them."

You didn’t check each corner of the house yet, but did not see any sort of the small door he was talking about.

Old and crazy, you remembered the agent’s enigmatic voice.

But the man… did not look crazy at all. Rather, something flickered behind his gaze, as if the little door he talked about was the centre of his recurring nightmares. The way his fearful gaze slipped between you and the porch of your house quickly spiked your interest.

And it also sent a shiver down your spine as he once again pressed a finger to his lips. 

"Don’t talk," bulging eyes quickly glanced to one of the big windows. "They hear everything."

"They?"

He nodded before finally pulling away. His tall, lean body straightened, with a few joints popping here and there. Only then did you notice he was wearing sports shorts. A little too tight, a bit too short.  

A face, twisted in fear just a few minutes before, now slipped again into this stony, a bit indifferent expression. As if whatever was plaguing his mind just now, simply withered.

"That’s what the mice say. Sometimes they are…" His finger swirled around his temple, lips whistled. "… a bit crazy. But never wrong. Don’t open those little doors, young lady."

And with that, he once again went back to his attic apartment. Leaving you shocked and cold, with a gentle wind brushing your lips and rain tapping faintly, tap-tap-tap, on your yellow coat.

The moment you slipped back into your house, the first thing you did, as a devilishly curious woman, was to search high and low for the little door the man had been talking about. 

With the afternoon long gone, the sun slowly hid below the horizon, bathing the grey sky in dark, purplish hues of the evening hour. A light rain still hit your windows, nevertheless letting a low melody of crickets fill the chilly air. 

And when the night fell, the house seemed to change too. Into something more wicked, lined with an eerie sensation, scratching the centuries-old walls. With the scent of all the people who lived here before still lingering in the air. The warm light of the old lamps twinkled dimly, lingering over your body that looked frenetically for the little doors. 

Head slipping into the bathroom, bedroom, or even down into the basement, though this time going down the wooden stairs took a bit more courage. The fireplace in the living room crackled and popped weakly, pop-pop-pop, filling the house with a cosy, woody smell.

"Where are you?" You muttered to yourself, standing in the kitchen and listening to the tapping sink. 

You would need to call someone to fix it, but your main goal now was to uncover the thing your neighbour forbade you from finding. 

And then, while looking through the kitchen drawers – you found it.

A key, black and lean, ending in a small, button-like shape. It felt heavy in your palm and looked quite old, as if it were meant for doors long gone, with a lock forgotten by the time.

A low hum slipped past your lips as you fiddled with it. The doors of the house were already rather old, yet this one seemed not to fit either of them.

Returning to the living room, you plumped down on a sofa with a sigh, eyes still fixed on the key. The black paint coated its long barrel, and it was slightly larger than what you were accustomed to.

The doors must’ve been somewhere – close, at the fingertips, as you could almost feel their presence nearby.

Somewhere… in this room.

The flickering of the flame bathed one of the walls in a gentle glow. The flowery tapestry was rather dark, with multiple ornaments twisting and bending across its surface.

And yet, something piqued your interest. 

The small bulge seemed to arrange itself into a low square. Your head tilted, and eyes followed the swollen lines just above floor level. 

You slipped off the couch and crawled towards the eerie shape, a key still clutched in your fingers. 

The palm pressed against the wall, and you knocked it once, twice, hearing the echo ring somewhere on the other side. 

The door.

But it seemed that, for some reason, they were covered by the tapestry. So with the sharper end of the key, you gently traced their outline, peeling the coating from their surface. 

A low gasp slipped past your lips, seeing the eerie, faded blue wooden doors in all their fullness. With no handle to pull them and only a big lock awaiting the key gripped in your fingers. 

Excitement bubbled in your chest, eyes gleamed, and fingers trembled as a key slipped into the lock. You turned it with a soft click, and dust swirled in the air, rising from the cracks that had been sealed for the past few hundred years. 

Your heart galloped, beating against your chest in low thumps until you felt the tremble wash over your body. 

Using the fingers, you pulled the old surface – slowly, slowly, till the door opened fully and…

And presented you a miserable sight of a brick wall. 

Old and dusty, with red bricks stacked one on top of another, filling the cosy living room with a musty smell. 

"You must be joking," you groaned, a low sound escaping your throat as you hit the wall with a fist. "I can’t believe it!"

Because, as you already thought, a new idea for a story would finally slip easily into your mind, all the dreams were shattered in a single second. 

And thus your head hung between your shoulders. After a few deep breaths, you took the key from the door and slammed it shut with a furious thud. The wooden surface bounced off the wall, leaving a small gap. 

Small enough to allow something, someone, to see you walk away with heavy, disappointed footsteps.

©liahcharms all rights reserved. Do not copy, plagiarise, feed AI, translate or modify my works.

No worries, we will meet the boys SOON!

art by by K05062688 - twitter button divider by @saradika-graphics

the first time you see choi beomgyu cry, it's not in the hallways of school where he reigns as student council president with that practiced smile. it's through a screen, his face flushed as he whines, tears tracking down his cheeks while he works himself open with three fingers buried deep.

you're supposed to be working on your ap literature presentation. that's what you told yourself when you opened his laptop, when the password autofill betrayed him, when you found the folder labeled "tax documents" that definitely doesn't contain tax documents.

you should close it. you should absolutely close it.

instead, you watch.

beomgyu—choi beomgyu, who gave the welcome speech at orientation with such poise that half the junior class developed instant crushes—whimpers into his camera and calls himself a desperate little slut who needs to be watched to get off.

"fuuck," he breathes, arching his back, "fuck, you guys are so quiet tonight. tell me what you want. tell me how you want me to ruin myself."

the chat explodes with tips. hundreds of dollars flooding in with each request. beomgyu moans like he's being paid to, which he is, and spreads his legs wider, showing off the stretch of his hole around his fingers.

you realize you've been holding your breath.

"want me to add another?" he asks, voice pitched sweet, nothing like the measured, articulate tone he uses when addressing the student body. "i can take it. i can take so much for you. i'm so fucking full already but i need more, i always need more—"

your phone buzzes against your thigh and you nearly scream. it's a text from yeonjun, asking where you are, if you're still coming to soobin's party tonight. you ignore it. you can't look away from the screen.

beomgyu adds a fourth finger and sobs.

you don't know how long you watch. time becomes meaningless. you learn things about him that no amount of student council meetings could reveal: the way he likes his nipples pinched hard enough to bruise, the specific phrase—"good boy" that makes him cum untouched, spilling over his own stomach with a wail that sounds like it costs him something precious.

after, when he's cleaned up and the stream has ended, he sits in the glow of his desk lamp and reads the chat messages with a small, genuine smile. he thanks people by username. he remembers details about their lives, asks how their exams went, wishes them goodnight with such sincerity that your chest aches.

you close the laptop.

you don't sleep that night.

"you're staring again," taehyun says, sliding into the seat beside you at lunch. he's got his physics textbook open, already working through problems while eating an apple. "you've been weird for three days."

"haven't," you mumble, stabbing at your salad.

"you have," kai agrees from across the table, mouth full of sandwich. "you're all..." he makes a vague gesture around his face. "intense. like you're plotting something."

"maybe i am."

"ominous," yeonjun says, dropping into the seat on your other side with his characteristic grace. he's got that look, the one that means he's going to meddle. "does it involve a certain student council president? because soobin told me he saw you two talking in the library yesterday."

"we weren't talking," you say. "he was retrieving a book and i was... nearby."

"stalking," taehyun translates.

"observing," you correct.

the truth is, you've been observing a lot. beomgyu in his natural habitat is fascinating—a performance of perfection so seamless you wonder if he even knows he's performing anymore. he holds doors and remembers names and defuses conflicts with such effortless charm that it feels almost scripted, but it is. how he acts in school is far different from when he’s on camera.

you want to know which one is real. you want to know if either of them is.

"he's having a party," yeonjun says casually. "small thing. council members only, apparently, but soobin's going because he's vice president. i could get you in."

"why would you do that?"

yeonjun shrugs, "because you're miserable and it's entertaining. also, kai owes me twenty dollars and i want to see you make a fool of yourself."

"thanks.”

"anytime."

the party is at beomgyu's house, which turns out to be less of a house and more of a minor estate. you arrive with yeonjun and soobin, clutching a bottle of cheap wine you definitely shouldn't have brought, wearing a dress that feels like way too tight.

"relax," soobin murmurs as you hover in the doorway. he's got his vice president badge still clipped to his jacket, which is both adorable and deeply on-brand. "he doesn't bite."

you think of beomgyu on camera, teeth sunk into his own lip hard enough to draw blood as he rides his fingers. you think of the way he begs, the way he sounds when he's desperate.

"pretty sure he does," you say.

soobin gives you a strange look but yeonjun is already dragging you inside, into the warm press of bodies and music.

you spot beomgyu immediately. he's in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with his sleeves rolled up and his tie loosened, laughing at something one of the senior council members said. he looks soft like this, approachable.

he catches you staring.

you don't look away. you've spent too many hours watching him through a screen to pretend shyness now. you hold his gaze until something flickers in his expression—recognition, confusion, then a slow realization that makes his smile falter.

he knows. he doesn't know how, but he knows you know.

you raise your wine bottle in a mock toast. he swallows hard, adam's apple bobbing, and turns back to his conversation with intensity.

the game, as they say, is on.

you find his bedroom by accident, or maybe by intuition. it's at the end of a long hallway, unmistakable by the "student council president" plaque on the door that seems to be there ironically. the room itself is surprisingly messy—clothes draped over chairs, textbooks stacked, a desk with dual monitors that makes your stomach flip with recognition.

you shouldn't be in here. you're definitely going to get caught.

you're about to leave when you hear footsteps in the hall. panic freezes you in place. the door opens.

beomgyu stands there, backlit by the hallway light, and for a moment you see the mask slip entirely. he looks exhausted. he looks like a boy who carries too many secrets.

"you shouldn't be here," he says, and his voice is different—rougher, more honest.

"i know what you do," you say, because you've never been good at subtlety.

he goes very still. "what do you think i do?"

"you cry pretty," you say, "when you're fucking yourself open for strangers."

the silence stretches between you. its tense.

"get out," he whispers.

"make me."

he laughs, then, a sharp, startled thing. "you have no idea what you're playing with."

"then show me."

something breaks in him. you see it happen—the moment he stops being student council president choi beomgyu and becomes something rawer, hungrier. he crosses the room in three strides and backs you against his desk, caging you with his arms.

"you want to know what i do?" he breathes, and his eyes are dark, pupils blown wide. "you want to see the real me, is that it? little stalker?"

"i want to know if you're real at all," you admit.

he studies your face like he's memorizing it. "i'm real," he says quietly. "i'm real when i'm on camera. that's the only time i am."

"show me."

he hesitates. you can see the war in him, the habit of hiding, fighting against something else, something desperate and lonely. then he reaches past you, opens his laptop, pulls up the streaming platform.

"my show starts in ten minutes," he says. "usually i prep. get in the right headspace. but you..." he laughs. "you've already seen me at my worst. might as well see me at my best."

"you were never at your worst," you say. "you were beautiful."

he looks at you like you've struck him. "don't," he warns. "don't say things like that if you don't mean them."

"i mean them."

he turns away, busying himself with camera angles and lighting, but you can see his hands shaking. "you can stay," he says, "but you have to be quiet. and you can't... you can't touch me. not on camera. the viewers don't know about you."

"do they know about the real you?"

he pauses. "no," he admits. "they know a version. a character."

"which one am i getting?"

he looks over his shoulder at you, and his smile is complicated, layered with things you can't name. "tonight? i don't know. i haven't decided yet."

the stream goes live.

he's different with you in the room. you can tell immediately—there's a self-consciousness to his movements, a hesitation where there used to be seamless performance. the chat notices too, asking if he's okay, if something's wrong.

"just distracted tonight," he says, and his voice has dropped into that honeyed register you recognize. "thinking about someone."

the chat explodes. "who?" they want to know. "tell us." "is it a boy?" "a girl?" "someone we know?"

"someone who shouldn't be here," beomgyu says, and his eyes flick to where you're sitting on his bed, just out of frame. "someone who saw me before i put on the show. saw me... raw."

he unbuttons his shirt slowly, revealing the pale stretch of his torso. you know what he looks like beneath the clothes now, know the constellation of moles on his body, the way his stomach muscles flutter when he's close.

"they're watching me right now," he continues, addressing the camera but looking at you. "from the dark. can't you see them in my eyes? i'm performing for two audiences tonight, and one of them is real."

the tips start flowing in. beomgyu smirks, that practiced expression that doesn't reach his eyes, and slides his hand down his stomach.

"what should i do for you tonight?" he asks the chat. "i'm feeling... exposed. like i want to be seen all the way through."

requests flood in. beomgyu scans them, cherry-picking the ones that suit his mood, and slowly, methodically, he begins to unravel.

you've seen this before. you shouldn't be affected. but watching it live, watching the sweat bead on his forehead and his chest heave with real breaths, is different from on a screen. he's warm in front of you, radiating heat and need, and when he whines it's not through speakers but directly into the air you share.

"need more," he gasps, working himself open with practiced efficiency. "need to be full, need to be watched, need—" he breaks off with a sob, and you realize with a start that he's crying, real tears, not the performative ones from before. "fuck, i can't, not with you here, i can't—"

the chat is confused, asking what's wrong, if he's hurt, if they should call someone.

"no," he chokes out, "no, i'm fine, i just—" he looks at you, really looks at you, and his expression crumples. "i can't fake it tonight. i can't be what they want when you're sitting there watching me actually fall apart."

you stand up. you don't mean to. your body moves without permission, crossing the space between you, stepping into the frame of his camera.

the chat goes wild.

"who is she"

"omg is that his girlfriend"

"she's pretty"

"wait is this part of the show"

beomgyu stares up at you, eyes wide and wet and terrified. "what are you doing?"

"being real with you," you say, and you reach out, thumb brushing the tears from his cheek. "turn it off."

"i can't, i have—this is my job, i—"

"turn it off," you repeat, "or i'll do it for you."

your hand hovers over the keyboard. beomgyu makes a sound like he’s hurt and reaches past you, ending the stream with a violent click. the room goes silent except for his ragged breathing.

"do you know how much money i just lost?" he whispers.

"i don't care."

"you should. this pays for my car, my clothes, my—fuck." he buries his face in his hands. "you've ruined everything. you've seen me, you've really seen me, and now you know i'm just—i'm just a whore who needs strangers to tell him he's worth something."

you kneel in front of him, forcing him to look at you. "i know you're the student council president who stays three hours after school to make sure the homecoming decorations are perfect. i know you're the guy who bought kai coffee when he was crying about his audition last month. i know you're real, beomgyu, and i don't care about the rest."

"you should," he says, but his voice is small.

"why?"

"because i'm broken," he admits, and the words seem to cost him everything. "because i need this, need to be watched and wanted and consumed, because without it i'm just—i'm just empty. i'm a performance with no actor underneath."

you take his hand, place it over your heart. "feel that? i'm real. you're real. this is real."

he shudders, a full-body tremor that racks through him like a fever. "touch me," he begs, "please, just—i need to feel something that isn't mediated by a screen. i need you to touch me like you mean it."

you kiss him.

it's clumsy, desperate, nothing like the polished intimacy of his streams. he makes a noise against your lips, and suddenly his hands are everywhere—tugging at your dress, your hair, pulling you closer like he's drowning and you're air.

"wait," you breathe, "beomgyu, wait—"

"don't," he whimpers, "don't make me stop, i can't, i need—"

"shh," you soothe, "i'm not stopping. i just want to look at you."

you push him back onto the bed, following him down. up close, he's overwhelming—skin flushed pink, eyes glassy with tears and want, chest heaving. he looks wrecked already and you've barely touched him.

"you're so beautiful," you tell him, and you mean it. "not because you're performing. just because you are."

he sobs, turning his face away. "don't. don't be nice to me, i can't take it, i'll—"

"you'll what?"

"i'll fall in love with you," he confesses, voice barely audible. "i'm already halfway there. i've been watching you too, you know. in the halls. at lunch. wondering what your voice sounds like when you're not just answering questions in class."

you kiss his throat, his collarbone, the hollow of his throat where his pulse beats. "you can fall," you whisper. "i'll catch you."

he unravels after that. he pulls at your clothes with shaking hands, helping you strip until you're bare above him, then freezes.

"you're—" he swallows hard. "you're perfect."

"so are you."

"i'm not, i'm—" he gestures at himself, at his exposed body, his flushed skin. "i'm a mess."

"let me clean you up," you say, and you slide down his body, taking him into your mouth before he can protest.

the sound he makes is inhuman. his back arches off the bed, hands flying to your hair, not guiding but just holding on, grounding himself. "fuck, fuck, fuck, that's—oh god, you don't have to, you don't—"

you hum around him, and he screams.

it's different from his performative cam noises—higher, more broken, completely uncontrolled. his thighs trembling, and when you look up you can see him watching you with an expression of absolute wonder, like he can't believe you're real.

"gonna cum," he warns, "gonna cum, please, i can't—"

you don't pull back. you take him deeper, swallowing around him, and he comes with a cry that sounds like your name, spilling down your throat in hot pulses. you swallow everything, licking him clean while he whines and twitches, oversensitive and overwhelmed.

"come here," he pants, pulling you up his body. "come here, let me—i want to make you feel good too."

you straddle his waist, feeling the hard line of him already stirring again against your thigh. "you don't have to—"

"i want to," he insists. "let me show you what i can do when i'm not acting. let me show you how i actually want to touch someone."

he flips you onto your back, settling between your legs with a confidence that makes your breath catch. he kisses down your body with reverence—your breasts, your stomach, the curve of your hip—pausing when he reaches where you're wet and wanting.

"can i?" he asks, looking up at you with those dark, dark eyes.

"please."

he doesn't tease. he simply tastes you like he's starving, like he's been waiting his whole life for this, and the reality of choi beomgyu between your thighs is infinitely better than any fantasy. he's enthusiastic, messy, completely focused on your reactions. when he finds something that makes you gasp, he does it again, and again, until you're clutching his hair and grinding against his face.

"you taste so good," he mumbles, the vibration making you whimper. "so good, so sweet, i've thought about this, thought about what you'd feel like, taste like—"

"beomgyu," you gasp, "beomgyu, i'm gonna—"

"let go," he encourages, looking up at you with his chin shining with your arousal. "cum for me, pretty girl. let me feel you fall apart."

you do. you come with his name breaking across your lips like a prayer, your whole body shaking with the force of it. he rides you through it, gentle now, soft presses of his tongue that prolong the pleasure until you're twitching away, too sensitive.

he crawls up your body, kissing you so you can taste yourself on his lips. "you okay?" he asks, searching your face.

"more than okay," you breathe. "i want you inside me."

he groans, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. "you're going to kill me."

"but what a way to go."

he laughs, shaky and genuine, and reaches for his nightstand. you watch him roll the condom on with trembling fingers, and when he positions himself at your entrance, he pauses.

"are you sure?" he asks, and he's so careful, so calm, that your heart aches.

"yes," you whisper, "yes, beomgyu, i'm sure."

he pushes in slowly, filling you inch by inch, watching your face for any sign of discomfort. by the time he's fully seated, he's shaking again, sweat beading on his forehead.

"you feel—" he swallows hard. "you feel incredible. you're so warm, so tight, i can feel you pulsing around me—"

"move," you beg, wrapping your legs around his waist. "please, beomgyu, move."

he does. he sets a rhythm that's unhurried, deep, nothing like the frantic pace of him by himself. each thrust is deliberate, angled to hit that spot inside you. he keeps his eyes locked on yours, refusing to look away, and the intimacy of it is almost too much—being seen, truly seen, by someone who spends his life hiding.

"i've got you," he whispers, pressing his forehead to yours. "i've got you, you're safe, you're perfect—"

"you too," you gasp, "you're perfect, you're so good, beomgyu—"

he makes that sound, the one you know from his streams, that broken keen of overwhelming pleasure. but this time it's for you, only you, and the knowledge sends you spiraling toward the edge again.

"close," you warn him, "i'm so close—"

"me too," he pants, "together? can we—"

"yes," you cry, "yes, together—"

he reaches between you, thumb finding your clit, and that's it—you come apart beneath him, your orgasm ripping through you with devastating force. he follows seconds later, burying his face in your neck and groaning long and low as he spills into the condom, his hips stuttering.

for a long moment, you just breathe together. he stays inside you, not wanting to break the connection, pressing soft kisses to your throat, your jaw, anywhere he can reach.

"hi," he whispers finally.

you laugh, breathless. "hi."

"that was—" he shakes his head. "i don't have words. i've never—i've never done that with anyone. the real thing, i mean. not performing."

"i know," you say, stroking his hair. "i could tell. it was better."

"yeah?"

"yeah. no performance. just you."

he pulls back to look at you, and his expression is so vulnerable, so open, that it takes your breath away. "i want to do this again," he says. "not just the sex. the... the being real. with you."

"you're asking me to be your girlfriend?"

"i'm asking you to be my secret," he says, and then winces. "that sounds terrible. i mean—i mean i want to know you the way you know me. all of me. the parts i show the world and the parts i don't."

"and the parts you show the camera?"

he blushes, the color spreading down his neck and chest. "those too, if you want. i mean, you could—if you wanted to watch, or even—" he bites his lip. "you could be in the room. off-camera. or—i don't know. i'm getting ahead of myself."

"i like the idea," you say softly. "of being your secret. of knowing the real you."

he smiles, and it's the first genuine smile you've seen from him. "then it's a deal?"

"it's a deal."

he kisses you, slow and sweet, and you can feel him stirring inside you again, already ready for round two. you groan against his mouth.

"again? already?"

"you inspire me," he murmurs, rolling his hips to prove his point.

"insatiable."

"only for you."

after, when you're both exhausted and tangled in his sheets, he pulls out his phone and shows you his streaming account. the notifications are insane—hundreds of messages asking about the mysterious girl, if he's okay, when he's coming back.

"what are you going to tell them?" you ask.

"the truth," he says, "or some version of it. that i found something real. that i'm taking a break to figure out what that means."

"are you? taking a break?"

he looks at you, and his expression is soft, fond, completely unguarded. "maybe. or maybe i'll start a couples channel." he winks, and you shove him, laughing.

"pervert."

"you like it."

you can't argue with that.

monday at school, everything is different and nothing is. beomgyu still walks the halls with his perfect posture, his perfect smile, his perfect reputation intact. he still holds doors and remembers names.

but now, when he passes you in the hallway, he lets his hand brush yours. when he sees you at lunch, he winks—just a tiny flicker of his eye that only you would notice. and after school, when the building empties out, he pulls you into the student council office and kisses you against the desk where he signs attendance reports, his hands roaming under your skirt while he whispers filthy things in your ear.

"you're terrible," you gasp as he marks your neck with his teeth. "someone could walk in."

"let them," he breathes, "let them see what a good boy i am for you."

you come apart with his fingers inside you and his name on your lips, and when you open your eyes he's watching you with that same expression of wonder, like you're the most precious thing he's ever seen.

"tonight," he whispers, "come over tonight. i'm going to stream, and i want you there. in the room. in the frame, if you're comfortable."

"you want to show me off?"

"i want to show them what real looks like," he corrects. "i want them to see me with someone who knows me. all of me."

"okay," you say, "okay, i'll be there."

he kisses you once more, soft and sweet, and then he pulls away, smoothing his clothes back into place.

that night, you sit on his bed while he sets up the camera. he looks nervous, fidgeting with his lighting, checking his angles.

"hey," you say, and he looks over. "you're going to be amazing. just be yourself."

"which self?"

"all of them," you say. "i love all of them."

he stares at you, eyes wide, and then he crosses the room in two strides and kisses you hard enough to bruise. "i love you too," he breathes against your mouth. "i know it's fast, i know it's crazy, but i—"

"i know," you say. "me too."

he pulls back, smiling that real smile, the one that's just for you. "ready?"

"ready."

he hits go live.

"hey everyone," he says, and his voice is warm, confident, completely genuine. "i'm back. and i brought someone with me. someone who knows my secrets. someone who makes me want to be real."

he holds out his hand. you take it, stepping into the frame.

the chat explodes. tips flood in. but beomgyu isn't looking at the screen anymore. he's looking at you, only you, and his smile is the truest thing you've ever seen.

"this is her," he says softly. "my dirty little secret. and i'm never letting her go."

he kisses you while hundreds of strangers watch, and for the first time, you understand. this isn't about hiding. it's about being seen. and now, finally, you both are.

“You're going to kill him! The fight is over!”

The one in charge of financial bets grabbed Sukuna by the shoulders to separate him 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 unless you want me to 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 with tears prickled at the corners of his eyes, Sukuna's 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. He got dressed and took control of his vehicle to return home under the moonlight.

────────

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.

────────

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 a teenager. You were both icons—you, the iconic 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. A monster. Like him. That's why he was so obsessed with you when he was younger.

His damaged soul found solace in yours.

One day, Sukuna would shatter your heart. 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.

────────

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕

Dim red and blue lights danced across your body as you swayed against strangers with a cocktail in hand. It was the 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 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 male 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.

────────

˚₊‧꒰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 pre-teen 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.”

“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. 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 tv 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 though 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 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.

────────

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.

────────

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 bookq 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 last 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. Or you didn't know something.

“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.”

────────

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.

“Cursed Toru 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.”

A chuckle slipped out of Yuji's mouth. 'Of course, you are really THAT man,' 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 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.

────────

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, wasn't. 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, death arriving, 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.

────────

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, he 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 strangled 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 his head 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 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 that. 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, you would 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 whore.”

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.

────────

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 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.

────────

˚₊‧꒰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 were still plus size, but your legs was so lean and pretty even with the fat, you were known for your figure in the fashion world. 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.

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.

────────

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. He knew you had weird kinks, but he thought it was just the case with him. That if an unknown person did it, you will be scared. You weren't. Or maybe you spiritually knew it was Sukuna ? 

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?

────────

𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕

˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝟒 - 𝐬𝐮𝐳𝐮𝐤𝐚, 𝐣𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐧 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

In the tv 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 someone 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 body. The sound engineer had a point.

────────

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. Want to be a model? You'll never be better than her because she was the best black model of her generation. 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 the man behind you.

“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.

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 black 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 hatred 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 pudginess of your 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 your mouth. Your tongue swirled around the weapon, your cheeks burning. 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 it. 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 how 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 Savage x Fenty, 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.”

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.

────────

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 okay 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 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 contrary, 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.

────────

˚₊‧꒰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 bitch who acts 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 Black 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 an 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.

────────

˚₊‧꒰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.

────────

˚₊‧꒰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 you constantly held your chin high as if you felt superior to others—you really felt that—, 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, who had the most empathetic heart 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. 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 mouth, 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 car. 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.

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 anything, 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. “To 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.

────────

˚₊‧꒰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 finger 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 black way, but without judgment because you loved each other. You were bound. Bound by darkness.

famous around campus for being 'the worst of the worst', his reputation preceded him—people usually steering clear of him in hopes of not being set on fire like he'd been rumored to have done before… or just get eaten alive like that one duck a few months ago.

which, of course, are things only morons would believe; but thankfully, there were plenty of those at the university he was attending—plus, it helped keep up his 'unapproachable bad guy' persona—and there's probably nothing that geto hates more than superficial, incompetent people.

…with the exception of his friend, satoru gojo.

beneath all the money and dashing good looks that sorority girls and modeling agencies would line up for, satoru was nothing but a walking headache for geto; a cocky, self-centered, sometimes-fun-to-be-around headache.

that's exactly what awaited him behind the class doors he so-fashionably opened just a few minutes before the period would start.

you, on the other hand, have already been busy reading whatever anti-patriarchal book had currently caught your attention—because let's be honest, professor yaga's class is not all that interesting most of the time, so you might as well put your free time to better use.

comfortably sitting in 3rd row, legs stretched under the desk while flipping through the pages, you were almost unaware of whoever entered the class or walked by you—just as you intended; music blasting all too loudly in your earbuds for you to hear much.

not that there was much to be heard when suguru geto walked in. stealthy as a cat yet still managing to catch the gazes of a few people with the corners of their eyes as he sat in the desks at the very back.

MCR and linkdin park pins rattled as suguru threw his backpack onto the ground, earning a prying look from gojo, who was sitting next to him.

"you still a loser?" he quipped, elbows perched on the desk and smile bright as always.

"you still an asshole?" suguru shot back, leaning back into his chair and manspreading like he owned the place. typical.

"ouch. that depends. you interested in some fun?" satoru raised a brow.

"how fun?" —in gojo terms, speaking. their ideas of "fun" did not always align.

"that fun," satoru pointed towards you, who apparently, had the same stone-cold face you've always had on, rammed into your book as if socialising with the lower life forms around would kill you.

suguru was not that much of a loser to be getting no play. he managed. but at no point was he desperate or miserable enough to be okay with complicating his life with you.

"that's not fun, even for me," he replied, face twisting into a grimace.

"not even if i provide generous compensation?" satoru shot a hopeful charming grin

he huffed a laugh, "how generous?"

"how do fifty bucks sound?"

suguru shot you a look—only to see you smack your book against some poor soul's head. you may be pretty, but looks weren't enough to cut it. only glancing back at satoru was enough to let him read his thoughts.

"fineee, sixty." he whined. "take her somewhere. who knows? two negatives make a positive—she might be a match for your reclusive self."

nerd.

"what's in it for you, anyway?" he raised an eyebrow, glaring. satoru would rarely share any of his hook-ups (not that suguru would want any of them), much less pay him to get some play.

satoru sighed, leaning in. "i wanna make a move on her sister, yuki, but she can't date until she does." who knew getting some pussy would be so much trouble these days?

"so what?" suguru snorted, "you want me to play chaperone? keep her from getting a felony charge?"

"and hopefully you not getting any charges either, but that's besides the point—take her on a date, do something nice, help a guy out,"

the appeal was barely there.

just as professor yaga had entered the class, he gave you another look, feeling the last shreds of his dignity slip away. you had abandoned your earbuds on the desk, now (miserably) paying attention to your surroundings.

how bad could it be?

"a hundred." he sighed, sealing his fate.

"deal," satoru grinned, voice low, not to draw attention in the subsiding class.

suguru didn't know you that well—not that he's ever even felt a pull to do so either, but he's heard enough to form an idea in mind. you were a loner. intensionally so. you'd either be seen hanging out with your friend, utahime, or cursing out whoever was unfortunate enough to cross your path at the wrong minute—though you've always sworn they'd deserve it. least to say you were… opinionated.

but that wasn't gonna make suguru back out. he liked a good challenge—whether that be occasionally violating college rules and dodging expulsion, or going on a date with a certified man hater.

he'll make it work.

suguru had until the end of class to come up with something to swipe you off your feet. but honestly? he's got nothing, and it seems like resorting to his wits and charms might be the only hope right now—which usually, was enough for most girls to succumb to.

after gathering up his things and shoving the money in his back pocket, he wasted no time before following your trail as you walked out of the classroom through the sea of people.

"hey there, pretty girl," suguru tapped your shoulder, raven bangs waving in the air as he put on his most charming face.

unfortunately though, he was hit with an immediate glare.

"how was class?"

"pretty peaceful, until you decided to disrupt it," you gave him a faux smile, not bothering to look in his direction for more than two seconds.

"…talk about a touching first impression," suguru teased, walking to match your pace, "consider me intrigued."

"my mission in life," tsk. who even is this guy? "but obviously, i struck your fancy. so you see, it worked."

"pick you up on friday then?"

"oh right. friday, uh-huh," you snorted, quickening your stride. points for dedication, you thought—but you had better places to be rather than his company.

"what if i promise to take you places you've never seen before?" suguru asked, voice perfectly smooth and concealing how you're probably stepping on his ego.

"like where? your fathers garage? i'm good, thank you."

"i was actually thinki—"

"get lost, weirdo."

this was gonna be a little more difficult than he thought.

but, suguru was not one to give up so easily, and for the next week, he'd accidentally bumped into you more times than either of you could count. after your classes—he was right there to help you carry your backpack, even after you'd insist you didn't need any assistance. at the library? suguru seemed to take a liking to the same feminist novels you've been reading; you just have so much in common, right!?

well, you weren't exactly on the same page regarding this subject… but it's a good thing he's a dedicated man.

next stop? the music store.

it was a good day today. it really was. you and your sister got along, nobody seemed to make it their lifes goal to annoy you, and you managed to stop at the store and grab a few guitar picks and a cd of your favourite band's newest single.

but, of course, all of that just had to come to an end the moment you've seen none other than suguru geto lean against your car like an asshole.

"nice ride," he called out, snake bites piercings glinting in the soft light of the afternoon sun.

he cannot be for real.

"are you following me?" you spat.

"just passing by and saw your car. thought i'd say hi," geto clarified, watching you roll your eyes and simply walk past him. tch. dramatic.

"hi." you deadpanned, reaching for your door handle just as he slid sideways against your car, blocking your way and not letting you get in.

"not a big talker are you?" he pushed. deal or not, you've caught his eye.

"depends on the topic. your freaky piercings and 'can't take a hint' personality don't really whip me into a verbal frenzy."

geto tilted his head, pretending to get a better look at you, "you're not intimidated, are you?" he purred, the grin on his lips so begulling it almost convinced you—though, mostly, you just felt repelled.

"why would i be intimidated?" you snorted.

"most people are," he shrugged. truthfully so, geto wasn't known for having the most inviting personality—you just happened to be an indifferent hag about it.

"well i'm not."

"maybe. but i'm sure you've thought about me naked," he grinned, fox eyes trailing your features.

…and there goes the final ace up his sleeve.

"am i that transparent?" you asked, words glazed in irony, "oh, geto! i want you, i need you! please, take me to those bedsheets you probably haven't changed in two months!"

getos face has progressively dropped more with each sound coming out of your mouth which seemed to be enough for him to finally get out of your way and let you inside the car.

sigh.

right when you were about to get moving, another car pulled up behind you, not even bothering to park. mercedes' newest model in an obnoxious blue, and an even more obnoxious driver—satoru gojo.

he trotted his way out, abandoning his car halfway on the street and shooting geto a confident wink—most likely believing his previous investments are paying off. right… so, about that…

"do you mind?" you yelled in gojo's direction, hinting oh-so-sweetly to move his car the fuck out of the way.

"not at all," he replied smugly.

"fuck!" the scream he let out could've probably been heard from three blocks away when you carelessly reversed, hitting your bumper straight into his shiny, expensive car door and putting a wide smile on both yours and getos faces.

"whoops," you pouted.

and with that, you were on your way home. back to the comfort of your small apartment, which you've personalised and decorated so it truly felt like you.

so you put on some music, grabbed one of the countless sylvia plath books on your shelves and threw yourself onto the couch in hopes of having some well deserved moments of relaxation.

you should be in your element.

so why are you thinking about him?

☆

geto was positive you were some type of witch.

there was no other explanation for the way you pulled him under your spell.

at this point, he had to convince himself he was still doing it for the money. mentally clinging to that fading excuse every time he'd follow your trail just so he could collect more information and tips on how to get through to that stone-cold heart of yours.

he had to push aside the fact that he felt like a loser and actually do something about it; but it's like every time he comes near you, his charm and charisma evaporate into thin air.

suguru had to get in close if he truly wanted progress.

so that's how he ended up stopping your sister, yuki, after classes.

just at first glance, he could tell where most of your amiability probably went. smiling brightly and warmly, your sister walked by him after he'd discreetly dragged her to a less populated area of the campus. he couldn't risk anyone knowing his master plan just yet.

"sooo, why am i here exactly?" she asked him, her bubbly voice cutting through the momentary silence.

"you are here to help me get some insight of your sister's twisted mind," geto muttered, lighting the cigarette that parted his lips.

yuki laughed, studying his face for any indication that he's just joking, waiting for him to crack. it just seemed that unbelievable that someone might be interested in you. "wait—you're actually serious?"

unfortunately.

"please don't make it into a big deal…" getos eyebrows knitted upwards. just the thought of you finding out he came to ask your sister about you was enough to make shivers of regret creep up his neck.

"oh my god! i really thought she'd die alone!" she exclaimed; a sparce, uncomfortable silence following right after.

"'m not making any promises yet…" the thick, awkward tension that saturated the air seemed to target geto alone.

"okay, first off—she's not a fan of these…" yuki spoke, plucking the half-burnt cigarette from geto's hand and throwing it on the ground.

his face soured at the sight of the smushed tobacco, "so i have to be a 'non-smoker'…?"

"yup."

geto could only pout at her response.

"so… what does she like?" even if he was going to commit to the role fully, starting with the negatives has already lost him a point. "what's she into?"

"well, she likes pretty guys," yuki giggled lighthartedly, "so good luck with that!" geto scoffed mentally; the frown on his face able to be seen from a mile away, along with the disbelief painted on his expression. was he not pretty?

"buuut, if you really want to know, she likes thai food and listens a lot to that indie—angry girl music, or whatever it's called," yuki explained. "oh, and she's really into those feminist prose books she always carries around."

geto evaluated all the information, making sure to take a mental note of each thing. "so, what; i'm just supposed to buy her some noodles, a book, sit around and listen to girls who can't play their instruments?"

seems easy enough, he thought.

"have you ever been to club skunk?" yuki asked, "her favourite band plays there tomorrow, she's got tickets!"

geto defensively crossed his arms, his gaze briskly drifting in the distance as a couple of outcast memories flooded back from the depths of his mind. "no—no, i cant be there, alright?"

out of all places, did it really have to be the one where he drank until projectile vomiting all over the counters at eighteen?

"but don't you wanna see her?" yuki pressed, a scolding pout pushing out her bottom lip; although her real concern was her being able to date, rather than you.

"of course i do, i just—" geto muttered before cutting himself off. his mind reeled back to you, then back to his past experiences at the club; and lastly, to the money he's gotten for the sole reason of going out with you. lost in thought, the world around him seemed to fade for a moment before yuki snapped him out of it.

"…she's also got a pair of black panties if i'm not mistaken," she chirped with a devious smirk on her face, making getos eyes widen slightly.

was this a test? it felt like a test.

"very enticing, i'm sure," he narrowed his gaze before pulling back a step. "also—don't tell her i came to you, alright?"

"good luuck," yuki replied in a sing-song voice as she made her way off.

"thanks," geto nodded.

as soon as his head hit the pillow the coming night, geto knew he'll have a hard time falling asleep.

his intentions were fighting against the reality of the situation, one in which you didn't actually like him, in which he was paid to take you out. and the worst part of it? he couldn't stop thinking about it—about you.

staring at the ceiling for well past half an hour now, the only thing running through his mind was you—along with your unruly attitude and breathtaking smile. it was enough to bring geto to his knees.

his heart yearned to see you again, more than his mind would like to admit. he wondered what you were like when you were actually enjoying yourself for once, surrounded by people close to you—although, that thought made something stir within his chest.

a soft sigh escaped his pierced lips. he didn't want to acknowledge it, but the feeling was clawing from behind his ribs. he didn't want to see you with anybody else; smile at anyone but himself. in his eyes, you were meant for him alone.

geto felt that in his body and soul, the waves of realisation washing over, dragging him to the bottom and drowning him in the intoxicating essence of your mere memory.

his mind wandered, heedlessly picturing your smile—your lips, how they'd feel pressed against his cheek, drawing lower down his neck. how would you react if you saw him right now? would you be surprised? fuck… would call him pathetic?

the mattress beneath his toned body felt softer all of a sudden, as if hugging his frame; though it couldn't be a match to how delicate your touch would be, geto was sure of that.

too lost in the vastness of his imagination, the tent in his loosened sweatpants was only growing, along with the pressure in his bare abs. heat dripped off his body, his tan skin searing hot while thinking of you.

"don't… don't wanna do this, fuck—" geto squirmed under his breath, amethyst eyes squeezed shut. you'd hate him if you knew what was going through his mind right now, but it only made his cock harder.

frustration bubbled in his chest, a satin sheen of sweat coating his forehead as he dragged his hand over the growing bulge. geto couldn't help the groan that escaped him, his cock far too hard and sensitive under his veiled touch.

"i'm sorry, i need it…" he slurred, slipping his fingers under the fabric and curling them around his throbbing length. he imagined you sitting before him, right between his muscular thighs. geto heard your voice in his head, guiding him, guiding his movements as he began stroking his swollen cock.

"mmphh," he moaned at the slight relief, lips pressed together. his grip was firm and messy as it dragged back and forth around his length, using the ample amount of glossy precum as lubricant. the roughness of his hand squeezed and twisted with every pump, putting extra care over his reddened tip, just like he thought you would.

getos thick, silver rings felt cool pressed against his veiny shaft, making each motion feel more intense. his free hand gripped into the sheets beneath him, fingers curling into the soft material when the pleasure would rise above his ability to control himself.

his chest was heaving already, too absorbed in the moment not to rush. his need for release took over, and the pace of his hand increased, strong hips beginning to match the messy strokes until tears gathered up at his lashline, making the soft black eyeliner smudge around his violet eyes.

"oh god, fuck—fuck, i'm gonna—" geto whimpered, voice broken as his back arched against the mattress, "gonna—hngh—cum." he was breathless, desperately pumping his leaking cock until the warm, syrupy cum splattered onto his abs, coating his rings as the last spurts trickled down his tight fist.

he cleaned himself up, and once a few moments had passed and he'd regained control over his mind, the guilt following hit him like a train at full speed. how can something feel so good, yet leave such bittersweet traces behind?

geto could only groan into his pillow, letting the drowsiness seep into his bones and swallow his thoughts. he has one more shot tomorrow, right?

so much for 'good luck'.

☆

the hours passed by quickly until the evening finally came.

the quiet worry that crawled up his neck felt like a rugged caress in the back of his mind, reminding him of the unethical actions from the night before. geto couldn't let it show, though. not if he wanted to keep his head on his shoulders… or impress you, at best.

after putting out his final cigarette, geto walked into the sea of people waiting inside. the scent of sweat mixed with the various notes of perfume lingered in the air, along with the faint aroma of alcohol, everyone around either dancing or drunkenly lying with their head on the nearest flat surface.

the voices of the singers currently playing reminded him of a screeching owl getting run over by a car, if anything; the speakers probably loud enough to rupture his eardrums and make a small part of him regret he even came.

but, his purpose for being there snapped right back into focus once he spotted you in the littered crowd.

a soft smile spread on getos lips before he could think to stop it. you were dancing, movements flowing and carefree as you spun to the blasting rhythm with your arms up in the air. nothing in the entire space looked as striking and lively as you did while the coloured lights painted your skin. you looked beautiful.

his gaze flickered between you and the bar as he made his way to it. no more than a few minutes pass until he's sipping from the liquor filled glass in his hand, seemingly unbothered and nodding along to the music once he notices you swaying over just less five feet away from him.

"just a water, please," you spoke loud enough so the bartender could hear. looking over to your side as you waited, suguru geto was right there, with a grin so massive on his lips that not even the glass in his hand could mask as he covered his face.

"if you plan on asking me out again, best just get it over with," you scowled at him, rolling your eyes.

"oh, it's you," he glanced over, setting his beverage on the sticky wooden counter. "do you mind? you're kinda ruining the atmosphere for me," he tilted his head, though the corner of his lips was curling upwards.

your gaze narrowed, "how come you're not surrounded by your usual cloud of smoke?"

"i quit," geto clarified, leaning in so you could hear him better over the music, "i've heard they're bad for you."

"oh, you think?" you snorted.

he took another sip of the alcohol before speaking, "you know, these guys 'the raincoats', they're not bad." now, that perked up your ears.

geto pushed himself off the chair before walking into the crowd, well aware you'd come after him after hearing him mention your favourite band.

"you know who the raincoats are?!" you yelled over the blaring noise, the disbelieving part of you wanting to ask him to name five songs.

"why, don't you?" geto smiled, pleased with your reaction. his eyes trailed down your figure, how the dress you chose hugged you just right, and how your smile seemed to light up your face.

"you know, i was watching you out there," he turned to face you, voice smooth but loud over the blasting music—even when it suddenly stopped, "i've never seen you look so sexy," he echoed throughout the quiet, chattering space, everyone around turning to look in your direction and breaking into laughter.

in that moment, though, your attention wasn't on them. it was on suguru, and how he didn't seem to be ashamed or even embarrassed for what he had said; the look on his face showed happiness, with a smile just as bright while he watched you laugh.

"come to chosos party with me," he offered, traces of warmth and longing in his tone.

another tune had started playing in the background, it was more subdued than the former, but loud enough to have to talk louder if you wanted to be heard. you glanced over to the band before speaking, the song was one of your favourites—and suguru picked up on that.

"you never give up, do you?" you smiled, and for once, the idea of spending time with him didn't seem so bad.

"w—was that a yes?" he raised his voice, curling one hand behind his ear pretending he couldn't hear you.

"no!" you laughed, stepping back into the moving crowd.

"well that wasn't a no!" suguru shot back, following you through the people.

"no!" you laughed again, heartly—looking back over your shoulder at him.

every step suguru took felt lighter somehow, like just being in your presence was enough to spark a flame in his chest. seeing you have fun and feel comfortable around him made it all seem like a dream he's had a hundred times beforehand.

he caught up with you, just like intended. what took you by surprise was the way he took your hand in his, pulling you in and spinning you around right when the peak of the song had started.

you gasped, the movement too quick for you to react—but it over before you knew it, and suguru caught you before he could feel the sharpness of your wits.

"dance with me," he leaned in, just enough for you to hear the purr in his voice, "lighten up, hmm?" he teased, quick to cut your protests short, and even quicker when he swept you off your feet, pulling you into the crowd and guiding your movements to his, matching the music's rhythm.

"let me go, you psycho!" your complaints were all but empty, broken between laughs, and blatantly ignored by suguru. his hands slipped from your shoulders all the way down to your hands, interlocking his fingers in yours before lifting them up into the air.

"not happening," he grinned, letting your movements flow in tandem.

the vast space of the club was basically crawling with people, dancing and moving from one place to another, the air heavy with smoke and heat—yet all you were aware of right now was eachothers presence, and how the subtle intimacy found its way through the fissures you let happen tonight.

sweat illuminated your faces as you continued swaying to the rhythm, fatigue slowly catching up to you and giving your cheeks a red hue.

"i'm tired!" you exclaimed, a smile still adorning your face even through the ache in your feet. thankfully, the song had ended before long after, and only then did suguru finally let go of your hands.

"come on, let's get you some water," suguru coaxed, waiting for you to step forward before following your trail, "or would you prefer i carry you all the way there?"

"something tells me you'd enjoy that more than me," you teased back.

once you sat down at the bar, the wicked voice in the back of your head encouraged you to favour a glass of cranberry vodka rather than some water. once your lips pressed to the cold rim, the sweetness soothed the stinging burn of the alcohol, leaving you with the slightest weightlessness in your limbs.

you glanced over to suguru, "that was maybe a little fun."

his elbows were perched on the wooden counter, a playful smile making its way onto his studded lips, "was that a compliment?"

"don't get used to it, geto," you snorted, taking another sip from your glass.

it felt weird but, you were starting to notice things you haven't before; like how his onyx hair seemed to fall so perfectly around his face, or how he fidgeted with his rings right before he was about to say something. it must've been the alcohol tainting your mind... but your heart has never felt so drawn to another person in a long time.

"i'll try my best," suguru grinned. his amethyst gaze caressed over your features, taking in every detail, every expression, as if it were a sight he'd be content with seeing forever and still not be enough. a soft knit formed in between his eyebrows as he glanced away for a moment, gathering his thoughts, almost afraid to overstep, "so…"

"so…" you sustained, waiting for him to continue.

"what's your excuse?" suguru asked, his voice low.

"for…?"

"for acting the way we do," he explained, studying you.

"i don't like to do what people expect…" you answered, "why should i live up to other people's expectations instead of my own?"

"so you disappoint them from the start, then you're covered, right?" suguru pushed, though he wasn't exactly wrong.

"something like that, i guess."

"well, then you screwed up," he said softly.

"how is that?"

"you've never disappointed me," suguru stated, without a trace of dishonesty in his tone.

his answer made you feel bare. after spending so long building up your walls, he's walked right past them in a way that didn't make you feel afraid of being seen.

the taste of alcohol lingered on your lips again, though the sweet aftertaste wasn't quite as strong as before. one glass turned into two, two turned into five… and that eventually led to a good time, until you were too drunk to stand up…

you hung onto suguru like a magnet as he helped you exit the bar, your mind far too fuzzy and your limbs too heavy to be doing any of it yourself.

"this 's so patronizing," you complained, eyes half lidded and barely able to see something that wasn't spinning.

"leave it to you to use big words when you're wasted," he groaned, basically dragging you up the steep hill leading to the park nearby.

"i don't think sooo," you chirped, sluggishly walking until you accidentally stumbled over air. suguru helped you up, his hands holding you from under the arms like a toddler, "why are you doing this, though? you don't care if i live or die," you mumbled dramatically.

"of course i do," he replied with a grin, setting you down on a swing.

"why?" he took your hands in his, "because then i'd have to take out girls who actually like me," he teased, eyes set on your wobbly figure.

"as if you could find one," you shot back, smirking as you leaned against the chain of the swing.

"see, that— who needs affection when i have blind hatred?" suguru chuckled.

"wait—just, let me sit down for a while," you mumbled, not really taking in his witty remarks. everything felt floaty, like you could fly away or sink into the ground at any moment.

you took a few deep breaths, letting the chilly air fill your lungs and ground you—and that's all it took for you to lose your balance and almost fall off the swing if suguru hadn't been there to catch you.

thanks to the alcohol, you could only laugh at the misfortunes of your own doing, suguru asking if you're okay going in one ear and out the other—of course you were!

he sat down on the swing next to yours, finally getting a moment to catch his breath. a part of him was glad he was here to take care of you, but the other felt guilty for how far he's let you go.

"you've had a good time… right?" he asked you softly.

"i… i—yeah…" you've gone quiet before being able to finish the sentence properly, your head lying against the chain while you slumped over with your mouth parted.

"nonono, hey—you have to wake up, okay? stay with me," suguru jumped, crouching down to be head-level with you while lightly slapping your face with the tips of his hands.

you've only been passed out for a couple of seconds before you woke up again. you were in a haze, starry eyes looking up and straight into sugurus as he held your face, his thumbs brushing softly over your cheeks—and for a moment, he could've sworn his knees got weak.

"your eyes have a little violet in them," you smiled, almost lost in the purple hues.

but, all good things come to an end, and sugurus warm smile was the last thing you saw before involuntarily hunching over and hurling your guts out.

"alright, that's good…" he frowned once you 'cooled off', pushing a few stray strands of hair out of your face, "you feel better now?"

"a little, i think," you sighed, "never drinking again."

"good," suguru huffed a laugh, reaching to take your hand, "i have some water in my car, let's get you home, okay?"

you groaned, linking your hand to his as you got up. the alcohols effect hadn't worn off completely, otherwise the embarrassment you would've normally felt would be a hundred times worse.

suguru's car was nicer than expected, a black, older model chevy, that was also surprisingly comfortable. the ride back to your apartment felt like a breath of fresh air after all of the chaos that has happened beforehand, quiet music playing through the radio.

"you wanna start a band?" he asked, gaze drifting between you and the road.

"no, i wanna sell car stereos," you scoffed, smiling, "yeah, start a band. i'd like that.

"mm, yeah, i can see you doing that," suguru agreed.

"oh, so now you know me?" you asked mockingly.

"i'm getting there…" he replied, looking over to you as he parked outside your home.

a moment passed before you answered, "the only thing people know about me is that i'm scary…" you spoke, voice somewhat quieter than usual—unsure, or maybe too aware.

"yeah… well i'm no picnic myself," suguru stated, matching your tone. the lampposts outside were the only source of light steeping though the window, making the rings on his fingers glimmer as he lay his hand atop the steering wheel.

you looked at him—really looked at him, past the harsh contrast of his exterior and what everyone deems him to be. you let yourself see the carefulness in his actions, the honesty in his voice; get lost in the warmth of his eyes.

"they don't know you, not the real you, anyway," he reassured.

"you're not as vile as i thought you were, suguru," you smiled, making him let out a light chuckle.

your chest felt warm, heart thrumming beneath it all of a sudden. everything felt so quiet—so real and intimate, like the only choice you had to make had already been written down for you. instincts had taken over as you closed your eyes and leaned in, waiting for his lips to press against yours just like you needed.

but the kiss never came…

just his voice, cutting through the deafening silence,

"maybe we should do this some other time."

you felt your heart sink to your stomach. a mixture of hurt and disbelief painted on your face.

your breath was shaking as you got out and slammed the car door in your wake. you couldn't stay here, not when he's made you feel so stupid.

"fuck…," shallow curses slipped under suguru's breath. his face was pressed against heels of his palms as he leaned into the steering wheel.

he couldn't do it, not right now. not when the alcohol was still clinging to your senses.

he wanted it to be a special moment, would have waited however long necessary for it to happen as it should.

now he's watched any chance that might've remained vanish, get torn away from his very fingertips.

and the worst part of it? you probably hated him right now.

even after the multiple attempts of trying to see you, you avoided suguru like the plague.

you couldn't let him win by giving him the satisfaction of thinking he can just get away with what he did.

and maybe you didn't cry, but the cuts of opening up to him just to get played went deeper than you'd like to admit. you replayed that night so many times in your head, wondering if you really were the one at fault, or if he was just an asshole.

you're still torn between the two.

suguru on the other hand, was running out of options.

you've been skipping the only class you shared with him. he even went to the music store hoping to catch you there, though you preferred tuning some random guitar rather than acknoedge his presence. when slipping notes into your locker only proved a further lack of results, suguru knew he'd have to resort to more drastic attempts of regaining your attention.

and that meant spending almost half of his savings buying you that guitar he saw you with.

plus, spending that much money after accepting some to take you out would make it even, right?

(wrong, but it was nice to think that.)

that's how he ended up writing you a small letter reading 'can we talk? pick you up tomorrow after class.' and tucking it neatly beneath the guitar strings. with a little more help from your sister, suguru managed to leave it in the passenger seat of your car, just waiting to be found by you.

to say you were positively surprised when you saw it was a slight understatement.

you didn't need a name to know who it was from. maybe suguru really did see through you far enough to get past the surface level, and maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. you didn't want to give your trust to him again just yet, but the push you needed to give him another chance made its way back into the light.

tomorrow came by fast after you'd spent the rest of the evening testing out your new gift. strumming each cord and mindlessly matching the notes to the song that was playing when you met that night at the bar.

so now here you were, standing face-to-face with suguru right outside your classroom—who definitely hasn't been waiting for the past twenty minutes just to make sure you won't sneak away before he could get there.

you'd be lying if you said that nothing stirred in your chest upon seeing him again. his inky hair was tied up in a bun, only the bottom half remaining free and flowing over his shoulders. subtle black eyeshadow was smudged lightly around his eyes, making the violet in his gaze so striking it seemed intentional. you couldn't deny the fact that you missed this sight.

"you can't just buy me a guitar everytime you screw up, you know that, right?" you initiated, a faint smile tugging at your lips.

"well, hello to you too," suguru mused, leaning against the lockers. considering you haven't immediately started the conversation by cursing him, he'd say things were going on the right track. "you did like it though, right?" he asked.

you should like it. he's stalked you well enough to know it was your favourite model.

"i do, yes," you trailed off, eyeing him.

"i'm glad," he shrugged, giving you a subtle grin, "i was running out of options."

"so you'll indulge me?" suguru continued, pushing his weight off the lockers and reaching his hand out to you.

"i wouldn't go that far just yet," you bit back a smile, beginning to walk off.

'yet' is all suguru heard though, even as he felt your ever-so-cruel intentions of tearing his heart to shreds with every step taken away from him.

it only took a few long strides for him to catch up to you, points for having legs as long as half of your height.

for the past twenty minutes, the small talk seemed to create more tension rather than release any—for you at least. you probably asked suguru "how long until we get there?" more times than a toddler on their first road trip, although he'd insist on not telling you where you're going even. you were on the teetering edge of calling the police to report a kidnapping.

shortly after the five hundredth exasperated sigh suguru let out, you finally arrived at the intended location; at the docks. not for any ferries or ships, but paddle boats.

"is this supposed to be the government-level secret you were so unwilling on letting me on?" you asked, amused.

"thought a quiet, secluded place like this might be more fitting," he shrugged.

"certainly fitting if you want to kill someone," you snickered, walking by his side over to the little ticket stand.

"in broad daylight? tsk, who do you i am?" suguru asked—deeply hurt and offended by your accusations.

"fair enough. but you're paddling." you warned, watching him pay for the tickets before handing you yours.

"right away, princess," he smirked, walking in front of you to the paddleboat and holding your hand to help you on-board. the sneer you gave him was almost involuntary—even though you might've been touched in the slightest bit by the courtesy.

the warmth of the sun entangled itself with the soft breeze swaying above the lake, the feeling of it reminded you of silken ribbons brushing over your skin. a brief moment of silence took over, the only noise being heard being the quiet sloshing of the water as you paddled further into the lake. you looked over to suguru; sleek strands of hair were dancing in the wind as he looked into the distance—not lost in thought, but as if something weighed on his mind.

his gaze drifted into the ground; the stillness made your skin crawl, and that wasn't going to change unless one of you spoke up.

"why did you take me here, sugu—"

"i'm sorry," his head snapped towards you, voice mellow yet somehow hurried as he cut you off. anything you might've thought you wanted to say got stuck in your throat at the sight of suguru's knitted eyebrows and doleful eyes. the apology took you by surprise.

"i wanted to have a chance to explain myself," his hands were in his lap, sunlight reflecting softly off his rings as he chipped away at the black polish coating his nails; a habit of his you've noticed oftentimes when he'd try gathering his thoughts, "i understand how i may have come across last time…"

"yeah…" you mumbled, unaware of what to say but keen on what he has to say.

"that was the last way i wanted things to go," suguru stated carefully. "the risk of seeing you again only for you not to remember… or even regret what had happened… turning you down seemed like the best option in that moment," he continued, finding your gaze, "even if it pained me to do so."

you could've sworn your heart skipped a beat upon hearing the last words. his eyes felt heavy on yours, glints of hope and guilt visibly sparking the same emotions in your chest—which suguru was quick to pick up on.

everything felt stuck in time, your thoughts, your surroundings—just swallowed up by the setting sun as you stared into the distance, a part of you wanting to protect herself by avoiding the situation, while the other strived for an answer to give.

"i just didn't want you to feel played."

suguru stole your attention once again—regret, regret, regret—is this what would've ended up of your heart? what would happen if you followed through? or is it just another tactic you made yourself believe in order not to risk becoming heartbroken?

the piles of proof suguru had given you about his intentions could form walls around you by now—just staring back and mocking you, telling you how stupid you are for believing otherwise. he is good, you were just to scared to admit it.

"what does that mean now?" you asked him.

"whatever you want it to mean," suguru said softly, a light tilt in his head as he looked at you, "i'm here now."

a pacing silence followed before he broke it once more with a forlorn chuckle, "it would suck if it didn't mean anything, but if that's the case—"

"kiss me."

"wha—"

your body moved without you, lips crashing onto his in the fragment of a moment in which it all felt right.

awe and surprise was laced into the sweet, minty taste of sugurus lips as they prudently interlocked with yours, his hand slipping over to cup your cheek once he got the confidence to lean in deeper into the kiss.

he tilted your head to the side to gain better access, his thumb brushing over your skin with a gentleness that turned you to putty in his hold. it felt surreal almost—for both of you, but falling into place like two pieces of a puzzle.

one hand wrapped around his forearm while the other reached to brush his hair back. the initial shyness of the kiss melted into a slow, easy comfort. his lips moved against yours at a languid pace, the familiar cool touch of his metal studs becoming a sensation you no longer just tolerated, but craved.

suguru broke away from the kiss first, but both of you were left breathless. the warm, orange hues of the sun painted over your skin like spilled honey, melting into the quiet space between you. for a moment, neither of you moved; his hand remained on your cheek, his touch soft and featherlight as he pulled you into his side.

"who could've guessed you tasted so sweet?" suguru purred smoothly, despite the chaotic rhythm of his heartbeat thrumming in his chest.

"don't get sappy now," you chuckled. there was an effortless warmth in resting your head against sugurus shoulder, a comfort that quickly became second nature.

the rest of the evening snapped by faster than you felt; paddling back to shore whilst in each others arms, listening to music on the car ride home—and before you knew it, you were back on the doorstep to your apartment, the kiss suguru had left on your forehead previously still lingering on your skin and letting butterflies roam wild in your stomach.

not long after you'd settled in bed, ready to go to sleep, your phone rings—a text from suguru, no less.

you crawled closer to your phone and unplugged the charger—the battery almost dead after having spent the past two hours on the phone with utahime, yapping and giggling about how your day had gone with him.

suguru: hey, i forgot to ask you earlier. you'll come to tomorrow's party with me, right?

suguru: no need to answer that. i'll pick you up at 7pm.

you couldn't help but smile at his determination, but you asked yourself, was a party really the place for you? especially when your ex was the one hosting it? whatever, you replied before being able to overthink.

you: do i have a choice?

suguru: nope. see you tomorrow

you: who knows, plans can change until then

suguru: goodnight to you too, princess:)

you: goodnighttt

☆

normally, you wouldn't be bothered to apply any makeup or dress a certain way—much less for a man—yet all day all you were able to think about was the way sugurus gaze trailed down your fancy, dressed up figure that night at the bar. would it be so wrong to want to pull that reaction out of him again? a little eyeshadow and a little black dress never hurt anybody afterall.

the knock on the door came sooner than expected, ten minutes earlier to be exact, but thankfully, you managed to finish your look by then. a few puffs of perfume and your purse were all that was left on your way out.

you couldn't blame suguru for being a little impatient to see you, right?

but even if he knew how just beautiful you looked before opening the door, his eyes would have sparkled all the same.

to say he was speechless was an understatement. his lips parted, but all that came out was an awkward "hi" as his gaze flickered, unknowing where to stop.

"hi," you replied, biting back a smirk after seeing his reaction—just what you intended, maybe even better, "you don't look half bad."

a lie. he looked apatising to say the least, even though not much was changed from his usual look. the worn leather jacket was still hanging off his shoulder, letting view of the way his black, fitted t-shirt accentuated his figure—biceps especially. a few thin, silver chains dangled over his chest, a perfect contrast with his rings and piercings, while his hair laid freely like spilled ink.

"i—thanks," suguru huffed, stumbling over his words.,"you look amazing."

"why, thank you," you coaxed, "should we throw the party on my doorstep, or…?"

"i wouldn't be opposed to it," suguru raised an eyebrow, his grin wiped off his face right as you smacked him in the arm. "after you," he teased, unlocking his car as he made way for you.

chosos parties weren't like the others, where the space would be crawling with drunks, fights and loud, deafening music. maybe that was a part of why you agreed to come, or maybe it was just an excuse to see suguru again.

his arm was wrapped around your lower back as you entered, a gesture you weren't exactly opposed to, surprisingly. the smell of weed, tobacco and hard liquor was the first thing that greeted you once you made a few steps in, strong enough to make a part of you regret you even came. a few familiar faces were scattered throughout the rooms, and double the gazes watching as you came in with suguru.

the thing about smaller, quieter parties was that naturally, peoples attention would be drawn a lot easier.

including chosos.

a low tune played in the background, one of your favourites, actually, as you hid away on a couch with suguru. leaning into his side as if it were your rightful place, you nodded along to the music while yapping something about your history teacher being a pervert—he wasn't really listening, too busy admiring how your legs looked in that dress.

that wasn't a problem for choso, though; smoothly cutting through the crowd before approaching you.

"hey, you enjoying the party so far?" choso spoke up, raising both you, and sugurus glances, "you look beautiful, by the way.

that was enough to make sugurus hand wrap just a little tighter around your waist, aware of how choso only reffered to you, as well.

"it's not too bad, i guess," you and choso didn't part on bad terms—more like differences of opinion—and even though its been more than a year since your breakup, he knew you well enough to know that what you said was a compliment.

"glad i could level up to your standards," choso chuckled, "let me know if you want anything, i could show you some of this new stuff i got, if you're intereste—"

"she's not, thanks," suguru cut him off. the more choso talked, the more it got harder for him not to snap. does he have the right, though? a kiss didn't mean you were his.

your attention flickered between the two before reassuring choso of what suguru said. you could tell how the energy shifted, how his hold became firmer and his tone sharper. it would be a lie if you said you weren't enjoying it.

"thought it would be nice to ask anyway," he smiled. and oh, if only looks could kill, choso would be dead by now.

"so, you know eachother?" suguru caved, looking between the two of you. the sear in his chest felt irrational, but he couldn't shake it.

"if you can call it that, sure. it's been a while, though," you bit back before choso got the chance to, knowing his response would not match yours.

"ouch," choso gave a half-smile, "sorry, are you together?"

as if the tension couldn't get any worse, the few seconds of silence that followed felt like a whole hour had passed. you had no answer. no idea of what to say, only the slightest hope that suguru would say yes.

and so he did—his tone firm and sure, masking the worry beneath perfectly.

by the time you managed to process the storm of emotions rushing through your chest, choso had left, letting out a halfhearted apology and goodbye before turning on his heel.

you could feel your heart pounding in your ears, surges of heat and something you couldn't quite name flowing through your veins. you weren't sure if the look you gave suguru reflected how vulnerable you really felt, but your voice surely let it be known.

"what was that about?" you asked, your voice thin and breathy. the possibility of him just saying that to get a rise out of choso scared you.

the sharpness in sugurus gaze evaporated into thin air once he caught you back in his view. music and chatter dimmed into nothingness, the softness in his eyes igniting a spark in your heart that only he could set aflame.

there was no need for a verbal response to know what was next. sugurus closed the distance within the blink of an eye, his lips merging with yours into a kiss that seeped of need and devotion.

your mouths swayed with no particular rhythm, a constant push and pull of your desires blending to eachothers will. involuntarily, you went in to cup his face, feel him, pull him closer, which only made suguru suck in a sharp breath as he slipped his hand over your thigh.

a swift moment of clarity washed over you, reminding you where you are still, and the amount of people just hanging around. you broke away from the kiss, a string of spit left in the wake of your flushed lips.

you wanted him in ways that were concerning to feminism.

"hey," you spoke, breathless.

"hey."

"we should get out of here."

"yeah," he agreed, seemingly entranced as he got up, letting you walk in front and carefully dragging your dress lower from where it rode up.

suguru shut and locked the door behind as you entered the first room you caught empty. bounds were off, no one to interrupt or make this moment fall apart.

his leather jacket ended up somewhere on the floor—unimportant, the only thing worth his focus was the taste of your lips and how your body melted against his as he slipped his tongue into your warmth. low groans and whimpers fell freely now, each more intense with every hungry push and twist of his tongue.

searing heat rose up in your chest, spreading throughout your body as you slipped your hands under sugurus t-shirt, feeling every ridge of his abs and how warmth radiated off him. the pads of your fingers dug into his sides, desperate to have more of him. a lewd, loud whine escaped you just as your tongue clashed into his, letting you feel something you weren't aware of before. a tongue piercing.

suguru picked up on your reaction almost immediately, though already drunk on the idea of all the ways he could use his piercing to please you. his mouth trailed hot down the side of your neck, nipping softly at the tender skin and eliciting the sweetest sounds from you while simultaneously massaging the pillowy curve of your ass.

"tell me what you need, i'm here," suguru rasped, the warmth of his breath sending chills as he spoke into your neck.

"just you, sugu. need you," you panted.

"fuck, i need you too, baby," he breathed out, dragging his pierced tongue over the purpley-red hues decorating your skin. this feeling alone could send you into overstimulation, your body tense and trembling with want and anticipation.

sugurus hands slid up your back, making you arch into him and gasp when you'd felt his hands drag down the zipper of your dress, letting it slip off your figure and leaving you in nothing but the black, lacy underwear you chose for tonight.

"i know, sweetheart," he coaxed, his voice low and thick with lust, "it's okay, sugu's gonna take care of you."

he became your center of gravity as he led you backwards onto the bed. maybe it was the comfort of the mattress, or maybe it was the view of sugurus bare, defined upper body—but you felt on cloud nine.

the way his lips began a trail of wet kisses down your body reminded you soft feathers brushing over your skin, too. smooth, ebony hair cascaded over the sides of his head like silk as he made sure to give an equal amount of attention to all of you—starting with your jaw, the valley of your breasts, and down your abdomen. your composure breaking down without save, wetness soaking your panties and making them stick to your mound—just waiting to get peeled off.

yielding to your impatience, you reached to hook your fingers beneath the hem of sodden material, desperate to feel anything close of relief. any further motion was cut short by sugurus hand wrapping around your wrist, giving you a disapproving look from between your legs. his face was so near you could basically feel every huff of air melting over your clothed cunt, doing absolutely nothing to release any tension.

"don't tease…" you complained, no real bite in your voice.

"you gonna let me taste you, pretty girl?" suguru hummed, acting as if unwrapping you was something only he gets to do.

"fuck, yes—" your voice was cut by your whimper, or more like the tip of sugurus nose skimming over your veiled slit with the weight of a feather—which was more than enough to light up a spark in your devoid senses.

suguru felt intoxicated, a low groan escaping him as he mindlessly dragged his tongue along the darkened, wet patch of your underwear. it was almost too much for you to take in—how the lace barrier could feel so frustrating, yet distributing the pleasure much more vastly thanks to the way it clung to you like a second skin.

the feeling only amplified when his lips began working their part—sucking and slurping the honeyed juices seeping from your clothed cunt until drool was leaking down his chin. with ragged, shallow breaths, suguru kept his nose pressed against your puffy clit, anchored as if he couldn't get enough.

"mmph—fuck," you cried out. the motion made your hips buckle; he was relentless—tongue dragging and prodding at your entrance with no real reward. you were getting pissed.

the lack of patience and need for more made your body move on its own, your hand reaching straight for sugurus messy hair and pulling a nasty moan from his lips. "do it right if you're gonna do it at all," you retorted, observing the meek look on his face as he unwillingly parted from your pussy.

"fuck," he mouthed, and you could've sworn you also heard a quiet " 'm sorry" before he pulled your soaked panties to the side and hooked his arms around your thighs.

suguru wanted to take it slow, he really did; but his eagerness to unravel you took over, and it didn't take long for him to figure out which buttons to push. a hum of relief escaped him as he dragged his tongue through your folds, circling your clit and talking in the way your thighs twiched in his grasp.

"mm, is that it?" he purred, eyebrows knit as he looked up to see the weak nod you managed to get through.

"yes, you're doing s—so well," your breath hitched. there wasn't an ounce of control in sugurus pace; sucking and flicking the hot muscle against your clit, the pace he set up was desperate—designed to make you clasp your shaking thighs around his head.

his painted fingernails dug crescent moons into the plush of your hips, pulling you closer into the heat of his mouth as if the proximity still wasn't enough. your back arched against the bed, greedily chasing more of that overwhelming pleasure sugurus tongue was fucking into you. it was dizzying; your coherency succumbing to nothing more than a string of needy whimpers falling from your lips.

the knot in your stomach kept getting tighter with every excessive flick of his pierced tongue, the metal barbell forcing surges of intense pleasure as it repeatedly brushed over your sensitive nub. the feeling of your hole fluttering around his muscle made suguru moan shamelessly into your heat, thrusting and swirling his tongue until he could feel you getting close.

"keep going, please—suguru, make me cum," you gasped, clawing the bedsheets with one hand while the other was still snug in his inky hair, eagerly trying to pull him closer. his face was messy and dripping with your slick, the air in his lungs lacking as he made out with your cunt, his nose nudging against your puffy clit with every movement.

yout breath caught when the first wave of your orgasm hit, sending a violent shudder through your core that made your body buckle. suguru remained unyielding against your heat, his hands gripping the curve of your hips, pinning you in place and overriding the breathless shoves you gave him in your sudden sensitivity.

low hums escaped him as he licked away any remains of the sweet, creamy sap that trickled downwards. the taste of you filled his senses as it did in his dreams—tantalising, and irresistible, but that just wasn't enough for him much longer. suguru felt weak, yet his body moved on instinct. he rolled his hips into the mattress, completely intoxicated by your essence as he pressed his clothed, aching cock against the soft surface beneath him.

you didn't have much time to recover from your high before sugurus pierced lips began kissing up your body again. the warmth left behind made you shudder, realisation that this might not be the end just yet washing over you in waves of heat and anticipation.

sugurus large frame engulfed you as he hovered above, pure need dripping off his lips and on to yours as he cut the distance. the kiss was anything but tempered—raw, and desperate; his tongue slipping into your mouth and tearing each sound from you.

"see how sweet you taste?" he rasped, pushing his hips forward and making you gasp at the contact—all too aware of how his cock squeezed in between your bodies, stiff and throbbing; urging to feel your walls stretch around him.

your hands did quick work of undoing his studded belt, and helping him slide off his cargo pants. just the thought of being in this position made you nervous—would his cock be thick? have that curve you've imagined so many times? the material of his boxers was all that was separating you right now, but as you dragged your palm over his bulge you could feel the surge of buzzing heat rushing through your core.

neither of you could mask how badly you wanted eachother, half lidded eyes gazing into the other as if missing one moment was not something you could afford.

once fully undressed, sugurus cock laid stiff on your stomach—thick, and leaking, it almost went up to your bellybutton. the phantom feeling of it already making you ache on the inside.

"tell me if anything feels off, okay? we can stop, no questions asked," he spoke carefully, leaning in to press another kiss on your cheek.

"i want you, suguru," you replied, meeting his lips halfway. your heart fluttered for every moment spent together; each one bringing you up to where you are now, with the person that you are with now—who you wouldn't replace even if given a hundred chances.

suguru cradled you in his arms from above, your faces only centimetres apart as the warmth of his bare skin melted into yours. it all felt so real—so much like the reality you've craved since long before you've even admitted.

your breath hitched once he pushed in. the gentle, yet overwhelming feeling of his tip slipping in past your folds was intoxicating; how you stretched around his length, so slowly it let you discern every ridge and curve of him.

getting lost in you wouldn't be a difficult task for suguru, who could already feel himself slip away more and more with every inch buried. his lips parted, face beautifully framed by the silken black hair flowing—such an alluring look for someone whose heart nearly stopped working the second he had you so perfectly wrapped around him.

barely halfway in, suguru stopped; his thumb brushing over your flushed cheek so lightly one could believe he was afraid to hurt you. his violet gaze searched for yours, a silent request for confirmation.

"it's okay, you can move," you smiled, voice breathy and soft. the sudden stop made you squeeze around him, eager for more.

hushed moans left you once suguru began moving again. your hands found their place holding onto his back, while your legs stayed hooked around his waist. the angle made your abs tighten, each thrust measured so that it swept over your most sensitive spots. surges of pleasure spread through you like wildfire, your thighs starting to tremble thanks to the continuous build up.

sugurus breath faltered, low pants falling off his lips as he eased into the pace. he couldn't rush, not when savouring you was so much more compelling. the sound of your voice only spurred him on, feeling himself twitch within your sopping walls just by hearing it.

each collision was accompanied by quiet plap!, leaving behind strings of slick catching in between your bodies. your thighs wrapped tighter around his waist, pulling him in closer before meeting his lips in a kiss. you let yourself be guided by him, too absorbed in the rising pleasure to even think.

suguru felt the change in the air; how your chest heaved, how you pulled him closer and kissed his lips. you took him apart, piece by piece. and made him fall into his urges and hasten his rhythm.

"shit—suguru, feels s—so good," you choked out a whimper, digging your nails harder into his back and making him hiss.

you were both driven by hunger and desperation, drunk on the pleasure searing beneath your skin. the kiss quickly escalated to a point where you couldn't get enough of eachother; tongues clashing and lips bitten.

"kept me waiting all that time—" he rasped into your mouth, accentuating each word with a sharper, almost punishing thrust, "fuck—can't stay away from you."

suguru pulled away first, pushing himself higher until his necklaces dangled above your face. nothing could make him take his eyes off you right now; he was entranced, feeding on the reactions painted all over your face.

louder, helpless moans ripped from your chest, mirroring the frantic rhythm of sugurus hips as he slammed into you. his cock split you open again and again, reaching so deep it made the coil in your belly feel as if it could snap at any moment.

you were dazed—neither of you coherent enough to say anything but eachothers names like a prayer. your body felt as if it were on fire, tense and overpowered by the feeling of your high approaching. you searched to press your face into the pillows, embarrassment flooding as your expression twisted in pleasure.

sugurus elbows were perched on either side of your head now, his hands cupping your cheeks and setting your gaze back on to him. "don't hide, need to see you—fuck, please baby," he pled, his voice uncharacteristically needy and soft.

"mmphh—oh my," you gasped, holding on to him tighter.

"gonna cum, pretty girl? yeah?" he panted. his pace was faltering, sloppy even; yet his cock still managed to slip in and out of your cunt so effortlessly, hitting every spot that mattered as if it were his only motivation. "gonna cum together, right? gonna let me feel that perfect pussy cum on my cock?" suguru slurred his words, eyebrows knit as he slammed into you praying he won't cum before you.

to say that suguru was in a state of bliss was an understatement; his mind was reeling, faded so that all he knew was the feeling of getting swept away by the currents of pleasure—with you as the anchor pulling him to the very bottom. he didn't mind it, though; suguru would gladly get swallowed by the ocean if it meant you being there to witness it—after all, you were the one able to give him air as well as take it.

and less could not be said about you, either. delirium flooded your mind, magnifying every touch with breathtaking intensity. you held on to suguru as he were the only thing keeping you alive right now, the threads of his being getting woven into the back of your mind and patching up spots you thought you've long forgotten.

he made you feel whole again; replacing the dimmed out light for a fire raging in your chest—stirring and spreading throughout your entire body until it consumed you from the inside out, making you shake and writhe beneath him.

"suguru—" you gasped as he leaned in until your foreheads touched, shattered breaths colliding as intimacy enveloped you. a few long, deep drags of his cock were all it took before getting pushed over the edge, your walls clamping and leaking down his length while he continued to drive into your dripping warmth, dragging out your orgasm.

"mine—mine, all mine," suguru whispered it like a chant, almost like he couldn't believe it still. it made you clench tightly around him, and that was enough to make him gasp as the air was cut from his lungs, "fuck, i love you so—haah."

you were up in your own head, dazed—hearing, but not listening to what suguru had said. whatever piece of you comprehended his words could do nothing but return the emotion, and you found those very same syllables slipping from your lips, unable to stop them.

"i—i love you too, suguru," you sounded breathless, and despite his craving to mark you fully, he pulled out—cock pulsing with each reliving spill of white, hot cum painting your stomach. his eyes were screwed shut, chest heaving and gleaming with sweat as he stroked himself, letting the last spurts of pleasure trickle down his flared tip.

strands of hair clung to his forehead as the rest cascaded down his back—it was a heavenly sight. but as the fog began to clear from your mind, it left you wandering the sharp, gutting edge of reverie, replaying those words in your head, unsure whether or not to blame your imagination.

the feeling of suguru using a damp cloth to wipe down the mess on your lower half is what snapped you out of your trance-like state. after sliding back into his boxers, he found his way next to your frame once more.

"you okay?" suguru asked softly as your eyes met, opening his embrace to welcome you in his arms. you nodded with a subtle smile, creeping up next to him. the following moments dragged out slower than ever, and you almost hated how comfortable you felt nonetheless; lithe hands caressing the side of your face, his lips pressed against the top of your head.

suguru picked up on your unusual silence though, and you felt the weight of his gaze, "what's going on?" he spoke lowly, brushing your hair with his fingers.

"did you mean it?" you replied, quicker than you meant. you weren't sure what to expect—whether your wishful expectations got the better of you, or that worry stirred in your gut unnecessarily.

the corner of his lips twisted upwards, inducing your undoing, "did you?"

his answer only made you feel more reluctant, scared even. you want to push it away and deem it as overthinking.

you want to trust the way suguru holds your beating heart in his hands.

you love him.

"suguru," you urged.

the ghost of a smile traced his pierced lips as he breathed out, the sound almost blending with the silence, "you know, i didn't have much hope the first time i approached you… much less the second, or even the third," suguru laughed, "you made me lose whatever speck was left of it."

"and yet i couldn't find myself away from you." his voice was laced with honesty, and you visibly sharpened your focus at those words.

"i wanted to know more about you, the reason why you steer everyone away when you're the most captivating person in every room."

your voice seemed stuck in your throat, and your breath hitched once suguru held your face in his hands and kissed your cheek, "i loved how bold you are," then the other, "i loved how funny, and sweet you really are," then pressed another kiss to your forehead, "and how you totally hated me." heat rose up in your cheeks as you both giggled at that, suguru looking at you as if bewitched.

then finally, his lips met yours in a short, tender kiss that spoke of nothing but devotion.

"and i love you."

your pulse quickened, just enough to make you crave more, to lean in and kiss him again—deeper, slowing time down just to let you savour this moment and etch it in your mind. "i love you, suguru," you replied, nearly out of breath.

a teasing smile spread on suguru's face, "mmh, when did you get so romantic?

"don't push your luck," you giggled.

oh, he wouldn't dream of it, not when everything felt so right. not when you looked at him like he was the only one for you.

the sense of fulfilment lived fiercely behind suguru's ribs, joy powering each frantic beat of his heart even after the shared moments of sincerity. you couldn't have said otherwise about yourself either, or deny the subtle pep in your step only suguru was keen enough to notice as you walked down the stairs to the first floor of the house.

the music died down, only a few, small groups of people remaining throughout the space, but none worth spending the rest of your night with.

that wasn't up to you though.

but to a very wild and wasted gojo.

​you heard him long before you actually saw him. even after you and suguru had retreated to a quieter corner of the kitchen to enjoy your drinks, the sheer volume of his voice cut right through the distance.

"yo, suguru!" gojo's lips twist into a grin; he was adressing your boyfriend, yet looking at you, "looks like you got my money's worth!"

your eyebrows knit together, skeptical of what he meant. suguru's hand tightened unconsciously around your waist as he replied to the white haired man, "not the time," he retorted.

"why not, huh?" gojo laughed, feet dragging heavy as he walked closer.

people attention's been drawn like a moth to a flame by now, dozens of pairs of eyes watching the scene unfold. you've never liked gojo, he was arrogant and obnoxious, and right now, you were unaware whether or not to pay any mind to the word of a drunk like him.

"go away, man. you're drunk," suguru shot at him, echoing your thoughts as he strode over to hook his arm around gojo's neck, trying to guide him away. why was he so disturbed by his friend's presence?

"i'm gooood," gojo slurred, "how 'bout you, geto? you good? you get laid yet?"

you grimaced.

"or are you still playing house with her?"

gojo wasn't hiding in any way with what he said. he wanted you to hear.

your chest felt tight all of a sudden, heavy with the weight of disbelief—but one look at suguru was all you needed to confirm what you've heard.

his eyes were wide, locked with yours—though the image was growing blurrier by the second. murmuring a quiet "get the hell out of here," to gojo as he pushed him away, his steps were adamant on his way over to you.

you wanted to dissappear; to slap him and just ask him for an explanation all at once. everything played back in your mind again—'playing house'? suguru being next to you right all thanks to gojo's pretty dime?

you felt like a joke.

"hey—look, i can explain," suguru tried, reaching to hold your hands. his voice was low, laced with obvious shame.

you slapped his hands away before he could finish, "explain what, huh? that he paid you to take me out?" you exclaimed, trying not to let your voice crack or your tears fall.

you could feel your composure fraying the longer you had him in your sight. you'd never seen suguru this way before; sharp eyes now filled with worry, expression burdened by remorse—a facade you were done falling for.

"just—please, let's get out of here so i—" suguru caught onto the sides of your arms as you tried to leave.

you rushed through the crowd, shoving past bodies without a second thought. every collision echoed with their mocking laughter and pity. you've never really noticed suguru in your class before or around campus, but now it as if he were taking up the whole room, suffocating you.

it was too much for you to fully process. your knees felt weak with the thought of being used. your throat tight with all the lies you've consumed.

"i love you."

nothing but a cruel joke.

the fresh air did little to nothing to ground you, it turning to cotton in your lungs when you'd heard suguru's sickening voice call you. tears threaten to spill the more you acknowledge the part of you that craves only an explanation, a possibility that any of what you'd heard was a made up lie.

despite everything, suguru still knew you well enough to read you. every expression, every word, or moment of silence—engraved in his mind as if it were something vital.

so how could he bear to lose you?

"i wasn't intrested in any money, they're not the reason i'm here right now, okay?" suguru spoke up, doubt making his voice waver.

you scoffed, a swift pause before you replied, gaze still hesitant on meeting his. "what's the reason then, sleeping with me? congrats on that."

suguru shook his head mindlessly as he stepped closer to you. the warmth he saw in you not long ago, now replaced by a callousness he didn't want to recognise.

"my reason is that i love you," he said firmly, "and i regret what i did—but i'm thankful it brought me here, with you." a fleeting spark lit up your eyes for a second, but it was short lived; flashes of your moments together shot through your mind, each kiss, each worthless "i love you", each lie you've only now come to realise—it just made you angrier, weaker.

"i have a hard time believing you, suguru," your voice was soft, but there was no mistaking the bitterness and emotion behind it. "if you loved me, then i wouldn't feel used right now—or lied to, or ashamed of myself for not seeing through your selfish games,"

​suguru kept his gaze averted, unable to look at you. your words cut through his defenses like shards of glass, shattering his delusions and forcing him to face the cold reality—you were right.

you knew spending anymore time in this moment would only end up with you acting like none of this has ever happened. but god, you wanted that; for someone to pop up from out of nowhere and say it's been a joke.

however, the only joke right now was you thinking that you could forgive suguru.

"and i fucking hate you for it," you ended sharply.

you wish that were true.

you could act tough all you want, but it wouldn't change the truth. a single tear was caught in the dimlight, slipping down your cheek as you finally turned away, leaving suguru exactly where he stood—no concrete apology given or trying to stop you.

he didn't deserve you,

but suguru loved every face of who you are. he would've happily spent his forever with the witty, sharp tongued side of you—but losing the real you left a hollow ache he never imagined he'd have to bear.

you'll never know that, though.

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“‘Toruuu.” You whine, bracing your hands on his abs like you can barely even hold yourself up, your hips staying still and heavy on his. “C’mon…I don’t like it…”

Satoru grins, utterly endeared by your little attitude. He chuckles, grabbing your hips between his big hands and starting to roll them for you. “Aw, baby…You tired?”

You nod, whimpering softly as you let him do all the work moving your hips. He snorts softly in amusement, looking up at the way your eyes are all big and pleading, your little hands plastered on his stomach, your legs practically limp as you sit there in his lap. Rolling his eyes fondly, Satoru settles back against the pillows even more, letting go of your hips entirely and putting his hands behind his head.

“Wha-…” You start, looking perplexed as he lets go and stops doing any work. Then, realizing what he wants, you glare down at him lightly. “…Don’t be lazy, Satoru.”

“Lazy?” He barks out a laugh, shaking his head and looking up at you incredulously. “You think I’m lazy? Honey, you’ve barely done anything except cum this whole time.”

Face flushing, you glance away with a little scoff. “Okay? That’s bad now?”

His grin only widens at your continued attitude. But he stays firmly lounged back on the pillows, not even grinding his hips even as his cock twitches inside you. “Not bad, no. But you’re not pullin’ your weight. C’mon, sweetheart. Ride.”

Frowning- actually it borders on a grimace- you lift your hands and cross your arms instead, shaking your head. “No. I’m tired.”

‘From what?’, Satoru wants to ask. But instead he only lets out one of those long, fake-disappointed sighs. You blink now, glancing back down at him with a flicker of worry at his reaction. I mean, usually that only has a 50/50 chance of winning, but you always get surprised when he doesn’t give in.

Instead, he gives you that look. Y’know, the one that says ‘if you keep fucking around we’re stopping right now’. No teasing, no punishment, no apologies- just pulling straight out and continuing on with his day like nothing happened. And that’s even worse than having to do any work.

Holding back a, admittedly petulant, little whine, you uncross your arms and brace your hands on his abs again. Satoru grins again, obviously pleased with your obedience.

“Atta girl.” He praises teasingly, giving a motivational little grind of his hips. “Now, ride.”

Blushing deeper, you drop your eyes away from his and lift your hips. Ever so slowly, you pull halfway off…then drop down soooo slowly. Over and over. Up and down. At a glacial pace.

It still feels good. You feel every hard, thick inch of his cock as you purposely move at a sluggish pace. He throbs and twitches inside you, responding to the stimulation, but responding to your fucking bad behavior. Nails digging into his skin lightly, you continue on with your retaliation to his orders, just waiting for him to lose that ever-present patience.

Satoru watches the whole time, of course. His eyes never leave your face or your body, watching silently as you ‘obey’ his orders. It’s more amusing than anything, really, the way you’re such a spoiled little brat. Going all slow, whining pitifully like you can barely stand this, glancing up at him with adorable little pout every few seconds just to see if he’s close to giving in. But he’s the one who made you like this, encouraged and even rewarded your bratty mindset. Of course he’s not giving in yet.

The tipping point comes when you have the gall to stop and pant like you just put in so much work, batting your lashes as you glance at him as if pleading for help. Satoru has to hold back a laugh, his eyes nearly rolling out of his head as he smiles.

“Oh my god, you’re such a little baby…” He drawls, chuckling lowly.

“Satoru, please…” You beg, already starting to slowly lean down towards his chest, aiming to lay down.

He tsk’s you while quickly grabbing your shoulders to keep you up. “You’re being ridiculous, sugar. This is really unbecoming of a grown up woman, y’know…”

This time it’s you rolling your eyes, knowing he’s full of shit. You rest all your weight in his hands, knowing he can hold you up…and you both know you’ll just flop down and smack your head on his if he lets go.

He holds eye contact with you for a moment, and you stare right back, just as stubborn as him. The silence is long and heavy, like a silent battle of wills…as if you both don’t know who always wins in the end.

With dramatically indulgent sigh, Satoru tugs you down and crushes you to his chest, his strong hands grabbing your ass instead. You don’t even bother hiding your delighted little smile, happily grabbing at his arms and burrowing your face in the crook of his neck.

“Fuckin’ brat…” He grumbles, although he’s smiling as he plants his feet on the bed and starts pulling out to ram up into you.

“Mhmmm…” You hum in agreement, shivering in anticipation and excitement as he stops at the tip.

Spreading you nice and wide in preparation, he turns his head and murmurs lowly in your ear. “…Better take it until I tap out then, Princess.”