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ryosbaby · 28 days ago

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𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐓 ― #𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀

❝𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐃𝐎𝐆𝐆𝐘 𝐒𝐓𝐘𝐋𝐄? 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓.❞

PAIRING. streetracer!sukuna x fem!reader

SYPNOSIS. in an attempt to find your little brother, you cross paths with ryomen sukuna—he offers to help, and you’re desperate enough to say yes. now you owe him a date. shame on you because he’s exactly the kind of guy you should be running from.

WC. 12k

CONTENT. mdni. modernau. he was an ex convict too. blowjob. mature language. petnames. he collects knives. dirty talking. spitting. he makes you SWALLOW. both praising and degradation. the sexual part comes in the end.

A/N. i haven't written in a YEAR didnt proofread either fuck allat, nyways def a second part

It was 7:45 p.m., and you were still in your apartment, fussing with the last details of your outfit. You’d spent nearly an hour just deciding what to wear–ending up with red for both your top and your skirt, you figured that it suits him.

Sukuna’s whole persona screams red.

You hear your phone ding.

[Sukuna] Princess

[Sukuna] Downstairs alr

[Sukuna] Take your time

He was here. You quickly move over to the window and peer out, your eyes scanning the area below. There, sitting at the curb, is Sukuna’s car. You don’t know what kind of car it is, to your knowledge it wins him races. It’s the same car he had used to race that night. It’s an impressive sight, its sleek design gleaming under the streetlights. And leaning against it, with a bored expression on his face, is Sukuna himself.

He stands by his car, clad in a form-fitting shirt that emphasizes the hard muscle underneath. He must be a gym regular. He's leaning against the passenger side, his gaze fixed on his phone. He looks up for a moment, his gaze sweeping over the building until it lands on your window.

Sukuna’s eye locks onto yours, a smirk appearing on his face as he catches you peeking out. He lowers his phone, his gaze remaining on you as he raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. He pushes off the car and crosses his arms in a teasing manner, waiting patiently for you to come down. Your eyes widened a bit when you get caught, immediately backing away getting ready to go down and grabbing your purse

This makes Sukuna chuckle as he watches you backing away quickly, enjoying the sight of you getting flustered. He pockets his phone and leans back against his car, a smirk still present on his lips. He continues waiting patiently for you to come down, tapping his fingers against his arm as he looks around the quiet street.

You recall the night you met him. You met him last week at a street racing competition. An illegal one to add.

The CTS-V growls as it rolls to a stop, engine humming like it’s still hungry. Sukuna pops the door open, stepping out like he owns every inch of the lot. That Cadillac’s matte black, low to the ground. He stretches his neck, lights a cigarette, and leans back against the hood—he wore a simple white tank top he figured he might go to the gym after this, the grin on his face comes easy. He had already forgotten the race. He couldn’t care less about the crowd either. He never gave a fuck about them anyways. Instead his eyes land on a confused figure. He saw you earlier when the race began too, you were the only one not paying attention.

He watches, you look lost. It was a funny sight to him.

Your hair was casually pinned up with a clamp, a few loose strands softly brushing your neck. You wore a white one-shoulder top that fit perfectly, tucked into wide-leg denim jeans. On your feet, white slingback heels clicked on the dirty pavement. But it was those clear, Bayonetta-style glasses framing your face that really stood out—you were definitely not his type.

A groupie? He thought but quickly brushed it off, you were dressed too differently like them. He continues to watch you for a second too long before pushing off the car. He approaches you, to his dismay, you didn’t even notice him coming up.

“Never seen you before,” he says, voice low and amused. Up close, he’s obviously bigger than you—shoulders like a wall. His eye trails over you, lingering. His perfume was way too strong for your liking, it’s giving you a headache. “You're not dating one of these assholes, are ya?” He says obviously referring to the other guys who just raced with him.

“No?” You answer but it’s more of a question than an answer.

You don’t notice the tattoos at first. Not really. Not until you turn your head completely, light catching the curve of his cheek, Thick black lines trace down from the edge of his jaw, curling in sharp angles beneath his cheekbones. They mirror the grin he was wearing. On his forehead, a spearhead-shaped mark points downward, cutting the space between his eyes like a third eye that forgot how to blink. Across his shoulders, symmetrical lines dive down from his collarbone, meet at his sternum, and then break off—like they were carved to guide something through his chest, or out of it. His upper arms are wrapped with two thick bands, broken just enough to form shapes that almost resemble ritual marks. Circles and sharp-edged designs cut through the black, like ancient runes that had their meaning erased over time. His forearms bear a single black ring on each wrist—minimal, but final. Like cuffs that don’t restrain, only warn. And when he turns, even the back of his neck isn’t spared—lines creep up from his spine, split neatly into two blades climbing toward the base of his skull. He was attractive.

What the fuck? Who was this guy?

“Oh yeah?” Sukuna responds, taking a last drawl of his cigarette before flicking it away. His eye roams over you again, this time, slowly. His eye lingers on the curves of your body, and he lets out a gruff. Was he checking you out? You were offended, he didn’t even try to hide it.

“You don’t look like the groupie type to me,” Sukuna comments as his forehead creases, “so…who you here with then, princess?”

“Not a groupie either—’m lookin' for someone.”

“Someone?” Sukuna hums. “Boyfriend?” he asks again, making you sigh. He earns a glare from you with a simple no. The action almost made him giggle. “Good,” Sukuna responds almost immediately.

“Then who you looking for, princess?”

“My little brother–I doubt you know him…he kinda ran away. He's a pain and my parents will kill me if I don't find him.”

You confess—your brother has been “missing” for the past couple of days. At least, that’s what the police think. You and your parents know he just ran off with his friends. It’s not like this hasn’t happened before. Normally, no one would care—he always comes back eventually. But this time, he took money from your parents. And now you’re the one getting blamed for not keeping an eye on him. Leaving you responsible for not babysitting his ass.

“How old is the brat?” He asks, tilting his head. Don’t get him wrong. He couldn’t care less about the kid, if it meant talking to you, he’ll keep asking, he might even help you since he’s in a good mood.

“16,” you replied.

“Teenagers are little shits. Where ya think he ran off to, princess?” He asks, crossing his arms over his chest, “There are a lot of areas here, ya looked around yet?”

You tried. Emphasize on tried, but people here kept moving around.

“He goes here a lot, that's what his friends told me— here I'll show you a picture”

“Show me,” He takes another step closer. He’s in your space now, leaning into your face. He’s looking down at you, waiting for the picture. You unknowingly bite the bottom of your lip looking up to him. “Will you help?” eyes wide, Sukuna wants to take a shot at the sight of you.

“Depends,” A lazy smirk forming on him. “Will you make it worth it, princess?”

You brows furrowed, “Make what worth it? I’m not a prostitute.”

He lets out a laugh. “That wouldn’t work. Too easy,” he says, his eyes roaming over your body again. “No, baby, I’m just asking you out,” he responds, crossing his arms over his chest. “I find him, you go on a date with me. Win-win.”

You study him. He was attractive. Really attractive. This is a win-win.

“Only if you find him.”

“Of course,” Sukuna chuckles, tilting his head back. He’s still scanning you over with his eye, studying you. “We have a deal, baby.”

“Let’s get searching, yeah?” Sukuna says, reaching forward and grabbing your hand. His grip is firm around you, his large hand completely encompassing yours. Sukuna begins to lead you around the area, guiding you towards a group of people in the far corner.

“Do you race?’ You assume he was.

“Yeah, I do,” Sukuna responds, keeping his gaze forward. His eyes are scanning over the different people littering the area, searching for the kid. “Why you ask, baby?”

“Nothing just curious, never been here before.”

“This your first time?” he asks, slowing his steps and glancing over at you. One brow lifts, and a smirk starts tugging at his lips. “You sure you’re not a groupie?”

“Do I look like one?” you shoot back, slightly offended.

“No. You don’t,” Sukuna responds, his free hand rubbing his chin. He gives you a cursory once-over, his gaze lingering in certain places. “Which is why I’m confused how you’d end up here,” he says with a hum.

“It’s usually pretty easy to tell,” Sukuna says with a slight shrug. He begins walking again, pulling you along. “It’s not so much about what a groupie looks like, but how they act…y’know what I mean?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Mmm,” Sukuna hums, still leading the way as his eyes scan the crowd. He finally stops near a group of rowdy teenagers. They're loud, obnoxious, one of them already spilling beer on the pavement. His hand stays locked with yours as he mutters, “Idiots.”

“That’s the one you're looking for, baby?”

You squint toward the group, trying to pick him out. Sukuna glances at you and chuckles at the way you’re squinting.

“Are those fake? Those Bayonetta glasses aren’t helping.”

“They’re not fake,” you mumble. “Just no prescription.”

“He’s gonna lash out on me if I confront him,” you admit.

“You’re worried about a teen lashing out at you?”

Sukuna snorts, clearly amused. He thinks you're stupid.

“Okay, it’s not that—”

“Then what is it, princess?” he asks, pulling you a little closer. He towers over you now, that cocky smirk fully formed on his face.

“…He’ll get embarrassed.”

Now that makes him laugh. Like, really laugh.

“Embarrassed?” he echoes, sounding completely unconvinced. “He’s a teenager for Christ’s sake. He’s supposed to be an idiot.”

You frown. “Can you just get him to come over here? One more favor. That’s all.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just tilts his head, looks at the kid, then back at you. You watch the way his mouth curves up again, smug as ever. “Alright,” he says. His hand slides from yours to your waist. “I’ll get him.”

He leans in close enough for you to catch the scent of smoke on him. He gives your hip a firm pat, then turns and walks towards your brother and his friends.

You watch as Sukuna comes to a stop in front of the group, hands tucked casually into his pockets like he’s got all the time in the world. Then his gaze lands on the one that matters.

No words are exchanged loud enough for you to hear, but there’s a shift. Postures stiffen. One kid coughs awkwardly. You look at your brother and you can already tell from a distance—he’s not happy.

You wait.

And wait.

A couple minutes stretch longer than they should, the air thick with muffled music and distant laughter. You shuffle on your feet, watching Sukuna lean in, say something low near the kid’s ear. Whatever it is, it works. Eventually, Sukuna heads back toward you, and trailing behind him is one very pissed-off teenager.

Your brother's shoulders are hunched, his hands buried deep in his hoodie pockets like he’s holding himself back from swinging. He doesn’t look at you—not once. His eyes stayed glued to the ground, lips curled into a deep scowl, his whole vibe screaming: I didn’t agree to this. I was forced.

After the talk, your brother doesn’t say much—just gives you a short nod before turning away. He walks back toward your car with his hands stuffed in his pockets, his shoulders stiff, expression unreadable. You watch as he climbs into the passenger seat and shuts the door with a little more force than necessary. It’s quiet again, leaving you standing beside Sukuna with the sound of distant engines and low voices filling the space around you.

You let out a quiet breath, finally. That could’ve gone worse.

Sukuna leans against the hood of his car, idly smoking a cigarette as he watches the kid leave. He takes a long drag, his gaze following the teen until he’s far gone. Eventually, his gaze shifts to you, a crooked grin on his lips. “Looks like you got your way, baby,” he says, flicking the ash of his cigarette to the concrete.

Sukuna hums, pushing himself off the car and walks over, stopping just a few inches in front of you. His eyes drag across your face, slow and deliberate.

“I keep my promises, baby,” he says with a smirk, placing his hand on the hood of his car, effectively trapping you between him and his car.

“But you remember what we agreed on, yeah, princess? How ‘bout you come with me tonight–I know a party we can crash in.”

You glance past his shoulder toward the car. Your brother’s already sitting inside, probably sulking in silence. You would agree if it was your decision. “I can’t tonight… another time?” Sukuna pulls back just enough to look at you. He’s not mad, exactly—but he’s not happy either.

“Another time, huh?” His head tilts slightly. “You’re not backing out on me, are ya, princess? I don’t like being stood up.”

“I’m not,” you say quickly, nodding toward the car. “He’s waiting. Gotta drop him off.”

He follows your gaze, and for a second, just watches the car. Then a low, amused chuckle rumbles out of him. “Ah right. The little brat.” The smirk returns, lazy and cocky. “I guess I can give you a pass. This time.”

You hesitate, then offer, “I’ll give you my number?”

That earns you a shift—his eyes flick down to your lips, just briefly, then back to meet yours. Without a word, he pulls his phone from his pocket and unlocks it with a swipe.

“Yeah,” he says, handing it to you. “Go ahead.”

You type in your number fast, hyper-aware of how closely he’s watching you the entire time.

When you hand the phone back, he doesn’t look away—doesn’t even blink. “You better answer when I call you, baby.”

He slips the phone back into his pocket, then steps in close again. His chest brushes yours just enough to remind you how little space he’s willing to leave. “I’ll be callin’ you,” he says, voice low and rough against your ear. “And I plan on collectin’ what we agreed on.”

He gives you a cocky smirk, eyes flicking to your lips again like he’s trying to make a point without saying it. You don’t give him the satisfaction, just turn and head to your own car.

Once you’re in the driver’s seat, door shut, the familiar scent of your car wraps around you. Comforting, kind of. Your brother’s in the back, arms crossed, already eyeing you through the rearview mirror.

“How do you know that dude?”

You buckle your seatbelt. “I don’t.”

He snorts. “Then how’d you get him to help?” You shrug, starting the engine. “A favor. Do you know him?”

He leans forward, arms resting on the back of your seat. “Yeah, a bit. He races. Street stuff. Pretty big deal.”

“Really?”

“Mmhm.” His face shifts a little, “He’s fast. People either like him or stay out of his way. Got a bit of a rep.” You glance at him. “Bad rep?”

He nods. “Kinda. Heard he’s been locked up before. Fights, some other stuff. Nothing small, either.” You raise a brow. “He didn’t seem like that type.”

You recall Sukuna, and he does seem like that type. But the man did help you.

Your brother gives you a look. “He’s literally the definition of ‘seems.’ That’s the point.”

You sigh. “Whatever. He was decent with me.”

“‘Decent.’ Right.” He taps the headrest.

“Hey, sit in the front. You're making me look like an Uber driver.” He groans but climbs into the passenger seat with a dramatic sigh.

Once he’s buckled in, he mutters, “Just saying. The guy’s got a record. Theft, assault, some other stuff. He’s not exactly squeaky clean.”

You cough. “He is?”

Your brother side-eyes you. “Don’t let the nice car and smug face fool you. Dude’s been in and out of jail since he was, like, my age.”

You blink. “How old is he?”

“Twenty-six, I think.”

You mumble, “That’s only five years.”

He raises an eyebrow. “What was that?”

“Nothing. Get ready for Mom and Dad, asshole.”

He lets out another groan, slumping in his seat. “Jesus. Kill me now. Can I just stay at your apartment?”

“No.”

He throws his head back against the headrest. “I hate you.”

You smirk. “Yeah, yeah.”

After that night, he actually reached out. A lot. Texts turned into late-night calls, and somehow all of that led to tonight. You step out of your building, locking the door behind you, and you spot him immediately. Sukuna’s leaning against his car. When he sees you, his eyes do a slow drag up and down, and that lazy smirk spreads across his face.

He pushes off the car and strolls over, slow and confident.

“Hey,” he says, voice low and rough.

You greet him back. His gaze roams. Openly, blatantly—as he stops in front of you.

“You look good, baby.” His hand comes up, brushing lightly against your hip. It’s not even subtle, the way his fingers trail, he for sure knows the effect it leaves on you.

“I like your outfit,” he murmurs, a little deeper now. ‘You like red?” You asked. His eyes flick up to meet yours. “On you? Yeah. Absolutely.”

His touch is way too natural for your liking, it’s like you already belong to him–in his mind. “You look so goddamn princess,” he mutters, more to himself than you. His eyes catch the way your teeth tug at your bottom lip, he found your habit.

“So are you gonna tell me where we're going now? You’ve been secretive all week.”

He hums, “The first place you’ll see when we get there, and then we’re going to my apartment after.” You almost roll your eyes, you’ve been asking about the location all week but his replies are short, only saying that he's taking you to his ‘spot.’

“Just trust me, yeah? Got something special planned for us.”

His hand stays firm at your back, rubbing slow, lazy circles before he steers you toward the car. He moves ahead just enough to open the passenger door for you, holding it like it’s second nature. “Get in, princess,” he says, his tone dipping just enough to make it sound more like a command than a suggestion.

You slide in without arguing, the door framing you like a spotlight for a second before you’re tucked inside. The scent hits first—clean leather, a hint of cologne, and something else you can’t place but already associate with him.

The interior’s sleek, black leather stitched with dark red, the dash glowing faintly from the soft interior lights. Everything’s sharp edges and smooth finishes, like the car was built to match him. The red-on-black design feels intentional. If he was a car, he would be this car.

You settle into the seat, sinking into the firm leather as the door clicks shut behind you. Through the windshield, you watch him move around the front of the car slippin’ inside.

He fastens his seatbelt with a casual flick, then unlocks his phone. A few taps later, music fills the car. You recognize it immediately. Fuck the World by Brent Faiyaz.

Of course he listens to him.

He doesn’t say anything, just rests his hand on the gearshift, eyes glancing over at you with a lazy kind of satisfaction.

Sukuna speeds through the traffic, his driving as erratic as you expected. He cuts around other cars with ease, the other drivers honking in protest. But Sukuna doesn't seem to care, his attention focused solely on the road in front of him.

You sit quietly, purse and phone on your lap. The music plays, but your mind drifts. You still don’t know where he’s taking you. Sukuna doesn’t offer answers—just drives, stealing a glance at you every so often like he’s enjoying the silence.

Eventually, he exits the highway and turns onto a road you don’t recognize. The city noise fades out. Streetlights grow sparse. It gets darker, quieter, the only light coming from his headlights cutting through the empty street ahead.

“I’ve never driven down this road before,” you murmur, eyes on the unfamiliar stretch of pavement.

Sukuna chuckles, his smirk barely lit by the glow of the dash.

“I know, baby.”

He doesn’t look at you—but you can tell he’s smiling.

The car makes another turn, the streets thinning out until they barely feel like streets at all. The city sounds have faded behind you—no more honking, no low hum of traffic—just crickets and the occasional rustle of leaves brushing against the wind.

Sukuna drives slower now. One hand on the wheel, the other casually resting near the gearshift. You can feel the heat of him close, his arm brushing yours every time he adjusts.

Without a word, he rolls your window down a few inches with a soft hum, letting in a cold, earthy breeze that slips across your skin and carries the smell of the night inside the car. “Figured you could use some air,” he mutters.

The air feels good—fresh, like it just rained somewhere nearby. Your hair moves with it, and you glance over, catching the faintest grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he looks back at the road. You don’t say anything. Just settle back into the seat a little more, letting the breeze and the music fill the space between you.

After a few more turns, Sukuna pulls into a hidden lot, surrounded by trees so thick they blot out most of the sky. There’s only one streetlamp, casting a soft, gold wash over the cracked pavement.

This was the perfect place to kill somebody, he's not going to kill you is he? No one’s going to find you if he buries you here. Oh god. You didn’t get to say bye to your cat. Why did you trust this man? Doesn’t he have a criminal history–assault. Were you going to be his first body–

“Princess,” He calls out cutting your paranoid crazy thoughts, “You gon’ deaf or what? Jesus.”

The engine cuts off, leaving silence in its place.

“…Here?” you ask.

He leans back in his seat, unbuckling with one hand and turning his body slightly toward you. “Yeah. Here.”

Without another word, he reaches forward and pushes open his door. The dome light flickers on for a second before fading out again. “Go out.”

You blink at him, you hurriedly open your phone sending your location to your best friend, just in case. Then quietly you open your own door and step out into the night. The gravel crunches beneath your shoes. Sukuna circles around the front of the car and meets you at your side, closing the door behind you.

There’s no one else around. Just the two of you, the quiet lot, and the soft sway of trees overhead. He doesn’t say anything right away—just watches you for a moment. Then he reaches for your hand, fingers wrapping around yours, warm and easy.

The trees thicken as you move deeper down the path, swallowing the last of the streetlamp’s glow behind you. Darkness stretches ahead, broken only by the faint strip of walkway under your feet. It’s quieter now—eerily so. Just wind through leaves and the sound of your steps in the dirt.

Then, without warning, something skitters across the path.

You jump back instinctively. “What the fuck—”

A raccoon bolts into the bushes, completely unbothered by your panic. Sukuna doesn’t flinch. He just stands there watching the little blur disappear, hands in his pockets like he’d seen it coming.

He lets out a low chuckle. You’re really a little girl. He thinks.

“What the hell Sukuna? What the fuck was that? Let’s leave– don’t wanna be here.” You take a step back toward where you came from. You barely get turned around before his hand curls around your wrist, tugging you back.

“C’mon, you’re such a fucking pussy. That was just a raccoon, princess. You’re acting like it was a damn bear.” He takes another few steps until he's standing right in front of you again. He reaches out and gently grabs your chin, tilting your face so that you look up at him. “Why would you be scared of a little rodent, huh?”

You frown, still a little on edge. “What if it bit me?”

Sukuna scoffs, grinning. “Then bite it back.”

He lets go of your chin and takes your hand instead, threading his fingers through yours. His grip is solid. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze before pulling you along beside him. “This is not a common place for first dates.” You comment.

He huffs out a laugh. “Yeah? Your dates must’ve been boring.”

“I always come here,” he mutters.

You can hear it before you see it—soft and rhythmic, like breath. The path dips slightly, and then the trees start to fall away. The trail opens into a clearing, and there it is: the ocean stretched out in front of you, dark and endless. Moonlight skims across the water in streaks of silver, catching on the tips of the waves. Every few seconds, the crash of surf echoes up from the rocks below the cliff, followed by the gentle hiss of spray. It smells like salt and night air—sharp and clean.

You didn’t know a place like this existed around here.

Sukuna stops near the edge, lets go of your hand, and takes a few steps forward. His gaze stays fixed on the water, “Pretty?” he asks without turning.

You nod, the word caught somewhere in your chest. “Yeah.”

He sits down right at the edge, legs dangling over the cliffside, then glances back and pats the spot next to him. You drop down beside him, careful but not nervous. The wind brushes your face, light and cool, and the sounds from below rise to meet you: the steady crash of waves, the low whistle of wind through the rocks, the occasional rustle of leaves behind you.

“Is this your spot?”

“You could say that.”

His hand finds yours again. This time, slower. He pulls you closer, shifts until your sides are pressed together, then slides his arm around your waist and settles you against him. One hand stays at your hip, fingers resting just heavy enough to ground you. His body’s warm—too warm for the night air—and the contrast makes you shiver a little. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to.

The waves crash, over and over.

You feel his chest rise and fall beside yours, steady and unbothered. It’s quiet. Almost peaceful.

Then, after a while, he mutters, “Don’t worry. We’re getting dinner after this. You said you like water when we were talking on the phone the other day… haven’t come here in a while—figured I’d take you.”

You remember saying that. Casually. Just something you tossed out in the middle of a late-night call, thinking it wouldn’t stick.

His hand shifts slightly on your hip, fingers drifting up just enough to graze the strip of skin above your waistband.

“You’re very… unpredictable.”

*"You're only realizing that now, baby?" He replies, a hint of amusement in his voice. You tilt your head slightly, your voice dry, “You were like… luring me to my death ten minutes ago.”

“Did ya get scared, baby? That’s adorable.” He leans in closer, the warmth of his breath brushing your temple. “Come closer.”

“It’s cold,” you murmur, but you’re already leaning into him.

He smiles—softer now, not the smug one. Almost like he means it—and his eyes drift down to your face. His hand slides a little deeper around your waist, guiding you closer, pressing your body into his like it’s second nature. "Then come get warmer."

“I wanna go down.”

He doesn’t say anything when you say that, just shifts under you. His hand moves from your hip to your waist before lifting you and settling you down in his lap. You feel the warmth of his body as he pulls you flush against him, his arms loosely wrapped around your waist. It’s quiet for a moment. The cold brushes against your cheeks, but his body heat cancels it out almost completely. One of his hands slides up the back of your head, gently guiding you to rest against his shoulder. There’s a certain stillness in him now—steady, almost thoughtful.

“Hey, can we go?” you ask softly, pointing toward the beach as he wasn’t answering you. He doesn’t really want to go down, he feels good like this. Sukuna leans in, resting his head in the crook of your neck. He sighs, his breath is warm against your skin.

“Yeah, baby,” he murmurs.

He holds you there a beat longer before finally letting go and standing. He offers you his hand, intertwining your fingers without a second thought, and leads you down the path. The trail is dim, lit only by the moon filtering through the trees. His thumb strokes your hand absently as you walk.

The sounds of the waves are much more prominent now, the sound of it crashing against the rocks almost rhythmic. It might seem corny but for a moment, it feels like you're the only two people left in the world, the emptiness of the night almost suffocating all your other senses. Your surroundings make you feel small, and only the feeling of his hand holding yours brings you into the realization that he's there. How can a first date be so intimate.

It's quiet as you guys walk. There's a comfortable silence and you feel like you guys were a real couple. Sukuna is just silently holding your hand as you walk.

“How’d you get into street racing?” you ask quietly.

Sukuna pauses, like he’s deciding how much to say. He exhales.

During the past few days of talking to him, you picked up on how guarded he usually is. Most of his answers come with sarcasm or a lazy deflection, like peeling back anything real is too much effort.

“Started off as a way to make cash. Ended up being something I liked.”

“Hmm. It’s usually the other way around,” you murmur, glancing at him out the corner of your eye. “Not for me. Wasn’t good at anything else.” His thumb brushes over your knuckles as you walk, like he’s thinking more than he’s saying.

"Street racing was just kinda something I did off the bat. Wasn't any good when I started, but I met a few people, got some tips and pointers, and I learned pretty quickly. “ He pauses for a moment, as if he's remembering something.

"First race I won, didn't even know how to drive a car properly–I won, but it was because of a stupid-ass mistake from the other guy. After that, it was smooth sailing. People kept challenging me, I kept winning, money just kept piling up."

"Started winning a few races, made quite a name for myself that way. Soon people were asking me to fix their cars and tune them. And before I knew it, I got pretty good with cars."

He went on and on about cars. You two didn’t realize it, not until you glance at your watch without thinking. It’s been nearly half an hour, and he hasn’t stopped talking once.

Sukuna notices. “What, am I boring you now?” he asks with a sideways look, his voice laced with dry amusement.

You shake your head, a smile tugging at your lips. “No. Just surprised.”

“About what?”

“That you can actually hold a conversation.”

He scoffs, his hand tightening around yours just a little. “I talk when I want to. Plus…” he pauses, nudging your arm slightly “…isn’t this what dates are for?”

You blink at him. “You don’t strike me as a first-date kind of guy.”

“Yeah, no shit,” he says, smirking. “They usually suck me and leave.”

"So why'd you take me?" you asked innocently, ignoring his attempt to be funny. It makes you curious. You agreed to go on a date with him for a good time, though you are having a good time with his company, you didn't expect the date to go like this. It's somehow romantic. you shamefully expected him to be fucking you right now.

"You didn't look like a groupie." Sukuna stated simply. You absorb his face as he no longer was looking at you but now focusing on the waves that occupy your surroundings. You took this time to study the tattoos on his face up close like you did the night you met him.., you wondered what they meant and why he got them. At first glance a person would likely assume he’s bad news– he might look reckless but right now as you get to know him you realize that he's far from that. You're coming to the conclusion that he's careful. He's attentive.

He would probably pass as a villain in an anime. His tattoos complement him—you think that if he didn’t have them, he wouldn’t look half as good. The lip piercing and the eyebrow slit just make him even more attractive. It’s honestly unfair.

"Most women at races are groupies. 'm always surrounded by them." he starts waking you up from your careful observation of his appearance, "It's not every night I'll see someone like you, decided to take a chance, now here we are. simple as that, princess."

"That's very…" you pause, searching for the right word, “underwhelming."

Sukuna turns to you, narrowing his eyes. “What? You wanted me to say I fell in love at first sight or something?”

You pout. “No, it’s just—this is very intimate for a first date.”

“Eh, I don’t know—again most of your dates are probably boring, that’s why.”

You let out a giggle, "Yeah probably." This is by far the best location someone has taken you too. Sure you hate the woods, but the water makes up for it. From the ride earlier it was more than 30 minutes away from the city. Probably more if someone else would drive. Sukuna drives like somebody is chasing him, like he’s always in a race.

Traffic probably hates to see him coming.

“So... all the girls you brought here loved it?”

Sukuna glances over at you, expression unreadable. There’s a short pause before he replies.

“No? I wouldn’t know.” He shrugs. “You’re the first one I’ve brought here.” He says it's no big deal. “We should leave. You’re probably hungry, I’m getting hungry..”

It's quiet as you guys walk, the only sound being the occasional rustling of the leaves and the crunch of the sand under your feet. There's a comfortable silence, and to your surprise sukuna is just silently holding your hand as you walk. He must like physical touch.

"Swear?"

“Swear what?” He keeps walking, eyes ahead, guiding you down the narrow path you guys took earlier. “That I’m the first girl,” you say, holding out your pinky toward him with a half-smile, almost playfully.

He looks at you for a second before looking ahead rolling his eyes continuing to walk, "What are ya? Fuckin’ six? ‘M not doing that shit." A small pout forming on your lips, he catches it out of the corner of his eye, “Just trust me,” he mutters, tone a little softer now. “No girls have been here. It’s my personal spot.”

It wasn’t a personal spot anymore–you know it now too.

He doesn't say anything for a while, he just continues to walk silently. The only sound is the sound of your footsteps hitting the dry leaves of the path and the occasional soft breaths escaping your lips. After a few minutes, you see the clearing up ahead.

“These mosquitoes are killing my legs.” You whine.

He snorts, doesn’t even try to hide the amusement. Still holding your hand, he tugs you forward, a little impatient like always. “Fucking walk faster.”

He leads you back to the car, parked right where you left it. Doesn’t say much—just opens the passenger side door and jerks his chin for you to get in. You climb in, buckle your seatbelt. He shuts the door, then walks around and gets in on the other side, sliding into the driver’s seat.

The engine growls to life. He leans back as the car warms up, glancing over at you once before looking at the road again. It's quiet. Not the awkward kind—just peaceful. All you can hear is the low rumble of the car and the tires crunching over gravel as you pull off. You took the time to check your phone seeing your best friend’s reply to the location pin you sent earlier.

You almost laugh recalling how you thought he was going to bury you here. Dragging you into the woods with that straight grumpy face… yeah, you were half-convinced he was gonna bury you.

A quiet laugh slips out before you can help it.

“What’s funny?” His voice breaks the silence.

“You are,” you say mumbling it.

“What?”

“Huh? Nothing—I just remembered something,” you mumble, glancing out the window, hoping the dashboard light hides your smile.

He doesn’t bother pressing. The car starts and he shifts into drive, pulling out of the parking lot and back onto the road. The tires roll over gravel for a second before smoothing out on the pavement. The ride is mostly calm, the kind of quiet that could easily put you to sleep. Streetlights pass in slow intervals. He drives slow, making you almost forget that he races for a living. It would’ve been easy to doze off if it weren’t for his hand still resting on your thigh.

“Where we going? Your apartment?” you ask, though you already know the answer.

“Yeah,” he says, glancing at you. “You should be flattered. I don’t let just anyone see my place. That’s rare.”

You glance at him from the corner of your eye, trying to read his face. Not because you don’t believe him—just because you’re still figuring him out. He’s the hardest to read, expression always somewhere between indifferent and amused, voice dipped in something unreadable. You don’t know if it’s restraint or detachment. Maybe both.

Meanwhile, Sukuna thinks you’re the exact opposite. Easy to read. Almost too easy.

He doesn’t even have to look at you to tell what you’re feeling—the way your leg shifts slightly when you're unsure, the way you tug at your sleeve or purse your lips when you’re about to ask something risky. Even when you bite your lips when you're bored. All of it written so plainly on you.

You don’t try to mold yourself into whatever you think he wants.

Which was weird for him. He had a criminal record to start with—nothing light, either. People usually tiptoed around him, kept things surface-level, or stayed away altogether. But you didn’t flinch. You weren’t scared off. If anything, you seemed more curious than cautious, and for someone like Sukuna, that was rarer than he’d ever admit out loud.

He doesn’t say any of that, of course. He just keeps his hand resting on your thigh, his thumb brushing slow and absent over the fabric.

You lean your head back against the seat, letting out a quiet laugh breaking him from his thoughts.

“I heard rumors about you.”

“Oh yeah? Did you hear how much of a saint I was?”

“Very much a saint, ‘Kuna,” you tease, emphasizing his nickname. He remembers telling you to drop it one time when you guys we’re in call. You give him a lazy shrug when he turns to look at you for a second. “Heard you went to jail.”

Sukuna laughs. He honestly couldn’t care less about dumb rumors. Plus he hasn’t been locked up in a while. Those charges basically don’t exist anymore. By a while he means 5 months. Five months off record counts as clean in his book.

"Yeah? Heard how long I was in for?" He raises an eyebrow.

You try to recall, the only thing you remember was your brother telling you that he was in and out.

“Ask me, if you want.” He says tapping your thigh—gentle.

“You don’t mind?” He shifts slightly, "Did I give you the impression I'd get mad if you asked?"

You glance at him, then quickly back at the windshield.

"A little."

"Why? You scared of me, princess?" By his tone you can tell he was only teasing. But the question makes your stomach do something strange. Not fear, exactly. You weren’t scared of him. It wasn’t butterflies either. You turn your head enough to see his profile—his jaw flexed, eyes on the road.

"No... at least not now."

"And why’s that?"

You exhale through your nose, shifting your weight in the seat. “You’re both peaceful and not,” you say after a moment. The word feels weird, but it’s the only one that fits. “I told you earlier I was kinda scared—I mean, it’s not every day you get dragged into the woods for a first date.”

“You thought I was gonna lure ya into the woods, never to be seen again?”

“You were holding my hands really tight.”

“Yeah, can’t have my pretty girl run away now, can I?”

You look out the window for a second, lips twitching. “So… were you really locked up?”

“Yeah, I was,” he answers bluntly, gaze still focused on the road ahead.

The car hums along steadily, the soft sound filling the silence that stretches between you.

You purse your lips before asking, “How long?”

Sukuna glances at you, jaw shifting slightly. “A year was the longest. The rest were in and out.”

You nod slowly, eyes trailing the blur of lights streaking past the window. The dark stretch of road begins to change, the trees and quiet pavement giving way to busy intersections and glowing signage. Shibuya creeps back into view, bright and alive even this late at night. Neon spills across the windshield in flashes of color. You can see people again, traffic lights, the edge of a convenience store you recognize.

You look at him to check his reaction, he doesn’t look ashamed. If anything, he looks calm—settled in his seat like it’s just another conversation. Sukuna doesn’t regret anything he has done. He barely knows the feeling of it.

“What charges?”

"Assault, vandalism…” he starts, “Illegal racing, of course. Bunch of random shit." He says it plainly, like he's listing items off a grocery receipt. “Misdemeanor stuff, y’know what I mean? Stupid fucking charges.”

He eases into it after that–he tells you about fights in holding, trading snacks for cigarettes, the guy who tried to shank someone over a radio. He talks like these are bedtime stories, his voice steady, even laughing in some of them.

You’re quiet the whole time. Not because you’re judging. You wanted to get to know him better. This was obviously the real him. He pulls into the lot of a tall apartment building. The engine cuts out.

“We’re here,” Sukuna says, hand resting on the keys. His large hands finally off your thighs. Then he turns toward you, really looks at you. “You’ve been quiet,” he says, not accusing—just matter-of-fact. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of me now.”

You shake your head. “Didn’t say that.”

You weren’t really scared. You like to describe yourself as gullible, but not stupid. Naive, maybe—but the kind that gets pulled in anyway. And with Sukuna, it wasn’t fear that sat in your chest. It was something else entirely.

Maybe this was just your type—loud, reckless, a little bit unpredictable. You hadn’t dated in a while, not seriously, but something about this—about him—felt different. Familiar in a way that didn’t make sense. Like your body recognized him before your brain did.

And it wasn’t just the way he looked—though, yeah, that didn’t hurt. But the way his presence filled up the space, unapologetic and untamed. It was how sure he was of himself. Like gravity pulling you in, and you weren’t sure you even wanted to resist.

“But you’re acting like it.”

You shift in your seat, arms crossed loosely, eyes fixed on the dash. “Not acting like anything.”

“Then why’re you so quiet?”

You exhale, eyes flicking to the windshield, to the reflection of the streetlights on the glass. “Wasn’t loud in the first place.”

A small sound leaves him—half laugh, half breath. “Touché.”

He leans over the center console, ruffles your hair in a way that’s almost lazy, but there’s a kind of closeness in it too. His fingers trail down to your chin, tilting your face toward his.

“This is a cool building,” you murmur, trying to find your footing. “Rent must be crazy.”

“Dirty racing money got me,” he says. Then his hand slides from your chin to your waist, the weight of it grounding.

“We cool, princess?”

Your eyes meet his. You nod, soft. “Mhm.”

“Good.” He says, his voice a low, gruff mutter.

He unbuckles his seat belt, and gets out of the car. He moves around to the passenger side, almost as if he's in a hurry. He opens the door for you, the cool night air hits your face. He closes the door behind you and walks up next to you, he grabs your free hand and leads you towards his apartment building. He leads you over to an elevator, pressing the button. As the elevator descends. After just a few seconds the elevator dings. He walks briskly out of the elevator leading you towards a door labeled "286". He types in a code. The lock clicks open, and he pushes the door forward, holding it there for you, motioning for you to go through. His hand still rests on the open door.

"C’mon." He says. The way he says it sounds more like a demand than a request. It feels like if you don't go inside soon he'll drag you in there himself. He follows after you, closing the door quietly behind himself.

The hallway walls are dark and mostly bare. As he steps inside, he reaches over and flicks on the light. A low, warm glow fills the space—not bright, just enough to see clearly.

His apartment is clean—everything in black or dark gray, from the furniture to the counters. Minimal, but not boring. A few things hang on the walls now that the lights are on. Some are sharp-edged weapons, displayed neatly on a mounted rack. Others are paintings—bold lines, heavy contrast. You recognize the style right away. The shapes match the ones inked on his skin. Maybe these were the inspiration for his tattoos.

On the coffee table sits an open magazine and an unopened can of soda. That’s the only clutter you can see.

“I ain’t a dirty guy,” he says, glancing over at you seeing how you were observing his space. He reaches for your hand again and gently pulls you further in.

The hallway opens into a shared space where the kitchen and living room blend together. It’s mostly open, except for the area around the couch, which drops down by a step. Subtle, but it makes the space feel separate.

"Hungry?"

You nod, "Starving," you admit.

"Sit down," He says, motioning towards the couches. He lets go of your hand and begins walking towards the kitchen. He rummages through the fridge and cabinets, quickly taking out some ingredients and placing them on the counter. You watch as he begins to chop up some vegetables, his movements precise and practiced like it's something he's done hundreds of times. It's almost hypnotizing to watch.

"See something you like, princess?"

You almost roll your eyes, “Shut up… Can I look around?”

Sukuna chuckles without looking away from the cutting board. “Yeah. Just don’t go into the room at the end of the hall. Fucking dirty in there, haven’t cleaned.”

You get up and start walking. It’s a two-bedroom place—not huge, but definitely not cramped.

His apartment is clean, yeah, but it’s the kind of clean that doesn’t feel lived in. Like a model apartment waiting on a buyer—nothing personal. No pictures, no keepsakes, you do see a jacket tossed over a chair. A few magazines stacked on the coffee table and that unopened soda still sitting beside them.

The only real sign of who he is comes from the sharp stuff. Knives lined up too precisely, throwing stars on the wall. Even the decorations seem dangerous.

And then, beside the couch on a small side table, you spot something that makes you pause.

Five Hot Wheels, still in their packaging. Brand new.

They feel out of place among everything else, especially with all the sharp things scattered around—knives lined up with too much intention, throwing stars hung like they’re decoration. The contrast is enough to make you smile a little. You wonder if he bought them himself, or if someone gave them to him. Either way, it’s kind of funny and cute.

“No roommates?"

Sukuna shakes his head, still focused on the pan in front of him. The sound of sizzling and the steady rhythm of his knife are the only things filling the room.

"Nah, I live alone." He glances up briefly, just to see where you are.

“I like this,” you say, nodding toward the furniture.

“What, all the black? What ‘bout it?”

“It looks good,” you shrug. “Just... different from mine.”

Sukuna scoffs, low under his breath. “Let me guess—pastel everything?”

You wrinkle your nose. “No. Everything’s white.”

Yours was a studio type one–very close to the college that you go to. It’s probably just as big as his kitchen plus living room. You manage to look for a cheaper one that meets your expectations. You did have a choice to live in a dorm but living communally felt more exhausting than convenient. And honestly, they weren’t that cheap either.

Sukuna huffs a laugh. “That’s worse.”

“What? It’s clean.” You say quickly defending your place. He rolls his eyes, Sukuna never sugarcoats, “That’s fucking boring princess.”

You cross the room and hop up onto the counter across from him, letting your legs swing slightly. “I’ve got a lot of plants. Mine’s very homey compared to this.”

His eyes scan over you again as you sit on the kitchen counter, gaze lingering longer on the exposed skin of your thighs. He raises an eyebrow as he gives out another sarcastic remark, "And mine’s not?"

You scoff. “Sukuna, you’ve got knives on the wall. That doesn’t exactly scream cozy.”

He shrugs without looking up. “Feels homey to me.”

You shake your head, smiling despite yourself. Of course it does. He then asks about your plants, and you end up rambling about your favorites for the next couple of minutes. Even when he continues to ask, Sukuna obviously doesn’t care about plants—doesn’t even bother pretending to—but he listens anyway. He just likes hearing you talk.

“What else do ya like, princess?”

“Like what?”

“Dunno. Hobbies. Favorite color. Music. Shit like that.”

You think for a second. Not about your answers—more about what to even share. You rest your hands behind you on the counter, watching him wor k while coming up on what to say.

“I’m in school. You know that, right?”

He gives you a look like obviously.

“What are you studying again?”

“Bio.”

“Planning to save the world or something?”

You shake your head. “No, ‘m not that smart ‘kuna.”

He lets out a quiet hum, not fully convinced. Truth was, he didn’t agree. He thought you were smart—at least from what he’s seen. From the calls you’ve shared to tonight, he’s picked up on it. You notice things. You ask questions. He doesn’t really believe that being smart comes in academic form only. That wasn’t the only kind of intelligence that mattered. That kind of thinking always felt like bullshit to him.

“So why bio?”

You shrug. “Medical track, I guess. It’s the plan. I don’t love it or anything.”

He makes a short sound—half snort, half laugh. “So you’re just winging it.”

“Not winging it,” you say, though you’re not exactly sure how to explain it in words. You like your course—well, sometimes. Other times, not so much. But it makes sense for you. It’s something you can stick with, and you haven’t found anything else that doesn’t bore you. You’ve never really had a dream job in mind. You just want stability, and there are some people who are just like that.

He pushes off the counter and walks over to the fridge, pulling it open with one hand. The cool light spills out across the kitchen floor. He grabs a can—probably soda, maybe beer—

“You want one?” he asks, grabbing a can without looking back. “Soda, princess?” You nod, and he grabs another, tossing it to you with an easy flick of his wrist. You catch it, cold against your palms. He cracks his open and takes a sip, then leans back against the fridge, eyes drifting over to you.

“So…no passion? No dream job or whatever?”

You rest the can on your lap, thinking for a moment. “Not really. I just want a life that feels... decent.”

“That so?” he says finally, voice low.

You frown at his tone, “You sound disappointed.”

"Well, it is kinda disappointing." He says it bluntly, walking back to the stove and switching off the burner. He leans back against the counter across from you, arms crossed, his tone dry but not cold as you ask him why he thinks that.

"You're young. You pay to study that shit and you don't even like it. Pretty pathetic, if you ask me."

“Is racing your passion? Didn’t you say you started for money too?”

"I did say that but I also said that it ended becoming a hobby for me," he walks toward the sink, rinsing his hands. "Something I actually like."

He dries his hands on a towel and tosses it aside before looking at you again — this time, really looking. “Most people don’t even get that far. They just keep doing what they’re ‘supposed to.’ They wake up one day and realize they built a life that doesn’t feel like theirs.” A pause. “They just picked safety, one boring decision at a time.”

He clicks his tongue, scoffing under his breath. “That’s the most boring way of living.”

“So you’re calling me boring now?” you ask almost offended.

He squinted slightly when you weren’t listening to him. “Your major’s boring because you don’t have passion for it. But that doesn’t mean you are.”

You pout automatically like a little child, “I don’t find it boring.” That gets a reaction from Sukuna, you were so pure in his eyes. The corners of his mouth twitching like he’s trying not to laugh. He steps closer, standing between your legs now, close enough that you can feel the warmth still clinging to him from the stove.

“Don’t give me that look, sweetheart,” he mutters, “Makes me wanna kiss it off your face.”

You blink, caught off guard. Your pout lingers for a second too long– like he’s seriously considering it. But instead, he turns back to the stove, grabbing the spoon again.

“Come here.” You slide off the counter without thinking twice and walk over to him. He doesn’t look at you, just stirs the sauce once more and holds the spoon out toward your mouth.

“Taste this.”

You raise your brow, teasing. “You’re feeding me now?”

“Open,” he says firmly, his eyes finally cutting toward you.

You do. Lips parting, you let him slide the spoon into your mouth, the sauce warm and bold on your tongue. He watches you carefully, and not just for your opinion — like your reaction says something else he’s trying to decode. “It’s good,” you murmur. Then, curious, “You cook?”

He nods, a bit of pride in the way his mouth lifts. “Yeah. And I’m good at it. Don’t act so surprised.”

“I am surprised.”

He snorts. “Why, ’cause I got tattoos and a mean face?”

You smile, chewing slowly. “Exactly that.”

You gesture to the plate. “It’s really good, Sukuna.”

He takes the spoon back from you and doesn’t say anything at first– just dishes out the rest of the food and hands you a plate. You follow him to the couch, both of you eating with that kind of quiet that comes when you’re starting to settle into someone else’s space. After the meal, he wordlessly takes your plate and washes everything, sleeves pushed up, steam curling around his forearms.

He was very domestic.

When he finally dries his hands and walks back into the living room, you’re already curled up on the end of the couch, full and half-asleep. You expect him to sit beside you.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he grabs your waist and pulls you into his lap with no warning, so smooth and casual like this is something he’s done a thousand times even when it’s the first time. You let out a tiny gasp, but your body melts into his — head falling against his chest, legs curled along the length of the couch. His arm wraps around your waist, holding you flush to him. The other brushes through your hair slowly, carefully, his fingers working through a tangle here and there like he’s in no rush.

He doesn’t speak.

Neither do you.

His gaze stays fixed on the ceiling. His hand beneath your shirt starts to move again, slow, calloused fingertips dragging over the skin of your back, and it’s surprisingly gentle. Borderline soothing.

“Something on your mind?” you ask quietly.

He’s silent for a long moment. His fingers don’t stop.

Finally, he sighs. “You ask a lot of questions.”

“Sorry.”

His hand pauses. He looks down at you, “Don’t be.” He brings his fingers to your chin and tilts your face up, the touch gentle—“I like it.”

“Nothing’s on my mind. Just you. Thinking about why I didn’t meet you earlier than I should’ve.” He confesses making you roll your eyes, trying to hide the way your stomach flips. He probably uses this on every girl.

“Shut up. That’s not what you’re thinking.”

“Well princess, you’re not exactly very good at reading me,” he murmurs, almost amused.

You look up at him, trying to read his face, but it’s not easy when he’s standing this close, his voice that low, his attention that steady. He’s hard to read but even harder to ignore. There’s just something about him—how grounded he always seems, how he never fidgets, how he looks at you like he already knows what you’re going to say. It’s annoying. And kind of attractive.

Your eyes narrow a little. “No? Then what are you thinking, Sukuna?”

"Positions."

"Positions?"

He chuckles lowly at your confused tone. "Sex positions," he clarifies, his voice dropping slightly. He feels you tense up on top of him but continues anyway. "I'm trying to guess what's your favorite." His hands move to your waist slowly, squeezing gently.

What?

"You're shameless."

He laughs genuinely this time, his hands squeezing your waist playfully. "Shameless and honest," he corrects you. His thumbs start to rub small circles on your hips he doesn’t like beating around the bush, you should know that by now. "Matter of fact, what's your favorite, princess?"

You failed to answer.

Sukuna managed to be nice all night, you probably don’t know how many times he was staring at your skirt thinking of how easy it is to just take it off. He behaved, now he likes to believe that he has good self control. He wanted you to have a good first date with him. All his dirty thoughts consumed him all night.

"Mhmm?" He presses, knowing you're trying to ignore his question. "I'm assuming you're not the missionary type." He leans his head back against the couch cushions, his eyes closing as he thinks. "Is it doggy style? You would look good like that."

You did your best not to give him any reactions, he would definitely tease you and you would not hear the end of it.

"Sukuna..." He ignores your weak protest, his hands moving to your ass and squeezing firmly. "Look at you, barely even stopping me from talking to you like this," He sits up suddenly, capturing your mouth in a rough kiss to shut you up. His hands grip your hair tightly as he kisses you aggressively.

The kiss breaks apart for a second, a smile stretching on his face, "Should I stop?" He waits. And wait. His grins widened when he didn't see any signs of displease on your face, "Dirty girl." He whispers before kissing you back again, fingers gently sliding down the side of your face to your neck.

You feel him suck the bottom of your lips. There's a bitter taste of blood in his mouth realizing that it's from your lips. He noticed that you had a habit of biting your bottom lip. He doesn’t mind though.

He breaks the kiss only to trail his lips down your neck, sucking and biting gently. You let out a moan as his hands roam over your body possessively, remembering every curve and dip. "Been thinking of you ever since I saw you that night," he whispers against your skin, his breath hot and heavy. He takes your silence as an invitation. "So pretty," He murmurs, his hands sliding up your thighs again, spreading them wider apart.

He starts to grind himself against you, his hard length pressing against your core through his pants. "Ya feel that, sweetheart?" he says his eyes watching your every reaction. His fingers dig into your thighs as he continues to grind against you, his breathing growing heavy with desire that matches the fast beating of your heart.

His large hands grip your hips tightly as he pulls you flush against him, his thick erection pressing urgently against your center. His fingers dig into your soft flesh hard enough to leave bruises. "You must be soaking," he asked, leering at you, "All for me?"

You nod completely, going dumb for him, not even thinking straight too desperate for him to continue. The wet patch you feel on your panty is embarrassing, since when were you this touch deprived? You blame the lack of sexual activities you've done. When was the last time somebody touched you like this? You honestly don't remember.

"Imagine how your pussy will squeeze my dick so fucking hard when I hit your spot," He groans, his hips jerking forward involuntarily as he imagines it. His hands slide up to your waist, gripping it tightly as he pulls you even closer. "Please 'kuna," you plead, barely saying his name, growing impatient.

"Please what?" He smirks against your skin, his hands roaming up to cup your breasts. He thumbs your hardened nipples through your shirt, teasing them roughly. "Please fuck you? Is that it?" He pinches your nipples hard, eliciting a gasp from you. "Say it properly, 'm not a fucking mindreader, did you go stupid already?"

He watches you as you lick your lips shaking your head still not giving him an answer, "You're fucking killing me with this shy shit," he mutters, his voice thick with desire. He grabs your chin firmly with one hand, forcing your eyes to meet his intense gaze. "Say it. Do you want my dick deep inside your pussy?"

You nodded hurriedly, letting out a faint yes. A satisfied smirk spreads across his face as he hears your admission. Poor you.

"Good girl," he exclaims, his hands immediately moving to unbuckle his belt. He doesn't waste any time, pushing his pants down roughly with his underwear to free his thick, hard cock.

Your eyes widened at the sight, what the fuck?

"Suck it for me, yeah?" He grabs your hair tightly, without a warning guiding your head down to his throbbing cock. You can feel the heat radiating off him as you take him into your mouth, tasting the familiar salty flavor. He groans loudly, thrusting his hips up to meet your mouth as he fucks your face. "Good girl,"

"Just like that," he praises, his voice strained with pleasure. He looks down at you watching his cock slide in and out of your mouth. "Take it deeper," he demands, pushing your head down further, hitting the back of your throat. "Watch your fucking teeth." He holds you there for a moment, his cock buried deep in your throat before pulling out with a wet pop. A string of saliva connects your lips to his tip. He smirks, "Fuck, you're good at that." He suddenly pulls out completely, making you cough.

"Goddamn," He mutters, watching your lips swell up slightly from sucking his dick. "You look like a damn porn star right now princess," He adjusts his length, "Do you swallow?" He asks suddenly. "Answer properly." His eyes drop down to your full lips again.

You breathe out, trying to catch up—he wasn’t giving you time to adjust, no warning, no pause. "I’ve never… I haven’t tried it before."

"Never tried?" He repeats, raising an eyebrow in surprise. "You're fucking kidding me." He grabs your chin, tilting your face up to look at him. "You must have had pretty boring sex." You don’t even remember any of your past experiences right now.

"Jesus," He laughs softly, "How old are you again?" He asks suddenly. He knows you're young, but he's starting to think you might be innocent in some aspects. "21?" He guesses. You nod. "Damn," He mutters.

"Well, princess," He grins, "there's always a first in everything." He pushes your head back down onto his cock before you can react, shoving deep into your throat without warning. He holds you there, cutting off your air supply momentarily. He starts fucking your throat relentlessly, using you like a cheap blowjob slut. "Take it," He growls, "Like a good girl." He hits the back of your throat over and over.

"Fuck, look at those eyes," He watches you gag around his length, tears streaming down your face as you try to breathe through your nose. He pulls out suddenly with a wet pop, only to slam back in just as deep. "More, yeah?"

He starts fucking your throat relentlessly, using you like a cheap blowjob slut. "Take it," He growls, "Breathe through your nose," He hits the back of your throat over and over, making you gag and choke. Suddenly, he pulls out and comes hard on your face and lips. "Swallow,"

He starts fucking your throat aggressively, his balls slapping against your chin with each brutal thrust. You're choking and gagging loudly, saliva dripping down your face as he uses your mouth roughly. Suddenly, he grabs a handful of your hair and holds you still deep on his cock. "Gonna cum..."

"Mmph!" You mumble around his length, preparing yourself. He groans loudly, his hips jerking forward as his hot, sticky seed shoots straight down your throat. He feeds you his entire load, pulling out slightly to let you breathe before pushing back in to deposit more spurts of cum.

"Swallow it all," He demands, watching your throat bob as you struggle to down his massive load. He holds your head in place, not letting you pull away until you've consumed every last drop. "Good girl, better not waste shit."

He releases your head, his cock slipping out of your mouth with a messy plop. He watches as you cough softly, his cum still visible around your lips and on your tongue. He suddenly grabs your jaw, forcing you to open your mouth. "Let me see," He demands. You open wider.

He leans in close seeing his cum coating your tongue and the back of your throat makes him even harder. Without warning, he spits directly into your open mouth, mixing his saliva with his cum. "Now swallow that too."

You feel dirty.

You swallow his spit and cum mixture reluctantly, your stomach churning at the taste. He smiles sadistically, amused by your discomfort. "Dirty girl." He pats your cheek patronizingly before standing up and pulling his pants back on. "Clean yourself up." He orders coldly.

You look up to him confused, that's it?

Is he not fucking you? You don't mean to sound like a desperate woman but you are pretty desperate and horny right now. And you just tried your best to give him a good ass blowjob—were you not good enough? It’s that it?

"The fuck you looking at?" He notices your confused expression and smirks. "'M not gonna fuck you yet, ya not ready." He says dragging the last part as he walks over to the sink to wash his hands, leaving you on the couch.

He watches you through the reflection in the mirror as you sit there, looking confused and messy. His cum is still visible on your lips and chin. He smirks to himself, amused that he's already marked you without even fucking you yet.

"Get up. You look like shit in there." He commands but it comes more as an insult. You stand up slowly, still confused. He grabs the towel and walks back over to you. "Open your mouth." He orders again. You hesitantly open your mouth wide. Without a word, he uses the towel to wipe away the remaining spit and cum from around your mouth and on your chin. He's surprisingly gentle with the towel, unlike his rough handling earlier.

"You're gonna leave me hanging?"

"Damn," He mutters softly to himself, ignoring your question, watching your body. Your tits are still half hanging out from your disheveled top, your hair messy from where he grabbed it earlier.

"If you wanted a blowjob, you could've just said from the start—you didn't have to do all that extra shit." You started glaring at him pursing your lips.

He tosses the towel aside and buttons his suit jacket. "Ungrateful brat, 'm not giving you what you want so stop looking at me like you're gonna get dick anytime soon." He checks his watch, clearly uninterested in you right now. "C'mon, you're sleeping here tonight."

He leads you to his bedroom, completely ignoring your disappointed state. He throws you a t-shirt to sleep in before changing into his own pajama pants. He climbs into bed without another word.

He watches you change into his shirt, your body barely covered. He thinks he likes you. And he’ll probably keep you to be with him. You were fun. He pats the spot next to him on the bed. You climb into bed beside him.

"Stop pouting." He turns off the lights and smacks your ass playfully. "You think I'm just gonna use you and throw you away? You're either really dumb or really desperate for dick." He adjusts his pillow, moving closer to you. "Now shut up and go to sleep."

To ease your displeasure he leans in to give you a quick kiss for goodnight,

"Mmm," You hum softly against his lips, your knees slightly parting. He pulls back and laughs softly. "Damn, you really are horny." He mutters. He throws his leg over yours possessively. "Go to sleep, this isn’t the last time, don’t be fucking greedy."

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