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hey lovelies! this post is the introduction to my upcoming fanfic : need for speed.
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AUTHORS NOTES: underground racing au, love triangles / squares (this is bonten x reader right now because I haven’t chosen who y/n will end up with as of yet; because I’m involving multiple arcs of love interests [also outside of the bonten team] / I might make multiple endings, let me know if you guys think that’s a good idea !! ) warnings will be added on the end /start of every chapter for the next chapter ! also, Im writing and trying to represent everyone as ‘normal’ as you can get || y/n isn’t just ‘cruel/bitch’ nor too ‘nice/obedient’. (Also, I do not write threesomes or orgys.. sorry!) ++, takeomi is related to reader, so there will NOT be a potential for him to be a love interest.
BASIC WARNINGS: usage of alcohol, recreational drugs, smoking/vaping, illegality, gambling, slight violence (fighting, car crashes), smut/explicit sexual content, love triangles / squares, strong language, injuries, reckless driving, angst, slow burn (?), slight mention and usage of weapons (nothing too crazy guys) , jealousy + possessiveness, mental health
SPOTIFY PLAYLIST :)
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… In the cities underworld,
loyalty is worth more than money,
and losing a race can cost more than pride.
And bonten learnt that years ago.
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PROLOGUE / BLURB OF FIRST CHAPTER
Tokyo Japan, welcomed you back like an old, healed scar. You couldn’t ignore it, no matter how much you tried to; it crawled back, incredibly familial and aching.
After 3 years of studying abroad, within the neighbouring country, the infamous heart of South Korea; chasing a void of fueling purpose that no longer filled once you poured it. returning home to Tokyo, felt less like closure and more like a surrender. Your dreams didn’t feel accomplished, but merely a dull, thud against your heart, wondering when it’ll ever break through.
Your beloved, but most important annoying cousin, takeomi, was your only constant variable since you left tokyo at 19, only a few tedious months after Highschool Graduation. The opportunity to run, well, fly, was far more easier than staying. Ridding everything behind that you somewhat built, with a belief system that the grass was greener over the other side.
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And now here you are, standing in the middle of Haneda Airport, waiting impatiently for takeomi to call you, directing you where he is to pick you up. Because well, he’s the only thing you have left here, home. the taste of that word felt empty on your tongue. you were back at first base, where you promised yourself that you wouldnt come back to once you stepped foot on the soil of land millions of kilometres away from you. Nonetheless you’ve achieved that…to an extent, you thought maybe, just maybe you would return later than JUST 3 years. it was bittersweetly horrifying.
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- FIC INFORMATION -
UNDERGROUND RACING TEAMS INFO
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THE BONTEN ENIGMAS :
manjiro sano (mikey) THE LEADER: drives a matte black Nissan GT-R R35. TOP 3 of the underground racing scene, he’s vicious but chilled, ultimately drives like he owns any road or corner he takes, weathering other racers with his exceptional ability and skills.
sanzu haruchiyo SECOND IN COMMAND: Drives a white chrome Porsche 911 Turbo S (992). He’s a reckless, but definently a captivating, meticulous driver. he has a bad reputation of focusing more on taking out his opponents then actually winning races, because he thinks it’s humorous for the audience.
Kakucho Hitto THIRD IN COMMAND: drives a silver BMW M4 Competition (G82). The most cautious driver, but don’t be fooled, he can get aggressive pretty easily if someone clips or knicks his precious supercar in a race. He’s also a complete strategist.
Hajime Kokonoi THE DRIFTER: drives a wine red Toyota GR Supra (A90). he’s suprisingly calm, calculated and impossibly controlled… he makes every drift look intentional with passion, whilst everyone else fights to stay on the road. the precision on this guy would waiver you.
Ran Haitani THE WILDCARD: drives a midnight purple metallic Dodge Challenger SRT Hellcat Redeye. he’s unpredictable really, and very theatrical. He race more on instinct, rather than strategy, much unlike kakucho. He’s a risk taker, not even his team can predict or guess his next move. He gets bored easily, and loves the chase of his own passion.
Rindou Haitani THE TECHMACHINE: drives a hot pink McLaren 570S (are we surprised?) he doesn’t race as much as the others, but don’t paint him wrong, when he drives. It’s a show. But, he’d rather be on the sidelines, modifying the cars, treating it more like science. he relies more on his understanding of physics and engineering to race and adjust, he’s basically a secret tyrant.
Akashi Takeomi THE MECHANIC: drives a yellow Chevrolet Corvette C8 Z06 (your cousin btw). He knows every bolt, every wire, every flaw beneath the hood. If something falls apart, breaks, or fails, he’s got it fixed before anyone notices. He rarely drives, and focuses more on fixing the others cars than being on the road itself. The members value his speed, care and a crazy eye of attention to detail.
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THE MANJI VIPERS :
Ken Ryuguji (draken) THE LEADER: drives a black and white Porsche 718 Cayman GT4 RS. He’s much like Mikey on the road, also in the TOP 3. He’s more passive aggressive, and doesn’t mind dabbling in wrecking his rivals, like the bonten enigmas, as much as they are ‘friendly’.. outside of racing, he makes sure to dominate the roads when it’s game time.
Mitsuya Takashi SECOND IN COMMAND/ACE: drives a forest green chrome Audi R8 V10 Performance. He’s a sweetheart on the outside, but as soon as he steps into the drivers seat? Oh, he’s not even in your vision anymore. He’s smooth, almost silent as he closing in on whoever’s behind, infront, or next to him on the road. he can do anything, hot laps, drifting, bumper to bumper, etc.
Kazutora Hanemiya THE REAPER: drives a black and yellow Lotus Emira V6. He’s a total pain to be up against, people think he’s insane. But..a more tamer driver version of sanzu. He focuses more on smashing and banging up opponents in races, reckless and dangerous to be even a few meters near him on the road. But he’s also very calculated, and can ‘lock in’ when it comes to serious races.
Keisuke Baji THE SPEED DEMON: drives a metallic orange Lamborghini Gallardo LP560-4. He drives like G-force doesn’t exist at all, and accelerates until his foot is sore. His opponents, even teammates, second guess themselves when they drive against or with him.
Matsuno Chifuyu THE SLEEPER: drives a gold Mitsubishi Evo IX. He’s underrated mostly, given his name. he only just fairly got recruited, and is a renown prodigy now. He doesn’t race as much as draken or the others, but when he does, he mostly wins, especially in drift laps. he treats the road like his personal canvas.
Seishu inui THE MECHANIC: drives a white Ford Mustang Dark Horse. He may be ‘young’, but his hands work like they’ve been modifying and fixing up cars before time was figured out. When any of his teams members get wrekt in a race, he immediately starts repairing, ordering replacements, and is respected by his peers. He barely races, he cares too much about cars, like they are his prized possession.
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THE BLOOD PHANTOMS: (this team makes no sense I’m sorry)
Izana Kurokawa THE LEADER: drives a red Ferrari 488 GTB. He drives like he’s murderous, and not literally fortunately, but that’s his style. Aggressive. Powerful. He’s also in the TOP 3. He wants to dominate any race track or road his car is on. He’s careless for others, all he focuses on is being the best, and only the best.
Takemichi Hanagaki SECOND IN COMMAND: drives a purple Aston Martin DB11 AMR. As much as he’s second in command, he’s not the.. best.. driver. Let’s just put it that way. He’s trusted with the logistics of his team, rather than the road itself. He’s powerful outside of the tracks.
Shuji Hanma THE PREDATOR: drives a matte black Lamborghini Aventador LP700-4. He’s the wealthiest in his team, and is a GREAT gambler, mainly for sponsors. But shit, his driving is crazily strategical. He’s impulsive for sure, but he uses that ability to perform cuts, drifts, and overtaking that would have you furrowing your eyebrows.
Hakkai Shiba THE ANGEL/MECHANIC: drives a blue Maserati GranTurismo Trofeo. He drives cautiously, precisely, and doesn’t bother in attacking his opponents. He prefers straight races, that require less tactical skill and control. He’s also the mechanic, but he’s more tedious on fixing and repairing, as they’d rather just ‘buy’ replacement cars instead.
Wakasa Imaushi THE LAUNCH KING: drives a purple pagani Zonda LH 670. he’s the first to be in first place, he never suffers from whiplash with how fast his car launches from the starting position. But he faults 50/50, it either pushes him for the podium, but can get lost back behind. He’s like a coin, he either dominates or lays back, until something in him growls to beat the pursuit.
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there is more teams, such as
THE FINAL SAINTS, THE LEVIATHANS, THE VANTA AXIOMS, and THE KUROHANA ECHELONS.
However they less focused on, as they have no ‘significance’ yet until later in the chapters.
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You will find chapters uploaded/linked HERE:
zero hour chapter 1: (to be uploaded / edited)
deadlocked chapter 2: (to be uploaded / edited)
meet n greets chapter 3: (to be uploaded / edited)
pursuit of greed chapter 4: (to be uploaded / edited)
MORE TO COME (it’s gonna be a long fic I’ll hope to bless you all, this might continue until I die maybe)
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AUTHORS NOTE: I’m really excited to roll this out finally. It’s been in my googles docs for soo long! I am just going over/editing the chapters I’ve already written, and I’ll post around 5 chapters a week :) the chapters will be quite long, I like to yap and detail as much as I can. also, if any of you like kpop, I’ll be doing a parallel of this fic kind of, for kpop aswell in the future. Please let me know your thoughts, (if this gets any views or likes at all) and if you guys want multiple endings and who’d you wanna end up with the most, I am unbiased because this is a work in progress !! :)
your situationship with sanzu has always lived on a knife's edge, literally and figuratively. when he shows up at your apartment unannounced, covered in blood, what starts as concern quickly spirals into something far more dangerous when he decides his leftover adrenaline needs an outlet.
˚⋮ word count. 4.5k
˚⋮ tags. smut. 18+ mdni. dark content ; weapon play ( knives ). a little blood play. dacryphilia. fear play. sadistic! sanzu. reader is a masochist. written in the bonten timeline ( everyone is aged 21+ ). praise & degradation. marking. mentions of branding. mentions of drugs. unprotected sex. slight overstimulation ( r ). petnames. rough sex.
˚⋮ author's note. this was meant to be a little exercise to help me brainstorm some fic ideas for kinktober and well. as you can see, it got a little out of hand ! likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated <3 also thank u to @lilbachi for beta reading!
the knock comes at 11:47.
you know because you’re looking at your phone when it happens, thumb hovering over the alarm you’re about to set for a morning that already feels too close. you’ve completed your whole nighttime routine; face washed, teeth brushed, skin moisturized. you are, by every reasonable measure, done with today.
but then— knock, knock, knock.
for a moment, you genuinely think it came from the TV, except the TV’s been off for twenty minutes. then you think it might be your neighbors, because sound carries strangely in this apartment complex, and old pipes do that sometimes. there’s an entire list of plausible explanations your brain runs through with increasing desperation because the alternative is that someone is standing outside your door at nearly midnight on a tuesday.
you set your phone down on the couch and slowly stand up, crossing the living room on your tiptoes. as you near the front door, you lean in to peek through the peephole.
“oh, baaaby,” the voice comes through the door, syrupy and slow, almost singsong. “i know you’re in there. open up.”
sanzu haruchiyo.
the dread that’s found its way into your stomach doesn’t leave, exactly; it merely transforms, reorganizing itself into something more familiar, the particular weariness you’ve been experiencing for the better part of a year now, ever since this man walked into your life and refused to walk back out of it.
through the fisheye warp of the peephole, you see him in pieces. pink first— that ridiculous mullet, unmistakable even distorted, even before your eyes have fully adjusted. then bright blue irises, which find the lens with unsettling accuracy, like he can see you through it. knowing him, he’s simply decided you’re there and committed to the bit. then there’s the signature grin, wide and wolfish. the scars pulling at the corners of it, the ones you’ve traced with your fingertips a hundred times and asked about only once.
he looks pleased with himself, but since that’s his default state, it tells you nothing.
you’re already sighing to yourself, already reaching for the deadbolt as a lecture readies itself on the tip of your tongue— phones exist, haruchiyo, we have literally talked about this, you can’t keep materializing at my door like a cryptid— and then your brain finishes processing the full image of him, and the words die in your throat.
because there’s a dark patch of something on his shirt, spreading from his ribs down past the hem.
you wrench the door open so fast the chain you forgot to unlatch snaps taut, and it bounces back at you. you curse, fumbling with it, your hands suddenly stupid, and you get it free on the second try. when it’s completely flung open, sanzu stands in your doorway, loose-limbed and swaying slightly like he’s listening to music, and upon closer inspection, he is covered in blood. what you’d previously mistaken for shadows proves to be a fine spray of it across his cheek and part of his throat.
“hi there, dollface,” he practically purrs.
“oh my god.” you grab a fistful of his sleeve and haul him over the threshold. thankfully, he comes easily, letting himself be steered. your hands are moving before you’ve made a single conscious decision, because the terrible thing is… you’ve done this before.
only once, but you have a procedure.
eight months ago, sanzu had shown up at this same door at two in the morning, ghostly pale and holding his side, sliced open along the ribs from something he never quite explained. you’d spent that night on your bathroom floor learning things you never wanted to know— how to butterfly a wound that truly needed stitches, how much gauze one human being can go through, how his breathing changed when the pain spiked, and how he’d joked through all of it, voice paper thin, like if he stopped performing he’d have to be a person who was hurt. you’d fallen asleep sitting up against the tub with his head heavy in your lap. in the morning, he was gone and there was money on your kitchen counter, and neither of you have mentioned it since.
so your body knows the drill, even while your mind is white noise. door shut, lock turned, get him under the light, find the wound—
“where..” you barely manage to keep the panic from leeching into your voice, “where is it, where are you hurt— sit down, why are you just— haru, sit down—”
he doesn’t listen. instead, he stands in the middle of your kitchen while you pull at the wet fabric of his shirt. it’s worse up close. the smell of it, and the sheer volume of it, soaked through from his ribs to his hip. you peel his shirt away from his stomach with both hands, searching the skin underneath, and some distant part of your brain has become a grim little accountant: that’s too much. that’s too much blood. a person doesn’t stay standing after losing that much blood.
your fingers keep expecting to find the tear, the pucker of flesh, the heat of an open wound, and they keep finding smooth skin. your panic intensifies every second you spend searching, because if you can’t find it, you can’t fix it, and if you can’t fix it, then tonight is the night. the one you’ve been bracing for since the first time this happened— the night your terrible arrangement with this terrible man finally costs more than you have.
“left side, right side, where—” you’re circling him now, checking his back with shaky hands. “you have to tell me where, i can’t— is it your leg? is it—”
“you’re so cute when you do this,” he says, dreamily.
“where are you hurt, haruchiyo?”
you grab his wrist to take his pulse, jamming two fingers against it, and it’s absolutely pounding. way, way too fast, and your grim little accountant supplies the answer immediately: shock. he’s going into shock, that’s why he won’t answer you, oh god, he’s going to go down right here on your kitchen floor—
“calm down, it’s not mine.”
relief hits first. it’s chemical, instant, your whole body unclenching before the words have even finished processing— he’s fine, he’s not hurt, he’s fine— a wave of it so strong your knees actually dip.
and then, arriving a half-second behind it like the second car in a pileup, the rest.
if not his…
then whose?
suddenly, the kitchen is quiet. the refrigerator hums. somewhere below, a neighbor’s television whispers through the floor. and you are standing there holding the wrist of a man soaked in someone else’s blood, and his pulse is still hammering beneath your fingertips— not from shock, you understand now, but with something much more dangerous.
sanzu watches you with his head tilted, like you’re the most interesting thing he’s seen all night. which, considering what he’s apparently been up to, is a bold assumption. “you gonna let go now? or are you that desperate to get your hands on me?”
you drop his wrist like it burned you, eyes narrowing up at him, but he just grins.
you take a step back, attempting to put some space between you, even though the kitchen suddenly feels too small. your heart is still racing from the panic, but now it’s mixing with something hotter and uglier— frustration, the kind that only sanzu can ever pull out of you.
“haruchiyo,” you say, and your voice is tight. “you cannot keep doing this. showing up at my door in the middle of the night covered in— in that— and expecting me to just… what? patch you up and pretend it’s fine? i thought you were dying. do you understand how fucked up that is?”
he tilts his head the other way. his pupils are huge, dilated so much that only a thin ring of pale blue encircles them. whatever he took tonight is still riding him hard.
“i like it when you fuss over me,” he shrugs. “checkin’ my pulse like a good little nurse. i think you just made my night, honestly.”
your jaw tightens. “i’m not fussing. i’m pissed— and scared. and you’re not even telling me what happened. again. look, if you want to sell drugs, i don’t care. but you can’t keep doing this. whatever bullshit you’re involved in, i don’t want a part in it.”
the words slip out sharper than you meant them to. you’ve never said it so plainly before— the suspicion that’s been sitting heavy in your chest for months. that he’s not just some guy with a bad habit. that whatever he does when he’s not here involves a lot more than recreational pills.
sanzu’s grin doesn’t falter. “aw, baby, you think i’m a drug dealer? that’s adorable. you’ve been sitting here makin’ up little stories about me in that pretty head of yours.”
you cross your arms over your chest, suddenly very aware that you’re only in a thin camisole and pajama shorts. “i don’t know what you are because you won’t tell me. you just show up, bleed on my floor, fuck me, and leave money on the counter like— like i’m some kind of hooker!”
okay, you know you’re reaching, but the words are already out. sanzu’s head tilts again, slower this time. his grin softens at the edges, but it doesn’t disappear. if anything, it grows a little meaner. a little more knowing.
“oh yeah? that really what you think, princess? that i only come around ‘cause of that perfect cunt? that i’m ‘paying’ you for the privilege of using it?”
your face burns as you open your mouth, but nothing comes out.
he takes a step closer, and you can see the fine spray of blood across his throat, the way it’s dried in the hollow of his collarbone. you should be disgusted. you are disgusted. but your body doesn’t seem to care. your pulse is fluttering for an entirely different reason now, and the space between your thighs is already warm in a way that makes you want to cross your legs.
sanzu watches the realization flicker across your face like it’s his favorite show.
“you know that’s bullshit,” he continues. “i’ve fucked you plenty of times without leavin’ a single yen on your counter. i’ve fucked you fast. slow. while i’ve been drunk, high. i’ve fucked you when i was half-asleep and just wanted to be inside you. i’ve let you ride me until you cried because you needed it. don’t act like this is some kind of transaction, doll. you know better.”
you hate how right he is. you hate that he can see straight through the flimsy defense you threw up between you. your arms are still crossed over your chest, but it feels defensive now instead of angry. the fear is still there, sharp and electric under your skin, but it’s twisting into something else. something hotter that makes your breath come shorter.
he’s too far gone tonight. you can see it in the way he sways, in the way his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, in the restless energy rolling off him in waves. this isn’t one of the nights where he lets you pull him back down to earth. this is one of the nights where he’s going to drag you to hell with him.
and the worst part is that some deep, shameful part of you wants to go.
sanzu reaches into his pocket like he’s pulling out a cigarette. a small pocketknife appears in his hand instead, the blade catching the overhead light in a mean flash. he doesn’t brandish it or point it at you. he just holds it loosely and watches your face.
your stomach drops. you’ve never been in a situation like this. you’ve seen knives in kitchens and utility drawers and the occasional self-defense video that popped up on your feed, but you’ve never stood in your own apartment while a man covered in someone else’s blood held one like an extension of his body. the fear that spikes through you this time is bright and immediate, and it makes your breath catch as your nipples tighten against the thin fabric of your shirt.
but it doesn’t make you step back, even when sanzu steps in again, close enough that you have to tilt your head to keep looking at him. the knife moves slowly, almost lazily, as the tip traces a light path down the center of your chest, right between the swell of your breasts, and the metal is cold enough to make you shiver.
“h-haru—” your voice comes out more uncertain than you want it to.
“shhh.” the tip of the blade catches the thin strap of your camisole, and he drags it down until the fabric pulls taut. with one quick flick, the strap snaps, and the garment slips lower on one side, baring the curve of your shoulder and the top of your breast. “you’re still actin’ like you’re mad at me. but you started clenching your thighs the second i pulled this out.”
you want to deny it, but the words won’t come. your heart is pounding so hard you can feel it in your throat. the fear is real, but it’s tangled up with something else now. something that makes your thighs press together without your permission.
sanzu’s free hand comes up to cup your jaw, thumb stroking once over your cheekbone. his touch is gentle. the knife is not. he drags the flat of it across your collarbone, and the metal leaves goosebumps in its wake, drawing his attention to the way your chest begins to rise and fall in shallow stutters.
“you’re scared,” he murmurs, his tone almost thoughtful. “but you’re not running. not tellin’ me to get the fuck out either. you’re standing here letting me tease you with this while your pussy’s probably beggin’ for some lovin’.”
“haru, i—”
the knife moves again. this time the tip catches the neckline of your camisole and slices downward in one smooth motion. the fabric parts like paper, falling open to bare your breasts to the cool kitchen air, and sanzu makes a low, appreciative sound when your nipples instantly harden.
“so pretty,” he comments absently, tracing the flat of the blade over one of them slowly, the metal making it pebble even harder. “so fuckin’ pretty when you’re like this. all soft and innocent and tryin’ so hard to stay mad at me.”
you’re not mad anymore. the anger has burned itself out, replaced by something more complicated. frustration, yes— at him, but also at yourself. at the way your body keeps betraying you. but it’s drowned out by the arousal curling low in your belly and the sharp edge of fear that heightens your senses.
he backs you up until your spine hits the counter, the knife never leaving your skin. it traces down between your breasts again, then lower, across your stomach, until the tip is resting just above the waistband of your pajama shorts. your hands grip the counter behind you. you don’t know if you’re bracing yourself or offering yourself.
sanzu leans in and kisses the corner of your mouth— soft, almost sweet— while the knife presses a little harder against your stomach.
“you still want me.” he says it against your skin.
you swallow, but your voice still comes out small. “i do.”
the curve of his lips is slow and satisfied. “good girl.”
he hooks the knife under the waistband of your shorts and slices through the fabric with one clean motion. the ruined material falls away, leaving you nearly naked in your own kitchen with your shirt hanging open and your shorts in pieces on the floor. sanzu steps back just enough to look at you, and the hunger in his eyes makes your knees feel weak.
he doesn’t give you time to find your balance. his hands are on your waist before you can speak, lifting you onto the counter. the granite is cold against the backs of your thighs, your ruined camisole still hanging open, but he doesn’t bother with it. instead, he hooks his fingers into the sides of your panties and tugs them down your legs. they catch on one ankle before he pulls them free and drops them to the floor with the rest of your clothes.
you’re completely naked now. you can feel every inch of exposed skin as sanzu steps in close, the front of his bloodstained shirt brushing your bare stomach. one hand rests on your knee, pushing your legs wider, while the other momentarily holds the knife to the side.
“look at you,” he grins. “fuckin’ knew you’d be wet.”
you try to close your legs on instinct, but he’s standing between them, and his hand on your knee doesn’t budge. to your mortification, two lithe fingers drag through your folds, gathering the slick that’s already begun weeping out, and the wet sound it makes is obscene in the quiet kitchen, nearly causing you to flinch.
“positively dripping,” he announces, and then, as if to prove he’s telling the truth, he brings his fingers up so you can see the shine on them. “all that attitude earlier, callin’ yourself a hooker like i’m some john payin’ for time… and here you are, makin’ a mess on my fingers before i’ve even pulled my cock out.”
you open your mouth to snap back, but the words evaporate when he pushes two fingers inside you without warning. the stretch is sudden and perfect, and your head tips back against the cabinet behind you with a soft thud as sanzu watches your face, eyes flicking between your expression and the way your cunt clenches around the digits.
“still wanna pretend you don’t want this?” he asks, curling his fingers just right.
you shake your head because it’s the only answer you can manage. your hands are gripping the edge of the counter so hard your knuckles have gone white.
sanzu makes a pleased sound low in his throat and starts fucking you with his fingers in earnest— deep, rapid strokes that press against that spot inside you on every pull. his thumb brushes your clit, not quite giving you enough pressure, but enough to make your hips twitch forward, chasing the friction.
that’s when the tears start.
they prick hot at the corners of your eyes from everything at once— the leftover anger that’s morphed into frustration, the fear that still hasn’t left your bloodstream, the overwhelming arousal that makes your thighs tremble around his wrist. you’ve never been in a situation like this, never felt so completely at someone else’s mercy while still knowing, bone-deep, that they won’t actually hurt you.
but the possibility is still there— and that possibility is doing something to you that you don’t have words for.
a tear slips free and tracks down your cheek.
sanzu sees it immediately. his rhythm doesn’t falter, but his expression darkens as he leans in without breaking eye contact and licks it off your skin with one slow lap of his tongue. the heat of it makes you shudder.
“there they are,” he breathes against your cheek. his voice has gone softer, but there’s a hunger underneath it you know all too well. “always such a crybaby. been waitin’ on the waterworks since i walked through the door.”
another tear falls. he licks that one too, then presses his mouth to the corner of your eye like he’s trying to catch them before they can escape.
you’re crying properly now, the tears coming faster and blurring your vision as his fingers keep working inside you. the pressure is building fast, tight and insistent, your clit throbbing every time his thumb grazes it. you’re close. so close it almost hurts.
abruptly, sanzu pulls his fingers out. you gasp at the sudden emptiness, a whine crawling up your throat only to taper off when he presses the flat of the blade directly against your clit— the cold, unyielding metal right where you’re most sensitive. the contrast makes your whole body jerk, and a broken sound escapes your throat.
“i know, i know,” he soothes, even as he rubs the flat of the knife in slow circles over your swollen clit. “i got you. just feel it.”
your hips rock forward on their own, grinding against the cold metal. it should feel wrong. it should feel terrifying. instead, it sends sparks shooting up your spine, the fear and the pleasure twisting together until you can’t discern where one ends and the other begins.
he pushes his fingers back inside you at the same time he keeps the knife pressed to your clit, and the combination is almost too much. your orgasm is right there, hovering just out of reach, your walls fluttering around his fingers, your breath coming in wet, broken pants.
that’s when he makes the cut. it’s small and deliberate, high on your inner thigh, just below where his fingers are buried inside you. the sting is bright and sharp and perfect, hitting at the exact moment your body is teetering on the edge, and the pain topples you over before you can even process what’s happened.
you cum with a loud sob, thighs clamping around his wrist and walls pulsing hard around his fingers as your orgasm crashes through you. your tears are streaming freely now— from the intensity, from the sting of the cut, from the devastating combination of everything all at once.
sanzu groans like the sound of you falling apart is the best thing he’s ever heard. he works you through it, fingers slowing but not stopping until the pleasure tips into something almost painful.
only then does he pull back. he brings his hand— the one that’s been holding the knife— up to his mouth and licks the small smear of blood on his thumb from the cut on your thigh, his eyes never leaving your face. the sight makes your spent cunt clench around nothing.
“fuckin’ masochist,” he muses out loud. “didn’t even know it until tonight, did ya? the second i cut you, you squeezed down so hard i thought you were gonna break my fingers.”
you can’t answer. your chest is heaving and your face is wet and your thigh is stinging in the best possible way. sanzu leans in and kisses you, tasting like copper and salt and something darker.
when he finally pulls back, he helps you down from the counter onto shaky legs. your knees nearly buckle, but he catches you easily, turning you around so your front is pressed against the counter. he nudges your feet apart with his boot, and then you feel the blunt head of his cock nudging at your entrance before he pushes in with one smooth thrust.
you’re still sensitive from your orgasm, still fluttering around him, and the stretch makes fresh tears well in your eyes. but sanzu doesn’t give you time to adjust, beginning to fuck you in steady strokes that push you forward against the counter with every piston of his hips. one hand grips your hip hard enough to bruise, the other lifting the knife up to press it against the side of your throat.
the position is vulnerable in a way that makes your stomach twist— bent over your own kitchen counter, completely naked, while he’s still fully clothed and covered in someone else’s blood. the knife at your throat is a constant reminder. every time your pulse jumps, he can practically feel it through the metal.
“you like this, huh?” he pants against the back of your neck as his hips snap forward. “like it when i scare you a lil’. like it when i make you cry while i’m buried in this perfect fuckin’ pussy.”
you nod mindlessly, and sanzu’s laugh is low and breathless. “my sweet lil’ girl. maybe one day i should carve my name into this pretty thigh of yours, right next to that cut i just gave you. let everyone who sees it know exactly who you belong to.”
the words send a fresh wave of heat through you, and you clench around him hard enough that he curses and fucks you harder, the knife pressing a little more firmly against your throat.
he doesn’t last much longer after that. the intoxicating cocktail of everything— the blood on his clothes, the way you’re crying and clenching around his cock, the leftover high still buzzing beneath his skin— pushes him over the edge. he pulls out at the last second, strokes himself twice, and cums across your ass and the small of your back in hot, messy stripes. you feel every pulse of it.
for a long moment, the only sounds are your ragged breathing and his low, shaky laughs as he comes down. then, the knife finally drops to the counter beside your head with a soft clatter.
sanzu stays pressed against you, forehead resting between your shoulder blades as one hand strokes soothing circles over your hip. when he finally pulls back, he grabs a dish towel and wets it under the tap, cleaning you up with surprising gentleness— wiping the cum from your skin and pressing the damp cloth to the fresh cut on your thigh until the bleeding slows.
he doesn’t bandage it, but he does kiss the skin above it, soft and almost apologetic.
then he turns you around and pulls you into his arms. your legs are still shaky, and your head feels light, the cut on your thigh registering in a way that makes your stomach churn with leftover heat. sanzu lifts you like you weigh nothing and carries you down the short hallway to your bedroom, laying you down on the sheets before crawling in beside you.
he pulls you against his chest and tucks your head under his chin. “you okay?”
you nod against his chest, your voice hoarse from crying. “yeah, ‘m just sleepy.”
he hums and presses a kiss to the top of your head. “sleep, doll. like i said, i’ve got you.”
you don’t remember falling asleep. one minute you’re listening to his heartbeat, slow and steady under your ear, and the next you’re gone.
when you wake up, the other side of the bed is cold.
sunlight filters through the blinds in thin stripes across your sheets. your body aches in places that make you wince when you stretch— the cut on your thigh throbs, your throat feels raw, and there’s a pleasant soreness between your legs that makes heat crawl up your neck when you remember why.
you lie there for a while before you finally drag yourself out of bed. the kitchen is exactly how you left it. your ruined clothes are still on the floor, and the dish towel is draped over the edge of the sink, still damp.
and there, low and behold, in a neat stack beside the coffee maker, is a thick bundle of yen.
you stare at it for a long moment as the golden morning light catches on the edges of the bills.
but you don’t touch it.
you just start the coffee maker, watching the steam curl up into the light while the cut on your thigh pulses in time with your heartbeat.
This is for my favorite mutuals and the salty bitch in my comments! 😊 enjoy
FUCKING UR BF ON MOLLY
⋆౨ৎ˚ cw; drugs, pretty vanilla tbh
the loud smacking of your gum filled the room along with the wet slurping noise of your boyfriend in between your legs. your friends were downstairs, you could hear them squealing and the sound of rap music blasting through the speakers. your head was thrown back, your hands busy holding your legs apart before coming up to dig your nails into your scalp with a moan. it was too much, your mouth dry and your legs shaking against his head. su bong moaned as he licked his ring and middle finger, sliding them in between your wet folds. you were soaked to say the least, clear drops of arousal dripping down the valley of your ass. you opened your eyes, your lashes fluttering as thanos slurped at your clit, his fingers curling into your g spot. you were already close after what had only been 2 minutes, “oh fuck! yesyesyesyes—“ you cut yourself off with a mewl as thanos pulled away, fumbling with his belt. you sat up, still soothing your intense molly jaw with the repetitive motion of smacking your gum. you grabbed your boyfriend’s face, pulling him close to kiss him sloppily. you moaned into his mouth, feeling his dick line up with your pussy. thanos moaned with you, too absorbed in the euphoria to care about anything else. you were so warm, why were you so warm? he pulled away to pull his shirt off, sweat glistening on his chest. “take your top off baby,” he helped you rid yourself of your top and bra, leaving your bare chest for him to squeeze. you rolled your eyes in the back of your head as he bottomed out,
“ah! mmmmfuckk..” you had your mouth agape, a small smile on your face as he started to thrust into your wet pussy. the music muffled your moans slightly, but the drug made everything more intense, louder, better. your hands came up to tug on his hair, pulling him in for another nasty kiss, a faint taste of liquor on both of y’alls breath. your pussy clenched around his cock, his head moving down to suck on your tits, palming one of them roughly. his tongue swirled around your swollen bud and you swore you saw the light for a moment. he pushed you to lay down, your head lolling back into the bed. you didn’t even realize but your eyes were rolling in the back of your head again, your jaw slack and pupils blown. you felt your orgasm building up, his moans getting louder. “thanos…” you grabbed at his hips, his chest, and his broad shoulders. “cum with me, im so clo—fuck!” you grabbed his hand as your pussy convulsed around him, your orgasm making you violently shake and scream. he wasn’t far behind, pulling out to pump himself two times before nutting on your stomach with a stifled curse. “shit…” he moaned as he wiped his slick cock against your puffy folds. he collapsed on top of you, laying his head in between your shoulder and neck. his hand came up to grope your tits, his free one sliding up and down your body. “again.” you begged, pushing him off you.
18+ giving streamer bf!sanzu head while he’s in the middle of a stream (sanzu’s birthday special) ୭౿
sanzu was in the middle of his usual late-night stream, slouched comfortably in his gaming chair with his headset slightly crooked, the glow from his monitor washing over his face as he gave commentary on the match he was playing.
“yeah, this guy’s movement is actually insane— wait, what the fuuu—”
his voice suddenly cracked mid-sentence.
under the desk, you were on your knees between his legs with your lips wrapped around his hardened cock; spit slicking your lips & chin as you bobbed your head with just enough pressure to make his jaw flex tightly. you looked up at him with innocent eyes as you took him deeper, hollowing your cheeks around his throbbing length.
sanzu’s hand tightened on his mouse while he tries to keep his face neutral for the camera. “s-sorry, chat... thought i saw something,” he managed, voice a little strained as you swirled your tongue around the mushroom tip, sucking him harder.
a soft, involuntary groan slipped from his lips before he could stop it.
sanzuscumdump: bro what was that sound???
haruswifeyyy: moaning on the stream is crazyyy
gluckgluck101: is he getting head rn LMAOOO
69manjiro: “thought i saw something” yeah his dick disappearing
he tried to play it off with a laugh, but it sounded more like a broken exhale.
“you guys are so—fuck— annoying,” he hissed, biting his lip hard as you took him all the way to the back of your throat, gagging softly around him. his free hand dropped beneath the desk, fingers tangling in your hair as his thighs flexed against your palms each time your throat tightened around him.
another low, broken moan escaped him when you started bobbing your head faster— the wet, filthy sounds barely muffled by the desk. “shit— uh okay, pause on the game for a second,” he rasped, voice cracking as his head tilted back slightly.
“i’m kinda… dealing with something.”
69manjiro: “dealing with something” i bet my ass he’s getting sucked off rn
gluckgluck101: dude you’re not slick at all 💀
sanzuscumdump: bro is fighting HARD for his life on stream
you looked up at him again, your gaze flicking up to catch every twitch in his expression as you took him deeper— tongue pressing against the underside of his cock, tracing the vein there with every slick drag of your mouth. sanzu’s grip on your hair tightened, his breathing growing ragged as he tried to keep his face somewhat composed for the camera.
“y-you’re gonna kill me,” he muttered under his breath, barely audible to the mic. “fuckkk— just like that, baby…”
his thighs tensed, hips jerking slightly as he got closer and closer. you could feel him throbbing against your tongue, and you didn’t stop— sucking him deeper, faster, determined to make him lose it on stream.
sanzu let out one last shaky groan, head falling back as he spilled every last drop of his release down your throat, biting his lip to keep himself from moaning your name out loud.
haruswifeyyy: please tell me someone took a screenshot of him biting his lip
sanzuscumdump: someone check on him omg…
sanzu leaned back in his chair, chest heaving, a lazy, fucked-out smirk spreading across his face as he looked down at you with hooded eyes. afterwards he ran a shaky hand through his messy pink hair, still catching his breath as he glanced back at the camera.
“chat… i think i might need to end the stream early tonight.”
Hi queen just looking at ur new intro and wondering do u not write for Thanos anymore ??
haiii ugh i lowk dont know… like i love him but those fics never do well and like idk im just not really into writing for him ughh but for you i might have to sprinkle some in 😊
you had a pep in your step as you waltzed down the office hallways, stopping at the second to last door in the barrack. your hand came up to gently knock on the door, the laughter behind it ceased with a ‘i’ll call ya back..’. .
“sanzu? are you there?” you called out to the man, a smile adorning your pretty face when the mahogany door unlocked. a tattooed arm came up to grab you, pulling you into him with a spin.
he chuckled as you squealed in his arms, his office door closing again.
“happy birthday haru,” you stood on the tips of his shoes, leaning in to peck his lips. his hands slowly wandered, pulling you into a bear hug while simultaneously grabbing your ass. you mewled into his mouth, grabbing onto the dress shirt he wore. sanzu picked you up, walking to sit on his couch in the office and let you straddle him. your clothes pussy rubbed against his painfully hard boner. you gasped as he rolled your hips onto the bulge. he loved this. loved when you acted so shy and innocent like a fucking virgin. it’s all an act to please him, and he loves it. he loves you. he’s obsessed with you.
you slid off his lap and found a place in between his thighs, resting your head on his thigh. he petted your head as you fumbled with his belt, running his hand across your head. his hands were shaking eagerly as you pulled his pants down enough for his cock to spring out. pretty, you thought. you grabbed base to suckle on his tip before he pushed your head down, gagging only halfway down. “ohhh—you slut. gagging on this dick…” he groaned, his adams apple bobbing when you moan around his cock. tears pricked your eyes as you pushes you down to nudge your nose with his groin. face in pubic hairs, you inhale the musky smell of him. it soaks your panties. the mascara you put on earlier makes the tears streaming down your face black and sanzu revels in the lewd sight. he pulled you off his dick as you gasp for air, your pretty mouth conveniently open for him to spit in your mouth. “disgusting, you’re such a nasty girl.” his degrading makes you whimper, grabbing his dick to shove it back in your drool slick mouth. you grab at his thighs when he yanks your hair to guide you up and down on his dick, deep and fast. you panic quietly when you cant focus on breathing through your nose, tears flood out your eyes. you tap on his thighs as your vision goes spotty, drool spit bubbles forming at the base of his dick as you cough. his tight grip on your hair relaxes slightly, as if you could pull away if you wanted to. yet you stay still, letting him buck his hips into your mouth. “i know i know, cant tap out yet, im so close baby..” he continued to fuck your throat, groaning as you whore yourself out for him on his cock.
he pulled you off his dick, your hand subconsciously jerking him off as you coughed and spasmed for air. once you caught your breath, your cheeks red and spit coveting your chin, you opened your mouth. His balls tightened, he was so close! you smiled as he groaned, painting your face with thick hot ropes of cum. you were panting as he swiped some off your bottom lip with his thumb before inserting the digit in your mouth, smirking as you sucked the finger clean. “my good girl.” he pulled you up onto his lap, analyzing his mess before grabbing you forward to plant a sloppy kiss to your lips, tasting his own cum.
Ok, wow. My hands hurt from writing this and djing this pussy to my birthday boyyy 🙌😝😝😝
you had a pep in your step as you waltzed down the office hallways, stopping at the second to last door in the barrack. your hand came up to gently knock on the door, the laughter behind it ceased with a ‘i’ll call ya back..’. .
“sanzu? are you there?” you called out to the man, a smile adorning your pretty face when the mahogany door unlocked. a tattooed arm came up to grab you, pulling you into him with a spin.
he chuckled as you squealed in his arms, his office door closing again.
“happy birthday haru,” you stood on the tips of his shoes, leaning in to peck his lips. his hands slowly wandered, pulling you into a bear hug while simultaneously grabbing your ass. you mewled into his mouth, grabbing onto the dress shirt he wore. sanzu picked you up, walking to sit on his couch in the office and let you straddle him. your clothes pussy rubbed against his painfully hard boner. you gasped as he rolled your hips onto the bulge. he loved this. loved when you acted so shy and innocent like a fucking virgin. it’s all an act to please him, and he loves it. he loves you. he’s obsessed with you.
you slid off his lap and found a place in between his thighs, resting your head on his thigh. he petted your head as you fumbled with his belt, running his hand across your head. his hands were shaking eagerly as you pulled his pants down enough for his cock to spring out. pretty, you thought. you grabbed base to suckle on his tip before he pushed your head down, gagging only halfway down. “ohhh—you slut. gagging on this dick…” he groaned, his adams apple bobbing when you moan around his cock. tears pricked your eyes as you pushes you down to nudge your nose with his groin. face in pubic hairs, you inhale the musky smell of him. it soaks your panties. the mascara you put on earlier makes the tears streaming down your face black and sanzu revels in the lewd sight. he pulled you off his dick as you gasp for air, your pretty mouth conveniently open for him to spit in your mouth. “disgusting, you’re such a nasty girl.” his degrading makes you whimper, grabbing his dick to shove it back in your drool slick mouth. you grab at his thighs when he yanks your hair to guide you up and down on his dick, deep and fast. you panic quietly when you cant focus on breathing through your nose, tears flood out your eyes. you tap on his thighs as your vision goes spotty, drool spit bubbles forming at the base of his dick as you cough. his tight grip on your hair relaxes slightly, as if you could pull away if you wanted to. yet you stay still, letting him buck his hips into your mouth. “i know i know, cant tap out yet, im so close baby..” he continued to fuck your throat, groaning as you whore yourself out for him on his cock.
he pulled you off his dick, your hand subconsciously jerking him off as you coughed and spasmed for air. once you caught your breath, your cheeks red and spit coveting your chin, you opened your mouth. His balls tightened, he was so close! you smiled as he groaned, painting your face with thick hot ropes of cum. you were panting as he swiped some off your bottom lip with his thumb before inserting the digit in your mouth, smirking as you sucked the finger clean. “my good girl.” he pulled you up onto his lap, analyzing his mess before grabbing you forward to plant a sloppy kiss to your lips, tasting his own cum.
Ok, wow. My hands hurt from writing this and djing this pussy to my birthday boyyy 🙌😝😝😝
