soulbound

[imsofthelp]

⋆˚✿˖° RUTHIE, twenty two!

She/her. ENFP, pisces. Poetry enthusiast. English is not my first language. Most fics edited by @velvet-kissesss​.

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[imsofthelp]

Chapter 1

Word count: 6k.

Cw: No curses AU, office AU, drinking, depression, masturbation (m), age gap (Suguru is in his late 30s, reader is in her early 20s) general dark tones and themes of manipulation

Summary: You're a fresh-faced ethical investment analyst at Gojo's investment firm. Suguru Geto, the COO, thinks you need someone to guide you at work and in life. He's more than ready to be that lęading force.

Suguru is depressed. It’s not like it’s new, or recent, or anything unexpected, really. Not worth the fuss, or other people worrying over him. Not like he chose this, not like it could’ve been prevented. A chemical disbalance in his brain that stupidly refuses to produce enough serotonin. Shitty genetics, a curse passed down by his mother.

 Back when he was younger, no more than ten, he remembers her lying in bed with the blinds drawn shut, refusing to eat, or sleep, or do much of anything. It was instant ramen dinners or something microwave-ready and his dad wordlessly dropping him off at school until his mom was back to normal. It never really changed. Her whole life, and in turn, Suguru’s whole childhood, had always been divided into “the good days” and “the bad days”. It left something deep within him that he refused to name or acknowledge.

He’s better at dealing with his illness now that he’s pushing forty. It would be embarrassing if he wasn’t. He has a well-paying job as a Chief Operating Officer at the Gojo investment firm and teaches classes on ethics at the local university when he has the time. He works out and reads and socializes and takes a vacation away from everything when things feel like they’re getting heavy again.

Suguru doesn’t feel like taking medication. He doesn’t see it as a bad thing, and if it helps other people, that’s great, but for him, it’s not worth the apathy, the insomnia, the headaches and the loss of libido that ensures that he can’t get his cock up even after hours of foreplay and having the hottest woman or the most attractive guy in his bed. His job requires heavy focus and having his head fully in the game. Besides, he likes having a drink every once in a while, (more often now than before) and respects his body well enough to not mix antidepressants with top-shelf whiskey.

It’s all just background noise, a thought process that couldn’t be drowned out by the music playing on his car radio. He has a few minutes to kill before a meeting and sitting in his car, at the top floor of the parking garage, is the only moment of peace he’s going to get until late evening when he can relax and leave his work persona behind. Suguru flicks the sun visor down and gives his reflection one last look, his thumb rubbing across his dark circles absentmindedly before killing the engine and stepping out of the car.

The firm is already buzzing with chatter, clanking keyboards and employees running all over the place. Suguru leaves his dark wool coat with the wide-eyed, shy receptionist, listens patiently to the way she stutters about his meeting being pushed up and tells her not to worry about it.

The meeting is nothing out of the ordinary. A simple acquisition review of a mid-size pre-packaged food manufacturing factory. Gojo won’t be around, he’s out of town, meeting with investors, drawing in foreign clientele. It’s truly no trouble. The company might’ve been inherited by Satoru and belonged to him in name, but Suguru was the right-hand man. The spine of the company. The stabilizing force.

He walks in and nods politely towards the analysts and the senior staff, men and women who stayed long past their welcome at this company, with ancient beliefs and misaligned ideals. He’s long learned to pay them no mind. The CFO, Nanami, nods back, straight to the point as always.

The meeting wraps up rather quickly. He’s never needed to make people listen to him, as soon as he speaks everyone turns to him, seeking out his words. Besides, the firm they’re acquiring is already in the fold. It’s just a matter of assessing financial risk and how things will be done.

Now, Suguru has time to go through his favorite routine of every day. Walking to your cluttered desk and talking to you under the guise of helping out. You’re a sweet, kind, bushy-tailed ethical investment analyst. You’ve been here for months by now, recruited by Nanami right after your university graduation and fostered under his wing. Suguru’s watched you grow more confident and surer of yourself as the days passed. You catch his gaze and offer him a smile and Suguru’s heart does that funny- unnecessary flip.

You like Suguru. Nanami may have shown you the ropes, but Suguru made you feel a part of the company. Caring about your input in meetings, looking over your briefs and offering constructive feedback, inviting you to outings after the workday wrapped up. Sometimes, you feel guilty about taking up so much of his day. He’s an important man. Busy. Busy busy busy. And you’re just you. Not really worthy of his attention, even if Suguru’s assured you many times that it’s no trouble.

Suguru gives you the smallest of smiles – just a tug of his right lip corner, and all your anxieties are calmed, like a wild wolf turned obedient lap dog in its crate. He looks even taller than he is when he stands in front of your desk, black slacks that must be custom-tailored just due to the sheer length of his toned legs and a perfectly ironed long-sleeved shirt, exuding quiet, sure confidence. With his slightly tanned skin, long ebony hair and half-lidded amethyst eyes, he’s a beautiful man, rivaling most guys your age even when in his late 30s.

It’s not a crush. No, it’s silly to call it a crush when Suguru’s one of your bosses and you’re already in your twenties. Admiration is the more logical answer. You’ve always sought guidance and praise and Suguru gives it in heaps.

“Hello,” His voice is soft and quiet, and the way he says your name is like a warm cup of tea after a long winter day, making you want to lean in to hear better, “How’s your day going?”

“Oh, I’ve finished a few reports since the morning. I’m now working on the ‘Jones Foods’ case report and it’s, ah, quite troubling-”

Suguru cuts your rambling off with the call of your name and has to fight back a shudder at the way your attention immediately snaps to him, how your teeth dig into your plush lips.

“I didn’t ask about the reports, did I? I asked you how your day was going. Let’s try again, shall we?”

You need gentle guidance. A hand clutching the nape of your neck. Your potential is vast; it’s just overworking and self-doubting tendencies that need some work before you can truly bloom into the specialist Suguru knows you can be.

“My day is… Going okay. The new coffee roast at the cafeteria is very nice and the bus didn’t run late today. I’m just a feeling a little overwhelmed at the moment.” You say, feeling a little like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

“That’s nice to hear. I’m glad your day has been okay.” Suguru hums, “Do you always take the bus to work?”

“Oh, yes. The bus stop is near my apartment, so it’s all very convenient.”

“And you haven’t thought about getting a car? Surely, it would save a lot of time. Safer than public transport, too.”

“I have, it’s just…”

Driving is overwhelming. As many things in your life are. You tend to psych yourself out and not manage to do things that need to be done. You’re sure that Suguru understands what you want to say, he’s an extremely intelligent man. Yet he allows the silence to stretch like old gum instead of filling it in. He always wants you to finish your sentences. For you to feel like you have the space to speak.

“Driving in a big city feels dangerous. For me, at least. I get overwhelmed behind the wheel and putting other people in danger would be selfish.”

“I see.” Suguru nods. Doesn’t reprimand you. Doesn’t make you feel incapable, or dumb, “The firm finances courses for its employees every year. It’s mostly for analytics, or business. Things to do with the job. But I’m sure that if written correctly, one little driving course with a qualified instructor could be looked past.”

Your eyes grow big, lips opening just the slightest. Suguru wonders if you’re even aware of the expression you’re making. You’re a doe, a bunny, a tiny baby squirrel and Suguru’s words are a round pointer aimed at your skull.

“I couldn’t- “

“You could.” Suguru cuts you off with a flick off his wrist, “You can. I’ll look into it, okay?”

“I- “

“It would make me feel better, knowing that you’re travelling comfortably and safely.” Suguru puts his right palm against his heart. A subconscious motion.

You have no arguments against it. Truly, it would be better to drive around yourself instead of spending countless minutes at the bus stop in the rain, or snow. You could also sleep in more, which would surely better your performance at work. Suguru is all about efficiency. He’s the driving force of the firm. He just wants to make sure all the employees are at the top of their game, working like a well-oiled machine.

“Thank you.”

Suguru doesn’t acknowledge it. Just nods and offers another small smile. It feels good to quench your worries. To take at least one trouble off your shoulders, to make one thing in your life more comfortable.

“Want to tell me about that report now?” Suguru pulls out a chair and sits down next to you, a comfortable distance away. Your breath hitches in your throat, “The ‘Jones Foods’ one. What’s causing you trouble?”

“Once you acquire the manufacturing factory, you plan to cut costs to maintain brand profitability.” Your mouse cursor dances across the screen; across the plans he’s already reviewed countless times to make sure that things run smoothly.

“That’s right.”

“Cutting costs is corporate speak for unfair sourcing practices and laying workers off.” You say, your eyes focused on the screen to not meet Suguru’s intense gaze.

There it is what he’s been looking forward to the whole day. You might be shy, and have a low sense of self-worth, but your sense of ethics is admirable. Almost idealistic and naïve, fighting for the little guy amid the sewage that corporate is. It reminds him of how he used to be, back when he started working at the firm and believed the world to be black and white.

“We wouldn’t use sourcing practices that are unheard of. Just the standard procedures that all manufacturers rely on, more often than not.” Suguru says, “As for the workers being laid off, it’s just what happens when a manufacturing factory is acquired by an investment firm.”

There’s a soft frown on your face, and you finally meet Suguru’s gaze, turning your body towards him slightly. You wouldn’t argue about this with Gojo, or Nanami. They’re all about efficiency and swift work. With Suguru, you know that you can appeal to the more humane aspects of your work, that you’ll be heard and your words considered. Even if it’s intimidating, it’s your job to consider ethics. To consider workers who have families to feed and roofs to keep in an already harsh economic environment.

“It doesn’t have to be. We can maintain the workforce, invest in safer sourcing, and still meet financial goals for the year. It might take a little longer, but it doesn’t mean efficiency has to come at the cost of people’s lives.” You argue.

“I would like to agree with you. In an ideal, fairytale world, I might. ‘A little while longer’ is a delay that has the potential to cost the firm millions of dollars.” Suguru sighs, “We don’t have the privilege to take the time to retrain the old workers or incentivize suppliers to improve their standards.”

“But wouldn’t an ethical, trusted supplier and the good reviews of the workers strengthen the firm image in the long run?”

“So called ethical suppliers cost more than you could imagine. On paper, it works, but in the real world, it’s a little different. As for the workers, they won’t be grateful to keep their jobs. They’ll find something new to complain about. Low wages, long hours, even if we’re not to blame for the jobs they chose. Even if we ensure that they can keep working at the factory, they won’t start worshipping a firm that bought them out.”

“Most people don’t choose jobs like that,” You explain, voice soft and quiet. Suguru looks a little confused. His words must’ve been a slip of the tongue, “You said that we’re not to blame for the jobs they chose. Most people don’t actively choose minimum wage jobs.”

Working two customer service jobs just to deal with university bills and keep yourself afloat, dealing with rude customers and employers that berate you resurface to your mind. You’re lucky to have this job. You’re lucky that Nanami saw the potential, even if during the first month you made more mistakes than anything good for the firm and felt like a gangrened limb ought to corrupt the rest of the body. So many people aren’t as lucky.

“You’re right.” Suguru agrees instantly, leaning back in his chair, “Of course most people don’t actively make that choice. I worded that poorly.”

“So, you’ll think about it? About retraining workers rather than laying them off?” You ask.

“I’ll talk to Satoru once he comes back from his work trip. See what we can do.” Suguru answers, standing up.

 It’s still so unusual how he calls Gojo ‘Satoru’. They’re friends and Suguru’s been with the firm since the very start, but you still have nightmares that force you to wake up in cold sweat about accidentally calling your direct boss by his first name. Those, and coming into work naked. They’re both first-place contenders for your insomnia.

“Okay.” You nod. This report will be put on hold, but you have countless others to work on in the meantime. “It’s kind of you to consider it.”

“Of course.” Suguru doesn’t make a show out of it. It’s not kindness. Not that you know it. Not that you’ll learn soon. He takes a couple of steps away from your desk before turning around and calling your name. “I would like for you to come out for drinks with us tonight after work. If you’re free, that is.”

Which is how, hours later you find yourself at the doorway of a dimly lit bar that’s tucked away into one of the cozy, quiet streets. It’s fancy. The kind of place that plays jazz, serves signature cocktails (none of the sugary ‘pornstar martini’ type of stuff) and is known by the word of the mouth. Even without stepping in, you already feel out of place in your second-hand dress and polyester-blend coat. Your hair might be styled and your makeup done flawlessly, but all the signs point to you not belonging.

You stare at the door as if wishing hard enough would make the bar change to the one you frequent with friends, the one with the loud pop music blasting through the speakers and sticky alcohol and juice stains on the worn-out tables. You’ve hung out with Suguru and his friends before. It wasn’t too awkward, and you didn’t feel too unwelcome. It’s just…

You hear your last name being called out and flinch like a startled animal. You turn to find Nanami, standing just at the mouth of the alleyway, dressed in simple dark slacks and a well-tailored coat. His square glasses have tiny droplets of rain on them and there’s a few honey blond strands that have fallen out of his perfectly coiled hair. He exudes quiet luxury.

You’ve always been sort of intimidated by Nanami. He recruited you, which meant that he believed in your potential, but messing up in front of him was much scarier than doing so in front of Suguru or Satoru. Maybe it was his work ethic, or maybe his no-nonsense attitude. Maybe it was the deep-rooted fear of disappointing the first person to ever believe in you.

“Are you afraid that the door will bite you?” He asks, voice devoid of any emotion. Nanami sighs when you blink up at him in confusion, stepping closer, “I’m sorry, that was supposed to be a joke.”

“Oh, right. Haha- “

“Save me some humiliation, please. You don’t need to laugh to please me.” Nanami waves you off and shakes his head, “I suppose Geto invited you to join us.”

It’s not an accusation, yet it feels like one. Nanami looks at you through the top of his glasses. He knows that you don’t belong here. It doesn’t feel like he’s judging you, or your choice of attire, more so your presence amidst them. Him, Suguru, Shoko and Utahime. Accomplished, mature people who are well-respected in their fields. To them, you’re an outsider.

“Yeah. Yes, Suguru was the one to invite me.” You respond, your fingers dancing across the strap of your handbag, barely meeting Nanami’s amber gaze.

“Relax.” Nanami sighs again, “They’ll eat you alive if you don’t. It’s okay. Geto just has this thing about showing off.”

Your brows furrow. Showing off? Suguru has never been one to flaunt his wealth, or influence. Not in front of you, at least. What could he possibly show off? Nanami’s eyes are following each of your movements, the confusion etched into your features. Sweet summer lamb. He should probably warn you. Save you from walking into the jaws of the big bad wolf. But the world isn’t black and white, and you have a good head on your shoulders. It’s best to let you figure all of this out yourself.

“Don’t worry about it is what I’m trying to say.” Nanami clears his throat, “We might be higher up in the company, but at the end of the day, we’re all just overworked people who gather here to drink and have a good time. You don’t have to play the pretend game. You wouldn’t be here if your company wasn’t welcome.”

Your heart flutters in your chest. It’s all the reassurance you need, put into perfectly reasonable words. Nanami isn’t emotional. He’s logical. Stoic, always truthful and honest even at the expense of hurting other people’s feelings. If he says that it’s okay for you to be here, it means that it truly is.

You offer Nanami a tiny nod, and his expression relaxes. He takes the final steps towards you and holds the door open like some regency era gentlemen as you step into the dimly lit bar, warmth instantly hitting your face and making your cheeks heat up.

It’s not hard to spot them. Occupying the furthest table from the door, hugging the corner. Shoko is in the middle of telling the story, when Suguru’s eyes meet yours and he stands to meet you halfway.

Pretty, pretty, pretty. You look pretty in your dark dress, glittery makeup and mused hair that he knows you must’ve spent at least an hour on in the mirror. It’s… Kind of fucked up, he thinks, that he wants you to feel a little intimidated. Not because he’s particularly sadistic or making himself feel more accomplished. It’s just the way you always seek him in these environments, hanging onto his every word, following every micro-expression on his face to notice if he feels like you’ve messed up.

“You made it.” His low voice is all but a soft purr and he revels in the way your shoulders sag. In this environment, he’s your safe person.

“Yeah, thanks for inviting me. I probably would’ve spent the evening looking over cases and binge-watching ‘The Office’ again.” You mentally smack yourself for the unnecessary details that are surely needless, but Suguru only offers you a chuckle.

Nanami situates himself next to Shoko, who’s offered you a greeting nod, and continued some work story, and Utahime, who already seems a few drinks in if the way her dark eyes glimmer are any indication.

You try to shrug off your coat, only for it to get caught on your awkwardly bent elbow, making your expression fall at the sheer awkwardness. Suguru steps behind you and takes the garment off with no trouble.

“Here we go.” He murmurs, making no fuss over it and hanging it up on the coat rack with such care that you’d think it was designer label and worth thousands. Then, he pats your shoulder with a touch that’s barely there and leads you to the table.

Suguru ushers you to the other side of the booth than the others are sitting at and sits beside you, blocking your exit. Not like you’d flee. Soon, more drinks are ordered and you’re nursing a Negroni that could’ve paid for five of the dinners you’d make at home.

Conversation flows easily as the evening wears on, and the bar patrons make themselves sparse, with you only joining in to agree and offering barely there opinions. It’s easier to relax when you’re three drinks in and your inhibitions aren’t as sharp, your anxieties not fluttering somewhere just beside your heart, digging into your ribs.

Nanami leaves to go to the bathroom, or to order another drink, or to catch a smoke, the smell of which that you’ve somehow never caught clinging to his coat, and Shoko leans over the table, cocking her head to the side as she drawls your name.

“You’re a pretty girl. What are you doing rotting with these old geezers in their ancient, boring firm?”

Utahime giggles beneath her palm, leaning her head down on Shoko’s shoulder. You know, from countless retellings, that she’s used to despise Satoru and Suguru back in high school. You wonder what had changed for them to be on friendly enough terms to go out drinking together, or if she only came out for Shoko and Nanami.

“I graduated in economics, and um, Nanami had offered me an internship after we met at a local seminar. Which turned into… This.” You shrug, shifting in your seat. Suguru isn’t quick to help you out, but you feel his amethyst eyes following. You don’t like this much attention focused on you.

“Yeah, and with that internship done, you could’ve opened doors to a much more exciting career.” Shoko probes.

“Yeah…” Utahime sighs, a small pout on her glossy lips, “Like a financial analyst for a start-up. I’d imagine you doing something to do with fashion. You have great style.”

“Oh- Thank you. I just, I guess, wanted to do something with ethics. I’ve always wanted to help people, and this is the best way I can with my skill set.” You feel like the words are cotton in your mouth. Of course, you’re expected to make conversation, but with three drinks in, it doesn’t feel like your words are intelligent as they’re supposed to be.

“Yes, she’s quite a bleeding heart, if you haven’t noticed,” Suguru finally joins in, chuckling, “Always looking out for the little guy. Not often that you see such a… Sensitive person in this field of work.”

“You say it like it’s a bad thing.” You squirm.

“Ah, not necessarily. A little naivete is rather charming. I’ve almost forgotten, what that feels like.” Suguru pats your head and offers you a soft smile when you look up at him. You feel how warm his skin is, lingering even after he withdraws. Your heart does that funny little flip.

“Boo, don’t listen to him.” Shoko clicks her tongue, sipping on her drink, “Back in high school and college, Suguru here was all about making the world a better place. One step at a time, everyone deserves a fair chance shtick.”

“Yeah, he’s making fun of you because he’s grown bitter with age.” Utahime sticks her tongue out, and Suguru tsks.

The conversation goes on without you, and you slump in your seat, feeling instantly better now that the spotlight is off you. It must be another hour or so, time flows a little funny when you’re buzzed, and the night out finally wraps up.

Nanami calls up an Uber for Shoko and Utahime, who’s hanging onto the aforementioned woman for dear life, and then, when they leave, safe and sound, catches a taxi, offering both you and Suguru a brief goodbye. It’s cold outside, and you’re fumbling with your phone, face scrunching up at the way the ride prices have skyrocketed now that it’s past midnight.

“I’ll drive you.” Suguru hums, sensing your anguish.

You look like a sad damsel in distress. A little drunk, a little uncoordinated, shifting your weight from one foot to another due to the cold that he’s sure seeps to your very bones if the material of your coat that he’s barely felt is any indication.

“Didn’t you drink?” You ask, looking up at him, eyes big and open and vulnerable.

Suguru swallows down the involuntary reaction to shiver. He shakes his head. He had a feeling that the evening would come down to this. It’s not like he couldn’t live without alcohol. He could easily open a bottle of expensive whiskey that he always keeps in his living room cabinet, drink until the birds sing.

He didn’t want his coworkers and friends to know just how much alcohol it took for him to feel like he’s gotten his fix. Better to not drink at all. Besides, he wanted to be the one to drive you home. Selfishly, he wanted to steal just another twenty minutes of your time alone. Not at work, where he had to hide it under the pretense of reports, or at the bar, where he had to split it with his friends. Besides, drunk people tend to be more open, chattier. And you’re always so reserved. It’s nothing bad, he tells himself. Just curiosity.

A saying about a metaphorical cat and it being killed comes to mind before he brushes it off.

“No. No, I had a non-alcoholic beer and soda water.” Suguru says, “Want me to walk in a straight line and cite the alphabet backwards?”

You shake your head with a soft hum. You’ve always trusted Suguru and his judgement. He’s never proved that to be a wrong decision. He laughs, resisting the urge to boop your nose, to pinch your cheeks, and leads you away to his black Aston Martin parked at the very edge of the dark parking lot. He holds the door open for you, and then, very much similarly to how he’d helped you with the coat, clicks your seatbelt in when you fumble with it.

Suguru smells like sandalwood and something sharp and fresh. Mint, or patchouli.  Or maybe bergamot and pink pepper. You’re not so sure, but your head spins at the proximity. It must be the trick of your mind that it seems like he lingers for longer than necessary.

“Do you really think that?” You ask, once he’s seated behind the wheel and pulling out into the empty road.

“Think what?” Suguru asks absent-mindedly, fiddling with the temperature control.

“That I’m naïve.”

“I should’ve said idealistic.” Suguru changes lanes and speeds up. You watch as the skyline of the sleeping city buzzes past, all the buildings becoming an indistinguishable blur.

“Doesn’t change the fact.” You don’t know why you’re pushing the topic, “Do you?”

“I think,” Suguru changes gears seamlessly, “that you are very young. And haven’t had the displeasure of seeing what the world of finance really is like. I don’t mean to imply that our career ruins lives, I’m saying that in order to be in the game, you need to grow thicker skin. Not be affected by every single case we handle.”

Very young, he’d said. Synonymous to inexperienced. Suguru’s not wrong. He’s a decade and some older than you. Has been in the game long before you’d even thought you’d study economics someday. It still stings.

“How do you do it, then? Look at people as if they’re mere numbers.”

“It’s what’s necessary. What this job essentially is.” There’s a small furrow to his eyebrows that’s gone as soon as you notice, “Okay, imagine this: you’re a paramedic and you have, say, 30 calls a shift. You can’t save every single life. There’ll be a person who dies on route, or as soon as they arrive at the hospital. For the first month or so, that knowledge that you could’ve done something would keep you up at night. Give you nightmares, cause insomnia. After a while, though, you’d grow numb to it. It’s… Human nature.”

“So the great answer you have for me is to grow apathetic?” You ask. You don’t know why you keep pushing, why you want a clear answer so desperately, just that the words gnaw at your throat.

“No, sweet girl.” He sighs. Sweet girl. You feel dumber than you did before, “There’s no great answer, no universal truth to this. I’m trying to tell you that you’ll drive yourself insane trying to control things that you can’t.”

“I don’t want to.” You whisper, and Suguru barely picks up on it, “Don’t want to not care about people. To see them as numbers. As means to an end.”

“I didn’t either. It just… Happened. The way things go.” Suguru explains, voice soft. The answer doesn’t seem good enough, not satisfying at all. Suguru looks at you for a moment before focusing back on the road, pulling into your street, “Why don’t you come to sit in on one of my ethics lectures at the university? Maybe it could offer you some clarity.”

That’s… A surprisingly good offer. You’ve always had a special interest in ethics and philosophy. Suguru is also an extremely intelligent man, so listening to him go on about the fundamentals of morality and what that could mean in the corporate world.

“Really?”

“Really.” Suguru chuckles good-naturedly and kills the engine. “I would be glad to have you there.”

The building in which you live isn’t anything special. A grey, brutalist eye-sore tucked between other buildings that look very much the same. The windows are uniform squares, some of them lit up by people staying up even at this late hour. The neighborhood isn’t exactly known for being safe, just at the edge of town where all the corporate buildings slowly turn into factories. He wonders if you’ve made the effort to decorate your apartment and make it feel like home or if you didn’t bother, only seeing it as a stepping stone until better things come along.

“Thank you for driving me. Do you want me to transfer you some money for the ride?” You ask, looking up at him, hand already on the car door handle.

“No, it’s quite alright. I enjoyed our chat.” Suguru hums. As if he’d ever ask you for money, as if this little conversation didn’t make him feel more alive that he had in months, “Goodnight. See you Monday.

“Goodnight.” You answer, hesitating for a moment on whether you should use his last or first name, and ultimately deciding that you shouldn’t at all.

You offer Suguru a tiny wave after climbing out of his car, and he waits until you disappear between buildings before pulling out of the crowded parking lot. His mind is buzzing, overactive and feeling as if it’s on fire. The ride home feels like it takes just a minute and countless hours at the same time. It’s all autopilot as the elevator zips towards his penthouse apartment, as he takes off his coat and carefully puts away his polished dress shoes.

Suguru pours himself a glass of whiskey and plops down on the coach, not quite eager to go to bed just yet. Thoughts of you plague his mind and he can’t seem to shake them away. How you looked up at him like he had all the answers in the world, how your movements grew just the tiniest bit more relaxed when alcohol entered your system, how your voice grew just a little sharper when you argued for what you believed in.

He feels guilty, when his tanned hand pops open the button of his baggy slacks and and slips beneath the waistband of his boxers. He shouldn't do this, shouldn't even be thinking about you in this sense, but he's already hard and there's a heat licking at his insides, making him throb.

Suguru lets out a low curse as he spits on the darker tip of his cock, his right hand wrapping around the thick shaft and stroking down slowly. He tosses his head back, sucking a sharp breath in.

He imagines how you'd sound like. Whether you'd be quiet, or if you'd moan and whimper. If you'd try to hide your sounds by pushing your face into a pillow or if you'd lose all inhibitions after the teasing he'd put you through.

Suguru's hand speeds up and a low moan slips past his lips. He'd spend hours between your legs. Tasting you. Pleasing you. Making you take one, two, and then three of his calloused fingers before he'd even think about giving you his dick.

His breathing hitches. The soft plap plap plap and his barely there grunts are the only sounds in his otherwise quiet apartment. Were you experienced, or would you need him to guide you through it, all shy and afraid of messing up? Suguru thinks you'd prefer praise over degradation, all soft words and 'good girl's', as he rotates his hand while it slides down his shaft. Sweet, darling lamb, you don't even know how much he craves you.

It's almost painful, how fast he's going, how tight his fist is wrapped around his dick. He can't even bring himself to starve off his pleasure, to take it slow and enjoy it. Not when he's thinking of what it would be like to have you kneeling next to him, looking up at him all wide-eyed for guidance, for salvation, as his hand tangles into your hair and tugs-

Suguru gasps and spills all over his fist, throwing his head back against the back of the coach, all fast, low breaths and spasming legs. He knocks his whiskey back, careful to not smear cum against the glass, and closes his eyes, the image of you from tonight burned beneath his eyelids.

[imsofthelp]

Chapter 1

Word count: 6k.

Cw: No curses AU, office AU, drinking, depression, masturbation (m), age gap (Suguru is in his late 30s, reader is in her early 20s) general dark tones and themes of manipulation

Summary: You're a fresh-faced ethical investment analyst at Gojo's investment firm. Suguru Geto, the COO, thinks you need someone to guide you at work and in life. He's more than ready to be that lęading force.

Suguru is depressed. It’s not like it’s new, or recent, or anything unexpected, really. Not worth the fuss, or other people worrying over him. Not like he chose this, not like it could’ve been prevented. A chemical disbalance in his brain that stupidly refuses to produce enough serotonin. Shitty genetics, a curse passed down by his mother.

 Back when he was younger, no more than ten, he remembers her lying in bed with the blinds drawn shut, refusing to eat, or sleep, or do much of anything. It was instant ramen dinners or something microwave-ready and his dad wordlessly dropping him off at school until his mom was back to normal. It never really changed. Her whole life, and in turn, Suguru’s whole childhood, had always been divided into “the good days” and “the bad days”. It left something deep within him that he refused to name or acknowledge.

He’s better at dealing with his illness now that he’s pushing forty. It would be embarrassing if he wasn’t. He has a well-paying job as a Chief Operating Officer at the Gojo investment firm and teaches classes on ethics at the local university when he has the time. He works out and reads and socializes and takes a vacation away from everything when things feel like they’re getting heavy again.

Suguru doesn’t feel like taking medication. He doesn’t see it as a bad thing, and if it helps other people, that’s great, but for him, it’s not worth the apathy, the insomnia, the headaches and the loss of libido that ensures that he can’t get his cock up even after hours of foreplay and having the hottest woman or the most attractive guy in his bed. His job requires heavy focus and having his head fully in the game. Besides, he likes having a drink every once in a while, (more often now than before) and respects his body well enough to not mix antidepressants with top-shelf whiskey.

It’s all just background noise, a thought process that couldn’t be drowned out by the music playing on his car radio. He has a few minutes to kill before a meeting and sitting in his car, at the top floor of the parking garage, is the only moment of peace he’s going to get until late evening when he can relax and leave his work persona behind. Suguru flicks the sun visor down and gives his reflection one last look, his thumb rubbing across his dark circles absentmindedly before killing the engine and stepping out of the car.

The firm is already buzzing with chatter, clanking keyboards and employees running all over the place. Suguru leaves his dark wool coat with the wide-eyed, shy receptionist, listens patiently to the way she stutters about his meeting being pushed up and tells her not to worry about it.

The meeting is nothing out of the ordinary. A simple acquisition review of a mid-size pre-packaged food manufacturing factory. Gojo won’t be around, he’s out of town, meeting with investors, drawing in foreign clientele. It’s truly no trouble. The company might’ve been inherited by Satoru and belonged to him in name, but Suguru was the right-hand man. The spine of the company. The stabilizing force.

He walks in and nods politely towards the analysts and the senior staff, men and women who stayed long past their welcome at this company, with ancient beliefs and misaligned ideals. He’s long learned to pay them no mind. The CFO, Nanami, nods back, straight to the point as always.

The meeting wraps up rather quickly. He’s never needed to make people listen to him, as soon as he speaks everyone turns to him, seeking out his words. Besides, the firm they’re acquiring is already in the fold. It’s just a matter of assessing financial risk and how things will be done.

Now, Suguru has time to go through his favorite routine of every day. Walking to your cluttered desk and talking to you under the guise of helping out. You’re a sweet, kind, bushy-tailed ethical investment analyst. You’ve been here for months by now, recruited by Nanami right after your university graduation and fostered under his wing. Suguru’s watched you grow more confident and surer of yourself as the days passed. You catch his gaze and offer him a smile and Suguru’s heart does that funny- unnecessary flip.

You like Suguru. Nanami may have shown you the ropes, but Suguru made you feel a part of the company. Caring about your input in meetings, looking over your briefs and offering constructive feedback, inviting you to outings after the workday wrapped up. Sometimes, you feel guilty about taking up so much of his day. He’s an important man. Busy. Busy busy busy. And you’re just you. Not really worthy of his attention, even if Suguru’s assured you many times that it’s no trouble.

Suguru gives you the smallest of smiles – just a tug of his right lip corner, and all your anxieties are calmed, like a wild wolf turned obedient lap dog in its crate. He looks even taller than he is when he stands in front of your desk, black slacks that must be custom-tailored just due to the sheer length of his toned legs and a perfectly ironed long-sleeved shirt, exuding quiet, sure confidence. With his slightly tanned skin, long ebony hair and half-lidded amethyst eyes, he’s a beautiful man, rivaling most guys your age even when in his late 30s.

It’s not a crush. No, it’s silly to call it a crush when Suguru’s one of your bosses and you’re already in your twenties. Admiration is the more logical answer. You’ve always sought guidance and praise and Suguru gives it in heaps.

“Hello,” His voice is soft and quiet, and the way he says your name is like a warm cup of tea after a long winter day, making you want to lean in to hear better, “How’s your day going?”

“Oh, I’ve finished a few reports since the morning. I’m now working on the ‘Jones Foods’ case report and it’s, ah, quite troubling-”

Suguru cuts your rambling off with the call of your name and has to fight back a shudder at the way your attention immediately snaps to him, how your teeth dig into your plush lips.

“I didn’t ask about the reports, did I? I asked you how your day was going. Let’s try again, shall we?”

You need gentle guidance. A hand clutching the nape of your neck. Your potential is vast; it’s just overworking and self-doubting tendencies that need some work before you can truly bloom into the specialist Suguru knows you can be.

“My day is… Going okay. The new coffee roast at the cafeteria is very nice and the bus didn’t run late today. I’m just a feeling a little overwhelmed at the moment.” You say, feeling a little like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

“That’s nice to hear. I’m glad your day has been okay.” Suguru hums, “Do you always take the bus to work?”

“Oh, yes. The bus stop is near my apartment, so it’s all very convenient.”

“And you haven’t thought about getting a car? Surely, it would save a lot of time. Safer than public transport, too.”

“I have, it’s just…”

Driving is overwhelming. As many things in your life are. You tend to psych yourself out and not manage to do things that need to be done. You’re sure that Suguru understands what you want to say, he’s an extremely intelligent man. Yet he allows the silence to stretch like old gum instead of filling it in. He always wants you to finish your sentences. For you to feel like you have the space to speak.

“Driving in a big city feels dangerous. For me, at least. I get overwhelmed behind the wheel and putting other people in danger would be selfish.”

“I see.” Suguru nods. Doesn’t reprimand you. Doesn’t make you feel incapable, or dumb, “The firm finances courses for its employees every year. It’s mostly for analytics, or business. Things to do with the job. But I’m sure that if written correctly, one little driving course with a qualified instructor could be looked past.”

Your eyes grow big, lips opening just the slightest. Suguru wonders if you’re even aware of the expression you’re making. You’re a doe, a bunny, a tiny baby squirrel and Suguru’s words are a round pointer aimed at your skull.

“I couldn’t- “

“You could.” Suguru cuts you off with a flick off his wrist, “You can. I’ll look into it, okay?”

“I- “

“It would make me feel better, knowing that you’re travelling comfortably and safely.” Suguru puts his right palm against his heart. A subconscious motion.

You have no arguments against it. Truly, it would be better to drive around yourself instead of spending countless minutes at the bus stop in the rain, or snow. You could also sleep in more, which would surely better your performance at work. Suguru is all about efficiency. He’s the driving force of the firm. He just wants to make sure all the employees are at the top of their game, working like a well-oiled machine.

“Thank you.”

Suguru doesn’t acknowledge it. Just nods and offers another small smile. It feels good to quench your worries. To take at least one trouble off your shoulders, to make one thing in your life more comfortable.

“Want to tell me about that report now?” Suguru pulls out a chair and sits down next to you, a comfortable distance away. Your breath hitches in your throat, “The ‘Jones Foods’ one. What’s causing you trouble?”

“Once you acquire the manufacturing factory, you plan to cut costs to maintain brand profitability.” Your mouse cursor dances across the screen; across the plans he’s already reviewed countless times to make sure that things run smoothly.

“That’s right.”

“Cutting costs is corporate speak for unfair sourcing practices and laying workers off.” You say, your eyes focused on the screen to not meet Suguru’s intense gaze.

There it is what he’s been looking forward to the whole day. You might be shy, and have a low sense of self-worth, but your sense of ethics is admirable. Almost idealistic and naïve, fighting for the little guy amid the sewage that corporate is. It reminds him of how he used to be, back when he started working at the firm and believed the world to be black and white.

“We wouldn’t use sourcing practices that are unheard of. Just the standard procedures that all manufacturers rely on, more often than not.” Suguru says, “As for the workers being laid off, it’s just what happens when a manufacturing factory is acquired by an investment firm.”

There’s a soft frown on your face, and you finally meet Suguru’s gaze, turning your body towards him slightly. You wouldn’t argue about this with Gojo, or Nanami. They’re all about efficiency and swift work. With Suguru, you know that you can appeal to the more humane aspects of your work, that you’ll be heard and your words considered. Even if it’s intimidating, it’s your job to consider ethics. To consider workers who have families to feed and roofs to keep in an already harsh economic environment.

“It doesn’t have to be. We can maintain the workforce, invest in safer sourcing, and still meet financial goals for the year. It might take a little longer, but it doesn’t mean efficiency has to come at the cost of people’s lives.” You argue.

“I would like to agree with you. In an ideal, fairytale world, I might. ‘A little while longer’ is a delay that has the potential to cost the firm millions of dollars.” Suguru sighs, “We don’t have the privilege to take the time to retrain the old workers or incentivize suppliers to improve their standards.”

“But wouldn’t an ethical, trusted supplier and the good reviews of the workers strengthen the firm image in the long run?”

“So called ethical suppliers cost more than you could imagine. On paper, it works, but in the real world, it’s a little different. As for the workers, they won’t be grateful to keep their jobs. They’ll find something new to complain about. Low wages, long hours, even if we’re not to blame for the jobs they chose. Even if we ensure that they can keep working at the factory, they won’t start worshipping a firm that bought them out.”

“Most people don’t choose jobs like that,” You explain, voice soft and quiet. Suguru looks a little confused. His words must’ve been a slip of the tongue, “You said that we’re not to blame for the jobs they chose. Most people don’t actively choose minimum wage jobs.”

Working two customer service jobs just to deal with university bills and keep yourself afloat, dealing with rude customers and employers that berate you resurface to your mind. You’re lucky to have this job. You’re lucky that Nanami saw the potential, even if during the first month you made more mistakes than anything good for the firm and felt like a gangrened limb ought to corrupt the rest of the body. So many people aren’t as lucky.

“You’re right.” Suguru agrees instantly, leaning back in his chair, “Of course most people don’t actively make that choice. I worded that poorly.”

“So, you’ll think about it? About retraining workers rather than laying them off?” You ask.

“I’ll talk to Satoru once he comes back from his work trip. See what we can do.” Suguru answers, standing up.

 It’s still so unusual how he calls Gojo ‘Satoru’. They’re friends and Suguru’s been with the firm since the very start, but you still have nightmares that force you to wake up in cold sweat about accidentally calling your direct boss by his first name. Those, and coming into work naked. They’re both first-place contenders for your insomnia.

“Okay.” You nod. This report will be put on hold, but you have countless others to work on in the meantime. “It’s kind of you to consider it.”

“Of course.” Suguru doesn’t make a show out of it. It’s not kindness. Not that you know it. Not that you’ll learn soon. He takes a couple of steps away from your desk before turning around and calling your name. “I would like for you to come out for drinks with us tonight after work. If you’re free, that is.”

Which is how, hours later you find yourself at the doorway of a dimly lit bar that’s tucked away into one of the cozy, quiet streets. It’s fancy. The kind of place that plays jazz, serves signature cocktails (none of the sugary ‘pornstar martini’ type of stuff) and is known by the word of the mouth. Even without stepping in, you already feel out of place in your second-hand dress and polyester-blend coat. Your hair might be styled and your makeup done flawlessly, but all the signs point to you not belonging.

You stare at the door as if wishing hard enough would make the bar change to the one you frequent with friends, the one with the loud pop music blasting through the speakers and sticky alcohol and juice stains on the worn-out tables. You’ve hung out with Suguru and his friends before. It wasn’t too awkward, and you didn’t feel too unwelcome. It’s just…

You hear your last name being called out and flinch like a startled animal. You turn to find Nanami, standing just at the mouth of the alleyway, dressed in simple dark slacks and a well-tailored coat. His square glasses have tiny droplets of rain on them and there’s a few honey blond strands that have fallen out of his perfectly coiled hair. He exudes quiet luxury.

You’ve always been sort of intimidated by Nanami. He recruited you, which meant that he believed in your potential, but messing up in front of him was much scarier than doing so in front of Suguru or Satoru. Maybe it was his work ethic, or maybe his no-nonsense attitude. Maybe it was the deep-rooted fear of disappointing the first person to ever believe in you.

“Are you afraid that the door will bite you?” He asks, voice devoid of any emotion. Nanami sighs when you blink up at him in confusion, stepping closer, “I’m sorry, that was supposed to be a joke.”

“Oh, right. Haha- “

“Save me some humiliation, please. You don’t need to laugh to please me.” Nanami waves you off and shakes his head, “I suppose Geto invited you to join us.”

It’s not an accusation, yet it feels like one. Nanami looks at you through the top of his glasses. He knows that you don’t belong here. It doesn’t feel like he’s judging you, or your choice of attire, more so your presence amidst them. Him, Suguru, Shoko and Utahime. Accomplished, mature people who are well-respected in their fields. To them, you’re an outsider.

“Yeah. Yes, Suguru was the one to invite me.” You respond, your fingers dancing across the strap of your handbag, barely meeting Nanami’s amber gaze.

“Relax.” Nanami sighs again, “They’ll eat you alive if you don’t. It’s okay. Geto just has this thing about showing off.”

Your brows furrow. Showing off? Suguru has never been one to flaunt his wealth, or influence. Not in front of you, at least. What could he possibly show off? Nanami’s eyes are following each of your movements, the confusion etched into your features. Sweet summer lamb. He should probably warn you. Save you from walking into the jaws of the big bad wolf. But the world isn’t black and white, and you have a good head on your shoulders. It’s best to let you figure all of this out yourself.

“Don’t worry about it is what I’m trying to say.” Nanami clears his throat, “We might be higher up in the company, but at the end of the day, we’re all just overworked people who gather here to drink and have a good time. You don’t have to play the pretend game. You wouldn’t be here if your company wasn’t welcome.”

Your heart flutters in your chest. It’s all the reassurance you need, put into perfectly reasonable words. Nanami isn’t emotional. He’s logical. Stoic, always truthful and honest even at the expense of hurting other people’s feelings. If he says that it’s okay for you to be here, it means that it truly is.

You offer Nanami a tiny nod, and his expression relaxes. He takes the final steps towards you and holds the door open like some regency era gentlemen as you step into the dimly lit bar, warmth instantly hitting your face and making your cheeks heat up.

It’s not hard to spot them. Occupying the furthest table from the door, hugging the corner. Shoko is in the middle of telling the story, when Suguru’s eyes meet yours and he stands to meet you halfway.

Pretty, pretty, pretty. You look pretty in your dark dress, glittery makeup and mused hair that he knows you must’ve spent at least an hour on in the mirror. It’s… Kind of fucked up, he thinks, that he wants you to feel a little intimidated. Not because he’s particularly sadistic or making himself feel more accomplished. It’s just the way you always seek him in these environments, hanging onto his every word, following every micro-expression on his face to notice if he feels like you’ve messed up.

“You made it.” His low voice is all but a soft purr and he revels in the way your shoulders sag. In this environment, he’s your safe person.

“Yeah, thanks for inviting me. I probably would’ve spent the evening looking over cases and binge-watching ‘The Office’ again.” You mentally smack yourself for the unnecessary details that are surely needless, but Suguru only offers you a chuckle.

Nanami situates himself next to Shoko, who’s offered you a greeting nod, and continued some work story, and Utahime, who already seems a few drinks in if the way her dark eyes glimmer are any indication.

You try to shrug off your coat, only for it to get caught on your awkwardly bent elbow, making your expression fall at the sheer awkwardness. Suguru steps behind you and takes the garment off with no trouble.

“Here we go.” He murmurs, making no fuss over it and hanging it up on the coat rack with such care that you’d think it was designer label and worth thousands. Then, he pats your shoulder with a touch that’s barely there and leads you to the table.

Suguru ushers you to the other side of the booth than the others are sitting at and sits beside you, blocking your exit. Not like you’d flee. Soon, more drinks are ordered and you’re nursing a Negroni that could’ve paid for five of the dinners you’d make at home.

Conversation flows easily as the evening wears on, and the bar patrons make themselves sparse, with you only joining in to agree and offering barely there opinions. It’s easier to relax when you’re three drinks in and your inhibitions aren’t as sharp, your anxieties not fluttering somewhere just beside your heart, digging into your ribs.

Nanami leaves to go to the bathroom, or to order another drink, or to catch a smoke, the smell of which that you’ve somehow never caught clinging to his coat, and Shoko leans over the table, cocking her head to the side as she drawls your name.

“You’re a pretty girl. What are you doing rotting with these old geezers in their ancient, boring firm?”

Utahime giggles beneath her palm, leaning her head down on Shoko’s shoulder. You know, from countless retellings, that she’s used to despise Satoru and Suguru back in high school. You wonder what had changed for them to be on friendly enough terms to go out drinking together, or if she only came out for Shoko and Nanami.

“I graduated in economics, and um, Nanami had offered me an internship after we met at a local seminar. Which turned into… This.” You shrug, shifting in your seat. Suguru isn’t quick to help you out, but you feel his amethyst eyes following. You don’t like this much attention focused on you.

“Yeah, and with that internship done, you could’ve opened doors to a much more exciting career.” Shoko probes.

“Yeah…” Utahime sighs, a small pout on her glossy lips, “Like a financial analyst for a start-up. I’d imagine you doing something to do with fashion. You have great style.”

“Oh- Thank you. I just, I guess, wanted to do something with ethics. I’ve always wanted to help people, and this is the best way I can with my skill set.” You feel like the words are cotton in your mouth. Of course, you’re expected to make conversation, but with three drinks in, it doesn’t feel like your words are intelligent as they’re supposed to be.

“Yes, she’s quite a bleeding heart, if you haven’t noticed,” Suguru finally joins in, chuckling, “Always looking out for the little guy. Not often that you see such a… Sensitive person in this field of work.”

“You say it like it’s a bad thing.” You squirm.

“Ah, not necessarily. A little naivete is rather charming. I’ve almost forgotten, what that feels like.” Suguru pats your head and offers you a soft smile when you look up at him. You feel how warm his skin is, lingering even after he withdraws. Your heart does that funny little flip.

“Boo, don’t listen to him.” Shoko clicks her tongue, sipping on her drink, “Back in high school and college, Suguru here was all about making the world a better place. One step at a time, everyone deserves a fair chance shtick.”

“Yeah, he’s making fun of you because he’s grown bitter with age.” Utahime sticks her tongue out, and Suguru tsks.

The conversation goes on without you, and you slump in your seat, feeling instantly better now that the spotlight is off you. It must be another hour or so, time flows a little funny when you’re buzzed, and the night out finally wraps up.

Nanami calls up an Uber for Shoko and Utahime, who’s hanging onto the aforementioned woman for dear life, and then, when they leave, safe and sound, catches a taxi, offering both you and Suguru a brief goodbye. It’s cold outside, and you’re fumbling with your phone, face scrunching up at the way the ride prices have skyrocketed now that it’s past midnight.

“I’ll drive you.” Suguru hums, sensing your anguish.

You look like a sad damsel in distress. A little drunk, a little uncoordinated, shifting your weight from one foot to another due to the cold that he’s sure seeps to your very bones if the material of your coat that he’s barely felt is any indication.

“Didn’t you drink?” You ask, looking up at him, eyes big and open and vulnerable.

Suguru swallows down the involuntary reaction to shiver. He shakes his head. He had a feeling that the evening would come down to this. It’s not like he couldn’t live without alcohol. He could easily open a bottle of expensive whiskey that he always keeps in his living room cabinet, drink until the birds sing.

He didn’t want his coworkers and friends to know just how much alcohol it took for him to feel like he’s gotten his fix. Better to not drink at all. Besides, he wanted to be the one to drive you home. Selfishly, he wanted to steal just another twenty minutes of your time alone. Not at work, where he had to hide it under the pretense of reports, or at the bar, where he had to split it with his friends. Besides, drunk people tend to be more open, chattier. And you’re always so reserved. It’s nothing bad, he tells himself. Just curiosity.

A saying about a metaphorical cat and it being killed comes to mind before he brushes it off.

“No. No, I had a non-alcoholic beer and soda water.” Suguru says, “Want me to walk in a straight line and cite the alphabet backwards?”

You shake your head with a soft hum. You’ve always trusted Suguru and his judgement. He’s never proved that to be a wrong decision. He laughs, resisting the urge to boop your nose, to pinch your cheeks, and leads you away to his black Aston Martin parked at the very edge of the dark parking lot. He holds the door open for you, and then, very much similarly to how he’d helped you with the coat, clicks your seatbelt in when you fumble with it.

Suguru smells like sandalwood and something sharp and fresh. Mint, or patchouli.  Or maybe bergamot and pink pepper. You’re not so sure, but your head spins at the proximity. It must be the trick of your mind that it seems like he lingers for longer than necessary.

“Do you really think that?” You ask, once he’s seated behind the wheel and pulling out into the empty road.

“Think what?” Suguru asks absent-mindedly, fiddling with the temperature control.

“That I’m naïve.”

“I should’ve said idealistic.” Suguru changes lanes and speeds up. You watch as the skyline of the sleeping city buzzes past, all the buildings becoming an indistinguishable blur.

“Doesn’t change the fact.” You don’t know why you’re pushing the topic, “Do you?”

“I think,” Suguru changes gears seamlessly, “that you are very young. And haven’t had the displeasure of seeing what the world of finance really is like. I don’t mean to imply that our career ruins lives, I’m saying that in order to be in the game, you need to grow thicker skin. Not be affected by every single case we handle.”

Very young, he’d said. Synonymous to inexperienced. Suguru’s not wrong. He’s a decade and some older than you. Has been in the game long before you’d even thought you’d study economics someday. It still stings.

“How do you do it, then? Look at people as if they’re mere numbers.”

“It’s what’s necessary. What this job essentially is.” There’s a small furrow to his eyebrows that’s gone as soon as you notice, “Okay, imagine this: you’re a paramedic and you have, say, 30 calls a shift. You can’t save every single life. There’ll be a person who dies on route, or as soon as they arrive at the hospital. For the first month or so, that knowledge that you could’ve done something would keep you up at night. Give you nightmares, cause insomnia. After a while, though, you’d grow numb to it. It’s… Human nature.”

“So the great answer you have for me is to grow apathetic?” You ask. You don’t know why you keep pushing, why you want a clear answer so desperately, just that the words gnaw at your throat.

“No, sweet girl.” He sighs. Sweet girl. You feel dumber than you did before, “There’s no great answer, no universal truth to this. I’m trying to tell you that you’ll drive yourself insane trying to control things that you can’t.”

“I don’t want to.” You whisper, and Suguru barely picks up on it, “Don’t want to not care about people. To see them as numbers. As means to an end.”

“I didn’t either. It just… Happened. The way things go.” Suguru explains, voice soft. The answer doesn’t seem good enough, not satisfying at all. Suguru looks at you for a moment before focusing back on the road, pulling into your street, “Why don’t you come to sit in on one of my ethics lectures at the university? Maybe it could offer you some clarity.”

That’s… A surprisingly good offer. You’ve always had a special interest in ethics and philosophy. Suguru is also an extremely intelligent man, so listening to him go on about the fundamentals of morality and what that could mean in the corporate world.

“Really?”

“Really.” Suguru chuckles good-naturedly and kills the engine. “I would be glad to have you there.”

The building in which you live isn’t anything special. A grey, brutalist eye-sore tucked between other buildings that look very much the same. The windows are uniform squares, some of them lit up by people staying up even at this late hour. The neighborhood isn’t exactly known for being safe, just at the edge of town where all the corporate buildings slowly turn into factories. He wonders if you’ve made the effort to decorate your apartment and make it feel like home or if you didn’t bother, only seeing it as a stepping stone until better things come along.

“Thank you for driving me. Do you want me to transfer you some money for the ride?” You ask, looking up at him, hand already on the car door handle.

“No, it’s quite alright. I enjoyed our chat.” Suguru hums. As if he’d ever ask you for money, as if this little conversation didn’t make him feel more alive that he had in months, “Goodnight. See you Monday.

“Goodnight.” You answer, hesitating for a moment on whether you should use his last or first name, and ultimately deciding that you shouldn’t at all.

You offer Suguru a tiny wave after climbing out of his car, and he waits until you disappear between buildings before pulling out of the crowded parking lot. His mind is buzzing, overactive and feeling as if it’s on fire. The ride home feels like it takes just a minute and countless hours at the same time. It’s all autopilot as the elevator zips towards his penthouse apartment, as he takes off his coat and carefully puts away his polished dress shoes.

Suguru pours himself a glass of whiskey and plops down on the coach, not quite eager to go to bed just yet. Thoughts of you plague his mind and he can’t seem to shake them away. How you looked up at him like he had all the answers in the world, how your movements grew just the tiniest bit more relaxed when alcohol entered your system, how your voice grew just a little sharper when you argued for what you believed in.

He feels guilty, when his tanned hand pops open the button of his baggy slacks and and slips beneath the waistband of his boxers. He shouldn't do this, shouldn't even be thinking about you in this sense, but he's already hard and there's a heat licking at his insides, making him throb.

Suguru lets out a low curse as he spits on the darker tip of his cock, his right hand wrapping around the thick shaft and stroking down slowly. He tosses his head back, sucking a sharp breath in.

He imagines how you'd sound like. Whether you'd be quiet, or if you'd moan and whimper. If you'd try to hide your sounds by pushing your face into a pillow or if you'd lose all inhibitions after the teasing he'd put you through.

Suguru's hand speeds up and a low moan slips past his lips. He'd spend hours between your legs. Tasting you. Pleasing you. Making you take one, two, and then three of his calloused fingers before he'd even think about giving you his dick.

His breathing hitches. The soft plap plap plap and his barely there grunts are the only sounds in his otherwise quiet apartment. Were you experienced, or would you need him to guide you through it, all shy and afraid of messing up? Suguru thinks you'd prefer praise over degradation, all soft words and 'good girl's', as he rotates his hand while it slides down his shaft. Sweet, darling lamb, you don't even know how much he craves you.

It's almost painful, how fast he's going, how tight his fist is wrapped around his dick. He can't even bring himself to starve off his pleasure, to take it slow and enjoy it. Not when he's thinking of what it would be like to have you kneeling next to him, looking up at him all wide-eyed for guidance, for salvation, as his hand tangles into your hair and tugs-

Suguru gasps and spills all over his fist, throwing his head back against the back of the coach, all fast, low breaths and spasming legs. He knocks his whiskey back, careful to not smear cum against the glass, and closes his eyes, the image of you from tonight burned beneath his eyelids.

[imsofthelp]

More about Satoru and the morally corrupt mysterious reader

It’s been days since he’s had that talk with you. It’s been at the back of his mind ever since. Even between missions and meetings that seemed to drag on forever, even when he tried to get his regular four hours of sleep, he couldn’t shake this uncomfortable feeling.

You’re standing just outside the training field of jujutsu tech, the afternoon sun shining down, golden hues dancing across your skin, catching onto your cheekbones. You almost seem relaxed, if it were not for your eyes, hyperfocused on the students, tracking every little movement, looking for something that he can’t see.

You tense as soon as you feel his presence. Your shoulders rise, back straight as an arrow, eyes darting towards him. You fall into your usual persona not even a second later. Your arms cross over your chest, your body relaxes and that smile, almost believably earnest, graces your face.

Satoru can’t know what you’re thinking. He’s already come so close to figuring you out more times than felt safe. All the carefully built walls that you’ve been careful not to let crumble were being forced open and it felt like he was ripping you to bits by just his presence, by-

“Satoru, hi.” You hum, voice melodic and sweet. Like you’re friends. Like you’re actually glad that he showed up. It’s easy to fake affection and closeness. It always has been for you, “What’s up?”

There’s something uncomfortable about the way you speak, something dangerous that makes the hair at the back of his neck stand up. You’re not dangerous. At least not in a typical sense. He knows that he could easily defeat you.

Just that…

“Just checking in before I head out for a mission.” Satoru answers, crossing his own arms across his chest, not even feeling the way he instinctively mimics you, “Clan bullshit. All that is a real pain to handle.”

“The students are all good. Training’s going well. I’m thinking we should move onto heavier weapons soon enough.” You respond, knowing that he’s not inquiring about the students, knowing that he’s their teacher as much as you are, knows as much as you do.

You both have this way about dancing around the real topic at hand, skirting at the edge of the actual conversation instead of actually crossing the line.

“Yeah. That seems like a good idea.” Satoru shrugs and then, his eyes narrow when he catches the way your own gaze glimmers when it lingers on the way Panda and Yuta laugh at something, completely carefree. “Keep them prepared.”

It’s the only genuine glimpse of emotion he’s caught on you in hell knows how long. Are you perhaps sad because your own youth was ripped away sooner than it should’ve been? With Haibara’s death, Suguru leaving and all the shit that went down during and after, there wasn’t much time for you to just be a teen.

Somehow, he doubts that. Somehow, it seems to be deeper than that. It’s intuition. A sixth sense. Satoru can’t exactly explain it and he sure as hell knows you won’t, either.

“Megumi has a meeting with the higher ups scheduled for the Zenin clan head thing tomorrow.” You say, pulling him out of his thoughts. Satoru’s eyes catch yours again. Your chin is slightly jutted forward and your jaw is hinged tight, “You need to go in his place.”

“What? Why?” Satoru gets whiplash from how fast you’re changing conversation topics, from the way he doesn’t get enough time to try and read you, to figure out the true meaning behind your words.

“Just make sure you do. Get back from your mission in time.” You pat his shoulder twice before turning on your heel and leaving without another word or even a glance back.

You bite your lip to not say anything else. To warn Satoru on how truly wicked the higher ups are, on how he’s the only one who can protect the students from suffering through what-

It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter, because it doesn’t bother you anymore and people have been through much, much worse.

Satoru blinks. The clouds cover the sun and he feels a drop of rain hit his infinity.

[imsofthelp]

IWAIZUMI HAJIME MASTERLIST

Full works:

DAYS WITHOUT SUN - Having your heart broken by Oikawa Tooru is unexpectedly hard, but it’s even harder to let yourself fall for someone new (feat. Oikawa)

Drabbles:

[imsofthelp]

KENMA KOZUME MASTERLIST

Full works:

Drabbles:

WISH YOU WERE MINE - Kenma only has eyes for you. You're Kuroo's. (feat. Kuroo)

[imsofthelp]

GETO SUGURU MASTERLIST

Full works:

BARE YOUR SOUL - Suguru is the frontman of squid games and you catch his attention. After getting taken off the games, you beg Suguru to save your friend's life. Everything has a price, of course.

LESS GOD HERE - When Suguru left, a part of you went with. It's not a surprise, that eight years after, you still come crawling back to him.

Drabbles:

LEECH - Squid game frontman Suguru thoughts

ATTACHMENT - Suguru's avoidant attachment (feat. Satoru)

[imsofthelp]

GOJO SATORU MASTERLIST

Full works:

YOU'RE A GOD, AND I'M YOUR DOG - Your ability allows you to see visions of the future. Once you see your lover dead, you can’t help but want to pull away and keep him safe

Drabbles:

MORALS - Satoru has everyone figured out but you

ATTACHMENT - Satoru's anxious attachment (feat. Suguru)

NOTHING LASTS - Life is often unfair. So is death

[imsofthelp]

MASTERLIST

JJK MASTERLIST

HAIKYUU! MASTERLIST

HAIKYUU! SMAU MASTERLIST

MHA MASTERLIST

[imsofthelp]

Mmm thinking about Satoru Gojo and mysterious morally corrupt reader mayhaps

cw: sort of angsty, a little bit gory in one paragraph

“You’re kinda fucked up, you know that?” Gojo asks, tone lighthearted, his hands playing with a pencil he was supposed to do paperwork with. You know that he’s just pretending that the question isn’t important, that he’s not watching every micro-expression on your face, waiting for the moment you fuck up.

“How so?” You ask, sipping on your, was it third, coffee this afternoon. You’re both playing the same game. Playing stupid, playing clueless, playing uninterested. And you’re both on the same level. A game of chess that’s bound to end in a tie.

“Most people are obvious. Easy to read. They have clear morals. Even if they do things we don’t see as good, necessarily, they still follow those morals, in their own justification.” Gojo sighs, twirling the pencil between his long, lithe fingers. “For example, Nanami. His whole deal is clocking out in time. He won’t really give a fuck about a situation if it’s past that time. However…” The pencil stops and he taps it against the desk three times. “If it regards young sorcerers, he’s willing to do overtime. His morals make him protect them.”

“You do a character study on Nanamin?” You ask, seemingly bored. You’re great at diverting questions.

Gojo’s perfectly shaped eyebrows furrow and then relax. A tiny slip. He knows the nickname for Nanami was intentional. Supposed to mimic closeness that real people have that he knows you avoid. Not that you aren’t a real person. You just pretend that you aren’t. Because everything you do is intentional. There’s not a tiniest movement, a slip of the tongue. You’re an actress, a ballerina, a performer, and he doesn’t know how to buy the tickets for behind the scenes for when the show finally ends.

“More so on you. Nanami’s just the most comprehensible example.”

“Hm.” Is all you offer in response and Satoru knows that this is a trap. He knows, he knows, he knows. It’s a way to get him to talk more, to spill absolutely everything that’s going on in his mind.

He falls for it every time, despite knowing better. Hook, line and sinker. A perfect catch.

“You don’t… You wouldn’t care if the students died. Wouldn’t mourn them.” Satoru starts, pausing to allow you to defend yourself, to call him out. You don’t. Of course you don’t. “Wouldn’t mourn your friends, didn’t mourn your friends.”

His mind flashes back to Suguru. To Suguru’s body. A gaping wound of blood and muscle tissue where a warm, calloused, familiar hand had been, strands of maroon blood woven into silky black locks of hair, warm amethyst purple eyes losing every ounce of a person, every dear memory, everything that made him, him and leaving a soulless carcass. Rotting. There’s bile in Satoru’s throat.

He gets an inkling that you wouldn’t have spent hours hunched over, unable to move, if someone close to you had died. That you would’ve been strong enough to burn the body and get it over with. He doesn’t know why that gets under his skin, just that it does.

“Would you even mourn me?” Satoru finally asks when he catches your gaze once again. Empty. Unreadable. So close and yet so far. He does his best to keep his tone emotionless.

You stand, and your eyes soften. A soft coo leaves your perfect lips and your hand ends up woven into his halo of snow white hair. As if he’s some prey animal, a pet, a child who’s scrapped their knee and not the strongest sorcerer, not the perfect weapon, not-

“Of course I’d mourn you, Satoru.” You kiss his temple and it feels like death. “Who else is there to realize how far from human I am?”

The question is rhetorical. Satoru’s hand reaches out, but you’re already out the door, humming some obscure song under your breath. His pencil clutters to the floor with a resounding rattle.

[imsofthelp]

Hiii are you still active?

hey pookie!! i’m alive and well, writing’s just been slow since uni’s absolutely kicking my ass :P

[imsofthelp]

can i say that i want a seijoh 4 orgy w me or is that too horny for main

[imsofthelp]

Small Matsukawa Issei drabble. I want to eat that man UP.

cw: big dick issei (what’s new), belly bulge

Issei has you bent over the edge of the bed, his big, warm hands running over your sides and your hips soothingly, lips kissing away at the curve of your back to help distract you from the stretch.

The thing is, he knows he’s big. Knows from the way the rest of the Seijoh 4 gasped and laughed and made jokes about his cock killing somebody when they gpt too drunk and did a dick measuring contest. Knows from the way most people only take half of him before they’re wildly tapping at his hips and pushing at his abs to make him pull out. Knows from the way your pretty, sparkling eyes widened when he slid his boxers down after making you orgasm on his skilled tongue for the nth time.

You whimper and grip at the dark sheets of his bed when the first half slides into you, fitting snugly. Issei does a soft shhh, his hand coming down on top of your fingers, thumb running over your knuckles.

“I knooow, baby.” he coos, admiring how your skin breaks out in goosebumps, how your perfect lips pop open, your eyes screwed shut, “It’s a lot to take, huh?”

“…A lot.” you parrot, already almost braindead to the world. You never knew someone could have such a huge dick. The thing betwen Issei’s legs was something only found in porn or a perticularly intimidating dildo that your friends would point out at a sex shop jokingly.

“Yeeah, sweetheart’s cunt is too small for my dick?” Issei continues to tease, trying to bite down his smirk when you whine after he pushes another inch in, “Can you say, ah, big streeetch?”

Your eyebrows pull together in confusion, lips opening and closing, trying to find your words. Issei’s eyes look down to where the two of you are connected, how your cunt is struggling to accomodate his dick, how your body trembles involuntarily.

“Bi-big stretch.” You manage to repeat as your voice breaks into an abrupt scream of his name as Issei slams home in one harsh thrust.

He doesn’t move, just stays there, calloused fingers slithering underneath your body, rubbing at your sensitive clit, making you whine.

“Like ripping off a bandaid, huh?” Issei jokes, his frree hand running down your hair in a gesture that’s supposes to be soothing.

“Fu-fucking asshole.” you murmur, blinking away the spots dancing across your vision.

Even if the pain is there, even if he’s not even moving, his cock is big enough to hit all the right spots. Life was definitely unfair sometimes.

“Yeah, yeah, hold on tight, baby.”

“Wha-“

Your words are knocked out of you as Issei pulls out until only the tip of his dick is left inside of you, admiring the way your clear juices are making his skin glitsen in the low light and slams back inside, his hips smacking against your ass, the noises of skin againsy skin ringing our throghout the bedroom.

Issei sets a steady pace, his toned body falling over yours, skin hot and flushed and sweaty. You can’t even find it within yourself to mind the weight, just moaning and whining and scrambling to hold onto something.

Issei’s fingers accidentely slip off of your clit, and he actually gasps. Before your drowsy mind can conjure up a question, or a complaint, he’s dropping to the floor, not even pulling out as you land on top of him, crying out when his cock goes even deeper at the new angle, the tip brushing against your cervix.

Your head tosses back against his shoulder, before he gets his breathing under control, grabbing your chin and making you look down.

“Look. Fucking look how deep I am.”

Right underneath your belly button, there’s an bulge protruding. Unmistakably him.

“Holy fucking shit.” Issei pants, shaky hands grabbing on your hips, maneuvering you like a puppet on his cock, slamming all the way down, as if he can’t leave even an inch of his cock bare of the warm comfort of your pussy, “Holyyyy fucking shit, I’m never letting you go, baby.”

[imsofthelp]

There's not enough Kuroken x reader content out there so i'm writing more. Today, I offer you a small drabble

cw: kiiind of threesome, kenma is pussy-whipped and kind of obsessed, a little rough, a little angsty at the end lol

"You have more fangirl pussy than you know how to deal with and yet the only one you want is my girlfriend's." Kuroo cackles, his cat-like golden eyes watching everything unfold from the armchair he's parched up on.

"Shut up." Kenma mutters, his hips smacking harder into yours, as if that could help relieve the frustration he felt towards Kuroo. "Nobody else feels as good as she does. Could fucking die and heaven wouldn't be as good as her, ah- nasty cunt."

You whine at the insult and Kenma only grins, not feeling guilty at all.

You're splayed out underneath Kenma's body, hands clutching at the expensive silk sheets of his bed, head held down, face all but smushed into the pillow by Kenma's hand laid on top of it. Your lips are opened in a soft 'o', moans and drool slipping out easily. Kenma can't find himself minding.

"A bit sacrilegious, no?" Kuroo cackles again, the hyena-like sound bouncing off of the walls. Kenma offers him a bored, unimpressed gaze.

"Good- feel good, ah! Too much, too-" you babble, your dictionary reduced to only a few select words.

You're doing your best to meet his harsh, erratic thrusts, to clench around him, but all coherent thoughts have left your head soon after the second orgasm from his tongue.

"Too much? Awh, is it too much for my fragile baby?" Kenma scoffs, tugging at your hair, arching your back even more harshly, "Well, too bad. You'll just have to lay there all pretty and take it."

The only sounds in the bedroom of Kenma's penthouse are your boyfriend's snickering and the wet squelching of your pussy, the clear liquid spilling out, running down your thighs, staining the neatly trimmed hair above Kenma's pretty, long cock currently battering your insides.

Kenma's hand leaves your hair to tap against your flushed cheek twice.

"C'mon, you're not even talking anymore. Does it even feel good?"

Your bleary eyes struggle to stay open as you meet his half-lidded gaze. Your lips part open to answer, to confirm that it feels extemely good, to snark that the fact that you orgasmed 5 times already is enough proof, but Kenma delivers a perticularly well-timed thrust, angling his narrow hips to smack the tip of his cock against your g-spot and you're left to whine and moan his name dumbly.

Kuroo finally rises from his seat, striding towards the bed, sitting by your side, his large hand coming to caress your face as Kenma lets out a scoff.

"Don't be so mean to the poor thing. Like you'd have energy to talk after cumming 5 times." Kuroo leans down, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose, but you know better than to believe that he actually feels bad for you. He coos, the smug bastard, "Baby's just tired, huh?"

"Don't give a- fuck." Kenma snarls, breaking every word with a thrust, making your belly tighten up, another high already approaching, the hints of overstimulation stabbing at your insides, "Find another use for her- ngh- mouth, if she can't even fucking talk."

Kenma tries so hard to stay nonchalant and collected and cool, but the way your pussy is spasming around his dick is making his breath catch in his lungs. He loves his best friend, but there's nothing he wishes for more than for you to leave him, to be his. He could fuck you everyday instead of once a month when Kuroo felt generous enough, he'd pay for everything you ever wished for, he wouldn't be lazy when it came to your pleasure, he'd fuck you and fuck you until you couldn't think of anything but him and-

His attention is pulled out of his spiralling thoughts as he hears your moans become muffled, blinking away the haze, watching how Kuroo's cock slips in and out of your mouth, how it bulges against your cute cheek, how your gaze catches his best friend's eyes so lovingly.

Kenma feels like he'll be sick, like his heart is going into overdrive. You never hold the same adoration for him. Instead, his lithe fingers slide underneath your perfect body, drowning out your soft gags as he rubs circles against your stiffened clit. He can't offer you everything he wants to, so he'll settle for pleasure.

[ditangel]

✿ PNG ━━ dividers.

if you use please like and reblog. support me here <3

( by © ditangel. )

[imsofthelp]

dead dove do not eat

warnings: dub/noncon, manipulation, downright evil suguru, choking, deepthroating, cum swallowing, slight dacryphilia, yandere tendencies, unbalanced power dynamics, an abundance of petnames, this is mostly from sugu's pov

other: reader’s looks or weight not mentioned, he can manhandle anyone because he’s strong asf

summary: based on this, which I recommend reading before the full fic. Suguru is the frontman of squid games and you catch his attention. After getting taken off the games, you beg Suguru to save your friend's life. Everything has a price, of course.

wc: 2.7k.

“How did you end up in this situation, hm?” Suguru asks, even if he knows the answer. He’s mastered the art of pretending, relishes in knowing everything that there is to know about you while acting like he’s just now trying to figure you out.

He’s holding you in his lap, feeling every shift of your body, bathing in your anxiety that feels like it’s bouncing off of the walls. His smirk is hidden by a gentle kiss pressed to your temple, his lips lingering longer than they should.

It’s a while after the marble game. He still feels the excitment thrumming in his veins, the slight pleasant diziness clouding his thoughts. Suguru knows that the V.I.P’s are arriving tomorrow, yet he gives in to the temptation to stay a while longer with you. Let the others do the preparations. Kill them in cold blood if something isn’t done to the highest standart that he had set.

“M-my ex got into, um, got into a lot of debt with bad people. They threatened to…” He feels the way your body tenses on top of his, the way your breath hitches. Oh, he could just eat you up. “Do horrible things to him. He didn’t know where else to go.”

Suguru already know the little sob story, of course. It makes him feel sad for you. A naive little lamb, so oblivious to how the world works, how utterly selfish people are. His sadness is nothing compared to the anger he feels towards your so called ex boyfriend. Vile, disguisting piece of shit.

“Tell me, lamb, who in their right mind would put someone in such a dangerous situation? He knew perfectly well that you didn’t have the money to pay off the debt.”

“He didn’t know that-“

Suguru tsks, pressing a kiss that’s supposed to be soothing to your cheek. It only serves to make you more tense.

“He knew, trust me. Have you ever heard of a saying that no grown man would ask a woman for help if he didn’t intend to use her? That he would just go to another man?”

“That’s not true.” You argue, and oh he wants to kiss away the pout off of your perfect lips. Your innocence is alluring, it’s pulling him in and he doesn’t find it within himself to truly resist.

“It is true, my darling girl. You just proved that right by signing up for a death game just to pay off a debt that isn’t yours.”

Suguru studies the way your eyebrows pull together, the way your nose scrunches, his cold hand finding your jaw, long fingers ensnaring it like a snake’s jaw would. He forces you to look up at him, placing the softest of kisses to the tip of your nose.

“The death game that you run.” Leaves your mouth and Suguru allows a genuine laugh to escape past his lips. Even when trying to be nasty and biting, you remained pathetic. It was alright with him. Being a pushover meant easier handling.

“Of course. The game that 456 people joined. Don’t pretend that I’m the only sinner here.”

It seems like all the come backs that you had die off at the tip of your tongue. You shift and twist and with one final kiss to your cheek, Suguru releases your face. Your fingers fidget with each other and he has to hold back from cooing at the display of uncomfortability.

Suguru picks up a book from the bedside table, pretending to pay no attention to you as his violet eyes skim over the words sketched across the pages, hand occasionally reaching for the glass of whiskey on the bedside table.

He can feel how antsy you’re growing. He knows what’s on your mind, almost as if he’s made residence inside of your head. He wishes that he could be occopying all of your thoughts, that the strings of his influence could wrap themselves around your silly little brain, but there would be time for that later.

Just a few hours before, you had gotten on your knees and begged for mercy. Begged for him to save another person, a man with a halo of white hair. Suguru had felt himself grow hard the second that crystalline tears left your doe-like eyes. He already made an exception to the rule, he already broke his own morals for you and you were stupid enough to ask him to save another person?

He’s been mulling over the thought ever since the marble game ended. The white-haired man, number 218 didn’t seem all that interesting. Pretty to look at, with his alabaster skin, piercing ocean-blue eyes and overconfident stride. Besides your begging and the undeniable attractiveness of the man, Suguru had no other reason to save him.

But it could be a good card to play. If he were to save the man, you would forever be indebted to him. Pliant, nice and oh so perfect. No complaints, no right to say ‘no’. A bunny in a cage that only he would be holding the key to.

He feels you shift again and a terribly irritated, fake sigh leaves his lips. He puts down the book, maneuvering your body with ease to face him. His cold hands cup your face and his violet eyes light up with amusement when he feels you flinch.

“Yes?”

“I di-didn’t say anything.” You answer, eyes looking anywhere but at him, as if trying to find all the answers to the questions that you didn’t dare ask in the color of the walls.

“You didn’t need to ask, sweet girl. I could feel how uneasy you were. Is it about that man again? Number 218?”

"Satoru." You clarify in that sweet, gentle voice.

"Satoru." He repeats, nodding, his low voice almost a purr.

You only find the strength to nod, still not meeting his gaze. Suguru’s hands brush over your cheeks in a motion that’s supposed to be soothing.

“We could make a deal.” Suguru drawls, the corner of his lips tugging up slightly when you finally, finally meet his eyes, desperation dancing so beautifully in your enticing gaze.

“A deal?” You ask, uncertain, trying to get a read on him, trying to see past all the acting and grasp at his true intentions.

“Yes, a deal. Everything has a price in this world, doesn’t it? You should know perfectly well.” He asks, and continues speaking without waiting for your answer, “It’s simple, really. You get on your knees and please me, and I let your little friend live.”

Suguru never liked beating around the bush. Ultimately, truth hurt, but it hurt much less than pretty, unecessary lies.

Your perfect face pulls into a frown again, eyes blinking up at him owlishly, as Suguru’s hand cups your jaw, continuing to draw circles on your soft skin, wondering just how much it would take for it to crack. There’s all sorts of emotions etched onto your face. Disbelief, fear, anger. The last one is completely new. Have you finally started to break?

Suguru was so excited to finally show you the true way that the world works, how dirty it is, how easy it will eat up sweet little lambs like you.

Maybe next time he'll focus on giving. It's so much more pleasant than receiving, after all. Watching all the tiny reactions when his lips suck on a woman's clit, listening to the breathy moans that would be impossible to hear during a blowjob. That has to be earned, though, so for now, he'll enjoy what he can get.

“I- I don’t-“

“Don’t worry, I’ll put a pillow down so you don’t hurt your knees.” Suguru reassures, playing oblivious as if that was the reason for your uncertainty.

He watches how you swallow down the lump in your throat, how dull your eyes grow, how your shoulders slump in defeat. He’s known that he would win in the end, but it’s so rewarding to watch it happen right in front of his eyes.

“You’ll really let him live if I do… That?” You ask, clearly not believing anything that he’s saying.

“Of course. I'm a man of my word, darling.” Suguru nods, pressing a kiss to the corner of your lips. You don’t pull away, just cringe at the action. Docile, sweet.

Suguru watches intently as you stand on unsteady legs, how your mind races. It seems like you're hesitating, trying to figure out if somebody else's life has more meaning than your own comfort. Ultimately, you must decide that it does, because you lower yourself on the silk pillow that he had put down in front of his chair.

He relaxes and stretches, as if it's just another usual day for him. One long, veiny hand reaches behind him and undoes the bun on top of his hair. Inky strands of hair spill out like a river and he catches your gaze wandering despite yourself. Suguru does his best impression of a kind smile as he extends the hair tie to you, a chuckle leaving him at the confusion etched into your pretty features.

"Just so that your hair doesn't get in a way." He offers an explanation, watching how you take it between your slightly shaky hand and put your hair back to the best of your ability.

You don't catch onto his lie, once again reassuring him on how easy it is to twist your trust. He doesn't really mind if hair gets in the way while he's receiving a blowjob. He likes it neat, practiced rather than messy, but it wouldn't be an issue. No, it just means easier handling for him. Suguru doesn't like even the tiniest bit of his control slipping.

His hand comes up to pet your head in a gesture that would almost be kind if not for the thoughts swirling through his mind.

"Get on with it, sweet girl. Take it out." Suguru all but coos, but it would be stupid to read his tone of voice as anything but commanding.

He's careful not to miss any of your expressions, the shaky movements, the absolute uncertainty of it all. Suguru lifts his hips up to aid you in sliding off his pants and boxers and he bites at his lips to supress a laugh at how cartoonishly wide your eyes get, how you almost double down.

All of the previous interactions with you, your weight on top of his lap has served in making him hard. His length stands at it's full length, wide, long and intimidating.

"It's... B-big." You voice, words so croaky that he can barely make out what you're saying.

Suguru's hand lands on top of your head again, caressing it lightly, an act of difussing the stress. He doesn't need the ego boost, insecurity has never been a problem for him, it's just pure entertainment at this point.

"But you can take it, can't you? Think of what's on the line." Suguru reassures, voice soft and sweet, almost gentle. A little guilt-tripping never hurt anyone.

You nod, and he doesn't know if it's meant for you or for him. It doesn't matter. His violet eyes are fixated on the way your lips part and cover your palm in sticky strings of saliva. His breath hitches when your hand wraps around his shaft, starting up a careful up and down motion. Suguru doesn't rush you. He has the patience and he's sure that he'll reap the rewards.

You start out by giving soft, kitten licks to his tip, clearly intimidated by the size. Suguru doesn't know how much time passes until your lips finally wrap around his shaft, cheeks hallowing, tongue working in messy, uncertain motions.

His jaw clenches. He doesn't remember the last time he has received a blowjob. Does it feel better because of the time that has passed or just because of the fact that you're the one giving it?

You only go down half of the way before pulling back, your hand trying to pick up the slack. He wonders how many times you have done this before, if you're trying to do better just because someone's life is on the line.

You try to take more of him, but the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat, and you gag. From then on, you're back to only carefully taking half of him.

As minutes pass, Suguru grows antsy at your leisurly pace, at your refusal to take more than half of him, at your gaze that's stubbornly glued to his shirt. It's only right to help you out if you're struggling, isn't it.

"Let me help you out." He murmurs, hand quick to grab the back of your head. He almost moans at the way that your eyes snap up, full of fear.

Suguru pulls you off until only the very tip of his dick remains between your lips, smearing them with an off-white shade of his precum. Then, he slams all the way in. It's like ripping of a band-aid, all in one go.

You gag and cough, hands scrambling to find purchase on his toned thighs but not pushing him away. Tears dance across your water line as you sputter and Suguru lets out a groan at the way your throat bulges slightly. In his mind, you're not made for such filthy things, and yet he's the one making you do them.

It's easy to set a steady pace after that. Suguru barely pulls halfway out before slamming back in repeatedly. Your nails dig into his skin and he finally moans at the sensation. If your tight throat feels this heavenly, what will your pussy be like?

You try to breathe through your nose, try to bob your head along to catch up to his motions, but ultimately fail at both of those things.

"Shit- So good, so so good." Suguru mumbles, pushing you down until your nose brushes against the course hairs at the base of his cock. He feels you swallow around his length and his pace almost staggers.

Instead, he only picks it up, maneuvering your movements like you're a puppet on a string. Hot, wet and tight, it's making him lose his mind. Suguru's soft, breathy moans override the sounds of your gags and coughs, of the saliva slipping past your lips He might've just changed his preferance from neat to messy, because this was just absolutely perfect.

He keeps battering the back of your throat, completely careless about your comfort. He's really too lost in his own pleasure to care about that right now.

"O-open wide, please. Say 'ah' for me, dearest." Suguru can't hold back a chuckle at his own stupid joke.

He doesn't really know what finally drives him over the edge. Your gags, the fear in your wide eyes or the way you never really tried pushing him away. It all swirls into an intoxicating mix that makes him spill into your throat.

He would like to be kind and pull away, to allow you to regain your breathing, but really, he's not sure if you'll swallow if he's not lodged down your throat.

"Swallow. Be good." Suguru whispers, a thinly-veiled threat, fingers of his free hand scratching behind your ears like he would to a cat.

He knows that the taste is salty and not even close to anything fit for human consumption, yet he still waits until your throat bobs, his cock throbbing in delicious overstimulations as final drops of cum finally travel down and he allows you to pull away, cringing at the way you retch, carefully wiping away a drop of his spend from the corner of your perfect lips.

You shudder, crystalline tears finally slipping past your lash line as your eyes flutter closed. Your head knocks against Suguru's muscular thigh and he lets you stay there, content to run his hand through your hair, listen how your lungs draw in the much needed air.

Once again, you've reassured him that he's made a perfect choice by taking you away from the games. You're much more fit to be by his side.

"Thank you, darling girl. A deal's a deal, huh? I'll get you a bottle of water and then we'll see what I can do about your friend, hm?

[imsofthelp]

i’m halfway done with squid game frontman geto fic but mmmm brainworms are brainworming and im thinking about an au where gojo lives, retires, and moves away to one of the clan estates, far away from everyone. his body isn’t how it used to be, he doesn’t have the strength, both mental and physical to keep on fighting curses and he really doesn’t want to become attached to anyone after how many people he had lost.

so imagine his surprise when he finds his peace disturbed by a sweet, shy thing, his only neighbour for miles and miles. A non-sorcerer, someone not even aware of the existance of his world. he doesn’t know who in their right mind would shovel the snow out of his driveway, bring him meals with a reassurance that ‘you just cooked too much’ and continue checking up on him when he’s been nothing but downright mean. maybe, just maybe he doesn’t mind you disturbing his peace too much.