Chapter Text
double trouble | one
early beginnings
pairing loser!yanderestalker!sukuna x fem!idol!reader x boxer!toji
INB — Popular idol from group SIXTHSENSE reveals her crush on infamous BFC champion Toji Fushiguro. How will fans react? Special insider information here on Idol News Broadcast.
CULTURE — Controversy or a new era? What does Y/N's confession reveal about idols?
LUVY/N — And thats how you shoot your shot, tell em sister.
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[30 minutes before]
you’re stepping into idol mode before you’re even halfway through the studio, instinct crawling out before you can stop it.
not on purpose, it slips out, uncontrollable. the line between your private and public life a blur after three years in the industry, not getting a second for yourself, always making sure you’re picture perfect. after all, people speak. your spine straightens. pace smooths out. your face settles into something soft and inviting, like you’re expecting the paparazzi and fans to be lurking in the shadows, watching your every move even when you’re not performing on stage.
the air inside is colder than the street, sharp with the hum of ventilation and equipment, biting your fingertips as you fumble with your bag, it hits the back of your throat as the doors close behind you.
lip gloss, always.
you reach into your bag, pulling the tube out, cap twisting in your fingers. you swipe once, and press your lips together, finding a mirror to admire yourself. the mirror thrusts you back into reality, the change jarring as you look back at yourself. the perfect lighting, perfect makeup, perfect outfit. all proving a purpose to maintain your “perfect” idol image. you turn slow, checking the best angles for the cameras to capture the hard work of your makeup artists, yet still keep that “naturally” glowing image, checking the version of yourself you’re forced to present to the public, the version that will stay forever in everyone’s minds.
you look good.
you feel like shit.
your phone buzzed against your hip, dragging it from your pocket, you check the several messages sent by your girls.
“good luck!” “calm yourself before you start” “do well!!”
as your mouth curls before you can stop, a quiet exhale leaves your lips. some of the tension loosens from your mind, an imaginary weight being lifted from your shoulders.
no girls with you today. no shared eye contact to a funny moment. just you and the version of you everyone thinks they know.
“ah—there you are.”
a voice pierces through your silent thoughts. you turn and meet the face of the interviewer, older than you thought. still interested in young idols? he’s calm, in that—i know something you don’t, kind of way. salt and pepper hair tussled as if he was raking through it minutes ago. perhaps trying to maintain a facade of calmness, glasses slipping down his nose in a way that seems unintentionally intentional. he smiles like he knows he’s charming, like this’ll be easy. like you’ll be easy, his hand reaches out, confident, yet still maintains an air of playfulness.
you take it.
“nice to finally meet you,” he says. eyes raking over your body in a not so subtle way.
“thanks for having time for me,” you reply, light and practiced yet still managing to come out insecure. the perfect in between of polite and still friendly.
his grip lingers. not long enough to be scandalous, but still long enough to be noticeable. his thumb presses once, absentmindedly rubbing a circle on your knuckle before he lets go.
“we’re just about ready,” he says, shifting closer. his hand settles on the small of your back as he guides you towards the set.
it starts fine, guiding you along like a baby deer that’s taking her first steps.
then his fingers drift a little lower, almost as if he’s testing the boundary of what he can get away with.
you step forward smoothly, throat clearing, breaking contact without breaking your smile. you’ve learned to keep your composure in uncomfortable situations, coming in handy especially now. you redirect the attention away, still keeping your composure.
the set opens up before you like a picture book—stools, cameras, warm light ensuring everyone looks their best, shining onto the equipment, creating a homey ambience. crew members moving around with clipboards and headsets, barely glancing up at the newcomers, one of them comes over to readjust your mic pack.
you sit, sinking into the couch, smoothing your outfit automatically, crossing your legs, posture perfect. approachable.
“five minutes!” someone calls.
you nod—then on instinct—angle your face towards the camera, checking how your smile comes off on the screen. softer. warmer. like you’re letting people in, maintaining your carefully crafted character.
this is the version the fans like.
this is the version that keeps them interested.
this is the version the industry craves.
somewhere deep in your chest, something twists—anticipation, maybe nerves. something unnamed.
you hold your smile anyway.
it starts off easy, they always do.
“happy friday, everyone,” the interviewer says, winking into the lens. “you know what happens on fridays.”
your eyebrows furrow momentarily, what does that mean?
“today i’ve got a very special guest with me.” he gestures toward you. “singer, performer, certified it-girl—y/n.”
the camera moves closer, zooming into your expression.
you wave, small and cute.
“happy to be here,” you say, voice smooth, friendly. like you’re not acutely aware of how alone you feel without your girls nearby.
“how have you been lately? busy schedule, new projects—”
you tilt your head, thinking—not because you don’t know the answer, but because fans like when you consider things.
“yeah,” you laugh, brushing it off. “busy in a good way. i can’t complain.” yet, you can. you won’t. you glance toward the camera when you say it, smile softening. that one’s for them.
“you’re also doing this schedule solo today,” he notes. “no groupmates?”
you nod. “yeah. it feels a bit strange.” you press a hand briefly to your chest. “they usually hype me up before things like this, so—” you shrug, playful. “hi guys, if you’re watching. i miss you.”
another glance at the camera. deliberate, giving everyone what they want.
after a few rounds of talks about group activities, daily life and hectic schedules, the air in the studio shifts. becoming more...intimate.
“fans are always curious about your personal life. do you ever feel pressure to…keep things private, or maybe tell everyone more than youre comfortable to?”
here it comes.
“i think privacy is important,” you say carefully. “but so is being honest with the people who support you.”
you pause. not dramatic—sincere.
“i don’t have a boyfriend,” you add quickly, because you know how this goes. because idols survive on clarification, not upsetting their parasocial fans, blurring the lines between the real and the fake.
"so... you're saying there's still a possibility of love?" he pries in for more, leaning in as he does so.
you let out a sharp breath you didn't know you were holding, "well, i am interested in someone," you confess, eyes darting away from the camera, perhaps still trying to maintain your 'innocent' image as you break multiple fanboys' hearts. oh well.
"oh. really? and who is this lucky guy? do we know him?"
from the corner of the room, a harsh breeze sweeps the set, sending goosebumps down your spine. weird. even though all the staff on set sneakily attempted to listen in on what you would say, you felt a sharper sense of discomfort through the presence of an ominous aura lingering backset.
you rack your brain for a response to come up with, all the words feeling inadequate against conveying what you wanted should say.
"hes...well...yeah, you probably know him...if youre in to sports?" what? seriously, thats the best you came up with? it was a weak response and you knew it.
"well hes a famous sportsman—hes a boxer." thats better.
"whats his name?"
"...toji fushiguro..."
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with that new revelation, the internet bursted into flames. tweets. photos. videos. all being used in defence against you or for you. 'idols should have partners, theyre human too.' 'no, they have an image to uphold.' 'well, yeah, but why does it matter to you?'
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night settles in his room before it surrounds his house, creating a familiar atmosphere, one where he's all alone once again.
his door closes. clicking into place, the city glows between the gap in his curtains, the light catching on the sharp edges of his furniture, bathing the strip in a light blue.
this is where everything makes sense, where everything feels safe.
he shrugs off his jacket, dropping it on the hanger behind his door, before slipping right into his chair, the wheels creaking as they move, jarring against the silence.
the laptop comes alive with a familiar hum.
he doesnt check the time. doesnt need to, hes already memorised your schedule—what time youre forced to get up, what time you make breakfast, get yourn makeup done, and when you start practice. so the ding of his laptop notifying him of a new video being published didnt surprise him.
he clicks the interview without scrolling past anything else. lets it load. lets it breathe.
there she is.
he exhales through his nose, slow. “good,” he murmurs, almost fond. “you’re right on schedule.”
she moves like she always does, knowing the angles that make her face shine the most, how it curls around her jaw, casting a shadow over her features, the twinkle in her eye making them pop even more.
he watches closely. not everything. just her.
the way her shoulders loosen when she laughs. the way her gaze flickers toward the camera like she’s making sure he's listening. like she wants him too.
when the personal questions come, his attention sharpens. anticipating what she'll choose to reveal to her naive fans, it doesnt matter what she says, he knows it already. he watches the pause before she answers, the calculation behind her eyes. the way she chooses honesty, yet still trying to keep that air of mystery about her. not revealing too much, keeping people hooked on her life.
good girl.
at her confession of a crush, his eyes widen, but then return to their usual calm. how'd he miss that detail?
the interview ends, the last smile being sent his way. she looks beautiful in a way that almost makes people stupid.
he opens his notes app to a note labelled "my love.” and types with an unhurried precision.
- smiled for too too long.
- overworked?
- eyes drifted when she said his name, is she in love?
he pauses. rereads the last line. deletes it.
not important.
he leans back against his chair, gaze focused on the ceiling. he daydreams about her. the way her smile lingered in his mind, the way she lit up under those lights, almost as if the heavens had opened up to deliver him with this gift. a present, for all those years being patient, waiting. waiting for the right one, the one who knows how to treat him. he thinks about the way her voice softened when she spoke directly to the camera. the intimacy of it, now shared with millions who would never notice the truth.
the city hums outside. his room stays dark. patient.
sukuna slumps over the table, forehead banging against the cold wood, his hand palms his growing erection, fingers wrapping around his base and tugging it free of its tight confines, boxers collecting around his ankles, joining his trousers. as he grips his hardened dick, his breath stutters for a moment—head leaving the table and leaning against his chair. eyes screwed shut, he slowly starts to rub himself up and down, easing the motion as his eyes shoot open again.
the shine from his computer was the only source of light in his otherwise dim room, curtains pulled tight, letting no hint of light creep its head through. his eyes focused on a performance video posted a few months prior, a video of your solo performance.
tits bouncing in your dress, taunting him as he tightened the grip on his dick, squeezing himself, a hand coming over his eyes. "ngh—oh fuck!!"
a pearl of pre beaded at his red, angry tip, a finger coming to collect it to smear over his dick, providing lube for him to jerk himself off faster, imagining the different ways hed ruin you in that outfit he deemed too 'slutty.'
"s-such a—fuck! 'm gonna—!" he moaned loudly, biting his lower lip, tucking it into his mouth, a few droplets of saliva dribbling down his chin.
he peeled his eyes back open to look at you, "b-bitch! you—ah! l-like him huh..." tears filled his crimson eyes, threatening to spill over, imagining the thought of you and that bastard toji. his minstrations slowed for a moment.
"what does he have that i don't! fucking bitch, bet he doesnt even love you like i do! i-i spent so much time and money on us! for us! dont you love me too!?" tears now ran down his pink cheeks, his hands coming up to wipe them away. feeling betrayed by his favourite idol, who totally knew who he was. well...she'd know soon enough.
forgetting his momentary crying session, his hand flew back to his dick, still wet and hard, spitting on his tip, dripping down onto his hand. back resting on his chair, he shut his eyes, and began pumping again, imagining your hot pussy instead of his mediocre hands.
he imagined how you'd moan for him, would you be silent? would you be vocal? where you'd like to be touched the most—what points brought you the most brain-melting pleasure.
if he thought enough, he could imagine your soft body bouncing up and down on his dick, tits suffocating his face, nipples hardened as he tugs at them between his lanky fingers. that's what girls like, right?
a vein pops out the side of his dick, running his fingers over it, a whimper slips out his lips, "mhmm right there! oh—i-im-" his voice trailed off, a flash of white appearing behind his eyelids, back arching as he violently came on his stomach. abs flexing as he squeezed harder, hips stuttering and bucking up against his hand, milking every drop from his dick, breath coming out in small huffs.
beads of sweat dripped down his forehead, post-nut clarity setting in as he sat back, stone-faced as he stared at your performance taunting him on his computer.
"sukuna honey! dinner—" the door swung open, revealing his mothers figure at the doorway, her bright eyes trailing over him, smile being replaced with a look of terror when she sees the state her beloved son is in.
"mama!" he whisper-yells, quickly shutting the computer and pulling his pants back up. eyes widened by the sudden intrusion.
the door slams back shut. leaving him alone in his room, pondering over what the fuck he's doing. a hand runs down his face, and he stands up, moving over to the bathroom.
as he finished cleaning up his mess , he skipped down the stairs, to the dinner table where his parents were situated, already digging in. his little sister lay on the couch, watching some stupid video, "come and eat, little shi—" he gets cut off by his fathers authoritarian voice, "she ate, now sit."
his mother refuses to even acknowledge his presence in the room, gaze burning into the plate infront of her, still traumatised from seeing her son in that indecent state. "when are you going to start doing something useful with your life, huh?" his dad stuffed a piece of brocolli in hs mouth, chomping loudly, not bothering to look up at him.
he gulps, hard. "i do!" he stands up for himself, but his father claps back.
"you call obsessing over those stupid women useful!?" he slams his hand against the table, green pieces of saliva-coated brocolli flying out his mouth, aiming right for sukuna like a missile. "youre a grown mann and you still dont have a job! look at your brother, hes a genius and youre just a—" his mother rubs his back, calming him down. "hes still young...he'll get out this phase," she tries to reassure him yet she doesnt seem convinced by her own excuse either.
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whack whack whack! the punching bag swings like a maniac, the sound reverberating off the walls of the gym, huffs of exhaustion act as a background ambience. the gym smells like metal, sweat, and ammonia, lingering from the smelling salts around the gym, like smoke clinging to the mats. toji’s already four rounds deep, knuckles thudding into the heavy bag with a dull, punishing rhythm. each punch lands like it’s personal. a jab, cross, hook. the chain rattles overhead, creaking as if its reaching the end of its life.
"bro—you need to see this." one of his training partners calls out from behind him, walking over, phone in hand.
toji doesnt stop, doesnt even look back at him, just switches his pace, shoulders rolling back, sweat slicking down all his crevices as he starts his brutal assault on the bag again, sinking another combo. "speak again and it'll be you instead," he grunts out.
laughter breaks out anyway, voices coming in. someone jogs closer, phone already unlocked. “nah, you gotta see this.”
that gets his attention, what are these dense, hollow-headed bastards finding so funny? toji finally steps back, sweat dripping down in droplets onto the mat, breath steadying despite the workout he just did, grabbing his towel and wiping it over his face before flicking a glance at the screen. it’s a clip from twitter, bright lights filling the screen. professional, clean sound emanating from its speakers. you—smiling into a camera like the audience is looking back.
his eyebrow raises.
"who the fuck is that?" he looks over at them, demanding an answer, considering he doesnt keep up with pop culture, hes a man, not a teenage girl...in his own words.
"dude seriously? don’t play dumb,” his partner says, shoving the phone closer. “she’s everywhere. said she’s got a crush on some boxer in an interview and now the internet’s losing its mind.” he winks, letting toji read the implication behind his words. he scoffs at that.
toji watches for another second. the way you laugh, how you tilt your head when you talk, like you’re letting the audience in on a groundbreaking secret. comments scroll fast beneath the video—speculations, edits, people arguing over whether they’d stand a chance against him.
he scoffs, finally handing the phone back. “that’s it?”
“that’s it,” the guy snorts. “everyones going crazy, they all think youre actually dating her. at least they dont think youre a crazy drug addict anymore.”
toji grabs his water, takes a long pull, then smirks. “damn. all i had to do was win fights and keep my mouth shut?”
“internet says you could ruin her life,” someone else laughs. "he probably can," someone else chips in, the mood suddenly lightening, although they all came here to train, a sort of brotherly pact was formed. everyone looked out for one another. have a problem with one of them? now all of them are on your ass.
though at times it could feel overbearing, like right now, when toji knows hes going to be associated with some random girl for a while. at least shes hot.
he chuckles, towel slung over his shoulder. “internet thinks too much.” then, after a beat, “she got good taste, though.”
someone whistles, excited for what might actually happen between them, but knowing toji, he'll probably scare her off before she gets the chance. toji steps back up to the bag, gloves going on, already bored again—but not enough to forget the way the clip lingers in his head. the smile. the confidence. the fact that you didn’t look nervous at all, as if he was a normal man.
the bag takes the next punch harder than it needed to.
“focus,” he mutters to himself, trying to act nonchalant, grin creeping back anyway.
the clip doesn’t die down. it spreads like wildfire.
by the time toji finishes showering, his phone is already buzzing in his locker. missed calls from his manager. two texts from a promoter he hasn’t spoken to in months. one screenshot from a social media promotion page named 'BFC MEDIA DAY'.
since when do boxers trend outside of matches?
he scrolls lazily, towel slung low on his hips, his v line dipping into the towel, happy trail wet, clinging to his abs like a lifeline, then disappearing. he watches edits stack up—you and him, painting as a future couple, people speculating how it would work out if you actually started dating. if you were associated with a firecracker like him. people arguing over whether he’s “boyfriend material.” women jealous over the hulk of a man toji is, calling you lucky for getting noticed. men pretending they don’t care while typing think pieces anyway.
“weird.”
his manager doesn’t approve, trying to control these stupid rumours. but what harm would they do? all it is is cleaning his stained image in the public. being with someone like you—well liked, admired, many fans, would certainly tie up the negative press...or bring more on to you.
“no commenting,” the man barks over the phone later that night. “no liking. no reposting. you don’t mention her unless we clear it.”
toji hums noncommittadly, already bored. “what if i run into her?”
the line goes quiet for half a second. “…you won’t.”
he hangs up, grinning on the other end.
his fingers type in your instagram handle, being greeted with a page filled with your concerts, tours, and fan greets. promotional videos made with your group, and the occasional casual photo snuck in between. the comments of him were already flooding in, making him chuckle.
opening the dm's, he sends a short message, "hey."
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PAPDAILY — Idol Y/N and BFC Champion Toji Fushiguro allegedly caught leaving a bar together, fact or fiction? Try harder against the paparazzi next time!
HEARTY/N — The concept of Y/N dating a Greek god for a man.
⤷ a/n thanks for the supportttt!!! i hope you enjoyed this chapter I PROMISE IT GETS MORE INTERESTING!!! i just wanted to set the scene and whatnot for the first chapter, i was hoping to publish this sooner but...life...anyways.
© hazyyyyy, do not copy, repost, or plagiarise any of my work, please do not feed to ai.