18+ MDNI: people liked the last bf!suguru post so here’s #2 as my contribution to kinktober <3
bf!suguru loves brainwashing you when you’re fucked out and pliant for him.
bf!suguru hates when you don’t believe in yourself :( he loves playing with you, and he knows how much you can handle before you break.
“sugu! too much!” you cry as his fingers make you cum for the fifth time. “too much? no baby you’re supposed to say ‘it feels good’” he coos condescendingly. your body feels like it’s on fire. your legs thrash and kick under his torment, but the moans pour out of you helplessly.
“i can’t anymore sugu please-” you whine.
“c’mon baby, say it. tell me it feels good, say it for me pretty girl” his deep voice is smooth as honey.
“it- ah- it feels good” you cry weakly.
“aww baby. say it like you mean it. tell me how good it feels.” his fingers relentlessly pump and curl into your sweet spot.
“please— mfmgh— i can’t” you whimper
“you can baby, you can. you’re doing great sweetheart just say it for me.”
“it- feels good sugu… hmp haa— it feels so good please please please-” you whine.
you squeal when his thumb finds your overstimulated clit. closing your legs in an attempt to run from the pleasure. he just gently pries them open.
“sugu—gonna- ah- im gonna cum again—”
when your orgasm rips through you he holds you tight against him, grounding your shaking and twitching frame.
“that’s it baby, good girl, just like that” he whispers.
“aww my sweet girl. took it so well” he smiles against your cheek. “now, tell me ‘don’t stop’”
suguru likes winning, but what he likes infinitely more is watching you lose.
you should’ve known better than to joke about suguru’s stamina, but you couldn’t help it when you saw him on the game with satoru instead of spending time with you. “after this round gorgeous, ill be right there” he says with one ear out of his headset. when you scoffed and said ‘your rounds with satoru lasts longer than you in bed,’ you knew you fucked up.
so now here you are, forced to prove you can last longer than your boyfriend. suguru is laid back on his chair, hands behind his head and watching with a smile as you struggle to bounce on his cock.
“suguru~ i’m- ha- i’m sorry~” you whine above him as he fills you again and again.
“what’s the matter baby? i thought i couldn’t last hm? my cock isn’t good enough for you huh? my needy girl can last way longer than me, isn’t that right?”
he can tell you’re close with the way your legs are shaking and your pussy is gripping his cock. you’re trying to focus on anything else to stop yourself from finishing every time his tip bumps your cervix, silently praying that he’s closer than you are.
“aww are you close baby?” he coos.
“no- ah! i’m not—ngh” you manage to respond.
“really?” he asks. you feel him sit up now, chest pressing against your back. his hands finally touch you as one circles around to grope your tits while the other travels up to place slight pressure on your neck. “you’re not gonna cum soon?”
“no!” you cry out. his calloused fingers on your skin making every part of you more sensitive.
he leans in close on your neck, his hand pulls your head back to rest against him.
“you sure you’re not gonna cum?”
“i’m not gonna cum.”
his smile widen against your skin. every time the word “cum” gets said, he feels your walls pulse around him.
“say it then. say you’re not cumming” he whispers. his voice is loud in your head. drowning away all other thoughts and sounds.
“i’m- ahh- fuck… i’m not cumming.” you whimper. sparks shoot through your brain, worsening the ache in your lower belly.
his hand tightens around your neck. you shake your head. your hands fly up to his wrist, holding on to escape the pleasure.
“no? not gonna cum? i think you’re close baby. fuck- i can feel you dripping down my thighs, so messy. are you sure you’re not cumming?”
“i’m- not cumming” you say as hot tears roll from your hazy eyes. it’s hard to focus. all you feel is him. his voice in your head, his breathing against your ear, his hands on your body, his tip squishing against your sweet spot every time he fills you up.
“say it again” his hand tightens.
“i’m -hah not cumming” it’s hard to breathe.
“again”
i’m not cumming
i’m not cumming
i’m… cumming
your body gives in before your mind processes. the intense high pulsing through you makes you squeeze your eyes and legs shut as your body shakes and trembles above your boyfriend.
suguru smiles as he turns your face to give you a nice deep kiss you can’t reciprocate. this is his favorite view. his pretty baby with her mouth hung open, tear stained cheeks, and a dazed look in her eyes. he loves watching you lose to him, and the best part is you don’t even know what happened.
can’t speak? don’t worry! suguru loves you so much he’ll help you <3
suguru has you writhing under him. you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve finished. he’s turned you into a puddle on his bed. a pretty doll he can maneuver to his liking. his hands are pinning yours down on the pillows next to your head, fingers intertwined as his thick cock pistons in and out of your soaking pussy.
you’re nonverbal. his thrusts are knocking the words out of your head and the air out of your lungs. his fingers find a way into your mouth. his thumb playing with your pliant tongue.
“yea? does that feel good?” he coos into your ear as you brainlessly moan and drool around his hand. he smiles knowing you’re too fucked out and dumb on his cock to respond. of course he’s gonna help his pretty baby out.
his thumb presses down on your tongue as his other fingers wrap around the side of your face. he gently maneuvers your head to nod for him. “yea? it does doesn’t it? it feels so good huh? i thought so baby.”
you whine pathetically around his fingers. “mhm i know- fuck- i know baby, you’re doing so good for me.”
suguru fucks like he’s worshipping you. his thrusts are deep and calculated. every drag of his hips feel like his pulling out your soul and the air in your body just to knock it back in. you feel every inch of him press against all the sweetest spots.
“mhmm— you’re so perfect baby… my sweet perfect girl… i’m close baby— fuck. gonna fill you up”
it’s too much. you can’t anymore. if he fills you with his hot cum right now it’ll be too much. you won’t be able to handle hearing his moans, and feeling the way his body shudders against you as he fills you up.
you try to tell him no, but the words come out as incoherent moans.
“shh… shh i’m right here baby, i’m here. look at me…you want me to cum inside? have you shaking and leaking under me?”
he sees the plea in your eyes. beneath the tears of pleasure you’re saying “no, please. wait, slow down, too much.” you try to shake your head, but his fingers press harder against your cheeks. you feel his hand pull your head down again to nod for him.
“uh huh~ you do don’t you? so good for me, such a good girl. god- you feel so good. gonna cum. gonna pump you full.”
there’s nothing else you can do as you helplessly cum around him while he fills you up.
bf!suguru is the sweetest and most caring man until he has you under him. who knew your loving boyfriend fucked so mean? don’t worry! he’s definitely not trying to brainwash you to make you stay with him forever. he just wants to make sure you know no one can ever fuck you in the ways he can.
olderbf!nanami who never rushes you, no matter how impatient you get. you’re standing in front of your closet, frustrated, pulling out dresses and tossing them onto the bed.
"i have nothing to wear," you groan. he’s sitting in the armchair by the window, his tie already loosened, watching you with that calm, steady gaze.
"we have forty-five minutes," he says, his voice low and even. "take your time."
you huff, turning to face him. "you’re always so patient. it’s annoying."
he smiles, small and fond. "i’ve waited forty years to find you. i can wait forty-five minutes for you to pick a dress."
olderbf!nanami who always makes sure you eat before you leave the house. you’re running late, your heels clicking on the kitchen floor as you grab your purse.
"we’re going to be late," you say, already halfway to the door.
he steps in front of you, a plate in his hand—toast with avocado, a soft-boiled egg, sliced fruit arranged neatly. "eat first."
you stare at him. "nanami, we don’t have time—"
"we have time," he interrupts gently, setting the plate on the counter. "you’re not leaving this house on an empty stomach. sit."
you sit. you always do. because when he looks at you like that—like taking care of you is the most important thing in the world—you can’t say no.
olderbf!nanami who never raises his voice, even when you’re being difficult. you’re arguing about something stupid—where to go for dinner, maybe, or whether you should cancel plans to stay in—and your voice is getting louder, your hands gesturing wildly.
he just stands there, hands in his pockets, watching you. "you’re not even listening!" you snap.
"i am," he says quietly. "i’m listening to every word. and when you’re done, we’ll talk about it calmly. like adults."
you deflate, your anger fizzling out. "you’re too kind to me," you mutter.
he steps forward, his hands finding your waist. "you’re worth the kindness."
olderbf!nanami who takes his time undressing you, like every layer is a gift he’s unwrapping. you’re in his bedroom, the lights dimmed, and you’re already reaching for his belt, impatient, wanting him now.
"slow down," he murmurs, catching your hands. "we have all night."
you pout. "i don’t want to wait."
he leans down, his lips brushing your ear. "i know, baby. i know. but i’m going to make you wait. because the longer i take, the better it’ll feel when i finally touch you." he undresses you slowly, his fingers working each button, each zipper, until you’re standing in front of him in nothing but your underwear. he steps back, his eyes raking over you. "beautiful," he says. "now lay down."
olderbf!nanami who eats you out like it’s a meditation, like he could spend hours between your thighs and never get bored. you’re on your back, your legs over his shoulders, and he’s taking his time, his tongue moving in slow, deliberate strokes.
"n-nanami—please—" you gasp, your hands fisting the sheets. he looks up at you, his mouth glistening.
"patience," he says, his voice calm even as he slides two fingers inside you. "i’m going to make you cum. but i’m going to do it my way." he curls his fingers, finding that spot that makes your vision blur, his tongue circling your clit with agonizing precision.
you’re moaning, your hips rolling, but he holds you down with one hand on your stomach. "stay still," he orders gently. "let me take care of you."
olderbf!nanami who fucks you slow and deep, his hips rolling in a rhythm that has you seeing stars. you’re on your stomach, your face pressed into the pillow, and he’s behind you, his chest pressed to your back, his cock buried so deep you can barely breathe.
"nanami—h-harder!!—" you beg, trying to push back against him. he stills, his hand sliding up your spine to grip the back of your neck.
"no," he says, his voice firm but kind. "you take what i give you." he starts moving again, each thrust deliberate, each roll of his hips dragging against your walls in a way that makes you sob. "you feel that?" he murmurs against your ear. "that’s me. all of me. and you’re going to take every inch, just like this. until you can’t think about anything but how full you are."
olderbf!nanami who makes you ask for what you want, his voice low and commanding. you’re straddling him, his cock inside you, but he’s not moving.
he’s just watching you, his hands on your hips, his thumbs stroking your skin.
"p-please, i.... i can't—" you whimper, trying to roll your hips. he holds you still.
"use your words," he says. "tell me what you want."
"i-i want you to move," you gasp. "i want you to fuck me."
he smiles, small and satisfied. "good girl. now ask nicely."
you bite your lip, your face burning.
"please fuck me, nanami. please."
he rewards you with a slow thrust upward, his cock hitting that spot inside you that makes you moan. "that’s it," he praises. "that's my girl."
olderbf!nanami who holds you after, his arms wrapped around you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. you’re lying on his chest, your body still trembling, your mind fuzzy with pleasure.
he’s stroking your hair, his lips pressed to the top of your head. "you did so well," he murmurs. "so beautiful. so perfect." you nuzzle closer, your eyes already drifting shut.
"you’re too good to me," you whisper. he kisses your forehead.
"no such thing. you deserve everything. and i’m going to give it to you for as long as you’ll let me."
olderbf!nanami who wakes you up in the morning with his mouth between your legs, because he’s not done taking care of you yet. you’re half-asleep, your body warm and heavy, when you feel his hands on your thighs, spreading you open.
"nanami—" you start, but then his tongue is on you, and you’re gasping, your hands flying to his hair. he looks up at you, his eyes dark.
"good morning," he says, his voice rough with sleep. "lay back. let me love you." and you do. because when nanami wants to be patient, you let him. every single time.
a/n : for my bbg lyra heh😼🌹 first time writing for suguru bear w/ me, satoru ver. how did this reach this much word count i feel like i cheated on my cutie😔
ON THE COUCH.ᐟ
sunday night, the living room’s a disaster, like it always is when you two decide to “relax.” popcorn kernels litter the coffee table, a half-empty wine glass teeters on the edge, and your fuzzy blanket’s tangled on the floor, one corner still draped over the couch. the tv’s blaring some action flick—explosions, car chases, dialogue you’ve both stopped caring about.
suguru’s sprawled out beside you, one arm slung lazily around your shoulders, his gray sweatpants slung so low you can see the sharp cut of his v-line, the faint trail of dark hair disappearing beneath the waistband. he’s pretending to watch the screen, but you feel his eyes, heavy and warm, sliding to you every few seconds, catching the way you shift closer, your thigh brushing his.
“you’re squirming again, baby,” he murmurs, voice low, that smug charm dripping like honey. he tilts his head, dark hair falling over one shoulder, catching the dim glow of the tv. “what’s got you so worked up? the shitty plot or just me?”
you roll your eyes, nudging his ribs with your elbow, but it’s half-hearted, and he knows it. “don’t flatter yourself, suguru. this movie’s boring as hell, that’s all.”
“mm. bored, are we?” his voice is low, brushing the shell of your ear like velvet. his arm drapes tighter around your waist, fingers slipping just beneath the collar of his shirt—soft cotton and cedar clinging to your skin. “funny,” he murmurs, thumb grazing the curve of your throat, “your pulse says otherwise.”
you open your mouth to scoff, to throw some snark back, but his hand moves, sliding down your arm, across your waist, and under the hem of the shirt. his fingers are warm, calloused from years of sparring and cooking and touching you like he’s memorizing every inch. they graze your hip, slow, deliberate, and your breath catches, betraying you.
“suguru,” you warn, but it’s weak, more plea than protest, and the smirk curling his lips says he hears it too.
“what?” he’s all innocence, but his hand dips lower, slipping under the waistband of your panties, finding you slick and warm. “oh, sweetheart,” he breathes, fingers stroking you so slowly it’s torture, “this wet already? i haven’t even done anything.” his voice is teasing, but there’s an edge to it, a hunger that makes your thighs clench.
“shut up,” you mutter, cheeks burning, but you’re already melting, legs parting just enough for him to work. he chuckles, low and filthy, and shifts closer, his chest pressing against your side, his lips brushing that sensitive spot behind your ear. “you’re so full of shit,” you add, trying to keep the upper hand, but it’s slipping fast, especially when his thumb finds your clit, drawing tight, lazy circles that make your hips twitch.
“full of shit, huh?” he nips your earlobe, teeth grazing just hard enough to make you gasp. “says the woman who’s practically begging for my fingers.” he slides one inside you, slow, curling it just right, and you moan, soft and broken, your head falling back against the couch. “that’s what i thought,” he whispers, kissing down your neck, open-mouthed, sucking lightly at the pulse point. “you missed me today, didn’t you? all that running around, and you’re still this needy for your husband.”
you want to argue, to say you weren’t that needy, but he adds a second finger, pumping them steadily, and your comeback dissolves into a whimper. “suguru—fuck,” you manage, hands clutching his biceps, nails digging into the firm muscle. he groans, like your touch is his undoing, and shifts you closer, pulling you half onto his lap so you’re straddling one of his thighs. the pressure of his leg against you, combined with his fingers, is too much, and your hips start moving, grinding against him, chasing the heat pooling in your belly.
“that’s it,” he murmurs, voice thick with something darker, something worshipful. his eyes stay locked on yours, half-lidded and burning. “take what you need.”
your hips grind down without shame, chasing the curl of his fingers as slick sounds fill the room—louder than the gunfire on screen, louder than your own breath. his free hand cups the back of your neck, steadying you like you’re precious. and when he kisses you, it’s slow, deep—tongue sweeping past your lips like he’s claiming the noise you make. like he owns it.
“so pretty like this,” he murmurs against your mouth, his free hand sliding up to cup your breast, thumb brushing your nipple through the shirt. “fuck, you’re perfect. always so perfect for me.” his words hit harder than they should, sinking into your chest, making you clench around his fingers. he feels it, groans low, and speeds up, thumb pressing harder on your clit, fingers curling deeper. “c’mon, sweetheart, let go. wanna feel you make a mess on my hand before i even fuck you.”
you’re close, so close, the pleasure coiling tight, and he knows it—reads it in the way your breaths turn ragged, the way your nails bite into his skin. “suguru,” you gasp, half-warning, half-plea, and he just kisses you again, softer this time, like he’s anchoring you through it. “i’m—fuck, i’m gonna—”
““there you go,” he breathes, low and steady, like he’s guiding you home. and you fall apart just like that—shuddering, clinging, crying out against his mouth as your thighs tremble around his hand. he doesn’t rush you. just keeps his fingers moving slow, deliberate, coaxing every last wave from you with the patience of a man who knows he’s got you.
when you finally sag into his chest, boneless and dazed, he eases his hand free, wet and glistening. then—eyes never leaving yours—he slips his fingers between his lips and hums, thoughtful.“mm. sweeter tonight,” he says softly, almost to himself. “must’ve missed me.”
you’re still catching your breath, head spinning, but he’s not done. he shifts you fully onto his lap, tugging his sweatpants down just enough to free his cock—hard, leaking, and so thick it makes your mouth water. “c’mere, baby,” he says, guiding you over him, hands steady on your hips. “wanna feel you ride me now.”
you sink down slow, inch by inch, the stretch making you whimper. he’s big, always has been, but the way he fills you feels like home, like nothing else could ever compare. “fuck,” he groans, head tipping back, hands gripping your ass like he’s trying not to lose it. “you take me so well, sweetheart. every damn time.”
you start moving, slow at first, savoring the way he feels, the way his hands guide your rhythm. “you’re—ngh—so annoying,” you pant, trying to keep up the banter, but it’s hard when he’s hitting every spot that makes you see stars. “can’t even watch a movie without you—fuck—doing this.”
he laughs, low and rough, thrusting up to meet you, making you gasp. “annoying? baby, you’re the one who stole my shirt and pranced around in it. you wanted this.” his hands slide up your sides, tugging the shirt higher, exposing your breasts. he leans in, sucking one nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking just right, and you arch into him, moaning louder than you mean to.
“suguru—shit,” you whine, bouncing faster, the couch creaking under you. his hands are everywhere—your hips, your breasts, your face—pulling you closer, kissing you sloppy and desperate. “you’re mine,” he murmurs, voice rough with need, “all mine. this pussy, this body, this heart—fuck, it’s all mine.”
the words push you over the edge again, faster than you expect, and you come with a cry, clenching around him so tight he curses, loud and filthy. “fuck, baby,” he groans, thrusting up hard, chasing his own release. “gonna—shit, gonna fill you up.” he does, spilling deep inside, his grip on your hips bruising as he rides out the aftershocks, kissing you through it, soft and messy.
you’re both panting, sweaty, tangled together on the couch. he doesn’t pull out, just holds you close, his forehead pressed to yours, breath mingling. “you okay, sweetheart?” he asks, voice softer now, thumb brushing your cheek. you nod, still dazed, and he chuckles, kissing your nose. “good.”
he doesn’t ask for more. doesn’t need to. instead, he reaches for the blanket with one arm, pulling it over the both of you as he shifts to settle you against his chest. one hand drifts into your hair, slow and soothing, thumb brushing your scalp like he’s grounding himself with you.
“movie’s still running,” he murmurs, voice casual, steady—like he didn’t just unravel you. “don’t move. you’re mine tonight.”
his fingers trace soft shapes along your spine, and when he presses a kiss to your temple, you feel him smile. not smug. not teasing. just content. like this—sweat-slicked, quiet, yours—is exactly where he belongs.
IN THE BED.ᐟ
it’s late, past midnight, the kind of quiet where the world shrinks to just you two. the bedroom’s soft and warm, lit by the faint glow of a lavender candle flickering on the nightstand, its scent mingling with the familiar musk of suguru’s skin. the sheets are a mess, half-tucked, still carrying the faint tang of last night’s sweat.
you’re sprawled on your back, wearing nothing but one of his old t-shirts, the hem bunched at your hips from tossing and turning. suguru’s beside you, propped on one elbow, watching you with those dark, heavy eyes, hair loose and spilling over his shoulders like ink. he’s shirtless, sweatpants slung low, and the way he’s looking at you—like you’re the only thing that matters—makes your skin prickle.
“can’t sleep, sweetheart?” he murmurs, voice low and smooth, a little rough from the late hour. his fingers brush your thigh, barely a touch, but it’s enough to make you shift, thighs pressing together. “or you just waiting for me to do something about it?”
you roll your eyes, swatting his hand, but there’s no heat in it. “you’re so full of yourself,” you mutter, turning your head to hide the smile tugging at your lips. “maybe i’m just hot. this room’s stuffy.”
“stuffy, huh?” he chuckles, shifting closer, the mattress dipping under his weight. “that why you’re blushing? or is it cause you’re thinking about me?” his hand slides up your thigh again, firmer this time, fingers splaying possessively over your skin. “don’t lie, baby. i know that look.”
you open your mouth to retort, something snarky about his ego, but he’s already leaning in, lips brushing your jaw, soft and deliberate. “you’re so cute when you’re stubborn,” he whispers, kissing along your jawline, slow, like he’s savoring every inch. “makes me wanna ruin you even more.”
“suguru,” you breathe, half-laughing, half-warning, but your hands betray you, sliding up his chest, fingers tracing the hard lines of muscle. he’s warm, solid, and the way he hums against your skin—like he’s tasting something divine—makes your head fuzzy. his kisses trail down your neck, open-mouthed, sucking lightly at the pulse point, and you arch into him, a soft moan slipping out before you can stop it.
“that’s my girl,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to look at you, his eyes glinting with something fierce, something tender. he tugs the t-shirt up, exposing your stomach, your breasts, and tosses it to the floor with a lazy flick. “fuck, look at you,” he says, voice rough, reverent. “you know this is my favorite part of the day, right? just you, like this, all mine.”
he kisses you everywhere—lips, collarbone, the soft curve of your belly, the inside of your thighs—like he’s worshipping you, like he’s making up for every second he wasn’t touching you today. his hands are gentle but possessive, guiding your legs apart, settling between them like he belongs there.
“i don’t think you get it,” he says, voice softer now, almost raw, as he kisses the sensitive skin just above your hip. “this—you—it’s everything i ever wanted.”
you’re trembling, heart pounding, and he notices, because of course he does. he always does. he slides up, hovering over you, one hand cupping your face, thumb brushing your cheek.
“you okay, sweetheart?” he asks, and it’s so earnest, so suguru, that you nod, pulling him down to kiss him. it’s slow, deep, tongues sliding together, and you taste the mint from his toothpaste, the faint bitterness of the wine from earlier. his other hand slips between your legs, fingers finding you slick, and he groans into your mouth, low and filthy. “fuck, baby, you’re so wet for me.”
“your fault,” you mumble against his lips, and he laughs, the sound vibrating through you.
“yeah? good,” he says, sliding one finger inside you, slow, curling it just right. you gasp, hips bucking, and he adds another, pumping them steadily, his thumb circling your clit. “look at you, taking me so well already. always so fucking perfect.”
you’re moaning now, shameless, hands clutching his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. he hisses, but it’s a good sound, the kind that makes him thrust his fingers harder, watching your face with those dark, hungry eyes. “suguru—please,” you whine, not even sure what you’re begging for, but he knows. he always knows.
“please what, baby?” he teases, kissing your nose, your chin, your throat. “use your words. tell your husband what you want.” his fingers slow, just enough to drive you crazy, and you glare at him, half-desperate, half-annoyed.
“you’re such a dick,” you pant, but your hips keep moving, chasing his hand. “just—fuck me, okay? stop teasing.”
he grins, all teeth and mischief, but there’s something soft in it, something that makes your chest ache. “anything for my wife,” he says, and then he’s pulling his fingers out, licking them clean with a groan that makes your core clench. he shoves his sweatpants down, freeing his cock—hard, thick, already leaking—and lines himself up, teasing your entrance with the tip. “ready, sweetheart?” he asks, voice softer now, checking in.
you nod, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. “always,” you whisper, and he slides in slow, so slow it steals your breath, stretching you in that perfect, aching way.
“fuck,” he groans, head dropping to your shoulder, “you feel like heaven. every damn time.”
he starts moving, deep, steady thrusts that hit every spot, his hands framing your face, holding you like you’re something precious. “open your eyes, sweetheart,” he says, voice rough with need, thumb brushing your lower lip as you moan beneath him. “let me see you when you fall apart on my cock.”
you do, blinking up at him, and the way he’s looking at you—like you’re his whole world—makes you clench around him, hard. he feels it, curses, and thrusts deeper, harder, but still so controlled, like he’s savoring every second.
“you’re mine,” he murmurs, kissing your lips, your jaw, your collarbone, each word punctuated by a thrust. “this body, this heart—fuck, it’s all mine.”
you’re sobbing his name now, nails raking his back, leaving red lines you know he’ll wear like badges tomorrow. the pleasure’s building, coiling tight, and he knows it, angles his hips just right, hitting that spot that makes you see stars.
“suguru—i’m—fuck, i’m gonna—” you gasp, and he kisses you, deep and messy, swallowing your cries.
“that’s it,” he murmurs, breath warm against your neck, voice low and impossibly calm for a man buried deep in you. “give it to me.”
his thumb circles slow, firm—no rush, just precision—and your body obeys before your mind can catch up. pleasure coils, breaks, crashes, and you come with a cry that sounds more like surrender than climax, clinging to him as your muscles lock and tremble.
he doesn’t stop. doesn’t falter. just keeps moving through the rhythm of your release, hips deep and steady, chasing the heat with quiet, focused groans.
when he follows, it’s with a choked breath, forehead pressed to your shoulder, holding you like he’s never letting go.
he doesn’t pull out, just stays there, buried in you, panting against your neck. “so good for me,” he murmurs, voice hoarse, kissing your shoulder, your jaw, your cheek. “my perfect wife. fuck, you’re everything.”
you’re both sweaty, boneless, but he rolls you over so you’re draped across his chest, his cock still softening inside you. “stay here,” he mumbles, voice sleepy but firm, one hand cupping the back of your head. “wanna wake up like this, you on me, all warm and soft.”
you hum, too tired to argue, and he chuckles, kissing your forehead. “love you, sweetheart,” he whispers, so quiet it’s almost a secret, but you feel it, deep in your bones, the way he holds you like he’ll never let go.
ON THE KITCHEN COUNTER.ᐟ
it’s saturday afternoon, the kitchen a chaotic testament to your shared domesticity. flour dusts the counter like snow, a mixing bowl of half-whisked cookie dough sits abandoned, and the air smells of vanilla and burnt sugar from the batch you almost forgot in the oven.
your pop playlist hums through the bluetooth speaker, some upbeat tune you’re half-singing, half-mumbling, hips swaying as you stir the dough. you’re wearing suguru’s old band tee, the black fabric soft and worn, barely covering your thighs, paired with tiny shorts that ride up every time you move. your hair’s a mess, pinned up with a chopstick, and there’s a smudge of flour on your cheek you haven’t noticed.
suguru’s supposed to be grabbing milk from the fridge for the recipe, but he’s taking his sweet time, leaning against the counter, watching you with that lazy, predatory grin that makes your stomach flip.
“you’re gonna burn the next batch too, sweetheart,” he teases, voice smooth and teasing, crossing his arms so his biceps flex under his fitted black shirt. “focus. or you trying to set the house on fire?”
you shoot him a glare, brandishing the wooden spoon like a weapon. “you focus, suguru. where’s the milk? or you just here to stare?” you turn back to the bowl, stirring harder, but your hips keep swaying, the music too catchy to ignore. you know he’s watching, feel the weight of his gaze on your ass, and maybe you lean into it a little, just to mess with him.
“milk’s right here,” he says, but he doesn’t move, just keeps staring, and when you glance over your shoulder, his eyes are dark, glinting with something that’s definitely not about baking. “but i’m more interested in this,” he adds, stepping closer, voice dropping low. “you, dancing around in my shirt, looking like that. you know what you’re doing, don’t you?”
you snort, trying to play it cool, but your cheeks heat up. “i’m just making cookies, you perv. help or get out.” you flick a bit of flour at him, and it dusts his chest, white against black. he raises an eyebrow, brushing it off, and suddenly he’s behind you, so close you feel the warmth of him before his hands find your hips, tugging you back against him.
“perv, huh?” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear, breath hot and tickling. his fingers dig into your hips, possessive but playful, and you feel him, hard already, pressing against your ass through his jeans. “says the woman who’s been teasing me all day, prancing around in these little shorts.” one hand slides up, under the hem of the shirt, fingers splaying over your stomach, cold from the milk carton he was holding earlier. you yelp, squirming, but he holds you firm, chuckling low.
“suguru, the oven’s on,” you protest, but it’s weak, half-laughing, because his other hand’s already slipping under your shorts, tugging them down just enough to expose you. “we’re supposed to—fuck—finish baking.”
you try to swat him again with the spoon, but he catches your wrist easily, plucks it from your hand, and lets it clatter against the counter.
“mm-mm,” he hums, sinking to his knees like it’s routine, like it’s right. “try this instead.” before you can blink, he’s tugging your shorts and panties down in one fluid motion, spreading your thighs like they belong open for him—and maybe they do. his mouth finds you without hesitation, tongue tracing a slow, deliberate line that steals the air from your lungs.
“to hell with the cookies,” he mutters against your skin, warmth blooming where his lips graze your thigh. then he stands, smooth and sure, spinning you around like you weigh nothing and setting you on the counter. the cold edge bites into your thighs; flour sticks to your skin. he just smiles, gaze heavy-lidded and hungry.
“messy suits you,” he says, nudging your knees wider with his hips. “bet you’ll taste even sweeter.”
“suguru—shit,” you gasp, hands flying to his hair, tugging the dark strands loose from his bun. he groans against you, the vibration shooting through your core, and his tongue’s relentless, deep and intentional, lapping at you like he’s starving. one arm hooks around your thigh, keeping you open, pinned to the counter, while his other hand grips your hip, fingers digging in like he knows you’ll try to squirm away—or collapse.
“fuck, i’ll never get tired of this,” he mumbles, voice muffled, lips slick with you. he sucks your clit, slow and hard, then flicks his tongue, and your moans are bouncing off the cabinets, louder than the music. the counter’s cold under you, flour sticking to your sweaty skin, but all you can feel is him, his mouth, his hands, the way he knows exactly how to unravel you.
“so sweet, baby,” he says, pulling back just enough to look up at you, eyes glinting, lips glistening. “all mine.”
you’re a mess, thighs shaking, gripping his hair so tight he hisses, but it’s a good sound, the kind that makes him dive back in, tongue fucking you deep until you’re seeing stars. “suguru—gonna—fuck,” you pant, and he hums, encouraging, one hand sliding up to pinch your nipple through the shirt, making you arch.
“come on my tongue, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice rough, needy. “let me taste how much you want me.” you do, hard, a broken cry tearing from your throat as pleasure crashes through you, your body trembling against his mouth. he doesn’t stop, licking you through it, slow and greedy, until you’re whimpering, oversensitive, tugging his hair to pull him away.
he stands, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and grins like he’s won the lottery. “fuck, you’re perfect,” he says, and then he’s kissing you, deep and messy, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. you’re still catching your breath when he flips you around, bending you over the counter, hiking the shirt up to expose your back. “look at this,” he groans, hands gripping your hips, spreading you open. “this pussy’s so fucking pretty, baby. always so perfect for me.”
you hear his zipper, the rustle of his jeans, and then he’s sliding in, hard and fast, filling you so completely you gasp, hands scrabbling at the counter. flour smears under your palms, the mixing bowl tips over with a clatter, and he laughs, low and filthy, thrusting deep. “fuck, you take me so well,” he says, voice rough, one hand sliding up your spine, pressing you down. “made for me, weren’t you?”
“suguru—shit,” you moan, the counter digging into your hips, his thrusts shaking the whole damn kitchen. the fridge hums, the oven beeps, ignored, and your nails scrape against the surface, leaving trails in the flour. “too—fuck—too much,” you whimper, but you’re pushing back against him, chasing the heat, and he knows it.
“too much?” he teases, leaning down to kiss your shoulder, teeth grazing. “nah, baby, you can take it. you always do.” his other hand finds your clit, rubbing hard, and you’re gone, moaning so loud you’re sure the neighbors hear. “that’s it,” he growls, “come for me again. let me feel this pussy squeeze me.”
you do, harder than before, legs shaking, vision blurring as pleasure rips through you. he’s right behind you, thrusting deep, groaning your name as he spills inside, hot and thick, his grip on your hips bruising. “fuck, baby,” he pants, still moving, slower now, riding out the aftershocks. “you’re mine. always mine.”
you’re both panting, sweaty, flour everywhere—on your thighs, your hands, his shirt. you wobble when he pulls out, and he catches you, laughing softly as he lifts you back onto the counter.
“sit there, messy girl,” he says, kissing your temple, your nose, with ridiculous gentleness for someone who just fucked you senseless. “i’ll clean this up. you just look cute and stay out of trouble, yeah?”
he grabs a towel, wiping the flour off your thighs, your arms, then starts picking up the spilled dough, all while stealing kisses like he can’t help himself. “we’re never baking again,” you mutter, still breathless, and he laughs, full and warm, pulling you into his chest.
“oh, we’re baking tomorrow,” he says, smirking. “but only if i get to eat you first.” he winks, and you swat him, but you’re laughing too, because this—messy, filthy, and so fucking in love—is just how you like it.
ON THE STAIRS.ᐟ
it’s well past midnight, the house wrapped in that heavy, hushed stillness that makes every creak feel louder. you’re tiptoeing down the stairs, barefoot, the wood cool under your feet, trying not to wake suguru. you’re only wearing his old black t-shirt, the one with the faded band logo, the hem barely brushing your thighs, no panties because it’s too warm and you’re just grabbing water.
the kitchen’s dark below, the fridge’s hum the only sound, but you’re barely halfway down when you feel it—his presence, like a shadow moving before you hear him. your heart skips, not from fear but from that familiar thrill, the way he always finds you, like you’re his prey and his home all at once.
“where you sneaking off to, baby?” his voice cuts through the dark, rough and low, tinged with that teasing lilt that makes your skin prickle. he’s at the bottom of the stairs, leaning against the banister, shirtless, sweatpants slung low on his hips, hair loose and messy from sleep.
the dim moonlight through the window catches the sharp lines of his jaw, the glint in his eyes, and you pause, one hand on the railing, caught.
“just thirsty,” you mutter, trying to sound casual, but your voice wavers, and the way you’re gripping the railing gives you away. you take another step, slow, like you’re not already burning under his gaze. “go back to bed, suguru. you look like you need it.”
he chuckles, soft and dangerous, stepping up to meet you, his movements lazy but deliberate, like a panther stalking. “thirsty, huh? funny, cause you’re killing me, prancing around in my shirt, no panties, ass out like you don’t know what it does to me.” he’s closer now, one step below you, close enough that you feel the heat rolling off him, smell the faint cedar of his skin. his hands find your hips, fingers slipping under the shirt, grazing your bare skin, and you suck in a breath, trying to hold your ground.
“you’re so dramatic,” you say, rolling your eyes, but it’s weak, and the way you lean into his touch betrays you. you swat at his chest, playful, but he catches your wrist, pinning it against the wall with one hand, the other sliding up your thigh, teasing the edge of the shirt.
“suguru, it’s late,” you whisper, half-laughing, half-pleading, but your legs part just enough, and he notices, because he always does.
“late, huh?” he murmurs, stepping up so he’s level with you, his body pressing you back against the wall, the stair’s edge digging into your spine. “too late to stop now, sweetheart.” his lips brush your neck, soft at first, then he bites, not hard but enough to make you gasp, your free hand clutching his shoulder.
“fuck, you look so good like this,” he says, voice rougher now, his hand sliding higher, finding you bare and slick. “youtrying to ruin me?”
“maybe,” you manage, smirking despite the heat pooling in your belly, and you tug at his hair, just to mess with him. he groans, low and filthy, and suddenly he’s feral, all that teasing charm turning sharp, hungry. he releases your wrist, grabs your thigh, and lifts your leg, hooking it over the step above, spreading you open.
“suguru—fuck,” you gasp, but he’s already there, fingers stroking you, slow and deliberate, spreading your wetness like it’s his to play with.
“look at you,” he growls, eyes dark, glinting in the moonlight. “so fucking wet, just from this. you want your husband that bad, huh?” he slides two fingers inside you, curling them deep, and you moan, loud enough to echo in the quiet house. his other hand covers your mouth, gentle but firm, muffling you.
“shh, baby,” he whispers, lips brushing your ear, “neighbors don’t need to know how good i’m fucking you.”
you bite his palm, half-defiant, half-desperate, and he hisses, but it’s a good sound, the kind that makes him grind against you, his cock hard and straining through his sweatpants.
“brat,” he mutters, but there’s a smile in it, and he pulls his fingers out, licking them clean with a groan that makes your knees weak. “taste so fucking good,” he says, and then he’s tugging his sweatpants down, just enough to free himself, thick and leaking, pressing against you.
“suguru—here?” you whisper, but you’re already arching into him, hands clutching his shoulders, nails digging in. the stair’s hard against your back, the railing creaking as you lean into it, but you don’t care, not when he’s looking at you like that, like you’re his whole damn world.
“right here,” he says, and he slides in raw, no prep, just pure, desperate need, filling you so completely you cry out, muffled by his hand. “shit,” he groans, biting your neck to stifle himself, “you take me so well.” his thrusts are hard, fast, shaking the stairs, the wood creaking under you, and you’re clawing at his back, trying not to collapse, your leg trembling where it’s hooked over the step.
every move is frantic, his hips snapping against yours, the wet sounds of your bodies louder than your muffled moans. “keep it quiet, sweetheart,” he pants, but his hand’s slipping, and you’re not quiet, not really, your whimpers spilling out as he fucks you into the drywall.
“fuck, you feel so good,” he groans, free hand sliding down to rub your clit, fast and rough, making you sob his name behind his palm.
you’re close, so close, the pleasure coiling tight, and he knows it, feels it in the way you clench around him.
“come for me,” he demands, voice low, urgent, his thumb circling your clit harder. “let me feel this pussy squeeze me, baby.”
you do, hard, a muffled cry breaking free as pleasure crashes through you, your body shaking, legs giving out. he holds you up, thrusting through your aftershocks, groaning your name as he spills deep, hot and thick, still moving like he can’t stop.
you’re both panting, sweaty, trembling, the stairs creaking like they’re about to give up. your legs are jelly, but he catches you, pulling out slow, his arms wrapping around you like you’re something precious. “can’t have my wife crawling upstairs, can i?” he teases, voice soft now, kissing your hair as he lifts you, carrying you up the last few steps like it’s nothing. he’s still hard, still inside you, and you feel him twitch, making you laugh, breathless.
“you’re insatiable,” you mutter, head lolling against his chest, and he grins, smug and warm, nuzzling your temple.
“only for you, sweetheart,” he says, setting you on the landing, but he doesn’t let go, just holds you there, kissing your forehead, your nose, your lips. “round two in bed, yeah? gotta take care of my girl.” he winks, and you swat him, but you’re smiling, because this—feral, messy, and so fucking in love—is everything you both are.
synopsis ~ months of longing. a week at a beach house. one shared bed, too much tension and too little self control. suguru geto has spent far too long wanting his friend’s roommate. far too long trying not to ruin her. unfortunately for him, when she shows up to spring break looking at him like that, he fails spectacularly.
tags ~ 18+ mdni !!! idiots in fucking love, yearning yearning yearning, geto's a masterclass yearner, lowkey slowburn? friends to lovers-ish, mutual pining, praise kink, dirty talk, pet names, oral fixation, piv sex, creampie, marking, size difference, belly bulge, light possessiveness, aftercare, geto's just down bad and i love him and i love this
a/n ~ gosh this was toooo much fun to write. decided to make this one a long(er) oneshot compared to the multi parts i had for choso n gojo, bc it made more sense with the plot i had in mind! hopefully all of u lovelies enjoy ;) and sorry for the wait <3
w/c ~ 17.4 k (youch i got carried away)
access the frat verse here!
your roommate brings it up three days before finals week officially starts, which already tells you the idea is terrible. the two of you are sitting cross-legged on the floor of your apartment living room surrounded by open textbooks, half-folded laundry, and empty instant noodle containers.
she’s supposed to be writing a paper. instead, she’s online shopping for bikinis. “i actually can’t do this anymore,” she announces dramatically, laptop balanced on her thighs. “if i read one more discussion post i’m walking into traffic.”
you hum absentmindedly, highlighting a paragraph without processing any of it.
outside, rain taps against the windows in soft uneven bursts. campus looks gray and muddy and exhausted. even the frat houses have gone quieter this week. everyone’s studying, or pretending to.
your roommate suddenly gasps. “spring break,” she says.
“what about it?”
“we should go to your beach house.”
that gets your attention. you look up slowly from your laptop. “we?”
“yes, we.” she tosses a sock at you. “like. everyone.”
“everyone…us girls? or—”
“no, the frat too,” she says, smiling. “i want choso to be there.”
you roll your eyes, focusing back on your notes. she’s been glued to her boyfriend’s hip ever since they got together. it’s almost sickening, if they weren’t so perfect for each other. you’re rarely in the house alone anymore.
“dunno if that’s a good idea,” you say, because your brain immediately supplies the image of suguru geto.
it’s geto. always geto.
your roommates notices your change in expression instantly. the grin that spreads across her face is immediate and evil. “oh my god.”
you narrow your eyes. “don’t.”
“you thought about him first.”
“i literally didn’t,” you mumble, pushing your glasses up your nose.
“you literally did.”
you throw the sock back at her head and she dodges it, laughing. “you’re soooo weird about him.”
and she’s right. you are weird about him. not in an obvious way, no. whatever thing between you and geto occurs in fragments. in pauses and glances held half a second too long.
eye tag.
that’s what gojo called it once after catching the two of you staring at each other across the frat kitchen while everyone else argued over beer pong rules. “you guys do this every time,” he’d said.
you’d denied it immediately. geto had just looked away.
your roommate clasps her hands together. “please invite them. choso already said yes if you say yes.”
“you asked him before asking me?”
“well, yes.”
you sigh, rubbing your forehead. “the house isn’t huge.”
“it has four bedrooms.”
“one of them barely counts,” you point out.
“we can make it work.”
your parents are never at the beach house this time of year, anyways, and know you’re responsible enough to handle it on your own.
it’s few hours from campus along a quieter part of the shoreline. you haven’t been in almost a year.
the thought of ocean air instead of stale lecture halls makes you exhale slightly.
“aha,” your roommate says, pointing at you. “that was a considering face.”
“it was not.”
“come on. it’ll be fun.”
“it’ll be loud.”
“only a little.”
“imagine bonfires,” your roommate says dreamily.
“imagine property damage.”
“imagine volleyball.”
“imagine bail money.”
you already know you’re going to cave. despite everything the rest has somehow become tangled into your life over the past semester. in the middle of late-night food runs and campus events and parties is geto’s face and how you notice him before he notices you almost every time.
at parties, he’s usually tucked somewhere quieter while everybody else spirals around him in chaos. sitting on kitchen counters, leaning against walls with a drink untouched in his hand. watching. and eventually his eyes find yours, every single time.
the first few times it happened you thought you imagined it. you? nerd you? suguru geto looking at you?
but it kept happening. across crowded rooms and across lecture halls.
“you’re thinking about him again,” your roommate says.
it’s his deep voice and calmness and the way he rolls his sleeves to his elbows when he’s focused. the exhaustion constantly sitting beneath his eyes lately because he’s balancing classes and internship applications and responsibilities and everybody else’s problems too.
“shut up,” you say weakly.
“i’m texting choso. this is happening.”
you sigh, knowing that once your roommate wants something to go her way, it’s happening.
how bad can the trip really go, anyway?
“gojo’s already asking if the beach house has speakers.”
“tell him yes, but the neighbours don’t like noise past 10pm.”
“geto says he can drive.” your roommate looks up at you, chewing her lip, and you’re suddenly very interested in the notes you’ve been trying to read over.
now you’re imagining geto driving, one hand on the wheel, ocean air and his stupid rings glinting under the dashboard lights
you stand abruptly, gathering your notes before your imagination gets worse.
thursday - eight days from departure
geto realizes he’s in trouble on a thursday night while half-drunk freshmen scream-sing nextdoor to music that sounds like somebody attacking a speaker with a hammer. he’s sitting at the frat dining table with an untouched beer beside his laptop, trying to finish an internship application before midnight.
keyword : trying.
because you’re here. you’re not even doing anything particularly distracting either. you’re sitting cross-legged on the couch in one of those oversized university sweaters, glasses sliding slightly down your nose while you argue with choso’s girlfriend over how many bags of chips are too many for one week at the beach house.
you shouldn’t be this difficult to ignore, and yet geto’s cursor has been blinking on the same sentence for six minutes.
gojo and toji yell something at each other from across the room. everyone starts talking over each other, except for choso, who’s curled into his girlfriend’s side, and you.
you stay focused, tapping at your laptop with concentration pulling your brows together slightly. geto watches your mouth move while you talk.
that’s becoming a problem too. noticing little things. the tiny crease between your eyebrows when you’re annoyed. the way you tuck your legs underneath yourself without thinking.
it’s gotten worse recently, or maybe he’s just stopped pretending it hasn’t been happening. for months now, every room he walks in feels altered slightly if you’re there.
he hates how aware he’s become of you. worse, you notice him too.
geto’s not stupid. he sees the way your eyes snag on him before flicking away. the pauses, the tension, that look you get when he stands too close.
it’s there constantly, like static humming between you both.
“geto.” your voice cuts clean through his thoughts.
he looks up immediately. you’re staring at him from across the room now, brows raised slightly. his stomach does something deeply irritating. “yeah?”
“you haven’t answered a single thing we asked.”
gojo grins instantly from the kitchen island.
“he was staring at you.”
geto doesn’t react outwardly. years of dealing with satoru have made his self-control nearly supernatural.
you, unfortunately, do react. irritation flashes visibly across your face before you glare at gojo. “oh my god, shut up.”
“am i wrong?”
“yes,” both you and geto say at the exact same time.
toji starts laughing so hard he nearly chokes. “jesus christ,” he mutters. “you two are painful.”
geto drags a hand down his face slowly. you’re suddenly very interested in your spreadsheet.
cute.
“i made categories,” you explain, stuttering over the last word as you regain composure. “colour coded. it’s a shared excel sheet so you can all access it too.”
geto smiles softly. you’re focused and bossy and pretty. he thinks he should probably stop looking at you like that.
“okay,” you say, tapping the couch. “can everyone e-transfer me their share tonight so i can book groceries in advance?”
gojo raises a hand. “no. actually, toji and i pass.”
you run a hand down your face. “what?”
“we’re the entertainment,” he explains, like it makes total sense.
“eighty dollars, each of you, please,” you say, tilting your head back. “i hate all of you.”
“that’s not true,” gojo says. “You like suguru.”
the room goes quiet instantly. choso coughs into his drink. gojo’s girlfriend physically turns away to hide her smile.
gojo points between the two of you lazily.
“the vibes are crazy.”
“there are no vibes,” you say immediately.
“you look flustered,” toji notes helpfully.
everybody starts talking over each other again while you try defending yourself with rapidly deteriorating success. geto says nothing, because while the others laugh and argue his eyes stay on you.
you can feel it too. he knows you can. that tension pressing tighter every time your gazes meet.
your eyes lift to his and his gaze flicks to your mouth for one brief, horrible second.
you both look away just as fast.
sunday - five days from departure
your bedroom looks like a clothing store exploded. bikinis draped over desk chairs, shorts hanging off your bedframe, three different pairs of sandals abandoned in the middle of the floor. “i hate everything,” you announce.
your roommate barely glances up from where she’s laying across your bed with choso half beneath her like a human mattress. “dramatic.”
“none of this looks right.”
“you’ve changed outfits six times.”
“because i look weird.”
“you literally don’t.”
you turn sideways in the mirror, scrutinizing yourself harder. the dress is just soft black fabric that skims your body, thin straps, lower neckline than what you normally wear. you bought it for some finance networking event your department hosted last month because your mom said you needed “staple outfits.”
your roommate sits up on her elbows finally, exasperated. “you know most people going on beach trips are worried about, like, sunscreen?”
“i am worried about sunscreen.”
“i forgot you made a spreadsheet for sunscreen.”
“uv rays are serious.”
choso laughs quietly from beneath her, hands resting loosely on her thighs. you point at him immediately. “don’t encourage her.”
“i didn’t say anything.”
“the laugh felt judgmental.”
your roommate rolls her eyes before looking back at you properly. “you look hot,” she says flatly. “actually annoyingly hot. if you don’t pack the dress i’m stealing it.”
you scoff softly, turning back toward the mirror. “it’s too much.”
“for who?”
you shrug. some part of you already knows exactly who you’re thinking about, which is ridiculous. you’re literally standing in your bedroom overanalyzing a dress because suguru geto might see it.
your roommate seems seconds away from teasing you about exactly that when choso speaks absentmindedly from the bed.“geto likes that one.”
the room goes silent and you slowly turn around. “…what?”
choso freezes and his eyes widen slightly like he physically felt the mistake leave his mouth in real time.
your roommate lifts her head immediately. “what do you mean geto likes that one?”
“nothing,” choso says too quickly.
“choso,” she says.
“i’m serious.”
you narrow your eyes at him. “how would he even know this dress?”
another pause then choso makes the fatal mistake of hesitating. your roommate gasps dramatically. “OH MY GOD HE DOES KNOW THE DRESS?!”
“baby,” choso says weakly.
“no, no, come back.” she grabs his arm before he can sit up. “what do you mean he likes the dress?”
“i wasn’t supposed to say anything.”
you cross your arms slowly. “that’s an insane sentence.”
choso looks deeply distressed now. your roommate softens instantly though, because unfortunately for choso, she knows exactly how to handle him. she cups his face gently, pressing a tiny kiss against his jaw. “please?” she asks sweetly.
choso exhales heavily through his nose, cheeks going pink. weak man. he folds almost immediately. “okay but you cannot tell geto i said any of this.”
you and your roommate both nod way too fast and he points at both of you suspiciously before continuing. “you wore that dress to the frat one night.”
your brows pinch together slightly. “…when?”
“when you came to pick her up after that finance networking thing.”
oh.you remember that night.
you’d stopped by the frat around midnight because your roommate was too drunk to uber home alone. you were still dressed up from the event downtown. heels hurting. hair done. tired and irritated because gojo had answered the door already yelling.
you hadn’t stayed long, just long enough to drag your roommate upstairs to collect her stuff while half the frat stared at you like they’d never seen a woman before.
apparently including geto.
“what happened?” your roommate asks immediately.
choso rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “nothing happened exactly. some guy made a comment after you left.”
your stomach tightens slightly. “what kind of comment?”
“just saying you looked good or whatever.”
“and?” your roommate presses.
choso sighs. “and geto got weird about it.”
heat crawls instantly up your neck. “weird how?”
“he just…” choso pauses, visibly trying to decide how much to say. “he looked annoyed.”
your roommate’s jaw drops. “he got jealous?”
“well, I dunno, not—”
“choso.”
“i’m serious.”
“what did he say?”
another long sigh. “he said you don’t even realize how pretty you are.”
your roommate physically collapses face-first into the bed, laughing into a pillow. you just stand there your heart suddenly beating way too hard. “that’s not…” you clear your throat softly. “that’s not that serious.”
both of them look at you. your roommate lifts her head slowly. “you are genuinely the dumbest smart person i know.”
“i’m not dumb.”
“he said you don’t know how pretty you are.”
“people say things.”
“not like that.”
choso looks like he regrets existing and unfortunately for him your roommate isn’t done. “what ELSE has he said?”
“nothing,” choso mutters, rubbing the back of his neck.
“liar.”
“baby.”
another soft kiss against his jaw, pretty doe eyes, and you watch the fight leave choso’s body. he groans quietly. “he just asks about you sometimes,” he mumbles, glancing up at you.
your stomach flips again. “asks what?” your roommate says immediately.
“normal stuff.”
“define normal.”
“like if she’s seeing anybody.”
your eyes widen slightly.
“or what her type is,” choso admits.
your roommate grabs your arm so hard you almost lose balance. “i knew it.”
“stop saying that,” you hiss, feeling too warm and out of place in your own body now.
choso keeps talking now that he’s doomed anyway. “there were these guys talking to you outside one of our econ buildings a while ago and geto asked after if you knew them.”
you blink. you remember that too. two business majors from another frat trying very hard to impress you after class. geto had walked by while you were talking to them and you hadn’t thought he even paid attention.
apparently he had.
“and,” choso adds carefully, “he asked if they were bothering you.”
something warm and dangerous and twisting settles low in your stomach, and your roommate looks one second away from planning a wedding. “this is insane.”
“it’s not insane,” you say weakly.
“he likes you.”
“you don’t know that.”
“y/n,” she says flatly. “be serious.”
you sit on the edge of your bed, the black dress clinging to your skin, and now all you can think about is geto noticing it. remembering it. liking it enough to mention it after you’d already gone.
your roommate watches your expression carefully from the bed and then smiles slowly.
friday - day of departure
departure day starts at eleven in the morning and immediately feels cursed. gojo is late, even though the meetup spot is outside the frat. toji's holding an iced coffee and is directing where bags are to be put instead of actually helping. somehow, your roommate's lost one of her sandals already. choso's carrying about fourteen bags (thirteen of which are his girlfriend's) and you?
you're standing in the driveway trying to figure out how seven people accumulated this much luggage for a beach trip. a seven day beach trip. “why do you have three suitcases,” you ask gojo’s girlfriend.
"two of them are satoru's," she says, patting her boyfriend's head, and he grins like a lovesick puppy. "i don't know why he has so many clothes."
geto’s car sits at the curb behind gojo's girlfriend's car - the two drivers for the trip. geto's leaning against it, typing on his phone, and of course the fact that he looks good pre-noon makes your heart pang. you can only imagine what you would look like standing beside him, what with your frizzy hair and crooked glasses.
he's wearing a dark hoodie and shorts, sunglasses pushes up into his hair while choso helps him load luggage into the back. you try not to stare but your brain seems to enjoy self-destruction.
because watching geto lift heavy bags with one hand while calmly reorganizing everybody’s mess should not be attractive.
getp closes his trunk with a final solid thud. "my car's got the most space," he says. "why don't you transfer all the luggage over from the other car?"
your roommate perks up immediately. "perfect."
"there'll be room for one person up front too," geto adds casually. then he looks directly at you. your stomach flips so hard it almost makes you angry.
you glance away first. before you can say literally anything, your roommate beams. "great! y/n'll go with you."
you whip around instantly. "what?"
"you get carsick in crowded backseats," she says innocently.
which is true. unfortunately. “i can survive.”
“and i want leg room,” toji says. "no fuckin' way am i cramming in the back with the lovebirds," he grumbles, pointing to choso and your roomate, "with this fucker in the front." he points his thumb to gojo, who's smiling happily.
"then you can go in the front with geto," you say.
your roommate gives you a deadpan look. gojo's girlfriend sighs.
"toji, just sit in the back, please," choso says quietly. "it's only a two and a half hour ride."
he opens his mouth to retort an excuse but gojo's girlfriend promptly elbows him in the chest. he grumbles but settles in the back of gojo's girlfriend's sedan anyway.
geto looks almost relieved, but he quickly masks it with his typical aloofness.
your roommate grabs your shoulder, grinning ear to ear. "have fun!"
you narrow your eyes at her. “i hope your phone charger breaks.”
gojo leans out the passenger window of the other car. “pee break every forty-five minutes!”
“absolutely not,” both you and geto say simultaneously.
gojo points between you both immediately. “they’re married already.”
you ignore him completely, mostly because geto is already walking around to the passenger side of his car and opening the door for you. which should not affect you this much.
it’s basic manners. normal behavior. except when you pass him, the scent of his cologne mixes with cool morning air and coffee and suddenly your thoughts short-circuit for half a second.
annoying. very, super annoying.
you settle into the seat while geto finishes loading the last bag.
the car smells clean, like sandalwood and detergent and something distinctly geto. you hate that you know what he smells like.
the second he slides into the driver’s seat beside you, the space feels smaller. you feel him glance at you before putting the car into start, and you're driving off, leading the other car behind you.
your phone buzzes immediately.
roomie: have fun on your first date ❤️
you: i’m going to kill you with my bare hands
you shove your phone away quickly before geto can accidentally see. “you have the address?” he asks quietly.
“yeah.” you pull up the map. “did gojo’s girlfriend save it too?”
“i sent it to her twice.”
“good.”
“you don’t trust them?”
you stare out the windshield where gojo is currently hanging halfway out the car window yelling something about his spring break arc. “…should i?”
geto laughs quietly beside you and the sound makes your head spin happily. you don't hear him laugh often, unless he's mocking gojo. this quiet, real laugh is something you notice every single time.
after twenty minutes you hit the highway and you sink back into your seat with a sigh. “finally.”
“you stressed?” geto asks lightly.
“i like plans.”
“i noticed.”
you narrow your eyes slightly. “that sounded judgmental.”
“it wasn’t.”
“mhm.”
he glances at you briefly while turning onto the highway. sunlight catches against the rings on his fingers resting on the steering wheel. your brain immediately decides to become unhelpful so you look out the window instead.
for another few minutes, it’s quiet except for road noise and the distant bass vibrating from the other car behind, then geto taps the screen on the dashboard. “you want music?”
“i don’t mind.”
“you sure?”
“...yeah? why?” you glance over at him.
“because now if you hate my music taste you'll have to be super polite about it and the car ride will be awkward.”
you laugh softly. “i promise it won't be bad. i won't be that harsh.”
his mouth curves slightly before he scrolls through his phone. music fills the car a second later and you recognize it almost instantly.
your head turns before you can stop yourself. “wait,” you say. “is this the smiths?”
geto glances over briefly. “…you listen to the smiths?”
“obviously.”
“obviously?”
“what’s that supposed to mean?”
“nothing,” he says, clearly amused now. “i just didn’t expect it.”
you scoff. “what did you expect?”
he thinks about it for a second. “something old. like classical music.”
"i don't mind classical, but the smiths have always been one of my favourites."
he flashes you a genuine smile, fingers gently tapping the rhythm of the song on the wheel. "i'm glad."
after that, conversation begins to flow easier. favourite albums, worst profs, gojo. (lots of gojo). he says something that makes you snort and that same small, real smile etches onto his lips and god, this is dangerous.
you watch the highway stretch under the pale morning sunlight while trees blur at the edges of the road. after a moment you steal another glance at him. he's relaxed, one arm resting near the window, sunglasses low on his nose.
he's so...pretty.
the thought hits so fast and hard it almost embarrasses you. as if sensing it, geto looks over suddenly. your eyes meet instantly and there it is again. that thing. that horrible, suspended moment where neither of you looks away fast enough.
his gaze flicks down briefly to your mouth then back up. your pulse stutters.
behind you, gojo’s girlfriend's car suddenly swerves slightly as gojo sticks his head out the sunroof, shouting something imperceptible.
the moment breaks. you clear your throat quickly, looking forward again. “they’re going to die before we even get there.”
geto’s laugh rumbles low beside you. “probably.”
gojo’s girlfriend has both hands gripping the steering wheel like she’s transporting explosives. “if you scream one more time,” she says flatly, eyes locked on the road, “i’m pulling over and leaving all of you on the highway.”
“that feels hostile,” gojo says from the passenger seat.
“you barked at a motorcycle.”
“it barked first.”
from the backseat, toji groans dramatically as choso’s girlfriend shifts closer into choso’s side again. “i’m in hell,” he mutters.
“you’re just bitter because nobody wants to cuddle you,” she says cheerfully.
“wrong. women love me.”
“do they?” gojo says from the front, shit-eating grin on his face.
“historically. your mother would know.”
“you don't know shit about my mom,” gojo laughs. “she doesn't have your fucking number.”
“that's cause she gave it to me.”
choso quietly adjusts his arm around his girlfriend’s waist so she can lean more comfortably against him. toji gags loudly. “there they go again,” he says. “the world’s most nauseating couple.”
"you're just single. quadruple-wheeling the trip. us, choso and his girl, and whatever the fuck is going on in geto's car."
toji kicks the back of gojo’s seat and the car swerves slightly.
everyone yells immediately. “if we die,” gojo’s girlfriend says through gritted teeth, “i’m haunting all of you.”
“you’d look hot as a ghost,” gojo says instantly.
she snorts despite herself. from the backseat, choso’s girlfriend glances down at her phone.
“they’re probably having the most awkward car ride ever right now.”
gojo twists around immediately. “you think they’ve kissed yet?”
“it’s been thirty minutes,” choso says.
“exactly.”
“they’re not kissing,” his girlfriend says, though she sounds deeply unconvinced.
toji stretches his long legs out miserably. “they do have weird tension though.”
choso’s girlfriend smiles to herself a little, gaze drifting toward the road ahead where geto’s car moves steadily a few lengths in front of them. “i think they’re both just nervous,” she says softly.
“geto?” gojo laughs loudly. “nervous over a girl?”
if only they saw how bright geto's smile was right now as you talked animatedly about how well your finals went. with you and your legs propped up on the dash, smooth and perfect and he couldn't stop staring without seeming weird. how his heart skipped a beat every time one of your perfect smiles were directed to him.
if only they knew how gone for you he really was.
the second the beach house comes into view, everyone in the other car completely loses their minds. your phone starts vibrating before geto’s even finished pulling into the driveway.
SPRING BREAKKUHH
gojo: HOLY SHIT???
gojo: WHY IS IT HUGE
roomie: i warned u
you laugh softly under your breath as the other car practically screeches to a stop beside you. the house sits glowing gold in the late afternoon sunlight, all warm cedar and giant windows overlooking the water below. dune grass sways softly around the edges of the deck while waves crash faintly in the distance.
home.
you hadn’t realized how badly you needed this until now. gojo launches out of the car first. “BEACH ARC!” he screams.
“inside voice,” you call automatically.
“we’re outside.”
“future inside voice.”
toji steps out next, stretching dramatically. “thank christ. my knees were touching my organs back there.”
everyone starts unloading luggage in a blur after that. bags thumping against the deck, music already blasting from someones speaker, and of course, gojo attempting to carry six things at once before immediately dropping half of them.
you’re hauling one of the grocery bags up the front steps when your roommate appears beside you wearing the smuggest expression imaginable. “so,” she says casually.
you already know. “don’t.”
“you and geto looked cozy.”
“we were in a car.”
“alone.”
“with seatbelts.”
gojo’s girlfriend appears on your other side immediately. “the sexual tension was visible through the windshield.”
you nearly trip over the doorway. “there is no sexual tension.”
both of them stare at you and you adjust your glasses defensively. “there just objectively is not.”
“you’re doing the nerd thing,” your roommate says.
“what nerd thing?”
“the glasses push.”
your hand drops instantly away from your frames. traitors, the both of them. behind you, geto lifts two suitcases from the trunk effortlessly while listening to choso say something beside him.
he glances toward the front porch, toward you, and your stomach does the stupid thing again. once inside everybody immediately scatters to explore the house.
gojo runs directly toward the back windows dramatically. “the back deck is is insane.”
“don’t break anything,” you warn.
“you say that every time.”
“because every time you almost break something.”
toji opens the fridge. “this thing is bigger than four of the fridges at the frat.”
you kick your shoes off near the entryway while everybody talks over each other around you. the house smells faintly like cedarwood and ocean air, comfortable and familiar.
comfortable.
familiar.
geto pauses beside one of the windows quietly, gaze moving across the living room and you watch his expression shift slightly. he looks good, his hoodie sleeves pushed up, hair loosened slightly from it's usual knot, sunlight catching against his skin through the windows.
you look away before your brain gets worse.
eventually everyone gathers in the living room surrounded by luggage and grocery bags while you attempt to regain control of the chaos. “okay,” you say, clapping once. “room assignments.”
immediately, “dibs,” both gojo and choso say at the same time.
their girlfriends laugh. “obviously,” gojo’s girlfriend says. "we can take the upstairs bedroom, if you don't mind? the one on the side?"
“don’t be loud,” you say, and gojo flips you off. within seconds choso and your roommate have claimed one of the downstairs bedrooms, which leaves you, geto and toji, and two remaining bedrooms.
the master, upstairs. the guest room, downstairs, which has a double bed.
you’re mentally calculating sleeping arrangements when geto speaks first.
“y/n should take the master.”
your head lifts. geto’s leaning back slightly against the kitchen island now, arms folded loosely. “it’s her house,” he says simply.
heat flickers low in your stomach at how immediate the answer was. before you can respond, toji lets out a deeply offended noise. “what,” he says flatly.
everyone turns toward him. he gestures broadly at himself and geto. “so your solution is to cram two six-foot-plus men into a queen bed?”
“you survived the car,” gojo calls from halfway down the hall.
“barely. my spine compressed.” toji points accusingly at you. “i already sacrificed circulation for this trip.”
your roommate’s eyes flick between you and geto so fast it’s almost cartoonish. “easy fix,” she says. “geto and y/n share.”
silence, and your heart drops to your ass. nobody says anything immediately because apparently every single person in this house has collectively decided to make your life harder.
you stare at your roommate. she grins back innocently. beside him, gojo's girlfriend physically bites the inside of her cheek trying not to smile.
toji shrugs instantly. “works for me.”
“of course it does,” you mutter.
your roommate looks dangerously delighted now. “i mean…”
you whip around. “okay, that's--that's enough.”
“it makes sense.”
“does it?”
“logistically?”
you narrow your eyes. she smiles sweetly. geto has gone suspiciously quiet beside the kitchen island and when you risk one glance towards him he's already looking at you completely unreadable except for the faintest pink creeping up his ears.
your pulse stutters embarrassingly hard. “i can sleep on the couch,” you say quickly.
“absolutely not,” geto says immediately. too fast. the room goes quiet again and you feel every single person notice the tension. especially when geto clears his throat softly afterward. “i mean,” he adds more evenly, “it’s your place.”
gojo looks one second away from exploding with laughter.
toji stretches lazily against the armchair. “well i’m not sharing with him.”
your roommate suddenly stands. “perfect! problem solved.”
you stare at her in horror. “you didn’t solve anything.”
“you and geto get the master.”
your brain short-circuits. you open your mouth to protest then glance toward geto again. his eyes meet yours instantly, and you both look away.
biggest coward of all - your one and only, y/n.
everyone disperses after that. gojo immediately starts trying to connect his phone to the speaker system downstairs, toji disappears toward the back deck with a beer already in hand, choso and his girlfriend vanish into their room carrying bags and giggling like a disease.
you flee upstairs before your friends can torment you any further. your heartbeat still feels weird - you hate that.
the master bedroom sits at the end of the hallway overlooking the water, all soft linen and huge windows glowing gold from the lowering sun outside. you’ve always loved this room, not that you were in it often. throughout your childhood, it was occupied by your parents.
you especially love it at sunset. usually it calms you down.
usually.
right now all you can think about is the fact that suguru geto is sharing this room with you for an entire week.
it's insane and horrible and slightly thrilling in a way you refuse to examine too closely. you drop your bag onto the bed with a sigh before digging through your suitcase for something more comfortable. the drive left you sticky and overheated so you tug your shirt over your head absentmindedly, tossing it onto the bed before reaching behind yourself to unclasp your bra.
finally. freedom.
you’re halfway through pulling on a loose tank top when the bedroom door suddenly opens. you turn automatically.
geto walks in mid-sentence. “i was just gonna leave my ba—”
he stops completely. so do you.
silence detonates through the room because your bra is currently halfway off your arms and your tits are fully out.
oh my god. you yelp immediately, clutching the tank top against your chest. geto looks genuinely horrified. not in a bad way but shocked, like his brain physically short-circuited. his eyes flick upward instantly but it’s too late because the image is already there now, permanently burned into his consciousness forever.
“fuck,” he blurts immediately. “shit. fuck, sorry. jesus christ.”
you make another strangled noise while trying to cover yourself and pull the shirt on at the same time. geto turns around so fast he nearly walks into the doorframe. “i’m sorry,” he says again, voice suddenly rougher than usual. “i thought you were downstairs.”
“it’s okay,” you squeak.
it is not okay. your face feels approximately one million degrees.
geto grabs the doorknob blindly. “i’m gonna— yeah. sorry.” then he practically slams the door shut behind him.
you stand frozen in the middle of the bedroom clutching your shirt to your chest while your nervous system completely implodes.
oh my god.
OH MY GOD.
geto descends the stairs with a flushed face and rigid expression - the kind of forced composure that immediatley attracts attention in a house full of idiots.
gojo looks up from the couch instantly. “…the hell happened to you?”
geto keeps walking toward the kitchen. “nothing.”
“you look like you saw a ghost.”
“something like that,” geto mutters.
friday - 7 pm
by early evening, the house finally settles into something softer. the unpacking chaos dies down, most of your group is watching the ocean from the back porch. you’re cleaning up dinner dishes with choso, who keeps (politely) asking why you’ve got a weird look on your face.
it’s been four hours since that disaster upstairs. the awkwardness still hangs between you and geto, who can’t look you in the eye.
you change into one of your bikinis eventually, tugging an oversized button-up over it before heading downstairs with your glasses perched back on your nose. the second you appear, gojo grins. “beach time.”
“beach time,” you confirm with a small smile.
outside, the air smells like salt and warm cedar as everybody trails down the private wooden path toward the shoreline. the beach stretches mostly empty around you, pale sand glowing gold beneath the lowering sun while waves roll lazily onto shore. your roommate immediately grabs your hand and drags you toward the water. gojo sprints in after you both screaming for no reason. toji lights a cigarette. gojo’s girlfriend seems reluctant to put her feet in the water but she explodes into giggles when the white-haired man hauls her over his shoulders.
geto hangs back slightly. he still can’t think normally, not after upstairs. not after accidentally walking into the bedroom and seeing you half-dressed with your tits out looking shocked and all cute and soft beneath afternoon light.
jesus christ.
he’s trying very hard to be normal about it but the image keeps replaying against his will. the gentle curve of your chest and your startled expression and the way you scrambled to cover yourself.
he feels insane.
“you good?”
geto blinks. choso stands beside him now holding a cooler in one hand.
“fine,” geto says immediately.
choso hums, not believing him at all. ahead of them, you’re standing ankle-deep in the water now while your roommate splashes at gojo nearby. the ocean catches sunset light in shifting ribbons of gold and blue around your legs and fuck, geto’s pulse jumps instantly.
your oversized shirt hangs open slightly over your swimsuit whenever the wind catches it. your hair glows warm at the edges beneath the fading sun while you laugh at something gojo yells from farther down the shoreline.
pretty doesn’t even feel like the right word anymore.
it’s worse than that now. every time geto looks at you lately, something low in his chest tightens painfully. beside him, choso watches quietly for about three seconds. “you should probably stop staring.”
geto tears his eyes away immediately. “i wasn’t.”
“mhm.”
annoying.
they walk farther down the beach together while the others spread out ahead. waves crash softly nearby, the wind cool against their skin. “you know,” choso says after a minute, “she likes you too.”
geto nearly chokes. “…what?”
choso shrugs lightly. “i’m just saying.”
“you shouldn’t say anything.”
“okay.”
barely a pause before geto blurts, “does she actually?”
choso laughs quietly while geto rubs a hand over his jaw with a sigh.
this whole situation feels increasingly impossible to manage. before this trip, there was distance. space and campus distractions. now there’s shared car rides and a shared room and seeing you every five minutes. and apparently accidental nudity.
and of course there’s the fact that geto genuinely likes being around you. he likes talking to you. likes the way your brain works. the way you explain things when you’re excited. the little irritated face you make whenever gojo says something stupid.
it’s becoming a real problem.
“you’ve spent six months pretending you weren’t obsessed with her,” choso observes quietly.
geto glares at him. “i’m not obsessed.”
choso looks unconvinced. fair enough.
the sound of you laughing (at something toji or gojo did, likely) hits geto square in the chest. there’s something different about you here already. you’re lighter, less tense than you are on campus. he watches you push your glasses back up your nose while smiling toward the ocean, sunset washing warm gold across your skin.
beautiful.
the thought arrives with startling clarity this time, like he could spend an entire lifetime memorizing moments exactly like this. you glance back toward him suddenly and your eyes meet across the beach.
there it is again, that pull.
that awful suspended feeling like the rest of the world drops slightly out of focus whenever you look at each other too long.
friday - 9 pm
it's properly evening when you all head back to the beach house. the sky's a pretty shade of dark blue, stars shining little dots above your head. you all file into the house and you say something about not trailing any sand in, looking very pointedly at gojo.
salt clings faintly to your skin, your hair's a mess from the wind, and your brain still hasn't recovered from the way geto looked at you on the beach. you slip into the kitchen first to grab water, hoping for approximately thirty seconds alone to regain your sanity.
so, naturally, geto walks in immediately after you. of course he does.
you busy yourself with the fridge while he moves toward the sink beside you, sleeves pushed up again as he washes sand from his hands.
silence stretches, and it's not uncomfortable, exactly. it's worse - aware. you can feel him there without even looking. the heat of him beside you, the sound of water running over his hands. your pulse does something deeply irritating when his shoulder brushes yours accidentally reaching for a dish towel.
“sorry,” he murmurs.
“you keep saying that this trip.” you regret the words as soon as they come out. why would you bring up that incident?
his mouth twitches slightly.
before either of you can spiral further or say anything else gojo’s voice erupts from the living room.
“movie night?!”
you close your eyes briefly. saved by the idiot.
everybody migrates downstairs afterwards where the basement living room is. it's cozy and there's a huge projector setup against one wall, and an entire cabinet full of old dvds your parents collected over the years.
gojo kneels in front of it like he’s discovering sacred texts. “this is so fucking cool.”
“don’t touch them with your greasy hands,” you warn.
“snob.”
he ends up carefully plucking the first indiana jones movie from one of the shelves and hands it to you. "good pick? i've never seen it."
"great pick," you approve. you crouch down to the dvd player, fiddling with the wires to connect it properly to the projector. behind you, everyone's already claimed spots on the couches.
you don't think much of it until you finally turn around and freeze. one end of the sectional is occupied by toji's giant limbs. the rest has a very comfortable looking choso-and-roommate combo who are already curled into each other. the beanbag has gojo and his girlfriend squished onto it.
the only open spot left is beside geto on the loveseat.
your roommate suddenly becomes very interested in not making eye contact and gojo's girlfriend looks seconds away from laughing. you narrow your eyes at both of them before trudging toward the loveseat.
you sit as far from geto as physically possible, which on the loveseat is not very far. there's maybe a foot of space between you both ,close enough to feel hyperaware of each other's presence.
as the movie starts gojo's already stealing popcorn from his girlfriend and your roommate is practically asleep against choso's chest within minutes. geto's still infuriatingly still beside you, one arm draped along the back of the couch. not touching you, just there, and your heartbeat won't calm down.
you manage to balance this thin line of whatever-this-is between you and geto for half the movie, hardly paying attention to the plot, though you've seen the flick a dozen times. you keep gettind distracted by his arm (it's right there) and how if you inched just a liiiitle bit over, you'd basically be pressed against geto.
your bubble's interrupted by gojo bolting up from the beanbag, shouting about about a plot twist he 'totally saw coming,' and the volume of his screaming is so aggressive you jolt slightly.
your thigh brushes geto's. the rush that flows through you is electric and you both go still instantly. the contact lingers half a second too long before you shift subtly back except now geto's arm behind you lowers slightly. closer. his fingers brush your shoulder lightly and your pulse spikes so hard it hurts.
you stare very intensely at the movie screen pretending your entire nervous system isn’t imploding, then his thumb moves - small absentminded circles against your shoulder through the thin fabric of your shirt.
oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god -
you stop breathing for a second and beside you, geto’s voice drops low enough only you can hear. “…this okay?”
your throat feels weirdly tight. you nod once, his arm sliding lower around you slowly, careful enough to give you time to pull away if you want.
you don’t.
so instead he gently pulls you against his side, warm and solid, your brain short-circuiting instantly. somehow curling against him feels natural already. your head settles near his shoulder while his arm stays firm around your waist now, thumb still tracing slow patterns against your side.
the movie disappears completely and all you can think about is him. his cologne and the warmth radiating through his hoodie and the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath your cheek.
your heart feels seconds away from exploding.
geto feels equally doomed. having you tucked against him like this is significantly worse than he imagined. you fit there too easily. soft against his side and warm beneath his arm. he can smell coconut sunscreen faintly lingering on your skin from the beach and it’s actively destroying his ability to think. he's also trying very hard not to tighten his grip every time you shift closer unconsciously.
from across the room, toji announces, with zero social awareness, “i’m cold.”
toji’s voice cuts through the moment like a gunshot. you pull away instantly and geto’s arm drops from around you immediately like he touched fire.
“i can get blankets,” you say quickly, already standing.
“i’ll help,” geto says, glancing at you.
“you don’t have to—”
“it’s fine.”
you swallow thickly and nod, walking up the stairs, legs feeling like jello, geto right behind you.
from the couch, choso's girlfriend grabs a pillow and hurls it directly at toji's head. “what the fuck is wrong with you?”
toji catches it midair, deeply offended. “what?”
“they were having a moment.”
“how was i supposed to know that?”
“because everyone with functioning eyes knew that.”
gojo starts cackling.
when you make it upstairs, the silence between you and geto feels heavy and sharp and you move the hallway quickly trying to regain control of your heartbeat while grabbing blankets from the linen closet.
geto stands too cloise behind you that when you turn accidentally, you nearly walk straight into his chest.
your breath catches. his does too.
for one suspended second neither of you moves.
the hallway feels narrow suddenly and you're focused on warm, dim light spilling softly across his face and his dark eyes fixed on yours. your pulse pounds violently as geto's face flicks briefly to your mouth, then back up.
you think he’s going to kiss you.
you really think he’s going to kiss you.
instead, he quietly says, “…you don’t have to feel weird about downstairs.”
the words feel strange and your stomach drops slightly. “…weird?”
his expression shifts instantly like he realizes too late how that sounded. “no, i just meant—”
“right,” you say quickly.
humiliation flashes hot beneath your skin. he thinks you misread things, or worse, that he did. you step back first, push your glasses up too quickly. “no yeah. obviously.”
geto looks frustrated suddenly. “that’s not what i—”
“it’s okay,” you interrupt softly. “really.”
the tension curdles painfully into awkwardness as you grab as many blankets as possible before he can say anything else, then practically flee downstairs.
everyone looks up when you return. you toss blankets at people mechanically before settling onto the far end of the loveseat, as far away as you can from geto.
your roommate notices immediately. so does choso. so does gojo. gojo's girlfriend would've, too, if she weren't out cold asleep.
geto comes downstairs a second later quieter than before and he hesitates briefly looking toward you, then sits separately too.
on the floor.
distance stretches cold and strange across the room now. your chest aches and you tightly pull a blanket around yourself, staring at the movie screen without really seeing it.
geto watches the side of your face in silence from his spot on the floor and from that point on the rest of the movie feels wrong. nobody says anything outright but everybody notices, because thirty minutes ago you'd been curled into geto's side looking soft and shy while he stared at you like you painted those stars in the sky over the ocean.
now you're curled up like a hermit and geto's face seems almost painful as he stares at his feet.
gojo's eyes flick between the two of you every few seconds with all the subtlety of a car accident. his girlfriend, now awake, elbows him every time
choso notices too, though he’s more discreet about it. he just keeps glancing toward geto occasionally like he’s trying to figure out which one of you panicked first.
(toji remains blissfully clueless.)
you stay tucked beneath your blanket staring blankly at the projector screen while the movie plays out in blurry colors you barely register.
geto looks equally miserable. worse, actually, because now that he's replaying the conversation upstairs in his head, he realizes exactly how badly he phrased it. 'you don't have to feel weird about downstairs'. god. he sounded like he regretted it, like he was trying to backtrack, which is the opposite of what he meant.
he’d only wanted to make sure you weren’t uncomfortable. that you didn't feel pressured and that he hadn't crossed a line. instead he'd watched your face fall in real time. idiot. he's an idiot.
when the credits finally roll, everybody starts talking at once again. gojo arguing about the ending and toji asking if there's leftover chips and your roommate whispering something to choso while glancing at you.
you quietly push the blanket aside and stand. “i’m gonna go to bed,” you mumble. you’re not even sure anyone hears, but geto does. his head lifts immediately but you don't look at him, disappearing upstairs before anyone can stop you.
you trudge to your bedroom, straight to the en suite. the shower helps a little. the warm water and the silence as you scrub salt from your skin and try very hard not to think about how close geto had been in the hallway upstairs. or how badly you wanted him to kiss you.
humiliating.
by the time you finish changing into your university sweatshirt and tiny sleep shorts, exhaustion finally starts creeping in around the edges. the bedroom is dark when you return except for moonlight spilling silver across the floor through the giant windows.
geto isn’t there yet. your stomach twists at the thought but you climb into your side of the bed anyway, pulling the blankets up to your chin while ocean waves crash softly somewhere outside.
you tell yourself not to care, then eventually fall asleep anyway.
when you wake up again, the room is still dark. for one disoriented second you don’t know why your chest feels strange then you glance toward the other side of the bed.
empty. empty?
your brows knit together immediately. the digital clock beside the bed reads 4:07 am. you push yourself upright slowly. “…geto?”
nothing, and the bathroom’s empty too. confused now, you slip quietly out of bed and head downstairs.
the house is silent, dark except for one of the kitchen lights left on.
and there he is. geto's asleep on the downstairs couch, or at least attempting to be. one arm thrown over his eyes, long legs awkwardly cramped against the cushions because the couch is way too short for him, a blanket half falling onto the floor.
your chest tightens. he thought you didn't want him upstairs and guilt floods through you instantly. you carefully walk closer. “geto,” you whisper.
he wakes almost immediately. years of frat-house living apparently killed deep sleep permanently. his arm drops from his face slowly when he realizes it’s you standing there. his hair’s messy, voice rough with sleep. “…hey.”
you hesitate, suddenly nervous again. “why are you down here?”
his eyes flick away briefly. “didn’t wanna make things uncomfortable.”
your heart sinks. “you weren’t,” you say quickly. “i just thought…” you trail off awkwardly.
geto pushes himself upright slowly, watching you carefully in the dark. “thought what?”
you fiddle with the sleeve of your sweatshirt. “that maybe you regretted it. when...we were on the couch.”
his expression changes instantly, softens to something almost confused. “what?”
“upstairs,” you mumble. “when you said i didn’t have to feel weird.”
geto exhales quietly through his nose then drops his head back against the couch cushions. “that is not what i meant.”
heat creeps into your face again. “oh.”
he looks up at you then, eyes all sleepy and honest in the dim blue light. “i was trying to make sure you were okay,” he says quietly. “because i wanted to kiss you.”
your breath catches hard. silence fills the room save for the hum of the fridge, ocean waves somewhere outside and your heartbeat going completely feral.
geto's gaze stays fixed on yours. “and i wasn’t sure if you wanted that too.”
you stare at him for one suspended second. “i thought you were going to.”
his mouth parts slightly, something warm flashing through his expression. “yeah,” he says softly. “i was.”
your pulse feels violent now and you shift your weight nervously. “you should come upstairs.”
geto studies your face carefully for another second like he’s making absolutely sure, then stands. the couch blanket slips forgotten onto the floor while you both just stand there in the dark living room breathing the same air.
when geto’s hand brushes lightly against yours heading toward the stairs, neither of you pulls away. walking beside him somehow feels more intimate than the almost-kiss downstairs. your hand brushes his once on the staircase and suddenly your pulse is trying to escape your body.
neither of you talks much once you reach the bedroom either. it’s painfully awkward now in that fragile post-confession way. you hover near your side of the bed, and geto stands near the dresser rubbing the back of his neck.“…sorry again,” he says quietly.
“for what?”
“all of this being weird.”
you blink at him then laugh softly despite yourself. “you saying that is making it weirder.”
his mouth twitches. “right.”
when you both scramble into bed you face opposite directions, approximately three feet apart. you can physically feel the tension across the mattress. as you stare at the ceiling you're trying very hard not to think about the fact that geto is right there.
same bed, same room, close enough that you can hear his breathing if you focus.
saturday - 10 am
you stir faintly as the sun wakes you up, bright enough to peek through the edges of the blinds. you stir faintly, something heavy resting around your waist. your brows pinch together sleepily.
wait.
you blink your eyes open slowly and realize with immediate horror that sometime during the night, both of you migrated completely across the bed. you’re practically tangled together now, your head tucked against geto’s chest, his arm wrapped firmly around your waist beneath the blankets, one of your legs halfway thrown over his.
before you can even process it fully, geto shifts too, his arm tightening instinctively for half a second before he wakes up enough to realize.
you both freeze then very slowly, geto looks down at you. his hair is completely loose from sleeping now, dark strands falling around his face messily and eyes still heavy with sleep.
his voice comes out rough and groggy when he finally speaks. “...morning.”
his voice sounds unfair, deep and sleepy and warm against the quiet room. you want to choke. instead you stare at him for one embarrassingly long second before scrambling backward so fast you nearly fall off the bed. “good morning!”
too loud. way too loud.
geto pushes himself upright slowly, clearly trying not to laugh.
you’re suddenly acutely aware now of your oversized university sweatshirt riding up slightly from sleep and the tiny shorts you forgot you were wearing. you can feel oil slicking to your skin and you probably look horrible, meanwhile geto looks basically offensively attractive for a man who literally just woke up. dark pools of hair fall over his shoulders, features softened
your nervous system cannot survive this week. “i’m gonna change,” you announce suddenly.
geto blinks once. “…okay.”
you point at him very seriously while backing toward the bathroom. “do not come in there.”
that finally gets a real laugh out of him, low and sleepy. “wasn’t planning on it.”
“good.” you disappear into the bathroom before your dignity can deteriorate further and once inside you stare at your reflection while trying to regain basic human functionality.
you slept wrapped around suguru geto. comfortably.
eventually you change into denim shorts and a fitted tank top before putting your hair up and emerging from the bathroom again.
the bedroom’s empty and for a confusing second you think maybe geto left downstairs already, before movement catches your eye through the balcony doors.
geto’s outside stretching in the early morning sunlight. shirtless. warm golden light spills cross his skin while he stretches one arm over his head lazily, back muscles shifting beneath the sunlight. his sweatpants hang low enough that the sharp v-lines disappearing beneath the waistband are very visible.
extremely visible.
you feel warm all over immediately because sure, you knew geto was attractive. obviously. but this feels actively engineered in a lab to ruin your life specifically.
outside, he rolls his shoulders once before turning slightly and immediately catches you staring. your soul leaves your body as geto pauses then very slowly raises a brow. “…morning again.”
heat floods your face so fast it’s almost violent. you look away instantly.
“you could warn people.”
“about what?”
you gesture vaguely toward him without looking directly.
“that.”
his laugh drifts softly through the open balcony door and when you glance at him again you see how prettily the sun catches against the winding tattoos along his arms.
geto watches your expression carefully and smirks slightly.
you swear you'll die before noon.
the house is (unfortunately) wide awake as you and geto walk downstairs. gojo’s voice echoes through the kitchen before you even hit the last stair. “WHY IS IT SMOKING?”
you immediately close your eyes. “what did you do,” you say, voice dangerously low.
“nothing!”
you walk into the kitchen to find everyone gathered around the coffee machine like it’s a bomb squad situation. steam hisses violently from the side of it and gojo stands there holding the glass pot. “i pressed brew,” he defends.
“with no water in it,” his girlfriend says.
toji looks half asleep at the island. “natural selection should’ve taken him years ago.”
your roommate's eyes narrow immediately as she sees you and geto walk in. her gaze drifts to the living room, specifically the blanket crumpled on the couch and the pillow on the floor.
you grab a mug to avoid eye contact with her, geto moving toward the counter beside you like this is a completely normal morning.
gojo squints suspiciously. “…you two look weird.”
“you always look weird,” you mutter into your juice.
“true but irrelevant.”
“the coffee machine’s dead by the way,” toji interrupts.
“i figured as much,” you sigh, examining the machine with a frown.
“he killed it,” gojo's girlfriend says.
“it was weak,” gojo argues.
“it was a twelve hundred dollar espresso machine,” you say, rubbing a hand over your eyes. "my parents are so going to kill me."
gojo freezes. “it was how much?”
you groan softly, dropping your forehead against the counter. “i’m going back to bed.”
beside you, geto laughs under his breath, low enough only you heard it. your stomach flips and you glance at him accidentally and immediately regret it because his hair's tied loosely back and he's in a fitted black t-shirt that does nothing helpful for your concentration.
plus you know what's under it. worse - you know what it looks like first thing in the morning sunlight.
your brain needs to be chemically sterilized.
everyone slowly migrates toward breakfast eventually while arguing over plans for the day. gojo offers to toast bagels (provided he doesn't break the toaster, too) and your roommate keeps kicking your ankle beneath the island every time you look at geto too long.
“stop that,” you hiss quietly.
“make me.”
you’re still groggy as hell from waking up at four in the morning and emotionally spiraling before sunrise so eventually everyone starts looking at you expectantly when discussion turns toward plans.
“what’s the weather?” choso asks.
you glance out the giant kitchen windows toward the water. clear skies, barely any wind. perfect.
“it’s gonna be a good beach day,” you say, wrapping your hands around your mug (yes, still full of juice. you'd kill for coffee right now). “we can stay down there most of the afternoon.”
gojo pumps a fist. “beach arc continues.”
“then maybe head into town this evening,” you continue. “there’s a boardwalk and some restaurants by the marina.”
“shopping?” your roommate perks up instantly.
“you don’t need more clothes.”
“counterpoint, yes i do.”
“we can do dinner there,” you say. “then come back for the sunset.”
everyone nods along pretty quickly after that but geto’s not really paying attention anymore, because while you’re talking, sleepy and slightly disheveled in your little tank top with your glasses sliding down your nose, sunlight catches against your skin through the kitchen windows.
all he can think about is waking up with you curled against his chest.
you look over toward him mid-sentence.“does that sound okay?”
geto realizes a full second too late that everyone’s waiting for his answer. “…yeah,” he says quietly, eyes still on you. “sounds perfect.”
after breakfast, the second you head upstairs, your roommate and gojo’s girlfriend follow immediately with excited little grins. you barely make it into the bedroom before your roommate shuts the door behind her dramatically.
“spill.”
you blink. “about what.”
both of them stare at you. “y/n,” gojo’s girlfriend says flatly, “there was visible yearning at breakfast.”
“there was not.”
you move toward your suitcase quickly before they can corner you properly. “nothing happened.”
“liar,” your roommate says instantly.
“nothing serious happened.” you push your glasses back up your nose. you ignore their little comments and start sorting through your bikinis instead. “we’re focusing on beachwear now.”
“avoidance,” your roommate whispers solemnly.
“coping mechanism,” gojo’s girlfriend agrees.
you throw a swimsuit at both of them and eventually the three of you end up sitting cross-legged around the open suitcase debating bikini options. “this one’s cute,” your roommate says, holding up a blue floral set.
“i dunno why i packed that one.”
“this one?”
“too bright.”
gojo’s girlfriend suddenly digs deeper into the suitcase before pausing. “…wait.” she lifts a black triangle bikini from the pile. sleek black fabric and a tiny gold charp dangling between the cups
you laugh nervously. it's smaller than what you typically wear - you prefer more full-coverage, something that doesn't let the plush of your stomach and thighs fully exposed. the top'll push up your tits way more than anything you normally wear.
both girls stare at it reverently like archaeologists uncovering forbidden treasure. “THIS one,” your roommate breathes.
“absolutely this one,” gojo's girlfriend agrees.
you snatch at it immediately. “that’s too...much. i don't -”
“y/n, you're going to look amazing in it, no matter what comments you have to say about yourself or your body,” your roommate says. “you're hot. it's hot. you're going to look good.”
“i’m literally not wearing dental floss to the beach.”
“y/n.”
“what.”
“put it on.”
five minutes later you emerge from the bathroom already regretting every life decision that led here. the bikini really is tiny.
the black fabric contrasts sharply against your skin while the gold charm rests perfectly between your chest. the top pushes everything up unfairly well and the bottoms sit low against your hips with thin strings at the sides.
you instinctively cross your arms slightly. your roommate’s jaw physically drops and gojo’s girlfriend just stares.
“…holy shit,” she says softly.
“you HAVE to wear that.”
“i look insane,” you say, glancing at your feet. "bad insane."
“you look hot.”
heat crawls across your face instantly, and you glance toward the mirror again. okay. maybe it does look good. “it’s more revealing than what i usually wear,” you mumble.
“and you rock it.”
eventually they encourage you to keeping it on and you throw on a loose white cover dress afterward at least, something soft and flowy enough to hide most of the bikini beneath it.
then you start filling your beach bag. book, sunscreen, waterbottle, lip balm, portable charger.
your roommate watches with deep affection. “you pack for the beach like a divorced father.”
“preparation prevents suffering,” you say wisely, and gojo's girlfriend laughs while you shove sunglasses into your hair.
the three of you head downstairs together where the guys are still getting ready. gojo's already shirtless and toji's hoarding chips and choso nearly walks directly into a wall when his girlfriend appears in her bikini.
geto looks up from the kitchen counter when you enter. you feel his gaze drift down your face, down the cover dress you're wearing, and your pulse jumps instantly.
gojo ruins the moment by throwing sunglasses at him. “beach.”
everyone starts heading outside after that. the walk toward the shoreline is warm and breezy, sunlight sifting through dune grass while everybody talks over each other around you. you’re halfway down the road when somebody calls your name suddenly.
you turn instantly, recognizing the voice with a smile. “aaron?”
geto watches as a guy about your age jogs over from the neighboring property, grinning broadly. he's tall, sun-bleached hair, and apparently he knows you very well because he immediately pulls you into a quick hug.
“holy shit,” he laughs. “when’d you get here?”
“yesterday! i didn’t know your family was coming down this week.”
“mom wanted the boat out, even though it's kinda early.”
you smile easily at him - you did practically grow up together, summer after summer.
behind you, your friends have gone suspiciously quiet.
“oh, these are my friends,” you say, gesturing to your group. aaron shakes everyone’s hands easily while you chatter beside him naturally, smiling more openly than you usually do around new people.
geto watches the entire thing in silence and immediately dislikes this guy. he knows it's irrational but you look happy talking to him. not nervous or flustered, just easy and warm and familiar. aaron says something that makes you laugh and geto's jaw tightens.
logically, this means nothing. he knows that, but still. he watches aaron’s hand brush briefly against your arm while talking and suddenly feels the deeply primal urge to throw him into the ocean.
gojo notices instantly, of course, despite being a bumbling oaf most of the time. his eyes slowly widen behind his sunglasses. “he’s jealous,” he whispers as he leans towards choso.
“obviously,” choso whispers back.
the second aaron finally heads back toward his family’s place, the group starts moving again. something's shifted now, though. you notice it almost immediately walking beside geto down the sandy path toward the beach.
he’s quieter. thinking.
gojo notices too, his grin getting increasingly more dangerous every few seconds. eventually he speeds up to walk backward in front of you both. “so,” he says brightly. “beach boyfriend.”
“don’t start,” you sigh.
“he looked rich.”
“his parents are both lawyers and they own three beach houses here.”
“shit, well -”
gojo’s girlfriend drags him away by the arm before he can get worse. bless her.
for a minute it’s just you and geto walking side by side while the others move ahead laughing about something. ocean wind catches softly at your cover dress, your sunglasses rest pushed into your hair.
geto finally speaks. “…you two close?”
you glance over. his expression’s careful, casual sounding. “kinda,” you say. “i only really see him in summers though. it's been a while.”
geto hums once. silence stretches another few steps then before he can stop himself, he asks, “you ever date?”
your brows lift slightly.
geto stutters, “i just mean—”
“no, i know what you mean.” you laugh softly under your breath a little awkwardly now. “not seriously. we messed around a little as teenagers.”
geto goes still. you say it so casually, like it means nothing, and his brain instantly starts supplying images he absolutely does not want. you younger, laughing with that guy at bonfires, swimming together at night.
that guy touching you.
“oh,” he says evenly.
you glance at him sideways. “…you okay?”
“fine.”
liar. he’s absurdly jealous which is insane because he knows he has zero claim over you whatsoever. (and yet he thinks about last night and how you almost kissed and that soft look in your eyes and he feels waves of jealousy wash over him again.)
the thought of anyone else having touched you makes something dark and unpleasant twist low in his stomach. the walk to the beach is silent and the shoreline opens wide before all of you again.
everyone starts setting up camp and the warm sand burns pleasently beneath your feet. umbrellas, chairs, coolers, towels are all placed in motion
toji tries to ram an umbrella into the sand with zero clue what he's doing and you laugh softly, setting your beach bag down near one of the chairs.
geto watches you from a few feet away while pretending to unfold a towel as you reach for the ties of your cover dress.
his brain short-circuits instantly, watching the thin fabric slip from your shoulders. jesus christ, that bikini is devastating.
sleek little triangle top, gold charm catching sunlight perfectly between your chest, tiny straps against your skin. the bottoms sit low on your hips with those little thin side ties and geto physically has to look away for a second because blood rushes south immediately.
fast.
he’s actually in hell because now not only does he remember accidentally seeing your chest upstairs yesterday, but he also has visual confirmation that your body is genuinely engineered to ruin his life specifically.
nearby, your roommate whistles. “see?” she says smugly. “told you.”
heat creeps across your neck while you shove your sunglasses on quickly. “stop making announcements.”
toji glances from you to geto and laughs under his breath. “…dude.”
geto doesn’t answer. he's still staring until toji smacks his shoulder hard enough to jolt him back to reality. “get in the ocean.”
geto blinks. “…what?”
“cold water.”
realization hits instantly and his ears turn red immediately.
“shut the fuck up,” geto mutters. gojo walks by and smirks, shouting no way at the top of his lungs with absolute glee.
you look between all of them confused. “what’s happening?”
“nothing,” geto says too quickly.
toji’s grin turns downright evil. “he just really likes the scenery.”
your face burns alive instantly.
geto looks seconds away from committing homicide. he starts trudging towards the ocean, following everyone who's running towards the water.
choso's girlfriend stops him, pausing with the slyest smile you've ever seen in your life. “y/n needs someone to put sunscreen on her.”
geto stares at her blankly. “…okay?”
your roommate glares at him pointedly. “you dumbass.”
when realization hits, geto goes still, cause you’re standing there in that tiny black bikini looking suddenly very interested in literally anything except him, and now he’s imagining touching sunscreen onto your skin for an extended period of time while already painfully hard.
cool.
great.
awesome.
gojo’s girlfriend physically drags your roommate toward the lake before either of you can escape.
“have fun!” she calls sweetly.
silence settles immediately afterward except for distant waves and screaming from the water where gojo’s already drowning dramatically. you stand awkwardly beside the chairs clutching the sunscreen bottle and geto pushes a few loose strands of hair back from his face slowly before reaching for it.
his fingers brush yours. your pulse jumps. (his does too.)
“…so,” he says.
“mhm.”
“…where do you want it?”
you choke, brain interpresting that in the worst way possible.
geto's eyes widen slightly. “i didn’t mean it like that.” his ears are turning red again.
“right,” you mumble weakly. god, the tension between you lately feels actively lethal.
geto clears his throat once. “i just meant sunscreen.”
“i know.”
“okay.”
you very quietly mumble, “…just put it everywhere.” you realize how that sounds approximately one second too late.
geto shuts his eyes briefly like he’s asking the universe for strength then gestures toward the towel laid out beneath one of the umbrellas.
“you can, erm, lay down. or stand. dunno.”
you nod quickly, and the sand's warm beneath the towel as you settle carefully onto your stomach. geto kneels beside you, close that you can hear the bottle of sunscreen click open. your heartbeat pounds harder instantly.
“tell me if i’m using too much,” he says quietly.
“okay.”
cool sunscreen hits your shoulders first, then his hands. geto’s fingers spread the lotion slowly across your skin, warm palms gliding carefully along your shoulders and upper back.
he’s trying very hard to stay normal about this but your skin’s warm from the sun and soft beneath his hands and when you shiver slightly when his thumbs press near the base of your neck it certainly doesn’t help his…situation.
geto swallows hard. “…cold?”
“no.” your voice comes out quieter than usual.
you hear him exhale softly through his nose and his hands move lower slowly, fingers spreading sunscreen across the middle of your back now, dragging lower and lower inch by inch. it feels intimate, the kind of slow touch that settles beneath your skin.
you wonder, briefly, what your roommate, or gojo’s girlfriend, or choso, or any of them really, think of the sight (if they’re looking) geto leaning over you beneath the umbrella with his hair falling loose around his face slightly while his hands move slowly across your skin like he’s memorizing it. you lying there visibly tense every time he touches you.
“you missed a spot,” you mumble weakly, pointing toward your side mostly just to say something.
mistake. big huge mistake because you throb as geto’s hand slides carefully along your waist, thumb brushing just beneath the curve of your ribs. as your breath catches so does his and his hand lingers one dangerous second too long against your side before pulling away.
“…done,” he says roughly.
you sit up slowly, face to face with him at extremely close range. his hair’s falling into his eyes slightly from the wine, jaw tight, expression unreadable except for the very obvious tension simmering beneath it.
the moment snaps apart before either of you can do something catastrophically stupid. “y/n!” gojo’s voice echoes from the water.
you jerk backward slightly like you’d been caught doing something you shouldn’t and geto clears his throat immediately and pushes to his feet a little too fast. “…i’m gonna get in the lake.”
“okay,” you say too quickly.
he nods once before practically escaping into the water, leaving you sitting there afterward feeling completely disoriented. your skin still tingles everywhere he touched so to attempt to distract yourself you grab your book from your beach bag.
it doesn’t work. you read the same sentence six times in a row without processing a single word because all you can think about is the feeling of geto’s hands slowly sliding over your waist.
you’re hopeless.
your roommate and gojo’s girlfriend eventually wander back up from the shoreline dripping water everywhere and both immediately clock your expression.
“wow y/n,” your roommate says sweetly.
“don’t.”
“your sunscreen is blended sooo thoroughly.”
gojo’s girlfriend nods solemnly. “very even application.”
you close your book dramatically over your face. “i hate both of you.”
“he looked one touch away from cardiac arrest.”
“i’m serious,” you say, voice muffled from beneath the pages.
“and you looked like you were gonna melt into the towel,” your roommate adds wisely. you groan into the book.
out in the lake, geto’s standing waist-deep in freezing water, mind still scrambled, because shit, he can still feel the shape of your waist beneath his hands. he can still remember the tiny sound you made when he touched your side.
he thinks you might have noticed his situation downstairs. the water helps a little, at least, and beside him, gojo suddenly appears floating on his back. “you know,” he says conversationally, “you were sporting a fucking hard-on.”
geto nearly drowns him. “what the fuck is wrong with you.”
“you could see it from across the beach.”
“why were you looking, you piece of shit.”
“because you looked stupid.”
toji barks out a laugh nearby. “i’ve never seen you this bad over anybody.”
geto drags both hands through his wet hair with visible frustration. he knows they're right. this is bad. worse than bad. you're going to be upstairs sharing a bed every night walking around in tiny little outfits and looking at him with those shy nervous eyes whenever he gets too close.
from your spot in your chair on the beach you glance to the shoreline again over the edge of your book. you make the mistake of seeing geto standing waist-deep in the water with his wet hair pushed back.
by late afternoon, you're all making your way to the marina, everyone sun-kissed and buzzed off coolers. there's cute little boutiques with sun-faded signs, ice cream stands, tourists wandering around with shopping bags, boats bobbing against the docks while seagulls scream overhead.
it should be relaxing but instead, everyone’s acting weird. well, not everyone - gojo is still normal, unfortunately, which means he’s being loud as shit and trying on ugly sunglasses in every store while his girlfriend tells him he looks like a divorced dad. toji's carrying everyone's bags very bedgrudgingly and choso’s girlfriend keeps linking arms with him and dragging him into little souvenir stores.
meanwhile you and geto keep ending up next to each other by complete accident, which is to say, absolutely on purpose by everyone else. you’re walking along the docks eating gelato at one point when your roommate suddenly grabs your arm. “come into this store with me.” before you can respond, she’s already yanking you inside.
you blink, looking back where geto’s left standing outside with gojo and toji before you get tugged into a store.
gojo smirks immediately. “you gonna keep staring at the door like that?”
geto doesn’t even look at him. “shut up.”
“bro.”
“satoru.”
“you’ve had the expression of a war widow since sunscreen.”
by dinner, if possible, things have gotten even weirder. you all end up at this marina-side restaurant right on the water, string lights overhead and music drifting faintly from somewhere nearby.
the seating arrangement was personally made to ensure you don't survive the meal, obviously, what with gojo and his girlfriend together, choso and his girlfriend together, toji sitting like he’d rather die, and you and geto next to each other. close enough that your knees almost brush beneath the table.
drinks come, everyone's talking about the beach tomorrow and whether they should rent paddleboards. "we have the budget, but everyone has to pitch in," you say, which makes toji groan.
gojo says, "i saw that you can get a boat tour? we could go fishing or something."
you're all talking animatedly (save for geto, who's oddly quiet and keeps looking at you from the corner of his eye) then the waiter comes over. he's probably around your guys' age, eyes skimming over gojo's girlfriend tucked under gojo's arm, choso's girlfriend pressed against choso's shoulder, then you.
sitting alone, or rather alone-adjacent. “and what can i get for you?” the waiter asks you with a smile that lingers a little too long.
you look up awkwardly. “um…”
“good choice on the drink,” he says after glancing at your glass. “not everybody appreciates taste.”
your roommate nearly chokes on her water and you stare at the waiter awkwardly. “thanks?”
the waiter grins. “you guys visiting?”
you can physically feel everyone at the table stop listening to their own conversations. geto’s gone silent beside you, more silent then earlier. “yeah,” you say after a beat.
“nice,” the waiter says, leaning slightly against the table. “hope someone’s shown you the good spots around town.”
you laugh weakly because what the fuck do you even say to that. “uh…”
“hey, if you need someone to show you around, i get off at ten.”
“i think i'll get the chicken parm?” you say, laughing nervously. “please.”
“or maybe i could just give you my number,” the waiter says with a smile that makes your toes curl in disgust.
geto finally looks up, slowly, expression completely unreadable except for the fact that he looks deeply unimpressed. “she’s very clearly not interested.”
silence. complete silence. you even stop breathing, and the waiter blinks, looks between you and geto. “…sorry, man,” he says with an awkward little laugh, hands up. “can’t blame me for trying.”
geto doesn’t even smile. “yeah.” he pauses before saying, coldly, “just get the food and go.”
the waiter straightens. “alright.” he scribbles something on his pad quickly, then mutters, “didn’t know your boyfriend was so serious,” and walks away.
the silence is nuclear. nobody says anything, nobody moves, and your face is so hot you think you might actually die.
because boyfriend.
because geto didn’t correct him.
because nobody corrected him.
gojo is staring at his plate so hard his shoulders are shaking. your roommate won’t look at you. choso’s girlfriend is chewing on her straw like she’s witnessing live television and toji actually says nothing for once in his miserable life.
you risk one glance sideways to see geto staring straight ahead, jaw tight, ears slightly red.
you immediately look away.
dinner proceeds in the most painful silence known to man.
conversation starts back up eventually, but it’s all stilted and everyone keeps exchanging looks when they think you and geto aren't noticing.
you barely taste your food. geto says maybe twelve words the entire meal.
when the bill comes everyone’s kind of ready to leave purely to escape the tension. checks get split, gojo grabs his and his girlfriend’s without looking. choso pays for his girlfriend’s too.
toji stares at his own bill like it insulted his bloodline.
“why the fuck is grilled salmon thirty dollars.”
“because you ordered grilled salmon,” gojo says.
you reach for your wallet quickly.
“i got mine.”
“same,” geto says at the exact same time.
your fingers brush awkwardly near the bill tray, both of you jerking back like you touched fire. chairs scrape back and everyone starts filing out onto the marina walkway under the string lights and the tension between you and geto follows like a third person walking right between you.
saturday - 10 pm
on the drive back to the beach house, gojo’s girlfriend controls the aux while everybody talks intermittently about dinner and shopping bags and whether toji could survive prison after complaining about restaurant prices loud enough for the waiter to hear.
but underneath all of it sits that awful electric awareness between you and geto. every glance feels more loaded than before now, especially after the boyfriend comment. especially because a small part of you didn't want to correct it.
you stare out the window most of the drive pretending the cool night air coming through the cracked glass is enough to settle your heartbeat. (newsflash - it isn't).
when you finally pull into the driveway, the sky’s gone deep navy overhead, stars scattered bright across the water beyond the dunes. gojo stretches dramatically exiting the car. “i feel alive. this was a good day.”
“you screamed at a seagull today,” his girlfriend says.
“well, it was disrespectful. did you see how it took the hotdog out of my hand -”
everyone slowly filters toward the back deck unloading leftovers and drinks while the ocean crashes softly somewhere below. you’re halfway through carrying cups into the kitchen when gojo’s girlfriend suddenly says, “bonfire?”
you all immediately agree and you're honestly grateful for the distraction, because if you had to go straight upstairs right now and exist in a quiet bedroom with geto after today, you think your nervous system might actually collapse.
outside, the fire crackles warmly against the cool night air while everyone settles into chairs scattered around the pit.
you end up directly across from geto. the flames flicker gold across his face while he leans back slightly in his chair listening to gojo argue about horror movies beside him.
he’s not really listening, you can tell. every few seconds his eyes drift back to you again, and the look in them makes your stomach twist painfully.
yearning.
there’s genuinely no other word for it anymore. it’s there in every glance and every pause and every second too long his eyes stay on your face. you feel warm all over despite the ocean breeze.
around the fire, conversation drifts lazily between everyone else toji and gojo arguing and your roommate curled against choso’s side and music humming faintly from someone’s speaker. nobody comments on the way you and geto keep looking at each other. they just quietly notice, giving you both space.
across the fire, geto feels like he’s losing his mind a little.
you look beautiful tonight, your hair slightly windblown, oversized hoodie on, firelight dancing warm across your skin while you smile softly at something choso says.
he can’t stop looking at you and doesn’t really want to. his chest physically aches with it now, this awful wanting.
god, geto’s never been this gone over anybody before.
when yawns start appearing, everybody heads inside. gojo drags his girlfriend upstairs and your roommate shooting you one deeply knowing look before disappearing too.
it’s just you and geto left outside.
you crouch near the firepit gathering empty bottles quietly while embers glow soft orange against the dark.
geto watches you for a second.“…wanna walk to the beach?”
your heart stumbles immediately. “sure.”
the shoreline’s almost completely dark except for moonlight silvering the waves. sand cool beneath your feet, wind soft against your skin. you walk side by side in silence at first. comfortable silence this time. above you, the stars stretch endlessly bright across the sky untouched by city lights.
you stop eventually near the waterline where waves curl around your ankles gently before retreating again.
geto looks at you like he’s trying to memorize something. like his chest hurts with it. like every glance all semester somehow led here, to you, moonlight catching softly against your face when you tilt your head upward to the stars.
beautiful.
the thought, though not new, hits him so hard it almost steals his breath. “…you know what the worst part is?” he says quietly.
you glance over. “what?”
geto laughs softly once, self-aware and helpless. “i spent months trying not to want you this bad.”
your breath catches yet his eyes stay fixed on yours, steady and honest in a way that makes your pulse pound harder. “and now i don’t think i’ll ever stop.”
something in your chest melts completely. there's no teasing in his voice, just aching sincerity. geto looks at you like you're something precious and terrifying and like you're everything all at once, and suddenly you can’t stand the distance anymore.
so you kiss him.
his breath catches sharply against your mouth before he melts instantly, completely. one hand slides gently against your waist while the other cups your face like he can’t believe you’re real, kissing you back slow and deep beneath the stars. warm, careful for approximately two seconds before all that pent-up wanting finally cracks open.
you feel him exhale shakily against your lips. it feels a lot like relief.
you kiss him back just as deep, hands sliding up into his hair you've been aching to hold for months now, tangling your fingers there, and he groans into your mouth, pulling you more flush against him.
your toes curl from the sand when you feel his hardness poking against the top of your stomach.
from one kiss?
when he pulls back it's reluctant, his hands cupping your face and staring into your eyes like you're the only person he's ever seen.
"should we go back?" you ask softly, and he nods immediately. your lips are tingling, geto's hand laced tightly with yours like he physically can't let go now that he finally has you. every few steps he glances at you again with that same dazed expression that makes your stomach flip violently.
like he still can’t believe you kissed him first.
the house is dark when you slip inside, quiet, everyone asleep in their rooms already. you barely make it through the kitchen before geto pulls you gently against him again, kissing you hard enough to steal the breath from your lungs.
you laugh softly into it, hands catching against his chest while he kisses you like he’s trying to memorize the feeling.
months of tension finally snapping all at once.
you nearly stumble into the staircase together trying to stay quiet and by the time you reach the bedroom, both of you are flushed and breathless and grinning a little helplessly.
the door clicks shut behind you and suddenly geto’s hands are on your waist again and your back hits the wall softly beside the door while he kisses you deeper, warm and hungry. your fingers slide automatically into his hair again and he makes this low sound against your mouth that nearly destroys you.
“fuck,” he murmurs quietly against your lips. you can feel how nervous he is underneath it too though, how his hands careful despite how badly he wants you. you tug at the hem of his shirt first and geto pulls back just enough to drag it over his head quickly before immediately kissing you again.
shirtless in the dim moonlit bedroom, he looks unfair. your eyes stare at the tattoos winding along his arms and chest, dark hair loose around his face from the beach wind.
you stare for half a second too long because geto's cheeks flush slightly. (this, of course, makes him infinitely more attractive.)
“don’t look at me like that,” he mutters.
you laugh breathlessly while your hands slide down his chest, his muscles tensing beneath your touch instantly. his fingers hook gently into the hem of your hoodie, hesitation flickering briefly across his face. you nod softly, and that's all he needs.
geto pulls the hoodie over your head slowly and when it drops to the floor he just stares quietly. his eyes drag across your skin with open awe now, nothing hidden in his expression anymore.
this is how he wanted to see you. not startled or accidental. wanted.
heat blooms across your entire body under that look and geto steps closer again slowly, one hand settling against your waist while the other brushes lightly up your side like he’s still convincing himself you’re real. “…pretty girl,” he says softly.
you kiss him again immediately because otherwise you think you might combust, your fingers fumbling with the button of his pants while geto's lips start to press kisses down your jaw.
your back eventually hits the mattress gently as you both stumble toward the bed, and for one second he hovers over you breathing hard while moonlight spills silver across the sheets behind him. he's gazing at you with those lidded eyes, his boxers strained as his hands run up your stomach slowly, savouring, until he's cupping your tits in his hands, squeezing with gentle reverence.
“…i wanna take my time with you,” he says quietly. one hand moves to slide up your thigh while he properly settles over you, his other elbow braced beside your head. one of his legs slips naturally between yours and the pressure makes your breath catch immediately.
a faint smugness flickers briefly through his expression now, that quiet confident energy finally surfacing. “there she is,” he murmurs softly.
heat floods your face instantly and geto kisses you again before you can hide from it. your lips, deeply, tongue sliding against yours, brushing along your mouth. then your jaw, then your neck. his mouth lingers just beneath your ear, sucking gently, while his hand drifts carefully along your waist, thumb brushing slow circles into your skin.
“fuck,” he mutters quietly against your throat. his voice sounds wrecked already.
your fingers slide through his hair, tugging lightly without thinking, and geto exhales sharply against your neck before lifting his head to look at you. dark eyes and flushed cheeks and hair falling loose around his face.
he looks gone.
completely gone for you.
his hand smooths slowly along your waist again before drifting higher, fingertips tracing along your side with almost unbearable patience. your breathing stutters when he holds your tits again, kneading them once before rolling your stiffened nipples between his fingers.
“you okay?” he asks softly.
you nod quickly and he kisses you again while his thumbs slowly brush over sensitive skin, drawing another shaky breath from you. the sound goes straight through him - geto's spent months imagining this. wondering what you'd sound like, how you'd react to him touching you.
(the little, jealous part of his brain remembers aaron. he shoves the thought away immediately.)
reality is infinitely worse for his self control. you squirm slightly beneath him and his leg presses more firmly between yours automatically.
your breath catches harder this time and geto looks at you, something a little darker simmering beneath his eyes. “that feel good?” he murmurs quietly.
you hide your face briefly against his shoulder. “…maybe.”
his laugh comes soft against your hair. “maybe?”
heat floods your face when he tilts your chin back toward him gently. “use your words, pretty girl.”
your stomach twists and you nod once. “yeah.”
“yeah what?”
you stare at him in disbelief. “you’re annoying.”
he grins properly for the first time all night. “and you’re avoiding the question.” before you can answer, he kisses you again, swallowing the tiny embarrassed sound you make while his hand drifts lower along your thigh slowly.
your fingers curl against his shoulders when his mouth returns to your neck again, kissing lower this time while his hand squeezes gently at your thigh. when his hands defly dip into the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down, you moan quietly, head turning to the side.
he makes you so nervous and excited your heart feels like it's going to lurch out of your chest.
"can i touch you here, pretty girl?" he murmurs, fingers sliding along your inner thighs until they ghost over your cotton panties. if you'd known you'd end up like..this tonight, youd've chosen a more tasteful pair of underwear.
"please," you whisper, pulling him to your mouth as his fingers press against your clothed cunt, applying just enough pressure to make you mewl into his lips. you feel him smile, pushing your panties to the side before running a finger through your folds.
"you're wet," he chuckles before pushing his finger in, crooking it against your spongey insides. your head falls back against the pillow, hands digging into his back.
"oh my god, geto," you whimper, lips parting.
"suguru," he corrects, pushing another digit in, curling them deep enough to find the gooey spot that has your nails making crescent against his arms.
"suguru, please, 's so good," you babble, thrusting your hips to meet his hand.
he stills for a moment at the sound of his name on your lips. how you moan his name so prettily, begging for more. he leans down, kissing you hard, fingers moving faster and faster inside you, the sound lewd and so dirty and buzzing right to his crotch.
geto feels how you clench around his fingers, and he swallows thickly at the thought of how you'll take his cock. he groans, low and wrecked, capturing your nipple between his lips, teeth grazing along it slightly.
your head's dizzy, stars behind your eyes, gazing at geto and how he's sucking little bruises along your tits, up your neck, down your stomach. constellations of bite marks across your body.
"suguru, i—i'm close," you say, voice breaking. his eyes darken and he thumbs tiny circles over your clit, his two - no, three - fingers curling against all the right spots inside your core.
when you cum, body pulsing hard and hot in waves that make you tingle all over, geto groans, fingering you slowly until your breathing evens. the sight of you coming undone for him has him hardening impossibly more in his boxers, now damp at the front with precum.
you're panting below geto and your hand inches to his boxers, itching to tug them off. "you sure?" he asks quietly, restraint obvious in his voice.
"i'm sure, suguru," you say softly, kissing him again, palming over his boxers. he lets out a strained sound as you reach to pull them down and he quickly obliges, shrugging them off.
suguru geto, in all of his naked glory, is the most beautiful man you've ever seen.
you're rather partial to his pretty, leaking cock, too.
your eyes trace over the vein that runs along one side, the flushed, mushroomed dip, slick with precum, the thick shaft. how it twitches slightly under your gaze, hard and angled up towards his abs. you watch in a daze as he pumps himself slowly, his lips parted, watching you sprawled out so prettily for him, your hair like a halo around your head as you lay there.
you watch his gaze drift down your body, down past your tits, down past the splattering of marks he's left across practially every square inch of your skin. down to your pussy, still slick from your orgasm.
you squirm under geto's face and he tuts, leaning down and pressing his tip to your core. "don't have to be nervous, pretty girl," he says, kissing the side of your neck. his cock brushes against your folds and you both moan quietly.
geto's forehead drops to yours as one of his hands hooks through your thighs, pushing it up as he pushes in slowly. you wince at the pressure, eyes watering slightly - none of the men you've been with have been this...proportionate. he's quick to wipe the tears from your eyes, kissing your cheeks softly, jaw tight as he pushes in more, and more, passing each wall of muscle with a grunt.
"you're squeezing me, y/n, shit," he manages, pushing your thigh higher to deepen the angle. when he finally bottoms out his eyes roll back and you whine.
loud.
geto pushes his thumb into your mouth, his hand cupping your face, and you suck on it gently, face contorting with pleasure as he starts to thrust slowly, struggling to fit his cock back in when he pulls out.
"so tight," he groans raggedly, and all you can do is moan in response, his thumb still in your mouth, his other hand still warm against your thigh, sliding up to squeeze your waist. when geto manages to set a slow, steady pace, he's grunting every time he thrusts in fully, watching your hands grip the sheets desperately.
"right there, suguru," you moan, muffled against his thumb.
"here, pretty girl?" he rumbles, pistoning his cock deep and faster now, brushing your cervix with every thrust.
you nod, babbling incoherently, tugging his hair, holding his biceps, wrapping around his neck, touching everywhere you can and he lowers himself, chest pressed to yours. your tits soft against his skin, your tongue swirling around his thumb.
he holds you reverently, kneading the plush of your thighs as you clench around him, chasing another orgasm. you pull his thumb out of your mouth with a pop, a string of saliva connecting your lips to the digit. "suguru," you whimper, "suguru, suguru, suguru—"
"yeah, i know," he coos, thrusting so deep inside you you can see where he pokes at your stomach, the bulge bumping against your skin every time his cock presses deep in your cunt. "look at that, pretty girl. taking me sooo good, yeah? so good for me."
blood rushes hot through your body, liquid heat coursing through your veins, and your back arches off the bed, pulling geto impossibly closer to you as you moan softly into his ear, biting his neck as you feel your climax build and build and build.
"are you close? 'm gonna cum," he says, voice rough and eyes blown wide. "you feel me here?" he presses his hand to where his cock bulges against your stomach, the pressure stealing the air from your lungs.
"inside," you breathe, panting now. "cum in me, suguru."
and so he does, seconds later, because your voice saying those words along with his name fully break him. he holds you against him as he cums, pulsing thick and hot spurts of release, coating your walls. he rubs circles over your nipples as you climax, too, with a cracked moan of his name and your hands tangled in his hair.
after, you’re both a little breathless, tangled in rumpled sheets with the balcony doors cracked open enough for the ocean air to drift in. geto just stays close, one arm wrapped around your waist while his fingers lazily trace little patterns against your skin like he doesn’t quite know what to do with all this softness in his chest. you’re tucked against him, cheek pressed to his shoulder, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat finally slowing down. “…you okay?” he asks after a while, voice low and sleep-rough now.
you tilt your head to look at him, how pretty he looks with his pink lips and flushed cheeks. you smile softly. “you’ve asked me that like eight times.”
“i know.”
“paranoid?”
he huffs a quiet laugh, looking at the ceiling. “a little.”
your heart squeezes and you lift yourself enough to kiss him softly. geto smiles into it, eyes closing briefly. "you like me," he murmurs, and you bury your face in his shoulder so he can't see you smiling.
he helps you clean up, gently rubbing a warm cloth along your inner thighs where his cum's dried, hands you your hoodie, tucks blankets around you when you both collapse into bed. when you instinctively curl toward the far side like you did the first night, geto just blinks at you. "...seriously?"
you look over. "what?" and he wordlessly lifts an arm. your stomach flips and you slide back over, letting him pull you into his chest. his chin rests lightly on top of your head, one hand smoothing once down your back.
sometime in the middle of the night, you both fall asleep smiling.
sunday - 8 am
the next morning feels surreal. when you wake, blinking sleepily, you realize two things immediately. one: you're basically half on top of geto. two: he's already awake, watching you. the second your eyes meet, he smiles, small and sleepy and completely soft. "...hi," you mumble.
"hi." his voice is still rough with sleep and you both just stare at each other for a second like idiots then start laughing quietly for no reason at all.
everything feels weirdly giddy, soft. you brush hair out of his face, he catches your wrist and kises your palm. as you both get dressed you exhange stupid little smiles the entire time.
however, when you both head downstairs together, something awful starts to creep into your brain. there's no way anyone heard, right...? gojo's girlfriend is a notoriously heavy sleeper, though you don't know much about how gojo sleeps...toji and choso and your roommate, being downstairs, couldn't have heard anything at all. and you weren't that loud.
the living room comes into view where choso's sitting drinking coffee (from a new, temporary machine you bought at the marina yesterday). when he sees you and geto walk down the stairs he goes tomato red and your soul leaves your body. beside you, geto's trying so hard to act normal.
"morning," he says in the most suspiciously casual voice ever.
choso makes a sound that is not a word. "...morning." he looks away so fast he nearly spills coffee on himself. you stare at him, horrified. there is no way. there is absolutely no way they heard anything. they couldn't have.
before you can spiral further, gojo strolls in from the kitchen, looking smug for no reason. "good morning!" he says brightly. you narrow your eyes immediately. never trust that tone. he starts making coffee, chatting casually about breakfast plans like a completely normal person. too normal.
geto relaxes as gojo stirs sugar into his cup. takes a sip, then says, "so."
you feel the danger immediately. gojo glances over with the smile of a man about to ruin lives. " 'cum in me , suguru'?" he says thoughtfully. "that's the best you got?"
you swear time stops. geto goes completely motionless, full red ears to collarbone. your body leaves this earthly plane. choso coughs so hard he nearly dies on the couch. from the back porch, where you now see your roommate, gojo's girlfriend, and toji watching with rapt attention, they all burst laughing.
which means. oh my god.
you stare blankly at the wall in front of you and geto slowly turns toward gojo. "i'm going to kill you."
gojo raises both hands, grinning. "hey, don't shoot the messenger. walls are thin, lover boy."
you make a strangled noise and bury your face into your hands. somehow, impossibly, gojo makes it worse. "also," he says, taking another casual sip, "the name thing was kinda hot. personal fave detail."
"SATORU."
"WHAT? i'm being supportive!"
a/n ~ did u cry when they kissed? no? just me blubbering like a baby writing this? ...
ᨳິ ׂ 𓈒 𝒎𝒅𝒏𝒊 .. 𝒈𝒆𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒖𝒈𝒖𝒓𝒖 enjoys flustering you with his hot praise ⸝⸝ ྀ
suguru is already ruining you, balls deep and perfectly hitting your sweet spot relentlessly. always able to tell just what will drive you insane, what will have your walls trembling and eyes rolling. he reads you like a book, which is why he's being evil and singing you sinful praises.
"you feel so good, pretty," he hums low, leaning down so he can speak right into your ear, "those little sounds you're letting out are letting me know you feel the same."
you bite your lip to hold back those exact noises he's talking about. whinging at him to, "stop." your words ring hollow to even your ears though. fingers gripping him tight, legs wrapped around his slim waist to keep him trapped inside you.
"i'm just trying to tell you how hot you are," a laugh passes his lips, amused. "you're all twitchy and worked up, i love it."
your cunt drips around him, soaking him in even more slick the more he talks, "sugu, stop– hng– stop talking."
he ignores your words, "shhh, listen." his big palm covers your mouth so you'll be quiet and focus in on the wet squelching of him fucking your pussy. "god, you're so wet. creaming all over me," letting out a wistful sigh, like he dreams about this.
his hand stays on your mouth, "can you feel the way you're pulsing around me?—" sentence cut off by a drawn out groan, and then picking back up like he didn't just almost fall apart, "i can, i can and it feels fucking divine."
suguru can feel the way your skin flushes and heats up under his touch, so obvious to him how much you're enjoying his taunting despite your whining. spine tingling from how much he enjoys this, how good it feels.
your eyes meet his and you break, waterline brimming with unshed tears. the pleasure is overwhelming you, as well as his humiliating praise that you enjoy far too much. not able to tell him to shut up and not really wanting to anymore anyways. your lips press a soft kiss to his palm and he coos at you.
"you're so pretty," he removes his hand and flattens himself to you completely, head tucking into your neck, "my pretty baby. my pretty, pathetic, baby."
his pelvis grinds against your clit, his cock throbbing inside your walls as he keeps pressing kisses to your skin, along with his murmured words. your stomach flips from the stimulation, cumming on him, soaking his dick in fresh, honeyed slick.
"ah, there we go," he sighs. head tilting down so he can glimpse how his shaft looks as he pulls out, dripping obscenely from your orgasm. "messy little thing." and he doesn't sound the least bit disappointed about it.
"you're so evil," you pout, trying to ignore your lingering need. his cock still hard and half-way inside your shaking pussy.
"you love it," suguru stuffs you full once more, his chest rumbling with a moan, "i know just how horny it makes you."
✧˖° 18+ | Suguru being so sweet when you can only handle half his cock
Suguru is so patient with his sweet, shy girlfriend who still can't take all of him even after a few times together.
every single time, without fail, your small hands end up pressed flat against his abs, keeping him from sinking in all the way. and he never pushes it—just watches you with those dark, half-lidded eyes while you're already making such a mess on just half his cock, whimpering and clenching around him like you're trying so hard to be good for him.
"that's it, baby," he murmurs, one big hand covering both of yours on his stomach, holding them there. "take what you can. don't hurt yourself." but his voice is strained, jaw tight, because fuck—you're so wet and tight and he can feel you fluttering around him, and he wants nothing more than to just sink in deep and stay there.
you're babbling apologies, face hot with embarrassment because you can see how much of him is still outside, glistening and dripping with you. "i'm sorry, i'm sorry, 'm trying—"
"shh, none of that," he says, leaning down to kiss your forehead, your cheeks, so sweet it makes your chest ache. "you're doing so well, angel. look how good you're taking me already." his thumb finds your clit and you gasp, back arching, and he groans when you clench down hard. "there you go. just like that."
he starts moving in shallow thrusts, just working the half he can fit, and it's already so much—the stretch, the fullness, the way his tip keeps hitting that spot that makes your toes curl. you're soaking him, obscene wet sounds filling the room, and you want to die from how embarrassing it is.
"listen to that," he breathes, eyes dark and focused on where you're connected. "making such a pretty mess on my cock, baby. getting me all wet." his hand slides from your clit to your hip, gripping tight. "think you can take a little more for me? just a little?"
you nod frantically even though you're not sure, because you want to be good for him, want to give him everything. he pushes in another inch, slow and careful, watching your face the whole time. your hands scrabble against his abs but he's stronger, holding himself there while you adjust.
"breathe, sweetheart," he coaxes. "that's my girl. so fucking tight for me. you're perfect, you know that?"
and even though you still can't take all of him, even though your hands are still trying to keep him from going too deep, he looks at you like you've given him everything—like you're everything—and somehow that makes the embarrassment worth it.
𐙚 professor! nanami who’s so tired after a day at work that all he wants to do is come home and be laid up with you for the remainder of the day.
𐙚 professor! nanami who’s so stressed over putting together assignments and grading that even when he does come home he goes straight to bed.
𐙚 professor! nanami who starts to get sick of it- the workload, and the barely communicating with you.
𐙚 professor! nanami who, for once, takes a leave from work. “Sweetheart?” He calls out into the quiet home. Taking his shoes off at the door and loosening his tie, he walks further throughout the big home. Bedroom? Not there. Bathroom? Not there, either.
“Darling?” 𐙚 professor! nanami hums, standing tall in the doorway of the kitchen. He smiles, noticing the food on the stove all cooked. You were home somewhere. “The food smells wonderful..” He calls out again, and then he hears it: a faint hum of your voice. “Ah..doing the laundry.” He starts walking towards the laundry room.
It’s 𐙚 professor! nanami who cracks the door open. “Sweetheart?” He calls out softly. Tired eyes rested on the image in front of him, your pink panties on full view as you bent over to pick up some clothes off the floor. His t-shirt draping off your body.
“Oh- hi Kento!” You chirp. “Hang on, lemme pick these up first.” You grunt. Once finished, you straighten up to stare at him. 𐙚 professor! nanami smiles, his wife… standing there in nothing but his shirt panties and bonnet on your head. “I cooked your favorite- did you eat?”
𐙚 professor! nanami shakes his head, inching towards you. “I came straight to you, but it smells delicious darling.” His arms wrap around you, soft kisses littering your neck as he leans down to your height. “Ken-“ you giggle. He relaxes in your arms, “I’ve missed you..” Kiss. “I’m home, sweetheart.” Kiss. “I took a leave from work-” Kiss. “to spend more time with you.” Kiss.
“Aw baby…” You coo, kissing his shoulder. “They just can’t get enough of Professor Nanami.” He sighs, “They’ve had enough for the time being.” His tough yet soft hands run down your back.
“You smell wonderful darling.” 𐙚 professor! nanami whispers in your ear, the warmth of his breath making you shiver in his arms. “And you’re wearing those panties that I like…such a sweet wife.” He groans, hands grabbing at the shirt to lift it. “Ken-“ “Shhh..” His hands found their way to your panties.
The rasp in his voice told you everything you needed to know. 𐙚 professor! nanami was tired, but this was the first time in a good minute he came home to see you and talk to you and hold you. “Have you been good while I was gone? Hm?” You whine as one of his fingers run over your slit. “Yes sir.” The grip on his shirt tightened.
“Yeah? No touching yourself while I was away?” His finger dips into your sex. “N-no sir.” You mewl as he bites your neck. “You’re so good to me, darling.” He pulls his finger from your panties, earning a whine in frustration from you. “Kento..”
𐙚 professor! nanami Places a soft kiss on your lips, his hand coming up to hold the back of your head. Painfully hard in his pants he lets you go, taking a step back. He could see how hard your nipples were through the shirt. The way your thighs rubbed together for some kind of friction. The expression on your face..he hasn’t seen it in a while.
“Sweetheart, could you bend over the table for me please?” It was so long ago that 𐙚 professor! nanami made sure to give you an area to properly fold clothes on. He gave you everything you wanted, and in return you loved him fully, and he the same.
“That’s it..nice and slow. You’re taking it so well for me, darling.” Your body shook, Nanami’s chest touching your back. He felt so light in comparison to his dick easing into your dripping wet heat, every inch trying its best to fit. “K-Ken it won’t fit-“
“It will always fit, sweetheart.” It was like the wind struck through you, a loud cry breaking its way from your lips- hands gripping table. Nanami’s chest touching your back while he fed you his dick. “That’s it, almost there. I’m so proud of you.” He leans over to kiss your tear stained cheeks. Wet dripping down your legs. Nanami kept a firm hand on your hip, haven’t been inside you for what felt like forever, for him this was a dream he didn’t want to wake up from. How warm you felt inside, how perfect you took him. “Fuck..” He groans into your ear, smirking as he felt your sweet, sweet pussy twitch around him. “s’big… m’so full-!”
Sweet kisses to your puffy cheeks. Sweet words in your ear. You could only make out incoherent noises. He’d pull out right to the tip before slamming his hips forward. “Fuck-“ You’d choke up. Your pussy so full and swollen, and it felt so good. Eyes rolling, you felt so hot in his arms. “You were here all alone.. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” Nanami coos into your ear.
“We can’t have that happening again. My darling wife all alone.” You pick up the anger in his voice. “Fff- o-oh wait-“ He speeds up, “...K-Ken!” you felt one of his hands leave your hip, he adjusts you just a bit- not breaking his pace- and wraps it around your neck gently enough to not hurt you. “That’s it..I’m almost there, sweetheart.” His voice cracks, forehead resting on the back of your head and he squeezes your throat. You hadn’t even realized you’ve cum, gushing over all nine inches of his thickness. “Baby..” you hear him mumble.
“H-hm?” You gasp, eyes shutting tightly. He hit that beautiful spot inside of you- something you haven’t felt in so long. “A baby.” He tilts your head, leaving a quick kiss to your temple. “Please darling, let me fill you up.” How dare he leave you alone by yourself? Neglecting you? Nanami didn’t want to be that kind of husband when you loved him so much.
It was evident once he saw your cheerful face walk into his office, five month old baby bump showing proudly in your tank top. “I brought you lunch!”
᭡୧ Fix your route? Nah, Fuck you right. — N. Kento.
᭡୧ synopsis: in which nanami is a longtime divorced man but got a very active sex life. and in which a new, bimbo… and a very much younger neighbor moves in next to his apartment. worst part is, he’s not able to control himself around you. especially when you’re at his door, asking him to fix your wifi late at this hour.
᭡୧ pairing: older!nanami kento x kinda bimbo fem!reader
᭡୧ c. warnings: age gap, heavy sexuál tension, eyefu cking, solo m. mast urbation, nanami is in his 40s and reader is early 20s, belly/tummy bulge, fing ering, did i say heavy se xual tension?, pus sy eating, overstim ulation, squi rting, weak plot/heavy po rn — if there’s more to tag lmk. w.c: 7.8k+
nanami kento has always kept his life neat and quiet, the kind of man who folds his shirts the same way every morning and times his coffee exactly seven minutes after the water boils. forty years old, divorced once a long time ago, and now he lives alone in the corner apartment on the fourth floor where the hallway light flickers just enough to remind him he should probably call maintenance but never does.
his sex life is the same as everything else he controls, sparse and deliberate. a few times a year he lets himself download one of those bland apps, meets a woman his age in a hotel bar, fucks her slow and polite in the dark so neither of them has to look too closely at the other.
most nights though it is just his own hand in the shower, quick and efficient, eyes closed while he thinks about nothing at all. he likes it that way. clean. no mess. no complications. until you moved in next door three months ago and ruined every single one of those careful rules without even trying.
you showed up on a rainy tuesday with too many cardboard boxes and a laugh that carried through the thin walls like it belonged there.
early twenties, fresh out of whatever college or job that spat you into this building, always in oversized shirts and tiny sleep shorts that rode up the back of your thighs when you bent over to pick up your mail. nanami noticed you the first time he passed you in the hallway, the way you smiled at him like he was just another neighbor instead of a man who suddenly felt every one of those twenty years between you. he told himself it was nothing. just new noise in a building that had been quiet for years. but then the noise became something else.
the soft thump of your music when you cooked dinner, the way your balcony light stayed on late while you scrolled on your phone, the faint vanilla scent that drifted under his door every time you took out the trash. he started catching himself pausing at the peephole when he heard your keys, hating the way his cock twitched at the mere sound of your footsteps. hating it more when he realized he was hard again in the shower that same night, fist wrapped tight around himself while he pictured those sleep shorts pooled around your ankles.
he tried to ignore it at first. threw himself into longer office hours, came home later, kept the volume on his television higher so he would not hear you humming in the shower through the shared wall. it did not work.
every little thing you did chipped at him. the way you waved from your balcony in the mornings wearing nothing but a thin tank top and no bra, nipples stiff from the cool air. the way you asked him once, all sweet and shy, if he knew how to fix a leaking faucet and stood too close while he worked, soft focused grunts leaving is chest and his rolled-up sleeve. after that night he jerked off twice before he could even get his jeans off, coming so hard he had to brace one hand on the shower tile just to stay upright.
he hated how easily you affected him. hated that a girl barely old enough to rent her own apartment could make a man like him, a man who prided himself on control, feel like some desperate teenager again. his sex life used to be something he managed. now it was just quiet frustration and the occasional guilty stroke while he thought about how small you would look under him, how tight you would feel, how pretty you would sound moaning his name.
then came the router. you knocked on his door at nine-thirty one random night, voice small and embarrassed over the phone first, then in person when he opened up still dressed in his white button-up and black jeans.
nanami stands at your doorway with one hand already in his pocket, the other holding the small toolbox he keeps for these exact random neighbor emergencies all ready, and he tells himself for the tenth time that this is nothing. just a quick fix.
your voice is soft and a little embarrassed over he’s not surprised. “sorry to bother you, nanami-san, but my wifi router just died and i have no idea what i’m doing with these things.” he had sighed, told you he would be right over, and now here he is, hating every single second because the moment you open the door he feels it again. that pull. that stupid, inconvenient heat low in his gut that has been creeping up on him since the day you moved in.
you are wearing your famous oversized t-shirt that slips off one shoulder and tiny sleep shorts that ride up when you shift your weight, bare feet on the hardwood, skin glazed with a thin layer of sweat like you had been lounging on the couch all evening.
you smile at him, grateful and a little shy, and nanami’s jaw tightens. he is forty, a divorced but settled, a man who likes order and quiet and routines that do not include getting half-hard at the sight of his much younger neighbor’s collarbones. yet here he is, eyes dragging down the line of your neck before he forces them back up.
“thank you so much for coming,” you say, stepping aside to let him in. your voice is warm, a little breathy from the relief of not having to deal with it alone. the apartment smells faintly of vanilla and whatever takeout you had for dinner.
nanami nods once, polite as always, and follows you toward the corner where the router sits on a low shelf. he can feel the weight of his own body, the clean but lived-in scent of his white button-up clinging slightly to his skin after a long day, black jeans sitting snug on his hips. he is musty in that grown-man way, soap and faint cologne mixed with the faint trace of office air and the walk over, nothing overpowering but undeniably male. he knows it. he hopes you do not notice how it fills the small space between you.
you hover close while he crouches down to look at the router, your thigh brushing his shoulder as you point at the blinking lights. “it just stopped working out of nowhere. i tried restarting it but…” your words trail off when he glances up.
his eyes catch on the way your t-shirt hangs loose, the soft swell of your tits visible at the neckline, the smooth skin of your legs right there at eye level. he should look away yet nanami does not. instead his gaze lingers, slow and heavy, tracing the curve of your hip, the way the hem of those shorts digs into the flesh of your thigh. he feels his cock twitch in his jeans, thickening against the zipper before he can stop it.
fuck.
he shifts his weight, trying to hide the growing bulge, but the movement only makes the fabric pull tighter.
“let me see,” he mutters, voice lower than he intends, rough around the edges. his fingers work the cables, checking connections, but his mind is not on the router. it is on you. on how you smell like warm skin and faint lotion, on how you keep biting your lip while you watch him, on how easily he could reach out and slide his palm up the back of your thigh.
he has been trying to ignore it for weeks. it takes him back to the way you wave at him from your balcony in the mornings, the sound of your laugh carrying through the thin walls when you are on the phone with friends, the soft thump of your music when you cook.
every little thing has been chipping away at his carefully built restraint. he is older. he should know better. but his body does not care about should.
he stands up slowly, taller than you by a good amount, and when he does his chest brushes your shoulder. you do not step back and the air between you feels thick, charged, and nanami’s eyes drop again, this time to your mouth, then lower to where your nipples have tightened under the thin shirt.
he swallows hard. his cock is fully hard now, pressing insistently against the front of his black jeans, the outline obvious if you were to look down. he turns slightly, pretending to fiddle with the router settings on his phone, but the movement only highlights the bulge.
he can feel the heat of it, the way it throbs when you lean in closer to see what he is doing, your breath ghosting over his forearm.
“is it the cable?” you ask, voice quieter now, like you have noticed the shift too. your eyes flick to his face, then down, then back up, and nanami sees the faint flush creeping up your neck. good. at least he is not suffering alone. he clears his throat, forcing his attention back to the device, but his free hand flexes at his side, knuckles whitening. he wants to touch you. wants to back you against the wall and slide those tiny shorts down your legs, wants to feel how wet you already are because he can smell it, that sweet faint arousal mixing with your usual scent.
his mind supplies the image without permission: you bent over the couch, his cock buried deep while he grips your hips and fucks the whimpers out of you. he exhales sharply through his nose.
“try it now,” he says, stepping back just enough to give you space, but not enough to hide anything. the router lights flicker green. you pull out your phone to test the connection and let out a small happy sound that goes straight to his dick.
“it works! oh my god, thank you, nanami-san.” you turn to him fully, eyes bright, and for a second he lets himself look. really look. at the way your chest rises with each breath, at the bare stretch of thigh, at how your lips part when you realize he is staring.
he does not smile. his expression stays bland, almost stern, but his eyes are dark and hungry, eye-fucking you so openly now that there is no pretending. his cock strains harder against the denim, a small wet spot forming where he is leaking, and he makes no move to hide it.
he is half heartedly relieved you do not notice. your gaze still stuck on your phone screen, lashes fluttering, and when you look back up, you read there is something new in his expression, something needy and waiting to be unleashed.
nanami’s voice comes out rougher than he means. “you should get a better router. this one is outdated.” it is the most neutral thing he can think of, but it does not matter.
the tension is already there, thick and undeniable, wrapping around both of you in the half-unpacked living room. he can feel his pulse in his cock, the heavy ache of it, the way his balls feel tight just from standing this close to you. he wants to hate how easily you affect him.
he does hate it. but he cannot stop the slow drag of his eyes over your body one more time, imagining exactly how you would look spread open on his bed, taking every inch while he tells you how long he has been fighting this.
you shift on your feet, thighs pressing together, and nanami catches the tiny movement. his jaw clenches. he should leave. he should say goodnight and go back to his quiet apartment and jerk off to the memory like he has done more nights than he cares to admit.
your heartbeat picks up its rate, your finger tips sweaty. you feel the air thickening already, noticing the print of your neighbors dick without even looking down.
“so maybe you could stay and i could make you some te–” your proposal is short lived.
“i’ve fixed what you’ve called me to help for. goodnight.” his stern voice catches you off guard, watching him collect and grab the toolbox on the floor that was forgotten seconds ago. you try to say something but stay frozen when he pushes past you, his neck veins slightly showing on his skin.
nanami strides out fast. because right now, with his cock hard and obvious and his control fraying at the edges, he is not sure he has the strength to stay in the same room with you.
and so he leaves you standing in the middle of your apartment with your wifi fixed and a pile of notifications ‘ding-ing’ every seconds.
+
a week drags by in thick, unspoken tension that sits heavy between the thin apartment walls like smoke that refuses to clear.
nanami wakes each morning with the same stern resolution burning behind his eyes: keep the distance, lock it down, pretend the night you called him over for the router never happened. he leaves for the office before the sun fully rises, comes home long after the hallway lights have dimmed, and when he passes your door he keeps his gaze fixed on the scuffed floorboards like they hold the answers to every moral question he has been asking himself since he first felt that inconvenient throb in his jeans. but the memory refuses to fade.
it lingers in the shower when hot water runs down his chest and his hand wraps around his cock without permission, stroking slow and frustrated while your freshly known name slips out between gritted teeth like a confession he wishes he could swallow back.
it follows him into bed at night, where he lies stiff on his back and remembers the exact shade of flush that crept up your neck when his eyes dragged too long over your body.
he hates it. hates how easily a girl barely out of her early twenties can unravel the careful, quiet life he has built for himself. he is older, disciplined, a man who values order and restraint above almost everything, yet here he is, reduced to stolen glances through the balcony railing and late-night strokes that leave him emptier than before.
you do not make any of it easier. you still wave at him from across the narrow gap between your balconies in the mornings, soft smile curving your lips like you know exactly what you are doing to him. you leave polite little notes taped to his door about shared packages or the new recycling bins downstairs, your handwriting neat and looping in a way that makes his fingers tighten around the paper every time.
each accidental brush of your fingers when you hand him mail in the hallway sends a spark straight down his spine, and every polite “good morning, nanami-san” you offer chips away at the walls he keeps trying to reinforce. he catches the sound of your laugh through the thin wall sometimes when you are on the phone with people… your age, light and warm, and his cock thickens in his slacks before he can stop it.
he tells himself it is nothing. just proximity. just the natural reaction of a man who has been alone too long. but deep down he knows the truth: you have gotten under his skin, and the more he tries to push it away the harder it pulls.
tonight the last thread of his restraint finally frays and snaps.
the familiar knock comes at exactly the time he wishes it to, soft but insistent, cutting through the quiet of his evening like a hook sinking into flesh.
nanami opens the door still dressed from the office, white button-up with the sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows, black jeans sitting low on his hips, the faint musty-clean scent of him drifting out into the hallway, clean and faint cologne and the long day clinging to his skin.
you stand there in another oversized t-shirt that slips off one shoulder and those same tiny sleep shorts that have been haunting him, hair not perfect like you had been caught up in something… private, cheeks already carrying that telltale pink flush. it’s as if last week was repeating itself.
“the router again,” you say, voice small and breathy, but your eyes are not on any imaginary problem. they trace the open collar of his shirt, the broad line of his shoulders, the way his chest fills the doorway. “it keeps dropping signal. i tried everything you showed me last time but… i think i need your help again.”
he should tell you no. should suggest you call the building manager in the morning this time and close the door before the air between you thickens any further. instead he exhales slowly through his nose, jaw tight, and reaches for the small toolbox he keeps by the door without saying a word.
he follows you next door, the faint click of the lock behind him sounding louder than it should. the moment you are both inside the living room the atmosphere shifts, warmer and heavier, like the space itself is holding its breath. you lead him to the same corner shelf where the router sits, but this time you do not hover at a polite distance.
you stand close enough that your bare arm brushes his rough skin when he crouches down to look. the lights on the router are steady green. he knows it is working fine the second he glances at it. and most definitely you know it.
the excuse is paper-thin and neither of you bothers to pretend otherwise.
nanami rises slowly, turning to face you fully, his tall frame casting a shadow over you in the soft lamplight. his eyes do the same slow, solemn drag they did the week before, only heavier now, sharpened by seven long days of fighting the memory of your body.
he watches the way your nipples have already tightened under the thin fabric of your shirt, the subtle press of your thighs together like the ache between them is already building. his cock responds immediately, swelling thick and heavy inside his black jeans, the thick ridge becoming obvious as it presses against the denim. he’s sure a faint damp spot is beginning to form, but he does not try to hide it this time. he lets you see. lets the weight of his stare settle on you like a touch.
“the router is working fine,” he says, voice low and rough, carrying that same stern tone he always uses, like he is delivering a verdict in court rather than standing in your living room with a hard-on he cannot will away. “you know that as well as i do. why did you really call me over here?”
you swallow visibly, eyes flicking down to the clear outline of his cock straining against his jeans before rising back to his face.
your chest rises and falls with a heavier breath, lips parting slightly, but instead of answering you take one slow step back. then another. your hands move to the waistband of your sleep shorts, fingers hooking under the fabric, and you bend forward just enough to slide them down your legs in one smooth motion.
the shorts pool at your ankles and you step out of them, leaving you in nothing but a pair of grey lace panties with delicate pink ribbons threaded along the edges. the soft fabric clings to the curve of your pussy, the faint outline of your folds visible through the thin material, and nanami’s right leg twitches involuntarily, his cock jerking hard inside his jeans at the sight.
his brows draw together in a quick pretend of frown, serious expression tightening. “what are you doing?” he asks, voice dropping even lower, a clear warning threaded through the words. but you do not stop. your fingers catch the hem of your oversized t-shirt next, lifting it slowly, inch by inch, revealing the soft skin of your stomach, the delicate dip of your waist, the underside of your breasts.
you pull the shirt up and over your head, letting it drop to the floor beside the shorts, and now you stand there in only the grey lace panties, tits bare, nipples stiff in the cool air of the room. nanami’s breath catches, his hands flexing hard at his sides, the long fingers curling into fists as he fights the urge to reach for you.
he says your name then, low and rough, the syllables heavy with warning. “don’t.” but you only smile, small and soft and knowing, and continue. your thumbs hook into the waistband of the panties, sliding them down your hips with agonizing slowness, the lace catching briefly on the swell of your ass before you let them fall.
you step out of them completely, now fully naked in front of him, skin flushed warm under his heavy gaze. you walk toward him, bare feet quiet on the floor, hips swaying just enough to make your tits move softly with each step. when you are close enough that he can feel the heat radiating from your body, when his mouth opens to speak again, you lift one finger and press it gently to his lips, shushing him.
nanami lets out a small, broken sound, half whimper, half groan, the noise slipping out before he can stop it. his cock throbs visibly in his jeans, another bead of pre-cum soaking into the fabric as the tension coils tighter in the narrow space between your bodies.
he exhales shakily against your finger, eyes dark and conflicted, thick needy lines deepening on his face. “you’re a very young girl…” he trails off, voice rough and strained, the words carrying the weight of every reason he has been telling himself to stay away.
you pull your finger back just enough to speak, voice soft but steady. “i’m legal.”
“barely,” he counters immediately, the word clipped, his gaze dropping despite himself to the bare curve of your breasts, it taught him to squeeze on them and make you feel good, the soft swell of your hips, the smooth skin between your thighs where he can already see the faint shine of arousal. “you’re barely twenty-something. i’m more than twice your age. this… this is not appropriate.”
you tilt your head slightly, still standing naked and unashamed in front of him, the tension so thick it feels like the air itself has weight. “and yet you’re standing here with your cock so hard i can see it twitching through your jeans,” you murmur, eyes flicking down pointedly to the obvious bulge. “you’ve been avoiding me all week, nanami-san, but you still came over the second i knocked. tell me again how inappropriate this is.”
caught him red handed. fuck you.
he lets out another low groan, the sound vibrating in his chest, his hand coming up like he might push you away but instead hovering just above your waist, fingers trembling with restraint. “you have no idea what you’re asking for,” he says, voice quieter now, almost pained. “i’m not some young man who can just… give in without consequences. you deserve better than an older neighbor who can’t keep his eyes off you.”
the banter stretches, slow and heavy, every word laced with the electric pull between you. you step even closer, your bare breasts brushing the front of his white shirt, nipples dragging against the fabric, and nanami’s breath hitches sharply. “then why does it feel like you’ve been thinking about this as much as i have?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper. “why do you look at me like you want to bend me over every time we pass in the hall?”
his jaw clenches, the muscle ticking visibly, but his eyes stay locked on yours even as his cock continues to throb between you.
“because i do,” he admits finally, the words dragged out like they cost him something. “i want to. more than i should. but you’re young. barely out of college. and i’m… this.” he gestures vaguely at himself, the musty yet cleaned scent of his body stronger now with the heat rising off his skin, the faint sweat dampening the collar of his shirt. “a tired man who should know better.”
you smile again, softer this time, and reach up to trace one finger along the line of his jaw. “then stop fighting it for one night,” you whisper. “just let yourself have me. i want you, nanami. i’ve wanted you since the first time you fixed my router and looked at me like you were starving.”
the silence stretches again, thick and humming with tension, his breath coming heavier now, chest rising and falling against yours. his hand finally settles on your waist, large palm warm and slightly rough against your bare skin, thumb stroking once, slow and deliberate.
he does not pull you closer yet, but he does not push you away either. the battle is still there in his eyes, solemn and conflicted, but the hunger is winning, inch by aching inch, as the minutes tick by in the quiet room and his cock continues to strain painfully against his jeans, waiting for the moment his restraint finally gives out completely.
nanami’s hand tightens on your waist, fingers spanning wide enough to nearly wrap around the curve of it, and the last of his resistance crumbles like dry paper under the heat of your bare skin against his palm.
he exhales once, long and shaky, eyes still calculated but dark now with the kind of hunger he has been trying to bury for weeks, and then he is moving, guiding you backward until the backs of your knees hit the couch and you sink down onto the cushions. he follows without a word, dropping to his knees between your spread thighs like a man who has finally stopped pretending he can walk away.
his broad shoulders push your legs wider, the white button-up stretching tight across his chest as he leans in, breath hot against the inside of your thigh. he looks up at you one last time, jaw set, like he is giving you one final chance to tell him no, but you only slide your fingers into his neatly combed hair and tug him closer. that is all it takes.
his mouth finds your pussy like he has been starving for it, lips parting to drag a slow, broad stripe up your folds, tongue flat and heavy as he tastes you properly for the first time. the groan that vibrates out of his chest is low and rough, almost pained, because you are already soaked, slick coating his tongue in a way that makes his cock jerk hard inside his jeans.
he licks again, slower this time, savoring the way your thighs tremble on either side of his head, then seals his mouth around your clit and sucks gently, tongue flicking in tight little circles that have your back arching off the couch. one of his huge hands slides up your stomach, palm pressing flat just below your navel, and he pushes down with just enough pressure to make your pussy clench around nothing.
the size of his hand there is obscene, fingers spread wide so his pinky rests near the base of your ribs and his thumb brushes the top of your mound, the sheer scale of him against your smaller frame making everything feel tighter, hotter, more overwhelming.
nanami eats you out like he has all night and nothing else matters, tongue sliding deep between your folds before circling back up to your clit, sucking and licking in a rhythm that builds slow and relentless. his free hand grips your thigh, spreading you even wider, thumb digging into the soft flesh while he buries his face deeper, nose pressing against your mound as he drinks down every drop of you. the wet sounds fill the quiet room, wet and loud, his groans mixing with the slick slide of his tongue and the shaky breaths you keep letting out.
he keeps that steady pressure on your lower belly the whole time, palm rubbing slow circles that make your insides twist and flutter, the tummy bullying so deliberate it feels like he is trying to feel exactly where his mouth is working from the inside. your hips twitch, trying to ride his face, but he holds you down with that big hand, keeping you exactly where he wants you while he pushes you closer and closer to the edge.
when you come it hits hard and sudden, pussy pulsing against his tongue as your thighs clamp around his head and a broken moan spills out of you. nanami does not stop. he keeps licking you through it, slower now but just as thorough, tongue dragging over your oversensitive clit until your whole body jerks and you try to squirm away from the intensity.
he only presses his palm firmer against your stomach, holding you in place, the slight overstimulation making your eyes water and your voice crack on his name. “nanami…plea– fuck, it’s too much,” you whimper, but he just hums against you, the vibration sending another sharp spark through your core, and slides two thick fingers into your still-clenching pussy without warning. they stretch you wide, the size of them so much bigger than your own that you feel every knuckle, every ridge, as he curls them deep and starts pumping slow and steady.
he lifts his head just enough to watch his fingers disappear inside you, eyes dark and tempting, lips shiny with your slick. “look at how well you take them,” he murmurs, voice gravel-rough, the praise low and almost reverent as he presses down on your belly again with his other hand, feeling the way his fingers create a very faint bulge against your walls from the outside.
the pressure makes everything tighter, more intense, and you clench hard around him, another wave of overstimulation crashing through you while he keeps fingering you through the aftershocks. his thumb finds your clit, rubbing slow circles that have you shaking, the combination of his thick fingers stretching you open and the firm press on your tummy turning every breath into a broken little sob.
he does not rush. he just keeps working you, long fingers dragging along that perfect spot inside while his palm rubs steady circles on your stomach, bullying that soft lower belly until you are dripping down his wrist and whimpering his name like it will make it better than it already is.
only when your thighs are trembling uncontrollably and your pussy is fluttering helplessly around his fingers does he finally ease up, sliding them out slow and careful, bringing them to his mouth to lick clean with a low groan that makes your stomach flip.
he stays on his knees between your legs for a long moment, forehead resting against your thigh, breathing hard while his cock strains painfully against his jeans, the front of the fabric dark with pre-cum. when he finally looks up at you his eyes are still determined, still carrying that quiet conflict, but the hunger has won completely now, and the way he stares at your flushed, marked body makes it clear he is nowhere near done with you tonight.
nanami stays on his knees between your spread thighs for another long, heavy breath, forehead pressed to the soft skin just above your knee while his chest rises and falls like he is trying to steady something inside himself that already broke minutes ago. his fingers are still shiny with you, the faint scent of his skin mixed with the sharp sweetness of your pussy hanging thick in the air.
when he finally moves it is slow and deliberate, like every motion costs him something. he rises to his full height, towering over you on the couch, white button-up wrinkled and damp at the collar from the heat rolling off both of you. his hands, large and steady, slide under your thighs and around your back in one smooth motion, scooping you up off the cushions like you weigh nothing at all.
your legs wrap around his slim waist on instinct, heels digging into the firm muscle of his lower back, and the sudden shift leaves you gasping against his shoulder because he lifts you so easily, strong arms locking you against his chest while your bare pussy hovers right above the heavy bulge still trapped in his jeans.
he does not give you time to look down. one arm stays banded tight under your ass, holding your weight like it is effortless, while his free hand works between your bodies to unbuckle his belt with a quiet metallic clink. the zipper follows, the sound loud in the quiet room, and he shoves both jeans and briefs down just enough to free himself.
you feel the thick, heavy length spring up against your inner thigh, hot and velvet-smooth, the blunt mushroom head already slick and leaking. before you can even tilt your head to catch a glimpse he shifts you higher in his arms, pressing your back against the nearest wall for leverage, and uses that same free hand to guide the fat head of his cock right to your dripping entrance.
the broad tip nudges through your folds, rubbing slow and deliberate, coating himself in your slick while he watches your face with those solemn dark eyes, brows knitted tight like he is still fighting the last scraps of restraint.
“breathe,” he mutters, voice low and rough, the single word almost gentle even as his hips tilt forward. he helps you sink down, one thick inch at a time, the stretch burning so good it makes your jaw go slack and your eyes flutter half-shut.
he is big, thicker than anything you have taken, the veined shaft dragging along your walls as he lowers you steadily until your ass meets his hips and he is buried to the hilt. a quiet groan tears from his throat when he bottoms out, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours, and for a long second he just holds you there, letting you feel every inch of him pulsing deep inside your smaller body.
you’re pressed and folded in an awkward position, and it only makes the size difference feel more obscene, your soft curves dwarfed by his tall, solid frame.
nanami does not wait long. his hands grip your ass harder, fingers digging into the soft flesh, and he starts to move, lifting you up and dropping you back down onto his cock with controlled, powerful strokes that hammer into you deep enough to punch the air from your lungs. each thrust makes your whole body jolt in his arms, tits bouncing under nothing. bare and free for him to watch, back sliding against the wall while he fucks up into you like he has been imagining it for weeks.
his height towers over you completely, shoulders broad enough to block out the room, white shirt straining across his chest with every roll of his hips.
the mushroom head of his cock drags perfectly along that spot inside you on every downstroke, the sheer size of him making your belly bulge slightly every time he bottoms out, a faint outline visible under your skin if you looked down, but he keeps your face buried against his neck so you cannot.
he keeps that steady, punishing rhythm, hips snapping up hard while his arms hold you suspended like you are weightless, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing louder with every thrust. sweat beads along his hairline, dampening the collar of his shirt, and his breath comes in hot, measured pants against your ear.
“too big for you?” he asks, voice strained but still carrying that solemn edge, even as he grinds deep and holds you there for a heartbeat, letting you feel how completely he fills you.
your only answer is a broken moan and loled nod, nails digging into his shoulders through his shirt, legs tightening around his waist as another wave of overstimulation starts building fast. he does not slow down. he just keeps lifting and dropping you onto every thick inch, eyebrows still knitted in concentration, eyes flicking between your slack mouth and the way your body takes him so greedily.
his shirt keeps getting in the way, bunching up between both of you, so he shifts his grip, one hand sliding up to yank the fabric higher until it is completely off of him, exposing his sweaty chest completely to the cool air and your half-focused stare.
now there is nothing between you but sweat-slick skin and the relentless drag of his cock stretching you open. he leans in, mouth finding your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin while he hammers into you harder, the angle shifting so the head of his cock bullies that perfect spot with every upward thrust. your smaller frame jolts in his arms with each powerful stroke, pussy clenching tight around the thick length splitting you apart, and nanami groans low and deep, the sound rumbling through his chest as he feels you start to flutter around him again.
he keeps you pinned against the wall like that, towering over you, strong arms never tiring as he fucks you deep and steady, the size difference so stark it makes your head spin. every time he bottoms out his hips grind against your clit, the pressure on your lower belly from the inside making everything feel tighter, fuller, more overwhelming.
you are already close again, thighs shaking around his waist, voice cracking on his name, and nanami just holds you there, determined eyes locked on your face while he drives you closer to the edge with every heavy thrust, determined to feel you come around his cock before he lets himself follow.
nanami’s rhythm starts to falter just a little, hips snapping up with shorter, more desperate strokes while his breath comes hot and ragged against the side of your neck. he can feel it building fast, that tight coil low in his gut, his heavy balls drawing up tight and aching as your pussy flutters and squeezes around every thick inch of him.
but he refuses to let go first. he is older, more controlled, and right now that control means making sure you fall apart completely before he does.
with a low grunt he shifts his grip, one big hand sliding under your ass to tilt your hips forward while the other presses flat against your lower back, forcing your spine into a deep arch that pushes your pelvis out and opens you up even more obscenely. the new angle is nasty, almost cruel, your body folded and suspended in his arms so your clit grinds hard against the base of his cock on every upward thrust and the fat head of him drags directly into that spongy spot inside you at a brutal upward curve.
your legs dangle wider, heels kicking uselessly against his lower back, the sheer size difference making you feel like you are being split open and rearranged from the inside while he holds you like a toy.
he starts hammering into you with that filthy new angle, cock bullying that spot over and over until your eyes roll back and broken sobs start spilling from your slack mouth.
the overstimulation crashes in hard and fast, your already sensitive pussy clenching and spasming around him while tears prick at the corners of your eyes and start to slip down your flushed cheeks.
your hand flies down between your bodies on instinct, palm pushing weakly at his lower stomach like you can stop the relentless drag of his cock, fingers scrabbling against the damp fabric of his white shirt. nanami’s eyes narrow, jaw tightening, and he leans in close, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he hisses the words low and dark, “do that again and i’ll fucking hurt you good.”
the threat hits you like a live wire. your whole body seizes, a choked cry tearing from your throat, and then you are squirting hard around his cock, hot fluid gushing out in messy pulses that soak his jeans, drip down his balls, and splatter onto the floor beneath you.
nanami groans deep and filthy at the feeling, the wet heat flooding around him making his cock twitch violently inside you. he does not slow down. if anything he fucks you harder, hips snapping up with wet, punishing slaps while his free hand slides between your bodies and starts tracing tight, relentless infinity signs over your swollen clit with two thick fingers. the pressure is mean and perfect, circling and dragging in that figure-eight pattern while he keeps pounding into that nasty folded angle, cock bullying your g-spot and his fingers never letting up on your overstimulated clit.
“i know, baby, i know,” he rasps against your ear, voice hoarse and strained, the words almost soothing even as he wrecks you. “you can take it. just let it happen.” your legs shake violently around his waist, tears streaming freely now, little hiccuping sobs mixing with the wet squelch of your pussy taking every brutal thrust.
nanami keeps that freaky rhythm going, hips rolling deep, fingers drawing those endless infinity loops over your clit until your vision whites out and another shattering orgasm rips through you, pussy clamping down so hard it almost forces him out. he hisses through his teeth, sweat dripping from his brow onto your chest, but he powers through it, fucking you straight through the peak and into the trembling aftershocks.
his own control finally snaps. his balls tighten almost painfully, cock swelling even thicker inside your fluttering walls as he buries himself to the hilt one last time, grinding deep while thick, hot ropes of cum flood you. he comes with a low, broken groan that vibrates through his chest, pulsing hard and endless, filling you so full that it starts leaking out around his cock in creamy white streaks every time he gives one last shallow thrust.
the mess is everywhere, your squirt and his cum dripping down your thighs, soaking the front of his jeans and pooling on the floor, the obscene wet sounds slowly fading as he keeps you pinned against the wall, still buried deep, both of you heaving for air.
nanami’s forehead drops to your shoulder, breathing hard, the last energy well spent, showing of with both of your sweat-soaked body mixing with the sharp smell of sex filling the room. his arms stay locked around you, holding your smaller frame effortlessly even as his cock twitches with the last weak spurts inside you.
for a long moment the only sounds are your shaky sobs and his ragged breathing, bodies trembling together in the aftermath, messy and spent and still connected. he does not pull out yet. he just keeps you there, suspended in his arms, the quiet weight of everything that just happened settling heavy between you while his cum continues to leak slowly out around where he is still buried deep.
nanami stays buried inside you for what feels like forever, thick cock still twitching with the last lazy pulses while warm cum slowly leaks out around where your bodies are joined, dripping down your thighs and onto the floor in messy little trails.
your legs are still wrapped around his waist, trembling, heels digging weakly into his lower back like you cannot quite let go yet, and he keeps holding you up without any effort, strong arms locked under your ass, keeping your smaller frame suspended against the wall like it is the most natural thing in the world. your shaky little sobs eventually quiet into soft, hiccuping breaths, tears drying on your cheeks, but the overstimulation still makes your pussy flutter weakly around him every few seconds, milking out another thin trickle of his cum.
finally he shifts, a low groan rumbling in his chest as he carefully pulls out, the wet sound loud and obscene in the quiet room.
a thick glob of his cum follows immediately, sliding out of your swollen, puffy pussy and running down to join the mess already pooled beneath you. he lowers you gently until your feet touch the floor, but your legs are too shaky to hold you, so he keeps one arm banded around your waist, steadying you against his chest while his other hand tucks himself back into his briefs and jeans with a quiet zip.
the white button-up is wrinkled and damp with sweat when he puts it back on, black jeans dark at the front from your squirt, but he still looks put-together in that quiet, solemn way of his, even now.
he does not say anything at first. just looks down at you with those dark, heavy eyes, thumb brushing slow circles on your bare hip like he cannot quite stop touching you. then he exhales, long and tired, and rests his forehead against yours for a brief second.
“this…” his voice comes out rough, low, almost reluctant. “this can’t happen again.”
the words hang between you, simple and final, even as his hand lingers on your skin and his cum continues to drip slowly down the inside of your thigh.
he presses one last, almost gentle kiss to your temple, the kind of kiss that feels heavier than any promise, before he steps back. his fingers flex once at his sides like he is fighting the urge to pull you close again, then he turns toward the door, shoulders straight, footsteps quiet on the floor.
“get some rest,” he murmurs without looking back, the manly scent of him still clinging to your skin. “and… call the building manager about the router next time.”
the door clicks shut behind him, leaving you standing there naked and trembling in the middle of your living room, thighs sticky, pussy aching and full of him, the quiet weight of what just happened settling deep in your chest. you know he means it. you also know, deep down, that neither of you really believes it.
well y’all i had to claw my nails onto a wall to storm this idea so it better do good or you’re not hearing from me again.. (i’m literally posting in few hours again 😛)
nanami can't stop making sex tapes on his work laptop...
he knows it's stupid. dangerous. absolutely anyone can see that. he also knows it's wrong, that he shouldn't have photo evidence of the ways he turns you out every other night.
but he can't stop. the thrill is too tempting, scandalous nature of recording your screaming orgasms scratching a part of his brain that's never been scratched.
square. stickler for the rules. (unless they're dumb) rigid. all words to describe him. yet he still has you in prone bone, tits pressed flat to the mattress like how his front is to your back, fucking you for the blinking red light to see.
"yes, right there!" your little voice carries to the microphone in spite of its shitty quality. his thrusts are slow, deep, like something out of those one of a kind amateur films.
without fail, his tip is hitting your g spot, sparks of pleasure radiating from your core to your toes.
"you like when i fuck right here?" thrusting hard on the last word, he makes your poor mouth hang open on a silent moan. he's been inside you so many times, mapped out every erogenous zone, he doesn't need to ask where to angle his perfect cock. your walls have every inch of him memorized.
"c'mon, darling. look at the camera. don't you want to look at your pretty face when we play it back?" cooing in your ear, voice like velvet, he guides your face to stare directly into the blinking light.
while he sees it as beautiful, you know you look beyond fucked out: pouty, kiss bitten lips, sweaty neck, ruffled hair and his hand forcing your head into the pillow make for the perfect pornographic look.
disheveled. exhausted. that's how he wants his wife to look after rounds of making love, because that's when he knows you're truly satisfied.
it's why he's grinding into you, free hand snaking around your body to rub that swollen clit. "fuck, ken!" swallowing your moan with a kiss, he finds himself rubbing even tighter circles just the way you like.
"oh my god!" voice fraying at the edges, you can't help the way it cracks when he's fucking you so good. your moans go straight to his cock, rutting into you deep like an animal.
the pressure building in your core is low and familiar. nanami's length damn near kissing your cervix, clit stimulated, your orgasm is sure to crash any moment now.
"s-slow down!" he chuckles at that. "now why would i go slower when you're enjoying it so much?" there's a strain on his words, like he's fighting back a groan. "'s too much!"
too much. like he hasn't heard that before.
"agh-were you not begging for it, though? that text to 'come home soon, i need you to record' just my imagination, hm?" condescension drips from his tone like honey, teasing his silly wife for thinking she couldn't take his mouthwatering dick.
"are you saying i'm lying, darling?" how could he expect you to listen to anything he was saying when he's rearranging your guts so good?
"n-no, ken!" "that's what i fucking thought."
your trembling hands clutch the sheets like a lifeline. surges of pleasure make your legs kick up, but his legs are on top of yours, caging you in. suddenly, he angles his hips up, heavy balls now smacking into your clit while his tip hits your g spot over and over.
"oh my god, i'm gonna cum!" the hand gripping your face lets go, moving to caress your hand. "go ahead and cum for me, my love," he whispers, moving his lips to the nape of your neck, ghosting over the sweaty skin.
nanami watches in awe as you orgasm, hips shaking in pure ecstasy. his eyes, which were previously glued to the screen, are now locked with yours, rolled up as you quake against him.
"just breathe, baby. breathe." he's always there to talk you through your orgasm, suddenly becoming tender as if he wasn't whispering filth in your ear a second ago.
the recording doesn't stop until you've fully come down from your high. off camera, you finished him off, swollen lips giving him stellar head until he came.
but that's not for the camera to see. it's about you, watching you writhe in pleasure filled agony, documenting how many times you can cum, rewatching the first time he made you squirt.
every moment is hidden in that camera, inside of those files.
next time he needs to send a video attachment, god better make sure he clicks the right thing and not another sex tape. the dirty films take up most of his storage.
but maybe he wants people to see them. to see how good he fucks his wife, how loud she moans because no one can fuck her like he can. maybe then his shitty boss will leave him alone, see that nanami kento has no problem "letting loose."
pairing: suguru geto x afab reader
words: 3,600
contains: oral sex, virginity loss, fingering, and suguru talking you through it.
mood: soft, sweet, and tender.
author's note: this was one of my favorites to write and i thought i should share it here too! also, let's be friends (ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ.ﾟ
You wonder what’s so different about this one Sunday morning.
You wake up with Suguru’s body pressed against you from behind. His lean arms wrapped around your torso. His cheek is pressed against the back of your neck, breathing and snoring softly, deeply, down your shoulder.
He holds you as he always does: firmly, as if he was carrying you, and yet gently, as if you were fragile.
This isn’t the first time you woke up in his apartment, and it’s not the first time he ever spooned you in your sleep. Yet somehow your body feels warmer than before, and your skin feels more sensitive to his touch. His sweet and woody scent is heavy and enveloping, lulling you into a dizzying state of comfort. Not quite asleep, but not quite lucid and awake.
You feel him shift from behind you, and you feel something press against the back of your thighs. Something hard and thick and warm. Your legs flinch and your heart starts beating faster as you realize what it was. Suguru wakes up from the slightest tremor in your body. He raises his head to look at you with bleary eyes.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice still deep and gravely from sleep.
You turn your head to meet him and smile, “Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry to wake you up.”
He nearly melts at the way you’re nestled comfortably in his bed, in his arms. Your smile looks soft and pretty under the ray of sunlight pouring through the window.
He hugs you tighter and nuzzles his face against your cheek, your neck, “I’m poking you aren’t I? Sorry.”
You blush and laugh softly, “It’s okay. It’s not like you can control it.”
“Yeah,” he sighs.
He points his hips away and lies his head back down the pillow. You feel your chest strain and your body ache from the loss of pressure and warmth. You pull his arms closer, tighter, around your torso like a blanket.
Suguru has always been so careful, so respectful. And so attuned with the ways your body reacts to him. He can feel the way your heart is pounding inside your chest as blood rushes from your heart to your skin, warming your entire body. He can hear the way your breath deepens as a strange sensation overcomes you. Heat. Desire. Lust.
Suguru nuzzles against your cheeks once again.
“Do you want it back?” he asks.
You lean towards his face, your voice barely a whisper.
“Yes.”
He turns his hips again to press his cock against you. Then he slides his leg in between yours. You didn’t even realize how badly you were aching for him, until he pressed his thigh against your cunt and relief washes over you. You hum in pleasure against the pillow.
“You need me don’t you?” he asks, as your thighs start squeezing and rutting his own, enjoying each pulse of pleasure against your clit.
You nod, biting your lip in anticipation.
“Okay,” he whispers. “We’ll take it slow, okay? You can tell me when to stop… when we’ll keep going…”
He starts moving his hips, grinding his cock languidly against your backside. You start rutting against his thigh in a similar rhythm. His fingers brush your hair to the back of your neck and start kissing an electrifying trail from under your ear to your collarbone, sniffing your scent as he goes. His lips are a bit dry from sleep, but you enjoy the contrast between the roughness of his lips and the softness of his kisses.
He pressed his hand firmly against your chest, grabbing a handful of your breast. Then it wanders down to your stomach, to your hips, to your thigh. It lingers under the hem of your shirt–his shirt. That you wear each time you sleep in his place. You take his wrist and pull it upwards, letting him touch your skin.
“I’m gonna raise your shirt. Is that okay? We’ll use the blanket if you’re cold,” he asks, with that smooth, gentle voice. As if his words are melting on his tongue.
“Okay,” you sigh. He reaches for the blanket pooled by your ankles and pulls it over you. Then he raises your shirt to your armpits and starts caressing your breasts. You shiver from the lightness of his touch.
“You’re so soft,” He sighs, rolling your breasts with a warm hand. He relishes the way your nipples shrivel in his fingertips. “So pretty…”
He pulls you gently by the shoulder, wanting you to face him. Your lips drift towards his. Suguru hums in approval, parting his lips to let your tongue meet him. He rolls over on top of you and lets the bare skin of your torsos press against each other, seeking comfort in the warmth and smoothness of your bodies.
Every kiss and every touch, even the scent of his skin, the taste of his tongue, and the small hums and groans from deep in his chest rushes straight down your spine and to your crotch. You pull away, forming a trail of saliva from your tongue to his. You look between his legs and notice his head peeking from under his waistband. The slit glistening with pre-cum.
“I wanna touch it,” you whisper.
“Please,” he replies, almost immediately. His voice is shaking now.
He takes your wrist and lets you fondle him over the fabric. His sweatpants barely cushion his massive length and girth. You caress him with a light and measuring touch. Sliding your hands up and down his hardening shaft, then cupping his balls, feeling how soft they are in the palm of your hand.
“What do you think?” He asks, smiling at the way you look at his crotch with lust-drunk eyes, your lips parted as you feel him. “Keep touching. Get used to the feeling.”
“It’s… thick,” you whisper with a mix of fear and hunger in your tone. Your hand sinks past his waistband, grabbing his shaft. His head drops down your neck with a hiss. His hips start to move, fucking your closed fist. His skin feels even smoother and thinner against your palm, textured slightly by the soft veins snaking underneath.
“I knew it,” he hisses between gritted teeth. “I knew your hand was gonna feel this good.”
He motions you to sit on your shin while he lies on his back. He pulls his sweatpants down to his thighs, exposing the thick cock laying heavily over his abs. He takes you by the wrist and wraps your hand around the shaft, just underneath the crown.
“Keep playing with it, baby. Make me feel good,” he mutters as he wraps his hand around your fist and starts jacking. Teaching you to his preferred rhythm and grip. “I know you can do it.”
You follow his instructions, gazing into his eyes as you gauge his reaction. His cheeks are flushed deep red, his eyes glazed over as he bites his lips and watch your hand slide up and down. He reaches towards your waistband and sinks his hand under your panties from behind.
You feel his finger slide between your lips.
“Aah!” You whimper and shudder. Your hand stops moving as he glides his finger back and forth against your slick cleft.
He wraps his free hand around yours once again and urges you to keep pumping.
“Try to concentrate,” he says with a gentle tone. “I’m just making sure you stay wet while you’re working on me.”
You nod try your goddamn best. But his fingers just feel so long, so smooth and slick, as he teases your bud with each languid stroke. You knew that Suguru had some experience, but it was only around now that you realized the depth of his skill. You start twitching and throbbing against his finger. Your thighs squeezing his hand to trap him in place.
“So sensitive. Have you ever touched yourself? At least once?” He asks, a playful smile on his face. He seems to be enjoying the way you struggle to stay upright and still.
“Of course I have,” you reply, pouting. “But it feels different when it’s you.”
“Oh yeah?” He smiles. “Do you think of me?”
You blush and look away. “I mean, who else do I think about?”
You feel his cock spasm in the palm of your hand. He chuckles softly.
“I think about you too. But this feels better than I imagined.”
He slides a second finger between your lips, now drawing circles on your aching clit. You grunt and whine. The ticklish sensation is too dull, too soft, to relieve the ache building between your legs. You look at him and notice that slight, mischievous slant on the corner of his mouth. He knows he’s torturing you. He’s relishing that starved look in your eyes.
Indignant, you bend down and give a soft lick on the tip of his cock.
“Fuck!” He grunts. His breathing grows heavier as you glide a soft tongue around and around the slit. “Hah… Holy shit.”
“Not so fun when you’re the one being teased, right?” You ask.
Suguru huffs and laughs.
“Are you kidding? I love it,” he replies. “Fuck me up, babe. Make a mess out of me. I wanna beg.”
You bite your lip and smile. Emboldened, you bend down and wrap your lips around the crown of his cock and start coating him with your mouth. Absorbing him, caressing him with your lips and tongue. Suguru groans low, his thighs nearly vibrating underneath your palm as he summons all of his will not to shoot his hips up and gag you with his length.
The taste of his dew drop reminds you of all things honeyed and sweet—ripe mangoes, fresh peach, a drop of caramel, enhanced by the delicate saltiness of his skin. His scent is warmer and smokier like burning wood. And somehow thick and sweet like amber. You dip your head down, wanting to taste more. You want to feel his veins against your tongue, his tip on the roof of your mouth, inching closer to the back of your throat. You suck him with eagerness and hunger that provokes his greed.
“Keep stroking me, baby. Suck the tip and stroke the rest,” he mumbles. “Stroke me while you suck me. Please.”
You wrap your hand around the base of his shaft and start sliding in tandem with your mouth. Suguru groans louder now. The balls of his feet digging and dragging against the mattress. His fingers circle harder on your clit, rewarding you with mutual pleasure.
"Mmph… " You hum as you start rutting against his fingers, and his cock nearly bursts from the vibrations in your throat.
“Oh God, wait. Baby–baby wait. Not so fast,” he gasps, grabbing you by the hair to keep you steady. But you move your head faster anyway, your hand tightening and swiveling around his shaft, wanting to drag him to the edge and lose all control.
“Okay–No–stop, stop, stop,” he pants, pulling you upwards by the scalp. He pries your mouth out of his cock with a wet smack. “Don't make me cum just yet. Not there.”
He sits up and slides you down the bed by the hip, pulling your crotch towards him. Suguru sinks between your legs and pulls your panties to the side, peeking like a chef with his pot. Not only have you soaked through the thin, lacy fabric, he can also see the way your clit and your folds flutter and quiver in anticipation. The feel of his heavy breathing alone is enough to make your hips jump.
“All this for me?” he teases. “I’m touched.”
You bite your thumb and grin towards him. Like a child about to be handed a new toy. Suguru pulls your panties off and starts kissing and nipping the inside of your thighs.
“My turn to take care of you, okay?” he asks, his lips seeking permission, hovering so close to your bud. And when you nod, he dives in. Suguru cycles through several techniques, trying to gauge which one you like best–a wide soft tongue, perhaps small precise licks, hard or soft suckling. And once he finds the right brain-blasting combo his mouth becomes relentless. He spreads your thighs and pins them unto the bed, giving him more access. You grasp, white-knuckled, the pillow underneath you. And you release a low, animalic grunt.
“I know, baby, I know,” he mutters before he dives once again. “Just keep feeling it. Feel good for me, baby. You need to be ready.”
“I am ready,” you plead. Every fiber of your muscle begs for release. Your hips begin to squirm away from him, trying to save your pussy from overstimulation. Suguru had to shift his hands and pin your hips down. “Please just-”
“Not yet,” he cuts off. He reaches upwards to hold two fingers near your mouth. “Spit.”
You look at him, bewildered. He commands you again.
“Spit.”
Reluctant, you gather saliva on your tongue and pour it down his fingers. Suguru sinks back down and starts teasing your entrance. Then he slides a finger. And another. Loosening you up with his lips around your clit.
“Does it hurt?” he asks, as he moves his fingers in and out.
You shake your head, “No. But it feels stretched. Right around the entrance.”
“You need to relax,” he murmurs. “Play with your tits for me, will you?”
You nod and slide your hand on the underside of your breasts, rolling them together, teasing your sensitive nipples. You watch Suguru work his lips and fingers on your core. His hair pooling between your legs. His eyes hazy with love and concentration as he makes a mess out of your cunt. Dribbling all the way down his wrist and chin. Eventually, the stretching sensation fades and you feel softer, more malleable, under his touch.
Suguru sits up and starts jacking his cock. His eyes wander over the flushed and dripping mess of flesh he made out of his own girlfriend. Panting as he imagines his cock driving straight inside you. He leans down and aims his tip between your legs. You flinch and look away in a sudden spike of nervousness.
“No, baby. Hey, look at me,” Suguru says with a soft, low, voice, tilting your face towards him. You look up and meet his gentle, earnest eyes. “I love you, okay? It’s just me. You know I won’t do anything to hurt you.”
He starts kissing your forehead, your lips, your neck, your shoulders. You try to focus on your breathing, drawing on every pleasurable sensation you’ve felt before this moment.
“It’s just a new feeling. You just have to get used to me. You just have to get used to feeling this part of your body.” he whispers, as he starts prodding you with the tip of his cock, coating himself with your fluids. “And once you’ve done it… you’ll crave it again.”
You nod, taking in his words. "Okay. I trust you."
"Good. Good girl."
You grit your teeth and whimper as you feel him enter. He thrusts into you inch-by-inch, pushing and withdrawing and stopping as necessary. It hurts. Then it doesn’t hurt. It’s uncomfortable, and then it’s not. You wrap your arms around him and pull him closer to your body, wanting to be crushed by his entire weight. While somehow wanting to push him away. While wanting to strangle him. While wanting to embrace him. To caress him. To scratch him.
He plunges into a place in your body you never realized was there. And more of him keeps coming and coming. Pushing towards an unknown depth you can never reach on your own. But it’s just him. It’s just Suguru. And you know that he’ll always treat you with unrelenting tenderness and soothing. He’ll never hurt you.
You dig your fingers on the back of his neck as you gaze into the ceiling with bleary eyes. Your head spins. You don’t know for how long you’ve been holding your breath. And if he hadn’t held you the way he did, perhaps your soul would have fallen backwards from your body.
“Yes, God, yes. Just take me, please,” he pleads as he kisses your neck. “I’m almost in…”
He leans down and takes your nipple in his mouth. The sudden prick of pleasure drives him further inside of you, all the way in, until he’s buried to the hilt with a long, satisfied groan. Your cunt clenches and quivers, plugged to the stomach by his girth, surprised that you managed to take this much of him.
“Do you feel that? That’s all of me,” he says, caressing your cheek with tender fingers, laughing softly in wonder. “We’re gonna make love. God, I love you.”
He laces his fingers between yours and kisses you deeply. And even the spaces between your fingers are sensitive to his touch.
"I love you too," you whimper. "I'm all yours."
Suguru’s hips start swiveling in circles against yours. Letting you get used to his length and girth. Then he rocks his hips back and forth in slow, shallow strokes. Fucking you with impossible gentleness. Measuring how fast and how hard he can go before you start to hurt again. Like you have all the time in the world. But you bury your face in his neck, biting his shoulder as you take more and more. Soon, you feel even looser, more comfortable, and the pleasure begins to overtake all else.
You start moving your hips in tandem with his.
“Yes, fuck,” he hisses against your neck. “That’s right baby, make love to me. Feel good with me.”
He picks up the pace, slamming his hips against you and nearly driving you towards the headboard. He’s stretching you again, his shaft slicing against your tight entrance. But Suguru angles his cock and jabs a spot underneath your belly that nearly makes you cry. You no longer mind the pain that’s so deliciously mixed with pleasure. And you notice that any coherent thought escapes you, and any words you want to say dies in your throat. You barely have enough air in your lungs to even moan his name. Or any strength in your arms and legs to keep clinging to him. So you simply lie there and feel him. Feel the way he thrusts and sinks into you. Feel his smooth hand on your waist. Feel his breath against your face as he rambles sweet degeneracy into your ear.
“You’re so tight. So fucking tight. Oh, you’re gonna milk me dry,” he mutters under his breath. “A good girl with a good pussy. I’m so fucking lucky.”
You feel the pleasure build from under your belly, on your clit, your nipples. And then you shatter. Your stomach tightens like a board and your body recoils as the pleasure overtakes you. White hot light bursts in front of your eyes and splatter into pinpricks of color. You scream and cry against the crook of his neck. Your pussy clamping around his cock. Suguru hooks his arm under your waist and thrusts even faster; eager to milk himself while you’re still wound up and tight from your orgasm. The pleasure starts to feel rawer, searing like an electric shock. A gradient from pleasure to pain.
“I know baby, I know, just bear with it. Just bear with it for me. I’m so close,” he grunts, face tight from euphoria. “I’m so close, please, let me cum.”
His jaw clenches and you feel a burst of warmth right inside of you. His hips stutter helplessly by the strength of his orgasm. And then it finally stops. He holds still. His hard grunts melt into soft moans and heavy breathing. Together, you hang onto that boneless, satisfied trance; your minds slipping into reverie. His cock stays buried inside of you for moments, but it feels like a part of you now. Even as he slowly pulls away you still feel him under your skin. The feeling of his touch, the warmth of his breath, the weight and thickness of his cock when it dwelled inside you, feels less of a vivid memory. And more of a phantom sensation that will linger for as long as you let it.
Suguru props himself with both elbows and gazes upon you with love and reverence. He plants a tender kiss on your lips.
“Thank you.”
You laugh weakly, “Thank you? ”
He nods. “Yes, thank you. For the memory, for the trust, for the love.”
Suguru brushes your hair away from your forehead and kisses you there. Letting his lips linger. Then you gaze at each other in euphoric wonder. You have melded with him in body and soul. In pleasure and love. Your skins are matted and slick with sweat, and you can feel his semen dripping down between your thighs; the light from the window bears down your heads like halos. You feel anointed and transformed. And your bodies now feel less like a mystery to yourselves and to each other. Everything has changed now. And your relationship with Suguru will never be the same. The memory of your lovemaking will lie in the undercurrent of your every interaction, now that he has untethered a craving inside your minds. That ever-present need to feel this sense of closeness once again.
Suguru nuzzles his face against yours. Holding your bodies completely still as you take a shared breath and bask in the intimacy, in the sacredness, of this moment.
thank you for giving this fanfic a chance!
pls excuse me if the grammar, dialogue, choreography, and narration is awkward. english is not my first langauge and a lot of things get lost in translation inside my head.
originally posted on ao3
art by m_mifmr on x
synopsis: there is no doubt that mr. geto is an exceptional dancer, and a kind instructor. you have no doubt, either, that the perverse, voracious need you have for him is unrequited. of course, he calls you little dove and watches you dance low-lidded and teases you with innuendo, but surely he doesn't mean it...right?
pairing: ballet instructor!geto x ballerina!reader
a/n: it's been so long since i've posted a full length fic! i'm sorry and i love you all and please open your holes to me so i may place this fic there
18+! mdni <3
masterlist
~~~~~~~
mr. geto is nothing like the instructors you despised as a teen.
you can remember walking to your car after your first lesson with him and pressing your forefinger to the tender crest of your ear, marvelling at the lack of ringing there. you were used to shrill yelling, to the echo of it against the mirror and back again, to higher and stretch and reach bellowed into your bones.
but mr. geto, it seems, is exceptionally thoughtful about how his sound carries, speaking only as loud as necessary to be heard by the furthest dancer from him. the register of his voice makes the floor thrum and your knees twitch and he seems to notice these things, take stock of them, adjust.
he does not use his hands, either.
all other ballet instructors at your company use their fingers to adjust the body, to create the proper lines. you are completely familiar with fingertips in the crease of your knee, along the slope of your navicular, down your spine: it is not uncomfortable, not anymore, and it is in service of this art you have devoted your life to. you don’t mind. and in the dead of night when your duvet feels heavy over your waist and thighs you think that you wouldn’t mind, in particular, if he used his fingers to adjust your body.
but he simply…doesn’t. he uses the shapes of himself, his own arms and torso, the extension of his own legs, to compose his requests of his dancers. higher, stretch, reach, he murmurs to the group of you, extending himself into position and showing you.
and a part of you likes that a great deal; there is no sense of injustice with him, no upset that he is asking something of you that he cannot himself achieve. you and the rest of the dancers watch as his twists and bows, displaying himself to guide through the moves, and it’s such a striking thing to behold that you can’t bring yourself to mind.
still, his beauty is the hardest part of being his student. the cording of his muscles, the sleek ink of his hair, the lithe curvature of his movements, it’s torturous. all at once you want to dance as he does, want to make your audience feel as he makes you feel, want him to shed himself of all professionalism and touch you somewhere irrevocable. you feel terrible and silly wanting it, wanting him, but there’s no helping it, you think.
and anyway, you insist that this wanting you indulge in in the dark isn’t dangerous. there is no oxygen for it in the studio, nothing to nurture your fantasies, and so you have to believe that they will wither and die with time.
of course, while you tie the ribbons of your pointe shoes around your ankles in the empty studio, you pray this fantasy death will happen sooner rather than later. it’s completely exhausting to be so constantly wondering what his cock feels like, and mr. geto likes to remind you that exhausted is no state to dance in.
you love arriving to the studio early like this. before the room is overtaken with the smell of sweat and resin, you can breathe in the marley flooring and stretch your legs wide, grateful. you seek out lonely moments to appreciate how rare it is that you’ve succeeded in ballet enough to make a living from it; you close your eyes and get overdramatically philosophical, and it’s a privilege. you love it.
and yes, fine, it secures mr. geto’s first five minutes in the studio for yourself. this cannot be helping your attempt to suffocate your wanting, you know, but then he’s walking through the door draped in fine linen and hair pulled messy to the crown of his head, and you go boneless.
“good morning, dove,” he calls over his shoulder, turned away from you as he sets his things down.
you don’t remember when he started calling you that, and you don’t know if he uses it with other dancers, but god how can you blame yourself for getting sticky for him when he addresses you that way?
“good morning, mr. geto,” you call back, trying to sound lazy with the dawn as you continue stretching. you watch your fingers splayed on the floor, the borders of each vinyl panel, anything other than his strides towards his seat at the front of the room.
he plops rather unceremoniously down, legs spread slightly and head tipped back as he groans something truly criminal. you can feel something hot and biting between your legs but you try to ignore it, looking up at him.
“exhausted is no state to dance in,” you say with a smile.
he does not lift his head—you wonder if he wants to cause you pain by forcing you to watch the curved tilt of his throat and jaw—but you can see from the movement of his cheeks that he is smiling a little.
“i’m not dancing, dove, you are.”
you roll onto your back and starfish out, sufficiently limber. “what sort of terror will rain down on us today?”
he does look down at you then, lip still curved enough to look like a smirk, and when his head tilts just slightly you die a little death. “terror? i’m never terrible, i know i’m not.” his fingers make a soft sound against his thigh as he taps on it mindlessly. “you’ll like the combos today.”
you can’t help but bark a little laugh. “you don’t mean that. that’s something you only say when they’re hard.”
a chuckle pushes out through his nose. “yes, i know.” and then, matter-of-factly, he adds, “you like it hard.”
and god you try not to draw attention to the innuendo in that comment. just as he says it the doors are pushed open with a low thunk and the rest of the dancers come filtering in, and so you have every possible opportunity to be normal and professional and not silly and terrible, but you are a silly and terrible woman, so your chest stutters on your next breath. and he watches.
you choose to believe, for your health and happiness, that he still couldn’t quite discern what your reaction was, or why it would have happened. but you cannot deny the fleeting scent of smugness on him, or the way his jaw twitches when his eyes flit to you between greeting your colleagues.
he must be, you decide as you come to take your place at the barre, a cruel and unusual man who has recognized your unrequited lust and wants to punish you for it.
yes, that must be it, you assure yourself.
the rest of class is excruciating. all the typical torment of watching the man whose bones you are so desperate to jump contort himself into beautiful shapes is mounted further by the way he watched you this morning, the way his head dropped to the side just so to see you fluster for a moment.
you try to channel it into the combos. as you travel across the room, you work to carve the feeling from your chest and toss it outwards, anywhere else. your legs burn with your leaping and turning but you push harder, hoping you’ll reach some critical point at which the physical soreness of your muscles eclipses the fluttering behind your navel, but you can’t quite catch it. and every time you hope you might be close, you feel your fingertips just grazing a moment of forgetting, you catch his eye again, and something hungry pulses in your stomach.
you probably need to get fucked. you definitely need to get fucked, actually, because you’ll ruin all your leotards if this continues.
sweat shines down your body by the time class is finally, mercifully over, and the plan has already solidified then. you’ll go out tonight, you’ll get well and sufficiently railed, and at long last you will be able to address your fucking ballet instructor properly.
even collecting your bag from the floor makes your muscles scream. your steps drag as you shuffle about, removing your pointe shoes and slinging your purse over your shoulder in the waning light of the day.
“was that your attempt at proving me wrong?”
you straighten, inhaling sharply. when you look over your shoulder, it’s only you and mr. geto in the studio again. he’s standing in the threshold now, body leaned against the door as he watches you finish packing.
fuck.
normally you might relish this sort of attention from him, but at this point you feel overfilled with the smoke of your desperation and you need to breathe. you need to go to the club and release some of this pent up sexual energy. you need to get out before you spread your legs for him in front of the fucking mirror.
you try to laugh lightly, but it sounds tired and reedy. “yeah, i guess not.” shrugging a little, you add, “couldn’t help it.” and you tried to use that tone of voice one uses when a conversation is over, for the first time since meeting him hoping he simply turns and leaves, but he stays static there, watching you.
you flounder, looking for anything else to say. you want to lighten the tension that’s pulling your hips towards him, so you put on a wry smile. “i’ll try less tomorrow.”
that makes him chuckle as he brings a hand up to massage one shoulder. inevitably you think of how it might feel under your fingers, how it might tense if you were riding him and he was using that arm to lift and drop you on his—
“i do have one note for you, actually,” he murmurs, and you try to mask the horror on your face as he begins walking towards you. “show me your grand adage from the last combo.”
you hesitate a moment, clutching your purse tightly with one arm and opening your diaphragm so he doesn’t see your lungs constrict. this is normal, you remind yourself, he is being a normal instructor.
and it’s true, this is normal, but he has abnormal sex appeal and you are abnormally tightly wound and and he has never adjusted you with his hands before. this is a terrible, horrible, grotesque idea, but what are you supposed to say? no?
you drop your things slowly at your feet, tracking the sweeping of his eyes along your movements. with your hands empty again you stand still a moment, surely looking as bewildered as you feel, but he nods slightly: go ahead.
you steady the soft tremble of your fingers as you extend your arms outwards, aligning your spine as your leg extends behind you. your core engages to keep your hips from tilting upwards, chin high to create a sloping line from your neck and down your torso. even though you do not—cannot—look mr. geto in the eyes you can feel him watching, your muscles twitch when he assesses them, fluttering like little birds under your skin.
“yes, that’s it,” he says, low, behind his teeth. he begins to walk around you, and if you didn’t know any better you’d think he was trying to make you feel predated.
two things happen at once. you realize—and the weight of it nearly buckles your knees and takes you through the floor of the studio—that he is not going to show you want he wants by doing it at precisely the moment one long finger brushes the under side of your thigh. there isn’t even anything promiscuous about where he grazes the fingerpad, but nevertheless you feel like an open wound, a nerve, only barely restraining a full body shudder at the feeling. what the fuck is he doing?
“you can lift this higher.”
you’re almost thankful that you scoff on instinct; it makes you sound less affected by this than you are. “i’m—i’m trying, but–”
and then you really do shudder, hot and tacky from the nexus of your legs as his hand grips your thigh in full, pulling it a centimeter higher and watching your body absorb the movement to balance. your breaths puff sharp and you can’t even attempt to stop them now.
his voice is no louder than a whisper but there’s no breath in it, all timbre and sound. “there, dove. hold that.” his hand pulls away torturously slow, and at such an angle that you feel the point of each fingertip as his palm falls away. you hope he’s spontaneously blinded so he can’t see the goosebumps erupting down your arms, but instead he leans an inch closer to you, close enough that you can feel the warmth of him, watching you strain to keep the position from just behind your shoulder.
“it makes it harder if you hold your breath.” you can hear the twitch of his lips in that and it makes it no easier for you to take in air, but you pull a trembling gulp of air in anyways. to please him, you suppose, because apparently that’s all you’re capable of doing.
he hums in approval, “that’s good enough, dove, thank you.”
and no sooner do the words leave his lips are you dropping your leg and fleeing out the door, only barely remembering your bag.
~~~~~~~
you’re learning that your desperation for your ballet instructor is an exceptionally powerful tool.
earlier today, you pushed your body beyond its limit in the name of exorcising yourself of the curse of him. you were an outward force then, expanding and swelling and trying to expel the dark sweetness between your thighs.
now, haunting the neon shadows of this club in your highest, most painful heels, you think your desperation has a scent. you can’t remember ever being looked at in this way; from across the dance floor and behind the bar and in a far away corner, you catch men’s glances, all of them wolfish and interested. they can tell you need to be fucked, immediately.
you select the largest specimen you can find; a hulking mountain of a creature with a scar down one side of his mouth. he’s not quite handsome in the way suguru is handsome, it’s a louder, more insistent sort of attractiveness, but nonetheless you eye fuck him until he approaches you, knowing his weight will feel nice enough from behind.
he grabs at your side when he arrives in front of you, sliding a paw down your lower back. “come dance with me,” he rasps into your ear, and while normally you’d ask for the decency of exchanging names, tonight you’re sold.
you laugh as he tugs you into the fray, a throng of bodies pressed close and tacky with sweat. there’s a strange relief as he settles behind you, strobes flaring in your vision and his thick fingers around your waist. you can already feel how this ends, something sloppy and vaguely grotesque but you don’t even mind, you’re so coiled and greedy for this man you cannot have.
the music pulls you together and he grinds with you in time with it, pulling your ass against his jeans and twisting your hips back and forth.
he runs his nose down the slope of your neck, feeling how pliant your limbs move for him. “you’re flexible, huh?”
with your head tilted back against his shoulder he brings one hand slowly up the front of your body, grasping loosely at your neck. you grin and nod into it, letting your eyes go hazy as you look up at the rigged lights and the rising fog.
you’re fucking soaked. you really would just like it if he’d bully his cock into you here in the middle of the dance floor so you can finally think straight, and you’re considering pulling him into the bathroom to do something truly indefensible against the dirty basin of a sink, but you feel his tendons tense around your throat and it makes you tilt your chin back down on instinct.
into your ear he asks, almost amused by what he’s seeing, “d’you know him?”
your heart sinks.
whatever buoy you had wrestled between your arms was dissolving back into salt water, you’re slipping, you’re frantic, you’re looking across the dance floor and fucking suguru geto is there.
his hair is down and silky over his shoulders, which pull a white t shirt taut across the planes of his chest. you can see, even from here, the shadows of lean muscle, his body’s capacity for dance. the sleeves of his shirt are short enough that you can see, for the first time, the head of a snake tattoo peeking just below the hem.
fuck.
and no wonder your enormous dance partner figured you knew each other; the way he’s looking at you is lethal, a sharp slice of a stare from across the room, a pointed watching. his lips twitch when he sees you notice him, something conspiratorial and entirely his own there. it looks as though he’s holding a live animal in his mouth, sly and coy and biting down on a moving thing behind his tongue. a single, sinewy hand lifts from his side and he waves.
fuck fuck fuck.
in a fleeting out-of-body event, you can appreciate the hilarity of this moment. it pulls a sound from your throat, almost a laugh, almost a scoff, too, and you stumble slightly out of the hold of the man behind you. “i—well, yeah, actually.” you have no idea what look you’re wearing, but when you turn to face your dance partner, it makes him chuckle under his breath.
“you uh,” he scratches at his scar with his thumb, “you wanna go over there?”
he’s teasing you—this much is obvious to you—and so much of you is desperate to tell him no, i’d like to stay right here, and grip to the veins of his forearms and let him take you home. but then you think of mr. geto’s hands along your thigh as he adjusted it and it’s almost like he has you between his fingers again, towing you towards him.
“i–i’m sorry, i just think i should go and–” you gesticulate behind you, vaguely, reaching for something dignified to say, “and say hi.” a failure of the highest order.
the man in front of you laughs again, deep and from his stomach this time. he’s already tilting his body away from you, already letting you go, already sensing that the smell of your pussy was meant for the long-haired figure a few feet away. “you go right ahead, ma,” you think if he wasn’t so huge a person, his laughing would sound like giggling, “i’ll be fine.”
the sight of him slipping away from you makes you nauseous. you’re watching your own failure, all six feet and four inches of him, dissipating again into the sea of people, already under the manicured fingers of other women who aren’t waiting to arch for someone who essentially equates to their boss.
but there’s something secret and sweet to watching him go, too. standing resigned on the dance floor, accepting whatever honeyed trap fate has set for you, you can unburden yourself from this taxing process of trying so hard not to embarrass yourself. yes, you think, i will simply embarrass myself, and maybe whatever follows won’t feel so excruciatingly painful.
geto watches you carefully as you slink to his table. he keeps the muscles in his face slack, neutral enough to obscure the meaning from his expression, but the faint pull of his jaw reminds you of this morning, of after class. despite yourself, you align your body properly as you take the six odd steps to stand at his feet, extending your legs the way you know he’d want in the light of day.
he smells like musk and something botanical when you get close enough. you hope you don’t smell like your own slick.
“it was sort of deja vu, watching that,” he begins. even under the beating of the music he refuses to shout, voice unfurling from behind his lips and just barely reaching your ears.
you wrinkle your nose a little. “how do you mean?”
the ice in his drink chimes with a flick of his wrist. “watching you dance.”
you tilt your head back and forth, feigning some sort of consideration. “no, i think this might be different.”
he’s smiling enough now that you can almost see his teeth. the part of you that is desperate to be cautious screeches that he’s playing with you, he doesn’t want you, but with each tip of your skull you can feel that voice liquifying. you hope it slips out your ear.
“how so?” he asks.
you do your best to keep a straight face. “well, for one, i don’t want your notes.”
he looks almost joyful to spit this back at you: “oh i have a few, actually.”
your laugh is too breathy and real to truly hear it against the ambient noise of the room, but he tracks it anyway, swishes his ice again. “you’re unqualified, unfortunately. this type of dancing isn’t your expertise, mr. geto—”
“suguru,” he interjects. “suguru here.”
your thighs twitch, almost stinging with need now, but you steady yourself with a breath, humming, “okay, suguru, this type of dancing isn’t your expertise. i only accept edits from experts.”
“i might surprise you, dove.”
you run your tongue along the front of your teeth. he’s asking you to play, you think, and so you raise your eyebrows and tilt your chin the way he does when he wants you to begin.
“well,” he takes a fraction of a step towards you and you match it backwards, pushed by the heat of him and the smell of his cologne, “i think you moved a little too quickly.”
you’re moving entirely in tandem now, him forward and you back, all the way until your head bumps a wall. cornered like this, he eclipses almost your entire line of sight, a vignette of dark hair.
“the part when you tilt your head back here,” and he gestures to his shoulder, “that’s the best part. you fell straight into it.”
something shudders up your legs and you squeeze them together, desperate for a moment of anything against the swelling button between them.
“they need to wait longer for it. makes it better.”
his smirk is slowly fading, something more intimate making space for itself across his mouth. if he recognizes the irony of this, he doesn’t show it, demanding simply: “show me.”
you have half a mind to gape at him, at what he’s offering, but instead you turn—stupid, whorish thing—as he asked, pressing yourself slowly to him. when your ass bumps against his pelvis he groans low. he’s rock hard against you, and a gasp moves up your windpipe but he has his free hand on your chin first, forcing your head back to his shoulder.
contorted like this, his nose grazes your cheek, his breath filtered into your ear. you whine, feline and soft, and he hums in return.
“yeah, it’s good, huh?” and he ruts his hips slightly into yours to emphasize his point, nosing your cheekbone. “so you have to start somewhere else.”
the hand on your chin falls away, moving to the small of your back where it bends back for him. he pushes his thumb to your spine, and then the rest of his palm, bending you forward at the waist. your hands come up to brace on the wall and you let your forehead fall there, too, letting the cool concrete tether you to whatever sanity you have left.
he exhales like veneered restraint watching you tilt, feeling the extra push of your thighs against his cock twitching in his pants. “yes, dove, like that.” he grinds against you in earnest then, dragging the clothed shaft of him over the globes of your ass. “he should work for it a little.”
he pushes again and you moan fully. it leaps from the wall to his ears and it earns you another drag, his fingers bruising against your waist.
“and then,” his composure is dwindling, you can hear it, and he ruts again, “once he’s worked up,” he drags the hand at your hip up your side, around your front, between your breasts to arch you back to him again. your back bows taut and impossible to meet him, head falling immediately to his shoulder this time, eyes squeezed shut. you wonder if your slick is running down your legs now, or if it’s still pooled in your panties. he finishes into your ear, “then you come up here.”
you wiggle your hips against him, needy, and he grunts. “what did he say to you?” he grits out.
your capacity to think is low, practically panting like he’s already inside you. “huh?”
“when he had you here, he said something that made you laugh, i wanna know what it was.” with his hand fanned across your stomach he can pull you tight against his thrusts.
“h-he, he said i—fuck suguru, i-”
“come on, little dove,” he coos.
your eyes flutter open to find him watching you, purple eyes skidding across your skin. “he said i was flexible,” you huff.
he smiles like he’s going to eat you. “oh yeah? and did you tell him it’s because your mr. geto stretches you?”
your fists bunch and pull against the wall. you’re certain he can feel you clenching through your dress. your mr. geto, jesus. “n-no,” you breathe.
“oh, that cuts deep, dove,” he tuts, but he fucks against your ass again anyway, “i work so hard to stretch you open and you’re not giving me credit?”
you find yourself with the fleeting and miraculous wherewithal to laugh, light and towards the ceiling. “i’ll tell him next time, then.”
that makes suguru laugh, too, the both of you almost manic with the truly absurd suggestion that you would ever be touched by anyone else.
you feel very suddenly like a stray dog at his doorstep, scrap-fed by his hand, bony and waiting for something warm to be tossed out again. the fear that he doesn’t mean this the way you’re taking it, that he wants you only briefly, chokes you still.
“are you drunk?” you ask him.
he lets you feel the frenetic pattern of his breathing against your neck. “no.”
and then even smaller, you can’t help it: “are you messing with me?”
slowly, he brings the hand with his drink up, extending his forefinger out around your front. it’s cold from the glass as it taps on your chin once, twice, and then drags down the line of your throat. “no.”
and you aren’t quite sure how you would describe what you feel move through him then, a trembling sort of shake, maybe, but as it buzzes through his hips he thrusts the momentum up into you. later, you would come to realize this was the sensation of him, at last, deciding something he could not take back.
“i think you left something with me at the studio today,” he murmurs. the electricity of knowing you did not leave something at the studio takes hold of your ribs and tugs. “you left in such a rush.”
“i think you know that’s you’re fault, suguru.”
he smiles small into the side of your face. “yes, i know.” a finger brushes under the swell of your breast. “i can drive you there to come get it.”
you’re beginning to squirm in his hold now, the beastly thing between your thighs drooling in full, usurping control of your limbs. “haven’t you been drinking?”
and suguru is all too pleased to bring his glass to your lips, tipping it slowly onto your tongue.
he’s drinking fucking sparkling water.
he isn’t even tipsy.
you’re nodding before you can even gulp enough air to say yes.
~~~~~~~
you barely make it out of his car before he’s on you. pressed against the passenger door, he kisses you like he wants to reach inside and pull out a rib. it’s teeth and tongue and your mewls in his mouth, and it makes him pull one leg up around his hip to grind slow against your clothed pussy.
he strokes his tongue along yours as he guides you to the front door, bucking into you when you bite down soft on his bottom lip.
“fuck,” he pants. “get inside.”
seeing the studio at night is strange. the moonlight glints off the mirror, bathing the room in silver streaks. stranger still is hearing geto come in behind you, locking the door with a low snick.
he passes behind you like a memory, stepping just to graze your back and shoulder before pulling away and towards his usual seat at the mirror. “stand center floor for me, dove,” he instructs.
your body moves without much thought. it’s so easy to do as he says here, to pervert the habit of following his directions as you stand at the center of the vinyl.
suguru runs a hand across his jaw, over his lips, watching you stand static as asked. you know how lust blown your eyes are already because you can see the black depth of them in the mirror behind his head. “stretch for me,” he sighs.
a strange confidence feeds and swells in your belly, something alight and excited as you bend at the waist. your movements are no more salacious than they normally are, simple contortions to warm your hips and thighs, but you slow them enough to match the moment. your dress, too, heightens it; the hem teases the curve of your ass, your swollen mound, tight against you in ways your dance clothes aren’t. geto has sharpened the air to a fine point, and you teeter on it.
your head flips over, legs softly bent and then straight again, swishing open and closed. between each movement you glance up at him, swallowing thick at the shadow behind the tent in his jeans, the clench of his fist as it approaches his length. when you open your legs past second position and bend to stretch between them, he moans, unashamed, and you can tell from the lilt of pain in it that he’s stroking himself over his pants now. your pussy nearly opens in this position, faced away from him, and you feel the fever say his name.
“your middle split now, dove,” he grips himself like he means to strangle, tipping his head back against the mirror to watch you over the bridge of his nose, adding, “please.”
with your hands splayed on the floor, you drop simply into it. when your clit bumps the cool flooring you whine in your throat, settling your weight. suguru is stroking himself in earnest over the denim when you peer up at him. “uh huh,” he pants, “and bend the knees now, just a little.”
your knees cant up and you tuck your tailbone, forcing your dress to ruck up around your hips and display, fully, the wet mess of your panties. the suffocated whine suguru sounds punches the air from your lungs, and you lean back onto your elbows behind you, looking to breathe, looking to survive for another moment.
you wish you could have a picture of the two of you this way; you entirely on display for him—and for yourself, too, as you cannot avoid your own reflection beside him—and your unflappably composed instructor, squeezing down the veins of his cock through the rough pull of his jeans, watching. and because you spend hours every day being directed by him, you know what he will ask you next before he even voices it, but you wait to hear it anyway.
“touch yourself for me.”
your fingers fly to your clit, drawing slow circles around, crossing over to feel yourself jolt. your hole pulses and spits, and suguru growls like he can see it from halfway across the room. the utter relief of friction, fucking finally, makes you tip your head back, moaning wild into the still air.
but then you hear his lips part to say something and you’re pulling your head back straight, still circling over your clit and then your entrance, meaningless patterns over your thong that make your toes curl in your heels.
“you know i never once—ngh, fuck—had the urge to adjust a student with my hands? i always hated that when i was in class,” he grits. with trembling hands, he begins to unbutton himself, pulling his cock out and tugging on it immediately.
god, he’s pretty. long and soft and leaning the way the rest of him leans, gliding between his fingers with the pearls of pre beading at his tip.
“but i thought that if i,” he pauses to groan with you, “if i touched you once i could fucking forget about it.”
you speed your fingers with each word he says, each stroke of his hand over all eight inches of his cock. a far away voice registers that you’re whining, too, but your mind filters it away, tuned completely to suguru’s confession in the dark.
your smile is wry, and reveals as much as anything. “did it work?”
he laughs then, almost at you. “no, you know what dove, it didn’t really—hah—didn’t really work for me.”
your hips buck into your fingers, a buzzing coil now. “suguru,” you begin, but he doesn’t need to hear any more.
“i know,” he moans.
you have transcended his direction, you think, merged into him enough to comply without listening. he’s tearing his shirt and pants off as frantically as you tug your dress up and over your shoulders, and you’ve only barely shimmied your panties down your legs when he arrives in front of you, completely bare. you think suguru geto, tacky with sweat and need and cock nearly swollen purple, has achieved his own pinnacle, descending to his knees to meet you.
and there’s an ephemeral, fleeting moment, when you both simply watch each other in all the places you’ve kept obscured for so long. his eyes circle over your tits, the pert peaks of your nipples, the gleaming of your slit. you track the snake tattoo from the bulge of his shoulder and around his back, pupils flitting between him and his reflection.
suguru takes hold of both your ankles on each side of his narrows hips, squeezing once, and then gliding them up, up, around your knee, along the inside of your thighs. it dawns on you that he knows exactly where to press, where each muscle begins and ends, because of how much he watches you flex and extend. your breathing comes labored and round, small yips and whines when goosebumps push into his fingers.
he can’t help but tug your hips towards his bobbing cock when his hands arrive there. you squirm and twist to try and sink him inside but he holds you to the floor, jaw tight.
“not yet, dove, i need to stretch you,” he grunts.
and you’re giggling before you can stop it. “you use a lot of double entendre, is that on purpose?”
he’s smiling now, too, but more than anything you think its a wicked joy with how your mouth drops open as he circles two fingers around your entrance. your arousal is so hot and so everywhere that you think you can hear it dripping onto the marley.
“keep your legs open.” he uses the tone of voice he employs during class and it only makes you gush more, but you do as he asks, tightening your outer thighs to hold yourself spread as he pushes two fingers inside.
“oh fuck,” you pant.
it seems to affect him in equal measure, cock twitching with each pull of his digits, lips parted ever so slightly. he scissors his fingers apart and back again, feeling along the inside of your walls, looking.
“ah—yeah, yes, there,” you mewl, and he moans something sincere in turn. the pads of his fingers brush and swish along that spot and something behind your ribs is turning over, growing teeth. you whine out a small fuck and that’s it: suguru is gone.
in a single motion, he pulls his fingers from you, breathes in your protest of a whine, and lowers his hips to run the ruddy tip of his cock over your clit, down, down. you run your nose along his forearm as he braces them on each side of your head, feeling the brush of his hair along your shoulder.
his mouth parts directly over your ear like this, and you feel his hand squeeze your left thigh. “lift this for me.”
and as you extend it up to hook over his shoulder, legs spread in almost a full split below his hold, he notches his head inside, a lewd pop that echos up your spine and between your ears.
suguru’s head drops to your shoulder as he bares his teeth. “fuuuuuuck jesus christ.”
you’re no better, winding your right leg around his left and bucking your hips to slide him home. he indulges you this time—perhaps for the first time since meeting him—and cants his hips again. you’re so fucking wet and ready and open for him that he slides to the hilt that way, and both of you are reduced to animals then. the sounds between you are completely inhuman, and you can’t tell where yours end and his begin.
and suguru fucks you like he teaches: not slow, but intentional, precise, every movement with an insurmountable sense of purpose.
and fucking bossy.
“ngh yeah, squeeze me like that again, dove.”
“oh f-fuck, baby, align your hips.”
“c-can you—haah—arch into me a little more? yeah, that’s right.”
with each driving thrust of his hips you rub your clit along his pelvis, warmth spreading behind your belly button and down each leg. suguru never quite recovered from that first thrust, forehead damp and still at your shoulder as he groans directions into the soft skin there. and your hands grab anywhere they can reach: into the roots of his hair, down the planes of his back, along the slope of his ass to feel the muscles grind.
the friction his happy trail makes with your clit is driving you wild, you’re fucking close, and he can feel it in the way you pulse around him.
with the sudden capacity to mock you he coos gently, “oh, little dove, are you close?”
and you can only nod and pant and whine like a bitch in heat, the crest of your pleasure tapping leisurely on the wing of your shoulder, ready to round the corner.
“hah—yeah, i can fucking feel it.” he adjusts his weight to one arm so he can band the other around your back, pulling your tits flush to his chest. the leverage only grinds him harder into you and you’re nearly screeching with the pressure. he wants to kiss you and you want to return it, but your lips meet open, exchanging air to be puffed back and forth.
“make a mess for me,” he encourages, each thrust more erratic than the last—he’s close, too—and every moan pitched higher. “c’mon, i—shit, unh—i wanna feel your pussy choke me.”
you come so hard you feel like you’re spinning, like you’re on stage, like there’s some great applause awaiting you. it detaches from deep in your groin and pulses outwards, gushing arousal and cream over suguru’s cock and entirely fragmenting you, boneless as he fucks you through it.
“fuckfuckfuck,” he bites the juncture of your shoulder with your neck, “i made this body, dove. you’re mine, huh?”
and hearing it, even from his own lips, takes him over, too, hips stuttering to a stop as he growls wild, seed spurting inside you, warm. your name, your real name, unspools from his mouth, and it sounds like thank you.
part of you expects, sweaty and still and plugged with suguru’s softening cock, that a great shame will dawn upon you now. you think maybe you should feel ashamed for letting him fuck you here, raw, his student.
but as you’re whining into each other’s mouths when he pulls out, as he smooths his hands over your stomach and thighs, as he kisses you again without the sort of demands he had before, the guilt doesn’t arrive.
suguru watches you closely—he’s good at that, you’ve determined—as he sits back on his haunches. you realize he’s waiting for that guilt to come, too.
“okay?” he asks softly.
you could laugh at him for that question, but you grin instead. “mhm.”
his chest unburdens a weight seeing that look on your face. you can see something gathering on his palate, too, something he likes the taste of.
and then he spits it: “there’s a shower in my office bathroom.”
you really do laugh this time, full-bodied and sore and wet again.
~~~~~~~
you don’t think you’ve ever seen mr. geto with eye bags before. you don’t think anyone has. though, you suppose he seems the type to prioritize his beauty sleep.
or, most of the time, anyway. you couldn’t help that he wanted you again in the shower, and then at his desk chair, and then from behind with your knee propped against the barre, and then—
nobara bows into a pigeon stretch next to you, snickering as she assesses him in his seat. she heckles him: “exhausted is no state to dance in.”
your body seizes with embarrassment and delight all at once, and even though your chin drops to your chest as you stretch your hips, you can feel him watching you all the same.
nobara is watching you now, too, but you notice it too late. she stifles a giggle next to you. “is that a fucking hickey?”
~~~~~~~
thank you for reading !!! comments and reblogs always appreciated >:)
the man has always prided himself on being a doting partner.
that's why he likes missionary, or lotus position, where he can see the pretty face he fell in love with. he'd never refer to lovemaking as 'smashing' or 'pounding'; it's too vulgar, too immature. your pleasure, and being the cause of that pleasure, is his favorite part of intimacy.
so it's a shocker when your caring, sweet husband is giving you the roughest fucking of your life. and from behind, no less.
"ah-nana! 's too big, too big!" every syllable is accentuated by him knocking into you, hips drilling into your plush ass. "you take it every night, baby," he coos, voice still gentle despite his juxtaposing motions. if he weren't as nice, he'd be smacking your ass by now.
"don't complain because it's a different position." the thought of a feeble rebuttal is fucked out before you can make it. that long, curved cock is nearly hitting your pretty cervix, making your freshly manicured toes curl in pleasure.
back arched in doggy, he has a pillow under your pelvis, making his cock hit even deeper. it's relentless, deadset on making you cum as hard and fast as possible.
missionary allows for more connection, lets you know his next move. there's none of that in this position. only embarrassing, loud sobs from your throat and squelching from your gushing pussy filling the shared bedroom.
"ohmygod, so fucking tight," he groans, baritone turning you on even more. he can't lie, the angle is amazing. hot ropes are threatening to spill out too early, fill up your hole till you're stuffed.
"mm, nana! gonna make me cum, no more!" unfortunately for you, your moans only spur him on, begging him to fuck you harder. "you wanna cum?" he asks, mouth now right in the crook of your neck. "yes please," you whimper over and over, incoherent. "then look at me."
hands are tangling in your hair before you know it, wrapping around like a leash as your neck is craned back. two dark, half lidded hazel eyes meet with yours. contrary to his, yours are rolling back, weakly trying to look at him. "come on, look at me, pretty girl."
pretty girl. that nickname that's had you creaming on him more times than you can count. like every time, it works.
"fuck, nana! i'm cumming, i'm cumming!" on command, his hips speed up, desperately trying to stay inside of your tightening pussy. "don't stop." he knows you won't, not with the mind blowing fuck he's giving. it's to dominate, to show you that you'll do it as long as he says.
overstimulated, you crumple onto the mattress, legs splayed wide for your husband. his ring is glinting in the low light of the bedside lamp, a reminder of who you belong to. like the gentleman he is, he's holding you up by his grip on your hair, back still arched perfectly.
your eyes roll back again with the feeling of your orgasm, intense and long. your eyes are squeezed shut, the only way you can bare the pleasure. his hips, his cock, hands, muscles, him, it's all you can feel. it's familiar yet overwhelming. there's a new sensation, though, and it's not nanami's cum.
streams of slick and cream are running down your thighs, coating nanami's balls. the added wetness feels delicious on your clit, his full sack smacking into it without fail. his head tilts back, golden tresses falling onto his face with a low moan, the one he lets out when he's close.
"fuck, it's pushing me out!-" not a thrust later, his entire cock is out of your pussy, settling onto your sore ass. with the way you're shaking, ass jiggling too, he can't help that he cums then and there.
white, warm cum spurts out of his dick like water to a sprinkler. the sight of it covering your skin nearly makes his eyes cross. without thinking, he's thrusting into your cheeks, rubbing his mess all over them.
"nana! you're being gross," you whine, barely regaining your senses. amusement graces his features. not that you can tell, though. his hand left your hair the second you squirted.
"i'm sorry, darling. this ass is just too fucking sexy." he gives the doughy flesh a pinch in apology. his eyes crinkle, smiling at the yelp you give.
"you were supposed to come inside, y'know," you say, muttering. "doggy feels better for guys, at least i think." the bed dips as he lays on his side, eyes level with yours. "as long as i have my beautiful wife, i'm satisfied." you roll your eyes.
there's a beat of silence. it's broken by nanami, even though he'd prefer no talking. "darling?" "hhm, nana?"
"if you want it inside that bad, we can always go again."
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
hold out for as long as you can (4034 words) by naughtyjjk
Summary:
"Look at you, taking me so well,” Nanami murmurs, fingers teasing at the outside of your pussy where he has you stretched around his cock. “Already this worked up, hm? Sure you’ll be able to last?”
You whimper, unable to deny how you’re burning with arousal, but still, you let out a breathy yes.
Chuckling, Nanami indulges you. “Alright. Just remember—no moving.”
Nanami is inside you while the two of you watch a movie, and he's determined to keep you there until the end. It's absolute torture.
Hiromi was patient until you were ready, giving you a night full of pleasure and taking your virginity in a gentle way.
𝜗𝜚˚⋆ character: Hiromi Higuruma
𝜗𝜚˚⋆ wc: 4274
𝜗𝜚˚⋆ cw: fem!reader, age gap of 10+ years, soft sex, oral (reader giving and receiving), fingering, squirting, pussy job, creampie, pet names, consent checks, gentle aftercare, slight body worship
Hiromi has been nothing but kind and patient with you ever since you two met, sure he had his rare moments where he snapped at you due to stress at his work but you never took it to heart, almost feeling bad that you didn't quite know how to help him since he always brushed you off before he would say something he regrets and you gave him the desired space. He would always come back to you after a long and hot shower, muscles relaxed, his mood way better.
It wasn't until you happened to walk past his big bathroom when he took one of these showers when you found out what was really going on. Through the noise of the water hitting the tiled floor you could hear soft groans, followed by a few mumbled words… Was he masturbating?
Your hand gently knocked against the closed door before you could stop it from happening, a few grumbles to be heard from the inside of the room. "It's open!" He called out mere seconds later, his thick shaft still resting heavy in his palm, body hidden away behind the steamed glass of the shower. Swiftly you entered the bathroom and went straight for the shower, your clothes falling in a trail as you approached your lover.
"May I join?" You called out slightly hesitant, your cheeks heating up at the thought of seeing him like this for the first time, but silence filled the room until he eventually spoke a small "Yes", unable to resist you any longer.
Hiromi wanted to take things slow with you, knowing that you're inexperienced so he waited for you to make a move, to give a sign that you want him as much as he wants you - he was craving you, the image of your body clad in the beautiful sundress you wore once was stuck in his head and left little space for imagination as to what your body beneath might look like. The thought of you was his sweet salvation and his downfall late at night when he couldn't sleep or during the day when he couldn't focus. Only you.
After taking a deep and shaky breath you opened the milky glass door of the shower, steam clouding your vision for mere seconds before it evaporated enough to see your lover standing in front of you, not daring to look down where you saw his cock standing proudly in the corner of your eyes.
Noticing how you seemed to be frozen to the spot, Hiromi tried to cover his manhood with his large hands, his eyes staying respectfully on your face, not once wandering.
"Changed your mind?" He asked with a soft voice, not a hint of pressure behind his words, just curiosity, but you quickly shook your head to let him know that you didn't change your mind. With a careful step you joined him in the shower, hot water cascading down your figure, yet his eyes remained trained on your face.
"Warm enough?" He asked caring, his voice soft as silk when he spoke which seemed to calm your breath a little.
"It could be a bit warmer… if you don't mind," you mumble, feeling a little awkward for intruding on him during such a private moment, and now you just stood around in front of him, fidgeting nervously with your hands while he reached out to the faucet, brushing past the soft skin of your arm which you had draped over your chest in a rather shy manner.
This simple touch alone left your skin to erupt with goosebumps and your eyes wandered over his strong arms, ending at his chest before you looked at the dark tiled wall once more, the rippling muscles beneath his skin embedded in your brain now.
"You don't have to be so reserved. I'm your partner after all," he pointed out lightly, not minding your eyes on him, and as much as he wanted to just push you against the wall and take you, he remained patient and caring. He knew this was a rather big step for you to take already and he didn't want to scare you with anything, but you simply nodded, unsure arms wrapping around his torso in a gentle hug.
Hiromi held back a chuckle upon this sweet and innocent gesture, holding you close to his body underneath the big shower head, hot water cascading down both your bodies now. He would lie if he said that your soft skin and your perked nipples pressed against him in such an intimate way didn't affect him, but his body betrayed him already - his erection twitching against your stomach and letting you feel just how badly he needed you. He cleared his throat and was ready to mumble out an apology for being inappropriate during such a delicate moment, but you looked up at him with a newfound hunger hidden behind your eyes.
Without hesitation he leaned down to capture your soft lips in a heated kiss, his tongue no stranger to your mouth as the kiss grew heated like oh so many times before. The butterflies were doing cartwheels in your stomach when his large hands reached down to hold your hips, pulling you impossibly close to his body in an effort to get you even closer until you had to break the kiss for air, his kisses traveling to your neck and it was evident that both of you yearned for more than just a makeout session.
By the time your hand stroked over his rock hard abs it was clear to him and he nodded almost breathless, craving the touch of your soft hand wrapped around his shaft for the first time, and when you finally did, he couldn't hold back a relieved groan. Hiromi's lips returned to yours once again as he guided your much smaller hand up and down the length of his cock, showing you just the way he liked it, but the way your hand barely managed to wrap around his girth left his head spinning, desperate to maintain focus when his hands crept over to your body once more. Calloused hands resting on your hip and just below your chest, your nodding of wordless consent was all he needed to let his hands travel further, one pulling you closer as the other started kneading your chest.
"You're so beautiful, doll" he managed to rasp out as his kisses returned to your neck once more, his low moans and pants filled your senses as your hand worked on his length to help him get off.
Your soft whines didn't go unnoticed by him when he gently rolled your pebbled nipple between his thumb and index finger, his lips now trailing down to take care of your neglected breast, the warmth of his mouth engulfing one nipple while his fingers played with the other left you rubbing your thighs together in desperation.
"Let me take care of you," he mouthed against the soft flesh of your boobs and you could only nod, your hand working faster on him as his teeth tugged on your nipple ever so gently.
He should have felt ashamed for being selfish, but your hands working on him got him off faster than his own ever could, thick ropes of cum painting your stomach and hands only to be washed away by the water right away. His head rested in the crook of your neck for a short moment, but before you knew it, his fingers were brushing against your thighs, begging for you to open up for him, which you did.
Skilled fingers caressed your inner thighs until he finally reached your core, and just as he touched the part where you needed him most his sweet touch disappeared, a small chuckle vibrating through his chest which caught your attention.
"We should take this to the bedroom, I want to take my time with you" he mumbled into your ear, his voice hoarse from how aroused he'd gotten by the thought of finally claiming you as his entirely. You didn't need to answer him either, the way you turned off the water within a mere second was answer enough and he shook his head at how eager you seemed to be.
Leaving the warmth of the shower first, Hiromi went to get a fresh towel for you, the soft fabric smelled like orchids and cotton, something you've started associating with him - with home. Just as he wrapped it around you, one hand stretched out to help you out of the shower and guided you to the bedroom you've been to a hundred times before. You should know the way by now,tuc but perhaps the towel that hung dangerously low on his hips, threatening to fall off, was all you could focus on. You were grateful for when he gently scooped you up into his strong arms, the hint of chest hair tickling your skin before you were placed onto the bed with utmost care.
Warm hands tucked away the towel from your body to reveal your beauty to him, your body entirely exposed but you didn't feel the need to cover up. His gaze let the heat rush to your cheeks; it made you feel wanted, desired like you're the most beautiful woman on earth - and to him you were. You were perfect in every single way, almost feeling bad that he's about to ruin you like this but he craved to hear you whimper and whine for more, pawing at his sculpted body when he takes you past the edge, begging for him, pleading to fill you up - making you his entirely.
Of course he would take his sweet time until he is sure that you can handle him, the thought of hurting you made his heart clench and… he's been staring for too long, your sweet giggle filled his ears. You broke the shell of the composed man, you could make him crawl to you if you'd only ask. He was fully devoted to you and your love, craving you, his body screaming for you in every way - it was almost scaring him but he was undoubtedly yours.
Kneeling down just in front of the bed he pulled your body closer, your beautiful legs now rested over his shoulders until your glistening folds were right in front of his face, his dark hair tickling your thighs when he started pressing open mouthed kisses along your supple flesh. Minutes that felt like hours passed and you needed him, going crazy with how badly you yearned for his pleasure until your hands found their way into his silk like hair, pulling him towards your core with pleading eyes.
"Patience, my love" he whispered, his warm breath fanning over your folds and eliciting goosebumps over your body. You've never had someone this close to your heat but it was Hiromi - you had no reason to grow shy nor embarrassed over your feelings for him, his rock hard cock letting you know that he was equally excited for this.
His brown eyes held nothing but warmth in them when he pressed a kiss to the mound of your core, looking for any sign of discomfort in yours.
"Yellow if it's too much, red if you need me to stop," his words cut the silence in the room, accompanied by the thumping of your heart now picking up, almost sounding like a war drum. You nodded, unable to form words in the anticipation laced with nervousness, but it was enough for the man between your legs, trusting you to let him know if you weren't ready to go on and you knew he would never pressure you into anything.
Your eyes fluttered shut when you felt his kisses travel over your mound onto your folds until his thumbs ever so gently parted them and exposing your wetness to him. Unsure what to expect you gasped softly when the first kitten lick of his tongue brushed over your exposed clit, fingers digging into his scalp at the sensation. You could feel him smile at your reaction, his tongue traveling through your folds in a zigzag motion only to circle your bundle of nerves, alternating between gently flicking it with his tongue and sucking on it until you were helplessly bucking against his face. The pleasure washed over you which caught you entirely off guard with its intensity that you couldn't even warn your lover - but he knew.
Hiromi's tongue kept playing with your clit until he heard the cry of his name leave your throat, begging him, for what you didn't even know yourself but the orgasm that followed was better than any you'd given to yourself.
Allowing you to calm down, his tongue slowed down its assault on your sensitive nub only to travel further down, lapping up your arousal like a man starved. The slurping noises were lewd but you didn't want him to stop, neither when he pushed his tongue into your entrance, nor when the tip of his nose nudged so perfectly against your clit. Hiromi was entirely lost in your taste, eyes fluttering shut and breaking eye contact for a moment which made you swoon, seeing how much he enjoyed this - how pleasing you was pleasing him. Your juices kept coating his tongue, followed by soft groans against your heat, only for his tongue to leave your entrance and return to your clit once more.
"Gods. You're so addictive," he mumbled into you and the hand which rested on your thigh joined his tongue, his index finger gently circling your entrance to gauge a reaction from you, seeing if you show any signs of it being too much, but you were babbling at this moment, cunt clenching around nothing when his tongue started his assault on your bundle of nerves once more. Hiromi was certain that you needed this as much as he did, so he gently pushed his finger into your untouched hole just to feel how tight you clench around him from the intrusion.
Nodding you started to grind against his face and finger, needing him deeper, needing more and he heard you, briefly pulling his finger out of you before replacing it with his middle- and ring finger. Your cunt sucked them in, almost struggling to accommodate his thick digits - the stretch was much more than your own fingers ever managed and when he curled them into your sweet spot it was over for you once again. A loud whine erupted from your throat as the squelching noises of your pussy grew in volume
"Hi-Hiromi… too much!" You whimpered helplessly to get him to slow down but the second your sweet voice reached his ears, a clear stream of liquid splashed out of you and against his tongue. His fingers slowed down the moment you begged for it but your orgasm already washed over you, legs shaking violently on his shoulders when he lapped up the juices that just squirted out of you.
Your ears were ringing as your lungs desperately tried to get air back into them, not even noticing how your lover raked his hands over your thighs in a caring manner, absolutely mesmerized by you. He knew very well that your body was pushed past its boundaries so he wanted to stop or at least give you a break, but you finally came back to your senses, your gaze still hungry despite looking utterly fucked out by just his tongue and fingers.
"Don't stop… please," you whimpered, begging him for more. Oh you little vixen, knowing exactly how to play his heartstrings - how is he supposed to deny you such a request when you offer yourself to be devoured whole?
A single kiss was pressed to your right thigh before he put it down onto the bed, shaking his head with a breathless chuckle when he caught a glimpse of your frown.
"You're going to be the death of me, love" he mumbled amused, your left leg now lined up with his chest and shoulder as he stood between your thighs. The feeling of his cock resting just above your heat made you want to scream, the kiss that was placed upon your ankle provoked the smallest whimper to erupt out of you.
"Please, Hiromi," You encouraged him, entirely certain about going this step with him and he nodded, thumbs spreading your folds once more to get a view on how wet he got you, a small puddle forming underneath your ass on the bed, and he deemed it good enough to drag his length through your cunt, slowly.
Hiromi wouldn't last long if he made love to you now, far too riled up from all your moans, your taste and the way you squirted just from two of his fingers working their magic on you.
"'Romi... I need you," you begged, soft voice sounding strained now, almost desperate but he only picked up his pace slightly, his tip now nudging your clit just the right way to have you mewling for him once again, hands digging into the bedsheets from how sensitive you were by now and it took everything inside of him to not push his cock inside of you when he felt this close.
You could feel the twitching of his shaft against your wet cunt, heavy balls clenching as he spilled his seed over your heat and lower stomach, his head thrown back while a guttural moan left his throat. You really were going to be the death of him - now he was certain. Seeing your little pussy covered in cum did things to him, eyes darkening when he dragged the head of his cock through your folds once again to collect your mixed juices, only stopping when he arrived at your entrance. One last time his eyes wandered up your body to rest on your half closed eyes, looking so tired but so happy at the same time.
Hiromi needed to make sure that you still wanted this since you were almost at a point of no return. Sensing his hesitation you reached your palm out towards him, letting the man that stood tall like a tree between your legs lower himself so you may cup his cheek in the most loving way.
"I want you, Hiromi Higuruma. I've never been more sure of something in my life before," you whispered softly, the room around you falling quiet once more, only your heartbeats to be heard, hammering against your chests and begging to be united.
Your gentle giant couldn't ask for more from you, hearing you say it loud and clear - you wanted him, wanted this. His soft lips captured yours in an enchanting kiss and took your mind entirely off of the way the bulbous head of his dick slowly pushed past your tight entrance and molding you to be his.
A hiccup caused by your pain interrupted the sensual kiss but Hiromi was quick to help you, halting his advances when his length was halfway inside of you, taking your virginity with utmost care.
"Shh… you're doing so good for me, love. Do you want me to stop?" His voice sounded strained, yet caring and it was clear that it took everything in him to not thrust the remaining half into you which was greatly appreciated. His forehead connected with yours after he pressed a kiss to yours, waiting for you to say something, anything.
"G-green," your voice cut through the silence and allowed him to go on which he did, one of his hands still holding your leg to his chest while the other intertwined with yours, lips returning to yours in a desperate attempt to ground himself so he won't lose control. Hurting you was the last thing Hiromi wanted to do after all.
His balls rested heavy against you when he finally bottomed out, his deep groan echoing off the walls when you raked your fingers over his well defined back, feeling every ripple of his muscles beneath his skin.
"Taking me so- fuck… so well," he moaned breathless when his hips started to move with small thrusts, his thumb wiped a stray tear from your cheek and you weren't sure if it was from the pain or the fact that he made you feel so incredibly good. Weakly you nodded your head, drinking the praise in like it's the essence that's keeping you alive.
"My good girl," he continued, hips meeting yours with every word and he felt like his heart would beat out of his chest at any moment, seeing your jaw slowly going slack and your moans growing in volume to create this lewd image of his usually so sweet love.
Hiromi had to halt, his chest rising and sinking rapidly from the way you manage to steal his breath, your wet cunt gripping him like a vice and trying to milk him from all he's worth and he wanted to just fuck you senseless right then and there, hips pistoning into you like his life depended on it… but he didn't - he couldn't. Not this time at least. Instead his hips moved in slow but deep, rhythmic thrusts which let him feel every ridge inside your heat and only adding to his bottomless hunger for you. You were moaning beneath him, angelic sounds to his ears, but when he straightened up so he was no longer bending over you on the bed you suddenly cried out his name in pleasure, soft moans turning desperate for more.
The new angle made you feel even fuller than before, his tip angled perfectly to hit your sweet spot with every gentle thrust until your glossy eyes landed on his almost closed ones, nodding over and over
"I know you're close, princess. Just let go," he encouraged you, his thrusts picking up their pace to push against your sweet spot repeatedly until your toes curled and your back arched so perfectly off the mattress. His thumb rubbed tight circles onto your sensitive clit to drag out this earth shattering orgasm as long as possible - you deserved a first time to remember fondly after all, but he just didn't stop. Your breathless whines turned into cries for him, for more, for him not to stop. You were high on this feeling he gave to you, his hips rutting into you aimlessly at this point and his head was thrown back as his moans mixed with yours.
"One more, just- fuck! Just one more," he groaned with a rough voice, needing to feel you clench around him in bliss again before he allowed himself to follow you.
When your pussy clenched around him as another orgasm rippled through your beautiful body, he finally understood why they call it a little death. His hips thrusted into you a final time, burying himself as deep as he physically could while his dick twitched wildly inside of you and you could feel the way his balls contracted, slowly filling you up with his release.
Hiromi's vision went white for a moment, pure bliss taking over and his body felt like he was floating on cloud nine. You were going to be his own piece of heaven, your core gripping his cock so tightly he felt like it was hard to breathe but at the same time you were the oxygen his lungs needed.
His barely there thrusts finally came to a stop and he lifted your leg off his chest and shoulder before lifting your body against his chest so you could be as close as possible without having to slip out. The way he fell onto the bed with you was almost clumsy but he didn't want to let go of you, not even for a fraction of a second.
His big hand came up to wipe a strand of hair behind your ear, a tired smile on his lips "Are you okay, doll?" he asked with his voice like silk, needing to know if you were fine and you nodded tired, laying on top of him now with your bodies still connected.
Even with his own seed running out of you onto his body and the bed beneath, he made no effort to move, the moment was too perfect. Your body was draped over his, your limbs ever so tired as his hands ran up and down your back which was sticky from the sweat but he didn't mind it for one second. This moment dragged on for a while, gentle touches and even gentler kisses shared between lovers until your breath started to even out.
In your half awake state you barely noticed how he carefully picked up your tired body to carry you into the room where it all began, only registering it when the sound of the water running and the scent of lavender filled your exhausted senses.
"You can just rest, I'll clean you up," he whispered and lowered you into the warm water of the bathtub, following you mere seconds after where he let you rest against his chest again.
You let your eyes remain closed when he picked up the softest washcloth and slowly dragged it over your arms, your torso, your legs, and lastly over your sore pussy, still leaking his cum. There was nothing sexual in his touch, only tender care as he made sure to clean your body from any filth so you may rest and let him take care of you so you could wake up in bed to the smell of breakfast in the morning…
੭꣒ ˖ ❛ bf!suguru who loves to babytalk you while sex.
c.ws :: mdni , smut , daddy kink , babytalk , a lot of praise , spooning sex , size kink , overstimulation , creampies , body worship , dacryphilia.
“aww, my little princess… look at you, all needy and squirmy for me, huh?”
suguru’s voice is a warm, teasing murmur right against your ear as he spoons you from behind, his strong arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. his other hand gropes your soft breast gently at first, then firmer, kneading the flesh like dough while his thumb circles your nipple, making it pebble under his touch. you’re already so sensitive, every little pinch sending jolts straight to your core, where his thick cock is nestled snugly between your thighs, teasing your slick folds.
“s-sugu… please…” you whine, arching back into him, your hips wiggling desperately for more.
“shh, shh, babygirl,” he coos, nuzzling into your neck, planting soft, open-mouthed kisses along your skin. “daddy’s got you, okay? gonna make my sweet little thing feel so good. you’re so sensitive today, aren’t you? my sweet girl…”
he shifts slightly, guiding the fat head of his cock to your entrance, pushing in slow and steady, inch by inch, until he’s buried deep inside your fluttering walls. you gasp, trembling as he fills you completely, stretching you just right, his girth making your tummy clench with that delicious fullness.
“there we go… oh, look at that, princess. takin’ me so well… feels good, doesn’t it? yeah? tell daddy how good it feels.”
“m-move—! ngh!” your voice came out as a mewl, turning quickly into a content sight as soon as he starts to move, his hips rolling in lazy, deep thrusts that have him grinding against that sweet spot inside you. his hand slides down from your breast to grip your hip, digging his fingers in possessively while he spoons you tighter.
“fuck— you’re all creamy and wet already. listen to that—hear how squishy you are? that’s your pretty cunt talkin’, huh? beggin’ for more.”
he picked up the pace, thrusting harder now, the wet smack of his hips against your ass echoing in the room in an obscene squelch, but his touches remained oh-so-fucking-gentle—his lips brushing your ear, whispering sweet nothings, his free hand roaming to caress your thighs, your belly, anywhere he can spoil you with affection.
your body feels on fire, every drag of his cock making stars burst behind your eyes, your walls clenching around him so hard he almost hisses under his breath. it’s too much, too fucking intense. tears start to prick your lashes as the pleasure builds, your needy cries turning into sobs.
“you’re shakin’, baby… too much? no? want more? okay, okay, daddy’ll give you everything. gonna fuck my sweet princess nice and deep, fill you up with all my love.”
“mmph! suguru—! i’m… i’m so close, please!” your hips meet his in desperate attempts to get more of him, chasing a high that promises to leave you so deliciously fucked out.
“yeah, just like that… let go, angel. cum for daddy… that’s it, let go. cream all over me, show me how much you love it.” his voice is a loving croon, even as he pounds into you relentlessly, kneading your breast again, pinching just enough to push you over.
you shatter with a wail, your pussy creaming around his shaft, milking him as waves of ecstasy crash over you. suguru follows with a low groan, thrusting deep one last time before spilling inside, thick ropes of seed breeding your walls, leaking out around where you’re joined as he holds you still, spoiling you with kisses along your neck.
“there’s my good girl… so perfect, all filled up and happy. i love you so much, baby.” he stays wrapped around you, lazily grinding through the aftershocks, until you’re boneless and giggling in his arms, utterly loved.
Especially when you’re laid out under him, a moaning mess, whimpering quietly with tears running down your soft cheeks.
He had been behaving this way all night, consistently mocking and teasing you. He took pleasure in how you clenched around him with each sustained thrust and each subtle remark.
— forcing you into many different positions, bottoming out inside of you with each thrust,
And now was deep between your legs, his big hands gripping them firmly as he pushed them back against your chest—his hold intense and unstoppable.
“Come on, honey," he groans with another slow thrust, his rough thumb gently stroking your cheek in admiration. “You wanted this, no?”
Your eyes blur with tears threatening to spill, and with every quiet mutter, You wanted to curse at him, tell him to go faster, grind against him to chase your unachievable release, However, it was difficult to even make out his name— you mumbled small, incoherent nonsense, the words dissolving before they ever found meaning.
You felt yourself approaching the moment of release—your breath catching gently as your nails lightly pressed into his back.
You’re trembling—and he notices. His reaction was a slow, deliberate pause that felt intentional, teasing, like he didn’t want you to cum. A faint smile settles on his face, not sharp or mocking, just quietly satisfied.
his hands flew to your hips, pausing your movements as you whine in frustration.
Your desperate little noise makes his smile widen, just slightly. He watches you come apart beneath him, your hips twitching uselessly against his restraining grip.
"Ah-ah," he chides softly, that same maddening patience in his voice. "What's the rule?"
You can't answer. Can't think. Can't do anything but lie there, trembling on the beautiful, unbearable edge he's pushed you to and now refuses to let you fall from. Your release recedes like a wave pulling back from shore, leaving you stranded and aching.
His thumb continues its gentle path along your cheekbone, brushing away tears. Such a contrast—his touch tender while his body remains perfectly still inside you, filled to the hilt but denying you any friction, any movement, any relief.
"I asked you a question, sweetheart." A soft kiss to your forehead, almost paternal in its affection. Utterly at odds with the position he has you in, legs folded nearly double, completely exposed and utterly helpless beneath him. "Use your words."
You shake your head frantically, a sob catching in your throat. You can't form words. You can barely remember your own name. All you know is the maddening fullness, the ache of emptiness, the desperate need for more.
"That's a shame." He sighs, and you feel it everywhere—the way his chest presses against yours, the way the exhale ghosts warm against your wet cheeks. "Because I remember you using them so prettily earlier. Telling me how much you wanted this. Begging me, if I recall correctly."
A slow, deliberate roll of his hips—just once, just enough to make you gasp and your nails dig harder into his shoulders—before he stills again.
"Was that all a lie?" His voice drops lower, something darker flickering behind those calm eyes. "You don't want this anymore?"
No. Yes. Please. I don't know.
You manage to shake your head again, more desperately this time, and he hums thoughtfully.
"No? Then what do you want?"
He knows. He knows what you want. He's cruel for making you say it, cruel for holding you here on this precipice, cruel for looking so utterly composed while you're falling apart beneath him.
His thumb finds your lower lip, pressing gently until your mouth falls open. "Come on, honey. Just one word. That's all I need."
Your hips twitch again, a futile attempt at movement, and his grip tightens hard enough to bruise.
"I'm waiting."
The tears spill over again. Your voice, when it finally comes, is barely a whisper—broken and small and so desperately wanton you barely recognize it as your own.
"Please—please, Kento, I need—"
He doesn't let you finish. Doesn't need to. His mouth covers yours, swallowing the rest of your pathetic plea, and finally—finally—he moves.
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: friendships are hard, especially when the lines are so blurry you can't tell where the both of you stand. so what do you do when you catch feelings on top of all that ??
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+ only, smut, angst (?), swearing, making out, annoying drunk stranger, fingering, dirty talk, marking, titty worship, p in v sex, clit slapping, creampie, geto fucks mean, geto is a TEASE, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, f!reader, she/her pronouns used, no use of y/n, i think that's all !!
Being friends with Geto Suguru isn’t hard… in theory but in practice it’s one of the most difficult things you’ve ever had to do. It’s especially difficult because he does things for you that feel like they’re pushing the boundaries of a normal friendship without actually doing anything weird.
Things like his insistence on bringing things for you when you’re feeling down, showing you extra care in how he talks to you, hanging out with you and having frequent movie nights, being attentive to your needs. While those things are innocuous in theory, it’s the way he treats you, talks to you and how it makes you feel that has your friendship feeling like it’s on a precarious ledge. Caught between pulling back or pushing over.
Sighing, your foot kicks at his sitting form, “Don’t you have something better to do tonight?”
“Like what?” His eyebrow raises at you, eyeing your lazy form, spread out comfortably on your couch.
You’d feel bad for taking up the whole couch if you weren’t so comfortable, “I don’t know, like a date? Hanging with friends? Going out on the town or whatever youths do.”
“Firstly, I’m older than you–”
Interjecting to add, “–Not by much!”
He only rolls his eyes, ignoring your interruption all together, “To your other points, I’m not interested in dating right now, and I am hanging out with a friend.”
Sighing louder than last time, foot pushing him enough to sway him, “Aren’t you bored of me?”
“No?” his brows pinching in confusion, “Should I be?” Hand grabbing your foot to stop it from kicking at him.
You pout, trying to pull yourself free of his grip, “I don’t know.”
“Don’t say stupid things,” he huffs, amused by your struggle. “I could ask you the same thing you know.”
“I like hanging out with you,” you grumble at him.
“Yeah, well, I feel the same,” finally letting go of your foot.
You’re feeling restless, he’s your friend, you know he’s your friend, and yet you can’t help hoping that your friendship is just a little bit more special. You groan and kick at him with both your feet.
“Woah, hey!” Both his hands grab at your ankles, pinning them down into the couch, “What’s wrong with you tonight?”
“I’m annoyed.”
“I’ve taken notice,” he’s trapping you with a pointed look, waiting for more of an explanation from you.
If you had an explanation, you’d give it to him but as of right now, you aren’t even sure if you’re aware of what you’re feeling enough to verbalise it to him. You deflate, looking back at him sheepishly, “I know you want to know what’s wrong, but I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? Or you don’t want me to know?”
Pushing yourself up, you cock your head at him, “The result is the same despite my answer, no?”
“No.” His tone resolute, “I could help,” he returns.
You deliver a very plain, “You can’t.” He’s the cause of your confusion, talking to him could make it all so much worse and you don’t really want to deal with the fallout of all that.
“Woah, awful dismissive of me, I might be able to fix what’s wrong easily.”
Turning so you’re facing the screen, you try to focus on the plot, “You can fix what’s wrong right now by being quiet and watching the movie.”
“I was watching the movie, you distracted me,” he pokes lightly at your shoulder.
Shushing at him quickly, “Shut, I’m trying to listen.”
He doesn’t say anymore, just goes back to watching the movie in silence, probably following the plot better than you are because you’re sat closer to him like this and can’t help but sneak glances at him.
It’s not fair, he looks pretty like this, face illuminated by the soft glow of the television, seemingly entranced by the movie playing. While gazing over his features, you find yourself constantly looking back at his lips, heart stuttering in your chest. You wonder how kissing him would feel like, would it help, wait.
Prying your eyes off him, you desperately hope to be shown some kind of mercy, you shouldn’t want to kiss him, you shouldn’t be thinking about kissing him. You need to get a hold of yourself.
Unfortunately, you are not shown any mercy and all you can manage to think about is him, how soft his lips might be, how he would kiss you, would he be tentative… or would he kiss you like he’s done it a million times before.
Not even realising you’re staring at him again until he sighs and locks his eyes onto yours, “Are you aware you’re staring at me?”
Trying to play it cool by answering, “I was not staring.”
“Are you alright?” He’s growing a little concerned by your unusual behaviour tonight.
“I’m fine! Good even, just… a little lost in thought is all.” You feel guilty.
“And just what exactly are you thinking about?”
Your skin flares at his question, feeling embarrassed by your thoughts, “Nothing! General thoughts… you know…”
“Right…” He’s clearly sceptical, not believing your flimsy answers for even a second, “Have I done something to upset you?”
He’s too much for you right now, you try answering confidently but fail miserably, “No?”
Moving so his body is facing you, he gets into your space, worried by your answer, “Why don’t you sound sure?”
“Why are you asking me so many questions tonight?” You avoid his gaze, flustered by him suddenly so close to you. Still thinking about his lips on yours, in the back of your head thinking about his hands on your body.
“You’re being weird, I’m just concerned,” his hand reaches for your face, “Do you have a fever or something?” His knuckles rest on your cheek, gauging your temperature.
“Seriously, I’m fine,” you’re fumbling more than you want to, eyes rounded and shocked looking into his.
It feels like you grow warmer the longer his hand stays on your face, it’s becoming difficult to think. If you had a good reason, you would kick him out right now but you’re already concerning him and you’re trying so hard to be normal. This night is taking a very unfortunate turn.
His face twists, concern written all over it, “You feel a little warm, are you sure you’re okay?” Hand slipping from your cheek, moving to rest against the back of the couch.
Trying to keep your answers short, you give a simple, “I’m sure.”
Geto doesn’t know where to go from here, his silence is evidence of that. You don’t blame him though because you’re not really sure where to go from here either, the thoughts of his lips on yours linger in your mind and you feel as if you could die.
“I just…” He looks to you when you start talking, ready to hear whatever it is you have to say, “I was just thinking – and don’t make this weird – but I was thinking about… how you would kiss me…” your words trail off slightly, growing quieter and quieter with each word.
His eyes widen slightly in response before he switches back to his neutral expression, “I–”
“–I don’t wanna know, don’t talk actually,” you cut him off abruptly, too embarrassed to dissect this any further and certainly not willing to have a conversation with him about it, already regretting having admitted to thinking it.
He questions you, clearly caught between being entertained and somewhat concerned, “I’m not allowed to comment?”
“No.”
“Even though you’ve been thinking about how I would–”
Hurriedly moving your hand to cover his mouth, hissing out, “Shush!”
You’re closer like this, the proximity flustering you, the silence awkward, Geto glares at you from under your hand. He has something to say and is showing clear disdain for your repeated interruptions.
His larger hand reaches up and wraps around your wrist, trying to gently pry your hand away but you hold steady. Growing frustrated with this little tug of war game you have going on, he uses more force to pull your hand down, grabbing your other hand as well. Restraining them both in your lap, keeping you still.
Exasperated when he asks, “Don’t you think you’re overreacting slightly?”
“No.” You tug back on his grip but get nowhere.
“Why are you annoyed at me over this? They’re your thoughts,” he reminds.
You’re irritated with how right he is, it’s not his fault you’re thinking like this, but it doesn’t change the fact that sitting right next to him makes it difficult for you to think of anything other than how soft his lips might be, or if he’ll hold you still while he kisses you, or if–
He barks out a quick laugh, “You wanna kiss me that bad?”
Realising you were staring at his lips again you feel like you might spontaneously combust, struggling against his hold and huffing out, “Shut up, just forget I even said anything.”
He sounds restrained and incredibly serious when he murmurs back, “Might not be able to if you keep looking at me like that.”
“Don’t make this even more embarrassing for me, Suguru! It’s your fault,” you accuse indignantly.
Lips quirking evilly, “Oh? So, you want me to fix it then?”
“You should! Take a little responsibility,” you grumble out at him, all pouty and annoyed.
Leaning in closer to press you, “Do you want me to kiss you? Do you think it would help?”
“I don’t know… I mean…” you look to his lips again, gaze getting a little lost as you do.
If Suguru were being honest with you, he’d tell you how much you’re killing him when you look at him like that but he’s stubborn and a tease, so instead he says, “Eyes up here.”
Dragging your eyes back to his and staring daggers, completely pissed at him but mostly yourself for being so obvious again, “Do you think it would help?”
“You’d stop wondering,” he shrugs easily, like this is all so incredibly normal and not uncharted territory for the both of you.
“I don’t want this to make our friendship weird,” feeling pathetic as you look at him, you’re not even sure if what you have together is as simple as a friendship, it feels like so much more. At least, you’re kind of hoping it is, kissing him could do irreparable damage and you don’t just mean in terms of how you act around one another but specifically how you feel about him.
“I won’t let it,” he assures.
“I’m not worried about you…”
He’s taken aback by your small admission, it’s not clear enough for him to make any real conclusions from it or confront you on anything just now but he knows it makes his heart beat faster and flusters him slightly. In all his years of casual dating and serious relationships, you’re the only person to have ever made him feel like such a fool.
“It’s up to you then,” he smiles softly.
You aren’t sure if it’s worth the risk but if this is the only chance you’ll get then you don’t know if you want to risk letting it go by either, “I think… yes.”
Playing dumb, he asks, “‘Yes’ what?”
Your tone lowers again, confident answer short lived when he teases you, “Yes… I want you to kiss me…”
“You’re sure?” He asks but his hands are already moving up your body, one resting against the side of your neck, touch gentle and light.
“I mean… I’m not sure if this is a good idea but I’m sure I want you to kiss me.”
He huffs lightly in disbelief, breath tickling against your lips, “What’s wrong with you tonight?”
“You…” Frown dusting your features as you utter it, eyes already focused back on his lips.
He doesn’t say anymore after that, faltering in his movements a bit but ultimately moving in completely and pressing his lips to yours delicately. It’s featherlight, kiss shallow and simple, like he’s holding back. It’s still enough to have your head full, full of thoughts of him, of how soft his lips are, how gentle his kisses are.
Geto pulls back all too soon for your liking, putting some distance between the two of you, head cocking to the side as he looks you over, “Curiosity satisfied.”
“Is that really how you would want to kiss me?”
“What?”
At his question you’re suddenly all too aware how bold yours was, “I just… It’s nothing, sorry.” Fumbling over yourself, not wanting to hurt his feelings, “It was nice! It was a nice kiss.”
“No, no,” he squints at you, “Go on… say what you want.”
It’s quiet for a moment, your hesitance clear, “…Did you… kiss me how you wanted to?”
“I think if I kissed you how I wanted,” pausing to lean in closer, “You might pass out or something.”
“Oh, come on, you’re not my first kiss or anything,” you roll your eyes at him and his ego, “I was just curious, if that’s really how you’d kiss me then that’s all there is to it, it was a nice kiss,” you shrug at him.
“Why am I starting to feel like I’m being assessed?”
“If you feel that way then that’s on you.” Trying so hard to play it cool, like you can’t tell he was holding back, like you don’t want him to kiss you more, “Do you wanna go back in the movie? To where we were before?”
As you get up to move off the couch and find the remote, Suguru is pulling you back down to him, one hand gently holding the front of your throat. You don’t get a second to think about all the movements he just made, his lips on yours, rushed, like he’s suddenly, incredibly desperate to kiss you.
Barely able to keep up with him, head dizzy from the whiplash, this isn’t at all how he kissed you before. You’re basically panting against him when he does pull back, allowing you the small moment to catch your breath.
His thumb pulls down on your chin lightly, “Open your mouth more,” his eyes are lidded as he looks at you, tone deeper than before.
Obeying him wordlessly and then he’s kissing you again, tongue in your mouth. It’s all messy and rushed and has you losing your mind. Your arms wrap around his neck, and he pulls your body closer to his, hand moving to the back of your head.
When he sucks your tongue into his mouth and licks at you, you can’t stop the moan that leaves you. Swallowed down by Geto in an appreciative manner, his kiss lingers for a while longer, making you dizzy and thoughtless. He pulls back from you, connected by a string of saliva that snaps when he licks at his lower lip.
The look on your face is dumbstruck, eyes big and wet as you gaze up at him in a dazed manner. It makes him feel feral, not able to help the way he leans back in and presses more short, sloppy kisses to your swollen lips.
There’s a pause before you can regain your faculties enough to say anything to him and even then, the only thing you can manage is, “I… uhm…”
“Was that better?” He’s trying to be light-hearted about it, but his lips are swollen as well, and his eyes are lidded, and he looks… “You didn’t pass out did you?” His head lowers so his eyes catch yours.
Your brain feels fuzzy and all you can think about it how you’ve never been kissed like that before, that you want to keep being kissed like that, “What? No… I just… wow.”
“Live up to your expectations?”
“I didn’t really have any, I was only curious…” Smiling big at him, you add, “But yeah, maybe even exceeded them.”
“You aiming to boost my ego, or did I really kiss you stupid?” He can’t help the way he leans in again, just shy of your lips.
Mouth on yours before you get to answer or refute what he’s accused, you don’t stop him though, allowing him to kiss you fully, deeply. One of his hands on the side of your face, holding you, the other grips at your hip, almost tugging you in closer.
Before you lose focus again, you part to gasp out, “I don’t know if–” interrupted by his lips on yours, hand tangling into his hair to pull him back, he groans at the force of the tug, “Suguru, I don’t think it’s a good idea to keep–”
“–Just another kiss, one more…” breathless in how he asks, mouth hot on yours, tongue already in your mouth.
It’s almost too much, he’s so insistent, he’s kissing you like he might never get to again, like he’s trying to get the most out of this. He might actually have you passing out, it’s not even as if you really want him to stop but that’s part of the problem, isn’t it?
Pulling back, he sucks on your lower lip before nipping at it, the whimper he pulls from you is embarrassing and weak and you’re facing an internal conflict of so many emotions right now but mostly you’re struck by how badly you want to sleep with him.
You hadn’t realised his hand had snuck under your shirt, warm and large against your side, sending a shiver down your spine. The breathlessness you’re hit with has your skin feeling hot as you try to stumble out your words, “I, uh, think we should stop… here.”
“Why? Am I not a good kisser? Are you not enjoying yourself?” A smile creeps onto his face, “You sounded like you were enjoying yourself.”
“Don’t.” Your head tucks down and onto his chest, forehead leaning against him, “Please don’t embarrass me.”
He wraps his arms around your body, embracing you, “Can’t help it.”
You stay like this for probably longer than you should, enjoying the moment too much for someone who’s about to go back to being just his friend.
Geto breaks the silence first, speaking into the top of your head, “Is your curiosity satisfied or are you going to start kicking me again?”
“I can’t promise I’ll never kick you again but yeah… I’m satisfied.”
He laughs against you, “Alright, well, if you’re ever curious again… you know where to find me.”
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚
It’s been about a week since you crossed a line you probably shouldn’t have in your friendship with Geto, and like the incredibly brave individual you are… you have been ignoring him.
Not on purpose though, you intend on replying to all his messages… but then you get nervous and freak yourself out and stop short of sending anything back. From his messages, you can tell he’s getting increasingly more worried… or maybe frustrated… you’re not sure, there is only so much you can infer over text.
Maybe you should reply, looking at his last message that reads, ‘seriously? answer me. today.’ Oh yeah… he’s annoyed, you have no idea how to reply to him, maybe something simple? Or maybe a long paragraph overexplaining yourself… or maybe–
Your phone screen changes to Shoko’s caller ID, saved by the metaphorical bell, “Hey! What’s up?”
She sounds a bit short when she answers you, “Are you coming tonight?”
“Tonight…” You trail off, completely blanking on what the hell she’s talking about.
Her reply coming incredibly deadpan and disappointed, “You forgot.”
“No noo, I would never forget about…” The rest of your sentence dropping off, silence falling over the line.
She fills in the gaps for you, “The stupid party that’s being thrown by our stupid friends to celebrate the stupid event that is a boring, normal, Friday night.”
She already sounds over it and you’re pretty sure she would’ve only just got there, “Okay, well… I now feel significantly better about the fact that I actually had forgotten what tonight was.”
“Yeah well I wish I had forgotten too because this is boring without you.”
“Didn’t you only just get there?”
“I feel like that’s beside the point,” you can feel her eyeroll through the phone, “So, when are you getting here?”
Sighing as you ask, “Do I really have to come?”
Not missing a single beat when she shoots back, “I’m here which means yes, you do.”
You go quiet for a moment, “…Will Suguru be there?”
“You’re more likely to know than me,” she sounds confused, “Listen, I don’t know what happened but surely you don’t think you can avoid him forever.”
“Not forever… just tonight,” you really don’t feel like running into him in person, not when you can barely get your head on straight long enough to message him back.
“I haven’t seen him, and he didn’t sound all that interested when this was first planned so I doubt he will show up.”
“You’re not just lying to get me there, are you?”
“Of course not,” it’s always been hard to tell when she’s joking but you’re pretty sure Suguru isn’t there, if you had been replying to him, you probably would’ve ended up hanging out together tonight just to avoid that pointless party.
Deciding to take the risk, you acquiesce, “Alright, I’ll be there soon, just give me a bit to put on something that isn’t pyjamas.”
Getting out of the apartment will be good for you, that and you’ll have the chance to catch up with Shoko, it’s been a while since you last hung out.
“Just come in your pyjamas.”
“Okay, now you’re being unreasonable,” you chuckle.
She groans through the phone, “Gojo and I just made eye contact, that’s like asking to be trapped in a conversation for at least an hour.”
You smile at her and her exaggeration, “That’s really funny, tell him I said hi.”
“Don’t hang up on me–”
The line goes dead as you hang up on her.
Nearly an hour has passed by the time you get to the party, but when you make eye contact with Shoko across the room – still stuck in conversation with Gojo – it looks like a century has passed for her.
Walking up to them both, you grab Gojo by the sides of his arms and shake him, making a loud noise to scare him as you do. He just about dies then and there, head whipping around to see it’s just you and gripping a hand over his chest.
He’s a little breathless when he scolds you, “You scared the fuck outta me, what the hell?”
“I thought it would be funny,” you smile bright at him, out the corner of your eye seeing Shoko fighting a smile and hiding it behind her drink.
“It wasn’t,” he half pouts.
“It kinda was,” Shoko interjects.
He just continues to pout over how badly you got him.
“Hi Satoru,” you chirp at him, trying to be as sweet as possible for scaring the living daylights out of him.
“Yes, hello,” he fights a smile when greeting you back, and then his face twists as if suddenly remembering something, “Hey! What happened with you and Suguru?”
Taken aback by his abruptness, “What?”
Staring intently at you, seemingly desperate to know your business, “I know something happened, you gotta tell me what.”
Honestly, you would’ve thought Geto would’ve told him by now, seeing as how they’re sort of attached at the hip, “He hasn’t told you?”
“He’s insistent that nothing is wrong.”
“Then nothing’s wrong.”
“I know something is wrong and I also know you’re dodging him because he made me text you to see if you’d reply and you replied within the same minute,” he squints at you accusatorily.
Arms crossing over your chest as you size him up, “You sent me a photo of the cat that hangs out in your neighbourhood as bait? That’s messed up Satoru.”
“I was investigating,” he defends.
“No, you were being nosy, just like you are now.” Something occurs to you very suddenly, “Wait, if you’re here… and I’m here… where is Suguru?”
“Here, obviously,” he shrugs.
Turning, you glare at Shoko who raises her hands in defence, “Don’t look at me like that, I didn’t lie, I really haven’t seen him. I’ve been trapped in conversation with this idiot the whole time.”
“Trapped? That’s so mean Shoko,” Gojo plays up his hurt, sulking and giving her the saddest eyes he can muster. It unsurprisingly has no effect on her.
He’s here somewhere, you need to leave before he sees you. You’re so annoyed at yourself for not connecting that Gojo being here obviously meant Geto was going to be here too, especially since he wasn’t with you.
Spinning, you go for the front door you came through not that long ago, getting it open a crack before a hand above your head closes it. Turning around, you come face to face with Suguru, a very annoyed Suguru. Polite smile painted on his face but his eyebrow twitches slightly.
His weight supported by his hand on the door, leaning down to you, “And where are you going?”
“I was just gonna… head home… get an early night?” Looking away from him as you lie poorly, not able to look at him without thinking about how he kissed you.
He points out, “You just got here though.”
“Yeah, it’s just… not my scene…” In your defence, not a complete lie.
“Really? Because it feels like you’re avoiding me.” He leans down to catch your eyes with his, sick of you avoiding eye contact.
You’re only able to look at him incrementally, eyes flicking from his, to the wall behind him, “No there’s no reason for me to be avoiding you, I don’t know why you would think that.”
“Oh good! That means you can stay then,” face scrunching with his – now – less than polite smile. Clearly growing frustrated with how you’re refusing to communicate with him properly.
You have no excuses to give, nothing good or even remotely believable anyways, “I uhh–”
Cutting you off to give an ultimatum, “–Either we’re leaving and talking like adults or you’re staying right here and suffering through this whole night with me right by your side.”
His choice in wording disgruntles you, locking eyes to say, “It doesn’t cause me suffering to be beside you, Suguru,” you want to make at least that much clear.
He gives you a tight-lipped smile, “Good. Then you won’t mind me not leaving your side.”
Weighing your options, you don’t know what would be better right now. On the one hand you’d get to leave but then you’d have to tell him about how much you’re affected by the line you crossed, about how you’re developing feelings for him that you shouldn’t have indulged in. On the other, you stay but he lingers around you all night and you’re left haunted by all the things you want to say but can’t quite bring yourself to.
“Let’s go back to everyone then,” you smile back at him.
His face drops, “You don’t wanna talk about it that bad?”
“Suguru, you’re looking for answers I don’t even know if I can give you.”
He relents and takes a step back from you, “Fine. But just so you know, you can’t get rid of me that easily.” Waiting for you to want to talk first seems to be his main goal but you can see just how impatient he’s getting.
You ignore his comment and walk past him back to Gojo and Shoko in the other room, they’re both exactly where you left them. It’s awkward, for you anyways, you don’t know about them or everyone else here, but you feel awkward.
It carries on for the whole night, it’s been a couple hours now and Suguru is still just following you around wordlessly. Only speaking to others when spoken too, engaging in some conversation, only to cut it short when you move on.
This really isn’t fun for you, normally not even bothering to come to house parties like this and only doing this as a favour to Shoko but she’s gone home now, and you’re left here with just Geto. You’d leave too, but you have a feeling Geto is going to follow you home, or at the very least make you talk to him before you try leaving and you’re just… so not in the mood.
Sighing softly to yourself as you walk into the kitchen, somehow managing to shake your tail, for now. Taking the small reprieve as a chance to breathe and think, which is cut short when some stranger starts a conversation with you.
“Hi! You’re really hot, do you want a drink? I can make you a drink. I’ve never seen you here before and trust me – I’d remember you.” He’s slurring his words slightly, “So, drink? You wan– I can get you a–”
He’s really forward, and drunk, it’s making you uncomfortable, especially since you’re far to sober and far too annoyed to have to deal with drunk men. “–I’m good, thank you, I’m not drinking.”
“Oh, come on! Jus one drink, it’ll loosen you up,” he moves in to elbow your shoulder lightly, “You’re too hot to be– to be such a downer, maybe a smile would help.”
Completely unamused and slowly shuffling back away from him, “I think I’d prefer you just leave me alone; I’m not interested.”
“Don– don’t be like that,” he sulks at you.
Your back collides with someone’s front and looking up you can see it’s your missing stalker of the night. As annoyed at Geto as you are, you are endlessly thankful for his timing, physically feeling yourself relax now that he’s here.
Geto glares down at the pushy guy, “She’s not interested.”
“Oh man, I didn’t know she had– had a boyfriend, you know you should keep an eye on her,” the drunk idiot leers at you, “She’s kind of a tease, leading me on,” he shrugs.
Your face grimaces at his words and the way he eyes you, feeling incredibly uncomfortable. Suguru moves in front of you, shielding you from him, his lip twitches at this guy’s words, “Excuse me?”
“No, well… I jus mean she didn’t tell me–”
“–She said she wasn’t interested, that was enough,” Geto’s tone is growing more irritated by the moment.
“Suguru, let’s just go, it’s fine,” you tug on the hem of his jacket, not really wanting to have to deal with the fallout of whatever may happen if this idiot keeps unwittingly provoking Geto. He tries his best, but he has a breaking point, and he tends to hit it pretty quick when you’re involved.
He glances back at you, “It’s not fine.”
“Okay, it’s not but I kinda can’t stand this guy and this party sucks and I’m annoyed, and I don’t wanna be here anymore,” you feel a little pathetic for whinging but you’re so drained and this guy was your breaking point.
All his attention drops from that guy to you, his hands coming up to either side of your face, taking in how tired you look. Thumbs stroking high on your cheekbones, “Alright, let’s leave.”
Relief in your bones at the fact you’re about to be gone from here, “Thank you.”
From behind Geto you can see the drunk take the opportunity to slip away, apparently smart enough to use this distraction to his advantage. If Geto notices, he doesn’t say anything, clearly done with him, all attention on you now.
He hums at you, asking, “How’d you get here?”
Your eyes flick back to his, “I didn’t drive, if that’s what you’re asking,” you took an uber, you thought you’d either catch a ride with Shoko, or you’d take another uber home.
“You’re riding with me then.” His large hand takes yours, “Come on,” he’s tugging you through the house behind him.
The car ride has been quiet, you can feel your head drooping and your eyes closing, very nearly falling asleep. That is until, you notice Geto isn’t taking you to your house, instead heading towards his.
Turning to face him, you ask, “Why are we going back to yours?”
Without turning to look at you, he replies, “Because you’ve been avoiding me, so I am now forcing you to spend time with me.”
He’s decidedly not funny. Sighing as you try to chide him, “Suguru–”
Finally glancing your way only to speak over you, “–Don’t ‘Suguru’ me, my place is closer and you’re tired, if you weren’t being so weird around me ever since I k–”
“–Shhh, be quiet.” Your cheeks suddenly feel warm at the memory of how insistent his kisses were.
“All I’m saying is, if you weren’t being so weird around me, you’d come back to mine tonight anyways.”
It’s frustrating to you that he’s right, you normally would just go back to his and crash in his bed and then you’d make him breakfast the next morning to make up for the fact that you’d taken up his whole bed.
The only thing you can think to say is a flat, “…Fine.” Crossing your arms and looking out the car window the rest of the short drive.
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚
Back at his apartment, he lends you some clothes to sleep in. It’s all incredibly intimate, showering in his bathroom, using the spare toothbrush you keep here, wearing his clothes, has your friendship always been this intimate or are you just looking at it in a new light.
Leaving his bathroom, you find him in his room, getting his bed ready for you to sleep in, you stand awkwardly at the foot of it, “I’ll just sleep on your couch.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, you always sleep in the bed with me.”
“Yeah but…” Your brows settle into a deep frown, “Do you not feel weird?”
He drops the blanket back onto the bed, exasperation with you clear, “I said to you – I wouldn’t let it affect our friendship, and that’s what I’m doing.” Turning to look at you before adding, “You’re the one making it weird.”
“I know that…” You also know that you were the one who said you weren’t worried about him.
His arms are crossed as he looks you over, “I’m gonna shower now, you don’t have to sleep in the bed, but I think you should, you know firsthand how awful that couch is.”
“Go have your shower,” you shoo him out of the room, standing in the middle of it, alone, considering what you should do.
The couch really is atrocious, it’s part of the reason why you started sleeping in his bed when you visited. He always says he’ll get a nicer couch or a blow-up mattress for you, but he never does, and you always end up in his bed anyways.
Deciding you’re too drained to think any harder about all of this, you crawl into his bed and make yourself comfortable. Everything is so frustrating to you right now, have you always felt this confused about your friendship or were the lines blurred for so long that you’re having trouble understanding where you both stand.
The irony of the situation is annoying and almost laughable because if it were about anyone else you’d be hitting up Geto and asking for his advice on it all.
When he comes back into the room, he shuffles around a bit before turning off the lights and getting into bed beside you. You’re lying on your side with your back to him, pretending to already be asleep.
His voice cuts through the quiet of the room, “I miss you.”
Your reaction to it is almost visceral, how are you meant to reply to that. It doesn’t help you feel better at all, only leaving you longing for something you don’t know if you’re allowed to claim.
Your friendship has always been on a precarious ledge but it’s only now that you let yourself acknowledge the disgusting depth of your feelings for him.
You mumble into the pillow, “I’m right here.”
“Then why do you feel so far away?”
Readjusting, you rotate so you’re facing him, not completely prepared for him to already be facing you. Propped up on his elbow, closer than your poor heart was ready for. You lower your head, so you don’t have to look at his face, “I wasn’t purposefully ignoring you, I really did want to reply.”
He pushes, “So why didn’t you?”
“I didn’t know what to say…”
“What can I do to help?” He lowers himself down to your level, head on his bicep.
You still avoid his gaze, “Nothing, you can’t do anything.”
“You’re being–”
“–You are the problem, Suguru, there is nothing you can do to help but get out of my head,” you meet his eyes, frown prominent on your face, “You and your stupid kiss, you made it all a thousand times worse for me.”
“Making out with me was so life changing that you can’t get it out of your head, and you’re annoyed at me for that? You’re the one who wanted to know what it was like.” He’s trying to keep his tone light-hearted but he’s struggling, seemingly growing more irritated by it all.
You grumble at him, discontent, “You don’t need to point out the obvious, stupid.”
A noise of disagreement comes from him, “Well, I feel like I kinda do, since you’re overreacting.”
“I am not overreacting.”
“You are though.”
“No because it’s not just…” you stop short, “…Whatever, I’m going to sleep so be quiet.” He smiles at you like you’re completely endearing, which only frustrates you further.
“The only reason you would be this annoyed is because you want to kiss me again, or more…” his hand reaches for your chin and tilts your head up towards him, “You tell me, are you still curious?”
“Shut up,” you huff out, going to move away only for his hand to slide to your cheek, holding you still.
“You haven’t asked me, you know.”
“What?”
“What if I want to kiss you again? What if I want to do more?” His forehead rests against yours, “You’ve been so caught up in your own head, acting like an idiot over this, that you’ve not even asked yourself about what I want.”
“I am not an idiot.”
“No, but you’ve certainly been acting like one.” His hand slides from your face, down the side of your body, landing on your hip. “At first I thought it was cute, the curiosity, the unawareness,” his hand tugs you in closer to him, body against yours. “But now… now I’m growing impatient.”
Your head feels fuzzy, pressed up against him and that seems to be the only thing your brain is processing right now, “I’m confused.”
“It’s really quite simple,” he leans in, lips ghosting against yours.
You want so badly to kiss him, breath catching in your chest at the way his lips tickle against yours. Your attention solely on the way he might kiss you.
“You like me, and while it’s endearing to watch you fumble your way through the realisation, it’s killing me to know you’re all caught up on how I kissed you and not even being able to get in contact with you.”
“What? What?” Your brain takes a second to catch up, “I do not– you can’t know– just– what?”
“I can know, you know how? Because you’re painfully obvious about it. So honest, telling me about how you’re thinking of me, not able to look at me without looking at my lips,” a light laugh leaves him at your expression, “And it’s sweet, really. But I’m getting annoyed by the fact that you’re so obsessed with your own feelings that you’ve failed to consider mine.”
He’s giving you so much whiplash right now, “You–”
“–You think I kissed you like that just ‘cause?” He frowns at you, “I kissed you like that because I wanted to, I feel I was a little obvious about it all actually.”
“I’ve been so worried about ruining our friendship,” you feel so pathetic when you say it.
“I know,” he presses a kiss to your forehead, “But I’ve hoped for nothing more.” He sighs, “I wanted you to come to me on your own, to talk to me about it but instead you hid from me.”
“What was I supposed to think? Through my eyes, I was stupid and asked you to kiss me just because I was thinking about it, only to not stop thinking about it, and then realise I like you, my friend.” You pull back from him slightly, “How was I meant to talk to you about it?”
“You think I’d kiss just any friend because they simply wondered about what it would be like?” his brow lifts at you, “Don’t you think our friendship has always been a little too intimate to just be a friendship?”
“Nothing was ever said… how was I supposed to know?”
“Okay, well, let me be perfectly clear,” he tugs you in close again, eyes meeting yours, like he’s going to say something incredibly important, only to plant his lips on yours in a full kiss.
Hand holding you to him tight, like he needs you to stay pressed up against him. His mouth on yours hot and consuming, kiss messy, tongue licking at yours. An involuntary moan gets caught in your chest and your hand moves to his hair, tangling in it.
Parting to pant out, “I like you–” kissing you again, “I like kissing you–” lips desperate against yours, “I want to do so much more–” he never parts from you long at all, barley willing to but needing to get his words out.
This is a feeling that you’re never going to be able to forget, the first time he kissed you overwhelming enough and now it’s like he’s completely following his instinct. No critical thinking happening in his head or yours. All your thoughts wash away from you, slipping through your fingers before it even occurs to you to form a thought.
Less scared now, throwing caution to the wind, not worrying about how you should stop, how you can’t ruin the fragility of your friendship. It doesn’t matter anymore, not when he already knows how you feel, not when he seems to feel the same, not when it feels this good.
He mumbles against you, “That clear enough?”
“No,” you huff back, “I think… I’m still a little confused.”
“Well, in that case,” he smirks before kissing you again.
Hand moving to your thigh, sliding it across your skin before grabbing at your knee and crooking your leg to rest on his hip. Leaning into you slightly, using his weight to push back on you, rolling the pair of you until he’s on top. Forearm holding himself over you, other hand still on your knee, holding you flush to him.
You gasp up at him when his erection ruts into your core, lips parting messily, spit connecting the two of you. A shudder runs down his spine when he looks down at you, at how you’re looking up at him. All big, wet eyes and kiss swollen lips, it’s like he feels all his insides softening for you in that moment, in the most sickeningly affectionate way.
His eyes suddenly look lost, and you don’t know why, going to say something only for his lips to land on yours again. Short, firm kisses planted on your lips over and over again, barely able to return them before he’s pulling back, just to do it again.
It’s sweet but it’s frustrating you, your hands are eventually grabbing at either side of his face and forcing his mouth onto yours, lips meshing together, kissing him fully. Tongue in his mouth, your arms wrapping around his neck, fingers playing with his hair. He moans at how you’re kissing him, at how both your legs are now wrapped around his waist.
Practically clinging to him, lips locked to his, your need making your body hot and head fuzzy. You’re trying so hard to not come across desperate for him, but you really can’t help the way your hips seek out his, grinding up into him.
His voice shakes with a moan, breaking the kiss, “–Ohh fuck – hah –” a breathless kind of laugh leaving him, "A little eager, aren’t you?"
"Should we stop then?” You ask with a smile, hands untangling and pushing at his shoulders.
He rushes out, “No no, I didn’t say that,” he pulls your arms, so they’re wrapped around his neck again, “Come back,” a light laugh leaves him, pressing kisses all over your face, lingering on your lips.
“So… you don’t want to stop?”
“Absolutely not, be as needy as you want,” he looks down between where his hips are resting against yours, his cock twitching in his pants, “Hell… be needier.”
“I don’t know… maybe this is all happening too fast,” you say it light heartedly, teasing him, “I mean… we are just friends.”
“Just friends?” He takes personal issue with that, even if he can tell you’re goading him, “Just friends but you’re grinding your pussy all over me?” His hand slips into the front of your borrowed sleep shorts, two fingers rubbing between your folds over your panties.
“Letting your friend touch you like this, hmm?” He pulls your panties to the side, “Fuck– this wet for your friend?”
Your back arches against the bed when his fingers slip over your clit, struggling to get your words out, “I– mmph– I get it, m’sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” He smiles sweetly at you but two of his fingers are slipping inside you, quirking up and rubbing at just the right spot.
God, your eyes roll into the back of your head, cunt pulsing around his fingers so needily. Hands grabbing at him, tangling in his long hair, gasping for air you don’t really need but feeling like you can’t breathe from how he’s touching you.
“What are you sorry for, pretty?” He wants you back on track, he wants to hear you stumble out your apology to him.
“I-I’m sorry – hnnn – f-for…” your mouth drops open in a moan when his thumb rubs at your clit, “You’re not jus– you’re not just my friend – oh! You’re more– you mean more– Ah! Ah!” You can’t think, not when he adds another finger to your pussy, stretching you so open.
He leans in, fingers not stopping, “You mean it?”
It’s a question made to tease you but with your gooey brain, you look up at him so earnestly and answer, “Mhm, yeah.” Nodding your head firmly at him, even when your eyes look so fucked out.
Soft squelching noises fill the room with how his fingers fuck into you, your cunt clamping tight down around them. Walls so hot and wet that it’s driving him crazy, imagining how it would feel to have you wrapped so snug around his neglected cock.
He wants so badly to rip off your pants, so he can see just how well you’re taking his fingers but you’re pulsing so rhythmically around him, and your eyes roll with how good you feel, making the nicest expressions for him that he can’t even tear his eyes away from your face if he wanted to.
“Oh, you’re really cute right now,” he leans in and presses a kiss to your cheek, his heart stammering at how your wet eyes sparkle at him, at how your bottom lip wobbles.
Pouting up at him, “You don’t– ah! think– think I’m cute all the time?”
“I think you’re downright adorable all the time,” he laughs airily, “But especially right now,” he’s gazing so intently at your face, “Because, I’m pretty sure…” his thumb speeds up on your clit, “…You’re about to cum all over my fingers.”
Oh, how his words effect you so deeply, his tone, the cockiness and if he weren’t touching you so right you wouldn’t find it as arousing as you do but you feel like you could cry from just how overwhelming it all is.
Shaking your head at him as if to say ‘no, you’re not about to cum.’
“No?” He pouts at you mockingly, “You sure?”
Denying it really doesn’t get you anywhere, especially since he can feel how you tighten around his fingers, how your gooey cunt pulses for him. Your back arching meanly, legs wanting so badly to kick against the air. Hand tugging at his hair as you gasp, broken moans leaving you.
“I mustn’t be doing this right then,” he hums at you in thought, slowing his movements slightly, “Should I stop then? Change up what I’m doing?”
The thought of him stopping now, or changing what he’s doing kills you, almost literally. Your eyes widen and you shake your head vehemently at him, “Don’t stop– hnn– don’t– please,” begging him with your eyes.
“Only ‘cause you begged so nicely,” his tone so sweet on you.
He doesn’t change anything, keeps fucking you with his fingers in the way that’s driving you crazy. His mouth waters at how your pussy gushes for him, dick leaking into his pants, losing his fucking mind at how he’s able to finally touch you like this, how you’re letting him touch you like this, even begging for it.
Muscles pulling taut, hearing and sight going fuzzy, “I– ohh– Sugu I can’t– I’m gonna–”
“You can,” dragging it out in a singsong, “Doing so well for me, pretty.”
Biting on your lip to hold back all the moans tumbling from them, hands pulling at him as you struggle to breathe through it. Chest stuttering as your cunt clamps down around his fingers, pulling him closer to you and planting your lips on his, desperately kissing him as you cum all over his fingers. Tongue licking into his mouth, his own moans spilling into the kiss.
Panting against your open mouth to say, “Just came all over your friends’ fingers,” his smile taunting and bright.
Your head lolls to the side, “So you really do just like teasing me, huh?”
“Pretty sure I said I couldn’t help it,” his fingers slip from your core, sucking them into his mouth, licking them clean in a display so obscene that your skin feels warm.
If he were a lesser man, he’d cum from licking himself clean, groaning around his fingers, mostly for himself but also somewhat to embarrass you. Loving how you squirm, and your face pulls up in embarrassment. All dazed and stupid looking from your orgasm, it makes his heart skip and his dick jerk.
You shock him when you tug your shirt up and over your head, moving to pull at his but he’s too distracted by your tits to make any move other than to lean down and press wet kisses all over your chest.
“Suguru– hah– your shirt,” your fingers still pull at the fabric.
“You can’t–” he sucks and licks at your nipple, relishing in the reactions and sounds he’s pulling from you, “–You can’t show me your tits and expect me to not touch them.”
When he looks up at you, his eyes are lazy and dazed, his tongue drooling all over your boobs. Moving to plant more firm and wet kisses all over your unbelievably soft skin, sucking to leave behind his mark. Wanting to leave behind marks that he will see when he wakes up tomorrow, marks that he will leave marks over so that they never go away, so he will always have evidence of how he touched you. Of how you let him touch you.
Groping at all your exposed skin, pulling at you, fingers tugging at your nipple, while he salivates all over the other one. Your legs tug his hips down into yours, rubbing your clothed cunt all over him, wanting him to fuck you so badly. He’s working you up so unfairly, already making you cum and then playing with your tits in a way that has you itching to be full of his dick.
“Suguru,” he ruts his hips back down into you but doesn’t remove his mouth from you, so you pull at his hair harshly, “Please.”
He moans at how you pull at him, eyes lidded, “So demanding.”
“You’re taking too long.”
He tuts at you, nipping lightly at the skin between your tits, “You’re just impatient.”
“Yeah, I am,” untangling your legs from him, you shuffle your shorts and panties down and off your body, “Are you going to help?”
“How can I refuse when you ask like that?” The desire to lick at your pussy, make out with your cunt, is huge but with how you look at him, so needy and impatient, he needs to shove his dick in you. Now.
When you go to tug at his shirt, he lets you, letting you pull it off him completely, goose bumps breaking out across his skin with how you rake your nails delicately over him. The affection he holds for you feels like it grows tenfold at how you look at him, how tenderly you touch him.
“You’re so pretty,” you’re mumbling it out at him before you’re really registering that you’ve thought it, let alone spoke it.
His head drops into the crook of your neck, “So sweet on me, got me forgetting why I waited so long to say anything.”
You grin at him, “Because you’re stupid.”
“Oh, that’s right,” he sneers back at you before shuffling back to pull his pants off. Finding immense joy in how your smug little smile drops from your face when his cock is free, tip flushed a pretty pink and leaking profusely, precum dribbling down the sides of his dick.
Moving to get up before even really thinking about it, wanting to touch him. Only to fall into the pillows when his large hand pushes you back by your sternum. Looking to him just as he leans in, lips brushing yours so softly you’d think you’d imagined it if he didn’t immediately follow it up with a firm kiss.
“I want to touch you,” hands already finding their way back to his shoulders, his long hair tickling against skin.
His head is dipping low to watch how he moves his hands down your body, brushing against your inner thighs, opening your legs for him more, “Well, I want to fuck you.” He’s not capable of taking his eyes off your gooey cunt, so wet for him.
Goading him with your words, “What are you waiting for? A formal invitation?”
“Sharp tongue for someone so sensitive,” he muses, fingers slipping through your folds, gently over your clit to make you jolt, as if to prove his point.
Not giving you a chance to say another snarky comment, his fingers dipping into your hole again, fingers stretching you open obscenely, pulling back covered in cum from your previous orgasm and fresh slick. It’s almost embarrassing how soaked you are, at least it would be if he didn’t seem almost overjoyed at the sight.
His hand covered in your mess moves to his dick, stroking himself, lubing himself so you can take him easier. Wanting to rub your thighs together, to squirm at how he languidly pumps at his cock, how his brows upturn and his mouth gapes slightly.
Palm warm against your inner thigh, holding you still, moving so he can tap his dick against your clit, smiling at how your body jerks.
“Don’t be a tease,” your hand moves for his, but he grabs at you before you reach him, looping his fingers with yours.
His tone is cheerful and bright, “But you look so cute when you’re frustrated.”
“I’ll leave,” you threaten, not even a little convincingly, way too horny to be taken seriously.
“Really?” He raises a brow at you, intrigued, “I don’t think you’d get very far,” mocking pout settling on his features.
Nothing if not stubborn and true to your word, you push him back and roll to get out of the bed defiantly. Barely making it to the edge of the mattress when his hands are on your sides and manhandling you back into your previous position. Spreading your legs wide and rubbing the tip of his cock through your folds, just dipping into your hole before repeating the previous movements.
Biting his lower lip as he watches, his precum smearing all over your messy cunt, “Told you, you wouldn’t get very far.”
Your head rolls at how he dips his dick in more, beginning to stretch you open, his hips stuttering forwards, hand slapping down onto the bed beside you to stop himself from pushing you too far.
“Oh– oh– fuck! How– h-how are you this tight, oh,” breathless not even beginning to describe how fucked out he already sounds.
“M-more, Sugu, please– I–”
At your insistence, he fucks himself all the way in, holding his hips to yours as he fills you to the hilt. Your pussy spasming and creaming around him, so worked up that he can feel just how aroused you are in the way you twitch, at how your fingers grab at his skin, how your breath is uneven and broken.
He can’t help but marvel at how you let out little squealed moans, how your cunt stretches to take all of him. On cloud nine at how you’re so horny over how heavy he’s sitting inside you that you’re close to tears.
The moan he lets out is debauched, unbelievably turned on when your hips struggle to grind down into him needily, working yourself up to an orgasm so fucking fast that he can’t do anything but watch in awe.
You can’t stop yourself, you know you should, should slow down and maybe calm down but it feels so good. He’s so big inside you, his cock pulsing in a way that has you memorising the thumping rhythm. Not usually so eager, never this eager, enthusiastically rutting down into him over and over again before suddenly cumming all over him.
Choked and gasped moans pulled from you as your hands reach for him, hoping for him to let you tug him down into you but he’s too busy watching how you pulse and cum all over him. Obsessed with how your cute, little cunt struggles with his size as you coat him in all your creamy cum.
“Holy fuck,” he laughs, “That was–”
Head dizzy and eyes lazy as you whinge at him, “–Don’t– don’t say anything.”
“You came as soon as I got inside you and you expect me to make no comment?”
“It’s embarrassing.”
“I think it was adorable,” he hums, voice strained, much more effected by it than he’s willing to let on.
You whine when he leans down into you, cock somehow reaching deeper. Geto’s arms cage you in either side your head, resting on his forearms, his lips against yours in a breathless kiss. Beginning shallow thrusts, his lips insistent on yours, fucking you so carefully for now.
Quickly, the need to have him fucking you stupid grows within you again and your legs loop around him properly, pulling him into you, wrapping yourself around him, mouth panting against his.
“Fuck– hah– you’re so wet,” he’s fucking into you faster, hips becoming desperate, “It’s actually– it’s– hnn– it’s crazy how good you feel,” he moves his head to the crook of your neck, growling beside your ear, “such a soaked little cunt, taking it so– ohh– taking it so good.”
“Ah! Ah! Sugu, it’s– ohh– it’s– more– I need more,” your fingers dig into his back, depraved wet sloshing sounds of him fucking into you so well fill the room.
He nips at your neck, “Demanding little thing aren’t you?”
He’s pulling out of you and the moan you let out is small and pathetic, disgruntled by his abrupt movement. The last thing you see is his smug grin before he’s flipping you over onto your stomach, hands pulling your hips up and pushing on your upper back, manoeuvring your body into an obscene arch.
Taking his sweet time to slip back inside, eyeing up your pussy and how your hole trembles and drools for him. Your hips wriggle back at him and he finds himself incredibly amused at how blatantly needy you are, apparently honest with him in more ways than one.
Just as you were about to turn around and complain at how long he’s taking to re-enter you, he’s shoving his cock back in all at once, jolting your body up the bed and forcing a moan out from your lungs.
“Ohh– Sugu– I…” you trail off as his hips pick up, eyes rolling to the back of your head.
Sliding your legs further apart to take more of him inside, arching yourself even more, greedy cunt sucking him deep inside. He’s barely able to withdraw before you’re fucking your hips back into him, desperately driving back, so fucking needy that if you had half your mind you’d be embarrassed but right now all you can think about is how his dick thumps against your walls, how his hands grip onto you tight, probably leaving behind marks to match the ones he left all over your tits.
Mouth gaping open, spit pooling onto the pillow below, drooling over his cock, God, you could cry from just how fucking good it feels. Pussy spasming wildly around him, the more you think about the fact that he’s fucking you, the more worked up you get. Insides flipping at how he seems to touch the most perfect spots inside you, full of butterflies and him.
His mouth by your ear shocks you, his voice chirpy, “What are you – hah – thinking about, pretty?”
“A-about how goo– good it feels, feels– ohh– feels so good, Sugu,” your words are slurred, mind reeling at how he doesn’t even seem to slow his pace.
“Flatterer,” he barks out a laugh, “You’re quite the little charmer,” he mockingly compliments, tongue licking meanly at your salty tears that you hadn’t realised you’d shed.
“Shh– shut up– ah!” gasping when he gives a particularly mean thrust into you.
He can’t help but smile at the fucked out look you’re wearing, eyes rolled back, dazed and not comprehending anything other than his dick rubbing up against your walls so perfectly. Your face turns into the pillow and you bite at it, muscles pulling tight as another orgasm crawls up your spine.
It shocks you, how quickly you cum, Suguru’s harsh thrusts, your ass burning with the smack of his pelvis against you. The sting biting at your flesh making you feel like you’re on fire, cunt tight around him and orgasm overcoming you so fast that you don’t have time to prepare for it.
And maybe if he hadn’t been caught up in how deliciously you squeeze around him, he’d have time to realise you were coming again and he could stop himself but when you shock the both of you with your sudden orgasm he whines into your back and cums deep inside you. Shivers running down his spine at how it feels, dumping so much deep inside you that the force of his continued thrusts has some of it leaking from you back onto him and down onto the bed, making the obscenest mess he’s ever seen.
Immediately he’s pulling himself back up to see how he’s coated your walls white, his dick covered in your shared cum, creamy and lewd and he’s not even going soft because how could he when you’re still wrapped so warmly around him and when you’re so fucking gooey and snug. He might die before he’s done fucking you yet and he can’t even find it in himself to care even a little bit.
You’re not capable of forming words together enough to think of making a sentence, only thing coming from you being your garbled, choked moans and the sounds of your plushy cunt struggling to take him and all his cum. Pussy bulging with the weight of his cock and the mass amounts of seed he’s just pumped you full of.
His own eyes are lidded and low, pussy drunk and loving every second of it, “So turned on you couldn’t even warn me before you came,” he bites out.
His hand rounds your body and his fingers land on your clit, the overstimulation too much, one of your own hands moving down to try and pry it away, managing to squeak out, “T-too much– ah! Too much, Sugu.”
Tone light when his harsh words are mumbled back at you, “If it’s too much, then why – hnn – why are you fucking back onto me like such a slut?”
He’s so mean, so mean to you while he fucks you so… meanly. Head whirling over how he speaks to you, not even able to think long before he slaps your clit harshly and your knees buckle, falling into the mattress under him. His dick slipping from you as you collapse into the mattress.
Geto doesn’t pick you back up straight away, oh no, because you’re leaking all of his cum out of your little hole onto the bed and he can’t take his eyes off of how much cum he managed to get inside you. It’s you who picks your hips up lazily, presenting yourself for him.
He chuckles at your loyalty to his cock, but he also can’t help the way the sight makes him twitch. Shoving his dick into you again, feral in his pursuit to fuck you, to fuck you full of more of his cum.
“S-so devoted– hnnn– doing such– hah– a good job for me, pretty,” he slurs.
You feel like you might pass out, so lightheaded but meeting each and every one of his thrusts all the same. An arm wrapping around your front pulls your back to his chest, both his hands landing on your tits, fingers pinching and rolling your nipples, making your pussy shudder around him.
You want to fuck your hips back recklessly but not able to with this angle, only able to arch further and give shallow grinds while he fucks his hips into you. He plants kisses and bites along your neck, nipping your skin hard enough that you twitch and whine each time he does it.
One hand leaves your tit and trails down your front, going for your cunt, spreading wide around where he’s stuffing you full continuously. Getting an absolute mess all over his hand and fingers, only to shove those fingers into your mouth, leaving you to lick him clean. Crammed full by his dick and fingers at once, convulsing around him at the thought of it, at the reality of it.
“You like being stuffed full, huh?” He muses to you, an evil kind of joy in his tone. You don’t get to choose your own response, he’s already using the fingers he has in your mouth to nod your head yes, “Ah, thought so.”
Pulling his fingers from your mouth slowly to watch how you suck on them as he does, before he’s wiping all your spit down your chest to your tummy. And then he has another hand on the back of your neck and is pushing you down into the pillows again, this time he keeps his hand there while he fucks into you diabolically.
Somehow faster than before, relentless, reaching his own end and wanting you to cum all over him at least once more. Head dipping back as he groans out, thrusts harsh and calculated, hitting all the spots he’s just learnt about, having memorised just how to make you fucking squirm for him.
Which he succeeds in, if he didn’t have the hand on the back of your neck, you would’ve crawled up the bed to try and get away from his evil thrusts. Poor abused pussy creaming around him for the fourth time, orgasm blinding you, only seeing white spots behind your eyelids.
The sounds he lets out are wrecked and beautiful and have you wishing that you weren’t cumming so violently if only to see the way he’s spilling inside you for the second time tonight.
“That’s it– fuck– take it– taking it so fucking well– holy fuck–” every word he utters is breathless and broken, essentially fucking himself stupid too.
Taking a moment for himself to catch his breath before he’s slipping from you and pulling your ass cheeks apart to watch how his cum dribbles from your overfilled cunt. You try to wiggle away but he holds you steady, eyes trained on your dipping hole, overcome with the desire to fuck his tongue inside you but instead settling for shoving two fingers inside, plugging your hole to keep his cum in.
You whine at him, and he can only chuckle and find you incredibly cute in your post orgasm bliss. Barely able to keep your eyes open, let alone speak right now.
He does eventually pull his fingers from you, wiping the mess on your thighs before turning you onto your back. It feels like you’re looking up at an angel as he looks down at you, or maybe the devil, all flush and sweet smiles, too sweet for a man that just fucked you within an inch of your life.
“Y-you can’t smile at me like that, not after you almost killed me,” you babble back at him.
He rolls his eyes at you, “There you go overreacting again.”
“You fuck so mean, Sugu,” you accuse… accurately.
A smile grows on his face again, “Feels real good though, doesn’t it?”
You weakly slap at him, he just grabs your hand and tugs your body into his kneeling form, hugging you to him. Pressing kisses all over your face, “Think you can stand long enough to shower?”
Shaking your head at him, “Not without fainting.”
“Alright, bath it is,” he concludes.
He takes such nice care of you afterwards, a complete contrast to how he fucked you. It’s lovely though, the hands that grabbed and pulled at you now delicate as they trace over your skin, washing you clean.
You rest with your back to his front in the bath, head laying lazily on his chest, “So… for the sake of clarity, we’re not just friends?”
His lips tickle against the tip of your ear, “I can fuck you all over again if you need more proof?”
“I fear you might actually kill me.”
“Then I guess you’ll just have to take my word for it,” he presses a single kiss against your cheek.
In the morning, for the first time ever, he makes you breakfast, to make up for all the marks he’s littered your body with. He also officially asks you on a date, which you pretend to think really hard about even though you’d already decided you were going to say yes.
In the end, being friends with Geto Suguru wasn’t hard… it’s just not what you both wanted.
𝐀/𝐍: this was a while in the making and the vibes of it changed so many times throughout 😭 it was supposed to be situationship but i fear i'm not well versed enough in what exactly one is to write about it properly.... anyways ! i hope you enjoyed regardless and thank you for reading !!! <3
