Don't Look Away This Time
summary: You were good at being invisible-until Geto made a habit of finding you. What starts as small, almost accidental encounters slowly turns into something deliberate, something impossible to ignore. And when you finally end up alone with him, it becomes clear: this was never a coincidence.
also on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/83170871
------------------------------------------------------------------------------The lecture hall always felt too large for the number of people inside it, like the architect had expected greatness to echo louder than it actually did. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows in long, slanted beams, catching dust motes that drifted lazily above rows of half-occupied seats. You had chosen your spot carefully: it was always three rows from the back, close enough to hear, far enough to disappear. It was a position perfected over weeks of observation, of learning where to exist without being seen.
And yet, somehow, you were seen. Not by everyone. Never by everyone. Just by him.
Suguru Geto didnât sit in the same place twice, but he always ended up near you. Not close enough to be obvious, not far enough to be coincidence. Today, he had taken the seat diagonally behind you, one row up, long legs stretched out just enough to brush the back of your chair whenever he shifted.
You noticed it the first time. You pretended not to notice. By the third, it had become impossible to ignore.
There was something deliberate about the way he existed. Even in stillness, he felt like motion restrained: like a current beneath calm water. His presence carried weight, not loud or demanding, but persistent. It curled into your awareness and stayed there, refusing to dissolve. The professor droned on about sociological frameworks, voice blending into a dull hum that faded behind the sharp awareness of proximity. You told yourself to focus, to take notes, to remain unaffected by something as trivial as shared space.
Then his foot nudged your chair. Not hard. Not accidental.
Then another, softer touch, as if testing whether you would react.
You didnât turn around. Not immediately. Instead, you let your pen hover over your notebook, breath catching just slightly, annoyingly, noticeably, and you hated that he might be able to see it.
When you finally did glance back, it was subtle, a shift of your shoulder, a tilt of your head. He was already looking straight at you, his palm resting on his face, a subtle smugness in his smile. He was not startled. He acted like he wanted to be caught. You stared at him a little too long, heat building up in your cheeks, before you looked away, flustered. How were you supposed to just sit with him staring at you so intently?!
Getoâs expression didnât change when your eyes left him. There was no apology, no feigned innocence. The faint curve at the corner of his mouth remained, something almost amused, as if your reaction had been exactly what he expected. Your notes became illegible and messy after that.
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It wasnât just lectures. It was then the library, where silence was supposed to be sacred, yet he would take the seat across from you and tap his fingers against the table in a rhythm that matched your pulse too closely to be coincidence. It was this hallway, that garden, that bench, this classroom, that socratic seminar. His desk kicking, pen tapping, finger cracking method was impossible to ignore. Today, it was the campus cafĂ©, where he would appear in line behind you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him without touching.
âBusy day?â he had asked once, voice low, casual, like you were already mid-conversation.
You had turned, startled, coffee order forgotten. Your card slipped from your hand and he picked it up for you. Your heartbeat was so fast that you had to turn around while talking to him so that he wouldn't hear it. However, you didn't realize that he could see that your ears were red as tomatoes.
âSomething like that.â you replied.
He had hummed, gaze lingering on the back of your head, the aroma of your floral perfume filling his senses vividly. He smirked again, as if he had already taken what he wanted from the interaction.
And then there were the nights. College had a way of stretching time after dark, turning ordinary hours into something softer, more uncertain. The campus quieted, but not completely: distant laughter, the hum of streetlights, the occasional rush of wind through trees that lined the walkways like silent witnesses. You started staying out later than you used to.
At first, it was for studying. Then for the quiet. Then, eventually, for reasons you didnât want to name. You would find yourself walking the same paths, lingering in the same places, noticing the same figure leaning against railings or sitting on benches, as if you had always been there. Just to see if he had always been waiting. For you, perhaps.
âFunny,â he said one night, when you finally stopped pretending surprise, âhow we keep running into each other.â The words were light, but there was something beneath them, something that made your chest tighten.
âIt-itâs just a small campus!" you squeak, embarrassed that you have been caught red-handed.
âMaybe.â he replied cooly. You hated how he was always so calm- his actions planned, his face always knowing. You were the stupidly flustered one who got embarrassed at his simple eye contact.
He didnât sound convinced.
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This strange dynamic shifted one night it rained.
It wasn't a storm, not dramatic. Rather just a steady, unrelenting drizzle that soaked into everything, turning the air cool and heavy. You had forgotten your umbrella, of course, and by the time you reached the dorm building, your clothes clung uncomfortably to your skin, hair damp, shoes squeaking faintly with each step.
The lobby was nearly empty, except for him.
Geto sat on one of the worn couches, one arm draped over the backrest, posture relaxed in a way that felt almost intentional. He looked up as you entered, gaze sweeping over you once, slow, assessing-not in a way that felt judgmental, but in a way that made you suddenly aware of every detail.
You started choking on air. You coughed and wheezed until returning to normal. (but you were blushing furiously)
You let out a fake, LARGE, humorless laugh. âVery observant.â
He stood, closing the distance between you in a few easy steps. You stared at the ground. Your breath quickened. Up close, the scent of rain clung to him too, mixed with something warmer, something distinctly him.
âYouâll get sick.â he said.
âIâll survive.â you scoffed.
There was a beat of silence, stretched thin.
Then, quieter, âCome on.â
"Why won't you look at me? I want to see your pretty face." he said calmly. You let out a little gasp. As his palm lifted your face up to meet his eyes, you felt even wetter. (in a different way, of course)
Your eyes were shaking and your lip wobbling. He chuckled and patted your head.
There was something in his tone-something that wasnât a suggestion so much as an expectation, something that made your pulse stutter in a way that had nothing to do with the cold.
He tilted his head slightly, as if the answer was obvious.
The hallway felt longer than usual. Or maybe it was just the awareness of him beside you, close enough that your shoulders brushed once, twice, neither of you pulling away. The quiet was heavier here, more intimate, broken only by the soft echo of your footsteps and the distant hum of the building settling into the night.
When he unlocked the door, he stepped aside to let you in first. It was a small gesture. It didnât feel like one.
His room was dimly lit, a single lamp casting a warm glow that softened the edges of everything. It wasnât messy, but it wasnât overly neat either. There were books stacked haphazardly, a jacket draped over the back of a chair, the faint scent of something woody lingering in the air. A few candles were scattered around the room, and his bed had black bedding with an Arctic Monkeys poster above it. It was comfortable. lived in.
Dangerous, in a way you couldnât quite articulate.
âYou can take that off,â he said, nodding toward your damp jacket. You swallowed, fingers hesitating at the zipper before pulling it down slowly, the sound loud in the quiet space. The fabric peeled away from your skin, leaving you suddenly, acutely aware of the thin layer beneath.
His gaze followed the movement. It wasn't rushed. Not hungry. It was very attentive.
You set the jacket aside, trying to ignore the way your hands felt slightly unsteady, fiddling with your skirt.
âSit,â he added, gesturing toward the edge of the bed.
You did. Of course you did.
He disappeared for a moment, returning with a towel, which he handed to you without comment. Your fingers brushed briefly as you took it, the contact fleeting but enough to send a sharp, electric awareness up your arm.
He didnât move away immediately. He didnât step back. Instead, he stayed there, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him, close enough that the air between you felt charged, thick with something unspoken. âYou always do this,â he said softly.
âPretend you donât notice.â
Your breath caught, and you scoffed, as if he said something stupid.
âHAH! I donât know what you mean.â
A quiet huff of amusement, barely there.
The word wasnât harsh. It wasnât accusatory. If anything, it sounded⊠fond. Your grip tightened slightly on the towel.
Because something shifted in his expression then, something darker, more focused, like a line had been crossed-not abruptly, but inevitably.
âAlright,â he murmured.
His hand lifted, slow, deliberate, giving you enough time to pull away.
His fingers brushed against your jaw again, tilting your face up just slightly, enough that you had no choice but to meet his eyes fully now.
Up close, they were sharper, more intense than you remembered. There was no distance left, no room for pretense.
âThen donât look away this time, pretty girl.â
Your breath hitched, barely audible. You didnât look away. Not when his thumb traced lightly along your jaw. Not when he leaned in, close enough that you could feel his breath, warm against your skin. Not when the space between you disappeared entirely, and right before anything could happen, right at that fragile, suspended moment where everything teetered on the edge of becoming something irreversible, the world seemed to narrow down to just the two of you, to the quiet, to the tension stretched impossibly thin, not when his lips touched yours.
He devoured you, exploring every inch of your mouth. You take a second to breathe before he kisses you again, your tongues swirling in a beautiful dance. When you pull away, a string of saliva is left. His thumb is now in your mouth, and you start sucking on it. His lips moved from your own to the corner, down to your jaw, until he finally reached your neck. He started sucking, licking, kissing on whatever inch of skin was at his disposal all while taking note which spots had you shivering and squeezing your thighs together. You whimpered and placed your arms around his neck.
Bruises appear on your neck as he physically rips your shirt off with the other hand. You gasp as he starts fondling your boobs while still buried in your neck. You feel a hard bulge press against your thigh as he places you farther on his bed. He looks up at you as his thumb brushes just under the edge of your bra, waiting, always checking even when his body is clearly aching to keep going. You nod slightly and he takes no time to take your bra off. He sucks one nipple, flicking the other one and eliciting moans from you. He sucks on both of them, switching whenever your moans turn soft, harder and harder until he notices your thighs are clenched together so hard that your knees are shaking.
He kisses you again, this time gently, before lifting up your skirt to reveal your pink panties. He chuckles.
"Sanrio characters on your underwear? That's interesting." he says.
"Don't act like you haven't seen my notes..." you reply, rolling your eyes.
He places his finger on your clit and you bite your lip as he started rolling it around. It feels so good and your feet curl up, but you need more. You take off your panties in a hurry and he whistles at the sight.
"My my pretty girl, you are just beautiful all over, aren't you?" he says, and you take a pillow and bury your face in it. He takes it away.
"I want to see every expression you make, darling." he says, as he slowly pushes his finger in. You moan audibly and his smirk returns. He pushes farther and farther in until he curls it and you gasp. He keeps curling his finger until adding a second finger. Your pussy squelches with wetness and you whimper and moan and squeal. He adds a third, pushing as far in as he can go, and you feel a coil building up in your lower belly.
"Oh my god, Suguru, I'm gonna-" you say, as he starts pistoling his fingers faster and faster. His face is calm, calculated, watching your face intently.
"Hm?" he says, while going faster and faster. You moan and cum, your release spreading everywhere. He smiles and kisses your pussy softly, before kissing you yet again. It's passion and warmth, all in one.
He then unbuttons his pants and boxers and you might have drooled when you see his cock. Even more when he takes off his shirt and you see his abs and muscles, softly defined.
It's pretty, pale, and thick with veins running all over. With such a long size, it still has a pretty pink tip that has precum dripping. He rubs it slowly before nudging it at your entrance. He takes your hand, holding it steadily, and kissing you, as his dick eases into your wet pussy.
"It won't fit- it will hurt-" you say, scared, but he just kisses you softly.
"Pretty girl, it's already inside." he says, as he pulls out and pushes in again. The veins touch your insides beautifully, and with every thrust you can feel his tip touching your cervix. He groans and you moan, and he gasps as you whimper, and it is a beautiful dance of push, pull, push pull, all over again.
"Ngh-oh my god-sugu-" you say, a sheen sweat covering your forehead. He kisses your neck, fondling your boob, and thrusts in and out, a rhythm only you two know the melody to. He bites your nipple softly and you moan, clenching down on him.
"Oh my-pretty girl-if you clench down like that again I'm going to-"
You moan as his tip keeps smashing into your g-spot and clench down on him harder, it's hard for him to pull out now, and he goes faster and faster. Your pussy is getting wrecked. Your knees are against his muscular chest as he pounds into you, hand in hand, tongue around tongue. He presses his fingers into your mouth and whispers praises into your ear.
"Such a good girl...oh my...just beautiful for me, aren't you..." he whispers.
The familiar warmth builds up in you again, and him too, as he goes faster and faster, drilling into your pussy faster and faster, until the both of you moan and he releases a hot spurt of cum inside of you. It reaches all the way inside and as he pulls out, he bites his lip at the site of his cum dripping out of you.
"Sugu..." you say, exhausted. You sit up quickly, looking at his smug smirk. You gasp at his now growing-hard cock, and his mischievous expression.
"Oh pretty girl, we have just begun-" he says, as he kisses you before flipping you over.
This is going to be a long night...
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