( 18+ mdni ) your boyfriend, suguru, fucks the overthinking out of you.
your brain won’t shut the fuck up.
not tonight. not this week. maybe not ever.
you’ve been locked in your own head for days now, thoughts circling like vultures— too much, too loud, too ugly. everything you do feels wrong. the way you talk, the way you dress, the way you shrink into yourself when you think someone’s looking. you fumble your words in front of friends, over-apologize when you breathe too loud, and it all spirals into the same aching thought every time:
why would someone like suguru ever stay with someone like me?
you’re a mess. clingy and anxious and constantly overthinking. he’s calm. strong. achingly beautiful in a way that still stuns you even now, months after falling for him. he’s warm, confident, assured. he could have anyone.
and tonight, as you lie beside him in the quiet dark, you feel like the gap between you is something enormous and impossible to cross.
“baby,” suguru murmurs, voice warm and low, “you’re doing that thing again.”
you blink. shift a little under the blankets. “…what thing?”
he gives you a look— gentle, knowing, all soft corners. the kind that sees straight through you.
“that thing where you drift,” he says quietly, brushing his knuckles along your arm. “where your body’s here but your head’s gone somewhere it doesn’t deserve to be.”
you flinch.
he doesn’t say it with annoyance. doesn’t sigh or turn away or make you feel like a burden for falling back into old patterns. he just knows, like he always does. he can read your silences the way someone else might read a favorite book— again and again, and still with care.
as though he could see through your skull and read every word that’s eating you alive.
“i’m okay,” you speak softly, the lie brittle on your tongue.
he watches you from his side of the bed, head propped on his hand, hair loose around his shoulders like black silk. he doesn’t call you out for lying. doesn’t push. just gives you a long, tender look that makes your throat burn.
“talk to me,” he says, even gentler now. “what’s hurting?”
you blink fast. try to swallow the uncomfortable lump that’s lodged deep within your throat. “it’s nothing. i’m just tired. i’ve been… overthinking everything lately.”
his brow furrows, but not unkindly. “like what?”
you pause. hesitate. your voice is barely above a whisper when you finally say, “like… maybe i’m not enough for you.”
suguru stills.
“like maybe you’d be happier with someone easier,” you continue, eyes burning now. “someone who isn’t so… anxious all the time. who doesn’t get so in their head or need constant reassurance or cry at stupid things—”
“hey.”
his tone is soft, but firm. you flinch again when he sits up, reaching for your hand, the weight of his touch serving as a wordless reminder that he’s not going anywhere.
“don’t do that to yourself,” he says. “don’t turn your softness into something shameful. you’re not too much. you’re just hurting.”
your eyes sting. “but i make things harder for you.”
“no, angel. you just feel things harder. and that’s okay.”
you break a little at that. tears well up before you can stop them, and suguru’s already moving— climbing over you slowly, gently, settling between your legs like he was meant to be there.
his hands cup your cheeks. thumbs brushing away your tears.
“i love you,” he whispers, so achingly sincere it guts you. “i love every piece of you— every anxious thought, every trembling breath, every time you look at me like you’re afraid i’ll stop choosing you. i won’t.”
your voice cracks. “i just want to be better—”
“you are better. you’re mine.”
and then his mouth is on yours, slow and reverent, kissing you like he’s trying to put you back together. your thighs part instinctively, and he slides down your body, dragging the sheets with him.
“let me help,” he murmurs against your skin. “let me quiet your mind.”
his tongue is hot and patient between your thighs. every motion feels devotional, purposeful, a love letter written in touch instead of words. he eats you with the urgency of a man who can’t breathe unless it’s through your pleasure. his fingers press deep while his mouth focuses on your clit, soft licks turning sharp, fast ones until your legs shake and your breath hitches.
“that’s it, baby,” he praises. “don’t think. just feel.”
you cum hard and fast. embarrassingly so. the kind of release that rips through you without warning, all heat and helplessness. he holds you steady through it, strong hands anchoring your hips while his tongue keeps moving, lapping up every twitch and tremble, like he needs to feel all of it. even when your thighs start to shake and you’re whimpering from the oversensitivity— he doesn’t stop. not until you’re soft and boneless beneath him, breath stuttering, blinking through wet lashes and a hazy afterglow.
“doing okay?” he asks, leaning up to kiss your forehead.
you nod. “too much.”
he smiles. “gonna give you more, angel. gonna give you everything.”
he lines himself up with practiced ease, cock hard and leaking, the flushed head nudging against your soaked folds. your body responds without thought— eager, aching— as you part your legs wider for him, pliant and ready. and when he pushes in slow, deep, so fucking deep, you gasp, back arching, hands scrambling for his shoulders as if they’re the only thing keeping you tethered to this plane of existence.
“f-fuck— sugu—”
“i know, baby,” he pants, pressing kisses to your neck. “you always take me so good.”
the position has you folded, your thighs pinned up against your chest as he fucks into you with smooth, heavy thrusts. you feel full, stuffed with every inch of him, and your brain has no room for thoughts anymore— just the way his cock drags against every sweet spot inside you. the way he looks at you, all tenderness and need and love.
“you feel that?” he breathes, voice wrecked. “feel how perfect you are around me? like you were made to take me.”
your nails dig into his back. you’re crying again, of course you are, but this time it’s not from sadness. it’s from how deeply he sees you. how wholly he loves you.
“you think i could ever find better?” he grits, fucking you harder now, his pace deep and punishing. “no one else makes me feel like this. no one else is you.”
you sob. “i love you. i love you so much it hurts.”
he groans, burying his face in your neck. “you think you’re broken,” he pants, “but you’re just soft. and god, baby— i worship that softness.”
your orgasm builds slow and steady, a wave that crashes over you the second he reaches down and rubs your clit, whispering, “that’s it. let go. you’re safe. i’ve got you.”
and you shatter.
you cum so hard your body locks up, thighs trembling, voice catching on a high-pitched moan that makes him swear under his breath. he fucks you through the aftershocks, barely hanging on himself, before he cums too— deep inside, cock twitching, moaning your name like it’s the only word that matters.
when you both come down, he doesn’t move. just stays inside you, holding your body close, breathing in the natural scent of your skin.
“you still with me, angel?” he asks softly.
you nod, dazed. “i feel… better.”
“good.” he kisses your temple. “you’re never alone in your head again, okay? you start spiraling, i’ll be right here. always.”
he shifts to wrap his arms around you tighter, your legs tangled together, his cum leaking out of you slow and warm.
“you’re my favorite thing in the whole world,” he whispers.
you fall asleep to that. to the weight of his love. to the sound of your thoughts finally going quiet.
was feeling a bit down today so i had to write some soft, reassuring sex with my fave comfort character <3 #livelaughlovesuguru
( 18+ mdni ) suguru missed you. now he’s splitting you open and filling you up ‘til you cry.
“you’re shaking already.”
his voice is breathless, hot against your ear, thick with satisfaction as his hips slam down into you again— louder this time, messier, so deep you choke on a cry as your nails curl into the sheets. suguru grunts, sweat dripping from his chest onto your breasts, his pace relentless, like he’s trying to fuck you into the damn mattress.
“s’cute,” he pants, breath catching in his throat. “two minutes in and you’re already twitchin’. you miss me that bad, baby?”
he knows the answer. your body’s screaming it— legs thrown over his shoulders, hips arched up, tits bouncing with every brutal thrust. he’s been gone for two weeks, and now he’s back in your bed, fucking you like he needs to remind you who you belong to. his cock is thick, fat, dragging through your walls like it’s trying to carve itself into your body, stamp his shape into your guts, make sure no one ever forgets you’re his.
“missed this fuckin’ pussy,” he growls, one hand gripping your waist like a vice, the other sliding up to grab your throat, thumb pressing lightly on your pulse. “so wet for me. so needy. can’t even think straight, huh?”
your eyes are rolled back. your lips parted in a silent moan. the bed creaks under both your bodies, headboard slamming against the wall with every punishing thrust, the sound of skin on skin echoing in the room, wet and obscene.
suguru pulls back slightly, chest heaving, and stares.
stares at your wrecked expression. at the tears in your lashes. at the way your tits bounce under you and your mouth stays open like you’ve forgotten how to close it. his hips snap forward again— harder— and he watches your jaw slacken further, tongue twitching.
“look at you,” he murmurs, voice wrecked. “all fucked out already. that pretty little brain of yours gone already?”
you whimper, nodding, and he laughs.
“fuckin’ knew it.”
he drops your legs suddenly, making you yelp at the impact, flips you over like you weigh nothing, and shoves your face into the pillow. your ass is in the air before you can catch your breath, cunt glistening, messy and pulsing— and suguru groans at the sight, dragging his fingers between your folds before slapping your pussy once, just to watch you jolt.
“you feel that?” he mutters, spreading you open with both thumbs, his cock nudging at your entrance again. “feel how fuckin’ sloppy you are?”
you can’t answer. your mouth is open, panting, tears starting to gather from the pressure building in your gut. but he doesn’t care. he knows.
and when he slams back in— raw, thick, brutal— you sob into the sheets, hips jerking, body locking up at the sudden stretch.
“ohhh, there she is,” he purrs, leaning over you, letting his chest press down slick against your back. “my dumb little toy. lettin’ me ruin you the second i get home. didn’t even let you breathe first.”
he’s fucking into you hard now. fast. relentless. his cock abusing your walls, kissing your cervix with every stroke, the wet squelch of your pussy growing louder and louder as he splits you open all over again.
his hand finds your hair, yanks your head back until your mouth falls open in a gasp— and he spits. slow, messy, right on your tongue.
“swallow it,” he growls. “like a good fuckin’ girl.”
you do. instantly. and he groans.
“god, you’re fuckin’ made for this,” he pants, rutting into you now with enough force to make the bed rock. “made to be used. made to take my dick. made to cum on command.”
and like clockwork, your body obeys— walls fluttering, pussy clenching, thighs shaking uncontrollably as your orgasm rips through you. it hits hard. hot tears stream down your cheeks as your vision blurs, body seizing, moans slurred into the mattress.
“you cumming again?” he sneers. “already? greedy little thing. squirt for me.”
you do. you can’t not.
your body shakes as you gush around him, slick soaking his cock, dripping down your thighs. and suguru moans— loud, chest heaving as he fucks you through it, never letting up.
“that’s it. give it to me. fuck— i’m gonna cum, baby. gonna fill you up. make sure you remember what this dick feels like.”
he grabs your hips, drags you back on his cock, and fucks you like he means it. deep, punishing strokes, heavy balls slapping against your soaked cunt as he chases his own high.
“gonna put a baby in you,” he hisses, voice ragged. “pump you so full you’re dripping for days. let everyone see who owns this pussy.”
you sob. nod. whine.
and then you feel it— his cock twitching, thick spurts of cum flooding your cunt as he buries himself to the hilt and groans through his teeth, hips jerking with every pulse.
you both collapse, sticky and shaking, his cum leaking out of you slow and hot.
but before you can even catch your breath, he’s rolling you onto your back again, sliding his hand down your ruined pussy.
“don’t pass out yet, baby,” he murmurs, licking into your jaw. “i’m not fuckin’ done.”
( 18+ mdni ) best friends don’t let you suffer through a mental breakdown or an orgasm block alone. suguru geto is here to fix both. word count: 5.3k
warnings: mentions of academic stress/burnout, masturbation, phone sex, oral (f. rec), fingering, dirty talking, mentions of suguru with other girls (</3), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, aftercare
“you sure you don’t want to go out with us?”
your co-workers stare at you while you try to push down the simmering irritation creeping up your spine. it’s not their fault, but the way they keep pestering you to come drink when all you want is to go home is pushing you closer to snapping. they mean well, and their eyes are soft with concern.
“yeah, i’m sure,” you tell them. luckily, they nod and accept your decline. “thanks for the invite, though.”
“well, if you change your mind, you know where to find us.”
in typical twenty-something fashion, some days feel longer than others. today is no exception. it’s hard to find your footing when you’re buried under midterm projects and still trying to maintain a social life without completely falling apart. when the semester first started, you were hopeful— happy, even. a fourth-year university student ready to finish strong and step into “real life.” but the days got harder before you could make it to the finish line.
the ride back to your apartment isn’t long, but traffic’s brutal after your shift at the convenience store. the bus drags through rush hour, same as always when you’re scheduled until 5pm. everybody’s trying to get home at once and even public transportation gets swallowed by the grind.
on the way back, you can’t stop thinking about everything that’s been wearing you down. midterms snuck up on you like they always do, and no amount of late-night studying could prepare you for the constant pressure of chasing grades in five different classes. the uneven weight of every test, the looming deadlines, the projects— it all feels like punishment.
you’ve barely seen your friends except in passing. you haven’t had time to breathe, let alone take care of yourself. no fun, no breaks, just surviving.
everything’s drained you. school, work, all of it. even suguru— your best friend— has started softening his edges around you, like he can feel how close you are to crumbling. the unread texts from him are piling up, and your absence in his life says enough. he knows school’s kicking your ass. and deep down, you know you’ll bounce back like always.
but right now? it just feels like it’s gonna take forever.
the first thing you do when you get home is peel off your clothes and toss them straight into the dirty hamper before stepping into the shower. the water’s hot enough to sting, washing away the grime and exhaustion clinging to your skin after a long day outside your bedroom. by the time you step out, your hair is clean, your skin soft and warm beneath your towel.
it takes more effort than it should to go through your skincare routine, patting products into your face while staring at your reflection like you’re trying to convince yourself you’re still holding it together. you force yourself to tidy up your room too, shoving stray clothes into drawers and stacking papers so the mess doesn’t feel as overwhelming as it looks. today sucked. there’s no point pretending otherwise.
eventually, the clock slips into a late hour. you’ve had dinner and even treated yourself to something sweet to make up for the long, painfully dull day. the week feels never-ending, and you’re clinging to the thought of the weekend— no shifts, no customers, no pretending to have energy you don’t have.
once you’re settled in bed with the television playing low in the background, you try to let your worries drift away and focus on what’s in front of you.
but whether the show is too boring or your mind is too restless, you’re not sure. the tv fades into background noise as you start scrolling through your phone instead.
your thighs press together absentmindedly. you clench around nothing as you log into the twitter account you never post on. it’s muscle memory at this point— the familiar username, the saved threads. this is where you keep your stash for nights when you need release. short videos, photos, bookmarked links— everything that reliably gets you off.
after a week like this, you just want one win. one small thing that feels good. maybe bringing yourself to orgasm will be enough to tip the scale.
you spread your legs beneath the covers and trail a finger up your slit over your panties, phone balanced in your other hand as your thumb scrolls through clip after clip. it’s about finding the right one. thick cocks, glossy, soaked folds— your breath starts to shallow as heat pools low in your stomach. the week begins to blur at the edges. that’s a good sign.
rubbing yourself through the thin fabric always makes you wet. you imagine someone else’s hand there instead, teasing exactly the way you like it, pretending you don’t have to move at all to fall apart. your fingers glide back and forth and you soak through the cotton quickly, slick spreading until your panties cling uncomfortably to you.
you scroll lazily, then finally hook your panties to the side just to feel how wet you are. a quiet moan slips out at the sensation of your fingers brushing your slick folds. you push one finger inside and sigh at the stretch, at the simple relief of it after such a tense week. you add a second. then a third. pumping them in and out with your legs bent toward your chest.
this should be easy.
it isn’t.
three fingers aren’t enough.
you’re not even sure how long you’ve been grinding your hips into your own hand, chasing something that won’t quite crest. when you pull your fingers out, the emptiness makes you wince. frustrated, you force yourself out of bed to search for your vibrator— the reliable fix for nights like this.
you dig through your drawers, heart pounding, only to realize it’s dead. uncharged. useless.
you’re too worked up to wait.
you crawl back into bed, irritation prickling under your skin, and open your bookmarks again. you try to sink back into that hazy, desperate state you were in before— but your mind won’t quiet. the stress, the exhaustion, the lingering weight of the week— it all clings to you, keeping you from fully letting go.
your room echoes with a groan of frustration when your eyes land on the photo sitting on your desk. it’s an old picture of you and suguru, the one gojo took when the three of you helped move into this apartment. boxes piled high, sweat on your skin, and suguru pressed up next to you at the tiny kitchen table while you all devoured greasy noodles from the shop across the street. his thigh was snug against yours— tight space, no room— but neither of you seemed to care.
that’s the thing. suguru’s never been shy about touching you. he’s the type girls naturally lean into, soft-voiced and slow-smiled, the kind of man that makes you feel safe with a single glance. and maybe it’s fucked up, but you’ve always envied the ease he carries— how people orbit around him without even realizing they’re caught in his gravity. girls want him. guys want to be him.
meanwhile, you stumble through every interaction like you're apologizing for existing. you’ve told suguru all your little heartbreak stories, every failed date and awkward lay, while he casually shrugs about girls who’ve cried for him in bed— multiple times.
he never brags, not really. but he doesn’t censor himself either. and why would he? you’ve known each other forever. he’s seen you ugly-cry through breakups, and you’ve seen him eat shit on a bike at twelve years old. sex isn’t a weird topic between you two, not when there’s no mystery left to preserve.
but still. some part of you wilts every time he talks about toe-curling head and girls riding him until they go dumb on his cock. because you don’t have stories like that. no memory worth stroking yourself to. no partner who’s ever made you unravel the way suguru describes so casually.
it’s not like you’re a virgin— just that nobody’s been good. not good enough to make you sweat thinking about them days later. it’s not fair how easy guys have it. half the time they don’t even try, and they still get off like it’s nothing.
and fuck, suguru’s stories leave you soaking sometimes. not even on purpose— just the sound of his voice, low and lazy while he talks about the mess he made of someone else. he doesn’t even know he’s doing it to you. and you can’t bring yourself to tell him how badly your own stories pale in comparison.
you’re worked up, and it’s not just the porn or your stupid uncharged vibrator. it’s the whole day. the stress. the tension. the endless little inconveniences that built up into this boiling, frustrated edge. you can’t even come, and now you’re spiraling.
you open your texts with suguru— unread messages stacked between you— and scroll through the tiktoks and tweets he’s sent you without context. you laugh at a few, but mostly you just miss him.
you call him. he picks up after one ring.
“back from the dead, i see. what’s up?”
you sigh. “nothing.”
he laughs, and you hear the quiet click of his keyboard in the background.
“can’t be nothing,” suguru says smoothly. “you only call when there’s something you don’t want to type.”
“not true.”
he hums, unimpressed. “y/n. you hate long voice notes. you hate overexplaining through text. if you’re calling, it’s because you need my full attention.” there’s a faint smile in his voice. “so. what is it?”
you sigh. “i’m bored. happy?”
he lets out a quiet chuckle. you can practically see the way his eyes narrow when he smiles like that. “it’s cute that you think i don’t hear the attitude in your voice.” the clicking of his keyboard continues in the background. “i’m in the middle of a game with gojo and the others. you’re interrupting something important.”
“oh? no girl to ruin tonight?”
“not tonight,” he replies calmly. “i had a long day. didn’t feel like entertaining anyone.” a pause. “gojo’s being obnoxious, as usual. i’m tolerating it.”
you go quiet.
it hits you all at once— you’re naked except for a thin tank top and a pair of white socks, skin still warm from your shower, thighs sticky from earlier. he can’t see you, but the thought of him knowing makes your cheeks burn.
“you went silent,” suguru murmurs. the keyboard stops. “that’s unusual. especially when you start picking fights with me.”
you roll your eyes even though he can’t see it. “it’s unfair.”
“what is?”
“that all you have to do to get off is brush your hand against your dick like it’s nothing.”
there’s a pause. a slower inhale on the other end.
“that’s what this is about?” his tone shifts— quieter, more attentive. “you don’t usually bring up sex with me. are you alright?”
“it’s unfair,” you repeat, frustration bleeding into your voice. you can still hear faint clicking, he hasn’t fully stopped playing.
“y/n,” his voice drops a notch. “what’s going on?”
the way he says your name makes something inside you loosen. you tell him everything. always have. good, bad, humiliating. but this— this feels different. you’ve noticed how attractive suguru’s become over the years, how girls stare at him like he’s something divine. you’ve just never let yourself think about it while talking to him.
your voice barely carries through the line. “i can’t get myself off..”
the keyboard stops, completely.
“…what?”
“suguru—”
“no,” he says softly. “say it again.”
your stomach flips. you shouldn’t have called. this feels like stepping off a cliff.
“i can’t get myself off,” you whisper.
there’s a sharp exhale on the other end. you can practically hear him leaning back in his chair.
“you can’t?” he repeats, slower now. deliberate. “you’ve been trying?”
your frustration swells until it stings behind your eyes. “i just want to cum, suguru.” your voice wavers.
you don’t see him mute his mic or disconnect from the game entirely. you don’t see the way he takes his phone off speaker and presses it to his ear. but his voice changes— closer. heavier.
“have you been touching yourself?”
“yes. i don’t know what’s wrong with me. i can’t focus. nothing’s working.”
he exhales through his teeth. “explain.”
“my vibrator’s dead,” you admit, embarrassed. “and i was using three fingers but it’s not enough.”
silence. thick and charged.
“are you touching yourself right now?”
“no,” you sigh. “i’ve been at it for an hour. i can’t finish.”
another quiet curse under his breath.
“you must’ve been soaked,” he says, voice low— too low.
“not anymore,” you snap, irritated at your own body for cooling down.
a beat passes.
“start again.”
“…what?”
“you heard me.” his tone is calm, controlled. “put me on speaker. touch yourself.”
your pulse stutters. it’s alarming how much you like the way he says it.
you place your phone on the mattress beside you, switching to speaker, and let your hand drift between your legs again. your fingertips brush lightly over your slick folds.
you don’t know if it’s him, the risk, or the fact that you’ve already crossed some invisible line— but your spine tingles as your touch grows slower, more intentional. light as a feather.
“are you doing it?”
“y-yeah,” you breathe.
“mm. how’s it feel?”
“really good…”
his voice dips— velvet over gravel. “how good is really good?”
you swallow. “like… like someone else is doing it. if i close my eyes, i can pretend it’s not me.”
“but it’s not enough, is it?”
you exhale shakily. “no, sugu. i’m just— i’m so fucking frustrated.”
“yeah?” the softness in his voice makes it worse. “what’s got you like this, baby?”
“everything,” you admit. “school, work, my group project— no one’s doing shit. i feel like i’m carrying everything alone.”
“you’re not alone,” he says, and the way he says it makes your breath catch. “you’ve got me. always have.”
his voice is slow, measured, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. and he does— he hears every quiver in your words, every hitched breath. you know suguru. he listens too closely. talks too slow. makes you feel too seen.
your fingers move easier now, slick spreading across your folds as you rub slow circles over your clit. every ounce of shame is dissolving in the sound of his voice.
“when have i not been there for you?” he murmurs. “never. and i’m not starting now. even if what you need tonight is for me to help you cum.”
“s-suguru, don’t say that.”
“why not? it’s true.” you can hear the smirk behind the calm. “best friends help each other get off, don’t they?”
“how are you gonna do that?” you whisper.
silence.
a pause so long it makes your stomach twist. your heart drops, panic bleeding into your cheeks.
did you push it too far? did you just ruin everything?
and then—
“keep your fingers on your pussy,” he says, low and steady. “i’m coming over.”
your eyes go wide. “n-now?”
“yes, now. i live five minutes away. don’t pretend you didn’t think about this the second you called me.”
your entire body flushes. you press your fingers deeper, slick dripping down onto your thighs. it’s been so long since anyone touched you the right way— if they ever have at all.
“please hurry, sugu. my fingers are getting sore.”
he lets out the softest sound, something between a sigh and a groan. “i’ll be there in two. don’t hang up.”
“f-fuck,” you whimper, and the line picks it up— clear and soft in his ear. you hear the low rumble of his car engine turning on.
“god, you sound so good,” he murmurs, voice lower now. “i wanna hear those pretty moans while you touch yourself. you gonna let me?”
you rub faster, slick noises filling the room.
“yes, suguru. fuck, i’m so wet. this feels so good.”
“good girl,” he says. “now be a sweetheart and play with your clit for me. get her nice and swollen for my mouth.”
you do exactly what he tells you— fingertips circling your swollen clit, slow and needy, just like he said. your eyes slam shut the second that sharp jolt of pleasure hits, back arching clean off the mattress, breath catching in your throat before spilling into a sound that makes suguru hum. low. dark. satisfied.
“just like that,” he purrs. “fuck, you sound even better than i imagined.” a pause. “vocal little thing, aren’t you?”
“only when it feels really good.”
“yeah?” he teases. “and does it feel good right now?”
you bite your lip. “it’d feel better if you were here.”
he chuckles— low and knowing. “i’m here.” you hear the faint jingle of keys. “and i’ve got your spare. keep fucking yourself.”
the line goes dead.
you hear the door open almost immediately after.
for a split second, your brain screams at you to cover yourself— but then it passes. there’s no room for modesty now, not when you’re this soaked and you’ve been moaning for him like a bitch in heat.
his footsteps echo down the hall, and then he’s there— standing in the doorway like a sin made flesh, breath uneven, black hair hanging in his eyes like he ran the whole way up. he hesitates only a moment before stepping inside, and the second his eyes meet yours, you moan again— louder this time, shameless.
suguru drops to his knees.
he grabs your legs and yanks you to the edge of the bed without a word, his gaze locked between your thighs. your fingers are still wet with your own arousal, but he brushes them aside like they’re in his way— like you were just the warm-up act.
his breath ghosts over your pussy.
and then his mouth is on you.
he doesn’t ease into it— he devours. tongue buried deep, hands gripping your thighs to hold you open as he licks into you like he’s starved. the first stroke of his tongue knocks the air right out of your lungs.
it’s been so long since anyone touched you like this— wanted you like this. you cry out, legs twitching as he locks you in place, licking and sucking like he’s trying to ruin you from the inside out.
you’ve heard stories— girls whispering about suguru’s tongue, the way he eats like it’s the only thing he believes in. you always thought they were exaggerating. now? now you’re wondering why you never let him do this before.
he groans into your pussy, tongue dragging up through your slick before latching onto your clit, sucking hard enough to make your thighs jerk.
“fuck,” he mutters. “tasty little thing.”
your fingers find his hair, gripping tight for something— anything— to hold onto.
“how come you never told me you taste this sweet?”
“you never asked.”
he laughs against your cunt. the vibration alone has you seeing stars.
“still got that attitude, huh?”
you pant, lips curling. “what are you gonna do about it?”
he looks up at you, lips slick with your arousal, and grins. it’s slow. dangerous.
“if you were anyone else,” he says, voice calm like it’s not the filthiest threat you’ve ever heard, “i’d edge you until you sob. wouldn’t let you cum unless you begged me with tears in your eyes. i’d fuck your throat till you learned your manners.”
then he dips his head again— one slow, sinful lick from your hole to your clit— and slides two fingers inside you like he owns it.
your walls clench around him instantly.
“but you’re my best friend,” he murmurs, fingers curling deep, “and you’ve had a hard week.”
he kisses your inner thigh and grins when your hips jerk.
“so i’m gonna make you cum.”
if a thousand suns exploding feels anything like suguru’s mouth and fingers working you in tandem, then you hope to god you never forget this feeling. they move like they’ve done this before— separately, but in sync— his fingers stroking deep and slow against your g-spot while his tongue circles your clit like he’s coaxing the orgasm out of you with patience alone. every time you whine or mutter a desperate please, he presses a little firmer, like he’s rewarding you.
your brain barely registers the sounds leaving your own mouth— it’s too much. everything’s too loud in your ears. the slick squelch of his fingers, the wet drag of his tongue, the low hums of approval he makes when your thighs tremble around his face.
he’s fucking you with his fingers at a pace that rides the edge, somewhere between indulgent and ruthless. just enough pressure to knock every thought out of your head.
you squeeze your eyes shut when the coil in your belly starts to unravel. he feels it, of course he does. he groans when your hips twitch and your moans go breathless and choppy, his fingers curving just right, hitting that perfect spot while his mouth drinks from you like it’s the only thing he needs.
his head is buried so deep between your legs you can’t see him anymore, just feel him. your thighs clamp around his ears on instinct, and he lets you— until he needs to move again. he peels them apart slowly, like he’s reluctant to let go.
his hands grip your thighs tighter, keeping you spread for him as he licks up every drop, every twitch, every wave of your orgasm until your chest collapses against the mattress and your cunt pulses around nothing.
he wipes the slick off his mouth with the back of his hand, then leans in and presses a kiss right to your overstimulated slit.
“you’re so fucking sexy when you cum.”
your voice is soft. dazed. “i can’t believe i let you do that.”
“why not?”
he crawls up your body slowly, slotted between your legs like he belongs there.
“because…”
“hm?” he dips his head to mouth at the corner of your lips. “because what?”
“you’re my best friend. we’ve seen each other through everything. don’t you think this is… i don’t know. weird?”
“not even a little.” he shakes his head and kisses the edge of your mouth. “honestly? i think we should’ve done this sooner.”
you frown. “i’m not trying to be someone on your roster, suguru. you can keep that shit to yourself. thanks for making me cum, though.”
he laughs against your lips— quiet, amused. but when he speaks again, there’s a subtle shift.
“if we fuck, there won’t be anyone else.” his voice is low, serious. “i’m not some cold bastard. if it’s just sex, the girls i fuck know that. but you—” his eyes flick down to your lips. “you’re different. you matter.”
“…so this would be, what— friends with benefits?”
“semantics.” he shrugs, brushing his lips against yours. “we can talk about definitions later.”
when you don’t pull away, he kisses you fully— deep and slow, and your body reacts before your mind can catch up. your lips part under his, and the taste of your own cum on his tongue has you clenching around nothing, heat spiking low in your belly again.
your mouths make soft, filthy sounds in the quiet of your room.
and somehow, it doesn’t feel weird. it doesn’t feel wrong. it feels right, as if this was always meant to happen. his hands are gentle but firm, holding your body close, anchoring you.
for once, you don’t feel like an afterthought.
your mind’s a little foggy, but you know one thing: you don’t want him to stop.
“…this isn’t gonna make things weird, is it?”
“no, baby.” his voice is warm. final. “you could’ve asked me to drop the others at any point. i would’ve.”
you roll your eyes. “you sound like you’re in love with me, or something.”
he pulls back, smiling slow.
“yeah. or something.”
you try to ignore the way your heart flutters— until you feel the thick press of his bulge resting against your bare, soaked pussy.
“you’re hard,” you whisper, staring down where his cock presses hot and heavy against your thigh.
his mouth quirks. “so you’ve noticed.”
you pinch his bicep, tone teasing. “you get hard from eating pussy?”
“of course i do,” he says, like it’s obvious. “it’s pussy. your pussy.”
you start to reply, but he shuts you up with a kiss. slow. possessive. like he’s still savoring your taste on his tongue.
“are you satisfied now?” he murmurs against your lips. “now that i’ve made you cum?”
his words make your cheeks burn, suddenly shy under his gaze. he’s still suguru— your best friend who teases you for taking too long to order coffee and makes fun of your movie taste. nothing’s changed, and yet the way he’s looking at you has your stomach flipping.
you turn your face, voice soft. “you know what? actually… i don’t think i am.”
his grin is slow. wicked. he leans back, peels his shirt off like he’s in no rush, every inch of sculpted muscle revealed for your eyes alone. then he grabs your hand, presses it flat to his abs.
“oh yeah?” his tone is mockingly sweet. “what else do you need from me, princess?”
your nails trail down his torso, feeling the flex of muscle beneath your fingertips.
“i think i need you inside me.”
his eyes darken, smile sharpening. “my mouth and fingers weren’t enough for you?”
you shake your head.
“mm. spoiled.”
he slips off the bed and shoves his pants and briefs down in one motion, cock springing free— long, thick, glistening with precum. your pussy clenches just from the sight of him, and your breath hitches.
he crawls back up, one knee at a time, grabbing your hips like you’re weightless and positioning you just how he wants. your legs spread open, shameless and eager, and he strokes himself slowly before tapping the flushed head of his cock against your clit.
“need this cock, baby?”
“yes, yes!”
“who would’ve guessed my best friend has the tightest fucking pussy,” he mutters, voice low with disbelief. “makes me wonder why i even wasted time on anyone else.”
you whimper. your hips twitch.
he slides the tip inside— just an inch— then another. slow, careful. lets you feel every goddamn ridge as he sinks halfway in and pauses, letting you adjust while your walls clamp down hard.
“fuck, listen to her,” he groans. “she’s gonna make me blow just from the way she’s squeezing me.”
he grips your legs, opens you wider, and pushes in the rest of the way— slow and punishing. the stretch is perfect. painful in that addictive way. he’s throbbing deep inside you with every grind of his hips. you gasp, clutching your own tits for some kind of grounding. it turns him on more than you expect— he huffs, leans forward, and folds you in half.
“don’t hide,” he says, voice rough now. “i want all of you.”
he thrusts. again. deeper. sharper.
you moan shamelessly at the way he hits your cervix with every stroke. he sits back on his heels, grabbing your thighs and fucking you deeper, angling just right until it feels like he’s rearranging something inside you.
“look at this pussy,” he growls, eyes locked on where he disappears into you. “so wet. so fucking fuckable.”
“fuck me,” you gasp, barely coherent.
he laughs— breathy, strained. “i am fucking you.”
but then he leans closer, voice taunting.
“you want more?”
you nod frantically. “please, suguru. fuck me.”
“how hard, baby?”
you hesitate, cheeks hot.
his hand slaps your clit lightly— just enough to make you jolt.
“i said, how hard?”
you sob. “so hard i feel you in my stomach.”
his grin returns, slow and mean. “that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
he pulls out. flips you over.
“hands and knees, arch that back for me.”
your body moves on instinct. you barely get into position before he plants his feet on the mattress, angles himself behind you and then shoves back in. his cock slides through your mess, coating him in the aftermath of your orgasm before starting all over again.
he fucks into you with his mouth parted, brows furrowed like the pleasure’s almost too much to bear. suguru’s grip on your waist is bruising, both hands squeezing tight to keep you steady while he drives into you, jaw slack as your pussy drags around him every time he pulls out. your eyes roll back when his balls slap against your soaked folds, the heavy sound echoing in the room as your fingers dig into the sheets.
“your balls,” you manage, breath catching, “they’re hitting my pussy— feels so fucking good.”
he groans when he feels you clench, adjusting his angle and fucking you harder, deeper, until the wet slap of skin makes your ears ring.
“yeah?” he pants, voice low and teasing. “you like when they hit your clit like that?”
“so good, fuck—!”
his pace picks up, and the more his cock nudges your g-spot, the louder your moans get. he sounds just as wrecked— his voice a growl against your skin, his thrusts purposeful and deep.
“you gonna cum for me, baby?” he rasps. “wanna feel you make a mess on my cock. you’ve earned it, haven’t you? all week— being good, holding it together. let go for me.”
“that’s it,” he groans. “that’s it, baby. fuck, you’re doing so good— creaming all over me like that. let it out.”
your body locks up as you cum, orgasm rolling through you like a tidal wave— blissful, toe-curling, like you’ve finally let go of every weight on your shoulders. your thighs tremble, your pussy pulses around his cock, and your brain finally goes quiet.
it’s relief. it’s freedom. it’s your best friend buried deep inside you like he was meant to be there.
he fucks you through it, chasing his own high with tight, relentless thrusts.
suguru looks down at the mess between your thighs, groaning at the sight of his cock slick and white with your release.
you’re perfect. warm, tight, fucked-out— his.
“your pussy’s gonna make me cum,” he grits out, voice tight. “can’t believe how good you feel. fuck, baby, i’m gonna—”
he pulls out just enough to grind his tip against your folds and spills hot against you, thick ropes of cum painting your pussy as his hips twitch and jerk. his fingers dig into your hips, holding you still while he paints you exactly how he wants.
you twitch at the warmth, overstimulated and pliant.
he leans back on his heels, spreading your ass with both hands, admiring his work.
“would you look at that…”
“stop looking,” you mumble, face flushed.
he chuckles, deep and unbothered. “why, baby? she’s so fuckin’ pretty with my cum on her.”
you glance back at him, dazed. “…yeah?”
“oh yeah.”
he leans over, grabbing tissues from your nightstand, and gently cleans you up first, then himself. it’s surprisingly tender, the way he takes care of you.
by the time you’re tucked under the covers, your body is heavy with exhaustion, limbs loose and sated. suguru tosses the tissues and turns back to see you curled up, blanket tucked under your chin.
“looks like you just needed one good fuck to unwind, huh?”
you blush. “shut up.”
“not happening, sweetheart.”
“i…” you hesitate.
he leans down, brushing hair from your face. “you what?”
“…i liked when you called me baby.”
his smile softens. “yeah?” he brushes his thumb along your cheek. “i can do that.”
you bite your lip. “are you gonna go home?”
he raises an eyebrow. “not if you’ll let me stay.”
you don’t answer. just lift the blanket.
he slides in beside you, boxers on, arms open.
“c’mere,” he says, and you go without hesitation, settling against his chest.
his heartbeat is slow and steady beneath your ear.
