𝜗𝜚 Surely Yuki was totally lying about how hot the local underground band was, right? Well, she wasn’t. Now, you know Suguru Geto plays bass, every chord from C minor to F sharp major; maybe you should test how good he knows G.
content: smut, plot, Yuki/Shoko cameo, alcohol, mentions of birth control, jjk men in a band, bassist Suguru, tension, cigarettes, oral (f. recieving), tongue piercings, fingering, panties as a cockring, dick piercings, riding, car sex, manhandling, hickies, making out, creampies, happy endings
wc: 4.4k
a/n: this is a (super delayed) treat for 8k <33 ily all so so much!!
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ೃ࿔*:･
The cafe smells of coffee and sugar, students crammed into booths or perched on stools as they procrastinate essays and sip iced, overpriced drinks. You’re sat comfortably on a corner table, bag resting limply on the floor beside you while a barista walks past you to wipe a countertop.
“Ugh, they’re just so good!” Yuki swoons in her seat, the cafe bustling around your little trio. “I mean, their lyrics are one thing, but their fans are super dedicated too-“
Beside you, Shoko rolls her eyes. “I’m surprised you can hear them over all the girls screaming.” Her teacup clatters against the saucer as she sets it down, blackened coffee grounds sloshing around within the ceramic.
“Yeah, since when were you into trending underground bands?” You ask, thrumming your nails on the table. Yuki shrugs. “You’d scream too if you saw them up close. Seriously, they’re everybody’s type.” She sighs wistfully and gazes off into the distance, and you finish your drink in two sips. So much for affordable portions, you suppose glumly.
“Well, when are they playing? I could use a night out.” Yuki perks up as you speak, eyes bright and her smile wide as Shoko digs around in her bag for her packet of cigarettes and a lighter.
Undeterred by Shoko’s obvious indifference, Yuki keeps talking. “You’re in luck! This Saturday, they’re on locally- and free- I’ve been to the bar before. It’s gonna be soooo fun!”
The rest of the week passes normally, assignments and emails floating in and out of your periphery, but you’re admittedly intrigued by Saturday and Yuki’s promise. Which is why you find yourself coating your lashes in mascara an hour before you’re supposed to meet your friends, lightly thumbing glitter along your eyelids.
Shoko rests on your bed, cross legged, squinting as she pours the remnants of something into her flask. Yuki rolls her eyes. “You’re so old fashioned.”
“Practical.” Shoko shrugs.
“Hey, guys-“ you say suddenly, sitting up, “I can take birth control if I drink, right?”
Yuki nods sagely, cracking open the ringpull on the can in her manicured hand. “As long as you don’t puke it up.”
“Okay, great.” You say, happily turning back to your mirror and brushing the wand across your eyelashes a final time.
According to Yuki, there’s no common set aesthetic between the attendees at their gigs. “Everybody just dresses sexy. That’s about it.” She’d shrugged on Friday morning over another overpriced coffee, “so wear something sexy.”
Do you look sexy? Probably- your skirt isn’t too short, but your shirt hugs your tits so well it’s almost embarrassing to go out in daylight wearing it. As such, you end up dragging on a jacket to avoid flashing the unsuspecting public- but, as it turns out, there was probably no need at all.
“Oh my god, I’m sweating already.” Shoko says. Her shirt is just as low cut as yours, which makes you feel a little better- plus, there’s probably more skin on show than there is fabric in the bar.
If you can even call it that.
It's more of a club with a bar attached than what you were expecting. Condensation drips down the walls, gathering moisture and slicking the surface. Lights bounce off people’s hair, faces, pupils dilating then shrinking back down as the strobe comes into contact with their eyes; you feel like you’ve stepped into a kaleidoscope and somebody is vigorously shaking it as you slosh around in the beads.
A particularly vicious strip of green laser stabs at your vision and you wince, eyes still adjusting to the atmosphere. But when they do, you realise you shouldn’t have been concerned about the neckline of your shirt at all.
Yuki was right- everybody in this room seems overwhelmingly sexy. Gazes track along bodies that curve for attention, strangers disappearing into tucked-away bathrooms together with their cheap drinks lying sticky and spilt on the floor.
“Yuki, what the fuck? It’s huge in here!” You yell over the music thumping through the speakers. Actually, the room isn’t too huge- but there’s so many people. Crammed wall to wall, body to body, people stagger past you to puke outside and there’s a couple in the corner making out.
It’s not just that corner, or the occasional bathroom stall, you realise- everywhere you look, there’s skin pressed to clammy skin and glitter smeared across fingertips; couples are pressed up against the exposed bricks, clothes snagging on railings. You whirl around to Yuki accusatorially as Shoko inconspicuously sips from the flask tucked into her purse. Not that there's any need- about half of the people in here are drunk already.
“Is this a sex club?” Shoko groans. Yuki laughs and takes the flask from her hand, smiling at you both. “No, obviously not- people just get kinda rowdy sometimes.“ Your own swig of alcohol warms your stomach and throat, a comforting buzz humming below your skin, and suddenly the venue doesn’t seem too bad at all.
Somehow, you end up pressed against the flimsy barricade separating the crowd of thrashing bodies from the stage. Above you, there’s two men singing into the same microphone with a woman perched behind a keyboard and you furrow your brow. “Yu, is this them?”
Shoko laughs. “Wow, anticlimax much?”
Yuki giggles a little drunkenly, unscrewing a can of something bright and sweet from her bag. “Daiquiri.” She explains when you squint at the label, pulling you a spare, “and no, this isn’t them- trust me, you’ll know when they’re on- oh my god, oh my god, it’s them!”
The venue practically erupts. People scream behind you, Yuki excitedly grabbing Shoko before turning to you and shouting something incoherent, her voice drowned out easily by the sheer volume of everybody else.
The crowd surges forwards, breath knocked a little out of your lungs as your canned cocktail sloshes in the can crumpling under your fingers. There’s a sudden burst of light from above as the spotlights fan out across the crowd, and you screw your eyes shut instinctually at the sudden explosion of white- but your ears are still open, and you can hear the amount of swooning female voices drowning out everything else.
The band can’t be everybody’s type, can they?
Your question is answered immediately when you manage to get a good look at them.
And holy shit.
“I know, right?!” Yuki yells into your ear, blonde hair tickling your neck as she leans in towards the stage to laugh at the dumbstruck look on your face. “They’re hot!”
More than hot. You aren’t quite sure where to look first, totally overwhelmed and spoilt with choice; you start at the front, to the white-haired, sunglasses wearing, grinning frontman who’s lapping up the attention.
“Is everybody having a good time?”
He only has to greet the crowd once before they’re all yelling and vying for his attention again, to which he just laughs and scrapes his hair back. “Thought so. Lemme introduce you to the band!”
You stare, slack jawed and flustered, while Gojo- as he introduces himself while grinning, much to the delight of apparently everybody- does exactly as he said between adjusting his mic stand.
Choso Kamo on the guitar, dark bangs falling softly into eyes smeared with dark makeup as his fingers slip along the fretboard; girls drunkenly squeal his name over and over, but unlike Gojo he looks almost embarrassed- a cute flush working onto his face. Gojo also mentions he’s the stand-in keyboardist, to which he blushes even harder and focuses on the chords.
Ryomen Sukuna sits behind the set of drums at the back, twirling the drumsticks between his fingers. When Gojo calls his name into the mic, he grins widely and flexes his tattooed biceps to encourage the desperate crowd’s attention; cymbals crash and vibrate when he lowers his hands, mouth barking out a laugh when Gojo pulls a face at him.
But then, finally:
“And now, my best friend and our resident bassist- come into the light, let the ladies see you!” Gojo teases; the people behind you only make more noise as he turns to face forward, beckoning his laughing friend closer, and you see why immediately.
Suguru Geto, as Gojo announces over the screams, is the kind of hot that steals your breath away and makes you want to suffocate if it means you’ll get to keep staring at him. You’re so close you can see the thin strips of eyeliner framing his eyes.
“I told you they were everybody’s type.” Yuki says into your ear, grinning knowingly as you gape up at the men- or, more specifically, man- in front of you.
“Yeah.” You nod dazedly, only half registering the words coming out of her mouth as your eyes zero in on the way his tongue darts out to wet his lips. Something metallic and shiny glints under the lights as he does so: a tiny piercing, a little silver star on the pink muscle.
You’re struck by how effortless he makes it look. Bass thrums through the amps, the floor, travelling up through your starstruck body in cloying waves that make your brain vibrate within your fragile skull.
Your mouth dries, then immediately waters again when Geto throws his head backwards briefly mid-song while his polished nails work the strings. Hair spills across his shoulders, strands falling messily from where they’ve been loosely tied back.
Try as you might, you physically can’t pull yourself away from staring at him. Not even through Choso’s abashed guitar solo, not even when Sukuna flings his drumsticks about and flashes a sliver of (tattooed, obviously) tanned abdomen to the crowd.
It’s their final song now, and you’re feeling pre-withdrawals from Geto’s presence. Suddenly, rather embarrassingly, you understand exactly why so many people in here come back again and again. You would too, just for a glimpse of him.
You need a drink.
The abandoned and lukewarm can in your hand will have to suffice, sweetened alcohol swilling about in your mouth and dripping down the side of not just the can itself, but your forearm. Without breaking the stare you’ve been holding on Geto’s gorgeous face since the very first song, you stick your wettened tongue out and drag it across your skin.
Cocktail collects on your tastebuds as you go, still gazing in entrancement up at the bassist. You’re so deep in analysing his face, the studded eyebrow piercing, the thin wisps of hair plastered to his forehead from sweat, the gauges decorating his earlobes, that you don’t realise that he’s staring back, too.
You freeze, tongue now flattened against your wrist and its rapid pulse as his eyes lock onto yours- and god help you, he smirks. A lazy, devastatingly slow facial expression as he gazes with heavy eyes directly into the face in front of him.
It’s about as cliche as it gets, you know- but for a few seconds, as Geto’s lips curl upwards and his fingers keep plucking, as the alcohol pools on your tongue and sticky skin, everything seems to blur. Muting and slowing, the sounds and smells around you stop their assault on your senses and the room narrows down to just you and the bassist who’s very blatantly ogling you.
And then, like a building wave crashing back to shore, everything quickens back up as Gojo finishes the final lyric and tosses his pick into the pit of swarming fans. A little plastic triangle, thrown to people who practically dive over each other to grab the keepsake.
“Thank you for coming!” Gojo yells into the mic, “and-“
Whatever else he says is drowned out, a rush of blood in your ears when you realise Geto’s turning to leave the stage, bass propped up against the amplifier and his eyes tugging away from yours. Your chest almost pangs.
The pavement outside, almost an hour later, is damp and gritty. You’re muttering curses to yourself as you try to ignore the man vomiting around the corner; as if that wasn’t bad enough, you’re looking for Yuki- who was looking for Shoko. So now, you’re ultimately alone while the vague smell of cigarette curls around you and embeds itself in your clothes.
“I can’t believe this.” You mumble to yourself. The alcohol has mostly lost its hold on you now, fading down to a background buzz that would be pleasant if you weren’t in such a dismal mood.
“Hey.”
You look up begrudgingly, monotone expression slapped across your face, before you see who’s speaking and almost scream. “Uh, hi!”
Beside you, cigarette in hand, stands Suguru Geto of all people. The ash burns and drops to the floor where it sizzles out, probably landing on your shoe with how close he’s standing, but you don’t care.
He smiles down at you and stubs out his cigarette. God, he’s even prettier up close. “Suguru.”
You already know. He knows you know. He knows everybody else here knows- it’s just a formality to get your name. And he does, obviously.
His lips curve again, something dangerous flickering behind his eyes when they drift down just a little to the dip in your top. “Did you enjoy the show?”
He’s murmuring at a normal volume, but it may as well be that he’s just shouted it into your eardrum with the way you jolt. “Yeah, I did.” Frowning, “but I think everybody else did too.”
Geto tilts his head, a gleaming wave of hair washing across his shoulder. “Honestly, gorgeous? I don’t think I even noticed anybody else. Not with you staring up at me all prettily, you made it hard to focus on the set.”
Avoiding his eye contact for fear you’d probably squeal, “you made it hard to focus on the rest of the band, too.”
He straightens up finally, tucking a lock of hair behind his gauges; you’re disappointed to say the least- were you too boring? Too forward? Your fingers fiddle with the hem of your skirt nervously, and Geto notices. Or, more precisely, he notices the way your thighs look in the skirt.
Not that you notice.
What you do notice, however, is the way he clears his throat and you snap your head up to look at him.
“My car’s parked around the back. Everybody else left.”
Your breath catches in your throat. It’s a thinly veiled invitation, you know that; Shoko and Yuki can handle themselves, can’t they? And you’re not sure if it’s the heat Geto’s presence brings to your face or the way the alcohol is still coursing happily through your veins, but somehow you find yourself placing your fingers with his ringed ones and following him towards the car.
Initially, you weren’t quite sure what to expect from his car, but it’s actually quite nice- air freshener hung tidily, boxes of instruments and equipment stacked in the boot. All of your curiosity, however, is brushed away like dust to the wind when Geto opens the door- and encourages you to cosy up in the backseat.
Your head thunks lightly against the glass, nervy hands automatically wrestling the steadily rising hem of your skirt back down; Geto stops you, fingers gently curling around yours and pushing the material back up your thighs until he has a clear shot down to your underwear.
He breathes out, self-satisfied and hungry, his thumb reaching forwards to tenderly glissade down the soaked fabric. Your hips twitch instinctually towards the touch; embarrassment isn’t even in your periphery anymore, too worked up to care as he keeps lightly teasing your pussy.
“Lie back for me, pretty.”
You do- god help you- and warmth pools between your legs at the sight. Geto’s crammed below, chest almost flattened to the seats, silver jewellery cool against the heated skin of your thighs when he props your legs over his shoulders and leans in.
He lets his breath fan across you at first, before swiftly pulling your panties to the side and grinning at what he finds. You can’t see between your legs, too busy craning to get a glimpse of Geto’s face, but whatever you’re viewing doesn’t matter- because as soon as he closes his plush lips around your clit your brain blanks.
Geto presses another tender kiss to your sensitive skin again before drawing back and lining an obscenely slow, teasing lick through your wetness. It’s more for him than you, undoubtedly; he can’t find it in himself to feel selfish or guilty, not when you taste so good.
You jolt, hands flying to the crown of his glossy head and gasp. “What- why are you c-cold?”
Geto smiles against your cunt, chastely kissing your inner thigh before slowly unfurling his tongue and- oh, how did you forget? His pretty little piercing, nestled right in the middle, glimmering with traces of your slick.
Words fail you, a breathless curse slipping from your mouth when your head falls back again.
“Fuck,” he moans into you, tongue flicking across your clit, “sooo good for me.”
Two fingers work themselves around you, cold rings pressing against your clit and you muffle a whimper into your palm. Geto looks displeased, to say the least. “Don’t do that. Let me hear you, pretty.”
To punctuate his point, Geto’s pulling away to hear the way you gasp indignantly as your orgasm gets ripped from you. “You can’t do that-“ you say, voice cracking, “you’re cruel.”
He just smiles, piercings glinting, as he lifts his fingers to his mouth and sucks. Your breath hitches and your chest rises below your top at the sight, so lewd and unrefined compared to everything he showed onstage earlier.
He laughs at your expression and sits back in the seat, undoing his belt without breaking eye contact. “Take your panties off for me, pretty.” You startle, halfway crawling across the seats towards him, before quizzically removing the soaked piece of fabric from where it’s all tangled at your thighs.
“Now, hand them to me.”
You do. You’re expecting him to maybe gag you with them- or himself, he doesn’t seem above that- but what he does instead makes your nails dig into the seat. Geto takes the ruined, messy fabric of your underwear and wraps it around his base.
“Fuck.” His hips stutter as he does, panties clinging to his sensitive skin as he loops them. He smiles. “There.”
You stare. Unabashedly- because what else are you supposed to do when the bassist you’re fucking in the back of his car uses your panties as a cockring?
And your gaze isn’t averted from his cock itself either; adorned with a few zigzagging veins- and a tiny sliver orb nestled at the tip. It’s identical to the one on his tongue, you notice with amusement. You wonder briefly if he has any earrings the same, but the gauges glint back at you and answer your question.
“Okay, up you go.” Geto settles back in the seat and grins as you swing your legs determinedly over his lap, your soft thighs bracketing his toned hips- but all your bravado disappears the moment your greedy hands wrap around his dick and realise just how thick he is.
The fabric at his base swallows up only what seems to be a tiny portion of his cock, slippery fabric splayed across tan skin that fades into the prettiest pink at the tip. Pre leaks down, soaking into your panties further and you tremble in trepidation.
“C’mon, gorgeous.” Geto coos, rings cold against your hips. “I’ll help you out…”
He does, guiding your slick cunt to the tip and letting gravity do the work. As you swallow him up you shudder, that teeny little piercing nudging at all your soft spots and coaxing even more wetness from you. “Ohh, fuck.” You breathe, forehead dropping to his shoulder.
He laughs and caresses your spine as you finally bottom out, lace scratching your skin just a little. “I told you I’d help you out, hm?”
You moan in response, hands curling into fists at his skin for leverage as you begin to lift and drop your hips. Geto’s head tips to the side, eyes half shut as he stares unashamedly at where you’re conjoined together.
He watches and feels the way your cunt squeezes around him as he slides out, only for you to squeak into his ear when Geto slips back in to the base and notches deep.
Your thighs are burning already, legs trembling as you fight for purchase on the smoothness of the car’s backseat. “Slowing down already?” You huff, hair sticking to your temples.
“S’not my fault you’re so…” you trail off, cheeks bright as Geto jostles inside you again. “No, go on.” He says, smirking against your throat as his tongue piercing licks a filthy stripe up the salty skin. “What am I?”
“You’re-“ you heave, “you’re… big.”
Oh, he smiles at that, piercings shimmering as he grins wickedly up at you. You don’t even realise he’s looped his hands around your waist, that he’s spread his thick thighs just a little further, until Geto’s using the excess leverage to yank you down onto his cock like a doll and you sob.
“Fuck, fuck, Geto-“ you gasp, nails cutting marks into his shoulders as you try and cling on.
“I think we’re much past the formalities by now, pretty.” He pants, tugging you closer to dig his teeth into your flesh and balm the ache with his tongue’s cooling metal ball. “Suguru works just fine.”
You try to say Suguru, you really do, but he chooses somewhere between the second and third syllable to slam his tip into your cunt and you blank. What you end up with instead, is a wanton cry of:
“Sugu-!”
He groans. “F-fuck, yeah, gorgeous.”
The underwear tangled around his base is sodden beyond repair by now, a mix of pre and slick infiltrating the fibres of the fabric and soaking it completely through until it’s barely recognisable as your panties anymore. “Sugu, Sugu, Sugu-“ it’s like your own personal mantra.
Your hand, shaky as it is, latches onto your clit and rubs frantic little circles over the nerves. It’s messy and uncoordinated but it feels so good you gasp, the noise dripping like sugar into Geto’s awaiting ears as his pace pushes you to continue.
Geto groans out small susurrations against your collarbone and chest, sucking purple marks into the soft skin. Your head tips back and your pussy pulses dramatically around him- and Geto grins.
“You close, pretty?”
“Yes, fuck, so close-“ you hear yourself whining, mascara smudged beneath your eyes. Geto’s makeup isn’t faring better- eyeliner streaks darkly across his temples as you grab his face to bring him forwards.
The kiss is nothing short of nasty- more spit and breath than lips, your tongue searching for the piercings studded across his lips and the extra sensation they add to the kiss. Geto moans lowly, a cracked little noise that echoes from his throat and into your mouth. When your fingers stutter, it’s Geto’s hand that comes down to cover you and rub harder.
You clamp down tightly around him when you cum, the orgasm overtaking all five senses until everything you feel is coated in a numbing mixture of bliss and overpowering pleasure. Geto fucks you through it, welcoming the extra tightness as his teeth dig into his lip.
When Geto finally cums, it’s messy, hot and thick- white streaks viscously down your inner thighs as you overspill, coating the ruined panties wrapped around his dick even more. His hair spills over his shoulders like water, curtaining you both as he smushes his mouth to yours again.
“Hck-“ you squeal against his tongue when he brings you in, your arms wrapping around his neck as his hands drag you closer by your hair and back. Spit drips down your lips and Geto eagerly licks it all back up.
Utterly fucked-out and ruined, you slump against his chest while Geto reaches into the pocket of his jeans, fingers curling around a plastic lighter and a packet of cigarettes. He nudges the window down just enough to let the sex-sticky humidity fade out into the night, and clicks his lighter.
The slow puff of his cigarette seems to revitalise him, eyes turning up as he smiles. You don’t even smoke, but when he wordlessly holds it out to you between two fingers you find yourself leaning forwards and chasing whatever he offers.
“My friends are probably waiting.” Your voice is embarrassingly hoarse, makeup probably obscenely ruined. And you don’t have any panties to wear, either.
“I, uh… I can’t walk back.”
Geto laughs. “Wow. It was that good?” You flush.
“Not like that-“ although, your legs are shaking. “You stole my underwear. I’m not walking back without any panties-“
Geto brushes a piece of hair from your face as you ramble. “You can stay over at mine, if you want. I’ll drive you back tomorrow.”
You should say no- but you’re tired, your legs are shaking, and he’s still buried inside you, so you find yourself agreeing.
Yuki <3
You good?
Me and Sho couldn’t find you, she said you walked off with somebody
Hope you had fun!!
If the string of drunken winking emojis is enough to go by, they aren’t exactly worried out of their minds about you and you huff. By now, you’re slumped in the passenger seat as Geto kicks the car into drive, and you snap a quick photo of his head and torso as he reverses, attaching it to the message you send Yuki.
You
Lots of fun
Be back tomorrow!
Your phone buzzes repeatedly, vibrating against your hand as the city lights blur past you, reflecting from shopfronts and puddles of water.
“Hey,” Geto says, one hand on the steering wheel and the other brushing across your thigh, “we’re playing again in two weeks. If you wanna come.”
“Wow, I have to wait a whole two weeks to see you again?” You joke, voice still strained and tired from all your previous moaning.
Geto grins, piercings shining. “Now, I didn’t say that, did I?”
ೃ࿔*:･
masterlist
a/n: his hair is gorgeous- and thank you all again!
me when i write a really long comment on a life altering fanfic and the author responds and writes something equally as long and i lowkey just reach enlightenment
Genuinely the saddest thing I've ever read, the fact that something like this is happening RECENTLY in a medical field is genuinely fucking insane I'm glad I'm trying to pursue something medical related because it means I'll help contribute to getting rid of outdated, straightout disrespectful treatment of people who just so happen to be transgender. It blows my mind that they're medical professionals that still see who someone is before seeing them as a patient.
Kids can be the sweetest things like one just showed me how to play a Roblox game but oh my gosh did I talk this much when I was younger or am I just getting old
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