#daddy suguru

[siennayaps]

Trying to get your hot neighbour’s attention gone wrong. | Part-1

(Dilf Suguru Geto, he's really hot, smut, reader is a brat, smut, rough sex, daddy kink, blowjobs, creampies, choking, slapping, angst, porn with plot, mostly crack)

He was ruining your life. No actually, correction.

You were ruining your own life because of your insanely hot older neighbor who probably thought you were a public disturbance at this point.

It had only been a month since you moved into the apartment building and somehow within those thirty miserable days your entire brain chemistry had been rewired by one man.

One gigantic, broad shouldered, unfairly attractive man. You first saw him on a random Tuesday morning while running late for college, half awake and emotionally exhausted because your boyfriend at the time was currently arguing with you over the phone about how he “never made enough time for you anymore.”

Which was ironic because the moment the elevator doors opened, you immediately stopped caring about that man entirely. Because standing there was the hottest person you had ever seen laid your lustful eyes on. Tall. Like genuinely tall. Around 6’2 at least.

Massive shoulders stretching a dark fitted shirt, thick arms veined from carrying grocery bags in one hand while unlocking his apartment with the other. His raven hair was shoulder length in a wolf cut and messy, with bangs carelessly like he had bigger things to worry about than looking devastatingly attractive at eight in the morning.

And then there were the eyes.

Lord, save me. Half lidded and sharp and tired in a way that made your stomach do cartwheels.

The little wrinkles around them somehow made him even hotter. Honestly? unfair. It was so so so unfair ugh.

Beside him stood two girls around twelve years old, both loudly arguing with him while he looked completely exhausted already.

“Dad, she took my charger.”

“I borrowed it.”

“You’ve had it for three days.”

He sighed deeply like this conversation had shortened his lifespan. “I’m begging both of you to stop talking before coffee.” You nearly folded on the spot. Because not only was he hot. You glance at his hands…no ring.

He was a dad.

A really really…hot dad.

One of the girls looked up at him. “You look angry.”

“I am angry.”

“You always look angry.”

“That’s just my face.”

And then he looked up. Straight at you. Fuck. He gave you a small polite smile. “Morning.”

And damn that voice too. Of course he has a sweet, honeyed voice. Your soon to be ex boyfriend was still talking through your phone speaker.

“Hello? Are you even listening?”

And without even thinking, you went, “I think we should break up.”

“What?”

The elevator doors closed. You never emotionally recovered after that. After learning his name was Suguru, things only got worse. Because obviously the hottest man alive would have the sweetest name possible.

And the more you saw him around the apartment building, the more pathetic you became. You started timing your laundry trips. Checking your mailbox five times a day.

Taking forever to unlock your apartment if you heard footsteps nearby. You even started dressing better to take the trash out which was genuinely humiliating to admit.

Meanwhile Suguru remained painfully unaware. Always busy with his daughters. One was quieter and rolled her eyes a lot while the other talked nonstop and clung to his arm dramatically whenever they walked together.

And he was annoyingly good with them too. Patient but sarcastic. Gruff but soft underneath it. One time you saw him crouched down helping one of them tie her shoelace while listening to her rant about school drama with the most exhausted expression imaginable.

Another time you heard him outside their apartment saying, “If you two don’t stop fighting over slime, I’m throwing it off the balcony.”

You had to physically sit down afterward. Dominating mhm…Your own relationship was dying meanwhile. Not that it mattered anymore. Your boyfriend once complained because you liked older men in movies.

Little did he know you were now actively trying to seduce the giant dilf down the hallway. At first your attempts were subtle. Like smiling longer and holding eye contact.

Wearing tiny shorts during “accidental” hallway encounters. Nothing really worked. Why do all the “off limit” things in life take so much effort?

Suguru just nodded politely every single time like a normal civilized human being while you internally combusted. What a gentleman…rubbish.

Which led to your current situation.

Desperation.

And noise complaints.

The first time he knocked on your door, you nearly passed out from excitement. You opened it immediately and there he stood looking unfairly good in a black compression shirt and gray sweatpants.

Honestly you deserved compensation for this.

“Hey,” he said politely. “Sorry to bother you.”

God even his manners were hot. You leaned against the doorway casually even though your knees almost gave out. “What’s up?”

He glanced toward the loud music blasting from your apartment. “I was wondering if you could turn it down a little.”

“Oh.” You blinked innocently. “Is it loud?” His eye twitched slightly. “My daughters are trying to study.”

Right.

The daughters. You smiled sweetly. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay. Thanks.”

Then he left.

And naturally, the next day you turned the music back on. Only louder this time. Oh dear Suguru, you got no idea about what’s in store for you.

The second time he came by, he looked more tired. Third time, visibly irritated. By the fourth day, you had become a genuine menace.

You were dragging furniture for absolutely no reason. Drilling random holes into a wall. Playing music so loud your own floor vibrated. And then came the knock.

No.

The bang actually!

Oh.

You swung the door open and there stood Suguru looking genuinely annoyed for the first time since you met him. His midnight hair looked messier than usual like he had been running his hands through it repeatedly. Glasses sat low on his nose and his jaw looked tight with irritation.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “I know what you’re trying to do.” You blinked up at him innocently. “What?”

“We’ve had this conversation four times now.”

“Maybe I just really like music.”

“At 2 AM? NOT to mention that this loud?”

“Some artists are best appreciated at night.”

His eyes narrowed. My my…he looked hot irritated. “I don’t want to file a complaint with the landlord,” he said carefully, “but you need to turn the damn music down.”

Oh.

There it was.

Attitude! Yummy.

You looked him up and down slowly.

“Or what, daddy?”

Silence.

Utter complete silence. You saw his entire face and body freeze. You watched his eyes widen just slightly behind his glasses.

“What did you say?”

Your confidence almost abandoned your body immediately but absolutely not externally. You crossed your arms anyway.

“I said,” you repeated slowly, “or what, daddy?”

The word hit him like psychic damage. You could feel his anger radiating off from his sexy body. And for the first time since meeting him, Suguru looked directly into your eyes.

One long stare that made your stomach drop straight to hell. “Oh,” he said finally, voice lower now. “You’re one of those.”

You blinked. “One of what?”

“A fucking problem!”

Part-2

Got this idea while reading this fic by @eraserbread 💚

Divider by @/huraxy-dividers

[siennayaps]

Beloved

How Suguru takes care of you when you’re 3 months pregnant/ (fluff, cute af, you’re so in love it’s ridiculous) ˚.

The day started slow, like it always did now. You stirred, still half-asleep, until you felt the familiar weight of a hand against your hip. When your eyes blinked open, there he was—Suguru—propped up on one elbow, long hair tumbling messily over his shoulders, watching you with the kind of smile that could soften stone.

“Morning, mama,” he said, his voice husky, the kind of sound that made your chest ache in the sweetest way. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering like he didn’t want to move.

You groaned softly, tugging the blanket higher. “Why are you awake before me again?”

He smirked, brushing strands of hair from your face. “Because I like watching you. You look… peaceful.” You shoved at him weakly, cheeks warming. “Creep.”

But he caught your hand before you could retreat, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. His smile softened again, and you melted instantly.

At three months pregnant, mornings were hard. Your body was still adjusting, exhaustion clung to you, and waves of nausea came and went like an uninvited guest. But Suguru had slipped into caretaker mode so naturally that it felt like he was built for this.

“Hungry?” he asked, already knowing the answer “Yes,” you admitted, “but I’m too tired to move.”

He chuckled, kissed your temple, and slipped from bed. You watched him pad into the kitchen, his tall frame moving with ease, hair swaying down his back. The faint clink of dishes carried back to the bedroom, along with the low hum of his voice.

When he returned, he carried a tray: warm toast cut neatly in triangles, a bowl of fruit, and steaming tea with just enough honey to calm your stomach. He set it carefully on the nightstand, then slid back into bed, balancing the tray between you.

“Breakfast in bed,” he declared with a little flourish. You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. “You’re spoiling me.” “Not spoiling,” he corrected, feeding you a piece of apple. “Taking care of my girl.” God you always melt at that.

The tenderness in his voice made your throat tight. You chewed slowly, savoring both the fruit and the feeling of being loved so thoroughly.

⸻

The rain started in the afternoon, soft at first, then steady, tapping against the windows like fingertips. Suguru lit a couple of candles on the coffee table, their glow flickering against the fairy lights strung along the wall. The apartment smelled faintly of vanilla and the jasmine tea he’d brewed, steam curling up from the mugs in front of you.

He insisted on wrapping you in the softest blanket, the oversized knit one he’d gotten just because you mentioned once how cozy it looked in a store window. You curled into his side on the couch, blanket tucked around both of you, listening to the sound of the rain.

“Too hot?” he asked, adjusting the throw gently when you shifted. “No,” you murmured, resting your head on his shoulder. “Perfect.”

He draped an arm around you, palm instinctively coming to rest over your stomach. At three months, there wasn’t much to feel yet, but Suguru held you like there was already a whole little world growing there.

“Do you think it’s a girl or a boy?” you asked softly, eyes following the rain racing down the window.

He was quiet for a moment, then pressed a kiss to your hair. “Doesn’t matter. As long as they’re healthy. As long as they have your smile.”

You laughed, watery and small. “What if they get your stubbornness?”

“Then we’re doomed,” he teased, brushing his thumb against your cheek when he saw your eyes glisten.

Pregnancy hormones had made you emotional in unpredictable ways—sometimes you cried over commercials, sometimes over burnt toast. But Suguru never teased you about it, never made you feel silly. He just kissed your tears away and whispered that you were beautiful.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you muttered, hiding your face in his shirt. “Like what?”

“Like I hung the moon.”

“Maybe you did.”

Dinner was simple. Homemade miso soup, rice, and vegetables…because heavy food still made you queasy. Suguru cooked with his sleeves rolled up, hair tied back in a neat ponytail, moving around the kitchen with practiced ease. Every few minutes, he’d glance over his shoulder at you sitting at the counter, chin propped on your palm, watching him with the kind of dreamy fondness you’d deny later.

“Stop staring,” he said without turning, a smile in his voice.

“Can’t,” you answered honestly.

When he finally set the bowls down, he guided you into your seat like you were fragile porcelain, then settled across from you, his knee brushing yours under the table. He didn’t eat until he saw you take the first bite.

Later, curled in bed again, rain still pattering against the glass, you shifted restlessly. Your back ached, your legs felt heavy. Suguru noticed before you even sighed.

“Here,” he murmured, pulling you gently to lie against him. His hands worked slow circles over your back, thumbs easing the tension from your shoulders, palms tracing warmth into your skin.

“Better?” he asked, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

“Mm. You’re going to spoil me forever, aren’t you?”

“That’s the plan.”

The room was dim, fairy lights glowing faintly in the corner, casting the softest shadows. You felt cocooned—by the blankets, by the rain, by him.

When your breathing began to even out, Suguru whispered into the quiet:

“You’re doing amazing, you know. I know it’s not easy. But you’re not alone. Never alone.”

His hand slid protectively over your stomach, resting there as though to shield both of you from the world. His voice dropped to a murmur, so soft you weren’t sure if you heard it or dreamed it.

“You and our little one… you’re everything.”

And with his heartbeat steady under your ear, the soft rain, and the flicker of candlelight, you thought maybe he was right. Maybe you had hung the moon…because in his eyes, you were the whole sky.

Credits: @irisille on X

[siennayaps]

ʚɞ Viking Suguru Geto fucking the shit out of you ʚɞ

(18+) based on this art

You had always wanted to leave this town.

Not in the way people whispered about like running in the night, fleeing with a lover but in the quieter, more dangerous way. Wanting more. Wanting elsewhere. Wanting a life that didn’t end exactly where it began.

So when the horns sounded and the elders shouted and people ran, something in you didn’t. Something in you stood still, heart racing not with fear but with a sharp, illicit thrill.

The Vikings came like a storm that knew exactly where to strike. They didn’t burn everything. Not like the stories said. They took what they wanted. Food, livestock, weapons and then they took people. Strong backs. Skilled hands. And women.

You were caught with twenty others, wrists bound loosely enough to remind you this wasn’t slaughter but claiming. That word passed from mouth to mouth like a secret prayer.

Claimed.

By dusk, you were marched into a hall so massive it swallowed sound. Warmth hit you first. The firelight, bodies, breath. Cattle were tethered near one wall, steaming softly. Elderly villagers sat guarded but unharmed, wrapped in furs the Vikings had draped over them without ceremony. Smoke curled upward into beams blackened by years of feasting and war.

The Vikings themselves were everywhere. They wore leather and wool, belts heavy with metal, boots caked in mud and salt. Hair braided or loose, beards thick, eyes sharp. They laughed loudly, drank deeply, moved with the ease of people who had never learned to make themselves small.

You were given water. Bread. Time. That surprised you most.

Girls around you murmured. Some were shaking, some curious, some already calculating. Duties were assigned not like punishments but placements. Kitchen hands. Bathhouse attendants. Laundry. Sweepers. Order within conquest.

A girl with tired eyes and a knowing mouth helped untie your wrists. “I’m Shoko,” she said, like this was any other day. “You’ll want to listen when they call names for that”

You asked her questions in a whisper…too many actually , too fast. She answered calmly, as if fear had already burned itself out of her.

“They won’t force you,” she said. “Not like you think. You can refuse. Work instead. Most do.”

You nodded. That should have been comforting.

It wasn’t.

Because they entered. A small group, distinct not because they were louder but because the room shifted around them. Conversations dipped. Eyes followed. Respect, immediate and unquestioned.

Your gaze snagged on him before you meant it to. Suguru Geto didn’t look like the others…not exactly. He was tall, broad-shouldered, built like a man who knew what his body could do and trusted it completely. His hair was long, dark, worn loose in a way that looked deliberate in its wildness. Where others were rough, he was… composed and had beautiful shiny hair.

Dangerously so…

He wore layered leathers, a fur-lined mantle draped back from his shoulders, and at his throat—just visible—a carved pendant tied with dark cord. When he moved, people parted. When he spoke, they listened.

You realized you were staring only when Shoko nudged you. “That’s him,” she said quietly.

You didn’t ask who she meant. He lifted a hand and pulled free the tie holding part of his hair back, letting it fall fully loose. The gesture was unhurried. Intimate, almost. As if he were shedding a version of himself he no longer needed.

And then like a blade finding its mark his eyes lifted.

Straight to you.

The moment stretched. You felt it settle into your chest, warm and dangerous. You didn’t look away. Neither did he. Around you, girls whispered. Some leaned forward. Some smoothed their hair. Some already knew this ritual, the unspoken language of attention and desire.

You leaned toward Shoko. “Who are they?” She smiled faintly. “The ones who claimed this town.”

Your eyes never left him. “And him?”

Her voice dropped. “The one they follow.”

You watched as a few girls were called forward, laughter and nerves tangling together as they were guided toward the camps beyond the hall. You asked where they were going, already knowing the answer in the way your pulse answered before your mind did.

Shoko didn’t judge you. She never did. “Girls die to be chosen,” she said. “Especially by him.”

You swallowed. “And if I don’t want that?”

“Then you say no. You work. You live.” A pause. “But many hope to be underneath them”. You told yourself you were only curious. That this was fascination, not hunger. That the heat curling low in your stomach meant nothing.

Later, when a name was spoken—your name—and a guard gestured you forward, you understood how thin those lies were. You stood outside a particular camp as the firelight flickered and the night breathed around you. The air smelled of smoke, leather, and something metallic and alive.

Shoko squeezed your hand once before stepping back. “Be careful,” she said softly.

You lifted the tent flap.

You stepped into his camp, the firelight flickering against the canvas walls, casting long, dancing shadows. The ground beneath your feet was uneven, warm from the embers outside, and the air inside the tent was thick with heat… and him.

“Do you know why you’re here?” His voice cut through the warmth, low and sharp.

“Yes. I’m aware,” you said, though your chest felt tight.

“Have you done this before?” His eyes searched yours, probing, almost testing.

You nodded once.

“With?”

“With a guy,” you said quietly, feeling a strange mix of pride and shame. “I liked it.”

He didn’t answer right away. He just stepped closer, closing the space between you until it was almost suffocating. You could feel the weight of him before his shadow fell over you.

“You’re bold,” he murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. His touch lingered, deliberate, but distant, like he was both here and somewhere else entirely. You were wearing a frilly white dress, almost like you had nothing on. You were known for your striking beauty and long wavy hair. And as his eyes drunk your frame - he was on top of you.

45 minutes in and one of Suguru’s hand braced beside your head, the other at your neck chocking you. “Nghhh-fuck-GOD-yes” you screamed, practically aware that the entire town could hear you.

His mouth was open as he breathed on your mouth and you could smell him, raw and heavy, a mix of smoke and sweat. Your lips hovered near his, almost touching, but he didn’t kiss you. Instead, he let the tension—the closeness—speak.

“Feel me?” he whispered as his big hands pressed on your belly.

“Yes,” you breathed, though your words sounded small in the large, warm space of the tent.

He pounded into you harder, his rugged breath brushing your face. Sweat glistened at his brow, dripping down, tracing a line to your cheek. His eyes were half-lidded, dark and demanding, yet somehow detached, like he was measuring you, testing boundaries you didn’t want to cross.

“You’re so small,” he said quietly. “So fragile under me.”

You shivered. Tall, strong, commanding—he was everything you were not, and yet you felt yourself drawn to him, aching to belong to him even if he didn’t fully belong to you. He adjusted one of your leg on his shoulder, angled his 9 inch girth better and rigorously hit at that exact spot that could make you moan dripped in lust and drool.

“Do you like it?” he asked, almost casual, but there was an edge to it, a teasing that cut through you.

“Yes,” you whispered. “Fuck yes- want this. I want you inside me like this.”

He paused, letting that sink in. “Do you know what that means?”

“That I want to be yours,” you said, steady, though your stomach twisted.

And then he moved closer, pressing over you fully. One hand on your neck, the other tangling in your hair. “You wanted this,” he said almost to himself. “Didn’t you?”

“Yes,” you admitted, heart racing.

“I could do this all night,” he murmured, voice low, possessive, yet strangely hollow. “Never get bored of fucking you. I’d keep you here. Make you mine.”

The bed beneath you felt warm, soft, but distant somehow, like the heat was between your bodies but not your hearts. The firelight flickered across the tent walls, highlighting him and you in a frame of shadow and desire.

“God- you feel that?” he asked again. Obscene sounds filled the room. The entire makeshift bed was covered in your slick.

“Yes,” you breathed. “I do….Fuck..right there” tears pricked your eyes.

“You’re mine,” he said firmly, yet his eyes drifted elsewhere for just a second, like part of him wasn’t entirely here. “No one touches you but me.”

“No one,” you whispered, trying to ground yourself in him, though a pang of longing and fear settled deep in your chest.

He leaned down, teeth grazing your ear. “I could hear you all night,” he said, voice rough. “I feel so pussy drunk.”

“Hahh,” you giggled, and yet, in that yes, there was a little tremor of doubt.

He pressed closer, the heat of his body consuming you, but somehow there was distance in the way he moved—intentional, measured. “I’m so jealous of whoever got to claim you before me. I’ll probably look for him and kill him huh?”

“You’re mad,” you whispered, though part of you enjoyed this madness.

When he finally eased back slightly, he didn’t leave. He traced his way to your face, eyes locking with yours for a heartbeat that stretched too long. “Open,” he said.

You obeyed.

He paused just long enough to brush his cock against your lips, moved his dick like he was applying chapstick on you. Your lips are soft,” he murmured, and the warmth of his words didn’t quite reach the cold distance in his gaze.

You closed them slightly, instinctively. He watched the way the color bloomed there. “Good girl,” he said, low and approving. “Just like that.” he groaned and fucked your throat till you were a drooling mess.

Even as he emptied his balls on your tongue, you felt the sting of disconnection, the way desire mingled with an emptiness you couldn’t name. You wanted him, needed him, yet he seemed untouchable, a force of nature you could never fully claim.

You slurp him good. Make sure you don’t waste even a drop of his oh so precious seed. He takes his cock out and slaps it on your cheeks and calls you beautiful.

Your stomach flipped at that and yet you wanted more. More of his hands on you, more of his hot-needy mouth. More of his width ripping you open. More passion. You LOVED deep-throating him. Loved his balls slapping your chin. Loved the tears that travelled till your neck.

He puts you in a matting press and starts bullying your pussy again. You realised he likes it wet snd messy. He got off on the feeling of eating you out like the viking he was, on spitting on your clit, watching your slick travel south with his narrow eyes. Loved fucking the living shit out of you while he could feel how wet you got for him.

You smell entirely of him, and that's how he wanted it. He has all both your hands on the top of your head. He picks up his hair tie from the side of the pillow and ties your hands with his hair tie, a gesture that screamed that now you were his.

He groans while nibbling at your throat. “Don't move”. He squeezes your boobs with his big strong hands, slaps them, spits on them and sucks them better. Sucks them so much that they start hurting. Just as this wasn’t enough. You got turned to your stomach and were now head-locked and manhandled in prone bone. His large frame covering your little one. He rams into you again.

“Fuck, that’s the sluttiest hole I’ve ever filled”. He fucks you even faster, as if it was possible.. His thumb now pressing on your clit, tucking it low.

Then he comes again, kissing your cheek and your eyelashes. He starts marking you then—not hurried, not frantic, but intentional. From just behind your ear, his mouth lingers, warm and claiming, before trailing downward in a slow, deliberate path. Each place he touches feels chosen. Meant. His presence follows the line of your body like he’s memorizing it, leaving behind heat, pressure, reminders.

He pauses between your breaths, presses closer, bites just enough to make you gasp—and then returns to your ear.

“Mine,” he says softly.

The word settles into you deeper than anything else.

You realize, somewhere between one breath and the next, that he likes the mess of it—the heat, the intensity, the way everything blurs together. He takes without hesitation, without pause, as if that’s the only way he knows how to exist. He keeps taking, and you let him, because part of you wants to be emptied out by him, wants to be needed that badly.

Time stretches. You lose track of it completely.

When it finally slows, he collapses over you, heavy and warm, his weight pinning you there. His hand traces over you absently, here and there, like he’s grounding himself again. He exhales against your skin, long and spent, and for a moment just a moment—it almost feels intimate.

He lifts his head, studies you with a look you can’t read, and taps your cheek lightly.

“You did good,” he says.

You don’t understand what just happened. Not fully. All you know is the ache in your chest, the greedy pull toward him, the sudden, overwhelming need to belong to him completely—even as something inside you knows that you never truly will.

He shifts, drawing away, collecting himself with practiced ease. As he steadies his breath, he reaches for his robe and slips it on like armor, like a return to something untouchable. By the time he stands, the distance between you feels wider than the tent itself.

He turns as he reaches the entrance.

“My wife will see you out.”

…

Your heart stutters. The man you were just beginning to fall for—the one who felt consuming, overwhelming, impossible has a life you were never meant to touch.

You gather yourself slowly, hands trembling as you stand. He returns briefly, almost as an afterthought, tying your dress back into place with careful fingers. His touch is gentle now, detached. He strokes your cheek once, presses a brief kiss to your temple.

Then he leaves the tent.

And you’re left there alone, surrounded by fading heat, lingering scent, and the echo of a word that still burns in your chest:

Mine.

Not as a promise.

As a wound.

Sorry!

A little new year’s eve gift 🎁 because I keep going off of this app lol.

Divider by @/dolywons