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 💚
synopsis | in which, while visiting your dad back home from college for the summer, you can’t help trying to seduce your dad's best friend, suguru getō, who's he's very (un)fortunately invited for dinner.
content | MDNI. first and foremost: satoru gojo being the sweetest girl dad ever. angst, age gap, fem!college reader x dilf!suguru geto OR unc!geto x brat!reader, voyeurism, fingering, tummy bulges, creampie, mocking, slight degradation (f!receiving AND m!receiving), manhandling, piercings, incorrect use of gauges ??, they’re both kinda mean asf, pet names, pussy talking, aftercare, satosugu IF YOU SQUINT, more smut than plot
word count | 5.8k
You'd reluctantly concluded that it was in your nature to flirt, as your own sort of strange justification, and this very small (potentially inappropriate) detail was the only reason you were wearing your Nice Bikini with your dad's friends coming over.
It wasn't about who was visiting, obviously. You flirted with your friends too! They'd make jokes about how you got too clingy when drunk and you were always making sly remarks and pick-up lines when it maybe wasn't so necessary, but it was all in good fun. You'd bat your eyelashes at the boy from school who worked the donut shop on Sundays so that he'd give you extra donut holes. You kissed your girl friends' cheeks all the time, like a force of habit that you had no plans of remedying.
And when your dad, Satoru Gojo, said that he'd invited one of his very best friends over for the day—to check out the newly renovated pool in the backyard and crack open the grill that was only used on special occasions—well, you couldn't help but let a little blush grow on your cheeks. You did your icy white hair real nice, put on your waterproof mascara, and wore Nice Bikini, the one that your dad would scold you for at fourteen, saying you'd need a refund because they left out some of the fabric.
But you weren't fourteen anymore.
You were an adult now, maybe in the more technical sense of the word (your brain can't have been that developed with these childish tendencies), but still, it made all the difference. You could actually fill out Nice Bikini, knew how to tie it properly so it fit justtttt right.
And because your dad's best friend hadn't seen you since you were just about to hop out of high school, you thought maybe it'd be nice to show him how much you'd grown. Simply for comparison purposes, of course.
It was not because his best friend was Suguru Geto.
Not because Suguru Geto had this faux mystery about him, this secrecy and vagueness about his face that was quickly stripped when your dad made him laugh.
Not because he was dark and brooding in features before it repelled off of his body—like he had been possessed for only a moment, like it was easy to inhabit the enigma that he was.
Not because this enigma was so compelling that you wanted to remove his clothes just to see what paradox was hiding underneath.
And definitely not because Suguru Geto was the first man his age you'd ever considered "hot" when you met him at the ripe age of seventeen—why hadn't your dad ever introduced you to his old college roommate until then? Even worse, why had he introduced you then, when you still had three solid months of being underage and hadn't quite figured out how to walk with an air of confidence that put people at a standstill.
You knew now. God, if he had met you now.
But that's not why you were wearing Nice Bikini. You knew better than that.
You were a—
"Sweet girl."
Emerging from the pool, you smoothed your wet hair out of your face, eyes gleaming in the sun as you looked up at him.
Suguru, as perfect as ever.
He'd worn some loose, black, Green-Day cutoff (you remember him driving you for ice cream that last time he visited, showing off their songs whilst you pretended not to know them), and some swim trunks he'd borrowed from your dad. He hadn't actually planned on swimming, but Gojo insisted, practically begged, as he threw some burgers on the grill, made some light drinks for the three of you.
And Suguru was standing next to him, pointing out which seasonings to use as they caught up and gossiped like teenage girls.
His deep, purple-tinted eyes squinted at you, soft smile playing on his lips. "Your dad here was just telling me about your tutoring you've been doing," he clarified with a clearing of his throat. "Seems you're just as sweet as you used to be."
"But she's getting so old now!" your dad whined, throwing his head back dramatically, pouting like a child about to throw a tantrum. "The new tutoring gig, and she's been doing so good at school, I feel like she rarely has time to call since she's always in class." Satoru pretended to wipe his eyes, winking at you. "And beautiful, just like her daddy. Such a good kid, guess I got real lucky."
You rolled your eyes playfully at the remark, lifting yourself up on the pools edge, exposing the top half of your body over water. You leaned forward when your dad had turned his back to you, water dripping obscenely from your neck, past your cleavage, staring straight back into Suguru's daring eyes. You were searching for something, anything that told you he thought you were just as beautiful as you thought he was. Beautiful just like your daddy. But, of course, Suguru had never been one to budge with you, not in his expression anyway.
He nodded at Satoru's comment, breathing deeply. "Mhm. Good kid."
It would've felt like a shot in the heart if he hadn't said it so smoothly.
No matter.
You had other methods of proving womanhood. Not because Suguru had to know you were a woman, not that you expected him to do anything with that bountiful information. But it was the principle. You could show him you were a woman now because you were one. And because being called a "kid" by your beekeeping-age crush didn't feel good at all.
Seemed reasonable enough.
Ah, but you had to remember who your father was. And the only person he doted on more than himself was you, his "sweet little angel".
Satoru had spent the entire dinner rambling on and on about every single accomplishment you'd ever completed, every accolade, every win—well, in his eyes, there was no one better than you ("with the sole exception of your old man, of course"). And in an increasingly drunken haze, he'd gushed about how strong you'd become, how kind, how driven. And he wanted to take the credit for it, seeing as you'd dyed your hair to match his and kept yourself attached to his hip almost all your life, but he knew most of what made you absolutely extraordinary was probably just...you.
Satoru had taken you in just after university, found you alone and cold, with nothing going for yourself being that young, and he was all you had ever known since. But you were spectacular even without him, that's all he ever told his friends and colleagues in his calls, his telegrams, his letters.
I raised this perfect little girl and I barely had to do anything.
And usually, all that sappy spiel was endearing (you'd heard it voiced so many times at every dinner party for his job, every parent/teacher conference), but today it was the very last thing you wanted to hear.
Because across the table, Suguru is looking at you like you're his kid, like he raised you too—like you were his baby in the totally wrong sense of the word, not at all in the way you wanted to be. So you pouted like a baby, folded your arms like a brat when your dad told you all that he said was true and he was just so proud! So much admiration from your dad and not enough infatuation from his hot friend.
"I feel sick thinking about you having your own family without me," Satoru muttered, head leaning against Suguru's literal cold shoulder. "When she gets a boyfriend who wants her all to himself, I don't know what I'll do!”
Suguru scoffed, the look in his eyes changing, making you shift in your seat and squeeze your thighs stiff together. Something warm and fiery, something sinister. "No boyfriend?"
You shook your head and shrugged innocently, pupils sparkling like a doe's. "Dating pool is tragic these days," you admitted, moving your hair back to expose your collarbone—you'd worn Nice Tube-Top to show off your fresh tan from Nice Bikini. And you assume Suguru liked it because his eyes shift down briefly to your chest and then back up again like he hadn't meant to slip. You smile. "Guys my age are cruel."
Suguru hummed, arm across Satoru's shoulder to keep him from falling face first into the dining table. "Well. Guys that aren't your age aren't much better."
You tilt your head at the admission, face unsure. "No?"
This, he smiled to, really smirked like he thought you were funny. Oh, you sure did hope he thought you were funny, how lovely that would've been. You thought maybe you'd try to make him laugh again later, thought it'd make you heart skip a few beats once again.
"No, 'fraid not."
"She doesn't need a boyfriend," your dad slurred, sitting up straight to point a loving finger at you. "Tell her, Suguru! Make sure she doesn't get a boyfriend and put me in a nursing home."
Well, you could thank the stars because it was finally bed-time for the man, perhaps well overdue.
"Alright, bud, think it's time you tapped out." Suguru easily hauled Satoru into his arms, dragging him up and out of his seat. He glanced at you with that same smirk, brows raising for just a second to mock the white-haired man beside him before he stopped just next your chair at the head of the table.
"No boyfriends," Suguru repeated, placing a hand on top your head and patting.
Patting!
Satoru halted to kiss your cheek goodnight, face flushed and a little disheveled from the heat and the two, three, four drinks he'd poured for himself. In all fairness, it was a special occasion. Who knew when Suguru would be around again?
Who knew when he'd be able to pat your head like a dog again?
"Be a lesbian," Satoru mumbled, lightly tugging at your earlobe before Suguru was dragging him off again, up the stairs to his room where he couldn't embarrass anyone anymore. "Too good for men! Isn't she, Suguru?"
You drowned out their shared mumbling and took to cleaning the dishes while you waited for Suguru to descend. There was nothing patient about this dishwashing. You thought you'd itch yourself to death the way you scrubbed in an antsy sort of way, wiped your hands vigorously, paced around the kitchen back and forth like an animal. You and Suguru alone, finally, but your dad was still upstairs, and it still wasn't very clear if Suguru thought you were pretty or not, if you looked any older than the last time he'd seen you. It made your head hurt, all the useless thinking. You had so many other things you could've been doing with your time. Like reading smut on Tumblr, or asking your friends to go out this weekend.
Not trying to wave down the attention of some—
"Freak,” Suguru shook his head playfully, thumb jutting up to where Satoru must’ve been sleeping soundly. “He's a real piece of work, isn't he?"
Suguru practically sauntered into the kitchen, nearing you like a predator does its prey. If he was actually as sinister as he looked, why did your cheeks still heat up when he drew closer? Why were you afraid to look him in the eye for too long? Why were your panties bunching up inside of your little linen shorts?
You lean against the kitchen island, forcing yourself to look away from him. You couldn't be caught just yet, not if you wanted to avoid deep and crippling embarrassment. "Yeah, but...he's not so bad."
"A little strict though." His thumb presses against your chin, then your jaw, firmly turning your head to face him. You held your breath as he stared down at you, now closer than ever, looming a few inches away like some shadow. He quirked an eyebrow, tilting your head up. "I'm thinking you've got a secret boyfriend back at school."
He tugged on your earlobe—just like your dad had—before stepping back a foot or two. Too far away, you'd thought, but maybe it was best to keep some distance for now. It would made closing the distance taste so much better. He looked you up and down like dog food, tongue poking against the inside of his cheek as he thought. You were begging every higher power to have him thinking about you, about hauling you to your room.
Eat me, you wanted to say. Eat me whole.
Instead: "No secret boyfriend," you repeated, rolling your eyes at him. You heard that cocky little scoff again, like he either still didn't believe you or like he wanted you to lie. You wondered what that scoff would feel against your own mouth, mixing with your own breath. "I told you. Had no luck with my generation."
"I'd argue it's not really your generation—I mean, your dad and I are, what, twelve, thirteen years older?"
Ten, you wanted to correct, Satoru had been 22 when he'd found you, a little 12-year-old girl searching for scraps—but that was besides the point. The amount of years didn't matter here, in this dimly-lit kitchen, with your panties practically soaking from the way he was looking at you.
"You like to argue a lot?"
Suguru paused at this, jaw ticking. You liked that. Liked to test him. He looked sexier that way, a teasing glint in his eyes like he wanted you to stop talking. He could always make you stop talking. You gripped the island behind you to steady yourself, to hold that laughter back inside your throat.
"How old are you, kid?"
Oh, the godforsaken question.
"In college."
Suguru shook his head, taking a step closer. His breath was mixing with yours now, something warm and pungent from his drink and his cigarette from before dinner. His eyes travelled up and down your figure, landing on that growing curve at the corner of your lips. He swiped at the edge of your smile with the pad of his thumb, sucking his teeth in some kind of quiet frustration. "'In college' is not an age—"
"It's an age range."
"You're a brat."
"Are you into that?" You don't think you'd meant to say that aloud. Your eyes went a little wider than they had been, feeling your body shrink under his questioning gaze. Too soon, you'd been too forward even though you promised yourself you wouldn't, not until you were absolutely sure. Your eyes danced across his expression, trying to figure him out as quickly as possible so you could gain control of the situation again. But your mouth was moving quicker than your brain was, and words were slipping out without even crossing your mind first, and his hands were very close to you, heat radiating off of his body into yours. "You're kinda pretty."
Suguru stops, hand hovering over your cheek. "Pretty?"
Well, fuck. You hadn't really meant to say that either. You suppose you should just stick with it. You nod, hands carefully reaching up, finger twirling around a strand of his long, jet black hair before tugging very gently. He winced, or at least you think it was a wince, the way he breathed in hard and his hands fell on either side of you. Oh, you had him now. You were sure of it.
"Mr. Geto?" You watched his eyes grow dark and low, eyes that were nowhere near making contact with your own. They're on your lips, you know they are. You lean a little closer and watch him flinch back just slightly, though still not enough to separate you two completely. "Do you think I'm pretty?"
He huffs a laugh, hands gripping the marble island. "Pretty like your daddy?"
You frown and he pulls at your bottom lip that's threatening to jut out. He pouts too, mocking like a bully, and only then do you notice the hole straight through his lip, a ghost of a piercing. You think you might just cum there, the way he licks over the obvious opening, one that's no doubt missing some pretty piece of jewelry that would feel oh-so-great against your tongue. If only he'd lean in closer.
But he's stubborn, unwilling to be cooperative, and so he takes your hair in his hands too, runs his finger through it.
"You do look like him."
You nod lightly, resisting just lunging forward and getting the job done yourself. Those hands weren't being put to good use, his bejeweled fingers were just resting peacefully rather than doing their rightful duty.
"You're young." You looked off, frustrated, away from him before he's turning your head back again, your cheeks smushed between his thick and calloused fingers. They’re cold, surprisingly, and they’re rough, rough enough to make you think maybe he doesn’t just not like you, but he hates you. His voice drops as he brings his lips close, dragging them across the shell of your ear, your jawline, your neck in ways that make you shiver. "And you've been teasing. All...fucking...day."
Shit. See, you knew you'd been obvious, but you thought maybe, if Suguru was kind, he would've let it slide and just gotten straight to business. You think you might've liked that more, rather than his frustrated gaze, his demeaning sort of tone.
His lips are right against this very sensitive part of your skin, and it's keeping you from thinking straight. If he wanted you to apologize, it wasn’t going to happen today. "Not so sweet, I'd think. I thought your daddy said you were sweet."
You nod like a child in trouble and your words almost come out as a desperate whine. "I am. Swear." Now, you've got to keep your composure, you can't let yourself look pathetic just yet. But he is so close to you, so close that it's almost unbearable, so close that you're squeezing your thought together and sucking in what could've been a very shaky and shallow breath.
With a long, deep sigh, he shakes his head, gripping that handful of hair he's been caressing just once before stepping back fully. He stares at you for what feels like a lifetime, eyes glossed and drifting about your figure that you're trying so hard to keep up right. Why had he moved, that wasn't fair at all.
He looks down at the your feet. "Go to your room, kid."
You cannot possibly control the face you make then, standing up completely straight, eyes darting for cameras because this has gotta be some sick prank. You wait for him to tell you he's joking, wait for him to apologize and change his mind, to take you on this goddamn kitchen counter behind you, but he doesn't. He keeps his eyes glued to the floor and motions down the hall, waving you off lazily.
Suguru Geto, your crush of all crushes, has just grounded you.
You scoff a humorless sort of laugh, pushing yourself off the island, hoping he can feel a pit in his stomach just like you do. "Asshole." You shove past him, despite very much not being in the way, and all but stomp off to your room.
"Young lady—"
"Oh, fuck off!"
You slam the door behind you before he can hit you with anything else belittling. First, you're pacing around your old bedroom, hands in your hair like you've gone absolutely mad, like you've been dreaming for the past two hours. Then you're gripping your old stuffed animals, shaking them like they're the ones that made you delusional, like they're the ones who whispered all these crazy ideas into your head—all those seductive glances you thought he was giving, now clearly a made up notion. You slump into your pillow, breathing heavily, cursing yourself over and over again in your head and under your breath.
Somehow, you are seventeen again, ready to ruin everyone's night.
But there is still this serious ache in your core, a heavy feeling of slick in your lacy underwear that you'd worn just in case. You're still burning up at the thought of his hands all over you, unsatisfied, frustrated, and hungry, so fucking hungry, which is the only reason you let yourself tear those itty-bitty shorts off and slip your fingers in to get the job done yourself.
Of course, it's not the same, and you may be too annoyed for it to actually do any good, but you and your imagination have rarely failed in this department, so it can't hurt to try.
You're breathing carefully through your nose, one hand palming the sheets while the other slides diligently along the bud of your clit, trying not to think about how rude, how rude, how rude he was being. Your eyes are just about to flutter shut to block out his insufferable smirk, that sluggish wave of his hand, when you see the door swing open without warning.
“Listen, I know you’re upset, but we should talk about—”
Suguru stands torpid in the door way. The look in his eye makes you swoon.
You continue. It's his fault anyway.
Kind of.
Well, you could argue it.
He slips into the room fully and closes the door behind him before standing at the very foot of the bed, arms crossed as he watches you, delicately, fixedly, eyes never pulling away. You smile girlishly, wickedly as you slip one, two needy fingers through your entrance, your other hand balling into a tight fist to keep at least some civility. You bite your lip to moan, eyes still on his, watching his unmoving expression. You wish those brows would scrunch, wish those lips would quiver, wish that jaw would tick again, just once.
He nods down to you, his hand rubbing at his chin and jaw. "Off," he mouths as to not disturb your own sounds, moving forward and sitting in front of you on the bed.
You're suddenly realizing how ridiculous your room looks now, adolescent and warm, shrinking you in—or maybe it was Suguru's size that was doing that. He hooks his hand into the waistband of your underwear in a way that makes you hopeful, simply snapping the fabric back against your skin. You roll your eyes and pause your movements to wiggle out of your panties, about to toss them before Suguru takes the fabric, slips it into the pocket of his shorts. He sits still again, nodding for you to continue, now at a much closer, exposed distance. He watches your fingers glide against yourself, occasionally meeting your gaze before he has to rub at his neck again, seemingly growing more and more disgruntled himself. And you can't help but stare at him as you work, mouth hanging open with every heavy breath, watching him watch you so keenly, his own breath faltering every time you let out a particularly high-pitched moan that you have to cover.
He reaches for your thighs which are threatening to close, prying them open with one calloused hand, and smoothing the skin of your calves, tilting his head to watch more appreciatively.
He looks up at you and you gasp, almost unraveling completely at the small shift. "Tired?" His hands glide to your wrist, pulling your hand away from the wet slick practically puddling on your sheets between your legs. He lets his own two fingers slip in to replace the previous feeling, but it's so different, so big, so perfect. You groan, head tilting back as he pushes them further, thumb rolling over the nub in a steady sort of swirl. He lets his lips curve into the spirit of a smile, watching his fingers disappear in and out of you, stretching you just a little further than before. It's filthy, that's what his expression is, it's filthy and lewd, and—
"So wet f'me, sweet girl," he hushes, giving a fake and taunting frown as he watches your face contort in pleasure. His ringed knuckles drag against your walls in a way that has you blinking away stars, his other hand in your hair to soothe, to settle you as he works you through the feeling. "If you had told me you were so needy...I would've been a little nicer."
If he hadn't been repeatedly hitting and curling into your g-spot, you would've screamed at him, you're sure of it. Instead, you're left to just roll your eyes, think of something clever that might piss him off even a little.
"You old people are so fucking nauseating."
And he laughs a little, fingers still twisting as you clench around him. "Nauseating, huh?" It's that sleek tone that sends you over the edge, almost jolting forward as you pour around his hand, his fingers still driving through your high, still feeling the pulse of yourself around them. He hums something approving, leaning down to kiss at your clit and suck at his dripping fingers. "I’ll take old. But you think I'm nauseating?"
"Yeah, that's- fuck- what I—"
"Not talking to you, kid."
Your hips still as he continues to kiss between them, licking up your juices before they soak into the sheets. You feel a cold sensation against your folds. A tongue piercing? He had a fucking tongue piercing?
He nods against you, hands gripping your thighs so he can more readily slurp at what's still seemingly spilling out. His huff of a laugh into your cunt sends electricity all throughout you. "She doesn't seem to think I'm nauseating. She loves my fingers, doesn't she? S'why she's so sweet f'me now."
You shove at his head and he laughs, finally looking back up at you. The look on his face is almost sleepy looking, lethargic as your cum drips from his lips and against his chin. Soon enough he's licking that up too, staring as he sucks the last of it off of his fingers.
"You're disgusting," you try to say confidently, but your voice betrays you and it comes out as a breathy sort of begging, something just as "disgusting," as you say.
"Aw, you don't mean that," he smiles, kissing at your hot cheeks, feeling up your shirt with his large palms, greedily grasping at the smooth skin. "Don't be mad at me, sweetheart." He kisses along your ear, and across your jaw, and down your neck, mumbling empty apologies against you. "Don't be mad, sweet girl, you can't be mad at me."
Like hell you couldn't.
You lean your head away from him but he follows, kissing deeper against your collarbone, straightening your legs out and shifting you over so he can join you on the bed more fully.
"Be a good girl for me, yeah?" he teases, licking at the slow-growing bruises he's creating below the top of Nice Tube Top, hand gripping your breasts through the fabric. "Be a good girl and wipe that fucking frown off your face."
"You kiss your mother with that dirty mouth?"
He nips at your neck playfully, leaning back to look at you. "Baby, I heard the way you were moaning five seconds ago. You kiss your daddy with that mouth?"
Your eyes squint at him, trying to control your scrunched up scowl. Your hands drift down to the bulge pressing against his pants, and it looks tight, maybe even a little uncomfortable. You smile, hand smoothing over it just once before it returns to your side, but it's enough to make him visibly twitch.
"You're talking about my dad...while getting hard...just by touching his daughter." You shrug innocently, pouting playfully, as your thumb rubs against his cheek. And he leans into your touch like a cat before freezing. "We're not gonna argue about who's more indecent here. Baby."
And you know you should've seen his next move coming, the way his jaw clenches as soon as the words leave your mouth. He grabs you under your arms, picks you up and places you at the very edge of the bed, shoving you back down into a horizontal position in record time. You quickly prop yourself up by your elbows to watch as he struggles with his shorts and boxers, stripping himself bare—large dick slapping up against him before he pumps it slowly. Then he's nodding at you, silent again if you're not counting those heavy, heaving breaths he's emitting. Perhaps you're too slow to process—too busy staring at the length hanging from him—because he leans forward and rips Nice Tube Top off you himself with a frustrated grunt.
"Yo—!"
"I'll buy you a new one—don't fucking 'yo' me, what are you, twelve?"
He doesn't give you time answer or admire any longer as he parts your thighs again, kissing up your quivering torso, in between the valley of your breasts, up your neck that already has his name all over it. Your hands are in his hair, pulling him closer and giggling when you watch him wince over and over. That irritated and grouchy look on his face is slutty and makes you feel hot all over again.
"Gonna fuck that shit right out of you," he murmurs against your jaw, adjusting himself for just a second before he's already bullying himself in, leaning back just so he can watch your mouth fall open and slack. His thumb drags along your bottom lip, inching a little further in. "Keep watching. Watch how she- fuck- watch how this pussy takes me."
You really wanted to continue this evil little shit attitude you had going on, but you just can't, not with the way he's talking to you and easing in slowly, slowly, until he's bottomed out, falling forward into you with a heavy groan that comes from the very back of his throat. Your legs wrap around his hips to pull him even closer, your lips making a path of kisses along his temple. You lick at his ear, tongue slipping into the gauge, and you smile, fingers digging into the skin of his back as he just stays still, basking in the raw feeling of your walls squeezing around him, adjusting to the size of him. You try to roll your hips up against him one the stretch stops burning so intensely, but he grips at your thighs, holding them down for his own peace of mind. You think maybe if you continued he would've lost it, but didn't he know that's exactly what you wanted?
"Mr. Geto?" you whisper against the shell of his ear, feeling the goosebumps rise against his arms as he twitches inside of you. "Fucking move. Please."
He laughs into the crook of your neck, lifting his head to look you in your eyes again. "You just don't know when to quit, do you?"
"Maybe when you finally keep your word—"
He reels his hips back and thrusts up into you, hard and fast, sending your mind to a completely separate dimension. He smiles as he fucks you, dragging you back down every time you try to push back and move away. It's greedy, his ruts up into your still-slick walls, his tip seemingly remembering the sensation of your g-spot that his fingers were feeling just minutes before. But it's attentive too. He's watching you with gentle eyes, nodding at the whiny moans you're letting out into the palm of his hand, shushing you as he keeps a steady motion. He takes your chin and tilts it down so you can look at the space between you and the bulge that his dick is making as he hits every sweet spot your could possibly ask for.
"Look, sweet girl." He presses his hand down to feel at your tummy, fucking slower so he can savor the sight. He watches you throw you head back, tutting briefly. "No, pretty, you've gotta look. Look at how I'm filling you up here, it's almost too big for you. Feels ok still? Fuck- tell me, sweetheart, use your words. You and your daddy are so talkative all the time, why don't you go ahead and let him hear you? Let him hear how good it feels for me to- fucking shit, so tight- for me to... ah- fuck up into you like this. So fucking good for me. Such a good girl for me, I knew you could do it. Knew you could- shit- be a good girl for me."
"Geto—"
"Mmm, no, I think I liked 'baby'," he nods, moving your hips to meet his thrusts, stalking the feeling that was oh-so-close between the two of your. "Go ahead, use your words, I didn't mean to interrupt."
"Don't fucking stop, baby, please," you beg, holding onto his arms for stability, trying to focus on speaking even just a little. "Please don't stop fucking me, I need you so bad- needed you all fucking day."
"I know you did," he teases, leaning down to kiss your lips quickly. "That's why you were being so bad earlier, huh? You just wanted me to fuck you like this? Didn't know how to ask nicely?"
You shake your head because it's all you can do, back arching as you start to feeling your second high of the night, just around the corner.
"It's okay, I'm here to make it all better, yeah?" He kisses down your chest again, hips stuttering against you just a little. "I can feel you- fuck- can feel you squeezing. You wanna cum, that's what you want? Go ahead and cum f'me, you'll feel so much better. Let me have it, just one more. Look at me- go ahead and let me have it."
He coaxes you into you next orgasm, even better than the last one, leaving you lightheaded as you fall against the bed. But Suguru hasn't stopped, hips faltering and his momentum unsteady as he spills into you seconds later, mouth closing over yours to cover his moan. His hips continue to rut as both releases spill around his shaft, not quite wanting to let the feeling go.
He leans up to pet your hair back, kissing your forehead gently, then your nose, then your lips. "That was so good, baby. You're so perfect, I'm so proud of you. So so good—you feel good?" You nod tiredly and he smiles, slipping himself out and quickly rushing off to your bathroom to grab a warm towel. When he returns, you're halfway to curling up and falling asleep, letting him wipe you down with breathy kisses all across your body. "You're gonna sleep so good, baby. Just needed me to get rid of that little attitude, yeah? It's okay."
You shove at his shoulder with a limp arm and he laughs again, lifting you up and setting you on your side of the bed, covering you gently. You watch him get dressed through fluttering lashes, trying to stay awake for just a little longer. After that, you couldn't possibly just—
"Go to sleep, sweet girl." He kisses your temple softly, murmuring over your ear. "And maybe when you wake up...we can talk to your dad about this 'no boyfriend rule'."
guys. I have a type #getosupremacy
I know u guys liked my zuko stuff, but I don't wanna let my jjk ideas go to waste, so hopefully this is enjoyable! And don't judge the smut, I'm still kind of a rookie :/
maybe hakari or geto being mean to bimbo!reader in bed ^_^
hii sorry i took forever to do this!!!
———
tw: 18+, degradation, bimbo!reader
you had followed suguru around like a little puppy all week, heels clicking against the floors, lips glossed and pouty every time he ignored you. he always smirked when you whined, as if your neediness was something to toy with instead of fulfill.
“god, you really don’t get tired of begging, do you?” he muttered, leaning back against the couch while you straddled his lap. your tiny skirt was bunched up, his big hand pressing you down against the hard outline in his pants. “dumb little thing, all dolled up just so i’ll use you.”
you nodded eagerly, lip gloss smudging when you bit down on your lower lip. “uh-huh… just want you, sugu.” your voice was sweet, airy, almost desperate.
he laughed, low and cruel. “of course you do. brain all empty, huh? nothing going on in that head except me.” he tapped two fingers against your temple, then slid them down to grab your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “say it. say that’s all you’re good for.”
your lashes fluttered, heat rushing through your body as you whispered, “m’good for you, only you.”
his grip tightened, forcing your mouth open. “louder. make me believe it.”
you whined, voice cracking as you repeated it, louder this time. “only good for you!”
“better,” he drawled, finally unzipping his pants, pulling himself free. he pressed the heavy weight of his cock against your glossed lips, smearing sticky pre-cum over the shine. “open wide, doll. show me how pretty and stupid you look with your mouth full.”
when you obeyed, he let out a satisfied chuckle, thrusting deep enough to make your eyes water. “that’s it. good little toy. that’s all you’ll ever be.”
and you—kneeling pretty with spit running down your chin, mascara smudging—couldn’t think of anything better.
(Suguru Geto x Reader — Best Friends AU, Jealousy, oneshot, filthy slow burn)
Geto has always watched you.
Not in a way that would make you uncomfortable — never that. He was subtle, patient, the kind of observer who noticed when you chewed your lip during exams, or when you pushed too hard and skipped meals. He always made it seem natural, easy, like that’s just who he was.
But tonight, when your laughter lingers a little too long on someone else’s joke, when your hand brushes a little too close to theirs, he feels it burn in his chest like fire.
He smiles, of course. He always smiles. But his jaw is tight, and his knuckles ache from how hard he grips his glass.
Because you’re his.
Even if you don’t know it yet.
MDNI*
Geto has always watched you.
It wasn’t the kind of watching that made your skin prickle or set off alarms. It was softer than that, easier. Suguru had always been there — steady in a way Gojo never was, quieter in a way your other friends couldn’t be. He didn’t have to announce himself to a room. He just… occupied it. And when you were in it too, he occupied you.
He was your constant. Your anchor. The one who knew the exact way you liked your tea, the songs you kept tucked away for rainy nights, the nervous tells in your hands when you were holding too much inside. He had the patience to notice, and the restraint to keep it all to himself.
But lately, someone else had been noticing too.
It was small at first. An unnamed friend, someone who’d always been in your circle but suddenly started gravitating closer. Carrying your bag for you, stealing bites of your lunch, leaning just a little too close when you showed them something on your phone.
Geto smiled through it, of course. He always smiled. His easy baritone laugh slipped into conversations like it always did, his posture relaxed, his expression unreadable.
But his knuckles ached from how hard he gripped his glass when he saw your laugh linger a little too long on their joke.
The fire of it caught him by surprise. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen you with others before — hell, he’d walked you home after more than one awkward date, had been the first call when things went bad. But this was different. This wasn’t fleeting. This wasn’t you playing at something temporary. This was someone circling you like they thought they had the right.
And for the first time, Geto realized how badly he wanted to sink his teeth in and show them — and you — who you really belonged to.
It came to a head on an ordinary evening.
The four of you had gone out together, the night easy and warm. But somewhere between drinks and jokes, your friend had slung an arm around your shoulders, leaning in to whisper something that made you laugh — too close, too familiar, too his.
Geto’s smile didn’t falter, but his jaw did.
You didn’t notice the way his eyes narrowed, or the way he downed the rest of his drink in one swallow. You were too busy leaning into someone else’s space, too busy letting them tug you along when the group broke off for the night.
“Hey,” Suguru’s voice was low, smooth as always, but laced with something tight when he caught your wrist. “You’re with me.”
The words were casual enough, but the weight of his hand lingered, the heat of his grip branding into your skin.
You blinked up at him, confused. “We’re all going the same way, aren’t we?”
“Sure.” His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “But I’ll take you.”
And he did. Arm brushing yours as he guided you out into the night air, walking you down familiar streets, steady and close like always. Except this time, you felt the tension humming under his skin, the way his silence wasn’t peace but restraint.
“You’ve been spending a lot of time with them lately,” he finally said, voice too casual, hands shoved in his pockets.
You glanced at him. “Yeah? We’ve just… been hanging out. Why?”
His mouth quirked, something sharp behind it. “Just noticing.”
You rolled your eyes, brushing his shoulder with yours. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous, Suguru.”
The word hung between you, heavy and dangerous. His smile was still there, faint, but his eyes caught yours in the dark — and for the first time, you couldn’t quite read them.
“Should I be?” he asked softly.
And your stomach flipped, because it wasn’t really a question.
The walk home felt different after that.
Suguru was quiet, but not in the way you were used to. Usually, his silence was a comfort — a steady hum, the kind that let you lean against him without needing words. Tonight, it was sharp. His every step deliberate, his gaze burning holes in the sidewalk instead of glancing at you like it usually did.
You nudged him once. Twice. No response.
Finally, you stopped. “Okay, what is going on with you?”
He turned, the streetlight catching in his dark hair, his expression unreadable. “Nothing.”
“Bullshit.” You crossed your arms, trying to steady the twist in your stomach. “You’ve been acting weird all night. First, dragging me away like that, now—”
“Dragging you away?” he echoed, a soft, dangerous laugh leaving his lips. “You think that’s what I was doing?”
You froze. His voice was too low, too even, like a bowstring drawn taut.
“I was saving you.”
Your brows furrowed. “Saving me?”
“They’re too close,” he said, eyes locking on yours, and there it was — the sharp edge of something he’d been burying all night. “You don’t see it, do you? The way they look at you. The way they touch you like they have the right.”
Your throat went dry. “Suguru…”
He stepped closer. Not enough to crowd you, not yet, but enough that you felt the heat radiating off his body.
“I’ve let it go for too long,” he murmured, almost to himself. “I thought… maybe you’d see me without me having to say it.” His jaw clenched. “But I can’t watch it anymore.”
Your pulse hammered in your ears. “See you?”
And then he was closer still, a hand braced against the brick wall beside your head, his other hand sliding to your jaw, tilting it up so you had no choice but to look at him.
“See me,” he repeated, voice dropping to a gravelly whisper. “The one who’s always been here. The one who knows you. The one who should be the only one touching you.”
Your breath caught, and you hated how much heat rushed to your core at his words, at the possessive flicker in his eyes.
“Suguru…” you whispered again, though you weren’t sure if it was a plea or a warning.
His thumb brushed your lower lip, slow, deliberate, and his gaze darkened.
“You asked me if I was jealous,” he said softly. “Do I look like I’m joking now?”
And then his mouth was on yours.
It wasn’t gentle, not like the Suguru you knew — it was hungry, desperate, years of restraint snapping all at once. His lips moved against yours with punishing precision, his tongue sliding past your lips before you even thought to resist. You gasped, and he swallowed the sound, pressing harder, closer, like he was trying to erase every trace of anyone else.
The brick wall was cold against your back, but his body was hot, solid, caging you in as his hand slipped from your jaw to your throat — not squeezing, just holding, reminding you with the weight of it exactly who had you.
You moaned, and the sound tore through him. He groaned low against your mouth, pressing his hips to yours, and there it was — the hard evidence of just how badly he wanted you.
“Fuck,” he breathed against your lips, forehead pressing to yours as he broke just long enough to speak. “You drive me insane. Do you know that?”
You barely had time to shake your head before his mouth was on you again, this time trailing down your jaw, hot and wet against your throat. His teeth scraped at your pulse, and your knees buckled.
“Mine,” he growled, the word vibrating against your skin. “You’ve always been mine.”
And you knew, in that moment, there was no going back.
The moment his teeth grazed your throat, your whole body shivered.
Suguru felt it — the way your pulse leapt under his mouth, the way your knees threatened to give out. His grip on your jaw slid lower, steadying you at your hip, his thumb pressing into the soft curve there like he could mold you into his palm.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered against your skin, even as he kissed it, even as his tongue soothed the sting where his teeth had been. “Not when you have no idea what I’ll do to you.”
The warning should have made you pull back. Instead, it made your thighs press together.
You whispered his name, but it came out like a plea, and that was the moment his control broke.
He kissed you again, harder this time, dragging you deeper until your head spun. His hand was in your hair now, tilting your head back, the other anchoring you against him as his thigh slid between yours and pressed up — slow, deliberate, filthy.
You gasped, hips rocking without your permission, and his low, satisfied groan rumbled against your mouth.
“Fuck, you’re already needy for me,” he growled, voice raw. “Knew it. Always knew you’d melt the second I touched you.”
You wanted to protest — you wanted to tell him how insane this was, how he was your best friend, how you couldn’t just—
But then his hand slid beneath your shirt, calloused fingertips skimming hot skin as he palmed the curve of your waist, your ribs, climbing higher until your breath hitched.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear, his breath hot. “If you don’t want this, tell me now.”
The silence that followed was answer enough.
He chuckled low, dark, the sound dripping with relief and hunger. “That’s what I thought.”
In one smooth motion, he guided you back until you were pinned fully to the wall, dropping to his knees before you like it was the most natural thing in the world. The suddenness of it stole your breath — Geto Suguru, always composed, always untouchable, kneeling in the streetlight shadows with his hands already tugging at your waistband.
“Wait—” you gasped, glancing around, heart racing. “Here?”
He looked up at you, eyes blown wide and wild with jealousy and want. “I don’t care if someone sees. Let them.” His lips curved into a dangerous smirk as he tugged your pants lower, just enough to expose what he wanted. “Maybe then they’ll finally get the message.”
You had no time to argue before his mouth was on you.
Hot, wet, devastating. His tongue licked a long, deliberate stripe over your clothed core before pulling the fabric aside and sinking against you, groaning like he’d been starving for this. The vibration made your legs tremble, one hand flying to his hair instinctively, tangling in the dark strands as his mouth worked you open.
“Su—guru,” you choked, and his eyes flicked up at you, burning with possessive satisfaction.
“That’s it,” he murmured against you, his voice muffled, lips slick with you already. “Say my name. Only mine.”
And then his tongue was circling your clit, slow at first, savoring, before sucking hard enough that your knees buckled. His hands clamped on your thighs, holding you steady as he devoured you, alternating between lazy licks that teased and sudden, filthy thrusts of his tongue that made you gasp.
“Been wanting to taste you for years,” he groaned, pulling back just enough to drag his tongue across his lower lip before diving in again. “Fuck, you’re better than I dreamed.”
The street, the wall, the late-night air — it all blurred as his mouth worshipped you, as your thighs trembled against his grip. Every flick of his tongue, every wet, obscene sound, was a claim, a reminder that this was no longer something he was hiding.
And when you finally broke, moaning his name loud enough that it echoed against the quiet buildings, he held you through it — groaning into you, drinking every drop, grinding himself against his own thigh like he couldn’t stand not being inside you yet.
When your legs threatened to give out completely, he finally pulled back, lips wet, eyes dark and wild, his jaw slick with you. He licked it from the corner of his mouth, slow and deliberate, before standing and pressing his forehead to yours.
“First taste,” he panted, breath mingling with yours. “Next, I’m going to ruin you so you never even think about anyone else again.”
Your breath was still ragged when he pulled you off the wall.
One second, you were barely steady on your feet, thighs trembling from his mouth, and the next, his arms were under you, lifting you like you weighed nothing. You yelped, hands flying to his shoulders, but the sharp glint in his eyes shut you up fast.
“Bedroom. Now.”
It wasn’t a request.
By the time he carried you through the door and kicked it shut behind him, his control was gone. He set you down on the edge of the bed only long enough to strip you — every tug of fabric impatient, rough, like the clothes had personally offended him.
“Mine,” he muttered with each piece he pulled off, his mouth trailing bruises on newly bared skin, claiming you one mark at a time. “Mine.”
When you were finally bare under him, his breath stuttered — just for a second — before his hunger swallowed it whole.
“Fuck,” he growled, pressing his forehead to your stomach. “Do you have any idea how many nights I’ve thought about this? About spreading you open and fucking you until you can’t even look at anyone else?”
His voice cracked on the edge of restraint, and then it snapped completely.
He shoved his pants down, cock already hard and flushed, the head dripping in a way that made your mouth water. His hand wrapped around the base only long enough to line himself up before he shoved forward, burying himself in you with one brutal thrust.
You screamed.
The stretch was obscene, overwhelming, but the groan he let out as his hips slammed flush against yours nearly undid you.
“Too much?” he rasped, though he didn’t stop, grinding deep, holding himself buried to the hilt like he needed to fuse there.
Your nails dug into his shoulders, breath catching. “No—fuck, no, don’t stop.”
That was all he needed.
His control shattered, hips snapping hard, relentless, every thrust punctuated by filthy words spilling from his mouth.
“God, you’re tight—fuck—so fucking perfect. You think they could make you feel like this? Hm?” His hand caught your throat, squeezing just enough to make your eyes roll, his hips pistoning harder. “You think anyone else could fuck you this deep?”
The wet slap of skin filled the room, each thrust rougher, harder, his jealousy bleeding into every movement.
“Say it,” he snarled, teeth dragging down your jaw, biting hard at your neck. “Say who you belong to.”
“Y-you—fuck, Suguru, it’s you—”
He groaned, slamming even deeper, his cock hitting that spot inside you that made your back arch off the bed.
“That’s right. My name. My cock. My fucking girl.” His thumb pressed to your clit, rubbing harshly, merciless, until your vision blurred. “You don’t laugh like that for them. You don’t scream like this for anyone but me.”
Tears slipped hot down your temples as he fucked you through another orgasm, his thumb never stopping, his hips pounding until you were clenching around him, spasming, sobbing his name.
“Fuck, that’s it, that’s fucking it,” he groaned, his thrusts faltering as his own climax ripped through him. He shoved himself as deep as he could go, grinding against you as his cock pulsed, spilling hot inside you until it dripped down your thighs.
For a moment, the world was nothing but ragged breathing and the echo of your name from his lips.
And then he collapsed forward, chest pressed to yours, his mouth hot against your ear.
“You’re mine,” he whispered again, softer this time, almost broken. “You’ve always been mine.”
The room was heavy with the scent of sex — sweat, heat, and the sharp tang of jealousy burned out at last.
Suguru stayed buried in you even after his orgasm had pulsed through him, hips pressed flush against yours like he couldn’t stand the thought of pulling away. His breath was ragged against your throat, lips dragging over the sweaty skin there in lazy kisses, softer now, almost apologetic.
You lay beneath him, chest heaving, body boneless, every nerve still humming from the way he’d taken you apart. And yet—
Your fingers threaded weakly into his hair, tugging gently, grounding him.
“Suguru,” you whispered, voice hoarse.
He groaned at the sound, lifting his head just enough to look at you. His eyes were a storm — hunger still simmering, but softened by something deeper.
“I’m sorry,” he rasped, thumb brushing your cheek. “I didn’t mean to lose it like that.”
You gave him a look, a shaky laugh escaping. “Could’ve fooled me.”
His lips twitched, but the guilt lingered. “I just… the thought of someone else having you—touching you—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “I couldn’t take it anymore.”
Your heart twisted. He was still inside you, still filling you so perfectly, and yet he looked like he might unravel at the thought of you slipping away.
You cupped his face, pulling him down into a kiss. Softer this time. Sweet.
“I’m here,” you murmured against his lips. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Something in him broke then — not the sharp, jealous edge from before, but the softer kind, the kind that made his body shudder with relief. He kissed you again, slow, reverent, his hips rocking gently, still moving inside you but now tender, coaxing.
It was different. No less filthy — his cock dragging slow and deep, his thumb finding your clit again, rolling it until your back arched — but every touch now was laced with devotion. With love.
“Let me take care of you,” he whispered against your jaw, sucking soft marks into your skin, less like claims and more like worship. “Let me show you how it’s supposed to feel.”
And he did.
He fucked you through the aftershocks, patient this time, slow thrusts that made your toes curl, made tears prick your eyes for an entirely different reason. His thumb coaxed another orgasm from you, gentler but just as overwhelming, your body clenching around him until he groaned and spilled inside you again, slower this time, his forehead pressed to yours.
When it was over, he stayed there, breathing you in, his lips brushing soft against your temple.
“You’re mine,” he said again, but now it was tender, desperate in its vulnerability. “But I’m yours too. Always have been.”
Your chest ached. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close, and for once, Suguru let himself be held.
And in the quiet after, with the night pressing soft against the window and your bodies still tangled together, you realized something you should’ve seen long ago—
He hadn’t just been your constant.
He’d been your home.
geto, whose twin girls are the most well behaved in your first year class. at a parent teacher meeting, he shows up in a freshly ironed button up with the sleeves shoved up haphazardly. he leans over the desk a little. despite his sweet voice, there’s something dangerous about him.
definitely gonna be thinking about him when you give home
(this is that one anon that sent in that hawks thing btw lol)
YES I DID 🗣️🗣️🗣️
holy shit you never miss nonnie 🙂↕️ i haven’t even been able to come down from the high of the hawks thirst and now THIS masterpiece…..
( btw please come up with an emoji or name for yourself!! for now i’m just gonna put something in the tags for you <33 )
dilf!geto is older than you, and yet he’s still the youngest dad of all of your students. there’s streaks of gray against black in his hair, which is neatly pulled back into a bun, although a piece hangs over his forehead. he blows it out of his face every now and then as he talks with you.
dilf!geto is friendly — almost too friendly, one would think. he leans across the desk one too many times, can’t seem to speak without sounding flirty, and he can’t bring himself to look away from you. as his eyes meet yours often, you notice a glint of something hungry in them.
dilf!geto is your favorite parent to meet with in parent/teacher conferences; sometimes he books one with you and there’s no reason for one, he just wanted to see you.
dilf!geto is always wearing a collared shirt with rolled up sleeves, wrist decorated with a nice silver watch. his collar isn’t always fully buttoned, loose from the day’s work. sometimes his hair is bound in a bun, or it cascades over his shoulders and reaches the middle of his back.
"you have a tattoo," you say when you see his bare back under fluorescent lights, exposed and gleaming with sweat. it's a late night at the gym and geto's getting in the last few reps of his set. you're meant to drop by for...something you didn't remember because nothing is as important as watching a shirtless geto do pull ups.
he’s in the middle of his routine and it never gets old no matter how often you get to this part; muscles no longer as defined but they're there, filled out in just the right way, a little thick around the biceps, trading in washboard abs for toned lines and a nice bit of chub around the sides. adonis belt be damned, he doesn’t need one, geto's waist is perfect as it is, so sturdy you could watch him do hip thrusts all day. (...bare shoulders square and resting against a bench, hips rising and falling to a steady rhythm as he breathes through it, huffing, puffing. a drop of sweat rolls down his chest and you forcibly block out any ideas of what it would taste like on your tongue)
"i was really impulsive back then," he explains, sheepishly grinning as he eyes it in his reflection. still stark black and fearsome, the memory of him laying flat on his front for eight hours while his old headmaster rhythmically tapped and pierced a dragon into his skin is fresh. so is the pain he endured for a roaring face over his deltoids, sharp claws and scales leading down the middle, dipping, flexing under his shoulder blades, bending and moving along as he completes the last of his workout. "although, a lot of people were put off by it," and you wonder why.
gojo offers his input, "it's intimidating? he looks like he's in a gang," and he's not wrong considering geto's fashion taste is...questionable to say the least. closet consisting of oversized t-shirts he’s picked up from the vintage store, the kind with faded graphics and tacky script, animal print button-ups that are two sizes too small—thus, said buttons become redundant when he only manages to get three of them clasped—and these silk floral shirts he’s bought in bulk from a tourist shop. over the top sure, but it’s something else too, that which lies beneath the clothes because nothing ever wears geto, he makes it work, all the time.
"don’t tell me you’re into bad boys." you hear the smirk in gojo's voice. his best friend definitely looks the part of a yakuza boss. although, it's not that either, because geto's not a boy, he's wild and sexy and just the right amount of a rebel, a man no one fucks with. comfortable in his skin, playing by his own rules. who makes your knees go weak with every new cigarette he lights, every black strand of hair that fades into silver, only getting better with age, and he embraces all of it.
its the way he carries himself, matured, confident, unapologetic. even when he’s hurriedly grabbed something of yours by accident and finds himself at a bake sale with it pulled taut and stretched over his chest, cinching around his bulging arms. ‘I’M A HOT GIRL’ it reads, and his brownie recipe has never failed him but he gives your clothing some credit, after all, he’s raised over a thousand dollars. which is quite a feat given that most of these private school snobs wouldn’t ever think to consume anything that wasn't gluten-free or low in carbs.
while in comparison, geto always cooks by taste, whether cold soba noodles and steaming white rice among an array of dishes he’s prepared by hand, he's come to realise that "a recipe is only a suggestion," he shrugs, smiling when the braised pork and tempura turn out better now that he's more generous with the seasoning. a stew boils on the stove and it makes your stomach grumble when he’s placed it before you at his dining table. he chows down, big huge clumps of rice clasped by his chopsticks, the spinach he’s blanched and mixed with the stir-fry is almost gone before you can get a taste of it, but he saves extra pieces of meat for you. the tilt of his head when he relishes in the flavour, the groans he lets out, "mhm...thats good," his voice grits behind a mouthful. his savagery on display, hunger, and pride at what he's made, that he's now sharing it with you.
gosh, you don't know how long you can stand this, here with legs spread wide on either side, geto leans back into the chair that's dwarfed by his tall frame, his whole chest out collecting the crumbs that fall, caught in the fabric of his apron with white rabbits lining the hem, jaw clenching, unclenching as he chews, fuck...does he know how beautiful he is, geto looks the picture of perfect health. who eats whatever he wants and enjoys it. all the salt and sugar, the extra bits of garlic. even when he would come off messy, sloppy, your heart clenches every time he so much as blows the spoonful of soup before feeding it to you, or that he reaches out to rub at the sauce left at the corner of your mouth, licking it off his thumb.
the act is innocent, nothing more than a kind gesture on his part. but seconds later, it sets something off in him when it dawns on him. feels that desire bubbling up, suddenly self-conscious and so aware that your bodies are so close. only separated by a feast and an unnamed...thing; an overwhelming burst of longing, heart slowing down because you can only focus on each other, he could inch just a little closer, kiss and suck that corner tasting of balsamic vinegar and sweet surrender.
"what does he have that i don't?" says every guy who tries and fails to impress, to charm. geto finds his old records one day as he's clearing out the back room. a few hundred of them nestled in a beer crate, worn from age and use, dusty, but holding all the memories in the grooves and scratches of the vinyl. decorated with the fingerprints of a younger geto in high school picking it up as a hobby not knowing how to actually hold one or care for them. now he's learned to hold them by the edges, that they should be stood upright instead of getting stacked on top of one another, keeping the pressure and weight off them. so wary of everything, gentler, patient.
sifting through them he comes to find one that has an old and worn-out cover, running his fingers over it he relishes in the feel of the wrinkles and texture underneath, the smell so inviting and long-lasting, waxy and yellowed on the edges, only getting better with age. slipping the record out he places it gently through the center spindle, before dropping the needle on it. when the beginning sounds of a soul tune ring through the speakers, he takes a moment to relish it, crackles and all, basslines vibrating through the house.
geto pulls you closer by the hand. "dance with me," he smiles, and so do you. "forget about them," he whispers, lips pressed to your ear, holding you close, holding you tight, swaying. forget about all the other boys who make you run circles around them. you're tired of it, to say the least, of going through the talking stage, the pointless hookups, and all the ways these dates will never live up to a moment spent in his presence.
