October 5th: Edging
Sub! Geto x Dom AFAB! Reader
| cw: kinktober mdni, nsfw, dom! reader, sub! geto, AFAB reader (mentioned once), light bondage, orgasm denial, light praise/degradation, modern AU, proofread
| a/n: so the days in between today’s and day one are honestly gonna have to get posted at another time because I honestly don’t know what’s going on with them. still, I never finished and they suck, and I’m literally ab to crash out, so have fun reading !!!!
| wc: 1.4k
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Geto doesn’t even warn you properly. Just a rushed, “I’ve got a business trip. Back Sunday,” while he’s halfway out the door.
You stare at the text, jaw tight. Sunday? You’d made plans—dinner, a movie, maybe more. But instead, he’s gone, leaving you irritated and unsatisfied for three whole days.
So, naturally, you decide he’s going to pay for it.
When he finally returns that night, suitcase in hand, he barely gets through the door before you’re on him.
“Missed me?” he teases softly, but the look you give him is dangerous—slow, deliberate, with a glint that makes his throat dry.
You take his chin between your fingers. “You literally left without telling me until you were halfway gone. You really think I missed you?”
Geto’s grin falters, but you don’t give him time to respond. You kiss him—long, heavy, until he forgets how to breathe. It’s desperate and messy, teeth catching his lip, your hands already tugging at his coat, unbuttoning his shirt.
By the time his suitcase hits the floor, you’re dragging him toward the bedroom.
He barely has time to mumble, “I love when you’re like this…” before you push him down onto the bed.
“Good,” you murmur, climbing onto him. “Then don’t move.”
You reach for the tie you’d laid out earlier—silky, black, perfect. His eyes widen as you grab his wrists and bind them behind his back. He could resist, of course, but he doesn’t. He never does with you.
“You really mad at me or something?” he breathes, smiling weakly.
“Oh, not mad,” you reply, straddling his chest. “Just showing you a little something.”
You reach for the silk tie you’d set aside earlier. The corner of his mouth twitches when he sees it.
“Baby, that’s my—”
“Not anymore.” You flip him gently, pressing his wrists together above his head. The fabric slides over his skin with a whisper, snug but not harsh. He tests the restraint once, then exhales, already sinking into it.
He peers up at you like you’ve hung the moon, pupils blown wide. You tilt his chin up with a finger, forcing him to meet your gaze.
“Do you really think you can just not say anything until you’re leaving?”
“Didn’t think you’d mind,” he admits, voice soft.
You smirk. “And to think I was going to be nice to you.”
You shift backward, slow enough for him to take in the view.
His breath catches, the faintest tremor running through him as you trail your fingers over and between your thighs.
“Fuck…” he mutters, straining against the tie.
“Quiet,” you warn, but the smile playing on your lips betrays you. You drag your hand down, letting two fingers glide over your folds before holding them above his mouth. “You missed this, didn’t you?”
He nods quickly, eager.
“Use your words, baby.”
“Yes,” he whispers, tongue darting out to taste you. “Missed you so much.”
You hum, pleased, then slide down between his legs. The sound of his belt unbuckling is sharp in the quiet room. You tug his pants low enough to free him—already hard, already leaking.
“Pathetic,” you murmur, stroking him once, slow and steady. His hips jerk, the restraint biting lightly into his wrists.
“Don’t move.”
He stills, eyes glassy.
But you never said he had to be quiet—not in this moment at least. You do it again, a little faster this time, watching the way his breathing stutters, the way his thighs tremble.
“Mmph-fuck,” he may not have told you, but you knew that Geto didn’t touch himself while on his trip. He never did, because according to him, it “wasn’t the same”.
Which really just meant he was always so sensitive when you touched him after a while. Hand not so carefully stroking him, using your other hand to play with his tip.
And just when he’s about to spill over the edge, you stop.
“What—please!?”
You tilt your head, amused. “Not yet.”
You smile when he groans, muscles tightening under your hands. “You really thought I was gonna let you finish that easily?”
He shakes his head, biting his lip, but the sound that slips out when you drag your thumb over his tip betrays him.
“Mm. You did,” you say quietly, teasing him with slow, lazy strokes that make his breath hitch. “You always do.”
His hips twitch helplessly; the tie strains around his wrists. You shift your weight forward, watching his chest rise and fall, his voice breaking on soft little gasps.
“Look at you,” you murmur. “All that control gone the second I touched you.”
“I—I can’t help it,” he pants, eyes glossy.
“I know,” you coo, leaning down to kiss him just long enough to make him whimper. “That’s why I have to help you remember who decides when you get to come.”
You sit back again, grip tightening around him, strokes deliberate and unhurried. His body arches off the bed; he’s so close it’s painful.
And when he starts to tremble, you stop, again—pulling your hand away completely.
He lets out a broken sound, something between a sigh and a sob.
You edge him until he’s trembling, until every muscle in his body is strung tight. He begs, voice straining, breath shallow, every denial unraveling him further. Each time you stop, his eyes dart up to you, confused and desperate, searching for mercy.
You lean down, lips ghosting his ear. “Next time you want to leave without telling me, you’ll think about this, won’t you?”
“Yes,” he gasps. “I swear, I’ll tell you,”
You kiss him once, slow and tender. “One more. You can come when I say.”
You start again, hand slick and merciless, twisting just enough to make him shake.
“Please, please, I can’t—”
“You can wait a few more seconds—gosh, so needy,” you whisper.
He almost breaks apart instantly, your voice so silky and somehow still so evil. His hands twitch against the restraint, daring to break free just so he can touch you, but you hold him there, wrist-deep in control.
Geto’s somewhere else when you call his name again. You give him a little tap on the thigh, enough to pull him back down to earth.
“Is it too much for you, sweetheart?” you ask softly. You mean it this time—genuinely trying to check on him, thinking maybe he’s had enough.
But Geto only groans, his body tensing under your hand. You can feel him twitch, desperate and close.
“D-don’t be so condescending,” he pants, trying to squirm away—but he’s so close he doesn’t actually want to leave your grip.
You hum, tilting your head. “Oh? You still have something left in you?”
Your thumb circles the head of his cock, slow and cruel. “Then ask for it properly.”
He swallows hard, voice breaking. “Please… please, can I come?”
You lean in, your tone almost kind again. “Go ahead, baby. Come for me.”
The permission hits him like a spark. He shudders violently, a sound tearing from his throat—raw, needy, almost grateful—as he finally unravels. You keep stroking him through it, slow and steady, until his breathing evens out and his body goes slack beneath you.
When it’s over, you untie his wrists. He immediately pulls you close, face buried against your chest like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.
You stroke his hair, voice soft. “Think you’ll try disappearing again?”
He shakes his head weakly. “Never.”
“Good boy,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his temple.
| an: I did enjoy writing this, actually, and I don't usually read for Geto, so this was new (apologies if I didn't portray him right).
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