treats after a long day ★ mdni | geto suguru x you
there's really nowhere else suguru would rather be if not above you, hovering over your reckless, restless frame that begs, chases, writhes and spills his name from your delicious mouth, as if his whole existence is being written anew in this moment of rebirth on his yoga mat.
the tight heat across your clothed cunt is the most benevolent ache to suguru—sweeter, harsher than the soreness in his muscles; he could never deny you your pleasure, after all.
he ran a tight ship, yes, but come midday or midnight, rain or shine—if you needed him, then suguru was right there: behind you, over you, beneath you, across you, inside you, around you. everywhere, until your bodies were fused, melting together in sweat and sweet love.
"suguru," you cry out again now, gasping as you grind some more. you're doing that exact thing, hiking your hips up to meet his clothed groin and belting down against his rigid, increasingly drooling cock.
he feels you dig your fingers in his shoulders, the persistent pressure of which is so utterly welcome. suguru is trying not to cry, or to smile, or completely fall apart before your orgasm can manifest. you groan, "oh I need you, my love."
"how, darling?" he coaxes. he slips your shorts even lower to expose your panties, devouring the addictive scent of your musk. his cock twitches eagerly. "tell me."
"fingers," you gasp.
he winks at you. "coming right up." and he slides them in without warning, but he doesn't go too far. your wet heat is damning. arresting. he simply floats his finger there and swallows. "you're so perfect for me, do you know that?"
"yes," you heave. "get on with it already. please, my love. please~"
he doesn't waste time now, not with such a heavy responsibility on his shoulders. he slides one finger in, racking the walls, twisting and churning more of your delicious slick outward, and he curls his fingers upward to reach into the further recesses of your pleasure.
"yesyesyes," you hurl. "oh suguru, more. darling, plea—hnngh!"
it doesn't take too long for you to fall apart beneath him, not when you've had such a long day at work and you find your hot boyfriend in gym shorts and a loose tank, absolutely ripping himself out doing push ups.
so you'd done the only right thing: you slid right in and put everything to ruin. his form, his breathing, his posture, his attention—all consumed by you.
he really shouldn't have been peeking in the first place, but his perverted curiousity took over. you weren't exactly the "freakiest" he's been with, favoring more of the basic and vanilla stuff.
navigating your phone's browser, about a dozen tabs were opened, all of which were various porn sites. "jesus, baby," he whispers to himself at the raunchy title: boyfriend used my throat upside down like a fleshlight. the thought of your head hanging off the bed while he destroyed your throat made him hard as steel.
scrolling through the other tabs, his eyes widen at the video's thumbnail depicting one of his greatest fantasies: boyfriend catches me riding my new dildo, gives me another cock to deal with! guilt starts to seep in at how he's questioning your trust, but multiple tabs are still open and he's unable to hold back.
this was what you were hiding from him all this time behind that innocent facade, excitement brewing even further for him at the next tab: funishment - tied up punishing my clit with my most powerful vibrator. he envisions you as the performer, tears streaming down your pretty face from the harsh pleasure.
he's never once used a vibrator on you, doubting you owned one in the first place. it pained him drastically to know you've likely spent time alone overstimulating yourself to videos, an adrenaline rush of jealousy hitting him.
"alright, last one," he assures himself before stumbling upon another goldmine: bf chokes me 'n pounds my pussy hard after a long session of edging. these videos didn't reflect the sexual desires of a woman who claims her favorite position is missionary with eye contact and hand holding. not: bad girls get their pussy slapped after disobeying!
he decided to confront you about it later that evening on the sofa. "not to say i'm an intrusive guy, but. i found some things on your phone that i'm slightly curious about." his eyes linger on your confused expression, figuring you didn't expect the strange confrontation.
"i think you're a lot freakier than you present yourself. tell me, how many of those videos do you watch when you're alone?"
"oh, the-" the words catch in your throat, partially ashamed but relieved he found out. "i thought you wouldn't like all that dirty stuff." his cock was about to break free from his pants by itself from how hard it throbbed.
"you guessed incorrectly. if i knew you were such a damn freak to begin with, we could have enacted all of that and more." he slings am arm over your shoulder, pressing your body against his in anticipation. "let's make up for lost time then, shall we?"
❤︎ SYNOPSIS: you hate suguru’s guts, and he hates yours—or else, this mission would’ve gone a whole lot smoother.
❤︎ CONTENT: f!reader, alternate universe - spy au, light angst, smut, blood and gore, violence, frenemies to lovers, non-linear narrative, car chases, fight scenes, reader injury, alcohol as anesthesia, oral sex (f.receiving), male masturbation … 18+, minors and ageless blogs DNI.
❤︎ XOXO, PUMA: i seem to be a fiend for the enemies-to-lovers trope with suguru. this was an accident.
♫ NOW PLAYING: baby driver, 070 shake.
read on ao3 | 14.7k words | masterlist.
HOLY FUCK—I'M GONNA FUCKING DIE!”
“You’re not going to die, Gojō,” Shōko mutters past the scalpel between her teeth. She tucks a hand into the right side of his lower abdomen to apply pressure, and Satoru’s neck tenses, external jugular vein protruding like the root of a tree running just underground. When Shōko clicks her tongue, scoffing like there’s something there she would prefer not to see, Satoru’s panic increases tenfold.
“What? What? Oh my fucking God, tell me right goddamn now—”
“Satoru, please shut the fuck up.”
“I don’t want to hear a word out of you,” he glares in your direction and hisses like a cat. You’re seated on his right, holding onto a panic handle, and when the car swerves a little too viciously, your shoulder slams into the window. “You fucking shot me.”
You sigh, wholly unbothered, and shove a new magazine into its rifle as fast as possible without jamming the damn thing. Then, looking out the window to see plenty of black SUV’s and foreign cops on your tail:
“I told you it was an accident.”
Kentō’s voice cuts through the din, not loud enough to be a yell, but steady and commanding nonetheless.
“Duck.”
Everyone in the car bends over at the waist. Everyone except for Satoru, who frowns and says, “Goose?”
Luckily, you grab him by his shirt and pull him forward, just in time for a bullet to hit the cracked rear-view window. It doesn’t shatter, but the crack deepens into a spiderweb.
Once all five of you have deemed it safe, you sit up. Satoru continues his lamentation.
“How?” Satoru whines, dropping the back of his skull onto the headrest. It was probably a bad idea to place him in the middle—there’s no doubt his fat head blocks Kento’s view out the rear windshield—but Shōko needed to be close enough to work, and you need a functioning window, so. “How do you accidentally shoot somebody?!”
You tuck the rifle under your seat with its barrel facing the floor, and grab something you’re (thankfully) more familiar with. Pulling a grenade’s safety pin with your teeth, you chuck it out the window as hard as you can. “I dunno. How do you manage to run into fucking bullets?”
And, it’s the truth—as much as you’d like to shoot Satoru Gojō for shits and gigs, it’s not like you were aiming for him. No, you were aiming at the man he was talking to, the target, and Satoru’s body just happened to sway in between the crosshairs after you pulled the trigger. You know because you saw it.
As much as you dislike him, Satoru Gojō is nothing if not fucking impressive.
“’Kay, I’m going in,” Shōko mutters, picking the scalpel between her teeth. Satoru gulps and watches her move close with wide eyes. “The bullet’s lodged pretty deep, so. This isn’t going to feel good.”
Satoru groans, rolling his head against the seat. A thin film of sweat coats his body and makes him sticky to the touch. “I already don’t feel good!”
“Exactly,” Shōko mumbles. Then, she digs right in.
You let Satoru’s pained wails fall on deaf ears, too preoccupied and too used to them to care. Your IEM crackles to life with Yū’s voice, and you press it into your ear, hoping to mute the whitehead further.
“Okay, you guys are a few minutes away from the border. Also, Kento, they’re gaining on you; if you could go a little faster.”
You watch a bead of sweat drip down Kento’s temple as he swerves the car left, so sharp that its wheels pick up from the ground. “Going as fast as I can.”
“Yeah, he’s fucking flooring it,” Suguru adds with a finger to his ear. Just hearing his voice makes your blood boil, but luckily, a shot rings out, cracks the back windshield further, and Satoru yelps, hunching over. Then, he yelps again, because the angle makes the bullet in his stomach hurt a lot worse.
With a sigh, Suguru looks out the passenger seat window. It’s already been shot out, and green glass rattles in his lap with every bump in the road. He holds out a hand for the rifle, and is very lucky this is a life-or-death situation, or you would shoot him in the foot for not saying please. (What? It's nothing Shōko can’t fix.)
“Thanks, Princess,” he smiles over his shoulder as you pass the gun, but it’s fake. So overwhelmingly fake that you can taste the plastic from here, and plastic tastes like shit.
“Fuck off,” you huff, and return to fiddling with your explosives.
The car chase has been going on for about an hour now. All adrenaline and anticipation has worn off, partially because you’re used to this. Getting shot at isn’t new, and neither is hating (most of) your coworkers. It’s easier for some to get under your skin than others.
“Y’know,” Suguru says, resting his rifle along the jagged window trim. He aims at the vehicles currently closing the distance with his back flush to the dashboard. He’s technically facing you, and still has the audacity to avoid looking at his interlocutor. “You should thank me. I’m saving your life.”
You scoff, roll your eyes, and chuck another grenade out the window. It lands closer, this time, and rattles the car when it blows. You take out the SUV Suguru was aiming for, and watch the chassis as it flips in a burst of orange and lands in one big metallic crunch.
“I don’t need anyone to save me. Thanks, though!”
You finish your sentence with the same polite veneer Suguru loves to use, like it makes him feel better, stronger, to be kind to everyone’s faces while privately tearing them to shreds until they can fit under his shoe. It’s some weird power trip, like he’s holding a secret to the universe, something that could change the fabric of human understanding if he feels benevolent and magnanimous enough to share. And, that pisses you right off, because he really doesn’t.
Suguru finally catches your eye, scoffs an unsmiling laugh, and shakes his head.
“One day, you’re gonna eat that,” he mutters, too busy aiming at the next car to enunciate properly. He fires—the rifle pops with the sound, and another car behind yours swerves into the nearest building with smoking tires. “Watch.”
“Oh, you mean the day I die, because you can’t save shit?” The grenade you fidget with now is a little stronger than the rest, so you have to ensure you throw it far. Typically, you have Satoru throw these—too suspicious of your aim in a moving car, and even if Satoru’s overconfident enough to get everyone killed, he hasn’t...yet—and he always lights up with something manic. Only two people in this car properly appreciate the craft of an explosive, and they’re sat right next to you. You pat Suguru on his shoulder, before praying to the Gods and chucking the grenade so hard your arm tweaks. “Save yourself first, Bud.”
Boom!
Obviously, Suguru hates explosives. He hates everything about you, and the feeling is so wholeheartedly mutual, it hurts.
“You’re about a minute out,” Yū’s voice crackles again, and thank God. You need a shower. A really, really long shower, and then maybe a bath and a nap if you have time for it. “Stay true.”
“Stay true,” Satoru repeats with a weak cackle. Shōko’s halfway through with the stitches in his side, a little uneven from the drive. She pulls the skin taut, and snorts when he winces. “I regret watching that spy movie with him. He needs to stop.”
“I can hear you, you know.”
“Oh joy! Another witness to my untimely demise.”
“You’re literally fine,” Shōko huffs, tying the stitches off with a knot and dabbing at the area with a rag. “A little blood never hurt nobody.”
Then, she grabs a cigarette out of her pocket with bloody hands and lights it with relative ease. You’re surprised she didn’t manage to misplace her lighter in all the chaos.
“A little blood? A little?!” Satoru wheezes, starts gesticulating like he forgot about his injury, and tones it down with a whine at the sting. Shōko keeps him as still as possible while she bandages his abdomen, smoke burning steady between her teeth. “That was enough blood to, like, save multiple people!”
You pull the pin on your grenade, throw it. Boom!
“Definitely wasn’t,” Shōko mutters. When Suguru makes grabby hands over the headrest, she hands him the cigarette. He sticks his head out the window, wind whipping overgrown bangs as he squints, aims, and fires.
Pop, pop, pop!
Another car careens and crashes. You don’t care to look back to check.
“And…you’re out!”
Yū’s words come as a relief as you collapse against the seat. There’s a collective sigh, some audible, some physical, as they finally cross into safe territory, alive and relatively unharmed. You sport a sprained ankle, Kento a sprained wrist, and Satoru a bullet to the gut. In all, pretty successful.
“Oh, thank fuck,” Satoru rests his head against your shoulder. You shrug him off, and he looks up, woefully offended. “You fucking shot me.”
You lift an eyebrow. “So?”
“So, you have to do what I say for at least, like, a week,” he argues, and you snort. Yeah, not doing that.
“It was an accident!”
And here Suguru goes, involving himself in shit that has nothing to do with him.
“Mm,” the noirette nods solemnly, seriously, like Satoru is describing a common transaction and not being his usual, over-dramatic self. With a shrug, “Get better aim next time, then.”
You snatch Shōko’s pistol off her lap and slam the butt into his head. Suguru just cackles.
Mission briefings are so overwhelmingly boring.
“This week's mission is close to home,” Yaga says, gesturing to the board with a telescopic pointer like he’s a teacher and not your commissioner. Everyone sits around a large oval table, wavering in different areas of boredom. Kento and Yū watch the projector with rapt attention. Shōko is typing something on her phone. Satoru sits with a chin in his hand and yawns. Suguru is taking fucking notes. “A local gang had an underground auction about a week ago. They sold a necklace that belongs to the Queen of England, and she would like it back.”
He presses the presentation clicker, and the first image projected onto the whiteboard shutters into two. It’s a guy with pink hair and carmine eyes. The image on the right is his mugshot, looking unsurprised and a little salty with a discreet and casual death stare. On the left is a picture of him walking out of a tattoo parlor, looking relatively unsuspicious. As much as one can, with that face.
“This is Sukuna Ryomen.”
Yū frowns. “He got booked?”
“He’s been booked, yes,” Yaga nods, before clicking again.
Next is an evidentiary photo right after he got booked. It looks to be a rundown motel bed, with endless paraphernalia scattered across its stripped state: a few handguns, two half-grams of cocaine, a bag that looks to be the size of your face in weed, and a box of bullets.
“We couldn’t get him on much other than possession of narcotics and armed weapons, but it put him away for a bit,” another click, and the slide shifts to Sukuna in court, wearing an orange jumpsuit just as bright as his face and an absolute scowl. “Unfortunately, it seems like he has friends in high places.”
“So, what?” Satoru bounces his leg, impatient to get out of here. You can’t help but agree—Yaga’s very good at droning. “We take him down, grab the necklace, bing, bang, boom.”
Yaga’s face flattens. “He doesn’t have the necklace anymore.”
“Why didn’t you say that?!”
“I did,” Yaga sighs with nothing short of ancient exhaustion. Click, and the image of an extremely ornate and expensive-looking necklace takes the screen. It’s a festoon built from chunks of silver, with gems as bright and blue as Satoru’s eyes that shine under a camera’s flash. “It was sold at the auction. Now, it belongs to Naobito Zen’in.”
It takes you less than a minute to understand why that name sounds so familiar. Zen’in, like the pharmaceutical company.
Click. The next image looks more like a stronghold than a mansion, exceedingly large with multiple buildings and packed with security. The slide after that is a simple blueprint, a layout of the land with all the exits marked.
“Tomorrow, the Zen’in’s are throwing their annual Gala. This year is a little more special than most—Naoya Zen’in, the company’s heir, is being sworn in. That’s the only feasible way for you to get in undetected. We can manufacture tickets and put your names on the list, so no need to worry about sneaking in.”
“Okay, great. Love recon, she and I are like this.” Satoru leans back and twines two fingers together. You snort, and Shōko rolls her eyes.
“This isn’t reconnaissance. Nor are you going in,” Yaga says, not even gracing Satoru with a glance in his direction. And he whines so loud, oh my God. “You’re a Gojō, and you got shot on your last mission.”
It’s very easy to forget that Satoru is an heir to a multi-billion-dollar pharmaceutical company, too.
Shōko snorts, and Satoru gapes, gasps, guffaws, all while gesturing to you. “She literally shot me!”
You narrow your eyes. “We’re not getting into this again.”
“One does not simply run into bullets, Y/N! That’s not how this works!”
You shrug, looking back to the screen. “So, who’s going?”
“Ugh,” Satoru grumbles under his breath, crossing his arms with all the petulance of a child. “Why can’t I do Mission Impossible? Why can’t I be Tom Cruise? I already look just like him.”
“You, and Suguru.”
You choke on your coffee. Fucking what.
Shōko cackles. You throw a wadded-up straw wrapper at her face, hitting her right in the cheek. It doesn’t feel like enough, so you flip her off. Big ol’ middle finger.
“I…don’t think that’s a great idea,” Suguru speaks, finally looking up from his paper. For the first time, you can’t help but agree with him.
“I don’t care about your lover’s spat,” Yaga waves. You choke again. And Shōko cackles again, so you flip her off. Again. “They know Satoru’s face, Shōko is too valuable, we need Yū at his desk. Kento wouldn’t talk to anyone, therefore sticking out like a sore thumb.”
Kento nods once, silent. While Yaga is right—you and Suguru are the only viable options left, that doesn’t make the pill any easier to swallow. If anything, it swells. A whole night. Your whole night, wasted on Suguru fucking Getō.
You two are going to tear each other's throats out before you ever get to the venue.
“What about Utahime?” You try. Satoru gags at the name.
“She’s on a mission in Kyoto,” Yaga nods. “Believe me—I wouldn’t set you up for failure unless I absolutely had to. And, I have to.”
You groan, and Suguru’s shoulders drop. There’s no way—there’s literally no fucking way—this mission is going to be successful. Yaga said it himself: you and Suguru working together without a buffer is detrimental. A recipe for complete and utter failure, and you don’t like to lose.
“Regardless, I need you two to succeed. This is the only way we’re getting through that door without getting sued or killed,” Yaga knocks on the board twice. “So. Don’t fuck it up.”
No pressure.
“Wait, you can sue the government?” Yū asks with a raised hand. Everyone’s face curdles into something mildly disturbed. This is their tactical support.
“Yes,” Shōko answers. Yū’s eyes widen.
“…Can I sue them for emotional trauma?”
“Probably not.”
He clicks his tongue. “Dang.”
“So,” Yaga says, earning everyone’s attention with a simple word. “This is how it’s going to work. You and Suguru will attend under the guise of Mr. and Mrs. Aoyama of the Light Foundation. A driver will be there to pick you two up, issued by the Zen’in’s. All you need to do is make sure you’re both ready and at Y/N’s house by seven pm. And, please, avoid murdering each other in the interim.”
“A corsage? Really?”
Suguru wavers in your foyer like he doesn’t want to come inside. And honestly, you’re not willing to let him. The bundle of dried roses in his fist crunches at your jab, and he snatches your wrist.
“Isn’t that what people do for fancy events?” He grunts, tying the corsage a little too tight. His fingers burn their prints into your skin, but you try your best to shove it away.
“Yeah, for Prom,” you snort. The tightness in your lungs releases along with his grip on your hand. Thank fuck. Suguru finally looks you in the eyes with a huff, blowing a loose strand of hair out of his face. It falls back in place with ease.
Suguru Getō cleans up well.
Nothing too crazy, just a basic all-black suit—one that will definitely match half of the men in attendance—with his hair half-up like it always is. He styles it well, though, with his jacket hooked through a finger and hanging over one shoulder, and the sleeves of his shirt rolled to his forearms, wrists and fingers adorned with all sorts of jewelry that, honestly, you’d like to own.
“Do I look like I attend these things?”
“Mm…” and you really think on it, finger to your lips and everything. “Not really, but you look like someone who would scam to attend these things, so. Yes?”
Suguru rolls his eyes, and waits for you to tie your shoes with impatient hands in his pockets. You take your time—because you can and because you love making him wait, love watching his neck flex in annoyance and eyes flit everywhere but you.
“Stop scowling,” you say on your way up, loving the few extra inches your heels provide, even if you’re still not at his height. “We’re supposed to look married, you know.”
Suguru’s scowl never changes, but with rolling eyes, he loops his arm through yours and makes for the front door.
“Don’t remind me.”
“Cosplaying as out-of-touch billionaires,” Shōko snorts. “Sounds fun.”
“If Satoru could go, it wouldn’t even be cosplay,” Kento adds, and Satoru pouts.
“Hey!”
“Aren’t they dead?” Suguru raises an eyebrow, twirling a pen through his fingers with an ease that pisses you off. He pisses you off. “And…blond?”
Yaga clears his throat, and the room quiets down.
“Yes, but you’re supposed to be his son, not him.” A click, and another slide, presumably of Mr. and Mrs Aoyama standing in front of a building with oversized scissors, ready to cut a ribbon with a smile on their faces. They are, in fact, blond. And old. “Satoru, Shōko, and Kento will be stationed about a half-mile away from the compound in case you two need immediate backup.”
“Suguru and Y/N sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G—”
“Satoru, please.”
“I’m bored,” Satoru pouts. In the woods they lay in, he’s found an apple tree, snagged one for himself, and tosses it with a loose wrist before it falls back into his waiting hand. He’s not even watching the compound, but laying on the mossy ground—you and Suguru literally just entered; they have a good thirty minutes before they need to start paying attention. Kento, for some reason, acts otherwise.
“Remind me to request HR to never put me on a stake-out with him again,” Kento mutters to Shōko, who snorts while lighting a cigarette. The flame bends under her breath, and Kento sighs. “Why.”
Shōko lifts an eyebrow, plucking the stick from her mouth. “Why…cigarette?”
“Yes.”
“Because I can,” she shrugs, and takes a long hit.
“We’re going to die,” Kento half accepts, half laments, as he looks to the stars like they can save him. They cannot. “Between Satoru’s loud mouth and your…tobacco stench, we’re going to die.”
“Oh, please,” Satoru snorts, finally sitting up and cringing at the wetness on his back. Maybe lying on the grass wasn’t his greatest idea. “We’re too far away for them to even give a shit.”
“And yet, we’re also close enough to give Suguru and Y/N succor in a matter of minutes,” Kento gruffs. Satoru lifts a fluffy white eyebrow, not necessarily in confusion, but mischief. He can’t help the sly smile blooming along his lower face.
“Succor?”
“Yes, succor,” Kento scoffs, and upon realizing Satoru may be puzzled (he’s not puzzled—he just doesn’t understand the purpose of using fat fancy words in everyday conversation, colloquial conversation, Kento might say), tries to find a synonym. “Aid, assistance, suppor—”
“You can succor these nuts!” Satoru cackles. Kento sighs, looking to the sky again.
“We’re going to die. We’re going to die.”
“While everyone else will have earpieces, you and Suguru have no choice but to go in dark and unarmed. You and Suguru will be entering through the West Gate. They’ll have metal detectors and pat-down screenings, so don’t bring anything suspicious.”
You pout. No secret grenades, then.
Yaga continues. “Mingle for about thirty minutes. Don’t be too obvious for people to remember your faces, but don’t be standoff-ish, either. You have to blend in.”
“Whoa, serious business,” Yū wonders. Suguru tilts his head.
“Don’t they have cameras?”
“Yes. That’s where Yū comes in.”
“Hit me.”
The dealer passes you a card, and as you look at your deck again, you come to the same unfortunate conclusion you’ve been trying to avoid this entire game. You’re fucked.
You’re so fucked—your hand was just low, barely adding to thirteen. But, the new card you requested happened to be a Queen, and you’re now at 23. You’re supposed to reach 21.
God, you hate Blackjack so much.
The room feels more like a ballroom than a living area—with high chandeliered ceilings that glow with something soft and warm, fuzzing everything at the edges. The marble floors are solid and click underfoot, and round tables scatter across the space, some for gambling, some for gossip.
Across the room, Suguru seems to be having slightly better luck, chatting up a woman who plays with the ends of his hair. Even if you two are supposed to be married, you can’t help but think that you should’ve followed his lead. Find somebody nice enough to perceive that you wouldn’t mind flirting with for about an hour.
Hazel eyes lock with yours, past the woman’s shoulder and just as golden as the light. You forgo your current despair to give Suguru a nice, tight smile. A ‘the fuck are you looking at.’ He just looks away, redirecting his attention to the subject trying to snatch it.
“Stand,” the man says next to you. While you’re competing against the dealer and not the strangers sitting around the round table, competition flares within you regardless. Even if you know you’ve lost.
When it's time for your turn, you huff and place your cards on the table, admitting defeat. After that, you start wandering, completely over the whole card game thing.
Wandering leads you to a bar that’s too built-in to look makeshift. It blends right into the tan walls and yellow lighting, and honestly, the man working it looks like a member of the yakuza.
“Lemon Drop please,” you ask. Yes, you’re still working, but you need something to take the edge off. It’s not like you’re going to get drunk. If Yaga has a problem with it, you’ll tell him it's to blend in, or some other bullshit that fits within the parameters of his philosophy just enough.
That doesn’t stop Suguru from whining, though.
“Drinking on the job? Wow.”
You turn around to huff in his face, and he takes the seat next to you all to order a drink for himself.
“Hypocrite,” you grit, trying to tamp down that familiar animosity burning in your gut—and your glare—for appearances. It only sort of works.
“Maybe,” Suguru takes his glass in hand with a shrug, and watches lights flicker along the backbar instead of your face. “Or, maybe I can just handle my liquor.”
You scoff.
“You think I can’t? You don’t even know me.”
Suguru sets the glass down, and round ice shifts within. Clink. “I married you.”
He says it with such confidence too, like you hadn’t been the one to remind him before you two left. And, in the car ride, and upon entry. Instead, he says it like a fact, like you two are married, and you look at the cubic zirconia prop ring as a reminder that you are not.
You trade the myriad of emotions—rage, mainly rage—for something polite and clipped, and take a sip of your drink.
“Yeah, even though I’m severely out of your league. What was I thinking?” You pull mock concern from the creases of your face, rubbing your forehead in a faux display of duress as you ignore the burn of alcohol rushing right behind your heart.
“You must’ve been really drunk when you signed the papers,” Suguru agrees, rolling a wrist and adjusting his cuff link. You’re not exactly sure where his suit jacket went, but you think it might’ve been left in the car. Suguru, it seems, is really bad at blending in. At least he took the piercings out.
“Oh, definitely,” you nod. “Shotgun weddings in Vegas are not for the weak.”
While this lore hasn’t been agreed upon beforehand, Suguru rolls with the punches like a boxer.
“Calling yourself weak?” Suguru chuckles, shaking his head. “That’s new.”
“Oh, I’m not,” you argue with a smile, too wide and plastered for it to be genuine. “I’m just making sure you’re aware that I’m out of your league. You should be thankful, you know.”
Suguru matches your grin, grip tightening around his glass. “You look like a wet cat.”
You scoff, placing a hand to your heart as your voice emerges completely flat. “Suguru, you wound me. How could you say such a thing about your wife?”
Suguru’s eyes drift—to where, you aren’t exactly sure, but they drift down—down and away, back to the backbar, like they were never there.
“I would never,” he chuckles into his glass, eyes squinting like there’s anything to see. There isn’t.
“Yū will cut the lights remotely. That’s your cue.”
“Yay!” Yū adds, happy to finally be of use. Even if he’s more useful than Kento and Satoru during this mission.
“You’ll have about fifteen minutes until someone manages to turn them back on. Use this time to get in and get out. The bedroom where we think the necklace is being held is here, the fourth room to the right.” Yaga’s pointer graces the corner of the screen referencing the second story of the house. “Or here.”
“We don’t know?” You tuck your head into a hand. This mission is shaping up to be a real pain in the ass.
“Not completely, just educated guesses and secondhand reports,” Yaga shrugs like lives aren’t on the line—your life—details aren’t imperative to success. “A maid known to work with us claimed she saw it in the master, but we don’t have anyone else on the inside to corroborate that.”
“Great,” you sigh through grit teeth. “Lovely.”
“How the hell are we supposed to work in the dark?” Suguru asks, and while you’re thankful that someone else sees the holes, a gaping black void of a thing, it seems unnecessary for it to be him. Suddenly, you feel a lot less brilliant. Yaga places a hand at the top of his pointer, shrinking it into a third of its size.
“Take note of your entry and exit points, and pray.”
The lights turn off with a sound. A whooom.
Naturally, chaos ensues.
People rush around, screaming like chickens with their heads cut off. A glass breaks with a shatter. It’s a little embarrassing, honestly—the basic human urge to be taken by terror the moment something relatively strange happens. You feel bodies rush against your back as you stand, shoving your stomach into the bar counter with an insistence that is nothing short of mass panic.
“Ready? Suguru voice is in your ear, and you almost jump when his hand graces your lower back. You clear your throat.
“I was born ready.”
“Shōko, Kento, and Satoru will be in the wings. If you need assistance, use this mini-flair.”
Yaga pulls something out of his pocket that looks like a small flashlight, or a cat pointer. When he clicks the button, though, the light is much brighter than you could’ve expected, and is tinged orange.
“Ideally,” Yaga says, putting the flare back in his pocket, “they’ll be able to see it from the stakeout site.”
“If they don’t?”
You’re so close to tearing your hair out from the stress. It’s different when all five of you go in together with IEM’s—makes it easier, makes things feel less hopeless when you know someone is only a shout away. Nothing about this mission settles right in your stomach, and it all started with Suguru. It always does.
“Get out of there to the best of your ability, and try not to get caught.”
It doesn’t take you and Suguru long to find the stairs when you located them earlier, upon entry to the building. Walking upstairs blind is more difficult than you’d expect, and when your heels catch on the corner and cause you to trip forward, Suguru doesn’t notice. Or, he simply doesn’t care enough to point it out.
The stairs open into another floor with more natural lighting, thankfully. The corridor is wide and long, with ornate floor-to-ceiling windows on the right and bedrooms on the left. Moonlight cuts through the darkness to illuminate everything in a soft blue. Your heels echo loud against the lightly decorated space, bouncing off polished walls and carrying further down the hall. So, you take them off, looping the straps around a finger.
“What did Yaga say? Fourth room to the right?”
Suguru snorts. Despite the lax muscles, his eyes are alert—scanning for any moving shadows that could be something, someone, with twitching ears towards any noise that doesn’t come from the two of you. “He said fourth room to the left. Thank God you don’t do these things alone, Christ.”
The last sentence falls under his breath, lacking enough respect to say it with his chest, which chafes your nerves the longer you think about it. You ignore the looming paintings that hang on the piers between windows, all frowning people with jet black or blond hair, and stifle the burn of watchful eyes with a click of your tongue.
“Pretty sure he said fourth room to the right.”
“And I’m pretty sure you suffer from hearing loss,” he grunts behind a tight smile. It makes you want to squeeze his cheeks until they sting. You give Suguru and his ego the benefit of the doubt, though—you two don’t have much time to consider otherwise—and gesture to the waiting door.
“Fourth room to the left. Dipshit.”
Suguru scoffs, rolls his eyes, and pulls a bobby pin from his hair to shove it into the locked doorknob. “Suck my dick.”
“Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you.”
“No. You’d give me herpes,” Suguru jimmies the lock with a little more force. With a click, the door is free to open and close again.
“Just open the fucking door.”
He cackles light and happy, glad to get the last word in before you both shuffle inside, not giving the room much of a second glance under the time constraint. Suguru tucks the bobby pin back in his hair, and the door closes.
“Mama?”
You both freeze. This is why you don’t listen to Suguru fucking Getō.
You’re the first to turn around. You’re in a bedroom, but it’s not the master—it’s small and quaint and fit for a child, walls pink and lined with stuffies. By the window, there’s a small canopy hanging above a bed much too small for a fully grown person, and in that bed, is a little girl rubbing her eyes awake, not much older than the age of five.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Suguru grumbles under his breath. The little girl crawls out of her comforter—still too young to possess the proper fear of strangers in her space—and, upon realizing you’re not her mom, her eyes widen. Fuck.
“Whoa, a princess!”
“Um,” you waver and debate getting down on one knee. Kids don’t get scared when you’re at eye-level, right? Or something. You don’t know, you don’t interact with children. “Hey…”
Suguru snorts.
“Good one.”
You hiss over your shoulder, with tight eyes through even tighter teeth. “You’re the reason we’re in this mess; you will shut up, or I will shove my foot so far up your ass—”
“Language,” he grunts, and you have to do a double-take to see if he’s kidding. Even with the sly smile on his face as he gestures to the third person in the room, you can’t fully tell. “There are children present.”
“Shut the—”
There’s a tug at the hem of your dress. You look down to see that the little girl has gotten closer, fisting the fabric with round eyes and a gap-toothed smile.
“Are you a princess?”
You have two options, and neither of them are the truth:
Option One: Tell her no, break her little heart, explain, I’m friends with your mommy, and pray this child doesn’t tell her mom that she met one of her friends the next morning.
Option Two: Say yes, and when she tells her parents she met a princess tonight, everyone will assume it was just some extremely vivid dream.
Naturally, you go with option two. If only you weren’t so awkward when it comes to kids.
“Um, yeah,” you nod, making unsteady jazz hands with your fingers. “Surprise?
Suguru snorts again. “Wow.”
Luckily, you manage to ignore him this time.
“You’re so pretty!” The girl wonders in amazement, nearly jumping up and down with it, and you have to shush her before she makes enough noise to bring someone in. Someone like an adult. “I wanna look like you when I grow up!”
You get down on a knee and smile, ruffling her sleep-tangled hair with a hand. “And, you will. Just make sure you eat your veggies, and you’ll grow up big and strong!”
That’s…how you talk to kids, right?
“But, I don’t know a Prince,” she says, voice soft as her face falls. It makes your heart hurt, a little.
“It’s okay, just kiss a frog like I did!” You smile, chucking a thumb over your shoulder. Suguru scowls.
“Whoa, really?” The girl's eyes dart from you to Suguru, back to you, then back to Suguru. “He’s so handsome, though!”
Yeah. If personality wasn’t a factor for attraction, sure.
“Doesn’t he kinda look like a frog, though?” You ask, looking over to really study your partner’s visage. The little girl hums in contemplation as you stand.
“Mm…maybe?”
“He does,” you nod, patting Suguru’s cheek twice as he incenses. He tries to cut you with a glare, and misses tremendously. “That’s why I married him.”
“Because he looks like a frog?”
“Mhm.”
“I don’t look like a frog,” Suguru grumbles. You smile.
“No, you look like a toad.”
“Are we going or not.”
You turn back to the little girl, ruffle her hair again, and say, “We have to go, now. You need to go back to sleep, okay?
“But, I don’t wanna,” she whines and pouts, but yawns regardless, wide-mouthed and gap-toothed and uncovered by a fist. “I wanna learn more…about how to become a Princess.”
You smile, and slowly usher her back to bed, under the covers. Surprisingly, she doesn’t put up much of a fight. (Maybe, you were just a bad kid. Oops.)
“It’s easy,” you pull the duvet over her little body, and tuck it in on the sides. “Just find a guy you like a lot, one that treats you right, and boom! You’re a princess.”
“Really?”
“Yep,” you nod, popping the ‘p,’ and looking around the room, you mutter under your breath, “You’re already halfway there.”
“Okay,” the little girl nods, like this is information she’ll hold onto until the end of time. You hope it isn’t—you don’t really know what the hell you’re saying. “Thank you, Ms. Princess.”
Your snort devolves into a giggle. “Of course. Goodnight, Cutie.”
“Night, night!”
You and Suguru step out of the room, and the door closes with a slight whine and a soft click. Suguru chuckles something bitter, running a hand over his face.
“I look like a frog to you.”
“Shut the fuck up,” you huff, storming across the hallway to reach for the fourth door to the right, the room you know for a fact you were instructed to enter because it definitely wasn’t a child’s bedroom. “It was your fault we ended up in that mess, anyway.”
The fourth door to the right isn’t even locked. When you swing it open and take a peek inside, you give Suguru the most self-satisfied smirk you can muster.
“Bingo, Bitch.”
“We have another source that tells us the necklace is located in the master closet, behind a hidden compartment,” Yaga says, and the slide changes. It’s a blown-up blueprint of the master bedroom, and he gestures to a smaller room that is either a closet or bathroom. (Context clues say it's the closet.)
You waver. “…Hidden compartment where?”
Yū blinks and answers for your commissioner. “The closet.”
“No, not—” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose—not necessarily at Yū, but at this shit show of a mission in general, at the spotty intel and your supposed partner. “Like, where in the closet.”
Yaga shrugs. Great. Amazing.
“How do two people need this much space?”
You can’t help but agree with Suguru’s assessment. The master closet is two stories high—a room and a sizable loft, large enough to be its own apartment and made comfortable with furniture and warm wooden walls. Thanks to Suguru’s little detour, you two have about seven minutes to search this place top to bottom. You plan to give him an earful about it, later.
“They don’t,” you mutter, and start pushing at random things in the hopes that something will open. Where the fuck are you supposed to find a hidden compartment when you don’t know where it is?
You start in the most obvious area—the glass drawers full of jewelry. You poke and prod at the wall behind them, open every drawer to see if one looks shorter than it should, but nope. Nothing.
Suguru seems to be having similar luck until you hear something click. Then, soft and private, “Well. This isn’t jewelry.
You look over and up, a diagonal, to where Suguru stands on the second floor. “What is it?”
“Guns.”
Curiosity peaked, you take a few steps up the hollow stairs and proceed to gape.
Between you and Suguru is a door—a door that twins with the wood panelling of the room, a perfect match with no doorknob or discernibility from the surrounding walls. Behind that door is a small white room, about the size of a reach-in closet, with black guns sitting along its expanse in personalized divots. With a hand on his hip, he catalogues aloud.
“AR-15’s, modified Smith & Wesson Revolvers, Tokarev TT-33s, Marakov PMs.”
“Damn, they really have everything,” you marvel. Suguru grunts in agreement.
“I don’t think they only work in Pharmaceuticals.”
“I could’ve told you that,” you scoff before heading back downstairs. You can’t afford to get distracted—neither of you can.
You keep the shape of that hidden compartment in mind, though. Maybe, there’s one similar for the necklace.
You return to the glass display and pay attention to the wood panels a little closer. There is one that sits a little above the rest, a hitch in an otherwise smooth surface, and when you press down, it clicks. Opens.
“Gotcha!”
This compartment is much smaller than the last—while the last was the size of a full wall panel, this one is just a square, a cubby. Within it sits a black safe, and the necklace you’ve been looking for right beside it.
“Why wouldn’t you put it in the safe…” you mutter, reaching a hand in. Then, the lights flicker back to life. Whooom.
Suguru looks at you.
“You found it?”
“Yep,” you grin, removing it by its chain with a clink. It’s a very pretty necklace, shines in the way only real diamond does, and delicate enough that you loosen your hold. Shoes in one hand, extremely fancy necklace in the other. Suguru’s shoulders drop with a tension that you didn’t notice, but with the lights back on, your chances of making it out have just gone from decent to negligible. Stuffing the necklace into your bra, you sigh, “Let’s get the hell outta here.”
Behind you, there’s a hollow clack-click. There’s only one thing you know of that can make that sound. Fuck.
“What’s the escape route?” Suguru asks, scratching his chin and leaning into the chair until it squeaks. “Other than, ‘try not to die.’”
“Thankfully, there are a plethora of exits, but your getaway car will be parked outside the perimeter on the east side.” Yaga’s pointer drags across the board with a whrrrr and a tap. “It’s the closest to the master bedroom. There’s the main staircase, but there are also two hidden in the walls, here and here.”
Suguru nods. “Kento’s driving?”
“Nope,” Yaga shakes his head. “You are.”
“Who are you, and what are you doing here?”
You turn around slowly, faster than you did for the child, but still slow. All while glaring at Suguru, because, “You were supposed to watch the door!”
He scoffs, looking in between you and the stranger with a gun held chest-high.
“Says who?”
“Says…fucking common sense, my back was to it!”
Bang!
One of your least favorite things is getting shot at.
You hide behind a wall, cringing at the sound of metal bullets ricocheting off metal rods. They leave nothing but scuff marks in their wake, making you think these walls must be bulletproof, and introducing a whole host of questions you’ll ask later.
Neither of you have any weapons. Great.
Suguru ducks behind a sofa on the second floor, which bursts into a flurry of goose down and bullet holes. You see his little top knot glide over the back like a shark fin in the water, and giggle before you’re shot at again. How in the living fuck are you supposed to get out of here?
You can make a weapon out of nothing, sure, but the issue is closing the distance. The issue is that he can shoot you a million times before you can get close enough to shove a hanger just below his Adam’s apple, or dig your heels into the back of his head. You have options, but all of them require proximity, which is why you hate guns—
There’s a thik, and then the shooting stalls. Then, a thunk.
You take the chance to peek out from behind a wall. A man in a black and white suit lies in the doorframe with a knife in his neck, and still on the second floor, Suguru stands with his arm outstretched, panting heavy. He catches your eye.
“We need to get out of here.”
“Dead?”
“No,” Suguru huffs, adjusting his perfectly ironed shirt that wrinkled in the fray. “Paralyzed. He will be dead, though.”
You blink at Suguru, then at your assailant. You blink again. “Is…that a steak knife?”
As you close in on the twitching body, the serrated edge and wooden handle become undeniable. That’s a fucking steak knife.
Suguru rolls his lips together, guilty. “Maybe.”
“Where the fuck did you get a steak knife?”
“Went exploring,” he grunts, and starts making his way down the stairs with two guns in hand—a Makarov PM and a sawed-off Mossberg 500. Thank fuck he found a homemade armory.
“And they let you?”
“They didn’t fucking know,” Suguru says like it’s obvious—and you can admit, perhaps it was—with a curdling once he reaches the base of the stairs. He tosses you the shotgun, and keeps the pistol for himself, studying it as you both make your way to the exit. “Now, c’mon. There’s no way nobody heard that.”
You splutter. “What if we get followed?”
“Don’t get followed.”
“Y/N’s driving,” Suguru says with no room for debate, but you weasel it in anyway. He doesn’t even look at you while your name falls from his lips. Just plain rude. “If we’re followed, I need to be able to shoot, and dying just because she has poor aim.”
Yes, your aim isn’t the best. You cut him with a look, anyway.
“Fuck you.”
You two don’t even make it out of the room before you’re bombarded by three more men in suits.
“Who are you, and what are you doing here?”
“Stop asking that question,” you sigh, pressing a fresh magazine into the Mossberg. The first man has a simple handgun, and the second has a rifle. The third has a mace, for some reason? “It’s stressing me out.”
Suguru takes the first shot.
The lack of a silencer is more than noticeable—the sound of high-pressure gas cracking against the walls is loud enough to make you wince. That lucky shot takes down Rifle-Man, his body crumbling to the floor in an immediate drop—a whine of clothing, then collapse. A bullet comes whizzing past his face, and Suguru sways to dodge, getting nothing more in return than a dripping scratch on his cheek. He runs a thumb across it with a slightly manic smile.
You duck behind a battered pillar, ignoring the puffs of concrete dust every time you’re shot at. You hike your rifle onto your shoulder, press your cheek into it, pivot, and—
Bang!
The recoil is enough to bruise your jaw, but your heels dig into the floor, keeping you steady. You miss—you’re an explosives engineer, not a fucking gun specialist—and it wedges into the bedroom wall beside Handgun-Guy’s head. His trigger finger flexes. You bob behind the pillar again.
“We need to clear a path!” Suguru yells over the gunfire. He’s crouched down, the left side of his body hugging the right side of the mattress. The man with the mace seems to have picked up the dead man’s rifle and fires away. You roll your eyes.
“No shit, Sherlock!”
You pivot, step out, shoot. Miss again.
“Hit people, not the wall,” Suguru huffs, placing his back to the bed while his fingers fiddle with a new magazine. He shoots over his shoulder, and while it isn’t a kill shot, blood pours from a hole in Handgun-Guy’s bicep. You don’t pull the trigger, but you do lift your barrel in your partner’s direction, and pretend to shoot. Suguru’s flat face flattens further. “Focus.”
“I’m so focused,” you flinch when a bullet ricochets off the corner of the pillar, too close to your ear for comfort. “The literal definition of focused.”
“Right,” Suguru huffs, and bang! Another man down.
You hate guns.
You hate guns because they’re loud and finicky. You hate guns because they’re heavy and bulky and swell in the heat. You hate guns because you’ve never had good aim, not needing one when your average explosive has the range of an IKEA, and you hate guns because Suguru loves them.
He, unfortunately, has very good aim.
Your fingers itch for a safety pin you can’t pull, and you regret not asking if there was anything detonable in that armory.
Suguru takes the last man down before you can blink. Slightly out of breath, he rises from his position behind the bed and strides to the door, barely sparing you a glance. You, unfortunately, follow, rather than die.
“If you get followed and can’t make it back, there should be a safe-house nearby—”
“Should?” You wheeze. You’re tired of this.
“Correct,” Yaga nods, not even flinching. “I’ll send you the address. If something goes wrong, if you can’t make it back to base camp for some reason, head there.”
When you get downstairs, through one of the hidden staircases built into the wall like a public building, five more men are waiting, some with bigger guns than others. Fucking great.
This time, they don’t ask any stupid questions. They just shoot.
Suguru practically shoves you behind a wall for cover. He’s way too close for comfort, panting into your air, and glares with something murderous.
“When people shoot at you, don’t just fucking stand there,” he growls. Your eyes roll and roll.
“I was literally moving.”
“Not fast enough.”
“Awh,” you pull out a fake pout, patting Suguru’s cheek twice and light. “Are you actually concerned for me? My little frog prince is so cute.”
“No, but I would rather not have your blood on my hands,” Suguru smiles, and doesn’t even look before shooting one, two, three times. At this point, the sound of a crumbling body is unmistakable. Splat. “Get your shit together.”
You huff, holding your pump-action shotgun at an awkward position between your bodies. You aim, shoot, and finally, score. A giant hole where flesh once was drips red through an all-white tuxedo. Splat. You lift an eyebrow.
“You were saying?”
“You’ll have to get more than a lucky shot for me to take that back.”
“Whatever,” you huff, and shove at his shoulder. “Get off me.”
Things go fine, after that.
You and Suguru fight back to back—the flare Yaga gave you two burning on the floor—which, honestly, you’d rather not do. He’s like a gnat, always muttering where you’ve gone wrong and what you can do better. You wish he would open his eyes and realize he’s making most of his shots, not all of them.
You’re aiming for someone else when you feel something tear into your side.
“Fuck!”
You two are so close to the exit, you can see it. Then, all that’s left is jump a fence, find the car, get it running, and hightail it out of here. So, why the hell did you have to get shot?
(Your whole right side was open. So maybe, it was a little bit of your own fault, but still, this shit fucking hurts—)
Your right leg buckles, and you try to avoid going down with it, resting on the wall for leverage. It hurts. Your dress is now sporting a patch of deepening crimson, dripping onto the floor in thick strands of gossamer and staining your bare feet. It throbs in a way that lets you know adrenaline is suppressing most of the pain, and when Suguru sees you, his eyes widen.
Bang, bang!
Two shots, two bodies, and he’s right there.
“What the fuck did you do?”
It’s not as flat as his usual voice, something hidden, something texturing that flatness, something you distantly realize as, right, he doesn’t want my death on his hands, makes sense.
There’s not much you can hear past the blood rushing behind your ears and through the spare hole in your body. All you can manage is a croaky and pathetic, “Hurts.”
If you survive this, Suguru won’t let it go, and honestly, neither will you. You should shoot him in the same spot, just to make yourself feel better. Make it even.
“Where are you—where are you hit?” He licks his lips and releases a shuddering exhale at the sight. Your legs finally crumple as you point to your side.
(Which, ironically, is the same spot you hit Satoru a few weeks ago. His wasn’t bleeding so much, though.)
“God, you’re so fucking stupid,” Suguru huffs, snatching his dress shirt off to tourniquet it around your waist. It only kind of works, but it’s quite literally all he can do. With the sudden knowledge that you’ve never seen him this close to shirtless before, with nothing but a ribbed tank top left, you realize aloud:
“I can see your nipples through your shirt.”
His face flattens. “Stop looking.
“They’re tiny.”
“Shut the fuck up,” he grits, tying his shirt tighter than it needs to be. Probably. You hiss as white-hot pain lances across your stomach. “I told you to focus, to fucking aim right, and what do you do—”
“Hey, I killed, like, two people,” you say before remembering that technically, one of those kills was supported—you shot a man in the leg who thought it’d be a good idea to try and get back up, so Suguru shot him between the eyes like cattle. “One and a half.”
“Fuck, it’s bleeding bad,” he mutters, hands unsteady as he looks around before sliding arms under your shoulder blades and legs. You lift your left hand to swat him away, because it hurts less than your right.
“Ew, don’t touch me.”
“I’m trying to help you,” he growls, ignoring your words in favor of lifting you into a bridal carry, and quickly making for the exit. “I’m trying to make sure you don’t bleed out and die.”
“You’re doing a horrible job,” you swallow, throat a little dry. “I think I’m dying.”
“If you can talk, you’re not,” but it sounds more like reassurance for himself than for you. Suguru shoves a fancy-looking door open with his shoulder, and you’re immediately met with cool air.
“You don’t know that. People just croak mid-sentence, you know.”
It’s cold.
It’s sticky and humid, but cold enough that you lean into Suguru’s shirt for warmth, only warmth, and sigh. As much as you hate the guy, his tits make great pillows. Suguru ignores you and keeps on pushing.
Until you two reach the fence. Then, he stills.
“Ugh, we’re doomed,” you whine, looking at the seven-foot concrete wall. There’s no way you can get your body over that, and while no one has followed you yet, you see sweeping flashlights reflecting in windows, and a full driveway as guests rush to get out and news stations rush to get in.
Then, you’re not in Suguru’s arms anymore.
No, you’re in the air, and it’s not until you’re halfway across the fence that you realize, this bitch just chucked me. He chucked you like a football, and even though the grass is green and soft on the other side, it still hurts like a bitch when you land flat on your face.
“Motherfucker!”
“Shut the hell up,” Suguru hisses, clambering over it with bloody hands. “Last thing we need is to attract attention.”
“You just threw me,” you spew with pure vitriol. “You just threw an injured woman over a seven-foot fence, what the fuck, Suguru—”
He gathers you in his arms easier than you’d like. You wish your bones would weigh him down, at least. Make him sweat, watch him struggle.
“You can take it.”
“I have an open hole in my stomach—I literally cannot.”
You whine when Suguru jolts to grab the car keys from his pocket. Headlights to an inconspicuous black car down the block, parked under a tree, illuminate. “At this rate, you’re going to kill me quicker than if I were to just bleed out.”
“Uh-huh.”
“My side hurts so bad, I’m pretty sure the bullet is still in there, Suguru—”
“Yup.”
“—and Shōko’s bedside manner is better than yours, what do you think that says about you? Huh?”
Suguru looks down at you, lone bang waving in his unimpressed face with the sway of his steps. “Are you done?”
You splutter, wincing when it hurts.
“No, I’m not done, I—”
“Great, ‘cause we’re at the car.”
Then, the distinct unlatch of a car door catches your attention, as does the way Suguru swerves around it.
“I can put myself in the car, Suguru,” you glare, and while the look on his face doesn’t change, his eyes do, and darken.
“Princess. You can barely walk.”
And, as a woman who hates being told what she can and can’t do, your next words come as natural as rain:
“Yes, I can. Put me down.”
Suguru sighs and lowers your legs first. It hurts—hurts like hell—but you’ll be damned before your pride and life rest in the hands of this man, no sir. Absolutely not.
“Be my guest.”
The second you put pressure on your right foot, the hole in your stomach gurgles, and your leg collapses.
Luckily (unluckily, so, so unluckily) Suguru holds an arm out, and you clutch onto it for dear life. The definition of this entire experience is mortifying. You’re never going on a duo mission with him ever again.
You clear your throat and try to stand as straight as possible, ignoring the way his eyes bore a hole into your skull. You’re trained on one thing and one thing alone: the car seat of a BMW 7 Series, and how to sit without making too much of a fuss. And losing too much blood.
You take a step forward, and your leg gives way again. In your peripheral, Suguru lifts a smug eyebrow.
“Need help?”
“I’m—fine,” you say through your teeth, and take another wobbly step forward. You probably look like a giraffe learning how to walk. You certainly feel like a giraffe learning how to walk.
“You sure? You’re moving a little slow.”
He says that, but you’re at the car now. You no longer have to grip onto his forearm, not when you have a car door at your disposal. You take it gladly with white knuckles. Now, you just have to figure out how to bend the exact part of your body that’s causing so much pain, and sit. Just…sit.
Suguru’s voice comes rolling behind you, low and heavy, and still a little out of breath. “You should probably recline the chair.”
He’s not wrong.
But how, in God's name, are you supposed to bend low enough to do that?
You decide that you’ll figure it out once seated, and move to do exactly that. You lift a foot into the car, your left foot, and immediately stifle the pained groan bubbling in your throat. Kind of.
Suguru sighs, after that.
“Let me help you.”
“No,” you huff, pain taking your breath away and then some. “You’re being a dick.”
“You told me to put you down,” he says, and steadying hands come to your waist. Weakly, you swat them away, but they don’t budge.
You want to say something irritating and pedantic, something like, well, you listened, but you can’t. You cannot when your teeth are pressed so tight your temple pops, when you’re in so much pain you could cry. (But, crying would probably make it hurt worse, so you don’t. Plus, Suguru is, like, right there.) You can’t do anything except take unsteady inhales through your nose, and plop yourself right into the seat.
“Ow,” you writhe, holding your side as Suguru helps your right leg into the car. It’s buzzing. Is it supposed to be buzzing?
He scoffs.
“Would’ve been quicker if you let me help. Less painful, probably.”
He reaches across you to buckle your seatbelt, which you find annoying and unnecessary, but let it happen. You have no choice but to let it happen, because one hand is holding your side together, and the other is opening and closing into tight fists on the center console, because it hurts.
“Literally shut the fuck up.”
As he loosens the seatbelt to ensure it doesn’t dig into your side, he rolls his eyes for the thousandth time tonight. You hope they get stuck like that. “If only the mission was a success. Maybe you wouldn’t have been shot for no reason.”
You huff, digging into your bra to pull out the festoon, still intact after all the chaos. “I don’t get shot for no reason. Lost my shoes, though.”
Suguru just snorts and closes the car door.
He comes around the front and hops into the driver's seat with an urgency you’ve only seen mid-fight. Jaw set, eyes focused, and constantly running a bloody hand through his hair as he types in the address to the safe house. Because, you’re not going to make it to base camp without stitches, and that just pisses you right off.
He peels away from the curb, and you watch the mansion of doom shrink into the distance. Fucking finally.
The safe house is actually pretty nice.
It’s located in the heart of a neighborhood, a charming Craftsman, inconspicuous and twinning with the rest of the street. Buzzing street lamps and chirping crickets fill the quiet suburb, with the occasional yelp from a small party happening a few houses down.
Inside, you groan in pain, bloodying a very nice grey couch while Suguru rummages in a spare bathroom in search of a first aid kit.
Suguru is used to being the executioner. He’s used to watching someone’s life fade in their eyes—watching a body drop to the floor like a fucking rock, watching a human being seize and foam at the mouth—and he cringes, calls it a shitty death, and moves on. He had nightmares for the first few years, sure, but desensitization is a beautiful and magnanimous woman.
So, why the fuck are his hands shaking?
He tells himself it’s because, even if he wishes otherwise, you’re a comrade. He may not like you, but he does know you, and seeing someone he knows die is a much harder pill to swallow.
(His brain notes that he wasn’t this panicked when Yū took a bullet to the chest that one day, and he kindly tells it to shut the fuck up.)
With a huff, Suguru’s hand finds a heavy-duty first aid kit. He smears blood on the white handle of the five-tier toolbox as he flips it open, throwing anything useless over his shoulder, only for them to clatter on the zellige tiles of this very nice washroom.
When he emerges, you’re still lying on the couch, eyes closed and face laughably peaceful for the circumstance. Suguru would’ve thought you died if it wasn’t for the rapid rise and fall of your chest.
He comes to your side, shaking your shoulder, and stifles that weird feeling in his gut.
“Y/N,” he whispers, and when you don’t respond with anything other than a groan, he tries again, louder. “Y/N, wake up.”
You sigh with a frown, “Five more minutes.”
“Five minutes of sleep and you might die,” Suguru grunts, pulling the kit to his side and kneeling on the ground. As he peels the sticky fabric of his black dress shirt away from your body, blood comes rushing, dripping onto the floor in grotesque splats. He’s eye level with the gaping wound on your side now, swallowing bile and the feeling that comes with it. You’re not going to die.
“Mm. You would like that, wouldn’t you?”
Your voice is soft and exhausted. Suguru bites the inside of his cheek while grabbing the stitching thread and needle with unsteady hands, and sets it aside. You’re not going to die.
“No, I would not,” he huffs, and lightly slaps the side of your face when your eyes flutter shut. “Stay awake.”
“I am, God,” you glare, and grimace while adjusting until you’re laid more comfortably. “How are you still a pain in my ass when I’m bleeding out.”
That. That’s the reason he hates your guts.
You have a big mouth—not like Satoru, who just has an endless case of the yaps, occasionally insightful, occasionally nerdy, occasionally arrogant, and always oblivious. Everything you have to say to Suguru reeks of conceit and calculation, like you know the facts of the universe down to its molecules, so naturally, he’s made it his personal mission to take you down a peg.
He hasn’t, yet. He’s still working on that.
The first aid kit has almost everything—stitches, antiseptic, acne cream—but nothing numbing. No morphine shot, not even Dr. Numb. So, with a sigh, Suguru stuffs his shirt back into your side, before making his way to the kitchen. You don’t even ask him where he’s going.
He gets through three cupboards before finding a bottle of Jack Daniel's, unopened and neat. He snatches it and returns to your side.
“’S like the 1800’s, before novocaine. BN,” you slur, making grabby hands for the bottle. Suguru gives it away, and you twist at the top uselessly, twice, before shoving it back in his face with your left hand. “Open.”
Suguru rolls his eyes, but removes the cap. He kind of likes you like this—a little useless, missing your usual bravado and over-compensating self sufficiency. He thinks that’s not a great thought to have, but he’s never been a great guy.
You lift the bottle to your lips, and chug.
“Okay, slow down,” he says, nudging the bottom of the bottle away from your face. You pout with wet lips.
“But, it hurts—”
It’s really fucking deep, and the bullet is probably still in there. Shit.
First thing’s first. Your dress.
Thankfully, the first aid kit has a sharp-looking knife, thick enough to be classified as a dagger. He runs it down the top half of your dress with a loud tear, blade hitching where the seam lies. You groan.
“Ugh, I paid so much for this dress…”
But you don’t complain, because Suguru knows you know he has to do it, and you’re still covered modestly—there’s just an open slit where the seam should be on the side of your dress.
“I’ll buy you a new one,” he grumbles, and while he doesn’t necessarily mean it, he wouldn’t mind if you held him to it, either. That seems to placate you enough, as you nod, relax, and take another big swig from the bottle. He should probably take that from you soon.
He pulls a pair of surgical pliers from the kit, resting a hand on your hip. He has to dab at the infliction again and spray it with antiseptic, gone blurry with blood in the meantime, and with a deep breath, looks up. His eyes meet your own, already watching him like a hawk, like you’re ready to tell him he’s doing it wrong the second the needle pierces your skin.
“Ready?”
“I was born ready,” you sniffle and nod. Suguru doesn’t think anyone’s born ready to get a needle stuck in their skin, but sure.
He doesn’t waste any more time. He grabs your skin and spreads it apart. The pliers sink into the reddened area, searching, and you scream.
“Motherfuc—”
“Shut up,” Suguru huffs, because you two are in a very nice neighborhood, and the last thing either of you need is for someone to call the cops. You don’t shut up—if anything, you get louder, left leg curling from the pain.
“Jesus fuck, Suguru, that shit burns—”
Suguru feels the pliers knock against something hard. Hoping it’s not bone (he’s pretty sure it’s not bone), he spreads them apart, relinquishing the tight pressure between his fingers. Your throat flexes when you keen.
“My fucking Go—”
Suguru shoves a chevron-patterned throw pillow in your face, probably a little harder than necessary. You glare at him over the fabric, but take it, and pant.
Metal knocks around metal. He pulls.
Your stomach flexes with a scream, muted by the pillow, as your upper body jolts. Bloody pliers emerge, as does the tip of something gold that looks like a bullet. He thinks it’s a bullet.
Blood tumbles out of your entry wound the further he goes, and Suguru grimaces at the sight, grabbing his shirt to dab the best he can. The bullet comes out pretty clean—thank fuck, no shrapnel to worry about—and still sticks to you with a viscous red string, snapping with an extra yank like it doesn’t want to let go.
You’re breathing heavy into the pillow with a thankfulness knowing the worst part is done, eyelids fluttering and sweat sticking to your forehead. And, because Suguru’s imagination hates everything he stands for, for a split second, a split second, he wonders if you’d look like that under him, if you’d moan just as loud. With a clear of his throat, he quickly silences that thought. Focus.
“That fucking sucked,” you mutter into the cushion. Suguru chuckles.
“Yeah, well. We’re almost done.”
You groan, away from the pillow this time, less in pain and more in annoyance.
When Suguru finishes his stitching, his hands are a mess.
His hands, the couch, the floor, his knees on the floor—they’re all covered in blood that’s not his, and while Suguru would typically relish in that fact, he’s really struggling to wrap his head around it all.
You’re still panting, still sweating, but knowing that there’s no more invasive pain to experience, your muscles have relaxed slightly. You peel away the sticky fabric of your dress to check out his job, and—
“Ugh, why are they all crooked?”
He knew it. He knew you’d fucking say something.
With a huff, he takes the bottle of whiskey away from you with red hands, and takes the open spot on the couch by your feet. He needs a cigarette, and debates checking the first aid kit, or the kitchen drawers again. Probably not.
“You’re welcome,” he says around the bottle’s rim. You stick a tongue out.
“Whatever,” you mutter, moving to cross your arms, only to flinch and give up when it hurts. You sit up slowly, on your left elbow, and make grabby hands for the first aid kit. Suguru grabs the roll of bandages and considers chucking them at your face, but you’re injured or whatever, so he just passes it off, and doesn’t shiver when your fingertips brush his. “I could’ve done it myself.”
“I’m sure you could,” Suguru shakes his head. It would be best if you two went to base camp now that you’re no longer bleeding, before you try to tear each other's heads off. But, he’s tired. It’s been a long day and an even longer night, and the past hour and a half felt like a year. He’s exhausted, adrenaline no longer coursing through his veins, lactic acid building behind his muscles as he finally crashes. “I don’t think bleeding out and stitching yourself up is a good combination, though. Also, your bandages are crooked.”
Because Suguru is a petty motherfucker, and technically, they are.
“Shut up. I was dying, I’m kind of tipsy, and this is hard as fuck to do under my dress,” you huff, slowly returning into your sticky spot on the couch.
“You weren’t dying.”
“Yes, I was,” you nod, very seriously, watching the ceiling. “I sympathize with Satoru. Remind me to apologize when we get back.”
Suguru lifts an eyebrow, takes another swig. It helps him relax at least. Helps him forget that he still has your blood on his hands. “You apologize?”
“Not to you,” you scoff. Suguru mutters a ‘figured,’ but doesn’t say much else. Just watches you watch the ceiling with a hand on your stomach, like you’re thankful to be alive in the first place. (If the concept of you being thankful isn’t completely absurd.)
He watches you drift. Watches your eyes flutter shut before opening low, watches your breathing and counts the spaces in between. The spaces get longer. He taps your foot.
“Hey,” and your eyes open again, lacking any of the peace they held toward the ceiling—now, it’s straight annoyance.
“What.”
“Don’t fall asleep,” he says, resting an arm on the back of the couch. “You gotta stay awake for another hour.”
You whine, thumping your head into the cushion beside it. “But I’m not bleeding out anymore.”
“Sure, but you lost a shit ton of blood.” He grabs his phone from his back pocket to inform Yaga of your status, but also, “I’ll set an alarm. Did you even pay attention in First Aid class?”
You groan, and Suguru’s surprised you can pull such a loud sound from such an injured place. “I make things go boom, Suguru—I don’t stitch shit together.”
“I’m taking that as a no, then.”
“I wanna go to bed.”
“You can’t,” Suguru hisses, irritated with your petulance but not as much as he’d like to be, so he turns it up. This, ladies and gentlemen, is called overcompensating. “Unless you actually want to die, keep your eyes open.”
You slam your eyes shut.
Suguru chucks a pillow at your face, and you cackle. “That’s not a funny joke.”
“Fine, fine,” you swat the pillow away from your face, and it tumbles into the blood spot on the floor. “Seriously, though. I don’t think I can keep my eyes open for another hour.”
And Suguru, who’s used to pulling all-nighters to read progress reports and finish chores he didn’t have time for during the day, answers without a thought.
“Do head-shoulders-knees-and-toes.”
You squawk. “What?”
“Head, shoulders,” Suguru demonstrates, touching the parts of his body in time, “knees, toes. Did you have a childhood.”
“I, fucking—I know what it is, Asshole,” you huff and puff and scowl. “How the fuck am I supposed to do that with fresh stitches in my side?”
“Ah.”
See, he didn’t really think about that.
“Yeah, ah,” you say.
“Do you want to…turn on the TV? Maybe there’s something on,” he shrugs, reaching for the remote. You kick it out of his hands.
“TV doesn’t work, I tried.”
“What about a car game? I-Spy.”
“Boring.”
Suguru sighs, tossing his phone on the arm of the couch before he collapses with nothing short of frustration. “Then, we sit in silence, I guess. I give up.”
“Then, I knock out, and die in my sleep, I guess,” you mock with a sour face, rolling your eyes before they drift back to the ceiling. And, well. Suguru can’t have that.
Sometimes, his mouth moves faster than his brain.
Sometimes, Suguru just… blurts stuff out, thoughts becoming words before they become thoughts. He’s gotten much better at thinking before he speaks, over the years, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t relapse every now and then. (Hence, ‘head-shoulders-knees-and-toes.’)
It’s not like he rushes into things, per se, and he’s generally pretty calculated. But, as previously stated, his brain is stupid, and he’s tired.
“I can eat you out.”
You blink. Silence rushes over the room like cold water, dripping down his back and making him shiver. Mistake.
“I, um, didn’t—”
“What?”
You’re looking at him now, no annoyance this time, just pure, unadulterated confusion. Suguru doesn’t backtrack, but:
“If you didn’t hear me, then never mind.”
Which is also something he isn’t supposed to say. It’s supposed to be a quick ‘nothing,’ and easy ‘I’m just fucking with you,’ and call it a day. It was not either of those things. You blink again.
“Really?”
Suguru looks back to you, then. You’re gnawing at your bottom lip, like he actually said something to consider, and that—
“I don’t give a fuck.”
Suguru waits for you to pull the rug from under him. He waits for you to say, surprise, what you’re standing on is actually glass, and shatter the floor with a sledgehammer. Instead, you shrug with your good shoulder.
“Okay.”
Okay. Okay.
You and Suguru shift in silence. Not an awkward silence—not an un-awkward one, either—as he helps your left leg onto the back of the couch, leaving your right side alone to avoid popping the stitches he worked so hard to weave. You seem determined to look at anything but him—the ceiling, the black TV, the ottoman—and Suguru has yet to decide whether that pisses him off, or not.
“And, don’t use your hands,” you add as an afterthought, as he lifts the front slit of your skirt to peel it away. “They’re all bloody, ew.”
While Suguru wasn’t planning on it, he’s half tempted to disobey your orders. So, he just sighs, wiping them once more on the couch cushion for good measure (it’s ruined already) and settles on his stomach. Your eyes flicker down to him then, hang on his face for a moment before returning across the room.
“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”
“Just eat me out before I take it back,” you huff. Suguru shrugs the best he can from his position, before leaning forward and licking a stripe up the gusset of your panties. You shiver.
“We’re going to need to take these off,” he says, thumbing a line on the side of your underwear and tugging at them, only to watch them snap back against your skin when he lets go.
“Just pull them to the side,” you say along with a placating pat to his head. Suguru scowls. “It’ll hurt to try and take them off, and I’m not dealing with that right now.”
“You love making my job harder,” he grumbles, and you beam, patting him on the head again with a cocky glint in your eyes.
“Of course. That’s what I’m here for.”
Suguru ignores your words, scowl deepening as he yanks your panties to the side. He has half a mind to rip them off, but he forgoes it when remembering the extent of your injury. Dammit.
He repeats the same motion he did on the exterior of your underwear, a thick fat stripe of his tongue, licking you from bottom to top, and you sigh with something content. He has about an hour to kill—might as well take his time.
He licks you light until you’re panting with it. You try so hard to stifle little frustrated whines when he doesn’t do more than gently drag his tongue in new places, tasting you and seeing how he fits. Suguru is sort of, kind of, obsessed with the headiness of it all, never giving you enough to elicit more than a whimper, face contorting in ecstacial annoyance. When he applies more pressure, your stomach flexes and your left leg lifts, hips threatening to buck into his face. And Suguru sort of, kind of, wants you to.
You taste good.
It’s not his fault that this is a new revelation; he’s never licked you before, but you taste good. And, if Suguru buries his nose deeper at that thought, that’s his business.
Because you’re petty and refuse to give him an inch, you slam your lips shut. Suguru wants to pull at your bottom lip and whisper I wanna hear you, but that’s corny, and he still hates your guts, so he moves with a new goal in mind—for you to make noise.
(Which is funny, because usually, all he wants you to do is shut up.)
Eventually, you break. Once his ministrations grow heavy and languid, you let out something quieter than a moan, but louder than a whimper. Suguru repeats the movement to elicit that sound again, and again, and again.
“You look kind of nice like this,” you pant, licking your lips behind a ballooning chest. “Between my legs, or whatever.”
Suguru releases you for a moment, lips shiny with spit and slick as he repeats, “Or whatever.”
“Yeah, like you’re below me,” you nod with something challenging, and Suguru, feeling like this is his chance to get a proper sound, sucks on your clit. “Like you’re my bit—ah!”
Your whole body recoils like it can’t help itself, and Suguru watches, mesmerized, as your hand rushes to his head. Not to push or pull, but to stay, like you need him to ground and take you apart all at once. He feels a little dizzy with want, at this point, and starts grinding into the couch. Discreetly, of course.
He pulls away with a pop, quickly, only to look through the loose ends of his hair and ask, “You were saying?”
“Shut the fuck up,” you rush, hips starting to kick out and up his face, and Suguru stills you with a hand to your bandaged waist.
“Calm down,” he huffs, and you glare when he stops again. But he doesn’t particularly care for it, not when it’s lacking the heat. “Don’t forget you have stitches in your side. I’ll get you there, don’t worry.”
“Will you, Suguru Getō? Will you.” And God, his full name from your mouth, like you’re still mad at him, even when he’s between your legs and knows it’s a farce, is just—
(Suguru is not a great guy. He cannot repeat that enough.)
“Feels good so far, doesn’t it?” He breathes into your pussy, and whether you shiver from the warmth or his words, he’ll never know. You feign ignorance, even with your hair and breathing a mess.
“Feels alright,” you nod with a jutted lip. “I’ve felt better.”
And, the way Suguru incenses—
The way a fire rolls in his belly too hot and too wild to contain. The way he dives back in with anger on the edges of his teeth, nipping and sucking and licking while holding a scowl you can feel. The way you giggle at his reaction, like he’s easy, and the way it breaks off into a moan when he shows you—honestly, plainly—that you have not, in fact, felt better.
He catches the surprise on your eyes just before they roll into ecstasy. You’re leaking all over his face, now—down his chin, across his cheeks, the messiest meal he’s had in a minute—and Suguru laps all he can, determined to keep as much off of the soiled couch as possible. He’s ravenous, eating you out with a vigor he didn’t know he had, a little tipsy from the alcohol (which he plans to blame this whole endeavor on, though he doesn’t know if he could ever wash the taste of you from his mouth, and isn’t sure that he wants to) and a little tipsy from you.
You squirm on the couch, eyes squeezing shut before opening wide like you’ve gone blind, and squeezing shut again. While he holds your hips still, he also cradles them close to his face, careful and gentle around the bruised area of your injury. Everything becomes a blur after that, delivered in little tiny snapshots of his memory, a highlight reel missing a few frames, but never enough to remember every moment down to the molecule, like he wanted.
He remembers when you let out an honest broken moan, loud and cracking against the eggshell-toned walls of the living room, and he remembers not placing that pillow over your mouth, even if he should’ve. The movie snaps, whirs, a small hole burns through the plastic film, and then—
Your left leg comes around his neck, strong and hard enough to suffocate, but Suguru finds that he doesn’t really mind. You’re babbling nonsense, at this point, still with a cutting edge, still with the intention to hurt, but babbling nonetheless. He remembers you letting a good boy slip, quiet enough to go undetected by untrained ears. He remembers whining at that, remembers grinding into the couch.
Snap! Brrrr.
He remembers you cumming, loud and wanton and just for him, as he tries his best to lick it all up. He remembers your body shaking, quivering under his fingers as he moans into it, and he remembers the taste of you, stuck in his teeth infinitely, and—
Snap! Brrrr.
He remembers cumming himself, remembers working himself out of black slacks with your dried blood on his hands, unconcerned with sanitization when all he can feel is his dick. He remembers you saying you won’t help him, but he can cum on your dress—it’s already ruined anyway, with a coy look on your face like you never really cared in the first place. He remembers you watching like you cared, though, curiosity hidden behind a bitten lip, and he remembers cumming with a shout.
Snap! Brrrr.
The reel ends, and he’s shot back to the present, stuck hiding a boner in Shōko’s infirmary tent. God dammit.
“A little clumsy, but it should heal decent. Not bad, Getō,” Shōko mutters past the cigarette in her teeth, running a hand over your stitches and ignoring the way you flinch.
Suguru would typically beam at that, maybe rub it in your face with an I told you so, but he’s currently compromised.
He hates that he doesn’t regret it.
Because, he doesn’t—not really. First, he regrets the fact that he didn’t do it sooner, and then, he regrets that thought, then regrets that he did it at all. Then, he regrets that he didn’t do anything more, despite your injury, despite the fact that he doesn’t know whether he could’ve been careful enough. Then, he regrets tasting you in the first place again, because now it’s always there, on the back of his tongue, behind his teeth, leaving him to wonder if you’d let him taste you again.
Then, he regrets having any of those thoughts at all, because he’s in public, and you still glare like you hate him. So, he glares like he hates you too, although he really doesn’t know whether that’s the case anymore.
You’re no longer in that blood-stained, cum-stained dress—it burned and thrown into the trash with a very tight bow. And Suguru, morbidly, kind of wanted to keep it. Frame it.
That’s when he understands that he might not be a great guy, but he’s also, maybe, a little bit of a creep. Noted.
“I tend to do a good job with most things,” Suguru says from the entrance, one hand in his pocket as the other lifts his own cigarette to his lips. Well—not his own, Shōko’s technically, but she did give it to him. For five bucks.
“Oh, please,” you scoff. “You couldn’t walk in a straight line if your eyes were closed.”
Suguru tilts his head, squints his eyes. “Very specific.”
“Yeah, well—”
“I can think of a few things I’m good at, though,” he says with a wink through the smoke, and the impossible happens.
You go silent.
You go silent enough that he can hear the birds chirp behind the constant rumble of tanks outside, and that is just—
“I can’t think of one damn thing, no.”
You play it off easy enough, but Suguru catches it. That freeze—a pink tongue darting to lick your lips, the slight sway of your body before you remember where you are and who you’re supposed to hate. Suguru lets a thin, self-satisfied smile spread across his face.
“You sure about that?”
“Yep! So sure, actually,” you say it a little too quick to be natural, looking to Shōko as you ask, “So, that’s it? I’m all good?”
Shōko turns around with an orange bottle of pills and drops them into your palm with a rattle.
“Pretty much. Take two of these every twelve hours or so. You’ll know they’re wearing off when you feel it.”
You nod, pocket the medicine, and slowly stand, taking your crutches by the hilt. Shōko returns to her makeshift desk, and Suguru follows your hobbling self out the entrance in silence, because you love biting the hand that feeds you. (Especially if it’s his hand.)
But there’s still something vaguely flustered in your aura. With a smile, he can’t help himself, “Need a hand?”
You scowl, sharp and bitter, and definitely not as cutting as before. “Shut up.”
“Mm,” Suguru nods, and revels in the way the crisp morning sun bounces off your skin. He may have a problem. “That’s not what you said last night.”
That earns him a crutch to the leg, but Suguru just laughs and laughs, because he’s feeling stupidly elated. He hasn’t even killed anybody today, he just feels great.
And, if his heart palpitates as he watches you hobble towards the dining tent, it’s because he had too much coffee this morning. Obviously.
it's not cheating if you're just dry humping your bf's best friend, right…? (until he's putting quite a bit more than just the tip in you)
warnings: smut - mdni, cheating (everyone in this fic is a scumbag), reader and suguru being kinda slimy, grinding/humping, clit play, multiple orgasms (for you bbygirlsssss), rough sex, degradation
you've been dating satoru gojo for a year.
you met him while out with friends, his friendly charm immediately catching your attention. you rushed things faster than you'd like to admit, but who could blame you?
he treats you like a princess.
anything you want, or even happen to look twice at? it's yours. if you have any complaints or wishes, he'll be there to do what he can.
it's not like he's ever really treated you poorly or anything, but…
you met suguru after committing to satoru. and you'll never say it aloud, but you've been attracted to him since day one. it's bad.
you find yourself staring at him when you're in satoru's arms, when you're alone in the mornings and he's already up and offers to make you breakfast.
anytime you can, really.
the worst of it was when summer came around, going to swim with the two older men and having to fight absolute demons not to gawk at the pure, unadulterated beauty of suguru geto.
you've had some… shameful moments of this attraction.
you remember being drunk as fuck one night with satoru and while he went down on you, you'd imagined it being suguru the entire time. until you went for the hair, and realized it wasn't who you were truly craving.
and the worst part of it is how kind suguru is to you.
genuinely friendly, caring, and makes sure that you're happy too.
you know he's only doing it because you're dating his best friend, but there's a small, delusional part of you that wishes he'd just… do something.
you sigh heavily as you open the door to their shared apartment, sliding off your shoes and stilling at how quiet it is inside. "satoru? are you here…?"
nothing.
you creep in slowly, glancing around a couple of times and seeing that the lights are all off. you walk down the hallway towards where the bedrooms are, stilling when you hear a soft groan from behind one of the doors.
"hello?" you call out, fear spiking as you try to figure out where the noise is.
shuffling resounds from behind suguru's door, then a loud creak as he pulls it open. he glances down at you, eyebrows raised at the way you're eyes are completely widened. "hello…? you okay?"
you flush at his stare, glancing away. "um– i'm sorry to bother. i was just wondering where satoru is."
"oh! you just missed him, he said he had errands to run or something. i thought you guys were going out tonight or something?"
you frown, turning back to meet his gaze. "he canceled the date, so i figured i'd stop by and check on him. he said he wasn't feeling well…"
it's his turn to freeze, eyes narrowing as he slowly drags his eyes to the ceiling. "huh. that's… kinda weird."
sighing, you turn around to walk away. "well, thanks. i'm just gonna go home i guess."
a hand suddenly grips your wrist, and you turn to face him with wide eyes.
he suddenly glances down at where he's touching you and flinches, pulling his hand back to himself as if he's been burned by your touch. "i'm sorry. i was just going to let you know that if you wanted to wait for him here, go for it."
you nod slowly, "okay. i probably will. wanna watch tv with me?"
he hesitates for a moment before nodding. "is my room cool?"
you nod slowly, and he pushes the door open more. you walk past him, breath shaky as you stare at his bed and sit down. your back presses into the headboard, eyes on the tv.
he sits down next to you and you inhale sharply, the heat of his knee pressing against yours prominent.
you stare at the sight, swallowing thickly as you lean in the opposite direction to grab the remote.
it almost falls to the floor from your shaky hands grasping at it, your thigh sliding against his as you readjust and turn the tv on without a word.
"what do you wanna watch?"
he shrugs, "whatever you want."
you hand him the remote instead, keeping your gaze locked onto the screen instead of where his leg continues to brush against yours.
he puts on some random youtube video about history, and you pretend to pay attention. your mind has other plans, none of which are even relevant to any youtube videos.
after a few minutes, you assume it's safe and glance at suguru. your breath catches in your throat, his eyes are already on yours and immediately shoot away.
he keeps fixated on the tv, but knows exactly what you're doing.
the way your gaze flickers down his face, then down his torso, and then down to where his thigh presses against yours.
you're in his bed right now. the door's closed, and it's just the two of you in his own isolated, dimly lit bedroom.
no words are spoken.
but there's a sick, twisted syrup-thick tension that fills the room. it's almost uncomfortable, and you push your thigh against his a bit harder. not enough to be obvious, but judging by the way his breath hitches? it is to him.
…fuck it.
a few more minutes go by, your leg hitting his again. you pretend to be completely engrossed in the video, even nodding along to the random facts.
when you slowly slide against him again, his heavy hand grips onto your inner thigh enough to where it aches through your thin shorts. you glance over at him, a small smirk forming as you stare up at him through your lashes.
he turns his head to look at you, his dark eyes heavy, blown-wide, and sharp with an unspoken warning.
the look of a man who knows exactly what game you're playing, but still won't stop you from doing it.
his gaze drops straight to your lips before dragging back up to your eyes, jaw tightening so hard a muscle ticks. his fingers are hot against your skin as he pushes your leg away.
"you're sitting pretty close," he murmurs, clearing his throat and trying to pull his good guy facade you've grown used to.
your head tilts, the tiny bit of resolve, the urge to be a good person, evaporating into the air. it's ugly, desperate tension that only he can relieve.
"is that a problem?" you murmur, your voice dropping an octave in the quiet room.
his chest rises and falls quicker, eyes growing darker and unfriendlier by the minute. you can't tell if you're terrified of his gaze, or absolutely turned on by the fake disgust that twists onto his features.
he doesn't reply, and you take that as an invite.
you're quick to adjust yourself, hands sliding against his hard chest as you swing your leg over his. you stare at him, thighs on either side of his as you straddle him.
his hands reach out before he can stop himself, settling heavily on your hips as his eyes widen. "get off– stop this right now."
you smirk, the prominent bulge in his pants pressed right against your core. you slide your hips slowly, feeling his grip tighten as he glares down at you.
"make me." you whisper.
you whimper when he pulls you down against him hard, his fingers bruising your hips as he forces you to grind down against him again. he lets out a groan through his teeth, sucking in a deep breath.
his hands slide to your waist, his mean grip not once letting up as he forces your hips down against his. "you're fucking disgusting."
you giggle, thighs twitching as you force your hips to move harder against his. "oh yeah? you're the one holding me here too, suguru."
he growls, shoving you away from him. his big hands roughly pull the fabric of your shorts down, practically tearing them down your legs until you slide them off all the way.
your hands slide to the hem of your thin lavender panties, "do not take them off." suguru's stern voice cuts through the quiet.
you still, glancing at him and seeing the way he's tugged his pants down just enough for his boxers to be revealed.
there's a thick bulge that's straining against the fabric, twitching under the weight of your hungry stare. you make a small noise, climbing back on top of him and grinding down against him with a gasp.
the thin layers of fabric that settle between the two of you are just enough to make your clit throb, hands fisting the fabric of his shirt as you tug him close.
you kiss him hard, a clash of teeth that aches before one of his hands grips the hair on the back of your head to hold you still.
he kisses you back rougher, his other hand rough as he pulls at the fat of your hips to get you moving again. you grind against him again, small moans resounding into the kiss until his tongue swipes against yours.
your toes curl at the feeling, rubbing yourself against his hardened cock through his boxers again and again.
not much time passes by until you feel that familiar rush of arousal, a whine passing your lips when the fabric suddenly grows absolutely soaked between your bodies.
he groans, tearing his lips from yours. "holy shit – you're fucking soaked."
you nod, grinding against him harder. waves upon waves of pleasure climb, sending sparks up your spine.
he moves his hips a bit and your jaw slackens, eyes on his as you chew on your bottom lip. the new angle has the tip of his cock nestling right against your clit now, thighs trembling as you throw your head back and keep that slow rhythm.
"you're so fucking shameless," he breathes out as his hands violently grip your waist, steering your hips into a faster, harsher grind.
he lets out a low laugh when he glances down, "so wet over this that you've completely drenched your panties. how embarrassing."
"shut up," you whine, the friction feeling entirely too good, too sharp against your clit. "please, suguru. stop talking."
he groans, a pathetic, ragged sound that vibrates against your chest as he pins you down by your hips, forcing you against him harder and faster.
the wetness soaking through your panties is only spreading now, making every slick slide effortless and agonizingly loud.
you can feel the heavy straining heat of his dick right beneath you, twitching with every single roll of your pelvis.
for someone who wants to insist that you're the problem, he's just as turned on right now.
but you're too close to cumming to even care to think about that, eyes tearfully staring up into his while your back arches and your eyes roll back. "ohmygod– fuck! i'm gonna-"
you whine out, hips sputtering against his pathetically as you cum hard.
his hands grip your hips and pull you through your high, grinding you against his cock until he's letting out a shaky breath. "you get enough? we need to stop."
you glance back up to him, breath hitching as your hips slowly sway against him again. "suguru…"
his brows furrow, "what?"
you press your weight down on him harder, bottom lip jutting out. "please… can you put it in me? just the tip?"
his jaw clenches, but his hand slides underneath the fabric of your shirt and caresses your waist. "no."
"c'mon. please? i promise– i promise i won't put anymore in. but fuck, please, i need it so bad. i need your dick." you whine, his hands sliding to your ass as you roll your hips down desperately.
he groans, "god fucking damn it."
he pushes your hips away, eyes refusing to meet yours as he pulls the waistband of his boxers down just enough for his cock to bounce out.
you swallow loudly at the sight of his pretty dick, licking your lips at the way it's soaked in your own wetness as well as leaking at the tip with precum.
"just the tip." he repeats back to you, fingers sliding against the translucent fabric of your panties as he pulls them aside. his fingers graze your slit and you whimper, staring down at the way he twitches.
you're awestruck when he starts stroking it with his other hand, soft wet sounds resounding as he lines the reddened tip up for you so sink down on.
he uses the hand that's holding your panties open to tap at your thigh, and the tip slips past your lips and right into your aching pussy. it's so thick even just the tip being inside alone, a strangled wail passing your lips.
"oh fuck–" your voice cracks, pussy clamping around the tip repeatedly.
your back arches so hard you practically fold in half over his chest, thighs trembling so much you're afraid to fall over. but his hands anchor you in place.
you're not sure you can handle just the tip alone, eyes tearing up as you stare into his eyes.
he struggles to breathe, to move, to do anything other than breathe loudly and gape at you. "i can't…" he murmurs, a strangled sound tearing from his throat before he suddenly grips your hips and forces you down onto his entire cock.
you let out a silent scream, his lips slamming against yours again as you feel his balls pressing against your ass.
you're throbbing around him, the sudden intrusion causing your whole body to stiffen up, fingernails digging into his biceps while his tongue grazes yours.
neither of you dare to even move at this point, the realization that this is beyond going too far hitting both of you at the same time.
but his tongue still slowly drags against yours, until your hips twitch and both of your composure suddenly snaps again. you've already gone this far… might as well finish too.
you slowly grind against his hips, the tip of his cock hitting that spot in you that makes your toes curl violently. you whine against his lips, moving faster.
his big hands slide down to the curve of your ass, holding you still before he starts pounding up into you. you let out a choked sob, steady claps echoing off of the walls.
"such a tight pussy, shit." he grunts, keeping a steady pace that feels unreal.
it’s silent in the room save for the wet, heavy sounds of your bodies moving together, the frantic friction pushing you both straight toward the edge.
he’s holding you by the waist, each upward thrust of his hips knocking the breath right out of your lungs.
you're clutching him tight, fingernails biting into his skin as you ride out the high of being fucked by the man you've been craving.
a loud vibration starts resounding from the wooden nightstand, both of you freezing as he glances in the direction of his phone screen lit up. your breath stops when you see the contact.
satoru.
he stares at it, eyes widened in fear – or maybe shock – you don't know.
"no, please don't answer it…" you whimper, frown etching onto your face.
he glances at you like you're crazy. "if i don't, he's going to be suspicious. i always pick up. you– you know that."
before you can say anything else, his thumb swipes across the screen. he hits speaker and drops it back down on the nightstand, his large hand instantly coming up to clamp hard over your mouth to muffle any noises.
"hey suguru."
his voice is strained, a tone that makes your chest tighten and eyes widen.
shit.
did he somehow find out about you guys…? but he'd be mad, not upset.
your hips twitch against suguru's, pussy clamping out of anxiety when you feel his tip rub deeeeeep inside of you.
he sucks in a strained breath, his free hand gripping onto your waist to keep you still. "what's up, satoru? everything okay?"
he forces his hips down, pressing the thick length of his cock deep inside you just to punish you for moving. a muffled whine slips past his hand over your mouth.
"i fucked up," satoru groans through the phone line, the casual, bright cadence you're so used to completely stripped away. "i really fucked up, man. i cheated."
you still completely, hips dropping their dead weight against suguru as you stare at him. your whole face falls, time moving in slow motion as you glance over at the phone.
you're both blankly staring at one another, but his face twists into disgust. anger. genuine madness that you've never seen before.
it makes your stomach churn, eyes wide as he looks away from you. "are you fucking kidding me? you what?"
"i know. i'm so stupid. i don't even know why… it was that girl from the bar. the one you rejected."
he makes a small noise, thrusting up into you as he stares daggers into the screen. "so you fucked some random woman, knowing you have someone waiting up on you? canceled your date for scraps?"
satoru lets out a quiet cough, "...i did. i don't know what came over me. i-i gave her my phone number last week. i wish i didn't. she's gonna– fuck. i'm so fucked."
you gasp when suguru's hand lifts from your mouth, guiding you by your ass up and down his cock until you're chewing on your lip not to cry out.
suguru clears his throat, eyes on yours as he slowly smirks. "y'know, satoru. that's really fucked up. she's here right now."
your eyes widen, a loud noise coming from the phone. "what?! you're joking. she didn't- did she hear this?"
"luckily, no. she was watching tv in my room, but had to use the restroom just as you called. you fucking asshole. you said you were sick?"
he groans, "i did… she's gonna know."
you whine aloud when suguru starts bouncing you on his cock, nails digging into his skin as your face contorts in pleasure.
"what was that?" satoru asks.
"the door, i think she's coming back now. don't come home yet, i'll talk to her. i'm very disappointed in you." he's quick to reach out for the phone, picking it up.
"wait! don't tell her what happened, please–" the call ends with a beep.
before you can even form a thought, or let the tears that brim your eyes come out, he's flipping you over on the bed without a second to spare.
he's on top of you now, his eyes boring into yours as he starts fucking into you at a downright brutal pace.
you cry out, eyes rolling back at the feeling of the new angle.
"and to think i almost felt guilty for this." he mutters, gripping onto the underside of your thighs to slide your hips higher.
he's so deep in you that it aches, the tip kissing your cervix.
the bed frame rattles against the wall with every brutal thrust, the rhythmic slap of skin on skin drowning out whatever sanity is left in the room.
suguru's face is dark, completely shed of any lingering hesitation or guilt. he looks feral, eyes locked onto yours while his hips move like he's trying to fuck you into the mattress.
"p-please…" you cry out, the sudden wave of another orgasm hitting you when his pelvis slams against your clit over and over again.
one of his hands messily slides down, rubbing frantic circles against your little nub until your back arches up and you cum around his cock.
you moan loud, feeling his thrusts become sloppier at the way your pussy tries to milk him through your own orgasm.
his hand slides to your throat, up your jaw to twist your head to stare up at him through those teary eyes. "i'm going to cum in you."
you clench around him at his words, the way he doesn't ask. he just takes, and orders. you nod your head frantically, breathlessly letting out a strained 'yes' that makes him somehow go faster.
your hands slide up, to his hair, and the disgusting satisfaction that comes from finally not just imagining this being him makes your stomach twist.
his movements grow sporadic, rhythm crashing as he suddenly stills.
you moan as you feel every last bit spill into you, the way his cock twitches against your walls as he groans and kisses you deeply while he drowns your pussy in cum.
silence engulfs you, aside from that youtube video from earlier, and that's when reality just settles in.
"fuck, i can't believe he cheated on me…" you whimper, tears finally beginning to spill as his cock softens in you. "i can't believe i'm not any better."
his hand slides to your jaw, glaring down at you. "he cheated first."
"not really."
"if he got her number last week, what was he doing all week? flirting. sexting. he used his phone to cheat."
you frown, nodding slowly. "you're right… but still. what are we gonna do?"
he pulls out of you and lies down beside you. one arm wraps around your waist, pulling you close to him. "pretend like you're more upset about it than you are, and in like a week or two we tell him we're seeing each other."
"...that's fucked up."
"if i had my way, i'd go fuck you on the couch until he came home just to see the look on his face."
𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚： ♡ friendships can be hard, especially when the lines are so blurry you can't tell where the both of you stand. so what do you do when you catch feelings on top of all that?
cw ⤷ 𖥻 . ˖ ꒰ 𝒎𝒅𝒏𝒊 ꒱ . smut . pwp . swearing . making out . annoying drunk stranger . fingering . dirty talk . marking . titty worship . piv . clit slapping . c pie . geto fucks mean . geto is a TEASE . multiple o's . overstim . f!reader . s/her prns . no use of y/n ♯ 11.9k
Being friends with Geto Suguru isn’t hard… in theory but in practice it’s one of the most difficult things you’ve ever had to do. It’s especially difficult because he does things for you that feel like they’re pushing the boundaries of a normal friendship without actually doing anything weird.
Things like his insistence on bringing things for you when you’re feeling down, showing you extra care in how he talks to you, hanging out with you and having frequent movie nights, being attentive to your needs. While those things are innocuous in theory, it’s the way he treats you, talks to you and how it makes you feel that has your friendship feeling like it’s on a precarious ledge. Caught between pulling back or pushing over.
Sighing, your foot kicks at his sitting form. “Don’t you have something better to do tonight?”
“Like what?” His eyebrow raises at you, eyeing your lazy form that’s all spread out comfortably on your couch.
You’d maybe feel bad for taking up the whole couch if you weren’t so comfortable. “I don’t know, like a date? Hanging with friends? Going out on the town or whatever youths do.”
“Firstly, I’m older than you—”
Interjecting to add, “—Not by much!”
He only rolls his eyes, ignoring your interruption all together. “To your other points, I’m not interested in dating, and I am hanging out with a friend.”
Sighing louder than last time, foot pushing him enough to sway him. “Aren’t you bored of me?”
“No?” His brows pinch together in confusion. “Should I be?” Hand grabbing your foot to stop it from kicking at him.
You pout, trying to pull yourself free of his grip. “I don’t know…”
“Don’t say stupid things,” he huffs, amused by your struggle. “I could ask you the same thing you know.”
“I like hanging out with you,” you grumble at him.
“Yeah, well, I feel the same.” Finally letting go of your foot.
You’re feeling restless, he’s your friend, you know he’s your friend, and yet you can’t help hoping that your friendship is just a little bit more special. You groan and kick at him with both your feet.
“Woah, hey!” Both his hands grab at your ankles, pinning them down into the couch. “What’s wrong with you tonight?”
“I’m annoyed.”
“I’ve taken notice.” He’s trapping you with a pointed look, waiting for more of an explanation from you.
If you had an explanation, you’d freely give it to him but as of right now, you aren’t even sure if you’re aware of what you’re feeling enough to verbalise it to him. You deflate, looking back at him sheepishly. “I know you want to know what’s wrong, but I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? Or you don’t want me to know?”
Pushing yourself up, you cock your head at him. “The result is the same despite my answer, no?”
“No,” his is tone resolute. “I could help.”
You deliver a very plain, “You can’t.” He’s the cause of your confusion, talking to him could make it all so much worse and you don’t really want to deal with the fallout of all that.
“Woah, awful dismissive of me, I might be able to easily fix what’s wrong.”
Turning so you’re facing the screen, you try to focus on the films plot. “You can fix what’s wrong right now by being quiet and watching the movie.”
“I was watching the movie, you distracted me.” He pokes lightly at your shoulder.
Shushing at him quickly, “Shut, I’m trying to listen.”
He doesn’t say anything more, just goes back to watching the movie in silence, probably following the plot better than you are because you’re sat closer to him like this and can’t help but sneak glances at him.
It’s not fair, he looks pretty like this. Face illuminated by the soft glow of the television, seemingly entranced by the movie playing. While gazing over his features, you find yourself constantly looking back at his lips, heart stuttering in your chest. You wonder how kissing him would feel like, would it help, wait.
Prying your eyes off him, you desperately hope to be shown some kind of mercy. You shouldn’t want to kiss him, you shouldn’t be thinking about kissing him. You need to get a hold of yourself.
Predictably, you are not shown any kind of mercy and all you can manage to think about is him. How soft his lips might be, how he would kiss you, would he be tentative… or would he kiss you like he’s done it a million times before.
Not even realising you’re staring at him again until he sighs and locks his eyes onto yours. “Are you aware you’re staring at me?”
Trying to play it cool by answering, “I wasn’t staring.”
“Are you alright?” He’s growing a little concerned by your unusual behaviour tonight.
“I’m fine! Good even, just… have some things on my mind.” You feel guilty.
“And just what exactly are these things you’re thinking about?”
Your skin flares at his question, feeling embarrassed by your own thoughts. “Nothing! General thoughts… you know…”
“Right…” He’s clearly sceptical, not believing your flimsy answers for even a second. “Have I done something to upset you?”
He’s too much for you right now, you try answering confidently but fail miserably. “No?”
Moving so his body is facing you, he gets into your space, worried by your answer. “Why don’t you sound sure?”
“Why are you asking me so many questions tonight?” You avoid his gaze, flustered by him suddenly being so close to you. Still thinking about his lips on yours, in the back of your head thinking about his hands on your body.
“You’re being weird, I’m just concerned.” His hand reaches for your face. “Do you have a fever or something?” His knuckles rest on your cheek, gauging your temperature.
“Seriously, I’m fine.” You’re fumbling more than you want to, eyes rounded and shocked looking into his.
It feels like you grow warmer the longer his hand stays on your face, it’s becoming difficult to think. If you had a good reason, you would kick him out right now but you’re already concerning him and you’re trying so hard to be normal. This night is taking a very unfortunate turn.
His face twists, concern written all over it. “You feel a little warm, are you sure you’re okay?” Hand slipping from your cheek, moving to rest against the back of the couch.
Trying to keep your answers short, you give a simple, “I’m sure.”
Geto doesn’t know where to go from here, his silence is evidence of that. You don’t blame him though because you’re not really sure where to go from here either, the thoughts of his lips on yours linger in your mind and you feel as if you could die.
“I just…” He looks to you when you start talking, ready to hear whatever it is you have to say, “I was just thinking – and don’t make this weird – but I was thinking about… how you would kiss me…” your words trail off slightly, growing quieter and quieter with each word.
His eyes widen slightly in response before he switches back to his neutral expression. “I—”
“—I don’t wanna know, don’t talk actually,” you cut him off abruptly. Too embarrassed to dissect this any further and certainly not willing to have a conversation with him about it, already regretting having admitted to thinking it.
He questions you, clearly caught between being entertained and somewhat concerned, “I’m not allowed to comment?”
“No.”
“Even though you’ve been thinking about how I would—”
Hurriedly moving your hand to cover his mouth, hissing out, “Shush!”
You’re closer like this, the proximity flustering you, the silence awkward. Suguru glares at you from under your hand. He has something to say and is showing clear disdain for your repeated interruptions.
His larger hand reaches up and wraps around your wrist, trying to gently pry your hand away but you hold steady. Growing frustrated with this little tug of war game you have going on, he uses more force to pull your hand down, grabbing your other hand as well. Restraining them both in your lap to keep you still.
Exasperated when he asks, “Don’t you think you’re overreacting slightly?”
“No.” You tug back on his grip but get nowhere.
“Why are you annoyed at me over this? They’re your thoughts,” he reminds.
You’re irritated with how right he is; it’s not his fault you’re thinking like this. Knowing that doesn’t change the fact that sitting right next to him makes it difficult for you to think of anything other than how soft his lips might be, or if he’ll hold you still while he kisses you, or if—
He barks out a quick laugh, “You wanna kiss me that bad?”
Realising you were staring at his lips again you feel like you might spontaneously combust, struggling against his hold and huffing out, “Shut up, just forget I even said anything.”
He sounds restrained and incredibly serious when he murmurs back, “Might not be able to if you keep looking at me like that.”
“Don’t make this even more embarrassing for me, Suguru! It’s your fault,” you accuse indignantly.
Lips quirking evilly, “Oh? So, you want me to fix it then?”
“You should! Take a little responsibility,” you grumble out at him, all pouty and annoyed.
He leans in closer to press you, “Do you want me to kiss you? Do you think it would help?”
“I don’t know… I mean…” You look to his lips again, gaze getting a little lost as you do. You’re a completely helpless cause.
If Suguru were being honest with you, he’d tell you how much you’re killing him when you look at him like that but he’s stubborn and a tease, so instead he says, “Eyes up here.”
Dragging your eyes back to his and staring daggers, completely pissed at him but mostly yourself for being so obvious again. “Do you think it would help?”
“You’d stop wondering,” he shrugs easily, like this is all so incredibly normal and not uncharted territory for the both of you.
“I don’t want this to make our friendship weird.” Feeling pathetic as you look at him, you’re not even sure if what you have together is as simple as a friendship, it feels like so much more. At least, you’re kind of hoping it is, kissing him could do irreparable damage and you don’t just mean in terms of how you act around one another but specifically how you feel about him.
“I won’t let it,” he assures.
“I’m not worried about you…”
He’s taken aback by your small admission, it’s not clear enough for him to make any real conclusions from it or confront you on anything but he knows it makes his heart beat faster and flusters him slightly. In all his years of casual dating and serious relationships, you’re the only person to have ever made him feel like such a fool.
“It’s up to you then,” he smiles softly.
You aren’t sure if it’s worth the risk but if this is the only chance you’ll get then you don’t know if you want to risk letting it go by either. “I think… yes.”
Playing dumb, he returns, “‘Yes’ what?”
Your tone is lowering again, confident answer short lived when he teases you. “Yes… I want you to kiss me…”
“You’re sure?” He asks but his hands are already moving up your body, one resting against the side of your neck, touch gentle and light.
“I mean… I’m not sure if this is a good idea but I’m sure I want you to kiss me.”
He huffs lightly in disbelief, breath tickling against your lips. “What’s wrong with you tonight?”
“You…” Frown dusting your features as you utter it, eyes already focused back on his lips.
He doesn’t say any more after that, faltering in his movements a bit but ultimately moving in completely and pressing his lips to yours delicately. It’s featherlight, kiss shallow and simple, like he’s holding back. It’s still enough to have your head full, full of thoughts of him, of how soft his lips are, how gentle his kisses are.
Geto pulls back all too soon for your liking, putting some distance between the two of you, head tilting to the side as he looks you over. “Curiosity satisfied.”
“Is that really how you would want to kiss me?”
“What?”
At his question you’re suddenly all too aware of how bold yours was. “I just… It’s nothing, sorry.” Fumbling over yourself, not wanting to hurt his feelings. “It was nice! It was a nice kiss.”
“No, no,” he squints at you, “Go on… say what you want.”
It’s quiet for a moment, your hesitance clear. “…Did you… kiss me how you wanted to?”
“I think if I kissed you how I wanted,” pausing to lean in closer, “You might pass out or something.”
“Oh, come on, you’re not my first kiss or anything,” you roll your eyes at him and his ego, “I was just curious, if that’s really how you’d kiss me then that’s all there is to it, it was a nice kiss.” You shrug at him.
“Why am I starting to feel like I’m being assessed?”
“If you feel that way then that’s on you.” Trying so hard to play it cool, like you can’t tell he was holding back, like you don’t want him to kiss you more. “Do you wanna go back in the movie? Rewind to where we were before?”
As you get up to move off the couch and find the remote, Suguru is pulling you back down to him, one hand gently holding the front of your throat. You don’t get a second to think about all the movements he just made, his lips on yours rushed, like he’s suddenly, incredibly desperate to kiss you.
Barely able to keep up with him, head dizzy from the whiplash, this isn’t at all how he kissed you before. You’re basically panting against him when he does pull back, allowing you the small moment to catch your breath.
His thumb pulls down on your chin lightly. “Open your mouth more.” His eyes are lidded as he looks at you, tone deeper than before.
Obeying him wordlessly and then he’s kissing you again, tongue in your mouth. It’s all messy and rushed and has you losing your mind. Your arms wrap around his neck, and he pulls your body closer to his, hand moving to the back of your head.
When he sucks your tongue into his mouth and licks at you, you can’t stop the moan that leaves you. Swallowed down by Geto in an appreciative manner, his kiss lingers for a while longer, making you dizzy and thoughtless. He pulls back from you, connected by a string of saliva that snaps when he licks at his lower lip.
The look on your face is dumbstruck, eyes big and wet as you gaze up at him in a dazed manner. It makes him feel feral, not able to help the way he leans back in and presses more short, sloppy kisses to your swollen lips.
There’s a pause before you can regain your faculties enough to say anything to him and even then, the only thing you can manage is, “I… uhm…”
“Was that better?” He’s trying to be light-hearted about it, but his lips are swollen as well, and his eyes are lidded, and he looks… “You didn’t pass out did you?” His head lowers so his eyes catch yours.
Your brain feels fuzzy and all you can think about is how you’ve never been kissed like that before, that you want to keep being kissed like that. “What? No… I just… wow.”
“Live up to your expectations?”
“I didn’t really have any, I was only curious…” Smiling big at him, you add, “But yeah, maybe even exceeded them.”
“You aiming to boost my ego, or did I really kiss you stupid?” He can’t help the way he leans in again, just shy of your lips.
Mouth on yours before you get to answer or refute what he’s accused, you don’t stop him though, allowing him to kiss you fully, deeply. One of his hands on the side of your face, holding you. The other grips at your hip, almost tugging you in closer.
Before you lose focus again, you part to gasp out, “I don’t know if—” Interrupted by his lips on yours, tangling your hand into his hair to pull him back, he groans at the force of the tug. “Suguru, I don’t think it’s a good idea to keep—”
“—Just another kiss, one more…” breathless when he talks, mouth hot on yours, tongue already in your mouth.
It’s almost too much, he’s so insistent. Kissing you like he might never get to again, like he’s trying to get the most out of this. He might actually have you passing out, it’s not even as if you really want him to stop but that’s part of the problem, isn’t it?
Pulling back, he sucks on your lower lip before nipping at it. The whimper he pulls from you is embarrassing and weak and you’re facing an internal conflict of so many emotions right now, but mostly you’re struck by how badly you want to sleep with him.
You hadn’t realised his hand had snuck under your shirt, warm and large against your side, sending a shiver down your spine. The breathlessness you’re hit with has your skin feeling hot as you try to stumble out your words, “I, uh, think we should stop… here.”
“Why? Am I not a good kisser? Are you not enjoying yourself?” A smile creeps onto his face. “You sounded like you were enjoying yourself.”
“Don’t.” Your head tucks down and onto his chest, forehead resting against him. “Please don’t embarrass me.”
He wraps his arms around your body, embracing you. “Can’t help it.”
You stay like this for probably longer than you should, enjoying the moment too much for someone who’s about to go back to being just his friend.
Geto breaks the silence first, speaking into the top of your head, “Is your curiosity satisfied or are you going to start kicking me again?”
“I can’t promise I’ll never kick you again but yeah… I’m satisfied.”
He laughs against you, “Alright, well, if you’re ever curious again… you know where to find me.”
It’s been about a week since you crossed a line you probably shouldn’t have in your friendship with Suguru, and like the incredibly brave individual you are… you have been ignoring him.
Not on purpose though, you intend on replying to all his messages… but then you get nervous and freak yourself out and stop short of sending anything back. From his messages, you can tell he’s getting increasingly more worried… or maybe frustrated… you’re not sure, there is only so much you can infer over text.
Maybe you should reply, looking at his last message that reads, ‘seriously? answer me. today.’ Oh yeah… he’s annoyed, you have no idea how to reply to him, maybe something simple? Or maybe a long paragraph overexplaining yourself… or maybe—
Your phone screen changes to Shoko’s caller ID, saved by the metaphorical bell. “Hey! What’s up?”
She sounds a bit short when she answers you, “Are you coming tonight?”
“Tonight…” You trail off, completely blanking on what the hell she’s talking about.
Her reply coming incredibly deadpan and disappointed, “You forgot.”
“No noo, I would never forget about…” The rest of your sentence dropping off, silence falling over the line.
She fills in the gaps for you, “The stupid party that’s being thrown by our stupid friends to celebrate the stupid event that is a boring, normal, Friday night.”
She already sounds over it and you’re pretty sure she would’ve only just got there. “Okay, well… I now feel significantly better about the fact that I actually had forgotten what tonight was.”
“Yeah, well I wish I had forgotten too because this is boring without you.”
“Didn’t you only just get there?”
“I feel like that’s beside the point.” You can feel her eyeroll through the phone. “So, when are you getting here?”
Sighing as you ask, “Do I really have to come?”
Not missing a single beat when she shoots back, “I’m here which means yes, you do.”
You go quiet for a moment, “…Will Suguru be there?”
“You’re more likely to know than me,” she sounds confused, “Listen, I don’t know what happened but surely you don’t think you can avoid him forever.”
“Not forever… just tonight.” You really don’t feel like running into him in person, not when you can barely get your head on straight long enough to message him back.
“I haven’t seen him, and he didn’t sound all that interested when this was first planned so I doubt he will show up.”
“You’re not just lying to get me there, are you?”
“Of course not.” It’s always been hard to tell when she’s joking but you’re pretty sure Suguru isn’t there. If you had been replying to him, you probably would’ve ended up hanging out together tonight just to avoid that pointless party.
Deciding to take the risk, you acquiesce. “Alright, I’ll be there soon, just give me a bit to put on something that isn’t pyjamas.”
Getting out of the apartment will be good for you, that and you’ll have the chance to catch up with Shoko, it’s been a while since you last hung out.
“Just come in your pyjamas.”
“Okay, now you’re being unreasonable,” you chuckle.
She groans through the phone, “Gojo and I just made eye contact, that’s like asking to be trapped in a conversation for at least an hour.”
You smile at her and her exaggeration. “That’s really funny, tell him I said hi.”
“Don’t hang up on me—”
The line goes dead as you hang up on her.
Nearly an hour has passed by the time you get to the party, but when you make eye contact with Shoko across the room – still stuck in conversation with Gojo – it looks like a century has passed for her.
Walking up to them both, you grab Gojo by the sides of his arms and shake him, making a loud noise to scare him as you do. He just about dies then and there, head whipping around to see it’s just you and gripping a hand over his chest.
He’s a little breathless when he scolds you, “You scared the fuck outta me, what the hell?”
“I thought it would be funny.” You smile bright at him, out the corner of your eye seeing Shoko fighting a smile and hiding it behind her drink.
“It wasn’t,” he half pouts.
“It kinda was,” Shoko interjects.
He just continues to pout over how badly you got him.
“Hi Satoru,” you chirp at him, trying to be as sweet as possible for scaring the living daylights out of him.
“Yes, hello,” he fights a smile when greeting you back, and then his face twists as if suddenly remembering something. “Hey! What happened with you and Suguru?”
Taken aback by his abruptness. “What?”
He’s staring at you intently, seemingly desperate to know your business. “I know something happened, you gotta tell me what.”
Honestly, you would’ve thought Geto would’ve told him by now, seeing as how they’re sort of attached at the hip. “He hasn’t told you?”
“He’s insistent that nothing is wrong.”
“Then nothing’s wrong.”
“I know something is wrong and I also know you’re dodging him because he made me text you to see if you’d reply and you replied within the same minute,” he squints at you accusatorily.
Arms crossing over your chest as you size him up. “You sent me a photo of the cat that hangs out in your neighbourhood as bait? That’s messed up Satoru.”
“I was investigating,” he defends.
“No, you were being nosy, just like you are now.” Something occurs to you very suddenly, “Wait, if you’re here… and I’m here… where is Suguru?”
“Here, obviously,” he shrugs.
Turning, you glare at Shoko who raises her hands in defence. “Don’t look at me like that, I didn’t lie, I really haven’t seen him. I’ve been trapped in conversation with this idiot the whole time.”
“Trapped? That’s so mean Shoko,” Gojo plays up his hurt, sulking and giving her the saddest eyes he can muster. It unsurprisingly has no effect on her.
He’s here somewhere, you need to leave before he sees you. You’re so annoyed at yourself for not connecting that Satoru being here obviously meant Suguru was going to be here too, especially since he wasn’t with you.
Spinning, you go for the front door you came through not that long ago. Managing to get it open a crack before a hand above your head closes it. Turning around, you come face to face with Suguru, a very annoyed Suguru. Polite smile painted on his face but his eyebrow twitches slightly.
His weight is supported by his hand on the door as he leans down to you. “And where are you going?”
“I was just gonna… head home… get an early night?” Looking away from him as you lie poorly, not able to look at him without thinking about how he kissed you.
He points out, “You just got here though.”
“Yeah, it’s just… not my scene…” In your defence, not a complete lie.
“Really? Because it feels like you’re avoiding me.” He leans down further to catch your eyes with his, sick of you avoiding eye contact.
You’re only able to look at him incrementally, eyes flicking from his, to the wall behind him. “No there’s no reason for me to be avoiding you, I don’t know why you would think that.”
“Oh good! That means you can stay then.” Face scrunching with his—now—less than polite smile. Clearly growing frustrated with how you’re refusing to communicate with him properly.
You have no excuses to give, nothing good or even remotely believable anyways. “I uhh—”
Cutting you off to give an ultimatum, “—Either we’re leaving and talking like adults or you’re staying right here and suffering through this whole night with me right by your side.”
His choice in wording disgruntles you, locking eyes to say, “It doesn’t cause me suffering to be beside you, Suguru.” You want to make at least that much clear.
He gives you a tight-lipped smile. “Good. Then you won’t mind me not leaving your side.”
Weighing your options, you don’t know what would be better right now. On the one hand you’d get to leave but then you’d have to tell him about how much you’re affected by the line you crossed, about how you’re developing feelings for him that you shouldn’t have indulged in. On the other, you stay but he lingers around you all night and you’re left haunted by all the things you want to say but can’t quite bring yourself to.
“Let’s go back to everyone then,” you smile back at him.
His face drops. “You don’t wanna talk about it that bad?”
“Suguru, you’re looking for answers I don’t even know if I can give you.”
He relents and takes a step back from you, “Fine. But just so you know, you can’t get rid of me that easily.” Waiting for you to want to talk first seems to be his main goal but you can see just how impatient he’s getting.
You ignore his comment and walk past him back to Gojo and Shoko in the other room, they’re both exactly where you left them. It’s awkward, for you anyways. You don’t know about them or everyone else here, but you feel awkward.
It carries on for the whole night; it’s been a couple hours now and Suguru is still just following you around wordlessly. Only speaking to others when spoken too, engaging in some conversation, only to cut it short when you move on.
This really isn’t fun for you, normally not even bothering to come to house parties like this and only doing this as a favour to Shoko but she’s gone home now, and you’re left here with just Geto. You’d leave too, but you have a feeling he’s going to follow you home, or at the very least make you talk to him before you try leaving and you’re just… so not in the mood.
Sighing softly to yourself as you walk into the kitchen, somehow managing to shake your tail, for now. Taking the small reprieve as a chance to breathe and think, which is cut short when some stranger starts a conversation with you.
“Hi! You’re really hot, do you want a drink? I can make you a drink. I’ve never seen you here before and trust me– I’d remember you.” He’s slurring his words slightly, “So, drink? You wan– I can get you a—”
He’s really forward, and drunk, it’s making you uncomfortable, especially since you’re far too sober and far too annoyed to have to deal with drunk men. “—I’m good, thank you, I’m not drinking.”
“Oh, come on! Jus one drink, it’ll loosen you up.” He moves in to elbow your shoulder lightly. “You’re too hot to be– to be such a downer, maybe a smile would help.”
Completely unamused and slowly shuffling back away from him. “I think I’d prefer you just leave me alone; I’m not interested.”
“Don– don’t be like that,” he sulks at you.
Your back collides with someone’s front and looking up you can see it’s your missing stalker of the night. As annoyed at Suguru as you are, you are endlessly thankful for his timing, physically feeling yourself relax now that he’s here.
Geto glares down at the pushy guy. “She’s not interested.”
“Oh man, I didn’t know she had– had a boyfriend, you know you should keep an eye on her,” the drunk idiot leers at you, “She’s kind of a tease, leading me on,” he shrugs.
Your face grimaces at his words and the way he eyes you, feeling incredibly uncomfortable. Suguru moves in front of you, shielding you from him, his lip twitches at this guy’s words. “Excuse me?”
“No, well… I jus mean she didn’t tell me—”
“—She said she wasn’t interested, that was enough,” Geto’s tone is growing more irritated by the moment.
“Suguru, let’s just go, it’s fine.” You tug on the hem of his jacket, not really wanting to have to deal with the fallout of whatever may happen if this idiot keeps unwittingly provoking Geto. He tries his best, but he has a breaking point, and he tends to hit it pretty quick when you’re involved.
He glances back at you. “It’s not fine.”
“Okay, it’s not but I kinda can’t stand this guy, and this party sucks and I’m annoyed, and I don’t wanna be here anymore.” You feel a little pathetic for whinging but you’re so drained and this guy was your breaking point.
All his attention drops from that guy to you, his hands coming up to either side of your face, taking in how tired you look. Thumbs stroking high on your cheekbones, “Alright, let’s leave.”
Relief in your bones at the fact you’re about to be gone from here, “Thank you.”
From behind Suguru you can see the drunk take the opportunity to slip away, apparently smart enough to use this distraction to his advantage. If Geto notices, he doesn’t say anything, clearly done with him, all attention on you now.
He hums at you, asking, “How’d you get here?”
Your eyes flick back to his. “I didn’t drive, if that’s what you’re asking.” You took an uber, you thought you’d either catch a ride with Shoko, or you’d take another uber home.
“You’re riding with me then.” His large hand takes yours. “Come on.” Then tugging you through the house behind him.
The car ride has been quiet, you can feel your head drooping and your eyes closing, very nearly falling asleep. That is until, you notice Geto isn’t taking you to your house, instead heading towards his.
Turning to face him, you ask, “Why are we going back to yours?”
Without turning to look at you, he replies, “Because you’ve been avoiding me, so I am now forcing you to spend time with me.”
He’s decidedly not funny. Sighing as you try to chide him, “Suguru—”
Finally glancing your way only to speak over you, “—Don’t ‘Suguru’ me, my place is closer and you’re tired, if you weren’t being so weird around me ever since I k—”
“—Shhh, be quiet.” Your cheeks suddenly feel warm at the memory of how insistent his kisses were.
“All I’m saying is, if you weren’t being so weird around me, you’d come back to mine tonight anyways.”
It’s frustrating to you that he’s right, you normally would just go back to his and crash in his bed next to him and then you’d make him breakfast the next morning to make up for the fact that you’d taken up his whole bed.
The only thing you can think to say is a flat, “…Fine.” Crossing your arms and looking out the car window the rest of the short drive.
Back at his apartment, he lends you some clothes to sleep in. It’s all incredibly intimate, showering in his bathroom, using the spare toothbrush you keep here, wearing his clothes. Has your friendship always been this intimate or are you just looking at it in a new light.
Leaving his bathroom, you find him in his room. Getting his bed ready for you to sleep in, you stand awkwardly at the foot of it. “I’ll just sleep on your couch.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, you always sleep in the bed with me.”
“Yeah but…” Your brows settle into a deep frown. “Do you not feel weird?”
He drops the blanket back onto the bed, exasperation with you clear. “I said to you, I wouldn’t let it affect our friendship, and that’s what I’m doing.” Turning to look at you before adding, “You’re the one making it weird.”
“I know that…” You also know that you were the one who said you weren’t worried about him.
His arms are crossed as he looks you over. “I’m gonna shower now, you don’t have to sleep in the bed, but I think you should, you know firsthand how awful that couch is.”
“Go have your shower.” You shoo him out of the room, standing in the middle of it, alone, considering what you should do.
The couch really is atrocious; it’s part of the reason why you started sleeping in his bed when you visited. He always says he’ll get a nicer couch or a blow-up mattress for you, but he never does, and you always end up in his bed anyways.
Deciding you’re too drained to think any harder about all of this, you crawl into his bed and make yourself comfortable. Everything is so frustrating to you right now, have you always felt this confused about your friendship or were the lines blurred for so long that you’re having trouble understanding where you both stand.
The irony of the situation is annoying and almost laughable because if it were about anyone else, you’d be hitting up Suguru and asking for his advice on it all.
When he comes back into the room, he shuffles around a bit before turning off the lights and getting into bed beside you. You’re lying on your side with your back to him, pretending to already be asleep.
His voice cuts through the quiet of the room, “I miss you.”
Your reaction to it is almost visceral, how are you meant to reply to that. It doesn’t help you feel better at all, only leaving you longing for something you don’t know if you’re allowed to claim. Your friendship has always been on a precarious ledge but it’s only now that you let yourself acknowledge the disgusting depth of your feelings for him.
You mumble into the pillow, “I’m right here.”
“Then why do you feel so far away?”
Readjusting, you rotate so you’re facing him, not completely prepared for him to already be facing you. Propped up on his elbow, closer than your poor heart was ready for. You lower your head, so you don’t have to look at his face. “I wasn’t purposefully ignoring you, I really did want to reply.”
He pushes, “So why didn’t you?”
“I didn’t know what to say…”
“What can I do to help?” He lowers himself down to your level, head on his bicep.
You still avoid his gaze. “Nothing, you can’t do anything.”
“You’re being—”
“—You are the problem, Suguru, there is nothing you can do to help but get out of my head.” You meet his eyes, frown prominent on your face. “You and your stupid kiss, you made it all a thousand times worse for me.”
“Making out with me was so life changing that you can’t get it out of your head, and you’re annoyed at me for that? You’re the one who wanted to know what it was like.” He’s trying to keep his tone light-hearted but he’s struggling, seemingly growing more irritated by it all.
You grumble at him, discontent, “You don’t need to point out the obvious, stupid.”
A noise of disagreement comes from him, “Well, I feel like I kinda do, since you’re overreacting.”
“I am not overreacting.”
“You are though.”
“No because it’s not just…” you stop short, “…Whatever, I’m going to sleep so be quiet.” He smiles at you like you’re completely endearing, which only frustrates you further.
“The only reason you would be this annoyed is because you want to kiss me again, or more…” His hand reaches for your chin and tilts your head up towards him. “You tell me, are you still curious?”
“Shut up,” you huff out, going to move away only for his hand to slide to your cheek, holding you still.
“You haven’t asked me, you know.”
“What?”
“What if I want to kiss you again? What if I want to do more?” His forehead rests against yours. “You’ve been so caught up in your own head, acting like an idiot over this, that you’ve not even asked yourself about what I want.”
“I am not an idiot.”
“No, but you’ve certainly been acting like one.” His hand slides from your face, down the side of your body, landing on your hip. “At first I thought it was cute, the curiosity, the unawareness.” His hand tugs you in closer to him, body against yours. “But now… now I’m growing impatient.”
Your head feels fuzzy, all pressed up against him and that seems to be the only thing your brain is processing right now. “I’m confused.”
“It’s really quite simple.” He moves in, lips ghosting against yours.
You want so badly to kiss him, breath catching in your chest at the way his lips tickle against yours. Your attention solely on the way he might kiss you.
“You like me, and while it’s endearing to watch you fumble your way through the realisation, it’s killing me to know you’re all caught up on how I kissed you and I can’t even get in contact with you.”
“What? What?” Your brain takes a second to catch up. “I do not– you can’t know– just– what?”
“I can know, you know how? Because you’re painfully obvious about it. So honest, telling me about how you’re thinking of me, not able to look at me without looking at my lips,” a light laugh leaves him at your expression, “and it’s sweet, really. But I’m getting annoyed by the fact that you’re so obsessed with your own feelings that you’ve failed to consider mine.”
He’s giving you so much whiplash right now. “You—”
“—You think I kissed you like that just ‘cause?” He frowns at you, “I kissed you like that because I wanted to, I feel I was a little obvious about it all actually.”
“I’ve been so worried about ruining our friendship.” You feel so pitiful when you say it, like a wet puppy.
“I know.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “But I’ve hoped for nothing more.” He sighs, “I wanted you to come to me on your own, to talk to me about it but instead you hid from me.”
“What was I supposed to think? Through my eyes, I was stupid and asked you to kiss me just because I was thinking about it. Only to not stop thinking about it, and then realise I like you, my friend.” You pull back from him slightly. “How was I meant to talk to you about it?”
“You think I’d kiss just any friend because they simply wondered about what it would be like?” His brow lifts at you. “Don’t you think our friendship has always been a little too intimate to just be a friendship?”
“Nothing was ever said… how was I supposed to know?”
“Okay, well, let me be perfectly clear.” He tugs you in close again, eyes meeting yours, like he’s going to say something incredibly important, only to plant his lips on yours in a full kiss.
Hand holding you to him tight, like he needs you to stay pressed up against him. His mouth on yours is hot and consuming, kiss messy, tongue licking at yours. An involuntary moan gets caught in your chest and your hand moves to his hair, tangling in it.
Suguru’s parting from you to pant out, “I like you—” kissing you again, “I like kissing you—” lips desperate against yours, “I want to do so much more—” He never parts from you long at all, barley willing to but needing to get his words out.
This is a feeling that you’re never going to be able to forget, the first time he kissed you overwhelming enough and now it’s like he’s completely following his instinct. No critical thinking happening in his head or yours. All your thoughts wash away from you, slipping through your fingers before it even occurs to you to form a thought.
Less scared now, throwing caution to the wind, not worrying about how you should stop, how you can’t ruin the fragility of your friendship. It doesn’t matter anymore, not when he already knows how you feel, not when he seems to feel the same, not when it feels this good.
He mumbles against you, “That clear enough?”
“No,” you huff back, “I think… I’m still a little confused.”
“Well, in that case,” he smirks before kissing you again.
Hand moving to your thigh, sliding it across your skin before grabbing at your knee and crooking your leg to rest on his hip. Leaning into you slightly, using his weight to push back on you, rolling the pair of you until he’s on top. Forearm holding himself over you, his other hand still on your knee, holding you flush to him.
You gasp up at him when his erection ruts into your core, lips parting messily, spit connecting the two of you. A shudder runs down his spine when he looks down at you, at how you’re looking up at him. All big, wet eyes and kiss swollen lips, it’s like he feels all his insides softening for you in that moment, in the most sickeningly affectionate way.
His eyes suddenly look lost, and you don’t know why, going to say something only for his lips to land on yours again. Short, firm kisses planted on your lips over and over again, barely able to return them before he’s pulling back, just to do it again.
It’s sweet but it’s frustrating you, your hands are eventually grabbing at either side of his face and forcing his mouth onto yours, lips meshing together, kissing him fully. Tongue in his mouth, your arms wrapping around his neck, fingers playing with his hair. He moans at how you’re kissing him, at how both your legs are now wrapped around his waist.
Practically clinging to him, lips locked to his, your need making your body hot and head fuzzy. You’re trying so hard to not come across desperate for him, but you really can’t help the way your hips seek out his, grinding up into him.
His voice shakes with a moan, breaking the kiss, “Ohh fuck– hah—” a breathless kind of laugh leaving him, "A little eager, aren’t you?"
"Should we stop then?” You ask with a smile, hands untangling and pushing at his shoulders.
He rushes out, “No no, I didn’t say that.” He pulls your arms, so they’re wrapped around his neck again. “Come back,” a light laugh leaves him, pressing kisses all over your face, lingering on your lips.
“So… you don’t want to stop?”
“Absolutely not, be as needy as you want.” He looks down between where his hips are resting against yours, his cock twitching in his pants. “Hell… be needier.”
“I don’t know… maybe this is all happening too fast,” you say it light heartedly, teasing him, “I mean… we are just friends.”
“Just friends?” He takes personal issue with that, even if he can tell you’re goading him. “Just friends but you’re grinding your pussy all over me?” His hand slips into the front of your borrowed sleep shorts, two fingers rubbing between your folds over your panties.
“Letting your friend touch you like this, hmm?” He pulls your panties to the side, “Fuck– this wet for your friend?”
Your back arches against the bed when his fingers slip over your clit, struggling to get your words out. “I– mmph– I get it, m’sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” He smiles sweetly at you but two of his fingers are slipping inside you, quirking up and rubbing at just the right spot.
God, your eyes roll into the back of your head, cunt pulsing around his fingers so needily. Hands grabbing at him, tangling in his long hair, gasping for air you don’t really need but feeling like you can’t breathe from how he’s touching you.
“What are you sorry for, pretty?” He wants you back on track, he wants to hear you stumble out your apology to him.
“I-I’m sorry– hnnn – f-for…” your mouth drops open in a moan when his thumb rubs at your clit, “You’re not jus– you’re not just my friend– oh! You’re more– you mean more– Ah! Ah!” You can’t think, not when he slides another finger into your pussy, stretching you so open.
He tips forward, fingers not stopping. “You mean it?”
It’s a question made to tease you but with your gooey brain, you look up at him so earnestly and answer, “Mhm, yeah.” Nodding your head firmly at him, even when your eyes look so fucked out.
Soft squelching noises fill the room with how his fingers fuck into you, your cunt clamping tight down around them. Walls so hot and wet that it’s driving him crazy, imagining how it would feel to have you wrapped so snug around his neglected cock.
He wants so badly to rip off your pants, so he can see just how well you’re taking his fingers but you’re pulsing so rhythmically around him, and your eyes roll with how good you feel. Making the nicest expressions for him that he can’t even tear his eyes away from your face if he wanted to.
“You’re really cute right now.” He presses a kiss to your cheek, his heart stammering at how your glistening eyes sparkle at him, at how your bottom lip wobbles.
Pouting up at him, “You don’t– ah!– think I’m cute all the time?”
“I think you’re downright adorable all the time,” he laughs airily, “but especially right now,” he’s gazing so intently at your face, “because, I’m pretty sure…” his thumb speeds up on your clit, “…you’re about to cum all over my fingers.”
Oh, how his words effect you so deeply, his tone, the cockiness. If he weren’t touching you so right you wouldn’t find it as arousing as you do but you feel like you could cry from just how overwhelming it all is.
Shaking your head at him as if to say ‘no, you’re not about to cum.’
“No?” He pouts at you mockingly. “You sure?”
Denying it really doesn’t get you anywhere, especially since he can feel how you tighten around his fingers, how your gooey cunt pulses for him. Your back arching meanly, legs wanting so badly to kick against the air. Hand tugging at his hair as you gasp, broken moans leaving you.
“I mustn’t be doing this right then,” he hums at you in thought, slowing his movements slightly. “Should I stop then? Change up what I’m doing?”
The thought of him stopping now, or changing what he’s doing kills you, almost literally. Your eyes widen and you shake your head vehemently at him. “Don’t stop– hnn– don’t– please,” begging him with your eyes.
“Only ‘cause you begged so nicely,” his tone so sweet on you.
He doesn’t change anything, keeps fucking you with his fingers in the way that’s driving you crazy. His mouth waters at how your pussy gushes for him, dick leaking into his pants. Losing his fucking mind at how he’s able to finally touch you like this, how you’re letting him touch you like this, even begging for it.
Your muscles are pulling taut, hearing and sight going fuzzy. “I– ohh– Sugu I can’t– I’m gonna–”
“You can,” dragging it out in a singsong. “Doing so well for me, pretty.”
Biting on your lip to hold back all the moans tumbling from them, hands pulling at him as you struggle to breathe through it. Chest stuttering as your cunt clamps down around his fingers. Grasping at him and pulling him closer to you, planting your lips on his. Desperately kissing him as you cum all over his fingers. Your tongue licking into his mouth, his own moans spilling into the kiss.
Panting against your open mouth to say, “You just came all over your friends’ fingers.” His smile taunting and bright.
Your head lolls to the side. “So you really do just like teasing me, huh?”
“Pretty sure I said I couldn’t help it.” His fingers slip from your core, sucking them into his mouth, licking them clean in a display so obscene that your skin heats up.
If he were a lesser man, he’d cum from licking himself clean. Groaning around his fingers, mostly for himself but also somewhat to embarrass you. Loving how you squirm, and your face pulls up in embarrassment. All dazed and stupid looking from your orgasm, it makes his heart skip and his dick jerk.
You shock him when you tug your shirt up and over your head, moving to pull at his but he’s too distracted by your tits to make any move other than to lean down and press wet kisses all over your chest.
“Suguru– hah– your shirt.” Your fingers still pull at the fabric.
“You can’t—” He sucks and licks at your nipple, relishing in the reactions and sounds he’s pulling from you. “—You can’t show me your tits and expect me to not touch them.”
When he looks up at you, his eyes are lazy and dazed, his tongue drooling all over your boobs. Moving to plant even more firm and wet smooches all over your unbelievably soft skin, sucking to leave behind his mark. Wanting to leave behind marks that he will see when he wakes up tomorrow, marks that he will leave marks over so that they never go away, so he will always have evidence of how he touched you. Of how you let him touch you.
Groping at all your exposed skin, pulling at you, fingers tugging at your nipple, while he salivates all over the other one. Your legs tug his hips down into yours, rubbing your clothed cunt all over him, wanting him to fuck you so badly. He’s working you up so unfairly, already making you cum and then playing with your tits in a way that has you itching to be full of his dick.
“Suguru.” He ruts his hips back down into you but doesn’t remove his mouth from you, so you pull at his hair harshly. “Please.”
He moans at how you pull at him, eyes lidded. “So demanding.”
“You’re taking too long.”
He tuts at you, nipping lightly at the skin between your tits, “You’re just impatient.”
“Yeah, I am.” untangling your legs from him, you shuffle your shorts and panties down and off your body. “Are you going to help?”
“How can I refuse when you ask like that?” The desire to lick at your pussy, make out with your cunt, is huge but with how you look at him, so needy and impatient, he needs to stuff his dick inside you. Now.
When you go to tug at his shirt, he lets you, letting you pull it off him completely. Goose bumps breaking out across his skin with how you rake your nails delicately over him. The affection he holds for you feels like it grows tenfold at how you look at him, how tenderly you touch him.
“You’re so pretty,” you’re mumbling it out at him before you’re really registering that you’ve thought it, let alone spoke it.
His head drops into the crook of your neck. “So sweet on me, got me forgetting why I waited so long to say anything.”
You grin at him. “Because you’re stupid.”
“Oh, that’s right,” he sneers back at you before shuffling back to pull his pants off. Finding immense joy in how your smug little smile drops from your face when his cock is free, tip flushed a pretty pink and leaking profusely, precum dribbling down the sides of his dick.
Moving to get up before even really thinking about it, wanting to touch him. Only to fall into the pillows when his large hand pushes you back by your sternum. Looking to him just as he leans in, lips brushing yours so softly you’d think you’d imagined it if he didn’t immediately follow it up with a firm kiss.
“I want to touch you.” Hands already finding their way back to his shoulders, his long hair tickling against skin.
His head is dipping low to watch how he moves his hands down your body. Brushing against your inner thighs, opening your legs for him more. “Well, I want to fuck you.” He’s not capable of taking his eyes off your syrupy cunt, so wet for him.
Goading him with your words, “What are you waiting for? A formal invitation?”
“Sharp tongue for someone so sensitive,” he muses, fingers slipping through your folds, gently over your clit to make you jolt, as if to prove his point.
Not giving you a chance to say another snarky comment, his fingers dipping into your hole again. His fingers stretch you open obscenely, pulling back covered in cum from your previous orgasm and fresh slick. It’s almost embarrassing how soaked you are, at least it would be if he didn’t seem almost overjoyed at the sight.
His hand covered in your mess moves to his dick, stroking himself, lubing himself so you can take him easier. You want to rub your thighs together, to squirm at how he languidly pumps at his cock, how his brows upturn and his mouth gapes slightly.
His palm so warm against your inner thigh, holding you still. Moving so he can tap his dick against your clit, smiling at how your body jerks.
“Don’t be a tease.” Your hand moves for his, but he grabs at you before you reach him, looping his fingers with yours.
His tone is cheerful and bright, “But you look so cute when you’re frustrated.”
“I’ll leave,” you threaten, not even a little convincingly, way too horny to be taken seriously.
“Really?” He raises a brow at you, intrigued. “I don’t think you’d get very far…” Mocking pout settling on his features.
Nothing if not stubborn and true to your word, you push him back and roll to get out of the bed defiantly. Barely making it to the edge of the mattress when his hands are on your sides and manhandling you back into your previous position. Spreading your legs wide and rubbing the tip of his cock through your folds, just dipping into your hole before repeating the previous movements.
Biting his lower lip as he watches, his precum smearing all over your messy cunt. “Told you, you wouldn’t get very far.”
Your head rolls at how he dips his dick in more, beginning to stretch you open. His hips are stuttering forwards, hand slapping down onto the mattress beside you to stop himself from pushing you too far.
“Oh– oh– fuck! How– h-how are you this tight, oh,” breathless not even beginning to describe how fucked out he already sounds.
“Mm– more, Sugu, please– I–”
At your insistence, he fucks himself all the way in, holding his pelvis to you as he fills you to the hilt. Your pussy spasming and creaming around him, so worked up that he can feel just how aroused you are in the way you twitch, at how your fingers grab at his skin, how your breaths are uneven and broken.
He can’t help but marvel at how you let out little squealed moans, how your cunt stretches to take all of him. On cloud nine at how you’re so horny over how heavy he’s sitting inside you that you’re close to tears.
The moan he lets out is debauched, unbelievably turned on when your hips struggle to grind down into him needily, working yourself up to an orgasm so fucking fast that he can’t do anything but watch in awe.
You can’t stop yourself; you know you should, should slow down and maybe calm down but it feels so good. He’s so big inside you, his cock pulsing in a way that has you memorising the thumping rhythm. Not usually so eager, never this eager, enthusiastically rutting down into him over and over again before suddenly cumming all over him.
Choked and gasped moans pulled from you as your hands reach for him, hoping for him to let you tug him down into you but he’s too busy watching how you throb and cum all over him. Obsessed with how your cute, little cunt struggles with his size as you coat him in all your creamy cum.
“Holy fuck,” he laughs, “That was—”
Head dizzy and eyes lazy as you whinge at him, “—Don’t– don’t say anything.”
“You came as soon as I got inside you and you expect me to make no comment?”
“It’s embarrassing.”
“I think it was adorable,” he hums, voice strained, much more effected by it than he’s willing to let on.
You whine when he moves down onto you, cock somehow reaching deeper. Geto’s arms cage you in either side your head, resting on his forearms, his lips against yours in a breathless kiss. Beginning with shallow thrusts, his lips insistent on yours, fucking you so carefully for now.
Quickly, the need to have him fucking you stupid grows within you again and your legs loop around him properly, pulling him into you. Wrapping yourself around him, mouth panting against his.
“Fuck– hah– you’re so wet.” He’s fucking into you faster, hips becoming desperate. “It’s actually– it’s– hnn– it’s crazy how good you feel.” He moves his head to the crook of your neck, growling beside your ear, “such a soaked little cunt, taking it so– ohh– taking it so good.”
“Ah! Ah! Sugu, it’s– ohh– it’s– more– I need more.” Your fingers dig into his back, depraved, wet sloshing sounds of him fucking into you so well fill the room.
He nips at your neck. “Demanding little thing, aren’t you?”
He’s pulling out of you and the moan you let out is small and pathetic, disgruntled by his abrupt movement. The last thing you see is his smug grin before he’s flipping you over onto your stomach, hands pulling your hips up and pushing on your upper back, manoeuvring your body into an obscene arch.
He’s takings his sweet time to slip back inside, eyeing up your pussy and how your hole trembles and drools for him. Your hips wriggle back at him, and he finds himself incredibly amused at how blatantly needy you are, apparently honest with him in more ways than one.
Just as you were about to turn around and complain at how long he’s taking to re-enter you, he’s shoving his cock back in all at once, jolting your body up the bed and forcing a whine out of your lungs.
“Ohh– Sugu– I…” you trail off as his hips pick up, eyes rolling to the back of your head.
Sliding your legs further apart to take more of him inside, arching yourself even more, greedy cunt sucking him deep inside. He’s barely able to withdraw before you’re fucking your hips back into him, desperately driving back. So fucking needy that if you had half your mind, you’d be embarrassed but right now all you can think about is how his dick thumps against your walls, how his hands grip onto you tight. He’s probably leaving behind marks to match the ones he left all over your tits.
Mouth gaping open, spit pooling onto the pillow below, drooling over his cock. God, you could cry from just how fucking good it feels. Pussy spasming wildly on him, the more you think about the fact that he’s fucking you, the more worked up you get. Insides flipping at how he seems to touch the most perfect spots inside you, full of butterflies and him.
His mouth by your ear shocks you, his voice chirpy, “What are you– hah– thinking about, pretty?”
“Hah– about how goo– good it feels, feels– ohh– feels so good, Sugu,” your words are slurred, mind reeling at how he doesn’t even seem to slow his pace.
“Flatterer,” he barks out a laugh, “You’re quite the little charmer,” he mockingly compliments. Tongue licking meanly at the salty tears you hadn’t realised you’d shed.
“Shh– shut up– ah!” gasping when he gives a particularly mean thrust into you.
He can’t help but smile at the fucked out look you’re wearing, eyes rolled back, hazy and not comprehending anything other than his dick rubbing up against your walls so perfectly. Your face turns into the pillow and you bite at it, muscles pulling tight as another orgasm crawls up your spine.
It shocks you, how quickly you cum. With Suguru’s harsh thrusts, your ass is burning with the smack of his pelvis against you. The sting biting at your flesh making you feel like you’re on fire, cunt tight around him and orgasm overcoming you so fast that you don’t have time to prepare for it.
And maybe if he hadn’t been caught up in how deliciously you squeeze around him, he’d have time to realise you were coming again and he could stop himself but when you shock the both of you with your sudden orgasm he whines into your back and cums deep inside you. Shivers running down his spine at how it feels, dumping so much deep inside you that the force of his continued thrusts has some of it leaking from you back onto him and down onto the bed, making the obscenest mess he’s ever seen.
Immediately he’s pulling himself back up to see how he’s coated your walls white, his dick covered in your shared cum. Creamy and lewd and he’s not even going soft because how could he when you’re still wrapped so warmly around him. When you’re so fucking gooey and snug. He might die before he’s done fucking you yet and he can’t even find it in himself to care even a little bit.
You’re not capable of forming words together enough to think of making a sentence, only thing coming from you being your garbled, choked moans and the sounds of your plush cunt struggling to take him and all his cum. Pussy bulging with the weight of his cock and the mass amounts of seed he’s just pumped you full of.
His own eyes are lidded and low, pussy drunk and loving every second of it. “So turned on you couldn’t even warn me before you came,” he bites out.
His hand rounds your body and his fingers land on your clit, the overstimulation too much, one of your own hands moving down to try and pry it away. Managing to squeak out, “Too much– ah! Too much, Sugu.”
Tone light when his harsh words are mumbled back at you, “If it’s too much, then why– hnn– why are you fucking back onto me like such a slut?”
He’s so mean, so mean to you while he fucks you so… meanly. Head whirling over how he speaks to you, not even able to think long before he slaps your clit harshly. It’s got your knees buckling, falling into the mattress under him. His dick slips from you as you collapse into the mattress.
Geto doesn’t pick you back up straight away, oh no, because you’re leaking all of his cum out of your little hole onto the bed and he can’t take his eyes off of how much of it he managed to get inside you. It’s you who picks your hips up lazily, presenting yourself for him.
He chuckles at your loyalty to his cock, but he also can’t help the way the sight makes him twitch. Shoving his dick into you again, feral in his pursuit to fuck you, to fuck you full of more of his cum.
“S-so devoted– hnnn– doing such– hah– a good job for me, pretty,” he slurs.
You feel like you might pass out, so lightheaded but meeting each and every one of his thrusts all the same. An arm wrapping around your front pulls your back to his chest. Both of his hands land on your tits, fingers pinching and rolling your nipples, making your pussy shudder around him.
You want to fuck your hips back recklessly but not able to with this angle, only able to arch further and give shallow grinds while he fucks his hips into you. He plants kisses and bites along your neck, nipping your skin hard enough that you twitch and whine each time he does it.
One hand leaves your tit and trails down your front, going for your cunt, spreading wide around where he’s stuffing you full continuously. Getting an absolute mess all over his hand and fingers, only to shove those fingers into your mouth, leaving you to lick him clean. Crammed full by his dick and fingers at once, convulsing around him at the thought of it, at the reality of it.
“You like being stuffed full, huh?” He muses to you, an evil kind of joy in his tone. You don’t get to choose your own response, he’s already using the fingers he has in your mouth to nod your head yes. “Ah, thought so.”
Pulling his fingers from your mouth slowly to watch how you suck on them as he does, before he’s wiping all your spit down your chest to your tummy. And then he has another hand on the back of your neck and is pushing you down into the pillows again, this time he keeps his hand there while he fucks into you diabolically.
Somehow faster than before, relentless, reaching his own end and wanting you to cum all over him at least once more. Head dipping back as he groans out, thrusts harsh and calculated. Hitting all the spots he’s just learnt about, having memorised just how to make you fucking squirm for him.
Which he succeeds in, if he didn’t have the hand on the back of your neck, you would’ve crawled up the bed to try and get away from his evil thrusts. Poor abused pussy creaming around him for the fourth time, orgasm blinding you, only seeing white spots behind your eyelids.
The sounds he lets out are wrecked and beautiful and have you wishing that you weren’t cumming so violently if only to see the way he’s spilling inside you for the second time tonight.
“That’s it– fuck– take it– taking it so fucking well– holy fuck—” Every word he utters is breathless and broken, essentially fucking himself stupid too.
Taking a moment for himself to catch his breath before he’s slipping from you and pulling your ass cheeks apart to watch how his cum dribbles from your overfilled cunt. You try to wiggle away but he holds you steady, eyes trained on your dipping hole. Overcome with the desire to fuck his tongue inside you but instead settling for shoving two fingers inside, plugging your hole to keep his cum in.
You whine at him, and he can only chuckle and find you incredibly cute in your post orgasm bliss. Barely able to keep your eyes open, let alone speak right now.
He does eventually pull his fingers from you, wiping the mess on your thighs before turning you onto your back. It feels like you’re looking up at an angel as he looks down at you, or maybe the devil. All flush and sweet smiles, too sweet for a man that just fucked you within an inch of your life.
“You can’t smile at me like that, not after you almost killed me,” you babble back at him.
He rolls his eyes at you, “There you go overreacting again.”
“You fuck so mean, Sugu,” you accuse… accurately.
A smile grows on his face again. “Feels real good though, doesn’t it?”
You weakly slap at him, he just grabs your hand and tugs your body into his kneeling form, hugging you to him. Pressing kisses all over your face. “Think you can stand long enough to shower?”
Shaking your head at him, “Not without fainting.”
“Alright, bath it is,” he concludes.
He takes such nice care of you afterwards, a complete contrast to how he fucked you. It’s lovely though, the hands that grabbed and pulled at you now delicate as they trace over your skin, washing you clean.
You rest with your back to his front in the bath, head laying lazily on his chest. “So… for the sake of clarity, we’re not just friends?”
His lips tickle against the tip of your ear. “I can fuck you all over again if you need more proof?”
“I fear you might actually kill me.”
“Then I guess you’ll just have to take my word for it.” He leaves a single kiss against your cheek.
In the morning, for the first time ever, he makes you breakfast. To make up for all the marks he’s littered your body with. He also officially asks you on a date, which you pretend to think really hard about even though you’d already decided you were going to say yes.
In the end, being friends with Geto Suguru wasn’t hard… it’s just not what you both wanted.
𝒂.𝒏. THIS IS A REPOST .. a repost from my old account @/lovelivision, if you feel like you've read it before, maybe you have !
thank you for reading !!! i hope you guys liked it and i hope everyone is doing so good >:3
꒰꒰. all works are the intellectual property of aliienangel .. do not plagiarise/translate/reupload/feed to ai ♡. 。
suguru geto sits on the edge of your bed like he's claiming it as a throne.
his eyes feel heavy on your body, sticky and saccharine as they trace your figure. his gaze is critical, almost clinical, and you have to fight not to fidget under his appraisal.
you don't want to disappoint him by showing your tension.
he smirks a little when he notices your effort, and he silently raises his hand and beckons you closer. you step forward, clenching your fists so they don't tremble, and he waves you forward until you stand between his parted thighs. he has to tilt his chin up a little to look at you, now.
he hums softly, almost absently. then, in that smooth voice that purrs a little at the end, he says, "kneel."
you do. you always do.
you lower yourself to your knees, obedient and reverent and oh so devoted. you look up at him, now, from between his legs, and he offers a smile that's benevolent, satisfied, like a king whose knight has sworn fealty for life. he reaches down and brushes his knuckles across your cheek, so lightly it makes your skin tingle. his hand cups your cheek, then, and his thumb runs along your lower lip.
still in that gentle, almost affectionate tone, he says, "open."
you open your mouth, and he slides his thumb in, pressing down on your tongue. you take the hint and close your lips around the digit, sucking gently and swirling your tongue, all the while keeping eye contact with him.
with your master.
"good," he praises softly, his other hand moving to curl into the hair at the nape of your neck. he guides your head back, encouraging his thumb deeper into your mouth, watching you intently as you eagerly accommodate.
he makes you suck on his thumb until spit drips down your chin and slowly down your throat.
you can tell he's affected, too; his breath is ragged, still quiet but faster and shallower than usual. his eyes burn into you, now, no longer pious but passionate and dark, like he's imagining finally disrobing and letting you kiss and lick and suck his drooling, twitching cock.
like he wants to finally let you see him as something other than holy.
but, as always, he tugs on your hair, pulling your head back hard enough to make you inhale sharply through your nose. you watch him, waiting for his next directive, but he doesn't give you one. he simply pulls his thumb from your mouth, stands and gathers his composure once more. then he praises you for kneeling for worship, and when he leaves your humble room, you wish he would come back and give in to temptation.
it started off as a joke at first— meant to poke fun at your clingy tendencies; following him around all day when he’s at home, waiting for him at the door when you hear his keys, whining when he’s leaving.. all the tendencies of a pet.
“getooooooo! im so glad you’re back, i missed you all day..” you’d say sadly, pout resting on your lips. he’d smile down at you, linking his arms around your waist and planting a kiss on your temple.
“don’t worry, puppy. im yours for the rest of the day.”
your eyebrows crinkled at the unfamiliar nickname. you couldn’t tell if he was making fun of your clinginess or reveling in it. nonetheless, you shrugged it off.
another day, you barely waited till he was completely through the door before you were already jumping on him. your lips spread kisses all over his slightly sweaty face, and of course, he smiled at your actions.
“missed me that much, huh, puppy?”
again, with that unfamiliar nickname.
“are you making fun of me or something?!”
he laughs, shaking his head at you. “well, only a little. i think it’s cute, how clingy you are. almost like a puppy, you know?”
little by little, that nickname became one of the regulars he’d call you. you weren’t sure of it at first, but the more he said it, the more you enjoyed it. it was sort of embarrassing, yet it sent chills down your spine and a warmth in between your legs.
geto could tell it made you feel some sort of way. a positive way, so he tested the waters a bit more and added it to his vocabulary of things to call you.
you weren’t exactly into it at first, but then he started introducing it during sex.
“mmm, who owns you, puppy? tell me.”
you refused to answer him. you shook your head, only your broken whimpers could be heard.
“hm…? that’s not an answer, baby. who owns you?”
his hips snapped against yours in a sharp, aggressive manner that made you forcibly squeal. “hnghhhh—y-you, geto—aaaaah, fuck!”
“that’s right, gooood girl. my good little puppy, always so well behaved for me.”
