Suguru Geto x Fem! Reader (18+)
Best Friend Privileges
MDNI‼️
Sypnosis: You're not in love with your best friend. Absolutely not. It’s just his laugh. And maybe his eyes. And okay, maybe the way he looks at you sometimes. But that’s it.
Word count: 2.3k
Art by @/yunonoaii on X/Twitter
· · ───꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ─── · ✦ · ─── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ─── · ·
The chemistry lab smells like acetone and overripe bananas. Someone definitely overdid the ester synthesis again. You’re steadying your pipette for the final titration when Suguru leans over to double check your numbers. His elbow brushes yours and an unwelcomed shiver runs up your spine so fast you almost drop the flask.
“Hmm,” he murmurs, eyes flicking to your notebook. “You sure about this molarity? You’re off by, like, point-zero-five.”
You squint at him. “Please have mercy upon your humble servant, Lord Geto. But that’s within margin of error.”
“That’s within your margin of error,” he mocks, lips quirking. “Mine’s perfection.”
You roll your eyes. “Yeah? Remind me who set their glove on fire last week?”
“Science requires sacrifice,” he says solemnly. “The glove knew what it signed up for.”
You snort, trying to hide your smile, but he catches it anyway and his grin softens fondly. Professor Nanami passes behind you with his usual clipboard of judgment. “You two,” he says, voice flat. “If you somehow manage to blow up a titration experiment, you’re cleaning it up.”
“Yes, Professor,” you both chorus in perfect sync, the perfect picture of model students until he’s out of earshot.
Suguru leans close again, pretending to inspect your beaker. “He acts like I haven’t survived three years without blowing up a lab.”
“You literally did blow up a lab,” you whisper.
He pauses and shrugs. “Semantics.”
You stifle a laugh so hard it comes out as a snort, and he grins like that sound is his favourite experiment result yet.
By the time you’ve cleaned up and Nanami’s clipboard of doom is gone, the two of you spill out into the late afternoon air, the world smelling faintly of rain and ethanol that’s somehow stuffed so far up your nasal cavities, it’s tickling your brain. The walk home feels… calm, but there’s a soft buzz between you that has nothing to do with the caffeine you guzzled down earlier.
“Okay,” you say, bumping his shoulder as you walk. “Hypothetically. if our lab equipment suddenly gained sentience, which one would become self aware first?”
“Easy. The centrifuge,” he says immediately. “Power complex. Spins out whenever it doesn’t get attention.”
You laugh. “So, like you.”
He gasps, clutching his pearls dramatically. “I prefer ‘charismatically kinetic.’”
“I think you mean ‘emotionally unstable.’”
He gives you a mock glare. “You’re lucky I like you.”
You grin quickly. “You mean, lucky I do all your calculations for you.”
He laughs loud and unrestrained, and it makes something warm uncoil in your chest. You tell yourself it’s just the sound you like, not the person making it. Definitely not the smug, stupidly handsome face it’s coming from. Nope. Just the sound. Totally innocent.
When you reach the apartment, everything shifts back into routine; shoes kicked off, lab coats hung on hooks, the faint static of the TV filling the quiet. Showers are taken in turns, steam fogging the bathroom mirror, the day washed off in citrus soap and exhaustion.
You flop onto the couch in an oversized shirt, damp hair dripping onto your shoulders. Suguru appears soon after, hair tied up messily, black t-shirt clinging just a little too nicely.
“Dinner?” you ask, phone already in hand.
He leans on the back of the couch. “What are my options, chef?”
“Thai or pizza.”
He pretends to think deeply. “Which one pairs best with our shared academic trauma?”
“Thai,” you decide for him. “Extra spicy, to burn the stench of that godforsaken lab fridge from my nose.”
He sighs dramatically. “And our Professor’s disappointed sighs.”
“You know,” he says softly after a while of cracking open beers, “for two scientists, we’re terrible at pretending we don’t notice the obvious variables.”
You raise a brow. “Variables like what?”
His smile tugs sideways, lazy and dangerous. “Like how every time you laugh, I forget what we were talking about.”
You huff out a laugh. Man, you’re nervous. “That’s a terrible line.”
“Did it work?”
You look down at your drink, then back at him. “Maybe.”
He hums, sounding pleased and that silence stretches again; the kind that hums just under your skin, thick with things neither of you are brave enough to name. When he leans a little closer, eyes flicking to your lips like he’s testing the air, you don’t move. Not away, not forward. Just caught in the charge of it.
Maybe this is what it feels like when an experiment’s about to reach equilibrium, when all the variables finally balance out, and you stop pretending you don’t already know the result. You laugh nervously, your heart racing, but the warmth of the alcohol and the closeness of him makes it impossible to move back. He leans in gently, testing the space between your lips, giving you every chance to pull away. You don’t.
Your lips meet.
It starts soft. Tentative even. His thumb brushes across your jaw, and it’s like electricity lacing your veins. You let your hands rest against his chest for just a moment, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat through fabric. He tilts his head, deepening the kiss slowly, and the world narrows to that press of lips and the shared sparks between you.
Every one of your senses zero in on him; the brush of his stubble against your lips, the subtle scent of his body wash, the faint warmth of his breath. You feel him smile against your mouth, a soft curve of lips and teeth that teases and reassures at the same time.
Your hands slide up, tangling in his hair, tracing the line of his neck, feeling the fine muscle beneath his skin. His grip on your waist tightens slightly, grounding you while the heat rises in your chest, spreading down into the pit of your stomach.
The kiss Is slow and lingering, it’s tasting and teasing. It’s exploration, familiarity, and fire all at once. Every inhale, every soft moan pressed into the kiss makes the tension coil tighter between you. You can feel the heat pooling low, the ache that’s been dormant under years of friendship now insistent and demanding.
Just as your hands graze under the hem of his shirt, as the kiss grows hungrier, the doorbell rings. Takeout. Reality crashes in like a cruel, mundane timing.
You pull back slightly, breathless and needy. Suguru’s smirk is almost infuriating, it’s perfectly in control, you can’t be the only one who feels like this. “Dinner?” he asks, voice casual, like nothing happened, and your heartbeat argues with his cool tone.
You laugh awkwardly, trying to reclaim composure. “Yeah. Dinner.” He slides to the floor at the foot of the couch. You eat, both of you stealing glances, laughing at lines in the show you’ve been bingeing for months. The tension hangs, unspoken and threaded through every brush of arms, every shared laugh. Suguru cracks a joke about something you can’t seem to pay attention to. The excruciating need pulsing in your ears blurs everything around you.
Suguru lifts a tender hand and strokes the side of your thigh; everything happens in a blur, you’re on him like it’s nobody’s business, your lips crash onto his, he’s tugging at your hair while your hands are sliding his clothes off his body. He lifts you of the couch and into the air, you’re removing your shirt, he's pulling at his hair tie, eventually you’re lying back on your bed, sheets twisted around your hips, slick and glistening from your own arousal. The vibrator hums lazily against the apex of your clit, but your attention is entirely on him. Suguru is kneeling opposite you, knees pressing into the mattress, chest taut and hot, cock throbbing visibly, purple eyes dark and molten with need. His hands grip your thighs, spreading them wider, spreading you for him, and you can see the slick coating the top of your pussy, glistening in the lamp’s glow.
“Do you want me inside you?” he murmurs, voice low and rough, tremulous with want.
“Yes,” you gasp, voice ragged, your hips pressing instinctively into him, fingers tangling in his hair, nails clawing lightly at the roots as your heat pools, dripping between your thighs. The vibrator hums insistently against your clit, but your fingers curl around it, pressing down, teasing and grinding, your hips snapping reflexively.
He leans forward, pressing one palm flat on the mattress beside your head, the other sliding over your thigh, fingertips brushing over your slick folds, circling your swollen labia, teasing the sensitive inner rim of your pussy. His thumb rolls against your clit in slow, deliberate circles, pressing, flicking and brushing, your back arches as a shiver runs down your spine.
You gasp, hips jerking, grinding into the press of his thumb. “Oh— fuck…Suguru…” you moan, trembling, your body quivering, slick sliding down your hips.
He groans, voice low and thick, a guttural sound that vibrates through his chest. He’s feeling it all too; the slick press of your wet folds against his fingers, the soft, tight squeeze of your walls as he curls his fingers inside, rolling against that perfect spot that makes your back arch and toes curl. Every shiver of your hips, every moan, every quiver beneath his hands drives him harder, makes his cock throb hotter, slicking the tip with his own precum.
Slowly and deliberately, he aligns himself, pressing the head of his cock against your dripping hole. You shiver and arch, pressing up instinctively, walls clenching involuntarily around nothing. The stretch, the wet, hot slide of him into you makes your chest rise and fall with ragged breaths.
He groans, letting the weight of his chest press down on your torso as he slides in inch by inch; slowly and deliberate, savouring the tight, slick, perfect press of your syrupy walls around him. He reaches with his thumb, flicking mercilessly against your clit, and your nails dig into his biceps as your hips press up, grinding, desperate and needy.
“Fuck…so tight…so wet…” he groans, hips pressing down, cock sliding with a satisfying shlick, every time his hips snap to yours, his tip brushes that soft, sensitive spot inside you. His muscles flex across his chest, arms, and thighs as he pulls your legs over your chest, he folds you in half, pressing your ankles to your ears, he holds you still, dominating every inch of you. You press up, grinding, twisting your hips against him, slick sliding over his pelvis, walls clenching and squeezing, pussy pulsing against his cock.
He moves backward and you wrap your legs around his waist, tugging him closer, pressing him deeper, every thrust driving slick, warm pleasure through you. His hands grip your thighs, spread you wider, practically pressing your knees to the mattress, pressing against your g-spot, thumb flicking over your clit in perfect rhythm with his thrusts. Every press of his cock, every roll of his thumb, every curl of his tongue on your boob sets your nerves on fire.
He groans your name, low, rough and animalistic, pressing down harder with each thrust. “You’re…so perfect…fucking beautiful,” he rasps, chest pressing to your stomach, hands gripping your thighs tight, arms taut, biceps flexing, every muscle alive with tension, need and heat.
You’re trembling, slick coating your thighs and dripping onto the bed, walls clenching impossibly around him, hips snapping, riding every flick of his thumb, every stroke of his tongue on your neck, every press of his cock.
Your back arches violently, nails clawing into his shoulders, chest heaving, lips parted in ragged moans. “Suguru— ah…fuck…don’t stop…please…” you cry, hips grinding, hands clutching his biceps, pressing into him, pressing down, desperate for more.
He’s feeling it all. His cock throbbing deep inside you, walls squeezing him, pulsing, tightening, hot, slick coating his fingers, cock sliding, every thrust, flick of thumb, brush of teeth sending shivers through his spine. His chest heaves, shoulders tense, thighs flexing, groaning, voice rough and low, throat catching with every slick, wet thrust into your tight, quivering pussy.
He grabs your hips, holding you still, pressing deep, curling inside, rolling that perfect spot over and over, thumb flicking mercilessly over your clit. “Ah…fuuuck…so good…you’re so fucking soft…” he rasps, teeth grazing your neck, hands pressing into your ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he drives in deeper, harder and faster.
You’re trembling, quivering, slick running down over your thighs, hips snapping, nails clawing at his back, every inch of your body alive, pulsing, shivering and writhing. You cry out, arching, walls clenching impossibly, hips bucking and moaning his name, clit and pussy throbbing around him.
And then your orgasm hits you, violent and trembling, his hips snap harder, your walls clench. Nails clawing his shoulders, chest heaving, breath ragged and quivering, dripping with slick.
He doesn’t let up. Hips snapping harder, cock throbbing with surrender inside you, his thumb flicks faster, pressing and rolling. He thrusts deeper and harder, his hips faltering with a groan that erupts from his chest
He comes after you, groaning your name, hips jerking violently, his cock pulsing deep inside your slick, quivering pussy. You collapse together, slick, trembling and gasping hearts hammering. Your skin is sticky, hair tangled, lips swollen.
The air is thick with heat, sweat, and desire, and the tension hasn’t left. It’s thick, raw, and filthy. Every inch of your skin wants him again, every nerve still alive, every muscle still coiled, every moan lingering in the room. You both know this is only the beginning.
Suguru grins and spits onto your pussy, shoving in two of his fingers and curling deliciously, “Round two?”
Round two? #yespls
