Didnt Expect To See You Out Here.

“Didn’t expect to see you out here.”

Your head pops up as the unexpected voice makes itself known, twisting your face towards the sound only to see a figure standing at the end of the alley. He’s silhouetted where he stands—a shape more than a person. You can tell he’s tall, broad, and has a knot of hair tied up loosely at his crown. 

Geto Suguru steps into the light where you can see him better, though it makes his sudden appearance no less surprising. 

“Did you drink too much?” he asks, treading a few steps closer as he eyes you worriedly. You pull yourself up from where you’d been crouching on the ground.

“No, no. Just getting some air,” you reply with a stiff smile, dipping in a bow and quickly adjusting your pencil skirt once you’re back upright.

He has his tie loosened over his shirt with the top button undone, and his suit jacket is nowhere to be seen. He considers you for a moment, and his attention makes you want to fidget but you fight the urge.

You watch as he pulls packet of cigarettes from the breast pocket of his shirt and offers it out to you. “Do you smoke?”

“No, thank you,” you say with a quick shake of your head, smoothing your hands along the front of your skirt and then moving to step past him back towards the entrance of the restaurant. “I should go.”

He angles his body in your way before you can.

“No need to leave on my account,” he says, peering down at you. His face is partially in shadow because of how he’s standing, angled between you and the mouth of the alleyway that leads back to the busy street, caught in a small dark patch between the streetlights and the light affixed to the grungy brick wall. He tips his face up and the light touches his features once more, catching in his brown eyes as he waits in anticipation of your response.

“I should get back inside.” It’s strangely difficult to meet his gaze, so instead you look past him towards the street as an unwelcome heat surges up your throat to flood your face. A car passes quickly by the alley, and you watch as the headlights come and go in a flash.

“Why?” the man before you asks, placing the cigarette he’d fished out of the pack to his lips. He uses his teeth to keep it there while he fumbles through his pockets for a lighter. “You’re clearly having a terrible time in there.”

Your eyes snap up to meet his in shock.

“No I’m not,” your reply is notably indignant, even though his accusation is valid.

How would he know anyway?

“The smiley, nice-girl bit’s gotta be getting old, isn’t it? Pouring everyones drinks. Cleaning up everyones messes.” He laughs, though it’s only to himself, before clicking his lighter to life and holding it to the tip of his cigarette until it catches. The cherry burns red and bright on an inhale, and smoke slips from his lips as he adds, “You don’t have to lie to me, I’m not your boss.”

“I’m not lying,” you insist, but your performance isn’t particularly convincing. 

Truthfully, the very last thing you wanted to do after a ten-hour work day—capping off a fifty-hour work week—was come out drinking with your colleagues. You’ve never really liked these kinds of gatherings, even if the company is the one footing the bill. They always get a bit too rowdy for your liking. Always drag on a bit too long. And you know that you’ll inevitably be the one stuck forcing your plastered boss into a taxi in the wee hours of the morning, while the rest of your equally-sloshed coworkers find their own ways home.

But the department chair, the very same one you’re sure will be singing karaoke with his tie around his forehead in only a few short hours, had been adamant that everyone in marketing attend the gathering since the sales section was joining in too. 

Hence the sales employee standing toe-to-toe with you, blocking your path.

You know Geto Suguru, but only indirectly. The sales and marketing departments are separated by a single floor in your company’s office building, and often work on projects together. Geto is a section lead in sales, with a long, illustrious history behind him before he worked his way up to that role. He’s made a lot of money for the company, and a lot of friends along the way—what with his easy charm, silver tongue, and undeniable good looks. His reputation precedes him—in both good ways and bad.

The fact that he’s here talking to you—a fresh-faced, relatively new-to-role nobody in comparison to his lengthy history with the business—is what you have a hard time wrapping your head around.

“Sure, sure.” Geto waves his hand dismissively, ash fluttering off in tiny specks from the end of his lit cigarette. “I’m sure you just love making all those copies, remembering coffee orders, and running that section lead of yours’s errands too. Oh, and don’t forget when he takes credit for your ideas.”

Your stomach drops. 

He keeps going.

“This upcoming brand collaboration is exciting,”—he takes a puff of his cigarette, his eyes sparkling as he looks at you—“too bad no one knows it was you who came up with it, huh?” 

Your fists clench tightly at your sides, your lips pressing together in a thin line.

Geto blows the last of the smoke in his lungs from the corner of his pursed lips, away from you.

“That’s the first honest expression I’ve seen on your face all night,” he says with a sly smile tugging at his lips.

Your hands are shaking.

“Why are you doing this?” you ask him weakly.

He tilts his head to the side, like your question confounds him.

“I’m not doing anything,” he says, and he sounds like he genuinely means it. “Have I said anything that isn’t true?”

You bite your lip, staring down at your pretty, professional pumps as you stand on the craggy pavement of the alley.

“You’re allowed to be angry, but don’t direct it at me for pointing out the people who keep screwing you over,” Geto says, and the way his voice sounds a bit nearer and the smell of his cigarette gets stronger tells you that he’s dipped down closer to you even though you don’t watch him do it. “No one’s gonna hand anything to you if you don’t fight for it.”

You glance up at him, your expression and your tone equally flat. “And what if I’m not a fighter?”

“Oh, I don’t believe that,” he says, chuckling a bit as he backs away from you.

You watch him as he watches you—contemplates you, like he’s sizing you up. He drops cigarette suddenly to the ground, still only half-burned, and crushes it with the toe of his shoe. You hold your breath as he takes another step towards you.

He leans forward.

“Hit me.”

“Pardon me?” The bewildered question rushes out of you all in one gasping breath, and you take a loping step back in shock.

“Come on, just one,” the man goads you further, rapping against his jaw with the knuckle of his index finger as a smile twists his lips up at the corners.

“You’re drunk,” you spit out incredulously, shaking your head and quickly moving to step past him.

“I’m not.” He sidles smoothly into your path once more before you get the chance to flee, like he’s half-a-step ahead of you at all times. 

It’s infuriating.

“Alright, then you’re just insane,” you offer instead.

You knew the sales department had a reputation for being a bit wild, but this is beyond all your expectations. This is nothing like the charming, easy going Geto that you’ve heard all your female colleague gossiping about in the break room.

His smile falls, and he crosses his arms over his chest. You try not to pay too much attention to the way his forearms look with his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“I’m still your senior, y’know,” he says, and his voice is a little bit colder now. More admonishing.

You’re very acutely aware of that fact without him saying it.

You huff out a frustrated little breath through your nose, crossing your own arms over your chest in a mirror of his stance.

“I’m not hitting you.”

Geto’s brow quirks curiously.

“Why not?”

You can’t believe you’re having this conversation.

“Because that’s assault,” you counter his question shortly.

“It’s only assault if I press charges—which I won’t.” You know he’s telling the truth but it doesn’t make it any more convincing. He tilts his head to the side again, and a silky strand of his dark hair slips into his eyes. “Haven’t you ever hit anyone before? It’s cathartic.”

Your lips part in an expression of astonishment. “Of course I haven’t.”

The man in front of you looks mildly surprised at your answer.

“Do I look like someone who goes around fighting people?” you ask him incredulously.

“You look like you’ve got some repressed rage in you,” he says with a smirk, and the expression only worsens when he sees the way you react to it.

He taps his cheek again before tucking both his hands behind his back and leaning in close to you, like a man offering himself up to the executioner’s block. He shuts his eyes.

“C’mon, just a little one.”

“I won’t.”

“You should.”

“I won’t.”

“How come?”

You take his face in your hands suddenly, tilting it up to meet your gaze.

“Geto-san,” you say quietly, your tone bordering on desperate. “I’m not going to hit you, so please stop asking.”

He opens his eyes slowly, his dark lashes fluttering as he blinks up at you. After a moment he smiles, and his eyes curve into narrow crescents as he leans subtly into your touch.

It’s quiet in the alley, but your heartbeat is quick underneath your skin.

“Can you blame a guy for trying?” he asks you coyly.

You’re still cupping his cheeks in your hands. 

They’re warm.

“You really are crazy,” you reply softly to his question, though it’s not much of a reply at all.

He hums, turning his face so his nose drags across your wrist. His lips brush against your palm as he speaks once more. “I’ve been called worse.”

You don’t doubt he’s telling the truth.

Slowly, the dark haired man picks himself up to his usual height. He’s closer to you now than he’s ever been—and thanks to the little cat and mouse game that the two of you have been playing, you’re very nearly pressed against the alley wall. You can’t even see the street anymore beyond the expanse of his wide shoulders.

Everywhere you look, you only see him.

The realization sits hot and heavy in the pit of your stomach.

“I know you’re a good girl, but what are we gonna do about all that stuff you’ve got pent up in there?” Geto lifts his hand and presses a featherlight touch to your sternum over your diaphragm, his fingertips trailing delicately against the smooth plane where the arch of your ribs ends. Your breath hitches painfully as you stare up at him, a sticky knot at the back of your throat preventing you from forming any response—not that you can think of anything to say. 

Geto smiles down at you, his expression soft.

You see the faintest flash of sharp teeth behind his pink lips.

“Don’t you want me to help you let it out?”

@satoruhour looking at u very intensely and lovingly ><

hope u are doing good T 🥺 i saw your posts about being busy with assignments (i feel you ;c) but !!! i also hope u get to finish everything & you give yourself a well deserved rest <3

lysm ! see ya aroundddd

Reblog to put one of these in your mutuals’ pocket when they’re not looking

— reservations

"table for two, please." the words spill from geto's lips before he can help it. force of habit, he curses himself.

he isn't given enough time to correct himself, waiter nodding and beaming at him, happy to help. they can’t pull the truth out of his throat though. instead, the waiter strides forward to a window table, open and barren, a pair of menus in hand.

there's something reminiscent of a smile on geto’s face as he offers his thanks, partly awkward, partly small. it doesn't sit right on such a man. all simple charm and easy grace, the waiter had expected nothing less than confidence and allure. but the single sentence, single word, saps the energy from geto and he finds himself falling clumsily into his seat, hip pressing against the glass beside him. it digs into his skin, cool to the touch and slowly starting to sting.

a gentle "excuse me? sir?" snaps geto out of his trance, gaze fixated on something outside. cobbled pavements, twinkling yellow streetlights and freshly painted benches, no other can seem to catch sight of what he does. the image morphs however, for he turns to the waiter and sees you. the softness of your eyes which always tended to crease around him, the texture of your skin which he had traced countless times before, the curve of your lips which he had kissed so lovingly.

it takes a harsh blink and a sharp shake of his head for your image to twist, geto’s eyes clenching shut even if for just a second. hair lengthening and face rounding, you distort into that of the waiter once more. there's a cautious, too perky smile on their face and their eyes shine with sympathy. geto doesn't know what to do, doesn’t know how to explain no, he hadn't been stood up. for you weren't coming in the first place, you hadn't stood next to him for a while now.

another thing geto doesn't know is why he does it. maybe it's a farewell, he thinks, trying to fool himself, all too aware it's nothing more than second nature as he orders two dishes. he had always known your favourites - colour, animal, people, anything. food was just another category to add to the list. geto had indulged you for the duration of your relationship; he had taken to hiding your choice of snacks in his jacket pockets, and filling his hands with the very takeout you so craved on miserable days in. no matter what, you were guaranteed to be on his mind.

you hadn't expected to see geto suguru - the ex you desperately hated to think about, the ex you desperately hated calling your ex - at the quaint little restaurant. you’d shared it with him only once, attempting and failing to stifle down the excitement in your voice as he agreed to the suggestion. though, you supposed, tearing your stare away from geto to the date you were currently on, he had always been awfully perceptive, knowing your preferences from your go-to drink order at the local cafe to here, the restaurant that held too many memories for anyone's good.

"something wrong?" your date smiles too wide, bared teeth cutting through your distracted thoughts and a careful hand covers your own. you can’t help the reaction that escapes your throat, ragged exhale hardly able to be called a gasp. your hand is quick to slip out from their reach, dropping limply, pathetically, into your lap. their voice, their touch is nothing more than wrong and your eyes soon find the picture of geto once more, ignoring the churn of your stomach as you drink him in - the slope of his nose which you had enjoyed pressing a kiss to just to see it scrunch up cutely, the gorgeous locks of hair which you had tangled your fingers through so often, the shine of his eyes, so distinct and familiar, warm with love.

"sorry," you stammer, words dropping carelessly, "i don’t, i can't do this, 'm sorry."

you move without thought, weakened legs making your knees knock together as you stumble over to the table by the window. your chest aches with each painful hammer of your heart, pulsing and thrashing against your ribcage the way it always did around geto. you can’t help but embrace the reminder of your obvious, lingering feelings fully. no one else could make you feel such a way.

“suguru,” the name slips out of your mouth as easily as an exhale, unprepared for what to say next. you hope your muddled mind can figure it out before the alarm bells can start ringing, pounding.

you don’t need to. geto sighs out a call of your name in response, familiar and light. his eyes are wide as he drinks in the sight of you, lovely albeit rattled. there’s something slightly panicked in your gaze, your breaths are heavy and lips parted so slightly. they tell him the fact of the matter, convince him that standing before him is you. truly. for once not a ghost of the past. and yet despite your imperfections and worries and jolting nerves, geto thinks you’re incredible. better even than how his golden memories dared to place you in front of him.

“please sit,” he gestures, voice rumbling straight through to your heart, calming as ever even if the gentle hitch gave away his nerves, “i got your favourite.”

best gojo trope i swear

🐇 hi t!!! i currently have this brainrot and i don't know who else but to share it and i thought HEYYYY what if i share this to one of my favorite satoru writers hdjfhdkdhdj don't mind me but omfg i've been listening to i know from travis scott's new album and i couldn't stop thinking about angsty(?) fucking with satoru, him cutting off the friends w benefits set up with you because he's scared of confronting his feelings with falling in love with you and he thinks he'll hurt you because he scared of the unfamiliarity of love to him,,,, but he's so into you, the way you momentarily stare into him after you pull away from a heated kiss, the way you wrap your fingers and hold his hands when you slowly grind on his cock, the way you look into his eyes with clouded lust when he's gripping your hips as he bullies his cock into you, the way you hold onto his wrists when he fucks his fingers and plays with your clit tenderly while he has your back on his pounding chest.........he just can't forget you and the chemistry so he pulls up at your residence, knocking at your door at 2 am intoxicated and high, and he's aware he isn't supposed to do this anymore but satoru always knows you'll be opening up the door for him and him only like his good girl with nothing under your velvet babydoll dress you'd always wear when he's around........he always finds a way to make you cry and begging in bed but this time it's different when it's you feigning hurt with the way he cut things off and left you, reminding him “you're just drunk right now,” or “it's just the drugs, satoru...” while he holds your leg onto his broad shoulders and his right hand rubbing your clit while he pumps his cock inside your warm pussy but he softly chuckles at your protests, his tongue licking your neck before he comes closer to your face, his thrusts slowing down as his eyes glances at your lips before settling his blue eyes on your low lidded eyes, telling you “i know baby, i know,” then kisses you momentarily just for him to bite your lower lip tenderly. he looks back at you, you practically have heart eyes all over, all dumbed down with the way he fucks you, a constant reminder that he has you wrapped around his fingers and he can't help but to bite his lip back,,,,,, he isn't yours, but he knows at the back of his mind that you're always his.

PROTECTED VULNERABILITY / STUBBORN HEART

a/n: anon ur MIND ! i need to tell u i had fwb gojo in my drafts 4 the longest time but i never continued. but also i cant tell if i like this or not, i hope i didnt disappoint u anon 😭 also i couldn’t handle the angst so i made reader also want gojo, but written not so obviously as him! cant put my baby thru all that and also ! i may have missed the angsty fucking part so it’s just gojo pining like an idiot

wc: 6.6k

warnings: fwb!gojo, gojo is crazy over u, dom!gojo but hints of whiny gojo, m! masturbation, oral (f and m receiving) / cunnilingus, clit stimulation, fingering, praise, pet names, reader and gojo are both high in the last scene, finger sucking, face-fucking, deepthroating, tongue-fucking, unprotected sex, overstimulation, creampie / breeding kink, multiple rounds, ambiguous ending, n*sfw under the cut

gojo never liked to feel vulnerable.

he understands it fully when he’s got you on top of him for the first time, staring down at him, unaware he’s one of the strongest people in his line of work. you’re unknowingly setting every part of him ablaze, caged in like your body’s a branding iron and he traces over the crescent marks and the lines you made later in the bathroom.

gojo doesn’t recover after that, pondering over this vulnerability which only you could make him feel — the lilt in your voice, the softness of your eyes — it felt almost like it was just for him. his delusions don’t escape him, and rather it only grows worse each time he meets you. 

vulnerability was a state of exposure, like the way his skin singes under the sun or the unfamiliar feeling of infinity being turned off. it was like standing bare like venus in her birth, eyes forcefully turned onto her while on her scallop shell. it was like sitting on the steps of jujutsu high and getting a ridiculous question of why he didn’t chase after his best friend.

it was like turning his head to meet your sleeping form, calm and undisturbed in the late morning while he wishes you’d turn into a curse, bare your teeth at him and give him a reason to just flee. gojo felt so vulnerable he wanted to do anything but be here. he knows it all too well when it claws at his throat and makes his head spin. it takes the breath out of him and sends tremors through his fingertips. they’re just some of the uncomfortable feelings satoru braces himself for before he’s interrupted by your fingers unzipping his pants, and he loses himself to your skillful hands.

“baby— c’mon,” gojo laughs, tugging lightly on your hair that you moan, and you’re making quick work of his uniform, tugging it off and coming face to face with his bulge. it’s been plaguing him since the mission earlier, but with a quick call to you, you’re quick to show up in a t-shirt and pants, crashing his lips onto yours right at the door.

“okay, i’ll stop teasin’.” your sly smile told gojo everything he needed to know, a shaky breath leaving him when his cock finally leaves the confines of his underwear. his eyes can’t look away from the way your manicured nails wrap around his length as you’re circling your tongue around his tip. you pull him in with just your stare, collecting his pre-cum before you spit on his dick, taking him slowly.

satoru’s head falls back against his sofa, but it’s not for long when he knows you taking his cock down your throat is the hottest thing he’s witnessed. sure, he’s gotten blowjobs before, and he’s moaning as he is but gojo never quite feels the rush of adrenaline throughout his whole body, never the shortness of breath that catches in his lungs.

“love your cock in my mouth, gojo— mhm…” he’s hoping you can pick up on the fact that he does not want you to say that, because it makes everything harder for him, a high-pitched yelp leaving him when you start to suck on his balls, hand still pumping his shaft and you love the way gojo’s hips buck into the air, juices pooling in your panties.

everything feels just right when you bring his hands to your head and get almost all of him into your mouth, nose buried in his pubes and taking in the musky scent of his body — gojo lets out a drawn out whine when he lets himself loose and your eyes are rolling back further and further into your head as the hours pass. his hands are so large on you it drives you crazy as well as it does to the other when you’re twining your fingers with his while you sink down on him, when he squeezes your hand when he’s about to cum. your giggles are muffled by the kisses you share in the late night, unknowingly giving into your questions about him.

the next day is blurry as gojo finds himself handing his card over, in a haze since the previous night, the only thing standing crystal clear was the cutest babydoll dress hanging on a rack.

so the next time you meet, he’s passing you the gift with a whisper in your ear that he expects you to wear it every time he’s around and you have half a mind to smack him on the arm. i’m not like you! reusing outfits and stinking them up! gojo only laughs hard before your snarky remarks are swallowed by the sorcerer, soft moans and pants weaselling out from your lips while you let him use you in a changing room; he doesn’t tell you how your sounds make him dizzy.

in between you’re accepting his calls with a cheery voice, sticking through to your babydoll dress promises. a culmination of feelings building up until gojo truly feels like he can’t breathe — he manages each time which makes even him impressed with himself. but then you’re meeting his kiss halfway when he’s rubbing at your clit gently from below you, drawing out the most lewd sounds from you, the buzzing feeling of your body against him — it’s too much for gojo sometimes.

and the last, before gojo satoru is finally stripped down to his core and that recurring impulse to push people away starts bubbling up again, and yet he tries to find an excuse each time to even catch a glance at you. he knows despite his inability to admit it to himself.

he knows this like he knows many things — the ins and outs of his technique, what food megumi liked, your favourite fruit — but not even the sweetness of an Amaou could convince him of the very feelings he’s swallowed and buried under the very soil he wishes to grow strawberries from. at least he knows he’s fucked.

but the knowing halts when it comes to when? was it when you’re no longer rushing to leave his place after hookups? was it when he sees traces of you in his home? was it when he’s handing over his card to pay for a dress he wasn’t even sure was in your size?

your whisper of his name brings him back, and his bright eyes seem to lighten just a little; in it you can see the crash of the oceans and the scent of it. gojo smells like that — saltiness tinged with caramel and sweetness, scent lingering in and around you whenever you’re not with him. you’ve been making new discoveries about him ever since, even more so today when your heart pounds with the way his hands are on you, feeling a little foreign from how long he hasn’t contacted you.

“are you alright?” you mumble, hips halting at the stupor gojo seemed to be in, until he silently nods, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth and lifting you off of him. it confuses you a little before he settles you on his chest and you shiver at the vibration of his chest.

“spread your legs, baby,” you sigh when his hands trace over your thighs, the coldness of his hands against the warmth of your thighs feeling so good, even more so when he coos in your ear at just how wet you are, drawing languid circles around your clit. “so wet, hm?” you hum whilst turning your head to face him, eyes flitting straight down to his lips when he licks them.

“just f’r you, pretty boy,” your giggles are consumed by gojo’s eager lips, meeting yours halfway in a rough kiss as he starts to rub at your bundle of nerves. even your moans are swallowed, muffled by gojo’s own needy ones before your hands fly up to clutch at his.

“g-gojo! f— fuckkk…” at this point, you’ve completely succumbed to the man behind you, body limp to his ministrations; they’re relentless even when your hands hold his wrist captive. 

“right there?” gojo chuckles into your ear, hot breath fanning across your ear. it trails into giggles when a drawn out yeahh… makes its way out of you, “my good lil girl.”

you preen at the praise you’ve heard multiple times before, but for some reason your heart only

jumps at gojo’s words no matter how you look at it. with his other hand, he’s positioning it at your entrance, slipping in his finger with a groan that reverberates through his toned chest. there’s moans and whines exchanged, the musky scent of sex flooding every corner.

before long, a second finger joins his first, eyes locked on the way your drooling cunt sucks him in easily while your juices coat his palm, a glistening, filthy sight as he sets a pace. gojo laughs again when your other wandering hand wraps around his wrist, too.

“s’too full,” you whimper, head thrown back across his shoulder, thinking your tightly clenched hands did any work, but if anything, it only spurs him on further. the abuse on your core is endless, feeling with a shiver down your back, the lazy circles on your cli  and the spread of his hand widening to fit more of his fingers in you.

“you’ve taken my cock before, darlin’, you can do it.” satoru coats your shoulders and neck with kisses, that lone sentence making it clear to him he wants you more than just this one time. he wants this over and over until you’re crying and the sheets are soaked, until he’s made so many cups of morning coffee for you that he can’t count them on one hand. there’s a brief falter in his movements when he realises this, an uncomfortable stifled gulp until you’re whining into his ears, hands beckoning him to continue and he brushes it away like he always does.

you’re cumming easily with the arch of your back, but gojo is still in a daze about your life together. maybe you’d gift him a box of kikufuku when he’s back from trips, maybe you’d patch him up after a difficult mission even if you didn’t know what his job entailed. there was too many maybe’s, something gojo wasn’t willing to bet on. for now, he’d focus on the way—

—the way moans lingered on your lips when you came as your body reacted so well to his fingers, clutching on his lanky frame while he pumped you full. he watches when your eyes roll back and your neck reveals itself and he laughs into it, telling you how he’s the only one to make you feel this good and you’re nodding frantically.

gojo’s heart warms at that while his throat dries and it’s like he loses confidence and he feels like a virgin all over again — so blessed to have you under him while he’s suddenly hyper aware of how your cunt feels around him. it’s divine, you’re divine; he stifles a small confession and masks it with a cry. a cry that was of pure desire which couldn’t be expressed, and he blinks away the tears before they could come because you feel too damn good; and if he looks at you one second more he would confess everything.

“you okay?” gojo brushes the sweaty hairs that stick to your forehead, getting a blissful smile from you afterwards while you merely pull him down for a kiss and satoru feels bile creep up in his throat at the tenderness which you connect your lips to him. you’re leading the kiss so slowly and sweetly he wonders if you ever prefer his lips over your Amaou strawberries.

“’m okay, gojo.” the last name is reminiscent of the stagnant distance between you, “are you?”

satoru sniffles just a bit and nods, “y-yeah. let me go get a rag, ’kay?”

you don’t answer after because of your fatigue, merely letting him slip away from your fingers while you calm your heartbeat, rather settling for his scent on the bedsheets and you ignore the redness of his eyes, letting him take care of you as the night falls into an uncharacteristic quiet.

words are difficult in this arrangement after the rules have been set. we’re here to fuck, not to solve each other’s problems, and you’re giving him a curt nod and a sultry smile before you taste gojo satoru for the first time. it has been like that since then, although gojo has been more silent than usual, but words—

words are difficult, and so you leave it be with a deep sigh and a dreamless slumber, not aware of the other.

it’s when the rush of water hits the pail, gojo realises he can’t carry on much longer, of the pull you have on him, on the chemistry, the words dying on his lips when he sees you already passed out. with a gentle hand he glides the rag over you, careful not to wake you, and it’s getting difficult separating love from lust when he’s wiping you down so gently like this.

gojo is gone when you awaken, his side of the bed cold that signals to you he’s been gone for a few hours now, and you’re hoping to get a greeting of him posing beside mochi, or a trinket from a neighbouring district. his work made him travel a lot, you heard, but the specifics are a hushed topic — he wasn’t yours to know intimately anyway.

you’re halfway changing into a babydoll dress he got you, the material sleek and comfortable enough to be worn at home, glancing at the phone with one arm in the arm hole. you frown.

[11:12, gojo satoru]: hey. i think we should stop this thing we have goin on

gojo’s fingers regret the very moment he’s sent it, because you do nothing but type and stop and linger online. he makes it worse with a second message, and multiple more.

[11:14, gojo satoru]: i have uh… a work thing that might interfere with this. 

i’m sorry y/n, you were.. great. i loved every second i spent…|

he let his feelings run and accidentally clicks ‘send’ and panics, unsending it almost instantly. he has to catch a breath before he types it out again.

[11:15, gojo satoru]: i’m sorry (y/n), you were.. great. thank you for the arrangement fr

had a lot of fun while it lasted, also sorry i used all ur face wash hehehe ~

gojo groans into his hands at the way he easily reverts back to his playful disposition, a coping mechanism he’s picked up since high school and he hates how he already misses how he was with you.

“what the fuck are you moaning about now?” shoko asks, obviously irritatedly as she dissects another transfigured human, and her private time on studying the oddness of the disfigured curse is undoubtedly ruined by her friend’s incessant groaning.

the sorcerer is spread out on one of the seats in the morgue, “nothin’.”

“is it that friends with benefits thing you have going on?” he rolls his eyes behind the blindfold. years of dissecting people probably granted shoko with the ability to see through people, both literally and figuratively. gojo simply waves a hand and takes his leave, phone already on do not disturb to avoid seeing your reply. that’s the first time shoko catches onto his inner turmoil, the tear between wanting to protect his heart and the desperation to let someone in.

[11:20, delivered]: oh

but you know when it’s started for him. you think it was the moment you’d seen the change in gojo’s eyes. there wasn’t just carnal need for you, not just lust. amongst little specks of darkened azure you can see the softer hues of baby and lapis; but what do you know, right?

those same eyes stare back at you in the profile picture he set after a drunken night together. you reply with the only thing you can manage as you try to convince yourself it’s what you want. 

[11:21, delivered]: oh okay

you feel like a schoolgirl throwing a tantrum again, the pounding in your heart reaching your ears like a droning drum and you feel like you cannot breathe. your pillows are the victim of your unfiltered scream, paired with multiple profanities until you’re left with no more fire in you. gojo satoru had taken all of the heat with him.

that was friday; on sunday there’s a notification at the end of the week that tells you your screen time went up by 9%.

nanami and shoko were never one to reject a drinking night on a monday, sharing an unsaid (and reluctant) conclusion that maybe they should bring gojo along even if he’s only going to be sipping on apple cider. but while usually gojo is boasting about his terrible alcohol tolerance, tonight he’s buried in an arm he wishes was your neck, the burn of the whiskey nanami begged him not to drink reminding him of your touch.

“thousand yen and a new dissection set for when gojo goes back to his friend with benefits within one week.”

“ah, when, not if? you seem pretty confident,” nanami comments from across the table in the fairly busy bar, leaning back with an unreadable expression upon his face.

shoko only shrugs, “something tells me he’s definitely moping in his—”

“can we please stop talking about me like i’m not in the middle?” his words are muffled by the dark blue uniform he dons, white hair looking strangely duller as he tries to get some shuteye in a damn bar; foolish enough to lose sleep over you that he’s been messing up on missions. even nanami was surprised to be assigned to harder missions upon learning about gojo’s mishaps.

his grumbles fall on deaf ears, the clink of their glasses only highlighting satoru’s torment, the mediocre performance of the band on stage only adding to the headache that was forming — and it’s not long before gojo loses all senses. he has to be lugged out of the bar by nanami as shoko just grins, still as fresh as she arrived as she shouts a good luck! and the stoic sorcerer is left to deal with his senior. by now, gojo has already talked his ear off while he decides what to do with the lanky man, a call to ijichi halted when the strongest sorcerer starts to mumble out incoherent words.

“she’sss… she’s so beautiful i— i don’t… nanaminnn i don’t know what to fuckin’ do,” gojo mumbles into the lapels of the other’s suit. “i feel like i might— i wanna die whenever i’m with her because…”

gojo sniffles. he’s driven to tears easily, the liquor in him intensifying anything and everything. his last confessions are slurred, albeit softly. “i can’t breathe around her.”

there’s a tense silence that circles them for a few minutes, nanami considering his next words carefully even with the soft whispers of your name leaving his lips, and then, there’s also the awkward hard-on nanami can feel on his thigh and he’s trying so hard not to wince — at least gojo’s pants were darker in colour. he can only muster sighs when people on the sidewalk give him looks.

“gojo. i’m not a stranger to your… tendencies,” nanami’s voice cuts through harshly, thinking that his senior may be napping, but he’s surprised to hear a hum leaving his throat, “but you’ve been lacking. in missions, in teaching. it’s never this bad.”

monday. it’s monday and it’s been three days since he broke it off. all it takes is some whiskey and nanami kento to break you down, but he doesn’t say anything after, standing in silence with him until the alcohol wears off just a little more and the sorcerer’s able to gather his cursed energy to teleport. but all gojo can sense in his home are the residuals of your cursed energy. it stings his nose like an odour, something he should be repulsed by, like the pungent smell of copper after visiting shoko or the strong tang of the fermented tofu you’ve tried making for him.

weirdly it only makes the ache in his pants worse when the cursed energy fills his head and messes with his; it reminds him of when you’d be too impatient to make it to the bedroom, letting gojo take you on the couch, to the ride of his shirt up your hips when you first wake up. plopping onto the sofa, he almost succumbs to sleep, alcohol breath and all, but manages to flip himself over, fingers stumbling over his zipper.

your name is the first thing that leaves his mouth as he palms his bulge, soft grunts sounded out in the quietness of his house. his head digs far into the couch as he focuses on you atop him working your magic, grinding onto his front like a tease with your hands on his chest. he removes his underwear with a sigh, hand immediately starting to stroke himself.

“oh— shit, y-yeah,” satoru has no restraint, no decorum, whines filling the room while the slick noises of his fist increase in volume. he thinks of every bit of your body moving against him, water against rock, icarus against the sun.

gojo squeezes his shaft and remembers all the times you’ve wrapped your own hand around him, nails newly done and paid from his pocket as the baby blues move up and down his dick. he rubs a thumb around his tip, and the way his tip leaks pre-cum is almost sinful.

“baby, oh fuckk—” his head pounds from the bright light and the alcohol, and the way his eyes are scrunched tight. “you feel so fuckin’ good.”

satoru’s hips are lifting off his sofa, humping into thin air while his hands speed up, and he’s close, getting some notification from nanami which draws his attention to the wallpaper he set of you: sheets dangerously low on your chest, eyes resting from the long night. it makes him sob out your name because you don’t know what you do to him, until.

until gojo reaches an unsatisfying peak, a cry on his lips and spurts of his cum staining his hand, but it feels nothing like you. the liquid’s spread across his hand like hot water, the guilt burning his body before he chucks his phone to the side and prays to any god that they would have mercy on him.

a gasp is heard. your figure shows itself through the babydoll dress, looking stunning as always with your doe eyes. he knew you’d always open the door.

“gojo.”

alcohol is prevalent on the man standing across from you, and you’re partially surprised to see him in front of you after just one week calling your whole arrangement off — somewhere, someone you don’t know is gifting another unknown person a new dissection set with a mere ¥1000 bill on it. something tugs at your heart at his flushed face and messy hair, maybe it was your feelings, maybe it was the wine you drank before this. you also take note of the unbuttoned dress shirt he’s got on, the wrinkles and dishevelled state of it driving you a little insane.

“baby…” gojo smiles like it was a late night drinking with the boys and it was you welcoming him home, but it’s different when you’ve fucked and received kisses like he loves you, all while he’s standing at the corridor of your apartment building. you’re hoping he’s only a figment of your imagination, because you’ve banished him from your mind since last week. oh well, you tried anyways.

“what. do you want?” there’s a slight buzz from the wine you drank, amplified when he slowly makes his way into the familiar space.

“you—” the other hiccups, and he has to keep a hand on the doorframe from collapsing. if he’s strong enough to do that, you think he’s probably one drink in, bordering on the line of being high and slowly descending into drunkenness. in his hand there’s a bottle of apple cider to quell the alcohol; you stifle a smile.

“i’m not the one who called it off.” you hold your ground, not even noticing the attachment you have with the velvet on your body, feeling satoru’s fingers play with the soft fabric of its hem.

“and yet you— you wear this dress like it’s your underwear, always opening the door f’r me a-and… fuck,” it comes out softly upon feeling up your thighs and settling on your ass cheeks, void of any panties. he gives it a good squeeze and a small whimper leaves you, forced to cosy up to his chest when you stumble forward.

“you’re just drunk right now, gojo, sayin’ shit like that…” you trail off, finding any excuse to not open up the scab on your heart again, pushing at his chest like you didn’t want to taste the rum on him, like you didn’t want his body on yours and taint him with sauvignon.

gojo proves you wrong over and over again at how he’s got your dress flipped up later, neck bent up to accommodate his tall stature while you’re supporting yourself on the flimsy shoe rack as he pulls your body flush against him and toes off his shoes — he’s skilled at multitasking like that.

“need to be inside you, baby,” he groans, fingers fumbling with the dress he bought and he almost cums just from feeling up your body, “but first.”

you’re swept off the floor and your hands are quick to wrap around his neck, following the route to your bedroom like he’s done many times before. this time, there’s a different kind of thrill, looking down at your hazy eyes as you’re both intoxicated on liquor. it’s different from the time he took the current picture of his contact in your phone (you hadn’t deleted his number), it’s different from every other day.

“gojo…” is all you can muster when he plops you down a little roughly on the bed, and you have the privilege of seeing him strip out of the button down shirt, forearms flexing against the shirt as he reveals his toned body bit by bit. you can’t help but refuse to lose, legs spreading just a little to show him all the wetness you’ve gotten just from kissing him.

“angel,” he looks a little starstruck by the sheen of your pussy, swallowing until he’s finally out of his shirt, “you look fuckin’ beautiful.”

your small smile tells him you already know that (“pretty girl, takin’ me so well like this.” a whisper into your ear in that changing room) like you know how you’re probably the only one to get him like this: panting, mouth parted, cock aching to be in you — you’re just better at hiding your own.

wordlessly, you swipe two fingers along your folds, collecting your slick before they come to rest upon his lips, taking it into his mouth willingly. they swirl around your digits and he hums at the taste, divine as always, teeth scraping your skin when you easily unbuckle his pants and peel the underwear off of him.

“can i call you satoru?”

you don’t even have to fucking ask, he wishes to say but all he answers with is a shaky “yes”, and he never wants anything to do with the gojo clan any more. if you asked him to quit being a sorcerer, he would, because all he wants to be associated with is satoru and the cadence of it falling from your lips.

even one week was too much for you, so you’re quick to get to your knees, going straight to putting his fat cock in your mouth. the moan gojo lets out is straight pornographic, and he’s missed this as much as you did, knowing nothing could compare to his hand when your mouth was second to your cunt. lovingly, his hand caresses one side of your cheek, filled to the brim with his length.

“so fuckin’ warm, holy fuck—” bobbing your head, you keep a steady hand on his thighs, because with one look to him, he’s whimpering out, hands loosely tangling in your hair. you moan as his hips start to buck into your mouth, and with a small nod from you, the hands on your head tightens before he starts to thrust into your cavern, bringing you down to his pelvis ever so slightly.

there’s guttural sounds coming from the back of your throat as you deepthroat him, eyes brimming with tears before he lets up. his thrusts don’t stop, though, and he fucks your mouth like an animal, lewd noises flooding the room as drool falls from your mouth. you’re moaning as you play with yourself, the vibrations causing the other’s hips to stutter.

“g’nna c—” it’s a shame how fast gojo cums, but it’s only fair because of the way your mouth feels on him, tongue flexing against the underside of his shaft every time his cock disappears into you and he’s shooting hot liquid down your throat after, unloading into your throat as you swallow easily. you’re used to the bitter taste by now.

“s’big,” you giggle, naturally taking over as your hands squeeze out the last bits of cum from his cock, and the way it drips onto your tongue is orgasmic, “love your cock s’much, satoru.”

gojo brings you up by your arms, and he has to taste himself on you first before he’s fully taking off his pants, smiling just a bit when your legs spread again and your pussy is practically begging for him. “enough of me, let’s focus on you.”

you raise an eyebrow while he’s inches away from your cunt, ignoring the rasp of his voice like it hadn’t made you shiver, “me?”

“yeah, you, my pretty lil thing.” you hardly digest what he says before his mouth engulfs your core, and you let out a deafening moan, hands closing around your bed sheets as he starts to suck on your clit. his tongue is ruthless, flicking at your nub and wrapping both arms around your thighs, tugging you into his face like he wasn’t close enough already.

“oh g-god— satoruuu…” his name falls from your lips countless times and gojo’s eyes can’t help but shift to your face at the pretty sounds that come from you, zoned in on eating you out until his chin is wet with your slick.

“look at me, princess,” gojo is taken aback from the blissed out expression on your face, but it doesn’t falter him, a resolve settling in his bones, “thaaat’s it, baby.” and you struggle to hold his stare when those familiar blues comes flooding back into his irises while his tongue doesn’t stop any of its movements, knowing your ins and outs. you can feel the fabric below you starting to soak, pussy dripping endlessly.

he gives you one last lasting look before he moves down to your entrance, tongue slipping inside while his nose nudges your clit and your hands fly to his hair. gojo hums into your cunt, affirmations of good girl mixed in with moans that send chills up your body.

“close, aren’t ya?” you roll your eyes at how he’s so confident now, sobriety coming to light a bit and rum leaving his system the moment he’s got your pussy in between his lips, but he’s not wrong because you can feel the coil in your stomach twisting and turning, hearing him groan out when he uses a free hand to stroke himself.

his tongue returns to your clit and gojo sucks hard until you’re pulling on his stark white hair, screaming out his name and profanities as you cum, leaking so much juices that it’s made a dark red spot on the inside of your dress. he laughs softly into your core before he’s back to slurping all of it up again and your legs close involuntarily; all he does is tut and spreads them again and he’s on a mission to make up to his mistake of ever thinking of leaving you.

your body is limp by your third orgasm, grasping at satoru to feel him and he takes your hand to plant kisses on them, and to tell you to wait. but that almost proves difficult for you when he’s got you all spread out like this and the quiet, dazed gojo is gone momentarily because he finally knows what he wants.

even if he had to fuck you silly and plant strawberries himself and make more coffees and open up old wounds again, gojo is going to do it all, because the call of his name is sounding more and more like heaven each time and he’s tired of burning at the side when he’s willing to fight fire with fire.

“satoru,” you whine out when gojo places your legs on his shoulder, and it gets him so much deeper in you, buried to the hilt. by now, you’re getting bent into half as he eases his cock into you with a groan, your soaking core laced with juices acting as lube.

“what is it, sweetness?” he asks breathlessly, pressing a soft kiss to your ankle and you’re mewling out again. god, he wanted you like this every minute of the day.

“f-feels s’good,” you moan out, fingers wrapped around his forearms as they grip onto your waist.

the other leans forward and you clench up at how your body folds even more, eyes hooded and soft pants leaving your lips.

“i know, baby, i know,” the glimpse to your lips is brief but you catch it as he coos, and you close the gap as satoru starts his pace, sinking into your warm pussy like it’s a drug. your lips intoxicate him more than rum ever will, slipping his tongue in you and he can’t help but nibble on your bottom lip, a grunt of how tight you are whispered against you.

as gojo continues to rut into you, your lips are continually captured by the other’s, small, sweet kisses leaving your heart beating as his eyes bore into yours before his hand reaches down to rub at your clit, sending sparks throughout your body.

the room is filled with the scent of sex paired with the squelching noises of your cunt, sucking him in so well that his hips falter and he loses his speed whilst admiring you; the you whose pupils look like they’ve morphed into hearts and your jaw remains slack from how good he rails into you.

a man whose feelings weren’t this strong wouldn’t fuck into you like this, wouldn’t make you cum thrice like you’re his baby and then fuck you nice after. a man like that won’t get up fifteen minutes earlier to boil water or swap out an old tube of face wash when it runs out.

but are you even ready? even with the undeniable pull satoru has on you, you cannot get the feeling of being thrown aside when you’ve done your part out of your chest, the weight crushing you worse than his body weight in the morning.

“s’toru! s-shit,” you whimper, legs tightening around his shoulder as your hands scramble to grab his hair, feeling already so fatigued and yet, you’re dizzy on the way gojo satoru makes you feel. satoru is no different, an immovable haze settling over his eyes when he stares and he’s so caught up in everything — your eyes, your hips, your hair splayed out below him that he’s blurting out the first thing in his mind. “i love y— this fuckin’ pussy, fuck.”

his heart is pounding, and he stops abruptly at the stifled slip-up, mouth dry when you shoot him a confused look and a small satoru? you okay?

“y— yeah.”

i couldn’t do it.

gojo gulps and he feels tears well up in his eyes. it’s weird, for all his confidence at the start begins to dwindle at such simple words that he can’t mutter out and he shakes his head, burying himself into the crook of your neck and you’re brought back into bliss when he continues, taking note of the slight turmoil he’s going through.

gojo feels like he cannot breathe when you pull him from your neck, albeit with difficulty; both your eyes flutter close as his forehead collides with yours, and he just savours this moment with (hopefully) no judgement from you. he breathes in your scent, takes in your moans in his ears as his pace slows and he angles his hips and his eyes open to meet yours again right as you both cum, pumping you full with mingling moans as you gush all over his cock.

and just like the first night, you’re drawing him in with everything — he falls harder when he sees you reluctantly ignore the tears in his eyes, knowing he didn’t want to talk about it, knowing you’d be asking about it later. with your gentle voice, your fiery touch.

gojo never liked to feel vulnerable, but at thirty he thinks it’s time for a change when you first embroiled him in this complicated arrangement of quiet, yet tumultuous feelings. he can feel the three words weigh his lips down when you’re brushing away the tears later with a sad smile, scooting yourself closer to the chest that’s doing a bad job of hiding his heartbeat.

“what’s gotten my satoru cryin’, hm?”

gojo sniffles at my, holding onto one of your hands, and he says nothing but only succumbs to your arms when you tuck him under your chin, feeling safe in your chest as you both fall into routine. silence befalls the night, a certain dread taking over him that you’d be gone by morning as his breaths even out.

but when birds sing in the morning, his heart sings louder at the sight of you reading a book beside him in an old shirt he was convinced was lost, the faint smell of toast waiting for you outside. he’s tucked into your side and his arms have naturally wrapped around your body, your own playing gently with his hair and gojo thinks not all is bad when you read between the lines of his feelings. because as much as he knew you, you knew him and his habits, his quirks, too, and there’s an unsaid rule about how—

satoru never liked to feel vulnerable.

vulnerability was a state of exposure, like the way he accidentally burns himself while cooking pancakes or feeling the heat of the coffee radiate off your cup. it was like standing bare in your shower, eyes locked onto yours while he cleans you up. it was like letting his heart be stripped away by you who peels away the layers like you do to his underwear and the hard-boiled egg on the stove and the orange in the grocery bag.

it was like loving you, even if it tears at his technique and mocks the very powers he’s perfected to be untouchable, but you’re able to permeate his barriers and neutralise his infinity with something as simple as a kiss to his forehead.

that, gojo satoru may never be able to understand, but like himself, he doesn’t need to know every single thing.

all he knows is that with the way you capture his heart, he knows freedom from your embrace is something unattainable, but he wouldn’t have it any other way — that in itself is enough for his stubborn heart.

i need geto to grab my chin, stroke my cheek with his thumb, then spit in my mouth. maintaining eye contact the whole time? ugh. he’d de say “good girl”

ST☆RGIRL

a/n: yuuuum anon u guys r giving me the best ideas. also combining this with the geto in the brother’s bsf universe bc a lot of u have been asking for pt. 2, altho asking for a part two is pretty annoying. but i wanted to do a second one anyway lol. i made our brother gay btw + read the first part here / tagging @omgeto @papersirens @crysugu @getousex @slttygeto @kazushawty @peachsayshi

wc: 3.7k

warnings: secret relationship(?), soft dom!geto, reader is not a virgin but it’s her first time with geto, you almost get caught but it’s mild, dry humping / grinding, nipple play, spitting (in your mouth), praise, clit stimulation, oral / cunnilingus, unprotected sex, creampie / breeding kink, n*sfw under the cut

sneaking around your brother wasn’t exactly easy, given how they were almost always together by the day — if you didn’t know better, you’d think they were dating instead. the only time you had geto to yourself was in the middle of the week when your brother had gone back to pack more things and to visit his boyfriend, a sure time that you’d show up beaming and excited in front of their double dorm room while geto only gives you a lazy smile, tugging you into the room immediately. sometimes it was the other way when your roommate went home for the weekend, geto knocking on your door in a wife beater and sweats, a small grin and reddened cheeks from running over; the prospect of hanging out with you always gets him speeding over.

his room was for wednesdays, yours for the weekend. a sweet little arrangement for the both of you.

now, geto suguru was the best boyfriend. he made sure you were always okay with his touches, his kisses. he had a silent way of caring, covering the top of your head when you reached down to pick up something under the table, refilling the trusty mug of water you brought around in the small dorm of yours, tidying up your table for the immense studying you’d be doing. it was the little things that you never noticed before you got addicted to him, but now it’s all you can think about when you gush about him to your friends.

and well, maybe, how good he was at teasing you.

no doubt suguru has had experience with other people before from how he always has you wanting more after a simple kiss, lips separating from yours to shoot you a quick smile and a gesture of manoeuvring you onto his lap. his touches are never-ending, rough, large hands spanning the beauty of your body as he names off feature after feature he’s noticed mature since you’ve both grown into adults. he makes the idea of wearing clothes abolutely offensive, grinding up into your centre and watching you fall apart, only to stop when he feels your hands tighten around his shirt.

geto knows you’re not ready, not when you’re doing some pulling away of your own as his hands creep towards your chest, fingers closing around his wrist before he can reach the buttons of your pants. all you can give him is a flustered smile, stuttering out an excuse with frantic hands. he just lets you — swallowing your apologies and tugs you into his embrace and talks about the newest tattoo he got instead — “we can just kiss and grind, baby. you tell me when you want to stop, okay?”

although you never do, makeout sessions always end with your hair in all places, your panties soaked and your lips swollen, not a single line crossed on geto’s side every time. it was an endearing trait of his; he never rushed you, never pressured you into “helping” him out, rather excusing himself to the bathroom quietly.

a smile spreads across your face when your phone lights up, the little profile picture of a sleeping suguru taking centre stage of your phone.

[11:43am, suguru (the bsf and now my BOYF???)]: hey baby, he just left. u wanna come over?

geto doesn’t even need to ask, because you’re already picking up your pre-packed bag and bid goodbye to your roommate who’s deep in her assignment, not noticing you’re gone until she’s shooting you a text after, asking you if you wanted anything for dinner. eating at the boyfriend’s place, no worries! thanks for asking :)

you’ve reached the other block in record time, amongst other many impressive timings, but while you’ve pressed the lift button and trying to catch your breath, the wind is knocked out of you again when the lift doors part and out comes your brother. you’ve never been so quick to come over before, avoiding situations just like this, but your sibling isn’t phased, simply shooting you a greeting.

“hanging with suguru?”

your breath is shaky when you exhale and you hope he doesn’t notice. “yea— yeah!”

his smile is unassuming, a hand outstretched and you barely make his high-five before he bids you goodbye with too loud of a goodbye, keeping up the clueless act until you’re stopping right in front of their door. your boyfriend doesn’t give you time to breathe, either, door swinging open to your dishevelled state and his chuckle would’ve almost buckled your knees if not for the adrenaline running through you.

“i just saw my brother in the elevator — are you insane?”

geto feigns a pout, “not even a kiss for the boyfriend?”

you roll your eyes with a smile and grab the neckline of his t-shirt, but what he says (“well, you’re the one who came running over, sweetheart.”) prompts you to grunt, shoving him away before you collapse face first into the sheets. they smell like you, you notice, but they’re mostly filled with the geto’s natural scent, a calming combination of cinnamon and bergamot. there’s goosebumps on the back of your thighs — suguru runs his hand over it and up to your waist, flipping you onto your side and he coos at your annoyed face, settling into the bed with you.

“okay, no more teasing, hm?” he asks softly and you ignore the jump into your heart. you ignore how his tattoo covered arms are so gentle next to you, how his rougher finger tips brush your hair away like bees on a flower; almost ghost-like, so light, so soft, but you can’t. against your will, you huff, taking his hand silently and holding it, a small frown still present on your face and geto feels bad, now. he leans forward, taking your lips gently and you hate the way how pliantly you obey, sighing as you feel geto move against you.

your hand clutches at the pendant geto bought, a habit you’ve developed every time you feel overwhelmed. it was ironic, too, how the many times you’ve thumbed it was because of geto, and not so much of stressful exams or a weird guy at a party, but that thought’s out the window when geto pulls you onto him, moaning into your mouth when your thighs close in around him.

“you’re okay today, princess?” geto asks against your lips, and there’s no doubt lust swirling in the honey eyes od his — they’re the brightest always in the morning.

“i wanna—” you swallow, “try,” you sit up more comfortably, ignoring the tug in your core, “i don’t want to keep you waiting.”

geto’s brows furrow, “what? no— baby, you’re not making me ‘wait’, if anything i should be the one waiting for you.”

your hands are tense on his chest, he notices, bringing one to his lips before he places a kiss on your palm.

“you shouldn’t be compromising on your comfort to please me, my love,” geto mumbles into your hand, starting to kiss each finger individually until you’re closing your hand around his cheek.

“you’re so pretty,” you mutter softly and you’re jumping in celebrating in your heart when you can feel his skin heat up because your words affect him as much as it did you. you’re leaping for joy because how did you land such a caring lover that would put all your needs first? who’d tell you that you come first in everything—

geto suguru makes this so difficult always, but you’re already firm in your resolution, giving him a solid yes before a small smile spreads across his face, making the act of pulling you down by that same hand. you’re inches away, mind spiralling with how many positions he could put you in but—

there’s a jiggle of the knob on the door and you’re suddenly recoiling.

“are you expecting anyone?”

your boyfriend quickly shakes his head, but he brings you off his lap gently, setting you a safe distance from him. he arranges your hair in place and patting down the wrinkles on your shirt as the other person struggles to open the door and as always, he’s worrying about you, first — until that familiar, booming voice of your brother cuts through the tension and your disappointment is unmatched.

“hey guys!”

geto wanted to roll his eyes, as with you, but your oblivious brother doesn’t take much note of why your chests were heaving and your skin is sweaty, rather setting down his bags full of dirty laundry and the cute anniversary present he was ranting to you about — it felt like your work was undone, reversed, and you’re back to feeling intimidated, no doubt the presence of your brother making you feel like you were doing something sinful.

“so! wait, why do you look so—”

“oh, it’s nothin’, she’s just nervous for her upcoming exam,” geto answers almost immediately, removing the attention from you; it wasn’t entirely false, you realise, giving him a secret smile. “you were saying?”

“oh! yes, so, turns out…”

it’s nearing to the fifteen minute mark where your brother still continues to talk, rambling on about how his boyfriend’s moving date had been moved forward insread, so it was halfway throughout his journey that he got a text saying how it might be too chaotic for them to hang out — boxers, movers, the family dog barking at every stranger.

that heart-twisting, anticipating feeling had subsided by then, and while it was never a dull moment with the two of them, you left that dorm room feeling a little dissatisfied.

“i’m sorry, baby,” geto whispers to you later as your brother takes the chance to pee. he’d volunteer to send you back but the both of you didn’t want to risk anything more.

“next week?” geto asks, a hand to your cheek, “but of course, if you don’t feel it next week either that’s f—”

you give him a small grin, fingers covering his own shaking ones in comfort, “next week.” his lips barely leave your forehead in a peck before the toilet flushes and the door opens; geto teases your brother about not washing his hands and the two bicker just like years ago: hands flying everywhere and your giggles cutting through every insult they hurl at each other.

you can hear geto’s chuckle when you show up the next week, looking like you just ran a marathon again. this time you have no trouble avoiding your brother by hiding behind the wall beside the lift, though you hardly have any time for your boyfriend’s teasing laughter.

closing the door with your feet, you’re walking geto back into the room and his eyebrows raise at your determined face.

“are you sure you’re okay—”

without warning you’re clashing your lips into his, hands on his pecs and mewling softly when his arms naturally wrap around your middle.

“more than—” there’s a dramatic sigh when you feel hands caress your back, “okay.”

you’re just too enamoured with geto to carry on with your once self-assured actions, because you’re always like putty whenever you’re in his embrace. it happens without fail every time.

“you make me feel so,” swallowing, your eyes break contact and your head collides with his broad chest, “insane. you drive me crazy.”

you don’t miss how he winces a little, but soon he’s bringing your head off of him, biting his lip at your cute pouting face, possibly not knowing how even more obsessed he was with you.

a simple text from you has got his palms sweaty, and he goes through at least three drafted messages first before sending something, afraid he’d push over your boundaries or do something you won’t like. geto loves your smile, seeing your cheeks reach your eyes until there’s no more from a joke he made because you were talking about the cute little tattoo his little sister made him get. there wasn’t an end to suguru’s love for you; to see you, to feel you be so flustered and sheepish because of him drives him crazy — did you see the effect you had on him?

you simultaneously ruined and changed the definition of love for him; he’d never have anyone else.

you’re taken aback when geto tugs off his shirt and sitting right in the centre of his sternum is a woodcut tattoo of a halved sun, looking entirely contrasting with the traditional dragon that runs over his body and other ink-heavy pieces littered across his body. this was like a collection of ever-flowing lines that seem to bleed despite the bold lines that signify the end of the sun, it was you. your fingers trace over the tattoo under the protective film, your gasp prominent when there’s a small “to my sun” below it, paired with your initials — ambiguous enough if you were to break up, but geto hoped that would never be the case.

“got this for you last week,” suguru takes your wandering hand into his, words and actions gentle while he kisses the back of your hand, he laughs into your skin, “hurt like crap, i’m not gonna lie.”

“sugu—” your eyebrows are downturned just like your smile, “this is so pretty.” you’re in awe that he’d get something permanent for you, no doubt with such a cheesy line under the beautiful drawing.

“you’re so pretty.” geto smiles when you smile with a roll of your eyes, and you let him bring you into another kiss, softer this time as you let him lead, pulling you to his lap easily.

anyone who looked at the two of you could see the instant difference: geto with his inked arms and room oozing with posters and the gruff nature of him, and you with your bashfulness and sweet smiles and while geto is bound to be noticed first, he would rather sit in the shadows as your moon as he lets you charm everyone you come across. you’re just like that.

geto treats your body like glass, removing your top off of you gently as his hands span your torso and he sighs when he sees you aren’t wearing a bra. “look at you…” and you’re giggling, drawing a smile from the other. slowly he looks to you for reassurance and you nod, prompting him to wrap a careful mouth around your nipple. your boyfriend moans when he feels you jerk at the contact, tongue swirling around your mound as he plays with the other and that’s all it takes for your fingers to tense around his shoulder.

“f— fuck, sweetheart,” you hear him groan into your chest, moving to other nipple and suckling on it, eyes closed in bliss while your head falls back, “you’re so perfect, my love.”

“am i, now?” you mumble breathlessly, “you should look at who’s talking.”

geto nods, coming off of your tits with a pop! and the grin he gives you is shit-eating, “yeah, so goddamn perfect.”

you’re impatient now, especially when you’re in full perception, body on display just for your lover to see, and your hips move slowly whilst your skin feels like liquid fire.

“need you, suguru,” it’s a soft whine that comes out of you, and geto moans at your neediness and the rock of your pelvis because he can practically feel your cunt clench around nothing and your clit throbbing, and while you’re both no stranger to this, the idea of going further than whatever you’re used to makes geto dizzy.

“yeah— i know, baby,” you’re on your back after, gulping when you’re finally left with nothing on your body, shorts and panties taken off and the glory of your body is like oxygen to him, “i need you too.”

gently, suguru pries your legs apart and he’s hooked on your wetness, the beauty of your labia and hole, leaking so much slick his breath is shaky when he exhales. the first contact with your clit is feather-like, and it’s all he does before he leaps in and eats like a starved man. the sensations are too much that your thighs are pulled taut, feeling the flat of his tongue draw a line up your pussy.

geto slurps at your arousal, putting pressure in his mouth and sucks like his life depended on it and your sounds are music to his ears. he groans when he feels your hands pull at his hair, tugging away or towards your pussy even he didn’t know but he relishes in how he’s able to make you feel like this.

“su— suguru, s-shit! your mouth’s—” you can basically hear the smile in between the messy eating of your boyfriend, emerging from your plush thighs for a moment to show you just how soaked the bottom of his face was.

“it’s what?”

you tsk at his teasing and you shove him back, ignoring the way his chuckles send chills up your body through your core, but geto is merciful, humming and moving his face against your cunt. his tongue is relentless as well, making you so pliant with just one muscle as he flicks it against your puffy clit. it’s when your entrance starts to clench around air is when he thinks you’re going to cum.

and he stops — your whines are so cute to him.

“what’s your deal, suguru?” your frown’s adorable too, but he makes it up to you with a sweet kiss and lets you taste yourself.

“want you to cum around my cock, baby. you can do that, can’t you?”

yes, geto felt like he wanted to combust. yes, geto felt like he needed a thousand and one photos to capture how angelic you looked right, but with how he’s talking right now, you only can look up at him with excitement despite not knowing the torture you were putting him through.

and so when he first nudges his tip past your hole, that facade drops entirely, eyes fluttering close at the tightness of your cunt and the spread of your pussy lips upon his dick. you were by no means a virgin, although you disclosed that it was a shitty first time when you first lost it, but the way you feel around his cock, closing in around him you both have had to take breaths together.

“so tight…” geto’s close to bottoming out, memorising how he made you fall apart so easily: your hands clutching tightly on his wrists, making your tits pop out more, the flutter of your pussy, your cute lil mouth stretching into a delicious ‘o’. “and so pretty, just like that.”

you hum at the praise and once he’s buried, your little pants become more frequent, leaving puffs of air on his cheek.

“move?”

“are you seriously asking me that right n— oh shit…”

geto unsheathes and slams into you, and he can feel the drag of your walls along his length. a small laugh leaves him, “just takin’ care of m’pretty girl.”

he’s only had your dripping pussy once and yet he already can’t get enough of it, starting to move his hips as he impales you on his cock. it’s the only thing your mind can focus on, feeling so full and filled with him that it hazes your brain and hypnotises you almost.

“su— ohmy g-god!”

geto’s hands tighten around your thighs at that and the thrusts get sloppy so fast, rutting into you with no end goal in mind other than to feel your tight hole around his length. your lover’s eyes fall to the way his cock slips into you and you take it so well — there’s no other pussy he’d want to feel around him, truly — you take the ram of his hips so good and the gushing of your cunt is answer enough for him.

your hands grab for him, fingers fumbling with his forearms to bring him to your lips. the kiss is filled with drool, tongues slamming into each other as his hips stutter and jolt at the clamp of your pussy, and when he pulls away there’s a string of saliva connecting your lips to his.

you’ve talked about it before and it’s like he reads your mind before anything even begins; his hand grabs at your chin, so lovingly and different from how disgustingly rough he was slamming into you. his thumb goes over your supple skin, and he doesn’t need much to pry your mouth open but—

“open.” and your tongue comes out like second nature and you try not to show your excitement when geto gathers saliva, spitting the ball of liquid straight into your mouth. it hits your tongue hot. his honey eyes are darker now as he watches how obediently you swallow — he swears he can see hearts in your eyes.

“good girl.” geto smiles again, propping your legs up against your chest now in a mating press and you whine in surprise. the position gives him access to the deepest parts of you, and one hand sneakily rubs at your clit in time with his faltering thrusts and you’re cumming with a cry of his name.

“suguru— yes, yes! f-fuck— right there, baby,” you’re sobbing, seeing splotches of white in your vision as your high seem to overtake your senses. it hits you in all the right spots, giving geto his little gift of cumming around him and multiplying it tenfold by how your cum seeps into the sheets. it’s so much that all he can hear is the lewd squelch of your cunt and one more moan is enough for geto to groan into your neck.

“going to give you my cum, darling,” your “yes’” resonate in his ear and it spurs him on to finally cum, shooting his load deep into your womb and filling you with so much hotness. it’s too much but you love it and geto hisses at how your juices and his semen seem to seep out, “that’s a good fuckin’ girl.”

there’s a sly little grin when he lets down your legs gently and you’ve grasped at your pendant so hard it’s detached, and he quells all your doubts with a single kiss and the sun on his chest.

“i’ll just get you a new one, baby. you deserve that much.”

why did i write sm....

a/n: IM HERE IM JERE SORRY FOR GOING AWOL

wc: 1.6k

warnings: dom!geto, fem!reader, infidelity / cheating, reader is a teacher, oral / cunnilingus, semi exhibitionist sex, fingering, clit stimulation, pussy slapping, unprotected sex although geto pulls out, praise, he calls you ’slut’ once, n*sfw under the cut

“g-geto-san!” your hand immediately flies to your mouth at the loud moan you let out, propped up so beautifully on the L-shaped sofa while his wife stays sleeping. you look so different than when you commanded the classroom, so pliant and perfect.

“quiet, baby.” geto mumbles against your cunt, using his stronger arms to pull your pelvis closer to him.

your — hookup? acquaintance? — wasn’t one to cheat. it’s a funny thing to say that although he’s married while he has you soaking right through to the fabric below you but his wife wasn’t that innocent either.

the love had died long ago when geto had found that she wasn’t treating mimiko and nanako right, either being rude to them or forgetting to pick them up, small things like that. she didn’t like the extra weight and burden of suguru’s single fatherhood and that already should’ve been a sign and yet he’d put a ring on her — the pussy was too good, he guesses.

until he’s enrolling the girls in classes after passing a dance school, getting to meet you as their teacher. gentle, upbeat, and just oozing with kindness. you’d even went as far to wait with the girls when geto had been late in picking them up.

the lines have blurred since then, smeared so badly to the point you forgot how you ended up on geto suguru’s couch after locking up the studio. their aunt had already picked mimiko and nanako up and you couldn’t just resist after geto said he’d want to get to know you better.

oh, he was getting acquainted just fine.

“mmfhm . .” geto hummed into your cunt, licking stripe after stripe up your folds as your juices pool on his tongue, “cunt’s the best i’ve ever tasted.”

you burned at the praise; it’s no doubt geto has had many people before you but he really did mean it. so much sweeter and intoxicating, and the little sounds you made added everything.

“geto-san . .” you mumble just before he digs in, letting you pull on his hair so his head would tilt up.

“i’m eating you out and you’re still callin’ me by my last name?” geto laughs at your stammers, “’m just kidding—”

“are you sure?” he knows you’re referring to his wife just inches away, but he only scoffs. a hand goes to your clit, thumb rubbing the nub and you whine.

“been the surest once i saw you. i was going to die getting to know you.”

you stifle a laugh, “dramatic ass.”

geto smacks your pussy lightly, loving the way you tighten around nothing. your heels dig into his back as he hovers over your core and you have to steady your breathing.

“knew it from the moment you treated my girls right . .” he trails off before latches his mouth around your clit, sucking and flicking his tongue and your hips push up more into his mouth. he moans at that, securing the hold he has on your thigh. you briefly catch how his hands go down to his centre.

“t-that’s just . . the bare minimum— ah! though,” you mewl out, trying to keep your moans to a low as the man below you does not care whatsoever. he slobbers all over your cunt, juices coating the bottom of his face until it’s dripping wet.

“still.” the one word then convinces you that maybe the lady sleeping from beside you wasn’t exactly the best, but you will away the thoughts once suguru drags his tongue down to your hole and his eyes bore holes into yours. he continually nudges his tongue against your clit, the lewd slurping noises making you clench around him.

“hear yourself, pretty?” you feel the grin against your folds and all you can do is whine, “she’s just dripping, isn’t she?”

you nod mindlessly, hands shakily taking his from your thigh and moving them to your neglected entrance. “need y-your—”

geto hums and indulges you, pressing his finger right into you and you moan out loud. his wife stirs for a bit and despite everything your pussy flutters at the aspect of getting caught — suguru smiles.

“dirty slut.” he mutters against your pussy, starting to pump his finger slowly and you tug harder on his black locks. there’s so much arousal everywhere even as he eases his second finger in and the stretch is so delicious.

“s-suguru . .” you trail off, head thrown back at how much thicker and longer his fingers are, “s’good—”

“yeah?” and to your dismay his hands stop, blessed with the cute pout that graces your face and he just laughs, standing to reveal his aching bulge and you’re peeling off his underwear for him.

“wanted to feel you around me, tha’s all,” he slurs in pleasure, licking his lips when he first sees your surprised face. you look cockdrunk already, hearts forming in your pupils.

“will it fit, suguru-san?” you whisper in awe, pumping it slowly and using a finger to collect the pre-cum that’s collected. he groans softly at that.

“it will, just gotta relax for me, alright baby girl?” you nod as he gently pushes your legs up, folding you in half while his tip brushes against your sex. there, he moves his hips, collecting your arousal, just barely putting the tip in. just like his hand earlier, he slaps his cock along your folds and grins at your squeamish movements.

“goin’ in, darling,” geto whispers and pushes in slowly. he’s so focused on the way your cunt stretches, a moan sounding out from deep in his throat while you hold on tightly to his biceps. small pants leave your mouth, seeing the silhouette of his pelvis slowly descend on yours while he bottoms out.

“s-suguru— f-full!”

“that so?” geto breathlessly chuckles before he moves and he has to still his hips just to compose himself at the feeling of your walls. so warm and accommodating. “baby, you feel so damn good . .”

suguru moves soon enough and you relish in the fact how you’ve managed to get such a composed man to break — always so polite and well-mannered when picking his girls up and yet now his hair falls from his hair tie and his cock is reacts so well to your drooling cunt.

this position has geto reaching deeper into you, his thrusts already turning sloppy and he pushes down on your legs more.

“close— ’m close suguru—” you whine out and there’s a teasing comment (“already?”) that leaves his lips, but he can’t speak too when he feels his high approaching too. a man like him reduced to such a fast orgasm has him blushing and yet he can’t resist your cunt.

your hands grasp aimlessly at geto as he smoothly places your legs on his shoulder and he leans down to capture your lips — “feels good, suguru . .”

the both of you hardly care about the person on the couch, mingling moans filling the room as you whimper into the kiss. your cunt continues to clench around him, feeling every vein and shape of his cock and committing it to memory just as he is with you; he thinks he doesn’t want to fuck any pussy ever again.

“’course it feels good, it’s b’cause you’re doing so well,” geto whispers against your lips and he takes note of how praise gets you going when he can feel your pussy throb. “oh? you like that, huh?”

you whisper a soft ‘yeah’ to him and you preen at another good girl he gives you, letting him embrace you fully as he stays buried in your neck. the feeling is all too much, the friction of his pelvis and the drag of his length along your walls that you cum immediately. your cunt gushes around him, and all you can do is babble into his ear.

“that’s it, i got you,” he mumbles against your neck, soft kisses placed there as lets you ride out your orgasm, the squelching of your pussy only increasing in volume as you tremble around him.

“cumming, baby,” geto says as he twitches, one last sloppy thrust into you before he pulls out and pumps his cock with loud drawn out groans. rope after rope of cum leaves his tip, staining your stomach and pussy in white and the both of you pant in unison, small smiles on your face.

“next time i’m cumming deep inside you,” geto says even when at the corner of his eye, he can see his wife slowly coming to consciousness and the shock register on her face that he’d stoop as low as her — random guys she brings to their house exchanged for one sweet teacher with an even sweeter pussy.

and geto suguru goes right to fucking you again and drawing the most sultry moans until she stomps away with anger and slams the door so hard it might’ve come off its hinges.

there’s only a shrug from geto at your distraught expression, but he resolves it soon enough with a hand to your clit, rubbing languid circles into it that you choke out a moan.

“are you sure it’s alrig—!”

“perfectly, baby,” he takes your hand and plants a kiss to it; it’s so gentle like other times, where he’d bring you to some quiet cafe to avoid being seen, or just a simple dinner in his home and you hate how you’re already falling for a married father and still, the thrill was just too good.

suguru puts your hand around his cock and you move with second nature.

“your pussy’s much prettier and better anyway.”