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You’re eating nachos at a bar. The music is not loud enough to drown the chatter everywhere— and you’re glad for it this once. The yellow lights are cozy, the wooden furnishings go well with the wall full of polaroid pictures of customers, it all comes together.
Your friends are venting about their life, making fun of each other in between nasty remarks and hopeful daydreaming. Pretty normal outing.
“Ugh, I don’t think I ever want to see Yaga’s ugly mug again.” Utahime groans, referring to the awful exam she had earlier on the day.
“I’m sure it’s not that bad.” Shoko exhales to the side, avoiding to blur the whiny girl in a cloud of smoke.
“He is kinda ugly.” You quip, knowing that’s not what Shoko meant. “The beard helps, though.”
“Yeah, ‘cause it covers his face. A plastic bag would be better.”
You chuckle, picturing your teacher struggling for air while wrestling a plastic bag from the supermarket. You down the rest of your amber beer.
You’re feeling cool. The past week had been a little hectic, with your boyfriend needy for your attention and your midterms keeping you busy. This is the first time in a while that you’ve let yourself properly relax. You’re even thinking about going and getting a fourth beer, when a tall pint of ale suddenly materializes in front of you.
You look up at the waitress, who is obnoxiously chewing on some gum.
“ ‘s from the guy with the long hair, sitting at the bar.”
You turn your head, already forming his image in your mind— and sure enough, there he is.
If you had to choose a word to try and describe Suguru Geto, it would be exceptional.
He’s like no one you’ve ever met, you’ve never had a friend like him– considerate yet alluring enough to keep things interesting, warm but also mean from time to time. He’s funny in the most inappropriate ways, caring in the most unexpected times, and you’d be blind not to see how hot he is.
It’s okay. You’re not some hormonal teenager, right? You’re mature enough to recognize the slight excitement in your gut whenever you see the sharpness of his jaw as he angles his head and ties his silky black hair into a ponytail, or the strength of his arms when he’s driving you home. It’s okay, because that doesn’t mean you’ll jump him or anything. You’re a rational person, you’re capable of using logic, you’re capable of not acting on your slight attraction.
Besides, your boyfriend is hot, too.
Suguru is already watching you from his spot, and you take a sip of the drink he just bought you— pleased to find a fruity, guava flavor dancing on your tongue.
You resist the urge to roll your eyes because of course he remembers your favorite brand of artisanal beer.
You give your friends a glance. “I’ll be right back.”
You take the heavy glass in your hands and approach your boyfriend’s best friend.
“Hey, stranger.” You greet him with bright eyes. “What are you doing here by yourself? Trying to take someone home?”
You sit on the stool next to him, watching his cat-like features lighten up with amusement by your silly question.
“Is that a pick up line?” He smirks. “Sounds exactly like something a creepy old man would say.”
“Huh, maybe that’s where I got it from.”
“Don’t make it sound like an STD, you’ll be less likely to get lucky that way.”
He chuckles quietly before drinking from his dark beer.
"Not like that'd deter S'toru." You snicker, gulping down as much as you can from the citric lager.
If you were sober, you would notice the slight awkward moment of silence that overwhelms Suguru after mentioning your boyfriend’s high libido. Instead, your conscious mind lets it slip, trusting your deeper instincts to catch it.
"You didn't tell him you were going out."
It's an observation, yet it feels like he's accusing you of something— not sure what of, but you don't feel like playing the guessing game.
"Yeah." You confirm, as if he's asked you a question. "I just needed a night out after a stressful week, you know? I'll call him soon."
He raises his hands, showing you his palms.
"It's just an observation, I'm not trying to make you feel guilty about anything, sweetheart."
You take a long sip from your drink. You don't have an answer to that.
"It'll be your birthday soon." He brings up. "Any plans?"
You're thankful for the change for a much lighter topic. He's great at reading people, one of his many qualities.
"Not really, I think it's a Wednesday or Tuesday, so I haven't given it too much thought."
"Well, what do you want to do?"
You hum.
"Hey, remember that time we went camping?"
"Yeah, it was cold as fuck at night."
"The fire was cool, though."
"You were so drunk, I was worried for a moment you were going to fall into it. Make a s'more outta ya'."
"Ha. ha. I wasn't that—"
"Yes. Yes, you were."
"Whatever. I had fun. We should go again."
"We could go, if that's what you want for your birthday."
You smile brightly at him.
"Go back to your friends, squirt. Didn't you say you were looking to enjoy your night out?"
"Aww..!" You pout, tilting your pint so you could catch the last droplets of your beer hiding beneath the foam. "But you're better company than them!"
"Don't let them hear you say that." He chuckles, calling the bartender and asking for another artisanal beer, buying it for you. "I'll be here if you need a ride home, got it?"
He pats the top of your head, and you take your new beer with you back to the table with your friends.
“Yo, who was that?” Utahime bothers you, pretty eyes bulging out of her skull. She’s addicted to gossip, this one.
“He’s Gojo’s friend, right?” Shoko provides.
You nod, doing a happy little dance with the guava lager in your hands as the protagonist.
“Are you involved with him, too?”
You almost reel back. Utahime agrees with the wild assumption, instantly providing imaginary scenarios in which Suguru plays the part of the prince to your princess, or whatever she watched on netflix last night.
“What? No, Utahime— stop.” You laugh at the bullshit she’s spewing. “We’re just friends. Good friends. I’m sure he just sees me as a little sister or— or something.”
Later that night, when you’re tipsy enough not to remember your actions the morning after, Suguru drives you home, makes sure you insert the right key to open your door, just when he’s about to say goodnight—
You lean forward, kiss his lips with tender appreciation and plenty of tongue, slipping it inside his mouth with a high-pitched whine as his spit mixes with yours, pulling away like nothing happened and throwing him a clumsy "g'night, S'guru—love ya'."
It changes his whole life.
You can’t really pinpoint the exact moment something changed between you. Perhaps it’s always been this way, from the moment you met— maybe it was meant to happen.
Wheels set up for motion, it was in the makings. That kind of deal.
You don’t really believe in fate, but you’re not arrogant enough to ignore undeniable truths, and you’re not stubborn enough to try and fool yourself.
Sometimes things just happen. Even if you try to get away from the center of it, you can’t control such things.
Suguru respects Satoru, they have been best friends for years. Closer than family, blood is always thicker than water from the womb. Something like that.
Which is why Satoru trusts him with you. To give you a ride home late at night when he’s too fucked up to drive; to take care of you when you’re too drunk and he needs to go somewhere else because how could he leave his girlfriend alone when she’s so obviously wasted?
You suppose it was inevitable.
He knows you better than Satoru does by now. Doesn’t matter how much more time you’ve spent with the white haired menace, Suguru holds a superior quality over him when it comes to you.
It is born in the early mornings you rise to have some coffee before going out to start your day, when Satoru’s lazy ass is snoring in his king sized bed and Suguru watches you stir two and less than a half spoonfuls of sugar before adding the tiniest bit of milk, his fingers threaten to shake when you get too close to the exact shade of brown you like your coffee, almost adding too much white.
It becomes noticeable when he knows what you like to order in the drive through on the way back home after a night out, knows to ask for the pickles on the side, knows to ask for whipped cream on your milkshake, knows to order the medium sized fries, and knows to order an orange soda for himself because you’ll take a sip from the straw from time to time, make a funny face because it’s too carbonated. Do a little dance about it, say you don’t like it. Have another sip.
It means knowing how you like your stuff and in which specific order. He knows your comfort films by heart and he could tell you which one you like to watch first and second and third as if he was reciting a Margaret Atwood bittersweet poem.
Suguru has had plenty of girlfriends, and a lot of them have left him upon meeting the blue eyed idiot. He doesn’t hold it against him, really. Frankly, he’s just a little tired and resigned.
So when you start paying a decent amount of attention to him while officially being his best friend’s girlfriend, yeah, he’s a little taken aback.
It usually happens the other way around, is what he means to say.
You two had this friendly, flirty banter going on for months until that one night. You were both smoking on the fire escape of the apartment when he catches the expression on your face, as pitiful as it was brief.
“I could make you happy, you know.”
Your mouth parts, thick smoke floating away. He didn’t even give you a chance to inhale.
“You shouldn’t go around saying things like that, you know.”
The curve of your lips is playful, and he wants to kiss it gone.
“Why is that?”
His voice has an edge to it. Tonight’s different, tonight he feels he might do something stupid.
“I might just believe you.”
The scent of smoke is strong, but he’s so close he can smell your sandalwood body butter and he can see the microscopic freckles he shouldn’t notice under just moonlight.
Satoru knows you pretty well, too. With an almost clinical, surgical precision, which is why he’s curious as to why you haven’t returned to bed after your average 7 minutes that it takes you to finish a cigarette.
After a loud call of your name, Suguru is left alone to burn another one.
He makes you cry, of course he makes you cry. But he’s kind of the most stable romantic relationship you’ve ever had to this date and it can’t all be sunshine and rainbows, right? There’s gotta be some bad days and this, unfortunately, is one of those.
Satoru just stormed out, loudly shutting the door and leaving you alone in tears.
You’re trembling. It’s 2 am and Suguru has obviously heard everything from his room down the hall.
He takes you into his arms and comforts you like he knows. Mends your heart together piece by piece, murmurs soft words of reassurance you thought you’d never hear outside the sappy romance dramas Utahime likes to watch.
You fall asleep in his bed, cotton blankets that smell like him. It kinda feels like home.
Satoru doesn’t come back for the next two days.
Your boyfriend buys you flowers until everything’s forgiven, until he makes every promise he can think of to make you feel better, to make you believe he’ll do better.
Suguru watches from a close distance, picking up his best friend’s slack when he sees fit.
You go to school, you hang out with your friends and let Satoru fuck you night after night, knowing his bestie is trying to sleep down the hall.
You come out for an after sex cigarette where he’s already expecting you, counting the minutes until you have to go back inside to him.
You make the most out of what you have.
Satoru is out, which has been a remarkably well kept constant since you broke things off.
He went out every single night for a month after your break up. It’s been three months, and now he stays home two-three nights a week.
Suguru is a little worried for his friend. Tonight he can’t sleep, and he’s counting the plastic neon stars glued to his ceiling when his phone buzzes.
His heart threatens to stop because it’s 3 am and his eyes go wide, not believing it really is your name on his screen.
He still has that picture of you smiling up at him from his bedroom floor, reaching up a hand for help.
Why would you be calling him so late?
Dread settles in his gut.
The image of Satoru, drunk off his ass standing outside your apartment, trying to make a scene makes itself colorful in his mind.
He picks up, trying no to let the urge show through his voice.
“Hello?”
“S’guru, oh my god you picked up! Ha, ha ha!”
“... Yeah?” A small smirk pulls his lips, just from hearing you giggle.
“What are you doing up so laaate?”
There’s music in the background and he can easily tell you’re drunk.
“What are you doing up so late?”
You giggle again, harder this time. His cheeks hurt.
“Just wanna go home, ‘s all.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Where are you?”
“With some friends. Some dude’s house party.”
“Are your friends with you?”
“Uhh, hahahah. Somewhere around, I guess?”
“Are you—”
“Would you—”
You both stop, and he holds his breath so he can hear your laughter.
“Would you come and get me? Pretty please? I don’t like it here.”
He falters. Why would you call him for a ride? Sure, you have enough friends and—
“S’guru? I miss you…”
“Send me your location.”
Suguru parks on the spot his gps signals red, looks around before getting out of his car.
You find him instantly, hurrying to hug him tightly, almost knocking him off balance with how you jump on him.
He’s taken aback by your display of affection, but then again, you tend to favor physical contact when you’re drunk. And you’re pretty drunk.
“S’guru! You’re really here.”
“Of course.” He mocks. “You called me, remember?”
You rest your chin on his chest and look up at him, head thrown back so he can see your eyes rolling at his reply.
“Duh, I was there when it happened.”
He opens the passenger door and helps you in, clicking the seatbelt for you.
He tries to keep his eyes on the road— he really does. It’s a miracle he doesn’t crash the car into a tree trunk or something, when every time you shift in his passenger seat makes your already way too short dress ride up your soft thighs.
Your skin looks so fucking soft. He wonders if you’ve shaved your pussy, too. Were you expecting to get some? To let some guy feed you mediocre pick up lines he definitely thought he’d rehearsed enough in the mirror of his own fucking bathroom— to let some guy take you home?
Some guy who wouldn’t even know how to please you? Are you really this desperate, or have your standards always been this low?
You rub your thighs together, probably to gain some heat from the friction and—
Don’t you know what you’re doing to him?
He grips the steering wheel tighter, resisting the urge to reach a hand into the warmth between your legs, to find out how far up are you smooth.
What kind of panties are you wearing? He’s seen your underwear before, when you just wanted to wear an oversized shirt around the apartment, when it’s a lazy stay-in kind of day. When he caught a colorful piece of lace hanging out of Satoru’s back pocket. Whenever he enters his messy room, clothes strewn across his bedroom floor.
But it’s never been like this. So close in possibilities, in proximity. All he has to do is reach…
You throw a leg over the other, as if somehow reading his filthy thoughts. Your dress falls closer to your hips, and the car on his right honks loudly. He should get his alignment checked.
He turns the engine off when he’s in the parking spot of your place. He clicks on the button of your seatbelt for you, leaning closer for a moment.
“Suguru?”
He looks up from the seatbelt, up to you.
Wide doe eyes are already staring at him, lips parted in anticipation. Your chest rises with each thick breath, and he just wants to brush all your worries away.
“You okay, doll?”
Your lips break into a smile, nodding adorably.
“Walk me to the door?”
How could he refuse you such an innocent request?
He’s soon opening your door, helping you down the car and letting you hold onto his arm for the distance between his car and your door.
“Would you like to come inside?”
Something heavy sets on his chest. Is this guilt? Is it panic? Is it love?
“C’mon.”
You and your damned cheeky smile, dainty little fingers pulling on his hand, guiding him into your place, locking the door as he takes his shoes off.
Your apartment has changed a lot since his last visit, almost seven months ago.
There are many plants decorating the colorful space. Since you don’t spend most nights sleeping at his apartment, he guesses you finally have the time to take care of them.
The cabinets in the kitchen are painted different colors now, and he sees more notes and pictures and magnets on the fridge, some of these are from National Parks— you’ve been traveling, then. Collecting memories, collecting souvenirs. He’s a little jealous of your friends, of your brother and his group, whoever gets to go out with you like he used to.
There’s a knitted blanket thrown over the couch, where a cute turtle plushie looks up at him.
“Cute.” He smirks. “Your place looks good.” Lived in.
He clears his throat. Is he being awkward? Did you even invite him in for whatever fucked up fantasy living— surviving in the deepest, darkest places of his mind?
“Good?” You snort. “You should see the bedroom, then.”
With both hands grabbing one of his, playfully twirling the rings decorating his long fingers, you pull him towards your room, walking backwards— not tearing your eyes away from his for a single moment.
You’re not the first girl that’s ever dumped Gojo Satoru. No, he’s dated far too many girls for you to be the first who can’t forgive his pathological lying and cheating. You are the first one, however, to elicit such a strong reaction from the manwhore. He cared about you, enough to throw a fucking tantrum when you left him— for him to grieve, in his own fucked up way.
He knows that Satoru wouldn’t care about him fucking some girl he used to date— mind you, three months should be enough for him to move on and forget about you. The problem is that you’re not just some girl he used to date.
What would Satoru say, if he knew his one and only was looking at the taped pictures of your bedroom wall at three am? In this intimate silence filled with tension just waiting to snap. That you called him, because when you needed someone you thought of him, that he’s the one able to give you what you want?
What would he think, if he saw the photograph on your desk, of your bright smile and tired eyes looking straight at the camera alongside Suguru, that one time you went camping, hiking up a trail— a photograph that’s been obviously torn in half, taking your ex out of the picture?
If he knew how you’re leaning back against your desk, staring up expectantly at him? Wide eyes full of emotion like this?
What would he think, if he caught you giving his best friend the fuck me eyes you know to wear so, so well?
“Do you even know what you’re doing?”
His palms come down on the wooden desk, trapping you in between his strong arms.
He’s too close. He doesn’t think, he lets your magnetism attract him like a stupid moth to the figurative flame, he’s a cliché, he’s everything he stopped himself from being back then, and he’ll gladly let you consume him if you asked nicely.
“What am I doing?” You prod, chest rising and falling with every nervous breath.
Yes, he fell in love with you somewhere in the past. He doesn’t dare to dwell on those feelings as of right now— the same feelings that have his heart growing and growing until his ribcage hurts, the same feelings that make his mouth water and his pupils dilate with want and need as he stares down your cleavage— and if he stopped himself from snatching you from the greedy claws of his friend in the past, what’s stopping him now?
Somehow, he thinks Satoru would want him to fuck you.
To fucking ruin you forever. To take you hard and viciously at the pace he wants. To teach you a fucking lesson, put you in your place.
A large hand comes to adorn your neck like a collar, pressuring only slightly. It’s tight on your trachea, and his thumb digs on your chin— it’s only mildly painful, but it serves to angle your head to his whim.
You’re trembling on your frame, half-regretting being so forward, underestimating him. He’s still a man, stronger, smarter than you. Just what have you gotten yourself into?
"You're teasing the wrong guy, sweetheart."
In one swift move, he's spread your legs apart— his other hand cupping the back of your knee, holding it up around his waist— and taking the space between your thighs as his, placing your ass on top of the desk.
"Stay still." He instructs.
Holding your throat in a firm grip, his other hand slowly travels up your leg, kneading the fat of your thigh as he gains territory, slipping under your short skirt until he can dig his fingers into the meat of your hips— taken aback by the lack of clothing beneath your dress.
“Are you— are you not wearing panties, baby?”
You shake your head no, mirth dancing in your features like light shines on the surface of a running river.
“Fuck, did you go to the party without panties? Are you a dumb little slut?”
“No, I— I took them off when I called you. Waited for you bare.”
Shit.
Your whiny, breathy words push him further over the edge, and his hand around your throat turns him on like you have no idea. You look so pretty, so fragile like this.
Like you're just waiting for him to break you.
He lets go of your neck, snorting as you immediately take a deep breath in relief. His long fingers travel down your shoulders, pulling the straps of your dress down our arms, his fingers prickling with your goosebumps.
He cups your pussy, nudging you with his knuckles, not sinking them in where you want them the most, instead touching with the mere purpose of making you crave more.
"Yeah?" He groans, doing nothing to conceal just how turned on he is. "Were you wet the whole time? The entire car ride here?"
You nod, eyes rolling into the back of your head as his fingers slip sideways with your thick slick, teasing your hooded clit.
Suguru is increasingly becoming angry at himself, at his lack of patience. He's forgetting himself. He wants to fuck you, yes, that very much is blatantly obvious, but he also wants to drag it out, for you to plead his name as if you were begging for some god's mercy, like he's heard you from across the hall, from the other side of a wall.
He pulls his fingers away from your heat, amused by your frustrated sigh.
Then, he sticks his fingers inside your mouth.
Not even a split second passes when you're already sucking on them, tongue sliding around and in between them, sucking harder and harder, as if you were actually planning to swallow his fucking digits. You moan around his index and middle, kissing and nipping and drooling and bobbing your head, even.
He's never seen something so obscene, so fucking lewd.
He leaves your mouth empty, almost petrified by the dirty display.
The drool clinging to his fingers is wiped on the raised buds of your chest— darkening the fabric around your hard nipples.
"Show me." He orders, pinching one of your pert tits.
You lick your glossy lips, using your shaky hands to push down the heart-shaped collar so he can see your chest.
He holds back his gasp.
He knows the moment he kisses you he won't be able to stop.
Suguru’s large hand cups your jaw, fingers covering the back of your head and guiding you to his waiting lips.
You feel like you might burst, from the knot growing inside your stomach ever since you first met him, growing stronger with each shared secret and cigarette, shared beer bottles with implicit, indirect kisses. His lips touch yours and you whimper, instantly losing control of your jaw and he's surprised— he didn't even need to coax your mouth open.
You're so responsive and he hasn't even touched you properly yet.
Suguru Geto is writing his name in your lips with his tongue, and you feel weightless in his hands. You bare yourself open for him, giving into his lavender and eucalyptus scent, you want to peel off his layers and make yourself home inside his chest.
His tongue is curious and exploring, searching for a place he doesn't even know exists. You let him feel the structures of your molars, the irregular tissue on your cheeks, you let him tongue the roof of your mouth.
Your thighs are clenched on both his sides, and his hands are soon painting bruises on the fat of your hips and over your ass.
His lips leave yours with a heavy thread of spit, so thick it refuses to break even as he pulls back. His eyes are bright black, predatory and smitten, fascinated and devoting.
You're entranced, hypnotized by the light reflecting and refracting from his drool and yours combined, linking both your tongues, the same one that has his reddened lips looking glossy and delirious about the smirk that forms in the curve of his mouth, his mouth that suddenly, out of the blue and very unexpectedly purses lips and spits a morbid amount of drool— hitting your tongue with force and degradation and, admiration for the pornographic change in your expression, terrified eyes under your dramatic eyebrows, throat bobbing as you swallow every last drop of spit after tasting it.
His thumb presses on your lip until it hurts, until it's forcing its way into your mouth and pinning your tongue down.
"There's no reason to hurry. Make sure you savor it this time."
Now, very slowly, he lets his spit dribble from his mouth and straight into yours, proving glob of spit after another, pursing his lips and drooling until he feels himself dry out.
You're clearly struggling to breathe through your nose, and he's glad you're following his instructions like the good little girl he knows you can be. He peppers your face with slow, gentle kisses full of emotion, full of hurt and need and a serene shape of anger.
"I'm gonna mark you."
It's not a question, you realize. He's simply telling you, letting you know what he's about to do so you can shake in anxiety and anticipation of—
His teeth latch into the side of your throat, it's fucking painful even before he even starts sucking on your skin, and you try to tell him, to cry out, anything, but it only comes out as garbled nonsense. A tear falls from the corner of your eye, and you feel yourself get warmer between your legs.
Suguru takes his time marking his way around your collarbone, flicking your nipples at the same time as he pushes your tits together with his hands, growing feral and squeezing you when you buck your hips hoping to find friction from his erection.
Your breath hitches, and his attention is snapped back to you.
"Aw, you wanna swallow, sweetheart? Be a good girl and swallow all my spit, yeah? Just like that, careful— now take a deep breath. That's my girl."
You rub yourself against him, evidently affected by his praise. You need more, you need him like you need air in your lungs and blood in your veins. Your hands look small when they reach up to cup his face, silently begging for another kiss.
He's past the point of no return.
And you're so needy, and you want him. He's dreamed about this so many times, fucking his fist in silence so many nights. He kisses you shamelessly, hedonistically, as if pleasure was the only thing that mattered as of right now.
"Baby, angel. Shh. I'll take care of you." He murmurs against your parted lips, kissing down your chest with all the time in the world.
He kneels before you, and you feel small and vulnerable and exposed even though you're the one towering above him. His eyes don't leave you alone, your head spins with want and metabolized -OH that is progressively losing its grasp on your inhibitions.
He sucks one, two, three and too many hickeys on your inner thighs, where you’re tender and insecure of the stretch marks— he presses them with painful kisses, the intention of soothing them lost in the execution.
He doesn’t eat your pussy like the desperate, starved man he is— like Satoru used to, going from 0 to 100 in less than a second, all or nothing. Suguru takes his time, making up for lost one. He starts by tracing your every line and curvature with the stretched tip of his tongue, mapping you out as if he’s supposed to recreate a drawing of your vulva only using his mouth— committing you to memory.
As if this is the last time he’s gonna have you.
The thought pulls a whimper full of hurt from the deepest void of your chest, breaking because— what if it is? What if he drops you after having tasted you?
His kissing of your clit pulls you out of your mortification, like pulling a drowning victim from the unforgiving ocean.
You throw your head back— almost hitting the concrete wall. Your thighs tremble as he sucks your bundle of nerves into his mouth, and he groans against you when your fingers thread in his hair, brushing it away from his face.
It’s that instant that changes everything. When his eyes look up at your lost expression, at the lust in your gaze, his mouth connected to your cunt, your legs over his shoulders and his finger slipping easily into your heat.
It’s intimate and all you want is to have him buried inside you.
He laps at your slit, collecting every drop of slick he finds, using his tongue to write poems on your clit as his fingers bring you closer to orgasm.
“Please —” You writhe. “I’m almost— can I — Suguru?”
He nods, rubbing his face on your pussy until you fucking cum on his mouth.
His hand wraps around you as he eases you to come down from your high, electric current subsiding and you slowly feel yourself landing after floating through the roof. His gentle kisses start to hurt when it’s too much, and your hands curl into tight fists on his hair to let him know you’re done.
“You okay, angel?”
You can’t stop panting, so you only nod.
“Arms up.” He says, pulling your dress over your head to leave you nude.
Wordlessly, he lifts you in his arms and places you on your bed, where you can only look up at him with starstruck eyes.
On the other side of your bed, something catches his eye.
“Is that my shirt?”
He grabs it, the soft fabric familiar in his fingerpads. He raises a teasing brow at you in mock accusation.
It’s endearing how you can still blush, biting your lip in sheer embarrassment.
“For how long have you kept this?” He asks, throwing it so it lands on a chair so he can give you his undivided attention once more.
“Since we went to that basketball game…”
Shit.
That was so long ago, he barely even remembers— he can’t even tell if it was seven months ago or fourteen.
He kneels on the mattress right between your legs, kicking them apart.
“You’ve wanted me all this time, huh?”
You’re transfixed, lost in the movement of his long, skillful fingers unbuttoning his shirt. He’s all hard muscle under his clothes, and when the zipper of his jeans is pulled down, you break.
He's beautiful.
“I’ve wanted you— for so long.”
“You have?” He’s teasing, getting rid of his pants and boxers, letting his cock slap against his abs as he does. “Since when?”
“Since I met you at that seven-eleven parking lot— fuck.” You swear, watching him fist his cock, stroking himself as he spits on the reddened tip to lubricate further. “I pictured my knees scraped red and bloodied from the pavement, your cock sliding down my throat—”
“God, sweetheart. You’re so fucking filthy—” He leans down, towering over you as he aligns himself with your slobbered pussy. “Did you have these filthy thoughts about me often?"
“All my thoughts about you are filthy.”
He slowly pushes his cock in, breaking through the first tight ring of tense tissue. You turn your head to the side, breathing loudly as he savors the feeling of bottoming out for the first time.
And fuck, you're really sucking him in.
How could Satoru last so long with you? Night after night, he kept hearing the both of you for hours. Fuck, is he going to make a fool out of himself?
"Did you think about me at night? When he was fucking you within an inch of your life— did you have to bite your tongue, so you wouldn't say my name instead?"
"Fuck, Suguru, please!"
“I’ve wanted you all this time, too.” He hisses, the swollen head of his cock finally buried to the hilt.
He pulls back twice an inch, giving you time to adjust. He grits his teeth, and he takes your hand in his, threading fingers together.
“You don’t have to be gentle.” You gasp. “I won’t break.”
Even though you most certainly will.
“What if I hurt you?”
“Do it.”
Suguru slams his hips into you, splitting you in half with his monster sized cock. You feel yourself breaking, tears sliding down your temples and toes curling, the arch of your feet cramping.
“ ‘s tight as fuck, baby. How the fuck—” He sinks himself into your pussy, time after time. “—are you this tight?”
You cry out, almost crushing the twenty seven bones in his hand as your other one draws bloody lines down his sculpted back.
“Open your mouth baby, baby, fuck yes just like that.”
He pushes his thumb inside, spitting on your mouth again, letting his finger gain a thick coat of drool before reaching down to your clit to make you scream.
“Can you feel yourself squeezing me, sweetheart? Fuck, I bet you do, don’t I feel bigger, harder?”
His palm presses down with strength on your lower belly, and sure enough, you feel yourself getting smaller, his cock growing bigger, your belly is pushing down and down and down until it’s boiling hot inside you and the way his pelvis rubs wet against your clit has you bursting like a fire alarm.
Streams of squirt clash against his strong chest, his cock sloshing inside your pussy with no sign of slowing down.
“Suguru!” You cry out, feeling like god has graced you when he leans down to embrace you in a warm, heartfelt hug, hips pumping into you like pistons.
“I’ve got you, babe. Ride it out.”
Your back is arched like a fucking bridge, and he sucks on your tits as you try to even out your breath, but it's not working and you feel tensing even more, you have no control over your hips so you plant your feet on the bed and groan out loud, seeking his cock for self destruction.
"You want another, baby?"
Suguru picks up his rhythm—his cock sliding sloppily with all your cum, all the spit— pinching your clit between your slobbered labia, constantly rubbing you through your outer lips until an orgasm hits you hard and rough, your whole body feels like fried wire.
"I've got you, fuck."
He feels your pussy spasming on his fat cock, and his balls throb— threatening to cum with you.
Even when you come down, you're still rubbing yourself on him, which is why he pulls you into his lap, letting his back rest against the pillows on your headboard.
"You know how to ride, yeah?" He slaps your ass, and he's half tempted to throw a yeehaw there.
You smile tiredly, bouncing on his cock with a sole purpose in mind— you need to make him cum.
"Slowly, sweetheart. I'm not going anywhere."
His big hands are gentle on your hips, encouraging and reassuring. You lean back, angling your hips towards him and he almost cums at the sight of his cock bulging on your belly. There, he presses his fingers briefly, pushing against his cock inside you.
As you ride him— mindful of every sensation, learning which movements make his cock twitch, his mouth part, his fingers squeeze you— his eyes are captured by the soft lolling of your breasts, nipples pointing, begging him for a kiss.
He sucks one into his greedy mouth, flicking the painfully pebbled bud with his sinful tongue, letting his teeth tease you without causing you more pain.
"Yeah, show me how much you missed me, pretty girl." He speaks with his mouth full.
So, you start confessing.
“I used to fantasize about you— going inside my tent while I slept. Raping me in my dreams. Or taking advantage of me after a long night drinking. When I couldn’t think straight— and then, couldn’t walk straight."
He groans, growing feral with your words, snapping his hips up to meet your thrusts, impaling you with his thick cock until you start sobbing through your little speech.
“That way I wouldn’t be responsible, that was the only scenario I could picture you inside me— raw and shameless, and I wouldn’t be the one to carry all the blame.”
“Fuck. I would cry, asking you to stop. And you would only fuck me harder. I would keep thrashing around— and then you’d cum inside me until I was full. Tell me to keep it in, how I took your cock so well.”
"Fuck." He moans, sweat dripping from the back of his neck, abs standing out as he cries out in pure bliss, balls throbbing as he reaches his release. "You better watch your fucking mouth."
You've never heard this mean tone to his voice, it's frightening, intimidating, and you come around his cock after a particularly hard thrust that hits your cervix— you cry out in pain, you get so, so tight, it'd hurt him to pull out, so he cums deep inside you.
"Yes, fuck, Suguru." You whine. "Fill me up, S'guru. Knock me up, please. Make me yours."
You're not sure if he understands any of your slurred words, but it's okay, you don't really mind, you only care about his white hot cum, his fat cock shooting ropes of his release right on your cervical ring, Suguru Geto is stuffing your pussy full of his cum, and you want to be swollen big and full of his babies for him.
You collapse on his chest, rising and falling with him, licking the sweat off his collarbone when your tongue's too dry to speak.
"Fuck." He starts. "You okay?"
You practically purr as you nod, not daring to disturb your peace as his cock is still half hard, buried in your insides where he split you open.
"You did so well, sweetness. C'mere."
His hand is caring when he rubs soothing shapes on your back, brushing your hair aside so he can look at your face.
"Hey." You giggle.
"Hey." He smiles.
"Are you—"
"Do you—"
Your lips draw a beautiful smile, and he finally feels like he's found that place.
"What do you need?" He asks, because yes, you need to get cleaned up, you need to drink some water, you need some form of aftercare.
But he wants to know what you need first and most importantly, what is that which comes first for you?
"Stay the night."
Your eyes show some hesitancy as you plead for him to stay.
He wants to coddle you, to have you in his arms like this for fucking ever. How could he ever refuse you?
"As long as you let me, sweetheart."
He kisses the top of your head, none the wiser for the four missed calls from his roommate, who got home an hour ago and couldn’t help but wonder— where did Suguru go?
Nestled in the bed of the girl he's been in love with for months, your lips brushing on his jaw as you tell him funny stories about nothing at all, where else would he go?
Satoru could fuck off, for all he cared. He could never speak to him again, break this thousand year old friendship and Suguru wouldn’t bat an eye. Because right now, he's watching the sunrise through your bedroom window, and just like that, he can trust that the both of you will be okay.