#but i just know he's an absolute pain in the ass | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

satorena · 9 hours ago

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#INTRO2MUNCH101

summ. when suguru “eat it off the bone” geto actually turns out to be suguru “flaps the left lip until she calls it a night” geto, he finds himself questioning everything he thought he knew about his skills. . . talk about a rude awakening.

cw. explicit content. foul language. fem!reader. college!au. eventual smut (but not in the way you think. . .) mild modern lingo. allusions to music artists. cunningulūs. male masturbation. reader has a belly piercing. she’s also depicted mean by the boys. gojo cameos bc i can’t not mention him. tattoo artist!geto. substance consumption. lowkeyyy self-indulgent reader. 10k wc.

rena's note. this is a spin-off to p power, so i’d suggest reading that first to understand the correlation!

suguru geto is a simple man.

your pleasure is his pleasure. he’s always prided himself on being a pro at the art of cunningulus. honest— he’s always left with swollen lips, a heavily sprayed face and a solid five star ratings at the end of his work. his jaw feels tired out, scalp burning from consistent hair tugs, and his breathing uneven from lack of oxygen. but at the feel of plush thighs squeezing his face and the repetition of his name flowing into the air before getting squirted on, he remembers it’s always worth it.

no pain no gain, right?

wrong.

because here he finds himself, a hefty hour in since he first dove in between your soft legs, and there’s been absolutely no development. sprawled on your back on his sheets, arm slung over your eyes, and your breathing even. you look fucking bored, and his heart is sinking to his ass.

geto will use every trick he has in the book. he’s noticed overtime that girls have different bodies, therefore he needs different tactics to stimulate those bodies. he nips at your puffy bud, sucking on your clit for external pleasure. no use. fine, then he’ll push your thighs up some more for a deeper penetration of his fingers in your cunt— still no use. the only sounds being produced are his mouth slipping against his own saliva at your pussy because he can’t even get you wet enough.

the pit in his stomach grows larger. he wonders if maybe you’re just the silent type? he’s come across those before.

he’s getting nervous out of his mind, so shaky and uncoordinated that his hand slips and meets your lips for the umpteenth time— and only then do you release a guttural groan, the very first sound you’ve made in a long ass time. wait—

“did. . . did you cum?” he pants, pulling his sticky lips away from yours. his face feels moist, blood rushing all in his head and he’s lightheaded. but still, he has to know.

you push yourself up to your elbows, annoyance clear as day. he’s yet to seen this look on a girl after pulling every card known on the table, “yeah. . . to the wrong fucking house.”

oh fuck.

☆ ☆ ☆

he first spotted you chatting it up with your friends on the school’s soccer field, on a random tuesday afternoon, and he’s been hooked on you ever since.

the universe played a funny game, and he realized university truly is a small ass world. amongst your friends, he noticed a familiar face. one he’s been hearing and seeing of one too many times lately, on multiple separate and traumatic occasions— gojo’s girlfriend. suguru found himself bonding with her due to their familiar point of interest— that being gojo— and believes he can now make of her a friend.

geto watches his best friend’s eyes shimmer and he flashes his infamous million dollar smile. he really is obsessed with his girlfriend and she doesn’t even know— and geto finds himself wishing he had somebody he’d be this ecstatic over. must be nice.

“i’m gonna go say hi to my girl real quick,” gojo taps at his shoulder, and geto nods. he’s cool on it, he’ll wait back here until he’s done, or can make his way to his next class depending on whatever gojo and his girlfriend arrange. “you comin’?”

“i’m probably gonna head to our next lecture.” geto voices out, pulling his phone from his pocket to check the time. he feels gojo peeking over his shoulder, in which he assumes to verify if that would be necessary.

over forty-five minutes. damn it.

“that’s mad pointless, class doesn’t start till more than half an hour,” gojo says, and geto doesn’t see himself waiting around that long for a lecture. no way, “just come— her friends are chill.”

fuck it, he goes. naturally, gojo is all over his girl and her friends expect it. geto does give them a little wave when gojo introduces him. one of the girls mention having heard of him through a friend— something about a failed talking stage. mad federal, and the sheepish chuckle geto offers when you give him an unreadable look makes him want to crawl into a ditch.

so now you think he’s a whore. awesome.

and gojo’s smirk definitely doesn’t help him out. he doesn’t help out at all actually, so enamoured by his girlfriend that he leaves geto to fend for himself against a pack of wolves (read: nosy girls). he replies only when spoken to, nods when necessary and throws in a few “that’s crazy,” to which the girls fail to pick up he’s out of words to say.

well, everyone except you.

you’re quiet. in fact, the whole time, you haven’t said shit to him. you sit back and observe, occasionally typing on your macbook, or reapplying your lip combo. you didn’t have any words to say to him. even when your friends would talk to you, you gave them short answers and went back to listening to whatever was playing in your airpods. he could tell from that small interaction alone, you were the mean one out of your clique.

and fuck if that didn’t make him want you more. there was just something about mean women that made him want to break through their fake ass exteriors and watch them turn all soft and chummy for him.

blame it on his corruption kink.

gojo confirms his thoughts when they’re finally on their way to class. he kissed his girl goodbye and waved off her friends, to which they all (minus you) collectively cooed, “byeee gojooo!” which he found odd, but kept silent. he gave them a small nod before following his best friend.

they’re a few steps in the science building when the words slip before he can help it, ultimately cutting gojo’s rambling off, “yo, who was that girl?”

gojo glances at him before chuckling, “there was like seven of ‘em. which one?”

“the quiet one.”

it throws him off guard when gojo laughs hard. like, really hard. it attracts the attention of bystanders, who give him a crazy look but gojo ignores. as if they’d try to press him about his volume— the two were pretty adored around campus.

geto does find his reaction quite interesting, to which he cocks a brow and offers a chuckle of his own, “what?”

“oh, you definitely mean y/n,” when his laughter dies down, he finally answers. he lifts his shades to his hairline to swipe a tear. “she’s mean as fuck, bro.”

“right?!” geto laughs, tapping at gojo’s shoulder. it only charges gojo’s laughing fit back up, “i could tell from her vibe. she gives off those ‘men ain’t shit’ girlies on twitter. whole time, she’s probably laid up in bed with one.”

“you don’t even knowww,” gojo holds his shoulder and shakes him a bit. geto does in fact know, because he’s dealt with girls like her before. they’re always a good ass time. “she does men dirty. like, absolutely dogs them. heard one phone call too many.”

oh? even better than he expected. she’s probably the type that used to love hard before getting her heart trampled on and decided to seek revenge on all men. like, on some jennifer’s body shit. geto can’t help but smirk, “lemme see for myself. put me on.”

gojo falters in his step. his grip on geto’s shoulders loosen and his expression changes— not by much, but the once lighthearted smile switches to a skeptical one, “you serious?”

geto lets out a soft sigh, shrugging gojo’s hands off his shoulders. “don’t start asking too much. i did a favour for you and your girl, didn’t i?,” well, technically speaking it wasn’t like his comment had been the deciding factor for the two, but it did open gojo’s eyes. “you owe me one.”

“i don’t owe you shit,” gojo laughs, throwing his arm around geto anyways, “buuut you’re my boy and i’m not stingy. i’ll see what i can do, i know you’ve been getting a lil jealous of wifey and i.”

“shut the fuck up.” geto’s chuckles contradict his statement.

from that point on, it’s smooth sailing. gojo texts his girl asking if she’s seeing anybody. they have a little back and forth because his girlfriend assumes he’s asking for himself— which gojo gets all dramatic and throws geto under the bus for free. welp! it all worked out anyway since after he and gojo parted, you’d thought he was fine shyt. judging from your character, he doesn’t exactly take gojo’s words for what they are.

but he’ll take the opening, it’s as good as any.

time to plot.

☆ �� ☆

the second encounter was purely coincidental. and simultaneously embarrassing.

see, geto prides himself on his mysterious act— granted he was anything but. people see all that is gojo and automatically assume that geto has to be the cool one. it creates a perfect balance, no?

haven’t people heard of birds of a feather flock together?

so yes, he’s also a nerd. he typically enjoys spending his wednesday afternoons at dice board cafes because why not. it’s a chill, lowkey joint right off campus and not a lot of people gravitate towards, therefore the perfect spot to camp out before his evening lecture.

besides, his buddy choso works there and it gets him discounts. it isn’t the only reason he shows up, but it does help a lot on his pockets. being a student is awful, financially.

geto sips on his choco latte through a straw, browsing through the board games pamphlet as he decides what he’s going to play today. most of these games are pretty pointless if he doesn’t have an opponent, but he likes to think it helps develop his iq. he hears avenoir playing through the cafe and knows choso’s on aux.

who else could be playing this toxic ass shit?

he’s torn choosing between snakes and ladders or chess when he hears chimes at the front door, signalling somebody’s entered the establishment. he doesn’t think much of it, going on about minding his business when he hears choso say your name.

the latte enters the wrong tube and he chokes.

geto collects himself quickly, wiping any stray liquid past his mouth as his head snaps up. you’re propped up against the counter, and though he can’t see your face, he definitely recognizes your build. . . okay, yeah that sounds fucking pervy but if he stalked your page a few times, who’s business is it but his own? it’s not like you’d know. granted, he had got caught up liking one of your older photos but he took the like right back!

he debates on walking up to you. how would that even work without seeming desperate? you’ve been checking out all of his boxes so far— your face, body and attitude (question mark) are all tens. he does want to get to know you— at least be somebody in your life. but damn, why is he overthinking this? all he has to get up there and sweet talk you. he’s done this shit before.

“yo, suguru!”

shit.

purple orbs shift towards where his name was called, and lo and behold, there stands choso. and naturally, you look back to who was summoned, but god— social media does not do your face justice. he last seen you about a week ago, and had nothing but your instagram and his memory to rely on.

he makes his way to the counter and ignores you. doesn’t spare you a glance once— though he stands right at your side and watches you watching him through his peripheral. he nods at choso, “what’s up?”

choso, ever the genius, flicks his eyes between geto and you, before clearing his throat, “shoko just texted— somethin’ about a new client. how’s the studio looking?”

“booked all week,” geto answers truthfully, and he notices you’ve shifted your gaze, “little to no openings. why though?”

choso hums, jolting down online orders into a little notebook, “not even for a special friend?”

geto squints his eyes at that. there isn’t anybody he’d call a special friend that hasn’t already been booked or wouldn’t have his number to squeeze in an appointment. granted, he is a dnd warrior but even his friends know of that quirk of his, “depends. who’s the special friend?”

“me.” and he feels his heart skip a beat. fuck. he tilts his head over to the side, and good lord, your face card gave every girl on campus runs for their money. seriously, your facial features complimented you in a way that told aphrodite— the textbook definition of beauty— to go fuck herself, and hard.

“oh?” geto cocks a brow, and lets his eyes roam up and down your frame. shameless, yes, but he has a reputation to uphold. your rest in face makes his own look like child’s play, “didn’t realize we were on special friends basis.”

you click your tongue, “didn’t realize we were on lurking spam accounts but pretend we don’t exist the next day basis either,” you quip right back, picking at the white bow glued to your acrylics.

sassy. geto chuckles, now fully turning his body around to face you. you match his movements, and he toys with a ring on his middle finger, “guess you got me all figured out,” he pauses, shifting his gaze to choso, who’s already eyeing him. “sounds like you wanted me to reach out.”

“boy please,” you scoff, pausing your nail inspection. you let your hand hang, “you choked earlier because you heard my name. that corny nonchalant act isn’t the flex you’re thinking it is,” a huff escapes your lips, and geto feels blood rushing to his face. “your lurking ass was months deep into my page just a week ago— did you find any men ain’t shit vibes from the photo dump?”

choso stifles a laugh, and when geto looks at him, it dies into a cough. well damn, you really didn’t hold anything back. read him like a book actually— and it doesn’t help that gojo can’t keep his mouth shut for shit. it widens the grin on his face. he thinks he likes you.

“well,” geto smirks, “can’t say i have— means there’s still an opening.”

you furrow your brows, “oh? an opening to what exactly?”

“an appointment, of course,” he shrugs, running a hand through his hair. his locks are getting in his face, but the messy look always gets him compliments. might as well shoot his shot, “you know. . .” leaning his chin into the palm of his hand, “for a special friend.”

his double entendre definitely doesn’t go unnoticed by you. he watches how, despite the mean mugging, there’s a glint of mischief in your eyes. you’re squinting just slightly, almost as if you were weighing out the pros and cons. geto won’t break the eye contact first— he’s on a mission. he hopes the tired eyes look will be on his side this time.

tattoo or dick appointment— he would one hundred percent make an opening for you. anything to get his hands on your body.

“are we still talking about the tattoo parlour or . . .”

both you and he turn to choso, who’s watching the situation unfold. just count on him to ruin the mood, whether the obliviousness was feigned or not. choso tightens his brows at the look geto shoots him, “what?”

“i’m gonna head out,” you grab at your handbag, hopping of the seat. nicely played choso. you gather your items and slip them in your purse, sliding a few bucks across the counter. choso grabs the bills and stick them in the tip jar, nodding at her. “catch you in poly sci?”

“if you don’t skip again.” choso snorts and you flip him off, slinging your bag over your shoulder. you turn on your heel and make your way towards the exit, ultimately dismissing geto. that doesn’t feel too nice, he should probably stop that bad habit.

he rises to his feet before he can help it. his hand grabs at your wrist and notices how much smaller it seems in comparaison to his, and he hates the next words that leave his mouth, “what about me?”

you glance down at his hold on you, before looking back up at him, “what about you?” your face says everything your lips haven’t— you’re getting the ick.

he wants to wince. okay, yeah that was corny, “when do i get to see you?”

you drag out a mini hum, your gaze dancing over his silver chain around his collarbone, “dunno. you have my socials so i assume in the next hour.”

he tilts his head to the side, and the pad of his thumb grazes over your smooth skin. he doesn’t fail to notice the way your hand stiffens under his touch, “so if i slide in your dms in the next hour, i can expect an answer?”

a snort leaves your chest, and he can’t tell if it’s a condescending one or an amused one. what he does know, however, is that he’s going to be seeing you sometime soon. you take your hand back into your possession before laying it in the dead centre of his chest, pushing him back just slightly, “i’ll see you around, geto.”

his eyes trail over your figure, every step you take out of the establishment, slightly starstruck by the entirety of you— your boldness. the thrill he was beginning to feel felt like a high. he hasn’t met anybody this entertaining in a while.

“you’re so fucking corny.” he thinks he hears choso insult him from behind. he doesn’t pay him any mind, despite the middle finger that tips towards the ceiling. partynextdoor blasts in the cafe, specifically freak in you, and he hates how he finds himself relating to the lyrics,

room full of beautiful women but he only wants one.

☆ ☆ ☆

“you stalking me, pretty?”

“sure,” you nod your head, raking through the items on the clothing rack. you don’t spare him a single glance, picking a top off the rack and inspecting it, “if stalking means visiting the busiest thrift store on the busiest hour in the busiest city.”

geto lets out a small laugh, shoving his hands in the pockets of his cargos. you make him feel like a nuisance, like he’s a pest wasting your time. ironic, seeing as he wasn’t that much of a bother just last night, when you’d been indulging him in your inbox, “of course you’re the thrifting type.”

you pause your actions, price tag in your fingers as you side eye him through locks of your hair, “and you’re not?”

“didn’t mean it in a bad way, sweetheart.” geto shrugs, pulling off a cropped baby tee and bringing towards you. it has sequins sewn in the material, the gems writing out juicy couture. “this would suit you— belly piercing and whatnot.”

the top is cute, there was no denying so. a pretty shade of pink that suited your complexion, but letting his ego inflate bigger than it already was out of the question. he could tell your thought process from the judgmental look you offered, “oh god—you’re one of those fake ass, streetwearing fashionistas, aren’t you?”

geto blinks a few times, before letting out a sincere laugh. he’s been called a multitude of things before, but that one was new, “you got all that from me suggesting you buy this juicy couture tee? don’t all girls fiend over this vintage shit?”

“it’s that corny ass personality of yours,” you grab the shirt, throwing it in your cart. he wants to make a comment on that, but you beat him to the chase, “the phoney nonchalant act, the streetwear, your insta aesthetic— you’re so scripted.”

“my insta aesthetic?” he repeats, and doesn’t miss a step to catch up to you. your hands are back on the handle of your shopping cart, and if the way his elbows bump into your shoulders bothers you, you don’t make point in commenting on it. “who’s the lurker now, hm?”

you roll your eyes, pushing the strolley ahead, “don’t let it get to your big ass head. your feed screams you’re those toxic ass brent faiyaz wannabes,” he watches your fingertips rake through more clothings that pass your way, before you shoot him a glance, “let me guess— he showed on your spotify wrapped.”

his silence speaks volumes, and you click your tongue, “see? scripted.”

“and what about you?” geto counters when you make a pit stop. you pull away from your cart when a denim skirt catches your eye. you lift the skirt up to your eyes, before looking over your shoulder, cocking a brow.

“what about me?”

“the tweet reposts, the song choices for your highlights, the whole spiritual baddie persona,” he presses behind you, his chest meeting your back. he rests his chin atop your head, purple eyes landing on the clothing article that’s lowering in your hold, “if my page gives brent then yours definitely gives jhene.”

you’re mute for a second, and you chuck the skirt into the cart. you pull away from beneath him, spinning on your feet to face him, and you’ve got a scowl on your lips, “what’s wrong with jhene?”

“and you call me the toxic one.” geto pokes at your cheek. you swipe his hand away, and he laughs, “don’t get me wrong though— she makes good music. but let’s not act like she’s all innocent either,” his gaze lowers to your glossy lips, the fullness of the pair hypnotic, “a real freak. should i call you my pussy fairy?”

“do not,” you reply, weaving around him to make your way back to your cart. geto laughs, snatching a few things of the racks before dumping them in your stuff. you give him a deadpanned look and he whistles it off, feigning ignorance. “jhene’s a lovergirl. thought i was part of the men ain’t shit community.”

“you’re not gonna let that go, are you?” geto sighs. he owes gojo another thump in the head.

you roll your eyes, “thank your homeboy for that.”

“two things can be true at once,” geto fiddles with the hem of his jacket. he’s back at walking step by step with you, and you haven’t told him to fuck off yet, so he’s going to milk the opportunity out. “you’re mean but a lovergirl. you hate men but a real freak with them. right or wrong?”

you halter in your steps, and geto’s now a few steps ahead of you, so he looks over his shoulder to meet your bored expression, “i know you’re not trying to read me in the middle of value village.”

“no better time than the present,” he smiles, one that creases a dimple in his cheeks. “come on up— what are you waiting for?”

you stare at him some more, inhaling sharply, “mind you, i never invited you to join me,” you shake your head but comply regardless. cute, looks like you’re enjoying his company more than you’re letting on.

so he graces you his presence some more. he shops along with you, sneaks clothes into your cart when you’re distracted and asks you stupid questions. it’s a good time— to him at least, being able to get to know you some more without interruptions. naturally, you feign that his company is the bane of your existence, but he doesn’t miss the twitch of your lips when he taps his card into the reader at the check out.

hell yeah he’s got money to spend and is willing to show off if it means getting on your good side.

it’s only after he helps you bag your shit into your car, that he realizes this is where the both of you part ways. it annoys him slightly, but he doesn’t need to overstep his boundaries. he closes your trunk and makes his way to the driver’s side, where you’re already buckled up.

he taps at your window and the glass rolls down all the way, to which he leans forward. he’s in your line of sight now and you sigh, tilting your head sideways, “what?”

“do i get a goodbye kiss?” geto teases, honest, the boyish smirk he offers accentuating the playful undertone. the last thing he expects is you shifting in your seat, pushing yourself up and peaking your head out the window.

his smirk drops, brows jumping to his hairline. you’re really fucking close now, and for a split second he thinks you’re actually going to do it. he can see the flecks of colours swimming in your orbs, the tip of your nose bumps into his and your breath fans his cupid’s bow.

fuck, you smell really good. he bets you taste even better. his mouth is running dry, mindlessly darting his tongue out to wet his own lips. he doesn’t realize he’s let himself lean into your space, eyes narrowing on your mouth parting over his.

he’s pulled out of his trance when two fingers press at his forehead and push. he blinks his lashes, snapping back to reality as you sit back into your seat. you look amused— as if you’d played the funniest game right in his face and he’d been the star player.

“i’ll see you around, geto.”

and you drive off.

☆ ☆ ☆

“come back in a few weeks for a checkup. we’ll make sure the healing process is running smoothly. i’ll catch you soon.”

he lets out a tired sigh when the door finally closes, slumping into his seat and shuts his eyes. he’s exhausted— having woken up early for lectures and labs to back to back appointments with clients. this time around, the parlour is always booked and busy. students find it the perfect timing to get tatted to let it heal before showing it off in the summer.

it’s smart for them but idiotic for him. midterms are up, and the only time he has to study is in between appointments. he slides off his gloves and drags his seat towards his desk, redirecting his attention focus towards the blinding screen.

he feels a headache building at his temple, sipping at his iced coffee to keep him energized. contradicting, sure, but you didn’t have the luxury to be a beggar and a chooser when you were a full time student. the parlour he ran resided in his loft apartment, on the second floor. he enjoyed the comfort of his own home, spacious room and wide windows compared to outside stores.

his cat, nanako, purrs at his feet and he feels his heart swell. if there was one weakness he had in this world, it’d be her. he picks her up from the floor, presses her at his rib cage and nuzzles his nose in her fur.

“hi baby,” geto coos, and nanako lets out a sound. he continues to coddle her, fluffing her fur and rubbing at her ears, “it’s been pretty lively in here, hasn’t it? i knowww,” he coos, and as if nanako understands his words, she makes a pitiful sound that slightly shatters his heart.

geto decides to place her on his lap, her company serving plenty of motivation as he rolls back to his desk. he grabs the remote to his built-in speakers, turning the volume higher, before locking back in. exams are full of crap, and words are starting to jumble on his screen— he’s beginning to contemplate if this education shit is even worth the stress.

he’s an hour deep in jolting notes down on his ipad when he hears a knock at his front door. he scrunches his brows and glances at his agenda— he isn’t due for an appointment until another few hours. he sits it out, starting to believe he’d maybe imagined the sound. he knows it isn’t gojo since he’s celebrating an anniversary with his girl, and any other friend would’ve called to let him know they’re outside.

probably some jehovah witness shit, he thinks to himself, fingers hovering over his speaker remote to crank the volume back up. he turns back to his laptop screen, petting nanako mindlessly when his ipad flashes an instagram notification.

yourstruly.yn: open up

he jumps to his feet, chair rolling back. nanako flies to his desk, landing on all fours as she hisses at him for his suddenness. geto grabs her and kisses her ear, “sorry baby,” before sitting her on the floor. she walks off to her mini bean bag right at the foot of his desk, and he senses an attitude coming from her.

damn, he’d forgotten he squeezed you in last night in the midst of his sweet talking. that was truly a stupid move, he was already behind on studying, and because he likes to think with his head instead of his actual head, he’d fall even further behind.

he checks around the flat— picks up stray wrappers and fixes throw pillows, arranges his sheets. he was a clean man for the most part— he had been so distracted with his studies that there wasn’t much to dirty in the first place. his candles had already been lit so he knew the place smelled fine. he’s pretty positive his loft is clean enough to leave a good first impression.

he fixes loose hairs and straightens out his hoodie and sweats. thank fuck he’d showered not too long ago— he’s beginning to understand why his mother was always so insistent on being clean in case of random pop ups.

when he does finally open the door, there you stood. it was pretty chilly outside this time around, so he wasn’t surprised by the harsh wind flowing in and the clutch of your coat in your hold. your nose began reddening, and you sniffled, scowling from the cold.

you’re so cute, he sends you a smile, “hey.”

“hi,” you replied, sniffling again. “you ever planning on letting me in?”

“dunno,” he crosses his arms over his chest. he leans against the doorframe, ignoring the way he was starting to feel the frosty wind setting in his bones, “maybe if you ask nicely.”

you shoot him a deadpanned look, “move.”

“no.” geto smiles, “try again.”

“move, now.” a small pout is starting to form on your lips. he really liked testing your patience, since it always seemed to run low. you must’ve met your match— because geto always had time to fuck around.

“close, but not quite.”

“oh my goddd,” you groan, and that’s when he decides to let up. it really is colder than a bitch outside and he’d already kept you waiting while tidying up. he lets out a chuckle when you turn to the side, “i’m leaving— too damn cold for this.”

“alright, i’m playing,” geto widens the door. you stop your movements and glare at him. he aims an arm towards the inside of his loft, “don’t go, come in.”

you grumble something beneath your breath but comply, walking right past him. he follows behind you, shutting the door close and is immediately greeted back with warmth. you slip your shoes off and place them on the rack, before stepping in further into his apartment.

he slides his hands into his sweatpants’ pockets, catching up to you in the living room. your head is tilted upwards as you inspect the place though you remain in place. he stands beside you, bumping his shoulder into your arm, “so? up to your standards?”

you’re quiet for a while, letting your eyes roam around as the words build in your mind, “it’s typical,” you shrug but don’t elaborate. you’ve been staring at an art piece he’d done first year when he was fried out of his mind. you shift your gaze back to him, “where do i put my shit?”

“you can leave it in my bedroom, if that’s fine.” geto suggests and you nod wordlessly, to which he leads you to the second floor. he’s walking up the stairs and prays he doesn’t fall flat on his face— his socks can be a real bitch sometimes.

you both make it to his bedroom, with you trailing a little behind. he grabs a hanger from his mobile clothing rack, stretching an arm out to you, “i’ll hang your jacket here.”

you slide off the coat from your frame and hand it to him, to which he hangs on the rack. you circle around his bedroom with your tote on your shoulder, while he makes his way back to next to his desk. it’s pretty quiet for the most part, besides the music playing gently in the background.

your gaze lands on the cluttered items on his desk, noticing the half empty cup of coffee, notebooks and ipad on display, “did i catch you at a bad time?”

“honestly? yeah,” geto shrugs, before motioning at your tote bag. you slip it off and hand it to him, to which he sits at his nightstand, “but it’s my fault anyway, i squeezed you in a busy time. you know how exam season gets.”

“i can always reschedule,” you offer, checking your phone screen for the date, “it’s not that deep.”

“i don’t want you to leave,” geto slumps back into his seat and heaves out a sigh. he spins the chair around to catch you giving him a flat look. he leans back in his seat and spreads his thighs, smirking, “would you stay?”

“depends. are you going to be studying?” you quip, crossing your arms back to your chest.

geto ponders on what to say next. it’s not like he doesn’t want to tatt you up, but he really is caught in a bind. he also doesn’t want you to leave— not when he’s been wanting to see you since the last time he’d seen you. does he prioritize his wants or his needs?

he hums, “i’ll do whatever you want me to.”

you roll your eyes, scoffing as you make your way to his nightstand. for a second, he thinks you’re getting ready to leave and a weird feeling of disappointment settles in his gut. instead, you grab the bag and sit on the edge of his bed, pulling out your macbook and crossing your legs.

he smiles at that, “attagirl.”

“corny.” you mumble, chewing on your bottom lip as you begin typing away.

there’s a comfortable silence that fills the room. he’s back to browsing through his lecture notes, noting down valuable information and memorizing terminology. you don’t say anything either, but the sound of your nails typing at your keyboard blends well with his r&b playlist playing. sounds like you’re writing down an essay or report, depending on whatever your major is.

about half an hour into the silence, does he decide to break it. he looks over his shoulder to where you’re settled on his bed, “you good?” he checks up on you, and you let out a burnt out sigh. he knows exactly how you’re feeling.

“i guess,” you huff, twirling your necklace. your eyes are stuck on your screen, brows creasing into a scowl, “this shit is frying my brain though.”

“what are you writing?” he indulges, dropping his apple pen back onto his desk and spins in his seat to face you. maybe he’s also in due of a break— he’d rather be talking to you anyway.

“this crim report,” you answer, picking at your nail, “it’s not exactly hard but mad lengthy. i have to write a ten page report based on this article and how it contradicts societal norms.”

“ten pages?” geto whistles, rubbing at his chin. he’s settled deeper in his seat, naturally manspreading. you’re much better than him, he would’ve given up before even starting— reports were not his thing, “how far are you in?”

“i started this morning,” you hum, “so i’m four pages in.”

geto nods, “and when is it due?”

“tomorrow night.” you push your laptop off your lap. you close the screen shut and stretch out your legs, releasing a breathy moan as you relax your thighs. “i’ll do this shit later— my head’s starting to hurt.”

geto swears he’s never been so in sync in thought. he dismisses the idea of studying the second you had closed your macbook. probably a bad idea but at the moment, he couldn’t care any less, “want some entertainment?”

you cock a brow, “don’t say no stupid shit.”

“twenty one questions,” geto speaks nonetheless and finds himself beaming brightly when you scoff, “can’t a guy want to get to know you better?”

you ease yourself on his bed, slumping into his sheets as you exhale. you shift onto your side— a sinful curve at your side— tucking your knees and lean your head into your palm, “oh fuck off,” a breathless laugh and nanako makes her presence known, hopping right by you in the space between your body and the edge of the bed, “didn’t know you had a cat. she’s cute.”

“how’d you know she was a she?” geto wonders, surprised just slightly by how welcoming nanako was around you. she purred when you stroke at her fur, nuzzling further into your chest. nanako hated everyone— especially gojo, who unironically visited the most.

“instinct,” you shrugged but there’s a faint smile on your lips. not directed towards him, but his baby, “i also have a cat— he’s a fucking menace though.”

that’s one thing in common already, “like mother like son,” geto grins lazily when you flip him off mindlessly, and when you raise nanako in both your hands, he’s ready to warn you she isn’t a big fan of sudden movements— but when she mewls, the same sound she makes when geto brings home a new toy, the words die down in his throat.

he observes you both silently. you cradle nana as if she were a newborn infant, adoring and loving yet simultaneously careful and steadily. you’re cooing, calling her a sweet girl and rubbing at her ear, and nanako accepts you rather easily— too easily.

“woah.” was this those non-sexual turn ons people spoke about? for somebody so mean, you were oddly gentle with pets. he liked that— really liked that, so much that he pulls his phone out and snaps a photo of you two. but of course, because the universe loves to see him fumble, the flash goes off.

your head snaps to the side and he freezes. you narrow your eyes at him, slowly lowering nanako, “did you just—”

“so!” geto cuts you off, chucking his phone back onto his desk. it makes a loud cluttering sound, damn near knocks his drink all over, but ignores it, “my turn. what’s your cat’s name?”

“milo. and don’t cut me off—”

“milo the menace,” he cuts you off regardless, not wanting to have to decipher just what exactly possessed him to do that. he’s never done so, and he wasn’t about to explain why he’d done it just now. deflecting king! “i need to see the little guy. got any pics?”

you huff, extending a hand behind you to find your phone. when you clutch onto the device, you swing your legs off the bedside, always careful with nanako clinging to your lap. you lay her down on the floor, much to her dismay, before making your way towards him.

his eyes are stuck on your body before his mind can tell him to stop. not like it mattered much, your own eyes glued to your phone screen as you searched for the pictures he’d asked. you’ve got a matching tracksuit on— though the hoodie is cropped, thus exposing your navel piercing. he’d always had a thing for those, the pretty good jewel dangling below the button.

it didn’t help that your thong straps sat atop your waist.

he spreads his legs further open, and you stop right in between. for a moment, you’re stuck on your phone, and geto really wants to get those thighs straddling him. you look delectable— he’d pin your knees to your damn ears, sprawled on your back, and eat you out until you pleaded him to stop.

your hair was pulled back into a bun, and from this angle, he spotted scripture at the column of your neck. there was wording inked in arabic, and he made a mental note to ask you what it meant later.

geto leans back into his seat when you fold forwards, and he gets a good whiff of your vanilla scented perfume, tingling his senses in the best way, “found it?”

you nod your head, swiping through your gallery, “yeah, my bad,” you have a folder named ‘mimi’ and as expected, was filled off candid photos of your cat. he pays attention as you slide your finger on your screen, selfies of you both in the morning passing by.

“cute,” he isn’t talking about the cat, and his gaze flicks from the screen to your face. there’s still a considerate amount of space between you both, but he can see your eye colour much clearer this close up. you blink your lashes at him and he smirks, “anything else you wanna show me?”

you sniff, “don’t be gross.”

“i meant of milo,” geto definitely didn’t mean of milo. you cock a brow skeptically, and he mirrors the look, though the smile on his face grows, “what a cute lil thing,” his voice lowers and his words trail off. there’s a beat of a pause for a while, and his gaze falls on the plumpness of your lips, “you gonna let me pet your kitty?”

another beat of silence. you’re staring at his lips, and he wonders what you’re thinking. he can tell you’ve picked up on what he’s laying down (hopefully you in the next few minutes) but he can’t tell what your next move will be.

“depends. . .” a soft whisper, and he feels your breath fanning over his cupid’s bow. you flick your eyes back at him, and he finally understands the whole siren eyes shit. through lidded eyes, your stare is intense— simultaneously pulling him in closer while pushing him back. you’re toying with him, and the hand he slides up from your thigh to your ass is enough fuel. “you any good?”

he brings a second hand to the other ass cheek, and urges you onto his lap. you comply, looping your arms at the back of his neck. he feels your nails grazing at his scalp and he holds back a lethal shudder. your weight feels amazing against him— his hard on poking and making its presence well aware.

“i’d like to think i am,” he knows he is, but playing humble always goes a long way. he lets his hands run over the cup of your ass, trails back up to your hips, and slides a finger beneath the thong strap. when he snaps the material at your skin, your back arches and you press your chest against his own.

“well,” you exhale when he noses into the crook of your neck, right above your tattoo. he’s littering wet kisses at your hot skin, your taste ever so sweet against his tongue. god, you must taste divine. at your jugular, he’s able to imprint your perfume into his mind. “only one way to find out.”

geto hums at that, relishing in the way you moan at a particular suck, and focus on nibbling at that spot once more. you’re tilting your head for easier access, hips grinding against his own for better friction. your hands are soft and cautious— they trail from his nape down to his chest, and further down to his waistband.

he’s on go, ready for whatever timing you’re on. though, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out by the way your fingertip traces right above his pelvis, that you’re both on the same page. he drags his lips from the column of your neck up to your jaw, and stops right above your parted lips.

he has another cocky remark on the tip of his tongue, in typical suguru fashion, but you beat him to the chase, glossy lips pressing against his. the kiss is short and definitely leaves him wanting more when you pull back as soon as you’d leaned in— but you’re a mere centimetre away.

you whisper, not before another kiss, “don’t disappoint me, suguru.”

and he’s never ran into bed so fast.

☆ ☆ ☆

the door slams shut.

he’s left with a painfully hard reminder in his sweats that he fucked up bad. he thinks he dissociated a little between the labia flapping to the coat zipping. it’s only when he notices that instead of hearing lip smacking sounds, he hears bryson tiller’s lame ass (no shade, his ego is simply wounded), that you really left.

fuck.

geto rushes back to his bedroom, the walk of shame up the steps enough to make him want to jump off— as he takes out his phone, immediately goes through his contact list and presses on the name. it rings twice before the call gets picked up.

“yooo!”

“you still busy?” geto asks, voice hoarse as he flops down on the edge of the bed— his now empty bed. damn.

“nah, just dropped off wifey,” gojo replies. he hears music playing faintly in the back, as well as the sounds of honking. he must still be in the car, “why, what’s up?”

“i fucked up.” geto sighs, running a hand over his face.

“oh?” he isn’t surprised to find out gojo’s surprised. he’s still surprised by how the events turned out and it’s barely been ten minutes, let alone five. “say no more, i’m on my way.”

geto hangs up. he throws the phone away, before falling flat onto his bed. he picks up your scent on his sheets, your warmth slowly disappearing— another painful reminder he messed up. where he’s expecting a wet patch of anything on his duvets, he finds nothing. zip. nada.

his eyes fall shut, “shit.”

☆ ☆ ☆

“and that’s pretty much the gist of it all.”

he exhales a cloud of smoke. more silence. geto’s starting to get sick of all this silence. it was radio silence with you and now even more radio silence from gojo. his hand never stops to rub at nanako, who’s been serving as a cuddling partner in this grand moment of crisis. the only person to ever have his back.

so, geto knew that confiding in his best friend this secret of his would be risky for a multitude of reasons. for starters, geto never fucks up. this would be ultimate blackmail content for him, and geto honestly doesn’t blame him. for two, he was just giving gojo shit about never having eaten pussy. that’s just downright humiliating. and for three, he has a girlfriend who he doesn’t keep anything from. on top of that— his girlfriend is friends with the main culprit here.

overall a bad idea. he does it nonetheless, because satoru is his best friend despite it all. he isn’t too shocked when the silence is filled with bellyaching laughter, though.

“wait— i’m cryinggg,” more laughter. gojo’s now kicked his feet off the couch and is doubling forward. his shades bounce off his head and hit the leg of the coffee table. he doesn’t pause his laughing fit one bit, not even when geto throws a throw pillow his way.

it bounces off his big head and geto scoffs, bringing the joint back to his lips, “oh fuck off.”

“my fault man,” gojo apologizes though he doesn’t sound apologetic. he’s leaning forward to grab his shades back, and he’s back to swiping stray tears. “that was a good laugh— shit.”

geto hums at that, extending the blunt towards him,“glad to hear my misery has brought you entertainment.”

“see, you get it!” gojo jokes, welcoming the joint. seems like he got cocky, however, his laughing mood not quite over as he inhales. he quickly chokes on the smoke, which fades back into cackling, “oh shit—”

geto sneers, annoyance quickly rising, “quit fucking around or pass it back.” he was being pissy, yes, but his pride had been curb stomped. and it hadn’t even been an hour ago!

“nah, nah, i’m good,” gojo waves him off, despite his free hand tapping at his chest. he collects himself soon enough, and takes another hit. this time it’s successful. geto lowkey hoped it would get caught in his throat again.

“sooo,” gojo drags out, melting into the couch, “what now.”

“what now?” geto parrots.

“what’s the next move?” gojo elaborates, fingertip tapping at the blunt, and ashes fall into the tray. the end of the stick crumbles in the same way geto’s ego had earlier. “you’re gonna keep letting her think you suck at giving head?”

geto throws his head back and sighs tiredly, “what else is there to do?” he hears the sound of sizzling in the background, “i fumbled bad, bro. you don’t think she already posted about me in her girls’ private story?” more sizzling and exhaling, “i’m the storytime of the day!”

he feels gojo nudge his thigh with his foot. he looks back and the joint is presented to him. he gladly accepts it.

“what even happened?” gojo wonders. and oh boy, if that isn’t the question of the day. geto is still trying to find the answer to that. had it been out of nervousness? had he gotten too cocky? had it been her?

“i honestly wish i could answer that,” geto slips the roach into his mouth. “i didn’t feel nervous until after i realized she wasn’t fazed,” he drags out a hit and ghost inhales, “maybe it was a sign from above— to shut the fuck up sometimes.”

“maybe,” gojo snorts, throwing his legs over geto’s lap. nanako hisses at the intrusion, but the white haired man ignores her, “don’t let yourself go out sad like this. hit her back up— whatever happened to loving challenges?”

“what kind of fucked up ass challenge is this?” geto mumbles, mainly to himself.

“if i was in your shoes— which i’d never be,” because he’s gojo, he feels the need to add, “i’d put my pride aside and talk to her. like no homo shit, but you’re a great eater— yeah, no, i’m taking that back instantly.”

geto looks as horrified as he feels, “quickly, even.”

of course, gojo laughs but proceeds, “the point is, you know you’re good at it. everybody fucks up once in a while— don’t let it define you though. think of it as a minor setback for a major comeback— if you care enough, you’ll put your pride aside and do something about it. if you’re this down about it, then it must mean something to you.”

geto can’t tell anymore whether gojo’s talking about the failed pussy eating attempt or you. regardless, he knows there’s truth to his words. has to be the weed talking.

“and who made you the pussy connoisseur?” geto snorts, pressing the bud of his joint in the tray. it sizzles weakly as he kills it, starting to feel that high course through his veins.

gojo sighs dreamily, “why my lovely lady, of course.”

“looks like she taught you well,” geto relaxes himself into the tight space of the couch, settling nanako on his chest. it’s now his turn to nudge gojo with his foot, his sock-cladded toe digging at his jaw. “woulda never expected this from a rookie just a few months ago.”

“well duh,” gojo swipes his foot away, “i aced that course. got my phD in cunningulusophy and all. even won valedictorian.”

geto laughs, resting his lids. he was starting to feel sleepy, indica will do that to you, “enroll me in whatever class you took— i may need to slut myself out for extra credit. my prof’s a tough nut to bust.”

“intro to munch 101,” gojo nods his head, shutting his eyes close as well. there’s a comfortable silence that fills the air for a while. and despite the fact that his sight manipulated, he could hear the smirk dripping off his tone, “if you ever need a letter of recommendation, i got you— alumni’s honour.”

“oh fuck off,” a mixed harmony of laughter and vibrating chests.

☆ ☆ ☆

fun fact: suguru geto loves showers.

the aroma of cleanliness enhanced by thick fog. the scorching water droplets trickling down his skin, the vulnerability of his nakedness inside these four walls. he strangely feels most at ease, most raw in this moment of solitude.

he’s able to gather himself too. there isn’t much to accomplish in a shower once you’ve gotten rid of the day’s dirt. so, he likes to take the opportunity to think. to think deep and hard.

his mind’s all scrambled up. it’s been about three days since you were last in his apartment, two days since he’d thought about it, and a day since he last seen you (granted it’d been on your story, virtually, but still).

this has been the biggest feat he’s faced in a while. if he recaps it, this is what’s he gotten: he invited you over. you came the next day. he didn’t cater to you the sole reason you came. you didn’t mind. you both studied for a bit. he asked about your cat. you ended up on his lap. he ended up in bed with you. you ended up leaving with a chunk of his dignity.

that didn’t explain shit, but it did remind him of his failure. it reminded him that he’d finally met his match. it reminded him he needs to start backing his shit up. it reminded him of how good you smelled and tasted down there. it reminded him of how pretty you looked.

his cock twitches and he glances down. it also reminds him he never ended up cumming, too engrossed in his anxiety to jerk one out.

he feels as though the glass doors of his shower protect him from reality. he’s hard, though mortified, but still hard. he’d spent a long time (two days) suppressing the memory away, but there was no way to mistaken your taste on his tongue. how sweet you smelled. how soft you felt—

geto fists at his dick before he can help it. his free hand plants at the wall before him, and he works his wrist. he twists at his shaft slowly and closes his eyes— behind his lids are photographic memories of you on his lap. memories of you on his bed. memories of the scent of your panties. memories of your tits in his mouth.

sure, you’d made more sounds off the foreplay for the foreplay— but that didn’t take away how turned on he’d been. how his dick twitched in his boxers. how he’d humped the mattress. how he’d moan in your cunt.

“y/n,” geto moans your name, sinful yet hushed, his hand working faster. his thumb grazes his over slit and his gut drowns in heat. he wants a redo. he deserves a redo— you deserved a redo. “fuckkkk,”

next time, he’ll get it right. and if he doesn’t, then he’ll want to try again and again and again— until it ends with your cunt clenching around his tongue and his face sprayed vigorously in your essence. until your thighs tremble around his face, your hand clawing at his hair and your back arched off his bed. until his name bounces off his walls and echoes so loudly his neighbours complain.

he wants a redo.

he jerks back as he paints the tiles white. the joints in his hand ache, the water from the shower head getting colder. geto pants heavily, chest heaving as his load is released from him. his cum drips from the wall and into the drain at his feet— but his dick is far from well spent. if he spends another hour in the shower, it’s nobody’s business but his own.

suguru geto loves showers.

☆ ☆ ☆

“oh. you actually showed.”

“redo,” geto pants, having sprinted from his apartment. he’d spent the next three days after his shower incident wallowing some more— at some point, it just annoyed him. though slightly underwhelming, he was on his phone in bed a few minutes ago, going through his camera roll when he’d seen that picture he took of you and nanako. his feet guided him to his car before he could help it. choso helped him out with the address.

“redo?” you parrot his words, leaning against your doorframe. you crossed your arms over your chest, and it’s only then he noticed your appearance— flimsy camisole and pink lace panties. fuck, he wants a redo now.

“i want a redo.” geto repeats, but is quickly hit with a gust of wind. he hadn’t brought a jacket with him in the midst of his impulse, and goosebumps were beginning to form at his skin. he shoots his shot, “you ever planning on letting me in?” talk about deja vu.

“dunno,” you play along, eyes narrowing. “maybe if you ask nicely.”

swallow your pride, he hears gojo somewhere in the back of his mind. he shakes that thought off quickly. this desperation had to be bigger than a pride issue— he was ready to get on his knees and beg her to let him in. pride? that had been drained to the sewers the second he busted all over his shower days ago.

“lemme in and i’ll make it up to you,” geto tries instead, taking a step closer, “please?”

that seemed to be the correct answer as you push open the door to your apartment further. you turn your back and geto lets himself drink up your backside— he hadn’t seen it last time but you had dimples sitting right above your perky ass. he watches your hips sway left and right, and even tilt your head back, a smirk etched on your face, “you comin’?”

you will be, “cute.” his lips twitch into a small smile, and closes the door behind him.

☆ ☆ ☆

fool him once? shame on him.

geto doesn’t allow himself to make the same mistakes twice. if one fuck up is enough to tear him down for a week straight then why the hell would he do it again?

you’re sprawled on your back, legs spread with enough space to fit his body in between. his hands plant on either side of your face, his bulge pushed up against your core. he feels your warmth through these layers of clothes, and he rolls his hips greedily, feeling himself already grow addicted. your chin is raised high, lids blown open as you stare at him all doe-eyed.

his brows pinch in the centre of his forehead. that faux look of innocence you’re offering is doing wonders to his dick. your tits sit beautifully beneath your top, arms back on him as you pull him in closer, and he lets himself fall prey to you. for a moment, the tip of his nose bumps into yours, lips ghosting over the other, hips colliding to meet yours.

“mhm, that’s it.” you let out a sigh, throwing your head back into your pillows. there’s an opening to your neck calling his name, and geto wastes no time to latch his lips there. he slips a hand beneath your tank top, fingernails grazing over your skin to creep up to your mounds. he flicks a thumb over the bud and you sigh blissfully again— he then cups the flesh.

he loves the way you squirm when he kisses down your body, “i got you, pretty,” stripped from your cami, his lips leave open mouthed marks all over your skin. from the column of your neck, to your breasts, down your torso and past your navel, “let me take care of you.” the lower he gets, the more intense your rawness reeks— and it’s a damned good smell.

he lands right above your clothed pelvis, and he inhales sharply. he won’t make the same mistake this time, he can feel it. there’s something lingering in the air, something indescribable— but he’s confident he won’t. because when he skips your cunt in favour to pamper your inner thighs, dragging his wet tongue all over erogenous zones, he spots dampening right where your clit would be.

bingo.

your hand cradles his hair, and the other props your body up by the elbow. he glances up at you, cock throbbing against your mattress. your beauty still renders him speechless— runs his throat dry and makes his tongue feel heavy. he doesn’t want to decipher what this means either, and decides to conclude he’s simply thirsty for you.

“suguru,” you call at him. he blinks and the hand in his hair snakes down his neck, and pushes him deeper. his nose nudges at your throbbing clit, and his tongue peeks out of his mouth to lick at the damp material before he can help it. two fingers hook at your panties and push them to the side, revealing glistening folds. your slick drips between your crack and stains your sheets. he thinks he hears his stomach growl a little.

another swipe of his tongue, this time in contact with the raw you, and a breathless moan rips from you, “don’t disappoint me this time.”

and he feasts.

☆ ☆ ☆

gojo’s woken up to a notification from his phone.

it’s still pretty late— or maybe early, and his pretty girlfriend is miles away in lalaland. she snores softly, cuddling into his side, and gojo’s ready to cuss out whoever dares potentially meddle with his girl’s sleep. he’s starting to get grumpy.

when his phone undergoes face recognition, he lowers the brightness immediately. he swipes through his notification center and notices an attachment sent by geto.

now that peeks his interest. he presses on the message.

suguboo: [1 attachment]

suguboo: passed intro2munch101 with an A+ 🫡

gojo can’t help the laugh that leaves him, though is quickly quieted down when he feels stirring at his side.

“well i’ll be damned.”

yes, gojo is obsessed with his girlfriend. also 10k words on geto???

#rena☆star.#geto suguru smut #geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #geto smut #geto x you #geto suguru x you #jjk smut #jjk oneshot #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #geto oneshot

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milky-aeons · 11 months ago

Text

— FEVER PITCH

౨ৎ . . . following a mission that could have gone perilously wrong, you decided you have had just about enough of DAZAI OSAMU and his manipulative tactics.

warnings: criminal themes, sexual content, arguments, unprofessionalism, swearing, manipulation, emotional dysregulation, pet-names, slight toxic!dazai, power-play, love-biting, female reader, mentions of sociopathy, mdni, w.c 6.2k

♪ . . . ˗ˏˋ ꒰ bloody valentine — machine gun kelly ꒱ ˎˊ-

𝐍𝐎 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐄𝐗𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐃 between you two during the walk back to his agency apartment. Mainly, because you made it your mission to walk at least ten steps ahead of him, eyes fixed forward, hands balled. You couldn't believe him, but the thing was, it was so typical of a man like him that you cursed yourself for being so surprised.

What did you expect? Dazai Osamu was a high-functioning sociopath who didn't take human empathy into consideration when making decisions. There was a brief moment where you tried to make an excuse for him — to give him the benefit of the doubt, even though you knew Dazai only gambled when certain he was ten steps ahead.

If you made the different choice during the mission today and didn’t stop the train, those people wouldn’t have lived. He did not gamble dozens of human lives on a split-second decision you would have to make.

He did not lie to you about the severity, the stakes at play.

He did not wager human lives like they were mere toy-things, variables in his grand scheme that always worked out so perfectly.

Only that, he did. He absolutely did.

You were sure to slam the door in his face when you reached the apartment before him to show how angry this had made you. No, anger wasn't the word. It was too shallow and weak. The emotion making your chest physically heavy was akin to devastation. A brother so close to betrayal. You were pacing his sitting room with your hands buried deep in your hair when he came in and closed the door softly.

Scream, strangle him, do something, you pleaded with yourself. But everything was racing and your heartrate was speeding just as fast. All you could do was continue pacing and breathing, attempting to keep it from crashing down on you.

You could have let them all die.

All of those innocent civilians. Mothers, children, sons, grandparents.

How was he so sure you would stop the train?

How could he make a gamble like that, only to hinge it all on you?

"Will you allow me to explain?" His voice cut the tense air from far away.

It was like the key pulled from a grenade, enough to make you wrench your hands from your hair and pin him down with a sharp look.

"I should." You hissed. "I should demand an explanation from you and nothing short from it. But the thing is, Dazai — I don't know if I can trust anything coming from your mouth right now."

He didn't like that. There was a dark storm in his eyes.

Those intelligent, cold and calculating eyes.

You wanted to gouge them from his pretty face.

"Perhaps, it would be better for you to calm down first—"

"Calm down? You've been lying to me this entire time and you have the audacity��!"

"I was not lying."

Shock slapped you hard against your face. You openly balked. "Are you seriously lying to me now, of all times, too?"

Calmly, as if you were the only one having a heated argument, his eyes slipped closed and he sighed.

Sighed.

"It is true that the mission today held a certain level of danger, and that the heart of the plan ultimately teetered on what choice you would make." He spoke quickly before you could combust in emotion at that declaration. "But I don't believe I have ever told you that it did not."

"No. You withheld that it was." There was a sneer to your lips. The words you spoke with were a caustic brew as you began to stalk to him.

"That's the thing with you," Both your hands came up to the side of your face in a squeezing, frustrated gesture. Like you could curl your fists and punch him and his impassive stare. "You keep things from people. It's like you figure everything out and get joy from watching everyone else struggle to do so. The information you keep is how you're so indestructible — to the Agents, the Higher Brass, the Police Force, the fucking Port Mafia, Dazai. It's because you leverage information they don't think you know in times where it benefits you!"

A pause as he stared right at you and didn't even flinch. You wanted to shake him. You wanted to scream.

"Is that what you wanted to do to me?" Such a careful question you asked in a shaky whisper. "Have this information over my head until it benefited you? So you could just use me as some—some sort of—!"

The question was a snap that made him move. Walking forward, devouring the distance with his long legs. Startled, you took a few steps back, but you didn't back down.

"[Name]-chan — Bella," He said evenly. You hated that nickname. You hated how controlling he sounded when you were about to lose it. "Listen to me."

"Don't you dare order me around right now."

His hands lashed out until they gripped the sides of your face.

He was forcing your eyes forward, the touch not overly painful but strong, firm.

Because he’d never hurt you. Or would he?

"If you would just—"

Your hands came up and you slapped his from your cheeks. The echo of skin was treacherous to a conversation taking a devastating turn.

"I don't think you understand." You said in a tight voice. Hysteria was moments away from gripping your heart. "You wagered lives and the safety of others like they were inanimate things—"

"Risks are probable with all calculations, [Name]-chan—"

"But you still lied!"

The talent he had for reasoning his way to justice even when he was sorely in the wrong was making heat claw at your face. A searing one of frustration and anger. "You lied to me this whole time and made me believe in you. I could trust you with my life Dazai, and now I find out you've been lying to me about something as important as this!"

Dazai subdued to silence, but never once did he look away from you. Arresting you with his intense stare, like he was figuring out just what words he could say to calm you right down. But you wouldn't let him. For once, you wouldn't be on the receiving end of his manipulation when he was putting all his effort into it.

But what he said next was so unexpected it knocked all the wind out of you.

"I suppose, if we are discussing with-holding things from each other to keep the other safe," It was a smooth murmur as he cast his eyes to the side. "I don't believe you are entirely innocent in that regard either, [Name]-chan."

Your mouth threatened to fall open.

He knows.

Even though the phone right now is in a cabinet in the bathroom, off and untouched, he knows about the blackmailing texts you have been receiving about him. Knowing you were a co-worker of his, these crooks from the underground threatened his very life lest you co-operated to give him up. Not that you ever would. But you had also declined to tell him about it, taking the issue on yourself, intent to shield you co-worker from harm above all else.

Because you’d never hurt him. Or could you?

You didn't even have to ask him how or what he knew. He was Dazai freaking Osamu who leveraged information in times where it benefited him.

One tight swallow and you raised a hand to point at him. "I didn't gamble with lives."

"Yet you gambled with your own~" He shut you down. "Your safety, your wellbeing, all because you believed holding the information to yourself would keep me safe."

Instead of being caught red handed and admitting to it, you felt your lips crack into a grin. Your tongue poked at your cheek and you began nodding your head.

"Alright," Spoken like you were engaged in a battle with him. One of wits and emotions and secrets. "You want to play this game? Share things we keep to ourselves to quote on quote benefit each other? Then explain to me why I also met a lady today who you slept with last week. A damn lawyer on one of our cases, Dazai!"

It made the air drop in temperature, the turn this blow-out was taking. Dazai leaned back and put his hands in his pockets, breathing in a way that told you he knew this conversation was coming.

You were not in a relationship, had never been intimate with the brown-haired detective before you, yet would be lying to yourself if you said your feelings for him weren't driving you absolutely fucking insane.

"Truly? What was her name, remind me?"

"Oh, you fucking asshole."

"Such vulgarity, [Name]-chan! Now I'm sure she'd never speak like that~!"

That was a low blow. You wondered if he was trying to hurt you. So you did it right back. Without stopping to think of its consequences.

"So we're deciding to say fuck it to professionalism, then? Fine. I kissed Kunikida-kun."

If atoms could physically freeze in the air, they would have in that moment as Dazai suddenly went still. Statue-still, and you knew you shouldn't have said it when you did. Caught up in a moment where you two butted heads, each of you were getting nowhere with this conversation. But the damage had been done.

Slowly, almost perilously, he craned his neck to the side and locked you in place with that stare. The one he had crafted when Mafia-black blood ran hot and thick in his veins. One eyebrow arched.

"Oh?"

Suddenly, you began fearing for your friend's stability in his job. Because who knows what a pissed-off Dazai Osamu could do when he was angry. And you knew he was becoming agitated because he looked like he wasn't. Concealing anything with that mask he threw up to deceive everyone but you, who could read how the storm in his eyes took a violent, turbulent turn.

"But why should you care?" You spat at him. "You slept with our client just fine, so what if I kissed someone else on the case? Newsflash, Dazai, but we're not in a relationship and we never fucking will be."

Dazai was eating up the distance between the both of you until your chests barely touched. You were breathing heavy, felt tears threaten to fall down your cheeks. Through it all you noticed that his breaths were shallow and a little quicker, like he was keeping his emotions under check with everything he had in him.

"Stubborn woman." He breathed. "Why don't you see reason?"

You looked into his eyes with as much strength, as much sincerity as you could after an exhausting shouting match with him. Into their bottomless depths. Seas of chocolate and whiskey and so, so guarded. You wanted to reach into his soul and tear his guards down. Make him see your reason.

"Don't lie to me." You shook your head slowly without breaking eye-contact. One single tear rolled down your right cheek against your will. "And I won't have to dig past all of them to find the reason, dammit."

"I told you," He urged in a softer tone. Reaching up, he brushed the tear that he caused against your cheek with a tender touch. Pull away, you said, but hadn't the strength to. "Everything I do or said was to help you along your path, [Name]-chan. I knew, out of all of the agents that I could rely on you the most."

Is he lying right now? How could you know?

"Why do you have to go about everything in such a round about way?" You asked quietly.

Dazai's hand was hovering in front of where he wiped your cheek. Perhaps he didn't want to touch you as you gave the impression that you didn't want to be touched right now.

Perhaps you're both as bad as each other, sacrificing parts of yourselves and keeping secrets because you thought it'd be for the better.

"What are you looking for?" Dazai asked when you continued to study him.

You shrugged. "An answer."

"To?"

Tears glistened on your lashes as you looked down. Crushed crystals that glittered when you found words. "To why, even after you're such a big pain in my ass to deal with," You took a sharp inhale. "I still can't see myself anywhere but at your side."

He saw an opening to exploit in order to get you to forgive him, probably. That, or you had given him a confirmation he had been seeking right after you told him why would you care if I kiss another man? Because one searching flicker of his eyes across your face and he suddenly swooped in.

At first, you were unwilling to take his kiss — was about to pull away, because he was wrong to think he could manipulate you physically if he couldn't mentally.

"Forgive me," He whispered against your lips softly. "I didn't think keeping it from you could affect you this deeply."

Next, you watched as he tilted his head against yours to touch your foreheads. Maybe it was Dazai's way of showing emotions he had trouble displaying like most humans did. Instead, he attempted to connect your mind with his — that wicked mind that was capable of things humans believed impossible. "I will admit that emotional impact on others is not dominant when I make decisions for a grander picture."

You didn't pull away. At the very least, he was trying to show you an emotional side of him. Remorse, God help him. You could see it in the way he formulated a riddle for you to solve, didn't show any feeling on his face but did something as intimate as tipping your forehead to his and brushing his lips against yours.

Dazai Osamu had the tendencies to do things just because he knew, logically, it was the best thing to do. He promised to keep those people safe on the mission today, you locked eyes with him, and he had done that. Although not in the way he made you believe he would.

"Good." You whispered. "As long as you're aware of how much of a problem you can be."

His chuckle was low and shallow. Dark in a way that told you a lustful side of him was stirring at the proximity of you both, but the sound was a little warmer. Shared between two people attempting to build a steady connection with each other when both their lives had, at some point, been hit with chaos.

And maybe that was why you let him kiss you again. It wasn't an admission of defeat, it wasn't your way of saying you forgave him. But you could accept the fact that you had made the Dazai Osamu find fault in his sociopathic reasonings. He had went as far as to administer an apology, in his own way, and didn't lie to you when you asked him not to. That and the bastard already had his place in your heart. Kissing you with a tenderness and care not typical to him was bound to have you swaying, wanting to believe he was being serious, sincere.

"Don't lie to me again," You said when he pulled away. "Promise me you won't."

"Hmm?" He brought his lips to kiss your cheek. "I don't have a good record with keeping promises."

"Then give me your word."

Give me your word. It brought you both back to when you first met in a shadowed alleyway bar — when he had sought you out for that interesting Ability of yours. Months upon months ago that felt like an aeon. He had told you that his word was something he never broke. And he knew what you were asking, because his whiskey eyes that swam with speckles of stars underneath his pale spotlights flickered to yours.

"Is my word held at such high value?"

"It's how you managed to sway me in that shitty bar to join your group of misfits."

Another hum against your skin. He attempted to attack your neck, probably because he knew that was the area in which you fawned the most.

"Dazai." You warned, and he drew back. "Give me your word that you won't lie to me again." It was nothing short of a final order.

He eyed you for a second. And surprisingly, "You have my word."

It was the finalisation of his apology. Or, the very best you were going to get. In some way, it was also your admission to allow him to kiss you again, as if a reward for being reasonable with you. And he took up his reward by claiming your lips in a kiss that was longer than the last. It was hot and in some way raw, breathing through his nose and slanting his mouth against your own in a lip-lock you were a little overwhelmed by.

His hand came up and dug into your soft hair to cradle your head as he teased your lower lip between his teeth. Unwittingly, you sighed into his mouth and pushed against him. Melding your curves with his lean build and grasping at anything you could ball your hands into. Be it his shirt, his shoulders, sighing deeper each time. A tongue licked at your lips, his hands were locked on your hips with a searing message, everything he was doing right now was oddly rushed and coming at you all at once. As if to prove something. To translate a message.

"Tell me," He rasped in a throaty voice. "When was it that you shared such an intimacy with Kunikida-kun~?"

Oh, you should have known. But instead, you contested him. Your hands came up to bury into his deep hair and you played his own game.

"How about," Your lips attacked his face, barely getting any words in as you attempted to prove your own point. "You tell me when you decided sleeping with some random lawyer was a good idea?"

Both of you began breathing a little shallower, a little more urgent with need. Perhaps the need was on your part mostly, but there was an uncoordinated jerkiness to the way Dazai began tugging at his coat sleeves. As if he was slipping out of control. You were helping with your own messy movements to push off his coat when he asked a lawyer? with a tremor of amusement.

"That woman. The one last week. On our case." Smooth warmth underneath his shirt when your palms glided down his shoulders. Why were you both so hot?

"Ah," He helped you shrug his jacket to the ground. It fell with a heavy sound. "She was a lawyer, wasn't she~?"

"Sophisticated, beautiful, the whole package. You just couldn't resist, could you?"

Dazai, when free of his coat, reached up to gently undo your blouse. One button at a time, and you allowed him to. Your chest heaving, his fingers warm.

"Well," His eyes were locked on the skin you've never shown him as it became increasingly visible the more buttons he popped. Leaning in with hooded eyes, his voice was a dark and sinful whisper against your skin. "If you must know," A searing kiss to your temple. "I didn't think she was that sophisticated. But she was beautiful," Your cheek. "Beautiful, because she reminded me of you."

Your heart, which was busy slamming against your ribcage, stuttered for a second. Dazai was teasing your face with his mouth and almost done your blouse when he sent pleasure shooting down to your core with mere words;

"And I, poor little I, finished before her. Because in my head, it wasn't her that I was fucking underneath me."

And then he kissed you. Hard and messy and unlike his calculating nature. Using his tongue to lick at your teeth and send you moaning into his mouth, there was a passion in the way he intensified the kiss. Your blouse was open now, and you couldn't help the subconscious aged fear that was always there due to insecurity when he splayed his fingers on your abdomen. As if sensing your apprehension, he didn't look down, kept kissing you with such a wild fever that was driving you near senseless.

You felt his palms scrape your sensitive skin on your torso with coarse bandages. An almost welcome feeling unique to him alone. They lightly tickled your skin, eliciting a shiver, a reminder that this was real. That you were ravaging Dazai Osamu in the heat of a moment that was so intense you thought you would burn.

Your breathing hitched when his hands smoothened across your sensitive ribs to palm your breasts through your bra. Your skin was tight with anticipation, pulled taut over your body that he massaged — making you arch into him. A moan, startled and raw, ripped from your throat. He chuckled, increasing the pressure of his rough palms over your skin, pleased he was the one making you feel this way and no one else.

You decided to give him the peace of mind he wanted.

"He kissed me," You told him when both of you broke for air. "Kunikida— before our Christmas Party. He kissed me, beforehand."

"My, my. Such a passionate Idealist." Dazai commented with an edge to his voice.

"Would you like to know what I thought of when he did?"

His palms were inching around to the small of your back. "Do tell." Was all he said. Slowly, dark as the colour of his dilated eyes.

"You."

Pull, he hauled you against him when you let the word fall from your mouth.

Skin on the fabric of his shirt, your skirt the only thing between you and the obvious readiness of him that was an unbearable pressure between your legs. It was a point where words were not needed anymore. Instead, you kissed him with as much neediness you convinced yourself he showed you — your fingers fluttering against his waistcoat to get the infernal thing off. Because right now there was a wild, strange thing so powerful it must have been held back for too long fluttering in your chest. It wanted nothing more than to feel him, see what he hid under his clothes, bite at his skin until no other woman touched him.

He helped you, with a laugh of course, until you were now making clumsy work of his shirt. Clumsy, because he was placing provocative open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive column of your neck and threatening you to your very knees.

You shrugged his shirt off his shoulders after a second and took a step back to look at him. Truthfully, you didn't exactly know what it was that you were expecting to find under all his clothes, or to what extent his bandages ran. Although you weren't very surprised to find that his abdomen and chest had a layer of bandages just like his neck and arms, but sparser and less covered up. It allowed the pale skin of his chest to catch your eyes, and his own scars that snaked between cloth that didn't cover them.

Scars.

One careful, hesitant step forward with your eyes locked on skin you've never seen before, and you reached out. First you trailed a curious finger against the lithe muscle of his stomach that flexed at your touch. Then, you placed your entire palm flat against his warm skin and glided it up to his chest. It was rising and falling quickly when you did, shallow breaths of anticipation that quite matched your own.

His eyes were a blaze of molten coffee when you looked up at him.

"Are you a tempting siren?" He asked you. Your colleague who could drown you, but at that point, all you could think about was the heat punching you from his body and the desperate ache between your legs.

So for once in your life, you decided that a risky answer was better than overthinking. Your tongue jutted out to your bottom lip and you answered him honestly.

"If we were still in that bar," You said in a small, wanton croak. "And you asked me again if I should come home with you. I'd say — yes."

Dazai went for you.

He was kissing you the moment you gave him the permission he was searching for. You felt his fingers skating up the side of your legs and under your skirt until he teased one god-awful touch against the damp fabric of your underwear. A jolt of pleasure exploded through you and you reached behind to get the skirt off, desperate for more. Fabric fell to the floor with a heavy thud and you bore down onto his fingers with no shame, no resolve except to give into him and all his sinful talents. Hooking your leg up and around his waist as he worked his touch up and down, hiking your pleasure to high points only he could find.

You hummed and kissed him deeply, encouraging and urgent. If anything, your responses were fuelling that male ego he had about him. Every time your moans became that bit higher, he'd have the spot that did such a thing to you memorised, and he's hit it again. And again, and again, until you were rocking into the palm of his hand through your soaked underwear and whispering his name like a lost prayer.

Fuck—Fuck, he was too good at this. He was—!

He curled his fingers just right and you swore.

The winding in your gut snapped in an intense wave of climaxing pleasure so sudden it caught you unawares. You moaned a sound that could have been a scream, it was so overwhelming. All your sighs and shouts were lost in his mouth, and to show your gratitude, you kept tugging and scraping at his hair. Perhaps it unfurled the last seams of his control; your moans, your scent and your tugging you would fantasize he liked. Because he hooked your other leg up and around his waist with no warnings until he held you up against his body.

"You'll drop me, you idiot." You giggled deliriously. Dazai was walking you to the nearest upstanding object to trap you against. In this case, it was his bookshelf.

"I'd never drop you, beautiful Bella~"

You lapped at the skin of his neck, just below his ear. Possessed by some intense, primal part of you, your teeth sank into his neck and you sucked just enough to leave a bruise. The bookshelf rattled when Dazai locked you against it, and you could feel how he ground his jaw in rigid control when you marked him in such a possessive way. No woman, clearly, had ever placed intimate bruises on his body, and you were happy to be the first. That and, your teasing and tasting only looked to charge Dazai more with that same insatiable need to take you here and now.

Without any questions asked but a mutual understanding hanging in the charged air that this was well overdue, he reached down to remove his own pants. When he did, he repositioned himself so he could angle you better with his body.

His head bowed in front of your black bra decorated with notes of lace and he bit down on one of your stiff nipples through the fabric. The shock and pain that quickly raced into pleasure soured through your blood, making you wrap your hands around his head and push your chest against his face proactively. He kept toying with your nipple between his teeth through the black fabric, truly a man who knew all the pressure points to drive a woman wild.

It was through delirious pleasure, but you were at an angle where you could shift your hips to press on the rigid outline of his length with your damp, aching core. Dazai's lips stilled on your chest when you rubbed your heat against him; a provocative tease up and down that had you receiving a punishing nip on your clavicle. A bruise of his own, you'd find out, but not in that moment. Not when you gave one final roll of your hips against his and your colleague's unfurling control wore too thin.

His hands came down to pull your underwear off you while he still kept you pinned up against a bookshelf. Through it all, he never let his bottomless gaze falter from our face. Not once. Not even when he had to free himself from his last piece of clothing and take measures of protection. The way he looked at you, like a treat he'd been saving for a very long time, was enough to have another knot of pleasure coiling in your gut.

"Are you ready?" He asked you.

You nodded. "For a while."

"Such a tease~"

And then, with his warm hands on your hips did he guide himself into your entrance. It was slow at first, tasting you almost, but the moment he edged the tip of himself into your damp, twitching heat did he snap his last thread of self control and thrust long and deep. You cried out in ecstasy, and he dropped his head into your shoulder with a broken sound of overdue pleasure, bracing a hand on the shelf behind.

You breathed out shakily, running your hands through his wild hair to communicate that you were comfortable for him to move.

He drew out, and slammed right back into you — the depth of him this time making little white stars appear at the sides of your vision. There was no patience, no savouring on Dazai's part as he kept a heavy rhythm of thrusting into you until the bookshelf was rattling with your movements, some falling to the ground. He was devouring you, taking from you a pleasure he'd denied himself for so long because you were unwilling to give it to him.

And you regretted not doing it sooner. Because the way he felt sliding in and out of you, the way you connected that felt so unfathomably perfect—

"Could anyone else do this for you?" His voice was heavy with panting in your ear. You were too high to scold him on the blatant controlling way he said the words; "Hm? Could any other person," A particularly heavy push of his hips into you that made your mouth fall open silently. "Make you feel this way?"

Caught in your daze, you shook your head. It was the truth, of course. But you also didn't lose all of your wit.

You locked your ankles together at the dip of his back and took his face in both hands. "Could your lawyer make you… act so… wild?"

"Wild? Me?" His voice broke in a thick laugh as his thrusting became sharper and faster. Your back kept hitting the shelves behind with every one, but your hands stayed against his cheeks so as you could see him in the height of pleasure you caused. That beautiful face of his sheaning a little with exertion smirked. "I'm not wild for anyone, [Name]-chan."

"Then fucking put me down." You teased with a dazed smile of your own.

"Not a chance~"

His smooth, deep thrusts became slightly more jerky when you were just about to topple over the edge — but you wanted to take him with you, so you resisted for as much as you could. His mouth bit down against the side of your neck and he gave one, two, three long rocks of his hips before he was groaning agonisingly deep against your skin.

The very sound was enough. Your walls clenched around him and you too, hit a climax like no other. One that made you feel like a star — imploding in such a dazzling light show as you fisted at his hair and arched your body backwards. Or a mirror, magnificent in its beauty that he cracked into a trillion tiny pieces. Each fragment reflecting how you held onto him and cried his name out loud and desperately, like the world was ending and he was your very last salvation.