#geto suguru x you

[leyiorr]

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ...i'll handle it.

¡! summary: your ex keeps harrassing you, and they've offered to send a nice message to take care of it! (blue msgs are the ex)

¡! incl: gojo, geto, nanami, choso, toji, inumaki, yuji, megumi, sukuna

likes + reblogs are appreciated <3

[aquasoftware]

★ SOAK OPERAS!! ☆

Snippet | “Don’t go acting all shy on me now, Mrs. Geto.”

FT║ Fem!Reader ✘ househusband! Suguru.

Desc | If dealing with students who think your classroom is a WWE match wasn’t enough, now you’ve got a mountain of work waiting for you at home. Overworked and underfùcked, you finally snap ➜ so your doting, dangerously hot househusband decides it’s time to step in.

Cw║ (Proceed with caution 18+ ⚠️) Househusband!Suguru, Teacher!Reader, lots of petnames, tons of praīse, Suguru has a huge thing for legs, màssages, bėgging, bràt tàming, dīrty tàlk, soft/service dom! Suguru, bràtty sub! Reader, fīngerīng, multi big o’s, usage of good gīrl (sorryyy,) overstím, sqūīrtīng, fīnger súcking, cūm eating, spānking, prōne bōne, bréédīng, pússy drúnk! Suguru, créámpīe, lots of kisses, “love you’s,” + aftercare.

WC ➜ 3.8K ➜ ML

Estimated 17-20 minute read & Oneshot.

Preparing students for huge exams that’d determine whether or not they’d graduate, grading endless assignments, lesson planning all night, and on top of that dealing with those combative students who made you question why you ever pursued being an educator in the first place?

It was all weighing on you.

And one of these days? You were going to snap.

Nevermind, that was today.

Specifically when you came home, after breaking up a classroom fight.

You huffed, kicking your heels off at the porch, tossing your heavy bag and keys onto the bench using way more force than usual, even after stepping through the door, an absurd heftiness of the day clutched onto you. And the worst of all? You still had a shit ton of work to do.

If wishes were real, you’d have a vacation paired with Pink Whitney in your hand by now, but you intensely sighed brushing off the thought.

“When’d you get in?” Suguru drawled, raising an eyebrow, manspreading on the couch–pink apron still tied around his waist from preparing dinner.

Even through your exhaustion, one sight of your husband soothed something deep in your spirit.

“Few minutes ago…” You muttered, eyes semi-lit up from seeing him, yet your pitch cascaded with dryness.

He noticed immediately–the short reply, lack of emotion in your tone, the tension in your shoulders. He quickly felt a profound urge to fix it all for you.

“C’mere baby.” Suguru commanded, reaching for the black remote to pause the dramatic soap operas he’d been super-glued to all day.

You trudged toward the leather couch, sitting beside him as he rubbed slow, warm circles across your back.

“You okay?” He tried to check in, invested on why you were upset, maybe it was the wrong time to ask though, because you didn’t mean it, you really didn’t want to take it out on him.

But something about that question made you snap completely.

“Suguru, do I look like I’m fucking okay to you?” Scowling at him, you folded your arms, crossing your legs.

Damn. Okay, he knew that was a stupid question with an obvious answer, he hadn’t expected that though. But the stress in your voice, the way your lips poked out? He knew better than to take it personally.

Instead, your husband exhaled softly, his hand never stopping its slow strokes against your back.

“I get it, baby. It’s alright.”

His voice caressed you, low and smooth–like thick honey melting on your skin, unbothered, unshaken by your moodiness, fully consumed by so much patience you were sure he’d secretly be in the Guinness world record for it.

He spoke once more “Let me take care of you, yeah?” Taking your hands into his welcoming ones.

Your heart tremendously twitched at the offer, nodding. Allowing his warm palms to knead into your calves like dough, leisurely working out the tension that had built up from being on your feet all day.

“You work too hard, Y/n.” he angelically whispered, thumbs pressing unhurried, firm circles against your aching muscles.

“It’s not my fault, I have to.” You mumbled back, head sinking farther as you leaned into the couch cushions that were decorated among a plethora of pillows, funky designs adorning them.

His hands didn’t falter, massaging so deliberate and comforting, it felt as if he put you under some sort of spell–day’s load swiftly dissolving under his fingertips. His presence became a strong yet silent reminder that you weren’t alone in this.

The scent of dinner still lingered, mingling around faint traces of his baccarat cologne. The almost professional rhythm of his touch, it was all rapidly numbing your mind.

And if you were being honest, your panties began to get extremely sticky–slick clinging to the middle part of the fabric. You were too far gone to pray he wouldn’t notice though.

He only hummed in response, but his focus gradually started to drift as he kneaded higher up your luscious legs.

It was supposed to be an innocent little massage, but it was stupidly impossible to ignore how the red pencil skirt hugged your figure, the delicate stretch of skin-colored tights underneath had his breathing irregular.

The fabric was sheer enough that he could see the beautiful shape of your legs perfectly–the curve of your calf, and the freckles on your thigh that he was obsessed with?

Your husband found himself growing rock-hard already, except he swallowed Adam's apple bobbing as he forced himself to keep his touch controlled.

Then, you shifted, letting out a breathy moan, the movement causing your skirt to ride up a little too high for him to just keep this as an innocent stress relieving massage.

Shit, he was even able to see your pretty lace panties through the tights.

His fingers dragged up, moving to your inner thigh attempting to soothe any sore muscles there too, perhaps he squeezed too hard though, because he felt it.

The way your body shuddered as tiny goosebumps trailed all over your skin.

And the way your thighs clenched a little bit, your core pulsing faster than a marathon, even through the miniature barrier of fabric.

Suguru stilled for a moment, demeanor noticeably changing. His jaw locked while his long fingers tweaked where they rested.

“Oh? I see, work isn’t the only thing making you moody huh?” his lips purred, as he smirked amused he wasn’t the only one affected since the tent in his pants was beginning to become a nuisance.

Your face grew more heated than an oven at the observation “Suguru!” you squealed eyes widening like balloons at how promptly he caught on.

You hadn’t been fucked in months due to how much duties you had after coming home, so there was barely any time for that. And having a stressful situation on top of a stressful situation? This is all you wanted right now, to be touched by your man.

He breathlessly chuckled, pale hand squeezing your thigh tighter.

“Don’t go acting all shy on me now, Mrs. Geto.”

Unfortunately for you your pride wouldn’t let you admit you needed him that easily though…

“It’s not even like that,” you blurted, rolling your eyes, shifting your legs closed as if that could stop him from detecting how hot and bothered you were.

“Are you sure?” His hand slid further, over the curve of your thigh, stopping just short of where you needed him most. “So if I touched you here…” His fingers traced the seam of your tights, scarcely grazing over your clothed cunt—“I wouldn’t find you soaked?”

A whimper fled your lips, hips jerking instinctively toward his hand.

“What was that, sweetheart?” he murmured, voice dripping pure elation. “Didn’t sound like a no.”

“Shut up Sugu,” you grunted sheepishly, body burning anticipation.

He clicked his tongue. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, a little bratty today, huh?” His other hand came down sharply against your thigh—a warning smack that made you jolt.

His fingers hooked into your tights, pulling the fabric off and the panties aside. The moment cool air hit your slick folds making it glisten, Suguru let out a low groan.

“Shit, baby. You were gonna sit here and lie to me when you’re this messy?” your man was hardly able to contain how turned on he was.

Your body shivered when his wedding band contrasted–slender fingers sliding between your warm folds, gathering your arousal.

“Mmph, so needy. My poor wifey.” He teased, brimming friskiness not pushing in yet solely to hear you whine for him.

“S—Suguru, aah please…”

He flashed a toothy grin, long jet-black hair dangling over his shoulder as he turned his head to press a tender sensual kiss on your inner thigh. “Hm, please what? you can do better than that, love.”

You squirmed, manicured nails gripping his lean muscular arm. Shortly folding, you begged “Please, just touch me, I want your fingers, anything please, I just need you.”

That was all it took. Suguru plunged two digits inside you, his ring still on, gently stretching you out. Your mouth fell apart, followed by a lengthy drawn-out moan, sprinkling into the air—evidence of how badly you desired this.

Then you spread your legs wider, just enough to let him treat you like royalty.

“Mmm, there you go,” he crooned, nudging his palm against your clit as he curled his large fingers inside, your gummy walls inviting him in.

“That’s my good girl.”

You couldn’t help but lift your hips up to meet his hand at his words, desperate for more, your slickness smearing across his palm as your body moved on instinct—hungry, mindless, wanting him deeper.

He shook his head feigning disappointment, dimples forming as his lips curved into a crooked smile.

“You could’ve just told me this was what you needed, angel. I would’ve taken care of you the second you walked in.”

You let out a choked sob, unable to focus on anything that was said. Glasses askew, cheek smashed into one of the couch pillows, your back arched as your legs trembled from overwhelming pleasure—narrowly keeping it together.

He set a fast rhythm calculated, every stroke purposeful—dragging out euphoria until your toes curled and breathy hitches swept past your lips.

But the second he hit that spot—the one that made your body judder as you flung your forearm across your face like a shield?

That’s when he started really enjoying himself, watching your reactions intently like one of his soap operas, knowing you were close.

“Mmm, That’s it, baby… Right there!” You gasped, as your body shook under his hand, pliant, attuned to every saccharine stroke he gave you.

He zeroed in on that precious g-spot, rubbing in a “Come here” motion, unrelenting and precise.

The pressure caused your walls to flutter, clenching with each back and forth gesture.

Your moans climbed higher, melting into siren-like whimpers—loud enough to have angry neighbors complaining, not that you could bring yourself to care anyway.

That coil began to build briskly, difficult to escape. Your stomach tensed with every breath, chest rising and falling in an uneven pattern, thighs quivering as you teetered right on the edge of your orgasm.

“Oh my god, hah Sugu… t—that feels s’fucking good”

“Yeah? I know it does.” His other hand pressed down on your stomach, firm but not rough, keeping you in place as he continued to plant more kisses on your leg. “C’mon, let me feel it princess, cum f’me.”

His fingers picked up speed, rough and unforgiving, tapping that sweet spot as his palm grinded on your aching clit with every motion stoking the fire emerging in your belly.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Was all you could manage to frantically spew out, voice growing hoarse after every word.

Pleasure seized you all at once—cutting like knives, immensely electric, it stole the breath straight from your lungs.

Your cunt spasmed as a mewl freed itself out of your throat as your release burst free, gushing down Suguru’s wrist—inked with your initials in cursive—and drenching his apron in the process.

And still, he didn’t stop.

His fingers worked you through the high, prying wave after wave from you, each convulsion coaxing out more wetness as the lewd squelch of your arousal grew louder, filthier.

“Love you,” you heaved between shaky breaths.

The couch beneath you was damp. His tattooed wrist gleamed. And your husband’s lips twisted into that smug, knowing smirk—so sure of himself, so proud that he could always make his wife fall apart.

“I love you too, baby,” he mouthed, sewing a kiss to your thigh. “So much.”

You cried out, legs trembling violently, the aftershocks leaving your body in tatters. The pleasure lingered like an echo, so intense you instinctively reached down to push his hand away—sensitive, overstimulated, gasping for mercy.

But Suguru caught your wrist with ease, gently guiding it aside.

“Ah ah, ah, don’t run from it, love,” he cooed, voice like velvet dipped in sin—low, smooth, savoring your unraveling. “You’re doing so well for me.”

Then another wave slammed into you—abruptly. Your hips bucked, more wetness spilling over his palm in a stream so obscene it made his jaw drop.

“Damn,” he growled, forehead resting upon your thigh as he beamed, teeth grazing your skin. “That was a pretty one.”

You couldn’t speak. Could scantily breathe. Your body was limp, boneless, nothing more than a ruin draped across the couch, mind foggy with bliss.

Suguru only exhaled, before lifting his soaked hand into the dim light—watching the way your slick spread between his fingers, shining like a trophy.

“You made such a mess,” he mentioned in awe, voice tainted glee.

You twitched in response—body still quivering from overstimulation, thighs spasming gently as aftershocks coursed through your spent frame.

Suguru chortled, before grabbing your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.

“You gonna clean up what you did, sweetheart?”

Your lashes flittered. Eyes glossy. Lips parted as you tried to draw in breath.

He smiled, going feral at your current state.

“Open up, baby.”

His thumb teased your bottom lip, coaxing it open, and the moment you did, he slid two slick fingers into your mouth, one garnished in his wedding band—soaked in your release.

The taste of yourself coated your tongue, hot and decadent. You whined around him, his fingertips greeted your tongue forcing you to slurp away your fluids.

“That’s it,” he silkily rasped, gaze pinned to your mouth. “Suck for me.”

You obeyed without question—lips stretching, tongue swirling, cheeks hollowing as you cleaned him with moderate, reverent spins.

His pupils dilated, hunger bleeding into every inch of him.

“Mmm. Good girl.” His voice dropped an octave, thick with lust. “Tastes perfect right?”

He pulled his fingers out achingly slow, dragging along your tongue so you could feel every inch, leaving your mouth empty and your core pulsing with need again.

A soft squeak escaped you, leaning into his warmth, thighs squeezing together as your body betrayed you—already aching for more.

Suguru leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips—each one reverent.

“Told you I’d take care of you, baby.”

You were still shaking, on top of the couch, but his body was taut with restraint—his cock straining beneath his apron that he untied straight away along with unbuckling his belt pulling his pants down, sure he’d die if he didn’t empty his balls.

“Fuck, you’re so gorgeous when you’re all wrecked for me.” His hand slithered down your jaw, tilting your face toward him again, the edge of his thumb brushing your cheekbone.

“Think you’ve got one more in you pretty girl?”

“Mhm.” You nodded, batting your lashes, thighs pressing together.

That’s all he needed. He wasted no time grabbing you by your waist flipping you onto your stomach.

Your cheek pressed into the pillow, you took your glasses off holding them to be comfortable. You felt the couch dip as he knelt behind you, palms sliding up the backs of your thighs before spreading them apart.

“So fucking wet,” he expressed to himself, dragging two fingers through your folds, watching how easily you parted for him. “God, you’re perfect.” Suguru claimed, happy he’d be the only one making you like this.

You let out a shaky exhale as he stroked the head of his cock along your entrance, catching on your clit just to hear the way your breath hitched again.

“Don’t tease,” you shot, voice muffled into the cushion.

He chuckled low, bending down to kiss the dip of your spine. “Don’t be impatient princess, I’m giving it to you.”

Then he pushed in—sluggish, all the way to the hilt.

Your mouth fell open, but no sound came out at first. The stretch had your eyes rolling, back arching faintly under him as he bottomed out.

“Oh my god—” you choked, free hand gripping the armrest like it was the only thing anchoring you to earth.

He stayed there for a moment, letting you feel his girthy eight inches.

“Fuuuck, nghh, you’re tight,” he hissed through his teeth, one hand smoothing over your back, before caging you using both arms.

Then he started to move.

His hips rolled into you easy at first—deep and controlled, letting you feel every inch grind against that oversensitive spot inside you.

The pace was intimate, each stroke snatching a breathy moan from your lips.

“You take me so well,” Suguru hummed, leaning over your back, his chest pressed flush against you. “This pussy was fucking made for me.”

Your thighs wobbled as his pace built, heavier now, slapping against your ass with each thrust. You sing-song moaned, swearing you could feel him in your guts—forehead pressed into the cushion, body rocking with every deep stroke.

He used one of his veiny hands to spank your ass, biting his lip when it jiggled. Your walls clamped down around him at the action allowing a groan to leave his throat.

“C’mon, Y/n,” he panted your name divinely, mouth at your ear gently nibbling it. “Wanna feel you fall apart on my cock.��

Your legs kicked faintly, unable to handle the stimulation—his tip snapping on your g-spot just right.

It was too much.

And it was dragging you toward the edge again.

Your body had hardly recovered, but Suguru didn’t give you a chance to come down. Not when you were this heated, this snug, this perfect around him.

He found that angle directly—already knowing your body like the back of his inked hand. His strokes were deep, precise, his hips flicking against the curve of your ass with a tempo that left your lungs aching.

Your moans turned into broken sobs, face smushed into the couch cushion, drool pouring out your lip as your thighs shook uncontrollably.

“Shhh, I know, baby,” he cooed, kissing the back of your neck while he fucked you through the overstimulation. “I know it’s a lot—but you’re doing so good.”

You didn’t even have the words to beg him to slow down. Or to keep going. You were somewhere in between delirium and heaven, your body tottering under every harsh drag of his dick.

And when he found your g-spot again? Pounding into it ruthlessly you screamed.

“Aah! Sugu I can’t—fuckk” you babbled, voice caught between a cry and a whimper.

“You can,” he purred against your shoulder, fingers rolling tight circles against that overstimulated bundle of nerves. “C’mon. Give me another one, sweetheart. Wanna feel you gush on me again.”

His words broke something in you.

The coil snapped brutally in how hard it hit you. Your entire body locked up before you convulsed around him, cunt squeezing so tight it knocked the breath out of him.

A wet gush spilled from you, soaking both of you again—your thighs, his shaft, and the couch beneath.

“Shittt,” he animalistically growled, hips stuttering as he fucked you through it, the slap of skin and the wet squelch of your orgasm impossibly obscene. “That’s it. That’s my girl.”

Your vision went white for a second. Fingers clawing uselessly at the cushion, a high-pitched whine spilling from your lips.

Suguru eventually halted, letting you ride out the tremors. Letting your body melt into the couch, limp and pliant. And still, those fuzzy white bunny slippers were on his feet.

Suguru couldn’t take it anymore.

Not when your cunt was pulsing like that around him, clenching down on him like you didn’t want him to ever leave.

His grip tightened one hand resting on your hips, fingers digging into the plush of your waist as his flow grew sloppier, rougher. His forehead dropped to your neck, breath hot against your skin as he groaned deep—feral.

“Fuuuck—Y/n, you’re gonna make me cum,” he rasped, voice gruff, needy. “Shit, you’re squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight.”

Your only response was a soft, broken mewl into the pillow, your body shuddering with every thrust.

“Gonna fill you up, yeah?” he panted. “Gonna give you all of my cum—fuck, wanna knock you up.”

He was gone, entirely pussydrunk.

His hips snapped forward with a final thrust, burying himself to the hilt as a groan tore from his chest, raw and guttural. His cock twitched deep inside you as hot ropes of cum spilled into your cervix, thick and endless.

He stayed buried there, holding you tight, grinding in slow circles to push it deeper, watching his cum drip back out around his manhood.

“Look at that,” he uttered, astonished, breathless, one hand sliding down to thumb at your swollen clit again. “So full of me, think… I put a baby in you.”

You whimpered helplessly, hips rocking from aftershocks, and he finally leaned down, kissing your spine, your shoulder, your cheek.

“I love you,” he whispered, still buried deep inside, body draped over yours, voice so soft and satisfied it made your chest ache. “M’never letting you go.”

And from the floor, those ridiculous bunny slippers peeked out—innocent, stupidly soft, in total contrast to what he’d just done to you.

Suguru didn’t pull out right away.

He stayed there for a moment—buried deep, draped over you, chest rising and falling against your back, his arms curled around your middle like he didn’t want to let go. His length still nestled inside your cozy, messy cunt,

“You okay, Y/n?” he finally whispered, voice hoarse but gentle, showering kisses to the back of your neck. “Talk to me.”

You nodded, your cheek still squished into the pillow. “M’okay,” you mumbled, dazed. “Think you fucked the thoughts outta me.”

He laughed low in his chest, one hand coming up to smooth out your clothes, fingers grazing your temple.

“I’ll get you cleaned up,” he said, easing out of you with a soft hiss, watching your cum-slick pussy flutter around nothing before his eyes softened. “Shit. Made such a mess in you, huh?”

You could only brashly pant trying to catch your breath.

Suguru scurried into the bathroom nearby for a warm towel coming back to gently wipe between your thighs, murmuring praises as he went.

“There we go, angel. You did so good for me. So, so good.”

He lifted you carefully, tucking you into his chest as he sat back on the couch, pulling a blanket over both of you. His palm rubbed lazy circles into your thigh as he kissed your forehead.

And even with your legs still weak, your lips parted in a sleepy smile.

“You wore the bunny slippers the whole time??” you slurred, still dazed.

Suguru smiled. “Of course I did,” he said, his voice full of smug love. “You think I’d take these off? Absolutely not.”

You wheezed a little giggle against his collarbone, letting your body melt into his.

And he held you there—until your heart dwindled slowly, and your breathing softened.

By tomorrow morning, you’d be strolling into work like nothing happened—students staring at you, creeped out by your unshakable mood and bright, unnatural pep at 8 a.m. Not knowing you’d been thoroughly destroyed the night before by your husband in bunny slippers.

Tags 🔖 @sophistication-as @imnot-adoll @lacey-blog @hal0g3nz @cyberzpace @dreamerofstarlight @jup1tersuccubus @rheawritessometimes @suguboos @latencygirl @hopefulpeachcolor @kunanuts @tiredvlovely @rotteneyess @11thlife02 @xoyumiqls

Divider/Boarder creds | hyuneskkami, elleisdesigning, + animatedglittergraphics-n-more.

I appreciate comments, likes, reblogs. THANK YOU if you really sat down and gave this a read mwah, mwah, mwah.

A/n : Had huge Suguru brainrot and wrote this, I was not expecting the brainrot to make this end up at 3.8K whew… + I also wasn’t expecting so many peeps to wanna be tagged 😅 I hope I fulfilled your expectations!!

[swordymacaroni]

geto who smokes like its his biggest hobby, but you despise it. every time he kisses you, the bitter taste of tobacco leaves you wrinkling your nose and pulling away all too soon. you never say anything about it, but geto can sense your displeasure every time he reaches for a cigarette.

one day, he reaches into his back pocket for a routine smoke, knowing your eyes are trailing his every move. you expect him to shake out a cigarette, but instead he drops the pack to the ground and steps on it, eyes never leaving yours. you open your mouth to say something, but his lips cut off your voice.

he kisses you hard, his fingers tangling in your hair, his teeth pulling at your lips. his mouth moves against yours in such desperation  that you can’t help but gasp. he pulls you against his chest, so close that you don’t know where you end and he begins. he pulls back, violet gaze slipping over your hazed expression.

“i-your cigarettes?”

he runs a thumb over your cheek before he leans down to whisper in your ear. his voice makes you shiver when he says,

“i can only handle one addiction at a time.”

[mononijikayu]

aphrodisiac — geto suguru.

WARNING/TAGS: afab! reader, one shot, smut, r–18, romance, sexual acts, public sex, bathroom sex, oral sex (f! receiving), fingering (f! receiving), multiple orgasms, bodily fluids, creampie, clothed sex, profanity, cursing, ruining of underwear, accidental drinking of aphrodisiac, mention of aphrodisiacs and effects, mention of profanity, mention of sexual acts, depiction of sexual acts, depiction of aphrodisiacs and igs effects, profanity, boyfriend! suguru, girlfriend! reader;

NOTE: no other notice except that i was profane and horny and i needed to get it out my system. in short this is a day dream, its a short r–18 blurb, an unadulterated smut between two adults. read at your peril.

THIS WAS DEFINITELY BAD. Geto Suguru's heart raced as he felt the effects of the unknown substance coursing through his veins.

His skin flushed, his breath came in short gasps, and an overwhelming urge to touch, to be touched, consumed him. He grabbed your arm, his fingers digging into your skin.

"We need to go, baby." He urged, his voice strained. "Now."

He dragged you towards the bathroom, ignoring the many curious glances from the other partygoers. Once inside, Suguru locked the door and turned to you, his purple eyes eyes wild with desire at you.

"Someone put something in your drink, baby…..I didn’t want you to deal with that." he gasped, his hands shaking as he unbuckled his belt. "It's an aphrodisiac. I can't... I need..."

He didn't finish the sentence, instead pulling you flush against him, his lips crashing onto yours in a desperate, hungry kiss. Suguru's hands roamed your body frantically, his touch leaving trails of fire in their wake.

He lifted you onto the bathroom counter, stepping between your legs and pressing his hardness against you. He was feeling his skin sear with endless heat.

"I'm sorry…." he panted against your neck, his teeth grazing your skin. "I can't control it. I need you. Now."

His fingers fumbled with the zipper of your dress, tugging it down impatiently. Suguru's mouth followed, kissing and biting his way down your chest, pushing the fabric aside to expose your breasts.

He took one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, while his hand slid under your skirt, pushing your panties aside to delve into your wet heat.

"So wet, baby….." he groaned, his fingers pumping in and out of you. "You want this too, don't you? You want me to fuck you right here, where anyone could walk in and see."

"Yes, fuck….yessssss….." you gasped, your head falling back against the mirror. "God, yes."

You allowed your hips to be bucked against his hand, seeking more friction. You groaned against him, setting a steady rhythm. You could feel Suguru's fingers curling inside you, hitting that spot that made your toes curl.

Suguru's eyes flashed with desire at your words. He withdrew his fingers, bringing them to his mouth and sucking them clean. "Mmm, you taste so good, baby." he murmured, his voice husky with arousal.

“You’re so good, ‘guru.” You whisper to him. “Your fingers are so good…..”

“I know, baby.” He cooes to you, but he was having a hard time trying to keep himself calm because of the aphrodisiac. “But I gotta….I gotta make you feel better first. Lean against the wall.”

Suguru dropped to his knees in front of you as you leaned against the wall. He grabbed your hips, lifting your skirt, pulling you back against his face. He marveled a little bit before letting his tongue delve between your folds, licking a long, slow stripe up your center.

"Fuck, you taste amazing, baby. So so fucking tasty." he groaned against your flesh.

Suguru's tongue circled your clit, flicking the sensitive bud back and forth. He sucked it into his mouth, applying gentle pressure as he thrust two fingers inside you. His fingers curled, stroking your inner walls as he ate you out with fervor.

Suguru's eyes were wild, his pupils dilated with the effects of the aphrodisiac. He gripped your hips tightly, his fingers digging into your flesh as he buried his face between your thighs.

His tongue was relentless, licking and sucking at your clit with a fervor that bordered on desperation. He thrust his tongue inside you, fucking you with it as his fingers teased your entrance.

Suguru's other hand reached up, tearing at your dress, exposing your breasts to the cool air of the bathroom. He pinched your nipples roughly, sending jolts of pleasure–pain straight to your core.

His movements were frantic, almost violent in their intensity. Suguru was consumed by his need, driven by the aphrodisiac coursing through his veins. He ate you out like a man possessed, determined to make you come undone beneath his mouth.

You gasped as more of Suguru's fingers plunged into your dripping core, stretching you wider than you thought possible. His other hand continued to tease your clit, rubbing it in tight circles as he pumped his fingers in and out of you. The pleasure was intense, bordering on painful, but you didn't want him to stop.

You couldn't believe how much he could fit inside you, his fingers curling and twisting, hitting spots you didn't even know existed. Suguru's mouth found your nipple, sucking hard as he fingered you relentlessly. He added a third finger, then a fourth, his hand disappearing inside you completely.

You screamed, your back arching off the counter as an orgasm ripped through you, your inner walls clamping down on his fist. But Suguru didn't stop. He continued to fist you through your orgasm, his hand moving in and out, prolonging your pleasure until you were begging him to stop.

Your fucked out face felt hotter by the second, back and front, your juices trickling from your legs as your boyfriend moved away, licking the juice on his face. He was getting hotter than you, even though he was not dugged into the wall. He starts to look at you, just as fucked out as you.

“You’re crazy…..You ruined my underwear.” You say, looking at your wet underwear. “You’re buying me a new one.”

Suguru's eyes darkened with desire at your words. He leans in again, kissing your neck. His hand palming your breasts. “As many as you want, baby. Lace, silk. I don’t care. I’ll buy you all you want.”

You groaned at him. “You’re just saying this because you want to keep it for yourself.”

He laughs. “How’d you know?”

“Cause even without aphrodisiacs, you’re a perv!”

He gripped your hips, positioning himself at your entrance once more. "You're sure about this?" he asked, his voice low and husky. "I don't know if I can be gentle. I can fist myself to calm down.”

You bit your lip, nodding eagerly. "I don't want you to be gentle, baby." you whispered. "I want you. All of you."

He unbuckled his belt with shaking hands, unzipping his pants and freeing his erection. Suguru's cock was thick and hard, the tip glistening with pre–cum. "Turn around, baby." he ordered, his voice firm. "Hands on the mirror."

You hesitated for a moment, but the look in his purple eyes, the commanding tone of his voice, made you comply. You turned, pressing your palms against the cool glass. Suguru lifted your dress skirt, exposing your bare bottom even more.

"Wrap your legs around me." He commanded, his voice rough with need. You obeyed, locking your ankles behind his back. Geto Suguru gripped your hips, positioning himself at your entrance.

"Look at me, baby." He said, his eyes boring into yours. "I want to see your face when I take you."

And with that, he thrust into you, filling you completely in one powerful stroke. Suguru's hips snapped forward, driving into you with a force that made the mirror shake.

The sound of flesh hitting flesh echoed off the bathroom walls, mingling with your moans and his grunts. He gripped your hips tightly, his fingers digging into your skin as he set a brutal pace.

"Fuck, you're so tight." he growled, his forehead resting against yours. "So perfect. My pretty baby."

Your legs tightened around him, pulling him deeper with each thrust. Suguru's mouth found yours, swallowing your cries as he fucked you against the mirror. He reached between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing in tight circles.

Suguru's eyes were wild, his pupils dilated with the effects of the aphrodisiac. He gripped your hips tightly, his fingers digging into your flesh hard enough to leave bruises. His thrusts became erratic, almost violent in their intensity.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" he chanted, his voice a guttural growl. "You're mine, do you hear me? Mine!"

He bit down on your shoulder, hard enough to break the skin. The pain mixed with pleasure, pushing you closer to the edge. Suddenly, Suguru pulled out, flipping you over onto your stomach. He kicked your legs apart, exposing you fully.

Without warning, he plunged back into you, his hips slamming against your ass with a force that made you cry out. Suguru's hand tangled in your hair, yanking your head back as he fucked you mercilessly.

"Say it!" he snarled."Say you're mine!"

"I'm yours!" you screamed, tears streaming down your face."I'm yours, Suguru! Only yours!"

Your words seemed to snap something inside him. Suguru's movements became frenzied, his thrusts losing their rhythm as he chased his release. He came with a roar, his cock pulsing inside you as he filled you with his seed.

But even as he emptied himself into you, Suguru didn't stop. He continued to thrust, his movements slower now but no less intense, as if he were trying to brand you with his touch, to imprint himself onto your very soul.

"Never forget it, baby." he panted, his breath hot against your ear. "Never forget who you belong to."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, a mix of fear and something darker, something you refused to acknowledge.

Suguru's hand slid around your throat, his fingers wrapping around your neck possessively. "I'll never let you go, never." he whispered, his voice low and dangerous. "I'll kill anyone who tries to take you away from me."

His grip tightened slightly, just enough to make you gasp for air. Suguru's other hand slid down your body, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing in rough, demanding circles. You couldn’t stop mewling and drooling in the heaviness of pleasure all over your body.

"Come for me, baby." he commanded, his voice low and dangerous. "Come on my cock like the good little slut you are."

His words, his touch, the lack of oxygen – it all combined to push you over the edge. You came with a strangled cry, your body convulsing as pleasure mixed with pain. Suguru rode out your climax, his hips jerking erratically as he emptied the last of his seed into you.

He collapsed on top of you, his weight crushing you into the surface beneath you.You gasped for air, your lungs burning, your body aching.Suguru's hand slid from your throat, his fingers trailing down your chest possessively.

Suguru's grip on you tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh possessively. He nuzzled into your neck, inhaling deeply. "You smell so good, baby. " he murmured, his voice husky with desire. "I could fuck you forever."

His hips pressed against your backside, his hardness evident even in his semi-erect state.You gasped, your body still sensitive from the previous encounters. "Suguru, please, babe." you whispered, exhaustion evident in your voice."I can't...I need a break."

He chuckled a bit darkly, the sound sending shivers down your spine."A break?" he echoed, his hand sliding down to grip your thigh. "Baby, the night is still young. And I'm far from done with you."

His fingers tightened, pulling your leg back over his hip. You could feel him, hot and hard, pressing against your entrance. Geto Suguru's teeth grazed your earlobe, his breath hot against your skin.

"Don't you want more?" he whispered, his voice low and seductive. "Don't you want to feel me inside you again?"

His hips rolled, his tip sliding through your folds, coating itself in your juices. "You're so wet, baby." he groaned, his voice strained with need. "So ready for me."

Suguru's hand slid up your body, cupping your breast and squeezing gently. "Let me make you feel good…." he murmured, his thumb brushing over your nipple. "Let me fuck you until you can't walk straight."

His words, his touch, the lingering effects of the aphrodisiac — it all combined to stir the embers of desire within you. Your body responded instinctively, your hips arching back against him. Geto Suguru took that as permission, his hand tightening on your thigh as he began to push into you slowly.

"That's it, baby." he praised, his voice a low growl. "Take my cock like a good girl."

Suguru's movements were slow and deliberate, savoring every inch as he slid deeper into your welcoming heat. He filled you completely, his thickness stretching you deliciously. He began to move, his hips rolling in a gentle rhythm that built with each thrust.

"You feel so good, so so good…." he murmured, his lips brushing against your neck. "So tight, so perfect."

His hand on your breast squeezed gently, his thumb and forefinger pinching your nipple lightly.The combination of sensations was overwhelming, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Suguru's other hand slid down, his fingers finding your clit and circling it in slow, teasing motions.

"Come for me again, baby." he commanded softly, his voice a low rumble against your ear. "Come on my cock, baby. Let me feel you."

"Fuck, yes!" he groaned, his hips snapping forward as he rode out your climax. "That's it, milk my cock."

Suguru's movements became more urgent, his thrusts faster and harder as he chased his own release. He bit down on your shoulder, marking you as his as he fucked you through the aftershocks of your orgasm.

Your body was limp, spent, but Suguru showed no signs of stopping. He flipped you onto your back, spreading your legs wide and driving into you with renewed vigor.

"I'm going to fill you up, baby." he promised, his voice strained. "I'm going to pump you full of my cum again and again and mark you as mine."

His words, his actions, the sheer intensity of the moment — it was all too much. The bathroom door swung open, and Suguru froze, buried deep inside you. But he didn't pull out. Instead, his grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh possessively.

"Get out, you fuck." he snarled, his voice low and dangerous. He didn't turn to look at the intruder, his gaze locked onto yours, his eyes blazing with a fierce intensity. "Now."

The person in the doorway was flustered red and was too stunned. They hesitated, no doubt taken aback by the scene before them. But Suguru's tone left no room for argument.

They muttered an apology and retreated, the door slamming shut behind them. Suguru's attention returned to you, his hips beginning to move again, his thrusts slow and deliberate.

"Where were we?" he murmured, his lips curling into a wicked smile. "Oh, right. I was about to fill you up."

[lovesickpvppy]

older!bf suguru — moodboard

older!bf sugu who picks u up from college every day, making all your friends jealous cuz u have such a kind boyfriend

older!bf sugu who spends sm money on u its insane that he still has more. he buys you whatever you like, weather it’s food or clothes he’s buying it

older!bf sugu who eats you out for his pleasure. he only stops when your overstimulated to the max and crying

older!bf sugu who helps you with ur studies, putting time and effort into studying so you get the best grade. then when you pass the test he fucks your brains out as a reward : 3

older!bf sugu who loves you to death and would do anything for you

[slutxcx]

Thinking about husband!geto, who’d wake you up with his lips on your cunt. He couldn’t bring himself to ruin his wife’s beauty sleep, so what did he do? He ate you out instead. His hair usually tied was loose, long black strands draping down his shirtless back, the room was chilly but his body kept you warm. 

It started with soft warmth; the kind that made you think you were still dreaming. The press of lips, gentle at first, then deeper, wetter. A low hum vibrated against you, and your thighs twitched instinctively.

Your eyes fluttered open, the room still dim with early morning light. Blankets pooled around your hips, and there he was;  nestled between your legs like it was where he belonged. Like it was his favorite place in the world.

“Geto…” you whispered, voice rough, not quite awake.

His long hair was loose, brushing against your thighs as he looked up at you with that dark, slow-burning gaze. “Shh,” he murmured, lips already slick, voice low and sinful. “Just relax, baby. Let me take care of you.”

His hands were strong, steady as they held your hips down, anchoring you in place while his tongue worked you open, slow, practiced. He wasn’t in a rush. He never was with you. Every flick of his tongue, every kiss to your swollen clit, was deliberate.

“You taste so good in the morning,” he muttered against your folds, like he was drunk on you. “Couldn’t wait.”

Your fingers gripped the sheets as a moan slipped past your lips, your entire body coming alive under his touch. You weren’t fully conscious yet, but none of that mattered — not when your husband was between your legs like a man starved, loving you awake with his mouth.

And the worst part? He hadn’t even gotten started yet.

All rights reserved

[ysaefinn]

There's overprotective, and there's Suguru Geto.

"Ah- you'll hurt your eyes, baby, let me handle it"

You're just about to start dicing your onion when Suguru comes up from behind you –fully enveloping you in his warmth– and gently rests his palm on the back of your clenches hand before prying the knife away.

"And this" He runs one long finger along the edge of the blade, from heel to tip "is too sharp for you"

..That damn tone.

Suguru only speaks to you this way when he's about to succumb to the voices, the ones that tell him to scoop you up to hold you in his palm forever, to lock you inside his rib cage and keep you warm, to hold you in his arms and never loosen his grip. You know your faith is set when he begins to rub his cheek against yours, a mother lioness and her little cub.

Smothering.

You have reason to believe that Suguru seriously considers baby proofing the house in its entirety.

"Suguru..." Your disappointed expression only gives him more fuel and now he's audibly cooing at you. How sweet, the precious little baby kitten in his palm, pouting so sweetly, how can you have the nerve to go around being so adorable and acting all bothered when he finally gets his hands on you?

"I'll handle the rest, you should take a rest, baby"

He'll handle the rest? Seriously??

"Suguru, i haven't even started anything yet" you whine, and it's enough to make him run a hand through your hair before pushing you against his chest with one large hand on the back of your head.

Bastard, he knows what he's doing.

Your world shifted the day Suguru learned that his chest can also be a tranquilizer.

Your tense figure immediately relaxes, the rumbling laughter you feel run through his chest tells you all you need to know, and it being that you have once again, lost.

"There you go.." comes an almost taunting coo "isn't this so much better? I like you best this way" And it really, really does, it feels amazing, it feels wonderful being fussed over this much, cared for like this, coddled like a fragile little baby.

"I got here just in time, what if you got hurt, hm? I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if my baby was harmed and i wasn't there to stop it" the whispering voice of a siren, how you managed to stand your ground this long is a mystery to you, Suguru is a force to be reckoned with.

So you put up with it, and let him have his fun, let him play the role of the sweet doting overprotective husbans, because like this, everyone wins and everyone is happy, he gets to care for you, you get to be cared for, perfect.

Aren't you both just a match made in heaven?

[matumogs]

😭😭dying inside WWAAAHHHHHHHH😭😭

No other heart.

Synopsis : you were with them , when they needed you the most. And now they are marrying to someone else.

Characters : gojo , geto and nanami.

Warning ⚠️ : heavy angst.

Others!

Requests are open

[mommypieck]

⌗︙・geto promising to fuck you soft ⸜⸜・

geto is a cute little manipulator. he promises you to fuck you sofly vut when he finally gets you in his bed, he fucks your guts out.

"so good." he moans, ramming into your pussy with all he has. your bralette isn't good at hiding your boobs and that's exactly what geto doesn't want. he rips the bralette from your body, leaving you bare in front of him. he just thinks you are so beautiful. you dressed up just for him, just so he can breed your pretty pussy.

"too rough." you choke out. he's drilling into you with all he has and he doesn't even give you time to catch break. suguru promised he's gonna fuck you slowly so you can savour every moment, but you should've known from the first look. he's a player, but he has a sweet spot for you. and of course that doesn't mean he's gonna be gentle with you.

"are you gonna cum, sweetheart?" he asks you. he's confident and he knows he's gonna make you squirt. he's never had a girl like you squirt on his cock. usually only whores squirt on him, but you are his favorite nerdy girl.

you don't even have time to answer before that knot in your stomach opens up and you cum all around him. your cream drips down his cock while you squirt covers his lower half. he needs to keep going. he needs to fuck you thru your orgasm.

tears fill your eyes when he starts fucking you again, it's too much for your body. suguru has one plan now and that is to cum right inside of you. that's why he edges himself so he can cum more. he groans, filling you up with his cum. you're surprised at how much he releases as he continues cumming and cumming. finally, a last drop falls into your womb.

"look at your tummy, sweetheart. you're gonna look so full."

"i am gonna look full, i look full now already. what does it mean?" you ask him with confusion written all around your face.

"nothing, don't worry about it."

[sixeyesonathiel]

WHEREVER YOU WANT IT, BABY, I’M TAKING YOU THERE!

↳ being married to geto suguru means never running late. or dry.

cw: light degradation, praise kink, possessive language, mild dacryphilia, food play, oral sex, fingering, vaginal sex, mild exhibitionism ,marking mild overstimulation, raw sex, creampie, 5.4k wc, 18+ only, minors DNI.

a/n : for my bbg lyra heh😼🌹 first time writing for suguru bear w/ me, satoru ver. how did this reach this much word count i feel like i cheated on my cutie😔

ON THE COUCH.ᐟ

sunday night, the living room’s a disaster, like it always is when you two decide to “relax.” popcorn kernels litter the coffee table, a half-empty wine glass teeters on the edge, and your fuzzy blanket’s tangled on the floor, one corner still draped over the couch. the tv’s blaring some action flick—explosions, car chases, dialogue you’ve both stopped caring about.

suguru’s sprawled out beside you, one arm slung lazily around your shoulders, his gray sweatpants slung so low you can see the sharp cut of his v-line, the faint trail of dark hair disappearing beneath the waistband. he’s pretending to watch the screen, but you feel his eyes, heavy and warm, sliding to you every few seconds, catching the way you shift closer, your thigh brushing his.

“you’re squirming again, baby,” he murmurs, voice low, that smug charm dripping like honey. he tilts his head, dark hair falling over one shoulder, catching the dim glow of the tv. “what’s got you so worked up? the shitty plot or just me?”

you roll your eyes, nudging his ribs with your elbow, but it’s half-hearted, and he knows it. “don’t flatter yourself, suguru. this movie’s boring as hell, that’s all.”

“mm. bored, are we?” his voice is low, brushing the shell of your ear like velvet. his arm drapes tighter around your waist, fingers slipping just beneath the collar of his shirt—soft cotton and cedar clinging to your skin. “funny,” he murmurs, thumb grazing the curve of your throat, “your pulse says otherwise.”

you open your mouth to scoff, to throw some snark back, but his hand moves, sliding down your arm, across your waist, and under the hem of the shirt. his fingers are warm, calloused from years of sparring and cooking and touching you like he’s memorizing every inch. they graze your hip, slow, deliberate, and your breath catches, betraying you.

“suguru,” you warn, but it’s weak, more plea than protest, and the smirk curling his lips says he hears it too.

“what?” he’s all innocence, but his hand dips lower, slipping under the waistband of your panties, finding you slick and warm. “oh, sweetheart,” he breathes, fingers stroking you so slowly it’s torture, “this wet already? i haven’t even done anything.” his voice is teasing, but there’s an edge to it, a hunger that makes your thighs clench.

“shut up,” you mutter, cheeks burning, but you’re already melting, legs parting just enough for him to work. he chuckles, low and filthy, and shifts closer, his chest pressing against your side, his lips brushing that sensitive spot behind your ear. “you’re so full of shit,” you add, trying to keep the upper hand, but it’s slipping fast, especially when his thumb finds your clit, drawing tight, lazy circles that make your hips twitch.

“full of shit, huh?” he nips your earlobe, teeth grazing just hard enough to make you gasp. “says the woman who’s practically begging for my fingers.” he slides one inside you, slow, curling it just right, and you moan, soft and broken, your head falling back against the couch. “that’s what i thought,” he whispers, kissing down your neck, open-mouthed, sucking lightly at the pulse point. “you missed me today, didn’t you? all that running around, and you’re still this needy for your husband.”

you want to argue, to say you weren’t that needy, but he adds a second finger, pumping them steadily, and your comeback dissolves into a whimper. “suguru—fuck,” you manage, hands clutching his biceps, nails digging into the firm muscle. he groans, like your touch is his undoing, and shifts you closer, pulling you half onto his lap so you’re straddling one of his thighs. the pressure of his leg against you, combined with his fingers, is too much, and your hips start moving, grinding against him, chasing the heat pooling in your belly.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, voice thick with something darker, something worshipful. his eyes stay locked on yours, half-lidded and burning. “take what you need.”

your hips grind down without shame, chasing the curl of his fingers as slick sounds fill the room—louder than the gunfire on screen, louder than your own breath. his free hand cups the back of your neck, steadying you like you’re precious. and when he kisses you, it’s slow, deep—tongue sweeping past your lips like he’s claiming the noise you make. like he owns it.

“so pretty like this,” he murmurs against your mouth, his free hand sliding up to cup your breast, thumb brushing your nipple through the shirt. “fuck, you’re perfect. always so perfect for me.” his words hit harder than they should, sinking into your chest, making you clench around his fingers. he feels it, groans low, and speeds up, thumb pressing harder on your clit, fingers curling deeper. “c’mon, sweetheart, let go. wanna feel you make a mess on my hand before i even fuck you.”

you’re close, so close, the pleasure coiling tight, and he knows it—reads it in the way your breaths turn ragged, the way your nails bite into his skin. “suguru,” you gasp, half-warning, half-plea, and he just kisses you again, softer this time, like he’s anchoring you through it. “i’m—fuck, i’m gonna—”

““there you go,” he breathes, low and steady, like he’s guiding you home. and you fall apart just like that—shuddering, clinging, crying out against his mouth as your thighs tremble around his hand. he doesn’t rush you. just keeps his fingers moving slow, deliberate, coaxing every last wave from you with the patience of a man who knows he’s got you.

when you finally sag into his chest, boneless and dazed, he eases his hand free, wet and glistening. then—eyes never leaving yours—he slips his fingers between his lips and hums, thoughtful.“mm. sweeter tonight,” he says softly, almost to himself. “must’ve missed me.”

you’re still catching your breath, head spinning, but he’s not done. he shifts you fully onto his lap, tugging his sweatpants down just enough to free his cock—hard, leaking, and so thick it makes your mouth water. “c’mere, baby,” he says, guiding you over him, hands steady on your hips. “wanna feel you ride me now.”

you sink down slow, inch by inch, the stretch making you whimper. he’s big, always has been, but the way he fills you feels like home, like nothing else could ever compare. “fuck,” he groans, head tipping back, hands gripping your ass like he’s trying not to lose it. “you take me so well, sweetheart. every damn time.”

you start moving, slow at first, savoring the way he feels, the way his hands guide your rhythm. “you’re—ngh—so annoying,” you pant, trying to keep up the banter, but it’s hard when he’s hitting every spot that makes you see stars. “can’t even watch a movie without you—fuck—doing this.”

he laughs, low and rough, thrusting up to meet you, making you gasp. “annoying? baby, you’re the one who stole my shirt and pranced around in it. you wanted this.” his hands slide up your sides, tugging the shirt higher, exposing your breasts. he leans in, sucking one nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking just right, and you arch into him, moaning louder than you mean to.

“suguru—shit,” you whine, bouncing faster, the couch creaking under you. his hands are everywhere—your hips, your breasts, your face—pulling you closer, kissing you sloppy and desperate. “you’re mine,” he murmurs, voice rough with need, “all mine. this pussy, this body, this heart—fuck, it’s all mine.”

the words push you over the edge again, faster than you expect, and you come with a cry, clenching around him so tight he curses, loud and filthy. “fuck, baby,” he groans, thrusting up hard, chasing his own release. “gonna—shit, gonna fill you up.” he does, spilling deep inside, his grip on your hips bruising as he rides out the aftershocks, kissing you through it, soft and messy.

you’re both panting, sweaty, tangled together on the couch. he doesn’t pull out, just holds you close, his forehead pressed to yours, breath mingling. “you okay, sweetheart?” he asks, voice softer now, thumb brushing your cheek. you nod, still dazed, and he chuckles, kissing your nose. “good.”

he doesn’t ask for more. doesn’t need to. instead, he reaches for the blanket with one arm, pulling it over the both of you as he shifts to settle you against his chest. one hand drifts into your hair, slow and soothing, thumb brushing your scalp like he’s grounding himself with you.

“movie’s still running,” he murmurs, voice casual, steady—like he didn’t just unravel you. “don’t move. you’re mine tonight.”

his fingers trace soft shapes along your spine, and when he presses a kiss to your temple, you feel him smile. not smug. not teasing. just content. like this—sweat-slicked, quiet, yours—is exactly where he belongs.

IN THE BED.ᐟ

it’s late, past midnight, the kind of quiet where the world shrinks to just you two. the bedroom’s soft and warm, lit by the faint glow of a lavender candle flickering on the nightstand, its scent mingling with the familiar musk of suguru’s skin. the sheets are a mess, half-tucked, still carrying the faint tang of last night’s sweat.

you’re sprawled on your back, wearing nothing but one of his old t-shirts, the hem bunched at your hips from tossing and turning. suguru’s beside you, propped on one elbow, watching you with those dark, heavy eyes, hair loose and spilling over his shoulders like ink. he’s shirtless, sweatpants slung low, and the way he’s looking at you—like you’re the only thing that matters—makes your skin prickle.

“can’t sleep, sweetheart?” he murmurs, voice low and smooth, a little rough from the late hour. his fingers brush your thigh, barely a touch, but it’s enough to make you shift, thighs pressing together. “or you just waiting for me to do something about it?”

you roll your eyes, swatting his hand, but there’s no heat in it. “you’re so full of yourself,” you mutter, turning your head to hide the smile tugging at your lips. “maybe i’m just hot. this room’s stuffy.”

“stuffy, huh?” he chuckles, shifting closer, the mattress dipping under his weight. “that why you’re blushing? or is it cause you’re thinking about me?” his hand slides up your thigh again, firmer this time, fingers splaying possessively over your skin. “don’t lie, baby. i know that look.”

you open your mouth to retort, something snarky about his ego, but he’s already leaning in, lips brushing your jaw, soft and deliberate. “you’re so cute when you’re stubborn,” he whispers, kissing along your jawline, slow, like he’s savoring every inch. “makes me wanna ruin you even more.”

“suguru,” you breathe, half-laughing, half-warning, but your hands betray you, sliding up his chest, fingers tracing the hard lines of muscle. he’s warm, solid, and the way he hums against your skin—like he’s tasting something divine—makes your head fuzzy. his kisses trail down your neck, open-mouthed, sucking lightly at the pulse point, and you arch into him, a soft moan slipping out before you can stop it.

“that’s my girl,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to look at you, his eyes glinting with something fierce, something tender. he tugs the t-shirt up, exposing your stomach, your breasts, and tosses it to the floor with a lazy flick. “fuck, look at you,” he says, voice rough, reverent. “you know this is my favorite part of the day, right? just you, like this, all mine.”

he kisses you everywhere—lips, collarbone, the soft curve of your belly, the inside of your thighs—like he’s worshipping you, like he’s making up for every second he wasn’t touching you today. his hands are gentle but possessive, guiding your legs apart, settling between them like he belongs there.

“i don’t think you get it,” he says, voice softer now, almost raw, as he kisses the sensitive skin just above your hip. “this—you—it’s everything i ever wanted.”

you’re trembling, heart pounding, and he notices, because of course he does. he always does. he slides up, hovering over you, one hand cupping your face, thumb brushing your cheek.

“you okay, sweetheart?” he asks, and it’s so earnest, so suguru, that you nod, pulling him down to kiss him. it’s slow, deep, tongues sliding together, and you taste the mint from his toothpaste, the faint bitterness of the wine from earlier. his other hand slips between your legs, fingers finding you slick, and he groans into your mouth, low and filthy. “fuck, baby, you’re so wet for me.”

“your fault,” you mumble against his lips, and he laughs, the sound vibrating through you.

“yeah? good,” he says, sliding one finger inside you, slow, curling it just right. you gasp, hips bucking, and he adds another, pumping them steadily, his thumb circling your clit. “look at you, taking me so well already. always so fucking perfect.”

you’re moaning now, shameless, hands clutching his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. he hisses, but it’s a good sound, the kind that makes him thrust his fingers harder, watching your face with those dark, hungry eyes. “suguru—please,” you whine, not even sure what you’re begging for, but he knows. he always knows.

“please what, baby?” he teases, kissing your nose, your chin, your throat. “use your words. tell your husband what you want.” his fingers slow, just enough to drive you crazy, and you glare at him, half-desperate, half-annoyed.

“you’re such a dick,” you pant, but your hips keep moving, chasing his hand. “just—fuck me, okay? stop teasing.”

he grins, all teeth and mischief, but there’s something soft in it, something that makes your chest ache. “anything for my wife,” he says, and then he’s pulling his fingers out, licking them clean with a groan that makes your core clench. he shoves his sweatpants down, freeing his cock—hard, thick, already leaking—and lines himself up, teasing your entrance with the tip. “ready, sweetheart?” he asks, voice softer now, checking in.

you nod, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. “always,” you whisper, and he slides in slow, so slow it steals your breath, stretching you in that perfect, aching way.

“fuck,” he groans, head dropping to your shoulder, “you feel like heaven. every damn time.”

he starts moving, deep, steady thrusts that hit every spot, his hands framing your face, holding you like you’re something precious. “open your eyes, sweetheart,” he says, voice rough with need, thumb brushing your lower lip as you moan beneath him. “let me see you when you fall apart on my cock.”

you do, blinking up at him, and the way he’s looking at you—like you’re his whole world—makes you clench around him, hard. he feels it, curses, and thrusts deeper, harder, but still so controlled, like he’s savoring every second.

“you’re mine,” he murmurs, kissing your lips, your jaw, your collarbone, each word punctuated by a thrust. “this body, this heart—fuck, it’s all mine.”

you’re sobbing his name now, nails raking his back, leaving red lines you know he’ll wear like badges tomorrow. the pleasure’s building, coiling tight, and he knows it, angles his hips just right, hitting that spot that makes you see stars.

“suguru—i’m—fuck, i’m gonna—” you gasp, and he kisses you, deep and messy, swallowing your cries.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, breath warm against your neck, voice low and impossibly calm for a man buried deep in you. “give it to me.”

his thumb circles slow, firm—no rush, just precision—and your body obeys before your mind can catch up. pleasure coils, breaks, crashes, and you come with a cry that sounds more like surrender than climax, clinging to him as your muscles lock and tremble.

he doesn’t stop. doesn’t falter. just keeps moving through the rhythm of your release, hips deep and steady, chasing the heat with quiet, focused groans.

when he follows, it’s with a choked breath, forehead pressed to your shoulder, holding you like he’s never letting go.

he doesn’t pull out, just stays there, buried in you, panting against your neck. “so good for me,” he murmurs, voice hoarse, kissing your shoulder, your jaw, your cheek. “my perfect wife. fuck, you’re everything.”

you’re both sweaty, boneless, but he rolls you over so you’re draped across his chest, his cock still softening inside you. “stay here,” he mumbles, voice sleepy but firm, one hand cupping the back of your head. “wanna wake up like this, you on me, all warm and soft.”

you hum, too tired to argue, and he chuckles, kissing your forehead. “love you, sweetheart,” he whispers, so quiet it’s almost a secret, but you feel it, deep in your bones, the way he holds you like he’ll never let go.

ON THE KITCHEN COUNTER.ᐟ

it’s saturday afternoon, the kitchen a chaotic testament to your shared domesticity. flour dusts the counter like snow, a mixing bowl of half-whisked cookie dough sits abandoned, and the air smells of vanilla and burnt sugar from the batch you almost forgot in the oven.

your pop playlist hums through the bluetooth speaker, some upbeat tune you’re half-singing, half-mumbling, hips swaying as you stir the dough. you’re wearing suguru’s old band tee, the black fabric soft and worn, barely covering your thighs, paired with tiny shorts that ride up every time you move. your hair’s a mess, pinned up with a chopstick, and there’s a smudge of flour on your cheek you haven’t noticed.

suguru’s supposed to be grabbing milk from the fridge for the recipe, but he’s taking his sweet time, leaning against the counter, watching you with that lazy, predatory grin that makes your stomach flip.

“you’re gonna burn the next batch too, sweetheart,” he teases, voice smooth and teasing, crossing his arms so his biceps flex under his fitted black shirt. “focus. or you trying to set the house on fire?”

you shoot him a glare, brandishing the wooden spoon like a weapon. “you focus, suguru. where’s the milk? or you just here to stare?” you turn back to the bowl, stirring harder, but your hips keep swaying, the music too catchy to ignore. you know he’s watching, feel the weight of his gaze on your ass, and maybe you lean into it a little, just to mess with him.

“milk’s right here,” he says, but he doesn’t move, just keeps staring, and when you glance over your shoulder, his eyes are dark, glinting with something that’s definitely not about baking. “but i’m more interested in this,” he adds, stepping closer, voice dropping low. “you, dancing around in my shirt, looking like that. you know what you’re doing, don’t you?”

you snort, trying to play it cool, but your cheeks heat up. “i’m just making cookies, you perv. help or get out.” you flick a bit of flour at him, and it dusts his chest, white against black. he raises an eyebrow, brushing it off, and suddenly he’s behind you, so close you feel the warmth of him before his hands find your hips, tugging you back against him.

“perv, huh?” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear, breath hot and tickling. his fingers dig into your hips, possessive but playful, and you feel him, hard already, pressing against your ass through his jeans. “says the woman who’s been teasing me all day, prancing around in these little shorts.” one hand slides up, under the hem of the shirt, fingers splaying over your stomach, cold from the milk carton he was holding earlier. you yelp, squirming, but he holds you firm, chuckling low.

“suguru, the oven’s on,” you protest, but it’s weak, half-laughing, because his other hand’s already slipping under your shorts, tugging them down just enough to expose you. “we’re supposed to—fuck—finish baking.”

you try to swat him again with the spoon, but he catches your wrist easily, plucks it from your hand, and lets it clatter against the counter.

“mm-mm,” he hums, sinking to his knees like it’s routine, like it’s right. “try this instead.” before you can blink, he’s tugging your shorts and panties down in one fluid motion, spreading your thighs like they belong open for him—and maybe they do. his mouth finds you without hesitation, tongue tracing a slow, deliberate line that steals the air from your lungs.

“to hell with the cookies,” he mutters against your skin, warmth blooming where his lips graze your thigh. then he stands, smooth and sure, spinning you around like you weigh nothing and setting you on the counter. the cold edge bites into your thighs; flour sticks to your skin. he just smiles, gaze heavy-lidded and hungry.

“messy suits you,” he says, nudging your knees wider with his hips. “bet you’ll taste even sweeter.”

“suguru—shit,” you gasp, hands flying to his hair, tugging the dark strands loose from his bun. he groans against you, the vibration shooting through your core, and his tongue’s relentless, deep and intentional, lapping at you like he’s starving. one arm hooks around your thigh, keeping you open, pinned to the counter, while his other hand grips your hip, fingers digging in like he knows you’ll try to squirm away—or collapse.

“fuck, i’ll never get tired of this,” he mumbles, voice muffled, lips slick with you. he sucks your clit, slow and hard, then flicks his tongue, and your moans are bouncing off the cabinets, louder than the music. the counter’s cold under you, flour sticking to your sweaty skin, but all you can feel is him, his mouth, his hands, the way he knows exactly how to unravel you.

“so sweet, baby,” he says, pulling back just enough to look up at you, eyes glinting, lips glistening. “all mine.”

you’re a mess, thighs shaking, gripping his hair so tight he hisses, but it’s a good sound, the kind that makes him dive back in, tongue fucking you deep until you’re seeing stars. “suguru—gonna—fuck,” you pant, and he hums, encouraging, one hand sliding up to pinch your nipple through the shirt, making you arch.

“come on my tongue, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice rough, needy. “let me taste how much you want me.” you do, hard, a broken cry tearing from your throat as pleasure crashes through you, your body trembling against his mouth. he doesn’t stop, licking you through it, slow and greedy, until you’re whimpering, oversensitive, tugging his hair to pull him away.

he stands, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and grins like he’s won the lottery. “fuck, you’re perfect,” he says, and then he’s kissing you, deep and messy, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. you’re still catching your breath when he flips you around, bending you over the counter, hiking the shirt up to expose your back. “look at this,” he groans, hands gripping your hips, spreading you open. “this pussy’s so fucking pretty, baby. always so perfect for me.”

you hear his zipper, the rustle of his jeans, and then he’s sliding in, hard and fast, filling you so completely you gasp, hands scrabbling at the counter. flour smears under your palms, the mixing bowl tips over with a clatter, and he laughs, low and filthy, thrusting deep. “fuck, you take me so well,” he says, voice rough, one hand sliding up your spine, pressing you down. “made for me, weren’t you?”

“suguru—shit,” you moan, the counter digging into your hips, his thrusts shaking the whole damn kitchen. the fridge hums, the oven beeps, ignored, and your nails scrape against the surface, leaving trails in the flour. “too—fuck—too much,” you whimper, but you’re pushing back against him, chasing the heat, and he knows it.

“too much?” he teases, leaning down to kiss your shoulder, teeth grazing. “nah, baby, you can take it. you always do.” his other hand finds your clit, rubbing hard, and you’re gone, moaning so loud you’re sure the neighbors hear. “that’s it,” he growls, “come for me again. let me feel this pussy squeeze me.”

you do, harder than before, legs shaking, vision blurring as pleasure rips through you. he’s right behind you, thrusting deep, groaning your name as he spills inside, hot and thick, his grip on your hips bruising. “fuck, baby,” he pants, still moving, slower now, riding out the aftershocks. “you’re mine. always mine.”

you’re both panting, sweaty, flour everywhere—on your thighs, your hands, his shirt. you wobble when he pulls out, and he catches you, laughing softly as he lifts you back onto the counter.

“sit there, messy girl,” he says, kissing your temple, your nose, with ridiculous gentleness for someone who just fucked you senseless. “i’ll clean this up. you just look cute and stay out of trouble, yeah?”

he grabs a towel, wiping the flour off your thighs, your arms, then starts picking up the spilled dough, all while stealing kisses like he can’t help himself. “we’re never baking again,” you mutter, still breathless, and he laughs, full and warm, pulling you into his chest.

“oh, we’re baking tomorrow,” he says, smirking. “but only if i get to eat you first.” he winks, and you swat him, but you’re laughing too, because this—messy, filthy, and so fucking in love—is just how you like it.

ON THE STAIRS.ᐟ

it’s well past midnight, the house wrapped in that heavy, hushed stillness that makes every creak feel louder. you’re tiptoeing down the stairs, barefoot, the wood cool under your feet, trying not to wake suguru. you’re only wearing his old black t-shirt, the one with the faded band logo, the hem barely brushing your thighs, no panties because it’s too warm and you’re just grabbing water.

the kitchen’s dark below, the fridge’s hum the only sound, but you’re barely halfway down when you feel it—his presence, like a shadow moving before you hear him. your heart skips, not from fear but from that familiar thrill, the way he always finds you, like you’re his prey and his home all at once.

“where you sneaking off to, baby?” his voice cuts through the dark, rough and low, tinged with that teasing lilt that makes your skin prickle. he’s at the bottom of the stairs, leaning against the banister, shirtless, sweatpants slung low on his hips, hair loose and messy from sleep.

the dim moonlight through the window catches the sharp lines of his jaw, the glint in his eyes, and you pause, one hand on the railing, caught.

“just thirsty,” you mutter, trying to sound casual, but your voice wavers, and the way you’re gripping the railing gives you away. you take another step, slow, like you’re not already burning under his gaze. “go back to bed, suguru. you look like you need it.”

he chuckles, soft and dangerous, stepping up to meet you, his movements lazy but deliberate, like a panther stalking. “thirsty, huh? funny, cause you’re killing me, prancing around in my shirt, no panties, ass out like you don’t know what it does to me.” he’s closer now, one step below you, close enough that you feel the heat rolling off him, smell the faint cedar of his skin. his hands find your hips, fingers slipping under the shirt, grazing your bare skin, and you suck in a breath, trying to hold your ground.

“you’re so dramatic,” you say, rolling your eyes, but it’s weak, and the way you lean into his touch betrays you. you swat at his chest, playful, but he catches your wrist, pinning it against the wall with one hand, the other sliding up your thigh, teasing the edge of the shirt.

“suguru, it’s late,” you whisper, half-laughing, half-pleading, but your legs part just enough, and he notices, because he always does.

“late, huh?” he murmurs, stepping up so he’s level with you, his body pressing you back against the wall, the stair’s edge digging into your spine. “too late to stop now, sweetheart.” his lips brush your neck, soft at first, then he bites, not hard but enough to make you gasp, your free hand clutching his shoulder.

“fuck, you look so good like this,” he says, voice rougher now, his hand sliding higher, finding you bare and slick. “youtrying to ruin me?”

“maybe,” you manage, smirking despite the heat pooling in your belly, and you tug at his hair, just to mess with him. he groans, low and filthy, and suddenly he’s feral, all that teasing charm turning sharp, hungry. he releases your wrist, grabs your thigh, and lifts your leg, hooking it over the step above, spreading you open.

“suguru—fuck,” you gasp, but he’s already there, fingers stroking you, slow and deliberate, spreading your wetness like it’s his to play with.

“look at you,” he growls, eyes dark, glinting in the moonlight. “so fucking wet, just from this. you want your husband that bad, huh?” he slides two fingers inside you, curling them deep, and you moan, loud enough to echo in the quiet house. his other hand covers your mouth, gentle but firm, muffling you.

“shh, baby,” he whispers, lips brushing your ear, “neighbors don’t need to know how good i’m fucking you.”

you bite his palm, half-defiant, half-desperate, and he hisses, but it’s a good sound, the kind that makes him grind against you, his cock hard and straining through his sweatpants.

“brat,” he mutters, but there’s a smile in it, and he pulls his fingers out, licking them clean with a groan that makes your knees weak. “taste so fucking good,” he says, and then he’s tugging his sweatpants down, just enough to free himself, thick and leaking, pressing against you.

“suguru—here?” you whisper, but you’re already arching into him, hands clutching his shoulders, nails digging in. the stair’s hard against your back, the railing creaking as you lean into it, but you don’t care, not when he’s looking at you like that, like you’re his whole damn world.

“right here,” he says, and he slides in raw, no prep, just pure, desperate need, filling you so completely you cry out, muffled by his hand. “shit,” he groans, biting your neck to stifle himself, “you take me so well.” his thrusts are hard, fast, shaking the stairs, the wood creaking under you, and you’re clawing at his back, trying not to collapse, your leg trembling where it’s hooked over the step.

every move is frantic, his hips snapping against yours, the wet sounds of your bodies louder than your muffled moans. “keep it quiet, sweetheart,” he pants, but his hand’s slipping, and you’re not quiet, not really, your whimpers spilling out as he fucks you into the drywall.

“fuck, you feel so good,” he groans, free hand sliding down to rub your clit, fast and rough, making you sob his name behind his palm.

you’re close, so close, the pleasure coiling tight, and he knows it, feels it in the way you clench around him.

“come for me,” he demands, voice low, urgent, his thumb circling your clit harder. “let me feel this pussy squeeze me, baby.”

you do, hard, a muffled cry breaking free as pleasure crashes through you, your body shaking, legs giving out. he holds you up, thrusting through your aftershocks, groaning your name as he spills deep, hot and thick, still moving like he can’t stop.

you’re both panting, sweaty, trembling, the stairs creaking like they’re about to give up. your legs are jelly, but he catches you, pulling out slow, his arms wrapping around you like you’re something precious. “can’t have my wife crawling upstairs, can i?” he teases, voice soft now, kissing your hair as he lifts you, carrying you up the last few steps like it’s nothing. he’s still hard, still inside you, and you feel him twitch, making you laugh, breathless.

“you’re insatiable,” you mutter, head lolling against his chest, and he grins, smug and warm, nuzzling your temple.

“only for you, sweetheart,” he says, setting you on the landing, but he doesn’t let go, just holds you there, kissing your forehead, your nose, your lips. “round two in bed, yeah? gotta take care of my girl.” he winks, and you swat him, but you’re smiling, because this—feral, messy, and so fucking in love—is everything you both are.

[leyiorr]

ᯓᡣ𐭩 u look TOO good .ᐟ

¡! summary: pretty is an understatment; jealousy is a disease. so if you're looking a little too good, the jjk men get a little jealous, what's wrong with that?

¡! incl: gojo, geto, choso, toji, sukuna

likes + reblogs are appreciated <3

[cuntyji]

i got #senti watching my neighbors do this...may this love find every desi baddie reading this

the fan whirrs lazily in the corner, moving more air than it cools, but you don’t mind—none of you do. it’s the kind of heat that sits low on your skin, not scorching but ever-present, softened by the scent of coconut oil that fills the room like a balm. the door is wide open, letting in a golden blaze of sunlight, and with it, the gentle drone of cicadas and the occasional bark of a neighborhood dog.

your legs are folded beneath you on the old cotton mat you’ve both been using since before the kids were born. it’s faded at the edges, patterned with sunflowers, and there’s an oily stain near one corner where suguru always sets the bottle down with too much trust. he’s sitting in front of you, bare shoulders gleaming slightly from the oil you’ve already worked into his scalp, thick black hair catching the light like strands of ink. "you always start too close to the nape," he says lazily, voice dipping in amusement, “you just like seeing me flinch when it gets cold.” 

you smile, fingers parting his hair into sections with practiced ease. “i like making you behave.”

“hm,” he hums, tilting his head back slightly, “if that’s your idea of discipline, i think i’ll misbehave more often.”

he sighs contentedly as your fingers move—strong, slow strokes from root to end. the rhythm is meditative, almost sacred. the oil leaves your hands slick, warm. you twist his hair into thick, even braids, tugging gently at the ends to neaten them.

somewhere in the back of the house, there’s the sound of small feet slapping against the tiled floor, and then she’s there—your daughter, in all her boldness. her curls are wild, one braid half undone, and she throws herself down beside her father with all the flair of a reigning queen.

“papa! me next!”

“line up, my highness,” he murmurs with a grin, patting the spot between his knees. “you’ve got more tangles than a bird’s nest today.”

“it’s not a bird’s nest!” she pouts. “it’s fluffy!”

before you can even chuckle, a quieter pair of footsteps follows. your son lingers in the doorway, hands wrung together, hair still too short to hold any kind of braid, but eyes hopeful all the same.

“…mama?” he asks, almost whispering. “can i do it too? even if mine’s short?”

you pat the mat beside you without hesitation. “baby, in this family, everyone gets their hair oiled. now sit.”

he scurries over, settling between your knees, and you catch suguru’s soft glance from across the mat. the love in his eyes could melt you.

the radio crackles to life just then, an old retro track sliding through the speakers—smooth, swaying guitar riffs and crooning vocals from a bygone summer. you sway a little to the beat without thinking, the coconut oil thick between your fingers as you gently rub it into your son’s scalp.

“this one’s your mom’s favorite,” suguru says to your daughter as he parts her hair.

“you say that about every song!”

“because she’s got good taste,” he replies, matter-of-fact.

her laughter is all bubbles and sunshine, filling the warm air between you like it belongs there. he gently untangles her curls, and you work slowly, tenderly through your son’s shorter strands, making sure the oil touches every root. the scent of it mixes with the smell of sun-heated wood and the faint sweetness of something sugary waiting in the fridge.

“when we’re done, can we drink the sugarcane juice?” your son asks.

“only if you promise not to spill it like last time,” you tease.

“that was one time!!” he protests.

“you turned the whole kitchen floor into a sticky swamp,” suguru adds. “we almost lost a slipper to it.”

the kids erupt into giggles, and you lean back on your hands, looking at them. looking at him.

four mats. four people. a lazy sunday that smells of oil and love and everything you’ve built from scratch. 

this is it. this is the win.

and you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

[vilsoo]

suguru, your loving husband, is literally obsessed with slapping your ass anytime he gets the chance. it started off in the bedroom when he had you in doggy for the first time, asking if he could slap your ass from the way it was rippling off his hips that it made him come so fast. when he found out you enjoyed it, his hands were never off your ass. ever since that day, he just loves squishing it, gripping it, fondling it, and sometimes even biting it. eventually this progressed to outside the bedroom until you got used to it, even getting him back sometimes. you’re in the kitchen cooking or washing dishes? he’ll hug you from behind and then slap your ass. you’re passing by him at home? he’d stop you in your tracks, kiss you just for being so pretty, and then slap your ass. you’re in the bathroom brushing your teeth or doing your skincare routine? he’d walk in and distract you with flirty banter, then slap your ass. you’re dolling yourself up in the mirror for your night out together? suguru would watch you and lean against the door frame, seeing the breathtaking sight of your body and loving that you were showing yourself off just for him. he would walk over to whisper the things he wants to do to you after your date, his hand traveling down your waist and giving your ass a firm grip, followed by a slap. you love the anticipation you get from his hand caressing your waist anytime he’s with you, knowing that he was marking his territory and admiring your cute ass. ᯓᡣ𐭩

[mypoptartburnt]

suguru w a reader whos terrible at eye contact so they stare at his tits instead 🫃

- 🪿

NO BECAUSE YOU’RE GETTING WAY TOO REAL!

i can so relate to this i’m AWFUL with eye contact

lucky for you he’s a very understanding and empathetic man, he does not take any offense to it, the most he’ll do and gently tilt your chin and coax you into it. mostly because he just wants to see your cute little face.

he does quickly catch on to the titty stares, this is where you gotta be careful because he might take off his shirt and guide you to lay on them for hours and hours (bro is just looking for any excuse to cuddle you)

he loves randomly pulling you into his chest, even in public you can be at a restaurant or at a party and the second he sees so much as a yawn you’re smushed up against his chest in the blink of an eye. he will never deny you your rightful throne no matter where you two are. he considers it his duty to do so, to always make you feel comfy cozy and safe.

he loves when you fall asleep on him in public, it brings him such pride that you feel comfortable and safe enough around him that you can just shut off your thoughts and completely let your guard down around him. you have next level scary dog privileges, the second someone starts too long or tries to say something judgmental he’s giving them the most disgusted nastiest glare that makes them rethink the day they were born.

if you two are in a social setting that requires talking and you’re too shy you got nothing to worry about. he gladly lets you hide in his chest the entire time, just let mommy sugu do all the work he prefers it this way. he does all the talking while he strokes your hair keeping you calm and soothing. constantly checking on you if you need anything, if you start getting tired he will start carrying you around. you’re his little baby after all you only have so much energy you’re so little!

ok i need to stop because OMGGG his tits make me think and say some diabolical things, duckie i can’t thank you enough for this ask! i can go on and on for hours about this mans tits🪿😩😮‍💨😮‍💨

[shokocide]

ONLY YOU - GETO SUGURU

summary. Geto Suguru built a world with hatred, chose conviction over compassion. But when you smiled at him—looked at him like he could be human, he’s tearing it all down, piece by piece, just to be near you.

word count. 12.8k (whoopsie daisy)

content. mdni fem! reader, canon-divergent au, slowburn, geto being torn between ideology and love, angst, mutual pining, tension tension tension, forbidden romance, emotional whiplash, pet names, fluff, smut, oral (fem rec.), p in v, cowgirl, praise, creampie, pillow talk, geto falls so hard

author's note. started bawling watching hidden inventory arc again so i thought of this

They infest the world like vermin. Powerless, ignorant, and yet so loud. So demanding. Non-sorcerers—monkeys, as he calls them—have always been the root of everything cursed. A plague that breeds more curses with every selfish desire and fear they exude.

Geto Suguru once believed it was his duty to protect them. To save them from the horrors they couldn’t see. But experience breeds bitterness. Enlightenment, as he now calls it, showed him the truth: salvation doesn't lie in protection.

It lies in eradication.

A world without monkeys, a world without curses. It’s a beautiful dream, one he's willing to stain his hands for.

And nothing—no one—was ever meant to come between him and that dream.

Until you did.

-

The first time he sees you, it’s by pure accident.

You’re not supposed to be there. That part of town, that street, that hour—it belongs to his world now, infested with the filth of curses and the chaos of the jujutsu underground. Yet there you are, a non-sorcerer in every sense of the word, standing beneath the awning of a store with a grocery bag in your hand, humming to yourself as if the world isn’t rotting around you.

Suguru notices you from across the street. He shouldn’t have. He was mid-conversation with one of his followers, something about an exorcism gone wrong—but then his eyes flicker to you. Just for a second. He looks away.

And then looks back.

There’s something about the way you move. The softness. The calm. You’re not like the others—screaming into their phones, laughing too loud, careless in a world that demands caution. No. You're not like them at all.

He can’t explain it, but for the first time in years, the word “monkey” doesn’t come to mind.

He watches you turn the corner and vanish from sight. His follower asks him if something’s wrong.

Suguru only says, “No. It’s nothing.”

But it isn’t nothing. It’s the start of the unraveling.

You don’t hear him at first.

You're crouched down, trying to retrieve a tangerine that’s rolled out of your bag and into the gutter, muttering something under your breath about how this always happens when you try to save plastic. You don’t even register the footsteps behind you until a voice—smooth and strangely calm—cuts through the night air.

“You. I haven’t seen you around here.”

You freeze. Straighten. Turn slowly.

There’s a man standing a few feet away. Long, dark hair tied back loosely into a half-bun, strands falling around his face, and dressed in traditional monk’s robes that seem too pristine for the dusty setting—he stands out, like a figure misplaced in time.

“Uh... I don’t come this way often,” you say cautiously, fingers tightening around your bag. “Just passing through.”

Suguru studies you. You can feel it—his eyes tracing every detail of your face, the slight tremble in your fingers, the way you still haven't stepped back even though you probably should. Most people flinch under his stare. Most people recognize something dark in him.

You don’t.

And that’s what makes it worse.

He should walk away. Let you disappear down that alley and never think of you again.

He hums, the sound low in his throat. “That so?” A small, unreadable smile tugs at his lips. “Not many outsiders stumble this deep into our territory. Especially not alone.”

Your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag, a chill racing up your spine despite the sun overhead. “Didn’t realize this was anyone’s territory.”

“It is now,” he says simply, gaze never leaving yours. “You should be more careful. Not everyone around here is as kind as I am.”

The words land oddly. Kind. There's nothing particularly kind about the way he watches you—intensely, like he’s trying to solve a puzzle you didn’t know you were part of.

But still you don’t move. Something about him roots you to the spot.

“You live around here?” he asks.

You nod slowly. “Not far.”

He hums. “Strange. I’d remember seeing you.”

There’s a pause. His gaze lingers just a second longer—heavy, unreadable—and then:

And without another word, he turns and walks away—robes whispering against the ground, the sound of his steps fading as quickly as he appeared.

You're left staring after him, unsure if you feel safer or more on edge than before.

-

It happens at a gathering—not loud or chaotic, but something ritualistic in nature. People flock around low fires and soft chanting, incense curling into the air like ghosts. You’re there again. This time, you linger. You observe. A stranger standing just close enough to the edge to be noticed.

He sees you first.

You haven’t spotted him yet—your gaze is fixed on a group of followers weaving through the crowd, your expression unreadable. Suguru watches you from a distance, arms folded inside the loose sleeves of his monk's robe, hair half-tied and swaying as the breeze catches it.

You’re back. He doesn’t know why that matters to him, only that it does.

He makes his way toward you—not with urgency, but purpose. There’s a small pause before he speaks, voice low enough to only reach you.

“Curious little thing, aren’t you?”

You turn, surprise flickering across your face before recognition softens your features. You don’t smile—but you don’t frown either.

“You,” you say again, breath catching on the word. “I didn’t expect to see you.”

“I live here,” he says, tone even. “You’re the visitor.”

You don’t answer right away. His eyes search yours—calm but calculating. As if trying to decide what box to place you in. Friend, enemy, or something else entirely.

“I wanted to understand,” you say quietly, “what this place really is.”

He tilts his head slightly. “And what do you think so far?”

“I’m still deciding.”

That gets the ghost of a smile from him. Something restrained, but present.

He takes a step closer. “It’s dangerous to linger in places you don’t understand.”

“I’ve been in worse,” you say, lifting your chin just a little.

His eyes narrow, intrigued.

He nods, gaze lingering a beat too long. 

And then he turns, leaving you standing there, heart thrumming a little too loud in the quiet.

-

The day is warm. Quiet. The kind of peace that feels too fragile to last.

You take your time along the sidewalk, admiring how the sunlight filters through the trees, the way it paints soft gold over laughing children and weary parents sprawled across picnic blankets. For once, it feels like the world isn't spinning too fast.

But then you see him.

Under the shade of a tree, seated alone—him.

That man again.

His gaze sweeps the park slowly, dark eyes sharp and distant, like he’s cataloging each face with a kind of silent disdain. He looks… out of place. Not just in posture, but in presence—something about him hums with restrained tension, like a string pulled too tight.

You hesitate, curious. The last time you met, he intrigued you. Now, you’re drawn in by the quiet contradiction of him: monk’s robes draped over a body too tense, too sharp, to belong to someone at peace. A face too beautiful to hold that much bitterness.

Still, you walk toward him.

He notices you when you’re a few steps away. The tension doesn’t leave him entirely—but something in his expression shifts. His mouth twitches, not quite a smile, but close. His eyes lose some of that cold edge, replaced by something else.

Curiosity. Amusement. Interest.

He doesn't speak. Not yet. He's too busy trying to figure you out.

Why you? Why does the sight of you not repulse him like the others? Why does your presence settle into his chest instead of rotting beneath his skin like everyone else’s?

It can’t be your face—no, he isn’t that shallow.

It’s something else. Something quiet. Something dangerous.

And before he can overthink it—

“Hi!” you greet, voice soft and light. Your smile is easy, unguarded. Like you’ve never had to be afraid of someone like him.

Suguru’s heart kicks hard against his ribs.

“So we meet again,” you add, tipping your head to the side. “Quite the coincidence.”

He hums, eyes still locked on you, like he’s trying to read between your words.

You shift your weight slightly, brows raised, smile unwavering.

“Twice is a coincidence,” you say. “Thrice is fate. Maybe we should get to know each other.”

Something tightens in his chest. Normally, that kind of line from a non-sorcerer would have him scoffing, turning away, brushing it off with a sneer. But you’re different. He doesn’t want to turn away.

He wants to stay. To answer you. To know why you make the noise in his head quiet down for a moment.

So, for once, Suguru Geto doesn’t walk away.

Instead, he shifts, patting the spot next to him on the grass.

“Then maybe,” he murmurs, “you should sit.”

You blink at his response, a little surprised. You hadn’t expected him to entertain you, let alone invite you. But you don’t question it. Instead, you lower yourself beside him, settling into the grass, a respectful distance apart.

For a few seconds, you sit in silence.

Then, your voice cuts through it gently, “So… do you come to this park often?”

His eyes flick toward you, amused. “That’s a terrible opening line.”

You laugh. “Maybe. But it worked, didn’t it?”

A soft huff escapes him. Almost a chuckle.

You glance at him from the corner of your eye. “So… what do you do?”

He pauses, considering you. “You ask a lot of questions.”

“I’m curious.”

That piques him more than it should. His gaze lingers on you—your open expression, the lack of wariness in your eyes.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

A beat of silence. Then he shrugs, eyes drifting back to the crowd in front of him. “Let’s just say I lead a very... isolated life.”

You smile. “That’s not ominous at all.”

Another quiet laugh, and you swear it’s the first time you’ve truly heard it. Soft. Warm. Like it doesn’t belong in someone like him.

“You have a name?” you ask.

He glances at you again, something unreadable passing through his expression.

“…Suguru.”

You repeat it quietly. “Suguru.”

The way it rolls off your tongue makes his chest tighten.

“And you?” he asks, almost cautiously.

You give your name, and something strange happens when he hears it. His gaze sharpens for a moment—like he’s locking it into memory. Like it’s important.

And then, like the sharpness never existed, he relaxes again, leaning back on his palms. The sunlight filters through the trees, catching on his dark hair, the soft sway of his robe.

“Do you always talk to strangers in parks?” he asks.

“Only the ones who wear monk robes and look like they have secrets.”

He huffs a quiet laugh again. “You’re strange.”

You smile, eyes on the sky. “So I’ve been told.”

And beside you, Suguru thinks maybe—just maybe—strange isn’t so bad after all.

-

It’s late when the fire dies down. Most of the followers have retreated to their quarters, leaving only ash and silence in their wake. Suguru remains seated, legs folded beneath him, back straight despite the exhaustion tugging at his limbs.

But he can’t rest. Not with you on his mind.

He should’ve known this would happen. Should’ve turned you away the second he saw that spark of curiosity in your eyes. Should’ve told you to run, to stay far from places like this—from people like him.

Instead, he let you stay. Let you speak. Let you look at him like that—like he wasn’t some twisted, broken thing. Like he could still be good.

Foolish.

He exhales slowly, pressing his knuckles against his lips, as if trying to physically restrain the thoughts crawling up his throat.

He doesn’t even know you. And yet—

The way your voice softens when you’re unsure. The slight tilt of your head when you’re thinking. The way you listen—not just to respond, but to understand. He remembers all of it.

Why do I care?

Inferior. Helpless. A breeding ground for curses. The root of everything he’s come to despise.

But you?

You make him hesitate.

That alone is dangerous.

Suguru’s hand tightens into a fist, jaw clenched. He closes his eyes and tries to smother the thought before it fully blooms—but it’s already too late.

What am I doing? he thinks. Why does it feel like I’m slipping back into the person I used to be?

A person who protected people like you.

He tells himself it’s weakness. A fleeting curiosity, nothing more. It’ll pass. It has to.

But when he pictures your face—gentle, confused, lit by firelight—it doesn’t feel fleeting at all.

It feels like the beginning of a crack.

One that threatens to ruin everything he’s built.

-

It had been happening slowly—so slowly he hadn’t even noticed it at first.

The way his feet wandered to the same park when he had no reason to be there. The way he scanned faces in a crowd, hoping—no, expecting—to see that familiar smile again. That warm, soft voice still echoing faintly in his mind days after their last meeting.

And Manami noticed.

She always noticed.

“Suguru,” her voice cuts into his thoughts one evening, when the sun is dipping behind the rooftops and the village has quieted. “You’re different now.”

He barely glances her way. “How so?”

She scoffs. “You know what I mean. You’ve been zoning out during gatherings, missing details, forgetting things. You hardly speak unless spoken to. And it’s been happening ever since—” she pauses, eyes narrowing, “—ever since you met that monkey at the ritual two weeks ago.”

There’s a sharp shift in his energy.

His brows draw in, eyes narrowing. “Don’t call her that.”

That alone is enough for her to raise her brows, a slow, sardonic smile tugging at her lips. “Oh? Her, is it?”

Suguru doesn’t respond. His jaw ticks. His posture grows stiff and tall.

“Oh, please,” Manami drawls. “Don’t tell me you’ve caught feelings for someone like her.”

His silence is louder than a scream.

Manami crosses her arms, unimpressed. “She’s a non-sorcerer, Suguru. A human like all the rest. You said it yourself—curses are born of them. They are the root of all evil. Have you forgotten?”

His voice is low. Cold. “I haven’t forgotten.”

“Then what is this?” she snaps. “You think you’re subtle? You think we don’t see the way you soften when she’s mentioned? The way you’ve started hesitating?”

His lips part as if to defend himself—but there are no words.

Because she’s right.

Because he is hesitating.

Because something in him fractures every time he hears you laugh, or watches the way your eyes light up when you speak. You were supposed to be like the rest. But you’re not. Why aren’t you?

And worse than that… he doesn't want you to be.

-

It was quiet here. Tucked away behind the village's outer border was a secluded hillside where the wind whispered through tall grass, the sun dripping gold over the landscape. A rare pocket of peace in a world Suguru had deemed far too polluted.

He stood at the edge of the hill, arms crossed, eyes far off into the horizon—but his thoughts weren't on the view.

They were on you.

Every smile, every word, every accidental brush of your fingers against his arm played like a loop in his head. He hated it. Hated the way you lingered.

He was a leader. A savior. A visionary. What would his followers think if they saw how his mind drifted—who it drifted to? A non-sorcerer. A monkey. The very thing he’d sworn to cleanse from this world.

He shouldn’t feel this way.

And yet—

“Oh,” your voice cut gently through the breeze. “I didn’t realize you would be here.”

He turned, eyes catching yours.

You were smiling—but it faltered the moment he said nothing.

He should ignore you. He should walk away. But he didn't. Couldn't. And when your expression shifted—confusion curling into something softer, something hurt—something twisted painfully in his chest.

“Are you okay?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Did I… do something wrong?”

He should’ve stayed silent.

But his voice came out low, harsh. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What…?”

“You don’t belong here,” he said, sharper this time. “Not in this part of town. Not around people like me.”

Your face crumpled with the force of the words, confusion morphing into disbelief. Why did it sting so much?

You’d only spoken a handful of times. Just simple conversations, nothing deep. So why did it feel like your heart had dropped into your stomach?

“What do you mean by… don’t belong?” you asked quietly, voice trembling.

But he didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

His jaw clenched, and without another word, he turned and walked away.

Each step felt like a betrayal.

Each step felt like a dagger he drove into his own chest.

Because the further he got from you, the more unbearable the distance became.

And he couldn’t help but think—

If he looked back even once… he wouldn’t be able to leave.

-

The temple was quiet.

The kind of silence that weighed heavy on Suguru’s shoulders as he stood alone in the dimly lit chamber, candlelight casting flickering shadows across the walls.

He’d been pacing—he didn’t realize it until he stopped, breathing uneven, fists clenched at his sides.

What he’d said to you echoed in his mind.

You don’t belong here.

A lie. One wrapped in truth, but still a goddamn lie.

You did belong—at least, you did to him. Somehow. Somewhere between those small, accidental conversations and the way your voice softened just for him. You’d become the only thing that made him feel real. Not a leader, not a prophet, not a killer. Just… a man. A person.

And now you were gone.

He dragged a hand through his hair, gripping the strands at the roots like the pain might anchor him.

He had to push you away.

Had to protect his ideals, his vision, his purpose.

Curses wouldn’t vanish if he let himself fall for a non-sorcerer. The world wouldn’t change if he let himself be selfish.

But—

Was it worth it?

Suguru stared blankly at the altar before him, its presence suddenly meaningless. Cold. Hollow.

Was it worth pushing away the only person who made him feel human again after nearly a decade of drowning in blood and faith and fury?

His throat tightened.

And for a brief, broken second…

He wasn’t sure anymore.

You try.

Every time you see him, you try.

A soft “hi” that gets ignored. A hesitant smile met with indifference. A greeting that dies in your throat as he walks past you, eyes trained ahead like you don’t exist.

And still, you try.

Sometimes, you catch him looking. Just for a second. A flicker of something in those dark eyes before he schools his face and turns away like it never happened.

The confusion eats at you. The pain makes a home in your chest.

What did you do?

Why won’t he even look at you?

-

It’s maddening.

The way you keep seeking him out. Like you haven’t realized yet—like you still think there’s something good in him. Something worth reaching.

He wishes you’d stop.

He wishes he had it in him to be cruel. Maybe then you’d let go.

But you don’t. You keep smiling. You keep trying.

And it breaks something in him.

Because every step you take toward him feels like it drags him further away from who he’s supposed to be.

-

The day is quiet. The air hangs heavy with tension as you find him once again, standing beneath a shrine’s shaded archway.

His jaw tightens when he sees you, but he doesn’t walk away this time.

Not this time.

“I want to talk,” you say, voice soft.

He exhales slowly. “What do you want?”

You blink. Your mouth opens—then closes. You hadn’t expected him to ask that. Not after everything.

But you gather the courage. You’ve held it in too long.

“I want to know why you’ve been pushing me away,” you say, voice trembling. “I want to know what I did wrong.”

Silence.

The kind that stretches and suffocates.

Suguru’s eyes fall shut. He stays like that for a moment, shoulders stiff, hands clenched at his sides. He’s thinking. Battling.

When he speaks, it’s low. Almost a whisper.

“You didn’t do anything.”

Your breath catches.

“Then why—”

“Because I’m not the person you think I am.”

His voice hardens. Cold. Controlled. But there’s something beneath it. Something cracked.

“I used to believe jujutsu existed to protect people like you. But now… I know better.” His eyes meet yours, and they’re not empty. They’re burning. “The world is rotting because of non-sorcerers. Because of monkeys who can’t see what’s crawling around them—what we have to fight.”

You flinch at the word.

“But then you came along,” he bites out, like the confession tastes bitter on his tongue. “And I don’t know why, but I can’t hate you. I should. Everything in me says I should.”

A pause. His voice drops, quieter, more raw.

“But I can’t.”

You say nothing. The ache in your chest is too loud. His eyes flicker, searching your face for something—maybe disgust. Maybe fear.

But you’re still there.

And he hates that too.

You take a shaky breath, eyes never leaving his. He’s expecting you to run, you can feel it. Expecting you to look at him the way everyone else eventually did—with fear. With disgust. Like he’s a monster beyond saving.

But you don’t.

Instead, your voice comes out quiet. Soft. “It doesn’t have to be like this.”

Suguru’s expression falters, barely. “What?”

You take a step closer. “You don’t have to do all of this—carry this weight alone, live with this hate. I—I don’t know how to convince you. I probably can’t. But I know you have it in you to see the bright side of things.”

He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “The bright side?” he echoes, voice sharp. “There is no bright side. There never was.”

“But you used to believe in one,” you say. “You wanted to protect people. That has to mean something.”

He shakes his head, almost violently. “It meant something when I thought people like you were worth protecting. When I thought they deserved it.”

“And now?”

“Now I know better,” he says coldly. “The world doesn’t deserve jujutsu. It never did. Curses exist because of you. Because of all of you.”

“Then why not hate me?” you whisper.

That silences him.

You step closer. “If it’s so easy, if we’re all the same to you—then why not hate me too? Why not get rid of me like you would the others?”

His lips part, but no words come out.

“I’ll tell you why,” you say, softer now. “Because you don’t believe all of that. Not deep down. Because if you did, you wouldn’t be standing here trying to convince yourself it’s true. You wouldn’t be struggling so hard to push me away.”

He flinches. Barely noticeable—but you see it.

“I don’t know what happened to you,” you whisper, “or how much it hurt. But I know what I see when I look at you. And it’s not a monster.”

His hands curl into fists. He looks away. “You don’t understand.”

“Then help me,” you plead. “Let me understand. Let me be there for you.”

His throat bobs with a hard swallow. You don’t know if he’s trembling or just trying not to. The silence stretches again, thicker this time.

When he speaks, it’s barely above a whisper.

“You’ll get hurt.”

“Maybe,” you say. “But maybe it’s worth it.”

That—that—makes him look at you. And this time, his eyes don’t burn with hate. They shimmer with something unbearably human.

Fear. Guilt. Longing.

And beneath it all, something he’s too scared to name.

His eyes don’t leave yours now.

There’s something in them that wasn’t there before. Something soft. Fragile. Like the dam he’s built for so long is beginning to crack.

You take one tentative step closer, careful not to startle the moment.

“Can I…?” You don’t finish the question. Your hand lifts gently, hesitantly—just high enough to reach for his. You’re not sure if he’ll take it, swat it away, or disappear entirely.

But he doesn’t move.

And that’s an answer in itself.

Your fingers brush his knuckles.

He inhales sharply.

They’re calloused, strong—but they twitch under your touch, like your skin burns him in a way he can’t fight. Still, he doesn’t pull away. If anything, he leans closer.

Your hands don’t fully link. They just rest there, barely touching—just enough to feel the tremble in each other’s palms.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he murmurs. “You don’t know what you’re getting into.”

“Maybe,” you whisper, “but I think I want to.”

His eyes fall to your lips, then dart away like he’s ashamed of even thinking about it. Like he’s afraid that giving in, even for a second, would shatter everything he’s built—his ideals, his anger, his carefully crafted distance.

But he doesn’t step back.

You shift, just slightly, to be closer. The space between you is barely there now. Your faces just inches apart, the air shared, electric.

Neither of you moves in.

Neither of you moves away.

A breath. A beat. A heartbeat too loud.

And then, his voice—hoarse and low, like gravel under his tongue.

“This is dangerous.”

You meet his eyes. “I know.”

And for a moment, just one flicker of a second, his forehead tips forward. Barely brushes yours. You don’t know if it’s accidental or not—but it sends your pulse into chaos.

He lingers there. Breathing you in.

Still not kissing you. Still not letting go.

And somehow, that restraint is more intimate than anything else could be.

His hand shifts in yours, and you almost think he’s going to pull away.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, his fingers tighten around yours—just for a second. Just enough to make your breath hitch. Just enough to tell you everything he’s trying not to say.

And then, he lets go.

The absence of his touch feels like a hollow echo down your spine.

“I should go,” he says quietly, almost like it pains him.

“Oh… oh, alright,” you manage, voice softer than you intended.

He takes a step back, but his eyes don’t leave yours. There’s a war in them—between the man who’s supposed to hate you and the one who just held you like you meant something.

And still, he stares.

Until he finally looks away.

Turns.

Walks.

And you’re left standing there with the ghost of his touch clinging to your fingers and a heart that refuses to slow down.

-

You lie awake that night, eyes tracing the ceiling in the quiet of your room, but your mind is somewhere else—with him.

The look in his eyes when he held your hand lingers like smoke in your lungs.

He’s not a kind man. Not anymore. You know that. He’s said as much, shown it in the way he speaks about the world. About people like you.

Monkeys, he called them. You.

But when he looks at you… it’s different. Softer. Torn.

And for some reason, you believe—you know—that the boy he used to be is still in there somewhere. Buried under the weight of bitterness and pain, but not gone.

You saw it.

You felt it in the way his hand tightened around yours like he was scared to let go.

There’s light in him still. Flickering. Struggling. But it’s there.

And maybe you’re foolish for thinking you can coax it out of him. That your presence—your words—could ever be enough to untangle the darkness that’s wrapped around his heart like a vice.

But hope is a stubborn thing.

And you have so much of it—for him.

Because no matter how much he pushes you away, how much venom he spits when he speaks of your kind…

You know he’s capable of more.

You’ve seen it.

And you’re not ready to give up on him yet.

-

He sees you before you see him.

Or maybe you notice him first—he doesn’t know anymore. All he knows is that this time, you don’t smile. You don’t wave. You don’t walk up to him like you always do, like he’s something familiar and safe.

No. This time, you look away.

You stand your ground where you are, eyes fixed on something else—anything else. Your shoulders are squared, posture firm, but he knows better than to think you’re unaffected.

Because he can feel the shift. The distance.

You’d always been the one to reach out. Always the one to bridge the gap. But not today.

And he hates the silence more than he thought he would.

Suguru stays still for a moment, watching you from across the space. The wind brushes through your hair, and for a fleeting second he’s struck by the quiet resolve in your expression.

There’s no malice there. No bitterness. Just… a calm understanding. Like you’d come to terms with something.

And that unsettles him more than your presence ever did.

Because he’s thought about you. More than he should’ve. More than he wants to. And when he walked away that day, he’d told himself it was for your own good. That he was protecting you from someone like him.

But now he wonders if he’s only succeeded in pushing away the one person who saw him for more than what he’d become.

He wants to go to you. Say something—anything. Break the silence that’s eating at his chest like acid.

But what could he even say?

That he misses the sound of your voice?

That your absence feels like a wound he doesn’t know how to treat?

That he’s afraid of what he feels when he looks at you?

Instead, he just stands there. Still. Silent.

And you don’t look back.

Not even once.

He wonders what’s changed.

Why you won’t look at him. Why you won’t smile.

But the truth is—you’ve been wondering too.

You’ve thought about him more times than you’d care to admit. About the way he looked at you that night, how his touch lingered just a little too long, how it meant something. And then how he left—cold, distant, like none of it mattered.

You realized then: he’s pushing himself away from you. Building those same walls you tried to gently tear down.

And it hurts.

Of course you still want him to change. To see the beauty in things, the warmth, the light. To remember what it feels like to hope. But you don’t want to force that change onto him. You don’t want to be a burden—a non-sorcerer girl clinging to an idealistic dream of saving a man carved from tragedy.

You know he can be better. You’ve seen it—in those brief moments when his gaze softens, when his voice lowers just for you. It’s there. Beneath all the anger and grief and resentment… there’s still something left of the kind boy he used to be.

But you want him to find that boy on his own.

Not for you. Not for anyone else.

You want him to choose himself.

So you stay where you are. You don’t look at him. You don’t approach.

Because if he wants to change—if he truly wants to be better—

He’ll come to you.

And he does. He takes a step toward you.

Then stops.

Your back is turned, your shoulders stiff. You’re not smiling. You’re not laughing. You’re not you—not the version of you he’s grown used to. And for a man like him, who once craved solitude, the silence now feels suffocating.

He swallows hard.

Why aren’t you coming to him?

Why aren’t you trying anymore?

Because deep down, he knows—he knows he doesn’t deserve it.

Not after the words he said. Not after he looked you in the eye and tore down every glimmer of connection you built between each other. He told himself it was the right thing to do. That keeping you away was protecting his ideals, his world, his mission.

But now… with you just a few feet away, still and distant… it doesn’t feel right anymore.

He stares at the back of your head, fists clenched at his sides.

He wants to go to you. To say something, anything. But what would he even say?

"I’m sorry I made you believe I cared, just to shove you away?"

No. That would be a lie.

He does care.

Too much.

And maybe that’s the problem.

You glance over your shoulder, just once—and the look in your eyes is like a dagger to the gut. Not angry. Not cold.

Hurt.

It shatters him.

Because even now, even like this—you’re not trying to make him feel guilty. You’re not yelling or demanding anything from him. You’re just standing there, brokenhearted but still kind. Still hopeful in that quiet, selfless way.

You deserve better.

And he hates that he might be the reason you stop believing people can change.

But he’s not ready yet.

So he turns.

And walks away.

And each step tears something inside him apart.

-

It’s raining. Hard.

Cold droplets soaking through your jacket, clinging to your skin, chilling you to the bone—but you don’t care. You just needed air. Space. Somewhere to think, to breathe, to try and forget the ache that’s been lodged in your chest since the last time you saw him.

You don’t know why you’re walking in this part of town.

Maybe you hoped to see him. Maybe not.

But the moment you do, every thought stutters to a stop.

He’s there.

Standing just under the edge of a narrow awning, soaked anyway, like he didn’t bother to move when the rain started. His hair—dark and long, tied up loosely—is drenched and clinging to the side of his face. His monk’s robe sticks to his frame, heavy with water. He looks like a ghost.

But his eyes—those weary, haunted eyes—lock onto you like you’re the only thing still real in this world.

You stop walking.

Your heart skips.

He opens his mouth, hesitates, then takes a step into the rain toward you.

“Why are you out here?” he asks, voice low, rough—like he hasn’t spoken in hours.

You shrug. “I could ask you the same.”

He runs a hand through his wet hair, exhaling harshly. “You shouldn’t be out here. It’s freezing.”

“I’m fine.”

You say it too quickly. He notices.

For a moment, neither of you speak. The rain keeps falling between you. Loud. Unforgiving. Then—

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he says suddenly, his voice trembling in a way you’ve never heard. “But I thought if I pushed you away, I’d stop feeling whatever this is.”

You blink, stunned. “Suguru…”

“I’m not a good person,” he goes on, stepping closer, slow but desperate. “I’ve killed people like you. I still believe the world would be better without non-sorcerers—but I can’t make myself believe it when it comes to you.”

Your breath hitches.

He’s standing in front of you now, so close you can feel the warmth of his body even through the downpour. His fingers twitch at his sides. Like he wants to touch you. Like he’s begging himself not to.

“I’m not asking you to forgive me,” he whispers, rain dripping from his lashes, “I just… I needed you to know.”

Your heart breaks.

And heals.

And breaks again.

You take one small step forward, tilting your head up to look at him fully.

“I know,” you whisper. “I’ve known.”

Then your hand reaches for his.

And this time—he doesn’t pull away.

His fingers close around yours, almost hesitant—like he’s still not sure he deserves this. Deserves you. But when you don’t pull away, when you step in even closer until there’s barely an inch between you, something in him cracks.

You look up at him, rain clinging to your lashes, sliding down your cheeks like tears you never shed.

He breathes your name. Like a prayer. Like a curse.

You don’t even know who leans in first. Maybe it’s both of you.

And then—

His lips press to yours. Soft. Careful. Like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he touches you too roughly.

Your hands curl into the soaked fabric of his robe, gripping onto him like he’s the only steady thing in this storm. And he is. He always was, even when he pushed you away. Even when he hurt you.

The kiss deepens. It’s not perfect—it’s desperate. Messy. His lips are cold but the way he kisses you is warm. Feverish. Real. You feel every inch of his restraint shatter beneath your fingers, every breathless exhale like a confession he can’t bring himself to speak.

When you finally pull apart, you’re both gasping. Rain dripping off your faces. His forehead rests against yours.

“You should hate me,” he whispers. Broken.

You shake your head, voice trembling, “No. Stop giving me reasons to.”

And he kisses you again. This time harder. Like he’s sorry. Like he’s trying to make you understand everything he can’t say.

It’s rougher—less careful. Like he’s trying to memorize you. Etch the shape of your mouth into his soul before his ideals take him too far again. Your back hits the wall of the temple just behind you, the cold stone forgotten under the heat of his touch. His hands tremble where they hold your waist, like even now, he’s scared of crossing a line.

You pull back just enough to look at him—lips kiss-bitten and wet from the rain, hair sticking to his forehead, eyes full of conflict.

“Why do you keep doing this?” you ask, breathless. “Why do you keep coming back if you’re just going to leave again?”

His eyes close like your words cut deeper than any blade. “Because I don’t want to hurt you,” he breathes.

“Then don’t,” you whisper. “Stay.”

It’s such a simple word. But to him, it sounds like an entire world he's no longer a part of.

“I can’t,” he says, barely audible.

You swallow hard. “Because of them? Your followers? Your mission?”

His silence is answer enough.

You shake your head slowly, eyes searching his. “You’re still human, Suguru. You still have a heart. I’ve seen it.”

He lets out a shaky breath, resting his forehead against yours again, clinging to this moment like it’s the last warmth he’ll ever feel.

“I wish I never met you,” he says.

You flinch.

“But I did. And now everything’s falling apart.”

You press your hand against his chest, right over his heart. “Maybe it’s not falling apart. Maybe it’s just… changing.”

He stares at you, throat tight, and for the first time in years, he doesn’t know what he believes in anymore.

Because in your eyes, he sees something terrifying.

Hope.

His lips brush yours again—softer this time. Less frantic. Like he’s trying to apologize with every slow pull and part of his mouth. His hand cradles the back of your head, thumb grazing your cheek as he murmurs against you, “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry.”

Each kiss is a confession.

A plea.

A goodbye that he doesn’t want to say.

You feel it in the way he holds you—so tightly, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go.

And then— A sound.

Far off, muffled at first. Laughter. Chatter. Footsteps on gravel.

His entire body tenses.

He freezes, then pulls back just enough to listen. His jaw clenches. You watch the warmth in his expression flicker—replaced by that practiced calm, the cold calculation of the man you know he’s tried to be.

“They’re coming,” he murmurs, glancing toward the temple entrance, voice low and urgent.

He takes your hand, leading you around the back of the temple, behind the high wall where the moss grows thick and the shadows stretch long.

When he turns back to you, he’s not just Suguru.

He’s the man hiding a war behind his eyes.

“You should go,” he says quietly, but firmly. “Before they see you here.”

You open your mouth, unsure what to say—your heart still thudding from the closeness. From everything.

“But—”

“Please.” His voice cracks. “I can’t protect you if they find out. You don’t belong in this world.”

Your breath hitches. And for the first time… you don’t argue.

You just nod, slowly, even though it hurts.

He watches you for a second longer—like he wants to memorize you. Burn the sight of you into the back of his eyes.

And then you slip away into the trees, and he turns, just as the voices draw nearer.

The mask returns. But his hands still shake.

-

Each time you find yourselves alone, it’s the same.

A glance across the market crowd. A brush of hands as you pass by the temple walls. A meeting in the still hours of dusk, behind shrines where the wind carries whispers and incense smoke.

And when your eyes meet—it’s over.

No words.

Just his mouth on yours, desperate and gentle all at once. Like he’s searching for salvation in the curve of your lips. Like he’s asking for forgiveness without saying a word.

Every kiss is stolen. Every moment borrowed.

There’s no room for forever here—only fragments.

But it’s in those fragments that something begins to bloom. A quiet understanding. Mutual. Unspoken. Heavy.

You both feel it.

In the way his fingers linger on your wrist after pulling away. In the way you hesitate before leaving, always turning back for one last look. In the way his voice softens whenever he says your name.

It gnaws at you both—this thing. Because it’s real. It’s there.

But the world you come from, and the world he’s built… they were never meant to touch.

Still, you touch.

Still, you reach for each other like you’re defying the very stars that set your fates.

And every time, it hurts more.

Because even love—especially love—isn’t enough to fix a broken world.

Not yet.

-

It’s late.

The halls of the temple are silent, dimly lit by flickering candles that cast long, wavering shadows along the walls. Outside, the world sleeps. But Suguru doesn’t.

He sits alone in the meditation room, eyes heavy, thoughts heavier.

And for the first time in a long while, he lets himself wonder.

What if?

What if he never looked down on them?

What if he’d held onto that old, crumbling ideal—that jujutsu sorcerers existed to protect, not condemn? That their power was meant to shield the powerless, not judge them?

What if he’d stayed?

Stayed beside Satoru. Beside Shoko. Beside the boy he used to be.

The one who looked at the world and believed it could be saved.

His fists curl.

Because he knows it’s too late. He knows too much now—about how vile humans can be. About how curses breed from their ignorance, their hatred, their selfishness.

And yet…

Yet there’s you.

Smiling, despite the darkness around you. Kind, even when faced with cruelty. Looking at him—not with fear, not with disgust—but something gentler. Something he doesn’t deserve.

You make him wonder if he was wrong.

And god, that scares him more than anything.

Because if he was wrong… then all of this—all the blood, the death, the conviction—was for nothing.

He exhales sharply. Runs a hand through his hair, tugging it back as if he can wrench the thoughts out of his skull.

But your face won’t leave him.

Your voice. Your warmth.

The quiet question that lingers in his chest like a bruise:

What if I had stayed?

What if I still can?

-

The sound of the creek is the only thing filling the silence.

Suguru walks with no real destination, hands tucked into the sleeves of his monk’s robe, the cool breeze tugging gently at loose strands of hair that fall from his half-tied bun. He’s restless again—wandering, thinking, searching.

And then he sees you.

You’re seated at the edge of the creek, knees pulled up to your chest, chin resting on them as you stare at the water. There’s a calm smile on your lips. A peaceful kind of smile—the kind that looks rare, like you don’t wear it often.

It tugs at something in him.

You glance up, sensing someone near. When you see it’s him, your eyes brighten. The smile stretches just a little more, as if his presence has shifted something inside you—like it made your quiet moment even better.

“Hi!” you say, like you’re genuinely happy to see him.

Suguru’s chest tightens.

He wonders how you can still smile like that—how it always looks like the world isn’t as cruel as he knows it to be. He doesn’t know how you do it. Or why it makes him want to stay.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” he murmurs, stepping a little closer, but not sitting down. Not yet.

“Well, I live around here,” you say, nudging your chin toward a modest house visible just beyond the trees. “So I come here pretty often.”

“You live alone?” he asks, the question slipping out more protective than intended.

You nod. “Yep.”

His eyes drift toward the house, then back to you. For a moment, he says nothing. He just watches—the way the sunlight dances on your hair, the way you look at him like he’s just Suguru. Not the man who’s built a cult. Not the sorcerer who’s abandoned his own kind. Just… him.

He sits beside you.

Quietly. Close enough that your shoulders almost brush, but not quite. His eyes stay on the creek, though he’s only half-seeing it.

“You shouldn’t be here alone,” he says finally, his voice quieter. “It’s not always safe.”

You hum, like you’re not entirely sure if he means the world… or himself.

But you smile again anyway. “You’re here though. So I feel safe.”

And that just wrecks him.

The two of you sit there for a while.

Not talking. Just existing.

The water trickles past in a lazy rhythm, birds chirp overhead, and the wind carries the scent of earth and flowers and something sweet he can’t quite name.

Suguru doesn’t know how long it’s been since he’s felt this. Stillness. Like time isn’t chasing after him with bloodied hands and whispered curses. Like the world’s not crumbling under the weight of its own cruelty.

You tilt your head toward him, watching him with soft curiosity.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” you tease lightly, bumping your shoulder into his.

He huffs a quiet laugh, barely more than a breath, but it’s real.

“I talk when I have something to say.”

“Oh? So you’ve had nothing to say this whole time?” You raise a brow at him, smile tugging at your lips again. “I’m wounded.”

He glances at you then, and for a split second—just a second—his expression softens. “You talk enough for both of us.”

“Rude,” you murmur, though you’re grinning now, looking back at the creek.

It’s quiet again, but this time it feels warmer. Like something unspoken is beginning to bloom between the silence.

Suguru speaks, his voice quieter now. “Why here?”

You blink. “Hm?”

“This place. The creek. Why do you come here so often?”

You pause for a moment, thoughtful. “Because it’s quiet. Peaceful. And it feels… safe, I guess.”

There’s a slight pull in his chest at that word again. Safe.

“And you?” you ask softly. “Why are you here?”

His lips press into a thin line.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “Maybe I was looking for peace, too.”

You don’t say anything to that. You just look at him—really look at him—and there’s something in your gaze that feels too knowing. Too tender. And Suguru finds he can’t quite meet your eyes anymore.

So you change the subject.

“I had a dream last night,” you say, voice lighter now. “You were in it.”

His head turns, curious. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” you nod, smiling at the memory. “You were... different, though. Not that you’re not you now. Just... happier. Lighter. You laughed a lot.”

Suguru swallows.

You laugh a little. “I know. Weird, huh?”

But he shakes his head slowly. “No. Not weird.”

You tilt your head again. “Do you laugh a lot, Suguru?”

“I used to,” he says quietly, gaze fixed on the water. “A long time ago.”

There’s something in his tone—wistful, aching—and you know better than to press. So instead, you place your hand beside his on the grass. Not touching. Just close. A silent offering.

And though neither of you say anything else, Suguru lets his fingers inch just a little closer to yours.

Almost touching but not quite.

Your fingers are so close. A breath away. Neither of you move. Not really. But your proximity is louder than any words could be.

Suguru feels it—the weight of silence between you, the charged stillness hanging in the air like the moment before a summer storm. He shouldn't be here. Shouldn't be sitting by a creek with someone who’s slowly unraveling the iron threads he's wrapped around his heart.

But you're not doing anything. Just sitting there. Looking at the water, at the sun dancing across the surface.

At peace.

And when you turn to look at him again, your smile is small but it’s real. A quiet kind of affection behind your eyes. “You look like you're carrying the whole world on your back.”

He breathes out a quiet scoff. “Aren’t I?”

You study him for a moment, and your voice is gentler this time. “You don’t have to.”

A pause.

“You could set it down. Just for a while. With me.”

Those words. They undo him.

He looks at you then, really looks at you—soft sunlight catching the curve of your cheek, the way your lips part slightly, waiting, nervous but brave.

His gaze drops to your mouth for half a second too long.

And then—

He leans in.

Slow. So slow it almost doesn’t feel real.

You don’t move. You don’t speak.

You just tilt your chin up slightly, breath catching in your throat.

His forehead brushes yours.

“You make me forget,” he whispers, and his voice is rough like he’s confessing a sin.

And then—he kisses you.

It’s soft. Barely there at first. Just a gentle press of lips, tentative and careful, as if he's terrified the moment will shatter if he pushes too hard.

But when you kiss him back—when your hand comes up to rest against his chest like you’re trying to ground him—it deepens. Slow and reverent, like you're tasting the ache he's buried for years.

No one’s watching. No prying eyes. No judgment. Just the two of you, tucked away by a quiet creek, hearts trembling and wide open.

When he finally pulls back, you’re both breathless. He keeps his eyes closed for a moment longer, like he’s trying to memorize the way this feels.

Like peace.

“…Suguru,” you whisper.

He opens his eyes. There’s something broken and tender in them.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he murmurs. His thumb brushes your cheek, gentle as ever. “But I don’t think I can stop.”

You’re still catching your breath—and then he sees it. That look in your eyes.

Like you're not done.

And god, neither is he.

His mouth finds yours again—no hesitation this time. It’s hungrier, rougher, full of everything he’s been trying to suppress for weeks. Maybe months. Maybe since the first time you smiled at him like he wasn’t a monster.

Your fingers fist into his robes instinctively and his hand slips behind your neck, cradling you gently even as the kiss deepens, as if you’re something both sacred and dangerous.

You fall back against the grass with a quiet gasp, and he follows you down, one hand bracing himself beside your head, the other still tangled in your hair.

He's above you now. Breathing hard. Eyes flickering across your face like he's memorizing every inch of you, desperate to carve this moment into his soul.

And you don’t look afraid. You don’t look unsure.

You look at him like he’s something worth holding onto.

“Say something,” he whispers, voice hoarse.

But you don’t. You reach up instead—fingers ghosting across his cheek, and then pulling him down again.

The kiss that follows is slower. Deeper. The kind that says I’ve missed you even though you were never mine to begin with.

And it breaks him just a little.

Because in this moment, with your body beneath his, hands in his hair, lips moving like a prayer against his—

He forgets the war. He forgets the blood, the ideology, the lies he tells himself to stay sane.

All he knows is you. And he’s terrified.

Because what happens if he lets himself love you?

-

The dream is cruel.

He doesn’t realize it’s a dream at first. It feels too real—the heat of the sun overhead, the sharp scent of smoke in the air, and the frantic sound of footsteps pounding across temple stone.

And then—your voice.

Panicked. Calling his name.

He turns the corner and there you are. Knees scraped, arms bound by a rope, blood smeared across your cheek. You're on your knees before his followers, eyes wide in terror.

“You said she was a local,” one of them sneers. “Said she wasn’t important.”

“She’s not,” another spits. “She’s a monkey. She doesn’t belong here.”

“Wait—please—” you whisper, eyes darting around. “Suguru—?”

But Suguru doesn’t move.

He watches. Frozen. Helpless.

One of the followers raises their cursed tool.

“NO!”

The scream rips from his throat too late.

The world goes red.

He bolts upright in bed, breath ragged, sweat cold down his spine. The room is dark and silent, but he can still hear it—your voice, breaking. His name on your lips.

His hand trembles as he runs it down his face.

It was just a dream. Just a dream.

But what if it wasn’t?

What if they find out?

What if they already know?

And what if he loses you—again?

His fist clenches, heart pounding. He doesn’t know if he’s angry or terrified or both. All he knows is this: he can’t let that happen.

But how does he keep you safe…

When the real danger is him?

-

He shouldn't be here.

Not dressed like this—hood pulled low, robes traded for simple jeans and a dark sweatshirt, hands shoved deep into his pockets. Not standing outside your home under the cover of night, hoping no one saw him slip away from the temple grounds. Not risking everything for the sake of a face that keeps haunting his thoughts.

But here he is.

His footsteps falter at the edge of your doorstep. The lights inside are dim. The house is quiet. He could turn back now. Pretend none of this happened. Pretend the dream didn't shake him. Pretend you don't exist in his thoughts the way you do.

But then his hand rises—and he presses the doorbell.

A few seconds pass. Nothing.

Maybe you’re asleep. Maybe this is a sign. He should go—

He rings it again.

There’s a faint thump, the groan of floorboards, and then a sleepy voice muffled behind the door: “Who is it?”

The door opens slowly, and you blink against the porch light, hair tousled from sleep and an oversized t-shirt hanging loose around your frame.

Your eyes widen. “Suguru?” You stare at him—eyes squinting, confused and half-dreaming. “What are you doing here?”

Your words barely leave your lips before he pulls you into his arms—tight, desperate, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go.

His hood falls back slightly, revealing that familiar face you’ve only ever seen half-shadowed in moonlight or sunlight leaking through trees. But now he’s here. Real. Shaken.

“Suguru?” you whisper against his chest, your hands instinctively curling around the fabric of his sweatshirt. “Hey, hey. What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His grip only tightens, and you feel the faint tremble in his breath. That’s enough to make your heart clench.

“Come on,” you murmur, gently tugging him inside. The door closes behind you with a quiet click, but he still hasn’t let you go—not really. His arms are still around you, like the thought of breaking that contact might splinter him all over again.

It’s only after a beat of silence, standing there in your quiet hallway under the soft golden light, that he speaks.

“I had a bad dream,” he says, voice low, almost a whisper. His breath hitches. “About you.”

Your heart skips. You pull back slightly to look up at him, your hands still resting against his chest. “What kind of dream?”

But he just looks at you, eyes shadowed with something heavier than he’s ever let you see before. Like he’d rather burn the world than ever see you hurt.

Your eyes soften, your voice gentle, threaded with concern. “What happened? In the dream, I mean.”

Suguru’s jaw tenses. His breath shudders—like the thought alone is unbearable. His gaze drops, eyes flickering somewhere over your shoulder, not quite able to meet yours anymore. That vulnerability he’s always kept behind iron walls is leaking through the cracks now.

You reach up slowly, your fingertips brushing along his forearm. “It’s okay,” you murmur. “If you don’t want to talk about it, you don’t have to. I’m here for you.”

He closes his eyes for a moment. His throat bobs with a hard swallow.

“I saw them find out about you,” he says finally, voice quiet and raw. “My followers. They knew. And I wasn’t fast enough—I couldn’t stop it.” His hands curl into fists at his sides. “They hurt you. You were crying. Calling for me.”

He opens his eyes again, and the pain there is like nothing you’ve ever seen in him.

“I woke up, and I didn’t even know if it was just a dream.”

You don’t hesitate. You wrap your arms around him again, anchoring him to the present. To you.

“It was just a dream,” you whisper. “I’m right here. I’m okay.”

He exhales shakily against your shoulder. “I don’t want to lose you,” he says, almost too quietly for you to hear. “Not you.”

Your hand rises before you even realize it, fingers brushing through his hair, warm against his skin as you cradle his cheek. His breath hitches at the contact, eyes flickering to yours, searching. For what—he isn’t sure. Reassurance? Permission? A lifeline?

“Suguru…” is all you manage to say.

Just his name.

But it’s everything.

Then you lean in—urgent, unthinking, needing—and your lips crash into his.

He doesn’t hesitate.

His arms wrap around you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish, like you’ll slip right through his fingers if he doesn't hold you tight enough. The kiss deepens instantly, wild and breathless, all-consuming. You feel the tension bleed from his body and into yours, your fingers slipping into his hair as his own hand settles on the small of your back, anchoring you to him.

It’s not just a kiss. It’s a confession. A plea. A breaking point.

You press closer, sighing into his mouth as he kisses you like he’s starving—like this is the first real thing he’s tasted in years. And maybe it is.

When you part for air, foreheads pressed together, his thumb brushes your jaw. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he whispers.

You smile, soft and breathless. “I think I do.”

The quiet between you lasts barely a second.

Because then he’s kissing you again—harder this time, desperate. It’s messy, teeth clashing and tongues tangling, like he’s trying to pour every unspoken feeling into your mouth. You gasp into the kiss, and he swallows it whole, backing you up until your back hits the nearest wall with a muted thud.

His hands are everywhere—gripping your waist, your hips, like he needs you closer, like he still can’t believe you’re here and real. Your fingers tug at the fabric of his hoodie, fisting it tight, grounding yourself in the heat of him.

His mouth tears from yours only to trail down—over your jaw, your throat—hot, open-mouthed kisses that leave you trembling. His breath is ragged against your skin, lips ghosting over your pulse. You feel his tongue flick at your collarbone before he sucks gently at the skin, pulling back just enough to leave behind the faintest bruise.

“Suguru—” you breathe, chest rising and falling fast, your voice shaky with want.

He groans against your skin, his grip tightening. “I shouldn’t want you like this,” he murmurs, voice low and ruined, “but I do.”

And god, you want him too.

So bad it hurts.

You don’t even remember how you made it to the bedroom.

All you remember is the feel of his hands—urgent, reverent—as he pulled you in, lips never straying far from your skin. He kissed you like he was afraid it would be the last time. Like this moment was all he had.

Your clothes fell away piece by piece, the quiet rustle of fabric hitting the floor the only sound between the hungry kisses. His eyes never left yours, not even for a second—like he needed to memorize every part of you, every breath, every tremble.

And then he lays you down. So carefully. Like you’re something precious. His hands glide along your sides, your arms, your stomach, pausing at each new inch of exposed skin to press kisses into it—soft, slow, like he’s marking you with his mouth. Worshipping you.

He pulls back to lift his hoodie over his head, throwing it somewhere behind him. His breath is shaky when he rests his forehead against yours. “Can’t do this anymore,” he murmurs, voice breaking with the weight of his confession. “Can’t keep pretending like you don’t mean anything. Like I don’t… feel this.”

You reach up, fingers tangling in his hair, and he leans into the touch like he’s been starved for it.

“I’m gonna change,” he whispers, kissing the corner of your mouth, your cheek, the hollow of your throat. “For you. I want you in my life.”

And the way he says it, it doesn’t sound like a promise. It sounds like a vow.

Your breath stutters as his lips trace slow, reverent patterns down your body—each kiss a promise, each touch laced with trembling devotion. You feel his warmth everywhere, like he’s trying to brand your soul with the shape of him.

And then, through the haze of desire and something deeper, your voice breaks the quiet.

"Suguru… what about your followers? What would they do?"

He pauses, lips hovering just above your skin. His fingers twitch where they hold your hips, but he doesn’t lift his head. Doesn’t stop.

“Doesn’t matter right now,” he murmurs, voice thick and ragged, “I’m gonna protect you, sweetheart. Gonna do anything for you. Won’t let anyone hurt you.”

The words land heavy. Solid. 

And the strangest part is that it doesn’t feel strange at all.

To protect you—a non-sorcerer. The very people he built his new world to fight against. The ones he taught himself to loathe.

But now? Now it feels like it was always meant to be this way. It only took you. You, with that voice, that heart, that warmth—to make it bloom again. To make him remember what it felt like to care. 

To love.

He presses another kiss to your thigh, then lower, lower—until his breath ghosts over the most intimate part of you. His voice rumbles softly against your skin.

“Suguru…” you gasp, a breathless, vulnerable sound.

He glances up, eyes dark and blown wide. “Yes, sweetheart?”

And then you say it.

“I love you.”

Time stops.

His lips freeze against the inside of your thigh.

You feel his breath there, hot and uneven, his hands tightening slightly at your hips as your words sink in—like he wasn’t ready for them, like he’d been craving them all the same.

He lifts his head just enough to look at you, eyes wide, blown with something far deeper than lust now—something raw and aching. His hair is messy, dark strands falling into his face, and he’s never looked more human. Never looked more vulnerable.

“Say it again,” he whispers, voice barely audible over the rush in your ears.

Your hand finds his, fingers lacing together.

“I love you,” you say again, stronger this time. With your whole chest. Because you mean it.

A beat passes, and then he’s crawling up your body, kissing you like he’s falling into you—like you’re the only thing keeping him from shattering. Every part of him shakes. His heart, his breath, his resolve.

“I love you too,” he murmurs against your lips. “God, I love you.”

His hands skim your waist, warm and steady, fingertips sinking into the soft curves of your hips like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you. Your breath hitches as his lips move lower—down the center of your stomach, slow and reverent, leaving a trail of kisses that burn in the most tender way. He murmurs your name against your skin, like a prayer, like a secret he’s only ever willing to whisper when no one’s looking.

You feel his hands slide beneath your thighs, lifting you gently, guiding you closer to the edge of the bed with careful control. His grip is firm but tender, like you’re something fragile, like he’s afraid he’ll lose you if he lets go.

His mouth hovers just above where you need him most, warm breath fanning across your skin. He presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh—slow, open-mouthed, lingering—then another, closer. And another. He’s not rushing. No, Suguru takes his time, as if every second of this is something sacred. His hands stroke up and down your sides, grounding you, steadying you.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, voice low and raw. “Could spend forever just looking at you like this.”

Your legs tremble under his touch. You whimper his name, a soft, broken plea.

His lips finally meet you where you’re aching, and your world folds in on itself.

The first lick is slow—torturously slow—like he’s tasting something forbidden for the first time, letting the flavor of you bloom across his tongue. His groan vibrates against you, deep and low in his throat, sending sparks flying up your spine. Then he does it again—slower, deeper, more purposeful.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging gently, and he groans again, like he loves that, like he wants more of it.

His tongue moves in slow circles, soft and rhythmic, never once breaking eye contact when you manage to look down. His gaze is molten—completely undone. You see it in his eyes—he needs this. Needs you. Not just your body but everything. Your warmth. Your love. The part of you that believed in him.

“You taste like heaven,” he rasps between kisses, and it’s almost cruel the way he says it, so tender it makes your chest ache. “Never letting you go. Not after this.”

And then his lips seal around you again, and everything else disappears—his past, his beliefs, the twisted version of justice he’s clung to for years. In this moment, all that remains is you and him.

He’s not just worshipping your body.

He’s holding on to what little light is left inside of him.

And letting you guide him back to it.

Your thighs tremble against his shoulders as he buries himself deeper, tongue moving in slow, precise motions—too slow. It’s not rushed. It’s deliberate. Worshipful.

He groans low in his throat when you arch into him, his name falling from your lips in a broken whisper. Suguru’s hands tighten around your thighs, keeping you in place, keeping you grounded. But his touch never feels possessive—only reverent.

“That’s it,” he murmurs against you, voice ragged and full of awe. “Let me take care of you.”

And he does.

Each flick of his tongue, each subtle shift of pressure, feels like he knows you better than anyone ever has. He listens to the way your breath catches, the way your hips jerk, the way you moan his name when he hits that perfect spot again and again. He’s learning you like a language—translating every twitch, every gasp, every soft, needy whimper.

You’re unraveling under him.

Your fingers thread tighter in his hair, hips rocking subtly against his mouth as your pleasure builds, slow and steady, like a wave pulling back before it crashes. He hums again—fuck, the vibration goes straight through you—and his tongue speeds up just slightly, chasing your release with more intent now.

“Suguru—” you gasp, chest heaving, the coil in your stomach tightening.

“I know,” he breathes, lifting his eyes to you, gaze dark and full of something deep—want, need, love. “Come for me, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

And that’s all it takes.

You shatter with a breathless cry, back arching off the bed, thighs trembling around his head as he holds you through it. His mouth doesn’t leave you—not right away—his tongue working you gently through the aftershocks, slower now, softer, until you whimper from the sensitivity and tug gently at his hair.

Only then does he lift his head, lips glossy with you, eyes full of a tender kind of devotion that makes your heart ache.

He leans up, kisses your thigh, your stomach, your chest—until he’s hovering over you again, one hand brushing your hair back from your sweat-slick forehead.

“You okay?” he whispers, voice hoarse, gaze searching yours.

You nod, dazed, lips parted as you try to catch your breath. And then you reach for him again—because even after everything, you still want more.

You don’t give him a chance to move. Not this time.

Your hands slide into his hair, pulling him into another kiss—messy, heated, tasting yourself on his tongue. He groans against your lips, deep and low, hands gripping your waist like he’s not sure if he wants to hold you still or pull you closer.

But you’re already moving—rolling your hips up into his, feeling how hard he is against you, how much he’s holding back.

“Let me,” you whisper, lips brushing his. “I wanna take care of you now.”

He looks at you like you just reached inside his chest and held his heart in your hands. There’s awe in his eyes. Something close to disbelief.

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.” You hush him with another kiss, softer this time. “Please.”

And how could he ever say no to you?

You push him back until he’s laid down on your bed. Your hands roam over his body and you watch the way his muscles flex under your fingers, every inch of skin revealed like something sacred. You trail kisses down his throat, his collarbone, dragging your nails down his chest just enough to make him hiss.

“Fuck,” he breathes, head tilting back when you nip at his skin.

You kiss lower. Slower. Tasting every inch of him, every scar, every dip of muscle like he’s something divine—your god now.

By the time you’re undoing his pants, he’s panting, watching you with a look that’s all-consuming. Like he still can’t believe you’re real. That you’re here. That you want him.

And then you’re straddling him, hovering above him, dragging yourself down slow—so slow—until he’s seated inside you and both of you are gasping, clinging to each other like the world outside doesn’t exist.

“You feel like heaven,” Suguru groans, hands digging into your hips. “Can’t believe you’re mine.”

You lean down, kiss him again. Rock your hips in slow, deep rolls, your body matching his rhythm like you’ve always known it. His hands slide up your back, one slipping into your hair as his lips find your neck, kissing, sucking, whispering your name like a prayer.

“You’re everything,” he breathes. “You—fuck—you make me want to be good again.”

You ride him slowly. Sensual. Every grind, every moan, every kiss dragging the moment out. This isn’t just need. It’s something more.

Something that makes his eyes blur and his hands tremble.

Because for once, Geto Suguru isn’t drowning in hatred or vengeance or ideals.

He’s drowning in you.

You’re still moving above him, hips slow and languid, a rhythm that isn’t rushed. A rhythm that worships.

And Suguru… God, he’s unraveling beneath you.

Head tipped back, lips parted, breath ragged—like he’s holding on by a thread. Every time you roll your hips, his fingers dig into your skin just a little tighter, like he’s scared this is a dream. That he’ll wake up and find you gone.

But you’re not.

You’re here. You're real. And you’re touching him like he’s something beautiful, something worthy.

“Look at me,” you whisper, breath catching as your hand cups his cheek, thumbing the curve of his lower lip. “Suguru…”

His eyes flutter open. And when they meet yours—it’s devastating. There’s so much feeling in them. Raw. Unfiltered. Like he’s never been seen so completely.

“God, you’re so—” your voice catches, fingers splayed across his chest as you ride him, pace stuttering and breath shaking.

“So what?” he murmurs, voice low, teasing, but there’s a strain there too, like he’s barely holding himself back. 

You swallow, eyes dragging down his body. “Big,” you whisper. “You’re so big…”

His breath stutters—just for a second—and then he leans in closer, lips brushing your ear. “And you still take me so well, sweetheart. Made for me, yeah?”

And then he’s kissing you again, lips brushing yours in soft, desperate strokes. “Oh my God,” he breathes against your mouth. “Fuck, sweetheart—you’re gonna ruin me.”

You rock your hips again, slow and deep, moaning into his kiss. “Maybe I want to.”

Your hands slide down his chest again, feeling the way his abs tighten under your touch. His hands travel your back, your waist, your thighs—like he’s memorizing every inch, every curve.

He’s whispering now, between every kiss, every thrust:

“So perfect.” “Don’t deserve this.” “But I’m so fucking glad you’re mine.” “Want to stay like this, want you forever.”

Each word makes your heart ache.

You kiss him again, deeper, letting your tongue slide against his as you move faster—just a little. Just enough to make him groan your name. Just enough to hear that sweet sound he only makes for you.

And when your rhythm falters—when your breath stutters, and your body tightens around him—he knows.

He knows you’re close.

He kisses you through it, hand cupping the back of your head, the other gripping your hip like he’s anchoring you both. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice breaking. “Let go for me. Come on—come on, I’ve got you.”

And you do—falling apart in his arms with a whimper of his name, your body trembling as the pleasure crashes through you, hard and consuming. You cling to him, face buried in his neck, gasping through the aftershocks.

Suguru follows just after, undone by the sight of you, the feel of you, the love in every inch of you. He holds you tight as he shudders with his release, spilling into you with a moan that sounds like it comes from the deepest part of him.

Like this is everything he’s ever needed.

Like this is home.

You collapse onto the bed beside him, breathless and exhausted.

The silence stretches long between you, but there’s no weight in it—just warmth, just the sound of your breathing and his, the subtle rustle of sheets when he shifts beside you. His arm stays curled around your waist, his fingers splayed across your skin like he’s still grounding himself in the fact that you’re real. That you’re here.

“I had someone,” he says, voice quiet. “Someone who tried to stop me before I became the man I am now.”

You turn your head slightly, meeting his gaze in the soft dark. He’s already looking at you.

“Satoru,” he adds. “He was my best friend. We were supposed to protect people together.”

You don’t speak. Just listen. His voice is rough, like each word tastes bitter on his tongue.

“He stood in front of me the day I walked away. Said I didn’t have to do it. That I could still turn back. That it wasn’t too late.”

His jaw clenches, barely perceptible in the pale moonlight.

“I told him it was already done. That the world didn’t deserve saving. That people like you—non-sorcerers—weren’t worth it.”

A pause. A breath.

“I wanted to believe that.”

You reach for him without thinking, brushing your fingers against his hand. He doesn’t pull away.

“But now… here you are,” he murmurs. “Saying the same things he did. Smiling at me like I’m not already ruined. Like there’s something left in me worth pulling back from the edge.”

He’s watching you with something fragile in his eyes. Something old and aching and afraid.

“Maybe I didn’t want to admit I was wrong. That the world still has people in it who are good. Worth protecting.”

Your thumb traces over his knuckles gently.

“It’s not too late,” you whisper. “You’re still here, Suguru.”

He closes his eyes, just for a second, like he’s trying to hold on to that thought. To the hope in your voice.

When he opens them again, his gaze is softer.

“I know now that I can come back,” he breathes. “And it’s all because of you.”

His forehead presses to yours, his breath warm and shaky.

“Only you.”

author's note. just realised this au means no shibuya and no one dies. i think.

please do not steal, modify, or translate my work.

[ysaefinn]

The pride and giddiness Suguru feels when you gently run a hand over his broad chest while rejecting somebody will keep BOTH OF YOU up at night.

-> In his lovesick delusional mind it's like you're claiming him and showing him off at the same time, "Why would I choose you over all of this?"