──── WHEN IT'S LOVE IF IT'S NOT ROUGH IT ISN'T FUN ₎ა ˙˖
♡ 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟏𝟕 :: 𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐒𝐒!𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 𝐗 𝐅. 𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐋 𝐉𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 ⌗ gun play, dumbification
months upon months of sticking your nose into his business— headlines galore with his name in bold ink. and suguru finds out that the infuriating journalist whose smugness he can taste in every entry. . . is actually his newest hire?
⌗ wc : 3.9k
ᝰ.☆ cws : crime syndicate :: mob aspects :: death threats :: gun play :: dumbification :: authority :: shoe humping :: degradation :: hair pulling :: man-handling :: dirty talk :: nipple play :: fingering :: overstimulation :: penetrative sex :: riding :: cervix fucking :: rough sex :: slut/whore calling :: praise :: suguru's pov
ᝰ.☆ sweetheart : save me crimeboss suguru save meee
There was a difference between being a leader, and leading.
To lead, you required an innate skill.
To be a leader, you required ruthlessness.
Geto Suguru held both with finesse. As flawless as his inky hair and as easy as a gun felt in his hand. The man who carried the darkest night in his eyes and whose smile made demons weep.
That same man barely batted an eye as your knees hit the mahogany flooring of his office and your shoulders weighed under the rough hands of his men. He only brought his cigarette back to his lips and dragged.
Your eyes always were pretty. Even more so with their feral glare daggering as if they could slice him. Cute. You thought you had claws. He mused on your neatly trimmed nails digging into the binds that restrained your wrists behind you.
His newest hire. As intelligent as she was beautiful. A liability he already considered, when your pretty face slithered into his dreams after your first meeting. But never would Suguru have expected his alluring little liability to pose any danger.
Until now.
"What is this?" You sneered.
He tilted his head into the knuckles it rested on while his elbow propped on his chair's arm. Dangerous and audacious? Maybe you really were just a pretty face.
Who else would have the nerve to stare down his cursed being and consider him a saint? How exhilarating.
Smoke billowed, carrying his answer into the thick air as he stewed in your growing nervousness. He'd done this one too many times. Had more than a few moles grovelling at his feet. He tasted each memory in the nicotine— but this? This was sweeter.
"You've been causing me a lot of trouble, pretty girl." He crossed a leg over the other and signalled. His men released their solid grip and removed themselves from the office, probably dusting their hands on their way out.
"What're you talking about?"
He expected your scoff and bit his cigarette between two fingers while his other hand snatched a pile from his desk. The stack of newspapers smacked in front of your knees. Bold headlines inked with accusation, like the red underlines scratched beneath a journalist's name.
Your name.
Suguru watched as the colour drained form your face and seeped into the print. Your eyes fixed to columns he's sure you're not even reading. Why would you? You wrote and probably proofread it three times.
"Quite the creative writing you have there. Quirky choice of descriptions for me. 'Bovarysm'. 'Sloven'. But my personal favourite?" He stubbed the cigarette with his patience. "Artful dodger."
He gauged your reaction with a mental count to three. He'd played this part a hundred times before. Here came the lies.
"I don't have any ideas what you're talking about."
And the excuses.
"You checked my background. This is my only job—"
And the bargains.
"Look, maybe the men and I can get to the bottom of this together but, you've got the wrong girl."
He rolled his eyes. Moles really were blind. They always rambled when yanked from their burrows and dug themselves a deeper, darker hole. But he couldn't deny that your splutters struck an even darker chord within him.
"Your real name's pretty," he crooned as he reached back into his drawer.
Click.
"It'll look good on a tombstone."
Oh, his favourite part. When the poor, defenceless mole saw the light as a barrel of a gun stared them down. Their impending demise always brought bitterness to his eyes and sugar on his tongue.
His index cruxed lazily on the trigger. The gun hang from his hand. Like it was easy. No— like it was natural. "Suppose it's a fault on my part. After all, I haven't the slightest idea how someone like you could have stumbled into my domain and snatched yourself a job."
But oh, he quickly learnt you weren't just any mole.
That glare of yours? More like a cat. Maybe your claws were simply retracted all along.
"You didn't exactly make it difficult." You even hissed like one. His brow arched, but he never faltered. Only stared and considered your confidence— or stupidity— when faced with a gun.
And then you proved to him that you might have been a cat, but you were far from a pussy. Not when your forehead pressed into the gun and your spine barely shivered from its frost.
"Go ahead, then."
Such teeth. Did you think you could bite through bullets?
"Get rid of me. There'll be others. You'll be stopped."
Whatever chill laced your voice bridled a fire in his gut. Both heat and warmth flooded into a concoction of anger and admiration.
Still, his face barely twitched. Eyes never blinked. He only smiled as his pupils dilated. Swimming with the darkness bleeding in from his heart and mind.
"Does your arrogance know any bounds?" He asked.
"Does yours?"
Bang!
Your shoulder stiffened. Smoke rimmed the bullet hole embedded in the wall. But when you turned to look, you squeaked.
His shoe rose. Nudged between your thighs so the leather lodged against your panties. Your squirm and jerk to look down at your centre was far more appeasing of a sight than the hole he would have shot through your head.
The gun hitched beneath your jaw and flicked your head up. He wanted to see your eyes. See the spiral of shock and shame once you realised he knew your secrets in more ways than one.
"You know," his voice steeled and velveted all at the same time. "That's a lot of tough talk for a girl soaking wet with a gun pointed at her. You're a sick little freak, aren't you?"
He curved his ankle so that his shoe's tongue dragged over the slick cotton, stroking on your slit and spurring on your clit. Cute. Had you any idea how it twitched for him?
Seems like the shock faded and you forgot shame's name. Even as he beheld your stiffening muscles and thinning lips— he caught those filthy secrets in your twitching hips.
You wanted to grind for him like a good girl, didn't you?
A grin split his lips. Pearly whites fanged and threatening as his head crooked. "I can think of a much better way of putting you in your place." The devil slithered into his eyes.
His face blanked. Gaze sliced.
"Grind."
Seemed you had some dignity. In the face of his edged command, you remained stiff. He'd give you credit for your splintering resolve. Even if your cunt's warmth throbbed into his shoe. Nevertheless. He was always an impatient man— and a diligent teacher.
Blunt nails scratched on your scalp as his fingers tore in. Suguru shoved you forward like a ragdoll and ground his foot up. Rolling his ankle and dragging the leather over your panties until heat seeped through and your stubbornness unravelled.
Oh you didn't just grind. You humped down on his shoe and stirred your hips like it was automatic. Like you were meant to be here, on your knees with a needy cunt.
"That's a good girl." The gun smooched your temple. "Hump my shoe like a needy whore while I decide where this bullet goes."
Your whines and whimpers stroked that fiery ego within him. Despite his blank stare, his eyes smoldered with approval and his jaw ticked with impatience. You were already dripping into his shoe.
And don't even get started on that needy little face. Pinched brows. Parted lips. A complete opposite to your glaring countenance. Good. You looked better near-drooling.
He watched your arms brace behind you, scrambling for some stabilisation so that you could leverage just the right angle and grind until you stained his shoe.
Did you consider yourself dutiful? He wished your news office could see you in this moment. Now you were just desperate.
"Poor thing." He crooned. "You need something bigger?"
Fingers flexed in your hair as he dragged you up and jerked you into him. So that your knees dug between his and your body wobbled from the manhandling.
He slipped the gun between your legs. Knuckles wrapped around the trigger as he spurred the barrel into your soaked panties.
Oh if he loved your grinding? He adored that flush on your face and the startle in your eyes. What a waste of a pretty face. But perhaps he could find other ways to keep you around?
He mulled the possibilities as he tilted the gun. "Go on." He drawled as he circled the muzzle on your clit and entranced on your how your white panties appeared semi-translucent. He could already taste your sticky sweetness.
The gun straightened and you obeyed without falter.
Fuck, where else could he find a good little freak like you? Not many places, he's certain. Not any that were as gorgeous nor as good as you were. With your needy little cunt grinding down on the barrel of his gun.
Seemed like he found his new lucky pistol.
His dark eyes lit as you resumed your groove and pace. Dragging your soaked panties into the cold metal and biting down on your lip. Your moans spilled louder, more pitched, and he found himself grinding the weapon back into you.
He couldn't decide between the sinful sight of you humping the gun he intended to knock you dead with or those glossy eyes and trembling lips as your face scrunched.
"Mnn. Mngh," oh, what an adorable moan. And the arch of your back? Even more so.
"Sssh. You can do it."
Of course you could. A dirty girl like you could do this all week, he's sure. His cock strained against his slacks with a hot pulse at the thought.
Your hips staggered, rushed. Rutting with a broken desperation. He could practically taste the shivers shooting up your spine.
You slicked the steel and dragged the wetness until it trickled over his knuckles. He released a breath he didn't know he was holding, then crooned. "You're a natural huh? Done this before?"
He pressed the gun up further and grinned at your mewl. The sick part of his mind would take that as a yes. Especially with the abrupt rush of your hips.
"Oh don't tell me you're actually gonna cum from this?"
"Mhhm!"
"Dirty girl."
And yet his eyes swirled with filthier images as your head tossed back and he witnessed the course of spasms. From your jutting tits to your trembling thighs, your arching back and finally— your throbbing, spilling cunt.
In that moment, he hated your panties for obscuring the sight.
But loved them for how nasty they looked all drenched and sticky.
Those moans were what did him in. Unrestrained, broken, so unashamed. Like you weren't humping his gun and smearing your cum all over the steel. He could get used to this.
"Is this why you came here? You don't give a shit about justice, do you?" Calloused fingers caged your nipple and twisted. How he loved your squeaky moan.
"You just wanna get this cute cunt stuffed, huh?"
He withdrew the gun and tapped the muzzle atop your panties. Was that a pout? He could give you something to cry about.
His arm snagged your waist and toppled you into him. His chest rumbled with your little yelp. He wondered what other sounds he could get out of you. How would you sing for him when he was buried balls deep and milking you for everything you had? Would you lose your ability to speak altogether?
He couldn't decide between leaving your hands helpless behind you or freeing you so he could feel them undo his pants and delight in your nails clawing on his shoulders. He settled on the former and shoved his pants down himself.
His cock sprung free and smacked back into him. Watching the orgasmic-confusion in your eyes bubble away for fluster sure gave him a kick. Even more so when he spotted the tremble in your thighs.
"Well?" He dug blunt nails into the small of your back. "Get to it."
You quivered and drew closer, dragging your slit over his throbbing tip. All the while, your eyes fixed downward. Was that panic? He hoped so. You were about to take something far too big for your little cunt.
"I—"
Bingo.
"It's . . . it won't fit," your voice quaked. Was this how angels wept?
A sick amusement twisted within his chest. The girl who knelt on his floor and spat at him with venom had suddenly lost her tongue? It was your fire that stirred his cock in the first place— but your submission was all the more delicious.
He refrained from licking his lips and instead clicked his tongue. "Must I do everything for you?"
No complaints fell from his mouth when he snatched the garter of your panties and yanked the fabric in a loud rip. Certainly no protests when you whined the cutest sound from two fingers avidly coating up your slick between them.
Maybe you were just the perfect slut. Your hips bucked so automatically into his hand. Swaying in his cupping palm and dragging your clit on the heel. As if these same hands weren't the ones that almost lodged a bullet in your head.
He tutted. Both a scolding and a praise before his amply wet fingers circled your entrance, then slipped in with ease. Your pussy's heartbeat fluttering around his knuckles split a grin over his lips.
"Look at this. She took me in without any fight," to prove his point his fingers curled and your back mimicked. It didn't take him long to find that spongy spot within you judging from your jutting hips and broken whines.
Your mouth fell open with the sluttiest moan he's heard yet as his fingers started their slow drags and pumps. Giving him the perfect opportunity to flush the gun's muzzle to your lower lip. Smearing earlier's cum on your tongue as he encouraged you to nurse on the steel.
"Say ahh," he crooned.
"A-Ah! Mngh."
His fingers come-hithered just in time. The gun shoved into your mouth and coated in your drool too. Spit and cum all over his steel? This really was his new favourite.
"Suuchh a good girl," he crooned, watching the way your lips strained around the barrel similarly to your squeezing cunt trying to milk his fingers. They sped into a rhythm that had you spluttering messier.
His palm joined the haze. Flushed into your clit and grinding up while his fingers worked relentlessly on your clenching, gummy walls. Dragging pleasure from the tips of fingers to the knuckle and soaking your arousal all over his wrist. Your musk wrapped around him and he breathed a groan, before pistoning his fingertips and prodding on that devastating spot in time with you hips' rolls.
Was this the journalist who swore to take him down? The one who wrote her blood into the ink and vowed with every word that his syndicate would fall under her name? Here you were, moaning his name instead. Spluttering it around a gun and riding his hand like you hadn't slandered his reputation in ever which-way.
"Pathetic little thing," he sneered and snagged the trigger, but your eyes were too busy rolling back to notice. "This all it takes? A few fingers and a gun in your mouth?"
He punctuated by pushing further. So the muzzle weighed onto the back of your tongue. He's sure your jaw ached, he could see you gagging. That dark chord within him strung a symphony.
It should have been a crime to look that good choking on a gun and arching into his fucking fingers.
Spurred on by the rush, his fingers frantically speed. Curling, pistoning, fucking into your gooey centre under he beheld the spasms once again. Wracking your body and tossing you into a cage of unrelenting bliss and him.
"That's it. There you go. Slut up my hand, princess."
It's what you did best, he learnt. This time he focused on your cunt. On the heavy pulses and stuttered throbs before your thighs tensed and you streamed over his hand. Both spray and slick. Perverting his palm with your wayward morals and staining him in your sin.
Fuck.
A smirk ghosted his lips, glinting with its piercing as his fingers withdrew in sticky strings of arousal. Perfect slut? No, you were prodigal.
He almost felt a twinge of disappointment as he withdrew the barrel from your mouth, but your drool clinging to the steel made it all worth it. He smeared your spit down your neck and kissed your pulse with the muzzle.
He considered digging his teeth in next, but settled for clawing on your thigh as he dragged you over his awaiting cock. Flushed and angry at the tip.
Your clit twitched as the frenum piercing caught it and Suguru rumbled a chuckle as your dripping hole sopped him up. "Maybe I'll just keep you as my cumslut. Since you're so eager for it."
Eager? More like enthusiastic. With a wet pop! your cunt opened for him with ease. Clenching around only the tip, a messy confusion between squeeze and stretch. His massive hand splayed on your thigh and dragged you in, stroking his thumb with a message your slutty self immediately decoded.
He watched your shoulders roll back and your spine lift. You repositioned yourself before slowly, so, tantalisingly slowly, taking him in inch by inch.
Void eyes steeled on your face. Drinking every twitch of your brows, every tremble of your lips, the way your tongue sounded with his name on it.
"M-Mister Geto. . ." you whined. It sounded better on your mouth. Needy, and pitiful. Like a prayer and a plea.
His cock pulsed and his patience wore thin. A grunt ragged from the back of his throat as your gummy walls sucked him in. Trying to suffocate and strangle him— yet also not trying hard enough.
"That the best you've got?"
"I can't. . . s'big, Sir."
Slick dripped down his dick that was barely halfway. Oh, he'd show you big.
Without a falter in expression, Suguru scraped his nails on your soft thigh and fisted the fat before a— slam! merged with your pitiful cry. The gun caught your slutty arch and his balls thrummed against your plush ass.
"There you go, princess." His thumb stroked your hip bone. "Not so hard, is it?" His voice deepened into a groan. Fuck. You weren't just warm— you were hot, sweltering. Squeezing around every inch and milking every vein. He bucked up for encouragement, and you followed obediently.
Albeit, pathetically. You called that riding? Your pretty pussy swallowed him whole and choked as your hips rutted and humped. Rolling into him with a staggered sway as you arced into him.
"Mngh— fuck, Sir—"
You quivered a cry. Both from those gorgeous eyes and your glossy cunt. Fuck, you'd drown his leather seat with that mess. As if he'd mind.
"Have I fucked you so stupid you've forgotten how to ride a dick?" His hand thwacked your ass when all you answers were in shaky whines and spluttered apologies. He restrained his grin, but it pooled within his feral eyes instead.
His head rolled back as he watched you. Craning your wobbly hips higher, and higher, watching as your pink walls crept up his cock— and then you dropped with a needy mewl.
"Atta girl," he patted your ass. "Just like that. Keep it up."
And oh, you tried. He watched your snivelling attempts to maintain pace and elicit his praise. Your movements were jerky at best. Slow drags and clumsy drops as you miserably tried to form a rhythm.
There was no hiding his grin now. Where's all that fire? That determination in your eyes had splintered into desperation. Confidence was nothing but a sopping cunt, now. Suguru swore he'd never seen you more beautiful.
He forced his grin into a frown and arched a dark brow with a darker stare. Not a word, and still you whimpered.
Your abrupt squeezing formed a hiss on his tongue, but fuck, you were so good at clenching and so terrible at conserving a steady pace. Every time his cock ground into your cervix you'd crumble, cry— pathetic.
Cruel fingers snapped around your jaw and dug in dark nails. Your face squished into his large hand as tears trickled down your flushed cheeks. Cute.
"Aww, what's wrong, princess?" He crooned. "Where's that big mouth of yours?"
A thumb brushed your lower lip and aroused helpless splutters and whimpered begs. Barley coherent, but beautifully broken. His head crooked.
"What's that? Huh? You want me to help?"
Shmack! went his hips. Hot and wet against your ass just as you were attempting to lift again. He ground deep into that gummy muscle that slacked your jaw and spilled drooling hiccups. Poor you. One thrust was all it took and you were doubling over onto him?
Suguru's sneer bit your ear while his cockhead pistoned into that darling spot, spluttering slick and sticky strings all over his lap. "Can't do anything right. Dumb little slut."
At last he abandoned the gun for favouritism on your ass. Squeezing on the plush with both hands so it swelled between his finger gaps. He abused the leverage to bounce you on him in a filthy rhythm. The chair creaking and your voice singing as you limped into his shoulder.
"M-Mister Geto! S-Sir— Sir, fuckk angh."
"This. This, is how you ride dick." His grunts spilled with heavy groans as he surged his frustration into his feral hips. Slapping rage into bruises on the backs of your tender thighs.
His glare sliced up to meet your drooling mouth and eyes rolled back. "Are you even listening? Fuck. Is there anythin' going on in that— ngh, head of yours? Nuh-uh? Just my cock in your tight little cunt?"
Dragging a nasty grind on your cervix and rutting the piercing into your sweetspot, a sharp grin daggered his mouth. Wretched by your miserable humps and attempts to fuck him back as he pounded the reality of your new position into you.
Not a journalist, certainly not a pretty face in a mob— but a slut. His pretty, perfect, pathetic slut.
"I'm gonna— I- hngh pleaseplease, I'm gonna cum!"
"Say my fuckin' name."
"G—"
"No."
He rammed up, pistoning into the spot that shattered you into a mess of heat and keens as your body broke into endless spasms. Yet still, you understood what he wanted—
"Su— Sugurruuu I'm gonn' cum!"
And he loved you for it.
"Course you are. That's all you're fucking good for, huh?"
His thumb trapped your clit and bullied it until it spasmed too. Until you crumbled into a shaking, wobbling puddle. Back arching, hips stuttering, jaw slacking as he watched you wreck for him. Watched you limp into him and burst in a fever of cum and whining sobs.
He hissed as you strangled his cock, pulsing and squirting it into a sticky slew. Fuck, you're a messy thing, aren't you?
Through your spasms his thrusts battered on. Pounding into overflowing pussy and dragging you down by the ass so you bounced helplessly. Even when you cried, even when you keened— he only tore his teeth into your shoulder and maintained reckless abandon.
Relentless, ruinous, even as your sweet little hiccups drooled all over him.
His princess. His pitiful whore.
"Can't— I-I can't s'too much, fuck! S'tooo much Suguru please."
But the bastard only gripped. Snatched you closer and dragged his teeth on your ear with ragged pants.
"Hmm? Of course you can. Gotta get used to your new position, princess."
© 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒔𝒎. no plagiarism or ai training authorised. divider: @/dollywons. art cred: @/sakimichanmale (twt)
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