#geto drabble

Suguru is so patient with his sweet, shy girlfriend who still can't take all of him even after a few times together.

every single time, without fail, your small hands end up pressed flat against his abs, keeping him from sinking in all the way. and he never pushes it—just watches you with those dark, half-lidded eyes while you're already making such a mess on just half his cock, whimpering and clenching around him like you're trying so hard to be good for him.

"that's it, baby," he murmurs, one big hand covering both of yours on his stomach, holding them there. "take what you can. don't hurt yourself." but his voice is strained, jaw tight, because fuck—you're so wet and tight and he can feel you fluttering around him, and he wants nothing more than to just sink in deep and stay there.

you're babbling apologies, face hot with embarrassment because you can see how much of him is still outside, glistening and dripping with you. "i'm sorry, i'm sorry, 'm trying—"

"shh, none of that," he says, leaning down to kiss your forehead, your cheeks, so sweet it makes your chest ache. "you're doing so well, angel. look how good you're taking me already." his thumb finds your clit and you gasp, back arching, and he groans when you clench down hard. "there you go. just like that."

he starts moving in shallow thrusts, just working the half he can fit, and it's already so much—the stretch, the fullness, the way his tip keeps hitting that spot that makes your toes curl. you're soaking him, obscene wet sounds filling the room, and you want to die from how embarrassing it is.

"listen to that," he breathes, eyes dark and focused on where you're connected. "making such a pretty mess on my cock, baby. getting me all wet." his hand slides from your clit to your hip, gripping tight. "think you can take a little more for me? just a little?"

you nod frantically even though you're not sure, because you want to be good for him, want to give him everything. he pushes in another inch, slow and careful, watching your face the whole time. your hands scrabble against his abs but he's stronger, holding himself there while you adjust.

"breathe, sweetheart," he coaxes. "that's my girl. so fucking tight for me. you're perfect, you know that?"

and even though you still can't take all of him, even though your hands are still trying to keep him from going too deep, he looks at you like you've given him everything—like you're everything—and somehow that makes the embarrassment worth it.

Suguru hated when people touch his hair just because they find it beautiful, he doesn’t mind it when people tell him it’s beautiful because he doesn’t have to deal with their fingers. But, the second he sees their hand reach out— he’s already scooting away to avoid them.

However, he stopped when he realized he enjoyed your touch more than everyone else’s. It wasn’t meant to be nice at all, Suguru hasn’t even processed that your hand was tangled in his hair until you accidentally tugged on a few strands to harshly, “Sorry, Sugu. It got stuck in my fingers.”

Usually, he would tell people off for touching his hair without permission, but with you, all he could say was, “Don’t worry about it, pretty girl. You’re fine.”

And the both of you weren’t even official . . . yet.

The second he made it clear that he wanted to be your boyfriend, his head was always on your lap and he (quietly) demands your fingers to massage his head by sighing loudly and dramatically. You never got the clue but just love to play with his hair, all’s well ends well.

Then you started catching up on hairstyling. Watching videos made the urge bigger and you just popped the question, “Can I braid your hair? I don’t want to waste my money on a wig when I got my boyfriend.”

He made a deal, one hairstyle for a scalp massage session. Good deal I’d say.

“Ow.”

“Sorry, baby,” you whisper, tongue poking out in between your lips as your braid his hair, using the hair gel to tone down most of his baby hair, “okay. Look, my first client is going to be a friend who wants to cosplay. What do you think?”

Suguru was surprised that you managed to do all that in an hour. Of course, he had no say in this because when he told you it was great, he automatically became your test victim. Actually, not victim, he became your helping hand. Plus, he got head massages as a return.

You realized how he hates when people touch his hair during a day out. It was supposed to be a calm day for the both of you, a short trip to the ice cream parlor where you both went at the end of your first date. He suggested sitting outside since the weather was really nice.

Half an hour into your sweet treat, a girl came by and complimented his hair. Suguru thanked her with a small smile, but the moment her hand shoots out to touch it— he instinctively grabbed her hand to stop it, “Sorry, please don’t touch my hair,” he mumbled out.

The girl apologized because it was in the heat of moment before leaving. You blinked, “You don’t like people touching your hair?”

“Not really.”

“I should buy a wig then!”

Suguru seemed alarmed by the thought of losing your hand in his hair, he shook his head, “I never said anything about you touching my hair though. I don’t mind if it’s you touching. I just don’t like it when it isn’t you . . .” He spoke shyly.

“Really?”

Suguru nods his hair, “When is the next session? I want my massage.”

you don’t know how you ended up splayed over suguru’s desk with your legs thrown over his shoulders when minutes ago he was taking your measurements for a fashion event.

slutty little glasses sitting on his nose, measuring tape draped around his neck as he wrote in his notebook. pages strewn with sketches of outfit ideas, messy notes and reminders to himself, your name sometimes popping up here and there.

but somewhere in between talking about your dress, he tugged the measuring tape off and replaced it with your legs, your ankles locked behind him as he laid you back on his desk.

“stay-- hahh stay still for me, pretty girl,” he tries to sound commanding but his voice comes out breathy and shaky. his hands trembling slightly with pleasure as he holds the tape above your contracting stomach. “i just need to measure one more thing. fuck…”

with each deep stroke of his cock, he can see the thick head of it protrude through your stomach. he groans, soft and low, cursing something under his breath. it takes everything in him to not speed up the pace of his mind-numbing thrusts.

“but it’s… you’re so ngh d-deep, sugu,” you mewl, squirming against the hardness of the desk. you clench around him each time his bulbous tip drags against each and every sweet spot he somehow manages to find. you’re sure that he’s kissing your cervix at this point, fuzzy stars blurring your vision.

“i know, pretty, i know,” he coos, glasses sliding down his nose as he tries to read the numbers on the tape. “and you’re taking it so well for me. taking me so-- fuck, you’re so tight… taking me so well.”

a whimper slips past your lips in response to his depraved praise before it turns in a choked gasp when he presses his palm down on the bulge in your stomach. you quiver violently, fingers finding something to hold onto, grasping helplessly at the wooden surface under you.

the hand that was pushing down on your stomach slides down to grip your waist, pinning you down with a soft click of his tongue.

“stop moving so much,” he chides gently with a subtle, firm undertone.

“can’t, sugu… ‘s too much.” you’re panting, eyes barely half open, going limp against the desk as he drives into you so good that it almost hurts. you can’t decide between wanting more or for him to stop because it’s that much overwhelming.

he leans down, your thighs folding into your chest. his hair tickles your cheek, hot breath caressing your mouth, violet eyes locked onto yours.

“you can take it. i know you can. you always take it for me like my perfect girl,” he whispers, pressing a ghost of a kiss to your lips before he pulls back, straightening again.

his thrusts become torturously slow, taking the measuring tape back in his hands and stretching it over your stomach unsteadily. you try to steady your own breathing, trying to stay as still as you can despite the intimate smooches of his tip to your sweet spot, only making the puddle under your ass bigger.

then, his breath hitches, smirk faltering. cock throbbing against your plush walls. he has to bite back a groan.

8.6 sweet inches.

“god, look at that, pretty girl,” he breathes out, a raspy strain of his voice as he tries to hold back just how ruined he is at the mere sight. and you follow his gaze to the bulge in your stomach, clamping down on him like a vice which forces him to stutter out a curse. “f-fuck… you really do take me so deep. take me so fucking good.” and he sounds proud. almost tame compared to the frantic snap of his hips that follows soon after like he can’t help himself.

you cry out his name, throwing your arms around him to hold onto him as he drills into you like a man gone insane. he’s groaning, rough and low, tossing the tape aside to focus on you now.

the desk creaks weakly under you, protesting the force of his hips. though, it’s barely audible over the lewd squelching with each push of his hips and the smacking of skin against skin.

he leans back down again, dragging his teeth over the lobe of your ear, breathing heavily. “you know, i think i could get even deeper if i had you bent over this desk. wanna try?”

( 18 + ) ⤷ never turn your back on an enemy… unless he’s fucking you from behind

you’d never be able to forgive yourself for this. hell had to have frozen over, because there was no other conceivable explanation for why you were allowing your mortal enemy to do this to you right now. pressed faced down on his bed, your back arched so deep it ached, taking it from behind with only a pathetic whimper muffled by his sheets.

suguru geto ruts into you with a force that can only be described as brutal, slow-brewed from years worth of rivalry and short, bitter exchanges. it’s the sort of merciless venom that has you writhing and whining — because fuck, he’s bigger than you thought — every punishing thrust jolting your whole body forward into the bed.

“fuck,” he grits out, one hand pulling you up and against him by your throat. “is this all it took for you to finally shut up?” he doesn’t bother with calling you pathetic, because you’re a smart girl, and you both know that this is already humiliating enough. you’re a drooling, sobbing mess on his cock, and you can’t even name one thing you hate about him now, not with the way he’s splitting you open and dragging weak moans out of you.

you clench around him when he hits a little too deep, and the sharp, breathless laugh he lets out has you impulsively reaching back to dig into the hardened muscles of his forearms. unfortunately, you figure out too late that the last thing you should do around a masochistic bastard is get out your claws, because it only spurs him on further.

the next thrust that follows is cruel, and you choke on your spit when he repays your earlier actions with a palm that comes down hard upon your ass cheeks. “scratch me up all you want, baby” he groans, voice on the edge of breaking. “mark me up while i fucking ruin you.”

and ruin you, he does. or maybe you ruin each other, because by the time he’s done with you, your hair is a tangled mess and your thighs are drenched in your arousal. meanwhile, the length of suguru’s arms and shoulders are marked by angry red lines from your nails, from where you clawed at him without reservation.

you’ve ruined more than just his skin though — those are simply pretty surface wounds he’ll look at later like a hard-fought trophy. but your claws also seemed to have sunk straight into his heart, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like the way those marks looked when the edges start to blur.

i have a thing for men that moan especially the ones with deep voices .. mm makes my toes sweat 😛 ( NSFW )

prisoner!geto who gets sent to the infirmary after getting into a fist fight with another prisoner. His knuckles and lip are bruised and busted and he’s doing the walk of shame down the jail hall. But he doesn’t expect a pretty young woman to be running the infirmary, nearly drooling at the sight because it’s been almost 3 whole years since he last laid his eyes upon one. He’s eyeing you up and down look a piece of meat while you tend to his wounds, completely ignoring his advances because it’s unprofessional. Though, you do find him quite handsome with tattoos all over his arms, a muscular build and his long silky black hair, his smile adding the cherry on top.

“You new here? I’ve never seen you around before.” He watches you put some gloves on, grabbing a roll of small bandages. “Pretty brave of you to be working in all male prison, don’t you think?”

“You must end up in here quite a lot if you know everyone who works here,” you sigh, grabbing his hand and wiping down the dried blood from his knuckles. “I transferred from another prison. It’s nothing I’m not used to.”

He smirks, narrowing his eyes at you. “Oh, yeah? Must be used to all the flirting then.”

“Wow! How could you tell?” You say sarcastically and toss the dirty wipe into the trash beside you. You wrap his hand up with the bandage and toss your gloves into the trash. “You’re all set.”

“Did I mention my head is killing me?” He winced.

“If you’re trying to get pain killers prescribed to you, it’s a whole different process. So I suggest you stop lying and wasting both of our time.” You place your hands on your hips, staring at him.

“Fine.” He stands to his feet, tall stature shadowing over you. You step back a little the more he steps closer to you. “I’ll cut to the chase. I haven’t properly fucked someone in nearly three years, and I’m dying…dying to get a feel of your sweet, sweet pussy.” He backs you into a corner, neck craning down as he whispers in your ear. “Think you can help me with that, doctor?”

You blink at him, your throat feels dry and your heart is pounding against your ribcage. “That is very, very unprofessional.” No matter what words come out your mouth, your body is feeling the complete opposite. “I’ll call the guards right now—”

“C’mon, pretty please?” The corner of his lips tweak slightly. “I know you want to. I seen it on your pretty face since the moment I walked in.” He raises his bandaged hand and runs his thumb over your plump bottom lip.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” you sternly say. Oh, but he does. He’s reading you like a book right now and that smug look on his face knows it all.

“Okay,” he chuckles, stepping away from you. “Just know I’ll see you around.” He turns to walk out the infirmary and let the guard know he’s all set, but he suddenly turns back around. His eyes look at the name tag pinned to your shirt. “Such a beautiful name.” He teases. “Bye, doctor.”

part 2

JJK MEN: breaking up with them

cw; angst, angst, angst, more angst, angst

gojo, toji, geto, sukuna

ཐིཋྀ satoru gojo

you were both highschool sweethearts more like jujutsu high sweethearts but undoubtedly lovers for the longest time.

a couple that people would look at and think ‘they’d last forever.’ you believed it too, i mean why would you break up with the best boyfriend in the world?

he was so lovely, an attractive man, your personalities merged like cotton candy creating something beautiful which was your relationship.

he took care of you, loved you, until it wasn’t enough.

when gojo came to discover the full extent of his powers and became the strongest sorcerer in jujutsu you couldn’t have been happier.

he deserved it, he was the best after all!

but in all the commotion it seemed you were left behind somewhere.. you understood of course. you tried your best to be there, planning dates, events, showing up where it mattered even if he couldn’t.

but then it started to bleed into important moments in your life, anniversaries, birthdays, the positive pregnancy test clutched in your hand.

you stayed up all night waiting for him to show, with all his beautiful blue eyed glory and he didn’t.

you awoke in an awkward position on the bed, gojo collapsed next to you blind fold still on. worried, you scrambled up to him checking his face.

he was okay..

you cupped his cheek, a tear rolling down yours, you had to try, one more attempt at this..just one last time.

gojo opened his eyes feeling your touch on his skin, his velvety skin furrowing on his forehead.

“what’s wrong?” he croaked out, voice still raspy from sleep yet surprisingly tender.

you shook your head breathing out a soft nothing, and wiped your tear that had landed on his cheek its pearlescent path glowing in the soft morning light.

you couldn’t wait to tell him! he’d be so happy! you opened your mouth to speak but—

suddenly, gojo rose up quick to his feet, “shit!” he gathered his things half-hazardly, “i had a mission, fuck! it was scheduled for this morning, sorry baby i have to go” he leant down quick to press a kiss on the side of your head.

he was out the door before you could even speak.

huh..

you swallowed. it was over then.

you wore that dress, of course he had to get his hands on you.

content warning : titplay, possessive behavior, jealousy, marking, dom!Geto, soft degradation, spit, minors dni, 18+.

the dress slid on like silk. black, hugging your figure sinfully, the silver chain detail gleaming across your chest like it belonged there.

your eyes met your reflection. subtle but bold makeup, the dark red lipstick painted carefully over your lips like temptation incarnate. you slipped on your heels, adjusting the straps as your door creaked open.

“where you going, princess?” came geto’s smooth, teasing drawl.

you turned to see him leaning in the hallway, dark eyes raking over you with no attempt at subtlety. he gave a low whistle, running a hand through his hair, the beginnings of a smirk forming on his lips.

“all dolled up,” he muttered, eyes dropping to the hem of your dress. “fuck… look at you.”

you opened your mouth to answer but faltered when his gaze darkened and he muttered under his breath, one palm already stroking over the bulge in his sweatpants. “wanna take you right here.”

you swallowed, heart fluttering. “I… I’m going out.”

geto raised an eyebrow, a slow grin spreading across his face. “with who?” his tone sharpened with amusement. “a date?”