mixedhell - Tumblr blog

mixedhell · 2 years ago

Text

saving for later 🥹

ORGANISM/ORGASM suguru geto

SUMMARY: who knew suguru geto, your average tall anti-social nerd around campus knew how to fuck and had a big dick? definitely not you.

CONTENT: f! reader, nerd! geto, pwp, college! au, dumbification, praise, switch!geto, degradation, impact play, pussywhipped geto, size kink, mating press, doggy, overstim, unprotected, whiney geto sort of, breath play, geto eating it from the back, (pet names: pretty girl, princess, baby)

WORD COUNT: 5.6k

NOTE: hi idk i was bored and i love dumbification. also i have nerd!geto brain rot bc of this sooo yeah @omgeto my beta reader thank u </3

“Are you like . . . stupid or something?”

Geto’s voice was a low rasp, he was growing irritated— as he should, you were wasting his time, unable to concentrate because every three seconds your eyes would flicker right near his bulge— it wasn’t your fault, he was wearing nothing but a black wrinkled frat hoodie with matching sweats— long dark locks lazily pulled up into a man bun. He’s eyeing you and it makes you nervous, you feel like he’s staring at you in other places but maybe that’s just your mind playing tricks on you.

“No, I’m not stupid,” you matched his irksome tone, a near defeated pout stretching against your sheeny glossed plump lips— a soft sigh exiting your mouth as your eyes scanned the dumb unanswered physiology packet. “This is stupid.”

“. . . No, it’s actually really easy,” Geto scoffs, his eyes flickering into a mere eye roll. He leans up close to you and grabs your hand in an attempt to guide you as you write— and he’s so close to you. You could smell his intoxicating manly cologne scent, a sweet balmy smell. “You’re just lazy. And you keep staring between my legs, I’m not an idiot, Y/n.”

Your eyes ultimately widened once he pointed it out, and you turned to see Geto staring right at you through his glass specs, raising his dark brows. “If you wanted me to fuck the knowledge into your brain, all you had to do was just use your words and ask, princess.”

“. . Huh?” You stammered, and his lewd comment completely caught you off guard. Geto sits upright, bouncing his right thigh as he leans against his palm— and he’s just staring straight at you, the air was thick, his gaze was practically telling you that you heard him.

“I think I figured out your problem,” he lowly sighs, taking the ballpoint pen— skimming his eye through the unanswered problems, some he already marked wrong— x after x, he swiftly shakes his head with a single click of his tongue before humming. “You don’t want my help, you want me.”

You furrow your eyebrows, watching Geto’s body language change— he stands up to stretch, cracking his knuckles, and he was so tall and broad, hard to think this guy was so antisocial— always in his own world, he could have been a type of athlete if he wanted, no one would have second guessed he’d be a nerd— yet here he was.

“What makes you say that?” You cleared your throat, darting your eyes away from him, his bulge was just out there— it was nearly impossible to not look, he wore matching black sweats, burying his hands into his pockets before he raised his chin a bit to look down at you as you sat in the chair.

“. . . You know,” he shrugs, adjusting his glasses for a moment, and again, his body language was so sexy, he didn’t slouch— yet at the same time he did, his gaze was forever on yours, rubbing his lips together for a moment before rolling his eyes. “I can read girls like you. Girls that only have the dirtiest things on their mind. You don’t wanna pass, you just want to feel good, is that right?”

His tone— it lowered and lowered, it was unintentionally natural but it was so attractive. The tiniest rasp in his voice, the mere bass that hid behind had you squeezing your thighs together underneath your skirt. He was right, who were you kidding. This was Geto’s third time tutoring you, and it would always end up the same— you miserably failing or getting things wrong, perhaps you were doing it on purpose— just to maybe tick him off a little. You always did find him easy on the eyes. Especially whenever he was slightly annoyed.

“Um,” you stammered, not knowing what to say— you felt your heart start to hysterically race, and just of course you felt yourself starting to throb, out of all times you’d get aroused now— just embarrassing, then again you were next to Suguru Geto, so you couldn’t exactly blame anyone but yourself, and of course, between your legs. “Well since we’re going over uh,” and you pause, glancing at the white sheet— dragging a nail down the thin paper, “orgasms— I mean— um, organisms, sorry.”

“Did you . . just say orgasms?” He chuckles lowly.

You couldn’t have felt any more embarrassed. How could you mix those two words up? Idiot idiot idiot.

“N-No, I didn’t,” you babbled, and your eyes meet his, he’s got a mere smug look plastered on his face, your own flusteredness fueling his pure and utter enjoyment, seeing you fumble over your sentences was quite adorable— Geto crossed his arms with a simple head shake motion. “Organisms and the um.. functions of it.”

“Uh huh,” he cocks his head to the right, not believing you for a split second. “Want me to teach you how orgasms in a woman’s body function instead?”

You blankly stared at him, shocked— not knowing how much of a dirty mouth he really had, you had to blink a few times, questioning if that’s what he really said, and he definitely said it, giving you a teasing eyebrow raise.

“. . . Yeah,” You nodded, in a frail weak voice— you didn’t apprehend how needy you sounded, Geto’s teasing only continued to make you throb more and more, clenching your thighs together, feeling the sheer fabric of your clothed skirt between your legs, you were so turned on— maybe you were just a dirty girl, screw physiology, you wanted to screw the nerd that was literally right next to you.

You couldn’t lie, throughout certain sessions, you sort of fantasized about Geto fucking you on his desk, lifting up your skirt and spanking you, imagining how mean he’d be— envisioning the nastiest things coming out of his mouth, so many dirty thoughts filled up your brain— it’s got you currently licking your lips, just thinking of it again before Geto lets off a sigh.

“Sure, you always did say you were a visual learner after all. Now lay flat on my desk and face forward.”

And yet— you found yourself bent over Geto’s desk like some college slut, your back in an almost perfect positioned arch, Geto’s lazy, he doesn’t care— he’s got your skirt just pulled up to the very waistline of your hips, you’re practically being shoved into the papers, your mouth slightly opens, lips parting and sweet melodic moans and whimpers leave out as he’s just slurping everything out of you—

Geto’s tongue . . . it was nothing you’ve ever come across before, so filthy, a rough big hand of his grips the right part of your ass, the very pad of his thumb caresses the sweet plushy skin before he spanks you and you whimper.

“Work on the problems while I eat you out,” he mutters in a gruff tone— you shiver marginally, feeling the tip of his tongue swirl against your folds, he had a rhythm— and it felt so good, you tried to reach for your pen but paused once you heard him starting to suck and suck deeply against your puffy clit. “Don’t listen and I’ll stop eating you out, simple.”

“S—Suguruuu,” you cried out, smothering your glossed up lips together, he‘s teasing you in a way, slowly grazing his tongue between your pussy, again and again— yet has it laying flat, you moaned, nearly losing composure from how sloppy he was— he was face deep, you felt the coldness of his glasses brush against your ass before he takes them off, gripping them with one hand— spanking you again with another.

“I didn’t tell you to say my name, dumb girl. I told you to work on the problems,” he grunts, and he’s got such imaginable skill— it’s got you dragging the top of your teeth softly against your bottom lip, he’s eliciting sweet whimper after whimper out of your throat— it’s purely euphoric, not even ten minutes passed and you felt that familiar sensation brewing up inside of you. “You’re dumb but you’re not that dumb, keep up princess.”

You’re just moaning your head off— Geto’s got your pussy laid on his mouth, you’re keeping the arch for him and you moan once more, feeling his warm breath fan against your cunt, his tongue’s creating such shapes against you— a plethora of shapes being made, maneuvering anywhere and everywhere and you’re just so numb. No match for his tongue at all. Supremely without a doubt.

“O—Okay,” you mumbled out in short tiny pants, dragging your right wrist towards you— making your eyes fixate towards the paper, scanning your words over the dumb problems— staring at the dump charts, the dumb anatomy— the functions of orgasms— organisms, and Geto’s just going crazy with his tongue, he’s got your legs shaking, trembling in utter want and need, such pleasure escaping your body, you’re practically being rocked against the wooden old desk. “F-Fuck I can’t concentrate, Suguru.”

“That’s kinda funny, heheh, when could you ever concentrate, hm, pretty girl?” He replies, and his voice is so sly— dripping with such desire and playfulness, it’s enough to get you wet. Soaking and dripping as if your poor pussy was having some sort of pathetic competition with a leaking faucet.

His words, so mean and tantalizing yet they kept reaching straight to your cunt, each and every time, the way he’d dumb you down with not only his words but his tongue— not to mention how every few second he’d kiss the very part of your ass with the palm of his hand, the sting making you whine, it feels so good— you’re trying to maintain focus but you just can’t, he’s making it so hard—

The noises Geto made were just filthy, squelch after squelch. Your pussy was so vocal, he knew how to use his tongue— how to coax such harmonic noises out of a woman, out of you— you always figured Geto was just inexperienced. He’s always somewhere isolating himself— nose buried in a book, his studies the only necessity and priority of his time.

“Tell me the answer to problem b.” he grumbles— grabbing a full of both parts of your ass, spreading it just a tad bit, he swirled his tongue in a circular motion and you moan loudly— it rings throughout the thin walls of his dorm, feeling him playfully nibble against your pussy.

“I—I’m gonna fucking cu—”

“No, brat,” Geto spats, presenting you with yet another mean spank. You bit your lip— your back extending its arch against his desk, and you’re so close— your orgasm was practically dancing off the very top of your tongue. He then pitched his tone. “I—I’m gonna fucking cum isn’t anywhere displayed on the bubbled answers, silly girl.”

Smart ass— that’s all Suguru Geto was. Such a know-it-all on campus, infuriating— but if it was one thing he knew how to do, it was eating pussy.

“Um . . U—Um,” you pant, and he’s basically making out with your folds, his tongue twirls and twirls, he’s so into it— his long black lashes fluttered, closed practically as he’s just devouring your sweetness— pussydrunk nerd, your entire slick covering the very bottom of his chiseled chin. He has to spank your ass to snap you back into reality— and you whine, mouth opening and you’re feeling yourself grow more and more aroused, tongue salivating with your own saliva. “Is it option ‘A’? Where it talks about um— biological— energy f-fuck.. transformation?”

“Ooh. Good girl,” he huffs out, his voice grows lower and lower— the way it pitches, going down an octave, makes you more soaked throughout each second— your pupils just roam across the thin long strip of paper— you’re just so stupid, growing completely feral from how good he was sucking against the pearly sweet nub that was shoved between your clit— so good, he’s carrying you closer and closer towards that point, your mouth starts to feel a bit dry before Geto teasingly hums against your pussy— and you whimper from the unexpected abrupt vibrations he made. “Enough about bio though, gotta show you the astounding science behind a woman’s orgasm.”

Geto’s just talking and talking— you can’t exactly comprehend a thing he’s saying, he doesn’t hesitate to spit on your pussy a few times, bring a thumb up towards your clit— rub it, and repeat— he had such a way with his tongue, including his fingers which came as such a shocker to you nonetheless. Tongue deep, he’d probably die like this happily and he wouldn’t be ashamed at all.

You’re just hanging by a thread— both hands, trembling with want, you’re so whiney— yet you can’t exactly help it, it’s his tongue— his tongue’s to blame, the way it just collides against your folds, it’s so lewd— he doesn’t care how filthy he is either, he’s playing with your sensitive jittery bundle of nerves purposely.

“Mhm— first we gotta acknowledge the pleasure you’re feeling,” he purrs— his tone was purely seductive now, Geto swipes a lick— a singular stripe up your pussy, presenting your entire body with goosebumps, biting down again on your lip and he continues to speak, “. . . those pretty nasty rhythmic contractions that’s about to build up— reaching your very peak before you let go for me.”

His tone was softening— yet you could hear the playfulness coat on his voice, you’re practically soaked by now— he’s such a tease, a flirt— your head’s just spinning, mind racing miles after miles.

“Relax on my tongue,” he rasps— his voice grows soothing now, bringing rough hands to tilt your hips forward, closer towards his mouth— you were the cutest thing, having your black skirt in such a non-caring and lazy way. “There there, focus on your breathing just like that— keep those hips raised just like that for me, yeahhh.”

You swallowed— a tiny subtle whine leaving your lips, and just as he’s coaxing you with his sugary wordings— you’re feeling that rise of pleasure builds up like blocks— it’s just so much to bare, your poor legs can’t help but shake and jerk and jolt— twitching, the feeling on Geto’s sloppy tongue dipping in and out of your folds— coating your pussy with such glacé flavored kisses, he’s addicted, for sure pussy drunk— and once you came, you’re an entire dumbfounded mess.

“F-Fuck— Fuckkk—” You gasped, he’s easily yanking out that needy whine out the very back of your throat, your clit’s just throbbing— you feel it pulsating between your legs as you’re making a mess on his face with your sweetened slick. Geto grunts a little— some free-exposed strands of his hair tickling the very skin of your ass.

His lips were just attached— glued onto your slippery folds like velcro, your lips part, legs trembling and he’s slurping you clean— again and again, easily spreading your achy labia with his tongue, making sure to be messy— be filthy.

“Good girl. Hopefully— that helps you tell the difference between an organism and an orgasm, !heheh.” he pants with a sly chortle— finally breaking his lips away, as he departs, he watches the strings of his own spit leave from his lips— and he finds it so lewd, it takes everything in him to not just go back to eating you out with you bent over his desk again. “Now keep the arch for me, dummy.”

“How am I gonna— be able to finish my work if you’re gonna be f-fucking me?” You pant, breath heavy— you’re even out of breath actually, his tongue taking quite literally everything out of you.

Geto lets off a grunt— and you moan, feeling him grab your hips, he presses up directly behind you, taking a few long seconds to rub himself against you— you bit your lip, feeling the dick print hiding behind his sweats— making your ass roll and jerk in a specific slow rotation that makes you dizzy. “You can multitask, pretty girl, don’t worry.”

And as he says that, you whimper— feeling Geto just move your exposed ass against his sweats, swiping a tongue across his lips, a soft groan exits his pink lips, and you could feel his rock-hard boner, he was so pent up— all because of you, eating you out did such things to him, Geto needed more, he ultimately craved it.

“Think if I fuck you hard enough, the knowledge will transmit into your brain, princess?” He mutters, and you grow quiet once you feel him shift a bit in his pants, and he‘s springing out his length— you couldn't see but you just assumed he was as big as he appeared. The entire inside of the dorm room was fair room temperature, warm yet cool— although Geto’s touch made you feel so hot, scorching with such heat, and not just talking about between your legs. “Figured that’ll help you out a bit considering you’re not thinking about the subject at all, just probably thinking about what I feel like inside of you, mhm.”

“S-Stop talking and j—just fuck me, Sugur—”

“Watch that mouth of yours,” He purrs, his tone is unmistakably smooth, deep, and downright sexy. As he says that, he gives your ass another spank, grunting quietly from the recoil that moved against your left cheek— the sting was just delicious, simply appetizing if you will. “I expect that paper to be finished by the time I make you cum again. Think you can do that for me, pretty?”

You bit back a moan, hard— feeling Geto make sure your legs were spread, thwacking the leaking glossed cockhead of his length playfully against your folds, he’s such a tease it makes your brain swell up— you’re growing hot everywhere.

“Y-Yes, Suguru.” You finally replied, your voice was trembling on its own— you’re so whiny as you fixate your attention once more towards the paper full of unanswered or incorrectly marked physiology questions.

“Good girl, now pick up the pen—” he hitched, and you moan, feeling him just toy with your slick opening, it drags out a soft mewl from you, Geto’s so big— and you were only judging from his tip, your mouth started to water by only just imagining him fully inside. “And focus, you’re a smart girl— not a dumb one.”

Your hips jerked just a bit as you hovered over the wooden desk— facing forward, both arms rested on the creaking sleek surface, your tongue fondles alongside your cheek, staring at the multitude of problems being displayed.

Cells, mechanisms, characteristics.

So many words— words you could practically care less about, the minute you pick up your pen, filling in the tiny spaced bubble of some answer you came up with— you whimpered, feeling Geto slide himself inside slowly, he fit nice and snug— a sexy low groan leaves his lips, and he’s trying to get adjusted, so are you, his size— he was just so big. Stretching your pussy throughout each second, your walls ultimately expanding, you grip around him and it’s got your head spinning, mind racing, hips twitching.

“Mhmmm— think your pussy was made for me,” he huffs out, his voice had such a raspy, slick baritone to it— it had you soaked, drenched. Who knew this nerd who always kept to himself— lurked and lived around campus, the library his second home basically, had such a big dick?

The way your back arched over his desk— turned him on a lot more than it should have, seeing your cute and proper posture, awaiting to be fucked senseless— he couldn’t get enough of it.

Geto used the tips of his fingers to play against the very edges and ridges of your skirt, giving your ass a spank— a sign for you to keep writing and you moaned. “Focus, girl.”

“S-Sorry,” you whined, reading the problems with glossed eyes, once Geto starts up a mean rhythmic pace— you were for sure being fucked against the desk, he started slow, yet had deep strokes with even deeper thrusts.

He found it cute, you were struggling to maintain the arch you had— the way your ass wriggled within his grip as he‘s practically balls deep now, his base taps against yours and you moan, Geto grunts— black thin eyebrows tugging together before he swallows. “F-Fuckkk, sloppy pussy can’t help but grip onto me.”

“S—Suguruuuu,” You whined, and you grew more louder once his tip kissed up against your clit— going past your folds, his girth stretched out so good to where it didn’t take long to reach every single crevice of your cunt. “F-Fuck me harder—”

“Dumb girl, you’re not supposed to be paying attention to me fucking you,” he pants, watching your hips jerk and hit against him— your eyes start to roll within seconds, the desk just creaks and creaks— your legs shook with such intensity, as if you were just walking on eggshells. Geto’s words always found itself towards your cunt, as pathetic as it sounds, his voice— his deep, alluring voice was so smooth, you can’t help but get off from it. “At this rate, you’re not gonna get anything done.”

You’re just fumbling over your words at this point, rying to speak but inarticulate forms of babbles and whines left instead of coherent sentences, his cock was just making you ache and yearn for more. “M-Maybe if you just fuck me good and hard enough I’ll start to u—um, comprehend, Suguru.”

“Is this all you ever really think about?” He chuckles, tilting your hips upwards just a bit— you’re not focusing on the sheet anymore, you’re literally just being completely stupefied by Geto’s length— being fucked vigorously into his desk— the sheer sounds of mean skin slapping reverberates across the entire dorm room—

You’re so loud, you end up forgetting there’s literally other peers of yours sleeping right behind the walls you were in— they probably heard everything. “You’re gonna fail this semester, princess. Last time I checked, dick isn’t gonna be on the exam next week.”

“Can’t help it when you f-fuck me this good—” You stammered, gripping onto the desk— he’s hitting you in all the right spots, your vision merely turns into white to where you’re just seeing star after star— galaxies even, again it could have even been considered euphoric. Geto’s dick was simply out of this world.

You might have gotten a bit addicted though— you’re completely lost, in a trance, you wished he’d fuck you those many sessions ago— you didn’t have to be studying boring useless physiology, you could have been getting your insides stirred instead.

“Still can’t believe you showed up to my dorm with no panties underneath,” Geto murmurs, caressing a thumb against the soft padded skin of your ass, your pretty skirt was ruffled— moving against your slightly pulled up university hoodie and you’re just a whiney stuttering mess—

Each stroke he presents your cunt gets you dumber and dumber. “Maybe you had this entire thing planned. Act stupid so you could get fucked stupid. Tell me I’m wrong, princess.”

“M-Maybe,” you moaned— and he was drilling his hips into you, such speed it has your mouth opening, going agape just a bit with meaningless babbles escaping. A tiny mewl leaves your lips before you reach down to play with yourself before Geto smacks your hand lightly and you let off a soft noise.

“Don’t touch my pussy, girl.”

You gasped, feeling Geto dip his hips just a bit— and that’s when you feel his cock mash against your g-spot and a whine rips from your throat, you felt it— you were sensitive, it’s so orgasmic your tongue is just salivating— he knew where to hit, so good your toes start to curl, and you’re getting close again.

“Read me the problem again,” he huffs out, he still has his glasses in one hand, tossing it on the wooden desk, his hair long— flawless, tangled just a bit, dancing against his broad shoulders. “Proper sentences too, if you stutter once, I’m not gonna let you cum on me, pretty girl.”

“Sugu—” And you paused to breathe through your nose, he scratches such a good itch in your brain, you have to stop and think for a moment— wondering why he’s never fucked you before, you were hooked, the curve of his dick stretched you out so good, you’re just a mess— a messy girl, eyes practically half-lidded by now, not a single thought in the world but just Suguru Geto fucking you dumb dumb dumb.

“Okay— okayyy,” you moaned, your voice trembling on its own— you were so close, that same warm rise brewing up inside of you, being careful with your choice of your words— he was so mean, stutter once or you couldn’t cum? Just imagining that formed a cute pout on your lips as you averted your eyes towards the white thin sheet of paper. “It says— it says to identify the um . . the—”

“Looks like someone’s stuttering, that’s too bad,” he lowly chuckles, and you’re whimpering— your right leg starts to bounce, preparing for its incoming release and you whine.

You pant, staring at the paper. “Wait wait, okay, it says that I have to identify . . identify the biomolecules and— analyze the um . . nerves and pheromones.”

“Good girl, that wasn’t so hard.” He grunts— and Geto’s getting close himself— his hefty base is smacking and smacking against you, and you’re so dizzy— every few seconds he gives you a spank that makes you whine, you’re so embarrassed, bent over his desk— scattered papers everywhere, your handwriting was a bit sloppy— considering you were trying to write while getting ruthlessly fucked from behind. “Mhm— fuck, I’m gonna cum too.”

“. . . Insideee Suguru,” you spat, your pussy was just so greedy— clamping and gripping down on him, it was filthy and so selfish by how you just held him hostage— as if your cunt had a complete mind of its own, your mind is just filled was complete and utter fog, the sounds that leave your mouth is so undeniably lewd— he’s dragging out whimper after whimper from your pretty throat as if it’s nothing, and it’s music to his ears, a song he’d never want to stop listening to if he was being honest. “P-Please.”

“You think you deserve it after wasting my time?” He fake pouts, just grinding his hips against your core, it was salacious— the rotation was circular, in sync yet at the same time it wasn’t— you could hardly keep up with Geto, he was just so big— you couldn’t fathom how he’d walk around with a size this big— let alone why he wasn’t fucking you like this the entire time he’s spent helping you study. You were hardly listening to him, all you knew was that you were close, extremely close, you felt yourself starting to get warm— his hips just buckled against yours before he hit against your g-spot again, with such careless ease.

You pathetically nodded and he spanked your ass. “Not a complete answer, baby.”

You bit your lip— and for some reason once he called you baby, you felt yourself get butterflies— butterflies between your legs.

“Pleasepleaseplease Suguru—” is all you kept saying, all you knew how to say— all your brain could comprehend and formulate. Geto’s hips were just ferociously smacking against yours, and before you know it—

An hour passes, and another— by this point, his cock has you completely stupefied. You only got through three problems, just barely, circling any bubble on the sheet as he’s just plowing you— constantly, each position has you whipped for more, he’s nice enough to let you cum though— even if he makes your orgasms a bit delayed just to get on your nerves.

“Fuckkkk . . . I’m so full,” he groans, and this time, Geto moves you towards his bed, mating press— he’s hovering on top of your pussy, such a mess was pouring out of you, watching his own seed just drip and ooze out, he’s panting heavily now— gripping down on your thighs as his weight presses down against you a bit—

Each time he jerks, he watches the strings of his own cum depart, it’s so messy— and Geto’s loads were always so much, he had a lot to give— and when you asked for him to fill you up in that sweet needy tone, he just couldn’t resist. “Overflowing this nasty cunt,” he huffs, and you whimper— feeling him drag a rough hand between your legs to give it a spank. “But— I’m getting dazed, your pussy’s fucking dangerous, girl.”

You pout, feeling him pull out slowly— you writhe from his actions, and Geto’s breathing was unintentionally sexy as well— everything he did was attractive— his eyes were becoming low now, pink lips parting, tiny dimples pressing against near the corners of his mouth before he plops back against the bed— manspread.

Catching your breath yourself, you made your way towards him— growing an idea inside before you spoke in a soft voice, somewhat shy to ask.

“Can I ride you at least? One more time? I think it’ll um . . help me understand the female body more.”

“You’re so annoying,” he rolls his eyes, and you watch him rub a rough hand against his legs in a motion— telling you to come here, he‘s very much well trimmed but just a few black specks of hair were located near his base. “But fine, go ahead. Knock yourself out I suppose.”

You get on top of Geto— and the eye contact was so sensual, he’s staring at you, giving you his uninvited attention— his eyes trail near your body before he brings a rough hand to attach to your waist, watching you start to sink down on him before he lets off an unexpected moan.

“O—Oh shit.” He whines.

He didn’t expect for you to grip down on him so well— the squelch that happens is so loud, it rings throughout his ears and for a moment, Geto has to blink twice— keeping his gaze on you the entire time. Your hips sputter and within seconds, he’s fully in— you don’t hesitate to start moving and Geto’s jaw tightens. He’s sensitive— he just came minutes ago, and here you were making him even more sensitive, his head goes back and his body language changes.

It was sexy. You were moaning for him, and yet here he is now— moaning for you.

Geto’s got such an aroma that’s loud, he smells good, he was always specific on what cologne brands he’d wear, such sweetness to it, it always drove you crazy, to complete insanity.

“Should I s-stop riding you?” You spoke, trying not to giggle— he was so pretty at this moment, suppressing his vocal moans, seeing tiny veins show near his neck— his eyes flicker for a moment before he spanks your ass twice.

“N-No— don’t fucking stop riding me,” he replies instantly, and his tone— it changed, a mere tremor to it— and you’re making him feel so good, using him to get off for your own pleasure, his cock was thick, just stretching inside your walls as if came easy to him.

You stare at Geto— and he’s glancing back at you, he’s panting— his hoodie was still on, but slightly pulled up, you could just about make out his brick hard abs, a few scratch marks coated there from you— his v-line was perfectly chiseled, as if he was some sort of geek god. “F-Fuckkk. Like that, ride it— like you own it, p-princess.”

He’s the one stammering now— and it’s cute, he grows flustered once you jolt against him, against his warm body with your hips— your cunt‘s taking him in, back slightly arched and you’re whining yourself— feeling him just reach way past that sweetens spot of yours that always knew where to draw you straight blanks.

Geto grabs a handful of your ass, and the way his head leans back against the old headrest, his messy tangled hair flows down his back, he’s moaning— such nerves inside of him being the death of him, as well as your sloppy spasming hips— just no match for your pussy, no matter how many times he tried to deny it.

“Something f—funny?” He huffs out, trying to focus on his breathing, you’re just bouncing on him— time after time, the pace becomes frenzied, reckless, just straight erratic. His dick had you dumb, definition of stupefied— exactly what you were.

“Noo.” You moaned, feeling him bring two hands, making you clamp down harder against him— he’s getting dizzy from how good you’re riding him, he’s going delirious. Swiping a tongue across his lips, he keeps his gaze on you the entire time before he whimpers out of nowhere— and it catches you off guard, his eyebrows furrowed and that’s when Geto came again— right inside your pussy, a straight shot, a straight single load.

He pauses— heaving entirely, that’s when you lean in to kiss him though— you’re expecting Geto to pull away but he doesn’t. He kisses back, his moans going inside your mouth, a sloppy kiss, his eyebrows still furrowed and curled, sensitive from his nerves— from filling you with another thick load as he’s still deep inside, shivering from feeling him still trickle into you at such lengths.

Geto caresses a hand down your back as you stop your movements, and his whines hesitate and pauses for a moment— letting off a deep “Mhm,” as his tongue drags against yours slowly at such luscious sweet pace.

You pull away finally, before giggling— and he glares at you, catching his breath as he stares at you— reaching for his glasses as you leaned up close to him, sneaking a kiss near the bottom of his chin.

“. . . So, did I pass Suguru?” You teased, a near smug grin forming against your lips.

He was so out of it— perhaps you fucked him dumb because it takes him a few seconds to come up with a reply before lightly shoving you off of him. “No you don‘t f-fucking pass, you get an F. Now get out of m-my room. F—fuck . . me.”

17K notes · View notes

mixedhell · 2 years ago

Text

labour of love; nsfw

pairing; nanami kento x reader summary; something is on your husband's mind — nothing that can't be solved with a morning in bed, you're sure. wc; 4.6k cw; smut, largely vanilla, nanami kento is a loving husband etc

You’ve long since grown used to the press of knees against the mattress rousing you from your sleep. The gentle dip of the bed, the steady — if not stilted — breathing, the sudden waft of his cologne as he tries to settle himself beside you without waking you. It doesn’t work most nights, but Kento still tries.

He smells like the cleanliness of shower gel and the spicy goodness of his favourite fragrance, all nutmeg and saffron and warmth. It’s enough to have you rolling over to face him, half-lidded and half-asleep, hooking your leg over his waist and burying your nose into his neck. There’s a rough puff of air as he realises he’s failed to be stealthy — not for the first time, either. But he pulls you closer anyways, hands smoothing up your back as if to memorise the curve of your spine, or to cajole you back to dreamland.

If there was a way to become one with him you would’ve figured it out by now. Some days, in this bed, it feels like you’re close enough to discovery. Perhaps if you press every possible inch of yourself against him, share the same air, let your minds float away to the same place, it'll happen. Alas, you wake as two separate people, forced to peel yourselves apart when the sun rises and he's off to work. It’s always accompanied by disappointment, but for now you revel in the feeling of his firmness beneath you, and the beat of his pulse in your ears.

“Sorry for waking you up.”

He always says it, and you never mind, but you reply anyway. “It’s okay. I like seeing you.”

Kento’s arms tighten around you, and he says nothing back. The shaky breath muffled against your hair is enough to tell you how his day went, but you won’t ask him about it. Not yet, not when it’s still fresh in his mind. It’s enough of a blessing that he was able to return home at all tonight, instead of sleeping at his desk with only his jacket to fend off the cold. Still, even a good night’s sleep won’t solve everything. You can deal with it tomorrow.

“Did you eat?” You mumble, trying to ignore the seductive hands of sleep pulling at your brain. “I left… hamburger steak. In the fridge.”

“Mm.” His lips brush your hair, and you feel yourself slipping away, further and further into dreamland. “Don’t worry, darling. Just sleep.”

“O…kay… Sweet dreams… Kento…”

You always sleep best when you’re with Kento. You know this because, without fail, you end up drooling all over him like a dog. It's something that never happens when you’re bundled up alone, but it’s as if every muscle in your body relaxes something fierce when you’re with him. It’s embarrassing, and gross, but somehow he never minds. Just chuckles and watches you fuss over wiping it all away, teasing you about how deep you must’ve been sleeping. This morning is no different.

You’d woken with the sun. The curtains you’d forgotten to close shed honeyed sunlight across every fold of your blankets, every inch of skin, every tiny piece of dust floating in the still of the air. Hair tousled and mouth dry, you were so warm it almost made you fall right back asleep. Any part of you not covered in a blanket was wrapped, in some way, in Kento’s arms. The perfect morning. No longing looks as he rose to go to work; no cold side of the bed if he’d stayed in the office. Just perfection and warmth and… a drool stain on his arm.

Whether your cheeks are now warmed by the sun or a persisting feeling of embarrassment, you cannot say, but his hands are even warmer where they cup your face. You attempt to ignore him, scrubbing at his skin. “I need to tape my mouth shut.”

His thumb begins to smooth back and forth. If you were a cat you’d be purring. “Dramatic.”

A glare that’s far too soft. You push away the corner of the duvet you’d haphazardly chosen as your rag, cursing yourself for your weakness as you abandon your task and instead lean into him. “Oh, and I suppose you enjoy waking up every morning with a sticky bicep, Kento?”

“Mm.” The way he urges you towards him is not lost on you; it’s not until your noses brush and your lips part that he says: “I love it.”

“You’re gross.” Your smile betrays you, but you can’t help yourself. You let your graze trail over the handsome planes of his face; from his strong, pointed nose to his chiselled cheekbones, his thin, expressive eyes and tousled morning hair.

“Mhm. And you married me regardless.”

"Hm. I guess I did."

It's like two giggling children sharing the silliest inside joke. Your laughter is soft and breathless, still muddled with sleep, and it's natural the way that you fall into each other so easily. Your head falls back against his chest, the sound of his heartbeat in your ear; your legs intertwine, and your arms hook under his. Close enough to the point where you don’t know where one of you ends and the other starts. If only every day could start like this one, but you're the sort of person who cherishes rarity. And oh, how rare it is to wake up with him — speaking of which…

"You don't have work today?" You ask, trying (and failing) to keep the hope out of your voice.

"No." There's a little pause, before: "I finished up my latest project, so I took the day off."

You haven't forgotten the pledge you made to yourself yesterday: the promise to ease whatever may ail him, or at least to get to the bottom of it. “Woah. You passed up a chance to make money?”

“I suppose I did.”

"Hm, I don’t mind. I like having you to myself." Breakfast, that goes without saying. Maybe he'd prefer to go out for it, or maybe you could cuddle until brunch. Maybe he'd like to take the rare opportunity to stay in all day — and if you're in all day, you may as well do a little more than cuddle...

“You’ll have to share me with the laundry.”

“Mm.” As if drawn there, bolstered by the knowledge that you essentially have all the time in the world, your lips meet the side of his neck. You feel him swallow as you do, but Kento’s nothing if not poised; even as you dare to scrape your teeth along his skin, there’s no other reaction that’s quite so visceral. “I’m a jealous woman, you know.”

“I know.”

Those hands that had cupped your face start to trail down your back — warm and slightly calloused, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Brushing over the elasticated waistband of your panties, lingering just enough to be suggestive, but no more. You pretend that even the slightest whisper of his touch doesn’t make your stomach twist pleasantly, but you suppose you’re long past coyness, considering you are husband and wife. “And you married me, so you know I can’t share you.”

“Even with the laundry?”

“Oh, especially with the laundry.” You finally lift yourself from nipping at his pulse point, flushed and arching into his hands, and stare at him straight on. His gaze is half-lidded, but his eyes — oh, his eyes. So clear and sharp and fixed on you like he wants to print your image onto his eyelids. And his body is so firm beneath you, broad and muscular (you’ve never questioned how a salaryman who has no time to go to the gym is so incredibly fit, but you aren’t about to start now) — even on top of him you feel almost dwarfed. “But, speaking of laundry — we should probably get our money’s worth from the washing machine, then, shouldn’t we?”

An eyebrow quirks. “Oh?”

“Mhm. If we’re gonna wash the sheets, they may as well be as dirty as they can possibly be. Filthy, even.” No use in playing innocent. It’ll be killing two birds with one stone — multiple birds with one stone, even. You can treat your hardworking Kento to an orgasm or two, comfort him after what was no doubt a long, hard day — all the while you enjoy yourself in his arms, and save time and money with the laundry. Perfect.

You’re practically kneading his biceps at this point. The manicure he pays for bi-weekly digs in just slightly, leaving half-moon dents in his otherwise perfect skin. You don't worry about it too much; if there’s one thing you know about Kento it’s that he treasures those little marks above all else.

“How do you propose we do that?” He says, face purposefully blank.

Groaning, you give his arm a light slap. “C’mon, don’t make me say it, Ken.”

“I was joking, darling.” With a smile that sends your tummy flipping, he threads one hand in your hair, large palm flat against your skull, and urges you closer to him. The other settles itself against your jaw, keeping your head firmly in his hands, and it’s with very little shame that you melt into him. It’s hard not to — and besides, why starve yourself of something you’ve waited so long for? “I’m not that cruel.”

A liar he is not; with little fanfare, his lips meet yours, and it’s like every time before and every time after. His lips are smooth, his nose slanted to press against yours, and every movement is deep. His tongue licks into your mouth, lips moving against yours in such a way that you can’t help but moan. It's interesting to experience first-hand how much your relationship with Kento has changed over the years. When you first met him, he baulked at even the mere idea of tongue — this Kento, though, is some measure of depraved, and takes great pleasure in the way you squirm underneath him when his tongue runs over yours.

It’s the type of kiss that, inevitably, makes you want more. You’ve long since parted your legs to hug either side of his hips, and you whine at the press of his growing bulge against your panty-covered clit. It’s that dull sort of pleasure — not enough, never enough, and you’ll curl and arch and flex yourself until it feels like it might be, grinding down on the shape of him. At some point his hands move from your head to your waist — or are they at your back, your ass, your hips? You’re not keeping track. You only know that they sear the skin that they touch and set your nerves aflame, and that’s all that matters.

You’ve just broken apart to catch your breath, prepared to peel off your panties and have your way with him — but in the blink of an eye you’re weightless, and the world twists and warps and you’re under him, suddenly, with the wind knocked out of you. “Kento!”

“Sorry, love.” He doesn’t sound sorry at all. In fact, the words are barely out of his mouth before he descends on you again, this time laying the entirety of his body against you. It’s all you can do to desperately follow the movement of his lips, the rocking his hips — and you’re clutching at his arms all the while, mind dizzied and chest heaving. You’re liable to let him have his way with you just like this, with your legs around his waist and your ankles pressing against his ass, but—

“Wait, I—” Panting, your grip on his biceps tightens, and you frown up at him— “I wanted to be on top, y’know. I wanted to give you a break.”

His laugh is gentle, breathy. In the haze of the morning every sharp edge of him is cotton-soft, his hair this honey sort of blonde wherever the light hits it — mind twisting juxtaposition to the red-hot pleasure broiling in the pit of your tummy. “It’s a husband's duty to worship his wife, is it not?”

“I—” His head dips to the crook of your neck, lips ghosting over your skin in such a way that you shiver in his grasp. It’s sweet and indulgent and him, all him; his weight atop you, his hands on you, his scent around you. “I… Oh, You’re playing dirty, Kento.”

His answer is a hum that reverberates all throughout you. “Am I?”

You’re not expected to answer, and you doubt you have enough control over your muscles to do so, because just as you open your mouth, his fingers slip underneath your panties and slip over the hot, slick skin of your pussy. He’s always purposeful with you, and this time is no different — he does not fumble and flounder, unsure of where to put his hands. He has learned you well enough to know what brings you pleasure, and oh, does he want to bring you pleasure. He makes a glutton of you; gives you far too much, buys into your every whim. He can’t help himself.

You’re wet enough that he can slip a finger in with little difficulty — embarrassingly little difficulty, and you squeak as he slides it all in at one go. His fingers are thick, that goes without saying, but what makes Kento especially dangerous is his skill. He’s too attentive — watches everything, notes every shiver, the pitch of your voice when you whimper his name. He knows just what he needs to do to make you lose your mind — at that, as if he’s read your mind, another finger joins the first, jutting upwards to grind against that spongy spot that makes your legs jerk.

“O—oh,” you breathe, “That’s — okay, that’s good.”

“Is it?” Kento sounds far too amused for your liking, but you’re hardly in a position to scold him, not with your legs spread and your hips rolling up into his hand. “You're like wet velvet.”

“Don’t say things like that!” You whine, slapping a hand over your face. Your cheeks are red-hot, and it only adds to the overwhelming overstimulation — the sheets and Kento against your skin, the coolness of the pillows beneath your neck, the sounds that leave nothing to the imagination.

Sometimes you can’t believe your luck. Almost every partner before him was his complete and utter opposite, caring little for your pleasure and simply using you as a means to an end, but — with Kento, it’s so different. He centres you in everything. Sometimes it’s overwhelming, especially when he wants only for you to lay there and do nothing. It’s hard not to feel a bit lazy, like you have to offer something in return — he says you’ve already given him everything he wants, and it’s enough to make you scream. You suppose you have little to complain about, though, considering you’re regularly being fucked through the mattress.

When you gain enough lucidity to unscrew your eyes, he’s already watching you — like you knew he would be. Somewhere along the way Kento had migrated from on top of you to beside you; he propped himself above you on one elbow, cradling your head. If you were to only glance at him, you’d think him wholly unaffected by your whining, squirming self — but you allow yourself a stare, and are pleased to find the tips of his ears pink and flushed.

“I wanted to take my time,” says Kento, as if reading your mind. “But I’m too impatient when it comes to you.”

“I don’t mind,” you say — breathe — adding: “We have the whole day. You can fuck me slow later.”

It’s as if he was waiting for you to say it. Almost as soon as the words leave your mouth he’s pushing himself up, gently slipping his fingers out of you. You mourn their loss, but you know you won’t be untended for long. Sure enough, he pulls off the sweatpants and briefs that hang low at his hips, and settles himself between your legs once more. His cock is hot and heavy against you, pressed right between your lips, and you shiver as it’s nudged right against your swollen clit — but nothing more. Not yet.

Kento has endless patience — or so it may seem. His impatience, though rare, manifests itself only in his accidental roughness — as if he doesn't know his own strength. Your legs parted with strong hands, your body tugged further down the bed before you can even register the movement... Still, despite such impatience, he takes the time to rest the tips of his fingers against the shiny plushness of your bottom lip. He watches with sharpened eyes as your mouth opens and accepts them in, your tongue all too eager to lave over them, licking over the tanginess of your own juices. His voice is laboured — almost hoarse — when he breathes: “You’re vulgar.”

With a pop, his fingers are removed, glossy and wet and slimy. He wipes them on the blanket as you huff: “You put them there.”

His large hands grasp the back of your knees and push your legs up, until they hook high up on his waist and around him. “Because I knew you were vulgar enough to take them in your mouth.”

“Touché. But—”

Kento’s lips silence any half-baked argument that was about to leave you — this kiss is gentle, almost innocent. Somehow it’s enough to make your cheeks heat up more than any other racy gesture he’s shown you thus far. It’s made even worse when he reaches across your chest to intertwine your fingers — both hands housing a wedding ring.

(And it’s not surprising how romantic he is. Perhaps when you first started dating you were convinced that his blunt mannerisms and professionalism would extend to every facet of his life — and in many ways, it does. He’s the perfect gentleman in public, hands never straying too low, words rarely crossing the boundaries of polite-speak. But here, in your marriage bed, with more than a measly three hours of sleep and the sun casting shadows across your bodies, Kento is softened. Whatever exists outside your room that scares him so much no longer has any place in his mind.)

“I’m going to make love to you now,” he says. It’s just above a whisper, heated and heady against your lips. The gravel in his voice that had attracted you from the moment he’d opened his mouth is enough to make your knees turn to jelly — lucky, then, that they’re kept compacted by the barrel of his torso. “Is that okay?”

Your brain short circuits. Any smart comment or cheeky quip you could respond with is lost, and you’re left staring up at him, wide-eyed and willing. “Yes, please.”

His lips twitch upwards, the ghost of a smile, but he doesn’t attempt to tease — simply connects your lips again, and guides himself to your entrance with that free hand of his. The blunt head of his cock is silky smooth and slippery with your arousal, and barely catches on you before it presses in — the stretch dull and only slightly uncomfortable, but entirely familiar. It’s like stepping into a warm shower after a cold day — not just sexual, not just to scratch an itch or a means to an end — it’s this. Feeling the heat of him inside you; the way his breath catches in his throat as you squeeze around him. Knowing that you’re the only person in the world who has the privilege of having him like this.

It’s with a breathless sigh that he bottoms out inside you, hips flush against yours. On either side of your head, his arms bulge with the weight of his own body, muscles hardened and tensed — and as his hips begin to move, that neatly trimmed patch of hair around his cock grinding against his clit, you can’t help but reach out, anchoring yourself to them. There’s little else you can do except lay there and take it, shuddering all the while, mouth agape in wonder.

“Is this — okay?” Kento asks. His voice is strained, and you try to hide the smug smile it elicits in the bulk of his arm — there’s no point. He’s far too focused on staring at where he splits you open, anyways, watching how your lips split around him, crested by the sweet little pearl of your clit. And he calls you vulgar.

“Mhm. You can — you can go faster, if you want.”

A laugh. “If I want, hm?”

“Please, Kento,” you whine, humping up towards him. It’s embarrassing how much he makes you want him. It should be, at least, though you find you’ve gotten a little shameless as of late — shameless enough to press your feet hard against his ass, pulling him in deeper. “Don’t make me wait.”

Never let anyone proclaim he doesn’t treat you right, because at your request, he does just that. His pace quickens, pulling out to the tip and slamming all the way back in — the rhythm straightens out quickly, and that’ll be your downfall. If it isn’t enough that his hips grind down against your clit with every thrust, Kento (predictably) knows how to use his cock. The mushroom shaped head bullies against your g-spot in that dizzying rhythm — back, forth, back, forth, building you up until you’re gasping for air.

You wonder if it’s like this for everyone. You wonder if everyone in the world is lucky enough to find someone who fits them this perfectly, who listens to them this intently, who isn’t afraid to show such unerring devotion. You wonder if you will ever feel safer, more loved, than you do when you’re in his arms — if you will ever feel such deep, persistent pleasure at the hands of another. Then again, what good does wondering do? When you have all you need at your disposal, there’s little need for wondering. When you’re taken care of so thoroughly, there’s little need for anything else. And God, are you being taken care of.

“Oh — fuck, Ken, I’m—” Words escape you. All that matters is that building heat, the involuntary trembles of your walls around him, the electricity zipping from neuron to neuron; his eyes on you, the furrow of his brow, the comforting weight of him pressing you down. It’s all so much. You could lose your mind. You are losing your mind. “I’m—”

You can’t even finish the sentence. All you know is that your toes curl and your back arches and you squeeze his arms a little too hard but you can’t control it, you can’t control anything, not the way you’re squeezing him in a vice grip, not the way you’re dripping down around his cock, wet and sticky and messy—

“That’s it,” Kento urges, voice ragged as he fucks you through it. Through hazy eyes you see him — strands of hair hanging low over his face, his skin dewy with sweat. Ruined. “Good, that’s it. There you go — damn it—”

When he cums, he very nearly collapses on you, breathing heavily and sweat dripping from his brow. He presses himself to the hilt — of course he does, he can’t help himself — panting lowly as he thrusts with every wave of his orgasm. You can feel him against your cervix, that once-strange sensation of being filled.

In the midst of his pleasure, and fortified by his fatigue, his movements begin to slow. It’s that inevitable syrupy slowness that comes after an orgasm, where desperation is eventually traded for an easy languidness. His head bows to place a sloppy, messy kiss on your mouth, one he’d normally eschew, and you accept it with all the eagerness of a woman in love. One, two, three — another one to your cheek, then, and then to your brow.

That frantic, charged energy finally slips away. Kento holds you tightly to him — he always does, when all is said and done — but something about the way he’s hunched over you makes your stomach twist. You don’t know what is — some sixth sense, perhaps, that blooms into a sense of dread in your chest. The supernatural powers of a wife to know when there’s something wrong with her husband, and coupled with his demeanour the previous night...

“Kento,” you whisper, petting your hands over your head. “Is everything alright?”

“Mm.” A beat of silence, before he pushes himself up again, and — with some difficulty — pulls himself out of you. He kisses your forehead and sits himself up, sheets pooled around the hard lines of his abdomen. With worried eyes you watch as he reaches for his glasses, and then the wristwatch he’d left on the bedside table last night (almost 800,000 yen, one of the few things he’s splurged on himself) and deftly begins to clip it on. He's still avoiding your eyes when, at last, he says: “I… I was thinking of changing jobs.”

You shoot up — or sit up, rather, with what little energy you have left. “Hm? Oh, Kento, that’s wonderful!”

“Mm. It is.” But something’s bothering him. He doesn’t sound as elated as he should, considering he despises the job that he currently has. “It’s a smaller agency. An old… friend of mine runs it. The work is hard, but I won’t have to work much overtime, and… well, it’s better work, I suppose.”

You run a comforting hand over his covered thigh. “But?”

Kento exhales, slow and tired. “But I thought I left that work behind a long time ago.”

You shift, humming to yourself thoughtfully. “The work is hard, you say?”

He nods. “But… rewarding.”

“Hm. Well, I don’t know too much about finance, but I think that as long as it gives you purpose, it’s good, right?”

His head falls back against the headboard, and tired eyes trail over you. “It’s so simple for you.”

“Well, one of us has to simplify stuff, and I doubt it’ll be you. Look — you hate your job now, don’t you?”

“...Mm.”

“Then change it,” you say, rolling over on your side to face him. Your features soften at the sight of him — uncharacteristically unsure of himself, staring at his hands with furrowed brows. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so deeply torn, but then again, you know how hard he’s worked for this job. His career — especially before you met him — was of the utmost importance to him. Money, money, and more money. That’s what he’d told you. He was obsessive. He slept even less than he does now, barely used the fancy apartment he paid extortionate rent for... How do you turn your back on years and years of commitment, of obsession?

You reach a hand up and take his hand in yours once more. The silver of your rings glint and glimmer in the morning light, the garnet stone in the centre of yours a bloody red.

“For better or for worse, Kento,” you say quietly. “That’s what we promised. Whatever you choose to do, I’ll be here with you through it all.”

He doesn’t say anything, just smiles that one smile of his — the small, wistful, sad one. The one that hints at a far more tragic past than he’s let on, one of misfortune and melancholy. That’s okay. He doesn’t have to tell you, and you would never press him to. In much the same way, you pretend not to see the glassiness of his eyes when he raises your joined hands to his lips, and pretend not to hear the lump in his throat when he tells you he loves you — dearly, more than life itself.

"Yeah, yeah," you say, smiling. "Just don't forget about that retirement to Malaysia, okay? I want a beach house."

He huffs a laugh, and the cast of despondency shatters. Then, a thoughtful hum. "Mm. A beach house... that sounds good."

2K notes · View notes