#cult leader geto

[sugurugetoshairbrush]

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← ⬤  r/relationship_advice • 16 hr. ago       

      1mjust-agirl02

I found out my (22F) sneaky link (25M) is a cult leader. Am I enabling him if we keep hooking up?

First-time poster here. I’ll try to keep this brief. A few months ago, I was going through a rough patch. I’d just moved to the city from a tiny countryside town—a major life change. Sure, it came with perks: a good job, a decent apartment, and better nightlife. But I felt… disconnected. No matter what I did, I couldn’t shake the gnawing loneliness. The more I tried to adapt, the more isolated I felt.

I’ve always been a model citizen—quiet, diligent, never stepping out of line. But in the city, my days dragged, my nights felt darker, and I was slipping into depression. I couldn’t pinpoint why, but everything around me seemed coated in this heavy, negative energy.

That’s when I started frequenting a local bar. It was small, dimly lit, and blissfully cheap. The kind of place where people drank alone to nurse their sorrows. I guess I fit right in.

The bartender knew my order. The regulars were predictable: the middle-aged lady with crimped hair, the clean-cut businessman with tired eyes. I even started to find comfort in the routine. Until he walked in.

It was a random Wednesday at 5 PM. He was tall, with long black hair tied back neatly except for two loose strands framing his sharp, bronze-toned face. Dressed in a plain black sweatsuit, he looked effortlessly suave, even with a grim expression. Our eyes met, for a moment, his stern demeanor softened, replaced by something that felt like intrigue. Without hesitation, he made his way over, settling beside me like it had been his plan all along. He ordered whiskey—straight—and downed it in one smooth gulp.

“You didn’t even flinch,” I blurted, unable to stop myself. “Impressive—or concerning.”

He smirked, devilish and confident. “You don’t even know.”

That was the start. We chatted. Or rather, we danced around anything personal, just sharing vague feelings and flirting between drinks. He had this magnetic sorrow about him, like we were kindred spirits.

The night carried on, the drinks kept coming, and somehow, he kept getting closer. Our knees bumped beneath the booth. He was attractive in that quiet, alluring way—charming. That distant look in his eyes, as though he’d seen too much too soon, only added to his appeal.

I think we both needed a distraction. I laughed at his teasing, swatting playfully at his chest. His dark eyes lingered, and when I fumbled with my glass, he reached over, swiping his thumb across my lips.

What came next was a blur: heated kisses stolen in a dingy bar bathroom, his coarse hands gripping my waist and sliding to the back of my neck. The kiss was messy, whiskey burning on his tongue as it slid against mine. We stumbled back to my apartment in a haze, barely making it inside.

The second the door swung shut, he had me off my feet. My lock hung unlatched as he threw me onto the bed, the impact knocking my head lightly against the headboard. His hands were everywhere—rough and deliberate. My blouse fell open, my slacks tangled around my ankles as he pushed me face-down on the mattress. I heard the shuffle of his sweats coming off, the warmth of his spit trailing down my skin.

He’s big. I struggled to take him, fluttering and gasping as he pressed inside. His hand yanked my head back, forcing me to look. Between the bunched fabric of his sweatshirt held in his teeth and the tense, toned muscles of his abdomen, the sight was utterly debauched. The sounds—slick, lewd—filled the room. By the end, my sheets were damp, my chest marked with his teeth and hands, and I had my first noise complaint from my neighbors.

I thought that would be it. A one-time thing.

But then, the next Wednesday, he was at the bar again.

Now sober, I finally got a good look at him—and somehow, he was even more devastatingly handsome. His sharp features softened by the loose claw clip holding back his hair.

Our dynamic stayed the same: casual conversation, teasing touches, and nights that left me trembling. He was addictive. Every time, his grip was firm, possessive—his habit of squeezing my throat just as my climax approached pushed me to the edge. It had me teetering between bliss and unconsciousness, choking out strangled moans as he drove into me, relentless. It felt like a punishment. It felt like everything I hadn’t realized I’d been missing.

If I were to indulge myself, I’d admit I liked him best when sobriety started creeping back into him. He had this way of reading my body like a map, tracing every nerve and exploiting it until I was trembling, breathless, undone. Sometimes, as he finished—his hair spilling over my face like a curtain—I’d let the lines blur. I’d tell him how good he was, how deeply I felt him, how pretty he looked. And for a fleeting moment, he’d soften, his rhythm slowing, kissing me with an almost tender deliberation.

Weeks later, I got a text and an address:

“Want to see you. Be here at 11. Side door, past the gate.”

Curiosity got the better of me, and I showed up. His house was bigger than I’d expected—too luxurious for someone his age. On the way to his room, I passed a door slightly ajar. Inside, I glimpsed pink walls and a boy band poster. My stomach dropped. Was he married? Did he have kids?

I confronted him immediately. Sitting nervously on his bed, sandwiched between his toned thighs, I listened as he explained. He’d been raising his two orphaned cousins for years. His voice softened as he talked about them—their favorite shows, their quirks, their hobbies. I’d never seen him like this before. The care and pride he showed for them stood in stark contrast to the man I knew intimately.

That night was different. When I came, hard and breathless, his lips brushed mine, our eyes locked, fingers intertwined beside my head. For the first time, I thought I was starting to understand him.

But everything changed soon after.

At work, I passed a bulletin board I usually ignored. For some reason, that day I stopped. A flyer caught my eye—his face stared back at me.

In the photo, he was dressed in a golden kasaya draped over black yukata robes, his serene smile paired with an outstretched arm in a regal, inviting pose. The caption called him a “Buddhist priest” and a “divine leader” of some obscure spiritual group.

Confused, I Googled it. Turns out, it wasn’t just a spiritual group. It was a full-blown cult. The photos showed worshippers kneeling before him, their faces aglow with reverence, calling him a godlike figure.

I couldn’t resist. That evening, I went to the event listed on the flyer, held at a local temple. I slipped into a seat in the back, close to the door. Watching him lead the ritual felt surreal. There he was—calm, composed, draped in robes—like he hadn’t had me screaming into my pillow just days ago.

Then, I saw him lay his hands on a sobbing woman kneeling at his feet. Her cries turned into praises as she clung to him, trembling. It was… chilling.

I barely had a chance to settle in before I felt the need to leave. I thought about ending things right then and there—but I hesitated. Now I’m torn. On one hand, he’s the best I’ve ever had—dominant, attentive, and downright divine in bed. On the other hand… he’s a cult leader.

If I keep seeing him, am I complicit in whatever shady things his group does? Or am I overthinking it—can I keep pretending I know nothing?

Advice is welcome. Don’t hold back.

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⬤ toge-talks-shit  MOD  • 14h ago • 

This is the wildest shit I've read all day. My prayers go out to you, OP—but your hookup might be answering them LOL. Fr though, the cult stuff sounds creepy. Not worth it. ↑  1.5K  ↓ 🗨️ Reply ∘∘∘

⬤ blue-eyes-savelives  • 11h ago • 

OP, message me privately. Did he ever mention old regrets, breakups, or friends? Plz answer. T-T ↑  425  ↓ 🗨️ Reply ∘∘∘

⬤ k-nam_mister73  • 9h ago • 

Delete his number. You should’ve ceased all contact a long time ago. ↑  344  ↓ 🗨️ Reply ∘∘∘

⬤ nobarabara_yaps  • 2h ago • 

He sounds hot. See it through. Gatekeep, Gaslight, Girlboss. ↑  109  ↓ 🗨️ Reply ∘∘∘

[twistedbotanicals]

Initiation

Dark content warning!

18+, consent for all the wrong reasons, obsession, hentai-style tentacles, Curse!fucking, womb filling, belly inflation, bondage with tentacles, loss of consciousness, loss of virginity

"You wish to join my...organisation."

A question, framed as a statement. Geto Suguru rolled a small chirping Curse, moving around his long-fingers and pale palm like a bag of animated marbles, as if he was bored. His baggy pants hid how his cock swelled and twitched to life within.

This was his favourite part- the initiation- and you were the most eager little virgin to have flown into his web for quite some time. Though clearly a grown woman, you remained untouched...for now.

You knelt, your sweaty palms pressed flat to your thighs, and you thrummed with excitement. With your idol now so close that you could see every crease in his disarming smile, and every thread vein on the inside of his wrist, you felt sick with anxious delight.

You didn't even notice how you leaned forwards, so eager to please that Suguru's aching arousal jerked against his thigh. He maintained his jovial, softly spoken facade, offering you an indulgent smile as you spoke, your voice wavering.

"I-- I would love nothing more, Geto-sama-- it would be an honour, the highest honour--"

"Quite. We could use your Cursed technique, and your enthusiasm." Suguru stood, now, his socked feet soft upon the tatami mats, stepping, feathersoft and serene, down towards you. You could see the long, heavy swelling of his lap, and your mouth ran dry, your lips parting spontaneously. You clamped your thighs together, throbbing.

When he knelt, your chin in his grasp and his breath over your lips, you thought you may faint, and the barest moan left your stretched throat.

But, Suguru looked tortured, sighing in dramatic resignation. "What a shame that you've been amongst the monkeys your whole life...you still cling to them. I can smell them on you. How could I ever know I could trust you?"

Your mouth opened and closed like a fish. Ice water ran down your body, the threat of rejection so close, and you reached up involuntarily, clasping the wrist of the hand that held your chin. Your eyes burned with obsessive fervour, hellfire stoked within.

"Anything, Geto-sama." You strained, your voice thick with sincerity. "I'd do anything for you-- for your organisation-- to prove my loyalty--"

"Anything?" He purred, his strong fingers drifting down your chin to the front of your neck, squeezing the shape of your throat as you swallowed beneath his hand. He cooed in cold comfort.

"You'd do anything, to prove your fealty to me? I'm not an easy man to impress...I could just fuck you, it's true. Truth be told, I wouldn't need your permission, but it does reduce the fun somewhat, knowing you'd spread your cunt open for me so willingly. Deflowering you would be a privilege, I'm sure."

Your vision almost blacked at the edges with promise. Any allusion of appearing respectable fell like broken glass. You felt sorely tempted to dip your fingers between your legs, to pleasure yourself to Suguru's filthy words alone, but you reminded yourself that it was his pleasure you were pledging yourself to.

Suguru saw this; saw your faint, telltale squirms of arousal, as heat pooled in your belly. He hummed, dismissive, looking aside.

"What to do...what to do?"

He clicked his tongue, as if torn by indecision. Still, your throat twitched beneath his hand. Opening your mouth to beg again, you moaned to feel Suguru's thumb dart into your mouth to hold your tongue down.

"I take my pleasure vicariously, little one. I should like to see how far you would demean yourself for me. I should like to see how far your dignity would bend without breaking. Would you like that too, little one?"

You trembled, your knees slipped apart and sloppy, Suguru's hand fixed around your throat with a thumb upon your tongue. You nodded, and nodded again, and again, and again, to Suguru's wan, satisfied huff of mirth.

Up close, his smile was twisted, toxic, and you only wished you knew how right he was, when he surmised that you'd spread yourself for him for just a click of his fingers. You'd let him fuck your virginity away in a heartbeat. You imagined his hand over your mouth as he thrust past your hymen, how he'd catch the shrieks in his hand and devour them like a Curse.

"So you will be fucked, do we agree?"

With no idea to what you consented, you consented instead to your obsession, nodding and nodding again, your splayed fingers clasping at Suguru's robes. He leaned just close enough that he spoke his next words directly against your lips.

"And if you survive, little one...I shall welcome you to my lap with open arms."

Something short-circuited in your brain. Suguru stood, walking away with his back to you, leaving you alone, cold, speechless. You heard a wet, hushed, eldritch rumble to your right, and felt lead drop into your belly.

An enormous, cephalopod Curse, of mottled purple to red ombre, dominated one half of the broad traditional room. Clearly an octopus of eerie origin, its many tentacles tangled and unfurled, its single great, yellow eye rolling and dilating as it fixed on you.

You gasped, scrabbling away, and it grumbled, grasping you by the ankle, and dragging you back across the floor. You shrieked. You heard Suguru chuckle, the palm of his hand lazily pressing across his tenting manhood as the Curse's tentacles gradually wound and twisted around your limbs, ripping your clothes off your body like crepe paper. Every touch left a wet, sticky lubricant on your skin. Suguru toned, low and mild.

"This particular Curse has...desires, as any of us do. I'm sure it would prefer to taste you, over some dirty little monkey, though. And I'd like to watch. You want to give me what I want...don't you?"

You hesitated only briefly, knowing what your answer was. And you couldn't deny (by the time you were bare on the tatami before Suguru, that watching him bite his lip to the image of your naked form being slowly lifted and entwined by shivering, pulsing tentacles) the way it made you throb.

By the time eager little suckers had located your neck, your nipples, and your clit, you arched and mewled with hot little bursts of pleasure. You felt so weightless, lifted and suckled by this hungry beast. By the way it shivered at your taste, leeching off your sex and Cursed energy, the pleasure was not yours alone.

It softened you this way, so that you did not notice how your arms became bound behind your back; so that you did not notice how your legs were folded back and open, into a suspended mating press. A tentacle ran along the length of your sex, its tip teasing against your virgin entrance, as its sucker clasped greedily onto your clit.

The pleasure of its brothers working to suck onto your nipples, tugging and stretching enough to make your toes curl, drew out your moans into pathetic little whimpers. Geto watched as the red and purple limbs wrapping your body writhed harder, and tighter, eager to take their own pleasure, but determined to ensure you were wet and supple enough to take them all.

"G-Geto-sama--" You choked, involuntarily humping with the sucks of the tentacle, making it pulse and shiver, barely resisting sliding inside your tight little hole. Suguru swore under his breath, shuddering, biting one finger between his teeth as the others rested at his temples, his body lying sideways on one elbow.

"Good girl." Suguru hushed, velvet smooth, fucking up against his palm from his spot on the floor. He would have to edge himself carefully, he thought, so he didn't come in his boxers like a boy, at the first moment the tentacle deflowered you. The moment of penetration would be almost too much to bear, even without pleasuring himself in his fist.

"You'll be...full, after this." Suguru mused aloud, hooking his aching cock out to rest against his belly, as your cries of pleasure began to peak. He gripped his fists, the knuckles cracking with the effort of not masturbating himself to completion. "It has quite the volume of semen, from what I have seen it do to the monkey women. You'll ache. Will you take it, for me?"

You nodded, flushed, your eyes half-lidded, breathless in this toxic miasma of pleasure. The speed of the sucks on your clit and nipples increased, and you jerked with the overstimulating pace, not yet at orgasm, but the pleasure harsh enough to make you convulse sharply. The tentacles around you pulsed and shivered, one eager yellow eye and two eager brown eyes fixed on you, watching, waiting.

"O-oohhh f-fuck I'm gonna...gonna come-- gonna come-- o-oooh n-nooooo-- Geto-- haaaah!"

Your orgasm pounded through your bound form with electric intensity. You jerked, convulsing, and the tentacle that sucked on your clit and teased your hymen grew more eager still, pre-cum soaking your entrance to prepare you for its slick penetration.

As you convulsed, humping the limb with guttural groans, you heard Suguru curse again, little jerking spills of pre-cum wetting the hair on his barely exposed belly. He lay back, one arm over his eyes, groaning.

Suguru freed his heated gaze in time to see the tentacle stroke one final time against your entrance, as if licking, tenderising you...before pressing forwards with its tapered tip, thickening so fast as it punched past your virginity to seat itself fully in your pussy.

You arched, screaming against the sudden intrusion. An opportunistic tentacle, bulbous at the tip and thicker than the girthiest cocks you had ever seen in porn, pressed into your open mouth, silencing you into thick gags and swallows.

After a few moments of your pussy clenching, your mouth clenching, your arms pulling involuntarily against the binding limbs...you stilled, supple and used and submissive. With another frisson of delight, the tentacles that were inside you begin to move, thrusting as an eldritch groan of bliss rumbled from the Curse.

You felt every single thrust against your belly, and you twitched, your moans barely audible around the member that pleasured itself with your mouth. A tentacle stretched up, winding itself around your neck to force its extension, and you gagged to feel the arousal fuck deeper. It shivered again, barely able to restrain itself.

Geto had almost ejaculated untouched, to see the tentacle punch through your virginity like it was tissue paper. The cool façade he usually maintained faltered, also paper thin. A drip of sweat crept down his neck as he cursed, releasing his clothes enough to bare his chest, his heavy twitching cock, and his belly tensing with the thrill of edging himself.

"Not innocent anymore, little one...shit...does it feel good? Giving yourself over to my monsters?" The Curse groaned, heavy and gravelly, as if answering for you. Geto swore again as it lined up thinner tendrils to coil around your breasts and nipples, teasing, stretching and flicking them.

You jerked with the sinful pleasure of being used, feeling the tentacles fuck, and fuck, and fuck, up your pussy and down your throat. The yellow eye watched you from below, changing your angle occasionally, as if examining its artwork from all perspectives, relishing in the way you squealed when new limbs began to probe your asshole. A thin one dipped inside, as if testing, before coming out again, making way for a more generous counterpart.

You felt it coat you with its sticky pre-cum, first teasing your asshole with one bulbous cock, before carefully easing the head in. It shuddered at the way your pussy involuntarily clenched and milked it in response, drips of pre-cum beginning to slip out of you to the floor.

Another tentacle, thinner, with breeding intent, had already slid into your cunt alongside its thicker brother, and waited at your cervix for you to climax again, so it could steal its chance.

Suguru could not restrain himself any longer, to watch you be fucked raw in suspension, seeing the way your eyes grew unfocused and your body jerked and trembled. He hissed to feel his fist encircle his cock, stroking slowly, in time with the tentacles that thrust in tandem within you.

"Got to come again, little one. It can't take its satisfaction until you do. Do you want the suckers back?"

You only moaned in response, wet and slurping around the tentacle that used your mouth. Suguru flicked one hand at the Curse, an order, and a sucker promptly resited itself on your clit, to suck you to orgasm as you needed.

You moan was dirtier than any Suguru had ever heard and he had to let go of his cock again with a jolt, lest he spill all over the floor. He swore, biting the back of his fist, feeling his peak almost creep over...before ebbing away again, leaving him panting, gasping.

Suguru fucked up against the air as he felt the final climax approaching, sure you were not ready for the way the Curse would leave you heavy with its seed.

It was as the three limbs fucking within you all sped up, in one final push towards completion, that you fell into another orgasm. The ferocity with which the suckers licked at your clit and nipples had you roaring with pleasure around the limb in your mouth, and as you convulsed, you felt the curious sensation of something thinner and more insistent weedle through your cervix to press its tip into your womb.

Mid-orgasm, you felt yourself go lightheaded with the bizarre, vasovagal physiological response to your cervix being invaded. The world blackened at the edges, and you loosened in the limbs, only semi-conscious. The Curse took its chance...and began to fill you.

The tentacles within you pulsed, alternating and peristaltic, as cum began to pulse through, into you. Lost in a black haze of pleasure, your belly grew warm, then hot, and ached, as the little tentacle within your womb spurted loads of warm cum into it. You jerked, swallowing, and clenching, to feel the same happen in your throat and asshole.

The tentacles continued to gently suckle on your breasts and clit, as if soothing you for what it was doing to you. Excess sticky white cum splashed to the floor, running down your chin, your thighs, little squirts oozing out of the suckers on your nipples and clit.

Your pathetic little mewls, and the way your lower belly stretched outwards, bulging with the cum that filled you, pushed Geto over the edge. With two final fucks into his pre-cum wetted fist, he came with hushed curses, praising you with liquid mercury.

"--good girl-- shhhh...take it for me, that's it, filthy girl...take it...shhhit, take it..."

You came back online slowly, aching, your belly cramping as if on your period. The Curse lowered you to the floor with surprising tenderness. As it withdrew its tentacles from your prone, whimpering body, one great limb softly stroked your bloated belly. The Curse groaned, retreating and satisfied, but not before one tentacle stretched out to offer you an affectionate little boop on the nose.

As you lay on the tatami, bare, shivering, and impossibly full of cum, Geto swallowed down the Octopus Curse, his hand and belly still sticky with his own seed. He sighed as though he had just performed some wearing duty, and cast you a look of languid satisfaction.

"...you are welcome here, little one."

Geto smirked. The last thing he heard from your babbling mouth, as his staff dragged you from the room towards the baths, was you thanking him weakly, with a cum-filled mouth, for his acceptance.

Another cult member bowed before Geto, his forehead not even rising from the floor as he spoke.

"Are--are you ready for the next one, Geto-sama?"

Suguru smiled, sharkish, perusing a mental Rolladex for a Curse of choice.

"Yes." Geto sighed, stretching, tucking his cock away and wiping his hands on the back of the flinching cult members' robes. "Send her in."

[ayyy-pee]

Center Stage

suguru whimpers as he pounds into you, folds your legs until there’s a knee on each side of your head. you're so good he has to bite back a gasp when your walls squeeze down on him, gripping his cock so fucking hard he sees stars. his eyes roll back when he reaches a hand down to your clit, swollen and sensitive and he feels the sudden gush of your arousal drip down between your bodies. suguru loves how your tight little cunt always takes him so well, how it makes room for him and holds him like it never wants to let go.

every thrust, every roll of his hips, every slap of your skin meeting has suguru leaning down to groan into the crook of your neck. he doesn’t let up, pounding into you like a man possessed. and he is. your pussy makes him insane, makes him want to scream, makes him want to fucking cry.

it feels like heaven in your walls.

suguru loves to look between you, where your bodies connect and see the creamy mess you’ve made on him. fuck he loves how your pussy always makes a mess. it’s one of his favorite things about you.

that and the way your lips part when he pistons his hips a certain way, touches that sweet spot you love. how your head falls back and your back arches when he wraps his thick fingers around your neck, makes you hold his weight as he fucks into you with reckless abandon. the way your little moans fall from that pretty mouth he loves to bury his cock in. he loves all of that.

he loves the way your hands find his hair and you pull. not gentle at all, just the way he likes. you’re as a desperate and fucking needy as he is.

“come on baby. tell me how much you love my cock.” he pleads. he knows you love it. you've told him plenty of times. but suguru also loves to get his ego stroked.

“i love it, ah- fuck, fuck i love your cock!” you whimper beneath him like the good girl you always are. all he ever has to do is ask and you’ll deliver every time. so obedient. it’s why you’re his favorite.

suguru can feel your walls softly convulsing around him. you’re so close. but while your words were good, they’re weren’t good enough. so suguru slows his pace, staring down at you with half lidded eyes. he wants you to do it right.

“pretty girl forgot her manners,” he chides, clicking his tongue. “i love your cock, what?”

he bottoms out with a particularly harsh thrust that has you crying out, your fingers tightening in his tresses and he chuckles, his dick twitching within the confines of your cunt.

“oh fuck! i love your cock master geto”

there it is.

you peer up through your lashes at the man above you and the smug smile on suguru’s lips sends you spiraling over the edge, your orgasm rushing over you, your body shivering as wave after wave hits you. and your sweet lips muttering his formal title, it has him burying his face in your neck again, whining as his hips stutter with every sloppy thrust until his balls tighten.

he grips your thigh hard, high pitched whimpers falling freely from his mouth as his cock stiffens and his hot, white seed fills your twitching pussy. the release has suguru shaking, struggling to hold his weight as your pussy milks him of every fucking drop.

you’re both panting, both catching your breath as suguru kisses you desperately, pressing kisses to your face, to your lips. and he’s still cumming

“m-master geto,” you mutter between kisses. he hasn’t pulled out of you, just keeps rolling his hips into your slowly, softly as he continues to litter your lips and face with kisses.

suguru hums in acknowledgment.

“you’ll be late to session tonight,” you warn him. “you know there will be big donors there. you don’t want to be late.”

ah yes, the work never stops for suguru. he would love to stay here, on the floor of his stage but it wouldn’t be a good look to have his donors and worshippers walk in on you both in the middle of such a salacious act.

and you, his most favorite follower. there's no way in hell allow anyone to leave the room alive if they saw you this way. no, you're meant to be seen by him this way and him alone. even with your current situation, he knows you are loyal to him. so with a hiss, suguru pulls out of you, smirking when he sees the way you pout at the loss of fullness.

cute.

“come and see me after session” he tells you with one last press of his lips to yours. he crawls off of you carefully and fixes his robe. you nod, watching as he exits the room.

he knows where to find you.

suguru always finds you the moment he enters the room, packed with worshippers ready to give themselves to him. and you’re among them, loyal as ever to him, even as you bow politely and pledge yourself to the organization alongside your husband.

[wisecura]

My Leader

Cult Leader Suguru x f!Reader 4k

an: did anyone ask for this? oh yeah! I did. enjoy my unrequested fantasy. this might be bad but oh well haha

summary: suguru geto was all for the betterment of the world—eradicating the non-sorcerers in society, and collecting people to stand in the new world with him. it's no different when he finds you—an untrained sorcerer, so eager and desperate for validation—a hint at sanity when no one else could see the monsters around you. but what happens if he takes you in only to find himself changing his mind.

warnings: pwp, voyeurism, gore, blood, murder, dark undertones, size kink, smut, you aren't in your right mind either, fingering, marking, manipulation, belittling and teasing, minors DNI

The last thing on your bucket list in life would’ve been joining a cult. 

Seriously, cult life was definitely not where you saw yourself in your early twenties—with all the time in the world still ahead of you. But, well, here you were.

That priest you'd met earlier? He'd been nothing short of a lighthouse for you—a beacon of hope during those endless, stressful days. You know, the ones haunted by those demon-looking creatures lurking just out of sight. And the craziest part? Nobody else seemed to see them. Yeah, you were pretty much alone in this freaky ghost-seeing club.

So, imagine the relief when the fifth priest you consulted turned out to be pure gold—a genuine miracle worker. Not only did he validate your sanity, but he also managed to kick that pesky little demon parasite on your shoulder to the curb. And suddenly, the world felt lighter. Easier.

And when he offered you a spot by his side, it didn't take much to convince you. Especially after he mentioned that those 'curses' were likely to make a comeback. Joining him seemed like a no-brainer.

But six months in with this man, and there was no ignoring the raw sex appeal he radiated. Standing several inches above you, he was large and imposing—hitting all your size-kink checkboxes. His features were sharply handsome, with plush lips that sparked envy and hair that never seemed out of place. His eyes? Absolutely captivating. Really, what did this man not have that wouldn't cause any sane woman to go feral? 

No wife, not even a girlfriend in sight, but he had two adoptive daughters whom he treated with the utmost care. A family man, right?

You hadn't fully realized what you were getting into when you'd first signed on—then again, you hadn't exactly been in your right mind. How else would you find the nerve to talk to such a handsome man without immediately dropping to your knees? 

And you were pretty sure Suguru wasn't all there either. He'd woven tales about jujutsu sorcerers, depicted them as the apex of evolution, even hinting that you had the potential to be one of them.

Something about ‘cursed energy’ or another. But he didn’t seem all that interested in filling you in on the rest. And you didn’t ask. Why bother when he was providing you a cushy life at the temple?

He treated you differently from the other cult members, always keeping you close. You never missed a service, always stationed right beside him. Silently, you'd watched as he delivered his visions of a new world. You tried to be the attentive follower you were supposed to be, but damn, he looked so good when he monologued. You practically swooned.

And he kept you around his girls, a privilege most other members couldn't even fathom—many didn’t even know they existed. You found yourself cooking for them, gradually forging your own little bond. They warmed up to you quickly, and it didn’t exactly come as a shock when they started seeing you as a mother figure.

This setup couldn’t have been better for Suguru, whose plans for you seemed singularly focused—your confinement.

You appeared so willing, so easygoing, so content under his care. 'Confinement' might sound a bit severe—maybe 'ensured stay' fits better? Whatever you chose to call it, Suguru wasn’t planning on letting you go anytime soon.

Just as you saw him as a shining beacon, he saw you as a diamond in the rough—a pretty little thing that happened to stumble into his temple. Desperate for answers, you had long since lost faith in any conventional sanctuary.

So, you found a cult.

A notorious one at that.

He wasn’t sure if you were aware of their more nefarious misdeeds—he was skilled at keeping things under wraps. The money he brought in always came from questionable sources, but you never pried. So he never told.

You meshed nicely with his chosen family, fitting in with everyone and proving quite useful. It felt out of character for him, but he couldn’t help it. The thought of your sweet, motherly image being tainted by the torturous grip of sorcerer politics just didn’t sit right with him.

No—you belonged in his temple. Guided cage ‘n all, well-supported, well-supplied, and nicely kept.

And maybe, when the time was right, he’d formally place his mark on you—maybe with a ring? Or perhaps a few choice bite marks? You always did wear those low-cut pajamas during breakfast, the expanse of your neck tantalizingly on display. You were definitely taunting him, that was for sure. He had plenty of ideas about what to do with you.

“Suguru?” 

Your voice, melodic even this early in the morning, managed to grab his attention—even before the coffee had kicked in. His name coming off your lips was sinful.

"Suguru?" You try again. His expression is dazed, distracted. The girls had already left for their tutoring sessions, leaving you alone with the enigmatic man.

Sometimes, you couldn’t quite figure him out. His moods swung wildly—from passive-aggressive and temperamental to overly dramatic. Charming, sure, but definitely a handful. Then there were moments like now, where he sat at the table, calm and stoic, clearly preoccupied with something on his mind.

“Mhm?” He hummed in response, as you set down another serving of eggs and rice. You didn’t know how to phrase the question, and you didn’t know what made you so nervous about asking. You were a human being, so this shouldn’t be an issue, free will ‘n all. “I was thinking of going out today. Did you...did you need me to pick anything up.” 

He paused at this, his brow raising inquisitively. "...What would you need to go out for?"

"Ah, well, a bit of this and that," you trailed off, looking away shyly. Truthfully, you wanted to pick up something for him as a way to say thanks, and maybe something for the girls too. Your money had been sitting idle, practically rotting in the bank—and you felt an urge to spoil the only people who seemed to care for you in your life. But he didn’t need to know that.

“Mmm, this and that?” He contemplated, his hand trailing back through his hair. “...Are you....that fed up with us?” You glanced over, hoping to find a teasing smile on his lips—only to meet his eyes downcast, locked onto the table. Melancholic.

You felt your heart ache at his words, you hadn’t meant to upset him. "Ah, no! I, uh—actually just wanted to pick up a few things. Why do you think I'd want away from you guys?" Your voice trailed off, a small laugh attempting to lighten the mood, as you made your own plate. "You’re my family now, after all."

His eyes raked down your back, unbeknownst to you. The situation was far from ideal, but he was determined to keep you content enough not to leave. Perhaps he could even scare you into staying? Your name slipped effortlessly from his lips, a breathy utterance that gripped his chest—selling his concern perfectly.

“I’m worried about you, y'know?”

“Worried? Why?” You continued your setup, your back unsuspectingly facing him.

“If anyone outside of here spots you...well, I’m not exactly a celebrated man in the sorcerer community. They could easily take you the second you step out of this temple. And you’re practically a magnet for those curses—that energy you put off is something else.” His voice trailed off as his mind seemed to drift away, even as you peeked over your shoulder at him.

You weren't completely in the dark about his reputation in the community-the fearful stares from one or two of the followers told you that. You weren't even surprised about his growing concern for you. It was nice, in a way, having someone like him show this level of concern for you.

"Really, it means a lot that you're looking out for me, Suguru. I love that you keep me safe—I do, but I also don't want to just take from you all the time," you say, turning fully to face him, the concern evident in your eyes.

He flashes you a reassuring, warming smile, that makes your chest stutter. "I understand, but you're not just taking. You're a part of this family, a crucial part. It's my responsibility to keep you safe, and I take that seriously," he explains, his tone gentle yet firm. "Maybe, for now, online shopping could be a better option. It'll keep you out of sight from those who might not understand our...situation here. You can still have some independence without the risk. How does that sound?"

It wasn't exaclty a questions and more like a rule he's already set in place. His words hang in the air, wrapped in the guise of caring, yet subtly steering you to remain within the confines of the temple, minimizing your contact with the outside world.

Those next few months settled into a routine, and you never left the temple as per Suguru's 'request'. But during his sermons, you couldn't help but notice a strange man in the congregation—an older dude who couldn't seem to take his eyes off you. It was unsettling, creepy even, and every time you caught his gaze, it made you want to leave the room immediately.

And when you were handing out the pamphlets for the evening, his hand managed to pass along your hand just a little too sensually, causing you to jerk back, as if burned. Your polite smile still remained but you couldn't stop the uneasy turning of your stomach.

You tried your best to ignore it, concentrating instead on the magnetic presence of Suguru, the leader whose charisma had always managed to overshadow any discomfort. Focusing on him, with his intense gaze and compelling sermons, you hoped the creepy feelings triggered by that strange man's stares would simply melt away.

For a time, it seemed to work. The incident faded to the back of your mind, barely a blip on your radar—that is, until Suguru himself brought it up.

It was after dinner, during your usual walk back to your room, a routine that had become a comforting part of your daily life under his watch. As you strolled down the quiet corridor, his voice broke the silence, casual yet probing. “Did you know that man?”

His gaze was stern, pinning you under a scrutiny that seemed to see right through you. You could have played dumb, feigned ignorance, and questioned which man he was referring to. Maybe then he would've let it go, attributing it to his own overprotectiveness. Maybe.

But you didn't like the way that man's eyes had roamed over you, as if he was trying to claim you or imagining what lay beneath your clean robes. Maybe Suguru would do something about it? After all, he often dismissively called his followers 'monkeys,' a clear sign he didn't hold them in high regard. “No, I don’t know him,” you responded, a shiver running through you that Suguru didn't miss. “He’s a bit weird, right? I didn’t think you had followers like that.”

His gaze held yours for a moment longer, pausing you both in the hall. The dim moonlight streaming through a nearby window could have given the scene a nearly romantic quality if not for the concern etched deep within his furrowed brow. “Alright,” he finally said, the word hanging in the air before he turned to continue guiding you back to your room.

That was it. No further questions, no reassurances—just a simple acknowledgment and then moving on. It felt anticlimactic, almost dismissive, and a part of you felt almost offended.

But then again, what had you really expected?

That was what you thought before you saw red. 

But it wasn't just the red. It was the heavy, metallic, coppery smell that suddenly choked the air, thick and invasive. The way the splatter violently stained your white robes, soaking into the fabric, marring them beyond recognition. The congealed remnants of what once was a person spread grotesquely across the cold floor, as his lifeless eyes stared back at you. His mouth hung open in a final, silent scream of horror as if he could still hear the words spewing from the priest's mouth. 

“Does anyone else have any issues with this?” The question sliced through the tense silence of what seemed like a routine board meeting, discussing the mundane affairs of the company. Suguru's tone was far too light, disturbingly cavalier, given the blood soaking his front, nonchalantly wiping off a stray drop that had dared to mar his gorgeous face. To your surprise, no one objected, their eyes locked on the decapitated head lying before you. You had seen the curse—the one that had been produced and sent by Suguru. And maybe you were the crazy one for feeling a little flustered by his actions—heart fluttering.

Or should they be called reactions? The so-called necessary consequences he deemed necessary for your safety.

“Suguru.” His eyes shifted back to you, almost expecting to find fear. The sight of blood wasn’t for everyone, and he was fully prepared to sic a curse on you should you attempt to flee. But what he was met with was so unexpected—your flushed face, your grip tight on his sleeve, almost like clinging to your own lifeline. That oh-so-adorable look in your eyes, innocently seeking his attention.

This had been a bit of a test, an evaluation to see how you would respond to his more...abrasive nature. And he just couldn't stand the way that 'monkey' had his eyes locked on you, the way his fingers had dared to trail over your sleeve—as if he had the right to touch.

As you reached over to wipe a lingering trace of blood from his cheek, his reaction was swift, instantly, his hand snaps around your wrist. His eyes rake over you, and the disapproval in his gaze makes you feel a wave of self-consciousness wash over you.

"That filthy monkey blood is all over you now," he remarks, his tone dripping with disdain. After a moment's pause, a small smile curls the corners of his mouth. His grip remains firm on your wrist as he guides you over to his seat at the front of the congregation, giving you a thorough once-over before finally releasing you. 

Nonchalantly, he shrugs the top of his robes down his shoulders, revealing a chest and abs that are absolutely sculpted to impossible perfection.

You'd always known he was handsome, but this? This was something else. He was not just attractive- he was, without a doubt, ripped. Settling down, he effortlessly pulls you into his lap, facing him. You're up close now, close enough to see the way he gazed so affectionately down at you—your heart racing and skipping several beats in response.

If you were blushing before, now you were certain you must look as bright as a tomato. You avert your gaze, only to find yourself face-to-face with his impeccably sculpted chest. Your hands, you realize, are already on him—likely from when he first pulled you onto his lap.

A smug smirk plays across his lips as he scans the crowd, his gaze predatory and possessive. It's a clear message to everyone present: you were off-limits to anyone but him. Held in his strong arms, you feel almost too soft, so compliant and utterly his, as if you belonged nowhere else but here.

His whisper is just for you, a soft murmur that tickles your ear, “Do you like what you see?” His eyes remain fixed on the crowd behind you, and thank god for that—you're practically melting in his lap. You're at a loss for words, and though under different circumstances you might have shot back a flirty retort, the intensity of the moment leaves you speechless.

His gaze locks with yours again, piercing and intense. He scrutinizes your form once again—flushed and trembling, the ugly stains of blood soaked into your clothes. Your clothes.

His hands begin to undo the lace at the front of your robes. In a panic, you reach up to stop him, embarrassed—not necessarily by his attention, but overwhelmingly by the many eyes watching from behind. "Suguru," you hiss, your voice a whisper thick with embarrassment and a plea for some semblance of privacy or restraint.

But his gaze halts you. It's firm, stern—like a mother scolding her child. Overwhelmed by his intense stare, your resistance melts away. You find yourself clinging to his arms, resting your head against his chest as he peels away the robes stained by the blood, liberating your skin from the filth. 

“Did I say you could leave?”

At his words, the shuffling of footsteps behind you to come to an abrupt halt. You can almost sense the veiled fear and shock painting the faces of those behind you, the tension in the air so thick it’s suffocating, uncuttable even with the sharpest blade. As you squirm uncomfortably in his lap, you feel the unmistakable shift of the large bulge beneath you. This fucker was actually turned on by this? 

But were you any better? You buried your face even deeper into his chest, inadvertently drawing his smug attention. "What's wrong, princess? You feelin’ shy?" His tone was taunting, so uncharacteristic of him. You'd never heard anything like that from those lips in all the time you'd known him, and that thought alone made you want to bury your face in a pillow and scream. 

You nod, barely managing to keep your composure, only to feel his hands, which had been supporting his weight behind him, shift up to your thighs, drawing you even closer. The movement causes your panty-clad pussy to rub against the large snake you were saddled on. You hadn't intended to let out that needy whimper, but the accidental friction against your clit had you digging your nails in tighter. 

"Is my sweet girl actually wet?" His tone is laced with mock disbelief. You don’t respond, but that doesn’t deter him, his fingers reaching between your legs, seeking confirmation for himself. You feel this thumb graze that oh so exquisitely sensitive spot, leaving you jolting in his lap, his fat fingers grazing past your clit over to your slick drippy folds.

“Tsk tsk tsk, sweet girl, you’re practically dripping. Are you alright?” His voice drips with obvious mock concern, and the distraction of his thumb pressing back against your button, drawing circles–makes it impossible to form a coherent response.

"You're all worked up—so red. You must've been so upset when that bastard put his hands on you," he murmurs, and your back arches as he picks up the pace, his hand circling your waist to hold you flush against him. His touch is assertive, almost commanding, drawing reactions from you that you'd never gotten from a toy.

"Uh uh, look here," his voice suddenly goes cold, detached. Your eyes snap up to his face, only to find his gaze directed over your shoulder, at the long since forgotten crowd behind you. Oh shit. What were you doing? His next words slice through the thick air, his tone sharp as a knife.

"You monkeys seem to forget your place." The room holds it's breath, and suddenly, you're painfully aware of the many eyes on you, the precarious position you're in—a spectacle for the small crowd. A shudder travels down your spine as his fingers relentlessly continue their exploration. You can't stop the slick trail trailing from you, soaking your underwear further. Your hips buck involuntarily towards his hand, even as his words echo hollowly through the room. "Should I just remind you? None of you should be touching what isn’t yours…"

The word "yours" spins your head, and you shamelessly whimper out. "My naughty girl, do you really enjoy this that much?" His tone is teasing, yet there's an edge of possession that sends another shiver through you. His touch intensifies again, and you tremble beneath him, overwhelmed by his presence.

Pulling away, he finally gives your chest some much-needed attention, slipping the cup of your bra below your rounded tits. His gaze is appreciative as he kneads one into his mouth, sucking greedily. And in an instant you're pinned to the floor beneath him, flat on your back, his bulge still pressing insistently against you. 

The shift is swift, his body covering yours, providing the room an unobstructed view of him devouring you. Yet, your focus remains solely on him—his broad shoulders, the smooth expanse of his chest, and the stiff muscles that hint at hours spent perfecting them. Your eyes finally settle on the large bulge that he keeps grinding into you.

And grind he does, his clothed cock taking over the work of his fingers, each motion stripping your throat of the whimpers and whines that spill forth—sounds that surely only spur him on further.

Caught in this intense, consuming moment, you're hyper-aware of every contact, every movement, and every gaze set on you, heightening every sensation as you lose yourself to the rhythm he dictates. He’s a greedy lover, taking every inch he can get before finally pulling himself free from his robes, his cock springing forth—thick and demanding.

His gaze is hungry as he eyes you, leaning in closer, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers darkly, "You like putting on a show, don't you? Just look at you, so desperate and dripping for me while they all watch. You’re nothing but a little exhibitionist, aren’t you?"

His words are taunting, debauched, as your pussy clenches, a flush of shame and excitement as he pulls your panties down teasingly slow. Straightening to his full height, he sighs at the sight of your pretty pink folds, completely on display for him. He’d be the one to ruin you, of course. No one else was allowed to touch what was his.

He spits on his length, a heavy sheen as he strokes in long and slow passes over his bulbous head. Your eyes are fixated on the curve, every inch of him on display. His eyes remain fixed on the heave of your chest, his words only for you, "You're completely mine, aren't you? Every shiver, every sigh... I want them all." Before you can answer, he has himself positioned at your entrance, sheathing himself completely inside you, filling your clingy pussy entirely in one fluid motion. 

The guttural moan he shares with you is nothing short of primal, as he pulls back and then hammers back into you with a quick, forceful thrusts, your honeyed slickness making it all too easy. The furrow in his brow is ever-present, his gaze locked on you with an intensity that's damn near animalistic. You don't recognize the man filling you so completely.

You reach up to touch him, but one of his meaty hands pins both of yours above your head in a swift, assertive move, his strength incomparable. "Feels so good, princess, so fucking good, aah," his words stutter out, breathlessly, as his hips meet yours again in a relentless, brutal pace.

His cock stretches you perfectly, hitting that sweet spot that always seemed to elude the ex-boyfriends you'd dated. The slaps of his hips meeting your dripping pussy were echoing the room, as your head lolled back you managed to catch sight of a few of the faces of the men watching, and you had half a mind to be embarrassed. You whimpered, trying to hit your face into the crook of your shoulder, only to have his other hand snap onto your chin, his dick continuing the abuse your cervix.

Leaning in close, his breath hot against your ear, he whispers huskily, "C'mon now, don’t play shy." You could hear the grin in his voice, "You aren’t fooling anyone, not with the way this cunt is clenching me—ngh—so fucking—good." His words punctuated by each powerful thrust into your sopping hole, his breathing growing heavier as his fat balls slapped against you. You've never come without your clit being teased before, but you were sure you could squirt all over him from those words and his stretch alone.

"Such a pretty little slut for me," he growled as he drove into you, "lettin’ me stuff you so full." His words came out in low purrs, his hand still firmly clamped on your wrists and chin, ensuring you couldn’t see anyone else but him. "Gonna let me breed you in front of all these pathetic bastards? Show everyone who owns this cunt?" You felt your pussy clamp down tightly on him—earning a sharp hiss from him as he tightened his grip around your neck. You could barely breathe, your vision narrowing as you came hard around his cock, your body stiffening, unable to think straight. 

He continued to fuck you stupid, relentless, "You love being my filthy little fuck toy, don't you?" his breath, hot against your ear. "Just a wet hole for me to use, right in front of everyone." You couldn't even make a sound, your head fuzzy and body already sore. "fucking—ngh—gonna breed this pussy full, baby—gonna—mmgh," His voice was ragged as your walls spasmed around him, his hold on your neck like a predator with limp prey, as he let out the loudest moan yet, "gonna cum, gonna—" and with that, he spilled himself deep inside you, his hot seed mixing with your release.

You felt his hips continue to rut against you, his gaze fierce and possessive—a rabid dog with his treat, heaving, refusing to pull out. He unclenched your neck as you gasped in a deep, burning breath of air, lungs finally refilling. The onlookers were the furthest thing from your mind, until you were abruptly brought back to reality by his commanding voice–leaving no room for argument,

"Now get the fuck out of here." 

As the command left his lips, the onlookers, still frozen from the raw display they had witnessed, hesitated for a moment before scrambling away. All you heard were retreating footsteps. The room quickly emptied, leaving just the echo of their footsteps and the heavy breathing that filled the space between you and him.

Still inside you, he leaned down, his face inches from yours, his eyes still burning with that possessive intensity. "Look at what you do to me," he rasped, voice thick with satisfaction. His fingers trailed lazily over your skin, marking paths where his earlier grip had been.

He pushed back into you slowly, coaxing a whimper from your oversensitive body, "Just look at you, all flushed and beautifully wrecked for me. You took me so well," he praised, his tone heavy with satisfaction. His fingers delicately traced the marks his grip had left on your neck, his mark now visibly etched onto your skin.

"You're mine, remember that. Every inch of you, every gasp, everything—it all belongs to me."

come home

[delulustateofmind]

Thinking about cult leader geto and poor non sorcerer captive that he keeps for entertainment :(

warnings: Monster toys, cult leader geto, somewhat captive reader, dubcon, petname: pup. Unedited/brain dump. Off to horny jail after this one.

He can't be caught fucking some nonsorcerer monkey so he goes to other methods.

Currently, has you faced down on the bed, hips raised high with his arm wrapped around securely around your waist to keep you steady and prevent any attempts from squirming away.

Leaning in, his voice sharp with condescension coated with sweet honey, he sneers softly into your ear, "You're doing exactly what you were made for. Just breathe and obey, yeah? Serving your leader, your god—is all you're good for."

As he dips a thick, fat dildo passed your sodden folds and deep into your poor cunt. Geto would never dirty himself with your pussy so he has to use other methods to see the way your eyes roll back before closing shut. The way your soft lips part with heavy breaths and moans as he inches the toy into your poor pussy that has been played with for way too long today.

Suguru isn't exactly nice with his playthings, don't ya know? :)

He honestly can't tell if he likes this toy, thick and girthy with a knot at the end that he's certain won't fit tonight. Or if he enjoyed the one earlier that had soft barbs poking out. Both of them left you a drooling mess, muttering sweet thank yous to him as you sucked his fingers clean. Hell, you'd even suck the toys clean when he was done. Looking up at him all blissed out and dumb, begging to be his little bitch. Pathetic truly.

However, he still enjoyed it. Pushing you past your limits.

Suguru is as slow and methodical about it. Cooing softly about how good you're being, about how this is your purpose, serving him.

"Such a good girl" A velvet purr slips from his lips as his grip tightens around your waist. As he begins to pick up speed. Those sweet wet sounds filling the temple walls. "Mind telling me what that feels like? Use your words, c'mon. Don't make me ask twice."

You could only babble out something, unsure what words could even form at this point. This is the third...no, fourth toy, he's tested this evening. Thankful it wasn't a vibrating one this time. You were surely dehydrated by this point from how much you've came the last few hours. You could feel the toy reaching past your breaking point before he began to press sweet kisses on the nape of your neck.

"Ah...squeezing too tight, it keeps wanting to slip out. That's no good" he hummed softly, voice tinged with disappointment. As he tries to press the think, girthy toy deep inside again, only for your walls to tighten around the intrusion. Forcing the toy out once again.

"Didn't know you could be such a bad pup," he drawls as his grip tightens along your waist, anchoring you to him. "Pushing it out like that? Guess I'll have to punish you again," a wicked smirk forming on his lips as his voice lightens to something more teasing "Youre making me think you like this sort of thing, naughty little pup. Is that it? Hm?"

You whine as you feel him drag the toy out of your cunt, a string of your juices attached as he gently sets it on the bed. Your gaze settles on the shaft, nine inches with a huge knot that couldn't get passed your folds. The toy he's been working on your cunt for the past hour. The tool that was the thing stretching your walls, making your mind all fuzzy. You couldn't think straight, fucked too dumb to even witness the way your master's robes are falling to the floor and an angry pink dripping tip is pressed along the slit of your abused leaking pussy that was gaping, in search of something to ache that feeling in your core.

"I guess we all fall for filth at some point," he mutters softly to himself, the words dripping with disdain. His grip tightens as his dark eyes flick down to meet yours, cold and unrelenting. Leaning in closer, his voice drops to a chilling whisper, a cruel smirk tugging at his lips.

"Tell anyone, or even think about making a move, and your family is dead. Got it, sweetheart?" The mock endearment twists like a knife, his tone sickeningly sweet yet utterly devoid of mercy. As his hips meet yours, causing you to see stars as he bottoms out, drool staining the bedsheets as his cock fills you whole.

Guess you'll just have to be a good little pup, don't you? :(

[evillex11]

scanned doodles again :3

getos r from months ago and gojo is just earlier ! I didn't know what else to draw to complete a geto page and I didn't want to stress about it ... so gojo it is!!

getting a freebie scanner is one of the best things that has happened to me. do you see all these textures? delicious...

[quack-quack-snacks]

Lost

My Navigation and Masterlist

My Geto Suguru Masterlist

My Geto "Cult Leader" Suguru Masterlist

Pairing(s): Slightly Yandere Cult Leader!Geto Suguru x Single Mother!Fem!Reader Summary: After losing your son in the street after bringing him to visit the annual light show that happened in your town, you find him crying in the arms of a handsome - yet strangely unsettling - stranger with two girls standing beside him. Warnings: No manga (or really any anime) spoilers, Suguru is just a tad obsessive and whatever, Suguru being prejudiced against humans as normal, Suguru is a sly and smooth motherfucker (almost literally 😏) (maybe it will be literally if i write a part 2 😏😏) Word Count: 2,355 Extra Notes: In this story, Suguru is 23, Nananko and Mimiko are 9, the reader is 23 as well, and her son is 3 years old

part 2

While Geto Suguru wasn’t one for Monkey festivities any time of the year, he couldn’t bear to deny his two adoptive daughters, Nanako and Mimiko. Not when they shot him puppy dog eyes soft enough to melt the heart of the infamous Sukuna Ryomen. 

Well… maybe not him, but you get the idea. 

The light show they begged him to take them to, although still run by and flooded with monkeys, was, admittedly, beautiful. The lights reflected off the glass windows of the homes they passed by; they wrapped around the trees and bushes lining the street and were worn as bracelets on the wrists of the smaller monkeys that ran through the crowds, uncaring of the legs they crashed into. 

Now, of course, Suguru would never allow anything to happen to his daughters, especially since they were still not even ten years old, so he designated a cursed spirit to reside on each of their shoulders, one for each girl. He allowed them to wander off if they desired - and told them as such - but he was glad they didn’t want to separate from him in such a crowded place. 

He cursed himself for jinxing it with that thought real soon, though, when they decided to venture off without him to watch the dragon dancers. 

With a sigh, he shook his head at the desire to go after them and decided to only keep an eye on them from his spot. 

He didn’t move as they ran to the side of the road, holding each other’s hands in excitement with gleaming grins on their faces. 

He didn’t move when they ran into a young boy, knocking him onto his hands and knees.

He didn’t move when they stopped in their tracks and glanced at each other before hesitantly apologizing, an act that made Suguru smile despite himself. He knew he was raising them right - despite the boy being a monkey. 

However, he did move when he realized that statement wasn’t true.

The boy wasn’t a monkey. 

If he was, why did he start screaming in horror at the cursed spirits propped on the shoulders of the girls as soon as he looked up at them for the first time?

Nanako - although momentarily shocked - dropped to her knees to console the boy on instinct but was surprised further when he scrambled away from her, scraping up his already torn and bleeding hands and knees even more. Mimiko helped her twin sister back to her feet and looked at the boy with confused eyes before following his line of sight to the grotesque figure sitting on her shoulder. Her gaze flickered back and forth between the curse and the boy with growing confusion until it clicked in her head. 

He could se-

“Are you alright?”

The familiar voice of the man she grew to see as her father interrupted her silent revelation and she looked to see him kneeling in front of her, blocking the sight of the cursed spirit and the girls from the boy’s eyes and offering him a smile that was quite similar to the ones he gave Nanako and Mimiko. 

The young boy in front of him whimpered, trying to peer around Suguru’s head to see if the monster was still there only to scream and cry more when it hadn’t disappeared. 

In an action that was nearly entirely instinctive, Suguru picked the boy up and wrapped his arms around him, holding him against his chest as he cried. The long sleeves of his traditional kimono blocked the crisp wind and soothed the gentle shivering that had unknowingly overcome the younger boy’s body.

“Where are your parents, hm?” The cult leader asked, silently and selfishly hoping he didn’t have any so he could get him out of a place so overrun by the stench of monkeys and the bodies that always follow. 

As if reminded that he had any, the boy started to cry even harder. “M-mama!”

‘Damnit,’ Suguru cursed to himself, keeping the smile on his face unmoving while he gently caressed the boy’s back. From behind him, Nanako - who was still oblivious to the boy’s sorcerer abilities and confused as to why her dad was holding the, presumed, monkey - walked up to him and scowled at him. Just as his eyes widened at the new proximity of the monster and a scream built up in his throat, 3 things happened: Nanako’s eyes widened in final realization, Mimiko wrapped a hand around her sister’s upper arm to yank her back, and an unfamiliar voice started frantically shouting a name in the distance. 

Or, at least, the voice was unfamiliar to the family of three. It was more than familiar to the boy whose eyes widened in a mix of fear and relief - fear at the monster and relief at the voice - and he started struggling to get out of the 23-year-old cult leader’s gentle grasp. Reluctantly, Suguru let the boy go and watched as he started running towards the woman screaming his name.

When your eyes finally caught sight of your son after minutes of frantic searching and being unable to find him even when trying to use your cursed energy technique, you were overjoyed. The unshed tears that built in your eyes finally fell down your cheeks and you fell to your knees in front of him, wrapping your arms around him in a secure hold. 

“Ryōsuke! How many times have I told you not to run off!” You scolded him, cursing yourself when your voice cracked and rubbing his back as he sobbed into your shoulder. He gave no response and just weakly held onto your shirt, most likely ruining it with his tears and snot but you didn’t care. You’d had plenty of shirts ruined by his tears and snot before, and this most likely wouldn’t be the last one. 

Your eyes flickered over his shoulder to where he had run over from and you saw three people standing there watching you. One was a man who looked to be around the same age as you wearing a dark purple and green kimono along with two girls, one blond and wearing a light pink dress with hearts scattered across the fabric while the other was a brunette and was wearing a black t-shirt with a Minecraft sheep on it and blue shorts. The man, who hadn’t torn his eyes away from you and the boy for a second, had a kind yet slightly unnerving smile on his face. It made you want to walk up to him and express your gratitude for watching your son as much as turn in the opposite direction and ignore him entirely. 

With a sigh, you decided to do your duty as a good and polite person and thank him for his kindness. Besides, it wasn’t every day you met someone in this town who wasn’t immediately put off by you and your son’s presence. Of course, the average person wouldn’t be able to tell it was your cursed energy that made them feel uncertain about being around you but they could sense something off. You wondered if the somewhat unnerving feeling you got from this stranger was the one your neighbors got from you. 

Or maybe it was because of the two hideous creatures that sat on the two girls’ shoulders.

With a forced smile, you picked Ryōsuke up and placed him on your hip before standing up and walking over to the group with him, smiling kindly at the two girls and trying your hardest to keep your gaze off the invisible creatures on their shoulders. You were taken aback by their scornful expressions but pushed it aside as them being shy or something of the sort. 

When you looked back up at the man standing in front of you, you were awestruck by how much more handsome he was up close. Your forced smile became a little more genuine as you somewhat awkwardly shifted the boy on your hip around. “Hi.”

Although your smile turned more genuine, it seemed the longer you stood in front of him the less his was. It made you shift nervously on your feet. He didn’t say anything as he looked at you but you could practically taste the disdain that flooded off him in waves. 

“Um, I just wanted to thank you,” you started. When he still didn’t say anything, you filled the silence as a nervous habit. “F-for watching over my son. I put him down for a second to get him a funnel cake since he was begging for one and then when I turned around to pay, he had suddenly disappeared-”

‘It’s unfortunate such a pretty face belongs to such an arrogant monkey. Placing food as a higher priority than her gifted son. I should kill her right here and now,’ Suguru thought to himself, keeping the polite smile on his face to avoid any of your suspicion. 

“-so I just wanted to t-thank yo-”

Your son screaming in your ear shocked you out of your stuttered rambles and you frantically looked over at him, trying to figure out what was making him freak out.

“What? What is it? Are you okay?” You asked only to find him pointing at the two girls while sobbing. You looked over, already knowing you’d see the creatures that rested there, and tore your sight away just as fast. Despite having to hide your son’s abilities to see cursed spirits for his whole life thus far, it never got easier to pretend you couldn’t see the things you really could. 

You wrapped your hand over Ryōsuke’s eyes and tucked his head into your neck, whispering, “Don’t look at them, okay? I’ll protect you.”

While consoling your shaking son, you couldn’t see the pleasant surprise that settled on Suguru’s face. Meanwhile, his two daughters erupted in soft whispers, saying how a monkey like you didn’t deserve your son. He held out a hand to stop them and despite their confusion, they did so immediately. 

Once your son finally settled back down with his head firmly tucked away into your neck - you were even nearly positive he had fallen asleep - you turned back to the man and allowed yourself to be shocked at the once forced smile on his face no longer being forced. It allowed the tension to leave your body as the genuineness of his gaze washed over you and calmed your nerves. 

“I’m sorry about that,” you said with an apologetic smile. “He has schizophrenia and can’t tell the difference between what is real and what’s not just yet,” you explained, before adding, “It’s run in my family for a long time,” for good measure. You adjusted the boy in your arms to free up one of your hands to hold out in greeting to the man before introducing yourself with a smile. 

The girls beside him both scoffed, both at your excuse for your son - which they thought was you simply being foolish enough to believe that - and at the audacity you had for believing yourself worthy of touching your hand to their dad’s. They were left in utter bewilderment when Geto had no qualms about returning your handshake. 

“My name is Geto Suguru but you may call me Suguru, Darling,” he responded with a wink and easy smile. 

The girls’ jaws dropped. 

His hand was soft when he placed it in yours and you blushed not only at the heat emanating from his palm but also from the nickname. You nodded. “Suguru,” you tested the name out on your tongue, unknowing of the effect it had on him. The light blush that grew up his neck was so small in the darkness of the night you could only blame it on the lights flashing from the parade. “Well, Suguru, I will be taking my leave now. I think losing my son for one night was enough for me to last a lifetime,” you joked. You saw what you thought was a bit of panic flash through his eyes before it disappeared in an instant. 

“Well I can’t possibly let you travel home alone on a night like this,” he started to insist. “At least allow me to take your number so that you can let me know when you’ve returned safely. It would bring my girls and I some peace of mind.”

Damn. This man was smooth. 

With a quirk of your lips, you nodded in agreement and handed him your phone to put his number in. Once he did and you sent him a text he seemed satisfied. 

“I’ll be off now, but it was nice to meet you. Thank you again for looking after my son in my absence. It means more than I can tell.”

He nodded. “Of course, Darling. Have a safe trip home.”

When you turned around and hid the growing smile and blush on your face in the sleeping boy in your arms’ hair, you didn’t see the way Suguru summoned up a small low-level demon to follow you home. Just because you could see them didn’t mean he couldn’t make it so it wasn’t in your line of sight at all. It was all for your sake, in case you forgot to send him the text letting him know you were home safe and sound! It was just for your safety! Nothing else. 

He wasn’t storing the address of your home away for safekeeping at all. 

“Why did you give her your number? She's just a stupid monkey. Why would you give her the time of day?” Nanako asked with an annoyed look on her face. 

“Come now,” Suguru told her with a gently scolding tone, looking at her with a stern smile. “I’m surprised you didn’t notice, but that woman is anything but a monkey. In fact,” he looked back in your direction where he could still see your figure slowly getting smaller and smaller as you walked further and further away from the crowd with your son in hand. “She might just become your mother one day.”

He would make sure of it. 

[vhyunjinverse]

“Come in, tell me- what’s the issue?”

Imagine Geto, doing his usual job at collecting curses from the people he hated the most, and then you come in.. You were a cute little thing. His eyes didn’t miss such perfect legs for a non sorcerer. Your juicy breast, the ass. He’s never given in to temptation, but he could always watch..observe your body language.

He held a smirk on his lips. From a distance, he’d seem nice, harmless. Suguru Geto was far from that. You didn’t know that, though. With your cute little pout on your plump lips. Rubbing your arm..glancing at him, that smirk- so harmless. However, what Geto could see was far from what you did.

There was a curse on you, drinking away at your arousal. Disgusting. It wasn’t a hassle for Geto to get rid of, a minor thing, but boy who couldn’t have fun every once in a while?

“Ah…a-ah! G-Geto…” He’d fuck you instead. You tempted his after all! Fucking the curse away, he called it. His monster of a cock slamming into your heat, your arousal pooling around the thick head until you’re full and stuffed with his cum. Taking every drop, an angel he’d call you, stroking your hair before pulling it back to make you look up at him best you could. He’d never miss how your eyes would roll back, “Geto” you’d moan! He almost laughs.

His back heavy with red streaks from your nails scratching, they weren’t nearly enough to cause real damage. He’d watch as the little curse would stimulate your breast until his long tongue was there, almost as if it were trying to show Geto how to pleasure you! The curse making you sensitive enough to take such a big cock in such a tight little cunt.

Geto admittedly had fun. Enough fun to leave the curse as is, telling you to meet him again the following week for a follow up.

i may write a bigger part for this because..i’m really liking this idea | divider @/cafekitsune | reblog pls!

[lily-lilibeth]

Feeling better, my dear?

He would hold you against his chest, when you'd stop crying. He hates seeing you in such distress, caused by the despicable stinking monkeys.

You're okay, darling. I'm here.

[small-sketch]

After the fall

[minimomoe]

Listen Carefully

Cult Leader!Suguru Geto x Reader

Summary: Suguru is going to reward (or maybe punish) you for doing so well today.

Rating : 19+ MDNI

an: exhibitonism, voyeruism, public sex, cult leader suguru, oral (m receiving, toys, degradation... let me know if I missed something

wct. 1.3k

“And you did this all by yourself?” Suguru looked over the report made by his second in command about you. “Good job,” Suguru purred. You stood before him in front of the other followers trying to hide your swelling satisfaction. You were literally vibrating from excitement. Well that from and from other things. 

Suguru patted a spot in front of him and you came to sit on it. You sat there quietly with your hands in your lap, briefly gazing over the curious faces of the other members before turning your attention back to Suguru. 

“You know, when they first brought you in I was prepared to kill you. I have an image to keep up. You know I killed my own parents so no one would question my resolve,” he leaned in to tuck a stray curl behind your ear. Your breathing was heavier as he got closer to your ear. 

“But you have proven yourself very useful to me, despite being human,” he whispered. “What would you like as a reward?” 

Your breath hitched at his question. A reward? You were shamelessly rocking your hips back and forth and Suguru smirked at you. “Is there something bothering you?”

“I… Please take it out,” you breathed. You looked down at the floor but could feel him grinning at you. 

“I can’t hear you.”

“Please take it out,” you said a bit louder. 

“Take what out?” You glanced up at him and he had schooled his expression to be indifferent but his purple eyes had a playful glint to them. You bit your lip and looked to your side where one member was confused as to what you both were talking about. You ears flames from embarrassment and you try to save face. 

“It's private.”

“Is it? Well now I’m very curious, but we can’t leave just yet. Everyone, turn around. And plug your ears too,” he smirked. There was a pause among the crowd of followers but they all shifted slowly, then raised their fingers to close their ears. 

“There, privacy. Now what did you want me to take out?”

“The thing… that’s vibrating,” you mumbled, too shy to say its name. Suguru barked out a laugh and patted your back to get you to stand up. He then pointed to your stomach. You were confused by his non verbal commands, causing him to roll his eyes. 

“Lay over them,” he stated. You sank down and awkwardly stretched over his legs, and Suguru trailed his hands up the back of your thigh. He lifted your robe to expose your ass, then slipped your panties to the side to show the pink bullet vibrator that was making your drip. 

“You kept it in all day. You’re such an obedient pet,” he praised. He took out the toy just enough to raise the intensity and slowly pushed it deeper inside of you while being mindful of the slack left over. You tried to keep your moans quiet, but it proved to be an impossible task while he started to circle your clit with your wetness as lubricant. 

“Make noise, they can’t hear you. Or at least, they’re not supposed to,” he chuckled. He put more pressure on your clit and you let out a startled groan. You could see the people whose backs were nearest to you flinch, but you couldn’t bring your volume down. Suguru rolled and pinched your sensitive bud between his fingers, eliciting a guttural groan from you, just to slap your bare ass when you were enjoying it too much. 

“Do you want to come?” 

You looked back at Suguru and weighed your options. You could say no, and save yourself the embarrassment of what seemed to be a very private moment to a very public audience, but that would leave you unsatisfied. You had no idea when you’d get a chance like this again and you could almost taste your orgasm. 

You meekly nodded your head at him. “Yes.”

“Then work for it. On your knees.”

You slid off his lap and positioned yourself in between his knees and reached to undo his robes before he stopped you. “Where are your manners?”

You looked behind you again but couldn’t see anyones face, but you knew they were listening, they all were. You took a deep breath before continuing.

“Can I please suck you off, sir?” Suguru smiled down at you and let go of your hands. You went through layers of fabric before getting to his half hard dick and palmed it slowly. You rubbed your thumb over the slit, smearing around the precum before giving it soft kitten licks to appease him. You took him in deeper, swallowing the swollen head in your mouth, swirling your tongue all around before hollowing your cheeks and pulling back slightly. 

“Look up at me,” he moaned, and your eyes caught his to give him a wide eye look. He stroked the side of your face so softly you leaned into his open palm, then attempted to take more of his length down your throat. It was no easy feat, and the part of him that wasn’t in your mouth was covered by your right hand, twisting and turning your drool to get him off faster. 

“Touch yourself,” he ordered, his head leaned back before looking down at you. He noticed your knees pressed together and figured you might as well get yourself off because he wasn’t going to do it for you. 

You fixed your legs without ever taking your mouth off of him to finger yourself. You were dripping down your thighs but gathered it together to focus on your clit and bobbed your head faster on Suguru. He was almost hitting the back of your throat, forcing you to focus on breathing through your nose. 

“This is all you're ever good for,” he began, resting his hand on the back of your head. “Just a hole for me to put my dick in. You’ll always keep it warm for me, right?” He taunted.

“I don’t even think you deserve it. You are human, after all. All you guys do is create problems for others, for me-ah!” He groaned and pushed your head down all the way to the base until your nose was touching his pubic bone. You squeezed his thigh but that only made him push your head harder. “But I like what you can do. You chose to be a dirty little slut for me.”

His words were cruel but your fingers circled faster around your clit, bringing tears to your eyes. The wet sounds of your moaning on his dick and you touching yourself was loud and evident to everyone else in the room, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care anymore. You slipped to fingers inside your cunt, fucking yourself and working along the vibrator that was nothing more than a tease now. You wanted something more, something bigger, but asking him to fuck you would not yield the outcome you needed. You knew he’d laugh in your face. 

Suguru continued to face fuck you harshly, constantly hitting your uvula until he stilled you at the base once again and started to come down your throat. While gripping one of his thighs harshly as you worked on bringing yourself over the edge with your other hand. You removed yourself off of his dick, breaking the line of spit from the tip from your mouth and gasped loudly as you came, riding your own hand into euphoria. 

Suguru gave you a look of amusement when you came down from your orgasm and you wished the floor would open up and swallow you. He fixed his robe and began to walk out of the room, but threw a glance back at you over his shoulder. 

“Don’t forget to clean up your mess. Everyone else is dismissed.” 

[noira-l]

𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: you are the person people turn to on exceptional situations. Your next target is a young and ambitious cult leader - Geto Suguru.

𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 — cult leader!geto suguru x assasin!reader

𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎 — dark themes

𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 — 11,8 k

𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛'𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎 — mdni, dark themes (morally grey actions, violence, stalking, slight gore, attempt of assasination), power dynamic, sexual tension, knife play, slight body harm, death.

𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛'𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎 — I wanted to write something about Geto, hopefully however I came up with a good portrait of his character

𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚎 — valorant x 99 god x c103 - renegade

𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

Collector.

That's what you were called.

The title had stuck, a moniker that felt both accurate and hollow. You collected, yes - but it was never just about the objects. It was about something deeper, something rarer, something alive.

Unique cursed techniques.

Not the hereditary ones, from great clans or families. Just the ones that little is known about, the ones that were missing, or the ones that haven't heard of.

You had quite a reputation for it. Famous, or infamous, depending on who you asked. The kind of fame earned through the silent, systematic harvesting of cursed energy.

You possessed a gift - more acurate, a curse - one that allowed you to draw the essence of power from others, to make their strength your own.

But it came with a price.

To take, you must first destroy. To gain, you must leave only silence behind.

A simple equation, really. And yet, simplicity can be the sharpest cruelty of all.

The techniques you consumed left indelible marks upon your soul, faint echoes of those you had taken. Each one brought its own sensation - some surging through you like lightning striking an open sea, others no more than a trembling whisper in the depths of your being.

It wasn’t the power that consumed you, no - it was the experience. The unraveling of energy, the intimate weaving of foreign essence into your own. Each time, it was like savoring an exquisite, forbidden delicacy. You didn’t seek strength for survival or dominiation, you sought it for the artistry, the taste. Every technique was a rare vintage to be dissected, every pulse a note to be savored, every burst of energy a fleeting glimpse of something greater than yourself.

But, it depends.

Some of the weakest techniques lingered, unforgettable in their subtlety, while the most powerful often left you hollow, their promised grandeur dissolving into nothing. There was no pattern, no logic - only the maddening unpredictability that kept you chasing the next taste.

But the savoring came at a price.

The craving grew relentless.

You weren’t just a collector - you were an addict, devouring the essence of others with a hunger that no power could ever truly satisfy. The more you consumed, the deeper the void within you seemed to grow.

Sometimes, you wondered how far this obsession will take you.

Unlike other connoisseurs, you couldn’t simply purchase a rare wine from a distant province or savor cheese from some exceptional animal. Your desires were far more intimate, far more exacting. You craved something that could only be taken - not bought, made or gifted.

It wasn’t easy. Rarity never was. You had to find it, steal it, sometimes even fight for it. But occasionally, fate brought them to you -unwitting strangers carrying new and intoxicating flavors. Those moments felt like destiny itself indulging your hunger.

But somethimes... somethimes you starve. So you needed to find a soultion.

Being a hitman was a fine job - a convenient means to fund your obsessions. It paid for information, tools, and the rare whispers of knowledge you craved. Often, there were mutual benefits in death: someone perished for someone else's gain, and in the aftermath, you walked away richer - armed with their technique and a pocket full of blood-stained cash.

The rain drummed a steady rhythm against Tokyo’s rooftops, weaving a symphony that hummed in tune with the city’s underbelly. In a cramped, smoke-filled alley where streetlight struggled to pierce the gloom, you stood - a shadow among shadows. Your black cloak folded into the night, your face obscured beneath. Few ever saw it, and fewer lived to remember it.

In a world that thrived on the extraordinary, where human limits were tested and broken daily, you were something - a myth, collector of rare abilities torn from those, who no longer needed them.

The black market had become your haven, a twisted home where the forbidden was currency and secrecy the air you breathed. Here, you were an assasin - other times a patron, a quiet force in the labyrinth of curses, whispers, and deals that shaped lives and ended others. It was here you found everything: the tools, the knowledge, the edge you needed to maintain your addition in the shadowy game of death and power.

Tonight, the market’s pulse brought you to a low, dimly lit pub, thick with the scent of tobacco, alcohol, drugs, and forgotten stories. A place where past sins clung to the walls and silence that carried the weight of things better left unsaid.

It was here that you were to meet your new client.

Your client arrived in a suit that was far too fancy for the setting, his every movement betraying unease. He even hesitated in the doorway, eyes darting to corners where only killers and smugglers lingered, before making his way to the wooden table where you waited. His silhouette seemed smaller in the heavy gloom. When he sat, his hands trembled faintly, and you watched, silent and still, as if the darkness itself had come alive to greet him.

"Is that you?" he asked quietly, though a faint note of arrogance laced his voice.

"To the point." you replied, tone cold, dispassionate as your gaze lifted to meet his "I assume you have something worth my time."

"Geto Suguru." you think you heard this name before, but you are not sure. Was he a smuggler? Yakuza? Perhaps a pimp?

"Who?"

"The leader of the Time Vessel Association."

Ah, a cultist - the thought laced with faint amusement.

"Do you think he's worth adding to my collection?" Your eyes drilled into him, a piercing weight that seemed to drag the man deeper into the shadows of the room.

"He…" he faltered, gaze caught in the depths of your shrouded stare "He knows how to make curses obey."

Now that was interesting.

Could he manipulate cursed spirits? Or did he temporarily take control of them? You need to find out.

"The story?" you asked.

"Geto dismissed my sponsor." the man in the suit murmured, his tone icy with disapproval "My client offered to invest in his vision - generously, I might add - but that... boy, he spurned him, discarded him as if he were nothing. And now…" his lips curved into a hollow smile, devoid of warmth or life "Now, he’s adrift, searching for someone to make him pay. Who better than you?"

Flattery, how "charming" of him.

A curse technique like that... it whispers familiar to you.

Whispers shared by an assassin once entwined with your fate.

"What are the conditions?" your voice a low murmur, smooth as silk yet weighted with an unspoken gravity. You folded your hands slowly, as if the air around you thickened in anticipation of decision.

"Quiet work." the man replied "No witnesses. No threads to trace back." his trembling fingers knotted together, composure unraveling with every moment spent in your shadow. Beads of sweat glistened on his brow, breath hitched, a testament to the dread you conjured without a single raised hand.

"Only him?" you asked.

"Only." sharp and short answers.

"Damage?"

"None."

The last one.

"Price?"

Your gaze cut through him, dissecting him with an intensity that sought every fracture, every vulnerability. You never needed to raise your voice - he break so easily - the sheer weight of your presence was enough.

"Isn’t adding such a rare skill to the collection payment enough?" he stammered, lips quivering as he tried to weave confidence into his feeble argument. But it was clear - he lacked the conviction to sell even his own words.

You tilted your head ever so slightly, lifting your gaze from beneath your lowered lashes. It wasn’t a gesture of acknowledgment but of assessment, as if deciding whether he was worth the breath it took to entertain his proposition, or if boredom would claim you first. The man was a mere vessel for an order, unimportant.

The silence between you thickened like a fog, stifling and oppressive, until it felt as though even the air itself was conspiring against him.

"Forty million yen." you said finally, your voice steady and measured, each word slicing through the tension like a scalpel through flesh.

Merciless. Precise.

He flinched as though the figure itself had wounded him. His eyes widened in disbelief, a nervous chuckle spilling from his lips.

"B-but- " he began, protest tripping over itself as his hands clawed at the surface of the table, searching for support that wasn’t there.

"Minimaly." you interrupted, leaning forward just enough to bring the shadows closer to him, face still carved from stone. Your voice remained calm, but now it carried a chilling finality, a tone that snuffed out any notion of negotiation "If that’s too steep, feel free to find someone else. I won’t stop you."

He knew there was no other option. In the world he inhabited, your word had power. To seek another would be an admission of defeat before the game even began.

"My supervisor won’t be pleased with this." he muttered, gaze sinking into his trembling hands, as if the lines of his palms might offer some escape from the inevitable.

"Do I look like I care?" you mock, tone indifferent, as though the mention of his superior was nothing more than a passing breeze.

A sigh escaped him, laden with resignation. He had lost - though no words had been spoken to declare it so. The weight of your unflinching presence bore down on him until all resistance dissolved.

"Agreed." the bitterness in his voice curling like smoke in the still air "Forty million."

Your lips curved into the faintest smile, but it was a smile devoid of solace, colder than the void reflected in your eyes. Like a predator’s acknowledgment of its prey’s submission.

"Good." you said softly, smooth yet edged with finality "In that case, consider it done. What your boss desire is already set into motion."

The chill in your words lingered long after they were spoken, a reminder that the deal had been struck, and there would be no turning back.

𖤓

Was it really him?

Perched on the rooftop, you remained a shadow against the dying light, the late afternoon sun casting long fingers of shadow across the city below. From your vantage point, the world felt distant, but he stood in stark clarity - a figure pulled straight from some painting.

The photograph crumpled slightly in your hand, forgotten. You no longer needed it. The details of his face, once static and lifeless on paper, were now burned into your memory, vivid and breathing with a sight before you.

His face was a study in cold perfection, light cream, flawless, as if chiseled from marble by a sculptor who had glimpsed divinity. Elegant contours merged to create a visage that was both mysterious and alluring, commanding attention with an intensity that seemed to bend the world around his presence.

But his eyes - oh, those eyes - were a weapon all their own. Brilliant, sharp, fierce, they seemed to carry the weight of an unspoken sotfness. A calm before the storm. They cut through the air with the same razor-sharp precision. In the photograph, they had been striking. In person, they were alive, burning with enchantment no lens could capture.

A cascade of inky black hair fell over his shoulders, catching the dim light like polished obsidian. The strands shimmered faintly, shifting with his movements, a dark waterfall that framed the cold, otherworldly beauty of his face. Every motion he made was deliberate, as though the earth itself adjusted to accommodate his presence.

The robes he wore seemed born of another age, extravagant. Threads of gold and silver wove intricate patterns across the fabric, each stitch a testament to craftsmanship. The heavy folds moved with a regal weight, as if they were imbued with their own significance, the very essence of power. You could almost feel their texture through your gaze - rich, sumptuous, exuding a quiet opulence that demanded reverence.

It had to be him.

Even if you had doubts. You could feel it - a dense, oppressive aura that pulsed like a heartbeat, reverberating through the air and seeping into your very bones. His cursed energy was unmistakable, a force that didn’t linger, it could easily dominate.

The photograph had been inadequate, a mere fragment of the truth. It could never capture the reality. But now, watching him move, there was no room left for doubt.

Geto Suguru.

Cult leader. Special Grade Curse User. The man your client wanted erased from existence. The man whose cursed technique you hungered to claim for yourself.

A death wrapped in splendor.

Truly, a view to behold.

𖤓

For the next few months you followed Geto Suguru from obscurity, like a shadow that never disappeared, no matter how intense the light of day was. By the third week, his patterns were etched into your mind - when he woke up, when he slept, where he trained, who he trusted.

The first few weeks were standard.

You observed, cataloged, and analyzed, piecing together the mosaic of his life. Routines memorized, habits dissected, alliances noted. Safety measures scrutinized, his defenses silently tested.

One of your techniques allowed you to dissolve into the shadows, unnoticed and unseen. It was fitting, then, that you had become exactly that - a shadow in his world, always there, always watching, never revealing yourself.

You first started with something basic, like listening to his speeches and meeting at cult headquarters, drawn by the intensity with which he spoke about his purpose.

His views were radical, bizarre even, clashing with your own sensibilities. Yet, as unsettling as they were, you couldn’t help but acknowledge that in some ways, he might be right. Not in everything, admittedly, but in enough to make you question. Enough to make you wonder a little.

He was undeniably charismatic. People hung on his every word, their gazes fixed on him with a reverence that bordered on worship. To them, he wasn’t just a man - he was a savior, a budda - promising liberation from their struggles. There were always people desperate enough to believe anything, as long as it offered them hope.

People so lost, that they belive in everything someone can say.

Of course. A leader who can’t charm his flock won’t keep them for long. No one builds a cult with soft hands and kind eyes alone.

But something did surprised you.

His voice.

It didn’t align with the image you’d constructed from afar - the tall, imposing figure who moved with easyness, but carried himself like a general giving orders to an army. You’d expected something sharp, something commanding and edged with steel. Instead, his voice was a revelation.

Affable. Kind. Syrupy. A velvet thread weaving through, each word a gentle stroke that smoothed away any doubt. It had a warmth, a richness, that seemed to defy his calculated presence, flowing over his audience like a warm embrace. His voice didn’t need to force compliance - it invited surrender, disarming his listeners with its elegance and sinking his words deep into their minds like seeds waiting to bloom.

You even have the suspicion that it has almost bloomed inside you.

It was fleeting, of course. You were there to watch, not to be moved.

The longer you followed him, the more you saw beyond that facade.

The elegance, the smoothness, the alluring charm - it was a part of him, concealing something far darker. Beneath the polite smile and warm voice was a man who thrived on control, a man who could remain unnervingly composed as chaos erupted around him. It wasn’t indifference, but a thing more calculated, deeply unsettling.

You saw it with your own eyes.

It happened one night when a sponsor - a monkey, that's what he called him - who had promised unwavering support for Geto’s cause, fell short of his word. The punishment was swift, merciless, and horrifyingly precise. With a single motion, a curse has been summoned. It slithered into the room like living shadow, coiling itself around the hapless man. Its grotesque form began to devour him, inch by inch, savoring every agonized scream. The air grew thick, suffocating with the stench of fear and death, as the room filled with sounds too horrible to describe.

He did not flinch. He did not speak. His gaze never wavered.

That calm - so unshaken, so absolute - felt less like the composure of a man and more like the stillness of something far colder. His dark eyes followed the scene with the detachment of an observer watching the inevitable unfold, as if violence was nothing more than a variable in a long-played equation.

There was something beneath the stillness. Hatred. Not the loud, burning kind. No, this was quieter, older. The kind of hate that settles into your bones, too familiar to flare up, too constant to fade away.

That was the duality of Geto Suguru.

The benevolent leader, cloaked in silk and adoration, could shift in an instant, unfurling into the cold executioner who would let a man be devoured without so much as a blink. That kind of power could be called a silent declaration.

A will forged in iron. A blade wrapped in velvet.

In those moments, the full depth of the man you tracked became startlingly clear. He wasn’t simply charismatic - he was dangerous.

It was chilling to witness. And yet, you couldn’t deny the fascination. It was that balance - the seamless blend of charm and ruthlessness - that made him so difficult to pin down.

And perhaps harder to predict.

𖤓

When he returned from his meeting cradling his two children in his arms, everything about him shifted. His smile, so often reserved or calculating, softened into something genuine, warm, and deeply caring. The two girls, nestled against him, wore smiles that radiated the purest joy you’d ever seen, sincere in a way that disarmed you completely. And you understood why.

In those moments, Geto Suguru was neither a cult leader nor a powerful curse user.

He was simply… theirs.

A father figure - someone who loved them.

He cooked meals for them, simple and unpretentious. At dawn, he walked them to school, their small bags swinging from his shoulder as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He lingered at the gates longer than necessary, watching until they disappeared from view, as though the simple act of parting might unravel something within him. He helped with their studies, patiently guiding them through lessons with the same focus he applied to anything else in his life.

And he spoiled them - not with extravagance, but with relentless tenderness.

Candies slipped into their pockets as if conjured from thin air. Trinkets and dolls gathered like offerings, filling the shadows of their rooms. Shelves in thier room buckled beneath the weight of gifts. He indulged them as if to drown out the harsher truths that lingered just beyond their reach. It was clear that nothing was off-limits when it came to their happiness.

Sometimes, you’d watch him in the fading hours, spending entire afternoons with them - lost in play, their laughter spilling like fractured light through the cracks of the cult headquarters. It drifted through the corridors, haunting in its innocence, too bright for such a place. Yet, around them, it felt natural, right even. As if their presence alone softened the entire mood of the place. These moments seemed pulled from another life, a life that didn’t belong to a man of his power and position. In those hours, Geto wasn’t the man who summoned curses or commanded followers with radical ideals.

He was something smaller, quieter, just a father. A teacher sometimes. A man who found fleeting refuge in the fragile joy his daughters brought him.

It was a strange dichotomy, seeing this softer side of him. How could the same man, who watched a curse devour another human being with the stillness of stone, now hold such tenderness in his hands?

Yes, it was unsettling.

Even so, the truth lay bare before you. No matter the blood that stained his robes, his hands were steady when they braided his daughters’ hair.

Such a peacefull sight.

But peace is fragile.

And his daughters - so blissfully unaware - were so lucky. Lucky that the contract required clean hands and no unnecessary deaths. Because this softness, this visible chink in his armor, was something you would not hesitate to exploit.

If the order changed, you would shatter that tranquility without a second thought.

𖤓

You observed him daily, each training session a display of skill honed with painstaking precision. His training was not simply practice but a dance, each motion carved from relentless discipline, honed to the finest edge. Nothing in his movements suggested uncertainty. Every step, every flick of his wrist, whispered of mastery held in iron-clad restraint. Everything showed a mastery over both body and cursed energy that left little room for error. There was no wasted effort.

He always began with strength drills, moving as if every fiber of his being was bound by an iron discipline. The shirt itself was simple, practical, black with subtle markings along the seams, designed for ease of movement yet offering no distraction from the task at hand. However, it framed his physique, hugging the sharp edges of his lean, muscular frame.

His long, dark hair was often tied back. Yet, in the heat of exertion, rebellious strands would break free, clinging to the nape of his neck where beads of sweat gathered like liquid ink, glinting faintly against his skin. Each droplet traced a silent path over his pulse, as if the heat of effort carried with it was somthing shyly resembling a human.

Push-ups, pull-ups, lunges - he moved through each exercise with a sense of rhythm, his body cutting through the still air like a blade. There was no excess movement, no wasted energy. His core strength was visible in the way he balanced himself, the quiet strength of his legs when he transitioned from one position to another. Breathing was steady, controlled, as if he were channeling not only physical strength but mental focus into every motion.

All of it - every precise motion, every disciplined breath - was merely prelude to what held your gaze most intently. His control over curses.

Each curse, once summoned, was inspected with meticulous care. What unsettled you was his unwavering memory of them all, each dark fragment cataloged and recalled effortlessly, no matter how newly acquired. Their numbers never seemed to weigh on him. Not physically at least.

Often, he would stand in the middle of the square behind the base, surrounded by the dark entities he had summoned, and simply... think. You could sense his thoughts unraveling, weaving strategies that seemed to flow like water. Projectiles would slice through the still air without warning, curses folding and shifting around him in a silent ballet of violence and precision. Smaller curses danced at his will, colliding or converging as he tested their interplay, seeking the fractures in their power or the synergies that might strengthen them.

It was almost hypnotic to watch.

Well, watching him in that space of sweat and silence was not without reward. His every movement was a lesson, each flick of his wrist, each subtle shift of cursed energy unraveling the secrets of his technique before you ever laid a hand on it.

You became a shadowed student to an oblivious teacher.

By the time you are ready to embrace its power, you will have already unravelled its mysteries, piece by piece. There would be no frantic search for understanding, no nights spent wrestling with unfamiliar forces tearing at your veins. The sacrifice of learning would be a thing you already bypassed. His strength would bleed into yours seamlessly. And when the moment came to strip it from him, it would feel less like thef, and more like something that had always been meant for you.

Though he trained alone, there lingered a haunting sense that solitude never fully embraced him. His movements carried a quiet awareness, a subtle shift in the air that whispered of something just out of reach. It was as if he could feel the weight of your gaze pressing against him.

But he never searched and never sensed you presence.

In the rare moments when he paused - when the fire of his movements dimmed and stillness crept in - you could almost feel the shift in him. His breath slowed, shoulders easing under the weight of something unseen. His gaze, though fixed on nothing in particular, seemed to stretch far beyond. It was as if his mind drifted elsewhere, slipping free of the present and into darker, heavier places. Perhaps he was sifting through the weight of his purpose, or unraveling the threads of a future only he could see. Or maybe, just maybe, he was standing at the edge of the world he sought to remake, measuring the distance between what was and what could be.

And as you watched, you couldn't help but wonder, if even he feared the shape of the world he dreamed of building.

𖤓

There were days you trailed him through the mundanity of life - simple errands like shopping, where the weight of curses and ideology seemed to dissipate, replaced by the illusion of normalcy.

It was strange, really.

He moved among crowds like any other man, blending into the ebb and flow of the city as if there was nothing extraordinary lurking beneath the surface of his existence.

But there was always something beneath the surface.

He sought out shops run by sorcerers, no matter how inconvenient, no matter how far. In those places, something in him softened, as if the burden he carried lightened just enough to let his guard slip. His smile came easily, not the polished mask you were accustomed to at this point. His posture loosened, his voice softened in casual conversation. He would speak with the shopkeepers, customers, owners, lingering longer than necessary, asking after their lives with a quiet sincerity that felt almost… paternal. As though the sorcerers he encountered were part of something sacred to him, a dwindling kindred that needed safeguarding.

However, when sorcerer-run shops weren’t an option, he would settle for regular stores, those run by non-sorcerers.

On the surface, nothing changed.

He remained polite, patient. The same soft-spoken man.

But you noticed a barrier hung between him and the rest of the world. It lingered in his eyes, in the faint pause before he spoke to non-sorcerers, as if reminding himself of the role he needed to play. His warmth was there, but muted, tempered by a detachment that felt as vast as the space between heaven and earth. His face held the same gentleness, but there was a quiet detachment beneath it, a sense that he was more than they could understand, and he made it clear in the smallest ways.

He was among them, but never with them. It was simply the quiet acknowledgment of something that could not be bridged.

And he made no effort to pretend otherwise.

𖤓

On occasion, you watched him as he sat at his desk in the dim light of his flat, practicing calligraphy. The black ink flowed across the paper with a precision that mirrored the discipline in every aspect of his life. Each brushstroke was planned, filled with a quiet sense of calm and inner balance. For him, this was not just art, it was a form of self-improvement, a meditative practice that demanded focus, patience, and reflection.

Every letter he wrote seemed to symbolize something deeper, every stroke a reflection of his life, carefully crafted but never without purpose. There was something poetic in the way he moved, the ink gliding like whispers of shadow against the ivory page.

You could sense the connection between his mind and the ink, as if the act of writing was a metaphor for the control he sought in all things.

At times, his hand would pause mid-stroke, his brush hovering just above the paper. His brows furrowed slightly as he studied the work before him, considering how best to proceed. His gaze darkened, studying the unfolding characters with the sharpness of someone contemplating the fragile balance between creation and destruction. He would tilt his head slightly, strands of dark hair falling loose over his shoulder, cascading like ink across silk.

When imperfection struck, a line too thin, a curve drawn an inch too far, he did not waver. There was no frustration. No flicker of impatience. He would simply set the paper aside with the same calm precision, letting it drift to the pile of discarded sheets as he began again. Entire pages were rewritten, entire passages abandoned until the work met his exacting standards.

You knew this ritual often stretched long into the night, the hours slipping away unnoticed as he worked beneath the watchful gaze of flickering candlelight.

The completed works that adorned his office walls spoke for themselves.

Sometimes, he would discard entire pages, whole phrases rewritten until they reached his exacting standards. You knew that many nights, he worked late into the hours of dawn, refusing to rest until the parchment was perfect, every line a testament to his dedication.

Watching him, you couldn’t deny the strange beauty in his work. There was something almost haunting in the way he gave himself entirely to the smallest details, his pursuit of perfection both admirable and unnervingly relentless.

𖤓

One night, you witnessed something that shattered the careful image you had constructed of him. Cloaked in the safety of shadows, your cursed technique rendered you invisible, allowing you to observe Geto Suguru as closely, as if you had stepped into his skin. But this

He sat alone in his study, his night robes hanging loosely on his frame, damp strands of his hair clinging to his shoulders. The dim lamplight painted the room in shades of quiet desolation, casting a long shadow that seemed to stretch endlessly, mirroring the weight in his posture.

In his hands, an old photograph trembled, though the details were too blurred by distance for you to discern. His shoulders, always squared in quiet authority, now slumped as if they bore a burden too great even for him. His eyes, fixed on the photograph, were unblinking, as though looking anywhere else might break something fragile within him.

And then, you saw it.

A tear.

It slid down his cheek, silent and glinting in the lamplight like a shard of glass. He wiped it away quickly, a futile attempt to claw back the stoicism that defined him. But something cracked, and more tears followed, unbidden and unrelenting, dripping onto the photograph.

It felt wrong, almost invasive, to witness this vulnerability, but curiosity gnawed at you. You stepped closer, using the cursed technique to remain hidden, desperate to understand what had broken the man you thought was unbreakable.

And then, you saw the photograph.

Three people stood side by side, radiating with youth and boldness. The photograph, worn and faded, captured a time untouched by the weight of the present.

On the left stood Geto, unmistakably younger, his hair neatly tied into a bun. His face bore the same calm detachment you had come to recognize, yet there was a rebellious spark in his eyes, a flicker of defiance that broke through his otherwise indifferent expression. His hand, flashing a middle finger to the camera, betrayed a streak of mischief that felt almost uncharacteristic now. But logical the more you know him.

In the middle, a figure with short, reddish-brown hair smiled brightly, their eyes shut in pure, unrestrained joy. They clutched a lollipop with the kind of innocent delight that seemed to radiate from the photograph, untouched by the shadows of the present.

And then your eyes shifted to the figure on the right.

You stopped.

Slightly taller. White hair that burned bright even in the aged photograph, framing sharp features and round sunglasses that had slipped just enough to reveal crystalline blue eyes. A grin stretched across his face, broad and unrestrained, as if the weight of the world had never once touched him. He flashed a peace sign with the kind of carefree energy that seemed almost dangerous in its sincerity.

You stared harder. Those eyes.

It was unmistakable. The description you’d heard in hushed circles, the warnings wrapped in rumors - he was standing there as if the world belonged to him, was the one person every sorcerer knew by reputation alone.

Your gaze flicked back to Geto, his face now buried in his hands, the photograph trembling in his grip.

So he knew him.

This job, already tangled in threads of secrecy, had just grown far more interesting.

You had been tasked with eliminating Geto Suguru. A simple directive, clean and unambiguous. Yet, as you stood there in the dim light, watching him quietly fall apart, something struck your mind.

Well, he slightly changed his purpose for you now. He was also a key now. A gateway to the answers you had long pursued, that were buried beneath layers of shadow and silence, hidden within the locked corridors of sorcerer society. Answers that no corpse could provide.

You knew the inevitable approached. The path ahead was carved in stone, and your task would reach its conclusion soon enough.

Were you in a position to find out the information you were looking for, before he expels his last breath?

𖤓

The night outside the cult’s headquarters was still, an undisturbed blanket of silence cloaking everything - a perfect contrast to the work that lay ahead. Each step melted into the night, slipping through the darkness with a kind of elegance born from experience, your presence vanishing into the shadows like ink on black velvet. The towering structure before you loomed in the moonlight, cold and imposing, its jagged edges softened by the dark.

This building was not made for defence, it was not prepared for you.

Time, as always, was a matter of precision. You didn’t rush. Instead, you let it flow on its own pace, watching from the edges, waiting with the steady patience of someone who understood the weight of missteps.

You slipped inside.

Then you watched, waited - motionless as the shadows around you, with the patience of someone who has walked this path more times than they could count. The secretary, motionless, too focused on her work, became aware of the passage of time, finally moved. Her chair creaked slightly as she stood up, and the sound was drowned out by the thick silence filling the room. Her footsteps, measured and loud from her high heels skipped down the corridor, each one fading away until they dissolved into the depths of the building.

Now.

You moved like breath escaping into the cold, an unseen ripple disturbing nothing. The air barely stirred in your wake.

The security system loomed ahead, blinking faintly in the dark, but it posed no threat. The dance of your hands across the control panel was effortless, each motion rehearsed to perfection. Button after button yielded beneath your fingertips, precise and quick, the sequence etched into memory long before tonight.

A soft clicks.

The sound, though almost imperceptible, echoed in your ears like a gunshot in the quiet. And then, nothing. Silence enveloped the space, deep and unbroken. The system lay dormant, unaware it had been dismantled. No alarms. No suspicions. Not until it was far too late. The building slept soundly beneath your touch, oblivious to the ghost moving through its veins.

Geto Suguru will soon be at his office again.

You knew he would be. His patterns were as familiar to you as your own heartbeat. Weeks of careful study had carved them into your mind, a map drawn in his habits, his footsteps, the soft rituals that unfolded in the long hours after everyone is gone. He lingered, always, alone with his thoughts long after the night should have claimed him.

Your steps were weightless, each one dissolving into the hush that stretched through the corridor. Ahead, Geto moved with measured grace, his robes catching faint ripples of light, their edges whispering against the floor. The hall swallowed him whole, the door to his office sealing behind him with the soft finality of a blade sliding back into its sheath.

The wooden doors closed with a quiet, almost reluctant click, sealing the space that now held only him - and soon, you.

This was it.

You slipped inside just as he lowered himself into his chair, the faint creak of worn leather breaking the silence. He did not notice. You waited a bit. The air shifted as you passed through it, but his eyes were already drawn to the papers sprawled across his desk, documents, raports and scheadule for tommorow. The lamplight draped golden shadows over his features. He sighed, a sound that conveyed the heavy burden of leadership as he leaned back, readying himself for the night’s work.

That’s when you struck - emerging from the shadows in one fluid motion, silent as a blade slipping free of its sheath. The air shifted, and in that fragile heartbeat between stillness and revelation, his eyes flickered up.

For a split second, he froze.

But the flicker of surprise was gone quickly, dissolving beneath the faint curve of his lips. There was no fear - only recognition, and something that almost resembled amusement. His laugh rolled out low and rich, curling through the space like smoke, as if the specter of death standing before him was an old companion.

"So, death pays me a visit tonight?" his voice slipped easily into the hush, smooth, unruffled, as if the weight of his life had long prepared him for this moment. His hands didn’t tremble. They rested lightly on the arm of his chair, fingers tapping out an idle rhythm "You’re not the first, you know."

Is he mocking you? Foolish.

He leaned back, head tilting "There have been others. All of them thought they could do what you’re here for."

His gaze was steady, dissecting you with quiet curiosity, as if you were no more than an unexpected guest at his table.

And just like that, the game began.

Both of you moved at once - arms cutting through the still air like mirrored blades. But you were faster.

The curse that had flickered into existence between you dissolved before it could take form, snuffed out as swiftly as a candle in the wind. Your hand twisted fast, severing his connection to his cursed technique in a single ruthless motion.

The shift was immediate.

You felt it, the faint tremor in the atmosphere, the absence where his power had thrived moments before. And so did he.

His eyes widened, flickering with disbelief as his hand flexed, searching for the familiar pull of cursed energy that no longer answered him. His breath caught, but no sound followed. Surprise folded into confusion, then into something colder as realization dawned, creeping across his face like frost.

He blinked once.

"Don’t bother." your voice sliced, sharp and steady "The katana under your desk and the dagger in your robes - neither will help you now."

His gaze snapping to you, searching for any sign of hesitation. But there was none.

The control is on your side.

"Pushing that button won’t do anything for you either." you remarked, eyes following the slight twitch of his fingers as they hovered beneath the desk. His hand stilled, resting just above the concealed emergency trigger.

A security feature - useless now. You had disabled it long before stepping foot inside his office.

"Efficient." he murmured, his voice smooth, edged with curiosity as he slowly withdrew his hand. His head tilted slightly, shadows cutting across the sharp lines of his face as he met your gaze. You could see it, the flicker of confusion behind his calm exterior, the subtle drag of his thoughts searching for loose ends to pull.

Like he was asking a question: why am I not dead yet?

"I suppose I should be flattered." he continued, his tone lighter than the weight of the situation warranted "You did your research." but even as uncertainty coiled beneath his skin, he held his composure with practiced ease.

His eyes lingered on yours, studying you as if peeling back the layers one by one. Even without his cursed technique, there was danger in his gaze, an intelligence that had not dimmed, even as the weapons in his arsenal fell away.

With slow, deliberate steps, you crossed the space between you, each movement intentional, a quiet declaration that there was no need to rush. The tension hung thick in the air, coiled tight like a serpent resting just beneath the surface, but neither of you moved to strike.

You lowered yourself into the chair opposite him, the leather creaking softly beneath your weight. This wasn’t a battle of blades. Not yet.

Will he reach for that katana? He should.

You had the advantage now, and that knowledge kept you calm, steady.

"Let’s talk." you offered, the words slipping into the silence with an almost disarming ease. There was no venom in your tone, no hint of malice, just the calm, measured cadence of someone who had already won but wasn’t in any hurry to collect their prize.

Geto's smiled, faint.

He leaned back slowly, arm draping over the chair’s edge, as if the weight of the moment didn’t press against his chest. But you saw it, the faint flicker of intrigue behind his dark eyes.

He hadn’t expected this.

"A conversation, is it?" he asked, as if tasting the idea for the first time. His tone was light, but the subtle shift in his expression betrayed him. Curiosity hummed beneath the surface, threading through his words "Interesting. You have me at a disadvantage, and yet here you are - talking first."

His gaze sharpened, assessing you carefully, as if trying to pull apart your intent thread by thread "You must want something, then. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be sitting here."

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of your lips as you met his stare without hesitation "Of course I do. If I wanted you dead right away, I wouldn’t have bothered with pleasantries."

There was no need for false pretenses. He knew it as well as you did - this wasn’t mercy. This was purpose.

The tension thickened, heavy but civil.

"Very well." he said at last, soft but steady, he folded his hands in front of him, eyes didn’t waver "Speak. But tell me - what do you hope to gain from this conversation?"

You leaned back in your chair, mirroring his posture with the same measured ease "Information." the word cut cleanly through the air "Corpses don’t talk."

A low chuckle escaped him, quiet but genuine, as if the response had peeled back the tension just slightly.

"No, I suppose they don’t."

The room settled into a fragile stillness, both of you like two predators at rest, waiting to see who would bare their teeth first.

"What is it you’re hoping to learn, exactly?" he began, tilting his head slightly, strand of dark hair falling over his face.

There was weight behind the question. He wasn’t humoring you. He was testing the boundaries of whatever fragile understanding was beginning to form.

He knew his options were narrowing - no techniques, no weapons, and certain no room to strike back.

So, you start.

"Years ago…" you began "You were part of the mission to protect Riko Amanai."

His smile faltered - not enough for most to notice, but you did. A flick of something behind his eyes. His gaze sharpened, narrowing as he weighed your words in silence, dissecting them for hidden edges. But he didn’t speak. Not yet.

He was waiting. Measuring. Calculating.

You didn’t leave him the space to start talking.

"Toji Fushiguro..." you pressed on, letting the name settle between you, watching for the slightest shift "He claimed he killed Gojo Satoru during that contract. But we both know that’s not an easy thing to do. So tell me…" you leaned forward just enough to close the distance, eyes locked onto his "…what did he use? What was the tool that allowed him to get that close?"

The air seemed to tighten even more.

Geto’s expression darkened.

The name Toji Fushiguro struck deeper than you expected, deeper than he could hide. Though his whole posture barely changed, the tension in his jaw spoke volumes.

Old ghosts had been summoned.

"Why assume he was telling the truth?" Geto’s voice was colder now, like ice stretched too thin over dark water.

"The Sorcerer Killer was a bastard and a fraud -" your voice certain "- but he’d never lie about killing Six Eyes. His pride wouldn’t allow it."

Toji Fushiguro’s name carried its own gravity, one that twisted even the most confident sorcerers into knots. His reputation wasn’t built purly on rumors. It had been earned in blood. And for someone like him to touch the untouchable - to bring The Strongest to the edge of death - meant something big.

You needed to know how.

The curse user infront of you wore his indifference well, but behind the mask, something stirred. Loyalty, maybe. Or something deeper. He wasn’t going to betray Gojo’s secrets easily. Whatever had happened during that mission, whatever Toji had wielded, it was buried deep. And dragging it to the surface wouldn’t come without resistance.

He wasn’t going to give this away easily.

"You’re wasting your time." Geto said finally.

And then he moved.

It happened in a blink - the sharp cut of his arm through the space between you, fingers lashing out, reaching for head, your hair, while his other hand snapped forward, aiming to pin your wrists to the table. His precision was unsettling. No hesitation in his movements. No warning.

If you had you been anyone else, perhaps it would have worked.

But you weren’t.

His hand passed clean through you, slicing nothing but shadows and air. You dissolved like smoke before reforming just beyond his reach.

A faint smile tugged at your lips, laced with amusement as you watched him pause, his hand still outstretched - and useless.

Cute.

He didn’t speak right away, but the tension in his posture told you everything. The realization of his miscalculation was there, but composure didn’t falter. Not yet.

"Did you think it would be that easy?" you murmured, voice laced with mockery.

You could almost see the gears turning in his head.

"One last chance to respond." you warned.

For a moment, Geto held your gaze, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he placed one hand on the desk, his fingers curling against the wood with ease. The other hand drifted beneath the surface, deliberate but unhurried, inching toward the katana hidden beneath.

A chuckle. You let him.

You can play a little.

His grip tightened around the handle, the blade sliding free with a sound of steel against lacquer. His eyes never left yours, cold and steady as if daring you to make the next move.

And you did.

In the blink of an eye, the space between you collapsed. Shadows rippled as you reappeared behind him, the air still humming faintly from the teleportation.

Before he could turn, your hand shot out - fingers tangling in the dark strands of his hair. With a sharp tug, you wrenched him backward, forcing him off balance. His body twisted, struggling to catch himself, but the edge of the desk bit into his thigh and sent him crashing down into the chair behind him.

His grip on the katana never wavered. He swung, blade arcing in a clean, deadly strike toward your side-

But you were faster.

Your palm met his wrist, twisting sharply as the katana clattered to the floor with a hollow ring. His other hand shot up, aiming to grab you, but you pinned it down just as quickly, shackles of cursed energy snapping tight around his wrists. They burned faintly, locking his arms behind the chair in one fluid sweep.

Geto growled, testing the bonds with ferour, but they held firm. The weight of defeat settled over him fast. His eyes, burning fire of the battle, followed you carefully, noting every detail.

You grabbed the katana and pressed the blade to his throat, the cool edge biting against his skin as you yanked his head back by his hair. Geto's breath remained steady, but the tautness in his neck betrayed him.

Victory hung in the room, but you knew better than to celebrate.

"You should’ve taken my offer." you murmured, leaning closer until your lips nearly brushed his ear "Now we do this the hard way." the last part came out as a whisper.

The blade hovered just below his jawline, its cold kiss a silent reminder of how thin the line was. You pressed it gently, not enough to draw blood, but enough to remind him that it could. Leaning in, your breath ghosted against his neck as your tone dipped lower, quieter, and far more dangerous "Will you finally answer my question?"

His throat bobbed slightly as he swallowed, the edge of the katana rising with the motion. Silence.

Stubborn fool.

"This isn’t going to work." you said, the blade tilting slightly, catching the faint glint of lamplight "You can resist all you want, but we both know this conversation won’t end until I get what I need."

His body tensed beneath, muscles shifting under his robes as he tested the restraints once again. The chair creaked faintly, but the bondage held, biting into his wrists enough to remind him of their presence. You could feel his pride being hurt in each shallow breath laced with frustration.

Still, he refused to yield.

You exhaled softly through your nose, tilting your wrist to pull his head back further. His eyes met yours, forced to hold your gaze at the sharp, uncomfortable angle.

His expression hardened. He wasn’t naive. He understood the game you were playing.

He couldn’t kill you. Not like this, he lost, but he has a bargaining tool. You wouldn't kill him - not until you had what you came for.

The delicate balance of leverage hung between you. You need to act smart now.

"You’re not afraid to die." you murmured, studying the lines of his face "But that’s not the point, is it? Your death would make you useless to me… and we both know you’d hate to die useless."

His lips twitched, almost as if the corner of his mouth threatened to pull into something between amusement and disdain.

"You assume I care what you want." he replied, there was only intrigue in his voice. He wasn’t entirely sure how this would play out.

"No." you admitted, grip tightening slightly in his hair "But I think you care about what he would want."

For the briefest second, you caught it - that crack widening just enough to let the ghost of memory pass through his eyes.

You had found the thread. Now all you had to do was pull.

"I think he’d like to stay alive." you said, letting the blade tilt "So go ahead - resist. You'll surely save his life that way."

He wasn’t the type to break easily - no, Geto Suguru was carved from stone and pride, tempered by too many battles to fall apart under the weight of threats alone.

But this wasn’t about breaking him.

It was about making him choose.

You watched the thought ripple through him, subtle but telling. He was measuring the implications, trying to untangle the strings you had just laid at his feet.

"You can do that..." you continued, voice soft but edged with quiet finality "...or after some time… someone will repeat what Fushiguro did. And this time, they’ll succeed."

The faintest crease formed between his brows, and for the first time, uncertainty bled into his eyes.

"And I won’t be able to stop that someone."

For a brief moment, the weight of those words seemed to hang between you. His confusion was there. You gave him puzzle he hadn’t been prepared to solve.

"What are you talking about?" his voice was low, but there was no mistaking the undercurrent of suspicion now.

Good.

You need to play on his caring about a reason.

"I need to know what can hurt him. Where his limits lie." you said, the blade steady in your grip "Because someone else is searching for those answers. And when they find them, we both know what happens next."

Your voice hardened, words sank into the room like lead, heavy and inevitable "Sorcerers, fighting for power. Tearing each other apart. A new era of chaos, like the Heian period reborn. And we both know how dangerous that would be."

You could feel it, a doubt taking its root in his mind.

"Is that really the future you want?" now, you attack a personal cause. A question asked with softening words, just enough to slip beneath his defenses. The demand in your tone dulled, shifting into an appeal wrapped in a reason "The world you’re trying to create - will it survive if everyone is clawing for the title of 'the strongest'? When there’s nothing left but power struggles and bloodshed?"

You leaned in, just close enough that your next words felt like something shared in confidence.

"Gojo’s absence would unravel everything. Believe it or not." you murmured, dragging the flat of the blade gently across his throat in slow, deliberate motions "I’m not here to destroy. I just need him alive. That’s all."

The truth had been a dangerous luxury, one you rarely indulged in. But here, now, you allowed yourself that. After all, he was as good as dead. Whatever he learned in these final moments would fade with him, sealed beneath the weight of silence.

His ressistance that had carried him this far, was cracking, splintering beneath the truth you had laid bare between you. He knows you're not lying.

So you leaned closer.

Your lips hovered just beside his ear, you were so close you could smell white musk and orange.

"Is that really what you want?" the whisper slipped from your lips like silk, soft but deliberate, curling around him in the dark.

The room hung in a silence so thick it felt as if even the walls were holding their breath. The tension lingered stretched thin, like glass ready to shatter.

And then, finally - he exhaled.

His shoulders eased, the rigid lines of his posture softening enough to betray the weight that had settled over him. It was like acceptance, the grim kind that comes when there are no moves left to play.

His eyes lifted to meet yours, dark and heavy with the weight of ghosts you couldn’t see.

"Inverted Spear of Heaven." he said, his voice worn down to something that barely carried across the room "It’s the weapon that nullifies cursed techniques. That’s what that monkey used to kill him... if only for a moment."

You couldn’t help but find it amusing, the irony of it all. Even with cold steel pressed to his throat, the weight of death hanging by a thread, Geto Suguru’s disdain for non-sorcerers remained intact. That hatred. That unwavering belief.

"Where is the weapons now?" you asked, the blade tracing a slow, deliberate path just beneath his jawline.

Geto’s lips barely moved "I don’t know. The school doesn’t have it in its possession, that much is certain."

You searched his eyes for deceit, but there was none. He wasn’t lying, whether by choice or circumstance, he truly didn’t know.

That was enough.

But then, you noticed something.

It was subtle - so subtle that it almost escaped you, hidden beneath the layers of composure he wore like armour. It wasn’t in his words, nor in the tone of his voice.

No - it was in his eyes.

Now you see it.

That sharp gaze of his, piercing yet heavy-lidded, lingered a fraction too long on the blade. The faintest flicker of darkness swirled beneath the surface. A subtle dilation of his pupils, the way his breath caught not from fear, but something far more complicated.

His body language betrayed it in fragments, barely noticeable. In the way his head tilted back, exposing more of his throat even as the blade rested on it. His pulse, quick under the thin layer of skin, seemed to hum something other than fear. The slight parting of his lips as you tightened your grip on his hair, the way his shoulders seemed to tense rather than resist. The subtle flexing of his hands on the cursed shackles, not to escape but to feel their pull once again. The stiffness of his posture was not due to sheer defiance.

The realisation of this fact was slowly getting to you.

He wasn't just enduring it.

The power you exercised over him, the blade digging into his skin - was not just tolerated. When your eyes met again, there was no mistaking it. The subtle change in his breathing, the faint glint in his gaze - all of it.

He enjoyed it.

Oh.

You leaned in closer, the space between you evaporating until your lips hovered just above his ear, the blade at his throat as steady as the storm brewing in your eyes. Your voice, low and intimate, slipped through the charged silence like a blade drawn over silk - soft enough to tempt, sharp enough to warn, and beneath that velvet edge lay the same unyielding control that kept his wrists bound tightly behind the chair.

"I have to admit." you murmured, letting each word drip slowly into the charged space between you "..there's something satisfying about this - how utterly helpless you are in my hands. And I can’t help but wonder..." your lips brushed just faintly against his ear, a ghost of contact "...maybe you don’t hate it as much as you pretend to." your teeth grazed his earlobe and closed in just enough to bite, not cruelly, but with enough pressure to make a point.

His reaction was immediate yet subtle, slight, sharp gasp slipping through parted lips, barely audible, followed by the faintest shiver beneath your hands. The tension lingered for only a breath before smoothing out, his posture relaxed but carefully neutral. As if to suggest he’d expected this, or perhaps didn’t mind it as much as he should.

For a fleeting second, something unguarded sparked in Geto’s eye. A flash of molten heat seeping through the cracks of his composure, sharp and primal, like a predator catching the scent of blood. It simmered just below the surface, dangerous and alive, but never fully broke through the carefully constructed mask of his impassive gaze.

He didn’t speak.

But he didn’t need to.

The gaze he leveled at you was nothing short of a provocation, slow, deliberate, and laced with the kind of allure, that felt less like a dare, and more like a whispered promise. His eyes moved over you with an unspoken intensity, the weight of them lingering just long enough to feel like an invitation you hadn’t decided if you should accept or resist.

Intoxicating.

Does he even realize it?

Did he realize the way his gaze pulled at you - the way his throat bobs with a gulp?

Could he feel the way his golden eyes betrayed him, glowing with something raw and unspoken?

Is he aware, that here’s a fleeting moment where his gaze drops, and his teeth barely graze his bottom lip, as if he’s holding back the urge to bite down?

Like he’s daring you, urging you, to take what you want.

To press the blade deeper, to pull harder, to stretch the thin thread of tension until it frays and snaps, leaving nothing but breathless heat behind.

Your mind flooded with thoughts none of them professional. Every possible way to exploit the fact that he was tied up, flashed through your head, each more tempting than the last. You even considered delaying his execution, just long enough to explore a few of the scenarios that had begun to take shape.

But the contract still stood. An inconvenient truth.

And you weren’t exactly thrilled about it.

You must finish this. Focus.

But damn, he made it difficult.

"If this is my end, can I at least have a last wish?"

He must have seen your chain of thoughts. Your brow arched, amusement tugging at the corner of your lips. There was something almost charming in the way he said it - calm, composed, as if the blade at his throat was more of a mild inconvenience, rather than a death sentence.

And those eyes - fuck..

"I don’t usually grant such luxuries." you murmured, though the words felt like a half-hearted formality, an excuse, if nothing else.

His eyes caught the shift immediately, glinting with something knowing. The way his lips curled made it clear, he’d noticed your hesitation.

You sighned, tilting your head, the blade muscled his skin in a lazy motion "But I suppose… I’m feeling generous tonight."

His eyes changed, that dangerous glint returning as if he was already calculating how far he could stretch this moment - how much he could take before the blade cut too deep.

"How generous." he stated, tilting his head just enough for the blade to slide along his jawline, a move that spoke more of curiosity than fear "I suppose I should choose wisely, then."

"Choose quickly." you warned, though your hand remained steady in his hair, fingers tangled in the dark strands as if anchoring him there "Exceptions don’t last long."

His smirk came slow, thin and bitter, nothing warm behind it.

"Kill the one who sent you after me."

Oh, he was smart one - he knew exactly why you were here.

The audacity of it hit first, tilting the balance in the room. Then you laughed, soft and dark, the sound curling between you you like a whispered secret.

"Clever." you comment "I like that answer."

Lucky.

Lucky you’d developed a fondness for him.

You loosened your grip on his hair, letting the strands slip through your fingers as his head tilted back slightly, still bound by the cursed chains that anchored him to the chair. His posture remained rigid, but you could feel the subtle shift beneath your fingertips, the way his muscles coiled, tense but not in defiance.

"It’s a shame… really." you let your fingers drift along edges of his jawline, tracing the curve with a tenderness that had no place here "Such a waste to let that beautiful face wither." your touch remained, a whisper of intimacy that contradicted the deadly promise in your hand.

His breath hitched, barely noticeable, but enough for you to catch the fleeting moment of hesitation. He wasn’t afraid. No - his body responded to the softness, drawn to it like someone standing too close to the edge, knowing exactly how far the drop was… and not caring.

Geto exhaled slowly, his shoulders easing beneath the weight pressing down on him. A faint, almost wistful smile tugged at the corner of his lips "I didn’t think death would be so beautiful." he whispered, the words like silk unraveling between you.

You returned his smile, something sad and knowing in your eyes. His fate was sealed, and you both knew it - yet there was no fear in him, only acceptance.

𖤓

The alley slumbered in darkness, a realm abandoned by light’s timid reach, where even the dim pulse of distant streetlights faltered and died. Rain lingered in the air, its breath clinging to the slick stone and pooling in shallow reflections, glimmering faintly when passing headlights flickered like ghosts. The hum of the city whispered far away, a heartbeat muffled by the weight of silence, and in this narrow, forsaken artery of the night, time unraveled, slow and viscous as oil. Shadows unfurled their limbs, languid and watchful, draping the walls like ancient guardians as you leaned against the chill of the brick, waiting.

The night’s murmur sharpened your senses, each shift in the air a harbinger of movement. And then, he came. The man emerged from the shadow’s maw, his silhouette trembling against the void. His coat hung on him like a shroud. Each step was a betrayal of the tension that clung to him, he stopped before you.

Though the night’s air was cool, sweat glistened on his pallid skin, the glint of it unnerving under the scarce light that fractured over his face. When he spoke, his voice was thin "Is it done?"

The silence stretched, thick as mist of the city, curling around him while you watched. His unease pooled at his feet, bleeding into the cracks of the alley. You let it fester, tasting it, before breaking the stillness with a single, flat nod "Think carefully. No one’s seen Geto Suguru for a week."

His breath hitched - a brief, fleeting sound before relief consumed him, unraveling his composure. His shoulders slumped, as if surrendering to some unseen weight that no longer pressed down. His hands, trembling and clumsy, gave you a worn bag. He shoved it into your palm with the urgency of someone desperate escape the situation as soon as possible.

A telling sign.

"Thank you… for your services." he mumbled, the words hurried. He turned before the exchange fully settled, his back already folding into the dark.

But you remained still, the bag in your grasp unnerving in its absence. It felt wrong. Off. Lighter - too light.

Your fingers ghosted over the clasp, and the soft click echoed like the shot of a distant gun. The faint sheen of crumpled bills stared back at you, pale under the alley’s fragile light. But there wasn’t enough. Only half.

A shadow crept across your expression, dark as the alley itself.

"Wait."

The word wasn’t loud, but it landed like a stone, heavy and unrelenting. He turned, sudden, nervous smile wavered, cracking at the edges like old porcelain "Is there a problem?"

"It's wrong." you said short.

"I don’t know what you mean." he lied. A deadly mistake.

You turned the bag in your hand, feeling the emptiness between the bills. It whispered of short cuts and misplaced arrogance, a quiet betrayal dressed in crumpled fabric.

"This is only half." you repeated, voice calm but cold enough to draw breath from the alley’s air.

The man’s expression twisted, a flash of irritation masked by a thin veil of justification "My supervisor said it was fair." he insisted, the words tumbling out too "I mean… Geto’s gone. His power’s yours. After all, that’s worth more than money."

He was blabbering. The words left his lips with the bravado of a gambler betting on a losing hand, a facade of confidence too thin to hold under the moment’s weight. His chest rose slightly, puffed with defiance, but it was a hollow gesture. His eyes told the truth - nervous, skittering, unable to land anywhere for too long.

You sighed, heavy and unhurried. It carried no malice, only inevitability.

"He said you’d do something like this."

Before the man could retreat into another excuse, his body betrayed him. A violent convulsion seized his frame, legs crumbling beneath him as though the weight of the air had doubled. His throat shimmered faintly - thin, nearly imperceptible - until a single brush of your finger coaxed it to tighten. The thread buried deeper, kissing his skin with a cruel intimacy.

You snapped your fingers.

The thread obeyed, sinking through, parting his neck with seamless precision. No cry escaped him, only the muted gurgle of breath that never fully formed. He crumpled where he stood, folding into the damp concrete with a thud too soft to echo. His eyes grey and hollow.

The alley drank in the quiet.

From the dark, a figure slipped forward, his presence unfurling from the shadows as if he had merely paused within them. His steps were unhurried, the soft scuff of worn shoes against wet pavement was only sound that followed him. There was nothing remarkable about his appearance - no flowing robes, no grand entrance. Just casual clothes, rumpled as if he’d been living in them, the faint trace of a week spent lurking out of sight.

Geto Suguru.

His smile appeared before his words, small and polite, curving his lips with a quiet sense of understanding. His gaze fell lazily on the lifeless shape at your feet, though there was no concern in his eyes, only the shadow of amusement.

"I told you he’d cause trouble." he said, tone smooth, as if you stood over spilled drink rather than a corpse.

You didn’t respond - not immediately. Silence settled between you, taut and thin, stretched like wire waiting to snap.

With measured ease, you shifted the weight of the bag over your shoulder. It hung light, barely enough to register. The job had been quick, clean, efficient, and ultimately forgettable.

Your gaze met his, steady, unbothered, the calm of someone who had long since made peace with this kind of work.

"Two weeks." you said, voice edged with finality "You’ve got two weeks to pay the rest."

Geto’s chuckle curled through the alley "And how do you know I don’t have that money now?" his voice carried playful lilt, the tone of a man who savored the game more than the outcome.

You didn’t flinch.

A slow tilt of your head, an eyebrow arched in quiet defiance "I know more than you think." you replied, each word sharp and deliberate "Your funds aren’t what they used to be."

The flicker behind his eyes sharpened, though his smile didn’t waver.

"Two weeks, then?" he repeated, as if rolling the thought over on his tongue, testing the weight of your patience.

"Two weeks." the repetition hung in the air. Your gaze never wavered from his, unrelenting "And if you try to cheat me, I’ll finish what I started."

The alley seemed to contract around you, the silence pressing close, as if the world itself leaned in to listen. Geto’s grin remained in acknowledgment.

He tilted his head back, just slightly, with a gesture as subtle as if the blade was still on his throat "Fair enough." he said.

And just like that, you dissolved into a swirl of black smoke and mist, melting seamlessly into the shadows of the alley until nothing remained but the faint whisper of your presence. One breath, and you were gone - no footsteps, no lingering presence.

The alley exhaled in your absence, settling into stillness once more.

Only the distant hum of the city remained, as if the world had never paused to begin with.

© noira-l 2024 | all rights reserved. do not copy, translate, modify, or redistirbute my work without permission

[fear-is-truth]

ﾐ. 𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑰’𝒎 𝒅𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒐𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒌𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒔, 𝒚𝒐𝒖’𝒓𝒆 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝑰 𝒑𝒓𝒂𝒚 ── 𝑪𝒖𝒍𝒕 𝑳𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓!𝑮𝒆𝒕𝒐 𝑺𝒖𝒈𝒖𝒓𝒖 x 𝒇!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

⟢ 𝒲arnings — nsfw, mdni || cult leader!geto suguru・manipulation・cōckwarming ・brēeding kink ・english is not my first language ・not proofread

⟢ 𝒲ord count — 1.1k

The heavy scent of incense engulfed the room, curling in lazy wisps around you, mingling with the low murmurs from outside. The temple, usually filled with his loyal followers, felt empty with just the two of you. Even so, his presence was enough to make it feel like the space couldn’t hold much more.

Geto Suguru sat above you, on a slightly raised platform, his figure draped in his robes, like a king on his throne. And you knelt at his feet, where you always were—loyal, devoted, willing to follow wherever he led. His hand rested in your hair, fingers threading through it absentmindedly, as if you were something to be toyed with.

And to him, you were.

“I can feel it, you know,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence.

“The doubt.”

Your body stiffened, and his fingers paused in your hair, gently tugging just enough to make you look up at him. His eyes were sharp, black tar pools that saw right through your soul.

“I don’t doubt you, Geto-sama,” you murmured, your throat tight under his scrutiny.

“Oh?” He tilted his head, a soft chuckle escaping his lips, but there was no humour in it.

“You don’t think I can see it? You forget, I know you better than anyone.” His eyes darkened, and the amusement that danced in them a moment ago disappeared.

“You’ve been thinking too much.”

Your heart raced. He was always like this, picking apart your mind, stripping away your carefully placed walls with nothing more than his words. It was maddening how easily he did it, how he had you so thoroughly wrapped around his finger that one look, one touch, was enough to unravel you.

“I haven’t—”

you started, but his grip tightened in your hair, not enough to hurt, but enough to make your breath hitch.

“Shh.” His voice was a soft, commanding hush, and he leaned forward, his lips grazing the shell of your ear.

“You don’t need to explain yourself to me, do you?”

You swallowed hard, the heat of him making it difficult to think straight. His presence was overwhelming, intoxicating, and you hated how much you craved it.

“No,” you whispered, voice trembling slightly, your head tilting as if on instinct, exposing more of your neck to him. He let out a low hum of approval, releasing your hair and sliding his hand to your jaw instead, guiding your gaze up to meet his.

“You’re so obedient,” his thumb traced your lower lip as he smirked.

“So loyal.”

The praise, as twisted as it was, sent a shiver through you. His fingers pressed a little harder against your skin, and before you could fully register it, he was pulling you up, his other hand guiding you with an ease that made your body move without question. You found yourself straddling his lap, your knees pressing into the cushion on either side of him as he leaned back, his eyes never leaving yours.

“You belong here, sweet girl.”

he murmured, his voice was calm, patronising as his hand trailed down your back, settling at your waist. The other remained at your chin, holding you in place.

“With me.”

It wasn’t a request. It never was with him. It was a statement of fact, one you couldn’t argue with. You felt his breath against your lips, his gaze locked onto yours, daring you to pull away.

But you didn’t.

His lips brushed yours, a featherlight touch at first, almost chaste. But when you didn’t move—couldn’t move—he kissed you harder, deeper. It was commanding, like everything he did, and you found yourself melting into him despite the knot of fear and thrill coiling in your chest.

His fingers hover over the soft fabric of your kimono, tracing the smooth edge of the okumi before slipping his hand inside, between the layers. The material yielded easily, parting to allow him to play with your tits, palming the swell of your breast. It drives you crazy with want whenever he gets like this—ravenous yet restrained at the same time. An index finger tapped on your sternum, tracing a half circle along the curve of your breast before finding the hard peak of your nipple.

When he pulled back, taking in the sight of your swollen lips, a satisfied smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. His eyes were half-lidded, dark with amusement as if he found your breathless state amusing. You hated that he always did this to you—always made you feel so small, so easily swayed by his touch.

“You like this, don’t you?” he murmured, his hand sliding further down your waist, his fingers digging into your hip, a gentle yet possessive grip.

“Being close to me. Being mine.”

You nodded before you could stop yourself, but the words caught in your throat.

“Say it,” he ordered softly, his voice a velvet command, his thumb pressing a little harder against your lips.

“I…” You hesitated for only a moment before the words spilled out, too easy.

“I belong to you.”

His smirk widened, his eyes glinting with approval. He tilted your chin up, rewarding you with a deep, open-mouthed kiss, slower this time, savouring it as if to seal your words into reality. You whimpered when the tip of his cock finally pushed into your cunt.

“Good girl,” he purred, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth. “You know your place.”

“O-ohh.” Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, cunt already spasming around his length.

Fingers scrabbling at his shoulders, you instinctively rocked your hips forward, trying to get all of him inside you at once. Each delicious, agonising inch stretched you further, filling you with a molten, liquid pleasure that dripped down from the centre of your chest, pooling in your abdomen and spreading to your loins. A breathy moan escaped you when he breached your sweet spot.

“You don’t need to worry about what comes next,” his lips grazed your ear again, his voice so close, so intimate, arousal continued to build inside you. Each deep thrust filled you to the very brim, stretching your plushy walls to the point where the line between pain and pleasure blurred as one. Alighting all the nerves in your body and coaxing the fiery sensation of climax out of your lower belly.

“You just need to follow me. Understand?”

You nodded breathlessly, hands gripping the fabric of his robes tightly to anchor yourself.

“Good,” he pressed one last kiss to your lips, slow and lingering like molasses.

“That’s all you need to do.”

Another deep thrust sent white sparks bursting behind your eyes.

“haaaah—Suguru…” you mewled tearfully, wrapping both arms around his neck, face buried in his shoulder.

“I know, sweet girl, I know,” he cooed, grinding his hips lazily to meet yours, pushing deeper and deeper. You could feel his cock throb inside you, just beneath your belly.

“I’ll give you what you want. Pump you full of my come and put a baby in you, my love.”

 fear-is-truth 2024 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[rizzmin]

@satocidal look at him again

⁉️⁉️⁉️

[sob3rdeath]

mdni, please! +18 content ahead. ♡

cw: breeding, soft!geto, pet names, pregnancy mention (obv).

cult leader!suguru is so sweet and loving to you, he sure does adore you. especially now, with how he's got you in missionary, kissing your tears away. "i love you so much." he mumbles sweetly, his raspy voice low enough for you and only you to hear. "you're my sweet, sweet girl. gonna carry my babies, hm? i'm gonna breed you nice and full, and you're gonna carry my heir."

you can't exactly understand what he's saying because he's reaching all the right spots with his chubby cock, your brain is turned to mush by now, and you have only one thought in mind: suguru, suguru, suguru, suguru. so you don't even process when he says that "what about i make you a mom now? you're gonna be a great one." and he moans. not a grunt like he usually does, but he moans in your ear because you're making him feel so good and you don't even know. :(

"cum-mming.. hmm." it's what falls from your lips as you tighten around him, making a white ring at the base of his cock. and it feels so delicious, it makes him feel his cock twitching inside you — he knows he's close. "that's great baby. you did great for me." he mumbles, pressing a kiss to your forehead with so much love. "i'm gonna come inside, ok? gonna make you a mommy, i need someone to keep leading the cult. what do you say?" and all he needs is the small nod along with your pleas to shoot his load inside you, his potent seed that he knows it is going to take, going to make you pregnant.

dividers by aquazero.

[quack-quack-snacks]

Geto “Cult Leader” Suguru

My Navigation and Masterlist

My Geto Suguru Masterlist

ღ angst ☾ sensitive topics 𓆉 fluff ꕥ action ♡ spicy 𖤓 smut

Lost 𓆉

Slightly Yandere Cult Leader!Geto Suguru x Single Mother!Fem!Reader Summary: After losing your son in the street after bringing him to visit the annual light show that happened in your town, you find him crying in the arms of a handsome - yet strangely unsettling - stranger with two girls standing beside him. Word Count: 2,355

Dope & Diamonds

Cult Leader!Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader Summary: Everyone, Monkey or otherwise, was scared of Geto Suguru upon first meeting him. So why weren’t you? Word Count: -- COMING SOON

GIFS ARE NOT MINE I FOUND THEM ON PINTEREST