#geto suguru users

[wieqo]

͏ ͏ ͏ - ⃕⃝▬̸̎͞🧾

jgkosgru gookgeto

sugrujjk jngkgto

jngksgru sugurjko

[romiiarts]

(on going)

[sugaruapologist]

u ever think about how angry gojo was when he saw geto kenjaku

he was so angry watching that thing parade around as his dead best friend soulmate and it was so apparent on his face

hearing his best friend's voice years after his death and realizing it's not real, it's not suguru, and hes being taunted

[goojios]

내 플라토닉 사랑 !! in yuucore era 🦔 @tojismo

[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

𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 — 11,8 k

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜/𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚜 — 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 | all rights reserved. do not copy, translate, modify, or redistirbute my work without permission

[luffyttaro]

satoru 🤝🏻 @lioncourtie = geto's slut

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

THERE WAS NO PLACE IN NATURE WE COULD MEET ; SUGURU GETO

synopsis; on a late night out, you run into your ex of ten years. unfairly handsome, charming as ever — first in line for an overdue execution. you don’t know what geto wants from you, and you’re not sure you want to find out.

word count; 3.3k

contents; suguru geto/reader, gn!reader, geto-typical angst, exes to [redacted], lots of longing, geto is kind of a cunt but also disgustingly charming, reader is understandably upset, biblical imagery (i just think he’s so serpent coded), curse user geto is his own warning tbh

a/n; i wanted this to be a drabble so bad but it ended up just a little too long for me to get away w it so … :’3 yeah. i hate suguru geto (said w affection)

the moon is out.

in the shadows of the street corner you find yourself in, curled up comfortably on the sidewalk, it’s a welcome distraction. something to look at, in the midst of your loneliness; the evanescent glow of the moon doing nothing but illuminating your solitude.

a solitude soon to be broken. shattered into pieces, battered and bruised beyond recognition— jagged shards littering the asphalt.

digging into the soles of your shoes.

”hey.”

for a second, you think you must be dreaming.

the figure obscuring the light of the lamp post in front of you is familiar. too familiar, a little too dear for your liking. as you grasp your shitty cup ramen, seeking the warmth seeping through the polystyrene — all you can do is stare. blinking dumbly, drowsily.

geto looks something like a bad omen.

sharp facial features, even sharper eyes. so dark they almost shift from an amber-tainted cedar into an obsidian black — two abysses, staring into your soul, beckoning you closer. they were always enchanting, but now you think they look almost hypnotizing. not at all in a good way. dark hair frames his face, cascading down his back, longer than you remember it being. and he’s wearing robes.

still has those fucked up bangs, though. of all the things to keep.

the gears of your mind turn, endlessly, untangling the mess of thoughts inside your brain. ensuring you that no, you are not hallucinating, and no, you didn’t fall into a deep slumber somewhere between the moment you exited the convenience store and sat down by one of tokyo’s empty street corners. this is real. a reality you can’t comprehend, can’t even begin to process.

what stands in front of you is a ghost. but ghosts don’t exist, can’t be seen, can’t touch the living.

(so how is he able to haunt you like this?)

what eventually jolts you out of your silent stupor is not the questioning tilt of his head, nor the suffocating sensation of your heart crawling up your throat, but the feeling of soft fur against your leg. the stray cat you met further down the street meows at you, sweetly, trying to get your attention. you think she must be asking for more grilled fish.

so, completely ignoring the apparition in front of you, you turn to reach for the little plastic bag you bought as a midnight snack — digging out a bit of fish for the kitty to enjoy. she seems happy, settling down by your feet. purring softly.

geto watches, eerily silent. 

(maybe he’s upset that you’re ruining his dramatic entrance. you hope so.)

finally, you have no choice but to look at him. a lump forms in the back of your throat, clogging up a little more for every second spent falling into the trap he’s laid out for you, trailing over his moonlit features with your tired gaze.

mouth full of noodles, staring holes into his attire, you narrow your eyes. suddenly disgruntled.

his lips quirk up. ”something the matter?” he asks, and you can’t even begin to describe how much you hate his voice. how devastatingly deep it is, during the late hours of the night, even deeper than it was back in high school. 

slurping up the soggy noodles, you lean back a little, licking some broth off your lips. finally meeting those abyssal eyes. 

”… i was gonna say those robes look like shit on you,” comes an exhale, weary, ”but you actually kinda pull them off. that’s…” 

a beat. you struggle to find the right word. 

”annoying.”

geto’s lips curl up, smoothly, and you find a hint of familiar amusement in the vague crinkle of his eyes. barely visible crows’ feet. then he’s moving — plopping down right beside you, robes fluttering with the breeze.

”well, thank you.” he hums; crossing his legs.

the silence that festers around you is odd. not quite suffocating, nor especially fragile. definitely not comforting. it’s familiar, yet different, and it hurts a bit more than it should. but you choose to look at him, out of the corner of your eye, and he looks right back at you. still smiling that eerie smile.

when your eyes settle on the particular cloth wrapped around his torso, you just barely manage to bite back a taunting chuckle.

”a gojo-kesa, huh?” you grin, and geto doesn’t flinch. he doesn’t miss the meaningful glint in your eyes, either. ”you miss him that much?”

”just a coincidence,” is all he answers. smiling, but you think it looks a little stiff.

your grin widens, for a second, before settling back down. a sad transition. you let it go. 

”whatever you say, geto.”

at that, he visibly reacts. barely noticeable, but it’s there — a twitch of his lithe fingers, an unknown something that flickers through the scope of his iris. when he looks at you, a neutral smile is playing at his lips. 

”ah. i take it we’re not on first name basis anymore, then?” he asks, casually, hiding a tinge of something mildly displeased.

a shrug. you pick at what’s left of your ramen with your chopsticks, a little too nauseous to enjoy it. ”call me what you want. i just don’t see suguru when i look at you, y’know?” leaning forward, you begin to pet the kitty by your feet. ”he was sweeter.”

geto smiles. almost a grin, but not quite there. a chuckle spills out from his lips, and something about it irritates you. ”was he?”

”yeah,” you nod. without hesitation. a summer-stained memory blooms behind your eyelids, but you try not to look at it. all you catch is a glimpse of cherry blossoms. ”you just seem bitter.” 

the grin that finds its way onto your lips is self-deprecating. a shadow falls over your face.

”guess we’re in the same boat, huh?”

a hum buzzes in his throat. he casts a meaningful glance towards your hand, scratching behind the cat’s ear. ”oh, i don’t know about that.” his smile grows with the drawl. ”.. you seem just as sweet as always.”

to your grave annoyance, you can’t control the way your face changes at his words. a twitch of your lips gives away your discontentment, and something sour settles on the tip of your tongue.

(your blood begins to boil, beneath your skin.)

geto sighs, suddenly, filling the tense silence between you — a little theatrical. ”ah, but that’s a shame.” he turns to you, soft pout playing at his lips. ”i was hoping i could hear you call me suguru again…”

”— i was hoping you’d come back.”

a beat.

somewhere outside your vision, a crow takes flight into the night sky. swallowed by darkness, melting into that sea of black. no longer perceivable, by you or the world.

”but you never did,” the polystyrene of the plastic cup crinkles beneath your fingers. your eyes look dull. ”so what the fuck do you want, exactly?”

…

”i heard.” geto rests his jaw on the heel of his palm, gazing at you with those piercing eyes. like he’s trying to see inside your brain. ”… about your decision.”

”ah,” a grin splits across the curve of your lips, showing off the white of your teeth. ”of course. that’s what this is about, huh?”

with groggy movements, you throw away your nearly-empty cup of noodles, haphazardly aiming towards a trash can across the street. it bounces off the steel cover, landing on the ground with a soft thud. leftover broth spilling out across the pavement. geto doesn’t bother to hide his amusement, lips twitching upwards before he sends a curse to eat it from the asphalt.

you furrow your brows in embarrassed annoyance.

a moment passes, and something in you knows that he’s waiting. it’s like you can practically sense it, like it’s etched into your bones. the same way you always knew exactly when he would begin to get impatient during your nightly convenience store runs back in high school — after you had spent about ten solid minutes struggling to decide what kind of chips you wanted. 

”what can i say?” you lean back, palms against rough concrete, breathing in the midnight air. ”you inspired me.”

geto tilts his head. smiling. always, always smiling. he smiled at you the day before he massacred that village, too. ”oh?”

with a deep breath, cool air courses through your body. burning your lungs. ”i realized being a sorcerer is completely fucking meaningless,” you exhale through your nose. ”and that trying to change that fact is even more meaningless.” 

a wicked, rueful grin rests on your lips. ”so i left.”

geto doesn’t say anything. you continue, voice dripping with venom.

”i’m a civilian now,” you purr, mocking, a sardonic coo on your tongue. ”does that bother you? feel like killing me?”

…

his smile looks a little off, now. tilted in a direction you don’t want to recognize. you don’t care to examine it further, don’t care to figure out if it might look just a little bit sad, because that’d only hurt more.

so you look away.

a click of his tongue. then he speaks, with that honeyed voice, raspy and husky. almost a groan. ”well, i can’t say i approve.”

he’s looking at you. sharp eyes digging into your skin, dissecting you, a million words he expects you to grasp from that look alone.

”you’re better than them,” he states, matter-of-factly, and you try not to squirm when his eyes trail over your features. ”worlds better.” his voice sounds almost motherly, a twisted concern that makes you cower a little. like he’s scolding you. a crease between his brows.

”i don’t like the thought of you surrounded by these animals.”

a huff pushes past your lips, but it sounds shakier than you’d like it to. you hope he just chalks it up to the chill of the air. then again, when has he ever made anything easy for you?

”what, you got a problem with cats now?” you reach for the little furball licking grilled fish off the concrete, picking it up. cradling it close. ”gonna go on a cat-killing spree?”

an amused exhale. geto narrows his eyes. ”funny,” he hums, but his eyes say you know what i mean.

it takes you a moment to regain control over your breathing. there’s still something tense in your shoulders, and your heart still feels a little like it might jump out of your throat and crawl into his lap. the stray cat slips from your grasp, moving towards geto, curiously sniffing at his robes. he looks at it with no ill intent, and it puts you at ease.

”well, i appreciate the concern, buddy,” you pat his back, trying not to flinch at the contact. trying to appear relaxed. ”but frankly, i don’t give a shit. i actually like my job, unlike literally every single sorcerer on planet earth.”

geto stills.

”.. buddy?” he echoes, ignoring every other bitter word you just graced him with. for some reason, he actually seems visibly bothered. ”i’m buddy now?”

you click your tongue. muttering, tiredly. a little exasperated. ”.. what else would you be?”

and then he smiles, again. only this time, it looks oddly genuine. the same as you remember, framed by cherry blossoms and the fizzle of youth.

his movements are smooth. like he’s completely unguarded, like this situation doesn’t bother him in the slightest. elegant, in the way he leans back, palms on the concrete to support his weight. keeping eye contact with you, all the while.

when he speaks, his voice has a sweet tinge to it. nostalgic, maybe. wistful. if you hear a touch of longing, you choose to ignore it.

”i seem to recall you calling me baby quite a lot,” he hums, and you stiffen. gritting your teeth. eyes darkening, but he continues. ”what else was there? angel, i think… it was sweet.”

then he’s leaning forward. scratching the cat under its chin, gently. ”ironic, though.”

an inhale. then, an exhale. they’re a little shaky, a little meek, but at least they make the lump in your throat feel less like it’s blocking your windpipe. air fills your lungs, but it tastes like nothing at all. 

something like sorrow simmers in your eyes. or maybe more like fatigue. god, you really want to cry.

(you wonder if he gets some sickening satisfaction out of seeing you like this, out of breaking you. maybe it just makes him feel rotten.

you don’t know what you’d prefer.)

”suguru,” you murmur, at last. voice dripping with exhaustion. defeated, the sigh that flows from your lips. ”why did you come here?”

…

”join me.”

the words spill out into the open air, slicing the silence in half. heavy. a request, not a question. against your better judgement, you turn your head to meet his gaze.

”we could use you,” he says, and there’s hope in those keen eyes. he maintains his distance, but for some reason you still feel like prey being sized up by a predator. like he’s weighing your value.

a chuckle slips from your lips, but there’s no humour to it. ”use me…” you echo, a tired murmur under your breath. ”you're just straight up admitting it, huh? that’s kind of refreshing.”

”that’s not what i meant.”

he inches closer. slowly, as if trying not to scare you. reaching out, to brush through your bangs, his fingertips ghosting over your skin. tangling them between your locks, inserting himself into your space. testing the waters. 

you don’t look at him, completely still. barely breathing. like a wounded animal.

”i want you there,” he says, and it comes out almost as a whisper. ”with us.”

unable to resist the temptation, you indulge in a single brief glance his way. his eyes look warm, and his lips look soft as they part.

”with me.” 

there’s a devotion to his voice when he continues, one he’s always had. one you thought you’d always be able to trust. ”i’ll create a world where you can be happy,” he vows. ”i swear it.”

a moment passes.

(you swallow thickly. it takes everything you have not to burst into tears. when you remember how he brushed you off, back then, it gets a little easier. when you remember all the skipped meals.)

”.. like you give a damn.”

geto smiles. you loathe how soft it looks, how similar it is to the one suguru always had. when you used to eat your ramen too quickly and started choking on it, and he brought a palm to your upper back, patting it gently. he’d chuckle, and tell you to slow down, and the softness of his smile would almost be enough to distract you from the amusement in his eyes. 

”my love.”

you flinch. breath drawing back at the base of your throat, heart screeching to a halt, and some part of you emerges; the shy, sweet kid you used to be. hanging on to his every world. like he was your sun, your guiding light. back when that purr of my love had you blushing furiously— not choking back a string of curses.

it’s sudden, and you can’t react the way you want to. you want to kill him for calling you that. for thinking he has any right to call you his, anymore.

but that sweet, naive, innocent little kid still exists. even if you want to pretend otherwise. it’s there, somewhere, that part of you — peeking out from behind the curtain. and it stops you from saying anything that might hurt him.

(it’s so hard to hate him when he calls you that.)

if geto notices your inner turmoil — he must — then he doesn’t mention it. you don’t say anything, but you hope the amused, harsh exhale you partake in is signal enough for him to cut it off. now.

yet he continues. there’s love in his voice when he speaks, barely contained. if he’s trying not to hurt you he’s doing an awful job.

”… i never stopped thinking of you,” he whispers, so low you almost miss it. ”not once. i left for you, not just for myself.”

and, despite every part of your being resisting it, a sweetness settles on your tongue. so sweet it’s sickening; the thought that maybe he’s telling the truth, maybe he really has been thinking of you. maybe you’re more to him than just a means to meet an end, or a memory yet to be buried.

geto looks at the moon. bathed in moonlight, he looks a little like a god. like something reverent. his voice is honeyed. low, like a secret.

”this world doesn't deserve you.”

silence.

a subtle anger trickles through your veins, a kind of fury, subdued, carefully tucked away. sparking to life inside the depths of your eyes when you look at him. bitter, given everything. but your voice still comes out sounding something like a plea.

”and you think you do?”

another smile. this time, it looks a little sad. remorseful, maybe. ”… let me prove myself.”

his touch burns. the pads of his fingers against your cold skin, cupping your cheek. slithering down to grasp your hand. and you’re pliant, unable to react. just sitting with that aching hollow feeling in your chest.

”i wasn’t worthy, back then,” he hums, bringing your hand to his lips. ”but now…”

a kiss to your knuckle. featherlight. reverent. you try not to shiver, but when he says your name, dragging each syllable out, like they belong on his tongue —

a chill runs down your spine.

when he speaks, you feel his warm breath on your skin. it’s dizzying. ”i’m not the same suguru you once knew,” he admits, a forlorn look in his eyes. and devotion, frighteningly sincere. ”unlike him — i’ll never let you go.”

what a twisted desire. he wants to take you with him, drag you down to hell. the suguru you knew wouldn’t put you through that. but maybe you’re even more twisted, for wishing he had; for wishing he had taken you with him, ten years ago, instead of leaving without a single goodbye.

geto’s voice is soft. coaxing, like he's handling a frightened mouse. join me, he whispers, and you think of eve. when you look at his mouth you think you see serpents’ teeth behind his lips.

(you're almost sure he notices it. and you're almost sure his smile widens, lips curling up, as if preparing to open his maw and swallow you whole.)

a sickening sense of resignation roots itself somewhere in your gut. 

you pull your hand away, and he lets you. the loss of warmth hits you like a freight train, but you aren’t sure you could think clearly with his skin on yours. when you part your lips to speak, only air comes out, just barely forming a sentence. like there are no more words to say. like the world stopped spinning around you both a lifetime ago.

”i don't love you.”

…

for just a second, his smile falters. 

”no?” he hums, and you wish it didn’t hurt so bad to see him hurt. his eyes carry a kind of patience, something gentle. ”it’s fine… these things take time.”

a bitter chuckle. ”like you’d know anything about waiting,” you spit, and it comes out sounding venomous. a phantom ache sprouts in the spot where his lips touched your skin.

geto closes his eyes.

”you don't need to love me,” he says, finally. kind. you hate that he still sounds so kind. so understanding, like nothing you do could be wrong in his eyes. ”as long as you're beside me, that's enough.” 

he turns to look at you, and his smile looks very real, for a moment. impossibly fond. ”i have two daughters. i’ve told them about you,” he smiles. ”my family… you’d like them. i know they’d like you.”

dark clouds cover the moon, suddenly, and a shadow falls across you both. illuminated only by the streetlight. in the distance, you hear a car whooshing by.

”don’t stay at the bottom,” he beckons, and your name slips from his lips again. soft, his tongue bending around the vowels. coaxing. stirring your heartstrings like a puppeteer.

then he’s standing up, dusting off his robes, large hands smoothing down the fabric. turning around, towering over you; obscuring everything else. all you see is him, under the glow of the lamp post. a halo of artificial light.

”come. let me show you the world we can create.”

he gives you a sweet smile, two abysses gazing into you. the promise of something twisted, new, forbidden. you think of red skin and yellow flesh; the bite of sin.

and for a second, you see it. the world. a world where laughter comes from the bottom of your gut, and the trees are always ripe for picking, red apples hanging from the branches like glowing rubies. a world where sweetened fruit never give way to rot.

paradise.

geto stretches a hand out towards you. fingers unfurling, one by one, like a blooming camellia. close, right there in front of you, so close that you’re tempted to take his hand in yours, let him carry you away. burn everything else to the ground. 

(you think of the serpent. you think of god.

only one of them banished eve.)

”so,” he smiles. ”what do you say?”

[almaadst]

My favorite boys from Jujutsu Kaisen (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ) Just to let you know I am a big villain fan - they are my precious babies (✿◡‿◡) I'm aware Choso will change the side eventually but he was introduced as a villain that's why he's here And new icons are available in my shop! This time Kenjaku and Toji pack! You can find them HERE. Here's a little sneak peek:

Other: Commission info Mahito sketches JJK fanfiction cover art

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT MY PERMISSION!

[ayumigotabittoolonely]

That's me though, HUH?

Synopsis - they found your photos before your transition without knowing it was you , you as their Bestfriend, they didn't realise that they were pouring their heart to someone who was actually the person who they liked.

TW ⚠️- I m sorry if I didn't write it well i dont have much information about transgenders :( i support them but I couldn't comprehend how to make a smau of them I hope you understand I m sorry if it made you angry I love you ❤️ I m sorry again. It was requested but I tweaked the idea a bit.

Others

Characters - geto suguru and nanami kento.

Nanami kento

Pov - He was searching for some photos of you from your Instagram for your birthday portrait , but instead he found a girl that undeniably looked similar to you and the weirdest thing is the same name. He checked it out for that reason, but stayed because he was too stunt and humbled by you. You as his closest friend he told you about this not knowing you were the person he was talking to.

Geto suguru

Pov- Filling in for your job application wasn't bad , but searching for your account was , because he got distracted by a beautiful angel not knowing the distracter is the same person he needs to do it for.

PLEASE REQUEST!

[wieqo]

⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀๑⠀ ⠀🈺⠀ ⠀𝆹 ॱ

gjgtoarc⠀ ⠀gojgetos

gojogto⠀ ⠀duogjgt

vueggjt⠀ ⠀gtgjslut

[drmchuu]

this app is funny

[sugaruapologist]

im jus thinking about suguru getting gray hairs...

like you're aging together, reaching middle aged years and it doesn't hardly show in his face. but you regularly brush his hair for him, and its a bonding time for you two, it helps you two relax at the end of the day. you notice the streams of gray throughout his long hair, and its so beautiful.

tldr; salt and pepper haired suguru makes my heart flutter

[abiding-artist]

Ughhh this show is so cool with really interesting character designs!

-

I really went out of my comfort zone making this piece and I’m so happy I did! Learned new techniques and how to do certain things to give variety! I also really enjoy drawing hair.

[honeytrap26]

Quickie

Suguru Geto x Reader

summary: Geto can’t help but stare at you wearing you tight skirt. cw: !!MDNI!!, fem!reader, dirty talk, fingering, blowjob, semi-public?? aunote: first time writing smut, hope it was okay. Enjoy and happy reading! 🐼🖤 Okay,this damn (sotry os) 💀🤣 cursed. First I deleted it, then I didn't post the full story. I'm a mess. Blame it on Kenjaku. wc:3k+ (proofread but if there are any major mistakes, please let me know,Kenjaku did it.) summary: Geto can’t help but stare at you wearing you tight skirt. cw: !!MDNI!!, fem!reader, dirty talk, fingering, blowjob, semi-public?? aunote: first time writing smut, hope it was okay. Enjoy and happy reading! 🐼🖤 Okay,this damn (sotry os) 💀🤣 cursed. First I deleted it, then I didn't post the full story. I'm a mess. Blame it on Kenjaku. wc:3k+ (proofread but if there are any major mistakes, please let me know,Kenjaku did it.)

“Sorry darling.” Suguru hurriedly walks into the kitchen. “I forgot that the football game was tonight, I've been so busy with work. Gojo texted me on my way home.” he places his briefcase on the couch. He loosens his tie and takes it off, throwing it on top of his briefcase.

“Sorry darling.” He leans down to place a kiss on your forehead, his hand is on the small of your back.

“It’s okay hun.” you smile, grabbing the dip out of the oven, setting it on the kitchen counter and grab a bag of chips out of the pantry.

He takes a step back to look at you, his mouth is agape seeing what you're wearing, you were wearing a beige cut-out mock neck t-shirt. The shirt hugged your perky breasts perfectly, just a kiss of your cleavage peeking through the cut out. His eyes scanned down your body, you had on a form fitting black leather skirt with a slit.

He places his hands on your hands, giving them a gentle squeeze, “You look so sexy today.” he kisses your cheek, he can smell your perfume.

“Thank you, I was supposed to go to a meeting today but they canceled and moved it to next week.” you say, you lean down to place a plate into the dishwasher your ass pushes against Geto’s growing erection. His hands grip your waist for a split second, he releases it as you stand up again.

“Darling,” his voice is low and seductive in your ear. He pulls you in closer. “You look so sexy.”

You chuckle, smiling to yourself. He turns you around so you’re now looking at him. Your arms wrap around his neck, you lean up to kiss his lips a few times there’s a brief pause before his lips crash onto your again, he picks you up placing you on the countertop. Your hands make their way to his shirt unbuttoning it and untucking it from his slacks. You run your hands up and down his body.

 “I wanna fuck you right now. Bend you over the counter and fuck you from behind.” he says in between kisses.

Your make-out session gets hotter and heavier, your tongues exploring each other's mouths. His hands make their way up to your breasts and he firmly grabs them eliciting a moan from you. 

“Sugu-” he pulls your shirt and bra down revealing your boobs, he leans down, sucking a nipple while rolling the other one in between his fingers. 

“Sugu..please.” your head is tilted back as you arch your back from the pleasure.  “I need you.” you whine.

“Come here baby.” he smirks, he begins to unbuckle his belt when the doorbell rings followed by a couple of knocks. Getos hands cup your slit, realizing that you’re just wearing a lace thong. He growls, his hand cupping your face more aggressively now, he kisses you again biting your lower lip, “I’m going to fuck you so hard tonight baby.” his kisses trail down to your neck to your breasts, he gives them one more kiss before he pulls away.

The doorbell rings again. Geto grunts, you can hear the displeasure in his voice. He helps you get off the table and you two fix your clothes, you run to the bathroom to touch up on your makeup, more like wipe away the red stains from your lipstick, that's smeared all over your breasts and face.

“Hey guys, what’s up?”, he greets Gojo and the gang. 

They walk in with alcohol and food. Haibara asks where you want to put the dish he and his girlfriend made. She gives you a hug and you girls talk briefly about how your days went.  

“There’s my best friend!” Gojo walks up to you with open arms, he gives you a big bear hug, shaking you from side to side before he lets you go.

“Hey Satoru.” you giggle, fixing your hair.

“I want you to meet my girlfriend.” He pulls a beautiful tall girl to his side. She’s wearing a crop top with a deep v cut that shows off her well-endowed breasts. She has on a tiny mini skirt, that you could swear if she bent over, you could see her entire ass.

“Oh, nice.” you and Suguru make eye contact from across the room. He’s talking to Ino but he looks over and gives you a, be nice look. 

Satoru was a beautiful man and he knew it, but he wasn’t the best at picking girls. Their intentions were never good, one of them dated Satoru just to get to Suguru. This broke his heart and you were there consoling him for a week while Suguru was gone for a work trip. That became a routine for you and Satoru, he would come over talking about how he met this beautiful girl and they are going to get married just for him in that same week to come over and cry about how she left him for someone richer, older, better. That is how you replaced Suguru and became Satoru’s best friend.

 “I’m so happy for you both!” you, hug his girlfriend “How long have you been dating?” you look at them both. 

“It's been a month; we’re having our one-month anniversary next week.” She beams excitedly, and kisses Gojo, you see their tongues entwining, Gojo smacks her ass, a whine escapes from her lips. He whispers “ meet me in the bathroom”

 “O-oh okay...That’s..great.” your lips purse together and you nod slowly, looking anywhere but at them.

 Suguru clears his throat, seeing how uncomfortable you are. He walks over and nudges you towards Haibara and his girlfriend who are settling in. 

“How about you show Haibara and his lady around? They haven’t been here since we moved in.” he leans down to kiss your cheek. 

You take Haibara and his girlfriend around the house showing them the house. The doorbell rings and it's Nanami, he was working overtime. You all greet him and he apologizes for being late, he holds up a bag of all of your favorite snacks.

“Nice! We got a touchdown!” Gojo cheered, his girl sitting on his lap.

“Yes!” Haibara yells, giving Nanami a high-five.

“We’re gonna win, I can feel it.” Haibara said excitedly.

“Don’t think so.” Suguru says from the kitchen, throwing a rag over his shoulder. “They always lose. They’ll fumble the ball.” 

You and Geto are in the kitchen cleaning up some dishes from dinner, you bend down to grab some plates from the dishwasher,

“You're gonna get it later tonight if you continue to bend over like that in front of me.” he whispers in your ear, his hand slips underneath your skirt then he reaches above you to put a baking dish away on the top shelf.

“No, you won’t. You’ll be too tired, like you always are.” you gently push him away and continue putting the dishes away.

“Let’s make a bet.” he folds the rest of the dish rags, holding the stack out to you.

“Okay.” you nod and grab the stack putting them in a drawer next to the sink. 

Suguru walks behind you slightly pushing you against the kitchen sink, his mouth hovering over your neck. 

“If the team wins tonight, you get to do whatever you want to me.” he kisses your neck, he takes your hand and places it on his semi hard erection.

You drop the towel, feeling his erection, you bend over to pick up and feel a hand cup your bare ass giving it a squeeze, you let out a small yelp and turn around to see Suguru smirking. 

“Everything okay?” Haibara’s girlfriend asks, she walks over to throw away her plate in the trash.

 “She just dropped a towel. You know how clumsy she is.” he says, his hand still on your bare ass, you can feel his finger toying with your slit, he spreads your lips and feels how wet you are. You’re glad that the countertop covers enough of your bodies that she doesn’t see what’s going on.

His fingers find your clit, circling around it. He stares at you with a big smile on his face, you bite your lip trying to not make a sound, if the TV wasn’t on so loud he bets that they could probably hear how wet you are for him.

“Do you need help cleaning up?” she says, she leans against the counter, finishing her drink.

“N-no, everything's d-done.” you stutter out, his fingers still rubbing circles around your clit.

“Are you sure? I feel bad, we’re always at your place for game nights.” she says, she walks back to the trash to throw her empty can away.

“It’s not a problem at all, we don't mind, we love having friends over. Don’t we, darling.” Geto smiles at you, two of his fingers slip into your hole, making you gasp and moan softly. 

“Mhmm” you say but it was more of a moan.

He sees her walk over to the trash can again, his motions get faster as his fingers pump into you faster. You moan a little louder now not expecting him to do that, luckily the team scored a touchdown so your moan was drowned out by the boys screaming.  You grab his arm to make him stop but he continues to finger you. His eyes flicker from you to her and suddenly he pulls out his fingers from under your skirt. You're halfway slumped over the counter trying to steady your breathing.

“You okay wifey? Your face is all flushed.” she laughs, “are you a little tipsy? I’m not going to lie, I may be just a teeny tiny bit drunk.” she giggles and grabs another can from the refrigerator.

“I’m fine, I-” you look up at Geto, your eyes widen as you see him lick his two fingers, his eyes darken as he sees the blush appear on your face.

“I think she’s just a little hot. Why don’t you go change darling?” he lets out an amused huff.

“Yeah you should! You look so hot by the way. If I were a guy I would totally wanna do you.” she chortles. “You better take good care of her.” she waves a finger at Geto and walks back to the living room, plopping a seat next to Haibara.

“Oh I’ll make sure to take real good care of her.” he huffed a laugh, his hand making its way back to your ass, you can feel him lift the edge of your skirt.

“You’re right, I should go change, I’ll be right back.” you say, rushing out of the kitchen and going upstairs.

“It’s half time now. Hurry everyone take a shit now, we can’t miss it. Our team is gonna win!” Gojo gets up and jogs to the bathroom. 

“Mind if I use the one upstairs?” Haibara asks Geto. 

“No problem, I’ll show ya.” Geto leads Haibara upstairs, “Perfect” he thinks to himself.

You start to take off your jewelry, putting them back in your jewelry box when you hear the door to the master bedroom open and close. You hear the rustling of clothes.

“Hey girl, I have some sweats here for you.” you say,

“Thanks, but I don’t think I’ll be needing those.” Geto walks in shirtless, his one hand skillfully unbuckles his belt and unzips his pants. He lets them drop to the floor. His erection is forming a tent in his briefs.

“We can’t,” you step back but Geto strides over to you caging your body against the counter. You feel his erection pressing into you.

“I wanna fuck you so bad” his hand slips underneath your shirt.

“But they'll hear us and they’ll know if we’re gone for too long.” you protest, you feel his hand unclasp your bra freeing your breasts, he immediately begins to massaging them through your shirt. “Just a quickie. Please baby, I won’t be able to focus on the game with a hard on.” he kisses your forehead.

“Fine” you say, Geto grins as he bends you over the bathroom counter. “But you better not rip-” you're cut off by the sound of Geto ripping your leather skirt.  “Seriously! I just bought a new one.” you moan out the last word. 

He’s on his knees, his hands slide up the back of your calves, up to your thighs, he gives your ass a hard smack, earning a pleasurable moan from you. His thumbs grip your cheeks spreading them apart before his tongue dives into your wet mound.

“Mmm Sugu.” you push back against his face, he pulls his face away. 

You whine out, “More”

“What do you want more darling.” He places small kisses on your cheeks.

“More of you,” you whine, your head resting on the counter.

“More of this.” he slaps your ass before he slips his fingers in your slit. “Or more of this.” he grabs your cheeks spreading them again before he dices back in, his tongue flutters against your clit making you sway your hips left and right, you feel him lick every inch of your wetness. You can’t say anything, you just nod your head, you could feel the waves of pleasure flowing through your body, you couldn’t hold back anymore, you come all over his face and mouth.

“That’s a good girl.” he says, getting up and wiping his face that is covered in your juice. His fingers find your clit again, rubbing it, his other hand pulls down his briefs and strokes his cock a few times, slapping it on your ass before he says “Suck.”

You get on your knees, you take his cock in your hand and stroke it, your thumb circles around the tip, making him groan. You lick from the base of the shaft to the tip, your tongue twirls around his sensitive spot making his hips twitch.

“Fuck baby. That feels so good.” he groans, his mouth is agape and his eyes are closed.

 Your head bobs as you continue to suck his big hard cock. He grabs your hair pulling it into a loose ponytail before he starts to thrust into your face. Your moans are garbled by his big cock, drool dripping down your chin.

There’s a small knock before the bedroom door opens, without missing a beat Geto’s arms swings over and closes the bathroom door, resulting in a slam.

“Oh! I’m so sorry! Were you changing?” It was Haibara's girlfriend.

“Not a problem at all.” Geto clenches his teeth as he continues to fuck your face.

“So sorry, I came in to grab some sweats if that’s alright.” her voice is closer to the bathroom door now.

“T-that’s fine.” he grunts out the last word, he looks down, seeing you massage your boobs, pinching and pulling your nipples, your shirt pulled down.  He throws his back in pleasure, he can feel his own pleasure nearing. “You naughty girl, playing with your tits just the way I like it."

“Oh yeah, where did my wifey go?” she asks, you hear the sound of the drawers opening and closing.

 Geto grumbles a fuck off under his breath, “She’s in here but her mouth is full at the moment.” Getos eyes roll back as he feels your tongue hit that sensitive spot again. His hips twitch, his thrust becomes messy, he pulls out of your mouth before he cums, he slaps your face with his cock a couple of times. Geto grabs your arm and pushes your body against the bathroom door, making a thud.

He whispers in your ear, “Talk to her.” you shake your head in protest but he slaps your ass, the sound echoes through the bathroom.

“Sounds like you’re also a little drunk, Geto.” she giggles, “Can you ask my wifey where her sweats are, I think she rearranged her clothes. I can’t find them” you can hear the pout in her voice.

“Where did you put your sweats, wifey?” Geto says with a devilish smile on his face, he leans down whispering in your ear. “You better say something if you don’t want your friend to find out that you’re getting fucked like a dirty fucking slut in the bathroom.” his cock slides in and out of you slowly,

“T-there at the bottom of the- oh fuck” you gasp when you feel him snap his hips, his cock hitting your cervix, your legs automatically close together making your cunt grip tighter around his cock, his lips are pressed against your neck as he breathes heavily.

“You good wifey?” she calls out,

“Yep, I’m fine just hit my finger on the counter.” you place your hand on the door to steady yourself, he pulls out, you can hear him panting, he was close to cumming.

“Where was it again-Oh just kidding I found it! I’ll see you downstairs.” She says, you can hear her feet shuffle towards the door. “Almost forgot. Wifey, can I get some makeup wipes? I have a feeling we’re gonna be spendin the night here. I’m drunk and I think Haibara is too.” she giggles to herself.

Geto shuffles through the drawer and grabs you the pack of makeup wipes, you fix your shirt, covering your boobs you crack the door open, your upper body and head peeking through.

“Here ya go babe.” you smile at her,

“Thanks babe, but I just need one,” she says.

“It’s fine, maybe Torus girl will need some too.” you nudge the wipe at her.

“Speaking of which, what do you think about her?” she leans in closer to you.

You can hear Geto sigh in frustration behind you. You look back at him, you bite your lips wiggling your ass before looking back at her.

“I think she’s okay, guess we’ll see how…ummm.” you swallow and take a deep breath. Geto slides back into you again bottoming out, his hands gripping your waist hard.

“She’s okay, guess we’ll have to see how long they can last.” you say, your boobs bounce with each thrust, you were glad that she was drunk enough to not pick up on the hints that you were being fucked by Geto while having a conversation with her. You string along a couple of mhmm’s and I know before you cut her off.

“Hey wifey, I’ll talk to you some more downstairs, I need to help Sugu take care of some stuff. I’ll be right down. Okay?” you smile and shut the door after watching her leave.

“You were so close to coming baby.” he chortled.

You grab Geto’s hips pulling him in, signaling that you want more of him. He smiles to himself and shakes his head. He pulls your hair into a ponytail like before and begins thrusting into you faster now, you can clearly hear the sounds of your wet skin slapping against each other.  He releases your hair, his hands pull down your shirt, cupping your breasts feeling the way they bounce with each of his thrusts. Your eyes roll back, your mouth is wide open now, your fingers are rubbing your clit.

“I’m c-close.” you whisper to Geto, he grunts, his hand replaces yours as he rubs your clit feeling your went cunt tighten around his cock. 

“Fuck baby I’m cumming.” he growls.

Both of you hit your climax, your bodies writhe with ecstasy and pure pleasure. You feel his cock twitching inside of you as he pumps his load deep into you. Your cunt tightens around him, he can feel it pulsing around his cock.

His face is buried in your hair, you both take a moment to gather yourselves before he turns you around and kisses you passionately. 

“I love you.” he kisses your lips again.

“I love you too.” you kiss him back.

Extra Trimmings!!

You and Geto make your way back downstairs, you insist that he goes first so it’s not suspicious but he says that you were gone for twenty minutes and they already knew what that meant.

“Hey wifey! I missed you!” Haibara’s girlfriend sees you, she moves away from Haibara and cuddles up with you. You laugh at his reaction to his girlfriend moving away from him.

“Took ya long enough.” Gojo opens a bottle of beer and hands it over to Geto before opening himself one.

“Was takin care of some business.” Geto shrugs and drinks his beer.

“Right.” Gojo shakes his head. 

“Oh, come on, you did too. I just lasted longer.” Geto chuckles.

“Careful, I’m with her most days.” Gojo smirks as he takes a bite of his pizza. “Let’s fuckin go!! We won!!” Gojo jumps up and cheers, he runs to you and picks you up, twirling you around. “Told you my team was gonna win, munchkin.”

“Toru stop! What the heck are you doing?!” you smack his shoulder playfully.

Geto sits there in disbelief.

“Fuck no, not nicknames.”

[sweeteruserboxes]

[azumasoroshi]

read a really cute stsg fic that checks all of my boxes. checked the author’s name on a whim. they have a TON more stsg fics, almost all of which are my favorite types of fics, as well as fics of my only major bnha ships. never kill yourself guys

(it’s https://archiveofourown.org/users/themoonisdead by the way GO READ THEIR SHIT IVE BEEN ABSORBED FOR THE PAST THREE HOURS)