#jjk geto

[slvttyplum]

suguru could admit when something was too much for him; that was the part of his personality that everyone loved. he was blunt with his thoughts, and that's why he could admit that your pussy was too much for him.

he had his trials and errors with sex, but he was a god in bed, flipping and tossing you around like a pancake on a pan, and you were all for it, but he always stopped an hour deep.

yes, he could go a couple of hours, but that was only when he "released" himself beforehand. your body, it was sexy, but he could manage, but whenever his dick was inside of you, he couldn't bring himself to keep going without almost passing out.

losing his breath and holding onto your hips like you were going to float away, taking deep breaths while recollecting himself. he felt like an old man, always catching his breath and telling you to slow down when things were getting too fast.

"ah… okay, just a little slower. i cant fucking breathe." smiling as you bounced away, having you do some of the workload but still embarrassed that he was about to bust a load again three minutes after the first one.

your pussy was so good it had him shooting blanks after a while. it gripped onto him in ways he couldn't comprehend and didn't want to; he found it scary, but you got the job done every time, and he hated it.

"baby, are you okay?" turning your head a little to look at him because of his pace slowing down and his forehead resting on his back, cursing himself for his cum slowly dripping out, trying to stop, but it was already too late.

even when it was just you lying there, taking every bit of him and listening to his sexy groans, he was still finishing before the deadline and was forcing himself to overstimulate.

why? why did you have to eat his dick up like this? why did you have to feel so good, a little too good? he just wanted to go at least thirty minutes without finishing, but between your face and the way your pussy clung to him, it wasn't possible.

it was a challenge, but he was going to try to pass it every time. he had a job, and that was to please you.

that was his ego talking. he got you off every time; he just hated the fact he couldn't hold out, and his ego was bruised, but you were going to be there for him every time, keeping it a secret that it turned you on that you had this effect on him.

nothing turned you on more than hearing his blabbering mumbling behind you, trying to hold out, your face in the pillow, all smiles.

[getosluts]

s. geto x f!reader | nsfw

"sugu- wait!" you moaned and his head lifted from between your thighs. he looked absolutely sinful, a painting traced by the devil. a translucid line connected his lower lip to your cunt, a mix of your arousal with his spit. his hair had untangled from the bun he wore from your tugging and pulling.

he hummed and pulled the rebel strands of his hair back, away from his face. in an unconscious movement he licked his lips and you melted more than you already were.

"what's wrong, sweetheart?" he said, his hands grabbing at your thighs to keep them apart, leaving light kisses over them — his hair falling back over his face. his eyes didn't leave yours and you were trying to form a sentence.

"aren't you...aren't you going to fuck me?" you breathed out, your eyes darting away from his in shame. you heard a chuckle and the bed creaking slightly as he climbed up, licks and kisses dragging along your body, a bite on one of your nipples that made you wince.

he looked at your face and grabbed your cheek, your eyes turning to him again. "is that what you want?" he asked, his hand going down and his two middle fingers dragging against your overstimulated clit and penetrating you, your mouth opening in a silent moan. "you want me to stretch this warm, delicious, pussy, hm?" he said, and left a kiss in the corner of your lips.

you nodded "please, suguru, need you" and he smiled, kissing your lips hungrily. his fingers dragged out and he adjusted himself between your legs, the head of his cock feeling heavy over your lower stomach.

"how could i deny my favorite girl of anything? come on baby" he said and his hands grabbed your waist to keep you steady and, slowly, the head of his dick was engulfed by your greedy hole and you moaned while geto groaned deep in his throat.

you both had fucked dozens of times but you always managed to make geto see stars. actually, you were enough of a view, one that stars couldn't even compete with. your mouth agape, your nipples hard and swollen from his mouth abusing them, the bites and hickeys all over your body, your legs hugging his waist eagerly and the best part.

"suguru, god!" your moans. there was no sound in humanity that he loved more than your voice chanting his name...you could call him whipped, but suguru geto did not care. he'd follow you around in a leash if it meant he could hear his name out of your lips one more time.

"i'm right here doll, call my name again..."

[noodle-is-unstable]

YAY they’re back open !!

Can we get oblivious JJK characters w/ a friend that’s purposely trying to make yn jealous ? 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

☠️I know, the request open window is foul, but I'm glad you made it

The JJK Characters friend tries to make you jealous (Established Relationship)

Ft ~ Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Kento Nanami, Toji Fushiguro, Ryoumen Sukuna, Choso, Takuma Ino, Shiu Kong, Uraume, Shoko Ieiri, Mahito, Kenjaku

Synopsis ~ The JJK Characters friend tries to make you jealous, only the JJK Characters don't realize it

Content Warning ~ 18+, Crack is present, Suggestive, Language, a lil Angst, no real Fluff. I'm autistic IDK

[rokonrrc2]

Learn More

Class break 🖤🤍

If this gets lots of reblogs I will make a cute/naughty part 2 😏

Prints with shoko

Prints only sugusato

[sugurugetoshairbrush]

💬 reddit

← ⬤  r/relationship_advice • 16 hr. ago       

      1mjust-agirl02

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Weeks later, I got a text and an address:

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

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

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

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

But everything changed soon after.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Advice is welcome. Don’t hold back.

( ↑  734  ↓ ) ( 🗨️ 1K ) ( ୨୧ ) ( ↳ Share )

⬤ toge-talks-shit  MOD  • 14h ago • 

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

⬤ blue-eyes-savelives  • 11h ago • 

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

⬤ k-nam_mister73  • 9h ago • 

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

⬤ nobarabara_yaps  • 2h ago • 

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

[its-pip-art]

He’s finished

(so have I 👀)

[swearimnevergivingup]

SAY WHAT I NEED TO HEAR - suguru x reader

synopsis: amidst it all, you can’t help but feel like something has been crossed, a reluctant confession forced from your quivering lips as he lapped your humiliation up without revealing his own hand. people say all kinds of shit during sex, right? shit they don’t mean, garbled nonsense as they lose themselves in the moment. it doesn’t have to be anything more than that. but it was real for you. you had meant it. it’s left you feeling exposed, and you hate it.

content: suguru geto/reader, jealousy, rough sex, degradation, some light anal play, friends with benefits, porn with a bit of plot, both are bad at feelings, confrontations happen, happy ending i repeat HAPPY ENDING (4.3k words)

a/n: this is the part 2 of dumb love, i love being stupid, so i highly recommend clicking that and giving it a read first! i think it would make this part more satisfying and provide more context imo, but it can also be read as a standalone story if you’d like.

geto suguru isn’t a jealous man. 

at least that’s what he thinks — he doesn’t do relationships, and because of that he’s really never had a reason to be jealous. 

he thinks he isn’t a jealous man, until he finds himself in a shitty bar in shibuya, eyes pinned on the man who has his hand on your knee and a sleazy smile on his face. he’s sitting way too close to you, but instead of looking uncomfortable like you should, you’re covering your mouth and giggling, your eyes forming half-moons as you laugh at his jokes. 

the dress you have on is too tight and too short, and suguru glares from across the bar as you flirt shamelessly with the unknown man, unable to focus on a single thing his friends are saying. he grits his teeth when the man leans in to whisper something in your ear, and you smile and nod in response to whatever the fuck he said. he watches with narrowed eyes as you both stand up, the man now leading you by hand to the exit - an uncharted, ugly feeling rising in his chest.

he has to suppress the alcohol-fuelled urge to walk over and fight the asshole himself, but shoko has started to catch on and is staring at him with furrowed brows and a look on her face that reads, don’t be fucking crazy, so he takes another swig of his drink and settles back into his seat. he throws her a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, to which is received by a scoff and a light shake of her head.

okay, so he might be a jealous man.

he’s also not a particularly communicative man, so he prefers to express his feelings by pushing your face down into the mattress, fucking you wildly, and taking his emotions out on your swollen cunt. he likes it when you cry, when you beg for him, and he’ll never admit it to himself, but - when he gets to press kisses to your flushed lips when you curl up to him in bed after.

so he pounces the next time he sees you, pulling off clothes and pressing hungry kisses against your mouth that leave the both of you breathless. he’s angry, he realises. angry that another man has gotten to touch you, angry at himself for idly watching it happen because he’s too scared to make you his. but you are his, no? you are his, he reasons, and that must be why you come back to him every time. he’s been rough on you, made you cry once already tonight, and you’re still soaking wet and mewling for more. 

he hates you, he loves you, he hates how he loves you.

you’re currently on your back, legs splayed out so prettily for him. your chest heaves with the way you’re panting, lust-filled eyes just barely staying open to watch the way he drives into you. he’s got you all marked up - hickies trailing down your tummy and peppered across your inner thighs. 

but his mind isn’t entirely there - it flashes unhelpful images of the same man from the bar, kneeling between your legs, tracing his fingers down your soft skin, taking what isn’t his. did you also moan this loudly for him? slick dripping from your cunt, fingers entangled in that undeserving bastard’s hair? the thought is venom in his veins, burning away at every once of composure left within him.

“turn,” he commands urgently. before you can respond, his hands are already gripping your hips, beginning to manoeuvre your pliant body to rest on your hands and knees.

“suguru, slow down, what’s gotten into y-“ you protest breathlessly, attempting to wriggle away from his iron grip. suguru’s big, and you’ve always struggled to take him from certain positions, this being one of them. 

“c’mon, baby,” he coaxes. “be good for me. turn.” it doesn’t matter anyway, because his strong arms are in the process of pushing you into position, just the way he likes it. 

he presses down on the small of your back, getting you to arch for him. “stay like that for me,” he commands darkly, his thumb trailing down the curve of your spine. “that’s a good girl.”

something is weighing on his mind today, you can tell that much, but suguru always plays his cards too close to his chest for you to find out what it is. you know he would never really hurt you, at least not in any way you didn’t want - you trust him, so you let him bend your body how he likes and run his hands all over you, haunting, but never hard enough to bruise. you liked the feeling of being his to take, craved for all his touches, rough or gentle, you wanted them all.

you whine in anticipation, which seems to amuse him further. “poor baby,” he laughs, low and mean, his voice dripping with mockery. the tip of his cock drags along your folds as one of his hands kneads the flesh of your ass, making you shiver and jolt. “can’t handle it from behind? too much for you?” 

without any warning, he pushes his cock in all the way, and you gasp out, hands fisting the sheets and toes curling. “holy fuck,” he groans. “how are you so tight? you’re so good for me, so good to me.”

and because you’re stupidly susceptible to him, to his filthy words, you involuntarily clench down hard on him, walls fluttering around his cock.

“ha, see? i knew you liked it.” he taunts cruelly.

your attempts to pull away are futile as he presses you down into the bed, fucking into you relentlessly. by now, your moans have quietened into whimpers, your head foggy from the feeling of intrusion that you feel all the way deep within your stomach. you feel so full, his cock stretching your hole in impossible ways.

it’s pain and it’s pleasure all at once, melting into each other and fanning the fire growing within you. you’re unable to respond in any meaningful way, so you mewl and grip the sheets harder.

your cries are mixed with the sharp slap of skin meeting skin - completely lost in the sensation of his cock pressing against your walls, so much so that you don’t feel his hand sliding down the small of your back and over to your asshole. without any warning, he pushes his thumb in, breaching your sensitive rim, and you yelp, falling forward as you do.

“suguru!”

it feels good, but the pleasure is momentarily lost in the fear of what he might do next. you’ve done anal a few times with suguru, hell, he was the one who took your virginity, but he’s got both length and girth, and you know it’s not just something you can jump into without preparation. he might just tear you apart. 

“relax, baby,” he drawls, his tone slow and calculating. “i was just wondering… if you let anyone else fuck you here?“ his thumb pushes against you again, just enough to make your breath hitch, before pulling away to circle your entrance roughly. “or is that reserved just for me?”

huh? you freeze beneath him, trying to make sense of his words. so this was what he had been playing at? suguru never brings up other people, other guys - call it an unspoken agreement, the same way you never bring up any other girls, so you’re confused about where this is all coming from. he was being weird tonight - marking you with hickies despite your protests, his kisses hungrier than usual, and his movements a little rougher and harder than normal - but you don’t understand why.

you bite your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction. 

“so do you? answer me, i want to know,” he demands, his voice low. “do they get to see you like this? huh? how many other guys do you spread your legs for?” 

when you don’t reply again, his palm comes down harshly on your ass, making you jolt in surprise.

“no! no, no, f-fuck. not… only you,” you stammer, jolting a little every time his finger grazes past your sensitive hole. it’s a good thing he can’t tell just how much your cheeks burn at your confession. 

“yeah?” comes his taunting voice. “you sure about that?”

“y-yes, yes, god, suguru, only you, i swear-”

“who’s fucking you right now, baby?”

“y-you, suguru, please.”

“what about that guy from the bar, hm?” he presses, his thrusts deepening. “i saw you.” 

you don’t even have half the mind to ask him how the fuck he knows about that guy, not that it even went anywhere. you had brought him back to your place that night, but all you could think about was how he wasn’t suguru, didn’t smell like him, didn’t touch you like him, couldn’t make you feel as good as he did.

“how’s that a-any of your business?” 

he barks out a cruel laugh and you immediately start to regret your choice of words.

“oh yeah?”

one of suguru’s hands gathers your hair in a ponytail and pulls your head back, jerking it towards him so you’re forced to lift off the bed, kneeling as you press close to his chest. he holds you tight against him like that, and you feel his hot breaths against your neck, smell his sweat and cologne on his skin. you’re completely at his mercy in this position, helplessly whimpering as he continues to deliver hard thrusts into you.

you’re falling apart on his cock pathetically, and it almost feels like you’re choking with each rough push into you. 

you know you technically don’t owe him an answer, but it leaves brokenly from your lips anyway when his cock brushes against your sweet spot repeatedly. you would put up more resistance, spit back some clever retorts, or maybe ask him why he cares when he wanted casual in the first place, but he’s practically spearing you open, stretching you out and fucking all rationality from your head. 

“we didn’t- i didn’t do anything, he left, he left, please, fuck-” you sound absolutely pathetic, but that’s because you are.

putty in his hands, be it entrapped or enthralled.

his pace falters for a split second as he processes your words. then he hums lowly at this, the sound vibrating against your skin as he strains forward to press a few wet kisses on your shoulder.

your heart swells with conflicting emotions at the implication of his words. he really seems to have bought into it, the false idea that you could possibly entertain other guys besides him. a tide of devotion and sadness; fondness and frustration takes rise in your heart. desperately, you want him to know it’s really only been him. but then again, you also hope he never finds out just how weak you are for him.

you huff into the pillow your face is pressed down into, trying to hide the way your voice shakes. “if i didn’t know you better, i’d think you were jealous.”

“yeah well,” he grits out. “maybe i fucking am.” 

he doesn’t leave you time to quip back or question if he truly meant that. “so tell me, baby,” his grip on your hips tightens as he picks up the pace, jolting you forward with every thrust. “are you a whore? or just my whore? you sure are moaning like one.”

you’re certainly more flushed than ever by now, but you continue to deny him a proper response, the obstinance not fucked out of you just yet. you mumble your reply unintelligibly into the pillow, refusing to give in to him.

“go on, tell me,” he demands again. “i’m not asking twice.” at that, he draws his hips out, until only his tip remains inside you, before roughly driving the full length of his cock back upwards. you let out a muted screech at his movements, feeling the way he brushes against your cervix and stuffs you full, full, full. 

his other hand snakes down your front to toy with your clit, rubbing and rolling it between his fingers. he doesn’t let up, doesn’t show you any mercy as he fucks you harder and deeper, nearly driving your overboard with the stimulation.

you would have nearly toppled over if it wasn’t for the way he was anchoring your body to him. your hands are clutching his tightly, digging your fingernails into his skin and leaving angry red marks as you fight against his relentless movements.

you realise then and there that you aren’t getting out of this, so you cry out and confess, with all the sincerity of a remorseful sinner professing their transgressions to their god, because it’s true anyway, isn't it? there’s no point denying it when he’s got you fucked out and pliant under his grip. you know he’ll only let you cum once he hears what he’s looking for, and your desperation is quickly building.

“m’ yours. y-your whore,” your voice is hoarse and raspy from all your crying and moaning that night, it barely registers as your own. tears still streak your cheeks as you uselessly grasp at the sheets, body trembling under his unyielding thrusts.

“fuck, that’s it, baby,” suguru groans. deep down, he knows he’s being unfair to you, doesn’t have the right to stake any claim over you at all, but it’s the way you moan for him that quenches the scorching jealousy in his chest. it certainly makes the guilt a little easier to bear. “-squeezing me so tight, wanna cum for me again?”

“yes, yes, please!”

his hips snap harder against you, and his fingers continue to rub firm circles on your clit. the building pleasure finally reaches its climax as your walls squeeze and flutter around his cock. you’re trembling and unravelling against him, feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm wash over you in waves. 

“fuck baby, take it- ah, take my cock, baby. you look so hot like this. might just have to ruin you so no one else can have you,” he pants, pace starting to get sloppier as he nears the peak of his own arousal. 

biting through the overstimulation, you resist the urge to tense up and run from his unforgiving cock. the sound of you moaning and mewling against him melts into the noise of your wet cunt being pounded into, creating a downright obscene display.

you’re thanking him and pleading with him at the same time, although you aren’t even sure what for - a rambling mess in his hands. it’s not long before he’s spilling his hot release into you, chanting sweet praises into your ear.

suguru swears under his breath as he pulls out, relishing in the way his cum leaks out of your swollen cunt and trickles down your thighs. 

your thighs are still shaking as your flip over, mind hazy as you come down from your high.

“you alright?” he asks, settling tiredly down next to you. he raises a hand to wipe at the tears that have streaked your face. “you always get awfully silent after we fuck.” 

he lingers behind you for a moment, his chest rising and falling in heavy bursts as he catches his breath. his arms wrap around your figure as he pulls you towards him, fingers rubbing your skin in small, smoothing circles. the comfort is short-lived though, because he pulls away from you, and the warmth quickly dissipates. 

‘i’ll get you some water,” he murmurs, rising from the bed and shuffling to the bathroom. 

you offer no response, instead finding yourself staring idly at the slight dip he left in the mattress. you liked when suguru was rough with you, liked when he would whisper degrading things into your ear that made your pussy clench. you liked it, and you would be lying if you said you didn’t like it just now.

but amidst it all, you can’t help but feel like something has been crossed. a reluctant confession forced from your quivering lips as he lapped your humiliation up without revealing his own hand. and for what?

people say all kinds of shit during sex, right? shit they don’t mean, garbled nonsense as they lose themselves in the moment. it doesn’t have to be anything more than that. but it was real for you. you had meant it. it’s left you feeling exposed, and you hate it. 

you knew the inevitable consequence of mixing your feelings towards suguru with what was supposed to be casual sex (to him, at least) would eventually come back to bite you in the ass. 

before you know it, fresh tears spill from your eyes and roll down your cheeks, saturating the pillowcase your head is resting on. you don’t even know why exactly you’re crying, but it probably has something to do with the complicated cocktail of emotions you’re feeling as you come down from your orgasm.

your lower stomach still feels like it’s pulsating, and your pussy feels so, so empty without suguru’s cock inside you. your heart feels just as empty too, a sinking and aching feeling that hurts even more than usual after the way he confronted you during sex.

most of all, you just want him to be honest with you, for once. no half-truths, no games, you just want suguru. you know him, and because of that you know there’s a lot that he hides behind that charming smile and calm exterior. everything about suguru is intentional, restrained, and calculated. you desperately wanted to see him bare himself to you, just as he had forced you to, to deny himself the urge to always have the scales tipped in his favour. 

god, when was the last time you cried? probably not in months, and it’s a weird mixture of emptiness, catharsis, and relief as the tears stream down your face. you bite your lip and curl in towards your body, trying to regulate yourself amidst the haze in your mind. 

perhaps you should never have played with fire, but your fingertips have long become numb from being willingly burnt by the flames. 

and played with fire you did. you had played games too, trying to keep suguru at arm's length, slipping out of his apartment every time without so much as leaving a message, dropping subtle indications of dates you had been going on and men you had been seeing. 

but you weren’t so much a willing player as a desperate one. you didn’t like the game, you only craved the player. you were afraid of losing to him, afraid this delicate dance would be called off forever once he was done.

now, shedding tears from mere words said in the heat of the moment, it was clear that you had lost.

a rational part of you that remains wonders if you're reacting unreasonably to this situation. what must he think of you? crying? asking what would be the dreaded question of what is this to you? he had already made it clear, hadn't he? you were only going to be embarrassing yourself.

some salty tears reach your lips, and they sting of frustration, desperation, and bitterness.

you’re so lost in your floating thoughts that you don’t notice suguru making his way out of the bathroom, a towel and bottle of water in hand. 

“hey, i got you a-”, he stops in his tracks when he hears your muffled sniffling. “are you okay? did i hurt you?” he asks softly, eyes now wide with concern as he takes a tentative seat beside you.

it only overwhelms you more.

did you have to be breaking apart to feel his warmth? wordlessly, you shake your head, unable to speak. 

he had hurt you, but not in the way he thinks.

you had been pretending for months and months to be okay with your arrangement like the suffocating weight of unsaid truths hadn’t been causing your insides to rot and die. above all, you didn’t want to ask for something he didn’t truly want to give, you didn’t want to beg. 

suguru calls your name, this time more firmly. “please,” he says desperately. “you have to talk to me. i need to know what’s wrong. where does it hurt?” he reaches a hesitant hand out to you, but you shrink away before he can make contact.

his eyebrows furrow, trying to make sense of the situation. it’s a small movement, but you feel good denying him of something, however insignificant. suguru’s always been so impenetrable, and it feels satisfying to watch him falter. 

you had expected to have this conversation eventually, but you had also expected yourself to be a lot more… composed. instead, the words are tumbling out of you the moment you finally blink the tears away from your eyes to look at him.

“i can’t… i can’t do this with you anymore. i just can’t,” broken sobs leave your quivering lips and the tears veil your vision so quickly that you can barely make out the expression on his face. “you can’t make me say those… those things when it doesn’t mean anything to you. when i don’t mean anything to you.”

“i-,” he starts, but his voice falters. his lips part, then press back together as he looks away from you, dropping his head. all the brashness and aggression from earlier has evaporated, replaced by a guilty look in his eyes.

“tell me, suguru," you question hoarsely. it was going to be your turn to demand answers. “what does this mean to you? am i really just.. just a convenient fuck to you?”

he’s still silent, his raven hair falling across his face and obscuring his current expression from your view. the scene makes you scoff, shaking your head in frustration at his lack of reply. 

“i-” when he finally speaks, his voice is quiet, etched with raw emotion. “i… i haven’t been fair to you. and i’m sorry,” he murmurs. “you mean a lot to me… and i’ve been shitty at showing that. i never meant to hurt you.”

his words grab at your heart, leaving you questioning their meaning. “then what am i to you? what is this to you?” you whisper, swallowing hard. “because i… i can’t keep pretending that i’m okay with being casual when i’m not.”

“it’s… not your fault. i know i never told you,” you continue quietly, your voice breaking under the strain. “and it’s… okay if it was never anything more for you, really. but please, suguru. i just need to hear it from you directly. once and for all.”

you detest the way your lips tremble as you speak. you’re sure it must be a pathetic sight, the way you’re completely falling apart in front of him. 

“it was never casual to me,” suguru says suddenly, exhaling shakily. “you’re… everything to me. everything. i just… i didn’t know how to handle it. the way i feel about you. it scares me. it scares me all the time.”

you don't know what you were expecting to hear, but it certaintly wasn't that.

everything? the word, applied to you, feels like it doesn’t belong in his mouth. at least you’d never considered that it could. it lifts a heavy weight in your chest that you had already become accustomed to carrying.

“when i saw you at the bar… it fucking drove me crazy, i don’t know why. i mean- fuck, i know why. i hated seeing that. i hate thinking about you with someone else. i want you to myself,” he admits. “today… i guess i just wanted to hear that from you.”

this is the most you’ve ever gotten out of him, so you stay quiet, wanting him to keep going. 

“i’m sorry,” suguru repeats. “i’ve been a real fucking asshole. you have every right to hate me. i should have said all of this sooner.”

he watches you carefully, body tense as his dark eyes scan your face, trying to get a read on your emotions.

“i could never hate you,” you reply eventually, shaking your head softly. hate? there was love, there was pain, but never hate.

you’re more devoted than you are weary, ultimately.

“just… fuck, suguru. why? why didn’t you just say that? you made me feel like this was nothing to you!”

“because-” he starts, low and unsteady. “because you see me, you always do. i can never really hide from you, you know that? you peel back the layers without even trying. it scares the shit out of me.”

his confession hits you right in the chest, with all the force of a tidal wave. it’s a rare display of vulnerability from his part, and your heart pounds loudly as you take in the implications of his words. 

you stare at him, searching his face for any signs of insincerity. hoping you would find some indication of dishonesty to prove your disbelief right.

instead, all you find is raw, unbridled honesty in his dark eyes. you almost can’t believe you’re hearing this from him, seeing this side of him, given all that he’s withheld from you. 

“i’m so sorry,” he whispers again for the third time tonight. “don’t cry, please. you’re the only one too, you know. there’s no one else.”

you can understand the double meaning behind his words.

no one else that he’s been with. 

just you.

no one else that he wants.

just you.

the hand that reaches out to touch your cheek carries so much unexpected tenderness that it catches you off guard. it instantly melts away any frustration you had been holding onto for so long.

“let me make things right,” he implores.

“okay,” you breathe out, feeling the word slip from your tongue, all heavy and rough. it’s more than just a word - it’s unspoken forgiveness and understanding all at once, wrapped in the terrifying feeling of putting your heart in another’s hands.

it's an enormous weight, but it leaves you feeling lighter than before you had said it.

“i’ll hold you to that.”

“okay.” suguru echoes. his eyes soften at your answer, a flicker of relief crossing his face. 

“stay here tonight? don’t run off again.”

it’s the first time he’s asked.

you offer him a small smile. “alright.”

lying there with suguru, his dark hair splayed out like splattered ink on his white sheets, arms draped around your body, all the noise in the world stills. 

tender kisses quieten the storm in your heart, and the soothing trail of suguru’s hands lulls you to sleep. his warmth seeps into you, filling up the cracks and hollow spaces within.

maybe this could be the start of something new.

a/n: thank you for reading!! likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated <3 i would love to know what you think 🫶🏻🤍

[connorsui]

I would still love to give myself that daily depressed dose of some wine and pills both labeled with getos name as I relax on the couch thinkin of us styling his hair in all kinds of beautiful hair styles ...and he allows us to do it

Letting his head rest on your lap as you quietly think of new patterns to make for his hair so he looks pretty everyday...meanwhile he's silently going red at the thought of being this close to you

Ugh ..gimmie another soft drink ...extra sweet

Geto Suguru with different hair styles

[chuulyssa]

from people you know to people you don’t: singer!geto

singer!geto with his silver rings clinking against the mic stand when he adjusts it mid-performance. with his fingers running through his long, dark hair just to play on the bad boy persona the media has made of him. with his spot under the spotlight in front of thousands of people to see, who lets the crowd chant in some of the vocals in the chorus while he laughs, gripping the mic and pointing it to his fans, his black painted nails gleaming in the stage lights.

singer!geto who avoids interviews, questions, and who doesn’t sing love songs... but somehow his fans always end up finding love letters in his cryptic lyrics. and he always leaves them unconfirmed too, just smirking whenever paparazzi ask if they’re real or fiction. always answering “my fans are my muse” whenever pressed about his inspo.

singer!geto who leans into the bad boy image of him by the media because it’s much easier to do so than to explain the quiet loneliness and crippling depression he has felt since high school. because it’s much easier to be seen with a new woman every month than to confess to his entire world.

singer!geto who finds himself thinking of you late at night, about what it all could’ve been had he not been so selfish. he doesn’t understand if he’s selfish or just protecting you, but whatever it is, god does it hurt him, and a little voice in his mind hopes you’re hurting as much as he is right now, not being able to touch the skin of your face, or the softness of your lips in his big and lonely penthouse.

singer!geto whose eyes are always searching around in his concert, scanning the sea of unfamiliar faces just so that maybe he could find yours, and maybe that would mean he was finally forgiven for pushing you away for so long, for always having his name in headlines linked to other women who aren’t you, for always being so scared of his own fans for you.

singer!geto who’s lyrics are always penned at three in the morning when his imaginations of you are the most vivid. and he swears to his pr team he’s not in love, never has been. yet they all question how the words pour out more sorrowfully than they would have if it had been all just stupid stories of broken couples.

singer!geto who doesn’t know where you are right now after he cut you off that night. so he travels around the world in the guise of his world tours, and doesn’t forget to explore the whole city in case he finds you in the marketplace buying your favourite fruits like he used to, or in the store with the snack you used to share with him on movie nights, or in the shopping mall where he swore he would buy you pretty dresses when he grows up and becomes rich.

singer!geto who wishes he knew how to grow up happy, who wishes he never dreamed his dream now that he has achieved it, who still wants what he wanted all those years ago so selfishly. even after all those “you have to sacrifice to achieve your goals” he says to the world, he wishes you would unblock him on your instagram just so you could match pfps again, so you could post him on your stories saying “my pookie” again, and even though he said he hated when you called him that, he would kill just to hear it spill from your lips one more time.

singer!geto who would always question why most successful people said money couldn’t buy everything, but has now realized that they were right. money couldn’t buy the way you laughed at his jokes, or the way you smiled at the new song he wrote, or the way you kissed his calloused fingers after a long practice session.

singer!geto who looks at small things at the shopping center and thinks you would like them, so he buys them even though you aren’t here to savour them anymore. he doesn’t remember how often he’s been questioned about this habit of buying clothes that won’t fit him, or things on his shelf that most certainly could never match his style. he could go on and on about the meaning those carried for him, but he didn’t. he couldn’t.

singer!geto who’s a coward, too afraid to take your name in front of the crowd of his thousand or so fangirls. what if you didn't like the spotlight? what if the girls got a bit too crazy? was it his fault for picking this career after all? was it his fault he fell in love with you more than he did for the strings of his guitar?

singer!geto who climbs up on stage for the final day of his tour, and it’s in the old city you used to live in. the old high school the two of you would go to was long demolished, and he couldn’t help but wonder if the love you held for him was destroyed along with that building as well. but among the low murmurs of the crowd, and the light falling on their faces, his eyes search for just one person almost habitually.

and he finds her.

you.

singer!geto who’s always been a bit shy when it came to singing in front of you. so when he sees you in the audience, his voice falters, and he forgets his purpose, and although he isn’t quite sure if his delusions have finally caught up to reality, or if his imagination has become progressive enough to project his feelings in the real world, his eyebrows furrow and his eyes squint as if to demand if you were real. if you were really there.

singer!geto who you smile timidly at, too small in the row of his million or so fans, too much of a speck in the sea to be noticed by anyone else. but he notices. he always notices. and you think this is the first time he has taken this long to tune his guitar on stage, and the others might have missed the faint pink on his cheeks. he was always shy.

“you’ll like this one,” he says as if you haven’t already liked the hundred songs he wrote before.

singer!geto who keeps forgetting the next lines of the song he wrote, and instead keeps adding lines that feel more raw, more real than anything anyone has ever heard before. and he has always refused to sing love songs, then why is this one about wanting to be braver to keep a relationship he quit, his fans wonder. but how would they know that singer!geto performs under the stage lights every night, but he has only ever felt seen when he was with you.

singer!geto who tumbles downstage immediately after the performance, hearing the chants of his name only distantly, just so he can scream at his managers to find the pretty lady in the purple dress he had bought for you so long ago and forgotten about after thinking you would’ve thrown it away just like he had done to you.

singer!geto who finds you walking up to him with a sheepish smile, and his breath catches in his throat. he doesn’t want to believe it is real — he wants to meet you alone, not in front of all the prying eyes of his team. his eyes are wide and his lips are quivering, and the only thing keeping him from breaking down completely is the hand you extended to greet him.

“hi,” you introduce your name, and his shaking hands meet your firm ones.

he stiffens and nods, surprised by the formality but not completely so. his fingers clutch tightly around the back of your hand that he knew so well, but now it just feels so unknown. he desperately tries to claw at you, or rather what he remembers of you, the one who has haunted the lyrics of his songs for so long.

his voice is trembling when he says your name, though it feels foreign on his tongue now. have you changed so much that you forgot him?

“i’m a fan, can i have your autograph?”

you could have the whole man if you requested, sweetheart.

but you don’t know it.

you don’t remember.

© chuulyssa 2024 - do not copy, plagiarize or repost my works on any platforms. do not translate.

a/n: i have my math 3h paper tmr wtf am i doing here

[cherbii]

AND THEN THEY WERE ROOMMATES

⋆౨ৎ˚✧ ₊ texts with your insufferable roommate

ft. Suguru Geto

[next]

[xhyjin]

husband geto! who always carries two hair ties on his wrist one for his own hair and one just in case you need it. it doesn’t matter if you don’t usually tie your hair up; he insists on keeping one there “just in case” because it’s his way of taking care of you. if you ever ask to borrow it, he’ll grin, tie it gently into your hair, and murmur, “told you it’d come in handy.”

husband geto! who wraps you up in his oversized robes when you’re cold, the fabric so big it drags along the floor and picks up dust with every step you take, but he swears you look so much cuter like that than in any regular jacket. sometimes, though, instead of giving you a robe of your own, he’ll just untie the one he’s already wearing and wrap it around the both of you, pulling you against his chest. “warmer this way, isn’t it?” he murmurs, his chin resting gently on top of your head as his arms tighten around you. you grumble at how snug and immobile it makes you feel, but he just smiles softly, completely content to hold you there, sharing his warmth and his space with you.

husband geto! who lets you sit in on his cult meetings even though he insists it’s “no place for someone like you.” he doesn’t mean it harshly—he just doesn’t want you to hear something he isn’t ready to explain yet. still, he brings you along anyway, trusting that his followers will take the hint to speak carefully when you’re around. to them, you’re almost untouchable, a divine figure worthy of devotion simply because you hold his heart. sometimes, when the meeting drags on and grows dull, he’ll catch your eye across the room and give you a subtle wink. the smirk that threatens to tug at his lips only deepens when he sees you look away, flustered. later, as you leave, he’ll tease you softly, “you’re too cute when you get embarrassed, you know that?”

husband geto! who has his followers bring back gifts for you from their travels—anything from small trinkets and rare teas to fine fabrics he knows you’ll love for new kimonos. he’s too proud to admit how often he talks about you, dropping little hints about your interests here and there, and his followers, eager to please, can’t help but return with offerings they hope will make you smile. whenever you question why you receive so many gifts, reminding him that you don’t play a major role in his cult, he’ll simply shrug and say, “because they respect you. you’re important to me, so you’re important to them.”

husband geto! who can only find comfort in you after long days spent exorcising curses and managing his followers. the moment he steps through the door, the outer persona he shows to the world falls away, leaving only the man who craves your warmth. without a word, he pulls you into a quiet embrace, burying his face in the crook of your neck as his breathing speaks louder than anything he could say. for a while, he just holds you, steadying himself in your presence, before he finally pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours. his eyes meet yours, soft and vulnerable, as he whispers, “you’re the only peace I have left.”

husband geto! who asks his followers to leave when he wants time alone with you. he can be in the middle of a meeting or just anywhere his followers are present, and he’ll dismiss them. he’ll feel a strong urge—a need—to be with you at that very moment. if he’s ever in a meeting, crowded and the air serious, but the second you walk in with that adorable smile he fell in love with, he’ll be quick to wave his hands and dismiss them. “leave us,” he says with an air of authority before smiling softly and pulling you onto his lap, immediately attacking your face with kisses.

husband geto! who loves seeing you interact with the two little girls he took in. his heart swells whenever he sees you braiding their hair just like how you braid his, helping them with homework, or doing activities that a mother would do with her daughters. it makes him want to have his own kids with you (not that he doesn’t consider them his kids), and the thought of that both scares him and excites him. he doesn’t want to bring something so precious into a world so cruel.

husband geto! who sometimes lets you tie his hair back for meetings or missions. you carefully smooth out any stray strands as he watches you, always either on your tiptoes or standing on a chair to reach his head. sometimes, he’ll hold you up, your legs dangling in the air as he grips you firmly by your waist, a loving gaze and smile on his face as he watches you concentrate on making sure his hair is perfectly tied. your tongue pokes out to the side, and your brows furrow in focus. when you’re done, he’ll say, “perfect. you’re better at this than i am,” before pressing a kiss to your knuckles and wrists.

husband geto! who holds you close at night, whispering his fears when he thinks you’re asleep. he rarely shows weakness during the day, but in the darkness of the night, when your breathing is soft and steady, he finds himself snuggling closer into your warm embrace, admiring you. “i don’t deserve you… but i won’t let anyone take you away from me.” so many times, you have to stop yourself from opening your eyes and hugging him tightly, wanting to tell him that he does deserve you. but you know he’d probably stop once he realizes you’re awake, not asleep.

husband geto! who would destroy entire villages if someone hurt you. his calm demeanor would shatter the second he thought you were in danger, to his followers, he's a leader, but to anyone who threatens you, he becomes something far more terrifying. "if you lay a hand on her," he'd warn coldly, "there won't be enough of you left to bury."

husband geto! who swears he'll leave it all behind someday-for you. there are moments, late at night, when he tells you softly about his dream of a peaceful life with you. no followers, no curses, no battles— just the two of you in a quiet home, free from the weight of the world.

"someday," he promises, brushing your hair back as you rest against him.

"someday, it'll just be us."

and that someday is sooner than he thought it would be.

[aeliagrae]

Wheelchair week

Your back was arched like a cat, your chest pressed against the door, your pretty and expensive dress was pulled up and your panties discarded.

His big hand was covering your mouth, preventing you from moaning while he pounds his cock inside of your pussy, his other hand grabbing your waist with such force that it made you let out a pained whine against his hand.

Your cunt was drooling and a puddle slowly grew on the floor.

Both of you were in the bathroom because he couldn't wait till get home after your pathetic teasing in front of his friends at the restaurant. It wasn't even necessary to prepare you for his massive cock, you were already soaking the chair while just staring at him, your hand rubbing the growing bulge in his pants, teasing him. You put some excuses before standing up, walking towards the restroom, his heavy footsteps following behind.

Until here you are, being fucked by your "best friend", trying not to moan loud while he pushes his throbbing cock deep inside of you, kissing your cervix multiple times until you're a trembling mess in his arms.

You came messily around his girth, trying to push him away when he keeps fucking you and you start feeling overstimulated. He comes inside of you, bumping his hot and thick sperm in your pussy, filling your guts up.

He slowly slides out, stuffing his hand in his pocket and pulling out a pretty and shiny plug. Then, he slowly pushes it into your swollen and fucked cunny, not wasting a single drop of his semen inside of you.

Minutes later, you're both back with your friends, your legs were trembling and you tried to fix your messy makeup and hair.

You both kept chatting like nothing happened, with your pussy stuffed with his cum.

I'll just let you know that you'll have the best punishment when you both get home.

And, of course, the next day you couldn't even stand up.

[noodle-is-unstable]

Idea for the group chats!

Jujutsu pookies reacting to finding random spicy NSFW Polaroids that the reader has hidden around the house? :3

LOVE THIS 📸

The JJK Group Chat finds your spicy pictures (Established Throuple)

18+ this is more than Suggestive

Ft ~ Gojo x Reader x Geto, Toji x Reader x Shiu, Sukuna x Reader x Uraume, Nanami x Reader x Ino, Choso x Reader x Mahito, Shoko x Reader x Utahime Synopsis ~ The JJK Group Chat find the spicy polaroid's you hid around the house Content Warning ~ 18+, Smut, Crack as HELL, Suggestive, Language, no real Angst, no real Fluff. I'm autistic IDK

[obikonans]

He had no right to be this fine and let himself be killed

[rokonrrc2]

Learn More

Stsg if they first meet when they were babies 🖤🤍

[madaqueue]

CROWNED IN WARMTH — suguru geto x gn!reader

request | event masterlist | matchmaking : warm drinks

air always swirls around suguru, wrapping its arms around his body, like it’s bound to him, warm to warm. it’s just abiding by the laws of physics, after all; steam is destined to rise through the air, to lift itself up, to hover above his head like a halo. and you orbit him, too, willingly held by his inescapable gravity. when you’re this close to him, it’s warmer than space, at least. the sun shines in through the kitchen window, and you think you could see the planets in his eyes if you look close enough.

“i made you tea,” he purrs, soft and low and rumbling. hot water whirlpools around the strainer, its herbs and leaves bleeding out in dark trails, sharing their existence as they melt away. with a quiet tap, he lifts the metal, droplets following behind. they ripple along the surface.

a long finger pushes his offering to you, placing it at the altar of your coffee table (how ironic for a god to grant his followers a gift; how gracious is his love).

“i saw it at the market today and thought of you.” a thin-lipped smile tells you what his words don’t - there’s a corner of my mind with your name carved into it, i wish you could live in my soul and feel the heat within it, i would circle you until the sun died out and space swallowed us whole.

instead, he gestures for you to take a sip. the mug is warm in your hold, pristine white ceramic, cleansed by his touch. bergamot and citrus kiss your tongue, and you swallow. it doesn’t burn, doesn’t turn your throat to ash or make your eyes sting. it settles easily in your stomach.

“thank you, suguru,” you hum. he smiles and his lips taste like bergamot and citrus, too. his skin is soft when you reach for his hand, warm to warm.

a/n: ari i love you and i love this little freak :3