#posting this a bit sooner bc why not ig lmfao

[sencrose]

— ARE YOU LISTENING?

pairing: suguru geto x f!reader

wc: 2.3k

tags: dubcon, noncon elements, vomit/emeto, power imbalance, cockwarming

summary: The name of the game is cruel and unusual punishment, and you just happen to be the unlucky winner.

notes: yeah idk. read the tags and read them again before you click the read more. sex is dubcon at best, the vomit is def noncon. you've been warned. dividers by @/adornedwithlight

❥ ao3 link here

After the months you’ve spent at the monastery, you have no idea how Geto-sama feels about you. Now and then you see him, but he’s distant at best, unreadable at worst.

Rumors float around and they always find their way to you. Sometimes innocent ones, other times things you have no stake in. But there’s one that seeps through the halls of the monastery, one that makes your stomach tighten, your breathing needle sharp.

Geto-sama isn’t very fond of you.

It’s childish, you know you shouldn’t let it bother you. But it does. Especially when it’s followed by baseless accusations that you know aren’t true.

You’re irresponsible. A burden to the family. As you walk down the corridors, you swear you can hear the echoes of your peers' voices–what is your contribution?

Though you know this isn’t true, it still weighs on your conscience. Just enough for you to get desperate to prove everyone wrong, shut them up for once.

But you weren’t able to.

You’ll admit, it was a poor decision made in the heat of the moment. Sick of hearing whispers of your incompetence, you would do anything to prove it, including bringing back a curse for your beloved master. Though you’re out of practice, a grade two should be well within your capabilities.

Unfortunately, some things are a lot easier said than done.

It’s a miracle he noticed something was amiss. If it weren’t for him coming to your rescue, you would be nothing but a pile of broken bones by now. And while you’re grateful for him saving you, it does not spare you from the embarrassment and shame of the now reinforced idea that you’re irresponsible.

The trip back to the monastery was held together by an eerie silence. Suguru wore no emotion on his face while you wore yours on your sleeve, all wandering eyes and nervous tics. By the time the two of you make it back to a private room, nothing has changed. You’re still a nervous wreck, and Suguru does nothing to acknowledge it.

He simply sits down on the armchair, letting out a heavy sigh as he bends. Slowly, he places his chin on his hand and tuts. “Why did you do it?”

You’re barely able to look him in the eye. “I felt like I needed to prove myself.”

“Why?” he asks again, his voice low and dangerous.

You inhale sharply as an attempt to get the words out easier. It doesn’t help.

“I’ve heard some people say that you don’t like me,” you state, and the words choke on the way out, a ball forming in your throat as you attempt to push them out, “because I’m irresponsible.”

“The first half isn’t true. I’m actually quite fond of you…” he pauses, and you get your hopes up in the brief silence, “but you did prove the latter.”

As quickly as you got your hopes up, they crash to the floor. It stings, hearing him say that.

”There’s a reason why things are the way they are…” he trails off, eyes analyzing your form from top to bottom. It feels like he’s dissecting you with a scalpel in hand, cutting into the skin to see what’s hidden underneath.

“You don’t need to prove anything,” he hums with–if you’re not mistaken–the slightest hint of amusement, “but you do need to be punished.”

Even though this is supposed to be a punishment, his words send heat rushing to your face. It only worsens when he beckons you to come closer, your breath hitching when he’s close enough to touch.

”Don’t be shy,” Suguru coos, patting his lap, gesturing for you to come take your seat. It feels like a trap, but you know you can’t refuse him.

Awkwardly, you raise one leg over the other, gently sitting down, doing your best to avoid touching chests together because that would be too much for your poor heart. Seeing him this up close is a sight to behold. Soft skin that can only be achieved with a meticulous multi-step care routine. Silky tresses of obsidian that makes you wonder how he takes care of it, if he has someone brush it for him in the mornings. You feel a tinge of jealousy at the thought.

“Is this something you do with the others?” you ask, hushed and quiet because you’re unsure if this question will spur on another punishment.

He tilts his head quizzically before smiling gently. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “No.”

It shouldn’t excite you, but it does. Something hot and honeyed makes its way down your core when his large hands wrap around your upper thighs and straddle you closer to him until you feel something hard pressed against your clothed cunt.

The sensation is enough to make your heart race, and intensifies even more when you realize you don’t even know what your punishment is yet.

His hands pull and adjust your skirt until he exposes your underwear. From there his hands are agonizingly slow, his finger tracing up your thigh until he reaches the gusset. With a swift movement he pulls it off to the side, the sudden exposure to the cold air making you wince.

”Geto-sama?”

Your question goes unanswered.

It feels far from a punishment when his fingers make their way to your clit, gently tracing circles until you can’t hold your voice back. As soon as he hears you moan for him, it’s as if he’s trying to rip it out of you, motions becoming tighter and faster as your breath quickens.

And as quickly as he gets you on the precipice, he takes his fingers away, making you whine at the loss of his touch.

“This is a punishment,” he reminds you, a teasing lilt woven into his voice, “turn around.”

So you do as he says, waiting in anxious anticipation for what comes next.

You hear the sounds of fabric shuffling and shifting before something hot and hard presses against your ass. A shaky breath leaves your lips as he rubs against you. Geto’s patience knows no bounds, while you’re desperate for him to get it over with, grinding against his cock to entice him to put it in already. He finally heeds your call, but only after pressing against your hole teasingly before pulling away a few times, just to hear that high pitched whine when he doesn’t give you the satisfaction.

When he finally gives you what you want, you nearly regret asking for it. Geto takes his sweet time putting himself into you. It’s painfully slow, as if you can feel every part of your pussy stretch itself out for him inch by inch. All you can do is steady your breathing until he bottoms out, and let out a shaky moan when he does.

Geto doesn’t let you catch your breath before asking, “You know about my curse technique, don’t you?”

This hardly feels like the time to have a talk about sorcery and the like, but it’s not like you have many options.

”I’m aware, yes,” you do your best to sound composed, though your voice is breathy, your head somewhere else entirely as you look down where you’re connected to him. That aching need grows at the sight of it, your hips moving before you realize what you’re doing.

“How much are you aware of?” Geto continues, and the contrast between your composures is laughable. His hands grip tightly onto your hips, holding them in place.

���You can absorb cursed spirits, and you have a lot of them stored up.” You hope this is the right answer, as if this is a test you have a chance of passing.

(You don’t.)

“Do you know how I absorb them?” he coos, as if he’s amused by your answer. It’s difficult to tell if his interest is genuine or not, but realistically you guess it’s somewhere in the middle. Getting tested about his cursed technique isn’t exactly what you had in mind as a punishment, but Geto can be a bit of an eccentric character when he wants to be. Cult leader things, you suppose.

”No.” you reply, ashamed because it’s the truth. You’re not exactly trusted with much in regards to cursed spirits, working more with administrative tasks that are deemed too tedious for the stronger curse users.

His thumb brushes against your lips before he gets closer, so close the warmth of his breath tickles the shell of your ear. “I swallow them.”

It’s a strange mental image to conjure, and not one you particularly want to imagine at the moment. If you were to be honest, you think it's beneath him, but you'd never voice that opinion out loud.

“Have I ever told you about the taste of a curse?” His timbre changes to something dark and low, a threat lurking beneath the surface of his words. Suddenly, despite yourself, you feel exposed. Like a deer in headlights, frozen and staring down the car that’s going to run it over. Nothing good can come from this.

You do not know. You do not want to know. But one thing is certain: he’ll tell you anyway.

“It tastes horrible,” he states simply. He presses his lips against your neck, gently nibbling against the supple skin. The way he kisses you is soft, something too intimate for a subordinate and superior. It’s almost enough to distract you from the words that leave his mouth next, “like a rag soaked in vomit.”

And though his words strike fear in your heart, it’s not enough to pull yourself off of him. You shouldn’t be enjoying yourself, but Geto has a way with his fingers. With the way he has you melting in his hands when he touches your puffy clit, desperate for any kind of simulation.

“It makes you want to retch and gag, yet nothing comes out.” His words don’t match his actions–the former filling you with unease, the latter keeping you on the edge of pleasure. Either way, your heart beats faster, along with an unsettling tincture of cortisol and adrenaline coursing through your body.

His thumb gently swipes over your lips before pushing into the seam, a demand for an opening. You give it to him before you can stop to think about it and the way his fingers touch your tongue makes your stomach twist in fear. It’s cold, analytical, like a researcher examining a specimen with gloved hands, pressing and prodding with the goal of invoking some kind of reaction.

“Since you want to know so badly, why don’t you have a taste?”

He doesn’t give you the chance to respond, shifting gears to stuff his fingers down your throat as deep as possible. The sounds that leave your lips are unfamiliar and unwelcome to your ears, forced retches and coughs filling the empty room as you receive your punishment.

Geto doesn’t blink when you vomit, nor does he move his fingers away. He simply watches with a cold eye as you empty the contents of your stomach onto his arm and the floor.

There’s nowhere to run, his free arm wrapped firmly around your waist to bring you further into him. Every muscle in your body tightens in all the wrong ways as he attempts to get another out of you. It comes out too easily, as if your body is willing to give him whatever he wants.

If this is what his affection is like, you don’t want to experience his contempt. Or maybe it’d be better. Gracious. A quick cut to the throat. A gunshot to the chest. Not whatever this is, this drawn out torture, rendering you into a pathetic state where you can’t even beg for mercy.

The muscles in your stomach ache from twisting and constricting when there’s nothing left to purge, but Geto doesn’t stop. Even when your throat burns with bile in places it shouldn’t be, when you claw and scratch into his arms enough to draw blood. Not until he gets a few shallow strokes in, grunting at the way your body tightens up for him with his fingers down your throat.

Geto can’t stop himself from cumming inside you, not when every part of you seems to be gripping around him for all his worth. Drool spills from your mouth as he empties himself inside you, each hot spurt of his seed making you groan.

“Maybe, I was a bit rough,” Geto removes his hand from your mouth and returns to the soft tone he carries when talking with his family, though it does nothing to soothe you. If anything, it puts you on edge, in fear that he wants to take more from you.

“But you did good for me. Surely, that warrants a reward.”

You don’t want whatever reward he’s offering but you’re too scared, too worn out to fight. You don’t give him a nod, you simply watch as his fingers find your clit. Despite his cruelty, his fingers are generous, and it’s jarring enough to give you whiplash.

Like his punishments, Geto’s swift with his rewards, drawing tighter and tighter circles around your clit until you cum with his softening cock inside you. Your orgasm is tainted even though pleasure courses through your body, your muscles too worn out to truly indulge. Even still, your cunt convulses around him as you cry and cough when you finally recieve that release you’ve (regrettably) been begging for.

Geto slowly pulls his fingers away from you as you come down from your high, his arms wrapping you in a gentle embrace. Every hair on your body stands, every nerve on high alert.

“I hope you learned your lesson. I won’t be so nice next time.”