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cult leader!suguru geto knows exactly how to seduce you ꒰ ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ
your biggest weakness!
cw: mdni, he's a manipulative slut, you and satoru are both victims of his sluttiness, art by djune
You can’t believe it’s the third time Gojo was sent to check on Geto’s activity and came back with absolutely nothing but his face red and embarrassment filling his body. It has to be a joke at this point, you don’t know what Geto is doing to him to not have any consequences.
“I’ll go next time,” you tell him and he gets up from the couch so fucking fast he definitely felt dizzy.
“No! It’s not fair!” Gojo snaps, following you as you walk the hallway. “I have to go, I’m the strongest!”
“Definitely not with him,” you mutter.
Gojo clicks his tongue, crosses his arms over his chest and pouts, having a whole tantrum in the middle of the school as you just walk towards your office to gather a few things and go to see what Geto is doing.
“Listen,” Gojo tries to get your attention back, grabbing your arm so you look at him. “You don’t understand what you’re getting into.”
You blink slowly, tilting your head. “I think you’re a weak ass man that doesn’t know how to handle Geto.”
You get rid of his hold, grab your keys and sunglasses and start walking again while Satoru audibly groans and sighs, now doing anything he can to make you stay and not see Geto because he knows you’re going to fall into the same trap he keeps falling.
The bar is dim and hazy when you finally push through the door. Your heart is already hammering stupidly in your chest as you scan the room. And there he is, Suguru Geto, lounging in a back booth like sin itself decided to take the night off. His hair is half tied up but messy in the hottest way, a few silky strands falling loose around his neck. His simple black shirt is basically painted on, unbuttoned so low you can see the smooth dip between his pecs and the way his skin glows under the low lights. His pants ride low on his hips, tight enough to show off the lines of his thighs when he shifts. He looks slutty without even trying hard, he picked the outfit specifically to ruin whoever walked in.
The second his eyes find you, a knowing smile curls on his lips. He lifts his hand and waves you over, all affectionate and warm like you two are still on the same side. You walk up on shaky legs, trying to keep your face straight even though your brain is already short circuiting.
“Suguru,” you start, sliding into the seat across from him. “We need to talk. The stuff you’re doing it’s messing everything up and I can’t just ignore it anymore.”
He leans forward, resting his chin in his hand so his shirt gaps open even more. “You came looking for me this late?” His voice is honey sweet, wrapping around you. Before you can push harder, he raises two fingers toward the bartender. “Two drinks over here. Make hers nice and strong. My friend needs to loosen up after chasing me all night.”
You try to protest but he is already sliding out of his seat and into yours, pressing right up against your side in one smooth move. His thigh molds against yours and his hand lands casually on your knee.
“You’re so tense,” he whispers, fingers tracing small circles. His deep purple eyes find yours. “Let me help with that.”
You feel like a total loser with him right now. Your eyes keep dropping to the way his hair frames his face, to the exposed collarbones, to the smirk playing on his lips. You want to stay mad, to lecture him properly, but he is right there looking like every dirty thought you have ever had about him comes to life. “Geto, please. This is serious. People are getting hurt because of what you are building.”
He pouts, full lips pushing out in a devastating way, head tilting so his loose hair brushes your shoulder. “Always scolding me. It makes me sad.”
Then he reaches up, pulls the tie from his hair completely, and lets all those long, dark strands tumble down around his shoulders. He runs his fingers through it slowly, arching his back just a bit so the movement pulls his shirt tighter across his chest. The act is pure slut, shameless and beautiful, and you cannot stop staring. Your face feels hot. Your mouth is dry. You are losing so bad.
Suguru notices and he manages to lean even closer. “You like it when I let it down, don’t you?” His hand slides higher up your thigh, squeezing gently, possessive but teasing. The heat from his palm burns through your clothes.
“Geto, no.” You’re trying, you’re really trying but it just sounds terribly pathetic.
“Drink with me. Let me take care of you tonight instead of fighting.”
You try to pull your thoughts together, but he shifts again, pressing his chest lightly against your arm so you feel how solid he is. His hair smells amazing, every time he moves it fans across your skin like silk.
“The… the damage…” you mumble, but it comes out weak, almost a whine. He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating against you.
“Shh. Just look at me for a second.” He turns fully toward you, one leg hooking over yours under the table, he looks like he’s about to straddle your lap right there. He bites his lower lip while watching your reaction. “See how much I want you here? I dressed like this hoping you would show up and get all flustered exactly like you are right now. Pathetic for me, aren’t you?”
Your brain melts. You cannot even deny it. He is too much. Too hot, too close, too good at playing you like this. His fingers trail up your arm now, light and teasing, stopping just below your collar. “Just one drink. Touch me if you want. I won’t stop you.” His voice drops, filthy and sweet all at once. “I have been thinking about your hands in my hair all week.”
You are gone. Completely lost in the sight of him like this, hair down and messy, body pressed against yours, eyes dark with want. Every serious word you came here with is crumbling away under the weight of how badly you need him right now. Suguru smiles, he knows he has already won, lips hovering inches from yours, waiting for you to finally give in.
You stumble back to the school sometime after midnight, legs still shaky and your mind a complete mess. The bar feels like a fever dream now. You lost so bad.
Now you are slumped on the old couch in the common room, staring at the wall. Your face feels warm every time you remember how easily he broke you down, you melted the second he let that long hair down and started grinding against your thigh under the table. Regret and embarrassment hit in waves. You were supposed to talk sense into him. Instead you let Suguru Geto seduce you like a complete loser and you loved every second of it.
Footsteps echo down the hall, you don’t even look up. Gojo walks in, hands in his pockets, that blindfold pushed up on his head. He stops right in front of the couch and just stares at you for a long moment. You know you look wrecked as Gojo lets out a low whistle.
“Damn,” he says, voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “Look at you. Regretting every last decision.”
You groan and cover your face with both hands, sinking deeper into the couch. You feel pathetic. Hot and pathetic.
“I told ya,” Gojo continues, flopping down on the arm of the couch. “I fucking told you not to go. But nooo, you just had to call me a weak ass and march in there like you could handle him.”
You peek through your fingers, cheeks burning. “Shut up, Satoru.”
He laughs, clearly enjoying your suffering. “Did he do the hair thing? He always does the hair thing. Gets me every time.”
You don’t answer, but the way you shift on the couch and press your thighs together gives it away.
Gojo leans closer, poking your shoulder. “Hey, at least you lasted longer than me last time. I came back after twenty minutes. You were gone for hours.” He pauses, then smirks again. “So… you gonna go back tomorrow or what? Because we both know you will.”
You bury your face back in your hands, but when you close your eyes: Suguru’s smile, his touch, the way he looked at you. Yeah. You are so screwed. And the worst part is, some stupid part of you is already thinking about the next time.
“Do you think that if we go together we could get him?” you suggest, letting your hands down and resting your head in the back of the couch.
Satoru imitates your position, hands folding in his lap while he thinks about it. “I mean, we definitely can handle him together. Right?”
suguru has a habit of correcting your posture. a light palm between your shoulder blades to remind you to sit up straight when he sees you slouching. a finger under your chin, raising it slightly just to make you make eye contact with him when you've been staring at your phone for too long.
"good," he whispers when you do as directed.
it shouldn't be as hot as it is, until you remember that he does the same thing when he's slamming into you from behind. one hand on your hip, the other between your shoulders to angle your body just the way you both like it.
the same sweet praises fall like honey from his lips, "there it is," and "just like that." you can picture him with his head tipped back and his inky hair falling down his back as those deep, elongated groans that let you know just how good you're doing for him.
or, when you're in missionary and he tilts your head back with just one finger to leave hot, open-mouthed kisses over your throat. god forbid his teeth scrape the sensitive spots on the sides of your neck - he knows you're weak there and doesn't let up once he starts. he's made you cum like that more than once and is more than happy to do it over and over until you're begging him to stop.
so, if you start occasionally slouching on purpose, who could really blame you? if they knew the images of your husband that it conjured for you, their posture would suffer the same fate as yours just for a small taste of what you experience.
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suguru has a habit of correcting your posture. a light palm between your shoulder blades to remind you to sit up straight when he sees you slouching. a finger under your chin, raising it slightly just to make you make eye contact with him when you've been staring at your phone for too long.
"good," he whispers when you do as directed.
it shouldn't be as hot as it is, until you remember that he does the same thing when he's slamming into you from behind. one hand on your hip, the other between your shoulders to angle your body just the way you both like it.
the same sweet praises fall like honey from his lips, "there it is," and "just like that." you can picture him with his head tipped back and his inky hair falling down his back as those deep, elongated groans that let you know just how good you're doing for him.
or, when you're in missionary and he tilts your head back with just one finger to leave hot, open-mouthed kisses over your throat. god forbid his teeth scrape the sensitive spots on the sides of your neck - he knows you're weak there and doesn't let up once he starts. he's made you cum like that more than once and is more than happy to do it over and over until you're begging him to stop.
so, if you start occasionally slouching on purpose, who could really blame you? if they knew the images of your husband that it conjured for you, their posture would suffer the same fate as yours just for a small taste of what you experience.
suguru has a habit of correcting your posture. a light palm between your shoulder blades to remind you to sit up straight when he sees you slouching. a finger under your chin, raising it slightly just to make you make eye contact with him when you've been staring at your phone for too long.
"good," he whispers when you do as directed.
it shouldn't be as hot as it is, until you remember that he does the same thing when he's slamming into you from behind. one hand on your hip, the other between your shoulders to angle your body just the way you both like it.
the same sweet praises fall like honey from his lips, "there it is," and "just like that." you can picture him with his head tipped back and his inky hair falling down his back as those deep, elongated groans that let you know just how good you're doing for him.
or, when you're in missionary and he tilts your head back with just one finger to leave hot, open-mouthed kisses over your throat. god forbid his teeth scrape the sensitive spots on the sides of your neck - he knows you're weak there and doesn't let up once he starts. he's made you cum like that more than once and is more than happy to do it over and over until you're begging him to stop.
so, if you start occasionally slouching on purpose, who could really blame you? if they knew the images of your husband that it conjured for you, their posture would suffer the same fate as yours just for a small taste of what you experience.
suguru has a habit of correcting your posture. a light palm between your shoulder blades to remind you to sit up straight when he sees you slouching. a finger under your chin, raising it slightly just to make you make eye contact with him when you've been staring at your phone for too long.
"good," he whispers when you do as directed.
it shouldn't be as hot as it is, until you remember that he does the same thing when he's slamming into you from behind. one hand on your hip, the other between your shoulders to angle your body just the way you both like it.
the same sweet praises fall like honey from his lips, "there it is," and "just like that." you can picture him with his head tipped back and his inky hair falling down his back as those deep, elongated groans that let you know just how good you're doing for him.
or, when you're in missionary and he tilts your head back with just one finger to leave hot, open-mouthed kisses over your throat. god forbid his teeth scrape the sensitive spots on the sides of your neck - he knows you're weak there and doesn't let up once he starts. he's made you cum like that more than once and is more than happy to do it over and over until you're begging him to stop.
so, if you start occasionally slouching on purpose, who could really blame you? if they knew the images of your husband that it conjured for you, their posture would suffer the same fate as yours just for a small taste of what you experience.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
suguru has a habit of correcting your posture. a light palm between your shoulder blades to remind you to sit up straight when he sees you slouching. a finger under your chin, raising it slightly just to make you make eye contact with him when you've been staring at your phone for too long.
"good," he whispers when you do as directed.
it shouldn't be as hot as it is, until you remember that he does the same thing when he's slamming into you from behind. one hand on your hip, the other between your shoulders to angle your body just the way you both like it.
the same sweet praises fall like honey from his lips, "there it is," and "just like that." you can picture him with his head tipped back and his inky hair falling down his back as those deep, elongated groans that let you know just how good you're doing for him.
or, when you're in missionary and he tilts your head back with just one finger to leave hot, open-mouthed kisses over your throat. god forbid his teeth scrape the sensitive spots on the sides of your neck - he knows you're weak there and doesn't let up once he starts. he's made you cum like that more than once and is more than happy to do it over and over until you're begging him to stop.
so, if you start occasionally slouching on purpose, who could really blame you? if they knew the images of your husband that it conjured for you, their posture would suffer the same fate as yours just for a small taste of what you experience.
solo missions were always the ultimate crucible for satoru’s fragile patience, but a particular lonely night was what destroyed his impulse control irreversibly. the antidote to his misery? simple: your favourite t-shirt, pulled taut over a plush pillow from a provincial hotel room.
propped on a sleek tripod, the phone lens captures his athletic, flaxen form hunched over the makeshift surrogate of your body. he is completely naked, his bulbous cock already weeping a glossy glaze of pre-cum that stains the cotton a deep, wet grey. letting out a small, vibrating whine, satoru buries his face in the fabric and begins to hump the pillow in a stubborn tempo. the camera records his arousal thoroughly: the prominent blue veins pulsing and bulging along the angry red tip, the tight sack of his balls slapping rhythmically against his inner thighs with each needy tilt of his pelvis as he ruts himself blind against your clothes.
“g-god, i miss you already...” he mumbles into the fabric, his snowy lashes dampening with tears only you are allowed to see. minutes after, his whole body shudders into a passionate climax, his hips locking forward to pin the ruined pillow down as his cock spasms repeatedly, firing thick, pearly ropes of cum across the cotton.
the dazed, pussydrunk euphoria vanishes the moment it appeared. with a miserable sigh, satoru crawls on his hands and knees toward the edge of the bed and yanks the phone off the stand. he brings the camera directly to his face, deliberately overexaggerating his expression into a trembling pout. his lower lip juts out with borderline obnoxious petulance, his bright blue eyes narrowed in a childish, heavy-lidded scowl as if his loneliness were completely your fault.
“look at what you made me do to myself,” he grumbles, his voice filled to the brim with an insufferable, homesick brattyness before his thumb viciously cuts the recording to black.
ᝰ.ᐟ choso begging you to squeeze him with your thighs while eating you out ⸝⸝ 18+ mdni
"ah—cho, please—"
the words broke apart in your throat, dissolving into a ragged, breathless moan that echoed softly in the quiet bedroom. you gripped the damp bedsheets on either side of your head, your knuckles turning white as his tongue traced a slow, agonizingly deep stroke right over your clit.
he was relentless. he had been down there for what felt like hours, his heavy, rhythmic hums vibrating right through your skin every time you cried out his name.
"f-fuck—feels so good," you gasped, your hips lifting off the mattress instinctively, chasing the friction of his mouth. "right there—please..."
choso didn't speak. he only let out a low, dark growl of approval against your wet cunt, his large hands sliding up the insides of your thighs to hold you open wider. the deliberate, heavy rhythm of his mouth was blurring your vision, driving you past your absolute limit.
every lick was perfectly calculated, heavy and soaked with intention, until a particularly sharp, blinding wave of pleasure rippled straight through your spine.
your body reacted before your mind could register it. seeking an anchor against the overwhelming sensation, your thighs clamped shut instinctively, trapping his head securely between them.
choso let out a muffled, surprised sound against your folds, the sudden restriction cutting off his breath.
panicking, you immediately opened your legs back up, your breath hitching as your face burned with embarrassment. "oh my god, baby, i'm so sorry, i didn't mean to—i wasn't thinking—"
"don't," he cut you off, his voice raspy, deeper, and rougher than you had ever heard it. he looked up, his dark eyes dilated so wide they looked almost entirely black, a faint, dark flush creeping up his neck and dusting his cheekbones.
he gripped the insides of your knees, his fingers digging into your skin with a possessiveness that made your blood run hot. "shit—do it again."
"w-what? but i—"
"please," he begged, the word slipping out with a desperate, breathless edge that made your stomach flip. his chest was heaving. "squeeze me again. oh fuck—just like that, baby. lock your legs."
the raw hunger in his expression made it impossible to refuse. slowly, hesitantly, you brought your thighs back together, locking him in place once more, applying a firm, steady pressure against his neck.
a low, ragged groan escaped him, vibrating directly against your sensitive bud. he buried his face back into you, his tongue working with a newfound, frantic intensity that completely derailed your thought process. "harder," he mumbled against your pussy, his hands sliding up to your hips, fingers bruisingly tight as he anchored you. "squeeze harder, baby."
you complied, tightening your hold, completely overwhelmed by the blinding intensity of it. you were caught so deeply in the throes of your own approaching climax that the world narrowed down to just the pressure of your legs and the wicked, relentless motion of his mouth.
because of the sensory overload, you didn't notice the subtle, rhythmic motion beneath you at first. you didn't realize that with every tight squeeze of your thighs restricting his airflow, choso was heavily, desperately humping his clothed length straight into the mattress. he was completely losing himself in the friction, his hips rolling in a tight, frantic pattern against the sheets, riding the intoxicating sensation of being choked by you.
your climax hit like a freight train, your walls pulsing violently around his tongue as a loud cry left your lips. you squeezed him tight, your thighs locking like a vice as you rode the wave.
right as you peaked, choso let out a choked, broken sound. his whole body went rigid beneath you. his hips gave one last, hard, desperate shove into the mattress, his fingers digging so deeply into your hips it was almost painful. he trembled violently, his breath catching in a long, shuddering gasp as he buried his face entirely in your thigh, hiding himself away as he spent.
as the sparks in your vision began to fade and your breathing slowed, you gradually loosened the grip of your legs. choso slumped forward, resting his forehead against your stomach, his chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow pants.
it was only then, as the quiet returned to the room, that you noticed the heavy, uneven thumping of his heart against your leg, and the distinct, damp heat pressing through the fabric of his trousers right where he had been pinning himself to the bed.
you blinked down at him, your hand coming up to rest in his dark hair. "cho...?"
he didn't move for a long moment, completely spent, his shoulders still twitching slightly. when he finally looked up, his face was completely flushed, eyes heavy and hooded with a profound, dazed satisfaction. he swallowed hard, a sheepish but utterly dark look in his eyes as he realized you had figured it out. he hadn't even touched himself; he had finished purely from the friction of the bed and the suffocating pressure of your thighs.
"told you," he murmured, his voice a gravelly whisper as he leaned up to kiss your jaw, completely unbothered by his own ruined state. "i liked it."
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naoya praises himself while he's got you folded in half, your knees pressed to your chest, his cock slipping in and out of you at a rate that has your brain melting out of your ears.
"making a mess," he comments, not bothering to slow his pace as he leans into your space, lips turned up into a sly smirk and just centimeters from your ear to ask, "that 'cause of me?"
and when your walls start clamping down around him, "cumming again? who did that for you?" followed by a laugh.
but every once in a while, his confidence cracks. you don't even realize he's started to slip until his forehead presses to yours.
his pace starts to falter, collapsing into you. he supports his weight on one arm above your head, the other wrapped around your waist as your hips work together now. the angle is just right, the tip of his cock staying pressed into your sweet spot, every shift of your hips sending little shockwaves down your spine.
"tell me i'm doing a good job," his voice wavers when he asks, throat bobbing as he swallows down his fear of rejection. vulnerability is written all over him - eyes squeezed shut, his fingers playing with the loose ends of your hair. when you take too long to respond, he chokes out a, "please."
your hand comes up to his face, gently placing it against his cheek. you bring your lips together for a moment and then, "you're doing a good job," when you pull away, head falling back into the mattress.
your voice is soft and seemingly exactly what he needs. he lets out a low, lengthy moan, letting more of his weight settle on top of you as his thrusts pick up speed again.
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