devout geto suguru x male reader
tw : religious themes, virgin reader, blasphemy, worship, deification, psychological manipulation and control, codependency, mention of blood and violence, murder (implied), emotional degradation, loss of identity, gaslighting, power imbalance (god - worshipper dynamic), existential horror elements, yandere tendencies, only for entertainment purposes-- never meant to harm or offend anyone .
𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎 never called you by your name, instead he called you my lord, god, the one-- anything but your name.
even when you told him to stop, he didn’t. his voice wrapped around those words like silk soaked in blood. he followed you into every room like a shadow too intelligent to dismiss, hands folded behind his back, eyes downcast-- but his gaze never left you.
he didn’t look at you like a man looks at a lover, instead he looked at you like a pilgrim looks at a relic, with an intense hunger and reverence behind his dark eyes.
one night, you found him on his knees before your door. he had no candlelight or incense, his hair was loose around his face, his robe torn. in his hands he held something-- a weapon? you weren't sure, but his knuckles were white around it
“i’ve done it,” he whispered, chest heaving. “i’ve killed another one. the world is quieter now isn't it? just like you wanted,” you hadn’t asked for anything. but he’d decided what you wanted for you
“geto,” you said, voice a warning. “i didn’t--”
he crawled closer, the tool long forgotten, his fingers reaching for the hem of your garment, "you don’t have to ask,” he murmured, pressing his forehead to your knee. “i know," he breathed out, "i always know. you speak, and i obey. even your silence is command.” you felt your pulse spike-- not in fear exactly, but something sharper.
he lifted his head, eyes fever-bright. “i would tear the sky for you,” he said. “i would drown nations, i would become the curse of the world if it meant you’d look at me, just once, the way you look at the moon.”
this wasn’t love.
you could feel it in the way his hands shook against your skin. it was worship sharpened to obsession, a hunger to dissolve himself in you, "why?” you asked, almost curious despite yourself. “why me?”
“because you’re everything left,” he breathed, scrambling to form coherent sentences. “the only thing untouched. i want to be where you are. i want to disappear into you until there’s no me at all,” he bowed then, hands slipping off your legs, a full prostration, and the silk of his robe spread across the floor like a dark sea.
you stared down at him, at the man who once called himself a god, now kneeling at your feet as though the universe had always belonged to you. god, it was ridiculous.
geto on his knees, chanting your name instead of prayers, spilling blood at your feet like offerings. you’d roll your eyes, step over him, tell him to stand up, but he just wouldn’t.
eventually, it became intoxicating.
the way he looked at you, as if you were sunrise breaking over a dead world. the way he anticipated your moods before you spoke. the way his voice changed when he said my lord instead of your name. the way people vanished because he thought they’d offended you-- and the world actually felt quieter, ultimately yours.
at first, you didn’t correct him. then slowly, you started dressing for the part-- heavier robes, and words more slower and more deliberate, as if you were commanding respect. he knelt, and you found yourself standing taller. he offered you a seat higher than his, and you didn’t refuse.
you told yourself it was power. that you were just indulging a broken man’s delusion. but somewhere in the quiet between rituals, you began to hear it too, that low hum of reverence. you’d walk into a room and feel it cling to you, invisible but heavy.
one night, under the stars, he murmured, “i’ve built you an altar.” you laughed it off, “i’m not a god.” but he smiled, not unkindly, no, it held something darker, "not yet.” and in the silence that followed, you realized you hadn’t refused.
weeks bled into months. you began to speak in imperatives, not requests. you began to look at the world as something that bent for you. he reinforced it constantly-- calling you “my lord,” whispering “divine” against your skin, bowing so deeply his forehead bruised.
it was once a performance.
then it became a crown, a crown you just couldn't put down.
and one evening, standing in the flicker of hundreds of candles, geto prostrate at your feet, you whispered, barely audible, “i am.” he froze, "what?” “i am..” you said again, louder this time. “i am what you say i am.” the smile that bloomed across his face was something you’d never seen before, half ecstasy, half terror. “then command me,” he breathed, "command your servant.”
and for the first time, you did.
...
the room was quiet except for the sound of dripping wax. candles burned low, their smoke curling around you like black lace. you sat in the high-backed chair geto had carved for you himself, one hand resting lazily on the armrest, the other holding a glass of wine so dark it might as well have been blood.
he was kneeling at your feet as always, eyes down, hands clasped, waiting. “do you still believe in me?” you asked softly, his voice was immediate, unwavering, "always.”
“then prove it.”
he looked up, and something flickered in his gaze, curiosity, maybe, or dread. you reached out, touched his jaw with two fingers, tilted his head just enough so he’d meet your eyes.
“there’s one who doubts me,” you murmured. “the one who walks by your side. the last one who still thinks you’re a man.” you watched the realization bloom and die in his expression, "you mean..”
gojo satoru.
the strongest.
a threat to you.
you knew you couldn’t touch the man, not because you didn’t want to-- god knows you did, but because he existed in a different world entirely. a world of white walls and divine light, where people like you were never meant to step foot. he was untouchable, too far off from your league, a being sculpted from something purer, crueler, and more blinding than sunlight
and the only one who could reach him, who was allowed to, was geto suguru.
the same man who bowed at your feet like worship was second nature, the man who would press his lips against the ground you walked on, murmuring your name as if it were a prayer and a curse all at once. you’d watch him sometimes, half in amusement and half in pity, wondering how someone so powerful could choose to kneel so easily.
but that was the thing about geto suguru, he didn’t kneel for weakness, he kneeled for purpose. and gojo trusted him, perhaps that was his mistake.
and you.. well, you were merely the quiet witness to it all. the one who knew exactly what it meant when geto’s eyes lingered a little too long on gojo’s back, when reverence turned to calculation, when worship began to rot into betrayal
“yes,” you said, "bring. me. his silence.” for the first time, he didn’t answer immediately. his breath stuttered, his hands trembled once before he stilled them, "do you command it?” he whispered.
“i do.”
and that was all it took.
he rose without another word, his footsteps echoed down the stone corridor, fading until you were alone with the candles and your reflection in the wineglass, a stranger’s reflection, crowned in shadow.
hours passed. the candles burned lower. somewhere far off, a door slammed. then silence. then footsteps returning, when he came back, you almost didn’t recognize him.
his robe was torn, hair clung to his forehead in damp strands, hands-- his beautiful, steady hands were red to the wrists. there was blood spattered up his throat, drying in streaks against his skin.
and his eyes-- empty. not the emptiness of a man who regrets, but the emptiness of a temple after the god has left. he walked to you and stopped a pace away. for a moment, he didn’t kneel, he just stood there, looking at you like a man seeing the sun for the last time.
“it’s done,” he said, voice was flat. “he won’t doubt you anymore.”
you rose from your chair and stepped closer, reaching out, you cupped his cheek. your thumb smeared the blood there into a thin, dark line, “look at you,” you murmured, "my most faithful.”
but he didn’t lean into your touch, didn’t smile, nor did he tremble. “tell me i did right,” he said-- pleaded. “you did right,” you answered, softer than you intended.
he closed his eyes at that, but it wasn’t relief. it was something darker, the sound a heart makes when it finally stops breaking. and when he knelt again, pressing his forehead to the floor, it was not devotion. it was obedience, absolute yet hollow.
you stared down at him, at the blood pooling beneath his hands, and realized you had crossed the last threshold. this wasn’t worship anymore. it was sacrifice. and now he was no longer your zealot.
And in a very real way, what has been at stake in so many debates about marriage, love, and legal and formal recognition of partnerships is not weddings, but the chance to chose who can legally be with you at the worst times in your life. And Scully CHOOSES Mulder EVERY TIME.
Mutualistic attraction is a type of attraction that is only felt under the circumstance that it will benefit two (or more) parties.
For example; Only getting a crush, or feeling romantic attraction, if it would benefit all parties involved. In this example, the mutualistic attraction felt would be romantic or RMA (Romantic mutualistic attraction).
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(General mutualistic relationship flag)
A mutualistic relationship could happen for multiple reasons for example;
* An exclusively WLW person could get into a RMR (Romantic mutualistic relationship) with an exclusively MLM person due to having an extremely homophobic environment to appear ‘straight’ or to be close enough to help each other out.
* Two aplatonic people may be in a PMR (Platonic mutualistic relationship) only when they feel they need to fill their social need or want to share information with someone.
———
Though this is technically more of a describer for already established attraction and relationship types; it may be used as its own. Really, it can be its own undefinable thing as long as it’s in the context of all parties involved benefiting.
These types of relationships may be long term or extremely short term.
And this type of attraction may be affected by being waveric
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Proposed terms/acronyms:
Aid- term for one’s mutualistic partner(s)
RMA- Romantic mutualistic attraction
SMA- Sexual mutualistic attraction
TMA- (general) Tertiary mutualistic attraction
PMA- Platonic mutualistic attraction
AMA- Alterous mutualistic attraction
QPMA- Queer-platonic mutualistic attraction
Ect….
(Replace the last A with an R to describe a relationship :))
