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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 5 months

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there was no place in nature we could meet ; suguru geto

synopsis; it’s never fun to run into an ex. especially when the ex in question is your unfairly handsome high school sweetheart — who also just so happens to be a wanted mass murderer.

word count; 3.3k

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

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

the moon is out.

in the shadows of the street corner you find yourself in, seated comfortably on the sidewalk, it’s a welcome distraction. something to look at, in the midst of your loneliness; the evanescent glow of the moon, illuminating your solitude.

a solitude soon to be broken. shattered into pieces, battered and bruised beyond recognition, jagged shards littering the asphalt. digging into the soles of your shoes.

”hey.”

for a second, you think you must be dreaming.

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

geto looks something like a bad omen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

geto watches, eerily silent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

a beat. you struggle to find the right word.

”annoying.”

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

”thanks,” he hums. crossing his legs.

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

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

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

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

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

”whatever you say, geto.”

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

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

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

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

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

the grin that finds its way onto your lips is self-deprecating. a shadow falls over your face. ”guess we’re similar in that way, huh?”

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

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

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

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

”— i was hoping you’d come back.”

a beat.

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

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

…

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

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

with groggy movements, you throw away your nearly-empty cup of noodles, haphazardly aiming towards a trash can across the street. it bounces off the steel cover, landing on the ground with a soft thud. leftover broth spilling out across the pavement.

(geto doesn’t bother to hide his amusement, lips twitching upwards as one of his curses goes to pick it up. you furrow your brows in embarrassed annoyance.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

”i’m a civilian now,” you purr, mocking. a sardonic coo cast his way. ”does that bother you? feel like killing me?”

…

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

so you look away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

geto stills.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(you wonder if he gets some sickening satisfaction out of seeing you like this, out of breaking you. maybe it just makes him feel rotten. you don’t know what you’d prefer.)

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

…

”join me.”

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

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

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

”that’s not what i meant.”

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

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

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

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

”with me.”

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

a moment passes.

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

”.. like you give a damn.”

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

”my love.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”this world doesn't deserve you.”

silence.

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

”and you think you do?”

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

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

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

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

a chill runs down your spine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

”i don't love you.”

…

for just a second, his smile falters.

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

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

geto closes his eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and for a second, you see it. the world. a world where laughter comes from the bottom of your gut, and the trees are always ripe for picking, red apples hanging from the branches like glowing rubies.

paradise.

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

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

only one of them banished eve.)

”so,” he smiles. ”what do you say?”

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kyeomray · 11 months

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rise and go down on him

pairing: kim mingyu x afab reader

content: established relationship, some fluff, slice of life, pwp, smut (18+ MDNI!!!!)

summary: mingyu is the busiest man you know, yet he always finds time to take care of you. so on the one morning he has time to sleep in, you decide to repay the favor. (smut warnings below)

word count: 2.3k

a/n: this is the first fic i’m releasing on tumblr…kinda nervous lol. I realize this concept might be overdone but I thought it was a good place to start and hope I put my own spin on it!! let me know if anything looks wrong with the format and thank you for reading xx

smut warnings: some kissing, dry humping, handjob, oral (m receiving), pet names (baby, babe, slut one time), cum eating, some pussy touching, tbh this is filthy sorry not sorry.

you stir awake as large, warm arms engulf you from behind. smiling sleepily, you bring your hands up to softly rub along the length of them. mingyu grumbles into your hair and you let out a snort at how cute he is. you missed mornings like this.

being an idol, mingyu’s mornings didn’t typically start this freely. he was either up and out the door far before you even even woke up, or so exhausted he slept through most of his off days. you understood - with his grueling and inconsistent schedules - why intimate mornings were such a rare occurrence between the two of you.

despite his lack of time (and often energy), mingyu never neglected to make you happy and totally satisfied in your relationship. if he got food while he was out after practice, he always brought some home for you. he cleaned up after himself no matter how tired he was, knowing how much you didn’t like to do it. if he was too sleepy to dote on you, he would just suffocate you with snuggles until you both drifted off instead. and lastly, he never, ever, left you wanting or needy.

he savored every second of time you had together. his favorite was dragging you to shower with him whenever he got the chance. he would press you against the wet tiles and throw your leg over his shoulder, burying his face into your wet heat until your whole body trembled. he’d bend you over your vanity while you did your morning routine, being careful not to ruin your hair or makeup while he plowed into your cunt from behind. he would even finger you till you cried while you watched movies on the couch if he didn’t have energy for anything else. he always assured you it was okay. he wanted to pleasure you every chance he got. and you were so in love with him for it.

this particular morning, you woke up in a spectacular mood. it’s not often mingyu gets a few days off in a row and it’s definitely not often that you both get to sleep in together. the realization makes your heart flutter, and you bring mingyu’s big hand up to press delicate kisses on his knuckles.

you feel him stir behind you, the evenness of his breathing coming to a stop. he presses his face further into the mess of your hair, inhaling deeply. you giggle slightly at the action, squirming at the warmth.

“good morning, handsome.” you whisper, resuming your stroking of his forcep. he groans quietly behind you.

“mornin’ baby.” mingyu rasps. he still sounds exhausted, and your heart clenches a little. you know he probably won’t want to get up for a while, and not one bit of you blames him or disagrees. you snuggle back into him further, relishing in the way his arms tighten around you.

“missed this so much ‘gyu.” you sigh softly, letting your head fall back to the pillow. “missed waking up with you.”

“me too, angel. c’mere.” mingyu moves his arm away from you and pulls on your hip gently, and you can tell he wants you to turn around.

you do exactly that, shifting your body until you’re facing your boyfriend in his arms. you’re so close that you can feel his soft breath fanning across your face. you beam at him before burrowing your head in the crook of his neck. he smells so warm and good, and you don’t think you ever want to leave this spot.

you love mingyu so incredibly much, and now is one of those times when your whole body is buzzing with that feeling. he always does so much for you, and you want to start doing half as much. making him feel half as loved as he makes you feel (which is still a lot). you can feel the mischievous grin form on your face; you know exactly what to do and you have the time today.

you start off innocent; lifting your head up to place small pecks all over mingyu’s cheeks and nose. his eyes open slightly as a small smirk forms on his lips, and you take that as an opportunity to press your own against them. he immediately melts into you, sighing into your mouth and rubbing his hands along the span of your back.

you hook your arms underneath mingyu’s armpits, moving your hands up to tug softly at the hair on his nape while you lightly suck his lips into your mouth. he groans at the action, and his tongue is immediately prodding at your lips.

you part your mouth, his tongue quickly finding your own and swirling against it. you can’t help the small whine that escaped you when mingyu’s hands find your ass, groping and squeezing the soft flesh shamelessly (and as if he isn’t still half asleep). he chuckles sleepily at your reaction, and you pull back from him briefly.

“you’re kind of a pervert, you know that kim mingyu?” there’s a smile on your face, and mingyu decides to push things a little further, slipping his hands into your underwear and spreading your ass cheeks apart while biting his lip. you gasp, pressing your hips further into him. “forget kind of, you’re a gigantic fuckin’ perv.”

“you do this to me, baby. it’s your fault i’m so horny all the time.” you laugh a little at the pout on his face, and move up to resume kissing him. his mouth is moving hungrily against yours despite the tired state of his body, and it has butterflies erupting deep in your stomach. you yank at his hair again, rougher this time, and attach your lips to the cut of his jaw.

he sighs out when you throw a leg over his hip, essentially laying halfway on top of him. your lips continue their attack on his neck, sucking marks into his soft skin as you roll your hips against him. mingyu is groaning softly, grabbing behind your knee and hauling you even closer to him. your thigh is pressed against something hot and hard when he does so, and an evil grin spreads on your face.

pulling back slightly, you watch mingyu’s face as you slowly trail your hand down his abdomen. the sight before you is kind of hilarious, really. his eyes are still heavy with sleep and his hair is a mess on top of his head, but his cock is raging against you underneath his shorts. you giggle at the sight as your hand reaches its destination.

his breath hitches when you rub your hand over him, stroking the shape of his erection teasingly. you can tell he’s already fully hard, and you squeeze your hand around him firmly just to feel the way his cock pulses in your grip. wetness seeps past the seam of your pussy as you do, and settles on the seat of your panties. you’ve got a long and fun morning ahead of you, you already know it.

“so hard for me already, and I just started touching you, gyu.” slipping your hand under his waistband, you smooth your fingertips over the oozing tip of his cock, relishing in the broken gasp he lets out.

“mm—mhm, y-yeah baby. you make me so hard.” he grunts, and you can tell he’s already gone. already panting as you rub his cock, working him up till he breaks.

“you work so much, baby. let me take care of you today.” you purr against his neck, wetly smooching the flesh there before pushing him to lay fully on his back. his cock stands straight up in his boxers, tenting the fabric almost comically. you work down his body, kissing and licking down his stomach before you reach his crotch.

you decide to tease him further, mouthing his dick over the fabric of his underwear until the material is soaked through. mingyu groans frustratedly, but you can tell he’s still too tired to reprimand you. you continue your ministrations, sucking and licking the covered tip of him till his thighs are trembling and he’s whining above you.

“fuck,” he gasps out when you yank his underwear down just enough so that his cock springs up against his stomach. he’s already leaking so much, and you wrap your fingers around his shaft to feel the weight of him. “p-please,” mingyu manages, tears already welling up in the corners of his eyes. “please don’t tease me baby. n-need you so bad.”

“I’m gonna take care of you gyu, don’t worry. gonna suck on your big cock till you explode.” you emphasize your words by spitting lewdly on his dick, working your hand around him while the wet noises of it fill the room. his body noticeably relaxes into the bed, and that’s when you go to town.

your lips wrap around him, massaging them over his tip before dipping your tongue into his leaking slit. he cries out and his whole body jolts, making you smirk against him. you go back to work, taking him further into your mouth with each bob of your head. his cock is coated in your saliva at this point, and you know this is only the beginning of the mess you two are going to make.

you look up at him as you practically bounce your mouth on his length, taking in his fucked-out expression. he’s still panting, and small whines and grunts are escaping with his breath. squeezing your fingers around his base, you hollow your cheeks around him, slowly sucking up his shaft until you reach the tip and swirl your tongue over him.

“fucking hell…you’re s-so fucking good at that. shit.” mingyu moans loudly, and you can tell you’re gonna be so wet that your underwear stick to you like a second skin after this. you’re desperate to make him cum, feel his cock jump with each spurt, so you hasten your movements. jerking him off as you slurp around him, making spit drip down the length of him.

you unwrap your hand from his shaft, bringing it down to play with his balls instead. he practically sobs out at that, his thighs quivering with each pass your lips make over the ridge of his head. he starts babbling, and that’s how you can tell he’s getting close.

“ss-so good baby. ‘m not gonna last. so so g-good.” mingyu slurs, drool beginning to seep onto his pillow as his eyes roll back. you take him deeper, your nose nearly touching his navel with each bob of your head. he’s so big that you’re starting to gag on him, but you push through anyway. you can’t help but wonder what the room would sound like to someone else, with the way you’re choking and slobbering on his dick.

mingyu’s riding the edge at this point, just needs a little something to get him there. it’s a good thing you know his body like the back of your hand, because you practically read his mind. gripping his girth once again, you squeeze the base of him. your lips tighten around him, dragging your tongue along with them as you move up his shaft. mingyu’s balls are tightening, his cock throbbing as you suction your mouth around him. you mentally prepare to take his load as you lap at his frenulum, already feeling him twitch under your tongue. sure enough, he starts crying out, desperate and pathetic ‘ahhh’s spilling from him and increasing in pitch.

“mmh, gonna cum. shit, baby. g-gonna cum. I—I’m cumming—mmmph!” mingyu’s jaw practically unhinges in a long, strained moan, his back threatening to arch off of the bed as his cock jerks in your mouth, pulsing with spurts of thick cum that land on your tongue and the back of your throat. you swear he cums for hours, his knuckles turning white as he grips the bed sheets.

you struggle to swallow the large mouthful of his load, but you somehow manage with only a few drops leaking out of the corners of your mouth. you squeeze the last few drops out of him with your hand before laving your tongue over him one last time to clean him up.

his body jerks and he whimpers in sensitivity at the overstimulation. you place one last kiss on his tip before sitting up, knowing he’s had enough. you watch him with your hands on your knees, observing the way he’s attempting to catch his breath, his arm draped across his forehead. he manages a small chuckle as he notices you staring, cocking your head to one side.

“you’re fucking unreal. I hope you know that.” he breathes, making your cheeks blossom with heat despite the lewd acts you just performed on him. you know mingyu is spent, but honestly giving him head makes you so fucking horny, you’re worried you might have to rub one out in the shower if he has no energy left.

luckily for you, mingyu can tell exactly you need him (by the way you squirm and squeeze your thighs together), and he won’t ever leave you wanting. especially after some of the best head of his life. he motions you over to him with a lazy wave of his hand. “c’mere baby. wanna feel how wet you are.”

you crawl over to him slowly, situating your clothed, aching pussy straight over his outstretched hand. he hums in delight at the way your arousal immediately coats his fingertips, and teasingly presses them into you. you whimper shakily, practically keeling over as he immediately finds your throbbing clit.

“fuck,” mingyu groans. “fucking drenched. does sucking my dick make you that horny, dirty girl?” he teases, his sleepiness fading away with each passing second as your hips grind into his hand.

“y-yes gyu,” you whine. “need your cock so bad. please. please.” he chuckles at your desperation, pulling his hand away from your cunt and grabbing your hand instead and pulling you to straddle him.

“such a little slut. c’mere baby, ride my cock.”

***

#mingyu smut #mingyu #kim mingyu #kim mingyu smut #seventeen smut #svt smut #smut #mingyu seventeen

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sageispunk · 7 months

Text

Melting (18+)

pic from pinterest!

Kinktober prompt: temperature play (day 8)

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: Joel wants to try something new.

"You watched him slowly, seductively drag his tongue up your stomach, straight up the center of your soft flesh, in between your breasts, up past your collarbone, and to your neck, all the way to your favorite spot– right behind your ear. Butterflies fluttering within you at the intimacy of it all, your eyes flew shut and a deep sigh escaped your mouth."

wordcount: 2.3k+

warnings: no Y/N, no outbreak/no Sarah, pre-established relationship, Joel in his late 30s and older than reader, reader is shorter than Joel (he's like 6'2" in my head tbh), alcohol, lots of making out, teasing, kinda dom Joel, nipple play!!!!, temp play w an ice cube, praise kink, use of the word "daddy", oral sex (f receiving), sucking fingers, fingering

A/N: yes this is late, i'm sorry!!! i rlly didn't wanna skip it bc i love writing for joel so here u go <333 || follow @sageispunklibrary for notifs 🩷

You watched as Joel poured you a drink in the kitchen. An old-fashioned, on the rocks. Himself a whiskey, neat. He was so smooth with it, pouring and stirring until he was satisfied, handing you the glass with a sly grin on his face. Accepting the drink, you raise it with a quiet ‘thank you’ and the two of you cheers.

The drink was smooth sliding down your throat, warmth beginning to radiate throughout your chest. “Mmm, not bad, Miller.” You set the tumbler down, watching as Joel took a second big gulp of his own drink. The way the muscles along his neck moved as he swallowed had you swooning.

“Oh, yeah?”

You nodded, leaning your back against the island counter. “Yeah, wouldn't mind a drink from you every now n’then.” Now, it was your turn to smirk, your lips curving up as your eyes became siren-like, drawing Joel in closer. He took a couple steps toward you, his tall, broad form hovering over yours. A big, callused hand came up to your left cheek and you subconsciously leaned in toward his touch, eyes momentarily fluttering shut.

Joel watched as you relaxed in his hand, admiring the way you could just let go with him. His thumb brushed back and forth across your cheekbone and his heart warmed at the soft moan you let out.

You opened your eyes and felt butterflies at the way he was looking at you, his deep brown eyes full of affection and tenderness. “Joel…” A whisper of his name left your lips and only a second later, his mouth was on yours. You whimpered into the kiss, seeing stars behind your eyelids. His hand kept its place on the side of your face and the other found its way to your waist.

The two of you stood there for a few moments, kissing hungrily with your tongues fighting for dominance. You give in, like you always do, your body going slightly limp in his hold. Joel licks into your mouth one final time before bringing his attention to your bottom lip, sucking it at first and then biting gently. When he pulled away from your face, the two of you were panting, breathless and immensely riled up. Joel looked down at your face, your eyes low with desire and bottom lip a bit swollen–god, he loved making you like this.

He quickly picked you up, massive hands on either side of your waist, and sat you atop the counter. You spread your legs slightly, and he made his way in between, the both of you now at eye level. Joel was so quiet and intense leading up to sex, and it always made you so skittish, your eyes landing on anything but his own.

You needed him though, and you wanted him to know you needed him so your hands made their way up to his flannel, fidgeting with the buttons as he watched. Finally he spoke up.

“Y’need something, darlin’?”

You looked at him now, a surge of brattiness quickly bubbling up within you. He noticed, the way your eyes began to squint and the way your mouth fell slightly open to reply, “Jus’ messing with you, baby, c’mere.” You rolled your eyes and let him pull you into another kiss, this time with his hands undressing you. First, the thin straps of your dress came off down your shoulders, and then the top of it was sliding down to your midsection. Your back arched intuitively, craving the feeling of Joel’s skin on yours.

You immersed yourself in his kiss, hearing only the unclasping of your bra and the almost-silent thud of it hitting the floor, whilst your hands scrambled for something to grasp. Between his tousled hair and his damned annoying buttoned shirt and the top of his slim jeans, you couldn’t focus on anything.

Until his hands were on your breasts. It was already chilly in the house, so your nipples were solid and the way his thumbs were teasing the sensitive peaks wasn’t helping. You pulled away this time, your mouth wide open as you watched him play with you, the alcohol coursing through your system amplifying every touch on your body. “Joel, I-,” You couldn’t finish your sentence as he quickly dipped down to put his mouth over your right nipple, fingers twisting the other. “Oh, fuck…”

You placed your hand on the back of his head, watching in adoration as he sucked and licked on your breasts. He switched to the other and repeated his movements, all the while you could literally feel your panties getting soaked between your thighs. A low whine escaped your throat as Joel dragged his teeth on your nipple, similar to the way he did your bottom lip, and you watched him smirk, proud of the effects he had on your body.

You placed your hands on either side of his face, pulling him back up to your face to land a few soft kisses on his lips, before he stopped you with a hand gripping your chin. “I wanna try somethin’, nothing crazy, just a thing I heard about earlier, figured y’might like it.”

Squinting your eyes for a second, wondering what it was he wanted to do with you, you decided to just relax and let him experiment. “Okay,”

“You tell me if you want me to stop, okay?” You nodded and he gave you a look. Chuckling, you spoke–”I’ll tell you, Joel, I promise.” He nodded, accepting your words and stepping back. You watched him closely as he walked towards the fridge, smiling to yourself as you figured he probably wanted to try some sort of food play, chocolate syrup or whipped cream or something.

You took his short absence as an opportunity to shrug your dress off of your body, leaving you in only your plain black underwear, which you should’ve stripped off as well due to them being completely drenched. Hopping back onto the counter, you noticed Joel coming back over now, but there was nothing in his hands.

He had a look on his face, a cocky, knowing look, and you knew he had something up his sleeve. “What–” He quietly lowered himself back down to your breasts, looking up at you for a moment.

And then his mouth was on you again. It was different though.

“Aah! Joel– what…” You jumped at the sudden coldness against your nipple. He swirled his tongue around the mound, eyes closed in bliss but you could still see a smirk written across his face.

The fucker had a goddamn ice cube in his mouth.

He moved to your other nipple, causing goosebumps to rise across your body, the braille around the edges of your areolas rising up in response to the frigid temperature. All you could do was watch and gasp at each new part of skin exposed to the ice, in shock that you were actually enjoying this.

You’d heard of people using ice in the bedroom, but had assumed you wouldn't even want to, thinking it would simply be just too fucking cold to enjoy. Oh, how wrong you were.

You could tell the ice was melting away as he pulled off of your tit, but he wasn’t finished. Dipping even lower, Joel’s tongue found its way to your belly button, licking it softly, the cold sensation on your tummy making you jump and gasp again.

He made eye contact with you as he circled the button one final time, the last of the ice on the tip of his tongue. You watched him slowly, seductively drag his tongue up your stomach, straight up the center of your soft flesh, in between your breasts, up past your collarbone, and to your neck, all the way to your favorite spot– right behind your ear. Butterflies fluttering within you at the intimacy of it all, your eyes flew shut and a deep sigh escaped your mouth.

“Joel, that was …”

“Y’liked it?” He looked eager, proud of the way your body responded to him. You nodded, “Mhmm,” your eyes soft and gentle and needing. “I’m really–” You began to whine but he cut you off, lips centimeters away from your own.

“I know, baby.” He pulled your hips closer to him with one hand, the other gently leaning you back. You propped your elbow ups behind you so that you could watch as he took care of you.

He placed two fingers on your clothed heat, immediately smiling at how wet the fabric was. Your hips jumped and chased his touch, needing more than just some petting. “You’re already so soaked and needy for me, huh?”

With your bottom lip in between your teeth, you nodded, the promise of what was to come nearly overwhelming you with want.

“Tell me.” The view of him looking up at you was something so beautiful, his eyes were so soft yet demanding. Both of you knew he was the one in control (for the most part) and yet it still turned you on beyond measure how sweet he looked bent down below you, for you.

“I need you, Joel.”

He lifted your hips up just an inch, pulling your panties down your legs and onto the floor with the rest of your clothes. Joel spread your legs wider, eyes locked in on your pussy, beautiful and sopping wet all for him. You could see the hunger in his face, watching as you pulsed and clenched and dripped around nothing. “So fuckin’ pretty…tell me again.”

This time he looked at you as you spoke. “I need you, Joel, please.. I want you so bad.”

He dove in, using two fingers to spread your swollen lips as he licked a stripe up your cunt. “Ooooh, fuck, daddyyyy..” You moaned, your brain automatically overrun by the waves of pleasure rushing through your core.

Joel’s tongue swirled around your sensitive clit a few times before his lips enclosed on it, sucking in a gentle rhythm. You were at a loss for words, eyes rolling back in your head as your hands immediately went to his hair.

He continued his sucking and you slid your fingers through his scalp, causing his eyes to close in comfort. He began to lick again, catching all of the juices that were leaking out of you before returning to your clit. One of his hands came up to you, middle and ring fingers pointed out while the others were bent. You got the hint and leaned forward, taking his two fingers deep into your mouth, moaning and sucking on them slowly, making sure to get them nice and wet for him.

You released his fingers with a pop! and he brought them back down to your pussy. His ministrations on your clit didn't stop or slow down as he slid his fingers into your warmth. You felt so full as he knuckles reached the base of your cunt, Joel’s thick fingers unmoving in your tight muscles.

“Nnnngh,” You whined, as he kept his fingers still inside you, needing some movement, some friction. You bucked your hips up and Joel immediately took his other hand to your hip, holding you down. “Joellll, You dragged out the sound of his name, “...I need you, please, please move, I need it,”

You knew your words were affecting him, he always wants you to beg for it. It’s his way of asking for reassurance, he needs to know that you want him, that you need him, as much as he needs you. “Daddy, please…” You cried out, voice hushed and yearning.

It's always that name that gets him. He never understood it, he still doesn't, but when you call him that, a carnal, animalistic drive to take care of you, to protect you, to pleasure you and to make you his, takes over his mind.

He pulled his fingers out slowly, seconds before pushing them back in, hearing the gasps and mewls coming out of your mouth. He was hard as a rock, dick crying and throbbing in his jeans. He could probably cum now, right in his pants, just from the succulent taste of you, paired with the downright desperate sounds you were making for him. Because of him.

The movement of his fingers inside you quickened, fingertips tilting to reach that one spot that made you fall apart each and every time. “Fuck! Oh my god, Joel, oh my fucking….” You trailed off, feeling yourself nearing that beautiful peak, your entire body trembling and tightening up.

Joel’s thumb trailed loving circles on your hips while his tongue did the same on your clit. “I’m so fuckin’-- I’m close Joel, fuuuckkk..”

As soon as you were right on the edge of your orgasm, Joel wrapped his lips around your sweet, swollen button, sucking and sucking and sucking till you were falling apart all over his face and his fingers. “Yeaaah baby…there ya go…come on, cum for me darlin’....” The noises he pulled out of you were lewd and beautiful, and a look of pure ecstasy was written all over your face.

Your pussy pulsated on his fingers as you came and his movements began to slow down, not wanting to overstimulate you. Your juices coated his knuckles and soaked his facial hair, and all Joel could do was relish in it.

He sucked on your clit two final times before he pulled off, your hands guiding him off your quivering body. He stood up and you watched as he brought his glistening fingers to his mouth, sucking them in knuckles-deep, licking all of your release off with a soft groan. “You taste so fucking good, angel,”

You pulled him in again, your body weak and caving into his as your tongues danced once again. This time you could taste yourself in his mouth and you couldn't have felt more euphoric.

“I love you, Joel.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

i hope u enjoyed reading this!! please like, reblog and comment if u do, it's greatly appreciated! feel free to send requests/suggestions if u have some 🩷

i do not give permission for anyone to copy, translate or repost any of my works. 18+ ONLY -- i am not responsible for the content you consume.

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deadghosy · 2 years

Text

★Imagines of them accidentally hitting you★

Robin Arellano

You probably sneaked attacked him making him go into fight or flight mode. Which is definitely fight mode. So he swings and hits you, making you fall on your ass flat.

“CARIÑO, WTF WERE YOU THINKING?!”

He’s just yelling at you in Spanish now cause of that stupid ass stunt you pulled.

"¡NO PUEDO CREER QUE TE HAYA GOLPEADO! ¿SABES LO MALO QUE ES?”

So after him yelling at you while making sure he didn’t leave a bruise on you. After he sees there are no bruises, he definitely smacks your head.

“Fucking dumbass.” “Robin, I said I was sorry-”

Finney Blake

You scared him as a prank by putting a killer clown mask. Which you didn’t expect was that he actually fought back by punching you.

I guess those lessons from robin paid off.

“ARRGHHH” “AH WTF” *punches you*

You kinda hit the ground too hard to the point this mf knocked you out.

Finn pulls the mask off of you to expect some random asshole, but indeed the asshole was you. So finney freaked out about punching you.

“Y/n?! OH GOD IM SO SORRY!!”

Starts thinking he killed you cause you haven’t responded to him about 5 minutes until you woke up.

“awOah!” You sat up straight and looked at him. “Damn Finn where the hell did you learn how to punch hard?” “Robin.” “Of fucking course…”

Gets you an ice pack and says sorry but also saying that he isn’t cause you shouldn’t have done that.

Vance Hopper

Tbh he would probably hit you cause he probably thought you was some douche trying to mess up his score.

You grabbed his shoulder roughly and this man went full on fight mode like Robin.

*grabs you arm and starts twisting it, then kicks your legs to make you fall”

“VANCE, VANCE ITS FUCKING ME, CHILL!!”

He actually sees its you and clicks his tongue. He picks you up from the ground, carries you on his back to his house.

He actually takes good care of the bruises he caused you. And to make sure you learn your lesson, he smacks where it hurts on your legs and arm.

“OUCH, Wtf dude?!” “Should’ve dodged like I taught you dumbass…”

𝓑𝓻𝓾𝓬𝓮 𝓨𝓪𝓶𝓪𝓭𝓪

Now we all know how clumsy you are sometimes but you are a totally dunce.

Apparently you weren’t looking where you were going by looking away while walking on the baseball field.

Short story, Bruce hit you with his baseball bat cause you were behind him.

He didn’t even know you were behind him. He was too busy practicing how to swing much better.

“MOTHER FUCKER” “FUCKING COW ON A ROASTED STICK” “ARRGGHHH”

“Stop complaining. I’m literally just putting ice to make sure it won’t swell up more.”

“Don’t you love me?” :,( “don’t try that shit with me y/n”

“NO PUEDO CREER QUE TE GOLPEÉ, ¿SABES LO MALO QUE ES ESO?!” = “I CANT BELIEVE I HIT YOU, DO YOU KNOW HOW BAD THAT IS?!”

Cariño=Dear

┆HEY Deadghosy here! I hope you like this imagine. Mwah I hope you are all having a wonderful day/night! DEADGHOSY OUT PEACE!

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marishoodie7 · 7 months

Note

Hey! Don’t know if requesting is open but could i request a smut with Ethan Landry where the reader is super innocent and Ethan is her best friend. The reader accidentally slips how she is attracted to ghost face during one of their late night phone calls. Ethan is ghostface in this still btw. Then he calls her as ghostface one night and does a guided masturbation with her, like telling her what to do. But then accidentally turns his voice modulator off and she finds out he is ghostface?

a/n: this is SUCH a good request! Sorry it took me a while to answer :( I’ve been pretty busy lmao. Phone sex is smthn I’ve been wanting to write for a while 🤍 Ghostface!ethan holds a special place in my heart tbh

Ghostface!Ethan x Innocent!Reader

Warnings: phone sex, masturbation, dubcon!

╰┈➤here we go!

“So if he’s not your type, then who is?” Ethan asked with a smirk.

You had been paired up with some guy in your Econ class, who had been hitting on you. Ethan, your best friend, flanked you outside to question you about him.

You laughed, “Well, I guess I like guys will low voices. Oh, and I want them to like horror movies just as much as I do,”

Ethan raised an eyebrow, “Oh? Sounds like your describing that Ghostface guy to me,” he joked, and you playfully hit his shoulder as you two sat down on the grass under a tree.

“Come on Eth, don’t joke like that. That Ghostface freak already killed my film professor,” You deadpanned, Ethan’s face was still wearing a sly smile.

“You never answered my question,” he smirked, and laid down under the sun, crossing his legs and folding his arms under his head.

“Well,” you sighed, unsure whether or not to confess to him. You two were best friends, so you did trust him. Ultimately you gave in, “I guess so,”

“I knew it!” Ethan gasped.

“Wait, wait a second!” You cut in, “I always thought Ghostfaces voice in the movie was kinda hot…sexy, you know?”

“Alright,” Ethan shrugged, still not buying your cover up. You stayed under the tree with Ethan for a few more minutes, talking about anything, until you saw Anika run up. You two were going to eat lunch together, so you waved bye to Ethan and went the rest of the day without seeing him, which was strange, but you didn’t think much of it.

~ Anika had left to go on a date with Mindy, leaving you alone in your dorm to finish up homework. A few moments later your phone began to vibrate on your desk next to you. You checked the screen. No caller ID. You hesitated a second before answering, remembering Tara’s motto of living in the wild side. It would be funny if you pranked a scammer and told the story to your friends the next day.

“Hello?” You asked when you were met with silence from the other end. You heard what you thought sounded like heavy breathing before a high squeal echoed in the background. It sounded like a machine being turned on.

“Hello, y/n,” An unmistakable voice said from the other end. You scoffed. Of course Ethan would disappear for the rest of the day only to mess with her later. Him and Chad were probably laughed at you over your confession from earlier.

“Hey Ethan, I know you think your funny, but I’m really not laughing,” You said dryly.

“Oh, I assure you no one’s going to be laughing,” The voice said dangerously from the other end, as if he was hinting at a big surprise.

“I know you and Chad are having fun over your little joke,” You were a little hurt over Ethan exploiting what you said in private.

“I know what you think of me y/n, I’m very flattered,” The voice said sarcastically.

“Cut the shit Ethan!” You exclaimed. You were getting a little sick of this. It was a calm night until he called, the last thing on your mind was finishing your homework, but at this point you really just wanted to get back to it.

“This isn’t Ethan!” The voice snapped at her, outraged. Your lips parted and you struggled to form words. The voice wasn’t just a nameless prankster, it was cold blooded murderer and for all you knew, you could be next on the victim list.

“Well then who is this?” You managed, a pit growing in your stomach.

“If you're lucky you’ll find out,” he answered ambiguously.

“Are- Are you going to kill me?” It took your all of your courage to ask, and you were immediately regretting the answer.

“Maybe. I’ll just have to see how willing you are to do what I ask,” He replied menacingly.

“And what do you want me to do?”

“Strip,” He said plainly.

You sat in your chair, dumbfounded at the request. There was no way you had heard correctly.

“Tell me y/n, have you ever seen Stab?” Ghostface asked.

“I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” Your voice waivers.

“If you’ll remember correctly, in the opening scene Casey Becker finds her boyfriend split open on her front porch. You’ll do what I ask if you don’t want your roommate to find you gutted like a fish,” His voice crescendoed from a conversational tone to a threatening one, and it terrified you.

“Now move your hands down to your pants, and stand up, face the window so I can see you,” Ghostface continued. You silently stood up and took your jeans off, slipping your hands down your panties.

You could hear what sounded like rustling clothes from the other end, “Is this good?” Your voice cracked.

“Perfect,” Ghostface purred in a raspy voice. You could feel yourself getting wet, “You can touch yourself now,” He permitted.

You slid a finger through your wetness, and let a shallow gasp escape. You moved your thumb towards your clit and rubbed your heat.

“That’s it,” He gasped, “Slip a finger in now,” His voice shook, and you could assume he was teasing himself while watching you.

You hesitated, it was a small movement, but he caught on.

“What’s the matter?” The voice asked, “I told you what to do,”

“It’s just-“ you began, “I’ve never really done anything like that before,” You confessed.

“If you value your life you’ll do it,” The voice pushed, and fear bubbles inside you again, but in some strange way it also fueled your movements. Your finger slid through your wet folds and slowly started moving.

You couldn’t help but let a few soft moans slip loose.

“That’s right, touching yourself for me,” Ghostface gasped, voice strained.

“Are you- are you doing it too?” You dared, testing the waters of this strange encounter.

“Fuck- yes,” He groaned huskily.

You dipped your finger in farther and sped your motions up, adding another when you heard his praise. You crooked your finger and continued until you felt a hot feeling travel into you.

Ghostafaces moans continued, fueled by your own sounds of pleasure. You felt yourself nearing your orgasm, if you weren’t busy paying attention to Ghostface, you would have missed a soft click.

“You look so good coming undone for me,” Ghostface said, although it didn’t sound like him. Your eyes rolled up in your head as you recognized the source, which was none other than Ethan. With that realization you immediately tipped over the edge and felt yourself come all over your hand.

Ethan let out a last groan, then a few more breathy whines, indicating that he had probably mimicked your actions.

“Ethan?” You murmured as you gasped for breath. You heard a startled sound, then silence. He had hung up. Your head spun as you tried to rationalize what had just happened. It could be Ethan, could it? There was no way he was capable of something like that

You heard a knock at your door, and jumped back. You frantically grabbed your jeans and pulled them up, peeking through the peep hole. From the other side you could see none other than Ethan Landrys nervous face, waiting at your doorstep.

fine

a/n: I did not expect this to turn into a series, but with that said, STAY TUNED FOR PART TWO!! 🤍

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siscon-stsg · 1 day

Note

Hi 💖 would ya write momson with satoru? Please 💗

(CW: incest, bratty and spoiled 'toru, mommy kink obsly, idk is satoru a dom or a bottom in this? can't tell you but he whines and whimpers a lot. he's kinda pathetic tbh. titplay, mentions of pregnancy cuz of toru's lactation kink, oral (f and m receiving), unprotected sex, toru getting pussydrunk, belly bulge, creampie)

thank you anon thank you SO FUCKING MUCH. i swear if satoru called me "mommy" my pussy would vibrate so hard it'd come off. ~BLOSSOM

MAMA'S BOY!TORU who makes you wonder who is the parent in the relationship. not because he's more responsible and grounded than you, god forbid. but because, god knows how, you always end up agreeing to everything he says instead of the other way around. you could say “no” a thousand times but next thing you know, one pout later, you're saying “yes”.

MAMA'S BOY!TORU who loves acting like a brat only so you'd scold him. (he deffo doesn't get off to it...)

MAMA'S BOY!TORU who is the clingiest mf imaginable. he doesn't care if he's a grown ass man who towers over most people, he still walks around holding your hand when you're out and demands to go everywhere you go.

MAMA'S BOY!TORU who showers you with gifts and luxury and everything you want. a vacation to some expensive beaches in a remote touristic island? he'd have the tickets the next day. a whole week at a stay-in spa? he's always wanted to go to those! you mention in passing that you need to buy a dress for an event? your whole closet is getting renewed by the end of the week.

MAMA'S BOY!TORU who still calls you “mommy” and “mama” and no, don't argue him on this.

MAMA'S BOY!TORU who also demands to be called all the petnames under the sun. call him by his name and he'd get pissy and bratty.

MAMA'S BOY!TORU who loves hugging you while you just do stuff. his favorite is definitely wrapping his arms around your waist, burying his face in the crook of your neck, and complaining about his coworkers and fellow sorcerers while you cook or work.

MAMA'S BOY!TORU who starts getting handsy. his hands would rub at your hips, nuzzling into your neck as he plays this off as “making sure mommy's hips are not sore”.

MAMA'S BOY!TORU who presses into you from behind, trapping you between the counter and his large frame.

MAMA'S BOY!TORU who whimpers like a big baby when you lightly smack his hand with a wooden spoon for squeezing your breasts. and he answers with a whiney: “but moommyyyy, so meaaan!” while sliding his hands under your top. “pleeease, 'm all stressed out from training. you never pay attention to me! just this onceee?”

MAMA'S BOY!TORU who hauls you over the counter as soon as you, expectedly, say yes, and latches his mouth to your nipple. if he can squish your breasts together and suckle on both then he'll turn into a whiny, needy mess.

MAMA'S BOY!TORU who tells you he “might give himself a little brother” only so he can slurp the milk from your sweet titties again. and no, he wouldn't share!

MAMA'S BOY!TORU who's obsessed with your pretty pussy. he's so sloppy because he doesn't know if he wants to tongue you or finger you or do both of those at the same time. “mama's pussy's so sweet,” he'd say, shoving his face between your legs.

MAMA'S BOY!TORU who'd get you all squirmy and whiney and overstimulate you, almost on accident, from how needy he is. and still would pout up at your barely coherent self and beg you to use your mouth on him too.

MAMA'S BOY!TORU who loves the sight of his mommy's plushy lips all stretched out around his cock. “deeper, d'per please,” he'd whimper, holding the back of your head with one big slender hand while his hips buck at your rhythm.

MAMA'S BOY!TORU who'd edge himself on purpose on your mouth, then beg through tears to please please please let him fuck your cunny.

MAMA'S BOY!TORU who holds you open on the counter, moaning around your nipples as he pounds into you. he'd babble the most needy things, getting mad pussydrunk on his mama's slick and pulsing hole. “s-so hot, mama's pussy's suckin' me in s'good! feel it 'n 'r tummy!” MAMA'S BOY!TORU who's obsessed with the bulge his cock makes on your pretty belly, who presses down on it with some sort of debauched fondness while rutting into your like an animal.

MAMA'S BOY!TORU who's a sweaty, crying, flushed, loud, disheveled mess of a son. grinning down at his screaming, shaking mommy before diving into her mouth with a kiss.

MAMA'S BOY!TORU who sobs “i love you mommy”s against your lips, slurping the drool from your tongue as his pace turns sloppy and sluggish and hard and deep.

MAMA'S BOY!TORU who begs and begs and smooches you and nuzzles your cheek as he just pleads you let him cum inside.

MAMA'S BOY!TORU who says, “mommy'sso g'd, can' pull out! pl'se please pl'ase d'n make me p'll out mama, please please please please!” getting louder and whinier and rougher and faster with each plea.

MAMA'S BOY!TORU who fills up your womb regardless, because he's your petty prince and you're his sweet, spoiling mama. 🩷

#tw.incest #tw incest #dd:dne #babyboy gojo #dead dove do not eat #satoru gojo smut #satoru gojo x reader #gojo smut #satoru smut #gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x y/n #tw dark content #tw mommy kink #tw.mommy kink #tw. mommy kink

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charmercharm3r · 7 months

Note

i can’t remember if i asked for this or not but i saw the hard thought note so…. seungmin make up sex?

-🌙

tbh my inbox is a mess i get anxiety looking at it so i’m just going off what i see in my notifs lately. hope this kinda makes up for it!

Masterlist

fighting with seungmin is a double edged sword. on one hand, he’s a know-it-all asshole that happens to be good in bed. on the other, he’s the sweetest and kindest person you’ve ever dated that just so happens to be the best you’d ever had. so it’s redundant, nevertheless.

there you go again, in his bed laying sweaty and red in the face beneath him because you just can’t say no— or stay away for long. he know’s you’ll come back, but also knows you like to be fought for, so he still does it no matter how many times you storm off.

it wasn’t a big fight, but explosive enough that you had left the house for some air and didn’t come back until the early hours of the morning. the first thing he did when you came back was take you into a tight hug, not even exchanging words before the both of you tumbled into the bedroom.

makeup sex with him is physically soft, but the small comments he makes is still like a slap on the wrist that leaves a lasting impression.

legs slung over his shoulders to keep you pinned in half, his cock rocking in and out of you and a slow enough pace that you silently wished he would be rough if it’d get him to forgive you faster. words whispered in your ear contradicting the way he touched you, like not even he believed the things he says.

“look so good like this. why not just let me make all the decisions from now on, i’ll fuck you this good all the time if you just listen,” with a peck to your cheek.

“save the shit talking for someone who cares, next time baby. i like you better when you’re like this,” as he kisses your lips ever so tenderly.

“i’m tired, your yelling wears me out. do me a favor and get on top and work for my forgiveness,” just as he sends a barrage of stronger, pin pointed thrusts that he knows will make you almost too dumb to even realize what he’d just said.

#🌙anon #stray kids #stray kids smut #stray kids hard thoughts #stray kids hard hours #skz #skz smut #skz hard thoughts #skz hard hours #kim seungmin #seungmin smut

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soapisahimbo · 1 year

Text

NSFW ABC - König Edition

I am all for this fucking bandwagon, and I am jumping right up on it with some smut about our favourite Austrian giant, König!

This posts contains heavy smut elements, so minors stay away!

If you like this and want more, I already have nsfw alphabets about Soap, Alejandro, Gaz and Ghost in the works, so don't you worry!

Let me know what you think, and enjoy!

warnings: senseless smut, könig is kinda obsessed, tried to keep it genderneutral but female anatomy might be hinted at, mentions of throatfucking (könig might be bi tbh), longer than it needs to be

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex):

Needs reassurance that he didn't go too far, that he didn't hurt you and that you want him to stay. He's bigger than above average, and while he tries to control himself, he sometimes loses himself in the heat of the moment, and the heat of you.

Has a tendency to overstimulate you without intending to, and can grip you a bit tighter than he means to, so he spends some time kissing any bruises he can find as if to say sorry, and massages any sore muscles that might be making themselves known when the high is wearing off. He'll happily carry you into the shower and help you wash off, careful not to rub any areas that might be sore or sensitive (anymore than he has to, at least). You might need to convince him if you want to massage him too, because lord knows he needs to be taken care of as well, but if you get the chance to, he'll probably fall asleep in minutes.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s):

With his anxiety and experience with getting relentlessly bullied when younger, his perception of his body is a bit skewed. He's trained to be a soldier; his body is meant for fighting and killing. While acutely aware of his own size, he has never really taken the time to actually take a proper look at his body for anything other than to check for wounds and scars, and even though he has received a number of compliments in his adult years and enjoyed them, the concept of being confident solely in his physical appearance is a bit foreign to him.

With you, however, he has indeed found himself some appreciation for his body - you shower him with compliments any chance you get, but he has specifically grown a new fondness of his hands. He loves the way your skin feels under his palms, how you sigh and shiver and moan when he finds all the right spots, loves squeezing at your softer parts and seeing the flesh bulb out between his fingers.

Speaking of softer parts, while there is probably not a single millimeter of your body that he doesn't want to lay all of his love onto, he must admit that he has a specific weakness for your chest and thighs. Even if you don't have big breasts, he still loves to run his hands and mouth over them, making circles over your nipples with his thumbs and tongue. As for your thighs, he will sometimes spend an extended amount of time doing nothing but stroking, kissing, licking, sucking and biting them. He doesn't move to eat you out (although it will more often than not lead to that), he's not doing it to tease you, but there's just something about the softness and the warmth that has him lose track of time. Loves the way they squeeze together around his hand or head or hips when you cum, and will sometimes make you cum for the sole reason of watching them quiver.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically):

This is actually something that used to embarrass him to no end before he got with you, because he cums quite a lot. He makes a mess and he doesn't like it. The first time you had sex without a condom, he had you on your back, holding the back of your knees to keep your legs spread. He intended to pull out to stop himself from coming, because it was happening quicker than he anticipated and he wanted this to last, but to no avail. He came all over your hole, and at the twitch of his cock, a couple of spurts shot up along your torso, leaving trails from your pubic mound all the way up to your neck.

He apologized profusely, on the verge of tears because he thought that he had ruined everything, that you'd be disgusted, but when you ran a finger through it and brought it to your mouth to taste, his brain short circuited and he almost came again from the sight alone. Nowadays he takes it upon himself to lick it off of your body, or from between your legs after he's watched it leak out, only to then crawl back up to your face and kiss you deeply to share the taste.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs):

He had woken up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, nothing crazy. But when he came back to bed, you had shifted in your sleep. The cover had slipped off of you, you were naked and your legs were spread. There were hickeys forming along the inside of your thighs, and he could tell that there was still some stickiness left from your prior session.

The more timid side of him told him to just tuck you in and go back to sleep, but he couldn't look away. As if in a trance, he knelt down on the mattress at the foot of the bed and stared, feeling himself get hard. He wanted to dive in, but you were sleeping and he didn't want to disturb your peace, and as if on autopilot, he wrapped his hand around his dick, pumping it to nothing but the sight of you. He got close embarrassingly fast, leaning his weight forward on one hand and gripping the sheets, as if to get closer while also keeping himself at bay, biting his lip to keep quiet, salivating.

He quickly realized the mess he'd make if he came now, so he rushed back out into the bathroom and stepped into the shower where his cum could easily be rinsed down the drain. When he came back, you'd rolled over on your side and snuggled into the sheets. He still hasn't told you and it still pains him, because he hates keeping secrets from you.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?):

Contrary to popular belief, not a virgin. At least not to the full extent. Has had both men and women offer to help him blow off some steam when his adrenaline is still running high, and has taken some of them up on that offer. Never actual sex though; any time that he has actually snuck off with someone, they've usually gotten down on their knees and offered their hands or throats to him.

He may or may not have had a dick or two in his own mouth before - they're oftentimes much smaller than he is, and he's never really had any trouble taking them.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying):

Might not have one single specific favourite, but has learned to enjoy the way he completely covers you when he has you underneath him, because it makes him feel like he's protecting you, regardless of if he's fucking you in missionary or if you're lying face down, ass up. Likes leaning over you as closely as he can, and often pushes your knees up to your chest or angling himself in an attempt to get deeper into you. Sometimes, when he's starting to lose himself, he'll fall over a bit and bury his face in the pillow next to your head and moan almost helplessly into the fabric. It would make you smile if you weren't usually right there on that edge with him.

Also loves it when you get on top to ride him, because he gets to watch you from a whole new angle. He'll happily sit back and let you pick the pace, watching you fuck yourself on him with an awed gleam in his eyes. He'll be happy to have you either way.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.):

Tends to be a bit more serious due to his nerves, but your sex life is not without it's funny moments, like when you knock your heads together or fumble with the belt, or nearly fall over when trying to take your clothes off. He ran his hand over your waist in a way that tickled you once, and when you giggled he couldn't bring himself to stop, a beaming grin on his face as he told you to make that sound again. Every now and again, you'll tickle each other, even when he's balls deep, just because it gives a sort of domestic reprieve in what can sometimes be an overwhelmingly hot and heavy moment.

The two of you have also laughed yourselves into a tummyache a number of times, usually because of something that caught both of you completely off guard, like the time you broke a small cot that belonged to someone else. He was petrified at first, but once you'd started giggling, he couldn't keep it together. Eventually you both had reached full belly laugh, and you both just laughed for a long while before he eventually gathered his senses, buried his face in the skin of your neck, and with another chuckle he pulled you into him and started fucking you again, the sound of your laugh still hanging around the edges of your surprised moans.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.):

Doesn't actually have a whole lot of hair. It's thick, and enough to cover his pubic mound, curly and dark, but it's not like an absolute jungle. Prides himself on his personal hygiene and might go for a trim if he ever feels like he needs to. Has a happy trail that you love running fingers and kisses along, making his legs feel like jelly every time.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect):

Holds you close, like he wants to sinks into your very skin and stay there forever. Strokes your cheek, looks you deep in the eyes and has a deep red shade spread over his cheeks when he tells you he loves you. He will probably be on the verge of tears if you return the sentiment. He often stops moving just so he can lean in and kiss you deeply and hungrily, as if caught off guard by a sudden and intense desire for it.

He's also really big on nonsexual intimacy, loving to stand in the shower with you with no other purpose but for you to mutually care for each other, or just resting his head on your chest to listen to your heartbeat as you stroke his hair.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon):

He wants to save himself as much as he can for you, but when deployed and sent somewhere far away from you, he can't help himself. He always goes out on his mission with a laser-like focus, but every now and then, on the calmer nights, he can't stop the thoughts about you, about how much he misses you and how he wants nothing more but have you in his arms again, and once these thoughts have turned to the more unsavoury side, he needs to find somewhere private to relieve himself, lest someone on his team notices what's on his mind.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks):

While he at times can enjoy the sheer size difference between the two of you and how he can use it in the bedroom, it wouldn't be to the point of a kink. You suspect he might have somewhat of an oral obsession however, considering how keen he is on keeping his mouth and tongue on you.

Surprisingly likes it when you tie him up, even though he acts like could positively die if he doesn't get to touch you. Will praise you endlessly, and you think he's about to ascend to some other realm if you praise him as well.

He also catches you off guard when you're out in public and he leans in to whisper that he wants to find some hidden spot somewhere and eat you out. Likes overstimulation, both for you and for himself. He likes being overstimulated because he wants nothing but to be good for you and because he feels almost like a new man afterwards. When he overstimulates you, however, it's usually because he can't bring himself to stop once you've started cumming.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do):

Somewhat into semi-public stuff, although he still wants to make sure that no one will see you. Other than that, your very own bed is where he likes it the most. Isn't adverse to fucking you on pretty much every other surface in your home, though.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going):

Anything you do with any sort of sexual intention will have him melting into an absolute puddle. If you asked, he'd be on his knees for you before you'd even completed the sentence. If you simply tugged at his clothes, he'd have undressed himself in the blink of an eye. He's incredibly attuned to you whenever you're nearby and he's ready to throw himself at you at any chance he can get. Be kind to him. He can only handle so much before he breaks.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs):

He will never, by any means whatsoever, ever hurt you or degrade you, or do anything that even closely relates to it. Not even to save his own life. The bruises he unintentionally leaves on you from time to time already stress him out enough as is, even if you tell him you don't mind them and that they barely even hurt. If you tell him that you want him to inflict some pain on you or degrade you, he'd flat out refuse. Even as a soldier, it goes against every grain of his very nature to hurt someone he loves. If he ever truly did hurt you, he'd never forgive himself.

Doesn't want to be hurt or degraded either - reminds him too much of his childhood. Any other bodily fluids outside of what usually comes with having sex is also an absolute no-go.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.):

Believe it or not, but König doesn't really like recieving blowjobs. He's big, and quite a bit more than just a mouthful, and usually when anyone tries to suck him off, even if they are capable of swallowing all of him down, they tend to end up scraping their teeth along the length of him and it doesn't feel good. He'd prefer a handjob in that case. That doesn't mean he doesn't like it when you use your mouth on him, though. Kiss and lick up the sides, tease the ridge just under the helmet, suck on the head and tongue the slit while you work your hand up and down and he'll be crying out your name to the heavens like it's the only thing that could ever save him.

Going down on you, though, is as far as he's concerned an absolute want and need.As mentioned before, he loves the feeling of your thighs squeezing around his head, and it's also one of the few times where he actually appreciates his stature, because his hands can still easily reach the rest of your body. It's a bit too easy for him to lose himself in you, however - he tends to get "drunk" off of you and you swear it's like he forgets to breathe. Even with a tight grip of his hair, it takes you a lot to pull him away from you, and when you do, he sucks in a deep lungful of air, only to try and get his mouth back on you. If you by some miracle manage to hold him off, he'll start whining, and between the lust and overstimulation, you rarely have enough strength to actually hang on for long.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.):

Surprisingly soft, even when he's fucking you senselessly. Never slams into you, no. Tends to start off slow, to make sure he's warmed you up enough, but picks up the pace once you start begging him to. Keeps a steady, heavy pace, and even though he doesn't necessarily fuck you hard, you feel like every thrust drives the air out of you.

Once he gets close, however, he picks up speed and strength, almost reminding you of a human jackhammer. When he cums, he pushes himself as deep into you as he can, staying there while you feel his cock pulse, and waits only a moment before he begins to grind his hips into you, relishing in the sensitivity as he pumps you full.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.):

He would prefer to take his time with you; he needs to warm you up and stretch you out properly before he can actually fuck you. If you are going for a quickie, it's usually because you don't have access to the safety of your home at the moment, and if you (or he, for that matter) can't wait, he'll pull you along to find a secluded place somewhere and the two of you will make a mess out of each other with your hands and mouths instead.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.):

As mentioned before, can go for something semi-public, but he doesn't by any means want the two of you to get caught. He's up for anything you want to try, as long as there's no risk of either of you getting hurt or as long as it isn't out of this world.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?):

He has finished quicker than intended at times, but if he does, he simply finds some other way to please you. Can last a good while, and you usually end up losing count of how many times you cum. He'll try to go for as long as you can, and he's kept you up at night a fair number of times.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?):

The idea of toys hadn't really struck him, until he asked you what you did when he was away and you decided to show him. Blushing heavily, he asked you about what they were, how you used them and if they felt good. When your response is "not as good as you," he feels like his heart skips a beat and almost needs to physically restrain himself from throwing himself over you. After much blushing and stammering, he eventually turns to you and asks if you can show him how you use them. He watches closely and learns, and it's like you've given him a whole new world to explore (and new ways to render you completely mindless). He will use the toys on you until you're practically crying for him to give you a break, even if his cock sits painfully hard in his pants.

Once you suggest that you can use them on him as well, you thought he'd throw his neck out with how fast he snapped his head towards you. You showed him things he'd never even considered, and after the first time you'd use a vibrating wand on his cock, he was sure he'd never be the same again.

You tell him about dildos and how you can use them as well, and he finds himself wondering what it would be like if you used one on him. Tends to be the one fucking you, but the idea of you fucking him (with a real dick or no) does more to him than he'd like to admit.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease):

He doesn't mean to tease, honest! He just loses himself in you, loses track of time. If you whine at him and try to scold him for it, he'll apologize breathlessly, but sometimes he can't bring himself to move on. He's just fascinated by you, smitten by you.

If you want some payback, he's not hard to tease. Will whine if you hold back, beg if you stop. If you edge him, he'll do a mix of the both, his words slurring and his languages mixing together into a near unrecognizable mess. But you usually find it in yourself to be merciful. Usually.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.):

Quite loud - the volume of his moans are usually on par with yours. He moans sweet things in your ears, trying to stay coherent, but it usually turns into a mess of English, German and Austrian German. Starts to ramble, and the words you are able to understand are usually somewhere along the lines of "ah, fuck, scheisse, you feel so good, ah, so fffuu-uhuh-ckinggood, I don't want to stop, I can't stop, m-my love, please, liebling, you take me so well, please don't stop now, I beg you, don't stop, I- ah!"

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character):

As far as blowjobs go, there's only ever been one that has been able to take all of him in their mouth - a man almost his own size that offered to go with him to the men's room back at base during some downtime right after a mission. The man had happily gotten down on his knees, opened his mouth wide and stuck his tongue out and let him grab him firmly by the head and throatfuck him against the stall door (König can still remember the sounds - if anyone else heard them, they never made it known). He would enthusiastically offer himself up a few more times, to the point where it almost became routine after missions. But then one day the man was gone and König just didn't see him again.

He's confessed this to you, worried that you might not want to be with him anymore, but you jokingly/not-so-jokingly suggested that maybe you should find another guy who can take him like that again, and his mind has been running wild ever since.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes):

He is most certainly big, definitely, however he is not wielding some sort of horsecock. Sits somewhere around 7-8 inches, thick enough to stretch you out and fill you up, but not so thick that you feel like you're about to split in half.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?):

Wants you nearly constantly, but usually leaves you to initiate. He can only hold off for so long, however, and once he's at his whit's end, he'll start touching you, running his fingers along your arms at first, then your waist, then his hands are gripping at your hips and he's breathing heavily into your ear, whispering to you how badly he wants you, will you please let him have you?

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards):

He will actually fall asleep rather fast if you tell him to lay with you for a bit longer before you clean up, which is why he usually declines. He wants both of you to be clean and fresh so that you don't have to deal with the icky and uncomfortable clean up that happens if you let it dry. Once clean, though, he'll happily crawl back into bed with you and either have you rest on top of him like a little blanket, or lay his head down onto your chest, and he'll be out like a light before you know it.

#cod konig #cod könig #konig x reader #könig x reader #konig smut #könig smut #cod mw2 #cod x reader

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princessbrunette · 3 months

Note

i ♡ toxic!rafe but now it’s got me thinking about toxic!jj… *heart eyes* like u know it’s not right how he acts, u know u should probably put an end to the relationship but u love him too much to leave him (and tbh u find it kinda hot how crazy & possessive he gets when it comes to his gf)

— 🪽 anon

yesyesyes !!!!!

˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

god he’d lowkey be so toxic especially if you’re a kook !!! he’s happy the majority of the time, with no problem living off the fat of your land and coming to visit you in your pretty pink pristine bedroom but the second the two of you argue it’s “you wouldn’t get it, you know why? ‘cos you’re a freaking kook. you don’t know half the shit i’ve had to do, okay so— so spare me the pity and just leave like you wanna do so badly anyway!” just projecting all his insecurity onto u 🙄

n don’t get me started on him acting like your personal guard dog, which you enjoy 90% of the time but he always takes it too far, beating some guy bloody just for striking up friendly conversation at a party and getting the two of you kicked out each and every time :( when you cry frustrated tears on the drive home he gets all snippy with you, before following you up back into the house changing his tone, sighing and calling you baby, telling you he’s sorry — that he’s just like his dad :(

you always end up with your legs over his shoulders letting him rut into you all rough and possessive, threatening to not pull out so he can “knock up that kook pussy and show these assholes not to mess with my lady.” u tell him to knock it off n he just scoffs out a laugh n kisses u :/

he almost fetishises the whole kook thing ?? and you can tell he really does love you and he does treat you right a good portion of the time— but sometimes you can’t help but wonder if him dating you was his weird subconscious way of getting back at all the kooks for messing with him, ‘stealing’ something of theirs as payback ??

˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

#🪽 anon #jj maybank prompt

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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 6 months

Text

i love you, i love you (kill me in the morning) ; suguru geto

synopsis; everyone has a weakness. some are harder to get rid of. (or, alternatively; suguru geto befriends a non-sorcerer as a child.)

word count; 10.0k

contents; suguru geto/reader (not explicitly romantic but the subtext is there), gn!reader, geto-typical angst, childhood friends to [redacted], mild gore, suguru geto’s defection but with added angst, twisted depictions of love, depictions of stalking, depictions of death/murder, general bloodlust (geto wants to kill u soo bad but also not really), unresolved yearning, hurt/no comfort, curse user geto is his own warning tbh

a/n; ok so. this is kind of a mess. just my own take on geto’s childhood and defection + how i think he’d deal with a non-sorcerer reader after defecting……. so it turned out kinda. Dark. it’s entirely sfw to be clear!!! just sorta twisted. in conclusion i love my cult leader wife who wants me dead <3 (pls listen to ’kill me’ by indigo de souza it is SO geto)

suguru geto meets you in the afterglow of sunset, by a dusty summer creek.

it’s his special place, hidden in the outskirts of your tiny town; a place where the water glimmers with silver-hued fish, and all the biggest cicadas reside, singing softly and waiting to be caught.

a place where he can be himself. alone, with no one to curse him.

— except, this time, he isn’t alone.

your crying face is the first thing he sees. big, wet tears, cascading down your scrunched-up face, accompanied by little sniffles as you sit there. curled up into a ball, knees against your heaving chest.

the next thing he sees is the bruise on your leg. a scrape on your knee, gritty and a little bloody, but it’s not so awful. he can tell that it hurts, though — you bite your lip to stop yourself from trembling, like you’re trying to be brave. but you look pained.

and it sends a tremor running through his very soul.

suguru was born with a bleeding heart, an empathy unusually developed for his age. always pushing him forward, coaxing him into taking action; this nagging desire to protect, to nurture. born with an inability to avert his gaze from the suffering of others.

so when the two of you lock eyes, he manages a smile. warm and soothing, even though deep down he’s alarmed. but he masks it, slathers over it with something kind, something comforting — and he can tell that it works, from the way your teary eyes seem to soften in the buttery hue of the afternoon glow.

you’re crying. and suguru finds himself wanting to wipe those tears away, more than anything. you look small, and you’re in pain.

(protect the weak, urges some voice in the back of his mind. insatiable. protect those who can’t protect themselves.)

he asks for your name, all while cleaning your wound. the wince that slips from your lips when the cold water of the creek licks at your knee makes his heart clench.

but you tell him. you tell him your name, as the sun sets in the horizon, and he tells you his.

suguru. a sweet kid who sees you fall and patches you up. a cool kid who teases you a little for being so clumsy. who holds your hand tightly in his own, to make sure you won’t fall again.

the sun melts away beyond the cluster of trees that surround you, its burning glow breaking through the gaps between the branches and dyeing the summer creek a deep red. illuminating your blurry silhouettes, as you walk back home. hand in hand.

and that’s how it begins.

the two of you grow closer, in the same way flowers who share a stem learn to lean on each other, grow in the same direction, a mess of mingled roots. a natural connection, blooming out of nothing more than a sweet coincidence — that kind of blissful, innocent childhood friendship. the kind you never have to question.

you learn very quickly that suguru isn’t like the rest. that when compared to all the other kids you know, he’s mature, almost mystical, like he knows something they don’t.

you learn that there’s a gentleness to him, one he could never fully hide. one that shines through when he looks at you, when you play and laugh to fill the silence of the hills overlooking the small town you both live in.

you also learn that he can see ghosts.

curses, you’ll both come to learn, but that’s later. for a child in a remote town, isolated and alone, the familiarity of the ghost stories that adults tell you is the only kind of comfort suguru has to cling to. something lighthearted, to explain the predicament that haunts him — the flickers of black in his vision, that lingering taste of charcoal on his tongue.

suguru is different, you realize, different from the rest. and you eventually learn, from him, that you are far from alone in that belief.

in the town you both had the misfortune of being born into, suguru is the black sheep. his parents think there’s something wrong with him. the other kids think there’s something wrong with him. he isn’t right in the head, they whisper, he sees things that aren’t there.

(it’s a debilitating isolation that never truly leaves him.)

so suguru learns to stay silent, learns to keep his pretty little mouth shut, learns to lie. it’s easier that way. easier to survive, in the remoteness of your tiny town, with all the adults who scorn him and look at him like he doesn’t belong anywhere at all.

and suguru learns to be content, in that solitude. that heaven-granted isolation. a lone white chrysanthemum, in a sea of red and lavender; blossoming alone.

but then suguru meets you.

and, contrary to everyone else, you don’t think there’s anything wrong with him. when you tell him that he’s different from the rest, you mean it in the best possible way. you say it with starlight in your eyes, gleeful, giddy. like he’s special, not broken. like you’re also tired of those other kids, those sneering adults, the silence of a town so isolated it could crush a child’s heart.

like you have something in common. like you’re the same.

and you stay by his side. throughout the most difficult years of his early life, when he’s still growing accustomed to the duty he’ll have to bear for the rest of his life, you’re there. every single day. to smile at him, to speak to him like you’re both just normal kids — even though suguru is well aware that he’s anything but normal.

(when he’s with you, he feels like it, though. feels like he’s just a normal boy, like there isn’t something glued down wrong inside his brain. something twisted, something that needs to be plucked out.)

suguru finds comfort in you. in your presence, in the notes you pass him when classes get boring, in the way you cling to his sleeve while exploring the woods during recess. in the way you grin so brightly after managing to catch a firefly in the darkness of the summer night, all proud and toothy, a childlike innocence he wishes he still had.

you’re sweet, and understanding, and suguru thinks you might be the coolest person he knows. you’re his friend, his very best friend, his one and only.

and when he tells you what’s wrong with him — when he tells you what he can see — you ask him something that will forever rest in his subconscious. a flicker of precious, fleeting, genuine acceptance, one he won’t ever feel again. not until he meets a certain boy with blue eyes, but that comes later.

(a memory he’ll return to, over and over again. even after all the evil in the world has already descended upon him like a crackling hurricane.)

what do they look like?

there is no judgement in your voice, in the way the question slips from your lips. no mocking laughter, no silent rejection or whisper of crazy, evil, wrong. there’s only you, the way you’ve always been, curious and understanding and wise beyond your years.

suguru decides, right then and there, that he’ll protect you forever. no matter what.

you can’t see curses. you aren’t like him, in that regard, and he learns that quickly. and as suguru grows up, grows a little taller, a little wiser, he is glad that it’s true. he’s glad, because he already knows what kind of road lies ahead of him.

he already knows what kind of world you both live in, how unforgiving it can be. how many people die every day, every second, because of monsters only a select few can even see. he already knows that curses aren’t the eccentric, silly ghosts you were hoping for when you were kids — but pure, unadulterated evil.

(he already knows what they taste like.)

and suguru takes careful measures, day by day, to keep you away from it. as much as he can without lying outright. you’re curious, by nature, almost fascinated by curses and sorcery and everything you do not understand. an endearing trait, though it exasperates him to no end.

someone like you has no business sticking their nose into that kind of cruelty, he thinks, that kind of bloodshed.

and you’ve always been clumsy, a little scatterbrained. enough to make him worry instinctively when you’re out of his sight. like when you tripped and scraped your knee, by that tiny summer creek, all because you wanted to catch a dragonfly.

so he tries his best to keep you away from it, all of it, away from a darkness he knows would swallow you whole. away from the small, weak curses that sometimes litter the woods or the schoolyard; away from his cursed technique, the disgust of a power he never once asked for.

(he never lets you see him swallow those things, never lets you witness the way he throws them right back up again before it happens so many times that he grows used to the disgust. you’re sharp, though, and he can’t hide the grimace that always lingers on his features.

you don’t ask — you only give him a packet of gum, to chew away the taste with, and suguru thinks to himself that he’ll love you forever.)

time passes by, slowly but surely, and the two of you stick together.

and as he grows into his teenage years, so much weight already resting on his tiny shoulders, suguru has already developed some sense of it all. of his ability, of the world of sorcerers. he’s already spoken to people like him, has already been made well aware of his potential.

he’s already been given a choice, a choice that was never really a choice at all, but he decides that it doesn’t matter.

suguru decides to become a sorcerer. to train his abilities, to hone his skills. to eventually move away, from the stifling silence of that town, the silence that was only ever filled by you.

and suguru thinks to himself that he’s doing this for you. that in doing this, in being this, he’ll fulfill his promise to protect you.

(forever. no matter what. he echoes the words in his mind like a prayer.)

suguru wants to protect those who cannot protect themselves. those who are weak, those who are alone, people he has the power to help.

but more than anything, above all else, suguru wants to protect you.

you are the most precious thing in his life. and if he can turn the world a little brighter for you, just a little bit kinder, then isn’t that enough? isn’t there enough meaning in that to give him the strength he needs?

there is. suguru decides that there is.

so when he tells you about his plans, under a pleasant, ephemeral starry sky, he does so with conviction. he knows that you will understand, because he knows you. you’re his best friend.

and he’s right. you do understand. you’re proud of him, and he’s your best friend, too.

i’ll support you, no matter what.

the instantaneous answer makes suguru smile. not the kind of smile he plasters on to appease the adults around him, nor the smile he wears when he needs to lie convincingly. a full, genuine smile, that reaches his eyes and blossoms like a flower in the light of the moon; a warm, gentle smile, one you’ll always, always associate with him.

(forever and ever. no matter what.)

and when suguru eventually has to leave, for a high school he’ll spend the next few years of his life living at, he carries that conviction with him. his choice is steadfast, unyielding, inevitable. the only one that matters.

the whistling of the wind breaches his ears, as you both stand on the platform and wait for his train to arrive. a spring breeze caresses your skin, and suguru’s bangs flutter in the wind. sunlight scatters across the train tracks and seagulls cry out in the distance, and the acute sensation of a parting lies heavy in the air.

it’s embarrassing. it’s childish. suguru wants to claim that he isn’t a child, anymore; that he wouldn’t give in to hesitation, at the sight of your meek expression. that he wouldn’t cry, at the thought of moving away from his best friend.

but the slight puffiness under his eyes is evidence enough. evidence of the tears he shed last night, when the reality of the situation finally dawned on him.

suguru doesn’t want to part from you. he’s nervous, too — leaving you alone in that town, all by yourself, with no one around to protect you properly.

it's stupid. because deep down, he knows that you’ll escape too. that you’ll come after him, no matter how long it takes, that'll you'll both end up in tokyo. that you'll end up together, despite his duty as a sorcerer — eating soft serve ice cream cones, playing shooting games at the arcade, strolling around the big city aimlessly. doing all those things you always talked about doing.

because the two of you will always, always find your way back to each other. just like how he found you with that bruise on your leg, all those years ago, a fated encounter as natural as the glow of sunset. two lone dragonflies, who always meet somewhere in the middle of a dusty summer creek.

still, suguru can’t help but feel sad. a little lost. he can only hope you don’t notice the soft frown on his face, the faint redness of his eyes.

(then again, when have you ever not noticed something he was trying to hide?)

there's no need to worry about it, suguru knows. he’s never had to worry about you judging him, looking down on him. never you.

and when his gaze falls on your face, after the train he’s supposed to board screeches to a halt behind him, your own tears are enough to make him realize how silly he’s being.

he laughs, from the bottom of his stomach, when you tackle him into a hug and tell him with teary eyes that you’ll come visit. he squeezes you especially tight, in a boyish fashion he can never quite hide from you, and murmurs into your ear that he’ll be waiting.

he asks you not to forget him. you laugh through your tears, and tell him that you never could.

before he has to let go and step into the train, you tell him that you love him, and his grin blooms with honeyed affection. he ruffles your hair, always gentle, always teasing, always the same suguru.

he tells you that he loves you, too.

— then he’s gone.

(you’ll forever regret not convincing him to stay.)

the two of you stay in contact, all throughout his first year. texting, calling — making sure neither of you get the chance to forget the other. suguru tells you about his life, his missions, his classmates, leaving out all the gritty details. and you listen; attentive, curious.

at one point, you even visit him. his friends tease him relentlessly, but all he does is roll his eyes and flick their foreheads, biting back a smile. that makes you laugh, and he’s relieved that the sound hasn’t changed in the slightest.

and suguru stays the same, throughout that one first year. he is steadfast, unyielding, decisive. he has a conviction he’ll never let go of, and people he's vowed to protect. people he needs to protect.

(non-sorcerers, is what he tells satoru, and he means it. but suguru chooses to omit the fact that he specifically wants to protect one single non-sorcerer, above all else.)

and suguru is happy, with his choice. thoroughly and wholly. the road ahead of him will be long, full of obstacles and thorns, but he always knew that would be the case. and he knows that it’ll hurt, that it’ll be tough, but he also knows that this is what he sincerely wants to do. what he was meant to do. the only choice worth making.

suguru is content. suguru will not falter.

— then, his second year descends upon him.

riko amanai dies. toji fushiguro dies.

satoru gojo becomes the strongest sorcerer of the modern era.

(and suguru geto is left behind.)

it is a slow, sinking realization. one whole year to lose sight of his goal, lose sight of the conviction he held onto so tightly. one whole year to feel it slip through the gaps between his fingers, helpless to stop its course. everything grows muddled, molding, rotting before he has a chance to root it out — and all he can do is wait, as it festers like bile in the bottom of his gut.

suguru geto falters.

(he doesn’t quite know who he is, anymore.)

words he’s swallowed down like curses all his life keep flooding his subconscious, building up inside the back of his throat, spinning and spinning and spinning inside his brain until he feels sick enough to throw up. evil. crazy. protection. responsibility.

duty, duty, duty —

(what does that word even mean?)

suguru doesn’t remember. he can’t recall what made him step onto that train with such conviction, how he was able to smile so assuredly. how he was able to laugh, from the very bottom of his gut, as if it was the easiest thing in the world. he just can't remember.

who is he doing this for? what meaning lies in all this pain?

suguru keeps watching, hoping for an answer that’ll save him just enough. waiting and watching. he’s always just watching, isn’t he? never changing anything. always too late, too weak, too fucking useless to stop even a single person from dying.

he watches helplessly as a little girl gets shot in the head, for the crime of having been born different, for the sake of simple currency. watches helplessly as satoru carries her lifeless body in his arms, across a room full of people so vile that some deep, rotten, intrinsic part of suguru just wants to —

but there would be no meaning to it.

(does there really need to be one?)

suguru honestly doesn’t know, anymore.

riko dies.

(curses spring up like flies. he devours and devours.)

then haibara dies, too.

(in the distance, he thinks he hears the sound of clapping.)

sorcerers. non-sorcerers. curses.

the words begin to rot inside his mouth, like wilted flowers, syrupy sweet and nauseating. crumbling on his tongue, numbing his senses until it’s all he can taste. a mouthful of honey, sticking to the walls of his throat, too sweet to stomach.

this is wrong, he thinks. everything is all wrong.

everything is wrong and i don’t know how to fix it.

— and then there’s you.

during your third year, both of you are busier than usual, but still find the time to talk when you can. the normalcy of your little stories is a comfort, to suguru — but also makes him burn with something he fears may be close to envy.

you tell him about your new school, your new town, your new beginning; bright and dazzling. one that suits you just fine.

the two of you are different, he realizes, all at once. some part of him always knew. you were born to be happy, kept away from the bloodshed, hands unsullied by the deep red that always dries beneath his fingernails. there was never a place for you in the world of curses. and he’s glad, that it’s true, he always has been, but —

(resentment festers in his gut. he can’t tell how long it’s been there, and he’s afraid to know the answer.)

these days, suguru takes a little longer to answer your texts. his voice comes out sounding a little more fatigued when he’s speaking to you through the phone, and he doesn’t talk as much as he used to. your voice soothes him, though, he thinks. just a tiny bit. but it’s enough.

(he’s doing this for you, too. he can’t forget that.)

and when you come to visit him, during his third year, suguru is surprised. surprised to see you, standing outside of his dorm, bags full of his favorite snacks in hand. smiling.

you look the same as always.

(he’s the only one who’s changed.)

it’s a pleasant surprise, though, despite everything. he really did miss you. in his life, your presence alone has been nothing but a comfort, for as long as he can remember. even now, when everything feels so blurry and uncertain, you appear to him as a flicker of starlight; shining through the darkness that’s been plaguing him for the past year.

so he tries to smile, tries to sound the same as always, but he knows you don’t buy it. you know because you know him, despite everything.

suguru wonders what you would think of him, if you could hear the thoughts he’s been having these past few weeks. he wonders what he looks like, reflected in your eyes. he wonders how much he’s changed since you last saw him.

(he hasn’t felt like himself in months.)

your presence is like a balm, to his soul, but it also seeks to hurt him further. because you’re still the same. still so understanding and wise and patient. you can tell that he’s fading, and he can tell that you can tell. but he doesn’t want to tell you why. he refuses to open up to you, because what would that accomplish? how could you possibly understand?

how could you understand his hatred, his resentment, towards the very people he’s supposed to protect? he told you that, himself. he decided to protect them, on his own accord. that’s his duty — steadfast, unyielding, inevitable. that’s all it was ever meant to be.

protect the weak. protect the ugly. protect everyone except his comrades, until all of them lie dead in a pile of maggots and tangly limbs and buzzing flies.

a bitter, heavy kind of vomit settles inside his chest, his throat. and somewhere deep inside suguru’s mind, in the very bottom of a drawer he vowed never to open, the image of non-sorcerers shifts, distorts, flickers on and off under the light.

protect those monkeys until his very last breath.

(what a fucking joke.)

you couldn’t understand. he doesn’t want you to. he promised himself that he would keep you away from that kind of darkness, no matter what, and —

and you’re the only good thing he has left.

not only that — you’re a non-sorcerer, too. and suguru knows what that means. if what his brain is telling him is true, if that’s really how it is, then you are no exception. then you’re just like the rest, something lesser, nothing but a —

(he thinks he might throw up.)

suguru does not tell you anything. despite everything, despite your pleading expression, despite the heavy bile at the bottom of his gut. he does not tell you what is truly wrong. he does not open up to you.

and that is suguru’s first act of betrayal, to you. before he even betrays the jujutsu world.

(it is perhaps the only betrayal he’ll ever feel any kind of remorse over.)

you try, though. persistent in your affection. he loathes how little you’ve changed, how brightly you still shine when reflected in his eyes. you sit right next to him, under a pleasant, ephemeral starry sky, stars blurred by the light pollution, and tell him what you always have.

i’ll support you, no matter what.

…

suddenly, all he can hear is the whooshing of the sea. as if he's been pulled underwater, a heavy weight tugging at his limbs, lungs gasping for air that doesn't exist. pure static, in his ears, a sharp crack of something. like a rib, or a train of thought. all he can taste is saltwater.

the dam begins to break. it cracks at the edges, like two giddy children poking a stick into a puddle layered with ice, giggling at their scattered reflections. memories resurfacing, images flashing in his subconscious. suguru looks at you like he’s lost. something inside of him breaks, disintegrates into a pile of despair.

because you don’t understand what you’re telling him. you don’t understand what he thinks about doing, sometimes, when the nights are especially long and the school is especially empty and the taste of curses lies especially thick on his tongue.

you don’t understand. you never will.

but you’re smiling at him, so very gentle. so accepting, so all-encompassing of everything that’s good, everything worth cherishing. just like always.

suguru recalls your teary face; when you scraped your knee, when he left that town behind. he recalls all the ways you’ve soothed him, saved him, in all the years you’ve known him.

i’ll definitely come visit. i love you.

i’ll support you, no matter what.

what do they look like?

— suguru falters. these days, that’s all he ever seems to do.

how could he hate non-sorcerers, when you’re among them? how could he hate a world that has you in it?

(he can’t, he can’t, he can’t. he can’t hate you. not you.)

the words that spill so very easily from your lips break him. he can’t tell if you’ve mended the damage, or only worsened it. he can’t tell where the jagged hole inside his chest ends and begins. he can only tell that it’s extending, extending, extending.

suguru wants to fall apart. he wants to fall apart, for only you to see, because you’ve always been the only one who could ever understand. the only one who wouldn’t turn your eyes away from him, even back then. the only, only one. the only other white chrysanthemum.

he wants so desperately to be honest with you, to let every dark thought he’s ever had flow out from his lips. for you to hear, for you to scorn or to accept at your leisure, doom him or bless him, a bleeding dog at your feet. to get rid of the tangled mess of thoughts inside his muddled mind — to just let go of everything, even if it’s only for a minute or two. just a second would be fine.

suguru wants to drag you down with him. drag you down into the depths, into the abyss, to share the weight of his suffering. so that you can be together, just like you always have; through thick and thin. always and forever.

but he doesn’t.

(and what a betrayal that is.)

suguru keeps his pretty little mouth shut, and he gives you a smile. a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, the kind he always wears when he needs to lie convincingly.

he could tell you so many things. could ruin you completely, take you down with him. hand in hand, staining your unsullied skin with the blood on his own. into the gaping maw.

but at the end of the day, he chooses not to.

suguru chooses your peace of mind over his, just like he always has, and feeds you a vague half-truth. not quite a lie, but something that ignores the underlying question of your statement, a silent plea for sincerity. something deep and true, but almost sorrowful.

i know, he says.

i know you will.

the moment does not save him. but suguru does feel just a little more hopeful, a little less like he’s slowly rotting from the inside out. a little less like he’s completely and utterly alone, isolated in his agony.

you are the same as always. and what a relief that is.

(for you, he can wade through the hell for just a little longer.)

when it’s time to say your goodbyes, suguru can tell you aren’t satisfied. that you wish you could do more. but he also knows that you won’t push it, because you’ve always respected him in a way no one else ever cares enough to do.

before you leave, you tell him that you love him. in a quiet voice, a whisper, as if trying to squeeze some sincerity from his chest — a last-ditch attempt at reaching him. he squeezes your hand, instead, and doesn’t say it back.

suguru just smiles, flimsy, a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

you look like you want to say something, but you don’t.

and he watches you go, with forlorn eyes, until the dot that is you gets too small to distinguish from the darkness of the night. until he can almost delude himself into thinking that you’ve turned into a star. he watches you go as if trying to burn the sight into his memory, as if this is the last time he’ll ever see you.

(the curse of i love you rots in his mouth, unspoken, unvoiced.)

two weeks later, suguru stands in front of a cage, covered in blood.

the girls in front of him, skinny, frail, crying — beaten and exhausted — look at him like he’s a god. him, pale, smiling, with blood staining his white uniform, bathed in moonlight —

like some kind of angel of death.

suguru soaks up the metallic scent of the room, basks in that sickeningly sweet feeling of release. he soothes the girls, as best he can. he leads them away, careful not to let them see the bodies.

(there isn’t much left of them, anyhow.)

suguru geto makes his choice. the only choice that matters.

he will twist himself into a curse. he will devour his ideal, until it’s all that’s left of him. he will embody it, become it, through and through. it’s fine if he dies in the process, it’s fine if everyone dies — just as long as it means something.

that is the conviction he will carry with him. the decision to only ever see the line between ends and means, the bright light at the end of a never-ending tunnel.

the blood of an entire village is on his hands.

(a part of him wants to throw up. another grins with ecstasy. every part agrees that it was inevitable.)

their screams weren’t beautiful. they were aggravating, revolting, the wretched buzzing of bugs ringing like static in his ears. but it felt good. it felt just. something in his bones settling into its rightful place, a spark of affirmation.

and suguru doesn’t stop there. as if desperate for the cup to finally run over, to make sure that there truly is no going back, his feet take him to a place he always hoped he’d never have to see again.

when suguru returns to that stiflingly silent town, to kill his parents, you are no longer there.

it’s not a surprise. he knows you escaped, long ago, just like him — just like you always said you would. not quite to tokyo, to your grave disappointment, but you managed to find some other town to live in. bigger, better. the new beginning he always hoped you’d get.

suguru does not want to think of you. he doesn't want to remember your face, the sound of your laughter, the way your eyes shone in the light. he wants to erase every single trace of your existence from his memory, if only to protect you from the person he will soon become. or perhaps only to spare himself the heartache of it all.

but when he passes by that one summer creek, forgetting you becomes an impossibility.

his eyes gaze at the silver-hued fish, sparkling beneath the moonlight, the big cicadas singing sadly under the shadows of the trees. he closes his eyes, and breathes in the solitude, and recalls a child with teary eyes.

suguru knows what school you go to. he knows what your town is called, what your street looks like.

and it is far, far away from the town he’s in. far from tokyo, too.

— and suguru is relieved.

(it gives him an excuse not to hunt you down just yet.)

the sight of his childhood home stirs no fondness in his heart. it is empty, it is silent, it is the same as always. and now it doesn’t even have you in it, anymore.

so it doesn’t matter.

suguru moves on with conviction, with bloodstains scattered across his clothes, seeping into the fabric. the screams of his parents don’t mean anything — they blur together with old echoes of evil, crazy, wrong.

(there is something wrong with that child.)

their blood sticks to the soles of his shoes and he is repulsed by their fragility. their blood stains his shirt and he is elated by the irony of it all. all he sees is a blur of red.

the road before him becomes clear.

finally, there truly is no turning back. that one sliver of good still left in him, crushed beneath the heel of his boot. at last. homicide, patricide — the more he adds, the easier it’ll be. easier to distance himself, easier to convince himself that his choice matters. that the blood of mere animals is a small price to pay for the future he envisions.

that he is right. that he is just.

(self-affirmation. what a holy thing it is.)

there is still much left for him to do. so suguru leaves the town behind.

he leaves that tiny summer creek behind.

it is a premature death; a resignation of identity. he isn’t an adult, not yet, but he has long since stopped being a child. he stopped being a child the moment he saw a bullet go through the skull of an innocent girl, the moment he saw haibara’s ghostly pale skin. no sorcerers stay children for very long.

none of it matters, anymore.

time passes with a speed that’s almost frightening.

suguru disappears, almost entirely faded, leaving only geto in his wake. a new person, an entirely different human being — ten years of living in an echo chamber, ten years of forming his personality in the shape of something twisted.

(something almost divine.)

and geto is right. just. geto has conviction, and that’s all he needs. everything goes according to plan; geto has a goal, and a family to pursue that goal with, to pursue that goal for. everything finally feels just right. breathing feels a lot easier. living feels a lot easier.

but everyone has a weakness.

and there is one thing, only one thing, that still acts as a thorn in his side. something that holds him back, a stain yet to be wiped away, a piece of gum stuck to the sole of his shoe. a tattered memory, clinging to his subconscious as if haunting him.

(i’ll support you, no matter what.)

if only you could see him now.

when geto left his old life behind, he did not contact you. he did not say goodbye. he threw away his phone, deleted every single thing that someone could use to locate him with, and left. he hasn’t heard from you in years, hasn’t spoken to you.

but he has seen you.

geto knows where your town is. what your apartment looks like. he knows what university you go to, where your go-to café is located.

so resisting the temptation eventually becomes impossible.

he tries not to think of you, he really does. he tries to act like you are nothing, to him, because you aren’t. you are proof of weakness and a fragility that geto loathes, proof of his own foolishness, his young naivety. you are everything he hates and everything rotten and everything he’s vowed to cleanse from the earth.

but, despite that undeniable truth, geto cannot help but seek you out.

he tells himself that it means nothing. that he’s only doing it to make sure he knows where he’s got you, like a predator watching over their prey, preparing to lunge out of hiding when the moment is right. because geto knows that your death, at his hands, is inevitable. what you are is a weakness, a connection that lingers on his skin like a mold, one he still has to the creatures that disgust him so.

so it’s inevitable.

in reality, he should have killed you first. before his parents, before the village — he should have killed you, because that would have solidified his devotion in a way nothing else ever could. but he didn’t.

geto likes to think of it as a symbol, of sorts. that he’ll save you for last. the same way children eat every last part of the cake, greedily, before gulping down the strawberry. every single non-sorcerer will be dead by the time he gets to you. you’ll be the one remaining obstacle, the one final stain to rinse away before his dream becomes reality, the one thing still standing between him and the divinity he seeks.

it is an honour, geto thinks, an honour he would not bestow to anyone but you.

but until that time comes, all he can do is watch over you. silently, so you don’t notice. always from afar, sometimes through the eyes of the curses he’s bound to. just to make sure that you’re still alive. that you haven’t tripped over your shoelaces and gotten yourself into a car accident, or gulped down a mouthful of food too fast and choked to death, or anything similarly pathetic. he wouldn’t put it past you. really, he has no idea how you’ve survived this long without him.

weak, fragile, clumsy. soft enough to sink his teeth into. you are everything that geto hates. you are nothing, nothing at all.

(and you are the same as always, despite everything. what an aggravation that’s become.)

he watches you, anyway; like a god finding amusement in his creations, an omniscient overseer watching you stumble day to day. he watches as you live your life, as you talk to other people with that familiar smile on your face. it hasn’t changed in the slightest.

he watches you laugh, watches you grab a crêpe from a street vendor, watches you cry when you think nobody is there to see.

(the sight sends a tremor running through his soul, one he desperately wants to pretend not to feel.)

on melancholic summer days, when the sun paints the sky pink and golden, he watches you clutch onto his old sweater. one you always said you were going to return, but never did — never got the chance to. you used to tell him it was too comfortable not to steal. that it smelled like him, that it made you feel less lonely. geto so tenderly wishes he could have forgotten those words, by now.

but he watches you, in the solitude of your apartment, as you bury your face in the wool and inhale the fading tinge of his old cologne. then you cry and cry, like a child, until the moon rises in the sky; until you’re breathing softly, lulled to sleep by his scent.

(geto thinks to himself that you are a fool, to still miss him after all these years.)

it’s not an everyday occasion. most days, he does not think of you. there are many other monkeys to kill, many things to discuss. there’s money to be made, plans to be forged, wars to be brewed. geto is a busy man. a family man, no less.

but when boredom is all he can feel, he still finds himself seeking you out. just to make sure no one has gotten to you before him. just a god enjoying the struggles of a lesser being.

that’s all it is, geto tells himself. that’s all it’ll ever be, from now on.

no one needs to know if he spends the occasional morning checking up on you, curious if you did well on that exam you were studying for. no one needs to know if he absorbs the curses that sometimes cling to your fragile skin, gulping them down before they cause too much damage. no one needs to know if anyone who gives you a little too much trouble suddenly disappears off the face of the earth.

no one needs to know if he reminisces, every once in a while, when the summer nostalgia is too much to bear. about your childhood, about that question you asked him — a million years ago, back when the center of his universe was a single summer creek.

(no one needs to know if he finds comfort in your presence, even now.)

on days when the moon hangs low in the sky, and geto can’t choke back the longing in his chest, he sits by your bed and watches you sleep. a forlorn expression on his face, lips stuck in a tight line. it’s risky, careless, but he’s helpless to the temptation.

most nights, you lie perfectly still. so still he can almost delude himself into thinking that it’s over, that you’ve passed on, that he won’t have to kill you after all. sometimes you twist and turn, mumble something unintelligible under your breath that he doesn’t catch.

he wonders what you dream about. he wonders if you ever have nightmares, if they’re ever about him. he wonders why he even cares at all.

geto resents you. resents you for existing, for smiling every day, for being a bridge between him and lesser creatures. he resents you, resents you, resents you.

(self-affirmation. what a holy thing, indeed.)

— he could kill you so easily.

he wouldn’t even need a curse to do it. a flick of his pinkie would be more than enough. that’s how fragile you are; asleep, right in front of him, breathing softly while he watches you like how the fox watches the lamb.

(he could end all of this, right now, in the silence of the night. in your most vulnerable state.)

and yet, geto allows the opportunity to pass him by.

he can’t get too greedy. that’s what he tells himself, as he slips out of your window in the dead of night, leaving your sleeping figure behind him. it’s not the right time. he can let you sleep, for just a little while longer. the bags under your eyes have looked especially heavy, recently.

(he tries not to remember the sleepover you had as kids, when he stayed perfectly still as you dozed off on his shoulder. doing his best not to wake you, watching you fondly until the sun began to rise. back when all he wanted was to protect you.)

geto knows that you know he’s not dead. he knows because he’s almost certain that satoru spoke to you, back then, even if he probably didn’t let you in on any details. because he knows that you’re sharp, sharp enough to know that he’s alive.

and even if that were not the case, geto knows because he’s sent you gifts. letters. absentminded, almost taunting, cruel in their joviality — always anonymous, always mysterious and vague and impossible to trace back to him. but he knows that you know who they’re from.

a little dance, if you will. geto haunts you like a ghost. he never lets you see him, but he lets you know that he’s there, sometimes. just out of frame.

he can only hope it’ll eventually haunt you to death.

(if it ends up as a comfort to you, instead, then, well — it is what it is.)

all of it is a safety measure in disguise. a way to satisfy the yearning inside his chest, without coming too close. that doesn’t mean he never falters, though.

every once in a while, he feels strangely compelled to talk to you. to waltz into your home, in a lighthearted fashion, to soak up your shocked expression. to ask how you’ve been, casually, and watch you stammer, stumble over your words — he can imagine the face you’d make, the way the lilt of your voice would tremble. would you cry? he can’t help but wonder, sometimes.

yet he always resists the temptation. careful, cautious, with every move he makes. like a shadow. he deliberately leaves no traces of himself behind, no breadcrumbs for you to follow like the curious creature you are. geto lets you know that he’s there, but he doesn’t let you see him, because if he talks to you he knows that he’ll kill you. and he can’t have that, not just yet.

eventually, he’ll do it. he’ll do it, and he’ll watch as your blood stains the silk of his robes like the inevitability it is. but not yet.

you’ll be the last one, the last one he’ll kill. the final proof of his devotion.

until then, he can have this. this sickeningly sweet scrutiny of your life, your life without him. the sound of your laughter, the reflection of untainted light in your iris.

(you are the same as always, and you are a weakness that geto is learning to live with.)

he can’t rest, won’t rest until it finally ends. until the curtain calls on your bloodied body, until he feels the cold skin of your palm against his lips.

only then will he finally know if it was all worth it. only then will he be free of this yearning. only then will he be able to say that the last remnants of suguru have been well and truly cleansed from his soul, that there is nothing left of the person he was.

only then will geto be able to call himself wholly divine.

but until that time comes, he can do nothing but watch you. when the temptation begins to crawl under his skin again, when he needs to remind himself of what he’s fighting for. that one thing, at least, never once changed; suguru geto has always fought for you. for your protection, for your survival, for your demise.

for your happiness, in life or in death.

(geto hates you, loathes you, resents you for being what you are; but suguru will always, always love you. forever and ever. no matter what.

and that will be their undoing.)

suguru geto dies without saying goodbye to you.

if there are any regrets to speak of, any at all, then maybe that’d be it. he never got to see that shock on your face, never got to hear you stammer in the way you always used to when you were nervous.

in the golden hue of sunset, the last of his resentment finally fades away. the curse known as geto disappears, and what remains is no more than a ghost — the ghost of suguru, the person he was, the person he never quite stopped being.

and when geto disappears, when the last of his resentment fades away, suguru finally allows himself to think of you. fully, without interruption, without unspilled blood festering beneath his tongue. just one single touch of sincerity, one last indulgence before it all ends. he thinks of you, you as a person, not you as a non-sorcerer. he gives your memory the respect it deserves. something worth cherishing.

he wonders what you’re doing, right now. he wonders if you studied enough for that exam next week, if you found a good gift for your friend’s birthday party. he wonders if you still miss him, even though he'll never be deserving of it.

satoru stands in front of him, genuine, sincere. and suguru thinks that he is a fool, just like you; to still have any kind of affection left for someone like him. after he left you both behind, that summer.

satoru doesn’t curse him. suguru wishes he would.

a soft bout of laughter falls from his lips, as the sun sets behind him, and he knows you would have found the sight breathtaking. you always did love sunsets, didn't you? the sun was setting when he found you with that bruise on your leg, he recalls — such a miniscule detail. he wonders why he remembers only now.

suguru chokes back his tears, still smiling. it’s a smile of love. a smile of regret. he thinks of satoru.

at least curse me a little at the very end.

those should be his final words. he should avert his gaze, follow the script, tear his eyes away from the only other person besides you who ever truly knew him —

but he doesn’t. he can’t. suguru looks straight at him, at satoru, into his eyes, so blue they seem to gleam in the orange hue of the melting sun. sparkling like little galaxies, like the crinkling of soda pops, like crystallized summer skies. he looks beautiful, as beautiful as he always was.

(i wish i had told you, suguru thinks. i wish i had told you everything.)

in a voice so small he barely hears it, so tender that geto would’ve felt disgusted to his very core, suguru asks his best friend for one last favour. he’s not sure why, not sure why it matters —

but maybe, just this once, it’s fine if it’s meaningless.

satoru listens, intently. he looks at his best friend with eyes so soft it makes suguru want to laugh and cry and go back to a time when they were all happy. but they can’t, that choice was lost ten years ago — he threw it away. smothered it beneath his boot heel. there was never any going back, from the very beginning.

satoru answers his plea. one final favour, one best friend to another.

of course.

a shaky breath. he can’t tell who it came from.

of course i will.

suguru smiles. a full, genuine smile, that reaches his eyes and blossoms like a flower in the light of the sun. it’s the last time anyone will see it.

satoru clenches his jaw. he crouches down, and presses his fingers against his best friend’s battered body, right over his bleeding heart. he will never, ever forgive himself for what he's about to do.

(suguru already has.)

and the moment before the last flicker of light leaves his eyes, suguru chooses to think of you.

he thinks of your smile, the way your lips curled up at even the smallest things. he thinks of your curiosity, how it always lead him back to you. he thinks of what could have been.

he thinks of that question you asked him, all those years ago — how accepted it made him feel. that sensation of being understood. suguru thinks you saved his life, that day.

(he never got to thank you for it.)

you were his childhood friend. his nearest, dearest, oldest one.

suguru doesn't believe the world he lives in is kind enough to allow him a second chance. and he doesn't think he really deserves one, either way.

but if there is a next life, if he’s lucky enough to be reborn —

then suguru hopes he’ll be born as a dragonfly, so he can find his way back to you.

he’ll meet you, again; in the afterglow of sunset, by that dusty, forgotten, tiny summer creek. framed by silver-hued fish and cicadas, and the silence of a town that glimmered while you were both in it.

he won’t be able to wipe your tears away, won’t be able to clean the bruise on your knee — but he can be with you. and maybe, in your next lives, that’ll be enough.

(what a lovely thought.)

suguru smiles, and lets a final breath of air course through his burning lungs.

— it tastes like summer.

there is a silent understanding, between the two of you.

it’s been ten years since you last spoke to satoru gojo. it wasn’t a very pleasant conversation, and somehow, you doubt this will be an exception. an acute awareness lies heavy in the air — and deep down, some part of you knows what he’s about to tell you.

(as if it was an inevitability.)

gojo doesn’t smile. his voice has no masked amusement to it, no sense of joviality. if you strain your ears, you think it may even be wavering, slightly, so faint it’s hard to tell for sure. just that one low shiver of his lips, saying more than words ever could.

he doesn’t beat around the bush. and you see that for the kindness that it is, despite the ice cold chill that creeps into your veins when his words spill out into the air, a full body shiver traveling down your spine.

he tells you that suguru is dead, and you don’t flinch. you don’t even cry. that comes later.

in the moment, all you can do is nod, a little pitiful, teeth digging into the flesh of your bottom lip to stop it from wobbling. like you’re trying to be brave.

truthfully, you had a feeling that was the case.

sometimes, it was as if you could feel him. just barely out of reach, a certain cologne lingering on your windowsill, a box of cookies you’ve liked since you were little delivered to your doorstep. a sudden feeling of being watched. a note wishing you luck on whatever exam or driver’s test or job interview you had the next day, accompanied by a silly smiley face so distinctly suguru it made you want to cry.

— how cruel of him.

but you couldn’t help but feel comforted by it, all the same. it made you feel like he was still with you, somehow, like he still cared. even though he disappeared from your life without saying anything. even though gojo told you explicitly all those years ago to stay away, if you ever saw him, as if he was suddenly dangerous —

but you could never be afraid of him. you don’t think you have it in you.

to you, suguru will always just be the boy who helped you up when you scraped your knee, all those years ago. a sweet, cool kid, who held your hand firmly and gently wiped the blood off your skin.

(he’ll always be your nearest, dearest, oldest friend. even if you aren’t his.)

but lately, there’s been nothing. you haven't felt any traces of him at all, no lingering gazes boring into your back. so you knew. deep down, maybe you always kind of knew.

gojo looks at you with compassion, understanding. and without him having to say it, you know he loved suguru too. you know because his breathing is shaky, because his eyes look puffy from hours of crying; you know because grief is like a stench, thick and heavy, overwhelming, one that clings to your skin and haunts your very being. just like love.

and you can smell it on the both of you.

(you both loved the boy who died for his ideals, the man who was so moral it killed him.)

the news will sink in, later. you are sure that you will crumble, and you are sure that you will cry. you’re sure that the road ahead will be a long one, full of obstacles and thorns. but that’s fine. you’ll deal with it when the time comes. suguru was always a little mystical, a little too good to be true.

maybe you always sort of assumed things would end like this; that he’d walk ahead without you, with all his whispered secrets and gentle lies.

(asshole.

he could have given you a call, at least. even just once.)

for now, all you can do is try to keep your trembling skin intact. and you assume that gojo will leave, now that you know, that this was all he came here for. just a messenger of death, coated in a grief so strong you doubt he’ll ever be rid of it.

but gojo doesn’t leave.

he hands you something, instead.

a polaroid, you quickly realize. a photograph, of three kids — one with white hair, one with brown hair, and one with black hair. the black haired boy is trying hard not to smile, you can tell. the other two have got their arms around him, squeezing his body tightly with matching grins, throwing up peace signs. he looks at them with exasperation in his eyes, but you can tell that there’s a love there. you can tell, you know, because despite everything, you still know him.

a lump forms in your throat.

it’s not the original copy, is what gojo tells you, apologetic. you’re almost certain that he kept it for himself, and you don’t blame him. i’m sorry. but i wanted to… you know.

(he wanted to give you something to hold onto.)

the gesture is a little bit awkward, just a tad clumsy. but it’s a genuine concern, a sincere kindness. you aren’t really surprised that suguru spent his last moments with this man instead of you.

gojo continues to speak, and you continue to listen, attentive — hungry for anything to mend the hole in your heart. but your eyes never once stray from the photograph.

(suguru looks so, so happy.)

he tells you that suguru talked about you a lot, back then. and without him having to say it, you know what he really means is he loved you a lot. the words of consolation ring like static, in your ears. it hurts. the hole in your heart just keeps extending, extending, extending.

gojo notices. so he gets to the point, the final point, the only one that matters. this is his duty, too — granting suguru’s last request. the only one he ever asked of him in words.

(it’s the least he could do, for the man he loved so dearly, the one who left him behind in the shadow of summer.)

he tells you that there’s one more thing. that suguru asked him to tell you something, that it was the last thing he ever said. words that he wanted you to hear, more than anything.

gojo’s voice does not waver. it is not his place.

you listen. you listen as if it will bring him back. you listen as if it is the last thing you will ever do.

and gojo speaks.

the words mean everything, and also nothing at all. how very like him. they bounce off the walls of your apartment, spilling into the suffocating air, echoing inside your mind. cutting into your bloodstream, rooting themselves in a particularly soft spot deep within your ribcage, chrysanthemums blooming from your flesh. petals filling up your stomach until you can scarcely breathe.

the final words of your childhood friend. your nearest, dearest, oldest one; suguru geto, who you will always love, in the same way the sun loves the moon, as naturally as breathing.

the dam breaks. the sky shatters. the sob you choke on tastes salty, and gojo looks remorseful, his figure blurred by your tears. everything comes crashing down around you — an inevitability you were hoping to put off, in the same way suguru put off talking to you all those years.

and now, finally, he tells you his honest feelings. when it’s already far too late. how very, very like him.

(tell them i’m sorry. and that i hope their exam goes well.)

— honestly. what a fucking asshole.

not once did you ask for an apology. you never wanted one, never thought to even wish for it. you didn’t need one.

all you wanted was for him to come back to you. to find you, again, the way he always did.

tears cascade down your scrunched-up face, big and childlike, but no one’s there to wipe them away anymore. you cradle the photograph in your hands, savouring every single memory you have of him. all the love your heart can muster.

the tears never seem to end. they continue to run down your cheeks, until all you can smell is sea salt, until the sun has set in the horizon, until the moon has hanged itself in the sky. a silent comfort, but it’s not enough. it never will be.

a sniffle pushes past your lips, and you hear yourself laugh — bitter, raspy, gentle all the same. what a moron, you whisper, a soft lull of your tongue. didn’t he know?

(you forgave him long ago.)

bonus 👀

#get u a man who loves you so deeply it causes him cognitive dissonance #im a lil unsure abt this piece pshshs but it has a rly special place in my heart!!#i just like the idea of geto being so desperately in denial about his love for u that he forces himself to hate u. self-affirmation yknow?#subconsciously putting u on a pedastal above the rest… being unable to let go of the connection between u even though he wants to sever it #having this evident fondness for you but its constantly battling with the part of him that hates what your existence means for him #telling himself that he’ll ’save u for last’ but its more of a measure to keep himself from killing u bc he knows his ideal is unattainable #so he’ll never have to kill you. it'll never get to that point. he wants to so badly though. but does he really?#yeahhh. im normal abt fucked up curse user geto <3 soft canon divergent sugu is still my fave to write for tho #geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #geto x you #geto suguru x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #geto angst #jjk angst #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #geto x y/n #jjk x y/n

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