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osaemu · 8 months

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GOJO SATORU: THINK I NEED SOMEONE OLDER

✩ ‧ ˚. synopsis: what do you do when your boyfriend cheats? you go to his house and look for revenge, and you get it by fucking his dad! NSFW

contents: fem!reader. age gap, blowjob, praise, degradation, use of slut, slight dumbification, dirty talk, and possibly more. 2.6K words.

you should've known that dating a rich boy came with more than just the money—it came with a shitty boyfriend too.

as you walk to his house, rain falling in your eyes, you curse every time he had you do his homework, his bills, even his fucking laundry. that's what you get for dating the spoiled heir to the massive gojo fortune.

you step onto the gojo estate's porch, wondering what possessed you to come all the way here in the middle of the night without an umbrella. thank god you still had the key your ex had given you, since he was too stupid to remember to take it back after he dumped you.

hands shaking from the cold, you slip the key into the lock and turn, a small smile dancing across your lips when it opens as easily as your ex's legs. he was probably out fucking another girl right now, if the pictures on his instagram story were any hint of his whereabouts.

you push the door open with your shoulder and dry your feet on the doormat. his parents are never home, and it's late enough for the staff to have all gone back to their quarters. besides, even if one or two were still here, they probably didn't know you weren't their spoiled brat's girlfriend anymore.

humming the post-breakup revenge song you'd been listening to for the past hour, you tie up your hair and look around. the only reason you walked all the way here in the middle of a dark, stormy night was for revenge, and you weren't leaving without it.

on the way to your ex's room, you stop in one of the bathrooms to dry off. rainwater slides off your body as you wring out your hair in the sink, water dripping down your wrist as you do so.

you walk the familiar path to your ex's room, rolling your eyes when you see a bra on the floor that definitely isn't yours. funnily enough, you aren't surprised. there's no hurt, no sadness, just disgust. your suspicions were right—he was fucking other girls while the two of you dated.

a sigh slips through your lips as you look around his room. it's messy, even with the help from the gojo estate's numerous staff. they say bigger rooms naturally look cleaner, and yet your ex's room still manages to mirror his mind—filthy.

you're so immersed in the thousand ideas you have to ruin your ex's life that when a deep, sleep-ridden voice asks you what the fuck you're doing in his house, you nearly jump out of your skin.

you spin around, words caught in your throat when you come face-to-face with satoru gojo, your ex-boyfriend's dad and the infamous head of the gojo family.

it's more than shameful that the first thought you have is that shit, he's hot. you've met before, but it was only in passing. satoru's never around, and the extent of your relationship was a brief nod as he passed you in one of the many passageways in the gojo estate. in fact, you aren't entirely sure if he even knows who you are.

satoru gojo's well-known in japan—not only is he the reason the gojo family has its reputation, but he's made quite a name for himself by being the most affluent and handsome of them all.

you've heard stories about him back in his prime. most sound too far-fetched to be true, but the photos of him in his twenties that resurface from time-to-time make good material for your late-night fantasies.

and satoru's even more intimidating in person. he's easily over six feet tall with well-defined muscles, and he's the definition of a dilf. he's probably twice your age, but the glint in his eyes and casual arrogance in his stance makes him all the more attractive.

it's a shame his son is such a dickhead.

"are you one of my son's whores?" satoru asks dryly, eying the bra on the floor. you scowl and kick it away, a soft huff slipping through your lips.

"no, i'm— wait, he never told you?" you cut yourself off with the question, a hint of incredulous disbelief in your tone.

satoru shrugs, reaching up to ruffle his hair. his shirt slides up just enough to expose his abs, which are really fucking hot by any standards. "if you're asking about my son, he thankfully leaves me out of his sex life," he says amusedly. "so, who are you? and what the hell are you doing in my house this late?"

"i—" well, you couldn't just say you were here to ruin his son's life. "uh, i'm his... girlfriend."

satoru barks out a laugh, looking down at you through his long, white eyelashes. "really? you sure you're dating my son?"

you narrow your eyes and nod. satoru shakes his head, slipping one of his hands in his pocket and gesturing to the bra on the floor with the other. "either you aren't his girlfriend or you just found out he's cheating. which is it?"

well, you tried. "both." satoru raises his eyebrows at that and takes a seat on the chair across from his son's bed, exhaling as he does so.

"so, sweetheart, what's the story?" he asks, a bored expression on his face. he leans back and spreads his legs enough for you to wonder what it'd be like to be in between them.

not sensing that you really have a choice, you sit on the corner of his son's bed and start explaining. at first, you sugarcoat his son's actions, not wanting to sound like a whiny brat, but at one point he interjects with a sigh.

"i know my son," he says dryly, brushing his floppy white hair out of his eyes. "and i also know a liar when i see one."

"s' that so?" you mutter under your breath, ignoring the way satoru's eyes narrow at your side comment. from then on, you list every detail of just how shitty your ex was to you. you tell satoru how his son made you fold his clothes, how he dragged you to parties even when you swore you had homework, how he'd make you fu—

you stop there, not wanting to divulge every detail of your sex life. sure, your ex forced you to fuck him every night in every way he knew existed from watching porn, but that wasn't for his dad to know.

satoru, who's been listening intently for the last five minutes, studies your irritated expression thoughtfully. rather than comment on the way you suddenly stopped ranting, he asks, "so you're here for revenge?"

you nod, crossing your legs. satoru eyes you for another second before placing his hands on his knees and standing up with a soft grunt. "do whatever you want, but i want you out of my house in fifteen minutes. and whatever you do stays in this room. no fire."

satoru looks down at you and raises an eyebrow. "is that clear?"

it would be easier to agree if satoru wasn't looking down at you with an expression like that on his face. it's somewhere between mild irritation and disgust—whether it's directed at you or his son, you're not sure, but he probably has better things to do than listen to some girl's breakup story. so you nod, and satoru starts to leave.

just before he steps out the door, you think of a really fucking insane idea—one that would absolutely shatter your ex. and for some reason, you say it out loud.

"you should fuck me."

oh my god.

satoru turns around slowly, hand clenched around his phone. "the fuck?"

you swallow, eyes wide and a stupid grin plastered on your face. "shit, i—" you were ready to apologize for just about every word you've ever said, but satoru holds up his hand before you can start, cutting you off.

he scoffs, blue eyes glimmering with either amusement or annoyance. "you really are a piece of work, aren't ya?" satoru narrows his eyes, surveying you critically. his gaze settles on the way your shaky hands, and you hide them behind your back self consciously.

"you want me to fuck you on my son's bed?" he says dryly, stifling a laugh. when you force yourself to nod, he grins. "not bad, sweetheart. not bad at all."

"i-is that a yes?" you hate yourself for stuttering, but it makes satoru laugh.

"sure, why not?" he says, walking over to where you're still sitting on his son's bed and resting a hand on your shoulder. satoru rubs the side of your neck with his thumb, cerulean eyes fixed on your lips. "might be about time to teach my son a lesson anyways."

satoru's agreement surprises you enough to make your mouth fall open, and soon enough, his dick replaces the empty space between your lips.

"shit, you're takin' me so good, baby," satoru groans, hand tangled in your hair as he pushes his dick deeper into your throat. "yeah, that's it, jus' like tha— fuck," he cuts himself off with a breathy laugh as you nearly choke.

he's big, way bigger than your ex, and you wonder how his dad's big dick gene skipped him. and even better, satoru's skilled too. he knows how to fuck you good, and you can tell that it's from experience, not from watching porn—unlike his lame excuse of a son.

"tell me, sweetheart," satoru drawls, looking down at you with a cheeky smile. "was my son half as good as i am in bed?"

when you shake your head no, satoru clicks his tongue in disapproval. "shit, now y're gonna expect every guy you fuck with to be as good as me. well, sorry 'bout that, because they aren't."

at least you know where his son gets his arrogance from.

it's getting a little hard to breathe, especially since you have ten inches of dick shoved down your throat. despite all satoru's talk, you can tell that he's getting close to cumming down your throat—his eyes are twitching and his breaths are starting to become more and more shaky as you suck him off. soon enough, the coil in his stomach snaps and he cums, cursing and praising you as he does. satoru's grip on your hair tightens, and it's borderline painful as he tugs you deeper by the hair.

"shit, that was the best head i've had in a while," he groans after his breathing starts to go back to normal. satoru grins at you, shaking his head and pinning you on your back on the bed.

"you've already been fucked by a gojo here, haven't you?" satoru cooes, tracing your jawline with one of his fingers. "tch, i'll fuck you better than my shithead son ever could. show ya the reason we gojos have a reputation for our dicks."

and fuck, he does. after quickly making you cum on his fingers with the excuse of loosening you up, he roughly shoves his dick in your already-throbbing pussy with a grin. he's so fucking big that you've convinced he's gonna rip you in half.

"g-gojo, i can't—"

"sure y'can," he cuts you off, jaw tightening as you tighten around him. "fuckin' hell, you're just tight as a virgin. my son must be shit in bed, yeah?"

"mhm," you hum, tilting back your head and gasping for air as you feel your body heat up. "shit— right there—"

satoru grins, dipping his head and meeting your tear-lidded eyes. he's far from gentle—it's barely been a couple minutes and your back is already in the highest arch of your life, and it's hard to form coherent thoughts as satoru continues bullying his cock into your pussy.

you lose track of time easily—fuck, you forget there's even a world outside of whatever this is. at some point your tongue falls out of your mouth, lolling to the side as your eyes roll back—just a dumb slut for satoru; or at least that's what he calls you.

as you approach what must be the hundredth orgasm of the night, satoru asks you to say his name. it's almost embarrassing how much effort it is to say—he's fucked you dumb enough to the point where you're a babbling mess.

"shit, you can't even talk," satoru says with a grin, flicking your forehead playfully. "cute." he rests his elbow by your head and shoves his hand over your mouth, amusement dancing in his eyes. "you talk too much anyways, princess. take a break."

you whine against his hand and satoru shakes his head, a faux pout on his face. "c'mon, it's not like you can talk anyways," he tsks. his next thrust is particularly rough, and you can't seem to remember who the name of the dickhead who got you in this situation—what was your ex's name again? does it matter?

"yeah i can" you mumble, voice muffled by satoru's hand. when his pout deepens, you can't help but giggle, a sound that soon turns to a squeal when he pushes the side of your face into the mattress.

"what's so funny?" satoru grumbles, dipping his head and pressing his lips against the hand seperating your mouth from his. satoru's glimmering eyes are fixed on yours as a cheeky smile spreads across his face. "fine then."

he pulls out, cursing under his breath as he presses his back to the headboard. satoru ignores the hm? that slips out of your lips and removes his hand from your mouth, resting it on his dick instead and stroking it with a smirk. "what is it, princess?"

"wha— why'd you stop?"

satoru lifts his other wrist, studying the watch on it and turning his hand so you can see too. your vision is still so fucked up that the numbers look like swimming otters, but you can vaguely make out the time.

"it's been fifteen minutes, kid. time to go."

your mouth falls open and you sit up, still breathing heavily. one second you're having the best sex of your life, and the next your ex's dad is calling you kid and telling you it's time to go?

"not fair," you mumble, pulling your legs into your chest and resting your head on your knees. "that was a stupid time limit," you huff, chest heaving. "i couldn't have done anything to him in fifteen minutes anyways."

satoru snorts, stretching his arms and resting his hands behind his head. "i'd say we did something in those fifteen minutes," he says dryly, white hair falling into his eyes.

"hmph."

satoru raises his eyebrows, biting the inside of his lip as he continues stroking himself. you notice the way his abs flex and tense the closer he gets; something that shouldn't be as attractive as it is.

"can't believe my dumbass son fucked up so badly with a girl like you," he groans after a minute, back resting against the headboard as he continues stroking his dick. "won't be seein' you around here again, huh?"

you blink, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as satoru eyes you intently. "what d'you mean?"

before satoru can answer, the two of you hear footsteps, and before either of you can do anything, standing in the doorway to his own room is your ex, a giggling girl on his arm. the faint scent of alcohol floods through your nose as they stumble in, and it's all you can do to stop yourself from laughing when your ex sees that his bed is already occupied.

"why the hell is my dad in bed with my ex-girlfriend?!"

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homo-house · 7 months

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hey uh so I haven't seen anyone talking about this here yet, but

the amazon river, like the biggest river in the fucking world, in the middle of the amazon fucking rainforest, is currently going through its worst drought since the records began 121 years ago

picture from Folha PE

there's a lot going on but I haven't seen much international buzz around this like there was when the forest was on fire (maybe because it's harder to shift the narrative to blame brazil exclusively as if the rest of the world didn't have fault in this) so I wanted to bring this to tumblr's attention

I don't know too many details as I live in the other side of the country and we are suffering from the exact opposite (at least three cyclones this year, honestly have stopped counting - it's unusual for us to get hit by even one - floods, landslides, we have a death toll, people are losing everything to the water), but like, I as a brazilian have literally never seen pictures of the river like this before. every single city in the amazonas state is in a state of emergency as of november 1st.

pictures by Adriano Liziero (ig: geopanoramas)

we are used to seeing images of rio negro and solimões, the two main amazon river affluents, in all their grandiose and beauty and seeing these pictures is really fucking chilling. some of our news outlets are saying the solimões has turned to a sand desert... can you imagine this watery sight turning into a desert in the span of a year?

while down south we are seeing amounts of rain and hailstorms the likes of which our infrastructure is simply not built to deal with, up north people who have built everything around the river are at a loss of what to do.

the houses there that are built to float are just on the ground, people who depend on fishing for a living have to walk kilometers to find any fish that are still alive at all, the biodiversity there is at risk, and on an economic level it's hard to grasp how people from the northern states are getting by at all - the main means of transport for ANYTHING in that region is via the river water. this will impact the region for months to come. it doesnt make a lot of sense to build a lot of roads bc it's just better to use the waterway system, everything is built around or floats on the river after all. and like, the water level is so incomprehensibly low the boats are just STUCK. people are having a hard time getting from one place to another - keep in mind the widest parts of the river are over 10 km apart!!

this shit is really serious and i am trying not to think about it because we have a different kind of problem to worry about down south but it's really terrifying when I stop to think about it. you already know the climate crisis is real and the effects are beyond preventable now (we're past global warming, get used to calling it "global boiling"). we'll be switching strategies to damage control from now on and like, this is what it's come to.

I don't like to be alarmist but it's hard not to be alarmed. I'm sorry that I can't end this post with very clear intructions on how people overseas can help, there really isn't much to do except hope the water level rises soon, maybe pray if you believe in something. in that regard we just have to keep pressing for change at a global level; local conditions only would not, COULD NOT be causing this - the amazon river is a CONTINENTAL body of water, it spans across multiple countries. so my advice is spread the word, let your representatives know that you're worried and you want change towards sustainability, degrowth and reduced carbon emissions, support your local NGOs, maybe join a cause, I don't know? I recommend reading on ecological and feminist economics though

however, I know you can help the affected riverine families by donating to organizations dedicated to helping the region. keep in mind a single US dollar, pound or euro is worth over 5x more in our currency so anything you donate at all will certainly help those affected.

FAS - Sustainable Amazon Fundation

Idesam - Sustainable Developent and Preservation Institute of Amazonas

Greenpeace Brasil - I know Greenpeace isn't the best but they're one of the few options I can think of that have a bridge to the international world and they are helping directly

There are a lot of other smaller/local NGOs but I'm not sure how you could donate to them from overseas, I'll leave some of them here anyway:

Projeto Gari

Caritás Brasileira

If you know any other organizations please link them, I'll be sure to reblog though my reach isn't a lot

thank you so much for reading this to the end, don't feel obligated to share but please do if you can! even if you just read up to here it means a lot to me that someone out there knows

also as an afterthought, I wanted to expand on why I think this hasn't made big news yet: because unlike the case of the 2020 forest fires, other countries have to hold themselves accountable when looking at this situation. while in 2020 it was easier to pretend the fires were all our fault and people were talking about taking the amazon away from us like they wouldn't do much worse. global superpowers have no more forests to speak of so I guess they've been eyeing what latin america still has. so like this bit of the post is just to say if you're thinking of saying anything of the sort, maybe think of what your own country has done to contribute to this instead of blaming brazil exclusively and saying the amazon should be protected by force or whatever

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amu-says-hav-says · 10 months

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I can’t believe I went through all of Season 2 assuming Nina was the stand-in for Crowley when you actually pay attention it’s so CLEAR that she’s Aziraphale. I was tricked by her spiky, sarcastic, cynical outer shell and lulled into a false sense of security by Maggie’s bubbly optimism and wholesome goodness, because on the surface they reflect the ineffable husbands perfectly, in their personalities, their aesthetics, even many of their actions and morals. but not, and this is the real key, when it comes to their “relationship”. but those first impressions really had me damn fooled.

I missed the blatantness of Nina’s “we’re just friends. actually we’re not friends. we barely know each other.” the same thing Aziraphale said in season 1. the way he still struggles to quantify their friendship when Nina asks. Nina’s sarcasm when Crowley asks about rain and awnings because it worked for him (we all know it LMAO). hell, that whole convo the girls have in the rain is so AziraCrow (“I know. I’m not your type” “...You have no idea” hits so much harder the second time, help meeeee.) “Lindsay” maybe being symbolic of Heaven and Aziraphale’s toxic relationship with them and their abuse? (the handwritten text messages in red pen make me think of angry notes on paperwork, anyone else?) because Crowley has never actually cared about what Hell thinks of him, just not getting into trouble (or him or Aziraphale getting hurt). Maggie is always chasing Nina. NINA NEVER GOES IN THE RECORD STORE. Just like Crowley always goes to the bookstore, to Aziraphale, Zira NEVER WENT TO THE FLAT (apart from The Swap but that doesn’t count imo). Crowley has always chased Zira, not the other way around. Always there to rescue him, always going to him for company, always relying on their shared connection, always US. OUR SIDE. All through season one, he comes to Zira every time to work together, never trying to work alongside Hell in any way that isn’t to save their skins or Earth, while Zira hides things from Crowley because he STILL thinks Heaven is ultimately good and will do the right thing if he can just show them. fix it from the inside.

Maggie working up the courage to finally say something, to put herself out there, while Nina is utterly oblivious and then when she does realise Maggie has feelings, becoming standoffish, putting up that barrier, fighting it, denying it, ITS SO CROWLEY AND AZIRAPHALE IN THAT ORDER. the way I was fooled into thinking Nina’s trust issues are Crowley because he does have trust issues ofc he does BUT Crowley has ALWAYS TRUSTED AZIRAPHALE. has always relied on him. has always been hurt when Aziraphale doesn’t immediately reciprocate the way he expects (the holy water request, the bandstand, the “off in the stars” etc). he’s always the one putting himself forward. Aziraphale has always been the one to second guess everything, to fight their connection, their similarities, their friendship. the girls really made me think it was going to be okay when they sat Crowley down, even as my inner sirens were going haywire about Metatron interfering, they were telling Crowley he just needs to open up and it’ll all work out BUT HE’S ALREADY AT THAT POINT. he may not say it, and by gosh is that part of their damn problem, but he’s always SHOWN IT. he’s not Nina who needs time to heal and recover from her broken trust, he’s always been Maggie believing it doesn’t matter, they’ll end up together in the end anyway AND I WALKED RIGHT INTO THE TRAP THAT THIS MEANT THEY WERE GOING TO BE OKAYYYYYYYYYYY

#good omens #good omens spoilers #good omens season 2 #good omens 2 #GO2 #GO2 spoilers #ineffable husbands #not me going to my basically unused sideblog that isn't GO related because I NEED TO YELL THIS SOMEWHERE #I mean outside of the relationship thing there are so many ways #that Nina and Crowley line up and Zira and Maggie #but the girls story isn't about them as people #it's about this relationship the boys are tryna push on them and what that relationship reflects about the boys #anyway I'm on my first rewatch for all the clue I missed #so I imagine I'll only spot more clues to berate myself about as I go #HOW DID I FALL FOR ITTTTTT #I can't believe I was so blind #OFC the Disaster Puppy Lesbian was Crowley #and OFC the Emotionally Abused Tortoise was Aziraphale

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shotmrmiller · 16 days

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Uninvited, Unexpected.

a/n: it's nice until the very end. it hints at baby trapping. one solid sentence that's kinda degrading (i couldn't help myself ok) this was in the works for so long, i did so much research just to use words. english is hard. and ignore the plot holes, for my sake. my sanity.

this is SMUT. 18+mdni please (if im missing anything else, lmk)

ty to my wonderful beta readers @waves-against-a-cliff & @xoxunhinged

wc: 3,1K

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!reader

my contribution to the @glitterypirateduck ghost challenge. idc if i wrote it much earlier lol.

You're awoken by a loud noise. At first, you think you dreamt it. Exploding head syndrome, maybe. You strain your hearing but it's quiet, save for the occasional creak of the house settling, its old bones creaking in the dead of night. Rain gently patters against the windows, blurring the world outside.

A flash of sudden light illuminates the bedroom, casting elongated shadows across the floor, followed by a loud crack that rattles the glass. Thunder. You should've guessed.

The frantic beating of your heart slows to a gentle roll, and your eyes leaden with sleep. The soft pillows beckon, the warm blankets cradle you as you sink back onto the mattress.

Only for you to be snapped back into reality, drowsiness dissipating like a morning mist.

Someone's knocking on your door.

Your heart is in your throat as you quickly peel off the blankets, the chill of the floorboards underneath your bare feet seeping into your bones.

In the bookshelf sits the gun Simon had given you before he had moved out, the rumble of his voice a ghost in your ear. "For protection," he'd murmured, placing the cold metal onto your open palms. "Jus' in case."

Your trembling fingers fumble as you search for it in the dark, flinching as a couple of books spill from the shelf onto the floor, pages rustling in your urgency.

The knocking persists.

The metal of the grip is unyielding in your clammy hands. You've never tested it before, never had the displeasure. As you hold it close to your chest with a quivering breath, you hope tonight won't change that.

Simon's instructions echo in your mind as you approach the front door. "Thumb the safety. Hold the grip with both hands. Do not, under any circumstance, put your finger on the trigger unless you're plannin' on sendin' hate. Clear?"

Your throat tightens, a phantom snake coiling around the narrow passage, and panic grips your heart as you reach for the blinds, slowly hooking two fingers and carefully pulling down to look at who is—

Simon.

Simon?

Sweat-slick fingers flip the light switch before quickly undoing the locks, the hinges groaning in protest as the door opens.

"What the hell?"

It's Simon, disheveled— maskless— swaying on his feet. His eyes are half-closed and unfocused. Johnny's holding him up by the arm, struggling to keep him upright.

"S'ry, bonnie. We wen' out fer a few 'nd clearly, he's out 'is face. Quite crabbit, too. He said ye'd let 'em sleep 'ere," he slurs.

Simon's not the only one who's pissed. With a resigned sigh, you gesture at the couch with your free hand. "There, I guess."

That he thought of you even in his drunken haze tugs at your fragile heartstrings.

Johnny guides him to the catch, a quiet C'mon LT to spur him forward. Heavy boots thud against the floor as they stumble toward the living room while you carefully place the gun on the kitchen countertop before reaching for a water bottle in the pantry. Johnny snickers under his breath as Simon collapses onto the sofa, the springs protesting his weight.

Two bottles, then.

You watch Simon's head loll as you hand Johnny the water. "Tell me you aren't the one driving, Johnny," you grumble.

He takes it with a quiet thanks. "Naw. Cap'n's stone cold sober."

Small mercies.

Johnny gives Simon a rough slap to the side of his leg as he bids him goodbye, pulling you in for an embrace tight enough that your spine pops before walking out the door.

You let out another sigh as the lock clicked back into place. The tangy, sour scent of stale alcohol mixed with stings at your nose, as does the invasive smell of smoke.

His boots are mud-caked, and you'll be damned if he stains your nice furniture with his mess. "Shoes off." He groans but complies. The laces come undone quickly, and you tug his shoes off with a grunt. "Simon."

His glassy eyes meet yours. "Drink your water." The burning need to chuck it at his head is one you have to vehemently smother into embers. Moron. Only Simon would have the gall to show up unannounced months after the separation. And drunk.

You push the bottle into his chest roughly and make to go back to bed when he encircles his hand around your wrist and the world spins on its axis, suddenly finding yourself beneath him with his face nestled in the crook of your neck.

Simon's breath is hot against your skin, the weight of his body pinning you down so achingly familiar. It stirs up past memories that would have you pressing your thighs together if he wasn't right there, using his broad waist to spread them apart.

"Missed ya, love." A confession. "S'much."

The breath you draw is jagged, his slow-spoken words hanging in the air. You want to push him away, scream at him for stumbling in and disrupting your night, your rest, your carefully crafted peace. But there's a part of you that can't help but soften at the tenderness in his tone.

"Simon," you whisper. "You're drunk. You don't know what you're saying—" his lips find your fluttering pulse. You find purchase in his shirt, shaky fingers grasping at the hem.

"'M drunk, no' no liar." Your resolve wavers. No, he never had been. Honesty hadn't been the reason for the split. It wasn't the truth he'd spoken but the truths he'd kept to himself. A fortress around his heart, the bridge to its gates raised. Unwilling to share a burden, share a life.

His warm tongue licks a hot stripe up your neck reaching the lobe of your ear where his blunt teeth sink into it. A choked gasp spills from your mouth, spine arching in reflex— your treacherous body remembering his touch, yearning for it.

"Simon—" your words get caught in your throat; snag like fishhooks when he undulates his hips, arousal creeping along your veins like ivy.

"Don't ya miss me, pet?" You've asked him to not call you that because it never fails to stoke the fire in your belly, to sodden your knickers. Before you can chide him on his choice of words, he shifts. One arm, an inked column under the soft light of the living room, holds him up just enough to bring his rugged face into focus. His eyes, like a stormy night's sky, swirl with untamed desire.

You know it's dangerous to play with fire. Touch it and burn, ache, blister. But the passion of this old flame beckons like a siren with sharp teeth. Each drag of his prominent erection against your core only succeeds in pulling you away from the shore of clarity. It's disorienting, insistent.

Relentless.

"My pretty little love," he mumbles. Simon's gaze drags from your glassy eyes to the delicate contours of your collarbone. His fingers trace lines of intimacy onto the swell of your breasts before using the pad of his thumb to swirl the stiffened peak of your nipple. "Say the word 'nd it all stops."

The scent of alcohol clings to him, a bitter reminder of the loss of inhibitions it brings as it warms one's chest. Blurred lines he might not mind, but you do. Lost boundaries. Rejection sits on the tip of your tongue, on the edge of your teeth when he says something that frays the last threads of your resolve.

It comes undone.

"Please. Jus' tonigh'. All I need." His words sound like footsteps in winter mire, slushed, syllables blending together.

You'll just have to kick him out on his arse in the morning.

"Okay," you breathe. Just one night, you tell yourself. He's always been good to you in the bedroom. One last hurrah wouldn't hurt. Maybe it'll allow you to finally close this painful chapter in your life and start anew, with pristine white pages and fresh ink.

Your hands, trembling with nerves and anticipation, cradle his face. The roughness of his stubble in contrast with the softness of your palms is grounding, keeping you from being pulled under your own swirling emotions.

" 'M righ' 'ere, love. You're safe with me, always." He whispers the last words reverently, a vow. Simon's breath mingles with yours as he leans in for a kiss.

The world around you fades, your senses tunneled on the feel of his lips, the taste of him— mildly sweet with a hint of peppermint. He slants his head to deepen the kiss, and the bruising ache in your heart is replaced by another, one that burns brightly and threatens to sweep you away.

The lulling sound of the pouring rain outside is drowned out by the beating of your racing heart.

The bed creaks when Simon perches you on the edge of it, quietly ordering you to take your top off.

"What about my bottoms?" You bite down on the gummy inside of your cheek when he pins you in place with a look— a predator eyeing its prey.

"Those are mine." Resounding. Final. A gavel in a courtroom.

You fling your shirt off, tossing it into some forgotten corner in the room, and cheekily watch Simon undress. It's not methodical like it used to be. No longer a means to an end. Experienced fingers undo the buckle of his belt before he takes it off, the leather material snapping in the air, slicing through the silence.

A quip tumbles out of your mouth faster than you can stop it. "Gonna spank me with that?"

The air around you thickens— or thins, you can't be sure— when his eyes flash to you. He kicks off his jeans, one foot after the other, wobbling as he does. "Tha' wha' you want?" The words he didn't say ring out loud and clear.

Don't rattle the cage, sweetheart. This dog isn't muzzled.

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip to keep from saying anything else, something that he might take you up on, instead focusing on the way his heavy cock hangs in between legs (dangling with each step forward—)

"M'eyes are up 'ere." Your nose scrunches at his joke. Cute.

He lowers himself onto his knees, your legs cradling his face as it hovers over your sex, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath on your heated skin.

The sleeping shorts you're wearing are ratty and worn. They're thin too, practically translucent from constant use. Which means that he can see that you're not wearing any undergarments underneath.

"Hope you know I can—" Heat licks up the sides of your jaw, pooling in your cheeks as you cut him off with a snappy remark.

"Yes. I know."

The tip of his pointed tongue drags along the seam of your shorts, right along your slit. Your breath hitches, and you clench your jaw to keep from making a sound. Your back bows involuntarily, the feeling startling, intense.

"Can see tha' clear as day, as if lookin' through a windowpane, pet," he taunts. The words that are forming, almost ready to spill out, freeze in place when his mouth comes in direct contact with your slippery cunt. He licks once, twice, through your folds, slightly dipping into your slick entrance, only pulling away to nuzzle your pearl with his misaligned nose.

"Sweet as a peach, jus' like I remember," he purrs, the timbre of his voice buzzing against your puffy lips. "Missed this." A mewl slithers past your grit teeth when he gently sinks one thick finger into you, curling and twisting. Arousal drips onto his knuckle, tracing a hot path down to his wrist. He coos at you when he adds another digit, hissing at the sharp but brief pinprick of the stretch.

"Bloody fuckin' tight." Simon rises off the floor, the quiet sound of his knees popping swallowed up by your harsh pants. "Gotta let me in, love. Relax."

He keeps the thrusts shallow, his fingers dragging deliciously along your nerve endings. The sting soon fades, giving way to a gentle warmth that unfurls inside of you, letting Simon reach deeper until—

Your muscles stiffen, tight like a spring when he brushes over the rough patch of skin that has bursts of light appearing across your eyelids.

"Look at ya. Droolin' like a mutt with my fingers stuffed up your pretty cunt."

There's a pressure in your lower belly that's steadily building with each sloppy thrust of his hand, pulling squelching noises from your sodden pussy. He finally, finally, latches onto your neglected clit, lightly sucking on it in tandem with his fingers.

Your chin drops to your chest as everything nears a breaking point. The pressure inside you has your body wound tight. The fibers of your muscles contract, almost painfully, preparing for the release of what's to come, what can't be ignored.

The swirling of his golden tongue pushes against the boundaries of your endurance, pushes you to the precipice, where you finally hit the point of no return. You can feel something about to give, ecstasy trickling through the cracks in your foundation, uncontrollable, raw. Your fingers thread through Simon's hair, curling tightly, pulling it taut when you feel something about to give—oh fuck—

Snap.

The structure that holds everything in place collapses.

A sudden release of pent-up energy and emotion erupts like a dam bursting, a cleansing flood that washes away the grime of old wounds, of bitterness, leaving the edges softened so they can heal; knit closed and scar over. Closure. It touches every part of you, filling you with a sense of liberation.

Your heart beats freely, it throbs with life as a wave of relief washes over you, soothing, a balm over scraped flesh, a rush of cool air into starved lungs.

A lightness that comes after being weighed down with burdens for so long.

Simon's hands encircle your arms firmly— fingers digging into the meat of your biceps— and effortlessly maneuvers you toward the center of the bed as if your lethargic form were a feather caught in a breeze; weightless, insignificant.

Gentle but unyielding.

There's a ringing in your ears that muffles his voice, blurring the edges of his words, an unintelligible hum, as if you were underwater. The sensation leaves you feeling adrift in a tranquil sea, cradled in its silken embrace. The only anchor you have to the muzzy reality is his warm touch.

"'M sorry, sweetheart. I can't," he apologizes, hooking your right leg over his shoulder. You let out a sibilant hiss as he leans forward, pushing your knee to your chest, the corded muscle of your hamstring pulling to its limit. "Can't wait anymore, 'm sorry."

Simon gives you a sloppy kiss as his heaving length prods at your swollen entrance, the tip breaching your pussy with a warm burn that starts from under your navel and only flares, radiating from your core outward. It's searing, the initial bite of the stretch disrupts the haze in your muddled mind, bringing the world around you into cutting clarity.

A guttural noise claws up his throat as Simon sheathes himself halfway, his growled words not the salve he was hoping for. It only grates at already raw nerves, abrasive.

"Jus' a little more, you can take it." He winds a hand downward to draw messy circles on your slippery clit, to stifle the roaring fire in your stomach, your chest. "You already have."

His jerky touch does its job, transforming the sharp burn of him wrenching your walls apart fiber by fiber into a quiet glow; smoldering heat now simmering. You soften, mellow and pliant, accept him into your body as he sinks to the hilt with a quiet groan.

"There's my girl. Takin' all of it like you were made f'me." Simon's words of praise tangle around your spine, electric, prickling. Your heart gallops like a herd of horses, wild and free. "Liked tha' did you? Jus' about strangled my cock with your tight cunt."

He rolls his hips once, twice, searching for signs of discomfort, but when only warm pleasure laps at your heels, when the barest of moans spill from your open lips, Simon begins to put his weight behind his thrusts.

Through half-lidded eyes, you see a raw, primal hunger reflected in his eyes— his soul, the one he'd claimed to have lost long ago, back with his reason, his sanity.

Yet he looks down at you as if you were his only salvation. A lifeline he grabs onto with an unyielding grip, his only tether to hope, purpose. A lighthouse shining in a raging storm, a beacon calling him home.

Simon presses a large hand onto your lower stomach, his work-worn palm pushing until you wince, brows furrowing at the fleeting whisper of pain.

"Can feel myself right here," he sluggishly mumbles, drunk of the feel of your cunt, the taste of your skin on his tongue— sweet like ripened figs. The sensory overload has him sinking his fingers into your flesh until it dimples.

He murmurs something under his taxed breath, something akin to mine, only mine as his lips leave a slick trail of saliva on the dip of your collarbone, the gentle curve of your shoulder, the thin, soft skin of your bicep up to your inner wrist, where he laps at your pulse.

As if savoring the present. The precious gift he's unwrapped, here and now. The last taste of you, which he hopes with a reverence that borders on prayer, lingers on his tongue long after the fruit— the sweet evidence of this one last intimacy— falls from the bough.

Simon comes with his teeth in the crook of your neck, biting down with a crushing pressure that has an acute pain digging its spurs into your consciousness, cutting the blazing euphoria of your own release short.

His cock is still twitching as he fills you with his spend when he takes his thumb and collects some of your slick to take you over the edge one last time.

"F'me. You can take it, yeah? I'll go slow, I promise."

Simon presses a kiss on your sweaty temple, his large hand cupping your jaw as he lazily watches you succumb to sleep, your breath evening out.

He reaches for your arm again, feeling for the birth control implant you'd had there when the both of you were still together.

Gone.

Sweet girl. You'd let him in without a fight. (He makes a mental note to wash the beer off of his clothes tomorrow.)

He knows your cycle better than the lines that are etched onto his palm. Better than the voice of the captain who rumbles in his earpiece, ordering him to go for the throat.

From the moment you'd stepped into his life with eternity in your eyes and the warmth of the sun on your lips, you were his. And he'll do anything to remain in your orbit.

(left unable to distinguish prison from paradise when each poison-coated kiss softens the world he'll build for you and for what's to come.)

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #cod mw2 #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley smut #cod smut #simon ghost riley x f reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley smut #GhostChallenge

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deadsetobsessions · 5 months

Text

Danny no longer has a haunt. So… he decides to find another one. And while he technically has a whole world (other dimensions aren’t an option because he’s going to stay near where Jazz’s grave is, damn it) there’s only a couple of other places with enough ambient ectoplasm to sustain him. Nanda Parbat, Tokyo, and Gotham.

Nanda Parbat had a weird old musty immortal that kept trying to summon him and exchange power for the ability to “take a worthy body and rain as much destruction” as he’d like. As if Danny would need a body to bring the world to its knees.

Tokyo… it’s too far from Jazz’s grave. He could ask Wulf or even open his own portal but when Danny tried it out, Tokyo was too peaceful. Obviously there’s crime, but nothing… nothing big like Danny’s used to.

Danny ends up picking Gotham, even if the sewer zombies and the weird group of rich fruit loops with an adoption problem creeps him out. So, he destroys the portal, packs up his parents’ house and sells it, and hauls ass to the cesspool calling his name. His family’s stuff is stored respectfully in a vault located on the deepest parts of his personal haunt in the Infinite Realms.

And honestly, he’s doing better. Sure, he’s got a shitty apartment near another revenant’s almost-haunt and he feels like he’s drowning all of the time, but Danny isn’t in danger of turning into Dan, he’s catching up on royal paperwork, and he’s got like a job as a barista. In his own coffee shop that paid for using his parent’s money (who, despite their hazardous everything, made a crap ton of money off of their more normal inventions).

Gotham’s got some pretty interesting local gangs, most of which respected the sanctity of Danny’s cafe. Sure, they tried blowing it up and tried extorting money from him in the form of “protection costs” but after three months of failure, they gave up.

(Really, the local gangs gave up when they saw him take three shotgun shells to the chest and continued to work.) (They didn’t know it never hit him. Intangibility is extremely useful.)

The Rogues, on the other hand, just gave Danny flashbacks. Their gimmicks are different, sure, but after years of Box Ghost, Skuller, Lunch Lady, etc., Danny’s more than done with costumed villains. They don’t bother him either. Some of the reason is probably due to Harley and Ivy, who had walked into the cafe and (because they were bruised and scratched up from a fight) triggered Danny’s mother hen tendencies. They were promptly fed and watered and caffeinated and their hyenas were also similarly taken care of. They declared the cafe under their protection and that was that.

Red Hood stops by, and begins to interrogate him. But when Danny met his… helmet eyes? The crime lord paused, paid for his coffee, and sat in a corner table of the cafe for the rest of the day.

And he kept coming back?

But Danny figures it’s because Hood was a revenant and people who had come close to death tends to feel more comfortable around him.

(Considering this is Gotham where people almost die every other day? Yeah, he’s pretty much friends with everyone. Or at least, less likely to get shot.)

(Hood does stay because of the King’s presence and the Pit calming itself, but also Danny’s hot and he’s got a sleeper build and Hood definitely did not imagine himself in the place of the heavy box he saw Danny lift effortlessly onto a table. No.)

But of course, the peace couldn’t last forever. But by then, Danny was so antsy, he welcomed the trouble with open arms.

It starts with a clown. Danny knows who he is. He knows who Danny is.

So, Danny has no idea why the clown thought it would be a good idea to aggravate the owner of Gotham’s official neutral grounds. See, Clovkwork? Danny’s learned how to gauge his own political importance!

“HAHAHAHAHA! COME OUT, DANNY-BOY! LET ME TELL YOU A JOKE!”

Danny comes out and grabs a chair, and with a flat expression, says, “you’re not funny and I hate clowns.”

And then he swings and slams the chair into the Joker’s face. Over and over again until Danny’s sure the clown won’t get back up. The thing about Gotham’s outdoor chairs is that they’re mad out of steel and are bolted down to the ground to prevent undedicated thieves (dedicated thieves can and will steal the bolted down steel chairs). The Joker’s hired muscle just watched this scrawny twenty-something year old yank the steel chair and take some of the fucking ground and the bolts with it and beat the fuck out of their boss who is the literal Joker.

They surrender on the spot and is taken to jail. Danny just smiles at the officers who come by and since he’s got pretty privilege and they don’t want to mess with the guy who, again, owns one of Gotham’s official neutral ground and also beat up Joker without breaking a sweat, the officers just lets him go with a warning.

And then the bats comes, and wow, Danny’s playing mentor to a formally dead person again!

But before that, the Red Hood asks for an autograph on the Gotham Gazette article with a picture of a tired Danny standing over Joker’s prone body. Then Hood stammers through asking Danny out (which Danny said yes to because he’s tired, not blind, and Hood is built like a brick house and HOT).

Batman interrogates him. Danny, who can tell that this man needs therapy and is Sad TM, tells Bats that Danny’s died before and that’s why he’s like this. He also calls Batman a furry, but like in a nice way. And then he kicks Batman out with a coffee and a file on Nanda Parbat.

Now, Danny’s got a date to prepare for and he realizes that maybe this is what Jazz wanted for him- to be happy and mostly safe and happy. (Or, happier, he thinks. It’s been a long time since he’s been truly happy, but this might be a good start)

#bamf danny phantom #danny phantom #dc x dp #jason todd #Jason takes him to a library and they pick out books for each other #Danny asks him on a second date and they talk about the book over coffee #and then they watch the stars (Danny uses his ghost powers to clear a patch of sky)#but Danny just kind of watches Jason’s face and goes yeah this is just as good #Danny dngasf #Danny will throw hands with a clown #Danny thinks the Gotham Rogues are kinda cute #with their gimmicks #unimpressed bc they’re kind of obvious #and he’s seen worse and better #danny is Gotham’s Mom Friend

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ghostfacd · 6 months

Text

I BET ON LOSING DOGS.

pairing: young!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

PART TWO

summary: you were the epitome of sunshine, and coriolanus? he was like the storm, the rain, and the everything in between.

warnings: SPOILERS from the movie & book, SMUT (protected cause we wrap it before we tap it! p in v), losing virginities to each other, snow (cause he himself needs a warning), toxic relationship, coriolanus is only in it for himself, mentions of losing virginity, you practically giving everything to snow and getting zero in return

author’s note: erm this is kinda long idek where tf i was going with this, first time writing smut on this account LOL so it might be bad. also this isn’t proofread so there might be mistakes, just ignore! as always, reblogs and comments are so greatly appreciated, enjoy reading + kisses 💓

You were the epitome of the sun itself, the sparkle, the light, and most importantly, the brightness. Despite being filthy rich, you were still that sweet sunshine Y/N everyone grown to love, the heir to the Cicero family.

Coriolanus Snow hated that about you. Not only were you everything he was not, but you lived such a lavish and easy lifestyle that it made him sick. Why was he stuck eating cabbage while you were off eating the finest thin slices of meat in the Capitol made by your chefs? It wasn’t fair, it just simply wasn’t.

“Well, Coryo!” Your sickeningly sweet voice fills his ears like a mantra.

He turns around, a smirk plays on his face. “My Y/N.”

Hearing him call you his made your heart flutter. You loop your arm through his, passing through the other academy students who were engrossed in their conversations

“Finally the star pupil.” Arachne Crane says, a glass of posca in her hand. “Lovely shirt you’ve got there. What are these cunning buttons? Tesserae?”

He looked at the shirt, shrugging. “Hm? Are they? Must’ve why they reminded me of the maid’s bathroom.”

You held his hands in yours. You knew of Coriolanus’s home life, how he wasn’t so lucky like you to have a gigantic home filled with lovable parents. His mom had died during childbirth, Coryo mentioning to you once how he was supposed to have a little sister. His father—died in the hands of rebels.

“Have you tried this lamb? It's scandalous.” Felix suddenly spoke up, taking a bite of the food that was currently on his plate.

“Didn’t daddy teach you table manners?.” Festus sneered, watching the other boy in disgust.

“Maybe he would have if he wasn’t so busy running the country.” Felix snapped back

Coriolanus took a deep breath in, already feeling overwhelmed by his classmates arguing.

After the announcement of the assigning of mentor to tributes, you could tell Coriolanus was upset. Although he wouldn’t let anyone see, he was visibly anxious and quite frankly, annoyed.

“I mean, cmon, how could it that I got the worst district?” Coriolanus says, head in his hands. “He hates me. He really does.”

“Who hates you Coryo?”

“Dean Highbottom! Isn’t it obvious?” He cries out, hands flinging into the air. You slightly flinch back, never seeing your boyfriend in such state. “He hates me Y/N. He adores you.”

“He doesn’t adore me,” you say, feeling like you were stepping around eggshells talking to Coriolanus.

“He does!” Coriolanus screams in anger, getting up in a hurry.

“Wait, no Coryo, I’m sorry.”

But your words aren’t enough, they’ll never be for Coriolanus Snow, so he walks out without a second thought.

- - -

The next day, Coriolanus apologizes. It’s a breathy, quick 5 second apology, but you being so you—accepted it without a second thought.

You loved Coriolanus, so it didn’t matter how much he hurt you.

“I’ll make it up to you tonight,” he says, placing a soft kiss on your lips.

You felt quite excited, you and your boyfriend hadn’t exactly gotten to that stage in your relationship, so thinking about sharing an intimate moment with him filled you with giddiness.

His tip had entered carefully through your folds, making you slightly wince as it bullied its way to your walls.

“Coryo..” you breathe out hazily, doe eyes coming to meet his. He sucked in his breath at the sight, never has he felt anything as good as this.

He tries so hard convincing himself he doesn’t love you. That this—it meant nothing to him. He was just here for your money, your possessions as the only daughter of Cryon and Hermione Cicero. But as he felt your nails claw its way into his back, he lets out a slip, a tiny whimper that makes your head foggy.

He spilled into the condom, pulling out with a hiss. Although you told him you were clean, and it was fine if he didn’t wear one, he simply couldn’t risk it. He wasn’t going to accidentally bring in a child into the world, having no intentions of taking care of anyone besides himself—maybe Tigris, and his Grandma’am.

“I love you,” you say quietly as you sat up, watching him discard the plastic into your trash bin.

“I’m hungry, aren’t you?” He says, putting his shirt on. It kinds of pains you at his total ignorance of the intimate words you just shared, but you nod your head.

“I could use some food,” is all you say, putting on your pajamas from earlier. “What’re hungry for Coryo? I’ll ask the chef.”

- - -

Dr. Gaul and Dean Highbottom had allowed all the mentors and their tributes roam the arena for about 15 minutes, letting them think of ways to win the game.

You were talking to Bobbin, a boy from District 7 whom you’ve had become closer with these past few days.

Suddenly, the loud scream of Felix catches your attention and before you knew it, loud bombs filled the air as tall lights fell to the ground near you.

“CORYO!” You scream, coughing loudly at the dust filling your lungs.

“Quick Y/N, we don’t have time!” Sejanus screams, grabbing ahold of your hand.

“But Coryo—”

Meanwhile, a tall pole had crushed Coriolanus’s arms.

Well, he thought, this was it.

This was how he was going to die. His girlfriend and best friend hand in hand as they ran out of the arena, the sickening feeling of betrayal filled his guts.

“What’re you doing?!” One of the tributes screamed at Lucy Gray, who was struggling to get the giant metal off Coriolanus’s arm. “Run while you can you idiot!”

But she doesn’t bother, only focusing on getting Coriolanus out. And she does, successfully, before all went black.

- - -

“Coryo? Oh Coryo!” You say, hugging him softly to ensure you weren’t hurting him.

You had felt so guilty after everything had happened. You should’ve never ran off with Sejanus, Coriolanus was your boyfriend, you should’ve saved him.

“Is Lucy Gray okay?” Is the first thing he croaks out, which makes your heart slightly crack.

“She’s—she’s okay Coryo.” You say, brushing a few blonde curls out of his eyes.

“And where were you?” He says, gaze slowly turning into anger. “I was going to die, Y/N.”

“I know! I was going to—”

He cut you off. “But you didn’t, now did you?”

His bitterness towards you makes you want to cry, tears already forming at your lash line.

“Oh now you’re crying?” It seemed like everything you did seemed of inconvenience to Coriolanus, but he opens his arms, letting you reside in them as you let out a few tears. “Always the crybaby, Y/N.” He says, hand holding your head as you buried your face into his chest.

- - -

Coriolanus Snow never believed in love. Not when he used to look at his mother and father when they were still alive, and not when he found himself a girlfriend, you.

Your relationship was merely another step stone towards success, Coriolanus viewed it. You were the heir of your family, you had countless amounts of money, and you were easily fooled by his advances. To Coriolanus, he had hit the jackpot, regardless of loving you or not.

So why did he feel so weird watching you interact with Sejanus? Sure, he considered the former district 2 boy his best friend, but it was only because Clemensia had been spending time at the hospital. The flu, Dr. Gaul described it; but Snow knew better. He was there when she had gotten bit by the snakes, and to be completely honest, if she hadn’t, he’d probably have dated her instead of you.

Clemensia Dovecote was way more smart, and he knew he wouldn’t fall inlove because they were both after the same thing. Power.

But with you, you were head over heels for Coriolanus. It almost made him sick, if it weren’t for your family name.

He clenched his jaw as he saw you throw your head back, hitting Sejanus’s shoulder as you hysterically laughed at something he had said.

What was so funny? Nothing was funny in the Capitol, not now. Maybe he was bitter, he should’ve never cheated in the games. It was stupid, and now he was getting the punishment of getting sent to 12 as a peacekeeper for 20 years.

Fuck, he really shouldn’t have cheated. And now he couldn’t even use his girlfriend’s family name as a way out.

He really should’ve known better. He knew you loved him, but he didn’t think you’d love him so much so that you begged your father to let you stay in 12 for a while to be with Coriolanus.

If there’s one thing about you—it’s that you’re a Daddy’s girl by heart, and of course, your father had once again served your request with a silver spoon. He hated that about you. He hated it. You got things too damn easily.

“Hi Coryo!” You say, making your way to him. Your beautiful sundress made him gulp, and he wanted nothing more but to snatch you away, pulling it off so he could get inside of you. But he couldn’t—he was in 12, much to his dismay.

“Y/N,” he says, placing his peacekeeper gun to the back. “Talking to the scums?”

“They’re just people from the district,” you say, frowning at his rudeness. “They’re nice, Coryo. Real nice, you’d like some of them.”

Coriolanus scoffs at that. How oblivious and stupid you were. Him, Coriolanus Snow, liking some of the district 12 citizens? What a fucking joke.

“Go along now Y/N, I’ll see you later.”

You nod, giving him a sloppy kiss on the cheek before you left, leaving the other peacekeepers to whistle at Coriolanus who only responds with an eye roll.

When later eventually comes, he was packing away the Jabberjays in their metal cages, Sejanus being right next to him.

“I saw you earlier,” Coriolanus says nonchalantly, “talking to that woman in the window. What are you playing at Sejanus?”

Sejanus scoffs, shaking his head. “They’re gonna escape Corio. Leave the districts. And I’ll be helping them.”

Coriolanus sucks in a breath, “is Y/N all in this too?”

God, he hoped Sejanus said no. But then again, it’d give him an advantage if he had said yes.

“She is,” Sejanus says, continuing to tell Coriolanus of the plan.

Without Sejanus knowing, Coriolanus had tuned the jabberjay so it could record back the whole conversation. When Sejanus finally leaves, Coriolanus sneaks to where the train bringing the birds back to the Capitol stood, placing the jabberjay in it to send it to Dr. Gaul.

If anything, Sejanus was a blocking point in Coriolanus’s way, and getting rid of him and you were like killing two birds with one stone.

- - -

The next day came and you were peacefully talking to one of the younger girls in the district when you’re suddenly pulled away along with Sejanus.

“Hey! What the hell!” You scream, thrashing in the unfamiliar peacekeeper’s hold. “Get off me!”

You and Sejanus struggle, and Coriolanus almost wants to step in and get you out of his fellow peacekeeper’s arms. Almost.

“Coryo! Tell them they’ve been mistaken!” You cry out, locking eyes with your so called lover.

“You two have been charged with treason towards the Capitol.” The peacekeeper says, his cold gaze and strong hold on you makes you let out a whimper.

“Treason?” You say, “there has to be a mistake! Call my father! Call my father!”

“I’m afraid your father can’t get you out of this one, Miss. Cicero.”

He drags you and Sejanus up the main stage of the district. “Everyone! Pay attention! This is what will happen if you are disloyal to the Capitol!”

Another peacekeeper points a gun behind Sejanus’s back as the peacekeeper who was holding you earlier pokes your back with the cold metal. You felt terrified gazes of the citizens of District 12, including Lucy Gray, stare at you.

“CORYO! TELL THEM!” You scream, begging with your eyes. “Coryo, please. Please.”

But Coriolanus Snow stands still in his spot, not budging a thing.

You thought he had loved you—or at least, cared for you. You gave him shelter when he was at his worst, you gave him your virginity, you held him when he cried about how unfair Dean Highbottom was, you let him into your home, and you always were there for him. You practically did everything for Coriolanus Snow. And what did you get? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

“Your Coryo won’t save you.” The peacekeeper snarls, before firing the gun.

Two gunshots go off, and the body of yours and Sejanus fall to the ground in an instant.

Coriolanus Snow almost wants to barf, his eyes closed for a minute before reopening them again.

Had it really been worth it? Ratting you and Sejanus out so he could get home to the Capitol faster?

He thinks so when your family and the Plinths give him their fortune as a thank you for being such a good boyfriend and friend towards their son and daughter.

If only they knew, though. But Coriolanus would never let that happen, because no matter what, Snow lands on top.

And this? It was just the beginning.

#coriolanus is so mitski coded if he wasn’t a launtic #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow #hunger games x reader #the hunger games x reader #ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow imagine

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theveryworstthing · 3 months

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"Welcome! I'm glad to see that we still have people interested in volunteering. We have 6 positions open this Riverseason, 3 at each of the base camps. After you fill out your paperwork I'll take you to meet the new Companions and we'll see who you connect with!"

every few years after a heavy rainy season the river swells and a lush, high, patch of forest grows around its fattened middle in a matter of days. during this time strange Creatures emerge to nest in the surrounding area, which is seemingly a safer place to rear young than the forest, and then migrate back when the river begins to lower in a few months. neither the creatures nor the Townsfolk know why the forest appears or what exactly is going on with the river but they learned long ago to (mostly) live in peace.

while the forest makes most people uneasy, some are very eager (maybe too eager) to explore it. this includes some young Creatures who seem equally compelled to Enter. experience says that mixed teams have a better chance or survival (little guy with Powers + person with thumbs and camping supplies is a pretty good combo even if communication can be rough sometimes) and so that is how the scouting trips operate. scouts start at either upriver or downriver base camps just outside the forest and try to follow the river the entire way to avoid getting lost.

it is so easy to get lost.

most people lose sight of the other scouting teams about half a mile in even though they're all following the same river and going in the same direction. best case scenario is that you make new discoveries, map out a few things, and make it out the other side in way more time than it should really take to walk to the other side. worst case is you can't find your way out before the river starts to dry up and you hope the rain is heavy next year.

pictured above are the little Companions ready to hike in with someone this season. you will only learn their names if you connect with one, but in loose power typing terms we've got:

a prophesy type (omens good and bad. tea leaves, smoke, tiny bones)

a wander type (never settled and never has to be. a shifter of sorts)

a fungal type (more than it seems. eager for friendship)

a celestial type (looking into the void. navigating by starlight)

a dirt type (grounded and persistent. a terror to terrors)

and a sylph type (the air in your lungs. the invisible belief)

which Companion will you choose? what name comes to you when they choose you back?

#body horror #monsters #they're just little guys #what if someone gave me a million dollars to make the weirdest pokemon game ever created?#if i actually did this i think the player character would also be non-human. probably make them a goblin.#you shepherd the creature and also you are a creature :)

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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 4 months

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i dream, now, of a normal life with you ; suguru geto

synopsis; suguru isn’t a lightweight. this is your first time actually seeing him drunk — though maybe it shouldn’t come as a surprise that he’d be the sappy kind.

word count; 9.4k (..... i got carried away ok)

contents; suguru geto/reader, gn!reader (shoko calls u "girl" but in a "girl help" way not a gendered way), written w a no curses au in mind, sugu is a sappy emotional drunk i said what i said, sickening amounts of fluff, depictions of intoxication, reader is averse to alcohol, sugu wants to marry u so bad it makes him look silly, lots of emotions & lots of love <33

a/n; this fic has been ROTTING in my drafts for the longest time but its super precious to me and now i finally get to post it!! @softgirlgonehaywire & @hayakawalove ily ty for being interested in sappy!sugu this is a treat for u <33

the bar isn’t all that far off from your apartment.

it’s a short distance, really. walk straight ahead, until you reach the record store that suguru likes to frequent, and then take a right; a minute or two uphill, and then you’ll be able to see the blue of the sea. once you’re there, all that’s left is to look for mellow golden lighting and descend a set of stairs.

which is what you’re currently doing, popsicle in hand, loose clothes and comfortable shoes on as you wallow in the mellow summer evening. everything is blue — the dark shade of the sky, and your ice pop, pastel and sweet, tasting of pure youth. the hoodie you threw on is a rich cobalt, suguru’s in name but yours in spirit. he only wears it when you complain that it doesn’t smell like him anymore.

humming a jolly tune, you take a sharp turn, allowing the summer sensations to curl around your subconscious. blissed out and content.

you were so, so bored — stuck at home with no one to keep you company, no one to mumble snarky commentary about the show playing on tv, no one to run their fingers through your hair while your head rests in their lap. pure torture, really, being faced with the consequences of your own actions. after you stupidly told suguru you’d be okay on your own.

he even asked you twice, just to be sure, even told you that he’d prefer you to join him on his night out. and again, you declined; because it’s been so long since he had some time alone with shoko and satoru, and you were feeling a little tired anyways.

so he gave in. heading out, with a promise to bring back a tub of your favorite ice cream, leaving you with the apartment to yourself. did you come to regret your little white lie? maybe. possibly.

but everything worked out in the end.

a pleasant breeze caresses your skin, brushing against the apple of your cheek, and you watch as peach blossoms dance in a faraway park. cicadas cling to every tree in sight, buzzing a pleasant tune, mingling with the giddy giggles of high school students enjoying their summer vacation. it’s been raining for a couple of days; you can still smell it in the air, feel it in the low tinge of humidity clinging to your skin, still hear suguru’s insistence that you bring an umbrella with you to work — just in case.

but today, the skies were clear, and it’s late, not too humid but not too chilly. and the stars are out, glimmering in that fuzzy sea of mellow cerulean, leaking out like little marbles cast into space. falling down, down, down, close enough for you to see. from here, it looks as if they’re waving. you resist the urge to wave back.

peace. bliss. a nostalgia so vibrant you could drown in it, feel it lick at your ankles like soft sea foam.

eager to scratch a certain itch in your brain, attention span zipping from one street vendor to the pop music blasting from a couple streets away, you take your phone out from your pocket. absently scrolling through your messages, until you get to the ones shoko sent you just ten minutes ago. the ones that brought you out here, into a summer evening soon to slip into nightfall, ones that have you walking to the bar you chose not to join them at.

messages that still have you pushing back a bout of giggles, chewing lazily on your ramune ice pop with a giddy smile.

sho 🚬: come get ur man sho 🚬: he’s drunk. sho 🚬: like DRUNK drunk

you: …… um. you: what happened to hi? hello?? good evening???

sho 🚬: no time for that. look sho 🚬: [ image ] sho 🚬: he looks so goofy lol

unable to resist the temptation, you press the pad of your finger against the screen — opening the image attachment, just to drink in the sight once again. what you see is a certain man, slumped over in his seat, cheek smooshed against the wooden table in front of him. messy hair, no longer tied into a bun, cascading down his shoulders and back. from the little you can see of his face, his skin is flushed a light pink, and his eyes are closed, fingers still curled around an empty beer jug.

like a sleepy puppy.

a coo tiptoes on your tongue, but you bite down on your lip in an effort to stop it, just grinning at your screen with pure adoration in your lovesick eyes.

he’s drunk, alright. an unfamiliar sight, but not at all unwelcome. because he’s cute, terribly so, so cute that it hurts, even when he’s obviously wasted. it’s almost funny — you know their drinking habits. shoko holds her liquor so well that it’s a little horrifying, and satoru can get wasted if he has more than a sip of it. and suguru?

suguru never gets drunk. he barely even drinks. out of consideration for satoru, maybe, or you. probably both. that’s just how he is; you thought he hated fish for years, because he was always so eager to give you the best bites of the sushi rolls you ordered. turns out he was just indulging you.

so, to be frank — the idea of him suddenly being drunk is a little bit of a shocker. but it’s also kind of exciting, in a ridiculous way. new, fun, just what you need when you’re bored out of your mind.

(or maybe you’re just happy to have an excuse to go see him.)

you: NOOOO you: MY BABY 😭😭😭 you: what did u guys DO to him???

sho 🚬: satoru and him made a bet 😐 you know how they are sho 🚬: he drank like a divorced mother of four ive never seen something so beautiful

you: …. you: have i told you that you’re both terrible

sho 🚬: u love us <33 sho 🚬: anyway he’s been asking me where u are for the past ten minutes pls come i can’t stand him sho 🚬: he’s crying.

you: HUH???????? you: WHY????????????????

sho 🚬: dude i dont know sho 🚬: please come get him he’s being so sappy that satoru’s abt to throw up

you: ???? okok 😭 you: im omw ig??

sho 🚬: girl hurry he just told me he genuinely appreciates my presence in his life 😐

an exhale — laced with deep amusement — drops from your lips and spills into the summer air. it tastes like a memory from long ago.

slipping your phone back into your pocket, you raise your gaze, searching for a glimmer of goldish light. soaking up the scent of the ocean, sparkling on the border of your peripheral. salty and sweet.

no matter how hard you try, all you can think of is that certain someone, waiting for you to pick him up. your mind keeps drifting back to the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs, the way his hair falls over his face when he leans down, the sound he makes when he stretches in the morning.

you want to see him. badly. you want him near, want to feel the familiar warmth of his presence, want to see him smile and laugh and sigh and raise his eyebrow at your antics.

so there isn’t any time to waste. you’re walking towards that familiar set of stairs before you know it, shoes hitting the asphalt with a mantra of satisfying thuds.

and when you step in through the opened door, you’re immediately engulfed by a sense of overflowing comfort. mellow, warm lights, the soft buzzing of static from an old radio, low citypop beats trailing through the air. the bartender by the counter gives you a curt nod in greeting, before motioning towards a certain table. it’s over in the corner, covered in beer jugs and fancy glasses, with three beauties seated around it.

satoru notices you first.

a bright grin finds its way onto his face, and he waves you over giddily, happily. barely contained excitement in the motion. shoko’s gaze follows his, flitting over to meet yours — and you think she mouths an oh, thank god, before taking another sip from her glass. she brings a hand up in greeting when you come closer, and you can’t see her smile, but there’s a crinkle to her eyes; a warmth in them that you’d never miss.

”hey, guys.”

”yo!” satoru chirps, beaming in a way that’s so distinctly him it makes you soften. he looks so comfortable in his seat, with a cocktail you know is non-alcoholic and probably too sweet for anyone but him to stomach. giggling to himself, leaning over to poke suguru’s cheek, with a teasing declaration of your chaperone is here!

and there he is.

the man you came here for, still slumped over in his seat, unresponsive. not for long. as the lilt of your voice reaches his ears, his eyes flutter open, in a bout of recognition — even in the drunken state he’s in. an immediate sensation of familiarity creeps into his veins, rousing him from his cozy, half-asleep stupor.

he doesn’t even grumble over the way satoru keeps poking at his cheek, interest and attention focused solely on a certain someone. you, your presence.

and when your eyes meet his, he lights up.

it’s precious, you think, how his eyes widen, blooming with genuine affection, so endearing you could kiss him right then and there. his face is flushed, and his hair is tousled, and the warm lighting of the bar paints him in a golden hue. so perfect for him, your star in the sky.

a smile spreads across his lips, big and happy and warm, and you can’t help but mirror it.

(gosh, he’s cute.)

with a dizzy kind of eagerness, suguru sits up, palms flush against the table to support his weight. he stumbles out of his seat, paying no heed to satoru’s amused huff of careful! or the rattling of fragile glass.

it only takes a few uncoordinated steps for him to reach you, where you haphazardly lean against the wall, watching him amusedly. that delighted smile never leaves his lips, as his arms go to curl around your waist, big and heavy, his jaw finding its rightful place on the curve of your shoulder.

”baby,” he drawls, fond and affectionate. breathing you in. ”sweetheart. my angel.”

a flustered puff of laughter slips from your lips, stumbling a little under his weight. his voice is syrupy sweet, overflowing with love and adoration, soft in a way that has your knees buckling. a little raspy. murmured right into your ear, sending pleasant shivers down your spine.

he’s too sweet for you to handle, really, even sweeter than satoru’s overpriced cocktail. and he smells the same as always; a blend between coffee grounds, cigarette smoke and rain, one that never fails to soothe you. even when it’s tangled up with a vague but vivid stench of alcohol, courtesy of the drinking he’s been doing until now.

you crinkle your nose, but don’t let go of him, nuzzling your cheek against the side of his head. words buzzing with warmth. ”hey, sugu.”

suguru only squeezes you tighter, content to have you in his arms. finally, his world makes sense again. all he can do is bask in your voice, warmth, scent — he’s just so enamored by it all. almost in a trance, heartstrings dancing along to the beat of your presence, your very existence, that appears to him as something almost angelic. soft and familiar, something that feels right at home when it’s tucked into his embrace. where he can keep it safe.

”missed you…” he murmurs, sleepy, smearing an open mouthed kiss against the crook of your neck. ”i love you s’much…”

a chuckle. ”i love you too,” you echo, running a steady hand over his back. your voice is laced with something teasing, but awfully fond. ”you really are drunk, aren’t you?”

”mm…” he only hums, cheek pressed flush against your soft skin. ”’m sorry…” he mumbles, stifling a yawn. he sounds a little guilty, and it makes you want to coo. pull his cheek a little.

instead, you laugh. amusement vowen into the bubbly noise. ”it’s fine, sugu. c’mon — let’s go home, alright?”

at that, satoru visibly reacts, placing his glass on the table with a soft clink before getting up to stretch. he grabs suguru’s discarded jacket, letting it hang off his arm as he walks over to the two of you.

”i’ll help you carry him,” he smiles, always so dependable. so ready to be of service. maybe a little too eager to carry suguru around like a sack of potatoes.

a smile blooms on your face, and satoru gives you a playful wink. shoko just leans back in her seat, stretching idly. it feels like home with them there.

”i’ll stay here,” she hums, a faint grin tugging at her lips. ”he’s your problem now.”

”got it.” you meet her lidded eyes, sharing an amused look as satoru tries to coax suguru away from you, pulling at his cheek while he whines and clings to the fabric of your clothing.

finally, he relents, and you look back at the table with a grin. ”see you later, sho’.”

a smile is the only response you get, but it’s enough. it’s her, the same as always, still sipping from a glass of expensive whiskey and raising her hand in a silent see you. relaxed and cool, and so very lovely.

with one arm over satoru’s shoulder and the other clinging to your hoodie, suguru stirs.

”shoko…” he groans, craning his head to look back at her, even as satoru makes a move to leave. ”don’t drink too much. and watch out for strangers…”

he trails off, blinking drowsily, a protective tone to his voice. worried. awfully like him. neither you nor satoru can resist the chuckle you indulge in, but shoko just rolls her hazel eyes.

”i don’t need to hear that from you,” she scoffs, tinged with amusement and what you’re almost certain is embarrassment. there’s a fondness to her snark, one you’d never miss.

(shoko will always be shoko. you know that she appreciates suguru’s concern, even if she doesn’t want to show it.)

”alright, c’mon,” satoru quips, slapping suguru’s back with a grin. ”there, there, big guy. let’s get you home, hm?”

just as you suspected, he doesn’t let you help, doing all the heavy lifting on his own. not breaking a single sweat, flaunting his strength as he hoists suguru up the steps — while you do nothing but follow, a light jacket hanging off your arm.

cold midnight air embraces you, slathering your cheeks with the essence of summer as your shoes meet the asphalt. satoru smiles, a low exhale escaping him, dusting off his hands. ”there we go.”

suguru stumbles towards you, no longer caged in, slumping against your shoulder with a satisfied sigh. blinking slowly, as you link arms, his muddled senses adjusting to the outside world. a pleasantly blue sky, a sun long set, and a string of lamp posts to light up the street ahead of you. artificial fireflies, watching over the town you love so dearly.

you part your lips, and a soft exhale slips out, dripping with fondness. ”thanks, satoru,” you smile, meeting his gaze.

”don’t mention it,” he waves you off, but you know he appreciates it; always eager to be praised. ”can you bring him back by yourself?”

”yeah, we’ll be fine. it’s close, anyway. don’t worry.”

a hum buzzes in his throat, and his cobalt gaze drifts upwards, to bask in the starry sky. a moment passes, and then he’s looking back at you and suguru; a soft and earnest smile playing at his lips. so sincere you want to reach out, cup his cheek, make sure he knows how loved he is.

”i’ll go back to shoko, then,” he chirps. bubbly and graceful, giddy and playful. always so lovely. ”gotta make sure she stays out of trouble.”

a chuckle. you mirror his smile. ”of course.”

and with that, your precious best friend makes a move to return to the bar, taking a decisive step away from you. before he can get too far, though, a certain hand reaches out to hold onto his sleeve — keeping him still.

satoru turns around. blinking once, then twice, in confusion; faced with none other than suguru, still slumped against you. a little out of it, sleepy and disoriented, yawning quietly, but his eyes are as clear as ever. caring and sentimental.

his gaze cuts to the bone of things. it’s something you’ve grown used to.

”thanks, satoru,” he murmurs, letting go of said man’s shirt. the words that spill from his lips are straightforward, a little tactless, but overflowing with earnest appreciation. ”you’re my best friend.”

a moment passes. the stars burn in silence.

satoru blinks.

then he sighs, with what you know is nothing more than feigned annoyance. masking his embarrassment, the same way shoko did, the same way suguru always does. your repressed, beloved little losers.

”yeah, yeah. i got it,” he pats suguru’s shoulder, once, twice. not looking at him. ”you’re such a sap, you know that? geez.”

a grin crawls up to rest on your lips, fresh mischief blooming in your eyes. ”not gonna call him your best friend back?” you tease, a soft tilt of your head.

satoru gives you a glare, playful, one you can’t physically see from behind his shades but still somehow sense. ”don’t add fuel to the fire,” he grins, with a halfhearted flick to your forehead.

before you can bicker further, suguru yawns, loudly, closing his eyes and nuzzling into you. you share an amused look with satoru, until he shakes his head fondly.

”take care of him, alright?”

”i will. you guys have fun!”

and at last, satoru turns on his heel, coupled with a smile and a lazy wave. but suguru calls out to him once more, unwilling to part ways without saying his piece. so sentimental, so loving it comes to him like breathing.

”bye-bye, satoru,” he slurs, voice loud enough for the entire street to hear, tired and honest. raising his arm in a lazy wave. ”i love you!”

”go home already!” satoru shouts, descending down the steps with a flush to his cheeks that you’ll tease him for later. his soft laughter is carried away by the breeze, sweet and saccharine.

(satoru will always be satoru. you know that he loves suguru back, even if he doesn’t want to say it out loud.)

with a faint chuckle, melting into the summer air, you tug on suguru’s arm. ”alright,” you chirp, looking up at him. ”let’s go!”

he seems a little more awake now, at least, trying to match your steps. meanwhile, you do what you can to support his weight; he’s stumbling a bit, but you don’t mind. if anything, his weight is a comfort, your arms linked together like a lucky charm. a safe harbour.

suguru is acting kind of like a big puppy, gazing at you with hearts in his eyes. a little meek, clinging to you, trailing after you pliantly. he’s a little dizzy, still, and he needs you to get back home in one piece. it makes you puff out your chest, stand up straighter. makes you feel protective of your 6’2 boyfriend, all toned muscle and broad shoulders, the personification of scary dog privilege. but he needs you right now.

a soft bout of laughter spills into the air, as you try to ignore his heavy stare. it’s impossible, though — so you turn your gaze to meet his own, and he practically glows under the sound of your giggles, that cheeky smile you’re wearing. ”you okay, suguru?”

his eyes soften. silently, he runs a thumb over the knots of your knuckle, smoothing down your skin, thick fingers intertwined with yours.

he looks deep into your eyes, and a soft hum of affirmation buzzes in his throat.

”i’m just so happy,” he grins, with a sincerity that has your heart doing flips inside your ribcage. it flutters, flutters, flutters, in the wake of his unbridled joy. it buzzes like it wants to break out.

suguru has this dreamy look on his face, one you can do nothing but admire, painted over with fluorescent moonlight and pure summer bliss. one that reminds you a little of high school rooftops, midnight road trips, what it means to be in love.

you nudge him, softly, with the arm that’s tangled up in his own. tilting your head, teasing words on the tip of your tongue. ”you know, i never took you for a sappy drunk.”

suguru's only response is a cute little mmrn, steps heavy as he leans on you for support. trying his best to carry himself, not wanting to inconvenience you, but it’s just a little tough. especially when he feels this soft, this grateful — this blessed.

a giddy, dreamy smile tugs at his lips. his amber gaze travels up, towards the little pale dots of star clusters all across the night sky, gleaming like milk poured over rich coffee. then he exhales; a soft, blissful little sound. ”i’m so lucky.”

a moment passes, silently. in the distance, cicadas buzz. with a patient smile, you admire him, the reflection of starlight in his eyes. suguru has this forlorn look, etched into his expression, like he’s seeing something that isn’t quite there.

”i have satoru and shoko…” he mumbles, just loud enough for you to hear. as if he’s tasting the words on his tongue, as if he can’t quite believe them himself. that’s how lucky he feels, sometimes.

a nod. ”they love you a bunch, you know?”

(they do. they’re both horrible at saying it out loud, but you know they do. you know that they love suguru, just as much as he loves them, even if none of them are good at putting it into words. perhaps they don’t really even need to, in the first place.)

suguru mirrors the soft nod of your head, bangs falling over his eyes as he does. ”and i love them, too.” his smile grows. ”they’re my best friends.”

absently, you reach a hand out, brushing away the strands of hair obscuring his vision. and suguru stirs, his gaze shifting until it falls on you. like a moth to a flame. there’s something indescribable in his eyes, soft and heavy and tender and true.

”— and i have you.”

a stutter of your heartbeat, a jolt throughout your chest. his stare almost burns, but you can’t avert your gaze — suguru looks positively lovesick. admiring you with a dreamy gaze, as if he can’t believe you’re real.

he reaches a hand out; cradling your face with one big palm, the rough pads of his fingers smoothing down your skin so very gently. smearing his fondness from your jaw to your cheekbone, so loving your breath hitches in the back of your throat.

a soft, content sigh spills into the air, like a prayer that doesn’t need any words. his smile is serene.

”my angel.”

as the words fall, that peaceful smile of his changes shape, shifting into a big, giddy grin. it lights up his whole face. a chuckle leaves his lips, content and delighted. ”i’m the luckiest guy in the world.”

and for a moment, you fear that your heart will stop beating entirely. frozen, listening to the lullaby of your heartbeat resounding in your ears.

suguru has always been frighteningly good at flustering you — but isn’t this a little unfair? you clear your throat, hoping to regain some composure. it’s tough, though. your words could never measure up to his, could never flow as freely, but they’re honest. wholly and thoroughly. and maybe that’s enough.

”we’re the luckiest in the world, too, then,” you echo, smiling, words barely above a whisper. willing yourself to meet his gaze. ”since we have you.”

suguru looks into your eyes. there’s starlight inside them, he thinks, shining brightly, gleaming in the dark. with the hazy filter of intoxication clouding his mind, it’s all he can think. you’re his northern star, his lighthouse. his one and only saving grace.

(you’re so, so pretty.)

a pause. after a silent moment, spent etching your features into his retinas, suguru tilts his head. his expression is unreadable.

— he boops your nose.

you blink. once, twice, caught entirely off guard; and suguru giggles. soft, giddy little breaths falling from his lips like marbles, strewn over the sand of a warm beach. his eyes are crinkled at the edges, and his smile is sweet, meeting your surprised gaze with a honeyed coo. ”you’re so cute, baby.”

silence. you look up at him.

then you sigh, exasperated, more flustered than you’d like to admit. god. okay, he’s really out of it. for some reason, you still thought you could get a good one-liner in, but of course he had to ruin that by being a little tease.

you grab onto his bicep. gaze fixed straight ahead, giving it a tug. your steps are more decisive now, and suguru follows you happily. ”alright, alright. c’mon,” you beckon, slightly gruff. ”we’re almost there.”

when you finally reach the familiar front door of your apartment, you exhale a deep sigh, laced with pure relief. limbs tired from dragging suguru up the stairs, mind muddled and sleepy and senses practically engulfed by a man still clinging to you like his life depends on it.

after fumbling with your keys and hearing the click of the lock, you take a victorious step over the threshold, and a familiar scent greets you. soothing, comforting, a blend between fresh laundry and leftover curry and blooming hydrangeas. filling your senses with a fervent kind of bliss. of course, suguru’s does the same; intimately intertwined with the scent of home. that everlasting, never-changing blend.

with him clinging to you like this, it’s almost suffocating — but you truly don’t mind. suguru’s warm, and sweet, and being close to him like this makes you feel at peace. his hands rest on your hips, his jaw on your shoulder, and he adamantly refuses to let go of you for even a second. it’d be annoying if he wasn’t so cute, if he wasn’t suguru geto, if you weren’t so horrendously weak for him.

what you don’t know is that suguru has an agenda. one that isn’t just i want to hug the love of my life, although partially that as well. suguru has a plan, one he’s been absentmindedly dreaming of for the past five minutes; he’s a man on a mission.

but he’s patient. always has been, always for you. so he waits, and waits, for you to hang his jacket up, for you to kick your shoes off your feet. and when you’re finally, finally finished, suguru leans in to kiss you.

— you block his mouth with the palm of your hand.

a moment passes. silent, almost tense. in his stupor, suguru’s mind can’t quite seem to comprehend the situation before him; he doesn’t understand why he isn’t pressing a kiss to your lips, right now, why he’s kissing the skin of your palm. he doesn’t understand why you look so troubled, a faint guilt simmering in your eyes. he just doesn’t understand.

all he can do is blink, dumbly, surprised. a question written on his features clear as day.

”well, it’s just…” you sputter, sheepishly. avoiding his gaze, a little guilty. ”you know. since you’ve been drinking, and all…”

and it hurts, you think. it hurts a lot more than it should. it hurts to reject him, hurts to see the way he deflates at your clarification. like a big kicked puppy. like you just threatened to throw him out into the street.

suguru removes your hand, gently, holding it in his own as he speaks. those amber eyes are downcast, and a soft pout rests on his lips. the sight alone feels like a dagger to your chest.

”but…” he frowns, voice awfully meek. he looks so sad. ”i wanna kiss you…”

a soft sigh leaves your lips, before you can think to hold it in. oh, he’s being so unfair. guilt clings to your mind, an itch you yearn to scratch, and all you want is to kiss his pout away. but you really, really don’t want to kiss his alcohol-soaked lips.

so you settle for the second best option.

”’m sorry, sugu,” you coo, reaching a hand out to cradle his cheek. he leans into your touch, still pouting, and you tug a little at his bottom lip. wasting no time in closing the narrow distance between you.

the kisses you press against his skin are soft. peppering kisses all across his face; ghosting your lips along his jaw, trailing towards his cheekbones, and settling on his forehead. tiny little pecks, wherever you can reach. your voice is soft, muffled into his skin between butterfly kisses. ”tomorrow, okay?”

and suguru seems to brighten up a little, melting under the contact, exhaling in pure bliss. he fervently returns the treatment, planting open mouthed kisses all over your face, respecting your wishes and avoiding your lips. they’re a little sloppy, but you don’t mind.

it does make you a little flustered, though. with his palms cradling your face, engulfing you, there’s nothing you can do except drown in his affection, the love he showers you with. it tickles — and suguru’s smile only grows, at the sound of your soft giggles. his cheeks are starting to hurt.

the state he’s in is just a little bit hazy. despite his initial dejection, he no longer minds that he can’t feel your lips against his, disappointment warded off by your smile and laughter alone. he thinks you’re so, so cute, and all he wants is to kiss you forever.

but you have other plans.

and before you know it, you’re both curled up in bed, limbs all tangled up beneath the blankets, bodies pressed together as suguru cages you in. he squeezes you tightly, hugging you close, practically melting into you. usually, it’d be so easy to fall asleep like this. with suguru cradling you, covering your body with his own, warm and safe. he’s like a furnace.

but right now, it’s a little tough. you’re kept awake by open mouthed, ticklish kisses pressed against your skin, supplied by the love of your life. it’s sweet, but he’s being far too distracting — as soon as your consciousness begins to fade into the fuzzy realm of sleep, he leaves a sloppy kiss against your collarbone, and you’re jolted awake once more.

”suguuu,” you whine, dragging his name out with childish inclination. ”we need to sleep…”

”sorry,” he only murmurs, muffled into your skin. he doesn’t stop, though, planting a wet smooch on your cheek, and then another. you squirm a little in his hold, and he emits a shaky breath. ”jus’ love you so much…”

suguru knows that he needs to stop. he knows that both of you need to sleep, that you need to rest up. that he needs to recover from the intoxicated state he’s fully aware that he’s in — but he just can’t seem to follow through with it. every cell in his body burns with a certain desire, a need to shower you in love, and it’s unendurable. with every kiss, every giggle he manages to pull from your lips, suguru’s heart fills up just a little more.

your presence surrounds him, like a weighted blanket, and he clings to it with a desperation he never knew before you.

in the midst of his feverish consciousness, you’re all his muddled mind can think about. the way you fit together with him like a puzzle piece, like he was formed in the shape of someone meant to hold you. like you were formed in the shape of his embrace. with you pressed up against him, limbs tangled with his, everything feels so right.

but it’s so overwhelming.

you’re so, so close, so close he’s practically engulfed by your scent, your touch, everything that makes his heart burn with devotion. it’s beating so viscerally in his ribcage, stirring the protective instinct inside him; he just wants you to stay close, by his side, wants to keep you safe and happy. wants to make you feel loved.

suguru’s heart feels wet and raw and bare, fully exposed for you to see. beating just for you.

with the alcohol inside his veins, and the nostalgia of the summer evening on his mind, everything weighs on him just a little too heavily. everything feels just a little too much. every sensation, every emotion, every sappy thought. all of it together is almost too much for him to handle.

all he can think of is you. how lucky he is, to have met you, to have gotten to know you. how much you’ve changed him, changed him for the better, how much of him is directly tied to your existence.

suguru never truly appreciated his name until you came into his life. it was always no more than a simple fact, a gift from his parents that he hadn’t asked for. something natural, that he didn’t question, didn’t think about.

but you say his name with such warmth.

he wants to hear you say it, over and over again, forever. suguru — in that sweet, lovely voice of yours. better yet, just sugu, a cutesy, silly nickname he could never bring himself to actually hate. he just wants to hear you call out to him, with that warmth of yours, the one that never fails to soothe him. no matter how tired he is, how stressed. how much everything else weighs down on him.

at the end of the day, he’s simply your sugu. and that’s all he ever really wants to be.

with a hazy filter clouding his senses, coaxing him into closing his eyes, suguru should give in. he should fall asleep, let you fall asleep. but he can’t bring himself to stop thinking about it; he just loves you so wholly. who you are, what you do. as an equal, an individual, a little galaxy tucked into a body made of flesh and blood. no matter what you’re doing, no matter where you are.

and right now, you’re here, with him. curled up in bed, in your shared apartment, inhaling the same air, exhaling at the same time. by his side, when you could be anywhere else in the world.

his heart is yours. that’s all suguru can bring himself to think, the only coherent thought he can cling to and echo in his head. his heart is yours. forever and ever.

he makes no attempt to stop the tears from pooling in his eyes, even as he feels them cling to his lashes, even as his breathing clogs up in the back of his throat. they’re proof of his devotion, his carefully nurtured love. growing over the years, into something almost sacred, a kind of faith. something so fervent he wouldn’t dare deny himself of feeling it.

he can’t hold in a faint sniffle, either, just barely audible. one that breaks your heart in two. it aches, aches, aches. suguru is gazing at you with glassy eyes, a sight you aren’t used to seeing — but he also looks so genuinely glad. his tears aren’t ones of sadness. you know, because you know him.

”aw, honey…” you coo, the pads of your fingers reaching out to cradle his cheek. despite your efforts, your voice wavers when you speak, little more than a whisper. ”don’t cry... you’ll make me cry, too.”

suguru places his larger palm over yours, choking on another sniffle. the sight renders you completely helpless — you want so desperately to stop his tears from falling, but a part of you is too touched to speak. too mesmerized by how beautiful he is, translucent tears illuminated by softly flickering moonrays, lashes glimmering like shooting stars.

all you can do is smooth a thumb right under his eye, wiping away a stray tear with enough tenderness to stitch his heart back together. suguru emits a shaky breath.

”’m sorry,” he sniffles, closing his eyes. nuzzling into the crook of your neck. ”i’m just so happy… love you so much… you mean so, so much to me, i…”

an exhale, a little breathless, tears soaking through the material of the shirt you’re wearing. his shirt. that realization makes him cry even more, a shuddering breath that shatters like glass when it drops from his tongue.

and then, in a voice so quiet you barely hear it, a soft whisper worth a million words:

”i don’t know what i’d do without you.”

and it hurts. your heart aches so sincerely, thorns curling around your ribcage, because suguru is crying, and he’s telling you all this. with such an honest intonation that you don’t dare doubt him, even for a second. heavy thumps of blood rush through your veins; he’s still clinging to you, sniffling into your neck, and you’re so in love with him that you almost can’t comprehend it.

all you can do is press a kiss to his shoulder, chaste and tender, and hug him just a little tighter. echoing his words, in earnest, desperately trying to keep your voice from breaking apart. ”i love you, too. more than anything.” a sigh, full of wonder. little butterfly kisses scattered across the expanse of his neck. ”you mean the world to me. honestly.”

with a smile against his skin, you hope so tenderly that the soft kisses will comfort him, will stop the tears from falling.

”my sweet boy,” you murmur, lovingly, because he is. the sweetest boy you’ll ever know. suguru shudders when you press your lips against his jaw. ”i’m so, so lucky.”

with the combined efforts of your kisses, the alcohol slumbering inside his veins, and the tears running down his cheeks, suguru begins to feel awfully tired. sinking into sleep’s embrace, like a sailor lost at sea. comforted by the glimmer of a lighthouse, just out of reach.

everything feels right. he’s safe, and happy, and in love. so hopelessly, blissfully in love.

the exhaustion creeps up on him, tidal waves embracing a shore, beckoning him into closing his weary eyes. a yawn leaves his lips, and he shifts a little in your hold. you’re smoothing down the back of his head, almost protectively, and sleep is only a flicker away for the both of you. with the last of his strength, suguru snuggles just a little further into you, nose pressed up against your neck, close enough that he feels the flutter of your heartbeat.

”wanna be with you forever,” he murmurs, sleepily, stifling another bout of yawns. his smile is sweet and dreamy. ”gonna marry you one day…”

a moment passes.

for a second, you think your heart does actually cease beating entirely.

swallowing a gulp, you allow yourself the luxury of an inhale — and fresh air fills your lungs. grounding. all you can hear is the rapid beating of your own heart, heavy thumps reverberating in your ears. warmth flows through your entire body.

marry.

the word is spoken so casually, so sincerely, as if he’s said it countless times before. as if he’s repeated it, over and over again in his mind, just to get used to the idea. as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. marriage. something so foreign, so scary, enough to send shivers down every narrow of your skeleton. such a large step to take.

(but suguru says it with such tenderness.)

”… okay,” you whisper, at last. breathless. ”i’ll be waiting, then.”

there’s nothing else to say. you don’t know if suguru is even conscious enough to hear you, let alone understand the full weight of your words, of his own words. but you don’t mind.

a soft smile lingers on your lips, as you stroke his hair, mind hazy and limbs heavy. nuzzling your cheek against the side of his head, full of affection. dripping from your hands down to the column on his throat, through his windpipe, down to his heart.

”goodnight, sugu.” you press a kiss to his messy hair, tender and chaste. ”i love you.”

an incoherent mutter leaves his lips, in response, one you can’t quite make out — but you don’t need to. because you already know what it means, in the same way you know that the sky is blue.

(an echo buried deep within his subconscious, voiced without effort, as easy as breathing.

i love you, too.)

the sizzling of a pan and the whirring of a coffee machine form a beautiful morning symphony, bouncing off the walls of your kitchen. to your ears, and your still sleepy brain, it’s a soothing sound — coaxing soft little melodic hums from the depths of your throat.

with such a tantalizing aroma in the air, a blend between espresso and pancake batter, you can’t help but buzz with a mellow, groggy kind of joy.

honestly, you're beginning to understand suguru’s fondness for the morning hours. waking up to his soft snores and content expression was more than enough to give you the energy you needed to get out of bed; all sleepy and relaxed and pretty, with hazy morning sunrays kissing up his bare skin, caressing his messy bedhead.

a rare sight, awfully precious. a part of you wanted to stay in bed and admire him all morning, but the thought of taking care of him coaxed you into leaving. it’s the least you could do, really — after seeing him so sincere, so open and vulnerable.

hopefully, his headache won’t be too brutal when he wakes up. you left some hangover pills on the nightstand, courtesy of shoko’s advice: just get him ibuprofen and coffee. works like a charm. are you a little worried about her nonchalance? maybe. but you trust her judgement. they’re a handful, but you love them — even when they’re drunk or hungover.

which is why you’re standing in the kitchen, engulfed by the morning sunlight, in front of a sizzling pan. trying your very best not to burn the pancakes you’re making, patiently waiting for the coffee to be done.

in your blissful stupor, caught up with thoughts of suguru and breakfast and forevers, you don’t notice another presence coming up behind you.

two arms wrap around your waist, and a jaw attaches itself to the curve of your shoulder. you startle, a little, jolting at the contact — but then you recognize that telltale scent, the familiar weight of his arms, and immediately melt into the embrace.

suguru breathes out a raspy chuckle, amused at your surprise.

a sigh slips from your lips, content. ”good morning,” you hum, placing the palm of your hand on his forearm. suguru shifts a little, getting more comfortable as he leans against you. tenderly, not too much weight. he’s delicate like that.

”g’morning,” he rasps, leftover sleep clinging to the syllables. the usual smoothness of his voice is coupled with a deep, rough kind of tilt, one that always accompanies it in the morning. your heartbeat picks up, silently.

suguru smiles. dreamy, giddy, because you just looked so pretty, in the morning light, hair still a tad messy. humming happily, swaying slightly side to side. so irresistible. he’s beginning to understand why you love sleeping in so much; getting to wrap his arms around you like this, instead of the other way around, doesn’t feel bad at all.

he squeezes you just a little tighter, hoping it’ll convey his gratitude. there are holes in his memory, last night no more than a blurry sequence of still images, but some bits and pieces remain intact. he remembers getting drunk in a way he hasn’t since he made that bet with satoru back in high school — and he remembers that you were there to take care of him.

a smile tugs at his lips. a little giddy, butterflies erupting in his chest. he’s so damn lucky.

”thanks for taking care of me yesterday, sweetheart.”

a hum. you smile, sheepishly, patting his arm. ”don’t need to thank me for that. how do you feel?”

suguru smiles. you feel it, against your skin, a chaste kiss on your neck. ”better.”

the low purring of the coffee machine has stopped, but the sizzling of the pan remains. from beyond the opened windows, you can hear the chirping of cicadas, melodic and serene. singing a summery tune. both of you soak in the preciousness of the moment, the fragile silence, before suguru breaks it.

”everything from last night is kinda fuzzy,” he admits, clearing his throat. just a tad sheepish. you simply hum, a low noise of acknowledgement, and he continues. ”i don’t really remember anything… ’m sorry, baby. i hope i didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

your lips curl up into a tiny smile. such a sweetheart — always worrying about you. always so caring and attentive. eager to reassure him, you smooth over the skin of his arm with your thumb. ”not at all.”

then you’re taking a couple steps back, moving from the stove, and suguru follows. you turn yourself around to meet his gaze, his arms still attached to your waist, a comforting weight.

a grin blooms on your lips, a little teasing, and a flicker of mischief shines in your eyes. ”you were cute, you know.”

suguru blinks, before emitting a low chuckle. a raspy little thing. ”was i?” he drawls, as you brush his bangs away from his face.

”mhm,” you chirp, eyes crinkled as they meet his own. you just can’t help but want to tease him, a little bit. just a smidge. ”kept going on and on about how much you love us.”

hands moving to cup his face, you squeeze his cheeks softly. and suguru lets you, too tired to resist, only giving you a lazy raise of his brow. there’s a sense of amusement in his eyes, and something in you knows he likes the attention. your teasing words buzz with endearment, akin to a purr. ”my sweet lil’ sugu.”

all he does is lean into your touch, allowing himself to melt into the tenderness of the physical contact. even as you pull at his cheek, earning you a very gentle pinch to your side. but he lets you have your fun. you’re warm, and sweet, and he’s so in love with you he’d probably let you tug his body around however you please.

still, your words leave him just slightly perplexed. he’s still smiling with half-lidded eyes when he asks you to elaborate, basking in the feeling of your thumb smoothing over his cheekbone. ”us?”

your grin widens, by a tad, something deeply amused glimmering in the depths of your iris. ”yep,” you answer, popping the p. for some reason, suguru dreads the teasing edge to your voice. ”me, and shoko, and satoru.”

a moment passes. he stiffens, for a second or two, mind processing the words. then he groans, softly, squeezing his eyes shut.

it makes you laugh, soft and amused, and he can’t help but smile along. despite the dreadful realization you present him with. no wonder he was met with so many notifications when he tapped at the screen of his phone — he didn’t read through any of them, but now he’s apprehensive to do so at all. shoko and satoru can be so goddamn obnoxious when they feel as if they have blackmail on him.

he can see it now, in his mind’s eye; shoko nagging him to run her errands, satoru reminding him of his words every time they have a slight disagreement.

(grab me a coffee. three shots of espresso, one cube of sugar. got it?)

slacker.

(we both know i’m right. don’t be so stubborn, suguru! it’s okay to be wrong sometimes.)

asshole.

(c’mon. you said you loved me, right?

so mean. and here i thought you loved me!)

idiots.

(he does love them. more than anything. even when they’re being absolutely insufferable.)

suguru just sighs, deep and fatigued, already anticipating his doom. ”they’re never gonna let me live it down, are they?”

a giggle slips from your lips, and his heart flutters helplessly. ”probably not. my condolences.”

another sigh. it only makes your smile widen. there’s something awfully delighted, in your eyes, as you cradle his face in your hands. ”well, i thought you were very sweet!”

”yeah, yeah…” he mutters, vaguely amused. placing one of his large palms over your hand, where it rests on his cheek. ”i won’t be doing that again anytime soon.”

a chuckles bubbles up from within your throat. ”aww,” you pout, giving way to a teasing grin. ”that’s a shame. i wanted to hear you talk about how much you love me again.”

suguru blinks.

then he smiles. a very particular smile, characteristic, one you’ve come to associate solely with him. resting somewhere in the intersection between a soft grin and a teasing smirk. a flicker of mischief shines in his eyes, and you realize your mistake.

you can tease suguru all you want; but he'll always turn the tables on you, at the end of the day.

”oh?” he chuckles, fondly, thumb smoothing over the lines of your hand. his eyes gleam, looking straight into yours, shining with something mildly devilish. ”i don’t need to get drunk to tell you that, baby.”

in a smooth motion, one you can’t help but silently envy, suguru intertwines his fingers with yours and brings your hand to his lips. he never once breaks eye contact, gaze heavy as he basks in your flustered expression, planting a soft kiss against your knuckle. reverent.

”i love you. more than anything,” he purrs, lips still lingering on your skin. warm enough to burn. ”you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

a pause. heat crawls up your spine, and a flush rises to your cheeks. you couldn’t stop it if you tried.

”my everything,” he continues, intent on flustering you as much as humanly possible. voice low and smooth, honeyed and deep, and worst of all; terribly earnest. lips trailing over your knuckles, against every knot, so soft that you barely feel it. ”my entire world.”

”okay, okay!” you sputter, an embarrassed hue to your cheeks, your gaze landing on the windowpane to your right. his stare is just too heavy, too deeply in love. overwhelming. ”point taken. nevermind.”

suguru laughs, genuine and full. warm and amused, deep and real, and you catch yourself thinking that you don’t want to go a single day without hearing it. even if it’s at your own expense.

a coo rests on his the tip of his tongue, but he bites it back, opting to lean forward instead. he trails the pads of his fingers along your jaw, touch like a butterfly, lifting your chin up ever so slightly. then he closes the distance between you.

in your throat, your breath hitches.

— but he doesn’t kiss you. suguru stops right in front of your lips, so close you can feel his breath on your skin, taking a moment to simply look into your eyes. and despite how flustered the close proximity makes you, you can’t bring yourself to look away. heart fluttering madly, a string of staccatos against your parted ribs.

a tilt of his head. amber eyes gleaming, crinkled and fond. ”can i kiss you, now?” he asks, grinning softly. hand smoothing down your hip, big and warm, teasing. ”i made sure to brush away all the alcohol. or do you still not want to?”

you pause.

”hey, what happened to not remembering anything?” you pout, narrowing your eyes. the corner of suguru’s bottom lip twitches upwards.

but he only shrugs, feigning nonchalance, a playful glint in his eyes. ”guess i was just that disappointed.”

a giggle flows from your lips. he drinks it in, gazing at you with pure contentment.

”alright, alright... c’mere,” you coo, smile honeyed and sweet. tracing your fingertips along his jaw, brushing a silky strand of hair behind his ear. you take in the sight of him, meeting his lovesick gaze. he squeezes at your hips softly, a little impatient — so you finally lean in.

suguru’s lips are warm, when they meet yours. they taste like sunlight, devoid of any alcoholic flavour, just like he so kindly assured you of. and it’s a little amusing, the thought of him in front of the bathroom sink — desperately scrubbing his teeth, just to get his kissing privileges back. such a dork.

he’s your dork, though.

suguru sighs into the kiss, smiling giddily, satisfied at last. a sound you can’t help but mirror. he deepens it, ever so slightly, fingers squeezing gently at the plush of your waist. a hum of approval buzzes in your throat, and his smile only grows.

when he pulls away, that smile is all you can see, along with the ever so slight flush to his cheeks. a hint of peach dusting his skin, framed by the sunrays caressing his jaw, highlighting his handsome features. breathtaking.

before you have a chance to protest, he’s leaning in again, to press one more chaste kiss to your lips. your heartbeat picks up.

everything finally feels just right.

the warmth of the sizzling pan, the fragrance of freshly made coffee and now-burnt pancakes. the light of the morning sun, scattered across the open space of your apartment, splotches of life painting everything in a heavenly glow. the love in the air, all soft and light and comfortable.

domestic bliss. with suguru, who never seems to change, no matter how many years go by. if you could live in this moment for the rest of your life, forever and ever, you’re sure you’d die happy.

and wow, is that a heavy word. forever.

(but suguru makes it feel so very, very light.)

forever feels a lot more real, like this. cradled in the midst of a drowsy morning, bumping elbows with the man you love most, after getting to take care of him in his most vulnerable state. accepting every part of him, and having him accept you just as fervently.

just this moment alone is worth far more than you could ever comprehend.

suguru, with his warm hands, his familiar embrace. your shared laughter, bouncing off the walls of the kitchen as you try in vain to save your scorched pancakes. and his smile, his fervent devotion, coaxing him into eating them even though they’re burnt at the edges and don’t taste even a quarter as good as his. because you made them, for him, and that makes them taste sweeter than anything.

you stare at him, from across the table, admiring the sight you’ve grown so used to; suguru, with his slightly tousled hair, mug in hand and smile painted on his handsome face. drowned in sunlight, pink petals flitting in through the opened window. you don’t want a single day to ever pass without you seeing this. what does that mean, exactly? you think you know.

it means forever.

(forever, forever, forever. what a pretty word.)

marriage. you think of it, again, let it linger in the depths of your skull, bounce around until you grow just a little more used to it. and it’s a scary thought, for sure. a terrifying thought, even, something so foreign that it makes you nervous. but you truly wouldn’t mind doing this forever — not one bit. not if it’s with him.

and, unbeknownst to you, maybe that promise of forever isn’t all that far off.

maybe it’s only a couple rooms away, hidden within the depths of a certain drawer, until suguru finally gets the courage to bring it out. and maybe, just maybe — that day isn’t all that far off, either.

(suguru smiles at you, from across the table. he thinks you look ethereal, sipping from your morning coffee, blinking tiredly. so sweet and angelic.

all he can think of is forever.)

#finalllyyyyyyy took the time to finish this r u proud of me 👉👈#im very very soft for this sugu in particular :< kinda takes place in the same universe as the breakfast sugu fic !!!!#he’s ur smitten husband-to-be <333 i love to see suguru geto thrive and be happy i think being a househusband could save him #geto x reader #geto x y/n #geto x you #jjk fluff #geto fluff #geto suguru x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n

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usedpidemo · 3 months

Text

Mistakes were made, but not you (Le sserafim Yunjin)

“Why? Why weren’t you there? I needed you and you weren’t there!”

While Yunjin lashes out at you, grabbing at your shirt and using you as a proxy for the world and its ill-timed misfortunes, you can’t help but wonder if your presence would have changed the situation for the better.

Probably not. It’s one of those events that has to happen for character growth.

—————

Tonight is supposed to be a night of celebration—a commemoration to the achievements, accomplishments, and accolades of the past year. The numbers and statistics never lie. They love her work, they love her artistry. They love her for what she sells and what she represents. But truth be told, Huh Yunjin couldn’t care less about what they think.

Thunderous cheers and colorful lightsticks representing different fandoms brighten the arena as the five Le sserafim members climb up the stairs to claim their award. Minutes ago, they pulled off the performance of a lifetime—an eight minute masterclass that represents everything the group stands for. You could see the exhaustion in their faces; barely mustering the strength to smile and wave to the crowd shouting for them.

For the most part, the acceptance speech is nothing notable. Going through the motions, thanking the fans, the staff, the company, promising to do better in the future—it’s about as cookie cutter as it gets. As Yunjin tries her hardest to keep her tears from falling while she talks, the other four can only focus on her with varying weary looks. Chaewon looks especially worried; it’s her responsibility and burden to look after every single one of them.

From the audience’s viewpoint, it’s seen as a non-issue, but the five girls recognize deep down it’s anything but. The only noteworthy thing is how suddenly quick they are on their feet heading backstage. It’s funny how everyone chases fame: to be in the moment, the spotlight. It’s funnier, Yunjin thinks, that she’d rather be anywhere else.

Unfortunately for her and the other artists attending, they’d have to wait a little longer. There’s backstage interviews and other idol obligations to do before they are finally let go. It’s not even worth all that lost time—that one award they receive ends up being their lone win for the night.

—————

Yunjin storms into your hotel room without a word with a fierce expression on her face. She doesn’t have to say it; she’s thankful she doesn’t have to spend another minute in front of the cameras, another minute being an idol—at least for the night.

In a sea of anger and auburn, Yunjin walks past you without acknowledging you at least once. She hastily drops off her purse on the coffee table before charging straight to her room and slamming the door. It’s easy to chalk up her frustrations on the monotony of the awards season—the countless hours of practice specifically for one event, the hours spent in the makeup room, the hours of interviews and fanservice—but you know she never acts like this. Rain or shine, hell or high water, she’ll walk around with a pleasant smile on her face.

Tonight simply isn’t one of those nights. You saw the whole ordeal happen in real time, and you’re already regretting the decision not to be there. At times, watching her on screen was tough. You can tell she was visibly uncomfortable, more clingy to her members than usual, when it’s normally the other way around. Admittedly, you have to give her props for holding herself back from crying when she has every right to. It’s a cold winter night, but that’s not the reason she’s trembling and shaking. It should be a night of celebration; instead, her sullen expression resembles the aftermath of complete, utter humiliation and defeat.

And it may as well be. You look through your phone; you find the messages from friends and acquaintances telling you the exact same thing; it might as well be considered spam.

> Yo did you see what happened to Yunjin?

> Is Yunjin okay?!

> Yunjin fell! Fuck MNET!

> BRO YUNJIN FELL FROM THE STAGE WHAT THE FUUUUCK—

> Don’t tell her but I actually laughed when she slipped XD hope she alright tho!

Of course you know. It’s all caught on camera and in living color for the whole world to see. Even if it was cut from the YouTube edit, which is highly unlikely, it’s already out there on the internet spreading like wildfire. Numerous reposts with tens of thousands of likes, multiple articles immediately written after the incident—her name and her moment will remain immortalized in K-pop history for all the wrong reasons. It has the internet making jokes, it has the internet writing thinkpieces, it has the internet creating needless fanwars—it has the internet buzzing.

You want to throw your phone from where your room is located—all the way up on the 27th floor—and pray it lands directly on a hater’s head.

Sure enough, when you try to enter her room, it’s locked shut. The door won’t budge. All this awkward, quiet tension between you is terrifying, and sleeping her feelings off isn’t going to help anyone, not during these trying times. She needs comfort right now more than anything else.

You give the door a respectful knock, only to be met with silence. Trying again and again leads you nowhere. Calling her name does you zero favors. Each futile attempt cuts away at your heart, little by little. Yunjin would rather isolate herself from the world than open up to anyone with no exceptions. Obviously, you have nothing to do with what happened (that is on the production team more than anyone) but you bear the responsibility and burden of being Yunjin’s partner, always there for her during the good times and the bad.

Now is not the time to give up or sulk. She needs comfort and love more than anything. She needs a shoulder to cry on. She needs a special voice to reassure her that everything will be okay.

Rummaging through her purse, you find one of her countless hairpins. It’s the oldest trick in the book—one that she always used to get you with guaranteed success. Already bent and straightened, perfectly shaped for picking—it’s as if she wanted you to reach her. You remember the disaster that was teaching you how to pick locks; dozens destroyed, to the dismay of her apartment doors, but she knew you’d need it at some point, and tried to help you to the best of her ability.

The lock comes undone. It’s a miracle, but it’s short-lived. What welcomes you as you enter her bedroom turns your uncertainty into shock and utter disbelief.

It’s imagery you only see in nightmares. Her bedroom completely ravaged and in utter ruin. Pillows, clothes, and objects scattered throughout the room. Yunjin is curled up against the wall with a blanket draped over her, concealing everything but her eyes. Bloodshot red from spilling her heart out. Around her feet lay two opened half empty bottles of alcohol and a spilled over wine glass. It takes everything not to drop to your knees or yell out “fuck” from the depth of your lungs.

Instead, it only comes out as an airy whimper, with your throat choked up seeing the sorry state your girlfriend’s in.

Every little step you take may as well be tiptoed. Carefully treading into uncharted territory, who knows what you’ll end up meeting. The next words you pick will be the most important ones you’ll ever say. It isn’t as simple as telling her everything will be fine—that mistakes happen, life moves on, and this will be a memory she can laugh at a few years from now. She believes she’s ruined not only her career, but also her members, when anyone with common sense thinks otherwise.

With a deep breath and a gulp of your throat, you run through all the options. You pray you make the best choice.

“Jen Jen,” you mumble, crouching down in front of her, frowning. Try as you might, you can’t bring yourself to smile. You reach your hand out to peek through the curtain; she aggressively slaps down your palm. It’s as dire as you believe it looks. She sees the world crashing down before her.

Watching her cry and hide herself away plucks away at your heartstrings. You don’t want to see her looking this sorry, this deflated. If her members—the people she’s closest with—couldn’t get through her, then how much less can you? Even so, you have to keep trying. Not as a fan nor an acquaintance, but as her partner.

Again, you’ll have to pick your way through another lock. This time, her heart. And it’s more delicate than any physical door.

She’s drowning in her tears to realize the tug on her wrists. Little by little, you pull them apart. Yunjin’s bloodshot eyes glare right into yours, but she does nothing. Slowly, you curl your arms around hers, reaching around her back. For a moment, she appears vulnerable. Open. You press yourself close to her—

And then she hits you square in the face.

Yunjin assaults you with a relentless barrage of fists, with one jab directly clocking your lips. They’re not the playful ones you’re used to. The kind that’s usually thrown after a serious argument, and you’ve only experienced a handful of squabbles. She sends you staggering back to the floor, violently screeching and attacking you. “Fuck you! Leave me alone!” she yells, punching you repeatedly with no sense of direction, only rage. You try to lift a hand in self-defense, only to be sent knocking down, to the point where you just give up and allow her to rip through you.

Looking into her eyes, having turned from grim to cruel, she looks as if you were there. As if you were the stage director. As if you were the one who pressed the button on the control panel. Her punches, aimless as they are, fucking hurt. You’re on the floor, defenseless, but you deserve it. You weren’t there when you should have been. The one award show you opt not to attend happens to be the one that ends up sideways. Of course she’ll pinpoint the cause back to you. That’s blind passion. That’s love.

She grabs you by the collar of your shirt, screaming right in your face, “Why? Why weren’t you there? I needed you and you weren’t there!” Angry as she is, you can tell she’s trying to restrain herself. She wants to humiliate you, but she also doesn’t want to smash your head through the marble floor. You have this ragged but innocent look on your face. The stubborn kind that would tell her that you won’t give up on her. That you’d happily take all the beating just to see her smile again.

As it turns out, all she really needs is an outlet to air out her emotions. She has moved past her tears, and she has stopped beating you down, but everything else still remains. The glare. The dour frown. The fingers gripped to your collar. The room is silent, with the only sound filling the air is your low, airy hush of “Sorry.” Your hand rubs against her arm, conveying a message of reassurance that everything’s going to be okay.

Yunjin freezes. Unsure of how she feels, unsure of what to do. The moment stretches beyond the perception of time. You end up getting caught unprepared by what happens.

She doesn’t apologize for throwing you to the floor and verbally and physically assaulting you. You don’t really mind. A kiss is more than enough of an apology. Even more when it’s passionate, humming into your mouth before letting her tongue slip right between your lips, and her hands now pressed to your cheek. Lovemaking is how she speaks to you. Her lips do most of the talking.

Her body does the rest.

Yunjin pushes you down to the floor. You watch her shed her leather jacket, in awe of her radiant beauty. Her skin is porcelain, gleaming from the bedroom light. She’s a star, and shines like one. The reverence soon turns to amusement, mostly at how nonchalant she’s behaving. Minutes ago, she was hostile, out of control, threatening to turn you into a ruined mess. Instead, she’s about to leave you a ruined heap, but in a different way.

She notices. She always does. Knows you like a book. She grins.

“You know I can’t be mad at you,” she says, lifting an eyebrow as she straddles on your lap. Smirking playfully, she’s making you double take and wonder if this was an elaborate ploy or if she was really upset. And if it’s the former, then you’d really feel betrayed and manipulated. “Sorry dear,” she adds, accompanied by a peck on your lips. “I know it’s not your fault nor mine, it’s just that we prepared so much and—”

“Don’t worry,” you interrupt, placing a hand on her bare shoulder, “I should have been there. I mean, what are the chances the one time I’m not there, this shit—”

“Shhh.” Yunjin plants a finger on your lips. “Babe shouldn’t worry about his Jen Jen’s performance. At least I looked cool falling, right?” she asks, both sweet and playful.

“Sure you did,” you chuckle, almost sucking on her fingertip as she points it directly at your lip. “Definitely the coolest fall I’ve ever seen. Will never be replicated. Ever. And I mean that.”

She laughs, heartily, even though she knows you’re flat out lying. “Yeah, because they won’t do stage designs like that ever again.” Then she kisses you again; she kisses you as if your lips are her lifeline. “I swear I’m gonna tell management not to do elevated stages when we go on tour!”

This is the Yunjin you know and love; the one that everyone knows her for. Laughs at her own jokes and her own mistakes, and smiles through it all. You’re amazed at how joined to the hip you both are when the cameras aren’t on. When you’re the only ones in the room—when she can truly be herself and not a fragmented version tailored to the public. You both have this special connection together that only you two can understand.

Her smile is so radiant, distracting even, that you recognize too little too late how tense you’re feeling.

“Jen Jen,” you tell her, looking down at her legs. She has a hand between her skirt, and her underwear is already partially down.

“What is it?”

“Can we take this somewhere else,” you tell her, flustered by your own request. There’s no skirting around the thought that you’d rather take her anywhere except for a cold floor in a messy bedroom. She hasn’t realized it yet, but you know Yunjin well; she would never let your imprints stick anywhere in her bedroom, hotel or her apartment, let alone make a mess. That, and for as much as you love the sight of her on top of you, you want to keep things on even footing—for now.

The expression she makes is priceless; it's all part of the charm. She rolls her eyes, scoffing at the thought, as if the very suggestion offends her. She takes a moment to let the notion sink in. “The audacity,” she thinks to herself, the idea seemingly harder to digest if anything else.

“You’re so unserious,” she comments, in the most blunt tone possible, it may as well be condescending. Her thighs press deeper into your jeans to further prove a point. If that’s what she wants., then you’re fine with that. It’s probably a better idea than yours, too. “You shitting me right now?”

“It couldn’t have hurt to ask.”

“Well it wouldn’t have hurt you to be here sooner,” she retorts, grinning, like those words are your biggest mistake. “Then maybe I would absolutely consider it.”

In reality, there’s nothing to consider, because you end up rolling on top of her after she first pounces on top of you. It’s how she usually greets you after a busy day: jumping straight into your arms, then it’s on to the bedroom.

But not tonight. You don’t make that far, just the table by the foyer, the chair she usually reads in, nearly tripping over the coffee table and landing somewhere more comfortable for you both in the living room. In your wake you leave behind a trail of clothes, yours and hers entangled together—mostly yours. It doesn’t take much to undress Yunjin when she’s dressed for the occasion, and by the time she’s halfway unbuttoning through your shirt, she’s on her knees, completely naked.

She kisses you, leaves strawberry marked lips on your tummy, looking so wanton, so needy. Your eyes follow along as she continues down to your pants, before looking up to you with doe-eyed curiosity. She’s got an edge to her, they say, which really just means, “she’s really fucking hot.” Everything about her, from the attitude to the wardrobe screams fierce, someone who knows what they’re doing and doesn’t care about what others say.

But behind closed doors, she’s more like the other girl you know. Someone she tends to look after. She looks vulnerable. It’s cute to watch her act like someone she’s not.

It’s impossible not to help yourself, to stroke your own ego, even at Yunjin’s expense. There’s no hiding that devilish grin; it’s way too obvious. Nodding, you brush your hand through her autumn colored locks as she undoes your jeans, reminding her who she really belongs to.

“Fuck—oh God—” you moan, allowing Yunjin to do what she does best: use her lips to praise your cock. No preamble, no foreplay—just immediately taking you straight into her mouth. You were already hard, so it doesn’t take much effort for her to swallow you up. Both of you using your pent up frustration and impatience after weeks where it seemed as if you were worlds apart.

Leaning back against the wall, you can only imagine how Yunjin looks taking it. Your hand firmly grips the back of her head, while she rubs her fingers along the length of your shaft. She forces out every curse and word of appreciation out of you with a deep tone, it’s almost concerning.

“Slow down,” you mutter, knowing full well she won’t listen. Not for anything. Not for you. She wants this as much as you do.

At first glance, it doesn’t really show—not in the playful, satisfied hums while she blows you nor in the slow, deliberate pump of her fingers around your base. It’s a little too leisurely for someone to act desperate. Then you peek through the curtain of sensory overload, and that’s when everything becomes clear. The furrow of her eyebrows, the fixated attention on your cock, the spread of spit and precum all over your erection.

Maybe she does have a point after all.

She catches you staring, catches you slipping. Her eyes flutter open, then shut. In a flash, she goes from sipping on your cock to choking on it. Forcing you deep in her throat without your input. It leaves your head spinning, back at square one, with no control of Yunjin nor yourself, clinging your hands to the walls for support.

“Jen Jen, shit—” you mouth, but it's near silent in comparison to the sloppy sound she makes gagging. It’s as if she’s laughing at you for looking so helpless against her.

The sensation of her slick mouth burns. Her ever increasing tempo and lack of care or comfort relentlessly pluck away at your resolve and restraint. Her eyes water as she violently pushes her own boundaries, her own limits. Stains gradually pile around her lips and chin, a mixture of her spit, seed, and lipstick. You have her hair wrapped around the print of your fingers, holding loose strands away from her gleaming face. Despite your best efforts, you aren’t able to see her beyond blurry little flashes and brief snapshots. Deep down, you’re set ablaze, with nothing to extinguish you. You look to the ceiling, to the side, anywhere but beneath you, trying to find some reprieve from the agony and tension pulling at your loins.

You end up finding it down there, where you want it the least.

Yunjin has you right where she wants you to be—tightly sealed between her strawberry lips as you helplessly cry out her name in a sea of curses and praise. Anticipating the moment you finally break, she zealously works around her gag reflex to keep you deep in her throat. It doesn’t help that she has your balls around her hand, rubbing away and humming in satisfaction at the big hot load that she’ll receive soon. At points, she’s pouting at the fact that you refuse to surrender yourself entirely to her, that you’re still fighting.

It’s a losing effort that ultimately delays the inevitable.

An echoed shout, a wide drop of your jaw, and right there, lightning strikes—you come undone. Yunjin welcomes you with an open mouth; your thick hot load spills down her throat without a single wasted drop. You’re left wide-eyed, shuddering, panting as your orgasm washes over you. Even so, she continues to squeeze away at your balls without remorse, pumping your cock to unload more cum down her thirsty, needy maw.

Yunjin can’t hold in her delight and laughter after she licks your underside for any leftovers. You cushion back against the wall, your energy completely drained as she laps her lips and chin clean. Just like that, any remnant of what transpired hours ago, completely forgotten. It’s not a healthy coping mechanism—not in the slightest—but if it works, it works.

That’s one department where Yunjin won’t let you down.

“I wasn’t ready,” you huff, palming a hand on your thumping chest, cumbrously catching your breath. You mindlessly stare at the living room light, struggling to gather yourself. “Shit, Jen Jen, that was—”

“And we’re only getting started,” she interjects, quickly rising to her feet, pushing you upright. The grin on her face doubles down on the intent. “I’m not going to bed in a dour mood tonight, and you’re gonna help me feel better.”

God, she’s so damn good at this whole setting the mood thing.

You’re no different than anyone else, folding so easily as her fingers map out your body. Continuous circles around every part that belongs to her: from your hair, to your shoulders, arms, chest, down to your tummy, around your back, and everything else in between. Yunjin demands everything about you, her fiery gaze keeping you in tow. You’re tensing up, letting out these strained gasps, watching her watchful eyes dictate your every little move, reminding you who’s carrying the stick in the relationship.

She has you by the balls, quite literally—pumping you back to hardness—and she’s enjoying every moment of it. Teasing you with her flattering mien, she has every intention to leave you more tired and spent tonight than any day she’s worked in her life.

Then, a phone rings. It’s not the hotel landline, but from the pile around your legs. Suddenly, a lightbulb appears over Yunjin’s head, and the smirk on her lips is anything but subtle.

“Would you look at that,” she teases, her grin growing an extra inch wider, and her ironclad grip loosens. Still, you have no room to breathe when she crouches down to dig your rumbling phone out of the pocket of your pants. She makes it a point to act shocked in response to the incoming caller, then shows her to you.

Kim Chaewon.

It’s an open secret within the group—how important of a piece she is between you two, the perfect reprieve and voice of reason when the other isn’t around. You’ve gotten tangled up with both Chaewon and Yunjin a few times, under the same guise of stress relief. In a way, they’ve grown closer together thanks to you. But the rather scornful frown she has tells you otherwise. As if she’s going to lose the one last thing keeping her head straight. Forget that Chaewon is respectful of your relationship; if she gets in the way between her and your dick, she’ll cut her down, and that goes for anyone else too, friendship be damned.

“Be a good boy and take care of the call, will you?” she asks, tone playful, handing the phone over to you. You have no say, other than to follow her command. In the process, you feel your groin tense up. You look down and find your cock sandwiched between her heavenly thighs, choking up from the new sensation of her creamy skin.

When you try to look away, she redirects your eyes back to hers. Her palm meets your chin. Hard. She curls her lips, expressing disdain and reinforcing her control. There’s your first and last warning.

You’ve never struggled so much just opening your own phone. It’s not that Yunjin just hacked into it; her imprints are everywhere. The very lockscreen is her kissing you, your face cropped out of frame and your homescreen is a candid photo of her more bold outfits. If not for the texts from the other members and loved ones, you’d look like the creepiest, most obsessive stalker ever. You can feed tabloids and news outlets day-to-day information, down to the most intricate details. She’s a huge part of you, and it’s gonna eventually ruin you—

“Hurry up, dipshit.”

Yunjin’s stern tone snaps you from your daze. Hard to maintain a steady head when she’s slowly choking you out and she’s thrusting your cock in and out of her legs, still sore from her blowjob and while you’re still reeling from your orgasm. She’s perfectly built for fucking for hours on end; you’re surprised you hasn’t caught on after so long.

“Hello?” Chaewon’s voice pulls your focus away, but only briefly. Almost instinctively, Yunjin’s legs press tighter against your hard cock in response. She raises her eyebrows, shaking her head, demanding you answer the call. No context clues, no verbal cues, just wing it.

“He-ey, Chae.” Your voice comes out gruff, airy. A brief glimpse down and you find the growing stain on Yunjin’s thighs. Your cock entering and exiting the comfort of her legs. She doesn’t appear satisfied, not even a little.

“Is Yunjin there with you? She’s been gone after we got back to our rooms. She's not been herself after—you know—and we’ve been trying to comfort her to no avail.”

“Yeah, she’s here with me—” you say, looking directly at her, and she nods, still stiff and sour. She leans forward, her tongue pressing against your skin, mumbling something incomprehensible on your neck. Somewhere along the lines of “If you tell her, I’m going to fucking kill you,” and she sounds like she means it.

Try to suppress your gasps and whine, you can’t hold yourself back. It affects your inflection, from gravelly and small to high-pitched and nasally. You’re one wrong move away from meeting disaster, and Yunjin is the one goading you to your own pitfall. She revels running you around in circles, leading you like sheep to a shepard. You can’t think straight from all this built up pressure. “She’s good! She’s doing just fine—”

Out of nowhere, she moans. Loud. Her tone is so obvious, it can’t be anyone but her. Any sort of illusion or pretense is immediately dashed, right then and there. You almost drop your phone, barely managing to save it with a glint of clarity.

You don’t hear from Chaewon for a bit, letting you indulge in Yunjin’s seductive motions. Your body is the perfect outlet for her pleasure: kissing and marking around her neck, her fingers tracing your arms to your chest, and your cock comfortably snug between her sculpted legs. You regain some semblance of control by pumping away between her warmth, but it’s hollow; she lets her thighs press down while you thrust quicker and quicker. At first, she’d been the one bringing all the friction, until your hips begin to glide involuntarily, the wetness dripping from her thighs and around your cock making the transition near-flawless.

Soon, the room fills with the sound of her moans, till it becomes oh-so clear you’re fucking her. The call remains active, but you still hear nothing from Chaewon’s side. The phone in your hand is what’s holding you back, but even you feel your control slip away again; against Yunjin’s demand to pretend everything’s normal, when there’s nothing normal about the position you’re in. The only thing unusual is the fact that Chaewon isn’t there to watch, preferably while pleasuring herself.

“Shit, Yunjin, you feel so fucking good—” you sputter, clutching Yunjin’s nape as she curses and whines against your shoulder. Suddenly, you hear Chaewon again, but you’ve practically stopped caring. She’d understand.

“Yeah, well, I don’t blame her for going to you. I’d do the same right now, but I gotta take care of the girls as the leader.” Chaewon sounds so diplomatic about the matter, it’s almost surprising. “Just—” she pauses when Yunjin loudly kisses you, cooing and moaning about how big you are in the direction of your phone. “Please tell her to come back here by morning, all right?”

“Sure—thing.” Your tone jumps on the second word, as your cock hits a particularly deep stroke that teases the outline of her cunt.

“Oh, and Kkura said hi, by the way.”

You’re amazed at how understanding she is.

“Okay.” You look down and you see Yunjin adjust your cock around the entrance of her pussy with her hand, impatient and done with the teasing. All the possible replies to maintain normalcy and your best response ends up being a simple, hurried “Hi.”

“Bye.”

You drop your phone right as Chaewon hangs up the call. Yunjin immediately kisses you straight in the lips, sliding her tongue between your lips. She lets out this strained whine when you grab her ass, lightly pushing her away. Miraculously, she doesn’t fight back or lash out.

“Don’t you wanna cum right in my pussy?”

“No, Jen Jen. Let me finish right in your thighs.”

Yunjin flashes this sad, deflated frown, but she ultimately concedes. She’s this multifaceted character only you might ever hope to understand. She's a perfectionist and wants things her way, but she’s also soft and vulnerable. You feel guilty making this rather huge request, but she reassures you by pressing your cock comfortably between her legs. Your worries soon disappear when the friction of her heat keeps your hips moving. The sight of your dick moving in-and-out keeps you preoccupied.

Even she forgets about her disappointment too, hypnotized by the continuous rhythm of your cock. She pulls your head in, moans all these profanities of varying tones in your ear. The way you both pull each other’s bodies apart, your expressions twisting in pleasure, demanding more—you might as well be in bed, and not breaking your knees and backs against the living room wall.

You’re not sure what’s going to break first—your legs, your back, your hips, or your cock.

“Oh—fuck—Yunjin,” you groan, losing yourself in her asphyxiating heat of her skin, on the verge of another climax. You have one hand marking her ass as you both grind into each other’s bodies. God, you’re both made for one another. Drowning in her tightness, you thrust deep between her legs. Same spot, same stroke, same result. You remember where and how well you’ve fucked her, it’s almost muscle memory to you. It drives Yunjin crazy.

She senses your incoming orgasm and shouts. The need for you to cum isn’t a request, but a full demand. Something to be expected. Her voice hits those familiar high notes that aren’t far off from her usual recordings, and she firmly clings to you. As if you ever had any other thought than to finish on her pencilike legs. You let yourself succumb to the sensation, let all the pent up pressure set itself off while you bask in that delirious high.

The way Yunjin clenches her thighs around your cock, she may as well have snapped it off.

You both mirror each other’s expressions; eyes completely shut, jaw completely agape, resting in each other’s bodies. The only difference being that Yunjin is way, way louder than you. Your mind goes completely blank, with nothing but her name drawn out from the curve of your lips. Your back is aching; your knees are tingling, ready to fail at any time. Nothing registers for you except her voice, her endless moan that rings in your ear. It’s only after her legs involuntarily slacken their grip that you fall.

To the floor, that is.

And you stay down—a minute, maybe several, completely shaken up and your head still riding that high. Somewhere in limbo. One hand gripped to her waist, the other on her leg. You forget to breathe. Your brain doesn’t register the concept of exhaling, only taking in air. The world around you appears to pause completely.

And then your phone beeps. Still dazed, you completely ignore it.

Yunjin brings you back to life. She has one hand gripped against the wall, the other on your hair—which you now just realize—gasping for much needed air. She can’t muster up the strength to open her eyes, so you assess the damage. It’s as disastrous as it looks: a huge splatter of cum around her legs, dripping down to her feet. To the floor. To your pants.

You don’t say a word; you don’t really have anything meaningful or productive to add. The simple question of whether or not she feels better, but you know she’ll say it won’t be enough. That she wants your cum right in her pussy, no matter how spent or sore you are. Maybe you can quietly weave your way out of a nightlong bedroom session.

So you look at your phone, removing yourself from the situation. There’s two new messages, both from the same person—Chaewon. Nothing noteworthy, just the reminder to send Yunjin back early in the morning. The idol life never really stops.

Yunjin calls out to you, abruptly intercepting your attention. “Hey.”

You look up and find her looking down at the details, slowly gathering her bearings. She runs a finger on a sticky patch on her skin, then tastes your seed with her tongue. “What’s up?”

She ignores you for a moment to gather more cum to lap, then stares directly at you. “We should have done this in front of a mirror.”

You pause. It’s hard to believe Yunjin telling you this, when she’s been the biggest skeptic. She’d rather have it in bed, on the table—anywhere that won’t allow her to see herself. The uncanny image of a prim, desirable idol bent over while someone uses her.

With that in mind, you chuckle. “We do it all the time. Give it a break.”

—————

You both end up doing it anyway.

It’s two in the morning, and you vividly have Chaewon’s request at the back of your mind. The group’s flight back home is in six hours, and Yunjin has to be there with them for breakfast. It’s not like you’ll be away long term; she has three days-off after today. Days when you can spend all the time in the world together to your heart’s content. But fuck, Yunjin is so goddamn insatiable, she can’t go at least three hours without your cock somehow around her. You don’t end up getting sleep, because she’s so needy for your cock she can’t help but stroke it or blow it back to hardness.

Your suggestion? A late night coffee run that ends in predictable fashion: you, fucking Yunjin from behind in the comfort of a cafe restroom.

Yunjin’s outfit barely qualifies as casual; if anything, it’s her performance fit (a sports bra and a short skirt) from earlier, topped only by the leather jacket she went to your room with. Yet none of that matters when they’re pooled on the floor, with your hand squeezing her bare breast and the other pressed on her shapely ass. And there’s your hard cock, pounding away at her soaked cunt like it’s second nature—which it is—and it’s quite the motivating sight. Watching it appear and disappear in her pussy, hearing her hushed pleas, echoed cries, and every lewd sound in between.

The cafe across your hotel is completely empty, which is to be expected. You can count the number of working staff on one hand, and most of them are fast asleep or busy on their phone. You’re not making any excuses for fucking Yunjin at a place like this; you’re merely laying out the scene.

You can blame Yunjin for your precarious position. Any attempt to make some small talk she makes it about you. About missing your cock so much, about how she wants you to fill her pussy up and make her feel better. As if two orgasms wasn’t enough. You wouldn’t be surprised if she asked you to fuck her right then and there, in front of the cafe where everyone can see. You end up agreeing to a compromise, but it’s merely delaying the inevitable. The door is locked shut, nobody’s around to hear, and no one really cares.

If only it were that simple.

“Fuck—so—fucking—big!” cries out Yunjin, as if you were in the privacy of your hotel room and not in front of a public restroom. She gives it to you again, praises you in both murmurs and screams, her hands glued on the edges of the sink, eyes fluttering open and closed with her jaw agape on the surface. It’s as filthy as you imagined, if not more. Only you can see the full extent of the damage you’re making, and it is breathtaking.

She beckons you to fuck her harder, give her more, tells you not to stop. The idea never crosses your mind. When she yells and mewls, she’s making sure each one is louder than the last. You can tell she has nothing to lose. If she’s going down, she’ll drag you down with her.

“You’re so fucking tight, Jen Jen,” you groan out, looking at your entangled bodies in the mirror, at her arched back, at the curvature of her ass, at your cock spearing her hard. You puncture each of your next three words with increasing emphasis. “So—fucking—tight.”

As the sex dissolves into deeper madness, so does your restraint. You’re fucking her through the sink, pounding away with reckless abandon, with zero care for comfort. Thoughtless, impulsive drops of ‘tight,’ ‘fuck,’ and even a single ‘slut’ bomb—words that can get you cancelled on-air. Yunjin shudders, letting out this drawn out ‘yes’ in response, as if admitting the truth—to your utter surprise (sarcasm). Her core clenches against your cock, stretching her out. So wet, so needy—

It’s a strange thing to believe, but this is Yunjin’s first orgasm of the night. Her lands lay flat on the sink, and her mouth lolls wide, screaming your name like you’re the most important person in the world. The intense heat, the suffocating pulse of her cunt, drowning your cock—

Fuck, it’s too much for your already aching cock. And her thighs and lips were brutal in their own right.

Moments after hers, your very own climax follows. You’ve already struggled holding back twice; whatever amount of resolve you had left is non-existent. Moving from her chest at some point, the hand on her hair yanks harder. Pushing your hips as far as they can go, wishing your cock can somehow enter her womb—you ignore the possibility that you might be hurting her.

‘Hurts so good’ exists for a reason.

The remnants of your orgasm continue to leave Yunjin in shambles. A brief look at the aftermath, and the first impression is that you didn’t fuck her hard enough. Your hot cum spilling from her splayed, ruined hole, her clothes on the other side of the restroom, and your pants receiving some of her hot slick. Yunjin remains bent on the sink, huffing through her own climax, your hand deeply imprinted on her ass, and marks, scratches, and rosy patches on her back—vestiges of hours gone by.

You remain like this for a little while longer: cuddling up against her frame while she rests on the sink, softly kissing around her ear, brushing strands of loose red hair. She’s gorgeous, there’s no denying that. When she performs, when she’s being herself, when she’s getting pounded hard—but she looks best when she’s calm, when she’s at her softest, at her most vulnerable. When you’re all alone and you both have nothing to hide. At the end of the day, you both need each other. For everything.

—————

You and Yunjin might as well be strangers.

It’s as if the past seven hours happened in a different timeline. Both of you casually lounge in the still lifeless cafe, drinking the nonexistent traces of your iced coffee. You scroll through social media; Yunjin still dominates the trends and new reposts of the viral accident pop-up like they’re produced from a factory. She’s doing the same, reading through all the comments. Some memes, some praising her professionalism, some simply to get that verified ad revenue.

This will be completely forgotten in a week. Yunjin’s career will come out unscathed. People move on. She will, too.

Yet you still remain awkward with her, completely undecided on the words that she really needs right now. She needs you more than just your body.

“Jen Jen,” you whisper, before you freeze up at her anxious gaze. She waits for a follow-up, a sentence, anything. It never comes.

She frowns. She’s not mad, only disappointed.

The sun begins to rise over the city, signaling the start of a new day. Knowing this, Yunjin adjusts her jacket and rises from her seat. You never told her once.

She walks through the door, and steps outside—but not before turning and taking one last concerned look at you. You quietly mouth ‘Love you,’ and surprisingly, she smiles. The Yunjin you know and love.

‘Love ya.’

—————

(A/N: againsorryfornotpostingmuchlatelyohgodivebeensobusy—

Ginger/red hair Yunjin didn't grow on me at first. Then the Good Bones teaser dropped. The strut. The attitude. The fact they allowed her to walk around in her bra and panties. What the fuck. I've been so down bad for her lately, and so are you. Looking forward to their new music! Thank you for reading!)

#smut #kpop smut #le sserafim #yunjin #huh yunjin

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