tb3ih

[tb3ih]

hahahahahaha...... hi guys :)

[tb3ih]

ILLICIT AFFAIRS, fushiguro megumi.

[ CLASSMATE!megumi has you wishing for more than the night... ]

⨳ cw: smut, 18+ (mdni), alcohol consumption, university jjk parallel, cunnilingus, pussy-drunk!megumi, creampie, use of 'sweetheart', fem!reader.

fushiguro megumi is all bite no bark. he is a silent killer, stealing hearts from across the crowded club floor and sneaking out the back doors. he's got a face of porcelain and inky black locks that you find only extend his encapsulating aura if you manage to slip past the grasp of those beautiful jade irises.

rarely smiles and never manages to sustain his interest for more than a minute, you find yourself only a little surprised to see him sitting quietly in one of the club booths, his friends laughing over booze while he sits wordlessly holding a cup of something expensive.

you know him from some of your classes at university, though you hardly had the time to consider who he was. after all; being a scholarship student meant you spared no time for silly little pleasantries. it was only now--with graduation around the corner and all your exams done--did you allow yourself to unwind.

and he was the type of guy you promised to steer clear of--the inconsiderate kind to wear maison margiela to reel you in and leave you wondering why you even let him the next morning in his empty bedsheets.

so you're at the bar, shooting something that burns all the way down your throat before you let your heel-clad feet carry you to the sea of people on the floor. the bass of the music is booming and you let the your limbs flow with the rhythm you seem to swim in.

it's hot, crowded, and claustrophobic, but you've never felt more free.

"any room for a plus one?" when you turn to follow the sound of his voice, megumi stands close to you, the lights of the club dancing across the planes of his face.

you scoff, eyes falling down to the see that the tips of his fingers ghost at your waist.

he's waiting for an invitation.

so you carry your eyes back up to meet his gaze. "that depends," you reply, "if you can keep up."

and you never thought yourself much of a dancer, but something in the way his lips pull with the faintest bit of amusement and the weight of his hands when they do settle on the small of your back has you wanting nothing more than to fall into this unspoken tango between the two of you.

so you do.

and maybe when you feel the burning in your throat you blame it on the empty brandy bottle on your apartment floor because it never be the way his lips dance across your neck as you sit on the cold marble of your kitchen counter. your fingers find his collar, popping the expensive buttons and relishing the way the clinking sound they make bouncing across the tile of your kitchen.

you hear him laugh lowly against your jugular, muttering something about how you're the first to ever ruin such an expensive shirt. you only laugh in reply, telling him to shut up as you practically tear the material off of him, eyes raking over the way the contours of his chest and shoulders are painted in the moonlight of your kitchen. and in a flash, your poor dress is next, the cool of the air causing a sigh to escape your lips as the zipper comes undone and the fabric is discarded somewhere in the room.

his strong hands are pressing against your thighs, his force slow yet strong as he opens you up like a book. his lips find yours once more and you think you like the way he groans when you sink your incisors into the flesh of his bottom lip.

"fuck," he breathes, hands moving to grip under your thighs to pull you to the edge of the counter. "i could devour you and it'd never be enough."

and the two of you are a mess. half muttered curses and moans fall from your lips as he traces a path from your collarbones through the plain of your chest and down your abdomen. you feel the way his voice whispers promises into your skin as he unfurls you like silk on the marble counter, the occasional groan leaving his lips when his ears catch the way you call his name.

"may i?" you almost don't hear it because he's whispering it, eyes on the damp patch on your panties.

you take a second to catch your breath, "what?"

his thumb applies pressure to your clothed entrance, your walls quivering just slightly at the contact in a way that has you embarrassed. your body betrays you the way it craves the man before you.

megumi's gaze comes to meet yours, somehow repeating the question silently. you nod, "yes, please, anything..."

and that's all he needs before he's hooking a deft finger into the hem of your panties, discarding it over his shoulder like every boundary and shred of self-respect you thought you had when the night started in that crowded club.

two fingers prod at your entrance, and you can't help the arch that forms in your back when he does finally push in, relieve the aching in your core that has you breathless. "god, you're fuckin' beautiful..."

his mouth is parted, eyes hazy as they watch the way you cover his fingers in arousal. from the tone of your whines to the way your body reacts to his touch has something feral clicking in his head and he can't help himself when he finally brings his mouth down to your aching pussy. "holy shit."

he's tongue and lips on your aching core. he eats, you think, like a man starved. and you think to thank all the girls before you because he's got you mewling his name and your mind going blank with pleasure. you feel the familiar pull in your stomach, the occasional bump of his nose against your swollen clit bringing you closer and closer to your high, and you fear you might just like the way his edging makes the corners of your vision burn.

"hey," he mumbles against you, and you feel him pause, the loss of contact causing you to find his expression from between your legs in the dim light of the room. "it's not too late to stop, you know."

megumi's voice is soft and you like the way his words fall from his tongue to settle in your ears. "no i'm okay, really..." there is a clinking of metal, probably the buckle of his belt as it hits the floor of the kitchen and you hear his zipper follow.

he is no longer below you but above you, pushing you to lay back on the cool of the counter. there's something warm pressing to your exposed core and you're not quite processing things until his hand comes hold your face ever so gently.

"focus, sweetheart," he says, though from the look in his eyes and the way he sucks in a ragged breath, you think he's trying to will himself to do the same.

so you let your eyes drink him in, from the outline of his tousled hair, the jade of his eyes, and the heaving of his chest. he still has hand holding your face and you shift your head to bring your lips to his fingers, pressing gently.

"please?"

and that breathless whisper is all he needs before slamming his hips against yours, filling you till all the breath's escaped your lungs and your vision hasn't even the room for stars to fill it.

it's all so strange to you; the way his eyes trace over where your bodies connect, a nearly amorous glint in those beautiful jade irises. his pace is fast yet sure, and you're not so intoxicated by him that you don't catch the way his thumbs rub lightly over where his grip had been bruising only moments ago.

think nothing of it, you repeat in your mind every time you think his kisses on your neck linger a bit too long or the way his tone seems to rouse your heart when he's muttering how good this feels, how good you feel.

you know he's close when you feel the stuttering of his pace, the lilt of his voice getting desperate as he continues. his hand is back on your clit, applying a delicious amount of pressure that has you gasping his name again and again and again.

"ah ah," he coos, his free hand releasing your hip to frame your face, jade eyes alight with something more than amusement when you have no choice but to meet his gaze. "don't hide from me, sweetheart, i wanna know how you feel," he says.

and you can feel your own climax coming closer, his pace slowing but his thumb working simultaneous at your bundle of nerves. your stomach is tight and you think you might scream but he's got his lips against yours in an instant, your thighs locked tightly around his hips as he makes a final thrust, pouring warmth into you as finish with him. back arched and stomach pressed against his chest, you're both chasing the oxygen you find from each other, letting the rest of your high settle yet making no move to separate.

"'m sorry about that," megumi mumbles against your lips, eyes looking falling to where the two of you are still connected, "i forgot to ask if that was alright..."

you blink at him, something light bubbling in your stomach until it breaks a smile across your swollen lips and rings out as laughter. his expression is genuinely perplexed and you take a moment to gather yourself, tears beginning to form at the corners of your eyes. "you... just had me on my kitchen counter," you start, "and you're apologizing for finishing inside without asking first?"

his face contorts into a scowl, rose dusting his cheeks a little. he ducks his head, lips meeting your neck before muttering a small "yeah". his eyes are a little bashful when they meet yours again and you're surprised by the vulnerability in the way he's looking at you. "...felt like heaven..."

your hands hold his face and you chuckle, thumbs rubbing over his cheeks to reassure him that it was alright for him to do that. "but uhm," you say, clearing your throat a little, "could we move somewhere a little more comfortable? i think you might break my spine if we go another round on the counter..."

his lips curl and you don't know if you've prepared yourself spiritually for the way his eyes hold a mischievous glint in them. "thought you'd never ask, sweetheart," he replies, shifting his face to press a chaste kiss against the palm of your hand before lifting you off the counter effortlessly.

fushiguro megumi was the kind of man you couldn't hold expectations for; but here, in the dim atmosphere of your apartment, you find yourself letting his lips against your skin settle like a promise, hoping more than anything that your heart won't be hurting when the sun comes to replace the moon in sky.

after all, nothing could be more desirable than when it is illicit.

© tb3ih mmxxiv all rights reserved.

[tb3ih]

ILLICIT AFFAIRS, fushiguro megumi.

[ CLASSMATE!megumi has you wishing for more than the night... ]

⨳ cw: smut, 18+ (mdni), alcohol consumption, university jjk parallel, cunnilingus, pussy-drunk!megumi, creampie, use of 'sweetheart', fem!reader.

fushiguro megumi is all bite no bark. he is a silent killer, stealing hearts from across the crowded club floor and sneaking out the back doors. he's got a face of porcelain and inky black locks that you find only extend his encapsulating aura if you manage to slip past the grasp of those beautiful jade irises.

rarely smiles and never manages to sustain his interest for more than a minute, you find yourself only a little surprised to see him sitting quietly in one of the club booths, his friends laughing over booze while he sits wordlessly holding a cup of something expensive.

you know him from some of your classes at university, though you hardly had the time to consider who he was. after all; being a scholarship student meant you spared no time for silly little pleasantries. it was only now--with graduation around the corner and all your exams done--did you allow yourself to unwind.

and he was the type of guy you promised to steer clear of--the inconsiderate kind to wear maison margiela to reel you in and leave you wondering why you even let him the next morning in his empty bedsheets.

so you're at the bar, shooting something that burns all the way down your throat before you let your heel-clad feet carry you to the sea of people on the floor. the bass of the music is booming and you let the your limbs flow with the rhythm you seem to swim in.

it's hot, crowded, and claustrophobic, but you've never felt more free.

"any room for a plus one?" when you turn to follow the sound of his voice, megumi stands close to you, the lights of the club dancing across the planes of his face.

you scoff, eyes falling down to the see that the tips of his fingers ghost at your waist.

he's waiting for an invitation.

so you carry your eyes back up to meet his gaze. "that depends," you reply, "if you can keep up."

and you never thought yourself much of a dancer, but something in the way his lips pull with the faintest bit of amusement and the weight of his hands when they do settle on the small of your back has you wanting nothing more than to fall into this unspoken tango between the two of you.

so you do.

and maybe when you feel the burning in your throat you blame it on the empty brandy bottle on your apartment floor because it never be the way his lips dance across your neck as you sit on the cold marble of your kitchen counter. your fingers find his collar, popping the expensive buttons and relishing the way the clinking sound they make bouncing across the tile of your kitchen.

you hear him laugh lowly against your jugular, muttering something about how you're the first to ever ruin such an expensive shirt. you only laugh in reply, telling him to shut up as you practically tear the material off of him, eyes raking over the way the contours of his chest and shoulders are painted in the moonlight of your kitchen. and in a flash, your poor dress is next, the cool of the air causing a sigh to escape your lips as the zipper comes undone and the fabric is discarded somewhere in the room.

his strong hands are pressing against your thighs, his force slow yet strong as he opens you up like a book. his lips find yours once more and you think you like the way he groans when you sink your incisors into the flesh of his bottom lip.

"fuck," he breathes, hands moving to grip under your thighs to pull you to the edge of the counter. "i could devour you and it'd never be enough."

and the two of you are a mess. half muttered curses and moans fall from your lips as he traces a path from your collarbones through the plain of your chest and down your abdomen. you feel the way his voice whispers promises into your skin as he unfurls you like silk on the marble counter, the occasional groan leaving his lips when his ears catch the way you call his name.

"may i?" you almost don't hear it because he's whispering it, eyes on the damp patch on your panties.

you take a second to catch your breath, "what?"

his thumb applies pressure to your clothed entrance, your walls quivering just slightly at the contact in a way that has you embarrassed. your body betrays you the way it craves the man before you.

megumi's gaze comes to meet yours, somehow repeating the question silently. you nod, "yes, please, anything..."

and that's all he needs before he's hooking a deft finger into the hem of your panties, discarding it over his shoulder like every boundary and shred of self-respect you thought you had when the night started in that crowded club.

two fingers prod at your entrance, and you can't help the arch that forms in your back when he does finally push in, relieve the aching in your core that has you breathless. "god, you're fuckin' beautiful..."

his mouth is parted, eyes hazy as they watch the way you cover his fingers in arousal. from the tone of your whines to the way your body reacts to his touch has something feral clicking in his head and he can't help himself when he finally brings his mouth down to your aching pussy. "holy shit."

he's tongue and lips on your aching core. he eats, you think, like a man starved. and you think to thank all the girls before you because he's got you mewling his name and your mind going blank with pleasure. you feel the familiar pull in your stomach, the occasional bump of his nose against your swollen clit bringing you closer and closer to your high, and you fear you might just like the way his edging makes the corners of your vision burn.

"hey," he mumbles against you, and you feel him pause, the loss of contact causing you to find his expression from between your legs in the dim light of the room. "it's not too late to stop, you know."

megumi's voice is soft and you like the way his words fall from his tongue to settle in your ears. "no i'm okay, really..." there is a clinking of metal, probably the buckle of his belt as it hits the floor of the kitchen and you hear his zipper follow.

he is no longer below you but above you, pushing you to lay back on the cool of the counter. there's something warm pressing to your exposed core and you're not quite processing things until his hand comes hold your face ever so gently.

"focus, sweetheart," he says, though from the look in his eyes and the way he sucks in a ragged breath, you think he's trying to will himself to do the same.

so you let your eyes drink him in, from the outline of his tousled hair, the jade of his eyes, and the heaving of his chest. he still has hand holding your face and you shift your head to bring your lips to his fingers, pressing gently.

"please?"

and that breathless whisper is all he needs before slamming his hips against yours, filling you till all the breath's escaped your lungs and your vision hasn't even the room for stars to fill it.

it's all so strange to you; the way his eyes trace over where your bodies connect, a nearly amorous glint in those beautiful jade irises. his pace is fast yet sure, and you're not so intoxicated by him that you don't catch the way his thumbs rub lightly over where his grip had been bruising only moments ago.

think nothing of it, you repeat in your mind every time you think his kisses on your neck linger a bit too long or the way his tone seems to rouse your heart when he's muttering how good this feels, how good you feel.

you know he's close when you feel the stuttering of his pace, the lilt of his voice getting desperate as he continues. his hand is back on your clit, applying a delicious amount of pressure that has you gasping his name again and again and again.

"ah ah," he coos, his free hand releasing your hip to frame your face, jade eyes alight with something more than amusement when you have no choice but to meet his gaze. "don't hide from me, sweetheart, i wanna know how you feel," he says.

and you can feel your own climax coming closer, his pace slowing but his thumb working simultaneous at your bundle of nerves. your stomach is tight and you think you might scream but he's got his lips against yours in an instant, your thighs locked tightly around his hips as he makes a final thrust, pouring warmth into you as finish with him. back arched and stomach pressed against his chest, you're both chasing the oxygen you find from each other, letting the rest of your high settle yet making no move to separate.

"'m sorry about that," megumi mumbles against your lips, eyes looking falling to where the two of you are still connected, "i forgot to ask if that was alright..."

you blink at him, something light bubbling in your stomach until it breaks a smile across your swollen lips and rings out as laughter. his expression is genuinely perplexed and you take a moment to gather yourself, tears beginning to form at the corners of your eyes. "you... just had me on my kitchen counter," you start, "and you're apologizing for finishing inside without asking first?"

his face contorts into a scowl, rose dusting his cheeks a little. he ducks his head, lips meeting your neck before muttering a small "yeah". his eyes are a little bashful when they meet yours again and you're surprised by the vulnerability in the way he's looking at you. "...felt like heaven..."

your hands hold his face and you chuckle, thumbs rubbing over his cheeks to reassure him that it was alright for him to do that. "but uhm," you say, clearing your throat a little, "could we move somewhere a little more comfortable? i think you might break my spine if we go another round on the counter..."

his lips curl and you don't know if you've prepared yourself spiritually for the way his eyes hold a mischievous glint in them. "thought you'd never ask, sweetheart," he replies, shifting his face to press a chaste kiss against the palm of your hand before lifting you off the counter effortlessly.

fushiguro megumi was the kind of man you couldn't hold expectations for; but here, in the dim atmosphere of your apartment, you find yourself letting his lips against your skin settle like a promise, hoping more than anything that your heart won't be hurting when the sun comes to replace the moon in sky.

after all, nothing could be more desirable than when it is illicit.

© tb3ih mmxxiv all rights reserved.

[tb3ih]

i pop into tumblr every now and then (i quit a couple years ago due to busy-ness) and remembered that there was an ayato fic that i read a year ago that i really loved. so i came to see if you updated it, and you did! part 4 was a pleasure to read; i'm looking forward to further updates! i will wait for as long as needed :)

no i've never wanted to cry more than when i read this (you say you're just a reader but you're literally the reason i keep trying to write on this app).

[tb3ih]

SHUT UPPP (im in love)

satoru is an avid admirer of the fine arts.

he still remembers the feeling of running his fingertips over the golden ridges of a certain vase back in the gojo compound. a rare, invaluable piece, passed down from generation to generation for several hundred years and decidedly off limits to tiny children’s hands. with every scolding it had become more irresistible to him, he was inexplicably drawn to it, the shape, the colours, the texture - so much that he still never visits his childhood home without sparing it at least a glance.

he doesn’t recall his first visit to the tokyo metropolitan art museum - he had probably been of primary school age, more interested in what the gift shop had to offer than whatever was hung up on the walls. but he remembers the first time a piece had resonated with him, shortly after graduating from jujutsu tech. he was quick to wrap one of the museum’s curators around his finger - a middle aged woman, wooed by nama chocolate and his eyes - granting him after hours access whenever he felt like it. he would go there, before or after missions, wandering through empty spaces or spending all his time in front of the same artwork until he was running late for yet another assignment.

but none of that is what he has in mind when he tells people about his love for the visual.

what he means is you, right now, sleeping in his bed.

the inward curve of the small of your back where he delicately runs his hand up and down, separated from you only by the alabaster coloured sheets you are wrapped in.

the shape of your spine that he traces all the way up to your shoulder blades, taking a detour to paint endless circles on your heated skin, his touch unhurried and light, careful not to pull you from your deep sleep.

the back of your neck where he follows the lines of your muscles, feeling the tension and stress before trying to soothe the exhaustion embedded in them with a gentle massage.

satoru can’t help the smile that tugs at the corner of his lips when he seemingly hits the right spot and you let out a deep sigh, melting further into the pillow you’re hugging to your face. his fingers brush up the nape of your neck and tangle in your sleep tousled hair that spreads out like brushstrokes against a canvas, his blunt nails steadily scratching your scalp and brushing back stray hairs that threaten to tickle you awake.

he freezes in place like a child caught in the act when all of a sudden your brows furrow and your nose wrinkles. his mother’s scolding words ring distantly in his ears again, the gentle timbre of her voice trying to make him understand that certain works of art are simply not made to be touched. only when you stir does he notice the sliver of sunlight that had crept through the windows of his bedroom right across your face.

you mumble his name like a question, voice heavy with sleep and eyes barely open to the sun-soaked sculpture of a man next to you.

“hey you,” he whispers, palm resting on your warm cheek. “finally you’re awake. i’ve been dying for some pancakes for hours now.”

you chuckle, wiggling closer to him and haphazardly pressing your cheek to his chest.

“not awake.”

“not awake?”

“mhmm.”

“and what about my pancakes?”

“yours always turn out better than mine anyways,” you grumble into his chest.

“that is so very true.”

there’s no need for you to see the faux smug expression on his face to know that it’s there when you instinctively go to pinch his side. he yelps, swiftly grabbing your wrist and holding it as far away from him as he can but you laugh like a cartoon villain, twisting out of his grasp and grabbing his wrist in turn.

he looks at you expectantly, ready for your next attack but you use your leverage on his arm to guide it to your waist. before you even manage to let go he wraps his arm around you and pulls you closer to him, open palm resting on your back.

you sigh contentedly, pushing your knee between his thighs and letting your eyes fall shut again.

“do not move your hand away. i’m beyond comfortable like this.”

you miss the way he smiles to himself.

guess there’s a loophole after all.

[tb3ih]

welp, my suguru fic flopped so i might just quit tbh

[tb3ih]

growing pains | geto suguru

[ GIRL DAD!SUGURU doesn't think he can handle his growing girls ] fluff!!!

"kohana, hold still," suguru pleads, voice muffled just slightly by the hair tie clenched between his teeth, brows creased together in concentration as he attempts to tame the locks of onyx silk on the little girl sitting not-so-still in front of him. the poor guy still had her omelette in the pan when she came begging to have her hair done the way she saw you do yours.

and of course, suguru being the softie he was, could only hold his large hand out with a sigh as she dropped a few accessories in his palm to adorn her hair with. you had a stressful night at work last night, a meeting run overtime well past the girls' bedtimes (which he knew put you in the worst of moods because you absolutely adored your little ones), so he knew he had to take over the morning shift with the girls today.

perhaps it was your absence which left the two girls a little more chaotic than usual, their normally neutralized demeanors suddenly nowhere to be seen. luckily he was able to convince the youngest, kaiyah, to finish her breakfast with the persuasion of some cartoons, not to mention, her short hair needed nothing more than brushing and the correctly colored bow.

your oldest on the other hand was a little tricky. though independently dressing herself now, she didn't quite have the skill to do some of the hairstyles by herself. and because you were nowhere to be seen, it only seemed reasonable to ask her papa.

"daddy, i'm hungry!" though she's not as loud, kohana resembles you in both her stubbornness and pout, a look she wears as often as the slight furrow in her brow when she disapproves of something.

suguru can only hum, tying the last bit of hair up to resemble the look she wanted. the lotus hairpin was the last bit of decoration he added before finally allowing her to hop up from her seat and join her sister at the kitchen island for breakfast. when he stands, the dark-haired male is quick to help his eldest to some utensils before placing her plate in front of her, moving to start the dishes while the two eat.

"itadakimasu~!" kohana begins digging in without a second thought, a small smile coming to pull at the tired man's lips.

when the two girls finish, they place their plates by the sink, allowing suguru to retrieve them for a rinse before being placed in the dishwasher. "alright girls, go get your shoes, please."

there's giggling followed by small footsteps as the two go rushing to the front closet where all the shoes are kept. he finishes soon after drying his hands on a towel before going to check in on the girls, two backpacks in either hand. velcro in place on both of their shoes, kaiyah and kohana are already reaching for their bags, smiles on their faces as the oldest laughs out a "thank you" and the youngest mutters a small "thank you, daddy".

"alright girls, are you ready?"

"mhm!" kohana replies, turning to her sister and grabbing her hand. "let's go!"

they're just stepping out of the door when kaiyah, your youngest, turns to look over her shoulder at her awaiting father, causing him to halt in his follwoing footsteps. "daddy, you don't have to worry about us, we can go by ourselves!"

and this moment only leaves him dumbfounded, as he had planned to walk them to their usual bus stop like always. when did this routine stop? had you known about this?

"w-well, are you sure?" suguru scratches the back of his neck, thinking of the worst of this proposition, "i don't mind, i love walking with you girls..."

kohana only giggles at her father, urging her little sister by where they are linked at the hands. "we'll be late daddy, we have to go!"

and so he lets them, his waving hand slowly coming to a stop when he sees the two skip out of sight and into the street from the front door. it's not a big thing, but it's something, and poor suguru who didn't think much of the idea of letting his daughters go but if it felt this way when they were this small, he wasn't sure if he could keep doing this.

and so when he finally closes the front door and moves back to the kitchen to clean up, he finds a little bit of relief for his aching heart, settling back into the comfort of the sheets with you in the master bedroom. you stir a little, sleepy eyes finding his with a soft smile.

"mm, suguru? what's wrong?" the male doesn't make much of a reply, only sighing as you pull him into your embrace, your warm chasing the tension from his frame.

there's a moment of silence before you hear him inhale, letting out a small sigh before his violet irises meet yours. "you didn't tell me they walk themselves now..."

and you smile, teeth pulling at your lip to bite back your laugh. you loved your husband, but this was too damn adorable. "hmm, they're growing up, huh?" you bring a hand to thread through his hair, and he closes his eyes for a second, his lips pressing a chaste kiss against your forearm as you continue your ministrations.

"i... knew this would come, but i didn't think..." suguru doesn't have to finish what he's saying for you to understand, because you felt the same thing when kohana asked to dress herself or when kaiyah started putting her dirty dishes on the counter to help you after dinner. "is it supposed to hurt?"

you laugh a little, your hand pressing against his face before offering him a small kiss. "it's just growing pains, honey," you say softly, "it doesn't get better but it'll make your memories happier."

your husband sighs, pulling you closer to settle into the crook of your neck. he breathes you in deeply and the two of you lay for a moment together in your little world of peace. "...okay."

you hum, "okay?"

"okay," he replies.

© tb3ih mmxxiv all rights reserved.

[tb3ih]

oh GOD “4th and 5th ribs…” “my dear” KAJSJSJ?!??!?? “bc you’re going to kiss me… and i’m going to let you…” SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UPPPPPP!!!!!!!!!!!! this is godsend :\

somewhere in the back of your mind, you know this isn’t how it should be. 

your living room is dimly lit, illuminated only by the tv in front of you, and the moon is glowing a pearlescent blue. flimsy strings of moonlight spill over your floorboards, reflecting off the windows, and whatever you’re doing isn’t what you should be doing. you shouldn’t be awake this late, shouldn’t be gorging on sweets before bed, shouldn’t be having a rendezvous with an enemy — shouldn’t be watching movies with your ex of ten years. 

most of all, you shouldn’t be feeling nearly this content.

getō is seated right beside you, legs comfortably spread, popping a macaron into his mouth. chewing it slowly, savouring the flavour — or lack thereof, you suppose. he can’t taste much, anymore; one too many curses digested. or so he says.

this time, he brought pastries with him. expensive ones, you can tell, just from the package alone — a soft pastel pink box, wrapped up in silk, golden letters etched into the front. mont blancs, macarons, two slices of strawberry shortcake. carefully picked, suited to your tastes.

(you aren’t actually too fond of sweets, anymore, but how is he to know? he hasn’t seen you in years.)

”would you like me to make us some tea?”

when you turn your gaze towards him, getō’s wearing a smile. laid-back, the slightest upward curl, tilting his head in a manner you’re far too used to. eyes shining with something keen. somehow, it feels difficult to tear your gaze away from his.

but you manage, turning forward, grasping control over your sleepy vocal cords. ”no, i’m good.”

a low hum. he’s still looking at you. ”coffee?”

”the sweets are more than enough.”

this time, a smile, one you can’t see but still somehow sense. a little bit amused. geto gazes at you with a knowing look, watches you glance at the box of pastries on your coffee table — studying you under the monochrome flicker of the tv-screen. 

”understood,” he finally quips, leaning back into the leather couch, exhaling a little breath. ”eat as much as you’d like. i bought them for you, you know.”

you nod, nibbling at a macaron. not glancing his way.

being alone with him still feels a little awkward. a little tense, to be curled up on the same couch, watching the same movie, just like your old sleepovers in high school. there’s an elephant in the room that neither of you have addressed — not since he first showed up, just a couple weeks ago, waltzing up to your apartment with a plastic bag of dvds after a decade of estrangement. wearing heavy robes, and a familiar smile. asking to be let in.

and despite every single circumstance telling you not to, you did just that. you’ve yet to refuse. 

(satoru would hate you, if he knew.)

so he’s there, right beside you, and you don’t talk about it. not his choice, not your work, not anything except the movie playing on the screen in front of you. this time, it’s one he’s seen before — beautiful, he called it, and for once you think it might be a romance; if the kiss between the main actors is anything to go by. 

you wonder if that’s why he says it.

”say, do you hate me?”

you still. freezing in place, for a moment, discontent but not surprised. he’s always been like this; breaking the illusion of peace before you can find any solace in it. 

you bite back a groan, and shoot him a glance out of the corner of your eye — but he isn’t looking at you. only at the tv, at the two men, holding hands and standing on a bridge in the rain, watching the stars twinkle in the sky. and you sigh, turning your head to look at him fully, parting your lips. your voice comes out frustrated. 

”do you really want to have this conversation now?”

”when else?” he chuckles, meeting your gaze with one brow raised. amber eyes gleaming with mirth, and something else, something less practiced. ”you don’t have to answer. i’m just curious.”

you gulp down the last of the macaron, licking your lips for any leftover crumbs — unaware of how his eyes follow the movement. ”are you?”

a hum buzzes in the back of his throat, a tiny rasp. you wonder if he’s tired. ”i hadn’t expected this, you know.” he taps at his knee with the pads of his fingers, rhythmic and controlled. ”i thought it was just wishful thinking… that you’d let me come this close.”

you feel his gaze on you. it’s heavy, heavy like lead, like a loaded gun. you feel it dissect you from afar, and can’t find it in you to reach for another pastry. 

”… would you have preferred being kicked out?”

”not at all.” a little grin plays at his lips, something in his voice betraying the face he’s making. ”are you avoiding the question?” 

another sigh. you’re painfully aware of how resigned it sounds, spilling out into the open air, already filling with a sense of dread; any leftover nostalgia bursting at the seams. you want to tell him so many things, but every thread inside your mind feels all tangled up.

and, as always, getō beats you to the punch. 

”that’s fine, too.” a brief pause, a twitch of his pinkie. he closes his eyes, a flutter of his lashes, and inhales a breath. ”— because i’ll keep waiting.”

for a second, you consider not taking the bait. 

… then you’re giving in. because that’s what you always do, whenever he’s involved. you watch him in the dark, pale skin enveloped by moonlight, raven hair spilling across the headrest. he looks beautiful, just resting his eyes.

”… for what?” you whisper, and his answer comes without a hitch to his breath.

”for you to love me again.”

…

getō tilts his head, opening his eyes, a golden brown dragging you into their depths. he looks expectant, selfishly awaiting a response, and you’re tired. 

(unbeknownst to you, he resists the urge to intertwine his fingers with yours, to trace every ridge and dip of your knuckles with his thumb. to squeeze your palm like a promise, something concrete.)

when your mind has managed to untangle itself, something in your gaze turns sharp. frustrated, impatient, disappointed, looking at him with a raised brow. ”you really are stupid, aren’t you?”

as fast as it came, your gaze returns to the screen in front of you. monochrome, flickering, two beautiful men. one of them is holding a gun to the other’s temple, and the victim looks appeased. the movie’s almost over.

(how very like him, to find such violence beautiful.)

quietly, you swallow down the bile building up in the back of your throat. a decade of bitter flavours. clenching your teeth, nails digging into the couch beneath you, leather on your cold fingertips. it’s a little peeled.

you wonder why you even bother being honest, when he never quite seems to return the favour.

but the room is dimly lit, and the moon is big and bright, and your ex of ten years is sitting right next to you. in your apartment, on your couch, watching a movie on your tv. when he could, should be anywhere else. he’s with you, and he pulls the words out of your throat without trying. puppeteering your heartbeat.

”… as if i ever stopped.”

silence.

you hear a gunshot ring out. low, muffled, a crackle of static. one of the men falls down to the ground, and you can’t tell who's who. the actors are forgettable, but the soundtrack is pretty. it rings in your ears like a lullaby. 

getō says your name.

it sounds the same as you remember. honeyed syllables, spilling from his parted lips, silky and sweet. he says your name like he’s asking to marry you, and you can hear the smile he’s struggling to repress.

”will you look at me?”

it’s less of a question, and more of a demand. you wonder why he even bothers asking — but you’ve never really understood the way his brain works. never understood why a burglar would bother asking the shopkeeper for permission before reaching for the register, when they’ll be leaving with the money either way. 

and you’re paralyzed, stuck in place on the couch, gaze glued to the screen in front of you. but you aren’t watching, not really, just looking. and you don’t want to see what kind of face he’s making. so you whisper;

”.. no.”

”no?” he mimics, something like a coo on the tip of his tongue, lightly amused. as always, you can feel his gaze, travelling down your face like a trickle of honey. ”and why is that, my dear?”

you bite down on your lip.

a long, long moment passes, and neither of you say a word. he’s looking at you, and you’re looking down at your lap, at your clenched fists. a little meek. it’s quiet, the calm before the storm, and you know exactly what’s going to happen — because it’s already set in stone.

”because you’re going to kiss me,” you exhale, finally, resignation on your breath. ”and i’m going to let you.”

…

for a second, you wonder if his silence means he understands. if he can hear the desperate plea in your voice, if he can translate it correctly. 

but his fingertips graze the lines of your jaw, his palm sneaks under your chin, and he keeps you in place. turning your head to meet his gaze, his amber eyes, dripping with something hungry; something pleading. 

this time, he doesn’t ask for permission. he leans forward until there’s no space between you, tips your head back, and kisses you with bated breath — as softly as he can manage, which is still too intense for your liking. still brimming with desperation, something carnal, like he wants to pour his everything into the kiss but knows he shouldn’t. he tastes like tobacco.

and it’s over. 

you know it is, because your senses are flooded with him, him, him. nothing but him, the strands of his raven hair ghosting your skin, his greedy tongue licking along your teeth, large palms resting on your spine and the back of your head. you’re pliant, surrendering yourself to his touch. he’s cradling you like he loves you, and you feel like you’ve done something awful, because you have.

because you’ve let him come so close, again, invited him inside — inside of your home, your ribcage. and he won’t bother making a home for himself there, because it’s already waiting for him, untouched, between your fourth and fifth ribs.

you never bothered to get rid of it.

(that’s your sin.)

getō hums, muffled by your lips. he sounds pleased. he sounds like he’s been waiting for this for decades, and you suppose that he has. he murmurs praise that you do nothing but swallow down.

everything feels too perfect, too normal, and it’s too much, too much, too much. your lips pressed together, your chests pressed together, your noses meeting in a tender touch. you choke down the noise that threatens to push past your lips, and he kisses you like a starved man. like he’s trying to drown in you.

he only pulls away once he realizes that you’re crying, and by then it’s too late. his widening eyes don’t matter, your cold hands don’t matter, the tremble of your erratic heartbeat has never mattered less. he looks at you with remorse, and it doesn’t matter. 

(he’s yours, again, and you’re his.

you can’t stop crying.)

”… i’m sorry.”

in the background, you hear the sound of gentle whispers, an ending scene. the men are talking to each other, speaking softly, and your eyes burn with tears. geto catches one of them with his forefinger, and leans forward to plant a kiss against your nose. chaste, this time. still mumbling apologies.

it doesn’t matter, because a tiny sob still breaks past your throat — and you know the sound must hurt him. 

you hate that. you hate that you always hurt him, hate that you care, hate that you feel nothing but guilt when he’s around. you hate the movie still playing to your left, hate that he doesn’t hate it, hate that he loves you. hate that you love him, that you probably always will.

you hate that you blink up at him with glassy eyes, swallow down a shaky breath, and kiss him again. hate that it’s still the only thing you know how to do well.

he doesn’t pull away, only biting back a noise of surprise — but he makes sure to kiss you gently, as if you’re made of porcelain, slow and tender, cradling you closer still. he wipes away your tears with his thumb, one after another, and you hate yourself because everything feels so deliriously right.

somewhere in the back of your mind, you know that what you’re playing is a losing game. 

(he’s yours, and you’re his. it’s already set in stone.) 

[tb3ih]

this is the funniest thing i’ve ever seen rip atsumu

[tb3ih]

growing pains | geto suguru

[ GIRL DAD!SUGURU doesn't think he can handle his growing girls ] fluff!!!

"kohana, hold still," suguru pleads, voice muffled just slightly by the hair tie clenched between his teeth, brows creased together in concentration as he attempts to tame the locks of onyx silk on the little girl sitting not-so-still in front of him. the poor guy still had her omelette in the pan when she came begging to have her hair done the way she saw you do yours.

and of course, suguru being the softie he was, could only hold his large hand out with a sigh as she dropped a few accessories in his palm to adorn her hair with. you had a stressful night at work last night, a meeting run overtime well past the girls' bedtimes (which he knew put you in the worst of moods because you absolutely adored your little ones), so he knew he had to take over the morning shift with the girls today.

perhaps it was your absence which left the two girls a little more chaotic than usual, their normally neutralized demeanors suddenly nowhere to be seen. luckily he was able to convince the youngest, kaiyah, to finish her breakfast with the persuasion of some cartoons, not to mention, her short hair needed nothing more than brushing and the correctly colored bow.

your oldest on the other hand was a little tricky. though independently dressing herself now, she didn't quite have the skill to do some of the hairstyles by herself. and because you were nowhere to be seen, it only seemed reasonable to ask her papa.

"daddy, i'm hungry!" though she's not as loud, kohana resembles you in both her stubbornness and pout, a look she wears as often as the slight furrow in her brow when she disapproves of something.

suguru can only hum, tying the last bit of hair up to resemble the look she wanted. the lotus hairpin was the last bit of decoration he added before finally allowing her to hop up from her seat and join her sister at the kitchen island for breakfast. when he stands, the dark-haired male is quick to help his eldest to some utensils before placing her plate in front of her, moving to start the dishes while the two eat.

"itadakimasu~!" kohana begins digging in without a second thought, a small smile coming to pull at the tired man's lips.

when the two girls finish, they place their plates by the sink, allowing suguru to retrieve them for a rinse before being placed in the dishwasher. "alright girls, go get your shoes, please."

there's giggling followed by small footsteps as the two go rushing to the front closet where all the shoes are kept. he finishes soon after drying his hands on a towel before going to check in on the girls, two backpacks in either hand. velcro in place on both of their shoes, kaiyah and kohana are already reaching for their bags, smiles on their faces as the oldest laughs out a "thank you" and the youngest mutters a small "thank you, daddy".

"alright girls, are you ready?"

"mhm!" kohana replies, turning to her sister and grabbing her hand. "let's go!"

they're just stepping out of the door when kaiyah, your youngest, turns to look over her shoulder at her awaiting father, causing him to halt in his follwoing footsteps. "daddy, you don't have to worry about us, we can go by ourselves!"

and this moment only leaves him dumbfounded, as he had planned to walk them to their usual bus stop like always. when did this routine stop? had you known about this?

"w-well, are you sure?" suguru scratches the back of his neck, thinking of the worst of this proposition, "i don't mind, i love walking with you girls..."

kohana only giggles at her father, urging her little sister by where they are linked at the hands. "we'll be late daddy, we have to go!"

and so he lets them, his waving hand slowly coming to a stop when he sees the two skip out of sight and into the street from the front door. it's not a big thing, but it's something, and poor suguru who didn't think much of the idea of letting his daughters go but if it felt this way when they were this small, he wasn't sure if he could keep doing this.

and so when he finally closes the front door and moves back to the kitchen to clean up, he finds a little bit of relief for his aching heart, settling back into the comfort of the sheets with you in the master bedroom. you stir a little, sleepy eyes finding his with a soft smile.

"mm, suguru? what's wrong?" the male doesn't make much of a reply, only sighing as you pull him into your embrace, your warm chasing the tension from his frame.

there's a moment of silence before you hear him inhale, letting out a small sigh before his violet irises meet yours. "you didn't tell me they walk themselves now..."

and you smile, teeth pulling at your lip to bite back your laugh. you loved your husband, but this was too damn adorable. "hmm, they're growing up, huh?" you bring a hand to thread through his hair, and he closes his eyes for a second, his lips pressing a chaste kiss against your forearm as you continue your ministrations.

"i... knew this would come, but i didn't think..." suguru doesn't have to finish what he's saying for you to understand, because you felt the same thing when kohana asked to dress herself or when kaiyah started putting her dirty dishes on the counter to help you after dinner. "is it supposed to hurt?"

you laugh a little, your hand pressing against his face before offering him a small kiss. "it's just growing pains, honey," you say softly, "it doesn't get better but it'll make your memories happier."

your husband sighs, pulling you closer to settle into the crook of your neck. he breathes you in deeply and the two of you lay for a moment together in your little world of peace. "...okay."

you hum, "okay?"

"okay," he replies.

© tb3ih mmxxiv all rights reserved.

[tb3ih]

“Is it okay if I draw fanart of your fanfic?👉🏼👈🏼”

My brother in Christ we shall have a spring wedding

[tb3ih]

An old, restored photo of Rosalyne-Kruzchka Lohefalter with her crimson DH-82A Tiger Moth.

[tb3ih]

i really miss my genshin fandom (where are you guys?)

[tb3ih]

mornings

[tb3ih]

somewhere in malaysia

[tb3ih]

im gonna go broke.

[tb3ih]

𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔... never thought that in a million years he would be using his six eyes to play hide 'n seek with little kids.

his own little kids for that matter.

you always told your children that their father had good eyes, but they've never believed you till now. you're seated on the sofa next to your blindfolded husband, head leaning on his shoulder as you both take in the shenanigans of your young children.

"where am i, daddy?" the youngest chirps, teetering on her feet behind the sofa in the living room.

"hm. let me guess." your husband chuckles, just to fuel your daughter's antics.

he knows exactly where she stands and what soft, fuzzy pieces of the carpet tickle her little toes as she sways back and forth in her little pink princess dress. your husband's black bandage is wrapped around his eyes, and your children stifle their giggles as he pretends to ponder.

"he can't see us, can he?" the oldest whispers.

you shake your head with a soft smile.

a beat of silence before your husband speaks again.

"you're behind the sofa, aren't you, my little flower?" gojo speaks, and a fit of his daughter's girlish giggles makes his heart feel as warm as springtime.

"okay, but where am i, dad?" the oldest asks from where he's perched on a pillow in the center of the room.

"hmm." gojo hums. "you're sitting on mommy's favorite pillow. you're right in front of me."

a soft gasp is drawn from your son, and you watch as gojo lifts the black blindfold. he gives you a playful wink when the kids aren't looking before adjusting the blindfold.

"that's not fair!" the oldest protests. "is he cheating?"

you laugh.

"your father is definitely not cheating." you wave your hand in front of his blindfolded eyes. "see?"

your son pouts.

"that's so cool, daddy!" the youngest smiles. "can we do it again?"

"if mommy says yes." gojo replies, voice smooth as ever.

two pairs of puppy eyes meet yours.

when you say yes, they both cheer happily.

and one day they'll grow old, and he'll tell them about his six eyes and his keen gifts and treasures. his kids will grow up and gasp, shocked that their father really did have exceptional eyesight. they'll laugh and remember the times their father used to play with them, and look at those childhood memories fondly. but for now they're still little and full of light and spirit, hearts warm and tummies full with the dinner you made them an hour ago.

"okay, go hide again!" gojo chuckles, and his children scurry off with pattering feet.

your husband presses his lips to your shoulder gently before slipping his blindfold back on. a silent thanks.

he'll let children be children.

after all, no one is allowed to take the youth from young people, not even himself.

© YUNYMPHS 2024 modifications, reposts, and translations of any kind are strictly prohibited.