He's So Beautiful I Need To Consume Him I Need To Tear Him Apart With My Teeth I Need To Feel His Blood

help…..

had to come here to post this extremely Liu Xiao thing. and while we're at it let me tell you this is also Mukuro and Luka.

Gojo will eat any chocolate that Geto receives so keep him in mind when you confess to Geto

‘ hey. i can't sleep. :/ ’ from lx

the disappointment in opening his phone and witnessing that text pop into his notifications was unparalleled. a melting pot of dread, animosity, and irritation. he'd been half expecting to be cheng xiaoshi or qiao ling striking a conversation, but no. there's an audible sigh he imparts into the empty room on who the sender really was. plucking his phone from the pillow as he mindlessly types a retort to @einshi.

✉️ to liu xiao: hello. I can. goodnight.

and with that out of the way, he picks his book back up. eyes scanning the page once more, to resume where he'd left off. clearly not going to sleep.

you don't understand. i'm obsessed.

I’m not about…to let you be the only one who dies!

before  bed  kiss. 🧍🏾‍♂️ souma and mr geto sir.

it’s in bed that he feels the most restless.

like an earthquake, memories that he’d long since buried would resurface, the epicenter of which started with the familiar voices of old classmates and friends murmuring his name, in the dark, sometimes obtaining a physical form in the corner, sometimes as lingering touch on the set of his brows, ghostly as thin air. he rolls up on his bed and is greeted by the blurry vision of still curtains. summer’s embrace coated him in a layer of sweat, uncomfortable enough that lying down and still on his mattress does little to appease the thoughts swirling in his mind. 

it’s until he grasps at the strings of consciousness that he notices the body lying next to him, the soft breathing pressing at his sides as though cradling a new-born bird in hand, warm and fragile to the touch. the night sat still, eerily so. if a pin dropped, maybe souma and him would’ve been able to hear it echo in the quietness of the room.

“can’t sleep?” more like an observation than a question, suguru whispers from his position, his voice a hiss as though every syllable carried the weight of exhaustion as they left his lips. though this night is like any other, souma’s presence in his room is entirely new. not for the first time he’s overcome with urge to touch him, unsure whether the souma in front of him is corporeal or a midnight illusion, a haunting presence to torture his lonely soul.

or an escape.

suguru blinks weariness away, a single digit traces the sharp dip of souma’s nose, then down to his lips. there, his skin is greeted by the warmth of his shallow breathing. he remembered, then, like a flame flickering before it’s put out, the taste of those lips against his own. 

they’d been soft, feather-like, and bittersweet. it had none of the innocence he imagined, so foreign, and he remembered having to chase after the sensation, as though it eluded him, not out of fear but something else entirely. ‘have you been told’ he’d said in an undertone, burying his nose in the crook of his shoulder, lips pressed onto sun-kissed skin and into a thin smile, ‘that you’re like a scaredy cat.’

although he meant nothing bad by it, his words gained him a light reprimand, and the moment subdued into quietness and then into deep sleep. he wondered how long souma had lay awake, if he’d waited for suguru to open his eyes and pick up from they stopped - the conversation or the intimate exchange altogether. he glances at the clock on his bedside. it’s way past midnight.

“usually, people are scared of the dark.” the hand that touched souma’s face had moved down, two fingers waltzed across his arm and the dip of his waist, voice going down by a few octaves, “sorcerers aren’t the exception. i believe that there’s an irony in that. we’re born with the ability to stare into the dark, the blackest darkness you can imagine, and yet we can conjure a primal fear like that. if a darkness curse existed, i wonder if it would be something that can be exorcised. it’s rhetorical, you don’t have to answer.”

a pause. their gazes meet, gold and grey, the shades of a cloudy sky. though it’s too hot outside to bring their bodies closer, the proximity mirrors the feeling of spilled blood.

“are you afraid of the dark?”

@sukareo

❛ so i suppose that it gets to a point where feelings gotta get hurt. ❜ (sasayama @ kogami ! )

load of bullshit.

the thought had been nagging at him all night, worming its way into the corner of his mind despite how often he told himself that these things didn’t matter to him, that he’d grown past the judgement of prioritizing his profession above expectations. it’s partially true. kogami’s focus drifted from his drink, the cheap can of beer resting atop worn out wood of a table that’d seen better years.

he knew he’d already had two to three beers too many, but that doesn’t stopping from swirling the half empty can of Sapporo beer between taut muscle, fingertips searching for anything solid that could ground him and keep him away from jabbing at sasayama’s back.

‘ i might have been glad to see you’ve fared well after your discharge, but now i don’t know. now i think you just piss me off. ’ no real bite in his words.

any other time in years past he would’ve obliged, perhaps dated the girl — a petite thing, charming smile, lean in the face, makes your stomach churn at the sigh. stealing moments together. he would’ve liked it back then, because it made him feel older, like he had his life under control.

funny how fast everything can change.

well, everything except sasayama. kogami hardly expects to hear an apology, sees the end of this teasing far outside his reach that perhaps the ordinariness of this evening makes kogami be more himself now that he’s ever been. he takes deep swig of his beer, making a halfhearted attempt to quiet down the pounding in his head since the moment he’d been masked with the question: will you take the leap or will you go on pretending that all there is to life is to sit behind a monitor and run drills, scan people’s faces from the better end of the dominator.unfair to her, should he play the role of pretender.

‘ figured i’d let her know, in case it got her hopes up for nothing. you’re one to judge. at the very least, i’m not the womanizer who can’t keep hands to himself. ’

@lustraveil

🫂 i slide u teacher suguru for ur student suguru. 😔😔

there’s been stranger leaps in time and reality while fighting curses. yes, they are vicious, crueler than the harsh reality of knowing that no matter how many he swallows, there’s no end to them. still - the sound of his own voice, coming from somewhere different than his own throat and seeing himself reflected in eyes that were his own but, at the same same, belong to someone else is an unholy union of familiar and strange.

suguru’s mouth runs dry, and when his mouth opens to speak, he’s immediately silenced by the sensation of long limbs and a solid frame cradling him in the narrowed space of a… hug. hands come to a halt, unable to invoke a spirit or ghost. the smell - everything about the man screamed this is me, he is i, and i am what he was and despite it all, suguru leans into the touch, whether by instinct or need.

he doesn’t realize when his hands begin to tremble until the man reassures him that it’s alright, that there’s no reason to be afraid.

fear? that might be it.

suguru is no stranger to the sickening feeling, its taste as he downs it through his throat. smallpox, imaginary scares, local deities; suguru has spend many a night tormented by the musty stench of their power, the memories that belonged to many and none to him. but there’s something about the hollowness that comes with the embrace, like a nightmare that’s suffusing with the first rays of sunlight as morning comes. there’s a wrongness in there, so profound and it seems to reject the man’s presence, so it slithers away through the space between his fingers until it’s all gone at last.

‘ …am i wrong to guess i messed up - or will, at some point? ’ he makes a light-hearted joke. ‘ that won’t happen. or it shouldn’t, as long as you tell me exactly who you are and what made you come here. ’

@trelonkan