mssstojifushiguro - Tumblr blog

mssstojifushiguro · 13 days ago

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Giving In To Your Sin

Ryomen Sukuna x Fem!Reader

Warnings: haha, once again dubious consent, dark content, nun!reader, use of sister to refer to reader, religious blasphemy, like quite a bit of religious blasphemy, forward sukuna, he's also kinda a hoe, dom!sukuna, sub!nun!reader, mention of masturbation, fondling, backshots position, sex against a desk, vaginal sex, multiple orgasms, and creampie

Word Count: 1.8k

A nun is not supposed to lust. You are not supposed to sin. Your heart, soul, and body belong to Christ. But why? Why does this sin feel so good?

He came into church occasionally. He didn’t seem to take it very seriously. He would sit in on ceremonies and sermons, but only occasionally, perhaps once a month or so. He would, however, come to confession very frequently.

He came in on a rainy day, hoping to cleanse himself of whatever deed he had committed that week. His pink hair was drenched, and his jacket, which covered his tattoos, was covered in droplets that dripped. You couldn’t help but jump at his sudden entrance into the church. Your heart was pounding in your ears. He really did surprise you, didn’t he?

You watch him walk over to the confession booth, but he huffs out soon after. He stomps towards you, and you cower, getting up from your position of prayer. He stalks right to you, his eyes focused and angry.

“Is he not here?” the man asks, referring to the priest. You stutter out before giving him a proper answer.

“Uh, he may be in his office,” you reply. “I can bring you there if you wish.” The man nods, and you both begin walking towards one of the rooms at the back of the church.

You just knocked on the door and asked for the priest, but you didn't get an answer. Odd. So, you open the door to find an empty office.

“Maybe he is in the connecting room,” you suggest. “Allow me to check while you wait in his visitor’s chair.” The man nods again and sits down in the chair you mentioned. You walk to the connecting door behind the desk, which is located at the end of the small office room, and knock on it. Once again, you get no answer. Oh no, you think. I cannot open this door without the permission of the Priest or the Mother. Only the priest and the Convent Mother can tell you whether you can proceed to the priest’s quarters. You look back at the man sitting in the chair.

“Not here?” he suspects. You shake your head while giving the man a sympathetic look.

“Typical,” he says.

“Uh, sir?” You mutter. The man looks up at you. “If you wish, you can wait for the priest here. It might also get you away from the storm as well.” He laughs a bit. Not the reaction you were expecting at all. You become a bit flustered by his chuckle.

“Sister, I think that is the most you’ve ever said to me,” he says.

“Huh?” you utter.

“I mean that I’ve seen you around the church and you’ve never really uttered a word to me,” he explains, based on your confusion.

“Oh, I see,” you say. He gets up from the chair and crosses towards you.

“I guess I’m not that surprised,” he shrugs. “The Priest doesn’t like me, and I’m sure you and the other sisters find me intimidating.”

“I-Intimidating?” you repeat. He’s not wrong. Almost every one of your sisters are weary of him. Some nuns tried seducing him, and he seemed to be more than willing to help them stray from God’s path.

“Yeah, exactly,” he is a few feet from you now. “Not sure why.”

“Uh, yeah,” you reply, awkwardly. “I am unsure as well.” He is surprised by this reply.

“Do you find me intimidating?” he asks you. He somehow gets closer as well after asking this.

“I…” you don’t know how to respond. You search for some kind of answer. “I would…never find a member of the church to be ‘intimidating,’ as you so put it.”

“Uh-huh, I see,” he thinks for a moment before his next move. He moves his hand, and you move back up against the wall. “Are you still sure?”

You nod your head quickly. Not convincing enough.

“Why do you feel this way about me?” he asks—a good question.

“Uh, well…” you are unsure whether to be honest or not.

“Is it because of what happened with your previous sisters?” he asks. You look away from him in embarrassment. He struck a nerve. “Are you afraid you’d become like them with me?” You look at him with seriousness now.

“No,” you answer simply. You’re trying to be stubborn against him. He finds your small act of bravery intriguing and quite adorable. He presses himself against you, pinning your body against the wall with his.

“Even like this, you still feel this way?” he asks. Your body feels hot now. You try your best to defy his lustful actions. However, you have never known what it’s like to have someone so close to you.

“Y-Yes, even like this. I will not give in to your lust, to your sin,” you blurt out. You’re not sure who that statement is more for. Yourself? Him? God?

“Sister,” the man says lowly. “Just admit it.” His hands begin to explore your body, your waist, your hips; nowhere is safe.

“Ah, admit w-what?” you ask.

“That you’ve been fantasizing about this. About me,” he tells you. Your eyes grow wide.

“W-What are you…?” you can’t finish. He laughs.

“I know that you outside of the room when I fucked your sisters,” he explains. Your face grows terrified. “I could hear you wanting the same to happen to you.” His hands lift your long skirt to touch your thighs locked away by your tights.

“Y-You heard me?” he asks.

“You could barely keep quiet,” he recollects. “Tell me, did you touch yourself while I fucked them? Or did it after you returned to your room?”

“I p-prayed for forgiveness after witnessing you,” you explain. “But even while I prayed, I thought of you taking me.” His hands reach your ass, and he squeezes it hard.

“Yeah? Do you still want to be fucked sister?” he asks.

“We s-shouldn’t. We c-can’t,” you tell him. “We’ll be sinners. I’ll be a grave sinner.”

“So?” he asks simply. “Just ask for forgiveness from Him. He’d give a pretty thing like you forgiveness if you ask for it.” You look at the man; your eyes are pleading and conflicted. Should you give in? Should you become a sinner?

A nun is not supposed to lust. You are not supposed to sin. Your heart, soul, and body belong to Christ. But why? Why does this sin feel so good?

You kiss the man, feeling his fingers explore your lower body. The flesh of your ass getting deliciously squeezed. You’ve never had someone explore you like this. God, it feels good.

The man moves one hand away from your lower body and moves it to your chest. He squeezes one of your breasts hard, and you let out a moan, something you never thought you’d utter. The kiss grows desperate on both ends, with your hands clutching at the man’s shoulders and hair. The man breaks away from your kisses to ask you for what you really want.

“What do you want, sister?” he asks.

“I-I want you to fuck me like you did the others,” you confess.

“As you wish, sister,” he says. He helps you to the priest’s desk behind you. You face the front door with your ass up ready to be fucked. He hikes up your long skirt, bunched at your waist. He unlatches his pants and drops them down, his cock freed. He grabs both your tights and underwear and swiftly shoves them down your thighs, leaving you bare from the waist down.

He can see just how wet you are, too. He guides his cock inside you, and you are so tight. Christ, it feels amazing. You cry out from the feeling; it hurts a little. He starts slow, just savoring the squeeze on his cock. He hardly notices that you are only just getting used to having a cock inside you for the first time. Your hands find your mouth, and you cover it, hoping no one will hear you moaning loudly. Even with this teasingly slow pace, you struggle to adjust.

You begin to pray for forgiveness for your sins, which feels so good to her. You promise God that this will be the last time you stray. You will never disobey after this one encounter.

“You praying?” he asks.

“I-I have to,” you reply. “It will save my soul.”

“Will it?” he asks, amused. He grips your hips and picks up his pace. You begin to moan loudly, knocked back from the sudden pace. “Will your soul be saved if you pray?” You can’t even muster an answer. It feels too good to think about anything else.

One of his hands moves from your hip to your clit. It’s coated in wetness, and it hasn’t even been touched. He begins to roll in his fingers; this makes your legs shake and your moans waver. He fucks you more and plays with your clit faster sending you over the edge. You cum quickly smothering his cock in your essence. He loves seeing you at his mercy.

“Do you think your God could fuck you like this?” he asks, thrusting fast. He’s watching you come undone on his cock.

“Y-Yes,” you answer quietly between moans.

“What the fuck did you say? I want to hear you say it,” he demands. “Say it!”

“Yes, you are!” you scream, your pussy clenching him so hard. His hands grip your hips harshly, surely to leave some bruising.

“Damn fucking right I am,” he says and thrusts harder getting his point drilled into you. You can’t but cum again feeling yourself gush so much that your pussy ejects his cock almost completely. You can’t keep yourself up on your elbows and fall onto the desk. “Fuck me, such a sinful nun you are, aren’t you?” He brings his arms around you and lifts you back to your previous position. His cock covered in your cum, he shoves his dick right back in.

“W-Wait,” you cry. “I-I c-can’t.” You’re so overstimulated that you can barely get the words out.

“I’m gonna fucking take you, remember?” he tells you. “That means I get to cum inside your sinful pussy.”

“B-But th-that’s wrong,” you protest, but your words fall on deaf ears. He has a mission from God, and he plans to follow it.

“Shut the fuck up and take it,” he doesn’t stop himself even when you cum again. His strength alone keeps him inside you. All he can think about is cumming in your tight pussy. Your body is hot while you feel his grip on you tighten, and you feel a rush come inside you. Your pussy getting filled with his cum.

When he pulls his dick out of you, the white substance falls gracefully from you. The cum mixes with yours and flows down your thighs. You slump against the desk once again, completely spent. The man fixes himself and puts his clothing back on, but leaves you.

“So, do you think you’ll want me to fuck you again?” he asks, not expecting an answer. You breathe heavily, contemplating his question.

“I don’t know,” is all you muster. His eyebrow raised in surprise.

“Well, I am always willing to cum inside my favorite sinful little nun,” he replies. “Always.”

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mssstojifushiguro · 13 days ago

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Satoru loves spending time playing video games with you. well, not exactly with you. You both rarely ever play together due to your vastly different preferences in that aspect—but he rarely ever minds. Not when you’re seated at the desk right beside him, playing on the PC setup he begged insisted on building for you, looking so comfortable and content as your little avatar sprite runs about the bright and colorful world that is your cozy video game. His heart flutters every single time without fail, knowing and witnessing how at peace you seem to be with him. And he loves interrupting your peace just as much.

He forgets about simply enjoying your presence when he decides to glance at your screen. You’re interacting with an npc in your game, a man. Looks to be in his early 20s, his dark hair cut and styled so there’s longer strands framing the right side of his face while there’s short strands sitting on his left, all white sporting a black hoodie. Nothing to really make note of until he catches the redness on his cheeks. he’s blushing. Blushing at the love of his life, looking at her as if she’s hung the stars in the sky just for him. You did. You do. But not for him— whatever the name of his new mortal enemy is.

He didn’t think any npc could mirror the expression he most often wears with you. But it’s possible. It’s happening right in front of him. And he swears there’s hearts in his eyes.

“baby.”

you turn, a quizzical look on your features, and he pouts. Dramatically, like a child. Because how could you not see what’s wrong? The world has flipped upside down, his vision of your future together going up in flames, and you’re acting as if it’s a regular tuesday afternoon.

“He’s blushing.” His gaze flicks to the character on screen and he glares, as if doing so will make him combust into pixelated flames.

Your gaze follows his, and you realize what he’s referring to. “Oh, yeah. he likes me.”

“what? What do you mean he likes you?”

You look back to him, and suddenly the adorable pout on his face makes sense. Not that it’d take any genius to figure out. He’s practically throwing a fit. Or he’s close, at least, and over some npc in your farming game.

You can’t help but roll your eyes. Fondly. “I mean I have eight hearts with him, so he likes me and he’s probably waiting for a bouquet,” you shrug, attempting to hide the grin beginning to form on your face. You couldn’t help throwing in that last bit, just to rile him up a little more. If he’s going to interrupt your gameplay over childish jealousy, he might as well make it worth your while.

satoru falls for it, of course. he’s appalled at the mere idea of your implication. A confession. “A bouquet? From you? but you don’t give me bouquets..” you didn’t think his pout could grow deeper, but it does. And you love it.

A beat passes. he stays silent, leaving you practically at the edge of your seat. He’s considering something as he stares at your screen once more. Maybe plotting on ways to recode the game to make a certain npc disappear, or maybe to get rid of the possibility bouquets in the game altogether. You wouldn’t put it past him.

“I want one,” he finally says.

you blink. ��what?”

“A bouquet. I want one,” He repeats himself, as if it’s obvious. he crosses his arms, already set on it. His baby is going to get him a pretty bouquet, even better than the one that degenerate of a character is expecting. He’s going to love it, and he’ll rub it in that emo’s face so damn hard the he’ll turn sentient.

“You’re ridiculous.”

You both end up at the nearest flower shop anyway, searching for a bouquet to match your nerdy boyfriend’s newly acquired sophisticated taste. He examines the petals of each bouquet with utmost precision—and a strange gentleness. You’re almost jealous of it.

Eventually, he decides on a rather colorful bouquet, oddly reminiscent of the one found in your the game. The grin from earlier peeks its way through once more.

“I’ll pay,” you insist, taking the bouquet from him before he can, carrying it to the front counter.

Despite the revulsion he usually feels at the thought of you paying for anything, he lets it slide just this once. A smirk grows on his face, utterly giddy that his pretty girlfriend is bending to his entirely reasonable whims.

“You’re into this, huh?” he teases, grinning like a child who just manipulated his way into getting a sweet treat.

“Into what?” You hum, almost innocently, handing him his bouquet. “Gifting guys bouquets?”

He hums his assent, not caring too much in correcting your choice of words in favor of sniffing your gesture of love towards him. Take that, he thinks to himself, imagining a look of horror and jealousy on a certain pixelated face.

You shrug. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

He freezes. the words ring in his ears, piercing through his heart; any sign of his earlier happiness is completely gone. You walk ahead, seemingly unaware of his inner spiraling.

“What?” He manages to get out, unmoving, shock and betrayal painted on his face.

You stop, smiling to yourself before turning around. sometimes, satoru forgets that you’re capable of playing with him just as much as he is with you.

“Oh no, I mean in game, baby,” you clarify, as if that’ll reassure him, but you know better.

“what?!”

°‧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

eee first post! this idea came to me while I was playing my cozy little farming gsme ! I made it pretty obvious but if you know what game reader is playing AND the character Satoru is going crazy over you get a pat on the head and a little kiss (maybe)

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mssstojifushiguro · 13 days ago

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MDNI 18+

geto doesn’t bother tying his hair back tonight.

just rakes it carelessly behind his ears, and climbs over you—obsidian tendrils already slipping loose, gleaming like wet ink in candlelight. they spill forward as he bends, some catching at your collarbone, others draping across your cheek like ribbons unspooling from a spool too fast to stop. the first thrust has your breath hitching, hips tilting up to meet him. that’s when the strands cascade fully—veils of nightfall across your flushed face.

“suguru,”—a gasp, barely formed, thinned out by the glorious sensation of him filling you. his obsidian gaze smolder over your expression as his hips move with maddening control. one strand slips down to your jaw as he bends to kiss the shell of your ear.

“yes love?”

“your hair’s in my face.” you manage a small giggle between shallow breaths. your fingers dive into the thick, silken mass—useless. it falls again the moment you let go, pooling where his body meets yours. every glide of his hips stirs it, dragging it along your skin. it clings to the sweat beading at your clavicle.

he chuckles, an indulgent sound. “you don’t like that?”

“you could tie it up.” you suggest. he pretends to mull it over, rearing his hips slightly just to sheath himself fully to the hilt. a soft groan escapes your lips.

“you could braid it for me. after.”

“you never let me.”

“i’m letting you now.”

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mssstojifushiguro · 15 days ago

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NEEDLES FIRST

SCAR TISSUE - chapter one

Y/N

The street stank of sweat and cigarette smoke.

The heat in Tokyo wasn't polite. It didn't knock. It barged into your lungs, sat on your chest, and dared you to breathe through the weight of it. Shibuya was loud and fast and never out of reach - neon lights still glowing even before the sun dipped, the streets choking on motorbike smoke and fried oil.

My new apartment smelled like fresh paint, plastic wrap, and fake lemon from the overpriced candle I lit that morning. But I didn't want fake lemon.

I wanted ink.

And metal.

And pain.

So I walked.

I was just out here seeing the layout of my apartment since I was getting all my boxes moved in tomorrow. I loved it, it made me feel like me already.

Baggy jeans hanging low on my hips, cropped tank stuck to the sweat between my shoulder blades. I had my locs twisted into a high bun, gold hoops on, matte black shades that cost more than I wanted to admit. I didn't want to feel beautiful, I couldn't give a fuck about that. I wanted to feel alive.

And that started with a needle.

The shop was down a quiet alley I found last week while stumbling home from a gig. No Instagram page. No flyers. Just a matte black door and a red neon sign over it that simply read:

PIERCED.

The font bled. The light buzzed like it had a secret.

I stood in front of the door for a second and stared at my reflection. My lips looked too full. My shirt too small. I knew what people saw when they looked at me. And I hated that.

I lit a cigarette I stole from my past roommate. Took one pull. Coughing felt more honest than smiling.

"I'm bored," I muttered to myself, dragging the smoke low before snuffing it with the heel of my boot.

I pushed the door open.

The smell hit first - antiseptic, alcohol wipes, fresh ink. It smelled clean. Too clean. The kind of place where mistakes weren't allowed.

Everything was black inside. Walls, floors, chairs. The only light came from the red glow outside and a single overhead bulb hanging above the counter like a spotlight on a crime scene.

And tucked into the corner like a shadow brought to life, a cat.

All black, except her eyes - wide, reflective, yellow-goled. She was curled up on a low table, flicking her tail like I was already annoying her just by existing. Her collar said Chibi in tiny silver letters.

"You're open?" I asked the air.

That's when I saw him.

Behind the counter. Sitting with his back slightly turned, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows, ink flooding his arms in think, brutal lines. Hair jet black and tied in a loose knot at his nape. Cigarette burning slowly between his fingers.

He looked up. Slowly.

His eyes were black. Not brown. Not dark. Black. Like an oil spill after midnight. His stare hit like cold water, but he didn't flinch. Didn't smile. Didn't blink for longer than necessary.

"Appointment?" he asked, voice low and gritty like he hadn't spoken all day.

"Nope. Walk-in."

He looked me over once. Not the creepy kind. Just...efficient. The way doctors do when diciding how bad your injuries are.

"What do you want done?"

"Vertical hood."

He blinked.

Once.

No gasp.

No surprise.

"You sure?"

I walked closer. My boots echoed on the clean floor. "You always ask customers that?"

He shrugged. "Only the ones who look like they've been running from something."

I smirked. "Maybe I'm running toward something."

His gaze stayed on mine for a second longer than necessary. Then he stood.

"Back room."

The hallway was narrow. Dimly lit. The walls were covered in framed sketches - snacked coiled through ribcages, skulls smoking cigarettes, bleeding roses. No colour. Just black and grey and darker grey.

"I'm G, by the way," he said as we walked.

"Y." I lied.

"Just Y?"

"Just G?"

He cracked the tiniest smirk. It didn't reach his eyes.

The piercing room was colder. Clean. Everything wrapped in plastic. Stainless steel tray. Gloves. Tools laid out like an autopsy. The whole setup looked professional and impersonal - except for the vinyl playing something soft in the corner.

Billie Eilish. When the party's over.

"How long you been doing this?" I asked, leaning against the wall.

"Long enough."

"That's supposed to be comforting?"

"I'm not here to comfort you," he said flatly, pulling on gloves. "I'm here to pierce you."

I let the silence hang.

"You don't talk much, huh?"

"I talk when there's something worth saying."

"You always this cold?"

He glanced at me. "You always this loud?"

I smiled. Not because it was funny - because it wasn't.

"Take a seat, I'll also check if your anatomy is eligible for the piercing."

I did. Pulled off my jeans, underwear down just enough to give him access but keep my pride intact. He didn't gawk. Didn't hesitate. Just adjusted his gloves and got to work.

His hands were warm. Steady. Clinical. He wiped me down with antiseptic, explained the process in a short, clipped voice - just enough info, no comfort.

A few minutes later he was done with the consultation and I was able to get the piercing. Well thank fuck.

"Deep breath in," he said.

I did.

The needle went in.

I didn't flinch.

Pain bloomed. Sharp. Quick. Beautiful in its honesty much better than I thought. Like lightning through a quiet sky.

His eyes flicked up once.

"You okay?"

"I've had worse, shit was like nothing."

His brow twitched, just slightly. "Most people scream."

"I don't scream."

"You should."

He secured the jewelry. Wiped away a spec of blood.

"You took that well."

"I'll take you better." I whispered under my breath.

He froze.

Just for a beat. Then went back to cleaning his tools. Not having a damn clue what I just said.

I stood, still buttoning my jeans, the sting between my legs warms but manageable - the kind of pain that whispered instead of screamed.

G was cleaning his tray, metal against metal. He didn't look up. "If you need anything redone... come back."

I placed the cash on the counter.

Then I left

Outside, the alley was still hot and narrow. The kind of air that stuck to your skin. I pulled my shades down and started walking. Slowly. Like something behind me had shifted, so I turned around meeting his gaze giving him a fake smile.

Welp. That was me done for the day.

GETOU

She didn't flinch.

Most people do, at least a little. They twitch, gasp, suck their teeth. She didn't even blick when the clamp touched skin. Just stared at the ceiling like it was a fucking movie screen and she was waiting for the credits to roll.

I took the gloves off slow, dropped them in the bin. My back cracked when I straightened. Long day. Bad sleep. The usual.

She was still on the table, pulling her clothes back on. Calm. Unhurried.

I cleaned up - tools, tray, antiseptic - and turned away. Pretended to scroll through a text that didn't exist. I don't look at people after I pierce them. It feels... too much. Too bare. Like seeing someone in that moment leaves a mark I can't scrub off. Especially the ones like her. Calm. Cool. Hiding something in plain sight.

Chibi meowed from the back corner. I watched the girl glance that way, soft like she didn't expect a cat in a place that reeked of steel and ink.

"If you need anything redone... come back." I muttered.

She didn't answer right away. Just walked toward the door, all that noise from the street waiting behind the glass. Sun hitting her glasses. She looked over her shoulder and gave me the kind of smile that wasn't a smile.

Then she was gone.

The door clicked shut. The red neon above it flickered once.

I exhaled. Didn't realise I'd been holding my breath.

000

I lit a cigarette ten minutes later, leaning half-out the back exit. The smoke curled around my jaw like something alive. The burn in my chest was a better feeling than most things I knew.

There was something about her. Not the way she looked - though yeah, she was bad. It was her stillness. Girls like her aren't still unless they're used to noise. Unless their silence was taught. Or forced.

I hate people like that. The ones who remind me of me.

Chibi rubbed against my shin and I flicked ash into the tray, eyes still on nothing. The alley was quiet except for the hum of Tokyo's endless belly.

I closed my eyes. Just for a second. Just to escape the image of her in that table, staring at nothing like she'd done it a thousand times.

She didn't flinch.

She didn't fucking flinch

And I can't stop thinking about that.

#getou x reader #new fic #wattpad #getou smut #geto smut #getou suguru x y/n #getou suguru #geto suguru #jjk geto

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mssstojifushiguro · 15 days ago

Text

SCAR TISSUE

Chapter II - Next Door

Y/N

The elevator smelled like someone's cologne and half a regret. That sweet-sharp musk that tried too hard to cover sweat and didn't quite finish the job.

I had two cardboard boxes in hand, a bag slung over my shoulder, and Keiko meowing somewhere behind me like I'd ruined her entire week by moving her for the second time in a year.

"You're dramatic," I muttered, adjusting the box. "You'll live."

The doors opened to the twenty-seventh floor. Top. Brand-new building. Polished halls. Quiet. Not sterile, just... empty. A blank slate. My apartment was at the end of the corridor, gold plate on the door that caught the over head light: 17-22.

Cherry red walls. Matte black doors. Gold kitchen taps. A gold dancing pole drilled into the floor and ceiling. Every inch of the space had been mine to design. No roommates, no lingering scent of other people's food. Just me, Keiko, and a fridge full of tonic water and cold noodles.

I dropped the boxed on the marble counter with a grunt. Keiko skidded across the hardwood floors behind me and ran straight under the couch.

"Figures," I said, exhaling.

Then I smiled.

I hadn't smiled like that in weeks. Not since London. Not since the last gig, the last call from my mother, the last time someone told me I was "too much."

And for a moment, there was no guilt. No pressure. No flashing memories. Just the soft hum of a place that was mine.

I actually felt like an adult. Well I am 24, but I lived with my friends for two years after moving from London.

I threw on my playlist through my bluetooth in-built speakers I managed to tweak into yesterday. Summer Walker slid into The Neighbourhood and then into Drake- and cracked open a cold bottle of Ramune.

The lollipop from the convenience store sat on the counter, still in its wrapper. Blue raspberry. I unwrapped it, popped it between my lips, and let the sugar sit there like a secret.

The piercing still ached a little. Not painfully. Just enough to remind me I'd done something reckless yesterday - and maybe needed to do it again.

I leaned on the counter, sucking the lollipop thoughtfully, when Keiko suddenly jumped onto the balcony and started hissing.

I blinked.

"What-"

Then I saw it.

Another cat. In the opposite balcony. Not in the next building. Not across the street.

In the apartment directly next to mine.

Same layout. Same floor. And the cat- black, sleek, yellow eyes glowing like she ate gold for breakfast- was staring at Keiko like she wanted war.

"...oh," I breathed.

And then- he walked into view.

Long black hair. Baggy clothes. Cigarette dangling between his fingers. Hood up. Half-shadowed face.

The piercer.

My neighbor.

I dropped the lollipop.

It hit the floor with a pathetic little thump, sticky side down.

000

the next morning...

I wasn't going to say anything.

I was going to ignore it. People live next door to each other all the time. People pierce each other's private parts and then never speak again all the time, right?

Right?

Wrong.

I stepped out of my apartment, hair fallen down my waist, a tank top and shorts clearly comfortable, keys jangling- and there he was.

Bag of trash in one hand, cigarette in the other, door still half open behind him.

He looked at me like I'd just climbed out of the floorboards.

"You," he said.

I lifted my chin. "Me."

A pause.

Then he turned, tossed the trash in the bin chute, and said, "You follow all your piercers home, or just the special ones?"

I blinked. "I live here."

He stared at me.

I stared back.

My mainecoon meowed behind me like she was trying to say, "This is awkward."

"You didn't mention that," he said finally.

"You didn't ask."

He scratched his head like the conversation was making his cigarette burn slower. "That's... unfortunate."

"For who?" I sneered.

Another long stare. Then he turned and walked back into his apartment without another word.

Door slammed. Soft.

And just like that, I was grinning again.

The lollipop from last night was still on my mind.

Later that night...

Music filtered through the wall. Faint, almost ghostlike - low bassline, probably Giveon, maybe Bryson Tiller. It wasn't loud, just present. Like someone thinking out loud with speakers.

I sat cross-legged on my couch, texting my band group chat while Keiko rolled on her back dramatically, still angry at her enemy next door.

And then- thump.

Something hit the wall from his side.

Not loud. Not violent. Just... intentional.

I paused my music. Waited.

Nothing.

And yet, somehow, the silence was louder than any reply.

A few days later...

I was kneeling by the shoe rack, digging through a pile of sneakers I hadn't organised yet, when I heard the knock.

Not a regular knock. A dry, annoyed one. The kind that came from someone forced to care.

I cracked the door open.

He stood there with one hand in his pocket, the other holding a small white bag.

"You left this in the hallway," he said.

My eyes narrowed. "That's not mine."

He raised an eyebrow, glanced down at the bag - then back at me.

Inside was a tiny pack of cat treats.

Oh.

Keiko padded up behind me, tail high, purring like she'd done something holy.

"Right," I muttered. "Thanks."

He started to turn, but Keiko zipped between my legs like a white bullet and launched herself at his anke.

Claws out. Murder in her eyes.

"Shit-!"

I lunged forward as he stumbled back, hissing like he was the cat.

"Keiko!"

She darted away, satisfied.

He stared down at the angry red line on his ankle, pulling up his baggy pant leg.

"She bit me."

"No, she scratched."

"She drew blood."

"She's just territorial."

"She's Satan," he snapped. "A fluffy, snow-coloured Satan."

I tried not to laugh. Failed miserably.

"Keiko doesn't like you," I said, wiping my eyes.

"I can see that."

"She has taste."

He looked at me, unreadable, then turned and walked off without another word.

From inside his apartment, I heard the click of the door, the rustle of his hoodie as he tossed it down, the sharp sigh of someone who'd just added me to a mental blacklist.

Keiko trotted back inside like she'd done God's work.

That night.

I couldn't sleep.

The bassline from an old Sade track was running loops through my brain - low, groaning, sensual- and I couldn't stop humming it under my breath.

I tuned my bass just to kill time. Fingers dancing across the strings in my bedroom, soft enough not to be obnoxious, loud enough to feel something under my skin.

Then, somewhere close- just past the wall- I heard him.

A choked sound. Guttural. Like something torn.

I froze.

There it was again.

A yell. Raspy. Not pain - fear.

Nightmares.

My hand leaned closer to the wall, not meaning to - just instinct.

Then I heard him mutter something low. Maybe a curse. Maybe a name. Maybe nothing at all.

And then the silence returned.

I exhaled slowly.

What the hell had happened to him?

The next morning...

G looked like a graveyard.

Eyes sunken. Cigarette tucked behind his ear. Hair tied messily. Hoodie pulled low like it owed him money.

We crossed paths at the elevator. Both heading out.

Neither of us said anything. Until Keiko peeked her head out of my tote bag and hissed.

He stepped back.

"I should've brought holy water," he muttered.

I smirked. "Still bleeding?"

"Emotionally."

The elevator pinged.

We stepped in.

He didn't speak again. Neither did I.

Bur as we stood shoulder to shoulder, quiet music filtered in through my earbuds- RINI, moody and romantic.

And for a moment, we weren't piercer and pierced, neighbors or enemires.

Just two people who didn't sleep much hiding behind headphones and hoodie strings.

000

GETOU

The walls were thick. But too damn thin. At first, it was just background noise - a bassline thumping through the walls. Slap- heavy. Sharp. Not bad. Funky, even. Like something Prince would've grinned at. Confident fingers. A little messy, but raw. Real.

I didn't mind it.

It was... lively.

Then it kept going.

And going.

Slap. Pop. Slide. Pop. Slap again.

For hours.

I sat on my couch, one leg thrown over the other, a cigarette burning between my fingers. The ash grew long, curling toward gravity, begging to fall. I hadn't moved in fifteen minutes. My sketchpad balanced on my knee, half-drawn lines waiting for me to care.

A dragon's spine - long, twisted, the kind that coils up the ribs and pierced out the back. I was working on the teeth. Razor-sharp, just like the way she played.

The bassline slipped between my strokes. It snuck under the floorboards, buzzed up through the soles of my feet. Each slap hit like a pinprick to my temple. The hum was thick - molasses and sweat and something dirty, like a bar in the middle of the city that refused to close.

I closed my eyes.

Then-

"FUCK!"

A girl's voice. Muffled. But crystal-clear.

Agitated. Frustrated. Impatient with herself.

Then came the riff again.

Slap. Pop. Curse. Riff. Again.

I exhaled through my nose and let my cig smoke cloud the air. My pencil twitched in my fingers. A crooked smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth, unwanted.

She was a disaster. A loud, overconfident, persistent one.

I wondered what she looked like when she played. Tongue tucked against her teeth? Eyes closed? Or was she pacing in circles, bass hanging off her like armour?

Was she wearing that same little top she had on the day she walked into my shop? The one that didn't hide much, didn't care to?

My mind wandered - unwanted.

I looked at the dragon again. I had drawn it with eyes that looked dead.

Maybe it was a self-portrait.

The sound kept going. Relentless. Riffs turned clumsy, then clean, then messy again. She was trying. She was fighting the instrument like it owed her something.

And something about that felt too familiar.

The fifth round of a fumbled funk riff sent a tin of matches vibrating off my table and onto the floor.

That was it.

I snapped my pencil in half.

Snapped it slow, too. Right between my fingers like bone.

Enough.

My head was already hurting enough before her bullshit bass playing started.

A few minutes later

Her door was red. Of course it was.

Don't know why I didn't acknowledge that the first time...

I knocked once. Sharp.

She opened it with a towel on her head and her bass still strapped across her chest like a weapon.

I blinked at her.

She blinked back.

"Hi," she said, a little breathless.

"Turn it down."

"Come again?"

"The bass. The slapping. The screaming. Maybe lose the dramatics."

She laughed — actually laughed, bold like I wasn't serious.

"You're the one screaming at 3am like you're possessed," she said.

I narrowed my eyes. "At least I keep it to night hours. You're waging war on my eardrums at noon."

She tilted her head, grinning. "Poor baby. Want me to play you something softer?"

"I want you to buy headphones."

She shrugged. "Or you could just soundproof your walls, Mr. Broody."

I turned and walked away.

Behind me, I heard her strum a single low note — slow and cheeky.

Petty.

I didn't hate it.

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mssstojifushiguro · 19 days ago

Text

NEEDLES FIRST

SCAR TISSUE - chapter one

Y/N

The street stank of sweat and cigarette smoke.

My new apartment smelled like fresh paint, plastic wrap, and fake lemon from the overpriced candle I lit that morning. But I didn't want fake lemon.

I wanted ink.

And metal.

And pain.

So I walked.

I was just out here seeing the layout of my apartment since I was getting all my boxes moved in tomorrow. I loved it, it made me feel like me already.

And that started with a needle.

The shop was down a quiet alley I found last week while stumbling home from a gig. No Instagram page. No flyers. Just a matte black door and a red neon sign over it that simply read:

PIERCED.

The font bled. The light buzzed like it had a secret.

I stood in front of the door for a second and stared at my reflection. My lips looked too full. My shirt too small. I knew what people saw when they looked at me. And I hated that.

I lit a cigarette I stole from my past roommate. Took one pull. Coughing felt more honest than smiling.

"I'm bored," I muttered to myself, dragging the smoke low before snuffing it with the heel of my boot.

I pushed the door open.

The smell hit first - antiseptic, alcohol wipes, fresh ink. It smelled clean. Too clean. The kind of place where mistakes weren't allowed.

Everything was black inside. Walls, floors, chairs. The only light came from the red glow outside and a single overhead bulb hanging above the counter like a spotlight on a crime scene.

And tucked into the corner like a shadow brought to life, a cat.

"You're open?" I asked the air.

That's when I saw him.

He looked up. Slowly.

His eyes were black. Not brown. Not dark. Black. Like an oil spill after midnight. His stare hit like cold water, but he didn't flinch. Didn't smile. Didn't blink for longer than necessary.

"Appointment?" he asked, voice low and gritty like he hadn't spoken all day.

"Nope. Walk-in."

He looked me over once. Not the creepy kind. Just...efficient. The way doctors do when diciding how bad your injuries are.

"What do you want done?"

"Vertical hood."

He blinked.

Once.

No gasp.

No surprise.

"You sure?"

I walked closer. My boots echoed on the clean floor. "You always ask customers that?"

He shrugged. "Only the ones who look like they've been running from something."

I smirked. "Maybe I'm running toward something."

His gaze stayed on mine for a second longer than necessary. Then he stood.

"Back room."

"I'm G, by the way," he said as we walked.

"Y." I lied.

"Just Y?"

"Just G?"

He cracked the tiniest smirk. It didn't reach his eyes.

Billie Eilish. When the party's over.

"How long you been doing this?" I asked, leaning against the wall.

"Long enough."

"That's supposed to be comforting?"

"I'm not here to comfort you," he said flatly, pulling on gloves. "I'm here to pierce you."

I let the silence hang.

"You don't talk much, huh?"

"I talk when there's something worth saying."

"You always this cold?"

He glanced at me. "You always this loud?"

I smiled. Not because it was funny - because it wasn't.

"Take a seat, I'll also check if your anatomy is eligible for the piercing."

I did. Pulled off my jeans, underwear down just enough to give him access but keep my pride intact. He didn't gawk. Didn't hesitate. Just adjusted his gloves and got to work.

His hands were warm. Steady. Clinical. He wiped me down with antiseptic, explained the process in a short, clipped voice - just enough info, no comfort.

A few minutes later he was done with the consultation and I was able to get the piercing. Well thank fuck.

"Deep breath in," he said.

I did.

The needle went in.

I didn't flinch.

Pain bloomed. Sharp. Quick. Beautiful in its honesty much better than I thought. Like lightning through a quiet sky.

His eyes flicked up once.

"You okay?"

"I've had worse, shit was like nothing."

His brow twitched, just slightly. "Most people scream."

"I don't scream."

"You should."

He secured the jewelry. Wiped away a spec of blood.

"You took that well."

"I'll take you better." I whispered under my breath.

He froze.

Just for a beat. Then went back to cleaning his tools. Not having a damn clue what I just said.

I stood, still buttoning my jeans, the sting between my legs warms but manageable - the kind of pain that whispered instead of screamed.

G was cleaning his tray, metal against metal. He didn't look up. "If you need anything redone... come back."

I placed the cash on the counter.

Then I left

Welp. That was me done for the day.

GETOU

She didn't flinch.

I took the gloves off slow, dropped them in the bin. My back cracked when I straightened. Long day. Bad sleep. The usual.

She was still on the table, pulling her clothes back on. Calm. Unhurried.

Chibi meowed from the back corner. I watched the girl glance that way, soft like she didn't expect a cat in a place that reeked of steel and ink.

"If you need anything redone... come back." I muttered.

Then she was gone.

The door clicked shut. The red neon above it flickered once.

I exhaled. Didn't realise I'd been holding my breath.

000

I lit a cigarette ten minutes later, leaning half-out the back exit. The smoke curled around my jaw like something alive. The burn in my chest was a better feeling than most things I knew.

I hate people like that. The ones who remind me of me.

Chibi rubbed against my shin and I flicked ash into the tray, eyes still on nothing. The alley was quiet except for the hum of Tokyo's endless belly.

I closed my eyes. Just for a second. Just to escape the image of her in that table, staring at nothing like she'd done it a thousand times.

She didn't flinch.

She didn't fucking flinch

And I can't stop thinking about that.

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