#they are so breathtaking oh my god it really just.. makes your heart stop. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dhoranbolt · 7 months

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Devilish

a/n: Happy (late) Valentine's! I suck at time management this was supposed to be out like a week ago lmao. Brought to you by that one Sukuna art, Fleabag, the songs Church/Devilish by Chase Atlantic, and really just my priest kink in general, yeah.

Disclaimer - I am not super religious forgive me if none of this makes sense lmao idk

Friendly reminder- if your age isn't easily accessible on your profile I will not be tagging you! That said if you'd like a tag in future works let me know and I'll add you to the list!

Bestie beta reader: @yukios-medic ily ma'am as always you keep me sane 🥹💙

Pairing: priest!Sukuna x fem!reader

cw/tw: minors/ageless blogs DNI, priest kink, degradation, reader is called good girl, oral (female receiving) unprotected sex, cream pie, dirty talk

Word count: 5.7k

She’s seen him around the coffee shop she frequents every once in a while. ‘Gorgeous’ might be an understatement – maybe ‘sculpted by the gods’ would be a more accurate description.

He’s tall, muscular, from what she can tell under his loose-fitting tee and jeans. She swears she’s not gawking, but with the tattoos that line his face and arms, so intricate yet simple, his fluffy pink hair, could anyone really blame her for staring a second too long?

He’s so breathtaking, she might just be showing up to the coffee shop more often than she used to just in the hopes of glimpsing him a little longer. Maybe in a different t-shirt, maybe in a suit– okay stop.

She’s decided to take a seat while she waits for her order to be called out, not having paid particular attention to who from the list of regulars she sees strewn about the shop.

“Order for Father Kuna!” She huffs a small laugh out as the barista calls the name with such a straight face, and then pink hair is blocking the view. Her breath catches in her throat the moment he turns around to walk back to his table with a grin, and their eyes meet. Her heart jumps into her throat, but the moment is only that- a moment, and then he’s moving out of her view, back to the table of other men laughing as he rejoins their group.

She chances a look that way to see a man with long black hair, and another with short white hair. She looks away before any of them can feel her eyes on them. It was enough that he was so attractive, but all three of them?

It’s not the first time she’s seen him smile, but it is the first time he’s looked at her, smile widening as they lock eyes.

–

Granted, it’s only Tuesday, this whole week has been one inconvenience after another, and her visit to the coffee shop is not an exception. In her rush to find caffeine, she’d neglected to bring her wallet with her. So, imagine her surprise when she moves to pull it from her purse and pay, only to notice it missing.

She’s huffing as she frantically looks through the bag again. The cashier in front of her looks bored, like this is probably not the first time this exact situation has taken place today, and if the world could just open up and swallow her whole right now, that would be great–

“I can pay, if you can’t find your wallet.” A voice calls from behind her, and if her cheeks weren’t already red from embarrassment at her current situation, they would be now.

Turning to look at the owner of the voice, she’s met with an abdomen, and as she follows it up, black tattoos come into view, and so does pink hair, and are his eyes red–

“Oh, please no, it’s fine I’ll just–” He laughs, and she feels like every inconvenience in her life could just melt away at the sound.

“I insist. Besides, what kind of good Samaritan would I be if I left a damsel without the caffeine she looks like she might break down without?” Her face scrunches up at his comment, but before she can question it, he’s stepping past her to order his own drink and pay.

“I was joking, by the way. About the caffeine comment. I’m sorry if it came across rude, you just looked a little you could have used a laugh. Long week?” She laughs and nods as they wait off to the side for their drinks.

“The longest. And thank you for paying, really you didn’t have to, but I appreciate it, nonetheless.” He grins again and her heart might actually jump out of her chest at just how painfully gorgeous this man is.

“It’s no issue, I like helping people where I can.”

“Well, I’m going to pay you back after this, just so you know.” He chuckles and shakes his head.

“There’s no need, we’ll say I just did it out of the kindness of my heart and leave it at that.”

“I don’t like feeling like I owe people.”

“Then don’t feel that way.” She lets out an exasperated huff as she looks up at him, but he’s grinning down at her again.

“Okay fine, fine. How about this? How about you can pay me back, by meeting me… Here.” He says as he scribbles an address out for her on a napkin. He hands it over, and she takes it with a raised brow, looking at the unfamiliar street name and number.

“You want me to bring your money to an address I’ve never been to before?” And there’s a sparkle in his eyes as he looks down at her.

“I don’t even know you.”

“Sure you do,” he says with a nod, continuing on, “I’m Sukuna, the devilishly handsome coffee shop patron who doubles as your knight in shining armor for today.” She laughs as he grins.

“Okay, well, what makes you think you know me?” And he pretends to think for a minute.

“Well lets see, I’ve seen you around this little shop long enough to know that you’re a woman of your word.”

“How, this is the first time we’ve ever exchanged words.” She scoffs another laugh.

“Oh so you have noticed me around then?” And anything she says next would give away the fact she did notice him around, so her jaw opens and closes silently as she debates on what to say next.

“I-” And she’s saved by the barista interrupting her derailed train of thought.

“Order for Ryomen!” He moves to the pickup bar, taking the two drinks in hand and walking back to her.

“Meet me there tonight, seven fifteen.” And she’s still trying to register what’s even really happening as he hands her the cup.

“What is this like a date?” The words leave her mouth before she can stop them, and she bites her tongue as he chuckles.

“Yeah, something like that. Just come, then consider your drink paid for.” And how could she say no to him?

“Okay sure,” she laughs nervously, “I’ll be there, Sukuna.” And she savors the way his name sounds, rolling off her tongue.

“I’m looking forward to it, enjoy your drink.” He says with a smirk, before leaving her in the coffee shop. Sitting down at a nearby table, she pulls out her phone to look up the address she’d just agreed to meet a semi-total stranger at, and when it loads on her map she’s left even more confused than before – it’s the address to a church.

–

She’s sitting in the parking lot of the church, staring at the doors in contemplation. She’s not very religious, but the curiosity of finding out just what he could possibly be asking her here for, is why she’s making her way to said doors once the first few groups of people pass. She laughs to herself at the mental image of the church setting her ablaze the second she steps in.

Looking around at everyone sitting down, she’s searching for pink hair, but doesn’t see it. For church on a Tuesday night, the place is almost packed. She barely finds a seat with breathing room from the sea of faces around her.

‘It is only eight past seven though, maybe I’m just early.’ She thinks, trying to calm her rising nerves. What is she even doing here? It was so easy for a handsome stranger to coax her into following him to some random church, surely this was not the stellar survival instinct of someone who doesn’t get serial murdered.

The minutes tick by, and she’s about to just get up and leave, mortification starting to settle at the fact she believed he would even show up, when a familiar voice gathers all attention to the front of the room, and she freezes.

What exactly is she supposed to make of the sight before her? Black tattoos, pink hair, muscular body, covered up in black clothing, complete with the white tab collar. If the building wasn’t going to set her on fire before, it surely would now.

“Good evening, everyone. For those of you that are joining us for the first time tonight, I’m Father Ryomen.”

He’s looking out into the crowd as he speaks, eyes scanning the rows of people for her. When his eyes land on her, her breath catches in her throat, shivers running through her entire body.

‘There is no way in hell that I am horny in church right now.’ But there is a way, and his lip is currently curling up at the corner as he looks at her.

So, she sits for the next hour and a half, listening to the sound of his voice as he goes on through his sermon, not retaining anything except for how smooth his voice sounds, booming off the walls. He gives his closing words, and everyone around her begins to get up. Some filter out, most stay back to chat with him, and she decides to wait until there is no longer a line leading up to him.

The last big group of people finish up, and she’s finally had ample time to process the image before her as she makes her way toward him against the leaving crowd.

“You made it.” He says with a warm smile, and her stomach twists.

“I won’t lie, I thought you were joking still when I realized it was a church. So, a priest, huh?” He laughs with a nod.

“Forgive me, father, if I didn’t take you for the type.” Sukuna smirks down at her, and for a second, she swears there’s a mischievous glint in his eyes. It’s gone just as soon though, and she chalks it up to the lighting.

“Most people don’t, with the tattoos and all. I don’t mind, though. I use it as a way to show it is not our place to cast judgment upon others. But services are over, please, just call me Sukuna.”

“How very religious of you, Sukuna.” She hums.

“And what about you, then?”

“Honestly? I’ve never been very religious.” She shrugs, ‘but I can see why the people at this church would be’.

“And yet I talked you into coming? Surely that’s got to mean something.” He jokes as he rests a hand on her arm for a second.

“It does, if I’m not mistaken, my drink is now paid for in full.”

“Hah.” He fake laughs, and the sound makes her stomach flutter as she looks around.

“I should probably get going though, I think we’re the last two here.” She notes, seeing the fact everyone else has filtered out of the church, before looking back up at him.

“Why don’t you stay with me and lock up, I want to show you something.” Conscious of the fact she still doesn’t really know him, she raises an eyebrow at him, searching his face for any ill-intent.

“It’s nothing bad, I promise. I don’t bite, if that’s what you’re worried about.” And she doesn’t sense anything bad about him, his words seem genuine. There’s something about him though, she can’t quite place. It doesn’t set off alarm bells, but it piqued her interest, making her stomach knot in anticipation.

So, she follows him. Chatting about nothing in particular as he tidies around, and they lock up the church for the night.

“You know, I would have never in my wildest dreams, guessed priest.” He threw her a smile.

“So what did you dream about me then?” Her cheeks burn, and she busies herself with the now very interesting chip in her nail polish as she flounders for a response. But he hooks his finger under her chin, grabbing her attention.

“Hey, I’m kidding.” He says, leaning down to catch her eye, and her heart stops. She’s not sure what she’s doing as she stares back into scarlet eyes, but the air around them changes. Suddenly, it’s thick with desire, so thick she could almost choke on it. And she can feel the gap between them slowly closing- he licks his lips, eyes glancing down at her own for just a second.

“C’mon, we’re not done yet.” He says softly, before pulling away. Her head is swimming, was she just about to kiss the hot coffee shop priest inside the church, no less? But she doesn’t dwell, he’s already moving to the other end of the hall, and she’s quick to catch up.

“It’s usually one of the other two fathers and myself,” he explains as he moves through the church, checking doors and tidying up as he goes. “unfortunately they’re both out this week.”

“And that leaves poor Father Ryomen to take care of the church all by himself?” She teases, and he scoffs.

“They’re unreliable as it is. Though the current company isn’t an undesirable exchange.” He winks at her, and not for the first time tonight, she wonders why he’s called her here.

“Why did you bring me here?”

“To repay your drink from earlier.” She rolls her eyes with a smile.

“That is so not why you dragged a stranger to your church.”

“Why do you think I dragged you here then, hmm?” He whispers, eyes slipping down to her lips again before searching her face.

“And I already told you, we aren’t strangers.” As he says it, it really does feel true. She doesn’t feel out of place next to him, doesn’t feel like she shouldn’t be here, even if this is the first time she’s stepped into a church in years. She takes his shift in conversation and runs with it, not answering his previous question. The thought he’d brought her here for anything other than to listen to him preach was starting to take hold, and she’d rather not read the room wrong and tell him what she was really thinking.

“It’s been so long since I’ve been to church, I thought maybe I’d be struck down the moment I made it inside.” She laughs, stepping past the door he holds open for her into a new room.

“Have you ever done confession before?” He asks, moving to refill the holy water.

“Can’t say that I have, but I get the gist of it.”

“Enlighten me.” He’s glancing at her with a stern look on his face as he caps the bottle.

“You sit on one side, us sinners sit on the other.” and at that he cracks a smile, chuckling.

“Keep going, you’re on the right track.”

“And, they tell them to you and you forgive them on god's behalf.” He shakes his head, still smiling.

“Want to give it a go?” She looks at him with an arched brow, and this time she laughs.

“You did this on purpose didn’t you, paid for my drink to get me into a booth. I’m almost positive that falls under coercion, y’know.”

“Oh c’mon, just try it. Don’t you trust me?” And there it is again, that mischievous glint in his eyes that makes heat pool in her lower stomach. She bites her lip.

“No I trust you just fine Sukuna, I just-” But he’s placing a hand at the small of her back, leading her to the booth at the front of the room.

“What are you doing?”

“Going to wash you from years of sin.” He whispers as he leans down to her ear, and a shiver runs through her.

“You’re joking-”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” And he’s reaching over her to slide the curtain aside, motioning for her to sit.

“I don’t think-”

“Then don’t. Be a good girl, have a seat.” Her stomach flips at his words, and there’s that smirk again. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing to her. What could humoring him hurt? She’s moving, brushing past his reach to sit on the hard wood. He gives her a nod, closing the curtain.

“I’ll be right on the other side, then I’ll talk you through it.” 'I bet you would' and the words are flashing in her mind before she can stop them. Maybe five hours ago, before she knew he’d sworn himself to a life of celibacy and Jesus, his hands all over her had been attainable. But now? This just felt like torture- and yet here she was. Being a good girl for him, and sitting in his booth.

She chews her lip, shifting her thighs together.

“Nervous?” He asks, hearing the noise. She stops moving, shame washing over herself. Not only was she trying to relieve some of the tension between her legs in a church- Sukuna could hear it.

“Y-yeah, something like that.” She laughs, putting her hands to her face.

“You have nothing to worry about. Sinning is innately human, that’s why you come to me.” And did she really come to him? Certainly not for this, but again, here she was. When he realized she wasn’t going to speak up again, he continued.

“Let’s start off with this, just say what you can read off the little plaque there.”

“Sukuna-”

“Aht aht,’ he cuts her off “I’m Father, in the booth, little one.” Heat pools between her legs at his tone. It’s playful but firm, and she can’t help the way she’s biting her lip to not make a sound. She follows his instructions, and- this feels ridiculous, what are they doing exactly? Why is she still doing it?

“What are they?”

“I don’t,” she wracks her brain for an answer. Being here in the first place, premarital sex, lusting for a priest, lusting for said priest while in the church.. The list was long, and she wasn’t sure saying it aloud would make the dull ache she was currently feeling any better.

“Don’t be shy now.” And he says now like he knew something she didn’t, about what was really going on here.

“I’ve watched Twilight.” It’s the first thing to come to her mind that doesn’t elude to the fact she’s going home to stuff a dildo into her aching walls while she thinks about him tonight. The answer catches him off guard, and he chuckles. Turning to the wicker wall dividing them. She can’t physically see him looking at her, but she can feel his eyes on her through the divider.

“Twilight, really?” Her cheeks turn pink, and she looks right back at him.

“Look I read it was like, devil worship according to the church in some article, okay?” He shakes his head with a smile.

“The woman who I met in the coffee shop just doesn’t strike me as the type to watch vampire movies, is all.” He teases.

“Oh like you’ve never watched a single fantasy movie.” He’s quiet now, and she blinks.

“… Not a single one, ever? Isn’t lying a sin, Father?” She challenges.

“We should stick to the topic at hand, sinner.” Her jaw drops and she scoffs in disbelief.

“Okay, well, the next one is that I have tattoos.” She can just imagine the look on his face right now.

“That’s a common one.”

“I’m still surprised they let you, with the tattoos.” She notes, smoothing out her dress over her thighs.

“I can be very convincing, when I need to be.”

“What is that like code for something?”

“My charm helps, even the little old ladies got over them when I flashed a nice smile.”

“I’m sure you’re very popular with all the grandmas.” She laughed.

“Not as popular as Father Gojo, but he’s always been the type to flirt with most things that have legs, regardless of age.” And he has to keep from rolling his eyes or talking any further down on the white haired man.

“I thought flirting was like, forbidden in your religion.”

“Not necessarily forbidden. frown upon, sure, side-eyed possibly.” She could live with side-eyed, hell she could live with frowned upon too. She wasn’t the one that took an oath of never sticking her dick in someone else. But she was the one that decided she wanted a priest of all people, to stick their dick in her. That wasn’t much better for her in the long run though.

“I think that about covers all my transgressions up to this point. Hey, does it still work if I confess to something I eventually will do? I think that’s a much better way to run this whole thing.” Sukuna chuckles, she’s definitely warmed up to being here with him, he can tell in the way she speaks so freely.

“That covers everything huh? Sure you’re not missing anything?”

“Like what?”

“How about, ’I’ve been eyeing up a priest for the past month now’.”

“I- what?” Her voice catches in her throat, jaw dropping and face burning. This visit had just taken a left turn, there was no way he’d just said that.

“Go on, say it. Unless of course, I’m wrong? Just remember, lying is a sin.” She can hear the smirk in his voice, but he doesn’t stop.

“Maybe, ‘I’m so turned on I can’t even sit still’.” Her breath catches in her throat- how could he have known that.

“Or how about, ‘I’ve even made a priest question where his loyalties lie’.” Her body was hot, a fire growing in the pit of her stomach. She takes a shallow breath, mouth feeling dry. She was going to have to answer him at some point, situational whiplash or not. She might as well try to level the playing field while she was at it,

“I’ll own up to mine, but not yours.” He chuckles, and it’s deep, ringing in her ears.

“Perhaps we should switch sides of the booth then.” Listening to a hot priest tell her just how into him she was, wasn’t exactly how she’d imagined tonight going. But when she really thought about it, what other way could tonight have gone?

She heard him shifting on his side, before the curtain was being drawn back. And her handsome, well put together priest, was no longer looking quite so put together anymore.

His hair looked like he’d been running his fingers through it, shoulders moving in sync with his breathing as he gripped the side of the booth.

“Lust is a sin too- but sometimes I just can’t help myself.” She swallowed hard at his words, frozen in place as she stared up at him, red eyes burning into her.

“I can always get on my knees, ask god's forgiveness afterwards.”

“Sukuna…” And she’s watching him slowly sink to the floor before her. Even as she looks down at him, she doesn’t get the feeling that she’s the one in charge of this situation. He moves forward, caging her against the back of the booth, his face inches away.

He looks so different from what she normally sees at the coffee shop; lips twitching up in a smirk as he reaches over to caress her cheek. He certainly doesn’t look anything like a priest, let alone a respectable one. He looks devilish, like he’s been waiting for an opportunity to get her here. And she can’t say it’s not exactly where she wants to be.

He leans closer to pull her into a kiss. The first one is slow, tentative, even though they’re both so clearly worked up. Pulling back to look her in the eyes he searches them, before they both crash their lips together.

“Mmm- wait- wait!” She can barely get the words out against his mouth, pressing her hands against his chest. He pulls back, looking at her in concern that he’d over stepped.

“What about- what if someone sees us?” The concern on her face that someone would catch them doing this, and not the fact that they’re still going to, is so cute of her.

“We locked the doors, didn’t we?” He grins and lets out a breathless laugh as the realization crosses her face. The son of a bitch planned this whole thing. He dips back in to claim her lips again, hands traveling down her sides to her ass, sliding her to the edge of the seat.

“From the moment I first laid eyes on you, I knew you’d be the reason.” He’s pressing kisses along her jaw, down her neck, anywhere he can reach.

“What?” She breaths, not really hearing him as her eyelids flutter. She’s too wrapped up in the whole situation, in how soft but firm his palm feels against her face as she leans into his touch. How wrong but right it feels for him to touch her, even just like this.

“Knew I’d stumble,” His thumb traces her bottom lip, tugging it down, and she opens her mouth instinctively. He’s using the grip on her jaw to turn her face to the side, planting kisses below her ear as she shutters, whining at the feeling.

“It’s like you knew, walking into a church wearing a dress. Walking into my church, wearing that dress. Did you wear it because you caught me staring a little longer when you would?” He’s rough, pressing his lips along her neck, across her chest, sucking, biting his way further down her body.

Her head is spinning. This was wrong, wasn’t it? But the fact it was wrong only turned her on more. She’d never wanted, needed, someone to fuck her so badly before. His hands are everywhere, kneading her chest, pinching at her hardening nipples.

“I asked you a question.” Sukuna’s still pinching at her bud, and she can barely concentrate enough to whimper a ‘yes’.

“Yes what?”

“Yes… Yes… I wore it just for you.” He sucks his teeth with a grin.

"Be a good girl and keep your eyes on me, I want to see them.” He pulls away from her and slips further down, running his hands from her knees up her thighs, pushing her dress up as he does. She’s instinctively parting her legs, letting him ghost his lips up the inside of her thigh. Sukuna presses his thumb against the wet spot on her panties, looking up to see her squirming closer as he does.

“Patients is a virtue, sweetheart.” He warns as he drags the lacy fabric down, discarding it off to the side. She huffs with a pout,

He presses his thumb to her clit, rubbing slow circles as she twitches below him.

He rubs a finger through her slick folds, slowly pushing into her. It's easy, she's so wet, whining for him so needily, and he's already working a second one in.

"Eyes on me, you're going to look at me while I make you cry." She could finish right here, he was so calm yet demanding. Scissoring his fingers inside of her he moved his thumb, dropping his mouth over her clit as he sucked.

Her thighs are fighting to close against him as he slides his fingers into her, tongue moving in slow circles. It's cramped in the booth, but Sukuna still finds the space to use his arms to hold her legs open. She's biting her lip so hard as she watches him, body tense. Her grip on his hair is tight, and she doesn't know if she's trying to pull him closer or push him away as the pleasure builds in her abdomen.

Sukuna doesn't stop as he feels every part of her clench, her body rigid and she takes everything he's giving her. He's sucking as he moves his tongue just a little faster, fingers sliding in and out of her slick cunt as he curls them inside of her. Her back arches, legs shaking as her walls clamp down on his fingers, pulsing as her orgasm washes over her. She's gripping his pink hair, trying as hard as she can to keep her eyes on him as he works her through it.

He's watching her with determination, listening to her cry his name, as his cock strained in his pants. With a few more shallow pumps of his fingers he pulls out and she whines.

"Greed is a sin too, sweetheart." He says as he lifts his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean. She breathes in softly as she watches, the low grown leaving his mouth making her stomach flip.

"Taste divine, I'd keep you here for hours if I could." He moans, pressing his mouth to her glistening cunt as he lapped her clean. She cried out at the over stimulation, hands flying to his head, trying to push him away. He simply takes both her wrists in his hand, holding them at bay.

"Try to stop me again, and it'll be a long night for you in this booth." He warns, pulling back to look at her. A rush floods her body at the thought, and he's leaning up to kiss her again. She's eager to return it, lacing her fingers through the hair at his nape.

Sukuna pulls her up on shaky legs, turning them so he can sit down instead, pulling her to straddle him. He presses her down over his clothed bulge, grinding up into her as he pulls away.

"You gonna be a good girl and have a seat?" She whines, grinding right back down onto him with a nod as she runs her hands down his chest, fumbling with his belt. He rubs his hands up and down her sides as she works, whimpers of frustration falling from her lips as she works on his pants.

"Patients is still a virtue." He hums, kissing the side of her neck. She can feel how thick he is even over his pants, but she's not ready for just how thick he actually is when she works him out of his clothes. Her jaw drops with a gasp as she runs her thumb over his slit, already dripping with precum. Sukuna hisses, hand flying down to grip her own.

"I said sit." He says, gripping her hips to lift her over him.

"You're so-"

"I'll fit, don't worry." He soothes as he moves her, rubbing his head between her folds a few times before slowly pulling her down. Her hands fly to his shoulders, gripping tight as he slowly stretches her out, making room for himself as he breaks her open over him.

"Sukuna, Sukuna!" She whimpers.

"You're doing so well, look at you." He praises, brushing his thumb over her cheek. She doesn't think she can take anymore, and yet her walls are practically sucking him further in, begging for more. God no one's ever felt like this before, he filled every space inside of her.

And then the back of her thighs are flush against his own, as he slowly rocks into her.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" He coos, and she shakes her head, mind already hazy from the pleasure.

"No." She whimpers, and rolls her hips with a cry.

"Fuck you're so much." She sobs, body shaking.

"Yeah? But you're going to take it." And he's pulling out, only to slam back up into her. She screams, nails digging into his arms as he holds her. He sets a steady pace, and after the first few thrusts she starts to move too, bouncing herself over him, pushing him further into her tight heat everytime their hips meet.

Sukuna pulls the top of her dress down, sucking a nipple into his mouth. All she can do is moan and grind harder down into him. Looking down between them she watches as he disappears into her, and it should be terrifying, just how much of him there is- yet she's accommodating every thick inch. And then she sees it when he pulls away from her chest- the bulge in her lower abdomen. She takes a shaken breath, and presses down on it.

“Oh my god fuck!” she whines, throwing her head back as her legs shake.

“When I’m this deep in you, the only God you should be crying for is me.” Sukuna growls, fingers digging into her sides to hold her in place as he fucked up into her. She clenched around him at his words and he grinned.

“Oh she liked that, did she?”

“Sukuna-! Fuck I’m gonna cum!” She cried, nails digging into his arms. He drank in the way she looked, jaw dropped in a silent moan, lip quivering. He wasn’t going to last much longer either, with the way her walls fluttered around him, sucking him deeper with every thrust.

“Where should I-”

“Fuck- inside, I don’t care just please-” She was shaking her head, rolling her hips into him as she babbled. Sukuna gripped her chin, forcing her attention on him.

“Say it again, like you mean it. Like you want it.”

“Please Sukuna, finish inside me. Wanna feel you inside me!” Her walls clamped down hard around him as she cried. He lifted a hand to wrap it behind her head, pulling her forehead against his own.

“There it is, take it. Be a good girl and cum for me.” He growled, watching as she came undone before him; jaw dropped in a silent moan as she pulsed around him. Sukuna fucked her through her orgasm, sending him right over the edge into his own. She whined at the feeling of him painting her insides in hot spurts, grinding further into him as they both pant.

It was quiet, aside from their breathing as they came down from the high, lustful haze being left behind. She cleared her throat, realizing they’d have to clean up the mess that was going to drip out of her.

“Well…” She started, beginning to pull back when Sukuna stopped her.

“Where do you think you’re going?” The question takes her aback as she stutters for an answer.

“I just- I thought- the mess…?” He grins lazily up at her, swiping a thumb over her bottom lip.

“Did you really think I brought you here just for one fuck?”

“Technically you brought me here over coffee.” She giggled, leaning into his palm.

“Leave your wallet at home more often then.” He demands, and she swallows hard, gasping as he bucks up into her again.

Tags: @saiki-enthusiast @alice-smutthoughts @idktbhloley @rezitio @matchat3a @mo0nforme @bleach-your-panties @fateisnotafactor @lov3ly-bunny @antishadow2021 @xo-evangeline @ackachii @tiredravenette @carpioassists @yoongislatinagff @unoriginalidea @i-likebread @squishybabei @emyyy007 @bitchykittenconnoisseur @kokushibosgirl @wishandluck @kimchi-zaks @kyriekurokami @not-brionnne @andic137 @tang3r1n @mammon-s @yuujispinkhair

#jjk #sukuna jjk #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna smut #ryomen sukuna #sukuna smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #priest Sukuna #priest kink #jjk smut #late night sukuna posting #sukuna hcs

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sailortongue · 1 year

Text

Sweet Tooth

pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

wc: 4.5k

summary: spencer finds himself frequenting a local donut establishment for more reasons than one. his sweet tooth isn't limited to just pastries and he bets you'd taste delicious

cw: oral (fem receiving), fingering. pls pls pls let me know if i missed smth but i think those are the only major things

------

It was widely known that Spencer was fond of overly sweet coffee, but his sweet tooth was not limited to just his morning pick-me-up. The team had recently wrapped up with a rather grueling case, and he thought he’d surprise them all with donuts that morning. So there he was, in the local donut shop, staring at what must have been the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. The way the early morning light shone in through the windows and illuminated you was truly breathtaking. Try as he might, he stumbled over the order, embarrassing himself in front of you and surely ruining his chances of you liking him.

You could tell he was flustered, so you did your best to suppress your giggles. He was cute. Very cute. This was the first time you had seen him come into the store, and you were hoping it wasn’t the last. He paid for his order and you boxed it up, receiving a shy smile from him as you handed it to him. “Thank you,” he said, before turning and walking out quickly, the bell above the door chiming.

It was a little over a week before you saw him again. He greeted you with a “good morning” as he walked in and approached the counter.

“Good morning!” you said back cheerily, glad to see that he had returned. He scanned the selection of confections before selecting a chocolate donut with sprinkles.

“Huh, I thought you’d be more of a donut hole kind of guy,” you said, trying to make conversation with the handsome man.

He laughed a bit and shook his head. “No, chocolate and sprinkles are definitely the best. They've been my favorite since I was a kid.”

“Oh yeah? I think if I was to pick a favorite it would have to be the apple fritter.”

Not missing the chance to learn about you, even if it was just your favorite donut, he asked, “Why that one? Not that it's a bad choice, but most people seem to prefer the chocolate and glazed.”

You laughed and Spencer swore his heart melted right then and there. “Well, they're my dad’s favorite. And every time he had one he would split it between us. So not only is it delicious, but it reminds me of my childhood.”

He smiled at your wholesome reason and before he could stop himself he said, “That’s really cute.”

You blushed, consumed with the thought that he considered something about you was cute, even if it was something so minor as to why your favorite donut is what it is. God, you didn't even know his name and there you were, developing a crush. Your eyes met his, and you were awestruck at how warm and inviting they looked. He had these expressive brown eyes that you could get lost in if you allowed yourself to. You shook your head from your thoughts, realizing you were probably freaking him out. He was just here for a donut and here you were staring at him like some creep. You hadn’t even bagged it for him yet. Pull yourself together you chastised yourself internally, finally breaking eye contact and doing your job like a normal person.

When you handed him the bag he briefly glanced down at your name tag. “Thanks, Yn,” he said, giving you a small smile. What a pretty name, he thought.

“No problem, have a good day…” you trailed off, hoping he would introduce himself. It was only fair since he knew your name.

“Spencer,” he filled in for you.

“Spencer,” you repeated. “I’ll have to remember that for next time.”

–❀–

Next time turned out to be three days later. You were back in the kitchen, not expecting a customer to be there so early until you heard the bell chime. “I’ll be right there!” you called out. You quickly rinsed your hands and were still drying them on a towel when you walked out to see a familiar mop of brown hair. “Spencer! Good morning!”

He chuckled, “Good morning, Yn.”

“Chocolate with sprinkles?” you asked, remembering his favorite.

“You remembered?”

“You’re beginning to become a regular, and I make it a point to memorize those orders.”

Spencer’s smile dropped a bit, somewhat disheartened that it was something you did for all customers and not just him.

You didn’t notice the slight change in his expression and continued, deciding to take a chance. “Plus, it’s hard to forget the cute customers.”

Spencer’s face instantly flushed crimson, all logical thought leaving him. So much for his high IQ. His mouth opened and closed again, desperately trying to formulate some sort of response. But Spencer couldn't even think straight. His thoughts were in a flurry and every single one was about you.

Seeing his reaction, you backpedaled as fast as you could. “I’m sorry. That was too forward of me. I don’t know why I said that. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable��”

“It’s perfectly alright.” He cut off your frantic apology. “You didn't make me uncomfortable at all. I’m actually quite flattered that you find me as attractive as I find you.”

It was your turn to be speechless. When his words fully sunk in, you couldn't stop the wide smile and giggle that bubbled forth. This man was going to be the death of you. “So, uh,” he started nervously, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck, “I was wondering if I could get your number?”

You beamed at him. “Yes, of course!” You went to the register and rang him up, writing your phone number on his receipt before handing it to him. He dialed it into his phone, and you heard your phone ringing faintly from the break room where you had left it. “There,” he said. “Now you have my number, too.”

–❀–

Your morning rendezvous with Spencer quickly became the highlight of your week. He was always dressed professionally, and you finally decided to ask him where he worked. The two of you talked about nearly everything under the sun, so you were shocked when you came to the realization that you didn't even know what he did for work.

The next time he came in, you practically ambushed him with your question. His eyes widened in surprise, “Oh, I’m an agent with the BAU. Did I not tell you that?”

“No, you did not. What’s the BAU?”

“It stands for behavioral analysis unit. It’s a department of the FBI. We analyze the unsub’s-”

“Unsub?” you interrupted.

“Unidentified subject. So what we do is analyze the unsub’s actions and behavior and create a profile to better understand how and why they do what they do. This is what allows us to determine the identity of the unsub and arrest them.”

Your jaw had dropped open during his explanation. The guy you’d been casually talking to turned out to be an FBI agent. Cute and badass.

Becoming shy from the attention, he changed the subject to something he’d been wanting to ask you. “So, Yn, would you be interested in meeting somewhere other than here? When you're not at work and I don't have to go to my own job?”

Your face flushed with heat, and your heart pounded in your chest. “Like a date?”

Trusting that your hopeful expression was a good indication, Spencer nodded. “Yeah, like a date.”

The bright smile you gave him at his confirmation would live in Spencer’s mind for the rest of the day.

“I’m free this weekend,” you suggested.

–❀–

And just like that, it became a routine for Spencer to visit the shop at least once a week. He began to find himself getting up earlier and earlier each day just so he could stay and talk with you for longer. The physical attraction was instant from the first moment he saw you, but now that he was truly getting to know you he was falling and falling fast. You had this light about you that Spencer couldn't put into words, even with his impressive vocabulary.

Reid’s highly observant coworkers were quick to notice his frequent morning donut runs. He never ate them at the shop, choosing to use that time to visit with you. Instead, he waited until he got to the office so he could enjoy the sweet goodness with his daily cup of coffee. And today was no exception.

“All those donuts are going to catch up with you one day, Reid,” Prentiss teased. “You can't be skinny forever.”

“So be it. She's worth it,” replied Spencer, taking another bite, sprinkles falling onto the napkin he’d placed on his desk.

“She?” Morgan raised his brows, a grin spreading across his face as he turned in his chair to face the young doctor.

Spencer’s eyes widened and he nearly choked on his food, trying to figure out a way to take back his slip of the tongue. “I meant they. They’re worth it. The donuts.”

“Uh-huh. Sure. So what’s her name?”

Spencer sighed. “Yn.” That was all he said as he pulled his paperwork towards himself. No point in denying it when they were already certain.

“Woah, woah, you can't just leave it at that! Tell us about her. What's she like and how did you meet? Spill everything.”

Spencer merely took another bite of his donut, a smug smirk on his face for withholding the information his colleagues were so curious about.

For the rest of the day, Morgan and Prentiss attempted to convince Spencer to divulge his sweet secret. After another failed attempt, it finally hit Morgan, and he had to admit he felt very silly for it. He waited until Spencer left on his lunch break before he approached Emily’s desk.

“Hey, what’s up?” she asked.

“What’s up is that Hotch should probably reconsider our positions on the team,” he joked. “The donut bag. It’s in Reid’s personal mini trash can under his desk. All we have to do is look at it real quick and we’ll know exactly which shop he goes to!”

Emily laughed, amused how it took so long for one of them to think of that. “Then what are we waiting for? Let's go dig in the doctor’s trash.”

They both stood and went over to Spencer’s desk. Morgan reached under and pulled out the small trash can, plucking the crumpled bag from the top. As he flattened the bag back out, a voice startled the two of them and they spun around in unison, like two kids that had been caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

“Why are you two digging in the kid’s trash?”

“Reid has a girl in his life and if he wont tell us then we’re gonna find out ourselves. She’s either a regular at this place—” he held up the bag, displaying the logo for Rossi to see, “—or she works there.”

“Hm. I see. Carry on, then,” was all he said before continuing on his way.

The younger agents turned their attention back to what they were digging for. “Meche’s Donuts,” they both read aloud.

“Pretty sure that’s close to Reid’s place. Y’know, I think some donuts tomorrow morning would be great, don’t you?”

“Now that you say it, yeah, donuts would be good. Meet you there at 8:00?”

“You bet.” He recrumpled the bag and replaced the trash can as it was.

When Reid returned, he didn't notice the look his friends exchanged and was none the wiser.

–❀–

The next morning, both Emily and Derek got up earlier than usual and met in the parking lot of Meche’s. They approached the building, and Derek held open the door for Emily, the bell chiming to notify you of a customer’s arrival.

“Good morning!” you greeted like usual.

They returned your greeting as they neared the counter, both of their sights narrowing in on your name tag: Yn.

“Has a guy named Spencer Reid been here today?” Morgan asked, never one to beat around the bush.

“No, do you know him?” You asked curiously.

“Yeah, we’re friends of his. We noticed that his sweet tooth has been getting the better of him lately. Lots of donuts,” he smirked, gesturing down to the transparent display. “Pretty boy had a bit of a slip up and told us that it was because of a girl, but wouldn’t tell us anything else. So we decided to do a bit of sleuthing.”

“And here we are,” finished Emily. “I’m Agent Emily Prentiss and this is Agent Derek Morgan. Promise we’re not creeps, this is just the first time we’ve known him to have a crush on someone and we wanted to know what you looked like. He’s got good taste at least.”

You laughed good-naturedly, “Don't worry about it. We have a date scheduled for this weekend actually.”

Emily ooohed like a schoolgirl. “You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but I’m dying to know. What is Spencer’s idea of a date? Bet he takes you to a bookstore.”

“Or a foreign movie,” interjected Morgan. “With no subtitles, so he can whisper the translations in your ear.”

–❀–

Saturday

You were getting ready for your date with Spencer when you heard your phone ring. The caller ID told you that it was Spencer calling and butterflies erupted in your stomach.

“Hello?”

“Hey, I was just calling to let you know I’m on my way.”

“Ok, perfect! I’m almost done getting ready. You remember the address?”

He laughed. “Of course I remember. There’s not much I don’t remember.”

“Oh, my bad Dr. Reid. We can't all be super geniuses with an eidetic memory.”

The two of you talked and joked with each other until Spencer told you that he was parking and would be up in a moment to meet you at the door. All you had to do was quickly slip your shoes on and you were ready.

Three sharp raps sounded from the door, and you peeked through the peephole before unlocking the door and swinging it open.

He seemed stunned for a second, just taking in your appearance. “Wow,” was all he could think to say. “You look beautiful.”

“And you look very handsome,” you returned the compliment. And he did, as always. He was probably the only guy you knew who could pull off a sweater vest. He may dress like an old man, but damn did he make it work.

Turns out that he picked out some hole in the wall diner you’d never even heard of. But he swore by their food and claimed it was some of the best in town. Also that they made a mean bread pudding. A broad smile overtook his features when he saw your eyes light up at the mention of the dessert. He’d recalled from a previous conversation that it was your favorite and had made sure to choose a restaurant that had it on the dessert menu.

The meal was spent indulging in a lively conversation about all of your favorite books. He even suggested a book exchange; he’d load you his favorite, and you’d loan him yours. Though you did warn him that you might have to pick up a new copy first, as yours was particularly old and practically on the verge of disintegrating in your hands.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” he said.

“No, it is!” you insisted. “The last time I read it I looked down and there were a bunch of particles on my lap from the pages.”

After picking up the check at the diner, Spencer informed you that there was a movie he wanted to take you to. “It’s a Russian movie, and I’m not sure if there’s subtitles or not, but I can whisper the translations for you. But I definitely think you’ll enjoy the plot.”

You thought back to what Morgan said when he and Emily visited you. Morgan: 1, Emily: 0.

Turns out, there were, in fact, subtitles. However, Spencer claimed those weren't very accurate to the tone of the movie and chose to give you his own translations anyway. In order to not disturb other movie goers, he had to lean in to whisper, so close that his lips would occasionally brush the shell of your ear. If not for the fact you were already sitting, you thought your knees would have given out. The low timbre of his voice traveled straight from your eardrum all the way to your core. You tried to pay attention to the movie, you really did, but the gentle rasp of Spencer’s voice in your ear had you beyond distracted. He was so close. Between the close proximity and his voice, your panties were quickly becoming uncomfortably sticky which led you to squirm in your seat occasionally.

Spencer, the hyper-observant profiler that he was, noticed your pitiful attempts to adjust the way you were sitting. “Are you ok?” he asked, interrupting his translation mid sentence.

“Yes!” you answered hurriedly. “Yeah, I’m fine.” You cleared your throat nervously and hoped he would let it go. You could see a slight frown form on his face before it looked as if a metaphorical lightbulb went off over his head.

He resumed his position near your face, once again whispering to you, but not translations this time. No, this time it was as if a switch had flipped inside the sweet man you’d become so fond of. “If I didn't know any better, I’d say you like having me so close to you. Isn't that right, Yn?”

The way he whispered your name so sensually had your heart beating out of your chest and your breath hitching in response. His laughter came out as a huff, trying to stay quiet. “Think you can wait until the end of the movie?” he asked with a suggestive lilt to his words.

You both knew the answer, but you pretended to think about it in an effort to spare at least some of your dignity. “No,” you answered with your head down, almost ashamed at how easily Spencer had riled you up.

“‘No’ what? Use your words, sweetheart.”

To hell with your dignity. “No, I can't wait. I want you now.”

He grabbed your hand and pulled you up from your seat as he stood. He led you out the doors and to the parking lot, heading straight for his car.

“Where are we going?”

“My apartment.” he answered swiftly as he put his hand on the back of your seat to back out of the parking spot.

The ride to his apartment was spent mostly in silence, both of you tense for all the best reasons. At one of the red lights he’d made the bold move to relocate one of his hands from the steering wheel to your left thigh, rubbing his thumb back and forth and gently squeezing it every now and then. Every squeeze sent a bolt of electricity to your center and you were getting needier by the second.

–❀–

As soon as his apartment door shut behind him, his mouth was on yours, lips crashing together in a heated kiss. With both hands on either side of your face, he licked the seam of your lips impatiently, wanting nothing more than to taste you. You obliged, and his tongue snaked its way into your mouth, intertwining with yours. He groaned into the kiss, unable to get enough of you. Pulling away from your lips, he kissed down your jaw and neck slowly, deliberately. Taking his time to leave dark marks in his wake. He took a deep breath in through his nose. “You have no idea what this perfume was doing to me at the movie. Could barely even translate for you,” he mumbled into your skin.

“Bedroom?” you asked, near breathless with anticipation but not particularly wanting to get fucked in his entryway.

He led you through his apartment to his bedroom where Spencer wasted no time reconnecting his lips to yours, backing you up until the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed, prompting you to sit. Before you could lay down, his hands tugged on the hem of your shirt. “Let’s get this off of you, hm?”

He made quick work of the cloth and tossed it aside “God, you're so pretty. Lay down for me, sweetheart,” he said. You flushed and did as he told you, scooting yourself higher up on the bed before laying your head onto his pillows. He removed both his sweater vest and shirt before eagerly crawling atop you. He propped himself up on his elbows, his face aligned with yours. You impatiently leaned up to kiss him again, and you could feel him grinning into the harsh kiss before kissing you back. His hands wandered across your body, settling on your breasts. You moaned into his mouth and pressed your chest further into his large hands, your hips bucking up, seeking the friction you so desperately wanted.

He chuckled, removing his hands from your breasts to your hips and holding them down, preventing you from moving them and eliciting a whine from you. “Patience, sweetheart. I’ll take care of you. Promise.” His voice was low and gravelly, his lips pressed against the skin just under the skin of your earlobe. He suckled the skin lightly as one hand came up behind your back, unclasping your bra and giving it the same treatment he gave your shirt. He pulled back and groaned at the sight of seeing you half naked beneath him. This felt like a dream come true to Spencer and it was taking everything he had to not throw his inhibitions out the window and ravish you right that second.

He groped your bare chest for a moment before leaning down to lick a stripe between them. He placed feather-light kisses across your skin, his hair falling over his face and tickling you where it brushed. His trail of kisses led him to one of your nipples, which he took in his mouth, sucking lightly. You gasped when he used his teeth to pull on it slightly. “Spencer!”

While his mouth was busy with one, he had a hand on the other, tweaking the bud between his nimble fingers. You raked your hands through his hair, holding him in place. The tug on his roots had Spencer groaning into your chest and increasing the intensity of his ministrations and suckling you more and more fervently with each tug of his hair and sweet moan from your lips. Satisfied, he released your bud with a slight pop and switched to the other side, determined to make you squirm and beg for him before he touched you properly. The hand that wasn't on your breast lowered from your waist to your hip, massaging the supple flesh.

“Please, Spencer,” you begged, needing so much more than he was currently giving you. You were aching for him, panties soaked with evidence of your want.

He released your nipple and tilted his head to look at your face, both of your pupils blown wide with lust. He cooed at you, “What does my pretty girl need? Tell me, and it’s yours.”

“You!” you cried. “I want you! Please, Spencer!”

He groaned, the sound low and guttural. “You already have me. I was yours from the first moment I laid eyes on you.” Your eyes softened from his words, and you watched him as he tilted his head back down, tracing his nose down your abdomen as he lowered himself further down the bed, his hands caressing your sides as he did so. He placed a chaste kiss just above the waistband of your bottoms before hooking his fingers under it. “May I?”

You nodded frantically, and he placed another kiss in the same spot as he pulled your shorts and panties down together, tantalizingly slowly. Finally seeing you completely bare before him had him nearly cumming in his pants on the spot. You were so perfect and he wanted to make you feel so good that the only name you knew was his. He ran his hands up your thighs and settled his head between them. “You're absolutely dripping for me, sweetheart.” Spencer was practically panting from the lust flowing through his veins. He placed a chaste kiss to your clit before tentatively licking your cunt. You let out a strangled moan, his hot tongue not providing near enough pressure.

“Don’t tease me, Spence,” you mewled, your hands weakly trying to push his head back down where you needed him.

“Savoring, baby, not teasing. I don’t want to forget a single moment of this.” With that said, he licked a broad stripe across your pussy, much more confident than the first time. He wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked harshly, groaning into you. You cried out his name, grip on his hair tightening. “Fuck, you taste so good,” he said breathlessly before diving back in, slurping at you like a man starved. He hummed with bliss as he continued to eat you out, the vibrations adding to the stimulation. “So sweet, baby, oh my God,” he praised. He lifted your legs and placed them over his shoulders, pressing himself further into you as he wrapped his arms around your thighs.

It was all you could do to keep from screaming his name as he continued to lick and suck at the most intimate part of you. You thrashed in his hold, overwhelmed with the pleasure he was giving you. He tightened his hold on your thighs, holding you open so he could continue to drink you in. He swore he would never be able to get enough of you. If this was the last thing he ever did then he'd die a happy man.

“C’mon, sweetheart, cum on my face. Give it to me. I want it,” he grunted. Without warning, he plunged a finger into you, causing you to cry out. He added a second finger shortly after, and he relished in the way your walls were squeezing around his fingers. You were so close and it was all because of him. With his fingers thrusting in and out of you and his mouth on your clit, you were finally pushed over the edge, cumming with a scream of Spencer’s name. He didn't stop until you were practically shoving him away, the overstimulation becoming too much. His face was covered in your juices, and you watched with rapt attention as he licked his lips before wrapping them around the two digits still covered with your wetness, sucking them clean and groaning at the taste as he did it.

Yeah, Spencer Reid definitely had a sweet tooth.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid smut

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teatreeoilll · 8 months

Text

𝐓𝐎 𝐄𝐑𝐑 𝐈𝐒 𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐄 (𝐂𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐨 𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮 𝐗 𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

˚• . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . •

w/c - 9k content - MDNI! 18 + , minors and ageless blogs do not interact! fem!reader, evil!reader, a lot of plot with porn, much hurt, much angst, cussing, mention of drinking and smoking, VERY shitty parenting, child abuse, character death but not one of the mains, manipulative themes, i invented suguru's parents names, did i say much hurt? everyone's in their early twenties, cellist!Geto, saxophonist!Gojo, violinist!reader, shitty!everyone, kinda dark really i guess so please read at your own discretion, I'm sorry, really

a/n - there will probs be a second part based on the ending, if my back will ever stop hurting from being hunched over my laptop for four days straight writing this insanity.

Dedicated to the dear @telvess who read every scene like five times while I wrote and re-wrote this.

• . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° .•

Jealousy. As a result of your young age, you couldn't put it into words quite yet, but you felt it - choking up your dry throat as your father held your head steady with his fingers digging deep into your scalp to make sure your head wouldn't move an inch.

"Look, child," he said, "really look."

"M-My head, Dad," you sniffled, "It hurts."

You peered through the tiny crack in the large white doors into an empty rehearsal room. Bare walls, empty chairs - all but one, where a young boy sat in the middle, dragging his bow across the strings of a cello like it would be the last thing he does in his life. He did it fervently, desperately, repeatedly over the strings to rumble the sounds through the room. His brows furrowed. His raven black hair was a cluster of strands jolting up and falling on his face each time he moved. It made him look exactly like what you felt - electrified.

Your jaw slacked, and your heart raced within the confines of your chest.

"You see, child?" Your father's words lingered above your head, "Can you finally hear what beauty sounds like?"

You heard, and it haunted you.

When he's playing, anyone would agree that Geto Suguru is breathtaking. Below the cuffs of his white button-down are pale hands, guiding long, strained fingers to move feverishly across the fingerboard. Above them, his face, a marble carving with half-lidded eyes, pointed idly at his cello.

Weary music for weary people, he thinks, lifting his gaze just enough to meet the dull faces with greying hair filling the large hall. Their constipated expressions stare back at him. They're just waiting for the cue to clap, although he doesn't mind - not as long as each note of the concerto* he played was perfect.

And by god, do they clap. A standing ovation, long enough to escort him in his path to the stage exit, loud enough for the echoes to linger as he greets the tall, blue-eyed man waiting for him there and frenzied enough to make your knees buckle under the tight fabric of your tailored evening dress.

"It was a good one," the blue-eyed man says, "as far as alarm clock music goes, that is."

"Funny how you keep calling it that, Satoru," Geto chastises, his fingers undoing the clasps of his cello case, "but you're always on the verge of falling asleep when you hear it."

Oh, you think, fiddling with the violin in your hands, so that's Gojo Satoru. Everyone knew who he was; the Gojo family name was arrogantly plastered on the walls of every concert hall in the city, including the one you were about to play in now.

Your tremble. You can't help it - that standing ovation set the bar so high you fear the bow in your hands might snap from the intensity of your grip. But it doesn't, and someone briefly introduces your name on stage.

You glance at the two men, catching Geto's uninterested expression. Your stomach churns. The dignified way it graces his annoyingly good-looking features makes your muscles tense; it's as if he's exhausted from doing the crowd a favor by allowing them to worship his playing.

Arrogant fucker. You think, and he nods at you stiffly, acknowledging the misfortune of performing after him.

As you drag your feet across the polished floor, you can only hear the sound of your own erratic breathing. "Breathe in, breathe out," you mutter under your breath as your shaking knees give the last of their strength to get you to the center stage.

And then a twitch, a breath hitch, and a loud thud.

The room hums with gasps for an instant before going silent again, and every eye in the vicinity watches you lay splayed across the wooden floor.

The shame burns in your cheeks, rushing through your face down to warm your aching body. As a desperate escape you turn your head away from the crowd, only to catch in the corner of your eye the two men still standing at the stage exit.

Don't look at me. Don't look at me. Don't look at me.

"Oof," Gojo huffs, wincing at the sight as he turns to his friend, "Come on, we'll be late if we don't head out now."

Like looking at a trainwreck, Geto's unable to turn away. His lips purse; what a pity.

The silence grew, and you knew you must do something - anything to let this moment pass. You push yourself up, throwing a quick glance at your violin, a string snapped, fuck. "I hope -," you grunt, your voice hoarse from disuse, "I hope Rachmaninoff* gets the same gasps." A wave of suppressed chuckles and claps gushes around you. Oh, thank god.

Your cheeks are still hot, and the first stroke of your bow is hesitant, just a soft flick of the wrist to see if the three remaining strings are still in tune. Is this a good idea? But the crowd's anticipating gaze burns through you, rendering you unable to move. You focus on replacing the missing notes and play the piece - with jagged strokes coming from your still shaking hands, some notes cut it, but just barely.

Gojo nudges his friend's shoulder, "Hey, I said we'll be late."

Geto's pursed lips open lightly, his dark eyes fix intently on your bow, "Hmm?" He hums at his friend's words, dragging him back from his thoughts.

a/n - * - Bach's Cello Suite in C Minor, Sarabande. * - Rachmaninoff's Prelude in G minor, originally for piano, transcribed for violin.

"A Jazz club?" you furrow your brows at the music and the tang of smoke already reaching you from the narrow entrance hall.

You'd only met Shoko a few short weeks ago when college started, and she quickly became your only friend - as often happens to two people in a room who prefer to be alone.

"Yes, my friend's playing - you'll hate him," she says. Shoko has that thing where she doesn't change her tone when she says something sarcastic, so you're stuck nodding at her words with an uncomfortable grin on your face.

She tugs you by the sleeve of your shirt, guiding you down the stairs and through the prematurely drunken crowd that eagerly awaits what would be the third song of the evening.

"This would never pass in our concerts," you mutter under your breath, although you kind of wish it did as you look at the people laughing, reaching for another drink, huffing smoke from their mouths while making idle chatter as the players take a short break between songs.

A bright, warm note pierces the room, and like an obedient platoon to an officer's 'attention,' all the eyes fall back on stage. The white-haired man under the mellow spotlight makes a swift move to wipe the mouthpiece of his saxophone before returning it to his lips and blowing into it again - this time, a cue for the drummer, who starts a ruthless pace on his cymbals.

"If jazz is a god," Gojo's voice rings through the room, "then the saxophone is its altar."

How could he say that with a straight face? You think, unable to take your eyes off his clearly pretentious demeanor that would be borderline comical if it wasn't redeemed by his outstandingly handsome face, from the rolled-up sleeves and undone button of his blue dress shirt to the round sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, he looks like pure sin.

"The Voice of Chunk*," he announces the piece and the room booms with shouts of excitement as the saxophone howls its first long and angelic Mi.

By the time the set ends, Gojo's a mess. A dusty red color flushes his pale cheeks as he pants, a mad gleam in his eyes when he looks at the crowd, which only shouts for another encore. He wipes the sweat off his brow and leaves the stage without a word.

Shoko drags you down to an empty table near the stage, a cigarette propped between her lips as she utters, "Ah," to the sound of a squeaking chair, which Gojo Satoru plops on, splaying his limbs on the wood.

He turns to Shoko, pointing a thumb at you, "Your friend?"

"Mhmm," Shoko confirms, "(Name)." She takes a sip of her cheap beer.

Perpetually assuming everyone already knew him, Satoru Gojo doesn't introduce himself. "What'd you think?" He asks.

"It was very good," you say, and mean it. He wasn't humble, but as far as performances go, he didn't need to be.

"Good?" He turns back to Shoko, looking at her like a wounded puppy, "Shoko.."

"She did say very, Satoru." Shoko sighs, "He hates the word good."

Your breath hitches as Gojo lays a large hand on your thigh, "Calling jazz good is terrible." He says, "It means it did nothing to you. Even calling it horrifying is a much better choice."

Another chair squeaks in your proximity, and Gojo removes the hand from your thigh to place it on the table, "Suguru!" He exclaims. "How was it?"

God, what's he doing here?

"Horrifying," Geto smirks at his friend.

His dark eyes turn to you as he says, "Geto Suguru," and extends a large, calloused palm, which you hesitantly shake. The skin contact makes you shudder. His eyes narrow, "Have we met before?"

The truth is - Geto knows rather well that you have met before. He spent two days after the concert thinking about your figure lying on the wooden floor, and it wasn't for the curve of your ass that pointed towards him, although that didn't escape his thoughts either. His mind raced with thoughts of how quickly you bounced back from your fall, made a joke, and started playing. Could it really be so easy?

"Oh - maybe it's - uh," you babble, your mind already trying to devise an excuse to leave.

"Ah, I know!" Gojo chimes in, "It's our tumbling violinist," he chuckles, "I never forget a girl after I've seen her on all fours."

Geto raises an eyebrow. "We both know that's hardly true."

You stare at Shoko with desperate eyes pleading for a change in topic. She puts down her drink, "Where were you Suguru? I didn't see you the entire gig." Thank god.

"Just there," Geto motions to the side of the bar, where a beautiful light-haired girl sips on a drink, "I've seen him play plenty of times."

I should be polite. "Oh, so you like jazz?" You ask.

Gojo chuckles, removing his sunglasses to reveal clear sky-blue eyes, "Entertain our guest, Suguru."

Geto leans back, arms crossed over his chest, and even his words sound carefully rehearsed - as if he's being interviewed, "It's not that I don't like it. There's just no merit to it." Against your wishes, you meet his gaze, restraining yourself from rolling your eyes at him. "It's mostly improvisation. Not one jazz piece stays the same over time - it blatantly disregards why we value music. Can you imagine someone changing even one note in Rachmaninoff's preludes?"

Is he talking about the ones I played?

Geto leans back, "And that's without mentioning the mistakes."

You furrow your brows, and your chest tightens at his words, "The mistakes?"

"Suguru's just jealous," Gojo smirks, and his arm snakes around your shoulders, "because I've got an ability he doesn't. I like to call it blue." His other hand traces lines across the wooden table, making an invisible note staff, "You see, in jazz, there's no such thing as a mistake. It's considered beautiful even if you play a note a bit too harsh or out of key. They're called blue notes."

"Well, a mistake is just a mistake, isn't it?" You lie, too proud to admit you were ashamed of the embarrassing performance they witnessed, "You shouldn't be proud or overcritical of it - it just is."

"It's a good philosophy," Geto says softly, and a faint smile appears on his lips, it makes sense now, "It works well if you just play for fun."

A decade of rigorous violin practice flashes before your eyes, the callouses on your fingers you were teased for as a child, and he dares to say it's for fun?

Your cheeks heat up, "Well, what do you play for? Suffering?"

"Perfection," he answers. Prick.

"Perfection?" You sneer, clenching your jaw, "Then what about improvisation?"

"Leave that vice for the jazz musicians." He says, and his expression suddenly changes, "I'm sorry, I know you improvised in your Rachmaninoff; you did the best you could - considering." He means it earnestly.

The veins throb in your forehead, Is he pitying me?

Gojo laughs, "If you keep bickering, I won't remain the star of the show tonight," and you notice the not-so-discreet looks of the people at the other tables ogling you.

"It's getting kind of late anyway," Shoko says, smothering her cigarette butt against the ashtray's bottom, "Why don't we go before we miss the train?"

"I'll give you a lift," Geto says, and you stare at Shoko, hoping that your wide, begging eyes will lead her to decline, "Come on," He adds, standing up, "It's raining outside, and our violinist can slip up even on dry flooring."

a/n - * - Voice of Chunk, The Lounge Lizards, 1988

"I'll see you in school," You say to Shoko, who exits the back seat of the silver Toyota, leaving nothing but a bitter smell of smoke and a long, strained silence lingering in the car.

"Which way?" Geto points to a fork in the road.

"Left, then straight for a while." And could you be so kind as to crash us into the nearest wall? You chuckle inside your head.

He turns his head as if he heard you, "So, a mistake is just a mistake, is it?"

And your fists clench momentarily, their tension softened only by the quiet, sweet sound of Samuel Barber* playing through the radio, weaving its melody with the heavy pounding of rain on the car roof, "Well, if you dwell on them too much, you're not going to have any time left to fix them." You wish you meant it.

He ponders silently before asking, "How'd you start playing?"

Is he only asking to make a snide remark? You decide to keep your answer curt. "My father gave me his violin when I was young."

The windscreen wipers work full force to make the dark road ahead visible, "My mother never let me touch her cello," he says, his unbothered tone now laced with somber notes, "I hated the thing."

The ache in your chest is almost unbearable, your fingers dig into the fabric of your trousers. He hated it, and he still plays like that?

"Then why play?" You inquire, watching the streetlights' reflections glint in his dark eyes.

Because it matters, it has to matter.

He laughs, and you can't help but notice how his face softens when he does, "It pays for college," a speck of red tint dusts his cheeks, and a strange pull flares in your chest at his defenseless look, "Don't I look like a scholarship boy?"

"Maybe if I squint," you say as he turns to look at you. You narrow your eyes, "Nope, can't see it," and he laughs again, making the remnants of alcohol turn in your stomach.

When you arrive, you step out of the car and he watches you disappear into the building's front, his fingers tapping restlessly on the wheel. A weak, burning sensation plagued the muscles around his jaw; were they really so unaccustomed to laughing?

a/n - * - Samuel Barber's Adagio for Strings, Op.11

15 years ago

The Geto residence was an ever-tastefully decorated one-story house in the rural areas outside Tokyo, always graced by the echoing sounds of an Italian-made cello. Geto Suguru himself was a wide-eyed child, six years old, and already praised for being prematurely intelligent by his parents' arrogant friends; "Your little Suguru is so clever," one of his mother's friends said, leaning over the dinner table to tug mercilessly on his cheek, "I bet he'd skip a grade as soon as he starts school, don't you think, Kieko?"

To which his mother only hummed in response, quickly diverting the subject, "The Bolshoi* is performing in the city next month. Will you come?"

Suguru didn't mind these things much. He wasn't the kind of child to look for praise; he didn't care for it from strangers' mouths and never knew the delight of hearing it come out of his mother's ever-pursed lips.

The next morning, Kieko Geto sat on a sturdy, padded stool and played with unwavering concentration until the midday sun sipped through the windows, blinding her eyes. Only then did she stop, turning back to notice her son's inquisitive gaze peering from the doorway.

"Come," she instructed, and Suguru took a few hesitant steps to the middle of the room. His mother positioned the cello upright, the wooden beast towering over him as she pressed a flat palm to the middle of the fingerboard, measuring his height against it. "One day," she said, "you'll be big enough to play it, Suguru."

A phone rang, and his mother stepped out. Suguru stood a long while staring at the instrument that leaned lazily against the wall. One day - he didn't want to wait for some vague, distant day, and his arm itched with impulse.

Suguru lifted the bow from the stool, ramming it violently across the strings. It made such a horrendous sound that he thought for a moment he hurt it, and now the thing was howling in pain.

"Suguru!" his mother shrieked as she shoved him out of the way, "What did you do?" Her pale fingers grazed the cello, searching for new marks on the wood.

The bow in her hand glinted like a Katana under the sunlight as she swung it at his head.

The next few minutes were a blur. Suguru guessed he screamed since his father stormed into the room, pushing him to stand behind his back. His eyes were fixed on the creases on the back of his father's shirt, changing their shape like sand dunes as the man's arms moved frantically through the air as if he were conducting his own shouts.

The boy placed a hand on his forehead. "Dad," he tugged hesitantly on the creases, leaving red stains on the pale blue shirt, "Dad."

a/n - * - The Bolshoi Ballet

A failed poet turned local journalist once described Geto Suguru's playing as having a gut-wrenching elegance, and as you stood at the large doors leading to the conservatory's hall, you couldn't help but hear what he meant. Angelic strokes on the rumbling strings, and each note is -

"Shit," he cusses, dragging the bow harshly along the strings as if it could saw the instrument in half if he tried hard enough. Even as he does so, he can't seem to make it sound bad. The bow drops on the floor with a hollow thud, and he runs a defeated hand through his hair, brushing back a long black strand to reveal a two-inch, pale scar on the side of his forehead.

He lifts his gaze up, noticing you standing by the door. How long has she stood there? "Violinst," he says. "Come to practice?"

Seeing him laugh a few days ago must have been a figment of your imagination. "Yes," you utter.

"It's occupied until six."

You make your way to the low stage through the aisle between the empty rows of seats, "It's ten past six," you remark, and Geto glances at the clock, frowning at it like it broke a long-standing promise.

You reach the stage, putting your violin case on the still-warm seat of the lone chair in the middle. You shudder at the warmth, watching Geto lift the massive cello case as his other hand reaches into his pocket, taking out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, "You want one?" he asks, holding it open.

You shake your head, "Thank you."

He puts one smoke between his lips, patting down his pockets, "Got a light?"

You shake your head again, "Sorry."

He shrugs, his eyes fixing on the violin in your hand, and you notice the slight puffiness under his eyes. "Not my day, I guess." And it's a long gaping silence while he puts the cigarette back in the pack, "Do you mind if I stay?"

"No," Yes. "But if you scrunch your nose at my mistakes, you leave."

"I don't scrunch my nose," he retorts.

"You do."

Geto runs a long finger along the bridge of his nose down to the tip, leaning forward slightly to meet your eyes, "Straight as an arrow," he says without a smile, and you turn red at the sudden proximity, fixing your gaze on the shiny white floor beneath your feet.

"Alright then," you mumble.

Geto sits in the front row, reclining on the backrest of the crimson-colored seat with his hands resting on his spread thighs while his cello case leans on the seat next to him like a second observer. You might as well put on a burlesque show from how naked you feel under his steady gaze.

You drag the bow across the strings, echoing a dissonant tone throughout the room.

"Are you testing me?" He says with a smug smile plastered on his lips, but you hoped for a heartfelt one instead.

"Mhmm," you hum, taking a few steps forward to the verge of the stage, where you take a seat with your legs dangling from the edge, "You passed." and he chuckles, soft and low.

As you begin to play, Geto gets up from his seat to pace back and forth along the aisle, his brows furrowed and his thumb pressed against his lips while he listens to the music.

Your muscles strain, bracing themselves for the suite's climax, now's the hard part, you think, letting out a frustrated huff as your eyes fix on Geto. You miss the first note.

He halts, and your bow leaves the strings as you await his reaction in the irksome silence of the hall.

For a moment, he's desperate. Desperate for you to do what he thought was an almost inhuman feat after such a mistake.

He takes a few steps closer, towering over you while his eyes stare intently into yours, "Keep playing," he demands.

Your breath hitches as you watch him slowly lower himself to his knees beneath you. He places large, calloused palms on your knees, eagerly spreading your legs while his eyes are still honed on your face, relishing in the red flush burning your cheeks. He runs a hand under your skirt, grazing your thigh with long, rough fingers, a hint of a smile on his lips when he hears your breathless gasps, "Keep playing," he repeats.

Smile, god, you hated that smile.

You play a few jagged notes before your arms give in, and you place the violin on the floor with a soft clunk. Your now free hands grasp his hair, freeing it from his neatly tied bun to fall down his shoulders.

"Eager girl," he mutters, tracing his finger along your wet panties, and you tug harder at his hair. I'm the eager one?

"Q-Quit teasing," you stammer as he yanks you closer to the edge of the stage, pulling off your panties with a swift move. You shudder as his warm breath fans over your exposed cunt, panting heavily as his fingers dig deep into your thighs.

"Hmm?" He murmurs, placing soft kisses against your inner thighs, letting his teeth graze the skin but stopping every time right before he reaches your soaked pussy. Just do it, for the love of god, just do it.

You're reduced to a quivering mess, fighting the urge to push his head into your wetness, "Please," you whimper breathlessly, frowning at the loss of your pride under his touch, "p-please stop teasing," and you finally feel his tongue lick a stripe up your clit as he grunts softly at your taste.

"Good girl," he groans out, letting his lips wrap around your bud, burying his face so deep in your cunt you feel his nose rub against your clit while he rasps out a soft "Fuck," that sends shivers up your spine.

He was messy, fervent, eager as his tongue worked on your clit, and you grew dizzy at the sight of the usually calm and collected man disheveled and red-faced between your legs, moaning out his name as you felt yourself clench against his lips, "S-Suguru, fuck -."

He'd never heard his name come out of your lips before, but this was a better first time than he could imagine. He grew unbearably hard in his jeans, rutting against thin air almost instinctively every time you rolled your hips into his face, "Say it again," he demands, and his deep voice sends a rush of heat to your face.

Can he do it? Can he make you even more of a mess on his fingers? Can he watch while you stutter his name, while your face is a beautiful flushed mixture of those blunders he loved seeing you make?

"Suguru," you look at him through glazed eyes, and he frees the hand that grabbed your thigh to slide two skilled fingers into your soaked cunt, "S-Suguru," you whimper out when they sink deeper, pumping into your sweet spot with a harsh pace.

A drunk smile grazes his lips when you clench against his fingers. It takes him all his strength to pull away from your cunt, "You want more, princess?" He teased, fingers pumping lazily into you.

You manage to whine a quiet, "Y-Yes."

"Then ask," he coos, his smile turning into a devilish grin, and you squirm at the loss of his tongue, clutching his hair tighter.

"Please, Suguru," you breathe. How many times will he put me through this? And your muscles contract when he flicks his tongue over your cunt again, "p-please, Suguru - I'm - " you babble as he resumes his harsh pace, your thighs closing on his head, hips rutting desperately for some more sweet friction against his tongue.

"Please, fuck - " you moan, arching your back. His fingers still push into you as he groans at the taste of your wetness gushing on his tongue, licking it hungrily while you pant almost inaudible whispers of his name, and he thinks he might come from the sweet sound of your voice alone.

His lips finally let go of your clit. He pushes himself up from his knees to face you, his mouth wet with your essence as he brushes his lips against yours. Barely a kiss, but you grow dizzy anyhow, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, running your other hand along his T-shirt-clad stomach down to the bulge in his jeans.

"No," he utters. No?

"Huh?" Your brows furrow, "Do you want me to take you out for a cup of coffee first?" It was supposed to be a thought, shit.

He laughs, and you watch the lines form in the corners of his eyes, "Could be nice," he says, "besides, it's your rehearsal hours; don't you want to practice?"

"Not really," you grumble, "You can use them if you like." You reach down to pick up your panties from the floor where he discarded them, only to see him grab them first.

"I could," he muses aloud, "I'm playing the Grand Hall opening in a few weeks," and he catches your gaze for a second, "but I'd rather watch you play." And you blush as he tucks your panties into the front pocket of his jeans, "You'll get them later," he says, "If you're good."

"If I'm good?" You furrow your brows, "If I don't make any mistakes, you mean."

"No," he asserts, his words a bit loud, catching you off-guard as you fumble for your violin, "If you're good."

After you refuse his ride home, it's a long walk of shame back to your apartment. You feel as though your pride was left in his pocket together with your underwear, but maybe, just maybe, you'll make something good come out of it.

"Dad put it - " Suguru's arm held his father's in a tight grip across the coffee shop's table, urging it to release the silver spoon in his hand, "Put it back, please."

"They've got plenty," his father barks, his eyes darting around to observe the busy staff of the cafe while he hides the spoon carefully in his bag.

Suguru lets out a weary sigh, focusing on the swirling cream in his coffee mug, "So do you," he says, the taste of stale regret mixing in with his drink when he lifts it to his mouth.

"Eh?" His father's eyebrows knit together, wrinkles forming under his five o'clock shadow when his lips purse, "You here to judge me, boy?"

Suguru takes a sip from his coffee but finds it stuck bitterly in his throat under his father's hostile stare.

"Thought so," the man says, his dirty fingernails tapping on the wooden table as he adds, "Now, will you finally quit fooling around with that thing?"

"I don't know, Dad," Suguru chokes out.

"She croaked this morning, the bitch. She won't come to see you play now, would she?"

Suguru's eyes widen, his hands quivering, pads of his fingers digging into the scortching coffee mug, threatening to tumble the liquid over the rim, "What?"

"Croaked, gone, dead. She left you that cursed cello of hers," his father eyes the sugar dispenser on the table, brushing his fingertips on it, "So you'll sell it. And give the money to your father," his shoulders draw back, he's proud, "for all the things he did for you, yes?"

"I don't know, Dad," Suguru mutters.

The man's agitated expression deepens the wrinkles on his forehead, "'I don't know Dad," his father mocked, "I'll tell you what you need to know. I took you away from that vicious whore when she'd done your face in with her bow, and you've never thanked me once, just begged me to buy you a damn cello when you knew that all our money was left in that house." A brute splatter of spit lands on the table as he sneers, "And I did, didn't I? Bought you the damn thing, drove you around with it like some chauffeur. Where's my thanks? Eh, brat? Where's my money?"

The man raises his arm, and a young, blonde waitress appears momentarily by their table, all smiles when she says, "The check, sir?"

"Yes," Suguru's father says, the chair under him screeching as he gets up, "My son will pay."

For hours now he'd been contemplating where to go. Who he wanted to see. but when Geto finally gets to your door, his face still flushes with the soft pink of an irredeemable shame while his urgent, stiff knuckles pound on the door. He knew you were home. He wasn't a brute - he texted to check, but he still couldn't calm the restless ache burning in his chest.

When you open the door, there's no hello, just the unyielding feeling of his body flat against yours as he presses sloppy kisses along your jaw, groaning when his teeth graze the tender skin of your neck, "Fuck," his breath fans over you neck as he pants out the words, "you smell sweet."

His face lingers in the crook of your neck, relishing in the warmth like a cold-blooded animal who'd die without the heat. His fingers dig into your thighs so harshly you fear they might bruise them as he lifts you up, "Smell so fucking sweet - " he keeps muttering under his breath as your legs wrap around his waist, your hands clinging to the muscles on his back to keep your balance.

"Suguru," you pant when he drops you on the bed, noticing the unfamiliar ruthless look in his eyes, hardly the same one you saw between your legs a few days ago, "Did something - "

"D'you want to stop and talk?" He chuckles, large, warm hands running across your body to discard your clothes, "Hmm?" He purrs, already confining you under his body, planting soft, teasing kisses on the valley between your breasts.

"N-No," you whimper at the feeling of his teeth against your hardened nipple, and you run a hand through his dark hair to yank him away, while the other hand tugs at his shirt to signal him to fuck, take it off.

He almost doesn't want to break away from your body, not even for the sake of finally feeling your skin rub against his. But he manages to regain his composure long enough to use swift movements to discard his clothes as you watch him, strong and veiny, a body that could be carved in marble if it ever stopped moving with devious intent.

"Suguru," you knew he loved it, the sound of his name coming from your mouth. "Please," you writhe under him, desperate for any kind of touch as he looms over you, holding himself up while deep pants escape his parted lips. He's too far for you to crash your lips against his, no matter how you try. You lift your head from the pillow, and he chuckles at your efforts, pumping his already hard and leaking cock, groaning when he lets the tip brush against your folds.

"So wet already, hmm?" His hand abandons his cock to push a finger inside your cunt, the squelching noises making the blood rush to your head. He's mad with need but can't let your squirming be over so soon, "All for me?"

"Fuck, Sugu - " you cut yourself off to grip his hair, making your lips crash, feeling his tongue swallow your moans as he takes his finger out only to push his cock into you with a deep thrust, "Ah - fuck - " you moaned into his mouth, feeling his tip rub against your sweet spot when he finally bottomed out.

He starts a mean pace, and a hint of pain jolts through you while you adjust to his size, loud moans escaping your lips, "Oh my, ah - God."

"Suguru," he corrects, reaching a hand to adjust your hips, and you moan at the friction against his abdomen, "moan it for me, princess," he groans out against your neck when you pant his name, "louder - fuck - " he pleas, his breath hitches when you clench against him.

He knows he can't hold it much longer, threatening to spill his load at every pant and moan and brush of his lips against your skin, "S- Suguru - " you whine, feeling his fingers draw circles against your clit, digging your nails into his back to leave shallow red scratches along his shoulder blades.

"You close, princess?" He lets out a shaky breath when he feels you clench again, gritting his teeth at the tightness around his cock.

The coil in your stomach tightens, and your eyes shut at the feeling of his messy, erratic thrusts, "Suguru - ," you moan, "Suguru - I - " you pull his head back by the hair.

"Mhmm," he coos, "you what?" he growls, his thrusts feeling almost impossibly deep when the heat pools in your stomach.

"I - I'm - close - " And it's all he needs to hear, locks of black hair falling to brush against your face as he smashes his lips onto yours, savoring the taste of your mouth as your back arches and walls contract around him.

"Good girl," he rasps into your mouth, pounding a few harsh thrusts before his hips stutter. You watch through glazed eyes how muscles tighten as he spills his seed into you with a low groan.

He collapses atop you, pressing his sweat-dampened face against your chest to relish in the sound of the fast, thumping beat of your heart. A few more seconds, and he can measure the tempo.

"Listen," Suguru says, smoking a cigarette out of the open window of your room while he watches you get dressed in the corner, "there's a few things I have to do early tomorrow," his eyes trail out to the street lamps out the window, their blinking lights reflecting on his car outside.

"Suguru," you stand over him, brushing the pads of your fingers against the scratches you left on his back, "did something - "

"Just a few things I have to do," he says, looking around the room for his shirt, "so I'll call you, yeah?"

"Uhm, so, did you hear from Su-" You cut yourself off, watching Shoko take a long drag from her smoke with her eyes waiting for you to finish your sentence. "I mean - " you clear your throat, "You know how a guy does something, and then he -" Your face grows red at the memory of Suguru's naked body, "And you think it was nice because you had fun, and then he -"

Shoko watches you babble for a while before saying a confused, "Yes?"

"Suguru didn't call me back," you finally utter. Wasn't it enough for him that I called first?

"Oh," Shoko takes a long drag from her cigarette, "and he needs to call you because..?"

Your face flushes crimson as you bury your face in your hands, "B-Because we fucked and I haven't heard from him since," you mutter through your palms.

Gojo Satoru has a habit of entering places like his presence was eagerly anticipated, swinging the door open with a dramatic expression, "Shoko!" He cuts through the conversation, his height exaggerated by the confines of Shoko's small dorm room as he puts his saxophone on the table, "The key is stuck. I'm going to need you to fix it again -"

"Later," Shoko sounds like a reprimanding mother as she motions toward your sulking face.

Gojo's eyebrows knit together, "Did something happen?"

"Suguru didn't call her after - " Shoko reconsiders her words for a moment, "after they had a nice time together."

"Hmm?" Gojo plops down on the bed in the corner, "Well, he won't call for a while."

You raise your gaze from your palms, tilting your head at the man, "What do you mean?" And your mind races, Oh god. He can't - hate me?

"You didn't hear?" Gojo's smirk fades from his lips, "His mother died last Saturday."

Wait, the same day he came and - ?

You widen your eyes at Shoko, who only shakes her head in response.

"His parents were divorced for quite a while," Gojo continues, "he hasn't seen his mother in over a decade - "

"But she's still his mother," Shoko remarks, huffing a cloud of smoke into the room that lingers stagnant above the table.

Gojo sulks, "I was about to say that. He's been stuck in his room for a week now. My father's pissed."

"Your father?" You puzzle, watching Gojo wipe his sunglasses on the edge of his shirt.

"He was supposed to play the Grand Hall this weekend." And you squint your eyes, waiting for him to continue, "My father pays his tuition for these shows, y'know."

"Your father pays Suguru's tuition?" You repeat.

Gojo chuckles, "Well, I'm not sure for how long, now that Suguru won't even answer his phone. Dad's been planning this grand opening for a year now."

Oh?

"Can't you talk to him?" Shoko was still holding onto the smoking cigarette butt in her hand.

"It's like talking to a - " Gojo cut himself off to knock twice at the white plaster wall beside the bed.

Your muscles tense, and the sound of your own racing pulse deafens your ears.

I should say something. "He's your friend," you croak out.

Gojo's expression changes to a stern one, a terrifying sight on his soft features, "What would have me do? Make him play while he's mourning for his mother? Fight with my father only to have him cut Suguru off anyway?"

You go silent, mulling over his words, but find nothing to say.

Shoko picks up the saxophone from the table, "Which key is broken?" she asks, and there's a hint of defeat in her voice as she waits for Satoru's answer so, at the very least, she can fix something.

Suguru had stared at the cello case for days now, hesitant to take the instrument out of its shell. He started staring at it when he took it from his mother's house after the funeral and kept staring at it on the two-hour bus ride and the three-hour train journey, and then, when he leaned it against the wall of his apartment, he still couldn't take his eyes off of it.

It called him. Not in the way you called him - the kind that made his heart flutter when he saw your name pop on his phone screen, which he ignored, simply having no clue as to what to say.

He still ran the imaginary conversations in his head every time you did, letting out sad chuckles into the stale air of his room. How have you been? Oh yes, my mother died, and I'm sitting here with her instrument, which she always loved more than me. Is it nice? Oh, it's more like a successful older brother - you want to hug him just as much as you want to chuck him out the window. Would you like to grab a coffee?

"It's been almost two weeks since you sat there," Geto stands in the little kitchen of his apartment, making a cup of tea he knew would join the others piled up on his bedside table. I'm talking to it now, he thinks, I've finally gone insane. "How about you pay rent?" He chastises the instrument.

For a moment, he thinks it really might pay his rent - for about four years - if he decides to sell it, and keep the money to himself. His hands find themselves opening the case.

He inspects it for a long while, his hands brushing reluctantly over the wood until they find the small scratch in the varnish, the one he'd left there over a decade ago, and he focuses on it. It's small, pale looking, almost too tiny to notice, like the scar on his forehead.

"Maybe it's fair," he mutters at it, "I hurt you, and she hurt me. Balance."

A knock on the door makes his hand falter.

"Suguru," you bang on the door, feeling your leg squash something under it. "Mochi?" you mutter as you pick up a bag from the floor, and the lock clicks.

He looks terrible, you think, with tired eyes and strands sticking out from his usually perfect hair. You hand him the crumpled bag, trying no to smile, "It was just here," you point to the doorway.

"Hmm?" He takes it from your hands, "Satoru's been leaving those here every day. I've got plenty. You can have it if you like."

The air in the room reeks of smoke and coffee grounds, and he steps away, losing your eyes as he moves clothes from a chair to his bed for you to sit on.

"How are you?" you ask.

"Fine," he responds instinctively. Silence. "Would you like some coffee?"

"Sure." Silence again. A good time to pick up smoking, you think.

Your gaze lands on the cello peaking from its case in the corner. "A new one?" You puzzle as he puts a cup of coffee in front of you.

"My mother's," Geto says, sitting on the chair across from you.

"It's beautiful," you say, and you watch a sullen look settle in his eyes. "Wrong thing to say?" you give him a half-hearted smile, attempting to lift his mood, "Because in that case, it looks terrible."

"I like it when you say the wrong things," He suddenly says, "They don't feel so wrong when you say them."

You take the cup of coffee in your hands, warming your palms against the glass, "You can say them too sometimes, y'know."

He takes a sip from his coffee, only to find he can't stand the taste anymore, wrinkling his nose, "I hate that thing. I've been contemplating whether to sell it or just throw it out the window."

"And what's the verdict?"

"Play it," he says.

"Then play it."

He gets up, pushing the chair back to the middle of the room as he walks to take the instrument out of its case. You're almost startled by how stiff he looks leaning it between his legs, a hold so tight on the bow his knuckles turn white.

He puts the bow to the strings with a feather-light stroke, and halts.

He looks scared of it.

Is that what stage fright feels like? He thinks as he watches you lean forward against the table, eyes honed on his hands.

"You just need to play it, y'know? Like children do, just wiggle the bow a few times." You say.

Like children do. "It'll be dissonant," Geto utters sternly, releasing his grip on the bow.

"That's how they laugh," your lips curl into a soft smile, "That's what my father used to tell me when he heard the horrible screeches I made on his violin when he first gave it to me, 'Don't worry, that's how they laugh.'"

His chest tightened at the words, and he forced the bow onto the strings, making a loud, off-key tone penetrate the room.

It's the first time you've heard him make a mistake, and it made every nerve in your system tingle. Your head went euphorically dizzy. This is much better.

He almost stopped at your wide-eyed look, but you just laughed, "Oh, please, you call that dissonant?" And you watch him push the bow onto the strings again, brows furrowed at the terrible sounds, but his movements unwavering.

It's fine to play it like this, he thinks, as long as it's accompanied by your laughter.

"Suguru," you utter, and he lifts his gaze from the instrument, "Will you play the Grand Hall tonight?"

He ponders for a moment, "I think I will."

"Then you better answer your phone," you motion towards the buzzing cell phone on the counter, "and take a shower," you laugh.

He looks down on his disheveled clothes, "That bad, huh?" He chuckles.

"Just a little."

You hear the shower water running as you fiddle with your phone, still dazed at what just happened. You press the contact and dial.

"Hey, Dad?" You chirp into the cell phone, "Are you still coming to the Grand Hall opening tonight?"

The new Grand Hall is a sea of white marble floors and golden framed artworks, crowded by black-suited CEOs and their overly lavish trophy wives.

Geto sits on the lone stool in the middle of the stage, watching them all take their seats, still busy exchanging pleasantries with each other while they wait for the show to start. His eyes drift constantly to the stage exit, where you stand with Gojo, smiling softly, mouthing, "Don't worry," at his stiff figure.

His mother's cello is still unfamiliar to the touch, a beast different than the one he owns which he had already spent years taming.

People fill the seats like ants, and the lights dim above his head. The pianist behind him is a weak-looking man, and he adjusts his glasses on the bridge of his thin nose before giving Geto the cue to start.

The first stroke of the bow is a hesitant one across the strings that once earned him a blow to the head, but the second one has more vigor, and his eyes, half-lidded still, find your smiling face again to soothe his nerves. His bow falters; he didn't have time to change the rusty strings; what would Elgar* say?

And you can't help but smile at each terrible pitch echoing around you; each horribly dissonant tone is more beautiful than the next to your ears.

The sounds are low and deep, growling against the marble hall. He almost has it - the feeling - the one that'd let him stop quivering in his seat. His bow jitters. He never knew he could make so many mistakes in a piece that he played hundreds of times, but with your smile at the corner of his eyes, he feels it creep up his fingertips, rushing through his chest - joy.

"My son!" The doors to the concert hall bust open with a bang; it overpowers the soothing sounds of his cello and the melody of the piano, "He's my fucking son. Let me see him!" Suguru's father stumbles drunkenly into the hall, two dark-suited men at his heels.

The hall washes over with whispers, women pressing their carefully manicured hands to their painted mouths in awe while their husbands are already halfway out of their seats with a proud "I'll take care of the bastard, honey" stuck on their lips.

"Fuck off, pig." Suguru's father spews at the guard trying to drag him away, "He owes it all to me, the brat. Play for our guests, Suguru! " He turns to the crowd, "Enjoying the show, money-rolling cunts?"

Suguru stiffens, his eyes two dull, widened orbs staring at the scene as he stops his playing, ignoring the piano player's whispers to just play, kid.

Gojo rushes to the man screaming in the hall, "Mr. Geto, long time no see," he says, one hand gripping him by the edge of his booze-soaked shirt, the other wrapping around the man's neck in an almost affable way, "How about you see your son after the show?" A smile is frozen on his soft lips, his blue eyes staring daggers at the man, "Now be nice, or they'll tase you," he breathes down the man's ear, motioning to the guards whose fingers are already clutching the tasers.

"Fucking bastard," Geto's father mutters at the white-haired man, "Money-rolling cunts," he slurs all the way out of the doors. They close with a soft thud, leaving the hall in a dead silence.

a/n - * - Edward Elgar, Cello Concerto in E minor, Op.85

12 years ago

"You hear that?" Your father stood over you in the rehearsal room of the conservatory, his arms crossed over his chest as he paced back and forth, "That's how they laugh. Every time you make a mistake, they laugh at you, girl."

Your eyes were red as you stopped your playing, "L-Laugh?"

"Instruments make that sound so they can mock you," your father explained, correcting your grip on the bow, "and you have to do everything so they don't do that."

Every day, he'd drive you up to the conservatory and stand over you in that room for hours on end, brows knitted together at each whine the violin screeched out. And when it was finally over, he'd walk you down the long white corridor to the room at the end, where a small, dark-haired boy would play his cello.

"See that, girl?" He'd point through the crack in the door, "Perfection."

Perhaps that was when you started to despise Geto Suguru. Over the years, the feeling only grew, but it hadn't peaked before his smug smile sat next to you in a jazz club, finally uttering the first words he ever directed at you, "Geto Suguru, have we met before?"

And it felt strange because you had - or at least you thought you had, over a decade ago. Not that he'd know that you watched him play almost every day through that time, with the scrutinizing words your father whispered above your head, "Look. Really look," your father held your head steady with his fingers digging into your scalp, "It doesn't laugh at him, see?"

And you did see. And you wished that it laughed at him, too. Why were you the only one supposed to be laughed at?

You didn't mean to at first, really. Something about him just ticked it off, the urge for revenge. How dare he hate his instrument and play it so well, when you loved the violin and it betrayed you with every stroke?

You didn't mind the sex; he was still a handsome man. It made him trust you - and as long as you made him make a mistake - every laugh, every encouraging smile, every word, was worth it.

"Fucking bastard," Geto's father mutters at the white-haired man, "Money-rolling cunts," he slurs all the way out of the doors. They close with a soft thud, leaving the hall in a dead silence.

Suguru looks for them - your eyes, and that smile that seems to perpetually grace your lips - but when his eyes finally land on you, he finds it gone. You mouth something he doesn't quite catch before disappearing from the stage exit. He can't do it; he can't play anymore. His hand freezes against the strings.

You finally made a fool of yourself, Suguru.

You wait outside the Grand Hall doors, body shivering with anticipation when the crowd finally starts to leave the hall.

"Dad!" You shout when you see him, making your way through the people, heels clacking against the marble until you grab your father's arm, "Dad! It was horrible, wasn't it?"

"Hmm? Who'd you come with dear?" Your father inquires.

"Leave it, Dad. He was horrible, right?"

He looks at you a long time before saying, "It's a shame for that boy, the beginning was perfect."

10 years later

When he's conducting, anyone would agree that Suguru Geto is breathtaking. The moment he dropped playing the cello ten years prior, every one of his admirers had almost lost hope - that is, until he picked up the baton. A true genius, they'd say, forgetting his last horrible performance, which graced the headlines for a long time after he ditched it in the middle, and how he disappeared for the next two years after it. Lonley? Gods no, he's a busy man, or perhaps struggling with all his greatness to find a mind akin to his own.

But only the small orchestra that played under him knew that all these words were just flattery - he was cold and unforgiving of any and all mistakes, and he really, truly despised the violinists.

Or he did, until the new violinist ran late to the first rehearsal of the year.

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zombyjuice · 8 months

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YOU USED TO LIVE A BLONDED LIFE₊˚⊹ ᰔ(๑ᵕ⌓ᵕ̤)>c[_]

in which it’s almost valentines and all wonbin can think about is the girl on his bus rides home.

wonbin x fem!reader

cussing, awkward, kinda bad ngl, reader is poc ermmm enjoy :3

“I’m lonely, I need a man before Valentine or I’ll go fucking insane” you speak coming up behind your friend Luna who practically jumped out of her seat phone flying in the air “Goodness! Someone needs to go put a bell on you” you look down at her with a menacing stare getting out of your 🕴️pose and going to the other side to grab your chair, stepping over her phone.

“I feel like you’ve already gone insane,” she picks up her phone thanking God it’s not broken “Cute hair by the way” she points out your now dark brown hair up put in a ponytail and a white headband with a fluffy blue star clip attached to it, you smile softly touching your hair “hopefully that cute boy on the bus thinks the same, he’s always staring at me I think he wants at me” you let out a giggle and jump up and down on your chair “oh my GOSH he’s so fine how~”

“shut up I’m sure he’s going to like it your pretty and look straight out of one of those old quirky Japanese fashion magazines, also you don’t have the worst personality” she states finishing her coffee “Oh? whatever fuck you let’s go” you kick her under the table and watch her face curl up in pain laughing out loud.

You guys shuffle out of the cafe with grumpy faces seeing all Valentine’s decorations and giddy men and women with gifts for the significant others, “disgusting” you sneer “Be happy” you glare at her “Shut the fuck up and be mad with me fuck valentines!” you slightly shout her eyes darting around not understanding how you have no shame(in Korea), you were a strange complex person but she loved you for it, deciding to ignore the glares.

Not even on the bus yet eyes immediately start darting trying to find the boy excited dressed just for him even though in the back of your mind you knew you were never going to go up to him ever, especially remembering your first interaction.

To make a long story short he was at the bus station at 1 am doing God knows what (waiting for the bus) and since there was barely anyone there you and Luna thought it was the best time to do a silly little TikTok you sprouting with energy cause Luna just gave you tons of it.

The song was slowed down so there you were dancing your heart out (slowly) to Ma Boy by sistar19 to get the perfect video and everything would’ve been fine if you didn’t heard the stifled laugh that the boy was holding.

Your face contoured with fear and Luna's deadpan while tapping your shoulder to run. And ever since then you’d see the boy every day, which would be concerning any other man but this was a breathtaking man who looked at you like he wanted to go down on you any moment.

Luna says it’s not that bad because the video ended up being great the sped up video making people laugh and you guys got viral the next day but you think that was hands down the most embarrassing moment of your life.

“I think you guys would look good together” your friend states while you guys eagerly waiting for the bus “What do you mean? How?!” you get giddy slapping her arm “idk it give cute black cat bf and weird orange cat gf” “okay can you hop off always trying to insult me” “that’s what I do best” “oh you're a fucker” “ow! Stop pinching me gay fuck” “You’re g-”

“the doors open” a quiet voice that belonged to no other than your future(not really) pretty black cat boyfriend >:3

you both barely look back and beeline into the bus.

“haha,” you awkwardly laugh a little too late at the boy who looked at you a little silly, both of your eyebrows raised strangely at each other “Oh my gosh” Luna muttered.

You turned around all of a sudden you would like to leave right about now.

The bus ride was quite awkward you and your friend standing and chatting sometimes losing yourselves in the convos and laughing a bit too loud immediately going to check if he looked at you a certain way.

You guys shared cute glances here and there you could feel the way he looked at your outfit or the way he scanned your side profile also not failing to catch the soft grin plastered on his face.

When the time came around for you to get off your bus stop you frowned, yeah you guys never talked before and you weren’t planning on it, but his presence was enough you could gladly sit awkwardly next to him as he looked at you with those cute boba eyes, gladly giving him the same look back.

You gave him one last look and a soft tight lip smile before walking away with your friend off the bus, but what you didn’t catch was that he followed you guys off.

“excuse me- excuse me”

You guys turn stiff and you snap back to see him slightly smile and wave “Can I um speak to you, please, not to be weird or anything”

You look at Luna with a smile a little too bright and she nods smiling back and glaring at Wonbin before walking off.

you look back at the boy's direction and you walk up to meet each other properly…

“You changed your hair,” he states blankly your eyes go a bit wide, and chuckle a bit “Yeah I was tired of the blonde, but I’m nervous this might be too plain though it does look a lot better I might add some color or maybe like a couple of blo- sorry I blabbering” he giggles a little too hard eyes turning into crescents and cheeks burning red “sorry that was a weird statement, not your fault, haha but um I’m Wonbin…” he scammed your features and your reactions finding them all so cute how expressive and real you are it’s like he could see you take note of his name in your head.

“Wonbin.. pretty I like it! I’m y/n” his face burned more and he couldn’t help but let out a nervously high giggle “Also pretty I think you're pretty too and I wanted to introduce myself properly and take you on a date or two before you know, Valentine's” gulp.

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k-aalia · 4 days

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Breathtaking

Joey knows it's bad manners and probably distasteful. Really, he does.

Despite what others may think, he really is a gentleman. Tries his best to be, at least.

Unfortunately, his mouth has always run quicker than his brain. Usually it just gets him into a bit of trouble he can't talk his way out of, but every now and then it just leaves him embarrassed and humiliated in front of pretty people.

He will not let this be a repeat of that situation though. Not when the girl who's grabbed his heart is the most gorgeous, ethereal woman that he has ever had the privilege to lay eyes upon.

Especially not when she's Seto Kaiba's fuckin' personal assistant.

It's not often Joey comes to KaibaCorp -- okay, he never comes to KaibaCorp -- but Yugi had invited him along for one of his weekly matches with the man himself.

And for the first time in his life, Joey just cannot focus on the game playing out in front of him.

Not that seeing Yugi and Kaiba duel isn't always some sort of spectacle -- and these days, filled with so much innuendos and flirting it's like watching a particularly captivating trashy TV show -- but no matter the dramatics or the plot twists, Joey's attention is firmly held by the pretty woman sitting next to him in the spectator stands.

Kisara, Joey knows her name is after hearing Kaiba bark commands at her. Silky white hair flowing over her shoulders and curling round her pale face. Her eyes are a beautiful sparkling blue, intensely focussed on the laptop sitting on her knees.

"Hey, how's it going?" Joey says to her and fights the urge to wince.

Really? That's the best he can do?

Kisara blinks and turns her head to face him, concentration broken as she looks at Joey like she's only just realised he's there.

"Oh, hi. I'm just working," she tells him with a quick smile and fuck is it breathtaking.

She turns back to her laptop and Joey curses silently as he realises he'd missed the opportunity to say anything more, too captivated by her stupid pretty smile and now if he tries again it's gonna be awkward and god, what if he makes her uncomfortable?

Kaiba and Yugi's duel finishes soon after and Joey practically runs up to Yugi to try and escape his spiralling thoughts. The two of them are halfway to the door when Kaiba grabs his arm and pulls him back.

Joey whirls around, a taunt on the tip of his tongue. What's wrong, rich boy, want me to beat your ass too?

But he stops when he sees Kaiba's sneer.

"Don't hit on my assistant." He warns "Kisara is too good for a mutt like you."

Joey feels himself flush, pulling his arm out of Kaiba's grip.

"Fuck off man, I was just being polite!" He snaps back.

Seto's sneer falters slightly as he narrows his eyes, looking Joey over like he's some fun new puzzle to solve.

"At least wait until she's off the clock. I can't have you distracting her."

Seto stalks off before Joey can get another word in, Kisara at her bosses side in an instant. Despite recieving Kaiba's blessing -- which he didn't want or need, by the way -- Joey is almost certain it's not gonna do him any good anyway. Kisara is way out of his league, as usual, and totally not interested in him. As usual.

Joey suspects he has a type.

But just when he thinks he's done for, Kisara looks over his shoulder to shoot him a wink and a smile.

Oh. Joey thinks, heart beating so fast it could burst from his chest. I'm totally in love.

#yugioh #yugioh dm #ygo dm #joey wheeler #kisara #drabble #backboneshipping #first post on this acc and its for the rarest lf rare pairs

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mxlissaliss · 5 months

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Gleam Reaper (RoR Hades x Fem!Reader)

⚠️ TWs/CWs: Mentions of drugs , harassment , dead bodies , implied suicide and manipulation ⚠️

Words: 4,4K

Part: 1/3

Notes: Reader here is far from a saint. Here lays a twisted woman with too much power and little to no supervision. It's okay, Hades loves y'all anyway and is all in for the chaos.

Also, it's a kind of platonic-ish relationship at the moment. Might need to see how I lead it to a romantic halt in the near future. First time writing something like this btw, hope you like it if it even reaches anyone :P

***

Red lights, obnoxious music, sweaty people and drugs; that's the perfect recipe for either a great party, or a disaster. And in most cases, it's both.

When you are the God of the Underworld, you grow familiar with the many ways mortal lives end, especially young ones. Tragic to most, any other Tuesday to Hades. After all, eons of experience can toughen anyone's heart and make even the most appalling situation just an everyday occurrence, and a party like the one he had just sneaked in was full of these fateful events.

As he loved to say, death was always around the clock, which was a literal sentence when it came to his job. He leaned against a wall with his arms folded over his chest, an amused expression on his otherwise stoic face. The place was a complete mess, and it was easy to see.

Right next to him lied a deceased young man on the cold floor, eyes and mouth open dismally. The poor lad drank some spiked booze from a nearby table, and it seemed that he was quite the lightweight. Or perhaps he had already done drugs prior to that incident and ended up overdosing. Either way, he took note of that corpse as the first one of many to claim that night.

‘Hm, I wonder how they can talk to each other when I can barely hear my own inner monologue? It's absolutely deafening in here.’ Hades thought as the DJ turned up the music to a further level, and he swore that the speakers were about to catch on fire.

Though, more distracting than the ear-splitting tune in the background was that most of the women around would stop dancing to occasionally throw suggestive glances at him, a kind of visual language that Hades knew pretty well. No God could ever be a stranger to seduction, and he was well aware of the effects his divine appearance had on mortals; his tall stature and broad shoulders caught everyone's attention the second he stepped into the place. He was the highest individual in the room, a quality that only added more charm to his already handsome features. Perfectly chiseled chest and torso that paired up heavenly with the black, tight sweater he was wearing to appear more human-like in his attire, those well-defined arms and athletic legs that couldn't be completely hidden under his gray pants, a sharp jawline, snow-white skin that looked so soft yet untouchable, that godforsaken greek profile and moist, rosy lips. Breathtaking.

But his never-ending beauty was only enhanced by his silvery, wavy hair that looked somewhat messy despite being nearly styled. It moved graciously with each step he took, his slim fingers running through it every so often to brush it away from his forehead as his deep violet eyes searched carefully for his next victim. Oh, how divine he was, and he knew it.

“Help, someone…” The desperate cries of a young woman could be heard from the nearest bathroom, and his sharp ears caught the pitiful plea with ease even through the loud noise. The door was cracked open, and he could catch a glimpse of what looked like your local high school bullies cornering a younger couple with ease.

What a sad sight, humans really seem to not know better sometimes… Aha, there it was! All he had to do was turn his head to the opposite direction and he saw it, yet another dead person on the floor. Well, almost dead. It was a woman convulsing mercilessly on the ground as a group of panicked people tried stop the seizure by holding her limbs still. What a stupid thing to do. They were just making it worse and more agonizing for the poor lady. But it was not Hades' place to intervene, and even if he wanted to, he would not. When death knocks on your door, there is only so much any God other than Thanatos can do.

Besides, the more people that died, the more souls his domain would possess. So he smirked slightly to himself and turned back, walking away to the opposite direction. That summed up two deaths already. The night was looking good so far, and it was only starting.

But even after countless minutes of searching, he couldn't find the person he was looking for; the “Gleam Reaper”, as he liked to call you, since you were like a precious jewel shining among the dark grip of death. A gorgeous, gorgeous woman usually dressed in stylish black clothes, with fancy and neatly polished nails, always preying on mean mortals in the brink of death. You were once a human that died at a party when a group of browbeaters took advantage of your vulnerability, and then things got out of hand. A mess of a party, just like the one the King of the Underworld had just attended to with the purpose of finding you.

He had the honor of meeting you once your soul made it to Helheim. From what he could grasp, you were not the nicest person to walk on Earth and had earned a first-class flight straight to Tartarus, plan that he was about to execute. But you were awfully calm and accepting of the situation, and for someone that had just learned that their final destination would be the worst place to be in the Realm of the Damned, your peace and quiet was nothing short of intriguing to Hades.

———

“Y/n S/n, eh? Aren't you afraid of the Tartarus?” He asked in an icy tone that served well to hide his amusement. The God came off as uninterested and aloof. Nevertheless, the glimpse of curiosity in his eyes did not go unnoticed by your own sharp ones, something that you used to your favor.

“I regret nothing.” Was all you said.

And surprisingly, that was all you needed to say. You knew it when he kneeled down to cup your face with his thumb and index finger, gently pressing them deeper into your cheeks with the kind of glare you'd only see on someone that has pretentious meanings. “You have so many things to regret, yet I sense no mockery or dishonesty in your tone… Interesting.”

You scoffed, almost offended by his preying eyes upon you. It made you feel like a piece of meat under a lion's nose, and yet, that wasn't even close to enough to make you back off. “I am not afraid of you, God of the Underworld. You do what you want with me, I do not care.”

For the second time, the King of the Underworld was thrilled by your bold attitude. You were either the bravest girl to ever speak with him, or the most foolish and naive little thing he had ever seen. Whatever, that didn't matter at all. You were fascinating, to the point in which your constant way of glaring daggers at him seemed more like a ludicrous attempt of forcing him to let go of you than a move to save your already deceased existence.

And he loved it. He knew that Persephone, Thanatos and the other deities of his realm would love you and your snark.

“So that's how it is, very well. Welcome to the Underworld, Y/n. From now on, I'll make sure that you live as freely and comfortably as possible in the cold embrace of the dead.”

———

Those were some simpler times… Well, not really. It was barely twelve years ago, a pitiful amount of time in the life of an entity that has lived longer than any other among his kin. But back to reality, he shook his head in frustration and kept searching for you.

‘Where is that stubborn lady? We always bump into each other accidentally in the Underworld, yet I can't seem to find her when I actually need something from her…’ He thought again, looking over people's heads endlessly but to no avail, much to his dismay. A swamp of people would have been an appropriate term to describe his surroundings. No matter how hard he tried to set his eyes on different corners, doors or gateways, dancing drunkards were always in the middle to block his gaze, unintentionally.

Now he was starting to get irritated about the amount of individuals cramping the room. And worse of all, he couldn't feel your presence anywhere close to him.

Why did he even need to talk to the Gleam Reaper? Even after a decade of knowing each other, you had never been close enough for him to be so persistent about his urges to see you. He didn't bear romantic intentions, that much he knew, for he already loved Persephone dearly… So, what was this strange craving for amity?

Right, that was it. He wanted a friend, that's why he came here in the first place. And in an opportunity, he made his way through the people to find a not-so-crowded space in the room and slumped down on a couch, paying no mind (or, at the very least, trying) to the annoying couple next to him that couldn't keep their hands to themselves. How inconsiderate, but first, he needed to sort out his thoughts to clear his head.

It's not like you loved to wreak havoc everywhere you went. Hades himself designated you as a deity of chaos at parties specifically, and he knew the reason why; you just liked to be troublesome whenever there were bad people in misfortune around you. Bullies, tormentors, stalkers, harassers… All of them were on your death list, leading it. Similar to what happened to you in your final moments, your Grim Reaper self always lured the lads in and then showed your true colors, by making them end their own lives with their own shaky hands as you watched their lives fade away, keeping them secured in your embrace as your slim fingers stroked their hair. He still couldn't tell if you really enjoyed their misery, or if you just pitied them.

The latter sounded more accurate to him. Perhaps that's why you only went after those whose days were already counted. No point in torturing a healthy and innocent individual when you could “free” a tortured soul from their torment, and you did it because said souls also tortured others. You hated those that would cause pain to others just to deal with their own.

Even though you were pretty much doing the same thing you despised the most now as a deity, you told yourself that you were their karma. That was your twisted mindset, and he was all in for it.

And so he remembered his brief encounter with Poseidon earlier that day. Time to daydream again…

———

The Tyrant of the Seas was never fond of those pesky mortals that Gods were supposed to watch over. Those creatures were ungrateful, worthless and useless, just as much as they were unhinged. The mere thought of humans made him feel sick.

And yet, there he was, listening to his eldest brother rambling about the possibility of hiring a mortal, the lowest form of life, as an assistant to reduce the workload. Hades was never one to complain about his duties nor his struggles. As the eldest, he'd always thought that it was his duty to shoulder everything on his own to keep his siblings safe, and his domain was no exception. No burden could ever be heavy enough for him not to carry alone.

Except for boredom, that is. Though, it was more of a consequence than mere mental strain. Persephone had recently made her trip back to Mount Olympus to reunite with her mother, and while Hades was well aware that the following six months were going to be just the same as the others, a strange feeling of restlessness was keeping him awake at night.

Actually, it had gotten him so distracted lately that he had been trying to read the same book for over two weeks now, stuck in the same page. A task that would usually take him two days or three at most.

“Utterly unnecessary.” Said Poseidon in his characteristic monotonous tone, cold blue eyes piercing straight into Hades'. What his brother had just proposed came off as both ridiculous and undignified, and he'd rather be struck by lightning than agreeing with him. Physical defeat would be way less humiliating, he thought.

“I might need a companion. Not a lover, for I already have my wife, but perhaps a friend to pass the time with me while I am at my office to make the silence more tolerable.” Hades spoke back immediately, already having anticipated his younger brother's protests. He was unamused at his reaction, and yet, somewhat disappointed by his disapproval.

The younger God didn't respond to the suggestion, remaining stone-faced as his eyes were set on his brother's. Typical Poseidon.

Hades sighed, leaning back on his throne before speaking again, “An assistant would be a pleasant addition to my everyday routine, don't you think?” Asked the King of the Underworld with a tinge of intrigue, trying to gauge a better response from Poseidon this time. “Someone to sign the less important papers for me, or deliver the weekly letters when I can't do it myself.”

“You can do it yourself. You must do it yourself. You mustn't rely on anyone else,” Poseidon said sternly, showing the slightest bit of frustration at the God of the Underworld's insistence. “You are a God, and Gods do not rely on others.”

“This is not a matter about reliance, brother.”

Well, no more words were said for the next twelve minutes, which gave Hades the impression that their brief exchange had ended abruptly with no hopes to be resumed. The albino twirled a strand of his smooth, silky hair around his index finger as a reflex, deep in thought and possibly unaware of his elegant fashion.

Sure, he understood Poseidon's point, at least for the most part; Gods have always been self-sufficient and naturally independent. Hades himself had been working alone in the Underworld for as long as his immortal mind could remember, assisted only by his wife during the span of months that she spent with him in the realm of the death. He's never had enough trouble to seek for help from anyone. Not when he was younger, not during the Titanomachy, and definitely not on his daily tasks since then.

So, why was he suddenly so adamant about hiring an assistant for the mere purpose of companionship? It didn't make sense to him, let alone to Poseidon.

On the other hand, he couldn't just ignore the feeling any longer, constantly nagging at the back of his mind. What was it, even? Was the routine he'd been keeping for eons finally catching up to his wit? Hades couldn't even recall the last time he had longed to do something exciting, other than contacting Beelzebub whenever he needed something from the Lord of the Flies. And the more he tried to find a reason, the more confusing it became. It was frustrating, that much he could figure out by himself.

And the awkward silence in the throne room was doing little to quell his impatience, so eventually, the God of the Underworld added something out of ennui.

“I'll go for a human, preferably deceased. That way I won't have to drag anyone down to the Underworld, as it'd be a hass-“ But Hades was interrupted by Poseidon standing up hastily, not even turning back to bid farewell. Surprised much? No, not really, Hades was expecting that, but he hoped that the Sea God would at least listen to the entire proposal. How arid.

Though there was no point in complaining, anyway.

—————

Ah, what a pleasant talk during some wholesome quality time with his little brother. Just remembering the way Poseidon's knuckles grope harder the edges of the throne's armrests at the mere mention of a human made Hades chuckle to himself. The Tyrant of the Seas could be quite comical without wanting to, but he'd never say it aloud if he wanted to make it out in one piece.

Perhaps the younger God was right, no? Even if he made friends with the Gleam Reaper, nothing would guarantee that those feelings would go away. Maybe time would tell…

‘Time to get out of here. Leaving my domain for a whim like this was an inadequate move on my reco- … Now, just what in the old world is this?’

Just when the King of the Underworld was about to take his leave, a familiar item rolled up to his feet; a pill, and not just any pill, but a psychedelic capsule. What an intriguing sight, Hades thought, so he got off of the couch and crouched down to carefully examine it, trying to see where it came from.

Judging by the nearby people's reactions and stares, it came from the balcony next to him. The glass doors were covered with wine colored tulle curtains, which distorted the view of the folks outside that were surely enjoying themselves among their own “privacy”. But one thing he was certain of is that the ergoline in his hands came from there, specifically, from the small opening on the left door.

And that was all he needed to know.

“Gotcha.” Spoke aloud the Undead God, smirking at nothing in particular as he rose to his feet and brushed off his knees, ready to head off the balcony. Being away from the music would help a ton.

He stored the pill in his pocket and opened the door fully to the terrace, breathing in the fresh air which felt heavenly. The smell of sweat and puke was clogging his nostrils back inside and he didn't even realize it until the fresh breeze cleared up his nose, allowing him not only to think a bit better, but also admire the scenery before him.

Glass railing that supported the kissing ladies leaning against it, marble flooring that looked spotless, elegant benches made of the same sturdy material, and a breathtaking garden filled with extensive fields of Lavenders. The calming scent of the flowers reached him through the cold, gentle wind of the night, relaxing him further. It was a welcome relief from the mess happening in the party.

It was actually ironic, having thrown a party that turned into pure chaos claiming soul after soul while being right next to a Lavender meadow. That sort of duality was appealing to him. Such was life, he thought.

“Care to explain what are you doing here, King?”

That voice, that tone, those hints of sweet notes in the speech…

He had found you. Or rather, you found him first.

“The Gleam Reaper herself, what a pleasant surprise. I was looking for you, Y/n.” Hades said, smiling softly as he turned to around to look at you closely. “I knew I would find you here.”

“Oh, really? How come?” You smiled back at him, e/c eyes staring into his very soul. For a clever woman like you, Hades had always been a mystery that remained yet to solve. His mind was like a chess board, or rather, a painfully complex puzzle that always seemed to be missing a piece just when you thought you've got it figured out.

And in more ways than one, that was exciting for your deviant heart.

“A crowded room with red lights, funky music and drugs, filled with dumb women, sad girls, high school junkies and men that are desperate for feminine touch…” Hades began smugly, making you laugh.

“… The perfect recipe for disaster.” And you continued, just like the first time you two met after you had turned into a Grim Reaper, a being that collects the souls of those who have perished to take them to the Underworld, to him. Those exact words marked your first ever interaction as immortal beings, and it felt like a breath of fresh air to know that he still remembered them to the letter.

As the sentence ended, the both of you shared a soft sigh, enjoying the comfortable silence that followed for the next five minutes, just gazing over the Lavender garden. Of course, until the Undead God voiced his intentions.

“You know, over the years, I have given you a kind of freedom that others could only wish for. You are a Grim Reaper, yet I have allowed you to be selective with your victims and even the times when you wish to work, and the others, when you just want to slack off. But I've let you rejoice in such privileges because I find you interesting and deserving of my special treatment… So, I came here to ask something of you, Y/n.”

“Then speak, and do it quickly so I can go back to minding my business.” Your tone shifted almost dramatically. One moment you were all in for a good laugh, then your intonation became serious and your words clever. That's just how things worked around the God of the Underworld.

“Alright, I'll go straight to the point.” He said, running a hand through his hair, “I want you to come visit me in my palace, specifically, my office. I've been longing for a companion for quite a while now, and I can't think of anyone else better than you to fit that role.” By the end of the proposal, the albino's violet eyes took on an almost empty look, one that you knew was not idle in the slightest. “What do you say, Gleam Reaper?”

“…” You didn't respond for the first few seconds, seemingly unfazed by his request. But that was okay, he was used to Poseidon and other Gods doing just that every time so he was willing to be patient.

Still, something about his sudden petition seemed off to you. Why would the King of the Underworld, Ruler of Helheim and the Dead, the very Dark God himself want a friend? Because you could see right through him, and whatever kind of “help me with my paperwork” crap he was most likely going to come off with didn't even stun you in the slightest. If anything, it was confusing.

“Two questions. First, why? And second, why me?” You finally answer, leaning back against the mirror-like railing with a raised eyebrow.

Hades simply shrugged, probably just as confused about his own request as you were, “First, I have been feeling quite lonely lately, dwelling in my endless work with only the company of my cockatoo, and occasionally Cerberus when he's not guarding my palace.” He explained, now twirling the same strand of silvery hair in that characteristic manner of his, which you interpreted as him being deep in thought.

“And second?” You asked again, both curious and impatient.

“I think that your presence would be soothing, but if you ask me why, exactly, I might not be able to tell you just yet. I'd rather not think of it as hope, but intuition instead, so to say, a hunch.”

“A hunch? The cunning God of the Underworld is relying on a hunch, of all reasonable excuses to seek for a friend?” Even though you tried not to, an inevitable cackle escaped your pretty lips. Now that was just too humorous to be true. Oh, but you knew that he was being serious, and that was easily the funniest part. “Fine, I'll think about it later. It sounded more like an entreaty than a request, given how humbly you asked for it.”

“I'll take that as a yes, then.” He said with a self-satisfied expression, before turning back to walk toward the doors. It was time to leave for good.

But before he did, Hades stopped in his tracks, not bothering to look back at you. “Before I go, tell me, where are they? I know for a fact that you weren't here just enjoying some alone time and a cigarette.”

“Aha, you witty God.” Just like him, you just shrugged, seeing yourself in the reflection of the doors and using that to raise a hand and point a finger to a certain direction. Hades followed with his eyes through the reflection on the glass and his gaze landed on a not so far away spot; the roof of a small house next to the building they were in, made out of red tiles that looked quite old.

And then, he saw it.

A pile of dead bodies put one on top of the other, almost threatening to slip off of the tiles and fall down grotesquely, much to the disgrace of any passerby underneath. He recognized them almost immediately, they were the ones harassing a couple in the bathroom just half an hour ago. The last bits of humanity in him felt uneasy at the sight of those people tormenting the poor lovers that just wanted to leave, but Hades was way more focused on finding you than questioning his own moral compass.

Now, their flesh was already rotting even though they had died less than an hour ago, something that he knew was only possible because of your wicked abilities and will.

And the more he stared at the scene, the more details he found, and one of those was the fact that every single corpse was holding a needle in their right hand, already used and broken needles.

So that was your doing, he must have known.

“You still prey on broken individuals that wish to find inner peace by making others miserable. They have always been your favorite kind of soul, haven't they, Gleam Reaper?”

No more words were needed, for he just waved a hand to bid farewell and walked past the doors and out of the balcony. You didn't expect any less from him, whatsoever. That's why he came here, because he knew exactly what you would be doing.

You could only watch him walk away and disappear between the crowd, and scowl lightly at his whole drama of having been searching for you when he could have easily found you among mere mortals. Still, you grinned widely knowing that your next visit to the Underworld was going to be quite intriguing. You'd never turn down such a plea, and it was exhilarating.

Then, your eyes moved back to your “masterpiece” of remains and smiled, answering his tacitly rhetorical question with opaque eyes. “What can I say, it makes me feel like home.”

With that, you knew your job was done for the night. Therefore, time to leave as well.

You could only wait in anticipation for your next meeting, and whatever it may bring to the table. Hopefully something worth your precious time.

#hades x reader #record of ragnarok #ror hades #shuumatsu no valkyrie #record of ragnarok x reader

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fanfiction4sooya · 1 year

Note

I need soft fluffy smut with chaeryeong PLEASE 🙏🏽

Thanks for the ask baby, chaeryeong is in fact the love of my life so thanks for asking me to write for her!!!! 💖💖💖💖

It was a little past 5pm, you spent your whole day inside your art studio painting without even realizing that your body was tired. Life was so good and you were so happy that you just wanted to paint your heart away before going home to your girlfriend's arms.

With the soft music on the background you didn't even realize her slowly locking the door behind her, film camera in hand, smiling at your back. But as always, you felt her before actually seeing her.

"Hi, my love" You said, turning around as she smiled at you. "Recording me again?" She nodded, film camera at her eye level. "Why?"

"Because I wanna have some candid videos of you at our wedding" she said, kissing you on the cheek.

She was wearing jeans and flannel, it was her favorite outfit for work, since she owned a flower shop and she got really dirty sometimes. It was a nice contrast with your usual sundresses.

"Is this how you propose, Ms. Lee?" You said, both hands on your hips.

"No" She locked eyes with you. "This is how I tell you I wanna love you forever, love" You blushed, looking down. "I'll propose to you on a beautiful day, when my heart can't take it anymore having you only as my girlfriend"

She lowered the camera putting it aside and pulling you into a kiss, hands on both sides of your face as she caressed it there.

"You came earlier than usual" You said circling her neck with your arms, basically on your tiptoes since she was quite taller.

"I missed you too much, so I closed the shop earlier" She slowly pulled you to straddle her lap as she sat down on your studio's couch. "Also, I know you've been painting all day so I came to the rescue"

"What can I say?" You kissed the tip of her nose. "I'm inspired these days, that's why I paint so much" She softly smiled against your neck, making your heart flutter.

"And why is that?"She kissed there, her hands smoothly roaming on your thighs, making your breath hitch.

"The way you love me, that's why" You said and she kissed your lips with more intention now. She dragged her tongue against yours, massaging.

God, she was such a good kisser.

"I missed you so much today" She kissed your chest and you got goosebumps, whimpering. Her hands held your hips, setting a slow pace for you to grind. "I needed to be with you"

You kissed each other again, your clothed core slowly dragging against her jeans and making you whimper against her lips.

"Beautiful" She said, her eyes on yours as she nibbled on your jaw, hands still holding your waist. "So beautiful"

Her eyes shined with something you were yet to see on her; something heartwarming and breathtaking, as if you are some kind of treasure and she just discovered your existence. She carefully lifted your hips as she took off her jeans, pulling down your cotton panties next.

She never stopped kissing you, specially when your wet pussy made contact with her skin and both of you moaned.

"Oh, god" You said, closing your eyes as she hugged your waist pulling you impossibly closer, kissing your neck and then your lips. "Please"

"Keep going, baby" She softly spoke, feeling you pulse against her thigh and flexing so you could hump better.

You whimpered against her lips, your heart beating fast on your ears.

"Chaeryeong" You hugged her neck, eyes locked on hers as you humped harder now. "I love you" You said, tears threatening to fall from both your eyes, closing them.

"I know, baby" She guided your hips with one hand as the other cupped your chin, kissing you, caressing next. "I love you too" You cried out, clenching hard around nothing. "Cum for me" She kissed you as your climax hit hard, making you slump forward against her body.

She hugged your body kissing your shoulders, your chest. Idolizing you as she always did.

With you still on her lap, she grabbed the camera and pointed at both of you kissing.

"Tell me something" Eyes shining, camera recording everything.

"Tell you what?" You caressed her cheek, sun setting beautifully behind her.

In the middle of the chaos of your paintings and brushes, she seemed perfectly fit, as a piece of art herself.

"Say yes" She whispered, taking a small blue box from her jeans that were previously tossed aside. "The most beautiful day is any day we are together" She said as a pretty tear slowly fell from one of her eyes.

"Chaery..." You said, incredulous.

"My heart can't take it anymore, so please" She pecked your lips. "Be my wife"

There was very few things in the world you loved, but Lee Chaeryeong was the one you loved the most. Life wasn't the same without her.

"Yes".

#itzy #chaeryeong #lee chaeryeong #chaeryeong smut #chaeryeong fluff #I'm too romantic for fuck's sake #i need a girlfriend #gxg smut

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raahosh · 2 years

Text

joel miller x reader.

summary: pure smut, but not rough. Joel was given the mission to take care of you, he thought you'd just be a 14 year-old girl he had to protect from the problems yourself were going to make. What he hadn't planned was a grown ass woman he wouldn't be able to control himself when near.

warnings: p in v, unprotected sex, implied age gap (reader is 29), maybe some grammar mistakes (I'm sorry, english is not my first language). Not reviewed, just wrote and posted.

When Joel was told to take care of you he thought you'd be some kid he had to endure like it was with Ellie. He never thought you'd be this young, happy, sweet, breathtaking woman. He never hated the number 29 so bad in his life. He never thought he wouldn't be able to keep his hands off of you.

But as he pounded into you he realized he wouldn't be able to be away and so close from you at the same time for so long. He needed you. Joel was never someone you'd say needed much people in his life. At first he did everything he could to avoid your presence, he'd even sleep in the bathroom just not to be in near you.

"Yes- fuck, yes, Joel. Please-" your moans made him go even harder. He have never thought he'd be this entranced by sound as he'd with you.

The noise your body made when he dived in made it even harder for Joel to control himself, your moans, whimpers, pants, everything. He could hear everything in a whole new leve. He knew it, knew he wouldn't stay away from you for longer, he didn't know how he lived without the way your cunt gripped his cock, without touching the softness of your tits. Damn.

"Being a good girl for me, right, babygirl?" A thrust. "So hot, so warm. I'm never letting you go, you know that?"

Your body was splayed on the table, while his was standing in front. His hands grabbed your thighs so hard you both knew it would be bruised in the morning, but Joel couldn't care less, not when you strangled him with that pussy of yours. Couldn't care less because one of your legs was over his shoulder, the other bent and he had this beautiful view right in front of him—of your tits bouncing while he hardened his thrusts.

"Oh god- Oh god- Oh god. I think I might-" and then, like magic, his cock touches so hard your g-spot that you see stars. A loud moan, your right hand gripped his arm really tight, nails digging his skin.

Joel let you ride your orgasm, let you have fun with him, but then he continued pounding. His release so close he thought if he went a little bit more it'd come like a massive wave. "Can I continue, love?" His breath hitches. "Need to come so bad, you're going to make me cum."

You nodded, chest going up and down from exhaustion. Soft moans leaving your lips because of overestimulation, but it was too good for you to tell him to stop. He needed you, you needed him. "Yes, please, Joel. You'll fill me good, won't you? Need you to fill me full."

Your head continued nodding towards him, and your continued gripped him so hard it made him come in an instant. Lots of cum filling your insides, you knew if he slipped off it'd run down your tight.

Breathes was the only thing that could be heard in the room, breath you both were trying to catch again. No one would mention the fact that it was the best sex of your lives, or else it would turn so real while it couldn't. You sit up and catch is neck, pulling for a kiss, a long, wet and passionate kiss.

That was when he knew it couldn't be over. Not when his heart was beating so fast he thought it would come out of his chest. Not when he craved the way you looked at him afterwards—so caring and satisfied—, the way you pet his hair so softly. The way you put both hands on either side of his face and pulled him for a last kiss.

#joel x reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller #don't know what else to put in the tags I'm so sorry

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fanficsformyfaves · 1 year

Text

So Sweet

Kirby Reed x Fem!Reader

WARNING: SMUT 18+, Dom!Kirby, Sub!Reader, Fingering (R Receiving), Oral Sex (R Receiving), Strap On Sex (R Receiving), Hickeys, FLUFF, Mentions of Murders and Police Investigation

PREFACE: Reader is Kirby's fiancé and an old friend of Sam's from when she worked with her at the bowling alley in Modesto. Once she found out about the Ghostface attacks in New York, she had to go and make sure Sam and Tara were okay

A/N: Texts are Colored and in Bold!

Flashbacks in Italics!

She is my newest hyper fixation, so, enjoy <3

"Sam?", I call out,

Making her turn towards me. Once I made sure it was actually her, my shoulders' finally drop in relief.

"Oh my god", I whisper to myself,

Before walking up and pulling her into a hug.

"I was so worried. We practically sped all the way here"

"You didn't need to come all this way", she says

"Are you kidding me? Once I heard about the case from my fiancé, I just packed a bag and hopped in her car", I reassured,

Pulling away, as she sighs.

"You're my friend, Sam. I had to make sure you were okay"

She smiles and looks down at her feet.

"Thank you"

"Don't mention it"

Just then, her eyebrows raise in confusion whilst looking back up at me.

"Wait...fiancé?"

That's when I realized I never got to tell her.

"I guess life's gotten away from me. Yeah, I'm getting married"

"No fucking way"

I couldn't help, but laugh at her surprised expression.

"To who?!"

"Well-"

"Baby!", a familiar voice calls out,

We both look behind us and there she was. Despite being together for years, she never failed to make my heart skip a beat.

Kirby and I met when I moved to Atlanta in pursuit of a better job than the one I had in Modesto. I was at the grocery store, checking out the ingredients I was gonna use for dinner, when the cashier swiped my card.

"Sorry, ma'am, but this card was declined", she let me know,

"Oh, um, could you try it again?"

"Of course"

She tries the card once more and sure enough, we ran into the same problem.

"It's still declined"

"I got it", a woman answered,

I turn around and it felt like I got the wind knocked out of me. There weren't enough words to describe just how beautiful she was. From the greens and blues in her eyes to the rosy pink lips and soft blonde hair...she was something straight out of a movie.

I eventually snap out of the lavender haze that was consuming me with each passing moment and go to stop her.

"Oh no, please, I couldn't-"

"I insist", she interrupts,

Swiping her own card. Not only was she breathtaking, but her heart was just as perfect. I smile to myself and take my now-bagged groceries. We made our way outside to the parking lot and she walks me to my car.

"I'm (Y/N), by the way", I introduce shyly,

"Kirby", she grinned,

"Is there anyway I could repay you?"

"Well...you could take my number, as a thank you"

I let out a laugh, before realizing she was being serious.

"Oh! Um, sure", I reply,

Getting my phone out. She takes it and starts putting in her number. Was this really happening? If this was all just a dream and I wake up right now, I'll be so pissed. Once we had each other’s contacts saved, I slid my phone back into my pocket.

"Maybe next time, you'll forget your wallet at a gas station and I can ask you out for dinner", she jokes,

Handing me back my phone.

Her sense of humor was only one of the many things that made me fall for her. We spent the next few months just flirting and getting to know each other. We would meet for dinners, coffee and even horror movie marathons at each other's houses.

One habit I picked up since I met her was looking forward to the sweet little morning texts she'd send me.

Kirby<3: Morning, beautiful. Hope you slept well

And every time, without fail, I would squeal into my pillow like a child.

Me: Good morning! I did, hope you did too. Are we still on for binging the Conjuring movies?

Kirby<3: Are you kidding?

Just then she sends me a photo of the snacks, drinks and an infinite amount of candy.

Kirby<3: I've got them all in chronological order! I'm just waiting for you to bring your fine ass over here

It didn't take long for us to become official.

It happened one night, after one of our little rendezvous. There we were. Laying in her bed, sweaty and out of breath. Our limbs tangled together, holding me tight against her bare skin.

"You are amazing", I exhale,

As I attempted to catch my breath.

"I know", she joked,

Pressing a kiss to the back of my shoulder and causing a soft chuckle to escape me.

"You know what I've been thinking about?", she questioned,

"Hm?"

"...How much I love you"

It was as if time came to a screeching halt, the moment those words left her lips. Afraid that this was all just a figment of my imagination, I hesitantly turn to face her.

"What?"

Maybe I was just hearing things. She laughs and gently caresses the apple of my cheek, like I was a piece of glass she was too scared to break.

"I love you, (Y/N)", she repeats,

Leaning in to kiss me once more. Little did I know that this night was the beginning of the rest of our lives together.

When Sam realized who it was walking towards us, her jaw drops in shock.

"Kirby?”

“Surprise!”, she greeted,

Putting an arm around the small of my waist, before I turn my head to meet her kiss.

“Wait, when did this happen?”, she questioned,

“About six months ago”, Kirby answered,

As I smiled at her.

“I’m so happy for you guys, really. It’s so good to see you again”

“It’s good to see you, too…I mean…better circumstances would’ve been nicer, but-”

Samantha tilts her head and shrugs in agreement.

"How are you and Tara holding up?", I asked,

"Holding up", she replied,

Looking back at her sister and friends.

"A friend of mine who works at the Plaza booked you guys a suite. You'll have extra security there", Kirby informs,

"Kirby-", Sam goes to argue

"Don't bother saying no", I interrupt,

Knowing Kirby wouldn't let Sam and the rest to fend for themselves out here.

"This is your safety, Samantha. You shouldn't risk it, especially with that psycho's targets on your backs", she explained,

Gesturing to her sister and friends, who were now approaching us.

"Kirby, this Mindy and Chad. Their friends of ours from Woodsboro", Sam introduced,

"Great, even more people to add to our suspect list", the young woman replied,

"I'm sorry?", I asked,

Scrunching my eyebrows in confusion.

"Well, this whole thing is obviously someone staging another stab movie, so...that makes you two the newest characters to look out for", she explained,

Before I could question any further, Kirby decided to reply instead.

"She's right"

"What?", I turn to my fiancé,

"That's a fair observation. Good to know we have another horror movie fan in our midst, could never have too many", she reassured,

I shake my head playfully. After making sure everyone was okay, the car we ordered to take them to the plaza shows up.

"That's your ride. Sam, you have our numbers"

She nods.

"Just let us know when you make it there safe. The Airbnb we're staying at is right across the street, if you need anything", I bid goodbye,

"Thank you", she smiles,

Before following her friends into the car.

Later that evening, we got back to the apartment after Kirby was done doing whatever else she needed to do at the at the police station.

"I am beat", she exhales,

Flopping onto the couch.

"You're telling me", I replied,

Joining her and laying against her chest, as she held me close to kiss the top of my head.

"I can't believe we're actually getting married"

"Yeah", I chuckle,

Kissing the forearms that were wrapped around me. We spend a few moments laying in the comforting silence, when she decided to speak once more.

"How tired are you?"

"A little tired", I turn to face her,

"What's up?"

That's when I notice the smirk on her face and immediately knew why she asked.

"Oh"

She giggles, before leaning in to kiss me. Despite how many we've shared, each kiss was only more exciting than the last. I flip onto my front and straddle the expanse of her thighs. Her hands making their way up my hips and settling around my waist to hold me where she wanted.

Her lips eventually trail past my cheeks and down to my neck. Marking my skin with one hickey after the other.

She slightly pulls away, while her fingers tug at the bottom of my shirt, almost as if to ask if she could take it off. The day I say no to that question was the day I'd officially lost my mind.

I nod and she pulls it off over my head, leaving me in just a black bralette.

“Good fucking god”, she praised,

Causing a delicious chill to run up my spine. Not wanting to waste anymore time, she reaches behind me and undoes my bra, before letting it fall down my arms. My top half was now left completely exposed to the draft in the apartment, which was made apparent by my buds immediately hardening at the cool air.

She pulls me in closer and wraps her lips around one, while the fingers on her free hand began to pinch and roll the other. There was no stopping the onslaught of whines and pleading moans that were escaping me.

I lean into her touch, as each hum she made against me caused vibrations to travel down to my core, only causing me to grow wetter and needier for what she had planned next. My hips began to grind against hers, granting me some kind of friction to alleviate the growing ache between my legs.

"How long has it been?", she mumbled against my breast,

"Too long", I exhale,

Getting back on my feet, allowing her to unbutton my jeans and drag it down to my ankles. I hastily step out of them, before straddling her once more.

She then lays me down and her lips make their way down my chest and stomach, till she was finally where I needed her. Her fingers wrap around the waistband of my underwear and slides them off of me, prior to being thrown across the room.

She parts my legs and takes a moment to admire the mess she was making out of me.

"So fucking good", she whispered,

Before nipping at my inner thighs and making them tighten around her head, to which she throws them over her shoulders and pulls me in even closer. Finally having had enough with teasing me, she dives right in. Her tongue licking up all of the arousal, as I gasp at the contact.

"Mmm, my sweet girl", she hums,

Sucking at my clit. She knew just what to do to drive me up the wall and have me begging for more.

Kirby always went on and on about the way I tasted. She said that if she had it her way, my legs would be over her shoulders all day long.

I could be do anything, like washing the dishes and she would just turn me around, get on her knees, spread mine apart and just dive right in. Once she'd gotten her fix, she would just get back up, kiss me and move on like she didn't just have me screaming and shaking.

Her fingers start rubbing up and down my slit, only adding onto the pleasure that was already consuming me.

She finally slips her digits into me and they immediately press against my g-spot. A gasp fleeing out of me as a result. It didn't take long, before she picked up momentum and was ramming into me faster and harder.

"Fuck, yes!", I whined,

Grabbing onto her golden locks for dear life.

She didn't let up once.

"You taste so fucking good", she cooed,

Swallowing me whole like I was the last thing she would ever have again. The familiar knot in my stomach threatening to snap at any moment.

"Don't stop!", I cry out,

"Don't plan on it", she teased,

Before continuing her ministrations on me. Her fingers repeatedly hitting my sweet spot every time she plunged into me, as my walls clenched around them like a vice. I knew it was only a matter of time before I-

"You're close, aren't you? Be good for me, baby, let me fucking have it"

That was all I needed to hear. I came with a screaming moan and let myself go all over her welcoming mouth. Once she was done swallowing the mess I made, she licked me up clean, causing a whine to escape me from the overstimulation. I was always so sensitive and she knew that. So it came as no surprise to me, when she giggled at my reaction.

Finally coming up for air, Kirby then pressed her swollen lips against mine.

"Can you taste yourself?", she mumbled with a smirk,

I nod and she pulls away.

"Think you can handle one more?", she questioned,

"I brought your favorite toy", she added,

Rubbing circles onto my sides with her thumbs. How on earth could I say no to that? I nod, still trying to catch my breath from the orgasm that I just had.

"I need to hear you say it, baby", she says,

"Yes, please", I shyly answer,

She chuckles and leaves me with a kiss to the cheek, before hurrying off towards the bedroom. She then comes back with the strap and places it on the edge of the couch.

I got back on my feet and helped her out of her clothes, as we continued making out. I get her top, pants, bra and thong off and no matter how many times I've seen her naked, I was always left speechless at how beautiful she was. Every dip and curve making my mouth water from how badly I needed her.

"Just to let you know, a picture would last longer", she teased,

"Oh, shut up"

She laughs, stepping into the harness, as I helped secure her into it. I lay back down and she gets in between my legs, wrapping them around her waist. She grabs the base and drags the tip up and down my slit, causing my hips to buck up against hers.

"Someone's excited", she exhaled against my ear,

Dragging her tongue against the tender point behind it.

Finally having had enough with the torture, she pushes the toy into me in one swift thrust. A surprised gasp escaping me as a result.

She began pounding into my needy cunt with such need, it felt like the couch was squeaking against the floor.

"God, you're tight", she mumbled,

Struggling against the firm grip I had on the toy, whilst burying her face in my neck, littering my skin with hickeys and bite marks.

The climax I hit not too long ago still rendered me sensitive, so, I was already on the verge of having another orgasm, only this one was growing more intense than the last one due to me being overstimulated.

By this time, the room was filled with the smell of sex and sweat. The sounds of my pathetic cries and our skins slapping against each other echoing throughout the halls.

I wouldn't have been surprised if we got a noise complaint by tomorrow morning.

"Does that feel good, baby? Did you miss this as much as I did?", she groans,

Ramming even harder and faster into g-spot.

"Yes! I'm so fucking close!", I scream between my moans,

"Do it for me. Cum"

The knot in my stomach snaps and comes undone, as I cried out one final time.

My body immediately goes limp, allowing Kirby to gently pull out, causing me to whine at the sudden emptiness. She always made me feel so deliciously full.

Once she rids herself of the toy, she scooped me up into her arms and lays me on top of her bare chest, before grabbing the blanket to shield us against the apartment's cool draft.

"That was...wow", I exhale.

My mind still reeling from the euphoric state it was just consumed by. She chuckles and kisses the top of my head.

"God, I love you", she says,

"I love you too", I replied,

Looking back up at her in awe. She leans down and presses another one of her kisses to my eager lips.

"So sweet", she smiles.

Let's just say I spent the rest of the night returning the favor.

#kirby reed #scream #kirby reed x reader #kirby reed oneshots #kirby reed fanfic #kirby reed fluff #kirby reed angst #kirby reed smut #hayden panettiere

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ponderingmoonlight · 1 year

Note

hiihihi can i request prompt 55 for megumi?? maybe reader texted him late at night and wanted him to sneak into her dorm after curfew? (maybeee gojo caught them a lil while later 👀 only doing rounds cause he was nosy and wanted to snoop lmaoo)

I’m an absolute sucker for Megumi, thank you for this request! It’s a little goofy, kinda got inspired by my dress up darling xD Hope you like it though, please let me know :) 55. "I'm tired. Don't make me angry."

Caught

Pairing: Megumi Fushiguro x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,8k

Synopsis: Megumi knows it isn't allowed to visit you after curfew late at night, but the temptation is just too great. However, it is percisely this night that Gojo noticed the both of you and finds you in a rather unfavorable situation.

Warnings: language, mentions of smut, it's getting a little heated

Yo loser, you still awake? 🖤

Stop calling me that, yes I am (y/n).

Wanna come over? I’m bored as hell :(

Not my problem, remember curfew? I don’t want to get into trouble because of you.

You sign at your screen and roll your eyes in annoyance. God, Megumi is such a pain in the ass when it comes to following these stupid rules. You are mature enough to decide on your own when and who you want to visit. And how would they know? All the teachers are sound asleep anyway. Not even Gojo has the nerve to stay alert all night just to make sure that Megumi won’t visit you, right?

You just have to be silent. Shouldn’t be hard for you.

I’m tired. Don’t make me angry (y/n).

Pleeeaaaassseee Megumi, I’m begging on my knees :(

Megumi throws his phone to the side in irritation. Why do you always have to bother him this late at night? Of course his heart beats out of his chest just thinking about seeing you alone, but why does meeting you always bond with getting into trouble?

Still…maybe he is even able to hold you in his arms until the sun begins to rise. He’d ditch sleep a hundred times if it meant that you are by his side. As noiselessly as possible he sits up in bed and glances at Yuji who is breathing peacefully and is keeping his eyes closed. Megumi stands up, puts on his slippers and walks to the door. The girl’s corridor is down the hall, quite a stretch that cannot be explained if someone catches him there. Why does he keep doing things like this for you?

It doesn’t matter. As if in trance his feet carry him to your door. His knuckles brush gently against the hard wood, eyes swaying around in alert.

Your heart skips a beat when you catch a glimpse of him in the dim moonlight. He really came! With a wide grin on your face you grab his hand and pull him into your room.

“Megumi!”, you cry out in excitement.

“Shh, you want everyone to know that I’m here? Maki is next door”, he hisses.

A glimpse of you is enough to make Megumi blush in an instant. You are covered by nothing but an oversized Shirt, your butt just barely covered by it. Are you only wearing underwear underneath this? He always knew and appreciated that you are comfortable around him, but the sight of your naked thighs does thinks to him and lets his mind wander. Why do you have to be so ridiculously attractive anyway?

“Come on, Maki sleeps like a rock and who cares about you being here anyway? Except for me, of course. You can’t even imagine how happy it makes me that you really came”, you shyly admit.

He looks as breathtaking as usual, maybe even better with his loose black sweater that shows off his tight muscles underneath so perfectly. Nothing ever happened between Megumi and you. You’re just friends that meet up late at night and lay in your bed until the sun rises, talking about everything and everyone. Megumi never touched you, never cuddled you, never intertwined his hand with yours. But oh how much you wished he did. Since you joined Jujutsu High alongside him, your feelings for the black-haired boy grew day by day. Now you can’t imagine life without him, your heart starts to dance whenever you see him.

“You know, I just really like your company”, he responses, scratching his head awkwardly and avoiding your gaze.

Your heart skips a beat, face lighting up by the sound of his sweet words. It is rare that he says such things to you, Megumi isn’t the vocal one anyway. Actually you are, but not when it comes to him. He is the only person that lets your outspoken and confident self get soft and all flustered, not even brave enough to give him a hug.

“Wanna lay in bed? You said you were tired.”

Not anymore. Your sight alone is better than the best sleep and wakes him up every time.

“Sure.”

His gaze brushes over your moonlit features as you climb into bed, sliding against the wall and invitingly padding the sheets next to you. It makes him nervous to lay this close to you, knowing that you wear nothing but a shirt and that you are absolutely breathtaking beautiful. His heart almost beats out of his chest when the mattress gives in under his weight and your bare arm brushes against his skin while he lays down. Everything smells so good. He can immediately scent your sweet shampoo on the cushion under his head as well as the delicious fragrance of your body spray that hangs in the air and tingles in his nose. But the sight of your glistering eyes is what sends him over the edge.

“God, you are so beautiful.”

The words escape his mouth faster than he can react, hands covering his mouth in shock. Did he really just say that? Fuck, you must think he is really awkward, that all he thinks about are your good looks.

“I-I mean…You’re pretty smart as well…”, he stutters, face flushing immediately.

A cute little giggle escapes your mouth, cheeks heating up at his sudden outburst. Here and there a few compliments slipped out of Megumi’s mouth and left him all flustered. You adored the blush creeping up his face and the way he always scratched his head awkwardly in silence.

“(y/n), you need to be a little quieter. I don’t want Gojo-sensei to find us here”, he whispers, gaze creeping to the door.

“Don’t worry, he never did!”

Little did you know that Satoru just woke up from his light sleep and your giggling that echoed through the otherwise quiet halls of the dorms. He straightens himself and puts on a pair of sweatpants, a yawn escaping his lips. Why the hell is someone awake this late at night? Putting on his slippers, he leaves his room and roams around.

Another giggle. His eyes narrow. This sounds like you. Why are you giggling? Maybe someone is with you. Gojo doesn’t waste any more time and traces into the girl’s corridor. The ruffling, giggles and muffled voices grow louder as he moves towards your door. That other voice, it sounds so familiar…His eyes widen in surprise. Is that Megumi? What are you doing in there, after curfew alone in your room late at night? Fuck, he didn’t prepare Megumi for any for this. Does he know how this works? Is he using protection? Gojo’s pace picks up in an instant, panic mode completely activated.

“(y/n) and Megumi-chan, I know you’re in there. Get dressed within the next ten seconds”, he announces.

Your eyes widen in pure horror. Fuck, Gojo is here. Why the hell is Gojo here? He never caught you over the span of many months. Why today? Why when Megumi’s arms are this close to you, ready to hug you tightly?

“I told you!”, Megumi hisses through gritted teeth, panic written on his face.

“I’ll lock the door”, you proclaim with determination and lift yourself up.

This will give Megumi enough time to hide somewhere. You frantically swing your leg over his body, almost losing balance on the soft mattress underneath and your body tangled within the blanket in your rush.

“Fuck”, you mutter and search for hold, hands landing on his chest.

Instinctively, his hands grab your hips tightly just in time before you fall onto the ground.

Time stands still, your eyes stare right into Megumi’s ones. You’re sitting on top of him, thighs pressed against his with his big hands resting against your hips, squeezing them. You can feel something twitching underneath you, Megumi’s heartbeat bangs against your hands. Oh god. Is this really happening? All you can do is hold your breath and stare at him, every cell of your body refusing to move.

You sit on top of Megumi Fushiguro.

His hands grab your hips.

You know exactly what is moving beneath you.

“We didn’t even talk about this Megumi-chan, get back into yo- OH MY GODNESS.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Gojo entered the room, gaping at the both of you with his mouth wide open and completely frozen in his tracks.

“I-It’s not what it l-looks like…I-I promise!”, you stutter, full panic mode activated.

You stumble off him, body swaying back and forth. Did you really just sit on Megumi? With Gojo catching you mid-action?

Megumi hectically covers his lower body with a blanket, face dripping in sweat, embarrassment and heat. You just sat on him. He got hard and you probably noticed. Gojo saw all of this. He doesn’t know what to think or say anymore, mind completely occupied by what just happened. Did you really sit on him?

“Listen kids, I don’t care about curfew or anything, but please make sure to use protection and be…y’know…quiet.”

Even Gojo stumbles over his words at this point, avoiding gazing at your poorly dressed figure.

“We didn’t do anything. It just looked strange”, Megumi finally speaks out.

You want to be swallowed by the ground and hide in a tiny hole for the rest of your life. Your sensei thinks that you two got intimate. But not only that, it looked like he caught you mid-action. But more important than that…You sat on Megumi and he was very excited about that. Does that mean that he…likes you?

“Sure. Listen, let’s talk about this tomorrow or even better, never again. Just make sure to be quiet…Ehm, have a nice night I guess.”

And with that, Gojo closes the door behind him, leaving the both of you with his fast steps echoing down the hall.

Silence fills the room, you don’t dare to look at Megumi.

“Maybe…You wanna cuddle for a bit? Doesn’t make any difference anymore I guess.”

Your heart skips a beat. Did this words really just left his mouth, the mouth of Megumi Fushiguro, the boy who never even tried to put an arm around you? This night truly just keeps getting crazier.

“Aren’t you worried about what Gojo-sensei thinks?”, you question, face still hot in embarrassment.

“I’ll talk to him in the morning. We don’t have to if yo-“

“No”, you interrupt him immediately.

“I would love to lay in your arms.”

And that’s what you did. His warm arms welcomed and held you tight through the rest of this eventful night, heart still racing uncontrollably.

“I think I like you more than a friend”, you admit into silence, face buried against his chest.

“Me too.”

“Yeah, I noticed that”, you remark before you can stop yourself.

Megumi pushes you off his chest, face red as a tomato almost instantly.

“Can we please just stop talking about that, (y/n)?”

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #megumi #jujutsu megumi #megumi fushiguro #jjk megumi #megumi x reader #fushiguro #fushiguro megumi #megumi x you #megumi x y/n #jjk fushiguro #fushiguro x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x reader #megumi fluff

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punkzines · 4 days

Text

WRECKAGE

summary: Flying in an airplane was your biggest fear, thankfully everything turned out alright! (it didn’t)

warnings: mentions of death, its all vague !

a/n : hey guyss…..im back. i wrote this in a few mins cause i felt bad about not writing anything for so long. sorry if it has mistakes, im sleepyyyy.

There was no way you agreed to this. This was a big mistake, and it was a mistake that would cost you your life. This was your end, and there was no way to avoid it because you were strapped down to the seat. The exit closed a few minutes ago and you couldn’t even move to it because someone, God curse them, had closed the doors already.

Your hands shakily gripped both of the armrests, as your eyes were closed tightly in anxiety and it was like there was no air around you because no matter how much you inhaled, your lungs didn’t receive any air. To make matters worse, the loud music erupting from your headphones— which was entirely your own fault for choosing a song that didn’t make you calmer— made your ears and head hurt, it was as if your head was being crushed like a watermelon.

You really shouldn’t have come.

The music suddenly cut off, bringing you some sense of relief. You opened your eyes slowly and were met with blurry white light. “Hey. Hey.” A voice beside you said as you felt a hand touching your own—breaking you slowly out of your own panic. “It’s okay. Breathe with me.” You followed their breathing. In and out. In and out— until things were a lot more clearer.. “Don’t worry, airplane crashes are very unlikely.”

“You…don’t know- t-that.” You stammered, taking a deep breath. You feel your body begin to grow calmer and calmer. Breathing was a lot easier, but now you could hear someone's baby crying in the background and it was making you slightly annoyed. You quietly watch as the kind passenger next to you pulls back and leaned back onto their seat with a smile.

“This is one of the safest airlines. I promise, we are safe.”

Even if you had calmed down, only by a bit, you were still scared. Airplanes were one of your biggest fears. The fear of it suddenly exploding because of some mechanical malfunction is enough to keep you awake at night. Flying in air, in general, brings a different type of dread, because you can’t fly and would not be able to stop your body from hitting the ground or concrete waters. And even with all that fear, you had— you decided to fly out to Guatemala for a friend that lived there. You’ve never been to Guatemala, nor did you ever think about visiting it— but it was definitely an opportunity you couldn’t waste. Behind all the danger that flying an airplane brings, arriving at the destination will be worth it.

The plane has been on air for quite a while now, and it seemed pretty peaceful. You glanced out the window, and saw the breathtaking view up from high above. It was absolutely breathtaking. Were clouds always this pretty? “Thank you for helping me.” You turn back to the person next to you.

“No need to thank me.” They paused, grabbing a bottle of water. “So, why are you flying out to Guatemala?”

You suddenly noticed how thirsty you felt, or how your heartbeat spiked up a bit after the small startling movement that the plane just made. There was nothing to worry about. “Oh, to visit a friend. Haven’t seen them in 5 years? Yeah. Only reason I’m even here. To be honest, they should have come visit me instead. My fear of airplanes is nooott healthy…How about you?”

“Research project, I’m a scientist! But that’s not the only reason. I also have some family down there. A brother and two sisters. Guess we are both meeting important people, huh?”

You chuckled, “Cool coince-” Just then— the plane shook, as the sound of lightning filled your ears. You yelped in worry— your heart almost leaving your chest.

Luggages sprayed onto the floor—it was practically a mess! The person that was sitting next to you spilled some water off of their bottle, some of it ended up wetting you and got into your eyes. They apologized, but the shiver rolling down your spine— and the coldness that was overtaking you was making it impossible to hear what they were saying. “P...please tell me that was normal.” Your whole body trembled, this was not happening!

“Hey don’t worry-” They gasped. “A storm cloud?”

“What?” You asked, but their gaze was on something else— the window behind you. You turn around, unbuckling the wet seatbelt. A cloud. It was moving? But that wasn’t what scared you. It was the way you could see the lighting or thunder— it seemed like it was coming your way, and at a fast rate. This was dangerous, and you hadn’t read anything about a storm before boarding— you made sure of it. You made sure of it. And maybe you were going crazy, maybe the panic was making you see things— but you swore you could see something else in that storm. Suddenly, the lights started flickering— and that baby's cries got louder. Then there were people, who started questioning what was happening.

You stopped breathing.

“Everyone stay calm. We are passing through a storm, we will receive some back—“ Static. The intercom went static.

You take a deep breath— you cannot go into panic once again. Not again— you couldn’t, this would be alright. Everything— everything would be alright. Things like this happen frequently, right? This is a natural thing that happens— an airplane passing through a storm, or well from what you can see— a storm passing through an airplane, was completely normal.

“This is not normal.”

Your heart sinks at their words— this cannot be happening! You turn to them, eyes glossy. “What makes you say that? This is totally normal.”

“Part of my field of stu-” Their expression— that face, you’ve never seen it on someone other than yourself. “What the h—”

In a matter of seconds, something had hit the airplane, hard.

Everything, everyone was flown out of their seats— the plane split in half. Luggages hit people's bodies or pushed them out of the airplane— and that person— that sat next to you, they were hit too. Their face— you couldn’t stop screaming, you couldn’t stop hearing everyone scream. Everything was swirling around, and there was no mistaking it.

You were falling.

a/n: ill cook something else up soon i swear guys. if i dont go ia again. i promise i wont. i hope.

#gn reader #reader insert #this is really bad #ghidorah x reader #ghidorah kotm #godzilla

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feiquacker · 1 year

Text

Counting Freckles (on ao3)

Summery: Ava counting Bea's frekles with a tiny hint of hurt

"What are you doing?" Bea whispers when she notices Ava's lips move. Not that she has a reason to be staring at them in the first place.

"Counting your freckles" Ava breathes out - reaching over to grab Bea's chin and steady her face "Stop moving you'll make me lose count." she mutters eyes not leaving her cheeks.

"That's ridiculous." Bea smiles shaking her head - a beat - she bites her lip only to fail and ask "What number are you on?" eyes searching for Ava's while trying so hard not to get lost in them.

"Thirty seven... Thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty.... Forty-two." she stops - letting her thumb linger a little too long over Bea's chin before she reaches out and gently touches a spot on Bea's left cheek, "This one is my favorite." she whispers.

"Why?" Bea finds herself asking - she never thought about what her favorite freckle was - hell she hates the fact she had freckles. Her mother would always say they looked like disgusting moles grown all across her face adding to the ugliness.

"It looks like a little heart." Ava answers - sending yet another shiver down Bea's spine because how can a human being be so cute??

"Oke" she manages to squeak out - hoping that Ava can't tell how hot Beatrice's face flushes and how nothing can make her look away from Ava’s eyes.

"What's your favorite?" Ava asks - MOVING CLOSER. Sorry ma'am but have you ever heard of peRSoNaL sPaCe??

"Uh." she finds herself stumbling over her words - searching for anything to light up in her stupid useless brain "I don't have one." she mutters. Breaking the eye contact.

Damn this is embarrassing. Why is Ava’s pure existence making her _shy_??

"Why not?" and Bea's chin lifts. A gentle thumb hesitantly brushing across her cheek. And for a short moment Beatrice could swear to the gods above that Ava bit down on her lip and made her voice lower.

Is god really pulling all his strings to test her - going lengths even Lucifer wouldn't??

Maybe being god's toughest soldier came with greater consequences than she thought she would have to face.

"I never really liked them." she rasps out. Oh, yes Beatrice. Make it weird now. That's what you tell your best friend who is also the most beautiful person in the world and also the person that is single-handedly changing your entire life.

"But they are beautiful Bea." AND AVA SHIFT EVEN CLOSER. OH MY GOD. WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME? WHY HAVE YOU MADE ME THIS WAY?

If Beatrice manages to get into heaven despite all the sinning she has down and is quite literally doing right now she will kick that fucker so hard off the face of the earth - for making her suffer and suffer with every given day.

Who gave him the right to just spawn this angelic being and call it a day as if he didn't just create Beatrice's downfall in form of a beautiful, breathtaking brilliant human-being?

"You are beautiful. Why can't you see that?" Ava asks, grabbing Bea's hand and drawing little circles around her knuckles.

"I-" she really didn't want to make this about herself. She wasn't ready to say all of those things running on repeat in her head out loud. Not to Ava. Not to the sweetest, most beautiful and quite frankly the strongest person alive. Or - resurrected. Same thing.

"How can I - when being blessed with your existence?" she asks and Ava looks up from their intertwined hands, eyes a little wide - continuing to play around with Bea's fingers.

There's silence and for a short second, she thinks she fucked up. She thinks she jinxed it and failed. She can already feel the regret crawl up her throat and the guilt and shame that will follow before she falls asleep. There is no running for the truth. She can try to deny it, but it never helps in the long run. Only makes things worse.

"Then you probably haven't seen yourself." Ava smiles and Bea can breathe again - filling her lungs with fresh air because maybe she didn't destroy their relationship entirely

"I know for a fact that angles exist but if I didn't - then you might be the closest thing to an angel someone could imagine. Including your cute as fuck freckles." she murmurs looking down at their intertwined hands again.

And there's silence. Beatrice doesn't really know what to do or say. "Language." is everything that comes out. But there's a smile on her face and she doesn't really mean it

Is she supposed to say thank you? Ava clearly doesn't know what she was talking about. If she knew Bea deep down, she would probably leave and not even turn back. But would she? It's Ava. The equivalent of a golden retriever.

Ava doesn't seem like she has something to say either - focused on their hands and fiddling around with them - tracing over the scars on Bea's fingers and counting the freckles on them.

"I can feel you thinking you know." she says after some time - jolting Bea out of her thoughts.

"Hm?"

"Stop thinking." Ava repeats and Beatrice doesn't know what to answer so she turns to lay on her back staring at the ceiling - letting her hand stay in Ava’s. It is soothing - she likes that.

"I know you don't believe me." Ava starts "And I know you can't just throw away years of emotional repression. And I know I can't take the voices in your head and make them stop." she says and sHuFFles cLosEr until her head in laying on Beatrice's shOuLdeR "But I will repeat it every single day until you believe me."

Beatrice stays quiet - thankful that the tear that drops is on the other side of her face.

"You are beautiful Beatrice. And you are strong and elegant and perfect just the way you are. I know you deprive yourself of any kind of affection or love but you are worthy of love and affection without having a reason. I know that. You showed me." and she reaches over to turn Bea's face - to make her look at her "Let me love you when you can't love yourself." gentle fingers brush over cheek, and then cradle her head, curling around her neck as their foreheads press together.

And.

She wants to believe her - so so hard - she would do anything to make herself believe what Ava just said. But crying in front of the halo bearer isn't another burden she wants to throw at Ava.

Shuffling to get out of Ava's grasp she finds herself getting pulled further into her best friend's embrace.

A silent plea hangs unsaid in the air when Ava wraps her hand around Bea's wrist and waits a second for a response.

There is none except Beatrice's tears building up - watering her view - the familiar feeling of eyes burning and a snivel making its way to her throat.

"Bea..." is all Ava says before she gently coaches Bea's head to her chest - pulling her into an embrace - enveloping herself around Beatrice.

For some reason it feels nothing like the books taught her it would feel like.

Their limbs fall into place like fitting puzzle pieces and Bea hides her head right under Ava’s chin, just in time for the halo-bearer to not see the tears slide down her cheeks.

Her cheeks burn and for a few moments she just wants the earth to open up and swallow her alive.

It's too much. And she needs air - and she needs something cold to hold onto, like a sink or a table.

But for the first time in her life she feels safe. And she doesn't want to let go - gripping onto the pullover Ava is wearing. Breathing in the all too familiar vanilla perfume Ava practically bathes in. It grounds her - the hand in her hair calming her even more.

"I am so sorry." she hears Ava whisper, and a cold hand rests on the small of her back, giving her a much-needed point to focus on.

She is the one who should apologise, for smearing snot all over Ava's pullover, and for overreacting, and for crying on her and for so many other reasons that Ava will deny the need of an apology before it has even exited her mouth.

"For your pain." she whispers, but Beatrice can only mutter a wet "Hhm."

The hand that was playing with her hair now sliding down to bury itself in Bea's scalp and gently scratch.

...And it feels safe. She feels safe. Doesn't resist the little kiss on her hair, doesn't try to leave again. There are hands touching her and she doesn't flinch away.

It's overwhelming, too many hands, too soft, too much warmth. But it also feels like what she imagines being embraced by an angel would feel like.

"You are holding me like a baby right now." she mumbles around the snot in her nose. Tucking her head further under Ava's chin because a little Ava-hair tickles her neck.

"You deserve to be held like a baby." Ava whispers, drawing a little star on the small of Beatrice's back.

There is silence again. Beatrice nearly thinks Ava is asleep. And she wants to get up and clean up, dry the scratchy tears off her face and maybe also off Ava's neck. But she fears Ava won't want to hold her again and somehow it seems like the worst thing that could ever happen.

As selfish as it is, Beatrice can deal with the guilt some other day.

"Ava," her best friend just hums "Thank you." she murmurs.

A beat.

"Bea-" there is something in her voice that makes Bea's stomach twist. In a good way of course, not a medically concerning one "Anytime."

And she doesn't know what to say. Settles on following Ava's calming breaths.

"I didn't get to count all your freckles." Ava huffs softly, Beatrice can only chuckle wetly against the warm skin her cheek is pressed into, "You can count them tomorrow, Darling." it slips. Before she can panic, Ava makes a little happy noise that is so goddamn cUtE Beatrice could melt through the floor and it still wouldn't be enough.

"Comfy?"

Beatrice just nods, "Good night BooBoo."

The tears are slowly drying, still there but barely. She snivels. God this shouldn't feel so good should it?

"Good night Ava."

There's a little grumble, "Call me Darling."

And Beatrice sighs, a little smile forming on her face as she whispers "Good night Darling."

As if Ava's little content squeak isn't enough to end her, she also drops a little kiss on Beatrice's head and Beatrice hopes so hard that God isn't watching right now. Or that it's so dark He misses the blush creep up her neck.

Fingers curling around the side of her neck and the palm flattening on the small of her back she grips onto the silky pullover Ava is wearing. Soft snores and vanilla perfume lulling her to sleep.

-------------------------------------------------------

Everyone else: hope u had fun reading! :D

Beta read by @shy-forceghost and @oneandonlyollie . I love u very much thank you. Have this as a present :D

#Broski Freedle and Ollie I love you thanks for beta reading <333 #sister beatrice #ava silva #Sister Beatrice/Ava Silva #Set in Switzerland #warrior nun #warrior nun saved #Set during season 2 #hurt!bea agenda #hurt!bea server #hurt bea #my writing #writing #one shot

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fixfoxnox · 2 years

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Something In The Orange - Part 4

Summary: Roach goes on his first mission with the 141

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, somewhat graphic depictions of violence, near-death experiences

Note: I am also uploading this fic to my Ao3 if you would prefer to read it there!

Word Count: 6.6k

"Where the liquid fire filled his lungs and his eyes,

silenced any mortal cries

Cold and the grip of death stinging pain, he fought like

hell to keep the wolves away"

"Keep the Wolves Away" - Uncle Lucius

The view of the sunset was particularly breathtaking that night. At least that’s what Roach thought as he stared at the streaks of oranges and pinks that set the sky ablaze. He wondered if tonight, the sunset was really so beautiful, or if he only thought so because of the people surrounding him.

There was a content feeling that was resting over his chest, a feeling of happiness and belonging that he hadn’t felt since his old life. He’d come close, of course, he had. His friendship with Jackson had filled the hole in his chest for a period, but even that hadn’t completely erased the feeling of longing he had for a life taken from him.

Though he knew he hadn’t returned to that life again, sitting on a rooftop doing recon with the members of the 141 was close enough that he could feel that bubbling of happiness in his chest.

“You’re sure this is the building?” Came the question from a rather bored Gaz.

Roach turned to look at him, his fingers tangled in his necklace to help calm his nerves. He was happy, but he was also nervous. Not only were they on the hunt for Makarov, but he knew he had to prove himself to the team. “Unless your information was wrong, that's definitely the building.

“Makarov was supposed to be here an hour ago,” Came the complaint from Soap, “We’ve been up with no sign of anything. Maybe he backed off?”

“I doubt it,” Price shook his head from his place on the roof, “He’s probably changing his security detail up at several stops. Changing the schedule could throw off any would-be assassin’s plan.”

The roof fell quiet once again. Roach turned back to the almost gone sunset, a smile pulling at his lips. All that was missing was Price calling him a muppet and he would almost think that he was back on his first mission with the group. It was a pleasant sort of reminder.

“You religious, Roach?”

The question caught Roach completely off guard, his head turning to look at Soap who’d asked the question. The older man was looking at him curiously from his position reclined next to Ghost. He must have seen the confused look on his face because soon he was nodding his head towards the necklace Roach had wrapped around his fingers.

Roach looked down at the cross necklace he’d taken to wearing, “Oh, uh, no. Not really.”

Soap seemed a bit surprised at that, “Why the cross then?”

“It’s a little odd,” Roach said, “When I was on the Demon Dogs there were a couple of times where I just felt like I needed a little comfort.” He shrugged, tangling his fingers with the necklace further, “It reminds me of home a bit. My family is religious.”

“But not you?”

Roach chuckled, “Not me.” He pushed himself up a bit further and directed his gaze down to where Makarov was supposed to eventually make an appearance. “Being who I am, seeing what I’ve seen,” he paused, “It’s a bit hard to stay faithful.”

Soap nodded, “I understand, sorry for asking.”

Roach shook his head, “Oh no, don’t worry. I get it, there’s a bit of a reputation around people with an accent like mine and a belief in God.” Roach paused then, “I suppose asking how you got your call sign would be a bit too much in return?”

Soap gave a chuckle before a wink, “It’s classified.”

Roach gave a grin in response, “That probably means you’ve got it for an embarrassing reason.”

Soap raised a hand over his heart and feigned being hurt for a moment, “What about you, eh? I bet you won’t share how you got the name Roach?”

A grin crossed Roach’s face, “Oh no, mine’s not embarrassing.” Soap motioned for Roach to continue, “I’m hard to kill, so they called me Roach.”

Soap scoffed, “Oh c’mon, that can’t be true.”

“It is!”

“Yeah, okay,” Soap scoffed, “keep it to yourself then.” Roach let out an annoyed huff and gave a roll of his eyes at Soap’s disbelief. Still, he could feel fondness flutter in his chest.

“Eyes sharp boys,” Price called suddenly, catching the attention of everyone in the group. Looking over the edge of the building with his scope allowed Roach to see three black vans pulling up to the building they believed Makarov was going to be staying in.

“Three vans,” Ghost reported, “No sightline on the people inside.”

“Guy at the back,” Roach pointed out, spotting one of the men getting out of the last van, “He’s got a weapon.”

“That’s them,” Price breathed, pushing himself closer to the edge of the roof.

The group waited silently as people in the first and last van stepped out, forming a protective barrier around the second of the vans. The security detail was definitely something that would match up with Makarov, but something about the uniforms rang as wrong to Roach. The men looked familiar, enough that he knew he’d seen them somewhere in his past life, but he didn’t feel confident placing them as Makarov’s men. Finally, the door to the second van was opened. First came more armed guards then, finally, a man in uniform stepped out. Except, the man wasn’t Makarov.

“What the fuck,” Ghost muttered, “It’s Shepherd.”

“What?” Soap asked, also moving closer to the edge.

The mention of Shepherd meant that Roach could finally place the men who were standing around as his security, “Shadow Company,” he muttered to himself. The only person who heard him was Gaz, the man shooting him a glance before focusing back on the building.

“It’s supposed to be Makarov,” Price said, taking the scope that Ghost passed off to him. “Shit. Hold on.” Price messed with his coms for a moment before, “Laswell, we’ve got an issue.”

Roach could hear a woman’s voice in his ear, “What’s going on? Did Makarov not show?”

“Not only is Makarov not here,” Price said, “But someone else is in his place. Shepherd.”

“What? Why is Shepherd there?”

“That’s exactly what I want to know,” Price responded.

“Shit,” The woman, Laswell, said, “Our informant must have mixed up the two.”

“Lovely,” Price said, pacing the roof, “Absolutely phenomenal. So now I don’t have Makarov, or the clearance to go after the American traitor.”

“Just wait okay, just because it isn’t Makarov doesn’t mean we won’t take this opportunity to bring Shepherd in, just give me a minute John.” The line went silent.

“Laswell better get us clearance,” Soap muttered, “I want to bring the bastard in.”

Roach could feel his hands shaking. His breath went a bit quicker and he couldn’t help but be thankful for the darkness as he was sure he’d gone pale. Chasing Makarov was one thing, but coming face to face with the man who’d ended his first life? That was another deal completely. He continued watching through the scope, with far more shakieness this time. “He’s going inside the building,” he reported quietly.

“Price?”

“Laswell,” Price responded, “Tell me something good.”

“You’re cleared to go for Shepherd. Your goal is to bring him in alive, but if it comes to it, you’re free to take him out.”

Soap gave a bit of a cheer at the news and the others seemed similarly pleased. Roach tried to ignore the feeling of sickness that crept up his throat.

Roach motioned with his hand for the members of the 141 to follow him through the alleys of the city. They weren’t headed directly for the building that Shepherd was in, but rather one of the various sewer entrances around the area. It wasn’t a very pleasant path, but it would get them into the building without having to worry about any security details.

“You’re sure there isn’t a less…dirty way in?” Gaz asked as they approached the short little tunnel into the sewers.

“Unless you want to fight your way in,” Roach said simply. His nerves were still fried, but he wasn’t going to back out of the mission. Hopefully, things would go smoothly.

“That might be preferable,” Gaz muttered as they stepped into the shallow murky water of the sewer system.

The group continued through the sewers, Roach leading them through the tunnels that wound around to the bottom of their target building. The walk wasn’t long, but Roach could feel the atmosphere go tenser the closer they got to the building, the entire squad preparing themselves for an inevitable firefight.

“This is it,” Roach motioned to the ladder in front of the group, “It’ll put us in the basement.”

“Right,” Price made his way to the front of the group, Roach willingly falling back to let him take over, “Shepherd’s room is on the fourth floor. We’re going to head up and clear the building floor by floor, let’s keep it as silent as possible for as long as we can. Suppressed weapons only for the first few floors.” Roach nodded, pulling a suppressor from his belt and attaching it to his gun as Price continued with his orders. “When we hit the fourth floor, Ghost and Soap will make their way up past us to the fifth floor. If Shepherd realizes we’re there and gets away, he’ll head up to the roof and that nice little heli sitting at the top of the building, if that happens, the two of you will cut him off. Gaz, Roach, you’ll stay with me.”

With everyone in agreeance on the plan, the group started up the ladder, Price in the lead.

The basement was, thankfully, empty, allowing the 141 to easily move up to the first floor.

Clearing the first floor was the beginning of the resistance that the group would face. Along with a number of Civies that the group were forced to direct back into their rooms or outside of the building, nearly every hallway that they came to had one or more guards blocking their way. Luckily, everyone in the group had quick reaction times, each of the Shadow Company guards being dropped within seconds. The Second floor was cleared just as easily.

Heading to the fourth floor seemed that it was going to be equally as easy, the group making it through the first area of the third floor without issue. Things were feeling a bit too easy when Roach dropped the guard standing in front of the staircase, so it made sense that only moments later, everything would go to shit. As the group moved towards the staircase, there came a sudden ring of shots from behind them, forcing them to take cover as best as they could.

“Shit,” Gaz yelled as the group returned fire, “How the hell did they figure out we were here?”

Roach considered their path for a moment. The hotel had cameras, but they’d disabled those in the basement before coming up. The only way that Shepherd's men could have seen them was if, “They probably set up their own cameras!”

“Price,” Ghost called after delivering several quick takedown shots, “We’ve got to move! Shepherds probably getting ready to leave.”

Price gave a grunt in response, shooting several of the men who continued to emerge from down the hallway. “If we try up the stairs they’ll take us out from behind, we have to clear them out first.”

Roach shook his head, he knew if they took the time to clear out the seemingly never-ending wave of enemies, Shepherd would be long gone before they even made it up to the next floor. “That will take too long,” he called, “You guys go, I’ll cover you from here and hold them off.”

“Are you insane?” Came the question from Soap, “You’ll get overwhelmed down here!”

“I’ll be fine!” Roach peeked over the top of his cover and delivered four quick and clean headshots to the four soldiers who’d run into the hallway. “Now go! I’ll cover!”

Roach left the group with no room for arguing, popping out of his cover to provide covering fire, each of the members popping up and making their way back into the stairway. Price was the last to go, stopping to tell Roach, “Stay alive. We’ll be on comms,” before he too stepped into the staircase and left Roach alone to fend off the oncoming Shadow Company members by himself.

The numbers weren’t too overwhelming, each of the men arriving in groups of four to six, usually he could drop them quick enough that they’d all be dead by the time the next group would run around the corner. The difficult part came when he had to reload, the brief time it took allowed whoever was at the end of the hallway to advance further toward him than he was necessarily comfortable with. There was also the issue of ammo. He knew that he was slowly running out.

“Price we’ve made it to the fifth floor, took out the guards, no further activity,” Ghost reported over their comms.

“Good, hold steady. Gaz and I are moving toward Shepherd's room. Roach, how are you holding up?”

Roach handled the few men at the end of the hall before responding, “Still alive.”

Roach could have sworn he heard a sigh of relief over the comms, but he wasn’t quite sure who it had come from. “Right, Gaz and I are breaching Shepherd's room now.”

The knowledge that, soon, Shepherd would be in the custody of the 141 and unable to hurt himself or Ghost gave Roach a bit of comfort. This entire mission had put him on edge, he’d hoped to never be this close to Shepherd ever again.

After a few more minutes of stopping any members of Shadow Company that dared to show themselves, Roach was pleased to see that the steady flow of Shadow Company members seemed to finally come to an end. Again, his luck seemed to enjoy knocking him back down a level as only a moment after he determined that there would be no more people coming towards him from the hallway, Price reported, “Team be aware, Shepherd is not in his room. It looks like he’s only recently left. Ghost, Soap, be on alert. Gaz and I are going to head up towards you, but it’s possible Shepherd has taken the other staircase.”

“Got it, I’ll cover the east stairs,” Came the voice of Soap, the man sounding more than hopeful that Shepherd would show himself and give him a shot at him.

“Price,” Roach started, “The hallway down here is clear. No more men that I can see.”

“It’s clear?” Came the confused voice of Gaz, “They’ve probably rerouted their men up here.”

“Alright, good job Roach,” Price called, “Team, be aware we may have reinforcements heading our way. Roach, I need you to head up the east stairs and help us close off Shepherd. Either way he goes he’ll be cut off.”

“On it,” Roach called back. He left his cover and began carefully backtracking towards the eastern staircase, the group had used it to come up to the third floor.

He was met with little resistance on his way to the stairs, taking out two other guards who’d taken station by the entrance. With careful and quick steps, he made his way toward the door.

“Entering the east staircase,” he reported before pulling the door open. His entire body went rigid at the sight he was met with before he felt a familiar sting of a gunshot to his chest.

“Roach, what’s your status?” Price and Gaz stopped on the staircase, both sharing a concerned glance at the gunshot they’d clearly heard from who they could only assume was Roach’s comms. “Roach, report. Are you okay?”

There was a moment of silence before some movement from the comm then finally, “Hello taskforce 141.”

Price felt his blood run cold. “Shepherd,” he acknowledged over the comm. “What happened to Roach?”

“He is…out of commission.”

“You-”

“Oh don’t worry, he’s not dead. Yet.”

Price could hear an intake of breaths from his team members, Soap was the first to respond, “You bastard.”

“Now, now,” Came the voice of Shepherd, Price motioned for Gaz to follow him, the both of them beginning a rush back down the stairs, “That’s not very nice.”

“You’re a dead man Shepherd,” That came from Ghost, the man also obviously having started down the stairs if the sound of a door above Price and Gaz was anything to go by.

“No,” Shepherd responded with a taunting lilt to his voice, “I don’t think so. Let this be a warning to you, Price: keep coming after me and you’ll lose your entire team. For now, I’ll leave you only one body.”

“Don’t-” the yell from Soap was cut off by the sound of another gunshot.

The pain of a bullet in his chest worked almost like adrenaline for Roach. His chest was stinging and he felt like he couldn’t breathe for a second. It didn’t help that his frightened mind and heightened senses decided to remind him violently of the first time he’d been shot by Shepherd.

There was the gunshot, betrayal flooding his system followed by pure panic and an overwhelming heavy feeling in his lungs as Ghost was gunned down only a moment later. With his prior injuries and the new gunshot wound to his chest, Roach could offer nothing but a weak grab at Shepherd's arm when the man grabbed the DSM off of his body.

He remembers Shepherd tossing his hand off, disgust evident on his face. He remembered briefly coming in and out of consciousness, the feeling of nausea taking him over as he lost more and more blood. He remembers the acrid taste of gasoline in his mouth and the way he wanted desperately to cough and spit the terrible taste from his mouth. He remembered the fire and smoke filling his lungs only a moment later.

Roach remembered all of these things in the span of a second. He supposed it was a miniature version of his life flashing before his eyes. He was rather surprised, with all of the painful memories of his death, that it was the memory of the neverending darkness before the screaming of being reborn that motivated him to move. Maybe it was the pain of potentially having to start all over again or maybe it was the fear of not getting another chance. Either way, he found himself clawing at the carpet of the hallway and dragging himself away from Shepherd.

The man wasn’t willing to let him go that easy though, soon kicking him back to his side so he could reach down to take the comm from his ear and throw his side arm down the hallway. Roach reached out to stop him, his hand grabbing the man’s wrist in a move that was oh-so-familiar to him. Shepherd threw his hand off with disgust, just the same as he’d once done. Roach started crawling again.

He could hear Shepherd behind him, and distantly he registered that the man was taunting the 141, trying to make threats that Roach knew he would make good on. He couldn’t be bothered to listen to what the man was saying, the words going in one ear and out the other as his mind narrowed in on one thing.

It was a knife, lodged into the head of one of the guards that he’d killed on his way to the staircase. It had been a quick reflex to throw his knife, the memory of Simon teaching him to do it in his past life guiding his movements. The shot to the other guard had also been reflex, one closer to something that Soap would have applauded. Roach thought, distantly, that if he could make it to the knife, he could use it to take Shepherd out. He hoped it would be only the man who would be killed, but he supposed that if he had to die, he’d be fine if only he could take the man out with him.

Shepherd didn’t even realize he was going for the knife, following behind Roach and kicking any guns they came across out of Roach’s way. He didn’t even notice when Roach draped himself over the body of the guard and pulled the knife from the man’s head. Roach had the blade firmly in his hand when he turned to his back, seeing Shepherd's gun pointed towards him once again, the man ready to deliver a killing shot.

As quickly as he could, Roach threw the knife at Shepherd, feeling for a brief moment the phantom hands of Simon guiding his movements. The knife hit Shepherd's arm just as he pulled the trigger, the bullet knocked off target as Shepherd dropped the gun in reaction to the sudden pain in his arm. Roach could hear the bullet hit next to his head, but he paid the near-death shot no mind, instead using what strength he had left in his body to lunge for Shepherd's gun.

He could see Shepherd lunging for it as well, but Roach was quicker, grabbing the handle of the gun and pointing the weapon at Shepherd. He wasn’t quick enough to avoid Shepherd making a grab at the weapon, the two briefly grappling as Roach tried to hold tight to the weapon and find the trigger. Luckily, his finger was able to locate it rather quickly.

A shot rang out, surprise and pain crossing Shepherd's face. It took the both of them only a moment to realize that Roach had managed to find the trigger and get a shot off. Roach wasted no time in pulling the trigger again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again.

He emptied the entire magazine into Shepherd's body, ignoring as the man went unconscious after the second shot. An odd sense of satisfaction and relief strummed through his body as the gun finally clicked with the sign that he was out of bullets to use. He shoved Shepherd's limp body off of his, pushing himself up and back so he was propped up against the wall. He was still bleeding, and distantly he could feel nausea creeping up his throat and warning him that he was losing too much blood, but he paid it no mind.

Instead, he stared. Stared with a deep satisfaction at the body of the man who’d killed him and the man he loved. Who’d taken the beautiful wonderful life that Roach had managed to carve out for himself in his first life and stomped it out with a gunshot and a cigar. All at once it felt somehow like things were finally over. It was a sort of final chapter to Roach’s first life, one he didn’t realize he was still stuck on. All at once, that chapter was over. He could finally move on.

He didn’t expect the tears that formed in his eyes at the knowledge. Even as his world started dancing with black dots and he wondered distantly if he was about to die again, Roach found that he couldn’t stop the tears.

There were footsteps then, rapid ones rounding the corner and in a moment, Captain Price was knelt in front of Roach, a hand pressing painfully into his gunshot wound to provide pressure. “...oach? Roach? Can you hear me?’

Roach furrowed his eyebrows, “Shepherds dead.”

Price gave him nothing more than a nod, “You did good kid, but that’s not important right now. Listen, I need you to try to stay awake alright? Medical is already on their way up here.”

“Medical?” Roach’s mind couldn’t quite understand that this time around he wouldn’t be left to die. Instead, his mind thought of something else, “Ghost?”

Price gave him a quick glance before going back to putting pressure on his wound, “Ghost is fine lad. So is Soap. We’re all okay.”

The confirmation that Ghost was okay made Roach’s chest a bit lighter, he felt a bit more at peace, even as he was suddenly surrounded by several medics who began to load him onto a stretcher.

The trip down from inside of the building went by in blurs for Roach, his mind trying to follow Captain Price’s orders to stay conscious, but his body actively fighting against him. He found himself tilting his head to the side, hoping that the coolness of the stretcher would provide him with a bit of relief from the phantom flames he felt licking at his skin.

As he was being delivered to the ambulance, he spotted Ghost. His eyes followed the man, and he was sure that his feelings were clear in his gaze. Ghost didn’t give him a glance, but Roach didn’t mind. He seemed determined to get to something, and Roach assumed it was important by his body language.

He watched, his eyes growing heavier and heavier as Ghost found his way to Soap, the two men stopping once they’d reached each other. Roach was happy to see both of them. Happy to see his friend and the man he loved. Happy to see them hugging. Happy to see Ghost pulling his mask up just below his nose. Happy to see them sharing a short kiss.

Roach’s world went black.

The first thing Roach heard was the sound of beeping. It was a steady noise, following the same interval of silence before another beep. It was oddly calming.

Roach’s eyes opened first, his mind still swathed in darkness as he was blinded by a sterile and stark white. For a moment, he wondered if he’d been reborn again. That moment faded as he began to feel his body lying beneath the sheets of the bed. He realized very quickly that he was laying in a hospital bed, and that the steady beeping was his heartbeat monitor.

“Welcome back to the world of the living.”

Roach turned his head too quickly, his world going dizzy for a moment before he was finally able to focus on the, rather dressed-down, form of Captain Price next to his bed. “Captain Price?”

Price nodded, “Glad to see the blood loss didn’t fuck with your memory,” he paused for a moment, “Also just glad to see you’re alright.”

Roach carefully pushed himself up further in the hospital bed, his side protesting at the movement. His mind was trying to slowly piece together the last few things that he remembered happening, “Shepherd is dead.”

A brief smile crossed Price’s face before he nodded, “He is. You killed him.” There was a moment of silence as Roach let that fact fully sink in. “You did good Roach.” Roach came back to himself, turning to look to Price who reached beside him to pull out a file with his name on it, “I understand now why you’ve got so many glowing reviews in this thing.” A sense of hope bubbled up in Roach, he wondered if this was his moment. “I’d be more than willing to write you a review as well.” Roach felt his heart drop to his stomach, “Or,” Price paused from where he’d been flipping through Roach’s file, “Or, you could join my team.”

“The 141?” Roach breathed out, trying to school his expressions into something more professional than the excitement he felt. “It would be an honor, Captain.”

Price gave him a small smile, as though he knew that Roach was trying to hide his true excitement. “All of us on the team were highly impressed with you. Both Ghost and Soap recommended that I invite you to join. We’ll be glad to have you on the team.”

Roach gave a smile, the knowledge that Soap and Ghost had both been so impressed with his performance the night before that they’d mentioned him joining to Price? It made an odd sort of happiness bubble up in his chest. His mind supplied the memories of the night before. Working with the 141, Soap and Ghost specifically, killing Shepherd and being hit with a sense of catharsis, being taken away by the medics, and seeing…

“Get some rest, Roach. As soon as you’re cleared with medical we’ll get you all set up.” Price stood from the chair and started towards the door to Roach’s hospital room. Roach stopped him.

“Um, Captain, last night, when I was being taken away,” he paused, trying to find the right words, “did I see Soap and Ghost kiss?”

Roach could practically see Price’s body language change. He stood up taller and crossed his arms. His face went deceptively blank. It was like a layer of tension fell over the room. “Possibly,” he responded, “The two are in a relationship, so I wouldn’t be surprised.” Roach felt as though he forgot how to breathe, his chest was suddenly covered with an invisible and unexpected weight. His face must have given something away to Price because soon the man was saying, “Is that going to be a problem, Sergeant Sanderson?”

Roach looked up at him, confused at the sudden hostility in his voice before his brain connected the dots, “I’m not homophobic sir, if that’s what you’re worried about,” He rushed out, his mind running in circles as it tried to process the new information and come up with an excuse for Price that the man would accept. Finally, he landed on, “I’m gay.” He winced a bit at the rather rushed and nervous way it was spoken, but the words landed and Price was relaxing slightly, “I just didn’t think relationships within a squad were allowed.”

That uncrossed Price’s arms, the man relaxing once again, “We’re a bit different than your average squad lad. So long as the relationship doesn’t get in the way of your work, I couldn't care less what you lot do with each other in your free time.”

Roach nodded, doing his best to contain his emotions for the moment, “Good to know.”

Price nodded to him, giving a quick goodbye before leaving Roach alone with his newfound knowledge that while he’d finally made it to the 141, he’d lost any opportunity he had of returning to the life that he’d left behind.

“Well, at least you’re alive.”

“That's what you got out of that?” Roach had to admit, he’d been expecting a little bit bigger of a reaction from Jackson.

“What else am I supposed to say?” Jackson’s voice was slightly muffled through the phone, the long-distance making it even more noticeable, “Roach you could have died, sorry that I’m not as worried about the 141 drama.”

Roach rolled his eyes, but he wasn’t really upset by Jackson’s reaction. The man had only heard about the 141 and Simon through Roach, so he didn’t have much stake in what actually happened with them. “I called for advice, not to tell you I was shot.”

“So you wouldn’t have told me you got shot otherwise?”

“Paul.”

“Okay, okay,” Roach could practically see Jackson holding his hands up in mock surrender, “What are you thinking about doing? You gonna break ‘em up?”

“What?” Roach huffed into the phone, “No I’m not going to break them up.”

“So…?”

“I was thinking about backing out of the 141.”

There was a pause, “You’re literally a fucking idiot.”

“Hey!”

“Roach, you’ve spent your entire life trying to get back to the 141. And now you’re going to throw it away?”

“I wanted to get back to the 141,” Roach agreed, “But I wanted to do it with Ghost.”

“You’re still doing it with him,” Jackson pointed out, “just not in the way you thought.” There was another pause, “Listen, you’ve finally got a chance to remake those friendships you’ve missed so much, don’t throw it away.”

Roach’s chest ached. He knew Jackson was right. He’d spent his entire life trying to get back to the 141 and see his friends again. He was heartbroken at the knowledge that he’d missed his chance with Simon. He knew that by the tears that soaked his pillow after Price left him alone the night before. Despite that, the thought of losing his chance with the 141 sent him into a bit of a spiral, which was the precise reason he decided to call Jackson. He needed someone to talk to before he made a decision he would regret. “I don’t know,” he finally mumbled back.

Roach could hear the sigh over the phone before there was another moment of silence between the two, “How about this, you stick with the 141, but if seeing someone else with Ghost becomes too much for you, that’s when you leave. Just…give it a chance first Sanderson.”

“Glad to see you again,” Soap gave Roach a large grin, Roach doing his best to return the smile. He’d just walked into the 141’s meeting area, having been dropped off on base with the knowledge that the team was in a briefing and that he could just head there.

Upon walking into the room he’d been met with the eyes of the four other members of the team, each looking surprised to see him up and moving already. Soap had been the first to break out of that surprise. “You didn’t think I’d died, did you?” Roach tossed out, trying to avoid looking at Ghost, “I told you they call me Roach for a reason.”

“Did you get medical clearance?” The question came from Price and he got all the answer he needed when Roach winced at the question.

“I’m fine,” Roach offered, “I feel fine.”

“Fine doesn’t keep you from getting shot,” came Ghost’s gruff response. Roach refused to look at him, instead maintaining eye contact with Captain Price.

The two stared each other down for a moment and Roach suddenly felt like a kid in a staring contest with their parent. If he won Price would let him join in on the current mission, if he lost he’d have to sit out even longer. Finally, after a few moments, Price broke eye contact with a sigh, and Roach internally let out a cheer. “Alright, but if you die on this mission that’s on you kid.”

“Noted sir!” Price motioned for Roach to take a seat and, despite the empty chair next to Ghost and Soap, Roach made a point to go around the table and take a seat next to Gaz. He gave the British man a quick smile as he did so, and Gaz seemed amused enough at his entrance to the room to give him one back.

“Alright,” Price said, taking the attention of the room once again, “As we all know, our last mission didn’t go exactly as planned. This was because of our informant. Laswell did a bit more digging on the informant and learned that they’ve been on Makarov’s payroll the entire time.”

“So Makarov wanted us to kill Shepherd,” Ghost tossed out.

“Why the hell would he want that?” Soap asked, “I mean Shepherd was in the wind. He was on the run with no way to take action against him. Why trick us into going after him?”

“A distraction?” Gaz questioned.

Roach shook his head, thinking back to what he remembered about his old life’s Shepherd and about Shadow Company. Using them as a distraction didn’t exactly line up. Ghost seemed to agree, “We had no idea where he was at, or what he was planning. What would he need to distract us for?”

Price shook his head, “Makarov needed Shepherd out of the way for a reason. And he needed him gone quietly. Why?”

Roach had a thought then, remembering the very thing he and Ghost had been killed for, “Information.”

“What?”

Roach noticed all eyes in the room on him, “Did Shepherd take any information with him when he disappeared?”

Price crossed his arms, “Laswell mentioned that Shepherd's computer and drive were missing and that he likely brought them with him.”

“And did they find the computer and drive at the hotel?”

There was a pause before suddenly Price was cursing. He pulled his phone from his pocket, dialing numbers in quick succession. Within a moment he’d stepped out of the conference room to speak with who Roach could only assume was the Laswell that he’d spoken with during their last meeting.

This moment left the room in a brief silence before, “Good catch.”

The compliment came, surprisingly, from Gaz. Roach couldn’t help but be proud at the compliment. He didn’t know how easy it was going to be to befriend Gaz, so the fact that he already seemed to be on the man’s good side was making him feel quite good.

“How’d you catch that?” Came the question from Ghost. There was a hint of distrust in his voice, one that brought back a nostalgic feeling of first working with the man in his past life. It had taken time to earn Ghost’s trust, time that Roach had been and, despite the heartache, was still willing to put into his new life.

Roach shrugged, “It seemed obvious. If Makarov got wind that Shepherd had taken information, he’d likely see it as a free ticket to American information. I figured with Shadow Company guarding Shepherd, all Makarov would have to do is find the weak one out of the bunch to nab the information for him,” Roach sighed and shook his head, “The poor sucker is probably dead already.”

“I’m surprised you know about Shadow Company,” came the voice of Gaz, “I mean I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised now, but you knew about them before any of us said anything back on the mission.”

Roach found himself fumbling. He forgot that Shadow Company was meant to be a somewhat secret spec ops team. After a moment he offered, “There’s a pretty chatty recruit with a brother who works in the pentagon on base. He likes to sit in the same area you guys were in when I overheard you talking about Makarov.”

Soap gave a bit of a laugh at that, “Truly like a bug aren’t you Roach? Like a fly on the wall.” He gave him a grin, “You probably know a lot more about what goes on around here than you let on.”

Roach gave a small laugh at that, they really had no idea how much he knew.

Price entered the room again soon after, a frustrated look on his face that told Roach that he’d been right. “Shepherd’s computer is nowhere to be found.”

“We played right into Makarov’s hands,” Ghost noted. Roach watched him, wondering for a brief moment if he had that pinched look on his face under the mask, the one that meant he was frustrated but slightly impressed with the enemy's play.

“What do we do now?”

Price pinched the bridge of his nose, “There isn’t much we can do.”

“We can’t let up on Makarov. If he has another chance he’ll try to stir things up,” Soap leaned forward, his hands splaying out on the table in a plead for Price to give the team some sort of option.

“Makarov’s dropped off of the grid,” Price explained, “At this point, all we can do is chase a few loose threads and hope that one of them leads us to him.”

“I hate chasing threads,” came a grumble from Gaz.

Roach didn’t quite know how to feel about it. On one hand, he didn’t like the idea of Makarov running free with American intel, but on the other hand, he found himself relieved to avoid a true hunt for the man, at least for a little longer.

Prev: Part 3

Next: Part 5

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