#i re-wrote it about five times

[aro-culture-is]

quick note - this blog is gonna be sparse again for at least this week. trying new medications and tbh initial side effects are not super pleasant + actual effects build up. as a result: currently as if unmedicated for mental health, with anxiety+ side effect, extra fatigue, dizziness, and fatigue. it's uh, sure something.

totally recognize that most of y'all know we're absent at times due to health things, just wanted to give a heads up that this one is at least anticipated.

#fun fact sometimes condensing meds just means poorer treatment of some conditions #this is a re-expansion + new thing #so that instead of poorly treating my mental health and using an unusually high dose SNRI for another (physical) condition #i will hopefully both be in less pain AND not depressed af AND also have an appetite again #i doubt i will be lucky and not have a fucked stomach due to meds but one can hope that an appetite will allow me to eat foods that upset #my stomach a lot less #my health is forever a massive balancing act #every time a medical thing is like 'so what meds do u take' i'm like here i wrote it down for u #and they're like 'oh. ooookay. let me just...' *five minutes of typing and clicking later* #'so! what did you come in for again? uhuh. you said you experience pain daily? with your chronic pain thing? hm. have you tried yoga?' #/gen #like. straight up every time i say 'i am in pain all the time due to fibromyalgia' they are like 'ooh studies say regular exercise helps' #and like. theoretically yes! but also. i would be lying if i said the fibromyalgia studies i've skimmed don't set off general 'bad science' #alarm bells in my brain #like... cool you performed a fibromyalgia study with... all male lab rats? mhmm? so are you aware fibromyalgia appears to occur #overwhelmingly in women? like. data seems to suggest between 70-85%? #(not that the data can't still indicate things but it certainly makes male rats a poor choice of model for tests on it) #also just... idk i've looked at some metaanalysis and been like 'okay cool theory and for all i know about human bio or bio in general that #sounds more or less correct BUT. you never discussed that one study on this subject that did NOT support your conclusion. #and that's 1) interesting when it was the most diverse group of subjects and the exceptions often teach just as much as the 'rule' #2) just shitty science. tell me how your theory is still credible when some evidence doesn't fit the model. #like... 'given that all other studies were primarily conducted on white american women in their 30s to 40s it is possible that this model #only explains (the early effects of fibro since that's a typical onset period) / (a possible genetic link primarily found in white women) / #(a possible sign of bias in diagnosis that demonstrates the possibility that there are different causes) / combinations of all of those #like... idk a paper that just throws out things that don't support it is a pretty big red flag #it doesn't mean the conclusion is entirely incorrect but it is often important to understand the context in which it applies #like... it's very easy to jump to an incorrect conclusion if you used something in the wrong context #ie: thumbs up is a good job / positive thing in a lot of western civilizations. teenage kee once went to china and discovered it to be #neutral to offensive in many areas outside of major tourist locations that were used to it #anyways i gotta sleep

[fourphoenixfeathers]

Another fun ask about Ei that is not at ALL related to what I'm writing why would you think that?

So we know the extra eyes and arms come out when Ei isn't perfectly in sync. Does that mean one twin controls one set of eyes and the other controls the second set? Would that be super disorienting or does their brain have some sort of filter that helps them parse having two independent fields of vision? :)

Oooooough that is a pretty good question.

I'm gonna say that most of the time, Ei doesn't have an issue with the extra arms and eyes. As long as everything is working right in that funky brain of his, everything is muscle memory and instinct. Think of it like Ingo and Emmet are so blended together that it's impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins.

But if we are talking bad times where Emmet and Ingo are out of sync and very clearly distinct from each other, then processing things gets hard. Both halves of Ei aren't communicating anymore and that is verrry no bueno. And that's when you get the kind of "you play mouse i play keyboard" shenanigans. maybe Emmet looks at something but Ingo hasn't noticed it even though he can technically see it too. Maybe they both reach for something and they don't realize that the other arm is in the way. Maybe they trip because their legs got two conflicting messages at once.

As far as who controls what, that's a lot but I can try to make it concise. The top eyes are more generally Emmet's with the bottom eyes being more Ingo's. The top arms correspond to which one is the twins' dominant hands, so top left is more likely to be Emmet and top right is more likely to be Ingo. The bottom ones are the opposite, those are the non-dominant ones.

#submas #ingo #emmet #ei #submas fusion au #kat answers #did this make any sense? #i think i re-wrote it like five times #i really hope its not super confusing #augh #dont worry about being completely accurate to my interpretation #if it isnt obv i cant tell what im doing either #body horror

[fiercynn]

on ao3's current fundraiser

apparently it’s time for ao3’s biannual donation drive, which means it’s time for me to remind you all, that regardless of how much you love ao3, you shouldn’t donate to them because they HAVE TOO MUCH MONEY AND NO IDEA WHAT TO DO WITH IT.

we’ve known for years that ao3 – or, more specifically, the organization for transformative works (@transformativeworks on tumblr), or otw, who runs ao3 and other fandom projects – has a lot of money in their “reserves” that they had no plans for. but in 2023, @manogirl and i did some research on this, and now, after looking at their more recent financial statements, i’ve determined that at the beginning of 2024, they had almost $2.8 MILLION US DOLLARS IN SURPLUS.

our full post last year goes over the principles of how we determined this, even though the numbers are for 2023, but the key points still stand (with the updated numbers):

when we say “surplus”, we are not including money that they estimate they need to spend in 2024 for their regular expenses. just the extra that they have no plan for

yes, nonprofits do need to keep some money in reserves for emergencies; typically, nonprofits registered in the u.s. tend to keep enough to cover between six months and two years of their regular operating expenses (meaning, the rough amount they need each month to keep their services going). $2.8 million USD is enough to keep otw running for almost FIVE YEARS WITHOUT NEW DONATIONS

they always overshoot their fundraisers: as i’m posting this, they’ve already raised $104,751.62 USD from their current donation drive, which is over double what they’ve asked for! on day two of the fundraiser!!

no, we are not trying to claim they are embezzling this money or that it is a scam. we believe they are just super incompetent with their money. case in point: that surplus that they have? only earned them $146 USD in interest in 2022, because only about $10,000 USD of their money invested in an interest-bearing account. that’s the interest they earn off of MILLIONS. at the very least they should be using this extra money to generate new revenue – which would also help with their long-term financial security – but they can’t even do that

no, they do not need this money to use if they are sued. you can read more about this in the full post, but essentially, they get most of their legal services donated, and they have not, themselves, said this money is for that purpose

i'm not going to go through my process for determining the updated 2024 numbers because i want to get this post out quickly, and otw actually had not updated the sources i needed to get these numbers until the last couple days (seriously, i've been checking), but you can easily recreate the process that @manogirl and i outlined last year with these documents:

otw’s 2022 audited financial statement, to determine how much money they had at the end of 2022

otw’s 2024 budget spreadsheet, to determine their net income in 2023 and how much they transferred to and from reserves at the beginning of 2024

otw’s 2022 form 990 (also available on propublica), which is a tax document, and shows how much interest they earned in 2022 (search “interest” and you’ll find it in several places)  

also, otw has not been accountable to answering questions about their surplus. typically, they hold a public meeting with their finance committee every year in september or october so people can ask questions directly to their treasurer and other committee members; as you can imagine, after doing this deep dive last summer, i was looking forward to getting some answers at that meeting!

but they cancelled that meeting in 2023, and instead asked people to write to the finance committee through their contact us form online. fun fact: i wrote a one-line message to the finance committee on may 11, 2023 through that form, when @manogirl and i were doing this research, asking them for clarification on how much they have in their reserves. i have still not received a response.

so yeah. please spend your money on people who actually need it, like on mutual aid requests! anyone who wants to share their mutual aid requests, please do so in the replies and i’ll share them out – i didn’t want to link directly to individual requests without permission in case this leads to anyone getting harassed, but i would love to share your requests. to start with, here's operation olive branch and their ongoing spreadsheet sharing palestinian folks who need money to escape genocide.

oh, and if you want to write to otw and tell them why you are not donating, i'm not sure it’ll get any results, but it can’t hurt lol. here's their contact us form – just don’t expect a response! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#ao3 #otw #archive of our own #organization for transformative works #ao3 is not your savior #and they don't need your money #otw finances

[thenightling]

I am very disappointed in the people praising the censoring / editing of Roald Dahl's books.   Let me tell you a little story.   About five years ago I decided to re-visit Treasure Island.  I found an unabridged version.   I was surprised to discover that Long John Silver had a black lover.   Because the book used the term "n--ress" the mention of her was removed from many American editions of the book when I grew up.

Note: I am not saying they removed the N word.  I am saying they removed her *all together.* I didn't know Long John Silver had a love interest until I was in my thirties and read an unabridged version of the novel. It revealed so much about the story that I hadn't noticed before. 1.  That Long John Silver believed in love despite what was considered a cultural norm of the time.  He didn't care about what others considered proper and he was in love. 2.   It shows that even Robert Louis Stevenson acknowledged the existence of interracial couples and yet no movie version I can think of addressed this until the TV series Black Sails. 3. It helped remind me of the culture of the era in which Treasure Island takes place and when it was written, the stigma against interracial relationships that existed in America right into the twentieth century and in some places is still a thing. Sometimes books tell us more than just a story.   They show us how a world was once viewed.   I felt like this was an important discovery, that Long John Silver had a black lover (or wife).   And I was even a little angry that I had been robbed of this in previous readings of the book.   I think the removal of words like "Fat" and "ugly" from Roald Dahl's books does us a disservice.   It "cleans up" the past and denies a chance for us to learn some of the less pleasant aspects of the past and how and why language has changed since then.    What should be a teaching point and experience is lost in the name of sensitivity.   I felt cheated and it even felt a little racist that Long John Silver's love interest isn't mentioned in many editions of Treasure Island.  And I feel that one day there may be similar feelings if people discover they aren't reading the original versions of Dahl's books. Try to remember the original reason Ray Bradbury wrote Fahrenheit  451.  It wasn't about an evil government taking away people's blooks. It was about this group and that group getting offended at various titles until they just banned everything to try to make everyone happy.    

#Roald Dahl #Treasure Island #Robert Louis Stevenson

[yridenergyridenergy]

Dir en grey interview translation notes around The Devil In Me

Just some of the more interesting bits from the single's booklet and from PHY vol. 25.

Kyo

He was the one who came up with the title, and the title was determined before they even attached a song to it. The band basically decided to set a date for a new single ahead of time, not too long after 19990120's release, then they had just one song selection meeting (usually, they have three) to pick a song to work with toward becoming "The Devil In Me". After scheduling a release date, they had to pick a title before even knowing what song would be part of that release for production/logistical reasons.

Kyo wrote the lyrics of The Devil In Me based on his sense of dissociation from world events, how his own issues are not aligned with what the world cares about. He finds that people's lives are sometimes pre-determined the moment they are born. It's really a reflection on: "Why am I the way I am?"

The chorus has so many layers because Kyo wanted to illustrate that inner evil, or wickedness.

While re-recording Yokan, Kyo realized that he used to sing in short bouts, taking a breath more regularly, whereas he's evolved to sing as much as he can in a single, long breath now.

The small changes made to the lyrics of Cage just serve to help Kyo feel more immersed in that old poem, but if he'd wanted to change the lyrics to represent his current mindset, clearly he would have composed a completely new, different song.

Kyo commented in PHY vol. 25 that if the producers wanted a band that sells a lot, they would have had to replace him with someone who is taller, has a nice face and that composes songs that appeal to a wider audience. But around their debut, Kyo had to bend to some of the producers' demands because he had to rely on their knowledge of what would make the band successful. He wanted to make a very dark band, but he had to accept to make songs like Yokan.

"It wouldn't be appropriate to sing about corpses and internal organs to a melodious song such as Yokan (lol)."

Kyo feels like Dir en grey is the toughest band for him to be a part of, because the band's shows are especially mentally difficult.

Kaoru

The music of The Devil In Me was Kaoru's idea.

Kaoru agrees that the song kind of ends in a way that the band could have, in the past, followed up on with a second section of the song, but they felt like ending it in a more simple way now, which still represents the band's current state.

Die

The band had a discussion in a dressing room during Tour23 Phalaris Final –The scent of a peaceful death- and that's where they came to an understanding of where they wanted to take the band next. Kyo brought them ideas on what he felt that the next single song should sound like, but in the end, at the selection meeting, the majority of the band chose a completely different song than the other of the 5 that Kyo preferred. He's fine with letting the majority win.

Die started working out in 2018 to make sure to stay in shape for stage performances, and I think that he mentioned that it's important for him to appear young and healthy so that the fans who follow the band also don't feel old.

For Die, he was in part less active on stage during the Dum Spiro Spero era because the songs were dark and complex, so he had to focus more. Because of that, he couldn't enjoy the actual shows as much.

Toshiya

Toshiya mentioned that doing commemorative tours and shows is really just fan service.

Toshiya described Dir en grey as a group of five dictators. Their enemies and friends/allies are all inside that group, and the past 25(+) years have been a continuation of challenges to bring the band forward despite this type of chemical reaction between five egos.

Apparently the band never has casual "weird" conversations where they chat about their interests of the moment, but they quietly observe the others without interacting, like by observing what kind of clothes they wear or are into.

Shinya

Contrary to the band's habit, the vocals did not even exist yet when Shinya had to compose and record his drumming for The Devil In Me. When the vocals were eventually recorded, they kind of matched what Shinya had expected.

However, overall, a couple of members of the band feel like The Devil In Me might be a song that people react to with: "I don't get it", rather that just liking or disliking it.

Shinya dissing The Marrow of a Bone again hahah.

Shinya described The Devil In Me as mysterious, inexplicable.

He started taking some lessons from Buck-Tick's "Anii" (Toll Yagami) to learn a new drumming method. In the past, at the very beginning of his career, Shinya used to wear lead weights at his ankles to hit the pedal heavier and develop muscles, but Yoshiki and other seniors told him how to actually play and he quickly got rid of the weight belts.

#Dir en grey #The Devil In Me #magazine #interview #cage #yokan #25th anniversary

[billthedrake]

SUGAR DADDY (PART TWO)

The next day I was a little bit of a wreck. Still coming down from the high of my fantasy time with Mike Keenan. Sucking his cock. Kissing him. Enjoying the privacy and the deep conversation. I thought of texting him but decided that wouldn't be welcome. It hadn't been a date, it had ust been something that had happened. A combination of Mike taking pity on me and wanting to get his rocks off. We both got something out of it, but it was surely a one-time thing.

I had class that next morning and baseball practice that afternoon, then weightlifting. It was early evening when I got done and saw I had a text from Mike.

"Hi Luke, sorry no contact, I had a long day here. Enjoyed last night. Any chance for a repeat some time?"

My heart pounded. Maybe I was the one overthinking things. Mr. Keenan just wanted his cock sucked again.

"I'd love that," I wrote.

"Nice," came the reply. "You around to talk?"

I said good night to my buddies and told them I had to get back to study for a test. Then I texted a "yes" to Mike. A second later my phone rang.

"Hey," I said. God, I was majorly crushed out on the guy.

"Hey Luke," he said. His voice was sexy as fuck. "What are you up to?"

"Just getting out of practice. Bout to grab some dinner."

"I haven't eaten either. Want to come over? We can get dinner in the hotel bar."

"I probably need to change," I said. I was still in my workout clothes.

"I bet you look sexy as fuck," he growled. It was a trip to hear him lust for another man. "But take your time."

"Yeah, I probably shouldn't go to some fancy bar in my gym clothes."

"They don't give a fuck," he said. "But do what you feel comfortable with."

"All right," I said. "I'll text you when I'm on my way."

"Take an Uber," he said. "I'll pay."

"OK." Then I hung up. I was going to object, but I was eager to see the man. And truth be told I was hungry, real hungry. Maybe that's what made me decided to head right over, underdressed as I was.

"OK, I'm getting in my Uber," I typed to him five minutes later.

He sent a smiley face reply.

The man was in his suit, without tie, on one of the bar stools and his eyes lit up as I walked in. He had a smirk as I set down my backpack and pulled out the adjacent stool to sit. "I was right," he said softly. "Sexy as fuck."

I blushed. "I didn't think you went for guys that way," I whispered.

His blue eyes twinkled some as he patted my back. "No labels, remember?"

I was getting hard in my shorts. Unfortunately the thin fabric wasn't going to hide my boner, but fortunately, it was hidden by the bar. And my hunger was going to win out.

"The steak here is great," the man said as he handed me a menu.

"I dunno," I said as I looked over the option. "A burger is fine." Of course I was concerned about the price.

Mr. K could read me, though. "Get the steak," he grunted.

I felt a little chastised and said something I instantly regretted. "Is that how the Sugar Daddy treatment works?"

Mike gave me a quick glance then replied without missing a beat. "Buddy, you don't eye me up like a cash machine like those girls do. You don't know how nice a change that is."

I blushed and I felt his hand pat my bare thigh.

"I like that I can be honest with you, Luke, for real." His bossy tone was gone, replaced with the old Mr. Keenan charm.

I gulped. "I like being honest with you, too," I said. Until Mr. Keenan re-entered my life six months prior, I hadn't realized how rare it was I could be honest about things. I gave him a smile and saw him smile in return.

"Since I'm being honest," I started, but just then the bartender came over to take our order.

"Two steaks," Mr. Keenan said, ordering for me. "And another scotch and..." he turned to me.

"An IPA?" I asked. The bartender nodded and named off some brewery. Sounded good. We watched as he poured our drinks in front of us and placed them on the bar before going off to ring up our order.

"So..." Mike picked up. "Since you're being honest..."

I lowered my voice. "It's like I said before. You don't need to pay for anything, Mike. Or be a sugar daddy or anything."

He grinned. "There's always trade offs," he said. "And maybe I enjoy the control."

"Control?" I asked dumbly.

"If you're paying, you get your say in a lot of things," he said. He paused and watched me blush. "You think less of me."

"Honesty, right? You don't know how crushed out I am on you."

He smiled. "I have an idea. It's flattering." He took a sip of his scotch and looked over at me like a wolf eyeing up his prey. "I'm hoping you stay over tonight."

I was in over my head. Emotionally, but also with a man like Keenan. Decisive. "If you want, I will," I said.

"Good," he said, satisfied.

***

Mike Keenan surprised me that evening. After we ate and he paid the check, we went up to our room. We showered together, making out, feeling each other up. I was surprised how much this straight man was into my very male body and my cock. Well, he was probably bi and in any case had his no-labels motto. I was gonna embrace it.

Particularly as we made out on the bed, me beneath his middle aged, fit hairy body. I'd eventually find a real boyfriend, I knew, but I also knew it was going to be hard for any man to live up to hot how Mr. K was. His cock felt hard and even bigger as we humped our bodies together and kissed.

"So, Luke... you up for me being inside you?"

I nodded, hungrily. "God yeah, Mr. Keenan."

He grinned. "You have much experience?" That concern coming in.

"A couple of guys, yeah," I said. Then with deep candor, I added, "I wish you'd taken my cherry, Mike."

His voice got husky. "I've done anal a couple of times. With an ex-girlfriend."

His words made me actually break out into goosebumps. For some reason the idea of Mr. K doing some woman in the backdoor seemed kinky as fuck. But also the way he unmistakeably was communicating that he knew how to fuck me. "You liked it, I bet," I said with a lusty smile.

He nodded and winked just as he leaned up and knelt on the bed. His hardon looked magnificent, the thickness perfectly framed by his hairy, DILF-y body. I decided then and there I'd have a hard time sleeping with a man under 40. "Oh, yeah, buddy," he said. Then my body shivered again as I watched the confidence with which he picked up the lube he'd set out next to the bed. As he returned his focus, I pulled back my legs and spread them some, letting his slick hand in to lube up my hole. "It's probably my favorite thing. Hard to talk a woman into it, though."

"I can imagine," I hissed, enjoying the cool contact of the lubed finger on my ring. "I bet that costs extra huh?" Maybe that sounded accusatory, but from my tone it was clear that it was a joke, and Mr. Keenan picked up on that.

He laughed. "I don't hire hookers, but don't think I haven't thought about it." His cock jerked, and I was relieved that being with a dude seemed to work for him as much as fucking a chick.

He pressed in and worked me open some. "That feel OK, buddy?"

I looked at him excitedly and nodded. I kept expecting resistance as the man fingered me but there was none. At all. "Feels amazing Mr. K." My longtime nickname for him just slipped off my tongue, but the man seemed excited to hear it. His cock actually jerked.

He now slipped in a third finger, twisting me open and working in and out. "You're ready," he said, though I knew there was a questioning behind his assured tone.

"Yes, sir," I hissed.

Mike was horny, too, I realized as he scooted in to place and nudged his meaty cock right into place. I don't know the approach he took with women, but he angled his finger to let his prick push in just as he withdrew his hand. Kind of a shoehorn move that slid his meaty cock right into me. Three solid inches inside me in one go.

"There ya go," he said with satisfaction. Then he moved forward, his hips driving more meat into me, as he leaned his upper body forward. I was getting well and truly penetrated.

The thing was, my insides were starting their natural resistance, my guts clenching down on the invader and trying to repel it. Mr. Keenan mistook my discomfort for a natural stimulation of an ass on his cock. "That's goddamn nice, buddy," he hissed and like that he was kissing me, hard and possessively.

I met his tongue as well as I could, but there was something that clicked in me. I was a dude, a masculine dude. I didn't like to think of myself as feminine, and I got offended by the way people would associate gay sex with being feminized. And yet, I was pinned down beneath Mike Keenan and all I could think was to compare myself to those college chicks Mike banged. My hole relaxed around him and I wrapped my legs around his waist. Not slutty or anything, but damn I needed and wanted a Mike Keenan fuck.

He must have sensed the change but in any case pulled back from the kiss. "I guess I didn't even ask about protection," he hissed, his hips slowly pumping me.

"This is perfect, Mr. K," I growled. His dick was rubbing right over my prostate, not punching the button, but playing it like a violin string. It was a surprisingly new sensation for me.

The man liked my answer. He pulled back, further back, and pushed all the way. Then again. Not rushing it, but definitely claiming me with this cock. All the while his blue eyes bore down on mine. "How do you normally like it, Luke?" he asked.

I racked my brain. It was actually hard to think with the man's cock pressing in and out. And I'd only had a few experiences bottoming. "Slow, I guess," I replied. But then as I felt up the man's naked torso and strong arms, I wanted more. "But this is weird to ask... but I'd like you to show me how I like it."

THAT turned Mike on like crazy. "Yeah?" His nostrils flared. "I can do that buddy."

He pulled back and I felt his prick punch into me. In retrospect it probably wasn't rough, but I'd never been fucked with that much force. Then another. Slow, steady, and hard.

The fact that it was Rich's dad doing this drove me wild. I looked up into his handsome face and imagined him rough fucking some sugar baby who'd have to work for her apartment money.

"Shit!" I gasped. My prick was dripping already, a telltale sign that I was about to cum. I gripped it, just in time to let the pleasure boil to a full orgasm, all while Mr. Keenan pounded it out of me.

His own face was scrunching into a clear sign of pleasure. The man was ejaculating into my guts, and good.

"Well, fuck me," he sighed as he lay his forehead against mine. We lay like that, my hands on him and my legs wrapped around him. His more mature, fit body resting on top of me as he caught his breath. "Please tell me you liked that buddy," he hissed.

I felt weirdly emotional. I don't know, it wasn't just the crush I had on Mr. K. It was the hormonal rush on top of the mind fuck of having had such hot sex. "A little too much," I admitted.

That made him smile.

He finally leaned up and slid out of me, and off me. His dick was thick and plump but softening, and very wet. He looked down on me with a mix of surprise, paternal-like affection, and pride in conquest. I loved it all, and it was then that I realized I was hooked on the Mike Keenan experience.

"I thought I was pushing my luck asking you to meet me again," he said as he stepped off the bed and down some water from a water bottle. His middle-aged muscle was covered in a sheen of sweat. The man was sexy as fuck. His eyes barely left my nakedness. "But I guess not," he continued.

I felt all sorts of weird, and more than a little cheap now that the endorphins were wearing off. I sat up in bed, my hole feeling used and wet now. "You really do like being on control, don't you, Mike?"

My words caught him by surprise. "I guess I come on strong, huh?"

"A little," I admitted. "I should probably go," I said as I searched for my briefs.

"Will it make you feel better to stay over?" he asked.

It was my turn to be surprised. "You think I'm like a chick?" I asked. I wasn't sure I was upset he was stereotyping me as a gay guy. Or upset because maybe he was right.

"It's just a question, Luke," he replied. "I'll give you Uber money."

I swallowed my pride. "I'd love to stay. Sorry I was giving you grief."

He smiled. "It's fine buddy. I'm used to game playing. But you're a straight shooter. I like that." Then matter of factly, he added, "I get up early."

"That's cool," I said.

****

I gave Mr. K a blowjob early the next morning. And he stroked me off. I guess I was leaning toward being a bottom before Mike Keenan, but I'd never embraced the label. What the fuck, the man was making me realize the shoe fit.

I was happy and content all day. I kind of wanted a text from Mr. K, but I didn't need one. Even being young and naive, I knew I had to take this for what it was, or not at all.

Around 5:30 I got a text. "Dinner?"

I had a late game and plans with my buddies. "I'm tied up, Mike," I wrote. "Sorry."

"What time you done?" came that reply.

"I don't know. 10?"

"Come over then. You know the room number."

Maybe it should have rubbed me the wrong way, but it didn't. I was horny for this man. So bad.

Only after I replied with an OK, I got a Venmo alert. Mr. K had sent me money. Not an exhorbitant amount. But a lot.

Oh shit.

***

I was nervous as Mike ushered me in. The worst part was how fucking handsome he looked, even in his readers and plush hotel bathrobe. He didn't look exactly sleepy, but he seemed in a relaxed, tired state as he looked me up and down.

"Thanks for coming, Luke," he said. That easygoing charm I remember from going over to his place when I was visiting my buddy Rich.

"Sure," I said. Looking around, I wondered what it was like to live in a hotel like this a few nights a week, always being on the road. I smelled Mr. Keenan's cologne before I felt his hand on my shoulder and his warm body press against my back. Already he was kissing softly at my neck.

"Listen, Mr. K... can we talk about the money thing?"

His voice had a throaty growl. Maybe he'd been thinking all evening, all day about sex, because he seemed to be in a horny mode. "Sure. Was it not enough?"

"No, Jesus," I hissed, feeling his fingers already running beneath the hem of my T-shirt tracking my abs. "I don't need anything. For real."

OK, now his fingers stopped their seductive movement. I guess the man was getting it. "You offended?" he asked.

I blushed. "I dunno," I replied. "It didn't make me feel great."

I felt his breath against my neck. "You deserve the money more than Kimberly," he said. "Or the others. It's just a little something, Luke. Use it to have fun. Or save it for a rainy day."

I don't know how Mike Keenan was so persuasive a man, but he was. Maybe because those fingers are once again tracing up my abs and pulling my shirt with them. "Come on, buddy, let me see that hot baseball jock body," he urged.

I went with it. I knew I was good looking, and even if I had some bulking goals for the off season, I knew I had a solid body. But the fact Mr. Keenan was into it had me so turned on. I turned around to see a smile on his five-o-clock-shadowed face.

"Nice," he said, eyes sweeping up and down my build. "Lose the shorts, Luke," he said.

Mr. K had talked about enjoying being in control. I was now wrestling with the fact that I enjoyed being bossed around, at least by this man. I stepped back and undid my shorts, stripping down completely for him. I was rock hard.

My heart pounded as I watched Mike get a more serious look on his face, as his hands reached down to undo the tie on the robe. The white terry cloth flapped open to show off his furry fit torso and, beneath that, his thick boner. "Come on buddy," he said in a deep whisper, nodding down at his crotch in an unmistakable signal.

I gulped. I assumed my normal catcher's squat, a position which made my hard dick stick up at an angle.

"Fuck yeah," Mike said. He scooted up to offer me his prick. It was fat and veiny, and while not porn-long that dick was pretty damn big.

I leaned forward just an inch to start licking him. Top to bottom. Along his furry nuts. Tasting every inch of Mike Keenan. Maybe his relaxed vibe gave me the implicit permission to take my time.

Only by the time I actually began sucking him, working my mouth up and down on him and doing my best to coordinate suction and tongue along his shaft, the man was starting to get worked up.

"Easy there, buddy," he hissed, gently pushing me off his dick, which throbbed and jerked a little, wet with my saliva. "I almost blew there."

I grinned. I felt so fucking proud. I didn't have a ton of sexual experience and it was good to know I was doing something right to get Mike so close so soon. "Why don't you?" I asked, sitting back on my haunches and looking up at him. I was getting more confident in having sex with this older man.

He let out a heavy sigh, like he was fighting off the urge to do just that. A smile crossed his lips, though. "Guess I'm like a kid with a new toy," he explained.

It took me a second to get it. "You wanna fuck me again." Half statement, half question.

Mike nodded. "Been thinking about it all fucking day, man. Your ass is so fucking tight."

I knew this was a possibility, and I wondered if I should be giving my hole some rest. But I also knew it was going to be hard to turn down a Mr. Keenan fuck. I stood up, my dick riding that crest between pure excited hardness and nervous flagging.

"Ok if we kiss a little, Mike?" I asked feeling almost embarrassed to ask. "You know, make out a little?"

My buddy's dad nodded and grinned as he stepped up to me, placing his hands on my waist. "I guess I can come on strong, huh?" he asked.

God, feeling his dick press against mine and the heat and the soft-hard combo of fur and muscle against me was going to drive me wild. "Some, yeah," I admitted with a laugh. Then blushing, I added, "Part of me really likes it, but fuck it's intimidating too, you know?"

Mike didn't reply but just gave a sympathetic nod and leaned in for a soft kiss. We made out some, and it was incredible to feel the contrast between the gentle approach kissing and the mauling of his hands on my jock body, particularly my butt. Mr. K wasn't kidding about having a new toy. He seemed to really love my ass.

He walked me back to the bed and I went back down on the mattress with a motion of his that was between guiding and pushing. He quickly lost his bathrobe and joined me, covering my body with his older, more experienced one, feeling me up and kissing along my neck, my ear, my upper chest. Mike was in full-on horny mode and bring me there right with him.

Finally he lifted off and rolled to the side. His erection was dripping and rock hard and looked amazing against all that body hair. "All right buddy, get on all fours."

I was primed for Mike Keenan in full on control mode. I scrambled to do as the man asked, facing the headboard and feeling the man settle in behind me. Already his hands were cupping my glutes and feeling the smooth muscle.

"You got a hot fucking ass, Luke," he growled. He pawed at me another few seconds then reached for some lube. The first wet finger felt great, and went in pretty easy.

"You're looser today, buddy," Mike hissed. A second finger popped in.

"Yeah, probably," I responded. "After yesterday."

"I wanna keep you this way," came his deep voice. "Ready for me."

"Oh fuck, Mr. K," I whined. There was an edge to his tone that drove me wild. And as his prick pushed in, I felt a welcome pleasure, even with my residual tightness.

"Fuck yeah," Mike grunted as he felt my insides and pushed to bottom out. "Right back in the saddle."

His grip clenched roughly on my waist. Just as quickly as that thick cock pulled out, it barreled back in. And again. One hard thrust right after the other as Mr. K grunted deeply. "Ung. Ungh. Ung."

The man was fucking for his pleasure, not mine. Still I felt an excited thrill. I wouldn't say I enjoyed this nearly as much as the missionary mating the night before but it felt new to me. Animalistic and raw. I was hard even with the discomfort of the shafting.

Wham. Wham. Wham. That thick piece of hard dad meat was drilling steadily. Then the cadence went off. Mr. Keenan's rhythm was getting more spasmodic and jerky as he pounded me. Then I felt those fingers dig into my hips.

"FUCK!"

From his cry and the sudden stop of his thrusts, I knew the man was seeding me.

I loved every part of the experience, but I now regretted that I hadn't gotten off. The fuck had been too hard and too quick.

Thankfully I felt the man shift behind me and, prick still buried inside me, he leaned forward to press against, my back.

I loved the feeling of his kiss on my neck, but even more I loved the slickness of his palm as he wrapped his hand around my hardon. Mike didn't even need to do much. Just give slow soft pumps in and out of my guts while his fingers ran along my dick. I fired off, heavy and hard. I felt lightheaded when I came.

We were quiet as we uncoupled. The shame was coming back to me as I showered off. Shame that I enjoyed what others might see as a dominant, selfish fuck. Shame that there were funds in my Venmo account. Shame that I was falling for Mr. Keenan so hard. I knew I couldn't stay over in this hotel room, not tonight. I needed some space to think.

Mike had his robe back on. To this day a white terry bathrobe is a fetish for me. His tone was more serious. "You mad at me Luke?" he asked as he sat in the hotel chair and watched me get dressed.

I grimaced but shook my head no. "I didn't think I'd like sex that rough," I said softly.

I could see a sly grin from on his lips. But he continued. "I wasn't talking about the fuck."

God, the man could be intense, behind the suave businessman outgoingness and the friendly paternal vibe. It was like I was seeing the real Mr. Keenan. Intimidating, sure, but I also wondered if he had a hard time with real relationships. His marriage hadn't worked out, he was clearly estranged from his son, and he basically hired dates instead of having real girlfriends.

I paused, just holding the T shirt I was going to put back on. "Can I be blunt, Mr. K? You say you don't want a hooker, and yet have a way of treating me like one."

He was prepared for that. "You're not that, Luke. But I'm not ready for anything serious. I figure I can help you out, and you can help me out." He looked at me and could tell I still didn't get it. "Listen, it's not just sex. I love spending time with you buddy. You're a hell of a lot more fun than those sugar babies, I'll tell ya." He cracked a smile, and I had to as well.

"I guess," I said. Remembering Kimberly, I could imagine she'd be more work than fun.

My conciliatory tone made him happy, and I was glad to see the friendly Mr. Keenan return. "Well, it's just I don't always have the time or interest for all the other boyfriend bullshit. Checking in, looking after emotional needs, dealing with jealousy."

I gulped. I was starting to get a better picture of Mike. The side Rich hated. The side I should hate more.

He watched my reaction but continued. "I know that wouldn't be fun for you to deal with, so I want to make it worth your while."

"Make what worth my while?" I asked. Again, as persuasive as he was, I felt he kept talking around the sex part.

He laughed, almost amused at how astute I was. "Luke, I'm not going to pay you per sex act. Or per night. But..." his voice got conspiratorial. I wondered if he knew what that supportive dad-figure tone did for me, and just weaponized it to get his way. Honestly I think it just came naturally to him. "Well, bud, I'd love an arrangement when you're able to keep me company when I'm in DC." His blue eyes got an impish cast to them, and I knew he was in seal-the-deal mode. "I'm pretty sure we could have a lot of fun together."

"You wanna be my sugar daddy?" I asked, point blank. It's not that I was dumb, but I actually didn't think Mr. Keenan was outright going there.

He nodded. But his face had a caution to it. "Would it better if we ditched the labels?" he asked, a smirk on his face reminding me of his own no-labels policy.

"It would," I answered. Then. "OK if I think on it, Mike?"

"Of course," he said.

He stood up as I finished putting on my shoes. Seeing how handsome he was I almost asked if I could stay over again. But the vibe wasn't right for that.

As I made my way to the room door, Mr. K patted my shoulder. "You're a fine young man, Luke," he said. His fingers gave my muscle a little squeeze before letting go. "I mean that."

"Thanks, Mr. Keenan," I said.

***

The Uber ride was quick at that time of night. I'd have to come up with an excuse to my roommate while I was out again. I'd probably have to come up with a lot more excuses if I hung out more with Mr. K. Or, if he got me my own apartment, things would be easier. Meeting up with him. Having sex with him.

I pulled out my phone. I thought I'd hesitate before sending but I knew I knew my answer.

"You'll have to let me know how it works Mr. K," I texted. "But I'm in."

No labels. But if Mike Keenan was going to call himself my sugar daddy that was probably OK too.

I got a quick reply. "That makes me happy Luke. Talk tomorrow sexy."

I felt warm inside. Mike Keenan was going to make this worth my while. But I was determined to make it worth his, too.

#drakestories

[bonniepop]

character: miya atsumu words: 1,800+ tags: the comedy that comes with killing bugs. literally that’s it. notes: i wrote this two years ago and it's still fucking funny. re-wrote it to make it fractionally funnier.

-

“YO!” atsumu cries, flashing you a panicked glare from over his shoulder. “don’t push me!”

“then move faster!” you snap, pressing yourself close to your boyfriend’s back as he creeps around your apartment in search of the cursed cockroach that you’d spotted on the wall earlier that night. after locking yourself in your room, you made a panicked phone call to atsumu and he came over (after a few minutes of sighing and grumbling).

immediately, you'd pressed a slipper in his hand and nearly kicked him into your living room to deal with the problem. atsumu had grumbled about how much of a little bitch you were being, but when he saw something flash through the air, he nearly steamrolled you in his effort to run away.

you'd wanted to call him a little bitch, too, but you were too focused on the fact that the cockroach was still on the loose to quip.

“i think—AGH! ATSUMU!” you yell, jumping and shaking out your leg when you felt something brush your ankle. frantically, you look at the floor around you, and whimper when there was no bug to be found.

“WHAT?!” atsumu shrieks in a rather high pitch, nearly whacking you in the head with his slipper. "WHAT?!"

“no, sorry, i think it was the edge of the curtain,” you sniff, pushing his arm with the slipper away. "or i think it was just my hair. it was nothing." your relief fades to irritation. "also, if you so much as touch my face with this thing i will make you eat this goddamn slipper.”

atsumu's jaw goes slack. “what the fuck, you asked me to come over and help you—”

“do you know how expensive the skincare i have on my face is?!” you demand, glaring. “there’s no way in hell—”

“wh—you’re so ungrateful!” he cries, just like a little bitch would, throwing his hands up in the air. “i woke up at five a.m., had a terrible day at training, and when i finally relax at home, you ask me to come over to kill a cockroach—”

you gape. “you said you wouldn't take that against me!” 

“yeah, before i found out that you're literally just being a little bitch about a bug!” atsumu declares, wildly gesticulating. in his haste, though, he lets go of the slipper and it lands near your armchair. something dark darts up from the ground and flies across the room.

you both shriek (one of you hit a higher pitch, you can't tell who), and run back out into the hallway.

“atsumu,” you shudder, wriggling around as if trying to shake off something invisible. “oh my god, oh my god—”

he panicks, rubbing his arms in nervousness. “fuck, that thing is huge!"

you jump around in anxiety. “oh my god. oh my god, atsumu, get back in there and kill it—”

“what?! like hell i will!” he grabs his other slipper from his foot—he’d been walking around in just one slipper the whole time—and frantically pushes it towards you. “you kill it!”

“wh—” your jaw drops, whacking his hand away. “you little bitch!”

his face looks absolutely offended. “you’re just as little of a bitch as me—”

“what are the point of your muscles if you can’t kill this one bug—”

he’s so mad he flexes his biceps in your face and points at them, slipper flopping around in his fist. “these are for winning v.league championships, not killing a god damn cockroach!”

something black crawls along the wall behind him, and you try not to panic as you grab his hand and turn him around to serve as a human shield. “atsumu, oh my god, atsumu, it’s behind you, kill it, killitkillit—”

he yells and hurls his slipper at the wall, running into the living room. he greatly misses, and the thing is now crawling to your ceiling. in a frantic hurry, you run to your room on the other end of the hallway.

you slam the door and try and hear your racing heart in your ears. there’s a cockroach on the loose in your apartment, and you are trapped in your bedroom.

your boyfriend is out there, but better him than you, really.

your bedside buzzes, and you find your phone screen brightening, device still plugged into the wall.

atsumu 💘: WHAT THE FUCK atsumu 💘: WHY DID U LEAV EME you: I PANICKED I DIND TKNOW WHAT TO DO atsumu 💘: WHERE IS IT you: I DONT KNOW you: HALLWAY??

silence, then a yell, followed by quick, heavy footsteps that get louder and louder. he nearly breaks down your door as he pounds it, so you run from your bedside to let him in. he pushes himself in and locks the door behind him with a swift slam!

“YOU LEFT ME!" he recaps, looking absolutely betrayed.

"i'm sorry, i panicked!" you reasoned. "is it still out there? were you able to get back your shoes?”

“yes, it's still fucking out there,” he snaps, clambering to your dresser. “pack a bag. you’re coming with me.”

“what?" you ask, watching him in confusion, "where?”

“you're moving out,” he says with finality, yanking a backpack from the back of your closet and yanking your sock drawer open. “you're moving out, you're gonna live with me from now on, we're gonna put this place back on the market—"

your jaw drops. “atsumu, it’s one cockroach!”

“if it’s just one cockroach, then you go kill it!” he cries, pointing at you, and that shuts you up.

this is pathetic. you’re thousands of times bigger than that bug and you’re practically let it take over the apartment you pay rent for.

“oh my god, baby, i just remembered,” you say, and he looks back at you. “i have bug spray in the cabinet under the bathroom.”

the blond freezes, your open bag in his hands, stuffed with a dozen pairs of socks. after a beat, he throws it to the floor. “are you serious?! you made me face that thing unarmed when you had bug spray this whole time?!”

“i don’t have time to argue with you,” you snap, opening the door and taking a tentative peek into the hallway. “come on, let’s go get rid of it.”

“i’m gonna—” he grunts. he takes a calming breath before bending over to pick up the bag, and re-stuffing your socks back into your drawer. “fine. fine. let’s go kill the damn thing.”

—

some time later, you finally, finally, manage to kill the cockroach, thanks to around half a can of bug spray haphazardly sprayed that it stunk up the whole room (you) and a lot of screaming (atsumu). the screaming probably didn’t help, but it happened.

atsumu puts on the mask you handed him before he steps into the living room. “i found my slipper. it was next to the door.”

“your other one’s here,” you say from behind your own mask, pointing to the armchair. you open your windows and curtains, airing out the room. “where’d you throw the roach?”

“your kitchen trash bin,” he answers, shaking out his damp hands. “also, i kinda used a lot of soap to wash up, so your sink is bubbly.”

“it’s fine,” you say with an exhausted sigh. that whole exchange tired you out. “i’ll wash it down.”

“okay.” he sniffs. “do you need anything else?”

“i’m good,” you answer, dusting your hands when you tie off the last curtain. you fan your hands in the air in wide, weeping motions. “god, bug spray stinks.”

“you sure you don't wanna spend the night at my place?" he says, fanning the air, too. “it’ll at least smell better.”

“are you sure you’re not inviting me over just so i can clean something up?” wouldn’t be the first time.

"first of all, okay? you made me come here. you owe me. second of all, i take offense to you suggesting that i could be that big of an asshole.” when he sees the blank look on your face, he backtracks. “no, i swear it’s clean. and it smells better than this. samu left for the weekend, too, so it’ll just be you and me.”

“where’d he go?”

“some restaurant owner seminar.”

time to ask the important questions. “did he leave any food?”

“it's samu, so yes. but we can pass by a drive through, in case there isn’t any.” he pads over and wraps a gentle hand around your wrist. “come on, please?”

you let him gently pull you into a loose embrace and say nothing.

“besides, this place’ll smell better when you come back in the morning,” he continues to barter.

you purse your lips.

“you didn’t even thank me for coming to your rescue,” he pouts.

you roll your eyes. "okay, now you're—” you stop mid-sentence when you see something crawl at the corner of your eye. “oh my god. oh my god, atsumu, don’t move.”

“what?” atsumu says, alarmed, his torso stiffening against yours. “what? what is it? what happened?”

you turn your head and find that another cockroach crawling into your living room through the gap in the window.

five minutes later finds you in the passenger seat of atsumu’s car, with nothing but your keys, your phone, and a can of bug spray, as he drives you to his apartment with one slipper on.

(he forgot the other one.)

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #hq x reader #hq fluff #atsumu x reader #atsumu fluff #atsumu x you #haikyuu x you #hq x you #miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu x you #miya atsumu fluff #atsumu x reader fluff #haikyuu x reader fluff #hq fic #haikyuu fic #haikyuu writing #hq writing #📝 — my writing

[tonyspank]

CHAPTER ONE | GET ME

Jenna Ortega x G!P Reader

Warnings: 18+ smut and idk what else sooo

Words: 3.1k

A/N: Tell me if you guys like this series so far. Also I re-wrote this chapter and changed readers age in the prologue.

series masterlist | main masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

"You didn't have to drive me. I could've walked or taken the bus." You tell Jenna from the passenger seat, but you gotta admit, the heated seats in her car felt amazing. She smiled and said, "It's no problem. I wanted to make sure you got here safely." You thanked her and looked out the window, feeling grateful for her kindness.

"And what kind of babysi-" You cut her off, a playful serious look on your face. "Stop." She laughed, a warm and genuine sound, and enjoyed it a bit too much. Your phone began vibrating in your pocket. You try to ignore it but it continues. You reluctantly take out your phone, it shows multiple messages from your best friend.

eli - WHERE ARE YOUUUUU

eli - I'M OUTSIDE AND MR. ALLEN KEEPS EYEING ME FROM HIS CAR

eli - I TOLD U HE LIKES BOYS BRO

eli - BRO TEXT ME BACK RN.

you - im like 5 mins away chill

eli - DON'T TELL ME TO CHILL

eli - ure always rushin me, it's time u get the same treatment.

you - i rush u bc ur honda civic needs to speed up a bit

eli - are u...

eli - are u poor shaming me?

you - you're not poor so

you - yes.

You put away your phone and it immediately starts to vibrate again, but knowing who it is you ignore it. You smile a bit as you remember your own joke, and also the lie you told. You weren't five minutes away from the school, you were ten. You knew that you'd be late, but you didn't want to tell Jenna that and make her feel bad. So, you decided to keep it to yourself in order to keep Jenna from worrying.

"You could plug in your aux if you want." Jenna smiles, sparing a quick glance at you. "Nah, that's okay." She hums, "Okay. But me personally I can't survive without listening to music. I always have a pair of headphones on me. Sometimes I don't even listen to music, I just wear the headphones."

She laughs, shaking her head. "It's like my security blanket. It's just a habit now." You grin, "Lowkey... me too, I have about three pairs of headphones in my bookbag."

She smiles. "It's nice to know I'm not alone in this. We can be headphone buddies." You let out a chuckle. "Sounds like a plan."

Before you knew it ten minutes were up and Jenna was parked outside your school. "I expected more people to be outside." She chuckles taking in her surroundings. Her eyes widen as her mind connects a few dots. "Wait, are you late?"

"Yes, I'm late," you admit. Jenna sighs and shakes her head. "Shit, do they notify your parents?"

You nod. "Yeah unless either of them excuse me in the office." Jenna takes a deep breath before turning off the car, "Here, I'll tell the office. C'mon." Jenna takes her keys out of the car, opening the door.

You hesitate before grabbing your bookbag and following Jenna inside the building. Upon walking in, the receptionist smiles warmly at you. Jenna explains the situation to her and the receptionist nods in understanding.

As you turn around to leave the office you see a familiar face in the hallway, Eli. His eyes widen as he stares at you in disbelief. You shake your head while exiting the office, Jenna right behind.

Eli walks away as Jenna stops in front of the door, sending you a slight frown. "Sorry for making you late," you wave her off with a small smile on your lips. "It's okay. It's not a big deal."

"I'll be here to pick you up." You nod and smile as Jenna turns and walks away. You take a deep breath and feel a presence behind you. You turn around to find Eli standing there, his eyes fixed on something behind you. He looks at you for a few moments before speaking, his voice low. "She is so fucking gorgeous."

You roll your eyes at your best friend walking toward your class. Eli follows behind and you begin explaining what happened the night before. As you finish you stand outside your classroom door and Eli furrows his eyebrows holding up a hand. "Wait. You're telling me that you're mad that you have a young and attractive woman living under your roof with you without any adult supervision?"

You shake your head, "She IS the adult supervision." Eli stares for a moment and then shrugs. "She's still young. You said she's what, 24?" You pull on your bookbag strap, responding immediately in the same tone as the brown-haired boy. "She's what, married?"

"And you also said what, her husband is out of the country?" He mocks back, a smirk rising from his lips. "She's going to be super lonely and she's living under a roof with an actual godd– you..."

Your eyes and eyebrows raise in surprise. He was actually about to compliment you. "I know you wanted to compliment me there." You smile, Eli shakes his head frowning his lips. "If I had finished that sentence I would've dropped down to my knees and died."

You laugh, amused by his comment. He grins, shaking his head. "Anyway. I'm just saying that your nanny, Jenna, is absolutely breathtaking. Can I come over today?"

You feel a twinge of jealousy. Weird. But you ignore it. You roll your eyes and give him a stern look. "No, I don't think that's a good idea. I have to ask permission now." He responds with a shrug of his shoulders. "If I show up uninvited don't be surprised." He jokes, letting out a small laugh.

"Oh, and Olivia was looking for you this morning." He adds on, you furrow your eyebrows scratching your neck. "Rodrigo?" You ask confused. "No. Olivia Mcfuckingfartface. Yes, Rodrigo." You roll your eyes, "She's been looking for me for weeks now." You sigh, "What does she want this time?"

"You know she wants. She wants you!" You shut your eyes, taking in a deep breath. "I told her multiple times that I'm not ready for a relationship."

He laughs, "It goes in one ear and out the other," he continues, "I don't know what else you can do. She's persistent and won't back down easily." You open your eyes again, sighing. "Alright. Go to class."

Eli salutes to you, standing up completely straight. "Yes, ma'am!" Then turns around heading to his homeroom class. You laugh and open the door to your classroom. Mr. Anderson, an older teacher stops speaking, staring at you. "Nice of you to join us Y/N." You give him a tight-lipped smile before finding a seat.

Jenna had stuck to her word. She had texted you mid-day asking what time she should come to pick you up. You informed her that you had basketball practice and six would be an ideal time to come, and here she was. It was six on the dot when you recognized the car parked right outside the school.

Jenna waved at you as you walked out of the building and opened the car door, a smile on her face. She remembered your request and was here right on time. You thanked her and got in the car, relieved that she had kept her word.

"How was practice?" You sighed leaning back before replying, "Tiring." She giggles reaching over you to open the car vents on your side. You can't help but take in her smell, vanilla and a bit of citrus filling your nostrils. You turn to her, your eyes meeting as you take in her beauty. Her bottom lip was tucked into her mouth as she bit on it, and her hundreds of freckles that you wanted to reach out and trace them.

You felt as though you were in a trance, suddenly forgetting how exhausted you felt after practice. You leaned a bit closer, taking in her scent and admiring her features.

Fuck. Eli was getting into your head.

You snap back to reality, quickly leaning back away from her. She finally gets the vent open and then turns on the A/C for you. You felt like a true passenger princess. She asked what had happened during practice and you filled her in on the details of the drills and the scrimmages. She listened intently, an understanding smile on her face.

"I made chicken and rice. Your plate is in the microwave," Jenna says, holding the front door open for you. You smile and thank her, quickly taking a shower before heating up your dinner. You sit down and enjoy the meal she made, appreciating the effort she put into it. It tasted pretty damn good too.

As you're washing your dish out you hear the doorbell ring. Jenna furrows her eyebrows raising her head from her laptop as she sits at the kitchen island. "I'll go answer the door," you say, putting down your plate. Jenna nods in agreement as you make your way to the door. You open the door to find Eli standing there, a large smile on his face.

Your eyes widen. "Eli! I told you, don't come over." Eli ignores your protests and steps inside, looking around. "Bro. That joke is getting old now," he says, obviously not understanding you were being dead serious. In his defence, he normally comes over without warning and your parents let him inside with no protest. Jenna appears in the hall. Her face is a mixture of confusion and surprise.

You take a deep breath and try to keep your voice even as you explain the situation to Jenna. Eli takes a step back as he realizes he has overstepped.

Jenna shakes her head and says, "I have no issue with your friend but you should've told me first." You nod and start to apologize but Eli cuts you off, "I am so sorry, I came uninvited. It's not her fault."

Jenna stares at Eli, her face neutral. Eli looks at Jenna, his face full of regret. Jenna sighs and says, "It's alright, I understand."

"I'm Elias Cooper the third by the way," you furrow your eyebrows side-eyeing the brunette boy. "He's not a third." You tell Jenna. She laughs and gives Eli a small smile and the tension in the room dissipates.

"Behave." She teases as she points to you. You smile and she turns walking away.

Eli watches her go with a look of relief on his face. He takes a deep breath and turns to you, offering a sheepish smile. "She has such an intense stare bro."

You sigh out walking into the kitchen. Eli follows behind you closely. He places his arms on your shoulder as he leans into your ear whispering, "She made me mad nervous man."

You turn towards Eli, a slight smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. "I could tell. She had your ass gagged badly." You whisper back, Eli's face scrunched up in a grimace and he laughed. "Yea, she did."

"Are you hungry?" Jenna asks Eli, "No ma'am. I'm good." Jenna nodded in understanding and focused back on her computer. Eli watched as Jenna focused on her computer, her eyes flickering rapidly as she typed away. He felt a pang of admiration, and he smiled to himself.

You notice this and push him. And maybe with a little bit too much force because he stumbled back, catching himself just before he fell. He quickly glanced back up at Jenna, embarrassed, and saw that she hadn't noticed. "Dickhead." He mouths, not really meaning it.

"We're going to go watch a movie, Jen." Jenna looks at you with a smile, "Okay. Have fun." You smile back at her, pulling Eli into a headlock and dragging him into the living room. "Jen, huh?" He mutters laughing as he tries to escape your headlock.

You let him go and he shakes his head laughing. "Alright, alright," he says. You both laugh and sit down on the couch, "Hey, did you ever talk to Olivia?"

"No, not yet," you reply. "I couldn't find her." He smiles, "Or you didn't try to find her." You laugh, "Potato, Poe-ta-toe!" He laughs as well and begins discussing about a movie to watch. Eli beat you in rock paper scissors, so he got to choose the movie. And you wanted to cry. He chose an old Western movie that wasn't even in color.

After about thirty minutes in a warm blanket covered you and you began to drift off to sleep.

You woke up, walking into the kitchen. Eli was gone, which Jenna had informed you once you were in the kitchen. You hum in response, crossing your arms as you lean against the counter. Jenna feels your eyes on her and she looks up from her MacBook, smiling at you. "What are you staring at?"

You shrug, a smile on your face. "You. You're so pretty." Jenna blushes, averting her gaze. "You don't have to say that," she murmured, but her lips curled into a smile. She returned her attention to her laptop, but with a contented sigh.

It's silent for a moment until you speak up, "It's the truth. I was thinking about it in the car."

Jenna looked up again, her cheeks still slightly pink. She looked him in the eye, her gaze intense. "Thinking about what exactly?" You scratched your chin, not knowing where this extra confidence came from but you were glad you had it.

"Your lips. And how I wanted to be the one biting down on it," Jenna smiled, her blush getting brighter. She suddenly stood up and moved closer to you and said, "So what are you waiting for?" You lean forward and kiss her, your lips meeting in a passionate embrace.

Jenna's hand holds your face as you deepen the kiss. You can feel her heart beating just as fast as yours. Jenna pulls away, her face still close to yours, and whispers, "I've been wanting to do that for so long." You smile and kiss her again, this time softer and slower. You both stay in that embrace, not wanting to let go. Her hands leave your face, resting on your clothed abs.

You pull away for a slight breather, immediately kissing her again. The force causes Jenna to groan, and you take the chance to slip your tongue into her mouth. Jenna's hand slips under your shirt examining you as you deepen the kiss.

You can feel her body trembling with pleasure as you explore her mouth with your tongue. You eventually break the kiss, both of you out of breath.

Jenna looks up at you, her eyes filled with desire. She then begins to crouch down, her hands moving to the waistband of your sweatpants. She pulls your sweatpants down, her eyes never leaving yours.

She slowly moves her lips toward your inner thigh, and you can feel the heat of her breath as she starts to gently kiss your skin. You let out a soft moan, and she looks up at you with a mischievous smile.

Fully on her knees, she pulls your underwear down as well, you press a hand against the counter, stabling yourself. Jenna finds her mouth watering at the sight in front of her, your perfect hard cock fully hard swollen and pink. She licks her lips as she moves closer, her hands cupping you before she takes your length into her mouth.

She swirls her tongue around you, exploring every inch. She looks up at you as she starts to suck and you can't help but moan in pleasure. "Shit..."

Her mouth is hot and wet, and her tongue feels amazing as it slithers across your skin. As she takes you deeper, her lips wrap tightly around your shaft and her tongue strokes the underside with each lick. She increases her suction and you can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge as her hand moves up and down your shaft.

Her gaze makes the experience 100x better, those dark brown eyes look anything but innocent. "You're so hot, Jen."

She only breaks it when her eyes roll back in pleasure when she feels you start to quiver in her mouth. Her tongue rolls around your shaft as if it were a delicious lollipop. To her, you were.

Your left-hand leaves the grip on the countertop, moving to grip Jenna's tied-up hair. You pull her away slightly and hear her hum at you, her eyes still closed. With your other hand, you caress her face, tracing her delicate features. You can feel her smile around you, and your heart skips a beat.

She opens her eyes and your back in her mouth as if it pained her for you not to be. You were addicted and so was she, her head bopping fast as loud breathing and sloppy noises are heard throughout the kitchen.

She pulls off with a pop and starts to lick your head, her tongue swirling around and around. She looks up at you with a mischievous glint in her eye as she takes you back into her mouth and starts to suck again. You can feel yourself about to reach the brink.

"I'm about to cum, Jenna." Jenna smiles and quickens her pace, her tongue and lips working together to bring you closer and closer. You can feel the pleasure coursing through your body, and you scream out as you finally reach your peak.

Jenna swallows your seed and looks up at you with a satisfied smirk, before running her tongue along her lips. You lean back, exhausted and satisfied, and Jenna smiles up at you, opening her mouth to speak. "That was amazing wasn't it —"

"—Y/N." Your eyes snap open, and you can barely see Jenna in the dark room. You sit up quickly, realizing you were in the middle of a dream. Jenna has a hand on your shoulder, her thumb caressing your shoulder. "You okay?" You nod and take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. And trying to get yourself to relax as you feel the hard-on pressing against your shorts. Thank God for the blanket and the night.

You feel Jenna's hand leave. "Yeah, I'm okay," you say, and she smiles in the darkness. "It's late. Elias already left. I didn't want you sleeping on the couch." You place your hands on your lap. Think of something bad! You say to yourself, you really didn't wanna make Jenna uncomfortable.

"Thank you, I uh... I'll be upstairs soon." Jenna nods, "Okay. Goodnight." Jenna turns and makes her way up the stairs. You sit in the darkness, thinking about the events of the night. You eventually make your way up to bed, your thoughts still lingering on the wet dream you had of Jenna.

You lay in bed, unable to sleep as images of Jenna flood your mind. You look at the lotion on your nightstand. "Fuck me, man." You mutter to yourself.

taglist - @raven-ss

#reader insert #wattpad #jenna ortega #jenna marie ortega #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x you #jenna x reader #jenna ortega x g!p reader #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna x g!p reader #jenna ortega smut #jenna smut #get me

[teatreeoilll]

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.

#geto x reader #geto x you #geto x y/n #geto smut #geto x reader smut #geto x reader angst #geto suguru x you #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x y/n #suguru geto x reader #getou suguru x reader #suguru x reader #geto suguru smut #getou suguru x y/n #getou x reader #getou suguru x you #getou smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x you

[yunhohours]

Just a Little

✗ Pairing: needy!bf!mingyu x fem!reader

✗ Word count: 2.3k

✗ Warnings: sub!mingyu in the sense that mingyu literally begs to make reader cum, reader is a lil mean maybe??, oral (f. receiving)

✗ A/N: i wrote this in one sitting without re-reading it for one of my anons so if it sucks then it sucks <3

You close the oven with one hand and shimmy the oven mitt off your other hand, relieved to finally be in the waiting process. It took everything in you to not just eat the brownie batter out of the bowl, but these brownies weren’t for you–they were for a fundraiser. You can’t remember exactly what the fundraiser is for, but you know that you volunteered to bake a little something to support it when your mom brought it up. You would’ve forgotten about it altogether had she not called you a few hours ago, reminding you to bring the brownies over first thing the next morning.

You had dragged Mingyu with you to the grocery store to grab a few necessary ingredients, but insisted that he keep himself occupied in the other room while you were baking. You knew he wouldn’t be able to resist the brownie batter the way you can. You have pretty good control of your urges, generally speaking. You can’t say the same for him. When he wants something, he can’t think about anything else until he gets it.

You set a timer on your phone and switch your volume on, making your way to the living room where Mingyu is sat watching tv. Your eyes drift to the television but your body is headed straight for Mingyu. “What’re you watching?” You ask, easily dropping your weight into his lap, eyes still glued to the tv. It’s obviously a cooking show of some sort so you really didn’t need to ask, but it’s probably more polite to show interest.

“Oh… nothing really. It’s just what was on when I turned on the tv.” His arms wrap around your waist, hugging your back to his chest. You hum, placing one of your hands over his arms and relax into him. The more you watch the screen, the more you can understand why Mingyu didn’t change the channel. It’s quite fascinating watching the creative process, even for things like food. 

You let yourself get immersed in the show with the knowledge that you have a good bit of time until you have to head back to the kitchen. Mingyu, on the other hand, seems to have lost interest. You don’t notice at first. How could you when your attention is elsewhere?

You don’t notice when he starts pressing soft kisses to the back of your neck, just stretching your neck for him instinctively when he does so. You don’t notice when his arms unravel themselves from your waist, hands seeking purchase on the tops of your thighs instead.

You only notice when his hands are drifting upwards and inwards, giving themselves access up your skirt. You swat one of his hands with yours, your brows knit together in annoyance. “Mingyu, behave.”

He sighs heavily from behind you, restless fingernails scratching the tops of your thigh as he tries to listen. You can feel him fully hardened beneath you and you’re not sure when that happened, but fuck, you didn’t even have to do anything. He stills for a minute or two, then his hands are wandering again, albeit more stealthily this time.

“Mingyu, if you think I don’t realize what you’re doing, you’re an idiot.”

He groans, but it sounds like the kind you’d get from a child when you tell them they can’t buy the new toy they snuck into the shopping cart, no matter how many times they ask. It almost makes you laugh, but you don’t want to give him that. Then he’ll think you’re softening for him and try to push his luck. 

“Babe,” he whines, “Can’t I just have a little?”

You turn your head to the side, eyes narrowed as you take in his pleading eyes. “A little what, Mingyu? Can’t even be in the room with me for five minutes without trying to stuff your cock in me?”

“No!” It was a lot louder and more defensive than he meant for it to sound, probably. “I mean–” He stumbles over his words, cheeks reddening and a nervous smile taking up residence on his face. 

You arch a brow, urging him silently to continue whatever excuse he was going to give you.

“I just want to make you cum so bad, y/n. Please?” His hands are kneading your thighs, but is it an effort to persuade you or soothe himself?

You roll your eyes and stand up, fighting his grasping hands that try to keep you planted on his lap. “I’m going to wait the rest of the time in the kitchen. Maybe this horndog will suddenly turn back into Mingyu by the time I come back.”

You huff when you reach the kitchen again, frustrated that your plan of zoning out until the brownies were ready was nipped in the bud. You easily could’ve lost time to that show if Mingyu would’ve left you be. Now what? 

You ponder your options, but there aren’t many, so you resign yourself to switching between apps on your phone. You can feel the frown on your face as you lean against one of the counters, opening tiktok. You don’t even like tiktok, but it’s certainly a time waster. You’re hopeful it will come through for you right now.

You’re only about four videos deep into your feed when you sense a presence in the room with you. You lift your eyes only enough to confirm that it is, indeed, Mingyu, hovering by the entryway like a kicked puppy. You feel yourself soften at the sight, but you don’t let it show. Give him an inch and he’ll take a mile.

“Y/n,” he pouts, that same child-like whine in his tone. You force your eyes back to your screen, every intention of ignoring him. He can get so fucking needy. 

Admittedly, you love this about him. Who wouldn’t want an impossibly handsome mammoth of a man to want them as badly as Mingyu always seems to want you? It’s a big fucking boost to your ego, that’s for sure. Not to mention, he is the best boyfriend in the entire world. He does everything for you without even being asked and never complains. He keeps you on a pedestal and worships at your feet. Really, you should be counting your lucky stars.

Mingyu may as well have floated over to you with how light his heavy feet are. He’s being careful as he approaches you, not wanting to make any sudden movements. You force down another laugh, even though it makes you feel kinda bad. He rests his chin on the top of your phone so you have to see his soft eyes if you want to use it. He looks so small for such a big guy. 

“Y/nnnnnn.” Fuck. He’s so cute.

“Yes, Mingyu?”

“I’m sorry.” 

He is, you can tell. Now you feel like an asshole. You hadn’t meant to make him feel that bad about it. You were mostly just pushing his buttons for being so needy. You lean forward and peck his lips to reassure him that you’re not actually mad, even if you were being a little snippy. “S’okay, Gyu. Why were you so ravenous anyway?”

His cheeks are turning rosy again. “It’s just… That skirt.” His hand cautiously finds the hem of your skirt, fingering it gently. “Knowing that I can just slip under it and have the taste of you on my tongue drives me crazy, y/n.” There’s that whine again.

You can feel heat in your own cheeks now, wafting down your body in waves until it’s warming your core. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, trying to figure out what move you want to make next. “Mhmm? Thought you wanted to fuck me. You were so hard when I was in your lap.”

Mingyu shakes his head adamantly, lashes batting with such innocence it makes your core throb. “Don’t even want to cum,” he mumbles, pressing his forehead against yours–a sharp reminder that he is still, in fact, huge. Your breath catches in your throat. “Just want you to cum on my tongue. Need it so bad.”

This time, you groan. You angle your head towards the ceiling, closing your eyes as you try to find that self control you swear you have. It’s hard to find it when your body is buzzing, aching to feel Mingyu’s tongue lapping at your folds. It’s hard to find when Mingyu hums, dipping his head to press kisses just under your ear, his low voice seeking permission. “Promise I’ll make you feel good.” He kisses down your neck and across your shoulder, large hand pulling the collar of your shirt out of his way as necessary before making his way back to your ear. “Please, y/n?”

His last plea sounds so pathetic you simply can’t resist him anymore.

You tangle your hand in his hair with one hand, the other lifting your phone back to your line of sight so you can check the timer. You toss it onto the counter when you’re done, pulling at Mingyu’s hair to make him look at you. This small motion rips a beautiful moan from his pretty lips, only emphasizing the sheer desperation you already knew was there. “You’ve got fifteen minutes. Better make me cum, Gyu.”

“I promise, I promise.” He is practically chanting, eyes wide and eager.

You release his hair and he immediately drops down, hiking your leg up over his shoulder as he nuzzles his head between your thighs. He normally takes his time–pressing kisses into every inch of skin he can reach, massaging your thighs, telling you how beautiful you are time and time again–but he’s on a time crunch and he’s been practically drooling for this moment. He bypasses all of that, fingers pulling your panties to the side at the same time as his tongue snakes out to lick a stripe up your slit. He moans when he does it and you can feel your arousal leaking out in response. 

God, he’s obsessed with you. That’s so fucking hot.

Mingyu finds your hand with one of his, lacing his fingers through yours as his tongue hones in on your clit, his movements much swifter and more pressurized than they would normally be this soon. “Fuck, Mingyu,” you moan and he moans back. He has always gotten drunk off of the sound of your pleasure, specifically when it’s his name falling on his ears. You dig your heel into his upper back for more balance, head lolling back on your shoulders as his tongue drags through your folds and back up again. Rinse, repeat. 

You reach your free hand down to flap your skirt up against your stomach so you can see Mingyu’s pretty face. His eyes are closed contentedly and the sight of him having a sloppy makeout session with your pussy makes your already labored breathing stagger even more. He looks like he’d live here between your legs if you let him. You push his hair back away from his forehead, letting your hand rest in his hair. “Doing so good for me, Gyu.” His eyelashes flutter open for just a moment to soak in your praise and then he’s back to business, eyes closed as he dips his tongue inside you.

You cry out much louder than you’d expected. You hadn’t realized you were that worked up, but Mingyu fucking his tongue as deep into your cunt as he can reach is too much. The lewd sounds of his mouth meeting your arousal are too much. He’s determined, persistent. You’re not sure if he’s fucking you for minutes or only seconds. You only know you don’t want him to stop. “M-Mingyu–”

Mingyu looks up at you, slowing his tongue and letting it just twist around inside you as he squeezes your hand. You know him. You know he’s checking in with you, giving you the opportunity to tell him to stop, to do something differently. You don’t.

“Don’t fucking stop,” you breathe out, grinding your hips up against his all-too-perfect face. Mingyu practically purrs into your pussy as he resumes tonguing it, his pace quickening as his head bobs from the thoroughness. The hand that’s not holding yours seeks out your clit, pressing into the swollen bud and making your legs quake. You’re at the top of the cliff and you’re seconds away from tumbling over the edge.

You decide to throw yourself over, squeezing and pulling at Mingyu’s hand and his hair as you fuck yourself on his tongue. He hums and moans his satisfaction as you use him, your own jaw slack from the incessant silent cries of pleasure. The second you cum is evident not only in the way you feel but in the way Mingyu groans, savoring the taste. He works you through it and then carefully retreats, not daring to push you into overstimulation when you’ve already been nice enough to let him give you an orgasm.

He beams up at you, adorable fangs sparkling before he licks his lips clean. “Taste so good.” His voice is as sweet as honey now, pressing the soft kisses into your thighs that he would normally give you before getting you off. He always takes care of you.

You hum and let your body go limp for a bit, spent and a little tired from grinding yourself so aggressively onto his face. You feel Mingyu start to kiss each part of you–your hips, your stomach, your–

And then the timer is going off and fuck, it’s so loud and you’re so exhausted. You blindly reach for your phone on the counter, not bothering to look as your hand bounces around in search of it, but there’s no need. The timer stops and you peek an eye open just in time to catch Mingyu placing the phone back down. He always takes care of you.

He gently lifts your hips, placing you fully on the counter with a kiss to your forehead. “You rest, mm? Let me do it for you.”

And so he does. He always does.

#th: mingyu #th: svt #mingyu smut #seventeen smut #svt smut #kpop smut

[httpknjoon]

(re)starting over again | kth; 12

plot | Your four-year relationship with Taehyung was going well and strong. Until he was involved in a car accident, resulting to him losing some memories. By some, it means everything that happened five years ago. Things he remember? His friends, his bakeshop, and his ex girlfriend from the past. With that, you tried to keep up, restarting over again.

words | 5.3k

genres | fluff, angst, amnesia au

pairing | taehyung x reader

warning/s | mentions of death, drinking, disease (cancer)

note | surpisingly, i am still alive lol i'm kidding. i apologize for the delay! the bad headaches are now gone and the fever has cooled down. and now, the update's here! to everyone who sent their messages, tysm I appreciate it 🥺 I didn't mean to ghost y'all, I'm so sorry! anw hope u enjoy reading this one :)

main masterlist | series masterlist

Ever since you were young, you liked things to go the way you planned it. When you were younger, you carried a small notebook with you. Your father gave you your first one during the holidays when you were seven. In there, you make your own little bullet journal, listing off the things you would want to do for the upcoming days. With your messy handwriting, you even wrote your far future plans.

As a child, you used to see things with your rose-colored glasses. Everything seemed real and attainable for your small hands. You thought you just had to follow the usual path of your plans and you would be fine. But things do not always go according to plan. You learned it the hard way.

You always dreamt of being a nurse. At age eight, you were a frequent visitor to the hospital. Not because you were sick yourself, but because you and your mom had to go back there from time to time with your dad who was receiving treatment for his disease. You wanted to take care of him. So you did what a little girl could do, listen to your dad’s heartbeat through your plastic toy stethoscope and kiss his pain away. He would always call you his favorite nurse and you would give him your toothy grin. After a year, when you were nine, he lost his battle with cancer. 

Confused and in sorrow, you almost crossed out that dream from your list. You had a hard time understanding why you had to lose your dad at such an early age. Your friends had dads, how come you lost yours before you could even reach middle school? Then, you became angry. Your father was always in treatment in the hospital. Hospitals are meant to cure people, right? Your little kid brain thought. It felt unfair to you.

But then, you and your mom later left the small neighborhood you were living in and moved in with your aunt– her older sister. Aunty Belle is a nurse herself, a surprise for you as you didn’t know you have a relative who works in the same place you loathed at that time. But you couldn’t bring yourself to hate her, she was warm and welcoming when you arrived in her humble abode in Incheon. She doesn’t have a family of her own so she took good care of you and your mom. She became your third parent while your mom deals with the grief of losing her husband.

“It’s fun. You get to meet wonderful people every day and help them to feel better.” your aunt replied once when you asked her about her job.

Aunty Belle never got tired of your questions and curiosity about nursing. Slowly, you began rebuilding your plans. The dream of being a nurse is back, added with your other dreams: making your mom happy, and living independently (like your aunt). You studied hard, aiming for higher grades and going to the best college for your dreams.

But at age fifteen, Aunty Belle became your legal guardian when your mom passed. Through your aunt, you learned that your mother has been struggling heavier than you expected. Your aunt was extremely worried for your mom that’s why she begged her to come and live with her. You always thought your mom was getting better with how she cried less day by day and even took a job as a receptionist in a dental clinic. 

Since then, you have become more understanding and emotionally sensitive to everyone. The feelings you had years ago when you lost your dad were creeping around you. This time, instead of being angry at something else, you felt like this one was on you. You blamed yourself for not seeing the signs from your mother’s eyes. How she became more reserved or how her eyes were often blank whenever she tried to smile for you. Maybe you were too focused on reaching your plans that you didn’t give any attention to her. You were angry, hurt, and in guilt. It’s too overwhelming and is heavy in your heart. It reached the point where you broke down during breakfast, in front of the toast and bacon Aunty Belle prepared for you, weeks after your mom’s funeral.

“I should’ve seen it. I should have seen that she was not okay.” you sniffed as you looked down your plate. “I was supposed to make her feel better and happy.”

Crying, you pushed your plate in front of you and just covered your face with your palms. You repeated the words over and over again like you were reminding yourself how you failed as your mom’s only child.

“Oh, sweetie…” your aunt whispered before sitting beside you and enveloping you in a hug. Her hand moved up and down your arms, making you feel warm. “It’s not your fault. You are the best daughter she could ask for. She loves you more than anything else.”

After that morning, Aunty Belle made sure to get you the best help. She guided you in everything she could and supported you with your choices. She made sure that you will still pursue your plans, never stopping you from doing what you want. Years later, you graduated from high school and were about to embark on a new journey.

“You know that you can just have this place,” she mumbled when you were packing your things. “I’m selling it anyway.”

“But Aunty, this isn’t in my plan. You know how bad I want to live in Seoul.” you smiled at her.

Because of your efforts and hard work, you got accepted into one of the best universities in another city. You later moved from Incheon to Seoul to finish your studies and become a nurse there. While Aunty Belle sold her home and followed her own plans of living with her longtime best friends under one roof.

But none of what happened in the last few years was part of your plans when you were younger. You didn’t really see yourself coming back to Incheon after living in Seoul for the longest time. You never thought you would leave your job in the hospital you dreamed of and work in a slightly different environment.

Two years ago, you left home. The house you had plans in with someone else. You were the one who broke off those plans and moved away without really telling anyone. You remembered that night like it was yesterday.

Every step you took away from him felt like a piece of you fell on the ground. Your vision was all blurry and you had to cover your lips as you sobbed. You clutched onto your gown while you remind yourself that you need to do this. For the sake of your own being. But still, there is this voice telling you to stay– to turn around and come back to him.

“YN, honey,” 

Looking up, you see Julia looking at you with sympathy. She walked towards you with open arms and you immediately just broke down on her dress. Listening to your sobs, Julia eyes her date, whom you didn’t notice was there waiting too, to get in the car. 

Your whispered voice muffled in the hug, “I hate this so much,”

The whole drive home, Julia and Chanyeol respected your silence in the backseat. They put on some radio music and chatted about the wedding while your teary eyes just looked outside the window. They were like your parents that night. When you guys passed by McDonald’s, it took one nudge from Julia to make Chanyeol turn the car back around for the drive-thru. She ordered your food for you in a separate bag so you could have something to eat when you reached home. When you arrived in front of your house, they helped you with your small bag. 

“Thank you so much, guys. I’m sorry this is our first meeting, Chanyeol.” you tried to lighten the mood as you three stood on the porch.

He smiled, “It’s fine. Everyone has their bad day.”

You chuckled before Julia nudged her again with her elbow. Then, she turns to you.

“What time are you leaving tomorrow?”

“Probably early morning. I already have the keys to keep my apartment so I can go there now too if I want to.” your words rambled as your head felt like a mess.

“Okay, call me. I’ll pick you up–” Before you can say anything, she lifts her finger. “And no, I won’t take no for an answer. I wanna see your new place.”

They left after Julia made sure you were fine. Walking into your house for the last time, you tried to go straight to your room to change from your gown to your pajamas. Then, you cried again. And again. And again. 

The last time you woke up in that house was the morning after that. You woke up before dawn. The sky was barely lit and the moon was still present above you. You promised yourself that you would leave like a ghost. Like what you have been doing the last few days. Cleaning up, your hand ran on your bedsheets to smoothen out the wrinkles. Fortunately, almost ninety percent of your clothes fit in two pieces of luggage. You just have to leave a few things that you’ll probably get when you get back.

From Julia

Will be there in five

Five minutes left, you find yourself sitting in front of your vanity mirror. Making one last check, you pulled the small drawers in the table. That’s when you saw that old pearl ring Taehyung bought you in the flea market. A heavy sigh from your chest makes its way out of your lips. Holding it between your thumb and index finger, you stare at it.

We tried, didn’t we?

Before any tears can fall, you simply close your eyes. Your chest heaves. You clutched that ring in your palm for some minute, like you were giving your one last goodbye. Then, you carefully place it next to your keys. You decided to leave your keys as you don’t want to come and go here in secret as you always have the tendency to do that especially if you want to avoid a person. Like you were doing now. You want to come back here better and hopefully, talk to Taehyung in the future.

Feel at home, this house is yours too. Paint the walls with the colors you like, buy new furniture, and fill the frames with new memories. Just please don’t sell it. I’ll try to reach out as soon as I can. For now, live the last years you missed.

You wrote on a piece of paper that you left on the same table. In the weeks you two lived together after the accident, you knew how he struggled to adjust to this house. Now that you’re going, you wish for him to feel comfortable in this house you two shared and called home. The pieces of furniture and shade of blue that took over every wall in the house were picked by both you and Taehyung when you bought it. The frame kept every memory you and Taehyung love to look back on in the span of your four-year relationship. But if it means for him to feel at home, you won’t mind if he wants to change things around the house. Even though it will probably break your heart harder than it is now.

“You…”

It was only your first morning, the second day in your new apartment in Incheon when someone came knocking on your door. You were still organizing your place and unpacking when you heard continuous heavy knocks. Almost instantly, your eyes widened when you saw who it was through your door’s peephole. The person spoke again as soon as you opened your door.

“You moved?!” Jisoo immediately pushed through your door and welcomed herself in. “You moved here?!”

Based on the tone of her voice, she was more angry than surprised. Her eyebrows were scrunched together while her nose flared. Her hands were on her hips like she was waiting for an explanation. Your lips opened for a second before it closed again. You softly scratched your cheek before opening your lips again,

“I-I thought you were on your honeymoon vacation.”

She tilts her head, “Well, I’m not. Am I?”

“Why are you here?” you mumbled, sounding scared at her.

The thing is, Jisoo rarely gets angry or annoyed. You had known her ever since you began working as a nurse and you learned she have the longest patience for everyone else. But when she runs out of it, you don’t know how she will react.

“Why are you here?” she returned your question with raised eyebrows. “You did not tell me you were moving here or resigning in the hospital! What happened?”

You closed the door and quietly walked back to your messy living room since you knew she would follow. She did and continued,

“I saw the shift schedule like two hours ago and you’re not there. I had to ask Gail and she said you resigned. You were not answering my calls or messages! I had to call Julia. Then, she told me you moved here– What the fuck happened? I was only busy for like two weeks and next thing I know, my best friend’s in another city and hospital.”

You sat on your grey couch while Jisoo still stood in front of you. You looked away as your replied,

“Well, actually I’ll be working in a school–”

Jisoo’s tone went higher, “What?!”

“I applied as a school nurse–”

“No, no, no.” she shushed you. “Tell me everything that happened. Everything.”

So you did. But first, you asked her to sit down next to you. You ordered food by app as you don’t really have any stock of food at the moment. While you were waiting for the food, you began telling her about what happened. From how you met Lily to how you happened to be where you are right now. Jisoo listened intently. As you went on, you noticed her shoulders and facial expression softened up. From her jaw being clenched tight, her lips were formed into a slight frown. You tried not to cry throughout the whole story-telling impromptu but your voice did shake and you just felt your best friend’s warm hands somewhere in the middle of your story. At the end, you find yourself leaning your head on her shoulder while she leans hers on top.

“I and Joon just decided to go on honeymoon next month. Plus, I have a toaster and an air fryer in my car.” Jisoo broke the comfortable silence you two shared with a random sentence.

You lifted your head, looking at her, “What? Why?”

“We received like a ton of it from the wedding. We had to give some stuff away rather than selling it and I just knew your place is probably still empty. So I just bought some. I have plates too.” she smiled.

“But what if I was the one who gave you that toaster?” you asked, squinting your eyes.

“You did not.” she chuckled but your expression didn’t change. She blinked and asked with a feeble voice, “You did not, right?”

Your lips broke into a smile, “Yeah, we didn’t.”

She pouted before you two laughed and hugged. Just like that, you and Jisoo are okay.

Unlike any of your past decisions, nothing was truly planned when you decided to move away. Aunty Belle, whom you visit every now and then, comforted you about it and said that life just happens like that sometimes. And that’s how your two years went. Unplanned. You just applied for the first good job you saw, which happened to be being a school nurse in a preschool. You moved to another apartment after just a few months since your initial place is farther on the subway you always take to get to the school every morning.

Working with kids, you always miss your patients back in Seoul. Particularly, Naeun, whom you are still in contact with. You visit her a couple of times when you go to Seoul.

And there were times when you thought you saw Taehyung. Not just in Seoul, but also in Incheon. The first one was just months after you left, you were on your way to preschool when you saw him in the subway. But you thought it was just a look-alike and impossible since he would not have any reason to come here. Plus, you were feeling a little down that week as it was supposedly your fifth anniversary. The next time is when you come to Seoul to visit Naeun. It was a busy Sunday and you stopped by a toy store in the mall to get a gift for your favorite patient. It was a bit crowded since it was on sale. So you lost him in the blink of an eye.

The most recent one is when you came to Seoul for Julia’s birthday. You had a few drinks with your friends and everything was already slightly blurry. But you swore you saw him when you were waiting for your Uber late at night. You were with Julia, who was waiting with you just to make sure you’d be safe. She was talking about something but your eyes caught a man walking on the other side of the road with his head down on his phone. The small light coming from his screen made you recognize him. It’s him, you’re sure.

Although you have visited the city a couple of times already, you never drop by the bakeshop or the house. You never even contacted Taehyung. There were times it crossed your mind. But you never did. You miss him. God knows, how much. But you don’t know what to say about the house, him, you, or the relationship you two had.

You and Jimin talked seldomly. The first one was a week after you and Taehyung officially went separate ways. He would ask how are you and you would do the same thing. You were surprised but happy at the same time when you learned he had a kid, who happens to be Jisoo’s nephew. You two had this unspoken rule to not talk about Taehyung because Jimin doesn’t bring him up and you are too shy to ask. But you know they are doing well, you heard they expanded the shop.

In the whole two years, Taehyung never really left your mind. It’s hard. Especially when you would still get random reminders of your relationship in unexpected ways. In what was supposed to be your fifth anniversary, you got a scheduled e-mail from his account. Every year, your phone calendar still updates you to buy him a gift a month before his birthday. And just like last month, you found an old picture in one of your bags. Something you probably slipped there long ago. It’s a picture taken years ago during your first snow in your house with a handwritten caption, TOO MORE SNOWY DAYS TOGETHER. It was in his handwriting.

“Goodbye, Nurse YN!”

A little kid waved his little hand to you while his mom politely smiled at you. You waved back and continued walking back from your small clinic. This is how your day ends in school: tiny voices saying goodbye and sometimes giving you warm hugs. You were never really busy since you worked with two other school nurses who you became friends with. 

“Oh, hey, YN.”

You just sat in front of your computer screen, recording some student’s health records, when your co-nurse popped into your shared office. Martha just found her recent hobby a couple of months ago after you told her that you haven’t been dating for the last couple of years.

You exaggeratedly sighed and did not even look at her, “What do you want?”

“YN sounds so tired of you already.” Aileen, your other co-nurse, laughed while organizing her files.

“I know, she is.” Martha chuckled. She turns to you, “I know a guy…”

You paused from what you were doing, “Martha–” 

It’s not like you’re not interested in dating. It took you more than a year to be open again to the idea and so far, you’ve gone into two dates from Martha’s recommendations. But both were not a match. The first one is a great guy but he seems like he cannot get over an ex since he talked about her half of the time. While the second guy is just rude. That’s all you can say about him. The date was all about him not liking how the steak was cooked and how one of the waiters was too kind to you. It was horrible.

“No, no, honey. Listen to me first.” Matha cuts you off. “I personally know this guy. He’s my cousin and… he also works in the medical field! He’s a doctor.”

An eyebrow raised. A doctor? Well, you never dated one before. But you knew doctors were better than that last guy you mentioned.

Aileen joined, “Is he the one you showed me earlier?

“Yup,” Martha replied, popping the ‘p’ sound.

“Oh, you’ve got to see him, YN. The guy is gorgeous!” she exclaimed. “If you won’t date him, I will!”

The three of you laughed. Of course, Aileen can’t. She is currently seven months pregnant with her second child and married to one of the teachers in this same preschool.

“Just don’t tell Seb,” she added, mentioning her husband.

You still haven’t said anything even though you are admittedly interested. Martha pulled her phone out.

“Wait, I’ll show you his account.”

“Oh, that dress suits you perfectly!”

Jisoo’s voice filled your room as you fixed the dress on your body. Even though you two are in different cities, she is still your go-to every time you need to dress up for something. Usually, through Facetiming. The date is fine-dining. So, you tried on different dresses for Jisoo to pick on and eventually, you two agreed on the same one.

“Don’t forget your coat! It might get cold,” she advised. “Now, turn around again!”

You giggled before doing what she said. You heard her cheer and compliments, making you smile.

“You are stunning!”

“Thank you so much for helping me, Jiji,” you said with a small smile.

“You’re welcome. Just have fun, okay? Let me know how it goes later.” she told you and you nodded. She spoke again, “Now, go! Book that Uber already.”

“Okay, okay. Bye! Call you later. Love you!” you waved.

She waved back, “Love you, take care!”

You ended the call and moved to another app to look for a ride. Your date initially asked if you wanted him to pick you up. But you just agreed to meet him at the restaurant he invited you to. He seems nice. Martha said her cousin has been single for a while now. After his last relationship, he just gave most of his time to work.

To +82 65 78** ****

Hi! I’m on my way. See you there.

You sent your date the message when you finally got in the car you booked twenty minutes ago. It did not even take a few minutes before he replied,

From +82 65 78** ****

Okay, see you there! Take care.

Pursing your lips, you look outside the window of the moving car. You hope for the best for tonight. You hope Martha’s recommendation is at least okay this time. Maybe the universe could prove to you that Taehyung is not the only guy in the world who could make the butterflies play around in your stomach. Or the only guy who would be patient enough with your tendencies. You just have to know that he is not the only guy in the world. Period.

As much as you won’t say it, dating Taehyung for four years made him your standard for everything. You already met two versions of him; one before the accident and one after the accident. They are almost the same person but the latter just brought you a lot of pain because of various circumstances. But you know and feel he shows his emotions in other ways.

“We’re here.” the female driver, whom you saw is Val, said as she stopped the car in front of the brightly lit restaurant.

You smiled before getting out of the vehicle, “Thank you.”

Starry Night lives up to its name. As you noticed before, the whole place is lit up with many lights. Carefully, you walked inside with your strappy heels. The staff smiled and greeted you, and you greeted them back.

“Good evening, madam. Welcome to Starry Night. How may I help you?”

“I have a reservation under Jung Hoseok’s name.” you politely replied.

“Oh, okay. Let me check our list. Excuse me.” the host scrolled down his iPad for a minute. “The name’s here! Please, follow me to your table. This way please.” 

You followed him while looking around the place. It’s not too crowded and it has a romantic feeling because of the lights and jazz music. You know someone who would have loved to go here. Before you sit down, the host assisted you with the chair and offered to take your coat. You agreed. Pulling out your phone from your purse, you update Hoseok that you just arrived. You put your phone down and studied the whole place again with your eyes. 

A woman caught your eye. She was talking and chatting with the chef in the side station. They looked like they were waiting for someone to enter the door. Your gaze were broke off when someone spoke from your side.

“Good evening, ma’am. My name is Soojin and I’ll be your waiter for tonight. Would you like to order something?” the young waiter smiled.

“Oh, I’m still waiting for my date…” you murmured. “But can I have some water please?”

“Certainly, ma’am. Excuse me.”

Soojin left as you said thank you. As she was gone from your sight, your eyes landed on the man who was entering the restaurant. Dressed in a nice black coat over a light blue shirt, you quickly recognize him. Your mouth runs dry while your heart beats like a horse’s footsteps in a race. You were frozen.

What is he doing he– Fuck.

Your eyes meet. You can see his eyes widening as his lips gaped slightly. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down while you practically lost your hearing. All you can hear is the drum inside your chest.

Fuck, you cursed again.

What are the chances for this to happen? Is the universe playing or simply fucking with you? You asked for a great date and it gave you this. The man you’ve been holding as your standard ever since. 

It burns.

His eyes. You can feel them as you take a sip from the ice-cold glass of water. After the host led him to one of the empty tables in your line, your eyes traveled everywhere except on his spot. You two were literally just an empty table apart.

Is he here for a date? Why here? In Incheon, really? Can’t he just date people from Seoul?

It has been nine minutes, you’ve been counting. Your hand rests on your knee, to stop your knees from jerking up and down, while the other rests on the table with your phone. You’ve been texting but erasing messages to Hoseok. You don’t think you can do this. With Taehyung being just a few feet away from you, it felt wrong to be with someone else. You should have been sitting right in front of him.

Slowly, you try to move your eyes in his direction. You paused when you saw that he was staring at you too, unmovable. Are you supposed to smile? Wave? Nod. just nod. You were about to do that when the same woman from the side station walked up to him, covering your view of him.

“Hi, good evening!” you heard her honey-like voice greet him. “I’m Ashley.”

You noticed Taehyung stood up. They shake hands and you don’t really hear the rest of their conversation. You began texting your date,

To +82 65 78** ****

Hi. Where are you?

You’ve been alone for a while now.

Taehyung noticed. The glass of water on your table is almost empty. The waiter already come back to you a couple of times now. He can see you chewing on your lower lip as you check your phone every minute that passes by.

Did your date just stand you up?

His hands clutched as he thought of that idea. He knew you didn’t deserve that.

“I think this is good! Not too sweet, not too spiced. It’s soft too. Just perfect.” Ashley snapped him from his thoughts.

Taehyung tried to concentrate on what he originally meant to do here, “Yeah… uhm… Jimin, my friend, really tries to balance the texture and taste. It’s his own carrot cake recipe that he worked on before we even had the shop.”

Ashley already had a taste of every cake he brought. Five open Tupperware are on their table, including the cheesecake you love. She began talking about the other cakes and dessert while Taehyung stole some glances at you again. This time, you are on call. You pursed your lips before replying to whoever it was. He can read the disappointment through your eyes as your lips form into a small frown. You sighed before saying, it’s fine, I understand. No problem. 

“Okay, these are really good. I think your products will be a great addition to our menu.” Ashley spoke again. 

Taehyung looked at her with surprise, “Oh, wow. That’s… great.”

Did he just get this deal?

“Yeah, I trusted my chef when he said he had the best Tiramisu in your shop and I’m glad I did. These desserts are perfect and really satisfy my sweet tooth.” She compliments.

Taehyung bowed his head, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Your desserts deserve to be everywhere. Haven’t you guys thought of opening a branch here?” she asked.

“Oh, we’re still figuring things out. We just expanded our main shop in Seoul.” he chuckled.

“Well, I might go there when I visit Seoul.”

“Please do and let us know.” he smiled.

“I will. By the way, the contract is not ready now. But we are definitely having this deal! Can you and Jimin visit here again next week or maybe me and my head chef can visit your shop in Seoul?” Ashley offers.

“I still have to discuss that with my friend.”

“Oh, sure. Sure. Here, we are okay with any decision. Just let us know. You guys have our e-mail and numbers, right?” Taehyung nods. “Okay, I guess… that’s a done deal.”

Ashley stood up and offered her hand. Taehyung stood up too and shook her hand. 

“Thank you so much.” Taehyung smiled.

While Ashley replied, he stole another glance behind her. That’s when he sees you standing up and walking back to the host at the entrance of the restaurant. The host had an apologetic look on his face as you talked to him. He helped you with your coat. It seems like you’re leaving with your date being a no-show. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. But I would have to go for now..” Taehyung carefully said.

Ashley smiled, “Oh, of course. Yes. You can go. But one more thing… can you leave these cakes?”

Taehyung chuckled with that, “Of course!”

“Thank you! See you in the contract signing!”

“See you.” 

Taehyung took his coat from his seat and left in a hurry. You were already gone, possibly out of the restaurant. He said thank you to the staff who opened the door for him and he immediately searched around. That’s when he sees you standing, looking down at your phone.

“This one’s just a few minutes away–”

He took a deep breath before saying, “YN?”

taglist rules

RESTARTING OVER AGAIN TAGLIST [🔧🔨 ]

@iamkookiesforyou @aianloveseven @hoodalmighty @taebangtanbabe @kthsmoon @nooojaaam @hiimnothing @hiqhkey @annenakamura @taebangtanbabe @shin-ie @prlan @starlight-night0 @teddybeartaetae @http-fayeradise​ @tannies-luv @betysotelo18 @honsoolgloss @aurorathi @paulaaa97 @satisfied18 @telepathytae @talkyoongitome

PERMANENT TAGLIST

@dunixxd @cixrosie @jksjx @embrace-themagic @buttvi @starbtslove @missseoulite @vanntaesworld @kenqki @imajinthis @stopeatread @seolaquotes @greyrain23 @chimchimmarie @petalsofink @jayhope88 @moonchild1 @laylasbunbunny @nikkiordonez12 @ficluvr613 @misshale21

#bts angst #bts x reader #bts series #taehyung angst #taehyung fluff #taehyung x reader #taehyung au #taehyung series #bts amnesia #taehyung amnesia #bts established relationship au #taehyung established relationship #restarting over again kth

[mingisangel]

it’s just a game - lee felix

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

pairing: gamer!felix x fem reader

rate: 18+ 

genre: smut

warnings: explicit language/profanity, explicit sexual content, hard dom!Felix, sub!reader, angry sex, unprotected sex, grinding, dirty talk, fingering, pet names (doll, toy), overstimulation, creampie, cum eating, oral sex (mentioned; f receiving)

author’s note: this is my first time writing smut so sorryy if it’s not good also i wrote this while high but i revised it while sober so it should be fine? idk hope u enjoy <3

wc: 1.4k

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

“FUCK!”

You sigh and lean away from the mirror, just barely having avoided messing up your eyeliner due to your boyfriend’s outburst in the next room. 

You’re more than used to this, and you contemplate just closing the door to focus on getting ready to go to dinner with your friends. It’ll take him five minutes to get ready, but you have a routine to finish. You decide not to when you peer through the doorway to the bedroom and see Felix at his gaming desk growing increasingly more frustrated. 

“Calm down,” you call absently from the bathroom.

Felix’s childlike tendencies definitely have their pros and cons, and you lovingly accept both. His anger issues while gaming though? Definitely a con. You don’t mind it most of the time-- you kinda like seeing your usually calm and sweet boyfriend get so pissed off at others, as long as it’s not at you (which it never is). But you do intervene when you’re worried about him getting overly stressed. Getting him to snap out of it usually isn’t very difficult.

You leave the door open as you finish your makeup, jumping a little when the final touches are followed by the sound of Felix’s fist slamming on the table. 

“Felix, calm down,” you repeat, still checking your reflection to make sure you haven’t forgotten any part of your routine. You’re more absorbed in deliberating whether you’re going to leave your makeup sprawled out all over the sink counter or clean it up and let Felix use his own sink space for once.

“I’m fucking carrying them and they can’t even-- fuck,” his argument trails off into curses under his breath again as his teammates re-infuriate him. It’ll be more convenient to leave your makeup there, you decide. You roll your eyes as you hear him hit the desk again when you step out into the bedroom.

“It’s just a game,” you remind him. Your expression shifts instantly as his eyes snap up to meet yours, and you’re met with an intense darkness in his gaze that you had yet to encounter before. 

The realization hits you, heart racing; this is not like the other times. His eyes travel over your figure as he takes in the sight of you in the tiny slip dress you were about to wear your dress over-- your breath escapes you for a minute. 

“Fuck this.”

Within the minute, his headset is off and Felix is up from the desk, grabbing you and dragging you to the bed. Once you finally catch your breath, you speak up again. 

“What are you doing?” You ask, trying to keep the excitement out of your voice. His actions become more aggressive for a second before he responds. 

“I’m relieving my anger. Calming down. That’s what you wanted isn’t it?” he growls into your neck, then returns to placing harsh kisses across it as he cages you in under him. 

You open your mouth to respond but decide against it, only for a choked moan to escape as he starts grinding down against you. His hands are around your wrists, slowly moving them up over your head against the mattress. 

“Since you’re so concerned, you can help make me feel better about it.”

“But we have the dinner--” you protest.

“Then hurry the fuck up,” he whispers, then instantly cuts off your ability to respond as his lips finally find yours, kissing you in a way that makes your head spin.

Holding your wrists with one hand, Felix moves the other down to push the loose fabric of your dress over your hips. You wiggle and hold yourself up to make it easier for him, then continue to hold as he tugs your panties down. 

As he starts working on his pants, he finally releases your wrists, knowing you won’t move them. Instead, he brings his free hand down between your legs, interested to find you already dripping. 

“Aw,” he teases. “You were going to dinner like this?” When you whine instead of giving a real response, already losing the ability to think, he pulls his fingers away.

“You wanted to be good and help Daddy feel better first didn’t you?”

You nod, quickly slipping into your usual dynamic.

“Y-yes daddy. Please let me help.” 

He returns his fingers, stretching you in preparation, while his other hand starts stroking his cock. 

“Good girl,” he says in his ridiculously deep voice. “You’re going to be so good for me.”

Finally, he removes his fingers and slowly sinks into your heat. His hands on your hips are sending waves of sensitivity through your body. You moan as he finally bottoms out and clench around him as best you can. The feeling makes Felix drop his head on your shoulder, cursing under his breath again. He pauses before moving, considering.

 “Take this off,” he decides, tugging your dress up. You pull it off with ease and toss it to the side.

His hands travel from your hips up to your waist to your tits, thumbs playing with your sensitive nipples. The feeling makes you shiver as he slowly starts moving. Eventually, his hands slide back down to the sides of your thighs, squeezing them and providing support when he picks up speed and force, the harsh thrusts bruising.

“There’s a good girl,” he says, “You love being Daddy’s little stress relief toy don’t you?” You can barely put words together as he continues pounding you. 

“J-just for Daddy to use,” you breathe, “Whenever you want.”

“My perfect doll. I’m gonna use you so well,” he groans, his hands on your hips again, moving you to meet his thrusts. You hold on tightly to his shoulders as pleasure courses through you with each of his movements. 

It’s not long before your back arches and you’re seeing white, your orgasm coursing through you in waves. 

Felix pulls out for a second and you barely have time to wonder why before he’s flipping you over and re-entering you from behind, picking up a pace even faster than before. The overstimulation is overwhelming but you want to be good for him. You arch your back and let him adjust you until the angle makes you scream.

 Soon enough, you feel your second orgasm building, and from the way his hips suddenly seem reinvigorated, you can tell that he’s close too.

Your senses are hazy, and you barely notice when one of his hands travels from your hip down your front till one touch to your clit makes you twitch and clench around him. He rubs a few circles and you’re cumming hard on his cock, this time even more intense than the last. 

Seconds later, you feel him do the same as he fills you up. You love that Felix always likes to time it perfectly like this. He continues to fuck you through both your orgasms, until he finally slows down and pulls out. The mixture of fluids follows, spilling onto your thighs.

Felix can’t help but scoop some up with his thumb and bring it to your lips. You should be exhausted, but Felix has never spontaneously taken his anger out on you like this before and now you want to see if there’s more where that came from. You open your mouth obediently, looking innocently into his eyes as you swirl your tongue around his thumb, swallowing every drop. He lets out a shaky breath and removes his thumb. 

“Don’t look at me like that, we don’t have time for more. We have to go to dinner,” he urges. You sigh and lay back against the mattress, letting him clean up the mess.

“I don’t wanna go anymore,” you whine, knowing that’s not an option. Finally sitting up once he’s done, you catch a glimpse of yourself in a mirror across the room and are grateful to find that your makeup is mostly intact with just a few smudges here and there. Your slip and panties are a mess on the floor, and you decide to mess with Felix through dinner and forgo replacing them when you put your dress on.

“So did all that help you calm down?” you ask teasingly. He blushes, a little embarrassed for losing his cool now that he’s snapped out of it, but still cocky.

“Of course. My pretty doll always makes me feel better,” he says, grabbing your face and placing a little kiss on your nose. You roll your eyes at his belittling behavior, knowing full well you love it. 

Felix’s delicate balance between his preference for being a hard dom and his usual fluffy personality never fails to amaze you. He’ll keep the act up all night, yet you know that in the morning you’ll find flowers on your table and his head between your legs as a little reward for being good for him.

#stray kids #skz #stray kids smut #skz smut #lee felix #stray kids felix #skz felix #lee felix smut #skz felix smut #stray kids felix smut #gamer bf felix

[nickeverdeen]

heya! can i request a HC for umbrella academy?

where five has a crush on reader but shes an airhead and doesnt figure it out, BUT, allison and viktor know so one day they catch five staring at reader and they point it out which leads to five getting embarrassed and looking away hella fast- idk where im going with this.... pretty much loverboy five with a crush on airhead reader 😭

thank u, stay hydrated!!

Hope you’ll like it! Please tell me if I wrote something wrong as I’m not really sure how an airheads usually act. Anyways I tried my best and I hope you’ll like it, love you 🫶💚

Five = blue text

Allison = pink text

Viktor = purple text

————————————————————

Five Hargreeves crushing on an airhead fem!reader

When Five first started interacting with you he started warming up towards you pretty quickly

You became friends or well… that’s what you considered him as he prefered to keep it as allies

Obviously that didn’t work

You on the other hand were just really glad that you got a friend

Despite his logical thinking, Five can’t help but be intrigued by your carefree and whimsical nature

It’s like small a mystery even he can’t solve

Five, being used to dealing with complex problems, is often baffled by the your scattered thoughts and blindness towards people who were trying to flirt with you

That is also one of the things he kidna also likes about you

It is pretty amusing to him

Five, in his own peculiar way, becomes protective of you

Yet you brush it off thinking it’s just him being protective towards you like towards his family

Being an airhead means that you also have an insight of some things

So when Five notices he starts to appreciate the unique perspective you bring to the team/family

Five, used to precision sometimes gets frustrated by the your forgetfulness and blindness

However, he can’t stay mad for long when you flash an innocent smile or do something adorably clumsy

Slowly Five secretly goes out of his way to make your life a bit easier

Like leaving helpful notes or subtly manipulating time to prevent minor mishaps

Five’s siblings were truly confused by his newfound interest, especially considering yours and his differences

Especially Allison and Viktor

They couldn’t put a finger on what he sees in the airhead considering he’s usually cold towards people like that but they were secretly amused by it

Klaus of course started teasing him about it

Five made sure not to snap at someome whenever you were around which made it better for Klaus

Despite the differences, there was a silent understanding between Five and you

Sometimes he even takes you to travel in time even if it would be only a few minutes

Mostly so he could hold your hand

He is much nicer towards you than towards others

Which leads Allison to talk to Viktor about this

A small speculations between the two siblings start

Seeing Five’s behaivor towards you made them believe that he may like you more than a friend

Viktor being Viktor had some doubts

Five stole a few glances at you during breakfeast when he was sitting across from you who is talking to Klaus

Your smile and carefree behaivor even in the morning is adorable

Viktor’s doubts are washed away when he and Allison catch Five staring at you

They decide to confort him about it silently so you wouldn’t notice

“You know if you’ll take a picture of her you can stare at it longer”

Five, caught off guard, quickly looks away, attempting to hide his embarrassment

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about”

Five, ever the stoic and composed one, quickly denies having any interest in the airhead

He brushes off their teasing, insisting that he was merely lost in thought

Allison since that day is the one teasing him about it while Viktor is the supportive one

He has been there with Sissy-

They make lighthearted jokes, causing Five to squirm uncomfortably as he continues to deny any romantic interest towards you

At which he fails terribly

Five, feeling the pressure, resorts to awkward deflections and changing the topic

To for example mission-related matters or starts analyzing some concepts, attempting to get rid of the attention from his personal life

The more you hang out with him the harder it is for him to hide his feelings

I mean you’re amazing

Despite his hiding, Five continues to steal glances at you, unable to completely hide his feelings

Of course Allison and Viktor exchange amused glances, silently acknowledging the obvious

It was driving Five crazy

Allison and Viktor, still determined to get Five to admit his crush, offer playful advice on expressing his feelings

They suggest subtle gestures or dropping hints, causing Five to groan in exasperation

“Come on Five, I’ve been there you just have to come clean”

“I am not in love with her!”

Despite the denial and embarrassment, there are moments when Five can’t help but smile when thinking about the airhead

Your smile, adorable behaivor, those eyes, that carefree and funny personality…

Shit, he has to confess before any other guy will do it

Five has Viktor’s and Allison’s support, he knows he’ll have to do it

Inside he feels like the 13 year old boy he looks like

Ready to confess his feelings towards you he fixes his tie and goes into the kitchen where you are…

————————————————————

✨And the rest is up to your imagination✨

#request #headcanons #the umbrella academy #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves #five hargreaves x you #five hargreeves tua #airheads #five hargreeves having crush

[jedipoodoo]

Liz,,,, I have,,,, a mighty need. Firstly, I read and reread your fics ALL the time, you are solely responsible for introducing to and making me obsessed with the bad batch, congrats.

I’m on an Echo kick. And there’s,,,not,,,any,,,,pregnant reader fics with him😭😭

Pre-citadel with ba’vodu Fives, post citadel with clingy over concerned ptsd!papa echo,,, I need it😭

Do you want me to flood your inbox with headcanons because I can flood your inbox with headcanons

YOU HAVE INFECTED MYSELF WITH THE MIGHTY NEED NOW I WILL TAKE ANY AND ALL HEADCANONS OF PAPA ECHO

Back to You (Echo x Mom!Reader)

Notes: No warnings, sick child, discussion of death, female reader. The Pergil lullaby is from @marierg. Not beta read, I wrote half of this in a fitful haze as soon as I got this ask, promptly lost it all by hitting the wrong button and couldn't recover it, and then re-wrote it in an even sleepier, more fitful haze. Divider by @stars-n-spice

You shifted your hold on your toddler to keep him from slipping out of your arms, gently bouncing him as he cried, hoping it would help him go back to sleep. It had been two days without sleep, so you were willing to try anything

"Oh baby pergil, little baby pergil, flying through the sky..." You murmured beneath your breath. This was your fifth time singing through the song, but it seemed to be working,

And then your comm began to glow with an impending message.

It was one in the morning, but you were too tired to wonder who could be calling you at this hour. Plus, you could use the distraction.

"H'lo?" You asked.

"Are you sitting down?" It was Kix. Dr. "Medical comes before sleep", who would turn right around and scold you for not getting what sleep you could get with a baby.

Fives was starting to fuss, now that you weren't serenading him. "I can't, I just got Iv'ika to calm down, and if I sit down it'll make it worse."

"Look, I've got something important to tell you, and I really think that you should sit down before-"

"Is someone dead or dying?" You asked.

"For once, no," Kix laughed half-heartedly, "Are you sitting-"

"Are you gonna tell me whatever this is or not?"

There was a beat of silence on the other end of the comm.

"We found Echo."

Your stomach twisted, pushing everything out f your stomach and up your throat, threatening to make you vomit.

"Don't- don't- don't you dare joke about that," You snapped. The sudden sharpness in your tone made Fives cry out.

"I'm not joking, look-"

"Did Jesse put you up to this?" You demanded as your eyes began to sting with more than just the lack of sleep, "Tell him he's a mir'sheb-"

"Jesse doesn't even know yet! Rex told me to-"

"You're all a bunch of miserable old men, and I never want to speak to any of you ever again."

You hung up before Kix could hear you sob. Fives was already crying, and you had to be strong for him, like you had for his whole life.

You held your son tightly, caressing his sweaty hair while you focused on singing lullabies, not about the dead father of your child. In your hand, your comm kept buzzing as Kix and even Jesse tried to call you back. Until finally, you blocked them, and Rex too for good measure, not even bothering to read the messages they tried to send you.

Fives fell asleep about an hour later, and you pondered your reaction.

Rex and Kix weren't the type to play pranks in the middle of the night, and Jesse might have been a bit of an arse, but he wouldn't prank you like this, would he? Not even Fives would have gone that far, especially not when it came to the life of a beloved brother.

Could Echo really be alive?

You'd have to worry about that later. Fives was asleep, and you had work in a couple hours. You had to try and get some sleep while the opportunity was fresh.

Your woke to the smell of your mother making breakfast. She immediately came in and took Fives from your arms, cooing to her grandson while she changed his diaper. You took a quick shower and smeared on some makeup to cover the dark circles under your eyes. When you stepped out of the refresher to get dressed, your mother was singing one of the lullabies she always used to sing to you.

"I think his fever's broken," She smiled at you, and you felt a bit of the huge weight lifted off your shoulders.

"Be good for Nana, okay?" You told Fives. He was a bit fussy, but nowhere near how he was last night. You could breathe easy at the office, even though you were almost late, and let yourself focus on fielding calls from agitated customers and filling out the proper files for each complaint.

You were still exhausted, though, so as you made a fresh pot of caff your mind wandered back to Kix's comm last night. You should really just apologize to him, but you felt so embarrassed. Ever since Echo died, the boys of the 501st had been there for you. Holding your hair back while you threw up from morning sickness and learning how to cook so that you could nap and have a proper meal when you woke up. In the end, pride kept you from unblocking them then and there, but as you made your way back to your desk with a cup of caff, your mother commed you.

"Mom, is everything okay?"

"Honey, there's a group of clones here to see you. lots of them."

A shiver ran through you and you groaned. You were gonna get an earful from all of them, weren't you.

"Tell them I'm on my way. I'll be there in a minute."

"Do I have to let them in?"

You paused. Your mom could be blunt from time to time. She was a wonderful mother and an even better grandmother, but she still wasn't used to the idea that you'd had a child with a clone. Having been a single mother herself, she got protective real fast. It was probably best that they stayed outside.

You apologized profusely to your boss for leaving early, and ended up playing the desperate single mother card. The sloppy makeup job and the faint perfume of sick baby that was following you everywhere as of late certainly helped sell the act.

When you got to your apartment, Rex, Kix, and Jesse were waiting, along with six other troopers. Four of them wore dark gray armor, while two had armor that was more white like the standard trooper armor.

One of those troopers looked at you with wide eyes, and you couldn't blame him. You had to look as much like a ghost as he did. He had the same nose shape and facial structure as all the other clones, but he was incredibly emaciated and pale. His white armor looked to be the kind that they gave civilians in the field, and it was clearly padded out in some places to help him fill out the bodysuit.

"Did you have to bring everyone and scare my mom half to death?" You sighed to Rex.

"Hey, they insisted," Jesse waved to the squad of new troopers dismissively and held out his arms for a hug. Given everything that had happened in the last few days, you accepted the comforting embrace without question.

"We tried comming you to tell you we were coming, but for some reason our messages won't go through," Rex placed his hand on his hip, all business.

You folded your arms and glared at Kix. "That'll happen when you call someone at midnight to pull their leg."

"I wasn't pulling your leg!" Kix sighed in exasperation and grabbed the emaciated trooper's arm, pulling him to stand in front of you.

You took a step back, "Um, hi?"

"Hi," He said softly. He coughed to clear his throat and repeated the greeting in a firmer tone.

"Well, what do you want?" You asked, oblivious to the revelation that was right in front of you.

Rex sighed, "You'll remember Echo, right?"

You stopped. you looked the emaciated trooper up and down, but refused to look him in the eyes.

"Rex," You took a deep breath, "Please don't do this to me. Not today-"

"But it's him!" Jesse exclaimed, "We found him and rescued him on Anaxes!"

"We?" One of the dark-armored troopers demanded, flicking a toothpick at Jesse.

"Well it's easier than explaining ev- Is it really so hard to believe that after everything karked-up that's happened to us, something good might have actually happened?"

"Boys," Rex said sharply. He nodded down the hall, and most of your little group ambled off to give you some distance.

"Cyare..." The trooper who everyone said was Echo reached out his right hand towards you, then returned it to his side. It wasn't much of a hand anymore, there was a scomplink attachment in its place.

"Cyar'ika, you're trembling," He noticed, a hint of terror in his voice. You kept your eyes on the floor. He was one to speak, how could he even stand on those wobbling legs?

His helmet fell on the floor as his left hand--still a hand--came up to cradle your cheek, wiping away a single tear.

Don't cry, you told yourself, don't cry, don't cry, don't cry.

With that tender touch, you finally allowed yourself to look him in the eyes.

A million men had the same brown eyes as Echo, but none of them shone when they looked at you like Echo's did.

"Prove it. Tell me something I've never told anyone el-"

"You talk in your sleep. It's probably because you need a cup of tea before you go to bed."

Your breath caught in your throat.

"I wanted to name our son after Fives, but you said he'd get to big a head about it."

You managed a laugh, "He did get a big head about it."

Echo chuckled, and the scomp on his right arm rested against your arm as he pulled you closer.

"I told you I wanted to marry you as soon as the war was over, and you tried to convince me to move it up until after my last mission."

You gasped out a sob, wiping your runny nose on the sleeve of your blouse. Echo wrapped his arms around you, and you pulled him even closer.

"So you really named him after Fives?" Echo gasped, pressing kisses to the crown of your head.

You squeezed him as tightly as you dared. When you hugged him before he left for the citadel, Your arms almost couldn't make their way around him. Now you feared that if you held him the wrong way, he'd snap like a twig.

"It was what you wanted, what else was I supposed to name him?"

Echo took your chin in his hand, fiercely pressing a kiss to your lips. You could feel a year and a half's worth of loneliness and longing behind the passion in that kiss. All the fear, pain, and isolation the both of you had felt without each other. You almost couldn't bring yourself to stop kissing him. If you stopped kissing him you thought you might wake up in the middle of the night with your crying baby on your chest.

"I want to meet him," Echo said in between kisses.

Your heart fluttered. Echo was going to meet his son. Fives was finally going to meet his dad.

"Yes, yes," You gasped, and grasped his hand, pulling him into your apartment. It was almost exactly the same as the last time he'd been there, with the exception of all the baby toys strewn about and the holos of you and Fives hanging on the wall.

Your mother was in the kitchen, spatula in hand, making dinner and watching the door at the same time.

"Where's Fives?" You asked her.

"He's asleep, but-"

You ignored her protests and brought Echo into your room.

Fives was just waking up when you opened the door. He'd lost his pacifier while tossing and turning, but that allowed Echo's first view of his son to be the big, wide-toothed smile he gave you.

"Hello precious boy!" You swooped across the room and swept him into your arms. He had a bit of a cowlick from the way he'd slept, and you tried to smooth it back, but it didn't do much.

"Fiv'ika, there's someone you need to meet," You whispered calmly, "Can you be a good boy for mama?"

Fives didn't say anything, but he buried his face into your neck, cooing softly.

You brought him over to Echo, who stood in the bedroom doorway, spellbound at the sight of the two of you. You had never been able to see how Little Fives' eyes looked exactly like Echo's, but now that you had them next to each other, the likeness was unmistakable.

"I...I don't know if I can hold him," Echo held out his arms. You could see his heart, struggling not to break as he watched you cuddle your son. Your son. Yours and Echo's. A proper family now.

"Sit on the bed," you nodded. Echo did so, and you pushed him back against the pillows so that you could lay Fives on his chest.

Fives blinked his dark brown eyes at Echo, drinking in the not-so-stranger's face. Echo stayed as still as possible, like a sniper in wait. The baby wasn't as heavy as he expected, and he was scared to hurt him. His hands were made for combat and firing weapons, no for child rearing.

Fives' head dropped suddenly, his forehead smacking against Echo's collarbone.

"Yow!" Echo gasped in surprise, but Fives wasn't upset. He rubbed his face against Echo's neck, just like he had with you.

"He likes you," You said, lying next to Echo. You placed your hand on his upper arm and squeezed.

"He likes me?" Echo asked.

"He does," You whispered, tears brimming in your eyes, "And guess what?"

"What?" there was a hint of fear in Echo's voice. Today had already been a very long day for the both of you.

You rested your head on Echo's shoulder, close enough that you could press a kiss to Fives' dark curls.

"I like you too."

#clone babies #lizart writes #echo x reader #arc trooper echo x reader #clone wars echo x reader #tbb echo x reader #mom reader

[moralesmilesanhour]

'cold turkey' except i re-wrote it

summary: exactly what the title says :) unsure what I'm referring to? check my masterlist linked in my pinned post!

A/N: Both the reader and Miles are college students here, so I guess you can imagine comic book Miles as well? But I'll be following the timeline of spiderverse so his mom's alive 🫶🏾 part one part two

“Uh-huh. Yeah. Tell him to turn the corner and I’m right there. Thank you so much, Jeff. Bye!”

You balanced your phone precariously between your shoulder and your ear as you slid the tray of uncooked mac and cheese into the now-heated oven. Shutting the oven door, you sighed and took the phone in your hand to check the time. 

Dinner was in five hours. 

The turkey was ready to be baked, but un-stuffed. The yams were uncooked, and the beans and stuffing had yet to be delivered because Jefferson Morales’ son had gotten lost on the way to your apartment. 

Though you’d lived only a couple houses down, you’d never formally met the boy. Different schools, and you were always swamped with extracurriculars anyway. His mother would give you a warm greeting sometimes after sending him off to school in the morning; you remembered her soft eyes and quick demeanor. The boy seemed to take after his father more, if you remembered correctly. He had a darker complexion and an awkward stiffness to the way he walked, as if someone had reminded him to straighten his posture.

You tapped your acrylics impatiently on the counter as you attempted to recall his name.

Milo…Michael..Milan…? Something like that. 

Whatever, you decided, He’ll tell me his name when he gets here.

As if summoned by your thoughts, the doorbell rang. You sighed in relief as you jogged over to the door.

“Y/N? I got your stuff!” a muffled voice called out from the other side.

Opening the door revealed a boy about your age - lean, and tall enough to take up nearly the entire door frame. His hair had miraculously stayed more or less the same after all these years, only now his afro had morphed into a high-top fade. 

He held several bags of groceries that hung off of both arms and grinned proudly at you, as if he hadn't arrived thirty minutes late.

“You Morales?” 

“Nah, that's my mom,” he joked, “I'm Miles.” 

You rolled your eyes and stepped aside for Miles to enter. 

“Well thank you, Miles, I really appreciate it,” you replied humorlessly, “But if you'll excuse me, I gotta get back to–”

When you reached out to take the bags, he raised them high above his head with ease like they were toys. Your head snapped up to see that his hazel eyes sparkled with mischief. 

“What are you doing?”

“I am terribly sorry, ma'am, but I cannot under any circumstances let you carry all these by yourself.”

“I'll manage,” you replied sharply. Miles raised an eyebrow, challenging you.

“You sure? ‘Cuz I smell smoke from your kitchen, and I feel like you might need the help.”

The smell in question wafted beneath your nose, and your eyes went wide.

“Shit–Fine, bring ‘em in, whatever!”

You spun around and bolted towards the kitchen with Miles following not too far behind.

Your eyes watered as soon as you entered. The oven blew smoke into your face when you opened it, but the fumes thankfully weren't black. 

Grabbing a pair of oven mitts from the counter, you carefully removed the hot tin from its fiery mouth, standing and setting it down in front of you.

The mac and cheese was a golden brown, with a few darker spots here and there. There must've been a piece of food or debris sitting in the oven that you'd missed that had burned instead.

Miles set down the bags of groceries and surveyed the kitchen, watching your stout figure scurry about, flipping switches and turning knobs.

“It's just you in here?” He asked.

“Yup,” you replied while chopping yams. “My sister was s'posed to be here to help, but she's stuck in traffic. So, here I am.”

An awkward silence settled in between you. Even without looking up, you could sense that Miles was still standing there. 

Finally, he spoke:

“You want any help with that?”

You set the knife down and turned to him with a hand on your hip, and tilted your head in amusement. 

“I dunno, Miles. Are you gonna keep standing there like a lost puppy if I say no?”

A grin spread across his face. “I'll make the stuffing!”

You returned to chopping. “Knock yourself out.”

-

After removing some of the plantains he'd bought, Miles rummaged through your fridge. There was garlic–thank God–and chili peppers. After grabbing those, he opened one of the cupboards and found a bottle of olive oil.

While he was painstakingly chopping veggies, he occasionally stole glances at you as you continued preparing the yams.

Your wide nose was scrunched in focus, occasionally pushing a stray box braid away from your face. Cute.

He accidentally caught your eye the next time he looked up, and you paused.

“What?”

Miles cleared his throat, “N-nothing.” 

He turned away and poured the chopped ingredients into a bowl and combined them with the olive oil. 

The smell floated its way over to you. Interest piqued, you peered over his shoulder and watched his nimble fingers expertly peel several ripe plantain bananas, before tossing them in with the chili and garlic. Miles rolled up one of his sleeves to mash everything together, muscles flexing beneath his brown skin with every turn. You noticed a tiny smile ghosting his lips.

“Yes?” He asked. 

Miles hadn't so much as glanced up at you. Was it possible that you'd been staring so hard that you had gotten his attention telepathically?

Startled, you fumbled for an excuse. “You’re uh, really good at cooking. I'm impressed.”

The corner of Miles’ mouth quirked up.

“Sure you are.”

After filling the turkey with the finished mofongo, Miles slid it into the oven where it joined the yams, and shut the door.

The sound of knives hitting cutting boards no longer filled the air, leaving behind yet another silence. And time to kill.

Miles shuffled over to the sink to wash his hands, the sound of only faucet water rushing even more maddening. You decided to break the silence this time.

“So, how’s college? My mom said you went to New Jersey to study.”

“It's alright,” he shrugged as he grabbed a paper towel to dry his hands off with. 

You crossed your arms and grinned. “You givin’ me the parent answer. How's it really going?”

Miles threw the paper towel away, and gave you a lopsided smile.

“Fine. School's kinda whooping my ass, and winter break can't come soon enough. You?”

“Same here,” you sighed, unfolding your arms to rest them on the counter. “Med school ain't for the weak. Labs every five minutes.”

“You gonna be a nurse?”

“Surgeon,” you corrected.

Miles let out a low whistle, making your chest swell with pride.

“What do you study? You look like a student athlete.”

“Whoah, what does that mean?” He laughed and raised an eyebrow.

“That's not what I meant!” You giggled, catching the joke.

“Relax, I know what you meant,” Miles leaned against the counter opposite you. “I'm a physics major, if you must know.”

You nodded thoughtfully. Your guess was way off.

“Never met a future physicist before. Usually it's business, or poli-sci, or something.”

Miles winked, “I'm full of surprises.”

The gesture made your face grow embarrassingly hot. You'd think that spending enough time on campus would make you less susceptible to the charms of pretty boys with high-top fades, but old habits die hard. Still, you held your ground.

“You use that line on every girl?”

“I came up with that just now, so no. Flattered that you think it's good enough for me to have used it before, though.”

Just as you were about to respond, your phone vibrated in your pocket. It was a text from your sister:

“Coming over in 15. Don't forget the beans like last time 💗💗💗”

“Oh shit,” Your hand flew over your mouth. “We forgot the beans!”

You darted over to the cupboard where Miles had said he put the cans of beans in. Unfortunately for you, they had been stacked onto the shelf that you could never reach, hence why it was usually empty.

You stood on the tips of your toes anyway and tried to stretch your arm as far as it could go. When that inevitably failed, you considered climbing on top of the counter when Miles’ voice stopped you.

“I'll get it.”

“Nope,” you grunted, “it's fine–”

“Seriously, it's my fault for puttin’ ‘em up there–”

You turned, the smell of chili peppers and faint cologne hitting you instantly as your eyes met his.

Miles had already reached over your head, and was currently holding a can of beans in his right hand. 

Up close, you could see rows of full, dense lashes that curled upwards and away from his eyes in ‘c’ shapes. Your eyes then fell a bit lower, where a tiny scar ran across his left cheek that made you wonder about its origins. Did he fall off of his bicycle one day? Did he fight? Would it be rude to ask about it?

Meanwhile, Miles' gaze landed on your lips. They were glossy, lined with black and another dark, brown shade. He liked the shape of them. 

Before either of you could make any drastic decisions, the doorbell snapped you out of your thoughts. 

You moved from beneath the cupboard and let Miles keep the beans.

“You can cook those,” you directed as you left the kitchen. “My sister's here.”

Miles blinked and remembered where he was. “Right.”

#miles morales x reader #miles morales x black!reader #earth 42 miles morales x reader #moralesanhour

[matan4il]

Daily update post:

Another day, another independent Palestinian terrorist attack in Israel. This time, a 64 years old man was stabbed in Jerusalem, in the northern neighborhood of Neve Yaakov. The terrorist is a 14 years old Palestinian from East Jerusalem. I honestly wish we could arrest the people radicalizing these teenagers, using them like their lives and their futures mean nothing. Technically speaking, actively recruiting a teenager to a terrorist organization IS a war crime, but as we know from the way ISIS recruits people, it's not always done in a manner straightforward enough, for someone to be arrested. In this case, there is an estimate that someone has helped this teenager, and searches for this person are currently underway.

We're five months into the war, and the IDF has arrested 250 terrorists in Khan Yunis, among them are terrorists who had participated in the Oct 7 massacre. We're talking about thousands of people who were a part of those war crimes and crimes against humanity perpetrated on that day, and I hope Israel manages to bring them all to trial, if they choose to surrender.

Israel's National Security Council has issued an official travel warning for Israelis who happen to be abroad during the month of Ramadan this year, when there is an increase in Islamist calls for violence. I know this is for Israelis, but I personally think this is a good warning for all Jews, given that most Islamist organizations target us all, and make no distinction between Israeli and non-Israeli Jews. So please, wherever you are, whatever your political views, if you're Jewish, be extra cautious this upcoming Ramadan (starts Mar 10), and please pass it on to others as well.

In ocntinuation of what I wrote yesterday, that Israeli officials believe Hamas isn't interested in a hostage deal that would include a truce, and that American ones seem to think the same, now we have sources that say that yep, that's exactly US officials' impression.

Israeli minister (and Prime Minister hopeful) Benny Gantz is in the US, and has apparently tried to explain to American officials that de-militarizing Gaza of Hamas' terrorist forces, without touching the organization's last stronghold, Rafah, is like putting out 80% of a fire, and that in such a scenario, Hamas would be able to use a truce to re-arm, keep fighting, and will overall prolong the war.

Loay Al-Shareef, a Saudi man who speaks up for peace with Israel, has to be one of the bravest people I've heard about. Here is a short vid from an interview with him, talking about how he came to know Jews, and stopped hating them:

And here's a short intro for the full interview he did (I haven't had a chance to see the whole thing yet, but I want to, so this link is for me as well), which I found very interesting:

This is 71 years old Batia Holin.

She's an amateur photographer from kibbutz Kfar Azza, who has also believed deeply in coexistence, and even managed to put together a joint photography exhibition with a Gaza photographer. Here's a part of the Facebook post she used to find a Gazan partner for this:

Out of 5 photographers who contacted her, 4 ended up backing out, which is how she ended up with the one partner she did have for the exhibit. On Oct 7, as she and her husband (Nachum) ran into the bomb shelter, she saw strange men with headbands in their courtyard, realizing these must be terrorists. Batia and Nachum were scared for their family, which also lives in southern Israel, and went for 18 hours in the bomb shelter without food and water. When the soldiers arrived, she refused to be evacuated before she would know that her daughter and two grandchildren are, too. During that day, the Gazan photographer who became not just a partner, but also a close friend, called her. Claiming that Gaza was being bombed (this was a lie, the IDF was not yet operating in Gaza, it was still fighting terrorists in southern Israel), he asked her for info on the number and position of Israeli army forces. She realized he needs this info for Hamas, and hung up. Rotem, Batia's daughter, was shot and wounded, but they were all eventually rescued.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

#israel #antisemitism #israeli #israel news #israel under attack #israel under fire #terrorism #anti terrorism #hamas #antisemitic #antisemites #jews #jew #judaism #jumblr #frumblr #jewish #israelunderattack #Youtube