#Veins Full Of Static

[trevlad-sounds]

For the birds 012

02.08.2024

For the Birds 012

This weeks episode of avian adventures has an exclusive from upcoming Veins Full Of Static album A House Wrapped in Sleep.

Intro 00:00 Go Outside-inkling 01:31 Willebrant-Mimosa 05:07 Shakali-Aihkimännyt 08:04 Synthbiont & Anassimandrus-Whispers from the City 15:49 Lunar Cambridge-Nute Gunray 22:49 Matthewdavid-3_WINDFISH 25:56 Mason Bee-Are You Ok? 27:45 Vessant-Aquifer 30:49 Time Rival-Star Mother 37:53 Glåsbird-Lokoteraina 50:52 Veins Full Of Static-Ceaseless Collapse 53:36 Outro 59:53

The Spotify playlist now has 74 found tracks from all the episodes:

[arcadequeerz]

Sometimes I wanna wildly yell about scribbles and then I get too nervous to and just sit here like:

[sugarwarachan]

summary: A city-wide blackout leads to some questionable decisions on Eraserhead's part: for four nights in a row now, Aizawa Shouta has been watching you get yourself off. Is tonight the night he joins in? pairing: aizawa shouta x reader wc: 1.7k content warnings: SMUT mdni, dark content, stalker!aizawa, stalking, voyeurism, dubcon, power imbalance (pro hero/civilian, ya know) voice kink, dirty talk, aizawa's big dick, truly don't know if his quirk helps him see in the dark but i don't care

The watching starts before Aizawa knows how to stop it.

One minute, he’s on patrol during the worst blackout the city’s ever seen; the next, he’s looking into your room and watching you get undressed.

You stopped him dead in his tracks, all plush curves and soft skin, almost otherworldly in the cool blue dark. Maybe that’s why he stayed that first time, frozen on the ledge of a neighboring building, watching you writhe and whimper on a purple dildo.

He has no excuse for why he returns the second and the third night, only that he's hungry for more, that the cover of dark in a still imperiled city is making it easier for him to accept the dark desire churning in his veins that he needs to know exactly what you sound like when you stuff yourself full.

He takes a shaky breath, cold air stinging his cheeks. Darkness blankets the city as thoroughly as gauze, a hazy film that puts anyone with eyes that aren’t his at a disadvantage.

He can see you perfectly, surrounded in your bedroom by candles and wearing those sleep shorts that hug the meat of your ass so well he has to palm his dick roughly through his pants, grunting into his fist.

You can’t see him.

Aizawa pulls out a burner phone before he can stop himself and punches in your number. Your face scrunches adorably at the unfamiliar caller, but you answer all the same.

“Hello?”

Fuck. You’ve got a voice like heaven, soft and low and sweet.

“Hi,” is all he can think to say, and he sucks in a breath when your nipples pebble under your thin cami.

You like his voice already. That’s good. He can work with that.

“Who is this?”

You’d be lying if you didn’t already have a suspicion. Just because you don’t have a quirk doesn’t mean you don’t have senses; you clocked him the first night he watched you out in that expansive dark, the gleam of something like goggles shining in the dark.

You don’t know why you kept touching yourself, why his gaze on you made your heart race instead of reach for the phone to call the cops.

Not much good they’d do anyway. They’d just send Mr. Pro Hero outside, or someone like him.

“Does it matter who I am?”

His voice is everything you like. Deep and rumbling, a little rasp raking over the syllables and zipping up your spine.

“Guess not.” You shrug one shoulder; the strap of your cami slides down. On cue, you hear the faintest inhale of air. Dude must have fucking super vision. “Why did you keep coming back?”

You almost roll your eyes at how off-route your priorities are. There’s been a man watching you fuck yourself, and you’re hung up on specifics?

“You’re beautiful,” he says, simply, like he’s rattling off stock prices, but it makes your heart stop all the same. “Why is it you’re alone?”

You can't help but laugh. “You’re not pulling the ‘you’re too pretty to be alone’ card, are you?”

He laughs, too, a soft rumble that crackles the phone with static. “So what if I am? The only action I’ve seen you get the past few days is when that toy of yours disappears between your legs.”

Arousal knocks the wind out of you. Heat flushes up your hairline.

Another low chuckle on his end. “Embarrassed, pretty girl?”

You walk up to the window, peer out into the dark night. You can’t make anything out other than shadows.

“How many times have you watched me now?”

“You don’t know? Seemed like you were putting on a show.”

His teasing tone makes your cunt clench.

“Four days now, sweetheart,” like he’s counting down your anniversary, not how often he’s spied on you masturbating. “What were you thinking about last night that had you shuddering and gasping like that? Knew I had to get your number just so I could hear you fall apart.”

This is wrong this is wrong this is wrong is blaring on repeat in your head, but that’s increasingly falling to the wayside with every word that falls out of this stranger’s mouth. Your sleep shorts slide between your folds. Blood rushes in your ears as your heart beats in your throat. You feel so turned on it’s like every cell is alight, responding to the chemical reaction that is the man on the other side of the window.

It’s cold tonight. The window sticks just like it always does when you open it up, the cool night air a balm for your arousal-drenched skin.

You don’t address him; you’re not really sure why, but you like not knowing where he is, a figure in the dark hell bent on nothing more than watching you cum.

You settle back down on your bed, crossing your legs and groaning a little. You’re damp and sticky and so turned on it’s already starting to hurt.

“I was thinking about you,” you answer honestly. "I like your voice.” Your own shakes, with a mixture of lust and fear and excitement. “Can you talk to me?”

“Of course I can talk to you.” His voice drops another octave, takes on an even more gravelly tone. Your whole body erupts in goosebumps. “What’s my pretty girl wanna hear?”

“Anything,” you say, and you mean it. This man could probably read you the directions to a microwave meal and get you off. “You can see me, right?”

“Mmhmm,” he intones.

“Then tell me how to touch myself. Like if you were here.”

Aizawa crushes the phone in his grip so tightly he hears it crack.

You’re already squirming on your bed, sitting on your fucking hands like you’re waiting for permission. His heart kicks up against his ribs, his cock jumping violently against his uniform.

“I can do that, sweetheart.”

You smile, tuck your chin into your chest like his attention is all of a sudden making you shy. He wonders if you’re doing it to tease him, or if he’s bringing it out of you. It doesn't matter either way; he's harder than he's been in his entire life.

“Lay back down on the bed for me, yeah?” You comply instantly. “Make sure I can see that gorgeous cunt, baby, don’t be hiding from me.”

Your breath hitches. You scoot forward just enough, and the flickering candlelight plays over your skin like water. His mouth dries up at the sight.

“Spread yourself open, use those pretty hands of yours.”

You part your folds, the pad of your middle finger gathering up the arousal pooling between your legs. “Jesus—fuck—look at you, gorgeous. All that just for me?”

He sees you nod.

“You gotta talk to me too, sweetheart. Use that cute mouth of yours.”

You choke out a little whine that blacks out his vision.

“S-sorry. I don’t understand how it feels so fucking good already.”

Your hips move in little circles, chasing your release.

“How many toys do you have there with you?”

“A few. Why?”

“Which is the biggest?”

You huff out a disbelieving giggle. “You’re not doing that thing where you lie about your endowments, are you?”

The grin that crosses his mouth is wild, hungry. He wasn’t planning on touching himself tonight; only wanted to tease you in the dark until he splattered the front of his pants like a teenager. But your tone is making him ignore his earlier impulses as he tugs out his cock and snaps a photo of it, hard and heavy and leaking in his palm.

He sends it.

You’re silent for a moment. He sees your legs press together before he hears—

“Fuck,” you whimper, so desperately it’s like he can see your mouth water. “I don’t—I don’t have anything as big as you.”

His cock literally jumps in his hand. Pre-cum oozes from the tip; he stuffs it back into his briefs before he can change his mind.

“You can’t tell me things like that. Makes me want to climb through your window and stuff you full with what you really need.” The muscles in his stomach bunch as he fights for composure. “Take out that purple toy of yours. It’ll be enough for now, ‘kay princesss? Don’t whine for things you can’t have.”

It’s an admonishment to himself, too.

“Don’t turn it on just yet. Get it all nice and wet, pretty girl, I know you’re fucking dripping.”

You follow instructions in a way that soothes the miasma of thoughts in his head. Here the world makes sense again. Here he can do good.

“Can I know your name?” You pant. He watches you trace small caresses across your belly, the soft undersides of your tits.

God, he wants his teeth on you, devouring you whole.

Against his better judgement, he tells you. “Sho is fine.”

“Okay. Sho,” you breathe it out in an overdrawn sexy drawl, but fuck, even his shortened name is enough to make that low-belly punch of arousal spike.

“Inch that toy in nice and slow, honey, go on now, stop being a tease.” He watches the tip start to part you open, your ragged gasp harsh in his ear. “If I was there, we’d be stretching out your little cunt for hours, make sure you’re ready for me. I could probably sit you on just the tip of my dick and make you cum. Isn't that right, sweetheart? You're fucking shaking and I haven't even touched you—”

“Sho,” you’re pleading, and it’s making his head fucking spin. “Can I turn it on, please? Let me turn it on—”

“Of course you can, baby, that’s it, look at you.” Your legs are spread obscenely, arousal dripping from your hole, glistening on your thighs and core. “Show me you how you like it, sweet girl, show me how you want me to fuck you next time, yeah?”

Aizawa feels each shuddering gasp and keening moan like you’re there beside him. Your orgasm overtakes you, back bowing off the bed, his name like a prayer on your lips. His hips jerk as he watches you, one hand tight on the phone, the other pressing against the pulsing-hot ache of his cock as he ruts into his palm.

His phone pings a moment later as he's catching his breath, a too-dark picture of the mess between your thighs and a text:

[y/n]: Come back tomorrow <3

a/n: actively launching myself into outer space!!! part two!

[tovibeornottovibe]

Before Someone Misses You

Eris Vanserra x Healer!Fem!OC

As a result of his father's heavy-handed parenting style, Eris is mere moments away from death. He can't think straight; the faebane and the blood loss is making him delirious. With what little strength he has, he winnows to Cleo's backdoor and practically collapses into her arms. Unfortunately for him, his usual restraint is severely impeded and yeah, he's so fucking in love with her, even if he can't admit it to himself. [4k words]

warnings: implied/referenced torture, swearing, implied sexual situations, mentioned Beron Vanserra (yuck)

Prefer to read on Ao3?

part 2 here!

“Eris, Eris, you need to breathe. Just look at me, okay?”

He’s trying. Really, really trying. His eyes don’t seem to want to stay open, his head feels full, heavy, and his saliva is thick in his mouth like molasses; he can’t swallow it. He can’t tell if he’s going to throw up or pass out. All he knows is that he’s bleeding on Cleo’s floor and leaving a gory trail behind him as she props him up and leads him to her sofa. And now he’s bleeding on her sofa too.

Shame. The cream-coloured cushions suited her living room so well.

Eris is vaguely aware that she’s positioning him so she can get access to all of the lacerations across his torso, and that her dog is sitting patiently beside him, out of the way but close enough, worrying after him. He winces when she grips his chin and moves his head, lets out a ragged, wet breath when he tries to shift.

“Don’t move,” she says. He figures she talks like this with the fae she treats on the daily. Very to the point, but with a touch of tenderness. Delirium has hit him so hard that he manages to convince himself that she might actually save said tenderness just for him. Well, it’s a nice thought to go out with if this does turn out to be his last day alive. Ah, and he still had so much more to do. 

“You need to stay awake. Can you do that for me?”

Cleo has a soothing voice. It’s rich and has none of that sycophantic tartness that the females of his own court tout at every opportunity. When she berates him for not taking care of himself—namely, for not seeing a damn healer immediately, for the love of the fucking Mother—she might as well be singing a lullaby…

“Please, Eris.”

He hums what he thinks might be some kind of response and makes the effort to open his eyes. Sometime between him falling into her arms and him falling onto her sofa, she had removed his shirt and started cleaning his wounds. They’re mostly cuts from a knife, but it’s the faebane making him feel so fuzzy. He can feel how his magic putters out in his veins. Courtesy of his father. Something, something, researching the effects of high dosages. What little he had managed to regain in the hours between being dumped in his rooms and now had been used up winnowing to Cleo’s doorstep at daybreak. The Dawn Court is further away than he thought and it had felt like wading through mud.

Usually, her cleaning him up hurts. The alcohol she uses burns but it’s effective and the blinding sting helps keep him focused. This doesn’t even register. He can’t feel where she’s pressing the cotton to his skin. Can’t feel where she’s holding him down to keep him from thrashing. Doesn’t even know if he’s capable of thrashing.

The dark waves of her hair fall over her face and she uses her bloodied hands to brush it out of the way. She hasn’t had it cut for a while and the length suits her. It probably reaches her mid-back now.

“What did he give you?” she asks, that slight tenderness hidden beneath a roiling, constrained kind of anger which makes him equally pleased and sickened. If it were anyone else, them seeing him in this state would have been mortifying, worthy of threats and promises never to tell a soul, but it’s Cleo, so it’s fine.

Eris attempts to form the word faebane, but his lips won’t do what he tells them and his teeth are suspiciously static. Whatever he chokes out registers with her, and she leaves him for a moment, presumably to dig through the cupboard under the sink where she keeps miscellaneous substances like selenium solution. Keenly, he feels her absence. He closes his eyes.

This is a quaint, little middle-of-a-terrace house in a quiet part of Thesan’s city, mostly untouched by Amarantha. Small, but comfortable. A kitchen made for no more than three, a dining table with tasteful chairs, a clean living room, artfully furnished and perfect for her. Though he has never been upstairs, he imagines her bedroom is similarly decorated with classy, understated furniture. There’s a patch of a back garden where she grows herbs and her dog, Dartagnan, can bound about in the sunshine. Here, even he can see the benefit of seasons. He’d go as far to say it's idyllic. 

Perhaps she’ll construct a funeral pyre for him somewhere nearby. Dart will find sticks for her to add to the pile. The birds will sing while his body burns. It could be worse. He could be at home.

Nudging at his hand which hangs off the sofa limply—his muscles aren’t doing much for him at the current moment—has his head lolling to the side and his eyes fluttering back open again. Dart is sniffing at the blood on his forearm. He slowly pats him on the head, running his fingers through his fur, and even in his state, he can hear his tail start to swish against the floor.

Dart makes for a good distraction, and Eris stays awake until Cleo returns and kneels at his side. 

“Am I going to have to force this down your gullet?” she asks, though a response doesn’t come to mind. Anything she says right now feels like coming in from the cold and sitting in front of the hearth. “Fuck, okay, fine.”

She pulls his jaw and opens his mouth and he lets her. One of these days, she’ll cup his face and it won’t be to pour medicine down his throat. Even when she’s treating him, particularly if it’s his face that needs healing and she gets so close to him that he can feel her breath against his neck, he thinks about whether or not she’d let him seduce her. Eris knows she’d suit burgundy. He wonders if she knows how to dance. If not, he could teach her—ack!  

As soon as the foul-tasting antidote hits his tongue, he feels his magic begin to purge the faebane from his veins, burning it out of his system, and for the first time since yesterday afternoon, he can breathe properly. He lets out a sharp sigh which catches in his throat. He flexes his hands, bends his knees, the feeling coming back to them, and manages to sit himself up despite the stinging of his wounds. At that, Cleo’s relief becomes evident on her face and she sits back on her calves, looking up at him. Dart, visibly brightening from Eris’ movement, rests his chin on the sofa cushion and nudges his side again. He goes back to fussing him.

“If you had left it another hour, you would be dead. You understand that, right?”

For a moment, he pauses. His imminent death isn’t even top five on his list of things to worry about.

He flicks his attention to her, and her short-lived relief has been replaced by a quiet, seething kind of rage which somehow makes him feel guilty. It’s not something he’s used to and he decides that he fervently hates it. Cleo is so open with her emotions. She has no mask. No ulterior motive. She just is who she is. They would eat her alive in Autumn, but here, in Dawn, it’s normal not to exploit your neighbours’ weaknesses. You wouldn’t even gain anything but a sour reputation if you tried.

“It’s a good thing I came when I did then, isn’t it?” he says without any of his usual sneer. She would kick him out of her house. Has kicked him out, on more than one occasion, for being an asshole.

“Yes, very good,” she spits, pushing herself up, gathering the bloodied rags littered across the sofa. “You need to get inoculated if your father is going to keep poisoning you.”

He can’t do that and she knows it in the same way she knows not to heal his wounds, only to stop them bleeding or getting an infection, because his father likes to see the results of his handiwork. She’s smart enough to have worked that out without him needing to tell her. She’s smart enough to be able to do a lot of things and he wishes he could steal her away for himself, kids himself that he wants her only for her mind. If only he could convince her that she’s wasted here, but even he knows that she isn’t. Cleo does good work. Cleo helps people. Cleo is far too good a person to be in his consistent company.

“I doubt he’d use the same poison twice,” he says. Dart huffs at him as he swings his legs over the edge of the sofa, almost relishing the subsiding ache in his joints. He leans back against the cushions while she cleans her equipment with a flick of the wrist and sends him a glare. 

“One of these days, he’s going to kill you,” she says gently, like she was breaking some bad news he wasn’t already aware of. She perches in front of him on the coffee table and tilts her head, assessing the way he moved in case she needed to heal some unseen injury. Internal bleeding is a favourite of his father’s. “Or else you’re going to die on my sofa and trust me when I say that will be a difficult one to explain to the guards.”

“Shall I provide you with a note to let them know it isn’t your fault?” he drawls, but it’s tinged with something sincere. All of this frank discussion makes Eris uncomfortable. The idea that she might actually be upset if he died sits uneasily in his chest and makes his stomach flip. 

Dart hops up on the sofa, which he isn’t allowed to do, and rests his head in Eris’ lap. When Eris scratches behind his ears, his tail starts again. His smokehounds would eat him alive too. Or else protect him within an inch of each of their lives. Softie.

Cleo drags a hand through her hair, pulling at the tangles she finds. In turn, he shakes the thought that, even when she’s worried, annoyed, angry, she is incontestably beautiful. These are unhelpful things for him to spend his time on. He shouldn’t even be sitting here. He should have already winnowed back to the Autumn Court. Should be preparing to make a miraculous appearance at breakfast and scare his father into thinking that he can truly recover by himself. Should be attempting to reassure his mother that no, he really is fine, no need for concern. Alas, he’s here, lavishing her dog with attention and ignoring the fact that he likes the smell of her living room now that the coppery tang of blood has been cleared away with her magic. 

Eris Vanserra considers himself to be many things, but a fool isn’t one of them. Perhaps he should start reevaluating.

She winces when he shifts and it pains him. “You don’t need me to lecture you,” she says, “but for the love of the Mother, Eris—”

“—see a healer immediately. Yes. I know,” he finishes for her. 

With the haze of the faebane gone, his body recuperating however much blood he lost, he can look at her, really look at her. The tan of her skin seems a little deeper compared with the last time he was here. The definition in her muscles is just a bit more pronounced. She wears a frown which he wants to wipe off her face, and a matching set of a pale green vest and pair of shorts which reveals so much skin he reasons that she simply cannot be meaning to wear that in public. In Autumn, just the fit of her shorts around her waist would be indecent, let alone the cut of the vest. Truly, Dawn Court fashion confounds him.

“You’re in your pyjamas,” he says. He needs the normality of a conversation before he can steel himself to go home.

She raises a brow at him and he takes that as a victory. No more of that frown. “You’re shirtless.”

His state of undress suddenly becomes very, very apparent to him. It’s so pleasantly warm in here that it doesn’t make too much difference to him. It must be summer in the Solar Courts. “I take it my shirt is thoroughly ruined?”

She shrugs. “I’m told ‘tattered and bloodied’ is very in at the moment.Torture-chic.”

He huffs a laugh despite himself; Cleo has that kind of morbid, absurdist humour which appeals to him. It probably has something to do with the fact she deals with dying fae every day.

“Do you want another one or are you planning on scandalising your servants?”

“Firstly,” he says, emphasizing his point by putting up a finger, “they’re maids.” She rolls her eyes as if to say, like that makes any difference. “Secondly, I don’t think any of your shirts will fit.”

The corners of her lips tip up into a ghost of a smile. “Ah. Hang on.” She stands and Dart promptly does the same, meaning to follow her around like a lost puppy as usual. Eris, for just a second before he gets a hold of himself, misses the comfort. In his absence, his cuts start to throb. Cleo calls that the placebo effect and it is infuriating that he’s susceptible to it (“Everyone is, Eris. That’s why they did research on it. If it was only the case in insufferable, idiotic, half-dead—” “Okay, enough. No need to injure me further.” ). She stretches and he averts his eyes from where her vest rides up and shows her midriff. “I’ll be back in a mo’,” she says.

And she disappears upstairs, Dart padding after her. Unequivocally, he does not watch her go, busies himself with taking in the full-extent of what his father subjected him to. It’s not a pretty sight, and though Cleo cleaned him up as much as she could, he’s going to gain some more fairly unpleasant scars. By his guess, it’s going to take a week, maybe more, for these to heal. It was either him or Caelan, and he somewhat finds Caelan tolerable, so he took the knife for him. He had better remember that when the time comes, he thinks.

Though Cleo knows far, far too much to be safe, she doesn’t know anything about his plans to overthrow Beron, and she certainly doesn’t know it’s mere months away. With the coming Autumn equinox, he will crown himself High Lord. Dramatic intent never hurt. After that, he can visit her any time he likes. Maybe she could even come to him…

Cauldron, he’s fucked, isn’t he?

This is all for afterwards. He can’t think like this now. Not when his freedom is so close he can almost taste it and one wrong move will spell not just his death but those of everyone who is counting on him to depose his father. Every spy, every guard in his employ, every maid, cook, and gardener who warn him of his father’s whereabouts and look after his mother when he can’t. Every damned faerie in his damned Court who are sick of Beron’s rule. And Cleo. They’ll probably come for her too for daring to be kind to him all those years ago. 

So, failure isn’t an option.

Eris is broken from his reverie by a white shirt hitting him in the face. He might hate himself for noticing, but it smells like her: freesias and ginger. It is concerning that he has that piece of information tucked away in his brain somewhere. 

He pulls the shirt off his head and glares at her while Dart settles himself next to him. She shoots him the kind of smile that would make his heartbeat dangerously fast if he had the blood to spare. Just as he’s about to pull the shirt over his chest, he hesitates, because this is another male’s shirt. He swears if Cleo has some horribly charming and horrendously attractive partner/lover/whatever else in her life he is going to—

“Relax,” she says, drawing out the word. “It’s my brother’s. He left it here a couple of months ago.”

Damn her for reading him so well. 

Damn himself for being so obvious. And damn the Mother Herself for making him feel so happy about it. He’s the Heir to the Autumn Court and a general threat to anyone stupid enough to cross him—it’s a wonder no sentry of Thesan’s has picked up his presence in the Court—he cannot and will not carve out time in his day to feel content. 

Instead, he starts doing up the buttons and stands, maybe just a little too close to her to be friendly. The slight height advantage he has makes it so she has to look up at him. He enjoys the angle more than he cares to admit. 

“You shouldn’t go around telling members of other Courts when Thesan’s council members sleep on their sisters’ sofas,” he says, working out the roughness in his voice. 

“Why?” she laughs, then she gasps. “Don’t tell me you’re planning on kidnapping my brother and holding him for ransom.”

Eris leaves the top two buttons of the shirt undone. “I hadn’t been,” he says, “but now that you mention it…”

“He’s always wanted to see the Autumn Court, you know.”

“Yes, he’ll get a splendid view from a dungeon cell.”

“You had better give him the finest rags money can buy.”

“They’re all woven from the finest jute, I assure you. The rats who chew the holes have three square meals a day and the shackles are covered in the most exquisite rust that only severely cuts into the skin.”

“Excellent,” she says. “I’ll be sure to tell him you have a surprise for him next time I see him.”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

Frankly, Cleo’s brother is a prick, so, if she wanted him put in a dungeon, he would do it for her. Not that he’s offered. Yet.

She lets out a little chuckle and some kind of irresistible impulse wracks through him. 

They’re so close he can see the flecks of green in the blue of her eyes.

If he doesn’t leave soon he’s going to do something stupid like leaning down and kissing her. Then, if he got that far, he might do something even worse like slipping his hand under that fucking vest and finally, finally finding out what she feels like, tastes like, sounds like if… No. So what if he finds her attractive? So what if he hasn’t had a dalliance in years because he can’t stomach the thought of it? It won’t matter if his father kills him or scents her in his hair and goes to great lengths to find her and make him suffer for opening himself up, for being weak.

He tamps down every lingering, heated thought his brain bombards him with and tightens the defenses Cleo so easily pulls down every time he sees her.

“I should return before anyone notices I’m gone,” he says, but he doesn’t quite reach his desired level of harshness. In fact, he almost sounds disappointed.

It irks him that he can’t tell if Cleo feels the same. Instead of perhaps confessing her undying love for him, or calling him some profane name he’s never thought to imagine, she slips past him, straight to the backdoor which leads out to her garden, and gestures outside. “After all this time,” she says, “you’d think you’d know where the door is.” When she opens it, the songs of early-morning birds float through.

The walk feels too short, and he’s finding himself on the threshold of the house far too soon. 

Eris takes a deep breath, inhales the pleasant scent of mid-summer in the Dawn Court, of the flowers which border the back wall of her house and the wisteria tree which hangs over the brick separating the garden from the alleyway in cascading violet. 

He turns back. Slightly. Doesn’t fully turn his body. Their eyes meet.

“Thank you,” he says. Any other words die on his silver tongue. 

Cleo leans against the doorframe. For a moment, she flicks her gaze to the garden, then back to him. She swallows. “You know you don’t have to thank me, Eris,” she says softly, then she smiles again. “Just bring a good bottle of wine next time maybe?”

“You say that like I plan on these visits.”

She exhales a laugh and crosses her arms. “You know what I mean. Now, go, before someone misses you.”

Right. 

Mask on. He wears his ego like armour and his arrogance is sharp like the finest blade in his repertoire. Anyone who makes the mistake of being in his way, of impeding his progress, meets the business end of his endless influence, and no one will find the skeletons in his closet unless he wants them to. He takes what he wants and makes no apologies. He’s a Vanserra; blessed by the Mother with fire and the coppery hair to prove it; he’s born to scheme and lie and cheat his way to the top; he’s built for blood, to betray, betray, betray until he gets what he—

“Eris.”

 Cleo’s hand wraps around his arm before he can take a step. 

This is… they don’t do this. There’s rules for touching each other within the exclusive context of making sure he survives the night. On her sofa, there are no boundaries. Cleo does what she needs to and he lets her because he knows what’s good for him and she’s terrifying when she’s disobeyed. But, this, her hand, on his arm, stopping him, this is stepping over the line. The heat of her seeps through the shirt and it takes a lot of effort not to shiver from the contact.

“I meant what I said,” she continues, her touch lightening a fraction. “Be careful.” He opens his mouth, but she cuts him off. “Promise me you won’t get yourself killed.”

Oh.

Someday, not today, but sometime in the near future, she’s going to say something like that and he’s going to kiss her senseless. For now, he’s settling for her hand on his arm. 

So much for taking what he wants.

“Do you truly think I’m stupid enough to—?”

She narrows her eyes at him and he shuts his mouth. He shuts his eyes like the idea physically pains him.

“You really want me to promise, don’t you?” he asks.

“Yes.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs a long, heavy breath. Composes himself.

“I promise you,” he says, leaning toward her slightly, his voice low, “I won’t get myself killed. Happy?”

Whatever she searches for on his face, she seems to find. Satisfied, she lets go of him. The lack of pressure around his bicep feels wrong.

“Very,” she says. “Okay. Go.” A nod to the little wooden door that leads to the alleyway and out of the wards which surround the house. “And take pain tonics if it gets too much. I don’t care if they’re illegal in Autumn. That’s a shit law and you should repeal it.”

He plans to.

They don’t say goodbye. They never do. Some traditions will never change. There’s too much finality in the word, and they settle for no farewell at all, like the next time they see each other will simply be a continuation of the previous meeting. On-going. A constant in the background. 

With every step, he rebuilds his mask. By the time he’s home, it’ll feel normal again. Like second nature.

Even as he enters the alley, Eris doesn’t look back. Still, he knows she’s watching him go, and she won’t go back inside until she’s sure he’s winnowed away. 

a/n: am i potentially going to make this a series of one-shots? maybe

[lvmimis]

ember - izuku x reader

cw: spoilers to the end of the manga. reader with vaguely described quirk. izuku and reader are married. short and sweet. a/n: establishing my own new canon, tyvm.

On an evening out in September, six months after you tie the knot with Izuku Midoriya and three years after Izuku returns to active Pro Hero duty, you find out three crucial things about him.

One, Izuku meant it when he said he loves you possibly more than life itself; two, Izuku might not have lost all of the embers of One for All, after all, and three, Izuku is a fucking idiot.

Your body feels unbelievably rigid as though you were in a car accident, and in a way, you were, and your guts should be strewn all over this sparsely populated street if not for the fact that you’re wrapped up, safe, cocooned in your lover’s protective hold, his back curved over yours, and the truck that should have crushed you both instead is partially crumpled itself at its front end, metal twisting around Izuku’s raised forearm. The two of you are panting heavily, the adrenaline coursing through your veins giving you the sensation of having just run a marathon, and he’s looking at you with frantic eyes, scanning you for safety. That long familiar green spark in the air surges around him like electricity, the glow in his green eyes, fading quickly.

“Are you okay?” he asks, breathlessly, not out of exertion but out of shock.

“I-Izuku, you’re not…”

He still hasn’t realized what has just happened, focusing on the fact that you’re alive and okay and didn’t turn into roadkill right in front of his very eyes. Unwedging his somehow intact forearm from the grille of the truck, he turns his body completely to you, rubbing his hands over your shoulders and down your arms, and helps you rise to your feet. The static feeling emanating from him slips away second by second and your lips wobbles as you’re at a loss for words.

“Are you okay?” he repeats again. He’s patting you over quickly, looking for broken bones, bruised skin, and your mind is still racing, computing what just happened and why you’re still alive.

He shouldn’t have been able to cross that distance so quickly - you were just waving to him from across the street, the road clear when you looked before crossing, and in seconds the vehicle had barreled at full speed out of nowhere; he couldn’t have moved before screaming your name fast enough, maybe years ago when you were both teenagers with impossible superpowers but not now, years later with superhuman gifts dwindled to nothing. 

He couldn’t have, but he did. 

“I-Izuku, the suit… you’re not wearing your suit,” your voice carries shakily, and as you see his eyebrows unscrunch and raise instead in surprise, he turns, and sees the stopped vehicle, the broken glass and distorted metal, a man hurriedly jumping out of the passenger seat and shakily apologizing, and finally his torn jacket sleeve and it occurs to him.

“Oh, fuck, I’m not.”

—

You watch Mei type on her computer, not bothering to try to decipher her thoughts from her facial expressions, knowing full well that she’s never been readable before. Even years after high school you find that this continues to be true, but the blank but friendly and entranced look on her face is somehow pleasant the more you think about it, and you let yourself let out the breath you’ve been holding.

It’s been just a few weeks since the night Izuku’s Quirk - at least some of it - flickered back into life for the first time, and after you’d berated him for using his literal body to shield you from a danger that could have killed you both, you’d taken the time that evening to use your own Quirk to see if something about his body had gone haywire. To both of your surprises, you’d gotten a flicker of something similar to the old him, but unsure and unwilling to get either of your hopes up, you’d decided to consult with Mei and other experts who worked with Quirk pathophysiology and augmentation (a few of which you’d taken courses with yourself years ago), and now you were back in Mei’s laboratory, trying to see if you could get to the bottom of this.

Since then, the following strange things had happened:

You’d dropped a plate and Izuku had dove for it, the wisp of a Blackwhip tendril just brushing it before it ultimately crashed to the ground, the two of you too stunned to speak.

A group of Izuku’s students heckled him as he leaned in to accept your kiss outside UA, and all of you ended up in a purple haze before you knew it.

Izuku’s midday nap on the couch found him face to face with the ceiling when you finally discovered him, and

A sudden unintentional use of Fa Jin made things very interesting in bed.

“I guess my baby’s doing a better job than I thought it would!” Mei grins. You hunch over her screen, while Izuku’s too hooked up to a tangle of wires to get a good view of the screen himself, and she compares Quirk levels from the beginning of the suit’s conception to now, a previously long-standing flat graph with a steadily rising bump. 

“A miracle,” you whisper under your breath.

“I find that personally offensive.” Mei replies, her facial expression lacking the cheek to compare to her statement as she watches Izuku watch you from behind the glass. She presses a button on the intercom; Izuku grins at you while Mei gives him the instructions to try to activate Blackwhip one more time, and you can feel warmed all the way through. 

—

Slowly but surely, over time, the Quirk levels start to recover, and you, Izuku and Mei try your best to keep it under wraps.

Of course, Katsuki finds out with direct questioning, the purple haze event showing up on an anonymous internet forum propelling him to show up at your doorstep and demand personally that Izuku tell him if he got his quirks back or not.

“We’re not sure how permanent this is, Kacchan,” he offers. Katsuki might as well spit on the ground before him in protest but you’re seated in the living room, and even Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight has enough decorum to not make a mess in someone else’s home.

“Don’t fucking lie to me, Midoriya!”

“It’s not a lie!” Izuku insists, and he turns his gaze to you for backup which you swiftly provide.

“Listen, we’re not sure yet, and they’ll probably never get back to normal, but he’s doing his best.” Katsuki grimaces, which annoys you further.

“You’ll get your damn rematch, be patient.” you add, rolling your eyes. Katsuki leers, and his partner pats him on the shoulder.

“He’s just excited,” she translates for him, and Katsuki mumbles something about not needing her for translation every time which doesn’t waver her smile one bit.

“Excited to get his ass beat,” you murmur, reaching over to pour her some more tea. Izuku and Katsuki both stare at you, Izuku with nervous concern and Katsuki with irritation, and just like old days, you and Katsuki’s arguing match begins anew. 

—

As the two of you brush your teeth and prepare for bed, you do your nightly routine of checking how strong Izuku's reawakened Quirk is with your hand on his chest, and he presses his free hand over yours.

“You know, my favorite part of this is you’ll finally start to worry less.” He chuckles and squeezes your hand gently.

You let the water run and clear spittle from the sink, and gargle before you answer, your hand still captive by his, then look at him.

“To be honest, I’ll never stop worrying about you, Izuku. Even if you become God.”

But you understand what he means. You’ve had many a nightmare about suit malfunction, only a few of these you’ve shared with him, among other things that have to do with being a Pro Hero in the capacity he insists to be in. This is a small help. 

A small bit of providence.

He expected this answer, lips pulling into a smile as he takes your hand fully and pulls the fingertips to his lips to kiss them. 

“I’m glad that won’t change,” he replies.

Moments later, you’re laid in bed together, and as you both muse on the potentially altering future in quiet, love-flushed cheeks and hands intertwined, he turns to you suddenly.

“There’s one thing I’m still missing,” he says.

Your eyes refocus to him. He’s pensive now, not sad or upset, but thoughtful. You move closer to kiss him on the lips once before nodding for him to continue.

“What are you missing?”

“Danger Sense,” he says.

“But everything else is back,” you reply. He nods, letting his arm drape around your waist.

“Yeah, but I think I liked that one the most.”

You snort lightly. “Not being able to lift a train, or fly, but 'Super Anxiety' was your favorite?”

You’re making light of the issue to keep the mood from getting too heavy, but he frowns, and you frown back, apologetically. 

“Well, ‘Super Anxiety’ made it so that I knew when bad things were about to happen, and often these bad things could involve you.”

He has the tiniest scrunch to his eyebrows, one that in another situation would have compelled you to rub out with your fingertips, but now is not the time to be playful.

You twist your mouth to the side and a few more moments pass between you, before you add:

“I don’t think you need it, though.”

He raises an eyebrow, and you press a kiss to his forehead.

“All this came back because you wanted to protect me,” you remind him. “You moved without thinking, for me, as always, like you knew I needed you. That's better than Danger Sense by far.”

His face softens as he cups yours in his hands. You're thankful that you've reached him.

“Always for you,” he says.

Even if this miracle is transient and despite your best efforts, his quirk levels fall back to normal instead of steadily growing, the love he has for you, and the love you have for him, will never, ever burn out.

[delirious-donna]

tw: cockwarming and edging with one Satoru Gojo 😏

A warm hand spread your thighs further part, the slightest hint of rough edges gracing his fingertips. Such long graceful fingers and they looked especially skilful as they toyed with your shivering sensitive skin. His knuckles rolled in tandem, the joints shifting when you provide just that little resistance, having to use slightly more force to have you wide and vulnerable.

Nothing escapes that man’s attention, and the way your legs had been inching closed was halted by the warm palm on your bare flesh. Satoru kneaded, clearly enjoying the little indentations made into your yielding softness. A subtle mark of claim that only he would see, but even fully clothed, he would know they were there.

"You think I don't notice, baby?" he murmured in your ear. Satoru’s warm breath sent shivers skittering across your dewy sweat-slicked skin, lips chasing the sensation until they smacked wet against your jaw.

You had lost track of how long you had been sat here like this, impaled to the hilt on his cock. Every muscle strained for movement, ready for the pleasure only he could deliver. He was testing you—teasing you. You both loved and hated it; loved how full you felt, stuffed completely with that deliciously curved and girthy dick, but hated the absence of repeated friction and the static limbo you were imprisoned in.

Absently, you wondered if he was waiting to see if you would beg, and honestly, it wasn’t above you at this point. The feel of every ridge and vein shaping your cunt had you clenching, your body already pleading for more, betraying you.

“S-Satoru,” you whined, practically throwing your back head against his strong shoulder—a shoulder that was still clothed, unlike yours, much to your embarrassment.

The snowy-haired man at your back was still fully dressed, except for his cock that escaped through his lowered zip. You, on the other hand, had been stripped of your pretty new sundress the moment he laid his eyes on you.

“Uh-oh… using my full name? Am I in trouble, baby? Call me ‘toru, you know how much I prefer it from your sweet lips.”

Satoru ghosted his mouth over your pulse, sweeping across your shoulder. His hands touching and pawing at your sides and the bare expanse of your front. Everything was done with as little movement as possible, almost lazy strokes and pinches of your nipples, but you could feel the energy vibrating inside him even if he wasn’t keen on showing his hand quite yet.

He gifted you one—precisely one—circle of his hips and you near exploded. A hand flew to delve deep into his white locks as the knuckles of the other hand turned white with how tightly you gripped at his forearm. It almost felt like you could sense his heartbeat throbbing through his dick, twitching in an annoyingly erratic rhythm and causing your cunt to clench tighter and tighter.

“Please ‘toru, want you to fuck me! Please… please.”

He hummed softly; the weight of his celestial eyes seared into your soul despite how little you could see from your position on his lap. The menace, who you called your boyfriend, picked up his phone that lay idly on the couch cushions with an over-exaggerated sigh.

“If you can make it through my phone call with Nanamin without moving, I’ll give you everything you want and more.”

You could scream. Frustration welled up in your chest enough that you wanted to pound your fists on his chest, but goddammit you wanted to be good for him. His good girl… the one that was capable of making his breath catch in his throat when you walked in the room.

The meek nod you gave pleased him as his answering quiet chuckle brushed against your nerves.

“That’s my good girl, now—sit still.”

[mytheoristavenue]

MHA Mezo Shoji x Reader 🍋 - Make Believe - VIII

Summary: You ask Shoji to pretend to be your boyfriend for a dinner with your parents.

Warnings: language, slightly OOF, virgin!Shojix virgin!reader, fem!reader, oral (both receiving), 69ing, use of his quirk, cum eating, dirty talk, full nelson, corruption kink, perv!shoji, unprotected sex, p in v

"Shhhh...." Shoji's voice was low and gruff and you couldn't be entirely sure where it came from if you were honest. Not that you cared. Fingers slipped past your kiss-swollen lips, pinching your tongue between as a form of teasing. "Hush baby, you'll wake your parents up."

The snide remark typically would have had you slapping his arm but you were in no such position now, currently perched atop his face, hips grinding desperately as his tongue worked your nerves. You were an utter mess, stringing together loud attempts on his name that almost always came out mispronounced. "M-Meh-heh-zoh-hoh!"

"Try again, sweetheart," He encouraged, a hand kneading your breast, pinching the nipple and rolling it between his fingers. "Mezo."

"M-Meh-!" You tried. "Hah, ahhh!" You melted, slurring your speech as you felt his tongue breach, slithering inside you as a disembodied pair of lips laughed in your face.

"So close, try again." He mocked, peppering kisses on your sweaty, drooly face.

"C-Can't!" you sobbed, stumbling forward, locked in place by his arms around your thighs.

"Can't never could do a damn thing," he replied, kisses trailing down your throat.

"P-Please, Meh-zo..." you finally choked out. "C-Can't take it anymore!"

"That's my girl," he purred beneath you, heart swelling with pride as you finally said his name, somewhat properly. "Knew you could do it, baby, such a good fucking girl."

"T-Thank you..." you heaved, on the verge of creaming just over his praise alone. "F-Feels so good!" You crooned, dragging your pelvis along his chin.

"Oh, I know it does, baby." Shoji cooed, thumb tracing circles on your hip. "I bet this little cunt just aches to be licked-! F-Fuck!" You put his big talk to rest with one ghostly touch to his tip, still concealed by your brother's old pajama bottoms. "B-Baby, careful there,"

"W-Wanna touch you too..." you pout, dazed and lovesick, only thinking of giving him pleasure in return.

"No need, baby, I feel good just knowing you feel good." He reassured the thought of gaining pleasure without giving it foreign to him. Deciding his answer wasn't good enough for you, you suddenly wiggled free of his grasp, taking advantage of his distraction.

Laying your tummy, and his, you nuzzled his bulge, flustering him so much, you'd think his face wasn't just buried in your pussy. 'B-Baby, really you don't have to..." He said, body feeling like static under your touch. An embarrassing gasp left his lips when you suddenly yanked the hem of his pants down, his stone member springing up, giving your face a gentle slap. "Fuck..." he breathed, relieved to be free of the constriction.

Shoji's dick was massive, to say the least. Not only did it match his stature, it surpassed any fantasy you could have dreamed up. It was long, extremely thick, with a dark pink bell end, and a throbbing vein running up the side of the shaft.

He shivered when you exposed it to the cool air, and even more so when he could feel your hot breath tickling the tip. "Y-You don't have to.." he repeated against your labia, sending intoxicating vibration through your body. "Don't force yourself..."

"I want to make you feel good, Mezo..." You whispered, finding your wits as the thought of you potentially touching him distracted him from his 'meal'. "Wanna know what you taste like..."

"B-But-" You could feel him tense under you before every single one of his muscles relaxed in unison at the sensation of your slobbery tongue licking a stripe along the vein. "Ahhh..." he sighed, head hitting your pillow as he lost the stretch to keep his neck craned. "Shit..."

Shoji had always known oral would feel amazing but this- this wasn't something he could have ever anticipated. Just your breath had him nearly in tears and now you were licking him like that much-needed lollipop after a brutal dentist appointment. His breath hitched as your licks became more and more shallow and finally your lips fount his bell, devolving into a shy suckle. "Fuck, princess..." he groaned, a duplicated hand finding the base of your skull as his fingers dug into your hair.

You continued to slurp on the tip of his cock, noting how salty his pre tasted, but recognizing that it wasn't a taste you necessarily hated. Over the span of what felt like years, you began to sink further onto him, swallowing more and more of his saft as the minutes ticked by. Shoji was eating his words, this was punishment for him teasing you so harshly. You were reducing him to a drooling mess without even trying, he couldn't imagine how unpreapred he'd be if you actually did have malicious intent like he had. "Shit..." he groaned, eyes threatening to roll back as he stayed intoxicated by your musk, his face still between your thighs. "So fucking good, baby..." he cooed nonsensically.

Finally realizing the power you had over him, you sunk your mouth lower onto him. You knew you had no shot at taking his entire vascular length, but from the sound of him unravelling beneath you, you guess you wouldn't have to. "Y-You should really learn to be more kind, M-Mezo..." you finally whispered, spitting his cock out momentarily.

This was it- this was his payback. He was dead in the water. "I-I'm sorry for teasing, princess, I-!"

Before he could pray for mercy, you refused it, pushing against his shins and planting your seat firmly against his muzzle. "E-Eat it," you demanded, cheeks burning. It sounded a lot sexier in your head. "A-And you better not stop 'til I say so."

No matter how you internally cringed at your words, they ignited a fire in Shoji's belly that not even self-gratification could put out. Before, he just wanted to hear you say his name, now he was playing for keeps. "Ditto," his voice came rumbling a low against your labia as he split it with his tongue. A hand came down and planted on the back of your head, forcing it down onto him, but not harshly. You just needed a nudge.

With that, the competition was on, who gave better head? How could make the other finish faster? Who could make the other lose control first?

You really did give it your best effort, poking your tongue out so it licked the underside of his dick as your head bobbed, hollowing out your cheeks, and kissing and fondling his arousal-swollen balls, but in the end, he did you in. You were just too overstimulated from his prior work that you didn't stand a chance, especially with how the adjusted position allowed his tongue to explore you deeper, finding that special bit of spongy tissue and abusing it.

"N-No f-fair!" you shuttered, tears slipping down your cheeks as you felt your climax begin to wash over you, even trying to push up from his face to stop it. It was futile, though, as two strong arms kept your thighs locked in place. Your eyes rolled back as the forced orgasm began to take hold, rendering you nearly brain-dead as you struggled to come up with coherent speech. "M-Meh...zoh!" You wept for him, silently thankful for his gentle thumbs caressing your skin.

"'M right here, baby, fuckin' ride it out for me..." he cooed, voice muffled for obvious reasons. "So fuckin' good for me, cumming all over my face? Say it, baby." You hardly noticed as you shrunk against him, that you'd neglected his cock, or the hand that appeared to wrap it in thick, calloused fingers. "Say 'I love cumming all over your face, Mezo,'" He, pleaded sternly. "C'mon, so fuckin' close...'

"I-I love cumming all over your pretty f-face..." you repeated, shy and fucked out without even officially being fucked yet. "M-Mezo..."

There was that word again, the one that made him lose all control in the first place. 'Pretty'. The extra adjective spelled his downfall as his head fell back against your pillow again, lips dripping with the prettiest, most desperate moans you'd ever dreamed of hearing. "F-Fuck..!" He wept, breath ragged as he fucked into his fist, hips wild and legs trembling, no care for were his milky ropes landed.

You'd have to have another bath for sure, but that wasn't on your mind yet. What was on your mind was the way you felt so incredibly shy atop him, frozen as his seed rested in strings on your skin. The pearlescent substance stuck to your knuckles, seeping into the crevices of your fingers. It congealed on your tear-soaked lashes. A spatter on your cheek and connected ropes across your lips and nose made for a beautifully shiny spider web. You felt incredibly...pretty with his jizz decorating your face, and though you didn't understand it at the time, it had awakened something in you.

"S-Shit, my bad," Shoji said sheepishly, pulling back his hand and opening his palm to assess the flood, realizing his load was largely missing from his person. "D-Did I get any on you?"

You looked back at him, love sick and flushed, showing him your own hands, clear strings sitting across the gaps between your fingers as if they strung them together. "I think so..." you answered, daze.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry," he blushed, wide-eyed as he reached for your hands and frantically searched the room for anything to clean you off with. Finally, he remembered the towel on the floor and multiplied his arms until he could reach it without getting up. "Fuck, that's so gross, I'm so sorry, I-"

Nothing could have possibly prepared him for the site of you, his cum all over your face, with your fingers in your mouth licking it off. "O-Oh my God," Shoji breathed, breath hitching as post-nut clarity gave way to even more intoxicating lust. "Jesus fucking Christ, a-are you...?" He huffed, eyes now half-lidded and hungry. "Fuck, are you eating my cum, baby?"

You hadn't really thought of it that way, it just felt like the natural thing to do. "I-I guess so.." you murmured, shyly. "I-Is that weird?"

"Oh my God, no," he replied out of breath. "It's so fucking hot," He marveled. "I just have to fuck you, oh my God." It was almost embarrassing to see him fawning over you like this. He seemed so infatuated- so obsessed, chanting about how he had to have you now. "Please, princess, I need you bad, so fuckin' bad," he hissed, breath ragged as he rolled you over on your back, caging you again in his physique. "Lemme fuckin' have it, baby, please. I can't take it any more."

A small nod was all it took for him to capture you, repositioning you on his lap, back to his chest, legs held in the air by his many hands. There was no way, you thought. There was no way he was putting you in a full nelson to lose your virginity, surely not. You'd always imagined it'd be in missionary with you on your back, gazing into your lover's eyes softly as he breached. Yet here you were, doing absolutely nothing to stop him from living out his tentacle monster dreams.

"M-Mzo..." you winced as you felt his bell slide against your skin, parting you even further than the position did. "W-Will if hurt...?"

Yeah," he confessed with a love-drunk laugh. "Wish I could make it not hurt..."

You swallowed hard at his words. If he was on the giving end and even he was promising pain, you knew you were doomed. "Y-You'll stop if I say so, right?" You questioned, trying not to melt at the way him rubbing in your slick felt.

"Of course," he confirmed with bated breath.

"A-And you'll be gentle?"

"Promise," he nodded, one of his hands finding yours and hooking your pinky with his. "Ready, baby?"

With a shaky breath, you nodded as well, crying out when his tip breached. "M-Mezo!" you wailed, tears pricking your eyes. Already, onto just those swollen few centimeters, the stretch was agonizing. It crossed Shoji's mind that he probably should have fingered you first, trained your hole a bit better before stuffing his monstrous cock in, but that time was long passed. All he could do now was ease himself into you at a snail's pace, listening intently for any sign that you needed him to pull out and wait with a clenched fist to keep himself from cumming again, just by your sheer tightness alone.

"Ahh, fuck baby," he sighed, head hitting the headboard as his eyes rolled in ecstatic potential energy. "You take me so well, 'ts like you were fucking made for me..." he hissed, struggling to keep lucid as he sunk into you and bottomed out, holding oh so still to let you adjust.

You wanted to drool at his praise, but the searing pain in between your legs wouldn't allow it. You felt so incredibly full, like a balloon with too much air that pops when you try to tie it off. "So fucking tight for me, princess..." Shoji whined again. "Love the way you squeeze me so good, can't wait to fuck out this pretty little hole..."

"Mez...M-Mezo..." you heaved, head having long since fallen limp against his shoulder. His filthy pillow talk was finally beginning to melt your nerves. Though it wasn't enough to kiss the pain away, it made for a delicious distraction. "T-Talk to me..."

His muscles relaxed a bit, finding you asking for more. It let him know that, just because you weren't enjoying yourself at this moment, you wanted to give the pain time to pass, you wanted to keep going. "Do you one better," he smirked, bringing a dupli-mouth between your legs, its tongue dragging slobbery, soothing licks up your entire sex, not caring if he got a taste of his own cock- it wouldn't be the first time. Meanwhile, his true lips pepper kisses over every bit of skin they could reach, whispering sweet nothings in your ear. "My God, you're such a good fucking girl, taking my cock like this. Fuck, you've no idea how long I've waited for this. Baby, fucking you is my wildest dream come true..."

You hadn't even realized it when you began to rock your hips against his, so entranced by his words and his warm tongue easing your aching heat, you'd lost focus of the penetration almost entirely. "Atta girl..." Shoji exhaled through gritted heat, breath tickling your ear as he felt you begin to move, no matter how minuscule. "Doing okay, love?" He aksed, planting absent-minded kisses across your shoulder. "Tell me what you need, baby, I'm all yours."

"G-Go slow..." you finally consent, much to his delight.

"Anything for you, princess," he grants, shallowly rolling his hips up into yours, making sure his strokes are long, slow, and thoughtful. The exhaustion and overstimulation are almost enough to lull you to sleep, your eyes closing as if the lids were made of lead. "Shit, you're so fucking sweet, baby..." he muttered, uttering anything kind that popped into his head.

A disembodied eye slithered under his cocked knee to see between your legs, witnessing a sight that made his mouth water. Steadily, his cock disappeared within you and dragged back out, covered in a slick sheen each and every time. "Oh my God, so fuckin' pretty..." he remarked at the pornographic scene, eye occasionally glancing up to revel in your fucked out, overwhelmed expression.

To Shoji, you were a painting- one of those Renaissance ones that always depicted Greek orgies and women with soft tummies. He was Hades: dark and corrupt, and you were his Persephone: innocent and perfect and so very fertile. You were ripe for the taking and he was taking everything you had.

As is the natural progression of things, neither of you noticed much as slow and steady turned to winning the race. You were a drooling, incoherent mess, no longer even attempting words, not even his name as he bounced you on his cock, coming undone himself. He was all grunts and embarrassingly desperate sighs as he pumped into you, fingernails leaving dozens of crescent moons on your skin.

"Fucking shit baby," he hissed, face falling into your shoulder, pearly teeth finding sweet flesh to anchor to. "Oh my fucking God, gonna paint this little pussy white, I swear to fucking God, I will!" He rambled obscenely, gripping onto any bit of you he could find with all six arms for dear life.

"Please, please, please," was all you could muster, as you chanted for him to bust inside you, and to be honest, you would have let him in your stupor. "Cum inside, cum inside," you begged, feeling your second coming breach the horizon.

"You want me to fucking fill this little thing to the brim, baby?" He grunted, voice hoarse and beastly. "You wanna take all my fucking cum in this pretty cunt?" You muttered something akin to an 'Mhm!' and his speed boosted again, thrusts becoming sloppier by the second. "Fucking say it baby, fucking beg for my cum!"

"Please, Mezo, fill me up! Gimme your cum!" you wailed, magically finding speech again as your second climax hit, crashing against you so violently it left you sore and with tears streaming down your face. "F-Fuck, Mezo, I'm cumming!"

"O-Oh, fuck-!" Shoji sputtered, regaining self-control at the last possible second, lifting you off him as his cock slipped out, just in time to toss ropes into the air, twitching as it did. "Fucking shit, baby, oh fuck," He panted, voice high and needy. Exhausted, he let you back down, resting you against his chest again, ignoring the icky feeling of his jizz sliding against his skin between the two of you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, both on the brink of drifting off. Finally, he caught his breath enough to say something. "This isn't just the sex talking when I say," he paused, heaving. "I've never felt any more attraction and overwhelming love for anyone than I feel for you right now." You weren't in any shape to respond just yet, so you let him talk. "I don't want you to think I only said all that earlier because I wanted to get in your pants, I really do like you..." He confessed with surprising conviction for a man on the edge of sleep. "You mean everything to me, (Y/N) and I don't care what people say when we get home. I'd be proud for people to know we're together, I want to be with you."

Shoji continued to ramble and you just listened, heart swelling at his passion for you. "Please, give me a chance to make you happy beyond this," he finally begged, officially asking you out. "Don't send me back home with nothing to show for our time together, don't pretend this was nothing, anything but that."

"M-Mezo...I..." you hesitated, weighing the consequences of each option.

"I love you, (Y/N), and I want us to be together, achieve our goals, become heroes, grow old- together..." He said, trembling beneath you with anticipation. "Please, say you love me too, I know you do."

"I-I..." Finally, the dam broke and tears freely flowed down your cheeks. "I love you too, Mezo, I always have..." You smile weakly, glancing up and pressing a kiss to his lips. "You're intelligent, brave, strong, beautiful," you gush tiredly. "What's not to love?"

"So you'll be mine?" he asked, muscles relaxing at your confession.

"Of course I will, I never had a chance at not loving you."

[shadowbriar]

Jay Halstead — Blessing

Pairing : Jay Halstead x (she/her) Reader, Matt Casey x (she/her) bsf!Reader Word Count : 3.4k Warning : None? Just Jay being jealous. Synopsis : Matt having plumbing issues and in need of a place to stay feels like a blessing in disguise. Notes : This is my first One Chicago fic and tbh it's not my greatest, but I have to put something out there for a start. I wrote this a little out of my head, so it might not make sense on certain parts. Let me know what you think! If you like this story and would like to support me, please visit my kofi page and perhaps get me a coffee?☕

There was a soft thud heard once the duffel bag hit the floor. She was walking ahead of him, heading to the kitchen to grab the two of them a bottle of cold beer.

It’s been a while since they’ve spent some time together. Her apartment might not have changed much since he last visited, but there’s always something different the next time he comes. Like how the little fish bowl that used to occupy the coffee table is now replaced by a pot of succulents, or how she’s finally installed some key holders by the door. Little things that wouldn't catch anyone's attention, yet still gave the place something fresh to bemused for.

Life has certainly brought them on different paths, ultimately making it quite difficult to align schedules with, so Matt having plumbing issues and in need of a place to stay, feels like a blessing in disguise.

“You sure it’s okay for me to crash?” Matt asks, taking the beer with a small nod of gratitude.

“Yeah,” she answers mindlessly “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Reasons,”

She walks past him, jumping on the sofa and turning the television on without any regard to his answer, “So what should we watch first? The Godfather? Shrek? How to lose a guy in ten days?”

“Shrek, duh?” Matt answers with a scoff, taking a seat next to her “No, but seriously. Is this okay?”

“Matt, you’ve been in my life longer than I can say the word ‘pickles’. Of course it’s okay,” she eyes him in suspicion “Why are you being so weird about this?”

“I’m not, I’m just making sure things are cool,”

She shrugs, setting up their film.

It surely has been a while since they last saw each other, let alone crash into the other’s place. Her demanding job and his tight schedule have made it difficult for the two to find the time to catch up. She’s not even sure if he’s seeing anyone at the moment, but she reckons, if he does, he wouldn’t be here asking if the spare room is vacant for him to occupy, would he?

“Hey, can I ask you something personal?” Matt says again, not even a minute of silence passed between the two.

“How personal can ‘personal’ be between us?” she asks instead “I’m not answering anything related to women anatomy, if that’s what you’re going to ask,”

Matt shot her a face, “No, nothing like that, geez. I was just wondering what’s with you and that Halstead guy,”

Her head snaps to him, giving him the full attention at the mentioning of a particular name, “What, Jay? Nothing’s going on between us,”

“Yeah, right. I see him attached to your hip everytime we go to Molly’s,”

Her lips parted, about to spit something but decided to go against it. She takes a breath, trying to recollect her composure as she shrugs, “We’re just partners,”

“In what sense?”

“In the most normal sense of partnership,” she answers, resting her elbow on the headrest of the sofa “What’s with the questions? Are you playing protective big brother on me?”

“Maybe,” he answers with a gulp of his beer “So, tell me about him,”

The gears in her brain steamed, wondering for the right words to reply to such a request. What was she supposed to say? Is there even anything to say? They’re partners, in the most normal sense of partnership, as she said, but should she leave out the details of how the butterflies in her stomach exploded everytime he looks at her? Should she leave out the static jolt of electricity coursing through her veins whenever Voight paired them up? Should she leave out the bliss she feels whenever he would get a little protective of her on the field?

She knew that Matt wouldn’t mind her being a little soppy about a boy. He’s been with her through all of her ugly, cheesy relationships, afterall, but things are different with Jay. He’s not some senior she’s crushing on in the hallways back in highschool or the frat boy she met at a party in college. No, he means much more than that.

“He’s just.. someone I’m happy to be around with,”

Matt raises an eyebrow, “Elaborate,”

“What’s there to elaborate? Do you want me to confess my undying love for him, now?”

“Well, do you?” he questions with an intrigued smile “Do you love Halstead?”

“What— That was just a joke, you know that!”

“Do I?”

The warmth on her cheek was getting worse, no question that they’re red as tomatoes now. The teasing grin on Matt’s face was blooming. Cats out of the bag, and even though she knew that Matt wouldn’t do anything to jeopardise her feelings, having someone knew the secret sentiment she holds for her colleague was still a tough pill to swallow. Especially knowing that romance isn’t much endorsed within the unit.

That, and her uncertainty if the river flows both ways.

“Hey, if he makes you happy, I’m happy,” Matt comments, pulling her head to his shoulder “But, really, will he be okay with me staying? I don’t want to be the person causing you two to fight or anything. I’m not one to ruin others' relationships, okay?”

“We’re not in a relationship,” she mumbles, a slight pang of heartache tainting her chest “It’s just me, having some silly crush on him, okay? I doubt he’d care you’re staying,”

Matt shrugs, snatching the remote from her hand, “If you say so,”

—-

The frown on Jay’s face was getting deeper, creases more prominent on his forehead as he watched her, talking and laughing through the window of Matt Casey’s truck. The two have been talking for minutes now, looking as if they’re too engrossed in their conversation and have lost track of time. Any minute now she’s going to be late for her clock in and it would be unwise of him to not remind her of it.

At least, that’s the excuse he thought when he came and knocked on Matt’s window.

“Coming in?” Jay asks, not sparing a greeting to Matt “We’re almost late for clock in,”

“Right, sorry,” she answers in a surprised tone, unlocking her seatbelt before turning back to Matt “I’ll see you later, okay?”

Matt smiles at her, giving Jay a nod in acknowledgement, “Halstead,”

“Casey,” Jay replied curtly before turning his back, not waiting for her.

She looks at Matt, baffled at Jay’s peculiar demeanour, but Matt only shrugs and gives her the ‘told you so’ look.

Slightly skipping, she tries to catch up with Jay who seems to be taking the bigger stride than usual. That scowling expression plastered clearly, seemingly stuck on his face for the rest of the day. He seems to be having a rough morning. One poke and he’ll combust into flames.

“You okay?” she asks softly, her eyes lacing with worry as they enter the bullpen.

“Yeah,” he answers with an apparent grumble “Why wouldn’t I be?”

She shakes her head, shrugging, “You just look upset, that’s all.”

“I’m fine,”

She nods to herself, muttering a small ‘okay’ before heading to her own table. He glances at her, brows still furrow as if he was disapproving something she’d done, but if he said he’s fine, then he’s fine. Pestering him would only make things worse, she reckons.

—-

It was maddening. Voight hasn’t paired the two of them all day and the sour gesture Jay was giving her was not watering by the last two hours of their shift. She wanted to ask if she’s done anything wrong since such treatment seems to only be given to her. He’s got no issue laughing over Adam’s pathetic joke or listening over Alvin’s unprompted life advice, yet the moment she opens her mouth, he would busy himself with things she knows were just a front to ignore her.

“Halstead, go and see if you can get some intel about that jewellery store robbery. See if there’s any connection with the shooting we’re investigating,” Voight ordered.

“I can go with him,” she volunteers, standing from her seat “I’ve done all my reports. I’m free to go, Chief,”

Voight nods, gesturing her to leave, but the exasperated sigh Jay let out was raining on her parade. Perhaps he really needed some free space from her today.

The ride to the jewellery store was awkward, to say the least. Jay kept on sighing while the only thing she could do was to steal glances and silently pick on her nails, wondering what to say first to break the stillness. Even asking to turn the radio on feels like pulling the trigger to her head.

“So, Casey,” Jay finally starts, eyes glued to the road.

Her brows knit, surprised to hear the first word he said, “What about him?”

“You came with him this morning,”

“I did,” she answers, clearly still oblivious to the direction of this conversation “He’s staying in my apartment for a while. Some plumbing issues and what not,”

Jay nods in acknowledgement, but the same disapproving look still plastered on his face, “For how long?”

“Not sure, maybe a couple weeks,” she says with a shrug “I mean, honestly, I wouldn’t mind him moving in for good. He’s been having this issue for years and I could use a flatmate to share the tax and maintenance fee with,”

Jay frowns, “I didn’t know you were looking for a flatmate,”

“I wasn’t, but having Matt makes me think that having one wouldn’t be such a bad idea.”

He answers with a hum, still not looking at her at all.

“Hey, do we have a problem?” she asks at last “You’ve been avoiding me all day,”

“I have not,”

“Yes, you have. You won’t even look at me.”

With a sigh, pulling the gear to a neutral before turning to face her, Jay retorts, “Happy now?”

She opens her mouth, clearly unsatisfied and displeased by his bitter remark, but the word died on her tongue. She watches as Jay continues his drive, looking as if he’s trying to be collected but the stress, whatever it may be caused by, was slowly dripping out of him. He wasn’t the most level headed person in their team, sure, there’s no need to argue with that, but he was never the irrational one, either. If he was ever upset about anything, it would be of some valid excuse, and now she’s unsure if she should pry or let him be.

“Stop staring,” Jay mutters.

“I can do whatever I want, stare whoever I want,” she retorts, folding her hands to her chest “Do you have anything to say to me?”

Jay scoffs, still not looking at her, “No,”

“Good, because I don’t have anything else to say either,”

He finally glances at her, rolling his eyes once he sees the stance she was in, “You’re impossible.”

—-

One of the downfalls of being in the Intelligence Unit is one must always be ready for a call in, even when you are already tucked in and ready to drift off to slumber. Whenever Voight calls for an assembly, wherever you might be, one would have to drag their arse and go at a lightning speed. Such misfortune had befall upon her tonight.

She groans as she peels herself off of her blankets. The shooting was on the other side of town and the urgency on Voight’s voice tells her that this wouldn’t be a case that could be postponed until morning. Walking herself to the closet, she pauses as another buzz comes in her phone.

Halstead: where are you?

Halstead: I’m near your place, we can go to the scene together.

Halstead: be there in 5.

She pursed her lips, reading through his train of texts. Jay might have a little sense of authority in himself, but never in this way, never to her. The strange behaviour he’s been showing all day was appalling. Avoiding her all day, only to pick her up for their sudden call in? It’s like seeing a different man and she wasn’t sure if there’s anything she could do to bring back his usual self.

Not even five minutes later, the doorbell of her apartment rang. There was no question as to who might be on the other side of the door, but since she still has to change out of pajamas, Matt has to be the one to open the door.

“Halstead,” Matt greets in surprise “What are you doing here?”

“Picking her up,” Jay answers, standing tall and proud in front of the older man “Is she in?”

“Uh, yeah, come in,”

With a nod, Jay enters the apartment in silence. He takes a look around, trying to accept Matt’s presence that has slowly settled in her place. There were new frames that he’s never seen before, pictures of them when they were little now displayed in the living room. He examines the photos, seeing the happy smile on their young faces, looking innocent and gleeful. The two have always been close since the beginning of time, so it seems.

“Sorry, I took too long,” she says as she came out of her room, hands busy tying her hair before turning to Matt “I gotta go, Voight calls,”

Matt nods, planting a chaste kiss to her temple, “Be safe,”

“Always,” she grins like a kid before frowning as she sees the deep furrowed expression on Jay’s face “You okay?”

Jay didn’t answer, finding himself out of the apartment in haste.

“Told you,” Matt comments with slight mockery in his tone before she heads to the door “I’ll start packing now.”

“Shut up, this means nothing,” she remarks, slamming the door behind her.

—-

There was tension in the air, there’s no denying that. The grip Jay has on the steering wheel was tight, knuckles turning white from how hard he was clutching it. His jaws were tense. He was seething.

But she was tired of asking. The strange act was getting on her nerves. If she’s made any mistake, said anything that might offend him, she’s given him more than enough chances to speak, yet he remained silent and chose the petty way. If this was the game he chooses to play, then she’ll be more than willing to sign as the second player.

“You’ve done some redecorating,” Jay begins, his tone cold and accusing “Nice pictures you put there,”

She shrugs, looking out the window, “Found them as I was cleaning the spare room for Matt. Thought they deserve to see the light. We were cute back then, don’t you think?”

Jay hums, half-heartedly agreeing, “So you’ve known him for long?”

“Longer than I can remember,” she answers, not giving a single thought to his questions “What were you doing around my neighbourhood?”

“Was having some drink at the nearby pub,”

“You drank? Pull over, let me drive instead,”

“It was just a bottle of beer, I’m fine,” Jay scoffs “I didn’t even get to finish it,”

She shuts her lips tight, not bothering to argue with the fuming man, anymore.

“So, you and Casey,”

Her brows raise, turning to face him with an offended look now, “What now?”

“You and Casey,” he repeats, as if it meant any differently this time.

“What about me and Casey?”

Jay clenches his jaws, feeling the frustration to boil his blood, “You two together now?”

Her jaw hung, clearly confused at his accusation.

“He kissed you,”

“On the temple,” she argues with a tone that clearly questions his sanity “That hardly means anything,”

Jay shrugs but the hardened expression on his face was still etched.

“You know, you’re acting really weird,” she comments, her tone thick of exasperation “You’ve been avoiding me, giving me the cold shoulders the whole day, but everytime I ask you’d always say that nothing’s wrong when clearly that’s not the case,”

He remains silent, listening to her words and swallowing his saliva from the call out.

“You know, if I didn’t know better, I thought you’re jealous,”

There was a pause. The only sound breaking their silence was the bustling traffic that infiltrated the closed windows of his car. For a moment there, her heartbeat quickened, regretting the word she spilled as it sounded desperate and embarrassing to say out loud, even when it came out light-hearted. The two might have thrown some banter here and there overtime, but the disappointment tainting her voice was a little too obvious for anyone to ignore, and she’s unsure how he would take it.

“You know what, forget what I—,”

“Would it be so wrong?” Jay asks instead.

She blinks, not understanding his question, “Would what be so wrong?”

“For me to get jealous?”

The car stops as he parks, reaching their destination with the other patrol cars’ already crowding the scene. The red and blue lights were reflected on his face, making the worry and despair more prominent. He was staring back at her, mirroring the uncertainty and wondering if he’s burned their bridges to the ground, but before either of them could spare another word, the loud knock on the window by Antonio broke their quietude.

“We’ve to go,” she says, nodding to Antonio as a sign “We’ll talk about this later,”

—-

Later came a little too fast for her liking. She checks her watch, noting that the clock has struck four in the morning and her head was starting to pound from the lack of sleep, yet she’s still unsure if she’d have the strength to drag herself back to his car and continue their conversation.

The whole time they’re out, she notices how his eyes were trailing behind her like a lost puppy. How he was never further than a few feet away from her, looking a little too tense yet ready if she ever calls for him. It was ridiculous, to be acting this unprofessional, especially when Voight expects them to be on their best act with their current case, but the unintended heart-to-heart conversation was haunting and she doesn’t know if it would bring them more good than harm leaving it hung on the air with no real closure.

“You need a ride?” Kevin asks once Voight lets them clear.

“She’s with me,” Jay says, inserting himself between the two “I’ll drive her home,”

Kevin nods, giving her a hug before patting on Jay’s shoulder as goodbye.

The silence as he drove her home was different than all the silences they’ve faced before. There was no sigh, no stolen glances, no nothing to break the stillness. It felt like the longest yet fastest drive in both of their lives, cursing at the universe once he hit the brake and parked the car right in front of her apartment building.

“I’m sorry,” Jay says first, afraid that she would bolt out of his car before he could further explain his feelings “I just— I know, I have no rights, but I— I thought we have something, you know? I thought you’re feeling what I feel,”

She turns to him, watching as he takes off his mask.

“I thought we were going somewhere and you just need some time to figure out how we’re going to do this without Voight having our heads in a spike, but now I just— I don’t know. Maybe I’m just reading into things,”

Never had she seen him be this vulnerable. Like he was on the verge of breaking down, unashamed to lay all his cards on the table. His heart was on his sleeves for her to see, for her to rip apart if she wants. By this point he couldn’t care less what she’s going to do with it. She could spit and stomp it to the ground and he would still kiss the floor she left him at. All he wanted to do now is to pour his heart out, to show her what’s been bothering him, and hope for the slightest chance that she would understand where he’s coming from.

“You’re not reading into things,” she says fast, taking his hand and giving it a squeeze “I’m feeling what you feel, Jay,”

There was a sigh of relief before a smile bloomed on his face. The worry in his eyes dissipates, turning into what seems to be a glisten of hope and satisfaction. Slowly, he eliminates the distance between them as his hand travels to her cheek. His thumb caresses her soft skin, heart exploding in bliss once their lips touch. It was a tender one. The kind you give to your lover when you’re feeling a little selfish and in need of some reassurance, instead of giving one. He kisses her gently, still testing the water of the boundaries that they’ve yet to set with this new step they’re taking.

With a slight regret, she pulls away from the kiss with a smile. Jay was still busy kissing her forehead as if trying to erase all trace of another’s lips on her skin. It was starting to feel ridiculous by the time he planted a big wet one on the spot where Matt kissed her earlier that night.

“So can I kick him out of your apartment now?”

“Worse,” she giggles, taking his hand in hers “You’re gonna have to ask for his blessing,”

[gublernatural]

for pop star!reader, bringing him to the grammys perchance? i think it would be silly <3

i love this so im skipping ahead to post-situationship into full blown relationship stage with them <3 my fave duo (also reader is def inspired by my girl t swizzle at award shows and im not sorry about it.)

"you're sure?" you asked one more time, just before the car doors were to open. spencer, whose face was almost as red as the dress you were wearing, sent you an eager nod.

he was torn; stuck between being excited to be by your side, but terrified to be in such a public space. there were days where he was still in awe that he has been able to meet, fall in love with, and now date such a strong, hard-working lady, but days like today he is reminded how much the whole world has come to love his lover.

"then, let's go," you smiled at him, ushering him to step out of the car. he obliged, then reached his hand towards you, helping you out. "thank you," you smiled at him, quickly, and then guided him to the building’s entrance. you waved at your supporters as you walked, still marveling at the impact you’ve been able to make.

you two ended up being split, spencer dragged away to your designated table and you to the red carpet. you took photos and completed interviews as quickly as you could without being impolite. you couldn’t help but feel like you were longing to be back with spencer. despite all of the fun you were able to have, everything just felt better when he was around.

“there you are,” you smiled as you finally made your way to your seat. “how was the carpet?” he asked, sliding your chair out for you. you shrugged in response, turning your attention to the first performer to take the stage.

spencer spent most of the show watching you with starstruck eyes. it was evident, even to those watching from home, how deeply in love spencer truly was with you. there was a literal sparkle in eye as you danced along to each performer, completely and totally enjoying yourself. this was the happiest you'd been in a while. you felt pretty, were at a celebration, and had your favorite person in the world by your side. spencer being in a fancy suit that matched your dress and having his hair professionally done had nothing to do with it, of course.

"this was is yours, right?" spencer whispered into your ear as his arm slipped around your waist. he held you close in anticipation as they introduced your category: best new artist.

this was the biggest moment of your career thus far. sure, awards weren't everything to you, but being recognized for the work you'd put out in somewhere as important as the grammy's would feel so good. you nodded, anxiously, trying to use spencer's proximity to ground you. you hoped the camera that cut to you while you were being named amongst your competitors could see the nerves that were coursing through your veins.

"and the winner is," victoria monet, last year's winner, announced. the world around you turn to static as your name was called into the mic. spencer was up before you were, cheering. tears welled in your eyes, overcome with pride and gratefulness. you hugged spencer and your producer, before heading up to the stage.

"um," you hesitated into the mic after hugging victoria, "i did not think i was going to win this," you laughed. the crowd laughed as well. beyonce was laughing at you. taylor swift was laughing at you. spencer reid was laughing at you. this was the best moment of your life.

"everyone in this category is so amazing and i wish we could split this award eight different ways. thank you to anyone and everyone who has listened to my music and supported me so far. i would not be here if it weren't for you." the first tear slipped from your face and you quickly brought your empty tear up to wipe it.

"thank you to everyone who inspired me and my music, and anyone who laid a hand in creating it with me. my mind is so blank and i can't remember all of your names," everyone laughed again. "and thank you to those i love," your eyes slipped to your table in the crowd. the camera cut to spencer, who had the biggest smile on his face anyone had ever seen. "i wouldn't be here without you guys. thank you and i cannot wait to make more music for you." you ended with a gracious wave to the crowd and cameras, before dashing back to your table.

you threw yourself in spencer's arms again. his cheek smushed against your shoulder as he mumbled, "i'm so proud of you!" you didn't answer, but he felt your smile get impossibly wider against him. after your brief moment of affection, you settled back into his side, excited to see sabrina carpenter's performance.

[valentine-cafe]

Can I please order the mango pancakes?

I just want Reader teaching Hǎitāo how to ride him. Lots of teasing but also reassurance and praise please!

˖⁺. “ ride it ” : 

﹙ bttm grim reaper x top male reader ﹚.𖹭 ݁

. . . verse 9948e haitao x male reader  !! 🍒 : ﹙ grim reaper ˖ mortician ˖ necromancer character ﹚

you teach your typically confident boyfriend how to ride you

﹙ cws ﹚: explicit content ˖ penetrative sex ˖ fingering ˖ riding ˖ teasing ˖ nipple play | wc : 1.8k 

﹙ receipts ﹚: order up! glad to be getting stuff for haitao now <3

꒰  other treats : guidelines ˖ m.list ˖ characters ˖ our lore  ꒱

“Telling me a cocky bastard like you hasn’t ridden dick before?”

The swat to your black tshirt makes you chuckle. Maroon eyes that typically shone with ego to compliment his general air of confidence now shimmer with a foreign tepidness. Certainly not an unwelcomed one. It stirred humour in your soul to see how pathetically your boyfriend looked at you. All helpless in your lap with the dim light of the idle television that has him backlit.

“Are you going to keep running your mouth like a ghoul or - ah,” Hǎitāo’s words lilt into a whine. Your fingers cut his rudeness right off with a reminder of their presence. Quick and tempered thrusts against that one spot. The swirl of your digits and the slow massage into the bundle of nerves sends his back into a pretty arch.

You bite on your smile and tilt your head with that shit-eating grin he usually adorns. The muscles along your fingers flex as they effortlessly piston up into his clenching hole. They withdraw with a small pop! and you instead circle your lube-lathered fingers around his rim.

While you will not be able to see it in its full glory, the idea of how he’ll stretch and clench so beautifully around your awaiting cock sends a thrum through the veins. As much as you would love to finger-fuck him all night long and behold those dollish tears in the corners of his eye. . . your dick weeps its own tears to split him open.

Such a needy thing you are in your own right.

“You should watch your mouth pretty boy. ‘les you want it to occupy my dick instead?” His moans of protest flow through the room while your fingers punctuate with rough pumps at an angle you know will have him cross-eyed soon enough. You lean into the grey leather of the sofa to get a better view. “Awww but you don’t want that right? Y’wanna ride my dick like a good boy.”

Your other thumb reaches to circle his cherry-tip. The callouses of your print roughly drag along his slit and you can only chuckle at the spurt that coats it in no time. As though his poor dick is crying for you to give him yours. To bounce him on your lap like a ragdoll.

Who are you to deny?

His black trousers graze down his pale skin in the matter of seconds. Hǎitāo’s yelp turns into another whine at the swift spank to his ass. The way you grab at the fat of it and grip tight. Grind him down to your awaiting bulge.

“You want this baby?”

“Y-Yes for fuu-ah-cks sakes -”

The click of your tongue joins the clink of your belt. It takes only a few shuffles of fabric and the noiseless static of the tv until you are there. Cock standing proud and ready to split your boyfriend open as you always do.

As if on cue, Hǎitāo’s hips steer downwards. Like a man starved. Eager for its weekly-dose of stretching and cumming. Alas your hands lock on him like restraints. He is baffled by the cruelty of them - as though they are guards keeping him from his beloved! How dare.

“You’re being a prick.” The dryness of his voice is quite the contrast to the slickness of lube and precum. You take no offense to his gritted teeth and only swat his thigh. Despite his clearly frustrated tone, you answer back in a gentleness that soothes the flames of his desire.

“Easy baby. . . I don’t want you to get hurt.”

The small of his back becomes a resting place for your fingers. They stroke slowly while your free hand grips at the softness of his hip. The last thing you wish is to bring him pain halfway through. Have to stop when you’re both on the brink of mindless release so that he can gulp down his scoliosis meds.

While his need is great and his walls are begging to have you pound them silly, he relents. Allows you to ease him down and tenderly spread his ass open for your tip. As though you were prepping him first-time-yoga session rather than about-to-rearrange-his-guts.

Nevertheless, his head falls onto your shoulder with hushed moans. The feel of you filling him up has always been something he is addicted to. The darkness of the room consumes him just as the pleasure does - and he can all but sigh blissfully as you languidly ease him down.

The pulse of his walls do little to aid your restraint. What is restraint when faced with his insatiable ass? You know no definition. Not when your balls finally hilt to his soft cheeks. Not when he’s panting into your neck with kisses to soothe his own pleasure. It’s as if he wants you to shove him over the arm of the sofa and fuck him wild rather than teach him how to ride. Surely he knows what he does to you, right?

“Fuuckk baby, how am I s’possed to teach you when you’re this tight?” You give a few shallow thrusts to emphasize. If he squeezes around you one more time you are not sure how long you’ll last. So you brace yourself on his soft thighs with fingers buried in to hold yourself togther.

“Who’s th-the impatient - hah- one now?”

Brat.

The deep groan that rumbles in your throat will be the only way to sate the growing urge in your cock. To fuck him quiet.

Instead you tut. “Be nice.” Palms flatten over his pale flesh and your back meets the sofa as you lean back further. Your hips steady a small grind up. Once, twice, just to loosen him up a bit. Before you ease yourself into the grey leather and give a small nod of your head.

“Now. . . gonna move your hips down like - this -” the rhythm that your hands set on his hips is one his skillfully follow. For a moment you want to call him a liar with the way he rolls his hips down into yours so well. The slow, tantalizing rocks that leave you breathless. Like he’s trying to make you sing prayers to his name. “Yeah - that’s it. . . ‘atta boy.”

You aid with the first few pumps against his ass. Only because you enjoy the soft plap plap plap that fills the living room. It will engrave itself into the walls. So that whenever sit in this very seat, you’ll remember this pretty little thing in your lap.

It won’t take long for your hands to move on to other matters once he has a hang of it. The rock of his hips links with his soft hiccups and gasps. Your palms itch to make him moan and so distract themselves with the hem of his white shirt. Fingers bully their way into the fabric and roll them up over his chest. So that you can behold his nipples that perk so sweetly.

Your mouth joins the mix. You are all tongue, pinches and licks once you are on his chest. The sparks of pleasure well in his tummy and motivate him to buck down a bit faster. The sofa greets the quicker movement with a whining of its own.

“Eager thing,” you gulp a groan. Your tongue is far too busy swirling around his right nipple to negate his pace while your fingers tweak at his left. “Yeah. . . just like that pretty boy. Doing s’well for me. Fuck.”

At last Hǎitāo moans. It sounds like heaven to your ears. Your hips race to worship. The claps of his skin create a symphony to your joined moans and groans. Every heavy smack of your balls against his has him clenching around your cock. It thrums through the veins and sends your grunts along his slick nipples.

“M-Mngh - ah- god that’s good.” His slurs to your ear are only hightened with moans as his body follows yours as though it’s a competition. Hips clap down on your own and his skin slides against yours in the most sensual way. Most sinful of ways.

Oh you wish you could see it. See the way your cock is making its home within his tight walls. How his bounces squirt the slick of lube and precum out. The lewd sight that would soon have you nutting before him. Alas you would rather fuck a few rounds of cum out of him before you even dream of releasing yourself.

“Yeaah, feel good? Feels good riding me huh pretty boy? Taking it like you’re the best?”

He kisses at your grin. Your tongue shoots into his mouth so that you swap spit and clutch at one another with a growing desperation. You know this frequency of moans and whines. The sudden sloppiness of his bounces as he kisses you so needily.

If not that - then the way his head throws back after he shimmied his way down all the way to your hilt. The rough, mindless swirls of his hips that glue your eyes to the scene below. You’ll have to choose - watch his poor dick squirt in the next for seconds or the way his face will twist with pleasure.

“C-Cumming - ‘m cummin-!” He cries. Seems you settle for both.

The spurt of his cum delights your vision and you have to force your gaze up to his face. Just in time to witness the roll of his maroon eyes. Oh they cross so beautifully. You simply have to snatch up his waist and fuck into him rapidly. Have that small whine turn into an ‘ah-ah-ah!’

“B-Baby please - hngh,” his hands clap down onto your shoulders. Fist at your shirt as his head tips forward and he moans at the endless rocking. The rough bounces and smacks of skin that shoot him closer to a second orgasm within the matter of minutes.

You can only grin. Reach up and cup his face as though you are so sorry for what you are doing to him. He knows better by the shine in your eyes. The lowness to your voice.

“Told you I was gonna teach you to ride, right?” You grunt through a cruel, breathless laugh. Hips not letting up for even a second.

“Well class’ still in session. Sorry gorgeous boy. Bounce that pretty ass.”

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[lowkeycasanova]

unspoken boundaries

zoro x reader

Plot- a young bartender gives all her attention to zoro

The dimly lit bar buzzed with he low murmur of conversations and clinking glasses. You and Zoro settled onto your stools at the bar, the warm light from the hanging fixture cast a cozy glow over the counter. It wasn’t too often y’all went out, so you savored these moments- a break from the chaos and battles. Just the two of you.

But the moment the bartender approached, your stomach tightened. The young woman's gaze swept over you briefly - so brief, you might have missed it- before her eyes locked on Zoro with a smile that was a little too wide, a little too eager.

"Hi there. I'm Vera, I'll be taking care of you tonight." she said, her voice lifting. But it wasn't directed at the two of you. It was for Zoro.

Her smile didn't falter as she stood up straighter. "What would you like?" she asked, her tone sounding personal.

Maybe Zoro didn't seem to notice. "A Manhattan." he said simply, then added, "And a blackberry mule for her." His head tilted towards you, his tone casual but clear. He wasn't ordering just for himself.

Vera pressed her mouth into a form smile but she nodded, quickly scribbling the order before leaving. You shifted in your seat, your chest tightening. It shouldn't have bothered her. You knew Zoro wouldn't give her any attention. But her blatant disregard for you was glaring. Not even a "you two" to acknowledge your presence.

When Vera returned, hands full, she placed Zoro's Manhattan in front of him with a coy smile then handed over your blackberry mule without so much as a glance. You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to focus on Zoro as he raised his glass to you with a smirk. It warmed your heart, but not enough to drown out the irritation that lingered.

You two eventually fell into easy conversation, laughing at small things, but every so often, Vera reappeared. Each time, her words aimed solely at Zoro like you weren't even there.

"Everything good here?"

"We're fine." he replied curtly.

But she lingered. "That scar is something. I bet there's a good story behind it." she said with a playful smile.

"Yeah." was all he said, not offering anything more.

She didn't seem deterred. She then starting mentioning his shoulders and how he "must work out a lot". At this point, you didn't hear all of what she said. The grip on your glass tightened and you stared down at the condensation pooling beneath it. You hated confrontation but it was getting harder to keep quiet. Did Zoro notice at all? Or was he just so oblivious that it just rolled off him?

But Zoro wasn't oblivious. Aggravation tunneled through his veins with every sugary-sweet word Vera threw his way. He would stare back at her, bored, but trying to keep his face neutral, but the simmering annoyance was harder to suppress. He didn't say anything as he damn sure wasn't going to entertain this nonsense. But the disrespect towards you was a line that she was dangerously close to crossing.

When Vera came back yet again her voice drifted to his ears like static. Zoro didn't even bother listening. Instead, his large hand reached out and grabbed a hold to your stool.

Despite you only being mere inches away, he tugged it closer before you could react. The stool scraped against the floor as he pulled you flush against his side, close enough that your legs touched. You glanced at him, surprised, but the soft squeeze of his hand on your thigh calmed your nerves.

He looked back at Vera, not saying a word but the message was clear. Vera faltered, her face flushed with a hint of red beneath his gaze. "Let me know if you need anything else." This time, her eyes flickered toy you, the first acknowledgement she'd given you all night, before she made her way to the other side of the bar.

You stared at Zoro, your heart pounding. "What was that?" you asked him.

He shrugged, taking a sip of his drink like it was no big deal. "Nothing. Just figured you should sit closer."

[trevlad-sounds]

For the Birds 8

05.07.2024

Intro 00:00 Veins Full Of Static-Ceaseless Collapse 00:03 Daou-Odyssey 06:18 Synthbiont & Anassimandrus-Whispers from the City 10:35 Willebrant-Inlet III 17:39 Lunar Cambridge-A Distant Mirror 29:00 Metamatics-Flow Motion 33:41 Time Rival-Nippersink Creek + Organic Loops (Prairie Trail 6-21-23) 41:09 CIALYN-GardenWall 46:06 Mitseliy-Blue Tape IV 48:53

[skimmingmilk]

"If it helps, one of the many scenarios my brain likes to twist around is imagining Sonic's perspective of No Cracks In A Closed Loop (and I adore Tails getting to be a badass and pulling off the impossible, too- my brain just likes to spin on the angst sometimes)" - @manynerdthings

A/N: So I was inspired...

I think it's safe to say this helped a lot xD Thank you, manynerdthings!

This is a continuation of my fic "No Cracks in a Closed Loop"

No Cracks in a Closed Loop — Sonic's Side

"Sonic."

That single word—no, just the voice alone—was enough to cut through the adrenaline rush as pure chaos energy sang through his veins and ignited every nerve with its spark. In a flash of light and sound, Super Sonic punched a hole through the Starfall-titan-wanna-be by using his own body as a projectile. A cocky grin cut across his muzzle as it wobbled in place, setting its sights on him instead of the city it had been about to level; its laser cannons aimed directly at the fault line.

This fight wouldn't last twenty seconds. They'd already won.

"What's up, partner?" Sonic said into the comm as he shot skyward.

The streak of gold drew the mech's cannon higher, until it cleared the tips of skyscrapers and nearby mountaintops by the time it shot at him. The laser's heat didn't even singe his fur, firing at full power into the stratosphere instead of drilling deep into the crust of the planet. It zinged past the satellite Tails was communicating from, but Super Sonic's gaze didn't linger on it for more than half a second—already more than certain it was out of the laser's range. Speeding through the air, he whirled around towards the mech for his next move. He was going to cyloop Eggman's newest addition to his junk pile right off its feet. 

Swerving down in a sharp arc, Super Sonic avoided the next blast while he swung around to try and circle it. It's clawed hand swiped at him before he could complete his first circuit. He shot straight up before it could catch him, homing attacking it in the face instead.

The comm was still quiet. Tails must've swapped to their own channel. Super Sonic flew backwards, putting both the titan and the distant satellite in his line of sight. Whatever he had to say, he didn't want anyone else to hear it.

Super Sonic's brow furrowed as a barrage of bullets opened up on him. He weaved between the hundreds of projectiles glinting dangerously in the sunlight, but his chaos energy and speed worked in tandem, as fluidly as a dance, while he searched for another opening to try the cyloop again.

He could beat this thing without it, sure, but it was the fastest way to take it down.

"Tails? Still with me, bud?" Super or not, Sonic still spared a second to check in, static ringing in his ears as he burst through the center of the mech's chest plate for a shortcut.

"I'm here," Tails answered, but his voice sounded faint, like the feedback was drowning him out. "Sorry, I…" Super Sonic started his cyloop. "I just wanted to—" He was halfway around. "I'm sorry—"

Sonic closed the loop. A burst of chaos energy swelled up with a deafening boom. The air rippled with the force of it in great gusts of wind that rocked the trees and the grass of the nearby hills. Waves rose up in the bay, their white caps scraping the bottom of the golden bridge that marked the edge of the sea. The fake titan lifted into the air, sparks crackling off its metal casing as its system overloaded. Super Sonic didn't give it a second to recalibrate itself.

Faster than anyone could see, he smashed into it on all sides. A tiny mote of golden light against the towering behemoth, but it struck every weak point, fried every circuit, as the chaos energy pressed in on it from the outside. Metal crunched and caved it on itself, contorting into a twisted configuration until it no longer resembled a machine.

A cheap imitation of the ancients' attempts to defend themselves, designed only to destroy instead of protect.

Super Sonic grabbed onto mech's arm—or maybe its leg, it was hard to tell at this point—as the cyloop's effect faded, catching it before it crushed Westopolis. He swung it around and around, gritting his teeth as he built up momentum and set his sights on the ocean out ahead of them. Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh—

Super Sonic let go.

The mech's remains were flung through the air, over the coastline and beyond the bridge that cut off the bay from the sea. It crashed into the water, the ocean spray shooting up into the air in a tower of mist once it hit the surface. The waves rolled aggressively towards the coastline, but ultimately broke apart in the bay before they could do too much damage. Some millionaires might have to replace a yacht or two, but that wasn't Sonic's problem.

As he dusted his hands off, he could finally acknowledge the warning bells Tails's last words to him had set off. "Hey, what was that, bud? I didn't catch—"

Super Sonic turned towards the satellite, addressing it like he would Tails, but it was gone. Instead a cloud of smoke filled the space where the satellite had been not ten seconds ago. Metal shards and fire rained upon the bay. Everything in pieces. Everything gone.

His comm was in chaos. Unintelligible voices shouted over one another in a cacophony of white noise that was already fighting a losing battle to the ringing in his ears. But he still noticed one voice was missing. He couldn't hear it.

He hadn't heard any of it.

Over the sonic boom of his cyloop and the screeching of metal as he demolished the titan, Sonic hadn't heard the satellite explode.

The satellite his little brother was on.

He'd been trying to tell him something.

He'd been trying to tell him something before a satellite exploded with him on it.

"I'm sorry."

Tails. 

Super Sonic shot off like a bullet, speeding towards the black cloud of smoke and smoldering debris like there was even a chance—

No. There had to be a chance—

"I just wanted to—I'm sorry—"

Why? What happened? What did you do, Tails?

He hadn't even properly seen him off before he left. Tails had been trying to hack into Eggman's satellite remotely while Sonic was out chasing after the faux titans. He told them all about his plan to board the satellite and everyone agreed it sounded like the right call, so long as he could do it quickly. They needed to disrupt the signal, after all, and Tails was their best shot.

That was what he'd said, wasn't it? "You're our best shot, Tails. I believe in you, partner."

Their best shot, but not the only one. Not if it meant this.

Nothing was worth this.

Sonic didn't need to breathe while super, but his lungs still burned twin holes in his chest as his own nervous system caught fire. Golden sparks flicked off his quills as he raced through the air. Fiery eyes frantically scanned each scrap of metal that fell, but they must've already been irritated from the smoke because they burned and blurred with the rest of the world around him—

"—onic, wait! Come back! Sonic!"

One voice.

Super Sonic stopped. He stopped so fast and so suddenly, it felt like his own soul completely missed the memo. Like everything inside him continued to hightails it towards where Tails had been without him, leaving him empty. Hollow. Cold.

A vacuous space in the center of himself where there'd once been something. 

The chaos energy inside him didn't know what to do with that.

With so much… nothing.

Stunned, he could only float in place for a stupid second until he remembered he'd stopped for a reason. With a sharp turn, his stare locked onto a splash of orange amidst the blotchy colors of the rest of the world bleeding into one another. Like he was still moving too fast to see clearly. Like he couldn't catch up to himself.

"Sonic…" Tails's voice broke like it had on the comm, but it wasn't with pain guilt fear regret static.

Vision clearing, Sonic could see him now. At the edge of one of the hills overlooking Westopolis and the bay. Tails just rubbed at his nose with a sheepish sort of grin, like the explosion was a minor miscalculation. A hiccup. My bad, he could hear him saying, like he was standing in the middle of his workshop, covered in soot and singed fur, one hand on his hip and a fire extinguisher at his feet.

Like he was fine.

Like he hadn't been incinerated in the fiery inferno smoldering above them.

Tails lowered his hand, eyes shining as they looked up at him, reflecting the very sky Super Sonic was caught in as the satellite's remains fell all around him. He'd been on that satellite. Just seconds ago, Sonic had been so sure of it.

He'd been so sure he'd lost him…

Then Tails opened his arms to him and laughed.

All at once Sonic crashed back into himself, chest heaving with a sharp inhale as his heart lurched forward. 

Faster than a blink, Super Sonic barrelled into Tails and sent them toppling down the hillside. They smacked hard against the ground, but Sonic took the brunt of the fall even with the world spinning around them. His arms encircled Tails tightly, one hand protecting the back of his head while the other braced the small of his back as they tumbled and whooped like a pair of idiots. Pure joy radiated through him, burning brighter than the chaos energy coursing through his quills. It knocked the emeralds right out of him. The seven gems fell into the grass around them as the two mobians eventually rolled to a stop.

Sonic clutched Tails to him, shaking with breathless laughter as he felt his little brother hug him back just as tightly. "I'm here," Tails was saying, and it took a minute to realize he'd been repeating the words while Sonic's hands were trembling. "I'm here. It's okay, big bro. I'm here. I’m here."

"And you say I'm the one that's gonna give you a heart attack," Sonic wheezed, not bothering to give himself room to breathe if it meant letting go for even a second.

"Can't let you have all the fun." Tails smoothed his hands over Sonic's spines to try and settle him, his touch purposeful and grounding. "Deep breaths, big bro. You're gonna pass out."

"Nuh-uh," he argued, but filled his lungs with his next inhale anyway, then let all the air ease out of him.

"That's it. There ya go," Tails encouraged, but Sonic couldn't help his snort of indignation at being coddled and pushed away from him. 

Except Tails just tightened his grip; fingers curling in his fur like they'd be forced apart if he didn't. He hid his face in the crook of Sonic's neck, his breaths coming only a little too fast. But his hands were shaking, too, and his twin tails wound around them both as if they were enough to protect them from the next threat. 

Sonic didn't pull away. He just sat back, the eleven-year-old practically in his lap, and rested his hand atop Tails's head.

"Gave me a real scare there, pal," he said, voice low and gentle as he smoothed out his fur, picking at the grass and brambles they were both covered in.

"…Scared me, too."

Sonic's heart clenched, the open admission like a bludgeon to his protective instincts, even if his pride assured him Tails could handle it. After all, the proof had all but climbed into his lap. But now that he was looking at him—really looking at him—he could see his fur was mussed up from more than just a tumble at supersonic speed. A streak of blood stained his fur on his shoulder and there was a lump near the center of his back that filled Sonic with an angry fire hot enough to burn through the atmosphere when he so much as brushed against it with his fingers. 

Tails didn't flinch when he grazed it, but his muscles gave an involuntary spasm that rippled beneath his fur and his hold on Sonic tightened. It was enough to quell the roiling rage to a simmer. Something he could stick a lid on without worrying it would boil over if left unchecked. It wasn't what Tails needed from him right now.

But Sonic still wanted some answers.

"What happened up there?" he asked. 

Tails shook his head. "Just a bit of a closer call than I thought it'd be. But I'll be okay. I am okay."

Sonic instinctively bristled, prepared to be shut out of whatever it was he'd gone through. "Tails—"

"I'll tell you someday," he promised, pressing his paw over Sonic's heart. "I mean it. But right now we've got a lot of Eggman's mess to clean up. There's still six other titans out there and I'm sure everyone else is worried."

Sonic sighed, as exasperated as he could manage when he was still just glad this kid was alive. "Gonna hold you to that," he threatened, ruffling his fur to muss it up on purpose. "You owe me. Nearly shocked the Chaos Emeralds right outta my system."

"Says Mr. Guy-Who-Loves-Adventure," Tails teased as he pushed himself up to stand. "You should be used to it by now."

Sonic snorted when he was offered a hand up, but he took it nonetheless. "When I go gray early, I'll know exactly who to blame."

"Don't worry. I'll help you dye your quills, old man," Tails snickered, but it broke off with a wince as a sharp twinge ran through his back.

Sonic was quick to lay a supportive hand at his hip to steady him. "Look who's talking. At this rate, you're gonna be right there with me setting the record for the world's youngest old timers."

Tails sent him a look, but accepted the help nonetheless as he leaned his weight against him. "Did you really have to knock us all the way down the hill like that?"

"Heh. Well, in my defense, wasn't exactly thinking straight." Sonic scratched at his nose, giving him a not-so-subtle onceover. "Didn't bang ya up too bad, did I?"

"Nah. I'll bounce back," Tails assured him, giving him a pat on the back.

"You always do," Sonic agreed warmly as they took a few steps in tandem so they could start collecting the Chaos Emeralds on their way back up the hill while Tails alerted everyone to their status on his comm and checked in on everyone else as well.

Sonic just listened, taking in the rise and fall of his voice, his steady assurances and sighs of relief to hear that the world hadn't fallen apart in his absence. Even if it very nearly did. As far as Sonic was concerned, anyway.

But he was okay now. That was what mattered. And whatever it was that happened on that satellite—whatever reason Tails had for calling him seconds before disaster—he would trust that his little brother would come to him when he was ready. Because he'd be there for him. No matter what.

Keeping his arm looped around Tails’s waist even after they made it back up the hill, Sonic looked up at the smoke still fading from the sky. He tightened his hold on him. It felt like another lifetime, like another him had first seen the explosion and feared the worst. Tails followed his gaze, quiet again with all the calls taken care of and winded from the uphill climb. Through his labored breaths, there was the slightest tremor that traveled from his chest to where he stood pressed against his brother.

"…Scared me, too."

 "Hey, whatever happened up there," Sonic broke the silence, his voice drawing Tails back down beside him. "Whatever you did, I'll bet it was seriously way past cool." He glanced over at him, waiting to catch his eye before giving him a wink.

All too easily, Tails grinned up at him, the shape of his smile the spitting image of his brother's. "Way past is definitely one way to put it."

———

Five years later…

———

"You've been quiet all day, partner. Something going on in that big brain of yours?"

Everyone else had split off for the night. Team Dark vanished sometime after lunch, after Rouge once again tricked Shadow into accompanying her, and Team Chaotix had an appointment for their next case. Amy took Cream back home to Vanilla while Tangle and Whisper left to help Jewel out with some Restoration business.

Which left just Sonic and Tails lounging on the couch; the former picking up where Vector had left off in the game he'd been playing, tapping away at the controller while the latter watched.

Tails hummed in acknowledgement, so Sonic let him have a minute of quiet to collect his thoughts. He picked at one of Whisper's cinnamon muffins, crumbs scattering across the coffee table, but he didn't eat any of it. He hadn't had much of an appetite since slinking out of his lab earlier that afternoon.

It probably had something to do with the quiet and the way he'd been kinda clingy. Sonic had planned on going for a run as soon as Tails retreated back to his lab to tinker with whatever gadgets he had tucked away back there, but he seemed pretty content to stay curled up on the couch beside him. Still, Sonic could adapt. He kicked his feet up onto the coffee table and slumped back into the cushions as he wandered aimlessly around in a game he couldn't remember owning.

"Do you remember that time you went up against Eggman's seven fake titans?"

Sonic let out a low whistle. "Boy, is that a blast from the past. What about it?" 

When Tails didn't immediately continue, Sonic pressed the pause button, then shifted against the cushion to sit up and face his not-so-little-anymore bro. The sixteen-year-old fox tore his gaze from the screen to watch him instead, eyes bright from television's glow. Looking at him like that, for a split second, Sonic could still see the insecure, little fox kit he used to be in the way his shoulders hunched up as if to make himself smaller. To take up less space in the world.

Sonic draped one arm along the back of the couch, leaving space for him to lean into if he wanted it. No matter how big he got, there'd always be space for him.

Tails scooted closer and rested his head against Sonic's arm. "I needed to disrupt the satellite signal powering the Chaos Emerald vaults, but Eggman locked me out of the remote connection so I had to access it directly—"

"On the actual satellite," Sonic interjected, fingers drumming against the back of the couch. "I remember."

Tails released a long exhale. "Well, he set a trap. A way to slow me down so I wouldn't be able to unlock the emeralds for you in time. The same code that would disrupt the satellite's signal would also cause it to self-destruct. Eggman banked on me having enough self-preservation that I wouldn't engage it without trying to disable that function first."

"But you set it off anyway."

"I set it off anyway," Tails confirmed with a decisive nod. "It was the outcome with the highest percentage of saving people. The fastest way to help you guys. I thought I could get out in time. I should've gotten out in time," his voice lowered, eyes distant as if he was reliving the moment right there on their couch. "But I couldn't. Not on my own. I needed… help."

Sonic tried to follow him there, even if he didn't much like to relive that day in his waking hours. "So you called me."

"Not… exactly." Tails sat up straighter so he could look him in the eye. "I knew you'd come get me if I asked, but then countless lives would've been lost if the titans had gone on unchecked, even if just for a couple of seconds. Sometimes that's all it takes…" Tails's fist clenched as he dropped his hardened gaze to his lap. "I made the call to initiate the self-destruct in order to save people. I couldn't take that back. I couldn't take you away from them. Not again."

A younger Sonic would've snapped at him—would've argued over the value of his life with him until he wasn't the only one blue in the face. But at twenty-three, Sonic had fought more of these battles than he cared to count and never once walked away a winner. So he sat back, held his tongue, and let Tails explain himself.

"I called you to say goodbye," his voice lowered to a whisper, "I wanted to give you that, at least.”

He'd had a feeling. It wasn't one he dwelled on freely, but sometimes the thought wandered in uninvited. Moreso during the first couple of months after the incident, when everything was still fresh and closer to their present.

Before Sonic could respond, Tails pressed forward. "But then an older version of myself traveled through time with two Chaos Emeralds to save me. He said it was the only way. Because at the time, only the two of us knew what transpired on the satellite. We created a temporal paradox, a loop without a proper origin, but as long as it was contained between the two versions of me, nothing could disrupt it. That's why I couldn't tell you before. I wasn't sure… I didn't know if the future version of myself had told you what happened and if that would open up possibilities in the time stream that would botch the encounter entirely." Tails lifted his gaze to seek out Sonic's again, and he could see the eleven-year-old sitting in front of him like it was that very same day. "I'm sorry. I wanted to tell you."

"Nothing to apologize for, bud. I get it. I wouldn't want to mess up the time stream for that particular moment either." Sonic shifted the arm draped along the couch so he could cup the back of Tails's head, idly ruffling the fur there. "But if you're telling me all this now…" he drawled, moving to scritch behind Tails's ear. "Charmy wasn't the one who swiped Shadow's Chaos Emerald earlier, was he?"

Tails shrugged, muzzle quirking up on one side. "When he showed up with it today, I just had this feeling that it was time to make my move…" Tails explained. "I've been feeling it for a couple weeks now, to be honest. I had all the equipment I'd had on me that day and I looked close enough to how I remembered. I knew I probably had to go back soon. Just needed everything to align so no one would interfere. Today seemed good…"

Sonic tilted his head as Tails trailed off, his eyes still a little distant. "Well, you made it back in one piece, didn't you? Mission accomplished."

"Yeah. Mission accomplished," he echoed, but whatever was on his mind continued to fester. "I thought I made a mistake."

"Hm?"

"There were only three seconds left," Tails whispered. "I thought I messed it all up. I thought I killed us both—"

"You—"

"I was so sure it would work because it already had, but there was still the possibility I could've gotten it wrong. I could've caused a split in our realities. Created two timelines where I ceased to exist, except in this one no one would've known what happened to me and two of the Chaos Emeralds would be lost to time. How would any of you have known where to look?" Tails rambled, pressing his hands over his face. "I estimated the time of day with a standard deviation of a couple of seconds, but those seconds could've been what killed us—"

"Hey, hey, hey," Sonic hushed, shifting to wrap both arms around his little brother as he slumped against him. "You didn't. You're here. You're right here with me, see?" He gave him a firm squeeze, smile tugging at his muzzle as Tails hugged him back tightly. "Atta boy."

"Stupid…" he mumbled into Sonic's shoulder. "Why does this still work so well?"

"Heh. What're big brothers for?" Sonic huffed out a chuckle. "Listen, you can't live a life of what-ifs, bud. It'll drive you outta your mind. I should know. And I know you know that, too." He felt Tails's nod against his cheek. "You did exactly what you set out to do. And heck, you used the Chaos Emeralds to travel through time! When did you learn how to do that, huh? Holding out on your big bro?"

Tails snorted, but it got him to relax enough to pull back. "Figured if I could use Chaos Control, time travel was just an added boost. Like adding a supercharger to the Tornado's engine."

"Tch. You figured." Sonic rolled his eyes, but the warmth in them was nothing but fond. "Give yourself a little more credit. You did something incredible today, Tails. You defied time and space to save yourself. And not only that, you gave yourself a future to look forward to. Because who wouldn't want to turn out to be like you?"

It was Tails's turn to roll his eyes, though it was his own chuckle that betrayed him. "That's what I told me."

"And wiser words were never spoken," Sonic assured him as he gave his knee a firm pat.

"I dunno. Could make a case for the consequences of rewriting timelines and creating unsustainable permutations of past and future events." Tails grinned.

"Now you’re just being smart," Sonic snorted.

"Well, I am a genius." Tails bumped his shoulder to Sonics. "But I also learned from the best. Even eleven-year-old me picked up on that."

"Well, he's a genius, too. He knows what's up." Sonic slung his arm around Tails’s shoulder, this time his turn to watch as his brother picked up the video game controller to continue where Sonic left off. 

He let him, taking his turn to be content as he watched Tails figure out the game faster than he did and go farther than Sonic could. They said nothing for a few minutes, Tails working out the rest of his pent up feelings through the game while Sonic quietly processed what he'd just been told. He wasn't a stranger to time travel, not by a long shot, but even so, it wasn't what he thought the answer to that day had been. As much faith he had in his best friend, his self-sacrificial tendencies were something he couldn't help but take notice of. After all, he'd learned from the best, hadn't he?

But it wasn't with bitterness or disdain when he set his gaze on the teen beside him. That wasn't possible; not when he saw every age at once. Not when he was in absolute awe of how far his kid had come. 

"Tails."

"Sonic," Tails answered instinctively, matching his tone with the hint of a crooked smile.

"Thanks for saving him."

Tails blinked and paused the game so he could look at Sonic. In the light from the television screen, green eyes glimmered with a depth that took him back to a younger version of his big bro, who was trying to do everything in his power to be there for him. Because he wanted to be. Because he needed to be.

One tail curled around Sonic's back and draped over his lap, giving back the same reassurance he always gave so freely.

"Anytime, big bro."

[tojisun]

he calls you after every mission – you never told him that you knew his secret, afraid that he’d stop. afraid that you would lose the only line of confirmation you have about his safety. so when he calls, you gleefully pretend you don’t have a clue of its purpose and let him take full control of the conversation.

“hey, sweet girl,” he murmurs without fail, making your cheeks burn and your lungs constrict. he’s always so breathy when the line connects, softly panting onto the mic as he grunts out your name.

for a long time, you thought it was because he’s exhausted and spent, and that he’s using the last reserves of his energy to call you. but there is something so intimate, so familiar, in the way he grumbles your name – drawling out the sounds until they curl on his tongue, all grave whimpers and rough rumbles.

it took you a while to realize it is not exhaustion that coats his voice but quiet pleasure; thrumming euphoria peaking into his orgasm.

you remember gasping out loud at the realization, the sound of it making him moan. he growled out your name, murmuring soft praises that made your stomach clench in desire. you found yourself playing along, coaxing him into his orgasm as you told him that you love him. how you love him.

what happened never got brought up, but you found yourself falling into the new routine. loving it, even.

“hey to you too, baby,” you reply, your voice petering into a sigh as you stretch on your bed, your tensed muscles turning soft as the tension uncoils from your limbs.

you hear rustling from the other end, easily followed by the sound of zippers getting undone. you pretend that your cheeks aren’t on fire as want fills you up from the inside.

“you were asleep?” he asks. you fondly roll your eyes at the obvious prompting.

“about to,” you say. “wearin’ your shirt tonight, hope you don’t mind.”

you know he would never but you also know how much he loves it when you tell him that you’re wearing his clothes, effectively branding you as his.

possessive motherfucker.

“s’all y’rs,” he whispers. “tell me how y’r day went, sweetheart.”

so you do: you narrate your day animatedly, changing the pitch of your voice on occasions and being rewarded with his sultry hums that urge you to go on. you drawl out his name when he stops talking altogether only to shuffle on your bed when his grunts have gone a little deeper, a little gruffer.

you can’t help the pooling desire steeping in your veins as your hand slides down to paw at your damp heat. you go still when your hitched gasp pierced through, the following silence from the both of you ringing amidst the static.

then, “finally touchin’ y’rself, aren’t you, love?”

oh-

— toji, ghost (riley)

[w1w2]

Over the Handlebars

Jennie x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 6k

Synopsis: Y/N has always been the type to fall hard and fast, diving headfirst into love without hesitation. Jennie, on the other hand, is more guarded, careful, precise, the kind of person who weighs every decision.

JENNIE - Handlebars (Feat. DUA LIPA) "Why is it love is never kind to me? I heard that fools rush in and, yeah, that's me"

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

The bass thrummed against Y/N’s skin, the kind of deep, pulsing rhythm that settled in her bones and made her feel weightless. The club was alive with energy, flashing neon lights casting streaks of pink and blue across the sea of moving bodies, the scent of liquor and expensive perfume mixing in the humid air. Laughter and conversations blended into a messy, intoxicating symphony, but none of it mattered.

She wasn’t drunk, not completely, but there was a pleasant buzz in her veins, turning everything sharper, more vivid. Every sound, every color.

And especially her.

Jennie Kim stood near the bar, effortlessly composed in a way that made her seem untouchable. While the rest of the world blurred and swayed under the weight of music and alcohol, Jennie remained still, a contrast so striking it made Y/N’s chest tighten. Dark, silky hair framed her face perfectly, her lips painted a deep shade of red that was almost too inviting. A half-empty glass of champagne dangled loosely between her fingers, the golden liquid catching the light as she lazily swirled it. She wasn’t trying to stand out, but somehow, in a room full of chaos, she was the only thing Y/N could focus on.

Their eyes met, and something flickered in Jennie’s gaze. Curiosity, amusement. An unspoken challenge.

Y/N didn’t hesitate. She never did.

She weaved her way through the crowd, her heart thrumming in time with the bass, every step fueled by adrenaline and that reckless, insatiable pull toward the girl who looked like trouble wrapped in silk.

Jennie watched her approach, one perfectly shaped brow arching slightly, her expression unreadable yet completely consuming.

“Are you always this mysterious,” Y/N drawled as she reached Jennie’s side, her fingers grazing the edge of the bar. “Or is it just for show?”

Jennie’s lips quirked upward, the ghost of a smirk playing at the corners. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Up close, she smelled like vanilla and something expensive, something dangerously alluring. Y/N leaned in, her lips curling into a smirk. “Oh, I’m an open book, baby. You just have to turn the right page.”

Jennie hummed, lifting her glass to her lips. She took a slow, deliberate sip, her dark eyes never leaving Y/N’s. “And what page are we on now?”

Y/N tilted her head, pretending to think. “Somewhere between curious glances and flirtatious banter.” She lowered her voice, just enough to make Jennie lean in slightly. “But I think we can skip ahead.”

The tension between them was electric, crackling like static in the air.

Jennie studied her, like she was weighing the consequences, like she was trying to decide if she should let herself fall.

Y/N didn’t wait for permission.

She moved forward, closing the space between them in one fluid motion, her lips capturing Jennie’s before she had time to think.

The kiss tasted like champagne and recklessness, like bad decisions and the kind of adrenaline Y/N never knew how to resist.

Jennie froze for a split second. Y/N felt it. The hesitation, the war happening behind those dark eyes. But then Jennie exhaled softly, and her lips parted just enough for Y/N to take it as an invitation.

Jennie kissed her back.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It was heat and tension and all the things left unsaid.

Jennie’s fingers brushed against Y/N’s wrist, featherlight, but the touch sent a sharp jolt through her body. She deepened the kiss, just for a moment, just enough to taste the way Y/N sighed into her mouth, before pulling away.

By the time they separated, Y/N’s heart was a riot in her chest. Jennie’s eyes were darker now, unreadable, her breath just a little unsteady.

“Impulsive,” Jennie murmured, her voice like velvet.

Y/N smirked, licking her lips. “You liked it.”

Jennie didn’t deny it. But she didn’t confirm it either. Instead, she took another sip of champagne, gaze never leaving Y/N’s.

For the first time that night, Jennie looked a little bit undone.

Y/N leaned in, close enough that their noses almost brushed. “Come dance with me.” It wasn’t a question.

Jennie hesitated for a fraction of a second. Y/N thought she might say no.

But then Jennie placed her glass down, and without another word, she reached for Y/N’s hand.

Her fingers were warm, steady. Dangerous.

Y/N felt it instantly, that rush, that unmistakable pull in her chest. It wasn’t just about the way Jennie’s hand fit into hers or the way the air around them seemed to hum with something electric. It was the way Jennie looked at her then, eyes dark and unreadable, like she knew exactly what she was doing. Like she knew exactly what Y/N was about to do.

And just like that, Y/N knew.

She was already falling.

Falling the way she always did, fast, without hesitation, without caution.

Because Y/N loved the feeling of free-falling.

The rush of it, the thrill, the way the world blurred around her when she let go and let gravity take control. It didn’t scare her, to lose herself in something reckless, something consuming. It made her feel alive.

She was the type to run headfirst into things, to dive in without checking how deep the water was. And Jennie? Jennie was like an ocean. Beautiful, vast, and completely unpredictable.

And Y/N had never been good at resisting the pull of the tide.

Their nights blurred into something hazy and golden, a collection of stolen kisses under city lights and whispered secrets between tangled sheets. It wasn’t just about the physical, the way Jennie’s lips felt against hers, the warmth of her hands on Y/N’s skin, it was everything in between. The way Jennie looked at her when she thought Y/N wasn’t watching, the way her laughter melted into the air when Y/N said something ridiculous, the way she always pulled Y/N closer when she thought she might slip away.

Like now.

They were driving with the windows down, the wind whipping through Y/N’s hair as the car sped down empty streets. The city stretched out around them, glowing in the soft haze of midnight neon. Streetlights flickered as they passed, casting moving shadows across Jennie’s face.

It had rained earlier, just enough to leave the scent of it lingering in the air, fresh and clean, mixing with the faint traces of Jennie’s vanilla perfume.

Y/N turned her head, taking Jennie in.

She wasn’t doing anything particularly remarkable, just driving, fingers wrapped loosely around the steering wheel, her other hand resting lazily on the gear shift. But there was something about her in this moment, the way the light caught in her dark eyes, the easy way she moved, the quiet focus she always had when she was lost in thought.

She was mesmerizing. And she didn’t even realize it.

"You look good like this," Y/N murmured, voice lazy from the warmth of the night and the way Jennie made everything feel infinite.

Jennie’s lips curled at the edges, a barely-there smile, but she kept her gaze on the road. "Like what?"

"Like you belong here," Y/N said, softer than she meant for it to be. "With me."

Jennie didn’t answer right away.

Instead, she reached over, fingers ghosting over Y/N’s thigh before settling there, warm and grounding. The touch was light, barely there, but enough.

Y/N’s breath caught, just a little. She swore Jennie could feel it, could sense the way her heartbeat stumbled under her palm.

"Where are we going?" Y/N asked, her voice quieter now.

Jennie finally glanced at her, just for a moment. And in that moment, she looked almost reckless, like she was on the verge of throwing caution to the wind.

"I don’t know," Jennie admitted. "I just like driving with you."

Something about the way she said it made Y/N’s chest tighten.

There was a tenderness to it, a raw honesty that Jennie didn’t usually give away so easily. Y/N let the words settle between them, turning them over in her mind, wondering if Jennie even realized what they meant.

She smiled, tilting her head back against the seat, letting the cool night air kiss her face. "You make everything feel different," she said after a beat.

Jennie hummed, fingers tracing slow circles against Y/N’s skin. "Different how?"

"Like..." Y/N hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "Real."

It was true. Everything about this, about Jennie, felt real in a way nothing else ever had. It was intoxicating. Terrifying.

Jennie didn’t respond, but Y/N felt the way her fingers twitched slightly against her thigh, the way her grip tightened just for a second before relaxing again.

And that was the thing about Jennie.

She was here, right now, driving through the city with Y/N at her side, touching her like she never wanted to let go.

But there was always something else, something lingering behind her eyes, something that made Y/N wonder if she was holding on just tight enough to keep Y/N close, but not tight enough to stay.

The thought should have scared Y/N.

But instead, she leaned into the feeling, let herself drown in the warmth of the moment, in the way Jennie’s thumb brushed against her skin absentmindedly.

Maybe she was falling too fast.

But for now, she didn’t care.

They spent nights like this, chasing time as if they could outrun reality.

There was something about being with Jennie that made everything feel like a dream, like the world outside of them didn’t exist. Maybe that’s why Y/N kept falling, faster and faster, clinging to every stolen second like it might slip through her fingers.

They danced in dimly lit rooms, music thrumming beneath their feet, bodies pressed together in ways that blurred the line between comfort and desire. Jennie’s laughter against Y/N’s ear was a melody all on its own, low and breathless, the kind that made Y/N’s stomach flip.

Some nights, they stayed out too late, drinking expensive wine that left them giddy and warm, fingers intertwined beneath tables in candle-lit corners. Other nights, they didn’t bother with the world at all, wrapped in sheets and whispered confessions, tangled limbs and soft sighs.

Jennie tasted like late-night wine and stolen moments, like something Y/N wanted to keep forever.

And for a while, Y/N let herself believe she could.

But there was always something, something just beneath the surface. A hesitation in the way Jennie kissed her sometimes, like she was holding back, like she was afraid to let herself want too much.

The first time Y/N noticed it, she brushed it off.

The way Jennie would pull away first, even when Y/N wanted more. The way her fingers would hover for a second too long before touching Y/N, like she was caught between staying and running.

It was small, barely noticeable.

But Y/N felt it.

And once she noticed it, she couldn’t stop noticing it.

Like the way Jennie went quiet whenever Y/N whispered, “I think about you all the time.” The way she would smile, but never say it back.

Or the way Jennie’s fingers would tighten in Y/N’s grip when they walked side by side, but she never held on too tightly, as if she needed to be able to let go.

Y/N ignored it. At first.

Because maybe, if she pretended not to see the cracks forming beneath the surface, they wouldn’t be real. Maybe, if she kissed Jennie hard enough, held her close enough, she could fix whatever was keeping Jennie from falling all the way.

Because love, for Y/N, had never been something she could do in half-measures.

And Jennie? Jennie had never been the kind of person to crash.

One night, they lay in bed, the city humming outside the window. The air was thick with the scent of rain and something unmistakably them, faint traces of perfume on Jennie’s skin, the lingering warmth of wine on Y/N’s breath, the shared heat between them beneath the sheets.

Jennie’s fingers traced lazy circles over Y/N’s hip, her touch featherlight, absentminded. It was the kind of touch that made Y/N feel cherished, but also the kind that made her wonder if Jennie was afraid of holding on too tight.

Y/N closed her eyes, pressing a soft kiss to Jennie’s collarbone, letting herself sink into the quiet of the moment. But there was something restless in her chest, a question she couldn’t quite shake.

"Tell me something real," Y/N murmured, her lips barely brushing against Jennie’s skin.

Jennie’s fingers paused.

The silence stretched between them, just long enough for Y/N to wonder if Jennie had heard her or if she was choosing not to answer.

Then, finally, a whisper.

"I hate goodbyes."

It was so quiet Y/N almost didn’t catch it, but when she did, something in her chest tightened.

She lifted her head, blinking sleepily. "What do you mean?"

Jennie didn’t answer right away. Instead, she turned her gaze toward the ceiling, her dark eyes distant, unreadable.

Y/N watched the way Jennie’s chest rose and fell, slow, measured, as if she were weighing the words before she let them slip.

"I don’t like things that don’t last," Jennie said finally, her voice steady but soft. "That’s why I don’t…" She stopped abruptly, exhaling sharply, as if catching herself before saying too much. "Never mind."

Y/N frowned. Propping herself up on her elbow, she studied Jennie’s face, searching for something, anything, that might tell her what Jennie was too afraid to say.

"That’s why you don’t what?" she pressed gently.

Jennie sighed, shifting slightly beneath the sheets. Her fingers resumed their soft, absentminded tracing along Y/N’s arm, like she needed something to keep her grounded.

"That’s why I don’t let myself fall too easily."

The words were a whisper, but they struck something deep in Y/N’s chest.

Because she knew.

She knew Jennie felt something, something big, something dangerous. She knew it in the way Jennie looked at her when she thought Y/N wasn’t watching. In the way she lingered just a second longer after every kiss. In the way she reached for Y/N’s hand but never quite held it as tightly as Y/N wished she would.

It was there. Real.

But Jennie was still holding back.

Y/N swallowed, her throat suddenly tight.

"But you have fallen," she whispered, her fingers tracing over the delicate skin of Jennie’s wrist. "Haven’t you?"

Jennie’s breath hitched.

For a moment, just a moment, Y/N thought she might finally get the answer she was waiting for.

The one that would make everything feel safe. Certain.

But Jennie only closed her eyes, tilting her head back against the pillow.

"Go to sleep, Y/N," she murmured.

Y/N should have pushed. Should have made her say the words, should have asked why Jennie was so scared of something that already had them both in its grasp.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she curled closer, pressing her forehead against Jennie’s shoulder, trying to pretend that Jennie’s silence didn’t say everything she already knew.

That night, she dreamt of falling.

And when she woke up, she wasn’t sure Jennie would be there to catch her.

The beginning of the end wasn’t loud.

It wasn’t screaming or slamming doors. There were no shattered glasses, no accusations hurled like weapons.

It was quiet. Soft in a way that made it worse, like the slow unraveling of a thread, like an ember burning out in the palm of her hand.

Like drowning in an ocean so gently, she hadn’t realized she was sinking until it was too late.

And it started at a party.

A rooftop stretched high above the city, the air thick with summer heat and the faint scent of rain lingering from earlier in the evening. Golden fairy lights were strung overhead, flickering against the inky sky, casting warm halos against the glasses in people’s hands. Music hummed low beneath the chatter, background noise, almost distant, like a heartbeat fading away.

Y/N had been standing at the edge of the crowd, Jennie beside her, the two of them tucked away from the center of attention but never fully unnoticed.

Jennie looked stunning, in that effortless way she always did, dark hair cascading in soft waves, red lips curled in a knowing, unreadable smile. She wasn’t even trying, but Y/N couldn’t stop looking at her. Couldn’t stop reaching for her.

Fingers brushing. A touch against the small of her back. Their laughter tangling in the thick air between them, warm and easy.

Y/N had felt light that night. Weightless in the way you feel when you know someone is yours.

She could still taste the remnants of wine on her tongue, could still feel the ghost of Jennie’s lips against her cheek from earlier, just a whisper of a kiss, fleeting but felt.

She had been happy.

And then it happened.

A casual conversation, the kind you don’t expect to change anything, the kind that should’ve been nothing more than passing words.

But sometimes, words were enough to ruin everything.

"So, are you two together?"

The question had been lighthearted, teasing. The kind of thing people asked when they already knew the answer.

Y/N had smiled without hesitation, already feeling the response settle into her bones, already hearing Jennie’s voice in her head, saying, Yeah, she’s mine. We’re together.

But Jennie hesitated.

It was barely a second. But Y/N felt it.

Like a shift in gravity, like the ground slipping out from under her feet.

Then, Jennie laughed, smooth, effortless, but the answer came too late.

"We’re just… having fun."

Just. Having. Fun.

The words lodged in Y/N’s chest like a stone, heavy and unmoving.

She didn’t know what hurt more, that Jennie had said it, or that she hadn’t even looked at Y/N when she did.

Her stomach twisted. She forced out a small laugh, nodding along, pretending like it didn’t feel like the floor had disappeared beneath her.

Jennie must have noticed something in the way Y/N tensed beside her, but she didn’t say anything. Just kept sipping her drink, like nothing had changed.

But for Y/N, everything had.

The rest of the night passed in a blur.

Laughter, conversation, the steady hum of music, none of it registered. The fairy lights were too bright, the room too loud, the air too thick, pressing against her chest.

Jennie stayed by her side, fingers grazing hers, lips brushing the shell of her ear when she whispered something Y/N didn’t quite catch. But it didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered after those words.

"We’re just having fun."

The words replayed in her head, over and over, like a cruel joke.

Maybe she had been stupid, maybe she had assumed too much, maybe, somewhere deep down, she had known all along.

Because Jennie had never given her the words she wanted. Had never said them first. Had never held on as tightly as Y/N had.

She had felt it.

She had known.

And still, she had let herself fall.

Later, when the party had faded into nothing but a lingering scent of alcohol and cigarette smoke clinging to her clothes, when the city was quieter, emptier, Y/N sat on Jennie’s bed, watching the other girl move around the room.

Jennie was quiet, her back to Y/N as she undid the clasp of her necklace, letting it fall onto the nightstand with a faint clink.

The air between them felt fragile, like one wrong move would shatter it completely.

Jennie must have felt it too, because she turned, stepping closer, reaching for Y/N’s hand.

"Hey," Jennie murmured, voice softer now, thumb tracing circles against Y/N’s skin. "Are you okay?"

Y/N let out a small laugh, but it was hollow. Empty.

"Am I okay?"

Jennie frowned, brows knitting together in concern. "Y/N…"

"We’re just having fun."

The words came out quieter than Y/N expected, but they still carried weight. She lifted her gaze, searching Jennie’s face, trying to see something, anything, that would tell her that Jennie hadn’t meant it.

That maybe, just maybe, it had been a lie.

But Jennie’s face was unreadable, and that hurt the most.

"That’s what this is to you?" Y/N whispered.

Jennie exhaled, running a hand through her hair. "You’re twisting my words."

Y/N’s jaw clenched. "No, I’m hearing your words. For the first time, maybe."

Jennie’s gaze flickered away.

Y/N felt something sharp dig into her ribs. That same feeling, that same hesitation that had been there all along, lingering in Jennie’s kisses, in her touches, in the way she always almost held on.

She had ignored it before. Had convinced herself it wasn’t real.

But it was.

"Do you even love me?"

The question escaped before she could stop it.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Jennie’s breath hitched.

And for a moment, just a moment, Y/N swore she saw it. The answer, trembling behind Jennie’s lips.

But Jennie didn’t say it. Didn’t move. Didn’t fight.

And suddenly, Y/N knew.

A bitter laugh escaped her lips. She shook her head, standing, grabbing her jacket.

"Wait,"

"No." Y/N turned, her voice breaking. "I can’t do this anymore."

Jennie’s brows furrowed, something desperate flickering in her gaze. "Y/N, please,"

"Please what?" Y/N’s voice cracked. "Please stay and pretend like this is enough for me? Like I can just be someone you kiss in the dark, someone you almost love?"

Jennie sucked in a breath, but she still didn’t say the words Y/N needed to hear.

And Y/N? She was so tired of waiting.

She stepped back, the distance between them stretching wider than the room itself.

"I’ve been falling for you since the moment I met you." Her voice was quieter now, exhausted. Defeated. "And you’ve been standing still."

Jennie flinched.

But she still didn’t move.

She didn’t reach for her, didn’t close the distance between them, didn’t even try to fix what was already unraveling between her fingers. She just stood there, silent and still, like a statue carved from hesitation and fear. And Y/N could feel her heart breaking in real time, cracking open under the weight of all the words Jennie refused to say.

She took a slow, shaky breath, blinking hard against the sting behind her eyes, and turned toward the door. Her footsteps felt heavy, like her body was protesting, like some desperate part of her still wanted to stay, to wait just a little longer, to hope.

But hope had never been kind to fools like her.

Behind her, Jennie inhaled sharply, the kind of breath that sounded like the beginning of a confession or maybe a plea, but Y/N had learned better than to hold on to things that never came.

So she waited.

One last time.

She waited for Jennie to stop her, to reach for her, to fight for something, anything.

She wanted to hear her name spoken like it mattered. She wanted Jennie to say stay, to give her a reason not to walk away, to choose her in the way Y/N had always, always chosen Jennie.

But the silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating, until it became the only answer she would ever get.

Jennie hesitated.

And in that hesitation, Y/N slipped through her fingers, one step, then another, until the door clicked shut behind her.

She didn’t look back.

And Jennie let her go.

The first few days passed in a blur.

Y/N had always thought heartbreak would feel like something sharp, something immediate, like ripping off a bandage or stepping on shattered glass. But this… this was different.

It was slow, creeping, the kind of pain that settled into the spaces between her ribs and refused to leave.

She went through the motions of living, pretending she was fine, pretending she wasn’t waiting for something. A knock at the door, a name flashing across her screen, a reason to turn around and fix what had been broken between them.

But there was nothing.

Only silence.

The city hadn’t changed.

It still pulsed with life, still hummed with the same restless energy that had once made Y/N feel alive. The streets still buzzed with movement, neon lights flickering against the wet pavement, a kaleidoscope of colors stretching into the night. Taxis honked, music spilled from open windows, laughter drifted from bars where people gathered, unaware that the world, her world, felt unbearably still.

Everything looked the same.

But somehow, nothing felt the same.

Everywhere she turned, there was a ghost of something she wasn’t ready to face.

The small café on the corner, the one with the lopsided chairs and terrible coffee, she used to love it, used to claim it was so bad it was good. That was where Jennie had first reached across the table, absentmindedly tracing lazy patterns against Y/N’s wrist while talking about nothing and everything. She had done it so often that Y/N had started expecting it, had started needing it, the warmth of Jennie’s fingertips on her skin, the unspoken comfort of it.

Now, she couldn’t bring herself to go back.

Then there was the bookstore by the subway, the one that always smelled like old paper and fresh rain, where the aisles were too narrow and the owner always played soft jazz from an old record player. That was where Jennie had once pulled her between the shelves, away from prying eyes, pressing a kiss to the hinge of Y/N’s jaw before murmuring, “Shhh, we’re gonna get caught.” Y/N had laughed, breathless, pushing at Jennie’s shoulder even as she tilted her head to give her better access.

They never did get caught.

Now, Y/N couldn’t step onto that platform without hearing the echo of Jennie’s laughter, without feeling the ghost of her lips brushing against her skin.

Even her own apartment felt wrong.

The sheets had been washed, twice, maybe three times, but they still carried traces of Jennie’s perfume, that soft, expensive scent that clung to the air like a whisper. Her presence lingered in every room, in the half-empty bottle of wine on the counter from the last night Jennie had stayed over, in the sweatshirt she had borrowed and forgotten to take back.

Y/N had thought about throwing it away, about erasing every last remnant of her.

But she couldn’t.

Not yet.

And maybe that was the worst part, because the memories weren’t bad.

They weren’t sharp-edged or painful, weren’t laced with regret or anger. They were warm, golden, flashes of happiness that should have been comforting.

But instead, they felt like tiny betrayals.

How could something that had once felt so safe now feel so distant?

How could Jennie have loved her in every way except the one that mattered most?

Y/N exhaled slowly, pressing her fingertips to her temple, willing the ache away.

She should stop thinking about her. She should let it go. She should move on.

But her heart was still somewhere else.

Still standing in that room, waiting for Jennie to say something. Still hoping.

And god, wasn’t that the cruelest part of it all?

Jennie hadn’t slept much. Not since that night.

Not since she had watched Y/N walk away without looking back, disappearing through the door like she had never been there at all.

The hours blurred together, long and sleepless, stretching endlessly between dusk and dawn. Night after night, Jennie lay awake, staring at the ceiling, tracing invisible shapes against the sheets that still smelled like Y/N. It was a cruel trick of the senses, the way scent could linger long after someone was gone. No matter how many times she buried her face into her pillow, no matter how many times she told herself to forget, it was always there.

She told herself this was for the best. That it had always been inevitable. That Y/N was better off without someone who hesitated when it mattered most.

But the lie unraveled at the edges, thin and fragile, unable to hold under the weight of her thoughts.

Because Jennie couldn’t stop thinking.

Couldn’t stop replaying the moment Y/N had stood in front of her, eyes searching, heart wide open, waiting for Jennie to meet her halfway. Couldn’t stop hearing the way her voice had cracked, the way her breath had hitched just before she had stepped back, just before she had given up.

Please, just say something.

She had said nothing. She had let her go.

Jennie had never been good at falling.

Not the way Y/N was.

Y/N had always loved like it was second nature, like she didn’t know how to hold back. She threw herself into things completely, fearlessly, unafraid of the impact waiting at the bottom. Jennie had always admired that about her, had envied it, even.

But she couldn’t match it.

She had spent so much time guarding herself, convincing herself that love like that, love so reckless, so all-consuming, was dangerous. That it was safer to keep her distance, safer to stand on the edge rather than risk the fall.

But now? Now, she was paying the price for it.

The apartment was too quiet.

She still reached for Y/N in the middle of the night, only to be met with nothing but cold sheets. She still expected to hear her voice in the kitchen in the morning, still thought she’d turn a corner and find Y/N standing there, wrapped in one of Jennie’s hoodies, flashing her that easy, radiant smile.

But the space beside her remained empty. The apartment stayed silent. The walls no longer echoed with laughter, only the weight of everything Jennie hadn’t said.

And maybe Y/N was never coming back.

Jennie clenched her jaw, running a hand through her hair, frustration curling tight in her chest.

She had thought about calling. About texting. About something.

She had picked up her phone a hundred times, fingers hovering over the screen, trying to find the right words.

“I’m sorry.” “Come back.” “I should have said it when you needed me to.”

But none of it felt like enough.

Because what did apologies matter when they came too late?

So she did nothing, and the silence stretched, suffocating and endless.

Y/N sat by the window, knees pulled up to her chest, watching the city move without her.

Beyond the glass, the streets pulsed with life, headlights slicing through the darkness, neon signs flickering in a language she no longer felt fluent in. People wandered in and out of bars, laughter spilling into the night, taxi doors slamming shut, conversations buzzing through the air like static. The world was still spinning, untouched by the ache sitting heavy in her chest.

She should be fine by now.

She should be over it.

That’s what everyone kept telling her. That she would wake up one morning and the weight of Jennie would feel a little lighter, that her name wouldn’t taste quite so bitter, that the memories would start fading like ink washed away by time.

But heartbreak had its own timeline, its own cruel way of making you think you were okay, only to hit you like a wave when you least expected it.

And god, did it hit her now.

It crashed over her in the quiet moments, in the spaces Jennie used to fill. It settled into her bones, curled up inside her chest like something waiting to be felt, refusing to be ignored.

The worst part? She didn’t even want to let it go.

Her phone buzzed against the wooden table beside her.

She ignored it at first, assuming it was another well-meaning message from a friend checking in, asking if she wanted to talk about it, if she had been sleeping, eating, breathing properly.

Y/N didn’t have the heart to tell them that breathing wasn’t the problem. It was that every inhale still carried traces of Jennie, and every exhale felt like she was losing her all over again.

But then she felt a shift in the air, an instinct she couldn’t name.

She reached for her phone, fingers curling around it before flipping it over.

And suddenly, she couldn’t breathe at all.

Jennie [2:14 AM]: “Can we talk?”

Y/N’s heart stopped.

The city outside blurred at the edges, the neon lights smearing into streaks of color, the sounds fading into nothing but white noise. Everything else disappeared, because in this moment, it was just her and that message.

She stared at the screen, fingers trembling slightly, waiting, hoping, for more.

But nothing came.

No follow-up. No explanation.

Just those three words, sitting there like a half-finished sentence, like Jennie had almost said something before stopping herself.

And wasn’t that the story of them?

Jennie, almost loving her. Jennie, almost choosing her. Jennie, almost saying the words.

Her breath came in uneven pulls, her chest tight, her thumb hovering over the keyboard as a thousand thoughts collided all at once.

She could respond or she could ignore it. She could call Jennie right now, demand to know what she was trying to say, demand to know why it had taken this long for her to finally reach out.

Part of her wanted to. God, did she want to.

But another part, one that was still nursing the wounds Jennie had left behind, was afraid.

Because what if this was just another hesitation? What if Jennie had typed it out with every intention of fixing what had broken between them, only to realize, at the last second, that she still didn’t know how? What if this wasn’t hope at all? What if it was just another goodbye, disguised as something else?

Y/N swallowed hard, her grip tightening around the phone.

Her mind screamed at her to do something, to make a choice, to stop lingering in this purgatory of almosts.

And then another buzz came.

Jennie [2:26 AM]: “Please.”

Y/N inhaled sharply, the single word settling heavy in her chest.

Jennie had hesitated before.

But maybe this time, she wasn’t pulling away, and for the first time in weeks, Y/N truly didn’t know what to do.

[churipu]

( OO4 ) ★ bloody mess , nanami kento

featuring. nanami kento x reader

warnings. mentions of blood, mentions of a lot of different pet names (sweetheart, love, etc.), hospital raahhh, anesthesia.

note. WHO'S BACK DOING THE 1K EVENT LAJSOS IM SO SORRY :< THIS ONE IS A BIT SHORT???

ENTRY ( OO4 ) OF THE "INTO THE IPINVERSE" MILESTONE

"quick question, how much blood do i have to let out to be deemed hospital worthy?" "a lot." "oh, well — that's not good."

tags: @sad-darksoul @sweeneyblue1 @idkuluka @colorful-happy-shit @tomie-it-girl

the room reeked of blood. if you get a gist of it — you'd likely think of death.

you held your phone in between your shoulder and your ear, slightly trembling as your muscle stretched. chewing your lip in frustration, the device ringing.

once.

twice.

thri—

"hi, sweetheart."

you sighed out in relief, "hi kento, i have a really quick question because i'm trying not to freak out—"

nanami immediately cuts you off, "is something wrong? what happened y/n?"

"quick question, how much blood do i have to let out to be deemed hospital worthy?" you asked him, eyeing the trail of crimson streaming down your ring and pinky finger — blowing on it softly, foot drumming impatiently. what a bloody mess.

nanami was silent for a few seconds, but you could make out a brief, "a lot."

that's when you finally let out a panicked but calm, "oh, well — that's not good."

the male on the other line shuffled a bit, and you made out a few static noises, "what happened, sweetheart? did you hurt yourself?" he softly asks you.

"um . . . i cut myself cutting fruits. it's stupid but — i was trying to imitate fruit ninja . . ." you explained, full of shame. yet again, from the other line, nanami shuffled; creating out static noises, "i should probably head to the hospital, right?"

"apply pressure on the wound, i'm already around the corner, love. keep on talking with me." he replies back calmly.

you did what he told you to do without ending the call, wincing every once in a while from the jolt of pain.

soon enough, nanami burst from the front door — his eyes finding your sitting form, a cotton pad wrapped around your bloodied fingers. with rushed steps, he approaches you, softly grabbing your hand, inspecting the wound.

"come here pretty," he softly mumbles, tugging you gently, "we're going to the hospital."

two stitches.

because you decided to imitate fruit ninja — in your defense, it seemed really cool in the games.

with an IV attached to your other hand, you laid on the bed, half droopy as the anesthesia had already spread through your veins. limp and tired, a hard cast covering your wounded hand to press on the stitches.

"please keep watch of their hands, and try not to move it a lot during the healing process — come back in approximately two weeks time for cast and stitches disposal." you could definitely hear a doctor say — clueless to you or to nanami.

but you answered them nonetheless, slurring out incoherent words, "oh . . . doctor, yeah! okay, mhm, i got you, doc, i'll be back soon."

a few chuckling erupted and you shut your eyes, feeling fatigue take over, "how are you feeling, darling?"

fluttering your eyes open, you nod, "good. how about you, ken?"

nanami brushed your cheek gently, staring at your droopy state affectionately, his elbow prepped up on the hospital bed, "i'm good as well. are you still in pain?"

you shook your head with a stupid smile, "nope, just peachy," you smiled, "i have a dress on my finger—" proudly raising your index finger up, where the pulse oximeter was.

"it looks wonderful, sweetheart," nanami softly threaded his calloused fingers with yours, kissing your knuckles.

the wound was worse than he thought. at first, nanami didn't know whether to be worried about your poor choice of action or your wound in all honesty, but at this point — he's doing both at the same time.

the male was in the middle of a meeting with the gojo satoru when you called.

"right? and — i think they stole my fingers," you whispered, eyes darting around here and there before eventually trying to raise up your wounded hand. to which nanami prevented by carefully putting it down to your side, on the bed.

"i promise your fingers are there, darling." nanami chuckled at your behavior under the anesthesia.

"no, no. i swear, i can't feel them — the people stole my fingers while you were not here," you refer to the doctor and the couple of nurses who tended to you earlier, "go check them, i swear, ken. my fingers are gone."

cute. you were very cute. nanami knew he shouldn't be laughing at all, but the way you acted right now was . . . very out of character. the passion swirling in your eyes as you try to convince him that your fingers were stolen.

"angel, i promise. they're there, attached." he moved a few strands of your hair away from your face, "you can be angry at me if they aren't there."

bad choices of words. because the very next second, you were trying to pry open your cast to take a quick look at your fingers.

"no, no. darling, you shouldn't touch that," nanami stood up, carefully holding your unharmed hand. preventing it from gnawing at your harmed hand.

"'m trying to prove something here, ken . . ." you rolled your eyes, leaning back onto the bed, "let me go," your whines made him smile.

"darling, 'ts not good to touch it now. we'll get it taken off in a while," you softly whine at his words.

"'ts too long. my fingers . . ."

nanami cupped your face and pressed a chaste kiss onto your lips, "they're there darling, i promise." he held out his pinky.

you childishly nodded, intertwining your pinky with his, "okay. promise."

"are they there?" nanami asks, holding your unharmed hand as he used his other hand to steer the steering wheel of his car.

it had been at least a couple of hours, and the anesthesia was slowly leaving your system — enough for you to be dismissed from the hospital. here you were, sitting in his passenger's seat, "are what there?" you questioned back, still feeling a bit droopy.

"your fingers."

in confusion you stare at him, "of course they are, in here." you mumbled, raising up your casted hand.

nanami chuckled, this was only something he and you (under the influence) knew.

© CHURIPU 2024 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE